Bethsaida in Archaeology, History and Ancient Culture : A Festschrift in Honor of John T. Greene [1 ed.] 9781443861601, 9781443853644

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Bethsaida in Archaeology, History and Ancient Culture

Bethsaida in Archaeology, History and Ancient Culture: A Festschrift in Honor of John T. Greene

Edited by

J. Harold Ellens

Bethsaida in Archaeology, History and Ancient Culture: A Festschrift in Honor of John T. Greene, Edited by J. Harold Ellens This book first published 2014 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2014 by J. Harold Ellens and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-5364-X, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-5364-4

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements ..................................................................................... ix Foreword ..................................................................................................... x James H. Charlesworth Introduction ............................................................................................. xvii John Tracy Greene, Person, Professor, Intellectual, Scholar, and Friend J. Harold Ellens Part I: Bethsaida and the Bible Chapter One ................................................................................................. 2 A Chronicle of Inevitable Destruction: Stages in the Conquest and Destruction of Bethsaida by Tiglath Pileser III Rami Arav Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 26 The Two Bethsaidas Richard Freund Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 47 The Sacred Precinct at the Gate Carl Savage Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 63 Cult of Astarte in Bethsaida and Kinneret Ilona Skupinska-Lovset Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 84 Faunal Analysis: Zooarchaeology in Syro-Palestinian/Israeli Archaeology Toni Fisher Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 122 Mysteries of the Middle Bronze Age at Gezer: Stories Yet to be Told Joe D. Seger

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Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 134 Revised List of Limestone Vessels Found on et-Tell (Bethsaida) from 1987-2012 Heinz-Wolfgang Kuhn Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 152 More Than Just Couch Change: Bethsaida Coin Report 2001-2012 Gregory Jenks Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 188 Digging up Women: What Did She Do All Day? What Bethsaida Tells Us Elizabeth McNamer Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 203 Phoenician Presence in Bethsaida Ilona Skupinska-Lovset Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 215 Philip of Bethsaida Mark Appold Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 232 On the Use of the Name Herod Philip Fred Strickert Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 242 Philip, Julia, and the Imperial Cult Elizabeth McNamer Chapter Fourteen ..................................................................................... 252 The Quest for the Historical Nazareth Gregory Jenks Part II: Related Biblical and Cultural Themes Chapter Fifteen ........................................................................................ 270 “Righteous in His Own Eyes”: Prophetical Scribal Influence on Biblical Characters Nicolae Roddy

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Chapter Sixteen ....................................................................................... 281 The Rabbis and Prophecy: What Do We Mean When We Speak of “The Rabbis”? Jacob Neusner Chapter Seventeen ................................................................................... 306 The Sexual Woes of Jewish Princesses: The Cases of Dinah, Tamar and Michal Azila Talit Reisenberger Chapter Eighteen ..................................................................................... 318 Love’s Philosophy in Canticles: The King and the Pastoral Setting Theodore A. Perry Chapter Nineteen ..................................................................................... 330 What Do Jacob's Ladder, the Tower of Babel, and the Babylonian Ziggurat Have in Common? Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg Chapter Twenty ....................................................................................... 360 A Fresh Analysis of Josephus' Portrayal of Herodias, Wife of Herod's Sons Fred Strickert Chapter Twenty One................................................................................ 395 Capital Punishment and Burial in the Roman Empire Mark Smith Chapter Twenty Two ............................................................................... 437 Greek polis and Roman res publica: A Comparison between Specific Features of Political Order and Social Integration Monika Bernett Chapter Twenty Three ............................................................................. 449 Cursing the Fig Tree Mishael Caspi Chapter Twenty Four ............................................................................... 469 Facing the Window: A Study of Scripture through Song Ruthanne Wrobel

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Chapter Twenty Five ............................................................................... 484 David Remains in Jerusalem, and Absalom Flees to Geshur: An Ironic Interpretation Virginia Ingram Chapter Twenty Six ................................................................................. 501 Voice in Psalms as Illustrated by Psalm 91 Donald Vance Chapter Twenty Seven............................................................................. 511 The Fruits of the Labor of John T. Greene J. Harold Ellens Conclusion ............................................................................................... 531 John T. Greene, Colleague and Compatriot J. Harold Ellens Index ........................................................................................................ 532

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to acknowledge the meticulous work of my assistant in the preparation of this volume, Bunny Beuna Carlson, the sharpest eye for infelicities in spelling, grammar, and typography with whom I have worked. I wish, as well, to declare my great esteem for the colleagues who have joined me in making this important scholarly work happen in honor of our esteemed friend, Professor Emeritus John T. Greene.

FOREWORD

When I first visited et-Tell, sometime in the late 1960s, the site was pockmarked by concrete machine gun bunkers built by the Syrians (see Report on the 2012 Excavations, Fig. 6). That area is considerably changed now. A great portion of the site has been excavated at the top of the hill. The evidence of ancient cites is unmistakable and impressive.

Literature Three names define et-Tell. The ancient city named “Geshur” is first mentioned in the 14th-century El Amarna Letters. This name is also found in early passages in the Hebrew Bible (esp. 2 Sam). In the early decades of the first century CE, during the time of Jesus, the site was known as “Bethsaida.” After 30 CE, when Philip made it his capital, it was celebrated as “Julias.” The most important textual references are as follows: Geshur. The author of 2 Samuel mentions Geshur. Note this excerpt: Sons were born to David at Hebron: … the third, Absalom son of Maacah (ʤʫʲʮ), daughter of King Talmai of Geshur … [2 Sam 3:2; NRSV]. Bethsaida. Luke preserves traditions about Bethsaida. On their return the apostles told him (= Jesus) all they had done. He took them with him and withdrew privately to a city called Bethsaida. When the crowds found out about it they followed him; and he welcomed them and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed to be cured. [Lk 9:10-11; NRSV]. In contrast to Luke, Mark does not indicate that Jesus went into a town or city; Mark simply claims Jesus and his apostles went to some unspecified place. Note his comment: “And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves” (Mk 6:32; NRSV). Matthew follows Mark’s lack of detail (Mt 14:13). John provides the following tradition: “After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, which is the Sea of Tiberias” (Jn 6:1; NRSV). Thus, Luke alone specifies that Jesus

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went to “a city” and provides its name as “Bethsaida.” Unfortunately we cannot be convinced that Luke had access to historically reliable traditions. Julias. In Antiquities, Josephus reports that Philip (4 BCE to 34 CE) elevated “Bethsaida” to the status of “a city” and renamed it “Julias.” Philip also made improvements at Paneas, the city near the sources of the Jordan, and called it Caesarea. He also raised the village of Bethsaïda on Lake Gennesaritis to the status of city by adding residents and strengthening the fortifications. He named it after Julia, the emperor’s daughter [Josephus, Ant 18.28; Feldman in LCL]. Pliny the Elder, who may have used Agrippa’s lost Geography as one of his sources, clarifies that Bethsaida is on the eastern portion of the Kinneret: The Jordan River … widens out into a lake which many call Genesar. This is sixteen [Roman] miles long and six broad, and it is surrounded by the pleasant towns of Julias and Hippos on the east, Tarichea (by which name some call the lake) on the south, and on the west, Tiberias, with its salubrious hot springs [Natural History 5.71]. Ancient authors, consequently, report that et-Tell was a well-known and influential city from the tenth century BCE (the time of David) to at least 70 CE (the burning of the Jerusalem Temple). Summary and concerns. In summary, we possess three independent and important first-century accounts of Bethsaida: the Evangelist Luke, Josephus, and Pliny the Elder. Scholars have raised many questions about et-Tel. Here are some of them: x Should et-Tell not be recognized as the Bethsaida (Syriac: “house [or place] of the fisherman” or “fishing place” [Mk 1:17 in the Peshi৬ta]) that is famous from the New Testament accounts of Jesus’ ministry, or is that location not yet discerned on the northeastern shores of the Kinneret? x Is et-Tell the location in which Jesus met Bartholomew and where the “Feeding of the Gentiles” is traditionally located, or is that text the creation of an Evangelist? x Were five of Jesus’ Apostles – namely Andrew, Peter, Philip (Jn 1:44), and perhaps also James and John, the sons of Zebedee – from et-Tell? x What do we learn about this Bethsaida and the Palestinian Jesus Movement from the fact that the five names of these disciples are Greek and not Semitic? x Since Jesus did not call Gentiles to follow him, according to Matthew (cf. Mt 10:5), were these disciples Greek-speaking Jews

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(possibly Hellenists) who lived in a territory populated by Jews, Syrians, and Greeks? x Was Jesus successful with more liberal Jews, who lived in Migdal, Capernaum, and Bethsaida, and not with the conservative, wealthy, and established Jews who lived at Sepphoris, Gamla, and Tiberias, or are such categorizations in need of correcting in light of more recent archeological research? x Do the lack of mikvaot (Jewish ritual baths) and the presence of pig and catfish bones (against the kashrut laws) indicate that conservative Jews who observed the kashrut traditions did not choose to live in Bethsaida? x What is the historicity of Josephus’ claims that he was injured during some unreported battle in or near Bethsaida and that the city was on the main road from Capernaum to Gamla? Other traditions, but much later accounts of the northern shores of the Kinneret, help us understand “Bethsaida.” Two are most important. About 530 CE, Theodosius informs us that as one moves northward from Tiberias one travels two miles from Tabga to Capernaum and then another six miles to Bethsaida. In about 725 CE, Saint Willibald reports that in Bethsaida there is a church commemorating the house of Peter and Andrew.

Archaeology For more than a decade leading archaeologists have unearthed the remains of a tenth-century city. There should be no doubt that it is the Aramean city named Geshur. The most impressive and monumental aspects of et-Tell are a wall and city gate from the early first millennium BCE. These fortifications are clearly the most impressive found in Israel from the tenth-century. In places, the basalt stones of the northern wall rise above a glacis and extend to a width of about 21 feet. Well-placed cobble stones, forming a plaza of about 90 feet wide, lead up to the monumental Iron I gate. The gate is actually two sets of gates that are about ten feet wide. They are the most impressive Iron Age gates discovered in ancient Israel, and are similar to the Iron Age gate farther to the northwest at biblical Dan. Further evidence that et-Tel is a site inhabited in the century before 70 CE is provided in Rami Arav’s Report on the 2012 Excavations. Note the following in his report:

Bethsaida in Archaeology, History and Ancient Culture

Bronze coin of Cleopatra VII (34/35 BCE) Early Roman cooking pots Bronze coin, Tyche of Tyre (98-84 BCE) Early Roman cooking pot Early Roman lamp Early Roman cooking pots and Galilean bowls An iron fibula [most likely] Iron arrowheads Basalt fishing net weight Various ceramic objects Hellenistic or Early Roman cooking pot Herodian oil lamps Herodian Shabbat oil lamp Bronze coin of Caracalla Early Roman cooking pot with tall neck Early Roman juglet

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Figs. 3, 55 Fig. 8 Fig. 10 Fig. 12 Fig. 16 Fig. 17 Fig. 22 Figs. 44, 45 Fig. 46 Fig. 52 Fig. 51 Fig. 53, 54 Fig. 56 Fig. 57, 58 Fig. 61 Fig. 62

The excavators would not agree with a judgment that has been too influential. The contributor to Smith’s Dictionary of the Bible issued this judgment about Bethsaida: “its name and all memory of its site have perished,” hence “no positive identification can be made of it” (vol. 1.1, p. 417).

History While Joshua is reported to have burned only Hazor (Josh 11:13), he and his descendants did not attempt to destroy the Geshurites as they did the Canaanites (Josh 13:13). The evidence of conflagration at Geshur is probably related to a later period, and perhaps to be associated with the conquest of the area by Assyrians under King Tiglath-pileser II in 734-732 BCE and during the time of Hosea (2 Kgs 15:29-30). Now our imagination may be vividly enriched. We may contemplate the daily life of Maacha, one of David’s wives and the daughter of King Talmai (a Hurrian name). She can be seen walking up the northern slope of et-Tell and sauntering into the massive Iron Age gates. Similarly, David’s third son, Absalom, spent three years in Gesher before traveling to Hebron from which he organized a rebellion against his father (2 Sam 13:38; 15:7-12). Absalom frequently entered and exited the wide basalt gate. After Jesus left Lower Galilee to celebrate Passover in Jerusalem, and was crucified, the village called Bethsaida became a city and was renamed

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Julias. Philip (4 BCE to 34 CE) had built two new cities: Caesarea about 24 miles north of et-Tell and Julias at this site. Both cities honored the Emperor Tiberius. One bore his name, “Caesar,” and the other “Julia,” “Livia,” or “Julias.” Who is she? She probably is not Augustus’ daughter who was disgraced in 2 BCE. Is she Tiberias’ mother who died in 29 CE? Or is Josephus (Ant 18.27-28) correct that she is “Caesar’s daughter”? Josephus, who wrote from the seventies to a little after 100 CE, calls the site not only Bethsaida but also Julias. Pliny also knows the name “Julia” or “Julias.” The Evangelists, who wrote from the sixties to the nineties, never call this site “Julia.” The only name they use is “Bethsaida” (Mt 11:21; Mk 6:45, 8:22; Lk 9:10, 10:13; Jn 1:44, 12:21). Specialists who are arguing for the reliability of oral traditions and the evidence of eyewitnesses in the Gospels would appreciate the possibility that the traditions in the Gospels about Bethsaida seem to be historically reliably, and perhaps pre-30 CE, because the canonical Evangelists always call the site “Bethsaida” and never “Julia.” Josephus states that Philip was buried in a tomb in Julia (Ant 18.106108). Why have no remains of Philip’s tomb been found? What was destroyed or carried away from et-Tell by the Syrian detachments who were ensconced in et-Tell from 1948 to 1967? The archaeologists most likely have discovered the village cursed by Jesus because the inhabitants did not appreciate the mighty works he had performed there (Mt 11:21-23 and Lk 10:13-15). According to Mark, Jesus performed miracles in Bethsaida (cf. Mk 8:22-26). Cursing the site is a stunning tradition, since Bethsaida was the home of at least three disciples of Jesus.

Conclusion and New Questions These chapters in honor of John T. Greene help us remember his publications and many insights. In The Role of the Messenger and Message in the Ancient Near East (1989), in perusing evidence from 3000 BCE to 30 BCE, Greene provides a taxonomy for discerning a messenger and the message in the Ancient Near East, exposing many misconceptions and introducing his definitions of the ambassador, the emissary-courier, the envoy, the herald, and the harbinger. In Balaam and His Interpreters (1992), Greene argued that Balaam was a historical person who was known by many traditions (esp. J, E, JE, P, D, and R) in an expanded mythical form. In Unbinding the Binding of Isaac (2007), Greene includes a foray into many pseudepigrapha and suggests the term “’Interstitial Testament’s

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Literature.” In Probing the Frontiers of Biblical Studies (2009), Greene imagines how the Qumranites created the War Scroll as they lived between the Maccabean Wars and the First War with Rome. In Eve: The Unbearable Flaming Fire (2011), Greene, in a vein similar to the theodicy of the gifted author of 4 Ezra, asks troubling questions, including how we can honor our parents when traditions prove that they have sentenced all of us to death. In Parables and Fables as Distinctive Jewish Literary Genres (2011), along with his frequent collaborator, Mishael M. Caspi, Greene intimates how fables (Aesop) and parables (Jesus) were frequently the norm for expressing profound truths to all. In Problems in Translating Texts About Jesus (2011), Greene rightly wonders if Cosimo Cavallaro’s chocolate and nude Jesus received protests because it was black. In The Interpretation of Korah’s Rebellion (2012), Greene suggests insightfully how one should contextualize Korah’s resistance to Moses and Aaron and how that story is therapeutic for our generation. Clearly, Greene’s oeuvre spans centuries and categories. Scientific research may help us answer some questions, but often it brings into focus challenging, frequently new, questions. Here are some that are especially important: x Did David not visit the Geshurites and see the home of his wife, Maacah? x Is Philips’ palace located south of the Tell? Is that not likely, since one may make an analogy with the work of Antipas (4 BCE-39 CE) at Sepphoris? Under him the city expanded and extended down the hill. x Did the Evangelists stress Jesus’ cures in Capernaum and Bethsaida because the towns were known to have physicians? x Is the large “Fisherman’s House” the house of Zebedee? x If et-Tell is Bethsaida, did Jesus and his disciples not see the majestic walls and gates of ancient Geshur? x Could Jesus have been thinking about Bethsaida, which is built on basalt, when he spoke about a city built on rock? Excavations need interpretations. These need to be debated. The goal is not consensus and agreement. Our task is to respect each other and work together for more informed insights and imaginations. It is no longer sufficient to read texts with only a lexicon open before us. Texts need contexts, as Greene showed; these are appearing at et-Tel. Realia and balks without astute imaginative reflections remain mute. This volume in

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honor of Professor Greene gives et-Tell a voice - indeed, a strong and articulate one. James H. Charlesworth 30 May 2013 Princeton

INTRODUCTION JOHN TRACY GREENE PERSON, PROFESSOR, INTELLECTUAL, SCHOLAR, AND FRIEND J. HAROLD ELLENS

John Tracy Greene is a truly awesome person. He taught Religious Studies at Michigan State University for an entire long career, while simultaneously achieving international fame as a field archaeologist and prodigiously published scholar. He was emeritated from MSU on February 16, 2007. John speaks fluently at least five modern languages as well as biblical Hebrew; and reads easily the literature of all the Germanic and Romance languages. I do not think that he has succeeded in getting himself quite up to speed as yet in Tagalog and Swahilli, but it is easy to cut him a bit of slack on that. John lives life with an irrepressible sense of humor and never forgets a charming story, a relevant detail of scholarly import, or a good friend. It is virtually impossible to fully appreciate and adequately describe the scope, courage, wisdom, prowess, and endurance of this man in his scholarly achievements, his daily personal life, and his devotion to his family. John T. Greene was born in Memphis, Tennessee, on Cinco de Mayo in 1944. WW II was raging and every aspect of American life was conscripted and constrained by its demands. As soon as John turned 18 he took up the challenges of America's military operations as a Combat Medical Specialist. He was quickly promoted to Specialist Fifth Class. He served in that role for four years (1962-1966). He attended Officer Candidate School and graduated as a Second Lieutenant. He was soon assigned Unit Leader of the Armored Cavalry Reconnaissance Team as a First Lieutenant, serving as an officer for two years (1966-1968), for a combined service time of six years. Professor Greene was born and raised in a family of esteemed virtue and values, with substantial cultural ideals. In consequence, he derived

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from his parents and extended relations a sturdy appreciation for a good education. He graduated in 1962 from Manassas High School in Memphis. While deployed to the European Theatre of Operations in the US Army, he undertook his college education (1964-1966), attending the University of Maryland, European Division, in Frankfurt am Main, Germany. His course of study was in German Language and Literature. In 1969 John enrolled in the University of Detroit and studied under the Jesuit Order, continuing his mastery of German Language and Literature as well as beginning his work in Ancient Near Eastern cultures and religions. He graduated with his BA, Magna cum Laude, in 1973. That summer he undertook a graduate course in the Introduction to Field Archaeology for the Study of Ancient Palestine (Canaan), under the aegis of Hebrew Union College, Nelson Glueck School of Biblical and Archaeological Studies, in Jerusalem. There he was a student in Field Archaeology at the site of Tell Gezer under the direction of Professor Dr. Joe D. Seger (University of Nebraska at Omaha). In the fall of 1973 John returned to the University of Detroit Graduate School for a Masters Degree in Humanities, graduating in 1974 with his degree in Biblical Semitic Languages and Archaeological Studies. In the summer of 1977 he was again Student of Field Archaeology, participating in the Excavation of Tell Halif (Khirbet Kuwalifeh, Ancient Ziklag, and later Ancient Rimmon) under the direction of the Lahav Research Project, Lahav, Israel. Again the Director of the project was Professor Seger, then at Mississippi State University. From 1976-1980 John undertook graduate work at Boston University and was concurrently cross-registered in courses at Harvard University. His work there was in Religious Studies: World Religions, History of Religions, Scriptural and Historical Studies in the Bible, Semitic Languages, Sanskrit Studies, and Field Archaeology. In 1980 he was awarded the PhD at Boston University in Scriptural and Historical Studies: History of Religions, and Ancient Semitic Languages. His dissertation, subsequently published in various forms, addressed The Old Testament Prophet as Messenger in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Messengers and Messages. His supervising professors were James D. Purvis, ThD, and H. Neil Richardson, PhD. He was appointed Assistant Professor of Religious Studies and Modern Hebrew Language at Michigan State University in 1980. In 1985 he undertook Post-Doctoral Study in Formative Judaism at the Judaic Studies Institute of Brown University under Professor Jacob Neusner, Ungerleider Distinguished Professor of Judaic Studies

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Professor Greene's career at MSU involved his share of administrative as well as teaching assignments. He was well prepared for both. In the spring and summer of 1976 he had served as Director of Allied Health Career Programs at Lewis College of Business, Detroit, Michigan. From 1974-1976 he had served as Director of the Developmental Learning Skills Center of the University of Detroit, and Instructor of Linguistics in the Department of Languages and Linguistics of that Jesuit university. In 1986 he was promoted to Associate Professor in his department at MSU and in 1992 became full Professor of Religious Studies and Modern Hebrew Language. In the spring of 1990 John was elected by the faculty to the new position of Chairman of the Department of Religious Studies and a Candidate for the new University-level position of Director of Integrative Studies. From 1990 to 1994 he served as the Director of Integrative Studies, Office of the Provost at MSU. Professor Greene had numerous responsibilites in field archaeology and related teaching opportunities. In the summer of 1985 he served as Director of the MSU Archaeology, History of Religions, and Modern Hebrew Language Summer-in-Israel Program at the University of Haifa, doing archaeological excavation of Gamla on the Golan Heights. He spent the summer of 1988 as Director of that same program with excavations of Bethsaida-Julias, north of the Sea of Galilee, under the auspices of Haifa University and the Golan Research Institute. The summer of 1989 found him in the role of Director of the same MSU program and continuing excavation of the city of Bethsaida-Julias, with Haifa University and the Golan Research Institute. For the summers of 1991-1994 he served as Co-Director of the Bethsaida-Julias Archaeological Research Project and the Director of MSU's Summer in Israel Program (Kibbutz Gadot, Galilee). The summers of 1995-1997 John was Co-Director of The Bethsaida-Julias Archaeological Research Project and Director of MSU's Summer-in-Israel Program (Kibbutz Ginosar, Galilee), and in the summer of 1998, Co-Director of the Bethsaida-Julias Archaeological Research Project (Kibbutz Ginosar, Galilee). The summers of 1999 and 2000 he was again Co-Director of The Bethsaida-Julias Archaeological Research Project (Kibbutz Ginosar, Galilee) and Director of MSU's Summer-in-Israel Program. In 2000 he had the added responsibility of Invited Archaeologist, John and Carroll Merrill Cave of Letters Project 2000, Judean Desert, and in 2001, Co-Director of The Bethsaida-Julias Archaeological Research Project and Research Associate to the Cave of the Letters Project in the Judean Desert. From 2002 to 2005 John served again as Co-Director of

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The Bethsaida-Julias Archaeological Research Project. During some of those years the MSU’s Summer Program was suspended due to violence in the Middle East. In the summers of 2006-2011 Professor Greene was again Co-Director of the Bethsaida-Julias Archaeological Research Project (Kibbutz Ginosar, Galilee) and Director of MSU’s Summer-in-Israel Program Professor Greene enjoyed the awards of numerous grants and fellowships during his illustrious and intensely productive career. In 1973 he received the Lewis Perry and Beatrice Miller Grant for the Study of Field Archaeology at Tell Gezer, under the auspices of the University of Detroit and Hebrew Union College, Jerusalem. In 1976-1980 he was the recipient of the National Fellowships Fund, Atlanta, Georgia, in his Doctoral Program at Boston University, with concurrent study at Harvard. He won the 1977 Zion Research Foundation Grant for the Study of Field Archaeology at Tell Halif, Israel and in the summer of 1985 he received the prestigious National Endowment for the Humanities Grant to attend the Judaic Studies Institute at Brown University under its Director, Professor Jacob Neusner. All of us who have known Professor Greene as friend, scholar, author, mentor, or source of inspiration, find his illustrious career of no great surprise. Others who may not know him personally will undoubtedly find themselves not only surprised but awestruck. His infinite capacity for meticulous work, unlimited imagination, and substantive achievement is quite unexcelled in his five fields of professional mastery. It is gratifying to observe that his prowess in his personal and scholarly world continues to be robust and full of grace as he savors the flavor of his status as Michigan State University Professor Emeritus. I have no other friend with such a wry and indomitable sense of humor, such phenomenal linguistic skills, such broad scholarly interest, and such a large capacity for fun and celebration. I am pleased to offer this testimony of profound appreciation of a truly amazing intellectual, scholar, and friend.

PART I: BETHSAIDA AND THE BIBLE

CHAPTER ONE A CHRONICLE OF INEVITABLE DESTRUCTION: STAGES IN THE CONQUEST AND DESTRUCTION OF BETHSAIDA BY TIGLATH-PILESER III RAMI ARAV

It is with a great pleasure that I write this chapter in honor of my longstanding friend, John T. Greene. John and his students joined the expedition to Bethsaida in 1987 when we were at the beginning of exploring that city and had no clue as to what lay hidden under the huge mound of 20 acres with its thousands of tons of rock and debris. At that early stage we were true pioneers in that region. At our field camp at the bottom of the site we had the barest facilities and dined at a local cafeteria hidden among the trees of the park. In his article entitled Tiglath Pileser III’s War Against the City of Tzer1, Professor Greene analyzed the advance of Tiglath Pileser III in the Southern Levant suggesting that the Assyrian king attacked the Kingdom of Damascus, Bethsaida, and the northern Kingdom of Israel after he isolated and secured his flanks from east and west. According to his reconstruction of the campaign, Tiglath-Pileser III divided his army into two columns. While one column campaigned against Gilead, another column marched against the northern cities of Israel and against Aram Damascus, leaving Bethsaida to fall prey to the Assyrian army during that prong of the conquest. This chapter attempts to zoom into the particulars of the conquest of Bethsaida through a careful scrutiny of the archaeological finds of that city.

1

J.T. Greene (2004), Tiglath-Pileser III’s War Against the City of Tzer, in Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol III, Rami Arav and Richard A. Freund, eds., Kirksville, MO: Truman State University, 63 – 82.

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The campaigns of the king of Assyria, Tiglath Pileser III, have been discussed many times in the scholarly literature.2 Stern (2001, 3,4) maintains that these campaigns, and that of his successor Shalmanser V, were a phase among the three phases of Assyrian attempts to take over the Southern Levant (734 – 721 BCE). The phase discussed by Greene included the conquest of the Aramean Kingdom of Damascus and the northern parts of the Kingdom of Israel. The subsequent second phase lasted 16 years and featured the campaigns of Sargon II and Senacherib (721 – 705 BCE). During this phase the Assyrians established four satrapies in the Southern Levant which included Gilead, Megiddo, Dor, and Samaria.3 The third phase included the reigns of Esarhadon and Ashurbanipal (700 – 663 BCE). During this final phase the Assyrians completed the conquest of the Judean lowlands (Shefelah), Philistia, and finally reached as far as Egypt. There is a scholarly consensus that Tiglath Pileser III's skill in constructing an organized military machine was efficient and sophisticated enough to defeat heavily fortified cities. That skill was the major factor in the success of these campaigns and created the conditions for the formation of the empire. His army included marksmen with the sling which fired basalt and flint stones, archers shooting arrows with heavy iron arrowheads from composite bows that were human-sized, maneuverable battering rams rolled on four to six wheels, war chariots, and cavalry. Additionally, they had sapper units consisting of diggers that undermined city walls and foot soldiers equipped with spears, shields, daggers and swords that stormed the cities through breaches in the walls, or upon ladders (Stern 2001, 4-13). Tiglath Pileser III was perhaps the first to employ engineering units that were supposed to remain in the evacuated conquered cities, to demolish them by fire, reducing them to their foundations (Frankfort 1969, 6-97). In addition to the military force, there were court scribes who recorded chronicles of the war as well as court artists similar to military photographers of today. These artists sketched the events of the war so that when they returned home they could transfer their drawings to reliefs and murals. Scholars maintain that although their depictions of the cities under siege are not like photographic images of those cities, they are not imaginary depictions either, but more like an edited and adapted version of 2

See recently Tadmor 1994, Stern 2001, Na’aman 2005, Rainey and Notley 2006. There is no consensus among scholars about the number of the satrapies and the date of the foundation of the satrapies. Na’aman suggests that the Satrapies of Gilead and Dor were not established during the Assyrian rule (Na’aman, 2005, 223-225).

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the cities that better suited the taste of the patrons of the artists (Read 1976, 103; Yaakobi 1989, 188-197). The best example of this is the relief of the city of Lachish that adorned the throne room of the palace of King Senacherib (Ussishkin 1982). In this Chapter, I will attempt to prove that one of the reliefs of Tiglath Pileser III might depict the siege of the city of Bethsaida. As a result of the campaigns of Tiglath Pileser III, the kingdom of Damascus was destroyed and never recovered. During the same campaigns of 734-42 all the cities in Galilee and Gilead were conquered and thoroughly demolished. Archaeological excavations encountered destruction layers in 17 cities: Dan, Hazor, Kinneret, Bethsaida, Tel Hadar, Ein Gev, Megiddo, Kadesh, Beth She’an, Tel Rehov, Yoqneam, Qiri, Acco, Kisan, Shikmonah, Dor and Horvat Rosh Zait. This list is obviously not all the cities destroyed but only of those which were excavated and where a destruction layer dating from this period of time was found. The pictures of the destruction gained from these excavations are quite consistent, displaying deposits of a thorough and violent destruction followed by a long period of hiatus in the settlement that undoubtedly reflects a purposeful mass deportation of the population designed to prevent recuperation (Stern 2001, 7, Na’aman 2005, 2-201, Rainey 2006, 225234). In this aspect the military campaigns of Tiglath Pilerser III differ from his predecessors. A century earlier, Shalmaneser III reached most of these same places, but the destruction layers that he left in the cities were not as violent, clear, and deep-seated as Tiglath Pileser III left. Indeed, the Assyrian king Addad Nerari III also launched a military campaign to the Southern Levant during the mid-8th century BCE, but no remains of that campaign have been discerned in archaeological excavations. Perhaps this can be explained because he managed only to put a siege on Damascus, and did not advance further south (Rainey 2006, 215, 216). Not only were the fate of cities changed as a result of the military campaign of Tiglath Pileser III, but the geopolitical state of affairs was entirely different in the years following 732 BCE. The 9th century BCE Assyrian military campaigns were no more than raids which, on one hand, aimed at looting and gathering spoils and on the other to create vassal relationships with the local kings who would then pay annual tribute and demonstrate loyalty by other means as well. Tiglath Pileser III created a new reality; the territories conquered were transformed, by him or by his successors, into satrapies, headed by a satrap (Saknu or Pihati) who acted as regime commissioner (Roux 1964, 253). Disloyal kings were removed

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and more trustworthy kings were installed. This was the way the new Assyrian Empire was established. The military campaigns that followed Tiglath Pileser III emulated to a great extent his brutality and violence. They aimed to stabilize the political situation in the satrapies, to persecute kings suspected of treachery and to terrorize the population. They caused ferocious destruction and forced deportations. Shalmaneser V in 721/22 or perhaps Sargon II in 720, conquered Samaria and put an end to the Kingdom of Israel (Na’aman 2005, 76-93). Twenty years later Senacherib launched a campaign against Philistia and the lowlands of Judah, conquered 46 cities, defeated the kings of Egypt, put Jerusalem under siege, and then returned to his country after imposing a heavy tribute upon Hezekiah (Rainey 2006, 225-253). His destruction was discovered in the archaeology of the city of Lachish, stratum III, excavated and published by D. Ussishkin. Lachish was excavated in the 1930s, but Ussishkin’s excavation in 1970’s and 1980’s established clearly that Stratum III was destroyed by Senacherib (Ussishkin 1982, 19-58, Zimhoni 1997, 179 – 210. Ussishkin 1990, 5386). The nature of the finds at Lachish did more than simply help to identify the destroyer of the town as Senacherib. It also enabled the researchers to discern the different stages in the conquest and destruction as well. In this respect, Ussishkin’s discoveries do not have a parallel in archaeological excavations. Among the remarkable findings were remains of a siege rampart that the Assyrians amassed on the city walls. It is noteworthy that testimonies about the siege rampart are found not only in the archaeological finds but also from Senacherib’s wall reliefs and from the Bible. As far we know now, it is not only the oldest siege rampart found in archaeology, but the oldest in military history. The finds of Stratum V at Bethsaida are another step in understanding the process of conquest and destruction by the Assyrian military campaigns (fig. 1). The remarkable state of preservation of the city gate enables us to discern a number of stages in the conquest and destruction operation. The following description of the finds suggests that the destruction was not spontaneous or accidental but deliberate and presumably in response to a long siege. The destruction was carried out in a few stages soon after the conquest was completed, and lasted several weeks or perhaps even months. It was most probably carried out by special groups of people, probably captives, with some demolition experience. Stratum V (fig. 2) at Bethsaida was built, approximately, in the midninth century BCE, lasted about 120 years, and was the peak of the urban phase of the settlement (Arav 2007, 83-116). The settlement contained a

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city gate complex, the largest of its kind ever discovered in the Southern Levant (Arav 2009, 1-122), and a palace in the Bit Hilani style (Arav 2000, 47-81). Its predecessor Stratum VI was built in the mid-tenth century BCE and served as the capital of the Geshurite kingdom. In approximately 850 BCE the kingdom was annexed to the kingdom of Damascus. That stratum was destroyed and on top of it Stratum V was built. It is possible that the reigning dynasty, which included Talmai, the father-in-law of King David, continued to rule over Bethsaida merely as vassal kings until the city came to its end, with the conquest of Tiglath Pileser III (Arav 2004, 1-48). Bethsaida was founded on a basalt extension and was isolated and surrounded on all its sides by natural defenses. On the south and the southwest side of the city, the Sea of Galilee reached to the foot of the mound (Shroder 1995, 65-98; Shroder 1999, 74-115). On the east there was a deep gorge that separated the city from the hill to the east. The northeastern corner, which is part of the basalt extension that descends from the Golan Heights, is the easiest approach to the city and was the most vulnerable section of the city. The vulnerability of that section was apparently clear to the engineers of the city. Therefore they reinforced it by means of a sophisticated defense system designed to deter an attack from that direction. The system included two concentric parallel city walls. The outer city wall was about 2 meters wide and its estimated elevation was about 5-6 meters. Behind this wall there was a steep glacis embedded with crushed limestone and supported by a 2.5 meter revetment wall. Above the revetment wall there was a platform of about 2.5 meters wide, and behind it stood the inner city wall. This wall was 6 meters wide with an estimated height of 8 – 10 meters. On the northeastern side of the wall, exactly at the most vulnerable point, the inner city wall was reinforced by a strong tower 7 meters long and 8 meters wide and about 10 – 12 meters high. The first story of the tower was about 3 meters high and while the outer face of the wall was clad with very heavy basalt boulders the walls and towers were filled up to the first story (about 3 m.) with field stones of all sizes. No interior chambers were found in the towers and the city walls, something that would have impaired the impregnability of the walls. If there were any interior spaces most probably they were in the upper stories that were of brick construction. The façade of city walls and the towers were all plastered with a thick plaster and were white washed. For an outsider it would have been impossible to discern what had a stone core and what had bricks. The sight of two city walls placed one behind the other, the inner looming high above the outer, was most probably very impressive and had a

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psychological effect of deterrence. Indeed there were no remains of battle against the city walls in this section of the city. No projectiles were found and there was no sign of fire or destruction. In fact, this defense system lasted for one millennium. This can be inferred from structures built in the Hellenistic period that used the Iron Age city wall as one of their walls. The city walls likely finally collapsed during the earthquake of the fourth century CE (Arav 1999, 102-104). In this respect the assault of Tiglath Pileser III on Bethsaida differs from the Senacherib assault on Lachish thirty one years later. Ussishkin observed five Assyrian sieging ramparts on the city walls of Lachish. The largest of them, which is preserved to the present day, was built against the southwestern corner of the city. The Senacherib relief shows that only the city walls were attacked and the city gate was spared. In the relief, it is through this open gate that citizens are seen leaving the city on their way to exile (Ussishkin 1982, 100, 121). It is reasonable to assume that attacking the walls without an attempt to attack the gate was employed due to the development of siege ramparts. Although battering rams were already known from the second millennium BCE, siege ramparts were probably developed during the 30 years between Tiglath Pileser III and Senacherib. It is presumed that had Bethsaida been attacked by Senacherib, he would have built a siege rampart against the northeastern corner of the city and would not have attacked a city gate that was extremely well protected and fortified. Ussishkin suggested that the Assyrian camp at Lachish was located on the southwestern hill overlooking the city, but far enough away to be out of the Judahite projectile range (Ussishkin 1982, 49). The selection for the Assyrian camp at Bethsaida was probably similar. Opposite the city gate, at a distance of about 200 meters there is a barren hill far enough from the projectile range but sufficiently near to provide a good sight over the gate. Similar to Bethsaida, no remains of the Assyrian campsite at Lachish were discovered on that "campsite hill", but most likely an Assyrian relief in the British Museum that came from the palace of Tiglath Pileser III may shed light on this possibility. The relief in the British Museum is recorded as an unidentified city in Syria, and presents very similar features to Bethsaida (fig.3). In the relief there is a palm tree rising high above the city houses. Palm trees are typical in warm weather like that of Bethsaida and the Jordan Valley, and quite rare in higher elevations conquered by Tiglath Pileser III, such as Gilead, Hauran, Bashan, and Damascus. In the foreground of the relief there is a road that descends to the right from the city gate located in the center of the picture. Two city gates are discerned in the

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picture. One is the outer city gate that lines up with the city walls and above it and slightly to the left and behind, there is the inner city gate. Only from the eastern hill of Bethsaida would this view be possible. Only there may one see that the road ascends moderately to the city gate and only from this point of view would the inner city gate appear higher and slightly to the left of the outer city gate. If this indeed is Bethsaida, then the artist, as at Lachish, was located safely within the Assyrian campsite. The city gate was indeed the most vulnerable part of the city and therefore the defense of it was meticulously designed (fig. 4). First and foremost, it was not situated at the northern part of the city where the approach to the city is the easiest. It stood on top of three sequential artificial terraces that were supported with strong walls about 25 meters above the bedrock of the ravine immediately to its east. Ground penetrating radar probes at the gate show that the gate is situated on 12 meters of fill! This has no precedence. The defense system was comprised of the following elements: 1) A north-south paved road ran right below the city walls and forced the enemy to go along it with their unshielded right side exposed to the defenders located above the city walls. The road led to a large plaza that served in times of peace as the city market. 2) The outer city gate was a massive structure defended on its east by a 10x10 meter solid tower which was filled to the top of its first story with field stones of various sizes (fig. 5). The entrance was placed within a series of niches and thus was very well defended. The threshold stones were raised above the passageway and indicated that the two wings of the doors opened to the inside into two shallow niches within the walls of the passageway. The width of the passageway was four meters and led to a spacious open air courtyard. 3) The courtyard extended over 155 meters2 and was meticulously paved with medium size field stones and small stones were used to fill the gaps (fig. 6). 4) A six-meter-wide wall connected the sturdy northeastern tower of the outer city gate to another tower situated at the southeastern corner of the inner courtyard. Similar to the other walls, the outer face of the towers and the walls were built with large coarsely dressed heavy boulders. 5) Another 6-meter-wide wall connected the southeastern tower to another tower (10x 6 m) located at the southwestern corner of the courtyard. 6) Another tower (10 x 6 m) was located at the northwestern corner of the courtyard. The towers had at least three stories and they were extended in elevation to a height of about 10 meters. This can be deduced from the preservation of the first story of the chambers next to the towers. The first floor was preserved to a height of three meters and this was likely the elevation of each succeeding story. 7) The inner city gate occupied the entire façade of the western side of the courtyard.

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These four strong towers together with the city walls were the main part of the defense system of the city gate. The entrance to the city from the outer city gate to the inner city gate was in an ī shape, which means that the entrees had to turn right 90 degrees at the courtyard in order to enter the inner city gate and the city proper. The inner city gate was large and very impressive. It was constructed in a four chamber pattern known from other locations. The geographically closest parallels to this gate are the city gates at Dan and Megiddo, Stratum IVA. The above described two towers flank the entryway with a nicely preserved sturdy threshold. The two door panels of the inner city gate were made of oak as can be deduced from the remains found near the threshold. These doors opened to reveal a passageway behind the threshold and between the four chambers of the inner city gate. The four chambers are remarkably large, so large in fact that they are without precedent. Each measures 10 x 3.56 meters. Three were used as granaries and the northeastern one was used to store the offerings that were brought to the high places at the gate (fig. 7). Five high places of three types were discovered at the gate. Two had steps leading to a podium and were dubbed Step High Places, and two lack these features and were dubbed Direct Access High Places. The largest of all high places was built against the back wall of the city gate and was designated for sacrifice. Next to it was a three-meter deep pit filled with bones and ashes of the victims. Adjacent to the four chamber city gate at the south, and sharing the walls with it, was a storage house that consisted of three long halls separated by walls. Entrances led from the central hall to the abutting halls. One hall was bisected into two chambers. This storage house contained large jars of several types that were arranged according to their types in the different halls. There were Hippo jars that are known from other sites, a large vat of unknown type, and very large jars with a wide opening (20 cm), as well as an unknown type unique to this site. Some of these jars had holes from having been deliberately pierced. Perhaps the Assyrian siege lasted a very long time as can be learned from the content of the granary chambers of the inner city gate. Two of the chambers contained emmer wheat and one chamber contained barley. These granaries, if filled to the brim, could provide livelihood for about 2000 people for almost a full year4. 4

The granary could store 360 metric tons of grain. If one needs 0.5 kg of grain a day (1000 calories) the quantity is sufficient for almost one year. This is not the entire provision needed for living but it is assumed that the other calories could be obtained from fruits and oil stored in the storage house.

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It is reasonable to believe that the siege did not come as a surprise and the granaries were filled facing the upcoming adversity. Yet while a very large quantity of barley was found in Chamber 3, Chambers 1 and 2 that had contained emmer wheat were found totally empty. However, it is also possible that the wheat was not totally consumed by the inhabitants of the city and what had been left over was taken as booty by the Assyrians. Despite the heavy fortifications and the various obstacles the city did not withstand the siege and in the summer of 734, 733, or 732 BCE, the city ceded to the Assyrians and was captured. Dozens of iron arrowheads found in the inner city gate bear mute witnesses to a fierce battle that took place at the gate and that the Geshurites did not surrender easily (fig. 8). Some of the tips of the arrowheads were found bent as a result of hitting the walls, a testimony to powerful bows and short range shooting. The above mentioned relief from the British Museum that depicts a city similar to Bethsaida shows the city after the conquest. The battle is not rendered but the results are shown. An unmanned battering ram is near the gate and a family is departing the city on a two wheeled cart (fig. 9). The father of the family drives the oxen, his wife and children are on the cart while Assyrian officials count the cattle and sheep that would perhaps be taken as booty (Frankfort 1969, 91-92; Moortgat, 1969, 144-145). After the conquest was accomplished, the remaining citizens were expelled, their property confiscated, and the second phase of the conquest commenced. During this stage the Assyrians destroyed everything they did not take as booty. Chamber 4 and the storage house contained a large number of offering vessels and storage jars. The Assyrians shattered to small pieces all the vessels they found and scattered the shards in all the chambers. In one chamber we collected 17 baskets of shards, none of the dozens of vessels was found intact. The expedition’s restorers invested painstaking effort to restore about 20 of the vessels from Chamber 4 and about the same number from the storage house (fig. 10). Even Hippo Jars that are known for their sturdiness and high quality were found smashed and their shards scattered all over the chambers. This fact indicates that the destruction was deliberate and not simply the result of the collapse of the buildings. In the next phase, or together with this one, all the human remains that were in the gate were removed and perhaps buried. During the excavation, we discovered only the skeleton of a cow in the plaza behind the gate and close to the sacrificial high place. The situation at Lachish was similar; no human remains were found at excavations of Lachish. Undoubtedly it indicates that the burning of the cities took place after the bodies had been removed. This was not always the case in the ancient world. Nineveh was destroyed in a systematic destruction in 612

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BCE, part of it was set on fire and part was washed by flooding water, but unlike Lachish and Bethsaida, the archaeologists of Nineveh reported the discovery of human remains including a 13 year-old child with the dagger still lodged in his skeleton (Leick 2001, 241-2). Together with the destruction of the contents of the city gate, the Assyrians destroyed all the steles that were posted in the gate. There were seven steles at the gate; four aniconic steles were placed in the inner courtyard, two flanking each entryway. Two more aniconic steles were posted in the city’s plaza flanking the entryway behind the inner city gate, and an iconic stele was placed on top of the stepped high place situated in the niche of the northwestern tower of the courtyard. All the steles were violently destroyed. Three were “beheaded” and their top was found on the floor of the courtyard nearby. At the back of the gate, one stele was thrown on the floor and broken and another one was uprooted and thrown into a wall of the gate where it was discovered. Destroying the steles was not an easy job. The steles were made of heavy basalt, each was thick and solid, weighing more than one metric ton. They were similar of dimension, about 1.35 meters high, 0.6 meters wide and 0.2 meters thick. Since almost all had an impact point in a similar elevation of about 80 centemeters from the floor, it is reasonable to surmise that some heavy and large tool was used to create this impact, perhaps even a battering ram. Above the stepped high place there was the iconic depiction of a head of a bull bearing large crescent horns situated on an element interpreted as a Luwian hieroglyph for a stele (fig. 11). E. Stern views this image as Hadad, the chief god of the Arameans (Stern 2001, 55), Othmar Keel and Monika Bernett suggest a moon-god (Bernett 1998), and T. Ornan supposes that it represents these two gods together (Ornan 2001, 1-26). Either way, for the Assyrians the stele probably represented a defeated deity and was destroyed. Plausibly, it was forcefully pushed from behind and was found broken and scattered in five pieces over the steps with its head upside down on the foot of the high place (fig. 12). The next phase was to set the entire structure ablaze. The conflagration was fierce and undoubtedly lasted a few days. All the wooden parts of the gate burned and caused the upper stories to collapse. The oak beams of the ceiling fell onto the floor of the chambers where they were found. The floor of the second story of chamber 2 collapsed onto the first floor and was found tilted in dissimilar angles. This floor contained several jars that crashed when the ceiling above collapsed. Chamber 3 contained almost one metric ton of barley that burned and its grain carbonized. The heat was remarkably high and reached a temperature of above 12000 Celsius, which caused the sun dried mud bricks of the upper stories to harden.

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Closer to the core of the fire the mud bricks simply melted down into clinkers and amalgamated stones, plaster, and pottery shards. Some iron arrowheads were welded into shards of pottery found in the chambers. The heat consolidated the plaster that was applied on the walls and glued it to the walls. Large patches of red plaster coated with white wash were found still on the walls. The collapse of the second and the third floors onto the first floor preserved the first floor as in a time capsule and enabled us to study many details that otherwise would have vanished. This is how we are able to learn the phases of the destruction. Reaching a heat that creates clinkers is neither possible in an open fire nor easy in a simple kiln. Therefore it seems reasonable that the Assyrians brought with them some burning material from Assyria, which they called nafta. That may have been either bitumen or a natural tar that they added to the fire to intensify the heat. Burning the city gate was not the end of the destruction process. The conflagration that consumed the gate left a high heap of debris, ashes, and stones which became the highest point of the entire mound. During the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman periods this little mound served as the podium for a series of temples. The Assyrian army, most probably, continued on its way, leaving behind special demolition units to complete the destruction. Assyrian wall reliefs show people dressed differently from the soldiers, perhaps prisoners of war from different places, whose task it was to demolish systematically the captured cities, in order to eliminate any attempt to rebuild them (fig. 13). Apparently a similar group was employed at Bethsaida. All the eastern half of Stratum V of the city gate was dismantled, removed and excavated to the foundation so that no single remain from that stratum was preserved. Thousands of metric tons of construction materials, stones, bricks, wood, and plaster were discarded and pushed to the ravine in an endeavor that must have taken a few weeks. This dismantling left a clear demolition line that crosses the city gate from north to south. The line runs through the center of the inner courtyard and into the middle of the outer city gate. The six-meter-wide city wall connecting the solid northeastern tower to the southeastern tower was dismantled to the foundations and dumped into the ravine. Seven meters of the inner courtyard were excavated by the demolition group to a depth of two meters under the floor and discarded; only eight meters of pavement were left under the debris. The Roman stratum II was found right on top of Stratum VI in this area. Stratum V was so thoroughly removed from the east section of the gate it was as if it were never there. Thus came to an end the city of Bethsaida and the last remnants of the Kingdom of Geshur.

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A Biblical Illustration There is no better verbal description, concise and powerful, of a conquest and destruction, than in the book of Ezekiel 26:8-12. As an eye witness to the fate of Jerusalem in its destruction by the Babylonians, Ezekiel wished a similar fate to the city of Tyre that had rejoiced at the destruction of Jerusalem. Applying to Tyre what he experienced in Jerusalem, he described the phases of the destruction in a chronological fashion. The description begins with the construction of a rampart and siege wall, next came the raising of a roof of shields, and under this protection the battering rams proceeded to break down the walls and the towers. Through these breaches the army poured into the city, trampling the streets and putting the people to the sword. After the conquest came the plunder and destruction of houses, and, finally, the enemy demolished the city and casts it into the sea. Together with the precise description of a conquest, Ezekiel conveys impressions that the archaeological spade can never retrieve, namely, the sound and noise of the battle, the sound of the wheels of the war chariots, the whinnying of the horses, the clash of the swords, and the dust rising from the hoofs of the numerous steeds. The conquest ended in a remarkable silence, no more songs and music, no more the sound of lyre. The vision of this once thriving city that becomes a barren rock in the middle of the sea is an extremely woeful vision even to the enemies of Tyre. Needless to say, this prophetic wish never materialized for Tyre. The city would be conquered only by Alexander the Great and after a long siege, which in fact resulted in more prosperity for the city than any time before. Here is Ezekiel's vision for Tyre. “He shall set up a siege wall against you, Cast up a ramp against you, And raise a roof of shields against you, He shall direct the shock Of the battering rams against your walls And break down your towers with his axes. His horses shall be so many That their dust shall cover you. At the noise of cavalry, wheels, and chariots, Your very walls shall shake, When he enters your gates Like those entering a breached city. With the hoofs of his horses He shall trample all your streets.

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Chapter One He shall put your people to the sword, And your strong pillars shall fall to the ground. They will plunder your riches And loot your merchandise; They shall break down your walls And destroy your fine houses. Your stones and timber and soil They shall cast into the water. I will silence the music of your songs; The sound of your lyre shall be heard no more. I will make you a bare rock; You shall be a place for spreading nets. You shall never again be rebuilt.” (Translation: The New Oxford Annotated Bible, NRSV)

References Arav, R. (1999), Bethsaida Preliminary Report 1994-1996, in R. Arav and R. A. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee. Vol. II, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 3 – 114. Arav, R. and M. Bernett, The Bit Hilani Palace at Bethsaida: Its Place in Aramean/Neo-Hittite and Israelite Palace Architecture in Iron Age II, IEJ 50, 2000, 47-81. Arav, R. (2004), Toward a Comperhensive History of Geshur, in R. Arav and R.A. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol. III, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 148 —. (2007), The Case of Bethsaida, in R. Arav, ed., Cities through the Looking Glass, Winona Lake: Eisenbraun, 83 – 116. Bernett, M., and O. Keel (1998), Mond, Stier und Kult am Stadttor, Die Stele Von Bethsaida (et-Tell), Frieburg: Freiburg Univerität. Frankfort, H. (1969), The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Greene, John T. (2004), Tiglath-Pileser III’s War Against the City of Tzer, in Bethsaida A city by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol III, R. Arav, and R. A. Freund, eds., Kirksville, MO: Truman State University, 63 – 82. Kochavi, M. (1996), The Land of Geshur – A History of a Region in the Biblical Period, Erez Israel, vol. 25, Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press. Leick, G. Leick (2001), The Invention of the City, London: Oxford University Press.

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Moortgat, A. (1969), The Art of Ancient Mesopotamia, The Classical Art of the Near East, London & New York: Oxford University Press. Na’aman, N. (2005), Ancient Israel and Its Neighbors, Interaction and Counteraction: Collected Essays, Vol. I. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Ornan, T., The Bull and its Two Masters: Moon and Storm Deities in Relation to the Bull in Ancient Near Eastern Art, IEJ 51, (1) 2001, 1 – 26. Rainey, A. F., and R. Steven Notley (2006), The Sacred Bridge, Carta’s Atlas of the Biblical World, Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press. Read, J. E., Elam and Elamites in Assyrian Sculpture, Archaeologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 9 1976. Roux, G. (1964), Ancient Iraq, London: Oxford University Press. Shroder Jr, J. F., and M. Inbar, Geologic and Geographic Background to the Bethsaida Excavations, in R. Arav and R. A. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, vol. I. Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 65-98. Shroder, Jr., J. F., M. P. Bishop, K. J. Cornwell, and M. Inbar, (1999), Catastrophic Geographic Processes and Bethsaida Archaeology, in R. Arav and R. A. Freund, eds., Bethsaida, A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, vol. II, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 115 – 174 Stern, E. (2001), Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II, The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732 -332 BCE), New York: Harper and Row. Tadmor, H. (1994), The Inscriptions of Tiglat Pileser III King of Assyria, Critical Edition with Introduction, Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press. Ussishkin, D. (1982), The Conquest of Lachish by Sennacherib, Tel Aviv: The Institute of Archaeology. —. (1990), The Assyrian Attack on Lachish: The Evidence from the South-West Corner of the City, Tel Aviv, 17, 53-86. Yaakobi, R. (1989), The Description of Cities and their Identifications in Assyrian Wall Reliefs, Eterz Israel, vol. 20, Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 188-197. Zimhoni 1997O. Zimhoni, O. (1997), Studies in the Iron Age Pottery of Israel, Typological, Archaeological and Chronological Aspects, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press.

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Figures

A 3D reconstruction of the city gate

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Stratum V at Bethsaida, ground plan.

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The relief of Tiglath Pileser III, “an Unidentified city in Syria”.

Isometric reconstruction of the gate

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The northeastern tower.

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The city gate courtyard and the high place

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Ground plan of the city gate Stratum V, notice the line of destruction that crosses the gate from north to south.

Arrowheads found at the gate

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The Assyrian relief of Tiglath Pileser III from kalhu, and the model of Bethsaida. Notice the road that descends from left to right, the outer and the inner city gates.

Vessels of Chamber 4

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The moon-god stele

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The “in situ” photo of the moon-god stele

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Assyrians burn and destroy the city of Hamanu in an Assyrian relief.

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CHAPTER TWO THE TWO BETHSAIDAS RICHARD FREUND

I. John T. Greene and the Two Bethsaidas I thought this would be a perfect topic to honor John T. Greene whom I have known over the past 25 years. There are indeed more than two John T. Greenes. He is the consummate academic who enjoys teaching and research in the disparate worlds of ancient Judaism and Rome and the Civil War in the USA. He is a person at home in the field and in ancient caves and in the archives of libraries. It is a rare combination. He also has shared his editing expertise with not a few of us who are his colleagues world-wide and I am happy that I can write an original piece of research in his honor on his beloved Bethsaida excavations to which he has contributed much sweat and ink over the past 25 years.

II. Multiple Sites All With the Same Name A story reported on NPR on December 25, 2012 caught my attention and brought this idea back from my own research.1 The story was about how Israeli archaeologists have identified what they think is the “original” Bethlehem in Galilee rather than in Judea. It has always been a curious dilemma about locating Bethlehem in the south of the country; far from Nazareth, Jesus’ home town. The Bethlehem that was identified in the Byzantine period in Judea as “the” Bethlehem has few Roman period artifacts. However, the Bethlehem in the Galilee has a small stone vessel * Professor Richard Freund, Maurice Greenberg Professor of Jewish History and Director, Maurice Greenberg Center for Judaic Studies, University of Hartford. Director, Bethsaida Excavations Project Consortium 1 http://www.npr.org/2012/12/25/168010065/dig-finds-evidence-of-pre-jesus-bethlehem ?sc=17&f=1001, retrieved on January 20, 2013.

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industry and was clearly inhabited in the first century CE. Thus the impression has been created that perhaps there were two Bethlehems, at least. They argue that perhaps the Byzantine bishops who identified the southern Bethlehem as the site of the Jesus birth narrative may have had other reasons for identifying this southern site rather than the Bethlehem of the north. One need not be surprised by this conclusion since the Hebrew word: Beth-Lehem, (literally: “the house of bread,”) was probably a designation created in antiquity to name a regional center for the processing and/or production of bread by the locals. Bethlehem of the north of Israel is mentioned in the book of Joshua 19.15. Bethlehem of Judea became known only later.2 Biblical linguists suggest that the addition of "Beth" was word added to regional areas that became centers for the processing of an industry. That is similar to the way in which we assume that the city mentioned in Joshua 19.35, “the fortified cities of the Tziddim, [are] Tzer/d, Hammat, Raqat and Kinneret.” "Tzed", literally “fishing”, later became “Beth Tzaida”, when Bethsaida became a commercial fishing center on the northeast shore of the Sea of Galilee in the Greco-Roman period.3

III. Same name; Different Locations Bethsaida and Bethlehem are not the only locations from antiquity which may have had two separate sites associated with the same name. There were, apparently, two cities called Beer Sheva. The name in Hebrew means “well of the seven” or may have been a reference to a very deep and productive well.4 One city named Beer Sheva lay in Galilee, and the other in Judea (probably because it was a productive well). There were, apparently, two well-known cities named Beth El,5 as many as five or six named Beth Shemesh (in Judea, Issachar, Naphtali, Dan, Egypt, and 2

See the 16th century map of Christian von Adrichom and K. Nebenzahl, Maps of the Holy Land, (New York: Abbeville Press, 1986) p. 96-7. The northern city of Bethlehem was located just east of the Sea of Galilee and the city of Magdalum. 3 See my citations and our articles on this question in R. Arav and R. A. Freund, eds., (1995), Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol. I, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Pressm 1995). See R. Arav article, “Bethsaida, Tzer, and Fortified Cities of Naphtali,” pp. 193 ff.; and Freund article notes 23 and 24, p. 306. 4 Y. Aharoni, The Macmillan Bible Atlas, (New York: Macmillan, 1993) pp. 230 and 257. 5 N. Na’aman, “Bethel and Beth Aven,” Zion Vol. 50, 1985, pp. 15-25.

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northern Galilee),6 two or three cities identified as a Beth Zayit ( literally “House of Olives”) Bethzatha or Bethesda),7 four cities named Hazor,8 at least two cities called Bethany,9 and two cities named Tzefat.10 One reason why they have the same name is because the descriptive name given the city is a geographic, agricultural, or economic identifier associated with that city in a particular period. Obviously such a name could describe a number of different cities in different parts of the country. There were, of course, cities such as Beth-Horon which seem to have had a lower and upper city, which were known by the designations “Upper Beth Horon” and “Lower Beth Horon.”11 It would not be unprecedented, therefore, to discover that there were in fact two Bethsaidas: an “up river” and a “down river” Bethsaida, as has been suggested by theorists in the recent past. The modern and medieval “two Bethsaida theory” began, however, with confusing citations in the Synoptic Gospels which identified a “Bethsaida” on the east side of the Jordan River, in what could be defined as the lower Golan, and another “Bethsaida” of Gospel according to John "of Galilee".

IV. Two Bethsaidas: The Fourth Gospel, Josephus and the Rabbis: The Root of the Problem The Fourth Gospel relates that "Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter" (John 1:44). Later Philip's home town is referred to as "Bethsaida in Galilee" (John 12:21). These two references in the Fourth Gospel present us with a couple of problems. One problem is that John's statement about Bethsaida being the home of Andrew and Peter does not agree with the Gospel according to Mark (1:21, 29). He seems to locate their home at Capernaum. The New Testament confusion with the location may be resolved by four possible explanations (among others).

6

See in D. N. Freedman, The Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. I, (New York: Doubleday, 1992) pp. 696-698. 7 Ibid., Freedman, The Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. I, pp. 700-701. 8 Ibid., Freedman, The Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. III, pp. 87-88. 9 P. Parker, “Bethany Beyond Jordan,” Journal of Biblical Literature Vol. 74, 1955, pp. 257-261. 10 See A. M. Luncz (1897), Kaftor VaFerach, Estori HaParchi, Jerusalem, ch. 14, p. 283. 11 R. Boling, “Levitical Cities: Archaeology and Texts” in the book, Biblical and Related Studies Presented to Samuel Iwry, (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1985)pp. 23-32.

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1. Symbolic Geography: The use of the designation, Bethsaida, may be symbolic or generic in the Gospel according to John and not literal. Bethsaida may just mean "the house of the fisherman" or a "place of fishing," but in the Fourth Gospel it could be used as a symbolic reference to the theme of the general sayings of Jesus, "Follow me and I will make you fishers of men," a saying which appears in the Synoptic Gospels as well.12 In addition, the designation of Bethsaida as a generic “place of fishing”, and not specifically as “the place of the fisherman”, makes this possibility more likely. Such names eventually became almost generic for the city's form or function especially in the writing from the ancient period. Also, the authors, or sources of the Gospels seem quite uninterested in geographical and chronological details. As a result, the treatment of place names in the Gospels is somewhat confused, and vague. Certainly Mark 13, Matthew 22:7, Luke 19:43ff, 21:20, 24 demonstrate this. The geographical and chronological difficulties of Jesus’ travels from chapter to chapter in John’s Gospel also confirm this problem. These anomalies suggest a post-70 CE writing and not a clear understanding of the details of Galilean life and geography in the early part of the century, before the destruction of Bethsaida. 2. Traditional Geography: The possibility exists that the homes of people in antiquity and the places where they officially resided may have been different from one another. One Gospel may be using one tradition while another is using another tradition. In the case of Jesus’ family this was true regarding Bethlehem and Nazareth. This may be the same in relation to the question raised by comparing the Synoptic traditions with John. The Synoptic traditions hold that certain disciples' homes were located at Capernaum while the Fourth Gospel holds that their traditional (or ancestral) homes are to be found at Bethsaida. 3. Changing Geography: Two types of geographical changes can occur in this area. One is “changing geology” and the other is political geography. The idea that the geography of a place on a large body of water [like the Sea of Galilee] and located on a river that flowed along an active tectonic fault line may have had changed over time is well-known in many regions of the world. According to Josephus and most other sources,13 the 12

Mk 1.17, Mt 4.19, Lk 5.10. See the view of Rabbi Meir in BT Bechorot 55a. The Rabbis for the point of tithing and other commandments (dependent upon the Land of Israel) assigned the Jordan as the border. See my article in Bethsaida: A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol. I, 278 and 306, note especially 29. 13

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Jordan River formed the boundary of Galilee on the east, and Bethsaida was further east and beyond the river and clearly not in Galilee. This may reflect different writers writing in different time periods. The border may have politically or geologically changed. This is not just idle speculation. In a period of only 200 years from 100 BCE to 100 CE, the borders of the Galilee and the Golan were completely different in the period from the Hasmoneans to the end of the Herodians, and different again following the allocations to the sons of Herod and the era of the Roman procurators. So that while John, writing at the end of the first or the beginning of the second century CE, thinks of Bethsaida as being in Galilee, it may actually have been in Gaulanitis in the earlier period about which he was writing. At the time that the Gospel of John was written down, Bethsaida may have been considered in Galilee. The designation of the boundary of the Golan and Galilee does not seem to have been consistently the same. Josephus writes that Hippos and Gadara, on the eastern side of the Sea of Galilee, were the in boundaries of Galilee and the Golan, even though they are clearly very far east because of the eastern curve of the Sea of Galilee.14 In order to explain this inconsistency, some modern researchers have suggested that Galilee in antiquity extended beyond the Jordan, while others have suggested that there must have been two different Bethsaidas. One in Bethsaida in historical Galilee in addition to a Bethsaida-Julia. On the east side. Bethsaida is presently found on the east side of the Jordan River or what we call the lower Golan and not Galilee. But our geological evidence collected over twenty years ago suggested that the location of etTell which sits next to a tributary of the Jordan River may have had its original port right on the Jordan River and would have been considered an extended part of Galilee. If this is the case, the Fourth Gospel may have been correct in calling it “Bethsaida of Galilee” in the period in which he is writing. It may have been technically located in Galilee. 4. Fuzzy Geography: Another explanation of why there is confusion about the geography and location of a site such as Bethsaida may simply because the Gospel writers were not geographers and when and where they were writing did not allow them to have specific geographical information. We probably do not need to assume complete geographical exactness on John's part. From what we know about the Fourth Gospel it may have been written far from Galilee and “Galilee” was a general geographical framework; not a specific geographical framework. It is possible that John's description may simply reflect popular, non-technical 14

The Jewish Wars, 3.3.1.

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usage. A similar usage is found in Ptolemy's Geography and even Josephus contains a similar problem. Josephus speaks of Judas the revolutionary as being from “Gaulanitis” (Ant.18.1.4), but in another passage (1.6.23) he calls him a “Galilean.” So the usage either may have been rather fluid or these traditions in Josephus have become confused (by a later copyist-a well-known phenomenon). Josephus knew Bethsaida and the Galilee very well, so his personal confusion is doubtful.

V. Geography Problems The Gospel accounts generally have problems associated with geographic or topographical information because of the unfamiliarity of scribes or the writers themselves, given the periods and locations in which they were writing. This appears to be the problem with Mark 7.31, for example, that states that Jesus went “from the region of Tyre ... through Sidon to the Sea of Galilee, through the region of the Decapolis...” which is nearly impossible since Sidon is north of Tyre whereas the Sea of Galilee and the Decapolis is South-east. This confusion suggests that Sidon and (Beth) Saida may already have been confused. The references to Sidon may be linked to Bethsaida as well since the writing in Hebrew and Aramaic are very similar.15 There is also some confusion in the transliteration of Bethesda and Bethsaida in manuscripts of the New Testament, indicating an on-going confusion on the basis of similar sounding sites. Luke's, like Mark’s “geographical confusion” is manifest in a number of passages. Luke 17:11 states: “While Jesus was making his way toward Jerusalem and was passing between Samaria and Galilee....” This order of the locales is supported by all manuscripts. Since Jerusalem is south of Samaria and Samaria south of Galilee, the journey would have been difficult. This fact underscores the fact that by the time the Gospels were being written down most of the Gospel writers were no longer familiar with the geographical Land of Israel and the transition statements they developed to piece together the traditions in their possession tend to be the most problematic. The fact that Luke has specific information about Bethsaida and the miracle of the feeding of the 15

For more on this problem, see my article, “The Search for Bethsaida in Rabbinic Literature,” in R. Arav, and R. A. Freund, eds., (1995) Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol. I, pp. 267 ff. my study shows that rabbinic textual traditions [and even the Mishnah] copyists had no idea where Bethsaida was located and instead confused the name with a similar sounding and well known port city by simply changing the traditions to read: [“in” Sidon]: BeSidon.

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multitudes there, is also extremely suggestive. The narrative of the feeding of the multitudes is found in all four Gospel accounts but takes place in an unnamed place in the other Gospels. The fact that Luke has a major tradition about Bethsaida involving a geographic location, and not just a transition statement between major narratives, may lend Luke’s tradition greater credibility than the unnamed traditions found in the other Gospels.

VI. The Medieval Period: Chorazin and Bethsaida Although Bethsaida-Julias is mentioned in many different writings from the Greco-Roman period as either Bethsaida or Julias or both, Chorazin did not enjoy such popularity. Although the Gospels mention the town only twice in the famous “woe” statements of Matthew 11:21 and Luke 10:13, it apparently was well known to Josephus. The full name and, apparently, the derivation of Chorazin is mentioned when Josephus is writing about the area of Ginosar. In Wars 3.10.8 he writes: “Besides being favored by its genial air, the country is watered by a highly fertilizing spring, called by the inhabitants Capharnaum. Some have imagined this to be a branch of the Nile, from its producing a fish resembling the coracin found in the lake of Alexandria.”16 This would indicate that the city was located close to the Sea of Galilee, or some small lagoons, on the northwest shore near Capernaum and named after a type of fish (Korakinos) found at the highly fertilizing spring located there. The city is also apparently known to the Rabbis, although in very limited traditions, especially concerning the produce grown there.17 16

This is the translation of H. St. J. Thackeray, The Jewish Wars, in the Loeb Classical Library, (London: Heinemann, 1976) p. 723. The translation makes little sense because there is no specific spring at Capernaum. Better: “Besides being favored by its genial air, the country is (highly watered) and is called by the inhabitants of (nearby) Capernaum after a highly fertilizing spring nearby.” Tabgha, a site which is nearby Capernaum, may have been intended. 17 The Rabbis, especially those writing in Babylonia, where most of the texts and manuscript traditions were redacted, were very unfamiliar with the geography of the Land of Israel and created difficult names that scribes could not always easily navigate. So in BT Menachot 85a we have “Come and hear, R. Jose said. They would have brought it even from the wheat of Karzaim and of Kefar Ahim if only they had been nearer to Jerusalem, since they may bring the ‘Omer-offering only from the fields in the south, and which had been broken up for the purpose, for upon these fields the sun rises and upon these the sun sets.” Here apparently the reference is to all meal-offerings, notwithstanding the mention of the ‘Omeroffering later in this sentence, since wheat is expressly mentioned and wheat was

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The real placement of cities in sites that were in existence in the Byzantine period, began with the Church Father, Jerome. In his Onomasticon 175.24-26 he writes in very depressing terms about the absolute destruction of Chorazin but not about Bethsaida. P.W. Wachler, in Holy City, Holy Places? (p. 163), wonders why Chorazin is presented by Eusebius as being truly “ereimos” (a Greek term for “deserted”) while a synagogue dating from the 4th and 5th century is found there today and no such structure was found at Bethsaida. He admits that perhaps Jerome and also Eusebius may have confused Bethsaida and Chorazin early on (and not crossed over the Jordan River in this area. In addition, however, Eusebius appears to refer to Bethsaida in the past in his Proof of the Gospels, 9.8.7. Writing about Chorazin, Capernaum and Bethsaida in the Commentary on Isaiah and in the Onomasticon he uses a present tense verb, indicating that they “are” located on the Sea of Galilee. However he says nothing about whether these places were inhabited at the time of his writing, just that there is a city there. It appears that many other pilgrim accounts may have just accepted confusions from earlier sources and not visited the sites they were in search of. In the earliest extant map of Jerome (12th century and which provides evidence about the lost 4th century map of Eusebius of Caesarea), Bethsaida is located on the east side of a river shown as the Dan and on the west side of a river shown as the Ior. There is no mention of Chorazin at the location near the Sea of Galilee! The division of the Jordan River into the Jor and the Dan Rivers seems to have originated in this period. The Jordan River was thought to have been composed of two separate sources, the Jor and the Dan. It is not known whether this was based on some geological configuration that they saw after one of the earthquakes (when the Jordan may have become blocked up) or whether this is just a philological word-play on “Jordan”. On this map, “Corazai” is located inland from Capernaum and the Sea just north of Mount Tabor and halfway between the Sea of Galilee and the Mediterranean coast.

not offered in the ‘Omer-offering but barley. On the other hand, it might very well be that the word which is translated as “wheat”, is part of the name of the place, the whole being a compound place-name. The city names mentioned here are found in the following variants in different rabbinic texts: Karazim: Barhaim (Tosefta). Karwaim (BT MS.Munich.). Kefar Ahim is probably Capernaum and is found as: Kefar Ahus (Tosef. ibid.) and in other manuscripts in other ways (Kefar Ahia and Kefar Ahis). Chorazim and Capernaum may have been confused in rabbinic texts.

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The medieval maps also seem regularly to confuse Bethsaida and Chorazin after the 13th century. In the 13th century Matthew Paris' map in the St. Albans Bible at Oxford, “Corozain” (sic) and Bethsaida are both on the west side of the Sea of Galilee.18 In a 13th century map preserved in the Library of Florence, “Corozain” is located on the east side of the Jordan River, Capernaum is directly adjacent on the western side of the Jordan, on the Sea of Galilee, followed by Bethsaida Civitas. In between Capernaum and Bethsaida is found an indication “tabula” (literally: a table) where the feeding of the multitudes took place on what appears to be a river spur of the Sea of Galilee leading northward.19 A permanent change in the placement of Bethsaida and Chorazin on medieval maps occurred in the 13th century. Apparently, it was Burchard of Mt. Zion, a thirteenth century Dominican, whose 10 year stay and pilgrimage account included a map with distinctive designations, who first instituted the exchange of Bethsaida's and Chorazin’s locations on medieval maps. The exchange of the two sites might be based on theological considerations rather than new geographical information. Bethsaida was a significant location in the New Testament and early pilgrim traditions while Chorazin had few or no substantive traditions associated with it. If the Roman site was as destroyed in the medieval period as the present excavations suggest, it must have been particularly desolate and bereft of meaning for pilgrims. Perhaps because of the large remains present at the site of Chorazin, and the lack thereof at Bethsaida, the two sites were exchanged on pilgrim maps. Burchard’s map apparently influenced many other maps for centuries to come (and additional confusions were also added!) Although the original of his map is lost, Lucas Brandis of the 15th century preserves a map which is designed after Burchard’s account. In it, Chorazin is on the east side and Bethsaida on the west side of the Jordan River.20 In the 14th century the Marino Sanuto and Peturs Vesconte map preserved in their Secrets for the True Crusaders to Help them Recover the Holy Land, “Corozaym” is located on the east side of the Jordan, “Cafarnaum” on the west side, and “Betsayda” just south of Cafarnaum. Again, as in earlier maps, a “mesa” is found in between Cafarnaum and Betsayda on a small mount north of Betsayda. In one 15th century map, “Corozaim” is located on the east, “Capharnau” and “Betsaida” on the 18

K. Nebenzahl, Maps of the Holy Land, New York: Abbeville Press, 1986), p. 19. Z. Vilnay, The Holy Land in Old Prints and Maps, Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1965), p. 251. 20 Op. Cit., 61 and commentary, 62. 19

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west but the “mesa” is found on the east side north of Corozaim and another unnamed “mesa” on the west side, just north of Betsaida. Continuing in the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries, most maps place Corozain on the east side, Capernaum on the west and Bethsaida directly to the south of Capernaum and to the north of Magdala, when indicated. This is generally the pattern through the 18th century. A variation is found in the 15th century map of Bernhard von Breitenbach which places Corozaim on the east side of the Jordan and Capernaum and Magadala on the west side and Bethsaida further west and inland from Magdala. A rare exception is Natlae Bonifacio’s 16th century map which places Corozin, Capharnau and Bethsaida on the west side of an oddly shaped Jordan River.21 Another exception involves the introduction of a new city location on the east side of the Jordan farther to the east from Chorazin. The city is Julias, an obvious reference to Bethsaida-Julias mentioned in the writings of Josephus and Pliny. In the 16th century, Gerardus Mercator’s 1537 map has Bethsaida and Capernaum on the west side and Corazin and Iulias, on the east side.22 It appears that in the Renaissance as a larger selection of texts were examined for the preparation of maps, the issue of a BethsaidaJulias (of Philip Herod and Josephus) on the eastern side of the Jordan began to conflict with the biblically oriented map traditions present since the 13th century. To resolve this conflict, Mercator and others from the 16th century onward simply placed Julias on the east side of the Jordan (near Corazin) across the sea from Bethsaida. The introduction of “Julias” may have also resolved the differences between any other extant map traditions of the period which still placed Bethsaida on the east side of the Jordan. The 16th century Theatrum Terrae Sanctae of Christian von Adrichom, in particular, praises the 13th century Burchard, and following him places Corazin on the east and Bethsaida on the west, adding Julias next to Corazin. Some, such as the 16th century map of Peter Laicksteen and Christian Sgrooten, placed Bethsaida and Julias together on the west side south of Capernaum but placed another “Iuliada” next to Corozaim on the northeast shore of the Sea of Galilee. Another variation of this is the 16th century Plancius map of the Holy Land that includes a designation “Chorazim et Iuliada” on the northeastern shore of the Sea. The final variations upon this is found in the 16th century map of Christian von Adrichom23 and its influences upon the 17th century maps of Yaaqov ben Abraham Zaddiq, who produced the first modern Hebrew map of Israel, in the map of Philippe Briet and Nicholas Visscher the 21

Ibid., 98. Apparently the first reference to Julias as a separate city. Ibid., 73. 23 Ibid., 96-7. 22

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Elder,24 and finally in the 18th century maps of Georg Matthaeus Seutter. On these maps, Bethsaida appears on the west side of the Jordan, a Julias and Corozain on the east side of the Jordan, and a “Desertum Bethsaida” appears on the east side, just south of Julias. Desertum Bethsaida is apparently the translation of the Greek word “ereimos” which was associated in the New Testament with the feeding of the multitudes near Bethsaida.25 Unfortunately in some later maps even this is confused as the 17th century map of Nicholas Sanson d’Abbeville places the famous “Desertum” [the deserted place that Jesus goes to-“ereimos” in Greek] north of Julias! The medieval pilgrim, Lady Egeria, during her visit to the area around the Sea of Galilee in 383 CE, encountered a number of traditions concerning the feeding of the multitudes and the ‘lonely place’ on the lakeshore where Jesus had performed his miracles. In her period, the “holy territory” of Capernaum was extended to include an area from seven natural springs (Hepta-pegai-Heptapegon) to Capernaum. This area, known better by the contracted form Tabgha, was located just west of the Jordan on the lakeshore. Fourth century pilgrims were apparently shown three rock formations located at the site of the natural springs. That became a convenient place for weary travelers to be shown a cave on the hillside. There, it was said, the Sermon on the Mount and the feeding of the multitudes also took place. It was a very strategic stopping point for pilgrims on their visits to Galilee. The Church at Tabgha, which can be dated no earlier than 350 CE and is not from the period of the first century, may have been a “stand-in” for the missing Bethsaida site and the earliest connection of Tabgha with the “lonely place” of Jesus appears to be in Egeria's report. St. Paula, guided 24

Ibid., 110-11, 123 and 133 respectively. In Luke 9.10-17, when the multitudes (5000) are fed, the Lukan narrative states that it took place in the named place of Bethsaida (10) but then in 9:12 it states that the people should go in search of lodging and provisions elsewhere since it was “a lonely place (ereimos)”. In the parallel version of the feeding of the multitudes account (5000) in Matthew 14:13-21, no specific name is given to the place of the feeding, but it begins with Jesus arriving (13) at “a lonely place (ereimos)” which can be reached by boat and later in the narrative (15) the disciples state that “this is a lonely place (ereimos)” with no provisions for the crowds. Similarly in the Markan parallel (6:30-44) to this account, although it occurs in an unnamed location, the narrative states three times (31, 32, 35) that the place is “a lonely place (ereimos),” which again can be reached by boat. For a complete evaluation of the traditions, see my article, “Ereimos", Was Bethsaida a “lonely place” in the First Century CE?, in R. Arav and R. A. Freund (2004), Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol. III, 183 ff. 25

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by Jerome, called the place ‘the lonely place’ (“ereimos”). Father Bargil Pixner, a Benedictine monk and archaeologist pioneered the view in 1985 that assigned the designation of Bethsaida to a location at et-Tell as the “Bethsaida of Galilee,” (as in the Fourth Gospel) and even assigned the Mark 8 tradition of the “healing of the blind man” to a site on the outskirts of the et-Tell site.

VII. Before the Modern Period In the period of the Enlightenment the use of classical texts such as Pliny, Josephus, and Strabo for establishing geographic locations caused a change in the maps related to Bethsaida. These new map-makers wanted to add information or combine map-making traditions that now was available to them in this period when the printing press allowed more sharing of unique traditions and they went beyond the biblical traditions and the Roman Catholic pilgrim traditions and their holy places. In the 18th century map of Adrian Reland, for example, Julias Gaulanitica was located on the east side of the Jordan as it is described by Josephus and Bethsaida and Chorazin are not mentioned. A hybrid version of this appears in Jean Baptiste Bourguignon’s 18th century map in which Bethsaida is on the west side of the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan but on the northeast coast is found the designation: Julias in large print, and in small print “vel Chorozain”, to indicate that Julias was another name for Chorozain!

VIII. The 19th and 20th Century: The Great Two Bethsaidas Debate The modern period, especially with the rise of modern geography, more scientific map-making, the rise of archaeology, and the ability of Europeans and North Americans to come to the Holy Land and physically visit sites that were previously known only on maps has revolutionized the two Bethsaida-s debate. Today, thanks to the archaeological surveys that began in the 19th century and continued into the 20th century the debate is founded on more evidence than in previous period. The ground-breaking excavations of Dr. Rami Arav and the Bethsaida Excavations Project which began in 1987 have dramatically changed the discussions about Bethsaida.26 But if Dr. Arav and the Project can be credited with having 26

The four volumes of Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, (1995, 1999, 2004 and 2009) along with hundreds of other books but also a number of dissertations:

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added systematic and comprehensive excavations and geological surveys to the debate, the Bethsaida Excavations Project stands on the “shoulders of giants who came before us” who commented on the ancient and medieval debate and added to the discussion. A. Alt, Edward Robinson, Charles W. Wilson,27 C. Kopp, G. Smith, U. J. Seezen, E. W. G. Mastermann, C. R. Conder, E. Renan, J. Lightfoot, G. Shumacher, W. F. Albright, C. C. McCown,28 G. Dalman, E. Kraeling, K. E. Wilken, D. Urman29 and S. Notley30 are notable for the scholarship on these matters in the 19th and 20th centuries. 27

Wilson made the suggestion in 1877 that the large, flood plain in front of et-Tell and the es-Saki lagoon, was in fact the original former bed of the Jordan River and Sea, Palestine Exploration Fund, Quarterly Statement, Vol. 4, 1877, 10-13, "The sites of Tarichae and Bethsaida". Nearly a century later, Kopp cited E. Zickerman and stated: " It is possible "that today its ruins lie beneath the alluvium of the river, which for thousands of years has been depositing masses of earth and gravel." C. Kopp, The Holy Places of the Gospels, Ronald Walls, trans., New York: Herder and Herder, 1963) p. 185. 28 Correspondence, Palestine Exploration Fund, Quarterly Statement, 33, 1935, pp. 144-45, 29 D. Urman and P. V.M. Flesher, eds., (Ancient Synagogues, Leiden: Brill, 1985) 519 ff. Dan Urman writes (p. 526), "In 1968, the Syrian position and the ruins of the Arab village were surveyed by the author and his staff. This survey estimated the area of the ancient site at about 45 dunams. In addition to shards from periods identified by the previous teams, we also found a few shards from the Hellenistic period and a large number from the various stages of the Arab period. In concluding our report, we commented that we share Shumacher's disappointment over the finds at the site, for at a place identified by many researchers as Bethsaida, we expected to find many decorated architectural artifacts and inscriptions - as are found at almost every one of the Jewish sites in the Golan that are not mentioned in the sources." The report cited by Urman in his book has been fully investigated in the Antiquities Authority archives and reads, "Mashfa' (Tellawiyye) 36-97/1 Large village which was mostly used for living quarters and military installations by the Syrian army, which as a result the village suffered major damage in the Six Day War. The houses of the village were made of cement and basalt rock and plaster. (see photos 9146....) On the western part of the village there is an ancient mound-Tel Mashfa'. On the mound there is a cemetery of the village. The Syrian military changed the mound into a battery which could command the Jordan plain and which was known as the "Cemetery Battery" (see photos 9146-....) Due to the fact that the battery was mined, we were unable to check the ancient mound. At the site of the village and around it no archaeological finds were discovered." The author seems to be prone to selective recollection of his visits to the sites he so vividly describes in his 1995 work. In the 1995 work, for example, he describes elMesadiyye: "After the Six Day War, the Syrian outpost and the site were surveyed by the author and his team. Despite the thick vegetation, it was possible to

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One of the great debates in archaeology of the 19th and 20th centuries was the existence of a Bethsaida and where it might have been located. The two sides of the debate lined up on two sides of the question. Some identified a couple of sites on the Sea of Galilee. While others favored a large mound set back from the Sea of Galilee, et-Tell. Thus arose a modern two “Bethsaidas” argument centering around the interpretation of the systematic excavations begun in 1987 at the site set back from the shoreline. The fact that there were among ancient and medieval mapmakers and theologians arguments for two Bethsaidas surely affected the modern debate. The modern debate began with the first and most notable historical explorer, American scholar Edward Robinson (1794-1863) who placed Bethsaida on the east side by the et-Tell site. The other line followed the opinion of J. Lightfoot and including the scholar G. Schumacher. The French historian V. Guerin argued that the Gospels themselves were referring to two different cities, Bethsaida-Julias in Luke 9:10 and Mark 8:22-23, and Bethsaida in Galilee in Mark 6:45 and all other Gospel citations. What were the arguments of both parties? In 1891, George Smith, who traveled the land on foot, weighed in on the side of Edward Robinson’s earlier identification.31 "Bethsaida was a village on the east side of the Jordan and near the river's mouth, which the Tetrarch Philip rebuilt and named Julias in honor of the daughter of determine that the houses of the Syrian position were built in part on the tops of the walls of ancient structures, with many ancient building stones in secondary use. We did not find any architectural items worth mentioning here. But it was possible to make out on the shoreline the remains of an ancient fishing anchorage. Among the shards that were collected at the site, there were a few from the late Hellenistic period and an abundance from the different stages of the Roman, Byzantine, Arab, and Ottoman periods" In the 1968-1972 report he states: "Masudiyye (Masadiyye) 36-94/1… The village is divided into two distinct parts and is divided by a swamp (see photos #7187-...). The first part being the northwestern section. This part contains 15 buildings. The large majority of these are built along one line of the road. The buildings are mostly built from bricks of plaster mixed together with straw. (see photos 7121-...) The second part being the south eastern section....In the area of the village and around it, no archaeological finds were discovered." 30 Most recently, in Near Eastern Archaeology vol. 70 no. 4, Dec. 2007 pp. 220 – 230, S. Notley challenged the identification of Bethsaida with et-Tell located on the north east shore of the Sea of Galilee. Notley suggests returning to the identification postulated originally by G. Schumacher in his 19th century survey of a small site named el-Araj situated on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. 31 Smith, George Adam, (1894), The Historical Geography of the Holy Land, reprinted (1966), New York: Harper and Row, 296.

