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Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 141–158 brill.nl/dsd Jubilees 46:6–47:1 and 4QVisions of Amram James C. VanderKam Unive...

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Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 141–158

brill.nl/dsd

Jubilees 46:6–47:1 and 4QVisions of Amram James C. VanderKam University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 USA [email protected]

Abstract The present paper explores the ways in which the authors of the Hebrew Book of Jubilees and the Aramaic Visions of Amram used the motif of a Canaanite-Egyptian war as they labored with the issues raised by the accounts at the end of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus. There is no clear indication that either writer used the work of the other; rather the war in question seems to have been a motif that was available to both when they composed their works and that each adopted and adapted independently. Keywords Jubilees; Visions of Amram; biblical chronology

1. Introduction The book of Genesis closes with the last phases in Joseph’s life. A major exercise that Jacob’s eleventh son undertook during them was to lead a large delegation to Canaan, there to bury his father in the ancestral tomb—the cave in the field of Machpelah—as the patriarch himself had ordered (Gen 49:29–33; cf. 47:27–31; 50:5, 12). Once Jacob died and the mourning rites in Egypt ran their course, Joseph requested permission from the royal house to carry out his father’s instructions. Joseph along with many of his kin and a crowd of Egyptians made the journey to the threshing floor of Atad in the Transjordan; at least Joseph and his brothers made the further trip into Canaan to the field of Machpelah (50:4–13). “After he had buried his father, Joseph returned to Egypt with his brothers and all who had gone up with him to bury his father.”

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

DOI: 10.1163/156851710X503549

142

J. C. VanderKam / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 141–158

(50:14)1 The facts that they left their children, flocks, and herds in Goshen (v. 8) and returned to them may imply that some obstacle to resuming permanent residence in Canaan remained in force. After the familiar scene in which Joseph forgives his brothers (50:15–21), the reader learns that he spent his remaining years in Egypt. As his death approached, he reminded his brothers, all of whom were still alive, that God would, in harmony with his promise to the ancestors, bring them back to the land (v. 24): “ ‘I am about to die; but God will surely come [‫ ]פקד יפקד‬to you, and bring you up out of this land to the land that he swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.’ ” He also made provision for his posthumous part in the Exodus from Egypt: “So Joseph made the Israelites swear, saying, ‘When God comes [‫ ]פקד יפקד‬to you, you shall carry up my bones from here.’ And Joseph died, being one hundred ten years old; he was embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt.” (50:25–26) The Joseph story prepares for the book of Exodus by placing the descendants of Jacob in Egypt (the last word of Genesis) but with a reminder of the land promise ringing in their ears.2 There are literary reasons for the way in which the story is shaped, but the perceptive reader of Genesis is left with some hard questions. For example, why, when Joseph died, did his brothers not transport his remains to Canaan as they had done for their father Jacob? Indeed, Jacob himself had uttered regarding Joseph almost the same words as Joseph says in 50:24: “Then Israel said to Joseph, ‘I am about to die, but God will be with you and will bring you again to the land of your ancestors.” (48:21) Why was the fulfillment of the promise delayed for Joseph but not for Jacob? There may be a hint of a problem in Joseph’s final words—they were to move his bones to Canaan when God “visits” them (50:25). But the question remains: why should God not visit them right away?3 And what happened to the corpses

1

All biblical citations are from the NRSV. Hermann Gunkel, Genesis (Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1997), 465 wrote: “The gradual ebbing of the account and the preparation for the subsequent Exodus narrative is beautiful.” 3 See James Kugel, In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994), 141–42; idem, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible As It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), 474–75, 499. 2


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of Joseph’s brothers, all of whom died in Egypt (Exod 1:6)? Neither Genesis nor Exodus provides an answer.

2. The Canaanite-Egyptian War The present paper explores the ways in which the authors of the Hebrew Book of Jubilees and the Aramaic Visions of Amram4—two early rewritings of the scriptural texts—used the motif of a Canaanite-Egyptian war as they labored with the issues raised by the accounts at the end of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus. There is no clear indication that either writer used the work of the other; rather the war in question seems to have been a motif that was available to both when they composed their works and that each adopted and adapted independently.5 2.1. The War in the Book of Jubilees 1. The scriptural background: The expression ‫ פקד יפקד‬of Gen 50:24, 25 recurs in two places in Exodus and binds Joseph’s final request to the Exodus story. Once he had revealed his special name to Moses at the bush, the deity ordered him to return to Egypt and to announce: “ ‘The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, has appeared to me, saying: I have given heed [‫]פקד פקדתי‬6 to you and to what has been done to you in Egypt. I declare that I will bring you up out of the misery of Egypt, to the land of the Canaanites.’ ” (Exod 3:16–17a) When Moses and Aaron delivered the message to the Hebrews, “[t]he people believed; and when they heard that the Lord had given heed [‫]פקד‬ to the Israelites and that he had seen their misery, they bowed down and worshiped.” (4:31) Targum Ps.-J. Gen 50:25 shows awareness of the 4

The official publication is by Émile Puech, Qumrân Grotte 4 XXII Textes Araméens Première Partie 4Q529–549 (DJD 31; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001), 283–405, with pls. XVI–XXII. 5 Puech thinks that the author of Jubilees used the Visions of Amram and employs this conclusion as evidence for the early date of the Cave 4 text (see DJD 31:285). 6 Though the Hebrew expression is obviously the same as the one in Gen 50:24, 25, the NRSV translators render it differently here than they do in the Genesis passages.

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connection between these passages; in its rendering of the verse it says: “Then Joseph made the sons of Israel swear that they would say to their children, ‘Behold, you will be enslaved in Egypt, but do not make plans to go up out of Egypt until the time that two deliverers come and say to you, “The Lord surely remembers you,” and at that time you shall go up and you shall bring up my bones from here.’ ”7 The theme of the divine visitation figures again where the narrator reports that Moses took Joseph’s bones along as the Israelites left Succoth and where Joseph’s words are cited: “And Moses took with him the bones of Joseph who had required a solemn oath of the Israelites, saying, ‘God will surely take note of you [‫]פקד יפקד‬, and then you must carry my bones with you from here.’ ” (Exod 13:19) 2. Jubilees’ rereading of the scriptural material: The Book of Jubilees demonstrates that questions about the disposition of the corpses of Joseph’s brothers and the long delay in transporting his bones to Canaan are ancient ones and that early expositors searched the relevant scriptural passages for clues to answers. According to the writer, one reason why Joseph’s bones remained in Egypt after his death was that, following the burial of Jacob, the international situation changed and precluded travel between Egypt and Canaan. Jubilees says that Jacob died in the year of the world 21888 after living 147 years (45:13; see Gen 47:28 for the 147 years of his life); Joseph’s death at age 110 he placed in the year 2242, some 54 years later (46:8; see Gen 50:26).9 At this point Jubilees begins to blend some elements from Exod 1 into the story at the end of Genesis. While Joseph was still alive, the Israelites 7

The translation is from Michael Maher, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis (ArBib 1B; Collegeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 1992). The words in italics are supplements to the scriptural text. 8 This and the other dates from Jubilees in this paper are transpositions (given in my The Book of Jubilees [2 vols.; CSCO 510–11, Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Louvain: Peeters, 1989], vol. 2) of the more complicated way in which the author expresses dates: he says that an event X occurred in a certain jubilee period (that is, a 49-year unit), in a week of years within that jubilee, and in a specific year within the week. The numbers given here are years of the world, starting from creation. 9 Both dates are problematic in Jubilees. In Jub. 19:13 Jacob is born in the year 2046; if he lived 147 years, his death should have occurred in 2193, not 2188. Joseph was born in 2134 (28:24); hence his death at age 110 should have been in 2244, not 2242.


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multiplied in Egypt ( Jub. 46:1; see Exod 1:7).10 One learns that this occurred over a seventy-year period. The writer then records the deaths of Joseph and his brothers and Joseph’s last request:11 Before he died he ordered the Israelites to take his bones along at the time when they would leave the land of Egypt. He made them swear about his bones because he knew that the Egyptians would not again bring him out and bury him on the day of his death12 in the land of Canaan, since Makamaron, the king of Canaan—while he was living in the land of Asur—fought in the valley with the king of Egypt and killed him there. He pursued the Egyptians as far as the gates of Ermon. He was unable to enter because another new king ruled Egypt. He was stronger than he, so he returned to the land of Canaan and the gates of Egypt were closed with no one leaving or entering Egypt. (46:5–7) Here one finds the new king of Exod 1:8 and an immediate answer to the question why no one carried Joseph’s bones to Canaan: at the time of his death he knew that hostilities between Egypt and Canaan would lead to closure of the border or already had done so and that the war between the two kings would make/had made international travel impossible. The exact timing of the conflict is not obvious from the text: did it occur at the time of his death or did it follow shortly thereafter? In either case, it preceded the Egyptian counter-offensive described in the sequel. The theme of a war between the two countries13 did not, however, account for the full range of scriptural data that lay before the author. 10

Actually, Genesis prepared the way for such an assertion: Gen 47:27 (cf. 50:20) mentions the swift increase in population among the descendants of Jacob in Egypt. See Claus Westermann, Genesis 37–50: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1986), 172. 11 All citations from Jubilees are from VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, vol. 2. 12 The words italicized are a new reading that departs from the text and translation in my The Book of Jubilees. It is based on a citation of Jubilees in the Catena to Gen 50:25–26 published by Françoise Petit, La chaîne sur la Genèse: Édition intégrale I–IV (Traditio Exegetica Graeca 1–4; Louvain: Peeters, 1991–96), 4:453–55 (#2270). For a full comparison between the readings of the Greek citation and those of the Ethiopic and Latin texts of Jubilees, see my forthcoming essay “Another Citation of Greek Jubilees.” 13 Klaus Berger (Das Buch der Jubiläen [JSHRZ II/3; Gütersloh: Gütersloher

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Both Exod 13:19 and Josh 24:32, the two subsequent passages mentioning the bones of Joseph, refer to Joseph’s remains but not those of his brothers who had also died in Egypt (Exod 1:6: “Then Joseph died, and all his brothers, and that whole generation”). Were the bones of the eleven left in Egypt when Moses led the Israelites out and were only those of Joseph accorded the privilege of burial in the land? Other early exegetes expressed awareness of the problem and offered answers. Josephus, after noting Joseph’s death, wrote: “His brethren also died after sojourning happily in Egypt. Their bodies were carried some time afterwards by their descendants [and their sons] to Hebron and buried there. But as for Joseph’s bones, it was only later, when the Hebrews migrated from Egypt, that they conveyed them to Canaan, in accordance with the oath which Joseph had laid upon them.” (Ant. 2.199–200 [Thackeray, LCL]) In the New Testament, Stephen alludes to a similar tradition, although he with Josh 24:2 places the burial at Shechem: “He himself [Jacob] died there as well as our ancestors, and their bodies were brought back to Shechem and laid in the tomb that Abraham14 had bought for a sum of silver from the sons of Hamor in Shechem.” (7:15–16). Several of the individual units in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs include a vague notice about reburial of the brother in question. An example is T. Reub. 7:2 which says that “they” brought him, that is, Reuben, up and buried him at Machpelah (see also T. Levi 19:5; T. Jud. 26:4; T. Dan 7:2; T. Iss. 7:8; T. Zeb. 10:7). Genesis Rabbah 100.11 locates a possible textual trigger for the conclusion that the remains of the brothers were also moved from Egypt: the word ‫( אתכם‬with you [pl.]) in Exod 13:19 implies that Moses transported the bones of the brothers as well as Joseph’s remains when he left Egypt (so also Mekh., Beshallaḥ 1 [end]). Jubilees addresses the difficulty differently. It describes an episode during the Egyptian sojourn when Israelites conveyed the bones of the eleven to Canaan. In 46:9 it references another battle between the kings of Egypt Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1981], 300) maintains that the battles pitting the two against each other and the death of the Egyptian king point to the second-century conflicts between the Ptolemies and Seleucids, with the Egyptian king in question being Ptolemy VI who died in 145 b.c.e. For Berger, the data provide a point after which the book was written. For a rejection of Berger’s inferences, see Robert Doran, “The Non-Dating of Jubilees: Jub. 34–38; 23:14–32 in Narrative Context,” JSJ 20 (1989): 1–11, at 4–5. 14 Joshua 24:32 attributes the purchase to Jacob.


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and Canaan—this one started by Egypt. It dates the campaign twentyone years after Joseph’s death and places it after the notice about the brothers’ deaths as well. The writer claims that an Egyptian counteroffensive into Canaan provided the opportunity by re-opening the border for a brief time: “Then the king of Egypt went out to fight with the king of Canaan in the forty-seventh jubilee, in the second week, during its second year [2263]. The Israelites brought out all the bones of Jacob’s sons except Joseph’s bones. They buried them in the field, in the double cave [= Machpelah] in the mountain. Many returned to Egypt but a few of them remained on the mountain of Hebron.” (46:9–10a) Among those who stayed behind was Amram, Moses’s father. The story about Amram resumes in Jub. 47:1. In the year 2303 he was finally able to go back from Canaan to Egypt; no reason is given for the long delay in his return. Some 27 years after his arrival in Egypt Moses was born, thus inaugurating the era of the Exodus and the final disposition of Joseph’s bones. The dates that Jubilees specifies in this general context are these (with undated events placed beneath the last mentioned date):15 2172 2178 2188 2242 2263

2303 2330 2410

15

Jacob arrives in Egypt (45:1) at age 130 (45:7; see Gen 47:28) first year after the seven years of famine (45:11) Jacob dies (45:13) Joseph dies (46:8) Canaan attacks and the border with Egypt is closed Counter-offensive by Egypt into Canaan (46:9) Burial of the bones of Joseph’s brothers Amram among those who remained in Canaan Canaan reasserts itself and again Egypt is closed Amram returns from Canaan to Egypt (47:1) Moses is born (47:1) Exodus when Moses is 80 years of age (see 50:4; Exod 7:7; Deut 31:1)

For a very thorough study of the dates in this part of Jubilees in relation to those given in many other sources, see Osvalda Andrei, “The 430 Years of Ex. 12:40, From Demetrius to Julius Africanus. A Study in Jewish and Christian Chronography,” Hen 18 (1996): 9–67, esp. 22–34, 49–51. Andrei’s concern is with the chronologies and their histories, less so with the themes attached to them by the individual authors. Her work appeared before the full edition of the Visions of Amram was published, though she does refer to the text.

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The bones of Joseph, therefore, remained a special case. Jubilees does not resort to the sorts of explanations attested in later sources (e.g., T. Sim. 8:1–3; Mekh., Beshallaḥ 1)16 but apparently rests content with the scriptural implication that Joseph had designated the special time when his descendants were to transport his remains—the time when God would visit/come to them, to the entire nation. The writer presumably knew that Exod 13:19 and Josh 24:32 made explicit mention of Joseph’s bones alone, not those of his brothers. His story about the Exodus is so truncated that he does not reproduce Exod 13:19, so it is no longer possible to detect how he read it. Jubilees at several junctures introduces wars into the Genesis narratives, though it follows scriptural clues and does not insert them arbitrarily.17 The same is the case in the present instance. We should recall that in the story about the great famine when Joseph soared to prominence conditions arose that could have led to hostility between Canaanites and Egyptians: “Now there was no food in all the land, for the famine was very severe. The land of Egypt and the land of Canaan languished because of the famine. Joseph collected all the money to be found in the land of Egypt and in the land of Canaan, in exchange for the grain that they bought; and Joseph brought the money into Pharaoh’s house. When the money from the land of Egypt and from the land of Canaan was spent . . .” (Gen 47:13–15a).18 The new king in Egypt after Joseph’s time also 16

See Kugel, In Potiphar’s House, 143. He cites and discusses the various explanations on pp. 128–52. The Testament of Simeon, which also mentions the war, says that “the Egyptians guarded the bones of Joseph in the treasure-house of the palace. For the sorcerers had told them that on the departure of the bones of Joseph there would be darkness and gloom in the whole land of Egypt and a very great plague to the Egyptians, so that (even) with a lamp no one would recognize his brother” (8:3; the translation is from Harm W. Hollander and Marinus de Jonge, The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A Commentary [SVTP 8; Leiden: Brill, 1985], 127; see their note on p. 128 where they adduce parallels). 17 For an analysis of these wars in Jubilees (34:2–9; 37:1–38:14), see James C. VanderKam, Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees (HSM 14; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977), 217–38. For a different perspective, see Doran, “The Non-Dating of Jubilees,” 1–4. 18 See Westermann, Genesis 37–50, 174. The Canaanites are mentioned only in these verses and are not part of the sequel in Genesis. As it briefly sketches this part of the scriptural text, Jubilees omits any reference to the Canaanites and their money (see Jub. 45:8).


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dropped a hint to this effect: “He said to his people, ‘Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape [‫ ]ועלה‬from the land’ ” (Exod 1:9–10). Why, at this point before the enslavement (see 1:11), should the Egyptians worry that the Israelites would join their enemies and go up from Egypt (using the normal verb for going to Canaan)?19 The author of Jubilees betrays his awareness of the implication in his retelling of the pharaoh’s words. He said to the Egyptians: “The nation of the Israelites has now increased and become more numerous than we are. Come on, let us outwit them before they multiply. Let us make them suffer in slavery before war comes our way and they, too, fight against us. Otherwise they will unite with the enemy and leave our land because their mind(s) and face(s look) toward the land of Canaan.” (46:12b–13)20 One wonders, too, whether the term used for the cities on which the Israelite slaves labored—‫( מסכנות‬Exod 1:11)—implied military circumstances. Jubilees reads in this context “every wall and all the fortifications which had fallen down in Egypt” (46:14). A similar understanding is reflected in the lxx: “And they built fortified cities for Pharao, both Pithom and Ramesses and On, which is Heliopolis.”21 Then too, Gen 50:9, part of the description of the funeral procession to Canaan for burying Jacob, may have suggested some need for armed protection for the travelers by noting that “both chariots and charioteers went up with him”.22

19

See Benno Jacob, The Second Book of the Bible: Exodus (Hoboken, N.J.: KTAV, 1992), 12. 20 See also Rashbam’s comment on 1:10 where he understands leaving the land to mean returning to their own country (Martin I. Lockshin, Rashbam’s Commentary on Exodus: An Annotated Translation [BJS 310; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999], 12). 21 The translation is that of Larry J. Perkins, “Exodus,” in A New English Translation of the Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations Traditionally Included under That Title (ed. Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright; New York: Oxford University Press, 2007). Targums Pseudo-Jonathan and Neophyti to Exod 1:11 also understand them to be fortified cities. 22 Westermann, Genesis 37–50, 200.

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At any rate, for Jubilees the new Egyptian assertion of military power allowed the Israelites to move the bones of the eleven from Egypt to Canaan, but Joseph’s own instructions entailed that his remains were to stay in Egypt until the definitive divine visitation when the entire nation would leave Egypt. The Egyptian campaign had no lasting positive effect because Jub. 46:11 says that the king of Canaan once more forced conditions that led to closure of Egypt’s gates—circumstances that saw the beginning of the oppression that ended with the Exodus. 2.2. The War in the Visions of Amram “The Visions of Amram” (4Q543–49?),23 a title preserved at the beginning of the text in 4Q543, has the appearance of a testament that the father of Miriam, Aaron, and Moses offered when he was 136 years of age.24 The work begins with a testamentary scene, and the blocks of text that follow correspond well with the nature of the genre. The section regarding the Canaanite (+ Philistine)–Egyptian war precedes the more familiar scene in which Amram speaks about two angelic figures who appeared to him, one of whom is called Melchiresha. The Visions of Amram (= VA) appeals to the war as its protagonist speaks about the period of time with which Jub. 46:6–47:1 is concerned. The key episodes appear in highly fragmentary form on five of the copies (4Q543–47).25 From the numerous overlaps between them it is possible

23

Whether ‫ חזות‬in 4Q543 1 1 is sing. or pl. is not certain; see Puech, DJD 31:283. 24 Cf. Exod 6:20 (mt) which gives his final age as 137; the Samaritan Pentateuch, lxx Codex Alexandrinus, and the Lucianic recension give the age as 136 (132 in the other Greek witnesses). See Puech’s comments regarding the testamentary character of the composition and his analysis of the chronological issues involved in the differing ages of Amram at death according to the various versions (DJD 31:283, 285–86). Whether 4Q548–549 are additional copies of the Visions of Amram is less certain (see p. 283); as they do not preserve the section about the war, the issue is of no relevance for the present purposes. 25 The passages are: 4Q543 frgs. 3–4; 4Q544 frg. 1 1–8; 4Q545 frg. 1a–b ii 11–19; 4Q546 frg. 2 1–4; 4Q547 frgs. 1–2 iii 1–8. Apart from a few small differences (e.g., the spelling of a couple of words), the texts agree word-for-word in overlapping sections, thus justifying the composite text supplied here.


151

to fashion a composite text of the section where, as he does throughout the work, Amram speaks in the first person.26 ‫בארעא דא וסלקת למק]ם בארע כנען‬ ‫ואף סלק אבי[ קהת תמן‬ ] ‫למקבר אבהתנא וסלקת‬ [‫למקם ולמעמרא ולמבנא ק]בריא די אבהתנא וסלקו עמנא גברין‬ ‫כל[ גבר ומן‬ ‫שגיאין מן בני דדי כחד]א‬ [‫עבידתנא שגיאין לחדא עד י]תקב[רון מתין ]ב[שנת רישי ברשו]תי כדי הות‬ ‫שמועת קרב מבהלה תאב]ה חבו[רתנא לארע מ]צרי[ן וסלקת למקבר‬ [‫]להון‬ [‫לעובע ולא בנו קבריא די אבהתהון ושבקוני אבי קה]ת ואנתי יוכבד למקם‬ ‫ולמבנה ולמסב להון כל צרכיהון מן ארע כנען ]ועמרנא בחברון[ עד‬ [‫אנחנא בנין וקרבא הוא בין פלשת למצרין ונצח]ו פלשת וכנען על מצרין‬ [‫ואחידו ג]בולי[ מצרין ולא איתי אפשר ]לאנתתי יוכבד די[ תאתה ]לכנען‬ [ ]‫שנין ארבעין וחדא ולא הוינה יכלין למתב למצרין‬ ‫קרבא[ בין מצרין לכנען ולפלשת‬ ‫על כן ל]א‬ [ ‫ובכול דן יוכבד אנ]תתי הות רחיקה מני בארע מצרין ו‬ [‫]ו[אנה אנתה אחרי ]לי לא‬ ‫די עמי[ לא הות‬ ]‫מטרתי‬ ‫נסבת‬ [

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

1 in this land and I went up to st[ay in the land of Canaan ] 2 to bury our fathers and I went up [ and my father] Kohath [also went up] there 3 to remain and to live and to build [the] t[ombs of our fathers, and] many [men went up with us] 4 from the sons of my uncles togeth[er every] man and from 5 our servants, very many, until

26

I compiled the text above from the war section as preserved in 4Q543–547. The readings and restorations are almost always those of Puech. For the arrangement of the texts in lines 1–9 above I was aided especially by two manuscripts whose column widths appear to be about the same: 4Q545 1a–b ii 11–19 (the beginnings of all nine lines are preserved and are the beginnings of the first nine lines of the composite above); and 4Q543 4 1–4 (the beginnings of these lines have also survived and are the beginnings of lines 12–15 in the composite above). These two manuscripts underlie the arrangement of the composite text but neither of them supplies all of the words or letters given; the full text is drawn from all five copies on which parts of this section have survived. 4Q544 1 1–8 and 4Q546 2 3–4 also attest the beginnings of lines, but the line length in both copies is considerably longer than in 4Q543 and 4Q545; they were therefore less useful for this arrangement in lines.

152


(the) dead [would be bu]ried. [In] the first year of [my] authority, [when there was] 6 a frightening rumor of war, our [gro]up returned to the land of E[gyp]t and I went up to bury [them] 7 quickly, but they had not built the tombs of their fathers, and my father Qaha[t and my wife Jochebed] left me [to stay] 8 and to build and to take to them all their needs from the land of Canaan. [And we lived in Hebron] while 9 we were building; and there was the war between Philistia and Egypt and [Philistia and Canaan] defeated [Egypt]. 10 And the b[orders] of Egypt were closed and it was not possible [for my wife Jochebed to] come [to Canaan] 11 (for)tyone years and we were not able to return to Egypt[ ] 12 Therefore n[ot war] between Egypt and Canaan and Philistia. 13 During all this Jochebed [my] wi[fe was far away from me in the land of Egypt and ] 14 my charge?[ for with me] she was not. [But] I [did not] take another wife [for myself ]27 The ancestors who are buried are Joseph’s brothers; it is difficult to imagine any others who could be meant in this context when one considers the setting and the other sources such as Jubilees. Amram refers explicitly to “the sons of my uncles”;28 his uncles, according to the genealogy in Exod 6:16, were Gershon and Merari, both of whom had two sons (see Exod 6:16–19). The first step in the project carried out by Amram with many others was interring the bodies of the ancestors; this part of the mission appears to have been completed before war rumors were heard. Most of Amram’s colleagues fled from Canaan with war looming on the horizon, and they left the task of constructing the tombs incomplete. Amram and some others stayed to finish this second part of their project. So, the VA provides an explanation for why Amram and others stayed in Canaan, whereas Jubilees notes their remaining behind but not why they did so. The VA does, however, describe the same military situation as the one in Jub. 46:9–10.

27

The translation is modified from the ones given for the copies by Edward Cook in Donald W. Parry and Emanuel Tov, eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader, vol. 3: Parabiblical Texts (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 412–43. 28 Puech is surely right to regard the form ‫ דדי‬as plural, as there appears to be no reason why Amram would mention the sons of just one of his uncles (DJD 31:339).


153

2.3. Comparisons 1. Similarities: The two sources share a number of features as they resort to the theme of a Canaanite-Egyptian war, although even in points of agreement each takes its own course. a. The phases of the war: Jubilees and the VA describe the same war, although the VA focuses on fewer of its phases than does Jubilees. In Jubilees the subject first arises when Joseph knows his bones will not leave Egypt because of the war in which Makamaron, king of Canaan, defeated Egypt; afterwards the border with Egypt was closed (46:6–7).29 Twentyone years after Joseph’s death (in 2263) the Egyptians counterattacked, thus opening the border so that the Israelites could bury the eleven brothers of Joseph in Canaan (46:9). Later still the king of Canaan defeated Egypt for the second time, a victory that entailed a renewed blockage of the border. A result was that Amram was left stranded in Canaan for 41 years. In the VA there is mention of a rumor of war when Amram and others are already in Canaan. When the conflict broke out Canaan and Philistia (a nation not mentioned in this context in Jubilees)30 defeated Egypt and forced closure of the border for a 41-year stretch while Amram was in Canaan and Jochebed, his wife, in Egypt. So the VA alludes to the latter phases of the conflict (the ones in Jub. 46:9–11; 47:1) and does not mention the earlier one that Jubilees adduces as the reason why Joseph’s bones were not moved immediately to Machpelah ( Jub. 46:6–9a). b. Amram’s 41 years in Canaan and the chronology of the period: During the war, the borders of Egypt were shut and the Israelites left behind in Canaan were separated from their families in Egypt by a barrier that could not be crossed—a condition that lasted 41 years. Only after that time was completed was Amram able to rejoin his wife in Egypt. The figure of 41 years invites comparison with Jubilees’ dates for the same events: Jubilees says that the gates of Egypt were closed in 2263 and that 29

According to Jub. 46:7, the closure was forced by the new and stronger Egyptian king, not by Makamaron. 30 Klaus Beyer, who prepared his own composite text of all the preserved parts of the VA, thinks the presence of the Philistines in the VA presupposes Judas Maccabeus’ wars with the Philistines (“R = 4Q543–549: Die Abschiedsrede Amrams,” in his Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer Band 2 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004], 117–25, at 118). The two extant references to Philistia are a weak basis for his inference.

