Past Renewals: Interpretative Authority, Renewed Revelation, and the Quest for Perfection in Jewish Antiquity

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Past Renewals

Supplements to the

Journal for the Study of Judaism Editor

Hindy Najman Department and Centre for the Study of Religion at the University of Toronto Associate Editors

Florentino García Martínez Qumran Institute, University of Groningen

Benjamin G. Wright III Department of Religion Studies, Lehigh University Advisory Board

j.j. collins – j. duhaime – p.w. van der horst – a. klostergaard petersen – j.t.a.g.m. van ruiten – j. sievers – g. stemberger e.j.c. tigchelaar – j. tromp VOLUME 53

Past Renewals Interpretative Authority, Renewed Revelation and the Quest for Perfection in Jewish Antiquity

By

Hindy Najman

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2010

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Najman, Hindy. Past renewals : interpretative authority, renewed revelation, and the quest for perfection in Jewish antiquity / by Hindy Najman. p. cm. — (Journal for the study of Judaism ; v. 53) Includes index. ISBN 978-90-04-18046-8 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Authority—Religious aspects— Judaism—History—To 1500. 2. Tradition (Judaism)—History—To 1500. 3. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc., Jewish—History—To 1500. 4. Bible. O.T.—Canon. 5. Rabbinical literature—History and criticism. 6. Judaism—History—Post-exilic period, 586 B.C.–210 A.D. 7. Jewish law—Decision making—History—To 1500. 8. Rabbis—Office—History—To 1500. 9. Philo, of Alexandria. 10. Book of Jubilees— Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Title. II. Series. BM529.N35 2010 221.609—dc22 2009054006

ISSN 1384-2161 ISBN 978 90 04 18046 8 Copyright 2010 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS

Foreword ............................................................................................. Previous Publications ........................................................................ Abbreviations ..................................................................................... Introduction ........................................................................................

vii ix xiii xvii

PART I: INTERPRETIVE AUTHORITY

Chapter One: The Symbolic Significance of Writing in Ancient Judaism ............................................................................

3

Chapter Two: Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and its Authority Conferring Strategies ....................................

39

Chapter Three: Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings .........................................................

73

Chapter Four: The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law .....................................................................................

87

Chapter Five: A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox? ..................................................................

107

PART II: RENEWED REVELATION

Chapter Six: Angels at Sinai: Exegesis, Theology and Interpretive Authority ..................................................................

121

Chapter Seven: Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in Ancient Judaism .............................................

143

Chapter Eight: Between Heaven and Earth: Liminal Visions in 4 Ezra ..........................................................................................

161

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contents

Chapter Nine: Philosophical Contemplation and Revelatory Inspiration in Ancient Judean Traditions .................................

175

Chapter Ten: Reconsidering Jubilees: Prophecy and Exemplarity ....................................................................................

189

PART III: SOUL FORMATION AND THE QUEST FOR PERFECTION

Chapter Eleven: Cain and Abel as Character Traits: A Study in the Allegorical Typology of Philo of Alexandria ................

207

Chapter Twelve: The Quest for Perfection in Ancient Judaism ............................................................................................

219

Chapter Thirteen: How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4 Ezra .............

235

Chapter Fourteen: Text and Figure in Ancient Jewish Paideia ............................................................................................

243

Index of Ancient Authors and Texts ............................................. Index of Modern Authors ................................................................ Subject Index ......................................................................................

257 264 268

FOREWORD

In her highly regarded book, Seconding Sinai (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), Hindy Najman develops a new conception of the connection between interpretation and text-production in Second Temple Jewish literature. Scholars have long been aware that much of this literature is not only interpretively intertwined with earlier traditions, but also pseudepigraphic, i.e., presenting itself as the work of figures from the past. But how to conceptualize this fact, without anachronistically treating pseudepigraphic works as forgeries, has long been a matter of scholarly dispute. Najman proposes that in such cases Second Temple writers are claiming interpretive authority for their works by employing a “discourse tied to a founder.” More narrowly, she employs the notion of “Mosaic Discourse” to make sense of a range of texts, from Deuteronomy to Jubilees, all of which invoke Moses as a pseudepigraphic figure and as an authority for interpretations of Mosaic Law and tradition. The proposal is rich with implications, not only for these texts, but also for others that may be ascribed to other discourses tied to founders such as David, Solomon and Ezra. It also marks a new phase in the interpretive turn taken in the last two decades of biblical and Second Temple scholarship. If Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), showed that biblical texts had an inner, interpretive life, and James Kugel, In Potiphar’s House (San Francisco, Calif.: Harper, 1990) and Traditions of the Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998), showed that this life flourished among the ancient interpreters of biblical texts, then Najman has shown how the interpretive life of biblical traditions gave rise to pseudepigraphic texts with specific characteristics. Since before Seconding Sinai, and well after the book’s appearance, Najman’s scholarly agenda has centered on a complicated set of questions which correspond to the three parts of this new book: interpretive authority, revelation and prophecy, and moral perfection. Most of her work exploring these questions has been published in scholarly articles over the better part of the last decade, and it extends well beyond the narrower treatment of Mosaic Discourse in Seconding Sinai. In these articles, she has dealt with traditions as seemingly disparate as

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the writings of Philo of Alexandria and the book of Jubilees. Yet, she has shown, for example, how their strategies for claiming interpretive authority blur the boundaries—assumed to be clear-cut by much previous scholarship—between interpretation and text production. This volume brings together most of these articles, and it serves as an illuminating companion to Seconding Sinai, not only because it shows how the questions and problems that pushed Najman to develop the idea of a discourse tied to a founder actually apply more broadly to Second Temple Jewish literature, but also because it links this idea to other issues, such as emulation and moral perfection, that were not discussed in the earlier book. The associate editors of the series are delighted to have this book in the Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, where it complements her other JSJSup publication. Florentino García Martínez and Benjamin G. Wright III

PREVIOUS PUBLICATIONS

The essays in this volume have all been reprinted with permissions from the publishers. In some instances, I have made minor corrections, standardized the style and have updated references. Except for these alterations, the essays are reprinted as they were originally published. In the case of chapter 4, 5 and 9, I have received permissions from the current publisher of the Studia Philonica Annual, the Society of Biblical Literature, which took over the copyright from Brown Judaic Studies. Essays 4 and 5 were originally published with Brown Judaic Studies and essay 9 was published with the Society of Biblical Literature. The original publication information is as follows: Chapter One: “The Symbolic Significance of Writing in Ancient Judaism.” Pages 139–73 in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 83. Edited by Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman. Leiden: Brill, 2004. Chapter Two: “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and its Authority Conferring Strategies.” Journal for the Study of Judaism 30 (1999): 379–410. Chapter Three: “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings.” Pages 202–16 in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity. Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 7. Edited by Craig A. Evans. Sheffield: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2000. Chapter Four: “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law.” Studia Philonica Annual 11 (1999): 55–73. Chapter Five: “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?” Studia Philonica Annual 15 (2003): 54–63. Chapter Six: “Angels at Sinai: Exegesis, Theology and Interpretive Authority.” Dead Sea Discoveries 7 (2000): 313–33.

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Chapter Seven: “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in Ancient Judaism.” Dead Sea Discoveries 13 (2006): 99–113. Chapter Eight: “Between Heaven and Earth: Liminal Visions in 4Ezra.” Will appear in OtherWorlds and their Relation to this World: Early Jewish and Christian Traditions. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism. Edited by Tobias Nicklas et al. Leiden, Brill, forthcoming 2010. Chapter Nine: “Philosophical Contemplation and Revelatory Inspiration in Ancient Judean Traditions.” Studia Philonica Annual 19 (2007): 101–11. Chapter Ten: “Reconsidering Jubilees: Prophecy and Exemplarity.” Pages 229–43 in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees. Edited by Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. Chapter Eleven: “Cain and Abel as Character Traits: A Study in the Allegorical Typology of Philo of Alexandria.” Pages 107–18 in Eve’s Children: The Biblical Stories Retold and Interpreted in Jewish and Christian Traditions. Themes in Biblical Narrative; Jewish and Christian Traditions 5. Edited by Gerard Luttikhuizen. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Chapter Twelve: “La Recherche de la Perfection dans le Judaïsme Ancien.” Pages 99–116 in Les Élites dans le Monde Biblique. Biblioteque d’Études Juives. Edited by Jean Riaud. Paris: Honoré Champion, 2006. Chapter Thirteen: “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4 Ezra.” Pages 529–36 in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 122. Edited by Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, and Eibert Tigchelaar. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Chapter Fourteen: “Text and Figure in Ancient Jewish Paideia.” Will appear in The Authoritativeness of Scriptures in Ancient Judaism: The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Supplements

previous publications

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to the Journal for the Study of Judaism. Edited by Mladen Popović. Leiden: Brill, forthcoming 2010. For granting me permission for the republications of these essays, I wish to express my sincere gratitude to Brill Academic Publishers, Continuum International Publishing Group, Society of Biblical Literature, William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company and Honoré Champion.

ABBREVIATIONS

AB ABD

Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York, 1992 AbrN Abr-Nahrain ACW Ancient Christian Writers, 1946– AGJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums ALD Aramaic Levi Document ANES Ancient Near Eastern Society ANF Anti-Nicene Fathers ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultue Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forshung. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Haase. Berlin, 1972– ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research BEATAJ Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum Bib Biblica BibInt Biblical Interpretation BJS Brown Judaic Studies CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CBQMS Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series CC Continental Commentaries CRINT Compendia rerum iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum CSCO Corpus scriptorium christianorum orientalium. Edited by I. B. Chabot et al. Paris, 1903– DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert DSD Dead Sea Discoveries EncJud Encyclopaedia Judaica. 16 vols. Jerusalem, 1972 HAR Hebrew Annual Review HB Hebrew Bible HeyJ Heythrop Journal HR History of Religions HTR Harvard Theological Review HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society

xiv JBL JCS JECS JHI JJS JNES JQR JR JSJ JSJSup JSOT JSOTSup JSPSup JSS JTS LCL LEC Leš lxx mt NIGTC NovT nt NumenSup OTL PCW PLCL RB RevQ RHPR SBL SBLDS SBLEJL

abbreviations Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Cuneiform Studies Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of the History of Ideas Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Religion Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha: Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Loeb Classical Library Library of Early Christianity Lešonénu Septuagint Masoretic Text New International Greek Testament Commentary Novum Testamentum New Testament Numen: International Review for the History of Religions: Supplement Series Old Testament Library Philo Cohen-Wendland Edition Philo Loeb Classical Library Revue biblique Revue de Qumran Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and Its Literature

abbreviations SBLMS SBLSCS SBLSP SBT SC ScEs ScrHier SHR SJ SJLA SPhilo SPhM SSEJC STDJ StPB Tarbiz TBN ThWAT

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Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Studies in Biblical Theolgy Sources chrétiennes. Paris: Cerf. 1943– Science et esprit Scripta hierosolymitana Studies in the History of Religions (supplement to Numen) Studia judaica Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Studia Philonica Annual Studia Philonica Monograph Series Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Studia post-biblica Tarbiz Themes in Biblical Narratives Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament. Edited by G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringren. Stuttgart, 1970– TSAJ Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum VCSup Vigiliae Christianae: Supplement Series VT Vetus Testamentum VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft

INTRODUCTION

The three parts of this volume correspond to three closely linked questions on which I have been working since the mid-nineties: 1) How did ancient Jewish authors claim authority for their interpretations, and what role did writtenness play in Second Temple conceptions of Scripture and its interpretation? 2) How, after various endings known as the “end of prophecy” or the “closing of the canon,” could Jewish authors claiming prophetic authority for their interpretations have hoped to find an audience? 3) What kind of person did one have to be—or aspire to be, or present oneself as being—if one were to merit interpretive authority?

Part I: Interpretive Authority How did ancient Jewish authors claim authority for their interpretations, and what role did writtenness play in Second Temple conceptions of Scripture and its interpretation? One of the ground-breaking developments in the last few decades of biblical studies has been a new focus on the role of interpretation in both the writing and reading of biblical texts. As Michael Fishbane has shown, intertextual connections within the biblical canon can often be seen as having interpretive motivations, while—as James Kugel has shown—interpretive questions and traditions that are found not only in the biblical traditions, but also in ancient parabiblical texts recur centuries later within numerous textual traditions and discrete interpretive communities.1 Thanks to the work of these scholars, among others,

1 Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985); idem, The Exegetical Imagination (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998); idem, The Garments of Torah (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989); James Kugel, In Potiphar’s House (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1990); 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); idem, “The Story of Dinah in the Testament of Levi,” HTR 85 (1992): 1–34; idem, “The Ladder of Jacob,” HTR 88 n. 2 (April 1995): 209–27.

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it is now possible to see biblical and related texts as sedimentations of traditionary and interpretive processes that eventually shape and influence Jewish, Christian and Islamic Scriptures and authoritative interpretations of Scriptures. These processes were never limited to text production, but were bound up with the lives and practices of communities, and they would eventually give rise to other practices and texts, such as pesharim, halakhic and aggadic midrashim, and commentaries. However, ancient Jewish interpreters did not present themselves as interpreters or their texts as interpretations. Or, at least, they did not do so in ways that we might expect. They did not explicitly raise difficulties about texts, they did not consider a range of alternatives, and they did not give reasons for preferring one interpretation above the others. Instead, they produced texts that purported to convey the words of long-deceased patriarchs and prophets, or even the words of God. Any contemporary who produced such a text—say, a text by the founding fathers revealing the “original intent” underlying the controversial Second Amendment right to keep and bear arms, and resolving the question whether this right is infringed by gun control laws—would have to overcome significant hurdles before being taken seriously. He or she would have to show that the text purporting to resolve the interpretive difficulty was genuinely produced by the authors of the amendment. If it turned out instead to be produced by the contemporary him or herself, then this would directly support a charge of forgery. Indeed, even if the text were genuine, there would still be a debate about whether the intention of an author should determine the interpretation of the author’s product, especially in the case of legislation. However, no such debate about authenticity and forgery survives from ancient Judaism. This fact, plus the existence of acknowledged pseudepigraphic practices in other ancient cultures, strongly suggests that, in ancient Judaism, authorial attribution was not understood in the way it is today, as a statement of historical fact. Nevertheless, for want of an alternative, some biblicists have come perilously close to accusing the ancient authors of forgery or fraudulence.2 In Chapters 1–5, however, I seek to set aside contemporary assumptions about attribution and writtenness, and to explore instead some of the authority conferring devices that 2 See my monograph, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 3 n. 6, and 5–7 on the views of Bernard Levinson.

introduction

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are at work in ancient Jewish texts. How did they operate within the imagination of writers and, presumably, of their readers? What were their presuppositions? What role did the symbolic significance of writing play in the heavens or on earth? What role did angelic revelation play in the interpretative endeavor? Particular attention is given to the book of Jubilees because of the sheer number of ways in which it seeks to establish its authority as the authentic explanation of much of the Pentateuch. These devices— ascription to God, angelic mediation, invocation of Mosaic prophecy, and appeal to the sanctity of writing, among others—are also to be found in many other texts, but these are more likely to employ one of the devices at a time. In Chapters 4–5, I extend my account to ancient Jewish texts written in Greek, focusing on the works of Philo of Alexandria. Philo did not employ the aforementioned devices. Instead, the main basis for his claim to interpretive authority was the view that he understood the law of nature, which was identical with the law of Moses. I explore this view, arguing that, while it draws heavily upon pre-existing Greek ideas, it also transforms them. The inclusion of these essays represents my longstanding commitment to transgress the boundary erected by scholars between those ancient Jewish texts written in Hebrew and Aramaic, and those written in Greek. While there are certainly differences—as, indeed, there are differences within each linguistic grouping!—nevertheless, texts of both kinds may be said to participate in a shared ancient Jewish civilization. In particular, they share a sense of writtenness as intimately connected to divine authority.

Part II: Renewed Revelation How, after various endings known as the “end of prophecy” or the “closing of the canon” could Jewish authors claiming prophetic authority for their interpretations have hoped to find an audience? Many scholars—e.g., Joseph Blenkinsopp3 and Robert Wilson4—have argued that, during the Second Temple period, unmediated divine revelation withdrew from the Jewish tradition, and prophecy ceased. More

3

Joseph Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1983). 4 Robert R. Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980).

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nuanced accounts—e.g., those given by John Barton, James Kugel and Michael Fishbane—speak of a transformation from prophecy into scribalism, in which divine revelation conveyed by the prophet was replaced by an inherited and inspired text read by an authorized interpreter.5 To be sure, it is clear from the extant evidence that Jews continued to produce texts claiming revelatory status. But, on both the more and less nuanced accounts, these texts are considered of little significance for late ancient Judaism. However nuanced, all these accounts deploy an overly narrow conception of the divine encounter. As Blenkinsopp and Barton have shown, early prophecy expressed itself in many, highly variegated ways. Even if the institutional office of prophet, linked to the monarchy, was not restored, many of these prophetic—or, to speak more broadly, divine encounter with the human, i.e., the revelatory—phenomena still found expression in the late Second Temple period and even after the second destruction. In Chapters 6–10, I explore some of these phenomena, such as withdrawal to the wilderness, angelic mediation, prayer and heavenly journeys. Various forms of divine encounter persisted, I argue, but always under the conditions of destruction, which was never completely overcome by the return to Judah and the construction of the Second Temple.

Part III: Soul Formation and the Quest for Perfection What kind of person did one have to be—or aspire to be, or present oneself as being—if one were to merit interpretive authority? It was not enough for ancient Jewish writers to ascribe texts to people who had heard the word of God, or even to well-known prophets of the past. Those to whom authoritative texts were ascribed had to be portrayed as having virtues that were considered worthy of emulation. Particular figures came to be associated with particular virtues, as Moses came to be associated with humility. (Chapter 12 examines 5

John Barton, Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel After the Exile (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986); Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: a Guide to the Bible as it was at the Start of the Common Era; Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel; idem, The Exegetical Imagination; idem, The Garments of Torah.

introduction

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one example of such an association, as developed by Philo.) To attribute a text to a particular authoritative figure was, then, to highlight the associated virtues. Indeed, as I argue in Chapters 13–14, to attribute a text to a particular authoritative figure when one had participated in the production of that text, was to identify with the figure in question and his associated virtues. If I may develop a concept employed by Pierre Hadot in his account of ancient Greek philosophy, pseudepigraphic attribution may be seen as a spiritual exercise: effacing himself, the producer of such a text sought to emulate the idealized figure to whom the text was ascribed.6 Arnold Davidson has argued that Hadot’s conception of spiritual exercises may fruitfully be compared and contrasted with what Stanley Cavell has called “Emersonian moral perfectionism”: that dimension of ethical life, often neglected in contemporary moral philosophy, that deals with the conditions for the possibility of becoming an ethical subject, including the complex and sometimes torturous relations such a subject may have with an exemplary figure.7 Accordingly, in Chapters 12–14, I also draw on Cavell in my account of the pursuit of perfection by pseudepigraphers and other ancient Jews. I thank my colleagues and co-editors of the JSJSup for their encouragement, advice and guidance in the preparation of this volume. Florentino García Martínez and Benjamin Wright have been very helpful and have offered their generous suggestions and direction for the volume. I am honored by their decision to include the volume in this series. John J. Collins, the previous editor-in-chief, has been supportive in the volume’s preparation. I am deeply indebted to him and to my friend and colleague Robin Darling Young, who first suggested the publication of this volume. My wonderful students at the University of Toronto have thought through many of these essays with me in the context of graduate semi6 Pierre Hadot, Qu’est-ce que la Philosophie Antique? (Paris: Gallimard, 1995); idem, Exercices Spirituels et Philosophie Antique (CEA/SA 88; Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1981); translated as What is Ancient Philosophy? (trans. Michael Chase; Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap, 2002); and Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault (trans. Michael Chase; Oxford: Blackwell, 1995). 7 Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, see Arnold Davidson’s introduction to this English edition, “Introduction: Pierre Hadot and the Spiritual Phenomenon of Ancient Philosophy,” 1–45. Also see Stanley Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emersonian Perfectionism: The Carus Lectures, 1988 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990); idem, Cities of Words: Pedagogical Letters on a Register of the Moral Life (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004).

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nars and informal conversations. This has been especially true of my student Eva Mroczek who has been very helpful in sharpening, discussing and editing many of the essays. My two students, Nathalie LaCoste and Nicole Hilton, did the heavy lifting of standardizing notes and working with me on the conceptual organization of the volume. I thank them for their careful and rigorous work over the past few months. Sarah Rollens also helped with editing at the final stages of the manuscript Sol Goldberg provided helpful suggestions about the organization of the volume. Julia Lauwers worked through the final version of the volume with great care and attention to detail. I greatly appreciate all of the corrections and suggestions made by my students and colleagues. I want to also thank SBL and the Studia Philonica Annual for permitting me to republish the three essays that were previously published in the Annual in 1999, 2003 and 2006. In addition I want to thank Brill for their permission to republish essays that were previously published in other Brill journals and other volumes. My deep thanks and indebtedness goes to my best friend and loving husband, Paul Franks. Each section of this volume is a fulfillment of the many conversations we have had about my work. Paul always exposes any weaknesses in my arguments and suggests new possibilities for my old texts. These paths are possible because of the ongoing conversation between philology and philosophy. The mingling of the two is what I have hoped to capture in this volume. Past Renewals is dedicated to my parents and to my children: my parents, Hazzan Chaim and Dr. Sherrell Najman, understand the past of tradition and gifted it to me through dedication and education; my children, Marianna Bluma and Ezra Yehuda, constantly renew my past in the present, even as they inspire my tomorrow. July 2009 Hindy Najman University of Toronto

PART I

INTERPRETIVE AUTHORITY

CHAPTER ONE

THE SYMBOLIC SIGNIFICANCE OF WRITING IN ANCIENT JUDAISM*

Writing holds for me an indescribable magic, perhaps because of the glimmer of eternity that hovers around it. Yes, I confess to you, I wonder what mysterious power lies hidden in these dead pen strokes and how the simplest of expressions that seem to be nothing but true and accurate can be so meaningful that they stare as if from clear eyes, or speak to us like accents without artifice coming from the depths of the soul. It is as if one can hear what one reads, yet the only thing one who recites these beautiful passages can do is attempt not to spoil them. The silent characters seem to me a more proper cloak for these most profound, most immediate expressions of the mind than the sound made by lips. I would almost like to say . . . Life is writing; the sole purpose of mankind is to engrave the thoughts of the divinity onto the tablets of Nature with the stylus of the formative spirit. Friedrich Schlegel1

I. The Rise of Sacred Writing This essay develops an insight expressed by James Kugel in the following passage about the rise of Scripture in ancient Judaism: God’s part in the divine-human discourse, it will be remembered, was not alone mediated by live human beings; it was also carried by texts. Long before the Babylonian exile, the word of God and his messengers

* This essay was originally published in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 139–73, reprinted here with permission from Brill. 1 Friedrich Schlegel, “On Philosophy. To Dorothea,” in Theory as Practice: A Critical Anthology of Early German Romantic Writings (ed. and trans. J. Schulte-Sasse et al.; Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), 420.

4

chapter one had been committed to memory and to writing, and Israel had cherished these words; even in preexilic times, the record of ancient deeds and ancient legislation had constituted an important part of God’s “speech” to humans. But as time went on, the significance of these texts increased, and with it the importance of those who copied and expounded them. This change, certainly characteristic of postexilic life, is probably not a mere reflex of events of the exile—its causes, tied up in part with the career of literacy and education in earlier times, need not detain us here. But something of the growing independent life of texts may perhaps be glimpsed even among writings that preceded the Return.2

Kugel’s discussion is rich with implications for the study of sacred writing in ancient Judaism. This essay explores some of those implications by considering the symbol of writing in biblical prophecy. There is scholarly consensus that at an earlier stage, Israelite religion was first and foremost a matter of oral tradition and orally transmitted laws and narratives.3 But when, if ever, did orality begin to cede its primacy to writing? While there was certainly no decisive rupture, one determining moment for the rise in the authority of writtenness came with the return from the Babylonian exile and Ezra’s reconstitution of Jewish life centred on a body of sacred texts known as the Mosaic Torah. This Torah-centred society was of immense importance. However, as Kugel remarks in the above passage, the innovation was preceded by

2 James L. Kugel, “Early Interpretation: The Common Background of Late Forms of Biblical Exegesis,” in Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James L. Kugel and Rowan A. Greer; LEC 3; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), 11–106, here 17. 3 See Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973), 112, 117, 127; Simon B. Parker, Stories in Scripture and Inscriptions: Comparative Studies on Narratives in Northwest Semitic Inscriptions and the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 8–12, 145 n. 15; Albert I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era: An Interpretation (JSJSup 55; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 116–17. Compare Jeffrey H. Tigay, who states: The main form of publication in the ancient world was oral presentation. This is Moses’ method as well. He stores the tablets of the Decalogue in the Ark . . . and reads the Book of the Covenant to the people. . . . Although he ordains that the Teaching be written on the doorposts of homes, on city gates, on steles on Mount Ebal, and apparently in tefillin, . . . he does not have copies made on parchment or papyrus, a form convenient for study. . . . All of this points to the fact that even in Deuteronomy the dissemination of the Teaching remains primarily oral, with teachers either reciting it from memory or reading aloud from the written text. . . . Doubtless, in the First Temple period the written text of Scripture was used primarily for preservation, copying and verification, memorization, and for reading to others, as in Mesopotamia, early Greece, and Arabia. (Deuteronomy [JPS Torah Commentary: Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1996], 500)

symbolic significance of writing in ancient judaism

5

a long and gradual prehistory, in which writing had steadily come to possess greater prominence and, specifically, an authority greater than, or at the very least equal to, oral discourse. Indeed, authoritative writing had already played a part in interactions between the divine and the human, along with oral discourse, in preexilic times. I will uncover traces of writing’s rise to prominence in both preexilic and exilic passages, traces that are discernible sometimes between passages and sometimes between the lines of redacted traditions. Although the changes are gradual, they add up to a profound shift, in which sacred writing—although not, before the return, any particular body of writings—became a repository of religious authority, and in which authoritative prophecy itself came to be seen as the revelation of written texts. How should we understand this shift in the rise of references to writtenness? One familiar explanation goes as follows: written traditions are more precise and durable than oral traditions, and these factors may have become particularly important in the exile. Furthermore, the exile had a negative impact upon the institution of prophecy, which apparently lost some of the authority that people had previously accorded it before the exile. This explanation seems correct, as far as it goes. In fact, however, the durability of writing came to stand for the inalterability of the covenant even before the exile, at a time when, after the destruction of the northern kingdom, the southern monarchy seemed precarious. Moreover, as we shall see, the durability of writing is only part of the explanation for its rise to prominence. Writing was also understood, from an early period, to have a special symbolic significance and efficacy, promise, or consolation; it was to set events in motion, to realize what was written in a preliminary or anticipatory fashion. At times God himself was depicted as a writer, and the portrayal of someone writing on God’s behalf became a pre-eminent way of claiming authority for that person. In what follows, I will focus on a group of biblical passages and their shifting portrayals of the authority of sacred writing. I should state at the outset, however, that this focus on the biblical evidence is in no way to suggest that extrabiblical evidence is irrelevant. The increasing prominence of sacred writing should be considered against the backdrop of the Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian influences on biblical authors and their audiences, whether while living in their homeland or in exile. As may be seen from the material finds of the preexilic period, the Assyrians made great use of sacred writings in the form of

6

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monuments, royal inscriptions, and palace reliefs.4 Closer to Israel, material evidence such as the Mesha Stele from Moab attests to the use of writing as a means of memorializing history, a way of making the record of events survive to future generations and so preserve the king’s name.5 Such uses of writing continued and even increased during the Babylonian and Persian periods.6 Arguably such a circumstance might have affected Israelite conceptions of writing and its uses. In considering biblical texts, however, my main concern is the connection of writing and the Israelite imagination. I will raise such questions as: how was the work of writing imagined? What was the symbolic significance of sacred writing? How was the authority of writing conceived at different times? Certainly, long before the biblical period, writing had been a way of recording things in a permanent, or at least enduring, fashion, and also of preserving an exact and verifiable version of the wording. Thus, from prebiblical times, we have written inventories, deeds, manumissions, and other legal documents such as treatises, law codes, and the like. This part of writing’s function of course influenced its reputation as well, and writing soon came to acquire less practical or immediately necessary roles. Perhaps this expanded function had something to do with, for example, the writing down of mythical texts (such as those of ancient Babylon or Ugarit),

4 Pamela Gerardi, “Epigraphs and Assyrian Palace Reliefs: The Development of the Epigraphic Text,” JCS 40 (1988): 1–35; Irene J. Winter, “Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs,” Studies in Visual Communication 7 (1981): 2–38; Piotr Michalowski, “Early Mesopotamian Communicative Systems: Art, Literature, and Writing,” in Investigating Artistic Environments in the Ancient Near East (ed. Ann C. Gunter; Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institute, 1990); Jack M. Sasson, “On Idrimi and Sarruwa, the Scribe,” in Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians in Honor of Ernest R. Lacheman (ed. David I. Owen and Martha A. Morrison; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1981), 309–24. For a very helpful study of ancient Near Eastern inscriptions, see Klaas A. D. Smelik, Writings from Ancient Israel: A Handbook of Historical and Religious Documents (trans. Graham I. Davies; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1991). On the development of writing and reasoning, see Peter Machinist, “On Self-Consciousness in Mesopotamia,” in The Origins and Diversity of Axial Age Civilizations (ed. Shmuel N. Eisenstadt; New York: State University of New York Press, 1986), 183–202, 511–18; Jean Bottéro, “Writing and Dialectics, or the Progress of Knowledge,” in Mesopotamia: Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods (trans. Zainab Bahrani and Marc Van de Mieroop; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 87–102. 5 For further discussion of the Mesha Stele, see Smelik, Writings from Ancient Israel, 29–50; James L. Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry: Parallelism and Its History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981), 62. 6 Michalowski, “Early Mesopotamian Communicative Systems,” 64.


7

texts whose enduring importance was, as it were, embodied by their being written down. It is also tempting to consider whether a background increase in literacy rates was a factor. However, at this point in the study of literacy it is impossible to draw significant conclusions. Some scholars have gone to great lengths to argue for widespread literacy in even the preexilic period,7 while others offer far more reserved conclusions. Here, for example, is the assessment of Simon B. Parker: Writing was thus almost certainly restricted to people in the service of the government and, judging by the context of the inscriptions, was used largely for official business. The only substantial literary narrative recovered from these communities is the Balaam inscription from Tell Deir ‘Alla, east of the Jordan, which is both too damaged and too little understood to justify its inclusion in this volume. Most written texts dated to the period of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah either served some immediate practical purpose, such as communication (witness the letters written on ostraca found at Lachish and Arad) or short-term recordkeeping (such as the administrative notes written on ostraca found at Samaria), or more emblematic purposes (such as inscriptions on seals, which abound outside Israel).8

The biblical traditions themselves offer little direct evidence on this score. In the texts I will examine, references are made to prophetic ability to read and, in certain cases, even to write down divine revelation. Occasionally, a reader is invoked who, it seems, is supposed to be a member of the general Israelite community, but that community is mostly portrayed as hearing a text that is read aloud. Very rarely do we see texts being read by non-prophetic or non-scribal figures. This 7 Alan R. Millard, “Literacy,” The Anchor Bible Dictionary 4:337–40; Andrè Lemaire, Lés Écoles et la Formation de la Bible dans l’Ancien Israel (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981); idem, “Sagesse et Ecoles,” VT 34 (1984): 270–81; J. van der Ploeg, “La Rôle de la Tradition Orale dans la Transmission du Texte de l’Ancien Testament,” RB 54 (1947): 5–41; James L. Crenshaw, Education in Ancient Israel: Across the Deadening Silence (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 29–49. 8 Parker, Stories in Scripture and Inscriptions, 9. See also Parker’s discussion of literacy and writing on pages 8–12, 145 n. 15. For a more skeptical view about the possibility of widespread literacy, see Anthony Phillips, “The Ecstatics’ Father,” in Words and Meanings: Essays Presented to David Winston Thomas (ed. Peter R. Ackroyd and Barnabas Lindars; London: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 183–94. See also Baumgarten, Flourishing of Jewish Sects, 114–36; Aaron Demsky, “Scribes and Books in the Late Second Commonwealth and Rabbinic Period,” in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. M. J. Mulder; CRINT 2.1; Assen: Van Gorcum and Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 2–20.

8

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lack of documentation cannot contribute to either side of the literacy debate. Indeed, even if there were more conclusive evidence about the numbers of potential readers at any given time, it would still be necessary to examine the internal evidence, presented by the biblical traditions themselves, concerning the ways in which the authority of writing was conceived and the shifts in those conceptions over time. Even if we knew how many literate Israelites existed at every moment, we would still need to know what reading and writing meant to them and how texts might have played especially authoritative roles in their lives. After all, we are concerned here not with a dichotomy between an oral culture and a literate culture, but with complex economies of orality and literacy that shifted subtly over time. As Ellen Davis writes: Biblical scholars have worked so hard in this century to overcome their own writing-bound biases, crystallized into theories of documents and authors which came to dominate the field, that it may seem a step backward to reassert the peculiar contribution of writing. Yet the achievement of those who have studied writing as a cultural and hermeneutical phenomenon has been to clarify the difference between orality and writing as primary modes of creating and transmitting discourse. There is no question of going back to a naïve assumption that the bulk of Israel’s traditions were produced in a mode of authorial composition resembling that prevalent in the modern world. Nor is it satisfactory, on the other hand, to see writing merely at the end of the creative process, either for individual pieces or for the tradition as a whole, with attendant implications of failure of nerve, lapse of inspiration, or both. Rather than setting oral and literary processes over against one another, with the implication that the literary historian must choose between these alternatives or at least rank them evaluatively, the task and the opportunity which modern research places before biblical scholars is to refine our appreciation of the gradual transition between the two.9

What is called for, then, is a study, informed by the historical and cultural context, of biblical traditions in which the sacred literary process is portrayed, so that we can understand how, at various moments, the work and authority of writing were conceived. Of course, there are many societies in which written documents play an authoritative role in various legal interactions. In our own society, as the joke goes (if it is still a joke), an oral contract is not worth the

9 Ellen F. Davis, Swallowing the Scroll: Textuality and the Dynamics of Discourse in Ezekiel’s Prophecy (BLS 21; JSOTSup 78; Sheffield: Almond, 1989), 38.


9

paper on which it is written. How were such functions invoked and elaborated in biblical traditions? Although Israelite society may not have attained such an exalted state of text-dependence, legal practice surely conferred a variety of authoritative functions upon writing, and these functions were sometimes transferred from the social realm of human interaction to the sacred realm of the interaction between Israel and God. In some biblical passages, the testimonial role of writing is specifically invoked, a role that is by no means unique to ancient Israel.10 Testimony can serve numerous functions in social interactions. To name two that are important here: a witness may attest to the performance of a legally significant deed, such as a contract or covenant, hence to the responsibilities undertaken by both parties; and a witness may warn a prospective transgressor of the severity of his or her action, rendering the transgressor liable for punishment.11 In both cases, human witnesses may offer their testimony either in oral or written fashion. The permanence and portability of written testimony—its availability even if the original witness is absent, unwilling, or dead—would privilege it over oral testimony in a society with a certain degree of literacy. If we turn from legal relations between humans to those between humans and God, the same basic rules seem

10 For a helpful discussion of biblical testimony, see Hugh G. M. Williamson, “On Writing and Witnesses,” in The Book Called Isaiah: Deutero-Isaiah’s Role in Composition and Redaction (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), 94–115; Mary A. Loisier, “Witnesses in Israel of the Hebrew Scriptures in the Context of the Ancient Near East” (PhD diss., University of Notre Dame, 1973). The claim that sacred writing can function, as it were, as a live witness is very central to the import and impact of writing in the preexilic period throughout the ancient Near East. See Bottéro’s discussion of the role of writing in the ancient Near East in Mesopotamia, esp. 166–70. 11 See the following comment by James L. Kugel: Numerous Jewish writings from the Second Temple period bear witness to a common assumption that punishment could not properly be imposed unless some prior act of warning had taken place. This principle, which found expression in human jurisprudence, applied as well to divine-human interaction: God had thus dispatched prophets for the purpose of warning human beings of the consequences of disobedience. (The technical term used in biblical Hebrew for such acts of warning was he ̄ ʿ îd be-̌ [often translated as “testify to” or “against,” though “warn” would be a more straightforward equivalent] . . . ). A proper warning required explicit condemnation of the act or behavior in question and equally explicit threat of punishment for continued infraction. (“The Jubilees Apocalypse,” DSD 1 [1994]: 322–37, here 328) For additional examples and discussion of this phenomenon in exilic biblical traditions, see Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (BEATAJ 9; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1989), 183–91.

10

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to apply. Some biblical texts, for example, represent heaven and earth as witnesses to divine-human covenants or warnings,12 and once such transfer of legal conventions had occurred, it is not difficult to see how the secular privilege of written testimony might also be adapted to the sacred realm. Writing can record attestations to the covenant between God and Israel, or warnings of punishments to be incurred by transgressors, or promises of redemption for the faithful. Writing would then provide a valuable complement to oral testimony. It would supply a permanence and portability that oral discourse could never attain. Yet it would not undo the need for oral testimony, without which it would have nothing to record. As already noted, there was more to writing’s role in Israel’s imagination than its permanence and portability. In this essay, I will claim that writing was thought from preexilic times to be symbolically significant and efficacious.13 Furthermore, I will show that this efficacy—variously imagined as, for example, birth and digestion—was connected to the testimonial function in a way that made writing far more than a valuable complement to oral discourse between God and Israel.14 Even as early as First Isaiah, as I will show in my discussion below, written texts became not merely the records of testimony by other agents but the witnesses themselves.15 Taking over the role played by heaven and earth, written texts came to stand for the permanence and inalterability of the covenantal relationship, especially when that relationship appeared to be in jeopardy. Through their special efficacy, written texts were thought to set in motion the prophesied events of punishment or redemption, thus actualizing the covenant when its reality seemed questionable. Thus, it was not simply that written texts could be carried into exile, although that was both true and important. By the time the exile came, a way of thinking existed, according to which both exilic punishment and promised redemption could be seen as having been initiated by sacred writing.16 Meanwhile, God’s communications with prophets took the form, more and more, of written texts, and prophetic activity itself focused increasingly on the symbolic signifi12

E.g., Deut 32:1–3; Isa 1:2. For the development and argument of this claim, see my discussions below on Hab 2, Jer 36, Ezek 4, and Zech 5. 14 On this point, see my discussions below of Isa 8:1–4 and Ezek 2:8–3:3. 15 See my discussions below of Isa 8:1–4; 16–20; 30:8–11. See also my discussion of Hab 2:2–4 later in this essay. 16 See my discussions below of Jer 17 and Ezek 37. 13


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cance, the efficacy, and the authority of acts of writing. Writtenness became a sign of authority. All this set the stage for the text-based Judaism instituted by Ezra with his public reading of Mosaic Torah.17 Isaiah 8:1–4 I will begin by considering a passage from First Isaiah in which the prophet is instructed to inscribe a prophecy (Isa 8:1–4): The lord said to me: “Get yourself a large table and write on it in ordinary script ‘concerning Mahēr-Shālāl-Ḥ āsh-Baz.’ ” I appointed18 reliable witnesses: Uriah the priest and Zechariah son of Jeberechiah.19 I approached the prophetess, she became pregnant and bore a son. The lord said to me, “Name him Mahēr-Shālāl-Ḥ āsh-Baz. For before the boy learns to call out ‘my father’ and ‘my mother’ the wealth of Damascus and the spoils of Samaria will be carried away in the presence of the king of Assyria.”

The text of Isa 8:1–4 presents two ways of causing the divine promise to be, as it were, embodied, hence irreversible: writing down the text and naming the child. Two types of witnesses are invoked: human witnesses who attest to a text closely connected to a child, and a text that itself serves as a witness. Isaiah 8 is riddled with textual and interpretive difficulties, but it provides us with some fascinating insights into ways in which the authority of writing could be conceived. Indeed, the difficulties are themselves illuminating because they appear to arise in part from the fact that the text has more than one stratum, and the 17

See, e.g., Neh 8:1–8. There are a number of variants for ‫ואעידה‬. 4QIsae reads ‫ ;והעד‬the lxx reads καὶ μάρτυράς μοιν ποίησον; the Targum reads ‫ ;ואסהיד‬the Peshitta reads washed lî shāhdê. All of this evidence might suggest an emendation in the mt from ‫ ואעידה‬to ‫והעידה‬. However, the Vulgate reads et adhibui supporting the mt. Based on this evidence (of course, excluding that from Qumran), Bernhard Stade suggests only a slight emendation to the pointing of the mt in his article, “Zu Jes. 8.1f.,” ZAW 26 (1906): 129–41, esp. 136. See Hans Wildberger, who accepts Stade’s emendation, in Isaiah: A Commentary (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; 2 vols.; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 1:332–33 n. 2a. As my translation indicates, I also accept Stade’s suggestion of “I appointed witnesses for myself.” Thus, the verb is pointed with a causative stem but also preserves the first person form as reflected in the mt and the Vulgate. I have preserved the first person consecutive preterite (as in Isa 8:3). Here, in Isa 8:2, the prophet is recounting his activity, and this verse should not be seen as part of God’s command to him. 19 There is a general consensus that the two witnesses are to be identified with the priest Uriah in 2 Kgs 16:10–16 and Zechariah the father of Ahaz’s wife in 2 Kgs 18:2 // 2 Chr 29:1. See Wildberger, Isaiah, 1:336. For further discussion concerning these two human witnesses in chapter 8 of Isaiah, see Williamson, Book Called Isaiah, 101. 18

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differences between the strata provide evidence of the shifting role of writing in Israel’s imagination. I will begin with the strikingly connected text and child. At the outset of the chapter, Isaiah is told to write a scroll and then to write down the following: ‫מהר שלל חש בז‬. This ‫גליון‬, of text, is affirmed by two reliable witnesses, who apparently testify to the authenticity of the prophecy. The resulting child is to be named with the four-word phrase already recorded in the text: ‫מהר שלל חש בז‬. Thus in Isa 8:1– 4 the attested text and the child share, as it were, the same revealed content. What does this tell us about the role of writing in First Isaiah’s prophecy? Prophetic writing is more, it seems, than a sign of things to come. For the pregnant prophetess does not merely signify the coming child; the child already grows inside her. On the other hand, prophetic writing is not performative.20 It does not directly bring about the event it signifies, any more than impregnation directly brings about birth. Rather, it seems that Isaiah’s prophetic writing is something like an anticipatory realization of what it symbolically signifies, just as the prophetess’s pregnancy is the anticipatory realization of the child that will be born. In other words, the act of writing is more than a mere recording or making permanent. It seems to have the power to realize—if not fully, then in an anticipatory fashion—the very event it names. Like the fetus in the womb, the seed of the similarly named event grows in the attested text. Destruction may yet miscarry, but it is already in gestation. Thus, what is striking in this passage is the peculiarly intimate relationship between written texts and the reality they signify. A written 20 John L. Austin invented and employed the notion of a performative utterance that brings about the truth of what is said (e.g., “I name this ship the Titanic,” said by an appropriate speaker in appropriate circumstances) in the development of his theory of speech acts; see his How to Do Things with Words (William James Lectures delivered at Harvard University, 1955; ed. J. O. Urmson and Marina Sbisà; 2d ed.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975). For further discussion of Austin on performatives, see the seminal discussion of Jacques Derrida, “Signature Event Context,” in Limited, Inc. (ed. Gerald Graff; Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1988), 1–23; and the trenchant criticism of Stanley Cavell, “What did Derrida Want of Austin?,” in Philosophical Passages: Wittgenstein, Emerson, Austin, Derrida (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 42–65; idem, “Derrida’s Austin and the Stake of Positivism,” in A Pitch of Philosophy: Autobiographical Exercises (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), 77–86. For an interesting critique of how speech act theory has been applied to biblical texts, see Walter Houston, “What Did the Prophets Think They Were Doing?: Speech Acts and Prophetic Discourse in the Old Testament,” BibInt 1 (1993): 167–88.


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text—perhaps in distinction to an oral discourse, although this cannot be said with certainty—is symbolically significant insofar as it is pregnant with the future events it describes. Testimony is not invoked here as the authoritative function of the written word; rather, human testimony is required to authenticate the text, so that it can do—or be known to do—its seminal work. Moreover, the written text itself is depicted as the female who receives the inscription from the male prophet.21 The text itself is the child that grows within the woman; she is the protected and preserved text. As text, the woman is the only hope for the future. As prophet, the male inscribes his message for the future through the process of impregnating the woman with his message. The future depends on the inscription and efficacy of that inscription through the birth of a live child, that is a text that can survive the turmoil and challenges of the times, of birth, of survival. Isaiah 8:16–20 However, in Isa 8:16–20, the idea of testimony is invoked to describe the work of the text: “Bind up the testimony, seal the instruction with my [God’s] disciples.” I will wait for the lord, who is hiding his face from the house of Jacob, and long for him. Here I am with the children that the lord has given me as signs and symbols in Israel from the lord of Hosts who dwells on Mount Zion. “People will say to you: ‘Inquire of the ancestral ghosts and the familial spirits that peep and growl; may not a nation inquire of its gods and of the dead on behalf of the living for teaching and testimony?’22 Surely, for one who speaks thus there shall be no dawn.”

21 The association of the female with the image of the Torah can be traced in later rabbinic and mystical sources in the history of Jewish interpretation. See Elliot R. Wolfson, “Female Imaging of the Torah: From Literary Metaphor to Religious Symbol,” in Circle in the Square: Studies in the Use of Gender in Kabbalistic Symbolism (Albany, N.Y.: State University Press, 1995), 1–28. 22 This is the only place in the Hebrew Bible where the phrase Torah and testimony appears. The phrase appears again in the prologue to the book of Jubilees. In the context of Jubilees’s use of this term, James L. Kugel writes: The “Torah and the testimony” is a phrase that occurs in Isa 8:20. The author of Jubilees liked it because it suited well his own purpose: he took “Torah” to be a reference to the written text of the Pentateuch, and used “testimony” (he actually understood this word more in the sense of “solemn writing”) to refer to his own book. Jubilees was presented as the solemn warning that God’s angel delivered to Moses on Mt. Sinai, a warning about, among other things, the dire consequences

14

chapter one

Here testimony is directly evoked: “Bind up the law and testimony with my disciples.” Although some scholars have thought that the testimony in this passage is not the text but, as before, the authenticating testimony of the disciples, it seems to me that here the testimony is textual and the disciples are charged with its preservation.23 To what, however, does the text testify? Recent scholarship has convincingly argued that the text testifies to the preceding collection of prophecies from 6:1–8:15, and that these four verses (8:16–20) are a later addition referring back to the earlier passage.24 Thus, First Isaiah illustrates a slight transformation in the depiction of sacred writing described in the earlier section of the chapter (8:1–4). In Isa 8:16–20, writing, whose work is conceived of as efficacious, becomes the warning itself: if the people adhere to the laws they will return to Israel; if not, the exile of 722/721 b.c.e. will be permanent. Thus, in what has been generally viewed as the earlier stratum of Isaiah 8 (in vv. 1–15, but for our discussion vv. 1–4), the act of writing and the conceiving of the child both appear to function as warnings and promises for the future. In this depiction sacred writing is associated with childbirth, perhaps suggesting an association with divine production and human conception. But in the second stage, it is writing’s role as testimony—testimony that may outweigh the living human witnesses (either literal witnesses or the child as the testimony to God’s prophecy)—that emerges. In both stages, however, writing is distinctly female, and once it is inscribed, it is preserved by male tradents. The process calls upon the male as the force that inscribes and the woman as the force that receives the tradition and keeps it, preserves it.25

of failing to observe the proper calendar (“the divisions of all the times”). (The Bible As It Was: Biblical Traditions of Late Antiquity [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997], 405–6 n. 23). 23 In a similar vein, the Levites are put in charge of protecting the Sinaitic tablets or the written song in Deut 31:25–26. 24 Joseph Jensen, The Use of tôrâ By Isaiah: His Debate with the Wisdom Tradition (CBQMS 3; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1973), 108; Williamson, Book Called Isaiah, 101–3. 25 The association of the male with writing and the woman with the subject of inscription has a long and interesting trajectory well into the later rabbinic and Jewish mystical traditions. See Elliot R. Wolfson, “Erasing the Erasure/Gender and the Writing of God’s Body in Kabbalistic Symbolism,” in Circle in the Square, 49–78.


15

Isaiah 30:8–11 The idea that a text can itself be a witness to divine revelation is not unique to Isa 8:16. Indeed, God instructs Isaiah to inscribe the punishment of the Israelites upon a tablet in Isa 30:8–11:26 Now, go write it down on a tablet and inscribe it in a book so that it may be with them for the final day as a witness forever. For it is a rebellious people, deceptive children; children not willing to obey the Torah of the lord, who said to the seers “do not see” and to the visionaries “do not prophesy true things to us, promise us flattering things, prophesy delusions. Forsake the road, turn from the path, stop [any talk of ] the Holy One of Israel in front of us.”

Here the writing is intended to last and continue to be with the Israelite people forever. Revelation that involves writing has a special permanence that oral revelation lacks. Here, the idea of permanence should be understood in light of the prophesied exile of the northern Israelite kingdom. Thus, in the face of impending doom and destruction, the prophet is instructed to record some word of God27 that will outlive this generation of Israelites. As an enduring witness, the text will continue to offer its testimony, namely, a divine warning, to listeners. Having abandoned all hope for his own generation, Isaiah inscribes the tablet for an audience of the future.28 Comparing Isa 8:16–18 with the above passage from Isa 30:8, Joseph Jensen writes: There are some surprising similarities between this passage and 8:16– 18, the one just studied. In each case there is a probable real document which serves the purpose of attestation or witness. In the present

26 For a summary of scholarship on Isa 30:8–11, see Jensen, Use of tôrâ By Isaiah, 112–20. 27 Here, too, as in the case of Isa 8:16–18, the actual contents of the prophetic text are not referred to in any clear manner. See Jensen, Use of tôrâ By Isaiah, 113–14. 28 See Williamson’s comments: We may confidently assume that Isaiah is here reflecting on his own experience during the time of crisis. This being the case, God’s word through the prophet is to be recorded as a witness for those who in the future may be more willing to listen to it. . . . Although a decision about whether the document explicitly included words of hope as well as judgement will depend on the unresolved question discussed above, we may agree that such a notion is implicit in the action itself. The phraseology of verse 8 presupposes that the text will be read in some unspecified future time, and, if it is to function then as a witness, it must imply a circle of readers who are more sympathetic to its contents than the present generation. (Book Called Isaiah, 105)

16

chapter one passage the people are blamed for forsaking the tôrâ of [yhwh] while in the earlier one the tôrâ which Isaiah preserves among his disciples has been rejected. Both texts can be referred to broader contexts in which Isaiah warns against foreign alliances and calls for quiet trust in [yhwh] alone (7:4; 29:12, 16; 30:15). And in each case, it can be argued, his polemic is directed primarily against the royal advisers who advocate the expedient course of seeking outside military aid.29

Jensen’s comparison of the two passages suggests that in both cases a written copy was made for the same reason: the royal advisors were not listening to Isaiah’s warning. As a result, it became necessary to record the prophecies for a future time, after the destruction that will result from the present generation’s refusal to listen. As enduring records of divine revelation and of the consequences of human disobedience, these texts testify both to God’s special relationship with Israel and to Israel’s resulting responsibilities.30 What emerges from the textually problematic Isa 8, then, is not a single systematically articulated conception of the authority of writing, but rather at least two distinct conceptions. The difference between the two conceptions may suggest an historical development. In the first, earlier conception (Isa 8:1–4), the testimony is provided by human witnesses while, in the second, testimony is provided by the text itself. In the first conception, the authority of writing is related to the peculiarly intimate relationship between a prophetically written text and the events it foretells (in the form of a legally binding warning) while,

29

Jensen, Use of tôrâ By Isaiah, 113. Another interesting example which illustrates the relationship between warning (‫ )עד‬and the authority of writing can be seen in Deut 31:19–22. After the song is revealed to Moses, God instructs Moses to write it down and teach it to the Israelites. God explains the function of this act of writing: the song should be written down so that “this song will be a witness for me against the Israelites.” The people are not called upon to function as witnesses to the revelation. Instead, an inanimate written copy of a divine revelation is to serve as a witness or testimony against the people, i.e., as a warning. One may note, however, that the song itself invokes heaven and earth as witnesses to its original, oral revelation (Deut 32:1). Why is this testimony insufficient? Clearly, written testimony (to divine revelation), which can be reenacted through the act of reading, has an authority that unwritten testimony lacks. What is new here is that the written version of the song is intended to bear witness against the Israelites if they transgress. Sacred writing thus serves not only to warn the people against transgression but also to testify against those who disobey the Law. Finally, the text is handed over to the Levites for safekeeping. The success and efficacy of the biblical written traditions depends upon their preservation. Only if they are preserved can they continue to be called upon as authentic testimonial texts through public readings. 30


17

in the second, later strata in Isa 8:16–20 and 30:8–11, the authority of writing is related to the permanence of written documents. It is important to note that this authority of writing as permanent testimony appears to be a later development of the idea that writing has an efficacy—a capacity for anticipatory realization. This special efficacy may explain why writing became not merely the permanent record of heavenly testimony, but the witness par excellence to the covenant between God and Israel.31 Isaiah 10:1–4 The emergence of sacred writing in ancient Israel is deeply related to the widespread use of writing and in particular sacred writing in other contemporaneous cultures. Given the increasing authority attached to writing, it was very important for Israelite prophets to distinguish sharply between authentic sacred writing and the sacred writings of other peoples. Occasional biblical passages refer with grave concern to the fact that people are inscribing laws into stone and upon walls and are calling their inscriptions sacred. These public displays of laws could lead astray a people impressed with writing and could thus lead to disastrous consequences. For example, First Isaiah refers to the “inscribers of sin” in Isa 10:1–4: Woe to those who inscribe evil inscriptions and those who write sinful writings [and] who neglect the case of the poor and treat the claims of the indigent oppressively so that widows are their spoil and they may plunder orphans. What will you do on the day of punishment when devastation arrives from a distant place? To whom will you flee for assistance, and how will you save your carcasses from collapsing under the bondman and from falling under the slain? With all of this, his anger has not withdrawn and his arm is still outstretched.

These inscribers may be associated with the Assyrians who are oppressing the Israelites and have many impressive texts inscribed upon their palace walls.32 We also know that the Assyrians had monuments of

31 This privileging of writing over speech can be traced further into the rabbinic period. See Wolfson, “Erasing the Erasure,” 54. 32 See Gerardi, “Epigraphs and Assyrian Palace Reliefs,” 1–35; and Winter, “Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs,” 2–38. For the impact of Assyrian culture on First Isaiah, see Peter Machinist, “Assyria and Its Image in the First Isaiah,” JAOS 103 (1983): 719–37.

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written laws which they claimed had a divine status. Here the misleading inscription has the effect of oppressing the widow and the orphan. One must beware of false inscriptions and one must learn to distinguish between authentic and inauthentic sacred writing.33 Writing can undermine divine authority and Israelite law. Exodus 32–34 I now turn to Exod 32–34. This pericope preserves preexilic traditions, yet in its final redacted form, it is a product of the editors of the late First Temple and early exilic times. Through such acts of editing, we can perceive the gradual transition from a conception of writing as testimony accompanying oral revelation to a conception of writing as the authoritative medium of revelation. As in the case of Isa 8:16–20 and 30:8–11, the traditions of Exod 32–34 depict sacred writing, this time in the form of covenantal tablets. According to divine instruction, these commandments must be recorded in writing. Even if they are destroyed, they must be rewritten and remain permanent and inalterable instruction of divine commands. Thus, they stand as a covenant of eternal warning to those who dare to transgress the sacred written tradition. The fact that these laws were written by God on stone tablets was a statement fraught with meaning about their permanence

33 This tradition continues in later extrabiblical traditions. For example, in the book of Jubilees (8:1–4), Kainan seems to have known that there was something transgressive about the writing he discovered. Why else would he have feared Noah’s anger? Yet, Kainan took it to be an authoritative record. Why would he have made such an error? Surely, the fact that it was an ancient writing was sufficient. It appears that the writings of the ancients were considered authoritative enough to copy. Hence the danger of writing is inextricably linked to its authoritative function: as well as the correct, divinely sanctioned texts, there are also dangerous texts, which may claim a certain authority on the basis of their status as ancient writings, and these may lead the reader astray, with world-historical consequences: In the twenty-ninth jubilee, in the first week—at its beginning [1373]—Arpachshad married a woman named Rasueya, the daughter of Susan, the daughter of Elam. She gave birth to a son for him in the third year of this week [1375], and he named him Kainan. When the boy grew up, his father taught him (the art of ) writing. He went to look for a place of his own where he could possess his own city. He found an inscription which the ancients had incised in a rock. He read what was in it, copied it, and sinned on the basis of what was in it, since in it was the Watchers’ teaching by which they used to observe the omens of the sun, moon, and stars, and every heavenly sign. He wrote (it) down but told no one about it because he was afraid to tell Noah about it lest he become angry at him about it. (Jub. 8:1–4)


19

and exactitude, indeed, their inalterability. The fact that tablets were rewritten by Moses (Exod 34:27–28), acting on God’s behalf, was full of implications for the authority of the scribe, and especially for the authority of Moses himself. A. Exodus 32:15–19 The first set of covenantal tablets—‫—לחת העדת‬is the only text described in biblical traditions as written directly by the finger of God (Exod 31:18).34 The tablets also have the unusual feature, marking their divine provenance, of being written on both sides (Exod 32:15–16). Although God’s revelation was itself oral, this written record is linked in an especially intimate fashion to that revelation, sharing its divine origin. It is the role of writing in the revelation of the covenantal process that concerns me here, not the much-discussed question of what was actually written on the first and on the second set of tablets. The description of the first tablets and their fate can be found in Exod 32:15–19: Moses turned and descended from the mountain with the two tablets of law in his hand—tablets inscribed on both sides; on one [side] and on the other [side] they were inscribed. Now the tablets were the divine creation of God and the writing was divine writing engraved upon the

34 On the terms used to describe the tablets, see: Sigo Lehming, “Versuch zu Ex. xxxii,” VT 19 (1960): 16–50; Lothar Perlitt, Bundestheologie im Alten Testament (WMANT 36; Neukirchen Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969), 203; Brevard S. Childs, The Book of Exodus: A Critical, Theological Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster, 1976), 364–75; for references to scholarly discussion regarding the claim that the covenant embodied by the Sinaitic tablets is the same as the covenant in Deuteronomy, see Childs’s discussion at 374 n. 5; for a review of earlier scholarship on the divisions of sources in light of the way the Sinaitic tablets were described in J, E, D, and P, see idem., 572 n. 15. See also, Moshe Weinfeld, “Berit,” in ThWAT 1:782–808. On the covenant in Ancient Israel and ancient Near Eastern parallels, see the important discussions by George E. Mendenhall, “Covenant Forms in Israelite Tradition,” in The Biblical Archaeologist Reader 3 (ed. Edward N. Campbell, Jr., and David N. Freedman; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1970), 25–53; idem, The Tenth Generation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973), 174–97; Dennis J. McCarthy, Treaty and Covenant (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1978); Delbert R. Hillers, Covenant: The History of a Biblical Idea (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1969), 25–97; Ronald E. Clements, Abraham and David (London: SCM Press, 1967); Moshe Weinfeld, “The Covenant Grant in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East,” JAOS 90 (1970): 184–203; Jon D. Levenson, “Sinai, The Mountain of the Covenant,” in Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), 15–86; James Nohrnberg, “The Text of the Law,” in Like Unto Moses: The Constituting of an Interruption (Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1995), 43–61 and notes on 352–58.

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chapter one tablets. When Joshua heard the uproar which the people were making, he said to Moses, “There is the sound of war in the camp.” Moses replied,35 “It is not the sound of strength, nor is it the sound of weakness, rather it is the sound of song36 that I hear.” As he approached the camp, and saw the calf and the dancing, Moses became enraged and he threw the tablets from his hands and shattered them at the foot37 of the mountain.

Thus, the tablets, unique in having been written directly by God, were rendered forever inaccessible to the Israelites.38 “He [Moses] threw down the tablets and shattered them . . . to dramatize the end of the covenant.”39 Henceforth, there would be no opportunity for general Israelite access to a divinely-written record of the divine oral tradition. B. Exodus 34:1–4 But the covenant was not, in fact, at an end. Access to the content of divine revelation therefore had to be granted anew and this, it seems, required yet another written text: a second set of tablets. This time, it was not God but Moses who inscribed the tablets at God’s command. Having broken the tablets, symbolically abrogating the treaty, Moses did not merely arrange for Israel to be forgiven and then transmit the contents of the original tablets orally. Instead, he had to go back to the mountain top and rewrite the tablets in order to re-enact the covenant.

35

The lxx, some of the Latin manuscripts, and the Peshitta insert the name of Moses immediately after the verb. 36 Here the lxx adds “wine,” so that the phrase reads φωνην ἐξαρχόντων οἴνου. This should be understood as an interpretation of the mt and not as an independent, more authentic, or earlier version of the Hebrew text. This interpretation attempts to explain the character of the song. Thus, the lxx suggests that it is a song of wine, i.e., drunkenness. For a similar position, see Childs, Book of Exodus, 557. 37 The Targum, the Samaritan Pentateuch, and the Peshitta reflect the reading ‫ההר‬ ‫ בתחתית‬instead of the mt reading ‫תחת ההר‬. In my translation, I have emended the mt to reflect the versional evidence, translating as “at the foot of the mountain.” 38 The question of whether Moses had the right to shatter divine tablets is debated extensively in the rabbinic literature. See, e.g., Abot R. Nat. 2(A); see the editions of Solomon Schechter, ed., Aboth de Rabbi Nathan (1887; repr., New York: Shulsinger Bros. Linotyping and Publishing Co., 1945), 10–11; and Judah Goldin, trans., The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan (ed. J. Obermann; Yale Judaica Series 10; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1955), 20–22. On Moses’ shattering, see Kugel, The Bible As It Was, 426–27, where two motifs are isolated—“The Letters Flew Off ” and “Tablets Became Too Heavy”—in response to how Moses could have shattered the divinely-inscribed tablets. 39 Childs, Book of Exodus, 569.


21

According to divine instruction, these tablets were to be like the first, the oral revelation that Moses received on Sinai and that marked the terms of the covenant with Israel: The lord said to Moses, “Cut yourself two stone tablets like the first [tablets] so that I may write upon the tablets the words which were upon the first tablets which you shattered. Be ready by morning and come up in the morning to Mount Sinai and present yourself there to me, at the top of the mountain. No one [else] should come up with you and no one [else] should be seen anywhere on the mountain. Furthermore, the flocks and the cattle should not graze in front of that mountain.” Moses cut two tablets like the first and he arose early in the morning and went up to Mount Sinai just as the lord had instructed him, taking the two stone tablets in his hand.

This second set of tablets has three aspects. First, the tablets attest to the fact of revelation and covenant, specifically to the privileged position of Moses as immediate audience for God’s speech and as enacting the covenant between God and Israel. Second, the tablets embody the actual contents of the revelation or the terms of the covenant and preserve them in a pristine and authentic form. In these two respects, writing remains ancillary to the oral dimension of the revelation or covenant itself. However, the third aspect of the tablets adds a further feature to writing’s significance. Since Moses is the only figure portrayed as authorized to repeat a divine act of inscription, the tablets may also be said to bolster the sacred authority of Moses himself, the prophet in loco Dei. This authority would later attach to the whole of Mosaic Torah— which certainly exceeded the Ten Commandments, whatever else it may be thought to have included—and would ultimately attach to the whole of what came to be known as the Pentateuch. One important way to authorize a law or interpretation in Second Temple literature, from Ezra on, is to portray that law or interpretation as written by Moses.40 In the passages considered so far, both oral discourse and writing have played roles in the revelatory establishments of covenants. Writing is more than a mere record of an oral covenant and more than a record of oral testimony. It can attest to the very existence of the

40 For further discussion on this point, see my recent study, Seconding Sinai: the Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003).

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covenant in Exod 32–34 (the destruction of the writing thus effecting the abrogation of the covenant, and the rewriting there, its re-enactment) and a witness issuing fair warning to those who transgress it (Isa 8 and 30). It has even become a product of God’s own inscription. All this has prepared writing for a career of its own, gradually increasing its independence from the oral discourse between God and a prophet. 2 Kings 22–23 Around the year 620 b.c.e. a series of religious, political, and possibly also economic reforms were imposed upon the Judean kingdom under the reign of King Josiah.41 What is remarkable is that, according to the account in 2 Kings, the Josianic Reform was a result of an allegedly discovered scroll. Upon Josiah’s hearing the contents of the scroll and the divine warnings of curses as a result of idolatrous transgression, he tore his clothes in mourning and cried. As an immediate result of hearing the contents of the discovered text, Josiah imposed a series of religious reforms upon the nation and consulted the prophetess Huldah concerning the nation’s punishment for their past transgressions. The importance of the scroll is not said to depend on any oral revelation to which it attests. Yet Josiah could not assess the implications of the text without consulting a living prophet. In the text below, 2 Kgs 22:18–20, Huldah responded by telling Josiah that it was too late to cancel the inevitable destruction, yet the destruction would be postponed and would not be witnessed by Josiah himself because of his repentance and role in returning the people to the worship of God: To the king of Judah, who sent you to inquire of the lord, say thus to him: “Thus said the lord the God of Israel concerning the words which you have heard. ‘Since your heart is soft and you humbled yourself before the lord upon your hearing what I said concerning this place and concerning its inhabitants, that it would become a wasteland and a curse, and [since] you rent your clothes and you wept before me, I have

41 The nature and impact of these reforms have been debated. See, e.g., Frank Moore Cross and David Noel Freedman, “Josiah’s Revolt Against Assyria,” JNES 12 (1953): 56–58; W. Eugene Claburn, “The Fiscal Basis of Josiah’s Reforms,” JBL 92 (1953): 11–22; Norbert Lohfink, “The Cult Reform of Josiah of Judah: 2 Kings 22–23 as a Source for the History of Israelite Religion,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (ed. Patrick D. Miller, Jr., Paul D. Hanson, and Samuel D. McBride; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 459–76.


23

surely taken heed,’ declares the lord. ‘Therefore, I will bring you to your fathers and you will be brought to your burial place in peace. Your eyes will not see all of the evil that I will bring upon this place.’ ” They returned the message to the king.

The discovered text of Torah was able to generate repentance among the king and the people. Although the movement of repentance and spiritual cleansing was not powerful enough to eradicate the written text, nevertheless, Josiah’s repentance succeeded in delaying the destruction of Jerusalem. The scroll had the power that it had because it was recognized and accepted by a prophet as an authentic piece of sacred writing, inspired by God. As we will see, this theme became combined with the idea of writing’s special efficacy, so that the fate of the people—especially their punishment with exile and the hope of their return—came to be seen as intertwined with the fate of sacred writing. Interestingly, what one does not find in the above examples (nor very much elsewhere in preexilic texts) is a claim that eventually became quite common in Second Temple times: that a certain text was actually authored or dictated by this or that human figure and transmitted in writing to later times, and consequently that it has authoritative status. In the Second Temple period, a text’s being authored or dictated (rather than, for example, an idea, vision, or law being orally communicated) by this or that figure, and a text’s being transmitted by a line of faithful tradents, became marks of its authority. This focus on authorship and faithful transmission contrasts with preexilic conceptions of the authority of sacred writing. For example, the pericope of Exod 32–34 described Moses’ involvement in the production of the Sinaitic tablets. However, despite Moses’ reception and actual rewriting of the tablets, the Exodus narrative did not suggest that Moses was the author of the testimonial tablets. Rather, the author of the Torah was God. Furthermore, although the Torah was to be transmitted through the Levites, we are told remarkably little about how they served as faithful tradents.42 However, the claim that traditions had been transmitted without alteration and the association of texts with

42 The special status of Levi or the Levites is mentioned in Exod 32:25–29; Num 8:14–19; Mal 2:4–9; the Torah is explicitly associated with them in Deut 17:18–20; 31:9–13, 24–29; 33:8–11; 2 Chr 17:7–9. However, none of these texts contains explicit details about how the Levites administered their special position or their responsibility to promulgate the Torah.

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specific authors would become two crucial aspects of the authority of sacred writing in the Second Temple period.

II. The Textualization of Prophecy When the long-threatened exile finally came, sacred writing was wellprepared for a still more prominent role. Prophets could no longer speak to kings. But they could still provide permanent and portable written testimony about the covenantal relationship between God and Israel. And such writings were not merely prophetic predictions of exile or redemption. They were agents setting in motion the events of either exile or redemption, depending upon the responses of their audience. There are some biblical texts that suggest that if only the Israelites sincerely changed their ways, there would be some hope for redemption and even alteration of a divinely-inspired written prophecy.43 This would depend on some sort of perceptible transformation of the people which would demonstrate their belief in God and their commitment to fulfill the divine commands through repentance and consistent adherence to the Law. Their fate could be averted through the proper response to the texts: in a sense, the people could be redeemed through the texts. Habakkuk 2:2–4 Habakkuk records his prophecies at a time of impending doom, at the time of the Babylonian exile. Yet, he offers a vision of comfort and of a promise for return. In addition to warning those who read of the consequences of their transgressive actions, sacred writing is also represented as a testimony that offers consolation. In Hab 2:2–4, the prophet’s capacity to offer such a vision of consolation depends on the idea that sacred texts have the power not only to bring about destruction but also to effect redemption: The lord answered me and said, “Write the vision legibly on the tablets so that the one reading from it can read quickly. For the vision is a wit-

43 One of the most powerful examples of this phenomenon may be found in Jer 36, esp. vv. 3 and 7. See also my discussion of Jer 36 in this essay.


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ness for a set time; it is a testifier44 to the end, and it does not lie. Even if it seems slow, wait for it. For it will come and it will not be late. The arrogant one, he will not walk in it but the righteous one will live by his faithfulness.”

As in the case of Isa 30:8–9 (above) and Jer 32 (below), this prophecy was recorded for a generation that the prophet would never see. Habakkuk’s text is intended to offer divine comfort to future readers. J. J. M. Roberts suggests understanding “the deeper meaning” of Hab 2:2 in the following way: “write the vision on the tablets and make its import plain so that the one reading can take refuge in it.”45 It should also be noted that the text is a witness that redemption will come. The Jews are thus taken through the various stages of exile, accompanied by a series of sacred texts which serve to transform and rebuild the Judahite community in exile. These are some of the intended effects of sacred writing. Roberts compares the texts we saw earlier from Isaiah (chapters 8 and 30) with Hab 2 and claims that this parallel of writing: . . . shows that the practice of writing down the prophetic message as a witness or testimony had two purposes. On the one hand, it was done because of the disbelief of the people who did not want to hear the message (Isa 30:8–11). When the word was fulfilled, its testimony would leave the unprepared without excuse. On the other hand, the written word would serve in the meantime as a source of reassurance and guidance for those who believed (Isa 8:16–17). It is this latter function which is highlighted in Habakkuk’s use of the motif. Habakkuk is assured that the vision is a safe guide for the present, because its testimony about the future was true. The vision was not a lying witness; its fulfillment would come at the appropriate time. . . . The word môʿēd is used for the end term for a woman’s pregnancy (Gen 18:14), and, just as the ninemonth term for a pregnancy is fixed, though it may often seem to the pregnant woman that her condition will never change, so the vision will

44 I understand ‫ יפח‬as “a testifier.” This understanding is based on a Ugaritic noun ypḥ meaning “witness.” This suggestion was first made by Samuel Loewenstamm, “yāpîaḥ , yāpiaḥ , yāpèaḥ ,” Leš 26 (1962): 205–8 [Hebrew]. See also the commentary of J. J. M. Roberts, who follows this suggestion by Loewenstamm (Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah: A Commentary [OTL; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1991], 106). There are a number of occasions in the Hebrew Bible where this root ‫ יפח‬is employed in a verbal capacity. Roberts notes that it is often paired with ‫“( עד‬witness”), which should further support Loewenstamm’s original suggestion; see, e.g., Ps 27:12; Prov 6:19; 14:5; 19:5. 45 Roberts, Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah, 110. See also his detailed and insightful discussion of Hab 2:2 on 109–11.

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chapter one be fulfilled at its appointed time. If it seems slow in coming, wait for it, for like the birth of a child it cannot be delayed.46

Jeremiah 36 and 17 Although these are some of the intended effects, they did not always come about. An example of the failure of a written text which was intended to generate repentance can be found in Jer 36:1–8: In the fourth year of Jehoiakim, the son of Josiah, king of Judah, this word came to Jeremiah from the lord: “Take a scroll47 and write upon it all of the words that I have spoken to you concerning Israel, concerning Judah, and concerning all of the nations from the day I spoke to you, from the days of Josiah until this day. Perhaps the house of Judah will hear all of the evil that I intend to do to them, so that each person will turn back from his evil path and then I will forgive their iniquity and their sin.” Then Jeremiah called Baruch the son of Neriah, and Baruch recorded onto a scroll Jeremiah’s dictation, all the words of the lord that he had spoken to him. Jeremiah commanded Baruch, saying: “I am debarred from entering the House of the lord. You go and read the scroll which you recorded from my dictation, the words of the lord, in the earshot of the people in the House of the lord on the fast day. You should read it in the earshot of all of the people of Judah who come in from their cities. Perhaps their supplication will be accepted before the lord and each person will turn back from his evil path, for great is the anger and wrath that the lord has spoken against this people.” And Baruch the son of Neriah did everything that Jeremiah the prophet commanded him concerning the reading from the scroll, the words of the lord in the House of the lord.

Here God instructs Jeremiah to record in writing prophecies he has already received, in the hope that the Israelites might hear the words and repent in response to them. But repentance is not the only way to respond to a sacred text with acknowledged potency. In Jer 36:21–25, the king Jehoiakim decided not to respond to the warning transmitted by a sacred text but instead to destroy the text: Then the king sent Jehudi to get the scroll and he took it from the chamber of Elishama the scribe. Jehudi read it in the earshot of the king and

46

Roberts, Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah, 110. This phrase, ‫מגלת ספר‬, appears four times in the Hebrew Bible: Jer 36:2, 4; Ps 40:8; Ezek 2:9. 47


27

all of the officials who attended the king. The king was staying at his winter house, it was the ninth month, and there was a fire burning in the brazier before him. As Jehudi read three or four columns,48 he [the king] would cut it with a scribe’s knife and throw it into the fire in the brazier until the entire scroll was consumed by the fire in the brazier. The king and all of his servants who heard all these words did not fear and did not rend their clothes. Even when Elnathan and Delaiah and Gemariah urged the king not to burn the scroll, still he would not listen to them.

Clearly, Jehoiakim could not merely ignore the written prophecy. If the prophecy’s efficacy was conceived as dependent on its material representation, then the king’s destruction of the sacred text may have been a genuine attempt to inhibit the effect of the recorded prophecy. As the text is read, Jehoiakim tears and burns each section of the scroll (Jer 36:22). But God instructs Jeremiah to rewrite the prophecies and to record additional prophecies of doom against Jehoiakim (Jer 36:27–29, 32). Why was it so important to have a written record of the prophecy? Robert Carroll writes: With the disintegration of the nation brought about by the fall of the king, city, and land and the development of the prophetic word in a written form, it becomes possible to discern the emergence of the idea of the word over against society.

Committed to writing, the word has a permanence beyond the exigencies of human existence and can survive even the absence of its original bearer.”49 These enduring written prophecies appear to have been important, not only as affirmations in the time of Jeremiah but also as testimony for a future audience. “Writing the oracles is here a supplement to oral prophecy and, in the last analysis, a counsel of despair.”50 The Jews could consult and find the right path through these prophecies at a later time in history, and thus the text could exercise its transformative power at a future date. But as far as the fate of the Judahites is concerned, “ . . . the fate of Jerusalem and Judah is determined by the ashes of that scroll lying under the king’s brazier. . . . When the king dismisses its claims by burning it, he seals the fate of himself and his

48 On ‫ דלת‬as a column of a scroll and its relation to the ‫מגלה‬, see R. Lansing Hicks, “DELET AND MeGILLĀH: A Fresh Approach to Jeremiah xxxvi,” VT 33 (1983): 46– 66. 49 Robert P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), 668. 50 Davis, Swallowing the Scroll, 51.