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Augustus. This is the Bethsaida to which Jesus withdrew on hearing of the Baptist's death and near which was the desert place described by John on the other side of the Sea of Galilee. ...crossing over the Sea of Galilee does not necessarily mean the other side. Josephus speaks of sailing from Tiberius to Tarichea though the towns were on the same side of the lake". The Bethsaida locations on the northeast shore of the Sea of Galilee grew in the 20th century. Sites on the east of the Jordan, et-Tell especially, had been suggested. Gustaf Dalman adopted the opinion of the east shore site/s in 1924.32 Also suggested was Ed-Dikkeh one kilometer north of et Tell and El Araj at the present lakeshore. G. Schumacher rejected et Tell which, in his view, was too far (two kilometers) from the present shoreline. He proposed El Mesadieh, a small elevation in the plain of El Bateihah about 200 meters from the shore and one kilometer in the southeast of El Araj. In December 1985, an article of Bargil Pixner in the Biblical Archaeologist affirmed his adherence to the dual city theory, he suggested et Tell as Julias and El Araj as the Bethsaida of the Gospels. Some of the giants of modern archaeology staked out one or the other claim (to one Bethsaida or two). In the February 1928 edition of the Bulletin the American Schools of Oriental Research, Director W.F. Albright reported on his visit to Bethsaida in December of 1927. “On this trip, we discovered a new Bronze Age mound just north of the Sea of Galilee, et-Tell, formerly identified with Bethsaida Julias. The mound lies in the fertile, but marshy plain called el-Ibteihah, less than a mile east of the Jordan, and about a mile and a half north of the lake. It has generally been identified with the New Testament town, though the apparent lack of remains of the Roman period has been felt as a difficulty. The writer was never quite happy over the identification, but was not able to reach a definite conclusion until this visit, when a careful examination of the eastern and northern slopes of the hill on which the ruins are located yielded only shards of the Early Bronze (possibly also for the Middle and Late) and the Arabic periods, no Roman pottery being found. However, we have at least gained another Bronze Age mound in the Jordan Valley, to add to the large number described in the sixth volume of the Annual.”33

Three factors affected the visit of Albright in December of 1927. First, he stated that he only went to visit the north and east slopes of the mound 32 Dalman, Gustaf, Studies in the Topography for the Gospels, (New York: McMillan Co., 1935). Dalman stated that he visited el Araj and found shards attributed to the Roman period and remains of a monumental structure which he identified as a synagogue. 33 Number 29 Page 7.

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where our Bethsaida Excavations Project results have found primarily been from the Iron Age as well. The original gate and fortifications would have presented themselves as Iron Age. If, however, he had gone to the top of the mound Albright would have discovered that the Hellenistic and Roman city was built on top of the acropolis. On the other side of the mound, however, on the southern face and the western slopes are found the Bedouin cemetery remains which were in use until 1949. The area had experienced a massive earthquake in 1927. The shoreline in this period is not mentioned but it is clear that this inhibited his visit to the western and southern slope of the mound. The 1927 earthquake must have produced the same blockages, damming and flooding which are mentioned in other periods. The swampy, marshy plain inhibited his visit to other parts of the mound and so he may have only visited one part of the mound. On October 31, 1929, Chester McCown, then head of the American Schools of Oriental Research in Jerusalem, visited the area on the north shore of the Sea of Galilee. Earlier, in October, 1921, he had visited the area but never made it to et-Tell. He photographed a number of areas around the mouth of the Jordan where it reaches the Sea of Galilee. In 1929, after Albright's visit less than two years before, McCown was determined to see et-Tell. The visit is described in his correspondence at the Badé Archives as the following: “We rose at six, had a swim in the lake, and breakfast at seven. Our friend (Muhammad Sakhini) was on hand even before breakfast. But when we went to embark we found that his boat would not hold more than twelve comfortably and safely. There was another smaller boat anchored at the hospice in a little harbor of big basalt rocks....We struck out across the lake toward the mouth of the Jordan running in rather close at Tell Hum and getting pictures of the spot from the water. We landed on the farther side of the mouth of the Jordan in French territory and went at once to the only house nearby, which belongs to a pasha in Damascus. Recently in trying to dig a cistern they came across some mosaic. With some difficulty they cleared away the earth they had put over it to save it. It proved to have no color or design, so far as we could see, but the tesserae were rather small, indicting a date early in the Christian era. From the house we struck out across the marshy plain, which runs back about a mile, seeking et-Tell, the supposed site of Bethsaida Julias. On the way we picked up some pieces of pottery from the little mound near the pasha's house. Recently they have been building a causeway across it disclosing enough pottery and stones to prove that at some time the place was a city. The date of the little pottery I found I have not yet been able to determine, but there was none of it from the Arabic period. On the way to et-Tell, we passed thru the camp of Bedouins who belong to the plain, living on it all summer and on the hills nearby when it gets too wet in winter. The women were

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Chapter Two weaving, and fortunately they seemed to have not the slightest objection to our observing and photographing them. They certainly do hand weaving. The warp is stretched out horizontally on the ground, the alternate threads separated by a board, and the thread which forms the woof is wrapped on a stick which is merely put thru by hand and then pounded down tight with a smooth board. At et-Tell the whole party spread out to collect pottery, for Dr. Albright claims that no pottery can be found there belonging to the New Testament times, and that therefore the mound cannot be the Bethsaida of the Gospels. If that can be established, it is an important point in the investigation of the topography of the Galilee. We collected a lot of pottery, by far the greater part of it from Arab times. As to the rest I am not certain and wish to show it to Dr. Fisher before reaching any conclusions. "34

The pottery, which is still cataloged at the Badé, is marked as having come from El Araj and is extremely chafed and damaged. It is clearly of a mixed variety but contains both Iron Age and Hellenistic-Roman pieces. This is of interest since at no time does anyone contend that El Araj dates to the Iron Age, yet it has Iron Age pottery shards. The state of the pottery shards may indicate that both the Iron Age and Hellenistic-Roman shards were run-off from the et-Tell site, which would have been affected by the 1927 earthquake and would have shed pottery into the small streams that went down to El Araj. In the 1930s, R. De Haas, reported on the existence of remains of a mosaic floor near the Pasha's house, called by the Israelis, Beth HaBeq. It is mentioned by G. Schumacher as the Hasil of the famous leader of the Mecca pilgrims, Muhammed Said Pasha. It was the same one which had been examined by McCown in 1929 who declared to be Byzantine.35 The traditional visits to et-Tell (because of its size and because of the numbers of shards and architecture) continued through the 1930s. In 1937, Albrecht Alt wrote concerning et-Tell: "The scarcity of the discovered ruins... testifies to the modest development and duration of this settlement [Bethsaida-Julias]" 36 In the past 60 years, (but before the site was accessible by modern archaeologists), K.E. Wilken's37 states that he heard from Bedouins in the 34

Bade Archives, Correspondence, C. McCown, 1929. R. De Haas (1933), Galilee, the Sacred Sea: A Historical and Geographical Description, Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 133. 36 Galilaische Probleme. Kleine Schriften Zur Geschichte Des Volkes Israel, 2: 363-465(Munich: C.H. Beck, 1953). 37 Wilkin, K. E., “Investigations in the Holy Land,” in E. G. Kraeling, ed., Rand McNally Bible Atlas, 2nd ed., New York: Rand McNally, 1956), p. 388. 35

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area that et-Tell once contained pillars/columns and hewn stones, although they are not now visible at that site. Wilken observed correctly that there was indeed in situ Iron Age pottery and Hellenistic Roman pottery at etTell. His problems begin with his description of el-Araj. The site is given in very exact measurement at el-Araj: 656 by 918 feet.38 The debate about the two Bethsaida-s continued after the 1967 war, as indicated by D. Urman archaeological walking survey of the sites in the lower Golan. No excavations were undertaken, however, until Dr. Arav and the Bethsaida Excavations Project began its systematic work in 19871988. And it was with Dr. John T. Greene in1988 that work began at the site of et-Tell. For those who have not seen the Sea of Galilee from the vantage point on the top of the et-Tell mound it is difficult to understand how dramatically the landscape has changed over time. It is an accident of history and geology that the site was abandoned after the port of Bethsaida no longer provided access to the Sea of Galilee after the area was sedimented in following a late Roman period earthquake. There is now an avalanche of data available which shows that et-Tell has all of the different characteristics of a site which fits the Gospels and Josephus’s descriptions in unexpected ways. Most of the information can be found in the four volumes of Bethsaida: A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, but also in many other works, such as Carl Savage’s Biblical Bethsaida: An Archaeological Study of the First Century. 39 These studies show that etTell is the only site in the area which qualifies as Bethsaida, an ancient fishing industry site that was re-established in the Hellenistic period and as a Bethsaida-Julias, a Greco-Roman city of the first century CE. The Roman city developed in the first and second centuries and was abandoned by the end of the third century CE. This is evident from the archaeological finds and the extensive geological studies that were conducted there and on the present shore of the Sea of Galilee that was slowly built up over thousands of years. Boats which were the life-blood of the fishing industry were cut off from the Sea of Galilee and its ports to the west and south. The road systems, both north and south and east and west, were disrupted by the earthquakes as well. The roads and ports had made the city famous 38 This is a very unusual measurement. One wonders what his reference points were or how the site was measured. When we returned in the 1990s to attempt to reconstruct his measurements with our geology team we were unable to located an area of this size at the el-Araj site. Not only is the site much smaller by all present day measurements but it is impossible to locate a plot of land in the area of the size he mentions. 39 Lexington Book, Lantham, MD, 2011.

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in antiquity but were dramatically changed by the regular earthquakes, the redirection of the river, and the subsequent slow sedimentation process. We have concluded that this buried city of et-Tell was both the Julias of Josephus and the Bethsaida of the Gospels. Much as the two “John T. Greene-s,” are really one.

References Albright, W. F., Report on Bethsaida, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research, February, 1928. Alt, Albrecht, Galilaische Probleme III: Hellenistische Städte und Domanen in Galilaa, Palastinajahrbuch,1937. Arav, Rami, Et-Tell and el Araj, Israel Exploration Journal 39, 1989, 99100. Arav, Rami, Et-Tell (Bethsaida), Excavations and Surveys in Israel, 19892000, Vol. 9, 1989, 98-99. Arav, Rami, Bethsaida 1989, Israel Exploration Journal 41, 1991, 184185. Arav R., and H-W. Kuhn, (1991), The Bethsaida Excavations: Historical and Archaeological Approaches, in B. A. Pearson, ed., The Future of Early Christianity, Essays in honor of Helmut Koester, Minneapolis: Fortress Augsburg, 77-106. Arav, R., and John Rousseau (1991), Exclusive Bethsaida Recovered, in The Fourth R., Vol. 4, 1 January, Sonoma, CA: Polebridge Press. Arav, R., and R. Freund, eds. (1995. 1999, 2004, 2009), Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vols 1-4, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press. “Bethsaida”, (2006) pp. 145-166 in Jesus and Archaeology, edited by James H. Charlesworth. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans. Baldi, Donatus (1982), Enchiridion, Locorum Sanctorum, Jerusalem: Franciscan Press. Dalman, Gustaf (1935), Studies in the Topography of the Gospels, New York: McMillan. De Haas, R. (1933), Galilee, the Sacred Sea: A Historical and Geographical Description, Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press. Eusebius, (1965), The History of the Church, G. S. Williamson, trans., New York: Dorset Press. Freyne, Sean (1980), Galilee from Alexander the Great to Hadrian, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Gingres, George (1970), Egeria: Diary of a Pilgrimage, New York: Newman Press.

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Hunt, J. (1982), Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire, A.D. 312-460, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Josephus, Flavius (1958-1965), Collected Works, Loeb Classical Library, 9 Vols. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, London: W. Heineman. Klosterman, Erich (1902), Eusebius of Caesarea, Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Mastermann, E.W. G. (1908), Studies in Galilee, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. —. (1895), Library of the Palestine Pilgrims' Text Society, Aubrey Stewart, trans., Vols 1-13, London: Palestine Pilgrims' Text Society, 24 Hanover Square, W., reprinted (1971), New York: AMS. McCown, Chester, Correspondence, Bade Archives, 1929. —. The Problem of the Site of Bethsaida, JPOS 10, 1930, 32-58. Murphy-O'Connor, Jerome (1980), The Holy Land, an Archaeological Guide from Earliest Times to 1700, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nebenzal, K. (1986), Maps of the Holy Land, New York: Abbeville Press. Pixner, Bargil, Searching for the New Testament Site of Bethsaida, Biblical Archaeologist, December, 1985, 207-216. Pliny The Elder (1956), Natural History, Loeb Classical Library, V.15:15, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Ptolemy IV (1843-1845), Geographia, Carolus Fridericus Augustus Nobbe, ed., Editio Stereotypa, Lipsiae: Sumptibus et typis Caroli Tauchnitii, Rome: Editore Roma. Renan, Ernst (1887), Palestine Exploration Fund, Twenty One Years’ Work in the Holy Land: June 22, 1865-June 22, 1886, London: Richard Bentley and Son. Rousseau, J. J., and Rami Arav (1995), Jesus and His World, Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Savage, Carl, E., (2011), Biblical Bethsaida: An Archaeological Study of the First Century, (Lantham, MD: Lexington, Books. Smith, G. A. (1894, reprint 1966), The Historical Geography of the Holy Land, New York: Harper and Row. Strickert, Frederick, M., (1998), Bethsaida: Home of the Apostles, Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Strickert, Frederick, M. (2011), Philip’s City: From Bethsaida to Julias, Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Urman, D. and P. V. M. Flesher, eds. (1995), Ancient Synagogues, Leiden: Brill, 519 ff. Vilnay, Z (1965), The Holy Land in Old Prints and Maps, Jerusalem: Rubin Mass. Wachler, P. W. (1991), Holy Cities, Holy Places, Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Wilkin, K. E. (1956), Investigations in the Holy Land, in E. G. Kraeling, ed., Rand McNally Bible Atlas, 2nd ed., New York: Rand McNally. Wilkinson John (1988), Jerusalem Pilgrimage 1099-1185, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

CHAPTER THREE THE SACRED PRECINCT AT THE GATE CARL SAVAGE

While working together in the Cave of Letters, I asked John Greene, “How long have you been doing archaeology?” His answer was something about having been doing it long enough to be the senior archaeologist onsite. Over the years I have been enriched by John’s expertise and narrative about the archaeological process. I chose to write, in this book of essays to honor his career, about an area in which John and I shared work. In 1999, John arrived at the Bethsaida Excavations Project toward the end of the dig season. When our work assignments for the final three week session were being given out, John and I wound up in the same area, behind (west of) Chamber One of the eighth century BCE gate, investigating what might lie in that locale. What we found was surprising. John, working in the northern loci of the area we were excavating, wound up uncovering what was later recognized as a sacrificial high place in the gate complex. I remember his methodical excavating technique, as first a stele and then later portions of a large plaza began to appear. As later seasons passed, we added other pieces to the components of this cultic installation: a large bone-filled pit, a section of a large horned altar, an enigmatic large carved boulder depicting what may be a crouching bull, and some fragments of fenestrated incense altars. This chapter seeks to put this high place in context with all of the other cultic locations that have been found to be associated with the gate complex at Iron Age et-Tell. The picture that emerges is one of remarkable importance for understanding the sacred space that the gate must have represented. Situated approximately two kilometers north of the Sea of Galilee and 250 meters east of the Jordan River, the mound of Bethsaida/et-Tell has proven to be one of the largest Iron Age sites adjoining the Sea of Galilee. The city was built in the tenth century BCE as a major urban center (and perhaps the capital) of the Geshurites (Arav, 2004, 1–48). In 1996, a palace complex that included a large city wall and gate installation was

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discovered. The uncovering of the city gate and palace of et-Tell/Bethsaida provides significant material evidence helpful comprehension of the perplexing cultural and religious context of the first Temple period in neighboring Israel and Judah. Because the city gate complex and cult installations appear to have met with a sudden and violent destruction, presumably by the armies of the neo-Assyrian conqueror Tiglath-Pileser III during the campaign of 732 BCE, a nearly complete preservation of the gate complex was secured. This state of preservation has allowed us to view as a larger whole the location of cult activity in this area of the city. Et-Tell/Bethsaida therefore provides the best and most plentiful diagnostic material available for a study of gate cult locales. The question that can therefore be asked is “Can these archaeological features inform the argument that what we have uncovered indicates that this entire area might be termed as sacred?” Colin Renfrew has provided a list of deductive propositions that suggest some possible material evidence demonstrating the consequences of ritual practice, and hence religious and sacred. His basic list of what exhibit “the performance of expressive actions of worship” includes four components: “attention focusing, special aspects of liminal zone, presence of the transcendent and its symbolic focus, and participation and offering” (Renfrew, 1985, 18–19). An adapted and expanded presentation of Renfrew’s list of archaeologically observable behavioral correlates of these components can be found in Jill Katz’s work Archaeology of Cult in Middle Bronze Age Canaan (Katz, 2009, 26–27): (1) Rituals may be performed in special locations, either natural (e.g., mountain top, cave) or man-made (e.g., building). (2) These special locations may be set apart from other areas of activity. (3) These areas may reflect a particular richness and craftsmanship of materials, artifacts, and structures. (4) Adjoining and within these special locations, there may be patterns of increasing exclusivity. (5) Within the sacred precinct, there may be structures and artifacts used for ritual purification. (6) If a building is included in the area, its architecture may be distinct and reflect a conspicuous public display, including highly decorative portals to symbolize the transition between sacred and profane.

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(7) Special facilities (e.g., altars, hearths, benches, favissae) may be used to perform certain tasks. (8) To induce and participate in religious experience, celebrants may employ a variety of aids: texts, music, images, inanimate and animate objects, fire, water, food, drink, and narcotics, and the like. (9) Special garments may be worn. (10) Within the special precinct, there may be a high concentration of symbols, including repeated symbols (redundancy). (11) The symbols may have specific associations with particular deities worshipped. (12) The association with transcendent power(s) may be reflected in cult image or other aniconic representation (e.g., standing stones, or massevot). (13) Special movements of propitiation, prayer, adoration, or blessing may be reflected in depictions. (14) Sacrifices and offerings (e.g., human, animal, plant, liquid) may be brought. The necessary equipment may include knives, basins to collect blood, area for burning, incense vessels (for smoke and perfume), votive vessels, libation vessels, loaf pans, and the like.. (15) Other portable equipment such as lamps may be employed. (16) The overall structure and material assemblage may reflect a greater investment of wealth than elsewhere. (17) Nearby the special area, there may be areas for baking and craft production or holding pens to supply ritual needs. Using these theoretical underpinnings, this study can thus engage in the process of constructing a portrait of Iron Age ritual practice at the city gate. Drawing from this archaeological evidence at et-Tell/Bethsaida, we can, to a good degree of clarity, reconstruct a perspective of the ancient inhabitants of Geshur through their material practices which are indications of their sense of “place” both ideologically and geographically. They were involved in creating, accommodating, and resisting the competing influences and powers that shaped their world. One important part of the sense of place of course contains the idea of the city gate as a liminal space. Speaking about Iron Age gates, Tina Blomquist has suggested that “It is not a coincidence that the gates in the ANE were places of judgment, execution, asylum, display of booty and corpses, putting up of thrones, and monuments and areas placed under the protection of deities” (Blomquist, 1999, 16). The gate then is indeed a special location of activity and may indeed be considered as a possible place of cult activity.

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Our discussion of the liminal and cultic space at the gate is therefore directly focused by three questions: 1) What is being used and where is it used? 2) How is it used? 3) Why is it being used in this manner? These questions have been approached from both the material record and the literary corpus by many others. We are mostly limited in this chapter to description and analysis of the material found in the gate complex area of Iron Age et-Tell. Our attention is placed on the main components of religious rituals that may be correlated to the material remains found at etTell. We will examine the attention-focusing devices: architectural features and artifacts, the presence of deities, and evidence for cultic participation and offering.

What has been found? Architecture The gate area, which covers nearly 1.8 dunams, includes the best preserved four chambered gate in the region. While the outer wall of the plaza and outer city defenses have not been preserved to any significant degree, nearly everything else that makes up the gate complex area is preserved and to a height of nearly 3 meters in some places. Remnants of the mud brick and plaster that covered the core basalt walls were found still in place, indicating what must have been the grand facade of the entire complex. Even the roadway leading to the gate itself is evidence of the monumental nature of this site. A wide cobblestone paved roadway is still visible leading away to the north and has been excavated for a distance of over 50 meters in that direction. This impressive roadway allowed for the passage of carts to enter the city through its outer and inner gates. Remnants of that road can be seen continuing away from the site in aerial photography of the surrounding fields, further emphasizing the prominence of the city during this time period. A total of five separate and clearly defined cultic areas associated with the gate complex have been discovered (see figures 1 and 2). The most impressive of these is the three-step high place with basin and decorated stele located in the northeast corner of the gate courtyard. The altar is 2.08 meters long, 1.53 meters wide, and stands .80 meters in height, not including the stele (see figure 4). The steps increase in height ranging from 28 centimeters high for the first step, 30 centimeters for the second step, and 40 centimeters for the third step that opens to the 1.53 meters square podium. The placement of the large stele atop the altar behind its shallow basin (53cm in length, 35cm in width, only 10cm in depth), added

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approximately 1.25 meters to the total height of the installation so that the observer would of necessity have to look up at the image. That stele is carved with an image of a bull-headed figure that is a representation of a celestial deity. Shown in relief, the bull is represented standing upright on his hind legs with a sword stretching diagonally below his right foreleg and a small rosette under the left foreleg (see figure 2). The cultic niche or high place altar was carefully plastered in a fashion similar to that found in Chamber Four and the entire gate complex. Remnants of the plaster were still found adhering to the southeastern corner of the base of the platform. Two pierced tripod cups, matching other fragments of such vessels located in Chamber Four, were found in fragments in the basin/depression of the altar. The toppled bull stele fell across the basin sealing the contents of the basin; the cups were restored from the fragments contained therein. The fact that these somewhat unique vessels were clearly linked with the inner gate chamber also indicates that the scores of vessels uncovered in Chamber Four amid the destruction layer could also be interpreted to have cultic import. This linkage between cultic site and artifact storage is not duplicated with the other installations at the gate, but the sheer number of other installations likewise confirms the strong association between the gate and the sacred. Among the remaining four cultic installations are two direct access high places. One is located across the plaza from the three-stepped high place on the southeast corner of the inner gate plaza. It is a shelf approximately a meter high that possibly held small votive offerings or idols, although none were recovered. The other direct access cultic installation is located outside of the inner gate plaza on the north side of the tower flanking the three stepped high place in that direction. It is reached by means of a paved cobblestone pathway between the outer and inner city walls. This direct access area is located at the pavement level, but clearly delineated by a series of border stones that differentiate the cultic area from the pavement itself. It also was plastered. A second stepped altar area is located on the south side of the southern flanking tower. This one consists of a series of three steps and a small stone-bordered flat area containing a paved floor of similar nature to that of the second of the direct access high places. It did not contain any symbols of deity or other easily identifiable cultic objects. However, since the steps do not lead to any access-way, ending abruptly at the tower, the function of the steps clearly seems to be an example of an “attention focusing” device in Renfrew’s cultic typology (Renfrew, 1985, 18), and therefore these steps should indeed be interpreted as a cultic installation.

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The final cultic installation is found inside the city to the west of the gate. This is described as a sacrificial high place on the basis of several of its associated features and artifacts. There is a large paved plaza that elevates from the surrounding plaza and abuts with the inner wall of the gate’s Chamber One. Immediately adjacent to the north of that plaza was found a deep pit filled with animal bones. A large basalt horned altar fragment and a large crudely carved stone were found in association with the surrounding plaza. Finally, several fragments of fenestrated altars were also found the nearby. The fact that the four-chambered gate's access points are all flanked by cultic installations is an important marker for the place of the gate and its boundary function. One could not enter the inner gate proper or its plaza without passing by a high place. This seems to clearly divide the gate from both the inside and outside of the city and could be interpreted as marking a “sacred space” that provided a place of access to the divine.

Symbols of the Deity In addition to the cultic installations, et-Tell’s inner four-chamber gate and its plaza is demarked by slab-like massebot with rounded tops all ranging between .9 meters to 1.25 meters in height. A total of six have been found in situ, although a seventh that was not found is presumed to have been positioned across from the one standing on the eastern side of the inner entrance leading from the outer gate on the northeast edge of the gate’s inner plaza. Of the six discovered, only one directly depicts a deity, the bull-headed stele described above. The remaining ones are aniconic, without decoration, but nonetheless are assumed to have been representations of a divine presence. It is possible that these aniconic standing stones may have been decorated with pigment since there was a small quantity of ochre recovered in Chamber Four. However, no decoration on a stele has survived. All six of the massebot were clearly “beheaded” during the destruction of the area, the tops of each stele were cracked off in similar fashion. This detail may indicate an expressive symbolic action intended to show the conquerors’ complete subjugation of both the city and its deity. Ahlstrom indicates that the manner of destruction of an object can indicate its function or stature: “One indication that the seated figure may have been a god, however, is that the statue was acephalous; the head had been cut off. This suggests that the destroyers of the temple conceived of the statue as a god. His power should be destroyed, and therefore his head

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was cut off; cf. Deuteronomy 12:3” (Ahlström, 1975, p. 72). Perhaps we can apply the same principle to the massebot at the gate. There were no other depictions of deity, but at least two of the vessels found in Chamber Four of the gate, the chamber which has a clear connection to the three-stepped altar of the bull headed stele, show that they too should be considered as symbols of deity (see figure 3). One of the vessels was inscribed with a pentagram on its base. This shallow carinated bowl was recovered and restored from fragments scattered across the chamber. It is 22 centimeters in diameter and 5.4 centimeters high and has a ring base 9 centimeters in diameter. The exterior color of the bowl and its core were both light brown (7.5 YR 6/4) and its fabric included medium white grits and small pink grog. A “star” or pentagram was incised within the ring base before firing. But the most telling symbol of deity on an artifact is an inscription on a vessel. This inscription is located on the upper shoulder of a trefoil mouthed decanter jug or pitcher (see plate 2) whose remains were among the numerous shards and debris found in Chamber Four of the city gate. The jug is 24.2 centimeters high and 19.6 centimeters wide at its greatest diameter. There is a round 1.2 centimeters depression in the top center of the handle where presumably a seal was inserted. The interior of the jug is 14.2 centimeters deep. The exterior color of the jug is light brown (7.5 YR 6/4), while the interior and core are brown (7.5 YR 4/2). It was apparently created with a low fire fine matrix with few white grits and many fine organic inclusions of straw or dung. Ruth Amiran described this type of vessel as very common in Iron Age IIC: “As we have seen...one of the features was the handle drawn from the ridge on the neck to the shoulder and the other was the grooved rim...the group of fine shallow grooves often seen on the shoulder of Northern decanters is still present. It bears the classic imprint of ceramic ideas known as “Phoenician Pottery” but which are found almost exclusively within the borders of the Northern Kingdom of Israel” (Amiran, 1970 [c1969], 272) The incised lettering of the inscription, which measures approximately 4 centimeters by 2 centimeters, was artfully done with a stylus-like instrument before firing. The form of the script of the inscription also points to an eighth century date. The inscription, which consists of a lamed, shin, mem and ankh-like symbol, is important since there are so few inscriptions from this period that have been recovered with a known provenance. In this instance, the destruction of the gate complex sealed the locus enabling us to corroborate the epigraphic evidence with ceramic and other dating techniques. All of these agree and correspond to an eighth century BCE date for the

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inscription.³ The ankh-like symbol may be seen as a Syro-Mesopotamian glyph common in the first millennium BCE. It appears in that context in conjunction with other astral glyphs such as the star (Venus), the seven dots (Pleiades), the crescent (moon), and other designs associated with the heavens. These astral symbols often appear with the combination of lamed and personal name as found on many seal impressions (Avigad, 1997). Without developing here all of the arguments concerning how to properly read the inscription since I have detailed them in a prior publication (Savage, 2009, 125–135), the Bethsaida inscription should be read “for the sake of” or “dedicated to” the god whose name is symbolized by the ankh-like symbol. Thus, this pitcher also indicates a symbolic presence of deity.

Artifacts Many plates, bowls, and tripod cups evocative of the types of vessels which were discovered at the cultic site at Dan were unearthed in the gate Chamber Four (Biran, 1994, p. ill. 205). This assemblage was apparently systematically destroyed during the fall of the city since the shards were scattered throughout Chamber Four and into the central passage of the gate, quite unlike what one would expect of the distribution of the fragments of destroyed vessels if that distribution was only the result of collapse and breakage. This seemingly systematic and thorough destruction mirrors the “beheading” of each stele in the gate complex. The assemblage includes at least six perforated tripod cups, two of which were found in the basin of the altar covered by the toppled bullheaded stele, and the other four in Chamber Four, a pitcher with inscription, a bowl with pentagram, and various other jars, bowls, jugs, juglets, and plates. The assemblage is nearly identical to the one uncovered at Dan’s cultic site apart from an oil lamp stand. Several of the vessels are of a particularly fine quality, for example imported bichrome ware. Taken together as a whole these artifacts would be representative of items 3, 5 and 8 noted above in Katz’s list of archaeologically observable correlates for ritual or religious behavior. The cultic installation called the sacrificial high place is the only other installation to have significant artifacts discovered in its context. A fragment of a large basalt horned altar was found on a flagstone plaza in the inner city plaza behind (west of) the gate, along with a pit of several meters’ depth containing hundreds of animal bones. The horned altar and associated bone pit gives a fairly unambiguous indication that some sort of sacrificial ceremony was being performed in this very public location. An

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enigmatic carved stone was also found in proximity, and while it may perhaps depict a crouching bull or other animal, in all honesty, the carving is not easily interpreted. In addition, some very fragmentary remains of what are typically called fenestrated incense altars were found adjacent to the plaza of this high place. This collection of artifacts also presents evidence for at least five of the items in Katz’s list of correlates, numbers 12 and 14 being added to the three associated with the Chamber Four assemblage.

How was it used? The ceramic assemblage from Chamber Four and its associated three-step altar contain some obvious "special purpose" vessels among which are the perforated tripod cups. There is some debate over the function of the tripod perforated cups. Pritchard had named these as incense censers (Pritchard, 1969, 427–34), but others have debated their use (Arav, 2009, 87–94). The fact that two of those found at Bethsaida were in the shallow basin of the stepped altar has raised the possibility that they may have functioned in some libation ritual rather than an incense offering ritual. The matter, however, is not easily resolved by the recovered material at Bethsaida since the cups were thoroughly cleaned at pottery washing before they were fully recognized. Any residual material would have been removed in the process. While these two do not appear “burned,” since they were possibly only holders for incense and not incense burners per se, one cannot convincingly argue one way or the other purely on that basis. From the other elements of the Chamber Four assemblage, however, it is much clearer that some kind of service of libation and food offering was being performed at the gate. In particular, the jug bearing the inscription also ties the chamber assemblage with the bull-headed figure who has been linked to the ankh-like glyph in the inscription. Inscriptions exist in Phoenician, Aramaic, and Hebrew, as well as from farther east in Mesopotamia on clay tablets that employ the ankh-like glyph. These denote a widespread cross-cultural use of the symbol. Christoph Uehlinger suggests that the ankh-like symbol may be that of an astral god: “Was die Semantik des ‘ankhlichen Bildelements betrifft, so mag sein isolierte Auftreten neben besser bekannten Astralsymbolen die Vermutung nahlegen, es handle sich auch hier um ein Astralsymbol, etvl. Das Symbol einer astralen Gottheit” (Uehlinger, 1990, 327). The association that we have between the vessel with the inscription and the cultic site at Bethsaida strongly supports his suggestion.

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The presence of so many plates and bowls also suggests the possibility that there may have been meals associated with the ritual activity at this high place. These meals may have been for the deity alone, in the form of votive offerings, or in participation by worshipers partaking of a common meal. While we noted above the exceptional quality of some of the vessels reconstructed from Chamber Four, the majority would have been just as well at home in an ordinary kitchen. This perhaps suggests a kind of sacred domesticity at the gate.

Why were these used in this way? The attempt to discern motivation from the remains of human behavior found in the archaeological material recovered by excavation, is perhaps a nearly impossible task. While ideational patterns may manifest themselves in the material record, one can never be certain that a complete corpus of such patterning has been recovered and/or recognized. Here literary sources may aid in resolving this in concert with the material remains. In this brief study, we shall restrict our use of literary sources to a few biblical passages: 2 Kings 23:5ff. associates incense with high places, and meals of unleavened bread with high places. Leviticus 26:30 associates high places, incense, and idols with each other. Ezekiel 8:11 while not associated with high places or gates, mentions an incense censer held in the hand 1 Samuel 9:12ff. associates high places with eating 2 Samuel 24:18 (and others) associates threshing floors and altars The 2 Kings 23 passage is the most cited biblical reference regarding cult installations at city gates for it indicates unequivocally that cultic installations of some kind were positioned at city gates, even in Jerusalem. Catron notes that, according to some, these cultic installations should be perceived as a “provincial sanctuary” (Catron, 1995, p. 165), in effect functioning as a temple. As such it would be expected to contain an altar, equipment for incense offerings, massebot, an asherah, and an area or room for community meals (Blomquist, 1999, p. 160). We do not have all of these elements present at the gate at et-Tell, for example, no asherah has been observed, but the remaining items are indeed present. We will not be able to address the “why” question authentically to reach the cognitive processes that lead to the presence of the recovered

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features and artifacts found at et-Tell, but we at least can see that the assemblage of artifacts at et-Tell would seem to fit well with that biblical account of practices at high places. We recognize in the material culture behaviors and attitudes that reflect what is held in common. Therefore, the patterns we discover in the material culture at et-Tell can allow us to see what was held in common, the consensual culture, independently from the elite literary material. Despite this provenance, the evidence from the material culture is also a product of elite practices since the ruling class would control this very public space. It shows, nonetheless, a shared symbolic world-view between et-Tell and the Israelite context of the biblical text. Because of the nature of archaeological argument from the slim residues of cultural behaviors found in limited numbers of recovered artifacts, one needs to be circumspect when interpreting the artifacts as suggesting a given hypothesis. The danger is always to argue selectively from the record, ignoring data that does not fit one’s desired view of the context. Also, one may tend to infer a substantiation of behavior from a particular class of artifacts that may outweigh any reasonable alternative explanation. Yet even with those caveats in mind, what is clear from etTell/Bethsaida is that, when one examines the entire archaeological context recovered from the gate complex, there was a well-defined demarcation of the gate area by items of cultic or religious significance. When the data has been thoroughly read, the image of the city gate that emerges is one that is at home in the gallery of biblical texts. Far from being dominated by a military and defensive modality, one finds a use of the area that is religious while at the same time utilized for commercial purposes. There does indeed appear to be a sacred precinct at this gate.

References Ahlström, G. W. (1975), Heaven on Earth, At Hatzor and Arad, in Religious syncretism in antiquity: Essays in conversation with Geo Widengren (67–83), (Series on formative contemporary thinkers, no. 1), Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, American Academy of Religion and Institute of Religious Studies, University of California, Santa Barbara. Amiran, R., with the assistance of Pirhiya Beck and Uzza Zevulun (1970 [c1969]), Ancient pottery of the Holy Land; from its beginnings in the neolithic period to the end of the iron age, New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Arav, R. (2004), Toward a Comprehensive History of Geshur, in R. Arav

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and R. A. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee (1–48), Bethsaida Excavations Project Reports and Contextual Studies, vols. 1–4, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press. —. (2009), Final Report on Area A, Stratum V: The City Gate, in R. Arav and R. A. Freund eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee (1–122). Bethsaida Excavations Project Reports & Contextual Studies, vols. 1–4, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press. Avigad, N., revised and completed by B. Sass (1997), Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals, Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities: Israel Exploration Society: Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Biran, A. (1994), Biblical Dan Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society: Hebrew Union College, Jewish Institute of Religion, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Blomquist, T. H. (1999), Gates and gods: Cults in the City Gates of Iron age Palestine: An investigation of the Archaeological and Biblical Sources, Coniectanea Biblica, Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell International. Catron, J. E. (1995), Temple and bamah: Some Considerations. Journal for the study of the Old Testament, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 150–65. Katz, J. (2009), The Archaeology of Cult in Middle Bronze Age Canaan: The Sacred Area at Tel Haror, Israel, Gorgias dissertations, Near Eastern studies, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. Pritchard, J. B. (1969), On Use of the Tripod Cup, Paris: Mission Archaeologique de Ras Shamra, 427–34. Renfrew, C., with contributions by P. Mountjoy et al. (1985), The Archaeology of Cult: The Sanctuary at Phylakopi, London: British School of Archaeology at Athens: Thames and Hudson. Savage, C. E. (2009), The Leshem Inscription, in Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Bethsaida Excavations Project Reports & Contextual Studies, vol. 1–4, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 125–35. Uehlinger, C. (1990). Ein ‘Nh-Ahnliches Astralkultsymbol auf Stempelsiegeln des 8/7 Jahrhunderts, in O. Keel and S. Schroer, eds., Studien zu Stempelsiegeln Aus Palstina/ Israel, Freiburg: Freiburg Universitätsverlag, 322–30).

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Figure 1. Aerial Photograph of Gate Area (Photo by DPSimages, David Silverman)

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Figure 2. Photos of the Five High Places at the Gate and Drawing of the BullHeaded Stele (drawing by DreAnna Hadash).

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Figure 3. Two inscribed vessels from Chamber Four (drawings by DreAnna Hadash).

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Figure 4. Section Drawing and Top plan of Three-stepped High Place

CHAPTER FOUR THE CULT OF ASTARTE IN BETHSAIDA AND KINNERET? INTERPRETATION OF FEMALE FIGURINES EXCAVATED ON ET-TELL AND TEL EL-GHUREIMEH ILONA SKUPINSKA-LOVSET

“Art has constantly inspired popular piety”1

Although the Ras Shamra texts of the fourteenth century BCE do not offer much space for a presentation of Astarte in art, she appears broadly venerated in the Iron Age Mediterranean in her function of fertility goddess.2 Figurines depicting naked women are especially abundant in archaeological material throughout the eastern Mediterranean coast during the Iron Age and are interpreted as relating to the ancient cult of fecundity. New research recognizes a multitude of versions in featuring this Phoenician fertility goddess and explains such situations in terms of hybridization of culture, an effect of migration and acculturation. The territory stretching from Egypt to northern Phoenicia offers visualizations of the fertility goddess pointing to a fusion of the features characteristic for the goddess Anat as described in the Ras Shamra texts, with those traditionally considered proper to Astarte. Most characteristic are terracotta plaques and figurines as well as gold amulets emphasizing the sexual aspects of the naked goddess, shown however, in a closed 1

Volkhard Krech (2007), Art and Religion, in Religion Past and Present: Encyclopedia of Theology and Religion, Hans Dieter Betz, ed., 4th ed., 13 vols., Leiden: Brill. 2 Cf. A.M. Bisi (2001), Terracotta figurines, in S. Moscati, ed., The Phoenicians, I. B., London and New York: Tauris, 380 – 406 and other places throughout this publication.

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position, legs together, arms at the sides of her body. On the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee two sites which are at present being excavated, Tel el Ghureimeh (Tel Kinrot, Kinneret) and et-Tell (Bethsaida), supply proofs of belonging to this common cultural area. The humble terracotta figurines found here point to a veneration of the fertility goddess by ordinary people at home (Kinneret) but also possibly in a rural sanctuary, as Phoenician type figurines representing a pregnant woman seated in a chair have been found near the Phoenician style temple at Bethsaida. Such finds are not consistent with theological interpretations. Diane Edelman,3 in summing up her analysis of the biblical sources, concludes that the Hebrew Bible, on the one hand, assumes an existence of cultic complexes where Yahweh and deities such as Ashera, Astarte/Ishtar, Baal, and possibly also predecessors, were honored. On the other hand, after entry into The Promised Land, the only deity was supposed to be Yahweh, and his only cultic site the Temple of Jerusalem. The findings of the statuettes may thus be connected with the non-canonical popular piety of the people inhabiting the vast countryside in the Eastern Mediterranean.4

Astarte in the Cult of Iron Age Phoenicia. “How do we identify the goddess represented, especially with regard to Syria-Palestine, where there is only one stela with the name of Anat and one cylinder seal with the name Astarte available?” asked Izak Cornelius in 2004. However, in the next line he points to the type of goddess holding her breasts as Astarte, exactly because of the above cited inscription.5 Cornelius is pointing to the closeness of iconographies of Anat and Astarte, and consequently to the common fashion among today’s scholars to identify as Astarte the types known from the 1939 publication by Albright as Asherah.6 He additionally rightly remarks that it appears 3

Diane Edelman (2012), Cultic Sites and Complexes Beyond The Jerusalem Temple, in F. Stavrakopoulou and John Barton, eds., Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah, London and New York: T&T Clark, 82-103. 4 This refers to articles in the publication: F. Stavrakopolou and J.Barton, Religious Diversity, Op. Cit. and William G. Dever (2005), Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 5 Izak Cornelius (2004), The Many Faces of the Goddess, The Iconography of the Syro-Palestinian Goddesses Anat, Astarte, Qedeshet, and Asherah c. 1500-1000 BCE, BiOr 204, 5-6 and note 9. 6 W. F. Albright (1939), Astarte Plaques and Figurines from Tell Beit Mirsim, in Mélanges Syriens offerts à monsieur Renè Dussaud, vol. I, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 30, Paris: Geuthner, 107-120.

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obvious that the common people in antiquity knew which deity was depicted and why she was depicted in a particular way, while educated people could certainly recognize deities by insignia. It may be added, that in the case of a seasonal ceremony, repeated again and again, the participants must have been aware of which deity was concerned without turning to written reminders. In his typology of the visual material Cornelius includes statuettes of terracotta only while enumerating representatives for his type “2.5 Naked woman holding objects (“Qedeshet”) cat. 5.1 - 5.62”.7 The archaeological material encompassing terracotta figurines as well as figurines made of bone, stone, or metal is rich and as a rule un-inscribed. Because of that, the function of a statuette is frequently deduced from the character of the find site. The name may be given to the statuette because of the popularity of a certain goddess in the area where it was found in a particular period. The time span, encompassing the Iron Age down to the Hellenistic age, is known as a period of intensive activity of the Phoenicians in the Mediterranean basin. It is a matter of fact that Phoenicia, usually defined as a strip of land along the coast of the Mediterranean from Arados in the North to Dor in the South, maintained cultural continuity from the Bronze Age through the Iron Age and down into the Greco-Roman period. Such a situation is exceptional for the land of Palestine. Furthermore, it can be documented that Phoenician influence widens, especially in the Persian period, since according to the Eschmunazar inscription, (seventh – sixth century BCE), Sidon owned Dor, Jaffa, and the territory in the Sharon plain. These were all given to this city by the king of Persia in gratitude for cooperation on the seas. It is reasonable to assume that Phoenician influence also spread inland southward and eastward, as indicated by finds of Phoenician pottery in places such as Tel Kinrot and et-Tell. The traditional trade roads, best known for the Hellenistic and Roman periods, went by land towards the south and east, evidently following routes used in the Iron Age and earlier. Most important was the passage from Acco and Tyre to Scythopolis, passing over the Jordan and turning to the south over the King’s Highway.8 7

I. Cornelius, The Many, Op. Cit., 45-58. Here are mentioned 16 relief-stelae, 8 metal pendants, one cylinder seal, one terracotta mould, one faience pendant, one gold foil plaque, one metal plaque, 36 terracotta plaques, and one wall-bracket. 8 Achim Lichtenberger (1985), The Decapolis and Phoenicia, published on line. The author depends on several articles in E. Lipinski, ed., Phoenicia and the East Mediterranean in the First Millennium BCE Proceedings of the Conference held in Leuven from the 14th to the 16th of November, Studia Phoenicia V, Leuven: Peeters.

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Archaeological material from the Iron Age Mediterranean is generally interpreted as relating to the cult of fecundity represented by Astarte. The frequently observed low quality of the statuettes is interpreted as referring to the undiscriminating users. The multitude of versions featuring the fertility goddess is explained in terms of hybridization of culture – an effect of trade, migrations, and acculturation. With Phoenicia is bound the visual evidence of the fertility goddess characterized by a fusion of the features of Anat, as described in the Ras Shamra texts, with new caretaking elements characteristic of the goddess Astarte.9 The best known information about the high status of Astarte (ǹıIJĮȡIJȘ) in Phoenicia was given by the author known by his Hellenized name as Sanchuniaton (ȈĮȖȤȠȣȞȚȐșȦȞȠȢ). His statement is unfortunately only partially preserved as a paraphrase and a summary, in a Greek translation produced by Philo of Byblos and transmitted by Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea.10 According to legend Astarte descended to earth as a fiery star, landing near Byblos in a lake at Alphaca, the site where her son Tammuz is said to have died. Greek writers identified Astarte with Aphrodite, she was said to be one of the seven children of Uranos, son of Autochton and Gea. The detailed discussion of the complex question referring to the reconstruction of the ways in which the Iron Age “globalization of culture” functioned within the huge area of the Mediterranean, as well as the discussion of its side-effect - “the hybridization of culture”, referring to local communities will not be included in this chapter.11

Bethsaida and Kinneret Tel Kinrot/Tel el-Ghureimeh (Kinneret) and et-Tell (Bethsaida) are two artificial hills resulting from human activities in the past. They are situated on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee with Kinneret to the west, on 9

Anna Maria Bisi (2001), Terracotta Figures, in Sabatino Moscati, ed., The Phoenicians, London and New York: Tauris, 380 – 405. William G. Dever, in his publication entitled, Did God Have A Wife, Op. Cit., passim, consequently calls the same statuettes, “Asherah”. See also the series of articles in F. Stavrakopoulou and J. Barton eds., Religious Diversity in Ancient, op. cit that treats the problem of the presence of such statuettes from theological and sociological points of view. 10 Eusebius of Caesarea, Praeparatio Evangelica, Book 1, chapters IX-X. Cf. E. Lipinski, The Phoenician History of Philo of Byblos, BiOr 40, 1983, 305-10. 11 Compare cases studied by the Oxford Symposia, published in Anna Kouremenos, Sujatha Chandrasekaran, and Roberto Rossi (2011), From Pella to Gandhara. Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East, Oxford: BAR International Series, 2221.

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the communication road running north-south following the western shores of the Sea of Galilee,12 while Bethsaida13 is lying on the eastern bank of the river Jordan, which enters the lake approximately in the middle of its northern shore. Remnants of ancient Kinneret are placed at an altitude of 125.00 meters, on a hill whose core is formed of limestone. The hill drops gently towards the lake, but steeply towards the southwest. Bethsaida is shaped as a saddle composed of two hillocks with the highest point at an elevation of 165.95 meters. It forms a prolongation of the basalt plateau of the Golan hills lying to the north, whence was a natural access to the ancient city. Two water sources were situated at the foot of the hill respectively on altitudes 203 meters and 204 meters. The main period of occupation of Kinneret, established on the basis of the size of the area of habitation and richness of finds, is indicated as the Iron Age I period and dated to 12, 000 - 10,000 BCE (according to the high chronology).14 At et-Tell, the Iron Age II period (10, 000 - 732 BCE) is thus far most richly represented among finds. Occupation during the Hellenistic and early Roman periods was recorded at et-Tell beyond any doubt, but the surface layers were much damaged due to modern martial activities on the hill.15,16 The Iron Age remains in Bethsaida are recorded in volume V of the series, “Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee,” (Arav and Freund 1995 - 2005). In this chapter female figurines or parts of female figurines excavated on both sites will be discussed, with reference to the known examples from the region and current theories. Both sites although identified in the nineteenth century

12

Kinneret Regional Project: Juha Pakkala, Stefan Münger, and Jürgen Zangenberg, Tel Kinrot Excavations. Tel Kinrot - Tell el’Oreme - Kinneret, (ed. Sanna Aro-Valjus), Vantaa, 2004, 6, 14, 17-24. 13 Rami Arav, Bethsaida Excavations: Preliminary Report, 1987-1993, in R. Arav and R. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, 365. Cf also I. Skupinska-Løvset, (2006), The Temple Area of Bethsaida, Polish Excavations on et-Tell in the Years 1998 - 2000, Lodz: Lodz University Press, 35 ff. 14 Kinneret Regional (2004), Op. Cit., 17- 24. The results of excavations suggest, according to the authors, that the Early Iron Age was the heyday of Kinneret, pointed out as one of the most important regional centers of northern Palestine, possibly replacing Hazor in this function . 15 Cf. R. Arav and R. A. Freund, eds. (1995), Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Volume I, Thomas Jefferson University Press, 3-165, and the following volumes (1999-2005), Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press. 16 The cited data depends on the present state of research and may be changing while the excavation works are proceeding on both sites.

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have been scientifically excavated first in the twentieth century, Tel elGhureimeh since 198217 and et-Tell since 1987.18

Terracotta Figurines Referring to the Cult of Female Goddesses in Kinneret and Bethsaida Terracotta statuettes from Tel Kinrot are being studied currently by Katri Saarelainen, who wrote her masters degree thesis entitled: Traditions in Clay: Antropomorphic Representations and Figurines from Tel Kinrot. The thesis was accepted by the Theological Faculty of the University of Helsinki in November 2007. Its summary can be read online.19 The author presents 10 fragmentary statuettes and points to their multiplicity and cultural interactions. Included in the oldest finds is a fragmentary terracotta in the shape of a human torso of small dimensions (4 cm) found in the destruction debris of Middle Bronze Age II structures, in area R, locus 9899, registration number11067/2.20 It is said to be made of clay, becoming black21 as a result of the firing procedure. The description of the clay quality, however, may rather suggest a chronological placement of this find close to the Iron II black juglets22 which are produced in the same technique, rather than in that of the clay products of the Bronze Age. From the Early Iron Age, at Tel Kinrot two fragmentary terracotta plaques are mentioned showing a slender naked woman, holding her arms along the sides of her body. Only the middle portion of both items is preserved.23 The plaques are analogous to the plaques representing a sideform of the type, “Qadesh goddess”, often described as “Astarte”. On a 17 Directed by Prof. Volkmar Fritz, two campaigns in 1982-1985 and 1995-1999. Cf. Arav and Freund, Proceedings, Op. Cit., 11. 18 Directed by Rami Arav to begin with (1987) on behalf of the Zinman Archaeological Institute, University of Haifa, later headed by The Bethsaida Excavations Project, The University of Nebraska at Omaha. 19 I thank Katri Saarelainen for her kindness in supplying the accessible material. I was unable to study the figurines in detail, since the author is still working on them for a separate publication. My use of the Tel Kinrot material is therefore limited, and confined to published items (Spring, 2012). Cf. Pro gradu - tutkielma: Pienoispatsaat kertovat muinaisen Kinneretin kulttuurikontakteista www.teologia.fi. 20 Recorded on line (Spring 2012), Pro gradu, www.teologia.fi. 21 Pro gradu-tutkielma: Pienoispatsaat, Op. Cit. , 1 (with a picture), and Kinneret Regional, Op. Cit., fig.6, a drawing by Ch. Lennert. 22 I. Skupinska-Lovset (1976), The Ustinow Collection, The Palestinian Pottery, Oslo, Bergen, Tromsö: Universitetsforlaget, 62-71. 23 Illustration published online (spring 2012) : Pro gradu op.cit, www.teologia.fi.

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plaque in the collection of the Winchester Museum the goddess is shown in the traditional Egyptian way, on a lion, and is identified by three names: Qudshu, Anat, and Astarte. Dever interprets the name Qudshu, The Holy One, as referring to Asherah-Hathor. This type is recorded on Tell Beit Mirsim, Beth Shemesh, and other sites.24 From the same period there is said to hail a fragmentary object interpreted by the excavators as a handle.25 (Fig. 1) The item was dated to the Iron I period. An alternative interpretation may, however, be taken under consideration while reviewing the terracotta statuettes from Moab.

Fig. 1 Fragmentary statuette of a naked woman identified as forming a handle of a jug. Courtesy of The Tel Kinrot Excavations.

24

U. Winter (1983), Frau und Göttin: Exegetische und ikonographische Studien zum weiblichen Gottesbild im Alten Israel in dessen Umwelt, Fribourg: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, fig. 37; William G.Dever, Did God Have a Wife?, 178 fig., Chapter VI, The Goddess Asherah and Her Cult, 176 - 208, fig. 178; I. Skupinska-Lovset (1978), Quadesh and Similar Types, Dea Nutrix, 18-21, in The Ustinow collection. Terracottas, Oslo, Bergen, Tromsö: Universitetsforlaget; I. Cornelius, The Many, Op. Cit., figs. 23, 25; W.F. Albright (1949), The Archaeology of Palestine: From Stone Age to Christianity, Op. Cit. fig. 27.4 (Tell Beit Mirsim); J.M.Landau (1971), Beth Shemesh, in Silent Cities, Sacred Stones, Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 132. 25 Katri Saarelainen, Pro gradu -tutkielma: Pienoispatsaat, Op. Cit., picture published also in S.Münger, J. Zangenberg, W. Zwickel, Die geheimnisvolle Metropole Palästinas, Welt und Umwelt der Bibel, 3/2006 64.

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In Dhiban (ancient Dibon) in 1955, in a large architectural structure interpreted as “maybe a palace”, on a spot proposed to be identified as “a temple”, a fenestrated terracotta stand with two female figurines was found. They are both dated to the mid- to late-ninth century BCE.26 One of these statuettes supports her breasts27 and can be compared to the Tel Kinrot statuette. The second is playing a tambourine and is interpreted as “Attached female figurine”.28 Both have Egyptian inspired hairstyles, often recorded in Phoenicia. Viewing the curvature of statuettes from Dhiban and Figures A, B, and C from Balu`a29 we may observe similarities to the torso from Tel Kinrot and propose it to be reinterpreted as an “attached figurine” of the kind mentioned above, or alternatively attached high on the shoulders of a jug as recorded, for example on Cyprus. The Balu`a figurines were found in Area A 1 in 1994 close to the entrance of a house, therefore, a possible domestic cultic installation has been discussed. Figurine A was hand- formed of a light reddish brown terracotta (5YR6/4) with fine to middle sized inclusions of quartz and chalk. It is 11.8 centimeters high. Figure B, of the “attached figurine” type, was 10.5 centimeters high, figure C, also of the “attached figurine” type was 10.7 centimeters high. Both were fragmentary, both are interpreted as being attached to cultic vessels.30 The next group presented by Saaraleinen is common to the eastern Mediterranean and to Palestine. Because of the rolled bodies they are called “pillar-figurines”. Alternatively the figurines are called “The bell shaped”. In the Chania area on Crete, similarly shaped figurines are dated as early as the eighth century BCE.31 Usually the clumsy hands of the 26

A. Dolan, (2009), Defining Sacred Space in Ancient Moab, in P. Bienkowski, ed., Studies on Iron Age Moab and Neighbouring Areas in Honour of Michele Daviau, Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 29, Leuven, Paris, and Walpole, MA: Peeters, 136-37, figs. 1-10. 27 Loc.cit., 132, fig. 2. 28 Loc.cit., fig. 3 and fig. 4. 29 U. Worschech, Figurinen aus el-Balu, (Jordanien), in ZDPV 111, 1995, 2, 185, Fig. 2 (fig, A), 187, Pl. 16 A, fig. 4a (fig. B), 189, Pl. 16B, fig. 4b (fig C). 30 Loc.cit., 189-91. 31 Two small unpublished statuettes, one depicting a woman, the second a man (ca. 8 cm high) are exhibited in the Archaeological Museum of Khania and dated because of the context to the twelfth century BCE. The figurines have conical body, hands with palms folded below the breasts and characteristic hand modeled face. They are painted. Although the shape of the body and the gesture is similar, the shape of the figurines can be taken as expression of the mode of production only.

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women are placed under their prominent breasts. Their faces are moulded, their hands are rolled and hand-finished. Because of these features the group is described in literature as “made in mixed technique”. Often the women are holding tambourines and thus interpreted as musicians. According to new research, the type spread from Phoenicia and was brought even to the western Mediterranean through Phoenician trade and cultural contacts, but with unequal distribution. The faces of the figurines show Egyptianizing features; one type of figurine was even styled on Egyptian mummies of the Late period.32 The Iron Age figurines have, as indicated above, standardized matrixformed heads with Egyptian influenced hairstyling. The type is recorded in Palestine as far southeast as Moab. Statuettes from Tell Beit Mirsim, a Palestinian site situated at almost the same geographical altitude as Diban in Moab, have been called by excavators “Dea nutrix”33 and dated to the eighth-seventh centuries BCE. Characteristic of all Iron Age figurines, “Egyptianizing hairstyles” show a fringe over the forehead, the rest of the hair being of varying length. Figurines of this type have oval faces, prominent noses, large oval eyes, smiling lips, and fairly large ears. The women often carry jewelry in the form of ear-adornments and pearl necklaces. The goddess appears sweet and charming. More serious in facial expression is a type of clothed pregnant goddess, seated in a chair, holding one hand on her belly and the second on the chair-arm. Anna Maria Bisi expresses an opinion common among scholars, that the moulds for all the statuettes found in the Mediterranean circulated from Phoenicia.34 The standing type was very popular in the Mediterranean area. It is known in both clothed and naked versions. The naked one is no doubt the goddess Astarte. Some scholars interpret her as pregnant and indeed some statuettes indicate pregnancy. Generally the type manifests a return to the Qadesh type and is found also executed in various expensive materials. 32

Anna Maria Bisi, Terracotta Figures, Op. Cit., 391. Cf. W. F. Albright (1961), The Archaeology of Palestine, Baltimore: Penguin, Fig.38, 130. Houses of the last decades before the Chaldean conquest (597 BCE and 587 BCE) were found full of pottery and other objects. Dever counts such figurines within Palestine in the thousands. Cf. W. Dever, Did God Have a Wife, Op. Cit., 179-80. However, R. Kletter (1996), The Judean Pillar Figurines and the archaeology of Asherah, Oxford: BAR International Series, gives the number at 854. Apparently the type was very common. 34 A. M. Bisi, Terra-cotta figures, Op. Cit., 180, fig., 182, Louvre, Eighth - seventh cent. BCE, 20 cm. She generally dates Phoenician type statuettes in the Mediterranean from the twelfth – eleventh cent. BCE to the Persian period (second half of the seventh cent. BCE to the second half of the fourth cent. BCE). 33

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Fig. 2. Ivory statuette, a votum excavated at the site of the Aphrodite Temple of Ephesos. H: 5.8 cm. Archaeological Museum, Istanbul inv. 2876. After: Ulrike Muss, Kultbild und Statuetten – Göttinnen in Artemision, in: Ulrike Muss (ed.), Die Archäologie der ephesischen Artemis. Gestalt und Ritual eines Heiligtums, Phoibos Verlag, Wien 2008, fig 26

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One should mention, of course, the carefully carved figurine, no doubt exposing the same prototype, excavated in the sanctuary of the Ephesian Artemis, (Fig. 2) dated to the seventh century CE.35 The statuette, probably of Phoenician origin, is made of ivory and it documents this type as venerated not only among undiscriminating peasants but also by sophisticated and wealthy persons. The Egyptianizing hairstyle the statuette is exhibiting was widely applied in that time in the Phoenician dominated Mediterranean as pointed out above. Characteristic of this type is also the gesture of “supporting the breasts”. It has an old genealogy, but it also may refer to Astarte and her beauty. Terracotta figurines have been found on et-Tell mostly in area A, but also in Areas B and C (Fig. 3). Area A has been severely corrupted by military trenches and bunkers. It is nicknamed “The Temple Area”, since it was assumed that the main stone structure visible there constituted a temple built in the Hellenistic to early Roman period and supposedly consecrated to the Imperial cult.36

35 Ulrike Muss (2008), Kultbild und Statuetten-Göttinnen im Artemision, in Ulrike Muss, ed., Die Archäologie der ephesischen Artemis. Gestalt Und Ritual lines Heiligtums, Wien: Phoibos; 5.8 cm, ivory, inv. no. 2876, Archaeological Museum, Istanbul. 36 This question has been discussed by the present author in her publication “The Temple Area of Bethsaida” Op. Cit., passim. There also see the bibliography on the subject.

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Fig. 3. Terracotta figurines excavated on et-Tell/Bethsaida until the year 2003. Courtesy of the Bethsaida Excavation Project. 3a – Area A, number not given 3b1 – Area B, square 44 locus 453/5519, Israel Antiquities Authority number 1995-3433, (right portion of the face restored). 3c – Area A, locus 341/9070.

By the year CE 2000, 11 terracotta fragments relating to the statuettes had been recorded, of which four may have been of Hellenistic date, the rest dated to the Iron Age III period.37 Three fragments originally belonged to the Iron Age female statuettes. The item excavated in area B (Fig. 3b1) in the so-called “bit hilani palace”, square 44, excavations numbers B 453; 5519, Israel Antiquities Authority number 1995-3433, is solid, 36 millimeters by 53 millimeters.38 It shows a woman with regularly oval 37

I. Skupinska-Lovset , The Temple Area, Op. Cit., Table, 114-16. Bethsaida 2, 95, fig. 39, Bethsaida 3, 36-37, fig. 17 ( B 453; 5519, IAA 19953433), I. SkupiĔska-Lovset, The Temple Area, Op. Cit. Appendix 2, 115, no. 7, fig. 13A. 38

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face, large eyes, slightly smiling lips, and wearing a hairstyle with curly forelock. In her large ears she is wearing heavy, Phoenician style earadornments and a double necklace fastened in the center by an oval piece. This head can be compared to the items excavated in Jordan, especially the item excavated on Tell al-Mazar, Palace Fort, stratum III (Cf. Fig. 3b2) studied in detail, thanks to the research program on terracotta material conducted in Amman. Regine Hunziker Rodevald of the University of Strasbourg, Franco-German Figurines Project (FGFP), comments on the heads from Bethsaida and Tall alMazar as follows. Although head b (the Bethsaida head) seems to have been slightly remoulded after having been taken out of the mould, the features in common of the two heads are obvious: the position of the large eyes, the rim around the eyes, the eyebrows, the cheekbones, the long and straight mouth line, the large ears. Long curled side 2 locks fall from behind the ears to Fig. 3b . Tall al-Mazar ID_004 H. 5.4, the shoulders. The ears of head b W 4.3, D. 2.9 cm; excavator: Khair may have been pushed in before Yassine, ©Department of Antiquities firing, thus the facial features Amman via Franco-German Figurines became slightly modified. Both Project heads show the same big double (loop?) earrings and an identical choker necklace. It consists of a flat medallion or amulet, perhaps imitating a polished semi-precious stone, which is fixed on a double string. This piece of jewellery reminds us of a quite similar adornment on figurines from Amman and Tell ar-Rumayth (Irbid region) respectively. Such medallion necklaces occur as well on figurines from Tel Sera in the western Negev, but those are decorated with rosettes and fixed on a neckband made of several strings. Medallions are sometimes applied also on the forehead between the eyes of these figurines, both east and west of the River Jordan (Amman, Tall al-'Umayri, Tall Dayr 'Alla, Tall asSa'idiya and Samaria respectively). The heads a and b are at least made by the same artist or in the same workshop (if not in the same mould).

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Regardless, for now, of the question where this workshop was precisely located, the two terracotta heads testify to the intercultural exchange in Iron Age II, Northern Palestine (8th/7th c. BC). To date, it cannot be verified that these “women in clay” represent a goddess. Like the contemporaneous drum/tambourine players (in Jordan approximately 50% of the preserved torsi) which sometimes are serving at the doorposts of a shrine model (cf. Ex 38:8; 1S 2:22), they seem to belong to the cult personnel. It is possible that the figurines a and b also belong to the drum/tambourine players, for, in Jordan as well as in Israel/Palestine, they were most often richly embellished with jewellery. The second statuette (Fig. 3c) with nos. E 441; 907039 is 106 millimeters by 61 millimeters and covered with a reddish wash. It shows a woman’s head with the upper portion of her body. The traces left of the woman’s breast portion suggest that she originally was holding an object in front of her body, probably a tambourine. This supposition may be attested by comparison with the figurine from Balu’a, mentioned above, to which both of the discussed statuettes show facial similarities. These similarities are expressed in large eyes and ears, which are only generally indicated, and long hair with waved forelock.40 The third head (Fig. 3a) is much damaged. It was printed from a mould and is 37 millimeters by 22 millimeters large. The woman has an oval face, ears uncovered, and hair falling to the shoulders from behind the ears. On her forehead a line of a straight forelock may be seen.41 Apparently this head must be contemporary with the two above as noted by the technical qualities, such as the way of preparation of the clay, the quality of the wash, and the quality of firing. The heads of the described figurines are, in several aspects of styling, similar to the ones excavated in Moab and described above. The modeling is, however, softer and more generalizing. The women have big eyes, Egyptianizing hairstyle either with a straight cut fringe made of the frontal portion of the hair and stretching between the tops of the ears, or with a wavy cut fringe on the front and longer waved hair to the shoulders. The large ears are adorned; one wears a chain on her neck. In the case where the chest portion is preserved, it appears probable that the woman carried an object in front of her chest, probably a tambourine similar to the above discussed figurines hailing from Dibon and Balu’a. On the background of 39

Bethsaida three, 36-37, fig. 18 (E 341, 9070), I.SkupiĔska-Lovset, The Temple area, Op. Cit., Appendix 2, 115, no. 11, fig. 13B. 40 U.Worschech, Figurinen, Op. Cit., fig. 2. 41 I.SkupiĔska-Lovset, The Temple area, Op. Cit., Appendix 2, 115, no. 10, fig. 13D.

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known terracotta figurines we may probably speak about regional inland cultural contacts reaching as far east as Moab, which were responsible for regional deviations from the Phoenician prototype.

Fig. 5 a-d. Fragments of female figurines discovered in Bethsaida. Courtesy of the Bethsaida Excavations Project. a. Area A , locus 2002, discovered on: 08 July.2002. b. Area A , locus 2030 basket 18 214, discovered on: 19 July.2006. c. Area A west, locus 2022, basket 18 196, discovered on: 17 July. 2006. d. Area A, locus 2040, basket 18 444, discovered on 04 July. 2007.

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Fig. 4. A woman with her male-child. Terracotta plaque. H: 13.1 cm, W; 6.6 cm. From Palestine. Oslo, University Museum of Cultural Heritage. The Antiquities Collection. No. 39802.l, Published: I. SkupiĔska-Løvset, The Ustinow Collection. Terracottas, Oslo-Bergen-Tromsö 1978; UT 7 pp. 22-24, 66 Pl. II.

Terracottas excavated after the year 2003 in Bethsaida (Figs. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9) are fragmentary and all represent the type generally called “a pregnant woman”. They are dated from the eighthth – seventhth centuries BCE, in the Persian period.42 A seated woman has her hair dressed flat on the top of the head and stylish in the horizontal direction. It is covered, or partially covered, by a thin scarf or large cloth reaching to the elbows. It appears that all the fragments found on et-Tell after 2003 are parts of this type of statuette. These are (Fig. 5) 1: a fragment showing the right side portion of the face of the woman found on 08 July 2005 in Area A, locus 2002; 2: a fragment showing part of the belly with the right forearm resting on it, found on 17 July 2006, Area A, locus 2022, basket 18196; 3: a fragment of an upper body found on 19 July 2006, locus 2030, basket 18216; 4: a fragment of the left side of a body with the left hand and the left arm of a chair found on 04 July 2007, locus 2040, basket 18 444. The statuettes were mould-made, of well-fired clay tempered with small grits of chalk and chamotte, and covered with reddish wash. The ladies have big ears, according to the ancient eastern tradition probably going back to Sumer. Such ears were believed to be a divine mark. They are shown seated, also a mark of dignity. A prominent characteristic detail is the execution of the hands in which every finger is marked individually hand-dug furrows separating fingers. A woman similarly styled may be shown with a baby boy at her breast, as is the case of a Palestinian 42

A.M. Bisi, Terra-cotta figurines, Op. Cit, 382, Paris: Musée du Louvre, ca 20 cm. The type is referred to as typical for Syria.

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terracotta figurine hailing from the Ustinow collection in Oslo.43 It indicates variations within the type appearing in the period we have been discussing (Fig. 4). In summing up, the female statuettes from Tel Kinrot and et-Tell are shown to have much in common in hailing mostly from the Iron Age II-III as well as belonging to the common types recorded in the Mediterranean area and connected to the period of Phoenician supremacy. Variants of these types are known as far east as Transjordan. The most common variant of this type has standardized styling of the head: Egyptianizing haircut, large eyes and ears, sweetly smiling lips. The face is moulded, while other portions of the body may be a rolled pillar or be partially handmodeled of one piece, or of two pieces (frontal and back portions), of terracotta joined together. On et-Tell the pillar statuettes have not yet been found, though there are three of them mentioned as found on Tel Kinrot. On et-Tell parts of probable Persian period statuettes are recorded, while they are not found on Tel Kinrot. The comparative material suggests that both sites belonged to the same cultural subgroup, stretching as far east as Moab. The statuettes of female deities of the type described are named Astarte for the dominating Phoenician goddess, except probably for the “pregnant woman”. We may understand the usage of the name “Astarte” as an umbrella term used to describe figurines of various local presentations of a female deity, venerated in the home, in sanctuaries, and during seasonal festivities in other locations in eastern Mediterranean societies. During the first millennium BCE, however, this area, although united by trade and conquest, was populated by groups of refugees of mixed origin. That resulted in a hybridization of culture. Hybridity, similar to the Hellenistic period, should be understood as “a process, related to the local mentality, blending elements of different cultures through translating and reworking various elements rather than merely combining such elements."44 This chapter emphasizes the fact that terracotta figurines excavated at Bethsaida are of the type in general common not only to the nearest region or Palestine, but to the wide area of 43 I. Skupinska-Lovset, The Ustinow Collection. Terracottas, Op. Cit., UT 7, 23, 66, Pl. II. 44 Giorgos Papantoniou, (2011) Hellenizing the “Cypriot Goddess, in From Pella to Gandhara. Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East, Anna Kouremenos, Sujatha Chandrasekaran, and Roberto Rossi, eds., with a foreword by Sir John Boardman. Oxford: BAR International Series 2221, 43.

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the south east Mediterranean. Such “globalization” of the cultic expression appears tied to the Phoenician sphere of influence. This sphere may be defined as proper not only to the south-eastern Mediterranean, but also to the Iberian Peninsula and the Balearic islands in the West.

Fig. 6. Drawing of the fragment discovered in locus 2002, basket 18020, shown on fig. 5a. Fragment of the face of a woman. Courtesy of the Bethsaida Excavations Project.

Fig. 7 Reconstruction of a figurine of a pregnant woman with a fragment found in Bethsaida, area A, locus 2030, basket 18214 compare fig. 5 b. Courtesy of the Bethsaida Excavations Project.

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Fig. 7a. Fragment of the breast portion with the hand of statuette of a pregnant woman found in Bethsaida, area A, locus 2030, basket 18030; compare fig. 5 b, and a reconstruction schown on fig. 7. Courtesy of the Bethsaida Excavations Project.

Fig. 8 Fragment of a figurine of a pregnant woman, locus 2022, basket 18196 and a reconstruction of the figurine (on the right). Courtesy of the Bethsaida Excavations Project.

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Fig. 9 Pregnant woman, reconstruction with placement of the fragment from locus 2040, basket 18444, discovered on O4 July 04 2007. Courtesy Bethsaida Excavations Project.

References Albright, W. F. (1939), Astarte plaques and figurines from Tell Beit Mirsim, in; Mélanges Syriens offerts à monsieur Renè Dussaud, in Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 30, Vol. I, Paris: Geuthner, 107-120. —. (1961), The Archaeology of Palestine, From Stone Age to Christianity, Baltimore: Penguin. Arav, R. and R. A. Freund (1995), Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Vol. I, Thomas Jefferson Unversity Press, Volume II, 1999, and Volume III, 2004 Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press. Bisi, A. M. (2001), Terracotta figurines, in S. Moscati (ed.), The Phoenicians, I. B., London, New York, Tauris, 380 – 406. Cornelius, Izak (2004), The Many Faces of the Goddess. The Iconography of the Syro-Palestinian Goddesses Anat, Astarte, Qedeshet, and Asherah c. 1500-1000 BCE, BiOr.

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Dolan, A. (2009), Defining Sacred Space in Ancient Moab, in P. Bienkowski ed., Studies on Iron Age Moab and Neighbouring Areas in Honour of Michele Daviau, Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 29, Leuven, Paris,Walpole, MA: Peeters. Edelman, Diane (2012), Cultic Sites and Complexes Beyond The Jerusalem Temple, in Francesca Stavrakopoulou and John Barton, eds., Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah, London and New York: T& T Clark. Kletter, R. (1996), The Judean Pillar Figurines and the Archaeology of Asherah, Oxford: BAR International Series. Krech, Volkhard (2007), Art and Religion, in Religion Past and Present: Encyclopedia of Theology and Religion Hans Dieter Betz, ed., 4th ed.,13 vols., Leiden: Brill. Kouremenos, Anna, Sujatha Chandrasekaran, and Roberto Rossi, eds. (2011), with a foreword by Sir John Boardman, From Pella to Gandhara. Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and Architecture of the Hellenistic East, Oxford: BAR International Series, 2221. Landau, J. M.(1971), Silent Cities, Sacred Stones, New York: Weidenfeld and Nicholson. Lichtenberger, Achim (2008), The Decapolis and Phoenicia, published on line, Münster: Münster University. Lipinski, Edward, ed.(1985), Phoenicia and the East Mediterranean in the first Millennium BCE, Proceedings of the Conference in Leuven from the 14th to the 16th of Novembe, Studia Phoenicia V, Leuven: Peeters. Lipinski, Edward, The Phoenician History of Philo of Byblos, BiOr 40 (1983). Moscati, Sabatino, ed. (2001), The Phoenicians, I B, London and New York: Tauris. Muss, Ulrike, ed. (2008), Die Archäologie der ephesischen Artemis. Gestalt und Ritual eines Heiligtums, Wien: Phoibos Verlag. Muss, Ulrike (2008), Kultbild und Statuetten – Göttinnen in Artemision, in Ulrike Muss, ed., Die Archäologie der ephesischen Artemis. Gestalt und Ritual eines Heiligtums, Wien: Phoibos Verlag, 63 – 67. Münger, S., J.Zangenberg, und W. Zwickel, Die geheimnisvolle Metropole Palästinas, in Welt und Umwelt der Bibel, 3/2006. Pakkala, Juha, Stefan Münger und Jürgen Zangenberg (2004), Tel Kinrot Excavations. Tel Kinrot, Tell el’Oreme, in Kinneret, Kinneret Regional Project, Vantaa: Sanna Aro-Valjus. Papantoniou, Giorgos (2011), Hellenizing the “Cypriot Goddess”, in Anna Kouremenos, Sujatha Chandrasekaran, Roberto Rossi, eds., From Pella to Gandhara. Hybridisation and Identity in the Art and

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Architecture of the Hellenistic East, with a foreword by Sir John Boardman, Oxford: BAR International Series 2221, 35 - 48. Saarelainen, Katri, Pro gradu - tutkielma: Pienoispatsaat kertovat muinaisen Kinneretin kulttuurikontakteista, www.teologia.fi., Extracted in March 2013. Skupinska-Lovset, Ilona (1976), The Ustinow Collection. The Palestinian Pottery, Oslo, Bergen, Tromsö: Universitetsforlaget. —. (2006), The Temple Area of Bethsaida, Polish Excavations on et-Tell in the Years 1998 - 2000, Lodz: Lodz University Press. Stavrakopoulou, Francesca and John Barton, eds. (2001), Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah, London, New York: T& T Clark. Winter, U. (1983), Frau und Göttin: Exegetische und ikonographische Studien zum weiblichen Gottesbild im Alten Israel in dessen Umwelt, Fribourg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Worschech, U., Figurinen aus el-Balu, (Jordanien), in ZDPV 111, 1995, 2, 186 – 191, Pl. 16.

CHAPTER FIVE FAUNAL ANALYSIS: ZOOARCHAEOLOGY IN SYRO-PALESTINIAN/ISRAELI ARCHAEOLOGY TONI FISHER

In spite of the fine Zoo-archaeological work done by L. Horwitz (1986), P. Wapnish, B. Hesse (1991), and others, the faunal collections of Israel have only recently been taken seriously. In the past, the animal bone counts and analysis were consigned to appendixes of the findings of archaeological investigative reports. This was not the only bias found in these reports. Particularly problematic in what was often termed “biblical archaeology” was the tendency to rely too heavily on the Bible as the main determiner of archaeological objectives and as the primary interpretive lens for the artifacts. This inevitably biased the results of any findings. There was a failure in an earlier period to recognize that the Bible, as religious literature, was often more ideological and prescriptive than historically descriptive. Zooarchaeology, as part of a broader program of archaeological investigation, can help discover the different life-ways of a tel’s inhabitants. Faunal analysis can show the subsistence patterns of people and can be employed for determining strategies of each society represented in the cultural layers, along with textual evidence to support facts.

Zooarchaeology at Bethsaida The Bethsaida Excavation Project had no zooarchaeologist participating until 1995. Previously, the faunal material had been accumulated and stored for future reference. The investigation presented in this chapter examined these faunal remains. My involvement with the Project entailed

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field excavation each year for at least one session per field season at Bethsaida, usually as an area supervisor with concurrent laboratory work at the Beth Alon Museum at Kibbutz Ginnosar in sorting, measuring, identifying, and cataloguing all faunal materials. All excavation decisions regarding the areas to excavate and the methods of recovery have resided with the Project Director, Rami Arav, and were determined by his assessment of what was most valuable for the Bethsaida Excavations Project as a whole. Therefore, the research objectives of this study were formulated within the constraints of those decisions, seeking to maximize the zooarchaeological information that could be obtained from those particular excavation methods and the nature of the artifacts thereby discovered. The bones used for this investigation were from the 1995-1998 excavation seasons, and came from all strata and loci excavated during those particular seasons, primarily from Areas A and B. The selection of 1995 as the starting point for the study was prompted by the Project Director’s decision that year to begin dry sieving all soil from all squares and all strata, using 1/8-inch screen. This starting date for the analysis ensured that data distortions were not introduced by the use of different collection methods in different loci. This change in recovery methods increased the faunal finds tremendously. Not only were small bones recovered, but also numerous bone fragments. According to Hesse (1996), a large amount of small fragments indicates both that the excavation techniques were intense and that powerful depositional and postdepositional forces were at play to reshape the original bone into fragmented pieces left for today’s excavators. He also indicates the importance of identifying the differential bias before using them in cultural history analysis. Payne (1975:16) suggests that dry screening is not as efficient as wet screening except in “unusual soil conditions (sands, loesses).” The soil at Bethsaida is neither of these, although it is primarily dry, loose dirt, passing easily through the screen of the sieve. In his discussion of the relative effectiveness of different screening methods, James (1997:395) indicates that only about 10% of fish remains were found when a ¼” mesh was used, 33.1% with a 1/8” mesh and 35.7% with a 1/16” mesh. He concludes by saying that, even though wet sieving is more time-consuming, its use will produce a more accurate picture of the subsistence patterns and environmental conditions. Unfortunately, wet sieving and flotation were only begun this year (2013) at Bethsaida, resulting in a lack of small rodent, fish, and bird bones in this sample. Perhaps most disappointing was the paucity of fish bones recovered, since the closeness of the tel to both Lake Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) and

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the Upper Jordan River would suggest that its occupants were in a prime position for subsistence on freshwater resources, as is also attested by the fishing implements found during excavation and the implications in historical sources that Bethsaida was a fishing community. A number of fish, including Barbus longiceps, Barbus canis, Varicorhimus damascinus, Acanthobrama terrae-sanctae, and Clarius lazara were found in ancient times in Lake Kinneret (Nun 1993). However, few fish bones have been recovered, with the exception of catfish (Clarius lazara) of which numerous pectoral spines and supraethmoids have been found. The relatively greater recovery of catfish bones over those other species is most likely due to the large size of Clarius found in the Kinneret, making recovery easier. In addition to the absence of either wet sieving or flotation as recovery methods, the scarcity of fish remains is also likely a consequence of virtually all excavators being volunteers from backgrounds other than archaeology. This paucity of fish remains is not limited to et-Tel, however. Hellwing and Feig (1989) comment on the lack of fish bones discovered at Tel Michal, also a site near a major body of water. They posit that the scarcity is caused by the softening of the bone by cooking or their ingestion, together with the edible parts of the fish. It is also possible that smaller bones, especially those as fragile as fish bones, often were overlooked and discarded by volunteers as they were excavating. Because of the overall dearth of both small animal bones and of fish remains, this particular investigation was unable to determine the role of small animals, birds, and fish in the diet of the cultures represented. Other small and medium-sized animals (hedgehogs, rock badgers) have been found on the site, but this paper concerns only the primary domestic animal species and wild game used as food. (Table 1 in Appendix A1). The faunal material researched has been dated according to the ceramic artifacts found in each locus. Such a procedure is highly debated in zooarchaeological circles and somewhat arbitrary (O’Connor 1996). Frequently, bones are recovered from middens, which intrude into earlier strata; these may not be recognized as such during the excavation process itself and are not properly identified as a separate locus, thus contaminating the archaeological results. The procedures in this investigation, however, are in accordance with Hesse’s contention (1996:110) that “the only satisfying response to this problem is to segregate bone fragments through time by ceramic associations rather than by stratigraphic divisions.” To do 1

All percentages can be accessed in: A Zooarchaeological Analysis of Change in Animal Utilization at Bethsaida from Iron Age II through the Early Roman Period, by Toni Fisher.

