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Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 277

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Editorial Note Hanan Eshel passed away on April 8, 2010, at fifty-one years of age. Hanan had a keen interest in the history of ancient Judaism in general and that of the Qumran community in particular. Hanan was versatile in both textual and archaeological sources and he studied early Jewish and Qumran history using these sources in tandem. The essays in this issue, as well as the book review by James C. VanderKam, deal from different perspectives with specific historical issues, historical methodology and the use of literary sources, such as the Dead Sea Scrolls and Josephus, and archaeological sources. In doing so, the contributors interact directly with some of the historical issues that Hanan studied, how he approached those issues and made use of different sources. Thus, this thematic issue of DSD on history, archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls memorializes Hanan’s contributions to the field.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602386

Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 279–294

brill.nl/dsd

Hanan Eshel as a Historian of the Jews1 Albert I. Baumgarten Bar Ilan University [email protected]

Abstract This article in memory of Hanan Eshel (1958–2010) focuses on his contributions as a historian of the Jews. It analyzes selected discussions of Eshel’s work, exemplified in his book The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (Hebrew 2004; English 2008). The article emphasizes the integrative aspects of Eshel’s work, his success at bringing the scrolls, archeological evidence, and Josephus to shed light on each other and expand our knowledge and understanding of the events of the Hasmonean era. The article argues that a key aspect of Eshel’s contribution was to validate the testimony of Josephus, not only as a field guide to the geography and archeology of the Land of Israel, but also as a historian of the Jews. The article compares Eshel’s achievement to that of one of the most distinguished historians of antiquity active in the twentieth century, Louis Robert (1904–1985) who also brought together philology, history, numismatics, papyrology, epigraphy, and archeology in a way unequalled by others, and thus succeeded in solving many complex difficulties concerning the ancient world. The article concludes with a discussion of the collaborative work by H. Eshel, M. Broshi, R. Freund, and B. Schultz, “New Data on the Cemetery East of Khirbet Qumran,” DSD 9 (2002): 135–165. Keywords Hanan Eshel; Qumran; Josephus; Hasmonean State; Daniel; Antiochus IV; John Hyrcanus; Jericho; Alexander Jannaeus

1

This essay should be read in conjunction with the more personal memoir I wrote, “Editorial/Editoriale, In Memoriam—Hanan Eshel (1958–2010),” Henoch 32 (2010): 245–48. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602395

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A. I. Baumgarten / Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 279–294

Introduction There were many sides to the late Hanan Eshel’s (1958–2010) work as a scholar. He was an archaeologist who found ancient documents, which he then published, and he was a historian. Numismatic evidence played an important part in many of his articles. His contributions in any of these aspects of his all too brief life would have sufficed for a distinguished career. This article will focus on only one aspect of his scholarship—the method explicit and implicit in his studies of ancient Jewish history, with a particular emphasis on the ways that method found its expression in selected examples from one of his major works, the monograph on The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (Hebrew 2004; English translation 2008; page references in parentheses in all but the next to last section of this paper [“Archaeology and the Scrolls,” below 291–293, where the references are to the Eshel-Broshi-Freund-Schultz article discussed there] are to the English translation). What was special about Eshel’s contributions as a historian was the way in which all the other aspects of his academic endeavors were involved. When the focus was any one of his areas of interest—literary texts, scrolls, coins, or excavations—all the others were always invoked. Perhaps it is self evident that there is no other way a historian should work. How could one not take advantage of all the available evidence, epigraphic, numismatic, textual (of all sorts), and archaeological? In fact, the notion of a wholly integrative approach to the study of the ancient past—uniting philology, history, numismatics, papyrology, epigraphy, and archaeology—has deep roots in scholarship. One outstanding example, from more than a century ago, was the Institut für Altertumskunde at the Friedrich-Wilhelm University of Berlin, the embodiment of the academic vision of the senior scholar of antiquity in Berlin, perhaps the greatest classicist of his time, Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1848–1931).2 Yet, few scholars are able to follow that path successfully, to its end. Even in the wider circle of classical studies, where many more scholars are active, Louis Robert (1904–1985) was a rare and outstanding example of comprehensive analysis based on all possible sources of every type. Robert’s stature and achievement were acknowledged by his colleagues: for example, Elias Bickerman (1897– 2 See R. M. Fowler, “Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff,” in Classical Scholarship: A Biographical Encyclopedia (ed. W. W. Briggs and W. M. Calder III; New York: Garland, 1990), 489–522 (501).


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1981) was convinced that Robert was the outstanding historian of antiquity of his generation.3 Nevertheless, while Robert set the highest possible standards for the field, few other historians of the Greco-Roman world— before or since—meet the mark set by Robert.4 The challenge to the historian of the Jews in antiquity is also daunting: the extent of knowledge necessary seems to have no end, and the integrative skills are rare. Hanan Eshel was one scholar who succeeded.5

The Challenge The integrative nature of Hanan Eshel’s research was clearly sounded in the “Introduction” to The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (1–12). The author recounted his frustrating and unsuccessful experience trying to interest a scrolls scholar, who studied texts cursing the builder of Jericho, in the overlap or confirmation to be found in archaeological finds at Jericho, and vice versa. The scrolls scholar claimed to have no competence or interest in archaeology, while the archaeologist insisted that he had no background in the scrolls. In the end, Hanan Eshel had to draw the pieces of the puzzle from the two disparate disciplines together himself. The challenge of the book, as its argument unfolded, however, lay in a different direction. The discovery and eventual publication of the Dead Sea Scroll texts offered scholars a significant body of new evidence concerning the years from the Maccabean revolt until the fall of Jerusalem.

3 As I heard the story from Professor Hayim Tadmor (1923–2005), it was on account of Bickerman’s high evaluation of Robert’s contributions that he refused to accept the praise of Arnaldo Momigliano (1908–1987), that he (Bickerman) was the greatest historian of antiquity of their generation. See A. I. Baumgarten, Elias Bickerman as a Historian of the Jews—A Twentieth Century Tale (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 3. 4 On Robert, see G. Bowersock, “Louis Robert: La gloire et la joie d’une vie consacrée à l’antiquité grecque,” Studi Ellenistici 24 (2010): 9–31. 5 This concept was also critical in the work of the David and Jemima Jeselsohn Epigraphic Center of Jewish History at Bar Ilan University, of which Hanan Eshel was the founding director. “Epigraphy,” as defined at the Jeselsohn Center, included all forms of ancient writing: papyrus, parchment, pottery shard, inscriptions carved in stone, metal coins, and mosaics. Literary material was also not excluded, if the writing was ancient.

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The difficulties of utilizing this new evidence, however, far exceeded the usual problems when new information must be entered into an existing framework provided by what was previously known. As is well known, for whatever reasons, when the scrolls referred to contemporary events, the figures they mentioned were almost always identified by aliases or sobriquets, rather than by name. The exceptions were few (Eshel counted eleven), but they proved the rule. In conversation and in writing, Eshel always stressed the importance of the pioneering work of Joseph Amoussine in trying to piece together and balance the evidence of the scrolls with what was known from other sources, Josephus in particular, for writing the history of the Hasmonean era.6 However, as is clear from his discussion of the extent and biases of the available sources, Eshel had no illusions concerning the difficulties of the task he had set for himself in attempting a history of the Hasmonean state in light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Nevertheless, his method in almost all the studies in the book was similar—once one piece of the puzzle was firmly in place, this allowed further identifications and establishing ever-expanding circles of understanding as a consequence of the initial discovery. As the book moved from beginning to end, Eshel analyzed the history of the Hasmonean state, from its origins at the time of the Maccabean revolt to its demise when conquered by Pompey, and concluding with Pompey’s death in 48 B.C.E.

The Millenarian Vision The aliases or sobriquets, noted above, were the place where Eshel began. He was convinced that they had some connection with the belief of the authors of many of the pesher texts from Qumran that the messianic age was imminent. This conviction was supported by the belief that the group’s founder, the Teacher of Righteousness, had been vouchsafed the secret meaning of prophetic revelation that allowed him to know that the ultimate redemption was at hand (1QpHab 7:3–5). However, the obscurity of texts of this sort is not limited to the Qumran pesher compositions. It seems to be an attribute inherent in the genre at all 6

J. D. Amoussine, “Éphraïm et Manassé dans le Péshèr de Nahum (4QpNahum),” RevQ 4/15 (1963): 389–96; idem, “The Reflection of Historical Events of the First Century B.C. in Qumran Commentaries (4Q161; 4Q169; 4Q166),” HUCA 48 (1977): 123–52.


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times and places. A full explanation of this phenomenon is well beyond the limits of this article, but I suggest two possibilities: (1) were these texts obscure to keep their contents from being known to the wrong people? Were they designed to protect the messianic secret, a key aspect of many millenarian movements at a certain stage in their history? (2) Perhaps these texts were obscure because their authors wanted to limit the risk they were taking in “going out on a limb” and making specific claims about the coming messianic times, when everyone knows that such predictions have been made before and disappointed. Whatever the explanation, these texts seemed almost designed from the outset for the layers of interpretation and re-interpretation in response to changing events—sometime over many centuries—that they accumulate.7 If one may mix metaphors, these texts present a moving target, hard to hit and fix to a specific time and place.8 It requires detailed knowledge at the highest level, of the sort Porphyry enjoyed in revealing the time, place, and objectives of the second half of Daniel, to offer an interpretation that will stand the test of time (even if the test is significantly less stringent and the standard is not set by the extra-ordinary achievement of Porphyry, whose interpretation has endured for more than a millennium and a half ).9 Eshel’s contention was that the new information contained in the Dead Sea Scrolls, despite their 7

Perhaps the best known example is Joachim of Fiore (ca. 1135–1202), whose teachings inspired millenarian movements centuries after his life. See M. Reeves and W. Gould, Joachim of Fiore and the Myth of the Eternal Evangel in the Nineteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987). For an earlier detailed example see B. Lewis, “An Apocalyptic Vision of Islamic History,” BSOAS 13 (1950): 308–38. See also H. Eshel, “The Two Historical Layers of Pesher Habbakuk,” in Northern Lights on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Nordic Qumran Network 2003–2006 (ed. A. K. Petersen et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 107–17. 8 Compare the essay by Lewis, cited in the previous note, with G. Stemberger, “Jerusalem in the Early Seventh Century: Hopes and Aspirations of Christians and Jews,” in Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality in Judaism, Christianity and Islam (ed. L. Levine; New York: Continuum, 1999), 260–74. For the texts produced in the era of Antiochus IV see for example, L. L. Grabbe, “The Seventy Weeks Prophecy (Daniel 9:24–27) in Early Jewish Interpretation,” in The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of J. A. Sanders (ed. C. A. Evans and S. Talmon; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 595–611. For an example from the Qumran corpus see also the essay by H. Eshel in the previous note. 9 E. Bickerman, Four Strange Books of the Bible (New York: Schocken, 1967), 127–35.

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obscurity, when properly understood, opened doors that were previously closed and afforded an unequaled opportunity to expand our knowledge of the turbulent years of Maccabean rule and their impact on the Jews. Eshel stood successfully on Porphyry’s shoulders. The detailed discussion in his book opened with a chapter on “The Roots of the Hasmonean Revolt: The Reign of Antiochus IV,” analyzing 4Q248, as it had been explained by Magen Broshi and Esti Eshel (13–28).10 Following their lead, Hanan Eshel argued that this text was composed after the two campaigns of Antiochus IV to Egypt in 169 and 168 B.C.E., but before the decrees of Antiochus IV were promulgated, as it seemed unaware of these momentous events. A key point in the Broshi-E. Eshel interpretation of 4Q248 was their understanding of line 6: ‫]ו[בא למצרים ומכר את‬ ̊ ‫עפרה‬, “[and] he shall come to Egypt and sell its land.” Antiochus IV proclaimed himself king of Egypt, as one can learn from Porphyry and as confirmed by epigraphic finds from Egypt. We also know that Antiochus’ gains from the conquest of Egypt were substantial: according to Polybius (30.26.9), Antiochus IV celebrated his victories with an extravagant festival in Daphne. 4Q248 completes the picture by indicating that one source of the riches acquired by Antiochus IV in Egypt came from selling crown land, his privilege as king of Egypt. Significant confirmation for this way of connecting the diverse pieces of information comes from its ability to explain Dan 11:39. Among the actions of Antiochus IV in Jerusalem “predicted” by the seer was that he would “distribute land for a price” (‫)ואדמה יחלק במחיר‬. This was previously understood as settling cleruchs in Jerusalem and its environs, but this explanation is problematic, since cleruchs “paid” for their land in service, while this land was sold for cash ‫במחיר‬. 4Q248 according to Broshi-E. Eshel established the ways in which Antiochus IV raised money in Egypt, creating a precedent for his later actions in Judea. Daniel 11:39 and its interpretation by Broshi-E. Eshel is an example of what I have elsewhere called an “orphan passage,” a term developed in conversation with Professor Maxine Grossman. That is, Dan 11:39 is a well known text previously not well understood (if at all) that now makes sense in the light of new information or a new conceptual framework in which it can be placed. Discovering such an “orphan passage,” I have 10

M. Broshi and E. Eshel, “The Greek King is Antiochus IV (4QHistorical Text = 4Q248),” JJS 48 (1997): 120–29.


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argued, is a sign that one is “on to something,” that this is an insight worth pursuing and that possesses the potential for further ramifications; this is not some trivial parallel of no great significance.11 It was precisely these further implications of 4Q248 that Hanan Eshel followed up in the balance of the chapter under discussion. Once it was clear that Qumran texts might teach us about events at the time of the Maccabean revolt, he turned to 4Q390, a series of grave accusations against the priests of Jerusalem, set in the context of the prophecy of Jeremiah that the exile would last seventy years ( Jer 25:8–14; 29:4–14), a favorite text for reflection, reinterpretation, and prediction for Jerusalem Jews during the tumultuous years of the reign of Antiochus IV (Dan 9). It is not absolutely certain that the first two columns of 4Q390 as we know them followed each other directly. Against Dimant, Eshel was convinced they did. However, tracing a definite sequential narrative of events based on the “predictions” in 4Q390 is not so easy. Perhaps, if not for the success with 4Q248, Eshel might not have dared. In any case, his analysis has any number of probabilities and alternate possibilities: He thought it probable that sending the Jews a commandment at the time of the return from Babylon (4Q390 1 6) referred to the prophets Haggai and Zechariah. The clause “they shall begin to contend with one another” (4Q390 2 6) alluded to the internecine strife among the priests of Jerusalem, or perhaps the reference may even be to the Maccabean revolt (27). Even the confirmation of Dan 7:25, testifying to the calendar change promulgated by Antiochus IV (“he will think of changing times and laws”), alluded to in 4Q390 1 8, when in the seventh Jubilee after the destruction of the land “they shall forget law, festival, Sabbath, and covenant, and shall violate everything and they shall do evil before me,” was tentative, as a footnote makes clear (25 n. 32): “The author of 4Q390 may have been referring to this event (the calendar change).”12 On the other hand, in Dan 7:25 the initiative for the calendar change was attributed to the king. In 4Q390 11

A. I. Baumgarten, “How Do We Know When We Are On To Something?” in Sects and Sectarianism in Jewish History (ed. S. Stern; IJS Studies in Judaica 12: Leiden: Brill, 2011), 3–19. 12 Emphasis mine. Dating this change to the seventh Jubilee after the exile places it three hundred and forty-three years later. If one dates the exile to 586 B.C.E., then three hundred and forty-three years later is 243 B.C.E., far from the reign of Antiochus IV and the events in Jerusalem in the second century B.C.E.

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1 8, it was the priests who “forget the law, festival, Sabbath and covenant.” Here, Eshel was on more certain grounds: despite the gap between Dan 7:25 and 4Q390, the allusion to the extreme Hellenizers in 4Q390 seems almost self-evident and Eshel’s rhetoric was appropriately more definite (“the author also accuses the Hellenizers,” 27). What mattered most for Eshel in the discussion of 4Q248 and 4Q390, in the end, was a more general point, to which I will return at the end of this essay: in spite of all the difficulties, obscurities, and uncertainties, the Qumran texts could teach scholars something important about events in the Hasmonean era and about the Hasmonean state. Bringing them into dialogue with other sources about those times and places, whether Daniel or Josephus, was not a futile enterprise or a pointless exercise.

Jericho’s Builder The benefit Eshel insisted was to be derived from bringing archaeological finds into the analysis of written sources was already alluded to at the beginning of this article. Not surprisingly, Eshel devoted another chapter of his book to the mutual light the finds on Jericho and the texts about the curse of the builder of Jericho could shed on each other (63–90). The connection between the pesher to Josh 6:26 and the palace built at Jericho by John Hyrcanus now seems obvious. We only wonder how the scholars to whom Eshel first proposed bringing the evidence together might have refused his invitation. However, that was not the case at the time that Eshel first wrote. The pesher to Josh 6:26 appears twice, once in 4Q175 (4QTestimonia) and again in 4Q379 (4QApocryphon of Joshuab). In both, the builder of a “city” was cursed that his two sons will die. Since the biblical Joshua cursed the builder of Jericho that might seem an obvious reason to identify it as the “city.” Yet, at the end of the text, Jerusalem was mentioned. Scholars were therefore divided concerning the identity of the “city” whose builder was cursed. Despite the obvious connection with Jericho, might the “city” nevertheless be Jerusalem? This seemed unlikely, but even if the “city” was Jericho, what death of sons was implicated? One possibility cannot be excluded: the murder of Simon, youngest brother of Judah Maccabee and his two sons, by Simon’s son-in-law, Ptolemy son of Habub, at the fortress of Doq outside Jericho. Eshel rejected that possibility, primarily because Simon had no connection with the building of Doq, an essen-


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tial component of Joshua’s curse, according to which the sons of the builder had to suffer the punishment (75). Inspired by the archaeological evidence of the palace built by Hyrcanus at Jericho, Eshel insisted that Joshua’s curse in these Qumran texts referred to Jericho. Eshel then turned to Josephus’ account(s) of the events at the end of Hyrcanus’ reign. Following the death of Hyrcanus, his son Aristobulus I reigned for one year, 104–103 B.C.E. Aristobulus suspected the loyalty of his brother, Antigonus. The queen and her allies instigated a plot and organized things so that Antigonus was murdered. Aristobulus was supposedly overcome with remorse and died soon after. Once it was clear that Hyrcanus had built a palace at Jericho and two of his two sons had died within a short time of each other, the pieces of the puzzle all fit together. Indeed, building on this conclusion, in the same manner as in so many of his other studies, Eshel identified other specific aspects of 4Q175 and 4Q379 as directed against Hyrcanus and his pretensions. Against the tradition that he was granted the gift of prophecy (among other gifts; War 1.69; Ant. 13.299), the Qumran texts insisted that Hyrcanus was a false prophet. Hyrcanus also conquered regions in Transjordan, according to Josephus (War 1.62–63; Ant. 3.254–258). Yet, for the author of the Qumran texts under discussion (4Q175 24; 4Q379 22 ii 10), this did not make him a redeemer of any sort (again, perhaps as argued by Hyrcanus’ supporters), but rather little more than someone who brought “destruction to all his neighbors.” In sum, as Eshel presented Hyrcanus, he was not a prophet of the sort promised to the Jewish people at Sinai, neither was he the military hero who would fulfill the curse of Balaam against Moab and other ancient enemies, nor was he the perfect priest described in Moses’ blessing of Levi. He was despicable, no more or less than the man who built Jericho, cursed by Joshua with the death of his two sons, as proven by the fate of Antigonus and Aristobulus. By the time Eshel’s analysis was complete, the “payoff ” for the cross fertilization of disciplines—archaeology and scrolls—was tangible and significant.

The Reign of Jannaeus The Second Temple era, the Hasmonean state in particular, is a focus of particular interest for historians writing in the re-born Jewish state, since its founding in 1948. At the same time, for obvious reasons, tendentious

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motives may be especially prominent in the final product of this historical endeavor. It is so tempting to make one’s vision of the independent Jewish past of the Hasmonean state conform to one’s loyalties, hopes, or fears concerning contemporary Israeli reality. It is so easy to slide anachronistically from present to past. At the same time, the experience of living in re-born independence can offer important insights unavailable before the achievement of renewed sovereignty.13 These considerations became particularly important when Eshel came to the reign of Alexander Jannaeus, to which he devoted several chapters in the book. Josephus’ account of the reign of Alexander Jannaeus was filled with criticisms and denunciations of the King, including a rebellion against the King, as part of which the rebels appealed for the assistance of a foreign king. In the end, the rebellion was crushed and the rebels were severely and cruelly punished—eight hundred men were crucified. Since Nicholas of Damascus, a loyal member of the Herodian court was the source of Josephus’ comments, one was entitled to wonder whether an attempt to discredit the Hasmoneans, whom Herod displaced, was the main motivation for the depiction of Jannaeus, which might then be largely discounted as a product of bias and political competition. Indeed, as noted by Eshel, this was the conclusion adopted by Joseph Klausner and Joshua Ephron (117–32). However, Eshel argued, this conclusion was too simplistic. Pesher Nahum, when properly understood, testified to many of these same crucial events. As Eshel’s analysis unfolded, it became clear that connecting the data from Pesher Nahum and Josephus was not such a simple task. Among other things, it required the discovery and publication of the Temple Scroll and its evidence that traitors who informed against their people and who delivered the people up to a foreign nation were to be hanged (live) on a tree and die (11Q19 64:7–9). This would seem to be explicit justification for the crucifixion of the eight hundred men. Might this suggest that the author of Pesher Nahum was a supporter of Jannaeus and that he agreed with the punishment of crucifixion, perhaps the most horrible and terrifying method ever devised by human imagination to execute criminals—a slow death that was not certain until the

13

See A. I. Baumgarten, J. Cohen, and E. Mendelsohn, eds., Remembering and Forgetting: Israeli Historians Look at the Jewish Past (Jerusalem: The Israel Historical Society, 2009) [Hebrew].


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victim was devoured by the birds and dogs.14 Eshel argued that this was not the case, since turning the author of Pesher Nahum into a supporter of Jannaeus sat awkwardly with the fact that Jannaeus was dubbed the “lion of wrath” in Pesher Nahum. Furthermore, Deut 21:22–23 explicitly forbids leaving the body of a hanged criminal out overnight, a virtual necessity in cases of crucifixion. The irony in Eshel’s argument should not be missed, even if it is left implicit. His discussion began with the suspicion that Josephus (or his principal source) was biased against the Hasmoneans and therefore might not be believable. In the end, however, Eshel argued for the veracity of the information in Josephus on the basis of Qumran sources, equally biased against the Hasmoneans, and against Jannaeus in particular (the “lion of wrath”), even if their bias did not derive from the same motives as that of Josephus and his source. What might appear at first sight as a double reason to doubt that Alexander Jannaeus faced the difficulties narrated in Josephus and Pesher Nahum or performed the atrocities reported there— our principal evidence coming from two hostile sources that both hated Jannaeus—turned out to be proof for what Jannaeus did. These sources confirmed each other on the details of what took place during his reign.

The Reliability of Josephus This point was thematized in the concluding chapter of the book, called an “Afterword,” but in my opinion its most important part (181–90). Josephus, as Eshel conceded, offered a disconcerting portrait of the Hasmonean state, as a hotbed of dysfunctional administration, marred almost constantly by rebellion and civil war. A few examples offered by Eshel suffice. John Hyrcanus despised his son Jannaeus and sent him away from Jerusalem to grow up in the Galilee. Josephus stressed that Hyrcanus died without ever having seen his son. At the end of the dynasty, Mattathias 14

See J. D. Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1994), 124–27, especially the concluding remark, 127: “Roman crucifixion was state terrorism . . . its function was to deter resistance and revolt. . . . The body was usually left on the cross to be consumed eventually by the wild beasts. No wonder we have found only one body from all those thousands crucified around Jerusalem in that single century. Remember those dogs. And if you seek the heart of darkness, follow the dogs.”

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Antigonus bit off the ear of his uncle Hyrcanus II, in order to disqualify the latter from the priesthood. When one remembers the hostile origin of so much of Josephus’ information—Nicolas of Damascus—Klausner and Ephron (noted above) seem to have a convincing case that Josephus’ testimony should be severely discounted if not entirely discarded. Isn’t that the way historians are regularly (and usually properly) taught to deal with evidence of that sort? Yet, in the final chapter Eshel called the reader’s attention to the fact that virtually the entire book (not just the chapter on Jannaeus summarized above) was based on confronting the Qumran sources with Josephus: one goal of this book has been to collect the historical allusions pertaining to the political history of the Hasmonean period as documented in the Dead Sea Scrolls in order to see if the details mentioned in Josephus’ accounts can be verified. (182) Eshel then summarized the individual insights into the political history of the period that could be derived from careful reading of Josephus in light of the scrolls and vice versa. In theory, as noted above, Eshel’s endeavor to bring the testimony of Josephus and the scrolls into dialogue with each other should have been doomed to failure, since, as Eshel himself emphasized repeatedly, the Qumran sources were no less regularly hostile to the Hasmonean dynasty than Josephus and his imputed source, Nicholas of Damascus. Nicholas may have criticized the Hasmoneans in the service of Herod, who replaced the Hasmoneans, while the Qumran sectarians had completely different reasons: they were disappointed with the results of the Hasmonean revolt, the moral, social, and religious failures of the leadership. They escaped to the desert to “prepare the way for the Lord,” the ultimate redemption which would correct all these faults at the end of days, which they believed was close at hand. However, even if the reasons for the critique of the Hasmoneans were not the same, what could one set of unfavorable sources teach us about another equally critical? Yet, for Eshel, as he understood the consequences of his research, Josephus was vindicated. It is a commonplace among Israeli academics that Josephus was an accurate and reliable field guide to the geography and archaeology of the Land of Israel. However, it is equally a commonplace that Josephus was a problematic and tendentious historian, whose testimony was often suspect, biased in innumerable directions, dependent on questionable or hostile sources, and therefore to be regarded with suspicion and often dismissed.


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Hanan Eshel, both an archaeologist and a historian, went against this trend. Like many others, he appreciated Josephus from an archaeologist’s point of view, but his special contribution was his determination to demonstrate Josephus’ merits as a historian. From this perspective one can gain a real sense of Eshel’s achievement in The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State. Not only did he offer a series of explications of specific points where Josephus and the scrolls shed light on each other, but he also showed that Josephus and the scrolls were almost absolutely dependent on each other: the scrolls enriched what we could know from Josephus and vice versa. This was not a circular argument because, on the other side of the coin, without Josephus the allusions in the scrolls made little or no sense. Thus, for example, it was practically impossible to understand the deaths at the time of Marcus Aemilius Scaurus (4Q333), since they were not mentioned by Josephus (138–44, 189). In sum, Eshel’s achievement of integration of historical knowledge from all possible sources, despite their biases, was of a level worthy of Louis Robert.15

Archaeology of Qumran and the Scrolls Although this article has focused on The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State, it would be wrong to survey Hanan Eshel’s work as a historian of the Jews without discussion of his contributions to the archaeology of Qumran and its connection to the scrolls, even if this topic is not prominent in The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State. As opposed to the stranger views of Qumran origins that sometimes seem to proliferate like mushrooms after rain, Hanan Eshel was firmly convinced of the unbreakable connection between site, scrolls, and sect. That is, he was certain that 15

On the unending (i.e. long unresolved) debate concerning the reliability of Lucian of Samosata’s extremely unfavorable description of Alexander of Abonoteichos, dubbed by Lucian “Alexander the False Prophet,” see the summary in J. Francis, Subversive Virtue: Asceticism and Authority in the Second-Century Pagan World (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995), 54–55 nn. 3–5. But contrast with L. Robert, “Lucien et son temps,” in A travers l’Asie mineure: Poètes et prosateurs, monnaies grecque, voyageurs et géographie (Athènes: École française, 1980), 393–421, where at least some of the uncertainties were removed.

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the site at Qumran was inhabited by the group that deposited the scrolls in the surrounding caves, Cave 4 in particular, and that group was the sect connected in some important way with the group described by Philo, Josephus, and Pliny as the Essenes. As a token of his never-ending interest in the archaeology of Qumran, a plan is now in progress to develop a walk that will connect some of the caves with the site at Qumran and name that walk in Hanan Eshel’s memory. From among his contributions to the topic of the archaeology of Qumran and the scrolls, I elect to focus on the article on the Qumran cemetery, written in collaboration with Magen Broshi, Richard Freund, and Brian Schultz.16 The challenge in this case was to describe the cemetery in all its detail, determine which graves were ancient, which not, identify the sex of the ancient burials, and then connect the results of this analysis with what was known of the Qumran sect based on its texts. As Hanan Eshel told me, Roland de Vaux (1903–1971) supposedly regularly challenged young scholars interested in Qumran archaeology by telling them to go count the graves in the cemetery to the east of the site and then report the results to him.17 This would test the accuracy of their work and their devotion to its details. With the help of modern technology, Hanan Eshel and his colleagues undertook to offer a definitive answer to this question. The descriptions of previous scholars were carefully analyzed and collated, then the graves were meticulously mapped and characterized, with special attention to those oriented North-South (999 graves) and those oriented East-West (54 graves). The authors accepted the conclusions of Joe Zias that the latter were Bedouin burials,18 but insisted that the North-South oriented graves were from the Second Temple period, directly associated with the adjacent site, graves of members of the sectarian community who lived there, or whose remains may have been brought there for burial (see the discussion of the zinc coffin, 143–47).