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Amram returned to Egypt in 2303.31 It is likely that these dates encompass the same span of time as the one measured as 41 years in the VA. That is, the time from 2263 to 2303 could be reckoned as 41 years.32 The notice about Amram’s 41-year stay in Canaan and a few other dates in both texts reveal something of the authors’ struggles to deal with chronological issues at the end of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus. Ancient chronographers were not well served by this stretch of scriptural text where there are no chronologically endowed genealogies of the kind given in the primeval history and for Abraham and Isaac. That is, Genesis fails to register Jacob’s age when his wives bore their many children, including Levi. As a result, when one turns to the levitical genealogy in Exod 6:16–26 (see also Num 3:17–21; 26:57–61; 1 Chr 6:1–15), one is not able to connect the lives of Levi, Qahat, Amram, and Miriam/Aaron/ Moses with a specific year in the patriarchal chronology. That levitical list itself also fails to divulge the ages of the fathers when their oldest sons were born. It reports that Levi lived for 137 years and had three sons, the middle one of whom was Qahat (Kohath). Qahat in turn lived 133 years and was the father of four sons, the oldest of whom was Amram, and Amram lived 137 (or 136) years and, with his wife Jochebed, had three children—Miriam (see Num 26:59), Aaron, and Moses. Jubilees is somewhat more forthcoming about the chronology for the period, but it too is defective in this regard. One problem is that the author drastically abbreviates this part of the scriptural story. He does, however, present a running chronology for the entire time from the creation to the Exodus and entry into the land; in that chronology he at times adds dates not present in Genesis-Exodus. One such context is the births of Jacob’s children ( Jub. 28:11–24; 32:33), for each of whom Jubilees gives the date of birth (actually, the date when each was named, which seems to be their date of birth as well). In Jubilees Levi was born when Jacob was 81 (28:14 = 2127; Jacob was born in 2046 [19:13]). Jubilees 31

The Latin translation of Jubilees confirms both dates as given in the Ethiopic version. 32 Others, understandably, have seen a difference here between the two texts. See Pierre Grelot, “Quatre cents trente ans (Ex 12, 40),” in Homenaje a Juan Prado: miscelánea de estudios bíblicos y hebráicos (ed. L. Alvarez Verdes and E. J. Alonso Hernandez; Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1975), 559–70, at 562, 565. It is doubtful that any significant point would be made by a difference of one year in this chronology.


155

does not, however, deal with the levitical genealogy of Exodus 6 other than to name Amram as Moses’ father. And, as we have seen, the writer gives the dates for the 41 years when Amram was in Canaan (2263–2303) and for Moses’ birth (2330), but he does not record the years of Amram’s birth and death or his age when Aaron was born. In another context, the VA adds three chronological notices to the account of Amram’s life beyond his 41-year stay in Canaan. The opening part of the text gives the year of his death as 136 and equates it with the 152nd year of what it calls Israel’s exile in Egypt (4Q545 1a i 2–4; see also 4Q543 1a–c 2–4; 4Q546 1 1–2). It is instructive to compare the notices with Jubilees’ chronology for this time. If one counts Jacob’s descent to Egypt as the beginning of the Egyptian period, Jubilees dates it to 2172 (45:1, 7; see Gen 47:28). Adding 152 to that date yields 2324. In Jubilees 2324 could not be the date of Amram’s death because he became Moses’ father in 2330. The two works seem to operate with slightly variant overall chronologies. The author of the VA may have taken his numbers from a larger chronology, a system whose creator(s) tried to fill the scriptural gaps with more information. In the year of his death Amram gave his daughter Miriam to his younger brother Uzziel as a wife; we learn that she was 30 years of age at the time (4Q545 1a i 4–6; cf. 4Q543 1 5–6; 4Q546 1 3–4). If the text is indeed equating the two dates, Amram would have become the father of Miriam when he was an astonishing 106 years of age (136– 30);33 Aaron and Moses would have come along later.34 Perhaps Amram’s 33

See Puech, DJD 31:294. With the equation between Amram’s age at death (136) and the 152nd year in Egypt and with the assumption that the VA works with a 215-year period for Israel in Egypt, it is possible to infer the birth years of Aaron and Moses (see Puech, DJD 31:285–87, where he notes others who have seen the same implications). Since Aaron was 83 and Moses 80 at the time of the Exodus in the year 215, Aaron was born in the year 132 and Moses in 135 of the Egyptian period. These are the equivalents of Amram’s years 116 and 119. The ages when Amram became the father of his two sons are even more extraordinary than when he became the father of Miriam ten years before Aaron’s birth. Grelot noted that he outdid the nearly miraculous conception and birth of Isaac when his parents were 99/100 and 89/90 (see his “Quatre cent trente ans [Ex. xii, 34]: Du Pentateuque au testament araméen de Lévi,” in Hommages à André Dupont-Sommer [ed. André Caquot and Marc Philonenko; Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1971], 383–94, at 390–92). 34

156


41-year absence in Canaan while Jochebed lived in Egypt was meant to explain why he was so late in starting a family.35 If we compare the information in Jubilees and the VA with what is found in another early chronology for this time—that of Demetrius—we see that he has a far more complete set of correlations.36 Like Jubilees and presumably the VA,37 he reckons with a 215-year period in Egypt after the patriarchs spent 215 years in Canaan, as in the Samaritan Pentateuch and lxx Exod 12:40. Demetrius, like Jubilees, gives Jacob’s age when each of his children was born, but he also supplies the ages when the men in the levitical genealogy became fathers of their sons. In his system Jacob was 87 when Levi was born. Levi, who was 43 at the time of the descent to Egypt, was 60 when Qahat arrived, Qahat was 40 at Amram’s birth, and Amram was 75 at Aaron’s birth (78 for Moses; see Exod 7:7). If one adds the numbers for the Egyptian period—17 + 40 + 75, the total is 132. Adding 83 to that (Moses was born three years after Aaron and was 80 at the time of the Exodus), the sum is 215. If we take Jubilees’ date for Levi’s birth (2127) and use Demetrius’s numbers for the levitical genealogy, we arrive at 2305 for Moses’s birth—25 years before the date Jubilees gives for it. Once again, it is evident that the writers used different chronologies for the period in question.38 35

See Grelot’s summary in “Le livre des Jubilés et le Testament de Lévi,” in Mélanges Dominique Barthélemy: Études bibliques offertes à l’occasion de son 60e Anniversaire (ed. Pierre Casetti, Othmar Keel, and Adrian Schenker; OBO 38; Fribourg: Éditions universitaires, 1981), 109–33, at 110–11. I do not see any convincing evidence for his thesis that this sacerdotal chronology (pre-P) originally ended the 215-year period, not with the Exodus, but with the entry into the land; the extra 40 (41) years were inserted into the Egyptian period to make the 215 years conclude with the Exodus (see “Quatre cent trente ans [Ex. xii, 34],” 390–92; idem, “Quatre cents trente ans [Ex 12, 40],” 566). 36 The dates come from frg. 2 of Demetrius as preserved in Eusebius, Preparation for the Gospel 9.21, 1–19. For the Greek text with an English translation and notes, see Carl R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors, vol. 1: Historians (SBLT&T 20, Pseudepigrapha Series 10; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1983), 63–75, 80–87. See also Andrei, “The 430 Years of Ex. 12:40,” 11–34. 37 See, for example, Grelot, “Quatre cents trente ans (Ex 12, 40),” 564–66. 38 4Q559 (4QpapBibChronology ar) should be relevant to a study of the levitical line since it mentions some of the individuals involved in it ( Jacob, Amram, Aaron) and includes several year numbers in what appears to be a genealogy. In fact, several scholars have constructed full chronologies from the sparse


157

2. Larger differences: Upon close examination, it soon becomes evident that the accounts about the war in Jubilees and the VA differ in a few more significant ways as well. a. Joseph’s bones: A first feature to notice regarding the use of the war motif in the VA is the absence of any reference to Joseph and his bones. They are, as it were, the force driving the story in Jubilees, while they are a non-factor in the extant parts of the VA. This is the case even though the burial of Joseph’ brothers is central to the narrative in the VA. Their bones are important in the account in Jubilees but are not the focus of attention as in the VA. b. Role served by Amram’s 41 years in Canaan: A second noteworthy difference is the use to which the VA subjects the chronological datum that Amram was separated from his wife Jochebed for 41 years. We read about this in a part of the story that immediately follows the war section. In spite of their distance from each other and the amount of time the separation lasted, Amram did not, he assures his children, take another wife though there were eligible women aplenty in Canaan (4Q544 1 8–9).39 remains, but I do not believe their chronological inferences are justified by the bits of text that actually survive rather than by the text that they “restore.” In Puech’s edition of frgs. 1–3 (“4QpapChronologie biblique ar,” in his Qumrân Grotte 4 XXVII Textes Araméens Deuxième Partie 4Q550–4Q575a, 4Q580–4Q587 et Appendices [DJD 37; Oxford: Clarendon, 2009], 268–78 [the full edition is pp. 263–84 with pl. XV (incorrectly given as XIV on p. 263)]), there are nine numbers preserved, in full or in part: 5 (frg. 1 2); 30 (1 3; the symbol for 20 is read very insecurely); 130 (1 4; only the symbol for 100 survives, and it is uncertain); 20 (2 1 [2]; it is most uncertain); 20 (2 2 [3]); 65 (2 4 [5]); a 20 and, after a few letter spaces, 4 (3 2 [7]; the symbol for 20 is most uncertain); 5 (3 3 [8]; and 11,536 (3 5 [10]). Of only two out of these nine numbers can one be reasonably sure that the complete number survives: 65 (2 4 [5]) and 11,536 (3 5 [10]). The latter has nothing to do with a genealogy, while the symbols for the number 65 are, apart from a final nun just before them, the only extant text from the line. Hence, the event or person with whom it was connected is not known. The number 65 years figures in no other chronology for the persons in the levitical genealogy. I hope to deal with this in more detail elsewhere. 39 Marriage with appropriate mates is an important topic elsewhere in the VA. In the year of his death Amram arranged the marriage of his daughter Miriam to his younger brother Uzziel (4Q543 1a–c 4–6; 4Q545 1a i 5–6; 4Q546 1 4; 4Q547 1–2 iii 7–9). If 4Q549 is another copy of the work, it adds to the theme by presenting a genealogy that lists both husbands and wives in 2 7–11, thus

158


Jubilees is intensely concerned with proper marriages in the chosen line, but it does not mention the subject of Amram’s restraint over these many years. It notes only that Amram, after being away for 41 years, returned to Egypt and that Moses was born subsequently—27 years later, as it turns out (there is no mention of the births of Miriam and Aaron). Amram’s exemplary conduct fits comfortably in the testamentary frame of the VA; Jubilees does not take on a testamentary form in the Joseph section and does not employ the war motif to convey a lesson about marital propriety. The evidence presented above leads to the conclusion that the war sections in Jubilees and VA offer similar yet independent treatments of the same stretch of scriptural text and that each writer follows his own system in trying to understand the chronology of the period. Different issues (burying Joseph and Jacob’s other sons vs. burying the eleven and Amram’s faithfulness to his wife) seem to have been paramount for the two writers as they rewrote the end of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus. Puech has offered some considerations that lead him to believe that Jubilees knew the VA. The earliest copies of the Aramaic work he dates paleographically to the period 150–100 b.c.e. (4Q543, 4Q544, 4Q547), while features of the language suggest composition in the third century or at latest in the second.40 On his view, the author of Jubilees was aware of some chronological problems in the sacerdotal chronology in the VA but left them as they were. It may be that the Aramaic text antedates Jubilees, but I see no compelling evidence for concluding that the writer of the latter took the war tradition with its chronology from the VA.

documenting the purity of the line. The subject is so extremely important in Jubilees (see, for example, Betsy Halpern-Amaru, The Empowerment of Women in the Book of Jubilees [JSJS 60; Leiden: Brill, 1999]), that it is surprising the author missed an opportunity like this to present a model of spousal fidelity. 40 DJD 31:285–87. He thinks that the Aramaic testaments of three priestly patriarchs—Levi, Qahat, and Amram—came from the same milieu and time— the third century b.c.e.


brill.nl/dsd

The Hodayot’s Use of the Psalter: Text-critical Contributions (Book 3: Pss 73–89) John Elwolde Valladolid, Spain [email protected]

Abstract This is the third article in a series of studies that analyses detailed correspondences between the Psalms and the Hodayot for the light the Hodayot may shed on the textual development of the Psalter. The texts discussed in this article include Pss 77:6, 7; 77:18, 78:15, 38, 69; 79:8; 80:13; 82:3; 86:4, 12; 86:14/ 54:5; 88:4; 89:6, 7, 8, 10, 12. Keywords Psalms; Hodayot; textual criticism

For background to the following study, the reader is directed to two previous studies, covering Books 1 and 2 of the Psalms.1 Some fifty short sequences from Book 1 and twenty from Book 2, which appear in a more or less identical form in the Hodayot manuscripts from Qumran Caves 1 and 4, have so far been analysed for any light they might cast on the textual development of the Psalter. The present work extends that study to a further eighteen passages from Book 3. The texts discussed in this article

1

John Elwolde, “The Hodayot’s Use of the Psalter: Text-Critical Contributions (Book 1),” in Psalms and Prayers: Papers Read at the [Thirteenth] Joint Meeting of the Society of Old Testament Study and Het Oudtestamentisch Werkgezelschap in Nederland en België, Apeldoorn [21–24] August 2006 (ed. Bob Becking and Eric Peels; Oudtestamentische Studiën 55; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 79–108; a paper covering Book 2 is awaiting publication in the proceedings of the “Dead Sea Scrolls in Context” conference, Vienna, 11–14 February, 2008. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

DOI: 10.1163/156851710X503558

160

J. Elwolde / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 159–179

include the fourteen listed by Jean Carmignac2—Pss 77:6, 7; 77:18, 78:38; 79:8; 80:13; 82:3; 86:4; 86:14/54:5; 88:4; 89:7, 8, 10, 12—as well as four others discussed only by Preben Wernberg-Møller3 (hereafter, WM)—Pss 78:15; 78:69; 86:12; 89:6. For reasons that will be apparent, Ps 88:4 is discussed immediately after Ps 77:7. Ps 77:6 = 1QH 9:20–21, 26 [Suk 1:18–19, 24]4 Ps 77:6: :‫עוֹל ִמים‬ ָ ‫יָמים ִמ ֶקּ ֶדם ְשׁנוֹת‬ ִ ‫ִח ַשּׁ ְב ִתּי‬ 1QH 9:20–21 [Suk 1:18–19]: ‫צאצ ֯אי֯ ֯הם למספר דורות‬ ֯ ‫ותפלגה לכול‬ ‫עולם ולכול שני נצח‬ 1QH 9:26 [Suk 1:24]: ‫חקוק לפניכה בחרת זכרון לכול קצי נצח ותקופות‬ ‫מספר שני עולם בכול מועדיהם‬ As can be seen, the Hodayot forms that Carmignac cites, ‫ שני נצח‬and ‫שני‬ ‫עולם‬, are not formally identical with each other or with the form that is found in the Psalm (and only there): ‫עוֹל ִמים‬ ָ ‫שׁנוֹת‬. ְ The conceptual background of the two sets of passages is also strikingly different: in one case a complainant laments the contrast between his own present and past (or perhaps the past days of God’s more active participation in the life of his people); in the Hodayot texts, on the contrary, it is God’s prescience and predestining that is in focus. Moreover, even at a purely formal linguistic level, we see that the striking parallel expression in the Psalm, ‫יָמים ִמ ֶקּ ֶדם‬ ִ (which is only attested here and at Ps 143:5), is not found in the Hodayot; nor is either of its two constituent elements found close enough to ‫שני‬ ‫ נצח‬or ‫ שני עולם‬to support any claim of dependency of either Hodayot text

2

Jean Carmignac, “Les citations de l’Ancien Testament, et spécialement des Poèmes du Serviteur dans les Hymnes de Qumran,” RevQ 2/7 (1960): 357–94, at 376. 3 Preben Wernberg-Møller, “The Contribution of the Hodayot to Biblical Textual Criticism,” Textus 4 (1964): 133–75. 4 In this study, unbracketed references are to the new 1QHodayot edition: Hartmut Stegemann, Eileen Schuller, and Carol Newsom, 1QHodayot a With Incorporation of 1QHodayot b and 4QHodayot a-f (DJD 40; Oxford: Clarendon, 2009), and bracketed references, with the siglum Suk, to E. L. Sukenik’s edition, The Dead Sea Scrolls of the Hebrew University ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1955). In this article 1QH stands for 1QHa.


161

on the Psalm. (In the Hodayot, ‫ מקדם‬is found only at 5:18, 27 [Suk 13:1, 10], both times followed by ‫עולם‬. ‫ יום‬is found only in col. 9 [Suk 1] a few lines before the first citation, 9:17–18 [Suk 1:15–16]: ‫אדם אשר יצרת‬ ‫)בתבל לכול ימי עולם ודורות נצח‬. The fact that ‫ שני עולם‬is also found (after restoration) at 1QH 3:24 [Suk frg. 11 2] suggests that it is simply a fortuitous creation of the Hodayot author(s). Note in this respect that ‫ עולם‬is attested 86 times (including reconstructions) in 1QH according to the DJD 40 edition, although ‫( שנה‬always in the form ‫ )שני‬occurs only in the three passages cited in this discussion. (In all the commentaries consulted, the only reference to a biblical text made in connection with either of the Hodayot texts cited by Carmignac is that of Mansoor,5 101 n. 12, where ‫ לכול קצי נצח‬is compared with the final phrase of Daniel: ‫]ל ֵקץ ַהיָּ ִמין‬ ְ [Dan 12:13].)

5

Menahem Mansoor, The Thanksgiving Hymns Translated and Annotated with an Introduction (STDJ 3; Leiden: Brill, 1961). Other studies cited are: Jacob Licht, The Thanksgiving Scroll: A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judaea, Text, Introduction, Commentary and Glossary (Jerusalem: Bialik, 1957); André Dupont-Sommer, “Le Livre des Hymnes découvert près de la mer Morte (1QH): Traduction intégrale avec introduction et notes,” Semitica 7 (1957): 5–120; Mathias Delcor, Les Hymnes de Qumrân (Hodayot): Texte hébreu—Introduction—Traduction—Commentaire (Autour de la Bible; Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1962); Svend Holm-Nielsen, Hodayot: Psalms from Qumran (ATDan 2; Aarhus, Universitetsforlaget, 1960) (= HN); Helmer Ringgren, The Faith of Qumran: Theology of the Dead Sea Scrolls (trans. Emilie T. Sander; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1963; exp. ed. New York: Crossroad, 1995); Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community (Cambridge Commentaries on Writings of the Jewish and Christian World 200 BC to AD 200 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 157–82; Bonnie Pedrotti Kittel, The Hymns of Qumran: Translation and Commentary (SBLDS 50; Missoula, Mont: Scholars Press, 1981); Anatoly M. Gazov-Ginzberg, Margarita M. Elizarova, and Klavdia B. Starkova, Teksty Kumrana 2 (Pamyatniki Kul’tury Vostoka 7; St. Petersburg: Peterburgskoe vostokovedenii, 1996), 181–258; Przemysław Dec, “Zwój Hymnów Dziękczynnych znad Morza Martwego [Megillôt haHôdajôt] 1QHa [1QHb/4Q427–4Q440]” (Ph.D. diss., Papal Theological Academy, Krakow, 2004); Gary Roye Williams, “Parallelism in the Hodayot from Qumran” (Ph.D. diss., Annenberg Research Institute, 1991); Julie A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006).

162


Ps 77:7 = 1QH 16:29–30 [Suk 8:28–29] Ps 77:7: :‫רוּחי‬ ִ ‫יחה וַ יְ ַח ֵפּשׂ‬ ָ ‫ם־ל ָב ִבי ָא ִשׂ‬ ְ ‫ֶאזְ ְכּ ָרה נְ גִ ינָ ִתי ַבּ ָלּיְ ָלה ִﬠ‬ 1QH 16:29–30 [Suk 8:28–29]: ‫ועם מתים יחפש ֯רוחי כי הגיעו לשחת חי֯ ]י‬ Most commentators refer to the apparently clear, albeit limited, verbal identity between the Hodayot and Psalm passages in the words ‫רוּחי‬ ִ ‫יְ ַח ֵפּשׂ‬ and perhaps also in the preceding ‫ﬠם‬, ִ even though the conceptual backgrounds to the texts are slightly different. The Psalmist’s spirit is troubled at night and what it seeks is an answer to the series of questions expressed immediately afterwards in vv. 8–10. Like the Psalmist, the Hodayot author presents himself as suffering unjustly, and the words that continue in lines 30–31 [Suk 29–30] might allude to inner nocturnal torments: ‫֯תתעטף‬ ‫יומם ולילה לאין מנוח‬ ֯ ‫נפשי‬. But the image of searching in this hymn is not one of looking for an answer but one of wandering aimlessly among the dead (‫)ועם מתים יחפש רוחי‬. However, some writers, notably Licht, 138 (followed by Mansoor, 156), make no reference to Ps 77 at all. In part this is to do with the uncertainty, expressed in one way or another by many commentators, about the phonology and morphology of the verb form in the Hodayot (and in the unpointed biblical text itself, if that is the source of the Hodayot usage here). Is the third radical śin or šin, and is the verb to be vocalized as a piʿel or a puʿal ? In part it is to do with the fact that the following clause, ‫כי הגיעו לשחת חיי‬, is almost universally regarded as deriving, albeit unconsciously, from Ps 88:4. This verse is followed, in Ps 88:5–6, by the words ‫ין־איָ ל ַבּ ֵמּ ִתים ָח ְפ ִשׁי‬ ֱ ‫יתי ְכּגֶ ֶבר ֵא‬ ִ ִ‫הי‬, ָ in which, naturally, some have seen the primary source of the verb in the Hodayot passage. Thus, for example, Holm-Nielsen (hereafter: HN), 157 n. 61, raises the possibility that ‫יחפש‬ should be understood in the light of ‫ ָח ְפ ִשׁי‬at Ps 88:6, which would mean that the Hodayot sequence ‫ ועם מתים יחפש רוחי כי הגיעו לשחת חיי‬is a blend (and not simply a juxtaposition) of elements from Ps 77:7 and Ps 88:4–6: “The beginning of line 29 can, by means of ‫יחפש‬, be traced to Ps 88:6, though probably in combination with Ps 77:7, which together give the whole word order; the next words are again from Ps 88, this time from verse 4” (HN, 167). Somewhat similarly, Hughes, 160, claims that lines 29–31 [Suk 28–30] “are a complex interweaving of lament components familiar from the biblical psalms, particularly Psalms 42, 77, and 88.” (In this regard, Hughes, 160 n. 109, cites not just v. 7 of Ps 77 but also v. 4, where one may compare ‫רוּחי‬ ִ ‫ וְ ִת ְת ַﬠ ֵטּף‬with ‫תתעטף נפשי יומם‬ ‫ ולילה‬at the end of line 30 [Suk 29].).


163

The Hodayot’s ‫ ועם מתים יחפש רוחי‬might even reflect an attempt at interpretation of the difficult ‫ ַבּ ֵמּ ִתים ָח ְפ ִשׁי‬at Ps 88:6 (cf. BHS ). Peshitta, for example, has here ‫ܐ‬ “among the dead a son of the ̈ free” and TgPs: ‫וּתא‬ ָ ‫י־חוֹרין ִמן ַמ ֻצּ‬ ִ ֵ‫יﬠיָ א ְדּ ִמיתוּ וְ ָלא ָתבוּ יִ ְת ֲﬠ ַבדוּ ְבּנ‬ ַ ‫“ ֵהיְך ַר ִשׁ‬like the wicked who die and do not return, (who) are made free of strife.”6 If, on the other hand, a degree of influence from Ps 77:7 may be assumed here, the Hodayot reading would appear to have some text-critical significance, in so far as it tends to support the consonantal text of mt against a host of Greek and Latin readings in the first person (‫;א ַח ֵפּשׂ‬ ֲ cf. Rahlfs: ἔσκαλλεν; Brenton [Vaticanus]: ἔσκαλλον, for which see the apparati to Rahlfs’ Göttingen edition, to Weber’s edition of Vulgata, and, in summary form, in BHS ), reflected also in Peshitta ( ‫ܪܘ‬ ‫)ܘ‬. Barthélemy7 notes that ‫רוּחי‬ ִ ‫ וַ יְ ַח ֵפּשׂ‬is equivalent in meaning to ‫וָ ֶא ְחפֹּשׂ‬, which might have given rise to the understanding of lxx, Vulgata, and Peshitta. Ps 88:4 = 1QH 16:29–30 [Suk 8:28–29] Ps 88:4: :‫י־שׂ ְב ָﬠה ְב ָרעוֹת נַ ְפ ִשׁי וְ ַחיַּ י ִל ְשׁאוֹל ִהגִּ יעוּ‬ ָ ‫ִכּ‬ 1QH 16:29–30 [Suk 8:28–29]: ‫ועם מתים יחפש ֯רוחי כי הגיעו לשחת חי֯ ]י‬ For the first clause of the Hodayot text, see above on Ps 77:7. The verb ‫ִהגִּ ַיע‬ combines with ‫ ַחיִּ ים‬or ‫שׁאוֹל‬/‫ת‬ ְ ‫ ַשׁ ַח‬only in these two passages. The nearest equivalent I have found is the result of restoration at 14:27 [Suk 6:24]: ‫ויהם תהום לאנחתי ונפ]שי תגיע[עד שערי מות‬ (cf. HN, 157 n. 62, on 1QH 16:29–30 [Suk 8:28–29], who justifies his reconstruction with [‫ ח]יי‬by reference to Ps 88:4 and to Ps 107:18: ‫וַ יַּ גִּ יעוּ‬ ‫ד־שׁ ֲﬠ ֵרי ָמוֶ ת‬ ַ ‫)ﬠ‬. ַ Thus the sequences of words that Carmignac highlights here in the Hodayot ([‫ )הגיעו לשחת חי֯ ]י‬and Psalm (‫ )וְ ַחיַּ י ִל ְשׁאוֹל ִהגִּ יעוּ‬represent a striking parallel, for which one might justifiably assume a degree of dependency. This assumption gathers strength from other lexico-conceptual parallels between lines 28–31 [Suk 27–30] and vv. 4–6. Thus, for ‫( וכאיב אנוש לאין עצור‬line 29 [Suk 28]), compare ‫ין־איָ ל‬ ֱ ‫יתי ְכּגֶ ֶבר ֵא‬ ִ ִ‫( ָהי‬v. 5); 6

David M. Stec, The Targum of Psalms, Translated, with a Critical Introduction, Apparatus, and Notes (ArBib 16; Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 2004), 166. See Dominique Barthélemy, ed., Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament; Tome 4: Psaumes (OBO 50.4; Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005), 608–10. 7 Critique textuelle, 567.