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people. The threats and curses in the scroll are not destroyed by the king’s apotropaic act but released by it.”51 Jeremiah lived at a time when he might have expected a different reaction from Jehoiakim. As we learn from the very first chapter of Jeremiah, the prophet would have been a boy of about twelve years old when Josiah implemented his reforms.52 He might have heard of Josiah’s respect and deference to the prophetess Huldah and of Josiah’s willingness to transform himself and his people in response to a divinely authorized prophetic text. There is a striking contrast between 2 Kgs 22–23 and Jer 36. Despite the similarity of setting, the responses of the Judahite kings could not be more different. Robert Carroll’s comparison is both insightful and compelling: The story of king Josiah’s response to the finding of the book of the law in the temple is the counterpart to the tale of Jehoiakim’s burning of the scroll. Both stories belong together and, Deuteronomistic editing apart, provide paradigms of how to respond to the hearing of the divine word (or not as the case may be). Josiah’s reaction to the reading of the book by Shaphan the scribe (hence Baruch in Jer. 36) is to rend his garments. . . . His next response is to send his servant to inquire of [yhwh] on behalf of himself, the people and all of Judah because the nation is in dire trouble over their failure to obey the words of the book. This inquiry takes the form of a consultation with the prophet Huldah who assures the delegation that the words mean what they say and that the nation is doomed (II Kings 22:14–17). She also conveys an individual message for king Josiah which promises him a peaceful death because of his reaction to the curses of the book (II Kings 22:18–20). Josiah’s weeping and torn garments, his concern for the nation and his consultation with a prophet represent the correct way to respond to the divine word in its written form. That story cannot be ignored in reading the account of the scroll of Jeremiah’s words delivered by Baruch to the people, the princes and, finally, to the king. In spite of the apparent concern of the princes for the safety of Baruch and Jeremiah (vv. 16–19), they do not

51

Carroll, Jeremiah, 663. The relationship between Jeremiah and Josiah’s reform is a complex one. The book of Jeremiah does not provide much evidence of Josiah’s reforms. That Jeremiah could have been preaching during the reforms and their aftermath but not at least allude to them seems odd. The issue has thus centered on whether the “thirteenth year of Josiah” in Jer 1:2 refers to the date of Jeremiah’s birth or to his prophetic call in 1:4–10. See the differing positions of John Bright, Jeremiah (AB 21; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1965), lxxviii–lxxxviii; Carroll, Jeremiah, 89–93; and William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1: A Commentary on the Book of Jeremiah Chapters 1–25 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 1, 17. 52


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respond to the actual words read out to them. Throughout [Jeremiah] 36 there is no response to the scroll’s contents: people, princes, king and courtiers all are represented as ignoring the contents of the scroll. Thus [Jeremiah] 36 reverses the paradigmatic response of Josiah to the words of the book.53

This reversal is jarring and frightening. As a result of Jehoiakim’s destruction of the scroll, his punishment is intensified. To destroy a sacred text is to reject God and God’s messengers. We are left with a fading glimmer of hope: what if the people had listened to the prophetic warnings and repented, as God had hoped? The actions of Jehoiakim made it impossible for the glimmer of hope to be realized. Instead, a new text emerged, leaving no option for repentance and even adding extensive punishment for the perpetrator Jehoiakim. Of course, Jer 36 was written during the exile, after Jehoiakim’s downfall and the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 b.c.e. But this enables us to see how important it was, after the fact, to view the destruction as the direct result of responding wrongly to a sacred text.54 So great had the symbolic significance of sacred writing become in Israel’s imagination that it rendered the destruction more intelligible to view it as the effect of a text. In light of writing’s increasing prominence as witness and agent, it is perhaps not surprising that later biblical prophecies exhibit greater fascination with the production and materiality of writing than earlier passages, and that they insist more on their own writtenness. To inscribe or write the divine word upon bricks or trees was to represent—or even to participate in—the effectiveness of that word in the earthly realm. This was particularly important during a period of approaching disaster or in the midst of exile, when the efficacy of the covenant could have appeared to be questionable. Jeremiah 17:1–4 emphasizes the permanence of God’s decision to destroy Jerusalem by describing it as having been written with an iron stylus: The sin of Judah is written with an iron stylus; with a diamond point it is engraved on the tablet of their heart and on the horns of their altars. While their children remember their altars and their Asherim beside

53

Holladay, Jeremiah 1, 663–64. On the exilic editing of the Jeremianic traditions, see Christopher R. Seitz, “The Crisis of Interpretation Over the Meaning and Purpose of the Exile,” VT 35 (1985): 78–97. 54

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chapter one green trees on the high hills, on the mountains in the open country, your wealth and all your treasures I will give away as spoil because of the sin of your high places throughout your borders. You will loosen your hold from your inheritance which I gave to you and I will make you serve your enemies in a land which you do not know for you have lit the fire of my anger; it will burn forever.55

Furthermore, the text in Jeremiah states that their sins were also carved out on the horns of the altars. Robert Carroll writes: “Judah’s sin (unspecified) is so deep that it is engraved on the nation’s heart and altars. That engraving is permanent and deep because it is made with an iron tool, a flint point. . . . The carving of Judah’s sin on the altars mocks the sanctity of such objects by making them expressions of the nation’s corrupt state and reminders to [yhwh] of their sinfulness.”56 In Jeremiah 17, writing with an iron stylus signified the stubbornness of the Judahites and the inevitability of their punishment. Ezekiel 4 and 37 Another example of biblical fascination with the materiality and inalterability of writing can be seen in the writings of another exilic prophet, Ezekiel. In the text below from Ezek 4:1–3, the prophet is instructed to effect national punishment by means of an act of writing whose materiality is emphasized: You, man, take a brick57 and place it in front of you and engrave upon it a city, Jerusalem. Place a siege against it and build a ramp against it, pour out a mound against it, place camps around it, and place battering-rams against it on all sides. Take an iron plate and set it as an iron wall between yourself and the city. Set yourself towards it; let it be under siege, you will make a siege against it. It is a sign for the house of Israel.

Ezekiel receives a vision and is instructed to write upon a brick, Jerusalem. This brick is then set up as if it were the city of Jerusalem itself, 55 These verses do not appear in the main manuscripts of the lxx. Carroll and Bright suggest that Jer 15:12–14 (which is intact, both in the lxx and the mt) may reflect the tradition in Jer 17:1–4; see Carroll, Jeremiah, 325; and Bright, Jeremiah, 114. 56 Carroll, Jeremiah, 349. 57 See the comments of Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20 (AB 22; New York: Doubleday, 1983), 103.


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and Ezekiel constructs a siege and a surrounding enemy encampment against it. Once inscribed with the city’s name, its fate is the anticipatory realization of Jerusalem’s fate. Thus, the act of writing is an integral part of the revelation itself. But, of course, the inscription is intended not only to set an event in motion, but to do so in a way that is understandable, that is legible, by an audience. The brick and the various siege tactics mounted against the brick, namely Jerusalem, seem to function symbolically as a sign for the Israelite nation: ‫אות היא‬ ‫לבית ישראל‬.58 This sign warns the Israelite nation of their inevitable destruction. Lindblom writes: As a divine word, the word uttered by a prophet had an effective power. The same is true of the visible word. . . . Such an action served not only to represent and make evident a particular fact, but also to make this fact a reality. . . . The effect . . . upon the onlookers was consequently not only to present visibly what the prophet had to say, but also to convince them that the events . . . would really take place. They were also intended to arouse the emotions of fear or hope. . . . Thus what was done powerfully reinforced what was said.59

Both Jer 17 and Ezek 4 describe a process of inscription which is inalterable and resistant to erasure.60 This permanence is meant to reflect the stubbornness and permanence of the Israelite nation. Yet, in Ezek 4, as we have seen previously, the inscription is also a sign of warning. Thus, the Israelites are granted the possibility of repentance and transformation through the efficacy of sacred writing. The act of inscribing can also generate hope for national security and a return to Zion. In the text of Ezek 37:15–22 below, Ezekiel is instructed to carve out a received prophecy upon two sticks, signifying the future unification of northern and southern Israel: The word of the lord came to me saying: “You, man, take one stick for yourself and write upon it ‘to Judah and to the children of Israel their associate.’ Then take one stick and write upon it ‘to Joseph, the stick of Ephraim, and all of the house of Israel their associates.’ Bring them close to one another, as one stick and so that they may become one in your hand. And when your fellow countrymen ask you: ‘Won’t you tell us 58 Note also the language of “sign,” ‫אות‬, in Isa 8 as a reference to a written text for future use. 59 Johannes Lindblom, Prophecy in Ancient Israel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1965), 172. 60 On the possibility of erasure on inscribed papyrus, see Menahem Haran, “BookScrolls in Israel in Pre-Exilic Times,” JJS 33 (1982): 161–73.

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chapter one what these are to you?’ tell them, ‘Thus says the lord God: “I am taking the stick of Joseph which is in the hand of Ephraim and the tribes of Israel their associates from among the nations to which they have gone, and I will gather them from all around and I will bring them to their country. I will make them a unified nation in the land, in the mountains of Israel, and a single king will be a king for all of them, and they will no longer be two nations and they will no longer be divided into two kingdoms.’ ”

Ezekiel is instructed to prepare the only tree-graft referred to in the Hebrew Bible.61 Ezekiel writes, “to Judah and to the children of Israel, their associate” on one branch, and on the second branch he writes, “to Joseph, the stick of Ephraim, and all of the house of Israel, their associates.” Ezekiel then combines the two branches together. He attaches the second branch to the tree of the first branch and they are now as one. This time, the writing is a symbol of the promise of restoration. The two parts of the house of Israel will be united and will be one people. Here, as in the case of Ezek 4, the act of inscribing upon a tree or stick is part of the prophecy itself. The very act of inscription seems intended to generate a hope of restoration for those in exile.62 Although there is no act of restoration or return that accomplishes the tree graft, the very inscription, as a divinely-inspired prophecy, symbolically anticipates a return to Judah and a reconstruction of the Davidic monarchy.63 In fact, Ezekiel’s choice of ‫ עץ‬further emphasizes the hope of reconstituting the Israelite nation under Davidic rule. “The choice of ᾽ṣ seems to have been dictated by its ambiguity, symbolizing both king and kingdom.”64

61 See the use of the grafting metaphor in its only occurrence in the nt in Rom 11:13–32. 62 The choice of the stick itself, and the staff (‫)שבט‬, can refer both to the leader and to the leadership which is granted to Judah (in Gen 49:10) or more generally to a descendant of Judah through the Davidic line (in Ezek 37). See 4Q252, the lxx, and the Vulgate for textual variants. On this double meaning of ‫ שבט‬in Gen 49:10, see Ze’ev Falk, “Sopheṭ and Shebeṭ,” Leš 30 (1966): 243–47 [Hebrew]. 63 At the conclusion of Ezek 37, a promise is made to reconstitute the Davidic monarchy and to insure eternal peace in the form of a covenant (‫ ברית עולם‬and ‫)ברית שלום‬. 64 Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 21–37 (AB 22A; New York: Doubleday, 1997), 753.


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Jeremiah 32 I will now turn to an example which is less obviously an example of sacred writing. Here, the divine instruction does not refer to the act of writing; rather, God instructs Jeremiah to acquire his uncle’s property.65 But, in Jer 32:6–15, Jeremiah obeys God’s command by composing a deed of ownership in order to secure land for the future: Jeremiah said: The word of the lord came to me saying: “Hanamel the son of Shallum your uncle, will come to you and say, ‘Buy my field which is in Anatoth, for the right of redemption is yours to buy.’ ” Just as the lord spoke, Hanamel, the son of my uncle, came to me to the court of the guard and he said to me, “Purchase my field in Anatoth which is in the territory of Benjamin, for the right of inheritance and of redemption is yours. Purchase it.” Then I knew it was the word of the lord. So I purchased the field from Hanamel, the son of my uncle, which was in Anatoth and I weighed out the money for him, seventeen shekels of silver. I wrote and sealed the deed and I got witnesses and I weighed out the money on a scale. Then I took the sealed deed of purchase, the Law and the enactments, and the open copy. I gave the deed of purchase to Baruch, son of Neriah, son of Mahseiah, in front of Hanamel my cousin and in front of all of the Jews sitting in the court of the guard. I instructed Baruch before them saying, “Thus says the lord of Hosts, the God of Israel: ‘Take these deeds, this deed of purchase, the sealed one, and this open copy, and place them into an earthen vessel, so that they will last for a long time.’ For thus said the lord of Hosts, the God

65

Carroll points to an interesting parallel between Jer 32 and Gen 23 and emphasizes the significance of the transaction in Jer 32: The family land bought by Jeremiah is like the field of Ephron which Abraham bought in order to bury his dead (Gen 23), an earnest of the future and a land claim legitimately acquired. The small plot of land in Anathoth will become a symbol of the whole land and the prophet is the first man to own property in the new age when [yhwh] restores the fortunes of Israel. Ironically Jeremiah will be dead by then, and as a childless man (the conventional interpretation of 16:1–2) his piece of property will have passed on to others. However, the niceties of legal requirements have been observed and the act is more important than the fact that Jeremiah will never see that land. Its purchase by the prophet is what matters because it stakes a claim to the future in the land for the people. The future is not in Babylon (contra 24:4–7; 29:4–7) but here in Judah—which is why the story is set in the period of Jeremiah’s arrest during the siege of Babylon. The terrifying present is reversed by his act in buying Palestinian land. Zedekiah may go to Babylon . . . but [yhwh] has a future for the land of Judah (cf. 42:7–12). The jar containing the title deeds to that field in Anathoth, wherever it may be hidden,. . . contains Judah’s future and the divine word acting through the prophet has already created that future. The Babylonians may lay siege to the city, take it and raze it to the ground, but the future has been secured. (Jeremiah, 623)

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chapter one of Israel: ‘Houses and fields and vineyards will once again be purchased in this land.’ ”

At a time of political stability, Jeremiah’s document would have been considered an unremarkable deed of ownership of land. But, in light of the impending destruction and exile by Nebuchadnezzar, the composition of this document could only seem absurd to onlookers. Consequently, the deed of ownership is a public document signifying the divine promise of the return to the land of Israel. In addition to the composition of the deed of ownership, an intricate process of preservation is also recorded. The text itself is preserved in a ceramic container and a copy of that text is inscribed on the container’s exterior.66 Only through this process is the preservation of the deed of ownership insured. Although human witnesses are present at the transfer of ownership, the text itself—and the divine promise it signifies—will most certainly outlive them. Ezekiel 2:8–3:3 In some of the earlier passages examined above, the transcription from a divinely-produced text was portrayed as important and authoritative, yet revelation itself was still, to some degree, oral. However, so great had writing’s authority become—along with the symbolic significances associated with writing—during the exile, that some later exilic and postexilic passages portray writing as the medium of revelation itself. Thus, in the opening chapters of Ezekiel, God presents the prophet with a text apparently composed by God. Ezekiel sees that the text is filled with words of woe. God instructs him to eat it and thus to internalize the prophecy (Ezek 2:8–3:3): “You, man, listen to what I tell you: do not be rebellious like the rebellious house; open your mouth and eat what I give to you.” Behold! I saw a hand extended towards me and in it was a written scroll. He unrolled it before me, and it was inscribed on both the front and the back;67 and upon it were written lamentations, moaning, and woe. He said to me, “Man, what you find, eat. Eat this scroll, and go speak to the house of Israel.” I opened my mouth and he fed me this scroll. He said to me,

66

See the comment of Carroll: “The legal terminology may indicate the rule governing contracts: the sealed copy was for a permanent record and the open copy was for consultation” (Jeremiah, 620). 67 See Haran, “Book-Scrolls,” 161–73.


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“Man, feed your stomach and fill your belly with this scroll which I am giving to you.” I ate and it became like sweet honey in my mouth.

Like the first set of divine testimonial tablets in Exodus, this divinely written text will not be directly accessible to the Israelite readers. Instead, Ezekiel must internalize the text and then present the material which he has now, quite literally, digested. Ellen Davis writes: The metaphor of ingestion has progressed greatly by the time of its appearance as the prominent figure in Ezekiel’s call narrative, coloring any conception of his life as prophet. This time verbal consumption is not a casual, voluntary gesture; it is the precondition for public service. These words are not merely encountered; their authenticity and authority are unmistakable, for they come directly from the hand of God. But most strikingly, there is no longer any ambiguity about the form in which the prophet receives the edible revelation. It comes to Ezekiel as a text. This is the form in which he must claim his inheritance and the basis on which he must make his own contribution to the tradition of faithful witness.68

Although sacred writing was so important for Moses and Jeremiah that they were both divinely instructed to rewrite sacred texts which had been destroyed, nevertheless they received revelation in the form of divine speech. The fact that God communicates with Ezekiel through a heavenly text reflects the important role that writing had come to play for the exilic community. In the case of Ezekiel, the written text is the prophecy and is no longer ancillary to oral discourse. James Kugel writes: But how significant it is that, in Ezekiel, God’s speech has already become a text; and the very act of eating God’s word now demands impossible “obedience” and self-control, swallowing up an actual scroll, and then not (in both senses) “spitting it back,” not just being the messenger and vehicle before the people, but, on the contrary, digesting the twice uneaten thing, a scroll, and one of lamentation and mourning and woe, to find it—how obedience pays off !—not bitter but sweeter than honey.69

Like the first set of testimonial tablets, the divine text eaten by Ezekiel has writing on both front and back. These are the only texts mentioned

68 69

Davis, Swallowing the Scroll, 51. Kugel, “Early Interpretation,” 19.

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in biblical traditions as clearly possessing this feature.70 Unlike the tablets, however, Ezekiel’s text is apparently written upon papyrus, which no doubt makes eating them somewhat easier. Zechariah 5:1–4 In Zech 5:1–4, the prophet sees an image of a flying scroll. Kugel calls this image “a symbol of the presence of texts in the minds of restored Judea as well as of the texts’ growing independence and power.”71 I looked up again and I saw a flying scroll. He [God] asked me, “What do you see?” I responded, “I see a flying scroll, twenty cubits long and ten cubits wide.” He said to me, “This is the curse which is going out across the face of the entire earth;72 for anyone who steals shall be henceforth cut off according to it, and every one who swears falsely shall be cut off henceforth according to it. I have sent it out,” declares the lord of Hosts. “It will enter the house of the thief and the house of him who swears falsely by my name. It will lodge in his house and it will consume it, both the timber and the stones.”

This prophecy employs a formula familiar from earlier prophetic traditions: a prophet sees an object, God asks the prophet what he sees,

70 However, it is possible that Zech 5:1–4 also refers to a scroll with writing on both sides. The key phrase beginning ‫ כל הגנב מזה‬is difficult to translate and the text does not explicitly state that writing was on both sides of the flying scroll. For more on this passage, see my further discussion below. On the use of papyrus in the biblical period, see Haran, “Book-Scrolls,” 161–73. Haran argues that the scrolls in the biblical period were made of papyrus (171–72). This is supported by biblical descriptions of the writing, erasing, and cutting of texts which would have been possible only with papyrus. For example, see Jer 36 where a scroll of prophecies is cut with a scribal knife and then subsequently burnt; these processes presuppose that the material of the scroll was papyrus. Also, the above passage from Ezek 2 depicts a scroll which is written both on the front and on the back. Although the art of writing on the front and back of skins was not perfected until the beginning of the Christian era, writing on the front and back of papyrus was already done in Egypt in the New Kingdom period. Haran also addresses the question of whether prophets wrote only on papyrus or whether there is some evidence for tablet writing: “As a rule, the classical prophets used papyrus for their writing material except where other substances are expressly mentioned or alluded to. (Employment of wooden tablets by prophets, mainly for testimonial or ceremonial display, is referred to in Isa 30:8; Hab 2:2; Ezek 37:16–20).” (“Book-Scrolls,” 168) For a discussion of the production of Torah scrolls, see Étan Levine, “The Transcription of the Torah Scroll,” ZAW 94 (1982): 99–105. 71 Kugel, “Early Interpretation,” 21. 72 This phrase, “the entire earth,” appears elsewhere in Zechariah; see 1:11; 4:10.


37

the prophet reports “I see X,” then God explains the sign.73 Yet here the sign that demands prophetic interpretation and divine instruction is a written text: “To see a scroll . . . for a Judahite in the Persian period was not an impossible thing. To see it floating up in the air was quite another matter. Scrolls are normally in someone’s hands, lying on the table, placed in storage jars or the like. They are always touching something. The scroll that Zechariah sees is touching nothing; it is between heaven and earth, disconnected from the scribe or lector.”74 That the text has been written and is publicly accessible seems more important than the text’s actual content, which remains obscure. As Kugel notes, this passage shows the extent to which the authoritative status of divine writing seems to have attained prominence in the prophetic visions during the Second Temple period: Here the prophet is not even given to touch the divine word. It does not enter his mouth even in the form of food, but he sees it passing by, a giant scroll—what greater literalization of “God in action”?—to which he can only bear witness: Its mission will be to destroy the house of thieves and perjurers, to avenge the transgression of that which is also, and most often, written, the Decalogue. But if this text represents in some form the disappearance, or mediation, of the prophet’s own powerful speech, it also has a positive side: For here is Scripture as Actor, the written word which flies like an angel to carry out God’s decrees and indeed, like the “angel of the lord” in the Pentateuch, is even able to wreak physical destruction on those who have incurred the divine wrath.75

It is also worth noting that in Zech 5, the text is more than a witness testifying to a potent event. Rather, the text is itself the potent agent. The effects of the prophecy are inscribed in the form of an earthly (Ezek 2:8–3:3) or heavenly (Zech 5:1–4) written revelation, both apparently made of the same material: papyrus. However, there is no independent oral revelation that precedes the written revelation. Rather the prophecy itself is revealed as sacred writing and the power,

73

For example, Amos 7–9; Zech 4:2; Jer 1. David L. Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1984), 246. 75 Kugel, “Early Interpretation,” 19. In this passage, Kugel is comparing his earlier discussion of Ezek 2:7–3:3 with Zech 5:1–4. Kugel’s reference to the laws of the Decalogue may suggest another means of connecting the two-sided written tablets from Exod 32–34 and the possibly two-sided flying scroll of Zech 5. In addition, although he does not discuss the issue of writing on two sides, Petersen notes the connection with the Decalogue and with the first set of tablets in particular (Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, 250, esp. n. 10). 74

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inalterability, and efficacious warning are all part of such a written revelation. The fate of Israel was already determined through the heavenly inscription of these texts. The warning was communicated to the prophet and it becomes the responsibility of the prophet to insure the circulation of this written prophecy.

III. Conclusion Although we have seen that sacred writing was already symbolically significant in the preexilic period,76 we have also seen a gradual rise in writing’s prominence as an authoritative medium for covenantal testimony and even for revelation itself. When the monarchy was terminated through the exile, and when many of the exiles were disillusioned with the prophetic traditions and distrustful of new prophetic hope, sacred writing was well-prepared to fill the authority vacuum. The text-based Judaism of books like Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles constitutes a dramatic shift in Israel’s conception of religious authority, which would now be vested in a central body of text, and their authoritative interpretations, designated as Mosaic Torah.77 From now on, authority did not have to rely on the oral recitation of unmediated revelation but could be claimed primarily through the demonstration that one stood in the appropriate relation—of reading or reciting or interpreting—to the sacred writings of Mosaic Torah. Yet this profound shift could hardly have occurred without the long prehistory I have traced in this essay.

76 See the comments of Davis: “From the eighth century, writing was a feature of prophecy, not only for transmission and publication at scribal hands (Isa 8:16; Jer 36), but also apparently as a means of illustration and emphasis within the original act of pronouncement (Isa 8:1; Hab 2:2; cf. Jer 17:1).” (Swallowing the Scroll, 38) 77 See my discussion of this tradition in “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 33; SSEJC 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), 202–16, reprinted in this volume, ch. 3 on pages 73–86; and the subsequent development of the authority of Moses and of his Torah after the time of Ezra-Nehemiah and the Chronicler in my Seconding Sinai.

CHAPTER TWO

INTERPRETATION AS PRIMORDIAL WRITING: JUBILEES AND ITS AUTHORITY CONFERRING STRATEGIES*

Introduction Writings from the Second Temple period consistently invoked the Torah of Moses as authoritative sacred writing. Although the tradition was shared, attempts to make Scripture relevant and accessible generated diverse views about how to interpret and apply this authoritative writing. As a result, distinctive interpretations and practices emerged. It became essential that writers justify their interpretations. One solution to this problem was to establish an authorizing link to the already accepted Torah of Moses. This solution might involve the claim that an interpretation assumed the status of prophecy, at times even Mosaic prophecy. The book of Jubilees is a Second Temple work in which one version of this strategy is presented: it bases its own authority on the Torah of Moses by linking its interpretations to the divine heavenly revelation that is also responsible for the production of the Torah of Moses. Thus, Jubilees1 is an especially striking example of a Second Temple text that intertwines the issue of interpretive authority with the authority of sacred writing. The most important work so far on Jubilees’ authorizing strategies is the seminal study of Jubilees’ heavenly tablets by Florentino García

* An earlier version of this paper was given to the Pseudepigrapha Group, SBL 1996, New Orleans. I am grateful to Paul Franks, Florentino García Martínez, Jay Harris, James L. Kugel, Jon Levenson, John Strugnell, Patrick Tiller, and James C. VanderKam as well as to the participants in the 1996 Pseudepigrapha Group for their incisive comments and suggestions. This essay was originally published in JSJ 30 (1999): 379–410, reprinted in this volume with permission. 1 Quotations from the book of Jubilees are from the translation of James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols., CSCO 510–511, Scriptores Aethiopici 87– 88, vol. 2; Leuven: Peeters, 1989).

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Martínez.2 He emphasizes the importance of the heavenly tablets as a way of understanding Jubilees’ attempts at self-authorization and legitimation.3 However, I want to emphasize that the heavenly tablets must be situated in the context of four strategies for Jubilees’ self-authorization. García Martínez’s discussion is particularly relevant to the first of the following four claims: 1) Jubilees repeatedly claims that it reproduces material that had been written long before on the “heavenly tablets,” a great corpus of divine teachings kept in heaven. 2) The entire content of the book of Jubilees was dictated by the Angel of the Presence at God’s own command. Hence, it is itself the product of divine revelation. 3) Jubilees was dictated to Moses, the same Moses to whom the Torah had been given on Mount Sinai. Thus, the book of Jubilees is the co-equal accompaniment of the Torah; both were transmitted by the same true prophet. 4) Jubilees claims that its teachings are the true interpretation of the Torah. Thus, its teachings also derive their authority from that of the Torah; that its interpretations match the Torah’s words and resolve all interpretive problems further substantiates its veracity. My primary concern in this article will be, not the details of Jubilees’ interpretive methods, but rather its modes of self-authorization. They 2 Florentino García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. Matthais Albani, Jörg Frey, Armin Lange; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 243–60. Translated by Michael T. Davis, “Las Tablas Celestes en el Libro de los Jubileos,” in Palabra y Vida: Homenaje a José Alonso Díaz en su 70 cumpleaños (ed. A. Vargas Machuca and G. Ruiz: Publicaciones de la Universidad Pontifica Comillias Madrid, Series I. Estudios 58; Madrid: Ediciones Universidad de Comillias, 1984), 333–49. 3 The tablets themselves, as García Martínez repeatedly and correctly emphasizes, are variegated and manifold in their content and character, and he has helpfully organized the material said to be inscribed upon Jubilees’ heavenly tablets into a fivefold taxonomy. Texts of the first kind identify the material on the heavenly tablets with the Torah of Moses. Those of the second kind seem to portray the heavenly tablets as a record of deeds, both good and evil. Texts of the third kind claim that the heavenly tablets record not only past events but also future events, a kind of history of the world in a manner parallel to 1 Enoch, as García Martínez points out. In the fourth class, the heavenly tablets legitimate the calendar and feasts which serve to authorize Jubilees’ chronology and distinctive calendar. The fifth and final species of texts record new interpretations, or what García Martínez calls “amplifications” of the biblical law, whose authority rests upon their being already inscribed upon the heavenly tablets.

jubilees and its authority conferring strategies

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turn out, however, to be connected: Jubilees’ conception of the basis of its interpretive authority often enters into the details of its ingenious solutions to interpretive problems. I will argue that studying these four authority conferring strategies will shed light both on the details of the rich interpretations embedded in Jubilees and on the more general Second Temple phenomena known as pseudepigraphy and rewritten Bible. Furthermore, what justifies each of the four strategies—thus what unites them and reveals a deep aspect of Jubilees—is a connection between the claim to authority and the already authoritative sacred writing of the Torah of Moses. In the following study I examine the broader context of Jubilees’ complex configuration of authority conferring strategies in order to understand the nature of Jubilees’ claim to interpretive authority. In Part I, I will provide examples that demonstrate the authoritative role of writing in Jubilees, a role that is integral to every aspect of Jubilees. In Part II, I consider the four distinct authority conferring strategies, showing how each is dependent upon the authority of writing.

I. Jubilees’ Fascination with Writing Lurking beneath every aspect of the book of Jubilees is its fascination with the importance and authorizing power of sacred writing. Each of Jubilees’ authority conferring strategies assumes that the authority already assigned to sacred authoritative writing must be recreated in order to justify and authorize the book of Jubilees itself. Indeed, from its opening words onwards,4 the book of Jubilees demonstrates an extraordinary interest in writing itself as well as in writing’s ability to confer authority. This is most evident in Jubilees’ insertion of the acts and products of writing at several apparently gratuitous points in its version of familiar biblical stories. In what follows, I will adduce several examples of Jubilees’ unusual preoccupation with writing and the written transmission of teachings.

4 See the prologue of Jubilees: “These are the words regarding the divisions of the times of the law and of the testimony, of the events of the years, of the weeks of their jubilees throughout all the years of eternity as he related (them) to Moses on Mt. Sinai when he went up to receive the stone tablets—the law and the commandments—on the Lord’s orders as he had told him that he should come up to the summit of the mountain.”

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When, for example, Noah divided the earth among his children, he did so by means of a book: When he (Noah) summoned his children, they came to him—they and their children. He divided the earth into the lots which his three sons would occupy. They reached out their hands and took the book from the bosom of their father Noah. (Jub. 8:11)

No book is mentioned in Genesis in conjunction with Noah. But how else—as Jubilees did not even have to ask—could Noah have established an authoritative and lasting division of the land, forestalling future disputes? Nor is this the only writing that is associated with Noah. In two additional passages, Jubilees refers to the “book (or writings) of Noah.”5 It is central to Jubilees’ notion of divine speech that it be accomplished in writing—indeed, Noah received, recorded, and then transmitted the already revealed heavenly written tradition. No less familiar than the Noahide division is the story of Joseph the righteous, resisting the temptation to commit adultery with Mrs. Potiphar. In Jubilees’ version, writing played two essential roles in Joseph’s act of resistance: Now Joseph was well formed and very handsome. The wife of his master looked up, saw Joseph, loved him, and pleaded with him to lie with her. But he did not surrender himself. He remembered the Lord and what his father Jacob would read to him from the words of Abraham—that no

5 For additional references to the “book(s)” or “writings” of Noah in Jubilees see 10:12–14; 21:10. See also 1 QapGen V, 29; 1 En. 82:1–61; ALD 57. For the reconstruction of 1 Qap Gen 5:29 see Matthew Morgenstern, Elisha Qimron, and Daniel Sivan (with an appendix by Gregory Bearman and Sheila Spiro), “The Hitherto Unpublished Columns of the Genesis Apocryphon,” AbrN 33 (1995): 41. For a brief comparison between the Genesis Apocryphon and the book of Jubilees, see Craig A. Evans, “The Genesis Apocryphon and the Rewritten Bible,” RevQ 13 (1988): 153–65, esp. 156– 58 and 162–64. See also James L. Kugel, The Bible As It Was (Cambridge: Harvard University, 1997), 406–7. In his discussion, Kugel cites ALD 57 and 1 En. 82:1–6 as illustrations of this interpretive motif. A considerable amount of secondary literature focuses on the question whether or not written traditions called the “book(s) of Noah” existed in the Second Temple period. See, e.g., Richard C. Steiner, “The Heading of the Book of the Words of Noah on a Fragment of the Genesis Apocryphon: New Light on a ‘Lost’ Work,” DSD 2 (1995): 66–71; Florentino García Martínez, Qumran and Apocalyptic: Studies on the Aramaic Texts from Qumran (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 24–44; Nathaniel Schmidt, “The Apocalypse of Noah and the Parables of Enoch,” in Oriental Studies Published in Commemoration of the Fortieth Anniversary of Paul Haupt (ed. Cyrus Adler and Aaron Ember; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1926). However, not all scholars are in agreement as to the existence of such a “book of Noah.” See, e.g., Jack P. Lewis, A Study of the Interpretation of Noah and the Flood in Jewish and Christian Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 10–15.


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one is to commit adultery with a woman who has a husband; that there is a death penalty which has been ordained for him in heaven before the most high Lord. The sins will be entered regarding him in the eternal books forever before the Lord. Joseph remembered what he had said and refused to lie with her. (Jub. 39:5–7)

Here Joseph recalls the voice of his father, reading to him from an ancestral book. Moreover what Joseph recalls from the book is not simply that adultery is prohibited, but rather that the prohibition is so severe that an act of adultery will be inscribed upon “eternal books forever before the Lord.”6 Other ancient biblical interpretations also claim that Joseph refused to sin because of the teaching his father had taught him, but Jubilees modifies this claim by stating that there was a book involved.7 Apparently, the author of Jubilees thought it crucial to assert that a book had set out the prohibition so valiantly obeyed by Joseph, and likewise that an act of eternal inscription had determined on high the penalty that would follow the transgression of that law. For Jubilees, writing not only signifies the severity of a prohibition and explains why heroes are able to resist temptation; it also explains why weaker characters succumb to temptation and are led astray. In the twenty-ninth jubilee, in the first week—at its beginning [1373]— Arpachshad married a woman named Rasueya, the daughter of Susan, the daughter of Elam. She gave birth to a son for him in the third year of this week [1375], and he named him Kainan. When the boy grew up, his father taught him (the art of ) writing. He went to look for a place of his own where he could possess his own city. He found an inscription which the ancients had incised in a rock. He read what was in it, copied it, and sinned on the basis of what was in it, since in it was the watchers’ teaching by which they used to observe the omens of the sun, moon, and stars, and every heavenly sign. He wrote (it) down but told no one about it because he was afraid to tell Noah about it lest he become angry at him about it. (Jub. 8:1–4)

According to Jubilees, Kainan knew that there was something transgressive about the writing he discovered. Why else did he fear Noah’s anger? Yet, Kainan took it to be an authoritative record. Why would he have made such an error? Surely, the fact that it was an ancient

6 See James L. Kugel, “Part I: Joseph in the Bible,” in In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts (Cambridge: Harvard University, 1994), 23. 7 See Kugel, The Bible As It Was, 258.

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writing was sufficient. It appears that the writings of the ancients were considered authoritative enough to copy. Hence the danger of writing is inextricably linked to its authoritative function: as well as the correct, divinely sanctioned texts, there are also dangerous texts, which may claim a certain authority on the basis of their status as ancient writings, and these may lead the reader astray, with world-historical consequences. Jubilees repeatedly draws attention to the notion that Moses is not the first to receive written calendrical and historical revelation. On the contrary, these were based on a written, heavenly tradition that long pre-dates Sinai.8 Drawing upon Second Temple traditions known to us from other sources, in Jubilees 4:16–19, this written tradition is associated with Enoch, who was simultaneously the first literate human, the first master of calendrical knowledge, and the first “to write a testimony” as the eternal scribe of human history. In the eleventh jubilee [491–539] Jared took a wife for himself, and her name was Barakah, the daughter of Rasu’cyal, the daughter of his father’s brother, in the fourth week of this jubilee [512–18]. She gave birth to a son for him during the fifth week, in the fourth year, of the jubilee [522], and he named him Enoch. He was the first of mankind who were born on the earth who learned (the art of) writing, instruction, and wisdom and who wrote down in a book the signs of the sky in accord with the fixed pattern of their months so that mankind would know the seasons of the years according to the fixed patterns of each of their months. He was the first to write a testimony. He testified to mankind in the generations of the earth: The weeks of the jubilees he related, and made known the Sabbaths of the years, as we had told him. While he slept he saw in a vision what has happened and what will occur—how things will happen for mankind during their history until the day of judgment. He saw everything and understood. He wrote a testimony for himself and placed it upon the earth against all mankind and for their history. (Jub. 4:16–19)

According to both Jubilees and 1 Enoch, pre-Sinaitic sacred writing originates with Enoch who thus assumes a role of great importance. Below is Jubilees’ explanation of the passage from Gen 5:21–24 stating that Enoch “walked with God:”9

8

Later versions of this claims are preserved in rabbinic traditions e.g., Pirqe R. El. ch. 8 (Warsaw, 1852); reprinted with commentary of David Luria (Jerusalem, 1970). 9 On the history of interpretation of Gen 5:21–24, see Kugel, The Bible As It Was, 100–7.


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During the twelfth jubilee, in its seventh week [582–88] he took a wife for himself. Her name was Edni, the daughter of Daniel, the daughter of his father’s brother. In the sixth year of this week [587] she gave birth to a son for him, and he named him Methuselah. He was, moreover, with God’s angels for six jubilees of years. They showed him everything on earth and in the heavens—the dominion of the sun—and he wrote down everything. He testified to the Watchers who had sinned with the daughters of men because these had begun to mix with earthly women so that they became defiled. Enoch testified against all of them. He was taken from human society, and we led him into the Garden of Eden for (his) greatness and honor. Now he is there writing down the judgment and condemnation of the world and all the wickedness of mankind. Because of him the flood water did not come on any of the land of Eden because he was placed there as a sign and to testify against all people in order to tell all the deeds of history until the day of judgment. (Jub. 4:20–24)

Thus, Enoch is eternally recording a written record of the actions of all human beings in the heavens.10 Long before Moses ascended Mount Sinai, the calendrical and historical tradition inscribed upon the heavenly tablets was transmitted, in the form of a written tradition, to Enoch and then Noah and the patriarchs. To underscore the divine authority of this written transmitted tradition, repeated revelations to its tradents are recorded. But it nevertheless seems vital to Jubilees to emphasize the continuity of transmission, and, in the light of Jubilees’ assumption about the intimate link between authority and writing, it is hardly surprising that the transmission of the tradition must be accompanied by the transmission of literacy. Thus, although Abraham came from a family of idol worshippers, in Jub. 11:14–17, it is reported that his writing instructor was his father, Terah. Abraham had to withdraw from the community of idolaters before he could receive divine revelation. Yet it was to his father’s ancient books that God directed him:

10 See also Jub. 10:17. The claim that the calendar, the history of the creation of the world, and the cosmos are already written upon heavenly tablets is attested in a number of texts at Qumran. See, e.g., the discussion of 4Q180 in Armin Lange, “Wisdom and Predestination in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 2 (1995): 353: “The predestined and pre-existent order of the world was inscribed on the heavenly tablets and revealed to Moses on Mount Sinai in the form of the Torah. Thus, the sapiential idea of a pre-existent order of the world is fused with the motif of the heavenly tablets and the Torah. Here it is of importance to recognize that the epochal pattern of history itself is part of this predestined order of world and history.”

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chapter two Then the Lord God said to me: “Open his (Abram’s) mouth and his ears to hear and speak with his tongue in the revealed language.” For from the day of the collapse it had disappeared from the mouth(s) of all mankind. I opened his mouth, ears, and lips and began to speak Hebrew with him—in the language of creation. He took his fathers’ books11 (they were written in Hebrew) and copied them. From that time he began to study them, while I was telling him everything that he was unable (to understand). He studied them throughout the six rainy months. (Jub. 12:25–27)

So essential for the authority of teaching is continuous written tradition,12 that Jubilees must find continuity even where it must also emphasize discontinuity: between the first patriarch and the idolatrous society whose errors he fled in order to found a distinct and separate people.13 In Jubilees, Abraham’s rejection of idolatry and discovery of the truth are given a bookish twist. Rediscovered by Abraham, the tradition revealed to Enoch on heavenly tablets and transmitted to future generations by Enoch the testimonial scribe, is then transmitted via Jacob and Levi to Amram and, finally, to Moses, and the transmission is punctuated by further revelations of heavenly texts. Thus, when Jubilees retells the story of Jacob’s revelation at Bethel, the events which will befall his children in the future are revealed in the form of heavenly books, which he must write down once he awakens.14 God reassures Jacob about his ability to recall what he read in his vision:

11

For a helpful discussion of this passage and of the question of whether a book or books of Noah existed, see, VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 116. See also Richard C. Steiner, “The Heading of the Book of the Words of Noah on a Fragment of the Genesis Apocryphon,” DSD 2 (1995): 67–68 n. 13. 12 E.g., later on in Jub. 19:13–15, Jacob also learns to write. 13 See Josh 24:2. 14 According to 11QT XXIX, 7–9 Jacob received a divine covenant at Bethel. See Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll (vol. 2; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 1.182, 2.128–9. See also, Joshua Schwartz, “Jubilees, Bethel and the Temple of Jacob,” HUCA 56 (1985): 63–85; Judith L. Wentling, “Unraveling the Relationship between 11QT, the Eschatological Temple, and the Qumran Community,” RevQ 14 (1989): 61–73; Dwight D. Swanson, “ ‘A Covenant Just Like Jacob’s’: the Covenant of 11QT 29 and Jeremiah’s New Covenant,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies (ed. George J. Brooke and Florentino García Martínez; Leiden, New York, and Köln: Brill, 1994), 273–386; Michael O. Wise, “The Covenant of Temple Scroll XXIX, 3–10,” RevQ 14 (1989): 49–60; idem, “The Eschatological Vision of the Temple Scroll,” JNES 40 (1990): 155–72. For additional texts reflecting the importance of Jacob’s dream in Second Temple literature, see, e.g., T. Levi 9:3–5; Philo, De Somniis; The Ladder of Jacob. For


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“Do not be afraid because everything will happen just as you have seen and read. Now you write down everything just as you have seen and read.” Then Jacob said: “Lord, how shall I remember everything just as I have read and seen?” He said to him: “I will remind you of everything.” When he had gone from him, he awakened and remembered everything that he had read and seen. He wrote down all the things that he had read and seen. (Jub. 32:24–26)

The narrative in Genesis leaves the content and significance of Jacob’s vision unclear. But Jubilees tells us both the historical content of Jacob’s vision, which turns out to be prophetic, and the authoritative basis of that prophetic history, which carries weight because it is inscribed on tablets, from which Jacob reads with the help of an angel. Jubilees reports that Jacob was daunted by the responsibility of accurately transcribing what he had read, and that he was blessed with divine assurance that his transcription would indeed be accurate. Jacob, in turn, gives his books to Levi: He [Jacob] gave all his books and the books of his fathers to his son Levi so that he could preserve them and renew them for his sons until today. (Jub. 46:16)

This is of no small significance, since Moses is, of course, a Levite.15 It should be no surprise by now that, although Exodus makes no mention of any connection between Moses and his Levite father, Jubilees reports that Amram taught Moses the art of writing: Afterwards, when you had grown up, you were brought to the pharaoh’s daughter and became her child. Your father Amram taught you (the art of writing). (Jub. 47:9)

We are not explicitly told that Moses received the written tradition of books from Amram. But we may nevertheless say that, when Moses received that tradition from the Angel of the Presence on Mount Sinai,

further discussion of the interpretive traditions which grew out of Genesis 28:11–17, see James L. Kugel, “Levi’s Elevation to the Priesthood in Second Temple Writings,” HTR 86 (1993): 1–64; idem, “The Ladder of Jacob,” HTR 88 (1995): 209–28; idem, “The Ladder Was a Message,” in The Bible As It Was, 211–13; James C. VanderKam, “Jubilees’ Exegetical Creation of Levi the Priest,” RevQ 17 (1996): 359–73. 15 For some discussion of the importance of the process of transmission from Noah to Levi (via Shem, Abraham, and Jacob), see John M. Allegro, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Christian Myth (Amherst, New York: Prometheus Books, 1992), 65–66.

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he was inheriting a tradition long known to his family, an inheritance for which he had been prepared when his father taught him to write. While such specific examples illustrate Jubilees’ interest in writing, they also lead us to what certainly was, for Jubilees, a related question, namely, that of the book’s own claim to authority. For Jubilees, authoritative teaching consistently takes the form of writing, including, prominently, writing that is found on heavenly tablets whose contents are revealed to humans and then transmitted in written books.16 Indeed, such teachings are not only doubly written, but also archaic, dating literally to the origin of the world. This view of authoritative doctrine has significant implications for the status of Mosaic Torah. When Moses transcribed a revelation of heavenly tablets at Sinai, he was repeating a scene that had already occurred numerous times, and even the historical and calendrical contents of his revelation had long been practiced,17 revealed, and transmitted.18 The point of Jubilees’ massive elaboration and contextualization of the Sinai scene is, of course, to undergird the authority of its own interpretation of the Law, especially of calendrical law, which must have been a hotly contested issue. While the authority of Moses’ revelation at Sinai is invoked on behalf of the solar calendar, that authority is at the same time downgraded. Moses was not unique; he was one of many bookish heroes charged with the transcription of heavenly tablets. These traditions originated in the heavens and are a direct product of divine utterance, perhaps even divine writing. This too should be seen as an authority claiming strategy: in a time of con16

VanderKam convincingly argues that although Jubilees refers to the heavenly written traditions (e.g., tablets, books, writings) in several ways they all refer to the same written heavenly collection. See his discussion in Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16, Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1984), 151. 17 In Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 528: he writes, “It is significant to observe that a number of exegetical traditions are authorized in the Book of Jubilees by their observance by the pious patriarchs themselves.” This way of authorizing an exegetical tradition continues in later rabbinic traditions. Cf. the rabbinic attempt to authorize the law of ‘erub tabshilin in Ber. Rab., Parsha Vayiggash, 95:3 (ed. Theodor-Albeck; Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books, 1965), 1189 lines 4–5; b. Yoma 28a. 18 This point is made by a number of scholars, e.g., James C. VanderKam in “The Putative Author of the Book of Jubilees,” JSS 26 (1981): 213. In addition, Armin Lange notes a connection between 4Q180 and Jub. 1:27 in “Wisdom and Predestination in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 2 (1995): 353 n. 31.


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flicting interpretations and practices, authority rests with those who possess not only the traditions of Moses, but also the archaic books of Enoch.

II. Four Authority Conferring Strategies in Jubilees Jubilees has no less than four authority conferring strategies that it employs throughout the book.19 While scholars have previously remarked on one or more of the four claims, I do not believe that either their distinctness or the significance of their underlying connectedness has been fully appreciated. With respect to their distinctness, it is remarkable that Jubilees should employ four different strategies when it might be supposed that one would have sufficed. The employment of four strategies seems to indicate the intensity that was attached to questions of authority in the Second Temple period, and thus to conceptions of writing. With respect to their connectedness, it is essential to note that each is a strategy for claiming interpretive authority in a culture in which authority and writing have become intertwined. Moreover, Jubilees employs combinations of these four strategies in order to supply ingenious solutions to interpretive problems that plagued Second Temple interpreters. Finally, I believe that investigating the third and fourth strategies in the context of the contest for interpretive authority may shed new light, not on Jubilees alone, but on the very notions of pseudepigraphy and rewritten Bible, notions that continue to play an important role in Second Temple scholarship. These four distinct claims should be seen as working together to underwrite the authority of the book of Jubilees itself. In what follows I will discuss each strategy and its connection with Jubilees’ emphasis on the practices and products of writing.

19

Please see my list of the four strategies in the introductory section of this article.

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chapter two Strategy 1: “It is Written on the Heavenly Tablets” 20

A. Calendar and Feasts are Inscribed on the Heavenly Tablets21 In addition to the claim that the Mosaic law itself was written on the heavenly tablets,22 Jubilees also insists on the fact that its own particular calendrical system was part of the material on the heavenly tablets revealed to Moses, despite the absence of any overt reference to its distinctive calendar in the Pentateuch. Jubilees frequently returns to this claim: The angel of the presence, who was going along in front of the Israelite camp, took the tablets (which told) of the divisions of the years from the time the law and the testimony were created—for the weeks of their jubilees, year by year in their full number, and their jubilees from [the time of the creation until] the time of the new creation when the heavens, the earth, and all their creatures will be renewed like the powers of the sky and like all the creatures of the earth, until the time when the temple of the Lord will be created in Jerusalem on Mt. Zion. All the luminaries will be renewed for (the purposes of) healing, health, and blessing for all the elect ones of Israel so that it may remain this way from that time throughout all the days of the earth. (Jub. 1:29)

Of course, the divisions of the years and the weeks described in Jubilees comprise only one of the calendars for which authority was claimed during the Second Temple period. So it must have been important

20 For the most extensive and conceptually nuanced study of the heavenly tablets in Jubilees see García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 243–60. Throughout this section, I will indicate relevant connections to García Martínez’s taxonomy of contents of the heavenly tablets, referred to above. See also R. Eppel, “Les Tables de la Loi et les Tables Célestes,” RHPR 17 (1937): 401–12; James L. Kugel, “Reuben’s Sin with Bilhah in the Testament of Reuben,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (ed. David P. Wright, David N. Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 541 n. 21; Shalom M. Paul, “Heavenly Tablets and the Book of Life,” ANES 5–6 (1973–4): 345–53; Tzvi I. Abusch, “Alaklu and Halakhah: Oracular Decision, Divine Revelation,” HTR 80 (1987): 15–42; Armin Lange, “Wisdom and Predestination in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 2 (1995): 340–54; Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra, Hermeneia-A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 372– 442; Peter Machinist and Hayim Tadmor, “Heavenly Wisdom,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (ed. M. Cohen, D. Snell, and D. Weisberg; Bethesda, Md.: CDL Press, 1993), 146–51. 21 See García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 251–55 for discussion of this category. 22 García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 243–46 for a discussion of the first category: “1. Heavenly Tablets: The Tablets of the Law.”


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for Jubilees to claim that its calendar was not only given in writing to Moses but was already given in writing long before Sinai. Indeed, Jubilees presents a calendar which is allegedly as old as the creation of the world. It was, according to Jubilees, the first and only authentic calendar, and all the vicissitudes of human history23 are to be understood in terms of faithful adherence to or rejection of that calendar. For this reason it has been ordained and written on the heavenly tablets that they should celebrate the festival of weeks during this month—once a year—to renew the covenant each and every year. This entire festival had been celebrated in heaven from the time of creation until the lifetime of Noah for 26 jubilees and five weeks of years [= 1309 years]. Then Noah and his sons kept it for seven jubilees and one week of years until Noah’s death [= 350 years]. From the day of Noah’s death his sons corrupted (it), until Abraham’s lifetime and were eating blood. Abraham alone kept (it), and his sons Isaac and Jacob kept it until your lifetime. During your lifetime the Israelites had forgotten (it) until I renewed (it) for them at this mountain. Now you command the Israelites to keep this festival during all their generations as a commandment for them: one day in the year, during this month, they are to celebrate the festival because it is the festival of weeks and it is the festival of first fruits. This festival is twofold and of two kinds. Celebrate it as it is written and inscribed regarding it. For I have written (this) in the book of the first law in which I wrote for you that you should celebrate it at each of its times one day in a year. I have told you about its sacrifice so that the Israelites may continue to remember and celebrate it throughout their generations during this month—one day each year. On the first of the first month, the first of the fourth month, the first of the seventh month, and the first of the tenth month are memorial days and days of the seasons. They are written down and ordained at the four divisions of the year as an eternal testimony. Noah ordained them as festivals for himself throughout the history of eternity with the result that through them he had a reminder. (Jub. 6:17–24)

23

Indeed, as both García Martínez and VanderKam have argued, the claim to have access to heavenly tablets has a history which predates Jubilees, e.g., 1 En. 14:1–7; 33:1–4; 68:1–5; 81; 82; 97; 107; 108. VanderKam discusses another example from 1 En. 93:2b, where Enoch describes a revelation in the form of heavenly tablets. See, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1984), 150; see also 151–52 for VanderKam’s discussion of the relationship between Jubilees and 1 Enoch; for further discussion of this connection see García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 247–50. The following are additional references to heavenly writing and to the tradition of Enoch’s writing from the Testaments of the Patriarchs: T. Sim. 5:4–6; T. Levi 14:1; 16:1–2; T. Jud. 18:1; T. Zeb. 3:4–5; 9:5–7; T. Naph. 4:1; T. Ash. 2:8–10; 7:4–5; T. Benj. 9:1; 11:3–5.

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What we have here is an attempt to outbid any claim to authority made on behalf of a competing calendrical system. No evidence in favor of a competing calendar can be cited from pentateuchal traditions, although those traditions have the authority of sacred writing, for Jubilees has the correct interpretation of pentateuchal traditions, and its interpretation also has the authority of sacred writing. In fact, the authority of the Law and testimony recorded in Jubilees is, in a sense, prior to the authority of Mosaic Torah, because Jubilees represents a tradition that long predates Sinai and because the authority of Mosaic Torah depends on the fact that it repeats what has long been written on the heavenly tablets and known to the privileged few. Even laws mentioned explicitly in the Pentateuch are said in Jubilees to owe their authority to the much older sacred writing on the heavenly tablets.24 If pentateuchal laws owe their authority to the tradition of the heavenly tablets, then extra-pentateuchal laws recorded on the tablets have just as much authority as pentateuchal laws. The acknowledged authority of the ancient sacred writings associated with Moses was not denied; instead, it was appropriated on behalf of sacred writings that claimed to be even more ancient and to be no less divine in their origin as writings. How, in detail, does this authority conferring strategy function? Most notably, the authority of the pre-Sinaitic written tradition is invoked on behalf of Jubilees’ calendrical system. For example, the tablets contain, not only the authoritative solar calendar, but also the ominous prophecy that Israelites will erroneously follow the lunar calendar: For I know and from now on will inform you—not from my own mind because this is the way the book is written in front of me, and the divisions of times are ordained on the heavenly tablets, lest they forget the covenantal festivals and walk in the festivals of the nations, after their error and after their ignorance. There will be people who carefully observe the moon with lunar observations because it is corrupt (with respect to) the seasons and is early from year to year by ten days. Therefore years will come about for them when they will disturb (the year) and make a day of testimony something worthless and a profane day a festival.

24 Many pentateuchal laws are said to have originated from the heavenly tablets, long before Mosaic revelation at Sinai. Three such examples are Jub. 30:8–10; 32:10– 15; 33:9–12. These three passages, which record the prohibition against adultery, the commandment to tithe, and the prohibition against incest, were repeated to Moses, according to the first two chapters of Jubilees, but their authority clearly precedes that revelation.


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Everyone will join together both holy days with the profane and the profane day with the holy day, for they will err regarding the months, the Sabbaths, the festivals, and the jubilee. For this reason I am commanding you and testifying to you so that you may testify to them because after your death your children will disturb (it) so that they do not make the year (consist of) 364 days only. Therefore, they will err regarding the first of the month, the season, the Sabbath, and the festivals. They will eat all the blood with all (kinds of) meat. (Jub. 6:35–38)

Although this makes disconcerting, even tragic, reading for someone who believes in Jubilees, the overall effect must have been to confirm the authority of the solar calendar in an age when it was neglected by many. Even those hard times were prophesied by Jubilees, which only served to prove its authenticity. Besides, such heavenly, written testimony would ensure that the advocates of alternative calendars, having been fairly warned, would be punished.25 No opportunity is lost to emphasize the authority and importance of the calendar recorded on the heavenly tablets. If pre-Sinaitic figures are praised in Jubilees for fulfilling “the Law and the testimony,” their praiseworthiness is always associated with their calendrical correctness. García Martínez writes: “the important point here is that the author resorts to the HT as the definitive means by which he legitimizes this calendar. He will do the same in concrete applications of the calendar in order to determine the feasts.”26 For example, in Jub. 16:28–30, Abraham’s authentic celebration of the biblical holiday Sukkoth is directly linked to his implementation of the solar calendar: We blessed him eternally and all the descendants who would follow him throughout all the history of the earth because he had celebrated this festival at its time in accord with the testimony of the heavenly tablets. For this reason it has been ordained on the heavenly tablets regarding Israel that they should celebrate the festival of tabernacles joyfully for seven days during the seventh month which is acceptable in the Lord’s presence—a law which is eternal throughout their history in each and every year. This has no temporal limit because it is ordained forever regarding Israel that they should celebrate it, live in tents, place wreaths

25 James L. Kugel, “The Jubilees Apocalypse,” DSD 1 (1994): 330: “Here again is full and fair warning in the official sense: the angel states clearly the calendric law and details the consequences of its transgression; indeed, he goes on to record that such violation will in fact occur. Once again, the technical language of fair warning is used here: ‘I am commanding you and testifying [presumably, me‘îd] to you so that you may testify [again, presumably, ta‘îd] to them.’” 26 García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 252.

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chapter two on their heads, and take leafy branches and willow branches from the stream. (Jub. 16:28–30)

Jubilees emphasizes both that the solar calendar is ancient and that it is eternally binding.27 Thus the practice of the patriarchs is not of mere historical interest; it has vital legal implications that would remain unknown to someone who reads the Pentateuch without Jubilees’ assistance. In fact, without the traditions inscribed on the heavenly tablets, it would be quite impossible to properly fulfill the sacrifice for the festival of Passover on the correct day, as dictated by the solar calendar: Now you remember the day throughout all your lifetime. Celebrate it from year to year throughout all your lifetime, once a year on its day in accord with all of its law. Then you will not change a day from the day or from month to month. For it is an eternal statute and it is engraved on the heavenly tablets regarding the Israelites that they are to celebrate it each and every year on its day, once a year, throughout their entire history.28 The man who is pure but does not come to celebrate it on its prescribed day—to bring a sacrifice that is pleasing before the Lord and to eat and drink before the Lord on the day of his festival—that man who is pure and nearby is to be uprooted because he did not bring the Lord’s sacrifice at its time. That man will bear responsibility for his own sins. (Jub. 49:7–9)

The sinners have been fairly warned, so they have nobody to blame but themselves, while the righteous, who adhere to the correct calendar and thus celebrate the festivals in accordance with the heavenly tablets, may take comfort in the authority of the written word. In contrast to the familiar Christian claim to supersede the Sinaitic covenant with a new covenant, which also emerges from Second Temple disputes about law and its authority, Jubilees belongs to a family of texts that claims an equivalent or perhaps even a higher authority than that accorded Mosaic revelation insofar as the heavenly tablets were revealed prior to Sinaitic revelation. Such texts viewed the revelation of law to Moses on Mount Sinai as merely one of a series of legal revelations that began in the earliest stages of biblical history, and they regarded

27 Two additional examples of this phenomenon can be found in Jub. 18:18–19 and 32:27–29. 28 See García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 255, where he argues that the distinctive instruction of the celebration of the Passover is revealed in the heavenly tablets.


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the correct interpretation of the Law as depending on the possession of the authentic pre-Sinaitic tradition.29 Any interpretation of the Law that was not based on knowledge of this older covenant was ipso facto inauthentic, even if it appeared to be based on pentateuchal texts, for those texts could only be authentically read through the lens of the primordial tradition. On the basis of such ideas, Second Temple sectarians challenged the practice of the Jerusalem establishment, which they regarded as inauthentic.30 In the case of Jubilees, it should hardly surprise us, in light of the above evidence of Jubilees’ repeated association of authority with writing, that the authentic pre-Sinaitic tradition is presented as written on heavenly tablets, from which angels dictate to select human scribes. A number of prominent scholars have connected Jubilees’ repeated appeal to pre-Mosaic authority with the following passage from 1 Macc l:ll: In those days certain renegades came out from Israel and misled many, saying “Let us go and make a covenant with the Gentiles around us, for since we separated from them many disasters have come upon us.”

Jubilees’ repeated insistence upon pre-Sinaitic law can be understood as a challenge to those “renegades” who had a very different conception of pre-Mosaic life. If this is the correct context for Jubilees’ claims, then Jubilees should be dated roughly around the time of Antiochus IV (175–164).31 29 For additional discussion of pre-Sinaitic law see, Gary Anderson, “The Status of the Torah Before Sinai,” DSD 1 (1994): 1–30; Joseph A. Baumgarten, “The Unwritten Law in the Pre-Rabbinic Period,” in Studies in Qumran Law (SJLA 24; Leiden: Brill, 1977), 13–38; James L. Kugel, “The Jubilees Apocalypse,” DSD 1 (1994): 322–38. 30 A similar claim, one might argue, continues in early Christian traditions such as the Epistle to the Hebrews where the authority of Jesus is said to have preceded that of Aaron the priest and Moses the lawgiver, long before Sinai. See, e.g., Harold W. Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews: A Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, Hermeneia-A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1989), 54 n. 58, n. 59; Mary Rose D’Angelo, “Chapter Four: Moses Likened to the Son of God According to Glory: The Theological Function of Moses in Hebrews,” in Moses in the Letter to the Hebrews (SBLDS 42; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1979), 151–200. 31 There are additional arguments for such a dating. See James C. VanderKam, “The Origins and Purposes of the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees, 3–24: on page 21, VanderKam writes: “Jubilees’ emphatic insistence on the election of the Jewish people from the very beginning and on the claim that the pre-mosaic ancestors lived according to the pentateuchal law directly addresses such assertions. The writer says in effect that there never was such a pristine, ‘golden’ time. The law was always there on the heavenly tablets and, beginning with Adam and Eve, the chosen, those joined to God in the covenant, lived by those laws as they were revealed to them.” For

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B. New Laws are Inscribed on the Heavenly Tablets32 We can see the authority conferring strategy of invoking the heavenly tablets at work in a different way, when we examine Jubilees’ approach to the narratives of Genesis and the first part of Exodus. Given Jubilees’ emphasis on the Law and its view of the value of writing, it must have seemed impossible that these narratives could have been of historical, non-legal import. Therefore, these narratives had to be shown to be crypto-legal texts. When read in the light of testimony recorded in Jubilees, it emerges that the narratives are indeed crypto-legal and that various laws mentioned later in the Pentateuch were in fact inscribed on the heavenly tablets and first obeyed in pre-Sinaitic times. We can see an example of this in Jub. 4:31–32. Cain’s murder of his brother, Abel, and Cain’s subsequent punishment are retold in terms of a later legal system. According to Jub. 4:31–32, the first murderer was killed with the same kind of objects he had employed to carry out his dreadful deed. The story was worth writing in Genesis because of its legal significance: Cain’s death was in keeping with a law that had been inscribed on the heavenly tablets:33 At the conclusion of this jubilee Cain was killed one year after him. His house fell on him, and he died inside his house. He was killed by its stones for with a stone he had killed Abel and, by a just punishment, he was killed with a stone. For this reason it has been ordained on the heavenly tablets: “By the instrument with which a man kills his fellow he is to be killed. As he wounded him so are they to do to him.” (Jub. 4:31–4:32)

Another illustration is Jubilees’ rewriting of Laban’s notorious deception of Jacob, the nuptial substitution of Leah for Rachel. In the biblical text, Laban explains himself by an appeal to custom: “it is not

similar claims about the historical context in which Jubilees appeals to pre-Mosaic, heavenly traditions see, e.g., John C. Endres, Biblical Interpretation of the Book of Jubilees (CBQMS 18; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1987), 226–38; Eberhard Schwarz, Identität durch Abgrenzung: Abgrenzungsprozesse in Israel im 2. vorchristlichen Jahrhundert und ihre traditions- geschichtlichen Vorasussentzungen. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Erforschung des Jubiläenbuches (Europäische Hochschulschriften, series 23, vol. 162; Frankfurt/Bern: Peter Lang, 1982), 99–126. 32 This corresponds to García Martínez’s fifth category, see “5. Heavenly Tablets: New Halakhot,” in “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 255–58. 33 For an insightful reconstruction of the interpretive basis for Jubilees’ “new halakhah” in this passage, see García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 256.


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customary in our country to give the younger daughter before the older daughter.” Here is Jubilees’ version of Laban’s justification: Laban said to Jacob: “It is not customary in our country to give the younger daughter before the older one.” It is not right to do this because this is the way it is ordained and written on the heavenly tablets: that no one should give his younger daughter before his older one, but he should first give the older and after her the younger. Regarding the man who acts in this way they will enter a sin in heaven. There is no one who is just and does this because this action is evil in the Lord’s presence. (Jub. 28:6)

How could Laban’s response have been adequate, as Jacob’s silence suggests it was, if not because the “custom” cited by Laban was in fact supported by the authority of the heavenly tablets? According to Jubilees, the story of Laban is told for the very reason that what Laban reports is indeed a law, not just a custom! By claiming that the Law is already on the heavenly tablets, Jubilees further advances its argument that the narratives of Genesis are in fact crypto-legal texts;34 if they are read with the correct understanding, then one will know the laws it teaches.35 In the above examples, the demands of interpretation enter into a reciprocal exchange with the exigencies of authority. The heavenly tablets are invoked to render the apparently non-legal stories of Cain and Laban meaningful to an audience that associated religious significance with legal import, thus satisfying interpretation’s demand for relevance. In return, the authority of the heavenly tablets is reinforced, because the reader is reminded that the tablets are as ancient as the world itself, and that all authority—even the authority of the pentateuchal laws—is ultimately derived from them. The authority of the heavenly tablets was also deployed to solve another kind of problem that faced Second Temple interpreters. If Genesis and the first part of Exodus seemed to be legally irrelevant

34 Later rabbinic traditions raise the question of the legal relevance of Genesis and the first part of Exodus and try to justify its legal significance despite its apparent lack of Israelite legislation. This rabbinic tradition is perhaps best known as a midrash cited by the medieval exegete, Rashi (Rabbi Shelomo Yitzhaqi, 1040–1105) in his commentary to the Pentateuch in Gen 1:1. 35 Another example is Jubilees’ claim that the purity laws associated with childbirth were already cryptically revealed in Genesis. See Jub. 3:8–14. For a helpful discussion of the role of the heavenly tablets in this passage see García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 256.

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when read without supplementation, some pentateuchal passages that were obviously legal were nevertheless lacking in detail, so that they too stood in need of supplementation. The tradition of the heavenly tablets could be invoked to fill the gaps. Thus, for example, in Jub. 50:12–13, the pentateuchal laws of Sabbath observance are combined with additional laws said to be inscribed on the tablets and dictated to Moses: Any man who does work; who goes on a trip; who works farmland whether at his home or in any (other) place; who lights a fire; who rides any animal; who travels the sea by ship; any man who beats or kills anything; who slits the throat of an animal or bird; who catches either a wild animal, a bird, or a fish; who fasts and makes war on the Sabbath day—a man who does any of these things on the Sabbath day is to die, so that the Israelites may continue observing the Sabbath in accord with the commandments for the Sabbaths of the land as it was written in the tablets which he placed in my hands so that I could write for you the laws of each specific time in every division of its times. (Jub. 50:12–13)

This passage is particularly interesting because the reference in 50:13 to the Sinaitic tablets, the “tablets which he placed in my hands,” forms an inclusio with the opening section of Jubilees.36 Note that, although Jubilees twice refers to the tablets given to Moses, it does not recall the breaking of the first tablets and their rewriting. Jubilees recognizes only the original, divinely written tablets, not the second, humanly rewritten copy. The Sabbath laws are said to be in accordance with the commandments that were written “in the tablets which he placed in my hands.” Furthermore, these tablets enabled Moses to write down “the laws of each specific time in every division of its times.” Thus the tablets seem to contain Torah, which is supplemented by “laws of each specific time in every division of its times.” Thus Jubilees, in both its opening and closing lines, appeals to the authority of the Mosaic tablets of Torah, and attaches its testimony (calendar, history of the world, record of all past deeds) to those tablets of the Law. The additional laws of the Sabbath day—which are not to be found in their entirety anywhere in the biblical corpus, although they have definite biblical origins—are thereby linked to the authority of the Torah itself. For the Sabbath laws are part of the larger corpus of divine writings

36 I am indebted to García Martínez, who suggested, in private correspondence, that the tablets mentioned in 50:13 are not the heavenly tablets but the tablets given to Moses, forming an inclusio.


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revealed to Moses at Sinai, a corpus that includes, not only the tablets given to Moses, but also those traditions of heavenly writings that were dictated to Moses via the Angel of the Presence. C. A Record of Good and Evil Deeds: The Efficacy of the Heavenly Tablets37 Another aspect of the authority of the heavenly tablets lies in their efficacy as agents of curses and blessings. According to Jub. 4:5–6, every action is recorded on the heavenly tablets, so that the appropriate power of writing may be activated: For this reason it has been written on the heavenly tablets: “Cursed is the person who beats his companion maliciously.” All who saw (it) said: “Let him be (cursed). And let the man who has seen but has not told be cursed like him.” [And let the man who has seen but has not told be cursed like him.] For this reason we report, when we come before the Lord our God, all the sins which take place in heaven and on earth— what (happens) in the light, in the darkness, or in any place.

The very fact that these judgments are written in the heavens is sufficient to authorize them and to render it impossible to question their justice, as is emphasized in Jubilees. The judgment of them all has been ordained and written on the heavenly tablets; there is no injustice. There is nothing which is in heaven or on the earth, in the light, the darkness, Sheol, the deep, or in the dark place—all their judgments have been ordained, written, and inscribed. (Jub. 5:13–14)

Given Jubilees’ sense that the righteous are a minority, it is perhaps not surprising that punishments seem to constitute a large part of the heavenly record.38 But Jubilees also claims that the reward of those who were faithful to God is inscribed upon the tablets. For example, in Jub. 30:18–22, Levi is remembered as a friend of God, and his action against the Shechemites is vindicated in the most authoritative way possible: “Levi’s descendants were chosen for the priesthood and as Levites to serve before the Lord as we (do) for all time. Levi and his sons will be

37

Cf. García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 247–50, where he discusses a category he calls the “Book of Destiny.” 38 There are additional examples of a punishment or an eternal decree against a people being recorded on the heavenly tablets. See Jub. 16:8–9 and 24:33.

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chapter two blessed forever because he was eager to carry out justice, punishment, and revenge on all who rise against Israel. So blessing and justice before the God of all are entered for him as a testimony on the heavenly tablets. We ourselves remember the justice which the man performed during his lifetime at all times of the year. As far as 1000 generations will they enter (it). It will come to him and his family after him. He has been recorded on the heavenly tablets as a friend and a just man.” I have written this entire message for you and have ordered you to tell the Israelites not to sin or transgress the statutes or violate the covenant which was established for them so that they should perform it and be recorded as friends. But if they transgress and behave in any impure ways, they will be recorded on the heavenly tablets as enemies. They will be erased from the book of the living and will be recorded in the book of those who will be destroyed and with those who will be uprooted from the earth. On the day that Jacob’s sons killed (the people of) Shechem, a written notice was entered in heaven for them (to the effect) that they had carried out what was right, justice, and revenge against the sinners. It was recorded as a blessing. (Jub. 30:18–23)

Thus, the tablets do not merely record timeless laws, but also the rewards of those, who, like Levi, act conspicuously in keeping with the divine will. The heavenly tablets have the power to make history happen. Furthermore their efficacy is not limited to the fate of individuals but also concerns the destiny of the Israelite nation. So at Bethel, according to Jub. 32:21, the substance of Jacob’s revelation is the history of the world written upon the tablets. This passage is striking because Jacob will record the heavenly tablets as soon as he awakens from his dream. So, like Moses who must rewrite an already written heavenly tradition, but long before Sinai, Jacob has to record the heavenly revelation of tablets in the form of a written earthly copy. Although Jacob does not have the Angel of the Presence dictating the heavenly tradition to him, God reassures Jacob; God promises to remind Jacob of the content of his dream. This would insure Jacob’s faithful and perfect transcription. It seems that for some biblical figures, such as Jacob and Moses, the actual rewriting of a received revelation by the recipient of divine revelation is an important element of the inheritance of the heavenly tradition. In a night vision he [Jacob] saw an angel coming down from heaven with seven tablets,39 in his hands. He gave (them) to Jacob, and he read

39 García Martínez argues that “tablets” here should be understood as the heavenly tablets. His careful and thorough argumentation is based, in part, on Origen’s citation


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them. He read everything that was written in them—what would happen to him and his sons throughout all ages. After he had shown him everything that was written on the tablets, he said to him: “Do not build up this place, and do not make it an eternal temple. Do not live here because this is not the place. Go to the house of your father Abraham and live where your father Isaac is until the day of your father’s death. For you will die peacefully in Egypt and be buried honorably in this land in the grave of your fathers—with Abraham and Isaac.” (Jub. 32:21–23)

The clear implication of this passage is that the fortune of Israel depends on its commitment to Jubilees’ version of the Law, with its emphasis on the solar calendar. Moreover, the passage keeps its best secrets to itself. We are told what will happen to Jacob and, of course, pentateuchal texts confirm the prophecy. But we are not told what will happen to Jacob’s descendants. Those who read the Pentateuch through the lens of Jubilees may know more than they have told, and their authority is enhanced by the hint of secret knowledge, still written on the heavenly tablets for those who know how to read them. Strategy 2: The Angel of the Presence Dictates to Moses In a Second Temple community based on ancient writings, the strategy of invoking pre-Sinaitic heavenly tablets must have seemed rather powerful. Yet for Jubilees, it was not enough. For Jubilees also claimed that the contents of the heavenly tablets were dictated to Moses by an authoritative figure: the Angel of the Presence.40 Thus, after Moses is instructed to “write all these words” (Jub. 1:26), God speaks to an Angel of the Presence in Jub. 1:27–29: Then he said to an angel of the presence: “Dictate to Moses (starting) from the beginning of the creation until the time when my temple is built among them throughout the ages of eternity. The Lord will appear in the sight of all, and all will know that I am the God of Israel, the father of all Jacob’s children, and the king on Mt. Zion for the ages of

of the Prayer of Joseph. See García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 250. 40 The Angel of the Presence is also referred to in the Qumran literature. See, e.g., 3Q7 V; 1QH VI; 1QSb III. For further discussion of the role of angels in Second Temple and rabbinic literature, see Maxwell J. Davidson, Angels at Qumran: A Comparative Study of 1 Enoch 1–36, 72–108 and Sectarian Writings from Qumran (Sheffield, England: JSOT Press, 1992); Michael Mach, Entwicklungsstadien des jüdischen Engelglaubens in vorrabinischer Zeil (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1992); Saul M. Olyan, A Thousand Thousands Served Him: Exegesis and the Naming of Angels in Ancient Judaism (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1993).

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chapter two eternity. Then Zion and Jerusalem will become holy. The angel of the presence, who was going along in front of the Israelite camp, took the tablets (which told) of the divisions of the years from the time the law and the testimony were created—for the weeks of their jubilees, year by year in their full number, and their jubilees from [the time of creation until] the time of the new creation when the heavens, the earth, and all their creatures will be renewed like the powers of the sky and like all the creatures of the earth, until the time when the temple of the Lord will be created in Jerusalem on Mt. Zion. All the luminaries will be renewed for (the purposes of) healing, health, and blessing for all the elect ones of Israel and so that it may remain this way from that time throughout all the days of the earth.

In Jub. 2:1, the Angel of the Presence once again instructs Moses to write: On the Lord’s orders the angel of the presence said to Moses: “Write all the words about the creation—how in six days the Lord God completed all his works, everything that he had created, and kept sabbath on the seventh day. He sanctified it for all ages and set it as a sign for all his works.”

Why should angelic dictation be necessary, in addition to the revelation of the heavenly tablets? Some scholars have argued that the apparent contradiction reveals the complex redactional history of Jubilees. However, these suggestions have been decisively refuted by VanderKam. He argues that while the instructions given to the Angel of the Presence and Moses are certainly related, insofar as they both use the same verbal root ktb, nevertheless, Moses writes in the qal while the Angel of the Presence is instructed to dictate, i.e., to cause Moses to write, in the hiphil.41 Thus, the narrative of the first chapter of Jubilees does not betray a complex redactional history but rather a series of actions that involve an already existing collection of heavenly

41 See James C. VanderKam, “The Putative Author of the Book of Jubilees,” JSS 26 (1981): 209–17. VanderKam argues convincingly that Jubilees presents a single account of divine dictation by the Angel of the Presence to Moses who then writes the tradition down. I am convinced by VanderKam’s argument that there is a single author of the book of Jubilees. However, a number of scholars have posited a variety of schemes for the redactional stages in the book of Jubilees. See, e.g., Gene Davenport, The Eschatology of the Book of Jubilees (ed. J. C. H. Lebram; SPB 20; Leiden: Brill, 1971); Ed P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 287; Ernest Wiesenberg, “The Jubilee of Jubilees,” RevQ 3 (1961–1962): 3–40; Michel Testuz, Les Idées Religieuses du Livre des Jubilés (Geneva: Librarie E. Droz; Paris: Librairie Minard, 1960), 39–42.