16

H. Eshel, M. Broshi, R. Freund, and B. Schultz, “New Data on the Cemetery East of Khirbet Qumran,” DSD 9 (2002): 135–65. Page references in parentheses in this section of the article are to the Eshel-Broshi-Freund-Schultz paper. See now also B. Schultz, “The Qumran Cemetery: Fifty Years of Research,” DSD 13 (2006): 194–228. 17 See Schultz, “Qumran Cemetery,” 195, also quoting Hanan Eshel. 18 J. A. Zias, “The Cemeteries of Qumran and Celibacy: Confusion Laid to Rest?” DSD 7 (2000): 220–53.


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The analysis of the building the authors dubbed “The Mourning Enclosure,” at the eastern edge of the “Middle Finger” of the cemetery demonstrated both the admirable caution of the excavators as well as the integrative interpretation of the finds. Caution was expressed in asserting the significance of the presence of the bones of at least two women in burial 1000, with one tooth dated by Carbon 14 testing to the Second Temple era. Nevertheless, the authors concluded: While the study of these bones demonstrates that there were indeed women burials in the Qumran cemetery dating to the second temple period, it neither invalidates nor even weakens Zias’s arguments for dating many of the women burials to a later period. Furthermore, the most unusual characteristics of burial 1000 only add to the difficulty of understanding this issue. (151 n. 59)19 The integrative interpretation of finds was evident in the combination of the remains of the “Mourning Enclosure” in the eastern part of the cemetery with what is known of Essene prayer directed to the East, according to Josephus (War 2.128), and with the interest in the sun in Qumran texts.20 The authors suggested that the “Mourning Enclosure” may have been located in the East, near the tombs of the most important members of the group. Site, sect, and scrolls were thus all brought together to illuminate one important new find (147–54).

Conclusion—On a Personal and Religious Note This essay has been wholly professional, focusing on Hanan Eshel’s contributions as a historian, but I feel the obligation to close on a personal and

19

For my own evaluation of Zias’s conclusion that removing the Bedouin burials from the picture proves that Pliny was correct in describing Qumran as a male celibate community, see A. I. Baumgarten, “Who Cares and Why Does it Matter? Qumran and the Essenes Once Again,” DSD 11 (2004): 179–85. Cf. M. Broshi, “Essenes at Qumran? A Rejoinder to Albert Baumgarten,” DSD 14 (2007): 29–31. This is not the proper place for a full-scale reply to Broshi’s criticisms; see, however, Baumgarten, “How Do We Know When We Are On To Something?” 11, n. 19. 20 See M. Smith, “Helios in Palestine,” EI 16 (1982): 199–214.

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religious note. Hanan Eshel’s generosity as a scholar was almost legendary.21 But this generosity took another form and was never truer than in the last weeks of his life, even though it was only extended to the circle of his friends and colleagues in Jerusalem. As a student in New York, I studied with the philosopher and educator Ernst Akiba Simon (1899–1988). In class, Simon once talked about the greatest and most important mitzvah he had ever fulfilled: the prayer service he organized at the home of Franz Rosenzweig (1886–1929) that took place over seven years, when Rosenzweig was suffering from ALS.22 As Simon told the story, when he died and had to appear before the court on high and defend his life, the first thing he would mention in his favor was the minyan at Rosenzweig’s. For the last four weeks or so of Hanan Eshel’s life, his Jerusalem based friends maintained a Friday night prayer service at his home. The service involved extensive singing of virtually every word in the prayer book, some repeated over and over again, but this was exactly what Hanan Eshel wanted and enjoyed. The participants were happy to help give him this small pleasure, this bit of relief, as he endured his terminal struggle. And yet, even though the intentions were clearly one way, Hanan Eshel, generous as he was, also gave the participants something. When, one day, we may join him on high and appear ourselves before the heavenly court and need to defend our lives, we will be able to say in our favor that one good thing we did was to be part of the service at Hanan Eshel’s house during the last weeks of his life. ‫יהי זכרו ברוך‬.23

21

See E. Chazon, “Hanan Eshel (1958–2010) In Memoriam,” JQR 100 (2010): 698–703. 22 On the minyan at Rosenzweig’s home see Rosenzweig’s letters to Joseph Prager, one of October 2, 1922, the second apparently undated, as cited in N. Glatzer, Franz Rosenzweig: His Life and Thought (2d ed.; Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1998), 120–21. 23 I thank Dr Elisheva Baumgarten and Dr Shani Tzoref for helpful comments on an early draft of this paper. Dr Mladen Popović, Director of the Qumran Institute at the University of Groningen, and one of the editors of this journal, has been most encouraging and supportive in the process of bringing this article to completion.


brill.nl/dsd

Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls John J. Collins Yale University [email protected]

Abstract The authors of the pesharim clearly had traditions available to them, whether oral or written, that we do not now have in textual form. Figures like the “Man of the Lie” and “Wicked Priest” can not be dismissed as fictional, even if their identities are obscure. While the ostensibly historical allusions in the scrolls are always tendentious, they do at least permit us to infer the general context in which the sect developed. It is clear that conflict over the interpretation of the Torah was the primary reason for the formation of the sect. The conflict with the Wicked Priest should be located late in the Teacher’s career. A plausible occasion for that conflict is provided by the decision of Alexandra Salome and her high priest, Hyrcanus II, to follow the teachings of the Pharisees, after the death of Alexander Jannaeus. Keywords History; Damascus Document; Hodayot; pesharim; Teacher of Righteousness; Wicked Priest; Hyrcanus II

No scholar of the Dead Sea Scrolls in this generation was more committed to the quest for historical reality than Hanan Eshel. While his contributions to the field have been tragically cut short,1 we are fortunate that he left us a concise summary of the historical data he distilled from the scrolls, 1

Hanan had undertaken to write the survey of Judean history in the Hellenistic and early Roman periods for the Dictionary of Early Judaism (ed. J. J. Collins and D. Harlow; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010) and an article on the history of the sectarian movement for the Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) but had to withdraw from both assignments. He did, however, contribute four articles to the Dictionary, and was a generous adviser to both projects. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602403

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J. J. Collins / Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 295–315

published less than two years before his death.2 He was well aware of the difficulty of historical reconstruction. Only ten of approximately nine hundred scrolls mention known historical figures of the Hellenistic and early Roman periods by name.3 As a result, most of his book is concerned with analyzing elliptic references in fragmentary texts, and the results are inevitably controversial. While Hanan made many important contributions in identifying historical allusions, his most enduring legacy may lie in the questions he raised and his insistence on the importance of historical study for understanding the scrolls. The scrolls contain no historical narratives that could be compared to the books of Maccabees or the writings of Josephus. As George Brooke has noted: it is not that the Qumran library is bereft of historical works and certainly it is not lacking in various historical perspectives, but that the kind of sequential narration of events such as is found in the books of Kings and Chronicles and also in 1 and 2 Maccabees does not seem to be the way that historiography is represented in the collection.4 The Damascus Document uses history for didactic purposes, to construct the identity of the movement, but its use of history is allusive.5 Some texts such as 11QMelchizedek entail sweeping periodization of all of history.6 There are a few annalistic texts (4Q322a, 4Q331–333, 4Q468e–f, 4Q578),7 but they are extremely fragmentary. History is sometimes pre2

H. Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2008). 3 Ibid., 3. For lists of historical references in the scrolls see M. O. Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness and the Floruit of his Movement,” JBL 122 (2003): 53–87 (67–81); G. Vermes, “Historiographical Elements in the Qumran Writings: A Synopsis of the Textual Evidence,” JJS 58 (2007): 121–39 (134–48). Vermes’s article is mainly concerned with the designations “Kittim” and “Yawan.” 4 G. J. Brooke, “Types of Historiography in the Qumran Scrolls,” in Ancient and Modern Scriptural Historiography (ed. G. J. Brooke and T. Römer; Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 211–30 (211). 5 A. I. Baumgarten, “The Perception of the Past in the Damascus Document,” in The Damascus Document: A Centennial of Discovery (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 1–15. 6 Brooke, “Types of Historiography,” 220–21. Brooke identifies several other types of historiography, including “liturgical history,” and “listed history.” 7 A. Lange and U. Mittmann-Richert, DJD 39:115–64 (120): “Only a few


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sented in the guise of ex eventu prophecy (e.g. 4Q243–244, 4Q245, 4Q248, 4Q390), but it is elliptic and schematic. None of these texts provides a clear narrative of historical events pertaining to the history of the sectarian movement. Consequently, scholars who want to reconstruct that history have to rely on oblique references in works that are not constructed as historical narratives. This task is neither impossible nor invalid, but it presents considerable difficulties, and these have often been underrated. Ever since the discovery of the scrolls, scholars have been intrigued by the veiled allusions to historical figures. These allusions are found primarily in the Damascus Document and in the pesharim, but there has also been a noteworthy attempt to distill history from the “Teacher Hymns” in the Hodayot. In general, however, the trend in recent scholarship has been to refrain from historical identification, and to concentrate on the literary character of the works in question. In this respect, the work of Hanan Eshel is atypical of the current field, as also is the work of Michael Wise, who has presented an important alternative to Eshel’s approach but is no less concerned with historical realism.8 The turning away from positivistic historical search is mainly due to literary considerations. As Joseph Angel puts it in a recent monograph: Historical conclusions based on literary works so forcefully controlled by the stereotypical motifs and stock phrases of scriptural sources are, in the words of George Brooke, ‘at best somewhat forced, at worst merely arbitrary.’9 fragments were found that appear to recall history by mentioning historical personae and their deeds by name (e.g. 4Q332–333, 4Q468e).” 8 M. O. Wise, The First Messiah (San Francisco: Harper, 1999); idem, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 53–87; idem, “The Origins and History of the Teacher’s Movement,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Lim and Collins), 92–122. Also exceptional, but relying on older scholarship, is J. H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2002). 9 J. L. Angel, Otherworldly and Eschatological Priesthood in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 4, citing G. J. Brooke, “The Pesharim and the Origin of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (ed. M. O. Wise et al.; New York: The New York Academy of Sciences, 1994), 339–52 (348). Compare the remarks of M. A. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 16–18, on the problems of “naïve historicism.”

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Philip Davies suggested that the authors of the pesharim may have inferred historical events not only from the biblical text but also from the Hodayot.10 Maxine Grossman further complicated the topic by arguing for a “new historiography,” that is not concerned with the original meaning. The meaning of texts depends on how they are interpreted, and interpretations can change over time.11 While her focus is different, Grossman shares with scholars like Brooke and Davies, the insistence that the scrolls “are, themselves, literary texts presenting ideological constructions of history and not simple statements of fact.”12 Most recently, Davies has proposed that the scrolls be viewed through the lens of “collective memory,” a category formulated by Maurice Halbwachs some thirty years ago,13 and popularized in biblical and ancient Near Eastern studies by Jan Assmann’s Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism.14 Such history “is not to be understood in the sense of a reliable recollection, but as a shared understanding of the past that serves to create or sustain a group identity.”15 Davies then attempts to trace the way this cultural memory developed, or the “mnemohistory” of the sect. The appreciation of the literary and ideological character of the texts is salutary and necessary. Grossman has certainly expanded the scope of historical interest in the scrolls in interesting ways. But like Hanan Eshel, I contend that the search for historical allusions in the scrolls is still legitimate and even necessary, if we are to understand the texts in their historical context. To say that this search has often been carried out in a naïve 10

P. R. Davies, “History and Hagiography,” in Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 87–106 (91). See now also idem, “What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Context (ed. C. Hempel; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 31–46 (41–42). Davies also suggests that the figure of the Wicked Priest was inferred from 4QMMT. 11 M. L. Grossman, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (Leiden: Brill, 2002), ix. 12 Ibid., x. 13 M. Halbwachs, The Collective Memory (New York: Harper Colophon, 1980); idem, On Collective Memory (ed. and trans. L. A. Coser; Chicago: University of Chicago, 1992). 14 J. Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997). See further Davies, “What History,” 32–34. 15 Davies, “What History,” 32–33.


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manner is not to say that it cannot be carried out responsibly at all. Even Davies allows that “a reconstruction of cultural memory permits some deductions about ‘real’ history,” although his deductions are minimalist.16 In fact, the problems presented by our different sources vary with their genre. In no case do the texts yield a clear historical narrative, but they do yield clues of various sorts as to their historical context. I will begin with the Damascus Document, which has often served as the starting point for reconstructions of sectarian history, and then proceed to the Hodayot and the pesharim.17

The Damascus Document The first column of the Damascus Document is arguably as close to an historical narrative as any passage in the Dead Sea Scrolls. It, or rather the longer section CD 1:1–6:7, has been compared to the “antecedent history” of the covenant formulary, or of ancient Near Eastern treaties.18 On a surface reading it appears to give a chronology for the beginning of the sectarian movement, three hundred and ninety years after the fall of Jerusalem to Nebuchadnezzar, followed twenty years later by the advent of the Teacher of Righteousness. But this is not historiography in the modern, critical sense. The problem is not just that it is “mnemohistory,” or a tendentious reconstruction of history, but rather that it is highly schematized and formulated with a tissue of biblical allusions. All scholars recognize that the figure of three hundred and ninety years is symbolic—it is the time allotted for the punishment of Israel in Ezek 4:5. It may well be related to the “seventy weeks of years” (= four hundred and ninety years) of Dan 9.19 In any case, it cannot be taken as a realistic 16

Ibid., 45. My concern here is with the derivation of historical information from literary texts. For a discussion of the archeological evidence, see my book, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010), 166–208. 18 P. R. Davies, The Damascus Covenant: An Interpretation of the “Damascus Document” (Sheffield: JSOT, 1983), 51. 19 So F. F. Bruce, Biblical Exegesis in the Qumran Texts (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1959), 59–62. If one adds the twenty years of wandering, allows forty years for the career of the Teacher, the time predicted for the eschaton (forty years 17

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calculation of the duration from the fall of Jerusalem to the rise of the sect, any more than Daniel’s four hundred and ninety years, which we know to be inaccurate. Nonetheless, even scholars who recognize that the number is symbolic, have continued to use it as a rough chronological indicator. Hanan Eshel is typical in this regard. Even though he declares, rightly, that “the number should not be understood as an exact historical reckoning,” and moreover that “since the Judaeans of the Second Temple period were not aware that the Persian period had lasted more than two hundred years . . . the Qumranites could not have accurately calculated the time that had elapsed from the destruction of the First Temple . . .,” he concludes blithely that “in any case, the group probably came into being before the Hasmonean revolt, most likely about the year 170 B.C.E.”20 He further claims that the reference to three hundred and ninety years is “one of the three major arguments for the identification of the Wicked Priest with Jonathan Maccabee.”21 But as he himself had shown cogently, the figure cannot be taken literally, and it is very unlikely that the sectarians knew (or cared) how many years had passed since the exile.22 The number cannot be salvaged by appeal to the Hellenistic Jewish historian, Demetrius the Chronographer, who calculated that the time from the fall of Jerusalem to the reign of Ptolemy IV (221–204 B.C.E.) was three hundred and thirtyeight years and three months.23 On this reckoning, three hundred and after the Teacher’s death, CD 20:14) would bring the total to four hundred and ninety years. See further Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State, 57 n. 76; Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community, 92. 20 Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State, 31. 21 Ibid., 43 n. 35. 22 The latter point has also been made by G. Vermes, “Eschatological World View in the Scrolls and in the New Testament,” in Emanuel: Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (ed. S. M. Paul et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 479–94 (482 n. 4). 23 Demetrius, fragment 6, from Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.21.141.1–2. See C. R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors, Volume 1: Historians (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1983), 78–79. The appeal to Demetrius was made by H. Stegemann, “The Qumran Essenes—Local Members of the Main Jewish Union in Late Second Temple Times,” in The Madrid Qumran Congress (ed. J. Trebolle Barrera and L. Vegas Montaner; 2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1992) 1:83–166 (141–42); idem, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998), 123, and has been endorsed by several scholars.


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ninety years after the fall of Jerusalem would be 169 B.C.E. But there is absolutely no reason to believe that the author of CD 1 was acquainted with Demetrius, or that the latter’s calculations were known in Judea. The appeal to Demetrius only becomes credible if we have prior reason to believe that the origin of the sect should be sought in the Maccabean era, and in fact we do not. We can probably infer from CD 1 that a considerable time had elapsed since the exile, and that the movement was in existence for some years before the advent of the Teacher, but cannot infer even approximate dates for the rise of the movement. CD 1 provides one other piece of possible historical information. We are told that around the time of the advent of the Teacher, “a man of mockery arose who sprinkled upon Israel waters of falsehood and led them astray.”24 These people “sought smooth things” (‫ ;דרשי בחלקות‬CD 1:18). The rival figure appears again in CD 20:14–15, which refers to people who turned back with “the Man of the Lie.” Hartmut Stegemann argued that the latter figure was a leader within the sectarian movement, who refused to accept the authority of the Teacher, and led a splinter group that became the Pharisees.25 (The reference to “smooth things,” ‫חלקות‬, is often taken as a pun on the Pharisaic halakah).26 Jerome Murphy-O’Connor suggested that he was the leader of “non-Qumran Essenism,” which refused to follow the Teacher into the desert.27 But in fact all we can reasonably infer from CD is that he was a rival teacher, and that some erstwhile followers of the Teacher of Righteousness defected to him. His association with the Pharisees is plausible, even if not provable. He was evidently contemporary with the Teacher, at the formative stage of the latter’s movement.

24

CD 1:14–15. Translation from J. M. Baumgarten and D. R. Schwartz, “Damascus Document,” PTSDSSP 2:12–79 (13). 25 H. Stegemann, Die Entstehung der Qumran Gemeinde (Bonn: published privately, 1971), 227–28; S. Hultgren, From the Qumran Community to the Covenant of the Community (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 307, regards him as a protoPharisee, but not as the founder of Pharisaism. 26 See e.g. A. I. Baumgarten, “Seekers after Smooth Things,” EDSS 2:857–59; J. C. VanderKam, “Those Who Look for Smooth Things, Pharisees and the Oral Law,” in Emanuel (ed. Paul et al.), 465–77. 27 J. Murphy-O’Connor, “The Essenes and Their History,” RB 81 (1974): 215– 44 (235); idem, “Judah the Essene and the Teacher of Righteousness,” RevQ 10/40 (1981): 579–86.

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Davies makes much of the fact that CD 20:11 speaks of people who “turned away with the Men of Mockery” (plural) while CD 20:15 and CD 1:14 speak of a singular “Man of the Lie,” or “Man of Mockery.”28 He suggests that there is a development from “the ideological, essentially halakic conflict of ‘Israels’ ” remembered at an earlier stage to a conflict of personalities. But there is no good literary reason to say that CD 20:11 and CD 20:15 reflect different stages of communal memory. The Man of the Lie was the leader of the Men of Mockery. The author is simply varying his way of referring to them. The Man of the Lie is as likely to be historical as the Teacher.29 One other passage from CD has been controversial in regard to the history of the movement. CD 6:7 refers to a figure called “the Interpreter of the Torah” who is clearly in the past, but the passage goes on to refer to one who will teach righteousness in the end of days. Davies has argued repeatedly that this passage comes from a time before the advent of the historical Teacher of Righteousness, and that the Interpreter was the founder of the “parent community.”30 Then the historical Teacher was identified as the one who would teach righteousness at the end of days, and he eclipsed the Interpreter in the memory of the community. I have never found this interpretation persuasive. As CD now stands, it refers both to a Teacher who was already dead when the document was finally redacted and to “one who will teach righteousness at the end of days.” (In the early days of scrolls scholarship, there was some rather wild speculation about the resurrection of the Teacher).31 It also refers to the Interpreter of the Law as an eschatological figure, the “star” of Balaam’s oracle, in CD 7:18. The Interpreter is also a figure who will appear in the end of days in the Florilegium 28

Davies, “What History,” 37–38. Davies also suggests that the “Israel” the mocker led astray was the original sectarian movement, but this seems gratuitous. 29 Davies allows that the historicity of the Teacher is overwhelmingly probable (“What History,” 45), but is not sure whether the Scoffer represents an historical individual. 30 Davies, The Damascus Covenant, 124; idem, “The Teacher of Righteousness at the End of Days,” RevQ 13/49–52 (1988): 313–17; idem, “What History,” 36. 31 A. Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran (translated by G. Vermes; Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith, 1973), 121. See the rebuttal by J. Carmignac, “Le retour du docteur de Justice à la fin des jours?” RevQ 1/2 (1958): 235–48.


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(4Q174 1–2 i 11–12).32 In light of this, it seems easier to suppose that “Teacher of Righteousness” and “Interpreter of the Law” are interchangeable titles, and that they can refer both to historical and to eschatological figures. The Interpreter in CD 6:7, then, is most probably the figure elsewhere known as the Teacher. At the least, this is surely how the text would have been read in the Teacher’s community, and it is not apparent that it need ever have been read otherwise.33 The attempt to reconstruct a “preTeacher” stratum in the Damascus Document is dubious at best.34 Our historical gleanings from this admittedly partial review of the Damascus Document are modest, but they are not without significance. It is apparent that the movement of the New Covenant had its origin in disputes over the correct interpretation of the Torah. The figures called Teacher of Righteousness/Interpreter of the Law and Man of the Lie had prominent roles in these disputes. The Document, however, gives us no clue as to their specific identity, or to the specific time at which they lived. In light of the fragments of the Damascus Document found at Qumran, they cannot have lived later than the middle of the first century B.C.E., but the terminus a quo is an open question.35 But we should also notice what the Damascus Document does not say. There is nothing to suggest that a dispute over the high priesthood played any part in the origin of the sect. There is no mention of a Wicked Priest. However we explain the latter fact, the silence of the Damascus Document 32

The fact that the Interpreter appears both as a past and as a future figure undercuts the objection that nowhere else is an eschatological counterpart to the Teacher implied (Davies, “The Teacher of Righteousness at the End of Days,” 313; Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 45). 33 Davies’s interpretation of CD 6 was refuted already by M. Knibb, “The Teacher of Righteousness—A Messianic Title?” in A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History (ed. P. R. Davies and R. T. White; Sheffield: JSOT, 1990), 51–65. Cf. J. J. Collins, “Teacher and Messiah? The One Who Will Teach Righteousness at the End of Days,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant (ed. E. Ulrich and J. C. VanderKam; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame, 1994), 193–210 (194); Angel, Otherworldly and Eschatological Priesthood, 191–93. 34 Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 38–51, relies on Davies for his characterization of the “Formative Sectarian Period,” and more generally for his developmental understanding of the terminology of the scrolls. 35 The earliest of these fragments dates to “the first half or middle of the first century BCE.” See Baumgarten and Schwartz, “Damascus Document,” 1.

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on the question of high priestly succession should cast some doubt on the popular theory that this issue was at the root of the genesis of the sect.36 If we are to look for a plausible setting for the Teacher, the main clue provided by the Damascus Document is that it was a time when there were vehement disputes over halakic interpretation.

The Hodayot In his article on the origins and history of the Teacher’s movement for the Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Michael Wise takes as his basis not the Damascus Document or the pesharim but the so-called “Teacher Hymns” in the Hodayot (1QHa 9:1–18:14).37 His argument is that “the genesis of the movement would most reasonably be sought in the genuine writings of the founder, the Teacher of Righteousness, if such are available.”38 Wise argues that the “Teacher Hymns” are such writings.39 The speaker in these hymns is a figure of great verbal power, who makes claims to divine inspiration and unique authority. Wise argues that it is inconceivable that there were two such figures within a short time in the same community.40 I find this claim compelling, but it is far from universally accepted, and it is ultimately unprovable.41 Accordingly, I do not

36 See the overview of scholarship in J. C. VanderKam, “Identity and History of the Community,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (ed. P. W. Flint and J. C. VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 487–533. 37 M. O. Wise, “The Origins and History of the Teacher’s Movement,” in The Oxford Handbook (ed. Lim and Collins), 92–122. 38 Ibid., 103. 39 Wise accepts and builds on the work of M. Douglas, “Power and Praise in the Hodayot: A Literary Critical Study of 1QH 9:1–18:14” (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1998) and idem, “The Teacher Hymn Hypothesis Revisited: New Data for an Old Crux,” DSD 6 (1999): 239–66. 40 So already G. Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963), 176. 41 See the sophisticated discussion of the authorship of the “Teacher Hymns” by C. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 287–300. Newsom grants that the Teacher hypothesis is one plausible explanation of the evidence, but favors the alternative view that these hymns should be associated with an institutional role held by successive leaders.


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think the Hodayot can provide as sound a foundation for historical research as Wise thinks.42 Nonetheless, his reading of the “Teacher Hymns” is illuminating. He rightly observes that “the question of when the movement arose is closely intertwined with the reason why it did. The heart of the matter was apparently a new interpretation of biblical and ritual law that the Teacher promulgated.”43 This observation remains significant even if the speaker in these hymns should prove to be an ideal sectarian persona, in the manner suggested by Carol Newsom,44 rather than the historical Teacher. Wise has no difficulty in assembling a range of citations from the Hodayot that show that the interpretation of the Law was the point at issue between the speaker of the “Teacher Hymns” and his opponents, for example, “They plot destruction against me, wishing to coerce me into exchanging your law which you spoke so audibly within my mind for accommodation (lit. “smooth things”) for your people (‫)בחלקות לעמכה‬,” 1QHa 12:11–12. He notes the use of the expression ‫ דורשי חלקות‬for the opponents, and the apparent association of this phrase with the Pharisees in the pesharim. Wise takes seriously the references to exile in the Hodayot, and construes this as a political punishment imposed on the Teacher. I am not sure that the poetic language of the Hodayot can be pressed in this way. But essentially Wise’s reading of the “Teacher Hymns” confirms the findings from the Damascus Document that the main point at issue was halakic interpretation of the Torah. The Hodayot in themselves do not give any clear indication of the time at which these disputes took place.

The Pesharim The Teacher, Man of the Lie, and Seekers after Smooth Things all reappear in the pesharim. While it is universally agreed that “the pesharim are not history in the normal sense of the word,”45 and that it is not their primary purpose to 42 Wise is on firmer methodological ground, in my view, in his earlier article, when he takes as his starting point the recognizable historical allusions in the scrolls. See Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 65–81. 43 Wise, “The Origins and History,” 105. 44 Above, n. 41. 45 J. Jokiranta, “Pesharim: A Mirror of Self-Understanding,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library: The Perception of the Contemporary by Means of

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convey historical information, they do nonetheless contain historical references.46 The pesharim are written to assure the faithful that their vindication is guaranteed by prophecy, and that prophecy is being fulfilled in their time. In order to show that prophecy is being fulfilled they refer to certain historical events that have already taken place, and this provides assurance that the prophecies are also reliable with regard to things that have not yet come to pass. In this regard, the logic of the pesharim resembles that of ex eventu prophecies in apocalypses. It requires that they refer to some actual events that were known to the intended readers. Fictional characters and events would provide no evidence of the reliability of prophecy.47 Moreover, the pesharim do not construct a full narrative of the events to which they allude. Rather, they allude to isolated events as the biblical text offers occasion. In order to do this they have to rely on tradition, whether oral or written, and in many cases that tradition is no longer available to us. The use of history in the pesharim is most clearly evident in Pesher Nahum, which explicitly mentions “Deme]trius King of Greece,” who sought to enter Jerusalem on the advice of the “Seekers after Smooth Things.”48 There follows a statement that “[Jerusalem was not given] into the hand of the kings of Greece from Antiochus to the rise of the rulers of the Kittim, but afterwards it will be trampled” (4Q169 3–4 i 3). The reference here is to Demetrius III Akairos (94–88 B.C.E.) who was invited by the Jewish opponents of King Alexander Jannaeus. He defeated Jannaeus in battle but suffered heavy losses and withdrew from Judea.49 The Kittim in the pesharim are universally recognized as the Romans, and the reference to the trampling of Jerusalem may well be ex eventu, written after the

Scriptural Interpretations (ed. K. De Troyer and A. Lange; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005), 23–34 (27). 46 Brooke, “Types of Historiography,” 219, declares, somewhat surprisingly, that “the pesharim may indeed be considered as a type of historiography,” because they identify references to historical events in the prophetic texts. 47 See my articles, “Prophecy and Fulfillment in the Qumran Scrolls,” in Seers, Sibyls and Sages in Hellenistic-Roman Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 301–14; “Prophecy and History in the Pesharim,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (ed. M. Popović; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 209–26. 48 4Q169 3–4 i 1–2. The commentary is on Nah 2:12–14. See S. Berrin, The Pesher Nahum Scroll from Qumran: An Exegetical Study of 4Q169 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 87. 49 Josephus, Ant. 13.372–416.