164


for ‫כיורדי שאול‬, compare ‫ם־יוֹר ֵדי בוֹר‬ ְ ‫( ִﬠ‬v. 5); for ‫ ועם מתים יחפש רוחי‬compare ‫( ַבּ ֵמּ ִתים ָח ְפ ִשׁי‬v. 6); and compare perhaps ‫]י[עי למרורים‬ ֯ ‫פר ֯ח ֯נג‬ ֯ ‫( כי‬lines 28–29 [Suk 27–28]) with ‫י־שׂ ְב ָﬠה ְב ָרעוֹת נַ ְפ ִשׁי‬ ָ ‫( ִכּ‬v. 4). Hughes, 160, notes the second and third parallel as well as the one cited by Carmignac. I have noted no evidence for textual variation in the biblical sequence ‫וְ ַחיַּ י ִל ְשׁאוֹל ִהגִּ יעוּ‬, and so it might be that the Hodayot author simply preferred not to repeat ‫ שאול‬from the preceding line (‫)כיורדי שאול‬. On the other hand, the Hodayot wording could be evidence for a text with ‫שחת‬ instead of ‫שאול‬, although BHS provides no evidence of this variation anywhere in the Psalter. Ps 77:18 = 1QH 11:14 [Suk 3:13] Ps 77:18: :‫ף־ח ָצ ֶציָך יִ ְת ַה ָלּכוּ‬ ֲ ‫ז ְֹרמוּ ַמיִ ם ָﬠבוֹת קוֹל נָ ְתנוּ ְשׁ ָח ִקים ַא‬ 1QH 11:13–14 [Suk 3:12–13]: ‫ויריעו אושי קיר כאוניה על פני מים ויהמו‬ ‫שחקים בקול המון‬ The specific sequences of text that Carmignac compares are, from the Psalm, ‫קוֹל נָ ְתנוּ ְשׁ ָח ִקים‬, and, from the Hodayot, ‫ויהמו שחקים בקול המון‬. In drawing this parallel, Carmignac is followed only by Licht, 81. Despite the fact that ‫ קוֹל‬and ‫ ְשׁ ָח ִקים‬are collocated only in these two texts, the difference in grammatical structure suggests that the specific lexical parallelism is a coincidental by-product of a more general eschatological reappropriation in 1QH 11:7–20 [Suk 3:6–19] of the language and ideas expressed in biblical texts, such as Ps 76:17–20, concerning the periodic re-establishment of God’s dominion over the forces of chaos in nature or in history (cf. Knibb, 177). In the absence of a clear relationship between the two texts with regard to the lexical elements they share and of any compelling evidence that the Hodayot author conducted a literary rewriting of this Psalms passage, any parallel one might like to see has no textcritical relevance. No witness to the biblical text reflects anything corresponding to √‫ המה‬found twice in the Hodayot text. Ps 78:15 = 1QH 11:26 [Suk 3:25] Ps 78:15: :‫ַיְב ַקּע ֻצ ִרים ַבּ ִמּ ְד ָבּר וַ יַּ ְשׁ ְק ִכּ ְתהֹמוֹת ַר ָבּה‬ 1QH 11:26 [Suk 3:25]: ‫ותגור נפש אביון עם מהומות רבה והוות מדהבה עם‬ ֯ ‫מצעדי‬


165

For a survey of interpretations of the difficult ‫מהומות רבה‬, see Kittel, 68–69. According to WM,163, “there can be no doubt whatever that the hymnologist read ‫ רבה‬of mt . . . 1QH here certainly confirms mt, not because the author quoted the latter exactly, but because in this case we can confidently assume that, in coining the expression ‫מהומות רבה‬, he depended on the specific phrase ‫ תהומות רבה‬in mt (which, as far as the reading ‫ רבה‬is concerned, is confirmed by all the VSS).” WM also refers to Amos 3:9, ‫תוֹכהּ‬ ָ ‫וּראוּ ְמהוּמֹת ַרבּוֹת ְבּ‬, ְ as well as to Ezek 22:5, ‫סוּ־בְך‬ ָ ‫יִ ְת ַק ְלּ‬ ‫הוּמה‬ ָ ‫ט ֵמ ַאת ַה ֵשּׁם ַר ַבּת ַה ְמּ‬, ְ where lxx has a plural noun at the end (πολλὴ ἐν ταῖς ἀνομίαις). He concludes: “the [Hodayot] expression ‫מהומות רבה‬ appears to have arisen by a conflation of Ps. 78:15 . . . and the reconstructed variant reading ‫ רבת המהמות‬in Ez. 22:5.” If the Hodayot wording here does derive directly or indirectly from the Psalm, as WM indicates (and there is no contextual clue to indicate this to be the case and no other commentator consulted who supports this derivation of the noun ‫)מהומות‬, it has, in any case, no text-critical relevance beyond supporting the somewhat difficult text of mt. The preceding ‫ עם‬can hardly throw any light on the variant ‫ ִבּ ְתהֹמוֹת‬for ‫ ִכּ ְתהֹמוֹת‬noted in BHS, as WM, 163, himself accepts. Ps 78:38 = 1QH 12:38 [Suk 4:37] Ps 78:38: ‫וְ הוּא ַרחוּם יְ ַכ ֵפּר ָﬠוֹן וְ לֹא־יַ ְשׁ ִחית וְ ִה ְר ָבּה ְל ָה ִשׁיב ַאפּוֹ‬ 1QH 12:38 [Suk 4:37]: ‫]ר[אנ֯ ו֯ ש מאשמה בצדקתכה‬ ֯ ‫ולטה‬ ֯ ‫תכפר עוון‬ Along with ‫תכפר עוון‬, the mention of ‫ ֶח ֶסד‬and ‫ ַר ֲח ִמים‬in the preceding clause in the Hodayot text (‫נשענתי֯ בחסדיכה ו֯ ֯כהמון רחמיכה בי‬ ֯ ‫ )כי‬might echo ‫ וְ הוּא ַרחוּם‬of the Psalm, and the reference to ‫ ְבּ ִרית‬in lines 35, 36, 40 [Suk 34, 35, 39] might reflect the same term at the end of v. 37 (‫וְ לֹא נֶ ֶא ְמנוּ‬ ‫)בּ ְב ִריתוֹ‬. ִ It is even possible that lines 35–36 [Suk 34–35] ‫כי זכרתי אשמותי עם מעל אבותי בקום רשעים על בריתך‬ ‫וחלכאים על דברכה ואני אמרתי בפשעי נעזבתי מבריתכה‬ represent a summary allusion to vv. 32–40 of the Psalm. Apart from Carmignac, only Delcor, 154, makes a clear connection between the two texts cited by Carmignac. But if the Psalm was in the Hodayot author’s mind at this point, our writer’s aim appears to have been simply to utilize some of its ideas in a new context. Any occasional formal similarity in wording is unlikely to be of text-critical significance, as the presentation

166


of, or reflection on, the biblical text itself was not a goal of the writer. Other factors that detract from the text-critical relevance of the Hodayot “parallel” include the completely different words that immediately follow, the difference in person (‫יְ ַכ ֵפּר‬, ‫)תכפר‬, and the fact that equally similar expressions are found elsewhere, both in the Bible, at Dan 9:24 (‫וּל ַכ ֵפּר‬ ְ ‫)ﬠוֹן‬, ָ and also in the DSS: 1QS 2:8 (‫ )ולוא יסלח לכפר עווניך‬and CD 14:19 (‫)ויכפר עונם‬, which casts doubt on any specific dependence of the Hodayot author on the Psalm passage. It is unlikely, then, that the passage may be used to defend mt against lxx and TgPs, which have the plural and a pronoun here, or Peshitta, which has the plural only (καὶ ἱλάσεται ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις αὐτῶν/ἡμῶν; ‫;מ ַכ ֵפּר ֲﬠוָ יָּ ְתהוֹן‬ ְ ‫ܘ‬. ̈ Ps 78:69 = 1QH 11:21–22 [Suk 3:20–21] Ps 78:69: :‫עוֹלם‬ ָ ‫מוֹ־ר ִמים ִמ ְק ָדּשׁוֹ ְכּ ֶא ֶרץ יְ ָס ָדהּ ְל‬ ָ ‫וַ ֶיִּבן ְכּ‬ 1QH 11:21–22 [Suk 3:20–21]: ‫כי יש מקוה לאשר יצרתה מעפר לסוד‬ ‫עולם‬ For the Hodayot text, WM, 171–72, also refers to the following two passages: Job 4:19: Gen 2:7:

:‫י־ﬠשׁ‬ ָ ֵ‫סוֹדם יְ ַד ְכּאוּם ִל ְפנ‬ ָ ְ‫ר־בּ ָﬠ ָפר י‬ ֶ ‫ַאף שׁ ְֹכנֵ י ָב ֵתּי־ח ֶֹמר ֲא ֶשׁ‬ ‫ן־ה ֲא ָד ָמה‬ ָ ‫ת־ה ָא ָדם ָﬠ ָפר ִמ‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים ֶא‬ ִ ‫יצר יְ הוָ ה ֱא‬ ֶ ִ‫וַ יּ‬

With regard to the Psalms passage, WM suggests that ‫ סוד‬in the Hodayot passage should be understood as a by-form of ‫יסוד‬, on the basis of the passage’s background in both the Psalm and the Job text, where ‫יסוד‬ is found. The suggestion itself is not unreasonable; Mansoor, 117 n. 2, lists four biblical and rabbinic meanings of ‫סוד‬: “foundation,” “council,” “counsel,” and “secret” (cf. Licht, 84), but Mansoor, 117, is alone in accepting the first of these as the appropriate sense in this passage. All others interpret ‫ סוד עולם‬here, as at 1QS 2:25 (‫)ובני סוד עולמים‬, 1 QH 19:15 [Suk 11:12] ([‫)להרים מעפר תולעת מתים לסוד ̊ע]ולם‬,8 and 4QMasShir [4Q403] 1 i 34 (‫)ומלך מלכ]ים[לכול סודי עולמים‬, as “eternal council.” No-one apart from WM suggests there was a specific influence from the Psalm passage on the Hodayot writer in the creation of this particular text. As WM points out, the Hodayot text can, in any case, have no

8

DJD 40:240, 245, reconstructs here [‫ ̊א]מתכה‬for reasons of spacing.


167

bearing on the variation between ‫ ְכּ ֶא ֶרץ‬and ‫ ְבּ ֶא ֶרץ‬in the biblical manuscripts and reflected in the lxx and Peshitta (see BHS ). Curiously, WM fails to refer to Prov. 10:25, ‫עוֹלם‬ ָ ‫וְ ַצ ִדּיק יְ סוֹד‬, which could, equally plausibly, be claimed to underlie, at least indirectly, the usage in the Hodayot here (and in other DSS texts), as indicated by Mansoor, 117 n. 2. Ps 79:8 = 1QH 4:30 [Suk 17:18] Ps 79:8: :‫ר־לנוּ ֲﬠוֹנֹת ִראשׁ ֹנִ ים ַמ ֵהר יְ ַק ְדּמוּנוּ ַר ֲח ֶמיָך ִכּי ַדלּוֹנוּ ְמאֹד‬ ָ ‫ל־תּזְ ָכּ‬ ִ ‫ַא‬ 1QH 4:30 [Suk 17:18]: ‫להו֯ ֯דות על פשעי ראשונים‬ ֯ ֯‫ומעשי ימין עוזך ו‬ ‫ולה]תנפ[ל ולהתחנן‬ Carmignac’s inclusion of this “parallel” is questionable; no commentator consulted makes reference to the biblical passage, BHS gives no indication of a noun other than ‫ﬠוֹן‬, ָ and the ancient versions offer no clear indication of that either. On the other hand, although ‫( ֶפּ ַשׁע ִראשׁ ֹנִ ים‬or ‫)פּ ַשׁע ִראשׁוֹן‬ ֶ is not attested in mt, a close equivalent of ‫ ֲﬠוֹנֹת ִראשׁ ֹנִ ים‬is found at Jer 11:10, ‫בוֹתם ָה ִראשׁ ֹנִ ים‬ ָ ‫ﬠוֹנֹת ֲא‬, ֲ and it could be argued with equal (im)plausibility that this is the passage that lies behind the Hodayot usage here. It should be pointed out, however, that “sins of the ancestors” (as DupontSommer, 98: “péchés des ancêtres”) might not represent the most appropriate interpretation of ‫( פשעי ראשונים‬although it is defended by, for example, Licht, 210). Instead, ‫ פשעי ראשונים‬might be better compared with ‫ואנחמה על פשע ראשון‬, perhaps “and I was comforted about former sin” at 1QH 17:13 [Suk 9:13] (see Delcor, 283, who refers to both passages and discusses both interpretations, and renders “mes péchés anterieurs” at 4:30 [Suk 17:18] [ibid., 282]; similarly, Mansoor, 189 n. 7; see also, for example, Ringgren, 101: “my former sins”; Dec, 204: “za dawne grzechy”). Ps 80:13 = 1QH 16:9–10 [Suk 8:8–9] Ps 80:13: :‫רוּה ָכּל־ע ְֹב ֵרי ָד ֶרְך‬ ָ ‫יה וְ ָא‬ ָ ‫ָל ָמּה ָפּ ַר ְצ ָתּ גְ ֵד ֶר‬ 1QH 16:9–10 [Suk 8:8–9]: ‫]יו[ת יער ומרמס‬ ֯ ‫ובנצר עליו ירעו כול ֯ח‬ ‫גיזעו לכל עוברי דרך ודליתו לכל עוף כנף‬ Although the two passages share the use of botanical imagery, connected with the planting of a tree or vine and its subsequent growth and function, the expression ‫ ָכּל־ע ְֹב ֵרי ֶד ֶרְך‬is the only one to appear in identical form in both texts. One might argue that in this Hodayot text ‫ירעו כול חיות יער‬ echoes ‫ וְ זִ יז ָשׂ ַדי יִ ְר ֶﬠנָּ ה‬in v. 14 of the Psalm (thus, HN, 150 n. 12), or that

168


the ‫ ;גיזעו( גֵּ זַ ע‬also ‫ גזעו‬at the end of line 8 [Suk 7]) takes up the ‫ ַכּנָּ ה‬of v. 16, but the lack of reference to birds in the Psalm contrasts strikingly with the Hodayot passage (‫)ודליתו לכל עוף כנף‬. Curiously, though, the immediate context of ‫ ָכּל־ע ְֹב ֵרי ֶד ֶרְך‬in both Ps 80:13 and Ps 89:42 is of the despoiling of Israel, and this background is also reflected at Lam 1:12 and 2:15 where the ‫ ָכּל־ע ְֹב ֵרי ֶד ֶרְך‬are the enemies who deride the humiliated daughter of Zion. But this thought seems far from the mind of the author of the Hodayot passage. where the reference is most likely to animals of the forest seeking shade. (HN, 150 n. 12, makes a similar observation). In any case, the recurrence of the same expression in three additional passages, Ps 89:42, Lam 1:12; 2:15, makes it extremely difficult to sustain any claim that the Hodayot passage is dependent on Ps 80:13 in particular. Indeed, of all the commentaries and editions examined, only Hughes, 154–55 n. 83, explicitly notes the parallelism of the two passages for these words. (HN, 165 n. 8, probably draws the same parallel but it is not entirely clear.) However, Hughes, 154–55, points out that our Hodayot passage seems to combine vocabulary from the Psalm with other terms that derive from Ezek 31:12–13, part of another biblical text (Ezek 31) that presents a nation, this time Assyria, as a tree. (Ringgren, 195, refers to Ezek 31:6 and Dan 4:10, with no mention of Ps 80; similar comments apply to Delcor, 202–3, who says that “Ce passage est manifestement un rappel d’Ez., xxxi, 13–14,” and also mentions Dan 4:9, 18. Licht, 134, cites Ezek 17:23; 31:6, 14; Dan 4:9; similarly, Gazov-Ginzberg, 250 n. 289. Dupont-Sommer, 64 n. 2, and Williams, 2:460, both highlight Ezek 31:6 and Dan 4:9.) Specific parallels would be ‫ל־חיַּ ת ַה ָשּׂ ֶדה‬ ַ ‫( ָכּ‬cf. ‫כול ח]יו[ת‬ 9 ‫)יער‬, ‫;כּל־עוֹף ַה ָשּׁ ַמיִ ם‬ ָ (cf. ‫)כל עוף כנף‬, and ‫יּוֹתיו‬ ָ ‫( נָ ְפלוּ ָד ִל‬cf. ‫)ודליתו‬. Hughes implies that the Hodayot’s choice of ‫ ח]יו[ת יער‬instead of ‫ ַחיַּ ת ַה ָשּׂ ֶדה‬in Ezekiel has been influenced by the ‫ ֲחזִ יר ִמיָּ ַﬠר‬of Ps 80:14 and also suggests that the immediately preceding verb in the Psalm, ‫“( יְ ַכ ְר ְס ֶמנָּ ה‬a boar from the forest gnaws it”) lies behind ‫“( מרמס‬trampling”) in the Hodayot passage (this seems to be the conclusion of HN, 150 n. 13, as well). Even if we accept that the Psalms passage might well have been used, whether consciously or not, as a source for the Hodayot author’s composition at this point, the only text-critical relevance of the parallel cited by Carmignac would be to support mt of Ps 80:13 for ‫כּל־ע ְֹב ֵרי ֶד ֶרְך‬, ָ which is 9

DJD 40:216, 220, reconstructs ‫]יו[ת‬ ֯ ‫ ֯ח‬rather than ‫]י[ת‬ ֯ ‫ח‬, ֯ for reasons of spacing.


169

also reflected in all manuscripts and versions, with the marginal exception of one Greek manuscript, noted in the Göttingen edition, which lacks πάντες. Ps 82:3 = 1QH 10:36–37 [Suk 2:34–35]; 13:16 [Suk 5:14] Ps 82:3: :‫טוּ־דל וְ יָ תוֹם ָﬠנִ י וָ ָרשׁ ַה ְצ ִדּיקוּ‬ ַ ‫ִשׁ ְפ‬ 1QH 10:36–37 [Suk 2:34–35]: ‫ואתה אלי עזרתה נפש עני ו֯ רש מיד חזק‬ ‫ממנו‬ 1QH 13:16 [Suk 5:14]: ‫ואתה אלי סגרתה בעד שניהם פן יטרפו נפש עני‬ ‫ורש‬ (In the second Hodayot passage an original ‫ לשונם‬was corrected to ‫שניהם‬, and ‫ נפשי‬was corrected to ‫נפש‬.) As the expression ‫ ָﬠנִ י וָ ָרשׁ‬is only found in the three passages quoted, it is certainly possible that the Hodayot is dependent on the Psalm, and a number of commentators draw the parallel (see Mansoor, 134 n. 3; Licht, 74, 101; Knibb, 172; HN, 49 n. 11; Delcor, 107; Dec, 241 n. 663). In both Hodayot passages the expression is preceded by the word ‫ נפש‬as the object of a verb that has its subject ‫ואתה‬ ‫אלי‬, which suggests a degree of stereotypical language, in which one choice of diction tends to lead, semi-automatically, to another word or phrase expected in the context now established. In the case of the second passage, ‫( נפש עני‬without ‫ )רש‬is also found in the preceding line (15 [Suk 13]). (With or without ‫ רש‬following, in all three Hodayot passages ‫נפש‬ ‫ עני‬is a circumlocution for the speaker, as can be seen from the scribal confusion in the second passage and in the words that immediately follow the first one: ‫ותפר נפשי מיד אדירים‬.) As ‫ עני‬and ‫ רש‬are each preserved in just one additional passage in the Hodayot, it is less likely that the use of the expression can be explained purely on the basis of statistical probability, and more likely that the Psalms passage consciously or unconsciously underlay the choice of wording in at least one of the two Hodayot passages in which ‫ עני ורש‬occurs. Having said that, the absence of other elements found in the immediate context of the Psalm passage makes an argument for dependency difficult to sustain; among the elements found in the Psalm but not in the Hodayot passage are the parallel word-pairs ‫( ַדּל וְ יָ תוֹם‬v. 3) and ‫ַדּל וְ ֶאביוֹן‬ (v. 4), the verbs ‫( שׁפט‬vv. 2–3), ‫( פלט‬v. 4), ‫( הצדיק‬v. 3), and ‫( הציל‬v. 4), as well as two references to the ‫( ְר ָשׁ ִﬠים‬vv. 2, 4). Moreover, in the Psalm God’s salvation of the socially disadvantaged is clearly paralleled by his condemnation of the wicked.

170


On the other hand, one could plausibly argue that the Hodayot passages make clear reference to God’s salvation and to the wicked, although they are expressed in different terms. Furthermore, the noun ‫ ֶאביוֹן‬is found in each of our Hodayot passages (10:34 [Suk 2:32]; 13:18 [Suk 5:16]) and ‫( מיד חזק ממנו‬10:37 [Suk 2:35]) might be compared with ‫ִמיַּ ד‬ ‫ ְר ָשׁ ִﬠים‬at Ps 82:4. There are no indications in any sources consulted of significant variations to mt’s ‫ﬠנִ י וָ ָרשׁ‬. ָ (In this respect it is, however, of some interest that TgPs reads ‫ ִמ ְס ֵכּינָ א‬for both ‫ ַדּל‬and ‫ ָרשׁ‬in mt.) Ps 86:4 = 1QH 19:33–34 [Suk 11:30–31] (8:28–29 [Suk 16:10–11]; 13:17 [Suk 5:15]) Ps 86:4: :‫ַשׂ ֵמּ ַח נֶ ֶפשׁ ַﬠ ְב ֶדָּך ִכּי ֵא ֶליָך ֲאד ֹנָ י נַ ְפ ִשׁי ֶא ָשּׂא‬ 1QH 19:33–34 [Suk 11:30–31]: ‫שמח נפש עבדכה באמתכה וטהרני‬ ‫בצדקתכה‬ 1QH 8:28–29 [Suk 16:10–11]: ‫תע ֯בה כול מעשה עולה‬ ֯ ‫ונפש ֯ע ֯בדך‬ 1QH 13:16–17 [Suk 5:14–15]: ]‫בלוא‬ ֯ ‫ותוסף לשונם כחרב אל תערה‬ ‫נכר[תה נפש עבדכה‬ ֯ To the evidence Carmignac cites for ‫נֶ ֶפשׁ ַﬠ ְב ֶדָּך‬, which in the DSS is only attested in the Hodayot, is the following passage, restored, presumably, on the basis of 8:28–29 [Suk 16:10–11]: 1QH 18:31 [Suk 10:29]:

֯‫נ֯ ֯פש עבדכה תעבה ֯הו֯ ן‬

‫ ַשׂ ֵמּ ַח נֶ ֶפשׁ ַﬠ ְב ֶדָּך‬is only attested in the first of the Hodayot passages listed and in the Psalm. It is difficult not to think of direct influence from the Psalm, whether or not the Hodayot author was conscious of this influence as he wrote, and nearly all commentators note the parallel. Although in the Psalm there is no reference to the psalmist’s purification or, explicitly, to God’s righteousness (‫)וטהרני בצדקתכה‬, there is in v. 11 the declaration ‫א ַה ֵלְּך ַבּ ֲא ִמ ֶתָּך‬, ֲ which might lie behind ‫ באמתכה‬in the Hodayot text. That conscious use of the Psalm might be represented here is indicated rather clearly by the words that follow the cited texts in each passage— Ps 86:5: 1QH 19:34 [Suk 11:31]:

:‫ב־ח ֶסד ְל ָכל־ק ְֹר ֶאיָך‬ ֶ ‫י־א ָתּה ֲאד ֹנָ י טוֹב וְ ַס ָלּח וְ ַר‬ ַ ‫ִכּ‬ ‫כאשר יחלתי לטובכה ולחסדיכה אקוה‬ ‫ולסליחות]י[כ ֯ה‬ ֯


171

Carmignac indicates that the expression ‫ נֶ ֶפשׁ ַﬠ ְב ֶדָּך‬occurs elsewhere in the Hodayot, but the piʿel of ‫שׂמח‬, not uncommon in other DSS, is attested in the Hodayot only here. Moreover, the combination of this piʿel verb with ‫ נֶ ֶפשׁ‬as object is found in the Bible only in the Psalm Carmignac cites. In the DSS, it actually occurs twice, once in our Hodayot passage and again at 4QpsEzeka [4Q385] 4 1–2, where Devorah Dimant translates ‫תחת דוני‬ ‫ שמח את נפשי‬as “Instead of my grief make my soul rejoice” (DJD 30:38). Dimant’s statement (ibid.) that ‫“ שמח את נפשי‬is a non-biblical locution” is, however, misleading (albeit not technically incorrect), as it overlooks both the Psalm parallel and the Hodayot one! (Dimant also correctly draws attention to the much more common ‫שׁמח לב‬.) In the Bible ‫ נֶ ֶפשׁ ַﬠ ְב ֶדָּך‬occurs in this form only at Ps 86:4, but related structures are attested at Ps 34:23 (‫ )נֶ ֶפשׁ ַﬠ ָב ָדיו‬and 2 Kgs 1:13 (‫נַ ְפ ִשׁי וְ נֶ ֶפשׁ‬ ‫)ﬠ ָב ֶדיָך ֵא ֶלּה‬. ֲ ‫ נפש‬occurs in the 1QH (according to the DJD 40 edition) 48 times and ‫ עבדכה‬30 times (including reconstructions). The expression ‫ נֶ ֶפשׁ ַﬠ ְב ֶדָּך‬might, then, have arisen as a matter of chance, encouraged by the writer’s constant need to find formulas of self-reference. Indeed, it could have been the frequency of this expression in the author’s literary repertoire that triggered the recollection of the biblical formula: ‫ַשׂ ֵמּ ַח נֶ ֶפשׁ‬ ‫ﬠ ְב ֶדָּך‬. ַ Although it is extremely rare to find such a clear example of the Hodayot’s use of a specific biblical text, this identity of form means that the Hodayot text can do no more than implicitly support the tradition we know from mt. With regard to vv. 4–5 as a whole, the absence of any direct, non-pronominal, mention of God in the Hodayot passage might have a peripheral bearing on the omission of the divine name in v. 4 in various Greek manuscripts and on the addition of ὁ θεός at the end of the same verse in Sinaiticus (see BHS and the Göttingen edition). The presence of ‫ולסליחות]י[כ ֯ה‬ ֯ in our Hodayot text would certainly support the presence of ‫ וְ ַס ָלּח‬in mt of v. 5, as against its absence in Peshitta (see BHS). Some textual confusion with regard to the three divine characteristics specified in v. 5 is also indicated by TgPs, which has ‫“ ַמ ְסגֵּ י ֵטיבוּ‬multiplying good” for ‫ב־ח ֶסד‬ ֶ ‫ ַר‬in mt, following ‫( ָטב‬for mt ‫ )טוֹב‬earlier in the verse. Ps 86:12 = 1QH 10:22 [Suk 2:20] Ps 86:12: :‫עוֹלם‬ ָ ‫ל־ל ָב ִבי וַ ֲא ַכ ְבּ ָדה ִשׁ ְמָך ְל‬ ְ ‫ֹלהי ְבּ ָכ‬ ַ ‫אוֹדָך ֲאד ֹנָ י ֱא‬ ְ 1QH 10:22 [Suk 2:20]: ‫אודכ ֯ה ֯א ֯דו֯ ני כי שמתה נפשי בצרור החיים‬ ֯

172


WM, 145, also points out a similar text from the Bible, in which, however, the tetragrammaton is used: Isa 12:1 (‫אוֹדָך יְ הוָ ה ִכּי‬ ְ ‫וְ ָא ַמ ְר ָתּ ַבּיּוֹם ַההוּא‬ :‫וּתנַ ֲח ֵמנִ י‬ ְ ‫)אנַ ְפ ָתּ ִבּי יָ שׁ ֹב ַא ְפָּך‬. ָ However, WM fails to cite 2 Sam 22:50 (‫אוֹדָך‬ ְ ‫ )יְ הוָ ה ַבּגּוֹיִ ם‬or a host of other passages in which God is thanked, or praised, without the use of the second person suffix—‫אוֹדה ֶאת־יְ הוָ ה‬ ֶ (Gen 29:35); ‫אוֹדה יְ הוָ ה‬ ֶ (Ps 7:18; 9:2; 109:30; 111:1; 119:19); ‫ֹלהי‬ ַ ‫אוֹדךָּ ֱא‬ ֶ (Ps 118:28); or with the suffix but without the divine name: ‫אוֹדָך‬ ְ (Ps 18:50; 30:13; 35:18; 43:4; 52:9; 57:10 = 108:4; 71:22; 118:21; 119:7; 138:1; 139:14; Job 40:14). In view of these numerous biblical occurrences and the fact that the formula occurs (or is restored) sixteen times in 1QH (according to the DJD 40 edition), it is difficult to believe that even sometimes when the formula was used the Hodayot author(s) had a specific biblical passage in mind. Had Ps 86:12 really been behind the Hodayot formula (and only Mansoor, 107 n. 8, follows Carmignac in mentioning Ps 86:12) we might have expected the Psalm’s full reference to God to have been employed: ‫ֹלהי‬ ַ ‫אוֹדָך ֲאד ֹנָ י ֱא‬. ְ WM, however, insists on the formal similarities with Ps 86:12, and attributes text-critical significance to the wording of the Hodayot: “Our text does not support the suggestion in BH that ‫ אדני‬be deleted.” BHS is presumably troubled by the fact that the formula does not occur in this form elsewhere in the Bible, indicating that many manuscripts read the tetragrammaton, and suggesting deletion of ‫ ֲאד ֹנָ י‬on metrical grounds. Note, as WM, that the versions all reflect a divine title, although the Göttingen apparatus indicates that some Greek manuscripts lack an equivalent to ‫ֹלהי‬ ַ ‫א‬. ֱ Ps 86:14 / 54:5 = 1QH 10:23–24 [Suk 2:21–22] Ps 86:14: ‫יצים ִבּ ְקשׁוּ נַ ְפ ִשׁי‬ ִ ‫מוּ־ﬠ ַלי וַ ֲﬠ ַדת ָﬠ ִר‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים זֵ ִדים ָק‬ ִ ‫ֱא‬ Ps 54:5: ‫יצים ִבּ ְקשׁוּ נַ ְפ ִשׁי‬ ִ ‫ִכּי זָ ִרים ָקמוּ ָﬠ ַלי וְ ָﬠ ִר‬ 1QH 10:23–24 [Suk 2:21–22]: ‫]י[א עריצים בקשו נפשי בתומכי‬ ֯ ‫֯כ‬ ‫בבריתכה‬ The parallel is recorded by Carmignac, 376, under Ps 86:14, but not under Ps 54:5, which, however is included by WM, 145–46. The coincidence of wording between the Hodayot text and either or both of the Psalms passages is striking. As Delcor, 103, notes: “La phrase est citée textuellement des Ps., LIV, 5 ou LXXXVI, 14,” and this is the view of most commentators (see Dupont-Sommer, 33 n. 5; Mansoor, 107 n. 12; Kittel, 53; Knibb, 170). Licht, 70, is alone in noting Ps 54:5 only, without reference to Ps 86:14.