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tablets, an Angel of the Presence who is instructed to dictate the contents of these tablets to Moses, and Moses himself, who assiduously records all that is dictated to him by the angel. Thus, the Angel of the Presence plays a crucial role in the transmission of the Law according to Jubilees. We rely on the angel for accurate dictation and for checking the accuracy of Moses’ record. So, not only does Jubilees contain part of the oldest written, heavenly record of tablets, it also finds its way into earthly form by means of the Angel of the Presence. The authority of God’s messenger further bolsters Jubilees’ claim that the interpretive and legal traditions it preserves are indeed authentic and divinely authorized. The Angel of the Presence makes occasional appearances throughout the book of Jubilees. Interestingly, although this angel is never mentioned in the Pentateuch, his appearance in Jubilees is often occasioned by a reference to angels in the relevant biblical narratives.42 This association enables the angel to acquire the status of the pentateuchal angels. Of course, reinforcing the authority of the angel also strengthens the authority of what he dictates, hence that of Jubilees itself. For the angel is the messenger who links the heavenly realm of the tablets with the earthly realm of the scribe. Acting on divine instruction, the angel insures the accuracy of the scribe’s copy, thus transmitting heavenly authority to the product of an otherwise fallible process of human writing. Strategy 3: Mosaic Attribution: Jubilees as Pseudepigraphon From the outset, Jubilees insists on Moses’ role in its production. Moses is the writer of this text, although he is not its author. For Moses is

42 There are four such examples in Jub. 16:1–4; 16:15–19; 18:9; 48:13. However, the Angel of the Presence does not appear on every occasion when angels are mentioned in the Pentateuch. For example, when Jacob dreams of the ladder of angels (Jub. 32:21–26), Jubilees reports the presence of angels but the Angel of the Presence does not claim to have been present. In addition, when Hagar is expelled from Abraham’s household, an angel appears to her. Here too, in Jub. 17:11, the Angel of the Presence does not claim to have been that angel (cf. Jub. 5:6 concerning the “bad angels”). On one important occasion, the Angel of the Presence appears when there is no reference to an angel in the biblical text. This addition to the biblical text provides the divinely authorized forgiveness of Judah, which is nowhere mentioned in the Hebrew Bible. When Jubilees recounts the narrative of Genesis 38, it inserts a reference to a dream that Judah had in which the angels (“we,” thus including the Angel of the Presence) spoke to him in a dream. See Jub. 41:23–24.

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the scribe who transcribes what is read to him from the heavenly tablets by the Angel of the Presence, and he is the person to whom the revealed traditions are, in the first place, addressed: Now you write all these words which I will tell you on this mountain: what is first and what is last and what is to come during all the divisions of time which are in the law and which are in the testimony and in the weeks of their jubilees until eternity—until the time when I descend and live with them throughout all the ages of eternity. (Jub. 1:26)

The role of Moses is reinforced for the reader in the following way: into pentateuchal narratives are inserted either laws that occur elsewhere in the Pentateuch (such as the prohibition of sexual relations with one’s father’s wife, unmentioned in the episode of Reuben and Bilhah) or laws that are nowhere to be found in the Pentateuch (such as the prohibition of intermarriage on pain of death). On these occasions, the Angel of the Presence speaks directly to Moses and tells him to record such a law.43 It is clear why Jubilees employs this method of emphasizing that the text before the reader was transcribed by Moses: the pre-Sinaitic history of Genesis through the beginning of Exodus is thereby shown to have legal implications, and the laws endorsed by Jubilees are shown to have the authority of Mosaic Torah, while the authority of Mosaic Torah is at the same time shown to be rooted in a heavenly tradition ascribed to God and known to select individuals since the beginnings of history.44 All of this underscores the peculiarly authoritative status of Jubilees itself, its calendrical system, and its chronology—an authority that, if taken at face value, would be hard to outweigh.45 43 For additional references to Moses in the book of Jubilees see Jub. 1:1–26; 15:28; 23:32; 30:11–12; 33:13–18; 41:26; 47:1–48:13; 49:1–2; 49:7–8; 49:11; 49:22–23; 50:4; 50:6; 50:12–13. 44 This claim to heavenly or divine ascription is not unique to Jubilees. For example 11QT (Temple Scroll) rewrites selections of the Pentateuch in such a way that it is God who is speaking in the first person. By rewriting and appropriating the Mosaic Torah, 11QT assumes a position of divine authority. In the context of rewriting Mosaic Torah, 11QT supplements the biblical tradition with laws and holidays. But in the case of both Jubilees and 11QT, in addition to affirming divine ascription, the authors employ additional strategies to claim their authority as interpreters of Mosaic Torah. For an extensive discussion of the laws (both biblical and extrabiblical) cited in 11QT, see Yigael Yadin, “Chapter Two: The Festivals,” in The Temple Scroll (vol. 1; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 89–142. 45 Kugel has noted that Jubilees incorporates passages from Psalm 90, a psalm which was already attributed to Moses. In each case, Jubilees attaches to these passages themes that are distinctive of its interpretive and legal positions. Thus the incorpora-


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It is hardly surprising, then, that Jubilees has been assigned, along with many other Second Temple texts, to the group of texts known as Pseudepigrapha.46 Like the characterization of Jubilees as rewritten Bible, this is, in some sense, obviously true. But it is essential to clarify in which sense it is true. The danger here is that the term Pseudepigrapha, which implies a contrast between authentically attributed texts and falsely attributed texts, is both outdated and anachronistic.47 On the

tion of passages from Psalm 90 serves as yet another device to confirm the Mosaic authority of the “Law and testimony” to be found in Jubilees. For a discussion of the integration of this psalm into Jubilees, see Kugel’s discussion in “The Jubilees Apocalypse,” DSD 1 (1994): 322–37. On page 336 Kugel writes: “By weaving these other themes in with a few obvious references to Psalm 90, the author of Jubilees could provide the whole chapter with a certain legitimacy: the echoes of Psalm 90 in the angel’s speech would serve to ‘prove’ that Moses had indeed heard this whole speech on Mt. Sinai (since he later incorporated at least some parts of it into his famous psalm), and this would allow the other elements to, as it were, ride in on biblical coattails. Thus, the author of Jubilees sought to incorporate a few key verses from this psalm into this chapter, radically reinterpreting them in such a way as to fit his own vision of the present and future.” 46 See James A. Sanders, “Introduction: Why the Pseudepigrapha?” in The Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans; JSOTSup 14, SSEJC 2; Sheffield: JSOT 1993), 13–19. Concerning the term Pseudepigrapha Sanders writes, 14–15: “It is an inept term that has come since the early eighteenth century to mean roughly the following: the Early Jewish literature (largely in the 200 b.c.e. to 200 c.e. period) that resembles the Apocrypha or deuterocanonical literature but is not included in the Jewish or Western Christian canons, or in rabbinic literature. But even that is not a definition. . . . No one in the field has found another term that has gained acceptance to designate this important body of literature.” On the use and understanding of the term Pseudepigrapha see Michael E. Stone, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Pseudepigrapha,” DSD 3 (1996): 270–95; Devorah Dimant, “Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha at Qumran,” DSD 1 (1994): 151–59; Kyle Keefer, “A Postscript to the Book: Authenticating the Pseudepigrapha,” in Reading Bibles, Writing Bodies: Identity and The Book (ed. Timothy K. Beal and David M. Gunn; London: Routledge, 1997), 232–41; James H. Charlesworth, “The Significance of the New Edition of the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha,” in La Littérature Intertestamentaire: Colloque de Strasbourg (17–19 Octobre 1983) (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1985), 11–28; John Strugnell, “Moses-Pseudepigrapha At Qumran: 4Q375, 4Q376, and Similar Works,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin (ed. James H. Charlesworth; JSOTSup 8, JSOT/ ASOR Monographs 2; Sheffield: JSOT, 1990), 221–56. 47 On pseudonymity and forgery see Edward M. Forster, Anonymity: An Enquiry (London: Hogarth Press, 1925); James A. Farrer, Literary Forgeries (New York: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1907), in particular see Andrew Long’s introduction to Farrer’s book, xiii–xxvi; “Chapter III: Greek Forgery,” 39–66 and “Chapter VII: Forgery in the Church,” 126–44; Morton Smith, “Pseudepigraphy in the Israelite Literary Tradition,” in Pseudepigrapha I (ed. K. von Fritz; Vandoeuvres-Genève: Fondation Hardt, 1972), 189–215 with discussion 216–27; Wolfgang Speyer, “Fälschung, pseudepigraphische freie Erfindung und ‘echte religiöse Pseudepigraphie’,” in Pseudepigrapha I, 367–78 with discussion 367–78.

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one hand, the term is outdated, because the majority of biblical scholarship no longer claims to demonstrate that any biblical text is authentically attributed to a single historical person.48 On the other hand, the term is anachronistic, because we are not entitled to assume that Second Temple writers and readers had the conceptions of authenticity, whether religious or secular, that developed much later, long after the last scriptural works had been written and, indeed, canonized.49 We cannot assume that Second Temple readers of Jubilees, such as the author(s) of the Damascus Document who cite(s) Jubilees as Scripture,50 took Moses’ transcription of Jubilees to be an historical fact, because we cannot assume that they shared the relevant conception of history. As the foregoing discussion of Moses’ scribal role should have shown, we should focus, not on whether or not some actual historical Moses ever transcribed Jubilees, but rather on the detailed interpretive mechanisms by which Jubilees claims authority by associating itself with the authoritative figure of Moses the scribe.51 It speaks volumes about these Second Temple authors that they must have considered it insufficient to ground their interpretations and laws in a contemporaneous activity of interpretation or experience of prophecy. Clearly, they thought they had to ground their interpretations and laws in the preexilic past: in the Mosaic origins of the nation or, better yet, in the divine origins of history itself.

48 There are, however, exceptions, e.g., the text of Ben Sira, which identifies the actual author without attributing the text to a pseudonymous author and without claiming divine revelation as the inspiration of the text. Although this book was included in the Christian canon, it was not included in the Jewish canon, perhaps because Ben Sira failed to claim divine inspiration. 49 Keefer, “A Postscript to the Book: Authenticating the Pseudepigrapha,” 239: “The period from 200 b.c.e. to 200 c.e. was possibly the most fecund time for Jewish biblical interpretation in all of history. The texts now considered canonical certainly had some sort of consensually conferred authority, but not an authority which they would later have under Tannaitic Judaism or orthodox Christianity. From Jubilees to Pseudo-Philo to the Qumran community to the rabbis to Paul and the nascent Christian movement, Torah was both fixed and fluid, and various interpreters almost revel in that fluidity.” 50 See CD column XVI. I am not suggesting that the Damascus Document’s reference to Jubilees intends Jubilees to be a replacement for the Mosaic Torah, but that Jubilees is considered authoritative in its own right (either as authoritative interpretation, as supplementation to Mosaic Torah, or as an independently significant authoritative work with scriptural status). 51 For a very helpful discussion of other examples of Moses pseudepigrapha in the Second Temple period see John Strugnell, “Moses-Pseudepigrapha At Qumran: 4Q375, 4Q376, and Similar Works,” 221–56, esp. 248–56.


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It is important to distinguish between rewriting the Bible and insisting on Moses’ scribal role, although they are connected ways of claiming authority. The former is a way of claiming the authority of Mosaic Torah, a sacred written tradition whose authority was long established, while the latter is a way of claiming the authority of Moses the figure. In Jubilees, Moses’ sole function is that of the amanuensis:52 he must accurately transcribe what is dictated to him from the heavenly tablets by the Angel of the Presence. Of his life before Sinai, we are told principally that he learned the art of writing from his father, Amram the Levite, and thus that he stands in the authentic line of Enochic and Abrahamic inheritance. For Jubilees, Moses the figure is important only as an appropriate, authoritative transmitter of heavenly tradition, not unlike Noah or Abraham. Jubilees invokes the authority of Moses the scribe in order to associate the authority of its interpretations with the Mosaic law. Already in the earlier part of the Second Temple period, the Torah of Moses assumed a position of authority as the authentic copy of Sinaitic legislation by which the Second Temple community sought to reconstitute itself in the aftermath of the Babylonian exile. Thus, Jubilees appropriates Mosaic authority by claiming that in addition to writing the Mosaic Torah, Moses also wrote down these divinely ordained traditions of testimony which complement, explain, and determine a great deal of Mosaic law. Strategy 4: Authentic Interpretation is Part of Divine Revelation Jubilees has long been recognized as an example of rewritten Bible,53 that is, of a genre of Second Temple texts that recount biblical

52 Strugnell points out that in the Second Temple literature Moses functions only as amanuensis in just two Second Temple texts. In Jubilees he is the amanuensis for the angels and in the Temple Scroll (11QT) Moses is the amanuensis for God himself. See Strugnell’s discussion in “Moses-Pseudepigrapha At Qumran: 4Q375, 4Q376, and Similar Works,” 249. 53 On the application and understanding of the term rewritten Bible, see Moshe J. Bernstein, “4Q252: From Re-Written Bible to Biblical Commentary,” JJS 45 (1994): 2– 27; idem, “Re-Arrangement, Anticipation and Harmonization as Exegetical Features in the Genesis Apocryphon,” DSD (1996) 37–57; idem, “4Q252: Method and Context, Genre and Sources,” JQR 85 (1994): 61–79; James H. Charlesworth, “In the Crucible: The Pseudepigrapha as Biblical Interpretation,” in The Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 14, SSEJC 2; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993): 120–43; Craig A. Evans, “The Genesis

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narratives with variations and insertions. In some sense, this is clearly correct, as the passages already examined in this study demonstrate. However, it is important to be clear about which sense we attach to the term rewritten Bible, and Jubilees presents a useful occasion for clarification.54 If one is to speak of rewriting the Bible, one must be clear about the status of the Bible in the period in question, and one must be clear about the motivation and significance of the act of rewriting.55 It is important to consider the implications of the fact that, although Apocryphon and the Rewritten Bible,” RevQ 13 (1988): 153–65; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave I: A Commentary (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1971); Howard Jacobson, A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum, with Latin Text and English Translation (2 vols.; AGJU 31; Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1996); James L. Kugel, In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts (Cambridge: Harvard University, 1994); idem, “Early Interpretation: The Common Background of Late Forms of Biblical Exegesis,” in Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James L. Kugel and Rowan A. Greer; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986), 11–106; Daniel J. Harrington, “Palestinian Adaptations of Biblical Narrative and Prophecies: Part I, The Bible Rewritten (Narratives),” in Early Judaism and Its Modern Interpreters (ed. Robert A. Kraft and George W. E. Nickelsburg; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 239–46; idem, “Chapter Three: Stories of Biblical and Early Post-Biblical Times” and “Chapter Four: The Bible Rewritten and Expanded,” in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period: Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, Qumran Sectarian Writings, Philo, Josephus (ed. Michael E. Stone; CRINT; Assen: Van Gorcum and Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 33–156; Philip S. Alexander, “Retelling the Old Testament,” in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture: Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars (ed. Donald A. Carson and Hugh G. M. Williamson; SSF; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 99–121. 54 In recent scholarship there is a general consensus among scholars who work on Second Temple literature that the essential function of rewritten Bible is interpretive. Yet, despite this agreement, the term itself tends to be misleading. For a helpful discussion see James H. Charlesworth, “In the Crucible: The Pseudepigrapha as Biblical Interpretation,” 120–43. Charlesworth does not explicitly claim that the terminology has been instrumental in misleading readers of Second Temple literature. I maintain, however, that it has contributed significantly to much of the confusion found in the scholarship. For a recent study that supports such an exegetical understanding of rewritten Bible with an emphasis on Philo of Alexandria, see Peder Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete for His Time, (VTSup 86; Leiden: Brill, 1997), esp. ch. 3: “Reviewing and Rewriting Biblical Material,” 46–62; ch. 4: “Rewritten Bible,” 63–79; “Concluding Summary,” 282–87. 55 Craig A. Evans, “The Genesis Apocryphon and the Rewritten Bible,” RevQ 13 (1988): 162: “Apparent discrepancies, lacunae, and embarrassing behavior on the part of an Old Testament worthy provide, it would appear, much of the motivation behind the retelling. . . . There seems to be a consistent tendency to illustrate and exaggerate the piety or wickedness of Old Testament characters. How this is done varies, but that it is done remains constant. Similarly, certain doctrines, such as the exaltation of Torah . . . are underscored and are usually placed on the lips of the patriarchs, often by incorporating other scriptural materials. What is common to most of this rewriting is the desire to update the biblical narrative, to bring it more closely into alignment with the theological orientation of the Judaism of late antiquity.”


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some sacred written traditions were recognized as authoritative Mosaic Torah from the very beginning of the Second Temple period, canonization did not occur until later.56 In such a climate, it seems highly unlikely that proponents of Jubilees would have sought to replace the Pentateuch. To attribute such an intention to Jubilees would be to give too revolutionary a construal of Jubilees’ relation to the past and to the rest of the Second Temple community. Instead, we should understand rewritten Bible in terms of the problems of interpretation and authority which were so profoundly intertwined during the Second Temple period. The community was founded on a continuity with the past symbolized by the sacred written traditions known as Mosaic Torah, but these traditions seemed cryptic and incomplete, demanding interpretation.57 When there were competing interpretations even on such fundamental and practical topics as the calendar, it became a pressing question to decide which interpretation and which practice was authoritative. Texts that rewrote the Bible, like Jubilees, responded to both the demand for interpretation and the demand for a demonstration of authority. On the one hand, they retold biblical stories in ways that resolved apparent inconsistencies or solved readers’ puzzles; on the other hand, they wove their own versions of law and belief, along with the very words of already authoritative traditions, into a single seamless whole. Thus they appropriated the authority of Mosaic Torah for their own interpretations, without removing that authority from existing sacred texts.58 The goal of Jubilees and other similar texts with respect to the Pentateuch may perhaps be to provide an interpretive context, the absence of which might engender dangerous misinterpretations. To take one cautious step further, one might argue that, prior to the fixing and canonization of Scripture, a Bible-rewriting text like Jubilees might claim or attain scriptural status, without displacing the pentateuchal traditions

56 See James C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5 (1998): 382–402. For an earlier view, see Sid Z. Leiman, The Canonization of Hebrew Scripture: The Talmudic and Midrashic Evidence (vol. 47; New Haven, Conn.: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1976). 57 See Kugel, “Chapter 1: The World of Ancient Interpreters,” in The Bible As It Was, 1–61. 58 See Jon D. Levenson, “Sources of Torah: Psalm 119 and the Modes of Revelation in Second Temple Judaism,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (ed. Patrick D. Miller, Paul D. Hanson, and Samuel Dean McBride; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), 559–74.

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woven into it.59 Indeed, it seems that Jubilees enjoys scriptural status, along with biblical traditions, in some texts found at Qumran. One might compare the relationship between the Pentateuch and the book of Jubilees to the relationship between Old and New Testaments in the Christian Bible—except that Jubilees would claim the status of the more archaic tradition, in whose light the more recent revelation must be read. In this clarified sense, then, Jubilees does rewrite the Bible, both in order to solve interpretive problems and in order to appropriate the authority of Mosaic Torah for its preferred calendar and practices. It would be misleading, however, simply to characterize Jubilees as rewritten Bible, for recasting biblical traditions is only one of the authority conferring strategies employed by Jubilees, along with the appeals to the tradition of heavenly tablets, the dictation of the Angel of the Presence, and the ascription of the book to Moses.

Conclusion Isolating and identifying the various strategies employed by Jubilees for the sake of its own authorization should enable us to have a richer and more variegated picture of Second Temple interpretive practices. In addition, such considerations of strategies for claiming interpretive authority should facilitate comparative studies of later Jewish and Christian interpretation. García Martínez offers a helpful analogy at the conclusion of his study of Jubilees’ heavenly tablets:

59 This might be what some scholars mean when they speak of a text that “rewrites the Bible” as a “new Torah.” See, e.g., Michael Fishbane, “Interpretation of Mikra at Qumran,” in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. Martin Jan Mulder, CRINT, 2; Assen/ Maastrict and Minneapolis: Van Gorcum and Fortress, 1990), 351: “In 11QTemp it is not Moses who reports God’s instructions, but God Himself who is the speaker. Through this reauthorization (of old laws and new interpretations) it is a rewritten book: a new Torah. . . . In the Temple Scroll, therefore, the reader confronts the text as a new Torah, even while perceiving the biblical base around which the sources and innovations were integrated. One may confidently surmise that this was the very hope and intent of the author.” The visibility of “the biblical base” only enhances the authority of the “new Torah” if that authority is not intended to displace the authority of biblical traditions.


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But the most important conclusion which has, at least to my knowledge, not been hitherto pointed out, is that in more than half of the cases in Jubilees where the expression HT is used, it indicates that the HT function in the same way as the Oral Torah (tôrah shebe’al peh) in Rabbinic Judaism. The HT constitute a hermeneutical recourse which permits the presentation of the “correct” interpretation of the Law, adapting it to the changing situations of life. . . .Thanks to the HT, which are at once the pre-existing Torah, the Book of Destiny, and the Oral Torah, the author is not only able to rewrite history, but also interpret the present and establish a course of conduct which might secure the future.60

Like the later rabbinic Oral Torah, the heavenly tablets are said to provide the divinely sanctioned interpretation of the Mosaic Torah and to have been revealed to Moses along with Mosaic Torah. However, there are also important disanalogies between the heavenly tablets and the Oral Torah. For example, as I have argued, writtenness is integral to every one of Jubilees’ four strategies because those strategies seek to intertwine the writing on the heavenly tablets with the already-established authority of the written Mosaic Torah. In contrast, it is essential to the rabbinic conception of Oral Torah that it is oral and therefore distinct from the written Torah. This might be connected to the fact that the Rabbis are writing after canonization. In addition, Jubilees’ insistence on the pre-Sinaitic origin of its heavenly tradition could be seen to undermine the special authority that had been accorded to the Mosaic Torah. Although the Rabbis occasionally claim that a certain practice is pre-Sinaitic or that a patriarch adhered to a certain halakhah, they are careful to preserve the centrality of Sinai. Analogies such as that proposed by García Martínez are suggestive and illuminating. The heavenly tablets tradition invoked by Jubilees may in fact be an ancestor of the rabbinic Oral Torah. But, if we are to gain insight into the complexity and diversity of ancient biblical interpretation, we must also explore the disanalogies that reveal how many distinct authorizing strategies were employed. Jubilees is a particularly interesting case because it shows that even a single text could use several distinct strategies, thus enriching our sense of the possibilities available to Second Temple authors, and of the complex relationship between the authority of sacred writing and the authority of interpretation.

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García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” 259.

CHAPTER THREE

TORAH OF MOSES: PSEUDONYMOUS ATTRIBUTION IN SECOND TEMPLE WRITINGS*

At the inception of the Second Temple period, Ezra faced a difficult challenge: how was it possible to claim scriptural authority in the absence of political independence? Ezra claimed to have such authority not by purporting to have received new oral revelation, but, rather, by portraying himself and his entourage as reading and rendering accessible those ancient cryptic sacred writings associated with Moses.1 Nehemiah 8 depicts Ezra’s public reading of Mosaic Torah, and the simultaneous public explanation of the Mosaic Torah by the mebinim,

* An earlier version of this paper was given to Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity Section, SBL 1998, Orlando. I am grateful to Moshe Bernstein, Joseph Blenkinsopp, Paul Franks, Jay Harris, James L. Kugel and Jon Levenson as well as to the participants in the 1998 Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity Section for their incisive comments. This paper was originally published in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. Craig A. Evans; SEJC 7; Sheffield: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2000), 202–16, reprinted here with permission. 1 As early as the fifth century b.c.e., a corpus of texts must have existed that could be called the Torah of Moses and that was substantially similar to what was later called the Pentateuch, for that corpus must have been the basis for the Greek translation known as the Septuagint. But it is unclear how far the processes of text formation and corpus fixation had gone in the days of Ezra. Sid Z. Leiman suggests that the process of canonization can be traced back to the reforms of Josiah in 621 b.c.e. See Leiman’s comprehensive study, The Canonization of Hebrew Scripture: The Talmudic and Midrashic Evidence (Transactions; Hamden, Conn.: Archon, 1976), 21–24, 143 n. 73. See also the recent discussion of canon by James C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5 (1998): 382–402. On the fluidity of the biblical text see Eugene Ulrich “The Bible in the Making: The Scriptures at Qumran,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant (ed. Eugene Ulrich and James C. VanderKam; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), 77–94; Frank Moore Cross, “The Old Testament at Qumrân,” in The Ancient Library of Qumran (ed. Frank Moore Cross; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 121– 42; Frank Moore Cross and Shemaryahu Talmon, eds., Qumran and the History of the Biblical Text (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1975); John J. Collins, “The Emergence of ‘Canonical’ Scripture,” in Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (ed. John J. Collins; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1997), 17–20; Julio Trevolle Barrera, “The Authoritative Functions of Scriptural Works at Qumran,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant (ed. Eugene Ulrich and James C. VanderKam; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), 95–110.

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the authorized interpreters. According to Ezra-Nehemiah, this public reading inaugurates the prototypical scene in which we can see what it meant to authorize a leader in Second Temple times. Authority was inextricably linked to Moses and the ancient tradition of Mosaic Torah.2 Thus, legal or political innovations had to be justified and grounded in terms of this already authoritative tradition of sacred writing. In fact, as we will see shortly, sometimes such legal innovations were said to be already present in the ancient laws of Moses. In other words, Ezra’s legal innovations were pseudonymously attributed to the Torah of Moses. I will consider two examples of pseudonymous attribution to Moses in the writings of Ezra-Nehemiah. These examples illustrate how it was possible to inscribe innovations into a culture that recognized only old and established law as the main source of authority that had survived the exile. But it is notable that the important association between authority and writing was already in place long before the return. Only in light of the gradual emergence of authoritative sacred writing can we understand how Mosaic Torah could have come to replace the prophet and claim the authority once accorded to the priest and the king. Already in the preexilic period, sacred writing played an important role. To mention two examples: in Isa 8, the prophet is told to inscribe his prophecy onto a tablet; in 2 Kgs 23, Josiah institutes a series of religious reforms as a response to the discovered Torah Scroll. As the threat of Assyrian and then Babylonian destruction loomed large over the northern and southern regions of Israel, the exchange between

2 This can be attributed, in large part, to Persian influence. In the Persian empire, the role of sacred writing and written law was central to Cyrus’s revival of Persian culture and tradition. This may have had a significant influence on the Jews who lived under Persian domination in the early Second Temple period. Thus, the Jews may have wanted to assert their own authority by insisting on the authenticity of their ancient legal code in the form of Mosaic Torah. On this point see Elias J. Bickerman, “The Law of the Jews,” in The Jews in the Greek Age (ed. Elias J. Bickerman; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), 29–32; James L. Kugel, “The World of Ancient Interpreters,” in The Bible As It Was (ed. James L. Kugel; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 1–61; Arnaldo Momigliano, “Persian Historiography, Greek Historiography and Jewish Historiography,” in The Classical Foundations of Modern Historiography (ed. Arnaldo Momigliano; SCL, 54; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 10.

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God and prophet came increasingly to be imagined as the transmission of a sacred text.3 The trauma of the Babylonian exile only heightened the centrality of sacred writing. Both the permanence and the portability of written Scripture must have held a special appeal for the exiles. In the absence of their land and temple, the exiled Judeans focused on the part of their heritage that could be preserved. Let me now turn to those sacred texts specifically associated with Moses. Certainly, in both preexilic and exilic traditions Moses was an authoritative lawgiver. And the Torah of Moses is already invoked as a normative written legal code prior to the Second Temple period. This Torah is often mentioned at moments of succession. For example,

3 There are a number of references to Mosaic law as an authoritative source of law in the Hebrew Bible. See, e.g., 2 Chr 30:16–27; Ezra 3:2–5; Neh 8:1–8. The “Torah of Moses,” or “Torah of God,” probably corresponds to what will later be referred to as the Pentateuch. Throughout the biblical traditions, the collection referred to as the “Book of Torah,” “the Law of Moses,” “the Law of God” seems to be invoked in similar ways, perhaps even interchangeably. See, e.g., 2 Chr 25:4; 35:12; Ezra 6:18; Neh 13:1; 8:2; 2 Chr 17:9; 34:14; Neh 8:1; Josh 8:31; 2 Kgs 14:6, 2:3; Mal 3:22; Dan 9:13; Ezra 3:2; 7:6; 2 Chr 23:18. On this point see Sara Japhet, “Law and ‘The Law’ in Ezra-Nehemiah,” in The Proceedings of the Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies (ed. David Asaf; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1985), 99–115, esp. 99–100; Jon D. Levenson, “Sources of Torah: Psalm 119 and the Mode of Revelation in Second Temple Judaism,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (ed. Patrick D. Miller, Jr, Paul D. Hanson and S. Dean McBride; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), 561–63; James L. Kugel, “The Rise of Scripture,” in Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James L. Kugel and Rowan A. Greer; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986), 20–22. According to Jacob Milgrom and Israel Knohl, the Priestly Torah referred to traditions (perhaps separate scrolls of law) as torah. Traditions of law are part of the Priestly Torah, which was subsequently edited by the Holiness School and, at a later stage, incorporated into the Pentateuch. For some discussion of these collections of “laws,” see Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), 6, 89 n. 91; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 2, 668 on Lev 11:46. For a discussion of the characteristics of ancient Torah Scrolls see Tean Levine, “The Transcription of the Torah Scroll” ZAW 94 (1982): 99–105. See also, Hag 2 which uses “torah” to refer to an interpretation of the Law. As we will see later, in my discussion of Ezra 9 and 10 below, it is misleading to think of the torah traditions as exclusively those included in the written Pentateuch. From a very early stage in what one might call the prehistory of Scripture, traditions which were not found explicitly in the Pentateuch are said to be part of the Mosaic Torah. This claim is very important for the history of interpretation. Later, Second Temple writers and even rabbinic traditions will claim that interpretive traditions are really “in the torah,” that is, if only one would read the sacred texts correctly, one would understand that the interpretation is really part of, or implicit in, the text.

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when power is transferred from David to Solomon, the Torah of Moses is used to confer authority upon the successor.4 It would be a mistake, however, to conclude that there is nothing new about Ezra’s invocation of Mosaic law. By the time of EzraNehemiah, the authority of the Mosaic law had achieved a certain independence: it was no longer authorized by the prophet’s divinely inspired word to the king. Instead, Mosaic law was the authoritative link to preexilic revelation. Traditions in Ezra-Nehemiah suggest that no law is authoritative unless it is appropriately connected to the law of Moses—perhaps even pseudonymously attributed to the figure of Moses himself.5 And that clearly was not the case prior to the exile. Let us now turn to the scene of Ezra’s public reading. Here we see clearly how Second Temple Judaism, regarded at least from the perspective of Ezra-Nehemiah, was, from its origins, textualized and invested in the Torah of Moses. According to Ezra-Nehemiah, the central unifying event for the returning exiles was neither revelation mediated by a prophet, nor the coronation of a Davidic king. Instead, the central event was a public reading of the Mosaic law, by a scribe, with interpreters at hand to supply explanations. Here is an extract from Neh 8:1–8:

4 See 1 Kgs 2:1–4. In this passage, David instructs Solomon to live and rule according to the Torah of Moses. There is a warning, however, implicit in David’s words: if Solomon does not adhere to the Mosaic Torah, the monarchic line will be torn from him. David warns Solomon that his succession is not about familiar inheritance; rather, Solomon must continue to earn the right to kingship through adherence to Torah of Moses. 5 For one of the most illuminating discussions of Mosaic authority, see Sara Japhet’s article, “Law and ‘The Law’ in Ezra-Nehemiah,” 99–115. There is some literature that discusses traditions which involved Mosaic authority. See, e.g., Gary A. Anderson, “The Status of the Torah before Sinai,” DSD 1 (1994): 1–29; Joseph Blenkinsopp, EzraNehemiah: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1988); Samuel S. Cohon, “Authority in Judaism,” HUCA 11 (1936): 593–646; Mary Rose D’Angelo, Moses in the Letter to the Hebrews (SBLDS 42; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1979); Burton Mack, “Moses on the Mountaintop,” The School of Moses: Studies in Philo and Hellenistic Religion (ed. James L. Kugel and Rowan A. Greer; BJS 304; Atlanta: Scholar’s Press, 1995), 16–28; James L. Kugel, “Early Interpretation: The Common Background of Late Forms of Biblical Exegesis,” in Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James L. Kugel and Rowan A. Greer; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986) 11–106; Robert A. Marshall, “Moses, Oedipus, Structuralism and History,” HR 5 (1983): 245– 66; Crispin Fletcher-Louis, “4Q374: A Discourse on the Sinai Tradition: The Deification of Moses and Early Christology,” DSD 3 (1996): 236–52; Rolf Rendtorff, “Esra und das ‘Gesetz’,” ZAW 96 (1984): 165–84.


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All the people gathered together . . . They asked Ezra the scribe to bring the book of the Torah of Moses . . . Ezra the priest brought the Torah before the assembly, men, women, and all who could hear with understanding . . . He read aloud from . . . dawn until midday facing the men, women, and the interpreters, and . . . all the people were attentive to the book of Torah . . . Ezra the scribe opened the book before the eyes of the entire people . . . When he opened it all of the people stood. Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God and the entire people answered: “Amen, Amen” while raising their hands, bowing down, and prostrating themselves before the Lord with their faces upon the ground . . . Those interpreting the Torah . . . read aloud from the book of the Torah of God, explaining, applying insight, and making the reading comprehensible.

In this passage the people publicly requested, publicly heard, and then publicly accepted the Law.6 They experienced a re-enactment of the Sinai event. This time, however, their mediator was not Moses who faithfully recorded what God had dictated to him. Rather it was Ezra, who read what Moses had already written long ago and who claimed no direct revelation from God. It is clear from the above passage that listening to the public reading of the Torah did not ensure adequate comprehension. In addition to a public reading, the people were provided with interpreters, mebinin, who must have translated Mosaic Torah into a language the people could understand.7 Perhaps, like later targumim, their translations also

6 This reading should be compared to an earlier preexilic public reading of the Torah of Moses in Josh 8:30–35. 7 See James L. Kugel, “The Need for Interpretation,” in Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James L. Kugel and Rowan A. Greer; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986), 27–39, esp. 28 where Kugel discusses the term meforash: Even those who had stayed behind in Judea during the exile, though they continued to speak their native idiom, were not exempt from linguistic difficulties. For their spoken idiom was certainly not identical to the often elegant literary language of the Bible; moreover, it apparently became corrupted by neighboring dialects (see Neh 13:24). For this reason, both the Judean exiles and those who had stayed behind might be in need of that most basic act of interpretation, translation into an idiom more familiar to them. This may be precisely what the “interpreters” mentioned in connection with Ezra’s public reading of the Torah (Neh 8:1–8) were engaged in doing. For it was apparently standard practice within the Persian empire to train scribes to turn, for example, a dictated Persian text into Aramaic (in quite mechanical fashion); the Aramaic could then be spontaneously retroverted into Persian, or translated into another language, by a similarly trained scribe when the text reached its destination. The Persians referred to such a text as huzvarshn; the Hebrew meforash (“interpreted”) in Neh 8:8 is apparently used here as an equivalent (cf. Ezra 4:18). See also, Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 288. For further discussion of the importance of interpreters of Mosaic Torah during the time of Ezra, see the recent discussion by

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resolved difficulties of comprehension and interpretation, and perhaps they resolved these difficulties in ways that had already become traditional. The contribution of these interpreters was fateful for the development of Second Temple Judaism. Mosaic Torah could not function as the authoritative center of religious life unless apparent anachronisms and legal or narrative inconsistencies were resolved. Thus, the interpreter would supplant the prophet as mediator of God’s word. But, unlike the authority of the prophet, the authority of the interpreter would depend upon the sacred text. And the reconstituted postexilic community would, sooner or later, have to face the difficult question, “Which interpretation is authoritative?” or “Who has the authority to interpret?” There is a puzzling phenomenon in Ezra-Nehemiah which represents an early stage in the development of interpretive authority. Although the law of Moses must have already assumed a relatively fixed form, allowing it to be read in public, and although that form must have been substantially that of the Pentateuch, some non-pentateuchal laws are attributed to Mosaic Torah. I will consider two examples which should make us think carefully about how to understand the textualization of Judaism at the inception of the Second Temple period. First, let us consider the courses of the priesthood. No preexilic or exilic tradition mentions the particular groupings of priests and Levites mentioned in Ezra-Nehemiah.8 Nevertheless, in Ezra 6:18, these courses of priests and the divisions of Levites are said to have been arranged in accordance with the book of Moses.9

Moshe Halbertal, People of the Book: Canon, Meaning, and Authority (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 15. For analogous developments in Neo-Assyrian traditions, see Peter Machinist and Hayim Tadmor, “Heavenly Wisdom,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (ed. Mark Cohen, Daniel Snell and David Weisburg; Bethesda: CDL Press, 1993), 146–51, esp. 149–50. In this article, Machinist and Talmor discuss traditions concerning Nabonidus, who was allegedly unable to understand the ancient tablets of Enuma Elish until they were read aloud to him. Once they were read aloud, Nabonidus who was illiterate in cuneiform, nevertheless acquired a reputation as a wise scribe who could interpret these ancient traditions in public. 8 Japhet, “Law and ‘The Law’ in Ezra-Nehemiah,” 114; Hugh G. M. Williamson, “The Origins of the Twenty-Four Priestly Courses,” in Studies in the Historical Books of the Old Testament (ed. John A. Emerton; VTSup 30; Leiden: Brill, 1979), 251–68. 9 The term courses as referring to the courses of priests or Levites occurs only in postexilic texts (1 and 2 Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah). There is one additional usage of courses in Ezek 44:29, where reference is made to the land apportioned to the


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They established priests in their courses and Levites in their divisions for the service of the God of Jerusalem in accordance with the writing of the book of Moses.

In 2 Chr 35:4–5, the very same priestly organization is also attributed to a preexilic source, though this time it is David and Solomon. Sara Japhet notes that Ezra-Nehemiah had a choice: the priestly courses could have been attributed to Moses or to David, either of whom were preexilic authorities.10 Thus, the choice of Moses was deliberate and motivated by theological considerations. It seems to me that Japhet’s point raises a further question. If the author who ascribed the priestly courses to the book of Moses did so with precision and in deliberate rejection of the idea that they originated with the Davidic monarchy, then we are faced with a problem. What could be meant by the ascription of a law to a book in which the Law does not appear? How, for that matter, could one hope to get away with such an ascription, if the book in question was public property? I will return to these questions shortly. First, I want to consider the problem of the returnees who married foreigners during the exile. Foreign Marriage was a problem for Ezra. When Ezra was told of extensive foreign marriage among the returning exile his response was not unlike that of previous Israelites leaders when they were faced with impending doom: he rent his clothing and prayed to God (Ezra 9:3–7): When I heard this matter I tore my tunic and my robe and I tore out some hair from my head and my beard and I sat, horrified . . . I spread out my hands to the Lord, my God and I said: “My God, I am too ashamed and humiliated to lift up my face to you, my God, for our sins have multiplied upon our head and our guilt has extended to the heavens. Since the days of our ancestors, we are in a state of great guilt, until this very day. Because of our sins, our kings and our priests were given over into the hands of the kings of the lands, to the sword, to captivity, to plunder and to shame, just like this day.”

Soon after, Ezra issued the following proclamation in Ezra 9:12: Levites, but this seems to be an alternative usage, also found in Josh 12:7 and 18:10, which refers to the portions of land that were granted to the Israelite tribes. The term divisions appears only twice in postexilic traditions: Ezra 6:18 and 2 Chr 35:5, and refers to divisions of the priests (Ezra) or to the clans (2 Chr). N.B., 2 Chr 35:5 also refers to the divisions of the Levites. See also the equivalent term in the Aramaic portions of the mt, e.g., Neh 11:36; 1 Chr 23:6; 24:1; 26:1; 2 Chr 8:14. 10 Japhet, “Law and ‘The Law’ in Ezra-Nehemiah,” 114–15.

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chapter three Now, do not give your daughters to their sons, and do not marry their daughters to your sons. Do not seek their welfare and well-being ever.

What follows in the next chapter of Ezra is indeed noteworthy: one of Ezra’s officials, Shecaniah ben Yehiel, referred to Ezra’s proclamation as divine law. In Ezra 10:3–4, Shecaniah says: Let us make a covenant to our God to send out all of the women and anyone born from them in keeping with the plan of the Lord and those who tremble at the command of our God, let him act in accordance with the Torah.

Many scholars have assumed that, when Shecaniah said that foreign marriage should be counteracted “in accordance with the Torah,” he was saying that foreign marriage was prohibited by the Torah of Moses. As Jon Levenson, Joseph Blenkinsopp and James L. Kugel (among others) have argued, there is a strong pentateuchal basis for such a prohibition.11 The pentateuchal source that is repeatedly cited is Deut 7:3, “do not make marriages with them; do not give your daughter to his son; and do not take his daughter for your son.” Note that this prohibition is specifically about the local nations and does not reflect a general prohibition against foreign marriage. Furthermore, despite very insightful and creative attempts to explain the relationship between earlier pentateuchal traditions and Ezra’s prohibition, in Deuteronomy there is no explicit law to divorce foreign women and to expel their children. Indeed, there is no general prohibition against foreign marriage anywhere in the Pentateuch. How are we to explain the suggestion in Ezra 10 that this law is Torah? Is it new law? Or is it part of the old Mosaic Torah?

11 Christine Hayes, “Intermarriage and Impurity in Ancient Jewish Sources,” HTR 92 (1999): 3–36; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 184–85; James L. Kugel, “Foreigners Are Different,” and “Intermarriage is Forbidden,” in The Bible As It Was, 236–38; idem, “The Holiness of Israel and the Land in Second Temple Times,” in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran (ed. Menachem Haran and Michael V. Fox; Winona: Eisenbrauns, 1996); Jon D. Levenson, “Last Four Verse in Kings,” JBL 103 (1984): 358 n. 19. For further discussion of the development of the prohibition of foreign marriage in the Second Temple period and in the early rabbinic period, see Shayne J. D. Cohen, “From the Bible to the Talmud: The Prohibition of Intermarriage,” HAR 7 (1983): 22–39; idem, “Crossing the Boundary and Becoming a Jew,” HTR 82 (1989): 13–33; Jacob Milgrom, “Religious Conversion and the Revolt for the Formation of Israel,” JBL 101 (1982): 169–76; Sheldon H. Blank, “The Dissident Laity in Early Judaism,” HUCA 19 (1945–1946): 1–42, esp. 1–5; Cana Werman, “Jubilees 30: Building a Paradigm for the Ban on Intermarriage,” HTR 90 (1997): 1–22.


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Most scholars agree that we should understand this passage from Ezra as an early example of inner-biblical interpretation.12 Namely, that Ezra interprets texts like Deut 7, and thereby claims that the resulting law reflects the correct reading of what was intended by Moses in the Torah.13 Indeed the same story could be told about Ezra’s priestly courses. Namely, this organization of the priests and Levites could be said to be what Moses intended or what David envisioned.14 I too agree that Ezra is engaged in inner-biblical interpretation. However, it seems to me that this point has been repeatedly misformulated. It is important to understand the specific nature of inner-biblical interpretation and, in particular, inner-biblical Mosaic attribution. For what is at stake here is one of the main strategies through which Second Temple Judaism sought to authorize itself. Moreover, we need an understanding of Ezra’s practice of inner-biblical interpretation that will allow us to make sense of pseudonymous attribution to Moses in Second Temple texts.

12

E.g., Yehezkel Kaufmann, History of Israelite Religion (Tel Aviv: Bialik, 1937– 1956), 291–93 [Hebrew]; Kugel, The Bible As It Was, 237–38; Levenson, “The Last Four Verses in Kings,” 358 n. 19; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 175–76. On page 189, Blenkinsopp writes: The requirement that this be done “according to the law” is puzzling at first sight, since Pentateuchal law nowhere requires an Israelite to divorce his foreign wife. We must conclude that what is implied here is a particular interpretation of law, and specifically a rigorist interpretation of the Deuteronomic law forbidding marriage with the native population. . . . This, then, would be one of several indications in the book of the crucial importance of biblical interpretation as a factor in the struggle to determine the identity and character of the community. On this point see also Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 107–29. 13 See also, Gen 15:19–20; Exod 3:8, 17; 33:2, 34:11; Lev 24:10–23; Num 27:1–11; Judg 3:5. For texts which are contemporaneous with Ezra 10 and reflect a similar position, namely that foreign marriage is tantamount to treachery, see Ezra 10:2, 5, 10; Neh 13:25–27 (9:8 is also relevant, although it does not preserve the same verb used in Ezra 10); 1 Chr 2:7, 5:27, 9:1; 2 Chr 12:2, 26:1, 6, 18; 28:19, 22, 29:6, 19, 30:7, 33:19, 36:14. 14 Among other serious difficulties, the returnees were clearly divided on the questions of Davidic leadership and the constitution of the priesthood. On the former, see Sara Japhet, “Sheshbazzar and Zerubbabel—Against the Background of the Historical and Religious Tendencies of Ezra-Nehemiah,” ZAW 94 (1982): 66–98. In this article, Japhet contrasts Zechariah’s and Haggai’s celebration of a Davidic descendent to EzraNehemiah’s silence concerning the Davidic connections of these Second Temple leaders. On the problem of the priesthood, see, e.g., Ezra 2:61–62. Some scholars have suggested that this difficulty was due to the tensions between the Samaritan community in Shechem and the newly constituted community in Jerusalem. See, e.g., Williamson, “The Origins of the Twenty-Four Priestly Courses,” 251–68.

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If we impose a post-canonical conception of Scripture and interpretation onto the Second Temple period, we will not be able to make sense of this practice. We must understand Second Temple conceptions of Scripture within their own context. Here is an example of anachronistic imposition. Yehezkel Kaufmann suggested that what we find in Ezra (chapters 9 and 10) is one of the earliest examples of inner-biblical interpretation practiced in a manner similar to what will later be designated as midrash halakhah. Although he may be correct in identifying pentateuchal connections with Ezra’s prohibition, it cannot be adequate to say, as Kaufmann does, that what we have here is a “genuine midrash halakhah.” Perhaps one could reconstruct a midrashic derivation of the prohibition against foreign marriage, or of the priestly courses and the Levitical divisions. Nevertheless, it is essential that no such derivation is provided in the Ezra passages themselves. Nor is there any suggestion whatsoever that Ezra or Shecaniah might need to justify their attributions to the law of Moses. The context in which these attributions were made must have differed significantly from the context in which midrash halakhah was practiced. The midrashists could not avoid the question of justification. They had to appeal to tradition and/or reasoning in order to authorize their dicta. In the age of midrash halakhah, the text of the law of Moses had become a settled and stable object. I mean not merely that the corpus and the specific texts were relatively fixed—for this was already true in the time of Ezra—but rather that there was a clear distinction between reading or citing a passage and interpreting that passage. There is simply no evidence that the distinction between reading or citing and interpreting was clearly established by the time of Ezra. Ezra could not offer authoritative interpretation without claiming that his reading was Mosaic in origin. Such literal ascription to Moses was no longer possible in Tannaitic or in later Amoraic traditions which had either to offer a derivation from the biblical text or else to appeal to Oral Torah in order to authorize their interpretations.15 15 See, e.g., m. Qidd. 4:14; t. Qidd. Ch. 5; Sifrei Debarim, Parshat Wezot Habberakha, Pisqa 351; Sifra ‘Parshat Behuqotai, ch. 8:13; ‘Abot R. Nat 15; b. Ber. 5a; b. Šab. 31a. On the Oral Torah see James L. Kugel, “At Mount Sinai (Exodus 19–24),” in The Bible As it Was, 402–4 for discussion of the following two motifs, “Moses Was Given More than the Torah” and “Oral Teachings from Moses.” See also Hanokh Albeck, Introduction to Mishnah (Tel Aviv: Bialik, 1967), 3–39, esp. 3–4 and 3 n. 7 [Hebrew]; Peter Schäfer, “Das ‘Dogma’ von der mündlichen Torah im rabbinischen Judentum,”


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The concept of Scripture in Ezra-Nehemiah is, I suggest, the following. Even if there was a collection of writings known as the Torah of Moses, and even if the term Torah of Moses was often used to refer to this collection, it does not follow that the primary function of the term was to name this collection of writings. Instead, it may well be that the primary function of this term was to confer authority. Since a particular collection substantially, like the Pentateuch, had gradually become the most authoritative collection of sacred writings, it makes sense that this collection was the most pre-eminent example of the Torah of Moses. Yet, it was also possible to describe as Torah of Moses some law or practice without an explicit pentateuchal basis, for the sake of authorization. This account of the concept of Scripture helps us to understand how those texts known as rewritten Bible and Pseudepigrapha could proliferate in the Second Temple period. If we take the term Torah of Moses to designate authoritative sacred writings and their inherited or innovated authoritative interpretations, then we can view rewritten Bible as an understandable attempt to authorize certain laws and practices by literally inscribing them back into Mosaic Torah. On the other hand, if we anachronistically impose the later conception that Torah of Moses is the name of an authoritative corpus of texts, then attempts to rewrite the Bible can seem like unscrupulous exercises in literary forgery.16

in Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 153–97; Ephraim E. Urbach, “The Written Law and the Oral Law,” in The Sages (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979), 286–314. For some useful discussions of the origin, development and application of this term in rabbinic literature see Gerald J. Blidstein, “A Note on the Term Torah She-B’al peh,” Tarbiz 42 (1973): 496–98; Robert Brody, “The Struggle against Heresy,” in The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture (ed. Robert Brody; New Haven: Yale University, 1998), 83–99, esp. 83–85. 16 On literary forgery, see E. M. Forster, Anonymity: An Enquiry (London: Hogarth Press, 1925); Michael Foucault, “What is an Author?” in Michael Foucault: Aesthetics, Method and Epistemology (ed. James D. Faubion; trans. Josué V. Harari, modified by Robert Hurley; vol. 2 of Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984, ed. Paul Rabinow; New York: The New York Press, 1998), 205–22; David G. Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon: An Investigation into the Relationship of Authorship and Authority in Jewish and Earliest Christian Tradition (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1986); Bruce M. Metzger, “Literary Forgeries and Canonical Pseudepigrapha,” JBL 91 (1972): 3–24; Morton Smith, “Pseudepigraphy in the Israelite Literary Tradition,” in Pseudepigrapha (vol. 1, ed. K. von Fritz; Vandoeuvres-Geneve: Fondation Hardt, 1972), 189–215 with discussion at 216–217.

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What seems to us to be an interpolation did not seem so to Ezra and his contemporaries.17 Such procedures may have been the continuation of the work of Ezra and his mebinim. Just as there was no distinction between citing and interpreting, so too there was no clear distinction between interpreting and interpolating. Ezra was in special need of authorization that associated his new laws with ancient written traditions. The exile had created a sense of profound rupture. So, continuity with the preexilic past had to be emphasized and re-emphasized. In order to authorize the restored Jerusalem community, the authors of Ezra-Nehemiah identified their history with the history of the authoritative figure, Moses. They associated the Babylonian exile with enslavement in Egypt, Ezra’s public reading of the Torah with the revelation at Sinai, and the restoration of the Temple with the promise to inherit the land. Second, Ezra claimed authority, not as a prophet, but rather as a scribe, which was both old and new at once.18 The authority of the scribe was based on his connection to antiquity: the scribe preserved the ancient traditions in the authoritative medium of writing. Yet, the fact that scribal authority had become paramount was itself rather new and was a manifestation of the traumatic rupture of the exile.

17 There are, however, well established Muslim traditions that accuse Ezra of such falsification and pseudonymous attribution. But, the Muslim tradition was by no means monolithic. Some writers defended and even praised Ezra, while others challenged the authenticity of Judaism by claiming that Ezra’s Torah was inauthentic. For discussion of the challenges and the history of biblical interpretation of Ezra among Muslim writers, see Hava Lazarus-Yafeh, Intertwined Worlds: Medieval Islam and Bible Criticism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 19–74; Camilla Adang, Muslim Writers on Judaism and the Hebrew Bible: From Ibn Rabban to Ibn Hazm (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 192–255. For an example of a recent study which insists on the authenticity and reliability of Ezra’s Torah and transmission, see David Weiss Halivni, Revelation Restored: Divine Writ and Critical Responses (Boulder: Westview Press, 1997). 18 Scribal authority was inextricably linked to the emergence of the sacred text as authoritative in the Second Temple period. For discussion of the emergence of the scribe in this period, see, e.g., Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 23– 262; idem, “From Scribalism to Rabbinism: Perspectives on the Emergence of Classical Judaism,” in The Garments of Torah: Essays in Biblical Hermeneutics (ed. Michael Fishbane; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989), 64–78; Lester L. Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: a Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1995); Joseph Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual Leadership in Ancient Israel (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1995); James L. Kugel, “Early Interpretation: The Common Background of Late Forms of Biblical Exegesis,” in Early Biblical Interpretation, 11–106.


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As a scribe, Ezra’s authority developed out of his close association with a written tradition of prophecy, a tradition in which Mosaic writings had pre-eminent authority. As Moses claimed to defer to the superior authority of God, whose laws he transmitted, so Ezra claimed to defer to the superior authority of Moses, whose Torah he claimed to restore through interpretation and public pronouncement. Thus, the authority conferring strategy of attributing a legal innovation or new interpretation to Moses was established at the inception of the Second Temple period. Later Second Temple and rabbinic traditions can be said to continue this practice of pseudonymous attribution to Moses. For example, the book of Jubilees attributes its entire text to Moses, who, as faithful amanuensis, records every word revealed to him by the divinely instructed Angel of the Presence. Even after the destruction of the Second Temple, rabbinic traditions continue this practice when they call certain laws “the law of Moses from Sinai.”19 The laws of Tephillin20 and the rules of interpretation are two examples.21

19

Numerous references to “the law of Moses from Sinai” appear in rabbinic literature, the earliest occurring in the Mishnah and the Tosephta. See, e.g., m. Pe’ah 2.6; m. ‘Ed 8.7; m. Yad 4.3; t. Yad 2.16; b. Men. 32a; b. Meg. 24b; b. H.òag 3a. David Weiss Halivni insists that this term should really be understood as an Amoraic development. See his discussion in Revelation Restored, 56–57: “Except for one possible reference in Peah, the Mishnah never alludes to a historical Halakha le-Moshe mi-Sinai as a decisive factor in halakha. The Tannaim did not deny the existence of Halakha le-Moshe mi-Sinai or, hypothetically, its power to decide halakha, but they did not avail themselves of it for practical decisions.” Underlying Halivni’s comments are the echoes of over a century of fierce debate among rabbis and scholars of rabbinic literature, a debate that has medieval roots. 20 E.g. b. Šab 89b; b. Men. 32a; b. Meg. 24b. For a critical discussion of the rabbinic sources which claim that laws of Tephillin are part of ‘the Law of Moses from Sinai,’ see Isaac H. Weiss, Dor Dor Vedorshav, I (1871–1891; repr., Berlin: Platt & Minkus, 1924), 73 n. 2. 21 See Rashi’s commentary to b. Pes. 24a, where he claims that the hermeneutical rules are halakha le-Moshe mi-Sinai. On the origins of the hermeneutical rules see, e.g., David Daube, “Rabbinic Methods of Interpretation and Hellenistic Rhetoric,” HUCA 22 (1949): 239–64. Daube argues in great detail that Hillel was deeply influenced by the Greco-Roman traditions of Hellenistic philosophy and that the formulation of the hermeneutical rules are shaped by stoic writers such as Cicero. While Saul Lieberman also acknowledges the parallels in Greco-Roman traditions, he does not think that one can demonstrate that the Rabbis actually borrowed the hermeneutical rules from the Greeks or the Romans and then incorporated them into rabbinic traditions. See Lieberman’s study, “Rabbinic Interpretation of Scripture,” in Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (ed. Saul Lieberman; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1962), 47–67. For claims that some of the hermeneutical rules reflect Mesopotamian influences see Stephen J. Lieberman, “A Mesopotamian Background for the So-Called ‘Aggadic

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Ezra’s pseudonymous attribution to Torah of Moses may be profitably compared to later rabbinic attributions of new legal and interpretive innovations to Moses. Because rabbinic conceptions of textuality and authorship had changed dramatically since Ezra’s day, the very fact of their shared strategy of authorization is remarkable. Nevertheless, I want to emphasize that the concept of Scripture in Ezra-Nehemiah differs radically from the concept of Scripture in rabbinic—or any other post-canonical interpretations. For Ezra-Nehemiah, Torah of Moses was an honorific designation used to mark the authority of laws, practices and interpretations that were rooted in, or traditionally associated with, the written pentateuchal traditions. The specific conception of Scripture in Ezra-Nehemiah must be understood in light of the need to authorize the restoration of the Second Temple community. However, as I have suggested, understanding Ezra’s ascription of legal innovation to Moses can also help us to understand practices of pseudepigraphy and rewriting the Bible— practices that continued throughout the Second Temple period and even beyond.

Measures’ of Biblical Hermeneutics?” HUCA 58 (1987): 157–222. For further discussion, see Michael L. Chernick, Hermeneutical Studies in Talmudic and Midrashic Literature (Lod: Haberman Institute, 1984) [Hebrew]; Jay M. Harris, How Do We Know This? Midrash and the Fragmentation of Modern Judaism (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995), 1–72.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE LAW OF NATURE AND THE AUTHORITY OF MOSAIC LAW*

Introduction Like authors of other Second Temple and post-destruction texts, such as Ezra or Jubilees, Philo had to authorize his interpretations of the Mosaic law; but unlike them, he also had to underwrite the authority of the Mosaic law, as he understood it, in the context of a competing Gentile culture. This cultural competition was at the same time political, especially in light of the new empire’s quest to authorize itself through the appropriation of the Greek philosophical and literary heritage. The place of Judaism within this new Roman world was far from clear. The significance of the Greek heritage was now almost as universal as the empire itself sought to be. In contrast, the Mosaic law was in danger of appearing parochial, thus rendering it potentially threatening to Rome and potentially insignificant to Jews. Philo reports that under Augustus’ reign, the Jews had the right to live according to their ancient laws (Flacc. 50; Legat. 152–158).1 However, the Greeks were given the right to rule over other peoples in Alexandria.2 While

* This is a revised version of the paper I was invited to present to the Philo of Alexandria Seminar of the Society of Biblical Literature, at its Orlando meeting in November 1998. I have benefited from the incisive comments of Ellen Birnbaum, Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Paul Franks, David Hay, James L. Kugel, David O’Connor, Gregory Sterling, David Runia, John Strugnell, and David Winston. The quotations in English from the writings of Philo of Alexandria are taken from PLCL (Cambridge, Mass. 1929–1962). I have, in certain cases, modified the Colson translation in consultation with PCW (Berlin 1896–1915). This paper was originally published by Brown Judaic Studies in SPhilo 11 (1999): 55–73, reprinted in this volume with permission from the current publisher SBL. 1 Peter Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete For His Time (VTSup 86; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 14–45. 2 On the Jewish community in Alexandria, see John J. Collins, “The Diaspora Setting,” in Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (ed. John J. Collins; OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 135–57; Peter M. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria (2 vols.; London: Clarenden Press, 1972), 1:189–301.

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the Greeks resented the religious separatism of the Jews which they regarded as misanthropic, the Jews resented the political privileges of the Greeks since they regarded themselves as having equal right in light of their ancient culture.3 Tensions came to a head when, under Gaius Caligula, the Jews were forced to worship the Roman emperor. A violent attack against the Jewish community in Alexandria ensued between 38 and 41 c.e. Places of Jewish worship, homes, and shops were destroyed, and many Jews were left destitute. During these difficult years, Philo was a member of an unsuccessful Jewish embassy sent to Gaius Caligula to defend Jewish ancestral rights. When Gaius Caligula was assassinated in 41 c.e., the Jews reacquired the rights previously granted to them by Augustus. But tensions in Alexandria did not cease. It is in this context that we should view Philo’s discussion of Mosaic law. The authority of Mosaic law itself was a live issue in Philo’s world. Of course, Philo interpreted that law in a particular way that may not have been accepted by all Jews, even in Alexandria.4 Thus he claimed to have the correct interpretations of Mosaic law, occasionally challenging other interpretative methods and conclusions that were prevalent in the Alexandrian Jewish community.5 But the question of authority arose for him primarily as a question about how to authorize Mosaic law against competing non-Jewish traditions. Philo sought to resolve the question of authority in the following way: Philo claimed that Mosaic law has a unique relationship to the law of nature, a relationship that distinguishes the Mosaic law and its authoritative inherited interpretations from the laws of all other nations. Although Mosaic law is particular in the sense that it is only binding in all its details for the particular people of Israel, its relation 3

Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age, 135–57. For later Christian appropriation of Philo’s understanding of Mosaic law, see Annewies van den Hoek, Clement of Alexandria and His Use of Philo in the Stromateis: An Early Christian reshaping of a Jewish model (VCSup 8; Leiden: Brill, 1988), esp. 48–115; David T. Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature: A Survey (CRINT 2.3; Assen/Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993). 5 On Philo’s challenges to other contemporaneous interpreters, see Peter Borgen, “Philo of Alexandria: A Critical and Synthetical Survey of Research Since World War II,” (ANRW 2.21.1; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co., 1978), 126–28; David M. Hay, “Philo’s References to Other Allegorists,” SPhilo 6 (1979–1980): 41–76; idem, “References to Other Exegetes in Philo’s Quaestiones,” in Both Literal and Allegorical: Studies in Philo of Alexandria’s Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus (ed. David M. Hay; BJS 232; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), 81–97; idem, “Defining Allegory in Philo’s Exegetical World,” SBLSP 33 (1994): 55–68. 4

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to the law of nature gives it universal significance. Both Jews and nonJews alike should recognize the excellence of the Mosaic law and the perfection of Moses, the lawgiver. When they do, the charge of misanthropy will be refuted. Indeed, Philo identified various Greek philosophical ideas in the Torah of Moses. This strategy should be situated within the context of Hellenistic philosophy—more specifically, within the context of a combination of Stoic ethics, based on a conception of the wise man as following the law of nature, and Middle Platonic metaphysics, viewing the world as created in accordance with ideas in the divine mind.6 Philo’s project becomes clear when understood in terms of the emerging importance of the law of nature in Stoic writings.7 I will suggest that Philo’s strategies for authorizing Mosaic law are essentially motivated by Greco-Roman intellectual trends. However, I am not casting any doubt on Philo’s commitment to the preservation of Jewish law and practice which is evident in his writings. Nor am I suggesting that Philo’s intentions are exclusively apologetic. While his commitment to making Mosaic law and its interpretations universally significant betrays his hellenized intellectual orientation, it also demonstrates his deep commitment to make Mosaic law and the inherited interpretative traditions relevant to an educated and intellectually sophisticated member of the Alexandrian Jewish community such as himself.8 In fact, as we shall see, Philo could not authorize the Mosaic Torah in Hellenistic terms without revolutionizing those terms.

6 For some helpful discussions of the relationship between Middle Platonism and Philo of Alexandria, see the special section of SPhilo 5 (1993): 112–46, with contributions by David T. Runia, Gregory E. Sterling, John Dillon, Thomas H. Tobin, and David Winston; also the chapter on Philo in John Dillon, The Middle Platonists: 80 b.c. to a.d. 200 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996). 7 For two very helpful and careful reconstructions of the earlier Greek foundation for the Stoic concept of the law of nature, see Paul A. Vander Waerdt, “Zeno’s Republic and the Origins of Natural Law,” in The Socratic Movement (ed. Paul A. Vander Waerdt; Ithaca/London: Cornell University Press, 1994), 272–308; Joseph G. DeFilippo and Phillip T. Mitsis, “Socrates and Stoic Natural Law,” in The Socratic Movement, 252–71. 8 Erwin R. Goodenough discusses the question of the intended audience for Philo’s two essays on Moses in “Philo’s Exposition of the Law and His De Vita Mosis,” HTR 26 (1933): 109–25. Although I disagree with Goodenough’s claim that De Vita Mosis is written for a Gentile audience, I agree that these two essays on Moses should be considered as part of Philo’s exposition of the Pentateuch, written for an audience of Jews and Gentiles. See also, Gregory E. Sterling, “Philo and the Logic of Apologetics: An Analysis of the Hypothetica,” SBLSP 29 (1990): 412–30.

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chapter four The Universality of the Mosaic Law

Philo claimed that the law of Moses is the most excellent copy of the law of nature (Mos. 2.12–14). Relatedly, Philo emphasized the connection between the law of Moses and the virtues (Mos. 2.9–11). While this authority conferring strategy was clearly drawn from surrounding Hellenistic culture, Philo seems to have been on the cutting edge of philosophical thought.9 As various scholars have demonstrated, the idea of nature as a divinely created cosmic order providing normative guidance for human action was absent from early Greek thought,10 but it must have emerged shortly before the time of Philo, perhaps in some fusion of Stoic ethics11 and Middle Platonic metaphysics.12

9 Helmut Koester is surely incorrect when he suggests that Philo originated the notion of the law of nature. See his article, “NOMOS ΦΥΣΕΩΣ: The Concept of Natural Law in Greek Thought,” in Religions in Antiquity: Essays in Memory of Erwin Ramsdell Goodenough (ed. Jacob Neusner; Studies in the History of Religions, NumenSup 14; Leiden: Brill, 1968), 540. For a refutation, see Richard A. Horsley, “The Law of Nature in Philo and Cicero,” HTR 71 (1978): 35–59, esp. 56. 10 In early Greek philosophy, nature and law were contrasting terms whose competing merits were the subject of an important controversy. For an excellent discussion of this debate with extensive primary sources see Richard D. McKirahan, Jr., “The NOMOS-PHYSIS Debate,” in Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company, 1994), 390–413. There is one reference to law of nature in Plato’s Gorgias, 483a7–484c3. See Gisela Striker, “Origins of the Concept of Natural Law,” in Essays on Hellenistic Epistemology and Ethics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 212. However, as Striker argues, Gorgias uses the term as a deliberate paradox, on the assumption that nature itself, of course, has no normative import for human actions whatsoever. Harry Wolfson claims that Philo borrows Aristotle’s concept of nature. See his discussion in Philo: Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and in Islam (2 vols.; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1947), 1:332–47. However, it seems quite clear that Philo’s concept of nature and of the law of nature is derived from later Stoic philosophers, who derived their concept of the law of nature from the ancient Greeks. On this point, see Vander Waerdt, “Zeno’s Republic and the Origins of Natural Law,” 272–308; DeFilippo and Mitsis, “Socrates and Stoic Natural Law,” 252–71. 11 See Striker, “Origins of the Concept of Natural Law,” 217. 12 It is a matter of speculation whether Philo and Cicero shared a common Middle Platonic source, perhaps Antiochus, Panaetius or Posidonius. See Horsley, “The Law of Nature in Philo and Cicero,” 57: Antiochus, Cicero, and Philo conceive of a transcendent grounding for the law of nature: (1) they connected political affairs closely with the more contemplative quest for higher, divine truth and honors; they viewed the true, universal reason or law as the mind of the divine Creator and Lawgiver—a divine mind which transcended the sense-perceptible creation and worldly affairs; and (3) they understood the human mind, divinely given and partaking in the divine essence, as the means of ascending to knowledge of this transcendent truth.


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However, Philo faced formidable obstacles in his employment of this strategy. To put the problem in its general form: the law of nature is surely of universal significance for all peoples, but the law of Moses appears to be concerned, for the most part, with the obligations of a particular people arising from its particular history and relationship with God. How, then, could the particular law of Moses be the perfect copy of the universal law of nature? More specifically, if Philo was to authorize the law of Moses, he would have to overcome the fact that Hellenistic appreciation for the law of nature was inseparably connected to a denigration of written law. Here we see a sharp distinction between Hellenistic culture and the Israelite valorization of sacred writing. For the Hellenistic thinkers who developed the concept of the law of nature, no written civil law could be more than a shadow and appearance of the original.13 Although the law of nature was a relatively new construct, it was identified with the universally shared unwritten law of which Socrates, among others, had spoken. This claim to ancient authority was only plausible insofar as the law of nature contrasted with the written laws of particular polities. Denigration of written law was already evident in much earlier classical traditions. For example, Antigone had insisted on unwritten law in her resistance to the written, and later Hellenistic writers would have characterized the written law of the city as unnatural

For discussion of the role of Middle Platonism in the writings of Philo, see John Dillon, The Middle Platonists: 80 b.c. to a.d. 200 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), 114–83. Although Philo was operating with pre-existing elements and must be situated within the relevant context, nevertheless my argument shows that he had to make significant adjustments to the concept of the law of nature if it was to serve his purpose by grounding the authority of the written law of Moses. 13 E.g., Cicero, Off., 3.69: I see that because custom is so corrupted such behavior is neither thought dishonorable nor forbidden by statute and civil law. It is, however, forbidden by the law of nature. For there is a fellowship that is extremely widespread, shared by all with all (even if this has often been said, it ought to be said still more often); a closer one exists among those of the same nation, and one more intimate still among those of the same city. For this reason our ancestors wanted the law of nations and the civil law to be different: everything in the civil law need not be in the law of nations, but everything in the law of nations ought also to be a part of civil law. We, however, do not have the firm and lifelike figure of true law and genuine justice: we make use of shadows and sketches. I wish we would follow even those! For they are drawn from the best examples of nature and truth. The above passage is cited from the translation of Cicero: On Duties, Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought (ed. Miriam T. Griffin and E. Margaret Atkins; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 125–26.

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for just that reason.14 Furthermore, if there could be any adequate copy of the law of nature, it would be, not a written law, but rather the life of a perfect sage or king who would be nothing less than ensouled law. Again, this notion contrasts with that of a written law. So Philo would have to show in opposition to Greek thought on the topic, that the perfect and authoritative copy of the law of nature was to be found, not only in the unwritten law exhibited by the life of the sage, but also in the written Law of Moses, despite its writtenness and despite its apparent particularity. At the same time, Philo would have to show that the Greek concept of nature was central to the authority of Mosaic law, despite the general absence from Scripture of that concept, for which no Hebrew word existed.15 In what follows, I will show how Philo adapted the Hellenistic concepts of the law of nature, ensouled law, and unwritten law, in his attempt to employ Hellenistic and universal terms for the authorization of the written and apparently particular law of Moses.16 The result is a strikingly original fusion. Although Philo is using universal terms, he is not subordinating the law of Moses to a higher, universal law, as Erwin Goodenough claimed.17 Moreover, although Philo is employing traditions that stem from the particular history of the Jewish people, he is not basing his claims for the authority of his version of doctrine and

14 See Sophocles, Ant. 450–60. See also, Aristotle’s discussion of the law of nature in Nicomachean Ethics 5.7. Deborah Steiner has argued that written law in the Greek world was associated with Eastern tyranny. See her book, The Tyrant’s Writ: Myths and Images of Writing in Ancient Greece (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). 15 See Markus Bockmuehl, “Natural Law in Second Temple Judaism,” VT 45 (1995): 43: “Strictly speaking, there is no ‘natural’ law in Second Temple Judaism. That is to say . . . neither the Hebrew Bible nor postbiblical Jewish literature allows for a moral authority in nature which is somehow distinct from that of God himself. Law, inasmuch as it carries any real authority, is never ‘natural’ in the sense of being anything other than divine.” In his article, Bockmuehl also discusses the role of nature in Hellenistic Jewish works such as 4 Maccabees. However, it is notable that it is only in the thirteenth century c.e. that an actual term for nature (teba) is used in Hebrew. This innovation in the Hebrew language was occasioned by Ibn Tibbon’s translation of Moses Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed. 16 On the question of whether or not the law of nature is embodied in general principles, see Vander Waerdt, “Zeno’s Republic and the Origins of Natural Law,” 272–308; DeFilippo and Mitsis, “Socrates and Stoic Natural Law,” 252–71. See also the earlier formulation of Leo Strauss in Natural Right and History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1950), 146–61. 17 Erwin R. Goodenough, By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935).


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law on a proto-rabbinic oral law, as Naomi Cohen has suggested.18 To take either Goodenough’s position or Cohen’s is to miss the specificity of Philo’s Hellenistic Judaism, to ignore the specific ways in which he argues for the universal significance of Judaism without compromising its particular relation to the Jewish people. Philo is, in fact, making the revolutionary claim that a universal norm may have a perfect particular copy or instance in the form of written law.19 Of course, the law of Moses had already been available in Greek translation for some three centuries. To demonstrate the significance of this event, and perhaps to authorize his use of the Greek translation rather than the Hebrew original,20 Philo tells the story of Philadelphus’ request for a translation, emphasizing: That the sanctity of our legislation has been a source of wonder not only to the Jews but also to all other nations. (Mos. 2.25)

To show that the Septuagint has not only Ptolemaic but also divine authorization, Philo also retells the story of the miraculous production of the same Greek translation by each of the translators, although they were working in isolation (Mos. 2.25–40). The written text with which Philo is concerned—that is to say, the universally accessible translation of the law of Moses from the particular language of Israel into the Greek language of the Hellenistic world—was therefore produced in a uniquely authoritative fashion, with the support of both earthly and heavenly rulers. Not only the production, but also the initial content of this written text bespeaks its universal significance. For Genesis of course begins with an account of creation and the lives of the patriarchs, not with particular laws. This has been a difficulty for many interpreters, a difficulty

18 Naomi G. Cohen, “The Jewish Dimension of Philo’s Judaism—An Elucidation of de Spec. Leg. IV 132–150,” JJS 38 (1987): 165–86; idem, Philo Judaeus: His Universe of Discourse,” (BEATAJ 24; Frankfurt am Main, 1995). 19 See John W. Martens, “Philo and the ‘Higher’ Law,” SBLSP 30 (1991): 317: “Philo seems to be arguing against the Greco-Roman view that there is no true representation here on earth of the law of nature.” On this point see Plato, Rep. V, 449–480. On Philo and the higher law, see Valentin Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’Ecriture chez Philon d’Alexandrie (Leiden: Brill, 1977), 122. 20 There has been extensive debate on the question of Philo’s knowledge of Hebrew. See, e.g., Borgen, “Philo of Alexandria: A Critical and Synthetic Survey of Research Since World War II,” 123.

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dealt with for instance by Jubilees21 through its construal of these preSinaitic narratives as having cryptic legal content. For Philo, there is no difficulty: how should a universally significant written law begin, if not with an account of God’s establishment of the unwritten cosmic order constituted by the law of nature, and with an account of the lives of those patriarchs who, as ensouled laws, exhibited the very same law? This was the perfect preamble to the perfect written copy of the law of nature (namely, the Decalogue and the special laws), a written copy received from the same source as the original, from the divine creator.22 Moses began his text in this manner in order to show the authoritative basis of his law: We must now give the reason why he began his lawbook with the history, and put the commands and prohibitions in the second place . . . he wished to show two most essential things: first that the Father and Maker of the world was in the truest sense also its Lawgiver, secondly that he who would observe the laws will accept gladly the duty of following nature and live in accordance with the ordering of the universe, so that his deeds are attuned to harmony with his words and his words with his deeds. (Mos. 2.48)

Once again, a contrast with Jubilees is instructive. Both Jubilees and Philo inherit the Jewish interpretative tradition that a system of law was established at the time of creation. Both claim that this preSinaitic law is identical with (at least a large part of ) the law of Moses revealed at Sinai, and that the original law is therefore still binding upon Israel. Yet, beyond this consensus these two Second Temple texts could hardly be more different. For Jubilees, pre-Sinaitic law may be known only through divine revelation. Such revelation is given only to a select few, who transmit their tradition through a particular line of descent to the Jewish people, for whom alone the Law is normative. For Philo, however, the pre-Sinaitic law is the law of nature, which

21 For a critical edition and translation of the second century Jewish text of Jubilees see James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO; Leuven: Peeters, 1989). 22 See Martens, “Philo and the ‘Higher’ Law,” 317: “Philo could not admit that the Mosaic law was only a shadowy sketch of true law. God gave the law to Moses; God also created the world and with it the law of nature. The law of Moses, divinely given, could in no way contradict the law of nature, divinely implanted in the world at creation.” Compare Bockmuehl, “Natural Law in Second Temple Judaism,” 32: “It is not nature that is the final arbiter over the Torah; instead, nature and Torah can be seen to correspond to each other as both proceed from the same God.”