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otherwise would introduce a subjective “guess” after the fact which itself would bias the results. Therefore, it is safest to use the ceramic finds for dating bones, relying on multiple squares to compensate for any error introduced by this procedure. Faunal material at et-Tel indicates that the inhabitants used sheep, goats, cattle, pigs, wild game (fallow deer and gazelles), and catfish for food. Cut marks found on many bones indicate that the animals were being butchered. Many fragments contain burn marks. This could imply cooking of the animal or the bone being tossed into the fire after the meat has been consumed, indicating human processing. Any differences observed can be used to infer if animal utilization changed in the 1,200-year span of nearly continuous settlement.

Issues and Methods This chapter examines the different animal utilization strategies that took place over the centuries of occupation of the et-Tel site, focusing on the particular animals used and the distinct elements or body parts employed in each discrete geographical portion of the site, in different time periods. These analyses were then compared within the site to the different time periods of habitation. By this means, it was hoped that a distinct boundary in animal utilization would be observed between successive cultures and perhaps between social classes within any given culture.

Differential Utilization of Animals A number of strategies have been developed recently identifying the utilization of animals in ancient sites. These studies have accomplished much in postulating the economy of these cultures. The analysis for this study looks at the faunal material found in Strata 2, 4, 5, and 6 to ascertain how the inhabitants were utilizing the animals in their respective cultures. The examination of the faunal material focuses on the differential age of death for domestic species, element of species found, modification of the bone (including cut marks, gnaw marks, and burning), and the side of the animal from which the bone comes. Since the bones are so fragmented, sex of the animals was not possible to determine. The age of death was ascertained by using Silver’s (1969) method of aging by epiphyseal fusion, Payne’s (1973) method for aging sheep and goats through life tables using tooth wear as age indicators, and Grant’s (1982) guide to tooth wear in ungulates. Modifications were explored in

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accordance with the works of Stiner et al. (1995) on burning and Marshall’s (1986) work on bone modification. How animals were used in different historical periods was determined by comparing the archaeological remains with the life table presented by Payne (1973:281), who asserts: When people keep sheep or goats, the age at which the animals are slaughtered depends on a range of factors: the relative value placed in the different products, characteristics of stock, and a range of environmental factors.

He further states that animals killed at an early age are often used for their meat products while animals slaughtered in later years are used for their by-products, such as dairy products, wool, traction (i.e., draughting, pulling plows or other loads), and dung. A number of methods have been explored endeavoring to determine the age of an animal at slaughter. Silver (1969) employs the method of epiphyseal fusion to set categories of age ranging from juvenile to adult, as he asserts that cartilage ossification is constant for each bone pertaining to individual species. According to this scheme, the degree of fusion of the different elements suggests an approximate age. Fusion occurs in the distal epiphysis of the first phalanx of caprines between 13-16 months, in cattle at one and a half years, and before birth in pigs. The metacarpal fusion occurs on the distal epiphysis of sheep and goats approximately at 18-24 months, cattle at two to two and a half years, and pigs at two years. These were the main elements found and analyzed for this analysis. Using this method, Silver designates the boundary between “juveniles” and “adults” as two years for caprines, two and a half years for cattle, and two years for pigs. The research for this chapter used the same terminology in classifying the element fusion in each of the animals discussed. A delineation of “younger adult” and “older adult” was made on elements that showed initial epiphyseal fusion to those displaying complete epiphyseal fusion. Payne (1973) establishes tooth wear stages for ascertaining the age of caprovines by comparing the archaeological record with modern-day sheep and goats. Using this principle, in a study of sheep and goats from Turkish Angora goats, Deniz and Payne (1982) devised a model of tooth wear occurring in animals of different ages. In the study of animal usage at et-Tel/Bethsaida, both tooth wear stages (TWS) and epiphyseal fusion were used to identify caprine ages. Payne used complete mandibles in his research. The caprovine teeth found at etTel/Bethsaida, however, are mostly single teeth. Consequently, each tooth

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was allocated its own “tooth wear age,” using the Payne criteria. Payne places single teeth (using M1, M2 and M3) into groups of stages. This was likewise done with the et-Tel/Bethsaida collection. “Juveniles” in this plan are considered animals under two years old, “young adults” are two to four years old, and “adults” are four to six years old. Silver states that the age of the animal may be deduced accurately by looking at the areas where epiphyseal fusion has occurred. The use of epiphyseal fusion was used to corroborate the findings of this study. Silver (1969:283) states: Really accurate estimates of an animal can be made only when the following conditions are fulfilled: (a) that it belongs to a species or a breed of which the age characteristics are well documented, (b) that its plane of nutrition is known, (c) that most of the teeth and a representative selection of bones are available, and (d) that it is not fully adult.

Although all these conditions cannot possibly be met with an archaeological collection, the confirmation of approximately the same age structure being seen in two separate analyses give a relatively accurate view of the animal at slaughter. Life tables are offered based on Payne’s 1973 model. Using these graphs it was possible to identify economic lifestyles that changed through time. Measurements taken of complete or near complete elements (such as phalanges) were done according to von den Driesch’s (1976) A Guide to the Measurement of Animal Bones from Archaeological Sites.

Bone Modification Classification Stiner et al. (1995:225) maintains: Because fire figures prominently in the food preparation technologies of most prehistoric and modern human cultures, it is reasonable to expect at least some burning of bones stems from cooking activities.

These authors further state that the data of burned bones can be used for reconstructing site structure and spatial analysis. The et-Tel faunal collection of burnt bone was scaled according to Johnson (1989): unburned, scorched (superficial burning), charred (blackened, towards charcoal), and calcined (loss of all organic material, blue-white). Shipman et al. (1984:323) declared that bone is most likely burned as a result of humans throwing bones into a fire after the meat has been consumed, as roasting bones with meat on them will not get hot enough to produce a burn category. Burn due to sacrificial offerings is also a possibility with

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the et-Tel collection as stepped high places and a temple have been found at the site. It was assumed that all burned bone found in the same context with cooking ware at et-Tel/Bethsaida was burned during cooking or in throwing bone waste into an open fire. Another type of bone modification investigated in the et-Tel data was that of cut marks and gnaw marks. Marshall (1986) and many others have examined these types of marks that occur on archaeological bone. They assume that processing strategies and food transport can be determined by the number and positioning of cut marks on artifacts. At et-Tel cut marks have been found on some of the faunal material but not on elements large enough to be identified according to species.

Quantifying Animal Remains Grayson (1981:77) states, “Unless a paleontological or archaeological site is completely excavated and every bone preserved in that site retrieved, the bone collection recovered is a sample of the entire assemblage of bones which could have been retrieved.” He asserts later in the same article that it is not known how large a sample should be in order to adequately represent a population. The collection of animal bones at et-Tel has a large number of bones in the assemblage. The stratigraphy of the site has been documented with care. The amount of both identifiable and unidentifiable bone is large. Marshall and Pilgram (1993:261) maintain that “quantitative data should contribute to clarity rather than to the ambiguity currently surrounding the interpretation of body-part representation from archaeological sites.” In their research of faunal material from Ngamuriak they concluded that NISP (Number of Identifiable Specimens) is a suitable method of quantifying a large, highly fragmented collection. Marshall and Pilgram (1993) discuss the problem of high grease content bone in their research. They assert that bones, such as humerus shafts, possibly undergo intensive processing and fragmentation, thus causing a bias towards other elements with lower grease content. Payne (1975) speaks to bias in sampling due to dry screening. He asserts that a bias will be seen in sampling methods as larger animals are more likely to be placed in the collection than smaller ones. He continues by stating that bones that were deposited before the animal had reached an age of epiphyseal fusion were likely to be under represented in the collection as they are smaller and more fragile than fused ends, thus making them more easily broken. I have tried to address this issue by carefully watching the excavators as they dig at et-Tel and by screening much of the soil myself. Payne

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asserts (1975:14) that a badly biased sample can be recognized by a paucity of carpals, tarsals, and phalanges relative to limb bones, by a lack of single teeth (especially smaller teeth), and by a scarcity of unfused epiphyses relative to diaphyses. The et-Tel collection has many carpals and single teeth. We have also made use of 1/8” screening of all baskets excavated in all loci. Although this has not been a practical method for collecting the bones of very small animals, it has proven valuable in the compilation of large (e.g., cattle), medium (e.g., sheep, goats), and small (e.g., catfish) elements. Payne (1975) considers this to be a “reasonably reliable” process for larger mammals. This analysis used the percentage of bone counts, along with NISP, as the main procedures for analysis. The high number of fragmented bones found on the site necessitated the utilization of NISP according to Marshall and Pilgram’s (1993) research. In addition to this criterion, the process of using percentage counts of weight in both identifiable and unidentifiable bone fragments was used. The basis of determining the NISP was utilized throughout the discrete loci, employing a process of “vertical excavation” (Grayson 1973:44), which uses the boundaries presented by stratigraphic divisions. These numbers were then placed into percentages of animals seen in each period and compared within the site.

Social and Economic Organization through Time This research attempted to ascertain what type of economic/society arrangements were prevalent in the periods under investigation. There have been numerous articles written on distinguishing between complex societies, hunter/gatherer economies, and agricultural communities. These studies have been based on analysis done in pollen research and in zooarchaeological investigations. Crabtree (1990) looked at a wide variety of studies in complex societies. She discusses two different methods for using zooarchaeological collections to study trade within a society. One approach is to look at the mode by which meat and animal by-products are exchanged between producers and consumers, namely, how are the consumers who do not raise animals procuring animal products? She asks a set of four questions: 1) Are nomadic pastoralists or specialist hunters providing the meat for the consumers? 2) Is it possible to identify these consumer/producer sites? 3) What species of animals and types/cuts of meat are provided to the consumers? 4) Are these meats/by-products being sold to consumers via a market, or are the consumers being provisioned through a centrally administered system?

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Zeder (1988) and Wattenmaker (1986) have both reported on how consumer/producing societies interact. They suggest that as an urban complex grows, a limited number of domestic species can be seen in the assemblage, along with a more restricted range of wild animals. The age profile or kill-off pattern can determine how animal resources were used. This can be used to identify trade of animals between consumers and producers. Wapnish and Hesse (1988) maintain that a selfcontained economy, where animals are both raised and consumed, will show a harvest profile of all aged animals, whereas a consuming community will display an abundance of market-aged animals, namely, one and a half to two and a half year olds. In a producing economy the age profile will show more neonatal and older animal mortality. As the examined material for this study covered a 1,200-year time span, the episodes of differing social organization were of concern. Analysis of the animal bones makes it possible to ascertain the processes of urbanism, pastoralism, and agriculture, along with the economic and trade relations within the different periods of the site. Using recognized ceramics, structures, and in the Early Hellenistic and Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Periods, coins as guidelines, the excavation of et-Tel has established well-defined markers for the site’s habitation. A review of the literature containing material concerning these different functions demonstrates that faunal material can be used to make assumptions about the past economic lives of these people. Wapnish and Hesse (1991) and Zeder (1986) have done extensive research in this area. Zeder (1986:3) contends: Specialized decision-making is only one component of the state, albeit perhaps the primary component and that specialized economy is another vital ingredient of state process…. Specialized economic relations are found at virtually all levels of cultural complexity.

She refers not only to more common sets of economic activity, such as specialist potters, but to a full range of economic activities from production, to product movement, and lastly to distribution. She asserts that the degree of regulation of these resources implies the differing economic strategies. For example, whereas a herding community may be regulated internally, a greater degree of regulation will be seen with an agricultural community utilizing cattle for traction or draught power. It was possible to see a difference in the communities of et-Tel through the ages. Since a large Geshurite settlement did indeed exist there, it was hypothesized that the faunal material provided evidence of an urban economy. In addition, a disproportionate number of specific body parts

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found can be an indication of trade relationship, especially when compared with surrounding sites. During the Early Hellenistic and Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Periods it was possible to discern a more villagelike economic structure, rather than the wealthy, urban economy of the Iron Age settlement. In assessing trade relations with the surrounding Hellenistic-Early Roman populations, it was possible to assume the animal strategy in trade situations. For example, a different pattern was noticed in a population employing sheep and goats for marketable wool or distributing meat to non-producers as opposed to herders exploiting the animals for their own use. In these strategies one can expect to see “significant, predictable variation in the species, ages, and sexes of the animals consumed, and on the methods of butchery and meat preparation practiced” (Zeder 1986:14). Wapnish and Hesse (1991) assert that the patterns of age and species point to differing economies. By ascertaining which species are more abundant one can make inferences as to what economy was being used at a specific time. They claim, “Sedentism is seen as a consequence of a community’s increased dependence on agriculture, while nomadism results when animal husbandry dominates extractive activities” (1991:25). Rosen (1986) looks at percentages of cattle to the percentage of ovicaprines to discern the mainstay of a subsistence economy. According to him, a collection containing less that 5-7% bovines indicates a societal economy based on ovicaprine herding. If the number of bovines is 20% or more of the total herding animals, agricultural subsistence is indicated, based on the assumption that the mainstay of the subsistence economy is based on bovine-drawn plow agriculture. The present study used such ratios of caprines to cattle to identify what economy was being used at different points in time at et-Tel/Bethsaida. Wapnish and Hesse, as well as Zeder, furthermore expect a difference in the patterning of faunal material in different sectors of the city. Body part representation will vary in elite living areas and public buildings compared to the more common domestic areas. They predict that high-status areas are not expected to engage in the production or direct procurement of meat. In these instances, only certain bones should be encountered; part selectivity and evidence of butchery should be seen. In less differentiated areas, slaughter refuse or offal should be more common. The gate complex and palace area of et-Tel are the foci of this period. This area, with its stelae, produced a number of faunal remains. Although the palace area of et-Tel is associated with the city’s elite faction, faunal material found in the gate complex indicated practices seen by the common people. The bones found in this area demonstrated what type

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animals were used in specific cultic schemes performed by the general population. This study revealed that et-Tel was a complex society throughout the periods under investigation and reconstructed the economic and societal changes seen through the more than 1,200-year habitation of the site. The discrete periods, represented by loci in different strata of the site, were compared to one another to ascertain differences in animal strategies. Furthermore, loci within the same stratum were compared to attempt to distinguish class differences within the city. Other studies demonstrate that in all societies, regardless of period, domesticated animals served more than one production purpose. Although the major reason for domestication may have been for meat, herders soon discovered the value of utilizing animals for their secondary products as well, thus making animal husbandry a more attractive method of subsistence.

Iron Age et-Tel/Bethsaida In the Iron Age et-Tel was a prosperous urban center, possibly the capital city of the Geshurite kingdom. Its material culture displays the wealth of its citizens, and the royal structures and impressive city wall underscore its significance. During the 1994 excavation phase a large structure was found in Area B. This structure has been identified as an Iron Age bit hilani, a palace type structure previously found mainly in northern Syria. The extremely large size of the building (28.25 by 15 m) and the use of large basalt boulders suggest this was a major public building. Although there has been some discussion as to whether this building is indeed a bit hilani, Arav and Bernett (2000) have made a good argument for that classification. The faunal materials found in the bit hilani area revealed that an abundance of meaty portions from cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, and wild game were consumed. The 1996 excavation season ended just as the team was beginning to uncover what turned out to be an Iron Age inner city gate. The evidence for this lay in a beautifully preserved pavement, subsequently recognized as running through a gatehouse. The 1997 and 1998 seasons were devoted to the task of uncovering the gate, located roughly midway on the eastern wall of the city, near the palace. Ensuing excavation gave evidence of an outer gate to the north of this courtyard, although this has been largely destroyed, mostly by modern Syrian military-related earth-moving activity at the site. The inner gate itself is part of a four-chambered gatehouse, with four deep chambers roughly equal in size, bounded by immense piers.

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According to Mazar (1992) this type gatehouse began to appear at the end of the tenth century BCE and became the most standard gate type found in Megiddo, Dan, Timnah, Gezer, and Beer-sheba. The gatehouse is flanked by large defensive towers on both its northern and southern sides. The courtyard just outside the inner gatehouse is paved with basalt stones and contained a small cultic altar, or a “stepped high place,” located just outside the threshold area and comprising three steps leading up to a podium with a rectangular basalt basin. Tipped over the basin was a stele with a bull-headed deity carved upon it, broken into five pieces. Arav (2004) uses this stele, similar to two stelae found in southern Syrian Hauran, to argue that the city was a Geshurite city at this time. Four other stelae with no carvings were also found in the gatehouse area–two on each side of the entrance, one in front of the northern tower, and the fourth at the inner end of the gatehouse. All stelae were found with the tops broken off. The city gate complex, with its decidedly different faunal evidence, gives a glimpse of more common life than evidence from the bit hilani. A centralized distribution system for meat supplies was not used in this period. With the exception of the bit hilani itself, the high percentage of offal indicated on-site slaughter across the tel, which suggested direct contact between herders and consumers. Wild game figured prominently as a supplemental food resource for the Iron Age inhabitants.

Iron Age Faunal Material Most of the identified specimens were from domestic caprines (40%; Table 2). The number of domestic cattle bones found (38%), however, came very close to the total for caprines. It was assumed that by this late date all cattle are Bos taurus. Borowski (1998) claims the process of domestication of cattle took place in the Levant as early as 6400 BCE. He states that cattle were probably originally bred for by-products, such as milk, meat, hide, dung, and bone, but by the Iron Age they were raised mainly as draught animals, or for milk, and dung; but with meat, hide, and other by- products as a secondary resource. Catfish remains accounted for 8% of all bone recovered. This is not surprising as et-Tel is located close to Lake Kinneret. It is probable that other fish were also used at et-Tel, but bones from these other species have not been preserved or were not collected in the screening process. Wild game was also an important resource during this period since gazelle (6%) and fallow deer (3%) have both been recovered here. Pig bones accounted for 5% of the assemblage; however, these were found in only 4 loci out of

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approximately 30 that were excavated – all 4 in the area of the bit hilani. Lastly, the assemblage included 1% of equid (donkey) bones. Domestic caprines were used for many different purposes in the Ancient Near East, as is also true today. Caprines have been employed since at least the late fourth and early third millennia BCE (Greenfield 1988) for both their primary products of meat, hide, and bone, and for their secondary products of wool and milk. The ability to produce wool is a chief reason for keeping caprines. Goat hair has been used for tents, carrying sacks, and rope, in addition to the use of sheep wool for the weaving of fabrics and making clothes. Goat-keeping was a subsistence strategy seen all over the Levant area. Goats may well have been one of the first animals to have been domesticated (Davis 1987). They are relatively hearty animals that can be easily maintained, mature quickly, and are a good source of secondary products such as dairy, meat, and hair. Although goat hair is not as good as a sheep’s wool for clothing, it is used today by Bedouins for making tents and rope (Borowski 1998). Wapnish and Hesse (1991) suggest that if goats outnumber sheep, dairy was probably the main secondary product of the animal. Sheep and cattle are both considered “grazers.” This means both species eat the grass that is close to the ground. A goat is considered a “browser,” eating food that is above the ground. Goat herding is a good combination with raising cattle since goats do not compete with cattle for the same pasturage. According to Hesse (1995) on the other hand, sheep were the first animals to be domesticated. Evidence of sheep being raised for wool products is illustrated in a figurine found in western Iran, which dates from the sixth millennium BCE. Sheep do not thrive as well in harsher climes, so they present for the keeper a riskier investment than goats (Redding 1984). Sheep are usually kept along with goats, so the proportional structure of the herd is shaped largely by the environmental conditions in which it is kept. Assessing the caprine assemblage according to the methods used by Zeder (1988) and Redding (1984), it appeared that the production strategy of the Iron Age inhabitants with their caprine herds was that of herd security. During this period at et-Tel the sheep-to-goat ratio was 0.39:1. This ratio corresponded to the trend Redding notes in hot, arid climates. He describes herd security (Redding 1984:227) as “the minimization of fluctuations in herd size, particularly those that result in a reduction of annual yields.” In this simulation he explains that in a good environment, a sheep-to-goat ratio would likely be 1:1. However, there is a difference in the ability of sheep and goats to rebound from losses, and these differences

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lead to variations in the ratios. Since he claims that the cost of raising sheep and goats is practically identical, the cost would not influence the ratio. However, he points out that sheep productivity decreases with increased heat and aridity of a region, but rises in colder, wetter climates. He indicates that changes may be observed in the sheep-to-goat ratio as herders became more engaged with agriculture, moving to a herd security strategy. Zeder (1988:12) likewise states: … selection of animals received through direct channels will reflect the herder’s interest in perpetuating herd security. Consequently, animals used are expected to be those best suited to local ecological conditions and to the management strategies of the herders. In particular, animals with high replacement potential should be favored, even over animals with a greater or better quality meat yield. High reproductive capacities, for example, would make goats the more attractive of the two caprid species….

Zeder (1988) further states that the possibility of nomads interested in promoting herd security would favor disposing of a higher number of goats than sheep to the consumers who are receiving meat. Citing Redding, Zeder says that since goats are a faster regenerating resource, they would be the more attractive animal for the pastoralist/nomad. In direct channels between herders and consumers using no or few “middlemen,” the selection of animals would reflect the herder’s interest in perpetuating the flock; thus, animals with high replacement values would be favored. The pastoralist’s goal of herd security would surpass the urban dweller’s fondness or preference for the taste of sheep, and would raise the hardier, more efficient goat instead. This was evidenced by sheep-to-goat ratio (0.33:1) in the bit hilani assemblage, which was actually lower than the ratio in the combined gate complex and Area B (0.43:1). Table 2 demonstrates that goats outnumbered sheep, with a sheep-to-goat ratio of 0.39:1 at et-Tel during the Iron Age, reflecting the pattern suggested by both Redding and Zeder for both herd security and direct channel production. Constructing harvest profiles by classifying an animal by age of death and building an age distribution chart is one way of ascertaining how the animal was used. Payne developed a method for doing this in his 1973 actualistic study of the caprines from Asvan Kale, Turkey. He proposed that the age at which animals were slaughtered depended on a number of different factors based on the different products being exploited. By using Payne’s “kill-off” patterns, one can surmise how the animals were primarily being used, for example, for meat, milk, or wool. In Payne’s model, if meat production is the primary usage, a pattern of slaughtering young adults, mostly males between the ages of two and three years,

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would be evidenced. If milk production is the main usage, the kill-off pattern will show an increase in lamb slaughter, and more adult survival; surplus lambs would be killed so as not to endanger the milk supply. If wool production is the strategy for the herd, the emphasis would be placed on the adult animals. In such a situation, the herder would only breed enough animals to replace the flock; males not used for stud would be castrated; animals would be slaughtered when the wool quality of the adult decreased. Payne clearly recognizes, however, that animals were not used for just a single purpose in ancient times, any more than today, but were used for multiple purposes. By comparing the Iron Age graph of the et-Tel caprine kill-off pattern with Payne’s model (Figure 1), it appeared that et-Tel’s inhabitants were using their caprines primarily for meat during the Iron Age. The graph shows a high slaughter rate taking place in the two- to three-year age range, with only a few animals living to older ages. Payne (1973) claims that when caprines are used for meat production, the prime slaughter age is two to three years; at this age the animal’s growth slows down to a point that it is not economical to continue feeding it. Therefore, most males would be killed off by this time, leaving only enough males necessary for breeding. Females would not be slaughtered unless there were more females than needed to sustain the breeding flock. The meat of the animal is most tender between two and three years as well, making it a more desirable consumable resource at this age. The et-Tel kill-off pattern, with an additional “bubble” of older animals, was consistent with use of secondary products of either wool or milk. Wapnish and Hesse (1991:29), however, suggest that a higher proportion of goats than sheep may indicate a focus on dairying, since goats produce better milk than sheep, whereas sheep produce better wool. This well fits the sheep-to-goat ratio at et-Tel, and thus indicates that although caprines were used at et-Tel primarily for meat, dairy was a primary secondary product. Silver’s (1969) method of epiphyseal bone fusion to establish an ageof-slaughter chart (Table 11) revealed a higher percentage (55%) of et-Tel caprines being slaughtered in the juvenile stage, no slaughter in the young adult stage, and 45% of animals slaughtered in the adult stage. When assessing the body part representation, we found a high percentage (63%) of non-meat-bearing bones such as cranial and foot elements (offal, in this study). Wapnish and Hesse (1991:20) suggest this is due to slaughtering effects, or the primary refuse of butchering. Zeder (1988) speaks of this as the result of direct procurement, namely, direct distribution of the meat from the herder to the consumer. In this model, all skeletal parts are seen as having been affected by the slaughtering process

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and are likely to be found near the consuming household, thus representing on-site butchery. In on-site butchery, the refuse bone material would be similar to that found in a complete skeleton. This would then reflect the herder’s interests in perpetuating his herd, as opposed to the consumer’s taste preferences. Et-Tel’s material suggested this may be what occurred during this time period, with the animals being purchased from the herder, and then slaughtered on-site by the consumer. The goat distribution in the bit hilani indicated the largest quantity of body parts is represented by forelimbs. Wapnish et al. (1977:42) indicate, “The front leg in all of these creatures carries the larger proportion of the meat on a carcass.” It would stand to reason that the elite are eating the most desirable parts, even though goat is generally considered a less desirable meat than sheep; however, if goat is what is available from producers, then the more desirable portions would be expected to predominate in an elite section. The gate complex area displayed a greater number of feet and cranial bones than the other body parts, representing 69% of the assemblage. This indicated that slaughter took place nearby. It was assumed that the animals found in this area were consumed by the more common people. The material found in the gate complex was most likely refuse from the altar and, quite possibly, from market/shop areas that might reasonably be expected in a gate complex area. Et-Tel contains a proportionally high number of cattle elements (38%) – exceptionally high when compared with many other sites. Slayton claims (1992, 623) Bashan, a name by which the area east and northeast of the Kinneret was known during at least part of the Iron Age, was “perfectly suited for agriculture and cattle…. Because of its fertility and productivity, Bashan was the prize in wars between Syria and Israel.” Furthermore, the Hebrew Bible speaks of Bashan as an area well known for its cattle (Psalm 22:12, Amos 4:1-2, Ezekiel 39:17-19). The large amount of cattle remains found at the et-Tel site, in this general region, would confirm these statements. Zeder (1986), Wapnish and Hesse (1991), and Rosen (1986) all concur that a high percentage of cattle points to agricultural practices. Rosen (1986:166) asserts: Whenever the percentage of bovines is 20% or more of the total ruminants, agriculture based on bovine-drawn ploughs seems to have been the mainstay subsistence of the economy.

Wapnish and Hesse (1991:26) further add that these statistics help distinguish an economy based on intensive agriculture as opposed to one where caprines are being exported. Zeder (1988:40) contends that, using

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Redding’s model of herd management systems, areas under high cultivation favor high proportions of cattle and goats as opposed to sheep. The caprine-to-cattle ratio at et-Tel during the Iron Age is 1.06:1; as indicated above, the sheep-to-goat ratio at et-Tel is 0.39:1, fitting the expectation for a situation involving a proportionately high number of cattle. Cattle have high water requirements, which made et-Tel a prime location for raising cattle. Et-Tel had three primary water sources: the Jordan River is at present only about 0.4 kilometers away, a spring is located approximately 100 meters from the tel, and it is likely that at least an arm of the Kinneret reached very close to et-Tel in the Iron Age. Borowski (1998) asserts that cattle rarely wander and need more attention than other ruminants, thus needing to be raised under stable, settled conditions, for example, near a city like et-Tel. The presence and the prominent location of the large amount of barley discovered in the gatehouse, especially Chamber 3, confirms the importance of et-Tel’s agricultural activity in the Iron Age. The age and body part representation for cattle found in Iron Age etTel suggest that cattle were being used for meat, by-products, and draughting. When the animal was older, it was slaughtered and used for its meat and hide. A major problem with the et-Tel/Bethsaida faunal material is that all specimens are apparently post-depositionally damaged, reducing the number of elements in the collection that can be aged by either the tooth wear stage method or the epiphyseal fusion method. In most cases there are no complete mandibles with which to age the wear stages; although many teeth have been found at the site, they were largely loose, damaged, individual teeth. Unfortunately, few or no studies, of which this writer is aware, have been performed dealing with single cattle teeth found at an excavation site. Therefore, the only written resources available for this research is work done on complete or nearly complete mandibles. This imposed more variability into an age profile for this particular study. Most of the elements used for aging by epiphyseal fusion in this collection were phalanges, since they were the most numerous complete elements found. Bones in the assemblage aged by epiphyseal fusion were mostly metapodials with one distal tibia, 14 juvenile, 2 young adult and 31 adult elements. By this tabulation based on epiphyseal fusion, most of the animals were adult, and thus probably used especially for traction, milk and dung, and then used for meat in old age. The younger animals would be used primarily for their meat. As stated above, all of the Iron Age assemblage of pigs came from the bit hilani. There were 27 pig specimens in the assemblage equaling 10%

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of the bit hilani assemblage. Of these, 11 were burned and 5 were scorched or charred, suggesting that the animals were cooked. Four teeth were in the material. The tooth wear stages of the pig teeth (Grant 1982) indicated that they were all from young animals. Fusion of metapodials showed 1 juvenile, and 2 young adults, and 1 older adult animal. The significance of young and young adult animals in the collection suggested a hunting context. In hunting situations the age profile found usually displays a strong dependence on young or prime animals (Stiner 1994). Complications occur with swine in this geographic location when trying to ascertain whether the animals were wild or domesticated. According to Hesse (1990:203): …at the limits of the distribution of the wild pig in Palestine and when the specimens are few, relying solely on osteometrics to determine status of swine in the archaeological remains can be risky. For this reason verification usually demands the discovery of pig related artifacts or evidence that the pig cull matches the practice of swineherds rather than the take of boar hunters, i.e., an abundance of young in the slaughter.

The material culture found so far at et-Tel suggests that the inhabitants of the community were Geshurite in the Iron Age (Arav 2004). This may be the reason swine have been found only in the bit hilani, reflecting an earlier practice of honoring the king with the hunt. This would agree with Hesse’s (1990, 214) suggestion “of an increased demand by the elite for wild game for the table and the success of the hunters who supplied them.” Hesse discusses a high rise in pig remains in the beginning of the Iron Age Period and gives examples from the Philistine sites of Tel Miqne-Ekron, Tel Batash, and Ashkelon. Hesse continues by suggesting that, in the Bronze Age, pigs were given to royalty by hunters. He further suggests that the earlier sites may illustrate textual evidence that speaks to the issue of wild animals, such as deer and venison, being associated with elite social classes in Canaan. Taking into account the pig remains found in the bit hilani of et-Tel, and Hesse’s suggestion of Late Bronze Age that associates hunting practices with the elite social classes, if the pigs were indeed given to the royalty as a gift from hunters, this could be considered a remnant of the older Bronze Age Geshurite culture being practiced. It cannot be discerned at this time whether these animals were wild or domesticated since no pens for keeping the pigs have been found, and pig elements found are not complete enough for using routine calculations for distinguishing wild from domestic animals. Hesse looked at early assemblages containing pig

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elements and compared them to later assemblages with no pig elements. He concludes that the later assemblages may point to political centralization that encouraged restrictions in pig husbandry. Whether hunted or raised as domesticates, pigs in the Iron Age at et-Tel apparently were eaten in this community. Swine represent 10% of the faunal material found in the bit hilani but were found nowhere else in the Iron Age material, representing 5% of the total Iron Age assemblage. The percentage of domestic animals being raised on or near the site equaled 38% for cattle and 40% for caprines. Equids represented only 1% of the total Iron Age faunal assemblage. Equids clearly were not a major or crucial element in Geshurite et-Tel during this period. Wild game constituted 9% of the bit hilani assemblage. Excluding this material, wild game comprised 24% of the remainder of the Iron Age material. When looking at these differences as class distinctions, one may conjecture that the common people were relying more on game than were the elite (bit hilani) population. All body part portions of gazelle were found, indicating that gazelles were being used for meat. However, only one forelimb element and one foot element from fallow deer were unearthed. Fallow deer have been found in the Iron Age strata of Beersheba (Hellwing 1984), Lachish (Lernau 1975), and Tel Miqne-Ekron (Hesse 1986). The gazelle has been identified at these sites as well and at the Iron Age sites of Tel Michal (Borowski 1998), ‘Izbet Sartah (Borowski 1998), and Tel Halif (Seger et al. 1990). Fish bones recovered at et-Tel indicated that fishing in Lake Kinneret took place during the time frame of the investigation. Fish have been found in other Iron Age sites including the City of David (Lernau and Lernau 1992). This suggested that hunting was prolific, and wild game provided supplementary meat resources during the Iron Age at et-Tel. The evidence from Area B, with a 39% reliance on wild game perhaps, indicated that these supplementary meat resources were especially important for the lowest socioeconomic classes at et-Tel.

Early Hellenistic et-Tel/Bethsaida In the rebuilding of the city in the Early Hellenistic Period, after an extended period of sparse habitation, the tel was modified from its Iron Age form of a large urban center to a smaller village-type community. The high number of cattle bones found was consistent with the massive movement of materials entailed in the rebuilding effort that occurred at this time, and underscored agriculture as the primary economic activity.

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The older age of the animals indicated that slaughter took place after they had served their primary usage as a draft animal. The material culture of this period at et-Tel confirmed the presence of a wealthy district, as evidenced by the two large villa-type homes excavated in Areas B and C. Another smaller house in Area A provided evidence for a less auspicious standard of living for a populace that lived on the outskirts of the village and the lower elevations of the tel. As no faunal material was found in this smaller structure, and the material found in the two villas was not used in this study, direct conclusions of distinctions in animal usage at et-Tel based on class or status in this period cannot be drawn. Indirect conclusions can be drawn, however, particularly on the basis of the major faunal usage differences between the portions of Area A and Area B North that were sampled. Since cattle were so important to the rebuilding program and to the agricultural core of et-Tel’s economy, the prominence of cattle remains in Area B North near the large villas suggested that the inhabitants of Area B North controlled the community’s economy. Three observations combine to indicate that this area (Area A) contained inhabitants of lower economic status: (1) the relative scarcity of cattle remains in Area A; (2) the indications that Area A was largely dependent for the supply of its major meat resources (mutton and chevon) on sources outside that area (perhaps from Area B North); and (3) the modest, unimpressive structures found here. The caprine slaughter patterns indicate that a wool economy was active at etTel/Bethsaida during this period.

Early Hellenistic Fauna By using Hesse’s criteria (1995), the faunal evidence from the Early Hellenistic portion of Stratum 2 at et-Tel/Bethsaida pointed toward an intensive practice of agriculture in that cattle remains made up 44% of the total assemblage. Rosen (1986) suggests that an assemblage with more than 20% cattle is strong evidence of intensive agriculture (see above). Zeder’s study (1988) of Tal-e Malyan in Iran, a site with a high percentage of cattle remains, indicates that younger animals were used as a primary source of meat consumption by the elite. In the later periods (Zeder 1988:40) more cattle were necessary to meet the requirements of the expanded agricultural production in the valley. These requirements, in turn, necessitated an increase in the size of the pool of cattle available for consumption. This group of animals consisted of an emphasis on 4-year olds. The et-Tel/Bethsaida collection corresponded to this model (Table3).

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The sheep-to-goat ratio for the entire Early Hellenistic assemblage equaled 0.57:1; Area B North had an even higher proportion of goats, with a 0.36:1 ratio. Using epiphyseal fusion, the number of juvenile goat elements numbered three juveniles and two adult animals in Area A, and one juvenile, one adult in Area B North. Fusion on the sheep cluster revealed one juvenile animal in Area A and two adult animals in Area B North. Zeder (1986:40) states of the Kaftari assemblage: This lack of distinction between age selection of Kaftari sheep and goat bolsters the contention that Kaftari Malyan meat supplies were derived from local caprid flocks exploited for a generalized range of resources including meat, wool and hair.

Redding’s (1981) model of Near Eastern herd management systems predicts that intensively cultivated areas will favor a high proportion of cattle and goats with a relatively reduced number of sheep, due to resource competition. He also suggests cattle are more efficient milk producers than caprines. Et-Tel/Bethsaida’s sheep-to-goat ratio in the Early Hellenistic Period is 0.57:1, with Area B North’s ratio even more skewed toward goats with a ratio of 0.36:1, thus fitting Redding’s criterion of intense cultivation. Zeder (1988) discusses the significance of goats in preference to sheep in nomadic flock herding. She proposes that a high proportion of goats shows the nomadic interest in promoting herd security. In reliance upon Redding (1981:86-87), she states that the higher proportion of goats is practical since goats reproduce more quickly than sheep. This is a more appealing scenario to pastoralists involved in regular and significant trade with a settled population. According to this theory, the herder determines species selection as a goal, as opposed to the influence of the consumers’ preferences. Both the prominence of cattle and the greater number of goats than sheep combine to strongly indicate that et-Tel/Bethsaida was a predominantly agricultural community in the Early Hellenistic Period. The equids (4% of the assemblage) would have contributed to agricultural productiveness, as this animal is known for its draught power. Another use of both cattle and equids for draught power during this period would have been for the reconstruction of the community after many years of light habitation, although on a smaller scale than its Iron Age urban glory. The large size of the houses excavated in Areas B and C indicates the presence of a high level of prosperity. The three Early Hellenistic areas examined exhibited a change in animal usage from the south end of the tel (Area A) to the north (Area B

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North). At the south, toward Lake Kinneret, caprines outnumbered cattle (1.33:1), and the sheep-to-goat ratio equaled 0.75:1, exhibiting a much more even balance between sheep and goats. Although the proportion of cattle was relatively high, it paled by comparison to the 0.77:1 caprine-tocattle ratio at the north, and the north’s 0.36:1 sheep-to-goat ratio radically differed. Substantially different life styles appear to be expressed in these two portions of the tel. The rather sparse assemblage from Area B South, from in between these other areas, supports the pattern of Area B North with no domestic caprine elements found in this one square. Yet another difference between Areas A and B North was evidenced. The percentage of cattle offal (cranial and foot elements) was immensely high and identical in both areas (88%), indicating that cattle were being slaughtered on-site for both. The slaughter ages for cattle in both areas were predominantly adult animals, suggesting harvest after they were no longer productive in their draughting ability. However, the percentage of caprine offal was decidedly different: 46% in Area A and 81% in Area B North, suggesting that the people who occupied Area A obtained caprines in the form of butchered meat from elsewhere, rather than primarily producing and slaughtering the animals themselves, whereas the people in Area B North performed their own caprine slaughtering. Furthermore, the caprine of consumption choice for Area A residents was sheep. This may be why the proportion of sheep was higher in Area A than in the rest of the tel’s “normal” predominance of goats over sheep for an intense agricultural setting. Goats still outnumbered sheep in Area A but by a far slimmer margin than in Area B North. Area A residents gained by purchasing sheep rather than raising them themselves, thus avoiding competition for resources with their own cattle. Where were Area A residents getting their sheep? Sheep pastoralists may certainly be part of the picture. However, in that situation they would be going through a procurement site or market rather than direct channel procurement from pastoralist producers. This was suggested due to the relatively low amount of caprine offal. A more at-hand source, however, would be Area B North. This would help explain the high amount of caprine offal in Area B North and the scarcity of meaty portions of sheep in that area. Area B North’s excessive amount of caprine offal contained an especially high number of cranial parts (primarily teeth), which are hard to distinguish between sheep and goat. This category may well have contained evidence of the sheep that the producers in Area B North slaughtered, butchered, and sold to Area A South residents. A final element to note in the distinction between Areas A and B North was the differing levels of wealth. The structures in Area A from the Early

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Hellenistic Period are described by Arav (1999:25) as “remarkably humble and poor,” whereas Area B North and C contains villa-type houses. The producers (Area B North) controlled the resources and reaped the monetary benefits. Sufficient material evidence does not exist to identify whether these two areas of et-Tel were inhabited by different ethnic groups, but class differences certainly are present.

Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Bethsaida-Julias The Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Period began with more movement into the area by different peoples and rulers. The inhabitants of BethsaidaJulias seem to have been a mixed population according to written sources. This was evidenced particularly at the site by the Roman temple, combined with small finds that attest to a Hellenized/Romanized faction living in the city. The distinction between temple and non-temple areas provided the most noticeable difference in faunal usage. The temple contained a much higher percentage of cattle remains than the non-temple areas, suggesting a connection between the temple and those who controlled the agricultural resources of the community. The proportion of cattle bones in the total faunal assemblage for this period (33%) indicated that agriculture was at the core of the community’s economy. However, this percentage was lower than earlier periods (38% in the Iron Age and 44% in the Early Hellenistic Period), implying that the community’s economy had become more diversified. The 1.42:1 caprine-to-cattle ratio is the highest in this period, compared to 1.06:1 in the Iron Age and 0.88:1 in the Early Hellenistic Period. The evidence of on-site slaughter across the tel points to direct contact with the herders. This represents a reversion to a less complex and less externally controlled system of meat procurement than was present in the Early Hellenistic Period, when Area A inhabitants depended upon others for procurement of mutton and chevon resources. Such direct herder-consumer relationships may represent a bypassing of the temple patrons’ control of agricultural resources. Compared to the Early Hellenistic Period, an increase in the use of wild game occurred in this period, especially in the non-temple areas. This is consistent with a strategy in the non-temple areas of avoiding control by the temple patrons. Such resistance would contribute to the diversification of the economy.

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Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Faunal Material What was most striking about faunal usage in this period was the distinctly different character of the faunal remains from the Roman temple and from other non-temple portions of the tel – both close to the temple itself and elsewhere on the site (Table 4). From the evidence available for research, there was no indication of any other significant distinction in animal utilization in the Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Period, apart from the temple versus non-temple differences. The temple assemblage included 42% caprines and 40% cattle, for a 1:04 caprine-to-cattle ratio, while the non-temple assemblage contained 57% caprines and 22% cattle, for a 2.55:1 ratio. The proportion of offal was high in both areas, indicating slaughtering activity, though the percentage was slightly higher in the temple than elsewhere. The temple assemblage looked much like the intense agricultural patterns from the earlier Iron Age and the Early Hellenistic Periods, with the substantial presence of cattle that was approximately equivalent to caprines, and more than twice the number of goats as sheep. It responded this way possibly because those involved ritually in this Roman Imperial cult site were probably agriculturally oriented, and in all likelihood in control of the agricultural activity around Bethsaida. If the temple were built in honor of Julia-Livia, as has been proposed, significant evidence exists that linked her to the Demeter cult, which viewed the assimilated Julia to Demeter as the goddess who ensured agricultural abundance (Strickert 2004). Frequently, she is portrayed holding a handful of standing grain, just like Demeter. However, a coin issued by Philip upon Julia’s death shows drooping grain, rather than an upright sheaf, linking Julia’s death with an anticipated loss of agricultural productivity and fruitfulness. The temple also expressed its Roman orientation. Grantham’s (1996) and Davies’s (1989) examinations of Roman military camps suggest that Romans used mostly “oxen” in their Roman Legion cultic sites. Although, Bethsaida-Julias was not a Roman Legion area, it is reasonable to assume that a structure used for worship in the Roman Imperial Cult would also draw on the same animal resource of other Roman ritual practices. Inhabitants of the non-temple areas, i.e., most of Bethsaida’s residents, relied primarily upon caprines as the primary source of meat. Animals slaughtered in the temple, with its preponderance of cattle, would most likely be consumed by temple officials and by the elites who offered them. The low percentage of cattle remains in the non-temple areas indicated that those who lived there were neither consuming cattle as a major meat source, nor were they in control of cattle production. Wild game

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constituted 16% of the faunal remains, indicating its prominent role as a supplementary meat source. Redding (1981:91) discusses the different usage of caprines in his “Subsistence Security” article, stating that ...in sites that were the loci of intensive agricultural production variation should be observed in the ratio of sheep to goats consumed between area of a site based on the subsistence basis of the individuals contributing to the deposit in each area. Goats, which require less labor than sheep, should have been maintained by individuals involved in agriculture who probably lived on the edges of sites near fields.

He further states that bones in garbage associated with farmers’ residences should exhibit a lower sheep-to-goat ratio compared to residences around palaces and other elite structures. The animals associated with this sector/period of Bethsaida appeared to be included in this group. The sheep-to-goat ratio during the Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Period was 0.58:1. This ratio distribution is similar to Zeder’s (1988) work in Banesh in the TUV area with goat numbers twice as high as sheep. In that article she suggests that the TUV area is an area that is inhabited by the less wealthy residents of the Banesh complex. However, when one recognizes that the sheep-to-goat ratio for Bethsaida in the Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Period was the result of the weighted average of both the temple ratio (0.45:1) and the non-temple ratio (0.76:1), the similarity to Zeder’s study disappears. At Bethsaida, the non-temple areas gave the better indicator of the lower socioeconomic groups; the temple had too many economic and political power connections to the elites to serve as such. The Bethsaida caprine body part distribution indicated that all body parts were being used, with cranial and foot parts more prevalent, and axial, fore, and hind limbs almost equally present. In this group it appeared that most animals were slaughtered while young. Caprines were probably being used primarily for meat and dairy. At this point in Bethsaida’s history, cattle played a major role in the total meat consumption, constituting 33% of the total faunal assemblage for this period. This is, however, considerably less than the 38% cattle in the Iron Age assemblage and the 44% cattle in the Early Hellenistic assemblage. Intra-site differences between the temple (40% cattle) and non-temple (22%) were considered. The caprine-to-cattle ratio equaled 1.42:1 for this period as a whole, but that figure comprised the weighted averages of the temple (1.03:1) and non-temple (2.55:1). The overall Late Hellenistic/Early Roman ratio of caprines to cattle was consistent with an area dependent on agriculture. Redding (1981, 86) discusses the caprine-

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to-cattle ratio and the probable causes of increases and decreases as agriculture intensifies or diminishes. When subsistence relies heavily on agriculture, the number of cattle increases, because the need for plowing, threshing, and transporting field produce relies on the larger animal. He also claims that a number of other factors relate to this increase. Cattle require less labor to control and maintain than caprines, thus leaving the herder more time to devote to agricultural activities. Cattle also provide more milk and meat products per unit than the smaller sheep or goats. The tooth wear data show a pattern of an almost equal number of younger and older animals being slaughtered. However, bone fusion of the cattle in this period indicated that a higher number of adult animals were being slaughtered in both the temple and non-temple areas. In Zeder’s (1988) study of Kaftari cattle, she notes that use of both young and old animals contributed to the assemblage, but an emphasis can be seen on 4year-old cattle, the optimal age for cattle meat off-take. She attributes this to beef being distributed through indirect channels, rather than direct producer-consumer contact. Indirect channels narrow the range of selection for the consumer and tend to focus on maximizing meat return. Cattle of all ages were being slaughtered at Bethsaida, however, suggesting the animals were being exploited for agricultural traction, milk, and by-products, as well as meat during this time. The intra-site comparisons between the temple and non-temple areas indicated that the inhabitants of Bethsaida did not share equally in cattle as part of the diet. Broshi (1986) claims that first century CE meat consumption in Roman Period Palestine was extremely low, based primarily on both Talmudic sources and comparisons of ancient and modern production capabilities. Most of the population ate meat only on holidays and feast days with only the wealthy eating meat every Saturday. Exceptions to this were priests, who were reputed in the Jerusalem Talmud to have gorged themselves on great quantities of meat from sacrifices. In this period intensive cultivation left little land for pasture, and dense population provided only enough land to feed work animals that needed grazing to complement their silage. He adds that the meat consumed in Palestine was from caprine surpluses and from old, invalid animals, as caprine herds were mainly raised for milk and wool. In 392/3 CE St. Jerome wrote from Bethlehem that cattle were scarce in Palestine; he relates that eating veal in Palestine was regarded as a crime, claiming that Emperor Valens (364-378 C.E.) forbade the consumption of calves’ meat, an injunction, Broshi declares, that was intended as a means of maintaining reserves of working animals. This evidence of governmental interest in protecting the number of cattle

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underscores the likelihood that the temple was connected to elites with both economic and political power. As seen earlier during the Iron Age Period, the low number of pig elements in the area can be related to intensive agriculture being practiced. This lower number of pig elements can be expected; as Redding (1991) claims that an increased reliance on cattle may further decrease any utilization of pig. The percentage of equids (4%) found in this area was the same as found in the Early Hellenistic Period, indicating that the animals were still being used as beasts of burden and traction. Seven bones were scorched, three were charred, and one had a cut mark, implying a possibility that the equids were cooked and eaten after serving their primary usefulness. Wild game generated 13% of the faunal collection of this period, denoting that hunting and fishing provided an important food supplement. This was especially true for the non-elites; wild game comprised 16% of the non-temple assemblage. Of the wild game, the gazelle had the highest proportion of remains (6%), with catfish following (4%) and deer with 3%. Most of the gazelle and deer material consisted of offal, indicating that slaughter and skinning took place on-site.

Conclusion Each period of occupation used the same relatively limited range of species as their primary source of nutrition, particularly sheep, goats, and cattle. In all but the Early Hellenistic Period, caprines were the primary source of meat, but cattle drove the agriculture-based economy. Compared to other sites, researched earlier in comparison, for each period, etTel/Bethsaida had one of the highest proportions of cattle, made possible by its abundant water sources. In all periods, goats strongly outnumbered sheep, consistent with both an agricultural focus in which goats are used to avoid direct competition with cattle for foraging resources, and a herd security strategy in which goats represent a hardier and more readily renewable resource than sheep. Harvest profiles indicated that the utilization of caprines evolved or changed through time, from meat and dairy in the Iron Age Period, to wool and meat in the Early Hellenistic Period, and back to an emphasis on meat during the Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Period. Equids were used to a small extent during all periods, but cattle provided the main draughting power. Wild game was a significant dietary component in all periods, comprising 11-17% of the faunal assemblage. It was least important in the Early Hellenistic Period, during which the

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faunal evidence indicated the greatest control by one group of the economy. Pigs were present in each period investigated, although the percentage dropped for each, from 5% in the Iron Age, where the pig remains were found solely in the bit hilani, to 3% in the Early Hellenistic Period, to 2% in the Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Period. Unfortunately, no faunal elements were found that could be measured to indicate conclusively whether the pigs were wild or domestic animals, nor were any structures found that would point to domestication. The research has hypothesized that the pigs present in all periods are wild, rather than domestic, which is more consistent with et-Tel’s agricultural economy; domestic pigs would be in direct competition with agriculture - a counterproductive strategy. In addition, hunting pigs provided a means to control the damage to crops that wild pigs would otherwise cause. The percentage of pig remains within the faunal assemblage for each period was similar to that recorded for gazelles and fallow deer - both hunted species. As Harris’ (1985) study shows, the high reproduction rate of pigs would propose that the percentage of the remains of these animals would be equal to or surpass the percentage of caprines if the pigs were domesticated. From the name “Bethsaida,” which means “house of the fisherman,” a primarily fishing economy for et-Tel/Bethsaida was anticipated at the outset of this investigation. The faunal evidence has not confirmed that expectation, however, although the presence of fishing hooks and net weights among the small finds of the Bethsaida Excavations Project indicate that at least some of the community’s inhabitants did indeed fish, as would be expected from the site’s proximity to Lake Kinneret. However, the primary faunal evidence for fishing came almost exclusively from catfish remains, particularly their pectoral spines and the large, sturdy supraethmoid of their skulls. Those remains, constituting 4-8% of the faunal assemblage, depending on period, hint at a still larger role for fishing in the food-ways and economy of et-Tel/Bethsaida. The paucity of other fish elements was certainly related to the recovery methods used (1/8”-screening, no flotation or wet sieving, reliance on non-specialist volunteers), as well as the post-depositional forces, reducing much of the faunal assemblage to fragments. One must reckon with the reality that the prominence of cattle bones indicates that et-Tel’s economy in the three periods examined always was primarily based on agriculture, not fishing. The lower proportion of cattle bones in the Late Hellenistic/Early Roman Period, which indicated a greater diversification in the economy beyond agriculture, provided the most likely period for fishing to have become somewhat more prominent. The lack of any increase in fish elements in

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the faunal assemblage for this period, though, may indicate that any fishing industry was for purposes of export rather than local consumption. In the absence of more direct evidence such a proposal remains largely speculation. Although the same few species were used over et-Tel/Bethsaida’s 1,200-year history, their proportions and use changed to best suit the unique requirements of the tel’s inhabitants. The palimpsest of faunal material affords the archaeologist a glimpse into past life-ways of different periods, as well as into intra-site dynamics and relationships. It provides important clues related to socioeconomic class, which correlates well with other material cultural evidence from the site. As excavation continues on and around the tel, recovery of additional faunal remains should afford further insight into the life-ways of the ancient societies who occupied et-Tel/Bethsaida. Table 1: Faunal species at et-Tel / Bethsaida included in this study* Scientific Name Bos taurus Ovis aries Capra hircus Sus scrofa Equus Gazella gazella Dama mesopotamicus Clarius lazara

Common Name Cattle Sheep Goat Pig Equid sp** Gazelle Fallow deer Catfish

* Small mammals, birds and fish (other than catfish) were not included in this study. ** Equids were identifiable only to the genus level, not species.

Caprine:Cattle Sheep:Goat Adult

Caprine (tot.) Sheep Goat Indis. cap Cattle Pig Equid Gazelle Deer Catfish Total

31

Gate Crtyrd 51 4 16 31 29 0 1 6 5 8 100

Stepped High Place 8 2 5 1 6 0 0 3 5 4 26

Table 2: All Iron Age faunal material

66

Gatehs Pvmnt 44 8 16 20 12 0 2 4 2 3 67

Gatehs Cham. 4 19 3 4 12 12 0 0 1 3 7 42

Faunal Analysis

2.07:1 0.41:1

Total Gate Cmplx 122 17 41 64 59 0 3 14 15 22 235 0.67:1 0.33:1

Bit hilani 90 9 27 54 134 27 2 8 2 14 277 0.56:1 0.67:1

Area B 9 2 3 4 16 0 0 10 0 6 41

1.06:1 0.40:1

Total 221 28 71 122 209 27 5 32 17 42 553

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Area A 56 12 16 28 42 3 2 3 5 4 115 1.33:1 0.75:1

Caprine (total)* Sheep Goat Indisting. cap Cattle Pig Equid Gazelle Deer Catfish Total

Caprine:Cattle Sheep:Goat

Table 3: All Early Hellenistic fauna

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Area B South 0 0 0 0 9 0 0 2 0 0 11

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0.77:1 0.36:1

Area B North 72 5 14 53 94 6 10 10 2 10 204 0.88:1 0.57:1

Total 128 17 30 81 145 9 12 15 7 14 330

Caprine:Cattle Sheep:Goat

Caprine (total) Sheep Goat Indisting. cap Cattle Pig Equid Gazelle Deer Catfish Total

1.03:1 0.45:1

Temple N 258 35 78 145 251 20 29 24 24 15 621 40 3 5 4 4 2

% 42

Table 4: All Late Hellenistic / Early Roman fauna

2.55:1 0.76:1

Non-Temple N % 224 57 42 55 127 88 22 5 1 11 3 32 8 11 3 21 5 392

Faunal Analysis

1.42:1 0.58:1

Total N 482 77 133 272 339 25 40 56 35 36 1013 33 2 4 6 3 4

% 48

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120.00% % Age of Survival

100.00% 80.00% 60.00% 40.00% 20.00% 0.00% 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9 10 11 12

Age

120.00%

Percentage

100.00% 80.00% 60.00% 40.00% 20.00% 0.00% 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9 10 11

Age

Iron Age caprine survival graph. Et-Tel’s caprine survival graph (left), compared to Payne’s meat production model (right, adapted from Payne 1973, 282)

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References Arav, R.(1999), Bethsaida Excavations: Preliminary Report, 1994-1996, in R. Arav and R. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee (2), Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 3-114. —. (2004), Toward a Comprehensive History of Geshur, in R. Arav and R. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee (3), Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 1-49. Arav, R., and M. Bernett, eds., The bit hilani at Bethsaida: Its Place in Aramaean/Neo-Hittite and Israelite Palace Architecture in the Iron Age II, Israel Exploration Journal, 2000, 50, 47-81. Borowski, O. (1998), Every Living Thing: Daily Use of Animals in Ancient Israel, Walnut Creek, CA: Altamira Press. Broshi, M. The Diet of Palestine in the Roman Period-Introductory Notes, The Israel Museum Journal 1986, 5, 41-56. Crabtree, P. J. (1990), Zooarchaeology and Complex Societies: Some Uses of Faunal Analysis for the Study of Trade, Social Status, and Ethnicity, in M. Schiffer, ed., Archaeological Method and Theory (2), Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 155-205. Davies, R. W. (1989), Service in the Roman Army, New York: Columbia University Press. Davis, S. J. M. (1987), The Archaeology of Animals, New Haven: Yale University Press. Deniz, E., and S. Payne (1982), Eruption and Wear in B. Wilson, C. Grigson and S. Payne, eds., Mandibular Dentition as a Guide to Ageing Turkish Angora Goats, in Ageing and Sexing Bones from Archaeological Sites, British Archaeological Reports 109, 155-205. Driesch, A. von den (1976), A Guide to the Measurement of Animal Bones from Archaeological Sites, Peabody Museum Bulletin 1, Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Friedman, R. E. (1987), Who Wrote the Bible? Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall. Grant, A. (1982), The Use of Tooth Wear as a Guide to the Age of Domestic Ungulates, in B. Wilson, C. Grigson and S. Payne, eds., Ageing and Sexing of Animal Bones from Archaeological Sites, British Archaeological Reports British Series 109, Oxford, University Press, 91-108.

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Grantham, B. J. (1996), Sepphoris: Ethnic Complexity at an Ancient Galilean City, doctoral dissertation, Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois. Grayson, D. K. On the Methodology of Faunal Analysis, American Antiquity 38, 1973, 432-439. —. The Effects of Sample Size on Some Derived Measures in Vertebrate Faunal Analysis, Journal of Archaeological Science 8, 1981, 77-88. Greenfield, H. J. The Origins of Milk and Wool Production in the Old World: A Zooarchaeological Perspective from the Central Balkans, Current Anthropology 29(4), 1988, 573-587. Harris, M. (1985), Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture, New York: Simon and Schuster. Hellwing, S. (1984), Human Exploitation of Animal Resources, in Z. Herzog, ed., The Early Iron Age Strata at Tel Beer-sheba, Beer-sheba II: The Early Iron Age Settlements, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 105-115. Hellwing, S., and N. Feig (1989), Animal Bones, in Z. Herzog, G. Rapp, Jr., and O. Negbi, eds., Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 236-247. Hesse, B., Animal Use at Tel Miqne-Ekron in the Bronze Age and Iron Age. Bulletin of the America School of Oriental Research 264, 1986, 17-27. Hesse, B., Pig Lovers and Pig Haters: Patterns of Palestinian Pork Production. Journal of Ethnobiology 10(2), 1990, 195-225. Hesse, B. (1995), Animal Husbandry and the Human Diet, in the Ancient Near East, in J. Sasson, ed., Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, V.1, New York: Scribner Press, 203-223. Hesse, B.(1996), The Hajar ar-Rayhani Fauna: A First Look at Yemen’s Iron Age Pastoral Economy, in J. D. Seger, Retrieving the Past, Essays on Archaeological Research and Methodology in Honor of Gus Van Beek, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns,103-122. Hesse, B., and P. Wapnish (1985), Animal Bone Archaeology: From Objective to Analysis. Manuals on Archaeology 5, Washington, D.C.: Taraxacum. Hesse, B., and P. Wapnish (1997), Can Pig Remains Be Used for Ethnic Diagnosis in the Ancient Near East?, in N. A. Silberman and D. Small, eds., The Archaeology of Israel Constructing the Past, Interpreting the Present, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 237, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 238-270.

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Horwitz, L. Faunal Remains from the Iron Age Site on Mount Ebal, Tel Aviv – Journal of the Tel Aviv University Institute of Archaeology 1314(2), 1986-87, 173-188. James, S. R., Methodological Issues Concerning Screen Size Recovery Rates and Their Effects on Archaeofaunal Interpretations, Journal of Archaeological Science 24(5),1997, 385-398. Johnson, E. (1989), Human Modified Bones from Early Southern Plains Sites, in R. Bonnichsen and M. H. Sorg, eds., Bone Modification, Orono: University of Maine Center for the Study of the First Americans, 431-471. Lernau, H. (1975), Animal Remains, in Investigations at Lachish: The Sanctuary and the Residency (Lachish V), Tel Aviv: Gateway Publishers, 86-103. Lernau, H., and O. Lernau (1992), Fish Remains, in A. De Groot and D. T. Ariel, eds., Excavations at the City of David 1978-1985, Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 31-148. Marshall, F., Implications in Bone Modification in a Neolithic Faunal Assemblage for the Study of Early Hominid Butchery and Subsistence Practices, Journal of Human Evolution 15, 1986, 661-672. Marshall, F., and T. Pilgram, NISP vs. MNI Quantification of Body-part Presentation, American Antiquity 58(2), 1993, 261-269. Mazar, A. (1992), Temples of the Middle and Late Bronze Ages and the Iron Age, in A. Kempinski and R. Reich, eds., The Architecture of Ancient Israel from the Prehistoric to the Persian Period, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society,161-201. Nun, M., Cast Your Net upon the Waters, Biblical Archaeology Review 19(6), 1993, 46-56,70. O’Connor, T. P., A Critical Overview of Archaeological Animal Bone Studies, World Archaeology 28(1), 1996, 5-19. Payne, S., Kill-off Patterns in Sheep and Goats: The Mandibles from Asvan Kale, Anatolian Studies 23, 1973, 281-303. —. (1975), Partial Recovery and Sample Bias: The Results of Some Sieving Experiments, in Archaeozoological Studies, Amsterdam and New York: North Holland Publishing Company/American Elsevier, 717. Redding, R. W. (1981), Decision Making in Subsistence Herding of Sheep and Goats in the Middle East, doctoral dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. —. (1984), Theoretical Determinates of a Herder’s Decisions: Modeling Variation in the Sheep/Goat Ratio, in J. Clutton-Brock and C. Grigson, eds., Animals and Archaeology: 3. Early Herders and Their Flocks,

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British Archaeological Reports International Series 202, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 223- 240. —. (1991), The Role of the Pig in the Subsistence System of Ancient Egypt: A Parable on the Potential of Faunal Data, in P. J. Crabtree and K. Ryan, eds., MASCA Research Papers in Science and Archaeology, Supplement, Vol. 8, Philadelphia: MASCA, University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 21-30. Rosen, B., Subsistence Economy in Stratum II, in I. Finkelstein, ed., Izbet Sartah: An Early Iron Age Site near Rosh Ha’ayin, British Archaeological Reports International Series 299, 1986, 156-185. Seger, J. D., B. Baum, O. Borowski, D. P. Cole, H. Forshey, E. Futato, P. F. Jacobs, M. Laustrup, P. O’Connor Seger and M. Zeder, The Bronze Age Settlements at Tel Halif: Phase II Excavations, 1983-1987, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Supplements 26, 1990, 1-32. Shipman, P., G. Foster and M. Shoeninger, Burnt Bones and Teeth: an Experimental Study of Color, Morphology, Crystal Structure and Shrinkage, Journal of Archaeological Science 11, 1984, 307-325. Silver, I. A. (1969), The Ageing of Domestic Animals, in D. Brothwell, E. Higgs, G. Clarke, eds., Science in Archaeology, New York: Basic Books, 250-274.. Slayton, J. C. (1992), Bashan, in D. N. Freedman, ed., Anchor Bible Dictionary 1, New York: Doubleday, 623-624. Stiner, M. C. (1994), Honor among Thieves: A Zooarchaeological Study of Neanderthal Ecology, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Stiner, M., S. L. Kuhn, S. L. Weiner, and O. Bar-Yoseph, Differential Burning, Recrystallization, and Fragmentation of Archaeological Bone, Journal of Archaeological Science 18, 1995, 35-72. Strickert, F. (2004), The Dying Grain which Bears Much Fruit: John 12:24, The Livia Cult, and Bethsaida, in R. Arav and R. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee (3), Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 149-182. Wapnish, P., and B. Hesse (1988), The Contribution and Organization of Pastoral Systems, in L. S. LaBianca and D. C. Hopkins, eds., Early Israelite Agriculture: Reviews of David C. Hopkins’ Book The Highlands of Canaan, Berrien Springs: Andrews University, 29-47. Wapnish, P., and B. Hesse, Faunal Remains from Tel Dan: Perspectives on Animal Production at a Village, Urban and Ritual Center, Archeozoologia 4(2), 1991, 9-85.

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Wapnish, P., B. Hesse and A. Ogilvy, The 1974 Collection of Faunal Remains from Tell Dan, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 227, 1977, 35-62. Wattenmaker, P. (1986), The Organization of Production and Consumption in a Complex Society: A Study of a Village Site in Southeast Turkey, MASCA Research Papers in Science and Archaeology, Supplement, Vol. 4, Philadelphia: MASCA, University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 191-203. Zeder, M. A. (1986), Urbanism and Animal Exploitation in Southwest Highland Iran 3400-1500 BCE, Vols. I and II, doctoral dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. —. Understanding Urban Process through the Study of Specialized Subsistence Economy in the Near East, Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 7, 1988, 1-55.

CHAPTER SIX MYSTERIES OF THE MIDDLE BRONZE AGE AT GEZER: STORIES YET TO BE TOLD JOE D. SEGER

The Opening Scene is dramatic. One watches as a strong man pushing a wheelbarrow up the hill approaches and spills its load down the slope. Then with dramatic music accompaniment the title, The Big Dig, fills the screen (Britannica 1987). Thus begins the motion picture production that chronicles the work of the Hebrew Union College/Harvard University team excavating the site of the biblical city of Gezer in Israel during its 1971-73 seasons (The Big Dig: Britannica 1987). Two years later, our honoree Dr. John T. Greene, as a University of Detroit student, participated at Gezer in his first year of archaeological field work. He was one of a team working in Field IV at the site, digging with Hebrew Union College excavation crews to reinvestigate the important “Southern Gate Complex” of the Middle Bronze Age, a prominent feature already partially documented by the work of R. A. S. Macalister between 1902-1907 (Gezer I-III, PEF). (It pains me to quip that John never did seem to get “out of the gate” as an archaeologist. That is exactly where I found him a decade ago at Bethsaida, namely, excavating the massive tenth century gateway there. See Greene 2009; 2010.) Now, 40 plus years later the definitive report on the Hebrew Union College Field IV excavation work at Gezer has been published in Gezer VII: The Middle Bronze and Later Fortifications in Fields II, IV, and VIII (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013). The Southern Gate in Field IV included a sixteen-meter-long passageway flanked by three matched sets of large stone orthostats (see fig. 1, Gezer VII [HUC]: photo III.7). Behind each of these rose massive 8x16-meter gate towers of mud brick construction. These were bonded to narrower, 3-meter-wide fortification walls. To the west, this narrower structure (Wall 13004) connected with

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the stone foundations of a massive tower (Tower 5017) measuring 15.5meters-wide and an estimated 29-meters-long (see fig. 2, Gezer VII [HUC]: photo III.17). Across the front of these western features lay a glacis apron of white huwwar chalk which formed a 2-meter-wide platform beyond which it dropped away down slope at a 45 degree pitch (fig. 3, Gezer VII [HUC]: photo III.12). Inside, within the area framed by Tower 5017, connecting Wall 13004, and the Western Gate Tower were remains of an intramural complex of domestic structures. These were buried under destruction debris and the collapsed brick superstructure of the connecting wall, a clear witness to the horrific end of the final phase MB city ca.1520 BCE. Some 7 meters out slope from these MB defenses its plaster glacis was truncated by the addition in the Late Bronze age, of another large fortification wall, namely, Macalister’s “Outer Wall” (see figs. 2 and 3), a structure which he traced for almost a full mile virtually all around the site. This wall was also reinvestigated at points (in Fields I, II, IV and VIII) during the last years of HUC work (Phase II 1972-1974).

Figure 1: Overview of the Southern Gate in Field IV at Gezer. View north through the passageway from the outer entrance. (Gezer VII [HUC]; photo III.7).

As noted, some of the site’s Middle Bronze age features had already been recognized by Macalister, but much new data was provided by the HUC work. Significant among these was the recognition of a major mistake by Macalister. This involved his failure to correctly observe the narrow 3-meter-wide Wall 13004 running between Tower 5017 and the Western Tower of the Southern Gate. Macalister had plotted this connecting

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Figure 2: Overview of the West Gate Tower, Connecting Wall, and Glacis in Field IV at Gezer. View looking west (Gezer VII [HUC]; photo III.17).

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Figure 3: Overview of Structures in Field IV at Gezer. View looking west (Gezer VII [HUC]; photo III.12).

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structure at almost 15 meters wide (see Gezer III [PEF]: pl. II). His workers had traced its northern, internal boundary along the edge of the fall of brick debris from the wall’s collapse and he assumed that this represented the inner perimeter of the wall itself. As such he missed finding the intramural architecture and rich occupation deposits lying within the city below the collapsed brick (see fig 3, also see Gezer VII [HUC]:17-26 and fig. II.1). As noted above, the materials retrieved from these deposits now firmly establish the terminal date of Southern Gate Complex and related Inner Wall structures to the late 16th century BCE. However, while we find satisfaction in these positive results, we are, nonetheless, reminded that archaeological research is always open-ended. As major discoveries are made, new questions are raised. As the dirt reveals its truth, it also poses additional lines of inquiry, alerting excavators to new opportunities for investigation and discovery. The excavations of the Southern Gate Complex in Field IV at Gezer are no exception and they likewise offer classic examples of such remaining mysteries. Perhaps the most intriguing of these involves the nature and function of the massive MB gateway and of the gate towers themselves. Even after the Macalister and HUC investigations, important questions remain. Among these are: 1. Were these massive towers of solid brick? Or were there room areas or stair wells within? 2. Did these towers support second story rooms? Or were there parapets on their roofs? 3. What function did the pairs of orthostats serve? Were the towers connected by arches? 4. What mechanisms served to close the gateway? Were there multiple doors along the entry path or closures at the outer and inner entryways? 5. How were the gate’s outer approaches defended?

a. Internal Tower Chambers? As first cleared by Macalister, and throughout the more recent period since being exposed again by the HUC team, the gate towers have been thought to be solid brick constructions (Cf. Gregori 1986:85, Burke 2008:68). But for various reasons this conclusion remains suspect. Not only are a number of contemporary MB gate structures (e.g., at Shechem, Hazor, Yavne Yam, and Beth-Shemesh, see Gregori 1986:68) built with open chambers

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flanking their passageways, but examination especially of the West Tower provides hints that internal chambers also may exist at Gezer. First among these hints is the presence of stone work beneath and behind the south and western flanks of the tower in Areas 16 and 17. Macalister had already reported that the towers were built of “rude rubble masonry faced with a more-or-less thick shell of brickwork” (Macalister 1904:206) and the HUC excavations also observed stone wall lines emerging within the mudbrick remains (see figs 1 and 2). While these stone structures might just be elements of the gate tower’s foundations, they could also be walls of internal cells or rooms.

Figure 4: Section Drawing of the Northwest Flank of the West Gate Tower at Gezer (Gezer VII [HUC]; fig. III.32).

Second, and more demonstrative, is the presence of an apparent doorway through the northwestern flank of the western tower’s brickwork in Area 6. This opening is well illustrated in the East Section drawing of Area 6 (fig. 4, Gezer VII [HUC]: fig. III.32). Here the pattern of the brickwork is interrupted by a more than 2-meter-wide deposit of loose bricky debris, below which a stone threshold can also be seen. A wide entrance into an internal gate chamber along this intramural flank would make good architectural and strategic sense.

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b. Second Story Structures? Already in his early PEF reports Macalister noted evidence of unevenness and pitting in the brick remains atop the gate towers. He first speculated that these might represent pits for grain storage by later period occupants, but added “examination of the bricks show that they form part of the original design” (Macalister 1904:206). However, in his final report he returns to his original thesis concluding “The pits were . . . excavated in the brickwork, which formed the floor of the superposed houses to make receptacles for grain” (Gezer I [PEF]:243). Moreover, Macalister neither reports finding any grain, much less any grinding implements nor related storage vessels to support these speculations. So his hesitance to hold to his original view seems odd, namely, that these surface convolutions are reflections of the post destruction collapse and settling of the gate’s upper brickwork. Also to be noted is the fact that the brickwork of these gate towers was thoroughly fired during the MB city’s final destruction, a phenomenon that assuredly helped to preserve the towers as they remain today standing to a commanding height of over 4 meters. Yet while clear evidence of in situ bricks can be seen framing the outer flanks of the tower structures, similar brickwork patterns were not observed across their tops. This further supports speculation that otherwise open chambers filled with collapsed debris from the towers’ upper superstructures lie below. Whether such superstructures formed upper rooms, or simply enclosed defensive parapets is of course uncertain. However contemporary iconography (e.g., pictures of second millennium fortifications such as at Bahun in Egypt, see Yadin 1963:161) makes it seem that at least the latter is quite likely. Finally, while the gate towers themselves are preserved standing some 4 meters above the path between them, their remnant brickwork rises less than 1 meter above the stone foundations of the east (L. 10005) and west (13004) connecting walls. From the almost 12-meter spread of collapsed brick found inside of Wall 13004, its superstructure must have originally stood at least another 4 or more meters high. Assuming that the upper reaches of the gate structures would have matched, or likely risen above, such an elevation, the argument for upper chambers in the gate towers gains even further credence.

c. The Flanking Orthostats? The function of the three pairs of opposing orthostats that flank the Southern Gate passageway also remains unclear. The presence of such

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large stone slabs in MB gate structures is not unique; orthostats of similar dimensions are present, for example, in both the Northwest and East Gates at Shechem (Shechem III, Vol. 1:108-110 and 136-37, figs. 129-130; Vol. 2 figs. III.6-7, 14-19). Moreover, the tripartite arrangement of the stones also simulates the three-entryway, or “six-pier” pattern common in midsecond millennium BCE gate architecture (Burke 2008:68). However the parallel alignment of the slabs along the sides of the gate at Gezer is idiosyncratic. One explanation for this was initially hinted at already by Macalister. In his 1907 report (Gezer I [PEF]: 243) he noted that the brickwork above them “gives the effect of a slight corbelling”, a fact that could still be observed when the passageway was exposed again in 1971 by HUC work. Add to this the more recent exposures of still fully arched MB gateways at both Dan and Ashkelon (see Biran 1994:75-90; Voss 2002: Burke 2008: 237-43) and the idea that the orthostats served as springer supports for a similar type of arched brick ceiling over the gate passageway at Gezer gains credibility (also see Gregori 1996:92). This in turn also provides further support for the proposition that room structures or parapets were present atop the towers flanking the elevated archway.

d. Gate Closures? On the other hand, no evidence was observed, either by Macalister or during our HUC investigations, to suggest the presence of doors or other means by which the gate passage could be closed off between the orthostats. This contrasts with the lateral arrangement of double sets of opposing orthostats at Shechem between which sliding doors could pass or be dropped down to block the passageway (see Shechem III, Vol 2: fig. III.14). Nor were there door sockets or other demonstrative evidence of closing mechanisms atop the gate’s inner and outer thresholds. However, these thresholds did elevate the path through the gate, raising it some 50 centimeters, providing a step up into the passageway at the outer entrance and a step down into the city proper at its inner terminus. This suggests the possible existence of a set of opposing doors set in pivots outside and below these inner and outer thresholds, Such doors, when closed, could have butted against the respective curbs. Alternately the curbs could have provided “bumpers” for a portcullis, namely, a wooden barrier of timbers, that could be dropped down to provide closures, as Macalister had first suggested (Gezer I [PEF]: 242).

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e. Gate Approach Defenses? Because Outer Wall construction cut across the path of the Southern Gate entryway, exposure of the outer approaches to the MB gateway both by Macalister and by the HUC team, was limited to a 7-meter-wide area in the forecourt of the gate entrance. HUC efforts concentrated on the western flank of this section where Macalister had plotted a chalk faced berm running in front of the West Tower (see fig. 5; Gezer I [PEF] fig. 125; also Gezer VII [HUC] fig III.6). He imagined that a path ran behind this berm along the face of the West Tower providing a protected access around to the glacis platform, and/or a place of concealment flanking the entrance path. However, HUC reinvestigation now suggests that erstwhile separation creating a “path” was artificial, likely formed by trenching operations along and around the brickwork of the tower by Macalister’s workers. It now seems clear that the chalk of the “berm” originally ran up to and against the towers brick flanks. As such it was simply an extension of the main glacis system extending east to a point where it sloped laterally down to the path along the approach to the gate (see fig. 2, Gezer VII [HUC]: photo III.17). It would thus have served as a buttress for the gate tower and a platform for defense overlooking the gate’s forecourt area. HUC efforts did not manage to re-expose features along the front of the East Tower. However, excavations in Area 10 on its southeastern flank did identify evidence of the continuation of a plastered glacis running along the face of connecting Wall 10005 to the east. Moreover, Macalister’s Sketch Plan of Southern Gate Elements (fig. 5) shows a configuration of stone “steps” ascending east from the gate path along the face of the East Tower’s brickwork. While he thought these to belong to a “stairway” leading up from the path along the tower, parallels provided from cobbled revetments flanking the MB gate at Dan (Biran 1994:76-77, Figs. 44-45, and Pl. 6) now render an alternative understanding, namely, that they are part of a cobbled step structure forming the slope of the glacis defense system running to the east. Supporting this are comparisons of Macalister’s Sections AB and CD (fig. 5) which indicated that these “steps” reach elevations similar to the top levels of his erstwhile “berm” west of the pathway. We can accordingly reconstruct the gate’s forecourt as something of a “sunken path” flanked on the west and east respectively by plaster and stone slopes, each ascending at 40 to 45 degree angles and reaching glacis platforms at more than 3 meters above the gate’s forecourt area. These accordingly would have provided a zone of defensive containment at the gate’s entrance.

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Figure 5: Macalister’s Sketch Plan of Southern Gate elements at Gezer (Gezer I [PEF] fig. 125; (Gezer VII [HUC]; fig. III.6).

The above observations make it clear that despite the two major periods of investigation at Gezer’s Southern Gate complex, many details regarding its architecture and function remain uncertain. For some of these a full resolution probably can never be made, but for others additional excavation work could conceivably serve to settle the questions. Herein resides the archaeologist’s dilemma. When should excavation work stop? Given the premise with which we began, namely, that in its normal course, excavation work routinely raises new questions. It is virtually

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inevitable that digging will cease at an arbitrary point, with unanswered questions remaining. The stoppage of excavation work at arbitrary points was certainly true for both Macalister’s and HUC’s Gezer projects. That said, if there is any moral in this recitation it is that, even though resources and opportunity may still be available, digging should stop when the data accumulated is sufficient to satisfy the project’s initial research design and while resources and time are still available to fulfill publication responsibilities. Historically many excavators have been guilty in regard to this latter point of “digging beyond their time”, namely, not surviving to fully complete their publication work. In this regard, whatever other criticism might be made of Macalister, his very prompt publication of results provides an example to be emulated. Now, after forty years HUC’s work in Field IV, due to the largess of its institutional supporters and the happy longevity of its excavation staff, has also finally caught up. But counting on such circumstances is not an advisable plan of action. Through the twentieth century excavations at Gezer were among the most extensive of those at any site in the region. Many details of its long history of occupation have been revealed. Nonetheless many questions remain, and this is how it must be. Today, as this essay goes to press, archaeologists of another generation are again active at the site revealing more of its mysteries and raising new questions of their own.

References by abbreviations Gezer I–III (PEF): The Excavation of Gezer I–III, R. A. S. Macalister, London: PEF, 1912. Gezer VII (HUC): Gezer VII; The Middle Bronze and Later Fortifications in Fields II, IV, and VIII, Joe D. Seger,Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013. Shechem III: Shechem III; The Stratigraphy and Architecture of Shechem/Tell Balâtah, Vol. I: Text. E. F. Campbell; Vol II: Illustrations G.R. H. Wright, Boston: ASOR, 2002. The Big Dig: Video: Encyclopedia Britannica Educational Corporation, 1987.

References by authors Biran, Avraham (1994), Biblical Dan, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Burke, Aaron. A. (2008), “Walled up to Heaven:” Evolution of Middle Bronze Age Fortification Strategies in the Levant, Harvard Semitic Series, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

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Greene, John. T. (2009), Iron Age Tzer: Preliminary Studies Toward a History of the Religion of the Geshurites Who Resided There, in Papers On Values and Interrelations Between Europe and the Near East in Antiquity. Acta Universitatis Lodziensis Folia Archaeologica 26 Lodz: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Lodzkiego, 47-90. —. Who Destroyed Level 5 at Bethsaida?: Aramean Angst, Assyrian Anger, or Israelite Insecurity?: The Problem of Correlating Evidence and the Relative Association of Elements of Material Culture, Nelson Quarterly Journal. Vol.1 Issue 2, March, 2010, 167-183. Gregori, B., "Three-Entrance" City-Gates of the Middle Bronze Age in Syria and Palestine, Levant 18, 1986, 83–102. Macalister, R. A. S., Eighth Quarterly Report on the Excavation of Gezer, Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly Statement, 1904, 194–226. Voss, R. J. (2002), A Sequence of Four Middle Bronze Age Gates in Ashkelon, in M. Bietak and H. Hunger, eds., The Middle Bronze Age in the Levant: Proceedings on a Conference on MiddleBronze IIA Ceramic Material, Vienna, 24th to 26th January, 2001, Contributions to the Chronology of the Eastern Mediterranean 3. Vienna: Verlag der ėsterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften Yadin, Yigal (1963), The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands, Vol. 1, New York: McGraw-Hill.

CHAPTER SEVEN REVISED LIST OF LIMESTONE VESSELS FOUND ON ET-TELL (BETHSAIDA) FROM 1987–2012 HEINZ-WOLFGANG KUHN

The main purpose of this chapter is to present the evidence for limestone vessels on et-Tell (Bethsaida) in as full and reliable a way as possible.1 Their number is small in comparison with those found at Gamala (258 identified fragments of stone vessels).2 Gamala also lies in the Gaulanitis and existed in the Early Roman period only to 67 CE. From Bethsaida, I list 20 fragments which certainly belong to different vessels. There are reasons that the limestone vessels existed in greater numbers on et-Tell (Bethsaida), as Savage (2011, pp. 95, 129–30 n. 50) showed (there is indication of mining and many finds of lumps which could not be identified during the excavation or later). Since the present author wants to be sure that the objects he lists belong to the category he is looking for, this list includes only those fragments which he saw himself (most of them: nos. 1–12, 16, 18–20 in the following list) or saw at least in a photo or drawing. As far as I can judge, the majority of the limestone vessels found on et-Tell (Bethsaida) is included in the following list, of course 1

The original list can be found in Kuhn (2010b, pp. 182–3). This chapter will appear also in my forthcoming “Collected Essays” as “Nachtrag B (2012/2013)” at “Aufsatz/Essay 13b” (see the “References” at the end of this chapter). I thank the leading excavator of et-Tell (Bethsaida), Prof. Dr. Rami Arav, for much help in getting all the material needed and for allowing me to publish the fragments in plates 1–4. I also thank Dr. Carl Savage for making available material, giving information and the permission to publish the picture in plate 3 no. 15. My archaeological assistant, Dr. Stephanie Keim, and my theological and Jewish studies assistant, Astrid Stacklies, M.A., were of great help in research and preparation of the final manuscript. I further thank the archaeologist Dr. Christoph Rummel for checking my original English manuscript (the author is responsible for the final wording). 2 Magness (2011, p. 72) citing Berlin (2006, p. 19); cf. also Magness, p. 62 n. 1.