173

HN, 45, suggests Ps 86:14 to be the more likely source, on the one hand “because it describes the enemies in greater detail,” and on the other hand, because, “While Ps. 54 does not seem to have been used elsewhere in the Hodayot, there is evidently an application of Ps. 86:15–16 again in [1QH Suk] 16:16 ff.” Gazov-Ginzberg, 237 n. 92, argues differently, but to the same end: “The theme of Ps 86 is identical: the persecution and salvation of the righteous, hope for salvation and prayer about it; in our present text [however,] salvation is portrayed as an accomplished act.” Kittel, 53, appears to argue that the Hodayot author is not quoting from either one of the Psalms passages but is rather reproducing the literary form (of thanksgiving for salvation) found in both Psalms. Although the Hodayot text shares no other parallels with either Psalms passage, it seems unlikely that the sequence is simply a coincidental result of the literary creativity of the Hodayot author(s). ‫ בקש נפש‬is not preserved elsewhere in the Hodayot and ‫ עריץ‬is found for certain just once elsewhere, in 10:13 [Suk 2:11]: ‫( דבה בשפת עריצים‬cf. Dec, 225 n. 404). From a text-critical perspective, WM points out that the additional ‫ ֲﬠ ַדת‬in the mt of Ps 86:14 is absent from Sinaiticus and TgPs, ‫יפין‬ ִ ‫וְ ַת ִק‬ ‫ת ַבעוּ נַ ְפ ִשׁי‬. ְ “In view of the author’s dependence on Ps 86:12 ff,” claims WM, 146, “we may conclude that our passage contains the Hebrew text underlying the shorter text of Ps 86:14.” However, WM’s argument here is very weak as the alleged use of Ps 86:12 is based entirely on the presence of the opening formula ‫ אודכה אדוני‬in line 22 [Suk 20], which is also found at Ps 86:12: ‫אוֹדָך ֲאד ֹנָ י‬. ְ If one is convinced by the likelihood of a background in Ps 86, then the text-critical conclusion reached by WM might receive support, and the evidence of our Hodayot passage can be added to that of Sinaiticus and the Targum. Ps 89:6 = 1QH 11:23 [Suk 3:22] Ps 89:6: :‫ף־אמוּנָ ְתָך ִבּ ְק ַהל ְקד ִֹשׁים‬ ֱ ‫וְ יוֹדוּ ָשׁ ַמיִ ם ִפּ ְל ֲאָך יְ הוָ ה ַא‬ 1QH 11:22–23 [Suk 3:21–22]: ‫להתיצב במעמד עם צבא קדושים ולבוא‬ ‫ביח ֯ד עם עדת בני שמים‬ ֯ WM, 162, points out that ‫ צבא קדושים‬is not attested in the Bible, and indicates ‫ ְק ַהל ְקד ִֹשׁים‬as the nearest parallel, along with ‫סוֹד־קד ִֹשׁים‬ ְ in v. 8 of the same Psalm (see below). In the DSS, ‫ צבא קדושים‬is attested once elsewhere, in the following Hodayot passage:

174


1QH 18:36–37 [Suk 10:34–35]:

‫משפטיכה עם גבורי כוח ורי֯ ֯בכה עם צבא‬ ‫קדושיכה‬

(cf. Delcor, 126). As the Hodayot wording discussed is not identical with any biblical text, it is difficult to justify any claim of dependence on a specific biblical verse, although the use of the form ‫ ְקד ִֹשׁים‬in verses 6 and 8 and its occurrence in this Hodayot passage at least slightly strengthens the possibility of some influence here (cf. Hughes, 215 n. 121; Knibb, 180; Delcor, 126, says that “notre hymne présente de grandes resemblances avec le ps. lxxxix, 6–7, dont il paraît bien se souvenir”). In any case, the Hodayot passage does not support either of the emendations BHS suggests at the end of Ps 89:6 or the variant readings listed in the Göttingen apparatus. On the other hand, no source consulted would support a reading of ‫ ְצ ָבא‬instead of mt’s ‫ק ַהל‬. ְ Ps 89:7 = 1QH 23:23 [Suk frg. 2 3] Ps 89:7: :‫ִכּי ִמי ַב ַשּׁ ַחק יַ ֲﬠר ְֹך ַליהוָ ה יִ ְד ֶמה ַליהוָ ה ִבּ ְבנֵ י ֵא ִלים‬ 1QH 23:23 [Suk frg. 2 3]: ‫כבד‬ ֯ ֯‫ארצכה ובבני אלים י‬ Carmignac prefers Ps 89:7 as the biblical “source” here rather than Ps 29:1, which he also mentions, because of the presence of the prefixed ‫ב‬. Although Licht, 221, also refers to both biblical passages, there is no obvious relationship between either of them and the fragmentary Hodayot text; moreover, ‫( ְבּנֵ י ֵא ִלים‬and variants) is relatively common in the DSS: cf. 1QH 24:32–33 [Suk frg. 6 10 + frg. 2 ii 8]: ‫כ[ו֯ בדתה מבני‬ ‫ ;אל‬4QNon-CanPs B [4Q381] 15:6: ‫מי בשחק יערך לך[ אלהי ומי בבני‬ ‫ =[ האילים‬Ps 89:7]; 4QMa [4Q491] 24:4: ‫;ובתהל]ה[ יחד עם בני אלים‬ 5QRule [5Q13] 1:6: ‫;[בחרתה ̇מבני ̇א]לי[ם‬ ֯ 11QMelch [11Q13] 2:14: ‫̇כו̇ ל‬ ‫ ;בני אל‬and perhaps also 1QH 23:30 [Suk frg. 2 i 10]: ‫◦◦ אלים להחיד עם‬ ‫[בני שמים‬. No dependency, conscious or unconscious on any biblical passage, should, therefore, be inferred (except, of course, in the non-canonical psalm). The plural form employed in the DSS may indicate that the ‫ֵא ִלים‬ of the biblical texts (our Hodayot text offers no specific support for those manuscripts, noted by BHS, that read an extra yod: ‫)א ִילים‬ ֵ was understood as “angels” (cf. Ringgren, 83–84; Licht, 221; and note TgPs: ‫) ܅‬, rather than as a plural of maj‫ ;באוכלוסי מלאכיא‬Peshitta: ‫܅‬ esty (cf. lxx: ἐν υἱοῖς θεοῦ; Iuxta Hebraicum: de filiis Dei).


175

Ps 89:8 = 1QH 12:25–26 [Suk 4:24–25] Ps 89:8 :‫ל־ס ִב ָיביו‬ ְ ‫ל־כּ‬ ָ ‫נוֹרא ַﬠ‬ ָ ְ‫סוֹד־קד ִֹשׁים ַר ָבּה ו‬ ְ ‫ֵאל נַ ֲﬠ ָרץ ְבּ‬ 1QH 12:25–26 [Suk 4:24–25]: ‫וישומעוני ההולכים בדרך לבכה ויערוכו‬ ‫לכה בסוד קדושים‬ ‫סוֹד־קד ִֹשׁים‬ ְ is only attested in this one passage in the Bible but has been restored in three other places in the DSS: 1QH 25:26 [Suk frg. 63 2] + 4QHb [4Q428] 19:7: ‫ ;]ובסוד קדוש]ים‬1QDM [1Q22] 1 iv 1: ‫ו֯ ̇בעדת אלים‬ ‫ ;]ובסוד קד[ו֯ שים‬4QRitMar [4Q502] 19:1: ‫וישב עמו֯ בסוד ֯ק]דושים‬. ֯ Although the use of ‫ בסוד קדושים‬in all four texts might indicate the appropriation of a biblical concept that no longer evoked any specific biblical passage, there is perhaps one element in the immediate context of the Hodayot passage cited by Carmignac that would support a direct influence, whether consciously or unconsciously received, from the Psalm. The Hodayot’s use of the verb ‫ ויערוכו‬might represent an (unintentional) allusion to ‫ ִמי ַב ַשּׁ ַחק יַ ֲﬠר ְֹך ַליהוָ ה‬in v. 7 (thus, apparently, Williams, 1:277) or it might indicate a text in which ‫ נַ ֲﬠר ְֹך‬was read, or understood, for the ‫ נַ ֲﬠ ָרץ‬that appears in v. 8 of mt. (On the other hand, both Licht, 95, and Mansoor, 127 n. 9, relate ‫ ויערוכו לכה‬to Ps 5:4, ‫ְך־לָך וַ ֲא ַצ ֶפּה‬ ְ ‫בּ ֶֹקר ֶא ֱﬠ ָר‬, a possibility also accepted by HN, 84 n. 56.) At 4QHb [4Q428] 19:7 (DJD 29:156), Eileen Schuller, like Carmignac, also compares Ps 89:8. At the text-critical level, the absence of anything corresponding to mt’s difficult ‫ ַר ָבּה‬might tentatively be added to the evidence of the ancient traditions that take this word to modify ‫( ֵאל‬lxx, Peshitta, TgPs) or ‫( נַ ֲﬠ ָרץ‬Iuxta Hebraicum) but not ‫( סוֹד‬see Barthélemy, Critique textuelle, 617–18). With regard to the identity of the biblical ‫קדושים‬, the Hodayot author probably interpreted them as angels but in context their reference changes to members of the DSS community (cf. Delcor, 145; similarly, Licht, 95; Mansoor, 127 n. 9); contrast this with two variant readings in the Göttingen apparatus for lxx’s ἐν βουλῇ ἁγίων: inter filios iustorum and inter filios Dei. Ps 89:10 = 1QH 10:29–30 [Suk 2:27–28] Ps 89:10: :‫מוֹשׁל ְבּגֵ אוּת ַהיָּ ם ְבּשׂוֹא גַ ָלּיו ַא ָתּה ְת ַשׁ ְבּ ֵחם‬ ֵ ‫ַא ָתּה‬ 1QH 10:29–30 [Suk 2:27–28]: ‫למזורות יבקעו אפעה ושוא בהתרומם‬ ‫גליהם‬ (Williams, 1:140, notes that “There is considerable dispute over every word of the . . . line [‫]למזורות יבקעו אפעה ושוא‬.”) Apart from the claimed

176


coincidence in vocabulary, there are no other elements shared between lines 29–30 [Suk 27–28], as a whole, and vv. 10–11. In mt, the obscure ‫ ְבּשׂוֹא‬is an infinitive of ‫“ נשׂא‬raise” (see GK, §76b),10 with the preceding “sea” (‫ )יָ ם‬as subject and “its waves” (‫ )גַ ָלּיו‬as object. On the other hand, in the Hodayot passage ‫ אפעה ושוא‬are usually understood as synonyms for “nothingness, emptiness, vanity” and co-subjects of the immediately preceding verb ‫“ יבקעו‬break through” (see, in particular, Kittel, 42). In citing these texts as parallels, and in rendering both ‫ שׂוֹא‬and ‫ שוא‬as “le néant,” it is not clear whether Carmignac has simply made a mistake in his analysis of mt, or whether he intends us to see in the Hodayot text a different reading of the biblical text from that represented by mt, which (assuming other elements remain the same) would, at the end of the verse, have read in that case: “you calm them in the vanity of their waves.” However, there is no (other) evidence for the combination of ‫ ָשׁוְ א‬and ‫ גַּ ִלּים‬or ‫ נשׂא‬and ‫ גַּ ִלּים‬in mt or DSS, although in a related passage, Ps 93:3, we have the “rivers” or “ocean currents” raising their breakers: ‫יִ ְשׂאוּ נְ ָהרוֹת ָדּ ְכיָ ם‬. This provides quite a good parallel to Ps 89:10 and tends to support the traditional interpretation of mt there. From a lexical perspective, our Hodayot passage could equally well be compared with Ps 107:25 (see Kittel, 55; HN, 44 n. 21), ‫רוֹמם גַּ ָלּיו‬ ֵ ‫רוּח ְס ָﬠ ָרה וַ ְתּ‬ ַ ‫וַ יַּ ֲﬠ ֵמד‬, although Carmignac, 376–77, does not make this particular connection. Kittel, 55, regards Jer 51:55 as the nearest biblical parallel: ‫קוֹלם‬ ָ ‫יהם ְכּ ַמיִ ם ַר ִבּים נִ ַתּן ְשׁאוֹן‬ ֶ ‫וְ ָהמוּ גַ ֵלּ‬. TgPs ‫“ ַכּד ִמ ְת ְר ִבן ִמ ְתנַ ְט ִלין‬when (its waves) magnify themselves, raise themselves up” and Peshitta ‫“ ܕ‬turbulence” are both understandable developments from ‫]בּ[שׂוֹא‬, ְ as is Iuxta Hebraicum’s: elationes. However, BHS notes lxx’s τὸν δὲ σάλον τῶν κυμάτων αὐτῆς “and (you calm) the restlessness of its waves,” which BHS suggests might derive from a text with ‫שׁאוֹן‬. ָ Such a proposal (already reflected in Mozley’s 1905 study)11 would gain support from parallels in various passages (Isa 17:12–13, where ‫ ְשׁאוֹן ַמיִ ם‬occurs three times; Jer 51:55; Ps 65:8: ‫יַמּים‬ ִ ‫ַמ ְשׁ ִבּ ַיח ְשׁאוֹן‬ ‫יהם‬ ֶ ‫)שׁאוֹן גַּ ֵלּ‬, ְ and our Hodayot text might in that case reflect such a reading perhaps with phonetic and/or orthographic loss of the final nasal in a bib10

See also Charles Augustus Briggs and Emilie Grace Briggs, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Psalms (2 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1909), 2:266. 11 F. W. Mozley, The Psalter of the Church: the Septuagint Psalms Compared with the Hebrew, with Various Notes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1905) 141.


177

lical reading and writing tradition familiar to the Hodayot author(s).12 Although very speculative, if this hypothesis is accepted, our Hodayot passage would provide the only evidence so far for the Hebrew text read by the lxx translator here. Ps 89:12 = 1QH 8:21 [Suk 16:3] Ps 89:12: ‫ֹלאהּ ַא ָתּה יְ ַס ְד ָתּם׃‬ ָ ‫וּמ‬ ְ ‫ף־לָך ָא ֶרץ ֵתּ ֵבל‬ ְ ‫ְלָך ָשׁ ַמיִ ם ַא‬ 1QH 8:21 [Suk 16:3]: ‫הש ֯מים ו֯ ֯הארץ‬ ֯ ‫֯מלו֯ ֯א‬ The Hodayot text is too fragmentary to exhibit any specific influence from the Psalm passage Carmignac cites apart from perhaps using three of the four nouns found there, although in a different order and structure. An equally plausible candidate as source text is Ps 96:11: :‫וּמל ֹאוֹ‬ ְ ‫יִ ְשׂ ְמחוּ ַה ָשּׁ ַמיִ ם וְ ָתגֵ ל ָה ָא ֶרץ יִ ְר ַﬠם ַהיָּ ם‬ When commentators do draw a parallel, it is with Isa 6:3: ‫ל־ה ָא ֶרץ‬ ָ ‫ְמלֹא ָכ‬ ‫( ְכּבוֹדוֹ‬Dupont-Sommer, 94 n. 1; Licht, 201–2; HN, 235; Mansoor, 185 n. 5). Rather confusingly, Carmignac, 363, also lists the same Hodayot passage under Isa 6:3 (as well as, at ibid., 376, under Ps 89:12.) Licht (followed by Mansoor) effectively suggests that the pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua of the liturgical sanctus derives from a form of text at Isa 6:3 where ‫ השמים‬is found alongside ‫ הארץ‬of mt. Licht points out that this form of text is represented by caeli et omnis terra in Augustine’s Speculum de scriptura sacra (see the Göttingen edition of the lxx), and, indirectly, in TgJon’s filling out of the locations of the three spatial and temporal locations where Y. is holy— ‫רוֹמא ֵבית ְשׁ ִכינְ ֵתיהּ‬ ָ ‫שׁמי ְמ‬ ֵ ‫ַק ִדישׁ ִב‬ ‫בוּר ֵתיהּ‬ ְ ְ‫עוֹבד ג‬ ָ ‫רﬠא‬ ָ ‫ַק ִדישׁ ַﬠל ַא‬ ‫ַק ִדישׁ ְב ָﬠ ַלם ָﬠ ְל ַמיָ א יוי ְצ ָבאוֹת‬ Licht sees in the fragmentary Hodayot sequence a possible even earlier reflex of this variant reading (or exegetical or liturgical development) of the biblical text. (Note, however, that one of the earliest Christian witnesses,

12

See Elisha Qimron, The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls (HSS 29; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1986), 27–28.

178


1 Clem. 34:6, cites the text as it appears in mt, and this is, broadly speaking, also true of Origen’s citation in Hom. Isa. I, n. 2.) If we assume that the Psalm (and not Isaiah) underlies the Hodayot usage, the only variant noted in the editions is a Latin tradition that might reflect an additional ‫ ֶא ֶרץ‬as nomen rectum to ‫( ֵתּ ֵבל‬orbem terrae), but our Hodayot text throws no light on this anyway; similar remarks apply to Peshitta’s –‫ ְבּ‬for –‫וּ‬: ‫̇ܗ‬ ‫ܬ‬. Summary and conclusions In the majority of cases, as expected, any specific relationship between a particular Hodayot passage and a verse from the Psalter may only tenuously be maintained. This applies to the following ten claimed relationships of dependency: Ps 77:6 = 1QH 9:20–21, 26 [Suk 1:18–19, 24]; Ps 77:18 = 1QH 11:14 [Suk 3:13]; Ps 78:15 = 1QH 11:26 [Suk 3:25]; Ps 78:38 = 1QH 12:38 [Suk 4:37]; Ps 78:69 = 1QH 11:21–22 [Suk 3:20–21]; Ps 79:8 = 1QH 4:30 [Suk 17:18]; Ps 86:12 = 1QH 10:22 [Suk 2:20]; Ps 89:6 = 1QH 11:23 [Suk 3:22]; Ps 89:7 = 1QH 23:22 [Suk fr. 2:3]; Ps 89:12 = 1QH 8:21 [Suk 16:3]. That leaves eight Hodayot sequences where some influence from a Psalms verse is plausible. If ‫ עני ורש‬at 1QH 10:36–37 [Suk 2:34–35] and/or 1QH 13:16 [Suk 5:14] is dependent on the usage of the same expression at Ps 82:3, the dependence has no obvious text-critical implications. At 1QH 16:9–10 [Suk 8:8–9], ‫ כל עוברי דרך‬might provide additional (although unnecessary) support for mt of Ps 80:13 against a Greek manuscript that lacks πάντες. In the case of Ps 86:4–5, the absence in the relevant Hodayot text (1QH 19:33–34 [Suk 11:30–31]) of a direct mention of God and the presence of ‫ולסליחות]י[כ ֯ה‬ ֯ offer some support for mt ‫ וְ ַס ָלּח‬against a couple of minor variants in the Greek and Syriac traditions. At 1QH 16:29–30 [Suk 8:28–29], the Hodayot reading (‫)יחפש רוחי‬ appears to have some text-critical significance for Ps 77:7 in so far as it tends to support the consonantal text of mt (‫רוּחי‬ ִ ‫)וַ יְ ַח ֵפּשׂ‬, in particular the use of the third rather than the first person verb. Another sequence from the same Hodayot text ([‫ )כי הגיעו לשחת חי֯ ]י‬might invite one to adduce a variant reading (‫ ַשׁ ַחת‬for ‫)שׁאוֹל‬ ְ at Ps 88:4 (‫)וְ ַחיַּ י ִל ְשׁאוֹל ִהגִּ יעוּ‬, although there is no versional or manuscript support for such a reading. For Ps 86:14, the text at 1QH 10:23–24 [Suk 2:21–22] (‫כי עריצים‬ ‫ )בקשו נפשי‬might be viewed as providing additional evidence for an


179

attested variant, which would bring Ps 86:14 (‫יצים ִבּ ְקשׁוּ נַ ְפ ִשׁי‬ ִ ‫)וַ ֲﬠ ַדת ָﬠ ִר‬ closer into line with a parallel in Ps 54:5 (‫יצים ִבּ ְקשׁוּ נַ ְפ ִשׁי‬ ִ ‫)וְ ָﬠ ִר‬. However, as there is no clear evidence to prefer Ps 86:14 over Ps 54:5 as the Hodayot author’s source here, the claimed text-critical evidence might equally well be illusory (or, at least, do no more than support mt at Ps 54:5). At Ps 89:8, the absence of anything corresponding to mt’s difficult ‫ַר ָבּה‬ (‫סוֹד־קד ִֹשׁים ַר ָבּה‬ ְ ‫)אל נַ ֲﬠ ָרץ ְבּ‬ ֵ might be added to the evidence of the ancient traditions that take this word to modify ‫( ֵאל‬lxx, Peshitta, TgPs) or ‫נַ ֲﬠ ָרץ‬ (Iuxta Hebraicum) but not ‫סוֹד‬. This is, however, an argument from silence. The penultimate set of passages discussed in this paper, 1QH 10:29–30 [Suk 2:27–28] and Ps 89:10, is probably the most interesting, in as much as it bears on a difficult Hebrew form in a passage where lxx, with its τὸν δὲ σάλον τῶν κυμάτων αὐτῆς, seems to have read, or understood, a significantly different text or interpretation from the one preferred by the tradents of mt (‫)בּשׂוֹא גַ ָלּיו ַא ָתּה ְת ַשׁ ְבּ ֵחם‬. ְ The Hodayot text (‫אפעה ושוא‬ ‫ )בהתרומם גליהם‬may only speculatively be used to support lxx, but if the speculation is correct the Hodayot text would provide the only evidence so far for a biblical text with ‫שׁאוֹן‬, ָ which might underlie this particular lxx variant.


brill.nl/dsd

Meals and Politics in the Yaḥ ad: A Reconsideration Benedikt Eckhardt Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster, Exzellenzcluster “Religion und Politik,” Domplatz 20–22, 48143 Münster, Germany [email protected]

Abstract The “Rule of the Community” (1QS) prescribes the organization of meals in a short and not very informative way, which has led to widespread speculations about the cultic significance and/or the political character of meals held in the yaḥ ad. This analysis seeks to show that there is nothing in the Qumran texts which justifies the designation of the meal as either “holy” or “political” in the sense usually given to that term. No anti-Hellenistic attitude is apparent. The meals are political in a different sense, designed to visualize hierarchies and to inscribe them into daily practice. Strategies employed for securing the status of priests make the use of semantics potentially associated with the cult understandable as the attempt to create a frame of reference which makes acceptance of priestly status in the community unavoidable. Keywords Meals; Rule of the Community; Rule of the Congregation; voluntary associations; anti-meals

The communal meals described in the Serek ha-yaḥ ad carry a heavy burden.1 They have been used to a number of ends and have served different scholarly interests from the time of the scrolls’ discovery up to more recent treatments. Far-reaching theories are (solely or in part) based on their respective interpretation. They have been said to represent such 1

I would like to thank the editor and the anonymous reviewer for comments and suggestions, pointing me to directions of study I would otherwise have missed, thereby significantly improving the quality of this article. I also thank Clemens Leonhard for discussion and inspiration. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

DOI: 10.1163/156851710X484550

B. Eckhardt / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 180–209

181

important things as “sacramentality” in early Judaism, a type of “holy meal,” Jewish commensality before Jesus, in short: a proto-Eucharistic institution that leads away from pagan analogies and roots Christianity in Jewish culture.2 But they have also been regarded as an example of temple substitution, held to be evidence for a broader tendency in early Judaism which led “from the altar to the table,” substituting temple sacrifice by interpreting the community meal as sacrificial offering.3 The interpretation of Qumran commensality as “sacrificial” has, conversely, been used as an argument in the debate about the character of the “Qumran community.” And attempts have also been made to classify Qumran commensality as “sectarian.” Meals are viewed as formative elements of group identity,4 and even as political statements: Qumran meals are “anti”-something, be that something the temple cult in Jerusalem, Hellenistic culture in general, or—combining both aspects—the Hellenizing culture of Hasmonean Judea.

2

E.g., Karl Georg Kuhn, “The Lord’s Supper and the Communal Meal at Qumran,” in The Scrolls and the New Testament (ed. Krister Stendahl; New York: Harper, 1957), 65–93; 259–65; Luigi Moraldi, “Ultima cena dagli Esseni,” Rendiconti dell’Istituto Lombardo 131 (1997): 47–57; Heinz-Wolfgang Kuhn, “The Qumran Meal and the Lord’s Supper in Paul in the Context of the GraecoRoman World,” in Paul, Luke and the Graeco-Roman World. Essays in Honour of Alexander J. M. Wedderburn (ed. Alf Christophersen et al.; JSNTSup 217; Sheffield: Academic Press, 2002), 221–47 esp. 240). Moraldi happily states: “Quello che vanamente si cercava nella Bibbia e nella cosiddetta vita quotidiana del giudaismo del tempo, ci viene offerto in maniera chiara e abbondante dai manoscritti esseni di Qumrân” (50). 3 The meal was regarded as a substitute for temple sacrifice, e.g., by K. G. Kuhn, “Lord’s Supper,” 68; Joachim Gnilka, “Das Gemeinschaftsmahl der Essener,” BZ N.F. 5 (1961): 39–55 (esp. 54); much more pronounced by Mathias Delcor, “Repas cultuels esséniens et thérapeutes, thiases et ḥaburoth,” RevQ 6/23 (1968): 401–25; Christian Grappe, “Le repas de Dieu de l’autel à la table dans le judaïsme et le mouvement chrétien naissant,” in Le repas de Dieu. Das Mahl Gottes (ed. Christian Grappe; WUNT 169; Tübingen: Mohr, 2004), 69–113 (esp. 95–102). Cf. for strong argumentation against these views Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Communal Meals at Qumran,” RevQ 10/37 (1979): 45–56 (esp. 46). 4 Most notably, using the “body as society”-metaphor (Mary Douglas), Philip R. Davies, “Food, Drink and Sects: The Question of Ingestion in the Qumran Texts,” Semeia 86 (1999): 151–63.