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may be known through the use of reason and which is incumbent on all human beings.23 The lives of the patriarchs and of Moses ensouled the law of nature that may be lived by any sage from any people (Abr. 3–4; Prob. 72–91). As we shall see, the genius of Moses consisted in his provision of a legislative vehicle through which the universal and unwritten law could be translated into the written law of a particular people. However, pre-Sinaitic law,24 on Philo’s account, is no less universal than the law of nature as understood by his non-Jewish contemporaries. According to Philo, God runs the universe in accordance with the “ordinances of Nature”: That the Maker should care for the thing made is required by the laws and ordinances of Nature, and it is in accordance with these that parents take thought beforehand for children. He that has begun by learning these things with his understanding rather than with his hearing, and has stamped on his soul impressions of truths so marvelous and priceless, both that God is and is from eternity, and that He that really is, is One, and that He has made the world and has made it one world, unique as Himself is unique, and that He ever exercises forethought for His creation, will lead a life of bliss and blessedness, because He has a character molded by the truths that piety and holiness enforce. (Opif. 172)

Thus, the law of nature is the law of reason. Philo reproaches those who adhere to laws of particular republics, yet deny right reason, which is the law of the republic of the wise:

23 For Jubilees and related Second Temple traditions, the revelation at Sinai was merely the national version of an earlier revelation that had already occurred for worthy individuals who had practiced and transmitted the Law for generations since Enoch. Furthermore, the correct interpretation of the Mosaic law was only available to those who had access to pre-Sinaitic traditions. The law before Sinai also has a great deal of significance for Philo. This is not because Philo claims a pre-Sinaitic tradition in the manner of Jubilees, but rather because Philo takes the Mosaic law to be that law which agrees with the pre-existent law (what Philo calls the law of nature) available to the virtuous since the creation of the cosmos. Thus the patriarchs, as virtuous people, could be exemplary law-observers, even ensouled laws, long before the Law was revealed to Moses on Sinai. The fulfillment of pre-Sinaitic law requires that these pre-Sinaitic figures attain access to what Philo calls the unwritten law. For the origin of these terms and their function in Philo’s writings see my discussion below. 24 Philo’s assumption of the existence of pre-Sinaitic law is another example of his inheritance of interpretative traditions. The claim that pre-Sinaitic figures fulfilled the Law is a well-established Second Temple tradition (e.g., Jubilees, Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs).

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chapter four Right reason is an infallible law engraved not by this mortal or that and, therefore perishable as he, nor on parchment or slabs, and therefore, soulless as they, but by immortal nature on the immortal mind, never to perish. So, one may well wonder at the short-sightedness of those who ignore the characteristics which so clearly distinguish different things and declare that the laws of Solon and Lycurgus are all sufficient to secure the greatest of republics, Athens and Sparta, because their sovereign authority is loyally accepted by those who enjoy that citizenship, yet deny that right reason, which is the fountain head of all other law, can impart freedom to the wise, who obey all that it prescribes or forbids. (Prob. 47–49)

Since the law of the cosmos is at the same time the law of reason, and since human beings are capable of reason, it follows that human beings are capable of grasping and living according to the law of nature.25 Furthermore, because right reason is the perfection of human beings, it also follows that the transgression of a law of nature is at the same time contrary to human nature. To show this for specific moral duties is of course one of the most difficult tasks undertaken by Stoic ethics. Philo explains how certain laws are natural because they reflect human nature.26 Helmut Koester discusses some specific instances in Philo’s writings: Philo relates Moses’ and nature’s law in a very characteristic way which, again, expresses the harmony of his understanding of law, nature and man: For those who keep the divine writing of the law, God grants as a prize the more ancient law of immortal nature (παρέχει τὸν ἀρχαιότερον νόμον τῆς ἀθανάτου φύσεως), i.e. the begetting of sons and the perpetuity of the race (QE 2:19). At the same time, the injunction to produce children is called a ‘law of nature.’ . . . Other laws that are based on the law of nature in a similar way are: the law of inheritance, from parents to children, . . . the law against killing infants at birth . . . since to do this would tear down what nature builds up. . . . A general law against killing

25 See Horsley, “The Law of Nature in Philo and Cicero,” 47: “This same twofold conception of law as the right reason of universal nature and as the mature reason in the human mind is the basic assumption and structure of Philo’s thought in De opificio mundi as in much of his writing.” On the universal relevance of Mosaic law see Borgen, An Exegete For His Time, 140–57: in particular the section entitled “The Mosaic Law and cosmic law,” 144–53. 26 For a very clear and insightful discussion of the Stoics’ appeal to nature, see John M. Cooper, “Eudaimonism, Nature, and ‘Moral Duty’ in Stoicism,” in Aristotle, Kant, and the Stoics: Rethinking Happiness and Duty (ed. Stephen Engstrom and Jennifer Whiting; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 261–84, in particular see “II: Appeal to Nature,” 267–75.


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(Decal. 132).27 More generally, Philo explains that it is because Mosaic law is rooted in the law of nature that Moses portrays the transgressor as punished by the forces of nature themselves (Mos. 2.52–53).

For Philo the Mosaic law is identical with the law of nature. In one sense, this is obvious: if the law of the cosmos has normative import for human action, and if that law was created by God, then the law of nature is a divine commandment that is universally binding. This much is true of the patriarchs who understood nature through reason and lived according to nature as ensouled laws. But Philo takes the further view that Moses not only achieved the status of his forebearers in his individual way of life, he also translated the law of nature into the only written law of a particular people that is in accordance with nature and may therefore be regarded as “identical with God’s commandments.” Whereas, for Jubilees, the authority of Mosaic law depends on its divine origin, for Philo, the authority of Mosaic law depends on its content, on its status as the particular embodiment of the universal law of nature and reason. For that reason, Philo can afford to leave open the question of the exact character of God’s transmission of the law to Moses, the question whether revelation or reason played the major part (Hypoth. 6.8–9). What matters is that Mosaic law is precisely as authoritative and as immutable as nature itself. It is in this Hellenistic light that Philo appropriates the biblical motif of the heavens and earth as witnesses:28 That Moses himself was the best of all lawgivers in all countries, better in fact than any that have ever arisen among either the Greeks or the barbarians, and that his laws are most excellent and truly come from God, since they omit nothing that is needful . . . Moses is alone in this, that his laws, firm, unshaken, immovable, stamped, as it were, with the seals of nature herself, remain secure from the day when they were first enacted to now, and we may hope that they will remain for all future ages as though immortal, so long as the sun and moon and the whole heaven and universe exist. (Mos. 2.12–14)

Note Philo’s use of the concept of writing in this passage. He could not have claimed, as Jubilees did, drawing upon ancient Israelite traditions, that the law of Moses was especially authoritative because it was revealed sacred writing. Such a claim would have made little sense to 27

Koester, “NOMOΣ ΦΥΣΕΩΣ: The Concept of Natural Law in Greek Thought,” 538. See James L. Kugel, The Bible As It Was (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 532–36. 28

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Philo’s hellenized (Jewish and non-Jewish) readers, perhaps even to Philo himself, given the Greek tradition’s denigration of written law in contrast to the unwritten law of nature exemplified by the life of the sage. Instead, Philo emphasizes that the law of Moses is authoritative because it embodies the law of nature, while the law of nature is itself a sort of seal, imprinted by God in order to authorize a written text. Nevertheless, we see in Philo a characteristically ancient Greek preference for what is inscribed in the soul over what is written on stone, paper, or any physical surface.29

Unwritten Law of Nature and Written Mosaic Law Considerable confusion has resulted from the fact that Philo refers to the law of nature as unwritten law.30 Some, who are inclined to view Philo as more Hellenist than Jew, have taken him to be thereby conceding that the written law of Moses has a secondary status.31 Others, who are inclined to view him as more Jew than Hellenist, have taken him to be thereby invoking a proto-rabbinic oral law.32 I believe that neither 29

See, e.g., Plato, Phdr., 276a. Philo is not alone in identifying the law of nature with the unwritten law. The identity is common among Hellenistic writers who thereby sought an ancient pedigree for their new concept. For example, Stoics sought a Socratic precedent in Xenophon’s Memorabilia 4.4.19–21. The unwritten law referred to in early Greek texts was divine, eternal, and superior to written law. For example, when Sophocles, Socrates or Aristotle spoke of unwritten law, they were referring to certain norms obeyed in all known societies that were considered worthy of respect, norms that could therefore be assumed to be either of divine origin or, at any rate, of some origin that the gods themselves would respect. They seem to have had no notion that such norms might be derived from nature, whether human or cosmic. These earlier Greeks understood unwritten law to be social in origin, even if it was universal. So when Antigone (450–460) appeals to the gods unwritten and secure practices’ which “live not just now and yesterday, but always forever,” the appeal is to a social norm which is eternally binding. Later Hellenistic thinkers fused the ancient concept of unwritten law with the new Stoic idea of the law of nature; unwritten law thereby came to be understood as natural in origin, contrary to its original usage. 31 Andre Myre develops a view of a higher law which ultimately supersedes Mosaic law in the following articles: “La Loi l’Ordre Cosmique et Politique selon Philon d’Alexandrie,” ScEs 24 (1972): 217–47; idem, “La Loi et la Pentateuque selon Philon d’Alexandrie,” ScEs 25 (1973): 208–25; idem, “La Loi de la Nature et la Loi Mosaique selon Philon d’Alexandrie,” ScEs 28 (1976): 163–81, esp. 176. See also Goodenough, By Light, Light, 73–96; Samuel Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism (New York: Ktav Publishing House, 1971), 109. 32 Earle Hilgert, “Philo Judaeus et Alexandrinus,” in The School of Moses: Studies in Philo and Hellenistic Religion, 1–15; Naomi G. Cohen, Philo Judaeus: His Universe 30


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position is correct, although there is a kernel of truth in the idea that Philo had a prototype of the oral law, a kernel of truth that must be carefully distinguished from the idea’s misleading formulation. Here, for example, is a characterization of Abraham that might be wrongly taken to show that Philo takes the unwritten law of nature to be superior to the written law of Moses: So, then the man of worth is elder and first, and so must he be called; but younger and last is every fool who pursues the ways which belong to rebellious youth and stand lowest in the list. So much for all this, but to these praises of the Sage, so many and so great, Moses adds this crowning saying “that this man did the divine law and the divine commands.” He did them, not taught by written words, but unwritten nature gave him the zeal to follow where wholesome and untainted impulse led him. And when they have God’s promises before them what should men do but trust in them most firmly? Such was the life of the first, the founder of the nation, one who obeyed the law, some will say, but rather, as our discourse has shown, himself a law and an unwritten statute. (Abr. 274–276)

In short, Abraham followed the Law because he succeeded in grasping the unwritten law of nature by means of his own reason.33 This is a

of Discourse; idem, “The Jewish Dimension of Philo’s Judaism—An Elucidation of de Spec. Leg. IV 132–150,” 165–86; Samuel Belkin, Philo and the Oral Law (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1940). 33 The claim that Abraham kept the commandments or, more generally, that “the patriarchs fulfilled the commandments,” appears in a number of rabbinic traditions. For example, b. Yoma 28a reports that Abraham fulfilled the commandments, suggesting that he was commanded to observe them, whereas m. Qidd. 4:14 says that Abraham performed the commandments, without any suggestion that he was acting under orders. Commentators struggle with the question: what is the relationship between this Amoraic tradition and the much older Mishnaic tradition? The Maharsha’, b. Yoma 28a, ad loc, suggests that m. Qidd. 4:14 is claiming that Abraham only performed the positive commandments. The passage from b. Yoma, however, suggests that Abraham was commanded to do all of the mitzvot and thus he has an obligation to fulfill them. This, the Maharsha’ argues, is implied in the verb to fulfill. Cf. t. Qidd., ch. 5 (Zuckermandel, 344). The tradition that the patriarchs established the fixed prayers is a particular manifestation of the claim that the Patriarchs kept the commandments, e.g., Tanḥuma Yelamdenu (Vienna 1863) Chayyei Sarah, 5. This tradition that the patriarchs instituted prayers also appears in b. Ber. 26b. See Rashi’s comment on b. Ber. 26b suggests that the debate consists of whether the patriarchs instituted the prayers (prior to Sinai) or whether the Great Assembly instituted the prayers (during the Second Temple period). This is a very interesting comment because nowhere in the passage (b. Ber. 26b) does it suggest that the institution of prayer which corresponds to the sacrifices was instituted prior to the destruction in 70 c.e. However, b. Ber. 33a describes prayer as one of a number of things that the Great Assembly instituted without any reference to the correspondence between daily

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remarkable achievement, which sets Abraham apart from those who are fortunate enough to live after the time of Moses, who need only to obey the written law: Great indeed are the efforts expended both by lawgivers and by laws in every nation in filling the souls of free men with comfortable hopes; but he who gains this virtue of hopefulness without being led to it by exhortation or command has been educated into it by a law which nature has laid down, a law unwritten yet intuitively learnt. (Abr. 16)34

However, the fact that Abraham’s pre-Sinaitic achievement is greater than the achievement of Jews who obey the written law of Moses does not imply that the unwritten law is greater than the written law.35

sacrifice and daily prayer. Perhaps Rashi’s comment on b. Ber. 26b was influenced by the tradition preserved in b. Ber. 33a. Similarly, the beraitot cited in b. Ber. 26b; b. Ber. 2:1, as well as the discussion of instituted prayers in t. Ber. ch. 3:1, say nothing about when the prayers were instituted (pre-destruction or post-destruction). The Rabbis, however, reported that prayers were already said in conjunction with the daily temple sacrifices by the mishmarot. On this see m. Ta’anit 4:2; m. Sofrim 17:5. With the exception of the b. Ber. 26b and the She’iltot de Rav Achai Gaon, Lech Lecha, She’ilta 8 (Jerusalem 1986): 44, all other witnesses to this midrash (Bereshit Rabba, Tanhuma Yelamdenu and Palestinian Talmud) attribute the claim that the patriarchs instituted the prayers to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi. This position (the patriarchs instituted the prayers) in b. Ber. and She’iltot, however, is attributed to Rabbi Yossi son of Hanina. For further discussion about the version in the Babylonian Talmud see Raphael N. Rabinowitz, Diqduqei Sofrim (Jerusalem: R. Mass, 1968), 133–35; vol. 1, 133–35 in the haggahot; Pirqei de Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 8 and Bereshit Rabba, ch. 68:9 (799 in Albeck). See also, Maimonides Sefer haMitzvot, shoresh sheni: “All that was not heard at Sinai in full clarity is considered Divrei Sofrim.” Maimonides argues that Divrei Sofrim refers to that which is derived in accordance with the thirteen hermeneutical rules. It is less clear from the earlier rabbinic sources that there is necessarily a clear distinction between Divrei Sofrim and Oral Torah. See, e.g. b. Eruvin 21b; m. Ber. 1:5; b. Tractate Berakot; m. Yevamot 2:4; b. Yevamot 21a; t. Ta’anit 2:6. On this motif, see, Efraim E. Urbach, The Sages (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979), 335–36; Isaak Heinemann, Darkhei Ha’Aggada (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1953), 35–39; I. M. Ta-Shema, “Abraham: In the Aggadah,” EncJud 2 (1971): 115; Hanokh Albeck’s expanded notes (hashlamot vetosaphot) to his commentary on m. Qidd. 4:14, in Shisha Sidrei Mishnah (Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, 1952) where he implies that Jubilees and Philo are two proto-rabbinic traditions which have the same view as the Rabbis. Albeck is not alone in this respect and until very recently, many scholars assumed (as some still do) that elements of shared interpretation suggested straightforward continuity between the Second Temple and rabbinic periods. 34 On this passage, see John W. Martens, “Unwritten Law in Philo: A Response to Naomi G. Cohen,” JJS 43 (1992): 44 n. 31: “The unwritten law is not only the physical representative of the law of nature, but it is the law of nature itself. Of course, a physical representation of the laws of nature is the law of nature, but here the connection is made explicit.” 35 In Spec. 4.150, Philo writes: “Praise cannot be duly given to one who obeys the written laws, since he acts under the admonition of restraint and the fear of punishment.


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Rather, the unwritten law of nature is embodied by written Mosaic law,36 which is therefore “stamped, as it were, with the seals of nature itself ” (Mos. 2.14). It is just this idea—that a written text can have the highest authority, here conceived as the authority of nature—that is all but unthinkable for the Hellenistic mind, yet it is just this idea that is essential for Philo’s Jewish commitment to Mosaic Torah. Those who miss this aspect of Philo’s thinking are missing what is revolutionary about his use of Hellenistic terms to authorize a sacred, written text. What of those who take Philo’s unwritten law to be a prototype of the rabbinic oral law?37 There is an important kernel of truth here. For Philo explicitly acknowledges his indebtedness to what he takes to be ancient, extra-pentateuchal interpretative traditions. Even when he does not register this fact explicitly, comparison of his work with other Second Temple texts or with later rabbinic texts shows that his interpretations include inherited elements of what would later be called oral law.38 However, it is nonetheless misleading to say that Philo is referring to an oral law when he speaks of unwritten law. First, as I have already

But he who faithfully observes the unwritten deserves commendation, since the virtue which he displays is freely willed.” 36 Many scholars have argued for this position. See, for example, Isaak Heinemann, “Die Lehre vom ungeschriebenen Gesetz im Jüdischen Schriftum,” HUCA 4 (1930– 1931): 152; Wolfson, Philo, Christianity, and In Islam, 2:180–194; Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete For His Time; Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “Loi de Moïse, Loi de Nature, Sagesse,” in Le Commentaire de L’Ecriture Chez Philon d’Alexandrie (Leiden: Brill, 1977): 116–54; Martens, “Philo and the ‘Higher’ Law,” 309–22; idem, “Unwritten Law in Philo: A Response to Naomi G. Cohen,” 38–45; Horsley, “The Law of Nature in Philo and Cicero,” 35–59. 37 See e.g., Belkin, Philo and the Oral Law. Although Naomi Cohen claims that she is not arguing for Belkin’s position, she nevertheless suggests in much of her writing that the connection between unwritten law and the rabbinic oral law can be argued for in a number of cases. See Cohen, Philo Judaeus: His Universe of Discourse; idem, “‘Agraphos Nomos’ in Philo’s Writings—a New Examination,” Da’at 15 (1985): 5–20 [Hebrew]; idem, “The Jewish Dimension of Philo’s Judaism—An Elucidation of de Spec. Leg. IV 132–150,” 165–86. I maintain that such a reading is misleading and blurs an important feature of Philo’s appropriation of the ancient Greek unwritten law and his larger project of arguing for the universal importance of Mosaic law. He accomplishes this in part by demonstrating that Judaism, like ancient Greek traditions, has an unwritten law and unwritten custom which is ancient and authoritative. Ellen Birnbaum argues, in her “Review of Philo Judaeus: His Universe of Discourse, by N. G. Cohen,” SPhilo 8 (1996): 189–96, that Cohen misunderstands Philo’s universalist project. For a very helpful evaluation of the existing scholarship on the relationship between Philo and Judaism, see Hilgert, “Philo Judaeus et Alexandrinus,” 1–15. 38 This has been amply demonstrated, most recently by Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete For His Time; and Kugel, The Bible As It Was.

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indicated, the term agraphos nomos is a standard Greek term and is used by Philo, as by his Stoic contemporaries, to refer to the law of nature. Second, even if Philo inherited and shared many of the interpretative traditions of the oral law that would later be called Torah she b’al Peh,39 that name carries with it a very specific conception of the authority of these traditions, a conception that is quite different from Philo’s conception of unwritten law.40 The rabbis who used the term understood the authority of their interpretative traditions to be based on the fact that these traditions had been transmitted through a chain of identifiable tradents, a chain beginning with God’s transmission to Moses of both the written Torah and its equally authoritative, extra-pentateuchal interpretations and accompaniments. On this conception, the authority of a tradition depends on its origination in God’s revelation to Moses on Sinai and on the accuracy of its subsequent transmission.41 The idea reflects a particular mode of oral pedagogy that may be traced back to the Tannaitic period and that continued and developed in the Amoraic and later Geonic periods.42 As I have said, Philo certainly shared versions of many of the traditions that were passed down to the rabbis in this way.43 He also regarded the institution of the public reading of Mosaic Torah, accompanied by the oral exposition of it as an extremely important feature of Judaism, a feature which was almost certainly derived from the practice initiated in Neh 8:1–8.44 Yet Philo’s conception of the authority of interpretative traditions was entirely different

39 On the use and development of this term in rabbinic literature, see Gerald J. Blidstein, “A Note on the Term Torah She-B’al peh,” Tarbiz 42 (1973): 496–98 [Hebrew]; P. Schäfer, “Das ‘Dogma’ von der mündlichen Torah im rabbinischen Judentum,” in Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 153–97; Efraim E. Urbach, “The Written Law and the Oral Law,” in The Sages (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979), 286–314; Robert Brody, “The Struggle against Heresy,” in The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998), 83–99, esp. 83–85. 40 Kugel, The Bible As It Was, 401, n. 19: “This conception is quite distinct from the concept of ‘unwritten law’ in Philo, which is hardly to be equated with the ‘oral Torah’ of later rabbinic literature.” 41 See, e.g., m. Abot 1:1. 42 See the recent study of Michael S. Berger, Rabbinic Authority (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998) and of Brody, The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture. 43 See, e.g., Mos. 1.4. For additional examples and discussion of the ‘traditions of the elders’ see Kugel, The Bible As It Was, 400–1. 44 E.g., Hypoth. 7.12.


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from the earlier Second Temple conception, such as that found in the book of Jubilees, and the later rabbinic conception. For Philo, the pentateuchal and extra-pentateuchal traditions were authoritative because they were congruent with the law of nature. Even if a tradition were known because it was handed down orally through the generations, Philo would not have regarded the tradition’s authority as based on the particularity of its mode of its transmission. Instead, he would have regarded its authority as based on the universality of its content. This brings out an extremely important point: interpreters may share a body of interpretative traditions, yet differ significantly in the ways they conceive the basis of the authority of those traditions. Like the rabbis, Philo certainly believed that the unwritten law included not only written pentateuchal texts but also extra-pentateuchal customs and interpretative traditions. But, unlike the rabbis, he did not privilege oral transmission; he believed, as we saw in the book of Jubilees, that some of the extra-pentateuchal interpretative traditions were written down. Furthermore, Philo sometimes suggests that the work of the interpretative traditions of the elders or the fathers was precisely to show that “the words of the literal text are symbols of something whose hidden nature is revealed by studying the underlying meaning” (Contempl. 28). One important implication of this passage is that the interpretative traditions have not exhausted the work of interpretation. There is more work to be done, in imitation of the traditions, and of course it is not only the Therapeutae who continue this work, but also Philo himself. Thus Philo associates his own practice of allegorical interpretation which brings out the spiritual or universal meaning of particular laws, with the Therapeutae and hence with their ancient interpretative traditions:45

45 Philo should be considered in light of a long pre-Philonic history of allegorical interpretation. See Thomas H. Tobin, The Creation of Man: Philo and the History of Interpretation, CBQMS 14 (1983). For an extensive but problematic reconstruction of such a history see Richard Goulet, La Philosophie de Moïse: Essai de Reconstitution d’un Commentaire Philosophique Prephilonien du Pentateuque (Paris: J. Vrin, 1987). See also David T. Runia’s very thorough and critical review of Goulet’s book in JTS 40 (1989): 590–602. For an insightful study of Philo and 1 Corinthians, arguing for an underlying pre-Philonic exegetical tradition, see Gregory E. Sterling, “Wisdom among the Perfect: Creation Traditions in Alexandrian Judaism and Corinthian Christianity,” NovT 37 (1995): 355–84.

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chapter four The exposition of the sacred scriptures treats the inner meaning conveyed in allegory. For to these people the whole law book seems to resemble a living creature with the literal ordinances for its body and for its soul the invisible mind laid up in its wording. It is in this mind especially that the rational soul begins to contemplate the things akin to itself and looking through the words as through a mirror beholds the marvelous beauties of the concepts, unfolds and removes the symbolic coverings and brings forth the thoughts and sets them bare to the light of day for those who need but a little reminding to enable them to discern the inward and hidden through the outward and visible (Contempl. 78).

Although Philo’s method of allegorical interpretation is clearly akin to the methods of contemporaneous Greek and Roman interpreters of Homer, Philo claims that the method is part of Jewish heritage.46 But it is not the inherited character of the method that renders it authoritative; rather, it is the method’s goal. For one of the goals of allegorical interpretation is to demonstrate the authority of the law of Moses by showing how that Law embodies the law of nature. Allegorical interpretation is especially necessary in the case of Mosaic laws that are binding only on the Jews. For it is one thing to say that universally binding laws are authoritative because they are congruent with nature, but in what sense are these particular laws authoritative? Philo maintains that even these particular laws have a universal significance that may be brought out by allegorical interpretation. The universal significance of Scripture is the primary meaning and import of the Law,47 but this does not mean that the Jews who understand the Law’s meaning are thereby exempt from obeying it. For example, circumcision is explained as a law that improves the virtue of men and controls their passions (Spec. 1.2–11). Holidays48 such as Passover are explained as having both national and cosmological significance (Spec. 2.150; Spec.

46 It is important to see that, although the allegorist is in one sense reading Scripture through Hellenistic eyes, in another sense he is subordinating Hellenistic culture to Scripture. For further discussion see, e.g., David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria (Oxford: University of California Press, 1992), 82. 47 E.g., Mos. 2.44. On this point, see Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete For His Time, 144. 48 Another interesting illustration of Philo’s insistence upon the universal significance of the Jewish holidays can be seen in Spec. 2.188–192 on the particular, i.e., national, and universal significance of the sounding of the trumpet at the beginning of the first month, i.e., the Jewish new year.


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2.156).49 Similarly, Philo claims that the bringing of the sheaf has universal significance (Spec. 2.162).50 In general, the authority of an interpretative tradition does not rest, for Philo, on God’s transmission of those traditions to the interpreter via Moses and a chain of tradents. It rests rather on the tradition’s ability to bring out the universal significance of Mosaic Torah, thus to demonstrate the congruence of Mosaic Torah with the law of nature and to show the unparalleled authority of Mosaic Torah itself. Consequently, Philo does not always claim that his allegorical interpretations are inherited from the elders or the fathers. He sometimes takes the liberty of interpreting Mosaic law on his own by using his “love of knowledge to peer into each of them [i.e., sacred messages] and unfold and reveal what is not known to the multitude” (Spec. 3.6) without claiming to possess any ancient Jewish tradition. At other times he is critical of the procedures of other interpreters, both of those who are overly literal (Migr. 44–45), neglecting universal significance, and of those who are overly allegorical (Migr. 89–90), ignoring the practical normativity of the Law for a particular people.51 In these passages, we see Philo’s concern to authorize the law of Moses in the universal terms appropriate to his Hellenistic context, without compromising the particularity of the Law and its place in particular Jewish society. As we have seen, for Philo, the unwritten law is the law of nature, whose universally acknowledged authority also underlies the authority of Mosaic law, because Mosaic law is the most perfect particular, written copy of the law of nature.52 That is, the law of nature is embodied by the pentateuchal and extra-pentateuchal laws and traditions of the Jews, both written and oral. Those traditions therefore participate in a universally acknowledged ground of authority, even though they are particular in many of their legal requirements. Philo invokes a Hellenistic conception 49 Philo then continues (Spec. 2.150, 156) to explain the cosmic reason for the placing of Passover as the first month, although it was, in other biblical texts, the seventh month. Furthermore, he explains the seasonal significance in conjunction with the movements of the sun and the moon, i.e., the cosmological significance of the Passover festival. 50 The festival of the sheaf culminates in the Feast of Weeks, Shavuoth. See PLCL, vol. 7, 404–7, esp. 406–7, note b. See also, Philo’s discussion of the Feast of Weeks later in Spec. 2.176. 51 For discussion of Philo’s criticism of other exegetes see Hay, “References to Other Exegetes in Philo’s Quaestiones,” 81–97 and Borgen, “Philo of Alexandria: A Critical and Synthetical Survey of Research Since World War II,” 126–28. 52 See David Winston’s helpful discussion on the relationship between Torah, i.e., Mosaic law, and the law of nature in “Two Types of Mosaic Philosophy,” in SBLSP 27 (1988): 442–55.

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of the normativity of unwritten nature in order to authorize an inherited body of Jewish writings along with their inherited or developed interpretations.

Conclusion Philo faced a severe religious, cultural and political challenge. He undertook to demonstrate the authority of the law of Moses in a way that would make sense to his Hellenistic Jewish and non-Jewish audience. But he could not avail himself of the traditional conceptions of authority that had developed since Ezra’s construction of the postexilic community, even if he was aware of those conceptions. For Mosaic law was traditionally conceived as authoritative because it was a sacred, written tradition associated with the particular relationship between Israel and God, and with Israel’s particular practices. Philo, however, was thinking and writing in a Hellenistic context that denigrated writing in favor of the unwritten, law of nature, and denigrated misanthropic particularity in favor of philanthropic universality. He therefore undertook to show that Moses the Israelite was the perfect lawgiver by universal standards, and that the written law of Moses, though it was binding in its totality only on the particular people of Israel, was in fact a perfect copy of the law of nature. Although Philo was employing strategies of authorization that had Hellenistic sources,53 the result was a transformation of Hellenistic concepts that had far-reaching implications. The very idea that there could be a perfect particular copy of a universal norm must have seemed to the Hellenistic mind either like an unthinkable paradox or like a conceptual revolution. At the same time, what began as a denigration of writing in favor of unwritten nature had been transformed into something very like the idea that nature itself, like Mosaic Torah, is a text written by God. If Hellenism had transformed Judaism, then Judaism had also transformed Hellenism.

53 For an excellent discussion of Philo’s relationship to interpreters in the early Hellenistic era, see John Dillon, “Philo and the Greek Tradition of Allegorical Exegesis,” in SBLSP 30 (1994): 69–80.

CHAPTER FIVE

A WRITTEN COPY OF THE LAW OF NATURE: AN UNTHINKABLE PARADOX?*

In the writings of Philo of Alexandria, we witness a major turn in the history of the concept of the law of nature.1 The law of nature becomes intimately linked to the written law revealed by God, the law of Moses.2 Philo’s recasting of both Greek philosophy and Jewish tradition sets the scene for centuries of development, not only within Judaism, but also within Christianity and Islam. As with any conceptual revolution, it is all but impossible to bring the Philonic turn clearly into view. To those who inherit Philo’s sense

* This essay was originally published by Brown Judaic Studies in SPhilo 15 (2003): 54–63, reprinted in this volume with permission from the current publisher SBL. 1 In early Greek philosophy, nature and law were contrasting terms, whose competing merits were the subject of an important controversy. For an excellent discussion of this debate with extensive primary sources see Richard D. McKirahan, Jr., “Chapter 19: The NOMOS-PHYSIS Debate,” in Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Indianapolis and Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company, 1994), 390–413. There is one reference to natural law in Plato’s Gorgias 483a7–484c3. See Gisela Striker, “Origins of the Concept of Natural Law,” in Essays on Hellenistic Epistemology and Ethics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 212. However, as Striker argues, Gorgias uses the term as a deliberate paradox, on the assumption that nature itself, of course, has no normative import for human actions whatsoever. Harry Wolfson claims that Philo borrows Aristotle’s concept of nature. See his discussion in Philo: Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and in Islam (2 vols.; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1947), 1:332–347. However, it seems quite clear that Philo’s concept of nature and of natural law is derived from later Stoic philosophy. On this point see Striker, “Origins of the Concept of Natural Law,” 209–20. 2 Sidney G. Sowers, The Hermeneutics of Philo and Hebrews: A Comparison of the Interpretation in Philo Judaeus and the Epistle to the Hebrews (Basel Studies of Theology 1; Richmond, Virginia: John Knox Press, 1965) 44–49; Maren Niehoff, Philo on Jewish Identity and Culture (TSAJ 86; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 247–66; David M. Hay, “Philo of Alexandria,” in Justification and Variegated Nomism: Volume 1, The Complexities of Second Temple Judaism (ed. D. A. Carson, Peter T. O’Brien and Mark A. Seifrid; WUNT 2.140; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 2001), 357–79, esp. 373–78; Hindy Najman, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” SPhilo 11 (1999): 55–73, also reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106; Francesca Calabi, The Language and the Law of God: Interpretation and Politics in Philo of Alexandria (South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 188; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998): 31–78, esp. 36–43.

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of God as creator, lawgiver and source of revelation, the unity of natural law and revealed law3 can seem obvious. But, if one tries to think oneself into the position of Philo’s Hellenistic predecessors and contemporaries, such a unity not only fails to be obvious, it seems incoherent, paradoxical. As I will explain, the revolutionary character of Philo’s move seems to me to be one factor underlying the debate between Phillip Mitsis and Paul Vander Waerdt.4 If Philo’s move is revolutionary, as I am suggesting, how is it possible, not merely to think in post-revolutionary or in pre-revolutionary terms, but to clarify Philo’s move, to render it intelligible? I want first to explain more precisely why Philo’s position seems paradoxical. Then I will seek, not to remove the paradox—for that, I believe, cannot be done—but rather to exhibit some of the inner logic of Philo’s thinking. Philo writes within the context of what is now called Middle Platonism,5 and his conception of the law of nature seems indebted to both Platonism and Stoicism.6 To see the paradoxical character of Philo’s linkage of the law of nature with the written law revealed by God, we need to recall a presupposition that Philo’s philosophically educated readers would very likely have made. The presupposition is that the law of nature, in accordance with which we should live, is necessarily an unwritten law, which transcends the written laws of any

3

In the case of Philo of Alexandria, revealed law is synonymous with the law of Moses. 4 See Paul A. Vander Waerdt, “Zeno’s Republic and the Origins of Natural Law,” in The Socratic Movement (ed. Paul A. Vander Waerdt; Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1994), 272–308 and Joseph G. DeFilippo and Phillip T. Mitsis, “Socrates and Stoic Natural Law,” in The Socratic Movement, 252–71. 5 For some helpful discussions on the relationship between Middle Platonism and Philo of Alexandria, see David T. Runia, “Was Philo a Middle Platonist? A Difficult Question Revisited,” SPhilo 5 (1993): 112–40; Gregory E. Sterling, “Platonizing Moses: Philo and Middle Platonism,” SPhilo 5 (1993): 96–111; John Dillon, The Middle Platonists: 80 B.C. to A.D. 200 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996); idem, “A Response to Runia and Sterling,” SPhilo 5 (1993): 151–55; Thomas H. Tobin, “Was Philo a Middle Platonist? Some Suggestions,” SPhilo 5 (1993) 147–50; David Winston, “Response to Runia and Sterling,” SPhilo 5 (1993): 141–46. 6 Helmut Koester is surely incorrect when he suggests that Philo originated the notion of natural law. See his article, “NOMOS ΦΥΣΕΩΣ: The Concept of Natural Law in Greek Thought,” in Religions in Antiquity: Essays in Memory of Erwin Ramsdell Goodenough (ed. Jacob Neusner; SHR 14; Leiden: Brill, 1968), 540. For a refutation, see Richard A. Horsley, “The Law of Nature in Philo and Cicero,” HTR 71 (1978): 35–59, especially 56.

a written copy of the law of nature

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human polis.7 In his discussion of the exemplary legislator Lycurgus, Plutarch writes: None of his laws were put into writing by Lycurgus, indeed, one of the so-called “rhetras”8 forbid it. For he thought that if the most important and binding principles which conduce to the prosperity and virtue of a city were implanted in the habits and training of its citizens, they would remain unchanged and secure, having a stronger bond than compulsion in the fixed purposes imparted to the young by education, which performs the office of a law-giver for every one of them. . . . Indeed, he assigned the function of law-making wholly and entirely to education.9

Already in Sophocles’ Antigone, a sharp contrast is drawn between the written law of the polis and the unwritten law.10 Closer to the time of Philo, when the unwritten law has come to be called the law of nature, we find Cicero drawing the contrast as follows: I see that because custom is so corrupted such behavior is neither thought dishonorable nor forbidden by statute and civil law. It is, however, forbidden by the law of nature. For there is a fellowship that is extremely widespread, shared by all with all (even if this has often been said, it ought to be said still more often); a closer one exists among those of the same nation, and one more intimate still among those of the same city. For this reason our ancestors wanted the law of nations and the civil law to be different: everything in the civil law need not be in the law of nations, but everything in the law of nations ought also to be a part of civil law. We, however, do not have the firm and lifelike figure of true law and genuine justice: we make use of shadows and sketches. I wish we would follow even those! For they are drawn from the best examples of nature and truth.11

7 See my essay, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” also reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106. 8 On rhetras see Lyc. 13.6, where Plutarch says that Lycurgus understood the rhetras to be divine oracles. 9 Plutarch, Lyc. 13.1–2. 10 Sophocles, Ant. 450–460: “For me it was not Zeus who made this proclamation, nor was it Justice who dwells with the gods below who established these laws among humans. And I did not suppose that your proclamations had power enough that you, a mortal, could prevail over the gods’ unwritten and secure practices. For they live not just now and yesterday, but always forever. No one knows when they appeared. I did not out of fear of the will of any man intend to pay a penalty before the gods for transgressing them.” This translation is taken from Richard D. McKirahan, Jr., Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Indianapolis and Cambridge: Hackett Publishing, 1994), 409. 11 This passage is cited from the translation of Cicero found in Cicero: On Duties, Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought (ed. Miriam T. Griffin and E. Margaret Atkins; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 125–26.

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Here, the law of nature is distinguished from the laws of particular nations. The distinction concerns both normative status and epistemic access. First, the law of nature has superior normative status. It constrains the laws of particular nations, but they do not constrain it. Second, there seems to be no special problem gaining epistemic access to the laws of particular nations, which are presumably embodied, not only in custom, but in written statutes. But gaining epistemic access to the law of nature is problematic. At best, we can know shadows and sketches of the law of nature. Those are drawn from the best examples of nature and truth—that is, presumably, from the exemplary lives of those who are virtuous and wise. But we do not know the originals. We know nature and truth only through those whose lives copy them. The reason for Cicero’s epistemic contrast between laws of particular nations and the law of nature may perhaps be that natural virtue and wisdom can be exemplified by living actions, but can never be reduced to any set of norms that might be transcribed into a written code of law. Now, some passages in Philo might suggest that he shares this presupposed contrast between the unwritten laws of nature on the one hand and written laws on the other. Thus Philo emphasizes that the intelligible originals, through which God created the material world, can never be adequately represented in language (Opif. 4): In celebrating the beauty of the thoughts contained in this creation account, no one, whether writing poetry or prose, can do them true justice. They transcend both speech and hearing, for they are greater and more august than what can be adapted to the instruments of a mortal being.12

If the originals cannot be adequately represented in language, then of course, they cannot be adequately represented in writing. So it is no surprise to find that Philo says of the patriarchs, whom he portrays as living in accordance with nature, that they “followed the unwritten law” (Abr. 4–6): These [patriarchs] are such men as lived good and blameless lives, whose virtues stand permanently recorded in the most holy scriptures, not 12 The quotations in English from the writings of Philo of Alexandria are taken from PLCL. The only exception are passages taken from Philo’s essay De opificio mundi, are taken from David T. Runia, On the Creation of the Cosmos: Introduction, Translation and Commentary, Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2001). I have, in certain cases, modified the Colson translation on the basis of the Greek in consultation with the critical edition of PCW.


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merely to sound their praises but for the instruction of the reader and as an inducement to elicit emulation; for in these men we have laws endowed with life and reason, and Moses extolled them for two reasons. First he wished to show that the enacted ordinances are not inconsistent with nature; and secondly that those who wish to live in accordance with the laws as they stand have no difficult task, seeing that the first generations before any at all of the particular statutes was set in writing followed the unwritten law with perfect ease, so that one might properly say that the enacted laws are nothing else than reminders of the life of the ancients, preserving to a later generation their actual words and deed. For they were not scholars or pupils of others, nor did they learn under teachers what was right to say or do: they listened to no voice or instruction but their own: they welcomed conformity with nature, holding that nature itself was, as indeed it is, the most venerable of statutes, and thus their whole life was one of happy obedience to law.

For it would seem that, if a life of virtue is a life in accordance with nature, and if the originals of nature cannot be adequately represented in writing, then the law followed by the virtuous is of necessity unwritten. Now we are ready to hear how paradoxical Philo must sound to his contemporaries. For his central theme is that a unique status must be accorded to one collection of written laws, the law of Moses, which is the law of a particular nation. These laws are unique. They remain “firm, unshaken, immovable, stamped as it were, with the seals of nature herself ” (Mos. 2.14): But Moses is alone in this, that his laws, firm, unshaken, immovable, stamped, as it were, with the seals of nature herself, remain secure from the day when they were first enacted to now, and we may hope that they will remain for all future ages as though immortal, so long as the sun and moon and the whole heaven and universe exist. Thus, though the nation had undergone so many changes, both to increased prosperity and the reverse, nothing—not even the smallest part of the ordinances—has been disturbed; because all have clearly paid high honor to their venerable and godlike character.

Now, in his account of creation, Philo uses the metaphor of stamping with a seal to express the relationship between original and copy (Leg. 1.22). Before the particular and individual mind there subsists a certain original as an archetype and pattern of it, and again before the particular sense-perception, a certain original of sense perception related to the particular as a seal making impression is to the form which it makes.

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Philo’s claim, then, is that the laws of Moses are copies of the laws of nature. Indeed, he says elsewhere that they are “likenesses and copies of the patterns enshrined in the soul” (Mos. 2.11), and that “the laws [are] the most faithful copy of the world-polity” (Mos. 2.51–2). But here lies the paradox. How is it so much as possible for the written laws of a particular nation to be copies of the laws of nature? Philo seems to share, in large part, a framework of thought with Cicero and others. Yet there is simply no room in Cicero’s thinking for a written copy of the laws of nature. The difficulty of finding conceptual room for Philo’s position seems to be one factor underlying the debate between Mitsis and Vander Waerdt. According to Joseph DeFilippo and Mitsis, “The Stoic theory of natural law . . . assumes . . . that the divine order of nature legislates a system of moral laws that provides a normative structure for human conduct.”13 However, Vander Waerdt sees here the risk of anachronism. He argues that, the early Stoics clearly do not conceive of natural law as being constituted by a code of moral rules comparable, for instance, to Aquinas’ code of primary and secondary precepts. To the contrary, they advance a dispositional rather than a rule-following model of natural law, and a correspondingly different account of the content of the moral conduct prescribed by it: in their theory, it prescribes not a determinate class of actions but a certain rational disposition with which one is to act, namely, the perfectly rational and consistent disposition which enables the sage to apprehend and act in accordance with the provident order of nature.14

Underlying Vander Waerdt’s argument is the question: how could the early Stoic conception of the law of nature be expressed by a code of precepts, since the early Stoics conceive the law of nature as unwritten and as embodied in the life of the sage? The question is not, I suggest, only interpretive. It is also conceptual. For early Stoic texts seem to leave no room for the idea of a code of precepts, a code that could be enshrined in a written text, which has the authoritative status of a copy of the law of nature. Underlying the debate between Mitsis and Vander Waerdt, then, is the question of how to make sense of Philo’s revolutionary move.

13 14

DeFilippo and Mitsis, “Socrates and Stoic Natural Law,” 265. Vander Waerdt, “Zeno’s Republic and the Origins of Natural Law,” 275–76.


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An initial answer to the question is that, for Philo, the law of nature and the law of Moses have the same source. Both are legislated by God. Thus, for example, John Martens contrasts Philo’s position with Cicero’s: Philo could not admit that the Mosaic law was only a shadowy sketch of true law. God gave the law to Moses; God also created the world and with it the law of nature. The law of Moses, divinely given, could in no way contradict the law of nature, divinely implanted in the world at creation.15

Now, this answer certainly has some validity. It is clearly important to Philo to emphasize that God is the source of both the law of nature and the law of Moses. He makes this point in two main ways. First, as we can see in the two passages below (Opif. 3 and Mos. 2.48) Philo sees it as one of the main reasons why Moses prefaces the Law with an account of creation that might otherwise be out of place: Opif. 3: The beginning is, as I just said, quite marvelous. It contains an account of the making of the cosmos, the reasoning for this being that the cosmos is in harmony with the law and the law with the cosmos, and the man who observes the law is at once a citizen of the cosmos, directing his actions in relation to the rational purpose of nature, in accordance with which the entire cosmos also is administered. Mos. 2.48: He did not, like any prose-writer, make it his business to leave behind for posterity records of ancient deeds for the pleasant but unimproving entertainment which they give; but, in relating the history of early times, and going for its beginning right to the creation of the universe, he wished to show two most essential things: first that the Father and Maker of the world was in the truest sense also its Lawgiver, secondly that he who would observe the laws gladly welcomes conformity with nature and lives in accordance with the ordering of the universe, so that his deeds are attuned to harmony with his words and his words with his deeds.

Second, Philo takes pains to show, not only that the laws of Moses have a moral purpose even when that purpose is not obvious, but also that the laws of Moses are structurally similar to the created cosmos. Hence, for example, the importance of numerological analyses, such

15

John W. Martens, “Philo and the ‘Higher’ Law,” SBLSP (1991): 317.

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as Philo’s account of the role of the decad in both natural and Mosaic law.16 However, it is simply not enough to say, with Martens, that God is the source of both natural and Mosaic law. Martens himself infers only that “the Law of Moses . . . could in no way contradict the natural law.” But what needs to be clarified is how the law of Moses could be a copy of the natural law, so that fulfilling the former is at the same time fulfilling the latter! We might say, perhaps, that the omnipotent creator can make it the case that the law of Moses is a copy of the law of nature. But this is to say that God can do even what is—or seems to be—conceptually impossible. If we can say no more than this, then it would seem that we have located a point where communication simply breaks down between, on the one hand, Philo and those who believe in an omnipotent creator, and, on the other hand, those who do not believe in an omnipotent creator. Those on one side of the Philonic revolution have no standard of intelligibility in common with those on the other side. But I think that we can say more than this. One might think that there are two exclusive alternatives: either conceive the law of nature as a code of rules which can be written down, or else conceive it as exemplified by the disposition of the sage. But these are not exclusive alternatives for Philo. In two ways, the law of Moses is more than a code of rules. First, it includes the lives of the patriarchs. Second, it is the law of Moses, an expression of the life of Moses. Both the patriarchs and Moses are portrayed by Philo as sages living in accordance with nature. Thus, although to be sure the law of Moses is written, it is not reducible to a code of precepts. For the precepts it contains must be understood in the context of the exemplary lives they express. In Philo’s view, the patriarchs exemplify the possibility of leading a virtuous life even if one does not have access to the written law of Moses (Abr. 16): Great indeed are the efforts expended both by lawgivers and by laws in every nation in filling the souls of free men with comfortable hopes; but he who gains this virtue of hopefulness without being led to it by exhortation or command has been educated into it by a law which nature has laid down, a law unwritten yet self-taught.

16

See Decal. 20–23.


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In a striking phrase, Philo says that the patriarchs were not merely obedient to law; they were “laws endowed with life and reason” (Abr. 5). Similarly, Philo says that Abraham was “himself a law and an unwritten statute” (Abr. 276).17 The point is that the patriarchs are sages, who have fully internalized the disposition to live in accordance with nature. So the lives of the patriarchs are the law of nature and have the normative force of law. For two reasons, Philo says, did Moses include the lives of these living laws in the Pentateuch (Abr. 5): First he wished to show that the enacted ordinances are not inconsistent with nature; and secondly that those who wish to live in accordance with the laws as they stand have no difficult task, seeing that the first generations before any at all of the particular statutes was set in writing followed the unwritten law with perfect ease, so that one might properly say that the enacted laws are nothing else than reminders of the life of the ancients, preserving to a later generation their actual words and deeds.

This last phrase is of great importance for my argument. Philo says that the enacted laws—that is to say, the laws given by God to Israel through Moses—may be properly regarded as reminders of the lives of the patriarchs, indeed as nothing else. In other words, if read in accordance with Philo’s instruction, the lives of the patriarchs and the laws of Moses turn out to be equivalent. Now, since the lives of the patriarchs embody the law of nature, it follows that the enacted laws of Moses also embody the law of nature. But this implies that the status of the laws of Moses, as copies of the laws of nature, would have remained unclear if not for the fact that the laws of Moses are situated within the context of the lives of the patriarchs and their descendants. Thus, the laws of Moses cannot be reduced to a code. They are expressions of the actual words and deeds of sages. But this is not all. It is also of the utmost importance to Philo that God gave the laws to Israel through Moses, whose own life is also

17 This phrase should be compared with Plutarch’s later interpretation of a verse from Pindar. When Pindar describes law as the king of all, Plutarch explains that law rules even a king: “not law written outside him in books or on wooden tablets or the like, but reason endowed with life within him, always abiding with him and watching over him and never leaving his soul without its leadership.” See Mor. 780c. Compare Philo’s description of a king in Mos. 2.4: “the king is a living law and the law is a just king.”

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included in the Pentateuch.18 Philo wrote not one but two treatises on the life of Moses, and he clearly thought that the laws of Moses could not be fully appreciated without a proper understanding of Moses himself.19 As Philo sets out to show, Moses is the philosopher-king called for in Plato’s Republic (Mos. 2.2; Republic 5.473d). Indeed, using the very terminology applied to the patriarchs, Philo describes Moses as “a law endowed with life and reason” (Mos. 1.162). Again, the point is that Moses is a sage. So his life is the law of nature and thus, has the normative force of law. It follows that, although the law of Moses certainly includes rules and precepts, it cannot be reduced to a code. The rules must be read as expressions of the virtuous lives of the patriarchs and of Moses. When they are read in this way, Philo claims, one will see that, just as the virtuous lives are themselves the law of nature, so are the rules. Indeed, one might argue that, if one were to abstract the rules from the lives of the sages, in order to form a code, then one would run the risk of obscuring the true significance of the rules. At this point, one might say that only one aspect of the Philonic paradox has been addressed. The paradox is that Philo regards the law of Moses as a written copy of the law of nature, but the law of nature is unwritten and so cannot be reduced to a code of rules that could be written down. I have argued that Philo does not regard the law of

18

See, e.g., Philo’s explanation of Moses’ description of his own death (Mos. 2.291–92): But most wonderful of all is the conclusion of the Holy Scriptures, which stands to the whole law-book as the head to the living creature; for when he was already being exalted and stood at the very barrier, ready at the signal to direct his upward flight to heaven, the divine spirit fell upon him and he prophesied with discernment while still alive the story of his own death; told ere the end how the end came; told how he was buried with none present, surely by no mortal hands but by immortal powers; how also he was not laid to rest in the tomb of his forefathers but was given a monument of special dignity which no man has ever seen; how all the nation wept and mourned for him a whole month and made open display, private and public, of their sorrow, in memory of his vast benevolence and watchful care for each one of them and for all. Such, as recorded in the Holy Scriptures, was the life and such the end of Moses, king, lawgiver, high priest, prophet. 19 Erwin R. Goodenough discusses the question of the intended audience for Philo’s two essays on Moses in “Philo’s Exposition of the Law and His De Vita Mosis,” HTR 26 (1933): 109–25. Although I disagree with Goodenough’s claim that De vita Mosis is written for a gentile audience, I agree that these two essays on Moses should be considered as part of Philo’s exposition of the Pentateuch. See also, Gregory E. Sterling, “Philo and the Logic of Apologetica: An Analysis of the Hypothetica,” SBLSP (1990): 412–30.


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Moses as reducible to a code of rules. Instead, the rules have weight insofar as they direct us towards the virtuous life of the sage who has internalized right reason. But it still remains the case, one might say, that the law of Moses is supposed to be a written copy of the law of nature. Why does Philo think it is possible to have a written copy of a law that he himself calls unwritten? Again, I do not think that this paradox can be entirely removed. But something can be said to illuminate the inner logic of Philo’s revolutionary move. Just as the Pentateuch contains rules but is not reducible to a code of rules, so too the Pentateuch is written but is not reducible to a piece of writing. For it must be read within what we might call an interpretive community.20 This is a community which inherits and transmits interpretive traditions—what Philo calls the “traditions of the fathers”—and which is also actively engaged in producing new interpretations. Thus Philo says that Scripture must be read along with the instruction of a priest or elder, and he says that he himself always combines his own ideas with the traditions he has heard. To abstract the Pentateuch from the life of the interpretive community of Israel, one might argue, would run the risk of obscuring the true significance of the Pentateuch. Indeed, part of the motivation for Philo’s authorial productivity may be precisely to make more widely available the interpretive context within which he thinks the Pentateuch should be read, while emphasizing the importance of the Jewish community that provides that context through its interpretive life. I hope that my emphasis on the intimate linkage between the laws of Moses and the lives of the biblical figures whom Philo considers sages, and on the intimate linkage between the written text of the Pentateuch and the life of the interpretive community of Israel, sheds some light on the inner logic of Philo’s revolutionary move. As I have also suggested, however, the paradoxical character of that move cannot be entirely alleviated. Now what must seem paradoxical is the claim that precisely one written text can have exactly this significance, that a written text can be regarded as God’s revelation to a community whose life should center around the reading, interpretation, and implementation of that text. In short, what must seem paradoxical is

20 On the concept and development of interpretive community in Christian Ethics see Jean Porter, Natural and Divine Law: Reclaiming the Tradition for Christian Ethics (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), esp. 212–24; cf. also 187–244, 259–68, 303–18.

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the idea of Scripture itself. For, although I have argued that neither the rules in the Pentateuch alone nor the writtenness of the Pentateuch alone are sufficient to explain the sense in which Philo thinks the Pentateuch gives us epistemic access to the law of nature, it is still revolutionary with respect to Greek thought to suggest that a written text should play a fundamental role in giving us that access.21

21 Many thanks to Paul Franks, D. K. O’Connor, Jean Porter, Gregory E. Sterling, John Strugnell, and David Winston for their helpful suggestions.

PART II

RENEWED REVELATION

CHAPTER SIX

ANGELS AT SINAI: EXEGESIS, THEOLOGY AND INTERPRETIVE AUTHORITY*

Introduction Clearly, the idea of angels—of beings who are creatures, like us, but who are closer to the divine than we, bringing the heavenly into our earthly lives—struck a chord in various Jewish communities in the Second Temple period and following. This essay is concerned with the role that angels are said to have played at Sinai during the revelation of the Law. Previous studies have established that some early Christian traditions emphasize that angels acted as mediators in the revelation of the Torah, while some rabbinic traditions emphasize the immediacy of the Sinai event, and evidence has been adduced of a polemical debate between Christians and Jews on this matter.1 Here, some of the

* In memory of my grandmothers, Bluma Frankel Najman (‫ )זייל‬and Evelyn Lichterman (‫)זייל‬. I gratefully acknowledge the conversations and comments of Leslie Baynes, Moshe Bernstein, Joseph Blenkinsopp, Marc Brettler, John Cavadini, Mary Rose D’Angelo, Crispin Fletcher-Louis, Paul Franks, Andrew Gross, Robert Hayward, Matthias Henze, James L. Kugel, Blake Leyerle, David Nirenberg, Lawrence Schiffman, Gregory Sterling, Loren T. Stuckenbruck, and James C. VanderKam. This essay was originally published in DSD 7 (2000): 313–33, reprinted in this volume with permission. 1 See Alan F. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early Rabbinic Reports about Christianity and Gnosticism (SJLA 25; Leiden: Brill, 1977), 64, 189, 211; William D. Davies, “A Note on Josephus, Antiquities 15.136,” in Jewish and Pauline Studies (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 84–88; Efraim E. Urbach, “The Homiletical Interpretations of the Sages and the Expositions of Origen on Canticles and the Jewish Disputation,” ScrHier 22 (1971): 247–75, esp. 253–57 (trans. from the Hebrew original, published in Tarbiz 30 [1961] 148–70); idem, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (trans. I. Abrahams; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1975), 152–53; Frederick F. Bruce, The Epistle of Paul to the Galatians (NIGTC; Exeter: Paternoster Press, 1982), 176–78; idem, The Acts of the Apostles: The Greek Text with Introduction and Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 209; Reuven Kimelman, “Rabbi Yoḥanan and Origen on the Song of Songs: A Third Century Jewish-Christian Disputation,” HTR 73 (1980): 567–95, esp. 574–77; Menaḥem Hirshman, A Rivalry of Genius: Jewish and Christian Biblical Interpretation in Late Antiquity (trans. Batya Stein; Suny Series in Judaica: Hermeneutics, Mysticism, and Religion; Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996), 89–94, 150–51.

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relevant material will be revisited from a new perspective. First, I want to situate the issue of angels at Sinai within the more general study of interpretive claims to authority.2 Second, I want to explore the Second Temple background to the debate, a background that has been noted before, but not examined in much detail. Third, I want to consider several different exegetical strategies employed to counter the notion of angelically mediated revelation in some rabbinic traditions. Numerous recent studies have demonstrated the important role of interpretive traditions that accompanied the reading of biblical texts in Second Temple times, as well as the inheritance and continued development of those traditions by various communities after the destruction of the Temple.3 It is important, however, to note that an interpretive tradition can possess or acquire a special significance that places it on a different level from other traditions. This is because a specific interpretive tradition can not only express the claim to authority made by the interpreter, but can also serve as a tradition that defines the community represented by the interpreter. In some cases, the claim to authority made by the interpreter is, at the same time, the expression of a particular conception of the authority of the scripture being interpreted.4 It is easy to see how interpretive traditions concerning the revelation of the Torah at Sinai could possess or acquire this special status,

2 On interpretive authority see Hindy Najman, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” SPhilo 11 (1999): 55–73, reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106; idem, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and Its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30 (1999): 379–410, reprinted in this volume, ch. 2 on pages 39–71; idem, “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings,” The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 33; Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 202–16, reprinted in this volume, ch. 3 on pages 73–86. 3 See, e.g., James L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible As It Was (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998); idem, Early Biblical Interpretation (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986); Steven D. Fraade, Enosh and His Generation: Pre-Israelite Hero and History in Postbiblical Interpretation (SBLMS 301; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984); Michael A. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press, 1984); idem, The Garments of Torah: Essays in Biblical Hermeneutics (Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1989); idem, The Exegetical Imagination: On Jewish Thought and Theology (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998). 4 Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing,” 388, reprinted in this volume, ch. 2 on pages 39–71; idem, “The Law of Nature,” 58–59, reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106.

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since the various versions of Second Temple Judaism, as well as their Christian and rabbinic descendants, all recognized Sinai as the scene of a preeminent manifestation of divine authority.5 When conflict arose between different versions of Torah law, or between different attitudes towards Torah law, it was important, not only to relate one’s particular version or attitude to Scripture and to associated interpretive traditions, but also to manifest the basis for the authority of one’s interpretations, which sometimes involved making explicit one’s conception of the authority of Scripture itself—that is, one’s conception of revelation. This became particularly important when early Jewish and Christian groups emerged as two intimately separate traditions.6 I have said that interpretive traditions may possess or acquire this special status, as expressions of interpretive claims to authority. Under different circumstances, in the face of different challenges, the significance of specific traditions may change. What had been one tradition among others may, in a new situation, become charged with special significance. For that matter, a tradition that had special significance may lose it, once a specific challenge has receded. Or, under changed circumstances, the special significance of a tradition may be retained, but in a subtly different measure. To return to the example under consideration here, the issue of whether the revelation at Sinai was or was not angelically mediated may well have become polemically heated in some early Christian and rabbinic circles, but the interpretive traditions involved may not have had the same significance in the Second Temple period, and may not have retained the same significance later. An examination of the life of such a tradition must therefore pay careful attention to the shifting theological and polemical contexts in which it is inherited.

I If one looks at changes in the portrayal of prophetic revelation during the Second Temple period, one finds an increasingly prominent

5 Lawrence H. Schiffman, “The Concept of Covenant in the Qumran Scrolls and Rabbinic Literature,” forthcoming. 6 See, e.g., the opening pages of Blake Leyerle, “Blood is Seed,” JR 81 (2000).

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role played by angels.7 Comparison with exilic and preexilic traditions suggests that the prophet’s communication with God was increasingly likely to be conceived, not as direct, but as angelically mediated. Although this development is gradual, and far from linear, it is nonetheless striking in some groups of texts. Perhaps the most striking emphasis on angelically mediated revelation is in the book of Jubilees, in which God instructs an angel to reveal—indeed, to dictate8—the Law to Moses at Sinai. This is not just any angel, but the Angel of the Presence (‫ )מלאך הפנים‬who enjoys a special intimacy with God.9 Here is a passage from Jub. 1:27–29:10 Then he said to an angel of the presence: “Dictate to Moses (starting) from the beginning of the creation until the time when my temple is built among them throughout the ages of eternity. . . . The angel of the presence, who was going along in front of the Israelite camp, took the tablets (which told) of the divisions of the years from the time the law and the testimony were created—for the weeks of their jubilees, year by year in their full number, and their jubilees from [the time of creation until] the time of the new creation when the heavens, the earth, and all their creatures will be renewed like the powers of the sky and like all the creatures of the earth, until the time when the temple of the Lord will be created in Jerusalem on Mt. Zion.

7 On the shift from immediacy to mediation in the Second Temple period see Kugel, Early Biblical Interpretation, 13–39; Michael A. Fishbane, “From Scribalism to Rabbinism: Perspectives on the Emergence of Classical Judaism,” in The Garments of Torah, 64–78, esp. 68. In recent times there have been a number of very important and helpful studies on angels and related matters in Second Temple, early Christian, and rabbinic traditions. See Michael Mach, Entwicklungsstadien des Jüdischen Engelglaubens in vorrabbinischer Zeit (TSAJ 34; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1992); Maxwell J. Davidson, Angels at Qumran: A Comparative Study of 1 Enoch 1–36, 72–108 and Sectarian Writings from Qumran (JSPSup 11; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992); Saul M. Olyan, A Thousand Thousands Served Him: Exegesis and the Naming of Angels in Ancient Judaism (TSAJ 36; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1993); Jarl E. Fossum, The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord: Samaritan and Jewish Concepts of Intermediation and the Origin of Gnosticism (WUNT 36; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1985); Peter Schäfer, Rivalität zwischen Engeln und Menschen: Untersuchungen zur rabbinischen Engelvorstellung (SJ 8; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1975); David J. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision (TSAJ 16; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1988); Loren T. Stuckenbruck, Angel Veneration and Christology (WUNT 70; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1995). 8 James C. VanderKam, “The Putative Author of the Book of Jubilees,” JSS 26 (1981): 209–17. 9 See the insightful treatment of the Angel of the Presence by James C. VanderKam, “The Angel of the Presence in the Book of Jubilees,” DSD 7 (2000): 378–93. 10 Quotations from the book of Jubilees are from the translation of James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (CSCO 510–11, Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989).

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Again, in the opening lines of the second chapter ( Jub. 2:1), the Angel of the Presence is told to instruct Moses to write the “words about the creation.” Jubilees here conceives the authority of Mosaic Torah as deriving from its origin in an angelic intermediary, whose authority results in turn from his elevated status and from his acting at God’s command. We should see the role of angels in light of Jubilees’ overwhelming desire to authorize its specific interpretation of Mosaic law, especially its interpretation of the calendar, about which it believed other Jews were seriously mistaken.11 In a recent article I argued that, throughout Jubilees, interpretive authority is claimed in no less than four different ways.12 Here I focus on one of these claims, namely that the entire book of Jubilees was dictated to Moses by the Angel of the Presence, at God’s own command. This claim is connected to another claim at work in Jubilees, namely that the teachings of Jubilees have been revealed to a succession of select individuals since the creation of the world, as these earlier revelations also occurred through angelic intermediaries. Thus, not only does Jubilees contain the retelling of Genesis and part of Exodus by an angelic narrator, it also elaborates upon the role of angels mentioned in the biblical narratives.13 Jubilees even inserts angels into its retelling of the Gen 38 narrative. In Jub. 41:23–24, when Judah acknowledges that he has sinned with respect to his daughterin-law, it is the angels who tell him he is forgiven, although no mention of angels is to be found in the biblical text. The teachings and practices promoted by Jubilees are supposed to have been long since revealed by authoritative angels to recipients who passed on the traditions to their children. Thus, angelic authority is invoked by Jubilees twice over: once as past tradition, and once as present origin. I want to emphasize that Jubilees’ emphatic attempt to demonstrate its own authority to interpret the Torah of Moses has the effect (consciously or unconsciously) of downplaying the unique authority of the Mosaic Torah. Moses received angelically mediated revelations

11 For an excellent discussion of calendars in late Second Temple Jewish communities and a comprehensive bibliography, see James C. VanderKam, Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time (London: Routledge, 1998). See also Uwe Glessmer, “Calendars in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 1.213–78. 12 Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing,” 380, reprinted in this volume, ch. 2 on pages 39–71. 13 E.g., Jub. 16:1–4, 15–19; 18:9; 48:13.

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of correct teachings and practices, just like Enoch and a whole host of others.14 Sinai was only one in a long series of normative revelations, and the Torah of Moses was correctly interpreted, not by those who read it in isolation, or by those who read it in light of popular tradition, but only by those who read it in light of earlier, angelically authorized revelations. For Jubilees, the Torah of Moses is authoritative, and that authority is based on its angelic source, which is also the basis for the authority of the interpretations given in Jubilees.15 But angelically mediated revelation is not an exclusive feature of the occurrences at Sinai, and the revelation to Moses is not radically unlike other revelations. However, it is important to note that, although the angelic mediation tradition is used by Jubilees to support the book’s own claim to interpretive authority, the tradition itself may have been known independently of Jubilees, and may not have carried the same implications in other contexts. For example, Josephus reports a speech in which Herod says the following (Ant. 15.136): ἡμῶν δὲ τὰ κάλλιστα τῶν δογμάτων καὶ τὰ ὁσιώτατα τῶν ἐν τοῖς νόμοις δι’ ἀγγέλων παρὰ τοῦ θεοῦ μαθόντων.

and we have learned the best of our doctrines and the holiest of our laws from the angels sent by God.16

14 E.g., see the revelations to Enoch ( Jub. 4:19), Abram ( Jub. 12:27) and Jacob ( Jub. 32:21). 15 Angelic participation in revelation does not diminish or undermine the authority of Mosaic law, as far as Jubilees is concerned, notwithstanding later uses of the notion. Similarly, James C. VanderKam argues, in “Genesis 1 in Jubilees 2,” DSD 1 (1994): 300–21, esp. 309, that the creation of angels on the first day, although a notion strenuously avoided by the rabbis because of its potential threat to God’s unique position as creator, is not understood by Jubilees as posing any threat whatsoever. 16 Allen Wikgren, ed., Josephus: Jewish Antiquities (trans. Ralph Marcus; LCL 489; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1963), 322–23 n. 1; William D. Davies, “A Note on Josephus, Antiquities 15.136,” 85–86; Michael Mach, Entwicklungsstadien des Jüdischen Engelglauben, 307 n. 80, and Louis Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1956) 6.47 n. 248. See the discussion below of the rabbinic strategy of interpreting ‫ מלאך‬as ‫נביא‬. However, Herman L. Strack and Paul Billerbeck understand Herod’s speech as an example of angelically mediated revelation. See Str-B 3.556. See also Philo, Abr. 115 where ἄγγελοι are described as “those holy and divine beings, the servitors and lieutenants of the primal God whom He employs as ambassadors to announce the predictions which He wills to make to our race.” (Trans. Francis H. Colson; LCL 6; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1935), 61.

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However, as many scholars have indicated, this example is hardly an unequivocal case of angelic mediation of the Law because ἀγγέλων may also be translated as “prophets.” Although Jubilees seems to have had the status of authoritative scripture at Qumran,17 its portrayal of the revelation at Sinai as angelically mediated is not the only portrayal of Sinai found there. In one fragment, 4Q377 2 II,18 Moses is described as a man of God, who receives the Law from God at Sinai and is likened to an angel, ‫כמלאך‬: ‫ומושה איש האלוהים עם אלוהים בענן ויכס‬ vacat ‫ויעמדו מרחק‬ ‫עליו הענן כיא ] [בהקדשו וכמלאך ידבר מפיהו כיא מי מבש]ר [ כמוהו‬ [ ] ‫איש חסדים ויו ] [ ם אשר לוא נבראו }}ל{{ מעולם ולעד‬

10 11 12

10 and they stood at a distance. vacat And Moses, the man of God, was with God in the cloud. And the cloud covered 11 him because [ ] when he was sanctified, and like a messenger he would speak from his mouth, for who of fles[h ]is like him, 12 a man of faithfulness and [ ] who were not created from eternity and forever [ ]

Here it is Moses himself who plays the role of an angel, having received revelation directly from the mouth of God. There is no suggestion that, in addition to Moses, an angel was also involved. So the authority of the Torah rests, not on the authority of the angel who revealed it to Moses at God’s command, but rather on the angelic authority of Moses himself. Finally, Moses’ excellence is described as unique and distinctive.19 17 As attested in CDa 16:1–4; and 4Q271 (ed. Joseph M. Baumgarten; DJD 18; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 156 (4Q270) and 178 (4Q271). See also the helpful table prepared by Baumgarten, DJD 18: 3–5. On authoritative scripture at Qumran see Eugene Ulrich, “The Bible in the Making: The Scriptures at Qumran,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Eugene Ulrich and James C. VanderKam; Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity 10; Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), 77–93; James C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5 (1998): 382–402; Moshe J. Bernstein, “Introductory Formulas for Citation and Re-citation of Biblical Verses in the Qumran Pesharim,” DSD 1 (1994): 30–70. 18 I am indebted to James C. VanderKam for sharing with me his edition and translation of the text, which appears in Douglas M. Gropp, Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh (ed. Eileen Schuller et al., in consultation with James C. VanderKam and Monica Brady, Miscellanea, Part 2: Qumran Cave 4.28; DJD 28; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000). 19 As VanderKam suggests in his comments on 4Q377, lines 11–12 should be considered in light of the following passages: Deut 34:10–12; 1 En. 89:36; and As. Mos. 11:16–17. See also the Exagoge, attributed to Ezekiel the Tragedian, lines 68–89. For further discussion of the Exagoge 68–89 and revelation at Sinai, see John J. Collins,

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Thus, alongside the angelic mediation tradition found in Jubilees, another Second Temple tradition was preserved at Qumran, emphasizing the angelic role of Moses and thus the immediacy of revelation at Sinai. As we have seen in Jubilees, the angelic mediation tradition could be employed on behalf of a particular claim to interpretive authority. But there is no evidence that the immediacy tradition was intended polemically to counter the claim of Jubilees.20

II A number of scholars, beginning with Efraim E. Urbach, have sought to reconstruct a polemical debate between Christians and Jews concerning the question of whether the Torah was revealed with or without angelic mediation.21 It seems certain that such a debate took place, and that interpretive traditions concerning the role of angels at Sinai had acquired particular weight in the context of the competing attitudes of Christian and Jewish communities towards Mosaic law, and of their competing claims to scripturally-based authority. However, the complexity of the situation prevents any simplified generalization to the effect that Christians inherited Jubilees’ conception of revelation at Sinai as angelically mediated, while the rabbis inherited traditions conceiving revelation to Moses as uniquely immediate. As we have seen, emphasis on angelic mediation in Jubilees did express a particular conception of the authority of Scripture and the authority of specific, angelically licensed interpreters. It is easy to understand the attractiveness of this conception to sectarians at Qumran, and it is important to note the continuities between this conception and some Christian traditions. But it would be a mistake to conflate Jubilees’ conception of revelation and Jubilees’ own interpretive authority with any conception found in the Christian community. The implications of the angelic mediation tradition are different in different Christian texts, and are never exactly the same as in Jubilees. Furthermore, as “A Throne in the Heavens: Apotheosis in pre-Christian Judaism,” in Death, Ecstasy and Other Worldly Journeys (ed. John J. Collins and Michael Fishbane; New York: State University of New York Press, 1995), 50–52. 20 Similarly, as Fossum has pointed out, the Samaritan literature contains both the tradition of angelic mediation and the tradition of the immediacy of Mosaic revelation. See Fossum, The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord, 194, 228–30, 260. 21 See n. 1 in this essay.

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we shall see later, rabbinic traditions do not simply reject the angelic mediation tradition in favor of immediacy. Galatians 3:19, Heb 2:2 and Acts 7:53 have often been cited as evidence that early Christians conceived of the revelation at Sinai as angelically mediated. Although these texts use the angelic mediation tradition to support certain attitudes towards Torah law, it is important to note that the tradition itself is not invoked as intrinsically polemical, or as inextricably tied to Christianity. It is invoked, rather, as a well-established tradition, with which the audience is expected to be familiar, one that requires no exegetical argument.22 The strongest affinity to Jub. 1:27–29 is exhibited by the latest of the three New Testament passages that refer to angelic mediation of the Law. In Acts 7:53, Stephen says: Οἵτινες ἐλάβετε τὸν νόμον εἰς διαταγὰς ἀγγέλων καὶ οὐκ ἐφυλάξατε.

You are the ones who received the Law ordained by angels, but you have not kept it.

Here, as in Jubilees, the authority of the Law is based on its angelically mediated revelation. The Law is in no way denigrated, but the people of Israel are denigrated for failing to keep a law revealed in so significant a manner. The Law is not denigrated by virtue of its being originally ordained by angels.23 In Gal 3:19–20, Paul says the following: Τί οὖν ὁ νόμος; τῶν παραβάσεων χάριν προσετέθη ἄχρις οὗ ἔλθῃ τὸ σπέρμα ᾧ ἐπήγγελται, διαταγεὶς δι᾽ ἀγγέλων ἐν χειρὶ μεσίτου.

22 Harold W. Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews: A Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1989), 65: “Jewish tradition eventually made these angels intermediaries in the delivery of the Torah, and this tradition was appropriated by early Christians.” See also Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles, 209; Hans D. Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), 169–72. 23 For an alternative reading, see Crispin H. T. Fletcher-Louis, Luke-Acts: Angels, Christology and Soteriology (WUNT 94; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1997), 98–107. Fletcher-Louis argues that Acts 7 does not reflect the tradition of angelically mediated law at Sinai, but, as he writes on 103: “Acts 7:53 could . . . be translated ‘. . . who received the law (with a view) to angelic constitution(s) . . .’. In other words the law was given in order to create a community whose lifestyle(s) and order is, or conforms to, that of the angels.” Although this reading is suggestive, I do not think it is compelled. See discussion in Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles, 209.