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conquest of Jerusalem by Pompey. This passage is exceptional in mentioning actual names, but, as Timothy Lim has put it, it gives the reader “the clearest indication that the pesherist was indeed interested in history. His commentary was not just an exegetical and literary play on the words and oracles of the prophet Nahum, but in it was also a concern for contemporary life and events.”50 The following passage in Pesher Nahum is an interpretation of Nah 2:13: “the lion tears enough for his cubs, and strangles prey for his lionesses.” This is interpreted as “concerning the Lion of Wrath, who would strike with his great ones and the men of his counsel” (4Q169 3–4 i 5). Nahum 2:13b, “and it fills up] its cave [with prey], and its den with torn flesh,” is interpreted with reference to “the Lion of Wrath” and “the Seekers after Smooth Things,” and says that “he would hang men up alive.”51 The “Lion of Wrath” is almost universally identified as Alexander Jannaeus, who had eight hundred of his opponents crucified.52 It is generally accepted that the opponents, the “Seekers after Smooth Things,” are the Pharisees.53 While this interpretation is prompted by the violent actions of the lion in the biblical text, it is apparent that the details of the interpretation are not derived exegetically, but allude to historical events known to the reader. In this case, we are fortunate to know what the events were, because they are described in some detail by Josephus.54 The authors of the pesher did not have Josephus, or any other written historical narrative of these events known to us. But they evidently had a tradition about these events, whether written or oral, that corresponds in some details to the account found 50

T. H. Lim, Pesharim (London: Continuum, 2002), 68–69. Translation from M. P. Horgan, “Nahum Pesher,” PTSDSSP 6B:144–55 (149). 52 Berrin, Pesher Nahum, 104–9. G. L. Doudna, 4Q Pesher Nahum: A Critical Edition (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 557–73, regards him as a gentile king. The “Lion of Wrath” is also mentioned in 4QpHosb 2 2–4. 53 Admittedly, this is not universally accepted. See P. R. Callaway, The History of the Qumran Community: An Investigation (Sheffield: JSOT, 1988), 164–68; H. Bengtsson, What’s in a Name? A Study of Sobriquets in the Pesharim (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2000), 110–14. M. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 186–91, following Davies, argues that it was originally “an indefinite scripturally-grounded description” which only later became “a definite titular form” (191). He does not discuss the identity of the “specific group” to which the title refers in the pesharim. 54 Ant. 13.379–383. 51

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more than a century later in Josephus. The sectarian community evidently had historical traditions that are not preserved in narrative form in the Dead Sea Scrolls. In contrast to my reasoning here, Davies seems to assume that the authors of the pesharim had no information available to them except what could be inferred, rightly or wrongly, from texts now available to us. So he claims that “there is no evidence of the creation and preservation of a body of tradition, oral or written, about the ‘teacher’ such as gathered about many religious leaders.”55 It is true that we have no narratives about the Teacher, but it would be surprising indeed if not even oral narratives had existed. Indeed, many scholars would claim that the pesharim provide evidence of such traditions. Davies, however, claims that the ostensibly historical references to the Teacher in the pesharim are inferred from “textual clues and nothing else.”56 Specifically he claims that many of the references in Pesher Habakkuk are inferred from the Hodayot, which, he suggests, were read as works of the Teacher just as the biblical psalms were read as works of David.57 It is likely that the language of the pesharim is influenced by the Hodayot at some points, though not to the extent that Davies supposes. (For example, he claims that the “swallowing” of the Teacher by the Wicked Priest in 1QpHab 11:5 “is nothing else than an allusion to the ‘devilish scheming’ (zmmu blyʿl )” of 1QHa 12:10.58 But the obvious source of this language is Hab 1:13: “when the wicked swallows one more righteous than he.”) Whether the pesharim infer historical events or persons from the Hodayot is another matter. The idea that historical events might be inferred from poetic material is not unreasonable in itself. It is arguable that the prose account of Exod 14 is inferred from the Song of the Sea in Exod 15,59 and that the prose account of the death of Sisera in Judg 4 was inferred from the Song of Deborah in Judg 5.60 But in each of these cases the prose 55

Davies, “What History?” 41. Ibid. 57 Davies, “History and Hagiography,” in Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 87–105. 58 Davies, “History and Hagiography,” 95. See Collins, “Prophecy and History,” 222. 59 F. Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973), 123–44. 60 B. Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 76–104. 56


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account produces a clear narrative, however fictional, out of the allusive poetry. The pesharim, in contrast, are almost as allusive as the Hodayot. They are not fully intelligible to us as they stand, since they seem to allude to a fuller narrative which they do not recount. If the authors and original readers of the pesharim had no further stories about the Teacher, but only the allusive language of the Hodayot, the disjointed references in the commentaries would have been as enigmatic to them as they are to us. The Hodayot refer to “scornful liars” (‫ )מליצי כזב‬at 1QHa 10:31 and 12:9–10. These are paralleled with ‫דרשי חלקות‬, seekers after smooth things in 10:31–32, and these are further paralleled with “men of deceit” (‫אנשי‬ ‫ )רמיה‬in 10:15–16. Davies makes three inferences from this usage. First, “the terms do not designate specific groups, but appear as stereotyped terms for undifferentiated, generalized opposition”; second, “there are no individual opponents at all in the Hodayoth,” and third, “the opposition seems to be expressed within a group to which the author once belonged.”61 In the pesharim, some of these terms become sobriquets for specific groups, and the man of the lie is individualized. A similar process must be posited for the Damascus Document.62 “The inevitable conclusion,” writes Davies, “is that H constitutes the original source of the vocabulary. We cannot conclude that H, D and the pesharim are all independent witnesses to real events because H makes no reference to groups or to any individuals . . . Nor can we easily explain why groups in the pesharim should become generalized phrases in 1QH, including the pluralizing of individual terms, while key individuals should disappear in H.”63 None of these conclusions is inevitable. As Davies himself recognizes, the generalized plurals of the Hodayot are “absolutely typical of the biblical Psalms.”64 Their use is a matter of genre, whether they refer to specific groups or not. The generic usage also explains the absence of individual enemies. It cannot be used as evidence that the author of the Hodayot did not have specific individuals or groups in mind, or that these had to be created later by exegetical inference. Neither is it apparent that all the opposition came from within a group to which the author once belonged. Pesher Habakkuk, at least, distinguishes three kinds of traitors (‫)בגדים‬: 61

Davies, “What History?” 40. Davies’s understanding of the development of the terminology underlies Matthew Collins’s developmental view of the use of sobriquets. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 182–207. 63 Davies, “What History?” 42. 64 Ibid. 62

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those associated with the Man of the Lie, who did not accept the authority of the Teacher; traitors to the New Covenant, and traitors at the end of days.65 Of these, only the second category clearly belonged to the same movement as the Teacher. There was some internal dissension, but there was also conflict with people outside the movement. This is also the situation reflected in the Damascus Document. Davies’s boldest suggestion, however, concerns the Wicked Priest. It is indeed noteworthy that this individual is not mentioned at all in either the Hodayot or the Damascus Document. His absence from these texts should already cast doubt on the popular theory that the sect seceded because of the succession of the high priesthood. But this does not mean that he was invented out of whole cloth. As argued already, the ostensibly historical references in the pesharim would not serve any purpose if they did not correspond to a narrative that was already known to the readers. The expression “the wicked priest,” ‫הכוהן הרשע‬, occurs several times in Pesher Habakkuk and once in Pesher Psalms a (4Q171). There is also a reference in 1QpHab 8:16 to “the priest who rebelled.”66 In none of these cases does the underlying biblical text mention a priest, so the inference that the wicked person in question was a priest is not derived exegetically. Neither is there any mention of a priestly adversary in the Hodayot. Davies suggests that the existence of the Wicked Priest was inferred from 4QMMT, which has often been read by modern scholars as a letter from the Teacher to the high priest of the day.67 But 4QMMT does not refer to the addressee as a priest—the idea that he was in fact a high priest is inferred from the phrase “the welfare of your people” (Composite Text, C 27).68 Neither is there any indication that the addressee of 4QMMT was wicked. On the contrary, he is told “we have seen (that) you have wisdom and knowledge of the Torah” (Composite Text C 27–28). It is hard to see how anyone could infer from this text that the recipient was a “Wicked Priest,” unless there was also a tradition that the high priest had rejected the overture. Some scholars have indeed suggested that such a tradition is reflected in 4QpPsa 3–10 iv 8–9, which says that the Wicked Priest tried to kill the Teacher “and the Torah that he sent to him,”69 and this may well be correct. But the rejection of the 65 66 67 68 69

1QpHab 2:1–6. T. H. Lim, “Wicked Priest,” EDSS 2:973–76 (973). Davies, “What History?” 43. E. Qimron and J. Strugnell, DJD 10:63. DJD 10:175; H. Eshel, “4QMMT and the History of the Hasmonean


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“Torah” cannot be inferred from the text of 4QMMT; it requires some independent memory or tradition. But if the Wicked Priest was an historical figure whose conflict with the Teacher was a subject of tradition, why is he not mentioned in the Damascus Document or the Hodayot? Nothing in the pesharim suggests that the conflict between the Teacher and the Wicked Priest was responsible for the formation of the Teacher’s movement or its withdrawal from Judean society. It did not pertain to the origin of the movement. It most probably happened late in the Teacher’s career, when he had already formulated his “Torah.” The simplest explanation of the absence of the Wicked Priest from the Hodayot is that this conflict had not yet taken place when the hymns were composed. The Damascus Document contains references to the death of the Teacher, but these are generally recognized as secondary updates. The core of that work too, including columns 1–6, may well have pre-dated the conflict with the Wicked Priest. The identification of the Wicked Priest is beset with difficulties, not only because of the use of sobriquets but also because the pesharim are full of biblical allusions, and it is often difficult to discern what should be taken literally. So for example 1QpHab 11:12–15 says that the Wicked Priest “walked in the ways of inebriety, in order that the thirst might be consumed.” This brings to mind Alexander Jannaeus, whose death from quatrain fever was attributed to heavy drinking,70 or Simon Maccabee, who was drunk at a banquet when he was killed.71 But Józef Milik pointed out that the language of the passage draws on Deut 29:18, “to devastate the dry and the irrigated land together,” and concluded that the drunkenness was metaphorical.72 The reference would be all the more appropriate if the priest in question had a reputation for drinking, but it is difficult to be sure. Moreover, the possibility that the expression “the Wicked Priest” was used to refer to more than one figure cannot be ruled out.73 The crucial Period,” in Reading 4QMMT: New Perspectives on Qumran Law and History (ed. J. Kampen and M. Bernstein; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), 53–65; idem, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State, 46–47; Wise, The First Messiah, 65–68. 70 Ant. 13.398. 71 1 Macc 16:16. 72 J. T. Milik, Ten Years of Discovery in the Wilderness of Judaea (trans. J. Strugnell; London: SCM, 1959), 69–70. 73 The suggestion of A. S. van der Woude, “Wicked Priest or Wicked Priests?

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passages for our present purpose are those that refer to a conflict with the Teacher.74 The Wicked Priest has most often been identified with Jonathan Maccabee, with a minority vote for his brother Simon. Hanan Eshel argued that the identification with Jonathan was supported by three main considerations: the reference to three hundred and ninety years in CD 1, the death of the Wicked Priest at the hands of enemies who abused his body, and “the fact that he was first associated with the true faith and betrayed the laws only after becoming ruler of Israel.”75 We have already seen that the reference to three hundred and ninety years can bear no chronological weight. It is not explicitly stated that the Wicked Priest met his death at the hands of his enemies, although he was given into their hands (4QpPsa 3–10 iv 10; 1QpHab 9:10) and suffered some form of affliction. The language describing the affliction is vague: “and horrors of evil diseases were at work in him, and acts of vengeance on his carcass of flesh,”76 or “whom God gave into the hands of his enemies to humble him with disease for annihilation in bitterness of soul.”77 Jonathan Maccabee was certainly “given into the hands of his enemies.” He was captured by the Syrian general Trypho, held for a time, and then killed.78 We are not told that he was tortured or mutilated, although Milik pleaded that this was “a most probable deduction.”79 The passage could be applied at least as well to Hyrcanus II, whose ears were mutilated while he was in Parthian custody.80 Jonathan Maccabee presumably had a good reputation when he came to power. Whether he subsequently changed his attitude to the laws (cf. 1QpHab 8:10) is not clear. Again, this passage is better fit for Hyrcanus II. He first

Reflections on the Identification of the Wicked Priest in the Habakkuk Commentary,” JJS 33 (1982): 349–59, that Pesher Habakkuk refers to several Hasmonean priests in sequence, is untenable, but the possibility that there is reference to more than one individual remains. See T. H. Lim, “The Wicked Priests of the Groningen Hypothesis,” JBL 112 (1993): 415–25. 74 See Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community, 111–13. 75 Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State, 43 n. 35. 76 1QpHab 9:2. Translation from M. P. Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” PTSDSSP 6B:157–85 (177). 77 1QpHab 9:10–11. Translation from Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher.” 78 1 Macc 16:16; Josephus, Ant. 13.228. 79 Milik, Ten Years, 69. 80 Josephus, War 1.107–119; Ant. 13.405–432.


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came to power as high priest when his mother Salome Alexandra became queen. His father, Alexander Jannaeus, had been at odds with the Pharisees, but Salome made peace with them, and followed their legal rulings. According to Josephus, “she permitted the Pharisees to do as they liked in all matters, and also commanded the people to obey them.”81 The Pharisees, the Seekers after Smooth Things, were the arch-enemies of the Teacher and his followers. The latter would reasonably have expected Hyrcanus II, as high priest, to continue the policies of his father, but when he came to power he adopted the rival interpretation of the laws. The one point on which all our sources agree is that the interpretation of the laws (and not the high priestly succession) was the raison d’être of the Teacher’s movement. The transition from Alexander Jannaeus to Salome Alexandra and Hyrcanus II provides a very plausible occasion for conflict between the Teacher and a high priest.82 The “Torah” that the Teacher is said to have sent to the Wicked Priest can be understood plausibly as an attempt to win him back from accepting the Pharisaic halakah, and the identification with 4QMMT is attractive, even though it is not ultimately provable.83 We do not know of any such conflict over the interpretation of the Torah in the time of Jonathan Maccabee. Many scholars have dismissed Hyrcanus II as simply too late to be identified with the Wicked Priest, but these scholars have generally accepted the three hundred and ninety years of CD 1 as approximately correct, and have also assumed that the conflict between the Teacher and the Priest 81

Ant. 13.408–409. See especially Wise, “The Origins and History of the Teacher’s Movement,” 107–9. 83 The editors of 4QMMT argued that “the ‘they’ group is the Pharisees. This is evident from the similarity between the halakha of the opponents of the sect and rabbinic halakha: the ‘they’ group must have been the predecessors of the rabbis, namely the Pharisees” (DJD 10:175). This is disputed by C. Hempel, “The Context of 4QMMT and Comfortable Theories,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Context (ed. C. Hempel; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 275–92 (287–88), who suggests that the ‘they’ group is “a misguided priestly group.” She does not address, however, the alleged similarity between the halakah of this group and that attributed to the Pharisees in the rabbinic writings. The point at issue is what halakic teaching was being opposed. Hempel is probably correct, however, that MMT does not speak of sectarian origins, in the sense of the initial formation of the group it represents, although it may relate to a widening breach between that group and the ruling powers of the day. 82

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pertained to the origin of the sect. Neither of these assumptions is reliable. The Teacher’s movement may have been in existence for a considerable time before the conflict with the high priest. If that conflict took place about 75 B.C.E. near the end of the Teacher’s career and the beginning of that of Hyrcanus, the chronology poses no great difficulties. The conflict with the Man of the Lie, in contrast, would have to be placed earlier in the Teacher’s career. There are indications in the scrolls that the “end” was expected about forty years after the death of the Teacher (CD 20:14; 4QpPsa 3–10 ii), and also that the end was felt to be overdue when Pesher Habakkuk was composed (1QpHab 7:7). “Forty years,” to be sure, was a round number, indicating the approximate length of a generation. There is no indication in Pesher Habakkuk or elsewhere that the “end” was expected on a specific date. We do not know exactly when the pesharim were written. They are clearly later than the Roman conquest of Jerusalem in 63 B.C.E. If Hyrcanus II is identified as the Wicked Priest, then Pesher Habakkuk must be later than his mutilation in 40 B.C.E. Michael Wise argues that 1QpHab 9:4–7 refers to the plundering of Jerusalem by the Roman general Sosius in 37 B.C.E.84 This is not certain, but a date in the 30s seems likely. There is no reference to the reign of Herod (37–4 B.C.E.). If Pesher Habakkuk was composed in the 30s, then a date in the 70s is likely for the death of the Teacher. It is not implausible that he lived through the death of Jannaeus and the inauguration of Hyrcanus II as high priest.

Conclusion I would argue then that some historical information can be inferred from the Dead Sea Scrolls, especially the pesharim, although this information is neither as ample nor as certain as has often been supposed. The authors of the pesharim clearly had traditions available to them, whether oral or written, that we do not now have in textual form. Figures like the “Man of the Lie” and “Wicked Priest” cannot be dismissed as fictional, even if their identities are obscure. While the ostensibly historical allusions in the scrolls are always tendentious, they do at least permit us to infer the general context in which the sect developed.

84

Wise, “Dating the Teacher,” 81.


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As Wise has observed, “the question of when the movement arose is closely intertwined with the reason why it did.”85 All indications are that this reason was a conflict over the interpretation of the Torah. It was not a dispute over the high priesthood. The conflict between the Teacher and the Wicked Priest was not the raison d’être of the movement, but probably happened late in the Teacher’s career. A very plausible occasion for that conflict is provided by the transition of power after the death of Alexander Jannaeus, when Alexandra Salome and Hyrcanus II decided to adopt the halakah of the Pharisees. It may be noted in passing that this dating of the Teacher’s activity is compatible with the revised dating of the Qumran settlement by Jodi Magness,86 but the relation between the archaeology and the texts is a matter that goes beyond the agenda of this article. I should be reluctant to speculate further on the career of the Teacher on the basis of allusions in the Hodayot, and also reluctant to postulate a mnemohistory of sectarian traditions, based on hypothetical ordering of passages within the Damascus Document (other than the passages that refer to the death of the Teacher) or on assumptions that all the allusions in the Hodayot must be derived from extant textual allusions. The historical information that can be gleaned from the scrolls is quite limited, and there was no doubt an element of “naïve historicism” in earlier scholarship in this regard. But the little information that can be gleaned is very important for understanding the context of the scrolls, as Hanan Eshel, more than most scholars of his generation, appreciated.

85

Wise, “The Origins and History,” 105. J. Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2002), 65. 86


brill.nl/dsd

Between Text and Archaeology1 Philip R. Davies University of Sheffield [email protected]

Abstract Historical research on the Qumran manuscripts, despite being provided with archaeological and external literary evidence, has generally suffered from a lack of discussion and application of methodology, which could easily have been instructed from the scholarship in biblical history. Despite the fact that the Qumran caves and their contents form part of the site of Khirbet Qumran, archaeology has very little to contribute to understanding the manuscripts, while the manuscripts make no reference to the settlement. External sources relate mainly to the possible identification of the authors and the site as Essene—an important consideration. But the scrolls’ authors exhibit little or no interest in the contemporary world outside their sectarian boundaries. The historian is able only to retrieve information about the movement’s own memories of its past, which will have been shaped by its own processes of identity formation and maintenance. But even to do this, it is indispensable to engage with the history of the documents themselves through detailed literary-historical exegesis, and this has yet to be realized by many Qumran scholars who seek history from the scrolls. Keywords Qumran; history; archaeology; social memory

1

I take this opportunity to record my appreciation of Hanan Eshel and his scholarship. He was a man of erudition, energy, curiosity, enthusiasm and kindness, all of which I personally appreciated, regardless of the fact that we do things differently—as we both realized. His loss to the society of Qumran scholars is considerable. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602412

P. R. Davies / Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 316–338

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Lessons from Biblical History During my scholarly career my interests have veered between the Hebrew Bible and the Qumran manuscripts, and I have found the two areas mutually illuminating. I have explored—as have many others2—the overlap between the two fields, reluctant to see the Qumran archive as “postbiblical” but rather as analogous to, and contemporary with, the process of canon closure and its adoption as the religious scriptures of a still evolving Judaism. I have been absorbed especially in the similar problems facing the historian in each field. Three kinds of evidence present themselves in each case: a corpus of texts; excavation and survey data (archaeology); and external evidence, usually textual.3 For the biblical historian, the “external” evidence may be parabiblical texts in the broadest sense, that is, derived from or connected to the scriptural corpus (e.g. Ben Sira, the Enochic literature, the Qumran Scrolls), or entirely independent (mostly inscriptions). Each of these three kinds of sources may tell or imply different stories of the past, and biblical historians (a convenient if inappropriate term) continue to learn important lessons in how the sources and their stories may be correlated; recent years have seen much open critical discussion about presuppositions and methods.4 There has, unfortunately, been much less attention to methodology in the field of Qumran studies, and such consideration is long overdue. Important lessons have been learned from biblical historical scholarship, among them the following: 1. Ancient texts are historical and cultural artefacts. It is necessary to determine the historical and social context that generated them before addressing the reliability of what they narrate. Furthermore, even when contemporary with the events they claim to describe, 2

E.g. Stephen Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community (Leiden: Brill, 2007); Joseph Blenkinsopp, Judaism, the First Phase: The Place of Ezra and Nehemiah in the Origins of Judaism (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2009). 3 On these three kinds of evidence and their use, see Philip R. Davies, Memories of Ancient Israel: An Introduction to Biblical History (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2008). 4 Extensive discussion may be found in the European Seminar on Historical Methodology series (London: T&T Clark, 1997–), edited by Lester L. Grabbe, and especially vol. 1, Can a “History of Israel” Be Written? (1997).

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3.

4.

5.

and even when apparently historiographical in intent, texts do not provide us with reliable (or reliably assessable) data until their authorship, ideology and purpose have been identified as far as is possible. For the historian to move directly from textual assertions to historical claims is improper and indeed foolish, because it leads merely to speculation. The historicity of a situation, event or person can only be established where there are two independent attestations. Where only a single source exists, one may only conjecture its reliability on the basis of a literary analysis and of historical probability. The reliability of texts should never be taken for granted. Even reliable authors can display ignorance or make mistakes. Material and literary evidence differ in nature and do not easily intersect. Narratives about individual persons and events are not normally reflected in the traces of settlement revealed by archaeology. Even major events such as military invasions or building programmes usually require literary evidence to identify them with historically specific events and persons. Overconfident or premature correlation of material and literary data can easily lead to improper assessment of each on its own merits. Archaeology is not a hard science, but a social science that entails interpretation at every stage, beginning with the choice of a site or area for excavation or survey. Its data are not to be confused with facts. In an age and a society where knowledge of the past is not transmitted either in a stable form or for its own sake, the construction of the past is subject to processes of social memory—whether oral or written. These may be accurate, distorted, fictional or a mixture. All ancient historiographical narratives must be treated a priori as evidence of what the authors believed, wished or imaginatively reconstructed, but not as an accurate recollection of what actually transpired.

Some of these principles could or should have been acknowledged from the beginnings of modern biblical history-writing: most, however, have been learnt from experience. As is well known, the initial purpose of biblical archaeology was to illuminate and confirm biblical narratives that were already accepted as historical reportage, rather than as artefacts of their


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own time and place relaying cultural perceptions of the past.5 The notion that the Bible was not historically reliable was certainly current before the advent of biblical archaeology, but largely overlooked in the quest for proof of what it narrated. The stories of ancestors, exodus and conquest were all supported with appeals to epigraphic or excavated evidence, despite the conclusions of some literary critics who identified them as complex and sometimes contradictory “traditions.” The tide turned dramatically against such naivety only when the Israeli West Bank Survey instigated a new agenda for archaeological reconstruction.6 This agenda still has to compete with religiously-funded and often badly-conducted excavations whose sole purpose is to establish the historicity of the Bible, but archaeology is now seen to offer the basis for a story of ancient Israel and Judah independent of the biblical narratives.7 The present consensus among nonfundamentalists is that the first six or seven books of the Bible are not history, and that the societies of ancient Israel and Judah did not come into existence in this way. For archaeologists this realization is not problematic. Their aim is, or should be, an understanding of the history of human settlement in Palestine. The biblical historian, however, is faced with a challenge: to understand why, when and how such stories about the past arose, given that they do not arise from the events narrated. It is now necessary for the biblical historian to understand what people believed about the past as much as what really occurred. This is a productive line of questioning, since individual and collective identity, and the actions and beliefs that arise from it, 5 Well documented by e.g. Thomas W. Davis, Shifting Sands: The Rise and Fall of Biblical Archaeology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 6 See the summary of results in Israel Finkelstein, The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1988); the implications are developed in Israel Finkelstein and Neil A. Silberman, The Bible Unearthed: Archaeology’s New Vision of Ancient Israel and the Origin of its Sacred Texts (New York: Free Press, 2001); David and Solomon: In Search of the Bible’s Sacred Kings and the Roots of the Western Tradition (New York: Free Press, 2006). 7 For example, the reconstructions by Finkelstein and Silberman (n. 6) still depend much on the biblical narrative of the reign of Josiah, for which there are no archaeological data. It is not true, as now sometimes supposed, that an adequate history of ancient Israel and Judah can be written without presuppositions drawn from the biblical narratives. In the first place, both “Israel” and “Judah” would need drastic redefinition in social, political and cultural terms.

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are, after all, dictated much more by belief about the past than the past itself. And such beliefs, when inherited, become part of a society’s own cultural history, and thus major historical causes in their own right.

Texts and Archaeology at Qumran The Qumran scholar is more richly blessed than the biblical historian, with a wealth of closely datable texts discovered in a clear archaeological context. But the lessons of biblical archaeology still apply. The earliest interpretations of the ruins of Qumran were influenced by texts already read: with the aid of deductions from superficial readings of the Cave 1 texts, a rapid but premature synthesis emerged. But after sixty years of investigation, one is struck by the fact that the ruins tell us very little about the scrolls. The caves and their contents certainly have to be regarded archaeologically as part of the site, but it does not follow that the manuscripts that some of them contain were all either written there, or owned by the inhabitants, or that they describe directly the lifestyle and beliefs of these inhabitants. If the deposits of the adjacent caves were made while the site was occupied, then indeed the inhabitants were surely not ignorant of the fact. The links between the manuscripts as artefacts and the site thus demand to be investigated and cannot easily be discounted. But they can be too eagerly interpreted. Some of the caves betray human occupation, and inkwells offer evidence of writing at the site. In the climate of the region, living inside caves is recommended; but there is no trace of a scroll in the buildings, let alone traces of the “scriptorium” that was once identified. When one tries to take a purely archaeological view of the site, the divergence of interpretation (see below) shows just how much disagreement exists: fortifications, cisterns and cemeteries, for example, can be assessed in various ways. If as artefacts the scrolls do not illuminate the site very much, neither do they as literary texts. It is surely fair to say that if either the settlement or the manuscripts alone had been found (and the manuscripts read), we would not have found it necessary to conjecture the proximate existence of the other. The circumstantial evidence linking site and scrolls is unavoidable, but little or nothing in the archaeology of the site or the contents of the texts sheds light on the other, far less provides a basis for explaining the other. Indeed, both the ruins and the texts pose quite enough difficulties of their own; and these take priority.


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Inscriptions play a considerable role in reconstructing biblical history, and the Qumran scholar also has external evidence. I comment on these sources below, but here I need to observe that it was not the proximity of the ruins to Cave 1 that apparently led to their excavation, for they had already been noticed and discounted (as a Roman fort) by the team hunting for the original cave, which lay about 1.5 km to the north.8 Investigation of the site began instead only after the contents of the manuscripts were linked with Pliny’s reference to an Essene settlement in this region (Nat. 5.17.73), and it was this that cemented a connection between the site and the scrolls that was then elaborated. For the manuscripts of Cave 1 appeared to describe the organization and beliefs (1QS, 1QM), liturgy and piety (1QH), and history (1QpHab) of a religious community, which was now held to have lived in the ruins, earning it the name “Qumran community.” The identification of its home as a “monastery” with scriptorium, refectory and miqvaʾot was thus influenced by a prior reading of the texts. As subsequent discoveries of manuscripts in caves immediately adjacent to the settlement strengthened the physical connection, the resulting synthesis was neither inexplicable nor unreasonable, given the data available. The one serious error was in setting the date of the original Hellenistic era settlement well back in the second century, stretching the coin evidence beyond its limits so as to fit the identification of the “Wicked Priest” of the Pesher Habakkuk as one of the early Hasmoneans. Hence an initial Period Ia was postulated, despite the lack of any certain archaeological traces.9 Further reflection, excavation and publication of scrolls have undermined this synthesis. Among such revisions have been attempts to consider the archaeology without recourse to the scrolls. As already noted, 8

On the issue of whether there was in fact only one “original scrolls cave” see now Weston W. Fields, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A Full History, Volume One, 1947– 1960 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 91–113. 9 My own critical review (Philip R. Davies, “How Not to Do Archaeology: The Story of Qumran,” BA 51 [1988]: 203–7) made this point, suggesting, as had Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz, Qoumrân: L’établissement essénien des bords de la mer Morte: histoire et archéologie du site (Paris: Picard, 1976), an early first-century B.C.E. date for its foundation (leading in his case, to an identification of the “Wicked Priest” with Alexander Jannaeus). This date has now been more authoritatively substantiated by Jodi Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2002).

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these have produced a startling array of conclusions, teaching the important lesson that archaeology is not a natural but a social science, involving interpretation of the surviving, partial traces of the past. Such interpretations often prioritize certain features at the expense of others. Thus, items of glassware and jewellery, alongside the multiplicity of coins, persuaded Robert and Pauline Donceel10 that Qumran had been a villa rustica. The coin evidence, unsatisfactorily dealt with by Roland de Vaux, has also been published more fully, the silver (including some minted in the third century B.C.E.) by Marcia Sharabani,11 the bronze by Kenneth and Minna Lönnqvist.12 The quantity of coins has suggested to the Lönnqvists that money was circulating at the site in large quantities (and certain pieces imply that the site was destroyed along with Masada in 74 and not in 69 as previously thought). Katharina Galor13 suggests a mixed usage of the stepped cisterns as both ritual baths and water storage, possibly in connection with pottery production on a major scale. Other reassessments 10

Robert Donceel and Pauline Donceel-Voûte, “The Archaeology of Khirbet Qumran,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (ed. M. O. Wise et al.; New York: The New York Academy of Sciences, 1994), 1–38; Pauline Donceel-Voûte, “Les ruines de Qumran réinterprétées,” Archéologia 298 (1994): 24–35. 11 Marcia Sharabani, “Monnaies de Qumran au musée Rockefeller de Jérusalem,” RB 87 (1980): 274–82. 12 Kenneth Lönnqvist and Minna Lönnqvist, “The Numismatic Chronology of Qumran: Fact and Fiction,” Numismatic Chronicle 166 (2006): 121–65; Kenneth Lönnqvist, The Report of the Amman Lots of the Qumran Silver Coin Hoards: New Chronological Aspects of the Silver Coin Hoard Evidence from Khirbet Qumran at the Dead Sea (Amman: National Press, 2007); Minna Lönnqvist and Kenneth Lönnqvist, Archaeology of the Hidden Qumran: The New Paradigm (Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 2002); “Spatial Approach to the Ruins of Khirbet Qumran at the Dead Sea” (Institute for Cultural Research, Department of Archaeology, University of Helsinki, 2004). Online: http://www.isprs.org/ proceedings/XXXV/congress/comm5/papers/616.pdf. The Lönnqvists’s thesis, which aims to consider the site in a purely archaeological context, nevertheless reasserted from its spatial organization that the inhabitants observed a solar calendar as reflected in the scrolls. 13 Katharina Galor, “Plastered Pools: A New Perspective,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha II: Études d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie, Studies of Anthropology, Physics and Chemistry (ed. J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg; Fribourg: Academic Press Fribourg and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003), 291–320.