182


Given this broad range of grand theories, the evidence is remarkably meager. 1QS devotes two sentences to the meal; 1QSa 2 is very similar, but introduces “the anointed one of Israel” into the ritual sequence—this is all we have.5 Josephus, of course, has a longer account about the communal meals of the Essenes, and most treatments fall into the trap of taking the most important points from his descriptions.6 But other scholars have rightly questioned this method.7 Even if the yaḥad is identified as Essene, one should not give the idealizing reports of Graeco-Roman historiography precedence over the primary witnesses. Things get worse if one rejects this identification.8 The following reconsideration of the relationship between meals and politics, involving some of the above mentioned theories, will therefore largely avoid references to parallels,

5

It has been argued that the noncanonical Ps 154 (11Q5 18 1–16) was applied to the common meal at Qumran; cf. Grappe, “Le repas de Dieu,” 101–2; Marc Philonenko, “‘Ceci est mon corps’, ‘ceci est mon sang’. La préhistoire d’une formule cultuelle,” in Grappe, ed., Le repas de Dieu, 177–86 (esp. 183–84). V. 11–12 connect wisdom and meal: “When they eat with satiety she is cited, and when they drink in fellowship together, their meditation is on the Torah of the Most High.” But the Syriac text is too similar to the Hebrew version from Qumran to justify the assumption of a specifically Qumranic exegesis (at least if one does not argue that Ps 154 was composed at Qumran). 6 This makes problematic the treatments of, e.g., K. G. Kuhn, “Lord’s Supper”; Per Bilde, “The Common Meal in the Qumran-Essene Communities,” in Meals in a Social Context. Aspects of the Communal Meal in the Hellenistic and Roman World (ed. Inge Nielsen and Hanne Sigismund Nielsen; 2d rev. ed.; Aarhus Studies in Mediterranean Antiquity 1; Aarhus: University Press, 2001), 145–66; Stephen Pfann, “A Table Prepared in the Wilderness: Pantries and Tables, Pure Food and Sacred Space at Qumran,” in Qumran. The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates (ed. Katharina Galor, JeanBaptiste Humbert, and Jürgen Zangenberg; STDJ 57; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 159–78. 7 E.g., Schiffman, “Communal Meals,” 49–50. 8 There is no space here to explain why I happily count myself to the “skeptical and almost cynical cadre” ridiculed by Pfann, “A Table Prepared in the Wilderness,” 161. Regarding Josephus and the Essenes, an excellent treatment is Steve Mason, “Essenes and Lurking Spartans in Josephus’ Judean War: From Story to History,” in Making History. Josephus and Historical Method (ed. Zuleika Rodgers; JSJSup 110; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 219–61.


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omissions or additional information to be found in Josephus, and concentrate on the scrolls themselves.

Political Meals and the Problem of Reference At first, we have to clarify how exactly a meal can be regarded as “political.” We may take as a starting point a rather radical attempt of interpretation. In 1971 Hans Burgmann published an article on “the cult meal of the Qumran community and the political opposition to Jonathan the Maccabee,” in which he tried to demonstrate that every single aspect known from either the scrolls or Josephus to refer to Qumran meals was a politically motivated copy of the meals held in the context of the Hasmonean temple cult.9 This was part of his broader theory which claimed that Qumran actions and decisions in general, were aimed at either being the exact opposite of the actions and decisions taken by the Hasmonean high priests or at claiming Hasmonean titles and privileges for their own “righteous teacher.”10 With regard to the meals, a typical argument would be his interpretation of bread and wine, which lies at the heart of his analysis. Based on Lev 8:31, 24:5–9 and 6:7–11 he states that the right to eat holy bread was reserved for the Aaronite priesthood in the Torah, but was now transferred to every member of the Qumran community in order to deny a privilege of the Hasmonean high priests.11 The use of tirōš for wine is explained with the idea of a remnant of Israel compared to tirōš in Isa 65:8, but also with the use of yayin, condemned as leading to drunkenness, in the temple cult.12 Thus the two main elements known from

9

Hans Burgmann, “Das Kultmahl der Qumrangemeinde und der politische Gegensatz zum Makkabäer Jonathan,” TZ 27 (1971): 385–98. 10 A list of fourteen oppositions is given in Burgmann, “Das Kultmahl,” 389–90, summarized on 389: “Die innere und äußere Existenzkrise der Gemeinschaft machte es nötig, in allen Bereichen eine diametrale Gegenposition zu diesem makkabäischen Hochpriester [i.e., Jonathan, the wicked priest] und der von ihm geführten Priesterschaft von Jerusalem zu gewinnen.” Cf. for an expansion Hans Burgmann, “Das umstrittene Intersacerdotium in Jerusalem 159–152 v. Chr.,” JSJ 11 (1980): 135–76, esp. 174–76. 11 Burgmann, “Das Kultmahl,” 392–94. 12 Ibid., 395–97.

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1QS to have been used in meals of the yaḥ ad are explained by Burgmann as political innovations.13 This elaborate theory does not seem to have been discussed by any scholar writing on Qumran meals, and is indeed hardly tenable. While Burgmann may be correct in linking the foundation of Qumran to an anti-Hasmonean sentiment, the claim that this sentiment pervaded everyday life and even what Burgmann refers to as cultic practice would be far too one-sided. The majority of scrolls (a considerable number of which was, of course, not yet known in 1971) cannot be construed as polemicizing against the Hasmoneans or the temple cult of their times. Even more problematic is Burgmann’s reconstruction of the other side, i.e., the “cultic meals” in the temple cult of second-century b.c.e. Jerusalem. Evidence on this is, in fact, virtually non-existing. The Testament of Levi (8:5) refers to “bread and wine” as the “holiest of holies” with regard to Levi’s investiture as priest; while one may initially think of Christian redaction, the passage is to be read as part of the broader tendency, visible already in the Aramaic Levi Document, to secure for the descendants of Levi the priestly prerogatives—which, after all, include the right to eat miqqōdeš (Ezra 2:63; cf. Lev 2:10). The treatment of the first fruits in Ben Sira (45:20–21), who regards them as the naḥ alat given to Aaron (thus unlike the Testament of Levi excluding the other descendants of Levi) shows that controversies may have existed here, depending on what one regarded as the legitimate priesthood. Bread and wine in the Testament of Levi are somewhat inappropriate in this context, but as the respective products of grain and must (Num 18:12; Deut 18:4) they are not unrelated to the question of priestly prerogatives. It is not clear what, if anything, these passages can tell us about second-century b.c.e. realities apart from the fact that first fruits were eaten, nor do we know where the qualification of the priest’s holy food (not designated “first fruits” in the Testament of Levi) solely as “bread and wine” stems from.14 Burgmann’s arguments rest on the assumption that the temple cult functioned according to the Old Testament, but was 13

See ibid., 385: “Religionsgeschichte vollzieht sich nicht im luftleeren Raum, auch nicht auf einem apolitischen Felde.” 14 Genesis 14:18 comes to mind and may not be discarded as easily as Delcor, “Repas cultuels,” 420–22 has claimed. He argues that the Testament of Levi is describing the Qumran meal and that the Qumranites would not have chosen Melchizedek as a model because the Hasmoneans used him for their own propaganda. But neither the supposed relationship of the meals, solely based on the


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nonetheless identifiable as “Maccabean.” The evidence is simply not sufficient to speak with any certainty about priestly meals in the temple cult of the Hellenistic era. What is interesting about Burgmann’s analysis is his methodological presupposition that the structure of a meal can have a political dimension. While emphasizing the importance of conviviality for the formation of group identities means stating the obvious, the consequences of this statement should be acknowledged. Communal identities in Graeco-Roman antiquity are often not only strengthened in communal meals, but are, indeed, limited to and created through them. There certainly were associations which only came together on the occasion of a meal, having no recognizable shape or function apart from commensality.15 Thus, meals could attract significations far beyond the immediate context of eating and drinking. Every aspect of the communal meal could be a potential carrier of meaning and was thus open for subversion. As is well known, meals in antiquity were thoroughly related to the display of status; they were, so to speak, dramatizations of hierarchies. Egalitarian ideologies notwithstanding, assigned places for the participants made their social rank visible. Meals put on stage a society on its own, which is nevertheless intimately linked to society as a whole. A meal which significantly alters common customs is more than a curiosity, but can be observed as an antimeal by both participants and outsiders. This concept of “anti-meal” differs from another possible definition, which designates literary inventions of perverse meals held by groups (which are consequently to be regarded as perverse, too) as “anti-banquets.” Thus, the robber bands which sacrifice and eat children or virgins in Lollianos and Achilles Tatius, the conspirators who sacrifice a child and drink its blood to assure their respective bonds in Sallustius, Plutarch or common “bread and wine,” nor the Hasmonean-Melchizedek connection can be proven. 15 On associations and commensality see Matthias Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft. Soziologie und Liturgie frühchristlicher Mahlfeiern (Texte und Arbeiten zum Neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 13; Tübingen: Francke, 1996), 29–174; Philip A. Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations. Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003); Dennis E. Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist. The Banquet in the Early Christian World (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 87–131; Richard S. Ascough, “Forms of Commensality in Graeco-Roman Associations,” CW 102 (2008): 33–45.

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Cassius Dio, and the Christians who do the same according to their pagan contemporaries in the second century c.e., are “anti-associations” because they hold “anti-banquets.”16 This definition is not unrelated to the concept put forward here. Although these examples are fictional, the mechanism is the same as can be expected from an outsider observing an anti-meal in the sense defined above: to him, it would be totally clear that people who hold meals in uncommon ways do not belong to society, and, more important, do not want to. They express their neglect of social order, common customs and—important in all the above examples—correct cultic practice through an idiosyncratic sort of meal, and this neglect is observable for others. The only difference to reality is that, while in these grossly exaggerated descriptions one does not need to be familiar with the details of common customs to get the point, real anti-meals could operate on a more subtle level. In fact, one did not have to sacrifice a child to show discontent with social order or cultic norms. Vegetarianism would do, since the sacrificial system of the Greeks and Romans was not only highly dependent on the willingness of the participants to consume meat, but played an important role in establishing and reinforcing social hierarchies. The whole dramatization of sacrificial ritual as well as the organizational details surrounding it made visible the social position of the participants, distinguishing them according to their roles in the rites.17 Because sacrifice was at the heart of 16

Sallustius, Cat. 22.1; Plutarch, Cicero 10.3; Cassius Dio 37.30.3; 72.4 (and already P. Thmouis 1.104.13); P. Colon. Inv. 3328 (Lollianos, text in Susan Stephens and John Winkler, Ancient Greek Novels. The Fragments [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995], 339); Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 3.19–22; polemics against Christians may be found apud Minucius Felix, Oct. 9. See for the topical depictions of coniurationes Elias Bickerman, “Ritualmord und Eselskult. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte antiker Publizistik,” in Studies in Jewish and Christian History (3 vols.; AGJU 9; Leiden: Brill, 1976–86), 2:225–55 (esp. 227–31); Andrew McGowan, “Eating People: Accusations of Cannibalism Against Christians in the Second Century,” JECS 2 (1994): 413–42; on “anti-banquets” and “antiassociations” Philip A. Harland, “‘These People . . . are Men Eaters’: Banquets of the Anti-Associations and Perceptions of Minority Cultural Groups,” in Identity and Interaction in the Ancient Mediterranean: Jews, Christians and Others. Essays in Honour of Stephen G. Wilson (ed. Zeba A. Crook and Philip A. Harland; Sheffield: Phoenix, 2007), 56–75. 17 There are even more aspects not to be discussed here. See Marcel Detienne, “Pratiques culinaires et esprit de sacrifice,” in La cuisine du sacrifice en pays grec


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Graeco-Roman religion and society, non-participation could be deliberately chosen as an expression of political subversion.18 It is not without reason that non-participation arouses suspicion, and suspicion leads to exactly the kind of reports discussed above. Thus, Pythagoreans abstained from meat and were widely known for it—but we also hear that they are cannibals.19 Early Christians did not participate in the sacrificial system and consequently were portrayed according to the stereotypes mentioned above. Subversion on a lower scale (especially with regard to publicity) may consist in the substitution of the basic elements or the ritual sequence of the meal; water (or honey) can replace wine, bread can replace meat, a bĕraka might replace the cup ἀγαθοῦ δαίμονος at the end of the meal or the libations with which a potos begins.20 Burgmann’s theory could fit well into this line of questioning. If it could indeed be shown that the members of the yaḥ ad differed from other Jews or the Jerusalem temple cult with regard to their meals, changing the elements of the meal or the sequence, one might readily classify their meals as “political.” But we know next to nothing about Jewish meal customs in the Graeco-Roman world unless we project the image conveyed by rabbinic material into earlier times (a common method at least since Strack/Billerbeck, but dependent on optimistic judgments about the (ed. Marcel Detienne and Jean-Pierre Vernant; Bibliothèque des Histoires; Paris: Gallimard, 1979), 7–35; and the extensive treatment in the same volume by Jean-Pierre Vernant, “À table des hommes. Mythe de fondation du sacrifice chez Hésiode,” 37–132. 18 Cf., from different perspectives, Detienne, “Pratiques culinaires,” 13–16; John Rundin, “The Vegetarianism of Empedocles in its Historical Context,” The Ancient World 29 (1998): 19–36. 19 This seems to emerge from Cicero, In Vatinium 6.14; cf. McGowan, “Eating People,” 425 and 432. 20 For early Christian meals as non-meals, see Andrew McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists. Food and Drink in Early Christian Ritual Meals (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). A good structuralist analysis of the opposition milk (honey) versus wine is Fritz Graf, “Milch, Honig und Wein. Zum Verständnis der Libation im griechischen Ritual,” in Perennitas: Studi in onore di Angelo Brelich (Rome: Ateneo, 1980), 209–21. The cup ἀγαθοῦ δαίμονος contained unmixed wine of which a sip was taken by each participant at the end of the meal (thus it was not a libation, contrary to what is often found in the literature); see Aristophanes, Eq. 84–86; Vesp. 524–525; Schol. eq. 85; Pollux 6.100 and all the fragments assembled in Athenaeus 15.693.

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antiquity of this material not shared by this author).21 Apart from the observation that dietary laws seem to have been of renewed interest in the Seleucid and Hasmonean periods, very little information is given; the meal customs of the Pharisees described in the New Testament are an exception. While Christian biases are obvious, purification before the meal is usually considered to be a Pharisaic practice accurately portrayed in the New Testament.22 Since other information is missing, one has to alter the referent and compare the meals prescribed in 1QS 6 to other meals in the Graeco-Roman World. This is done by those who claim that Qumran meals are “anti-Hellenistic,” or, to be more precise, “anti-Hellenizing” meals. Banquets, it is believed, are “the limits of Hellenization,” the point where Greek and Jewish culture are incompatible.23 Thus, a sect believed to be pervaded by an antiHellenistic attitude would design its commensality in awareness of Hellenistic models, consciously differing from them. This may then be extended to an inner-Jewish antagonism, insofar as the meals held in Jerusalem at least by the upper classes are—not unreasonably—imagined to be shaped by Hellenistic culture. Unfortunately, the categories used for comparison seem to be influenced by value judgments rather than an interest in the shape of the ritual. By way of defining Graeco-Roman commensality in general as “excessive,” Qumran (and other Jewish) meals take the role of opposition mainly because of their supposed simplicity. Thus we read that the Greek banquet “was rooted in idolatry, and was marked by flagrant hedonism.”24 In contrast, meals at Qumran were not excessive, but an expression of

21

The often used observations that the order of the bĕrakōt at Qumran either mirrors or contradicts “the” rabbinic order, which is then projected back into second temple times, are rightly questioned by H.-W. Kuhn, “The Qumran Meal,” 229–32, who, however, still tries to make at least something out of the earlier rabbinic texts. 22 Cf. Hannah K. Harrington, “Did the Pharisees Eat Ordinary Food in a State of Ritual Purity?” JSJ 26 (1995): 42–54. Cf. also the remarks by Joseph Baumgarten, DJD 35:79–122 at 80. 23 Sandra R. Shimoff, “Banquets: The Limits of Hellenization,” JSJ 27 (1996): 440–52; cf. also (on a much smaller scale and regarding the Essenes described by Josephus) Albert I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era. An interpretation (JSJSup 55; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 94. 24 Shimoff, “Banquets,” 444.


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“serious piety.”25 The meals of the Essenes described by Josephus are supposed to be either totally unrelated to Graeco-Roman meal customs or consciously opposed to them; the Therapeutai in Egypt also held meals deliberately designed as anti-Hellenistic. “If Greco-Roman banquets exemplified unrestrained hedonism and Jewish banquets reflected a compromise between sensualism and religious restraint, sectarian meals epitomized the austere sanctification of the secular.”26 It is hard to overlook the sympathies of the modern observer who reads meals through the lens of a binary opposition Jewish/Hellenistic. But the validity of this opposition may well be questioned. Up to the Maccabean revolt, Hellenistic culture pervaded Judea, and there is no evidence that this changed in subsequent years. Jewish culture and Hellenistic culture are not opposites unless one chooses to perceive and portray them as such; this is evident for the diaspora, but also true for Judea.27 One should note that the author/epitomizer of 2 Maccabees, who seems to be the first Jewish writer who conveys a distinctive presentation of authorship not based on scripture, chose to compare his work to that of someone who organizes a symposium (2 Macc 2:28). The Letter of Aristeas links the Septuagint’s foundation myth to a large banquet, the literary form of which is evidently borrowed (albeit poorly) from Greek symposiumliterature. The only aspect that can be regarded as specifically Jewish is the constant reference to God as the last answer to all questions posed by the king; Jewish wisdom is portrayed along the lines of learned table-talk. It is exactly symposium-literature (the Hellenistic versions of which are poorly preserved, primarily in the late antique collection of Athenaeus) that stands in the background of Ben Sira as well (31:12–32:13).28 His call for moderation in the course of symposia (which he approves of in general) can only be regarded as a Jewish modification of Hellenistic customs if 25

Ibid., 450. Ibid., 452. 27 Cf. especially Martin Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus. Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (3d ed.; WUNT 10; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988); for valuable corrections to the image of the Maccabean wars as “anti-Hellenizing,” see Erich S. Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism. The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition (Hellenistic Culture and Society 30; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 1–40. 28 See Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist, 142–44. 26

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one takes for granted that the latter were generally (and in contrast to Jewish customs) excessive. But Ben Sira is paralleled in Graeco-Roman versions of the ideal banquet, which is just as excessive as is suitable. We need not doubt that excessive drinking took place here and there, but comparing the idealized banquets of Ben Sira with the reports about excessive Hellenistic banquets without considering the idealizations of Hellenistic philosophers as well is not the whole story. Ben Sira cannot be used to postulate a specifically Jewish modesty, because his advices are no more related to practical behavior than are those of, e.g., Plutarch. The question arises where—apart from possible theological biases—the opposition Hellenistic excesses versus Jewish simplicity derives from. An obvious place to look is Philo’s De vita contemplativa. Philo not only describes the meals of the Egyptian θεραπευταί and θεραπευτρίδες as ascetic, consisting only of bread, salt, water and hyssop, but also juxtaposes this description with “the symposia of the others” (τῶν ἄλλων συμπόσια, 40). His subsequent description of pagan meals cannot be taken seriously, but is still indebted to Hellenistic codes established by the customs and literature surrounding the symposium (that is, eating and drinking).29 Thus, it is part of the polemic that “the others” drink unmixed wine (which is untrue except for the small sip of the cup ἀγαθοῦ δαίμονος at the end of the meal). The invective against luxury (48–56) can be paralleled with similar invectives in Athenaeus, who wrote two hundred years later but based his whole work on earlier precedents.30 It is no surprise to see that the depiction of the Therapeutai, so obviously construed as the exact opposite of (misrepresented) pagan customs, can be firmly rooted in Graeco-Roman philosophical traditions as well. The philosopher Philo has a high regard for vegetarianism, thus his Therapeutai do not eat meat, in good Pythagorean fashion. It has been argued convincingly that the Therapeutai as a whole and their meal customs in particular are an 29

Contrary to common usage, συμπόσιον is not the word used for the drinking only, but for the sequence δεῖπνον—πόσις as a whole. Note that in the famous “symposia” by Plato and Xenophon (which got their titles later), the word does not even occur; the drinking is called πότος resp. κώμος. See the terminological study by Konrad Vössing, “Das römische Trinkgelage (comissatio)—eine Schimäre der Forschung?” in Das römische Bankett im Spiegel der Altertumswissenschaften (ed. Konrad Vössing; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2008), 169–89. 30 See Posidonius apud Athenaeus 5.210f; 12.527e–f; and Athenaeus’ own invectives in 6.275d; 8.363f–364a; 10.420e–f.


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allegory, aimed at presenting the Jewish way of life as the only way to live in practice the ideals Greek philosophers were only talking about.31 One might go further and state that the kind of audience Philo possibly has in mind would readily appreciate his method, sharing with him the contempt for ordinary banqueters who do not live up to the ideals laid down in symposium literature by pagan philosophers.32 It is astonishing how scholars can still claim that Philo’s account of the Therapeutai can prove anything about sectarian (or even Jewish) commensality.33 This has direct relevance for Qumran meals, because they have frequently been linked to the meals of the Therapeutai. It is highly improbable that there ever was a group of Jewish ascetics living somewhere in Egypt, philosophizing and eating hyssop. They are a creation of a philosopher’s mind, designed to be exactly what other (pagan) philosophers would regard as admirable. What is interesting in our context is that the anti-meal polemics discussed above and visible in Philo (the “symposia of the others” lead up to cannibalism, Contempl. 40), are present in other Jewish works as well. The Wisdom of Solomon uses them to portray the Canaanites as an anti-society (thus legitimizing Jewish presence in the land of Canaan), using language applicable to pagan mystery cults (12:3–5; cf. 14:23 for application to the 31

Martin Ebner, “Mahl und Gruppenidentität. Philos Schrift De Vita Contemplativa als Paradigma,” in Herrenmahl und Gruppenidentität (ed. Martin Ebner; QD 221; Freiburg: Herder, 2007), 64–90. 32 Ebner (ibid.) identifies the audience with young Jewish men who should be persuaded not to let themselves be seduced by Graeco-Roman social bonding (to which, Philo would argue, symposia and the accompanying humiliation of the young men because of homosexual practice would belong) and remain Jews. But he might have aimed at being read by contemporary philosophers as well. 33 Regarding the question of historicity, a strong case for the view that at least all the essentials are to be regarded as fictive has been made by Troels EngbergPedersen, “Philo’s De Vita Contemplativa as a Philosopher’s Dream,” JSJ 30 (1999): 40–64. A weak attempt of refutation is Mary Ann Beavis, “Philo’s Therapeutai: Philosopher’s Dream or Utopian Construction?” JSP 14.1 (2004): 30–42 (giving undue importance to the fact that Philo mentions a geographical location, and even suggesting that the numerous philosophical topoi reflect the philosophical basis of the real Therapeutai’s community). Grappe, “Le repas de Dieu,” is also among those who cannot do without “real” Therapeutai and curiously argues that “Philon leur a consacré tout un traité [. . .] et les a sans doute côtoyés, comme le laisse entendre l’affirmation solennelle [!], selon laquelle il ne dit à leur sujet que ‘la pure vérité’, qu’il place en tête de cet ecrit” (86).

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pagan world as a whole).34 The Testament of Moses uses the topical depiction of excessive banquets (but without child sacrifice) to condemn an unknown Jewish group (7:4–8). Meals and meal customs in antiquity are never reported just for the sake of information. The reports are bound to (de-)legitimizing discourses, and the modern observer should be careful not to let the ruling discourses of antiquity shape his own perception.

Political Rituals in 1QS 6? These methodological observations force us to approach “Qumran meals” with two conclusions in mind. First, the observation of frugality and simplicity cannot be regarded as evidence for “political” meals. Second, politically subversive meals do look different from others. Trying to make out political aspects should mean focusing on the details of ritual, not on moral judgments or overall impressions. What, then, do we know? In the “Rule of the Community,” the following prescriptions can be found: When the table has been prepared for eating, or the new wine for drinking, the priest shall be the first to stretch out his hand, in order to bless the first portion (the first produce?) of the bread and the new wine.35 (1QS 6:5–6) “The Priest” apparently refers to the prescription given in advance (6:3–4) that “in every place where there are ten men (belonging to) the Council of the Community (‫)מעצת היחד‬,36 there must not be lacking among them a man (who is) a priest.” Thus, the meal of these groups of (at least) ten men seems to be described in what follows. This assertion, however, requires further comment.

34

See Erich S. Gruen, “Jewish Perspectives on Greek Culture and Ethnicity,” in Hellenism in the Land of Israel (ed. John J. Collins; Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Series 13; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001), 62–93 at 66. 35 Translation according to Charlesworth in PTSDSSP, except for ‫( בראשית‬see below). With the vast majority of scholars I assume dittography in 6:5, where “the priest shall be the first to stretch out his hand” is written twice. 36 Actually, the text reads ‫החיד‬.


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While recent theories about the development of the S-tradition and the meaning of the term yaḥ ad are not at the core of this article, they certainly affect our view of what is said in 1QS 6, and whose meals are envisaged. Sarianna Metso takes 1QS 6:1–8 as an interpolation; according to her, the text, which presupposes several “dwelling places” and finds it necessary to give rules for the case that ten men are present at one place, does not fit into the context of the Qumran community. It therefore reflects an earlier phase in the history of the Essenes.37 Charlotte Hempel has gone even further and separates different layers in the passage itself. The statement in 6:2–3, “and they shall eat together, say benedictions together, and give counsel together,” reflects a primitive stage of organization, with rules only concerning basic principles of the community (and adverbial use of ‫)יחד‬. In contrast, the more detailed description of the meal in 6:5–6 belongs to an organizational context which is more complex and developed, thus likely to be later.38 But this assumption is far from necessary. The text might well state basic principles in 6:2–3 and then give more detailed information about how to realize them. As for Metso’s theory, 1QS 6:1–8 may well reflect an earlier stage than does the rest of 1QS, especially if one prefers an early date for 1QSa as well (see below). But it seems preferable not to let the “Qumran community” shape one’s assumptions, because this point of reference has become fragile itself.39 Replacing 37 Sarianna Metso, The Textual Development of the Qumran Community Rule (STDJ 21; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 115–16; eadem, “Whom Does the Term Yaḥad Identify?” in Defining Identities: We, You, and the Other in the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Florentino García Martínez and Mladen Popović; STDJ 70; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 63–84 at 68–71. 38 Charlotte Hempel, “Interpretative Authority in the Community Rule Tradition,” DSD 10 (2003): 59–80 at 64–67; eadem, “Emerging Communal Life and Ideology in the S Tradition,” in García Martínez and Popović, eds., Defining Identities, 43–61 at 44–49. 39 This emerges from the interpretation of the yaḥ ad as being “more than Qumran,” see John J. Collins, “Forms of Community in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Emanuel. Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (ed. Shalom M. Paul et al.; VTSup 94; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 97–111 at 105–7; idem, The Yaḥad and “The Qumran Community,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission. Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. Charlotte Hempel and Judith M. Lieu; JSJSup 111; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 81–96; and Torleif Elgvin, “The Yaḥad Is More Than Qumran,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins. New Light on a Forgotten Connection (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005),

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Qumran with the broader movement called yaḥ ad leads away from an evolutionary theory which takes the settlement at Qumran as its endpoint. Thus, John Collins can use our passage to distinguish between Qumran and the yaḥ ad, denying interpolation.40 We will proceed on the assumption that the prescriptions of 1QS 6:5–6 belong to a context in which different groups could be imagined in different dwelling places. Accordingly, we use the convenient formula “Qumran meals” only when discussing the results of other scholars. The meal starts with a bĕraka over bread and wine. This is the only ritual element we learn about from 1QS 6:2–6. But what is it? While it is commonly assumed that the food is rendered holy by the act of ‫ברך‬, this is not at all clear. For Rabbinic bĕrakōt, the opposite might hold true: they might be rites of de-sanctification, rendering fit for human consumption food which belongs to God.41 There is no way to know which understanding of ‫ ברך‬is at work in 1QS 6, but we should be warned not simply to presuppose that the members of the yaḥ ad ate “holy food.” We are more concerned here with the political aspects of the ritual details. Since the ber̆ aka is the only ritual element described, it has to be asked whether a “Hellenistic” observer would have found it in any way remarkable— which would be a necessary prerequisite for political meals.

273–79. Collins regards the settlement at Qumran as an elite group in the yaḥ ad, relying on a rather literal reading of 1QS 8:12. It is then far from certain that 1QS is more related to Qumran as, e.g., 4QSb,d or 4QSe, which were, after all, still copied after 1QS reached its final form. See for a step towards interpreting the 4QS-recensions independently from 1QS Charlotte Hempel, “The Literary Development of the S Tradition—A New Paradigm,” RevQ 22/87 (2006): 389– 401, and for the call not to read Qumran into the S-texts Alison Schofield, “Rereading S: A New Model of Textual Development in Light of the Cave 4 Serekh Copies,” DSD 15 (2008): 96–120, and eadem, From Qumran to the Yaḥad. A New Paradigm of Textual Development for The Community Rule (STDJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2009). Note that Metso’s theory has to assume interpolation at a very early stage, because the passage is paralleled in 4QSd. 40 Collins, “The Yaḥad,” 85–88. 41 As has been argued by Clemens Leonhard, “Blessings over Wine and Bread in Judaism and Christian Eucharistic Prayers. Two Independent Traditions,” in Jewish and Christian Liturgy and Worship. New Insights into its History and Interaction (ed. Albert Gerhards and Clemens Leonhard; Jewish and Christian Perspective Series 15; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 309–26.