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chapter six What then is the Law? Because of the transgressions it was given in addition, till the offspring should come to whom the promise had been made, ordained through the angels, through a mediator.24

Again, the angelic mediation tradition is invoked as familiar, along with the role of a mediator, generally understood to be Moses.25 Here, however, we find something new: the mediated character of the Law’s revelation is used to downgrade the authority of the Law, since it suggests less than perfect intimacy between God and Israel, hence a provisional authority, valid only until the promise made to Abraham is fulfilled and the intimacy made perfect.26 The Law is “our guardian until Christ” (Gal 3:24), “But since the faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian” (Gal 3:25). There is perhaps an implicit suggestion that angelic mediation also entails the inferior status of the Law compared to Christ. Only in Hebrews do we find a clear statement of the idea that the Law is inferior to Christ, because the revelation of the Law was angelically mediated.27 Heb 1:4–14 emphasizes the superiority of Christ to the angels, and Heb 2:2–3 asks: For if the word spoken by angels (δι᾽ ἀγγέλων) was valid and every transgression and act of disobedience received its just recompense, how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation, which, after originally being proclaimed by the Lord, was validated for us by those who heard it.28

Here, the earlier interpretive tradition that the revelation at Sinai was angelically mediated is turned on its head: instead of providing the basis for the authority of the Law, angelic mediation shows the inferiority of the Law to an immediate revelation which provides a greater salvation. The point is not, as in Jubilees, to equate the authority of the Torah with the authority of the interpretations of the Torah one favors. Rather, the point is to grant the authority of the revelation to 24

Trans. H. D. Betz, Galatians, 161. Strack and Billerbeck point out that μεσίτου is equivalent to the Hebrew ‫סרסור‬ in rabbinic traditions. See their discussion in Str-B 3.556–57. See also Betz, Galatians, 170–71; Kimelman, “Rabbi Yoḥanan and Origen on the Song of Songs,” 576. Note also that in this passage, as in Ant. 15:136, one could understand ἀγγέλων to refer to the prophets who received the Law from Moses (μεσίτου), not to heavenly beings. 26 See the comprehensive discussion of Gal 3:1–18 by Betz, Galatians, 128–60, esp. excursus: Abraham, 139–40. 27 Stuckenbruck, Angel Veneration and Christology, 127–28. 28 Translation taken from Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews, 63. 25

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Moses, while rendering it inferior to the authority of a post-Mosaic revelation. Thus the special significance of the angelic mediation tradition, as expressing a conception of revelation that confers authority on specific interpreters, has taken a new turn. Now that tradition has been incorporated into a conception of the Christian revelation as uniquely immediate, hence as uniquely authoritative, more authoritative than the angelically mediated law. We see the continuation of this use of the angelic mediation tradition in Origen’s commentary on Song 1:2: “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.” After presenting the simple sense of the text, Origen turns to the inner meaning of the verse: But let us see if the inner meaning also can be fittingly supplied along these lines. Let it be the Church who longs for union with Christ; but the Church you must observe, is the whole assembly of the saints. So it must be the Church as a corporate personality who speaks and says: I am sated with the gifts which I received as betrothal presents or as dowry before my marriage. For of old, while I was being prepared for my wedding with the King’s Son and the Firstborn of all creation, His holy angels put themselves at my service and ministered to me, bringing the Law as a betrothal gift; for the Law, it is said, was ordained by angels in the hand of a mediator . . . But, since the age is almost ended and His own presence is not granted me, and I see only His ministers ascending and descending upon me, because of this I pour out my petition to Thee, the Father of my Spouse, beseeching Thee to have compassion at last upon my love, and to send Him, that he may now no longer speak to me only by His servants the angels and the prophets, but may come Himself, directly, and kiss me with the kisses of His mouth—that is to say, may pour the words of His mouth into mine, that I may hear Him speak Himself, and see Him teaching. The kisses are Christ’s, which He bestowed on His Church when at His coming, being present in the flesh, He in His own person spoke to her the words of faith and love and peace, according to the promise of Isaiah who, when sent beforehand to the Bride, had said: Not a messenger, nor an angel, but the Lord Himself shall save us.29

29 Translation taken from, R. P. Lawson, Origen: The Song of Songs Commentary and Homilies (ACW 26; Westminster, Md.: The Newman Press, 1957), 59–60. For an excellent discussion of Origen’s commentary to the Song of Songs, see Elizabeth A. Clark, “The Uses of the Song of Songs: Origen and the Later Latin Fathers,” in Ascetic Piety and Women’s Faith: Essays on Late Ancient Christianity (Studies in Women and Religion 20; Lewiston, N.Y.: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1986), 386–427, esp. 386–99 and 411–21.

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Here Origen cites Gal 3:19 as a proof-text, but, as we have seen, his point is explicitly supported only in Heb 2:1–3: the revelation to Moses at Sinai was angelically mediated and was therefore inferior. According to Origen, the verse from Song of Songs expresses the yearning of the Church for a more immediate revelation, for a more perfect intimacy with God. The relationship between Origen’s commentary and rabbinic midrash on the Song of Songs has been a source of great interest to scholars of rabbinic literature. Saul Lieberman explored the relationship between Origen’s commentary and what he claimed was a tannaitic tradition of reading Song of Songs as an allegory about God and Israel at the time of the receiving of the Law, which is related to the Ezekiel and Creation merkabah traditions.30 Origen himself refers to his course of study with rabbis.31 In particular, Urbach and others have related the above passage from Origen to the following excerpt from Song of Songs Rabbah: ‫ על‬,‫ אמר רבי יוחנן מלאך היה מוציא הדיבר מלפני הקב"ה‬:‫ישקני מנשיקות פיהו‬ ‫ ומחזירו על כל אחד ואחד מישראל ואומר לו מקבל אתה עליך‬,‫כל דיבר ודיבר‬ ‫ הה"ד אתה‬,‫ מיד היה נושקו על פיו‬,‫ והיה אומר לו ישראל הן הן‬. . . ‫את הדיבר הזה‬ ‫ אתה הראת לדעת על ידי שליח‬:‫הראת לדעת כי ה' הוא האלהים אין עוד מלבדו‬ ‫ורבנין אמרין הדיבר עצמו היה מחזר על כל אחד ואחד מישראל ואומר לו מקבלני‬ ‫ כך וכך‬,‫ כך וכך עונשין יש בי‬,‫ כך וכך דינין יש בי‬,‫ כך וכך מצוות יש בי‬,‫את עליך‬ ‫ כך וכך מתן שכר‬,‫ כך וכך קלין וחמורין יש בי‬,‫ כך וכך מצוות יש בי‬,‫נזירות יש בי‬ 33 .‫ ולימדו התורה‬32,‫מיד הדיבר נושקו על פיו‬, ‫ והוא אומר הן והן‬,‫יש בי‬ “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,” (Song 1:2). R. Johanan said: “An angel brought forth the commandment from the presence of the Holy One Blessed be He and he brought it to each Israelite and

30 Saul Lieberman, “‫משנת שיר השירים‬,” in appendix to Gershom Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism and Talmudic Tradition (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 19652), 118; idem, Yemenite Midrashim: A Lecture on the Yemenite Midrashim, Their Character and Value ( Jerusalem: Shalem Books, 1992), 13–18 [Hebrew]. 31 On the relationship between Origen and the rabbis, see Nicholas R. M. de Lange, Origen and the Jews: Studies in Jewish-Christian Relations in Third-Century Palestine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 21–37; Clark, “The Uses of the Song of Songs,” 391–94. 32 In some versions the phrase ‫ לאדקולין בן הדיסה‬appears at this point in the midrash. Urbach suggests that ‫ לאדקולין בן הדיסה‬is an interpolation of the name of a scribe. He points out that the phrase is not in the version of this midrash from Pesiq. Rab. in MS De Rossi no. 1240 and thus omits the phrase. See Urbach, “The Homiletical Interpretation of the Sages,” 254–55, esp. n. 19 and n. 22. 33 Pesaro edition, 1519, Song Rab. 1:2.

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said to him: ‘Do you accept this commandment?’ . . . and the Israelite answered him. ‘Yes, Yes!’ Thereupon the angel kissed him upon his lips, as it is written ‘To you it was shown that the Lord is God and there is none beside him,’ (Deut 4:35). ‘To you it was shown,’ by means of a messenger.” But the Rabbis said: “The Commandment itself went to of all the Israelites and said to each one, ‘Do you accept me?’ . . . and the Israelite replied, ‘Yes, Yes.’ Thereupon the Commandment immediately kissed him on his lips and taught him the Torah.”

I do not wish to enter the debate about how to reconstruct the polemics between Origen and the rabbis.34 Instead, I want to note that this rabbinic text seems to inherit the Second Temple tradition of angelic mediation, as well as a distinct tradition, according to which revelation is mediated, not by angels, but rather by the divine utterance or logos. The angelic mediation tradition is not inherited only by Christian texts.35

III In general, the tradition that angels played a significant role in the theophany at Sinai is widely attested in rabbinic texts.36 Here is an illustration of the tradition from Tanḥuma, Bemidbar 14:37

34 Urbach argues that Origen was influenced by R. Johanan in “The Homiletical Interpretation of the Sages,” 254–56. On the other hand, Kimelman argues that R. Johanan is the chief rabbinic respondent to Origen and is thus inclined to reject the attribution of the angelic mediation tradition to R. Johanan, because of what Kimelman regards as opposition to angelic mediation in other traditions attributed to R. Johanan. See “Rabbi Yoḥanan and Origen on the Song of Songs,” 577 n. 47. 35 Another possibility is suggested by Hirshman, A Rivalry of Genius, 93 and 151 n. 46: “R. Yoḥanan could have believed that they had indeed heard God and that the angel then turned with this utterance to the ritual ceremony we have described.” This suggestion enables Hirshman to respond to Kimelman’s concern that the midrash seems inconsistent with other attributions to R. Johanan. However, the plain sense of the midrash strongly suggests angelic mediation of revelation and the apparent inconsistency does not seem sufficient reason to reinterpret the midrash or to emend the text. 36 For a discussion of the earliest rabbinic traditions connecting Sinai with the merkabah tradition, see Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot, 141–49. See also the extensive discussion of rabbinic traditions that have striking affinities with the merkabah traditions in Ira Chernus, Mysticism in Rabbinic Judaism: Studies in the History of Midrash (ed. E. L. Ehrlich; Forschungen zur Wissenschaft des Judentums 11; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1982). 37 Tanḥuma (ed. Solomon Buber; Vilna: Romm, 1913), ‫במדבר‬.

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chapter six ‫ ירדו עמו עשרים ושנים אלף מרכבות‬,‫כיון שנגלה הקדוש ברוך הוא על הר סיני‬ ‫מלאכים‬ When the Holy One Blessed be He appeared on Mount Sinai, 22,000 chariots of angels descended with him.

As this text suggests, the tradition is intertwined with merkabah traditions, whose connection to the interpretation of the events at Sinai deserves discussion elsewhere. It is important to note that the angels are almost always said, not to mediate the revelation of the Law, but only to accompany God, a tradition found earlier in lxx Deut 33:2: ἐκ δεξιῶν αὐτοῦ ἄγγελοι38 μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ.

On his right side angels accompanied him.

Some have found traces of the tradition that the Law was revealed through angelic mediation in a handful of rabbinic texts besides Song of Songs Rabbah. But the textual evidence is weak, since these texts can often be read as affirming angelic accompaniment rather than angelic mediation.39 Thus, although Song of Songs Rabbah shows clearly that the Second Temple angelic mediation tradition was not entirely lost to later rabbinic interpretation,40 and although the rabbis elaborate the theme of angelic presence at Sinai, rabbinic texts generally do not portray the revelation to Moses as mediated by angels. Indeed, many rabbinic texts go to considerable lengths to reject the idea of angelic mediation, while others emphasize the other Second Temple tradition discussed above, the tradition that the unique immediacy of the revelation to Moses rendered him like—or even superior to—the angels. It is uncertain whether these texts were written in awareness of the specific uses to which Jubilees, Acts, Galatians and Hebrews put the angelic mediation

38

Cf. Tg. Onq. to Deut 33:2 ‫ קדישין‬and Tg. Ps.-J. Deut 33:2 ‫מלאכין‬. Perhaps the strongest case is Pesiq. Rab. 21:8, where, in an interpretation of Ps 68:18, ‫ אלפי שנאן‬are said to be a kind of angel that descended with God in order to give the Torah to Israel. As Strack and Billerbeck note (556), however, the key phrase, “to give the Torah to Israel,” is missing from parallel versions found in other collections. In any event, I do not think that phrase is decisive, since it may mean, not that the angels descended so that they could give the Torah to Israel, but that they accompanied God because the purpose of his descent was to give the Torah to Israel. See also, Betz, Galatians, 169 and Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews, 65. 40 See David J. Halperin, “Ascension or Invasion: Implications of the Heavenly Journey in Ancient Judaism,” Religion 18 (1988): 55: for a discussion of a hekhalot text in which Metatron reveals the Law to Moses, against angelic opposition. 39

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tradition. But it appears certain that the rabbis in question were aware that this tradition had acquired special significance and was employed by others to confer authority upon interpretations of the Law and attitudes towards the Law rejected by the rabbis. Indeed, as we shall see, some rabbinic texts take pains to reject angelic mediation when discussing verses of significance to Jubilees, which may suggest some knowledge of the traditions in Jubilees on the part of some rabbis. I will consider three exegetical strategies employed by the rabbis to circumvent traditions of angelic mediation at Sinai. First, in a number of texts, the rabbis insist that the revelation of the Law to Moses at Sinai occurred without any angelic mediation whatsoever. Mekhilta de R. Ishmael, Tractate Shabbat, 1, introduces a discussion of the laws of the Sabbath as follows: 41

.‫ לא על ידי מלאך ולא על ידי שליח‬:"‫"ויאמר ה' אל משה לאמר‬

“And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying.” Not by means of an angel and not by means of a messenger.

Since the verse in Exod 32:12 states simply that God spoke to Moses, the Tannaitic midrash emphasizes the directness of the communication and the absence of angelic mediation in the revelation of the Sabbath law, the authority of which is based immediately on divine utterance. If the Mekhilta de R. Ishmael did not intend to reject a rival conception of the authority of the Sabbath law, the point of this insistence would be obscure. In other instances, such as Sifre Zuṭa 12, the formula, “not by means of an angel and not by means of a messenger,” is explicitly connected to Num 12:8—‫—פה אל פה אדבר בו‬which, as we saw above, was the basis of the Second Temple traditions emphasizing the unique immediacy of Mosaic revelation and the angelic status of Moses’ authority. In Avot de R. Nathan B 1, ‫( משה קבל תורה מסיני‬m. Avot 1:1) is explained to mean that Moses received the Law directly from God— not by means of an angel or any other celestial being. ‫”משה קבל תורה מסיני“ לא מפי מלאך ולא מפי שרף אלא מפי הקב"ה שנאמר‬ (‫מו‬:‫אלה החקים והמשפטים והתורות )ויקרא כו‬

41 Mekhilta de R. Ishmael, (ed. H. Saul Horovitz and Israel Rabin; Jerusalem: Shalem Books, 1997), 340.

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chapter six “Moses received the Law from Sinai.” Not from an angel, nor from a seraph, but, from the Holy One, Blessed be He, as it is written, “These are the laws, rules and instructions” (Lev 26:46).

Versions of this formula are used to reject angelic mediation in numerous other rabbinic texts: in, for example, the Mekhilta de R. Ishmael,42 in Sifre Devarim, Pisqa 4243 and, most famously, in the case of the plague of the firstborn, cited in the Passover Haggadah.44 As Judah Goldin suggested,45 the formula ‫ לא על ידי מלאך‬may be traced back to lxx on Isa 63:9: Οὐ πρέσβυς οὐδὲ ἄγγελος, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸς κύριος ἔσωσεν αὐτοὺς

Not a messenger, nor an angel, but the Lord Himself saved them.

Although Goldin does not make the point, it seems especially striking that this very verse from lxx is cited by Origen in his commentary on Song of Songs, cited above.46 Thus Origen seems to have shared with the earliest extant rabbinic traditions the assumption that the most authoritative revelation would be immediate, not mediated by angels.47 The point of difference between Origen and these rabbis was whether immediacy characterized Mosaic revelation or the advent of Christ.

42 Mekhilta de R. Ishmael, (ed. H. Saul Horovitz and Israel Rabin; Jerusalem: Shalem Books, 1997), 23. 43 Passover Haggadah, (ed. Louis Finkelstein; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1969), 88. 44 Passover Haggadah, (ed. E. Daniel Goldschmidt; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1960), 122 and discussion of ‫ לא על 'ד' מלאך‬at 35, 45–44 and n. 60–61. 45 Judah Goldin, “Not By Means of an Angel and Not By Means of a Messenger,” Judah Goldin: Studies in Midrash and Related Literature ( JPS Scholars of Distinction Series; Philadelphia/New York: Jewish Publication Society, 1988), 164 n. 6; Urbach, The Sages, 136–37; Segal, Two Powers in Heaven, 64 and n. 14; The Hebrew University Bible: ‫( ספר ישעיהו‬ed. Moshe H. Goshen-Gottstein; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1995), 1.280 n. 9. However, Tg. Ps.-J. understands Isa 63:9 quite differently, as saying that God sent the Angel of his Presence to save his people. Alexander Sperber, ed., The Bible in Aramaic (Leiden: Brill, 1962), 3. 125: ‫בכל עדן דחבו קדמוהי לאתאה עליהון עקא לא אעיק להון ומלאך שליח מן קדמוהי פרקינון‬ ‫ברחמתיה ובמחסיה עליהון‬ 46 For further discussion of Isa 63:9 in the history of biblical interpretation, see VanderKam, “The Angel of the Presence in the Book of Jubilees,” 383; Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971), 1.177. 47 In Two Powers in Heaven, 64, Segal writes: “But the letters of Paul [here he has in mind Gal. 3:13–14, as he indicates in n. 64] give us certain proof that some Jews of the first century thought that the law was given by angels, an idea which would certainly have been opposed by the rabbis as well.”

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I turn now to a group of texts illustrating a second way in which the rabbis circumvent the tradition of angelic mediation. As I have mentioned, Jubilees takes every opportunity to elaborate the explicit references to angels in the biblical texts of Genesis and Exodus, and even, on occasion, to add angels to episodes where they are not mentioned in biblical texts. In striking contrast, some rabbinic traditions seek to eliminate even angels who seem to be explicitly mentioned. These traditions rely on the fact that Scripture uses the word ‫ מלאך‬to mean a messenger, sometimes sent by God, but sometimes sent by humans, and on the idea that, even when sent by God, a ‫ מלאך‬may be a prophet.48 For example, one might read Num 20:16 ‫וישלח מלאך ויצאנו ממצרים‬ as a straightforward statement that God sent an angel to take Israel out of Egypt. However, Lev. Rab. 1 asks: ‫ אלא מכאן שהנביאים‬,‫וכי מלאך היה והלא משה היה ולמה קורא אותו מלאך‬ 49 .‫נקראו מלאכים‬ Was it really an angel? Was it not Moses!? Why is he called an angel? Rather, the point here is that prophets are called angels.

In Gen. Rab. 68:12, another attempt is made to eliminate what appears to be an explicit reference to angels, this time in Jacob’s vision at Bethel. A series of suggestions is made about the identity of those ascending and descending the ladder, many avoiding the obvious interpretation that they were angelic beings. Most striking for the present discussion is the following passage which comments on Gen 28:12–13:50

48 The general principle behind all these angel eliminations is stated explicitly in Avot R. Nathan B 37, where the point is made that ‫ מלאך‬is one of many prophetic titles (ed. S. Schechter; New York: Feldheim, 1967), 93: ‫ איש‬,‫ נביא‬,‫ רואה‬,‫ צור‬,‫ חולם‬,‫ חוזה‬,‫ צופה‬,‫ שליח‬,‫ מלאך‬,‫ עבד‬:‫עשרה שמות נקרא נביא‬ ‫אלהים‬

On the translation of ‫מלאך‬, see Morton Smith, “On the History of Angels,” in “Open Thou Mine Eyes . . .”: Essays on Aggadah and Judaica Presented to Rabbi William G. Braude on His Eightieth Birthday and Dedicated to His Memory (ed. Herman J. Blumberg, Braude H. Mehlman, J. S. Gurland and L. Y. Gutterman; Hoboken, N.J.: KTAV Publishing House, 1992), 285–94; Davies, “A Note on Josephus,” 86. On various designations of prophets in biblical traditions, see Joseph Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual Leadership in Ancient Israel (Louisville: West-minster John Knox Press, 1995), 123–29. 49 Lev. Rab., (ed. M. Margulies; New York/Jerusalem: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1993), 1:2. 50 ‫ ויחלם והנה סלם מצב ארצה וראשו מגיע השמימה והנה מלאכי אלהים עלים וירדים‬. . . ‫ והנה ה' נצב עלין‬:‫בו‬

138

chapter six :‫ ויורדים‬.(‫ג‬:‫ ומשה עלה )שמות יט‬:‫ עולים‬.‫והנה מלאכי אלהים זה משה ואהרון‬ 51 .(‫כ‬:‫ וירד ה' על הר סיני )שמות יט‬:‫ והנה ה' נצב עלין‬.‫וירד משה מן ההר‬ “Behold, angels of God,” these are Moses and Aaron. “Ascending,” Moses ascended, (Exod 19:3). “Descending,” “Moses descended from the mountain.” (Exod 19:25). “The Lord was standing on top of it.” “And the Lord descended on Mount Sinai,” (Exod 19:20).

Why do these rabbinic traditions avoid the obvious? And why does one tradition associate Jacob’s vision with Sinai, despite the difficulty that Aaron did not ascend and descend the mountain? It seems likely that this is a deliberate attempt to reject the linkage between Jacob’s vision at Bethel and Temple practice constructed in Jubilees and some other Second Temple texts.52 While Jubilees makes the angelically mediated revelation of Temple law at Sinai point back to a prior, angelic revelation at Bethel, this midrash not only eliminates Jacob’s angels, it also makes his vision point forward towards what the rabbis regard as the uniquely authoritative revelation at Sinai. Another apparently deliberate elimination of angels important to Jubilees is found in rabbinic exegesis of Exod 23:30, the verse that may provide the scriptural basis for the Angel of the Presence, as mentioned above. In Mekhilta de R. Shimon b. Yoḥai 23, we find: ‫הנה אנכי שלח מלאך לפניך זה נביא‬ “Behold, I am sending an angel before you,” this (angel) is a prophet.

In other words, no angel is intended here, but rather Moses himself. Although this is not direct evidence that Jubilees was known to the rabbis, it does suggest that the rabbis may have been aware of the angelic

He dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. And the Lord was standing on top of it . . . 51 Gen. Rab. (ed. J. Theodor and H. Albeck; Second printing; Jerusalem: Shalem Books, 1996), 2.786. 52 See, e.g., 11QT XXIX, 7–9; Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983), 1.182; 2.128–29; Joshua Schwartz, “Jubilees, Bethel and the Temple of Jacob,” HUCA 56 (1985): 63–85; Judith L. Wentling, “Unraveling the Relationship between 11QT, the Eschatological Temple, and the Qumran Community,” RevQ 14 (1989): 61–73; Dwight D. Swanson, “ ‘A Covenant Just Like Jacob’s’: The Covenant of 11QT 29 and Jeremiah’s New Covenant,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the first Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris, 1992 (ed. George Brooke and Florentino García Martínez; STDJ 15; Leiden/New York/Koln: Brill, 1994), 273–86; Michael O. Wise, “The Covenant of Temple Scroll XXIX, 3–10,” RevQ 14 (1989): 49–60.

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mediation tradition and some of its scriptural bases, and that some rabbinic exegeses are consciously opposed to that tradition because of its use to confer authority on non-rabbinic versions of Judaism. A third strategy employed by some rabbinic texts is to portray angels at Sinai, not as mediators who enable Moses to receive the Law, but rather as obstacles, who must be overcome before Moses can receive the Law directly from God. On this rabbinic view, the Torah of Moses does not possess angelic authority, because Moses acquired his authority in spite of the angelic hosts.53 Avot de R. Nathan A 2 records a tradition that the angels challenged God’s revelation of the sacred Torah to a mere human.54 ‫באותה שעה היו מלאכי השרת קושרין קטינור על משה והיו אומרים רבש"ע‬ ‫ )תהלים‬,‫מה אנוש כי תזכרנו ובן אדם כי תפקדנו ותחסרהו מעט מאלהים וגו‬ ‫ שנאמר עלית למרום שבית שבי לקחת מתנות‬. . . ‫ היו מרננים אחריו של משה‬.(‫ח‬ 55 .(‫)תהלים ס"ח‬ At that time, the ministering angels conspired against Moses and exclaimed: “Master of the Universe, ‘What is man that you take notice of him? And the son of man that you think of him? Yet you made him but a little lower than the angels . . .’ ” (Ps 8:5–9). They kept murmuring against Moses, . . . as it is written: “You have ascended upon high, you have taken spoils, you have taken gifts” (Ps 68:19).

More elaborate versions of this tradition report Moses’ reply to the angels.56 In this version, convinced by Moses’ argument, the angels accept God’s decision to give the Torah to imperfect human beings,

53 For developments of this and related interpretations of Moses’ interaction with the angels at Sinai, see Fishbane, The Exegetical Imagination, 61 and 199 n. 16. 54 There are many versions of this tradition, sometimes concerning Sinai and sometimes concerning the creation of humanity, e.g., b. Sanh. 38b. Psalm 8 figures prominently in both the Sinai and in the creation interpretive traditions. On the use of Psalm 8 in interpretive traditions about the creation of the world, see S. Stroumsa, “‘What is Man’: Psalm 8:4–5 in Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Exegesis in Arabic,” in “Open Thou Mine Eyes . . .”, 295–302; Moshe J. Bernstein, “Angels at the Aqedah,” DSD 7 (2000): 263–91; Menachem Kister, “Observations on Aspects of Exegesis, Tradition, and Theology in Midrash, Pseudepigrapha, and Other Jewish Writings,” in Tracing the Threads: Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (ed. John C. Reeves; SBLEJL 6; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 12–15. 55 Avot de R. Nathan, (ed. S. Schechter; New York: Feldheim, 1967), 10. 56 B. Shab. 88b–89a (cf. Pesiq. R. 20:3). For discussion of this tradition and related rabbinic traditions, see Daniel J. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot, 49–51; Joseph P. Schultz, “Angelic Opposition to the Ascension of Moses and the Revelation of the Law,” JQR 61 (1970): 282–307; Schäfer, Rivalität zwischen Engeln und Menschen, 119–39; Bernstein, “Angels at the Aqedah,” 263–91.

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precisely because they are imperfect and need the guidance of the Law. Indeed, the angels are so impressed by Moses that each presents him with a gift. Even the ‫—מלאך המות‬the Angel of Death, not normally known for generosity—teaches Moses to use incense to stop a plague, as he does in Num 17:13. The Angel of Death’s gift solves an interpretive problem: how did Moses know to use the incense, since God did not tell him? But the gift is also significant because it shows that the rabbis did not by any means reject the revelatory role of angels in general. What they tended to reject was the idea—found in Jubilees, Acts, Galatians and Hebrews, but also in Song of Songs Rabbah—that the Torah was given to Moses through angelic mediation. However, as long as the unique authority of Mosaic Torah was safe, they saw no problem in the idea of angels speaking, on God’s behalf, to prophets or sages other than Moses. Nor did they see any problem in the idea that angels might reveal, to humans, secrets known to angels by virtue of their cosmic roles. Indeed, both of these ideas of angelic revelation resurfaced frequently in rabbinic literature and continued to play an important role in the history of Jewish interpretation. Still, it remains true that the general tendency of the rabbis is to inherit Second Temple traditions emphasizing the unique immediacy of the revelation to Moses, and thus the unique authority of Moses, rather than Second Temple traditions portraying Moses’ learning the Law from angels. As Hebrews emphasizes Christ’s superiority to the angels, so some rabbinic traditions emphasize that Moses is not subservient to the angels, and even has authority over them. In a number of traditions, Moses requests that his life not be taken by the Angel of Death.57 His wish is granted, and he is reassured that God alone will take his life, without any angelic intermediary. In Midrash Tanna’im (on Deut 34) even the Angel of Death does not have authority over Moses: ‫וימת שם משה אמר משה לפ' הקב"ה רבון העולמים הואיל וגזרת עלי מיתה אל‬ 58 ‫ אמר לו הקב"ה חייך שאני מיטפל בך‬.‫תמסרני ביד מלאך המות‬ “And Moses died there.” Moses said to the Holy One Blessed be He, “Master of the Universe, since You decreed my death do not give me

57

See the excellent discussion of this tradition in rabbinic interpretations in Judah Goldin, “The Death of Moses: An Exercise in Midrashic Transposition,” in Judah Goldin: Studies in Midrash and Related Literature, 175–86. 58 Midrash Tanna’im (ed. David H. Hoffman; Jerusalem: Book Exports, 1977).

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over to the angel of death.” The Holy One Blessed be He answered: “I swear that I will tend to you (myself) . . .”

Going further still, two Tannaitic collections draw significant conclusions from Num 12:7, ‫בכל ביתי נאמן הוא‬.59 First, in Sifre Bemidbar, this verse is the subject of a debate. 60

.‫ רי יוסי אומר אף ממלאכי השרת‬.‫בכל ביתי נאמן הוא חוץ ממלאכי השרת‬

“He is entrusted with my entire household”: With the exception of the ministering angels. R. Yosi said: “Even over the ministering angels.”

The interpretation offered by R. Yosi is also preserved in Sifre Zuṭa where Num 12:7 is taken to imply that Moses is trusted even with respect to angelic matters. ‫לא כן נהגתי עם עבדי משה אלא בכל ביתי נאמן הוא כל מה שבמעלה ובמטה‬ ‫ ד''א בכל ביתי נאמן הוא אף על מלאכי‬,‫גליתי לו כל מה שבים וכל מה שבחרבה‬ 61 .‫השדת ועל בית המקדש הוא נאמן‬ “Not so” did I behave “with my servant Moses,” rather “he is entrusted with my entire household.” All that is above and all that is below I revealed to him. All that is in the waters and all that is on dry land. Another interpretation: “he is entrusted with my entire household”: even with the ministering angels and with the Temple he is entrusted.

Finally, in the Yalquṭ Shim‘oni, a medieval collection of midrash, Moses is appointed to rule over the angels: ?‫ משל למה הדבר דומה‬. . . (‫ז‬:‫לא כן עבדי משה בכל ביתי נאמן הוא )במדבר יב‬ ‫ כך‬.‫ זה ממונה על חפץ זה ואחד ממונה על כולן‬.‫למלך שהיו לו אפיטרופין הרבה‬ 62 .‫יש מלאך ממונה על האש וזה על הברד וזה על הגובאי ומשה שלט בכולן‬ “Not so with my servant Moses; he is entrusted with my entire household” (Num 12:7). . . . To what is this likened? To a king who has many administrators. One is appointed over one object and another is appointed over all of them. Similarly, there is one angel appointed over the fire and there is one appointed over the hail and there is one over the locusts and Moses rules over them all.

59 See Heb 3:1–6 on this verse and discussion by Mary Rose D’Angelo, Moses in the Letter to the Hebrews (SBLDS 42; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1979). 60 Sifre Bemidbar (ed. H. Saul Horovitz; Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1966), 101. 61 Sifre Zuṭa (ed. Saul Lieberman; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1968), ‫בהעלותך וי‬. 62 Yalquṭ Shim ʿoni, Reprint of Salonika 1521–27 edition (Jerusalem: Sifriyat Meqorot, 1967), ‫פרשי בהעלותך‬.

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This midrash takes an unequivocal view of the superior authority of Moses. Although found in a medieval collection, it may represent an early tradition, and may at least be said to represent the development of an early line of exegetical thought. Whether the midrash served any polemical purpose at the time of its collection is unclear. But it is clear that, by this time, the tradition that revelation at Sinai was angelically mediated had been decisively excluded from mainstream Jewish interpretive tradition.

Conclusion Jubilees and 4Q377 illustrate some of the ways in which Second Temple writers imagined the Sinai theophany. There was no single way to conceive its authority in Second Temple times, and it is unclear whether there was any controversy about these different conceptions. Later, however, in the face of a polemic over who inherited the Israelite tradition, the details of these interpretations came to be topics of heated theological and political debate. The questions of whether angels participated in the Sinai theophany and what authority was accorded those angels by God and by Israel emerged as some of the defining questions for the early Christian and contemporaneous rabbinic exegetes. To imagine revelation—to imagine the manifestation of divine authority from the heavens—is at the same time to say something about authority within one’s religious community on earth. What I have wanted to suggest is that, under certain conditions, a detail in the portrayal of revelation may gain enormous importance, as if the world itself depended upon it. An interpretive tradition can come to express the claim to authority made by the interpreter, or by the community represented by the interpreter. Such a tradition can come to define partially the religious self-understanding of a community. When conditions change, the detail may become, once again, a detail in the history of interpretation, without any special significance. Yet the past vicissitudes of interpretive traditions, and their roles in past conflicts over authority, leave their marks on the interpretations of religious communities centuries later.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TOWARDS A STUDY OF THE USES OF THE CONCEPT OF WILDERNESS IN ANCIENT JUDAISM*

APRIL is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. T. S. Eliot, The Wasteland: The Burial of the Dead What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet. Gerard Manley Hopkins, Inversnaid

This study aims to characterize various ways in which the concept of wilderness is used in ancient Jewish traditions. Thus, the point is not to trace the historical development of the concept, but, rather, to show some of the various usages of the concept of wilderness in a particular period in the history of Judaism. In this way we can begin to understand how powerful, seminal, and essential the concept of wilderness is to this formative period in the history of Jewish tradition.1

* This essay was originally published in DSD 13 (2006): 99–113, reprinted in this volume with permission. 1 Important work has been done in recent years on the study of wilderness. Please see: Moshe Bernstein, “4Q159 fragment 5 and the ‘Desert Theology’ of the Qumran Sect,” in Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (ed. Paul M. Shalom, Robert A. Kraft, Lawrence H. Schiffman and Weston W. Fields; Boston: Brill, 2003), 43–56; Jonathon G. Campbell, “Essene-Qumran origins in the Exile: A Scriptural Basis?” JJS 46 (1995): 143–56; Daniel Schwartz, “Temple and Desert: On Religion and State in Second Temple Period Judaea,” in Studies in the Jewish Background of Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 29–43; James M. Scott, Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions (Leiden: Brill, 1997); Shemaryahu Talmon, “The ‘Desert Motif ’ in the Bible and in Qumran Literature,” in Biblical Motifs: Origins and Transformations (ed. Alexander Altmann; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966), 31–63; James C. VanderKam, “The Judean Desert and the Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Antikes Judentum und frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65 Geburtstag (ed. Bernd Kollmann, Wolfgang Reinbold, and Annette Steudel; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1999),

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I focus on the concept of wilderness because it captures important aspects of what is often called “Second Temple Judaism.” Despite all of the energy and enthusiasm around the building of the Second Temple, it is clear that the suffering subsequent to the first destruction was never fully redeemed, neither was it overcome. In this way, Second Temple Judaism is perhaps also aptly called Post-Destruction Judaism because of the rupture and loss thematized in the ancient Jewish traditions. Thus, destruction of the past—and the desire to recover that past—becomes one of the defining features of ancient Jewish textual traditions. Although wilderness can be understood to signify suffering and destruction, it can also be used as the locus for healing and moral transformation, where it becomes the locus for spiritual purification. This essay seeks to understand how it is that the barren terrain, which was conceived of as punishment for transgression, can also be used as a place of purification—how the suffering of wilderness can be overcome in the very place of that suffering. The third sense in which the concept of wilderness is used in ancient Jewish contexts is to signify the place for revelation. In this way wilderness becomes the place where one can re-engage the divine in the form of revealed exegesis or participation in angelic song.2 I will consider the three uses mentioned above: 1) wilderness as suffering; 2) wilderness as purification; and 3) wilderness as a locus for revelation. Distinguishing these various usages can contribute to a more nuanced understanding of Second Temple Judaism. The concept of wilderness crosses linguistic and communal boundaries. It finds its way into the texts of Alexandrian Jews, the scrolls of the Judean desert, and the prophetic and liturgical texts. It is thus perhaps most appropriate to dedicate this essay to John Strugnell, who

159–71. I also thank James VanderKam for sharing with me a longer, unpublished version of this essay; Elliot R. Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge: Qumran Esotericism Recovered,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith Newman; Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2004), 177–213. 2 On this theme, see Esther Chazon, “Human and Angelic Prayer in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Esther Chazon; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2003), 35–47; idem, “Liturgical Communion with the Angels at Qumran,” in Sapiential, Liturgical and Poetical Texts from Qumran (ed. Daniel K. Falk, Florentino García Martínez and Eileen M. Schuller; Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2000) 95–105; Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge,” 207–8 and 213.

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surveys the Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic texts of this period with philological precision, vast contextual knowledge, and nuanced theological reflection.

Wilderness as Exile Wilderness is used to signify suffering throughout the exilic and postexilic periods. Jerusalem is said to have become a wilderness, having once been the glorious home of the divine glory and of the Davidic kingdom. This is presented as punishment for the lawlessness and faithlessness of the people. As an example of this usage, I want to consider a much discussed fragment from Cave 4, 4Q179: 4Q179 1 I ‫ [שר כל עוונותינו ואין לאל ידנו כי לוא שמענ]ו‬2 [ ] ‫[ יהודה לקרותנו כל אלה ברוע‬ 3 [ ] ‫אוי לנו‬ ‫[ את בריתו‬ 4 [ ] ‫[ היה לשרפת אש והפכה‬ 5 [ ]°‫תפארתנו וניחוח אין בו במ‬°[ 6 ‫[חצרות קודשנו היו‬ 7 ‫[ כ ] [ תים ירושלים עיר‬ 8 ‫[ לחיה ואין ] [ורחובותיה‬ 9 ‫[ הוי כל ארמונותיה שממו‬ 10 ‫[ ובאי מועד אין בם כל ערי‬ 11 ‫[נחלתנו היתה כמדבר ארץ לוא‬ 12 ‫[שמ]ח[ה לוא נשמשעה בה ודורש‬ 13 ‫[ל איש למכ}אוב{תינו][כול אובינו‬ 14 ‫פ[שעינו י ] [חטאותינו‬ 15 2 . . .] all our iniquities and we served not God for w[e] did not obey [. . . 3 . . .] Judah that all these things befall us in the evil [. . . 4 . . .] his covenant. Woe to us [. . . 5 . . .] has been burned with fire and overturned [. . . 6 . . .] our glory and there is no soothing savor in it [. . . 7 . . .] our holy courts were [8. . .] Jerusalem, city of [9 . . .] to wild beasts and none [. . .] and her broad places [10 . . .] Alas! All her palaces are desolate [11 . . .] and those who attend the appointed assembly are not in them; all the cities of [12 . . .] our inheritance has become like a desert, a land not [13 . . .] rejoicing is no longer heard in her, and the seeker after [14 . . .] man for our wounds, [. . .] all our enemies [15 . . .] our [trans]gressions [. . .] our sins

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chapter seven 4Q179 1 II ]‫אוי לנו כי אף אל עלה‬ 1 ] ‫ונגוללה עם המתים‬ 2 ] ‫כמשונאה יש‬ 3 ]‫לעוליהן ובת עמי אכזריה‬ 4 ] ‫עלומיה שוממו בני‬ 5 ]‫מלפני חורף בדל ידיהן‬ 6 ] ‫אשפותות מדור בית‬ 7 ]‫שאלו מים ואין מגור‬ 8 ] ‫המסלאים ] [ ת‬ 9 ‫ וחפץ אין בו האמונים עלי תול]ע‬10 ‫ וכתם טוב עדים נושאים הלבו]שים‬11 ‫ ימשו תכלת ידי קמה מפ]ני‬12 ] ‫ בנות ציון }היקרים{ הרכות עמם‬13 1 Woe to us for the wrath of God has gone up [. . .] 2 and we are defiled with the dead [. . .] 3 like a hated (wife) [. . .] 4 for their sucklings, and the daughter of my people is cruel [. . .] 5 her youth; the children of [. . .] are desolate [. . .] 6 because of the winter when their hands are feeble [. . .] 7 dunghills than dwelling (in) [. . .] house [. . .] 8 they asked for water and there was none to pour out [. . .] 9 weighed [. . .] 10 and there is no delight in him; those who were brought up in purp[le . . .] 11 and pure gold their adornment, the wearers of garm[ents. . .] 12 they depart. The perfection of my hands has arisen from be[ fore . . .] 13 the tender daughters of Zion with them [. . . 4Q179 2 ]‫[ע באהלך‬ 3 ] ‫[לים‬ ]‫[ו‬ ]‫ איכה ישבה[ בדד העיר‬4 ‫[ ים שרתי כל לאומ]ים[ שוממה כעזובה וכל ]בנ[ותיה עזוב]ות‬ 5 ‫ כ[אשה עז]ו[בה כעצובה וכעצובת ]בע[ל]ה[ כל ארמונתיה ורחו]בותיה‬6 ‫[ה כאשת מרורים‬ ‫ כעקרה וכמסככה כול אורחו]ת[י]ה‬7 ‫[ יה כמשכלות‬ ‫ וכל בנותיה כאבלות על על בע]לן‬8 ‫[ו על לחיה על בניה‬ ‫ ליחידיהן בכו תבכה ירו]שלים‬9 3 . . .] in thy tent [. . . 4 How] lonely [sits] the city [. . . 5 . . .] princess of all nation[s] is desolate like an abandoned woman, and all her [dau]ghters are aband[oned 6 like] a woman forsaken, like a woman grieved and like a wife abandoned by [her hu]s[band.] All her palaces and [her] wal[ls] are 7 like a barren woman and all [her] paths are like a woman shut away [. . .] like an embittered woman, 8 and all her daughters are like women mourning for [their] hus[bands . . .] her [. . .] like women bereaved of 9 their only children. Jeru[salem] shall surely weep [. . .] upon her cheek over her sons [. . . 3

3 The fragments from Cave 4 suggest that there is an expansion and extension of the mourning and lament from Eikhah and other prophetic laments from Jeremiah


147

In rereading and rewriting Lamentations, the above text explains the suffering and humiliation of Jerusalem’s royalty and priesthood. The destruction is characterized as a loss of past glory. The inheritance, which can suggest both their present and future, is characterized as wilderness: “Our inheritance has become like a desert,” col. 1:12. This wilderness can be understood literally as the desert or as the city after destruction. The people are abandoned, and the experience of wilderness is a result of the punishment of exile. This experience continues to shape the thinking and self-understanding of the members of the Qumran desert community. As Michael Knibb argued long ago, many of the texts from Qumran suggest that the Babylonian exile was never overcome.4 In the Hebrew and Aramaic texts found at Qumran, we read of isolation from God, which is understood as an exile from God’s presence—an exile that, although it results from the first destruction, seems to continue well into the Second Temple period. The First Temple continues to be mourned and the people offer hopeful prayers for redemption: 4Q501 ‫ ]אנחנו עצור[י עמכה‬2 ‫[ אל תתן לזרים נחלתנו ויגיענו לבני נכר זכור כיא‬. . .] 1 ‫ כ[ה המנודבים תועים ואין משיב‬. . .] 3 ‫ועזובי נחלתכה זכור בני בריתכה השוממים‬ ‫ ]כפופים ואין זו[קף סבבונו חילכיא עמכה בלשון שקרמה‬4 ‫שבורים ואין חובש‬ ‫ ]עמכה כיא‬6 ‫ כ[ה ופארתכה לילוד אשה הביטה וראה חרפת בני‬. . . ‫ ]על‬5 ‫ויופכו‬ ‫[ במצוותיכה ואל‬. . .] 7 ‫נכמר[ עורנו וזלעופות אחזונו מלפני לשון גדופיהם אל‬ and Ezekiel. See John M. Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186) (DJD 5; Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), 75–77; Adele Berlin, “Qumran Laments and the Study of Lament Literature,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Esther Chazon; Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2003), 1–17; Maurya P. Horgan, “A Lament Over Jerusalem (4Q179),” JSS 18 (1973): 222–34; Hartmut Pabst, “Eine Sammlung von Klagen in den Qumranfunden (4Q179)” in Qumrân: sa Piété, sa Théologie et son Milieu (ed. M. Delcor; Paris: Ducolot; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1978), 137–49; John Strugnell, “Notes sur le No. 179 des ‘Discoveries . . .’ ” RevQ 7 (1970): 250–52. See also Lawrence H. Schiffman’s work on Jerusalem and awaiting reconstruction in late Second Temple Judaism: “Community Without Temple: the Qumran community’s withdrawal from the Jerusalem Temple,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: = Community without temple: zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (ed. Beate Ego; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 267–84, and “Jerusalem in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives (ed. M. Poorthuis; Kampen, Netherlands: Kok Pharos, 1996), 74. On suffering, see also Jean Carmignac, “La Theologie de Souffrance dans les Hymnes de Qumran,” RevQ 11 n. 3 (1961): 365–86. 4 Michael Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983): 113 and passim 99–117.

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chapter seven ‫[ אליהמה בהמון כוחכה ועשה בהמה‬. . .] 8 vacat ‫יהיה זרעמה מב}ני ב{רית‬ ‫[כה ולוא שמוכה לנגדמה ויתגברו על עני ואביון‬. . . ‫ ]כיא‬9 ‫נקמה‬ Do not give our inheritance to foreigners, nor our produce to the sons of foreigners. Remember that 2 [we are the removed one]s of your people and the forsaken ones of your inheritance. Remember the sons of your covenant, the desolate, 3 [. . .] the spurned ones, the wanderers, who noone brings back, the sorely wounded, who no-one bandages, 4 [those bent double, who no-one raises up. The wretched ones of your people have surrounded us with their lying tongue, and have turned 5 [. . .] and your foliage to one born of a woman. Look and see the disgrace of the sons of 6 [your people for] our skin [is burning,] indignation has taken hold of us, on account of their insolent language. Do not 7 [. . .] in your commandments, and let not their posterity be among [the sons of] the covenant. Blank 8 [. . .] against them with the might of your strength, and avenge yourself on them. 9 [. . .] and they have not placed you before them, but they act violent against the poor and needy.

This fragment is fully cognizant that a complete return and recovery has not taken place. The final redemption will occur only at the point where two different understandings of redemption merge: when exile is overcome not only through the recovery of intimacy with the divine on the part of a small and isolated group in the desert, but also through the reconstitution of the temple in accordance with the correct understanding of the Law, appropriate sacrifice, and rebuilt temple.5 In many Qumran scrolls, exile is understood as suffering in the wilderness.6 In the War Scroll, for example, the Judeans and/or the children of light are referred to as the “exiled of the desert” or the “exiled sons of light [who] return from the desert of the nations” (1QM I, 2 and 1QM I, 3). It is clear that the Qumranic texts appropriate and continue the use of the word midbar as the wilderness of suffering that is a result of God’s wrath.

5 The community, as represented by 1QS (see below), may have understood itself to be a virtual temple. 1QS VIII, 4–7: ‫ נכונה )ה(עצת היחד באמת )ל( למטעת עולם בית קודש‬5 ‫ בהיות אלה בישראל‬. . . 4 ‫ קודשים לאהרון עדי אמת למשפט וב)י(חירי רצון לכפר בעד הארצ‬6 ‫לישראל וסוד קודש‬ ‫ לרשעים גמולם‬7 ‫ולהשב‬

4 . . . When these things exist in Israel 5 the Community council shall be founded on truth, Blank to be an everlasting plantation, a holy house for Israel and the foundation of the holy of 6 holies for Aaron, true witnesses for the judgment and chosen by the will (of God) to atone for the land and to render 7 the wicked their retribution. 6 We can find a traditional biblical notion of exile as the punishment for transgression in 4Q169 3–4ii and 3–4iii.


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Further corroboration of this might be seen in Pesher Habakkuk, where we receive a description of the Teacher of Righteousness who was chased into exile by the Wicked Priest: 1QpHab XI, 4–5 ‫ חמתו‬6 ‫ רדף אחר מורה הצדק לבלעו בכעס‬5 ‫ פשרו על הכוהן הרשע אשר‬4 ‫אבית גלותו‬ Its interpretation concerns the Wicked Priest who pursued the Teacher of Righteousness to consume him with the heat of his anger in the house of his exile.

This “house of his exile” is understood as a locus of suffering and isolation. It is here that the Teacher suffers the punishment of exile. The “house of his exile” could be understood as the Judean desert itself, which, if correct, would further support my suggestion that wilderness can be a result of exile, where wilderness is understood as the suffering and loneliness apart from the temple.7 Misgivings about the Second Temple are not unique to Qumran.8 It is significant that even in the traditions of Ezra-Nehemiah we see that the returnees were unsure about how to understand this newly rebuilt temple. Ezra 3:12–13 ‫ ורבים מהכהנים והלוים וראשי האבות הזקנים אשר ראו את הבית הראשון‬12 .‫ביסדו זה הבית בעיניהם בכים בקול גדול ורבים בתרועה בשמחה להרים קול‬ ‫ ואין העם מכירים קול תרועת השמחה לקול בכי העם כי העם מריעים תרועה‬13 .‫גדולה והקול נשמע עד למרחוק‬ 12 Many of the priests and Levites and the chiefs of the clans, the old men who had seen the first house, wept loudly at the sight of the founding of this house. Many others shouted joyously at the top of their voices. 13 The people could not distinguish the shouts of joy from the people’s weeping, for the people raised a great shout, the sound of which could be heard from afar.

The tension between responding to the rebuilding of the temple foundations with ‫ בכי‬and greeting it with ‫ שמחה‬reflects confusion about how to conceive of a “second temple” that does not come close to

7

Compare 1 Macc 2:29–31 where the desert is a place where the seekers of righteousness find refuge. 8 Again, see Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document.” See also Daniel Schwartz, “The Three Temples of 4Q Florilegium,” RevQ 10 (1979): 83–91.

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matching the glory of the first. Is this the beginning of recovery? Or is it a sign that recovery from the Babylonian exile is unimaginable? To be sure, many passages in Ezra-Nehemiah and the Chronicler (among other contemporaneous texts) describe the reconstruction of the Second Temple as the successful recovery of a glorious past.9 Furthermore, they understand their relationship with God to be on the road to recovery through the reconstruction of the worship practices of liturgy and sacrifice. Still, it is significant that the exile is not obviously or clearly overcome; that is, even in joy there are often hints that the texts are trying to approximate a lost past which is now, at best, an imagined ideal.

Withdrawal to the Wilderness and Subsequent Purification Ancient Jewish texts yield yet another important use of the concept of wilderness.10 Desert is understood as a place where correct adherence to the Law can be achieved. By living according to the Law in all of its exact and correct interpretations, members of the desert community can be part of the new covenant, as promised in Jer 31:31. However, this new covenant is constructed “in the land of Damascus,”11 that is, in the wilderness (either literal or metaphorical): CD VI, 11, 18–20 ‫ ולשמור את יום השבת כפרושה ואת‬. . . 18 . . . ‫ וכל אשר הובאו בברית‬. . . 11 20 ‫ ואת יום התענית כמצאת באי הברית החדשה בארץ דמשק‬19 ‫המועדות‬ ‫להרים את הקדשים כפירושיהם‬

9 See Steven J. Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles (New York: T&T Clark, 2007). 10 See George J. Brooke, “Isaiah 40:3 and the Wilderness Community,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies (ed. George J. Brooke and Florentino García Martínez; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 117–32; John J. Collins, “The Yahad and ‘The Qumran Community’,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. Charlotte Hempel and Judith Lieu; Leiden: Brill, 2006), and Sarianna Metso’s response, “Whom Does the Term Yahad Identify?” in the same volume, esp. on wilderness and perfection; also, see VanderKam’s important discussion of the biblical precedents for the wilderness community in “The Judean Desert and the Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 159–63, 168–71. VanderKam further emphasizes the biblical precedent of Sinai in the longer unpublished version of this paper, 3, 26–27. 11 See Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document” (1983) and “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ 17 (1976): 253–72.


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11 But all those who have been brought into the covenant . . . 18 . . . to keep the Sabbath day according to its exact interpretation, and the festivals 19 and the day of fasting, according to what was discovered by those who entered the new covenant in the land of Damascus; 20 to set apart holy portions according to their exact interpretation . . .

A prolonged and extensive period of exile, which is not merely a punishment but also a separation from sinfulness, is a prerequisite: 1QS VIII, 12–14 (‫ בתכונים האלה יבדלו מתוך מושב הנשי )אנשי‬13 ‫ ובהיות אלה ליחד בישראל‬. . . 12 ‫ כאשר כתוב במדבר פנו דר‬14 ‫העול ללכת למדבר לפנות שם את דרך הואהא‬ ‫כ****י שרו בערבה מסלה לאלוהינו‬ And when these have become /a community/ in Israel 13 /in compliance with these arrangements/ they are to be segregated from within the dwelling of the men of sin to walk to the desert in order to open there His path. 14 As it is written (Isa 40:3) “In the desert, prepare the way of ****, straighten in the steppe a roadway for our God.”

The community formed in Jerusalem must withdraw from the transgressive “men of sin” in order to prepare themselves for the way of God. The members of this community experience this spiritual transformation through meticulous adherence to Mosaic law, in isolation from those who do not obey the Law, or who obey it in a twisted form.12 Wilderness as a locus for withdrawal from corruption and soul purification can also be found in Philo of Alexandria’s De decalogo. Philo raises the question why God gave the Law to Israel in the desert. Presumably this question arises because it is natural for Philo and his Greek-speaking audience to assume that legislation occurs in cities—that the polis is the proper locus for all political acts. In his first answer, Philo explains that the people must withdraw from the pride that brings “divine things into utter contempt” (Decal. 6). The second answer is as follows: De Decalogo 10–11 Ἐνενόει δὲ κἀκεῖνο δεύτερον, ὅτι τοῦ μέλλοντος ἱεροὺς νόμους παραδέχεσθαι τὴν ψυχὴν ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστιν ἀπορρύψασθαι καὶ ἐκκαθήρασθαι τὰς δυσεκπλύτους κηλῖδας, ἅς μιγάδων καὶ συγκλύδων ὄχλος ἀνθρώπων κατὰ πόλεις προσετρίψατο. τοῦτο δὲ ἀμήχανον ἑτέρως ἢ διοικισθέντι συμβῆναι, καὶ οὐκ εὐθὺς ἀλλὰ μακρῷ χρόνῳ ὕστερον,

12 For an incisive discussion of separation and community formation at Qumran, see Carol A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 136–38.

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chapter seven ἕως ἄν οἱ τῶν ἀρχαίων παρανομημάτων ἐνσφραγισθέντες τύποι κατὰ μικρὸν ἀμαυρούμενοι καὶ ἀπορρέοντες ἀφανισθῶσι.

God had a second reason [for giving the law in the wilderness] in mind. Those who were about to receive the sacred laws had to cleanse and wash away the stubborn stains inflicted on the cities by the mixed and promiscuous throng of people. But this purging could not take place unless one was separated from the city. Furthermore, this could not occur immediately, but only after a long period of time, after the deepset marks of former wrongdoings became dim, faded from memory and disappeared.

The Law is the foundation of a new, pure city. As such, it must be given precisely in the desert, not in the city. For every existing city is full of corruption, and the new city can only be founded as far away from all that is possible. The desert is a place of isolation from the corruption of the cities governed by human laws.13 Only in that meditative and isolated place is it possible to attain the purification necessary for founding a city governed by divine law. To be sure, the concept of exile seems to play no role in Philo’s thoughts about the boons of desert life. But, by considering Philo’s understanding of what desert life may bring, we might be able to better understand how desert was conceived across linguistic boundaries in late Second Temple Judaism. It can help us understand why it is in the desert that the Community Rule is sure that purification and the giving of the correct interpretation of the Law will occur. We can also see this use of the concept of wilderness in Philo’s description of the Therapeutae: De Vita Contemplativa 2.18–20 ὅταν οὖν ἐκστῶσι τῶν οὐσιῶν, ὑπ᾽ οὐδενὸς ἔτι δελεαζόμενοι, φεύγουσιν ἀμετασαρεπτὶ καταλιπόντες ἀδελφούς, τέκνα, γυναῖκας, γονεῖς, πολυανθρώπους συγγενείας φιλικὰς ἑταιρείας, τὰς πατρίδας, ἐν αἷς ἐγεννήθησαν καὶ ἐτράφησαν, ἐπειδὴ τὸ σύνηθες ὁλκὸν καὶ δελεάσαι δυνατώτατον. Μετοικίζονται δὲ οὐκ εἰς ἑτέραν πόλιν, ὥσπερ οἱ πρᾶσιν αἱτούμενοι παρὰ τῶν κεκτημένων ἀτυχεῖς ἤ κακόδουλοι δεσποτῶν ὑπαλλαγήν, οὐκ ἐλευθερίαν, αὑτοῖς ἐκπορίζοντες πᾶσα — γὰρ πόλις,

13 See Steven Fraade’s illuminating discussion of the negative view of cities in ancient Jewish and pagan texts in Enoch and His Generation: Pre-Israelite Hero and History in Postbiblical Interpretation (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984), 207n and 219. See also Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “Le Thème du Désert chez Philon d’Alexandrie,” Études Philoniennes (Virginia: Cerf, 1996): 293–308 and David T. Runia, “The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria,” JHI 38 (2000): 361–79.


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καὶ ἡ εὐνομωτάτη, γέμει θορύβων καὶ ταραχῶν ἀμυθήτων, ἃς οὐκ ἄν ὑπομείναι τις ἅπαξ ὑπὸ σοφίας ἀχθείς—, ἀλλὰ τειχῶν ἔξω ποιοῦνται τὰς διατριβὰς ἐν κήποις ἢ μοναγρίαις ἐρημιαν μεταδιώκοντες, οὐ διά τινα ὠμὴν ἐπιτετηδευμένην μισανθρωπίαν, ἀλλὰ τὰς ἐκ τῶν ἀνομοίων τὸ ἦθος ἐπιμιξίας ἀλυσιτελεῖς καὶ βλαβερὰς εἰδότες.

When, therefore, men abandon their property without being influenced by any predominant attraction, they flee without even turning their heads back again, deserting their brethren, their children, their wives, their parents, their numerous families, their affectionate bands of companions, their native lands in which they have been born and brought up, though long familiarity is a most attractive bond, and one very well able to allure any one. And they depart, not to another city as those do who entreat to be purchased from those who at present possess them, being either unfortunate or else worthless servants, and as such seeking a change of masters rather than endeavoring to procure freedom (for every city, even that which is under the happiest laws, is full of indescribable tumults, and disorders, and calamities, which no one would submit to who had been even for a moment under the influence of wisdom), but they take up their abode outside of walls, or gardens, or solitary lands, seeking for a desert place, not because of any ill-natured misanthropy to which they have learnt to devote themselves, but because of the associations with people of wholly dissimilar dispositions to which they would otherwise be compelled, and which they know to be unprofitable and mischievous.

Philo praises the Therapeutae for living a life which is holy and pure14 and in accordance with the law of nature.15 The recovery of holiness is attributed to their withdrawal, their focus on the Law, ritual and healing the soul, instead of the distractions and corruptions of earthly possessions treasured by pride and arrogance. This severe critique of city life is also important for any study of the concept of wilderness. Withdrawal to the desert, then, becomes a road to the recovery of a past that is pure, holy and linked to the original creation of the cosmos, which, according to Philo, was created in accordance with the law of nature.

14 On purity and holiness in the desert community of Essenes, see Josephus, Jewish War 2.129 and 142. 15 See Hindy Najman, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” SPhilo 11 (1999): 55–73, reprinted in this volume ch. 4 on pages 87–106; idem, “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?” SPhilo 15 (2003): 51–60, reprinted in this volume, ch. 5 on pages 107–18; idem, Seconding Sinai: the Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 70–107.

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In both Hebrew and Greek texts from this period, we can see this second use of the concept of wilderness: to designate the proper place for purification and holiness. Both Philo’s discussion and the texts from Qumran depict life in the wilderness as a life that generates spiritual purification.

Wilderness as a Locus for Revelation As we have seen in Philo’s De decalogo, withdrawal to the wilderness can be not only for purification, but in order to receive revelation as well. This is also to be found in the texts of Qumran. In this usage, wilderness becomes the ideal place for divine inspiration, prophecy of the future, and vision of the heavens. James VanderKam describes the significance of wilderness, as expressed by the authors of the texts discovered at Qumran: As they awaited the end, as they prepared the Lord’s way, they situated themselves in the very place where God’s salvation would become manifest and they arranged themselves in conformity to the pattern established when God had revealed himself at Sinai.16

Wilderness is not only the place for—dedicated to—God, but also the path to God. For in that place—in the desert—one may be guided by the divinely inspired interpretations of the teacher. 1QS IX, 12–21 ‫ אלה החוקים למשכיל להתהלך בם עם כול חי לתכון עת ועת ולמשקל איש‬12 ‫ לעשות את רצון אל ככול הנגלה לעת בעת ולמוד את כול השכל הנמצא‬13 ‫ואיש‬ ‫ לפי רוחום‬vacat ‫ חוק העת להבדיל ולשקול בני הצדוק‬14 ‫לפי העתים ואת‬ ‫ דרך איש כרוחו כתכון‬18 ‫ואיש דו ולהוכיח דעת אמת ומשפט צדק לביחרי‬ {} ‫ אנשי היחד לה‬19 ‫העת להנחותם בדעה וכן להשכילם ברזי פלא ואמת בתוך‬ ‫ למדבר‬20 ‫לך תמים איש את רעהו בכול הנגלה להם }ה{ היאה עת פנות הדרך‬ ‫ולהשכילם כול הנמצא לעשות בעת הזואת ]ו[הבדל מכול איש ולוא הסר דרכו‬ ‫ מכול עול‬21 12 Blank These are the regulations for the Instructor by which he shall walk with every living being in compliance with the regulation of every period and in compliance with the worth of each man: 13 he should fulfill the will of God in compliance with all revelation for every period; he should acquire all the wisdom that has been gained according to the

16 James C. VanderKam, “The Judean Desert and the Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” (unpublished version), 27.


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periods and the 14 decree of the period; he should separate and weigh the sons of Zadok blank according to their spirits . . . 17 . . . He should reproach (with) truthful knowledge and (with) just judgment those who choose 18 the path, each one according to his spirit, according to the regulation of the time. He should lead them with knowledge and in this way teach them the mysteries of wonder and of truth in the midst of 19 the men of the Community, so that they walk perfectly, one with another, in all that has been revealed to them. This is the time for making ready the path 20 to the desert and he will teach them about all that has been discovered so that they can carry it out in the moment [and] so they will be detached from anyone who has not withdrawn his path 21 from all injustice.

These interpretations clearly concern the proper observance of the Law, but they also concern “knowledge” of “the mysteries of wonder and truth.” Whatever exactly is the content of this knowledge and these mysteries, they surely represent a recovery of the intimacy with the divine shattered by the destruction of the temple. But, as if in a temple community, the cult in the wilderness creates the proper context for revelatory prayer.17 Thus, individual community members not only learn what is revealed to their teacher, but also receive revelation themselves. Even in the absence of a temple, it is clear that the community members, according to the Community Rule, believed they could achieve the same atonement that efficacious sacrifice would have achieved:18 1QS IX, 3–5 ‫ עולם לכפר‬4 ‫ בהיות אלה בישראל ככול התכונים האלה ליסוד רוח קודש לאמת‬3 ‫על אשמת פשע ומעל חטאת ולרצון לארץ מבשר עולות ומחלבי זבח ותרומת‬ ‫ שפתים למשפט כניחוח צדק ותמים דרך כנדבת מנחת רצון‬5 When these exist in Israel in accordance with these rules in order to establish the spirit of holiness in truth 4 eternal, in order to atone for the guilt of iniquity and for the unfaithfulness of sin, and for approval for the earth, without the flesh of burnt offerings wand without the fats of sacrifice—the offering of 5 the lips in compliance with the decree will be like the pleasant aroma of justice and the perfectness of behaviour will be acceptable like a freewill offering . . . 1QS X, 6–14 ‫ ) ( אזמרה בדעת וכול נגינתי‬9 . . . ‫ ) ( תרומת שפתים הברכנו כחוק חרות לעד‬6 ‫ עם מבוא‬10 ‫לכבוד אל וכנור נבלי לתכון קודשו וחליל שפתי אשא בקו משפטו‬

17 18

Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge,” 185–86 and 191–93. Compare 1QS X, 6, 14.

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chapter seven ‫יום ולילה אבואה בברית אל ועם מוצא ערב ובוקר אמר חוקיו ובהיותם אשים‬ ‫ ואברכנו תרומת מוצא שפתי במערכת אנשים‬. . . 14 . . . ‫ גבולי לבלתי שוב‬11 With the offering of lips I shall bless him, in accordance with the decree recorded for ever . . . 9 I will sing with knowledge and for the glory of God shall all my music be, the playing of my harp according to his holy order, and the whistle of my lips I shall tune to its correct measure. 10 At the onset of day and night I shall enter the covenant of God, and when evening and morning depart I shall repeat his precepts; and by their existence I shall set 11 my limit without turning away . . . 14 . . . I shall bless him with the offering that issues from my lips in the row of men. 4Q403 1 II, 7–10, 24–27 ‫ קודש ק]וד[שים רוחות אלוהים מראי‬8 [. . .]. ‫ רוחות קודש קודשים‬. . . 7 . . . ‫ רוחות פלא‬10 [. . .]‫ ורוחות אלוהים בדני להבת אש סביבה ל‬9 [ . . . ‫עו]למים‬ ‫ ותשבחות רומם למלך הכבוד ומגדל ]א[ל‬25 [. . .]. ‫ וראשי עדת המלך בקהל‬. . . 24 [ . . . ‫]והי‬ [. . .] . . . ‫ לאל אלים מלך הטהור ותרומת לשוניהם‬26 . . . ‫ שבע רזי דעת ברז הפלא לשבעת גבולי קוד]ש קדשים‬27 . . . 7 . . . The spirits of the holy of holies [. . .] 8 of the holy of h[o]lies, spirits of the gods, et[ernal] vision [. . .] 9 and the spirits of the gods, in the forms of flames of fire around [. . .] 10 wonderful spirits. 24 . . . And the chiefs of the congregations of the king in the assembly [. . .] 25 and exalted praises to the king of glory, and magnification of [G]o[d . . .] 26 to the God of gods, to the king of purity. And the offering of their tongues . . . [. . .] 27 seven mysteries of knowledge in the wonderful mystery of the seven regions of the hol[y of holies . . .

These passages (column IX of 1QS and 4Q403) suggest an important connection between efficacious prayer and divine revelation. It is through these prayers that vision of the heavenly realm and communication with the divine are enabled. Furthermore, in the composite form of the text, where columns 8 through 10 are consecutive, we can also link revelatory prayer to withdrawal to the desert.19 On this synchronic reading of 1QS, the desert is understood as the place of the ongoing exile and suffering which is a result of the first destruction. However, if this is so, then, one would think that recovery of prophecy and divine

19 Metso argues in The Textual Development of the Qumran Community Rule (STDJ 21; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 72–74, that column 8 of the Community Rule is compositionally distinct from columns 9 and 10 as evidenced in the manuscript traditions from Qumran.


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intimacy would presuppose a return to Jerusalem and the cult. But here, in the Qumran prayers, we read vivid descriptions of participation in angelic prayer and vision of the divine, heavenly realm. Thus we see that revelation is again possible, not only in a rebuilt Jerusalem but also in the context of the barren terrain, where meditation and purification can create the right space for divine communication. The Palestinian Hebrew and Aramaic speaking communities of late Second Temple times were not alone in this usage of the concept of wilderness. In fact, there is ample evidence that Philo of Alexandria also understood the wilderness, in particular the desert, to be a locus for revelatory prayer. In the passage below, the prayers of the Therapeutae are likened to the chorus of Israel at the Red Sea. These inspired songs reflect the perfection they have recovered in the wilderness. De Vita Contemplativa 11.83–90 83 Μετὰ δὲ τὸ δεῖπνον τὴν ἱερὰν ἄγουσι παννυχίδα. ἄγεται δὲ ἡ παννυχὶς τὸν τρόπον τοῦτον· ἀνίστανται πάντες ἀθρόοι, καὶ κατὰ μέσον τὸ συμπόσιον δύο γίνονται τὸ πρῶτον χοροί, ὁ μὲν ἀνδρῶν, ὁ δὲ γυναικῶν· ἡγεμὼν δὲ καὶ ἔξαρχος αἱρεῖται καθ᾽ ἐκάτερον ἐντιμότατός τε καὶ ἐμμελέστατος. 84 εἶτα ᾄδουσι πεποιημένους ὕμνους εἱς τὸν θεὸν πολλοῖς μέτροις καὶ μέλεσι, τῇ μὲν συνηχοῦντες, τῇ δὲ καὶ αντιφώνοις ἁρμονίαις ἐπιχειρονομοῦντες καὶ ἐπορχούμενοι, καὶ ἐπιθειάζοντες τοτὲ μὲν τὰ προσόδια, τοτὲ δὲ τὰ στάσιμα, στροφάς τε τὰς ἐν χορείᾳ καὶ ἀντιστροφὰς ποιούμενοι. 85 εἶτα . . . ἀναμίγνυνται καὶ γίνονται χορὸς εἷς ἐξ ἀμφοῖν, μίμημα τοῦ πάλαι συστάντος κατὰ τὴν ἐρυθρὰν θάλασσαν ἕνεκα τῶν θαυματουργηθέντων ἐκεῖ. . . . 87 τοῦτο δὲ ἰδόντες καὶ παθόντες, ὃ λόγου καὶ ἐννοίας καὶ ἐλπίδος μεῖζον ἔργον ἦν, ἐνθουσιῶντές τε ἄνδρες ὁμοῦ καὶ γυναῖκες, εἷς γενόμενοι χορός, τοὺς εὐχαριστηρίους ὕμνους εἰς τὸν σωτῆρα θεὸν ᾖδον, ἐξάρχοντος τοῖς μὲν ἀνδράσι Μωυσέως τοῦ προφήτου, ταῖς δὲ γυναιξὶ Μαριὰμ τῆς προφήτιδος. . . . 90 Θεραπευτῶν μὲν δὴ πέρι τοσαῦτα θεωρίαν ἀσπασαμένων φύσεως καὶ τῶν ἐν αὐτῇ καὶ ψυχῇ μόνῃ βιωσάντων, οὐρανοῦ μὲν καὶ κόσμου πολιτῶν, τῷ δὲ πατρὶ καὶ ποιητῇ τῶν ὅλων γνησίως συσταθέντων ὑπ᾽ ἀρετῆς, ἥτις < θεοῦ > φιλίαν αὐτοῖς προυξένησεν οἰκειότατον γέρας καλοκἀγαθίας προσθεῖσα, πάσης ἄμεινον εὐτυχίας, ἐπ᾽ αὐτὴν ἀκρότητα φθάνον εὐδαιμονίας.

83 And after the feast they celebrate the sacred festival during the whole night; and this nocturnal festival is celebrated in the following manner: they all stand up together, and in the middle of the entertainment two choruses are formed at first, the one of men and the other of women, and for each chorus there is a leader and chief selected, who is the most honourable and most excellent of the band. 84 Then they sing hymns which have been composed in honour of God in many metres and tunes, at one time all singing together, and at another moving their hands and

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chapter seven dancing in corresponding harmony, and uttering in an inspired manner songs of thanksgiving . . . 85 . . . they join together, and the two become one chorus, an imitation of that one which, in old time, was established by the Red Sea, on account of the wondrous works which were displayed there . . . 87 When the Israelites saw and experienced this great miracle, which was an event beyond all description, beyond all imagination, and beyond all hope, both men and women together, under the influence of divine inspiration, becoming all one chorus, sang hymns of thanksgiving to God the Saviour, Moses the prophet leading the men, and Miriam the prophetess leading the women . . . 90 This then is what I have to say of those who are called therapeutae, who have devoted themselves to the contemplation of nature, and who have lived in it and in the soul alone, being citizens of heaven and of the world, and very acceptable to the Father and Creator of the universe because of their virtue, which has procured them his love as their most appropriate reward, which far surpasses all the gifts of fortune, and conducts them to the very summit and perfection of happiness.

Discourse with the divine redeems the members of the desert community from the imperfection of their souls. For Philo, imperfection can be overcome by imitating exemplary figures and by living according to the law of nature, that is, the Mosaic law.20 Philo does not speak of his own time as an exile; neither does he reject the Second Temple. Instead, he speaks of the struggle to recover perfection through the path of the law of Moses, which is universal, cosmic, and a perfect copy of the law of nature. For Philo, imperfection lingers in the souls of those who have not separated themselves from corruption and who are living amidst the arrogance of human beings who mistake themselves for gods.

Conclusion This brief essay is intended to initiate a larger study of uses of the concept of wilderness in ancient Judaism. These variegated uses reveal the complex interconnections between Greek and Hebrew texts of this period. Moreover, when juxtaposed, these uses provide us with a wealth of information about the various self-understandings of ancient

20 See my discussion in “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?”, reprinted in this volume, ch. 5 on pages 107–18.


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Jews from the destruction of the First Temple. By considering the uses of the concept of wilderness, we can catch a glimpse of the intimate and perhaps surprising ways in which suffering, purification, and revelation were linked in the imagination of ancient Judaism.21

21 My understanding of wilderness and exile has been transformed and nuanced through many conversations with generous colleagues. I appreciate the incisive comments and helpful suggestions made by Joseph Amar, Moshe Bernstein, Aryeh Cohen, John Collins, Robin Darling Young, Arnold Davidson, Steven Fraade, Paul Franks, John Kloppenborg, Robert Kraft, Sarianna Metso, Judith Newman, Ishay Rosen-Zvi, and Elliot Wolfson. My student, Eva Mroczek, has been extremely helpful in matters both conceptual and editorial.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH: LIMINAL VISIONS IN 4 EZRA*

Be it life or death, we crave only reality. Walden, Henry David Thoreau

Introduction In the opening chapters of 4 Ezra,1 we find “Ezra” unable, even in sleep, to escape memories of destruction. Jerusalem was the place for the divine presence, priestly ritual, and communal prayer. But after the destruction of the Second Temple, there is no longer even a place to mourn. Even the Diaspora is transformed when the community can no longer identify with the locale of Judea as a center. Consider the opening lines of 4 Ezra: In the thirtieth year of the destruction of our country, I, Shealtiel, who is Ezra, was in Babylon. And I lay on my bed, I was upset and thoughts welled up in my heart because I saw the destruction of Zion . . . (3:1)

4 Ezra opens amidst confusion and chaos. “Ezra” is surrounded by destruction, uprooted community and discarded relics of the past. Shealtiel is Ezra who is associated with the Second Temple. “Ezra” in 4 Ezra writes as though the Second Temple had not yet been built. This circumvention of the Second Temple is not new to 4 Ezra, but has been noted as part of the self-presentation and historical narrative of many of the Dead Sea Scrolls, as well as other later rabbinic

* I wish to acknowledge helpful comments and suggestions by John Collins, Brauna Doidge, Paul Franks, Florentino García Martínez, Eva Mroczek, and Eibert Tigchelaar. This essay will be published in a forthcoming volume, OtherWorlds and their Relation to this World: Early Jewish and Christian Traditions (ed. Tobias Niklas et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 107–18, reprinted in this volume with permission from Brill. 1 The text of 4 Ezra cited in this essay is a new translation of the Syriac version of 4 Ezra, prepared together with Robin Darling Young for a forthcoming commentary on 4 Ezra in the Walter de Gruyter series.

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traditions.2 Perhaps, we could see this as a kind of consolation: what has not yet been built cannot have been destroyed. What distinguishes such consolation from delusion is the long-standing sense that the Second Temple never was the restoration of the First Temple. But it is also notable that when we do finally find expressions of hope in 4 Ezra, it is expressed not as new temple or rebuilt Jerusalem, but as the hope for a heavenly realm,3 another world which is home to the righteous and which is imagined as the treasure houses of the soul. Perhaps there is no home to be found in the world anymore, but in the otherworld of the paths of the righteous: The second order, because they see the perplexity in which the souls of the ungodly wander and the punishment that awaits them. The third order, they see the witness that he who formed them bears concerning them, that throughout their life they kept the law with which they were entrusted. The fourth order, they understand the rest that they now enjoy, being gathered into their chambers and guarded by angels in profound quiet, and the glory waiting for them in the last days. (7:93–95)

“Ezra’s” challenge is twofold: 1) to accept the destruction of the Temple as a divine act—the First Temple according to the text, but the

2

There is an ambivalence about the new temple even in the Ezra-Nehemiah tradition, where the reaction to the rebuilding is a mixture of joy and weeping (Ezra 3:12–13). See Michael A. Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983): 99–117 and “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ 17 (1976): 253–72. See also Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Community without Temple: The Qumran Community’s Withdrawal from the Jerusalem Temple,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel = Community without temple: zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (ed. Beate Ego, Armin Lange and Peter Pilhofer; WUNT 118; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 267–84, and “Jerusalem in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives (ed. M. Poorthuis; Kampen, Netherlands: Kok Pharos, 1996). See also my recent discussion in “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in Ancient Judaism,” DSD 13 (2006): 99–113, reprinted in this volume, ch. 7 on pages 143–60. 3 On the idea in other texts of restoration beyond physical return and rebuilding, see e.g., Betsy Halpern-Amaru, “Exile and Return in Jubilees,” in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Perspectives (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 127–44 and Lawrence H. Schiffman, “The Concept of Restoration in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Restoration: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Perspectives (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 72; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 203–21.

liminal visions in 4 ezra

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Second Temple for its readers—and 2) to assume a position of leadership within the community so that he can receive revelation again at Sinai.

Otherworld in 4 Ezra The world that “Ezra” knows is falling apart before his very eyes (4 Ezra 4:26–27): And he answered and said to me: “if you will continue to be, you will see, if you live long you will be astounded because the world is rushing to pass away, because it cannot continue to contain [endure to hold] what was promised to the righteous [after the flood] because this world is full of sighing and many sicknesses.