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of the region have suggested that the site was neither as barren nor as isolated (with other sites, including Ain Feshkha, Ain Boqeq,14 Ain elGhuweir,15 En-Gedi16 and in addition quite close to the HasmoneanHerodian palace of Hyrcania) as the earlier image of a desolate retreat. For Lena Cansdale and Alan Crown17 a small jetty and a certain view of the local road system suggested Qumran was a fortified way-station with a port. Others have suggested that Qumran itself was a fort (Norman Golb)18 or a Hasmonean palace.19 There is also the possibility that the site served different groups at different periods, as proposed by Jean-Baptiste Humbert,20 who includes a religious settlement in his solution. (Here it may be recalled that de Vaux had also identified a short phase of Roman military occupation, which opponents of the fortress theory sometimes overlook.) I have mentioned only a selection of scholars and suggestions: these theories, and the evidence on which they are based, could be debated endlessly, and—at present—to little avail. Further evidence may come to light, but unless it offers (as, briefly and disappointingly, did the ostracon)21 a clear allusion to the manuscripts or their authors, it will remain true that 14 Mordechai Gichon, “Chronique archéologique: ‘En Boqeq,” RB 77 (1970): 579–80; idem, “‘En Boqeq,” EAEHL 2:365–70. 15 Pesach Bar-Adon, “Another Settlement of the Judean Desert Sect at ‘En el-Ghuweir on the Shores of the Dead Sea,” EI 10 (1971): 72–89 [Hebrew] and BASOR 227 (1977): 1–25. 16 Yizhar Hirschfeld, “A Settlement of Hermits above ‘En Gedi,” TA 27 (2000): 103–55; idem, Qumran in Context: Reassessing the Archaeological Evidence (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2004). 17 Alan D. Crown and Lena Cansdale, “Qumran: Was it an Essene Settlement?” BAR 20/5 (1994): 24–35, 73–74, 76–78; Lena Cansdale, Qumran and the Essenes: A Re-Evaluation of the Evidence (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997). 18 Norman Golb, Who Wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls? The Search for the Secret of Qumran (New York: Scribner, 1995). 19 Rachel Bar-Nathan, Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho III: The Pottery (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2002), esp. 5, 89, 111–12, 196, 203–4. 20 Jean-Baptiste Humbert, “Some Remarks on the Archaeology of Qumran,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates (ed. K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert, and J. Zangenberg; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 19–39. 21 Frank M. Cross and Esther Eshel, “Ostraca from Khirbet Qumran,” IEJ 47 (1997): 17–28; Ada Yardeni, “A Draft of a Deed on an Ostracon from Khirbet Qumran,” IEJ 47 (1997): 233–37.

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the scrolls, while providing potentially a rich context, actually tell us next to nothing about the site itself, and vice-versa. Here is a dramatic illustration of the lesson that texts and archaeology for the most part do not intersect. What archaeology shows is a history of settlement in this region. But how would a site inhabited by a religious sect leave a different trace than one inhabited by any Jewish group? As John Collins has observed: “the interpretation of the Scrolls should not be tied too closely to that of the site.”22

Texts as Artefacts If archaeology is at present of little help to interpreting the scrolls, then some conclusions may still be drawn from the scrolls as artefacts. The delay in the dissemination of Cave 4 texts ensured that there was little challenge to the general consensus for several decades, but the differences between the kinds of caves and the manner of deposit of the manuscripts were bound to complicate the question of their relationship to the site. The original suggestion that they had been hastily concealed just before the arrival of Roman troops at the site does not explain the differences in storage methods, types of cave nor distance from the settlement.23 It cannot be assumed, either, that the scrolls were deposited at different times (though the arguments depend partly on the interpretation of the contents as well as palaeography and C14 dating).24 The Copper Scroll from Cave 3, which John Allegro (now followed by the majority of scholars, though notably not Hanan Eshel) had understood as a real treasure list, remains perhaps the most important clue to the origins of the deposits. The purity of the metal suggests it may have emanated from the Jerusalem temple listing

22

John J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010), 208. 23 The much clearer picture in Fields, The Dead Sea Scrolls (esp. 131–73) nevertheless suggests that the original contents of these caves are far from clear. 24 Gregory Doudna, “Redating the Dead Sea Scroll Deposits at Qumran: the Legacy of an Error in Archaeological Interpretation,” Bible and Interpretation. Online: http://www.bibleinterp.com/articles/Doudna_Scroll_Deposits_1.htm; Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra, “Old Caves and Young Caves: A Statistical Reevaluation of a Qumran Consensus,” DSD 14 (2007): 313–33.


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votive offerings rather than goods emanating from the nearby settlement.25 The variety of scribal hands also points to more than one origin, thus undermining the still too-confident palaeographical dates assigned. Indeed, most could not have been copied at Qumran and so were brought from elsewhere. Golb’s revival of the thesis of Karl Rengstorf 26 that the scrolls had no sectarian character can be discounted on internal grounds, but the suggestion that they had all come from Jerusalem may be only a slight exaggeration.27 It is now clear, at any rate, that the scrolls are not all sectarian compositions (however that is defined), nor the manuscripts all written within a single small community such as would have lived at Qumran.

External Sources In view of the close connection between the archaeology and classical texts about the Essenes, these texts are most conveniently considered now.28 The most important feature of the evidence of Pliny, Philo and Josephus, when taken together, is to suggest an identification of both the site (Pliny) and the authors of the scrolls (Philo, Josephus) as “Essene,” thus furnishing a connection that archaeology cannot quite substantiate. But how far is this external evidence consistent? Pliny’s report seems to indicate a community, celibate and living without personal wealth north of En-Gedi. Although the location (infra hos) has long been debated, the other features cohere well with descriptions of the group referred to in the scrolls as the yaḥad. Philo agrees on Essene celibacy, while Josephus states that some marry and 25

A portrait of recent scholarly opinion on the Copper Scroll can be gauged from George J. Brooke and Philip R. Davies, eds., Copper Scroll Studies (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002). 26 Karl H. Rengstorf, Ḫ irbet Qumrân and the Problem of the Library of the Dead Sea Caves (Leiden: Brill, 1963). 27 Both CD and 4QMMT point to Jerusalem as the central “camp” of the organization. As for the opposition expressed in some manuscripts to the Jerusalem temple, it should be remembered that during the war against Rome in 66–70 the temple was in the hands of those also opposed to the former priesthood. 28 The original sources in Greek and in translation, with discussion, may conveniently be found in Geza Vermes and Martin D. Goodman, The Essenes According to the Classical Sources (Sheffield: JSOT, 1989). Incidentally, while Vermes still believes Qumran to have been inhabited by Essenes, Goodman does not!

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some do not. But both Philo and Josephus state that the Essenes have no one town, but are scattered throughout the country and number over 4,000, reporting them as residing in several towns (Philo) or every town (Josephus). What really complicates the issue is that Josephus appears to use different sources, despite his claim of personal experience, while both Philo and Pliny draw on other sources of information. Yet if we collate all the items of description, and allow for the role of rhetoric and the use of sources, it remains possible, even tempting, to conclude that at some point an Essene group—or at least, a group that these authors would have identified as Essene may have occupied Qumran and that an Essene group may have written and/or owned the scrolls.29 But such an identification does not lead all that far. If the Qumran texts (or some of them) are Essene, they tell us much more than the classical sources about what some Essenes thought, but when the rhetoric and quality of knowledge is taken into account, the classical sources do not greatly illuminate the texts. We are still unable to say whether Qumran itself was—if an Essene settlement— then either a typical one, or a centre for the entire movement, or the site of the original group, or the home (or one of the homes) of a splinter group. If the numbers given by Josephus and Philo are right, however, the manuscripts come, as Hartmut Stegemann suggested,30 from a major Jewish movement and not a rather small or marginal sect. This makes their invisibility in other sources problematic—but almost as much can be said of the Pharisees and Sadducees.

The Scrolls as Literary Documents If the preceding account is valid, then virtually all work on the history behind the Qumran Scrolls must be based on internal historical-critical analysis. The lesson from biblical studies is that a surface reading of such texts is not the way to reconstruct the history behind them. Quite apart from the question of their own literary history, statements in the scrolls about the past reflect the beliefs/traditions of the authors and readers. The accuracy 29

Given our inability to identify the “Essenes” with any Jewish group known from other sources, we can only ultimately appeal to these authors’ verdicts on what they would have identified as an Essene community. 30 Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist and Jesus (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1999).


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of these beliefs, and indeed the reasons for these beliefs, need critical examination. Corroboration, of course, is largely impossible in this case, since no external sources apparently narrate the inner history of this movement. To some extent data from the books of 1 Enoch and from Jubilees illuminate an ideological background, but only one of shared beliefs or traditions, not an independent attestation of real events and persons. All narratives in the sectarian scrolls relate to an otherwise hidden story of the authors and their communities. Some minimal correlation between the scrolls and the history of Judah in general is possible. Hanan Eshel has exploited this to the full (and possibly a little beyond).31 A bare handful of scrolls name known historical figures, of which only two can be unambiguously identified: Shelomzion, queen and successor (139–67 B.C.E.) of Alexander Jannaeus and Aemilius (Scaurus), Pompey’s legate who preceded his master’s arrival in Jerusalem in 65–64 B.C.E. In addition, a “King Jonathan” is named in a prayer (4Q448) and “Demetrios king of Greece” in 4QpNah (3–4 i 1–3).32 Eshel extracts from these few clues the maximum amount of evidence about the Hasmonean dynasty and adds a further name, “Potlais” (4Q468e), conjecturally identified with a Peitholaus mentioned in War 1.180. His arguments are for the most part ingenious but speculative. His approach is also somewhat positivistic, involving an uncritical use of the pesharim, where he maintains that every name or incident refers to a single item, without allowing for any stereotypical colouring, telescoping of features of different characters, simple confusion over the course of time, or even invention. Thus, the Wicked Priest is Jonathan b. Mattathias and the Wicked One in 4Q386 is Pompey. The one exception to this univocal rule is the Kittim, who are Seleucids in 1QM but Romans in the pesharim.33 Only by such univocal and literalistic hermeneutics can the imagery of hunger, for 31

Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans: 2008). 32 See Geza Vermes, “Historiographical Elements in the Qumran Writings: a Synopsis of the Textual Evidence,” JJS 58 (2007): 121–39. 33 The identity of the Kittim of 1QM has long been disputed. It remains possible, even likely, that in view of the redactional history of the document, sources in which this term related to the second or early first century B.C.E. (Kittim as “Greek”) were caught up in a document in which the Kittim applied to the Romans. It is not always possible for even a competent redactor to eliminate such traces in a source.

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instance, be applied, in a corpus replete with stereotypical images, to a specific historical event. In addition, there are some questionable historical assumptions. For example, Eshel describes Nicolaus of Damascus as “a supporter of the Hellenistic residents in the Land of Israel [= Palestine? Judah? P.R.D.] rather than of the Jews” (7). This is a simplistic distinction in the vastly expanded kingdom of the Hasmoneans. Indeed, the character of the nationalistic but quite Hellenized dynasty itself defies these categories! Again, on 4Q248 he writes, “Since the work lacks the typical terminology of the sectarian scrolls, it was most likely brought to Qumran by a new member rather than written by the sect’s scribes” (14). This assumes that all the texts in the caves must have come from the Qumran settlement and that the community only wrote or rewrote its own compositions (and not, for example, biblical texts?). Further, the use of “messianic” to mean “eschatological” is also confusing (and the term itself questionable), while the choice of Jonathan as “Wicked Priest” is precariously early in terms of the reliability of the (probably first century C.E.) pesharim and the archaeology of the site. Overall, the genre and function of the texts interpreted is not really discussed, as if such considerations are irrelevant to the retrieval of historical nuggets. The one Qumran text that apparently engages directly with an outsider, and might shed some light on Hasmonean history, is 4QMMT. Its reference to “camps” and its concern with halakic differences both suggest that it is close to the organization described in D and it should perhaps be considered in the context of D’s recollection of the history of its community (on which see below). Perhaps it does shed light on the process of sectarian segregation. But whether it has been correctly reconstructed, whether it is really a letter, and the identity of the recipient and the occasion of its writing are all contentious. By contrast, George Brooke’s discussion of the label “Historical Text” applied to certain scrolls considers carefully both the genre and rhetoric of these texts and the assumptions of various scholars in using the word “historical.”34 He concludes by warning that such a description should never be taken to imply the presence of reliable historical information. Well-informed of the problems of such a term as “historical” when applied 34

George J. Brooke, “What Makes a Text Historical? Assumptions behind the Classification of Some Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe (ed. P. R. Davies and D. V. Edelman; London: T&T Clark, 2010), 207–23.


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to biblical narratives, he rightly recommends that equal care be bestowed on the Qumran texts. This is exactly the point I wish to underline in most of what follows. In any event, the scrolls show little interest in the outside world and mention it only incidentally. They are obsessed with sectarian identity, and their stories about the past serve this purpose. Collins’s recent review of the Qumran sectarian movement usefully presents the state of the questions, but even for a general survey it leaves much described and very little explained. The often agnostic conclusions accurately reflect the drift that has occurred away from the previous consensus. But Collins’s manner of dealing with historical questions raises quite acutely the issue of how carefully and critically Qumran texts are being read, even by specialists. More so than their biblical colleagues,35 Qumran scholars can compare different recensions of major works (S, D, M), witness directly that the evolution of such texts through successive (and perhaps often rapid) editing is the norm, and so realize that the diachronic dimension of such texts is unavoidable if one wishes to draw any historical conclusions. Collins starts his account of the “sectarian movement”36 well, comparing the rules and the terminology of D and S, demonstrating different but related forms of organization and concluding that the community described in D is earlier than the yaḥad of the S texts. He is reluctant to align the two documents too precisely, allowing only that “the kinds of issues that lead to sectarian separation” (his italics), are “quite similar” (21). The reluctance is commendable, but the differing accounts of sectarian separation and identity implied in 1QS 8–9 and in the Two Spirits Treatise in 1QS 3–4 are each very different from D, and invite analysis and explanation. Collins is similarly cautious about reconstructing a history of the movement from clues in the Admonition, uncertain about the exact role of the “Teacher of Righteousness,” and unclear about connections with Enochic traditions, though he asserts that there are connections. He doubts there was a split within the community, suggesting that the “Liar” “was a rival teacher who rejected the Teacher’s claims and won over some of his followers” (50: this 35

In the Hebrew Bible, although various textual forms of the books are available, only the two editions of the book of Jeremiah (to a lesser extent, also Esther and Daniel) offer different recensions, along with the case of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles. In the New Testament, the Synoptic gospels might be considered as three recensions of a single work. 36 Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community, 12–51.

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is apparently not considered by him to be a “split”). The yaḥad, in his view, existed at several sites and emerged from the “Damascus” community as some kind of “elite group” (69–75) in which a mystical element, the “angelic life,” became important. The Rule of the Congregation (1QSa), which bears resemblances to both S and D, shows “the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of assigning these rules to different movements” (78). As for the pesharim, Collins rehearses arguments against their historical reliability, including a comparison of allusions in the Hodayot 37 but asserts that they are nevertheless of value (102–3) on the grounds that the allusions must have been intelligible to the original reader. But what does “intelligible” mean here? Most historical allusions in biblical texts, for example, refer to events long before the time of the original readers. What is “intelligible” is the shared “memory.” This is exactly how, for example, Paul’s recollection of the Eucharist (1 Cor 11:23–26) is intelligible to his Greek readers—yet it is hardly a reliable historical testimony. The discussion of passages about the “Wicked Priest” in the pesharim concludes with a stated preference for Hyrcanus II, but Alexander Jannaeus in a number of cases— assuming this figure to be real but the knowledge of the writers presumably uncertain. In what sense is this variation “intelligible”? Did the early readers of this text make the correct identifications each time from their own knowledge of events more than a generation earlier? In all these conclusion one looks in vain for some solid evidence and argumentation. Colins eschews literary-critical analysis and, if less so than Eshel, he uses a rather positivistic method in which all statements have a historical value, even if we cannot determine it. He is familiar with the work of those who have analyzed texts in detail (e.g. Charlotte Hempel on the D laws), but he does not himself engage with arguments at this level, and seems content merely to suggest a synthesis that is in many cases implausible. For example, his opinion that the yaḥad was not created by internal dissent is made without any regard to the material in CD B 1–2, which is replete with all kinds of allusions to conflict. Whether or not there really was a serious crisis at some point we cannot say: but there is abundant evidence that this is how it was remembered, and this memory needs attention.38 37

See Philip R. Davies, Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 87–105. 38 The relationship between D and S at this point is nevertheless more complicated than I suggested in 1983 (Philip R. Davies, The Damascus Covenant: An Interpretation of the Damascus Document [Sheffield: JSOT, 1983]); since then


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I must confess to a certain personal frustration when, having attempted to get to grips with a complex text (in this case, CD A 1–9, B 1–2),39 and try and work out its history, and the histories of the memories it represents, to encounter a series of superficial and seemingly ad hoc judgments that ignore the methodology for reaching any historical knowledge and avoid the detailed work on which such knowledge must be based. No historical reconstruction can ignore or bypass the history of the documents that provide its data—an elementary lesson of historical-critical exegesis. But in retreating from the difficulties of such analysis (which are considerable), Collins is quite typical of Qumran research.40 The S texts, of course, relate no history at all. But this itself may be significant: whereas for D the historical as well as doctrinal reasons for the emergence of the covenant community as the true “Israel” are important in defining its identity, S is concerned almost exclusively with doctrine and discipline. The Two Spirits Treatise (not an original component of the document on critical analysis) roots the separation of light and darkness, truth and falsehood in creation, not in history, and indeed entirely ignores the Charlotte Hempel in particular has worked on the relationships between D and S both in this material and more widely (“Shared Tradition: Points of Contact Between S and D,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts [ed. H. Najman, S. Metso, and E. Schuller; Leiden: Brill, 2010], 115–31; eadem, “CD Manuscript B and the Rule of the Community—Reflections on a Literary Relationship,” DSD 16 [2009]: 370–87). The issue here—which cannot be dealt with at present—is the extent to which D material has been subsequently revised within the yaḥad. Whether the conflict implied in B 1–2 is historical may therefore be questioned, but at any rate it forms part of the memory of the yaḥad and requires explanation as such; if any of it predates such revision, we are confronting a shared memory, and thus more probably historical. 39 Davies, The Damascus Covenant. The “Groningen Hypothesis,” announced in Adam S. van der Woude and Florentino García Martínez, “A ‘Groningen Hypothesis’ of Qumran Origins and Early History,” RevQ 14/56 (1990): 521–41 (reprinted in Florentino García Martínez, Qumranica Minora I: Qumran Origins and Apocalypticism [ed. Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 2007], 31–52) follows this reconstruction, but also entails (more dubiously) a multiple identification of the “Wicked Priest” and the evocation of a Jewish “apocalyptic movement” without further social-historical precision. 40 The studies in the series Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments edited by Karl G. Kuhn, though dated, provide examples of how the Qumran texts should be analyzed—well before the publication of the bulk of Cave 4 materials. The example was rarely followed.

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notion of Israel’s election:41 D by contrast strives to establish that its community alone is the chosen Israel. A superficial reading can sometimes highlight important rhetorical features of this kind, which in turn disclose fundamental structures of communal self-understanding that differentiate the Damascus and yaḥad groups. But to extract a historical memory of the origins of both these communities means reading and exegeting D, since it is the only document that relates the two groups and the processes that created them (which is the topic of Collins’s book). The pesharim, on the other hand, can never be a starting point for any historical reconstruction. First, because of their episodic and allusive language, second because their references and identifications are not always coherent, as the variety of interpretations shows (the Pesher Habakkuk even appears sometimes to confuse the Liar figure, and the Wicked Priest).42 Third, the “Wicked Priest” is absent from D, which refers only to a “Liar,” raising questions about the origin of this central figure.

Sectarian Social Memory The final lesson I listed earlier from biblical history is that “all ancient narratives must be treated a priori as evidence of what was believed, wished or imaginatively reconstructed, rather than as an accurate recollection of what actually transpired.” In other words, without external evidence, the historical knowledge derived from literary analysis will be the memory or tradition. Beyond that memory lies only speculation. But the memory itself is a historical datum, and it helps to explain the self-understanding of the community. In exactly the same way, the books of Moses tell us virtually nothing of the history of “ancient Israel” but much about the identity 41

It should not be overlooked that CD 2:2–8 also contains traces of such a concept: God has chosen the remnant “from of old.” But the discourse quickly moves to historiographical elaboration. 1QM proves an excellent example of the combination of a dualistic framework that incorporates material expressing nationalistic sentiments—again, these perceptions require a literary-historical methodology. 42 This was very well demonstrated, despite perhaps a wrong conclusion, by Barbara Thiering, “Once More the Wicked Priest,” JBL 97 (1978): 191–205 (though already argued by Karl Elliger, André Dupont-Sommer and Mathias Delcor).


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adopted by those who wrote and read them. The story of sectarian origins in D has its own history, traceable in the extant recensions. Its earliest form starts with the exile under Nebuchadnezzar, followed by the new covenant with those who survived the earlier epoch (or the renewal of the old one: there is some ambiguity between the versions), a new revelation of law and a new “Israel” defined preeminently by the proper observance of sacred times, but also by performance of the divine will. The story is related twice, in CD 1:1–12 and 2:14–4:12b. According to the fuller, second narrative, the movement was founded by an “Interpreter of the Law” and will continue until “the era is completed” (4:10). This era is named as the “period of wrath”: such a view may be compared with that of the book of Daniel and in other apocalypses that commence their periodization with the exile and extend that exile to the present.43 The end of this period is not specified at this point, but in the following section, dealing mainly with the question of the laws pertaining to this era of wickedness/divine anger, we find that the “end of days” will be attended by the arrival of “one teaching righteousness” (6:11). But the first, shorter, narrative, reflects an expanded chronological perspective, in which the figure of the “Interpreter of the Law” is absent, and a “Teacher of Righteousness” has already appeared, though not at the initial “visitation,” but after a period of “groping” by the remnant group. For this reason it is difficult to identify the “Interpreter” and the “Teacher” as alternative names for the founder. How, then, can one explain the placement of a “Teacher” figure in two different positions within a narrative? One may either (a) recognize the “one who will teach righteousness” as a second, eschatological “Teacher,” or (b), conclude that the narrative has been updated in a time understood to be the “end of days”, when the Teacher was believed to have arrived. Collins’s suggestion that “Interpreter of the Law” and “Teacher of Righteousness” are interchangeable (37–38) is unworkable. But he offers another suggestion: that both titles might refer to more than one individual. Here he is partly following the lead of García Martínez and van der Woude’s “Groningen Hypothesis” (see n. 39 above), who also propose several “Teachers,” but their arguments are derived from the pesharim (where, as noted, 43

The notion of an extended exile as being accompanied by divine anger is not hinted at in Daniel in the prayer of ch. 9, admittedly in apparent contrast to the remainder of the book, where, like all others, it is predetermined (but note that both the sin and divine anger and the predetermination are found together in CD 2:9–13).

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Collins also sees two Wicked Priests). But the recourse of multiplying “teachers” in CD is not just completely speculative, but contradicts the fact that D assigns the “Teacher” in both cases to an eschatological context. For in CD 1:12 the “Teacher” announces judgment to the “last generation,” which fits quite well with his appearance at the “end of days” in 6:11. His role is an eschatological one. We can go further: he can also be identified with the “messiah of Aaron and Israel,” because exactly the same phrasing is used of both: CD 12:23–24 ‫המתהלכים באלה בקץ הרשעה עד עמוד משיח אהרן וישראל‬

Those who walk in these during the period of wickedness until there shall arise the anointed of Aaron and of Israel CD 6:10–11 ‫ עד עמד יורה הצדק באחרית הימים‬. . . ‫להתהלך בהם בכל קץ הרשיע‬

To walk in these during the entire period of wickedness . . . until there shall arise one teaching righteousness at the end of days But not only is the eschatological setting common to both appearances of the “Teacher” in CD 1–6: his role is also similar, if not identical. In CD 1:11 God raised him “to lead them in the way of his heart”; the use of drk here suggests (as does the whole context) the divine law, while in 6:9–11 the members of the community live by the mḥwqqwt (a pun on ḥwqqym) until the “Teacher” arrives. In short: here is an anointed teacher (a figure absent, incidentally, from Collins’s book on Messiahs at Qumran!44 These conclusions are based on a straightforward exegetical method, but in Qumran scholarship, the obvious does not always strike and the role of the “Teacher” therefore remains largely the object of speculation among Qumran scholars. I do not wish so much to reassert or defend my own view on this, however: it is open to correction, but it will be corrected only by better exegesis and not by mere assertion or suggestion.45 44

John J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star: The Messiahs of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Related Literature (New York: Doubleday, 1995). 45 I wish explicitly to exclude from criticism Stegemann’s own work on D (Die Entstehung der Qumrangemeinde [Bonn: privately published, 1971]) along with the work of e.g. George Brooke, Charlotte Hempel (on the Laws of D and on


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The “last days” in which the “Teacher” operates, whether they lie from the perspective of the text in the future or the present (and immediate past), are also characterized by conflict and by the leading astray of “Israel” (CD 1:13–2:1); moreover, the conflict within the movement probably arises through rejection of the claims of this “Teacher”—in which case, the “Israel” that is led astray is the sect. The ambiguity may nevertheless conceal a shift in perspective (as in the pesharim; see below) from a sectarian to a national one. In MS B we encounter those who may well be among this errant “Israel”: who “despise” both the Law (B 2:12) and also the “covenant . . . in the land of Damascus” (B 2:12), along with “those who hesitate,” “princes of Judah,” “builders of the wall” (also mentioned in 4:19) and a “house of Peleg.” What is to be made of all this evidence of division, dissent and conflict? In CD 1:13–2:1 the target is identified more generally as followers of the “Scoffer” or “Spouter of Lies,” who interpret with “smooth things” (ḥlqwt, an obvious pun on hlkh, but perhaps also on the ḥwqqym of the true “Israel”). But in two sections of the Admonition of D, the “Teacher” is placed in a context of opposition and/or rebellion. If, then, the “Teacher” has the same role, identity and the same context in each of the places where he is mentioned in D, we have to reckon not with multiple figures but with an evolving document in which overlapping memories are being invoked as the history of successive phases of the sectarian movement is reinterpreted. What is interesting in CD 1 is the way in which opposition to the Teacher is expressed in language that goes beyond doctrinal dispute or rejection, and invokes “persecution” and “the sword” (1:21). Such language has prompted some interpreters to consider the conflict as national rather than sectarian, with the “Liar” an extracommunity figure. Here Collins is again unable to decide, but it is possible to make a case rather than just adopt (or not adopt) an opinion. A transition in memory from a purely sectarian context of opposition and rebellion to a national context is evident in the pesharim, where earlier phases of “Teacher” memory are overlaid with a rather different figure: a kind of suffering servant, innocently persecuted at the hands of a priest, apparently the Jewish high priest, and his allies.46 In CD 1 the “Spouter” is already an 1QSa), and Stephen Hultgren’s From the Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community. There is good literary-historical exegesis being done by these and others. But it is not the norm. 46 The one plausible reason for the invention of the “Wicked Priest” in the pesharim is that, just as certain elements from the Hodayot were used to construct

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antonym of moreh (“Teacher/Trainer”), creating a dualistic opposition. In the pesharim, however, the opposition is strangely divided between the “Liar” (inherited from the older memory) and the “Wicked Priest,” whose absence from D suggests that he may be an innovation. Another development in the memory from CD 1:13–2:1 to the pesharim can be seen in the shift from a teaching role, bringing the fullness of the divine law, to a mantic prophet, who explains prophetic announcements of the end. This shift is consistent with features in the S texts. In the pesharim the yaḥad is no longer part of a wider movement: it is opposed to the whole world: the dualistic discourse of 1QS 3–4 is on the same track, if some way ahead. The sectarian mentality (we might say identity) is first expressed through an opposition between true and false Israel; then “Israel” is defined as those within the sect who do not follow the “Teacher,” then we find a division between the followers of the Teacher and the followers of the “Wicked Priest” —a national perspective, and finally between the sect and the world (“children of light” and “children of darkness”). None of this development is contradicted by the preservation within the yaḥad of texts from the “Damascus” community which remained part of the heritage of the yaḥad whatever its relationship with these other communities. In much the same way the early Christians retained the Old Testament as a necessary part of the history of their memory.