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only in as far as fragments can be recognized as belonging to identified vessels. There are several important specialized publications about limestone vessels. First, I call attention to the two monographs by Magen (2002, enlarged and rev. ed. of the Hebrew version of 1988)3 and Deines (1993)4. Many more studies of special interest appeared before and since then. In the following listing I mention, from the nineties on, in most cases only special studies (otherwise the page numbers are referred to): Cahill (1992)5; Magen (1994); Amit et al. (2000, vicinity of Jerusalem); Eshel (2000, esp. Qumran); Magen (2000, esp. Jerusalem); Reed (2000, esp. pp. 49–51 on Sepphoris, Tiberias, Yodfat, Reina near Nazareth, Capernaum, and Gamala); Gibson (2003, appendices in the article on Hizma in the vicinity of Jerusalem and on Gamala); Miller (2003, esp. Talmudic sources); Reed (2003)6; Reich (2003, esp. Jerusalem); Berlin (2005, pp. 429–34 for functional groups); Berlin (2006, pp. 19–20, 62 n. 1, esp. Gamala); Geva (2006, esp. Jerusalem); Sidi (2006, En Gedi); Aviam (2007, map of stone vessels for Galilee and the Gaulanitis on p. 119); Reich (2007, Masada); Sidi (2007, esp. En Gedi); Reed (2009); Amit and Adler (2010, esp. after 70 CE); Deines (2010); Kuhn (2010b, pp. 182–5 Bethsaida); Leibner (2010, pp. 271–4); Miller (2010); Instone-Brewer (2011, pp. 1695–9, esp. on m. Kelim 10:1); Magness (2011, pp. 70–74, 223–6 nn. 110–38); Savage (2011, pp. 91–99 Bethsaida); Aviam (2012, pp. 31, 34); Deines (2012); and Zangenberg (2013). It is not often that such a broad scholarly consensus exists on major issues (in this case regarding the limestone resp. chalk vessels),7 i.e., their chronology, their distribution, and their role as ethnic markers. Concerning chronology there is agreement in dating the vessels in the Early Roman/Herodian period (the same is true with the so-called Herodian oil lamps8).9 Concerning distribution there is enough evidence especially for 3 Magen’s monograph centres on Hizma and the Jerusalem Temple Mount (for “chalk vessel distribution” in “Galilee and Golan,” see p. 167). 4 Deines combines his study with a special interest in Pharisaic piety. 5 Concerning finds of chalk vessels in the Persian/Hellenistic period, see also Kuhn (2008, p. 172). 6 See also Reed’s review (1996) of Deines (1993). 7 For “limestone” resp. “chalk” vessels, see Kuhn (2011, p. 2995); see also Deines (2010, p. 135a). 8 See Kuhn (2010b, pp. 179–81). 9 Concerning “stone-vessel usage in the north,” Amit and Adler (2010) speak of “a handful of stone vessels dating to the Mishnaic and Talmudic periods,” e.g., at Sepphoris (p. 142). In a “Distribution map of chalk vessels postdating the Second

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Jerusalem and Masada, but also for Galilee and the Gaulanitis. The Jewish background regarding the use of these vessels is certain. This consensus is, of course, very helpful for understanding et-Tell (Bethsaida) in the time of Jesus (see esp. for Jesus’ activity there Luke 10:13 par. Matt 11:21).10 I cannot go into archaeological detail here.11 Regarding the limestone vessels let me mention only a few studies of the last years: (1) Roland Deines (2010, pp. 134–7), Professor of New Testament at the University of Nottingham, working also in the field of history and archaeology of the Second Temple period; see his German book on “Jüdische Steingefäße” of 1993. Chronology: At the latest from the beginning of the Herods (contra Cahill) to the Bar Kokhba war (p. 135a–b); no further use of the vessels as consequence of the destruction of the temple (p. 137c). Distribution: The vessels were first better known for Masada and Jerusalem (p. 134); very many finds from and around Jerusalem and in Galilee (p. 135c), but almost none from Samaria and none from the rest of the Mediterranean world (p. 135c). Two great workshops in Jerusalem and workshops in other places (p. 135a). Ethnic marker: “Indikator für jüdische Bewohnerschaft” (p. 134c; also pp. 135b–7); cf. b. Šabb. 58a (p. 136b); originally Pharisaic influence (p. 137b–c).12 (2) Jodi Magness (2011, pp. 70–74, 223–6 + figs. 14–15 after p. 96), well-known archaeologist and Professor of Early Judaism at the University of North Carolina. Chronology: In Gamala most of the “258 diagnostic fragments of stone vessels” belong to the first century CE (p. 72). Distribution: “ubiquity of stone vessels at settlements in Judea and Galilee ... absence from sites inhabited by the Yahwistic population of Samaria” (p. 70). Mentioned is especially Jerusalem, also Galilee, Gamala, and among others Qumran (pp. 70–73 with nn. on pp. 223–5). Regarding workshops see page 223 note 112. Jewish revolt” they mention eight places in the Galilee (no places mentioned in the Golan) (p. 139, fig. 9). 10 See Kuhn (2011, pp. 2979–87, 3007–8 figs. 3–4). 11 For some further information on chalk vessels from the Persian/Hellenistic periods, see Kuhn (2010b, pp. 184–5 n. 46; 2011, p. 2996). 12 Among others Birenboim (2012, pp. 62–65) rejects Deines’ thesis of Pharisaic influence in the case of stone vessels. Differently, e.g., Hengel and Schwemer (2007, p. 157: “Durchsetzung pharisäischer Reinheitspraktiken”).

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Ethnic marker: “surely reflects the observance of purity laws among broad sectors of the Jewish population” (p. 74), but “it is not clear whether a few stone vessels,” e.g., those found “on the border with Nabataea,” also “attest to Jewish purity observance or even Jewish presence” (ibid.). (3) Mordechai Aviam (2012, pp. 31, 34), director of the Institute for Galilean Archaeology, Israel; see also his map of “Distribution of Stone Vessels” in the Galilee and the Gaulanitis in Aviam (2007, p. 119). Chronology: Cf. the title of his article of 2012 (“... von Simon Makkabäus bis zu Flavius Josephus”). Distribution: Galilee (p. 31b); Jotapa, Gamala, and Sepphoris are mentioned (p. 34a); workshops at Bethlehem and Reina near Nazareth, and a discovery some years ago also near Nazareth. Ethnic marker: “sehr wahrscheinlich ein weiterer Hinweis auf religiöse Praktiken galiläischer Juden”; “keine dieser Formen besitzt direkte Parallelen im regionalen Repertoire an Gebrauchskeramik, was die rituelle Funktion dieser Gefäße nahelegt” (p. 34a).13 There were two methods of production, which are also found on et-Tell (Bethsaida): hand-carved vessels and lathe-turned vessels.14 In general, not especially on et-Tell (Bethsaida), several functional groups can be distinguished: according to Berlin (2005), there are especially “four functional groups” (p. 430; see the photos on p. 432 for groups 1, 2 and 4), roughly identifiable as: jars, mugs, vessels for group service (e.g., large bowls), and small dishes.15 Berlin believes it plausible that the first two categories are connected with purification rituals while the other two are not (p. 431). As a rule the generally small fragments on et-Tell (Bethsaida) are not very helpful for a reliable determination of the form of the vessel, even when examining them in the original. The function and size, especially of two handled vessels16 (nos. 7 and 15), suggests rather clearly that these two were used as mugs; for numbers 7 and 15 see similar photos: for number 7 in Cahill (1992, p. 267, no. 193; determined more precisely on p. 13

But see Berlin (2005, p. 431): “in some cases identical bowls and dishes existed in other media” (e.g., pottery). 14 Reed (2003, pp. 388–9) speaks also of mixed ways of production. 15 Magness (2011, p. 71) cites Berlin (2005, pp. 430–1) for that. Cf. also especially the detailed but different typology, according to the two ways of production, in Magen (2002, pp. 63–64). 16 Hand-carved: “... handles, which could not possibly have been added to a latheturned vessel” (Sidi, 2007, p. 545b).

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191a as a type of “bowls with loop handles”), for number 15 see Magen (2002, p. 100, fig. 3.62) or Cahill (1992, p. 267, no. 189). Number 18 (no. 18a looking on the inside) seems to be the fragment of a dish (for the rather thick base of such a bowl see the photo in Magen, 2002, p. 24, fig. 2.7 above on the left). Number 9: the bottom fragment may be part of a small jar. Figure 5 may show a lid or a stopper (see the following list, note f). For decoration grooves at the rim in number 6, see the photo in Geva (2006, p. 232, pl. 9.2.1) and for the rim with ledge in number 11 the photo in Deines (1993, fig. 3b after p. 60). John 2:6, in the story of the marriage at Cana,17 speaks of “six stone water jars for Jewish purification rites,” which are very large, holding each almost 80–120 litres. This fits with a wealthy house, a wedding with servants (vv. 5, 9) and a headwaiter (vv. 8–9). It also fits with the archaeological evidence “that the large chalk vessels at Jewish sites are associated with wealth” (Reed, 2003, p. 393) and are more frequent in urban sites like Sepphoris (p. 395) than elsewhere. For Galilean “vessels turned on a large lathe,” Reed (2003, p. 390) mentions a “barrel-shaped variety measuring 60 to 80 cm in height and 35 to 45 cm in diameter,” which means even more volume. Nevertheless, the gospel story may exaggerate and the reference to contemporary stone vessels does not prove any historical background for this story. According to Jewish ritual purification, I leave open the question of which purpose it was for which such large stone water vessels could have been used.18 Of all small finds from et-Tell (Bethsaida) the limestone vessel fragments are the most important for New Testament scholarship, more so than coins and even fragments of oil lamps. Not only the chronology and the distribution, but also the ethnic character are rather clear (when oil 17

I mention from the secondary literature only Reed (2003) and Deines (1993, esp. pp. 24–38, 263–77). 18 On this there is great uncertainty. I cite only Deines (1993), Reed (2003) and Reich (2003). The first discusses the problem in detail and interprets the vessels of John 2:6 with the purpose of hand washing in connection with meals (pp. 266–75). For Reed, whose article focusses on John 2:1–10, it is at least clear that the type of “vessels turned on a large lathe” is “the kind envisioned in John 2” (p. 387). He emphasizes the “wealth of the wedding” (p. 400) as typical for this gospel in contrast to the synoptic gospels (pp. 400–401). Without mentioning John 2, Reich refers to “large stone vessels” found in Jerusalem. This type was, according to Reed, first identified as the Mishnaic “kalal” by Magen in the eighties. Reed states: “The horizontal traces of weathering, which are present on the inner side of most of the vessels ... support the view that these containers held water.” A possibility for him is that “they contained ordinary water, drawn from the cistern and kept in the house for domestic use” (p. 267a).

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lamps are taken into account, the fragments of lamps must show their typical Herodian character, and it is necessary to prove that the clay came from Judea). But limestone vessels, when found in a smaller number, can only prove a certain Jewish population. The Jewish element at Bethsaida is in accordance with those disciples of Jesus who came from there and were certainly Jews (Philip and Andrew with his brother Simon-Peter). On the other hand, the small number of limestone vessels on et-Tell fits very well with the presence of a certain pagan population, too. One has to think of the settlers which Philip probably brought to Bethsaida (see Josephus, Ant. 18.28),19 the new name of the place as “Julias” (Josephus, ibid.), and the probability of a small pagan temple.20 The ongoing excavations and the accounts of ancient texts help us to get a relatively consistent picture of Bethsaida in religious and social matters around the time of Jesus, not least because of the unsightly fragments of limestone vessels.

19

See for that Kuhn (2010a, p. 9) and the Postscript in his Collected Essays to the cited page. 20 See Kuhn (2008, pp. 162–8) and the Postscripts in his Collected Essays to the cited pages, and also Kuhn (2011, pp. 2988–94) with the corresponding Postscripts.

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List of Fragments of Limestone Vessels Found on et-Tell (Bethsaida)21 from 1987–2012 No.

Date Found

Area, (Square), Locus, (Basket), and Description

Photo or Drawing (below in this article) and References to Arav (2003–12)22, Fortner (2008)23, Savage (2011)24 and Database (2001–11)25

1.

1994 (June 6)

C, sq. I 31, l. 940, b. 9306. – Lathe-turned, rim shard with a deepening on the rim (possibly for a lid)

Plates, no. 1, a and b: rim above; drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.1; side-inverted? – Fortner, p. 309 (no. 1526); Savage, pp. 94, 98 table 4.6.1

2.

1994 (Aug. 30)

C, sq. H 26, l. 967, b. 9647. – Rim shard

Plates, no. 2

21 Only those fragments of which I know a photo or drawing are listed here with a number (the plates follow this list). Most photos were taken by the author (see the exceptions concerning a photo under nos. 13, 14 and 17; only a drawing I found for no. 15). In the note under no. 15 I also mention a limestone vessel of et-Tell of which I know no photo or drawing. A photo or drawing in the non-published Bethsaida Excavations Database (from 2001 onwards) is only referred to in cases where I do not have an own photo or do not know of a published photo (see no. 14) or a published drawing. All fragments in this list belong to different vessels. Savage (2011, pp. 95, 129–30 nn. 50–51) mentions several more fragments for 1987–1999, 2005 and 2007 in addition to his table 4.6 on pp. 98–99, but without giving data; see further idem, p. 95 with pp. 129–30 n. 50. For “A West” (instead of an exact square) in this list, see Kuhn (forthcoming, Nachtrag at Aufsatz/Essay 13a referring to p. 2 n. 2 at the end). 22 Arav, Bethsaida Field Reports, on the Internet since 2003 (cited below as “Field Report” + year). 23 Fortner (2008, p. 81 n. 516) states she deals only in a short way with the limestone vessels, because Savage will do this in detail later (see now Savage, 2011, pp. 91–96). 24 Savage (2011); the same figure of drawings of limestone vessels by DreAnna Hadash in Savage (2011, p. 97 fig. 4.14) is found also in Arav (2011, p. 95 fig. 6). 25 The unpublished Bethsaida Excavations Database is cited below as “Database” + year (in the References see also at “Database”).

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3.

1994

C, sq. G 27/H 28, l. 961, b. 9649. – Body shard

Plates, no. 3

4.

1997 (June 26)

A, sq. G 54, l. 255, b. 7049. – Hand-carved, base shard

Plates, no. 4; drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.5. – Fortner, p. 310 no. 1529; Savage, pp. 94– 95, p. 98 table 4.6.5; probably not b. 7048

5.

1998 (May 5)

A, sq. N 54/55, l. 240, b. 3951. – Much corroded, possibly with part of a knob26

Plates, no. 5

6.

1998 (June 11)

A, sq. N 55, l. 254, b. 4015. – Lathe-turned, consisting of four fragments, partly of the rim (with two grooves) and a further body shard

Plates, no. 6; photo also Kuhn (2010b, p. 201 pl. 2b right); drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.3. – Fortner, pp. 81–82 and p. 309 no. 1527; Savage, p. 94 and pp. 129–30 nn. 46 and 50, p. 98 table 4.6.3

7.

1998 (June 11)

A, sq. N 55, l. 254. – Hand-carved, fragment of a handle

Plates, no. 7; drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.10. – Savage, p. 99 table 4.6.10; p. 130 n. 51

8.

2000 (May 29)

C, sq. C 27, l. 550, b. 2026. – Hand-carved, foot

Plates, no. 8

9.

2000 (May 29)

A, sq. H 56, l. 403, b. 5685. – Hand-carved, large fragment of base and body

Plates, no. 9, a: base with inner wall, b: body with bottom above; photos also Kuhn (2008, p. 171 fig. 12 left) and idem (2010b, p. 201 pl. 2b left); drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.4. – Fortner, pp. 82 and 310 no. 1528; Savage, pp. 92–93, p. 98 table 4.6.4

26

Cf. Magen (2002, pls. 9 and 10; 1994, pp. 17–18*, 13 middle).

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10.

2000 (June 1)

A, sq. I 54, l. 405, b. 5716. – Hand-carved (?)27, body shard

Plates, no. 10; drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.7. – Savage, pp. 93, 99 table 4.6.7

11.

2000 (July 5)

A, sq. H 56, l. 423, b. 5966. – Lathed-turned, rim with grooves and edge

Plates, no. 11; photo also Kuhn (2008, p. 171 fig. 12 right); drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.2. – Fortner, p. 309 no. 1525; Savage, pp. 93, 98 table 4.6.2

12.

2004 (June 11)

A, sq. O 55, l. 1539, b. 16012. – Hand-carved, body shard

Plates, no. 12; photo also Arav, Field Report (2004, p. 6); drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.9. – Savage, p. 99 table 4.6.9

13.

2005 (July 7)

A, l. 2001, b. 18015. – Hand-carved, body shard

Plates, no. 13 = Database 2005; drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.8. – Savage, p. 99 table 4.6.8

14.

2005 (July 7)

A, surface find, b. 18016. – Hand-carved, body shard

Plates, no. 14 = Database 200528; drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.6. – Savage, p. 98 table 4.6.6

15.

2007 (June 20)29

A West, l. 2039, b. 18330. – Hand-carved, fragment of a rectangular handle

Plates, no. 15 = drawing: Savage, p. 97 fig. 4.14.11. – Savage, p. 99 table 4.6.11

27 Savage (2011, p. 93) analyses the shard as probably lathe-turned, but on table p. 99 (no. 7) as hand-carved (“chiseled”). 28 The Database 2005 mentions for July 7, 2005, and for the same basket 18016 a second “limestone vessel,” which may also be a fragment and part of the same vessel; there is only a picture of one fragment in the Database. 29 In the Database 2007 one more “limestone vessel” is mentioned of which I do not know a photo or drawing: 2007 (June 29), A West, l. 2024, b. 18222.

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16.

2009 (June 4)

A West, l. 2084, b. 21613. – Rim shard with connected body shard

Plates, no. 16; photo also Arav, Field Report (2009, p. 25, collective photo: large shard in the centre)

17.

2009 (June 18)

A West, l. 2166, b. 22708. – Body shard

Plates, no. 17 = Arav, Field Report (2009, p. 43, collective photo: second row, right)

18.

2011 (June 23)

A, sq. P 47, l. 1813, b. 18830. – Rim shard

Plates, no. 18, a: interior, b: cross section. From Savage I received about the same two photos with a cross section drawing by DreAnna Hadash

19.

2012 (June 11)

A West, l. 2230, b. 23503. – Body shard

Plates, no. 19

20.

2012 (June 19)

A West, l. 2252, b. 22570. – Lathe-turned, rim shard

Plates, no. 20

Post Script: In 2013 small fragments of two limestone vessels were found (I took photos of them): (1) June 18, A South, sq. J 60, l. 1180, b. 11375; body shard. A further very small fragment may belong to this vessel. (2) June 19, T, as sq. B 69 assumed, l. 4007, b. 31119; rim shard.

References Amit, D., Seligman, J., and I. Zilberbod (2000), Stone Vessel Workshops of the Second Temple Period East of Jerusalem, in H. Geva, ed., Ancient Jerusalem Revealed, reprinted and expanded edition, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 353–8. Amit, D., and Y. Adler (2010), The Observance of Ritual Purity after 70 C.E.: A Reevaluation of the Evidence in Light of Recent Archaeological Discoveries, in Z. Weiss, O. Irshai, J. Magness, and S. Schwartz, eds., “Follow the Wise”: Studies in Jewish History and Culture in Honor of Lee I. Levine, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 121–43.

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Arav, R. Bethsaida Biblical Archaeology: Field Reports (for 2003–2012), University of Nebraska at Omaha, retrieved May 21, 2013, from http://world.unomaha.edu/bethsaida/reports.php —. (2011), Bethsaida – A Response to Steven Notley, Near Eastern Archaeology, 74, 92–100. Aviam, M. (2007), Distribution Maps of Archaeological Data from the Galilee: An Attempt to Establish Zones Indicative of Ethnicity and Religious Affiliation, in J. Zangenberg, H. W. Attridge, and D. B. Martin, eds., Religion, Ethnicity, and Identity in Ancient Galilee: A Region in Transition, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 115–32. —. (2012), Zwischen Meer und See – Geschichte und Kultur Galiläas von Simon Makkabäus bis zu Flavius Josephus, in J. K. Zangenberg and J. Schröter, eds., Bauern, Fischer und Propheten – Galiläa zur Zeit Jesu, Darmstadt: Philipp von Zabern, 13–40. Berlin, A. M. (2005), Jewish Life Before the Revolt: The Archaeological Evidence, Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period, 36, 417–70. —. (2006), Gamla I: The Pottery of the Second Temple Period, The Shmarya Gutman Excavations, 1976–1989, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Birenboim, H. (2012), “A Kingdom of Priests”: Did the Pharisees Try to Live like Priests? in D. R. Schwartz and Z. Weiss, eds., Was 70 CE a Watershed in Jewish History? On Jews and Judaism Before and After the Destruction of the Second Temple, Leiden: Brill, 59–68. Cahill, J. M. (1992), Chalk Vessel Assemblages of the Persian/Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods, in A. de Groot and D. T. Ariel, eds., Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985: Directed by Yigal Shiloh, Vol. 3: Stratigraphical, Environmental, and Other Reports, Qedem 33, Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 190–274. Database (2001–11), Bethsaida Area Report (or similar title), unpublished database. Deines, R. (1993), Jüdische Steingefäße und pharisäische Frömmigkeit: Ein archäologisch-historischer Beitrag zum Verständnis von Joh 2,6 und der jüdischen Reinheitshalacha zur Zeit Jesu, Tübingen: Mohr. —. (2010), Jüdische Steingefäße aus der Zeit von Herodes bis Bar Kochba, in J. Schefzyk and W. Zwickel, eds., Judäa und Jerusalem: Leben in römischer Zeit, Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 134–7. —. (2012), Alltनgliche Reinheit: Jüdische Gefनße aus Kalkstein, Welt und Umwelt der Bibel, 16, 66-67. Eshel, H. (2000), CD 12:15–17 and the Stone Vessels Found at Qumran, in J. M. Baumgarten, E. G. Chazon, and A. Pinnick, eds., The

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Damascus Document: A Centennial of Discovery, Proceedings of the Third International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 4–8 February, 1998, Leiden: Brill, 45–52. Fortner, S. A. (2008), Die Keramik und Kleinfunde von Bethsaida-Iulias am See Genezareth, Israel, electronically published doctoral dissertation, retrieved March 17, 2008, from http://edoc.ub.uni-muenchen.de/8200/1/Fortner_Sandra.pdf Geva, H. (2006), Stone Artifacts, in H. Geva, ed., Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem: Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, Vol. 3: Area E and Other Studies, Final Report, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society – Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 218–38. Gibson, S. (2003), Stone Vessels of the Early Roman Period from Jerusalem and Palestine: A Reassessment, in G. Claudio Bottini, L. Di Segni, and L. D. Chrupcaáa (eds.), One Land – Many Cultures: Archaeological Studies in Honour of Stanislao Loffreda OFM, Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing, 287–308. Hengel, M., and A. M. Schwemer (2007), Jesus und das Judentum, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Instone-Brewer, D. (2011), Rabbinic Writings in New Testament Research, in T. Holmén and St. E. Porter, eds., Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, Vol. 2: The Study of Jesus, Leiden: Brill, 1687– 1721. Kuhn, H.-W. (2008), Wo wirkte Jesus in der Gaulanitis? Archäologische und historische Feststellungen zur Gleichsetzung von Betsaida/Julias mit et-Tell in frührömischer Zeit, in C. Claußen and J. Frey, eds., Jesus und die Archäologie Galiläas, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener (Essay unchanged in the second edition of the book in 2009), 149–83. Forthcoming also in Kuhn, Collected Essays. —. (2010a), Betsaida und et-Tell in frührömischer Zeit: Historische, archäologische und philologische Probleme einer als Wirkungsstätte Jesu angenommenen Ortslage, Teil I, Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche, 101, 1–32 (including 4 plates). doi:10.1515/ZNTW.2010.001. Forthcoming also in Kuhn, Collected Essays. —. (2010b), Betsaida und et-Tell in frührömischer Zeit: Historische, archäologische und philologische Probleme einer als Wirkungsstätte Jesu angenommenen Ortslage, Teil II, Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche, 101, 174–203

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(including 4 plates). doi:10.1515/ZNTW.2010.012. Forthcoming also in Kuhn, Collected Essays. —. (2011), Did Jesus Stay at Bethsaida? Arguments from Ancient Texts and Archaeology for Bethsaida and et-Tell, in T. Holmén and S. E. Porter, eds., Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, Vol. 4: Individual Studies, Leiden: Brill, 2973–3021 (including 18 plates). Forthcoming also in Kuhn, Collected Essays. —. (forthcoming). Betsaida/Bethsaida – Julias (et-Tell): Die ersten 25 Jahre der Ausgrabung (1987–2011): Gesammelte Aufsätze aus neutestamentlicher Sicht (mit Nachträgen bis 2013) und die Münchner Gesamtpläne/The First Twenty-five Years of Excavation (1987–2011): Collected Essays from a New Testament Point of View (with Postscripts until 2013) and the Munich General Plans, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. Leibner, U. (2010), Arts and Crafts, Manufacture and Production, in C. Hezser, ed., The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 264–96. Magen, Y. (1994), The Stone Vessel Industry During the Second Temple Period, in ‘Purity Broke Out in Israel’ (Tractate Shabbat, 13b): Stone Vessels in the Late Second Temple Period, University of Haifa Catalogue No. 9, Haifa: The Reuben and Edith Hecht Museum – University of Haifa, 7*–27* English, 7–27 Hebrew, in each case a different picture on pages 6* and 6. —. (2000), Jerusalem as a Center of the Stone Vessel Industry During the Second Temple Period, in H. Geva, ed., Ancient Jerusalem Revealed, reprinted and expanded edition. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 244–56. —. (2002), The Stone Vessel Industry in the Second Temple Period: Excavations at ‫ۉ‬izma and the Jerusalem Temple Mount, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, enlarged and revised edition of the Hebrew version, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1988. Magness, J. (2011), Stone and Dung, Oil and Spit: Jewish Daily Life in the Time of Jesus, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Miller, S. S. (2003), Some Observations on Stone Vessel Finds and Ritual Purity in Light of Talmudic Sources, in S. Alkier and J. Zangenberg, eds., Zeichen aus Text und Stein: Studien auf dem Weg zu einer Archäologie des Neuen Testaments, Tübingen: A. Francke, 402–19. —. (2010), Stepped Pools, Stone Vessels, and Other Identity Markers of “Complex Common Judaism,” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period, 41, 214–43.

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Reed, J. L. (1996), Review of the Book Jüdische Steingefäße und pharisäische Frömmigkeit: Ein archäologisch-historischer Beitrag zum Verständnis von Joh 2,6 und der jüdischen Reinheitshalacha zur Zeit Jesu, by R. Deines, Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period, 27, 78–81. —. (2000), Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus: A Re-examination of the Evidence, Harrisburg: Trinity International Press. —. (2003), Stone Vessels and Gospel Texts: Purity and Socio-economics in John 2, in S. Alkier and J. Zangenberg, eds., Zeichen aus Text und Stein: Studien auf dem Weg zu einer Archäologie des Neuen Testaments, Tübingen: A. Francke, 381–401. —. (2009), Chalkstone Vessels, in E. M. Meyers and C. L. Meyers, eds., Excavations at Ancient Nabratein: Synagogue and Environs, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 296–305. Reich, R. (2003), Stone Vessels, Weights and Architectural Fragments, in H. Geva, ed., Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem: Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, Vol. 2: The Finds From Areas A, W and X-2, Final Report, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society – Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 263–91. —. (2007), Stone Mugs from Masada, in J. Aviram, G. Foerster, E. Netzer, and G. D. Stiebel, eds., Masada VIII: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society – Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 195–206. Savage, C. E. (2011), Biblical Bethsaida: An Archaeological Study of the First Century, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Sidi, N. (2006), Stone Utensils from Ein Gedi, in Y. Hischfeld, ed., Ein Gedi: “A Very Large Village of Jews,” University of Haifa Catalogue No. 25, Haifa: The Reuben and Edith Hecht Museum – University of Haifa, 45*–47* English, 57–61 Hebrew. —. (2007), Stone Utensils, in Y. Hirschfeld, ed., En-Gedi Excavations II: Final Report (1996–2002), Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society – Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 544–73. Zangenberg, J. K. (2013), Pure Stone: Archaeological Evidence for Jewish Purity Practices in Late Second Temple Judaism (Miqwa’ot and Stone Vessels), in C. Frevel and C. Nihan, eds, Purity and the Forming of Religious Traditions in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Ancient Judaism, Leiden: Brill, 537–72.

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CHAPTER EIGHT MORE THAN JUST COUCH CHANGE: BETHSAIDA COIN REPORT 2001–2012 GREGORY C. JENKS

Introduction What follows reflects a sabbatical project in Israel during the first part of 2013. It began almost by accident when I took an interest in a particular coin found during the 2011 season (Jenks 2013). My study of that coin was well-received by colleagues in the Consortium for the Bethsaida Excavations Project (CBEP). They encouraged me to undertake further study on the growing set of coins from Bethsaida, and I have been happy to make that one of my primary research interests. My initial interest in the coins was inspired by—and subsequently nurtured and encouraged by—Dr Peter Lewis. Peter is a retired medical practitioner with a long-standing interest in numismatics. When an image of the coin (IAA 138130) was briefly displayed during a research seminar at St. Francis Theological College in Brisbane, Peter immediately recognized it as an adventus coin. His comments began a process that culminated in my study of that particular coin, and more recently my sabbatical project in the coin department of Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA). This project has only been possible due to the generous hospitality and assistance extended by Dr Donald Ariel, head of the coin department within IAA. Donald has welcomed me into the small team that constitutes the coin department, and made available to me the detailed IAA records on each of the coins, as well as providing access to the extensive set of reference works in his office. His patience with this numismatic novice has been deeply appreciated.



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The Problem When undertaking my initial study of the Alexander Severus adventus coin, I quickly discovered that the records relating to the coins recovered from the Bethsaida excavations since 1987 are incomplete and inaccurate. This limits their usefulness for researchers seeking to work with the finds from Bethsaida. The reasons for this state of affairs are varied, but include the following factors: x Inconsistent and incomplete recording of data in field logs at the time of discovery. x Data entry to computer records by different volunteers few of whom had any training or prior knowledge. x Migration of the database across successive software versions. x Separate records being maintained by CBEP researchers with a particular interest in the coins. x Change of personnel serving as numismatist for the project (Ariel Kindler, Cecilia Meier, Donald Ariel). x Delays in publication of coins and/or publication of detailed written descriptions. x Gaps and discrepancies in the published reports, including the successive annual field reports.

The Project The principal objectives of my sabbatical project were: 1. Prepare for planned migration to a new database to be released by IAA for use on all sites in Israel. 2. Prepare a single spreadsheet including all the coins found to date, and with complete and accurate information about each coin. 3. Structure the data in ways that facilitate both simple and complex searches. 4. Prepare a report on the coins from the seasons in the period 2001 to 2012, as these had not previously been published. 5. Develop new protocols for the recording of coins found in the 2013 and subsequent seasons, to ensure complete and accurate records.



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Migration to the standardized IAA database This objective remains in view, but has not been actively pursued due to delays in the release of the standard database by IAA. Until the exact requirements of the new system are known it has seemed wise to limit this project to the preparation of a “clean” data file with consistent, complete and accurate details on each coin. As part of this process, we are reviewing the existing Bethsaida database to see how best it can serve in the interim. This task is incomplete, but work will continue over the next twelve months.

The Consolidated Spreadsheet As all coins recovered from licensed digs are deposited with IAA, the updated spreadsheet is based on a report generated from the main IAA database. When available, the IAA reference number serves as a key identifier although modern coins are not assigned such a number as they do not qualify as “antiquities.” In all cases, the basket number from the excavation records serves as the unique identifier of each coin. High-resolution digital images will be an important element of the future database. Only a small percentage of coins recovered from any site are photographed by IAA, and in the earlier seasons at Bethsaida few coins were photographed in the field. This has now changed, with photographs of all coins before and after cleaning. The updated spreadsheet indicates whether a coin has been photographed and, if known, the relevant IAA photograph number.

Research Tool The present format in an Excel spreadsheet allows us to structure the data in ways that facilitate simple searches, while allowing advanced users to exploit the software to create more complex searches. The following are examples of information that is easily recovered from the present form of the spreadsheet: Total number of coins Coins from a specific season Coins from a specific Area or Locus Coins by material (gold, silver, bronze) Coins by denomination Coins by mint



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Coins by ruler Coins by date Coins by size Coins by weight Coins by axis The current form of the report already includes references to publications. As the coin database is developed further, we plan to include PDFs for all relevant citations, so that the database becomes a rich tool for researchers. In the meantime, the following examples provide an idea of the results already able to be generated with the current stage of the project: Total number of coins: Gold coins: Silver coins: Silver-plated bronze coins: Bronze coins: Copper coins: Brass coins: Unidentified coins:

523 (1987–2012) 2 70 3 429 3 2 14

The mints most represented among the coins from Bethsaida are: Tyre Jerusalem Antioch Alexandria Tiberias Ako-Ptolemais Damascus Rome Paneas

131 coins 43 coins 25 coins 24 coins 13 coins 12 coins 11 coins 9 coins 7 coins

Not all coins have yet been assigned a date, and significant numbers are from the medieval and modern period (34 Mamluk, 77 Ottoman). Even so, when the distribution by date of identified ancient coins is considered, the results are as follows: 5 BCE 4 BCE 3 BCE



3 coins 12 coins 54 coins

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2 BCE 1 BCE 1 CE 2 CE 3 CE 4 CE 5 CE 6 CE

120 coins 43 coins 25 coins 40 coins 27 coins 5 coins 0 coins 2 coins

In the case of those coins from Tyre where a date can be determined, the distribution by date suggests a significant increase in the second century BCE, followed by a dramatic reduction in the first century BCE: 5 BCE 4 BCE 3 BCE 2 BCE 1 BCE 1 CE 2 CE 3 CE 4 CE 5 CE 6 CE

2 (of 3 coins) 6 (of 12 coins) 14 (of 54 coins) 78 (of 120 coins) 3 (of 43 coins) 2 (of 25 coins) 9 (of 40 coins) 10 (of 27 coins) 0 (of 5 coins) no coins from this period at Bethsaida 0 (of 2 coins)

The occurrence of coins minted at Tyre can be contrasted with the information for the 35 Hasmonean and 14 Herodian coins found at Bethsaida: John Hyrcanus I (134–104 BCE) Alexander Jannaeus (103–76 BCE) Aristobulus II (66–63 BCE) Other Hasmonean coins Herod (37–4 BCE) Archelaus (4 BCE–6 CE) Herod Antipas (4 BCE–39 CE) Philip (4 BCE–34 CE)

5 13 1 16 6 1 2 5

The occurrence of coins from these selected mints can be correlated with other data from ceramics, stone vessels, glass, and other small finds. One immediate result is to confirm that there was a discernible change in the



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population at the site around 100 BCE. At that time, the Hasmonean rulers in Jerusalem were seeking to impose Jewish practices in the Galilee. This policy was revived and implemented with more success by Herod.

Report on the coins from the period 2001 to 2012 The detailed descriptions of the coins in this report have been prepared under the direction of Donald Ariel from the IAA coin department, and seek to capture the data recorded in the index cards at IAA. The report forms the larger part of this paper (see Appendix One). It supplements the earlier reports by Ariel Kindler and Cecilia Meier: Kindler 1999, “Coin Finds at Bethsaida Excavations.” Kindler 2009, “Bethsaida Numismatic Survey.” Meier 1995, “Appendix to Chapter 1.”

Field Protocols The final objective was to develop new protocols for the recording of coins found in the 2013 and subsequent seasons, to ensure complete and accurate records in the future. During the 2013 season a number of small changes to the field protocols were implemented, including: 1. A designated staff member serving as the coordinator of the coins during the season, with responsibility to receive the coins from Area supervisors and to complete the initial recording of the data in ways that meet the IAA requirements. 2. Area supervisors were briefed on the IAA requirements and the essential data needed for the Bethsaida database, including basket number, locus, grid, area and level. 3. A special tag is to be developed for small finds, including coins, to assist in the capture and recording of the key information. 4. Data entry for coins and other small finds in the Bethsaida database is best completed by staff at a time other than the general pottery reading sessions. 5. All coins to be photographed before cleaning as well as after cleaning. These are simple steps but the incremental changes are expected to result in a more complete capture of the critical information and a more accurate entry of that information into the project database.



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Appendix One: Coins from the 2001–2012 Seasons This appendix provides detailed descriptions for the 139 coins recovered at the Bethsaida excavations between 2001 and 2012. For descriptions of the 384 coins recovered in previous seasons, see the reports by Kindler (1999 and 2009) and Meier (1995). Future reports will include coins from subsequent seasons as well as revisions of the descriptions of the earlier coins. .

2012 2011 2010 2009 2008 2007

23 coins 16 coins 14 coins 10 coins 26 coins 11 coins

2006 2005 2004 2003 2002 2001

8 coins 13 coins 3 coins 10 coins (no coins) 5 coins

Notes: Letters in inscriptions with underscore indicate a letter that is not sufficiently clear for a confident reading and the proposal is conjectural to some extent. [] indicates text not visible but conjectural | indicates a line break on the coin — indicates a gap between letters Cf. indicates that the literature cited is not the same coin but a similar coin

2012 Season (23 coins) [01] 138727 | B11250 | L1149 | L59 | Area A South Autonomous, Tyre, Bronze, 98/97 BCE–84/85 CE Weight: 5.64 g Diameter: 19 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Tyche, r., wearing turreted crown, veil, and earring; behind, palmbranch; border of dots. Rev legend: ǿǼȇǹȈ [ǹȈȊȁȅȊ] Rev design: Galley, l., with prow terminating in volute, and aphlaston at stern; above, date, monogram; below, Phoen. inscr. (lamed tsade resh); border of dots. Literature: Cf. BMC Phoen: 255, No 252 [02] 138728 | B23481 | L2230 | F58 | Area A West Autonomous, Tyre, Bronze, 112/13 CE Weight: 6.10 g Diameter: 19 mm & 12 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Bust of Tyche, r., wearing turreted crown, veil, an earring; behind, palmbranch; border of dots. Rev legend: Ǿȁ௚ | ǿǼȇǹȈ |ȂǾȉ[ȇȅȆȅ] |ȁ[ǼWȈ]



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Galley, l., with prow terminating in volute, and aphlaston at stern; above, in four lines, date and inscr. (usually of the flan), Phoen. inscr. (lamed tsade resh); border of dots. BMC Phoen: 262–63, No 315–17

[03] 138729 | B23508 | L2230 | F58 | Area A West Mark Antony, Ako-Ptolemais, Bronze, 35/34 BCE Weight: 7.59g Diameter: 21 mm x 23 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Mark Antony, r., bareheaded, enclosed in laurel-wreath. Rev legend: ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹǿǼȍȃ – [ȉȅȊ Ȁ]ǹǿ [Cf. Kadman 1961: MºA IE / ǿǼȇǹ௚ǹ௚ȊȁȅȊ; RPC: in fields: ǿǼ and Lī; ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹǿǼȍȃ ȉȅȊ Ȁǹǿ (around); and Meshorer 1985: ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹǿǼȍȃ ǿǼȇ Ȁǹǿ ǹȈȊȁȅȊ ǿǼ (‘of the people of Ptolemais, holy and city of asylum’), in field date (‘year 3’ = 43 BCE). IM 78.3517 has no sign of iota (I) or epsilon (E) and the ambiguous third letter could be the base of either rho (P) or upsilon (Y). The kappa (K) is clearly visible in this example.] Rev design: Diademed bust of Cleopatra, r.; border of dots. Literature: Kadman 1961: 106–7, No 74; RPC I: 659, No 4742; Meshorer 1985: 110, No 1 (=Israel Museum 78.3517) [04] 138730 | B23479 | L2241 | G57 | Area A West Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 1.15 g Diameter: 13 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: ʯ[ … ] | ʺʥ[ … ] | ʶʤ[ …] Obv design: Paleo-Hebrew inscr. within wreath Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between [05] 138731 | B23480 | L2241 | G57 | Area A West Antoninus Pius, Rome, Silver, 145–161 CE Weight: 2.76 g Diameter: 18 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [A]NTONINVS AVG PI – VS PP [IMP II] Rev design: COS – II[II] Literature: Cf. CRE IV: 75, No 520 (or 111, No 766 or 123, No 841) [06] 138732 | B22533 | L2246| F58 | Area A West Caracalla, Tyre, Bronze, 198–217 CE Weight: 11.78 g Diameter: 26 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: IMP M AV[R A] - NTONINVS Obv design: Bust of Caracalla, r., undraped, laureate Rev legend: ACT[IA] Rev design: Agonistic table supporting two prize-crowns; on either side of it, a palmbranch; below, murex-shell; above, ACTIA; in ex., ERACLIA; around, SEPTVRVS METROCOLONIA Literature: BMC Phoen: 271, No 379



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[07] 138733 | B22558 | L2246 | F58 | Area A West Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 1.60 g Diameter: 13 mm Obv legend: [ … ] | ʬʣ[… ] | [ … ] ʩʡ [ … ] | [ … ] Obv design: Paleo-Hebrew inscr. within wreath [08] 138734 | B22525 | L2247 | F58 | Area A West Severus Alexander, Orthosia, Bronze, 221/222 CE Weight: 9.18 g Diameter: 24 mm Axis: 1 Obv design: Head of Severus Alexander, r., inscr. AVKMAV Rev legend: ȅȇĬȍ — [௚] — [Ǽ] — ȍȃ Rev design: Temple of Astarte with four columns, pediment, arch over central space, and doorways (with steps leading up to them) between columns on either side; in center, Astarte wearing kalathos and raising dress with l. hand, standing to front, her l. foot on half-figure of a river-god; she rests r. on standard, and is crowned by small Nike on column beside her; in ex., altar; around, from l. upwards inscr.; in ex., date (īȁ[Ĭ]). Literature: Cf. BMC Phoen: 127, ȃȠ 5 [09] 138735 | B22527 | L2247 | F58 | Area A West Autonomous, Tyre, Bronze, 108/109 CE Weight: 3.21 g Diameter: 14 mm x 16 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Bust of Tyche, r., wearing turreted crown, veil, an earring; (perhaps behind, palm-branch); border of dots. Rev legend: ȂǾ ȉ[ȇȅȆȅȁǼȍȈ] ǿǼȇǹȈ Rev design: Palm-tree with two bunches of fruit; across field, date (ǻȁ-Ȉ); around, from l. upwards, inscr.; border of dots. Literature: BMC Phoen: 265, No 340–42 [10] 138736 | B22564 | L2249 | F57 | Area A West Agrippa II, Paneas, Bronze, 82/83 CE Weight: 1.86 g Diameter: 13 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: Ǻǹ ǹīȇ on r. Obv design: Bust of Tyche, r., veiled; Rev design: One cornucopiae; across field: Ǽȉ ǻȁ (year 82/83 CE) Literature: TJC: 240, No 178 [11] 138737 | B22584 | L2251 | G57 | Area A West Philip I or II, Antioch (Syria), Bronze, 244/249 CE Weight: 15.14 g Diameter: 18 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: ǹVȉȅȀ Ȁ ȂǿȅVȁǿĭǿȁǿȆȆȅ௚ ௚ǼǺ Obv design: Head of Philip, l., wreathed; Rev legend: ǹȃȉǿȅȋǼȍ — ȂǾȉȇȅȀȅȁȍȁǿ



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across field: ǻ–Ǽ | S–௚ Rev: second letter N missing in our coin, but third letter N exists. Cf. BMC Syria: 215, No 530; Cf. Butcher 2004: 397, No 498 (no examples missing second N) NB: The BMC ref is mistaken?

[12] 138738 | B22599 | 2253 | G57 | Area A West Demetrius I, Tyre, Bronze, 153/152 BCE Weight: 2.46 g Diameter: 16 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Demetrius I, r., diadem ends falling straight behind, dotted border. Rev legend: ǺǹȈ[ǿ]ȁ[Ǽ]ȍȈ — [ǻǾȂ]ǾȉȇǿȅȊ Rev design: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ (curving) on r., ǻǾȂǾȉȇǿȅȊ (curving) on l., palm tree, dotted border; Ȅ–ȇ in field. Literature: SC II: 180, No 1676.4 [13] 138739 | B31013 | L4000 | B/C70 | Area T Not yet identified (Islamic), Bronze Weight: 5.71 g Diameter: 24 mm [14] 138740 | B31016 | L4000 | B/C70 | Area T Not yet identified (Islamic), Bronze Weight: 5.39 g Diameter: 23 mm [15] 138741 | B21886 | L5728 | A/B27 | Area C Ptolemy III, Tyre, Bronze, hole-centered, 246–222 BCE Weight: 3.93 g Diameter: 17 mm x 19 mm Axis: 12 Rev legend: ǺǹȈ[ǿȁǼȍȈ] - ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹǿȅȊ Rev design: In left field: club Literature: Lorber, forthcoming, No B466 [16] 138742 | B21877 | L 5731 | B/C27 | Area C Demetrius II, Tyre, Bronze, 144/143 BCE Weight: 2.11 g Diameter: 1 2 mm x 14 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Demetrius II, r., diadem ends falling straight behind, dotted border. Rev legend: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ — ǻǾȂǾȉȇǿȅȊ Rev design: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ (curving) on r., ǻǾȂǾȉȇǿȅȊ (curving) on l., palm tree, dotted border. In field: Ĭ–Ȅȇ. Literature: SC II: 304, No 1970.3



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[17] 138743 | B21882 | L5732 | A29 | Area C Ptolemy I, Alexandria, Bronze, 305/304 BCE–283/282 BCE Weight: 9.86 g Diameter: 25 mm Axis: 12 Rev legend: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍ[Ȉ] — [ȆȉȅȁǼ]ȂǹǿȅȊ [18] 138835 | B6753 | L1529 | H54 | Area A South Antioch (Syria), bronze Weight: 12.41 g Diameter: 33 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [ǹȊȉ]ȅȀ Ȁ ȂǿȅȊĭǿȁȁǿȆȅ௚ ௚ǼǺ Rev legend: ǹȃȉǿȅȋǼȍȃ - ȂǾȉȇȅȀȅȁȍ Rev design: Ram/deer jumping, r.; In fields: ǻ–Ǽ and S–C. Literature: Butcher, 2004: 397, No 498 [19] (no IAA #) | B11092 | T280 | Area A Set of 5 Ottoman coins [20] (no IAA #) | B22551 | L2246 | F58 | Area A West Unidentified coin [21] (no IAA #) | B23543 | L2249 | F57 | Area A West Modern, Silver [22] (no IAA #) | B22597 | L2249 | F57 | Area A West Modern, Silver [23] (no IAA #) | B22491 | L2241 | G57 | Area A West Unidentified coin

2011 Season (16 coins) [01] 138125 | B23425 | L2205 | E56 | Area A West Ptolemy III, Alexandria, Bronze, 220 BCE Weight: 4.10 g Diameter: 17 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Zeus Ammon, r. with diadem and floral ornament; dotted border. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ — ȆȉȅȁǼ]Ȃǹǿȅ[Ȋ] Rev design: Eagle, l. on thunderbolt, at shoulder cornucopiae; between legs, monogram 1; dotted border. Literature: SNG Ptol: Pl VII, 181 [02] 138126 | B23432 | L2205 | E56 | Area A West Ptolemy (?), Bronze, 323–31 BCE Weight: 15.14 g Diameter: 27 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Ptolemy (?), r. Rev design: Eagle, l.



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[03] 138127 | B23438 | L2205 | E56 | Area A West Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 1.75 g Diameter: 13 mm x 17 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [ … ] | [ … ] | [ …] Obv design: Paleo-Hebrew inscr. within wreath Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between [04] 138128 | B23444 | L2205 | E56 | Area A West Alexander Jannaeus (YNTN), Jerusalem, Bronze, 104–76 BCE Weight: 1.95 g Diameter: 15 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Traces of paleo-Hebrew inscription in wreath, over-struck on a previous coin depicting lily with half of the original inscription Rev design: Traces of double cornucopiae with a pomegranate between the horns, overstruck on previous coin depicting anchor surrounded by Greek inscription. Literature: TJC: 217, Group T (actually p 216) [05] 138129 | B23455 | L2205 | E56 | Area A West Roman Provincial, (Decapolis?), Bronze, 200–299 CE Weight: 11.60 g Diameter: 25 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [ … ] Obv design: Bust, r. Rev legend: […] Rev design: Bust, r. [06] 138130 | B23284 | L2222 | G55 | Area A West Severus Alexander, Ako-Ptolemais, Bronze, 222–235 CE Weight: 6.68 g Diameter: 21 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: [IMP CAE M AVR SEV ALEX]AN[DER AVG] Obv design: Bust of Severus Alexander, r., laureate, draped and cuirassed Rev legend: [COLO] PTOLE (Colonia Ptolemais) Rev design: Ǽmperor on horseback advancing l.; right hand raised; scepter in l. hand; cloak trails behind; caduceus below the horse’s raised foreleg. Literature: Jenks 2013. Kadman 1961: 130–31, No 191 (Cf. 192 for obv & rev legend: obv: Ditto, but emperor cuirassed with shield against shoulder; IMP CAE M AVR SEV ALEXANDER. rev: Ditto, but caduceus before foot of horse. Rev. type 51. [07] 138131 | B23367 | L2229 | G57 | Area A West Elagabalus, Tyre, Bronze, 218–222 CE (after suppression of colony) Weight: 16.18 g Diameter: 29 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: IMP CAES M AV AN — TONIN[VS AVG]



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Bust of Elagabalus, r., laureate, wearing paludamentum and cuirass; around, inscr. IMPCAESMAVAN TONINVSAVG TVR - I - O - RVM Astarte, wearing turreted crown, short chiton, and himation, standing to front, l. foot on prow; she places her r. on trophy, crowned by Nike; at her feet, on l. palm-tree, on r. murex-shell; around, inscr.: TV RI O RVM BMC Phoen: 275, No 396

[08] 138132 | B23388 | L2229 | F57 | Area A West Mamluk, Bronze [09] 138133 | B23400 | L2229 | F57 | Area A West Smoothed Roman Provincial coin with circular countermark, possibly 100–199 CE Weight: 24.0 g Diameter: 7.07 mm Obv legend: [ … ] Obv design: Bust, r. [10] 138134 | B23416 | L2229 | F57 | Area A West Severus Alexander (?), Tyre, Bronze, 222–235 CE Weight: 7.99 g Diameter: 27 mm Axis: 11 Obv design: Bust of Severus Alexander, r., bareheaded, wearing paludamentum and cuirass; inscr.: M•AV•ALEXAN D[ER]•CAES•SE Rev legend: SEPTV[RO - - -] Rev design: Astarte, wearing turreted crown, short chiton, and himation, standing to front, l. foot on prow; she places her r. on trophy, crowned by Nike; at her feet, on l. ‘Marsyas’ r., on r. murex-shell; inscr.: SEP TVR -- COL Literature: Cf. BMC Phoen: 279, No 419 [11] 138135 | B23440 | L2229 | F57 | Area A West Smoothed Roman Provincial coin with elliptical countermark, possibly 200–299 CE Weight: 13.99 g Diameter: 24 mm x 27 mm Obv design: Bust, r. Rev design: Blank [12] (no IAA #) | B23346 | L2208 Modern Syrian, 10 Piastres, 1948 CE [13] (no IAA #) | B23378 | L2230 | F56 | Area A West Coin-shaped ornament [14] (no IAA #) | B23415 | L2229 | F58 | Area A West Abd njl-HƗmƯd, silver, pierced [15] (no IAA #) | B23450 | L2205 | E56 | Area A West Abd njl-HƗmƯd , silver, 1774–1789 CE [16] (no IAA #) | B23439 | 2229 | F57 | Area A West Unidentified coin. Small bevelled bronze, Tyre (199–100 BCE) or Jerusalem (Hasmonean, 135–37 BCE)



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2010 Season (14 coins) [01] 137117 | B11029 | L1102 | G58 | Area A South Ottoman (not fully identified), Para, Silver, 1600–1699 CE Weight: 0.54 g Diameter: 14 mm x 16 mm Obv design: Tughra Rev design: Illegible [02] 137118 | B23022 | L2201 | F55 | Area A West Antoninus Pius, Rome, aureus, Gold, 138 CE (between 25 February and 10 July) Weight: 7.17 g Diameter: 20 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: IMP T AEL CAES ANTONINVS Obv design: Antoninus Pius, r.; draped bust, bare and bearded Rev legend: TRI POT COS DES II Rev design: Pietas, steps in front of an altar decorated with round small objects (flowers?); r. hand raised above the altar; holds a container of perfumes in her l. hand Literature: Arav & Savage 2011: 135 [03] 137119 | B23077 | L2206 | F56 | Area A West Herod, Jerusalem, Bronze, prutah, 37–4 BCE Weight: 1.60 g Diameter: 15 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: around: [ǾȇȍǻȅȊ Ǻǹ௚ǿȁǼ] Obv design: Anchor Rev design: Double cornucopiae with caduceus between horns; above, five pellets. No dots visible, but N visible. Literature: TJC: 222–23, No 59 [04] 137120 | B23271 | L2210 | F56 | Area A West Seleucid? (mint uncertain), Bronze, 199–63 BCE) Weight: 5.36 g Diameter: 20 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head, r. Rev design: Galley to l. (perhaps a figure standing on the galley and perhaps letters above) Literature: Lorber (6, 2012) concurs [05] 137121 | B23188 | L2213 | F55 | Area A West Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 2.00 g Diameter: 13 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [ … ] | [ … ] | [ …] Obv design: Paleo-Hebrew inscr. within wreath Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between



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[06] 137122 | B23272 | L2215 | G58 | Area A West Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 1.22 g Diameter: 14 mm x 16 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: [ … ] | [ʶ]ʢʤ ʯʡʫ | ʸʡʺʥ ʬ[ʥ] | ʷʸʦ Obv design: Paleo-Hebrew inscr. within wreath Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between [07] 137124 | B21811 | L5718 | E25 | Area C Demetrius II, Tyre, Bronze, 146/145 BCE Weight: 1.96 g Diameter: 13 mm Obv design: Brockage. Negative version of opp die visible. Rev legend: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ (curving) on r., [ǻǾȂǾȉȇǿȅȊ] (curving) on l. Rev design: Palm tree, dotted border. In field: [L]ǽȄ–ȇ Literature: SC 2: 304, No 1970.1 [08] (no IAA #) | B11011 | L1101 | I58 | Area A South Ottoman coin [09] (no IAA #) | B11062 | L1105 | G58 | Area A South Ottoman coin [10] (no IAA #) | B23124 | L2200 | G55 | Area A West Unidentified coin, Bronze [11] (no IAA #) | B23251 | L2217 | F55 | Area A West Modern coin, Unidentified, Bronze [12] (no IAA #) | (no basket) | Surface Find Mahmud II (Ottoman), Qustantiniyeh, Silver on Paralik noktasiz, 1833 CE [13] (no IAA #) | (no basket) | Surface Find Unidentified coin, Bronze [14] (no IAA #) | (no basket) | Surface Find Unidentified coin, Bronze

2009 Season (10 coins) [01] 104759 | B21619 | L2082 | C54 | Area A Herod Philip, Paneas, Bronze, 8/9 CE (or 15/16 CE) Weight: 4.60 g Diameter: 19 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: Ȁǹǿ௚ǹȇǿ ௚ǼǺǹȈȉȍ Obv design: Head of Augustus, r., laureate; Rev legend: inscription starting on l. turning outwards: ĭǿȁǿȆȆȅȊ ȉǼȉȇǹȇȋȅȊ Rev design: Facade of tetrastyle temple standing on platform (the Augusteum in Paneas), the columns with ionic capitals; in pediment, pellet; between columns, date: LIB (year 12 = 8/9 CE) Literature: Cf. TJC: 228, No 97



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[02] 104760 | B21021 | L2095 | P49 | Area A Roman Provincial, Ako-Ptolemais, Bronze, 1–199 CE Weight: 9.10 g Diameter: 25 mm Obv design: Head, r. [03] 104761 | B21658 | L2150 | D54 | Area A Claudius, Tiberias, Bronze, 53/54 CE Weight: 12.92 g Diameter: 23 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [ȀȁǹȊǻǿȅȊ — Ȁ]ǹǿ௚ǹȇȅ௚ Obv design: Palm branch; across field, date: Lǿī (year 13 = 53 CE) Rev legend: [ȉǿǺǼ] | [ȇǿ]ǹ௚ Rev design: Inscription in wreath Literature: TJC: 261, No 347 [04] 104762 | B21658 | L2150 | D54 | Area A Antipas, Tiberias, Bronze, 28/29 CE Weight: 10.58 g Diameter: 23 x 25 mm Obv legend: starting below, l.: ǾȇWǻ[ȅȊ — ȉǼȉȇǹ[ȇȋȅȊ Obv design: Palm branch; in the field, date: [L] ȁī (year 33 = 28/9 CE) Rev legend: ȉǿǺǼ | ȇ[ǿ]ǹ[௚] Rev design: Inscription in wreath Literature: TJC: 226, No 79 [05] 104763 | B21658 | L2150 | D54 | Area A Claudius, Tiberias, Bronze, 53/54 CE Weight: 11.62 g Diameter: 21 x 23 mm Obv legend: [ȀȁǹȊǻǿȅȊ — Ȁǹǿ௚ǹȇȅ௚] Obv design: Palm branch; across field, date: Lǿī (year 13 = 53 CE) Rev legend: [ȉǿǺǼ] | [ȇǿǹ௚] Rev design: Inscription in wreath Literature: TJC: 261, No 347 [06] 104764 | B21669 | L2150 | D54 | Area A Otacilia Severa, Damascus, Bronze, 244–249 CE Weight: 22.49 g Diameter: 30 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [MOTAC] SEVERA A[VG] Obv design: Bust of Otacilia Severa, r. Rev legend: [COL] DAM — AC METRO Rev design: Wolf, r., suckling Romulus and Remus; behind, vexillum inscribed: (line 1) LEGV, (line 2) IFRE Literature: BMC Syria: 286, No 25 [07] 104765 | B21657 | L2153 | E54 | Area A Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–299 CE Weight: 5.02 g Diameter: 21 x 23 mm



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[08] 104766 | B21686 | L2158 | D54 | Area A Antoninus Pius, Rome, Silver, 153/154 CE Weight: 3.43 g Diameter: 19 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: [AVRELIVS CAE]SAR AVG PII [F] Obv design: Head of Marcus Aurelius, bare, r. Rev legend: [TR POT / VIII / COS II] Rev design: Unclear. Appears to be Spes. Literature: Cf. CRE IV: 120, No 822 [09] 104767 | B22738 | L2178 | F54 | Area A Antiochus III, Ptolemais, Bronze, 198–187 BCE Weight: 1.82 g Diameter: 11 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Laureate head of Apollo, r., dotted border. Rev legend: [Ǻ]ǹȈǿȁǼ[ȍȈ /ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ] Rev design: Incomplete or blundered legend, Apollo standing l., testing arrow and resting hand on grounded bow. Literature: SC 1: 416, No 1096 [10] 137123 | B21725 | L5716 | E25 | Area C Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 154/153–144/43 BCE Weight: 2.21 g Diameter: 17 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Demetrius I, r., diadem ends falling straight behind, dotted border. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿ]ȁ[ǼȍȈ] (curving) on r., [ǻǾȂǾȉȇǿȅȊ] (curving) on l. Rev design: Palm tree, dotted border. In field: [?]Ȅ–ȇ. Literature: Cf. SC 2: 180, No 1676.4

2008 Season (26 coins) [01] 125043 | B18519 | L0001 Ptolemy III, Tyre, Bronze, 246–222 BCE Weight: 5.36 g Diameter: 20 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Zeus Ammon, r. with diadem and floral ornament; dotted border. Rev legend: ǺǹȈ[ǿȁǼȍȈ — ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹǿȅȊ] Rev design: Eagle l. on thunderbolt; in front (? l.), club; dotted border. Literature: SNG Ptolemies: Pl. XVII, 496; Lorber PC 1: B465 [02] 125044 | B16886 | L1583 | F26 | Area C Antiochus III, Uncertain mint 61 in southern Coele-Syria, Bronze, 222–187 BCE Weight: 4.22 g Diameter: 15 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Laureate head of Apollo, r., with short straight hair, dotted border.



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[ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ] on r., [ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ] on l. Horse trotting, dotted border. SC 1: 415, No 1094

[03] 125045 | B16856 | L1584 | F26 | Area C Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 399–200 BCE Weight: 1.63 g Diameter: 8 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Laureate head, r. of Antiochus III as Apollo Rev legend: [Ǻ]ǹȈǿȁǼ[ȍȈ - ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ] Rev design: Apollo standing l., testing arrow and resting l. hand on grounded bow Literature: Cf. SC 1: 401, No 1081 (seems to be 1051) [04] 125046 | B18253 | L2056 | C53 | Area A Antiochus V, Tyre, Bronze, 172–161 BCE Weight: 1.87 g Diameter: 9 mm Axis: 11 Obv design: Diademed head of Demetrius I, r., diadem ends falling straight behind, dotted border. Rev legend: [Ǻǹ]ȈǿȁǼ[ȍȈ] curving on r., [ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ] (curving) on l Rev design: Palm tree, dotted border. date (across field): N–P or LN–P (S.E. 150 = 163/2 BCE). Literature: Cf. SC 2: 136, No 1580 [05] 125047 | B18513 | L2052 | C53 | Area A Gordian III, Gadara, Bronze, 238–244 CE Weight: 11.75 g Diameter: 25 mm Axis: 10 Obv legend: ǹȊȉȅȀ ǜ Ȁ ǜ Ȃ ǹ [௚ ǹȃȉW īȅȇǻǿǹȃȅ௚] Obv design: Bust, r., laureate, wearing paludamentum and curaiss, shown from the rear. Rev legend: Above, in three lines: ȆȅȂȆ īǹǻǹȇǼ Wȃ; below, īȉ Rev design: Galley, with captain, row of oarsmen and steersman on deck, sailing r. Literature: Spijkerman 1978: 152–53, No 93 [06] 125048 | B18622 | L2061 | C53 | Area A Mahmud b. Zangi, Damascus, Bronze, AH 541–569 (1146–11774 CE) Weight: 5.39 g Diameter: 20 mm x 24 mm Obv design: (Arabic) Rev design: (Arabic) Literature: Cf. BMCO III: 212, No 602 (page and item # were reversed on the card) [07] 125049 | B18623 | L2061 | C53 | Area A Frederick Henry, Prince of Orange, Silver, 1627–1647 CE Weight: 8.26 g Diameter: 3 0 mm Axis: 3 Obv legend: FRED HENR • D • G • PRINAVR • COM • NASS Obv design: Bust nu et barbu a droite.



170 Rev legend: Rev design: Literature:

Chapter Eight SOLI • DEO • HONOR • ET • GLOR Ecusson couronné Cf. Poey D'Avant, II: 408, No 4605; H. J. Van der Wiel 1973: 74, No 63 probably p 112

[08] 125050 | B18564 | L2061 | C53 | Area A Autonomous, Gaba, (or Paneas, but not Sidon), Bronze, 100–199 CE Weight: 4.25 g Diameter: 15 mm Axis: 6 Obv design: Veiled head of Tyche, l. Rev design: Tetrastyle temple. Literature: Cf. BMC Phoen: cviii, Pl. XLII, No 16 (coin in Berlin); RPC 1: 654, No 4602. [09] 125051 | B18585 | L2065 | H55 | Area A Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–99 CE Weight: 8.29 g Diameter: 20 mm x 24 mm Obv design: Head, r. [10] 125052 | B18616 | L2067 | H54/55 | Area A Commodus, Tiberias, Bronze, 188/189 CE (?189/190 CE) Weight: 14.06 g Diameter: 25 mm Axis: 1 0 Obv legend: Around from l. below: [ǹYȉ Ȁ Ȃ ǹVȇ ȀȅȂȅǻȅV] Obv design: Bust of Commodus, r., bearded and laureate, wearing paludamentum and cuirass; border of dots. Rev legend: Around from l. below: [ȉǿǺ Ȁȁ ௚Ȋȇ Ȇǹǹ] Rev design: City-goddess (Tyche-Fortuna) wearing trurreted crown, long chiton and peplos, standing to l., r. hand resting on rudder, holding cornucopiae in l. hand; border of dots; across field, date: ET PO = year 170 (of the era of Tiberias = 188/89 CE). Literature: Kindler 1961: 61, No 14; Meshorer, Bijovsky & Fischer-Bossert 2013: 71, No 15 [11] 125053 | B18649 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Antiochus III, Tyre, Bronze, 199/198–189/188 BCE Weight: 6.82 g Diameter: 20 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Antiochus III, r., with mature to elderly features and baldness at temple, dotted border. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ] above [ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ] below Rev design: Stern of galley, r., dotted border. Literature: SC 1: 410, No 1078 [12] 125054 | B18659 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Seleucid, unknown mint, Bronze, 399–200 BCE Weight: 4.6 g Diameter: 20 mm



More Than Just Couch Change: Bethsaida Coin Report 2001–2012 Obv design: Rev design:

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Head, r. Illegible

[13] 125055 | B18667 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Alexander Jannaeus, Jerusalem, Bronze, 104–76 BCE Weight: 0.79 g Diameter: 8 mm Obv legend: [ǹȁǼȄǹȃǻȇȅȊ ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ] (of King Alexander) Obv design: Anchor, surrounded by inscription. Rev legend: Between rays of star, paleo Hebrew inscription: ʪʬʮʤʯʺʰʤʩ (Yehonatan the King) Rev design: Eight-pointed star in diadem. Literature: TJC: 209–10, Group K [14] 125056 | B18670 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 1.20 g Diameter: 8 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: [ … ] | [ … ] | ʺʥʬʥ | [ …] Obv design: Paleo-Hebrew inscr. within wreath Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between [15] 125057 | B18707 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 1.46 g Diameter: 9 mm Obv legend: [ … ] | [ … ] | [ …] Obv design: Paleo-Hebrew inscr. within wreath Rev legend: Illegible [16] 125058 | 18709 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Herod, Jerusalem, Bronze, 37–4 BCE Weight: 1.22 g Diameter: 8 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: around: [ǾȇȍǻȅȊ Ǻǹ௚ǿȁǼ] Obv design: Anchor Rev design: Double cornucopiae with caduceus between horns; above, five pellets. Literature: TJC: 222–23, No 59 [17] 125059 | B18710 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Alexander Jannaeus, Jerusalem, Bronze, 104–76 BCE Weight: 1.74 g Diameter: 8 mm x 10 mm Obv legend: [ǹȁǼȄǹȃǻȇȅȊ ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ] (of King Alexander) Obv design: Anchor, surrounded by inscription. Rev legend: Between rays of star, paleo Hebrew inscription: ʪʬʮʤʯʺʰʤʩ (Yehonatan the King) Rev design: Eight-pointed star in diadem. Literature: TJC: 209–10, Group K



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[18] 125060 | 18711 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Herod, Jerusalem, Bronze, 37–4 BCE Weight: 1.10 g Diameter: 7 mm x 9 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: around: [ǾȇȍǻȅȊ Ǻǹ௚ǿȁǼ] Obv design: Anchor. Rev design: Double cornucopiae with caduceus between horns; above, five pellets. Literature: TJC: 222–23, No 59 [19] 125061 | B18731 | L2069 | H54/55 | Area A Ptolemy II, Tyre, Bronze, hole centered, 283–246 BCE Weight: 68.8 g Diameter: 50 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Zeus Ammon, r. with diadem and floral ornament; dotted border. Rev legend: Ǻǹ[ȈǿȁǼȍȈ] — ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹ[ǿȅȊ] Rev design: Eagle, l. on thunderbolt; in front, club; dotted border. Literature: Lorber PC 1: B461; SNG Ptolemies Pl XVII, 493 (2009 updated to Ptolemy III – as per Lorber, forthcoming) [20] 125062 | B18697 | L2070 | G54 | Area A Domitian, Caesarea Maritima, Bronze, 81–96 CE Weight: 14.14 g Diameter: 25 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: IMP DOMI]TIANVS CAES AVG GERMAN[ICVS] Obv design: Head of Domitian, r., laureate. Rev design: Minerva standing on galley r., holding shield in l. and spear in r.; on l., tropy; on r., palm branch; between Minerva and prow of galley, small owl. Literature: TJC: 267, No 391 [21] 125063 | B18728 | L2070 | G54| Area A Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–299 CE Weight: 4.38 g Diameter: 20 mm [22] 125064 | B18683 | L2073 | C/D 53/54 | Area A Autonomous, Tyre, Bronze, 121/122 CE Weight: 3.76 g Diameter: 15 mm x 17 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Bust of Tyche, r., wearing turreted crown, veil and earrings; behind, palmbranch; border of dots, Rev legend: around, from l. upwards: ǿǼȇǹ — ȂǾ[ȉ]ȇȅȆȅȁǿ௚ Rev design: Palm-tree with two branches of fruit; across field, date; border of dots. In field: ZM–C. Literature: BMC Phoen: 266, No 346 [23] 125065 | B18682 | L2076 | C/D 53/54| Area A Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 222–126 BCE Weight: 1.98 g



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10 mm 12 Diademed head of Antiochus III, r., with mature to elderly features and baldness at temple, dotted border. [ǺǹȈǿȁǼ]ȍȈ - [ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ] around Palm tree, dotted border. Cf. SC 1: 411, No 1081

[24] 125066 | B18715 | L2070 | G54 | Area A Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–199 CE Weight: 12.18 g Diameter: 22 mm x 25 mm [25] no IAA # | Basket | L2068 | A/B52 | Area A Maria Theresia, Austria, Bronze, 1740–1780 CE [26] no IAA # | B18205 | L2024 | E54 | Area A Unidentified modern coin, Bronze

2007 Season (11 coins) [01] 115955 | B16167 | L1578 | B26/27| Area C Antiochus III, Tyre, Bronze, hole-centered, 222–187 BCE Weight: 8.22 g Diameter: 22 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Antiochus III, r., with mature to elderly features and baldness at temple, dotted border. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ] above, ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ below Rev design: Stern of galley, r., dotted border. Literature: SC 1: 410, No 1078 [02] 115956 | B17804 | L1760 | P51/52 | Area A Seleucid, Bronze, 299–100 BCE Weight: 2.46 g Diameter: 16 mm x 18 mm Rev design: In left field: L [03] 115959 | B18339 | L2025 | C/D 53/54 | Area A Alexander I Balas, Tyre, Bronze, hole-centered, 147/146 BCE Weight: 1.65 g Diameter: 13 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Alexander I, r., diadem ends falling straight behind, dotted border. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ] curving on r., [ǹȁǼȄ]ǹȃ[ǻȇȅȊ] curving on l., Rev design: Palm tree, dotted border. Date (across field): ȈȄ–[ȇ] (S.E. 164 = 149/8 BCE). Literature: SC 2: 242, No 1838.2



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[04] 115960 | B18445 | L2035 | I54 | Area A Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–199 CE Weight: 8.37 g Diameter: 23 mm x 25 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head, r. Rev design: Figure, r. [05] 115961 | B18453 | L2035 | I54 | Area A Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 166/165 BCE Weight: 5.76 g Diameter: 18 mm x 20 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Antiochus IV, r., star above diadem, one diadem end flying up behind (beneath date), the other falling forward over shoulder, stars at ends of diadem, dotted border. Date (behind head): ǻȂȇ (S.E. 144 = 169/8 BCE) Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ ȉȊȇǿȍȃ] Rev design: Above in three lines. Phoenican inscr. (of Tyre, mother [ie., metropolis] of the Sidonians); below, stern of galley, l., with railing, oar, and aphlaston, dotted border. Literature: Cf. SC 1: 410, No 1079 (as below, 115963); Cf. SC 2: 86, No 1463 (as here) [06] 115962 | B18367 | L2039 | D53/54 | Area A Alexander the Great, Bronze, 330–300 BCE Weight: 2.79 g Diameter: 14 mm x 16 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Hercules, r. Rev design: Above: Club to r., below: quiver. Literature: Price 1991 [07] 115963 | B18372 | L2039 | D53/54 | Area A Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 200–150 BCE Weight: 4.47 g Diameter: 20 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed head of Antiochus III, r., with mature to elderly features and baldness at temple, dotted border. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ] above [ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ] below Rev design: Prow l. with pointed S-curved acrostolium, terminated on r. by dolphin swimming downward, second small dolphin depicted beneath ship’s “eye,” dotted border. Literature: Cf. SC 1: 410, No 1079 [08] 115964 | B18406 | L2046 | C54 | Area A Early Byzantine, Folis, Bronze, pierced, 500–599 CE Weight: 7.1 g Diameter: 26 mm x 28 mm Axis: 6 Obv design: Bust, r. Rev design: M (40)



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[09] 115965 | B18408 | L2048 | C/D54 | Area A Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–199 CE [delete Hole-centered]? Weight: 6.56 g Diameter: 20 mm x 22 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Bust, r. Rev design: Standing figure [10] 115975 | B16813 | L1580 | E25 Seleucid, Tyre (?), Bronze, hole-centered, worn, 222–126 BCE Weight: 2.08 g Diameter: 14 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head, r. Rev design: Palm tree (?) [11] 115978 | B18371 | L2043 | C/D54 | Area A Ottoman, Damascus, Bronze, 1300–1918 CE Weight: 0.98 g Diameter: 14 mm Obv legend: (blank) Obv design: (effaced) Rev legend: (blank) Rev design: (Arabic)

2006 Season (8 coins) [01] 115958 | B18070 | L2007 | N48 | Area A Ptolemaic, Bronze Weight: 13.14 g Diameter: 26 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head, r. Rev legend: Ǻ[ǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ — ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹǿȅȊ] [02] 115966 | (no basket) | W of Area Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–299 CE Weight: 5.13 g Diameter: 18 mm x 22 mm Obv legend: [ … ] Obv design: Head or bust, r. Rev legend: (blank) [03] 115970 | B16132 | L569 C/D25 | Area C Antiochus III, Sardes, Bronze, 222–187 BCE Weight: 2.71 g Diameter: 12 mm x 14 mm Axis: 10 Obv design: Laureate head of Apollo, r., hair knotted in krobylos behind, long wavy locks falling loose on neck, dotted border. Rev legend: [Ǻ]ǹȈǿȁǼ[ȍȈ] above, ǹȃȉǿȅ[ȋȅȊ] below



Chapter Eight

176 Rev design: Literature:

Elephant, l. SC 1: 374, No 978

[04] 115971 | B16146 | L569 | C/D25 | Area C Autonomous, Tyre, Silver, 450–400 BCE Weight: 0.3 g Diameter: 8 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Dolphin, r., cable border. Rev design: Owl standing r., head facing over its l. shoulder, with crook and flail; cable border; slight incuse circle. Literature: Cf. BMC Phoen: 227, No 4 [05] 115972 | (no basket) | L569 | C/D25 | Area C Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 2.6 g Diameter: 14 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: Wreath Obv design: (Paleo-Hebrew text in 4 lines) Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between [06] 115973 | B16127 | L572 | Area C Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 2.56 g Diameter: 14 mm Axis: 2 Obv legend: Wreath Obv design: (Paleo-Hebrew text in 4 lines) Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between [07] 115974 | B16122 | L592 Antiochus IV, Ptolemais, Bronze, serrated edge, 175–172 BCE Weight: 4.27 g Diameter: 18 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Veiled, diademed bust of Laodice IV, r., dotted border. Rev legend: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ above, ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ below Rev design: Elephant head, l., dotted border. Literature: SC 2: 90, No 1477 [08] 125042 | B16172 | L574 | D24 | Area C Antiochus VII, Tyre, Silver, 139/138–138/137 BCE Weight: 13.91 g Diameter: 25 mm x 30 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Diademed and draped bust of Antiochus VII, r., diadem ends falling straight behind, dotted border. Rev legend: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ (curving) on r., ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȊ (curving) on l., around. Rev design: Eagle standing l. on ship’s ram, palm branch under far wing, dotted border. Date (r. field, below): EOP (S.E. 176 = 137/6 BCE). Literature: SC 2: 384, No 2109 3



More Than Just Couch Change: Bethsaida Coin Report 2001–2012

2005 Season (13 coins) [01] 115957 | B18028 | L2003 | G53/54 | Area A Roman Provincial, Bronze, 1–299 CE Weight: 8.31 g Diameter: 20 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Bust, r. Rev design: Standing figure [02] 115969 | B17524 | L1706 | O48 | Area A Late Roman, Bronze, 317–498 CE Weight: 1.97 g Diameter: 18 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: […] - NVS MAX AVG Rev legend: [GLOR - IA EXERC] - ITVS Rev design: 2 standards. Literature: Cf. LRBC 1: 28, No 1221 [03] 115976 | B18048 | L2004 | G53 | Area A Ptolemaic, Bronze, hole-centered, 299–200 BCE Weight: 9.22 g Diameter: 23 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Zeus Ammon, r. Rev legend: […] Rev design: Eagle standing l. on thunderbolt. (unclear design to left) [04] 115977 | B18062 | L2006 | H/G54 | Area A Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 1.88 g Diameter: 14 mm Obv legend: Wreath with inscr. Obv design: (Paleo-Hebrew text in 4 lines) Rev design: Double cornucipiae with pomegranite between [05] 136843 | B16071 | L563 | B26 | Area C Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 222–126 BCE Weight: 1.26 g Diameter: 13 mm x 11 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head, r. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈ]ǿȁǼȍ[Ȉ] — [ … ] [06] 136844 | B16067 | L564 | B/C/D26 | Area C Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 222–126 BCE Weight: 1.12 g Diameter: 12 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head, r. Rev design: Palm tree. Field unclear or empty.



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[07] 136845 | B17603 | L1708 | O56/57 | Area A Seleucid, Tyre, Bronze, 222–126 BCE Weight: 1.74 g Diameter: 14 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head, r. Rev legend: […] Rev design: Palm tree? [08] 136846 | B17525 | L1708 | O56/57 | Area A Hadrian, Caesarea, Bronze, 117–138 CE Weight: 8.00 g Diameter: 21 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: [IMP TRA HADRIANO CAES AVG] Obv design: Bust of Hadrian, laureate, draped. Rev legend: [COL I FL AVG CAESARENS] Rev design: Bust of Sarapis, r., Literature: Kadman 1957: 102–03, No 28 [09] 136847 | B17664 | L1724 | O/P47 | Area A Herod Agrippa I, Jerusalem, Bronze, 41/42 CE Weight: 1.70 g Diameter: 17 mm Obv legend: [ǹīȇǿȆǹ Ǻǹ௚ǿȁǼȍ௚] Obv design: Canopy Rev design: Three ears of grain issues from between two leaves; on l. and r., date: L Ȣ (year 6 = 41/2 CE) Literature: TJC: 231, No 120 [10] 136848 | B18011 | L2001 | H54 | Area A Hasmonean, Jerusalem, Bronze, 135–37 BCE Weight: 2.55 g Diameter: 16 mm Axis: 10 Obv legend: Wreath with inscr. Obv design: (Paleo-Hebrew text in 4 lines) Rev design: Double cornucopiae with pomegranite between [11] 136849 | B16076 | L563 | B26 | Area C Autonomous, Ako-Ptolemais, Bronze, 112/111–111/110 BCE Weight: 2.32 g Diameter: 27 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Apollo, r. Rev legend: In 3 vertical lines: on l.: [ǹȃȉǿȅȋǼȍȃ] on r.: [ȉȍȃ] ǼȃȆȉ[ĬȁǼȂǹǿǻǿ], in exergue: [ǹȈ/Ȁǹ] Rev design: Lyre with three strings. Literature: Cf. Kadman 1961: 100–01, No 50



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[12] 136850 | B18004 | L2002 | G53 | Area A Caracalla, Nysa-Scythopolis, Bronze, 206/207 CE Weight: 15.38 g Diameter: 27 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: From bottom l.: [AVT.K.MA — ANTWCEB] Obv design: Bust of young Caracalla , r. laureate and draped. Rev legend: NVCA - CKVO - IE . AC Rev design: Tyche standing to r., turreted and wearing a chiton, with her l. foot on rivergod swimming r. within the central intercolumniation of a Corinthian tetrastyle temple with pediment and arch; holding scepter in her r. hand and cornucopia in her l; to l. and r. of the pediment, O–C. Literature: Barkay 2003: 213, No 49 [13] no IAA # | B17681 | L1724 | O/P47 | Area A Modern coin, Bronze

2004 Season (3 coins) [01] 115967 | B17502 | L1550 | L52 | Area A Ptolemy II, Alexandria, Bronze, 272/271–266/265 BCE Weight: 17.91 g Diameter: 28 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Laureate head of Zeus, r.; border of dots. (Behind head as in SNG Ptol.) Rev legend: ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ ȆȉȅȁǼȂǹǿȅȊ Rev design: Eagle, l. on thunder-bolt, wings open; in front, shield; border of dots. Above shield, monogram 4; between legs, monogram 6. Literature: SNG Ptol, PI IV: 119; Davesne 1989: 277 [02] 115968 | B20036 | L1702 | H54 | Area A Ptolemy II, Alexandria, Bronze, 274/273–262/261 BCE Weight: 10.83 g Diameter: 26 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Laureate head of Zeus, r.; border of dots. Rev legend: [ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ — ȆȉȅȁǼ]Ȃǹ[ǿȅȊ] Rev design: Eagle, l. on thunder-bolt, wings open; in front, shield; border of dots. Above shield, monogram 4; between legs, monogram 6. Literature: Cf. SNG Ptol, PI IV: 119; Davesne 1989: 277 [03] 115979 | B17011 | On surface near temple | Area A Autonomous, Bronze, 100 BCE–100 CE Weight: 4.05 g Diameter: 20 mm Obv design: Head of Tyche, r. Rev design: Illegible



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2003 Season (10 coins) [01] 136833 | B16455 | L1527 | O53 | Area A Autonomous, Tyre, Bronze, 98/97 BCE–84/85 CE Weight: 5.42 g Diameter: 19 mm Axis: 12 Obv design: Head of Tyche, r., wearing turreted crown, veil, and earring; behind, palmbranch; border of dots. Rev legend: ǿǼȇǹȈ [ǹȈȊȁȅȊ] Rev design: Galley, l., with prow terminating in volute, and aphlaston at stern; above, date, monogram [??]; below, Phoen. inscr. (lamed tsade resh); border of dots. Literature: Cf. BMC Phoen: 255, No 252 [02] 136834 | B16470 | L1527 | O53 | Area A Philip I, Antioch (Tyre/Sidon), Bronze, 100 BCE–100 CE Weight: 5.22 g Diameter: 19 mm x 21 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: Around, clockwise from seven o’clock: [ǹȊȉȅȀȀȂǿȅȊȁǿĭǿȁȆȆȅ௚௚ǼǺ] Obv design: Bust of Philip I, r., draped and curaissed; Rev legend: Around, clockwise from seven o’clock: [ǹȃȉǿȅȋǼȍȃ — ȂǾȉȇȅȀȅȁȍȃ] Rev design: Apollo standing facing, head ,l., holding lyre in l. hand and phiale in extended r. hand, coiled serpent at feet to l. In field, ǻ–Ǽ/S–C. Literature: Butcher 2004: 397–98, No 498; BMC Syria 534. [03] 136835 | B16753 | L1529 | H54 | Area A Philip I, Antioch (Syria), Bronze, Second Issue. 244–249 CE Weight: 12.41 g Diameter: 33 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: [ǹȊȉ]ȅȀ Ȁ ȂǿȅȊĭǿȁȁǿȆȅ௚ ௚ǼǺ Rev legend: ǹȃȉǿȅȋǼȍȃ - ȂǾȉȇȅȀȅȁȍ Literature: Butcher 2004: 397, No 498 [04] 136836 | B16754 | L1529 | H54| Area A Trajan, Rome, Quadrans. Bronze, 98–117 CE Weight: 2.25 g Diameter: 17 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: [IMP CAES TRAIAN AVG GERM] Obv design: Bust of Heracles, diademed, r., with lion-skin on neck. Rev design: Boar walking r.; In ex.: SC Literature: Cf. CRE III: 226, No 1062; RIC II, 702 (S) [05] 136837 | B16756 | L1529 | H54 | Area A Philip I, Antioch (Syria), Debased Silver, 249 CE Weight: 11.85 g Diameter: 27 mm Axis: 12 Obv legend: AVTOK K M ǿȅȊȁǿ ĭǿȁǿȆȆȅ௚ ௚ǼǺ Obv design: Philip I, r., laureate, draped and curaissed, seen from behind.