Although there is a remnant of the earthly, a sort of “here and now,” it is rushing to pass away. No new earthly place is depicted in 4 Ezra, only the heavenly treasure houses destined for the righteous and the torturous Sheol ordained for the corrupt, lawless and evil ones.4 As a response to the destruction of his reality, “Ezra” will come to focus on these otherworldly realms. “Ezra” tries, in vain as it seems at first, to understand what has happened to the previous inhabitants of his world. He repeatedly asks for understanding of what has happened and of what exactly the Most High has in mind. Since his own world is destroyed, he seeks clarity, confirmation and reassurance about the paths to Sheol and the paths to the heavens. He is full of anxiety and psychological torment over the question of good and evil: were the righteous rewarded and did the evil receive their due punishment? We get a glimpse of the tortures of Sheol and the delights of paradise. The righteous ones eventually see the Most High and the light of paradise. The highest way of the righteous is the gift of seeing the “face of the one to whom they submitted in their lives and of him by whom they are getting ready to be glorified” (4 Ezra 7:98).

4

On these otherworlds and the figures who tour them, see the work of Martha Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), and Tours of Hell: An Apocalyptic Form in Jewish and Christian Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983).

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chapter eight Attribution to Ezra

How does the text provide us with insight into the otherworld? Through attribution to a figure of the past5—here, “Ezra”—who is said to have heavenly status and who eventually achieves the wisdom and insight described in the seven ways of the righteous above. This attribution creates a context in which there can be access to an other world that is inaccessible to those of “Ezra’s” present. However, there is a seemingly unsurpassable gulf between the “Ezra” of the first three visions and the later “Ezra” who “is taken up with ones like him” (14:48), after achieving a wisdom and insight that supersedes Moses, insofar as he receives the Torah again, along with an additional 70 esoteric traditions. At first, “Ezra’s” recovery from despair is unimaginable, in much the same way as, initially, the overcoming of destruction is unimaginable in Lamentations, or song is impossible in Psalm 137: “How can we sing a song of the Lord on alien soil?” “Ezra” is, it seems, paralyzed by the destruction of the temple and by his despair and confusion. Much will have to happen before we can imagine him receiving new revelation at Sinai. Yet, the attribution to “Ezra” also accomplishes an association with hope and rebuilding.6

5 On the practice of pseudepigraphy in general see Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2003). I have discussed this practice in the context of 4 Ezra in particular in “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4Ezra,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar; JSJSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2007), reprinted in this volume, ch. 13 on pages 235–42 and my forthcoming work on the subject, Destruction, Mourning and Renewal in 4Ezra and its Precursors, 2010. See Moshe J. Bernstein, “Pseudepigraphy in the Qumran Scrolls: Categories and Functions,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Esther G. Chazon and Michael E. Stone; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 1–26; John J. Collins, “Pseudepigraphy and Group Formation in Second Temple Judaism,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives, 43–58; Devorah Dimant, “Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha at Qumran,” DSD 1 (1994): 151–59; Robert A. Kraft, “The Pseudepigrapha in Christianity,” in Tracing the Threads: Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (ed. John C. Reeves; SBLEJL 6; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 55–86; James A. Sanders, “Introduction: Why the Pseudepigrapha?” in The Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 14, SSEJC 2; Sheffield: JSOT, 1993), 13–19; Michael E. Stone, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Pseudepigrapha,” DSD 3 (1996): 270–95. 6 For the diverse, but overlapping ways in which this figure is imagined across textual traditions, see Robert A. Kraft, “‘Ezra’ Materials in Judaism and Christianity,” ANRW II.19.1 (1979): 119–36, available online at ; and Michael Stone, “An Introduction to the Esdras Writings,” in Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, and Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Michael Stone; vol. 1 of Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, and Armenian Studies; Collected Papers, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 144; Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 305–20, and Stone’s commentary, Fourth Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990).

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realm, the place of the treasuries of the soul in the heavens, a place of eternal bliss and light? Who is this “Ezra” who has come to understand the otherworld?

“Ezra’s” Education In 4 Ezra, “Ezra” comes to construct a new context for his revelation at Sinai as he ascends into a heavenly realm and joins those who are like him. This transformation does not only involve his own visions as “Ezra”; rather, through each vision “Ezra” is linked with other remote figures of the past.7 Moreover, as it records “Ezra’s” interrogation and transformation in the form of seven visions, the text becomes a “howto” manual.8 “Ezra” participates in his exilic past, i.e., the first exile, by identifying with exempla of the past, but is nevertheless transformed by his struggles with his own present and his exchanges with the angels. He is identified with previous exemplars: Job, Abraham, Jeremiah, Daniel, Ezekiel and Moses. It is very important that this identification does not happen in the context of Ezekiel’s Babylon or Jeremiah’s Jerusalem, but in the midst of the rubble and refuse of destruction. The present world is erased, and “Ezra” identifies with remote figures of the past who, presumably, have also been taken up, and it is these figures he will ultimately join in the heavens at the end of his seventh vision.9 I do not want to suggest that the text is unjustifiably optimistic. There is no new temple and no new inhabited space is constructed in Jerusalem. Instead, new hope and new revelation happen in a liminal space, i.e., a place that is not a rebuilt temple or Jerusalem but is inflected through a destruction that was never overcome.

7 See my essay “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha?”, reprinted in this volume, ch. 13 on pages 235–42, for the way such other ideal figures function in this pseudonymously attributed work. 8 On this theme of the transformed visionary in other contexts see Martha Himmelfarb, “Revelation and Rapture: The Transformation of the Visionary in the Ascent Apocalypses,” in Mysteries and Revelations: Apocalyptic Studies Since the Uppsala Colloquium (ed. John J. Collins and James H. Charlesworth; JSJSup 9; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 79–90. 9 For another tradition about such figures who are taken up to dwell in the otherworld, see e.g., Apoc. Zeph. 9:4–5, where the visionary finds Moses, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and David in heaven, as “friends” of the angels.


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“Ezra” comes to exemplify the new community of Jerusalem,10 since he is not merely the Ezra of the past, nor is he merely a new “Ezra,” constructed in the face of 70 c.e. Rather, “Ezra” absorbs the struggles and experiences of past exemplars into a new configuration. Is it really possible for a figure who is credited with the founding of the Second Temple to have found a way out of the paralysis of destruction that does not lead obviously and only to a redeemed, physically rebuilt temple? The narrative of the seven visions provides us with an answer. While the answer is affirmative, it is also painful and tragic, leaving readers with the harsh reality of a temple that is not rebuilt, but instead with a textual tradition that is at once both old and regiven. It is revealed again to “Ezra” in a place of exile, which is at the same time also Sinai. In a recent essay I wrote the following about exile and wilderness: Although wilderness can be understood to signify suffering and destruction, it can also be used as the locus for healing and moral transformation, where it becomes the locus for spiritual purification. This essay seeks to understand how it is that the barren terrain, which was conceived of as punishment for transgression, can also be used as a place of purification—how the suffering of wilderness can be overcome in the very place of that suffering.11

In 4 Ezra we can see a similar transformation as “Ezra” himself becomes an example for us of how to overcome destruction and enter a heavenly realm. But 4 Ezra also issues a warning to those who abandon the Law and refuse the path of wisdom. “Ezra” begins with an uncomprehending Jobian stance in his challenge to God (4 Ezra 3:30–33): . . . You destroyed your people, but you guarded the ones that you hate. But you didn’t let anyone know how your way could be perceived. Has Babylon done better than Zion? Or, did you know another people more than Israel? Or what tribe believed in your very own covenant as Jacob has? Those whose wages were not seen and their work did not produce fruit; for indeed I have passed around to nations and I saw that they are flourishing and they did not observe your commandments.

10

Suggested by Robin Darling Young (personal communication), February 2006. Hindy Najman, “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in Ancient Judaism,” DSD 13 (2006): 100, reprinted in this volume, ch. 7 on pages 143–60. 11

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He cannot make sense of his world, and he continues to probe his angelic visitor Uriel and the Most High for answers to his questions about the world, and the destruction. Ultimately in the third vision “Ezra” receives wisdom about the group of righteous in paradise and of the corrupt in Sheol’s torture chamber. Although the dwellers of the earth are mentioned many times, there is no psychological or physical space of security or permanence. Then, in the fourth vision he is granted a vision of Zion, first as a mourning woman, and then as Zion herself.12 But this vision is possible only after “Ezra” learns how to mourn, as a Jeremiah chanting Lamentations.13

The Liminal State and Space of Revelation In 4 Ezra revelation is received only in a space that is not inhabited and is explicitly apart from the remaining community. This place which is between heaven and earth is repeatedly depicted as death-like. Already in the third vision, “Ezra” fasts and nearly dies: These signs were commanded to me to tell you but if you beseech as of now and fast for seven days even greater things than these. And I awoke and my body trembled a lot, and my soul was weary as if it has departed. (5:13–14)

He is then revived by the angel and placed upon his feet.

12 On this vision of the woman Zion see e.g., Edith M. Humphrey, The Ladies and the Cities: Transformation and Apocalyptic Identity in Joseph and Aseneth, 4Ezra, the Apocalypse and the Shepherd of Hermas (JSPSup 17; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), and Hermann Lichtenberger, “Zion and the Destruction of the Temple in 4Ezra 9–10,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (ed. Beate Ego, Armin Lange and Peter Pilhofer; WUNT 118; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 239–49. 13 Lament and mourning, in the tradition of Lamentations and Jeremiah, is a strong presence in ancient Jewish traditions, especially in the Dead Sea Scrolls. See e.g., Adele Berlin, “Qumran Laments and the Study of Lament Literature,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Esther Chazon; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 1–17; J. Carmignac, “La Theologie de Souffrance dans les Hymnes de Qumran,” RevQ 11 n. 3 (1961): 365–86; Mauyra P. Horgan, “A Lament Over Jerusalem (4Q179),” JSS 18 (1973): 222–34; H. Pabst, “Eine Sammlung von Klagen in den Qumranfunden (4Q179),” in Qumrân: sa Piété, sa Théologie et son Milieu (ed. M. Delcor; Paris: Ducolot; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1978), 137–49.


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And that angel who was speaking with me grabbed me and gave me strength and stood me up on my feet. And it was in that night, and it was the second Paslatiel came unto me, the head of the people. And he said to me: where are you and for what is your face downcast? Or do you not know that faith was placed upon you with respect to Israel in the place of their imprisonment? (5:15–17)

Then he is given just enough sustenance to ensure his own survival, but not enough to compromise his liminal state: Stand then and eat a little bread that you not leave them as a shepherd his flock in the hand of the ferocious wolves. And I said to him, Go from me and don’t come around me for seven days, and then come forward and I will make you listen to me. When I spoke to him, he took himself away from me. The prayer of Ezra. I fasted seven days as I had rested just as Ramael, the angel, commanded me. It was after seven days, and behold again the considerations of my heart were increasing greatly. My soul received the spirit of understanding. And again I began to speak before the Most High, these words of supplication and prayer. (5:18–22)

Finally, we see that through the prolonged fasting he is finally able to receive the ruah hokhmah, the spirit of wisdom, and he approaches the Most High in prayer. As the fourth vision is introduced, again “Ezra” is instructed to restrict his eating. This time, however, he is told not to fast wholly, but to eat only flowers: You then, if you be apart for seven additional days, but you should not fast again in them, and go to a field of flowers where a house had not been built, and eat from the flowers of a field only, and meat do not taste and wine do not drink, but flowers only, and to the Most High earnestly I am coming to you and speaking with you. And I went as he commanded me to a field that is called Arpad and I sat there near the flowers of the land and I ate from the herbs of the pastureland, and their eating was to me satisfaction. (9:23–26)

This vision, again, happens in a liminal space and to an “Ezra” who is in a liminal state. Look! I am planting in all of you my law in you and it will make in you fruits of righteousness and you shall be glorious in it forever . . . but we who have received the law and sin, perish with our heart that accepted it. Your law, then, does not perish but remains in its glories. And while I was saying these things in my heart I lifted up my eyes and saw a woman on the right side. She was in pain and weeping in a loud voice. And while

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The woman is ultimately shown to be the destroyed Zion, but in a different kind of vision: 1) it comes only after “Ezra” pronounces the immutability of the Law, whereas earlier he said that the Law was also destroyed; 2) but the interpretation of this vision will only come after he pronounces a lament over Zion, at which point there is an earthquake and he sees destroyed Zion and he becomes a corpse (again!). Uriel lifts him out of his death-like state and he is then able to receive three revelations without the assistance of an angel. Has “Ezra” now become an angel?14 At the end of the fourth vision, “Ezra” is told explicitly why he was to remain in the field for his vision. It was impossible to receive the vision of a heavenly city amidst the creations of human beings.15 For this reason I said to you, remain in the field where no house is built, for I knew that the Most High was preparing to show you all of these things. For this reason I said to you, come to a place where there is no foundation of a building. For it was not possible for a work of human beings to remain in a place where the city of the Most High was ready to be revealed. But you then, do not fear and do not be shaken in your heart, but go and see the light of her glory and the height of her building as much as the sight of your eyes is permitting you to see. And after these things you will hear as far as the hearing of your ears allows you to hear, for you are blessed more than many and your name is placed

14 We might draw comparisons between “Ezra’s” angel-like transformation and traditions of priestly ascent or communion with angels present in Qumran texts. See Esther Chazon, “Human and Angelic Prayer in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Esther Chazon; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 35–47, and “Liturgical Communion with the Angels at Qumran,” in Sapiential, Liturgical and Poetical Texts from Qumran (ed. Daniel K. Falk, Florentino García Martínez and Eileen M. Schuller; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 95– 105; see also Elliot R. Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge: Qumran Esotericism Recovered,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith Newman; Boston: Brill, 2004), 177–213. 15 On this theme see Michael E. Stone, “The city in 4Ezra,” JBL 126 (2007): 402–7. For a negative view of cities and inhabited places in Jewish literature from other contexts, see e.g., Steven Fraade’s illuminating discussion in Enoch and His Generation: Pre-Israelite Hero and History in Postbiblical Interpretation (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984), 207n and 219; for Philonic thought see Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “Le Thème du Désert chez Philon d’Alexandrie,” in Études Philoniennes (Paris: Cerf, 1996), 293–308 and David T. Runia, “The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria,” JHI 38 (2000): 361–79.


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before the Most High as few names are placed. But the next night you will remain here, and the Most High will show you a vision of these manifestations that the Most High will show to the dwellers of the earth in the final days. (10:51–59)

And then again he is told to stay in that unbuilt place so that he can see what the “Most High wills to the dwellers of the earth in the final days.” I then sat in the field for seven days as he commanded me, and was eating only of the flowers of the field and my food was from the herbs in those days, and it came to pass after seven days that I saw a vision in the night. (12:51–13:1)

Finally, there is the seventh vision. In that vision “Ezra” receives the revelation that restores the old and makes possible the new. It is also here that he comes to be with the ones who are “like him” when he is taken up: Unto me, then, no man will come near, (neither will he) beseech me for forty days. And I then took these five men as he ordered me and I went to the field and I waited there as he told me, and it was the next day and look! A voice called to me and said, Ezra, Ezra! Open your mouth and drink some of the drink I am giving you to drink. And I opened my mouth and I saw . . . I have a full cup, but it was full of water. And the image of water was of fire. And I took and drank, and it was that as I was drinking it, behold! My heart poured forth understanding, and my breast gushed forth wisdom, and my spirit was guarding the memory, and my mouth was open and not shut. The Most High gave wisdom to them (i.e., the five men), and they were writing these things that were spoken in translation/transmission/order in letters of signs that they did not know, and I sat there forty days. They wrote in the daytime, but in the nighttime they ate only bread. I then was speaking, but at night I wasn’t silent. Ninety-four books were written by them in forty days. And it was that when the forty days were completed the Most High spoke to me and said to me, these twenty-four books that were written before me place in public, and they will read in them, those who are worthy and those who are unworthy of the people; But these seventy you are going to keep, and you will complete them for the wise of your people. For in them there are canals of wisdom and springs of wisdom and a light of knowledge. And I did thus. In the seventh year of the sixth week, from five thousand years and three months and twenty two days after creation, and in them was Ezra taken away and taken up to the place of those who resemble him. After he wrote all of these things, then he was called scribe of the knowledge of the most high unto eternity. Finished is the first discourse of Ezra. (14:36–48)

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I want to emphasize that the place for vision is spatially and psychologically liminal: neither heavenly nor earthly. The experience of the destruction of the Second Temple is turned on its head: instead of it paralyzing Ezra, exile becomes the place where God is again accessible. “Ezra” must deny his physical and psychological state and submit wholly to the realm of otherness, the not-of-this-world, which will ultimately usher him into a permanently liminal space where he is taken up with those who are likened to him. We might suggest that perhaps Moses, Enoch and Abraham are similarly exemplars mentioned throughout the seven visions who achieved knowledge and insight and who, perhaps, like “Ezra”, enjoyed the seventh path of the righteous in the treasure houses of the heavens.

“Ezra’s” Transformation into an Otherworldly Being in Paradise After receiving the answer to his persistent and even tenacious requests, “Ezra” is transformed as he seeks a new heart and Solomonic wisdom with which he can understand the world around him. He recognizes and—so it seems—accepts divine judgment and the eternal nature of the Law. “Ezra’s” transformation throughout the seven visions is truly remarkable. He is transformed from one who refuses to accept divine judgment and to overcome his own mourning, to one who overcomes his personal tragedy and who then mourns on behalf of the people and Zion, finally receiving new laws, esoteric and exoteric. He emerges as one who becomes an other, even as he is taken up with others who are “like him.” This is a gradual and deliberate process in 4 Ezra. We hear of some radical and positive developments in chapter eight as he is preparing to receive the fourth and most transforming revelation. So in 8:6 “Ezra” prays for a new heart—after learning of the seven ways of the righteous and the seven ways of the evil. Shortly after this, in 8:19, we get an interpolation in the Syriac version where “Ezra’s” prayer to the Most High is introduced as: “the beginning of the words of ‘Ezra’s’ prayer who prayed before he was taken up.” After the fourth vision we see “Ezra” achieving higher levels, until he finally receives the esoteric and exoteric visions in the seventh vision, where we are told in 14:9: “but you will be taken away from among men and you will be with my


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son and with those that resemble you until the times are completed.”16 “Ezra,” the figure throughout 4 Ezra, is transformed as he becomes the exemplary remnant after the destruction. He is both the “old” Ezra, the leader and, we are told, the only remaining prophet (12:42); but we are also taught how he overcomes the paralysis of destruction. He begins in the impossible place, where song and prayer in revelation is unthinkable and even traumatic and troubling, and completes his journey with the wisdom of light. “Ezra” of 4 Ezra, however, achieves this light by redefining his own context of destruction and transforming it into a new context for divine revelation. He does not rebuild an earthly temple, but instead enters a heavenly treasure house where he can delight in the glory of the Lord with those like him: In the seventh year of the sixth week from five thousand years and three months and twenty two days after creation, and in them was Ezra taken away and taken up to the place of those who resemble him. (14:48)

Conclusion Understanding and then entering the otherworld becomes “Ezra’s” way out of destruction. The only part of his past that survives is the immutable law, which despite the people’s inability to live by it, survives and lives through and beyond the destruction. However, for the inhabitants of the earth, the Law must be revealed again, for their copy, it seems, was destroyed. The Law itself seems to be a way of life, but it may also include the narrative of 4 Ezra which preserves within it the wisdom and insight of “Ezra’s” own revelation. We are given a model for transformation which is inscribed in the new figure of “Ezra” himself. We watch the transformation of the uncomprehending “Ezra” into the prophetic “Ezra”, who can achieve not only the wisdom of Mosaic revelation, but also the new esoteric mysteries never revealed before. “Ezra” is able to achieve wisdom and receive revelation. He is ultimately permitted to enter the otherworld only after he identifies with

16 See Theodore A. Bergren, “Christian influence on the transmission history of 4, 5, and 6Ezra,” in The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity (ed. James C. VanderKam and William Adler; CRINT 3/4; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1996), 102–27.

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Zion’s suffering and destruction. After his lament, “Ezra’s” own revelations are inflected through that destruction. Through his understanding he is granted the light and wisdom that he had requested (as he receives and transmits the revealed 24 exoteric books and 70 esoteric books) and he lives on in heavenly life with those like him in paradise. This is the only place for the righteous ones of light after the destruction. I conclude with a line from Thoreau’s Walden: “Be it life or death, we crave only reality.” The reality for “Ezra” is that he is no longer of this world. It is above this world or below in Sheol. The present world is destroyed and for the time being, there is no possibility of redeeming the here and now. All we can hope for in this world is to earn a place in the heavenly treasuries in paradise and not suffer in Sheol. The worlds and realities of “Ezra” are the otherworld. After the destruction of the Second Temple there is no choice but to remove oneself from this world through descent or ascent. In a way this harsh reality of destruction was anticipated long before the destruction of the Second Temple. For the first destruction was never fully overcome. There was much ambivalence around the Second Temple and Second Temple leadership. The disappointments in the later Second Temple as reflected in many of the Qumran traditions as well as the final blow to the Jerusalem community and its environs in the years leading up to 70 c.e. and the final destruction—all confirmed the darkness and despair reflected in the texts produced by exilic hands after the first destruction. “Ezra” of 4 Ezra confronted the first destruction again through the pseudonymous attribution to “Ezra” and claims about the context of the text’s production. This alleged context of the sixth century b.c.e. claims that the author bears witness to 700 years of destruction and hopelessness. The impossibility of overcoming that destruction makes it all the more comprehensible that the only way out is into a new reality of paradise or of Sheol. The place of light and paradise is a place where the righteous inhabitants have gone, where God is perceivable, and where wisdom and light are omnipresent. It is the only reality for “Ezra” and it becomes the place of his new life.

CHAPTER NINE

PHILOSOPHICAL CONTEMPLATION AND REVELATORY INSPIRATION IN ANCIENT JUDEAN TRADITIONS*

I begin by first considering Jewish communities in late antiquity, speaking Greek on one side of the divide and Aramaic or Hebrew on the other. I think it is important, when we want to try to speak about late ancient Judaism, that we do not fracture the deep and interesting discourse between these contemporaneous communities. But neither do I want to ignore the significant differences between the various communities in late ancient Judaism. Indeed, it is often assumed that the Judean communities of late Second Temple times that speak Greek and those that speak Aramaic (writing in Hebrew and in Aramaic) inhabit separate worlds—that is, the idiom and the conceptual frameworks are so different that we ought to speak of them as separate. To be sure, it is a convenient claim for those of us who want to focus on a particular language or a circumscribed geographical area. And of course, there are significant differences in degrees of interaction with Greek culture and thought. In addition, we must not overlook bilingualism across the communities. Still, the two communities share important concepts, understandings of the divine, inherited traditions, and even genres. In this brief essay I want to begin to explore the conceptions of the revelatory in the writings of Philo of Alexandria and the Dead

* This essay is dedicated to the memory of my colleague and friend David Hay. Professor Hay’s work on Philo’s interpretation and his discussions of Philonic inspiration, both in the Allegorical Interpretations and in On the Contemplative Life, served as an inspiration to me in this essay. The generosity and kindness he showed me early in my career encouraged me to continue working on the writings of Philo of Alexandria. I first thought of organizing the SBL session on Linguistic Border Crossing, which resulted in a thematic section of the annual, in response to a presentation he gave on his commentary on The Contemplative Life at SBL a few years ago. May his memory be recalled as a blessing and may the contribution of his scholarship continue to illuminate our work and the work of the next generation of Philo scholars. This essay was originally published in SPhilo 19 (2007): 101–11, reprinted in this volume with permission from SBL.

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Sea Scrolls.1 I will argue that there is significant overlap between these corpora. Before I consider some of the texts, I want to first address the question of whether we can speak of persistent prophecy in late Second Temple Judaism. Although prophecy, as a dominant aspect of revelation, is often said to have been removed from the Second Temple Jewish community2 in mid-to-late Second Temple Judaism, it is clear from the texts that we have from this period that the communities did not understand themselves to be without ongoing revelation.3 This study is intended in part to shed light on the claim that revelation did not cease in the Second Temple period, but was understood to persist even outside of the space of Jerusalem and temple practice. To be sure, the destruction was never overcome, even for the temple community. It is clear that the rebuilding of the Second Temple was not understood as a complete recovery from exile. Ezra 3:12–13 is a very poignant example—where we are reminded of the loss of that first destruction even at the point of the greatest joy and celebration: Many of the priests and Levites and the chiefs of the clans, the old men who had seen the first house, wept loudly at the sight of the founding of this house. Many others shouted joyously at the top of their voices. The people could not distinguish the shouts of joy from the people’s weeping, for the people raised a great shout, the sound of which could be heard from afar. 1 There are important connections to my earlier published article, “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in Ancient Judaism,” DSD 13 (2006): 99–113, reprinted in this volume, ch. 7 on pages 143–60. These are both intended to anticipate my forthcoming monograph entitled Destruction, Mourning, and Renewal in 4 Ezra and its Precursors, 2011. The quotations in English from the writings of Philo of Alexandria are taken from PLCL. The Dead Sea Scrolls’ translations are taken from The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (ed. Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 1997, 1998). I have, in certain cases, modified the Colson translation on the basis of the Greek in consultation with the critical edition of PCW, and in certain cases I have modified the translations of the Dead Sea Scrolls. 2 E.g., Josephus’ C. Ap. 1.37–41 and t. Sota 13.2–4. 3 See Michael H. Floyd and Robert D. Haak, eds., Prophets, Prophecy and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Times (London and New York: T & T Clark, 2006). See also John Barton, Oracles of God: Preceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988, c1986); Michael Fishbane, “Hermeneutics of Scripture in Formation,” in The Garments of Torah: Essays in Biblical Hermeneutics (Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1989), 18; and Elliot R. Wolfson, “The Hermeneutics of Visonary Experience: Revelation and Interpretation in the Zohar,” Religion (1988): 312 (full article: 311–45). See also Wolfson’s discussion in Through a Speculum that Shines: Vision and Imagination in Medieval Jewish Mysticism (Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press, 1994), ch. 7.

contemplation and inspiration in judean traditions 177 By emphasizing the way in which the Second Temple period was considered incomplete, we can better understand much later Second Temple claims—found, notably, in the Dead Sea Scrolls—that deny or even challenge the Second Temple, and instead claim that their community is still in exile (never having returned from Babylon). More generally, we can better understand Second Temple claims—found, as we shall see, both in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in Philo—that revelation occurs only after one has withdrawn from the city to the wilderness. For this claim builds on the idea, central to many strains of Second Temple Judaism, that revelation can still occur—or, perhaps, can only occur—in the wasteland, and can therefore persist after the destruction of the city and its temple.

I Withdrawal to the desert as a preparation for revelation in ancient Jewish texts is found in many texts in Second Temple times.4 In Philo of Alexandria’s De decalogo, wilderness is depicted as a locus for withdrawal from corruption and soul purification. Philo raises the question as to why God gave the Law to Israel in the desert. Presumably this question arises because it is natural for Philo and his Greek-speaking audience to assume that legislation occurs in cities—that the polis is the proper locus for all political acts. In his first answer, Philo explains that the people must withdraw from the pride that brings “divine things into utter contempt.” In the second answer he says the following (Decal. 10–11): Ἐνενόει δὲ κἀκεῖνο δεύτερον, ὄτι τοῦ μέλλοντος ἱεροὺς νόμους παραδέχεσθαι τὴν ψυχὴν ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστιν ἀπορρύψασθαι καὶ ἐκκαθήρασθαι τὰς δυσεκπλύτους κηλῖδας, ἅς μιγάδων καὶ συγκλύδων ὄχλος ἀνθρώπων κατὰ πόλεις προσετρίψατο. τοῦτο δὲ ἀμήχανον ἑτέρως ἢ διοικισθέντι συμβῆναι, καὶ οὐκ εὐθὺς ἀλλὰ μακρῷ χρόνῳ ὕστερον, ἕως ἄν οἱ τῶν ἀρχαίων παρανομημάτων ἐνσφραγισθέντες τύποι κατὰ μικρὸν ἀμαυρούμενοι καὶ ἀπορρέοντες ἀφανισθῶσι.

4 See George J. Brooke, “Isaiah 40:3 and the Wilderness Community,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies (ed. George J. Brooke and Florentino García Martínez; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 117–32; John J. Collins, “The Yahad and ‘The Qumran Community’,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. Charlotte Hempel and Judith Lieu; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 81–96, and Sarianna Metso’s response, “Whom Does the Term Yahad Identify?” in the same volume, esp. 213–35.

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chapter nine God had a second reason [for giving the law in the wilderness] in mind. Those who were about to receive the sacred laws had to cleanse and wash away the stubborn stains inflicted on the cities by the mixed and promiscuous throng of people. But this purging could not take place unless one was separated from the city. Furthermore, this could not occur immediately, but only after a long period of time, after the deepset marks of former wrongdoings became dim, faded from memory and disappeared.

The Law is the foundation of a new, pure city. As such, it must be given precisely in the desert, not in the city. For every existing city is full of corruption, and the purification can only happen after withdrawal from the city.5 Thus, the desert is a place of isolation from the corruption of the cities governed by human laws. Only in that meditative and isolated place of withdrawal is it possible to attain the purification necessary for founding a city governed by divine law. We can also see this use of the concept of wilderness in Philo’s description of the Therapeutae (Contempl. 2.18–20): ὅταν οὖν ἐκστῶσι τῶν οὐσιῶν, ὑπ᾽ οὐδενὸς ἔτι δελεαζόμενοι, φεύγουσιν ἀμεταστρεπτὶ καταλιπόντες ἀδελφούς, τέκνα, γυναῖκας, γονεῖς, πολυανθρώπους συγγενείας, φιλικὰς ἑταιρείας, τὰς πατρίδας, ἐν αἷς ἐγεννήθησαν καὶ ἐτράφησαν, ἐπειδὴ τὸ σύνηθες ὁλκὸν καὶ δελεάσαι δυνατώτατον. Μετοικίζονται δὲ οὐκ εἰς ἑτέραν πόλιν, ὥσπερ οἱ πρᾶσιν αἰτούμενοι παρὰ τῶν κεκτημένων ἀτυχεῖς ἢ κακόδουλοι δεσποτῶν ὑπαλλαγήν, οὐκ ἐλευθερίαν, αὑτοῖς ἐκπορίζοντες—πᾶσα γὰρ πόλις, καὶ ἡ εὐνομωτάτη, γέμει θορύβων καὶ ταραχῶν ἀμυθήτων, ἃς οὐκ ἄν ὑπομείναι τις ἅπαξ ὑπὸ σοφίας ἀχθείς—, ἀλλὰ τειχῶν ἔξω ποιοῦνται τὰς διατριβὰς ἐν κήποις ἢ μοναγρίαις ἐρημιαν μεταδιώκοντες, οὐ διά τινα ὠμὴν ἐπιτετηδευμένην μισανθρωπίαν, ἀλλὰ τὰς ἐκ τῶν ἀνομοίων τὸ ἦθος ἐπιμιξίας ἀλυσιτελεῖς καὶ βλαβερὰς εἰδότες.

When, therefore, men abandon their property without being influenced by any predominant attraction, they flee without even turning their heads back again, deserting their brethren, their children, their wives, their parents, their numerous families, their affectionate bands of companions, their native lands in which they have been born and brought up, though long familiarity is a most attractive bond, and one very well able to allure any one. And they depart, not to another city as those do who entreat to be purchased from those who at present possess them, being either unfortunate or else worthless servants, and as such seeking

5 See Steven Fraade’s excellent discussion of the negative view of cities in ancient Jewish and pagan texts in Enosh and His Generation: Pre-Israelite Hero and History in Postbiblical Interpretation (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984), 207n and 219.

contemplation and inspiration in judean traditions 179 a change of masters rather than endeavoring to procure freedom (for every city, even that which is under the happiest laws, is full of indescribable tumults, and disorders, and calamities, which no one would submit to who had been even for a moment under the influence of wisdom), but they take up their abode outside of walls, or gardens, or solitary lands, seeking for a desert place, not because of any illnatured misanthropy to which they have learnt to devote themselves, but because of the associations with people of wholly dissimilar dispositions to which they would otherwise be compelled, and which they know to be unprofitable and mischievous.

Philo praises the Therapeutae for living a life which is holy and pure6 and in accordance with the law of nature.7 The recovery of holiness is attributed to their withdrawal, their focus on the Law, and the ritual healing the soul. This is only after they have removed themselves from the distractions and corruptions of earthly possessions treasured by pride and arrogance. This severe critique of city life is also important for any study of the concept of wilderness. Withdrawal to the desert, then, becomes a road to the recovery of a past that is pure, holy, and linked to the original creation of the cosmos, which, according to Philo, was created in accordance with the law of nature. By considering Philo’s understanding of what desert life may bring, we might be able to understand better how desert was conceived across linguistic boundaries in late Second Temple Judaism. It can help us understand why it is in the desert that purification and the giving of the correct interpretation of the Law will occur, according to the Qumranic text, The Community Rule. In the Dead Sea Scrolls, desert or uninhabited space is understood as a place where correct adherence to the Law can be achieved. And by living according to the Law in all of its exact and correct interpretations, members of the desert community can be part of the new covenant, as promised in Jer 31:31. This new covenant is constructed

6 Compare Josephus’ discussion of purity and holiness in the desert community of Essenes in The Jewish War 2.129 and 142. 7 See also my essays, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” SPhilo 11 (1999): 55–73, reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106; “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?” SPhilo 15 (2003): 54–63, reprinted in this volume, ch. 5 on pages 107–18; and my monograph, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 70–107.

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“in the land of Damascus,”8 that is, in the wilderness, either literal or metaphorical (CD VI): 2 . . . But God remembered the covenant of the forefathers. Blank And he raised from Aaron men of knowledge and from Israel 3 wise men, and made them listen. And they dug the well: “A well which the princes dug, which 4 the nobles of the people delved with the staff.” The well is the Law. And those who dug it Blank are 5 the converts of Israel, who left the land of Judah and lived in the land of Damascus, 6 all of whom God called princes, for they sought him, and their renown has not been repudiated 7 in anyone’s mouth. Blank And the staff is the interpreter of the Law, of whom 8 Isaiah said: “He produces a tool for his labor.” Blank And the nobles of the people are 9 those who came to dig the well with the staves that the sceptre decrees, 10 to walk in them throughout the whole age of wickedness, and without which they will not obtain it, until there arises 11 he who teaches justice at the end of days. Blank But all those who have been brought into the covenant 12 shall not enter the temple to kindle his altar in vain. They will be the ones who close 13 the door, as God said: “Whoever amongst you will close my door Blank so that you do not kindle my altar 14 in vain!” They should take care to act in accordance with the exact interpretation of the law for the age of wickedness; to keep apart 15 from the sons of the pit; to abstain from wicked wealth which defiles, either by promise or by vow, 16 and from the wealth of the temple and from stealing from the poor of the people, making widows their spoils 17 and murdering orphans; to separate unclean from clean and differentiate between 18 the holy and the common; to keep the Sabbath day according to its exact interpretation, and the festivals 19 and the day of fasting, according to what was discovered by those who entered the new covenant in the land of Damascus; 20 to set apart holy portions according to their exact interpretation. . . .

A prolonged and extensive period of exile, which is not merely a punishment but also a separation from sinfulness, is a prerequisite (1QS VIII, 12–14): And when these have become /a community/ in Israel 13 /in compliance with these arrangements/ they are to be segregated from within the dwelling of the men of sin to walk to the desert in order to open there His path. 14 As it is written (Isa 40:3) “In the desert, prepare the way of ****, straighten in the steppe a roadway for our God.”

8 See Michael A. Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983): 99–117; idem, “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ 17 (1976): 253–72.

contemplation and inspiration in judean traditions 181 Moreover, the community formed in Jerusalem must withdraw from the transgressive “men of sin” in order to prepare themselves for the way of God. The members of this community experience a spiritual transformation through meticulous adherence to Mosaic law, in isolation from those who do not obey the Law, or who obey it in a twisted form. In both Hebrew and Greek texts from this period, we can see how withdrawal from the city functions as purification and holiness in preparation for revelation. Both in the case of Philo and in The Community Rule, the depicted desert communities undergo purification in a location that is not far from the city (Jerusalem or Alexandria).9 Nevertheless, in both cases there is a kind of separation off from the city which enables a kind of purification (in Qumranic idiom) or a cleansing of the soul from the corrupt surroundings (in the case of Philo’s description in On the Contemplative Life).

II I will now turn to the role that prayer plays in the concept of the revelatory. In his depiction of the Therapeutae, Philo likens their prayers to those of the prophet and the prophetess, Moses and Miriam. Their voices are said to be perfectly harmonious as they utter perfectly inspired prayer, participate as citizens of the heavens, and achieve the perfect contemplation of nature (i.e., the divine in this world); Contempl. 2.83–90: 83 Μετὰ δὲ τὸ δεῖπνον τὴν ἱερὰν ἄγουσι παννυχίδα. ἄγεται δὲ ἡ παννυχὶς τὸν τρόπον τοῦτον· ἀνίστανται πάντες ἀθρόοι, καὶ κατὰ μέσον τὸ συμπόσιον δύο γίνονται τὸ πρῶτον χοροί, ὁ μὲν ἀνδρῶν, ὁ δὲ γυναικῶν· ἡγεμὼν δὲ καὶ ἔξαρχος αἱρεῖται καθ᾽ ἑκάτερον ἐντιμότατός τε καὶ ἐμμελέστατος. 84 εἶτα ᾄδουσι πεποιημένους ὕμνους εἰς τὸν θεὸν πολλοῖς μέτροις καὶ μέλεσι, τῇ μὲν συνηχοῦντες, τῇ δὲ καὶ αντιφώνοις ἁρμονίαις ἐπιχειρονομοῦντες καὶ ἐπορχούμενοι, καὶ ἐπιθειάζοντες τοτὲ μὲν τὰ προσόδια, τοτὲ δὲ τὰ στάσιμα, στροφάς τε τὰς ἐν χορείᾳ καὶ

9 As David T. Runia argues in “The Idea of the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria,” JHI 38 (2000): 361–79, Philo has no simple answer to the question of withdrawal: it is a matter of what works for the individual, and what works for the Therapeutae evidently did not work for Philo, who returned to the city after trying to live in the desert. See also Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “Le Theme du Désert chez Philo d’Alexandrie,” in Études Philoniennes (Paris: Cerf, 1996), 293–308.

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chapter nine ἀντιστροφὰς ποιούμενοι. . . . 85 εἶτα . . . ἀναμίγνυνται καὶ γίνονται χορὸς εἷς ἐξ ἀμφοῖν, μίμημα τοῦ πάλαι συστάντος κατὰ τὴν ἐρυθρὰν θάλασσαν ἕνεκα τῶν θαυματουργηθέντων ἐκεῖ. . . . 87 τοῦτο δὲ ἰδόντες καὶ παθόντες, ὃ λόγου καὶ ἐννοίας καὶ ἐλπίδος μεῖζον ἔργον ἦν, ἐνθουσιῶντές τε ἄνδρες ὁμοῦ καὶ γυναῖκες, εἷς γενόμενοι χορός, τοὺς εὐχαριστηρίους ὕμνους εἰς τὸν σωτῆρα θεὸν ᾖδον, ἐξάρχοντος τοῖς μὲν ἀνδράσι Μωυσέως τοῦ προφήτου, ταῖς δὲ γυναιξὶ Μαριὰμ τῆς προφήτιδος. . . . 90 Θεραπευτῶν μὲν δὴ πέρι τοσαῦτα θεωρίαν ἀσπασαμένων φύσεως καὶ τῶν ἐν αὐτῇ καὶ ψυχῇ μόνῃ βιωσάντων, οὐρανοῦ μὲν καὶ κόσμου πολιτῶν, τῷ δὲ πατρὶ καὶ ποιητῇ τῶν ὃλων γνησίως συσταθέντων ὑπ᾽ ἀρετῆς, ἥτις φιλίαν αὐτοῖς προυξένησεν οἰκειότατον γέρας καλοκἀγαθίας προσθεῖσα, πάσης ἄμεινον εὐτυχίας, ἐπ᾽ αὐτὴν ἀκρότητα φθάνον εὐδαιμονίας.

83 And after the feast they celebrate the sacred festival during the whole night; and this nocturnal festival is celebrated in the following manner: they all stand up together, and in the middle of the entertainment two choruses are formed at first, the one of men and the other of women, and for each chorus there is a leader and chief selected, who is the most honorable and most excellent of the band. 84 Then they sing hymns which have been composed in honor of God in many metres and tunes, at one time all singing together, and at another moving their hands and dancing in corresponding harmony, and uttering in an inspired manner songs of thanksgiving . . . 85 . . . they join together, and the two become one chorus, an imitation of that one which, in old time, was established by the Red Sea, on account of the wondrous works which were displayed there. . . . 87 When the Israelites saw and experienced this great miracle, which was an event beyond all description, beyond all imagination, and beyond all hope, both men and women together, under the influence of divine inspiration, becoming all one chorus, sang hymns of thanksgiving to God the Savior, Moses the prophet leading the men, and Miriam the prophetess leading the women. . . . 90 This then is what I have to say of those who are called Therapeutae, who have devoted themselves to the contemplation of nature, and who have lived in it and in the soul alone, being citizens of heaven and of the world, and very acceptable to the Father and Creator of the universe because of their virtue, which has procured them his love as their most appropriate reward, which far surpasses all the gifts of fortune, and conducts them to the very summit and perfection of happiness.

Discourse with the divine redeems the members of the desert community from the imperfection of their souls. Philo does not speak of his own time as an exile; neither does he reject the Second Temple. Instead, he speaks of the struggle to recover perfection through the path of the law of Moses, which is a universal, cosmic, and a perfect copy of the law of nature. For Philo, imperfection lingers in the souls of those who have not separated themselves from corruption and who are living amidst the arrogance of human beings who mistake them-

contemplation and inspiration in judean traditions 183 selves for gods. This imperfection can be overcome by imitating exemplary figures and by living according to the law of nature, that is, the Mosaic law.10 I would like to suggest that Philo’s comparison to Moses and Miriam’s inspiration at the Red Sea is about actualizing self-taught knowledge into knowledge of the law of Moses, which is the perfect copy of the perfect, cosmic natural law.11 The prayers of the Therapeutae are themselves perfect expressions of their own contemplation of nature and the honoring of God. Through these prayers, in which they actualize their own potential divinity, the Therepeutae come to see God,12 just as Israel did at the Red Sea after the Exodus from Egypt. This is possible for the Therapeutae because of their withdrawal from the things of the city, from attending to their bodies, in order to become only soul (ψυχῇ μόνῃ).13 By way of comparison, in the Scrolls we find many expressions of prayer that are understood to transport the community into angelic discourse. Those praying are said to ascend in prayer and to envision the heavenly realm (1QS XI, 7–9):14 7 . . . To those whom God has selected he has given them as everlasting possession; and he has given them an inheritance in the lot of 8 the holy ones. He united their assembly to the sons of the heavens in order to form the council of the Community and a foundation of the building of holiness to be an everlasting plantation throughout all 9 future ages. . . .

10 See my discussion in “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?”, reprinted in this volume, ch. 5 on pages 107–18. 11 For Philo, imperfection can be overcome by imitating exemplary figures and by living according to the law of nature, that is, the Mosaic law. Thus one expression of natural law is Mosaic Torah, but so is the exemplar Abraham or Moses. 12 Ellen Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism in Philo’s Thought: Israel, Jews, and Proselytes (BJS 290; SPhM 2; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996). 13 Cf. the end of Mos. 2.288 where Moses is said to be transformed from a twofold nature of soul and body into a single unity of mind. It might be argued that the concepts mind and soul in the writing of Philo of Alexandria should be taken as isomorphic (discussion with Brad Inwood, 2006.) 14 See Esther Chazon, “Human and Angelic Prayer in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in the Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Esther Chazon; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2003), 35–47; idem, “Liturgical Communion with the Angels at Qumran,” in Sapiential, Litugical and Poetical Texts from Qumran (ed. Daniel K. Falk, Florentino García Martinez and Eileen M. Schuller; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2000), 95–105; Elliot R. Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge: Qumran Esotericism Recovered,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2004), 177–213.

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Through these prayers, they acquire knowledge of the divine and are able to articulate, in colorful and intricate imagery, the details of their vision (4Q403 frg. 1 I, 39–46): Chant to the powerful God 40 with the chosen spiritual portion, so that it is [a melo]dy with the joy of the gods, and celebration with all the holy ones, for a wonderful song in eter[nal] happiness. 41 With them praise all the four [nations of the hol]y of holies, the supporting columns of the most exalted dwelling, and all the corners of his building. Si[ng] 42 to Go[d, aw]esome in power, [all you spirits of knowledge and of light], to [exal]t together the splendidly shining vault of [his] holy sanctuary. 43 [Praise hi]m, divine spirits, prai[sing for ever and e]ver the main vault of the heig[ht]s, all [its] b[eams] and its walls, a[l]l 44 its [struct]ure, the work of [its] constuc[tion. The spi]rits of the hol[y] of holies, the living gods, [the spi]rits of everlasting holine[ss] above 45 all the ho[ly ones in the wonderful vaults, marvel of splendor and majesty, and wonderful is the gl]ory in the most perfect light, and the kno[wledge] 46 [. . . in all the wonderful sanctuaries. The spirits of the gods are around the residence of the king of truth and justice. Al]l [its walls]

4Q403 frg. 1 II, 1–16 1 perfect light, the multicoloredness of a most holy spirit [. . .] 2 high places of knowledge, and at his footstool [. . .] 3 the appearance of the glorious form of the chiefs of the kingdom of the spirit[s of . . . ] 4 his glory. And in all their movements the gates of [. . .] 5 the flashing of lightning ? [. . .] . . . to crush. The gods of [. . .] 6 among them run g[o]ds like the appearance of coals [of fire . . . ] 7 going around. The spirits of the holy of holies [. . .] 8 of the holy of h[o]lies, spirits of the gods, et[ernal] vision [. . .] 9 and the spirits of the gods, in the forms of flames of fire around [. . .] 10 wonderful spirits. And the tabernacle of utmost height, the glory of his kingdom, the inner shrine [. . .] 11 and he sanctified for the seven exalted holy ones. And the voice of the blessing of the chiefs of his inner shrine [. . .] 12 And the voice of the blessing {is heard} is glorified when the gods hear it, and the foundations of [. . .] 13 of the blessing. And all the decorations of the inner shrine hurry with wonderful psalms in the inner sh[rine . . . ] 14 wonder, inner shrine to inner shrine, with the sound of holy multitudes. And all their decorations [. . .] 15 And the chariots of his inner shrine praise together, and their cherubim and the[ir] ofanim bless wonderfully [. . .] 16 the chiefs of the construction of the gods. And they praise him in his holy inner shrine. Blank [. . .]

Their prayers are likened to sacrifices, as the words of prayer are said to be the offerings of their tongues and their lips (1QS X, 14–24):15

15

See also 1QS IX:3–5.

contemplation and inspiration in judean traditions 185 14 . . . I shall bless him with the offering that issues from my lips in the row of men. 15 . . . 22 . . . The fruit of holiness will be on my tongue, profanity 23 shall not be found on it. With hymns shall I open my mouth and my tongue will continually recount both the just acts of God and the unfaithfulness of men until their iniquity is complete. 24 I shall remove from my lips worthless words, unclean things and plotting form the knowledge of my heart. . . .

III It is also important to note that study of authoritative literature and holy writings is understood as part of the revelatory experience, both in some of the Dead Sea Scrolls and in Philo’s discussion of the study sessions of the Therapeutae. In the scrolls, the Teacher is the exemplary interpreter who has access to inspired interpretations which are, according to the community members, uniquely correct readings of the text.16 He is recalled or invoked as a sectarian leader who can tap into the correct meaning which is actualized through communal ritual as well as through meditation over the texts themselves. The Torah, after the members have properly prepared themselves for membership and for the spiritual exercise of Torah study, then becomes the way in which the members can achieve holiness (‫ )קדושה‬and wholeness (‫)תמימות‬, as they recover the intimacy with the divine that they had lost as a result of punishment, sinfulness, suffering, and exile.17 Let me briefly compare Philo’s discussion of the Therapeutae in his description of their reflection over the reading of the text, applying it

16 Cf. Pesher Habakkuk, esp. col. 2 and 7. Invoking the inspired instruction of the Teacher of Righteousness can be a way of authorizing the community’s own new practices, much like “the Law of Moses” served this function for Ezra in Ezra-Nehemiah; cf. Hindy Najman, “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity. Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 33; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 202–16, also reprinted in this volume, ch. 3 on pages 73–86. See my most recent discussion of the role of the exemplar in ancient Jewish traditions, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4Ezra,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed. Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, Eibert Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–36, reprinted in this volume, ch. 13 on pages 235–42. 17 Again, as I mentioned earlier, this punishment is depicted as part of an extended exile and suffering from the destruction of the First Temple.

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to their day-to-day lives. Mosaic Torah serves as a guide for the Therapeutae (Contempl. 2.77–78): Οἱ δὲ ἀνωρθιακότες εἰς αυτὸν επὶ μιᾶς καὶ τῆς αυτῆς σχέσεως επιμένοντες ἀκρῶνται, τὸ μὲν συνιέναι καὶ κατειληφέναι νεύματι καὶ βλέμματι διασημαίνοντες, τὸν δὲ ἔπαινον τοῦ λέγοντος ἱλαρότητι καὶ τῇ σχέδην περιαγωγῇ τοῦ προσώπου, τὴν δὲ διαπόρησιν ἡρεμαιοτέρᾳ κινήσει τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ ἄκρῳ δακτύλῳ τῆς δεξιᾶς χειρός· ουχ ἧττον δὲ τῶν κατακεκλιμένων οἱ παρεστῶτες νέοι προσέχουσιν. 78 αἱ δὲ ἐξηγήσεις τῶν ἱερῶν γραμμάτων γίνονται δι᾽ ὐπονοιῶν ἐν ἀλληγορίαις· ἅπασα γὰρ ἡ νομοθεσία δοκεῖ τοῖς ανδράσι τούτοις ἐσικέναι ζῴῳ καὶ σῶμα μὲν ἒχειν τὰς ῥητὰς διατάξεις, ψυχὴν δὲ τὸν εναποκείμενον ταῖς λέξεσιν ἀόρατον νοῦν, εν ῷ ἤρξατο ἡ λογικὴ ψυχὴ διαφερόντως τὰ οικεῖα θεωρεῖν, ὥσπερ διὰ κατόπτρου τῶν ὀνομάτων ἐξαίσια κάλλη νοημάτων | ἐμφαινόμενα κατιδοῦσα καὶ τὰ μὲν σύμβολα διαπτύξασα καὶ διακαλύψασα, γυμνὰ δὲ εἰς φῶς προαγαγοῦσα τὰ ἐνθύμια τοῖς δυναμένοις ἐκ μικρᾶς ὑπομνήσεως τὰ ἀφανῆ διὰ τῶν φανερῶν θεωρεῖν.

His [the leader of the group–in his discussion of the holy writings] audience listens with ears pricked up and eyes fixed on him always in exactly the same posture, signifying comprehension and understanding by nods and glances, praise of the speaker by the cheerful change of expression which steals over the face, difficulty by a gentler movement of the hand. The young men standing by show no less attentiveness than the occupants of the courses. The exposition of the sacred scriptures treats the inner meaning conveyed in allegory. For to these people the whole law book seems to resemble a living creature with the literal ordinances for its body and for its soul the invisible mind laid up in its wording.

They seek the vision and achieve that vision that is lost to their city dwellers (Contempl. 2.11): Τὸ δὲ θεραπευτικὸν γένος βλέπειν ἀὲι προδιδασκόμενον τῆς τοῦ ὄντος θέας ἐφιέσθω καὶ τὸν αἰσθητὸν ἥλιον ὑπερβαινέτω καὶ μηδέποτε τὴν τάξιν ταύτην λειπέτω πρὸς τελέιαν ἄγουσαν εὐδαιμονίαν.

But it is well that the Therapeutae, a people always taught from the first to use their sight, should desire the vision of the Existent and soar above the sun of our senses and never leave their place in this company which carries them on to perfect happiness.

They are able to imitate the model that is given in the Torah of Moses by studying the law and by achieving perfect happiness. The interpretations are possible because of their withdrawal from corruption, achievement of spiritual purification, contemplation and study, and

contemplation and inspiration in judean traditions 187 self-direction towards God, as they are citizens of the heaven and of the cosmos (Contempl. 2.90).

IV But, could one not ask: is this not a merely accidental convergence, with Dead Sea Scrolls coming out of one background and Philo out of another? To be sure, much of the Philonic tradition about philosophical contemplation can be contextualized in his Greek, philosophical context and rich heritage. Similarly, much can be said to locate the community of the Judean desert within a solely Judean context. The point I wish to make, however, by juxtaposing these two corpora is not that they share a single conception of revelation, but rather that significant elements of their conceptions are shared. Moreover, the juxtaposition enables us to develop a broader framework for understanding Second Temple Judaism. For we see how both sets of texts express the possibility of bridging the gap between, on the one side, loss, imperfection, exile and suffering, and, on the other, revelation, inspiration, and spiritual ascent. Each responds in its own way to the ongoing problems posed by the destruction of the First Temple, which was never overcome and which sets the scene for so much of Second Temple Judaism. Accordingly, both the differences between the corpora and what is shared between these traditions are essential for understanding Judean traditions in antiquity on both sides of the linguistic divide.18

18 Many thanks to Paul Franks, Sean Freyne, Robert Kraft, Steve Mason, Eva Mroczek, and Zuleika Rodgers for their helpful conversation on earlier drafts of this paper.

CHAPTER TEN

RECONSIDERING JUBILEES: PROPHECY AND EXEMPLARITY*

I. Introduction What is at stake in how we characterize the book of Jubilees? Perhaps most importantly, we must be aware that the current generic labels for the book of Jubilees all stake some claim about canon in the second century.1 The implications extend to seminal Qumran documents as well.

* This essay was published in, Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), reprinted in this volume with permissions from Eerdmans. 1 See recent discussion of genre distinctions by Carol A. Newsom, “Spying out the Land: A Report from Genology,” in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. Ronald L. Troxel, Kelvin G. Friebel, Dennis R. Magary; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 437–60. On rewritten Bible as a genre, see Philip S. Alexander, “Retelling the Old Testament,” in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture: Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars, SSF (ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 99–121. For a history of scholarship on the issue, see Moshe J. Bernstein, “‘Rewritten Bible’: A Generic Category Which Has Outlived its Usefulness?” Textus 22 (2005): 169–96. See also George J. Brooke, “Rewritten Bible,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam; Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 777–80; Steven D. Fraade, “Rewritten Bible and Rabbinic Midrash as Commentary,” in Current Trends in the Study of Midrash (ed. Carol Bakhos; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 59–78; Betsy Halpern-Amaru, Rewriting the Bible: Land and Covenant in Postbiblical Jewish Literature (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994); Daniel J. Harrington, “The Bible Rewritten (Narratives),” in Early Judaism and Its Modern Interpreters (ed. Robert A. Kraft and George W. E. Nickelsburg; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 239–47; George W. E. Nickelsburg, “The Bible Rewritten and Expanded,” in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (ed. Michael Stone; Assen/Philadelphia: Van Gorcum/Fortress, 1984), 89–156; Emanuel Tov, “Biblical Texts as Reworked in Some Qumran Manuscripts with Special Attention to 4QRP and 4QparaGen-Exod,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Eugene Ulrich and James C. VanderKam; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), 111–34. See also earlier scholarship by Geza Vermes, who coined the term “Rewritten Bible”: Scripture and Tradition in Judaism: Haggadic Studies (2d ed., StPB 4; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 10, and by Charles Perrot on the notion of “texte continué”: Pseudo-Philon: Les Antiquités Bibliques. Tome II: Introduction Littéraire,

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Suppose we characterize Jubilees as rewritten Bible. Then we are committing ourselves to the position that there was already an authoritative or canonical Pentateuch in the second century, during which it was possible to replace the Pentateuch with a text like Jubilees. As I argued in Seconding Sinai, I find the position very problematic: Like the classification of texts as pseudepigraphic, the characterization of Second Temple texts as “Rewritten Bible” is problematic. Use of the term can suggest an anachronistic conception of a text—as a fixed set of claims embodied in specific language, such that tampering with that language is tantamount to interfering with an author’s property. When scholars who employ such a concept encounter biblical and extrabiblical texts that recount biblical narratives with variations and insertions, they may be tempted to infer that these texts aspire to replace an older, authentic biblical tradition with a new version. Instead, we should ask whether these biblical and extrabiblical writers shared our contemporary conception of a text. Although biblicists assume the existence of a somewhat fixed biblical text as early as the Persian period, they acknowledge the fluidity of biblical traditions. Even if it is still possible to speak of rewriting, the distinction between the transmission and the interpretation of biblical traditions was not as sharp as the term Rewritten Bible implies.2

We do not have evidence that entitles us to speak of a fixed and exclusive canon at the time of Jubilees’ composition. However, there is evidence for a stabilized, circulating, and authoritative text much like what is eventually called the Pentateuch. In addition, we know that Jubilees shares many traditions and texts that we have since come to know as pentateuchal or prophetic.3 Perhaps, then, we could argue that Jubilees is interpreting texts we know as pentateuchal.

Commentaire et Index (SC 230; Paris: Cerf, 1976). For a recent discussion see Michael Segal, The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology (JSJSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007). 2 Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 7–8. See also my discussion of why this term is deeply problematic in “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30 (1999): 379–410, reprinted in this volume, ch. 2 on pages 39–71. I prefer to jettison the term altogether because it obscures more than it illuminates in the world of ancient Judean traditions. 3 See the exemplary discussion by George J. Brooke, “The Formation and Renewal of Scriptural Tradition,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. Charlotte Hempel and Judith Lieu; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 39–60. See also John C. Reeves, “Exploring the Afterlife of Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Medieval Near Eastern Religious Traditions: Some Initial Soundings,” JSJ 30 (1999): 148–77, and Robert A. Kraft, “The Pseudepigrapha in Christianity,” in Tracing the Threads:

reconsidering jubilees: prophecy and exemplarity

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But if we claim that Jubilees reflects some of the earliest interpretation of the Pentateuch—then we are assigning a secondary status to Jubilees vis-à-vis the Pentateuch. But this flies in the face of Jubilees’ self-presentation: Jubilees claims that it is itself a revelation that is already and always inscribed in the heavenly tablets, long before Sinai. It is Jubilees’ claim to be revealed that has led some to say that Jubilees intends to replace Genesis or the Pentateuch.4 However, such a suggestion is also in tension with Jubilees’ self-presentation. Jubilees knows of a first Torah and understands that it is offering a second Torah which is already prior to the first Torah from Sinai, but Jubilees never claims to replace the first Torah, which it treats as having continued authority. Indeed, there are some passages in Jubilees where the characterization of “interpretation” seems more apt, and others where what seems called for is a characterization of “parallel traditions” or even “expanded traditions,” of which we possess much shorter versions in the Pentateuch. To be sure, we can state with confidence—as has been argued most recently by Aharon Shemesh5—that Jubilees played a prominent role for some of the authors and copyists at Qumran.6 Along these lines, Martha Himmelfarb suggests that “the existence [at Qumran] of a work or works labeled Pseudo-Jubilees (4Q225–27) indicates that

Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (ed. John C. Reeves; SBLEJL 6; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 55–86. 4 See, for example, Ben Z. Wacholder, “Jubilees as the Super Canon: Torah-Admonition versus Torah-Commandment,” in Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Cambridge 1995 (ed. Moshe Bernstein, Florentino García Martínez, and John Kampen; STDJ 23; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 195–211. For an incisive and critical assessment of Wacholder’s argument, see Martha Himmelfarb, “Torah, Testimony, and Heavenly Tablets: The Claim to Authority in the Book of Jubilees,” in A Multiform Heritage: Studies on Early Judaism and Christianity in Honor of Robert A. Kraft (ed. Benjamin G. Wright III; Homage Series 24; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 19–29; see her most recent discussion of Jubilees’ status in A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 53–55. For another view of Jubilees’ self-understanding vis-à-vis the Pentateuch, see Cana Werman, “The ‘[tôrâ] and the [tĕ‘ûdâ]’ Engraved on the Tablets,” DSD 9 (2002): 75–103, esp. 93–95. 5 See Ahron Shemesh’s essay, “4Q265 and the Authoritative Status of Jubilees at Qumran,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubileees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 229–43. 6 See James C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5/3 (1998): 382–402 and Eugene C. Ulrich, “The Bible in the Making: the Scriptures Found at Qumran,” in The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape and Interpretation (ed. Peter W. Flint; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 51–66.

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Jubilees was of sufficient stature to warrant imitation.”7 Beyond that, we cannot say for sure that it was authoritative for any Second Temple community, much as in the case of the earliest Enochic writings. It is very hard to determine the reception and dissemination of texts within Second Temple Judaism. But how then are we to label this work we call Jubilees? Under what category should it be subsumed? Having rejected “rewritten Bible,” or “new Torah,” or even “interpretation,” I will offer a very simple and perhaps obvious alternative. It is not that I think that these labels are in all senses inadequate for understanding aspects of the materials or traditions found in Jubilees. Rather, I think that each is inadequate for characterizing the book as a whole. Moreover, each betrays, in its own way, what Robert Kraft has called “the tyranny of canonical assumptions.”8 The alternative I want to recommend is at once both obvious and bound to be provocative. If we are to characterize Jubilees as a whole, we should pay attention to its self-presentation. The book claims to be revelatory and to have a divine, angelic, and heavenly origin. It is, by its own account, part of the larger family of works from earlier exilic and postexilic traditions that we have come to know as biblical prophecy. My claim, then, is that Jubilees should be contextualized within the traditions of biblical prophecy, especially exilic and postexilic prophecy. One source of resistance is easily anticipated, for the well-rehearsed claims that prophecy ended are very familiar to us all. But, these claims—that prophecy ceases and that apocalyptic or wisdom literature emerge instead—simply do not resonate with the texts we have from late ancient Judaism. For the texts repeatedly make claims to be prophetic, and more broadly, to be revelatory. Of course, throughout late ancient Judean traditions, claims of persistent revelation are made in many different ways. But this reflects the variety we see in earlier Israelite and contemporaneous non-Israelite and non-Judean religious traditions. Angelic revelation and mediated intervention, human access to heavenly writings, symbolic prophecy, apocalyptic vision and inspired interpretation are all features of both exilic and

7

Himmelfarb, A Kingdom of Priests, 53. Robert A. Kraft, “Para-mania: Beside, Before, and Beyond Bible Studies,” JBL 126 (2007): 5–27. 8


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postexilic prophecy.9 The texts do not reflect any linear development from one concept of the revelatory to another. In addition, the dichotomy of wisdom and apocalyptic or prophecy and apocalyptic has been challenged in recent years.10 By categorizing Jubilees as apocalyptic as opposed to wisdom, or as Mosaic as opposed to Enochic, or as rewritten Bible as opposed to new Torah, we simply compromise our ability to read the texts with the openness and clarity that is required to carefully chart the development of Second Temple Judaism along with the insight required to contextualize the book of Jubilees. Despite all this, I want to acknowledge that there is something accurate and profound about claims to the cessation of revelation. It would be more accurate, however, to speak of the transformation of revelation after the first exile in the sixth century b.c.e. We need to consider that despite the building of the Second Temple, the destruction of the First Temple was never overcome.11 There was, thus, from 587 b.c.e. on, a sense of lost intimacy with the divine, which is reflected in textual witnesses from the Second Temple and the post-70 eras.12 But, it was through learning how to mourn loss that these texts gained access to the divine in a different way. It also concerns the establishment of access to the divine. To be sure, there are prophecies that communicate a special relationship with the divine, or inaccessible information about the past. One goal of revelation in the Second Temple period is to recover a lost relationship between God and humanity. Thus, the desire for revelation is the

9 See my new work on this topic in my forthcoming monograph, Destruction, Mourning, and Renewal in 4 Ezra and its Precursors, 2011. 10 For the most recent discussion of the relations between apocalyptic and wisdom literature, see Conflicted Boundaries in Wisdom and Apocalypticism (ed. Benjamin G. Wright and Lawrence M. Wills; Symposium Series; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005). On the relationship between prophecy and apocalyptic see James C. VanderKam’s two essays now reprinted in From Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible & Second Temple Literature (JSJSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 2000): “The Prophetic-Sapiential Origins of Apocalyptic Thought,” 241–54, and “Prophecy and Apocalyptics in the Ancient Near East,” 255–75. 11 See Michael A. Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983): 99–117 and “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ 17 (1976): 253–72. 12 See the important discussion of persistent exile in Bilhah Nitzan’s engagement of penitential prayer in “Moses’ Penitential-Like Prayer in Jubilees 1 and Its Relation to the Penitential Tradition of Post-Exilic Judaism,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 229–43.

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aspiration to approach and perhaps even imitate divine perfection by recovering an idyllic past and imagining an inspired future. But what happens to the aspiration to perfection within a community that undergoes the destruction of its political and religious institutions, and that is exiled from its homeland? Is perfection, or progress towards perfection, to be thought of only in terms of restoration and return from exile? Or are there ways in which perfection, or progress towards perfection, are possible even in the midst of suffering—perhaps even by means of suffering? In the case of Jubilees, the idea of a pre-Sinaitic context for Sinaitic revelation provides a ready instrument for the explanation both of loss and of the access of a privileged few to the requisites of salvation. Those who know only what was revealed at Sinai but who are ignorant of its pre-Sinaitic backdrop do not know how to observe the Law properly. This proper observance—heavily but not exclusively focused on the solar calendar—is available only to those who know the traditions revealed first to Enoch, and then passed on through a succession of worthy individuals. The task of Jubilees is to set the story straight by putting the revelation at Sinai in its pre-Sinaitic context, thanks to privileged information about exactly what the Angel of the Presence said to Moses at Sinai. Loss of intimacy with the divine turns out to be part of the story itself, as does the promise of recovery, for some at least. Thus Jubilees presents itself as revelation that reveals a falling away from revelation, as well as the possibility of a return. I anticipate another kind of resistance to my suggestion. As modern, post-enlightenment scholars, are we ready to take any text’s self-presentation at face value? Should we not rather be skeptical or suspicious? I suggest that we treat Jubilees’ self-description as revealed—as Mosaic and angelic—in just the same way that we treat the selfdescriptions of the books of Jeremiah and Isaiah. In none of these cases, I think, are we in a situation where we can associate the text decisively with some historical author, and in all of them a complex history of composition and redaction appears to undermine any such attribution. But to decide that these works are therefore inauthentic is to contrast them with some set of authentic, canonical texts, which is to allow confessional presuppositions to trespass in the field of scholarship. And to decide that they are forgeries is to employ what I have argued elsewhere is an anachronistic conception of authorial attribution. In a recent essay, I wrote:


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The problems facing those of us who work on pseudepigrapha may seem insuperable. However, we should not assume that political contextualization or religious affiliation is the only way of doing history, or the most important. I want to suggest that intellectual, cultural and spiritual practices also constitute contexts within which texts can be rendered intelligible. Instead of constituting an obstacle, authorial self-effacement should be an object of study. By considering the practices of authorial effacement and pseudepigraphic attribution, we can come to understand much about the way the unknown and unknowable authors related to their own present.13

In this particular case, we should try to understand how Jubilees understands itself as building upon the expansion of Exodus that occurs already in Deuteronomy, all attributed to the figure of Moses. It is an instance of what I have elsewhere called Mosaic Discourse.14 At the same time, however, as I have argued elsewhere, it is also angelic discourse, since it presents itself as a record of what the Angel of the Presence said to Moses, which Moses dutifully recorded.15 As scholars, our task is not to judge the authenticity of Jubilees’ claim to be revealed. It is rather to contextualize that claim within the practices of late ancient Judaism. In what follows I want to develop my previous work on Jubilees in two respects: 1) I want to develop the point, which I have already introduced, that the book of Jubilees belongs to the corpus of books said to be revelatory, or even prophetic.16 Once we include Jubilees in this group we see the claims of the book in a very different light. The angelic revelation, Mosaic inscription and the record of heavenly traditions resonate with the better-known biblical traditions. While scholars have emphasized that Jubilees is part of the “Qumran Bible,” or the “authoritative literature” of the Second Temple period for some Jews, we must still explore the implications of that claim. Our conception of

13 Hindy Najman, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4Ezra,” 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; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–30, reprinted in this volume, ch. 13 on pages 235–42. 14 See my discussion of Mosaic Discourse in Seconding Sinai, 1–40. 15 See my essay “Interpretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30 (1999), reprinted in this volume, ch. 2 on pages 39–71. 16 See my forthcoming monograph, Destruction, Mourning, and Renewal in 4 Ezra and its Precursors, 2011.

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Jubilees is altered, along with other known prophetic works, once we consider these works to be representatives of a genre, some of whose members later came to be classified as biblical.17 2) In my earlier work I focused on Jubilees as an example of what I called discourse tied to a founder—in the case of Jubilees, Mosaic Discourse.18 Now, I want to further develop this claim by examining the way the exemplar (the founding figure who is associated with this tradition) functions in this text. Of course, there are other texts in which the founding figure functions prominently as the pseudonymous author, e.g., 1, 2 and 3 Enoch and 4 Ezra and 5 Ezra, among other examples. Here, however, I want to consider the role of the exemplar in the book of Jubilees, on two levels. The first is the Angel of the Presence and the figure of Moses. These two figures are the ones authorizing this work. They have produced it through divine revelation and have secured the heavenly stature and status of this now earthly copy to which we have access. Of course, Moses and the Angel of the Presence are the two most perfect figures to which a new discourse of this sort (seen older as any others) should be attributed. The angelic figure dictates faithfully and the exemplary scribe writes as they both fulfill the divine charge with inspiration and accuracy. There is, however, a second level at which the exemplar operates. This second level returns us to the question mentioned above about the role of interpretation or expansion of texts we recognize from biblical tradition. The book of Jubilees is an assembly of narratives recounting the history of exemplarity. These figures are deserving of the gift of writing and the divine, heavenly tablets. They are figures of the past on both the first (Moses) and second (the patriarchs, Jacob, etc.) levels, they are the new prophecy for the intended audience, and they ultimately come to play important roles for imagining perfection and conceiving of revelation in Second Temple Judaism.

17 18

Cf. Kraft, “Para-mania.” Najman, Seconding Sinai, 1–40.


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II. Jubilees as a Revelatory Text In earlier work I have focused on Jubilees’ fascination with writtenness and scribalism.19 Here it is necessary to discuss once again the claim of a cessation of prophecy, this time from a different angle. For scholars have long claimed that prophecy was transformed from that earlier immediate divine communication called prophecy into scribalism and textual interpretation. On this view, the cessation of prophecy is explained in terms of an ending of one form of divine communication (i.e., through direct divine utterance) into a mediated form of divine access through the text. The claim presupposes that textuality and writtenness became the predominant form of accessing the divine.20 The transformation is understood as linear and demonstrable on the basis of the textual witnesses from the period of Second Temple Judaism. While it is true that there are many examples of written authority and scribal figures who are interpreting the earlier texts, we can find such examples of prophetic writtenness in preexilic materials as well as in Ancient Near Eastern traditions. In addition, texts that exhibit the features of what is categorized as prophetic continue to be found in the late Second Temple texts.21 Rather than thinking of interpretation of texts and the development of prophecy, we should consider it one of many forms of revelation in preexilic and postexilic texts.22 Throughout the Second Temple period and beyond we have texts that continue to claim that they are able to connect with the divine via heavenly journey, conversation with angels, and inspired interpretation of older authoritative prophetic texts and/or traditions. But surely the idea of revelation as interpretation sounds paradoxical. For, according to well-established ways of thinking, revelation and interpretation are distinct: there is revelation, which somehow gives rise to Scripture; and then there is interpretation, which aims to understand and apply Scripture, and hence to grasp what is revealed in revelation.

19 Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing,” 379–410, reprinted in this volume, ch. 2 on pages 39–71. 20 See Hindy Najman, “Angels at Sinai: Exegesis, Theology and Interpretive Authority,” DSD 7 (2000): 313–33, reprinted in this volume, ch. 6 on pages 121–42. 21 For a recent discussion of prophecy at Qumran see Alex P. Jassen, Mediating the Divine: Prophecy and Revelation in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Second Temple Judaism (STDJ 68; Leiden: Brill, 2007). 22 See my forthcoming work on this subject, Destruction, Mourning, and Renewal in 4 Ezra and its Precursors, 2011.

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The project of writing and reworking earlier revelation is sometimes considered radically distinct from receiving prophecy. Somehow textuality itself is considered earthly (as opposed to heavenly) and bereft of the immediacy (even pristine quality) of divine vision. The act of writing itself and a written witness to revelation can be forms of the revelatory (e.g., Esther, Josiah’s discovered scroll, Mishneh Torah among others).23 But the act of writing itself can also bear witness to the permanence of divine presence for the community even in the face of impending or recalled destruction (e.g., Jubilees ch. 1). Jubilees can tell us a great deal about the nature of an open corpus of prophetic texts in Second Temple Judean tradition. The prophetic corpus is not a closed canon: new traditions are being composed as the corpus of authoritative literature grows. Scholars have challenged the dichotomy between the apocalyptic and the prophetic, and thereby opened up the path to considering these texts prophetic.24 Moreover, we have no evidence that these texts are any less than “scriptural,” “authoritative,” or “biblical” at Qumran (these terms, of course, have an anachronistic dimension in the third and second centuries b.c.e.). Thus, to classify Jubilees as prophecy, in the way that we might call Daniel or 4 Ezra or even Pesher Habakkuk prophecy,25 enables us to consider these texts in their own context. The possibility of writing new interpretive and liturgical and even mystical texts was still alive in late Second Temple Judaism. We see time and again that the possibility of prophetic inspiration and angelic visitation is invoked. By allowing ourselves to read Jubilees in the context of the texts and tradi-

23 See my essay “The Symbolic Significance of Writing in Ancient Judaism,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 139–73, reprinted in this volume, ch. 1 on pages 3–38. 24 George W. E. Nickelsburg, “The Nature and Function of Revelation in 1 Enoch, Jubilees, and Some Qumranic Documents,” in Pseudepigraphical Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Proceedings of the International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 12-14 January, 1997 (ed. Esther G. Chazon and Michael E. Stone; STDJ 31; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 91–119; once again, see James C. VanderKam’s two seminal articles that challenged the dichotomy between Prophecy and Apocalyptic and Prophecy and Wisdom Literature: “The Prophetic-Sapiential Origins of Apocalyptic Thought” and “Prophecy and Apocalyptics in the Ancient Near East”; see n. 10. See also Ithamar Grunewald’s discussion of what he calls “Para-Prophecy” in From Apocalypticism to Gnosticism (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1988), 17–18. 25 Cf. John Barton, Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988).


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tions it appropriates, we have begun to construct a context for a text that has deliberately effaced its own origin. Jubilees is located at a time when Scripture was being written and was very much in conversation with the old as it attaches itself to a discourse tied to a founder, which is authoritatively old by the time of the second century b.c.e.

III. Exemplars in Jubilees: Two Levels I will now turn to think about the role of the author in Jubilees. As I have argued elsewhere, the figure of Moses is invoked in order to authorize the work in the same manner as found in Deuteronomy.26 In Seconding Sinai, I argued that it is useful to bring Foucault’s concept of authorship to bear on the Deuteronomic tradition: What is the alternative to seeing this long-term expansion of Moses’ role—this long history of pseudonymous attribution and rewriting—as a history of fraud and tampering? Although Foucault is not primarily concerned, in his discussion of the author function, with ancient texts, and although he does not directly address the Hebrew Bible, one of his examples provides a useful contemporary analogue to the cases I am considering. It is the example of discourses that are inextricably linked to their founders, such as Marxism or Freudianism. When someone proclaims “Back to Marx!” or “Back to Freud!” she claims to represent the authentic doctrine of Marx or Freud, although she may express it in different words. Of course, today such people make known their own names, under which they author books. But, in some ancient cultures, the way to continue or return to the founder’s discourse was precisely to ascribe what one said or wrote, not to oneself, but rather to the founder.27

In the above passage, I consider the claim that “Moses” wrote Deuteronomy or Jubilees. If we are to take that claim seriously, what is involved? First, we must seriously consider what it could mean in general—in the exilic and postexilic periods—to attribute a tradition to a figure, to say, for example, that Isaiah wrote Second Isaiah or that Moses wrote Deuteronomy or that Jeremiah wrote the whole of Jeremiah. Regardless of whether there is an historical Isaiah, what is important is that the earliest traditions about Isaiah seem to have generated even more traditions that would attach themselves to the earlier Isaianic

26 27

See my discussion of this in Seconding Sinai, 1–40 (ch. 1). Najman, Seconding Sinai, 12.