Mnemohistory A more detailed account of the history of the memory of the Qumran sectarian movement may be possible.47 I have argued here largely for the absolute need to engage in literary-historical exegesis where historical issues are at stake, and insist that no other method—or lack of it—will serve the purpose. But the end result of such exegesis is not history but memory. a portrait of the “Teacher” and his opponents, so 4QMMT was read (as John Strugnell also initially read it) as a letter from the “Teacher” to the current high priest (and also king). This, however, does not permit us to equate the “Wicked Priest” with that figure: he was merely created from the recipient of the letter. 47 Further comments will be found in my essay “What History Can We Get From the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts (ed. C. Hempel; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 31–46.


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We are doing what Jan Assmann calls “mnemohistory,” the history of memory.48 It is possible (if one accepts the method) to trace the way in which the members of the evolving sectarian movement reconfigured their identity-sustaining “memory” of their origins and raison d’être. The memory begins with the new covenant and revelation of Torah to the remnant of Israel after the exile and the wait for eschatological redemption through divine forgiveness and grace: it is reshaped by followers of the “Teacher” both before and after his death. The yaḥad (assuming this to be the organization of his followers) “commemorizes” its own foundation in the context of a violent confrontation between its charismatic leader and followers and the forces of evil represented by the high priest and a counterpart to the “Teacher,” the “Liar.” The initial rejection (expressed in D) of the temple priesthood on the grounds that they defiled the sanctuary through improper interpretation of the divine law is mutated over time into a rejection of virtually everything outside its own boundaries, even the temple and its cult being internalized into alternative forms of private and communal worship (Hodayot, Sabbath Songs). This reconstruction may be wrong, of course, but it can be argued about exegetically. In my own view, this is what we can do historically with the Qumran texts, given what data we have. From a history of the sectarian memory we can speculate on the historical plausibility of its various elements and the reasons why the memories take the turns that they do. There may remain, for instance, deeper roots of memory to be unearthed in the Enochic literature and in the book of Daniel. But these will not be sectarian memories, and it is sectarian formation that generates the need for alternative narratives of identity. For these reasons I distance myself from the approaches and assumptions of both Hanan Eshel and John Collins, without wishing to detract from their other contributions to Qumran scholarship. I find myself more in accord with Maxine Grossmann, who near the end of her book on the Damascus Document states: A reading of the Damascus Document tells us more about what the covenant community thought of itself, or could potentially understand

48

Jan Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (6th ed.; München: Beck, 2007).

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itself to be, than it tells us, in any objective way, about ‘what really happened’ in the history of this community.49 Such a statement does not mark the end of Qumran historical research, however, but, one hopes, the beginning of doing it properly.

49

Maxine L. Grossman, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 209.


brill.nl/dsd

Yannai and Pella, Josephus and Circumcision* Daniel R. Schwartz The Hebrew University of Jerusalem [email protected]

Abstract Josephus’ notice that Alexander Yannai destroyed Pella because its inhabitants refused to Judaize (Ant. 13.397), which does not sit well in its context and also contradicts Josephus’ reports elsewhere, seems to be based upon a Greek source. Given the fact that Greek writers about conversion to Judaism usually focused upon circumcision, failure to mention it here may indicate that Yannai did not demand it—a possibility that directs attention to the fact that Qumran texts show little interest in circumcision, apparently because they adhered to a priestly view according to which Gentiles cannot become Jews. Sadducees, such as Yannai, probably held the same view. Keywords Pella; circumcision; conversion; Alexander Yannai; Josephus; Sadducees; Qumran; priestly Judaism; Hasmoneans

Four of the nine chapters of Hanan Eshel’s The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State1 are devoted to the reign of King Alexander Yannai (103–76 B.C.E.), applying the Scrolls to the illumination of a period for * This study is dedicated to the memory of Hanan Eshel—a student, a colleague, a friend, and a Mensch, who was as well at home in history as he was in archaeology, and who well understood what each discipline has to offer the other. May the memory of Hanan remain a blessing, and an inspiration. I am grateful to the Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies at the University of Pennsylvania, and to the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associate Literature at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, for their invitations to present versions of this paper to seminars of scholars in November and December 2010. 1 Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2008. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602421

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D. R. Schwartz / Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 339–359

which, otherwise, Josephus’ War and Antiquities are our main sources. In the present study, I would like to pursue that project by addressing a somewhat mystifying passage in Josephus’ account of Yannai in the Antiquities. As I will explain, my attempt to make sense of it, or, rather, to explain how it came to be so mystifying, led me to notice that a prominent element of Judaism, circumcision, is surprisingly ignored by the Scrolls. That, eventually, turned into a hopefully interesting example of the way Josephan source-criticism and Qumran evidence can join forces to clarify, at least to some extent, both a historical episode and its more general implications.

1. A Problematic Notice about Pella Josephus’ account in the Antiquities of Yannai’s reign, which opens at Ant. 13.320 with Yannai’s succession to the Hasmonean throne and ends at 13.398 with his death, naturally focuses on his military campaigns. In §§395–397, just before reporting Yannai’s death, Josephus surveys the extent of his conquests: Now at this time the Jews held the following cities of Syria, Idumea and Phoenicia: on the sea coast : Straton’s Tower, Apollonia, Joppa, Jamneia, Azotus, Gaza, Anthedon, Raphia and Rhinocorura; in the interior : in Idumea—Adora and Marisa, and the whole of Idumea; and Samaria and Mount Carmel and Mount Tabor and Scythopolis and Gadara; in Gaulanitis: Seleucia and Gamala; and in Moab: Essebon, Medaba, Lemba, Oronaim, Agalain, Thona, Zoara, the Valley of the Cilicians, Pella—this last they demolished because the inhabitants did not promise to adopt the ancestral customs of the Jews; and others of the principal cities of Syria that had been subdued.2

2

The translation is based on Ralph Marcus’ in the Loeb Classical Library— which I organized graphically, and with italics and some changes of punctuation, so as to reflect its basic organization. I also made some corrections to make it conform better to the Greek.


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This passage includes a special comment about the treatment of Pella, one that is quite regularly adopted and repeated by modern scholars.3 However, although Josephus’ testimony here is readily understood as asserting that Alexander applied to Pella essentially the same policy that his father (John Hyrcanus) and his brother (Aristobulus I) had followed, respectively, vis-à-vis the Idumeans and the Itureans,4 it is nevertheless quite problematic. Some of the problems pertain to Josephus’ narrative alone, others to broader historical issues. First, and most generally, I would note that the imposition of Judaism upon the inhabitants of Pella would have contradicted what seems to be an obvious implication of Hasmonean constitutional history. For it seems that the innovation of monarchy by Aristobulus I, who reigned for a year prior to Yannai (Ant. 13.301 // War 1.70), or by Yannai himself (so Strabo, Geogr. 16.2.40),5 after decades in which the Hasmoneans had been high priests alone, represented a separation of religion from state that should have allowed Yannai to rule his state without insisting that all his subjects adhere to the same religion.6 3

For example: V. Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1959), 246; S. Zeitlin, The Rise and Fall of the Judaean State (2 vols.; 2d ed.; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1968– 1969), 1:332; E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135) (3 vols.; rev. ed.; ed. G. Vermes, F. Millar, and M. Black; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973–1987), 1:228; 2:147. 4 See Ant. 13.257–258 (with 15.254–255) and 13.318–319. On the conversion of the Idumeans and the Itureans, see, inter alia, S. J. D. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 110–19, and the remarkable exchange between two recent Israeli Festschriften: I. Shatzman, “On the Conversion of the Idumaeans,” in For Uriel: Studies in the History of Israel in Antiquity Presented to Professor Uriel Rappaport (ed. M. Mor et al.; Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2005), 213–41 [Hebrew], and U. Rappaport, “The Conversion of the Idumaeans under John Hyrcanus,” in Israel’s Land: Papers Presented to Israel Shatzman on His Jubilee (ed. J. Geiger, H. M. Cotton, and G. D. Stiebel; Raanana: The Open University of Israel, 2009), 59–74 [Hebrew]. 5 For that text, and for discussion of this issue, see M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism (3 vols.; Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984), 1:296, 307 (no. 115). 6 See D. R. Schwartz, Studies in the Jewish Background of Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 38–39.

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True, such a general consideration should not govern our assessment of any particular episode. However, note—as a second problem—that by the time Yannai took Pella, twenty years or more into his reign, he had conquered numerous other cities and towns, all over Palestine.7 Nowhere else do we read that he applied such a policy, or attempted to do so. Why should things have been so exceptional in the case of Pella? That problem is both an historical puzzle8 and a “narratological” issue: the exceptional nature of Josephus’ notice should puzzle us, but normally readers may expect narratives not to be so mystifying. If, in other words, Josephus does not explain why Pella was treated so differently, that is reason to suspect that he did not mean to say it was. Third, and intensifying that problem: Since Josephus’ notice about Pella comes near the end of a long list of cities “held” by the Jews in Yannai’s days, and notes that it was destroyed because its inhabitants refused to adopt the Jews’ customs, the obvious implication is that the inhabitants of the other cities indeed submitted to such an ultimatum and agreed to adopt the Jews’ customs. But that seems to be an extravagant conclusion to build on such an inference alone. Given Josephus’ repeated references to the conversion of the Idumeans (Ant. 13.257–258; 15.254–255), and given his and Timagenes’ explicit reference to that of the Itureans (Ant. 13.318–319), and given the general interest in the topic of conversion, which Josephus addresses frequently in his writings,9 it seems unreasonable to infer that much about other cities without explicit positive statements. That scholars generally agree that such a datum is too heavy to be based upon inference alone is demonstrated, I believe, by the fact that although many scholars have adopted Josephus’ statement about Pella (see n. 3), most—although not all—have abstained from adopting its obvious impli-

7

For surveys of Yannai’s campaigns, see Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 1:220–27, and M. Stern, “Judaea and Her Neighbors in the Days of Alexander Jannaeus,” The Jerusalem Cathedra 1 (1981): 22–46. 8 One way to put it is Morton Smith’s: “The implication—that if they had gone over the city would not have been destroyed—seems hardly compatible with Janneus’ policy as indicated in other cases,” for Alexander destroyed many Greek cities, with no mention of adoption or non-adoption of Jewish practices having been an issue (M. Smith, Studies in the Cult of Yahweh [2 vols.; ed. S. J. D. Cohen; Leiden: Brill, 1996], 1:269–70 n. 41). 9 See S. J. D. Cohen, “Respect for Judaism by Gentiles according to Josephus,” HTR 80 (1987): 409–30.


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cation concerning the other cities.10 But if the logical inference from a passage is something we are not willing to believe, then, as with indirect proofs in mathematics, we should be open to the possibility that something is wrong with the passage.11 In light of these three opening issues, we should, I believe, be willing to devote some attention to four specific problems pertaining to this passage, of which the conclusion reads as follows according to the Loeb edition: . . . Κιλίκων αὐλῶνα Πέλλαν (ταύτην δὲ κατέσκαψαν οὐχ ὑποσχομένων τῶν ἐνοικούντων ἐς τὰ πάτρια τῶν Ἰουδαίων ἔθη μεταβαλεῖσθαι) . . .

1. A textual issue. As Marcus notes in his critical apparatus, several witnesses omit οὐχ, leaving a statement that the inhabitants of Pella did promise to adopt the Jews’ ancestral customs. Indeed, that is the text followed by Benedikt Niese, in his standard critical edition of our text.12 True, Emile Schürer declared that such a text is “sinnlos.”13 However, the fact that Niese stuck to his οὐχ-less text 10

For some exceptions, see Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 1:228 (“Alexander Jannaeus was still Jew enough to subject conquered territories as far as possible to Jewish customs: if the captured towns refused to comply, they were razed to the ground”; as his n. 2 there shows, this is an inference from Ant. 13.397). Some scholars go all the way and add in coerced circumcision too; so H. Graetz, Geschichte der Judäer von den ältesten Zeiten bis auf die Gegenwart, III/1: Von dem Tode Juda Makkabis bis zum Untergange des judäischen Staates (5th ed.; ed. M. Brann; Leipzig: Oskar Leiner, 1905), 132 (“Die Bewohner aller dieser Städte zwang er, das Judentum anzunehmen und sich die Beschneidung gefallen zu lassen. Die Stadt Pella, deren Bewohner sich dagegen sträubten, ließ er zerstören”), also S. Weitzman, “Forced Circumcision and the Shifting Role of Gentiles in Hasmonean Ideology,” HTR 92 (1999): 37–59 (38 n. 6) (“this report seems to imply that the other cities listed in this passage as conquered, but not destroyed, by Alexander were spared because their inhabitants had agreed to submit to Jewish rites, including presumably circumcision”). 11 Indeed, J. Wellhausen, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte (7th ed.; Berlin: Reimer, 1914), 266, with ibid., n. 3, emphasized the lack of evidence for the coercive Judaization of the other conquered Greek cities, and that Josephus’ statement about Pella is quite exceptional and also “ganz unsicher überliefert.” 12 Flavii Iosephi Opera, edidit et apparatu critico instruxit Benedictus Niese (7 vols.; Berolini: Weidmannos, 1887–1895), 3:225. 13 Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi (3 vols.; 3d–4th ed.; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1901–1909), 1:286 n. 33 (“meaningless” and “unintelligible” in the new Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 1:228 n. 32 and 2:147 n. 327).

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even in his editio minor,14 although frequently he allowed himself more freedom there and deviated in the direction that his sense dictated despite the witnesses,15 should—together with the problems listed above—give us pause.16 At the very least, it indicates that someone was having trouble making sense of our passage. 2. Geographic disorder. The reference to Pella comes in a list of cities in Moab, but Pella is nowhere near Moab and Josephus, of course, knew that well. That needs no proof, but note that at War 3.47 he clearly states that Pella is at the northern border of the region called Perea, that the southern border of Perea is Machaerus (west of the Dead Sea, more than fifty miles south of Pella), and that Moab is south of Perea. Indeed, all but one of the other localities “in Moab” mentioned in this list can be identified with fair security, and they are all in the vicinity of the Dead Sea.17 There is no obvious explanation for this misplacement of Pella.18 3. Contradiction of other Josephan evidence. The notice at Ant. 13.397 that Yannai destroyed Pella is somewhat at odds with War 1.104, where Josephus reports that Yannai conquered Pella but says not a word about destruction or about adoption of Jewish practices. And Ant. 13.397 diametrically contradicts Josephus’ lists at War 1.155– 156 and Ant. 14.74–76, which are basically its mirror image: our Ant. 13.395–397 lists the cities governed by Yannai at the end of 14

Flavii Iosephi Opera, recognovit Benedictus Niese (6 vols.; Berolini: Weidmannos, 1888–1895), 3: 183. 15 In the introduction to volume I (1888) of the editio minor, p. iii, Niese noted that in this edition he allowed himself more freedom to emend. Thus, for example, at Life 39, 119, 142, 190, 395 the text of the editio minor adopts conjectures Niese had confined to the critical apparatus in the editio maior. 16 Indeed, in 1999 Shaye Cohen observed that Niese’s reading “is not necessarily wrong and deserves further consideration than it has received” (Beginnings of Jewishness, 111 n. 3). 17 See Marcus’s notes ad loc. in the Loeb Josephus, also A. Schalit, “Die Eroberungen des Alexander Jannäus in Moab,” Theokratia 1 (1967–1969): 3–50. 18 Note that although, as Y. Shahar has observed ( Josephus Geographicus: The Classical Context of Geography in Josephus [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004], 237–38), at times a toponym is listed out of geographical order at the beginning or end of a list so as to endow it with special importance, that will not work for Pella here (nor does Shahar suggest that it does), since it appears only as the last item under the rubric “and in Moab,” but not at the end of the entire list.


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his reign, and the other two passages list the cities that Pompey freed from Hasmonean rule fifteen years later. Those lists of freed cities, which are more or less identical, clearly include (in the War explicitly [μὴ φθάσαντες κατέσκαψαν] and in the Antiquities implicitly) Pella among the cities that had not previously been destroyed, as opposed to others that had. 4. The archaeological evidence for a destruction of Pella in the days of Yannai is not very impressive.19 Turning to these four difficulties and where they might lead, I would first set one issue aside. Namely, the contradiction between Ant. 13.397’s statement that Pella was “destroyed,” on the one hand, and, on the other, the Josephan passages that deny it (no. 3) and the archaeological evidence that hardly supports it (no. 4), is not so bothersome in light of the fact that 19

True, according to a 1992 article by the co-director of the Pella excavations, “[e]xcavation has shown that this onslaught in the year 83/82 BC was fully as devastating as Josephus indicated (see McNicoll et al. 1992, 106)”; thus R. H. Smith, “Some Pre-Christian Religions at Pella of the Decapolis,” ARAM 4 (1992): 197–214 (199–200). A decade later, however, A. Lichtenberger, Kulte und Kultur der Dekapolis: Untersuchungen zu numismatischen, archäologischen und epigrafischen Zeugnissen (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), 171, was much more circumspect: “Die Zerstörung ist anscheinend im archäologischen Befund nachweisbar,” and a year later all M. A. Chancey, The Myth of a Gentile Galilee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 139, would say was that “the charred remains of two houses as well as burned soil and other remains date to the approximate time of Alexander Jannaeus, perhaps [corroborating] Josephus’ report.” Indeed, although a preliminary report does point to some suggestive evidence (see R. H. Smith, A. McNicoll, and J. B. Hennessy, “Preliminary Report on the 1979 Session of the Sydney-Wooster Joint Expedition to Pella: The Winter Session [Sydney],” ADAJ 24 [1980]: 13–40 [17, 34]), some of the main archaeological evidence for destruction by Yannai apparently builds upon Josephus’ testimony rather than offering it independent corroboration. Thus, for example, Smith’s reference to “McNicoll et al. 1992, 106,” which is the only reference he gives in his statement cited at the outset of this note, leads us to a report of a C14 dating of a roof beam from a burnt house. Those who read the report will learn that the C14 dating means that “an occupation span terminating at 83/82 BC is not unlikely” (my italics, D.R.S.), and even then a footnote ad loc. admits that, upon calibration, the dating is in fact “200 ± 200 BC.” See: A. McNicoll et al., eds., Pella in Jordan 2 (Sydney: Meditarch, 1992), 106 with n. 1. That is, the specific reference to “this onslaught in the year 83/82 BC” derives from Josephus.

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“destroyed” here could be, as elsewhere, an acceptable overstatement. As especially Israel Shatzman has shown, ancient writers (including Josephus) sometimes spoke of the destruction of cities when all they meant was the imposition of a new government.20 Or perhaps, given the reference to ancestral Jewish customs, we might prefer to imagine that Josephus (or the author of his source) meant destruction but his reference to Jewish ancestral customs should guide us in limiting its scope: perhaps it applied only, or especially, to Pella’s cults.21 One way or another we could water Josephus’ statement down, historically, and leave it claiming not much more than the institution of Hasmonean rule—something apparently confirmed by the number of Yannai’s coins found in the city.22 However, while on the historical level we could overcome that issue and live with all of our evidence concerning this point if taken in isolation, for readers of Josephus’ narrative in context the notice in 13.397 poses a problem that is not so easily ignored. For, as noted above, §397 implies that the inhabitants of the other cities did (in contrast to the inhabitants of Pella) promise to adopt Jewish customs, but that seems to be something too significant to leave to realm of inference alone.23 And even if, alternatively, in light of the textual problem mentioned above (no. 1) and the ambiguity of the genetivus absolutus (ὑποσχομένων), we contemplate the possibility that Josephus meant that Yannai destroyed Pella despite the fact that its inhabitants had promised to adopt Jewish ways (the implication being either that 20

See I. Shatzman, “The Hasmoneans in Greco-Roman Historiography,” Zion 57 (1991/92): 5–64 (62–63) [Hebrew]. Similar: R. H. Smith, Pella of the Decapolis (2 vols.; Wooster, Ohio: College of Wooster, 1973–1989), 1:38 (who suggests that, in this case, what Yannai did took “more the form of financial burdens or religious strictures than physical demolition”). 21 As was suggested by T. Weber, Pella Decapolitana: Studien zur Geschichte, Architektur und bildenden Kunst einer hellenisierten Stadt des nördlichen Ostjordanlandes (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1993), 15–16. 22 See K. Sheedy, “Jewish Coins,” in Pella in Jordan, 1979–1990: The Coins (ed. K. Sheedy, R. Carson, and A. Walmsley; Sydney: Adapa, 2001), 27–29. 23 As lawyers would put it, an implication derived only by the expressio unius est exclusio alterius rule can be too extravagant to be accepted; when that is the case, the natural conclusion is that the text was composed without due care. See, for example, G. Dworkin, Odgers’ Construction of Deeds and Statutes (5th ed.; London: Sweet and Maxwell, 1967), 94–95, 268–70. My point, below, will be that it is easier to accept that conclusion when we can suggest what generated the sloppiness.


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they broke their promise or that Yannai was perfidious), we would still be left mystified about the implications for the other cities in the list. Why would Yannai make this demand of Pella alone? Or, if he made it of the other cities too, why—whether or not they promised—did he not destroy them too? How could Josephus expect his readers to cope with these questions? While we might be able to guess at answers to these questions, the narratological point, again, is that normally we may expect a narrative not to leave us so mystified. If, however, we conclude that Josephus’ notice about Pella—with or without οὐχ—is quite difficult when read in its context,24 but it is nevertheless there, the normal suspicion should be that it was added in secondarily. That could explain how it happened both that it was inserted in the wrong place and that by giving details it created an intolerable implication concerning other items in the list; that is what often happens when items are added into extant lists. How many of us have never done the same?25 That hypothesis points to two possible scenarios. Either Josephus completed his work without the passage about Pella and someone later added it in, or Josephus (or an assistant), in preparing the Antiquities, added the passage, without realizing the implications, to a list he found in his source.26 24

A point which may lie, one way or another, behind another detail of the transmission of Ant. 13.397: according to Niese’s apparatus ad loc., his favorite manuscript (P[alatinus], the one that omits οὐχ) reads not just πέλλαν but, rather, πέλλαν τε—a text vouched for by the Latin pellante. That dangling conjunction, followed not by the name of another city but—more or less impossibly—by a phrase about Pella, may indicate either that someone along the way had a text without that phrase, or else that someone had the phrase but was unhappy with it and tried to solve the problem by omitting it, letting the list end with “and Pella and others of the principal cities of Syria that had been subdued.” 25 Thus, for example, lately I had to interpret a Hebrew University regulation in which numerous paragraphs refer to “members of the faculty” but one specified that “in this paragraph ‘members of the faculty’ includes retirees.” Although logically that means that “members of the faculty” excludes retirees in all the other passages, we decided that it did not; rather, we assumed that the clarification in the one paragraph was added secondarily by someone who was not aware of its implication for the other paragraphs. 26 Cf. Schalit, “Die Eroberungen des Alexander Jannäus,” 34–35, for similar considerations that lead to another suggestion: that the phrase about Pella belongs after “Gadara” in §396—which is how Abraham Schalit indeed emended the text

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2. The Notice about Pella Derives from a Gentile Observer Of those two possibilities, I would first set aside the possibility that our passage is a later insertion into the text of Josephus’ Antiquities. That is not impossible, of course, but I see no evidence for it.27 But although I therefore prefer the second possibility, that Josephus or an assistant of his put it in, I also find it difficult, for two reasons, to imagine that Josephus phrased it himself. First, copying involves less thought than composition, and so it is easier to imagine Josephus copying a text that creates inconcinnity in the local context and contradicts his own testimony in three other places (to the effect that Pella was not destroyed—above, no. 3) than to imagine him creating it himself.28 Second, we should be impressed by the fact that what the inhabitants of Pella refused to undertake are described as the Jews’ ancestral ethē, customs. That is in stark contradiction to Josephus’ nomenclature concerning the two obvious precedents for this event: Concerning both the Idumeans and the Itureans, Josephus says they undertook the Jews’ nomoi—their laws (Ant. 13.257,29 318). Indeed, this differential usage bespeaks a different point of view: For outside observers, everything Jews do, qua Jews, may be described as Jewish customs, but for insiders, law-abiding Jews, there are sharp distinctions between laws and customs, and customs are less binding than laws.30 Thus, had Josephus composed

in his Hebrew translation of the Antiquities (3 vols.; Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1963). 27 I did consider the possibilities that the passage might somehow refer to the Jews’ attack on Pella in 66 C.E. (Josephus, War 2.458) or have something to do with the tradition of the flight of the Christian church of Jerusalem to Pella (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.5.3 etc.), but neither notion seems to lead anywhere. 28 Here I will recall Julius Wellhausen’s comment about a passage in Ant. 17: “Josephus folgt Ant. 17, 41 ss. einer Quelle, die seiner eigenen Anschauung völlig widerspricht; es sind ihm auf diese Weise öfter Kukkukseier in sein Nest geraten” (Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte, 323 n. 1). 29 So edited by Niese and Marcus, in conformance with several witnesses; some others read nomima. 30 For some cases of this distinction in Josephus and Luke, see my “God, Gentiles, and Jewish Law: On Acts 15 and Josephus’ Adiabene Narrative,” in Geschichte—Tradition—Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag (3 vols.; ed. H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger, and P. Schäfer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 1:263–82, esp. 273–74.


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the notice about Pella himself we would have expected him to speak about their adopting the Jews’ laws. While Josephus is not totally consistent about this,31 it is still the case that his writings demonstrate this distinction quite well. It is enough, for our present needs, to note that in all of Antiquities 13, Josephus refers to ethē only one other time—at 13.102 (echoing 1 Macc 10:89— ὡς ἔθος), where he is speaking of the customs of Hellenistic monarchs. In contrast, when speaking of Jews and their practices, he speaks either of “the nomos” (§§12, 69, 71, 76, 78) or “a nomos” (§372) or, in the plural, of “the nomoi” simpliciter (§§198, 199) or of “the Jews’ nomoi” (§§257, 318), “the ancestral nomoi” (§54), or “the nomoi of Moses” (§§74, 79, 297). Again, for a very eloquent example of this contrast, and one that is quite relevant to our present context, we may refer to Josephus’ account, in Antiquities 16, of the troubles of the Jews of Asia: after Josephus reports that the Jews of Ionia came to Herod and complained that they were not being allowed to observe their nomoi (§27) although the Romans had allowed them to live according to their nomoi (§28), Josephus proceeds to cite Nicolas of Damascus’ speech on their behalf (as Herod’s representative) in direct speech. In that speech, however, Nicolas uses nomos only once, and that is where he refers to the reading of the Torah scroll itself (§43). Apart from that, what he argues is that the Jews’ ethē are not misanthropic (§42); that the Jews’ ethē are in fact proper (§44); and that, accordingly, the Jews should be allowed to observe their ethē (§47). Similarly, although the terminology is different, note the formulations employed in the story Josephus tells at Ant. 13.251–252: after first quoting Nicolas as saying that it was “not customary”32 “for Jews” (ἐν ᾗ τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις οὐκ ἦν νόμιμον) to 31 As is noted by S. Mason, Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees: A CompositionCritical Study (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 100–102. 32 So Marcus translates οὐκ . . . νόμιμον. Menahem Stern too used “customs” to render nomima in the passage cited from Ptolemy below, n. 36, just as H. L. Jones does the same in his LCL translation of Strabo, Geogr. 16.2.34—Ptolemy’s source. For the lesser status of nomima as compared to nomoi see also Ant. 13.296–297 and especially the way that text is echoed at Ant. 13.408: the former says that Hyrcanus abrogated the Pharisees’ nomima and the latter says that “if there was anything, even (!) of the nomima,” that the Pharisees had introduced and Hyrcanus had abrogated, Salome restored it. Note also Plato, Leg. 7.793a–d and Philo’s very explicit statement in Hypoth. 7.6, where he distinguishes between unwritten ethē, nomima, and “the nomoi themselves” (τοῖς νόμοις αὐτοῖς); only the latter are “the real thing.”

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march on their holidays, Josephus himself assures us that Nicolas was right because indeed “we are not allowed ” (οὐκ ἔξεστι δ᾿ ἡμῖν) to do so. Here too—not only in the move from third person to first person with regard to the Jews, but also in the move from what is not customary to what is forbidden—we see the difference between the points of view of an outside observer and a native member of the club. However, it is clear that Nicolas was not Josephus’ source for the statement in Ant. 13.397 that Yannai destroyed Pella. For it is, I believe, clear that Nicolas lies behind the lists in War 1.155–156 and Ant. 14.74–7633— and those lists, which report Pompey’s arrangements in Palestine, unambiguously distinguish between cities the Jews had destroyed and others that had not been destroyed, and list Pella among the latter. So we must look for some other writer used by Josephus for this period, one with an interest in geography and an outsider’s perspective about the Jews. Although others cannot be ruled out,34 Strabo is the obvious candidate. Strabo demonstrably took an interest in the conversion of the Idumeans (Geogr. 16.2.34) and the Itureans (apud Josephus, Ant. 13.319); Strabo speaks of the Jews’ “customs” rather than of their laws (Geogr. 16.2.37); and Josephus explicitly used Strabo’s history numerous times in this part of his narrative (see Ant. 13.284–287; 14.35, 68, 104, 112, 114–118. Indeed, as 14.68 and 14.104 show, Josephus was wont to compare Nicolas’ text to Strabo’s, and it is easy to imagine him, or an assistant, adding a statement by Strabo about Pella into a list supplied by Nicolas without noticing the

33

For Josephus’ dependence upon Nicolas in Ant. 14.74–76 note the great sympathy for Syrian cities and detail about them, the reference to Syria as “the province” in §76, the flattering reference to Herod, the antipathy to the Hasmoneans and the Jews, and the diametrically opposite point of view (and move from third-person to first-person with regard to the Jews) in §§77–78, which are explicitly by the author of the book—Josephus. Moreover, comparison with War 1.155–156 shows that Josephus used the same source there, and Josephus’ general dependence upon Nicolas in War 1 is more or less a given; see Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1:229, and T. Landau, Out-Heroding Herod: Josephus, Rhetoric, and the Herod Narratives (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 23–27. (Note, however, that the better editing of the War [Ag. Ap. 1.50] saw to changing Nicolas’ “the province” into “the province of Syria” and Nicolas’ “Roman legions” [Ant. 14.79] into “legions,” in both cases exchanging a Roman perspective for a Syrian one). 34 Such as Theophanes of Mytilene, who seems to lie behind some of Josephus’ report about Pompey; see Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1:186.