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Graeco-Roman evidence for rites of sanctification or de-sanctification is scanty. But we read in a 5th-century c.e. commentary on Hesiod that Plutarch rightly called this an easy daily sacrifice, when we render holy all we are going to eat by making an offering from it (ἱερὰ πάντα ποιοῦντας διὰ τοῦ ἀπάρξασθαι). For this was a feature of ceremonies where a table was spread for a god: the worshippers used to make an offering from it and then dine.42 The offering before the eating is mentioned elsewhere as well, but the other passages are uninformative about sanctification.43 Plutarch’s statement forms an interesting contrast to other evidence which indicates that sacrificial meat was not fit for consumption unless it was de-sanctified, for which Cato uses the word profanare.44 How exactly this de-sanctification worked (did touching the food suffice or were there certain formulas to be uttered?) is unclear. One may point to the fact that the sources indicating this ritual necessity, which is not without interest for the understanding of the bĕraka, stem from a Roman context;45 an equivalent Greek practice does not seem to have existed. The Roman world also knew the practice of offering to the gods before the meal began, but we never get the impression that this in any way sanctified the food. Thus the apparent contradiction between Plutarch, who speaks about “rendering holy” something, and Cato, who regards it as necessary to make the food less holy 42

Plutarch frg. 95 Sandbach (LCL). Most notably Porphyry, De abst. 2.20.1 (translated by Gillian Clark): “That the god is pleased not by the size of sacrifices, but by ordinary things, is clear from the fact that whatever is served as our daily food, everyone, before enjoying it, makes an offering from it.” The passage is often regarded as a citation of Theophrastus, but I see no justification for this; Porphyry makes his use of Theophrastus explicit only in the next sentence and thus in a different context (“that the ancient form of sacrifice was of crops”). For a comparable Roman context (offering to the lares before eating), cf. Juvenal 9.137–138; 12.87–90; Pliny, Nat. 28.267; accompanied by prayer: Quintilian, Decl. 301.10 (deos invocamus). 44 De agr. 132. On profanare (without special reference to meals) see Trebatius apud Macr. Sat. 3.3.4, who calls profanum, quod ex religioso vel sacro in hominum usum proprietatemque conversum est. The opposite in Varro, Ling. 6.54: profanum means “consecrated.” 45 Cf. Francesca Prescendi, Décrire et comprendre le sacrifice. Les réflexions des Romains sur leur propre religion à partir de la littérature antiquaire (Potsdamer Altertumswissenschaftliche Beiträge 19; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007), 122. 43

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before eating, might be resolved by considering the different cultural backgrounds. It should, however, also be kept in mind that Cato talks about a sacrificial meal (meat eaten from the animal which had been consecrated to the god) while Plutarch seems to refer to the trapezomata placed on an extra table for the gods at the beginning of a meal (the opposite direction: the food given to the gods derives from the food destined to be consumed by humans).46 No matter how one chooses to solve the problem, it emerges from the discussion that 1QS does not permit us to postulate a consciously developed opposition between Graeco-Roman rituals at the beginning of a meal and the bĕraka prescribed in 1QS 6. It is obvious that the Jews did not offer sacrifices or trapezomata to pagan gods, but the bĕraka is best viewed as a functional equivalent of a non-polemical character. Greeks and Romans knew comparable practices. Even less can be made out of the only other aspect of the ritual sequence known to us. Much has been written about the ritual washings before the meal, mentioned only by Josephus ( J.W. 2.129),47 and it is all but impossible (not using Josephus, but rather what may have been miqwaʾōt in front of the dining rooms at Qumran)48 to postulate that the Qumranites (that is: a subgroup of the 46

On trapezomata, see David Gill, “Trapezomata: A Neglected Aspect of Greek Sacrifice,” HTR 67 (1974): 117–37. 47 They were taken to be further evidence for the sacrificial character of the meal, e.g., by K. G. Kuhn, “The Lord’s Supper,” 68; Delcor, “Repas cultuels,” 406. The practice was even considered to be the origin of Christian baptism, a view rejected already by John Pryke, “The Sacraments of Holy Baptism and Holy Communion in the Light of the Ritual Washings and Sacred Meals at Qumran,” RevQ 5/20 (1966): 543–52. 48 See Jodi Magness, “Communal Meals and Sacred Space at Qumran,” in Debating Qumran. Collected Essays on its Archaeology (Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Culture and Religion 4; Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 81–112, esp. 107. 1QS 5:13 might also be viewed as testifying to ritual washings before the meal, see for this opinion Eyal Regev, “Abominated Temple and a Holy Community: The Formation of the Notions of Purity and Impurity in Qumran,” DSD 10 (2003): 243–78 at 276 n. 88. This only works if the ‫ טהרת אנשי הקודש‬is the same as the ‫ טהרת הרבים‬from 1QS 6:16–17, the latter expression commonly being interpreted as referring to pure food. This is suggested by the parallels in 4QSb and 4QSd: The rule not to touch the “purity of the men of holiness” is directly followed by the rule not to eat with them (lit. him). Metso, Textual Development, 81, unnecessarily thinks of a scribal error. See also 4Q274 2 i 9 in the translation


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yaḥ ad ?) ate their food in ritual purity. The same emerges from texts concerning purity at meals, but not necessarily belonging to the yaḥ ad.49 But given the fact that the Roman dinner was preceded by a bath as well,50 the “uniqueness” (a term open to many abuses) of the statement is considerably diminished, apart from the problematic application of the Josephan passage (or, for that matter, the settlement of Qumran) to the yaḥ ad. Again, no observer from outside would have found it in any way surprising that these people went to bath, approached the table, performed some ritualized acts involving the food, and ate. He might be more interested in the posture of the diners. While participants in Graeco-Roman symposia normally reclined, it has been argued that the members of the yaḥ ad were sitting.51 While this can, in my opinion, not be proven from the texts, the acceptance of the hypothesis is not problematic, because there are instances of sitting in the symposion in Graeco-Roman sources as well.52 No “anti-Hellenistic attitude” is apparent.

by Baumgarten, DJD 35:104: “and for all sacred (food) [‫]הקודשים‬, a m[an] is to wash.” 49 4Q274 1 i 3; 8–9; 4Q514 1 i 5–10. 50 Cf. Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft, 47–49, who even argues for a cultic origin of the Roman practice. 51 Lawrence H. Schiffman, The Eschatological Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls. A Study of the Rule of the Congregation (SBLMS 38; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 56 (arguing that the custom is biblical and unhellenistic); Magness, “Communal Meals,” 106. 52 The sitting in 1QS 6:4 and 1QSa 2:16–17 is not explicitly connected with the meals, which are introduced in both cases with a new sentence. 11QT a 37:8–9 shows that the priests were expected to sit while eating the first fruits, but it is unclear how that would affect the practice of the yaḥ ad-groups. Sitting was common in non-elite meals, see Blake Leyerle, “Meal Customs in the GrecoRoman World,” in Passover and Easter. Origin and History to Modern Times (ed. Paul F. Bradshaw and Lawrence A. Hoffman; Two Liturgical Traditions 5; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1999), 29–61 at 31. From an elite perspective, sitting was usually associated with taverns and lower classes, but also useful for distinguishing participants according to their rank (if some are reclining while others have to sit), see Keith Bradley, “The Roman Family at Dinner,” in Meals in a Social Context, 36–55 at 39; Katherine M. D. Dunbabin, The Roman Banquet. Images of Conviviality (Cambridge: University Press, 2003), 81–84; Matthew B. Roller, Dining Posture in Ancient Rome. Bodies, Values, and

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We are left, then, with the meal elements bread and (new) wine, on which the “frugality”-hypothesis is based.53 The fact that there are two distinct operations of ‫ ברך‬to be applied to bread and wine seems at first glance to point away from an interpretation which regards them as pars pro toto-designations, actually referring to a larger meal. But this does not necessarily follow; the meal could still start with bread and wine and then proceed with more varied food, or bread might stand for food, wine for drink.54 As is well-known, animal bones have been found at Qumran;55 the Qumranites at least seem to have eaten meat. Other texts allow the consumption of fruit and vegetables.56 Some texts, probably unrelated to daily life, may give rulings about sacrificial meat.57 “Bread and (new) wine” do not designate some kind of “holy course” of the meal, but stand Status (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 84–92. After all, even if “they shall sit before him,” who says that “he” is not reclining? 53 Josephus says that the Essenes serve only one dish for each participant in the meal ( J.W. 2.131); this is regarded as accurate information about anti-Hellenistic meals (but of the Essenes, not the Qumranites) by Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects, 94. 54 One might even think of a sequence: first the deipnon (bĕraka over the bread), then the potos (bĕraka over wine). This sequence might be implied in Matt 26:26–27; Mark 14:22–23. 55 Pfann, “A Table Prepared in the Wilderness,” 172 sees an “unusual practice” here. For a different attitude, see already J. van der Ploeg, “The Meals of the Essenes,” JSS 2 (1957): 163–75, esp. 173: deposition of bones is common, e.g., in the Mithras cult; see for other evidence (but from a later period than Qumran) Alfred Schäfer, “Religiöse Mahlgemeinschaften der römischen Kaiserzeit. Eine phänomenologische Studie,” in Festrituale der römischen Kaiserzeit (ed. Jörg Rüpke; Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 48; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 169–99. 56 Magness, “Communal Meals,” 94, argues for a very limited use of meat because of its limited availability. Regular access to meat was indeed restricted to the upper classes in antiquity (up to ca. the third century c.e., when it became available more broadly, at least in Rome). But Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects, has argued that Jewish sectarianism (and Qumran in particular) was a phenomenon involving precisely the upper classes, so we should not simply assume that these people could not afford to eat meat on a regular basis. For grapes and fruits, see 4Q274 3 i 6–8; ii 4–5, see Pfann, “A Table Prepared in the Wilderness,” 176–77. 57 Cf. 1Q30 5 (and the suggestion by D. Barthélemy: DJD 1:133); 4Q277 2 5; 4Q513 10 ii 3–6; 11 1; 11QT a 37:8–12.


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pars pro toto; a way to talk about meals not unknown in the GraecoRoman world.58 While we may readily grant that food was prepared according to Jewish (or even sectarian) purity laws, no evidence for “holy food” comes to mind. There is nothing political about either the ritual sequence or the meal elements used in the meetings of 1QS 6, at least with regard to the referents discussed. The theory of “anti-Hellenistic” meals should be abandoned. This said, we have to deal with a possible objection.

Meals and Sacrifice in the Yaḥ ad That “Qumran meals” were held like, interpreted as, or in other ways related to sacrifice is often claimed. The consequences are threefold. First, the designation of the meal as “holy,” which does not occur in the scrolls themselves, is—at least in part—derived from this claim. Second, later Eucharistic developments seemed to be prefigured. The Eucharist was interpreted as a sacrifice early on, and if it could be shown that the members of the yaḥ ad did the same—that is, interpreting their meals as sacrifice—a valuable analogy or even precedent would present itself. Third, the substitution of the temple cult has been argued to find symbolic expression in the interpretation of the meal as sacrifice. It is this last suggestion that might be argued to point to a political dimension, the argument essentially being that of Burgmann: if there is a (symbolically substituted) sacrificial cult to be found in the Judean desert, it stands in natural opposition to the temple cult in Jerusalem, for from the latter’s perspective there is no other legitimate place for Jewish cult. And if “Qumran meals” substitute sacrifice, “Qumran meals” are political. I should like to object to this by arguing that there is nothing sacrificial about meals held in the yaḥ ad. As a first step, it should be recognized that if these people did indeed interpret their daily meal to be a substitute for sacrifice, they would be the first known to have done this. Early Christian exegesis connects the interpretation of the Eucharistic meal as a sacrifice with Mal 1:11 (“For from the rising of the sun to its setting my name is great among the nations, and in every place incense is offered to my name, and a pure offering” 58

See, e.g., Gnilka, “Das Gemeinschaftsmahl,” 54–55, and for Graeco-Roman parallels Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft, 56–57.

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[RSV]). The earliest text which makes the connection is the Didache, which uses it to prescribe reconciliation before participation in the Eucharist (14:1–3), a prescription not to be found in earlier texts and not to be confused with sympotic laws excluding open conflict. While the function of the meal-as-sacrifice-argument seems to be clear, its background remains an open question. The Didache obviously preserves Jewish customs and worldview,59 but there is no hint at a Jewish origin of the meal interpretation.60 It might be argued, however, that pagan meals could be interpreted in terms of sacrificial ritual: the meal seems to have been an integral part (and not simply an accompanying aspect) of sacrifice, and the connection is often emphasized.61 Whether or not this understanding forms the background of Did. 14 is unclear. One might think of a deliberate subversion of the pagan sacrificial system (which other Christians achieved by avoiding any reference to sacrificial meals).62 The Qumran scrolls never claim that the meal is a sacrifice, nor do they apply Mal 1:11 to it. If modern scholars came to different conclusions, it is because they perceived “cultic” vocabulary in the description of 1QS. But ‫( בראשית הלחם והתירוש‬6:5–6) does not have to mean “first fruits/ produce of bread and (new) wine”; a reasonable understanding might be “the beginning of the meal,” depriving the passage of any direct reference to sacrifice.63 Tirōš may be used instead of yayin because priests are

59

And purity laws: see for an interpretation of the food Huub van de Sandt, “‘Do Not Give What Is Holy to the Dogs (Did 9:5d and Matt 7:6a):’ The Eucharistic Food of the Didache in its Jewish Purity Setting,” VC 56 (2002): 223–46. 60 Contrast Jonathan A. Draper, “Pure Sacrifice in Didache 14 as Jewish Christian Exegesis,” Neotestamentica 42 (2008): 223–52 (239–42 on similarities between Didache and 1QS). 61 This is best expressed in Dio Chrysostom 3.97–98. 62 On avoidance of elements related to sacrifice see McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists. 63 See the translation by Wise in Michael Wise, Martin Abegg Jr., Edward Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation (2d ed.; San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2005), 124: “The first portion of the bread or the new wine.” This would also accord better with the fact that the community seems to have eaten the same food, which would have been impossible if it was really to be regarded as first fruits. Cf. 4Q396 III 3. But see also 11QT a 22:9–10, where ‫ ראשית‬is mentioned as something different from the parts the priests receive. For the nonmixing of the sacrificial meat of priests and laymen see 11QTa 37:8–12 and possibly 4Q513 10 ii 3–6; 11 1.


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present, but this does not mean that the meal is a sacrifice.64 What is more, “priest” seems to be a status rather than a cultic office in the sectarian literature from Qumran,65 so the prescription that the priest should be the first to utter the bĕraka might well be understood as a privilege fitting his hierarchical position. Without first fruits, the sacrificial aspects of these meals can only be postulated on the basis of Josephus. And even his evidence is not as clear as one might think; thus, the fact that the bath precedes the meal has been shown above to be understandable apart from cultic purposes. Josephus seems to say that his Essenes ate like priests, but again, this does not make the meal a sacrifice. The claim that the meals of the Therapeutai are in some way related to “meals at Qumran” has led to further evidence about sacrificial elements,66 but in our context only shows that the sources for these postulates are extremely suspect. In short: there is no reason at all not to take 1QS 6:4–6 as what it is, i.e., a short, not very informative prescription how to start the common meal without offending those who deserve respect.

Meals and Eschatology: 1QSa 2:17–22 Display of in-group hierarchies is also at the core of the rules for a meal laid down in 1QSa 2:17–22. The “rule for all the Congregation of Israel/ every Israelitic congregation in the end of days” (1:1) here prescribes a meal in much the same way known from 1QS 6, but involving the ‫משיח‬ 64

That (non-alcoholic) tirōš was used because of the priestly presence and the sacrificial context has often been claimed, e.g., by Delcor, “Repas cultuels,” 414–15; Grappe, “Le repas de Dieu,” 10. H.-W. Kuhn, “The Qumran Meal,” 228 modifies this: tirōš is yayin (cf. b. Yoma 76b), but called tirōš because of the priests, cf. already Burgmann, “Das Kultmahl.” Gnilka, “Das Gemeinschaftsmahl,” 48 did not even accept the priestly context and thought that tirōš was simply a “gehobene Bezeichnung für das alltägliche ‫יין‬.” 65 See Martha Himmelfarb, A Kingdom of Priests. Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Jewish Culture and Contexts; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 126 on 1QS: “The fact that the priests are singled out for mention is an acknowledgment of their status, but it is ultimately an acknowledgment without content.” Himmelfarb tries to show that the priestly office was transferred to the community as a whole, which may well be true, but might lead to an underestimation of the relevance of in-group hierarchies; see below. 66 E.g., Delcor, “Repas cultuels,” 406–10.

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‫ישראל‬. The meal referred to is usually understood to be the “eschatological banquet,” with either the common meal in 1QS 6 deriving its meaning from eschatology, or the eschatological banquet being the prolongation of the meals held in the community.67 If this view is correct, the passage does not add much to our discussion, apart from the rather obvious insight that the hierarchical order which gives preference to the priest would then also be in effect in the eschatological era. It is not apparent how this would introduce a political character to the meals held in the present. The “eschatological banquet” is a widespread way to imagine the future, with parallels in contemporary Jewish texts as well as in pagan religion or Christianity.68 Besides, if the eschatological banquet is conceived of as a prolongation of daily meals, it does not necessarily follow that this connection (made in texts and between texts) was as formative for daily experience as is often presupposed. This is a question of myth and ritual and their interdependence, and any clear-cut answer might be oversimplified. One may even doubt the eschatological character of 1QSa and the meal there described. Hartmut Stegemann saw in 1QSa the oldest rule book of the Essenes, building on the observations that ‫ אחרית הימים‬can 67

The literature is abundant, I only give examples. For eschatological anticipation as the main character of the community meal: Schiffman, “Communal Meals,” 55; idem, Eschatological Community, passim; John F. Priest, “A Note on the Messianic Banquet,” in The Messiah. Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (ed. James H. Charlesworth; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 222–38 at 228–29; Grappe, “Le repas de Dieu,” 100; for a different position Gnilka, “Das Gemeinschaftsmahl,” 54; Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft, 226: 1QSa is “eine Ausformulierung des religiös-eschatologischen Gehaltes existierender Mähler.” See also Johannes Zimmermann, Messianische Texte aus Qumran. Königliche, priesterliche und prophetische Messiasvorstellungen in den Schriftfunden von Qumran (WUNT 2. Reihe 104; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 26–34; Géza G. Xeravits, King, Priest, Prophet. Positive Eschatological Protagonists of the Qumran Library (STDJ 47; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 22–27. Unhelpful for our purpose is Albert L. A. Hogeterp, Expectations of the End. A Comparative Traditio-Historical Study of Eschatological, Apocalyptic and Messianic Ideas in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament (STDJ 83; Leiden: Brill, 2009), who treats 1QSa only at 54–55; 454. 68 See Priest, “A Note” (Jewish and Christian); Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft, 163–74 (pagan); and on symposia in the netherworld Dunbabin, Roman Banquet, 103–40.


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apply to the present and that the last two lines, reminiscent of 1QS 6:2–4, seem to presuppose different groups which exist in the present.69 Charlotte Hempel proposed a modified view: the introduction 1QSa 1:1–5 is eschatological, and so is the description in 1QSa 2:11–22 of what she presupposes to be “a banquet in the Messianic age,” but the core of 1QSa (1:6–2:10) is indeed an early rule-book, which was revised later according to some tendencies of 1QS.70 The most notable sign of this revision is the insertion of the “Sons of Zadok the priests”; marks of an older core include the use of “all-Israel” terminology and the mention of women and children. Recent claims that new fragments of 1QSa can now be dated palaeographically to the early second century b.c.e. might strengthen both scholars’ direction of thought.71 But while Hempel’s argument for a “Zadokite recension” is generally convincing, she gives no clear reason why she excludes 1QSa 2:11–22 from it.72 In fact, she arrives at basically 69

Hartmut Stegemann, “Some Remarks to 1QSa, to 1QSb, and to Qumran Messianism,” RevQ 17/65–68 (1996): 479–505 at 488–95. On the possible meanings of ‫ אחרית הימים‬see Annette Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16/62 (1993): 225–46. She regards the formula as meaning “a limited period of time, that is the last of series of divinely pre-planned periods into which history is divided” (231). While it can refer to the future, this is a future point in the period preceding eschatological salvation. Her treatment of 1QSa 1:1 (230) is already based on Stegemann’s theory. 70 Charlotte Hempel, “The Earthly Essene Nucleus of 1QSa,” DSD 3 (1996): 253–69. 71 Stephen J. Pfann, DJD 36:515–74 (4Q249a-i). This would, of course, make highly probable the part of the hypothesis shared by Stegemann and Hempel: that (at least the core of ) 1QSa is older than 1QS. Pfann (543, 545–46), however, regards it as possible that the passage on the banquet is later than the rest (but still belongs to the second century b.c.e.). Doubts about the findings are expressed by Xeravits, King, Priest, Prophet, 22; Florentino García Martínez, “Response: The Groningen Hypothesis Revisited,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins, 310–16 at 314. 72 That the text is still eschatological if separated from the introduction has yet to be proven; Hempel’s only argument (at 254) is that “its subject matter sets it [the passage on the eschatological banquet, B.E.] apart to some degree from what precedes.” Against this, one could object the following: if, as Hempel does not say but seems to imply, 1QSa 2:11–22 stems from the recension which made the text eschatological, that is, the “Zadokite recension,” one wonders why there are no Zadokites mentioned, but the “Sons of Aaron” (2:13). Elsewhere, Hempel has

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the same conclusion as Stegemann by excluding from the outset exactly the passage on which Stegemann focuses. We cannot go into details here which would lead away from our main topic. Suffice it to point into a direction of future study: if the original core of 1QSa was indeed an early rule book not concerned with eschatology, it probably described the meals of the “council of the community” (‫)עצת היחד‬, an elite group singled out from a communal setting synonymously called ‫עדה‬, ‫עדת ישראל‬ and ‫עדת קודש‬.73 Hempel has argued elsewhere that the use of ‫עצת היחד‬ without ‫ הרבים‬points to an older structure of organization than do other

argued convincingly for a development in the “Sons of Aaron”—“Sons of Zadok” terminology, which led from a national and generally priestly perspective on the “Sons of Aaron” (D) to “Sons of Aaron” as a community-specific designation for the priestly authorities (first recensions of S), and finally to the “Sons of Zadok” taking this place; see Charlotte Hempel, “The Sons of Aaron in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Flores Florentino. Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed. Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, and Eibert Tigchelaar; JSJSup 122, Leiden: Brill, 2007), 207–24, esp. 214. Her treatment of 1QSa there (217) is problematic. It is far from clear that the “Sons of Aaron” are here to be understood as the community leaders; the text is comprehensible when read with an “all-Israel perspective” in mind—which is exactly what Hempel defines as a peculiarity if 1QSa 1:6–2:10. 73 That the designations are synonymous becomes apparent in 1QSa 1:13 and 1:20. That the ‫ עצת היחד‬is not just another word for ‫יחד‬, but the designation of an elite group, seems to be clear from 1QSa 1:25–27: while all members of the ‫ עדה‬seem to be eligible for the ‫קהל‬, eligibility for the ‫ עצת היחד‬requires special treatment. This elite group is also the referent of the section on the banquet; see also Collins, “Forms of Community,” 109–10. Contrast Sarianna Metso, “Qumran Community Structure and Terminology as Theological Statement,” RevQ 20/79 (2002): 429–44, who thinks “that the officials and groups mentioned in 1QSa II, 12–17 together constitute the full membership of the community” (at 433), and Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥad, 142–43. Contrast also Schiffman, Eschatological Community, who reads 1QSa as describing the same entities as 1QS by simply stating that it refers to “an eschatological meeting of the ‫מושב‬ ‫הרבים‬, the sectarian assembly (although this term is not used)” (9). He also comments on 1QSa 2:7–10: “It is clear from lines 9–10 that congregation (‫ )עדה‬here refers to the assembly of the community. The text specifically states that the reason for exclusion of such people is that the holy angels are among the community” (25). In fact, ‫ עדה‬here seems to refer to the congregation of the council, and the clear statement of the text is that holy angels are ‫]בעצ[תם‬.


205

passages in 1QS.74 The “Zadokite recension” would then have revised the meal-description according to terminology more prevalent in 1QS— and to an eschatological understanding of the meal, including the ‫משיח ישראל‬. Conversely, 1QS 6:1b–8, seen as an older text above, would stem from a context similar to the original form of 1QSa; we find here ‫ עצת היחד‬without ‫הרבים‬, and we also find the ten men mentioned in 1QSa 2:21–22. But the consequences of these observations for the redaction history of 1QS and 1QSa will have to be discussed elsewhere. For the moment, we may close with the observation that 1QSa does not significantly alter the picture we have developed above.

Displaying Hierarchies at Table What we have reached so far is a negative conclusion. Contrary to many forms of early Christian meals, the meals of the yaḥ ad cannot be described as anti-meals, no matter which referent one chooses as a contrast. What is more, this analysis shows that it is possible to discuss these meals without qualifying them as either “sacramental,” “holy,” “cultic,” “sacrificial,” or the like. Application of these terms should be avoided in the absence of evidence (not to mention the lack of clear definitions what exactly is meant by “sacramentality” or “holiness” of meals). After having shown what meals held in the yaḥ ad were not, it might be appropriate to conclude this reconsideration with formulating our understanding of what they were—all the more so because we might arrive at a different understanding of these meals as “political.” The meals of the yaḥ ad seem to be comprehensible in the broader context of Graeco-Roman banquets. This is true even for the ritual sequence apart from the offerings to pagan Gods, and it is also true for the socio-historical context. Meals were regularly held together, continually reinforcing group identity and hierarchies, with prescribed norms of behavior and restricted participation. All of these elements point to Graeco-Roman voluntary associations as the background against which to interpret the meals held in the various subgroups of the yaḥ ad. The analogy is suggestive; seating according to rank and fines for violation are a common topic in the statutes of 74

Hempel, “Emerging Communal Life.” But for some reason she presupposes that it has always been the designation of a community rather than that of an elite group.