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ǻǾȂǹȇȋ ǼȄ ȅȊ௚ǿǹ௚ ȊȆǹȉȅǻ Eagle, l. Prieur & Prieur 2000: 65, No 444

[06] 136838 | B16759 | L1529 | H54 | Area A Severus Alexander, Tyre, Bronze, 222–235 CE Weight: 10.54 g Diameter: 25 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: IMP GORDIANVS-PIVS FEL [AVG] Obv design: Bust of Severus Alexander, r., laureate, wearing paludamentum and curaiss. Rev legend: COL TVR MET (differs from example on BMC Phoen.) Rev design: Temple of the Phoenician Koinon, seen in perspective, approached by flight of steps; number of columns obscure; below, murex-shell. Literature: Cf. BMC Phoen: 280, No 421 (Reverse type appears under Severus Alexander only) [07] 136839 | B16797 | L1531 | Area A Roman provincial, unknown mint, Bronze, 100–299 CE Weight: 2.40 g Diameter: 17 mm Axis: 6 Obv design: Bust, r. Rev design: Bust of woman, r. Literature: Cf. Spijkerman 1978: 254–55, No Philadelphia/Amman)

39

(Cf.

Commodus

of

[08] 136840 | B16772 | L1532 | H54 | Area A Severus Alexander, Bostra, Bronze, 222–235 CE Weight: 4.87 g Diameter: 21 mm Axis: 6 Obv legend: IMP [CAES M AV B SEV — ALEXANǻER AVG] Obv design: Bust of Severus Alexander, r., laureate, wearing paludamentum and cuirass, shown from the rear. Rev legend: COLONIA B — OSTRA Rev design: Bust of city-goddess, l., draped and turreted; cornucopiae at shoulder. Literature: Spijkerman 1978: 80–81, No 50 [09] 136841 | B16785 | L1532 | H54 | Area A Hadrian, (uncertain mint), Bronze, 117–138 CE Weight: 6.90 g Diameter: 18 mm x 16 mm Obv legend: [ … ] Obv design: Bust of Hadrian, r. (identification of coin based on portrait) Rev design: Illegible. [10] 136842 | B16762 Elagabalus, Byblos, Bronze, 218–222 CE Weight: 11.07 g Diameter: 2 8 mm x 21 mm Axis: 12



Chapter Eight

182 Obv legend: Obv design: Rev legend: Rev design:

Literature:

[IMPCAISMAR ANTONINVSAV] Bust of Elagabalus, r., laureate, wearing paludamentum and cuirass; [ǿǼ ȇǹ௚ ǺVǺȁȅV] Temple of six columns containing a figure of Astarte crowned by Nike; of the temple, a central arch (which has traces of shell-pattern) is shown surmounted by an uncertain akroterion (quadriga?), and flanked by wings supported each by three columns. BMC Phoen: 105, No 50

2001 Season (5 coins) [01] 116502 | B16317 | L1508 | O53 | Area A Al-Kamil Muhammad (Ayyubid), Damascus, Bronze, 633 AH (= 1238 CE) Weight: 4.31 g Diameter: 21 mm Obv design: (Arabic) Rev design: (Arabic) Literature: Cf. Balog 1980: 169, No 465 [02] 116503 | B16384 | L1515 | O53 | Area A Alexander Jannaeus, Jerusalem, Bronze, 104–80/79 BCE Weight: 0.93 g Diameter: 13 mm Obv legend: [Ǻǹ]Ȉǿȁ[ǼȍȈ ǹȁǼȄǹȃǻȇȅȊ] (of King Alexander) Obv design: Anchor surrounded by Greek inscription; around, circle of dots. Rev legend: [Between rays of star, paleo Hebrew inscription: ʪʬʮʤʯʺʰʤʩ (Yehonatan the King)] Rev design: Eight-pointed star in diadem. Literature: AJC 1: 119, No Ca; TJC: 209–10, Group K [03] 116504 | B16396 | L1515 | O55 | Area A Sulaiman I (Ottoman), Egypt, Silver, 1520–1566 CE Obv design: (Arabic) [04] no IAA # | (no basket) | L480 Autonomous, Syria (Modern), Brass Weight: 1.17 g Diameter: 13 mm x 16 mm [05] no IAA # | B16281 | L1505 | O53 | Area A Unidentifiable Coin



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Appendix Two: Coins from the 2013 Season Thirty (30) coins were recovered during the 2013. These are yet to be cleaned and identified, but a preliminary listing is provided here for the sake of completeness. Date 21/05/13 4/06/13 7/06/13 10/06/13 11/06/13 14/06/13 19/06/13 19/06/13 20/06/13 21/06/13 24/06/13 24/06/13 24/06/13 24/06/13 24/06/13 25/06/13 25/06/13 26/06/13 26/06/13 27/06/13 27/06/13 27/06/13 27/06/13 27/06/13 27/06/13 27/06/13 27/06/13 28/06/13 28/06/13 28/06/13



Basket 11311 11350 31060 31068 31094 31108 21923 31124 11390 21295 23611 23612 23613 23614 31144 21941 23623 23628 23631 11422 21950 23636 23637 23638 23640 23641 31163 23647 23649 31170

Locus 1169 1171 4005 4005 4006 4006 5735 4008 1185 5734 2263 2262 2263 2263 4007 5734 2263 2262 2263 1180 5737 2263 2263 2263 2263 2263 4008 2262 2263 4007

Grid L60 L60 B68 B68T B68 B68 Z28 B70 M58 C29 F59 G58 F59 F59 B69 C29 F59 G58 F59 J60 Z28 F59 F59 F59 F59 F59 B70 G58 F59A B69

Area A South A South T T T C T A South C A West A West A West A West T C A West A West A West A South C A West A West A West A West A West T A West West T

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References [AJC] Yaakov Meshorer (1982) Ancient Jewish Coinage, I: Persian Period through Hasmoneans, II: Herod the Great through Bar Kochba New York: Amphora. Designation AJC now out of date and replaced by TJC. Ariel, Donald T., and Jean-Philippe Fontanille (2012), The Coins of Herod: A Modern Analysis and Die Classification, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 79, Leiden: Brill. Balog, Paul (1964), The Coinage of the Mamluk Sultans of Egypt and Syria, Numismatic Balog, Paul, (1980), The Coinage of the Ayyubids, Royal Numismatic Society Special Publication, no. 12, London: Royal Numismatic Society. Barkay, Rachel (2003), The Coinage of Nysa-Scythopolis Beth-Shean, Coprus Nummorum Palaestinenium 5, Jerusalem: Israel Numismatic Society. Berman, Ariel (1976), Islamic Coins, Jerusalem: L. A. Mayer Memorial Institute for Islamic Art. [BMCO] Stanley L. Poole (1877), Catalogue of Oriental Coins in the British Museum, 4 vols, London: British Museum. [BMC Palestine] Hill, George Francis (1914), Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Palestine, A Catalogue of the Greek Coins in the British Museum, London: British Museum. [BMC Phoen] Hill, George Francis (1910), Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Phoenicia, A Catalogue of the Greek Coins in the British Museum, London: British Museum. [BMC Syria] Warwick Wroth (1899), Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Galatia, Cappodocia, and Syria, A Catalogue of the Greek Coins in the British Museum, London: British Museum. Butcher, Kevin (2004), Coinage in Roman Syria. Northern Syria, 64 BC – AD 253, Royal Numismatic Society Special Publication 34, London: Royal Numismatic Society. Carradice, Ian, and Martin Price (1988), Coinage of the Greek World, London: Seaby. [CRE] Carson, R. A. G. (1990), Coins of the Roman Empire, London: Routledge. Davesne, Alain (1989), Anatolie antique: fouilles françaises en Turquie, catalogue de l'exposition, Bibliothèque nationale... 1er décembre 1989-16 avril 1990.... Varoa anatlica 4, Paris: Bibliothèque nationale, and Istanbul: Institut français d'études anatoliennes.



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Hendin, David (2010) Guide to Biblical Coins, 5th ed., New York: Amphora. Houghton, Arthur, and Arnold Spaer (1998), The Arnold Spaer Collection of Seleucid Coins, Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum Israel 1, London: Italo Vecchi. Howgego, C. J. (1985), Greek imperial countermarks: Studies in the provincial coinage of the Roman Empire, Royal Numismatic Society Special Publication 17, London: Royal Numismatic Society. Jacobson, David M., and Nikos Kokkinos, eds. (2012), Judaea and Rome in Coins 65 BCE - 135 CE, Papers Presented at the International Conference Hosted by Spink, 13-14 September 2010, London: Spink. Jenks, Gregory C. (2013), A Roman coin from Bethsaida (Et-tell), in John T. Greene, ed., A Life in Parables and Poetry: Pedagogue, Poet, Scholar. Essays in honor of Mishael Maswari Caspi, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. Kadman, Leo (1957), The coins of Caesarea Maritima, Corpus Nummorum Palaestinensium, 2, Jerusalem and Tel-Aviv: Schocken. —. (1961), The Coins of Akko Ptolemais, Corpus Nummorum Palaestinensium, 1st Series, Publications of the Israel Numismatic Society, Vol. 4, Jerusalem: Schocken. Kindler, Arie (1961), The Coins of Tiberias, Tiberias: Hamei Tiberia. —. (1999), The Coins of the Tetrarch Philip and Bethsaida, in Rami Arav and Richard A. Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 2,245-249. Kreitzer, Larry Joseph (1996), Striking New Images: Roman Imperial Coinage and the New Testament World, Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series 134, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Lindgren, Henry Clay (1985), Ancient Bronze Coins of Asia Minor and the Levant from the Lindgren Collection, San Mateo, CA: Chrysopylon Publications. —. (1989), Ancient Greek Bronze Coins: European Mints from the Lindgren Collection, San Mateo, CA: Chrysopylon Publishers. —. (1993), Ancient Greek Bronze Coins from the Lindgren Collection, San Francisco: Classical Numismatic Group. Lorber, Catharine C. Coinage of the Ptolemaic Empire (forthcoming). [LRBC] Carson, R. A. G., P. V. Hill, and J. P. C. Kent (1978), Late Roman Bronze Coinage A.D. 324–498, I: The Bronze Coinage of the House of Constantine A.D. 324–346, II: Bronze Roman Imperial Coinage of the Later Empire A.D. 346–498, New York: Spink.



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Meier, Cecilia (1995), Appendix to Chapter 1: Breakdown of Coins by Period (until 1993 Season), in Rami Arav and Richard A. Freund, eds., Bethsaid A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Omaha: Thomas Jefferson University Press,153-63. Meshorer, Bijovsky, Meshorer, Yaakov, Gabriela Bijovsky, and Wolfgang Fischer-Bossert, eds. (2013), Coins of the Holy Land: The Abraham and Marian Sofaer Collection at the American Numismatic Society and the Israel Museum 2 vols, Ancient Coins in North American Collections 8, New York: American Numismatic Society. Newell, Edward T. (1936), The Pergamene Mint under Philetaerus, Numismatic Notes and Monographs 76, New York: American Numismatic Society. Pere, Nuri (1968), Coins of the Ottoman Empire, Istanbul: Institut français d'études anatoliennes. Poey D’Avant, Fautin (1858, 1961), Monnaies Féodales de France, original - Paris 1858; reprinted - Graz: Druck. Prieur, Michel, and Karin Prieur (2000), The Syro-Phoenician Tetradrachms and Their Fractions from 57 BC to AD 253, London: Classical Numismatic Group. [RIC] Mattingly, H., Edward A. Sydenham, and C. H . V. Sutherland (1938), The Roman Imperial Coinage, Vol. IV, Part II, London: Spink, 1938. Rosenberger, Mayer (1972), City Coins of Palestine, 1: Aelia, Kapitolina, Akko, Anthedon Antipatris and Ascalon, Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press. —. (1977), City Coins of Palestine, 3: Hippos-Sussita, Neapolis, Nicopolis, Nysa-Scytopolis, Caesarea-Panias, Pelusium, Raphia, Sebaste, Sepphoris-Diocaesarea, Tiberias, Rosenberger Israel Coin Collection 3. Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press. [SC] Houghton, Arthur, Catharine Lorber, and Oliver Hoover, eds, (20022008), Seleucid Coins, A Comprehensive Catalogue, Part 1: Seleucus I through Antiochus III; Part 2. Seleucis IV through Antiochus XIII, 4 vols. New York: American Numismatic Society. Sear, David R. (1982), Greek Imperial Coins and Values, London: Seaby. [SNG Ptol] Kromann, Anne, and Otto Morkholm, eds. (1977), Egypt: The Ptolemies, Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum, The Royal Collection of Coins and Medals, Danish National Museum, Copenhagen: Munksgaard. Spijkerman, Augustus (1978), The Coins of the Decapolis and Provincia Arabia, Studii Biblici Franciscani Collectio Maior 25, Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1978.



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Svoronos, J. N. (1904) Ta Nomismata tou Kratous ton Ptolemaion, Catharine C. Lorber, trans, Athens: ASOR. Syon, Danny (2004), Tyre and Gamla: A Study in the Monetary Influence of Southern Phonecia on Galilee and the Golan in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods, unpublished doctoral dissertation. [TJC] Meshorer, Yaakov (2001), A Treasury of Jewish Coins: From the Persian Period to Bar Kokhba, Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press. Vagi, David L. (2001), Coinage and History of the Roman Empire, 1: History, Oxford: Routledge.



CHAPTER NINE DIGGING UP WOMEN: WHAT DID SHE DO ALL DAY? WHAT BETHSAIDA TELLS US ELIZABETH MCNAMER

The Bible tells us a lot about what men did; they begot sons, they built arks, they lived to a ripe old age, they waged wars, tended their cattle and sheep and goats, officiated at sacrifices, acted as judges, made laws, climbed mountains. The stories of men, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Joshua, David, Solomon, Hezekiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Amos are all laid bare for us and call for our applause at their heroism and bravery. We know a great deal about the lives of men from what we have found at Bethsaida. They built roads and walls and more walls, they fought the Assyrians and maybe the Romans. They congregated in the city gates. They drank wine and beer. They fished. We have delved into the methods of fishing and the economics of the fishing. But the Bible tells us little about the contribution of women. It lightly touches on women in the stories of the patriarchs' wives and a few others of strength and ingenuity: Hanna, Deborah, Miriam, Esther, Abigail, Hulda, Judith. We are conscious as we read about these women that they were operating outside the usual domain, albeit they were using the skills learned at the hearth. Women clearly had a domain. Households of women are referred to several times: "Then the girl ran and told her mother’s household about these things" (Gen 24:28). "But Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, ‘Go back each of you to your mother’s house'." Ruth 1: 8. In the Song of Songs 8:2 we read "I would lead you and bring you into the house of my mother, and into the chamber of the one who bore me. I would give you spiced wine to drink, the juice of my pomegranates."

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Women had specific spaces to work. They operated in their own households, the kitchen (bet’em). Several kitchens have been found at Bethsaida. So what did she do there? Proverbs 31 tells us she was engaged from morning to night and indeed well into the night in a myriad of tasks. A capable wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life. She seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands. She is like the ships of the merchant, she brings her food from far away. She rises while it is still night and provides food for her household and tasks for her servant-girls. She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard. She girds herself with strength, and makes her arms strong. She perceives that her merchandise is profitable. Her lamp does not go out at night. She puts her hands to the distaff, and her hands hold the spindle. She opens her hand to the poor, and reaches out her hands to the needy. She is not afraid for her household when it snows, for all her household are clothed in crimson. She makes herself coverings; her clothing is fine linen and purple. Her husband is known in the city gates, taking his seat among the elders of the land. She makes linen garments and sells them; She supplies the merchant with sashes. Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue. She looks well to the ways of her household, and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her happy; her husband too, and he praises her: ‘Many women have done excellently,

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Chapter Nine but you surpass them all.’ Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a share in the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the city gates (10-31).

Surely the writer was exaggerating. Did she really do all of this? “Yes”, we reply from Bethsaida, "We have found the evidence.” She cards wool (we have found the loom weights). She makes linen (linen spores abound), She prepares food for her family (there are plenty of cooking pots). She works by oil lamps (dozens of these have appeared). She makes bedding (from wool and linen). She buys property to plant a vineyard (numerous wine jars attest to this). Most of the artifacts found at Bethsaida are in the domain of women: loom weights, ovens, cooking pots, jugs, juglets, grinders, flour mills, fish bowls, olive bowls, pruning hooks, oil lamps, water jugs, large grinders, jewels, wine jars (and cellars), needles, unguent jars, eating utensils. Let us examine what was involved. "She seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands."

First, she makes wool. Yes, we have found loom weights a-plenty. Making wool was a time consuming task. First, the process of preparing the wool involved four major steps: shearing, sorting, and grading, spinning the yarn, weaving the cloth, then making that fabric into clothes. To knit a sweater for an adult today takes about forty hours, even starting with the yarn all ready to go. It was not so for her. Sheep were sheared once a year, in early spring or early summer. Possibly this was done by a man. However, stained, damaged, or inferior wool was removed from each fleece (a woman’s task) and the strands were judged for their fineness, length, waviness, and color. The wool was then scoured to remove impurities and dust. After it dried, it was carded. The carding process involved passing the wool through rollers that had thin wire teeth. The teeth untangled the fibers and arrange them into a flat sheet called a web. The web was formed into narrow ropes known as slivers. After carding, spinning yarn began. Spinning was woman’s work. The Talmud attests that spinning was the one task absolutely essential to a woman. No matter how wealthy a woman she was still required to spin. Idle hands were sinful hands. Portraits of wealthy women in the Middle Ages still show her at her spinning or embroidery. When did she perform this task? Did women have

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knitting clubs and stay up all night? It seems so. The Talmud, Seta 6a, refers to gossips “who spin their yarn by moonlight.” Indeed she may have worked by oil lamps, during the night at the spinning wheel and spindle. "She puts her hand to the distaff and her hands hold the spindle; and they were not afraid of the snows for they are clothed in crimson." Then of course there is the putting together of the garment itself. To clothe a family of six would have taken about three hours of work a day. She dyed some garments crimson. First of course she had to make the dye. It is a long drawn out process. The red dye may have been taken from beetle’s blood.1 How about the making of linen? We are told that “She makes coverings, her clothing is fine linen and purple.” So many linen spores have been found that some think Bethsaida may have had a linen factory. It was a fishing town, and sails were made of linen. So was clothing and shrouds. Corpses were wrapped in linen for burial and women were the ones who prepared the body. Babies were swaddled in linen. How did she make it? Flax is an annual plant. Under favorable conditions it grew to a height from two to three feet. It was then either hand-harvested by pulling up the entire plant or stalks or cutting close to the root. The fibers were then loosened from the stalk and dried. After harvesting, the seeds were removed through a process called winnowing. These seeds can be cooked and are now sold by health food stores to improve eye sight, and to lower cholesterol. The fibers were separated, processed, spun into yarns, and woven into linen textiles. These textiles were then bleached, dyed, printed upon, or finished with a number of treatments. The purple dye she used was not manufactured from the secretion of the murex trunculus (sea snail) on which there was an imperial monopoly. It was produced from the madder root which was a purplish red. Purple clothing was not worn by the riff- raff. It was limited to the upper classes due to its rarity and hence

1

Dyeing was a well-established craft whose origins can be traced back to antiquity. The earliest written records refer to dyes used in China, Rome, Persia, India, and Egypt. Methods used were painstaking and sometimes prohibitively expensive. The dyes used to color clothing, paint, and print came from natural sources such as insects, mollusks, barks, flowers, roots, leaves and berries. Women gathered female cochineal beetles. The beetles' bodies are dried to produce a natural red dye. The range of colors that could be produced was limited. Royal or Tyrian purple, for example, a color derived from mollusks and originating in the Mediterranean, was exclusively worn by wealthy royalty.

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high price. If the dye was too long exposed to the sun, it turned a sky blue. She could lose her profits by being too tardy. "She perceives that her merchandise is profitable"

If she produced more than her household needed, there were local markets and fairs at which the surplus could be sold. The tractate Baba Kamma in the Talmud, makes it clear that women from Galilee (Baba Kamma 10.9) brought their linen to market and the Baba Mesia says that there were tariffs fixing the price. Market inspectors could settle the right price in case of dispute. She doubtless sold her purple linen to the wealthy? Did she make her business plans in the kitchen? We know of at least one woman in the New Testament, Lydia, who was involved in the business. Approximately one thousand hours a year were spent in the making of clothes, three hours a day, or four if she could not work on the Sabbath. Winters were cold and more clothing was required. This work was done perhaps in the evening or at night. "She rose early while it was still dark to prepare food for her family."

Feeding was her prime obligation. What would be on her table? Bread was the staple. This was one of the hardest and most time consuming of household activities. It has been estimated that making bread for a family of six would take about three hours a day.2 The grain, after it had been harvested, had to be ground. This could be done on a hand held grinder but only two pounds of flour could be produced in an hour. It took six pounds of flour to produce enough for the daily bread. The large grinder, found in the wine maker’s house, took two women to operate. About ten pounds of flour could be produced in one hour’s grinding on the large two-part grinder. Leavening was required to make the bread rise. This consisted of a piece of raw dough, which was up to three weeks old in which the yeast had naturally developed. She added salt and water and kneaded the dough with her hands, then left it to rise overnight. In the morning she shaped it into round loaves and cooked it either by putting it in an oven or spreading it on a hot stones or a metal plate. It would have become stale after one day, so it had to be done daily. “Give us this day our daily bread.”

2

We learn from the Mishnaic tractate Ketubot, that if a bride had brought one female slave to her new husband’s house, she is free of the obligation to grind grain along with baking and laundry.

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We read in 1 Kings 19:5-8 that Elijah was surprised by an angel: "Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, 'Get up and eat.’ He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, ‘Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.’ He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food for forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mount of God." Angel? Well! I am not sure I believe it. The oven was kept going all night. Possibly the flames were controlled by putting “slack” of charcoal and water on the fire. This was done in Ireland when I was growing up. The flames then flared up in the morning. But the woman toted the fuel for the oven. What was the fuel? Ezekiel 4:15 explains: "Then he said to me, ‘See, I will let you have cow’s dung instead of human dung, on which you may prepare your bread.’" Coals were also used. Jesus prepared a meal of bread and fish over coals on the shores of the Sea of Galilee (Jn 21:9). Bread making required stamina. She provided the oil for the lamps. Dozens of oil lamps have been found at Bethsaida, "Her lamp goes not out at night." We might pass by this quickly but should we? In the Talmud, the tractate Shabbath states that one who forgets this duty will die in childbirth. Lamps were among the most essential household items. Her daily duties would have involved preparing, kindling, lighting, and extinguishing the household lamps. Custom required the kindling of lamps at every occasion, birth, celebrations, weddings, and funerals. See what happened to the virgins who let their lamps go out while waiting for the bridegroom.3 Oil was an indispensable fuel. The olives were harvested in October by beating the branches with sticks (Deut. 24:20). The olives had to be crushed to extract the fluid, and the lighter oil was brought to the surface of the lees. This was done three times.4 The olives may have been crushed by treading as were the grapes, but with shoes added. The Mishnah tells that oil was also produced by pounding the olives in a mortar and then putting them in a frail where their own weight caused the oil to drip out (Mishnah, Men. 86a). This could

3

I experimented with keeping an oil lamp lit all night. I was surprised to see that this small vessel could burn for over twelve hours. I spilled the oil all over the place as I tried to put it in that small container. 4 We know from Cato’s treatise on agriculture that the lees were then poured on grain to protect from insects and mice.

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have been a task relegated to women.5 Olives presses were in use at the time, but while Bethsaida has produced numerous jugs for holding olive oil, so far we have not found an olive press.6 Pliny tells us “there are two liquids that are agreeable to the human body, wine on the inside and oil on the outside.”7 Oil was used in purification rites.8 It was an item on the grocery shelf. A recipe for a cake made with oil is given. What other food did she provide? Milk was obtained from milking her goat (takes about twenty minutes). Sheep and goats were kept in pens on the outside of the village. Oxen and cows were kept in a courtyard adjacent to the house where hens ran freely. Cheese would have been made from the goat milk. Not cheeses, as they are now known, but curds and whey. This was made by churning the milk in a sack of goatskin which was suspended from the ceiling. The fatty material had to be separated from the liquid. Curds and whey resulted. The curd is solid and the whey is liquid. Curds and whey remained a common food (this is what Little Miss Muffet ate) until about 50 years ago. It is still done by Bedouins today and takes about an hour and a half. "She rises while it is still night and provides food for her household"

The Bible discusses a wide variety of specific foods within its pages. Diets were high in vegetables, beans, grains, herbs, nuts, figs, pomegranates, olives, grapes, dates, honey, and fish. Very little meat was eaten, perhaps only on special occasions and religious holy days. Lamb had to be roasted over wood from the vine. Eggs are mentioned only once in Luke 11:12, where it is compared to a scorpion: "Or if the child asks for an egg, will 5

"A photograph from Jerusalem, Karm El Sheikh, shows women crushing olives by rolling a large stone on them. “ Frankel, 46. 6 Oil was used as a cosmetic and for making perfumes. Men anointed their heads and beards with oil: "It is like the precious oil on the head, running down upon the beard, on the beard of Aaron" (Ps 133:2). Women received beauty treatments with oil and perfume before being taken to the king: Esther 2:12: "The turn came for each girl to go in to King Ahasuerus, after being twelve months under the regulations for the women, since this was the regular period of their cosmetic treatment, six months with oil of myrrh and six months with perfumes and cosmetics for women." People cleansed themselves with oil (before soap) and then removed the oil with a strigil. A strigil has been found in a kitchen at Bethsaida 7 Pliny 14. 29-150 8 Oil was offered to God in the Temple (Ex. 29:40) and used in the anointing of kings ( 1Sam. 10:1) and priests (Ex. 29:7), in concocting Medicine (Isa. 1:6). King Solomon traded olive oil for cedars of Lebanon (1Kgs 5:11).

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give a scorpion?" Apparently poultry was not known in Israel until after the Exile. Although it is noted that Solomon ate fowl. "Solomon’s provision for one day was thirty cors of choice flour, and sixty cors of meal, twenty three fat oxen, and twenty pasture-fed cattle, one hundred sheep, besides deer, gazelles, roebucks, and fatted fowl" (1 Kgs 4:22-23).

She purchased her fish straight off the fishing boats. There were stringent laws in effect regarding fish, which was the main source of protein. Fishermen had to discard the “unclean” fish, i.e., fish devoid of scales and fins (Lev. 11:10-12, Deut. 14:9-10.)9 And the fish had to be sold while the water was still on it. Unsold fish were taken to Magdala to be smoked and then exported).10 Bethsaida has unearthed several plates specially designed for fish. Women carried water from the well. We have found two springs at Bethsaida. Wells play a prominent part in the Bible. Moses met his wife at the well, as did Isaac, Jacob, and others. It was a place to meet and exchange news. Doubtless the women gathered at the well to gossip. Numerous water containers have been located at Bethsaida. These vessels were carried on her head and this gave her an excellent posture! Enough water had to be carried for the family’s daily consumption, and was it here that they did the laundry? "Her children rise up and call her happy."

According to the Talmud, women were required to teach the children. "Women are advised to know the law well so that they can instruct their sons and daughters" (Kiddushin 1.7.). She did home schooling. No forty hour week for her. Already the ordinary essential daily tasks have taken eleven or twelve hours. Then there were the seasonal tasks. "She considers a field and buys it." Women were engaged in economics. Yes, we have found coins in kitchens. Jesus mentions women and coins on at least two occasions (Mk 12: 42 and Lu 5:8). "With the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard. She girds herself with strength and makes her arms strong." Planting a 9

Pliny tells us that there were eighty different kinds of fish in the Kinereth in his time. Pliny died in Pompeii in 79 CE. 10 A Roman text “The Cookery of Apicius” dating to the second century gives over a hundred recipes for fish. We know that salted fish from Galilee were popular with the Roman aristocracy. The Zeno papyri tell us that the Syrians also imported fish from Galilee. Freyne 173

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vineyard and producing wine called for patience. The first clusters of grapes did not appear for the first five years. It would be ten years before the wine was marketable. In the kitchen of the wine maker's house we found a pruning sheers for bringing in the clusters from the branches. Did she make her own wine by treading on the grapes, the usual method of crushing the grapes? The human foot was probably the first grape press.11 Olives were crushed by mechanical means, by a mortar and pestle or a stone roller. Grapes could also be squeezed by hand. The Butler said, "Pharaoh’s cup was in my hand; and I took the grapes and pressed them into Pharaoh’s cup, and placed the cup in Pharaoh’s hand"(Gen 40: 11). Yeast for fermentation occurs naturally on the skin of the grape and in the air. It begins to act converting the sugar of the grape juice into alcohol. Carbon dioxide and oxygen percolate to the surface following the treading process making the juice bubble. The grape juice has to be exposed to the air long enough to let the carbon dioxide and oxygen out. Eventually it is put in wine jars and stored.12 This process took over forty days.13 Two wine cellars have been found proximate to kitchens at Bethsaida.14 The making of wine might have been her only recreation. The fruit of the vine “makes life merry” (Eccl 10: 19) and “gladdens the heart” (Psalm 104:15). A large number of wine jars at et-Tel attest to a “merry” population. The Book of Sirach reminds us "What is life to a man without wine. It has been created to make men glad." Wine, of course, was also used for medicinal purposes. Paul cautions Timothy to use wine for his stomach’s sake (1 Tim. 5:23). “Stop drinking water only. Take a little wine for the good of your stomach, and because of your frequent illnesses.” The Good Samaritan poured wine and oil into the wounds of the injured man. Pliny suggests applying wine to scorpion, spider, and bee stings. During the Roman period, wine was also imported from the islands of Rhodes and Cyprus. And how about beer? In almost all of mid-eastern cultures, brewing was and is women's work. They took over beer brewing along with other food production as early as the 18th century BCE.. Cultural anthropologist Alan Eames even postulates "women have

11

The Treading of grapes is mentioned ten times in the Bible. Wine could not be brought to the temple until it was forty days old (Tosefta Men 9:12) 13 Pliny 19, 49-63 14 The Talmud notes the existence of sixty different kinds of wine in the first century CE. Honey was added to some wine, sea water and a variety of spices were also added. 12

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maintained power and status in macho, male-dominated, hunter-gatherer societies by developing their skills as brewsters." 15 Bethsaida produced a great amount of barley in both the Iron Age and Roman eras. Deuteronomy 14:28 commands "Every third year you shall bring out the full tithe of your produce for that year, and store it within your towns." Does this account for all the barley that we found in chamber three of the City Gates? Well when she had nothing else to do, "She opens her mouth with wisdom."

The patience and wisdom learnt in the kitchen would serve well in any capacity. It is generally recognized that the talents developed by women engaged in their household tasks go far beyond their specified purpose. Nancy Pelosi recently said “Nothing better prepares you for being Speaker of the House, than raising five children” Did Hanna, Deborah, Miriam, Esther, Abigail and Hulda develop their skill as prophets and judges while engaged in their kitchens? Was it in the kitchen that Judith and Jael learn to be killers? Plucky Jael kills Sisera with a mallet. Judith cuts off the head of Holofernes with his sword but with the technique of killing a chicken. A woman delivers the city of Thebez by throwing a millstone on the head of Abimelech (Jud. 9:50-56). This conscientious woman must have had her kitchen on the second floor. One wonders if she was ever able to bake her bread again. Deuteronomy 24:6 warns "No one shall take ... an upper millstone in pledge, for that would be taking a life in pledge." The literary sources tell that at the birth of a baby girl there was less rejoicing and a woman remained impure for sixty days following. How did this make society feel about women or make a little girl feel about herself? A woman did not have a say in who she married. Partners, usually kinsmen, were chosen by her parents. A dowry (mohar) was given by the husband. The couple was encouraged to “increase and multiply.” Her main function was to become the bearer of children.

15

Eames maintains “In archeological sites in Egypt and the Sudan, in 5000-yearold Sumerian cuneiform manuscripts, among contemporary tribal people and rural farmers from Peru to Norway, you find the exact same thing: women making beer." In Medieval Europe, women were brewsters in public taverns, although unless widowed they could only hold a tavern license under a husband's name. Since beer was a key dietary component, bad beer and short measures were punished with flogging and worse -- a church in Ludlow, England features a stone carving of an ale wife being cast into hell, for having a false-bottomed pitcher in hand.

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Women married at age 14 and their years were spent producing one child after another. They nursed for two or three years and had some reprieve. Exodus tells us that Hebrew women gave birth with ease. "The midwives answered Pharoah, 'Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive'” (Ex 1: 18-20). Nonetheless, childbirth itself was not easy. Bethsaida does not give us much evidence of how birthing was done but we have found pieces of flint which may have been used in circumcision or possibly to cut the umbilical cord. Soranus,16 a first century Roman physician gives instructions for the midwife."For normal childbirth have the following ready: oil for injections and cleansing, hot water in order to wash the affected area; hot compresses to relieve the labour pains; sponges for sponging off; wool for covering the woman's body, and bandages to swaddle the baby in, a pillow so that the infant may be placed on it below the mother until the afterbirth has been taken away; scents such as pennyroyal, sparganium; barley groats and quince, and if in season citron, or melon and anything similar to these, for the recovery of the mother's strength. Apparently aroma therapy was approved." He also elucidates a baby being born on the knees of another as is the case with Ishmael and Sarah and Hagar: "A birthing stool so that the mother may be arranged on it is necessary, but if no birthing stool is available the same arrangement can be made if she sits on a woman's lap." However, pregnancy and childbirth were until quite recently the main cause of death in women. It is thought that about 30 percent of child deliveries ended in the death of the mother. The Bible gives us two accounts of such a death: Rachel (Gen 35: 15-30). "Then they journeyed from Bethel; and when they were still some distance from Ephrath, Rachel was in childbirth, and she had a difficult labour. When she was in her difficult labour, the midwife said to her, ‘Do not be afraid; for now you will have another son.’ As her soul was departing (for she died), she named him Ben-oni;* but his father called him Benjamin. So Rachel died, and she was buried on the way to Ephrath (that is, Bethlehem), and Jacob set up a pillar at her grave; it is the pillar of Rachel’s tomb, which is there to this day. Israel journeyed on, and pitched his tent beyond the tower of Eder." 1 Samuel 4: 19-22 declares of the wife of Phinehas, "She was pregnant, about to give birth. When she heard the news that the ark of God was captured, and that her father-in-law and her husband were dead, she bowed and gave birth, for her labour pains overwhelmed her. As she was about to 16

Gynecology 1.67-9, exc. L

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die, the women attending her said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, for you have borne a son.’ But she did not answer or give heed. She named the child Ichabod." She was under the dominion of a father, husband, or son all her life. Bethsaida was predominantly a Jewish town. The women living here would have taken part in religious festivals: "You shall rejoice before the Lord your God ... together with your sons and your daughters, your male and female slaves, and the Levites who reside in your household" (Deut 12:12). They would have observed the purity laws. Women had to undergo purification rites after childbirth. Of course it depended on whether she had a boy or a girl. "If a woman conceives and bears a male child, she shall be ceremonially unclean for seven days; as at the time of her menstruation, she shall be unclean. On the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised. Her time of blood purification shall be thirty-three days; she shall not touch any holy thing, or come into the sanctuary, until the days of her purification are completed. If she bears a female child, she shall be unclean for two weeks, as in her menstruation; her time of blood purification shall be sixty-six days" (Lev. 12: 2-4). She was also unclean during his menstrual period and had to live apart. How this was accomplished we do not know.17 One wonders who took care of her regular duties during these times. A great number of the babies died in the first year, or soon thereafter, an estimated death rate of 163 per 1000 births. It is only in the last century that cures for childhood diseases have been found. One expected to lose two or three children before they reached maturity. What affect this had on women we can only guess, but cry with Isaiah "Can a mother forget her baby or a woman the child of her womb?" Women’s life span was shorter than men’s. Sarah died before Abraham (but at 127) Rebecca before Isaac, Jacob’s wives disappear before he does. There must have been many men sitting in the city gates who had no wife to care for them. No wonder in the book of Sirach we hear that a man should thank God everyday that he is not a slave or a woman. Men then and always were bound to the weaker sex. A tale is told of the Rabbi Gamaliel. An emperor said to him, your god is a thief. He took away the rib of a man to make a woman. Gamaliel did not know what to answer. But his little daughter did. She went to the Emperor and said “a 17

The book “The Red Tent” by Anita Diamant suggests that she was separated from society at that time. “But some Orthodox Jewish commentators believe that its premises are unfounded and that it promulgates an incorrect stereotypical and negative picture of the Patriarchs.”

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thief broke into our house and stole a silver ewer. Then he left a gold one instead.” The Emperor replied, “Would that I knew such a thief. I would invite him in every night.” “Well,” said the little girl, “That is what God did. He took away a rib and gave him a wife.” “She is far more precious than jewels”

Jewish husbands like to see their wives adorned with jewels and fine clothing: Ezekiel claims, "I adorned you with ornaments: I put bracelets on your arms, a chain on your neck, a ring on your nose, ear-rings in your ears, and a beautiful crown upon your head. You were adorned with gold and silver while your clothing was of fine linen, rich fabric, and embroidered cloth" (16.11-63). Golden earrings and other jewelry have been found at Bethsaida.18 Then as now, jewelry was worn for appearance, but then as now it also indicated the wealth of the man whose wife wore it. Our finds at Bethsaida show that women provided the system that allowed society to function. Strong, dignified, wise and kind, they provided the moral fiber. “She laughs at the days to come”

She was confident and optimistic even when her beauty faded. He indeed may take his place among the elders in the city gates, and we have found such places in the city gates at Bethsaida, but it is her reputation that gives him the honors. Perhaps it is time that we gave women their due. “Give her a share in the fruit of her hands and let her works praise her in the city gates.”

18

No metal has been more frequently mentioned in Old Testament than gold. Huge quantities of gold were used by the Israelites in constructing their holy places. Gold formed a part of every household treasure (Gen 13:2; 24:35; Deut 8:13; 17:17; Josh 22:8; Ezek 28:4. A common practice was to make gold into jewelry with the dual purpose of ornamentation and of treasuring it. This custom still prevails among the Moslems. A poor woman will save her small coins until she has enough to buy a gold bracelet. This she will wear or put away against the day of need (Cf. Gen 24:22,53).

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References Arav, Rami and Freund, Richard, eds., (1995), Bethsaida A City on the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee Vol. 1, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press. Andrea M., What’s for Dinner. The Answer is in the Pot, Biblical Archaeology Review, Nov/Dec, 1999 Edwards, John (1993), The Roman Cookery of Apicius, London: Random House 1993 Frankel, Raphael (1999), Wine and Oil Production in Ancient Israel and other Mediterranean Countries, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Freyne, Sean (1980), Galilee from Alexander the Great to Hadrian Delaware: Michael Glazier. Gero, Joan, and Margaret Conkey, eds. (1991), Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory. Cambridge: Blackwell. Gimbutas, Marija (1989), The Language of the Goddess, New York: Harper Collins. Hornsley, Ian (2007), A History of Beer and Brewing, New York: Helium Publishing, 2007 Irwin, Christine (2007), A Brief History of Beer. New York: Helium Publishing. Kent, Susan. ed. (1998), Gender in African Prehistory, London: Alta Mira Press. McGovern, Pat, and Stuart J. Flemming, eds. (1995), Origins and Ancient History of Wine, Luxemburg: Gordon and Breach. Meyers, Carol, Toni Craven, and Ross S. Kraemer, eds. (2000), Women in Scripture: a Dictionary of Named and Unnamed Women in the Hebrew Bible, the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books, and the New Testament, Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Nelsen, Susan Milledge, and Myriam Rosen-Ayalon, eds. (2002), In Pursuit of Gender: Worldwide Archaeological Approaches, London: Alta Mira Press. Nun, Mendel (1989), The Sea of Galilee and its Fishermen in the New Testament, Jerusalem: Kibbutz En Gev Tourist Department. Orr, James, ed. (1946), "Definition for 'GOLD'" International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Pliny (1949), Historia Naturalis, 14 vols., H. Rockman, trans, Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, Harvard University Press. Philips, Tarja (2006), Menstruation and Childbirth in the Bible, New York: Peter Lang.

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Pomeroy, Sarah B. (1975), Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves, New York: Dorset Press. Soranus, (1838, 1892) Gynaecology, (first published in 1838, reprinted by V. Rose, in 1882, with a 6th-century Latin translation by Moschio, a physician, London: Oxford University Press. Walde, Dale, and Noreen Willows, eds. (1991), The Archaeology of Gender, Calgary: University of Calgary. Winkler, A.J., Grapes and Wine Economic Botany 3, 1949, 46-70.

CHAPTER TEN PHOENICIAN PRESENCE IN BETHSAIDA ILONA SKUPIēSKA-LOVSET

Archaeological excavations at Bethsaida have revealed artefacts of possible Phoenician manufacture, crafted according to Phoenician prototypes, or influenced by Phoenician culture. Architecture of possible Phoenician affinity, such as the “Phoenician-style temple”, will not be discussed.1 The time frame of this assessment is chiefly the Iron Age and, to some extent, the periods which followed. I am implying that the culture of Bethsaida falls within the Phoenician sphere of influence, as do the cultures of other Eastern Mediterranean sites. Research available in written sources and archaeological material regarding landscape, architecture, as well as objects connected with worship and daily life, indicate that intercultural influences were common in the Mediterranean area at this time. These included the exchange of goods and ideas, inspiration as to styling, and purchase of readymade tools, e.g. moulds for the production of terracotta figurines. In the Iron Age and into the Hellenistic period, the leading role in this process was played by Phoenicia until the rise of Greek cultural dominance. For the territory of the Eastern Mediterranean, the leading role of Phoenicia is no longer disputed. Among the archaeological artifacts, the most apparent traces of Phoenician influence are found in small objects of glass, of metal, of faience, of pottery, and in terracotta figurines. Clay objects are very common, as this material was inexpensive and the objects easy to reproduce. Various scholars have shown that clay objects could be produced locally where raw material sufficient in quality for the production of pottery and figurines could be found. The moulds produced in larger centers were spread by trade and were also imitated locally. Thus, among the finds at Bethsaida we may have imports, locally produced 1

See SkupiĔska-Løvset, Ilona The Temple Area of Bethsaida.. Polish Excavations on et-Tell in the Years 1998–2000 (àódĨ University Press, 2006).

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objects from imported moulds, and local imitations. What is common to them all is the effort to participate in expression of leading cultural trends, namely both adherence to cultural traditions in the shaping of the forms of the objects and specific up-dated ways of manufacturing them. In this way the objects unite tradition and modernity. A prime example is the famous stele discovered at the city gate of Bethsaida (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1. The iconic stele of Bethsaida. Courtesy Bethsaida Excavations Project.

Some Phoenician features expressed in the shape and in the process of manufacturing can be noted in this case. This is not just iconography. Accepting R. Arav’s theory that under the ruins of Bethsaida are hidden ruins of the mighty city of Tzer, the capital of the kingdom of Geshur, John T. Greene sees in the horned creature represented on the stele the weather God Teshub, who is related to Bar-rekub of Damascus. Bar-rekub, as Greene states, was worshipped locally under the name of Ba ‘al/Teshub.2 2 Greene, John T., “Iron Age Tzer: Preliminary Studies Toward a History of the Religion of the Geshurites Who Resided There”, in SkupiĔska-Løvset, Ilona (ed.),

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It should be pointed out that the stele with a rounded top, with the frame on the same level as the highest point of the decoration, was executed using a version of the technique of “sunken relief”. Its forerunner as to the way of sculpting applied, is thus the famous Stele depicting the god Baal from Ugarit, 142 cm high, that depicts Baal as the divine warrior, housed today in the Louvre. The Baal shown on the stele is carrying a sword at his belt and a club in his raised right hand. This limestone stele, discovered during the archaeological excavations of Ugarit is dated to the nineteenth / eighteenth centuries B.C. The same shape and technique are still found at much later dates, e.g. in the equally famous limestone stele of Yehawmilk from Byblos, 130 x 56 cm, dated to the fifth century B.C., which is also kept in the Louvre.3 The rounded top of a stele may thus be considered a traditional shape, originally Phoenician, associated with a cult site under the open sky. Similarly, the case of usage of the technique of “sunken relief”. Keel and Bernett4 interpreted the figure on the stele discovered at the city gate of Bethsaida as picturing the lunar deity Sin, associated with the religion of Mesopotamia and Harran in northern Syria. However, Sin is not connected with a bull and is not armed. Thus, the cult site should be identified instead with the Aramaic deities Hadad and Teshub, as proposed by John Greene. Both of these are weather gods honoured by Aramaic peoples from Northern Mesopotamia, Northern Syria and Southern Anatolia. These deities were shown armed, though not primarily with a sword, and associated in appearance with a bull. The association of the figure sculpted on the Bethsaida stele with a bull is a fact without doubt, a sword points to its warrior profession. The Bethsaida deity could then have been a local version of an Aramaic god as the best analogies are known from Tell el-As’ari5 and

Papers on Values and Interrelations Between Europe and the Near East in Antiquity, Acta Universitatis Lodziensis, Folia Archaeologica 26 (àódĨ: àódĨ University Press, 2009), pp. 47–89, especially pp. 59–62 and p. 79: “most probably that of the god Teshub”. 3 Images of both steles have been published in colour in; Moscati, Sabatino (ed.), The Phoenicians (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2001), the Ugarit stele on p. 37, the Yehawmilk stele on p.400. 4 Bernett, M, and Keel, O. Mond, Stier und Kult am Stadttor. Die Stele von Betsaida (et-Tell), Freiburg-Göttingen 1998 [Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 161], passim. 5 A site situated about halfway between Tiberias and Souweida in Syria. The stele was placed in the inside wall of a Roman tomb and therefore in the present archaeological literature referred to as being of Roman date. It measures 88 cm x

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’Awas, a village situated close to the Syrian town of Salkhad.6 Similarities as to the material, motif and technique of execution are also shown on a stele stored in the Municipal Museum in Gaziantep, Turkey, under inventory number 4194.7 Recently, another stele of similar kind was discovered in the storerooms of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan. It was found in et-Turra, probably in 2003, but identified only in 2010. The stele is fragmentary, showing the upper part of the body, a sword, and a symbol of a disc parted in four equal sections.8 In conclusion, the interpretation of the archaeological material presented above indicates, that Bethsaida may have been under the power of Damascus at least after 853 B.C. and took part in various aspects of the Aramaic culture, at that time influenced by Phoenicians. We may supply here still another example of an artefact discovered during the excavations of Bethsaida, indicating cultural dependence on Phoenicia. According to Baruch Brandl, a bulla found on et-Tell (Bethsaida) points to the Phoenician cultural impact on local art in the ninth–eighth centuries B.C.9 The bulla was discovered near the structures of the so-called “bit hilani palace” in area B. According to Brandl’s research, the model for this bulla was Egyptian, adapted by the Phoenicians. Brandl’s detailed research shows that the bulla and its scarab belong to a small but distinctive group of artefacts. This group contains several Egyptian motifs which were transformed into Phoenician style. These individual motifs were ordered differently, but always in three registers. The seal, however, he considers to be of Israelite, not of Phoenician, manufacture.10 This interesting case may demonstrate the way in which Egyptian motifs were transformed and introduced into areas which were not normally in receipt of Egyptian imports. The Phoenicians 35 cm x 30 cm and it is recorded under inventory number 1936 4177 in the Syrian National Museum in Damascus. 6 This stele is today lost, but a drawing made by R. Mouterde shortly after its discovery was published in: Bulletin du Musée de Beyrouth 1937/1938 Fig. 12. 7 Skupinska-Lovset, I. “The Results of Excavations at et-Tell, Roman Bethsaida. The Cult Site at the Gate”, in; StĊpniowski F.M. (ed.), The Orient and the Aegean. Papers Presented at the Warsaw Symposium, 9th April 1999 (Warsaw University Press, 2003, pp. 131–142; especially pp. 134 -137. Basalt stele with dimensions 105 cm x 45.5 cm x 34 cm. Cf. also Bernett & Keel, op.cit. pp. 8 – 9 Figs. 1 8 Wimmer, Stefan J. and Janaydeh, Kh. “Eine Mondgottstele aus etTurra/Jordanien”, in ZDPV 127 (2011) 2 pp. 135–141.[Zeitschrift des Deutchen Palästina-Vereins, year 2011 heft 2] 9 Brandl, Baruch “An Israelite Bulla in Phoenician Style from Bethsaida (et-Tell)”, in Arav and Freund, Volume one, pp. 141–151. 10 Ibid. p. 151.

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are believed to have reworked Egyptian motifs and spread Egyptian influences over a large area of the Mediterranean. Finds such as bronze statuettes of Apis, Osiris, Isis and Astarte in the region close to Bethsaida are dated to the Persian and Hellenistic periods. They are representative of the common culture of the Mediterranean, formed under the leadership of the Phoenicians.11 Metal objects of this kind have not so far been recorded in Bethsaida itself. Fragments of terracotta statuettes dating from the Iron Age to the Hellenistic period are, however, recorded, and come chiefly from area A on et-Tell. They are considered to reflect the ruins of a Phoenician-style temple.12 The finds give only partial information about the cult; Phoenician-inspired sanctuaries are still insufficiently understood.13 About the domestic cult we know more, thanks to excavations in Transjordan14 and revived interest in terracotta statuettes found in countryside sanctuaries, homes and tombs. Such statuettes are recorded in Bethsaida, as I have discussed in detail in a previous article in this volume.15 We may speak of figurines representing the goddess Astarte and others of mortals taking part in ceremonies: players and dancers.16 Such statuettes were fairly popular in both Eastern and Western Mediterranean cultures. Despite some local peculiarities, they are in principle similar, confined to representations of the goddess Astarte who may be identified

11

Kamlah, Jens “Zwei nordpalästinische ‘Heiligtümer’ der persischen Zeit und ihre epigraphische Funde”, in ZDPV, 115 (1999), pp. 163–190; for a map of the find, see Fig. 4 (p. 183). 12 SkupiĔska-Løvset,I., The Temple Area, Appendix 2, “Terracottas”, pp. 114–116. See also the chapter entitled ““The Cult of Astarte in Bethsaida and Kinneret? Interpretation of Female Figurines Excavated on et-Tell and Tel el-Ghureimeh”” in this volume. 13 SkupiĔska-Løvset, The Temple Area, pp. 80– 85. Better known are sanctuaries of the Hellenistic and Roman periods, such as Tyre (Roman), Arwad (Baetocece, Afka, Oum el-Amed (Hellenistic – Roman). 14 The studies were recently collected in one volume entitled Studies on Iron Age Moab and Neighboring Areas in Honor of Michèle Daviau, Bienkowski P.(ed.), Ancient NearEastern Studies, Supplement 29, Peteers (2009). 15 See above, note 12, Fig. 2 (the goddess), and Figs 3 and 5 . 16 Such figurines are shown on the cover of Stavrakopoulou F. and J. Barton J. (eds), Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah (XXX London, T&T Clark International, 2012 (Photographer Zev Radovan), described as “Singer and two tambourine players. However, the figurine described as a singer is in fact a double aulos player.

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with a local goddess and given some local attributes,17 The people connected with the cult include musicians (chiefly tambourine players and people playing instruments such as the double aulos), singers and dancers. Some aspects of the styling of the goddess, such as the fringe of hair on the forehead and the rest falling over the shoulders, often exposing adorned ears and rows of necklaces, are also considered to have been borrowed from Egypt. The canonical position of Astarte, standing naked with legs together and supporting her breasts with her hands, her arms bent at the elbows, tight against her body, is also believed to be of Egyptian origin, transformed and popularized by the Phoenicians.18

Fig. 2. Fragments of the terra-cotta figurines excavated in Bethsaida. Pataikos is shown in the lower row to the left. Above three fragmentary statuettes showing women connected with cultic functions. To the right three heads of men, above inspired by the Persian culture, below inspired by Egyptian culture.

17

See Fig. 2 in SkupiĔska-Lovset, “The Cult of Astarte in Bethsaida and Kinneret? Interpretation of Female Figurines Excavated on et-Tell and Tel el-Ghureimeh”, in this volume. 18 Cf. Fig. 2 in “The Cult of Astarte”, p. 000 of this volume.

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A faience statuette of a luck-bringing Bes, the pataekos, (Fig. 2) found in Bethsaida, is of great interest.19 The most common motifs used for amulets and figurines are visualisations of protecting deities and symbols of magical and religious character often inspired by Egyptian art. They are taken from the plant, animal and human worlds and have added symbolic value. Such amulets, often parts of necklaces, are widely known in the Mediterranean region in this period. Pataekoi have Egyptian roots, but were popularized in the Mediterranean area by the Phoenicians. Direct imports from the areas controlled by Phoenicia and found in Bethsaida should also be mentioned. These are jugs and juglets, glass beads and glass vessels. To date, such finds have been the subject of preliminary publications only, in the seasonal reports from the excavations (2003 onwards), to be found on the internet.20 These artefacts demonstrate that Bethsaida was not isolated from the other Syro-Palestinian sites during the Iron Age. Fashionable items made accessible by trade and communication must have been a factor uniting the inhabitants of this area, irrespective of their origin, race or religion. Products of Phoenician manufacture were fashionable, which may explain why an elaborate imported Phoenician jar found at the cult site, was placed very near to the platform identified as an altar of an enclosed cultic site in Tel Rehov in the Jordan valley.21 Phoenician pottery may have had a similar cultic function in Bethsaida. A juglet found in area A, locus 1113, belongs to the Bichrome class (decorated in two colours) (Fig. 3). It has two handles reaching from shoulders to mid-neck, and a decoration of concentric circles executed in

19

See Arav Rami, Bethsaida. Preliminary Report, 1994–1996, in Arav and Freund (eds), Bethsaida, Volume two, Fig. 37, p. 91. 20 See, e.g., the report on the excavations of 2011: http://www.unomaha.edu/betsaida/reports/2011. In 2004, a report on an amber bead was published (Area B, locus 1701, basket 20007); in 2005, a fragment of a so-called “milk bowl” (area[missing info], locus 1707, basket 17614), as well as a glass bead and a carnelian bead (stratum 6, chamber 2); in 2006,murex shells were recorded in Area A, west square F 53, locus 2019, basket 18140; in 2009, a fragment of a Phoenician glass vessel in blue and yellow was found in locus 2080, basket 21611, and another fragment in area A west, locus 2189, 21796; a white and blue glass bead was found in grid I 54, locus 2080, another bead in area A locus 2180, basket 21774, and yet another in area A, locus 2183, basket 21760; in 2010, a fragment of the body of a bichrome juglet was found in area A, locus 1113. This vessel was shown restored as Figure 6 in the field report for the year 2011. 21 A. Mazar, The 1997–1998 Excavations at Tel Rehov, Preliminary Report, IEJ, pp. 1–42.

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red and broown on its beelly. The jugllet may have been used to o carry a quantity of uunguents ratheer larger than for personal uuse.

ublished in: T The Consortium m for the Fig. 3. Phoeenician Bichroome Juglet. Pu Excavations oof Bethsaida. Bethsaida B Bibliical Archaeologgy Project Liceense 2011. Report On thhe 2011 Excavaation Season. Courtesy C Bethsaaida Excavation ns Project, p. 8. Found iin fragments sinnce 1994, resto ored in 2011. (N Northern cham mber of the City Gate).

Glass obbjects excavatted from the ruins r of Bethssaida are of tw wo types: glass beads,, recorded in the excavatiion reports foor the years 2005 2 and 2009, and ffragments froom one or more m glass ve ssels, recordeed in the excavation rreports for thhe years 2009 9 and 2010. T The vessel (orr vessels) discovered iin Bethsaida was w (were) probably used for precious unguents (Fig. 4a-4b)). It may havee had two han ndles and a finnely formed belly. b The glass substaances in two contrasting colours dark bblue and sharrp yellow

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(bichrome gglass), were coombined in atttractive way fo forming a desiign on the belly. Contrasting colourss are often useed in Phoeniciia.

Fig. 4a. Fragm ment of a Phoeenician glass vessel. Found duuring the 2009 season of excavations, locus 2080, basket b 21611, published p in: T The Consortium for the B Biblical Archaeologgy Project. Liceense 2009. Excavations oof Bethsaida. Bethsaida Report On thhe 2009. Excavvation Season. Courtesy of thhe Bethsaida Ex xcavations Project.

Fig. 4b. Fraggment of a Phooenician glass vessel. v Found oon 09 July 200 09 in Area A(west), loccus 2189, baskket 21796. Pu ublished in: T The Consortium m for the B Biblical Archaeologgy Project. Liceense 2009. Excavations oof Bethsaida. Bethsaida Report On thhe 2009 Excavvation Season. Courtesy of thhe Bethsaida Ex xcavations Project.

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Chains oof bi- and multi-coloured beeads were the most common n form of jewellery recorded also inn Bethsaida (F Fig. 5). Pendaants, often in the t shape of small heaads, amulets such as the Eg gyptian-inspireed figurine off Bes, and portions of the human body, subsidiarily, small animals and parts of plants, form med necklaces in the Iron Age A Eastern M Mediterranean.. A glassproducing inndustry spreadd from Mesop potamia to Eggypt and from Egypt to the towns off the Eastern Mediterranean M n. It flourishedd on the islan nds and in the coastal towns duringg the Iron Ag ge, particularlyy in the seveenth–sixth centuries B B.C. The prroducts were made usinng the “coree-formed” technique: tthe damp claay core was modelled innto the desireed shape, wrapped in a piece of clooth, fixed to th he end of a can ane and submeerged in a crucible of molten glass. A decoratio on of threads of alternating g colours was added oon the still molten m form. Then T the objecct was rolled on a flat piece of stoone or metal to obtain a smooth surfaace, and the core was extracted.

Fig. 5. Phoennician multicolored glass bead discovered on June 22.20 011, locus 1124, baskett 11185, published in: The Consortium for the Excav vations of Bethsaida. Beethsaida Biblical Archaeology y Project. Licennse 2011. Repo ort On the 2011 Excavattion Season. Coourtesy of the Bethsaida B Excavvations Project.

It is a quuestion as to how h to explain n the excavateed artefacts, especially e of probable religious connnotations. Diaane Edelman, using religiou us literary sources, parrticularly the Hebrew H Biblee, as her startinng point, disccusses the existence off places/sites of o local cult practices p in adddition to Jeru usalem. It is her opiniion that thesee practices drew mainly onn the local Canaanite/ C Phoenician tradition. Shhe points outt that even tthe existencee of clay figurines coonnected withh “personal piety” cannot therefore be taken as

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evidence that the site was inhabited by a non-Jewish population.22 Religious activity is often presented by scholars interpreting the Hebrew Bible according to the Jerusalemite canon. Frequently they exclude the socalled “personal piety” that is well demonstrated by archaeology, especially in relation to the inhabitants of the countryside. Rainer Albertz23 explores various aspects of individual religious acts, pointing to aspects of individual and social expressions of age, inheritance, geography, character of surrounding culture, even personal economy. All these factors forming local tradition may have influence the behavior of local societies and their individual inhabitants. A special place for various local aspects of religious practice are often bound up even with the social position and sexual manners of believers, as described by F. Stavrakopoulou.24 As is apparent, the artefacts which could be connected with the practice of religion in Iron Age Bethsaida fall within a broad frame of possible explanations. The fact, however, that manifold possibilities of more ingoing explanation exist, does not free us from pointing out archaeological proofs of usage of Phoenician influenced or Phoenician crafted artefacts in the Iron Age Bethsaida. Progress in excavations indicates a belonging of this site to the common Mediterranean culture horizon.

References Yearly reports on excavations conducted on et-Tell, from the year 2003 to the present, are available online: http://www.unomaha.edu/betsaida/reports/2003 ...until Albertz, Rainer, “Personal Piety”, in: Stavrakopoulou and Barton, pp. 135–146. Arav, Rami and Freund, Richard A. (eds), Bethsaida. A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Volume one (Thomas Jefferson University Press, 1995), following volumes by the same editors and under the same tittle cited as: eg. Bethsaida..Volume two ( Truman State University, 1999) etc. 22

Edelmann, Diane “Cultic Sites and Complexes beyond the Jerusalem Temple”, in Stavrakopoulou and Barton (eds), Religious Diversity, pp. 82–103, especially pp. 98–99. 23 Albertz, Rainer, “Personal Piety”, in Stavrakopoulou and Barton (eds), ReligiousDiversity, pp. 135– 146. 24 Stavrakopoulou, F. “‘Popular religion’ and ‘Official’: Practice, Perception, Portrayal of Religion”, in Stavrakopoulou and Barton (eds), Religious Diversity, pp. 36– 58.

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Arav, Rami, “Bethsaida. Preliminary Report, 1994–1996”, in: Arav and Freund, Bethsaida, Volume two, Fig. 37 p. 91ff. Bernett, M, and Keel, O. “Mond, Stier und Kult am Stadttor. Die Stele von Betsaida (et-Tell)”, Freiburg-Göttingen 1998 [Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 161. Bienkowski, Piotr (ed.), Studies on Iron Age Moab and Neighboring Areas in Honor of Michèle Daviau, Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Supplement 29, Peeters 2009. Brandl, Baruch, “An Israelite Bulla in Phoenician Style from Bethsaida (et-Tell)”, in Bethsaida… Volume one ( 1995), pp. 141–151. Edelmann, Diane “Cultic Sites and Complexes Beyond the Jerusalem Temple”, in; Stavrakopoulou and Barton 2012, pp. 98–99. Greene, John T. “Iron Age Tzer: Preliminary Studies Toward a History of the Religion of the Geshurites Who Resided There”, in Ilona SkupiĔska-Lovset (ed.), Papers on Values and Interrelations Between Europe and the Near East in Antiquity, Acta Universitatis Lodziensis, Folia Archaeologica 26 ( àódĨ University Press, 2009). IEJ Israel Exploration Journal Kamlah, Jens, “Zwei nordpalästinische ‘Heiligtümer’ der persischen Zeit und ihre epigraphische Funde”, in ZDPV, 115 (1999), pp. 163–190. Mazar, A. The 1997–1998 Excavations at Tel Rehov, Preliminary Report, IEJ, pp. 1–42. Moscati, Sabatino (ed.), The Phoenicians (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2001). SkupiĔska-Løvset, Ilona “The Results of Excavations at et-Tell, Roman Bethsaida. The Cult Site at the Gate”, in: F.M. StĊpniowski (ed.), The Orient and the Aegean. Papers Presented at the Warsaw Symposium, 9th April 1999 (Warsaw University Press 2003), pp. 131– 142. SkupiĔska-Løvset, Ilona The Temple Area of Bethsaida. Polish Excavations on et-Tell in the Years 1998–2000 (àódĨ: àódĨ University Press, 2006). Stavrakopoulou, F. “‘Popular Religion’ and ‘Official’: Practice, Perception, Portrayal of Religion, in: Stavrakopoulou and Barton, pp. 36–58. Stavrakopoulou F. and Barton J (eds), Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah, (XXX: T&T Clark International, 2012). Wimmer Stefan J. and Janaydeh Kh, “Eine Mondgottstele aus etTurra/Jordanien”, in ZDPV 127 (2011) 2 pp. 135–141. ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutchen Palästina Vereins: volume (year) heft.

CHAPTER ELEVEN PHILIP OF BETHSAIDA MARK APPOLD

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.” Noting both the frequency and absence of the names of those who played significant roles in the early Jesus movement is an instructive starting point. The majority of those who first responded to the message of Jesus of Nazareth remains anonymous, including all the individuals and groups who created both the oral and literary traditions of those encounters. What remains unknown is far greater than what can be known. One could theorize that there was an overriding concern not to detract from the central figure of the Good News message by memorializing its followers and remembering their deeds instead of the words and deeds of its leader. Anonymity can also be intentional and used as a literary device in telling the story. Such was the case with the multi-valent, unnamed figure of the Beloved Disciple in the Fourth Gospel. On the other hand, the frequency of a person’s appearances in the New Testament (NT) texts would undeniably reflect the larger significance of the role played by that person. Paul, the apostle to the Gentiles, and Peter, are cases in point. Aside from Jesus, the names of Paul and Peter far exceed that of any other persons in the NT. Surprisingly, however, among those next in line, is the disciple, Philip of Bethsaida. The role played by him is extensive. Although in the cases of all the NT biblical figures, with the exception of Paul, biographical detail is sketchy and very limited, enough information can be garnered about Philip, one of the Bethsaida disciple of Jesus, to paint a compelling picture. The goal of this chapter is to examine the complex and seemingly contradictory evidence descriptive of Philip from two points of view – the preEaster Philip and the post-Easter Philip. Philip’s activity in the land of Israel will be traced from its beginning in the fishing village of Bethsaida to its ending with the burial of Philip in Hierapolis, Turkey. Text analysis

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of both biblical and non-biblical ancient sources will be used in conjunction with interpretations from the material finds and the social cultural history of the archaeological site at Bethsaida. Using the unified witness of early second century CE church-historical sources and traditions, together with a re-evaluation of the Lucan material, the argument will be advanced that Philip, the disciple described in the Fourth Gospel, is the same person as Philip the evangelist, as described by Luke in his accounts given in the Acts of the Apostles. This combined view supports the stature accorded to Philip as a premier missioner, a “finder of people”, a Jewish bridge-person to the Gentiles, and one of the “great luminaries” (Eusebius. III. 31. 2) who was buried at Hierapolis, a major center of Phrygian life in Asia Minor. A comparison between the Johannine and the Synoptic Gospel portrayals of Jesus’ disciples reveals striking differences. While the number twelve in both traditions is fixed, representing the twelve tribes of Israel, the names vary. Nathaniel does not appear in the Synoptic lists. John’s inclusion of Judas, son of James, follows the Lucan tradition, but not that of Mark. In the Synoptic accounts all twelve of those whom Jesus calls are named, whereas in John only seven of the twelve are named, nine, if one includes the reference to the sons of Zebedee whose actual names, however, are not given (21:2). Additionally, to each of the seven this Gospel assigns a speaking part. Four of the seven (Andrew, Philip, Nathaniel, and Thomas), whose names appear in the Synoptic lists, but then nothing more, play prominent roles in the Johannine narrative. Nor does that yet include “the unnamed other disciple, the one "whom Jesus loved”, John’s mystery figure, who appears throughout this Gospel with potentially diverse meanings and applications. A further critical point involves the designations disciple and apostle. Both terms appear in the Synoptics. John’s Gospel, however, never uses the term apostle and in turn always speaks of disciples. Nonetheless, the term disciple has here, in many respects, an equivalent meaning to apostle and is broad enough to include everyone who, to use the language of the Samaritans in 4:41, “believes the word of Jesus and knows that he is the Savior of the world.” It is Luke who preempts the term apostle and uses it almost exclusively for the twelve, whereas for Paul and others in the early Church, it applies to a wide range of missionaries and witnesses to the Gospel (I Cor. 15:7). The same broad usage is how John uses the term disciple where, for example, in the Bread of Life dispute “many of (Jesus’) disciples turned back and no longer went with him” (6:66), or where Joseph of Arimathea is identified as “a disciple of Jesus, though a secret one for his fear of the Jews” (19:38). Think also of the “other disciple” who

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followed Jesus and was known to the high priest (18:15). The conclusion is obvious. Disciple in the Fourth Gospel is an inclusive term with no differentiation between the twelve and other believers. Further comparisons with the Synoptic traditions help to articulate the unique role played by Philip. The Synoptics assign him a non-descript part in which he appears only in the lists of the disciples. Following the lead of Mark’s Gospel, Philip is consistently given the number five slot and is paired with Bartholomew. Philip never appears again and nothing more is said about him. By contrast, in the Fourth Gospel he plays an exceptional role. His name appears twelve times and he is referred to more times than any of the other disciples with the exception of the “Beloved" or "Unnamed Disciple” and Peter. Philip is the only disciple, according to John, whom Jesus calls directly. He is part of the chain reaction pictured in the call scene in which Andrew, “the first-called”, finds his brother Simon and in which Philip, identified as the one who recognizes Jesus to be the fulfillment of Moses and the prophets, finds Nathanael, a true Israelite (2:4345). Despite the fact that source criticism has lost its edge in Johannine studies, one should not overlook the uniqueness of the larger call narrative in which the first disciples of Jesus are identified and the circumstances under which they are summoned to follow him are described (1:35-55). The occurrence in the foundational Greek text of three Aramaisms needing translation (rabbi, messiah, and Cephas) reflects traces of the earliest Palestinian level of tradition. Beneath the theologized overlay portraying the Baptizer (simply called John in the Fourth Gospel) as the prime witness to Jesus lie the clues indicating that Jesus himself was initially for a time a follower of John and that after their separation, some of the followers of John became followers of Jesus. Andrew who is regularly paired with Philip is specifically named as such (1:40). The context would seem to include his brother Peter and the unnamed disciple as well. Would it be likely that Philip also had an early connection with John the Baptist, especially since Andrew, Peter, and Philip are all explicitly identified as having their home in a small fishing village which makes shared family experiences a much greater likelihood? Following the call narrative, a startling sequence of events begins to unfold and Philip emerges as a questioning, sometimes doubting conversation partner with Jesus. The first exchange unfolds in the feeding event of the 5000 (6:5-7). Philip joins Andrew to question Jesus’ intentions, pointing out that there are insufficient supplies to provide food for such a large crowd. Andrew, Philip’s partner in the discussion, adds to the problem by pointing to a boy who has five barley loaves and two fish, but then asking “what are they among so many people?" Here both Andrew and Philip are

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pictured as incapable of recognizing the full identity of Jesus and failing, in Johannine terms, to “think from above.” In a subsequent scene at a Passover festival, Philip and Andrew are again center stage. They pass on to Jesus questions from Greek speaking inquirers who address Philip with the request, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” (12:21-22). Unsure of how to respond, Philip finds Andrew and with mutual support they then turn to Jesus. Both are portrayed as “bridge people” to the Gentiles. Finally, in Jesus’ pre-Passion discourse with the disciples (14:8-9) Philip appears again but as an inquirer who, now paired with Thomas, seeks to “know” the Father but in the subsequent exchange fails to recognize Jesus’ oneness with the Father. In summary, it can be said that the Johannine text reflects substantially more knowledge of the discipleship of Philip in his pre-Easter days than what can be gleaned from the Synoptic tradition. Why that is the case may have much to do both with the post-Easter Jerusalem experiences that would follow and the tradition identifying the Fourth Gospel as the Jerusalem Gospel. It is important, however, to note that Philip had been “found” by Jesus and invited to follow him. Convinced that Jesus is the one about whom Moses and the prophets wrote, Philip finds Nathaniel and so initiates a chain reaction of “finding” and witnessing. As a seeker and a finder, he is portrayed as one whose faith is still incomplete but also as one whose potential for discipleship is not in doubt. While the biblical texts make no apparent effort to explain the significance of the name by which each disciple is identified, those names can help in the characterization of each. That is particularly the case for Philip and also for Andrew with whom Philip is paired. One could also include Simon Peter. All three of these Bethsaida disciples had distinctly Greek names despite the fact that all three were observant Jews. The name Simon Peter is native Greek even though it has a Hebrew equivalent. Philip and Andrew are purely Greek. What cultural circumstances were in place for such a practice to develop? The use of Jewish patriarchal names was popular, especially during the Hasmonean period, although Greek names such as Alexander, Aristobolus, and Hyrcanus were in use as well. That did not change much during the time of the Herods and prompts the question why Philip, the disciple, received the name he was given. Did his parents wish to name their son after Philip (Herod) the Tetrarch in whose territory Bethsaida was located? Would that have something to say about the cultural orientation of Philip’s family as well as the milieu in which Philip spent his formative years? The name Philip is prevalent and deeply rooted in Greek/Hellenistic history marked by such notables as Philip II of Macedonia, father of Alexander the Great. In Jewish circles, by contrast, the name

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Philip does appear but only in a very limited way. It is not a popular name. The extreme may be seen with Andrew, who is linked with Philip, but whose name is so purely Greek that it never appears in written texts as a Jewish name. Philip Herod’s Tetrarchy, home of the Bethsaida disciples, appears to support this general cultural orientation. Even the less Hellenized neighboring Galilee reflects the complex interaction with Greco-Roman culture. The use of Greek mythical figures, Medusas, zodiac signs in synagogues, the stadium at Tiberius, the hippodrome in Magdala, the Caesareas, Sebaste, cities dedicated to the honor of the Roman emperor all testify to the interplay between two symbiotic cultural/religious systems. Compared with the more urbanized territory of neighboring Galilee, Philip’s jurisdiction was much poorer and more rural. His yearly income was half as much as that of his brother Antipas and a fourth of that of Archelaus (Josephus. War 2.95). This territory was part of the Golan whose millennium long history had been oriented primarily to the Aramean north, the northwest and the northeast and not to the Judean south. Later, the rabbis would regard this area as outside the land of Israel. During the time coinciding with the Bethsaida disciples’ residence, the area was of mixed population with Greeks, Itureans, Syro-Phoenicians and Jews (Josephus, Wars, 3.57). Philip Herod himself, though Jewish, was better known for his un-Jewish ways with his flurry of minting coins with human images and tolerating varieties of Greco-Roman religious practices. Such tolerance may have been the reason why the Gospels report Jesus’ crossing the border into Philip’s more relaxed territory in order to avoid confrontation with “that fox” Herod Antipas (Luke 13:32) whose fear of any resurgence of John the Baptist’s movement would have impacted on Jesus and his followers as well. In summary, the territory under Philip’s jurisdiction was less urbanized and economically restricted. Paneas in the north was enlarged by Philip and renamed Caesarea Philippi to honor Caesar Augustus but it could not compare with Caesarea Maritima, the coastal Roman provincial capital. Bethsaida to the south was elevated from a village to the status of a city and renamed Bethsaida Julias (Antiq. 18, 2) but had nothing to compare with Caesarea Maritima, Sebaste, or Tiberius, and Sepphoris to the west or to Bet She’an in the Decapolis; despite a well-traveled east/west road connecting Capernaum through Bethsaida into the Golan. To what degree would Philip the disciple and his Bethsaida co-workers have known anything of the background and history of the village in which they lived and carried on their daily work? Raised in Jewish families, would they have had an acquaintance with the narrative accounts in

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the Hebrew Scriptures? Would they have known the story of King David who married Maacah, a Geshurite princess, daughter of King Talmai as told in II Samuel 3:2-5 and I Chronicles 3:1-3? The marriage would have represented a diplomatic tie between David and the land of Geshur. Would these disciples have known the account of Absalom and his revenge killing of Amnon, his older brother, who had raped their sister Tamar? Would they have realized that the village in which they were living was once, centuries before, the capital city of Geshur, the very place to which Absalom had fled to find safety in his mother’s house for three years before returning to Jerusalem where he met his tragic death? Would the disciples have had any idea through story-telling and traditions passed on through the generations that buried at the top of the tell were the remains of a biblically important city that was part of their own heritage? The archaeological excavations at et-Tell have over the past two and a half decades uncovered the impressive remains of an Iron Age capital city with parts of what once were imposing walls, a massive city gate, and palace, all of which met a fiery end with the Assyrian devastation of the 8th century BCE. Large-scale deportation led to a marked decline in population from which the area for centuries never fully recovered (Strickert. 2011, 15-27). Matters do not substantially change during the Persian period. In the absence of firm boundaries and territorial lines, Syria and Palestine are combined and referred to as “the land beyond the river", the river being the Euphrates (Aharoni et al, 2011. 193). The land comprised a standard Persian satrapy, which was administered from Damascus. Even in later times down to the Herodian period, one could still see the remnants of the Persian naming system with the Greek locative suffix – itis as the designation for an administrative unit. Hence the names east of the Jordan such as Gaulanitis, Auranitis, Trachonitis, and the like, came into play and remained through the time of biblical Bethsaida. During this time there is little information about Jewish life and settlements in these areas, even though Persian policy represents a sharp reversal of the old Assyrian practices. The period of Persian domination came to an abrupt end with the remarkable campaign of Alexander, marking the beginning of the Hellenization of the Levant. The shift would set the stage for a period of innovation and expansion countered by times of war, violence, and disruption. This is the time when uninhabited areas of the trans-Jordan are populated, the Decapolis emerges, resettlement spills over into the Golan, and the et-Tell elevation at the foot of the lake is reoccupied. Courtyard houses are built there, the remains of which were still most likely in use during the days of Bethsaida. Evidence of a small flax industry would support the picture of a

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settlement engaged in trade and wealthy enough to carry on construction projects. Forced Hellenization would lead to the Hasmonean Revolt, often portrayed as a rebellion against religious persecution by Antiochus Epiphanes. The Hasmonean Kingdom, however, had many of the trappings of a Hellenistic state while at the same time being independently Jewish. Collusion and betrayal, the buying and selling of the high priestly office, violent reprisals, new taxes all combined to create a destabilizing pattern of fear and social injustice. The former forced Hellenization was replaced by forced Judaization of the northern and the trans-Jordanian areas. This was the time when the area of what would become Bethsaida received an influx of Jewish settlers from the east. Apocalyptic hopes and dreams were alive as evidenced by the I Enoch text which had its origin in northern Galilee. Brigandage and social banditry flourished in the districts to the east of Bethsaida. Broad and powerful as the Maccabean Kingdom had become, it nevertheless imploded not because of invasion from the outside but because of wrangling and corruption on the inside. The period of the Maccabees gave way to the Roman and the Herodian regimes. The social dynamics so apparent in the previous era now appear magnified during the time of Roman hegemony. Resistance is pandemic as secret hideaways, underground complexes, and tunnels bear witness. The whole period of Roman rule was marked by widespread discontent, overtaxation, failed messianic movements, and an impoverished peasantry. Through all of this turmoil, the fishing village known as Bethsaida (“house of the fisherman”) significantly reduced in size, emerged as the home for the Bethsaida disciples of Jesus. This village played an important role in the ministry of Jesus. There are seven Bethsaida references in the four Gospels all of which reflect four major clusters of tradition, each with its own distinct character and provenance. The Q statements of woe (Mt. 11:21-23 and Lu. 10:13-15) pronounced against unrepentant Capernaum, Chorazin, and Bethsaida, famously referred to as the “evangelical triangle”, reflect the significance of these places in the ministry of Jesus who appeared to avoid larger cities in the north in favor of the small more rural locations around the lake of Gennesaret. The second Bethsaida tradition involves the account of the multiplication of the loaves and the fish (Mk 6:31-44; Mt. 14:13-21; Luke 9:10-17 and Jn 6:1-14) which is the only miracle narrated in all four Gospels, a reminder of its importance in the early community. Despite the variety of interpretations given to this pericope, often conflicting, its connection to Bethsaida is yet another reminder of the significance this location played in the ministry of Jesus. The third reference appears in an ex-

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ceptional series of verses in Mark 6:45 – 8:26, dubbed by some scholars as the “Bethsaida section”. The primary reference appears in the healing of the blind man at Bethsaida where Jesus is reported as saying, “Do not even go into the village” (8:26). As for the larger encompassing section, a convincing case can be made to regard the entire section as an originally pre-Markan Bethsaida fragment, unique because in its entirety it is omitted by Luke who otherwise closely follows the Markan plan. Unique features in the passages are the repetitive doublets, geographical disconnects, Aramaisms, course peasant language, vocabulary used only in this section, the hapax legomenon of “Dalmanutha”, and the chiastic structures that isolate this section. They argue for regarding this section as an early pre-Gospel synopsis of Jesus ministry to the Gentiles with Bethsaida, a crossroads village by the sea, framing the story. The fourth Bethsaida reference occurs only in the Fourth Gospel. It is the narrative of the call of the Bethsaida disciples which has already been addressed. For more than a millennium and a half, the location of biblical Bethsaida remained a mystery. Ravaged by area conflicts, earthquakes and subsequent pillage, it had gradually slipped from historical view. Medieval pilgrims confused its location with sites close to the shoreline of Lake Genessaret, and 19th century investigators followed suit identifying the location with el-Araj, a few hundred meters from the mouth of the Jordan, or with el-Messadiyeh, a small ruin to the southeast. When excavations began some two and half decades ago, the conflict over location continued until ground penetrating radar and systematic geological surveys established the current location a mile and a half back from today’s shoreline on the elevation named et-Tell. What makes the excavation site so unique, and sets it apart from other NT excavation sites, is its complete accessibility to first century level investigations, since no significant building had taken place following its demise in the early centuries of the Common Era. Two levels at the multilevel excavation site have so far been central to the work done there. Altogether by far the most extensive finds have been located in the Iron Age period, while material finds dating to the Roman period have by comparison been far less. Nonetheless they have added significantly to the understanding of the fishing village that existed there during the time of the Bethsaida disciples. Josephus reports (Antiq. 18.2) that Philip the Tetrarch, around 30 CE, had elevated the village to the status of a city, increasing its population and “other grandeur” and that when he had died (Antiq. 18.6), he was carried to the monument which he had erected for himself and was

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buried with great pomp. However, nothing “monumental” dating to the Roman period has yet been found. On the contrary, the poor quality of the remains of the few Roman era houses on the site leaves the impression of an economically marginalized village. No remains of what once were marble pillars, arched gateways, inscriptions or carvings from public buildings, signs of a small bathhouse, agora, or theater - all the markers of a Hellenistic/Roman city - have been found. On the other hand, the previously unidentified remains of a small pagan temple has been identified on the site, built during the Hellenistic period and perhaps later used by supporters of the imperial cult in connection with Bethsaida’s re-founding ceremonies. Its relevance and significance for this matter is supported by one of Philip's coins found there. It has the impression of a temple on the backside (Kuhn. 2011, 2989). What has been found in abundance are varieties of fishing implements, lead and stone weights, iron fishhooks, bronze and iron needles for repairing nets, and basalt anchors along with numismatic evidence, all of which lends support to the existence of a small fishing industry. Also found are large quantities of household items including cooking pots, grinding stones, Rhodian wine amphoras, juglets, and oil lamps. Other physical data ranges from seeds to bones, and burnt materials. Of importance are other finds which support the presence of a Jewish population as mentioned in Josephus’s listing of the Golan’s mixed inhabitants. The number of locally made Galilean coarse-ware brought in from nearby Kefar Hananya, Herodian oil lamps, and Herodian coins found on the site, as well as pieces of limestone vessels used for ritual purposes, all are signs of a Jewish presence and indicative of behavioral patterns resistant to or at least different from the Hellenistic patterning of life (Savage. 2011, 5ff.). Taken altogether, the evidence points to a small village with mixed population and an absence of any monumental buildings or imposing public structures. What one does find are the remains of what would have been humble flat-roofed houses, built of black basalt field stones, plastered with mud and straw, joined by narrow walking lanes and scattered on the tell and its slopes, remote from any grand appearance or uniqueness. What Pliny the Elder some forty years later had in mind when he referred to Bethsaida as “one of the four lovely cities on the Sea of Galilee” (Natural History. 5. 15.71) is hard to say. Some suggest that he personally had never seen it but was reporting second-hand. The material finds at the site once again underscore its primary identity as a small fishing village, confirming what can be inferred from the biblical text references found in the Gospel accounts.

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In the year 30 CE two important events coincide. In the north of the land of Israel Philip the Tetrarch proceeded with his plans to elevate Bethsaida, home or work place of five of the disciples of Jesus, to the status of a city. In the south in Jerusalem, the public ministry of Jesus was brought to a climactic end with an event that drew many of his followers. The cumulative report from the four Gospels and Acts indicates that all twelve of the disciples of Jesus were there. The event that would dramatically change their lives was the crucifixion of Jesus. Contrary to what one might expect, the twelve appear to remain at safe distances at the crucifixion scene with the exception of the ‘Beloved Disciple” (Jn. 19:26), while it is the women followers of Jesus who are predominantly present. What takes place beginning with the third day following the crucifixion is the linchpin for the post-Easter half of the story. At the heart of this matrix are the appearance scenes of the Risen Christ, appearances, as told in the earliest tradition, to Cephas, the twelve, a group of 500, James, “all the apostles”, and last of all to Paul (I Cor. 15:5-8). The texts record appearances both in and around Jerusalem and in the Galilee viewing them as pivotal to the resurgence of the Jesus movement. Would it have been at this time that the disciples returned home? If so, they would have returned to a village in the process of being revitalized with building and increased population, and changed into a “city” by order of Philip the Tetrarch. Normally that would have sounded inviting and filled with opportunity. Would Philip the disciple have continued his witnessing efforts in these changing surroundings, reaching out to the Gentiles in an area otherwise well known to him? Only imagination at this point can fill in the blanks since the texts themselves are silent. Some circumstantial evidence may help fill in the blanks. The area between and around Capernaum, Chorazin, and Bethsaida has in biblical studies increasingly been identified as the staging ground for a community movement with missionizing efforts by early Jewish Christians who collected Jesus words, which today are referred to as the Q tradition. Perhaps the well-known “woe statements” are reflective of their success. “Woe to you Chorazin! Woe to you Bethsaida! For if the deeds of powers done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But at the judgment it will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon than for you. And you Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? No, you will be brought down to Hades" (Luke 10: 13-15). It is noteworthy that the emergent Jesus movement did not meet with immediate and widespread success, either in the Galilee and the Golan or in Jerusalem, following the pivotal crucifixion and resurrection events in 30 CE.