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problems it created. That is, for the present, the best I can suggest about the origin of this text.

3. Why No Mention of Circumcision? Josephus’ report about what Yannai imposed upon Pella is interesting not only insofar as it speaks of customs rather than laws, as noted above, but also insofar as it does not refer to circumcision.35 This point is especially interesting in light of our conclusion that the notice originates with a Gentile observer, for, as we can clearly see with regard to the Idumeans and the Itureans, it was especially circumcision that attracted the attention of nonJewish observers. Thus, Timagenes reported it concerning the Itureans and his statement was cited by Strabo, just as one Ptolemy (of Ascalon?) reports it of the Idumeans, and his report is quoted with interest by such later writers as Philo of Byblos and the anonymous author of a first- or secondcentury work on synonyms.36 None of them reports any adoption of other Jewish laws or customs; this, in stark contrast to Josephus, who seems to have preferred to emphasize Jewish law in general rather than circumcision.37 Indeed, Gentile writers frequently focus upon circumcision when discussing Jews and the adoption of Judaism;38 after all, it is a very interesting 35

Cf. Graetz and Weitzman (above, n. 10). Timagenes: apud Strabo according to Josephus, Ant. 13.318–319 (Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1: no. 81). Ptolemy: Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1: no. 146. For later citations of Ptolemy, see F. Jacoby, Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Part Four: Biography and Antiquarian Literature, IVA: Biography, Fascicle 7: Imperial and Undated Authors (ed. J. Radicke; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 2–7 (no. 1053). 37 The way Josephus adds the reference to laws to his source’s reference to circumcision is very evident in Ant. 13.318–319. Similarly, note that at Ant. 15.254–255 Josephus refers only to Jewish practices, not mentioning the Idumeans’ circumcision at all. For Josephus’ disapproval of forced circumcision, see his Life 113. Similarly, Cohen underlined Josephus’ preference for adoption of law and lack of reference to circumcision when discussing conversion in the Against Apion; see Cohen, “Respect for Judaism,” 426. 38 In general, on the great attention ancient writers devoted to Jewish circumcision, see Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 3:114. On the way Latin writers of Josephus’ day focused on circumcision in connection with conversion, see Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, 40–41. 36

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and invasive procedure, and in the nature of things it is, as opposed to most aspects of Jewish practice, the one that is most readily enforced and subject to confirmation. What this all indicates is that if Ant. 13.397 does not refer to circumcision, although mentioning it—whether refused or promised—would have been interesting and also would have contributed to the portrayal of Yannai as a “tyrant” (as Strabo terms him),39 we can be pretty sure that Strabo did not hear, concerning Yannai and Pella, of any such demand. Of course, it could be that Yannai nevertheless made such a demand. But given Strabo’s (and other Gentiles’) special interest in circumcision, in such contexts (as we have seen), that is not very likely. And, in any case, if we move our attention from Josephus’ source to Josephus himself we see that he too, who had referred to the circumcision of the Idumeans and the Itureans, made no such reference with regard to Pella, or to any other place conquered by Yannai. Let us therefore pursue, not without the reserve required by dependence upon arguments from silence, the hypothesis that circumcision was not demanded, and ask: Why not? It might be that the separation of religion from state, symbolized by the adoption of the royal crown alongside the high-priestly diadem, suffices to explain this. Perhaps, that is, we should take “ancestral customs of the Jews” to mean merely “Judean law,” and assume that all Yannai wanted was that his new subjects pay taxes and keep the peace. However, that seems overdone; Josephus and others had regular ways of referring to the subjugation of cities and the imposition of taxes, using ὑποτελής or the like.40 When Josephus refers, instead, to the imposition of τὰ πάτρια τῶν Ἰουδαίων ἔθη, he is referring to Jewish religious practice. A more promising explanation of Yannai’s apparent abstention from imposing circumcision is suggested, I believe, by the fact the Qumran texts express virtually no interest in circumcision. There is no entry on circumcision in the Encylopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and one really has to scrape the bottoms of some barrels (and bibliographies) to come up with a couple of Qumran references to the rite: CD 16:6 refers to the circumcision of 39

Geogr. 16.2.40 (Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1: no. 115). See e.g. Ant. 4.99; 5.120; 8.51; 14.74; 17.355; Life 126. Note esp. Ant. 13.257, where the fact that John Hyrcanus made the Idumeans his subjects (ὑποχειρίους ποιησάμενος or ὑπὸ χεῖρα ποιησάμενος) is listed separately from his stipulation that they could remain in the country if they accepted circumcision and the observance of Jewish law. 40


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Abraham; CD 12:11 says one may not sell Gentiles a servant who had “entered into the covenant of Abraham with him” and it is often thought that refers to circumcision,41 which while possible is hardly certain, especially in light of the fact that the text refers specifically to male and female servants; and it was once thought that a certain fragmentary 4Q text alludes to the question of circumcision on the Sabbath, a notion which was mobilized as possible reason to emend another 4Q text so as to have it refer to something similar. In the end, however, the editors of the latter two texts left them with no reference to circumcision.42 Otherwise, apart from a few metaphorical references to the “circumcision” of one’s evil urges (1QS 5:5) or heart (1QS 5:26; 1QpHab 11:13; 4Q434 1 i 4; 4Q504 4 11),43 that seems to be it.44 41

This is taken for granted, for example, by F. García Martínez, “Invented Memory: The ‘Other’ in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Qumranica Minora II: Thematic Studies on the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. E. J. C. Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 187– 218 (198). Note, however, that in his n. 28 ad loc. he refers only to rabbinic evidence that equates “the covenant” with circumcision, but none from Qumran; cf. below n. 44. 42 For 4Q251 1–2 7, see E. Larson and L. Schiffman, DJD 35:30. That commentary, on a text that reads [‫בי]ו[ם הששי בשר ער]וה‬, floats the possibility of emending it into ‫ביום השמיני בשר ער]לתו‬, pointing to another text (“4Q265 12”) as if it probably alludes to circumcision on the eighth day, even if it is the Sabbath. However, the suggested emendation is more than hesitant, and the latter miniscule fragment (as published by J. M. Baumgarten, DJD 35:74, as “Unidentified Fragment e” of 4Q265) has no such allusion. My thanks to Prof. Schiffman for helping me to clear this up. 43 See D. R. Seely, “The ‘Circumcised Heart’ in 4Q434 Barki Nafshi,” RevQ 17/65–68 (1996): 527–35, and G. J. Brooke, “Body Parts in Barkhi Nafshi and the Qualifications for Membership of the Worshipping Community,” Sapiential, Liturgical and Poetical Texts from Qumran (ed. D. K. Falk; F. García Martínez, and E. M. Schuller; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 79–94 (82). 44 This finding might, incidentally, engender hesitation about inserting the “uncircumcised of heart and uncircumcised of flesh” of Ezek 44:9 into 4Q174’s list of those excluded from the eschatological temple; for that suggestion, originally offered by P. W. Skehan, see especially A. Steudel, Der Midrasch zur Eschatologie aus der Qumrangemeinde (4QMidrEschat a.b) (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 25, 42–43. True, Steudel rejects, because it is too short for the lacuna, M. Kister’s suggestion (“Marginalia Qumranica,” Tarbiz 56 [1987–1988]: 315–25 [318] [Hebrew]), that the lacuna instead be filled by a reference to those who suffer from a permanent blemish—a suggestion which is supported by the parallel at 1QM 7:4–5. Strangely,

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If we wonder why this cupboard should be so bare, perhaps we should explain it, first of all, on the basis of the assumption that children were not born in Qumran. If the sect was composed of people who “volunteered” to join, circumcision will not have been practiced there.45 However, normally we assume that circumcision is undergone not only by Jewish babies, but also by proselytes—Gentiles who become Jews. That, in turn, leads us to another more basic point: that although there probably were proselytes at Qumran, they were not thought to become Jews (“Israel”). They remained gerim; as the Damascus Document puts it quite clearly (CD 14:3–6), gerim were treated as a fourth descent-defined caste alongside the three native ones (Aaronites, Levites, Israel). That is, if a Gentile joined the community, it affected his religion, his chance for atonement and salvation (see CD 3:20–21; 4:7–10!), but not his basic identity as a non-Jew. Although he was a member of the community, he could not become a Jew any more than an Israelite could become a priest. As Florentino García Martínez put it: From the viewpoint of the Damascus Document, the ‫ גר‬can belong to the ‘new covenant.’ The boundary with ‘carnal Israel’ still cannot be crossed; even after becoming part of the group by freely deciding to submit to the covenant, a ‫ גר‬continues to be a ‫גר‬. However, the boundary with the ‘true Israel’ can be crossed, and a ‫ גר‬can become a ‘brother.’46 The same point of view is corroborated clearly by the juxtaposition of the ger and the ben nekhar among those whose entry to the temple pollutes it, according to 4QFlorilegium (4Q174 1–2 i 4), and almost as clearly by the rules concerning entry to the temple in columns 39–40 of the Temple Scroll.47 however, Steudel did not relate to Y. Yadin’s original formulation of that same suggestion (“A Midrash on 2 Sam. vii and Ps. i–ii [4QFlorilegium],” IEJ 9 [1959]: 95–98 [96]), cited by Kister, which is essentially the same but a few letters longer—as long as the text proposed by Steudel. Be that as it may, even if Qumran seers thought uncircumcised men should not enter the eschatological temple that would not entail the view that circumcision could make a non-Jew into a Jew or the view that it is a requirement for joining the Qumran community. 45 For some contributions to the perennial debate about the presence or nonpresence of women at Qumran, see the articles assembled in DSD 11/2 (2004). 46 García Martínez, “Invented Memory,” 206. 47 See J. M. Baumgarten, “Exclusions from the Temple: Proselytes and


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For those who held such views, there would be no need to require proselytes to be circumcised.48 Circumcision is a sign of Jews (García Martínez’s “carnal Israel”), not of any “new covenant” (what García Martínez terms “true Israel”), and circumcision would not make Gentiles into Jews (any more than ancient Jews thought that Arabs, or others who were circumcised, were therefore Jews), so why do it? In fact, doing it might only confuse matters. Indeed, it has recently been argued that Jews who denied the possibility of conversion held, correspondingly, that circumcision was of religious significance only if performed on the eighth day. That thesis, whatever problematic implications it might have concerning such antiquarian issues as Abraham’s own status (since he was ninety-nine when circumcised [Gen 17:24]), would have totally undermined the efficacy of proselyte circumcision.49 True, it is clear that many other Jews did think circumcision was part— in fact a necessary and most decisive part—of a process that could transform Gentiles into Jews. Indeed, as Josephus would put it in his story of the conversion of the royal house of Adiabene (Ant. 20.38), there were many who thought that only circumcision could make them “securely” Jewish.50 Many Gentiles were aware of that position too.51 But for Qumran the matter was different: No community that ascribed such prestige and authority to priests qua descendants of Aaron could easily admit that Agrippa I,” JJS 33 (1982): 216–25, and K. Berthelot, “La notion de ‫ גר‬dans les textes de Qumrân,” RevQ 19/74 (1999): 171–216. 48 As Berthelot, “La notion de ‫גר‬,” 214 notes: “les textes de Qumrân sont muets sur ce qui pourrait être un rituel de conversion, y compris sur la question de la circoncision du ger.” 49 For this point of view, see esp. Jub. 15:14, 26, along with M. Segal, The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 236–37, 242, and M. Thiessen, “The Text of Genesis 17:14,” JBL 128 (2009): 625–42, esp. 632, 638–39, also idem, Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), esp. 17–42 and 67–86. 50 For a thorough review and rejection of suggestions that various sources indicate otherwise, see J. Nolland, “Uncircumcised Proselytes?” JSJ 12 (1981): 173–94. 51 See above, nn. 36, 38. The best-known texts of this type are Juvenal, Sat. 14.96–106 (Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1: no. 301) and the Roman legal texts that focus on circumcision. For the latter, see A. Linder, The Jews in Roman Imperial Legislation (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987), esp. 99–102, 117–20, 138–44.

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differential birth might be overlooked or overcome by any commitment or operation. Rather, its point of view is well bespoken by the book of Jubilees (which enjoyed high prestige in Qumran):52 As has often been noted, ch. 30 of that priestly book retells Gen 34 without mentioning the element which is such a central element in the story, namely, that the Shechemites underwent circumcision, at the suggestion of Jacob’s sons, in order to legitimize their intermarriage with Jacob’s family. Apparently, the author of this work thought totschweigen the best policy toward the notion that circumcision (or anything else) could turn a Gentile into a Jew. Now, given all we know about the similarity of Sadducean halakah and Qumran halakah, which reflects the shared priestly background of the two groups,53 it is quite relevant to note that Yannai was a Sadducee.54 Accordingly, it would not at all be surprising for Yannai to hold a similar position. Indeed, elsewhere I have argued that the notices surrounding the inner court of the temple, that forbade the entry of “those of foreign birth,” signs which presumably were formulated by the priests who ran the temple (“the high priest and all those who were with him, that is, the sect of the Sadducees” [Acts 5:17]), really meant what they say: that those who were of Gentile birth remained non-Jews.55 That Josephus was unhappy about this Sadducean position (which conformed to the position expressed by Qumran texts—see above at n. 45), and therefore cited the signs (in War 5.194) as if they excluded not someone of different descent (ἀλλογενής) but, 52

On which see, most recently, J.-D. Hopkins, “The Authoritative Status of Jubilees at Qumran,” Hen 31 (2009): 97–104. 53 See esp. A. Shemesh, Halakhah in the Making: The Development of Jewish Law from Qumran to the Rabbis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 15–19, 107–28. 54 The evidence for this comes both from Josephus, who has Yannai’s father break with the Pharisees and link up with the Sadducees (Ant. 13.296) and has Yannai, on his deathbed, instruct his wife to abandon his own policy and ally herself with the Pharisees (Ant. 13.400–404), and from rabbinic literature. The latter not only preserves several stories about clashes between Yannai and the Pharisaic sages (inter alia: b. Qidd. 66a and b. Sanh. 19a–b), but also specifically reports that Yannai was a “Sadducee” (b. Ber. 29a) and, at t. Sukkah 3:16 (Lieberman, 270–71), tells about a “Boethusian” (a term the rabbis use more or less interchangeably with “Sadducee”) the same story that Josephus tells about Yannai at Ant. 13.372. 55 See my Agrippa I: The Last King of Judaea (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990), 124–30.


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rather, someone of different religion (ἀλλόφυλος),56 goes hand in hand with the fact that Josephus thought circumcision allowed non-Jews to become Jews.57 Truly, Josephus was not a Sadducee.58 In summary, it seems that there were three ancient Jewish views about non-Jews and circumcision. Some held that non-Jews could become Jews by conversion, a process that, for men, entailed circumcision. That view, shared by Josephus, would eventually remain the mainstream view. Another view, decried by Josephus, insisted that foreskins polluted the land, and that Gentiles must be circumcised if they are to stay in it.59 A third view, upon which we focused here, held that Gentiles could not become Jews even if circumcised, and therefore did not demand it of them. That view seems to have been held by the Qumran sect, at least of the Damascus Document variety, which—although it posited the acceptance of Jewish religious practice, explicitly maintained such gerim as a caste outside of 56

For Josephus’ use of allophylos to mean “adherent of another religion” in contrast to allogenēs (“one of foreign birth”), see esp. Ant. 12.23 and my “Should Josephus Have Ignored the Christians?” in Ethos und Identität: Einheit und Vielfalt des Judentums in hellenistisch-römischer Zeit (ed. M. Konradt and U. Steinert; Paderborn: Schöningh, 2002), 165–71. 57 Although that left Josephus a problem concerning women proselytes. See my “Doing like Jews or Becoming a Jew? Josephus on Women Converts to Judaism,” in Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World Welt (ed. J. Frey, S. Gripentrog, and D. R. Schwartz; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 93–109. 58 In his Life 12, in fact, he more or less says he became a Pharisee at the age of nineteen. True, that interpretation has been doubted by Mason (Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees, 342–56), but his distinction between Josephus’ statement that he began to conduct himself like a Pharisee out of “a certain acknowledgement of, or deference to, the Pharisaic school” (354–55) and the widespread paraphrase that he became a Pharisee does not—in the absence of any hint by Josephus that he did so against his own leanings—seem to change very much. In any case, the notion that Josephus identified with the Pharisees is based on more than that. See my “Josephus on the Pharisees as Diaspora Jews,” in Josephus und das Neue Testament: Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen (ed. C. Böttrich and J. Herzer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 137–46. 59 See Josephus, Life 112–113, and 1 Macc 2:46 and 2 Bar. 66:5 along with Weitzman, “Forced Circumcision,” 43. See also R. Eisenman, “ ‘Sicarii Essenes,’ ‘The Party of the Circumcision,’ and Qumran,” in Defining Identities: We, You, and the Other in the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. F. García Martínez and M. Popović; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 247–60.

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“Israel.”60 My suggestion is that the latter view was followed by Yannai as well, as is suggested by our conclusion that Josephus’ information at Ant. 13.397 derives from Strabo, or from some other Gentile observer, who would have had every reason to mention a demand for circumcision had it indeed been made. Our conclusion is suggestive regarding two adjacent contexts. First, looking back at the generation preceding Yannai, we may note Steven Weitzman’s suggestion that, by the late second century B.C.E. the Hasmonean state suffered from something of a manpower crisis: due either to demography or to politics, or both, there were not enough Jews around, and willing, to fill the ranks needed to maintain a state as large as the Hasmonean state had become. This will have played an important role in the background of two innovations in the days of Yannai’s father, John Hyrcanus: the introduction of non-Jewish mercenaries and the transformation of conquered foreigners into Jews.61 However, rather than (with Weitzman—above, n. 10) following this to the conclusion that Yannai too forced circumcision upon those he conquered, we might rather conclude that Yannai, who (as opposed to his father) was not only a high priest but also a king, and a Sadducee, realized that he could enlarge the number of his subjects without forcing upon them his own religion. 60

I wrote “at least of the Damascus Document variety” in light of the fact that that text is the most explicit about this topic. See García Martínez, “Invented Memory,” 208–18, on “the other” in the Rule of the Community. According to him, while the logic of that text, especially its teaching about Sons of Light and Sons of Darkness (cols. 3–4), could include non-Jews in its purview, the fact is that “what lies beyond the boundary of Israel apparently does not interest them at all” (213) and so this text does not, even less than the Damascus Document, abandon “the concept of ‘ethnicity’ ”; such a step would be taken only by the New Testament (218). Thus, the Rule too bespeaks the views of people who would not imagine that circumcision might turn a Gentile into a Jew. One may imagine, however, that such texts, with such logic, did help prepare the way for the next step; see my Studies on the Jewish Background, 3–4, 20. 61 Mercenaries: Ant. 13.249, 374, 409; Diodorus Siculus 40.2 (Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1: no. 64). Conversion of conquered peoples—above n. 4. See Weitzman, “Forced Circumcision,” 51–59; his suggestion builds upon, but also deviates from, an earlier study by B. Bar-Kochva (which referred to the mercenaries but not the conversions): “Manpower, Economics, and Internal Strife in the Hasmonean State,” Armées et fiscalité dans le monde antique (ed. H. van Effenteurre; Paris: Centre nationale de la recherche scientifique, 1977), 167–96.


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Second, looking forward to a century or two after Yannai: The first century would see the appearance, in Judea, of preachers who would downplay the importance of being descendants of Abraham (for God could even turn stones into Abraham’s sons—Matt 3:9 // Luke 3:8). Rather, the movement that began that way would in short order come to teach that what made Abraham Abraham was his faith so non-Jews too could, and should, become sons of Abraham via faith (Gal 3:6–9), and thus part of the true people of Israel (Rom 9–11), even though they need not adopt Mosaic religion since that had been superseded by Christ’s (Gal 3:10–14; Rom 10:4–13). Around that same time, rabbis would, in contrast, insist that what made Abraham Abraham was his covenant with God, sealed by circumcision, and they set to work to formulate the process via which a nonJew could, by circumcision, become a son of Abraham—but only if he undertook Mosaic religion too.62 What both of those approaches had in common was the notion that it is important, but also possible, for those outsiders to join the Jewish people, of which Abraham was the father; what they argued about was whether doing so entailed the undertaking of Mosaic religion as well.63 In this paper our original point of departure, about Pella, however little we were able to clarify about that city’s fate in the days of Yannai, and however uncertain our conjecture about the origin of the problematic statement about Pella in Ant. 13.397, led us to notice and clarify the position of some other, earlier, Jews who, as might be expected of priests, took paternity and, therefore, peoplehood, so seriously that they denied the possibility that someone who was not born a son of Abraham could become one—but they also denied the importance of doing so, for one could join the Mosaic religion without joining the Abrahamic people. Each approach, in its own way, was grappling with the need to coordinate between being Jewish and being a person, in a world that was increasingly mobile and universal.

62

On the rabbinic conversion ceremony, see Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, 198–238; he argues that it dates to the second century C.E. 63 For the central New Testament discussion of that question, see Acts 15.


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Thematic Issue Book Review The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State. By Hanan Eshel. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans and Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2008. Paperback. Pp. 220. US$ 28.00. ISBN 9780802862853. We should all be grateful that our late colleague Hanan Eshel wrote The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State.1 Several scholars of the scrolls have assembled lists of all the known historical characters who are mentioned in the scrolls, and in the many studies of individual texts authors have dealt with the historical issues that arise in connection them. A good example is Pesher Nahum in which two Greek kings are named and, as most agree, the text reflects the invasion of Judea by the Seleucid forces under Demetrius III and at Pharisaic invitation in the year 88 B.C.E. But what Eshel did was to gather all the scrolls passages that do or seem to allude to historical events or to reflect them in some way. He has also presented them in a clear fashion—in the historical order of the events in question. Following the chronological principle of organization, he begins with a text (4Q248) that, on his understanding, refers to events involving Antiochus IV that transpired in 170–168 B.C.E., and he continues throughout most of the Hasmonean period down to the death of Pompey in 48 B.C.E., an event he finds echoed in 4Q386. He properly notes that, were it not for our more historically oriented and better preserved literature for the period (1–2 Maccabees, Josephus’ two histories), we would not be able to understand events or the history reflected in the scrolls, but when the Qumran texts are read with the aid of the other works much can be learned from them, sometimes even something new. In the final chapter he attempts to explain the failure of members of the community to produce pesharim after the time of Pompey’s death and finds the cause in the crisis of faith that arose when it became apparent the Kittim were not the ones the pesherists, who had learned their authoritative interpretations of scriptural prophecies from the Teacher of Righteousness, had thought they were. In the course of the book Eshel also supports the identifications of Jonathan as the Wicked Priest,

1

This review is a slightly revised version of a paper read at the SBL panel on Hanan Eshel’s book in 2008. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602430

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Thematic Issue Book Review / Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 361–365

John Hyrcanus as the Man of Belial, and Alexander Jannaeus as the Lion of Wrath. I think he is right about all three of them. The fact that some nine hundred scrolls have survived in one form or other and that only the small number treated in the book reflect historical events probably says something about the general attitude adopted by the scrolls authors to the larger world and what was happening in it. In the two times I have read through the book and the other times I have studied individual sections of it, I have found much to appreciate and have agreed with most of what Eshel has written. Since I do not take writing blurbs lightly, it is a good thing the scholarship in the book aroused this reaction. In the blurb I wrote: “Hanan Eshel, both a scrolls scholar and an expert archaeologist, has assembled and analyzed in comprehensive fashion a series of texts in which the authors offer their perspective on events involving the Hasmonean rulers. The book, happily now available in an updated English version, is clear, compelling, and enlightening.” I meant those words, but, following a longstanding academic tradition, let me focus on the places where I disagree or at least have questions about the interpretations offered. I will conclude with some thoughts about a few larger issues raised by the nature of the evidence. First, I am uneasy and uncertain about the interpretation of 4Q248 found in chapter one: “The Roots of the Hasmonean Revolt: The Reign of Antiochus IV.” Eshel adopts the reading and interpretation of the text proposed by the editors, Magen Broshi and Esther Eshel, that 4Q248, officially labeled 4QHistorical Text A, of which only ten lines are extant on a single fragment, “is a genuine historical composition which is part of an apocalyptic work” (DJD 36:192; in The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader, 6:80–81, it is listed under “Apocalyptic Texts/Non-Symbolic Apocalypses”). The editors proposed that the text tells of events involving Antiochus IV and thus joined a series of other Jewish texts that deal with this notorious monarch and his activities. They dated the script to ca. 30–31 B.C.E., that is, the early Herodian period. Eshel and Broshi related it to Dan 11 and thought it alluded in highly condensed form to several events in the king’s relations with the Ptolemaic kingdom centered in Egypt. Line 2, on their reading, refers to Antiochus’s first invasion, with lines 3–4 dealing with his siege of Alexandria (the reference to eating flesh is an exaggeration); line 6 mentions selling Egyptian land (see Dan 11:39), line 7 alludes to the capture of Jerusalem (called the City of the Sanctuary), and line 8 may echo Antiochus’ conquest of Cyprus during his second campaign against Egypt. The text, which has words paralleling Dan 12:7 in line 9 and mentions a turning or repentance in line 10, would have been written just after Antiochus’s second invasion and before the book of Daniel was completed. Thus Dan 12:7 would have been cited from 4Q248. Also, 4Q248 so read supports the sequence of events given in 1 Maccabees: first invasion, capture and looting of Jerusalem, second invasion; it would oppose the one in 2 Maccabees that puts the


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pillaging of Jerusalem after the second campaign (if that is what 2 Macc 5:1 means). This involved hypothesis formulated by the editors and accepted by Eshel, could be entirely true, partly true, or wrong. While it is impressive and offers plausible ways of reading some lines, the major problem arises from the idea of reading so much from or perhaps into a ten-line text, one of whose lines has no legible letters (line 1), almost every line of which has uncertainly read letters (almost all of them in line 10 are topped with circlets), no line of which is complete, and for which we have no context. True, John Collins did write in his blurb: “Eshel is at his best in detecting historical allusions in fragmentary texts.” But is he right about this one? Note the following problems (apart from no context and no legible letters in line 1): (1) The length of the lines is unknown: the beginnings of lines 7–10 are preserved, but there is no indication of how long they were. This is the case even in lines 9 and 10 where there is a quotation of Dan 12:7 (or at least an agreement in wording). The first words of line 9 are also found in Dan 12:7 as are the words in line 10, but there is clearly too much space available (in comparison with the preserved parts of previous lines) to fill only with words from Dan 12:7. Since one does not know how much text preceded the first word of the sentence in line 9, the line length is not known. Hence it is perilous to connect what is said in one line with what is said in the next one. (2) There is no preserved reference to a king, although it makes sense to surmise that one is the subject of some of the verbs. If a king is the subject, there is little to help in identifying him. A general could also be involved. (3) Line 2: ]Egypt and in Greece and[: Greece is difficult if it is taken to mean the Seleucid empire; if the word has that meaning here, it is unlike Dan 11 which uses the word for Alexander’s empire but not for the Seleucids. (4) Line 3: ]m he will make big/the big [ ]in this they will eat [: there is no reference to what “they will eat;” and there is no reference in the sources to cannibalism which the editors in any case import into the text in the missing part (we do not know the connection between the verb “eat” in line 3 and “their sons and their daughters” in line 4). (5) In line 5 they have to suggest that metathesis has occurred in the word ‫ אצרות‬so that it means “lands” whereas the reading is clear enough. (6) In line 8 the foreign nations are poorly explained as referring to Cyprus. Why would the plural be used in that case? (7) In the last line, there is no indication of who the “sons of ” might be.

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(8) Some key letters for interpretation are very uncertain (for example, almost of those in line 10), although the suggestions are plausible and supported by the similarity with Dan 12:7. This is what the surviving text says: 1. 2. ]Egypt and in Greece and[ 3. ]m he will make big/the big [ ]in this they will eat [ 4. ]their [son]s and their daughters in the siege b[ 5. the Lord will cause (?) to cross (?) a wind/spirit [ ]their treasuries (?) and sh[ 6. [and] he will come to Egypt and will sell its dust and the (?)[ 7. to the city of the sanctuary and will take it with all(?)[ 8. and he will overthrow (?) in foreign lands and will return to Egy[pt 9. shattering of hand with the q[ 10. all these will return, sons of (?)[ Leaving aside any problems with reading 1 and 2 Maccabees regarding Antiochus and his relations with Egypt, there is not much here that allows one to nail down the background. To say that the selling of ‫ עפר‬in line 6 clarifies Dan 11:39 (“and shall distribute the land for a price”) is difficult to accept: there is no certainty the Daniel passage is talking about the king’s practice in Egypt. If the line did deal with the actions meant by Dan 11:39, it would have them in a different sequence. On the other hand the words in line 9 and the first two of line 10 agree with the wording of Dan 12:7. But would it not be more natural to think 4Q248, which we have only in a fragmentary work copied in the Herodian period, quotes Dan 12:7 than vice versa? A second kind of issue is raised by a text that I have always thought Eshel interpreted in the best way, ever since I first read his explanation years ago—4QTestimonia. The question is: does the Qumran text mesh with our other sources? Eshel takes 4QTestimonia to be directed against the claims made for John Hyrcanus. According to Josephus, John was regarded not only as a ruler, and by birth he was a priest; he was also a prophet. 4QTestimonia cites scriptural passages about the future prophet like Moses, Balaam’s oracle about the star who will rise from Jacob/a scepter from Israel, and the section from Moses’ blessing regarding Levi. Then follows the citation of Josh 6:26 with its curse on the one who rebuilds Jericho. He will lose two sons upon laying the foundation and setting the gates/doors of the city. The text informs us that a man of Belial has arisen and apparently fallen victim to Joshua’s curse: two sons of violence have died (presumably his children), and there is reference to construction of a wall and towers to make it a stronghold (see also 4Q379 22 ii).