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traditions. Just as we speak of Pythagorean texts—which are surely not physically or historically produced by Pythagoras himself, but which participate in a discourse attached to a founder—and just as we speak of Marxist or Freudian texts that were not written by either Marx or Freud, so we should perhaps speak of Isaianic texts, participating in an Isaianic discourse. Between founding figure and discourse there is a reciprocal and dynamic relationship: ascriptions to the figure constitute the discourse, while developments of the discourse constitute the figure’s evolving identity. What I want to argue is that Jubilees presents itself as part of the larger corpus of revelatory literature insofar as it participates in an already inspired discourse associated with a founder. These figures from the remote past keep writing, or at least communicating to later writers, traditions that are said to be part of a revered and inspired past. I want to distinguish my position here from someone who might argue that there are analogues to Greco-Roman schools of philosophy in late ancient Judaism. I do not claim that we can establish in any way that there are schools of Mosaic, Enochic or Ezrean Judaisms. Neither do I think that we have the evidence that we can clearly distinguish communities that discuss Mosaic law and Torah from those that do not. On my reading of these texts (e.g., Jubilees, 1 Enoch, Ben Sira), none of them defines a school. Neither do Jubilees or early Enochic traditions demonstrate that there were debates between actual schools of thought, or even show that there was an established framework of discipleship within a school. In short, there is simply no explicit textual or material evidence of the kind in the third and second centuries that supports the existence of two distinct schools associated with Enoch and Moses.28 Instead, distinctive founders are linked to particular discourses. These discourses are not mutually exclusive, but are instead overlapping—sometimes even within a single text. Jubilees is an example, as is 4 Ezra. In Jubilees we can find traces of Jeremianic, Deuteronomic, Enochic and Mosaic traditions; all of these have other expressions of these discourses which function and grow beside and apart from the book of Jubilees itself. But what we can see in Jubilees is that these

28 For a different view in support of Mosaic and Enochic schools see Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998).


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discourses that are linked to different founders can be absorbed within a single work without any obvious tension.29 It seems strange to construct or to posit schools when we do not have the evidence to support them. We do have much in the way of silence—and I am not prepared to construct arguments or communities or schools out of that silence. Rather, I want to focus on what we can reconstruct from the texts. There are many texts that are linked and associated with the figure of Moses, and others with Enoch, and still others with Ezra. We can trace those traditions and understand that one way in which traditions were composed and developed in the ancient world was to attach new tradition to older figures and accord that new tradition the status of the old, i.e., prophetic status. I think it would be very helpful to link these figures to textual traditions that we come to know as “biblical.” These traditions are emerging over many centuries through copying, the growth and transformation of community, and interpretation of the past in the present. The founding figure is the exemplar—here, Moses and the Angel of the Presence. It is clear that both Moses and the angel confer authority, but they are also responsible for the accuracy of the dictation and inscription of the traditions included in the book of Jubilees. They are the ones to whom the text is attributed. They are not only characters, but they are also given revelatory roles. So, at the level of authorship the text is both angelic and Mosaic.30 The figures of the angel and Moses are trusted as the tradents and producers as they accord a

29 See Annette Y. Reed, “Enochic and Mosaic Traditions in Jubilees: The Evidence of Angelology and Demonology,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 353–68. On p. 367 of the unabridged version she discusses the author of Jubilees: “If it is difficult to determine the author’s assessment of the relative worth of Enochic and Mosaic texts, this is perhaps not accidental. The task of weighing the relative worth of the constitutive elements of Israel’s literary heritage does not seem particularly central to its author’s own concerns. Rather, the main function of Jubilees’ epistemology—aside, of course, from asserting the text’s own authority—may be to mount the claim that the Jews actually had a literary heritage that predated the life of Moses.” See also the earlier discussion of Enoch and Moses in Jubilees in Grunewald, From Apocalypticism to Gnosticism, 35. 30 See James C. VanderKam, “The Angel of the Presence in the Book of Jubilees,” DSD 7 (2000): 378–93 and Najman, “Angels at Sinai.” See also the discussion of the Angel of the Presence in Andrei Orlov, “The Heavenly Counterpart of Moses in the Book of Jubilees,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubileees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 131–44; An expanded version is available in Biblica 88.2 (2007).

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heavenly and prophetic status to the tradition which builds upon and expands an already established and authoritative Mosaic tradition.31 There is, however, a second level throughout the book of Jubilees, a level on which well-known biblical figures function as exemplars, without the authorship or the dictation of the book being attributed to them.32 The book itself is comprised of narratives that are built upon the reputations of selected exemplary figures—all of whom play a significant role in the transmission of the very same tablets now being dictated to Moses by the Angel of the Presence. But these figures are worthy of receiving these traditions precisely because of their own adherence to the Law, their observance to the correct calendar and their perfect sacrifices. Finally, they will receive the tablets and copy them, or preserve them and transmit them to the next tradent. The very first tradent, Enoch, along with later tradents, who figure prominently in Jubilees as well as in the Pentateuch and other prophetic traditions, belong to what I want to call a second level of exemplarity. It is not that the text itself is attributed to Abraham or Enoch. Nor does the fact that they are entrusted with the heavenly tablets render them authors of the text of Jubilees. Rather, they serve as examples to the reader of how to be worthy of receiving the heavenly tablets. The narratives about them, their own personal and spiritual transformations, and the successful transmission of the tablets to their progeny, enable us to understand the redemptive nature of the tablets themselves as they are preserved until the time of Moses and (as the readers of Jubilees know) beyond. The myth of context, i.e., that the text itself is written in the time of Moses, is actually a redemptive narrative of preservation and transmission of the authoritative tradition. Each figure—be it Noah or Enoch, Abraham or Levi—shows himself to be part of the distinguished, holy, and inspired line receiving and transmitting the traditions. The book of Jubilees is a book that demonstrates what it is to be exemplary and to be worthy of prophecy. The stories comprise the history of the heavenly tradition and its interface with earthly transmitters.

31

Here, see the first two chapters of Seconding Sinai, 1–40 (ch. 1) and 41–69 (ch. 2). See Benjamin G. Wright III, “From Generation to Generation: The Sage as Father in Early Jewish Literature,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. Charlotte Hempel and Judith Lieu; JSJSup 111; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 309–32. 32


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Time does not permit me to explore the various ways in which the second level of exemplars is developed along with the framework of the first level of Mosaic and angelic exemplars in Jubilees. It is the case, however, whether it is pentateuchal reworking or the absorption of larger traditions available both to the pentateuchal compiler(s) and to Jubilees, that the narratives about those who are worthy of transmitting the tradition provide us with a context in which we can begin to understand both the way Second Temple traditions are emerging, and how the authors and communities behind these “new” texts seem to understand themselves to be extending and expanding older paradigms.33

IV. Conclusion Jubilees participates in prophetic discourse by attaching its origin to Mosaic recording and angelic dictation. Thus, the text is presented as a revelation insofar as it is the earthly copy of an already established divine and heavenly original. This is done by emphasizing the role of the exemplar in generating and sustaining new discourses in Judean traditions from Second Temple times. Thus, the exemplar is himself the prophet who receives and transmits inspired tradition. But in addition to this, we must consider the role of the exemplars embedded within the narrative of Jubilees itself. These are the exemplars who demonstrate in their own life a kind of perfection that merits receiving the gift of reading and writing and the tablets of the heavens. The evidence we have points to discourses that are associated with particular founders, such as Enoch, Moses or Ezra. This is surely not a catch-all for Second Temple Jewish texts or, even more broadly, traditions in antiquity. However, the consideration of the exemplar is a way of organizing specific groups of materials. By attributing this “new” discourse to a founder of old, the new texts achieve a kind of continuity with the old. And yet, many additional traditions are part of the “new” discourse and can transform the earlier traditions. The text of Jubilees understands itself to stand in the long line of prophetic traditions associated with Moses. And, just as traditions associated with Daniel and Jeremiah continue to grow during the

33 On this point see Reed, “Enochic and Mosaic Traditions in Jubilees: The Evidence of Angelology and Demonology,” 365.

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period of Jubilees and later, so too, traditions associated with Moses can continue to be part of Mosaic prophecy—not pseudo-prophecy, but texts and traditions that are as authentic as the very words of the prophets of old. The textual evidence shows us that when we try to classify these nonbiblical, but authoritative texts from Second Temple times, they turn out to be almost indistinguishable from biblical traditions of that time. When we stop thinking in terms of later theological and canonical divides, what we find are texts like Jubilees—texts that easily move back and forth between the Enochic and the Mosaic, between the heavenly and the earthly, and between the esoteric and the accessible.34

34 I thank John Collins, Paul Franks, Florentino García Martínez, Eibert Tigchelaar, Robert A. Kraft, Eva Mroczek and Benjamin G. Wright III for their helpful conversations and generous comments.

PART III

SOUL FORMATION AND THE QUEST FOR PERFECTION

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CAIN AND ABEL AS CHARACTER TRAITS: A STUDY IN THE ALLEGORICAL TYPOLOGY OF PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA*

The writings of Philo of Alexandria contain three extensive treatments of the Cain and Abel narrative: On the Sacrifices of Abel and Cain, The Worse Attacks the Better, and On the Posterity and Exile of Cain. This paper will argue that Philo’s interpretation of Cain and Abel is typological, and that the types in question are both cosmological and psychological. The types of Cain and Abel are presented as two aspects of the human soul, representing the human capacity for good and the human capacity for evil. Consequently, reflection on these two types can be a source of moral teaching. My argument may sound controversial. For Philo is sometimes said not to practice typological interpretation at all, but rather allegorical interpretation, and the two kinds of interpretation are sometimes thought to be mutually exclusive. Before turning to the details of Philo’s interpretation of the Cain and Abel narratives, then, I will first discuss the nature of typology and its relationship to allegory. As I will argue, the idea that they are mutually exclusive arises from particular theological presuppositions and has unfortunate consequences for the study of the history of ancient biblical interpretation. I will also question the claim that Philo does not engage in typological interpretation by considering Philo’s interpretations and terminology. Philo’s interpretation of the story of Eve’s children, I will argue, is at once both typological and allegorical, and it provides an important illustration of what is theologically and historiographically at stake.

* I have benefited from the incisive comments of John Cavadini, Mary Rose D’Angelo, Paul Franks, Eric Gruen, Graham Hammill, Blake Leyerle, John P. Meier, Judith Newman, David O’Connor, Michael Signer and Gregory E. Sterling. This essay was originally published in Eve’s Children: The Biblical Stories Retold and Interpreted in Jewish and Christian Traditions (ed. Gerard Luttikhuizen; TBN 5; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 107–18, reprinted in this volume with permission from Brill.

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Allegory and typology have often been contrasted as two fundamentally different ways of interpreting Scripture. While allegorical interpretation has been said to focus on the cosmic and the spiritual, typological interpretation has been characterized as more historical and literal.1 However, although it is true that allegorical interpretation tends to be cosmological and that typological interpretations tend to be oriented towards history, the distinction between the two is less clear-cut than one might think. Since the reformation, scholars have denigrated allegorical interpretation (e.g., in the writings of Philo of Alexandria and of Origen) because it appeared far removed from the literal sense of Scripture. Instead, typological interpretation (e.g., in the writings of Paul) was celebrated.2 The focus on the literal sense of Scripture—and, since the enlightenment, on historical study of the Bible—produced anti-allegorical polemics that still find their way into current scholarship. Philo himself uses the term tupos throughout his writings, so one would think that there is good reason to call his interpretations typological.3 Still many scholars deny that Philo engages in typological exegesis at all. For example, Leonhard Goppelt writes: Philo’s exposition of patriarchal history contains no typological interpretation at all. Whenever the historicity of the patriarchs has not been completely destroyed by allegory, they are presented as ethical “types,” or ideals, and do not fit our definition according to which a type must point to something greater in the future.4

In this passage, typological interpretation is restricted to a particular kind of historical typology that can be found in the New Testament. Central use of the term tupos in an interpretation is insufficient,

1 Jean Danielou, From Shadows to Reality: Studies in the Biblical Typology of the Fathers (London: Burns and Oates, 1960), and Jon Whitman, Interpretation and Allegory: Antiquity to the Modern Period (Leiden: Brill, 2000), esp. 33–45; K. J. Woolcombe, “The Biblical Origins and Patristic Development of Typology,” in Essays on Typology (Naperville: SCM Press, 1957), 39–75. 2 See Thomas H. Luxon, Literal Figures: Puritan Allegory and the Reformation Crisis in Representation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 34–76. 3 E.g., Opif. 19, 34, 71; Leg. 1.61, 1.100, 3.83; Sacr. 135, 137; Det. 76–78, 83; Post. 94, 99; Deus 43–44; Mos. 2.76; Decal. 101. 4 Leonhard Goppelt, TYPOS: The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in the New (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing, 1982), 46.

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according to Goppelt, for classification of that interpretation as typological. It is also required that the interpretation operate within the framework of salvation history. It is in this sense of historicity5 that typology is said to be historical, whereas allegorical exegesis is said to be symbolic, spiritual and interested only in the cosmic and the eternal, not in the narrative of Scripture. It seems an odd policy to apply the term “typological interpretation” only to interpretations with particular theological presuppositions. Indeed, others use such presuppositions to distinguish different species of typology instead. Thus, for example, Woolcombe writes: There is no theological similarity whatever between the typology of Philo and that of St. Paul. The only point of contact between the two writers is their common use of the typological vocabulary. But whereas in St. Paul the vocabulary is harnessed to the exposition of God’s redemptive work in history, in Philo it is harnessed to allegorism. It is in fact hardly possible to separate typology from allegorism in Philo, and if the word typology must be used of certain aspects of Philonic exegesis, it should always be qualified by the adjective symbolic, in contradistinction to the historical typology of the New Testament.6

However, the extreme language in this passage—“no theological similarity whatever,” nothing more than a lexical “point of contact”—suggests that it has the same underlying motivation as the outright denial that Philo practices typological interpretation: to enforce the sense of a radical distinction between Jewish and Christian modes of exegesis. From a scholarly viewpoint, such motivations should be suspect. For they are all but bound to lead to the effacement of the profound exegetical and theological continuities between ancient Judaism and early Christianity.7 Nevertheless, Woolcombe is right to say that it is “hardly possible to separate typology from allegorism in Philo.” Philo’s typological interpretation should be seen as a species of allegorical interpretation. 5 See Luxon, Literal Figures, 53: “The real reality signified in typology turns out to be every bit as historical, spiritual, eternal, timeless, ever present (and so, historically speaking, ever absent) as God and his majesty, the very things typology was first defined as prohibited from figuring.” 6 Woolcombe, “The Biblical Origins and Patristic Development of Typology,” 65. 7 On the deep connections between Jewish and Christian interpretive traditions, see James L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as it was at the start of the Common Era (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), and Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: Hybrids, Heretics, and the Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004).

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Indeed, as the term “allegorism” suggests, Philo is interested in explaining the cosmic significance of biblical texts. This interest should not, however, be misrepresented as incompatible with respect for the literal meaning of the biblical text, whether narrative or legal. As Goppelt writes: He [Philo] retells and explains biblical history and the very details of patriarchal and Mosaic history. Above all, he insists that the literal sense of the Law must be fulfilled, quite apart from its deeper meaning. (Migr. 89–93)8

For Philo, the narrative of Israel is the story of a community that strives for perfection by observing Mosaic law. But observance of Mosaic law requires not only attention to the laws in the Torah but also use of biblical narratives within a moral pedagogy rooted within a deep account of the complexity of the human soul. Indeed, as I will argue, Philo’s typological analysis of the Cain and Abel narratives should be understood as an exercise not only in cosmology but also in moral psychology and paideia.9

II It is not difficult to show that the term tupos plays an important role in Philo’s exegesis. For example, in De opificio mundi 18, tupoi are implemented by the creator from the archetype or paradigm of the overall plan for the cosmos: Thus after having received in his own soul, as it were in wax, the figures of these objects severally, he carries about the image of a city which is the creation of his mind. Then by his innate power of memory, he recalls the images of the various parts of this city, and imprints their types yet more distinctly in it: and like a good craftsman he begins to build the city of stones and timber, keeping his eye upon his pattern and making the visible and tangible objects correspond in each case to the incorporeal ideas.

8

Goppelt, Typos, 48. Cf. John Chrysostom, On Vainglory 39 (ANF) where the Cain and Abel narrative is taken to be an important text for moral pedagogy. See also Judith L. Kovacs, “Divine Pedagogy and the Gnostic Teacher according to Clement of Alexandria,” JECS 9 (2001): 3–25. 9


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In another example from De decalogo 10–11, Philo describes transgressions upon the soul as tupoi and suggests that re-educating the soul is a precondition for receiving the Law: He who is about to receive the holy laws must first cleanse his soul and purge away the deep-set stains which it has contracted through contact with the motley promiscuous horde of men in cities. And to this he cannot attain except by dwelling apart, nor that at once but only long afterwards, and not till the marks which his old transgressions have imprinted on him gradually grown faint, melted away and disappeared.

As in the above two examples, Philo’s writings are replete with references to tupos. In fact, tupos is a prominent member of a chain of words that appear in Philo’s interpretations. Other members of the chain include eikon (image or copy), character (stamp, standard, or figure of letters, but also character type) and phantasia (impression or appearance). Perhaps it is helpful to think of tupos as character10 or, more specifically, character trait. The English or Greek word character like type has a meaning with two dimensions. 1) A tupos or character is a legible imprint. It is a mark left by something else, which the mark now resembles as an image resembles an original. I will call this the copying dimension of the meaning of tupos. A tupos is a copy or eikon of some original, which Philo calls an archetupos or paradigma. For example, according to Philo the archetype of evil is Cain, so every self-lover shares in Cain’s sin and in the murder of Abel: Wherefore let every lover of self, surnamed “Cain,” be taught that he has slain that which shares Abel’s name, the specimen, the part, the impression stamped to resemble him, not the original, not the class, not the pattern, though he fancies that these, which are imperishable, have perished together with the living beings. Let someone say, taunting and ridiculing him: What have you done, poor wretch? Does not the God-loving creed, which you imagine you have annihilated, live with God? You have proved to be your own murderer, having slain by guile that which alone had the power to enable you to live a guiltless life. (Det. 78)

Thus according to Philo, types are less perfect than the originals, yet they imitate the originals and resemble them as copies of those originals. 2) A tupos or character trait is a disposition to act in a particular way, a virtue or a vice. It is a disposition that a human being may acquire

10

See, e.g., Leg. 1.61 where character is a synonym for tuposis.

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through habit or education. I will call this the psychological dimension of the meaning of tupos. Here it is important to note that, as with a piece of wax, a character trait imprinted upon a human soul may be effaced, and the soul may be restamped with a different, even opposite character trait. Hence the fragility of virtue. For there is no guarantee that a soul will retain the good character with which it has been imprinted. As Philo writes: The mind, like wax, receives the impress and retains it vividly, until forgetfulness, the opponent of memory levels out the imprint, and makes it indistinct, or entirely effaces it. (Deus 44)

But the wax analogy also implies the possibility of repentance. For a bad character trait, just like a good one, may be replaced. Here Philo is perhaps reworking Plato’s discussion of the waxen imprints upon the soul in Theaetetus 191c. However, Plato is concerned with the apprehension and retention of knowledge, while Philo focuses on the moral formation of the soul through action. Philo seems to believe, not only that all human beings have the capacity for virtuous behavior, but also that everyone is actually born in a state of goodness. It is then left to each individual to reinforce this innate goodness through good action, or else it will be compromised through transgression. Notably, not every place is conducive to virtuous behavior. Most famously, Philo insists that the city is a place of corruption. That is why Israel must leave Egypt and receive the Law in the desert (Decal. 11). It is helpful to compare Israel’s need to leave the city with the philosopher’s need to leave the cave in Plato’s Republic, Book XII. The philosopher returns to the cave to facilitate the enlightenment of his fellows, and to put in order the city and its citizens as well as themselves (Republic 539e–540b). Similarly, the Israelites must sojourn in the wilderness so that they may eventually constitute a new more perfect city in accordance with the Law received in the wilderness. In order to bring together the cosmological and psychological dimensions of Philo’s typology, it is helpful to note that the laws themselves are described as tupoi, images or impressions which the Israelites are told to stamp upon their hearts. Cosmologically speaking, the law of Moses is a copy of the law of nature.11 To live in accordance with the

11 See my article “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: an Unthinkable Paradox?” SPhilo 15 (2003): 54-63, reprinted in this volume, ch. 5 on pages 107–18.


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law of Moses is to live in accordance with the cosmic order created by God. Psychologically speaking, to observe Mosaic law is to efface the evil that results from transgression and foolishness, and to restamp one’s soul with the character of goodness and virtue. Consider Philo’s discussion of how ceasing from work on the seventh day enables a soul to live in accordance with the great archetype: Let us not then neglect this great archetype of the two best lives, the practical and the contemplative, but with that pattern ever before our eyes engrave in our hearts the clear image and stamp of them both, so making mortal nature, as far as may be, like the immortal by saying and doing what we ought. (Decal. 101)

According to Philo, Cain exemplifies the type of wickedness, while Abel exemplifies that of holiness. In a sense, these biblical characters are types. For every detail related about them in the biblical narrative—their names, their chosen professions, their conceptions of God and their actions—contains a moral lesson about the impression of vice or virtue upon the human soul. I suggest that the reason for this is that Cain and Abel exemplify character traits, and their conflict exemplifies the conflict between these traits in every human soul. The conflict between Cain and Abel becomes an allegory of psychic conflict within the soul of every human being. Moreover they are to be understood as two aspects of a single soul. According to Philo, Cain’s deepest problem is his flawed conception of God, which is reflected in his very name. For Cain believes himself to possess all things. In contrast, Abel’s “name means one who refers (all things) to God” (Sacr. 2). The brothers’ chosen professions reflect and reinforce their fundamental differences. Philo emphasizes that Cain’s chosen profession involves him with earthly and inanimate objects. So he does not choose to prepare for a future life and to pay attention to living things. Similarly, Philo points out that Cain is called a tiller of the soil because he refers all things to himself and to his own mind (Sacr. 51). In fact, it is Cain’s lack of understanding that the land is really foreign and belongs only to God that misleads him in the direction of a self-loving character trait and ultimately causes the destruction of his soul. In contrast, Abel chooses to tend living beings. Thus: Abel’s choice of work as a shepherd is understood as preparatory to rulership and kingship. (QG 1.59)

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The praiseworthiness of shepherding and its connection to leadership is developed further in On the Life of Moses and again in the essay On the Sacrifices of Cain and Abel: With good reason then is Abel who refers all that is best to God called a shepherd. (Sacr. 51)

Unlike Cain, Abel is prepared for a future life: So then when God added the good conviction Abel to the soul, he took away the foolish opinion, Cain. So too, when Abraham left this mortal life, “he is added to the people of God,” (Gen 25:8), in that he inherited incorruption and became equal to the angels, for angels—those unbodied and blessed souls—are the host and people of God. (Sacr. 5)

The birth of Abel only worsens Cain’s negative disposition. For Abel’s disposition is preferable to Cain’s, and so Cain’s soul abandons him when Abel is born. It is a fact that there are two opposite and contending views of life, one which ascribes all things to the mind as our master, whether we are using our reason or our senses, in motion or at rest, the other which follows God, whose handiwork it believes itself to be. . . . Now both these views or conceptions lie in the womb of the single soul. But when they are brought to the birth they must be separated, for enemies cannot live together forever. Thus, so long as the soul had not brought forth the God-loving principle in Abel, the self-loving principle in Cain made her his dwelling. But when she bore the principle which acknowledges the Cause, she abandoned that which looks to the mind with its fancied wisdom. (Sacr. 2–4)

As Philo goes on to say, the two opposite views of life represented by Cain and Abel cannot coexist in peace. Like Jacob and Esau, Cain and Abel must be separated: She had conceived the two contending natures of good and evil and considered earnestly, as wisdom bade her, received a vivid impression of each, when she perceived them leaping and as in a skirmish preluding the war that should be between them. And therefore she besought God to show her what had befallen her, and how it might be remedied. He answered her question thus: “two nations are in the womb.” That was what had befallen her—to bear both good and evil. But again “two peoples shall be separated from thy womb.” This is the remedy, that good and evil be separated and set apart from each other and no longer have the same habitation. (Sacr. 4)

Note that, by the time of Jacob and Esau, the philautos (the self-lover) has become a type of a whole character and not just a character trait


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or type. However, according to Philo, Cain and Abel may represent character traits, but not complete characters. The types of Cain and Abel do not live in sufficient separation, and they come into conflict as a result of their different conceptions of worship. Reinforcing through his daily actions his misconceived sense of his own importance, Cain’s type is that of self-lover: the philautos (Sacr. 3). Consequently, he is in no hurry to thank God for what he takes to be the fruits of his own labor. And, when he gets around to it, he selfishly fails to offer the first of his crops to God. Instead, he keeps the first and the best for himself. Again, Cain understands the land to be his, while in fact it belongs to God. For Cain, humanity comes first and his sustenance is more important than the acknowledgment of God: There are two charges against the self-lover (i.e., Cain): one that he made his thank-offering to God “after some days”12 instead of at once; the other that he offered of the fruits and not of the earliest fruits, or in a single word the first fruits. (Sacr. 52) Those who assert that everything that is involved in thought or perception or speech is a free gift of their own soul, seeing that they introduce an impious and atheistic opinion, must be assigned to the race of Cain, who, while incapable even of ruling himself, made bold to say that he had full possession of all other things as well. (Post. 42)

These charges are not directed only at Cain. They are directed at every self-lover—that is at anyone who allows the type of Cain to become the dominant character trait in one’s soul. Abel’s sacrifice, however, illustrates further his God-loving nature: But Abel brought other offerings and in other manner. His offering was living, Cain’s was lifeless. His was first in age and value, Cain’s but second. His had strength and superior fatness, Cain’s had but weakness. For we are told that Abel offered of the firstlings of the sheep and of their fat (Gen 4:4). (Sacr. 88)

Again, of Abel’s sacrifice Philo writes: Abel offers the firstlings not only from the first-born, but from the fat, showing that the gladness and richness of the soul, all that protects and gives joy, should be set apart for God. (Sacr. 136)

12

Philo is referring to Gen 4:3.

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Again, Philo is not writing only about Abel, that is, the character in the Genesis narrative. For Philo, the narrative is about the character trait in the soul. The character trait of virtue is imprinted upon the soul in the form of grateful, joyous acknowledgement of God. Of course, God prefers Abel’s sacrifice. And it is in jealous response to God’s preferential treatment that Cain kills Abel. But this evil act does not solve Cain’s problem. It only exacerbates his problem by removing the possibility that Cain will come under Abel’s virtuous influence: It would have been to the advantage of Cain, the lover of self, to have guarded Abel; for had he carefully preserved him, he would have been able to lay claim only to a mixed “half and half ” life indeed, but would not have drained the cup of sheer unmitigated wickedness. (Det. 68)

Thus vice is self-destructive. Indeed, Philo argues that it is preferable to die like Abel than to live like Cain, in a state of eternal death: But in my judgment and in that of my friends, preferable to life with impious men would be death with pious men; for awaiting those who die in this way there will be undying life, but awaiting those who live in that way there will be eternal death. (Post. 39)

Immediately after Cain’s fratricide, God asks him, “Where is your brother?” According to Philo, the point of God’s question is to offer Cain an opportunity to confess his sin and to repent: Why does he who knows all ask the fratricide, “Where is Abel, your brother?” He wishes that man himself of his own will shall confess, in order that he may not pretend that all things seem to come about through necessity. For he who killed through necessity would confess that he acted unwillingly; for that which is not in our power is not to be blamed. But he who sins of his own free will denies it, for sinners are obliged to repent. Accordingly he [Moses] inserts in all parts of his legislation that the Deity is not the cause of evil. (QG 1.68)

Cain rejects the offer to repent. Still, God’s question, as interpreted by Philo, is of great significance. For it shows that repentance is always possible, even for someone whose vicious character is inscribed in his very name. Consequently, although God created everything, including the archetype of evil, only man is responsible for the evil impressed upon his soul and realized in the world. The murder of Abel certainly does not succeed in exterminating virtue from biblical history. For Seth, who is born after Abel’s death, continues to exemplify the type of goodness and holiness exempli-


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fied by his dead brother.13 Later, all those who are deemed righteous are considered to be from the “seed of Seth,” while all those who are deemed evil are said to be from the “seed of Cain.”14 Those who assert that everything that is involved in thought or perception or speech is a free gift of their own soul, seeing that they introduce an impious and atheistic opinion, must be assigned to the race of Cain, who, while incapable even of ruling himself, made bold to say that he had full possession of all other things as well. But those who do not claim as their own all that is fair in creation, but acknowledge all as due to the gift of God, being men of real nobility, sprung not from a long line of rich ancestors but from lovers of virtue, must remain enrolled under Seth as the head of their race. (Post. 42)

This passage brings out two points to which I want to give special emphasis. First, in Philo’s view, theology is the root of all good and of all evil. For it is first and foremost one’s conception of God, and of one’s own relation to the cosmos created by God, that impresses either the type of virtue or the type of vice upon one’s soul. It is from one’s theology that choices and actions flow, actions that tend to reinforce the initial impression of good or evil. And it is one’s theology that determines whether one belongs to the race of Cain or to the race of Seth—although, as I have said, Philo thinks that repentance is always possible. Second, the story of Cain and Abel is important because the brothers exemplify the ways in which the archetypes of virtue and vice—the tree of life and the tree of knowledge of good and evil—may come to leave their copies upon the human soul. In Philo’s view, our situation is fundamentally that of Cain and Abel. We inhabit the same cosmos, and the formation of our souls is no less dependent on our theological convictions, on the choices we make, on the actions we perform, and on the influences to which we expose ourselves. So we have much to learn from Cain and Abel. For they pioneered the kind of life that each of us must live. And their tragic story exemplifies the pitfalls we must all seek to avoid.

13 Although the biblical text implies that Seth is a replacement for Abel, Philo explicitly rejects the idea that one person can replace another. 14 For further discussion about the descendents of Cain and Seth see the contributions of Jürgen Tubach, “Seth and the Sethites in Early Syriac Literature,” and Gerard P. Luttikhuizen, “Gnostic Ideas about Eve’s Children and the Salvation of Humanity,” in Eve’s Children: The Biblical Stories Retold and Interpreted in Jewish and Christian Traidtions (ed. Gerard P. Luttikhuizen; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 187–201 and 203–17.

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Since Cain and Abel exemplify types—at once cosmological and psychological—it is not surprising that they are echoed by their successors in the biblical narratives. Thus Philo compares Abraham, Jacob, Isaac and Moses with Abel. And he compares Esau and Laban to Cain. In this way, Philo’s typological interpretation of the Cain and Abel story enables him to use that story as a lens through which to read other biblical narratives. At the same time, however, Philo also reads the Cain and Abel narrative through a lens provided by other biblical passages. In particular, Philo repeatedly connects Cain and Abel with laws that are given only later in the biblical story. This is because, I suggest, Cain and Abel represent the problem for which the law of Moses is the solution. As the story of Cain and Abel shows, we are all highly impressionable and therefore capable of great good or great evil, and each of us is responsible for the effects upon our soul of every choice or action. However, as I said earlier, the laws of Moses are images or impressions, which the Israelites are told to stamp upon their hearts. The laws provide, as it were, solutions to the problems exemplified by Cain. They are designed to implant healthy theological convictions, to efface evil impressions and to reinforce good ones. Thus, for example, the tiller of soil is commanded to bring the first fruits as an offering to God, and to profess God’s dominion over a land to which the farmer is ultimately foreign. Philo’s analysis of Cain brings out the wisdom of this law, which manifests a deep understanding of the human soul. I have argued, then, that Philo’s interpretation of the Cain and Abel narrative in Gen 4 may justly be called typological, and that his typology has both cosmological and psychological dimensions. Indeed, the children of Eve have a special importance within Philo’s biblical exegesis as a whole. For their story illustrates—in an exemplary fashion— some of the central presuppositions of Philo’s exegetical endeavor: the impressionability of the human soul, which can be horrifying or sublime; the responsibility of each individual for himself or herself, which is endless; and the intimate relationship between cosmic structures and Mosaic laws, which both stem from a single creator and from a perfect paradigm.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE QUEST FOR PERFECTION IN ANCIENT JUDAISM*

Introduction The importance of the Hellenistic context for ancient Judaism and Christianity cannot be emphasized enough.1 It is obvious for Greek texts but perhaps less obvious for Hebrew or Aramaic texts. Part of what I want to show here is an intimacy—both intellectual and religious—between texts of our period, in spite of cultural and linguistic divides. In what follows, I will first consider two Platonic paths to perfection and then consider two ancient Jewish examples which imagine the experience of exile to be redemptive—perhaps even salvific. The question is whether it is possible for Jews in forced or self-imposed exile to find it possible to recover that which is lost to Judaism in a post-destruction environment. The first example is drawn from late Second Temple Judaism, the corpus of Philo of Alexandria, a Jew writing in Greek in Alexandria in the first century c.e. The second example is 4 Ezra, a book that now survives in Syriac and Latin and that purports to have been written 30 years after the destruction of the First Temple in 586 b.c.e., but that is thought to

* I dedicate my essay to Stanley Cavell in gratitude for his work on perfectionism. This essay was originally published in French as “La Recherche de la Perfection dans le Judaïsme Ancien,” in Les Élites dans le Monde Biblique (ed. Jean Riaud; Biblioteque d’Études Juives; Paris: Honoré Champion, 2006), 99–116, reprinted with permission. 1 Cf. on this subject John J. Collins and Gregory S. Sterling, eds., Hellenism in the Land of Israel (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001); Martin Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus, Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2 Jh.s v.Chr (Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1973); Robert Kraft, “The Multiform Jewish Heritage of Early Christianity,” in Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults: Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty (ed. Jacob Neusner; 3; Leiden; Brill, 1975), 174–99. Also visit for more of Kraft’s essays online; Hindy Najman “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in Ancient Judaism,” DSD 13 n. 1 (2006): 99–113, reprinted in this volume, ch. 7 on pages 143–59.

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have actually been written after the destruction of the Second Temple by a Jew writing in Hebrew or Aramaic. My paper intends to think about what the aspiration to be perfect is—whether it means to be god-like, live in a pure or holy way, or to live in accordance with Mosaic law. My goal in adducing these examples is not to answer questions, but rather to raise and explore them. What happens when the ethics of perfection is transferred from a Greek pagan context to the context of ancient Judaism? What happens to the aspiration to perfection within a community that undergoes the destruction of its political and religious institutions, and that is exiled from its homeland?

Problematizing Perfection The term perfection signifies an end-state of moral progress, beyond which further progress is neither necessary nor possible. There are at least two conceptions of perfection, all making use of the above notion. The first conception: Human beings are perfectible, i.e., perfection is attainable and good. On the second conception: Human beings are not perfectible, i.e., perfection is unattainable, but it can still serve as an ideal guiding moral progress. This is essentially the view presented by Pierre Hadot in his well-known and extensive work on ancient Greek philosophy: there may be no living sages, but the idea of the sage is of central importance. What would such an ideal do for an individual? Hadot would respond by emphasizing the ongoing formation of the soul in an everincreasing approximation which can never reach its goal but which nevertheless constitutes moral progress.2 What happens to the aspiration to perfection within a community that undergoes the destruction of its political and religious institutions,

2 Pierre Hadot, Qu’est-ce la Philosophie Antique? (Paris: Gallimard, 1995); idem, Exercises Spirituels et Philosophie Antique (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1987). For a helpful introduction to Exercises Spirituels et Philosophie Antique, see Arnold Davidson, “Pierre Hadot and the Spiritual Phenomenon of Ancient Philosophy,” in Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault (trans. Michael Chase; Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1995), 1–45.

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and that is exiled from its homeland? Is perfection, or progress towards perfection, to be thought of only in terms of restoration and return from exile? Or are there ways in which perfection, or progress towards perfection, are possible even in the midst of suffering—perhaps even by means of suffering? Could there be a suffering sage?

Two Paths to Perfection In order to pursue these questions, it is helpful to distinguish two paths to perfection. Both find expression in Plato’s dialogues. Each may be understood in accordance with the conceptions of perfectionism discussed above. The first path is the path of desire. A person on this path desires to become like the sage. In Plato’s Phaedrus and Symposium, it is Socrates whom his disciples, friends, and others desire to be like. If we understand this path in accordance with the first conception of perfectionism, then we will think it possible to attain the perfection of becoming just like the sage—in this case, just like Socrates. From the viewpoint of the second conception, however, the sage represents an unattainable ideal so that Socrates himself is no more than a good approximation to the sage, as approximation whom others wish to emulate. The second path is the path of dying. A person on this path undertakes to liberate the soul from the body. A life of self-improvement culminates in death, when the body dies, but the soul lives on, eternally blessed and freed from exile and corruptibility or imperfection. Here the relevant Platonic dialogues are the Phaedo and Apology. It is possible to read these dialogues in accordance with the first conception of perfectionism, so that death is the actual attainment of perfection. But, in the Apology, Socrates is not prepared to dismiss the possibility that he will continue to philosophize after death, examining the dead in search of wisdom, which would seem to suggest that death will not be the attainment of perfection. One may therefore arrive at an interpretation that expresses the second conception of perfectionism. The death of the sage may serve as a further approximation to the unattainable ideal of perfection.

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chapter twelve Philo of Alexandria

In the writings of Philo, who is a sage?3 And is it possible for us to become sages? The first question is easy to answer: Abraham and Moses are explicitly called sages. But, when one tries to answer the second question, as when one tries to answer almost any interesting question about Philo, one finds that it is very difficult to ascribe to him an unequivocal position. Let us consider how, in his discussions of Abraham and Moses, Philo deals with the path of desire. Does Philo think that we ought to try to be like Abraham and Moses? If so, what does that mean—how were they perfect and how can we learn from them? Philo notes that Abraham can be classified as ensouled law: For in these men [patriarchs] we have laws endowed with life and reason, and Moses extolled them for two reasons. First he wished to show that the enacted ordinances are not inconsistent with nature; and secondly that those who wish to live in accordance with the laws as they stand have no difficult task, seeing that the first generations before any at all of the particular statutes was set in writing following the unwritten law with perfect ease, so that one might properly say that the enacted laws are nothing else than memorials of the life of the ancients, preserving to a later generation their actual words and deeds. (Abr. 5)

This claim is no small matter, as I have written elsewhere.4 To be ensouled law is to have inscribed on your soul the law of nature and to have internalized right reason. Still more than this, however, Abraham is said to be self-taught: Great indeed are the efforts expended both by lawgivers and by laws in every nation in filling the souls of free men with comfortable hopes; but he who gains this virtue of hopefulness without being led to it by exhortation or command has been educated into it by a law which nature has laid down, a law unwritten yet intuitively learnt. (Abr. 16)

In other words, he did not look to another human being for guidance on how to be exemplary. Rather, Abraham was able to internalize

3 See David Winston, “Sage and Super-Sage in Philo of Alexandria,” in The Ancestral Philosophy. Hellenistic Philosophy in Second Temple Judaism: Essays of David Winston (ed. Gregory Sterling; Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2001), 171–80. 4 Cf. Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 70–137 (ch. 3 and 4).


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right reason on his own and guide himself towards understanding the divine cosmos and more generally the law of nature: So, then the man of worth is elder and first, and so must he be called; but younger and last is every fool who pursues the ways which belong to rebellious youth and stand lowest in the list. So much for all this, but to these praises of the Sage, so many and so great, Moses adds this crowning saying “that this man did the divine law and the divine commands.” He did them, not taught by written words, but unwritten nature gave him the zeal to follow where wholesome and untainted impulse led him. And when they have God’s promises before them what should men do but trust in them most firmly? Such was the life of the first, the founder of the nation, one who obeyed the law, some will say, but rather, as our discourse has shown, himself a law and an unwritten statute. (Abr. 275–276)

This is Philo’s explanation of something that has puzzled other exegetes: Abraham is said to have fulfilled all the laws (Gen 26:5), but how could this be, since Abraham did not receive the Law? As I have argued elsewhere, according to Philo it is possible only because Mosaic law and the law of nature are at one with each other. Abraham anticipated the fulfillment of the law of Moses insofar as he fulfilled the law of nature. His own excellence and right-mindedness carried him through.5 Is this perfection? Or does Philo reserve perfection for God alone? I leave this question open for discussion. Can we be like Abraham? One answer is: Yes. We can be like Abraham by following the path of desire. Philo tells us that the enacted laws are memorials to the lives of the patriarchs, including Abraham. By obeying the laws and by reading the narratives, we can learn to be like the patriarchs, including Abraham. On the other hand, it seems on reflection that we cannot be like Abraham by following the path of desire. For Abraham is precisely the sage who becomes who he is without following the path of desire, without needing the guidance of another sage’s life! Still, Philo never says that Abraham alone is capable of being selftaught. He never says that no other human can attain this degree of 5 Najman, Seconding Sinai, 70–117 (ch. 3); Also see my other essays in this volume, “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?” Studia Philonica Anneal 15 (2003): 54–63, reprinted in this volume in ch. 5 on pages 107–18 and “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” SPhilo 11 (1999): 55–73, reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106.

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perfection. But he also never tells us—perhaps it would be impossible to tell—how one may go about becoming self-taught. Whoever is capable of becoming self-taught does not need to be told! So, can we be like Abraham? Yes and no. I turn now to our second figure, Moses. Philo repeatedly uses the language of perfection to characterize Moses: I purpose to write the life of Moses, whom some describe as the legislator of the Jews, others as the interpreter of the Holy Laws. I hope to bring the story of this greatest and most perfect of men to the knowledge of such as deserve not to remain in ignorance of it. (Mos. 1.1)

Moreover, Philo describes Moses not only as a living sage, but also as the most perfect of men, as, king, the perfect expression of ensouled law, “the king is a living law” (Mos. 2.4) and as attaining the highest place in four respects: as high priest, legislator, king and prophet. But, since to this king, lawgiver and high priest who, though possessed of so generous a heritage of fortune’s gifts, is after all but a mortal creature, countless things both human and divine are wrapped in obscurity, Moses necessarily obtained prophecy also, in order that through the providence of God he might discover what by reasoning he could not grasp. For prophecy finds its way to what the mind fails to reach. (Mos. 2.6)

Philo describes Moses’ careful training and education in mathematics and music (Mos. 1.23). Clearly, Philo intends us to take Moses as our model on the path of desire. Indeed, Moses is not only ensouled law, like Abraham, which makes his life worthy of emulation. Moses is also the giver of that Law. By obeying the law of Moses, we are also learning to live in accordance with the law of nature. The fact that Moses wrote it renders it so very perfect because it is the perfect expression of his own achievement as man of God. I mentioned earlier that I wanted to leave open for discussion the question whether Philo reserves perfection for God. It might seem that this question is settled by Philo’s description of Moses as perfect. But in fact the question is simply raised in a different way: Does Philo think that Moses is himself divine? How did Moses achieve the status of “man of God” (ish elohim), or even “God” (elohim) (Exod 4:14)—however exactly that is to be construed? As in the case of Abraham, we are told that Moses is selftaught. His “admirable trainer” was “the reason within him”:


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But, while the divine judgment was still waiting, Moses was carrying out the exercises of virtue with an admirable trainer, the reason within him, under whose discipline he labored to fit himself for life in its highest forms, the theoretical and the practical. (Mos. 1.48)

Consequently, although we are encouraged by Philo to take Moses as our model on the path of desire, it would seem that we cannot become like Moses by following this path. For to be like Moses, one would have to be self-taught, instead of following the path of desire. Thus it remains unclear, in the cases of both Abraham and Moses, whether we should understand Philo’s perfectionism according to the first conception—on which there are perfect, living sages and human beings are perfectible—or whether we should understand Philo’s perfectionism according to the second conception—on which perfection is not an attainable goal. Philo’s own lack of clarity on this score—or, perhaps, his deliberate refusal to take sides in this debate—is nicely expressed in Mos. 1.158–159: [Moses] was named god and king of the whole nation, and entered, we are told, into the darkness where God was, that is into the unseen, invisible, incorporeal and archetypal essence of existing things. Thus he beheld what is hidden from the sight of mortal nature, and, in himself, and his life displayed for all to see, he has set before us, like some wellwrought picture, a piece of work beautiful and godlike, a model for those who are willing to copy it. Happy are those who imprint it, or strive to imprint, that image in their souls. For it were best that the mind should carry the form of virtue in perfection, but, failing this, let it at least have the unflinching desire to possess that form.

I have mentioned one difference between Abraham and Moses. Unlike Abraham, Moses left us not only the story of his life, but also a law to guide us on the path of desire. Another important difference is that Philo focuses on the death, not of Abraham, but of Moses, who therefore represents both the path of desire and the path of dying. According to Philo, when Moses died, he became disembodied mind: Afterwards the time came when he had to make his pilgrimage from earth to heaven, and leave this mortal life for immortality, summoned thither by the Father who resolved his twofold nature of soul and body into a single unity, transforming his whole being into mind, pure and the sunlight. Then, indeed, we find him possessed by the spirit, no longer uttering general truths to the whole nation but prophesying to each tribe in particular the things which were to be and hereafter must come

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chapter twelve to pass. Some of these have already taken place, others are still looked for, since confidence in the future is assured by fulfillment in the past. (Mos. 2.288)

This was possible only because he continued to work on his mind throughout his life. He was constantly improving and revising his own nature and right reason. Having lived a life in which his body was made to serve his mind—a life in preparation for death or, if you will, a life of dying—Moses could achieve a death that liberated his mind from his body. Again, I want to raise the question whether it is possible, according to Philo, for the rest of us to be like Moses, in this case, to be liberated through death. Here, I want to argue, Philo gives a decisive answer. The answer is yes. To be sure, Philo emphasizes the distinctiveness of Moses, who alone is said to have achieved perfection at once as high priest, legislator, king, and prophet. No other person is said by Philo to have become disembodied mind at the moment of death. This could be taken to suggest the second conception of perfectionism, according to which the sage is an unattainable, yet nevertheless significant ideal. However, Philo is strikingly silent about Deut 34, which emphasizes the uniqueness of Moses.6 More importantly, his description of the Therapeutae strongly suggests that it is possible for others to attain perfection on the path of dying. Of these ascetics, who lead an ascetic, communal life, Philo says: Because of their anxious desire for an immortal and blessed existence, thinking that their mortal life has already come to an end, they leave their possessions to their sons or daughters, or perhaps to other relations, giving them up their inheritance with willing cheerfulness. Then such is their longing for the deathless and blessed life that thinking their mortal life already ended they abandon their property to their sons or daughters or to other kinsfolk, thus voluntarily advancing the time of their inheritance, while those who have no kinsfolk give them to comrades and friends. For it was right that those who have received ready to their hand the wealth that has eyes to see should surrender the blind wealth to those who are still blind in mind. (Contempl. 13)

6 Najman, Seconding Sinai, 1–40 (ch. 1); cf. Gary Knoppers, “There was None Like Him: Incomparability in the Books of Kings,” CBQ 54 (1992): 411–31.


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Philo ends his discussion as follows: This then is what I have to say of those who are called Therapeutae, who have devoted themselves to the contemplation of nature, and who have lived in it and in the soul alone, being citizens of heaven and of the world, and very acceptable to the Father and Creator of the universe because of their virtue, which has procured them his love as their most appropriate reward, which far surpasses all the gifts of fortune, and conducts them to the very summit and perfection of happiness. (Contempl. 90)

This is unequivocal: the Therapeutae, who live on the path of dying, are led by God to an attainable perfection and they achieve it by becoming only soul. It is also worth noting that, in On the Contemplative Life, Philo is very critical of the version of the path of desire that he finds in Plato’s Symposium (Contempl. 60): “The greater part of the book,” says Philo, “is occupied by common, vulgar, promiscuous love, which takes away from the soul courage, that which is the most serviceable of all virtues both in war and in peace, and which engenders in it instead the female disease, and renders men men-women, though they ought rather to be carefully trained in all the practices likely to give men valour.” Philo regards any version of the path of desire that involves pederasty as grossly sensual, feminizing, and bad for both individuals and their society. This raises a further question: What, in Philo’s view, is the relationship between the Mosaic path of desire, represented by the Law of Moses, and the Mosaic path of dying, represented by the life of the Therapeutae? There is no suggestion of conflict here. Those who follow the Mosaic path of dying may also observe the Law. But is it possible to observe the Law—thus, to follow the Mosaic path of desire—without at the same time following the Mosaic path of dying? And, if it is possible, can one attain perfection by obeying the Law alone? Or can one attain perfection only by also living the contemplative life of the Therapeutae? I can find no clear answer to this question in Philo. But it is interesting to note that the Therapeutae live in the desert, like Moses, who never reaches the land. In On the Decalogue, lines 10–11, Philo tells us that: God had a second reason [for giving the Law in the wilderness] in mind. Those who were about to receive the sacred laws had to cleanse and wash away the stubborn stains inflicted on the cities by the mixed and

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chapter twelve promiscuous throng of people. But this purging could not take place unless one was separated from the city. Furthermore, this could not occur immediately, but only after a long period of time, after the deepset marks of former wrongdoings became dim, faded from memory and disappeared.

It may perhaps be Philo’s view—although this cannot be conclusively established—that one may more easily attain perfection, or at least that one may more easily purify oneself from imperfection, in the wilderness, outside the city.7 This leads me to my second question: What happens to the aspiration to perfection within a community that undergoes the destruction of its political and religious institutions, and that is exiled from its homeland? Philo’s account of flight into the wilderness as a journey on the path of dying contains the seeds of an answer.

4 Ezra So far I have been discussing texts from the Greek-speaking side of ancient Judaism. It is no surprise that the two perfectionist paths found in Plato are also found there. But I want to argue that these two paths are also found on the Hebrew or Aramaic-speaking side of ancient Judaism. As an example, I want to discuss 4 Ezra. Is there a path of desire in this text? Ezra is instructed by angels. In some texts—e.g., the Shepherd of Hermas—angels may represent an attainable perfection, in accordance with the first conception of perfectionism.8 This is a possible reading of 4 Ezra, as we will see. It is also possible, however, that the angel represents to Ezra an unattainable ideal, in accordance with the second conception of perfectionism. Another way to locate the path of desire in this text is to think about the pseudepigraphic character of this text. As I mentioned earlier, the

7 On this concept in Philo, see my essay “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in Ancient Judaism,” also reprinted in this volume, ch. 7 on pages 143–59; Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “Le Thème du Désert Chez Philon d’Alexandrie,” in Études Philoniennes (Paris: Cerf, 1996), 293–308; David T. Runia, “The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria,” JHI 38 (2000): 361–79. 8 I am thankful to Robin Darling Young for an instructive private conversation in regards to this subject.


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text of 4 Ezra 3:1 claims to begin 30 years after the destruction of the First Temple: In the thirtieth year of the destruction of our country, I, Shealtiel, who is Ezra, was in Babylon. And I lay on my bed, I was upset and thoughts welled up in my heart because I saw the destruction of Zion and the affluence of those who lived their lives in Babylon. (4 Ezra 3:1)

But in fact the earliest version of 4 Ezra dates to the 2nd century c.e., the century following the destruction of the Second Temple.9 In some places, I think it is obvious that 4 Ezra is referring to the destruction of the Second Temple—e.g., in chapter ten the destruction of the temples is referred to, in the plural. Why does the text conflate the two destructions? And why does it falsely suggest that Ezra is the author of a set of visions written half a millennium after Ezra’s death? To answer the first question, it may help to recall that in many ways the first destruction was never wholly overcome. Here I have in mind texts from the late Second Temple period that see themselves overcoming the destruction of the First Temple—as if the restoration had never fully taken place. These texts express various dissatisfactions with the Second Temple. But they also made it possible to regard the destruction of the Second Temple, not as an entirely new and utterly traumatic destruction, but rather as a continuation of the destruction of the First Temple. This conflation becomes standard in rabbinic accounts, here I have in mind fourth century readings of Lamentations in Lamentations Rabbah where discussions of the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 c.e. are read through the prism of the destruction of the First Temple and the lament over 586 b.c.e. But while this conflation is fascinating as a window into history writing in ancient Judaism, it is not sufficient to answer the second question. Why attribute this text to Ezra? The practices of false attribution are to be sure part of the authorizing strategies of Second Temple authors. As I have argued in my book, Seconding Sinai, it would be anachronistic to view this practice as one of forgery. Instead, pseudepigraphy is a strategy—found among the ancient Greeks as well as among the Jews—for continuing a conversation with the divine associated

9 On the date of composition of 4 Ezra see Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 9.

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with a particular ancient and authoritative figure.10 In this case, the obvious reason for focusing on Ezra is that he is closely associated with the reconstruction of the temple after its destruction. Whether or not Ezra succeeded fully, he represents the hope of restoration. It matters less to this discussion whether the attribution to Ezra is secondary to the attribution to Shealtiel but the fact that the text later become associated with Ezra can tell us much about who the figure of Ezra was for the post-70 community.11 So, I want now to add a further point to my earlier discussion of pseudepigraphy. To attribute a text to a great figure of the past is to take that figure as a guide on the path of desire. Effacing themselves, the authors of 4 Ezra are expressing their desire to be Ezra, to respond to destruction as Ezra did. But the authors of 4 Ezra are not only interested in Ezra. Instead, there is a kind of “overkill”12 or even “protesting too much” so that the Ezra figure in 4 Ezra is also authorized as another Daniel, another Abraham and, perhaps most importantly another Moses (in the final, seventh vision)—all in the name of generating an authentic and authoritative text. Overkill in the authorization of a text is often to be found just when there are grounds for anxiety about some central feature of the text. So it is, for example, in the case of Jubilees, a work from the Second Temple period, where—as I have discussed elsewhere—a panoply of authorizing strategies is employed on behalf of a distinctive and highly contestable theological and legal position. What, then, is the central feature of 4 Ezra that gives rise to anxiety? We may answer this question, I suggest, in two different ways, corresponding to the first and second conceptions of perfectionism. On the first conception of perfectionism, the anxiety is whether, after the destruction of the temple, it is still possible to attain perfection. On the second conception, the anxiety is whether it is still possible to

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Najman, Seconding Sinai, 41–69 (ch. 2). On the figure of Ezra, cf. Robert Kraft, “‘Ezra’ Materials in Judaism and Christianity,” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der Neueren Forschung (ed. H. Temporini and W. Haase; Walter de Gruyter: Berlin, 1979), 119–36. See online website for more articles ; Stone, Fourth Ezra, 37. 12 For a description of the term “overkill” see James L. Kugel, In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretative Life of Biblical Texts (New York: HarperCollins, 1990), 38, 134, 146, 256–57. 11


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imagine perfection in a way that has actual significance for the way life is lived. The same anxiety, equally open to both interpretations, also finds expression in the thought that, once the normative office of prophet no longer exists, prophecy itself—understood as perfection—is either no longer attainable or no longer imaginable. But how different is this position than the exilic expression of Deut 34? We cannot be Moses again—is that the challenge to become perfect or divine humans? Or is it the genuine expression of the impossibility of that perfection unless one were to literally be Moses—again, or Jesus—again? So, we seem to be able to identify a thread here of using exemplary figures to construct paths of living—in texts and in people. The two, we might say are inextricably linked. I turn now to the second perfectionist path: the path of dying. This too, I want to argue, may be found in 4 Ezra. Ezra has seven visions. The fourth vision is the turning point. Indeed the text explicitly uses the language of Ezra being “turned around” by what he sees! But in order to understand the way that Ezra is turned around in the fourth vision, let us briefly consider Ezra’s earlier posture. It is notable that it is Ezra, who stands in the midst of death and destruction, resists time and again (in visions 1–3) what the angels tell him. This is what is told to him by the angel: Now, concerning death, the teaching is: When the decisive decree has gone forth from the Most High that a man shall die, as the soul leaves the body to return again to him who gave it, first of all it adores the glory of the Most High. And if it is one of those who have shown scorn and have not kept the ways of the Most High and who have despised his law, and who have hated those who fear God—such souls shall not enter into treasuries, but shall immediately wander about in torments, ever grieving and sad in seven ways. . . . But this is the order of those who have kept the ways of the Most High, when they shall be separated from their mortal vessel. During the time that they lived in it, they laboriously served the Most High, and withstood dander every hour, that they might keep the Law of the Lawgiver perfectly. Therefore this is the teaching concerning them: First of all, they shall see with great joy the glory of him who receives them, for they shall have rest in seven orders. (4 Ezra 7:78–91)

Ezra resists the idea that, although many have been lost in the destruction, the few—including himself—will be saved. The two meanings of death seem to him unjust, hence incomprehensible as part of the divine plan. However, his perception changes with the fourth vision.

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In fact the text notes that he is actually turned around by the fourth vision: When I said these things in my heart, I lifted up my eyes and saw a woman on my right, and she was mourning and weeping with a loud voice, and was deeply grieved at heart, and her clothes were rent, and there were ashes on her head. Then I dismissed the thoughts with which I had been engaged, and turned to her and said to her, “Why are you weeping, and why are you grieved at heart?” (4 Ezra 9:38–39)

Ezra asks the woman why she is crying and she describes the tragic death of her son, her only son, on the day of his wedding in his wedding chamber. In 4 Ezra chapter 10:6–27, she refuses comfort and is in turn reproached, not consoled by Ezra: “You most foolish of women, do you not see our mourning and what has happened to us? For Zion, the mother of us all, is in deep grief and great affliction. It is most appropriate to mourn now, because we are all mourning, and to be sorrowful, because we are all sorrowing; you, however, are sorrowing for one son. Now ask the earth, and she will tell you that it is she who ought to mourn over so many who have come into being upon her. And from the beginning all have been born of her, and others will come; and behold, all go to perdition, and a multitude of them are destined for destruction. Who then ought to mourn the more, she who lost so great a multitude, or you who are grieving for one? But if you say to me, ‘My lamentation is not like the earth’s sadness, for I have lost the fruit of my womb, which I brought forth in pain and in sorrow; but it is with the earth according to the way of the earth—the multitude that is now in it goes as it came’; then I say to you, ‘As you brought forth in sorrow, so the earth also has from the beginning given her fruit, that is, man, to him who made her.’ Now, therefore, keep your sorrow to yourself, and bear bravely the troubles that have come upon you. For if you acknowledge the decree of God to be just, you will receive your son back in due time, and will be praised among women. Therefore go into the city to your husband.” She said to me, “I will not do so nor will I go into the city, but I will die here.” So I spoke again to her, and said, “Do not do that thing, but let yourself be persuaded because of the troubles of Zion, and be consoled because of the sorrow of Jerusalem. For you see that our sanctuary has been laid waste, our altar thrown down, our temple destroyed; our harp has been laid low, our song has been silenced, and our rejoicing has been ended; the light of our lampstand has been put out, the ark of our covenant has been plundered, our holy things have been polluted, and the name by which we are called has been profaned; our free men have suffered abuse, our priests have been burned to death, our Levites have gone into captivity; our virgins have been defiled, and our wives have been ravished; our righteous men have been carried off, our little ones have been cast out, our young


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men have been enslaved and our strong men made powerless. And, what is more than all, the seal of Zion—for she has now lost the seal of her glory, and has been given over into the hands of those that hate us. Therefore shake off your great sadness and lay aside your many sorrows, so that the Mighty One may be merciful to you, and the Most High may give you rest from your troubles.” And it came to pass while I was talking to her, behold, her face suddenly shone exceedingly, and her countenance flashed like lightning, so that I was too frightened to approach her, and my heart was terrified. While I was wondering what this meant, behold, she suddenly uttered a loud and fearful cry, so that the earth shook at her voice. And I looked, and behold, the woman was no longer visible to me, but there was an established city, and a place of huge foundations showed itself. (4 Ezra 10:6–27)

In this passage, Ezra is confronted with someone who, like himself, cannot accept destruction as part of the divine plan. To the woman of his vision, Ezra takes the position that the angels had taken toward him. He first reproaches the woman for the selfishness of focusing on individual loss, when Zion as a whole has suffered. She should mourn for the children of Zion, not only for her own child. Then he offers consolation. Finally, the lady vanishes, and she turns out to be, not an individual, but rather the personification of Zion. By taking the role of an instructing angel, Ezra undergoes two transformations. First, he overcomes his individual sense of suffering, and identifies with the suffering of Zion. Then, on the basis of his identification, he is able to express his sorrow in the form of a lament. And once he is able to pray, albeit in the form of lament, he has turned towards God and is therefore able to receive mercy from God. Having undergone this transformation, Ezra is able, in the visions that follow, to accept death—including, so it seems, his own death—as a rebirth for the righteous remnant: For after death the judgment will come, when we shall live again; and then the names of the righteous will become manifest, and the deeds of the ungodly will be disclosed. (4 Ezra 14:35)

This new life is associated with the new covenant of Jeremiah and the new creation of Ezekiel. I am now in a position to offer an answer to my question: What happens to the aspiration to perfection within a community that undergoes the destruction of its political and religious institutions, and that is exiled from its homeland? In 4 Ezra we see how destruction and suffering can become, not an obstacle, but rather an opening to perfection.

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For destruction and suffering can be considered steps on the path of dying. The possibility of this move after the destruction of the Second Temple was perhaps prepared by the fact that, as we saw before in the case of Philo, Second Temple texts could regard the wilderness, not the city, as the locus of revelation. Yet, for all that, an anxiety still remains about the persistence of prophecy.13 As I have suggested, this anxiety may be understood in two ways, corresponding to the first and second conceptions of perfectionism. Is prophecy—perfect intimacy with the divine—still possible for us? And, if it is not possible for us, is it at least imaginable in a way that is relevant to our lives?

Conclusion I have argued that the two paths to perfection familiar to us from the dialogues of Plato—the path of desire and the path of dying—are to be found not only on the Greek-speaking but also on the Aramaic-speaking side of ancient Judaism. About the transformations wrought upon perfectionism by Second Temple Judaism, and then by the destruction and exile, I have sought to raise, in several places, a question for further discussion: Is perfection conceived as an attainable or as an unattainable ideal? One of my main goals has been to suggest that, even in the Diaspora and even in exile, in spite of the indecisiveness of Philo and the anxiety of 4 Ezra, ancient Judaism never gave up the perfectionist aspiration to recover intimacy with the divine.14

13 See my forthcoming monograph, Destruction, Mourning, and Renewal in 4 Ezra and its Precursors, 2011. 14 I thank Joseph Amar, Arnold Davidson, Paul Franks, David O’Connor, Elliot Wolfson, and Robin Darling Young for instructive conversation and incisive suggestions. I thank also my student, Eva Mroczek for her editorial assistance.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HOW SHOULD WE CONTEXTUALIZE PSEUDEPIGRAPHA? IMITATION AND EMULATION IN 4 EZRA*

The fact is that every writer creates his own precursors. His work modifies our conception of the past, as it will modify the future. Jorge Borges, “Kafka and his Precursors”

We would all readily admit that contextualization is an essential part of historical study. If we can identify the context in which a text was produced, then we can use the context to draw conclusions about the text, and we can use the text to draw conclusions about the context. However, it is often difficult to locate the context in which a text was written and the author by whom it was composed. Indeed, even if we can identify an author or a collaborative group that was responsible for producing a text, it can sometimes still be quite a challenge to determine the text’s historical value. But for those of us who work on pseudepigraphic texts, the job is particularly challenging. First these texts deliberately efface their relations to their contexts of composition, because they present themselves as written by another author, often from another time. Second, scholars have often contextualized these texts within modern practices of authorship and composition— hence as forgery, clerical deception, or plagiarism. The problems facing those of us who work on pseudepigrapha may seem insuperable. However, we should not assume that political contextualization or religious affiliation is the only way of doing history, or the most important. I want to suggest that intellectual, cultural, and spiritual practices also constitute contexts within which texts can be

* This essay is dedicated to Florentino García Martínez. His scholarship, dedication to the field, and collegiality are exemplary, which makes this paper particularly appropriate. Neiro ya’ir, May the light of Professor Florentino García Martínez continue to shine ever more brightly for many years to come. This essay was originally published 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), 529–36, reprinted in this volume with permission from Brill.

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rendered intelligible. Instead of constituting an obstacle, authorial selfeffacement should be an object of study. By considering the practices of authorial effacement and pseudepigraphic attribution, we can come to understand much about the way the unknown and unknowable authors related to their own present. In this paper, I will focus on 4 Ezra, a post-70 c.e. text that pseudepigraphically attributes itself to Ezra, who is said to have just experienced the destruction of the First Temple. This essay seeks to explain the pseudepigraphic claims of 4 Ezra by situating it within the context of practices of the emulation and imitation of the sage and the struggle to overcome destruction by recovering a perfect, holy and idealized past.1

I “Ezra” in 4 Ezra is associated with a renewed presentation of the Law to the returnees from Babylon, and is also linked to the re-establishment of temple worship.2 However, that is not the only relationship with the temple that is preserved in Ezra-Nehemiah along with other traditions from the Second Temple period. 4 Ezra participates in the ambivalence with which the newly formed Second Temple Judeans greeted the establishment of the new temple as is found in Ezra 3:10–12.3 In addition, much like the “Ezra” of Neh 8:1–8, “Ezra” surely needed to present the new law (vision seven of 4 Ezra), but first he would have

1 For general background see Michael E. Stone and Theodore A. Bergren, eds., Biblical Figures Outside the Bible (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 1998); John J. Collins and Gregory W. E. Nickelsburg, eds., Ideal Figure in Ancient Judaism (SBLSCS 12; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1980). On the matter of exemplarity and perfection see Stanley Cavell, Cities of Words: Pedagogical Letters on a Register of the Moral Life (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap, 2004); and Pierre Hadot, Qu’est-ce que la Philosophie Antique? (Paris: Gallimard, 1995) and Exercices Spirituels et Philosophie Antique (CEA/SA 88; Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1981); translated as What is Ancient Philosophy? (trans. Michael Chase; Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap, 2002) and Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault (trans. Michael Chase; Oxford: Blackwell, 1995). See also Arnold Davidson’s introduction to this English edition, “Introduction: Pierre Hadot and the Spiritual Phenomenon of Ancient Philosophy,” 1–45. 2 E.g., Neh 8:1–8. 3 See Michael A. Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983): 99– 117 and “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ (1976): 253–72.

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to be trained as a leader who participates in the mourning of Zion (vision four of 4 Ezra).4 The impossibility of singing again after the first exile (e.g., Ps 137) and overcoming the destruction compromised the holiness and perfection of a prior Judean self-presentation (e.g., Lamentations). Thus, the loss of a utopian past continued to haunt the priestly, liturgical, and historical traditions—both scriptural and para-scriptural.5 Faced with destruction and an insurmountable exile, was it possible for Judeans in forced or self-imposed exile to recover that which was lost to Judaism in a post-destruction environment? Here I intend to think about what the aspiration is to overcome that exile and to recover an idealized perfection of the past or of the future. What is it to be perfect: is it to be godlike, live in a pure or holy way, or to live in accordance with Mosaic law? What happens to the aspiration to perfection within a community that undergoes the destruction of its political and religious institutions, and that is exiled from its homeland? The term perfection signifies an end-state of moral progress, beyond which further progress is neither necessary nor possible. There are at least two conceptions of perfection, all making use of the above notion. The first conception: Human beings are perfectible, i.e., perfection is attainable and good. On the second conception: Human beings are not perfectible, i.e., perfection is unattainable, but it can still serve as an ideal guiding moral progress. This is essentially the view presented by Pierre Hadot in his 4 In Ezra 3:12–13 the re-established Temple is received with simultaneous shouts of joy and weeping: Many of the Priests and Levites and the chiefs of the clans, the old men who had seen the first house, wept loudly at the sight of the founding of this house. Many others shouted joyously at the top of their voices. The people could not distinguish the shouts of joy from the people’s weeping, for the people raised a great shout, the sound of which could be heard from afar. Such bittersweet reception reflected the impossibility of overcoming the first exile in a way that it lingered throughout the Second Temple period. So, when 4 Ezra or later rabbinic midrash and qinnot mourn the Second Temple as if it were the first (or read texts about the first destruction as though it already anticipates the second), we should consider the texts from the Second Temple period to reflect a destruction that was never fully overcome. 5 See Robert Kraft’s “Para-Mania: Besides, Before, and Beyond Bible Studies,” JBL 126:1 (2007): 5–27, where he discusses defining the term “para-scriptural” to signify those texts that are beside and beyond the corpus which will later be designated “Bible.” Also see William Adler, “The Pseudepigrapha in Early Christianity,” in The Canon Debate (ed. Lee M. McDonald and James A. Sanders; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002), 211–28.

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well-known and extensive work on ancient Greek philosophy: there may be no living sages, but the idea of a sage is of central importance. What would such an ideal do for an individual? Hadot would respond by emphasizing the ongoing formation of the soul in an ever-increasing approximation which can never reach its goal but which nevertheless constitutes moral progress.6 How can one pursue perfection within a community that experiences the loss of its institutions, and that is exiled from its native land? Is perfection, or progress towards perfection, to be thought of only in terms of restoration and return from exile? Or are there ways in which perfection, or progress towards perfection, are possible even in the midst of suffering—perhaps even by means of suffering? What would such an ideal do for an individual or for a community? I want to suggest that the practice of pseudonymous attribution of new texts to past exemplars provides one answer: it is an attempt to recover an idealized or utopian past. Or, perhaps, an attempt to work out the impossibility of recovering that past by grounding the present now in an idealized past that, in the minds of the later writers, was full of divine access, prophecy, and political independence. By extending a discourse attached to a founder of an earlier period, writers in the late Second Temple period and even after the destruction of the Second Temple are able to authorize and link their new texts to old and established traditions and founders. “Ezra” in 4 Ezra speaks after 70 c.e. as though it is just after the first destruction: In the thirtieth year of the destruction of our country, I, Shealtiel, who is Ezra, was in Babylon. And I lay on my bed, I was upset and thoughts welled up in my heart because I saw the destruction of Zion. (4 Ezra 3:1)

“Ezra” writes as if the Second Temple has not yet been built, as if it is still to be hoped for. Since the text was in fact written after 70 c.e., this may be seen as a mode of consolation for the destruction: what has not yet been built cannot have been destroyed. What distinguishes such consolation from delusion is the long-standing sense that the Second Temple never was the restoration of the First.

6

See above, n. 1.


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Only after the fourth vision, when he learns how to lament over the loss of temple and Zion, is “Ezra” transformed from a figure who is paralyzed by destruction into a figure who is worthy of receiving vision.7 So I spoke again to her, and said, “Do not do that thing, but let yourself be persuaded because of the troubles of Zion, and be consoled because of the sorrow of Jerusalem. For you see that our sanctuary has been laid waste, our altar thrown down, our temple destroyed; our harp has been laid low, our song has been silenced, and our rejoicing has been ended; the light of our lampstand has been put out, the ark of our covenant has been plundered, our holy things have been polluted, and the name by which we are called has been profaned; our free men have suffered abuse, our priests have been burned to death, our Levites have gone into captivity; our virgins have been defiled, and our wives have been ravished; our righteous men have been carried off, our little ones have been cast out, our young men have been enslaved and our strong men made powerless. And, what is more than all, the seal of Zion—for she has now lost the seal of her glory, and has been given over into the hands of those that hate us. Therefore shake off your great sadness and lay aside your many sorrows, so that the Mighty One may be merciful to you, and the Most High may give you rest from your troubles.” (4 Ezra 10:19–24)

“Ezra’s” transformation is described through an intricate invocation of multiple traditions. However, in the process of incorporating older and contemporaneous traditions, a figure emerged who differs from the Ezra of Ezra-Nehemiah. He is characterized not only as a scribe, but also as a Mosaic lawgiver, as a Daniel-like dreamer, and as a Jeremianic prophet.8 The emergence is accomplished by a series of transformations that may be called exemplary: they offer a model for emulation and imitation to the reader who strives for perfection in the face of destruction.9

7 See Michael E. Stone’s discussion of this already in his Fourth Ezra: a Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 318–21, 326–27. 8 In 4 Ezra 12:42 a plea is made to “Ezra” that he is the only prophet who has not abandoned his people. 9 See below in this essay where I discuss the difference between emulation and imitation.

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“Ezra” is not, then, reducible to the earlier Ezra. Yet it is nevertheless essential that “Ezra” is identified with Ezra. How does this identification work? Let us first draw the distinction, common in perfectionist ethics, between emulation and imitation. If I am supposed to imitate an exemplar, then I ought to become like him or her. Sometimes, however, imitation is said to be insufficient, inauthentic or, at any rate, second best: I am supposed to emulate the exemplar, to become identical to him or her. As we have seen, “Ezra” is portrayed as imitating various exemplars, such as Moses, Jeremiah, and Daniel. But, insofar as he is identified as Ezra, he also emulates the earlier founder of this discourse, namely Ezra himself who represents the Torah in Neh 8:1–8, the paradigmatic exemplar in 4 Ezra. What is the difference between imitation and emulation—or, here, between comparing the protagonist to earlier figures and identifying him as one? Here it is helpful to appeal to the distinction between metaphor and simile. When Romeo says, “Juliet is the sun,” he is employing a metaphor. Had he said, “Juliet is like the sun,” he would have been using a simile. On one account, the difference is as follows. The metaphorical assertions “Juliet is the sun” is indeterminate and pregnant with possibility: she is radiant, warm, generous, light, remote or untouchable, and so on.10 In contrast, the simile is determinate: Juliet is like the sun in some determinate respect. Whereas the simile deals in analogies, we might say that a metaphor effects an identification. Just as there are indefinitely many things to say about the sun, so are there indefinitely many things to say about what is identified with it. Similarly, we may say, the analogies between the protagonist of 4 Ezra and various figures are similes with determinate implications. In contrast, the pseudepigraphic attribution to Ezra acts as a metaphorical identification, pregnant with indeterminate implications. While the text presents “Ezra” imitating several exemplary figures, only one exemplar is held out as a model for emulation, i.e., Ezra of the Second Temple period.

10 See Stanley Cavell, Must We Mean What We Say? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 78–79. Also see later discussion in David Hills, “Aptness and Truth in Verbal Metaphor,” Philosophical Topics 25 (1997): 117–53.


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Thus, “Ezra” imitates Daniel insofar as he receives apocalyptic visions: He said to me, “This is the interpretation of the vision which you have seen: The eagle which you saw coming up from the sea is the forth kingdom which appeared in a vision to your brother Daniel. But it was not explained to him as I now explain it to you. Behold, the days are coming when a kingdom shall arise on earth, and it shall be more terrifying than all the kingdoms that have been before it.” (4 Ezra 12:10–12)

Then, in the seventh vision, “Ezra’s” vision is implicitly likened to that of Moses insofar as he is told that God will lead the people from bondage to law:11 Then he [God] said to me, “I revealed myself in a bush and spoke to Moses when my people were in bondage in Egypt; and I sent him and led my people out of Egypt; and I led him up to Mount Sinai. And I kept him with me many days; and I told him many wondrous thinking, and showed him the secrets of the times and declared to him the end of the times. Then I commanded him, saying: ‘These words you shall publish openly, and these you shall keep secret.’ And now I say to you; Lay up in your heart the signs that I have shown you, the dreams that you have seen and the interpretation that you have heard; for you shall be taken up from among men, and henceforth you shall be with my servant and with those who are like you, until the times are ended.” (4 Ezra 14:3)

These are examples of imitation, but not emulation. “Ezra” is not asked to become Moses. He is not asked to efface himself entirely, but he is repeatedly likened to Moses and is asked to imitate him. Of course, “Ezra” is a stand-in for the actual, unknown author of 4 Ezra. We cannot reconstruct the original audience for 4 Ezra or identify the author of the seven visions. So, how are we to make sense of pseudonymous attribution without simply calling the work a forgery? My suggestion is that pseudonymous attribution should be seen as a metaphorical device, operating at the level of the text as a whole, whereby the actual author emulates and self-identifies as an exemplar.12 Accordingly, the practice of pseudonymous attribution should be seen as a spiritual discipline, an asceticism of self-effacement. 11 See also Stone’s discussion of Mosaic comparison in 4 Ezra 14 in Fourth Ezra, 410–12 and 415–18. 12 See David S. Russell’s thesis about “corporate personality” in Between the Testaments (London: SCM Press, 1960), 116–18 and The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic, 200 b.c.–a.d. 100 (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1964), 132–39. See also George W. H. Lampe, “The Reasonableness of Typology,” in Essays on Typology (ed. George W. H. Lampe and Kenneth J. Woollcombe; SBT 22; Naperville, Ill.: Allenson, Inc., 1957), 9–38.