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The stoning of Stephen, the martyrdom of James (the Zebedee brother of John), the arrest of Peter and John, and the increasing acts of persecution in Jerusalem are all reminders of the negative reaction to the birthing of the early church, with the result that growing numbers began to move out of the area. One can trace the movement of Peter and Philip traveling through Samaria and then up along the coast and eventually into the Diaspora. A somewhat similar pathway would have been the case for John who also ends up in the Diaspora. There is near silence about Andrew, although abundant apocryphal tales put him also outside of Israel into the Diaspora. Then comes the question, “why did they all leave?” More specifically for our study, “Why did Philip leave and not return to his hometown with all of its new opportunities?” Clearly, religious conflict, with the charge of debasing what was old, tried, and true, was not the only issue. The four decades between the crucifixion of Jesus and the destruction of Jerusalem were marred by increasing social unrest. The great revolt of 66 – 70 CE did not happen by chance. The whole period of direct Roman rule was marked by widespread discontent. An impoverished peasantry, over-taxation, and failed messianic movements created a hotbed of resistance and banditry. An impending invasion by Roman legions generated pervasive fear and uncertainty. This was the context for the early Jesus followers to leave the land of Israel, to spread out through the empire and to find new homes. Although there was movement into Egypt and into the eastern regions of the empire, the most popular locations were in Asia Minor, especially in the western half and along the western coast where large Jewish communities had established themselves through trade and commerce. In fact, there was at this time hardly a center of any importance in the eastern Mediterranean without its Jewish community. In almost every one of these cities there was a synagogue or at least a meeting place for prayer. The seven churches addressed in the NT book of Revelation were all located in cities that in addition to other ethnic groups had a Jewish presence. It is these Jewish communities that attracted Jewish Christians from the homeland. One can see this reflected in the salutations of two NT epistles. I Peter is addressed “to the exiles of the Dispersion (Diaspora) in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia.” In the letter of James, the Christian addressees are identified as “the twelve tribes in the Dispersion.” It comes then as no surprise to find the Johannine community located in Ephesus, the burial of Philip in Hieropolis, the ministry of Peter in Antioch, his stay in Corinth and then Rome, and Andrew, as one called to missionize Achaea, Pontus, and Bithynia. In summary, it can be said that four

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of the five Bethsaida disciples survived the oft-times deadly conflict in the homeland to carry on missionizing work in the Diaspora.

Post-Easter Philip At this point our study turns to the post-Easter narrative of Philip of Bethsaida. Here both text and tradition are tangled and follow divergent pathways. While Luke’s Acts of the Apostles appears theologically motivated in narrating an account of two Philips, the disciple and the evangelist as separate persons, the unified tradition of the second century, using often similar reference points, speaks only of one Philip. A third outlier tradition appears in a late second Century solitary reference by Clement of Alexandria (The Stromata. III. 4.25) where Philip the disciple in the Johannine tradition is identified with the unnamed person in Luke 9:59-60 simply on the basis of the direct “follow me” imperative, spoken in John only to Philip, but with the addition of the Lukan passage, addressed to both. In Luke the additional command is given, “Go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” With these connections in place, the unnamed follower of Jesus could be understood as Philip who then becomes part of the mission of the seventy (Luke 10:1-12). This singular interpretation, however, has never been widely accepted. Luke’s interpretation, on the other hand, presents a much greater challenge if for no other reason than that is a part of the canonical Scriptures. In his Acts of the Apostles Luke introduces the selection of “the seven”, all of whom have Greek names including the one named Philip (chap. 6). “The twelve” call together the whole community and charge the people to appoint “the seven” with the responsibility of administering the distribution of food and caring for the widows and the poor. There is no reason why Philip as one of the twelve could not have joined “the seven” in carrying out the social responsibilities of his commitment to missionize. Here the technical term “deacon” is not used but only its verbal form in the sense of serving. This same Philip of Acts 6 reappears in chapter 8 when severe persecution developed against the fledgling church in Jerusalem causing a dispersion of the faithful into the countryside of Judea and Samaria. Philip too was part of this move. It was in Samaria where his encounter with Simon Magus led to a conversion which in the end turned out to be a flawed experience (8:9-24). This led to an intervening visit by the apostles Peter and John who had to authenticate the Samaritan mission, a reference often pointed to as the reason why the Philip of Acts 6 is viewed as outside of the apostolic loop.

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Philip, however, is described as carrying the mission still further, “to the ends of the earth”, to use a Lukan phrase, as the subsequent meeting with the Ethiopian eunuch and his conversion demonstrates. Philip then appears as a missionary to the cities along the Palestinian coastal plain “until he came to Caesarea” (8:40). No further mention is made of him until he appears more than twenty years later as the father of four prophetically gifted unmarried daughters and as the one who is host to Paul on Paul’s final return voyage to Jerusalem (21:8-9), most likely around 57 CE. As an itinerant missionary, Philip had apparently established his home in Caesarea, the port city and official capital city of the Roman province of Judea. Either prior to or at the time of the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE, Philip and family (his wife is never mentioned) would have immigrated to Anatolia where he continued his missionary work. Luke is careful to identify Philip as the evangelist, one of the seven, who years before had been appointed to serve the church in Jerusalem. There must have been prior acquaintance or at least knowledge of Philip’s place of residence for Paul to make a point of stopping there and to be Philip’s house guest for several days. Were it not for Luke’s reference in Acts 21:8, identifying Philip as the “evangelist”, there would be no clue that there were two Philips or that a problem existed with the identity of Philip. Although Luke’s interpretation of Philip has been, almost without exception, accepted in the history of interpretation, there remain serious and answered questions. The problem basically is this. The unanimous witness of the early second century CE, just decades removed from Luke’s writing of Acts, views Luke’s bifurcated Philip, Philip the evangelist and Philip the apostle (disciple), as one and the same person. The most compelling witness comes from early second century CE, Papias (ca. 60-135 CE) bishop of Hierapolis, fragments of whose writings are preserved by Irenaeus (130-200 CE) who identified Papias as “a hearer of John” (Iren. V.33); and Eusebius (280-339 CE), who did not hold Papias in high esteem because of his chiliastic views. In the preface to his treatise (Eus. III xxxiv), Papias lists seven apostolic persons, one of whom is Philip. Eusebius recounts how Papias spoke of Philip the Apostle who lived at Hierapolis with his daughters. In another reference by Eusebius (III. xxxi.3), Polycrates, bishop of Ephesus, in his Quartodeciman dispute with Victor of Rome, refers to Philip as “one of the twelve apostles, who sleeps at Hieropolis with his two daughters who grew old as virgins and his third daughter who lived in the Holy Spirit and rests at Ephesus.” This is a variant tradition that is close but not in total conformity with the four daughters of Acts 21:9. In the debate with the Montanist “New Prophecy”

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movement, Eusebius (VI. xx. 3) reported how Proclus, whom he identifies as the “champion of the heresy of the Phrygians” defends his stance by referring to the presence of the tomb of Philip and his four daughters in Hieropolis. How could multiple witnesses of the early second century be at such variance with the solitary witness of Luke in the Acts of the Apostles? Note that Luke never specifically says that there are two Philips, but the terminology he uses leaves no other option. Could this impasse be due to Luke’s idiosyncratic understanding of apostolicity and the special program to which he subscribes in detailing the spread of the Gospel from Jerusalem to Samaria and to the ends of the earth? There is broad scholarly agreement that the Philip account in Acts 8:4-25 is pre-Lukan and that the narrative of Philip’s conversion of the Ethiopian Gentile was also an independent piece that originally circulated apart from the report of Philip’s activity in Samaria. Both traditions remembered Philip as one who proclaimed the Gospel to non-Jews. Moreover, the eunuch, well positioned in the court of Queen Candace and capable of reading the Scripture, would have been regarded as a ritually suspect person. Philip’s baptism of a cultically unacceptable foreigner illustrates Luke’s concern to demonstrate the spread of the Gospel “to the ends of the earth.” In summary Luke’s redactional hand put a new spin on the traditional reports of Philip, creating a new scenario that would lead to the “two Philip” approach (Matthews, 2011, 15-70). The freedom which Luke uses to craft his narratives should come as no surprise. Consider his account of Paul, the only travelogue of Paul’s life that we have, marked by biographical detail, dialogue, and social relations. However, if Luke’s account of Paul were the only text about Paul available, one would never know that Paul wrote letters that shaped the content of the kerugma and determined the direction of the early church. One would never know that Luke’s account of the first apostolic assembly is at odds in key points with Paul’s assessment, given in his letter to the Galatians. Luke’s specific understanding and use of the term, apostle, does not coincide with the broader meaning given in the Pauline epistles. The list could go on. The point is simply this. Luke has a theological agenda and in his writing he shapes traditional material to comply. Nowhere is that more clearly apparent than in the language used to describe specific and mutually exclusive roles of apostle, disciple, and evangelist. From a Johannine point of view, however, the movement of the Spirit is not limited to the mediation of any particular ministry or to the institutional orders that later developed. In this way it can be said that all three terms - apostle, disciple, and evangelist - can be applied to Philip, thus

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eliminating the need to speak of a “two-Philip” approach. Early church history supports this view and contemporary biblical scholarship is increasingly following suit (J. Weiss, 1959, 167; M. Hengel, 2010, 116ff). The post-Easter trajectory of Philip, from Jerusalem to Caesarea to Hierapolis, is pictured as that of one consistently engaged in mission work, whether that be serving tables or witnessing to others. This picture is consistent with the assessment of the pre-Easter Philip, portrayed in the Johannine text as a bridge person to the Jews and the Gentiles, an interlocutor with Jesus, and as a witness to others. Philip must be regarded as a major figure in the early church whose work left an indelible mark on its early history. Archaeological work at Bethsaida provided insight into the humble living conditions of the early life of Philip, the Disciple. Living conditions for the last part of his life appear to be the exact opposite, although life in Caesarea Maritima would have had much in common with Hierapolis. Archaeological excavations at Hierapolis in Turkey, begun in 1957, have demonstrated the size and importance of that city during the Roman period when Philip and his family would have resided there. Still today one can see the remains of a theater that seated some 6000 people, elaborate baths, a gymnasium, several temples, imposing gates, a huge necropolis, and a main thoroughfare 5,000 feet long with an arcade on each side. Its location is also unique, defined by a highly active seismic fault, the cause of frequent earthquakes as well as some extraordinary thermal springs and beautiful travertine formations. It is easy to see why Hierapolis in modern Turkey is called Pamukkale, Turkish for “Castle of Cotton.” During the Byzantine period Hierapolis became known as a pilgrimage center focused on honoring Philip. An elaborate octagonal martyrium was set within a rectangular portico with twenty-eight small rooms, designed to accommodate visiting pilgrims. Eight seven-sided chapels, placed around the octagon, led into four triangular courtyards (F. D’Andria, 2011, 19). The numbers are all highly symbolic, intended to promote reflection and to enhance the spiritual experiences of visiting pilgrims. In the post-biblical period, gospels, acts, letters, and apocalypses continue to be written, mimicking the four genres of what would become the canonical scriptures. In many of the places of origin of these texts, they were regarded as authentic and reliable. They would fuel the growing pilgrimage phenomenon. The gaps left by incomplete narratives and the great unknown would be filled in and new stories would be told. Such was the case with the emergence of apocryphal texts, a whole body of literature fed by imagination, legend, and free-wheeling story. Because of his im-

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portance and the major role he played in the emergence of the early Jesus movement, stories of Philip would continue to appear. When the Gospel of Philip began to circulate, it played a part in Valentinian Gnosticism, but aside from the title page, Philip himself never appears in the work. His name was most likely used because in the canonical Fourth Gospel he is the one who shares in dialog with Jesus. Such dialog in Gnostic texts is a key characteristic. In the Letter of Peter to Philip, another Gnostic tractate, Philip is presented as submissive to Peter, an issue that would have been at stake with the ascendancy of Peter in the debates over church authority. The longest and the most literarily tangled tradition in the apocryphal Philip texts is the Acts of Philip, originating no earlier than the fourth or fifth century CE and heralding the adventures and miracles of Philip, accompanied by his sister Mariamne and his friend or fellow disciple Bartholomew. Philip’s life is ended by crucifixion in Hierapolis as he is hung head down on a tree with irons in his heels and ankles. The tale exists in numerous textual traditions. In Greek the account is divided into fifteen acts, parts of which one can find circulating independently. The reference to Azotus in Acts of Philip 33 may originally have been a reference in the conversion of the eunuch account in Acts 8, thus supporting not a two Philip tradition but a one Philip tradition. The Acts of Philip belong to a larger genre of texts modeled in form and content after contemporary Hellenistic romances that turned apostolic drama into melodrama and satisfied the popular taste for stories of travel and adventure, coupled with a fascination for martyrdom and encratic practices. They were accounts based not on historical records but on imagination and literary invention. They set the stage for a welter of grossly legendary stories. It is not surprising to see the appearance of all kinds of “acts” literature –the Acts of Andrew and Matthias Among the Cannibals, the Acts of Barnabas, Paul and Thecla, the Acts of Peter (of whom it also was said that he was crucified upside down), the Acts of Thaddeus, Thomas, and finally the Acts of Philip. It is not surprising that the historical accounts of Philip which stretch from Bethsaida to Jerusalem and from Caesarea to Hierapolis would create an enduring memory of a Jesus-disciple whose otherwise ordinary life left an indelible mark on the missionary efforts of the early church. The record itself, though theologized, is enough and has no need for the corrupting yet colorful expansions that come with these fables and melodramas.

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References Aharoni, Y. et al, (2911), The Carta Bible Atlas, Jerusalem:The Israel Map and Publishing Company. Clement of Alexandria (1999), The Stromata, The Ante-Nicene Fathers, Peabody, MA: Hen drickson. D’Andria, Francesco, Conversion, Crucifixion, and Celebration, Biblical Archaeology Review, July/August, 2011. Eusebius of Caesarea (1992), Ecclesiastical History, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge: Har vard University Press, 1992. Hengel, M. (2010), Saint Peter, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Irenaeus (1999), Against Heresies, TheAnte-Nicene Fathers, Peabody, MA: Henrickson. Josephus, Flavius (1965), Antiquities, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. —. (1989), The Jewish War, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kuhn, Heinz-Wolfgang (2011), Did Jesus Stay at Bethsaida? Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, Vol. 4, Leiden: Brill. Matthews, Christopher, (2002), Philip: Apostle and Evangelist, Leiden: Brill. Pliny The Elder (1989), Natural History, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Savage, Carl (2011), Biblical Bethsaida, An Archaeological Study of the First Century, Plymouth, U.K.: Lexington Books. Strickert, Fred (2011), Philip’s City, From Bethsaida to Julia, Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Weiss, Johannes (1959), Earliest Christianity, Vol. I, New York: Harper.

CHAPTER TWELVE ON THE USE OF THE NAME HEROD PHILIP FRED STRICKERT

The son of King Herod who ruled the Golan area as Tetrarch in the early first century CE informs us on his coins that he went by the popular Greek name, Philip. He offered no variation: nothing more, nothing different. Just a simple Philip! From the early years of his rule (1 CE) to the year preceding his death (33 CE), on eight occasions he issued coins inscribed in Greek with the words, “Of Philip the Tetrarch,” or, “In the Tetrarchy of Philip.” (Meshorer, 85-90, 228-30, Plates 50-51; Strickert, 1995, 165-92, esp.182). Similarly, the only other contemporary reference to this ruler appears in a Nabatean inscription on a statue base discovered in the eastern part of his territory. It identifies him simply as Philip. Written sources from the latter part of the first century, namely the Gospels and the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, also consistently refer to the Tetrarch of Gaulanitis as Philip. Nevertheless, it is not unusual today to see the tetrarch referred to as Herod Philip, even though that combination of names never occurs in antiquity. A quick survey of commentaries on the Gospels reveals that this double name is used quite often. It appears in numerous New Testament monographs, as also in several studies of the family of Herod (Hoehner and Richardson). In presentations and publications related to the Bethsaida excavations, I confess that I have often used Herod Philip without thinking. In a sense my intention in using the double name was shorthand for Philip the son of Herod, because Philip is less known than others in the Herodian family. Yet for the sake of historical accuracy it would seem preferable to use only the name Philip for the Tetrarch of Gaulanitis. Yet the matter is more complicated. Modern reference books sometimes refer to two persons with the double name, Herod Philip; one the son of King Herod and Mariamme 2, the other the son of King Herod and Cleopatra. According to a genealogy in Josephus, the first of these was named Herod and the second Philip—Philip the Tetrarch. Yet somehow,

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the two have been morphed as if they were Siamese Twins, Herod Philip 1 and Herod Philip 2. Nowhere else do we experience this phenomenon. There is no Herod Antipater, no Herod Aristobulus, no Herod Alexander. Yet the name Herod Philip is becoming more and more common in our usage today, even though it never occurs in the New Testament, in Josephus, or on ancient coins. There is a Herod and there is a Philip among the sons of King Herod. There is no Herod Philip. Not once. Certainly not twice!

The Invention of a Name: Herod Philip So where does the double name originate? As far as I can ascertain it begins with the Dutch statesman, jurist, and philosopher, Hugo Grotius, who also dabbled in biblical interpretation. By the seventeenth century, some like Grotius were promoting a view of the Bible that looked for perfection in every detail and that meant defending the historicity of the gospels. After being exiled from Amsterdam to Paris, Grotius first wrote, On the Truth of Christianity, and then in 1641 turned to write a commentary on the gospels, Annotationes in Libros Evangelorum. In commenting on Matthew 14:3, he suggested that Philip, the husband of Herodias, had a second name, Herod, similar to the way that Antipas, the Tetrarch of Galilee, was known in the Gospels as Herod. This was an era in which Josephus was being rediscovered among Christian scholars, many of whom were challenged by discrepancies with the Gospel texts. Grotius noted that Josephus identified the first husband of Herodias as Herod, the son of Mariamme 2 (Ant. 18. 136-137), and not Philip as was named in the Gospel accounts of the death of John the Baptist (Mk 6:17; Matt 14:3). His solution was that they were one and the same, Herod Philip son of Mariamme 2, and not Philip the Tetrarch. Clearly there were many others before Grotius who were aware of the discrepancy between Josephus and the Gospel accounts. Origen and Eusebius, both of whom popularized Josephus among their audiences and who cited him as evidence for the support of Christianity, nevertheless were not so concerned about harmonizing details and thus had no problem identifying Herodias’ husband as Philip the Tetrarch (Origen Com. In Mt x. 21; Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 1.XI). Thirteen hundred years later, Grotius saw things otherwise, harmonizing the texts and seeking an inerrant Bible. Thus the invention of Herod Philip!

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Popularizing Herod Philip It was William Whiston, however, who popularized the Herod Philip solution. In his 1737 translation of Josephus’ Antiquities (18.136), footnoting the suggestion of Grotius, he inserted the name Philip in brackets following the name Herod: But Herodias, their sister, was married to Herod [Philip], the son of Herod the Great, who was born of Mariamme, the daughter of Simon the high priest, who had a daughter, Salome (Whiston, 541).

While many readers have likely assumed that such a use of brackets denoted manuscript variants, it is important to note that this is not the case. There is simply no manuscript evidence for such a reading. Again, Whiston’s motivation seems related to his other literary pursuits in defending the accuracy of the Bible. In his translation of Antiquities (18.109), where Josephus mentions that Antipas had fallen in love with Herodias while visiting the home of Herod and Herodias, Whitson added a footnote that “this Herod seems to have had the additional name of Philip as Antipas was named Herod-Antipas” (Whiston, 539). Philip became Herod’s second name. The next step is that this addition to Josephus was standardized in Bible Dictionaries that began to speak of “Herod Philip 1” and “Herod Philip 2.” In 1863, Smith’s Bible Dictionary included the following entry: Herod Philip I (Philip) Mk 6:17 was the son of Herod the Great and Mariamme. He married Herodias the sister of Agrippa I by whom he had a daughter, Salome. Herod Philip II was the son of Herod the Great and Cleopatra. He received as his own government Batanea, Trachonitis, Aurantis (Gaulanitis), and some parts about Jamnia, with the title of tetrarch. . . . He married Salome, the daughter of Herod Philip I, and Herodias.

Similarly Easton’s Bible Dictionary in 1897 reads: Herod Philip I (Mark 6:17), the son of Herod the Great by Mariamme, the daughter of Simon, the high priest. He is distinguished from another Philip called "the tetrarch." He lived at Rome as a private person with his wife Herodias and his daughter Salome. Herod Philip II, the son of Herod the Great and Cleopatra of Jerusalem. He was “tetrarch” of Batanea, Iturea, Trachonitis, and Aurantis. . . . He married Salome, the daughter of Herodias.

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Dependence upon Whiston is clear from the reference to Herodias living in Rome, a mistranslation by Whiston of Antiquities 18.109. These two dictionaries along with Whiston have remained standards among conservative readers of the Bible. Easton’s Bible Dictionary was reprinted by Cosimo Classics in 2006; Smith’s Bible Dictionary was reprinted by Thomas Nelson in 2004; and Whiston’s translation of Josephus was reedited by Paul Maier and republished by Kregel in 1999. They have also become some of the most accessible resources on the internet because they are all public domain. To be sure, other resources from that era treated the name Herod Philip as if it were one among several possibilities, not the only solution. Hastings’ Bible Dictionary in 1899 included a chart of the Herod family tree that listed “Herod [Philip?]” under his mother Mariamme 2. In the text, when this Herod is discussed, it is with the notation “perhaps called Philip,” but when Philip the Tetrarch is discussed, he is referred to as “Herod, called Philip.” Numerous commentaries from the late nineteenth and early twentieth century accepted the Herod Philip hypothesis as likely, and others accepted it as a possibility (Hoehner, 133, notes 5 and 6). It was Harold W. Hoehner’s 1972 monograph on Herod Antipas that provided the most thorough discussion and perhaps the most influential, in the proliferation of the use of the name Herod Philip (Hoehner, 131-136). In defending the harmonization of the separate accounts in Josephus and the gospels, he argues that “It seems incredible that the evangelists who had access to reliable sources would have made so many gross historical errors” (Hoehner, 134). As evidence of recent growing acceptance of the use of the name Herod Philip, a comparison of articles in the 1962 The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible with the more recent The New Interpreter’s Dictonary of the Bible (2009) is revealing. In the former, the entry under “Philip” states that “It is possible that he [Herod] also had the name of Philip, but there is no other record of it.” The article makes no suggestion that Philip the Tetrarch was known also as Herod. In the 2009 edition, however, a family history chart lists the son of King Herod and Mariamme 2 as “Herod Philip”—no longer with the name Philip in brackets or followed by a question mark. Under the entry “Philip,” number five is Philip the son of Mariamme, and number six is Philip the Tetrarch. In some cases, modern reference works present contradictory information about these two individuals. In The Anchor Bible Dictionary, a chart of the Herodian Dynasty lists the son of Mariamme 2 as “Herod (Philip)” and an article on “Herodias” states that her husband Herod seemed to also have the name Philip. However, the entry “Philip” states

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that a second Philip (Herod, the son of Mariamme 2) “is the product of confusion in our sources,” and an entry titled “Herod Philip” cautions against the use of this term. In The HarperCollins Bible Dictionary, the article on “Herod” refers to Philip the Tetrarch as “Herod Philip” and the son of Mariamme 2 as only “Herod,” while the article on “Philip” refers to Philip the Tetrarch as only “Philip”, and the son of Mariamme 2 as “perhaps Herod (Philip).” In The New Interpreter’s Bible, the commentary on Matthew 14:3 states that the name of Herodias’ husband was Herod, while the family history chart on the facing page refers to him as Herod Philip. The use of the name Herod Philip has become confusing. This is especially problematical since many today are relying on such accessible reference works rather than going back to the original sources.

The Herod Philip Hypothesis as One of Several Possible Solutions As we have seen the appearance of the name Herod Philip came about as an attempt to solve a problem between two different reports concerning the first husband of Herodias. Yet it is just one of several possible solutions. The following have all been offered as possibilities: 1. The gospels are correct in naming the tetrarch Philip as the husband of Herodias, while Josephus is simply wrong. 2. Josephus is correct in naming Herod as the husband of Herodias and Philip as the husband of Salome, while the gospels are simply wrong. 3. Both are correct. First, Herodias married Herod, then Philip, then Antipas. 4. Both Josephus and the gospels are referring to the same person as husband of Herodias, Herod Philip, son of Mariamme 2. Josephus referred to him as Herod, while the gospels referred to him as Philip. We will not undertake here a full discussion of the merits and shortcomings of each of these views. The reader may wish to consult the recent article by Ross Kraemer in the Journal of Biblical Literature, my chapter on Philip’s marriage in my 2011 monograph, or the related chapter (20) in this volume. What is important to note here is that the use of the name Herod Philip has arisen on the basis of a single reason, harmonizing Josephus and the gospels on the identity of Herodias’ first husband. There is no other supporting evidence for this assertion. Yet, as the name Herod

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Philip continues to be used freely in Herodian Family Tree Charts and in Reference works, as if the name is documented in antiquity, this is misleading. It is not only undocumented, it is highly unlikely.

The Names Herod and Philip As becomes obvious to any student trying to follow the eight generations of the family of Herod, it is easy to be confused because of the repetition of names. So, it is often popularly said, “You can’t tell a player without a scorecard.” In the case of the Herodians, a family history chart is extremely helpful in sorting out all these names. The repetition of names like Antipater, Aristobulus, Agrippa, Alexander, Herod, Salome, Berenice, and Mariamme is striking. In contrast, there is only one certain case of a Herodian named Philip. The name Philip was popularized in the person of King Philip of Macedon, father of Alexander the Great. Yet it was not common among the ruling families of Jerusalem. It is possible that Herod the Great named two of his sons Philip, but it is highly unlikely. It does make sense in the case of a son by Cleopatra (in itself a common Greek name), but it does not seem so likely for the mother, Mariamme 2, born of a respected priestly family. Names are given to children to suggest character, to recognize ancestors, and to distinguish children from each other. Does it really make sense that Herod would have named second son Philip? In contrast, the name Herod is found recurring in the family. The name Herod also likely originates in Greek, meaning “Song of the Hero,” as we find with the second century CE Herodes Atticus from Athens, though some have suggested a Semitic origin meaning “wild ass.” Herod is an ideal name for a son of a leader such as the Idumean Antipater. Similarly, one can appreciate that King Herod himself wanted to pass on the name Herod to two of his children, thus Herod 2, son of Mariamme 2, and Herod 3, son of Cleopatra and full brother of Philip. Likewise, Aristobulus, having returned from Rome and having been identified to succeed Herod, gave the name, Herod, to one of his sons (later known as Herod of Chalcis), and the feminine form, Herodias, to a daughter. The name Herod then skips a generation as a given name and appears in the later first century CE for the grandson of Herod of Chalcis. The use of the name Herod for two of King Herod’s sons was a likely cause for confusion, but to suggest that Philip was also called Herod, seems bordering on chaotic, especially since this was the name of his full brother.

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The Name Herod as a Title William Lane suggested that “nearly every son of Herod the Great bore the name ‘Herod’ as a family designation” (Lane, 216). Sometimes this is the case. Yet there is no evidence for Lane’s sweeping assertion. There is no evidence that this was the case with Aristobulus, Alexander, or Antipater, all playing prominent roles in leadership. Of Herod’s sons, we can only speak of Herod Antipas and Herod Archelaus. What we have here is not an inherited designation passed on automatically to Herod’s sons, but a designation restricted in a particular role as successor. The drama leading up to the succession of Herod is well known. Who would take his place as king? Several potential sons were executed and others were discredited as Herod went through six editions of his will. In the end, the decision of succession was made by the Emperor Augustus. There would be no king. The kingdom would be divided among three sons, Archelaus in Judea, Antipas in Galilee and Perea, and Philip in Gaulanitis. The latter two would be designated as tetrarchs. However, Archelaus was given a higher designation as ethnarch, with the promise that he might be rewarded with the title king if he were deemed worthy as a ruler (Antiquities 17. 318). Apparently he, and he alone, was granted the right to use the dynasty title Herod (Hoehner, 105). Thus it is important to note that the coins minted by Archelaus included the inscription Herod Ethnarch (Meshorer, 78-81, 224-6; Plates 47-8), and that he is identified by the title Herod also by Dio Cassius (Roman History 55. 27. 6). After Archelaus was deposed in 6 CE, Roman prefects replaced him in ruling Judea and Samaria while Antipas and Philip continued as tetrarchs of their respective territories. However, Josephus, in his report in The Jewish Wars, signals a shift referring to “Antipas, now called Herod” (War 2.167). Prior to this point in the narrative, Josephus had used his given name, Antipas, and from this point on he consistently refers to him as Herod. In Antiquities, Josephus makes the change without any particular notation. After noting that Quirinius had liquidated the estate of Archelaus (Ant. 18.26), he turns to the other two sons of King Herod: Meanwhile Herod and Philip had received and were taking in hand their respective tetrarchies. Herod fortified Sepphoris. . . [and] Betharamphtha. . . Philip too made improvements at Paneas. . .[and] Bethsaida. . . . (Ant.18:27).

One cannot ignore the significance that one son continues to be called by his given name, Philip, while the other is called Herod. This is the same

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practice that we find in the gospels where Antipas is consistently called Herod. This is where coin evidence plays an important role—presenting names and titles as used by the rulers themselves, and not through a historian decades later. Archelaus had identified himself on his coins as Herod Ethnarch. Then when Antipas issued coins, all dated after the time of Archelaus, they were inscribed Herod Tetrarch (Meshorer, 81-5, 226-8; Plate 49). In contrast, Philip’s use of the inscription Philip Tetrarch is significant, especially since this occurs on coins throughout his entire rule—at first corresponding to the time of Archelaus, and then to that of Antipas. Our conclusion is that Herod became a dynastic title that was held by only one individual at a time, first Archelaus and then Antipas. Philip never received that honor. Whether this practice continued into the next generation is less certain. Following the death of Philip in 34 CE and the removal of Antipas from office in 39 CE, the territory of King Herod was reunited for a short period of time and the title King was granted to a grandson, Agrippa 1 (41-44 CE). While Acts 12 does refer to Agrippa as King Herod, Josephus refrains from using that designation for him. Likewise, Agrippa’s own coins employ the inscription, King Agrippa (Meshorer, 90-102, 230-2, Plates 328-9). Agrippa’s own son Agrippa 2 received the title King, but never is called Herod. It may seem that the usage of the dynastic title Herod was common because of the prominence of figures like Archelaus and Antipas. Yet its usage was limited. The use of the name Herod Philip by modern scholars is not appropriate. As we have seen, the likelihood that Herod named two sons Herod Philip is rather slim. The likelihood that lesser rulers like Philip carried the name Herod as an honorific title is also remote. The only reason for using such a double name is in attempting to harmonize Josephus and the gospels, when there are no other grounds for such a proposal. What we do know is that the name Herod Philip does not occur in antiquity. It is preferable, therefore, that we refrain from using the name Herod Philip in our discussions and that we simply call him Philip, Philip son of Herod, or Philip the Tetrarch. That, after all, is how he identified himself on his coins.

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References Achtemaier, Paul J., ed. (1996), The HarperCollins Bible Dictionary, New York: HarperCollins, 418-9, 844. Bond, Helen K. (2009), “Herod,” The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, Vol. 2, Nashville: Abingdon, 804. Boring, M. Eugene (1995), “Matthew,” The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume VIII, Nashville: Abingdon, 320-1. Braund, David C. (1992), “Philip,” Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. 5, David Noel Freedman, ed., New York: Doubleday, 160-1. Collins, Adela Yabro (2007), Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress. Culpepper, R. Alan (2007), Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary: Mark, Macon: Smyth and Helwys. Easton, Matthew George (1897), Illustrated Bible Dictionary, London: Thomas Nelson. Feldman, Louis, ed. and trans. (1981), Josephus: Jewish Antiquities, Books XVIII-XIX, Vol. IX, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Grotius, Hugo (1641), Hvgonis Grotii Annotationes in Libros Evangeliorum, Amsterdam: John and Cornelius Blaeu, 266. Guelich, Robert A. (1989), Mark 1-8:26, in Word Biblical Commentary, 34a, Dallas: Word. Hastings, James, ed. (1899), A Dictionary of the Bible, Edinburgh: T & T Clark.. Herion, Gary A. (1992), “Herod Philip,” The Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. 3, David Noel Freedman, ed., New York: Doubleday, 160-61. Hoehner, Harold W. (1972), Herod Antipas, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Keener, Craig (1999), A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Kokkinos, Nikos (1998), The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society, and Eclipse JSPS: 26, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 264-5. Kraemer, Ross S. (2006), Implicating Herodias and Her Daughter in the Death of John the Baptizer: A (Christian) Theological Strategy?, Journal of Biblical Literature, 125: 2, 321-49. Lane, William L. (1974), The Gospel According to Mark, in The New International Commentary on the New Testament, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Marcus, Joel (2000), Mark 1-8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, New York: Doubleday.

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Meier, John P. (1991), A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Vol. 1, New York: Doubleday. Meshorer, Ya’akov (2001), A Treasury of Jewish Coins: From the Persian Period to Bar Kokhba, Nyack, NY: Amphora. Platz, H. H. (1962), “Philip,” The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, Vol. 3, Nashville: Abingdon, 784-85. Richardson, Peter (1999), Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans, Minneapolis: Fortress. Smith, William (1863), A Dictionary of the Bible, Vol. 1 , London: John Murray. Strickert, Fred (2011), Philip’s City: From Bethsaida to Julias, Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. —. (1995), “The Coins of Philip,” in Rami Arav and Richard Freund, eds., Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee, Kirksville, MO: Truman State University Press, 165-92. Taylor, Vincent (1952), The Gospel According to Mark, London: MacMillan. Whiston, William, ed. and trans. (1843, The Works of Flavius Josephus, London: George Virtue. Witherington III, Ben, “Herodias,” ABD, vol. 3, 175. —. (2001), The Gospel of Mark: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Yieh, John Y. H. (2009), “Philip,” NIDB, Vol. 4, 500.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN PHILIP, JULIA, AND THE IMPERIAL CULT ELIZABETH MCNAMER

In the year 30 CE Philip the Tetrarch established the Imperial Cult at Bethsaida. He built a temple to Livia Julia, the recently dead wife of Augustus, raised it to a "polis" (city), and renamed it Julias. The Roman cult was already established in the large cities of Palestine, in Caesarea Maritima, Sebaste, and Panias (modern Banias), for example; and Herod Antipas had built a town on the ruins of Betheramph, just above the Dead Sea, which he called Livia (later Livia Julias).There is no record of the cult having been secured in smaller towns. Philip was promoting the observance of the Imperial Cult, embracing of all things Roman, and aggressively advocating the political might of Rome. But Bethsaida's population was predominantly Jewish, and friends of the recently crucified Jesus were already promoting his cult. For the cult of the divine Julia to be successful it had to appeal to and be accepted by the people. By introducing it in Bethsaida he was striking at the heartland of his religious tradition. Was Philip’s action, perhaps, a big mistake which only lent fuel to the new Jesus movement and prompted its spread? Julius Caesar had claimed descent from the gods and was revered as god and savior during his lifetime. The Roman senate had declared him almighty and statues of him were erected in numerous temples. On his assassination, the cult of Divine Julius spread all over the Empire. Henceforward, making a god of a deceased emperor became an important element in religion and participation became a loyalty test. The dead Emperor was referred to as “Divus”. Deified women of the Julius family were given the title of “Diva”. The Imperial Cult was only abandoned when Constantine became Emperor and Christian.

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Philip as a child In 25 BCE Herod the Great married his sixth wife, Cleopatra of Jerusalem, and Philip is thought to have been born in 22 BCE There would have been 23 children in the family. His half brother Archelaus was born in 22 and his other half brother Antipas in 21. They were full brothers, sons of Malthrace of Samaria. Thus the siblings would have been close in age. We do not know how they got along with each other but the atmosphere was hardly that of one big happy family. Jealousies, tensions, and in-fighting were constant. Child abuse was expected. Herod had a nasty habit of executing his children. His attitude toward Philip and his half brother Archelaus was hatred, according to Josephus, his mind having been poisoned by the older Antipater. Josephus however describes the adult Philip as a mild mannered man. Perhaps what he learnt at his mother's knee was how not to behave. Certainly he seems to have inherited his genetic make up from her. What his religious education was we can only guess. While his father was nominally Jewish and was involved in rebuilding the temple in Jerusalem, this is evidence of his political astuteness rather than his faith. Herod was an advocate of the Imperial Cult and built temples to Augustus in Caesarea Maritima, Sebaste, and Caesarea Panias. Nonetheless, his sons would have studied Hebrew and the lessons of the Torah if only for political correctness. At the age of twelve, Philip left Palestine. Future client kings were invited to Rome for their education. The idea was to make of them proper Romans and then send them home to rule well, an idea later taken up by the rulers of the British Empire. The harbor at Caesarea Maritima had not yet been built so he would have sailed out of the port of Ptolemais for his long journey across the Mediterranean to the port of Ostia, and thence by chariot along the Appian Way to the eternal city. He lodged at the residence of Augustus, the magnificent palace which had been built for him by the Roman senate on the Palatine Hill. Philip's stay in Rome would have encompassed the years 10 BCE to 4 BCE when he was aged 12 to 18. These were impressionable years, especially for the sensitive person Josephus tells us he was. Augustus had been Emperor for 20 years and had been married to Livia for 30 years. In 38 BCE when she was nineteen, married and pregnant with her second child Octavius had fallen in love with her and sent to the pontifical college for a decision as to whether he might marry her. He was himself at that time married to Scribonia. The college decided yes. The couples were

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divorced and the wedding celebrated with the former husband of Livia, giving the bride a dowry and attending as a guest. Livia and Augustus were to have a long happy marriage of fifty years until death parted them. Ovid refers to Livia as the ideal Roman matron who set an example of virtue. He calls her the “vesta of chaste matrons” (Ovid, Trist. 4.2.11). She was a woman of considerable wealth and influence. She also had great magnanimity and supported many causes, extended her generosity to the poor and intervened on behalf of many who were wrongly accused. She gave dowries to girls who could otherwise not afford to marry and was known as the patroness of marriage. In many places her name was used in the marriage oaths. In the years that Philip Herod was in Rome ( 12-4 BCE) Livia was 3947 years old, right in the prime of life, supervising the loom workers in her household and living frugally for an Emperor's wife. Augustus on one occasion made a speech in which he cited Livia as a model for the ladies of Rome (Ferrero, 69). He told of her administrative skills over her household, her relations with outsiders, and her modesty of dress. She was a living example of the virtues that Rome most cherished: a faithful wife and companion for her noble husband. Piety was the cohesion that held the Empire together and worship of the Emperor became a test of faithfulness. Augustus showed great interest in religion. Julius Caesar was added to the number of Roman gods. As his adopted son and successor, Augustus declared himself Divi Filius (God’s son). He allowed temples to be dedicated to him, but the temple was also dedicated to the Roman people and the city of Rome. He had the title of "Pontifex Maximus," Chief Priest. Old temples were restored and worship of the ancient gods encouraged. The Parthenon, a temple to all the gods, had been started in 27 BCE A new temple to Jupiter had been dedicated in 22 BCE The Temple of Apollo, god of peaceful arts and leader of the Muses, was erected on the Palatine. A temple to Vesta, where the sacred fire of the city was kept burning by virgins, was raised in the Forum. 1 The worship of Juno, wife of Jupiter, which had been neglected, was restored and assigned to the care of Augustus' wife, Livia, as the representative of the matrons of Rome (Morey 227). Every aspect of life was saturated with religion. In the home, the fire was a god, walls had god doors, and there were shrines to household deities. Surely the young mind of Philip was influenced by the religious display he saw all around him. How he felt about his own Jewish heritage can only be surmised. Augustus discouraged the introduction of foreign 1

Grether, 242.

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deities and he did not favor the Jewish religion. Livia, however, gave gifts to the Temple in Jerusalem and sent “some of her best treasures in Rome” to beautify Caesarea Maritima. She was a close friend and confident of Salome, the sister of Herod, and aunt of Philip. Years later (5 CE?) Salome left the bulk of her estate to Livia (Jos. Ant. 17.146, 190 AE 1979 no 1979). This included the town of Yaven, later known as Jamnia, in which the canon of the Hebrew Scripture was determined by Pharisees in the year 90 CE.

Philip's Education Philip received the same education as the royal children, Gaius and Lucius Caesar, grandsons of the Emperor. Drusus, Germanicus, and Claudius were his juniors, but he doubtless was acquainted with them. The whole literature of the period was inspired with a growing spirit of patriotism and of Rome as the eternal city and ruler of the world. The glories of Rome were being touted by its writers and poets. Virgil had only recently written his Aenead, commissioned by Augustus. The first book contains a passage suggesting the house of Julius (gens Julia) as the descendants of Venus and Jupiter. Horace had immortalized the great city in his Odes, and Livy was engaged in portraying the great achievements of Rome in his history. Rome was at peace and prospering, the art of the time shows people going about the business of their daily lives peacefully. The Arch of Peace of Augustus, a great marble altar, was set up between 13 and 9 BCE on the Campus Martius,2 depicting ordinary people, officials and their families, going about their ordinary business. Latin was well established at this time, so Philip would have learned his lessons in Latin. We may assume that he was also well versed in Greek, as well as Hebrew and Aramaic. According to Josephus, Augustus took a personal interest in these young "royals".3 Not, of course, out of love for their father but rather out of the desire to imbue them with Roman ideals. Doubtless Livia did the same. The person of Augustus himself must have contrasted with what young Philip knew of his father. Augustus disdained luxurious living and foreign fashions. He tried to improve the lax customs which prevailed in respect to marriage and divorce, and to restrain the vices which were destroying the population of Rome. Philip must necessarily have been an observer of this highly moral and reasonable man, such a contrast to his own father. 2

Augustus made every effort to prevent a cult of his person from being established in Italy. 3 Ant. xv x i.

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On the death of his father, Philip returned to his homeland, sailing into the new harbor at Caesarea Maritima, to assume the duties of his new state. He did this with a heightened awareness of the cultural and political world, and perhaps a sense of having been put back on the farm after he had seen Paree.

Philip comes into his kingdom In his seventh will, made in 4 BCE on his deathbed, Herod the Great named three of his surviving sons as tetrarchs in Palestine: Archelaus, his full brother Antipas, and their half brother Philip.4 The sixth will had designated Antipas to be the sole inheritor with the title of King. How this change affected Antipas' relationship with his brothers we do not know. After the other two had died he went to Rome intent on getting the title of King. He didn't get it. Instead, he got exiled. The situation the three brothers had to deal with was far from savory. Shayne Cohen points out in his article on Roman domination: "Herod had created a new aristocracy that owed its status and prestige to him alone."5 He had built several cites and magnificent palaces that enhanced his dignity without considering the cost to his subjects. He had disregarded traditional Jewish laws, putting a golden eagle on the entrance to the Temple, erecting theaters, anathema to the Jews, and building temples to the Roman Augustus. Herod's will had to be approved by Augustus. Herod had left large sums of money to Augustus which he in turn restored to the three sons. Philip’s two brothers were more competitive than he. Archelaus and Antipas vied for the title of King and went back to Rome to solidify their positions. They took a large contingent with them to Rome including their mother, Malthrace. She died there. Philip seems not to have been interested in the title. He was left behind to be the steward in the palace and to take care of domestic affairs.6 Later Philip thought better of it and showed up in Rome too. We do not know whether he had his mother with him. At the behest of Varies, governor of Syria, and under the influence of Aunt Salome, Augustus appointed Archelaus ruler over Judea, Antipas over Galilee and Perea, and Philip as tetrarch of Gaulanitis.7 The revenue from Antipas' part was 200 talents and that from Philip's was only 100. 4

War 1, 664; Ant 17.188-90. Ancient Israel p 208. 6 Josephus Wars, ii ii 1. 7 Ant. i, iv, i. 5

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Philip was then eighteen years old. He was to have jurisdiction over this part of the world for the next 38 years. He seems to have governed his territory well from his palace in Panias, a city devoted to the worship of the Roman god Pan. Josephus assures us that he was "a person of moderation and quietness in the conduct of his life and government; he constantly lived in that country which was subject to him; he used to make his progress with a few chosen friends; his tribunal also on which he sat in judgment followed him in his progress; and when anyone met him who wanted his assistance, he made no delay, but had his tribunal set down immediately where ever he happened to be, and sat down upon it, and heard the complaint. There he ordered the guilty that was convicted to be punished and absolved those that had been accused unjustly.”8 Gamla was within his territory. Several uprisings against Rome originated at Gamla. Ezekhias, a Jewish partisan, had been executed by his father in 47 BCE. Jehuda of Gamla, founder of the Zealot party, had led a revolt in 4 BCE. Jehuda claimed that God alone was the ruler of Israel, not the Roman Emperor.9 He had to be disposed of. This would have been a case for Philip. Philip rebuilt the city in the north of his territory, at the confluence of the Jor and Dan rivers. This city had been founded by his father, who had built a magnificent white temple to Augustus there. The Imperial Cult dominated. Philip renamed it Caesarea Philippi, after himself and the Roman Augustus, and from there he ruled. This city became a popular resort with the Romans. One can still see the niches that contained statues of the gods, the altars for offering sacrifice, and the great cave known as the entrance to Hades (or Sheol). According to Matthew’s gospel, it was here that Jesus asked his disciples for affirmation on who he was and assured them that Rome paganism would not prevail. Philip's religious affiliation was not Jewish. There is no indication that Philip ever was a practicing Jew. We are told by Luke, that his brother, Antipas, went to Jerusalem for the feast of the Passover. We are never told that Philip did likewise. Coins minted by Philip and found at Bethsaida, Caesarea, and other places bear the image of the head of the Tetrarch. Many of his coins also contain the images of Augustus, and Livia as Ceres, goddess of the corn. Livia is often named in the epigraphic record as Ceres Augusta. Five such coins have been found at the temple of Livia in Bethsaida. All were minted in the year 30. This was something which

8 9

Ant. Book XVIII, Ch IV 6. Pixner p 93.

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would have outraged Jewish sensibilities.10 His commitment to Rome had priority over all else? Philip was 36 years old when Augustus died. The will of Augustus stipulated that Livia was to be adopted into the Julian family and was to receive the title “Augusta”. The wedding anniversary of Augustus and Livia was made a public holiday. However, Tiberius forbade her deification. That would have to wait until Claudius. We do not know how well Philip knew Tiberius. During his stay in Rome, Tiberius would have been off in the army. He became Emperor in 14 CE and in 28 CE Tiberius moved to the island of Capri and governed from there. His mother, Livia Julia, visited him in Capri but died in the year 29. Pontius Pilate became the procurator of Judea in 26. His duties would have included the supervising of religious matters. He was actively engaged in the promotion of the Imperial Cult in Roman Judea (Taylor, 556). An action that strengthened the Roman imperial cult in Caesarea would be expected of Roman provincial governors. One of his first acts on arrival in Palestine was to march into Jerusalem carrying images on his standards. The standards of Roman legionaries were religious icons. He had the images mounted on the walls of the Antonia Fortress facing the temple. Augustus had ordered that Jerusalem be immune from such images. He ordered the execution of any Jews who tried to storm the fortress because of the images. Instead 7000 Jews marched to Caesarea and tried to storm his residence. After a week when he had prepared his soldiers to slaughter all of them and the soldiers were gathered in the courtyard the Jews knelt in prayer prepared to die. Pilate backed down and agreed to talk to them. He ordered the icons removed. Nonetheless, the incident shows the strength with which the Imperial cult was promulgated. In the year 29 Pilate minted coins to “Julia of Caesar” that bear the date of her death. Pontius Pilate did not lack in promoting the Imperial Cult. Did Philip know Pilate? His brother Antipas apparently did know him and the two became friends after the trial of Jesus (Luke 23:21). Livia had been given the title Augusta, a first step in becoming divine. Building the temple to her was a political act intended to curry favor with the Emperor. There was only one officially sanctioned temple to Livia during her life time and that was in Smyrna (Barrett, 213). But public regard for Livia Julia increased after her death. There was an atmosphere of imperial patronage 10

Many scholars suggest that it was Jesus' toppling over the tables of the moneychangers, with their graven image coins, in the temple that led to his crucifixion.

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Did Philip believe, with Virgil, that Rome would live forever? Or was he motivated by fear that without promoting Rome he might lose favor with the Emperor, especially when his nephew Agrippa was panting in the wings, raised at Rome, and ready to take over at a moment’s notice? Or was his brother Herod Antipas ambitious? He had already built a city dedicated to Livia at Betharamphtha. Dedicating the temple and renaming the city would have required permission from Tiberius.11 The dedication would have called for the offering of sacrifice, processions, a dress code, musical accompaniment, and offerings of incense. The city was committing itself to embrace all of Roman ideology. The Imperial Cult being imposed on the inhabitants of Bethsaida would not have gone over well. Was there open conflict? John’s gospel shows that this was a city whose people were conscientiously Jewish. Peter and Andrew had been followers of John the Baptist. Several were followers of Jesus who had died five months earlier. Many of his mighty works were performed there. The feeding of the five thousand had taken place there according to Luke. Jesus had withdrawn from Galilee to the territory of Philip. Did Philip and Jesus ever meet? Did Philip openly persecute the early Jesus-community in Bethsaida. We know that after the death of Jesus the disciples had returned to Galilee and were fostering the cult of Jesus. A Syrian tradition contained in the Book of the Bee, tells that the apostle James, the son of Zebedee, and brother of John, was “spreading the gospel in Bethsaida.” A few years later James was taken to Jerusalem by Herod Agrippa and beheaded. We do not know what the charges were against him. Was it a loyalty test? Was James causing trouble in a town that had been specifically dedicated to the Imperial Cult? James had been especially close to Jesus. He was one of his very first disciples and was 11 Among the inscriptions at Gytheon in Sparta are Tiberius' grant of authority and regulations for the establishment of the Imperial Cult there in 14 CE. It specifies the placement of statues, emphasizes musical performance, processions, liturgical dress, the offering of sacrifice and the Pheiditia (Table Companies) to offer incense in the public square. "If they do not carry out the procession or sacrifice or if having done so they do not require the Table Companies and officials to offer incense in the public square, they shall be fined 2,000 drachmae ($40,000) payable to the gods " (MacMullen, 76). The lintel over the temple of Livia has certain symbols that are also found in Athens in the Temple of Augustus. See Don Urman, The Golan. And BAR reports for 1980 and 1982. The centerpiece over the temple which has a Roman eagle was taken later to Chorazin where it does not fit in with synagogue worship.

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with Jesus at all the peak moments of his public career. The gospels point out that he had expected to be rewarded with a special position at Jesus’ right hand! It must have gone much against the grain for James to see a Roman goddess honored in his beloved town. He, who had listened to every word of Jesus, could not be silent. It has been said many times and is often true that the sure way to make something thrive is to persecute it. In promoting Rome and the Imperial Cult, Philip caused a reaction. Philip died four years later. He had no children to inherit his property.12 Josephus tells us that he is buried in Bethsaida. Father Pixner suggests that the burial place of Philip is Hill #60 which can be seen clearly from Bethsaida. Pixner suggests this since Herod the Great choose Herodium for his burial place, and this hill resembles Herodium. However no archaeologist can follow up on this. The place is presently mined and it would take a brave person, indeed, to try to find the bones of Philip. His territory was added to the province of Syria until the death of Tiberius. It was then handed over to Agrippa, Philip’s nephew, who was given the title of King. Agrippa later added all of the territory of his uncles, Antipas and Archelaus, and thus become ruler of all Palestine. Agrippa was a childhood friend of Caligula, the then ruling Emperor. He continued the Roman policies of Philip. Within a century, the temple built by his father in Jerusalem was destroyed and the holy city became a Roman city renamed Alia Capatolina, with temples to the Roman gods. However, by then Christianity had taken root, had spread out to the Diaspora, and Christians were openly challenging the Imperial Cult, and suffering for it. Three hundred years later the Jesus-cult that Bethsaida fisherman had fostered, would take over the Empire. The Imperial Cult then disappeared. Was Philip the inadvertent sponsor of Christianity? Did he make Bethsaida its springboard.

References Barrett, Anthony (2002), Livia First Lady of Imperial Rome, New Haven:Yale University Press. Josephus, Flavius (1958-1965, Works, English and Greek, Loeb Classical Library. 9 vols., Cambridge: Harvard University Press and London: W. Heineman, 1958). 12 One can question his judgment in choosing a wife twenty-five years his junior or hers in choosing him.

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Fitzmyer, Joseph (1992), A Wandering Aramean, Ann Arbor: Edwards Brothers. Flory, M., Livia’s Shrine to Concordia and the Porticus Liviae, Historia 33, 1984, 309- 30. Gardner, P., A New Portrait of Livia, The Journal of Roman Studies, Vol. 12, 1922, 32-4. Geyer, Patrick (1998), Bethsaida/Julias and the Politics, Religion, and Economics of Roman Syro-Palestine (4 BCE-33/34 CE), Phoenix: Arizona State University. Grether, Gertrude, Livia and the Roman Imperial Cult, The American Journal of Philology, Vol. 67, No. 3, 1946, 222-52. Lipsius, R.A. (1890), Apocryphal History of the Apostles and the Legends of the Apostles, Original Edition: Die Apokryphen, Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden (1883-90), Braunsthweig: Hauck-Herzog. MacMullen, Ramsay (1992), Paganism and Christianity 100-425 CE, Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Morey, W.C. (1906), Outlines of Roman History, New York: American Book Company. Murphy-O Connor, Jerome (1996), The Holy Land, an Archaeological Guide from Earliest Times to 1700 , Oxford: Oxford University Press. Patrologia Graeca, J.P. Migne, ed., 161 vols., Paris, 1857-66. Patrologia Latina, ed. J.P. Migne, ed., 217 vols., Paris, 1844-55. Pixner, Bargil (1992), With Jesus through Galilee, Corazin: Corazin Publishing. Pixner, Bargil (1996), With Jesus in Jerusalem, Corazin: Corazin Publishing. Rostovtzell, M. I. (1941), The Social and Economic History of the Hellenistic World, Vol. 2, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rousseau, J. J., and Rami Arav (1995), Jesus and His World, Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Sherwin-White, A.N. (1963), Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Taylor, Joan, Pontius Pilate and the Imperial cult in Roman Judea, New Testament Studies, 52, 555-82,. Urman, Dan (1979), The Golan During the Roman and Byzantine Periods, Ann Arbor: University Microfilms International. Wheeler, Mortimer (1964), Roman Art and Architecture, New York: Frederick A Praeger. Wuellner, Wilhelm (1981), The Meaning of Fishers of Men, Philadelphia: Westminster Press.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE QUEST FOR THE HISTORICAL NAZARETH1 GREGORY C. JENKS

One of the critical issues when pursuing Historical Jesus research has been to distinguish the ‘voice print’ of one man, Jesus, from the larger crowd of Second Temple Judaism voices of his time. Historians always find it easier to describe movements than individuals, places rather than events, technologies rather than artifacts. For that reason, searching for the historical Nazareth may be an easier task than the quest for the historical Jesus. While this comes as a surprise to some people, the historical existence of Nazareth at the time of Jesus has been a controversial topic.2 This is really an example of the larger minimalist-maximalist debates within biblical studies. In these debates, a ‘maximalist’ tends to assume that the

 1

This investigation into ancient Nazareth is dedicated to friends in contemporary Nazareth who have always made me so welcome in this my alternate hometown, and without whose friendship my sabbatical in 2013 would have been a very solitary existence. I also acknowledge the contributions of colleagues from the Bethsaida Excavations Project and from the Israel Antiquities Authority. While the responsibility for any errors and omissions is mine, they have assisted me with their advice and encouraged me to pursue my research into Nazareth at the time of Philo Judaeus, Jesus of Nazareth, and Flavius Josephus. 2 For a recent and influential discussion see René Salm, The Myth of Nazareth: The Invented Town of Jesus, Cranford, NJ: American Atheist Press, 2008. See also his, Christianity at the Crossroads—Nazareth in the Crosshairs, American Atheist JulAug, 2010. Salm’s work is positively reviewed by Robert M. Price, (Review of Rene Salm, the Myth of Nazareth: The Invented Town of Jesus, American Atheist Press, 2008, http://www.robertmprice.mindvendor.com/ reviews/salm_myth_ nazereth.htm. This skepticism about the historical existence of Nazareth in the first century is also seen in popular web sites such as http://www.jesusneverexisted. com/nazareth.html. Salm’s book has been convincingly critiqued by K. R. Dark, Review of René Salm, the Myth of Nazareth, Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 26, 2008.

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Bible reflects events that actually happened, unless historical evidence directly refutes it. On the other hand, a ‘minimalist’ tends to assume that the Bible does not reflect a memory of events that really happened, unless there are independent historical grounds for the event. In the case of firstcentury Nazareth,3 religious scholars tend to talk up the size of Nazareth, while skeptics tend to question whether Nazareth even existed at the time.

The Galilee During the last few decades scholarship on the Galilee has made significant advances. Until then our only substantial sources for information were ancient literary accounts, especially the writings of Josephus4 and the NT Gospels. The earlier literary studies by scholars such as Geza Vermes and Sean Freyne5 are now being modified by studies that reflect the results from an increasing number of archaeological projects across the north of Israel.6 For much of its history, Galilee seems to have been a contested space on the boundaries of other people’s imperial dreams. More often than not, it was a distant province of a ruler based in Damascus, Jerusalem, Samaria, or Tyre. Sometimes the ruler was as far away as Assyria or Egypt—or Rome. The ethnicity of the Galileans is also a complex question. Based on the

 3

Unless indicated otherwise, here and in what follows “first century” always refers to the first century CE. References to the first century BCE will always include that abbreviation. 4 Josephus, Flavius (1926-1965), The Life. Against Apion., Loeb Classical Library, 186, London: W. Heineman, The Jewish War, Loeb Classical Library, 203, 487, 210, London: W. Heineman; (1926-1965), Jewish Antiquities, Loeb Classical Library, 241, 281, 326, 365, 410, 433 & 456, London: W. Heineman. 5 Geza Vermes (1981), Jesus the Jew: A Historians Reading of the Gospels, rev. ed., London: SCM Press; Sean Freyne (1980), Galilee from Alexander the Great to Hadrian 323 BCE to 135 CE. A Study of Second Temple Judaism, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame. Freyne has modified his earlier work in light of the new information: Galilee, Jesus and the Contribution of Archaeology, The Expository Times 119, no. 12, 2008. 6 Recent landmark studies include: Mark Chancey (2002), The Myth of a Gentile Galilee, Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 118, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; Richard A. Horsley (1992), Archaeology, History and Society in Galilee: The Social Context of Jesus and the Rabbis, Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1992; Jonathan L. Reed (2000), Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus, A Re-Examination of the Evidence , Harrisburg: Trinity Press International.

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evidence from Bethsaida we might surmise a general Aramaean cultural tradition in the eastern areas. We can also presume that there would have been strong influence from the coastal regions around Tyre and Sidon in the western areas, as Galilee was the hinterland for these great coastal trading cities. In the Hellenistic period we have clear evidence of people from those areas moving into the Galilee and then moving out again as Hasmonean and Herodian policies increased the Jewish character of the Galilee.7 By the middle of the second century BCE Jews in the Galilee were under such pressure from their non-Jewish neighbors that a rescue bid was arranged by the Maccabean ruler, Simon (1 Mac 5:9–23). The historical origins of these Galilean Jews are not known, but they were able to invoke a sense of shared identity with the Jews of Judaea so that the Maccabees intervened on their behalf with military force. Aristobulus I only reigned for one year (104–103 BCE), but in that brief period he conquered the Galilee and brought it under the direct rule of Jerusalem. He had previously been in charge of his father’s campaign against the Samaritans, so we can see a consistent policy of Jewish expansion north-wards into Galilee, and south into Idumaea, as the Hasmoneans consolidated their power. During the long reign of Herod the Great there seems to have been a further consolidation of the Jewish presence in the Galilee. The presence of Herodian oil lamps and especially the occurrence of stone utensils suggest that communities such as Bethsaida and Nazareth were intentionally Jewish, loyal to Jerusalem, and observed ritual purity requirements. None of this suggests that the Galilee was now exclusively populated by Jews. There were doubtless some non-Jewish people in the area, and these would especially have been found in the major cities. While these cities can be expected to have had large Gentile majorities, there would have been small Jewish minorities in most of them. The Galilean cities of

 7

Carl Savage (2011), Biblical Bethsaida: An Archaeological Study of the First Century, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. For similar conclusions about other villages in the Galilee at that time, see Mordechai Aviam (2004), Jews, Pagan and Christians in the Galilee: 25 Years of Archaeological Excavations and Surveys: Hellenistic to Byzantine Periods, Land of Galilee 1, Rochester: University of Rochester Press; Chancey, Myth of a Gentile Galilee, 118. Reed, Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus. In a private communication, Dr Rami Arav has noted that there was a gap in the Jewish presence in the Galilee between the failed Hasmonean project at the beginning of the first century BCE and the different strategies used by Herod the Great.

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Sepphoris and Tiberias will have been majority Jewish towns, but with significant Gentile minorities among the elite and perhaps the traders.

Nazareth in literature Biblical Texts The name, Nazareth, occurs 29 times in the Bible, all of them in the NT.8 Nazareth is never mentioned in the Tanakh or in any other Jewish writings of the period. Even within the NT the references are limited to the Gospels and Acts, with the majority being the phrase “Jesus of/from Nazareth.” Leaving aside the references that occur as part of Jesus’ name, we find just the following few verses. They are cited in what I consider to be their historical order. In the Gospel of Mark Nazareth was the place from which Jesus came when first appearing in the narrative as someone attracted to the preaching of John the Baptist, and it was a place to which he returned on at least one occasion with his disciples. In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. (Mk 1:9)9 He left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. (Mk 6:1–2)

As Mark tells the story, Jesus failed to secure a positive reception in his hometown and was not able to perform any miracles there. Matthew will soften that to “many miracles” in his revised version of this episode (Matt 13:58). And they took offense at him. Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief (Mk 6:3–6).

The Gospel of Matthew has the Holy Family living in Bethlehem at the

 8

Matt 2:23; 4:13; 21:11; 26:71; Mark 1:9, 24; 10:47; 14:67; 16:6; Luke 1:26; 2:4, 39, 51; 4:16, 34; 18:37; 24:19; John 1:45–46; 18:5, 7; 19:19; Acts 2:22; 3:6; 4:10; 6:14; 10:38; 22:8; 26:9 9 All biblical quotations are from the NRSV.

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time of Jesus’ birth and then seeking refuge in Egypt to escape Herod the Great. At some stage Matthew needed to relocate them to Nazareth. The idea of a Jewish family moving from Judea to Nazareth is consistent with the well-attested pattern of intentional Jewish settlement in the Galilee during the Herodian period. In Matthew’s case, his description of the family choosing to relocate from Judea to Nazareth is based on religious grounds. This all happens to fulfill an otherwise unknown prophecy and, just as importantly in Matthew’s theological aims, to link Jesus with the community of his later followers in Syria, who would become known as Nazoreans.10 There [Joseph] made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean” (Mt 2:23).

The remaining references to Nazareth in Matthew (4:13; 13:54) are unremarkable and add nothing to the information from Mark. While the Gospel of John preserves just a single tradition about Nazareth, it is an interesting additional item of information. In response to Philip’s news about having found the long-promised Messiah, Nathanael reacts with skepticism since Nazareth was not a place with any religious pedigree. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” (Jn 1:45–46)

The dismissal of Nazareth is also implicit in another Johannine passage (Jn 7:37–52). This may reflect a post-Easter polemic centered around Jesus’ inauspicious origins in an otherwise unknown Galilean village. When they heard these words, some in the crowd said, “This is really the prophet.” Others said, “This is the Messiah.” But some asked, “Surely the Messiah does not come from Galilee, does he? Has not the scripture said that the Messiah is descended from David and comes from Bethlehem, the village where David lived?” So there was a division in the crowd because of him (Jn 7:40–43). They replied, “Surely you are not also from Galilee, are you? Search and you will see that no prophet is to arise from Galilee” (Jn 7:52).

 10

See Adela Yarbro Collins (2007), Mark: A Commentary, Harold W. Attridge, ed., Hermeneia, Minneapolis: Fortress, 123f.

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The Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles were written by the same author, and arguably are among the last of the NT documents to be composed. 11 They certainly offer a more cosmopolitan perspective of Jesus and his earliest followers, and seem to reflect a desire to provide the emerging Christian community with a pedigree that both Jewish and Roman audiences would respect. The Greek word consistently translated as “town” in the NRSV, is actually polis, (city), as the more literal KJV correctly translated. In the imagination of Luke, Nazareth had become a Hellenistic city set on a hill, and perhaps with an acropolis from which Jesus could be cast when the crowd turned against him. Of course, it also features a synagogue, in which Jesus was appointed to read the Scriptures, and in which he would deliver his inaugural sermon outlining his program (Lk 4:16–30). In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth (Lk 1:26) Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. (Lk 2:4) When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. (Lk 2:39) Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. (Lk 2:51) When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, … They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. (Lk 4:16, 29)

Like Matthew, Luke links the name of Jesus’ hometown with the popular name for his followers: Nazarenes. Interestingly, while Luke prefers christianoi as the name for the followers of Jesus, he places a more culturally appropriate term on the lips of the Jewish complainants in Acts 24. We have, in fact, found this man a pestilent fellow, an agitator among all the Jews throughout the world, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes. (Ac 24:5)

 11

See Richard I. Pervo (2006), Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists, Santa Rosa: Polebridge; Joseph B Tyson (2006), Marcion and LukeActs: A Defining Struggle, Columbia: University of South Carolina Press.

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Early Christian Texts There are no references to Nazareth in the Apostolic Fathers, and just a handful of references in Christian texts from the second half of the second century CE. There are three references in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas (1:1; 3:1; 4:0), another three in Irenaeus (haer. I.21:3; III.12:2–4, 7; and IV.23:1), and one in Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho (1:78). All of them are clearly dependent on the infancy traditions in the Gospel of Luke. These texts are among the earliest witnesses to the Gospel of Luke, but they do not represent independent traditions about Nazareth. Interestingly, the Infancy Gospel of James, locates the annunciation and the entire infancy tradition in Judea. This second-century text celebrates the role of Jerusalem and makes no mention of any Galilean connections. It adds nothing to our knowledge of Jesus’ origins, but does remind us that Nazareth did not enjoy the unanimous reverence of all early Christians. The uncritical acceptance by Bagatti of Patristic traditions about relatives of Jesus continuing to live in Nazareth and holding hereditary leadership roles in the early church 12 would not be endorsed by contemporary scholars13 These pious traditions tell us about the ways that Nazareth functioned in the religious imagination of later generations of pilgrims, but preserve nothing of value about first-century Nazareth.

Other Early Texts When we seek to supplement references to Nazareth in Christian sources with references in non-Christian texts, the information is even more limited. This gap in the literature is one of the reasons some people have questioned whether Nazareth even existed in the first century. Josephus does not mention Nazareth although he refers to other nearby towns and villages, for example Japha (Life 1:188, 230, 233, 270; War 2:573; 3:289). This lack of mention does not demonstrate that Nazareth did not exist at the time or even that it was unknown to Josephus. However, it does suggest that Nazareth played no part in the Jewish War, and was such an insignificant place that Josephus had no reason to mention it.

 12

Bellarmino Bagatti (1969), Excavations in Nazareth, I: From the Beginning Till the XII Century; II: From the XII Century until Today, E. Hoade, trans., 2 vols., Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, I, 12–16. 13 For a critical assessment of the Franciscans’ involvement in archaeology, see Masha Halevi, Between Faith and Science: Franciscan Archaeology in the Service of the Holy Places, Middle Eastern Studies 48, no. 2, 2012.

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The first mention of Nazareth in a non-Christian source is a fragmentary fourth-century inscription from Caesarea Maritima. This mentions Nazareth as one of the Jewish towns in the Galilee to which priests had relocated when exiled from Jerusalem after the destruction of the Temple.14 Naturally, such a late inscription is no proof that Nazareth existed in the Herodian period, but it does at least indicate that Nazareth was seen as an acceptable location for displaced priests, and perhaps had an existing reputation as a village that observed appropriate ritual purity.

Pilgrimage Reports The remaining category of literary evidence for the existence of Nazareth is comprised of the descriptions written by pilgrims who visited the town.15 These are all much later than the first century, but they do offer glimpses of Nazareth in the late Byzantine and early Islamic periods, as well as more recent times.

Archaeological research Controlled scientific excavations and surveys have been undertaken at several sites in and around Nazareth. These include the excavations at the site of the Basilica of the Annunciation prior to its construction during the 1960s16 at Mary’s Well in 1997/98,17 in the open lands remaining between Nazareth and Zippori (ancient Sepphoris),18 at the Nazareth Village Farm Project, 19 at the site of the International Marian Center opposite the Basilica,20 and at the Sisters of Nazareth Convent, about 100 meters up the

 14

M Avi-Yonah, A List of Priestly Courses from Caesarea, Israel Exploration Journal, no. 12, 1962. 15 For details of these pilgrim reports, see Bagatti (2012), Excavations in Nazareth. I, 21 and especially Yardenna Alexandré, Mary's Well, Nazareth: The Late Hellenistic to the Ottoman Periods, IAA Reports, 49, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 139–52. 16 Bagatti, Excavations in Nazareth. 17 Alexandré, Mary's Well. 18 K. R. Dark, The Roman-Period and Byzantine Landscape between Sepphoris and Nazareth, Palestine Exploration Quarterly 140, no. 2, 2008. 19 Stephen Pfann, Ross Voss, and Yehudah Rapuano, Surveys and Excavations at the Nazareth Village Farm (1997-2002): Final Report, Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 25, 2007. 20 The report from the 2008-2009 excavations, now the site of the International Marian Center, has not yet been published, but I have spoken with the excavator

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slope from the Basilica.21

Basilica of the Annunciation The demolition of the eighteenth-century Franciscan church to prepare for the construction of the Basilica of the Annunciation provided a unique opportunity to excavate that site. The results are presented in great detail in the two-volume report by Bellarmino Bagatti, and reviewed, with the benefit of critical hindsight, by Yardenna Alexandré.22 Alexandré cautiously summarizes the key finds as follows. The Bagatti excavations of the 1950s–1960s uncovered extensive areas of bedrock with many Iron Age and Roman rock-hewn elements, including wine- and olive-presses, interconnecting passages, bell-shaped water cisterns and smaller bell-shaped silos, some having two and three superimposed underground levels (Bagatti, 1969, 27–73). The ‘Annunciation Cave’ itself may have originally been part of a winepress complex, to which it was connected by a tunnel. The Franciscan excavators surmised that the cave was venerated from Early Roman times … but it may have been converted into a Christian holy place only in the Late Roman or early Byzantine period. Some uniform, linear rock-hewn depressions observed in this area were interpreted as the negatives of walls whose stones had been removed, indicating that domestic buildings may once have stood above the rockhewn basement silos, probably in the Roman period (Bagatti 1969, 74). This observation consolidates the understanding of the area of the Franciscan compound as the nucleus of the small Roman-period village.23

 about her findings. A preliminary report is available on the Israel Antiquities Authority web site: http://www.antiquities.org.il/article_Item_eng.asp?sec_id=25 &subj_id=240&id=1638 &module_id=#as 21 K. R. Dark, Early Roman-Period Nazareth and the Sisters of Nazareth Convent, Antiquaries Journal 92, 2012. See also The Byzantine Church of the Nutrition in Nazareth Rediscovered, Palestine Exploration Quarterly 144, no. 3, 2012. 22 Bagatti, Excavations in Nazareth; Alexandré, Mary's Well, (especially pages 6– 7). See also the criticism of Bagatti’s interpretations by Joan E Taylor (1993), Christians and the Holy Places: The Myth of Jewish-Christian Origins, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 244–53; and the qualified acceptance by James F. Strange (2007), Archaeological Evidence of Jewish Believers?, in Jewish Believers in Jesus, Oskar Skarsaune and Reidar Hvalvik, eds, Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 723–27. 23 Alexandré, Mary's Well, 7.

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Mary’s Well Some limited excavations were undertaken at Mary’s Well and at the nearby Greek Orthodox Church in 1997 and 1998. A detailed report on those excavations was published in 2012. It seems that the well was located about 500m outside the residential area, at a point further up the slope dictated by the natural features of the site, including a wadi separating the spring and well from the village itself. A number of special circumstances apply to ancient water systems, including wells. Unlike normal domestic spaces, particular kinds of materials are more likely to be found in such systems. These include vessels for drawing water, jewelry, and coins. Due to the effects of flowing water moving down an incline, items will also accumulate at the lowest point even though they may have originated further up the slope. Finally, all such systems need periodic maintenance to repair damage and remove silt. In the process, materials from earlier periods tend to be removed, so that the items recovered in 1997/98 largely reflect the deposits since the last clearing of the well “in the second half of the fifteenth century.”24 While the structural and ceramic evidence from Mary’s Well, largely reflects the Mamluk and later periods, it is especially significant that several first-century coins were found in the well. The 165 coins recovered were mostly from much later periods, but included 2 Hellenistic coins, 10 Hasmonean coins from Alexander Jannaeus (104–76 BCE), 2 coins from Herod the Great (37–4 BCE), 1 from Archelaus (4 BCE–6 CE), and 1 from Antonius Felix (dated to 54 CE).25 The presence of so many coins from Alexander Jannaeus relative to Herod and his successors is initially puzzling, but most likely reflects the fact that these coins remained in circulation until the time of Herod the Great as the successors of Jannaeus did not mint their own coins.26 It is reasonable to assume that the water system associated with Mary’s Well once held many more first-century coins, but we cannot speculate about them. Historical investigation works with random remains from the past, and the coins from Mary’s Well are a vivid illustration of that reality.

 24

Ariel Berman, The Numismatic Evidence, in Mary's Well, Nazareth: The Late Hellenistic to the Ottoman Periods, Yardenna Alexandré, ed., IAA Reports, 49, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2012, 108. 25 Ibid, 107. 26 David Hendin (2010), Guide to Biblical Coins, 5th ed., New York, NY: Amphora, 204.

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Nahal Zippori Ken Dark has directed a series of annual studies for the Nazareth Archaeology Project.27 In the first few years of that project the focus was on the remaining rural areas between Nazareth and Sephoris, looking for evidence of ancient settlement and landscape features. The findings from the Nazareth Archaeology Project are so significant, that they deserve to be cited at some length. The evidence from this survey suggests that the Roman-period and Byzantine landscape between Nazareth and Sepphoris had probably been established at the start of the Early Roman period—perhaps in the late first century BC—or immediately before and was probably largely abandoned in the seventh century. This landscape was characterized by an unusually dense pattern of low-status farms and of small villages. The explanation of such unusual settlement density may be found in the proximity of Sepphoris and agricultural possibilities of the Nahal Zippori. In the south part of the area people may have used Jewish purity laws as a form of passive resistance against the Roman state and/or associated cultural change. These communities used only Jewish-made products, even if they had to source these more distantly than available Roman imports available at Sepphoris. The settlements closer to Sepphoris show more imported material, and so perhaps had a less strict interpretation of Jewish purity laws than those around Nazareth. A cultural frontier is, therefore, visible running through the valley between communities that, while both Jewish, accepted some part of Roman provincial culture and those that asserted a more strongly Jewish and more overtly religious identity. This may be the only place in the Roman Empire where one can identify a linear boundary to the local adoption and adaptation of Roman provincial culture so exactly, and explain this in religious and cultural terms, using archaeological evidence so unambiguously.28

Nazareth Village Farm Project The excavations at the Nazareth Village site have not revealed any domestic structures, but a considerable quantity of ceramic materials has

 27

See K. R. Dark (2008), Roman-Period and Byzantine Landscape; Nazareth Archaeological Project. A Preliminary Report on the Fourth Season in 2007, London: Late Antiquity Research Group; Nazareth Archaeological Project. A Preliminary Report on the Fifth Season in 2008, published by the Late Antiquity Research Group, 2009. 28 Roman-Period and Byzantine Landscape, 98–99.

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been reported. However, the pottery remains are fragmentary. They come from a series of discontinuous periods of occupation and are unevenly represented across the site. 29 The vast majority of the material is dated to the Late Roman and Byzantine periods (fourth and fifth centuries CE), but there are a few remains from the first century. Pfann and Rapuano reflect on the significance of the ceramic materials found. Earlier pottery from the Hellenistic and Early Roman periods, which was found during our survey, no matter how meagre the fragments and numbers might be, bears witness to a time in which complete vessels of these types were once in use in the somewhat smaller town with a commensurately smaller population.30

In his review of the final report, Dark concludes: The available archaeological evidence from the centre of contemporary Nazareth, by contrast, suggests that the settlement of Nazareth existed in the Second Temple period and included the area around the existing Church of the Annunciation. The terraces at Nazareth Village Farm might well have been farmed by people from, or having some relationship with, 31 that settlement.

Sisters of Nazareth Convent The ancient materials underneath the convent were first discovered in 1884, but had not been professionally examined until the most recent phase of the Nazareth Archaeology Project.32 For our purposes we need only focus on the analysis of the material identified as “Structure 1.” This can be dated to the first century on stratigraphic grounds, 33 and is identified as a well-preserved example of a courtyard house. After addressing a number of objections to his proposed identification of this structure, Dark concludes as follows.

 29

Pfann, Voss, and Rapuano, Final Report. See especially the detailed pottery report (Appendix 2, pages 68–77) by Yehuda Rapuano. 30 Stephen Pfann and Yehudah Rapuano, On the Nazareth Village Farm Report: A Reply to Salm," Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society, 26, 2008, 106. 31 K. R. Dark, Nazareth Village Farm: A Reply to Salm, ibid, 111. 32 See K. R. Dark, Early Roman-Period Nazareth and Byzantine Church of the Nutrition. 33 Early Roman-Period Nazareth, 15.

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Chapter Fourteen Fragments of wall plaster and portable artifacts found inside the structure suggest that the walls of the house were plastered and that it had culturally Jewish occupants, including (given the gender association of weaving in Second Temple Judaism) at least one woman. This is exactly what might be expected of an Early Roman-period Jewish family home from settlement sites excavated in the Lower Galilee and elsewhere in Israel. Broadly contemporary occupation was present to the north east of the site, at the [International Marian Center], and to its south east, at the Church of the Annunciation site. … The finds from all these sites suggest a culturally Jewish community obeying the Jewish purity laws as they were understood in this period, just as our earlier work in the countryside would lead one to expect.34

International Marian Center Prior to construction of this new center, a rescue excavation was undertaken in 2008 and 2009. Although a final report is not yet available, preliminary information suggests results that are broadly compatible with the interpretation of Structure 1 from the Sisters of Nazareth convent. a large broad wall that dates to the Mamluk period (the fifteenth century CE) was exposed that was constructed on top of and “utilized” the walls of an ancient building. This earlier building consisted of two rooms and a courtyard in which there was a rock-hewn cistern into which the rainwater was conveyed. The artifacts recovered from inside the building were few and mostly included fragments of pottery vessels from the Early Roman period (the first and second centuries CE). In addition, several fragments of chalk vessels were found, which were only used by Jews in this period because such vessels were not susceptible to becoming ritually unclean.35

Tombs and graves A number of tombs dating to the first century have been found just outside the presumed boundaries of the village at that time. These are poorly documented at this stage, but references to them occur in various excavation reports. 36 In a personal communication, Dr Rami Arav has advised:

 34

Ibid, 21. http://www.antiquities.org.il/article_Item_eng.asp?sec_id=25&subj_id=240&id =1638&module_id=#as 36 See especially, Bagatti, Excavations in Nazareth, I, 237–49. The most recent summary, which includes a map of their approximate locations, is to be found in Alexandré, Mary’s Well, 9. 35

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… the material from tombs in Nazareth, Khirbet Tyria, Nain and other locations, shows not only that they were Jewish but that the earliest use of these tombs was in the Herodian period. There is no continuation from the Hellenistic period to the Roman period in these tombs. They all begin in the Herodian period.

Conclusions While there are signs of some human presence from the Bronze Age, and maybe even as early at the Neolithic period, there is no reason to think that Nazareth was continuously occupied through to the Early Roman period. Rather, the village known to Jesus seems to have been founded during the first century BCE. This was most likely around the beginning of the Herodian era (37–4 BCE). The best explanation seems to be a very small settlement, populated by Jews who had relocated from Judea as part of an intentional program to strengthen the Jewish character of the Galilee. Nazareth probably did not have a synagogue in the first two decades of the first century.37 In the time of Jesus the population may have been fewer than 300 persons, and we might imagine that the majority of them would have been children.38

References Alexandré, Yardenna (2012), Mary's Well, Nazareth: The Late Hellenistic to the Ottoman Periods, IAA Reports, 49, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Avi-Yonah, M. A List of Priestly Courses from Caesarea. Israel Exploration Journal, no. 12, 1962, 137–39. Aviam, Mordechai (2004), Jews, Pagan, and Christians in the Galilee: 25 Years of Archaeological Excavations and Surveys: Hellenistic to Byzantine Periods, Land of Galilee 1, Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Bagatti, Bellarmino (1969), Excavations in Nazareth, I: From the

 37

Marianne Sawicki notes that the smaller villages did not have any need for synagogues, but may have shared “a common bread oven, threshing floor, well, and wine or oil press;” Postcolonial Issues Post-Calvary: Which Imperial Overlay Defined Galilee; the Roman-Herodian, or the Judean-Hasmonean?, Forum Third Series, 2, no. 1, 2013, 88–9 38 A maximum of 480 is suggested by James F Strange (1992), Nazareth, in Anchor Bible Dictionary, David Noel Freedman. ed., New York: Doubleday, 4, 1050.