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My question, perhaps a picky one when dealing with arguments for whether an event fulfills a prediction accurately enough, is: Could John Hyrcanus’ constructions in the area of Jericho really be described as rebuilding the city? A third kind of issue is: Given that a series of individuals whose names appear in other historical sources are named in various scrolls, why does the series end near the middle of the first century B.C.E. when the results of archaeological work on the Qumran ruins suggest that the group continued to occupy the site until near 70 C.E.? At least some noteworthy people lived in that period—Julius Caesar and Augustus, Herod, Hillel, Jesus, etc. Why would there be no mention of anyone who lived after the death of Pompey? This is a question that goes beyond the lack of pesharim dating to the later period, as names are mentioned in other kinds of texts as well. Another question that occurred to me as I was thinking about the premature end of the list of historical individuals mentioned in the texts was: Does the list of named individuals have any value in assessing theories about the nature of the Qumran collection of scrolls. If those scrolls represented the literature of Judaism in general, would one not expect to find other individuals mentioned and later ones as well? The most important word to say about the book, once minor objections have been made and questions raised, is that Hanan Eshel has given us an excellent resource for study of an important subject. When so much debate has swirled around the question of when the scrolls community or communities were in the Judean wilderness and what was their relation with the wider world, it is most valuable to have a comprehensive treatment of references and possible references to known historical events and weighty discussions of them. Notre Dame University

James C. VanderKam


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Book Reviews Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees. Edited by Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. Paperback. Pp. xix + 474. US$ 55.00. ISBN 9780802864093. This volume of collected essays constitutes the selective published results of the Fourth Enoch Seminar, convened in Camaldoli, Italy, in July 2007 with over 80 scholars in attendance. Like earlier Enoch seminars and their resultant publications, this meeting was arranged around a topic: the distinctive witness of the Book of Jubilees as it relates to the early Enochic literature on one hand, and the Mosaic Torah on the other. The express intent of the Seminar is to bring together scholars of varied backgrounds, expertise and opinions to engage in fruitful discussion, and therefore “readers should not expect to find here any shared solution to the Jubilees enigma” (xvi–xvii). The book is divided into four main sections: (1) Jubilees and its Literary Context; (2) The Melting of Mosaic and Enochic Traditions; (3) Jubilees between Enoch and Qumran; and (4) Where does Jubilees belong? Since there is not room in this review to discuss each of the twenty-eight essays in any depth, I will seek here only to summarize the book’s contents and make a few brief, general observations. The first part of the book (ten essays) begins with two essays directly on the manuscript evidence (James C. VanderKam) and composition (Michael Segal) of Jubilees, followed by a number of comparative studies between Jubilees and other pertinent ancient Jewish writings: the Enochic Book of Watchers and Astronomical Book (John S. Bergsma), Daniel (Matthias Henze), the Apocalypse of Weeks (James M. Scott), the Aramaic Levi Document and Genesis Apocryphon (Esther Eshel), the Temple Scroll (Lawrence H. Schiffman), Sirach and other sapiential texts (Benjamin G. Wright III), 2 Enoch and the Exagogue of Ezekiel the Tragedian (Andrei A. Orlov), and various Samaritan traditions (Lester L. Grabbe). Some of these focus on a particular theme, such as Orlov’s study of heavenly counterparts to revered earthly figures. Part Two (five essays) primarily addresses how Jubilees fits into the wider scope of Hellenistic period Judaism, with particular interest in connections to Enochic literature. Helge S. Kvanvig examines the varied approaches of the Enochic works to Torah and Temple, using Neh 8–10 as a model “master narrative.” There are also close studies on the theme of covenant (William K. Gilders) and the coherence of the various prayers in Jubilees (Jacques van Ruiten). The essays of Gabriele © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602458

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Book Reviews / Dead Sea Discoveries 18 (2011) 367–391

Boccaccini and Hindy Najman are very helpful summative assessments of their broader work on Jewish movements behind the Enochic writings and Jubilees (Boccaccini), and the authoritative, prophetic function of Jubilees (Najman). The situation of Jubilees between the two reference points of Enochic literature and other texts from the Qumran caves comprises the broad thrust of Part Three (ten essays), with several studies focusing especially on Qumran connections. This section includes a comparison of Jubilees and 4Q265 (Serek Damascus or Miscellaneous Rules), arguing that the former is reworked by the latter (Aharon Shemesh), a study of purity and impurity in Jubilees in light of the Hebrew Bible and Qumran texts (Lutz Doering), a clear and helpful evaluation of calendrical issues in Jubilees and other Qumran texts (Jonathan Ben-Dov), a fresh look at the oftdiscussed “origin of evil” question in Jubilees (Loren T. Stuckenbruck), a thorough analysis of the Pesah and Massot festivals in Jubilees (Betsy Halpern-Amaru), a review of eschatological passages in Jubilees (John C. Endres), a comparison of the depiction and literary function of women in Jubilees and 1 Enoch (Kelley Coblentz Bautch), a perceptive essay on the implications of Jubilees’ portrayal of angels, demons, election and epistemology (Annette Yoshiko Reed), a reflection on worship in Jubilees as compared with Genesis and Enochic texts (Erik Larson), and a brief but very helpful consideration of Jubilees within broader discussions of early Jewish mysticism (Martha Himmelfarb). The title of Part Four (three essays) promises to draw the volume together by exploring “where Jubilees belongs.” Without implying any specific critique of individual essays, I will admit that I was hoping for a more direct address of this subject. Eyal Regev’s article on the socio-functional outlook of Jubilees in connection with Qumran literature and the Essenes (a nice summary of his views published elsewhere) was the only one that seemed to me directly related to the section title. This part also included a comparison of priesthood, temple and cult in 1 Enoch and Jubilees, highlighting Jubilees’ redactional tendencies (David W. Suter), and a study of Jubilees’ reception of “Enochic Judaism” through use of three Enochic “exemplars” (David R. Jackson). The book ends with a bibliography of Jubilees from 1850 to the present that is divided into two sections, on scholarship published before and after the discovery of the scrolls—a very useful tool for researchers. An index of modern authors completes the volume. As with many books collecting essays from various scholars on a loosely defined topic, this one is difficult to characterize briefly in a review. Some essays are better argued and more convincing than others. Some are quite narrowly focused and will thus best serve specialists dealing with that particular theme or issue (e.g., the essays of Scott, Gilders, van Ruiten or Halpern-Amaru); others address broader questions and relationships, and may, therefore, be more helpful for those wishing to grasp the “bigger picture” of how Jubilees operates and fits into Second Temple Judaism, specifically in relation to Enochic traditions and the Scrolls (e.g., the essays of Segal, Boccaccini, Najman and Himmelfarb). Because of its uneven,


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often specialist nature, this book is not the best place to go for an introduction to Jubilees. While this type of book is typically mined by specialists and not read from cover to cover, someone who already possesses a basic knowledge of Jubilees would find his/her understanding of the composition, the contemporary scholarly discussions surrounding it, and Second Temple Judaism more broadly, greatly enriched and nuanced by reading the entire volume. McMaster University

Daniel A. Machiela

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Tangled Up in Text: Tefillin in the Ancient World. By Yehudah B. Cohn. BJS 351. Providence, RI: Brown Judaic Studies, 2008. Hardcover. Pp. xi + 216. US$ 32.95. ISBN 9781930675568. The goal of this study, which began as a doctoral dissertation under the supervision of Martin Goodman of the University of Oxford, is to follow the history of tefillin (phylacteries) from their origins in antiquity through the end of the tannaitic period at the end of the third century C.E. As opposed to the regnant orthodoxy which posits continuity of tefillin practice from biblical totaphot to rabbinic tefillin through to the present, our author posits discontinuity. He does not see tefillin as a linguistic variation of totaphot but as a practice influenced by Hellenistic rituals of a parallel sort attached to an amuletic practice. These were meant to provide protection (as included in the original meaning of phylacteries). Given the exalted status of Jewish magic in antiquity (not least among Jews) as witnessed by Moses’ competition with the magicians of Egypt or Elijah’s with the priests of Baal, one could have entertained an opposite hypothesis of Jewish influence on the Hellenes. The author also does not pay any attention to Egypt, which in a Jewish Hellenistic work such as Jannes and Jambres is considered to be the seat of magic. The Egyptian pharaohs wore an amulet in a pouch unique to them. This exclusive connection of a royal amulet is reminiscent of fringes which were part of an upper-class Egyptian garment. The thread of tekhelet in a fast dye form (i.e., animal source dyes as opposed to plant source dyes) was also a prerogative of royalty. Hence an Egyptian provenance for tefillin (totaphot) is not impossible. Concerning the critical question for any scholar on how to breach the inevitable gap that exists in the historical record, the presumption of discontinuity is equal in its hypothetical nature to one of continuity. What is less obvious is that having chosen discontinuity, the author no longer had to dwell quite as long on the biblical period, where only totaphot are known and not tefillin. This leads us to a serious quandary. We anachronistically assume that the name tefillin was universal and that the term totaphot was abandoned but the evidence is far from compelling. The New Testament, written as it was in Greek of course, has phylactērion, which translates biblical totaphot, not tefillin. Despite Yadin’s publication of Tefillin at Qumran (Jerusalem, 1969), the word tefillin does not appear in any text at Qumran—only the box parchments which all, of course, have totaphot. Yet as our author demonstrates convincingly, the material object is sufficiently like rabbinic tefillin to be so identified. This highlights that in antiquity three groups all saw tefillin as a continuation of totaphot on the assumption of continuity. Similarly Persian etrog/citron was seen as “the fruit of the goodly (hadar) tree.” Alternatively, it was a contemporarizing and hence anachronistic understanding of the biblical verse. The same problem exists for the relationship between totaphot and tefillin. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

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A careful analysis of totaphot within Scripture yields a remarkable continuity between Exod 13:16 and Deut 6:8, 11:18 on the one hand and a remarkable dissimilarity that requires considerable attention within the same chapter of Exodus itself (13:9 and 16), in which totaphot are exchanged for zikharon in the same formulary. Are they to be identified with each other or do they represent some development unknown to us? Cohn lists the differences of opinion on the redactional question (34), followed by a careful philological study of the four verses in question (35–48). He, however, does not phrase his questions around the problematic outlined here. Yet it is quite clear that Exod 13:1–16 is not of one source and signs of redaction exist wherein Exod 13:3–9 has been inserted into a previous text. This is the case no matter what dates we provide for the two sources and no matter what their relationship may be. Nevertheless it seems clear that Exod 13:9 belongs to the later redaction of P and that Exod 13:16 belongs to J. So both J and D share the totaphot traditions, whereas P has apparently understood it in a more abstract way as a commemorative. A similar problem of continuity or discontinuity also exists for fringes, since two names are used for what may or may not have been the same object (tzitzit and gedilim). In addition to the problematic nature of taking whatever decisions one takes, there is yet another minefield in attempting to elucidate the early history of tefillin, that is, how to date the evidence available. Thus, for example, the Septuagint offers two variants, as admirably discussed by the author, that have totaphot either as an object that is “immovable” or alternatively “moving” (79–80). As Cohn indicates, the earliest witness to the Septuagint’s difficult reading of “moving” is attested by Philo (85), though contra Cohn it would seem that Philo also has Exod 13:9 in mind (83–84). That verse and the following one (v. 10) explicitly mention the law as needing to be kept. More significantly, our author, being sensitized to a hypercritical position vis-à-vis rabbinic type sources for reliability and datability, has obviously dismissed the Aramaic Targum Pseudo-Jonathan as reliable evidence. This gets mentioned but once (110 n. 25) as providing the rabbinic reading tefillin for biblical totaphot. Had Cohn not been so dismissive he could have learned that after Ps.-Jon. Exod 13:9 anachronistically read several rabbinic halakhot into the verse, it mentions tefillin of the head and then adds the phrase “affixed (keviaʿ ) before your eyes.” The even later Targum Neofiti turns the notion of fixedness implied by Pseudo-Jonathan into “the Torah should constantly be in your mouths.” Given the conflicted reading in the Septuagint and the likelihood that the “moving” tefillin is more likely to be the original reading, Pseudo-Jonathan reads like the Septuagint’s majority tradition. Matthew 23:5 speaks of the Mosaic propensity to ostentatious tefillin. Clearly these larger tefillin also required wider straps for support, whereas the smaller tefillin could be suspended on much narrower straps. This in turn would destabilize

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the boxes of the tefillin, making them bob up-and-down or oscillate as one moved. Hence the moving tefillin are also the smaller ones. This may make such tefillin “sectarian” due to their difference in size and moving nature, as opposed to the essential differences in their enclosed parchment quotations from Scripture. (Cohn decided that Qumran tefillin were not sectarian; 73–75.) The assumption of discontinuity also meant that Cohn dismissed any anthropological evidence from any other Israelite group other than the Samaritans. Thus he does not bring any evidence from either the Karaites or Ethiopian Jewry. As a result he did not look at Abraham Epstein’s book, Eldad HaDani (Pressburg, 1891). At the end of that book is a very important article by the author on “The Falashas and their Customs”; in it there is an extensive summary written in Hebrew of tefillin and totaphot (174–83), in which not only much of Cohn’s work is anticipated (including topics which are treated more thoroughly by Epstein, such as evidence of Greek translation of the biblical texts by other translators from Origen’s Hexapla) but he considers a literal understanding of totaphot as tattooing and reviews what is known of this phenomenon among the Jews and early Christians. Cohn barely mentions such a possibility when he mentions the mark of Cain (166), an idea he does not follow. Cohn dismisses the talmudic baraitot as suspect, citing Jacobs’ article on some fictitious ones as support for his position (30 n. 151). So unless they are attested to in either the Tosefta or Midreshei Halakha, the author ignores them. Surely Jacobs did not believe all such baraitot are fictitious?! One needs to develop a minimalist-maximalist model for historical study of ancient sources that distinguishes between sources that are generally reliable (maximalist) and those that are suspicious (minimalist). Cohn deliberately sets out to provide only the latter perspective (31). Yet on such a basis Tosefta and Midreshei Halakha are also suspect. At least one important scholar (Albeck) believes them to be later than the Babylonian Talmud. So why not disregard them as well?! Cohn also dismisses Massekhet Tefillin from consideration because of the controversy in its dating (31). He cites Andreas Lehnardt’s study (31 n. 152) in support of a late date, ignoring Lehnardt’s own conclusion which indicates that it “remains an open question” (72). Nor does Cohn indicate the heavy debt to that article’s bibliography, which may still be used with profit. Furthermore, the author cites M. B. Lerner’s position on Massekhet Tefillin as early (31 n. 154) but not his evidence (401 n. 223), citing Lev. Rab. 22:1 (Margalioth, p. 496). The tractate is mentioned in all the manuscripts and hence it is consensus codicum. The tradition is in the name of the tanna R. Nehemiah, the purported editor of Tosefta. Hence Lerner’s conclusion is supported by my added observation. Admittedly, in most cases ignoring this evidence is irrelevant to Cohn’s conclusions. Yet in one or two discussions evidence was ignored at great peril to Cohn’s own conclusions. This is the case, for example, in the author’s discussion of women and tefillin and the history of its practice or lack thereof (113–18).


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M. Berakot 3:3 exempts women from tefillin (114–15). Cohn demonstrates how the original exemption is not linked to the exemption of time-bound mitzvot. A careful study of that mishnah shows how this precept is a gloss in a much wider discussion of shema rules. Only in Massekhet Tefillin is it mentioned in a totally tefillin context, thereby strengthening its independent provenance and Cohn’s argument. In the case of Mikhal donning tefillin Cohn argues that only later sources problematized her behavior (115–16). This, however, is also the case in Massekhet Tefillin, making it either early or not consistent with what Cohn sees as a later trend. Cohn himself does not problematize women’s performance of tefillin, mentioning on the first page of his book that “[w]omen (almost without exception) do not wear them,” followed by “the first time that a boy puts them on is frequently a celebrated occasion.” He failed in his efforts to be informed on the topic, as is evident from a group picture of conservative female rabbis donning tefillin (Lilith 35.2 [Summer 2010], p. 7). Some women of all movements keep this precept and some also from bat mitzvah onward. From a positivist perspective what Cohn does he does well and thoroughly. Unfortunately it is what he chooses not to do that frequently trips him up. University of Toronto

Harry Fox

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Judaism of the Second Temple Period. Volume 1: Qumran and Apocalypticism. By David Flusser. Grand Rapids/Jerusalem: Eerdmans/The Hebrew University Magnes Press/Jerusalem Perspective, 2007. Hardcover. Pp. xiii + 356. US$ 36.00. ISBN 9780802824691. David Flusser (September 15, 1917–September 15, 2000), formerly Professor of Comparative Religion at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, was a remarkable scholar in many respects. Fluent in well over a dozen languages, Flusser was enormously prolific and produced pioneering work in several academic fields, including the history and literature of Judaism, particularly of the Second Temple period, the Dead Sea Scrolls and early Christianity. A founding member of the Jerusalem School of Synoptic Research, he gained international recognition, particularly for his work on the origins of Christianity and on the Gospels. And yet, Flusser’s influence was felt strongest in Israel. This is in part because many of his publications appeared in Hebrew, scattered widely, and were not easily accessible to international readers. In consultation with the late David Flusser, Serge Ruzer edited two volumes of previously published articles in Hebrew, Judaism of the Second Temple Period: Qumran and Apocalypticism (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi/Magnes, 2002), and Judaism of the Second Temple Period: Sages and Literature (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi/Magnes, 2002). The present volume is the English translation of the first of these two books. This important collection of twenty-two articles is the product of a collaborative effort: of the two original publishers, Hebrew University Magnes Press and Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi Press, of the publisher of the English volume, Eerdmans, and of the translator, Azzan Yadin, Professor of Jewish Studies at Rutgers University, who produced an excellent English translation and to whom the reader is particularly indebted. The articles, which appeared over the span of several decades, bear witness to Flusser’s highly original—albeit at times somewhat idiosyncratic— contributions to scrolls research. (Curiously, there is no information in the book about the original place and date of the articles’ first publication. This is unfortunate, not least because Flusser wrote his essays as the scrolls were being published. In several cases it would be important to know which scrolls had been published when Flusser wrote which article.) In the introduction to the volume Flusser tells his readers that he did not feel compelled to update his articles, a remarkable statement in light of the rapid changes the study of the Qumran literature underwent during his lifetime: “Though some of these studies were published years ago, I chose not to needlessly update them. I have spared the readers many of the hypotheses put forward by some scholars, primarily because I do not wish to take part in the creation of the ‘phantasms’ that seem to have sprouted like mushrooms . . . ” (xi). Flusser maintains a focus on the primary material and interacts with the field of scholarship only sparingly in the notes. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

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The articles that are here collected cover a wide array of themes in Qumran and, to a lesser degree, in early apocalyptic literature. In many of his essays, Flusser’s command of the material and his vast knowledge become evident, particularly when his observations anticipate what would later emerge as the consensus in the field. In the opening article, for example, “The Dead Sea Sect and Its Worldview” (1–24), Flusser defends the hypothesis that the Qumranites were Essenes and then goes on to describe their apocalyptic worldview. The article was originally published only a few years after the discovery of Cave 1 (the entire argument is based on Cave 1 material: 1QM, 1QS, 1QpHab, plus CD), yet much of what Flusser writes about the sectarian community’s dualistic beliefs and the doctrine of predestination was later corroborated by the discovery and publication of more scrolls. Rather than dealing with particular text passages in any detail, Flusser prefers to write about larger themes (e.g., “The Essene Worldview,” 25–31; “Apocalyptic Elements in the War Scroll,” 140–58; “The Eschatological Temple,” 207–13), making references to a broad spectrum of texts, including the scrolls, the Jewish Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, rabbinic literature, the New Testament and early Greek authors. Most of the essays have a comparative angle. In a long article titled “4QMMT and the Benediction Against the Minim” (70–118), for example, which he wrote even before 4QMMT was published in its entirety, Flusser compares the Qumran material with several rabbinic texts and argues that the Birkat ha-Minim, the blessing against heretics in the Amida prayer, was originally aimed against the Essenes. In his article “The ‘Book of Mysteries’ and the High Holy Day Liturgy” (119–39), Flusser compares the Book of Mysteries, a text that would later attract much scholarly attention, with the Jewish liturgy and asserts that Essene thought influenced the Rosh ha-Shanah liturgy. In other articles Flusser draws on his knowledge of early Christian texts. In “The ‘Flesh-Spirit’ Dualism in the Qumran Scrolls and the New Testament” (283–92), for example, Flusser juxtaposes passages from 1QS, the Hodayot, Wisdom of Solomon and 1 Corinthians, texts in which he finds a similar dualistic tendency to contrast the spirit and the flesh. And in “The Isaiah Pesher and the Notion of Twelve Apostles in the Early Church” (305–26), he relies primarily on the pesher text from Qumran and on the book of Revelation, arguing that “the Christian institution of the twelve apostles emerged out of a merger of two eschatological Qumran institutions, that is, the twelve priests and the twelve chiefs of the tribes of Israel” (321). Much of what we read in these pages is no longer tenable or, at the very least, in need of significant revision. The main value of this important collection is not its contribution to the cutting-edge of scholarship on the scrolls, a field that continues to evolve rapidly. Rather, by making accessible to the English-speaking reader the significant contributions of David Flusser, a towering figure in the first generation of scholars working on the Dead Sea Scrolls, this book documents an important stage in the history of scrolls research. Rice University

Matthias Henze

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Expectations of the End: A Comparative Traditio-Historical Study of Eschatological, Apocalyptic and Messianic Ideas in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament. By Albert L. A. Hogeterp. STDJ 83. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Hardcover. Pp. xvi + 570. € 162.00/US$ 231.00. ISBN 9789004171770. The purpose of this monograph is to understand better the eschatological traditions present in early Christian sources by comparing them to similar traditions attested in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Hogeterp begins his investigation with three introductory chapters: the first serves as a basic introduction, the second deals with Qumran eschatology and how it functioned within Second Temple Judaism, and the third chapter with the eschatology of emerging Christianity. The primary enquiry of the book (chapters 4–6) is modeled as a traditio-historical comparison according to three topics: resurrection, apocalypticism and messianism as they are expressed in early Christian traditions and the DSS. The book concludes with a bibliography in three sections: (1) sources; (2) tools and reference works; and (3) monographs and articles. In the introduction several preliminary issues are covered. The author begins by discussing the complexities involved in defining “eschatology” in the context of the Second Temple period. His insights on these matters are coupled with a discussion of several other preliminary issues, such as the current scholarly debate about NT eschatology and the problems involved in isolating individual instances of eschatology in any given text. Chapters 2 and 3 read like a tour de force of eschatological occurrences in ancient Jewish literature. Chapter 2 concentrates on texts that highlight Qumran eschatology and chapter 3 focuses on texts that serve as sources for eschatology in emerging Christianity. The scope of Hogeterp’s research is impressive—examples are given from Scripture, from the non-sectarian and sectarian texts from Qumran, and from the broader Jewish tradition of the Second Temple period attested in the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, Philo and Josephus, as well as early rabbinic literature. Early Christian sources on eschatology from pre-70 C.E. are also discussed, such as the canonical gospels and Q, the Gospel of Thomas, the Pauline letters and the Acts of the Apostles. Each of these subsections is supplied with ample presentation of the various scholarly views regarding each of the primary texts. Some of the connections the author draws between Early Christianity and the DSS in these sections include the prophetic role of Elijah, references to the “days of Noah,” the Matthean concept of “new age” and the image of God in 1 Thess 1:9. After these “sourcebook” chapters, Hogeterp begins analyses of several topics that aim to juxtapose more thoroughly older Second Temple sources with early Christian witnesses. His examination concentrates on three topics organized into three chapters: chapter 4 on resurrection, chapter 5 on apocalypticism and chapter 6 on messianism. His conclusions in chapter 4 are that the Second Temple period was rife with traditions that interpreted passages such as Daniel, Isaiah and Ezekiel © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

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in a manner affirming belief in eschatological resurrection (326–27). He points out that while a homogenous view of resurrection during the period did not exist (for example, 4Q549 speaks of “eternal sleep” [329]), the evidence makes clear that belief in resurrection during pre-Christian times was more widespread than previously thought. In chapter 5, the author concludes that early Jewish apocalypticism was particular not only to sectarian thought, but rather was more broadly “interwoven” into wisdom, parabiblical and apocryphal literature (418). He claims that in light of this evidence we ought to reevaluate the uniqueness of the apocalyptic focus within certain sections of the NT, such as John’s concentration on judgment within his preaching of baptism (386–90) and the Marcan discourse about the rise of nation against nation (Mark 13:8). Finally, in chapter 6 the author draws the conclusion that we must also adjust our notions concerning Second Temple messianism, an adjustment amounting to the recognition that it was not predominantly political and nationalistic. Given the variegated evidence from the DSS, such a view can no longer be maintained. Overall, Hogeterp’s work aims to stress that the concepts of resurrection, apocalypticism and messianism did not arise in early Christianity within a vacuum and that during the Second Temple period there existed various conceptualizations of each. Hogeterp’s reevaluation of the sources he presents in his study is much welcomed. The scope of his work is vast and it will surely open many new avenues of discussion. Although one might have hoped for more discussion and synthesis of individual instances of comparison, at 570 pages one ought to be content to take Hogeterp’s study for what it is: a finely researched work that will no doubt be valuable as groundwork for further scholarship on eschatological discourse. On the whole, the volume is a testament to the author’s superb erudition and mastery of sources dealing with eschatology. University of Toronto

Chad Martin Stauber

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Verbs and War Scroll: Studies in the Hebrew Verbal System and the Qumran War Scroll. By Søren Holst. Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 25. Uppsala: Uppsala University Library, 2008. Paperback. Pp. 178. € 18.80/US$ 25.00. ISBN 9789155472450. In this book based on his 2004 dissertation at the University of Copenhagen, Søren Holst analyzes all of the verbal forms in the 1QM manuscript of the War Scroll (= 1Q33), with occasional use of Cave 4 fragments to supplement where lacunae are present. His central conclusion is that models based on word order have explanatory power in cases where a discourse-typological model, such as that of Longacre, is inadequate. In the first chapter, which comprises the first half of the book, Holst conducts a survey of scholarship on the verbal system of ancient Hebrew. Holst reviews theories of the Hebrew verbal system based on tense, comparative-historical studies, the Aktionsart/aspect distinction, modality and text-linguistics. The author concludes that the best approach is one that combines the insights of traditional, clause-level grammatical approaches with those of text-linguistic approaches, according to which levels higher than the sentence (e.g., the discourse) are included in the grammatical analysis. The formal investigation of the verbal system of the War Scroll comprises the second chapter. Holst works within Robert Longacre’s theory that a given verbal form only has meaning within specific discourse types, and so the author’s discourse classification of 1QM as primarily instructional discourse with several embedded sections of hortatory discourse (which are found in 10:8–13:19, excepting 13:1–2; 14:4–18; 15:7–16:2; 16:15–17:9; and 18:7–19:8) is fundamental to his analysis (81–82). The central investigation of the book is whether it is the weqatal (following Longacre, David Allan Dawson and Bryan Rocine) or the yiqtol (following Walter Schneider, Eep Talstra and Alviero Niccacci) that marks the main-line of the instructional discourse in 1QM. Holst’s conclusion takes a third track: neither the weqatal nor the yiqtol serve primarily to mark the main-line; rather, the author’s choice between them is based on a desire to use a certain word order (96, 114, 127–28, 143–44). Because the weqatal is always clause-initial, Holst argues that the indicative yiqtol is sometimes used as the main-line verb rather than the weqatal (a “dotted line” discourse) in order to permit an element other than the verb to be placed at the front of the clause (143). Holst suggests a variety of motivations for non-verb-first word orders, including the desire to implement a “dramatic pause” (143–44, following R. Buth; cf. also 74–76, 89, 91, 98) and the need to continually introduce new topics. Holst also examines other forms, including qatal, wayyiqtol, modal uses of the yiqtol, and the imperative, suggesting specific readings for texts where the use of these forms does not match with the expected norm. Regarding the participle, Holst concludes that its use is © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