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In addition to the figure of “Ezra,” the text of 4 Ezra may also be considered a metaphor, since it is identified as an Ezra-produced text. So, are the esoteric and exoteric books of the seventh vision. Earlier, I noted that, through the identification with Ezra of “Ezra,” who has additional attributes, Ezra himself is transformed. Similarly, through the identification of the text of 4 Ezra and the texts mentioned in 4 Ezra with Ezra-produced texts, earlier texts are transformed insofar as later readers will read the figure of Ezra in Ezra-Nehemiah through the prism of the later “Ezra” as he develops and expands the traditions associated with him. The earlier and later traditions associated with the founding figure of Ezra are now members of a corpus of texts that retrospectively transform the reputation and the achievement of the founding figure of the past.13 Prophecy persists after the destruction of the Second Temple, not only in the transformation of exemplary figures of the past and in the creation of new texts, but also in the erasure of the difference between present and past. Pseudepigraphic texts, such as Jubilees, 1 Enoch, and 4 Ezra, efface their own compositional contexts when they attach their new traditions to a founding figure from the past. In so doing, however, they situate themselves within another context: a perfectionist practice of effacing oneself in order to emulate an exemplary figure.14 This practice provides a context for overcoming the present period of destruction by expanding the legacy of founders from the past.

13 Compare, for example, the transformation of the reputation of Moses in later, post-deuteronomic, traditions. 14 I am indebted to John Collins, Paul Franks, Robert Kraft, Judith Newman, George Nickelsburg, Andrei Orlov, Annette Yoshiko Reed, Michael Stone, Eibert Tigchelaar, Benjamin G. Wright III, and Robin Darling Young for their incisive responses to earlier versions of this paper. Many thanks also to my student, Eva Mroczek, for her helpful suggestions.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TEXT AND FIGURE IN ANCIENT JEWISH PAIDEIA*

Introduction The following paper focuses on Philo’s relationship to his context, which is both Greek and Jewish at once. This is part of a larger project to understand the relationships in early Judaism between authoritative figures such as Moses and Ezra and authoritative texts such as Jubilees or 4 Ezra.1 In what follows, I will argue that figure and text are intertwined in Philo’s thought. Indeed, the authority of Scripture, as Philo understands it, depends on its relationship to these exemplary figures. At the same time, authoritative figures and texts are intertwined in Philo’s conception of paideia, a reinterpretation that forms part of his strategy to authorize Judaism in the light of Hellenistic culture, and to legitimize Jewish written law in the light of the unwritten law of nature. In this paper, I explore these themes of figures, Scriptures, and paideia in Philo’s Jewish-Greek project. Which figures does Philo emphasize, and why? How are they related to Scripture and Law? And how

* This essay will be published in the forthcoming volume, The Authoritativeness of Scriptures in Ancient Judaism: The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature (ed. Mladen Popović; Leiden: Brill, 2010), reprinted here with permission from Brill. 1 For my previous work on this topic see Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), and a series of recent publications, including: “How should we Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4 Ezra,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honor of Florentino García Martínez (ed. Albert Hilhorst, Émile Puech, and Eibert Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–36, reprinted in this volume, ch. 13 on pages 235–42; “La Recherche de la Perfection dans le Judaïsme Ancien,” in Des Actes du Colloque: Les Élites Locales en Palestine et en Diaspora (ed. Jean Riaud; Paris: Honoré Champion, 2008), 99–116, a translation is reprinted in this volume, ch. 12 on pages 219–34; and “Reconsidering Jubilees: Prophecy and Exemplarity,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees (ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Giovanni Ibba; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 229–43, reprinted in this volume, ch. 10 on pages 189–204.

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does the interplay of figure and text, prevalent in many ancient Jewish texts, structure Philo’s conception of the goal of paideia?

I. Philo of Alexandria: Greekjew, Jewgreek Philo is one of the most striking representatives of a Hellenistic Judaism that can seem worlds apart from the Second Temple Judaisms of Palestine. For example, we do not find anything like pseudonymous authorship in Philo’s writings. This can make it seem impossible for Philo’s writings to shed any light on, for example, Qumran, or viceversa. Yet Philo was unquestionably a Second Temple Jew, not only chronologically but also in many aspects of his religious consciousness.2 At the same time, Philo certainly faced a challenge quite distinct from the challenge confronting the Qumran community: he had to authorize Judaism itself to both Jews and non-Jews, within the relatively new context of the Hellenistic competition of cultures; this competition was at the same time political, especially in light of the even newer Roman Empire’s quest to authorize itself through the appropriation of the Greek philosophical and literary heritage. The place of Judaism within this new Roman world was far from clear. On the one hand, the significance of the Greek heritage was now as universal as the empire itself sought to be. Consequently, Near Eastern cultures, which enjoyed the mystique of antiquity and exoticism, could legitimize themselves by identifying their gods with Greek gods and their teachings with Greek teachings. On the other hand, religious syncretism did not cohere easily with the Mosaic law, which seemed primarily to address Jews alone and was therefore in danger of appearing parochial. This rendered it not only potentially insignificant to Hellenic universalism, but also potentially threatening to Rome. It

2 For Philo’s Jewish context, see e.g., Naomi G. Cohen, Philo Judaeus: His Universe of Discourse (Frankfurt am Main, Lang: 1995); and “The Jewish Dimension of Philo’s Judaism: An Elucidation of de Spec. Leg. IV 132–150,” JJS 38 (1987): 165–86. See also comparative discussions in Florentino García Martínez, “Divine Sonship at Qumran and in Philo,” SPhilo 19 (2007): 85–99; and Hindy Najman, “Philosophical Contemplation and Revelatory Inspiration in Ancient Judean Traditions,” SPhilo 19 (2007): 101–11, reprinted in this volume, ch. 9 on pages 175–87.

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is in this context that Philo’s Greek-Jewish conception of paideia is developed.3 Moses and Paideia Philo’s strategy (arguably along with the strategies employed in other Second Temple texts such as the Wisdom of Solomon or perhaps even Pseudo-Aristeas) is to inscribe the Jewish tradition of Moses and Mosaic law into the school of Plato.4 He does this, I suggest, by reading the Mosaic tradition in light of the Greek concept of paideia. Paideia should be understood as education, instruction or even culture—what Werner Jaeger described as “the process of educating man into his true form, the real and genuine human nature.”5 This concept is central to the Platonic tradition, but how do these Greek conceptions of paideia get reworked in a Jewish register (while still continuing to function in a Greek context)? How will someone

3 For Philo and his Hellenistic context, I am drawing on a long history of previous scholarship. See e.g., Pedar Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete For His Time (Leiden: Brill, 1997); John J. Collins, “The Diaspora Setting,” in Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 135–57; Peter M. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria (2 vols.; London: Clarendon, 1972), 1:189–301; Richard Goulet, La Philosophie de Moïse: Essai de Reconstitution d’un Commentaire Philosophique Prephilonien du Pentateuque (Paris: J. Vrin, 1987); David M. Hay, “Philo’s References to Other Allegorists,” SPhilo 6 (1979–1980): 41–76; Earle Hilgert, “Philo Judaeus et Alexandrinus,” in The School of Moses: Studies in Philo and Hellenistic Religion (ed. John P. Kenney; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), 1–15; Gregory E. Sterling, “Philo and the Logic of Apologetics: An Analysis of the Hypothetica,” SBLSP 29 (1990): 412– 30; Thomas H. Tobin, The Creation of Man: Philo and the History of Interpretation (Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1983); Harry Wolfson, Philo: Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and in Islam (2 vols.; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1947), 1:332–47. 4 Here I am disagreeing with those who have advocated for a Mosaic school, for instance Gabriele Boccaccini (e.g., Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998]), who argues that there is a deep division between Mosaic and Enochic Judaism in the Second Temple period, analogous to the oppositions between the Greco-Roman schools of philosophy. I see no evidence for such schools, which would have to involve institutions of discipleship, of whose existence in Second Temple Judaism there is no sign. Nor in general do I find any evidence of a distinction between communities that discuss Mosaic law and Torah and those that do not. There is no reason to think that distinct traditionary processes, organized around distinct ideas and ascribed to distinct founding figures, could not have coexisted within one community. 5 Werner Jaeger, Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture (vol. 1 of Archaic Greece, The Mind of Athens; trans. G. Highet; 2nd ed.; New York: Oxford University Press, 1962), 1:xxiii.

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like Philo, writing in Greek, adjust to universalized expectations of Greek notions of paideia in his authorizing of the particularized Torah of Moses? How does he negotiate the difficult position he is in, namely to authorize a particular copy of what he will repeatedly claim has the very same status as the law of nature, inscribed into the cosmos at the very beginning of the world?6 To understand how Philo reconceives paideia, we must first examine his conception of the end of the human being: to become soul alone or mind alone.7 This is evident in his writings both on Moses and on the Therapeutae: Afterwards the time came when he had to make his pilgrimage from earth to heaven, and leave this mortal life for immortality, summoned thither by the Father who resolved his twofold nature of soul and body into a single unity, transforming his whole being into mind, pure and the sunlight. Then, indeed, we find him possessed by the spirit, no longer uttering general truths to the whole nation but prophesying to each tribe in particular the things which were to be and hereafter must come to pass. Some of these have already taken place, others are still looked for, since confidence in the future is assured by fulfillment in the past. (Mos. 2.288)8

6 For this concept of law in Philo see my articles, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” SPhilo 11 (1999): 55–73, reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106; and “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?” SPhilo 15 (2003): 54–63, reprinted in this volume, ch. 5 on pages 107–18. I am indebted to previous scholarship on natural law in Philo and in Hellenistic thought more generally, e.g., Markus Bockmuehl, “Natural Law in Second Temple Judaism,” VT 45 (1995): 17–44 (43); Joseph DeFilippo and Philip Mitsis, “Socrates and Stoic Natural Law,” in The Socratic Movement (ed. Paul Vander Waerdt; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1994), 252–71; Erwin R. Goodenough, “Philo’s Exposition of the Law and His De Vita Mosis,” HTR 26 (1933): 109–25; Richard A. Horsley, “The Law of Nature in Philo and Cicero,” HTR 71 (1978): 35–59 (56ff.); Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “Loi de Moïse, Loi de Nature, Sagesse,” in Le Commentaire de L’Ecriture Chez Philon d ’Alexandrie (Leiden: Brill, 1977), 116–54; John W. Martens, “Philo and the ‘Higher’ Law’,” SBLSP 30 (1991): 309–22; Richard D. McKirahan Jr., “Chapter 19: The NOMOS-PHYSIS Debate,” in Philosophy Before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary (Indianapolis, Ind.: Hackett, 1994), 390–413; Leo Strauss, Natural Right and History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953), 146–61; Gisela Striker, “Origins of the Concept of Natural Law,” in Essays on Hellenistic Epistemology and Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 209–20; Paul Vander Waerdt, “Zeno’s Republic and the Origins of Natural Law,” in The Socratic Movement (ed. Vander Waerdt), 272–308. 7 These concepts are isomorphic terms in this period. Personal communication with Brad Inwood. 8 Translations of Philonic texts are taken from the Loeb Classical Library, translated by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker.


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So much then for the Therapeutae, who have taken to their hearts the contemplation of nature and what it has to teach, and have lived in the soul alone, citizens of Heaven and the world, presented to the Father and Maker of all by their faithful sponsor virtue, who has procured for them God’s friendship and added a gift going hand in hand with it, true excellence of life, a boon better than all good fortune and rising to the very summit of felicity. (Contempl. 90)

In other words, the end of the human being is to return to the state of the very first human creation, who, according to Philo, is initially created as mind alone. The Adam of Genesis, chapter one, is distinct from the Adam of chapters two and three: It is therefore very natural that Adam, that is to say the mind, when he was giving names to and displaying his comprehension of the other animals, did not give a name to himself, because he was ignorant of himself and of his own nature. A command indeed is given to man, but not to the man created according to the image and idea of God; for that being is possessed of virtue without any need of exhortation, by his own instinctive nature, but this other would not have wisdom if it had not been taught to him. (Leg. 1.92)

It is worthwhile to note the many traditions in which the primordial Adam plays a role in constructing the image of a perfect human being, for example 4 Ezra or Qumranic and later Gnostic traditions.9 While the similarities are suggestive, I would want to emphasize an important difference between accounts of return to the primordial Adam that involve an eschatological rupture in time, and accounts like Philo’s, which conceive the return as the natural result of a continuous process of development. For Philo, we have an idealized human who attains his end naturally in a process that is teleological: the end is the natural and best outgrowth of a process of instruction and development. This conception of perfection10 has struck people as wholly Greek and far less engaged

9 For primordial Adam traditions see e.g., Crispin Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam: Liturgical Anthropology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Leiden: Brill, 2002). 10 For the idea of perfection in ancient Jewish literature, see my article, “La Recherche de la Perfection dans le Judaïsm Ancien,” in Les Élites dans le Monde Biblique (ed. Jean Riaud; Paris; Honoré Champion, 2006), 99–116, a translation is reprinted in this volume, ch. 12 on pages 219–34. For another treatment of sagely perfection in Philo, see David Winston, “Sage and Super-Sage in Philo of Alexandria,” in The Ancestral Philosophy. Hellenistic Philosophy in Second Temple Judaism: Essays of David Winston (ed. Gregory E. Sterling; Providence, R.I.: Brown Judaic Studies, 2001), 171–80. Pierre Hadot has written extensively on perfection as the goal of the philosophical

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with matters of holiness and purity as part of the path to perfection, an emphasis found in Qumranic and other Second Temple Hebrew and Aramaic traditions. But it is precisely here, in one of Philo’s most Hellenistic aspects, that I want to consider the ways in which Jewish ideas and texts are brought to bear.

II. Three Paths of Perfection: Automatheis; Sage as Model; Text as Guide Philo’s conception of the path to perfection, of paideia, involves a distinctive approach to his Jewish sources. Importantly, Philo understands Torah and wisdom already to be latent within the human being. He maintains, following the Platonic tradition, that all knowledge is to be found within the human being. In this he differs from many roughly contemporaneous Jewish writings that claim that the pertinent kind of knowledge must come from without—from the radically external, that is, God or an angel (as we can see in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the later text of 4 Ezra, and Danielic and Jeremianic traditions). Philo’s Platonic view raises a problem: if wisdom already lies within the human being, then how then can there be such a thing as instruction at all? This dilemma is reminiscent of Socrates’ reformulation of Meno’s paradox in Plato’s Meno: For one wouldn’t inquire into what one knows—for one knows it, and there’s no need to inquire into such a thing, nor into what one doesn’t know—for one doesn’t know what one is inquiring into. (80e)

How can you inquire into anything? Because, according to this model of latent wisdom, either you already know it—or you don’t. If you don’t know it, then how would you recognize it, and if you do know it, then why is inquiry necessary at all? Here, I am asking the question

life in ancient Greek thought; see Qu’est-ce la Philosophie Antique? (Paris: Gallimard, 1995) and Exercices Spirituels et Philosophie Antique (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1987); see also the introduction by Arnold Davidson, “Pierre Hadot and the Spiritual Phenomenon of Ancient Philosophy,” in Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault (Pierre Hadot; trans. Michael Chase; Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 1–45. See also Stanley Cavell, Cities of Words: Pedagogical Letters on a Register of the Moral Life (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap, 2004).


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(on Philo’s behalf ) in a slightly different way: how can you be taught what you already know? I have identified three connected solutions, three paths to perfection, that Philo presents in his many writings, and that shed light on the way he understands paideia in a Jewish-Greek context. The first path is attributed to precious few people in Philo’s writings: those who are described as automatheis—self-taught. Being Self-Taught Philo praises the one who is self-taught, who will need no instruction because he can intuit the law of nature—that is, the law of the cosmos—on his own. Moreover, he comes, on his own, to see God. As I already mentioned, this is true of the first Adam, but there are other biblical figures that Philo will celebrate for being self-taught: notably, Abraham, Isaac, and Moses. Each is automatheis, and will require no external education to achieve his natural end: Abraham: For these first men, without ever having been followers or pupils of any one, and without ever having been taught by preceptors what they ought to do or say, but having embraced a line of conduct consistent with nature from attending to their own natural impulses, and from being prompted by innate virtue and looking upon nature herself to be, what in fact she is, the most ancient and duly established of laws, did in reality spend their whole lives in making laws, never of deliberate purpose doing anything open to reproach, and for their accidental errors propitiating God, and appeasing him by prayers and supplications, so as to procure for themselves the enjoyment of an entire life of virtue and prosperity, both in respect of their deliberate actions, and those which proceeded from no voluntary purpose. (Abr. 6)

Isaac: And Isaac, who was thought worthy of self-taught knowledge, of his own accord also leaves all the corporeal essence which was attached to his soul, and is added to and made an inheritor with (not the people, as the others whom I have mentioned were), but with the “race,” as Moses says; for “race” is one, and the highest of all: but “people,” is the name of many. (Sacr. 6)

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Moses: But, while the divine judgment was still waiting, Moses was carrying out the exercises of virtue with an admirable trainer, the reason within him under whose discipline he labored to fit himself for life in its highest forms, the theoretical and the practical. (Mos. 1.48)

For these figures, paideia is part of a long journey. What is remarkable about them is that they don’t require an external teacher in order to reach their end. Instead, they follow the nature within themselves. As we see in this last passage, it is not that the self-taught person needs no teacher at all—rather, the self-taught person has an internal teacher. Thus, Philo’s solution to Meno’s paradox would seem to be as follows: all people have wisdom latent within them, just by virtue of being human. Some people, however, are born with the gift of being able to activate this latent wisdom; having an internal teacher, they have no need for an external one. The Sage as Model Throughout his writings, Philo speaks of the sage not only as selftaught, but also as an exemplar whose life and deeds are included in the Law of Moses so that they may be imitated by others. Here I have in mind especially Moses and Abraham, from whom those who are not self-taught may learn. Here is the second stage of Philo’s solution to Meno’s paradox: those who are not born with the gift of being selftaught cannot learn from an external teacher, because the wisdom they need to learn is latent within and not imparted from without; however, they may take as their models those who are self-taught. By imitating the self-taught, they learn from an internal teacher at a second remove: namely, from the reason internal to the self-taught. So, like the selftaught, they too learn without resorting to an external teacher. Philo’s image of the exemplary sage—which philosophical tradition conceives of in a very abstract, sometimes impersonal way—becomes highly concrete through the association with Jewish texts and interpretive traditions.11 Telling the stories of the sage, the one who is self-taught,

11

On the concept of the exemplary sage in other Jewish traditions see my articles, “How should we Contextualize Pseudepigrapha?” reprinted in this volume, ch. 13 on pages 235–42; idem, “La Recherche de la Perfection,” a translation is reprinted in this volume, ch. 12 on pages 219–34; and idem, “Reconsidering


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becomes key to their function as exemplars to be emulated. Let us consider a few Philonic texts that discuss the role of these stories: What more shall I say? Has he not also enjoyed an even greater communion with the Father and Creator of the universe, being thought unworthy of being called by the same appellation? For he also was called the god and king of the whole nation, and he is said to have entered into the darkness where God was; that is to say, into the invisible, and shapeless, and incorporeal world, the essence, which is the model of all existing things, where he beheld things invisible to mortal nature; for, having brought himself and his own life into the middle, as an excellently wrought picture, he established himself as a most beautiful and Godlike work, to be a model for all those who were inclined to imitate him. Happy are those who imprint it, or strive to imprint, that image [of Moses] in their souls. For it were best that the mind should carry the form of virtue in perfection, but, failing this, let it at least have the unflinching desire to possess that form. (Mos. 1.158–159)

Here, recounting the life story and qualities of the sage is key to the following of his model. It is important to note that, in Philo’s view, the patriarchs exemplify the possibility of leading a virtuous life even if one does not have access to the written Law of Moses: Great indeed are the efforts expended both by lawgivers and by laws in every nation in filling the souls of free men with comfortable hopes; but he who gains this virtue of hopefulness without being led to it by exhortation or command has been educated into it by a law which nature has laid down, a law unwritten yet self-taught. (Abr. 16)

The self-taught sages led virtuous lives before Sinai, following the “law which nature has laid down.”12 For two reasons, Philo says, did Moses include accounts of their lives in the Pentateuch: Jubilees,” reprinted in this volume, ch. 10 on pages 189–204; Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 1990) 318–21, 326–27; Benjamin G. Wright, “From Generation to Generation: The Sage as Father in Early Jewish Literature,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. Charlotte Hempel and Judith M. Lieu; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 309–32. For more general background on ideal figures see John J. Collins and George W. E. Nickelsburg, eds., Ideal Figures in Ancient Judaism (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1980), and Michael E. Stone and Theodore A. Bergren, eds., Biblical Figures Outside the Bible (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 1998). 12 The patriarchs are interpreted as law-abiding before Sinai in a variety of other traditions roughly contemporary to Philo. For sources and discussion, see James L. Kugel, The Bible As It Was (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 116–17 (Noah), 157–58 (Melchizedek), 165–78 (Abraham).

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chapter fourteen First he wished to show that the enacted ordinances are not inconsistent with nature; and secondly that those who wish to live in accordance with the laws as they stand have no difficult task, seeing that the first generations before any at all of the particular statutes was set in writing followed the unwritten law with perfect ease, so that one might properly say that the enacted laws are nothing else than reminders of the life of the ancients, preserving to a later generation their actual words and deeds. (Abr. 5)

This last phrase is of great importance for my argument. Philo says that the enacted laws—that is to say, the laws given by God to Israel through Moses—may be properly regarded as reminders of the lives of the patriarchs, indeed as nothing else. In other words, if read in accordance with Philo’s instruction, the lives of the patriarchs and the laws of Moses turn out to be equivalent. Now, since the lives of the patriarchs embody the law of nature, it follows that the enacted laws of Moses also embody the law of nature. But this implies that the status of the laws of Moses, as copies of the laws of nature, would have remained unclear if not for the fact that the laws of Moses are situated within the context of the lives of the patriarchs and their descendants. Thus, the laws of Moses cannot be reduced to a code. They are expressions of the “actual words and deeds” of sages.13 Text as Guide This brings us to the third path to perfection: the path that involves studying the perfect copy of the natural law—Mosaic Torah. Textual instruction can lead a person to the end of becoming soul alone or mind alone. The Torah of Moses can serve this function because it is the perfect copy of the primordial and cosmic law of nature: But Moses is alone in this, that his laws, firm, unshaken, immovable, stamped, as it were, with the seals of nature herself, remain secure from the day when they were first enacted to now, and we may hope that they

13 On this idea of instruction as example, beyond a code, in a different Jewish context, see the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Šabbat, where, in order to learn how to perform the ritual of Havdalah, a student needed to go and watch Ulla, not read Ulla’s tradition or hear the instruction via another member of the Talmudic academy. This particular sugya is discussed in interesting ways in Martin Jaffee, “Torah in the Mouth and Torah in the Heart: How Judaism Was Transmitted in a MinimallyLiterate Near Eastern Jewish Community,” Queens College Journal of Jewish Studies 7 (2005): 67–74.


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will remain for all future ages as though immortal, so long as the sun and moon and the whole heaven and universe exist. Thus, though the nation had undergone so many changes, both to increased prosperity and the reverse, nothing—not even the smallest part of the ordinances—has been disturbed; because all have clearly paid high honor to their venerable and godlike character. (Mos. 2.14)

In his account of creation, Philo uses the metaphor of stamping with a seal to express the relationship between original and copy: Before the particular and individual mind there subsists a certain original as an archetype and pattern of it, and again before the particular sense-perception, a certain original of sense perception related to the particular as a seal making impression is to the form which it makes. (Leg. 1.22)

Philo’s claim, then, is that the laws of Moses are copies of the laws of nature.14 Indeed, he says elsewhere that they are “likenesses and copies of the patterns enshrined in the soul” (Mos. 2.11), and that “the laws [are] the most faithful copy of the world-polity” (Mos. 2.51–52). But here lies a paradox. How is it so much as possible for the written laws of a particular nation to be copies of the laws of nature? Philo seems to share, in large part, a framework of thought with Cicero and others rooted in Greek philosophy. Yet there is simply no room in Cicero’s thinking for a written copy of the law of nature. Cicero characterizes the law of nature as follows: I see that because custom is so corrupted such behavior is neither thought dishonorable nor forbidden by statute and civil law. It is, however, forbidden by the law of nature. For there is a fellowship that is extremely widespread, shared by all with all (even if this has often been said, it ought to be said still more often); a closer one exists among those of the same nation, and one more intimate still among those of the same city. For this reason our ancestors wanted the law of nations and the civil law to be different: everything in the civil law need not be in the law of nations, but everything in the law of nations ought also to be a part of civil law. We, however, do not have the firm and lifelike figure of true law and genuine justice: we make use of shadows and sketches. I wish

14 See Najman, “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature,” reprinted in this volume, ch. 5 on pages 107–18; and “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law,” reprinted in this volume, ch. 4 on pages 87–106; and sources therein and above, n. 6. For a discussion of law and nature in a wider Hellenistic context, see especially the excellent discussion by McKirahan Jr., “Chapter 19: The NOMOS-PHYSIS Debate.”

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chapter fourteen we would follow even those! For they are drawn from the best examples of nature and truth.15

Here, the law of nature is distinguished from the laws of particular nations. The distinction concerns both normative status and epistemic access. First, the law of nature has superior normative status. It constrains the laws of particular nations, but they do not constrain it. Second, there seems to be no special problem gaining epistemic access to the laws of particular nations, which are presumably embodied, not only in custom, but in written statutes. But gaining epistemic access to the law of nature is problematic. At best, we can know “shadows and sketches” of the law of nature. Those are “drawn from the best examples of nature and truth”—that is, presumably, from the exemplary lives of those who are virtuous and wise. But we do not know the originals. We know nature and truth only through those whose lives copy them. Cicero’s point about our extremely limited knowledge of the law of nature entails that this law is necessarily unwritten, and can never be the Law of any particular polis. In contrast, Philo maintains that the law of nature is precisely the Law of Moses, hence, the law of the Jewish polis. While this law cannot be reduced to a code of written laws, it can be embodied in a scripture that grounds law in the lives of self-taught sages. This must have sounded utterly paradoxical to Philo’s philosophical contemporaries, who were forced either to reject Philo’s claims on behalf of the Law of Moses, or else to transform their conception of the law of nature. It may seem to us that Philo is apologetic when he justifies Judaism in the Hellenistic terms of the law of nature. But there is good reason to think that he means—with utter seriousness—his paradoxical identification of the Law of Moses with the law of nature. Thus, in the two passages below, Philo sees it as highly significant that Moses prefaces the law with an account of creation that might otherwise seem out of place:

15 This passage is cited from the translation of Miriam T. Griffin and E. Margaret Atkins, eds., Cicero: On Duties (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 125–26.


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The beginning is, as I just said, quite marvelous. It contains an account of the making of the cosmos, the reasoning for this being that the cosmos is in harmony with the Law and the Law with the cosmos, and the man who observes the Law is at once a citizen of the cosmos, directing his actions in relation to the rational purpose of nature, in accordance with which the entire cosmos also is administered. (Opif. 3) He did not, like any prose-writer, make it his business to leave behind for posterity records of ancient deeds for the pleasant but unimproving entertainment which they give; but, in relating the history of early times, and going for its beginning right to the creation of the universe, he wished to show two most essential things: first that the Father and Maker of the world was in the truest sense also its Lawgiver, secondly that he who would observe the laws gladly welcomes conformity with nature and lives in accordance with the ordering of the universe, so that his deeds are attuned to harmony with his words and his words with his deeds. (Mos. 2.48)

Conclusion The goal of becoming mind alone seems entirely Platonic. If anything in Philo’s thinking about Judaism is a Hellenistic imposition, surely it is this. However, that very goal is read into Gen 1, then into the lives of Moses and Abraham, and generally integrated into a detailed reading of biblical narratives. Moreover, the lives of these self-taught sages stand as exemplars for people in general, and for Jews in particular, so that those who are not blessed with being self-taught may nevertheless learn to actualize their latent wisdom. Indeed, the actual practice of Mosaic law is connected up with the lives of the sages in such a way that the Law of Moses may be said to be the perfect copy of the law of nature. Of course this application of the Law of Moses to one’s life must be considered with respect to the particular laws and with respect to their universal rereading in Philo’s allegorical interpretations. If Philo seems to us to Hellenize Judaism, it is important to note that he also Judaizes Hellenism. He Hellenizes Judaism by taking the becoming of mind-alone as the goal of human life. But he Judaizes Hellenism by presenting that goal as attainable through a life lived in accordance with a written law—a scripture—that is nothing less than the embodiment of the law of nature. This emphasis on the role of textual

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study in paideia marks Philo as an inhabitant of the larger world of ancient Judaism. We can say this without ignoring or downplaying the differences between Philonic Judaism and other varieties of ancient Judaism. Indeed, we can understand these differences only against the background of a deeper commonality.16

16

I am grateful to my student Eva Mroczek for her helpful suggestions.

INDEX OF ANCIENT AUTHORS AND TEXTS

Hebrew Bible Genesis 1:1 4:4 5:21–24 15:19–20 18:14 23 25:8 26:5 28:11–17 38 49:10

57 n. 34 215 44 81 n. 13 25 33 n. 65 214 223 47 n. 14 63 n. 42, 125 32 n. 62

Exodus 3:8 4:14 17 19:3 19:25 19:20 23:30 32–34 32:12 32:15–19 32:25–29 33:2 34:1–4 34:11 34:27–28

81 n. 13 224 81 n. 13 138 138 138 138 18–22, 23, 37 n. 75 135 19–20 23 n. 42 81 n. 13 20–22 81 n. 13 19

Leviticus 24:10–23 26:46

81 n. 13 136

Numbers 8:14–19 12:7 17:13 20:16 27:1–11

23 n. 42 141 140 137 81 n. 13

Deuteronomy 7:3 17:18–20 31:9–13

80 23 n. 42 23 n. 42

31:19–22 31:24–29 31:25–26 32:1–3 33:2 33:8–11 34 34:10–12

16 n. 30 23 n. 42 14 n. 23 10 n. 12 134 23 n. 42 140, 226, 231 127 n. 19

Joshua 8:30–35 8:31 12:7 18:10 24:2

77 n. 6 75 n. 3 79 n. 9 79 n. 9 46 n. 13

2 Kings 2:1–4 2:3 14:6 16:10–16 18:2 22–23 22:14–17 22:18–20 23

76 n. 4 75 n. 3 75 n. 3 11 n. 19 11 n. 19 22–24, 28 28 22, 28 74

Isaiah 1:2 6:1–8:15 7:4 8 8:1 8:1–4 8:2 8:16 8:16–18 8:16–20 10:1–4 29:12 30 30:8 30:8–9

10 n. 12 14 16 22, 31 n. 58, 74 38 n. 76 10 n. 14, 10 n. 15, 11–13, 14, 16 11 n. 18 15, 38 n. 76 15 10 n. 15, 13–14, 17, 18 17–18 16 22 36 n. 70 25

258 30:8–11 30:15 63:9 Jeremiah 1 15:12–14 17 17:1–4 31:31 32 36

index of ancient authors and texts 10 n. 15, 15–17, 18, 25 16 136 37 n. 73 30 n. 55 10 n. 16, 26–30 29–30, 30 n. 55 150, 179 25, 33–34 10 n. 13, 24 n. 43, 26–30, 36 n. 70, 38 n. 76

Ezekiel 2 2:7–3:3 2:8–3:3 2:9 4 4:1–3 37 37:16–20 44:29

36 n. 70 37 n. 75 10 n. 14, 34–36, 37 26 n. 47 10 n. 13, 30–32 30 10 n. 16, 30–32 36 n. 70 78 n. 9

Amos 7–9

37 n. 73

Habakkuk 2 2:2 2:2–4

10 n. 13 25 n. 45, 36 n. 70, 38 n. 76 10 n. 15, 24–26

Zechariah 1:11 4:2 4:10 5 5:1–4

36 n. 72 37 n. 73 36 n. 72 10 n. 13 36–38

Malachi 2:4–9 3:22

23 n. 42 75 n. 3

Psalms 40:8 68:19 68:18 90 137

26 n. 47 139 134 n. 39 64 n. 45 164, 237

Daniel 9:13 Ezra 2:61–62 3:2–5 3:10–12 3:12–13 6:18 7:6 9 9:3–7 9:12 10 10:2 10:3–4 10:5 10:10 Nehemiah 8:1–8

11:36 13:1 13:24 13:25–27

75 n. 3 81 n. 14 75 n. 3 236 149, 162 n. 2, 176, 237 n. 4 75 n. 3, 78, 79 n. 9 75 n. 3 75 n. 3, 82 79 79–80 75 n. 3, 81 n. 13, 82 81 n. 13 80 81 n. 13 81 n. 13 11 n. 17, 75 n. 3, 76–77, 77 n. 7, 102, 165, 236, 236 n. 2, 240 79 n. 9 75 n. 3 77 n. 7 81 n. 13

1 Chronicles 2:7 5:27 9:1 23:6 24:1 26:1

81 n. 13 81 n. 13 81 n. 13 79 n. 9 79 n. 9 79 n. 9

2 Chronicles 8:14 12:2 17:7–9 17:9 23:18 25:4 26:1 26:6 26:18 28:19 28:22 29:1 29:6 29:19

79 n. 9 81 n. 13 23 n. 42 75 n. 3 75 n. 3 75 n. 3 81 n. 13 81 n. 13 81 n. 13 81 n. 13 81 n. 13 11 n. 19 81 n. 13 81 n. 13

index of ancient authors and texts 30:7 30:16–27 33:19 34:14

81 n. 13 75 n. 3 81 n. 13 75 n. 3

35:5 35:12 36:14

259

79 n. 9 75 n. 3 81 n. 13

Second Temple Literature Apocalypse of Zephaniah 9:4–5 166 n. 9 Aramaic Levi Document 57 42 n. 5 Assumption of Moses 11:16–17 127 n. 19 1 Enoch 14:1–7 33:1–4 68:1–5 81 82 82:1–61 89:36 93:2b 97 107 108

51 n. 23 51 n. 23 51 n. 23 51 n. 23 51 n. 23 42 n. 5 127 n. 19 51 n. 23 51 n. 23 51 n. 23 51 n. 23

4 Ezra 3:1 3:30–33 4:26–27 5:13–22 7:78–91 7:93–95 7:98 8:6 8:19 9:23–26 9:31 9:36–38 9:38–39 10:6–27 10:19–24 10:51–59 12:10–12 12:42 12:51–13:1 14:3 14:9 14:35

161, 229, 238 167 163 168–69 231 162 163 172 172 169 169–70 169–70 232 232–33 239 170–71 241 173, 239 n. 8 171 241 172–73 233

14:36–48 14:48 Jubilees 1:1–26 1:26 1:27 1:27–29 1:29 2:1 3:8–14 4:5–6 4:16–19 4:19 4:20–24 4:31–32 5:6 5:13–14 6:17–24 6:35–38 8:1–4 8:11 10:12–14 10:17 11:14–17 12:25–27 12:27 15:28 16:1–4 16:8–9 16:15–19 16:28–30 17:11 18:9 18:18–19 19:13–15 21:10 23:32 24:33 28:6 30:8–10 30:11–12 30:18–23 32:10–15 32:21

171 164, 173 64 n. 43 61, 64 48 n. 18 61–62, 124–25, 129 50 62, 125 57 n. 35 59 44 126 n. 14 45 56 63 n. 42 59 51 52–53 18 n. 33, 43 42 42 n. 5 45 n. 10 45 45–46 126 n. 14 64 n. 43 63 n. 42, 125 n. 13 59 n. 38 63 n. 42, 125 n. 13 53–54 63 n. 42 63 n. 42, 125 n. 13 54 n. 27 46 n. 12 42 n. 5 64 n. 43 59 n. 38 57 52 n. 24 64 n. 43 59–60 52 n. 24 60, 126 n. 14

260 32:21–23 32:21–26 32:24–26 32:27–29 33:9–12 33:13–18 39:5–7 41:23–24 41:26 46:16 47:1–48:13 47:9 48:13 49:1 49:1–2 49:7–8 49:7–9 49:11 49:22–23 50:4 50:6 50:12–13 1 Maccabees 1:11 2:29–31

index of ancient authors and texts 60–61 63 n. 42 47 54 n. 27 52 n. 24 64 n. 43 42–43 63 n. 42, 125 64 n. 43 47 64 n. 43 47 63 n. 42, 125 n. 13 64 n. 43 64 n. 43 64 n. 43 54 64 n. 43 64 n. 43 64 n. 43 64 n. 43 58, 64 n. 43 55 149 n. 7

Testament of Asher 2:8–10 51 n. 23 7:4–5 51 n. 23 Testament of Benjamin 9:1 51 n. 23 11:3–5 51 n. 23 Testament of Judah 18:1 51 n. 23 Testament of Levi 9:3–5 14:1 16:1–2

46 n. 14 51 n. 23 51 n. 23

Testament of Naphtali 4:1 51 n. 23 Testament of Simeon 5:4–6 51 n. 23 Testament of Zebulun 3:4–5 51 n. 23 9:5–7 51 n. 23

Qumran Literature CDa XVI, 1–4

127 n. 17

CD VI VI, 11, 18–20 XVI

180 150–51 66 n. 50

1QapGen V, 29

42 n. 5

IX, 3–5 IX, 12–21 X, 14–24 X, 6–14 XI, 7–9

155, 156, 184 n. 15 154–55 184–85 155–56 183–84

1QSb III

61 n. 40

3Q7 V

61 n. 40

1QH VI

61 n. 40

4Q169

148 n. 6

1QM I, 2 I, 3

148 148

4Q179 frg. 1 col. I frg. 1 col. II frg. 2

145 146 146

1QpHab XI, 4–5

149

4Q271

127 n. 17

1QS VIII, 4–7 VIII, 12–14

4Q377

142

148 n. 5 151, 180

index of ancient authors and texts 4Q377 frg. 2 col. II

127

4Q403 frg. 1 col. I, 39–46 frg. 1 col. II, 1–16 frg. 1 col. II, 7–10 frg. 1 col. II, 24–27

184 184 156 156

4Q501 1–9 11QT 11QT XXIX, 7–9

261

147–48 64 n. 44, 67 n. 52, 70 n. 59 46 n. 14, 138 n. 52

Philo of Alexandria De Abrahamo (On Abraham) 3–4 95 4–6 110–111 5 115, 222, 252 6 249 16 100, 114, 222, 251 274–276 99 275–276 223 276 115 De vita contemplative (On the Contemplative Life) 2.11 186 2.18–20 152–53, 178–79 2.77–78 186 2.83–90 181–82 2.90 187 11.83–90 157–58 13 226 28 103 60 227 78 104 90 227, 247 De decalogo (On the Decalogue) 6 151 10–11 151–52, 177–78, 211, 227 11 212 20–23 114 n. 16 101 208 n. 3, 213 132 97 Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat (That the Worse Is Wont to Attack the Better) 68 216 76–78 208 n. 3 78 211 83 208 n. 3

Quod Deus sit immutabilis (On the Unchangeableness of God) 43–44 208 n. 3 44 212 In Flaccum (Flaccus) 50 87 Hypothetica 6.8–9 7.12

97 102 n. 44

Legum allegoriae (The Allegories of Laws) 147 111–12, 253 1.61 208 n. 3, 211 n. 10 1.92 247 1.100 208 n. 3 3.83 208 n. 3 Legatio ad Gaium (Embassy to Gaius) 152–158 87 De migratione Abrahami (On the Migration of Abraham) 44–45 105 89–90 105 89–93 210 De vita Mosis (On the Life of Moses) 1.1 224 1.4 102 n. 44 1.23 224 1.48 225, 250 1.158–159 225, 251 1.162 116 2.2 116 2.4 115 n. 17, 224 2.6 224 2.9–11 90 2.11 112, 253 2.12–14 90, 97 2.14 101, 111, 252–53

262 2.25–40 2.44 2.48 2.51–52 2.52–53 2.76 2.288 2.291–292

index of ancient authors and texts 93 104 n. 47 94, 113, 255 112, 253 97 208 n. 3 183 n. 13, 226, 246 116 n. 18

De opificio mundi (On the Creation) 3 113, 255 4 110 19 208 n. 3 34 208 n. 3 71 208 n. 3 172 95 De posteritate Caini (On the Posterity of Cain and His Exile) 39 216 42 215, 217 94 208 n. 3 99 208 n. 3 Quod omnis probus liber sit (Every Good Man Is Free) 47–49 96 72–91 95

Quaestiones in Genesim (Questions on Genesis) 1.59 213 1.68 216 De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini (On the Sacrifices of Abel and Cain) 2 213 2–4 214 3 215 4 215 5 214 6 249 51 213, 214 52 215 88 215 135 208 n. 3 136 215 137 208 n. 3 De specialibus legibus (On the Special Laws) 1.2–11 104 2.150 104, 105 n. 49 2.156 104–105 2.162 105 2.176 105 n. 50 2.188–192 104 n. 48 3.6 105 4.150 100 n. 35

Flavius Josephus Antiquitates Judaicae (Antiquities of the Jews) 15.136 126

Contra Apionem (Against Apion) 1.37–41 176 n. 2

Bellum Judaicum (Wars of the Jews) 2.129 153 n. 14, 179 n. 7 2.142 153 n. 14, 179 n. 7 New Testament Acts 7:53

129

Romans 11:13–32

32 n. 61

Galatians 3:1–18 3:19–20 3:24–25

130 n. 26 129–130, 132 130

Hebrews 1:4–14 2:1–3 2:2–3 3:1–6

130 132 130, 132 141 n. 59

index of ancient authors and texts

263

Greek and Latin Authors Aristotle Nichomachean Ethics 5.7

92 n. 15

Plutarch Lycurgus 13.1–2

Cicero De officiis 3.69

91 n. 13

Sophocles Antigone 450–60

Plato Meno 80e Phaedrus 276a Republic V 449–480 Republic XII 539e–540b

248 98 n. 29 93 n. 19 212

Xenophon Memorabilia 4.4.19–21

109 n. 9 92 n. 14, 109 n. 10 98 n. 30

Rabbinic Literature: Mishnah, Tosefta, and Babylonian Talmud Mishnah ʾAvot 1:1 ʿEduyyot 8:7 Berakot 2:1 Peʾah 2:6 Qiddušin 4:14 Soferim 17:5 Yadayim 4:3

135 85 n. 19 100 n. 34 85 n. 19 82 n. 15, 99 n. 33 100 n. 33 85 n. 19

Tosefta Qiddušin 5 Sanhedrin 4:5 Soṭah 13:2–4 Taʾanit 4:2 Yadayim 2:16

82 n. 15 165 176 n. 2 100 n. 33 85 n. 19

Babylonian Talmud Berakot 5a 26b 33a Ḥ agigah 3a Megillah 24b Menaḥ ot 32a Pesaḥ im 24a Šabbat 31a 88b–89a 89b Yoma 28a

82 n. 15 99 n. 33 99 n. 33 85 n. 19 85 n. 19, 85 n. 20 85 n. 19, 85 n. 20 85 n. 21 82 n. 15 139 n. 56 85 n. 20 48 n. 17, 99 n. 33

Rabbinic Literature: Midrashic Collections ʾAbot de Rabbi Nathan A2 A 15 B 37

20 n. 38, 139 82 n. 15 137 n. 48

Genesis Rabbah 95:3 68:12

48 n. 18 137

Leviticus Rabbah 1:2

137

Mekilta de Shimʿon b. Yohai 23

138

Pesiqta Rabbati 21:8

134 n. 39

Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer 8

44 n. 8

Sifra Parshat Behuqotai 8:13

82 n. 15

Sifre Zutta 12

135

Tanḥuma Bamidbar 14

133

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

Abusch, T. I. 50 n. 20 Adang, C. 84 n. 17 Adler, W. 173 n. 16, 237 n. 5 Albeck, H. 82 n. 15, 100 n. 33 Alexander, P. S. 68 n. 53, 189 n. 1 Allegro, J. M. 47 n. 15, 147 n. 3 Anderson, G. A. 55 n. 29, 76 n. 5 Austin, J. L. 12 n. 20 Barton, J. xx, xx n. 5, 176 n. 3, 198 n. 25 Baumgarten, A. I. 4 n. 3, 7 n. 8 Baumgarten, J. 55 n. 29, 127 n. 17 Belkin, S. 99 n. 32, 101 n. 37 Berger, M. S. 102 n. 42 Bergren, T. A. 173 n. 16, 236 n. 1, 251 n. 11 Berlin, A. 147 n. 3, 168 n. 13 Bernstein, M. J. 67 n. 53, 127 n. 17, 139 nn. 54, 56, 143 n. 1, 164 n. 5, 189 n. 1 Betz, H. D. 129 n. 22, 130 n. 25, 130 nn. 24, 26, 134 n. 39 Bickerman, E. J. 74 n. 2 Billerbeck, P. 126 n. 16, 130 n. 25, 134 n. 39 Birnbaum, E. 101 n. 37, 183 n. 13 Blank, S. H. 80 n. 11 Blenkinsopp, J. xix, xx, 76 n. 5, 77 n. 7, 80, 80 n. 11, 81 n. 12, 84 n. 18, 137 n. 48 Blidstein, G. J. 83 n. 15, 102 n. 39 Boccaccini, G. 200 n. 28, 245 n. 4 Bockmuehl, M. 92 n. 15, 94 n. 22, 246 n. 6 Borgen, P. 68 n. 54, 87 n. 1, 88 n. 5, 93 n. 20, 96 n. 25, 101 nn. 36, 38, 104 n. 47, 105 n. 51, 245 n. 3 Bottéro, J. 6 n. 4, 9 n. 10 Boyarin, D. 209 n. 7 Bright, J. 28 n. 52, 30 n. 55 Brody, R. 83 n. 15, 102 nn. 39, 41 Brooke, G. J. 150 n. 10, 177 n. 4, 189 n. 1, 190 n. 3 Bruce, F. F. 121 n. 1, 129 n. 22, 129 n. 23

Campbell, J. G. 143 n. 1 Carmignac, J. 147 n. 3, 168 n. 13 Carroll, R. 27, 27 n. 49, 28, 28 nn. 51, 52, 30, 30 nn. 55, 56, 33 n. 65, 34 n. 66 Cavell, S. xxi, xxi n. 7, 12 n. 20, 236 n. 1, 240 n. 10, 248 n. 10 Charlesworth, J. H. 65 n. 46, 67 n. 53, 68 n. 54 Chazon, E. 144 n. 2, 170 n. 14, 183 n. 14 Chernick, M. L. 86 n. 21 Chernus, I. 133 n. 36 Childs, B. S. 19 n. 34, 20 nn. 36, 39 Claburn, W. E. 22 n. 41 Clark, E. A. 131 n. 29, 132 n. 31 Cohen, N. 93, 93 n. 18, 98–99 n. 32, 100 n. 34, 101 n. 37, 244 n. 2 Cohen, S. J. D. 80 n. 11 Cohon, S. S. 76 n. 5 Collins, J. J. 73 n. 1, 87 n. 2, 88 n. 3, 127 n. 19, 150 n. 10, 164 n. 5, 177 n. 4, 219 n. 1, 236 n. 1, 245 n. 3, 251 n. 11 Cooper, J. M. 96 n. 26 Crenshaw, J. L. 7 n. 7 Cross, F. M. 4 n. 3, 22 n. 41, 73 n. 1 D’Angelo, M. R. 55 n. 30, 76 n. 5, 141 n. 59 Danielou, J. 208 n. 1 Daube, D. 85 n. 21 Davenport, G. 62 n. 42 Davidson, A. xxi, xxi n. 7, 220 n. 2, 236 n. 1, 248 n. 10 Davidson, M. J. 61 n. 40, 124 n. 7 Davies, W. D. 121 n. 1, 126, n. 16, 137 n. 48 Davis, E. F. 8, 8 n. 9, 27 n. 50, 35, 35 n. 68, 38 n. 76 Dawson, D. 104 n. 46 de Lange, N. R. M. 132 n. 31 DeFilippo, J. G. 89 n. 7, 92 n. 16, 108 n. 4, 112, 112 n. 13, 246 n. 6 Demsky, A. 7 n. 8 Derrida, J. 12 n. 20 Dillon, J. 89 n. 6, 91 n. 12, 106 n. 53, 108 n. 5 Dimant, D. 65 n. 46, 164 n. 5

index of modern authors Endres, J. C. 56 n. 31 Eppel, R. 50 n. 20 Evans, C. A. 42 n. 5, 67–68 n. 53, 68 n. 55 Falk, Z. 32 n. 62 Farrer, J. A. 65 n. 47 Fishbane, M. A. vii, xvii n. 1, xx, xx n. 5, 48 n. 17, 70 n. 59, 81 n. 12, 84 n. 18, 122 n. 3, 124 n. 7, 139 n. 53, 176 n. 3 Fitzmyer, J. A. 68 n. 53 Fletcher-Louis, C. 76 n. 5, 129 n. 23, 247 n. 9 Floyd, M. H. 176 n. 3 Forster, E. M. 65 n. 47, 83 n. 16 Fossum, J. E. 124 n. 7 128 n. 20 Foucault, M. 83 n. 16 Fraade, S. 122 n. 3, 152 n. 13, 170 n. 15, 178 n. 5, 189 n. 1 Fraser, P. M. 87 n. 2, 245 n. 3 Freedman, D. N. 22 n. 41 García Martínez, F. 39–40, 40 nn. 2, 3, 4, 42 n. 6, 50 nn. 20, 21, 22, 51 n. 24, 53, 53 n. 26, 54 n. 28, 56 nn. 32, 33, 57 n. 35, 58 n. 36, 59 n. 37, 60–61 n. 39, 70–71, 71 n. 60, 244 n. 2 Gerardi, P. 6 n. 4, 17 n. 32 Ginzberg, L. 126 n. 16 Glessmer, U. 125 n. 11 Goldin, J. 20 n. 38, 136, 136 n. 45, 140 n. 57 Goodenough, E. R. 89 n. 8, 92–93, 92 n. 17, 98 n. 31, 116 n. 19, 246 n. 6 Goppelt, L. 208, 208 n. 4, 209, 210, 210 n. 8 Goulet, R. 103 n. 45, 245 n. 3 Grabbe, L. L. 84 n. 18 Greenberg, M. 30 n. 57, 32 n. 64 Grunewald, I. 198 n. 24, 201 n. 29 Haak, R. D. 176 n. 3 Hadot, P. xxi, xxi nn. 6, 7, 220, 220 n. 2, 236 n. 1, 237, 238, 247 n. 10 Halbertal, M. 78–77 n. 7 Halivni, D. W. 84 n. 17, 85 n. 19 Halperin, D. J. 124 n. 7, 133 n. 36, 134 n. 40, 139 n. 56 Halpern-Amaru, B. 162 n. 3, 189 n. 1 Haran, M. 31 n. 60, 34 n. 67, 36 n. 70 Harrington, D. J. 68 n. 53, 189 n. 1 Harris, J. M. 86 n. 21

265

Hay, D. M. 88 n. 5, 105 n. 51, 107 n. 2, 245 n. 3 Hayes, C. 80 n. 11 Heinemann, I. 100 n. 33, 101 n. 36 Hengel, M. 219 n. 1 Hicks, R. L. 27 n. 48 Hilgert, E. 98 n. 32, 101 n. 37, 245 n. 3 Hillers, D. R. 19 n. 34 Hills, D. 240 n. 10 Himmelfarb, M. 163 n. 4, 166 n. 8, 191, 191 nn. 4, 7 Hirshman, M. 121 n. 1, 133 n. 35 Holladay, W. L. 28 n. 52, 29 n. 53 Horgan, M. P. 147 n. 3, 168 n. 13 Horsley, R. A. 90 nn. 9, 12, 96 n. 25, 101 n. 36, 108 n. 6, 246 n. 6 Houston, W. 12 n. 20 Humphrey, E. M. 168 n. 12 Jacobson, H. 68 n. 53 Jaeger, W. 245, 245 n. 5 Jaffee, M. 252 n. 13 Japhet, S. 9 n. 11, 75 n. 3, 76 n. 5, 78 n. 8, 79, 79 n. 10, 81 n. 14 Jassen, A. P. 197 n. 21 Jensen, J. 14 n. 24, 15, 15 nn. 26, 27, 16, 16 n. 29 Kaufmann, Y. 81 n. 12, 82 Keefer, K. 65 n. 46, 66 n. 49 Kimelman, R. 121 n. 1, 130 n. 25, 133 n. 34 Kister, M. 139 n. 54 Knibb, M. 147, 147 n. 4, 149 n. 8, 150 n. 10, 162 n. 2, 180 n. 8, 193 n. 11, 236 n. 4 Knohl, I. 75 n. 3 Koester, H. 90 n. 9, 96, 97 n. 27, 108 n. 6 Kovacs, J. L. 210 n. 9 Kraft, R. A. 164 nn. 5, 6, 190 n. 3, 192, 192 n. 8, 196 n. 17, 219 n. 1, 230 n. 11, 237 n. 5 Kugel, J. L. vii, xvii n. 1, xx, xx n. 5, 3, 4, 4 n. 2, 6 n. 5, 9 n. 11, 13 n. 22, 20 n. 38, 35, 35 n. 69, 36, 36 n. 71, 37, 37 n. 75, 42 n. 5, 43 nn. 6, 7, 44 n. 9, 47 n. 14, 50 n. 20, 53 n. 25, 55 n. 29, 64–65 n. 45, 68 n. 53, 69 n. 57, 74 n. 2, 75 n. 3, 76 n. 5, 77 n. 7, 80 nn. 11, 12, 82 n. 15, 84 n. 18, 97 n. 28, 101 n. 38, 102 nn. 40, 43, 122 n. 3, 124 n. 7, 209 n. 7, 230 n. 12, 251 n. 12

266

index of modern authors

Lampe, G. W. H. 241 n. 12 Lange, A. 45 n. 10, 48 n. 18, 50 n. 20 Lawson, R. P. 131 n. 29 Lazarus-Yafeh, H. 84 n. 17 Lehming, S. 19 n. 34 Leiman, S. Z. 69 n. 56, 73 n. 1 Lemaire, A. 7 n. 7 Levenson, J. D. 19 n. 34, 69 n. 58, 75 n. 3, 80, 80 n. 11, 81 n. 12 Levine, E. 36 n. 70 Levine, T. 75 n. 3 Lewis, J. P. 42 n. 5 Leyerle, B. 123 n. 6 Lichtenberger, H. 168 n. 12 Lieberman, S. J. 85 n. 21, 132, 132 n. 30 Lindblom, J. 31 n. 59 Loewenstamm, S. 25 n. 44 Lohfink, N. 22 n. 41 Loisier, M. A. 9 n. 10 Long, A. 65 n. 47 Luria, D. 44 n. 8 Luxon, T. H. 208 n. 2, 209 n. 5 Mach, M. 61 n. 40, 123 n. 7, 126 n. 16 Machinist, P. 6 n. 4, 17 n. 32, 50 n. 20, 78 n. 7 Mack, B. 76 n. 5 Marshall, R. A. 76 n. 5 Martens, J. W. 93 n. 19, 94 n. 22, 100 n. 34, 101 n. 36, 113, 113 n. 15, 114, 246 n. 6 McCarthy, D. J. 19 n. 34 McKirahan Jr., R. D. 90 n. 10, 107 n. 1, 109 n. 10, 246 n. 6, 253, n. 14 Meade, D. G. 83 n. 16 Mendenhall, G. E. 19 n. 34 Metso, S. 150 n. 10, 156 n. 19, 177 n. 4 Metzger, B. M. 83 n. 16 Michalowski, P. 6 nn. 4, 6 Milgrom, J. 75 n. 3, 80 n. 11 Millard, A. R. 7 n. 7 Mitsis, P. T. 89 n. 7, 90 n. 10, 92 n. 16, 108, 108 n. 4, 112, 112 n. 13, 246 n. 6 Momigliano, A. 74 n. 2 Morgenstern, M. 42 n. 5 Myre, A. 98 n. 31 Najman, H. vii, xviii n. 2, 21 n. 40, 38 n. 77, 107 n. 2, 109 n. 7, 121 nn. 2, 4, 122 n. 2, 122 n. 4, 125 n. 12, 153 n. 15, 158 n. 20, 162 n. 2, 164 n. 5, 166 n. 7, 167 n. 11, 176 n. 1, 179 n. 7, 183

n. 10, 185 n. 16, 190 n. 2, 193 n. 9, 195 nn. 13–16, 196 nn. 18–20, 22, 197 n. 20, 198 n. 22, 199 nn. 26, 27, 201 n. 30, 212 n. 11, 219 n. 1, 222 n. 4, 223 n. 5, 226 n. 6, 228 n. 7, 230 n. 10, 234 n. 13, 243 n. 1, 244 n. 2, 246 n. 6, 247 n. 10, 250 n. 11, 253 n. 14 Newsom, C. A. 151 n. 12, 189 n. 1 Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 189 n. 1, 198 n. 24, 236 n. 1, 251 n. 11 Niehoff, M. 107 n. 2 Nikiprowetzky, V. 93 n. 19, 101 n. 36, 152 n. 13, 170 n. 15, 181 n. 9, 228 n. 7, 246 n. 6 Nitzan, B. 193 n. 12 Nohrnberg, J. 19 n. 34 Olyan, S. M. 61 n. 40, 124 n. 7 Orlov, A. 201 n. 30 Pabst, H. 147 n. 3, 168 n. 13 Parker, S. B. 4 n. 3, 7, 7 n. 8 Paul, S. M. 50 n. 20 Pelikan, J. 136 n. 46 Perrot, C. 189 n. 1 Petersen, D. L. 37 nn. 74, 75 Phillips, A. 7 n. 8 Porter, J. 117 n. 20 Qimron, E.

42 n. 5

Reed, A. Y. 200 n. 29, 203 n. 33 Reeves, J. C. 190 n. 3 Rendtorff, R. 76 n. 5 Roberts, J. J. M. 25, 25 nn. 44, 45, 26 n. 46 Runia, D. T. 88 n. 4, 89 n. 6, 103 n. 45, 108 n. 5, 110 n. 12, 152 n. 13, 170 n. 15, 181 n. 9, 228 n. 7 Russell, D. S. 241 n. 12 Sanders, E. P. 62 n. 41 Sanders, J. A. 65 n. 46, 164 n. 5 Sandmel, S. 98 n. 31 Sasson, J. M. 6 n. 4 Schäfer, P. 82 n. 15, 102 n. 39, 124 n. 7, 139 n. 56 Schiffman, L. H. 123 n. 5, 147 n. 3, 162 nn. 2, 3 Schlegel, F. 3, 3 n. 1 Schmidt, N. 42 n. 5 Scholem, G. 132 n. 30 Schultz, J. P. 139 n. 56

index of modern authors Schwartz, D. 143 n. 1, 149 n. 8 Schwartz, J. 46 n. 14, 138 n. 52 Schwarz, E. 56 n. 31 Schweitzer, S. J. 150 n. 9 Scott, J. M. 143 n. 1 Segal, A. F. 121 n. 1, 136 nn. 45, 47, 190 n. 1 Seitz, C. R. 29 n. 54 Shemesh, A. 191, 191 n. 5 Sivan, D. 42 n. 5 Smelik, K. A. D. 6 nn. 4, 5 Smith, M. 65 n. 47, 83 n. 16, 137 n. 48 Sowers, S. G. 107 n. 2 Speyer, W. 65 n. 47 Stade, B. 11 n. 18 Steiner, D. 92 n. 14 Steiner, R. C. 42 n. 5, 46 n. 11 Sterling, G. E. 89 nn. 6, 8, 103 n. 45, 108 n. 5, 116 n. 19, 219 n. 1, 245 n. 3 Stone, M. E. 50 n. 20, 65 n. 46, 164 n. 5, 165 n. 6, 170 n. 15, 229 n. 9, 230 n. 11, 236 n. 1, 239 n. 7, 241 n. 11, 251 n. 11 Strack, H. L. 126 n. 16, 130 n. 25, 134 n. 39 Strauss, L. 92 n. 16, 246 n. 6 Striker, G. 90 n. 10, 90 n. 11, 107 n. 1, 246 n. 6 Stroumsa, S. 139 n. 54 Strugnell, J. 65 n. 46, 66 n. 51, 67 n. 52, 144, 147 n. 3 Stuckenbruck, L. T. 124 n. 7, 130 n. 27 Swanson, D. D. 46 n. 14, 138 n. 52 Ta-Shema, I. M. 100 n. 33 Tadmor, H. 50 n. 20, 78 n. 7 Talmon, S. 73 n. 1, 143 n. 1 Testuz, M. 62 n. 41 Tigay, J. H. 4 n. 3 Tobin, T. H. 89 n. 6, 103 n. 45, 108 n. 5, 245 n. 3 Tov, E. 189 n. 1 Trevolle, J. 73 n. 1 Tubach, J. 217 n. 14

267

Ulrich, E. 73 n. 1, 127 n. 17, 191 n. 6 Urbach, E. E. 83 n. 15, 100 n. 33, 102 n. 39, 121 n. 1, 128, 132, 132 n. 32 van den Hoeck, A. 88 n. 4 van der Ploeg, J. 7 n. 7 Vander Waerdt, P. A. 89 n. 7, 90 n. 10, 92 n. 16, 108, 108 n. 4, 112, 112 n. 14, 246 n. 6 VanderKam, J. C. 39 n. 1, 46 n. 11, 47 n. 14, 48 nn. 16, 18, 51 n. 23, 55 n. 31, 62, 62 n. 41, 69 n. 56, 73 n. 1, 94 n. 21, 124 n. 8, 124 n. 9, 124 n. 10, 125 n. 11, 126 n. 15, 127 n. 17, 127 nn. 18, 19, 136 n. 46, 143 n. 1, 150 n. 10, 154, 154 n. 16, 191 n. 6, 193 n. 10, 198 n. 24, 201 n. 30 Vermes, G. 189 n. 1 Wacholder, B. Z. 191 n. 4 Weinfeld, M. 19 n. 34 Weiss, I. H. 85 n. 20 Wentling, J. L. 46 n. 14, 138 n. 52 Werman, C. 80 n. 11, 191 n. 4 Whitman, J. 208 n. 1 Wiesenberg, E. 62 n. 42 Wikgren, A. 126 n. 16 Wildberger, H. 11 nn. 18, 19 Williamson, H. G. M. 9 n. 10, 11 n. 19, 14 n. 24, 15 n. 28, 78 n. 8, 81 n. 14 Wilson, R. xix, xix n. 4 Winston, D. 89 n. 6, 105 n. 52, 108 n. 5, 222 n. 3, 247 n. 10 Winter, I. J. 6 n. 4, 17 n. 32 Wise, M. O. 46 n. 14, 138 n. 52 Wolfson, E. R. 13 n. 21, 14 n. 25, 17 n. 31, 144 n. 1, 144 n. 2, 155 n. 17, 170 n. 14, 176 n. 3, 183 n. 14 Wolfson, H. 90 n. 10, 101 n. 36, 107 n. 1, 245 n. 3 Woolcombe, K. J. 208 n. 1, 209, 209 n. 6 Wright, B. G. 202 n. 32, 251 n. 11 Yadin, Y.

46 n. 14, 64 n. 44, 138 n. 52

SUBJECT INDEX

Abel 56, 207–18 Alexandria 87, 88, 89, 181, 219 Allegorical Interpretation 103, 104–105, 207–18, 255 Angels—see also Revelation 13 n. 22, 37, 47, 53 n. 26, 60, 62–64, 63 n. 42, 67 n. 52, 121–42, 144, 157, 166, 168–70, 183, 192, 194–97, 198, 201–3, 228, 231, 233, 248 – Angel of Death 140–41 – Angel of the Presence 40, 47, 50, 59, 60–64, 67, 85, 124–25, 138, 194–196, 201–2 – Angelic Dictation 55, 61–63, 70, 124, 201, 203 Authority – Conferring strategies xviii, 39–71, 76, 81, 83, 85, 90, 135, 139, 201 – Figures 63, 66, 73–74, 84–85, 139–40 – Interpretive Strategies 4–5, 39–71, 78, 121–42 – Teaching 46–48 – Scripture 39, 52, 58, 64, 67, 69–71, 74, 76, 78, 85, 86, 87–106, 122, 125, 127–28, 140–42, 243 – Divine 18, 45, 64, 123, 142 Cain—see Abel

56, 57, 207–18

Death 28, 43, 51, 53, 56, 58, 61, 64, 116 n. 18, 140–41, 168, 170, 174, 216, 221, 225–34, 239 Decalogue 37, 94 Desert—see Exile, Wilderness Destruction 5, 12, 15–16, 22–24, 27, 29, 31, 34, 37, 74, 85, 87, 99 n. 33, 100 n. 33, 122, 144, 147, 155–56, 159, 161–70, 172–74, 176–77, 185 n. 17, 187, 193, 198, 213, 219–20, 228–34, 236–39, 240–42 Diaspora 161, 234 Divine 3, 5, 7, 9 n. 11, 10–11, 15, 18–19, 20 n. 38, 22, 42, 44, 47, 60, 63, 66, 71, 89–90, 93–94, 97–99, 112–13, 121, 123, 133, 142, 145, 148, 151–52, 155–58, 161–62, 172, 175, 177–78, 181, 184–85, 192–94, 196–98, 203, 223–25, 229, 231, 233–34, 238, 250

– Authority 18, 45, 64, 123, 142 – Inspiration 21, 24, 32, 34, 66 n. 48, 76, 154, 158, 182, 187 – Instruction 18, 21, 24, 28–29, 33, 35, 37, 40, 54 n. 28, 62, 63, 70 n. 59, 85 – Perfection 89, 157, 158, 191–194, 210, 220, 223 – Revelation 7, 15–16, 20, 24, 28, 39–40, 45, 60, 66 n. 48, 67–70, 94, 117, 156–57, 173, 196 – Writing 19–20, 24, 28–29, 34–35, 37, 41, 42, 45, 48, 58, 62 n. 42, 64 n. 44, 67, 96, 196 Enoch 44–46, 49, 51, 95, 126, 172, 194, 196, 200–3 Esoteric Mysteries 155–56, 164, 172–74, 204, 242 Exemplars—see also Sage 95 n. 23, 109–10, 114, 158, 165–67, 172–73, 183–85, 189–204, 222, 231, 236 n. 1, 238–43, 250–52, 254–55 Exile 3–5, 10, 14–15, 23–25, 29, 32, 34, 38, 67, 74–76, 77 n. 7, 79, 84, 145–52, 156, 158–59, 165–67, 172, 176–77, 180, 182, 185, 187, 193–94, 219, 221, 234, 237–38 – Recovery From 144, 148, 150, 155–58, 164, 176, 185, 193–94, 219, 234, 236–39 Ezra 11, 21, 73, 77, 79–82, 84–87, 161–74, 185, 201, 203, 228–34, 236–43 Foreign Marriage

64, 79–82

Heavenly Tablets 39–40, 45–46, 48, 50–64, 67, 70–71, 191, 196, 202, 203 Heavens—see also Otherworlds 10, 16 n. 30, 37, 40, 43, 46, 51, 57, 59–60, 97, 111, 116 n. 18, 138 n. 50, 158, 161–66, 166 n. 9, 168, 170, 172–74, 181–83, 187, 192, 225, 227, 246–47, 253 Hellenism 106, 255 (89, 98 Hellenized) Hellenistic 89–93, 98, 101, 106, 219, 243–56 – Interpretation 101, 104 n. 46, 105, 254–55

subject index – Philosophy 85 n. 21, 89, 187, 238, 244, 253–54 Inner-biblical interpretation 81–82 Inspiration 8, 23, 66 n. 48, 157–58, 175–87, 192–93, 196–98, 200, 202–3 – Divine 21, 23–24, 32, 34, 66 n. 49, 76, 154, 158, 175, 182 Interpretation 13 n. 21, 20 n. 36, 21, 40 n. 3, 37–71, 75 n. 3, 77 n. 7, 78, 81–89, 95 n. 24, 100 n. 33, 101–6, 115 n. 17, 117, 121–42, 149–55, 170, 175, 179–80, 185–86, 190–92, 196–97, 201, 207–9, 211, 218, 221, 231, 241, 243, 255 Jesus 55, 130–31, 136, 231 Joseph 31–32, 42–43 Law—see also Torah, Mosaic Torah/ Law 3–38, 39–71, 73–86, 121–42, 148–59, 162, 167, 169–73, 177–81, 186, 194, 201, 210–12, 223, 225, 236, 241, 243, 254–55 – Ensouled Law 92, 94–95, 97, 222, 224 – Natural 87–106, 107–18, 153, 158, 179, 182–83, 212, 222–24, 243, 246, 249, 252–55 – Mosaic (Law of Moses) 50, 58, 67, 73–86, 87–106, 107–18, 125, 126 n. 15, 128, 151, 158, 181–83, 185, 200, 210, 212, 213, 218, 220, 223, 224, 227, 237, 239, 244–45, 250–51, 254, 255 – Oral—see also Oral Torah 4, 93, 98–99, 101–2, 105 – Pre-Sinaitic 44, 48, 51–53, 55, 56, 61, 71, 94–95, 100, 194 – Revealed 42, 45 n. 10, 46, 48, 50, 54, 55 n. 31, 57 n. 35, 59, 71, 85, 94, 95 n. 23, 97, 107, 108, 121, 124, 127, 128, 129, 134, 173, 194 – and the Testimony 14, 41 n. 4, 50, 52–53, 62, 65 n. 45, 124 – Universal 89–98, 101 n. 37, 103–6, 158, 182, 244, 246, 255 – Unwritten 91–92, 94–95, 98–106, 108–12, 114–17, 222–23, 243, 251–52, 254 Middle Platonism 89 n. 6, 90–91 n. 12, 108, 108 n. 5 Mosaic 55–56, 66, 82, 85, 193–96, 200, 201–4, 210, 227, 239, 241 n. 11, 245 – Attribution 63, 81

269

– – – –

Authority 55, 67, 76 n. 5, 85, 201 Discourse 195, 196, 198–200, 203, Prophecy 39, 203 Revelation 52, 54, 128 n. 20, 131, 135–36, 173, 203 – Torah/Law—see also Law of Moses, Torah 4, 11, 21, 38, 48, 50, 52, 58, 64, 66 n. 50, 67, 69–71, 73–78, 83, 87–106, 113–14, 123–26, 128, 140, 151, 158, 181, 183 n. 11, 186, 200, 213, 218, 220, 223, 237, 244–45, 252, 255 Moses 4 n. 3, 13 n. 22, 16 n. 30, 19–21, 23, 35, 39–71, 73–86, 89, 94–95, 97, 99–100, 102, 105–6, 111, 113–16, 125–28, 130–32, 134–36, 138–42, 164–66, 172, 181–83, 194–96, 199–203, 216, 218, 222–27, 230–31, 240–43, 245–55 – as Angel 127–28 – Man of God 127, 224 – Miriam 158, 181–83 Noah 18 n. 33, 42–43, 45, 46 n. 11, 47 n. 15, 51, 67, 202, 251 n. 12 Otherworlds—see also Revelation, Wilderness 162–66, 172–74 Paideia 210, 243–56 Perfectionism 36 n. 70, 92, 96, 130, 132, 146, 150 n. 10, 155, 157–58, 181–86, 193–94, 196, 203, 210–18, 219–34, 236–38, 247 – Path to Perfection 96, 219–34, 248–56 – Perfect Copy 60, 91–94, 105–6, 158, 182–83, 211 – Perfect Moses 89, 106, 196, 224–25, 231 Philo of Alexandria—for complete listing see Primary Source Index – Allegorical Interpretation 207–18 – Law of Moses 87–106, 107–118, 151–54 – Paideia 243–56 – Perfection 219–28, 234, 243–56 – Revelation 151–58, 175–87 Philosophy (Greek/Hellenistic) 85 n. 21, 87, 89, 90 n. 10, 91–92, 107, 200, 220, 238, 253 Plato 212, 228, 234, 245 Prayer 99–100, 155–57, 161, 169, 172–73, 181, 183–84, 193 Preexilic 5, 7, 9–10, 18, 23, 38, 66, 74–75, 77–79, 84, 124, 197

270

subject index

Prophecy 39, 52, 61, 154, 156–57, 176, 189–204, 224, 234, 238, 242 – End of 176, 192–193, 197, 231, 234, 242 – Mosaic—see Mosaic Prophecy – Written—see also Writing Prophetic 3–38, 47, 74–75, 144, 190, 192, 195, 197, 198, 201–203 Pseudepigraphy 41, 49, 63–67, 86, 164 n. 5, 190, 228–30, 235–42 Pseudonymous/Pseudepigraphic Attribution 73–86, 174, 195, 199, 236, 238, 240–41 Purification 57 n. 35, 144, 150–54, 156–57, 159, 167, 177–79, 181, 186, 248 – Pure 54, 146, 152–53, 178–79, 220, 225, 237, 246

Stoicism (Stoic ethics) 89–90, 96, 98 n. 30, 107 n. 1, 108, 112

Redemption 10, 24–25, 33, 144, 147–48, 158, 167, 175, 182 Restoration 32, 84, 86, 162, 194, 221, 229–30, 238 Revelation 3–38, 44–48, 51 n. 23, 52 n. 24, 54, 60, 62, 70, 73, 76–77, 84, 94, 95 n. 23, 97, 102, 108, 144, 154–59, 163–64, 166–74, 177, 181, 187, 191–97, 203, 234 – Angelic 121–42, 138, 140, 192, 198 – Divine—see Divine Revelation – Inspiration 175–87 – Oral 15, 16 n. 30, 18–19, 21–22, 27, 34, 37–38, 73 – Prophetic 47, 123, 195, 197–98 Rewritten Bible 41, 49, 65, 67–70, 83, 189–90, 192–93

Virtue 100–1, 104, 109–11, 114, 116, 129, 158, 182, 211–13, 222, 225, 227, 247, 249–51 – and Vice 211, 213, 216–17

Sabbath 53, 58, 62, 135, 151, 180 Sage 92, 95, 98–99, 112, 114–17, 140, 220–26, 236, 238, 248, 250–52, 255 Scripture 3, 37, 39, 66, 69, 75, 82–83, 86, 92, 104, 110, 116 n. 18, 117–18, 122–23, 127–28, 137, 186, 197–98, 208–9, 243, 254–55 Sinai – Moses 13 n. 22, 21, 40, 52 n. 24, 58–59, 65 n. 45, 67 – Pre-Sinaitic—see Law Pre-Sinaitic – Revelation 102, 122, 124, 124, 126, 128, 154, 163–165, 166, 167 – Theophany 133, 134, 142 – Tradition 45, 47–48, 54, 60, 64, 67, 77, 84, 85, 123, 127, 128–29, 100, 130, 132, 133 n. 36, 134, 135–39 142, 167, 251

Therapeutae 152–53, 157–58, 178–79, 181–83, 185–86, 227–28, 246–47 Torah – Mosaic (of Moses)—see also Law of Moses, Mosaic Torah/Law 4, 11, 21, 38, 48, 52, 64, 66 n. 51, 67, 69–71, 73–74, 77–78, 80, 83, 89, 101–102, 105–106, 125–26, 140, 183 n. 11, 186, 252 – Oral—see also Law Oral 71, 82, 100, 102 – Written 71, 102—see also Writing Type (τύπος) 207–18

Wilderness 143–59, 212, 227–28 – Exile 145–50, 167 – Liminal Space 161–74 – Locus for revelation 144, 154–58, 177–80, 234 – Purification 144, 150–54 – Suffering 144, 148–49, 167 Wisdom 44, 95, 110, 153–54, 164, 167–69, 171–74, 179, 192–93, 214, 218, 221, 247–48, 250, 255 Writing – Authoritative 3–39, 39–71, 74, 78, 83–84, 92, 94, 97, 98, 102–3, 106, 112, 127, 185, 190, 195–98, 203, 230, 243 – Enochic 67, 192–93, 200, 201 n. 29, 204, 245 n. 4 – Heavenly 51 n. 23, 59, 192 – Inspired 23–24, 32, 66 n. 48, 76, 154, 185, 192, 200, 202–3 – Pre-Sinaitic 44, 51–56, 61, 64, 94 – Primordial 39–71, 247, 252 – Prophetic—see also Prophecy Writing 3–38 – Revelatory 21, 175, 185, 192, 195–203 – Sacred 3–38, 39–71, 74–75, 83, 91–9

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