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Beginning Till the XII Century, II: From the XII Century until Today, E. Hoade, trans, 2 vols, Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press. Berman, Ariel (2012), The Numismatic Evidence, Chapter 5, in Mary's Well, Nazareth: The Late Hellenistic to the Ottoman Periods, Yardenna Alexandré, ed., IAA Reports, 49, 107-20, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority. Chancey, Mark (2002), The Myth of a Gentile Galilee, Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series, Vol. 118, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Collins, Adela Yarbro (2007), Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia, Harold W. Attridge, ed., Minneapolis: Fortress,. Dark, K. R., The Byzantine Church of the Nutrition in Nazareth Rediscovered, Palestine Exploration Quarterly 144, no., 2912, 164-84. —. Early Roman-Period Nazareth and the Sisters of Nazareth Convent, Antiquaries Journal 92, 2012, 37-64. —. Nazareth Archaeological Project, A Preliminary Report on the Fifth Season in 2008, London: Late Antiquity Research Group, 2009. —. Nazareth Archaeological Project. A Preliminary Report on the Fourth Season in 2007, London: Late Antiquity Research Group, 2008. —. Nazareth Village Farm: A Reply to Salm, Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society, 26, 2008, 109-11. —. Review of René Salm, the Myth of Nazareth, Bulletin of the AngloIsrael Archaeological Society 26, 2008, 140-46. —. The Roman-Period and Byzantine Landscape between Sepphoris and Nazareth, Palestine Exploration Quarterly 140, no. 2, 2008, 97-102. Dowling, Gerard F., In Quest of First-Century Galilee, Catholic Biblical Quarterly 66, no. 1, 2004, 78-97. Freyne, Sean (1980), Galilee from Alexander the Great to Hadrian 323 BCE to 135 CE, A Study of Second Temple Judaism, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame. —. Galilee, Jesus and the Contribution of Archaeology, The Expository Times 119, no. 12, 2008, 573-81. Halevi, Masha, Between Faith and Science: Franciscan Archaeology in the Service of the Holy Places, Middle Eastern Studies 48, no. 2, 2012, 249-67. Hendin, David (2010), Guide to Biblical Coins, 5th ed., New York: Amphora. Horsley, Richard A. (1992), Archaeology, History and Society in Galilee: The Social Context of Jesus and the Rabbis, Valley Forge: Trinity Press International. Josephus, Flavius (1926-1964), Jewish Antiquities, Loeb Classical

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Library, 241, 281, 326, 365, 410, 433 and 456, London: W. Heineman. —. (1926-1965), The Jewish War, Loeb Classical Library, 203, 487, 210, London: W. Heineman. —. (1926-1965), The Life. Against Apion, Loeb Classical Library, 186. London: W. Heineman. Pervo, Richard I. (2006), Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists, Santa Rosa: Polebridge. Pfann, Stephen, and Yehudah Rapuano, On the Nazareth Village Farm Report: A Reply to Salm, Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society, 26, 2008, 105-08. Pfann, Stephen, Ross Voss, and Yehudah Rapuano, Surveys and Excavations at the Nazareth Village Farm (1997-2002), Final Report, Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 25, 2007, 19-79. Price, Robert M. Review of Rene Salm, the Myth of Nazareth: The Invented Town of Jesus, American Atheist, 2008, http://www.robertmprice.mindvendor.com/reviews/salm_myth_nazeret h.htm. Reed, Jonathan L. (2000), Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus, A ReExamination of the Evidence, Harrisburg: Trinity Press International. Salm, René, Christianity at the Crossroads—Nazareth in the Crosshairs, American Atheist, Jul-Aug, 2010, 8-12. —. (2008) The Myth of Nazareth: The Invented Town of Jesus, Cranford, NJ: American Atheist Press. Savage, Carl (2011), Biblical Bethsaida: An Archaeological Study of the First Century, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Sawicki, Marianne, Postcolonial Issues Post-Calvary: Which Imperial Overlay Defined Galilee—the Roman-Herodian, or the JudeanHasmonean?, Forum, Third Series, 2, no. 1, 2013, 79-99. Strange, James F. (2007), Archaeological Evidence of Jewish Believers?, in Jewish Believers in Jesus, Oskar Skarsaune and Reidar Hvalvik, eds., 710-41, Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Strange, James F. (1992), Nazareth, Anchor Bible Dictionary, David Noel Freedman, ed., IV, 1050–51, New York: Doubleday. Taylor, Joan E. (1993), Christians and the Holy Places: The Myth of Jewish-Christian Origins, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tyson, Joseph B. (2006), Marcion and Luke-Acts:A Defining Struggle, Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. Vermes, Geza (1981), Jesus the Jew: A Historian's Reading of the Gospels, rev. ed., London: SCM Press.



PART II: RELATED BIBLICAL AND CULTURAL THEMES





CHAPTER FIFTEEN “RIGHTEOUS IN HIS OWN EYES”: PROPHETICAL SCRIBAL INFLUENCE ON BIBLICAL CHARACTERS NICOLAE RODDY

This above all—to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou cans’t not then be false to any man. —Shakespeare, Hamlet (I. 3)

Dedicatory Introduction It seems appropriate that a chapter in a Festschrift honoring our dear friend and colleague, Professor John T. Greene, should bring together something of the man and his work, and how the phenomenon of that combination has influenced the lives of the people who know him. Since this is something best addressed in light of one’s own experience, I would like to trace the inspiration for this paper to the lobby of the Forum Hotel in eastern Berlin, where Dr. Greene and I lodged during the International Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in 2002. I had known John professionally for several years already, through our association as codirectors of the Bethsaida Excavations Project, but it was over a couple of robust German beers that I came to experience profound appreciation and great affection for the harmonious confluence of who John is and what he does—a real Mensch in the truest sense of the word. Of course I am well aware of the effect that beer can have on one’s perception of reality, but I became convinced that John’s nexus of personal integrity and creative action might in some way lie at the root of his collaboration with Professor Mishael Caspi and the regular contributors, including the editor of this volume, in the SBL unit “Bible Characters in the Three Traditions: Judaism, Christianity, Islam,” in that I find in him the same depth, complexity, humor, and bare bones authenticity of an Abraham, a David, or Job. For this reason, I decided to forego a planned



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article on Persian-period Bethsaida and dedicate to John a chapter on the literary motif of living authentically from a particular biblical perspective. May this study’s pairing of our mutual topics of interest—the Hebrew Bible and the art of living authentically—serve to honor John, ever reminding him, “We will always have Berlin!”

Thesis and Methodology This study identifies and examines a literary motif found in association with various biblical characters throughout the Tanach that suggests a comprehensive editorial agenda on the part of the scribal community that first brought the Bible together as “Bible.” Narrative analysis applied to characters drawn from the Torah, the Nevi’im (= the so-called Deuteronomistic History and “Latter” or Writing Prophets), and the Ketuvim, indicates a sustained, recurring critique of self-justifying behavior that demands a prophetic-type correction. The critique and its solution serve to bring the reader, although not necessarily the character, to greater awareness of what it means to live authentically according to the perspective of the exilic scribal community. Selected case studies examined here include the stories of Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38), David and Uriah (2 Samuel 11:1–12:4), Jonah, and Job. This paper argues that whatever their original literary form or function, these biblical protagonists have been crafted in a way that presents living authentically in a manner consistent with the standard established by Israel’s foundational narratives, including especially the Decalogue.

Background Underlying the assertion that this unifying literary leitmotif, along with others, runs like a crimson thread throughout much of the Tanach is that its presence can be attributed to the collective editorial hand of the prophetically-influenced scribal community that first brought together the Bible as “Bible” sometime shortly after the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem in 586 BCE.1 By this I mean the emergence into history of a collection of Hebrew scrolls comprising a corpus of selectively collected and edited oral and textual materials replete with dissonant, sometimes conflicting, voices expressed through a variety of genres, arising as a

 1

For additional insight into the nature of scribal culture, see K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007.



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concerted literary response to the perceived end of Judah’s national history, and generally cohering into a grand narrative of its re-imagined past. The literary assemblage envisioned here avoids the longstanding Pentateuch–Hexateuch controversy and presupposes an initial Enneateuch, in addition to most of the Latter Prophets, and some of the Writings (Ketuvim), especially the Psalms. 2 It also disqualifies any discrete embedded textual form or element from being referred to as “Bible”— neither the putative J Source, nor P, nor even the Deuteronomistic History. It assumes, rather, only the first discordant amalgam of voices and genres that, taken all together, appear to address the most ultimate of concerns, namely Judah’s survival as a people. In so doing, the prophetically influenced priestly scribes of the exilic period set about the process of deriving meaning from an incomprehensible event, with the result of producing the most comprehensive and scathingly authentic national selfreflection known to history. It is within these materials that the biblical editors’ apparent concerns for authentic existence may be situated. Biblical theologians can mine these resources for developing a genuine biblical anthropology. Other aspects of the prophetically influenced priestly scribal enterprise have been addressed elsewhere in various edited volumes and journals (Roddy 2008, 2010, 1013, forthcoming), all of which may be summed up by saying that the Bible’s initial, multi-dimensional response to the question “What went wrong” comprises several related aspects of an overall critique of certain Israelite institutions, which the prophetically influenced scribes set over against a corresponding ideal parallel universe. This negative assessment of the mundane world targets the following Israelite institutions in which Israel had misplaced its trust, namely 1) the monarchy, which had supplanted the notion of God as king (McKenzie 1991); 2) fortified cities, replacing the prophetic word as the only inviolable city of refuge (Roddy 2008); 3) Israel’s military defenses, in place of Israel’s only impenetrable defense, namely, the line of true biblical prophets stretching from Moses through Elijah-Elisha and culminating in Jeremiah, symbolized by chariots of fire (Roddy forthcoming); and finally, 4) the erroneous understanding of what it means to be a human being created in the image of God (Gen 1:26–27), augmented by the flipside of Exodus 3’s “I Am,” which can only be a

 2

On the Enneateuch, see C. Levin, “On the Cohesion and Separation of Books within the Enneateuch.” in Pentateuch, Hexateuch, or Enneateuch? Identifying Literary Works in Genesis Through Kings, T. Dozeman, T. Römer, and K. Schmid, eds.; Leiden: Brill, 2011, 127–54.



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resounding, “You’re not!” (Roddy, 2010). It is the last of these that informs the present study.

Living Authentically: A Biblical Perspective If the foregoing theoretical framework is correct, then authentic living from the perspective of the prophetically influenced priestly scribal community may be described as a mode of being, consonant with the portrait of the human person that emerges from Israel’s foundational narratives, set against the harsh and uncompromising demands of a perception of divinely-appointed reality. In stark contrast to the popular notion that biblical characters are there to be emulated, the genius of the biblical editors lies in their portrayal of Israel’s leaders as questionable anti-heroes by ostensibly exploiting the gap in Genesis 1:26 between the concepts of image (tselem) of God and divine likeness (damuth). Although making a distinction between image and likeness is a notion rooted in Patristic theology and surviving in the Eastern Orthodox theology,3 it is used here only for heuristic purposes to account for the scribal community’s apparent distinction between “mere” humanity and its putative vision of what “ultimate” or authentic humanity should be like. As such, mere humanity—the common denominator of all biblical characters from Adam to Zechariah—constitute the imago Dei; while those that emulate the likeness of God by displaying divine attributes of steadfast love, hesed, manifested through the twinned concepts of justice and righteousness (mishpat ve-tzedakah), discussed further below, represent a mode of being consonant with ultimate humanity. Finally, living authentically from the biblical perspective, as it is in the real world, is often identified apophatically. As Jacob Golomb observes concerning the literature of existentialist thinkers, “Authenticity is best defined in contrast to what is not authentic, akin to the theological via negativa...” (Golomb, 1995: 8). The question of authentic living therefore remains elusive and open-ended, revealed only in an encounter with some dire ultimacy that betrays whatever is false.

The Criterion of Authenticity What it means merely to be human in the narrative world of the Bible is obvious. Simply put, what it means to be merely human, in the biblical

 3

For the Orthodox distinction, see Vladimir Lossky, In the Image and Likeness of God, Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1974.



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world or our own, is simply the sum total of anything and everything one can imagine a human being doing naturally at all times and places with or without the aid of technology: an Ecclesiastes-like litany of birth and death, war and peace, building up and tearing down, eating, sleeping, loving, hating, copulating, defecating, and so on. By contrast, the answer to what it might mean to be ultimately human from the prophetically influenced scribal perspective is something else altogether. It may begin with a question posed in the chiastic center of Psalm 8: When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; 4 What are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals* that you care for them? 5 Yet you have made them a little lower than God,* and crowned them with glory and honor.6 You have given them dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under their feet. . . .

The creation language of the psalm calls to mind Genesis 1, where it is asserted that human beings are created in the image of God and given a particular status within the created order. If so, then what is the purpose of the question ma ‘enosh? What more would need to be said? Perhaps it is because of the fact that sandwiched within the Psalm’s narrow stratum between infinite God, on the one hand, and the rest of creation, on the other, is a vast spectrum of potential comprising the answer to what it might mean to be human, both merely and ultimately. The Garden of Eden story provides an apophatic solution to the boundaries implied in the ma ‘enosh question. Full of language about fertility and agriculture, two trees frame the drama. Inhabiting paradise with all the other creatures God has fashioned, the first humans are free to eat from all its produce, including the fruit from one of its two special trees. Beset by the clever serpent, the woman is asked whether God has said, “You shall not eat from any tree of the garden?” to which she replies: We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die” (3:2).

While the tree of life is not described, the forbidden tree of the knowledge of good and evil is said to appear to Eve as “Good for food” and “a delight to the eyes . . . to be desired to make one wise” (Gen 2:6). One of several challenges for the traditional interpretation of this story lies in the fact that the serpent seems to be articulating an inconvenient truth:



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You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, [living forever and] knowing good and evil.

The bracketed words are supplied only to make evident to the modern reader what the ancients would not have so easily missed, namely the fact that there are two beautiful trees, each vying for attention in the garden and each with the potential for imparting to human beings certain properties possessed naturally by the Supreme Being. Any ontological distinction would be anachronistic here, for the only thing that separates the Deity from human beings is the combination of properties offered by the two trees. As such, the garden-dwellers may eat the fruit of one tree or the other, but they are not permitted to have both, lest they become like God (or gods, elohim), living forever and knowing both good and evil. Thus Yahweh thwarts the humans’ potential for becoming like himself by expelling them from his own garden, posting a guardian being with a flaming sword and ensuring his own proprietary uniqueness for all generations:4 Now that the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil, he must not be allowed to stretch out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, lest he live forever (Gen 3:22b).

Jealously guarding his own uniqueness, the God of the Bible seems to assure the reader that part of what it means to be created in the image of the God is precisely that a human being is not God. To be sure, the motif of human beings attempting to set themselves up as god, only to be returned to their rightful place in the created order by Yahweh occupies much of the rest of the Yahwistic narratives, most notably the Babel story, and continues well into the Deuteronomistic history, as will be shown. In fact, every biblical character that undertakes to do whatever he wants (less often she) simply because he can, in effect sets himself up as God. The theophany in Exodus 3 seems also to underscore the implications of Genesis 1. When Moses asks the deity by which name he should be referred,

 4

The reader will please excuse the use (for the sake of convenience only) of the masculine personal pronoun in reference to the God of the Bible, whose personal pronouns are all in the masculine. Any references to the God of the universe shall remain gender neutral.



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The Tetragrammaton, which derives from an old form of the Hebrew verb “to be” (hƗwƗy, hƗyƗh), raises the possibility for thinking about what supreme Be-ing is all about. As in the garden story, one should keep in mind that distinctions based on ontology are products of later, Hellenistic thinking, and are irrelevant for considering the Bible’s earliest audience. In the event the reader misses the earlier point—that the flipside of being created in the image of God means that one is not God—so, too, the flipside of the great I AM can only be a resounding “You’re not!” The prophetically influenced priestly scribal enterprise offers a consistent view of the great I AM, not only as a god of unique being, but a Being of action. Its experience of God as reflected in the Bible is that Deity reveals itself in hesed, usually translated as “steadfast lovingkindness,” actualized through the paired concepts of justice (misphat) and righteousness (tzedakah). These are the most often-used attributes of God in the prophetic corpus and throughout the Psalms. Indeed for the prophetically influenced priestly scribes, this is the manner by which God sustains the universe, for as Psalm 97 affirms: “Righteousness and justice are the foundations of his throne” (v. 2b), a divine model that makes it incumbent upon kings and judges of the earth to do likewise. Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son. May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice (Ps 72:1-2).

The same divine obligation for the royal house to administer justice and righteousness is expected to filter down into other levels of society, much the same way that the lack of justice and righteousness, according to the prophets, filtered down to the people and the land itself, resulting in the destruction of both Samaria and Jerusalem. Justice and righteousness are therefore expected of any person occupying a position of responsibility in relation to others. As I have noted elsewhere (Roddy 2013), when the words mishpat and tzedakah are paired, as so often occurs in the Bible, especially in the book of Isaiah, they form a synonymous parallelism often translated as a hendiadys, which opens up a semantic range beyond anything these terms bear independently. Unlike divine justice and divine righteousness, on the human plane these terms must be paired and must mutually co-arise, for righteousness without justice (i.e., “right judgment”) slips easily into self-



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righteousness, as in the cases of both Job and Jonah, while justice without righteousness lacks mercy, as stories involving Judah and David and other Israelite leaders illustrate.

The Structure of Authenticity The first clue that something is up is that each of the stories has been in some way “refitted” to produce something new. Much scholarship has been devoted to the fact that the Judah and Tamar story is at once distinct from, yet connected to the Joseph cycle (Gen 37, 39–50) in which it is embedded. Interpolated into the chronology of the larger narrative, this story within a story nevertheless interacts with the surrounding material by sharing with it several themes and motifs (Alter 1981: 4). In 2 Samuel 11, David is made to be a villain as part of a larger literary stratum that besmirches the monarchy from its inception in 1 Samuel 8 to the exile of Zedekiah (2 Kgs 25: 7). Indeed, no king is exempt, not even Josiah the darling of the so-called Deuteronomistic historian (Deut 17:14–20; 1 Kgs 13: 1–8; and 2 Kgs 23: 24–25), who is redeemed only through his realization upon reading the Law, that he had not been good. Job, traditionally the suffering righteous one, is taken to task by the babbling sage, Elihu, upon being abandoned by his friends for becoming “righteous in his own eyes” (32: 1). Finally, there is the book of Jonah—with its folktale nature, perfuse satire, abundant biographical information, and almost complete lack of oracles—standing out like the proverbial sore thumb among the Book of the Twelve. If indeed all of these characters have been in some way retrofitted, might some common theme among them reveal something of the editorial agenda of the scribal community responsible for the Bible’s production as “Bible”? In the cases before us, with the possible exception of Jonah, whose socioeconomic status is not explicitly divulged, each of the protagonists are men of great means or significant status, something that would presumably be true of the prophet Jonah as well. Judah, who goes to dwell among the Canaanites (Gen 38:1), is the highest-ranking Israelite on the scene; David is no less than king of the nation of Judah; Job is “the greatest man among all the people of the East” (Job 1:3); and Jonah is a prophet of God with freedom and resources to book passage anywhere throughout the Near East. As men of power and means, each protagonist appears to reserve for himself certain privileges. Judah, having moved away from his brothers, exempts himself from the legalities of ethnic convention by selfishly withholding his surviving son Shelah from his daughter-in-law Tamar (see



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Deut. 25:5–10); David, at the time of year when kings go off to battle, selfishly chooses to remain in Jerusalem and from there manages to shatter several biblical commandments in two day’s time; Job presses the assertion of his righteousness to the point where he becomes “righteous in his own eyes” (Job 32:1), that is, crossing over into a form of inauthenticity known as self-righteousness; and Jonah sulks selfishly within his own narrow world because the God of the biblical universe offers deliverance to the dreaded repentant Ninevites, and even their cattle. It is at these points that each character displays an example of mere humanity in that each asserts for himself certain prerogatives based on an apparent non-self-critical, self-justifying platform. In short, each character asserts his will and seems to do what he does on the basis of the fact that each believes he can. But herein lies the problem, for according to the prophetically influenced priestly-scribal agenda that gave rise to creation of the Bible as “Bible,” each has broken the first and greatest of all the commandments, “You shall have no other gods before me.” In light of this, the jealous YHWH of Genesis 1, who expels the first humans from his garden, and the great I AM of Exodus 3, whose name by contrast implies “You’re not!,” make it clear that anyone who sets himself up as unique, acts wrongfully in a manner befitting only of God. By behaving in a unique manner irrespective of God and fellow human beings, each transgresses the upper boundary of Psalm 8’s ma ‘enosh and breaks the first commandment of having “no other god” by, in effect, becoming a rival god. According to the prophetically influenced view of the exilic period priestly scribes, such behavior would constitute an inauthentic mode of being. David’s case is perhaps most illustrative of this. The reason the Bible writers describe how the Israelite monarchy came to be is that Israel’s elders wanted Israel to “be like other nations” (1 Sam 8:4); but at a time when the kings of other nations were with their armies in battle, David chose to remain at the palace. In short, he behaved in a manner that would be forbidden to his own subjects and did what he wish to do, simply because he believed he could—an action calling to mind Mel Brooks’s portrayal of Louis XIV in History of the World, Part I (1981). He proclaims, “It’s good to be the king!” Having set himself up as a god by behaving uniquely, David then went on to covet, steal, commit adultery, lie, deceive, and finally murder just to get his way. But such is mere humanity—both biblically and in the real world—to do what one wills and to get what one wants irrespective of the concerns of others, simply because one believes that one can.



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By contrast, an “Aha!” moment in each of these stories reveals to the reader the glaring disparity between mere humanity living inauthentically and living in an authentic, ultimately human mode of existence. When presented with the evidence of personal collateral that secured his “deal” with Tamar, who had gone to great self-sacrifice to uphold the levirate obligation so casually shirked by Judah, the newly illumined patriarch is forced to assert, “She is more in the right than I” (Gen 38:26). David fails to recognize himself in Nathan’s parable about the rich man snatching away the poor man’s sheep until the prophet boldly proclaims “You are that man!” Job requires the sustained hammering of the divine voice from the whirlwind before he despises the arrogance of his formerly inauthentic self and “repents in dust and ashes.” Finally, Jonah is subjected to the hot wind and sun, along with the heat of his own anger, to the point that he asks to die, only to be faced with the question—one that remains openended for the reader—about where Jonah’s mercy lies in light of the mercy of God.

Conclusion While this paper is not about ethics, the implications for biblical theology and Jewish, Christian, and Muslim ethics should be apparent. In the West, the subject of ethics occupied an important place in intellectual discourse into the modern period, giving way to the postmodern world in which all former certainties would now forever be cast in doubt. But does humanity require a fixed point of reference for navigating healthy, life-affirming relationships both within and with the natural world when activities that damage humanity remain obvious? The nexus between the narrative world of the Bible and the world we inhabit lies within the potential for human ultimacy, for which the destruction of Jerusalem and the end of Judahite national history marked a kind of “ground zero,” a historical event from which the Bible as “Bible” took shape. While later, somewhat more triumphalist layers of development come to be reflected in the Bible—especially among the books of the Ketuvim, most notably the Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah, ironically in later prophetic texts like Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 as well, the raw textual stratum of post-destruction ultimacy remains. Responding to the question “what went wrong,” intentionally or not, the prophetically influenced priestly scribal community produced a blueprint for living authentically while crafting its comprehensive narrative of Israel’s past. Lying within the narrow space delimited by the open-ended question of Psalm 8 and informed by the foundational



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narratives of the Torah, the anthropology of the prophetically influenced priestly scribal community provides an apophatic approach to authentic humanity, rooted in the conviction that the idolatrous illusion of egocentric uniqueness—producing merely human states of arrogance, abuse of power, self-righteousness, and self-will at the expense of others—lies at the basis of any and all of society’s ills.

References Alter, Robert (1981), The Art of Biblical Narrative, New York: Basic Books. Golomb, Jacob (1995), In Search of Authenticity: Existentialism from Kierkegaard to Camus, London and New York: Routledge. Levin, Christoph (2011), On the Cohesion and Separation of Books within the Enneateuch, in Pentateuch, Hexateuch, or Enneateuch? Identifying Literary Works in Genesis Through Kings, Thomas Dozeman, Konrad Schmidt, and Thomas Römer, eds., Leiden: Brill, 127–54. McKenzie, Steven (1991), The Trouble with Kings: The Composition of the Book of Kings in the Deuteronomistic History, Leiden: Brill. Roddy, Nicolae, (2008), Landscape of Shadows: The Image of City in the Hebrew Bible, in Cities Through the Looking Glass, R. Arav, ed., Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 11–21. —. (2010), In Search of a Genuine Biblical Anthropology: Two Case Studies, in căutarea unei antropologii scripturistice autentice: două studii de caz, in Biserica Ortodoxă úi Drepturile Omului: Paradigme, fundamente, implicaĠii, The Orthodox Church and the Rights of Man: Paradigms, Foundations, and Implications, N. Răzvan Stan, ed., Bucharest: S.C. Universul Juridic, S.R.L., 180–92. —. (2013), You Didn’t Build That: A Prophetic View of the Political Economy from the Exile, in The Bible, The Economy, and the Poor, Journal of Religion and Society, R. A. Simkins, ed., Journal of Religion and Society Supplement Series 9,

—. Chariots of Fire, Unassailable Cities, and the One True King: The Prophetically Influenced Scribal Perspective on War, War and Peace: Orthodox Views, P. Hamalis and V. Karras, eds., Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press (forthcoming). van der Toorn, Karel, (2007), Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN THE RABBIS AND PROPHECY: WHAT DO WE MEAN WHEN WE SPEAK OF “THE RABBIS”? JACOB NEUSNER

When we address how the literary Prophets of ancient Israel are portrayed by Rabbinic Judaism in its formative canon, from the Mishnah through the Bavli, we pursue a limited program. It concerns a specific set of documents—the formative canon of Rabbinic Judaism—and those that produced and preserved them. We do not speak in these pages of opinions on Prophecy that in general characterized the Jewish population of late antiquity. We do not have access to popular opinion, and we do not know what “the Jews” believed. For the description of any sector or aspect of Judaism in late antiquity, from 70 CE forward, we have only three bodies of evidence, one archaeological and two literary. The archaeological evidence first rarely attests to or even intersects with details of theology. Second, a segment of literary evidence deriving from gentile observers proves opaque. Third, we are left with the other segment of literary evidence, that produced and preserved under the auspices of the Rabbinical authorities of late antiquity—hence, the Rabbis. There is on Judaism, the religion, not much else than this Rabbinic witness, from 70 forward, that derives from Jewish auspices.1 But what justifies treating as a homogeneous entity the opinions collected in the formidable Rabbinic corpus? The framing of the question responds to a set of facts. A score of authoritative documents, many of them massive, that come to us from late antiquity all together form a cogent statement of a coherent legal and theological system. That is so 1

Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch are not to be ignored, but most of the apocrypha and pseudepigrapha derives from an earlier period and another Judaic system, besides the Rabbinic one, as do the Dead Sea Scrolls.

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even though the documents derive from a span of time stretching for half a millennium and mediated by two cultures, the second through the seventh century in the Roman and Iranian Empires. Why that is the case need not detain us; the documents underwent a long process of tradition, and for all we know, the systemic cogency attests to the work and thought of the generation of redactors. It is the fact that the canonical writings take up diverse tasks of exposition of law and lore, theology and ad hoc exegesis of scripture and its language. They set forth sayings and stories involving hundreds of authorities over a long period of time. The history of accumulation—how matters coalesced—need not pose a problem for the description of opinion on a given topic. If opinion is uniform, then we can describe the doctrine that consistently governed for five hundred years or that emerged only at the end; cultures can cohere. The fact is that a fixed set of category-formations governs the legal documents, start to finish. A uniform body of theological propositions characterizes the theological and exegetical ones. And the theological and legal systems coalesce in a single cogent statement.2 But the character of the Rabbinic evidence does pose a problem to the plan of describing cogent doctrine, for a simple reason. Every page of every document records conflicts of opinion among the Rabbis and sets forth contradictory rulings. Since the Rabbinic canon is comprised of a mass of complex disputes, of what do we speak, whom do we represent when we refer to “the Rabbis” and their rulings and opinions? To answer the question of coherence, we must take account of the unique character, in context, of the Rabbinic canon: what holds the whole together. First, what justifies treating the Rabbinic canon as distinct from all other writings under Jewish auspices? Among the documents produced by communities of Judaism in antiquity, the Rabbinic ones are readily distinguished from all the others. There are three reasons. That is, first, because the Rabbinic documents alone cite named authorities called Rabbis. It is also, second, because most, though not all, of the topics systematically covered by the Rabbis’ writings play a role only in those Rabbinic compilations. Moreover, where a topic appears both in a Rabbinic document and also in a writing of another community of Judaism besides the Rabbinic one the other community’s treatment of the topic rarely intersects with that of the Rabbis. In general it asks different questions of the topic—or no questions, 2

Jacob Neusner, The Theology of the Oral Torah. Revealing the Justice of God, Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, and Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999; and The Theology of the Halakhah, Brill Reference Library of Ancient Judaism, Leiden: Brill, 2001.

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merely depositing random facts. If we were given an unidentified paragraph of the Mishnah, in tractate Shabbat, for example, along with an otherwise unidentified paragraph of the Damascus Covenant on the Sabbath, formal and logical differences guarantee that we should find no difficulty in assigning to the Mishnah—and only to the Mishnah or the Tosefta—the paragraph deriving from the Mishnah or its companion. The intellectual traits that differentiate the Halakhic exposition of the topic are blatant. The third reason to justify characterizing “the Rabbis” and “their views” as a coherent whole, one piece of evidence standing for the entire system, is simple. A single logic, a uniform and harmonious body of theological principles, imparts unity to the whole. The documents of the Halakhah in its continuous unfolding from the Mishnah through the Bavli take up a specific program of topics and expound them within a governing logical template.3 The Halakhic record, as I said, covers not a random mass of incoherent details but a coherent topical agendum. We indeed can speak of “the Rabbis’ view of the Sabbath” in response to the Halakhic exposition of Sabbath-law. The Aggadah too takes up the exegesis of Scripture in accord with a program of theological hermeneutics everywhere in charge, a systematic theological system inheres throughout. A theological system emerges from the Aggadic composites and sustains them all. Knowing the governing convictions embodied in that hermeneutics permits us to link details of exegesis to large constructions of theological propositions. Accordingly, the Rabbinic documents of law, theology, and exegesis of Scripture cover a limited number of subjects and conform to set and distinctive rules of exposition and analysis. A generative question ordinarily governs the articulation of a given topic. The documents therefore are not random collections of free-ranging facts. The generative question lends purpose to the agglutination and exposition of detail and permits making judgments on what is subject to common agreement. Differences of opinion take up subordinate, exiguous issues and reinforce the fundamental affirmation on which all parties concur. What then of the disputes briefly mentioned earlier? Disputes in the Halakhic and Aggadic compilations alike take up secondary details and only reinforce the primary principles affirmed by all parties.4 The 3

For the logical template, see my Intellectual Templates of the Law of Judaism, Lanham: University Press of America and Analytical Templates of the Bavli, Lanham: University Press of America, 2006. 4 I demonstrate that fact in Contours of Coherence in Rabbinic Judaism. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2005.

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Rabbinic canon of late antiquity contains no dispute on whether there is a God, if so whether he is one or many, let alone whether God created the world and gave the Torah, or whether Israel is God’s first love. All exposition takes for granted that the one, unique God gave the Torah and that the laws and theological convictions contained therein govern and sanctify Israel. A rich corpus of theological dogma augments these few points. Disputes reinforce the ubiquitous, shared legal and theological foundations of the Rabbinic canon. That generalization brings us to the problem at hand. In these pages to represent the Rabbis and their views I cite stories and sayings that I claim represent the canonical consensus. No contradictory findings on the fundamental issues taken up in the cited stories and sayings circulate. A fair number of rulings conform and reinforce the indicated conception. The upshot is simple. On fundamental issues a coherent structure and system of theology and law sustains discourse of “the Rabbis” and “their position.” By “the Rabbis” therefore I here mean the canonical consensus upon issues of law, theology, and hermeneutics of the late antique Rabbinic literature. I represent evidence of the consensus on Prophecy of the authorities that sponsored that literature. I cite passages that represent that common conviction—passages that do not conflict with other compositions on the same topic but that conform to a fundamental principle everywhere affirmed and nowhere contradicted. Now to the topic at hand!

The Rabbis and Prophecy Why should we ask about the relationship of Rabbinic Judaism to ancient Israelite Prophecy, for do not the Rabbis carry forward the received tradition of Scripture, including the Prophets? No, as a matter of fact, when it comes to Prophecy, more than they do,5 they do not. On the surface and well beneath it as well, the Rabbis affirm what Prophecy condemns. A single example suffices. The negative answer to the question of whether in the aggregate the Rabbis concur with the Prophets is captured by the contrast between the Prophetic and the Rabbinic evaluation of a critical component of Israelite culture and religion, the Temple and its celebrations. Among many candidates, a single obvious one suffices.

5

See Jacob Neusner, Rabbi Jeremiah, Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2006.

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Consider the following contrast between Amos and The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan on the importance of the Temple’s program of penitential sacrifice. “I loathe, I spurn your festivals, I am not appeased by your solemn assemblies. If you offer me burnt offerings, or your meal offerings, I will not accept them. I will pay no heed to your gifts of fatlings. Spare me the sound of your hymns, and let me not hear the music of your lutes. But let justice well up like water, righteousness like an unfailing stream.” Amos 5:21-24 (RSV).

One time [after the destruction of the Temple in 70] Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai was going forth from Jerusalem with R. Joshua following after him. He saw the house of the sanctuary lying in ruins. R. Joshua said, “Woe is us for this place which lies in ruins, the place in which the sins of Israel used to come to atonement.” He said to him, “My son, do not be distressed. We have another mode of atonement, which is like [atonement through sacrifice], and what is that? It is deeds of loving kindness. “For so it is said, ‘For I desire mercy and not sacrifice, [and the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings] (Hos. 6:6).’” The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan IV:V.2 Joshua knows as fact that through the offerings sin is atoned for, and Amos has God explicitly express disdain for burnt offerings. That which atones for sin cannot also constitute sin—that which violates God’s will. Here is a representative and simple example of conflict between ancient Israelite Prophecy and the later Rabbinic Judaism. In their day the Prophets did not affirm as critical, as irreplaceable, the Temple offerings set forth in the Torah. The tale preserved in the late Rabbinic compilation amplifying tractate Abot reflects a different attitude altogether. In concrete Halakhic terms the Rabbinic view similarly emerges. The Rabbinic view is captured in the following narrative:

Tosefta Shabbat 1:13 A. A man should not read by the light of a lamp, lest he tilt it. B. Said R. Ishmael b. Elisha, “I shall read by lamp light, I won’t tilt it.” Once he was studying and he wanted to tilt the lamp. He said, “How great are the teachings of sages, who have said, ‘A man should not read by the light of a lamp, lest he tilt it.’” C. R. Nathan says, “He studied and he did tilt it, but he wrote in his notebook, ‘I Ishmael b. Elisha studied on the Sabbath and tilted the

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lamp. When the house of the sanctuary is rebuilt, I shall bring a mighty fat sin-offering’” Ishmael states the Rabbinic theology of sacrifice implicit in the story of Joshua and Yohanan ben Zakkai: expiation of sin for inadvertent error. He certainly maintained that God accepted burnt offerings and meal offerings when offered as expiation for inadvertent violation of the law. That theology will not have surprised the legislators of the Pentateuch, the priestly authorship of Leviticus and Numbers for example, but it will have troubled some if not all of the Prophets. Justice and righteousness formed a contrast to burnt-offerings and gifts of fatlings, in Hosea’s language, mercy (hesed) to sacrifice. Specifically, Amos does not revere the burnt offerings or meal offerings or the associated rites. Joshua and Yohanan ben Zakkai in the late Rabbinic narrative valued the offerings of the Temple as media for the expiation of sin and mourned their suspension, regarding it as a catastrophe in Israel’s relationship to God. But right at the outset we are led to ask, how did the Rabbinic sages of the first six centuries CE, who in documents from the Mishnah, ca. 200 CE, through the Bavli, ca. 600 CE, defined normative Judaism, receive and make their own the persons and the propositions set forth in the writings of the ancient Israelite Prophets of ca. 750 to 450 BCE.? Why in the face of such fundamental differences over doctrine should we bother to ask how the Rabbis mediated Prophecy into their system? Nothing compels us to expect continuity and secondary amplification of ancient Prophecy by the later Rabbis. The two bodies of writing after all derived from different circumstances and formed no natural continuum in context or content. They did not intersect in real time, only in the imagination of the Rabbis in their encounter with Scripture. More than a millennium separated the two sets of Israelite authorities. The later authorities confronted a world unlike that addressed by the Prophets. They had no reason to take the same views on the same subjects as the earlier ones. The reason they did seek to accommodate their system to the Prophetic one is simple. The Rabbis found themselves bound to engage with the Prophetic books, which were part of the Torah. They received God’s will through the Torah, including the Prophets. And the Prophets explicitly claimed to receive God’s will and to frame that will in God’s language. The Rabbis had no choice but to make their own the heritage of ancient Israelite Prophecy. They did this by dismantling the Prophetic documents into bits and pieces of philological evidence. Scripture was then dismantled and treated as a collection of inert facts, sentence by sentence, available for service

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where and as required. Scripture lost its coherence and no longer conveyed the context in which to read complete passages. The Rabbis read the Prophetic record as a collection of random facts awaiting systematization within the Rabbinic program and only there. A single exemplary instance of Rabbinization of Prophecy, of how the Rabbis read the Prophets, suffices to capture the entire story. To understand it we have to recall that the Rabbis engaged in highly systematic thought, presenting propositions—legal and theological generalizations—meant to homogenize discrete data and form of them well crafted syllogisms. To reinforce the main segments of a given syllogism they invoked established facts that proved the point. These are proof-texts. The established facts occasionally derived from nature but generally came from Scripture. And within Scripture, the Rabbis cited sentences of the Prophets as they cited sentences of the Pentateuch: as uniform and interchangeable. All of the Prophetic books presented prooftexts with the same probative force as the Pentateuchal ones that the Rabbis privileged. In the following exposition the Prophets contribute proof-texts out of all contexts and become uniform repositories of inert facts. The authorities that are cited are God, Moses, David, Isaiah, Micah, Amos, and Habakkuk. Psalms are amplified alongside Prophecy. I signify intruded commentary by indentation. The proposition extends the statement of the Mishnah that to glorify Israel God gave them abundant Torah and numerous commandments. In fact, Simelai argues, the numerous commandments all derive from, and are contained within, a single commandment—a wry comment on the Mishnah’s allegation.

Bavli Makkot 3:15-16 II.1/23b-24aII.1 A. Therefore he gave them abundant Torah and numerous commandments: B. R. Simelai expounded, “Six hundred and thirteen commandments were given to Moses, three hundred and sixty-five negative ones, corresponding to the number of the days of the solar year, and two hundred forty-eight positive commandments, corresponding to the parts of man’s body.” C. Said R. Hamnuna, “What verse of Scripture indicates that fact? ‘Moses commanded us Torah, an inheritance of the congregation of Jacob’ (Deut. 33:4). The numerical value assigned to the letters of the word Torah is [24A] six hundred and eleven, not counting, ‘I am’ and ‘you shall have no other gods,’ since these have come to us from the mouth of the Almighty.” D. [Simelai continues:] “David came and reduced them to eleven: ‘A Psalm of David: Lord, who shall sojourn in thy tabernacle, and who shall dwell in thy holy mountain? (i) He who walks uprightly and (ii) works righteousness and (iii) speaks truth in his heart and (iv) has no slander on

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E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L.

M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T.

U. V.

W.

his tongue and (v) does no evil to his fellow and (vi) does not take up a reproach against his neighbor, (vii) in whose eyes a vile person is despised but (viii) honors those who fear the Lord. (ix) He swears to his own hurt and changes not. (x) He does not lend on interest. (xi) He does not take a bribe against the innocent’ (Psalm 15).” “He who walks uprightly:” this is Abraham: “Walk before me and be wholehearted” (Gen. 17:1). “and works righteousness:” this is Abba Hilqiahu. “speaks truth in his heart:” for instance R. Safra. “has no slander on his tongue:” this is our father, Jacob: “My father might feel me and I shall seem to him as a deceiver” (Gen. 27:12). “does no evil to his fellow:” he does not go into competition with his fellow craftsman. “does not take up a reproach against his neighbor:” this is someone who befriends his relatives. “in whose eyes a vile person is despised:” this is Hezekiah, king of Judah, who dragged his father’s bones on a rope bed. “honors those who fear the Lord:” this is Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, who, whenever he would see a disciple of a sage, would rise from his throne and embrace and kiss him and call him, “My father, my father, my lord, my lord, my master, my master.” “He swears to his own hurt and changes not:” this is R. Yohanan. For said R. Yohanan, “I shall continue fasting until I get home.” “He does not lend on interest:” not even interest from a gentile. “He does not take a bribe against the innocent:” such as R. Ishmael b. R. Yosé. “He who does these things shall never be moved:” When Rabban Gamaliel reached this verse of Scripture, he would weep, saying, “If someone did all of these [virtuous deeds], then he will never be moved, but not merely on account of one of them.” They said to him, “Is it written, ‘Who does all of these things;’? What is written is only ‘who does these things,’ meaning, even one of them.” “For if you do not say this, then there is another verse of Scripture of which we have to take account: ‘Do not defile yourselves in all of these things’ (Lev. 18:24). Does this mean that one is unclean only if he touches all of these things, but not if he touches only one of them? But does it not mean, only one of them? “Here too it means that only one of these things is sufficient.” [Simelai continues:] “Isaiah came and reduced them to six: ‘(i) He who walks righteously and (ii) speaks uprightly, (iii) he who despises the gain of oppressions, (iv) shakes his hand from holding bribes, (v) stops his ear from hearing of blood (vi) and shuts his eyes from looking upon evil, he shall dwell on high’ (Isaiah 33:25-26).” “He who walks righteously:” this is our father, Abraham: “For I have known him so that he may command his children and his household after him” (Gen. 18:19).

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X. “speaks uprightly:” this is one who does not belittle his fellow in public. Y. “he who despises the gain of oppressions:” for example, R. Ishmael b. Elisha. Z. “shakes his hand from holding bribes:” for example, R. Ishmael b. R. Yosé. AA. “stops his ear from hearing of blood:” who will not listen to demeaning talk about a disciple of rabbis and remain silent. BB. For instance, R. Eleazar b. R. Simeon. CC. “and shuts his eyes from looking upon evil:” that is in line with what R. Hiyya bar Abba said. DD. For said R. Hiyya bar Abba, “This is someone who does not stare at women as they are standing and washing clothes. EE. Concerning such a man it is written, “he shall dwell on high.” FF. [Simelai continues:] “Micah came and reduced them to three: ‘It has been told you, man, what is good, and what the Lord demands from you, (i) only to do justly and (ii) to love mercy, and (iii) to walk humbly before God’ (Micah 6:8).” GG. “only to do justly:” this refers to justice. HH. “to love mercy:” this refers to doing acts of loving kindness. II. “to walk humbly before God:” this refers to accompanying a corpse to the grave and welcoming the bread. JJ. And does this not yield a conclusion a fortiori: if matters that are not ordinarily done in private are referred to by the Torah as “walking humbly before God,” all the more so matters that ordinarily are done in private. KK. [Simelai continues:] “Isaiah again came and reduced them to two : ‘Thus says the Lord, (i) Keep justice and (ii) do righteousness’ (Isa 56:1). LL. “Amos came and reduced them to a single one, as it is said, ‘For thus says the Lord to the house of Israel. Seek Me and live.’” MM. Objected R. Nahman bar Isaac, “Maybe the sense is, ‘seek me’ through the whole of the Torah?” NN. Rather, [Simelai continues:] “Habakkuk further came and based them on one, as it is said, ‘But the righteous shall live by his faith’ (Habakkuk 2:4).”

Here is a fine example of the homogenization of Prophetic writing within an encompassing propositional construction. Treated as interchangeable with verses of Psalms and other Wisdom collections, the statements cited from Isaiah, Amos, and Habakkuk do not exhibit traits of differentiation, whether doctrinal or personal, but address a common program. The program calls for the demonstration of the unity of the commandments, with stress on their ethical and moral contents. The Rabbis wished to reduce the diverse components of the moral code to a single principle capable of containing the details and forming of them an encompassing generalization. That is a common Rabbinic aspiration, a motif of

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theological inquiry. In that context the Rabbis read the Prophets—along with the Torah and the Psalmist, all alike. Here we find the same proposition without the Prophetic component:

Sifra CC:III.7 A. “You shall not hate your brother in your heart, [but reasoning, you shall reason with your neighbor, lest you bear sin because of him. You shall not take vengeance or bear any grudge against the sons of your own people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord]” (Lev. 19:1718). B. “…but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: [I am the Lord]”: C. R. Aqiba says, “This is the encompassing principle of the Torah.” D. Ben Azzai says, “‘This is the book of the generations of Adam’ (Gen. 5:1) is a still more encompassing principle.”

Leviticus 19:18 and Genesis 5:1 compete with Habakkuk and Micah and Amos. The Prophets’ declaration served alongside the Pentateuch, enjoying the same probative power as Moses. But Prophecy then and Prophecy now, in the Rabbis’ times, parted company. The Rabbis did not afford a warm welcome to contemporaries who came to them with the claim, “Thus says the Lord,” upon which Prophecy depended for validation. Prophecy had flourished but now ceased. Israel possessed access to God’s will, but through the Rabbis, not through those who in their day claimed to possess messages from God in Heaven

The Rabbis and the Media of Divine Communication Directly, in his own voice and words, God had spoken to the Prophets, who quoted him verbatim just as did Moses. God (a.k.a., “Heaven”) rarely is represented in the Rabbinic corpus as speaking to the Rabbis, who seldom claimed to possess direct, revealed statements from Heaven. The Rabbis knew God through media other than those that animated Prophecy. The Prophets received direct, verbatim messages from Heaven. The Rabbis inherited Scripture—God’s words in God’s own wording—and through logical analysis uncovered the governing principles that permitted extending revelation and the revealed rules to new cases. The Rabbis’ power of intellect brought to the surface the extensions and secondary articulation of what was logically implicit in revealed law and theological narrative. From the labor of reason and criticism the medium of Prophecy was explicitly excluded. So when Heaven speaks, the Rabbis were not prepared to respond to the occasion except by appeal to the exclusionary power of logic.

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In the following famous narrative, Rabbis conflict about law. The issue of the law need not detain us. What is important is the intrusion of God’s revealed word intervening in the Rabbinic dispute. Direct revelation is excluded as a medium of argument. What the Prophets recorded, the Rabbis rejected as no longer valid testimony.

Bavli Baba Mesia 59a-b/4:10 I.15 A. There we have learned: If one cut [a clay oven] into parts and put sand between the parts, B. R. Eliezer declares the oven broken-down and therefore insusceptible to uncleanness. C. And sages declare it susceptible. D. [59B] And this is what is meant by the oven of Akhenai [M. Kel. 5:10]. E. Why the oven of Akhenai? F. Said R. Judah said Samuel, “It is because they surrounded it with arguments as with a snake and proved it was insusceptible to uncleanness.” G. A Tannaite statement: H. On that day R. Eliezer produced all of the arguments in the world, but they did not accept them from him. So he said to them, “If the law accords with my position, this carob tree will prove it.” I. The carob was uprooted from its place by a hundred cubits—and some say, four hundred cubits. J. They said to him, “There is no proof from a carob tree.” K. So he went and said to them, “If the law accords with my position, let the stream of water prove it.” L. The stream of water reversed flow. M. They said to him, “There is no proof from a stream of water.” N. So he went and said to them, “If the law accords with my position, let the walls of the school house prove it.” O. The walls of the school house tilted toward falling. P. R. Joshua rebuked them, saying to them, “If disciples of sages are contending with one another in matters of law, what business do you have?” Q. They did not fall on account of the honor owing to R. Joshua, but they also did not straighten up on account of the honor owing to R. Eliezer, and to this day they are still tilted. R. So he went and said to them, “If the law accords with my position, let the Heaven prove it!” S. An echo came forth, saying, “What business have you with R. Eliezer, for the law accords with his position under all circumstances!” T. R. Joshua stood up on his feet and said, “‘It is not in heaven’ (Dt. 30:12).” U. What is the sense of, “‘It is not in heaven’ (Dt. 30:12)”? V. Said R. Jeremiah, “[The sense of Joshua’s statement is this:] For the Torah has already been given from Mount Sinai, so we do not pay attention to

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Chapter Sixteeen echoes, since you have already written in the Torah at Mount Sinai, ‘After the majority you are to incline’ (Ex. 23:2).”

The climactic moment comes at the end: God affirms the Rabbis’ insistence on the primacy of analysis and critical reason: W. R. Nathan came upon Elijah and said to him, “What did the Holy One, blessed be he, do at that moment?” X. He said to him, “He laughed and said, ‘My children have overcome me, my children have overcome me!’”

The story leaves little room for Prophecy to cite God’s intervention, his revelation of his will in so many words in response to conflict of law or theology. For at its climax the narrative places the reason and argument of the Rabbis above the supernatural intervention of Heaven. God himself is bound by the reason and logic of the Talmud and its Rabbinic sages. The Torah is no longer in heaven, the arbitrary statement of a willful God, but it is now the possession of the Rabbis. God is bound by the logic revealed in the Torah and handed over to the Rabbis. The key to the Torah lies in the Rabbis’ command of logic: arguments and contentions. The little story added on at the end portrays God as confirming the courageous gesture of Joshua, Eliezer’s rival. The Rabbis clearly parted company from the Prophets in their response to direct heavenly communication of the law. The Prophets rarely extrapolated from God’s words the logic and secondary implications of the message. The Rabbis commonly engaged in a process of logical extension and clarification of principles contained in cases. Conjuring ideal types, we may say that the difference between the Rabbis and the Prophets is the difference between the routine and the charismatic, in the familiar categories of Max Weber. The Rabbis emphasized law, favoring the routine and the orderly and the exemplary. The Prophets favored the unpredictable, the unique events, the exceptional and the spontaneous. The Prophets were messengers of God, the Rabbis his amanuenses. The Prophets condemned political authorities of their day, the Rabbis in their small claims courts counted themselves among the political authorities of theirs. God in the Torah received in tradition by the Rabbis provided for institutions, social formations of enduring worth such as the system of celebration and offerings. The Prophets condemned the institutions of their day—king and priest alike—and ridiculed Israelite celebration and sacrifice. The Rabbis emphasized law, logic and analysis, the Prophets addressed a particular moment and pronounced God’s ad hoc proclamation to a given circumstance. So in their social roles and in their intellectual traits no sets

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of religious authorities exhibit greater points of conflict than do the Rabbis and the Prophets. Yet the Rabbis received Israelite Prophesy as integral to the Torah. The established canon of Scripture mostly completed by the destruction of the Temple in 70 left no choice. The Prophets declared what God had said to them personally and this they conveyed in God’s own wording. The Rabbis as the story of the oven of Akhenai shows, gained access to God’s messages in process of reasoning about the Torah. They carried forward the work of the Prophet Moses, whom they called “our rabbi” (“our lord”). They took over and systematized the language, law and theology contained within the canon of ancient Israelite Scripture, established for the most part before the advent of Rabbinic Judaism in the first century C.E. The Torah encompassed the writings of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, and the Twelve Minor Prophets. So the Rabbis had little choice but to engage with the Prophetic heritage as much as with the heritage of Wisdom, Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Qoheleth, for example, that was so much more congruent with their values. Circumstances reinforced theology. Had the Rabbis wanted to dismiss the Prophets from the canon, they would have failed. For the established synagogue declamation of the Torah entailed lections not only from the Pentateuch, rich in law as the foundation of Israelite polity, but also from the Prophets, with their condemnation of formality. The Prophets cited God’s own words to them, the Rabbis relied on traditions of what God had said long ago, a message now mediated by masters of the law and the logic of enduring tradition. Long before the initial appearance of the Rabbinic canonical writings with the Mishnah, ca. 200 CE, the Prophets had found for themselves an integral position in the Scriptures deemed canonical by all communities of Judaism, and in the public liturgy of worship. They challenged the quest for order and form that animated the Rabbis of the law and lore of the Torah. They represented a subversive force in their insistence on the heart:

Mishnah-tractate Taanit 2:1 [A] The manner of fasting: how [was it done]? [B] They bring forth the ark into the street of the town and put wood ashes on the ark, on the head of the patriarch, and on the head of the head of the court. [C] And each person puts [ashes] on his head. [D] The eldest among them makes a speech of admonition: “Our brothers, concerning the people of Nineveh it is not said, ‘And God saw their sackcloth and their fasting,’ but, ‘And God saw their deeds, for they

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Chapter Sixteeen repented from their evil way’ (Jonah 3:10). [E] “And in Prophetic tradition it is said, ‘Rend your heart and not your garments’ (Joel 2:13).”

The issue of how charisma and routine conflict transcends the case of the Rabbis’ disposition of Prophecy. Religious systems that flourished over long periods of time and that posited continuity from generation to generation commonly claim connection to received traditions. How any religious system—here, Rabbinic Judaism—takes over and makes its own an antecedent body of authoritative religious writing—here, the Prophets of ancient Israel—attests to the character of the latter day claimant. Its narrative, its praxis, its modes of thought and interior logic dictate the way in which the inheritance is shaped for its purposes. Not only the distinctive doctrines, but the modes of thought and analysis of the inheritor-system emerge when we compare and contrast the later with the prior corpus. In this process the exegesis by the later authorities of the preserved heritage of earlier ones proves instrumental. More important is the later system’s capacity for anachronism, for seeing itself in the mirror of the past. The ancient Rabbis subjected Scripture to a process of theological naturalization. The book of Genesis, for example, became a handbook for the interpretation of current events in the third and fourth centuries C.E. So too the Rabbis transformed the Prophets into Rabbis, even endowing them with the title, Rabbi, as in “Rabbi Isaiah.” Then, whatever the intent of the framers of the original corpus, the rules of reception of that corpus emerge with clarity and attest to the qualities of the inheritor-system. Detailed exegesis is just that: a matter of subordinate detail, the technology of theology. Accordingly, the outcome of that reading here viewed systematically as a purposive program transformed the Prophets into Rabbis and, as I said, effected the “Rabbinization” of the Prophetic writings.

Rabbinizing Prophecy The books of Prophecy were accorded a subordinate role in Rabbinic systematization of Scripture. They were denied the context of a single coherent statement. If the Prophets severally set forth systems comprised by generalizations, the Rabbis obscured these governing propositions. This they did by ignoring the argument as a whole and focusing on random details. Their large questions ignored, the Prophets were left to supply texts out of all context. That is not how the Rabbis read the Pentateuch and the four of the Five Scrolls that they privileged. The canon of late antiquity reveals their

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policy. The Rabbis of late antiquity pursued continuous commentaries for the Pentateuch and four of the Five Scrolls read on special occasions in the synagogue, Ruth, Esther, Lamentations, and Song of Songs (omitted: Kohelet), but not for a single Prophetic work. The Rabbis in the Halakhic sector of the canon commented systematically on the Mishnah, but only episodically on Halakhic passages of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. They formed a verse-by-verse reading of Leviticus in Sifra into a rigorous exploration of theological issues of divine revelation. They set forth thirty-seven propositions resting on verses of Leviticus in Leviticus Rabbah. But when it comes to the Prophetic books, they rarely read and produced a purposive exegesis for more than a chapter of Prophecy from start to finish and only once in a while collected comments on more than a half-dozen verses of a given Prophetic book read in sequence and with a doctrinal purpose. The most a Prophet received was a chapter of topical, propositional exposition based on a few verses of a Prophetic book in Pesiqta deRab Kahana. For the rest the comments on Prophets are formally scattered and intellectually diffuse. By contrast, the Dead Sea Library contains systematic exegetical works for specific Prophets read whole and coherently, e.g., as accounts of the historical meaning of sequences of events portrayed in apocalyptic language by Prophecy. So turning Prophets into Rabbis left no mark upon the definition of the generative components of the late antique Rabbinic canon. That canon contains no systematic commentaries, deriving from late antiquity, to the books of Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Isaiah, or the Twelve Minor Prophets. We have a Genesis Rabbah but no Jeremiah Rabbah, a Lamentations Rabbah but no Hosea Rabbah.6 That as I said is significant, because the Rabbis did produce systematic commentaries to the Pentateuch. Moreover, they easily can have produced a Jeremiah Rabbah, as shown by Pesiqta Rabbati Pisqa Twenty-Six with its systematic exegesis of passages of Jeremiah. Pesiqta Rabbati, of uncertain date but possibly to be located within the late antique canon, includes an elaborate pisqa devoted to Jeremiah. I find it little more than an amplification of principal narrative themes of the book of Jeremiah: the Prophetic inauguration, Jeremiah’s Prophecy, the siege and destruction of Jerusalem, and the aftermath. In that systematic exegesis I cannot point in the paraphrase and extension of Scripture’s narrative to a single emblematic trait of Rabbinic Judaism. That is not to say the Rabbis neglected the Prophetic books or did not hold the Prophets in high esteem. On the contrary, within the Rabbinic 6

Medieval collectors and arrangers would fill the gap with the Yalqut-collections, containing whole compilations of comments on the biblical books neglected in antiquity.

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corpus of late antiquity are comments on much of the Prophetic canon.7 We shall meet sequences of verses read as a pattern made to yield a generalization, not to mention the ubiquitous appearance of random verses read one by one to prove a point of philology for example. So a Midrashcompilation on Isaiah or Jeremiah could have emerged from the extant exegetical processes and the consequent literature. Comments on Isaiah or Jeremiah are scattered across the face of the Talmudim and Midrashcompilations. But in the formative age these have not been formed into counterparts to Genesis Rabbah or Sifra. Indeed, Pesiqta deRab Kahana contains entire pisqaot devoted to systematic expositions of verses of Jeremiah and Isaiah, and the Bavli presents conglomerates of sequential comments on passages of scriptural Prophecy. Yet the verses of the Prophetic corpus mostly are treated one by one, here and there, but they are not read start to finish, sequentially in a process of commentary following an articulated program addressed to a complete book of Israelite Prophecy. Clearly, the scriptural books important in synagogue liturgy, the Pentateuch and the Scrolls, won the sustained attention of the Rabbinic redactors. The ancient Israelite Prophetic books produced readings for the synagogue in the Prophetic lections. To whole chapters of these Pesiqta deRab Kahana produced sustained expositions, involving Jeremiah and Isaiah for example. But a pisqa of Pesiqta deRab Kahana or a parashah of 7

I have collected these in Jeremiah in Talmud and Midrash, A Source Book, Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham, 2006: University Press of America, 2006. Amos in Talmud and Midrash. A Source Book, Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007. Hosea in Talmud and Midrash. A Source Book, Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007. Micah and Joel in Talmud and Midrash, A Source Book, Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007. Habakkuk, Jonah, Nahum, and Obadiah in Talmud and Midrash, A Source Book, Studies in Judaisms Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007. Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi in Talmud and Midrash, A Source Book,Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007. Ezekiel in Talmud and Midrash. A Source Book, Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007. Isaiah in Talmud and Midrash. A Source Book, A. Mishnah, Tosefta, Tannaite Midrash-Compilations, Yerushalmi and Associated Midrash-Compilations, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007. Isaiah in Talmud and Midrash. A Source Book. B. The Later MidrashCompilations and the Bavli, Studies in Judaism Series, Lanham: University Press of America, 2007.

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Leviticus Rabbah does not form a counterpart to the Rabbinic treatment of Deuteronomy in Sifré to Deuteronomy. Privileging the Pentateuch and the Scrolls, the Rabbis did not produce comparable readings of the other books of ancient Israelite Scripture. In medieval times collections— Yalquts—devoted to Prophetic books would be assembled, but these do not continue the purposive and propositional program of the late antique Midrash-compilations. They reflect the concerns and conceptions of a much later period and a different context. For late antiquity Prophecy would emerge in episodic detail, not in compilations sustained by a systematic and coherent reading, from a Rabbinic perspective, beginning to end, of the Prophetic books.

The Rabbinic View of Prophecy (1): "From the day on which the house of the sanctuary was destroyed, Prophecy was taken away from Prophets and given over to sages.” “When the house of the sanctuary was destroyed, Prophecy was taken away from the Prophets and handed over to idiots and children” We do not have to rely only on what is implicit in the Rabbinic narrative of how Heaven was excluded from the Rabbinic debate. The Rabbis’ reservations about the authority of Prophecy—God’s intervention into human affairs—came to expression not only implicitly, in the debate about the oven of Akhenai, but in their explicit statements about the status of Prophecy in the present age, meaning, after the destruction of the Temple. The first issue concerns the relationship of the Rabbi to the Prophet: is his authority less than the Prophet’s, and what is the standing of the Prophet in the new age? Here we have an articulated statement that the Rabbinic sages possessed the authority of Prophecy, and that their authority exceeded that of the Prophets. The Temple’s destruction marked a shift in the relationship of Israel to Heaven. Israel was punished for its sins. Prophets lost their power to Prophesy. But Israel was left with the Rabbis, the sages, and their power of Prophecy.

Bavli Baba Batra 1:6 12A-b II.4 A. Said R. Abdimi of Haifa, “From the day on which the house of the sanctuary was destroyed, Prophecy was taken away from Prophets and given over to sages.” B. So are sages not also Prophets? C. This is the sense of the statement: Even though it was taken from the

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The heart of wisdom belongs to the Rabbi, and the Prophet is credited with the sage’s standing, therefore inferior to him. What the Rabbi possessed that the Prophet did not was the Torah—that made a sage a sage—and the source of the Rabbi’s Prophetic power was his capacity to analyze and criticize the Torah’s principles. The power to know the truth derived from mastery of those principles and capacity to apply them to unknown situations. The sages retain the power of Prophecy, meaning here the capacity to know something not generally available: E. Said Abbayye, “You may know that [sages retain the power of Prophecy,] for if an eminent authority makes a statement, it may then be stated in the name of some other eminent authority [who can have gotten it only by Prophecy].” F. Said Raba, “So what’s the problem? Maybe both were born under the same star.” G. Rather, said Raba, “You may know that that is so, for an eminent authority may say something, and then the same thing may be reported [12B] in the name of R. Aqiba bar Joseph.” H. Said R. Ashi, “So what’s the problem? Maybe as to this particular matter both were born under the same star.” I. Rather, said R. Ashi, “You may know that it is the case, because an eminent authority may say something, and then the same thing may be reported as a law revealed by God to Moses at Mount Sinai.” J. But perhaps the sage just makes a good guess [literally: is no better than a blind man groping about to a window]? K. But doesn’t the sage give a reason for what he says [so it cannot be merely a good guess]!

Prophecy is now relegated to matters of Torah-study, and the Rabbi’s power of Prophecy is realized in his power to reason: say something and find it reported as a law revealed by God to Moses at Sinai, thus the Rabbi can through astute reasoning reach a ruling that Moses got through revelation. Another and more extreme judgment of contemporary (post-Temple) Prophecy dismisses it as the work of idiots and children. Clearly, the Rabbinic judgment dismissed Prophecy. It afforded knowledge of the future that added up, now, to good guesses:

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Bavli Baba Batra 1:6 12A-b II.5 A. Said R. Yohanan, “When the house of the sanctuary was destroyed, Prophecy was taken away from the Prophets and handed over to idiots and children.” B. As to idiots, what does this mean? C. It is in line with the case involving Mar b. R. Ashi, who was standing in the manor of Mahoza and heard an idiot exclaim, “The man who is going to be chosen head of the session in Mata Mehassia signs his name Tabyumi.” D. He said to himself, “So among the rabbis, who signs his name Tabyumi? I am the one. That means the hour is mine!” E. He went there. Before he got there, rabbis had appointed R. Aha of Difta as the head. When they heard he had come, they sent off a pair of rabbis to him to take counsel with him. F. He kept them with him. They sent another pair, whom he also detained, and so it went on until ten were there. G. When ten had assembled, he commenced and repeated Tannaite formulations and gave an exposition of Scripture, since they open such a discourse only when there are at least ten present. H. R. Aha recited in his own regard, “Anyone who is in disfavor will not quickly be shown favor, and anyone who is in favor will not quickly be shown disfavor.” I. As to children, what does this mean? J. It is in line with the case involving the daughter of R. Hisda. She was sitting on her father’s lap, and in session before him were Raba and Rami bar Hama. He said to her, “Which one of them do you want?” K. She said to him, “Both.” L. Said Raba, “And I want to come last.”

The contemporary practitioners of Prophecy are now dismissed as idiots or children. The daughter has the power to know the future: the premature death of one of the sages, Raba or Rami, and wants to marry both in sequence.

The Rabbinic View of Prophecy (2): “When the latter Prophets died, that is, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi, then the Holy Spirit came to an end in Israel. But even so, they made use of an echo” The reference to Prophecy after the destruction of the Temple does not exhaust the Rabbis’ consideration of the power to foresee the future or to convey God’s will. The Rabbis also affirmed that Heaven communicated

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with Israel through Rabbis and that they had the power to receive instruction from Heaven. This came about through heavenly echoes, not through articulated speech, and formed a diminished medium of communication. In this version Prophecy has come to an end, and the last Prophets were those of Second Temple times:

Tosefta Sotah 13:4 Q. When the latter Prophets died, that is, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi, then the Holy Spirit came to an end in Israel. R. But even so, they made use of an echo. S. Sages gathered together in the upper room of the house of Guria in Jericho, and a heavenly echo came forth and said to them, “There is a man among you who is worthy to receive the Holy Spirit, but his generation is unworthy of such an honor.” They all set their eyes upon Hillel, the elder. T. And when he died, they said about him, “Woe for the humble man, woe for the pious man, the disciple of Ezra” [T. Sot. 13:3]. U. Then another time they were in session in Yabneh and heard an echo saying, “There is among you a man who is worthy to receive the Holy Spirit, but the generation is unworthy of such an honor.” V. They all set their eyes upon Samuel the younger. W. At the time of his death what did they say? “Woe for the humble man, woe for the pious man, the disciple of Hillel the Elder!” X. Also: he said at the time of his death, “Simeon and Ishmael are destined to be put to death, and the rest of the associates will die by the sword, and the remainder of the people will be up for spoil. After this, the great disasters will fall.” Y. Also concerning R. Judah b. Baba they ordained that they should say about him, “Woe for the humble man, woe for the pious man, disciple of Samuel the Small.” But the times did not allow it.

Prophecy, echoes, and other media effect divine communication. Among them, Prophecy represented only one medium of direct communication between God and man, both for Israel and for the gentiles, yielding statements by the recipient, the Prophet, in the language he directly attributes to God. God in times past communicated with Israel through Prophets, so indicated by their speaking direct quotations from God. The Prophets not only interpreted events of the past and present but also predicted what would take place in the future. But media for direct communication with Heaven did not include Prophecy. That point is made in so many words on the Babylonian Talmud’s commentary at Mishnahtractate Sotah 9:12A. The Mishnah’s rule states,

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M. Sotah 9:12 A. When the former Prophets died out, the Urim and Tummim were cancelled. B. When the sanctuary was destroyed, the Shamir-worm ceased and [so did] the honey of supim. C. And faithful men came to an end, D. since it is written, “Help, O Lord, for the godly man ceases” (Ps. 12:2). In that context, the Talmud cites the formulation that alleges that with the end of the latter Prophets, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi, the Holy Spirit came to an end in Israel.

Bavli Sotah 9:12 II.1/48b II.1 A. B. C. D.

E. F. G. H.

When the former Prophets died out [M. 9:12A]: Who are the former Prophets? Said R. Huna, “These are David, Samuel, and Solomon.” R. Nahman said, “In the time of David, sometimes things worked out [when the Urim and Thumim were consulted], sometimes they did not work out, for lo, he asked Sadoq and things worked out, then he asked Abiathar and things did not work out for him, “as it is said, ‘And Abiathar went up’ (2 Sam. 15:24). [At issue is consultation with the Urim and Thumim].” Rabbah bar Samuel raised the objection, “‘And he set himself to seek God all the days of Zechariah who had understanding in the vision of God’ (2 Chr. 26:5). “Does this not refer to consultation with the Urim and Thummim?” No, it was consultation through the Prophets.

What that means is that in the Oral Torah there were no further holy writings, beyond those of the Hebrew Scriptural canon, as then understood, in which it would be alleged, “God spoke to me, saying....” The system could find ample space for teachings of the Torah not in writing, that is, documents alleged to originate in the oral tradition that formed part of the revelation of Sinai—but no more written ones.

The Source of the Rabbis’ Torah Since sages maintained that the Holy Spirit and Prophecy no longer served to convey to Israel Heaven’s wishes on any given occasion, we have to ask ourselves what media did sages identify for the same purpose, that is, what served Israel in its diminished capacity—unworthy of having the Holy Spirit represented in its midst—for the delivery of Heaven’s views.

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Bavli Makkot 3:15A-D I:2ff/ 23a-b I. 1.

2.

3.

A. [Said R. Hananiah b. Gamaliel, “Now if one who does a single transgression—Heaven takes his soul on that account, he who performs a single religious duty—how much the more so that his soul will be saved for him on that account!”:] Said R. Yohanan, “R. Hananiah b. Gamaliel’s colleagues [Aqiba and Ishmael, who insist upon repentance, not punishment, as the condition of avoiding extirpation] differed from him.” A. Said R. Adda bar Ahbah said Rab, “The decided law is in accord with R. Hananiah b. Gamaliel.” B. Said R. Joseph, “Well, who has gone up to heaven and ‘said’ [that is, returned and made this definitive statement]?!” C. Said to him Abbayye, “But then, in line with what R. Joshua b. Levi said, ‘Three rulings were made by the earthly court, and the court on high concurred with what they had done,’ ask the same question—who has gone up to heaven and returned and ‘said’ [made this definitive statement]?! Rather, we expound verses of Scripture [to reach dependable conclusions], and in this case, too, we expound verses of Scripture.” Once more the tension between arbitrary revelation and reasoned exegesis of Scripture comes to the fore, and a consistent position emerges from a number of compositions. A. Reverting to the body of the foregoing: R. Joshua b. Levi said, ‘Three rulings were made by the earthly court, and the court on high concurred with what they had done,’ ask the same question:” B. And what were these? C. Reciting the scroll of Esther, greeting people with the divine name, and the presentation of the Levite’s tithe to the Temple chamber. D. Reciting the scroll of Esther, as it is written, “They confirmed, and the Jews took upon them and their descendants” (Est. 9:27) — E. “they confirmed” above what they had “taken upon themselves” below. F. greeting people with the divine name: as it is written, “As it is said, “And behold Boaz came from Bethlehem; and he said to the reapers, ‘The Lord be with you’ And they answered, ‘The Lord bless you’” Ruth 2:4). And Scripture says, “The Lord is with you, you mighty man of valor” (Judges 6:12). G. What is the point of the addition, “The Lord is with you, you mighty man of valor” (Judges 6:12)? H. Lest you say that Boaz made this up on his own, and Heaven did not approve, come and note what follows: “The Lord is with you, you mighty man of valor” (Judges 6:12). I. and the presentation of the Levite’s tithe to the Temple chamber: as it is written, “Bring the whole tithe to the store house that there may be food in my house and try me herewith, says the Lord of hosts, if I will not open for you the windows of heaven and pour out for you a blessing, until there be no enough” (Mal. 3:10). J. What is the meaning of the phrase, “until there be no enough” (Mal.

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3:10)? K. Said Rami bar Rab, “Until your lips get tired of saying, ‘Enough, enough.’” A. Said R. Eleazar, “In three places the Holy Spirit made an appearance: at the court of Shem, at the court of Samuel in Ramah, and at the court of Solomon. B. “at the court of Shem: ‘And Judah acknowledged them and said, she is right, it is from me’ (Gen. 38:26). C. “And how did he know for sure? Perhaps as he had come to her, so other men had come to her? D. “But an echo came forth and said, ‘She is right, these things have come about by my insistence.’ E. “at the court of Samuel in Ramah: ‘“Here I am, witness against me before the Lord and before his anointed: whose ox have I taken or whose ass?” And they said, “You have not defrauded us nor oppressed us, nor have you taken anything from anybody.” And he said to them, “The Lord is witness against you and his anointed is witness this day that you have found nothing against me,” and he said, “he is witness”’ (1 Sam. 12:3-5).” F. “‘And he said’ should be, ‘and they said,’ But an echo came forth and said, ‘I am witness in this matter.’ G. “and at the court of Solomon: ‘And the king answered and said, “Give her the living child and in no way kill it, she is his mother”’ (1 Kgs. 3:27). H. “So how did he know for sure? Maybe she was just crafty? But an echo came forth and said, ‘She is his mother.’” A. Said Raba, “But maybe Judah was able to calculate the months and days and found them to coincide? B. “{And the answer is:] Where we can see evidence, we may propose a hypothesis, but where there is no evidence to be discerned, there also is no hypothesis to be proposed! C. “Maybe Samuel referred to all Israel using a collective noun and a singular verb, in line with the usage here: ‘O Israel, you [sing.] are saved by the Lord with an everlasting salvation, you shall not be ashamed’ (Is. 45:17)? D. “And with Solomon too, could he have reached such a conclusion merely because he saw that one woman was compassionate, the other not? E. “All of these conclusions, therefore, are tradition.”

For our purpose the interesting point comes at Joseph’s (sarcastic) statement that he thinks it unlikely that sages possess direct knowledge of Heaven’s will in a given point of law. Abbayye’s reply in the name of Joshua b. Levi provides us with the key to the way in which, in this Judaism, people know Heaven’s will: sages do not have to go to Heaven on consultations, because they have direct access to God’s will as expressed in Scripture.

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The Holy Spirit, or Prophecy, gives way to another medium for communication between Heaven and earth. Prophecy retains a critical position for itself. The issue then becomes subtle: at what point does Heaven communicate for which purpose? And the first part of the answer is, when it comes to the determination of law, it is by the correct exposition of Scripture that sages have an accurate and reliable picture of Heaven’s will. The upshot, in so many words, and in the exact context at hand, is then simply stated: study of the Torah for sages has now replaced Prophecy. For the age at which Prophecy is no longer available, that is, the age beginning at 70, Torah-learning substitutes quite nicely. But that is only for the stated purpose and takes place only in the single context: the nature of norms and how they are determined. Here, masters of Torah enter into communion with Heaven through their knowledge of the Torah, its traditions but also its logic. The passage proceeds to expand on that claim by giving three examples of occasions on which the earthly court, that is, sages, made a ruling that was then confirmed by the corresponding court in Heaven. We are given three examples in which, in ancient times, the Holy Spirit did operate. The Rabbis affirm Prophecy and recognize the presence, in the midst of Israel, of the Holy Spirit. They explicitly reject the intervention of Prophecy or the Holy Spirit in matters of the determination of law, because their position maintains that these matters are resolved through the interplay of practical reason and applied logic, on the one side, and accurate tradition, on the other. The Torah is the medium for communication from Heaven to earth, not only way back in the time of Moses, but also in the here and now of sages’ own day. It is important to note, moreover, that the interplay of Heaven and earth takes place not only in matters of law, but also theology and the interpretation of events and prediction of the future, certainly critical matters in the conception of Prophecy that sages set forth for themselves. When, moreover, the Prophets—for so Solomon and Samuel and David are explicitly classified—made their rulings, the same media of heavenly confirmation that serves sages came into play. Since sages represent Solomon and David as sages, the point is clear: Heaven has a heavy stake in sages’ deliberations, follows them, responds to them. In the view of Rabbinic Judaism, nothing ended with the cessation of Prophecy—not direct communication from Heaven to earth, not prediction of the future, not divine guidance for especially-favored persons concerning the affairs of the day. Canonical Prophecy ended, but the works of Prophecy continued in other forms, both on Heaven’s side with the Holy Spirit and later on with the echo, and on earth’s side with sages joining in conversation with

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Heaven through the echo, on the one side, and through Torah-learning, on the other. That the whole doctrine coheres and contains no loose ends is obvious. The Rabbis do not convey a sublime vision of Prophecy. In passage after passage the Rabbis contrast the Prophets’ medium for communicating Heaven’s will with that of the Rabbis. They leave no doubt as to their judgment of matters. The concurrence of sayings and stories shows that they agreed Prophecy no longer thrived. The destruction of the Temple marked the end of the matter. But whether the destruction of the First (after Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi) or of the Second Temple marked the demarcation point is unclear. The Rabbis also affirmed the claim of the Prophets in the Prophets’ own day to speak God’s will. That left open the question of how Prophecy was to harmonize with Rabbinic Torahlearning.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN THE SEXUAL WOES OF JEWISH PRINCESSES: THE CASES OF DINAH, TAMAR AND MICHAL AZILA TALIT REISENBERGER

Living in Africa, witnessing the socialization of young people into the tradition and transmission of cultural history through stories, adds another dimension to the significance of biblical stories and the power they exert over the reader’s understanding and interpreting of the world. Awareness of this role of storytelling is often lost on modern literate urban society which tends to accept its heritage, as it is dictated from the top down. Custody of tribal stories in Africa was entrusted to the women in the tribe, who concentrated on ancestral tales or fables from the animal kingdom. Alas, over time the tradition evolved and male voices have started to invade the storytelling space. With men came more stories of power struggles and exploits and, as scholars maintain: ‘male formulators of the public spaces have failed to establish a public narrative of humanity’ (Krog, 2011: 22). Reading the Bible with its ancient stories, like reading all stories, gives us glimpses of life and the philosophical contemplation of the people who wrote them – and I am sorry for the profound truth in Krog’s observation: the biblical narrative which is so clearly male narrative has failed us miserably. Failed us as society at large but even more so, failed the women. This is a pertinent issue as women’s positions in the extra-biblical world were, and indeed still are, defined to some degree by how women are presented in the biblical texts owing to the fact that the Bible is seen by many as a divine discourse.1 Two issues concerning biblical women are particularly vexing: their total exclusion from the body of the nation and their lack of self-emanating 1

By extra-biblical I mean the societies that acknowledge/d the Bible as a force in social construction, but which were/are not part of the actual biblical universe; i.e. not part of the time of the writing and setting of the Bible itself.

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honour. These two issues are interwoven and shed light on each other. The fact that women are left out and not counted as members of the Hebrew clan is simple to deduce from narratives of census and family counts. The reason behind this policy is not clear. On the other hand biblical excerpts dealing with women’s sexuality, as appear in some legal verses together with the four accounts of rape and attempted rape, provide an indication of the concept of ‘women’s lack of self-emanating honour’. I have written elsewhere that understanding the lack of women’s honour may provide the explanation for the exclusion of biblical women from the body of the nation (Reisenberger, 2000: 55-66). Biblical women gained Kavod (honour and dignity) only through being sexually active with a man whose honour then was bestowed upon them (op cit 65). Had this been biblical women’s lot but had they found themselves in good relationships which allowed them to rejoice in their sexuality it would have been easier for modern readers to accept. Instead, as this paper shows, gender subservience and sexual politics brought a lot of misery to biblical women. We discuss the sexual woes of three ‘princesses’ realizing that if this was the lot of important women, how much worse was the lot of ‘the women of the nation’.

Exclusion of women A genealogical study of the Bible stands in total contradiction to the law of averages: it is remarkable that the forefathers of nations and the biblical heroes begat only sons, not daughters. For example, Adam and Eve had Cain and Abel. Noah had three sons: Shem, Ham and Japhet. Abraham had Ishmael and Isaac, and the latter had the twins, Esau and Jacob. Jacob in turn had twelve sons. He broke the pattern, however: he also had a daughter. The Bible records that Jacob had a girl-child, as she was later the focus of familial and political conflicts. The post-biblical scholars, who edited the Jewish oral law and wrote it down in the Mishna and Talmud, realised that had biblical personalities only sired sons, the nation would have become extinct. In which case, Pharaoh’s law, recited in Exodus 1:16, to dispose of all new-born Hebrew males, should have been unnecessary, as without one of the sexes, the nation would already have been doomed. This logical conclusion led the sages on numerous occasions to say that some male infants were born with twin sisters, thus satisfying the curiosity of the biblical reader who might have been puzzled by the continuity of the male production line in the absence of any female births.

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After the long succession of sons, then, it comes as a surprise to read that Leah also bore Jacob a daughter, Dinah. Reading Genesis 34 provides the reason for this: Dinah was at the centre of a familial and political conflict that left its mark on the geographical topography of Canaan, therefore she could not be omitted. Her insignificance as an individual can be gleaned from the fact that there are no references to Dinah from her birth till the time of womanhood, which she entered forcibly as a result of a rape. The record continues with her sinking into oblivion after the rape, her abduction and the murder of the man who declared his love to her. Uncannily similar is the narrative of the rape of Tamar, the daughter of King David. Unlike in the case of Dinah, we don’t even know when she was born and we can only deduce the identity of her mother as Ma’acha the daughter of Thalmai, king of Geshur (2 Sam 3:3; 1 Chron 3:2). This detail is mentioned when the lineage of her direct brother, Absalom, is specified, reinforcing the notion of the significance of male offspring compared to the insignificance of daughters. The first time we meet Tamar is when David’s firstborn son, Amnon, who is her half-brother, desires her and contrives a way to bring her alone into his chamber so that he can rape her; after which she sinks into oblivion. It is a premeditated rape which results in his heart turning to hatred of her. This is the exact opposite of what happened to Hamor son of Shechem, who chanced upon Dinah and raped her but his heart turned to love of her. In all the other details the narratives are uncannily similar. To ensure that the similarities do not escape even the less observant reader, the biblical author and redactor insert the term Ketonet Passim in both familial stories. Ketonet Passim, which is translated in most English version as a ‘coat of many colours’, set Joseph, Jacob’s son, apart from his brothers and showed him as his father’s favourite. Tamar, David’s daughter, wore it ‘for thus were usually apparelled the king’s daughters when virgins’ (2 Sam 13:18). This phrase appears only twice in the Bible, in Jacob’s and in David’s households. It serves as key word that indicates to readers that these two stories should be read with and against each other, in a dynamic way. As the Bible does not use adjectives to describe people or objects, and refrains from passing judgement, it is incumbent upon us, the readers, to pay attention to details and try to unravel as many rhetorical means of persuasion as we possibly can in order to enjoy the immense depth and beauty of the Biblical narratives and the message that they impart to us (Alter, 1981).

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Reading the two narratives side by side reveals a household of aging patriarchs, who lose control over their families and whose offspring engage in a fierce succession battle – and there are many other themes in common. Women reading these stories have to face a more painful truth. The two narratives include the violent rape of these patriarchs’ daughters yet the stories do not concentrate on the victims and their woes, but rather are included for a very different reason. They are there to explain a new order of things – in the same way that the narrative of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah is included in order to explain how it was that a rich fertile valley (Genesis 13:10) turned into the arid, inhospitable land that it is today. Instead of searching for a scientific answer for the change that occurred, known to modern scientists as the Syriac-African-Fault, the Bible tells the story of the evil of the people and the punishment that God brought down upon them. Unfortunately for Dinah, daughter of the patriarch Jacob, and Tamar, daughter of King David, political changes during their times are explained through their personal misfortunes. The annihilation of Shechem and his tribe is explained as revenge for the rape of Dinah, and the political assassination of the opponent ahead of Absalom in the line of succession to David’s throne is excused as an act of avenging Tamar’s honour. Hearing of his daughter’s rape neither patriarch did anything, and it was the maidens’ direct brothers who took action. But it is clear that these misfortunes were used by the brothers as excuses rather than empathetic acts, as no empathy was directed to the maidens themselves: Absalom says: '…now my sister, keep silence… take this thing not to thy heart’ (2 Sam 13: 20) – an impossible command for any rape victim (Levett, 1981; Blyth, 2008). There is good reason to believe that the crisis situation precipitated by the traumatic stress of rape, well recognised in modern times, was not understood by ancient protagonists (Scher, 1990: 17). Indeed, from the texts above it emerges that the sexual crime against the young virgins was merely seen as unpleasant, and that their feelings in the matter were of no importance. This assumption is reinforced by two important factors: 1. The law concerning rapists and their victims (Reisenberger, 2000:60). 2. Two biblical accounts (in Genesis 19 and in Judges 19) of fathers (Lot and the old Ephraimite) who were ready to give up their daughters for gang rape in order to keep the peace.

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From the above, one can conclude that rape was probably more common than is reported in the Bible. Knowing that the Bible has great influence on the lives of millions of believers in the extra-Biblical world, one could ask what the effect of these violent tales has been on readers through the ages.