206


associations.75 At the same time, the concept of several communities being related to a larger movement ( yaḥ ad ) is without analogy in the GraecoRoman world. The in-group hierarchy is made visible in every assembly of a given community.76 This does not only concern priests, but also new candidates for membership, who seem to be excluded from the meal (“the pure food of the many”) for one respectively two years—a practice common in mystery cults (which could be organized as voluntary associations), where these people are sometimes labeled as the “silent ones” at the meal.77 Thus, 75

The parallels were presented in a systematic treatment by Moshe Weinfeld, The Organizational Pattern and the Penal Code of the Qumran Sect. A Comparison with Guilds and Religious Associations of the Hellenistic-Roman Period (NTOA 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986). Weinfeld thought that these parallels were only superficial, Qumran “really” being something totally different from voluntary associations, but cf. for an expansion of his theory with special regard to the communal meal Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft, 227–44. Differences are, however, noted by Albert I. Baumgarten, “GraecoRoman Voluntary Associations and Ancient Jewish Sects,” in Jews in a GraecoRoman World (ed. Martin Goodman; Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), 93–111; Marie Françoise Baslez, “Recherches sur le yahad des manuscrits de Qumrân dans l’environnement associatif sémitique et grec,” in Les communautés religieuses dans le monde gréco-romain. Essais de definition (ed. Nicole Belayche and Simon C. Mimouni; Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des hautes études, section des sciences religieuses 117; Turnhout: Brepols, 2003), 75–92; Collins, “Forms of Community,” 100–104. With regard to in-group organization, I believe Klinghardt’s view is correct; the sociological dimension (relationship with the larger society) is a different matter. 76 These observations should cause reservation towards an interpretation of Qumran meals as “egalitarian,” as put forward, e.g., by Grappe, “Le repas de Dieu,” 102. Himmelfarb’s interpretation of the community as a “kingdom of priests” (see above, n. 65) also tends to play down the role of in-group hierarchies. 77 The “pure food of the many” (‫ )טהרת הרבים‬was accessible after one year (1QS 6:16–17), the “drink of the many” (‫ )משקה הרבים‬after two (6:20–21). This is, to be sure, not a totally unproblematic interpretation; thus one might view the prescription to keep away from the ‫ טהרת הרבים‬as meaning that novices may not prepare (but are allowed to eat) the food, see Edmund F. Sutcliffe, “Sacred Meals at Qumran?” HeyJ 1 (1960): 48–65 at 54. For the “silent ones” (σειγηταί), see the last lines of the “Agrippinilla inscription,” the full text of which is now available in B. Hudson McLean, “The Agrippinilla Inscription: Religious Associations and Early Church Foundation,” in Origins and Method. Towards a New


207

there are several distinctions drawn, but the priests clearly are the focal point of the strategies used, at least on a functional level.78 It has been argued above that the priestly bĕraka at the beginning of the meal also points to hierarchy rather than cult; it is thus to be compared not only to profanization/sanctification-rites of Graeco-Roman meals, but also to the broad complex of propinein-gestures, which also place emphasis on the sequence. The right to begin something is generally regarded as honorable not only in the immediate context of commensality. The meal can only start when there is “not lacking among them a man (who is) a priest (1QS 6.3–4),” again connecting priestly status with the meal. If tirōš was indeed used instead of yayin because of the priestly connotations, even the meal elements evoked the special status of the community’s leaders. The prescribed terminology (wine is to be called tirōš) may be understood as creating a normative frame of reference which had to be internalized by all participants in the meal—and this frame of reference made continual acknowledgment of priestly status during meals unavoidable. If one wants to keep the “first fruits” connotations in spite of the critical view presented above, the same logic would be applicable. All this points to an interpretation of 1QS 6:4–6 (and the surrounding passages) as the attempt to secure for the “priests” (whoever that is)79 the status which Understanding of Judaism and Christianity (ed. B. Hudson McLean; JSNTSup 86; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1993), 239–70. See also P. Mich. 8.511 (mentioning the price σιωπητικοῦ τῆς κλείνης), which has been correctly compared to the Agrippinilla inscription by its first editor Herbert Chayyim Youtie, “The Kline of Sarapis,” HTR 41 (1948): 9–29, here 20–21. 78 See for a similar thought Schiffman, “Communal Meals,” 51. 79 Not the remnant of a “Zadokite dynasty,” which may never have existed; see the review of the “evidence” by Lester L. Grabbe, “Were the Pre-Maccabean High Priests ‘Zadokites’?” in Reading from Right to Left. Essays on the Hebrew Bible in Honour of David J. A. Clines (ed. J. Cheryl Exum and H. G. M. Williamson; JSOTSup 373; Sheffield: Academic Press, 2003), 205–15; Alice Hunt, Missing Priests. The Zadokites in Tradition and History (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 452; London: T&T Clark, 2006). Ezekiel 40–48 and CD 3:21–4:2 seem to imply a moral quality, as has been argued recently again by Étienne Nodet, La crise maccabéenne. Historiographie juive et traditions bibliques (Josèphe et son temps 6; Paris: Cerf, 2005), 253; 289–90. See already Preben WernbergMøller, “‫צדק‬, ‫ צדיק‬and ‫ צדוק‬in the Zadokite Fragments (CDC), the Manual of Discipline (DSD) and the Habakkuk-Commentary (DSH),” VT 3 (1953): 310–15. I see no way to find out whether or not the leaders of the yaḥ ad were

208


they cannot secure through their role in temple sacrifice. Thus, in a totally different sense than is commonly done, one might indeed speak of a substitute for sacrifice—not in cultic terms, but in terms of in-group authority and the given possibilities to achieve it. The meal presents an opportunity to display and reinforce hierarchies which does not require the temple cult.

Conclusion Meals and politics are deeply related in the yaḥ ad. But to determine the political agenda it is of vital importance not to presuppose “Jewish” or “sectarian” practice (reflecting a group-society conflict) as pervading every aspect of daily life, but to make out plausible referents and addressees. A lot can be achieved by transferring categories of observation from the broad realm of group-society relations to the smaller (but no less interesting) sphere of in-group organization and authority. This analysis took as its starting point the diverse manifestations of theories based on the opposite direction of thought. It emerges from the arguments put forward here that labeling the meals of the yaḥ ad as political in the sense of either “anti-Hasmonean,” “anti-Hellenizing” or even “anti-Hellenistic” is part of an overpoliticization of sectarianism, not placing enough emphasis on ritual practice and the way in-group authority is established. The comparison with customs in Jerusalem seems to be impossible in the absence of evidence. The change of reference has led to a comparison with Graeco-Roman customs, which do not seem to have been significantly different from the ones described in 1QS. The elements commonly referred to as evidence for “holy,” “cultic,” or “sacramental” “real” priests, and do not believe that this matters. See for an excellent treatment of the function of ‫ בני צדוק‬in 1QS (not yet in 4QSb and 4QSd) Albert I. Baumgarten, “The Zadokite Priests at Qumran: A Reconsideration,” DSD 4 (1997): 137–56. I totally agree with his conclusion that the appearance of “Sons of Zadok” in the later versions of the serekh-tradition should be explained not in terms of group-society relations (Qumran as a foundation by Zadokites who were expelled from Jerusalem), but of in-group hierarchies (Baumgarten links it to the need to create normative contexts of revelation). I only disagree with the assumption that genealogy made the designation “Sons of Zadok” effective in this context.


209

meals are neither unique, nor do they provide sufficient reason for either designation. We cannot speak of alternative cult praxis. While these elements are therefore irrelevant to a study of group-society relations, they can be interpreted conclusively as parts of a frame of reference legitimizing priestly authority in the yaḥ ad. As is usual in the Graeco-Roman world, meals put hierarchy on stage. What the religious significance of a be ̆raka may have been at the time 1QS and 1QSa were written, we may never know. But we are able to define its political function. Possible objections might focus on the impression that this analysis has reduced religion to a function of politics, but this is not the case. Religious meaning and political significance do not exclude each other. But one might argue that compared to religious meaning, in-group authority is a less speculative, less teleological and therefore more convenient object for the study of daily-life phenomena.


brill.nl/dsd

The Numismatic Finds from the Qumran Plateau Excavations 2004–2006, and 2008 Seasons Yoav Farhi,1 Randall Price2 1

Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Mt. Scopus, Jerusalem, 91905, Israel [email protected] 2 Center for Judaic Studies, Liberty University, 1971 University Boulevard, Lynchburg, VA 24502, USA [email protected]

Abstract This article contains the preliminary report of nine coins, ranging from the second century b.c.e. to the fourth century c.e., that were found during the 2004– 2006 and 2008 seasons of the 2002–2008 excavations at the Qumran Plateau, carried out under the direction of Dr. Randall Price of Liberty University with the assistance of Israeli archaeologists Dr. Oren Gutfeld and Yakov Kalman. Keywords Coins; numismatics; Qumran plateau

1. Preface Excavations on the southern Qumran plateau were carried out from 2002–2008 under the direction of Dr. Randall Price of Liberty University with the assistance of Israeli archaeologists Dr. Oren Gutfeld and Yakov Kalman.1 The excavation on the southern plateau had two goals: (1) to 1

The renewed excavations followed those of James Strange (1996) whose primary purpose was the investigation of anomalies discovered by GPR that were thought to indicate a subterranean paleo-chamber. No such structure was found, although two pieces of an ostracon were recovered in the excavation debris as workers were cleaning the site, see Cross and Eshel 1997. The renewed excavations also are related to those of Yitzak Magen and Yuval Peleg, see Magen and Peleg 2008. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

DOI: 10.1163/156851710X503567

Y. Farhi, R. Price / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 210–225

211

determine the use of the plateau during the periods of habitation at Qumran, and (2) to understand the practice of animal bone deposition at Qumran. The final report of the seven seasons of excavations is in preparation for publication with Eisenbrauns Publishers. This article will contribute a preliminary report on the coin finds from these excavations.

2. The Numismatic Finds The following report presents nine coins that were found during the 2004–2006 and 2008 seasons of excavations at the Qumran Plateau. The coins, which range in time from the second century b.c.e. to the fourth century c.e., are presented and discussed chronologically in the following table and discussion.2

3. Numismatic Discussion The coins found at Qumran during Roland de Vaux’s excavations have been discussed many times.3 In a recent publication (Lönnqvist 2007), dedicated to the Amman lots of the silver coins from Qumran, it was suggested that the hiding date of this hoard (or parts of it) is much later, 2

The coins were cleaned by M. Lavy and photographed by G. Laron, both at the laboratories of the Hebrew University. We wish to thank D. Syon for drawing the monograms for coin No. 6 and for his useful comments. We also wish to thank J. Higgins, senior geologist for the Qumran Plateau Excavation Project, for his comments. We are grateful to H. Eshel for reading the draft of this paper. Abbreviations used in the table: Reg. No. = Registration (basket) Number. l. = left r. = right stg. = standing Coins bearing an asterisk are illustrated, according to their numbers, in Plate 1. The image of coin No. 1 is 1.5:1 and images 2–9 are 2:1. 3 The last comprehensive discussion regarding the Qumran coins was done by K. Lönnqvist and M. Lönnqvist (2006). In addition to this publication and several former publications which are mentioned by these authors (ibid.: 122 n. 8) see: Donceel and Donceel-Voûte 1994:3–6; Leonard 1997; Ciecieląg 1998 (reviewed by Leonard 1998); Meshorer 2006.

Dig. Ref. (locus; Reg. No.)

1*

L. 166 Reg. No. 0943

Seleucid:

No.

Þ

12.48

27

Obverse

Reverse

Date of coin

Demetrius II (145–140, 129–125 B.C.E.) [ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ] 129 12 Diademed, beardless bust of ∆ΗΜΗΤΡΙΟ[Υ]. b.c.e. Demetrius II r.; Eagle standing l. dotted border. on stylized ram, palm branch along its front leg and behind its body; to l., ? above club surmounted by ¾; to r., Α† above date: ΓΠΡ; between eagle’s legs, control-mark >; dotted border.

Metal Weight Diametre Axis (gm) (mm)

Tyre

Mint

Table 1: The coins from the Qumran Plateau excavations, seasons 2004–2006 and 2008

Lönnqvist 2007:38, Nos. 54–55, 57–58; SNG Israel I: 294–95, No. 2218.

References

Tetradrachm. Found in reddish topsoil 3 cm beneath surface.

Notes

212 Y. Farhi, R. Price / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 210–225


L. 031 Reg. No. 101

L. 301.1C Reg. No. 1321

3*

4

5*

L. 302.1C Reg. No. 1344

Herodians:

L. 155 Reg. No. 0931

2*

Hasmonean:

No.

Table 1: (cont.)

Æ

Æ

Æ

Æ

2.10

–

0.34

0.72

16–17

–

9–11

11–12

Obverse

Reverse

Same (?)

Jerusalem Cf. TJC: 226, No. 73a.

Same (?)

Found in fill, 22 cm beneath surface.

half-prutah? Found in fill, 5 cm beneath surface. Same (?) Disintegrated.

Same

Cf. TJC: 210, Group L.

Notes

half-prutah? Found in rocky soil, 44 cm beneath surface.

References

Jerusalem Cf. TJC: 210, No. L8.

Mint

Same (?) Same (?)

Same

After 80/79 b.c.e.

Date of coin

Crested helmet 4 b.c.e. with two cheek –6 c.e. pieces; below, small caduceus and inscription: [Ε]ΘΝΑΡ[ΧΟY]; border of dots.

Herod Archelaus (4 B.C.E.–6 C.E.)

Same (?)

11 Vine branch with bunch of grapes and small leaf; above: Η[ΡW∆] ΟΥ; border of dots.

–

Alexander Jannaeus (104/3–76 B.C.E.) – Anchor Six-pointed star surrounded by a surrounded by circle; around it border of dots. Greek inscription: [BΑΣΙ]ΛΕ[ΩΣ] [ΑΛΕΞΑΝ∆ΡΟΥ] – Same. Illegible Same? inscription.



213


Þ

5.46

19

Obverse

12 Bust of MelqartHeracles r., laureate, wearing lion-skin knotted round neck; border of dots (effaced).


Date of coin

Eagle standing l. 18/19 on stylized ram, c.e. palm branch along its front leg and behind its body;4 in field l., date PM∆ (144) and club; between legs of eagle Phoenician letter 𐤁; in field r., monogram:  and above it the letters KR; around: ΤΥΡΟΥ ΙΕΡΑ[Σ ΚΑ]Ι ΑΣΥΛΟΥ (“of Tyre the holy and city of refuge”); border of dots.

Reverse

Tyre

Mint

BMC Phoen: 252, No. 237; RPC I: 657, No. 4689.

References

Didrachm (half-sheqel). Found in fill, 36 cm beneath surface.

Notes

It should be noted that in previous descriptions of Tyrian sheqels (as well as Seleucid tetradrachms of the same type) the palm branch is described as located over the shoulder of the eagle (see for example: BMC Phoen.: 233; Lönnqvist 2007: 36, 38, 41) or on the wing (RPC I: 656). It was recently noticed (Farhi, et al. forthcoming) that the palm branch is quite long and located alongside the front leg of the eagle, continues behind its body, and appears again behind his neck. As was noted by Hill (BMC Phoen.: cxxxvii) the eagle is probably a legacy from the Ptolemaic coinage. But while the Ptolemaic eagle is depicted standing on thunderbolt

4

Autonomous: 6* L. 301.1C Reg. No. 1346

No.

Table 1: (cont.) 214 Y. Farhi, R. Price / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 210–225


L. 031 Reg. No. 104

8*

Æ

Æ

1.62

1.30

14–15

14

Reverse

Date of coin


Same

Cf. TJC: 258, No. 331.

Notes


References

Jerusalem Cf. TJC: (?) 257, Nos. 327–329.

Mint

(see for example: Barag 2008:38–48, Nos. 1–34) the Seleucid eagle is usually standing on palm branch (see for example: ibid.: 48–50, 53, Nos. 35–41, 50). In some cities in which the Seleucid eagle is depicted as standing on stylized ram (ibid.: 50–52, Nos. 43–46, 49) or even on a thunderbolt (ibid.: 51–52, Nos. 47–48) the palm branch is located alongside his front leg, continues behind its body, and appears again behind his neck. Thus it is clear that the long palm branch was added to the Seleucid eagle in order to distinguish between it and the Ptolemaic one.

L. 031 Reg. No. 102

7*

Obverse

Under Tiberius 17–24 12 Inscription in Palm branch; c.e. wreath: [T]IB/ across field: KAI/C[AP] [I]OY ΛΙΑ Date obliterated. Dotted border. 12 Simpulum; 29 c.e. Three ears of [TIBEPIOYKA- grain tied IC-A]POC L[Iς] together; IOYΛΙΑK[AI] CA-[POC]. Dotted border.


Roman Prefects and Procurators in Judaea:

No.

Table 1: (cont.)


215


9*

L. 209 Reg. No. 1063

Late Roman:

No.

Table 1: (cont.)

Æ

1.85

16

Obverse

Reverse

Date of coin

Mint

Constans (337–350 C.E.) 347–348 Aquileia 12 CONSTAN-S P F VICTORIAE c.e. DD AVGGQ AVG NN Bust r., draped Two Victories and cuirassed. standing, facing one another, each holding wreath and palm branch. In exergue: A[Q]S


Cf. RIC VIII: 322, No. 77.

References

Found in soft brown dirt above large stones, 47 cm beneath surface.

Notes

216 Y. Farhi, R. Price / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 210–225


217

4

sometime around 210 c.e. (ibid.: 32–34). This claim is based on the inclusion of several Roman Imperial denarii from the days of Nerva, Trajan, Septimius Severus and Caracalla in the Qumran lots which are in Amman (Lönnqvist 2007:51–53, Nos. 347–354). But, these denarii were never mentioned in any of the former publications dealing with the Qumran coins (e.g., de Vaux 1996:127; Humbert and Chambon 1994:329–30; idem 2003:52),5 according to which the most recent coin in the hoard is a tetradrachm of Tyre from the year 9/8 b.c.e (de Vaux 1973:34–35). In addition, it is known that the hoard has gone through many hands since its discovery, and as Lönnqvist noted “by 1973 altogether 58 of the original silver coins had either been scattered or lost” (2007:3). Moreover, Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist claimed that “modern contamination of the Qumran hoards is also possible” (2006:138), and they admit that the inclusion of Trajanic denarii in the Qumran coin assemblage is not certain (2006:139 n. 104). Due to all these reasons, we find it hard to believe that these coins are an original and integral part of the Qumran hoard, and they should be regarded as later intrusions (see also Donceel and Donceel-Voûte 1994:4 n. 12). The following numismatic summary will discuss the coins from the Qumran Plateau excavations in light of de Vaux’s finds as well as coins found at Qumran during new surveys and excavations.6 The coins from the Qumran Plateau excavations range from the second century b.c.e. to the middle of the fourth century c.e. Two of the coins (Nos.1, 6) are silver and the rest are bronze. The earliest coin (No. 1) is a Seleucid tetradrachm of Demetrius II from the year 129 b.c.e. Out of forty-two coins (didrachms and tetradrachms) of this ruler that were published so far from Qumran, forty-one coins derived from the silver coin hoards A-C, discovered at Qumran in locus 120 in the year 1955 (Humbert and Chambon 1994:329–330; idem 2003:52). One of these coins is at the Rockefeller Museum in Jerusalem (Sharabani 1980:276, No. 3) 5

On this issue see also the discussions by Magness (1998:40–42; 2002:58, 188–93). 6 As far as we are aware, only two excavation projects, conducted after the de Vaux excavations, published their coins so far (see below), i.e., the excavations by Broshi and Eshel and those by Magen and Peleg (for the latter only a preliminary report has been published so far). In addition, one bronze coin (and not silver as was mentioned in Donceel and Donceel-Voûte 1994:4 n. 13) of Antiochus IV was found by a tourist during a visit to the site in 1961 (Williams 1962).

218


while the others are at the Amman Museum in Jordan (Lönnqvist 2007:38–39, and pls. 4–5, Nos. 51–90), some of which (Lönnqvist 2007:38, and pl. 4, Nos. 54–55, 57–58) are identical in both date and monograms to the coin presented here. In addition, according to de Vaux’s notes, out of eight silver coins found in contexts outside the hoards (Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006:146), there is one didrachm of this ruler that was found in locus 77 (Humbert and Chambon 1994:317; Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006:123, 153 No. 293). It seems certain that the similarity in the fabric between this type of coin and the autonomous Tyrian tetradrachms (sheqels), as well as their value, led to the continued use of the Seleucid tetradrachms into the first century c.e. Because of the size and value of these coins they were not often lost or misplaced, thus they are not very common as stray finds in archaeological excavations.7 That fifteen silver coins have been attributed as stray finds at Qumran,8 a relatively small site, raises the possibility that these specific coins should not be treated as lost. It is possible that at least some of these silver coins may derive from other hoards which were scattered around during or after the destruction of the site by the Romans. The Hasmonean period is represented by three coins (Nos. 2–4), all from a well-known type,9 usually attributed to Alexander Jannaeus. These coins are of a very small denomination, and as was noted by Meshorer (2006:19) may have been used as half-prutot. These specific coins are usually dated to the last days of Jannaeus (Shachar 2004:7) however, it is possible that they circulated over a long period of time and were in use until the end of the Second Temple Period (Meshorer 2006:19). According to Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist (2006:123), the one hundred forty-five coins of 7

For comparison, similar numbers of silver coins (from the same periods), were found as stray finds, in eleven major excavations, and thirty-three minor sites, excavated in Jerusalem and its immediate vicinity before 1979 (Ariel 1982:312–15). 8 Eight silver coins were found by de Vaux (Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006:147–61, Nos. 34, 165, 219, 248, 293, 294, 407, 628), three were found by Broshi and Eshel (1999:345–46; Eshel and Broshi 2003:70, No. 2); two silver coins were found by Magen and Peleg (2008:375, pl. 6:3–4) and two others by Price (presented here). 9 Coin No. 4 totally disintegrated during its cleaning and thus some information about it is missing. Based on the flan size it was probably similar to coin No. 3.


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this ruler found during the de Vaux excavations and some of the eighty Hasmonean coins found during Magen and Peleg’s excavations, date from the reign of Jannaeus (Magen and Peleg 2008:374). However, it is difficult to determine from these publications how many of them are of our type (i.e., TJC group L). Two more coins of our type were found by Broshi and Eshel (1999:344, 348 pl. 7:4–5) along the path which led from the site to some nearby residential caves. Coin No. 5 is a common bronze coin minted under Herod Archelaus (4 b.c.e.–6 c.e.), and thus belongs to the reoccupation of Qumran (Period II). On this coin, as on Archelaus’ other coins, he is termed “Herod the ethnarch.” According to Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist (2006:123), sixteen coins of this ruler were found during the earliest excavations at the site, eight of them of a type similar to our coin. Four more coins of this ruler derive from Magen and Peleg’s excavations (2008:374 and 375, pl. 6:6). Our second silver coin (No. 6) bears the mint mark and name of Tyre. The coin is dated, according to the year of Tyre, to 18/19 c.e.10 Out of eight silver coins, which according to de Vaux’s notes were found in contexts outside the hoards (Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006:146), two are Tyrian tetradrachms (ibid.: 125 and note 42), one from 29 b.c.e. (ibid.: 152, No. 219) and the other was dated to 33/34 c.e. (ibid.: 157, No. 467). In addition, three Tyrian half-sheqels were found by Broshi and Eshel; one is dated to 16/17 c.e. (1999:345–46, 348 pl. 7:6),11 the date on the second is illegible (ibid., pl. 7:7) while the third was intentionally defaced (Eshel and Broshi 2003:67 fig. 6:2; 70–71, No. 2), probably in order to use it as a weight (see below). Two other Tyrian half-sheqels (on both the date is effaced) were found by Magen and Peleg (2008:375, pl. 6:3–4). Thus, based on published material from Qumran it seems that our coin is the first of this type, dated to 18/19 c.e. to be discovered on the site, and is only the third Tyrian silver coin, from the first century

10

The date on the coin is according to the local era of Tyre which was established in the year 125 b.c.e. when the city was freed from the yoke of the Seleucid rule and became autonomous (BMC Phoen.: cxxv, cxxiv, 233; Syon 2008:296). 11 According to Broshi and Eshel (1999:346) this coin is dated according to the era of Tyre to year 142. This date is equal to 16/17 c.e. and not to 25 c.e. as was published by them.

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c.e., to be found at Qumran.12 It is interesting to compare the Tyrian sheqels and half-sheqels from Qumran and Masada. At Masada two Tyrian sheqels (Meshorer 1989:121, Nos. 3667–3668) and two halfsheqels (Meshorer 1989:122, Nos. 3669–3670) were found, one of each denomination was deliberately defaced, probably in order to convert them into weights (Meshorer 1989:76; 121, no. 3668; 122, no. 3670). In addition seventy-three silver sheqels and half-sheqels of years one to five of the Jewish War have been found at Masada (Meshorer 1989:73). At Qumran, not including the hoards, two Tyrian sheqels and six half-sheqels have been found, one of which was deliberately effaced. No silver sheqels of the Jewish War were found so far in Qumran. It is possible to assume that the above effaced coins found at Masada and Qumran were defaced after 66 c.e., when the Tyrian sheqels were replaced by the silver sheqels minted by the Jewish War rebels (see above). Two coins, minted in the days of the emperor Tiberius and traditionally called “procuratorial” (Nos. 7–8),13 seem to belong to the last stage of the sectarian settlement at the site, which, based on the historical and numismatic finds, probably ended in 68 c.e. (de Vaux 1973:40–41).14 Out of 104 “procuratorial” coins found during the de Vaux’s excavations (Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006:124) 50 are dated to the days of Tiberius. In addition, three coins from the same period were published by Magen and Peleg (2008:375, pl. 6:8–10) and one coin by Broshi and Eshel (2004:330, Fig. 10:3).15 The coin of Constans (No. 9),16 belongs to a small group of Late Roman, Byzantine and Islamic coins from the site (Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist

12

These three coins are one Tyrian tetradrachm (Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006:125 n. 42 and 157, No. 467—dated to 33/34 or 34/35 c.e.) and two Tyrian didrachms: one was found by Broshi and Eshel (1999:346—dated to 16/17 c.e.) and the second is the one presented here (No. 6—dated to 18/19 c.e.). 13 For a new classification of this type of coins see: Kushnir-Stein 2007. 14 For the suggestion that the site was destroyed by the Romans only in 72/3 c.e. see: Lönnqvist and Lönnqvist 2006:142–44; Meshorer 2006. 15 If the date on the coin is indeed “year 17” of Tiberius it should be dated to 30 c.e. and not to 23 c.e. as was published by Broshi and Eshel. 16 Though the youngest of the coins found, it was uncovered at the deepest level (47 cm) below the current surface. This strongly suggests that the coin was buried in antiquity at its location of discovery.


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2006:125–126), which serve as evidence that travelers or transients visited Qumran or passed through it during these periods.17

Bibliography Avni, G. 2009. Who Were Interred in the Qumran Cemetery? The Ethnic Identity of Ancient Populations in Light of Archaeological Findings in Burial Sites. Cathedra 131:43–64 (Hebrew). Ariel, D. T. 1982. A Survey of Coin Finds in Jerusalem. Liber Annuus 32:273–326. Barag, D. 2008. Ptolemaic Silver Currency of Cyprus in Seleucid Phoenicia and Coele-Syria. Israel Numismatic Journal 16:28–56. BMC Phoen.: Hill, G. F. 1910. Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Phoenicia. London: British Museum. Broshi, M., and H. Eshel. 1999. Residential Caves at Qumran. Dead Sea Discoveries 6:328–48. ——. 2004. Three Seasons of Excavations at Qumran. Journal of Roman Archaeology 17:321–31. Ciecieląg, J. 1998. Coins from the So-Called Essene Settlements on the Dead Sea Shores. In Mogilany 1995. Papers on the Dead Sea Scrolls offered in memory of Aleksy Klawek, edited by Z. J. Kapera, 105–15. Kracow: Enigma Press. Clamer, C. 2003. Jewellery Finds from the Cemetery. In Khirbet Qumrân et ‘Aïn Feshkha II: Études d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie, edited by J. B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg, 171–83. Fribourg: Academic Press. Cross, F. M., and E. Eshel. 1997. Ostraca from Khirbet Qumran, Israel Exploration Journal 47:17–28. De Vaux, R. 1973. Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls. London: Oxford University Press. ——. 1996. Die Ausgrabungen von Qumran und En Feschcha IA. Die Grabungstagebücher. Deutsche Übersetzung und Informationsaufbereitung durch F. Rohrhirsch und B. Hofmeir. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Donceel, R., and P. Donceel-Voûte. 1994. The Archaeology of Khirbet Qumran. In Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site, edited by M. O. Wise, N. Golb, J. J. Collins, and D. G. Pardee, 1–38. New York: Academy of Sciences. Eshel, H., and M. Broshi. 2003. Excavations at Qumran, Summer of 2001. Israel Exploration Journal 53:61–73. Farhi, Y., U. Davidovich, Y. Gadot, and O. Lipschits. Forthcoming. The Ramat Raḥel Hoard of Tyrian Sheqels. Israel Numismatic Journal 17. Humbert, J. B., and A. Chambon. 1994. Fouilles de Khirbet Qumrân et de Aïn Feshkha I. Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires. ——. 2003. The Excavations of Khirbet Qumran and Ain Feshkha IB: Synthesis of Roland de Vaux’s Field Notes. English edition translated and revised by S. J. Pfann. Fribourg: University Press.

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It should be noted that according to recent studies, some of the graves at Qumran that were thought to belong to the nomadic Bedouin (Zias 2000:225–30) are now dated (based on jewelry found in them) from the Late Roman and Byzantine periods to the Early Islamic period (Clamer 2003; Avni 2009:52, 57).