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“overwhelmingly nominal” in the hortatory sections and “predominantly verbal” in the instructional passages, where it can mark “circumstantial or contemporaneous information” or “continue[s] the main action” (120–22). In the third chapter, Holst compares the verbal system of 1QM with a section of instructional discourse from an earlier stage of Hebrew (Exod 25–30). Aside from a few exceptional uses of the conjunctive weyiqtol that Holst finds difficult to explain, the author determines that there is no significant difference between the uses of the verbal forms in Exod 25–30 and those in 1QM, including with respect to the weqatal and yiqtol. The brief fourth chapter summarizes the conclusions of the book. Holst’s claim that the main-line/off-line dichotomy is not sufficient to explain the use of the verb forms in the War Scroll and Exod 25–30 is supported well by his observation that there are both substantial units of text that use yiqtol exclusively and units that use only weqatal, and his corrective suggestion that word order is the motivation for the choice of verb form is likely on the right track. However, Holst does not develop these ideas substantially enough to construct a theoretically consistent explanatory framework. Despite Holst’s conclusion that word order is a more useful model than discourse typology in 1QM, elsewhere the author equivocates between the two models, at one point referring to them as “equally valid” (132). Because the study is originally framed within the context of Longacre’s theory of discourse types, the line of inquiry generally involves seeking explanations to account for the texts that do not align with this theory. Unfortunately the modifications made to Longacre on the basis of texts such as 1QM 1:8–15 and 1QM 3–4 are not integrated well into the original theory, nor are the modifications studied in terms of their relevance to the entire corpus. Not only is the “dotted line” proposal unsupported by evidence beyond the specific environment in question, whether from other discourse types, other related languages or general linguistics, it also dismantles Longacre’s original theory, which accounts for noun + yiqtol constructions as off-line discourse. Furthermore, setting aside the argument that the dramatic pause is a weak point in Buth’s theory in itself, the idea that dramatic pause as a phenomenon would be applied to large swaths of instructional discourse is difficult to accept. A more promising avenue is that taken by Robert Holmstedt in his more recent analysis, according to which the clause-initial prepositional phrases in these texts could be interpreted as scene-setting topicalizations or in some cases as constituents placed before the verb for contrastive focus (“Word Order and Information Structure in Ruth and Jonah: A Generative-Typological Analysis,” JSS 54 [2009]: 111–39). In the final analysis, the book does not provide a comprehensive, consistent model of verbal forms or word order in the War Scroll. A thorough study would require fuller treatment of the pragmatics of word order throughout 1QM using a

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theoretically consistent approach. This would require a more detailed interaction with literature in general linguistics and diachronic approaches to Hebrew, both of which have powerfully demonstrated their effectiveness in recent scholarship on the Hebrew language. University of Toronto

Andrew Jones


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Wisdom at Qumran: A Form-Critical Analysis of the Admonitions in 4QInstruction. By Daryl Jefferies. Gorgias Dissertations 3/Near Eastern Studies 3. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2004. Hardcover. Pp. 336. US$ 76.00. ISBN 1593331592. Jefferies presents Wisdom at Qumran as a form-critical analysis of the admonition material in 4QInstruction (4Q415–418, 4Q423) in light of the forms of Wisdom literature found in the Hebrew Bible. He seeks to demonstrate how an analysis of traditional wisdom forms, combined with an apocalyptic worldview, adds to a greater appreciation of the intention of 4QInstruction (1). In Chapter 2, Jefferies maintains that ancient wisdom literature adheres to a distinct set of literary forms and that an understanding of these forms offers a more robust assessment of wisdom anthologies as a whole (12). Jefferies relies primarily on certain scholars (e.g., R. E. Murphy) and presents different forms of wisdom sayings, not all of which are germane to his analysis of 4QInstruction. In Chapter 3, Jefferies evaluates the category of “sectarian” texts as it relates to documents from Qumran. He describes the traits of the Damascus Document (CD), the Rule of the Community (1QS), the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa), and the Hodayot (1QHa) that he believes are central to the broader Essene movement and, by extension, the writers of 4QInstruction (22). He finds the application of wisdom concepts in the apocalyptic material of the Scrolls and interprets 4QInstruction as bridging the gap between apocalyptic and pedestrian wisdom (35). His arguments concerning this connection rely on lexical and thematic evidence shared by traditional wisdom and the sectarian documents, primarily CD (41–43) and 1QS (43–50). Chapter 4 contains an examination of the sapiential character of 4QInstruction with very brief discussion of the manuscripts (74–78). The majority of the chapter is devoted to correlating the vocabulary and concepts of 4QInstruction to the core sectarian texts CD, 1QS and 1QSa (57–74). These similarities are discussed in further detail in Chapter 6. In light of these affinities, Jefferies works from the assumption that 4QInstruction was written by members of the Dead Sea sect. He supports this view by appealing to shared concepts of eschatology, the raz nihyeh, and inheritance (62–70). Chapter 5 pairs an outline of the literary structure of the admonitions (79–90) with examples of wisdom forms found in 4QInstruction (90–108). There is some inconsistency regarding the use of certain terminology: in Chapter 5 he describes instruction as a genre (98), while in Chapter 2 he classifies it as a wisdom form (11). Despite this confusion, Jefferies does offer an interesting analysis of the literary units into which the wisdom forms are imbedded and their resemblance to Demotic and Hellenistic wisdom works (98–108). However, Jefferies’ conclusion that 4QInstruction stands in a continuum between Sirach and Pseudo-Phocylides is overreaching (320), especially since monostichs are also found in Demotic © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602764

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wisdom (105–6) and 4QInstruction shows little or no connection to Hellenistic discourse (323). In Chapter 6, Jefferies offers a detailed analysis of 4QInstruction, which he divides into six thematic sections (instructions on money matters, proper lifestyle, etc.). For each section, Jefferies presents a transcription of the Hebrew text with textual notes and English translation. In his textual discussion, Jefferies provides detailed notes of important textual and interpretative matters in the fragmentary text. He also provides a helpful outline of the structure of each section as well as discussion of the forms, setting and intention of each section. Although a second edition, the volume does not appear to be an update of the 2002 edition. As such it does not consider some important work on 4QInstruction by Tigchelaar (2001) and Goff (2003), among others. Furthermore, Jefferies’ decision to divide the text into thematic sections creates a cumbersome situation when referencing the text using the standard DJD notation. In terms of the function of traditional wisdom in 4QInstruction, Jefferies notes the many correspondences to wisdom topics with some notable exceptions: e.g., social mobility and focus on poverty (112). While Jefferies is quick to point out resemblances between 4QInstruction and canonical wisdom (e.g., Proverbs), he also spends equal time collecting parallels to the texts authored by the yaḥad. Thus his project becomes more of a reading of 4QInstruction in light of the sectarian material than an assessment of the text in relation to the broader wisdom tradition. The latter, while present, takes on secondary importance. Jefferies’ attempt to interpret 4QInstruction as a pedagogical support for sectarian rules (i.e., 1QS, CD) and the community is ultimately unconvincing (324). Connections to CD, 1QS and the like are evaluated on the same level, even though these texts do not represent the structure and practice of the same community. Furthermore, Jefferies’ assertion that certain instructions reinforce particular points of communal legislation is not persuasive. For example, the instruction not to be misled (4Q417 1 ii 12) does not have a clear resonance to the communal rules in CD 15:11 (309). The admonitions do not clearly support the community legislation, as Jefferies suggests (109). Although concepts like the “vision of Hagu” (4Q417 1 i 15) and raz nihyeh may point to a common milieu, 4QInstruction’s use of these terms is not identical with those found in texts authored by the Dead Sea sect. In the end, the volume does not completely satisfy the question of how the wisdom forms in 4QInstruction function within the broader context of wisdom literature or the composition’s eschatological framework. Despite its limitations, Jefferies’ volume offers a helpful summary of the concepts, vocabulary and literary structure of the admonitions of 4QInstruction. The book also provides an informative context for the continuing discussion of 4QInstruction’s relationship to works composed by the yaḥad. University of Toronto

Ryan C. Stoner


383

The Serekh Texts. By Sarianna Metso. Companion to the Qumran Scrolls 9/Library of Second Temple Studies 62. London: T&T Clark, 2007. Hardcover. Pp. xiii + 86. US$ 110.00. ISBN 0567040925. This companion provides an advanced introduction to the Serekh ha-Yahad, also known as the Community Rule. It consists of a bibliography of editions, translations and bibliographies (xi–xiii), seven chapters with lists for further reading, bibliographical references (72–78), and indices of references and authors (79–86). Chapter 1 (1–6) surveys physical details of the manuscripts, palaeographical dates, and relationships between 4QSa-j, 5QS and 11Q29 on the one hand and 1QS on the other, and other manuscripts related to the Community Rule. However, absent from this survey is the identification of 4Q487 37 and 4Q502 16 with 4Q257 5, and of 1Q29 with an alternative text of the Two Spirits Treatise, as argued by Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar in RevQ 21 (2004): 529–47. Chapter 2 (7–14) is relatively brief regarding the genre of the Qumran rule texts in general but extensive in the description of their contents, of which 1QS is the best preserved copy of the Community Rule. This description covers 1QS 1:1– 15; 1:16–3:12; 3:13–4:26; 5:1–6:23; 6:24–7:25; 8:1–9:26a and 9:26b-11:22 as separate sections, while noting some of the major differences of 4QS manuscripts with 1QS, such as, for instance, 4QSb, d vis-à-vis 1QS 5:1. Chapter 3 (15–20) reviews previous theories about the textual growth of 1QS and its presumed communal settings, and then turns to the contribution of the 4QS material. This consideration of scholarly discussion regarding recensional differences between 1QS, 4QSb, d, and 4QSe highlights the opposite views of P. S. Alexander that 1QS is the oldest and of S. Metso that 4QSe and 4QSb, d derive from a version that is earlier than 1QS. Instead of a sequential description of contents, chapter 4 (21–40) analyzes important themes in the Community Rule: “general principles of community life” in 1QS 1, 5 and 8; “the covenant ceremony” (1:16–3:12); the “treatise on the two spirits” (3:13–4:26); “admission of new members” (1:16–2:25; 5:7–20a, 20b-24; 6:13–23); “judicial sessions” (6:1–13; 8:1–12; 9:7); and “penal codes” (6:24–7:25; 8:16b-9:2). The chapter further provides an excursus on the typical terms for community officials, maskîl, paqîd and mebaqqer (35–37). With regard to comparison with classical sources, in particular Josephus (21–22, 28–29), the companion’s bibliography is less extensive, referring to a study by T. S. Beall but lacking studies by L. Cansdale and R. Bergmeier. Chapter 5 (41–50) discusses the Community Rule and the Bible. The first part (41–44) concerns the Community Rule’s use of the Hebrew Bible, providing synoptic comparison and contrast between passages in 1QS, 4QSb and 4QSd, from which secondary redaction in 1QS is deduced. The second part (44–50) concerns the Community Rule’s comparative relevance for the New Testament, with reference to Isa 40:3, dualistic language, justification by divine grace, mysteries, © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602773

384


Hebrew and Aramaic expressions, literary forms, community structures and practices, and messianism. This comparative survey focuses on 1QS, a locus classicus, without turning to the potential contribution of 4QS manuscripts in this regard. Chapter 6 (51–62) describes “texts related to the Community Rule.” These include texts in the same Rule scroll, 1QSa and 1QSb, in their own right (51–56). Further texts considered in close relation to the Community Rule are: 4Q265, with regard to penal codes, introductory formulas to biblical quotations in rule texts, and organizational terminology (56–58); 4Q477, with regard to a levitical rule of rebuke and organizational terminology (58–59); 4Q275, with regard to its covenant renewal ceremony and functionary terms (59–60); 4Q279, with regard to hierarchical community order and the interpretation of the term “lot” (60–61); and 5Q13, with regard to a functionary term and terms of the covenant ceremony (61–62). Chapter 7 (63–71) considers the difficult question of the social setting of rule texts and focuses on the communal function of legal traditions. Metso characterizes the existence of several versions of the Community Rule as accumulation of legal innovations rather than as a uniform process of updating, thereby making comparative reference to studies on legal traditions in Ezra-Nehemiah and early rabbinic literature. Notwithstanding a few critical points noted above, this is a carefully structured companion to the Community Rule, which provides much detailed attention to 1QS in comparison with 4QS recensions as well as with other Qumran rule texts. Tilburg University

Albert L. A. Hogeterp


385

The Pentateuch: The Samaritan Version and the Masoretic Version. Edited by Abraham Tal and Moshe Florentin. Tel Aviv: The Haim Rubin Tel Aviv University Press, 2010. Hardcover. Pp. vii + 765. NIS 149. ISBN 9789657241431 (Hebrew). The Samaritan Pentateuch (SP) contains the text of the Torah written in a special version of the early Hebrew script that was preserved for centuries by the Samaritan community. SP contains a few ideological elements that form a thin layer added to an otherwise non-sectarian early text, very similar to the so-called preSamaritan texts found at Qumran. Scholars are divided in their opinions on the date of creation of the Samaritan text. Often, the pre-Samaritan texts and SP are together named the SP-group. The SP-group differs from the other biblical texts (among them MT) in many details. Research is still underway concerning the textual status of SP, because its exact relationship to the similar Qumran texts and the LXX is in need of refinement. The appearance of a new edition of SP is an important event for the scholarly world. From now onwards, SP can be studied with renewed vigor and advancements can be made towards its understanding. Several other editions preceded the present one, starting with the Paris Polyglot (1629–1645). The first of the modern critical editions, by A. F. von Gall, Der hebräische Pentateuch der Samaritaner, vols. I–V (Giessen: Töpelmann, 1914–1918; repr. Berlin, 1966), presents an eclectic reconstruction of the original text, accompanied by an apparatus of variant readings. The edition, based on many manuscripts but not all those known at the time, is detailed and accurate, but the reconstructed text is artificially close to MT because von Gall often chose readings that were identical to MT. A. and R. Sadaqa, Jewish and Samaritan Version of the Pentateuch: With Particular Stress on the Differences between Both Texts (Tel Aviv/Jerusalem: Reuven Mas, 1961–1965): The text of the first four Pentateuchal books is based on “an old Samaritan manuscript from the eleventh century,” while that of Deuteronomy is based on the Abishaʿ scroll. The volume presents the text of MT and SP in parallel columns with typographical emphasis on the differences between them. A. Tal, The Samaritan Pentateuch, Edited According to MS 6 (C) of the Shekhem Synagogue (Texts and Studies in the Hebrew Language and Related Subjects 8; Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1994) = Tal 1994. This diplomatic edition of manuscript Shechem 6 (1204 C.E.) was considered the central critical text of SP until the appearance of the edition under review. Tal 1994 forms the base of a module of SP included in Accordance. This module takes into consideration the Samaritan reading tradition, as recorded by Z. Ben-Ḥ ayyim, The Literary and Oral Tradition of Hebrew and Aramaic amongst the Samaritans, vols. 1–5 (Heb.; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1957–1977), not in the text itself, but in the morphological analysis that lies at the base of the search facilities. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011

DOI: 10.1163/156851711X602782

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The edition under review, by A. Tal and M. Florentin, both of Tel Aviv University, presents an improved edition of the manuscript Shechem 6 together with an extensive introduction and several appendices. As in Tal 1994, the new edition (= T–F) presents the text of that manuscript, which “contains a greater part of the Torah than the other manuscripts” (47). The text is presented as a running text unlike the Tal 1994 edition, which as a diplomatic edition of its base manuscript included somewhat misleading square brackets in places where missing elements in the main manuscript were supplemented by other sources. The present edition likewise supplements the missing information from other ancient sources, but leaves no notation in the text itself. It alerts the reader to these missing elements in a list on p. 754. As in Tal 1994, the new edition does not have a critical apparatus of variants representing other manuscripts of SP. T–F preferred a diplomatic to an eclectic edition because of the inability to choose between orthographic variants. This view does not imply that T–F reject the idea of one central Samaritan text. They would probably consider that the oral tradition reflects such a central text, represented by different types of spellings, even by the same scribe. One of the main laudable features of T–F is the clarity with which it presents the differences between SP and MT (the latter probably represents the Leningrad codex, although this has not been specified; 43). These two texts are printed on facing pages with typographical emphasis on the differences between them (in fact, the clarity of these differences, now presented in gray on the SP page, could have been improved even further had they been printed in bold type, as may have been the original intention [p. v of the English summary: “bold-face print”]). Plus elements of SP are indicated in the MT page with elegant omission signs, opposite the editorial additions of SP, e.g., in Exod 7–11, the page of MT presents empty spaces. The conventions used in the diplomatic presentation of the base manuscript are explained on pp. 50–51. The edition includes all the unusual spellings of manuscript Shechem 6, listed also in an appendix on pp. 755–57 (e.g., ‫ נשבא‬instead of ‫ נשבה‬in Exod 14:14). Superscript letters and corrections in Shechem 6 are not included in the edition itself, but instead are included in a special appendix on pp. 746–53. By the same token, the scribal signs of the manuscript are not included in the edition (see 51). The diplomatic presentation includes the indication of the paragraph divisions with a paragraph sign named qiṣṣah (a combination of colons or sometimes two dots and a long hyphen), but with no signs in the middle and at the end of verses (see 56). A major break is indicated by a space extending from the qiṣṣah sign at the end of the paragraph to the end of the line. The present volume is a precise and very helpful tool for the student of SP, for all specialists in textual criticism, and students of the Hebrew language. We will now turn to the aspect that the authors consider to be one of the main tasks of their edition, viz., the emphasis on the differences between MT and SP, a task in which they succeeded very well (51). All the differences between these two sources


387

can be viewed easily by comparing the details on the facing pages, while, in addition, T–F highlight those differences that they consider important. This highlighting provides far fewer details than the traditional number of 6,000 differences between MT and SP. That figure is based on the list produced by B. Walton, E. Castellus, and J. Lightfoot in B. Walton, Biblia Sacra Polyglotta complectentia textus originales, Hebraicum, cum Pentateucho Samaritano, Chaldaicum, Graecum; versionumque antiquarum, Samaritanae, Graecae LXXII Interpretum, Chaldaicae, Syriacae; Arabicae; Aethiopicae, Persicae, Vulg. Lat. etc. (London: Roycroft, 1657; repr. Graz, 1965), VI, IV.19–34, on the basis of now outdated editions. I calculated the total number of these differences to be approximately 7,000 on the basis of the SP module in Accordance, which is more or less identical to the text of T–F. T–F describe the character of the highlighted details as “intentional changes” (25), following the very distinction between intentional and unintentional changes introduced by Ben-Ḥ ayyim, The Literary and Oral Tradition, vol. 5 (1977), 2–3. The intentional changes in SP in language and content receive major attention in T–F and are analyzed on pp. 28–38, and again on pp. 51–56 of the introduction, where Tal and Florentin describe the nature of the edition. The details in question are named “real variants … that is, differences based on the intentional editing of SP” (51). Among the intentional changes highlighted on the SP page, the editors count these groups (28–38): 1. Linguistic changes of the earlier text, such as the removal of unusual morphological forms in MT, e.g., ‫תוֹ־א ֶרץ‬ ֶ ְ‫וְ ַחי‬/SP ‫( וחית הארץ‬Gen 1:24), or syntactical structures, e.g., ‫ נשא‬. . . ‫הארץ‬/SP ‫ נשאה‬. . . ‫( הארץ‬Gen 13:6). Incidentally, not all forms exemplified for this group in the introduction are highlighted in the edition itself. Thus, the morphological difference between MT ‫אל תירא ֵמ ְר ָדה‬/SP ‫מרדת‬ (Gen 46:3) should have been highlighted according to p. 29. The replacement of MT ‫ נער‬in SP by ‫ נערה‬in Gen 24:14, 16, 28 is not indicated in the edition (see 29). 2. Content editing is subdivided into several categories: (a) logical arrangement of the text, e.g., the supplying of content to the missing phrase in Gen 4:8 “Cain said to his brother Abel. And when they were in the field,” where SP added “Let us go to the field.” after “Abel.” Likewise, Gen 47:21 MT “And as for the population, he transferred them to the cities” is changed in SP to “And as for the population, he enslaved them to servitude.” There are also (b) harmonizing changes, especially additions, e.g., Gen 7:2, “a male (literally: a man) and his mate (literally: his wife),” changed in SP to “male and female”; (c) apologetic changes, e.g., ‫ארור‬ ‫“( אפם‬cursed be their anger”) changed in SP to ‫“( אדיר אפם‬mighty was their anger”; Gen 49:7). This group is probably the most problematic among the sub-categories of the assumed changes. There are also (d) ideological Samaritan changes, especially regarding the place of worship.

388


While “changes” of this type (T–F do not consider at least some of them to be “differences”; see below) were highlighted, the majority of the SP readings were not highlighted. These are the “unintentional” changes of SP, forming the majority of the differences between the two texts (25), comprising two categories: (1) orthography and (2) morphology. In the words of T–F, these changes do not display “the intentional editing” of SP (51). (1) Thus, in Gen 49, spelling variants of SP in fifteen words are not graphically highlighted. Only orthographical differences that have content implications have been highlighted on the SP page. I presume that T–F would count the highlighting of ‫נָ ַטע‬/SP ‫( נטה‬Num 24:6) to be such a case. This procedure also implies the lack of marking of the special endings of nouns with ‫ֹה‬-, which are replaced in SP with ‫וֹ‬-. (2) Morphological differences may involve the conjugations of the verb and different word patterns, as exemplified in detail on pp. 25–28, such as the removal of the apocopated future. In this group, we note the change of MT yireb to SP yirbeh (Gen 1:22), which is not highlighted in the edition (see 26). Further examples of categories that are not highlighted are: lengthened futures of MT replaced by regular ones, e.g., MT ‫ואברכה‬/SP ‫( ואברך‬Gen 12:3); apocopated future forms of verbs primae yod replaced in SP by regular ones (e.g., ‫ ויולד‬changed 33 times in SP to ‫ ויוליד‬in Gen 5 and 11). The authors are well aware that their binary classification of intentional/unintentional changes differs from previously suggested analyses of the differences between SP and MT (25). Other classifications are more detailed, but T–F preferred the system suggested by Ben-Ḥ ayyim. The validity of T–F’s system depends on this distinction, about which I submit a few reactions: 1. According to this reviewer, T–F’s argument about the presence or lack of intentions has not been proven. It is very unlikely that all the differences (not “changes,” as in T–F) in orthography and morphology are unintentional, nor is it likely that all the assumed “changes” described as intentional were indeed intended. Note that this group includes most interchanges of consonants, such as the previously mentioned interchange of ‫ ארור אפם‬and ‫ אדיר אפם‬in SP (Gen 49:7), most of which are not intentional, but rather are exponents of the scribal transmission. It remains very difficult to prove the intention behind the occurrence of different noun patterns in SP. According to T–F, the different patterns ‫למס עבד‬/SP ַ ‫למוס‬ ‫( עבד‬Gen 49:15), and ‫בלטיהם‬/SP ‫( בלהטיהם‬Exod 8:14) are intentional. But why is the systematic, albeit inconsistent, removal of the nun in future forms of the type of ‫( ישמעון‬e.g., Exod 4:9) not intentional? 2. The distinction between these two groups depends on one’s view of the nature of SP. According to T–F, all the SP readings are in the nature of “changes” made to MT, and when making this claim they exclude the possibility that SP


389

contains early readings that did not change readings of MT or of a text like MT. In accordance with this view, T–F’s analysis disregards the presence of similar readings found in Qumran manuscripts, thus not considering the possibility that the readings of SP are not changes made to MT or to a text like MT, but rather are early readings. Many of these early readings would indeed have changed a text like MT, but they were not “changes” made to SP but to the scroll on which SP was based. 3. The limited notation of the differences between SP and MT has its drawbacks, since the format disregards major agreements between SP on the one hand and LXX and important Qumran manuscripts on the other. The lack of these notations does not constitute a major problem, since a text edition does not form the end of the research process but rather is the basis for further research. However, this approach exposes the weaknesses of the binary classification of the variants that underlies this edition. Furthermore, although SP is compared to MT, it is often closer to the pre-Samaritan Qumran manuscripts than to MT. Likewise, in harmonizing pluses, recognized by T–F (32–34), SP is closer to the LXX than to MT. T–F chose not to include these data as theirs is not a full-fledged textual edition, but these facts have to be taken into consideration when evaluating the classification offered by this edition. While I disagree with elements in T–F’s classification in the introduction, I consider the edition an excellent research tool. The major advantage of the new approach of T–F is in the separation between two groups in the introduction, and their separate treatment in the notation in the edition itself. The very division into intentional and unintentional variations is more subjective than the authors would be ready to admit. If I were to make a binary distinction between two groups of variants, I would probably end up with two groups of variants similar in scope to those indicated by T–F, but I would probably characterize them as important/ unimportant for the text-critical analysis of SP. This type of binary division, parallel to other critical apparatuses, is admittedly subjective, but the highlighting of T–F is equally subjective. I do not think that T–F should have stopped here in their separation of two types of readings. In addition, the information on the orthographic and grammatical variants could have been made available to the readers who would have enjoyed benefiting from the vast experience of the editors in this area. Technically, it would have been possible somehow to indicate these differences between the two traditions. The reader needs this type of guidance, as the introduction shows that orthography should not be taken at face value since the reading tradition must also be taken into consideration. This brings us to the representation in the edition of the oral tradition of the Samaritans, heralding a major advancement in the Editionstechnik of SP. The Samaritan dimension of the SP edition has been greatly enhanced by Tal and Florentin, both experts in the oral transmission of that text. The importance of the

390


recording of the oral tradition has been known for a long time through the groundbreaking work of Ben-Ḥ ayyim, but this information has not yet been included in a text edition that records the differences between the Samaritan and Masoretic readings. A start was made in the first part of the promising monograph by S. Schorch, Die Vokale des Gesetzes: Die samaritanische Lesetradition als Textzeugin der Tora, 1. Das Buch Genesis (BZAW 339; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2004). T–F included the part of the oral tradition that is relevant for the use of SP in textual criticism in the form of notes on the running text in an extensive appendix on pp. 621–736, to which the Samaritan page in the text edition refers by way of a little circullus added to the text words. Thus, T–F do not provide the full reading of SP, but only those instances in which it differs from MT. Schorch 2004 followed a similar notation system, not accompanied by a complete text edition. The attentive reader notes immediately that the two monographs interpret BenHayyim’s transcription differently. Schorch records many more differences between MT and SP, and when the two monographs remark on the same word, they often interpret the transcription differently. Schorch also records his preference for the vocalization of either MT or SP (usually MT), and he records the evidence of the other ancient sources such as the LXX separately. In the introduction (45–46), T–F remind the reader that we should not blindly follow the written tradition of the consonants in SP, but should always be aware of the reading tradition, as it sometimes goes against the consonants. Thus, a presumed difference between MT ‫ שמה‬and SP ‫ שם‬is not a real difference, since the pronunciation of both ‫ שם‬and ‫ שמה‬in SP is always šamma (46). Furthermore, even when words are written with the same consonants in MT and SP, the reading of the Samaritans may actually be based on a different vowel pattern. Some of these differences are significant. Thus in Exod 15:4, MT ‫ ֻטבעו‬was read by SP as 673) ‫)טבעו‬. ָ Likewise, in Gen 27:5, ‫ ְבּ ַד ֵבּר‬was read by SP as ‫בּ ְד ַבר‬. ִ Each of these cases is indicated in the SP edition alerting the reader to the full information. We should add, however, that the Samaritan oral tradition is not the only possible way of understanding the consonants of SP, just as the Masoretic vocalization is not the only way of understanding the consonants of MT. T–F stress several times that the purpose of their edition is the comparison of SP with MT since SP is embraced by the Samaritan community, is rendered into Samaritan Aramaic and Arabic translations, and quoted in the early Samaritan literature. Accordingly, the reader now has full insight into the Samaritan dimension of SP. However, the content of SP was not always Samaritan. T–F are aware of the Qumran texts that resemble SP (23 and the very long note 31 on 23–24; 33 esp. n. 53), but this dimension is not taken into consideration sufficiently in the introduction, nor are these texts reflected in the edition. Actually, T–F’s approach to these early texts is unclear but is explained possibly by their opinion (23 n. 31) that SP in its present form was finally shaped only in the Middle Ages. The assumption of the late crystallization of SP is probably correct, definitely with


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regard to the reading of the Samaritans, which is central to this edition. However, the main ingredients of SP existed already in antiquity, as is evident from a comparison of SP with the Qumran texts and the harmonizing elements in the LXX. Of course, we do not possess any SP manuscripts dating from the period between the turn of the era and the Middle Ages, but the Samaritan targum is close to SP (although T–F mention a few small differences; 39–41) and therefore its date can be pushed back a few centuries. The omission of consideration of the non-Samaritan dimension is not an oversight, but is based on the conviction held by the master of Samaritan studies, Z. Ben-Ḥ ayyim, that the pre-Samaritan Qumran scrolls were not relevant to SP (“Comments on the Use of the Term ‘Proto-Samaritan,’ ” in Language Studies V–VI [Heb.; Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1992], 13–23). At the same time, Ben-Ḥ ayyim realized that SP is not a reflection of a special Samaritan language or dialect, but reflects the Hebrew of the Second Temple period, parallel to rabbinic Hebrew and the language of the Dead Sea Scrolls, as opposed to the First Temple background of MT (“Traditions in the Hebrew Language, with Special Reference to the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Aspects of the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. C. Rabin and Y. Yadin; ScrHier 4; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1965], 200–14; idem, The Literary and Oral Tradition, vol. 5 [1977], 2–3). The limiting of the recording of information to that of the Samaritan oral tradition presents a logical procedure, since SP is a Samaritan text. Furthermore, we have no solid information about the non-Samaritan reading of the consonantal text of SP in the 2d century B.C.E. But, in our view, the oral tradition of SP is not the only way of understanding the consonants of SP. My view about some of T–F’s insights in the introduction to the edition may be right or wrong, but even if I am right, the nature of the edition is not at stake. This is an excellent research tool, incorporating major innovations embodied in the Samaritan reading tradition. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Emanuel Tov

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