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Kushnir-Stein, A. 2007. New INR Classification for early Roman Governors of Judea. Israel Numismatic Research 2:3–4. Leonard, R. D. 1997. Numismatic Evidence for the Dating of Qumran (Review Article). The Qumran Chronicle 7, No. 3/4:225–34. ——. 1998. A View of the Current State of Research on Jewish Coins (Review Article). The Qumran Chronicle 8, No. 1/2:129–31. Lönnqvist, K. 2007. 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. Lönnqvist, K., and M. Lönnqvist. 2006. The Numismatic Chronology of Qumran: Fact and Fiction. The Numismatic Chronicle 166:121–65. Magen, Y., and Y. Peleg. 2008. The Qumran Excavations 1993–2004, Preliminary Report. In Judea and Samaria Researches and Discoveries, edited by Y. Magen, 353–426. Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeology—Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria. Magness, J. 1998. Two Notes on the Archaeology of Qumran. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 312:37–44. ——. 2002. The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans. Meshorer, Y. 1989. The Coins of Masada. In Masada I, The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963– 1965, Final Reports, 71–132. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. ——. 2006. The Coins from Qumran. Israel Numismatic Journal 15:19–23. RIC VIII: Kent, J. P. C. 1981. The Roman Imperial Coinage VIII: The Family of Constantine I A.D. 337–364. London: Spink. RPC I: Burnett, A., M. Amandry, and P. P. Ripollès. 1992. Roman Provincial Coinage Vol. I: From the Death of Caesar to the Death of Vitellius (44 BC–AD 69). London: The British Museum Press. Shachar, I. 2004. The Historical and Numismatic Significance of Alexander Jannaeus’ Later Coinage as Found in Archaeological Excavations. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 136:5–33. Sharabani, M. 1980. Monnaies de Qumran au Musée Rockefeller de Jérusalem. Revue Biblique 87:274–84, Pls. III–IV. SNG Israel I: Houghton, A., and A. Spaer. 1998. Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum Israel I, The Arnold Spaer Collection of Seleucid Coins. London: Italo Vecchi. Syon, D. 2008. The Bronze Coinage of Tyre: The First Years of Autonomy. American Journal of Numismatics. Second Series 20:295–304. TJC: Meshorer, Y. 2001. A Treasury of Jewish Coins from the Persian Period to Bar Kokhba. Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi. Williams, R. R. 1962. An Early Coin from Qumran. New Testament Studies 8:334–35. Zias, J. E. 2000. The Cemeteries of Qumran and Celibacy: Confusion Laid to Rest? Dead Sea Discoveries 7:220–53.


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Book Reviews Rabbinic Perspectives: Rabbinic Literature and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Eighth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 7–9 January, 2003. Edited by Steven D. Fraade, Aharon Shemesh and Ruth A. Clements. STDJ 62. Leiden: Brill, 2006. Hardcover. Pp. xii + 212. € 129.00/US$ 168.00. ISBN 9789004153356. The relationship between the Dead Sea Scrolls and rabbinic literature which the nine essays in this volume explore is very complex and highly important for understanding the history and continuity of Jewish religion and thought. Joseph M. Baumgarten, “Tannaitic Halakhah and Qumran—A Re-Evaluation” (1–11), continues to identify the authors of the Qumran texts with the Essenes because of the agreements between their halakah as described by Josephus and that of the Scrolls. But he also sees parallels with the pre-rabbinic halakah especially regarding purity and capital punishment; 4Q320–321 also seem to attempt a synchronization of the lunar and solar calendars, though not at the discretion of a court, but according to a fixed calculation. Both the halakah of Qumran and that of the rabbis are thus based on traditions of the Second Temple period that go far beyond what is found in the Bible. Lutz Doering, “Parallels without ‘Parallelomania’: Methodological Reflections on Comparative Analysis of Halakhah in the Dead Sea Scrolls” (13–42), rightly complains that questions of methodology in the halakic comparison of Qumran and rabbinic texts have been widely neglected. The establishment of halakah should not be seen as a predominantly exegetical enterprise; the biblical heritage, hermeneutical processes and the exigencies of life together contribute to it. Doering pleads for a historico-legal comparison, considering parallels first as analogies, neither completely divergent nor identical, since even identical terms need not fully correspond. As a second step, one cautiously has to determine the historical relationship between the texts and to consider the possibility that similar halakic concepts may belong to quite different halakic systems. He finally pleads for an approach that integrates diachronic and synchronic analysis, including reader and reception-oriented approaches. Steven D. Fraade, “Looking for Narrative Midrash at Qumran” (43–66), in a highly stimulating paper compares the approach to non-legal biblical texts in Qumran with that of the rabbinic midreshe halakah. Whereas the rabbis are wont to combine explicit biblical commentary with retold biblical narrative, in © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

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Book Reviews / Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010) 227–239

Qumran these two forms are normally separate. A comparison of how biblical blessings and curses are dealt with in Qumran and early rabbinic texts illustrates the quite different approaches. An even more illuminating example is the revelation at Mt. Sinai. In Qumran, but also in Jubilees or Philo, its role is minimal, whereas for the rabbis it is absolutely central; there also the hermeneutical procedures become explicit. These differences may be explained historically by the clearer consciousness of a biblical canon in later texts, leading to explicitly anchoring the retellings in the actual words of the biblical texts. But they may also be based on a different conception of continuous revelation, on different audiences and/or different attitudes to the biblical past, or any combination of such factors. Vered Noam, “Traces of Sectarian Halakhah in the Rabbinic World” (67–85), sees a historical continuity between some halakic views of the House of Shammai or early rabbis regarded close to it, such as R. Eliezer, and “sectarian” halakah. Because of this proximity, their views were pushed to the fringes in rabbinic tradition. Examples are the ritual impurity of liquids (fruit juices), the ritual of the Soṭah, the beautiful captive woman, marriage with a woman suspected of improper sexual behavior, helping an animal out of a pit on the Sabbath, and the acceptance of sacrifices from non-Jews. To speak of a “total disqualification of R. Eliezer” as a “form of countermeasure against a semi-sectarian worldview” (85) may overreach the evidence taken from different strata of rabbinic literature, but the effort to find a common basis behind many halakot attributed to R. Eliezer is certainly interesting and worth further study. Eyal Regev, “Reconstructing Qumranic and Rabbinic Worldviews: Dynamic Holiness vs. Static Holiness” (87–112), explains several halakic differences between Qumran and the rabbis in the fields of purity, sacred food, sacred time and sacred space by differing conceptions of holiness. Qumran follows the Priestly Code in regarding holiness as something dynamic and thus dangerous, whereas for the rabbis holiness is static, not dangerous, a status and not active; therefore access to it is much less limited. The Sadducees are closer to Qumran, but less strict, not interested in the impurity of lay people outside of the priestly territory. Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Prohibited Marriages in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Rabbinic Literature” (113–25), offers a comparative study mainly of 11QT a 66 and Sifra Mekhilta de-ʿArayot, but including many other texts as well. Schiffman discusses thirteen unions forbidden in Qumran; most of them have parallels in rabbinic halakah. Both groups of texts arrive at nearly the same list of prohibitions, but with different techniques of eliminating the duplication of commands mainly in Lev 18 and 20. Adiel Schremer, “Seclusion and Exclusion: The Rhetoric of Separation in Qumran and Tannaitic Literature” (127–45), emphasizes the defensive character of all rules in Qumran texts that insist on the separation of the members of the


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group from non-members; they are laws of seclusion, transferring laws of separation of Jews from Gentiles to the separation of the sect from other Jews. These rules are very similar to rabbinic rules against the Minim in t. Ḥ ul. 2:20–21, but with the important difference that the Tosefta is aggressive and excludes the other. Against authors who understand this discourse as a means for constructing a status of social dominance, Schiffman thinks that in the Tosefta “such a social position is presupposed and taken for granted ” (138). Not all will follow Schiffman’s conclusion from this text that the rabbis “had considerable power within the Jewish society of their time” (140). Schiffman assumes that the whole block of legal rulings regarding social relations with Minim is earlier than the early second century C.E., and recalls Flusser’s position that the Birkat ha-Minim was originally aimed against the Qumran sectaries. This whole topic needs further discussion. Aharon Shemesh, “The History of the Creation of Measurements: Between Qumran and the Mishnah” (147–73), points out a number of parallels between minimal measurements of Peah, defective grapes, first-fruits, acts of loving-kindness and the study of Torah in texts from Qumran and rabbinic texts even though m. Peʾah 1:1 says of them that they have no measure. The only item mentioned here, but not in Qumran, is, understandably, the reʾayon, the appearance offering in the Temple. Some parallels are impressive, others more hypothetical and not sufficiently distinguishing the different tendencies of the two corpora. But there is no doubt that measurements for certain duties were created well in the Second Temple period and survived into the time of the rabbis. Cana Werman, “Oral vs. Written Torah(s): Competing Claims to Authority” (175–97), offers an interesting analysis of an old problem, the relationship between halakic authority and the biblical text. When the “Qumran community” withdrew from Jerusalem and the Temple, the locus of halakic power, they had to develop a different basis for their authority. They either claimed that the interpretation of the Torah in accordance with priestly halakah had already been given to Moses at Sinai—thus Jubilees and the Temple Scroll—or they saw their source of authority in the leader of the community, understood as agent of God, who gave the members hermeneutical tools for the study of the written Torah. The Pharisees and later the Sages also needed a claim to authority unrelated to the Temple. Either they claimed that a second Torah was given at Sinai—a claim going back to the Second Temple—or they accepted a divinely-inspired human elaboration of the law. Werman associates the second option with R. Akiva, whereas the earlier one is connected with Ishmael and his priestly approach. There is more evidence for the Qumran side of the picture than for that of the Pharisees and the early rabbis whom W. treats too much as a near unity. Some of the evidence from rabbinic texts is rather late, but this is a problem I have with several statements in other papers in this volume as well. Too much is considered as tannaitic which is documented only in later texts.

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Some of the essays included in this volume deal with rather general problems of comparison between Qumran and rabbinic texts, others concentrate on specific details of halakah. The question of continuity and change between the Second Temple period and that of the rabbis is common to them all; most authors are rather confident that there is much more continuity than sometimes claimed. This also influences their use of rabbinic sources. But all papers are of very high quality and offer much food for thought. The whole volume deals successfully with an important topic and contributes much to our understanding of the transition from the time before 70 to the rabbinic period. University of Vienna

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Qumran Cave 4.XXVII: Textes araméens, deuxième partie: 4Q550–575a, 580–587 et Appendices. By É. Puech, DJD 37. Oxford: Clarendon, 2009. Hardcover. Pp. xxvi + 561 + plates xxvi. £ 110.00. ISBN 9780199550043. This is the second volume of Aramaic texts (after DJD 31), from the lot originally assigned to the late Jean Starcky, edited by Émile Puech. Puech had already edited the Hebrew texts from Starcky’s lot in DJD 25, and the “Aramaic Apocalypse” or “Son of God Text,” (4Q246), which had also been assigned to Starcky, in DJD 22. The manuscripts which make up this final volume are especially fragmentary. 4Q562–575a and 580–587 are tiny scraps, mostly unidentified, grouped together here as “Textes Divers.” The Appendices consist of small fragments that are identified as belonging to previously published manuscripts of the Book of Giants, Enoch, Aramaic Levi and the Words of Michael. Even the more substantial texts, which make up approximately three fifths of the volume, are extremely fragmentary and difficult to interpret. Nonetheless, the volume includes some very interesting and important material. The first text presented is 4Q550 (4QJuifs à la cour perse ar). This text attained some notoriety when it was first published in a long article by J. T. Milik, entitled “Les modèles araméens du livre d’Esther dans la grotte 4 de Qumrân,” RevQ 15/59 (1992): 321–406. Since then, it has often been dubbed “ProtoEsther,” but its relationship to Esther has also been questioned by several scholars. Puech is unequivocal in rejecting Milik’s thesis, and many of the readings on which it was based. He finds no reference to Haman, Zeresh, Yair father of Mordechai, or to a princess, or to the tribe of Benjamin. There is no “Proto-Esther,” and the text is not a source, either direct or indirect, for the biblical book. There is an analogy between this text and Esther, insofar as both are set at the Persian court, but there is also an analogy with the court tales in Daniel. Milik distinguished two stories in the text. The first, concerning one Patireza, was not clearly Jewish, while the second, concerning one Bagasrava, clearly was. Puech assumes that Bagasrava is the son of Patireza, and that the story is unified. This position was already taken by Edward Cook in Michael Wise, Martin Abegg and Edward Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996), 437–38, a work that Puech does not cite. This position is reasonable, even if not entirely conclusive. The rejection of the “Proto-Esther” hypothesis is clearly right, and Puech’s edition represents an advance over previous transcriptions. It is unfortunate, however, that he does not acknowledge at all the transcription published by Michael Wise in R. Eisenman and M. Wise, The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered (Rockport, MA: Element, 1992), 99–103, except insofar as it is included in the “pirated” publications that Puech denounces scathingly in the introduction to this volume. For all its problems, Wise’s work included original transcriptions, some of which agree with those now adopted by Puech against Milik. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

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The second text presented, 4Q551 (4QRécit ar) had also received a preliminary publication by Milik, entitled “Daniel et Susanne à Qumrân,” in De la Tôrah au Messie (Mélanges Cazelles) (Paris: Desclée, 1981), 337–59. Milik had suggested that the text was a narrative similar to that of Susanna. In the meantime, several scholars have argued that it is rather a text related to Judg 19. Puech, rightly, endorses this position. The third text, 4Q552–553–553a (4QFourKingdoms) has received very little attention hitherto, and it is therefore all the more unfortunate that Puech ignores the transcription by Wise in The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered, 71–73, and the translation by Cook in The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation, 439–41. Puech distinguishes a second manuscript in 4Q553. The text takes its name from a vision of four talking trees, which represent kingdoms. The visionary asks the first one its name, and is told “Babylon.” He then replies: “It is you who rule over Persia.” Puech identifies the second kingdom as Media, but only the initial mem is preserved. He then identifies the third kingdom as Greece, but this is not preserved in the text at all. This interpretation is very problematic. Puech assumes that the text is dependent on Daniel, and even says that the visionary is “very probably Daniel.” But the “four kingdom” schema was not peculiar to Daniel. It is also known in Persian, Greek, and Roman sources. While the first kingdom is normally Assyria rather than Babylon (except in Daniel), Media always precedes Persia. Greece only becomes the third kingdom when Rome is added to the series, and Media and Persia are combined. Puech assumes that the fourth tree is the eschatological kingdom, and finds a “probable allusion” to it in 4Q552 frg. 6, which refers to God Most High. He reconstructs a reference to a just king in that fragment and suggests a parallel with 4Q246 and Dan 7. Whether that fragment actually refers to an eschatological kingdom depends on the reconstruction, but in any case it would be very unusual to have the eschatological kingdom be the fourth. The combination of Babylon and Persia shows that the understanding of the four kingdoms in this text does not follow Daniel, at least consistently. It is unlikely that the text depends on Daniel to the degree that Puech suggests. The fourth text consists of substantial fragments of 4QNew Jerusalem (4Q554–555a) which had already been published by Puech. In light of the juxtaposition with the Four Kingdoms text, it is interesting to note that 4Q554 frgs. 13 and 14 has a four kingdom sequence, which is plausibly restored as Babylon, Media, Persia and the Kittim. (Persia and part of Media have to be restored.) Next, six prophetic or visionary texts are grouped together. Most of these are very small fragments. Puech suggests that 4Q556–556a are a prophecy of the type found in Dan 10–11, and that “the prophet” to whom they refer should be identified as Daniel. The main link to Dan 11 lies in mention of Ammonites and Moabites (cf. Dan 11:41), but this text also mentions Amalekites. There is mention of someone who besieges Jaffa, but it is not clear whether this prophecy is ex


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eventu or purely future. 4Q557 mentions the angel Gabriel, and 4Q558 mentions the sending of Elijah, possibly before the “Elect” who is mentioned in the previous line. These texts are too fragmentary to be sure of the contexts. Three other texts are edited here. In each case the genre is clear, but not much more. 4Q559 is a biblical chronology, somewhat in the manner of Demetrius the Chronographer, 4Q560 is a magical text, and 4Q561 is a horoscope. The edition of these fragmentary texts represents an enormous labor, of painstaking attention to every letter. No doubt, some of Puech’s restorations and interpretations will be fodder for debate, but everyone who works on the Scrolls is deeply indebted to him for his extraordinary work. The volume concludes with a concordance compiled by Martin Abegg. Yale University

John J. Collins

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The Self-Understanding of the Dead Sea Scrolls Community: An Eternal Planting, A House of Holiness. By Paul Swarup. The Library of Second Temple Studies 59. New York: T&T Clark, 2006. Hardcover. Pp. 224. £ 75.00/US$ 170.00. ISBN 9780567043849. The study, based on the author’s dissertation, offers a close reading on two sets of imagery in the Dead Sea Scrolls: the plant imagery and the temple imagery. The main texts where such language is identified are the Hodayot, the Community Rule, the Damascus Document, 4Q/1QInstruction, 4QFlorilegium, Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, the Temple Scroll and two Pesharim (1QpHab; 4QpIsad). The two metaphors are convincingly shown to have been interacting in various writings of the Second Temple period already before the Dead Sea Scrolls. Therefore, this combination is important and interesting, although many other metaphors (such as wilderness/exile) could add to the picture from a slightly different perspective. The book is essentially a textual study or, more aptly, an intertextual study, since it draws on many other corpora, mainly the Hebrew Bible, the Septuagint and the Targumim, and sometimes also Josephus, Ben Sira, and others. Less emphasis is put on the implications of these metaphors for the self-understanding of the “Dead Sea Scrolls Community”—or on the critical assessment concerning the development of this self-understanding—even though Swarup mentions that his aim includes tracing the development and growth of these metaphors (1–3). The interest is on the reuse of scriptural ideas in the Scrolls and later writings without making strong differentiations between the kinds of reworkings and adaptations found in the documents. Swarup states that he uses the concept “Dead Sea Scrolls Community” as an “umbrella term . . . referring to the sectarian communities present at Qumran and elsewhere” (3–4). Nevertheless, he tends to have in mind the group at Khirbet Qumran alone (for example, on page 5: “This suited them ideally because they were residing in the desert”). In ch. 5, the concept becomes more confusing, since Swarup, on the one hand, presumes that 4QInstruction had a nonsectarian setting but, on the other hand, thinks that, in this text, “the planting imagery is used to depict the DSS Community” (9), and thus the use of this language directly relates to the self-understanding of the community. “The DSS community” is not a term referring to a (hypothetical) textual community in Swarup’s usage, although the designation could be understood to indicate this. The book is divided into two parts: the first part analyzes the plant imagery and the second part the temple imagery. Considering that the aim of the study is to increase the understanding of these two metaphors together and in conversation with each other, this solution was perhaps not the best one. Threads are drawn together in the “Summary,” in the “Conclusions” and also in the discussions, but a stronger connection would have been desirable, especially since some documents actually include both kinds of metaphors. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

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Each chapter presents one or two passages from the document in question. The analysis of each passage includes the Hebrew text, textual notes, translation, commentary and a lengthy discussion on various aspects of the imagery in question. The structure is clear although, in some cases, the commentary seems to be overlapping with the discussions. Within the discussions, the shifts from the Qumran text in question to a reference in the Hebrew Bible and back can be quite sudden and demands alertness from the reader. Swarup makes some of the intertextual references easier to follow by providing tables where links between two texts are illustrated. The methodology of deriving these specific inter-textual connections is nowhere explained, and the reader might not always be convinced that these are the most probable or the only references employed. Within one document, Swarup identifies several aspects in the use of one metaphor. For example, in the Hodayot, the plant imagery communicates the ideas of the righteous as the remnant; of the righteous judging the wicked; of the future prosperity and bliss in the Garden of Eden; and of the universal mission of the community. Some of these aspects are probably more evident than others. In 1QHa 14:17–19, for example, the image of the plant is combined with another metaphor, that of light and fire, and this fire is said to consume the wicked—thus, the statement about the righteous judging the wicked, which Swarup reads into this metaphor, is not very explicit (as it is in Pesher Habakkuk to which this passage of the Hodayot is compared). The plant and the temple imagery are closely interwoven in several texts, most notably in the Community Rule: “The council of the community will be established in truth for an eternal planting, a house of holiness for Israel and a most holy assembly for Aaron” (1QS 8:5–6). The imagery of Eden (conveyed through terms like “Adam” or “Lebanon”) and the temple language are also closely connected in some texts (4QFlorilegium, Pesher Habakkuk; and other texts not included in this study: 4Q265; 4Q500). Swarup interprets these two metaphors as two sides of the same coin: they draw from the tradition of being a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exod 19:6)—the temple metaphor stands for the former, and the “eternal planting” for the latter. The plant/Eden imagery indeed seems to convey a variety of different ideas: the restoration of a nation (remnant); messianic implications; nostalgic overtones of the Garden of Eden, and so on. Some of these meanings were probably stressed over others in different documents and/or at different times. Perhaps not everything translated into the self-understanding of the Qumran movement in equal measure; for example, the universalism that Swarup identifies in the “world tree” imagery in the Hodayot could have been alien to some authors of the Scrolls who emphasized separation and election. Concerning the temple imagery, it becomes a more crucial question to consider whether the temple language is metaphoric or not in the first place and in what ways. The priestly character of the movement could have been very real—they

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were priests doing priestly tasks, as scholars have pointed out. Is the eschatological temple expected in the Temple Scroll a metaphor? Swarup argues that the Temple Scroll enabled the community to see itself as a “proleptic” sanctuary in the anticipation of the eschatological temple. Even though temple language is used, it is not in the same way metaphoric as when the council of the community in the Community Rule is likened to the holy of holies. Such questions call for a theoretical discussion on metaphors and their role. Insights from present-day metaphor theories could offer conceptual tools for distinguishing between various aspects of the metaphors. Theorists like George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (Metaphors We Live By [Chicago: University of Chicago Press], 1980, rev. 2003) argue that some aspects of the source domain are always hidden and some are highlighted in a metaphor. “Community as the temple” was never meant to express all aspects of the temple but only some aspects of it. The study brings together the many passages in the Scrolls that employ the same kind of imagery (however, the purpose of the imagery may have varied in different documents). The intertextual references and observations that Swarup identifies are of interest to anyone who studies these texts and the metaphorical thinking of the Qumran movement. University of Helsinki

Jutta Jokiranta


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Conflicted Boundaries in Wisdom and Apocalypticism. Edited by Benjamin G. Wright III and Lawrence M. Wills. SBLSS 35. Atlanta: SBL, 2005. Paperback. Pp. viii + 240. US$ 32.95. ISBN 1589831845. Each of the ten essays in this collection—the first an introduction by George W. E. Nickelsburg, with a response by Sarah J. Tanzer and a follow-up by Nickelsburg—makes a valuable contribution to furthering the conversation on the relationship between wisdom and apocalypticism. The symposium essays are divided into three parts. Part one is largely that of Nickelsburg who, with the clarity and insightfulness characteristic of his scholarship, sets out issues for discussion. Many of the points raised relate to: (a) the ever vexing task of discussing apocalyptic/ism with precision, and (b) separating out sapiential texts and apocalyptic texts when they share common elements. Ultimately, Nickelsburg concludes that while “wisdom” and “apocalyptic” are “flawed categories” they are also necessary as “windows into another world” (36). Whereas Nickelsburg’s emphasis is placed more on the side of apocalyptic, Tanzer draws attention to the equally elusive task of defining “wisdom” as a literary genre. Both Nickelsburg and Tanzer suggest that one way forward from this categorization conundrum is “to search in the details of each individual text for what we might learn about the producers of these texts, their commitments and relationship to their social world” (49). The essays that follow are divided into two parts, wisdom and apocalypticism in: (Part 1) early Judaism and (Part 2) early Christianity. The first contribution to early Judaism is from Matthew J. Goff, “Wisdom, Apocalypticism, and the Pedagogical Ethos of 4QInstruction.” The editors’ introduction to the volume summarizes Goff’s essay as an analysis of “4QInstruction as a text from a wisdom genre that has been developed under the influence of the Qumran sect’s interest in revealed wisdom and apocalyptic worldview” (5). Goff, however, does not make this claim and the opinio communis is that 4QInstruction (more accurately 1/4QInstruction) is pre-sectarian and/or non-sectarian. Goff does not discuss the provenance of the document in relation to the Qumran sect’s interests, but rather is primarily interested in one aspect of the apocalyptic worldview in 4QInstruction: the constant appeal to special revelation. Other aspects of 4QInstruction’s apocalyptic worldview that one could draw attention to, in addition to determinism and esoteric hidden wisdom, are interest in angelic beings and the use of symbolic language rather than referential. Rodney A. Werline, “The Psalms of Solomon and the Ideology of Rule,” takes considerable strides in relating documents to their social world. One contribution Werline makes is providing a convincing argument that while Psalms of Solomon shares a few motifs with other apocalypses, it should not be categorized as an apocalyptic document as D. S. Russell has. A more profound observation, and one which should stimulate future conversations, is that scribes are responsible © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2010

DOI: 10.1163/156851710X510758

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for producing many texts and would be well versed in an array of forms, motifs and themes. Therefore, one may conceive a complex social setting for the production of many texts, one in which a dissident scribe could produce protest literature. That ancient communities and individuals in or from them would not have written monolithically throughout the course of their lives impacts our understanding of how wisdom and apocalyptic are not as distinct as one might hope. Indeed, if individuals themselves are difficult to categorize then their written expressions are also. Benjamin G. Wright III in his essay “Putting the Puzzle Together” discusses the social location not only of Ben Sira, but also of the Book of Watchers, the Astronomical Book of Enoch and Aramaic Levi. Although he rightly questions how interpreters can, if they can at all, move from literary theme to social reality, in the end he demonstrates that literary themes do allow us to suggest something about social realities. After elaborating on commonalities found between these documents, including being roughly contemporaneous, he points to a particularly important similarity: “each of them seems to be directed to its own group rather than toward its opponents” (110). Those writing the Book of Watchers, the Astronomical Book of Enoch and Aramaic Levi are dissenting scribes with awareness of whom they are countering. Patrick A. Tiller’s article “Israel at the Mercy of Demonic Powers” challenges how the political scene of early second-century Judea was perceived vis-à-vis an interpretation of the Animal Apocalypse’s historical review. The allegory of the Animal Apocalypse goes so far as to condemn not only the high priests but also the temple, and in so doing did not await the temple to be purified. Richard A. Horsley, “The Politics of Cultural Production in Second Temple Judaism,” asks questions about the scribes behind Sirach, Daniel and Enochic literature. How these scribes used sapiential motifs depended on their view of the temple-state and the current priests. One of the most important differences that Horsley examines contrasting Daniel and the Enochic literature with Sirach is the widespread use of visions and interpretations. Horsley identified four scribal circles in total, the fourth being the pre-Qumran group who shared Ben Sira’s views of the temple-state while aligning themselves to Enochic scribes on their views of the current priests. The first essay in part two—“Who is Wise and Understanding Among You?”—by Patrick J. Hartin is an erudite look at how eschatology and wisdom merge with wisdom in the Epistle of James. How James formulates ethical exhortations and conceives of the nature of wisdom is based upon eschatological understanding, but the apocalyptic is not fully developed. James is in fact a “hybrid” in early Christian writings where these three motifs do not stand in opposition to one another, but rather exist in the “same social world.” Among early Christian writings the Epistle of James is undoubtedly a crucial focal point for the theme of this volume. Partick A. Tiller’s second contribution,


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“Rich and Poor in James,” responds to Hartin’s essay, giving sustained attention to moral admonitions in the letter. Tiller’s investigation concludes that James adopts an understanding of an apocalyptically constructed reality and exhorts his listeners to understand their place within it. Barbara R. Rossing seeks to identify a wisdom motif in John’s Apocalypse in her essay, “City Visions, Feminine Figures and Economic Critique.” A case is made that the sapiential topos of two contrasting women is found in Revelation as the wicked Babylon/Rome and righteous New Jerusalem. While the first identification is easily made, the latter is dependent on a reading of the marriage supper of the Lamb in ch. 19 and the transformation of the bridal woman there into the New Jerusalem in chs. 21–22. The final essay of this collection is that of Ellen Bradshaw Aitken, “‘The Basileia of Jesus is on the Wood’: The Epistle of Barnabas and the Ideology of Rule.” Aitken describes the apocalyptic framework of the epistle on the one hand and a broader sapiential context on the other. From the outset, Nickelsburg suggested that an important way forward in understanding conflicted boundaries between wisdom and apocalypticism was to investigate the social world of these texts. The essays presented in this collection provide valuable insights into how these conflicted boundaries are illuminated by sustained attention to their social context. There can be little doubt that this volume makes a significant contribution to understanding both literature and social history from a range of centuries. Trinity College Dublin

Benjamin G. Wold

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