Effect of biblical narrative At this point it may be of value to reiterate that the Bible is an androcentric text about a patriarchal society living over two millennia ago. There is an important distinction between patriarchy and an androcentric point of view, and they do not have to go together. The patriarchal system describes the hierarchy of power at a particular time and place; the androcentric issue here is important as it highlights the fact that the Bible is a ‘male book’. It concerns itself with men’s interests, and men’s lives, and when women’s are included in the narrative, they are presented from men’s perspective (Bach, 1999: xiv-xv). Books that describe patriarchal societies, yet do not subscribe to them, can introduce certain aspects into the text that show their rejection of patriarchy or their disdain thereof. This does not happen in the biblical text – it describes patriarchy from an androcentric point of view. Consequently it is no surprise that feminists, who are concerned with the well-being of women, advocate interpreting the Bible in what they call the hermeneutic of suspicion. Feminists may come from varied cultures and traditions, and their attitude toward scriptures may differ, but they share the starting point – to quote Katherine Doob Sakenfeld: ‘the beginning point shared with all feminists studying the Bible, is appropriately a stance of radical suspicion’ (1985: 55). This is because, even if the narrative does not portray women in a compromised way, in many a cases it lends itself to an interpretation which was used as a powerful tool in the oppression of women – so much more so when it depicts women’s suffering. Reading classical commentary, all of which was written by males, one is struck by how the culpability for the rape is laid at the victims’ door (Bader, 2008).2 For example, the verse: ‘And Dinah… went out to see the daughters of the land’ becomes a matter of central concern to both Jewish and Christian commentators alike who blame her for being raped (Reisenberger, 2013). Most commentaries through the ages use the biblical text to further their ideas in didactic manner. One of the most common 2

See Mary Anna Bader, 2008.

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uses of the above texts was to keep women subservient and to frighten subversive women into toeing the line. This is not a figment of the imagination of the modern feminist reader who scoffs at male commentators; it is actually embedded in the biblical text. In order to illustrate this didactic means of teaching women ‘a lesson’, we have to turn to another biblical woman, another princess: Michal, the daughter of King Saul.

The sexual woes of Michal According to 1 Samuel 14:49, King Saul had five children: three sons and two daughters. The fact that the daughters, Merav and Michal, are mentioned may seem to contradict what we ascertained above, that daughters were mentioned only if they are at the root of change. There is no allusion to change in 1 Samuel 14:49 when they are introduced; there is no drama, they do not suffer, and no change takes place; but it is in the making, and to further our point the change is due to sexual woes of the Princess. When Saul wishes young David’s death, he hatches a plot to get him killed without having personally to draw his own sword out of its sheath. He offers David his daughter as a wife and sets the Mohar3 at one hundred of the enemy’s foreskins. As no Philistine was likely to separate from his foreskin voluntarily, King Saul thought: ‘Let not my hand be against him, but let the Philistines be against him’ (1 Sam 18:17). Marriage into the king’s family ‘was pleasing in the eyes of David’ (1 Sam 18:26) who did not bother to ascertain which of the daughters he was to get as a wife. We are told that Merav, the older one, was already promised to another man and as Michal, her younger sister, ‘loved David’, when dowry was paid double fold, ‘Saul gave him [David] Michal his daughter for wife’ (1 Sam 18: 27). As the biblical text is at pains to specify that Michal loved David, and as at the time David was a young man, it is easy for readers to assume that they enjoyed consummating their marriage. But as Saul became more and more paranoid about the enthusiasm that people showed towards David’s leadership and plotted to kill his young son-in-law, Michal disregarded her own emotions and aided David’s escape. Her father did not allow her to be a grass-widow for too long and punished David by marrying Michal off to Paltiel, son of Layish from Gallim (1 Sam 25:44).

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David did not seem to miss Michal, the woman who loved him and risked her father’s wrath to ensure his safety. Away from her on his forays, he acquired a few wives: Achino’am, who bore him Amnon, Abigail, Naval’s widow, who bore him Kilav, Maacha, daughter of Thalmai king of Geshur, who bore him Absalom and Tamar, Hagit, who bore him Adoniya, Avital, who bore him Shfatya, and Egla, who bore him Yitra’am.4 Yet, following Saul’s death, when he was summoned by the people to rule over all Israel, his reply to Abner, Saul’s chief of staff is: ‘…thou shalt not see my face, except thou first bring Michal, Saul’s daughter, when thou comest to see my face’ (2 Sam 3: 13). It is not his wife that he is seeking, it is Saul’s daughter. He did not seem to miss her as a wife – he ensured that he had an abundant supply of replacement wives – but he needed her as a political pawn to bring across all the loyalists who wanted to see the House of Saul ruling over the land.5 David knew that with Michal in his palace he could swing the hearts of Saul’s loyalists from the camp of the disabled son, the sole survivor from the Kish Dynasty. ‘And David sent messengers to Ish-Boshet, the sole surviving disabled son of Saul saying, Give up to me my wife Michal, whom I espoused to me for a hundred foreskins of the Philistines’ (2 Sam 3:14). Not one of these political men cared that Michal was settled at the time with a husband who loved her dearly (2 Sam 3: 16). The moment that Michal bade goodbye to her loving husband Paltiel, who was chased away by Abner as one chases a dog, was the last time she had any physical contact with a man. Unlike Dinah and Tamar who were touched by the stroke of a violent sexual act, Michal became sexually ‘untouchable’ at David’s command.

Forced abstinence There are only two laws in the whole Hebrew Bible which deal with marriage, both in the book of Deuteronomy in later chapters: 1. Deuteronomy 24:1-4. Prohibition from re-marrying one’s wife if she has had a relationship with another man in the interim. 2. Deuteronomy 25:5-9. The Levirate marriage: providing offspring to a deceased man by his surviving brother. 4

He had many more concubines who bore him children (2 Sam 5:11) and married Bat-Sheba, who bore him Solomon, only after his re-uniting with Michal (2 Sam 11). 5 King Herod did the same with Miriam, the daughter of the Hasmoneans.

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I would like to look at the first law (Deut. 24:1-4): ‘When a man hath taken a wife, and married her, and it comes to pass, that if she find no favour in his eyes, because he hath found some scandalous thing in her, he may write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her away out of his house. And she shall depart out of his house; and if she go and become another man’s wife; and the latter husband hate her, and write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her away out of his house; or if the latter husband, who took her as his wife, should die; then shall her former husband who had sent her away, not be at liberty to take her again to be his wife, after she hath been defiled; for it is abomination before the Lord; and thou shalt not bring sin upon the land, which the Lord thy God giveth thee for an inheritance’.

The prohibition from remarrying one’s divorcee if she has been sexually involved with another man seems harsh especially as it is described as an ‘abomination’. But it gives the reader a glimpse into a practice by poor couples: young husband divorces his wife in order to let her marry a rich old man, so that on the latter’s death they could remarry and enjoy the old man’s inheritance – a clear act of whoring the woman. This practice was common enough, and the law against it was known well enough for Jeremiah to use it as a metaphor for Israel whoring away from God (Jer 3:1). This law was also used by political aspirants who wanted to undermine declining rulers by capturing the old rulers’ harems, thus deposing the old men.6 It was done as far back as Jacob’s time, by his firstborn son Reuven (Gen 25: 22), and it was done to David by his son Absalom (2 Sam 16:22). Both sons made it known to the public that they had access to the old patriarch’s concubines, publicising that the old patriarch was not permitted to go back to his own harem – symbolizing defeat. Therefore it is safe to say that this law was well known to the younger David. The question then is why David commands Michal to leave her interim husband and return to him if he knew full well that he would never be allowed to touch her? This paper suggests that Michal was called to David’s palace purely as a political pawn, doomed to be locked away void of love until her death. Michal’s sexual woes were not forceful physical acts, but rather forceful separation and prohibition of physical contact. Understanding Michal’s predicament makes one see that sexual woes can be by forceful act or forceful withdrawal of physical love. 6

Living on the African continent, I had the experience of witnessing it in the kingdom of the lions!

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If readers are not sure of Michal’s situation as the princess locked in the tower, one only has to read her bitter exchange with David when he brings the Ark to Jerusalem.7 It is not the arrogance of a king’s daughter as some may suggest; she never felt superior to him as is seen from her loving him and her letting him go. It is the bitter reference to his body that gives her state of mind away. She describes, with such pain, the body which she had once desired and may even be desiring at the time of the exchange, thus highlighting her pain at the forced sexual abstinence. ‘… and David then went and brought up the Ark of God from the house of Obed-edom into the city of David with joy… and David danced with all his might before the Lord; and David was girded with a linen ephod… and Michal the daughter of Saul looked through the window, and saw king David leaping and dancing before the Lord; and she despised him in her heart…[but] Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David, and she said, How honoured was to-day the king of Israel, who uncovered himself to-day before the eyes of the hand-maids of his servants, as only one of the low fellows can uncover himself!’ (2 Sam 6:12-20)

Could it be that David, who had no shirt on and wore only a linen-ephod8 awoke her desire for the man she had once loved? Could it be that as a woman at the peak of her life, it dawned on her suddenly that she was doomed to a forced sexual abstinence for the rest of her life? Michal’s sarcasm does not go unnoticed by David, and he lashes out at her: ‘and David said unto Michal, Before the Lord, who chose me before thy father, and before all his house, to ordain me ruler over the people of the Lord, over Israel: - yea before the Lord will I yet farther play…’ (2 Sam 6:21-22).

And the narrator adds: ‘And Michal, the daughter of Saul, had no child until the day of her death’ (verse 23). This insertion of the narrator’s voice, which does not often appear in the biblical text, is the Grand Warning to women who would ever dare to challenge their husbands. The fact may be a true reflection of her life: 7

For analysis of ‘Women at the Window’, see Aschkenasy, 1998. The sages suggest that the ephod that David wore was a special belt which proved that the bearer had reached a level of spirituality, such as the BneyHa’Nevi’im used to wear. It is not the one and only Ephod which was attached to the Hoshen that the High Priest used to wear. See Midrash Hagadol, Exodus 28:30. Even Samuel, as a child in Shiloh, wore Ephod Bad – which means ‘linen-ephod (1 Sam 2:18). Ephod has also been seen as a belt – i.e. strap of material – in the description of the building of the Tabernacle (Exodus 28:6).

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Michal never had children, but it was not as a result of a Divine curse – not an instant Divine intervention for her Chutzpahdic exchange with her estranged husband – it is a result of a simple existential fact: a woman cannot have children if her husband does not make love to her. Only in folk-children’s-stories can princesses locked in towers have illicit love and babies. Not in the Bible. Michal our biblical princess, the only woman in the Bible who declares her love, has been cruelly torn away from the world of sensual physical love, and locked away for the sole purpose of being there. Lonely deprived political pawn. It is not a figment of my imagination. The fact that Abner and IshBoshet handed Michal to David could not change her status – and it is clear that she was never again a real wife. All further references to her are never as ‘David’s wife’ but rather always as ‘Michal, the daughter of Saul’. That was what David needed, and that is what legally she could only ever be; she could not be touched, fondled and loved. I have shown elsewhere how religious commentators throughout the millennia used their commentary on biblical texts of sexual woes to bully women into subservience. (Reisenberger, 2013:195-212). But this is an unusual case in which the biblical text itself inserts this very strict warning to all wives never to put their husbands down, lest they be harshly punished.

In conclusion This paper has highlighted the sexual woes of three biblical women who did nothing to bring their physical suffering upon themselves. Reading about their physical suffering is particularly difficult for modern women who learn to associate their body image, and to align their sensual experience of the world, with their self-esteem. The fact that the biblical women who went through this suffering are from privileged lineage only exacerbates the problem, as it highlights the even worse pain ordinary women probably had to endure. Since the Bible is seen as a Divine text, one needs to sensitize readers to the fact that it is not a guide book for a way of life, but rather a reflection of a particular era at a particular location; and certain aspects of the narration should be taught with this warning: Never Again. Inclusion of women into the body of the people is of utmost importance. New commentary with women’s voices should be encouraged, and women’s point of view should be widely discussed. Only then would women the world over be able to accept the Bible as The Book of all Books.

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References Primary Source Leeser, Isaac (1915), Holy Scriptures Translation, New York: Hebrew Publishing Company.

Modern Sources Alter, Robert (1981), The Art of Biblical Narrative, New York: Basic Books. Aschkenasy, Nehama (1998), Women at the Window: Biblical Tales of Oppression and Escape, Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Bach, Alice, ed. (1999), Women in the Hebrew Bible: A Reader, London: Routledge, xiv-xv. Bader, Mary Anna (2008), Tracing the Evidence: Dinah in post-Hebrew Bible Literature. New York: Peter Lang. Blyth, Caroline (2008), Terrible Silence, Eternal Silence – A Consideration of Dinah’s Voicelessness in the Text and Interpretive Tradition of Genesis 34, doctoral dissertation at University of Edinburgh. Krog, Antjie, Women’s Voices: African Poetry in Motion, in Journal for the Study of Religion 14 (2), 2001,15-24. Levett, Ann. (1981), Considerations in the Provision of Adequate Psychological Care for Sexually Assaulted Women, MA Thesis at the University of Cape Town. Reisenberger, Azila, T. 2000. “Biblical Women – The non-existent Entity: A study in Rape Cases”. In Journal of Constructive Theology 6 (2), pp 55-66. Reisenberger, Azila (2012), David’s Laments as a Vehicle of Vindication, in M. Caspi and J.Greene, eds., Portraits of a King Favoured by God, David the King: God’s Poet, Warrior, and Statesman; King David: The Strings of a Lyre of Life, Piscatawah, NJ: Gorgias Press, 81-108. Reisenberger, Azila, T. (2013), Mothers of the Nation as Pounds of Flesh, in M. Caspi and J.Greene, eds., In the Arms of Biblical Women, Piscatawah, New Jersey: Gorgias Press, 195-212. Sakenfeld, K. D. (1985), Feminist Uses of Biblical Materials, in L. Russell, ed., Feminist Interpretation of the Bible, Philadelphia: Westminster.

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Scher, Tal (1990), Reactions of Modern Readers to Biblical Rape, unpublished thesis, Hebrew and Jewish Studies Department, Storrs: University of Connecticut.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY IN CANTICLES: THE KING AND THE PASTORAL SETTING 1 THEODORE A. PERRY

The Heart's Reasons One of the greatest and most influential philosophical treatises on love is Leone Ebreo’s Dialoghi d’amore, a dialogue between Filone and Sofia (= philo-sofia). Filone launches the courtship by a curious declaration: "My knowledge of you, Oh Sofia, causes in me love and desire."2 Sidestepping this bold attack, Sofia responds by noting a conceptual discrepancy between the two. The deeper opposition, of course, is not between love and desire, but rather the dichotomy between both love and desire, on the one hand, and conoscenza, knowledge, on the other, one which led Pascal to exclaim that the heart also has its reasons, which reason cannot understand.3 My purpose here is first to ponder the double-entendre of the verb “to know,” meaning savoir but also connaitre. For our common

1

An earlier version of this paper was delivered at the World Congress of Jewish Studies at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, July, 2013, under the title “Love of Wisdom and Wisdom of Love: Canticles as a Wisdom/Philosophical Text.” All translations are mine unless otherwise noted. 2 “Il conoscerti, o Sofia, causa in me amore e desiderio.” Leone Ebreo, Dialoghi d’Amore, edited by Santino Caramella, Bari: Laterza, 1929, 5. The author’s name in real life was Yehudah Abarbanel, son of Isaac Abarbanel, an outstanding Jewish scholar, distinguished physician at the Spanish court, and leader of the Jewish exile from Spain in 1492. For Leone’s enormous influence on European love theory on such figures as John Donne and Maurice Scève, see T. A. Perry (1980), Erotic Spirituality: The Integrative Tradition from Leone Ebreo to John Donne, Birmingham: University of Alabama Press. 3 “Le coeur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point.” Blaise Pascal, Pensées.

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progenitor Adam had knowledge about his wife and also knew his wife, Eve.4 According to Jewish tradition, King Solomon, the wisest of men as reported in 1 Kings 5:9-14 (E 4:29-34), also composed Qohelet (Ecclesiastes), the only philosophical book in the Hebrew Bible. It is recorded that he additionally, at perhaps a different time in his life, wrote many shirim, poetic songs such as we find in this Song of Songs.5 Also a dialogue, our text makes its erotic pilgrimage towards a conclusion that, in the opinion of many including myself, is the work’s climax: For love is strong as death, Passion is fierce as the grave (8:6).

Bypassing the particular sensuality and eroticism which dominate the work from the very opening declaration (“Oh, that he would kiss me with kisses of his mouth!”), the text here tries to formulate, in a general, and I would argue philosophical way, a definition of love and its powers. My first question, especially in terms of literary and conceptual unity, is how and when this about-face occurs. For, to abruptly switch gears from intense passion to cool intellectual analysis – as Leone Ebreo did, also at the very start – is a deliberate provocation that begs for explanation. Since literary works often project their programs at the start, let us revisit the opening introductory verses, the very first of which is puzzling in the extreme. While the opening outburst of emotion is perhaps not itself philosophical, like philosophy the work arises in wonder and it is the wonderment and energy of yishakeni (“Let him kiss me!”) that propels the text to its philosophical search and conclusion: Oh that he would kiss me with kisses of his mouth! Truly [asserverative ky] your love caresses (dodim) are better than wine, 6 Your anointing oils are fragrant, Your name is perfume poured out; Therefore [‘al ken] women are in love with you (1:2-3).

The reader’s astonishment arises from a radical shift in focus and tone between the initial “Oh” and the concluding observation: “Therefore / For this reason.” Is this how lovers speak to their beloveds? 4

In biblical Hebrew the verb la-da‘at also covers both meanings (Gen 4:1). “His songs were a thousand and five,” 1 Kings 5:12 (E 4:32). 6 The word dodim can mean either the abstract “love” or the more tangible “caresses.” But why be forced into either/or when both are not only possible but perhaps intended? 5

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The pursuit of the causes of love has of course been noticed, by Roland Murphy among others, who nevertheless opts for this reading.7 Indeed, to read ky as emphatic (indeed, truly) rather than causal creates a seamless sequel to the opening outburst of emotion. This reading is still favored by many and may be retained as one attractive possibility. But not the only or even major one, since this move postpones and thus weakens the pursuit of love’s formal causes until the concluding ‘al ken. What needs to be more appreciated is the approach anchored in the careful structure of cause and result embedded in the syntactical formula ky / ‘al ken, “since… therefore.” Here then is a philosophical reading:8 (Oh that he would kiss me with kisses of his mouth!) Since [causative ky], your love caresses [dodim] are better than wine,9 [Since] (ky understood) your anointing oils are fragrant, [Since] (ky understood) your name is perfume poured out. For all these reasons [‘al ken] women are in love with you.

When we finally arrive at the work’s philosophical conclusion, there too Othmar Keel has noticed a parallel “petition with a rationale” composed of three implied causes of love, quite different from the first and more abstract: 10 Make me into a seal upon your heart, A seal upon your arm. Since (ky) love is strong as death, Since (ky understood) desire is fierce as the underworld… Since (ky) understood) waters cannot quench love…(8:6-7).11

The progress in the study of love’s causes from the opening verses of Canticles to the climactic conclusion is quite dramatic, but of the same philosophical tenor and purpose. 7

Roland E. Murphy (1990), A Commentary on the Book of Canticles or The Song of Songs, Minneapolis: Fortress, 125. 8 For the research backing up this reading, see my earlier “The Coordination of ky / ‘al kn in Cant. 1:1-3 and Related Texts,” VT 55, 4, 2005, 528-41. 9 For the translation “love caresses,” see above, n. 6. 10 Othmar Keel (1994), The Song of Songs, A Continental Commentary, Minneapolis: Fortress, 270. Keel does not, however, make the connection with 1:2-3. 11 Roland E. Murphy senses in this passage (8:6-7) the presence of the sages, who "seem to have added their own generalizing, self-consciously didactic signature." In A Commentary, 99, Murphy's comments on "Eros and Wisdom" (97-99), along with its important bibliography, can serve as ancillary to the present study, which seeks to add further material for the study of the wisdom / eros connection.

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The Causes of Love in 1:2-3 I summarize my first point by saying that the poet takes deliberate syntactical aim at his philosophical -- as well as erotic -- conclusions already in the opening strophes. We now look at their content: why do women such as the speaker love him? Three reasons are listed: your love caresses are better than wine: [you are intoxicating, sexy] your anointing oils are fragrant: [you have a good aura] your name is perfume poured out [you have a great reputation].12

The first cause is expressed in a better / than formula much used by wisdom writers. Given the choice of either / or, one would prefer love over wine, although wine is also good and, in such a hyperbolically erotic environment, peshat or literal meaning and metaphor are closely supportive. Both are intoxicating and shared with at least one other person, thus socially extending the private sensuality of touch and taste to an Other. The second cause, the anointing oils that cover his body, also begins in touch but is quickly re-directed outward as fragrance to be enjoyed by others, all the more so when, in the third cause, it reaches metaphorically towards broader exteriority as personal fame. Since high-end cosmetics -as well as good wine – are expensive, there may be a social or economic aspect to this also. In some societies money and power and social standing are also extremely sexy, witness women’s magazines or the Great Gatsby complex currently making another round at the movies. These initial definitions of the work’s main philosophic theme – love – arise from the bevy of young women talking among themselves. Considerable refinement will occur between this opening and the climax, but this is a good start. Despite similarities with Paris Match or possible encounters at a bar, the girls are love-struck but not yet in love.

12

In view of the beloved in the opening scene as quite likely the king himself (see below), this rendering contributes to the ironic critique focused against the king throughout, projected as the unique lover of all the women or ‘alamot of 1:4. See below, the Krishna complex.

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More Causes of Love and the Appearance of the King (1:4) The next verse is part of the introduction, although two deeper reasons for this are not always discussed in the commentaries: Draw me, we will run after you. The king has brought me into his chambers. We will exult and rejoice in you. We will extol your love more than wine. Rightly [Meysharim] do they love you. (1:4 NRSV)

First of all, the refrain of “women love you / they love you,” at the end of sequential verses 3 and 4, connects the latter to the philosophical argument, expanding the search for the causes of love to truly hyperbolic proportions. I refer to the crux meysharim, which the Vulgate connects to the noun recti, yesharim, “the righteous,” and comes up with the meaning that “the righteous love you.” This is good canonical material but it both disregards the preposition min and is conceptually at opposite ends of the amoral drift of love’s philosophy here: amoral but not necessarily immoral. I suggest reversing subject and object and reading the full expression “to love someone more than” someone else, as And he loved Rachel more than [min] Leah (Gen 29:30).

Transferred to our text, the reading would be: "The women love you more than they love the yesharim, the righteous."13 The thought is not impossible in a series that begins by a comparison that finds love better than wine, and loving this person as better than loving the yesharim. Contextually, this fits perfectly with the itemization of love’s causes, which can now be seen as starting with the hyperbole “his love is better than wine,” and concluding with a hyperbole of a hyperbole, accentuated by the repetition “more than wine” that forms a conceptual inclusion built on an a fortiori reasoning: “More than wine…. More than wine? More than the righteous themselves!” The important conceptual point, again, is that erotic love is amoral rather than immoral. It

13

Murphy, A Commentary, 126, brings down a precious near-parallel reading: “A previously unattested variant appears in 6QCant: ‘ahuvim meyesharim; perhaps this can be rendered, ‘more than the upright (are) loved.’”

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occupies a realm distinct from moral deserving. A modern parallel might well be access to the Ambassador’s Club at the airport.14 Additionally, there is, in these opening moments that set up the entire work, a startling appearance, inserted without apparent reason or sequel: Draw me, we will run after you. The king has brought me into his chambers. We will exult and rejoice in you (1:4),

The king? Which king? The standard dramatis personae include only lover and beloved, with the women playing a weak third role. It is thus thought that this is a gallant and again hyperbolic reference to the same beloved, since it is often argued that every beloved is thought to have a kingly status. Since a trip to the beloved’s love-nest has no proximate context, however -- the contender is introduced as “Dodi,” my beloved, only in 1:13 --, and since the king does have an explicit and pervasive presence in our story, let us take the matter head on: the reference is to king Solomon, here introduced unexpectedly in a cameo appearance, but also the author and antagonist of the entire work, appearing in both the very first verse and in the closing verses of the work, as well as in between.15 Two readings of the verb tense are possible. If in the past, then the action has already occurred, out of the blue, so to speak. The likely setting is then the king’s harem (“chambers,” already with an erotic twist) where she will enter the elite training program “according to the treatment prescribed for the [king’s] women” (ke-dat ha-nashim, Esther 2:12), “six months with oil of myrrh and six months with sweet odors and with other womanly ointments.” We need not speculate how she ended up there, for such were the ordained ways for women and the dangers of feminine beauty in a courtly context. For nobody says no to the king: not Esther to 14

In view of the work’s critique of non-lovers, yesharim could have an ironic twist. I venture the possibility of yesharim as related to Qohelet 7:28-29, the thought that God has made all men yashar, “straight, plain”, but they have pursued too much reasoning. Qohelet’s point is that the plural yesharim is intrinsically ironic, since he has found only one man who escapes that qualification and is authentically yashar. The notion would then be that the women love this man “more than all other men,” being the only one among them who does not deviate from the goal of being yashar. 15 I posit that the plot argues a transfer of erotic love and kisses from Solomon to the Dodi, the name of whom first appears in 1:13 and would then be the authentic yashar (see the previous note). Before that, the subject of the women’s erotic dreams is the king. It is in terms of this antagonism that Solomon may be viewed as the antagonist to true love.

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Ahashverus (Esther 2:8), not Bathsheba to David (2 Sam 11:4), not Abraham to Pharaoh (Gen 12:15) or to Abimelech (Gen 20:2).16 For the second verb tense option, it is important to notice that at this point all speech is hypothetical (“I wish that he would kiss me!”), enabling Ibn Ezra’s brilliant reading:17 Were even the king to bring me into his chamber, we would still rejoice and take pleasure in you alone.

The reference to king Solomon thus has special ideological importance at this precise juncture, not only because of his harems and women without number,18 but also because the text is setting out to evaluate love, to define its nature and human value, and here there are only two camps: the true lovers who love without cause, and the kingly set for whom love is an instrument of power and domination and upper-class rape. The figure for the latter can only be Solomon, but in a way not totally expected, since he is a split or bi-polar figure, as we shall see. To be noted at this point is the assumption at the base of Ibn Ezra’s reading, that Solomon and Dodi are both possible targets of the women’s love and thus both operative as distinct ideological embodiments. The superiority of Ibn Ezra’s reading is that it sets up the ideological conclusion of the entire work, the contest for love, specifically for the love of the beloved woman as against the king’s plundering obtuseness.

Solomon as Topic of Narration Although King Solomon does not speak in the entire work, his absent presence rules everywhere, from start to finish: "The song of songs which is (asher li-) Solomon’s" (1:1). The preposition l- here is one of authorship. In addition, l- can also be read as a doublet, a single word that

16 The alternatives are hardly decorous: You lie or speak half-truths (Abraham to Pharaoh and Abimelech); you accept the beauty prize (Esther) and look ahead; the husband is conveniently away at boot camp and can be dealt with (David and Bathsheba). 17 Quoted in Marvin Pope (1977), Song of Songs AB 7c, New York: Doubleday, 303. J. Cheryl Exum (2005), has noted “the temporal slippage of the opening lines,” Song of Songs: A Commentary OTL, Westminster: John Knox Press, 11. 18 Compare Solomon’s alias Qohelet, who, in his lengthy and boastful listing of possessions, includes shidah we-shidot (2:8), “many concubines” (NRSV, considered uncertain but probable).

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goes in two distinct and often opposite directions.19 Here too, Solomon is both author and content, the work is said to be by him but also about him and his kingly ideology. The topic of the King / Solomon is easy to document, once he is no longer confused with Dodi. Primarily, he brackets the entire book: as author / topic, as the king who has brought the woman into his chambers, and as the one at the closing moments who has a (summer?) place for all his women in Baal Hamon. The theme that brackets the entire book, in short, is the ideology and recruitment and handling of women by the king – any king, but here Solomon. The Solomonic inclusio may in fact be thought of as the central theme of the entire work: from the composition of the work that highlights the royal chambers for each woman (1:6), and the welcoming brothel in the country for them all (8:11). Let us call it the harem ambiance.20 Another example of the locution “to love someone more than someone else” brings this neglected aspect of Canticles to our attention: "And the king loved Esther more than all the [other] women" (Esther 2:17). We are accustomed to consider the absence of jealousy among the women (‘alamot) as one of the outstanding positive aspects of the love theory of the Song. This unlikely theory does, of course, serve important ideological interests, mostly mystical and mythical, but also religious and political. Consider the glaring contradiction when the woman beloved is called a lily of the valley (2:1, 2) and the male counterpart as one "Who Pastures Among the Lilies" (2:16; 6:3; also 6:2). The erotic issue here is the plural. Metaphorically, if a lily is a woman in an erotic context, what is the clear meaning of a lover who “pastures among the lilies” in the plural? Since the possibility of Dodi having group sex or multiple partners is unthinkable – this guy projects monogamy --, it is typically glossed over in major commentaries. NRSV, for example, innocently specifies that Dodi “pastures his flocks.” Another sidelining tactic is allegorically to send the question upstairs, so to speak, so that the polygamy becomes holy. Consider the example of Theresa of Avila, in intimate connection with the divine and yet unbothered by the thought that this erotic relationship is being simultaneously pursued by her entire community of nuns. Or, to pursue the 19

An outstanding example is the same preposition at the start of Psalm 19: leDavid, the author who in the closing part becomes the focus of the entire poem. There also, the author’s personal matter is one of repentance. 20 In agreement with Exum, who observes that “the implicit reference to Solomon’s harem in 8:11-12 resonates with 1:2-4, where the setting could be a royal harem” (Song of Songs, 255).

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theme in a different tradition entirely, take the central figure in Indian mythology of Krishna among the shepherdesses. In the provocative description by Marguerite Yourcenar:21 The celestial pastor wanders through the woods, charming with his flute the beasts, the demons, and the women. . . . The God who is everywhere satisfies his thousand beloveds all at once: each one has him to her alone and all have him entirely. This phallic feast is a symbol of the marriage of the soul with God.

The dual or ambivalent use of the figure “to pasture among the lilies” must be reviewed, for never has the literal and metaphorical levels of meaning worked more successfully in opposition in order to explicate opposing ideologies. When relating to God, we read lilies metaphorically (the soul, women), whereas Dodi always gets the literal reading: among the flowers. What then of intermediary figures such as a Roi Soleil who behaves like God and lords it over the entire kingdom? And is not the king’s harem or boudoir, with its constant enallage of pronouns and shifting singular/plural, one such context where high-minded erotic ambivalences and “plurals of ecstasy” are pursued?22

Solomon the Author, Solomon and Qohelet Solomon’s actions in the world are often by proxy, executed by others: those who bring in the women, those who guard them. He also has enormous pride of ownership, such as the property holdings that serve as backdrop. His final appearance is much like that of the owner of a large estate at the Hamptons: Solomon had a vineyard at Ba‘al Hamon; He let out the vineyard to keepers….

21

Marguerite Yourcenar (1982), Sur quelques thèmes érotiques et mystiques de la Gita Govinda, Paris/Marseille: Rivages, 7-8: “Le pasteur céleste s'égare dans les bois, charmant des sons de sa flûte les bêtes, les démons, les femmes. Les Gopis, les tendres vachères, se pressent autour de lui dans les halliers où paît leur bétail. Le Dieu qui est partout satisfait à la fois ses mille amantes: chacune... l'a pour soi seule et toutes l'ont en entier. Cette fête phallique est un symbole des noces de l'âme avec Dieu.” 22 For the expression “plural of ecstasy,” see S. M. Paul (1995), “The ‘Plural of Ecstasy in Mesopotamian and Biblical Love Poetry,” in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 592.

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My vineyard, which is mine, is before me. You, Oh Solomon, may have the thousand, And those that keep its fruit, two hundred (8:10-12).

There is widespread agreement that the metaphorical sense of vineyard here is primary, referring most likely to the thousand wives he kept, sequestered by well-paid monitors, since consorting with a king’s wife was an act of political treason. The intriguing allusion is the geographical one at Ba‘al Hamon, for which scholars have not yet discovered a trace. We wish them well but would also like to direct attention to its patent reference – another trip to the harem, but that is indeed the purpose of the locale in the first place. In accord with those who stress that this is a literary and poetic creation, we pursue its contextual meaning.23 The full title leaves a blank, which folks are expected to fill in with their knowledge of Solomon as ba‘al hamon nashim, the owner / husband of a multitude of women,

a meaning based on the expression hamon nashim, where the word ba‘al is implied as well: “And he [Rehav’am] sought hamon nashim, many wives (2 Chr 11:23).

Just like his Dad,24 and in total polemic opposition to Dodi’s monogamous ideology. Solomon with all his thousand women could not find even one suitable to his tastes (Qoh 7:28). Dodi, by contrast, loves the one. What need then of the thousand? If this allusion is not literally convincing, let it stand as an emblem of kingly exploitation, the sexy representation of sexual slavery. The joke, as Exum has suggested, is on Solomon, and it is transparent.25 So much so that, I would like to conjecture, it is a joke deliberately played on himself, the author, in a spirit of self-reflection. Here one may recall the narrative parallel with the spiritual ascendancy of the house of David, whose main claim to fame, really, was their ability to own up to personal

23 For the importance of literary analysis for Canticles, see Pope, Song of Songs, 687. 24 And like his Qohelet alias as well. See Qohelet 5:8-9 for a complex reference to a king enslaved to a woman (shidah), in the context of the pursuit of hamon, abundance of both pleasure and possessions. 25 J. Cheryl Exum, Song of Songs, 261. Exum’s discussion of this final scene is masterful.

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wrongdoing.26 Consider the Collector’s listing and confession of his habits of collection in Qohelet 1:12-2:26, judged to be those of a sinner, a hote’, by the author himself (2:26). Here and perhaps in the spirit of 2 Samuel 12:7, the story of the theft of the poor man’s only lamb, the issue is again the expansive and rapacious abuse of kingly power at the expense of private vulnerability and lowly happiness.

Conclusion In conclusion, then, we speculate on the author’s autobiographical projection, that the person depicted as Qohelet or Solomon is stepping outside his personal narration, reflecting on the content of his love-life, and judging it. Li-Shlomoh. If not by Solomon, then on his eternal behalf. Like Qohelet, Canticles alludes to a personal repentance and evolution from the power of acquisition and subjugation (harems, shidot) to understanding.27 For the author’s perspective has evolved, from the youthful sensuality of A good name is better than good oil;

to the more mature wisdom perspective that completes the verse: and better the day of death than the day of one’s birth (Qohelet 7:1).

References Ebreo, Leone (1929), Dialoghi d’Amore, Santino Caramella, ed., Bari: Laterza. Exum, J. Cheryl (2005), Song of Songs: A Commentary OTL, Westminster: John Knox Press. Keel, Othmar (1994), The Song of Songs, A Continental Commentary, Minneapolis: Fortress. Murphy, Roland E. (1990), A Commentary on the Book of Canticles or The Song of Songs. Minneapolis: Fortress. Paul, S. M. (1995), The Plural of Ecstasy in Mesopotamian and Biblical Love Poetry, in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, 26

For a review of this outstanding quality of the house of David, see T. A. Perry (2008), God’s Twilight Zone: Wisdom in the Hebrew Bible, Peabody: Hendrickson, 13-20. 27 I trace this evolution in Qohelet in my forthcoming Vanity of Vanities, Breath of Breaths: Qohelet’s Guide to Joyous Living.

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Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Perry, T. A. (1980), Erotic Spirituality: The Integrative Tradition from Leone Ebreo to John Donne, Birmingham: University of Alabama Press. —. (2008), God’s Twilight Zone: Wisdom in the Hebrew Bible, Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. —. The Coordination of ky / ‘al kn in Cant. 1:1-3 and Related Texts, VT 55, 4, 2005, 528-41. —. Vanity of Vanities, Breath of Breaths: Qohelet’s Guide to Joyous Living, forthcoming. Pope, Marvin (1977), Song of Songs AB 7c. New York: Doubleday. Yourcenar, Marguerite (1982), Sur quelques thèmes érotiques et mystiques de la Gita Govinda. Paris/Marseille: Rivages.

CHAPTER NINETEEN WHAT DO JACOB’S LADDER, THE TOWER OF BABEL, AND THE BABYLONIAN ZIGGURAT HAVE IN COMMON?” YITZHAK (ITZIK) PELEG

Jacob's Ladder, the Tower of Babel, and the Ziggurat always remind me of Professor John T. Greene, both literally and metaphorically, so I am pleased to offer this chapter with respect and appreciation for my dear friend. Jacob's dream in its final form may be read as a "theophany dream" as well as a "symbolic dream". In the first case attention focuses on the sacred character of the maqom, 'place', explaining how the place became sacred (Bethel) in the cultic etiology. In the second case attention focused on the derek , 'way', to and from it. That double reading – the one of 'place' and the other of the 'way' to and from it - leads to the symbolic message of the dream: the journey of the patriarchs to and from the Promised Land. The two readings enrich rather than contradict one another. I consider the story of Jacob's dream at Bethel as a story within the Patriarchal narrative that may exemplifies mise en abyme.1 Fleeing to Haran, Jacob has a dream when he stops for the night. In his dream he sees a ladder (v. 12), on which angels of God are ascending and descending. God promises him: "Behold, I [am] with thee, and will keep thee in all [places] whither thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done [that] which I have spoken to thee of" (v. 15, KJV).

1 Y.I. Peleg, Going Up and Going Down: A Key to Interpreting Jacob’s Dream, ZAW 116, 2004, 1-11.

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This chapter is focused on the ladder, sullam, and on its analogy to the Babylonian ziggurat. The ladder2 Sullam is a unique word in the Hebrew Bible, a hapax legomenon, which makes its meaning dependent on context. When the context is clear, definition is easy, but otherwise more than one reading is possible. Researchers are not unanimous as to the etymology of the sullam. A survey3 of it makes two readings of sullam-ladder possible. The first one assumes it derives from the Akkadian simmiltu,4 meaning ladder, or, by transposition of the letters, a staircase,5 indicating that 'm' in the word sullam is in the root.6 The second reading assumes sullam is derived from the Hebrew root sll7, meaning to throw up a ramp8 or a road.9 Significantly, that root sll in 2

Peleg, Y.I. (2004), What is the sullam Jacob saw in his dream at Bethel?, Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Sarah Japhet, ed., vol. 14, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 7-26 (in Hebrew). 3 See e.g. Cohen, H.R. (1982), "The Sullam," Olam Hatanach, Genesis, M. Weinfeld, ed., Jerusalem, Ramat Gan: Revivim Press, 172. Cohen's methodology is: "because with no biblical precedent for the connecting ladder motif, there is no choice but to look into ancient Near East literature … the key to the search is the word sullam itself." 4 H.R. Cohen (1997), The Literary Motif in Jacob's Ladder (Gen. 28:12), A Gift for Hadassah, Studies in Hebrew and in Jewish Languages, Jacob Ben Tolilah, ed., Beersheba: Magnes Press, 16 (in Hebrew). 5 See, "simmiltu" ,CAD, 173. Among researchers suggesting that sullam derives from simmiltu, see: A.R. Millard, The Celestial Ladder and the Gate of Heaven (Genesis XXVIII 12 and 17), ET 78, 1966-67, 86-87. R. K. Gnuse (1984), The Dream Theophany of Samuel, New York and London: Oxford University Press, 68 also mentions the Babylonian story of Nergal and Ereskigal. He also suggests that sullam derives from the root sll. While he sees a link to the Egyptian stairway in the likeness of the sun's rays, he prefers the Mesopotamian source. 6 C. Houtman, What did Jacob See in his Dream at Bethel, VT, Vol. XXVIII, 1977, 339; R. K. Gnuse, above, n. 5, 68. See also H.R. Cohen, above, n. 4, 22; See also H.R. Cohen (1978), Biblical Hapax Legomena in the Light of Akkadian and Ugaritic, Helena, MN: University of Montana Press, 34, 54-56. He does not think sullam is derived from sll. 7 See, BDB, 699, 336. Among researchers suggesting that sullam derives from sll see: G. Von Rad (1973), Genesis (OTL), J.H. Marks, trans., Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 279; A. Speiser (1964), Genesis, AB, Garden City: Doubleday, 218; See S. Mandelkern (1974), sullam, Veteris Testamentum Concordantiae, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 800 (In Hebrew). According to Mandelkern the m in sullam is only to indicate the verbal structure,

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its biblical sense is not found in Akkadian. It follows that if sullam is taken from simmiltu, one may say that the proposal to derive it from sll is "popular etymology"? Even if sullam is not derived in the strict sense from that root, the link is important for the symbolic meaning of Jacob's dream. Deciding between the two readings is not easy,10 - nor is it essential for our thesis. That sullam derives from the Akkadian simmiltu seems the most plausible explanation, leading to another link between that biblical term and Ancient Near East literature, the Babylonian ziggurat with its steps or simmiltu leading to the top.

The biblical sullam as an analogy to the Babylonian ziggurat The biblical sullam and the Babylonian ziggurat Many scholars11 support the analogy of the sullam to the ziggurat.12 In the late 19th Century, Henderson rejected the idea of the sullam as a ladder, while Cohen, above, n. 4, sees m as a root letter; See also C. Houtman, above, n. 6, 338; C. Westermann (1994), Genesis 12-36 ;37-50, trans. from German by J. J. Scullion, S.J., Minneapolis: Fortress, 454. Sullam is an ascent or stairway, occurs only here; it is from the verb sll "to heap up", AKK. Simmiltu. The verb calls to mind a piled-up (stone) construction, a ramp, which reaches from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth." 8 See G. Von Rad, above, n. 7, 297. 9 C. Houtman above, n. 6, 338, also notes that sullam derives from the verb to pave or to heap up, meaning a raised road of earth and stones. See "they threw up a siege mound against the city, and it stood against the rampart" (2 Sam. 20:15). 10 The difficulties of deciding between sll and simmiltu are evident from changes in F.E. Greenspan's thinking: In his (1984), Hapax Legomena in Biblical Hebrew, Chico: SBL, 195), cited by Cohen, above, n. 4, 22 n. 22, he included sullam in the list of unique words with known roots from other words. But in his second article, "A Mesopotamian Proverb and its Biblical Reverberations," JAOS 114, 1994, 37, n. 25 he preferred simmiltu. "Although sullam has been at times linked to the root sll it is preferable to compare it to the Akkadit simmiltu." N. M. Sarna (1966), Understanding Genesis, New York: Schocken, 11, derives the etymology of sullam from sll, alongside simmilitu, without deciding between them. Although writing before Cohen's book, and before Greenspan (1994), his former student, he changed his mind. 11 E. Stone (1997), Ziggurat, in Oxford Encyclopedia of the Near East, Eric M. Meyers, ed., New York: Oxford University Press, Vol. 5, 390-391. Stone describes the ziggurats of Mesopotamian: "Like modern skyscrapers or medieval cathedrals, Mesopotamian ziggurats served as the visual foci of Mesopotamian cities, providing a symbol of the power of the city and its god visible for miles around

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and proposed identifying it with the "temple-tower" similar to the Mesopotamian ziggurat.13 It was a manmade, stepped tower or ramp, upon which a temple was built, encouraging the research polemic as to whether it was a ladder or a staircase.14 Quite reasonably, its function as a bridge between heaven and earth, with God's angels ascending and descending on it and God standing above it, together with Jacob's subsequent declaration "this is none other but the house of God" (Gen. 28:17) encouraged […]". A true ziggurat is a stepped pyramid, square or rectangular in plan, with a temple on top, but this form was not arrived at immediately: the earliest Mesopotamian shrines were built flush with the ground. The sacredness of the shrine structure led to new temples being built on platforms .... It was the ziggurat at Babylon, for example, dedicated to Marduk and known as Entemenaki, "The Foundations of Heaven and Earth" (Stone, 390-391) that inspired the Tower of Babel story (Gen. 11:4-9). 12 C. Houtman, above, n. 6, on Mesopotamian parallels, cites Jeremias (1930) and Landsberger (1933); G. Von Rad, above, n. 7, 297; E. A. Speiser, above, n. 7, 218; G. Griffiths, The Celestial Ladder and the Gate of Heaven, Genesis XXVIII 12 and 17, ET 76, 1964-65, 229; A.R. Millard, above, n. 5; C. Houtman, above, n. 6, 338, n. 4; R. Fidler, The Dream Theophany in the Bible, Its Place in the History of Biblical Literature and Israelite Religion,. Thesis for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the Hebrew University, Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 1996, 176 (in Hebrew); D. Lipton, Revisions of the Night: Politics and Promises in the Patriarchal Dreams of Genesis, Ph.D. Dissertation, Cambridge University, 1996, 88, n. 40, cites A. Hurowitz's doctoral thesis at the Hebrew University, Jerusalem: 1983, 143-149, which surveys temples of the ANE, in which dreams were a central means gods used to voice their demands. Lipton (1996, 90) writes: It will be suggested here that Genesis 28 is, in fact, a dream authorizing Jacob to build a temple, and that the vision of the sullam and the raising of the masseba correspond closely to traditional elements of the Ancient Near Eastern temple building dreams exemplified by the Gudea accounts". Regarding the sullam see D. Lipton, 89: "Those who regard the sullam as a temple tower or ziggurat see it as a symbol of Bethel's holiness rather than as a component of an actual temple […]"` More than that, Lipton argues: "Although many commentators have recognized in Genesis 28 allusions to temple or sanctuary, few have seen temple building as a central concern of the text, and fewer, if any, have related it to the temple building accounts treated by Hurowitz , "I Have Built You an Exalted House". This includes Hurowitz, whose book includes no references to Genesis 28". Lipton adds on page 92: "It is clear that the description of a structure reaching from earth to heaven would inevitably have evoked for ancient reader the image of a temple, and there is no obvious reason why Genesis 28:12 should have represented an exception to this rule, particularly in view of the subsequent occurrence of the term beit Elohim in verses 17 and 22." 13 Henderson, "On Jacob's Vision at Bethel," ET, 4, 1892-93, 151-152. 14 On a permanent staircase on which angels ascend and descend, see G. Von Rad,

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comparison to the ziggurat, a temple "that Babylonians thought of as a bridge between heaven and earth."15 Stone, notes: "The earliest Mesopotamian shrines were built flush with the ground. The sacredness of the shrine structures led to new temples being built on platforms …."16 Hence the comparison between ziggurat and sullam is not merely etymological, but is a matter of function and typology as well. The description of the ziggurats based on Mesopotamian literature and on archeological findings indicate a shape and structure allowing for a comparison to the sullam not only because of possible derivation from the simmultu, but also because of it connection to the Hebrew root sll. Indeed the biblical word solelah, derived from sll, and appears 11 times in the Bible17 in the sense of an earthwork ramp.18 Thus also those who see sullam as deriving from the Hebrew root sll19 can make use of the word sollelah20 meaning ramp, and argue for sullam's connection to the ziggurat.21 The ziggurat's function as a bridge between heaven and earth favors simmultu. However, the symbolic interpretation of the ladder favors the sll root, even if its connection with the ladder seems to go through an Akkadian word adopted into Hebrew. For accuracy's sake, then, sullam should be said to suggest or link to the Hebrew root sll rather than to derive from it.

15

G. Von Rad, above, n. 7, 279; C. Houtman, above, n. 6, 339; R. K. Gnuse, above 5, 68; R. Fidler, above, n. 12, 175; See H.R. Cohen, above, n. 4, 1-45. 16 E. Stone, above, n. 11, 390. Emphasis is not in the original. 17 S. Mandelkern (1974), sll Veteris Testamentum Concordantiae, Tel Aviv Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 799 18 C. Houtman, above, n. 6, 339: the root of sullam is sll , meaning to heap up earth and stones, pavement. See also E. A. Speiser, above, n. 4, 218. 19 G. Von Rad, above, n. 7, and E.A. Speiser, above, n. 4. Both identify the biblical sullam with the Babylonian ziggurat, while supporting is derivation from s-l-l. 20 'Sollelah', also derived from s-l-l, is defined a road mesila winding through mountains, spiraling up to the peak, could also resemble ziggurats ascended by circular staircases to the temple at the top. 21 "The staircase is merely a structure of several ramps one above the other." Stone notes that "they [the ziggurats – Y.P] appear to have come in two varieties: the generally earlier Babylonian one had rectangular base with stairs providing access to the top; the later one, more often found in Assyria, is square in plan and had more variable access, sometimes including a ramp that spiraled up the building," E. Stone, above, n. 11, 390.

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Parallels to the sullam in Egyptian and Canaanite literature While the analogy of Jacob's Ladder to the ziggurat may not be certain, it does not appear unique. Griffiths22 found parallels to the stairway between heaven and earth in Egypt as well. Was our story and the sullam, then, influenced by Mesopotamian or Egyptian literature? Millard23 does not reject Griffiths' views as to the Egyptian link, but shows that Mesopotamian literature contains a similar idea. In his article he in fact questions the need to look for Mesopotamian or Egyptian influence in the Jacob story. Millard found that the Canaanite religion practiced ascent to high places as a means to approach and contact the divinity, as described in the Kirta epos (CTA 14, iii [Kirta]24 I 2-9, 20-27), and views the Canaanite parallel as more appropriate than the Mesopotamian one.25 Gnuse,26 as well, preferred the Canaanite parallel. The Sumerian ladder differed from the Egyptian one, he maintained, in that only gods, not human beings could move on it. It was more like the one in Genesis 28, on which only angels of God ascended and descended.27 Gnuse seeks to trace the path taken by the motif from Mesopotamia to Canaanite mythology, then into the Jacob story cycle in the attempt to legitimize the sanctuary at Bethel in ancient pre-monarchic times. R. Fidler too notes that: The object called sullam is possibly understood better through CanaaniteUgaritic parallels than through Mesopotamian or Egyptian concepts. Thus, 28 for instance, a Ugaritic text mentions a mountain called Maslemet, near 22

See G. Griffiths, above, n. 12, 229-230; Griffiths was the first to raise this assumption in “The Celestial Ladder and the Gate of Heaven in Egyptian Ritual, ET 78, 1966-7, 54-55. 23 See A.R. Millard, above, n. 5, 86-87. 24 Kirta passage has no ladder. However, this does not impinge on what is important for this research. 25 See also R. J. Clifford (1972), The Cosmic Mountain in Canaan and the Old Testament, HSM 4, Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 104. 26 R.K. Gnuse, above, n. 5, 68. 27 A.R. Millard, above, n. 5, 86, n. 4, mentioned by Gnuse, argues: "We may notice, too, that the Babylonian 'ladder' is used for the passage of the divine messengers ('angels'), but not for human beings"; see also H.R. Cohen, above, n. 4, 24. 28 Long before Fidler, the Sages, saw the sullam as a symbol for a mountain, and as was their custom, named it. See A. Shinan (1985), The Dream in the Midrash and the Midrash of the Dream, in Dror Kerem, ed., Opinions and Viewpoints on Israelite Culture, 5, Rechovot: Haminhal Lechinuch Hityashvuti Press, 57 (in Hebrew) He maintains that: "The Sages offer another solution for Jacob's dream,

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In all three parallels – the Mesopotamian, the Egyptian and the Canaanite – the sullam is a bridge between heaven and earth.30

The sullam and its role More likely to yield a comprehensive answer than the controversial etymology and comparison with the ziggurat are the explanations of Houtman and Cohen. Houtman notes that: A picture of messengers going up down in a steady stream, is hard to reconcile with the concept of an ordinary ladder. On the contrary a (stone) staircase very well fits with the image of messengers going up and down at the same time. There is, however, no evidence that sullam has this meaning. From Genesis xxviii:12 and the data about sll and its derivate we can conclude only that a sort of bank or a sort of way, or path, a "way" which relates heaven to earth, must be intended."31

this time as the giving of law, and all with the help of texts, language hints, and surprising word play: The Sages explained it [the dream]. The sullam is Sinai ... the letters of Sinai are those of sullam (the spelling of sullam in the Hebrew Bible is without the vowels) and their numerological value is the same," 130. 29 R. Fidler, above, n. 12, 177 stresses that Maslemet is the name of a mountain mentioned just once, in the tales of Baal and Anat, and who knows what it means? Besides, she argues, could a Ugaritic name from the 2nd Millennium BCE really become the basis for a Hebrew noun in the 1st Millennium or even later? 30 Let me note that in all the instances the analogy to the literature of the Ancient East does not view the ladder symbolically. With all due respect to the learned debate between scholars, for our purpose there is no need to decide definitively on the inspiration for the biblical description of the ladder. All the Mesopotamian, Egyptian and Canaanite parallels have a common view of the ladder as a real, vertical bridge between earth and sky. The innovation in our Book is its view of the ladder and its role as symbolic on the horizontal plane, symbolizing the path between the Land and exile. 31 C. Houtman, above, n. 6, 340. Emphasis is not in the original.

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Later Houtman explains that the sullam appears to be "the entry way" into the sacred space.32 Cohen,33 as previously stated, opposes Houtman's view that sullam is derived from sll, preferring the derivation from simmultu. He quotes from Part B, lines 37-38 of the Adapa myth that leads to the understanding of sullam as "a way": The messenger of the god Anu led him (Adapa) along the way of the heavens, and he ascended into heaven; in ascending into heaven and approaching the god Anu ….

Cohen calls our attention to the phrase simmilat samami, the sullam of the skies in the Nergal and Ereskigal epic that contains harran same, (the way in the skies). One might says that, 'way' replaces sullam. Using the words interchangeably in this way does not affirm the derivation of sullam from sll. The Akadian harranu means 'way' not only in the physical sense, while mesillah means a physical road, and only by extension a way of another type. Apart from this difference, Cohen says, the two examples have much in common: both relate to a mission and in both a sullam leads to the gate of heaven. Even in the Adapa text, then, the sullam can be understood as a 'way'. In the biblical description there is ascent and descent on the sullam while in the Akkadian the usual verb connected with the way is 'went.' There are also several biblical examples of 'ascend' used in connection with 'way', as in Numbers 21:33, Deuteronomy 1:22; 3:1, Joshua10:10, 1 Samuel 6:8, and 2 Kings 3:8. Houtman and Cohen do not reach a conclusion that sullam means 'way', but they agree that it is a legitimate suggestion. While in the Adapa text, the 'way' leads to the gate of heaven, according to Houtman the sullam, derived from sll, means way34 or road, and is simply the approach to the holy place.

32

C. Houtman, above, n. 6, 346-347. His view that the sullam appears to be the entry way into the sacred, which may rouse associations with Ps. 120-134, which begin with shir hama'alot (a song of ascents). Regarding the word 'ascents' and the 15 Psalms' common elements, see M. Fishbane (1979), Text and Texture, New York: Harper, and (1998), London: Oneworld, 1998, 103. 33 See H.R. Cohen, above, n. 4, 37, n. 37; Cohen mentions S.A .Picchioni (1981), II poemetto di Adapa, Budapest: University of Budapest Press, 118-119. Cf. S. Dalley (1998), Myths from Mesopotamia, New York: Oxford University Press, 186. 34 See also sll BDB, 699.

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Literal and symbolic readings of sullam Sullam may be understood as a unique term in two complementary ways, in its context of the vision of the dream. One follows the literal text – a vertical plane connecting the earth and the heavens. This first reading having been discussed at length, the focus now is on the second one that does not contradict it, and is on the symbolic level. The question is, what does the sullam represent or symbolize? If we accept its possible derivation from the biblical sll,35 we discover that its other biblical occurrences may contain interesting symbolic significance.36 The sll root, then, appears 11 times in the Bible: (Exod. 9:17; Isa. 57:14 (twice); Isa. 62:10 (twice); Jer. 18:15; Ps. 68:5; Prov. 15:19; Job. 19:12; 30:12). In all the above texts, the nouns connected with sll are highway, nativ, orach, path, derek. They reinforce Hautman's assumption that sullam means a road or a path. The noun mesillah37 derives from the sll root. It appears 28 times in the Bible, including in the unique expression, "And a highway maslul vaderek shall appear there" (Isa. 35:8). For the connection between sullam and mesillah, Jeremiah 31:21 is compared with the Jacob's Dream story: Jeremiah 31:21 Erect (hatzivi) markers

Set up (simi) signposts Keep in mind the highway (mesillah) the road (Derek) you have traveled Return (shuvi), Maiden Israel Return to these towns of yours

35

Jacob's Dream - Gen. 28:10-22 the verb nitzav 'set up: a sullam mutzav (a ladder set up – v. 12); the LORD nitzav stood above it (v. 13); I have set [for] a pillar matzeva (v. 20). Wayasem (vv. 11, 18) sullam Derek (v. 20) v. 15 v. 21

S. Mandelkern, above, n. 7, 799. The choice of sll that "recalls" and 'attaches to," but is not "derived from," is no coincidence; see F.E. Greenspan, 1994, above n. 123, 1. 36 A. Shapira, Jacob and Esau – Two Readings, thesis submitted in fulfillment of requirements for the degree of Doctor of Hebrew Literature, JTS, 11, 25-28, 54-55. (in Hebrew). 37 See BDB, 700; C. Houtman, above, n. 6, 339. For mesillah in a parallelism, see Num. 29:17: "We will follow [ascend] the king's highway." See also BDB, 202.

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Both contain the verb nitzav 'set up, suggesting (hint) a pillar, a sullam. Both associate the sullam with a road or way (mesillah). "The road you traveled" in Jeremiah recalls the way (derek) that Jacob is to go. In both, the verb return or come again occurs twice. In his commentary on Jeremiah, Hoffmann writes, "the prophet calls on the exiles to set special markers along their way into exile so they may speedily return along the same way."38 The imagery is the same, the language and even the order are similar. Both have similar plot backgrounds of departure into exile and return from it. In the light of this comparison, the Jacob story transmits the message: "Like fathers, like sons," the fathers being the Patriarchs and their sons the children of Israel. Additionally, mesillah, derived from the sll root, in the sense of a paved way, appears 27 times in the Bible, of which half are in the Prophets (ten times in Isaiah, twice in Jeremiah and once in Joel). In most instances, particularly in the Prophets, the word is associated with return to the land, perhaps pointing out the route from exile to the land, to God's dwelling place. Thus, for instance, in Isaiah 57:14: "Build up, Build up [solu solu] a highway, Clear a road [derek], remove all obstacles from the road of My people."39 Helzer, commenting on solu ("Clear a road!") and similar expressions in Isaiah, says: Roads [mesillah] in Israelite times were no more than mountain trails from which their makers threw the stones they had cleared down the mountainside and piled them haphazardly in ramps. As it is said in 62:10: "Pass through, pass through the gates." Isaiah testifies to piling up stones removed from mountain trails: "I will make all my mountains a road, and my highways shall be built up." (49:1). Thus "there shall be a highway [mesillah] for the other part of his people out of Assyria, such as there was for Israel when it left the land of Egypt." (11:16).40

Thus by understanding sullam to suggest and connect with sll even though not derived from it, may support the legitimacy of the proposal that it is a way, and perhaps even hints at the particular way connecting Israel with the lands of exile. It distances or brings one closer to the dwelling place of God, depending on the direction taken. The prophet's words: "Clear in the

38 Y. Hoffmann, ed. (1994), Olam Hatanach, Jeremiah, Tel Aviv: Davidson-Ati Press, 154 (in Hebrew). 39 See the next verse: "He who high aloft forever dwells, whose name is holy." 40 M. Helzer (1986), Olam Hatanach, Isaiah, Hoffmann, ed., Jerusalem- RamatGan: Revivim Press, 260, (in Hebrew).

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desert a road [mesillah] for the Lord" (40:3); 41 and/or possibly "and the ramps for the house of the Lord" (2 Chron. 9:11). In the Jacob's Dream story, however, the Lord promises to "keep thee in all places whither thou goest42 and bring thee again to this land," (Gen. 28:15), an idea reiterated by Jacob's vow, "so that I come again to my father's house in peace" (v. 20-12).

The collected data supporting the second, namely, the symbolic reading Although it is legitimate to link the sll root with the sullam in the Jacob's Dream story, it is not in itself sufficient. Our concern is with the sullam not as an actual but as a symbolic object – a concept with substantial support: First, it is a unique term (as Hapax Legomena) in the Bible and thus allows for multiple readings determined by context. Second, its appearance in a dream suggests that it is a special, symbolic object.43 Third, the conclusive argument in support of the symbolic interpretation is the dream structure, as will be seen shortly, has the familiar pattern of a "symbolic dream" in the Bible and Ancient Near Eastern literature. Understanding it in this way (in this genre) influences the interpretation. Fourth, the gigantic object described as joining heaven and earth cannot be an ordinary sullam. Fifth, that angels of God, not mortals, ascend and descend on it also supports the view that it is no mundane object.44 Moreover, since mal'akei 'elohim (the angels of God) are usually messengers, absence of a verbal message encourages the search for a symbolic one in their very presence, or in their activity, described as

41

One reading could be to clear the 'road' for the Lord to take, and another to clear a road for the children of Israel on their return to God. A third possibility is a metaphorical road. All three seem simultaneously possible, and enrich the text. 42 The Septuagint adds 'the way' although apparently just as a clarification. See BH, 1937, 41. 43 From this standpoint, the vision in the dream may be interpreted through the promise of seed in God's verbal message, revealing another facet of the analogy to the dream vision. In the broader context of the Jacob story cycle, only after God opened Rachel's womb (Gen. 30:22), did Jacob approached Laban saying: "Give me leave to go back to my own homeland" (30:25). This can be understood as a causal as well as a chronological sequence, the birth acting as a sign and an omen to Jacob. 44 See E.A. Speiser, above, n. 7, 218.

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ascent and descent.45 As they do in other biblical texts, these verbs ('alah [going up] and yarad [going down]) contain metaphor and symbolism, and we seek the metaphor embodied in the sullam. Nonetheless, the symbolic reading is not the only interpretation possible for the dream, which contains clear structural and linguistic hallmarks of both dream types, (the theophany and the symbolic dream), and should be interpreted on both levels. This discussion focuses on the symbolic, since it has received less attention. Jacob's dream presents a story that can be understood only through a literary approach involving two simultaneous and complementary readings (the theophanic and the symbolic) disclosing all the concealed and revealed strata of the story world. One need not choose between them, especially when they are not contradictory46 but complementary. Rather the links between them should be examined in order to understand the rich complexity of the work, and hence to interpret the dream. They would like to stress the ambiguous nature of language, to which other biblical examples could be added, like the root ncr (know, recognize) in the Joseph story indicating both recognition (macar) and alienation (nacar, nochri) in Genesis 42:7: "When Yosef saw his brothers,

45

The Hebrew word for angel in this research means 'messenger'. It is made up of the root alkh with the initial letter m. See BDB, 521: "messenger, one sent with a message." On this term and on angels in the Bible, se A. Rofé (1979), Belief in Angels in the Bible, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2, (in Hebrew); See also D. Elgavish, The Messenger and the Mission, Diplomacy in Cuneiform Sources in the Ancient East and the Bible, doctoral thesis presented to the Senate of Bar Ilan University, 1990, (in Hebrew), 36, where he mentions the word structure. See Elgavish (1998), Diplomacy in the Bible from Documents of the Ancient East, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 30, n. 20. He notes that "the rearranged letters of the alkh root are thought to parallel the Akkadian alakum, 'to go.' "The designation includes going, an important part of the messenger's work."; E .L. Greenstein, Trans-Semitic Idiomatic Equivalency and the Derivation of Hebrew ml'kh, UF, 11, 1979, 331; See also Mandelkern, ml'kh , above, n. 7, 625. 46 See H.R. Cohen (2010), Medieval Commentary on Genesis in the light of Contemporary Biblical Philology, Part 2, Genesis 19-29, in Language Studies Collection Presented to Aaron Dothan, M. Ben Asher and H. A. Cohen, eds., Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 25-46, especially 31-36. Cohen declares: "I see no justification in this understanding of the vision of the ladder, even as an additional explicatory view," Cohen, n. 26. Perhaps the present study will make the symbolic reading seem not only plausible but helpful.

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he recognized (macar) them, but he pretended no recognition (nacar) of them" (FOX). Similarly sam in Hebrew may mean a poison or a remedy.47

Summary The sullam, hard to identify as a unique word (a hapax legomenon), made possible multiple readings. As an object bridging between earth and heaven, between humans and the divinity dwelling on high, it has been called a ramp, a ziggurat, a mountain, a rope or roots of a cosmic tree,48 or even a ray of the sun (Egypt).49 All the images correspond with the first reading that sees the sullam and the Jacob's Dream story as cultic etiology. The second, symbolic reading is less obvious and so requires greater sensitivity to hints within the dream and its closer and remoter surroundings, in "circles of interpretation". Hence broadening the area of commentary is recommended – from the sullam, to the whole dream, to the entire Jacob story cycle and, to the Patriarchs Narrative. The first reading appears to lend more structural and functional support to the Akkadian simmiltu and the Babylonian ziggurat. The second, by contrast, is more supported by the Hebrew root sll and its derivatives, that paved the way to understanding the dream and its interpretation on the symbolic plane: a way to the land, approaching God – and leaving it, moving away from God. Moreover, that sullam appears just once not only makes possible, but hints at, more than one understanding. It is the bridge between heaven and earth, between God and man, and also the way into exile and the way back from it. Thus every approach to the abode of God is considered an ascent and positive, whether in the Promised Land or outside it, and every distancing a descent, whose ultimate manifestation is descending into Sheol, the point farthest from God, as in "casts down into 47

See H. Barzel (1990), The New Commentary, Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan Press, 83, (in Hebrew); A. Shapira (1997), Jacob and Esau: A Polyvalent Reading, The Ambiguous Reading of the Biblical Text, Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan Press, 258; W. Brogan (1989), in Hugh J. Silverman, ed., Derrida and Deconstruction, New York: Routledge, 8. 48 R. Fidler, above, n. 12, 177; See also B. Margalit, A Weltbaum in Ugaritic Literature?, JBL 90, 1971, 481-482; J.G. Frazer (1923), Folk-lore in the Old Testament, London: London University Press, 228. 49 R. K. Gnuse, above, n. 5, 68, mentions the heavenly ladder upon which deceased pharaohs were thought to ascend, seeing it as the solar influence reflected on Egyptian belief, the sun's rays indicating the presence of such a ladder. When Jacob called the place 'the gate of heaven,' in Gnuse's view he may have used Egyptian terminology. See also Griffiths, above, n. 12, 229-230.

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Sheol and raises up" (1 Sam. 2:6). Before us is an analogy between ascending the sullam that reaches to heaven, with God standing at the top of it, and the return from exile to the Promised Land. Going towards God is the highly positive common element. The vertical and horizontal axes of the figure below illustrate two ascents: Heaven Promised Land __________________ Exile

Earth The possibilities, seemingly by design, do not contradict but complement each other. Their common point of departure is the eye of God in his abode. As the ascent of the angels draws them nearer God, so the approach to the Promised Land is an ascent 'alah, a positive act. Thus the sullam not only bridges between heaven and earth and not only symbolizes the road to and from the Promised Land. It belongs to – and links – the two readings of the story. 'Way', then, is the key word in understanding the sullam. On the symbolic plane the 'way' is indicated three times. The first is in God's promise: "I am with thee and shall keep thee in all places [ways] that thou goest," "and will bring thee again unto this land" (28:15). The second and third time are in Jacob's vow: "If God be with me and will keep me in this way that I go ... so that I come again to my father's house in peace" (vv. 20-21). Both the revealed and the concealed dimensions of 'the way' in the dream, the vertical and the horizontal, in both directions, are observed from the vantage point of God's abode. Given the reiterated significance of these directions, it does not surprise us that in the description of Jonah's flight from God, the key word is yarad 'descended': "He went down to Joppa ... Jonah meanwhile had gone down in the vessel" (Jonah 1:3, 5). Thus from the divine perspective, the two readings and the revealed and concealed strata in the Jacob's Dream story are all contiguous.

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The Tower of Babel (Gen. 11:1-9) and Jacob's sullam Comparing the two50: Structure and meaning of the Tower of Babel story This is an impressive example of a literary work where "form" and "content" combine to reveal its message. One may see the "concentric structure" revealing both content and significance as a story that emphasizes God in the center. The concentric structure creates a shape of a tower. Cassuto, however, pointing out the contrast between the people and God, aptly wrote: "The short story before us is a splendid example of biblical literary art. It contains two word groups of the same length, in contrasting parallel as to form and content."51 The "chiastic structure" contrasts the human will and deeds with the divine will and act. Their opposites are ironically structured through the key phrase 'Come let us' hava (11:3,4) expressing the first two bursts of human enthusiasm. It appears again in v. 7 but here it expresses God's will: "Let us hava, then, go down and confound their speech" so they will stop building the city and the tower. Even the waw (wayered) that begins the Hebrew description of God's act (in v. 5) can be read to indicate contrast (but), enhancing the structure and meaning of the story.52 God descends (wayered) to stop men's initiative. Their acts are interpreted as sin on the measure for measure, or rather the "word for word" principle.53 50

See A. Parrot (1965), The Tower of Babel, London: Clarendon, 169; Y. Elitzur, Israel and the Bible, Studies in Geography, History and Biblical Thought, ((Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1999), 44-48. (in Hebrew); U. Cassuto (1965), "From Adam to Noah" Commentary on Genesis, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, , (in Hebrew). 51 U. Cassuto, above, n. 50, 158-159. 52 U. Cassuto, above, n. 50, 166: "They thought whatever they thought, but God came down and nullified their decision." See Fox's translation: "But YHVH came down to look over the city and the tower." 53 The literary structure of the story with its two passages of the same lengths, contributes to the understanding of 'measure for measure,' that I have explained as 'word for word' that combines two terms from biblical research: 'measure for measure' and 'key word' that reflect the link between 'form' and 'content'. For example 'ate' signifies Adam's sin in eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge, (3:16) and also his punishment: "In the sweat of your brow shall you get bread to eat" (3:19). In Nathan's reproach to David (2 Sam. 12:9-11), 'sword' plays the same role, as does 'lap up' in Elijah's reproach to Ahab regarding Naboth; See Y.I Peleg (1999), The “Measure for Measure” Principle by Means of “Word for Word”, Beit Mikra Quarterly, 158, 357-360.

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God punishes them in the language coin of their sin:54 the people acted for their own sake "to make a name for ourselves" and as the ironic result of God's response "it was called Babel," a derogatory rather than a distinguished name: "because there the Lord confounded the speech of the whole earth, and from there the Lord scattered hefizam them over the face of the whole earth" (v. 9).55 The men acted lest "we shall be scattered56 nafutz all over the world" (v.4) and the response was that: "the Lord scattered vayafetz them from there over the face of the whole earth. (v.8). The people said, "Let us build ourselves a city and a tower" [Fox](v.4) to which God's response was "Let us, then, go down and confound their speech" (v.7). The Tower of Babel story is a source of polemic both vis-à-vis other Bible stories and parallel tales in Babylonian literature. "The entire Tower story disputes the Babylonian tradition that saw building the temple to Marduk in Babylon as an expression of veneration to that god and to the belief in Babylon as the point of juncture of heaven and earth – the gate of heaven."57 When readers are aware that the story they are reading is a response to another biblical or extra biblical story, understanding becomes deeper.

The Tower of Babel story and the story of building the E-sag-ila58 The irony in the Tower of Babel story in the link between men's deeds and God's deeds seems present as well in the description of building the E-sagila in the Babylonian creation myth, Enumah Elish. "There seems to be a 54

Y. Zakovitch (1995), Through the Looking Glass, Reflection Stories in the Bible, Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House, (in Hebrew), 61, "Explication of the name Babel explains the builders' punishment." 55 U. Cassuto, above, n. 50, 165: "Later the story relates with bitter irony that they won a name (v.9) but a derogatory one signifying their language that was confounded." 56 The same linguistic coin is used in Exod. 1:10 when Pharaoh sought to "deal shrewdly" with the children of Israel lest they "rise up from the ground" pen irbeh (v. 10). But "the more they were oppressed, the more they increased and spread out ken irbeh" (v. 12). 57 Y. Zakovitch & A. Shinan (2005), That's Not What the Good Book Says, Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House, 67. 58 Shin Shifra, and J. Klein (1996), in Those Distant Days: Anthology of Mesopotamian Literature in Hebrew, Tel Aviv: Am Oved Publisher Ltd, 41, n. 46. E-sag-ila is the central temple of Marduk king of Babylon. The name is Sumerian and means 'house of raising of the head." (in Hebrew).

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discrepancy between what the Babylonians thought was grandeur and honor, a sort of parody."59 The Babylonian story tells of the decision to build Babel, with its tower, as thanksgiving to their god: And now, Lord, who has granted us deliverance How shall we give you thanks? … When Marduk heard this His face shone like the light of day "Let Babel that you desired, be built " For a year they baked her bricks Came the second year They raised the E-sag-ila 's head to face the afsu They built the tower, the highest afsu. They established seats for Anu, for Anlil, for E'ah and for him (Marduk).60

By contrast, construction in Genesis 11:1-9 was not designed to exalt God: men built city and tower "to make a name for ourselves". It therefore seemed to dispute the Babylonian story in which Marduk's temple was called "house of the raised head" (E-sag-ila) where the tower soared aloft.

Similarities between the Tower of Babel and Sullam of Jacob stories The need for comparison arises first when one notes that both stories contain the unique expression "its top in the sky" (Gen. 11:4; 28:12). As previously noted, Buber asserts: "When a word appears only twice in the Bible, it should be regarded as a extraordinary key word linking the two stories in which it appears, as in the case of 'go forth' and 'angels of God'".61 Both stories, moreover, contain the elements 'ladder' and 'tower' being built between earth and sky, and both conclude by explaining the name of 59

U. Cassuto, above, n. 50, 155, surmises that the story (Gen. 11:1-9) was written "after the city lay in ruins, the Israelites relating to Babylonian pride in irony ... you called your city Bab-ili, the gate of God, and your tower foundation of heaven and earth .... You did not know that only God Himself – no human being – can determine where the gate of God is, and you did not know that the heavens belong to God and the earth He gave to men" (157). Notwithstanding, Jacob understands Bethel to be "the gate of heaven" (28:17). See also Y. Zakovitch, above, n. 54, 61. 60 Shin Shifra, J. Klein, above, n. 59, 41-42, col. 50-69. 61 M. Buber., The Way of the Bible, (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1964), 293 (in Hebrew).

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the place. The Akkadian Bab ili, Gate of God, creates an association with Jacob's response "This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven" (28:17).62 In both stories too, events take place along both vertical63 and horizontal planes. The first case includes movement between heaven and earth (11:4; 28:12, 17) with the motion verbs of ascending and descending (11:5, 7; 28:12). In the second there are "scattered them" (11:9) and "will keep thee ... and bring thee again into this land (28:15); "so that I come in peace to my father's house" (28:21). 'Scattered' appears in Genesis 11:4, 8 and 9. In Genesis 28 'spread abroad' and 'go' appear respectively in vv. 15 and 20, 'come' in v. 21. Verbs of horizontal motion in the two stories relate to human beings, while those of vertical motion relate to God or angels of God. The two planes appear to be woven together.

Linking the Tower and the sullam with the Babylonian ziggurat The similarity between the two stories invites comparison, and the Tower of Babel story has received much attention from Von Rad, Griffith, Milard, Fidler, Zakovitch and others. Such research relates in particular to the Babylonian ziggurat. For our purposes, the threefold connection highlights the ziggurat as a temple that the Babylonians regarded as linking heaven and earth. Stone notes that the inspiration for "the later legend of the tower in Babel (Gen. 11:4-9) derives from the Babylonian ziggurat dedicated to Marduk and known as the Temple of the Foundation of Heaven and Earth."64 "In Mesopotamia from the end of the 3rd Millennium BCE, there are texts relating to the central temple to which people flock from all corners

62

M. Weinfeld, From Joshua To Josiah, Turning Points in the History of Israel From the Conquest of the Land Until the Fall of Judah, (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992), 126 (in Hebrew); For more similarities between the two stories see: Y. Zakovitch & A. Shinan, above, n. 57, 67-72. 63 Besides vertical movement (=verbs) there are vertical objects like the sullam, the pillar and the tower. See also P. Berton, “Sacred Place”, in: M. Eliade (ed) The Encyclopedia of Religion, (London and New York: Oxford, 1987), 12, 526, stating that a basic role of a sacred place is "a place for contact with God, so that such symbols might be vertical objects that reach from earth toward heaven, such as mountains, trees, ropes, pillars and poles." 64 E. Stone (1997), “Ziggurat” in Oxford Encyclopedia of the Near East, Eric M. Meyers, ed., New York: Oxford University Press, Vol. 5, 391.

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of the land."65 The first large center was at the Sumerian city of Nippur. Weinfeld writes: Babel arose later and regarded itself as replacing Nippur, and adopted this ideology. Nippur and Babylon called themselves markas same u erseti, which may be rendered as "navel of the world." .... In Greece, at Delphi the temple was perceived as omphalos, the center of the world. It appears too that Bethel, a royal shrine in northern Israel (Amos 7:13) was seen in the kingdom of Israel as the point of connection between heaven and earth (Gen. 28:22).66

Fidler adds: "An argument to this effect is found relating to central ritual sites in Israel (Shechem, Zion), and in the ANE regarding specific structures, especially the ziggurats that were perceived as a cosmic axis mundi linking the earth with the abode of the gods." 67 As Zakovitch puts it, "A close look at the Tower and at the sullam shows that the early history of Bethel as a ritual center is a reflection of an act in early Babylon." 68

Points of difference 69 between the Tower of Babel and Jacob's sullam 1. Building the tower with its head in the sky was a negative human initiative, while the dream revelation to Jacob of the sullam with its top in heaven was the will of God. Man must remain on earth,70 and if He so desires, man has a revelation of the link between heaven and earth. 2. The human plan in the vertical dimension – building the tower to reach the sky – will not succeed. God stops them, "for nothing they propose will be out of their reach" (11:6). The sullam, by contrast, links heaven and earth, with angels of God ascending and descending on it. On the horizontal plane, such human initiative as "they migrated from the east, and they came upon a valley in the land of Shinar," 65

M. Weinfeld, above, n. 62, 124. M. Weinfeld, above, n. 62, 125. 67 R. Fidler (1996), The Dream Theophany in the Bible, Its Place in the History of Biblical Literature and Israelite Religion, a Thesis for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 175, n. 234, (in Hebrew). 68 Y. Zakovitch, above, n. 54, 60; See also: A. Shinan & Y. Zakovitch, above n. 57, 68-70. 69 The points of difference are those that prove my argument. For more see Zakovitch, above, n. 54, 60-62. 70 Y. Zakovitch, above, n. 54, 60-62. 66

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4. 5. 6.

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(11:2), brings to mind Terah's initiative to go to Canaan. Here Gitay71 proposes that close reading of Genesis 2-12 reveals a dominant theme, the idea of the land. He lists seven events, the fifth is the Tower of Babel story, in which the geographical center is selected by man, not God. Human initiative in either plane72 does not accord with God's will and thus leads to a series of disasters. Building the tower was to enhance human prestige: "and let us make ourselves a name" [FOX] (11:4), in defiance of heaven (v.6). Differently, the stone in Gen. 28:22 was to be the foundation of God's house, to glorify His name. 73 The fear of the Tower of Babel's builders is "else we shall be scattered all over the world" (v. 8), which transpired in v. 9: "from there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth."74 Everything they did was to have prevented what they feared most, wandering the world. This was precisely what caused them to be scattered as a divine punishment. The wandering they feared – their punishment – was the reward promised Jacob on the journey he was beginning: "And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth, and thou shalt spread abroad to the west and

Y. Gitay (1996), Geography and Theology in the Biblical Narrative: The Question of Genesis 2-12, Prophets and Paradigms, Stephen Breck Reid, ed., New York: Harper, 206. 72 The divine response does not specify precisely what meets with disfavor. " Now there will be no barrier for them in all that they scheme to do" " [FOX](11:6) the word 'all' may include both planes. 73 M. Weinfeld ,Olam Hatanach, Genesis, M. Weinfeld, ed., Jerusalem, Ramat Gan: Revivim Press, 5. "Making a name in the Bible and in ANE literature generally involved erecting a monument (cf. 2 Sam. 8:13; Isa. 56:5), to a particular event" (in Hebrew).; Thus Genesis 28:22 may be seen to dispute "making a name for ourselves," for Jacob says: "and this stone which I have set shall be God's house. M. Weinfeld (85) further notes: "Only the name of God is of value. A man making his own name is in the nature of sin." Compare the prophecy to David: "I will give you great renown, like that of the greatest men on earth," (2 Sam. 7:9. also Isa. 63:12, 14). 74 Pharaoh gives his people similar reasons for oppressing the Israelites: "Let us deal shrewdly with them that they may not increase," with similar results in both cases. In Gen. 11:8, 9: "The Lord scattered them from there over all the face of the earth," while in Exod. 1:12, "But the more they were oppressed, the more they spread out." Additionally, Exodus describes hard labor in making bricks: "they made life bitter for them with harsh labor at mortar and bricks" (1:14), similar to Gen. 11:3: "Let us make bricks ... bricks served them as stone and bitumen as mortar."

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to the east, to the north and to the south," (28:14) ... and I will bring the again to this land for I will not leave thee"(28:15). In the Tower of Babel story God perceived the human act as a sin or more precisely as violating His commandment to be fruitful and multiply and fill all the earth (Gen. 1:28). Hence they were scattered over the face of the earth against their will. Regarding Jacob's sullam story, God promises to return Jacob "to this land", and from the vow too it is understood that Jacob is about to leave but temporarily and intends to return to his father's house (v. 21). 6. In both stories the place name is explicated. Babel indicates the builders' punishment: "That is why it was called Babel, because there the Lord confounded the speech of the whole earth (11:9). The name Bethel, by contrast, shows that Jacob recognizes God's presence there: "How dreadful is this place! This is none other than the house of God and this is the gate of heaven (v. 17; see also 28:7, 19 and 22).

The differences between the two stories help to interpret Jacob's Dream. The picture emerging from the differences shows that the beginning of the Bethel ritual site is a mirror image of the beginning of Babylon. According to Zakovitch: It seems that the narrator of Genesis 28 knew not only Genesis 11 and the Babylonian tradition, but an additional tradition: that the explication of Babel in Genesis 11 is that it was a polemic name given to conceal the true meaning of Bab-ili, meaning the gate of God, or Bab itani, gate of the gods. By implying the comparison of Jacob's revelation to the sin of the Mesopotamians, the narrator transposes the "gate of heaven" from 75 Babylon to Bethel, as Jacob proclaims in v. 17.

To avoid misunderstandings, Zakovitch concludes: "This place and not Babylon, namely, the gate of heaven is Bethel, not in Babylon."76 Within our thesis of interwoven vertical and horizontal planes that complement one another, transfer of the "gate of heaven" from Babylon to Bethel symbolizes acceptance of our ancestors' movement from Ur of the Chaldeans to Canaan, which testified to drawing closer to God both 75

Y. Zakovitch, above, n. 54, 60-61. Emphasis is not in the original. Y. Zakovitch, above, n. 54, 60-61; One can maintain, too, that later "this place" moved to Jerusalem, even as "this land" when it relates to the "Promised Land" became an ambiguous, flexible term. 76

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physically and spiritually. The corridors, as it were, to the gate of heaven moved from Babylon to Bethel following our ancestors' journey commanded by Abraham's God: "Go forth from your native land and from your father's house to the land that I will show you" (Gen. 12:1). Strange as it may seem at first sight, the movement of heaven's gate to Bethel in Canaan is noted specifically as Jacob is about to leave that land. On reconsideration it is not so strange, for against the background of departure the preference for Canaan over any land outside it is stated. It signifies that Jacob's descent is only for the purpose of ascent, and that he will return as his mother promised (27:44) and as God promised him (28:15).

Establishing the Gate of Heaven at Bethel, not Babylon The sullam in Jacob's Dream symbolizes the way between Babylon and Bethel. One end of it is on the ground, representing Babylon, and the other in heaven, representing Bethel in the land of Canaan, where God stood.77 Babel as a mirror image of Bethel, and in parallel the deeds of men in Genesis 11 as contrary to God' will, reinforces God's preference for Bethel in Canaan, which is now the navel of the world. A metonymic-symbolic relationship is inferred between "Babel" and foreign lands (the land of Babylon at least), and Bethel and the land of Israel. Consequently any journey to Bethel, the abode of God according to Jacob's Dream, is an ascent, is positive, while leaving it is descent distancing one from God, and hence negative.

In conclusion: The gate of heaven in Jerusalem a departure point for further research78 When Jacob declares upon awakening, "This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven" (28:17), he refers to the place where 77

That Bethel symbolizes Canaan is understood from 35:6: "Thus came Jacob to Luz – that is Bethel – in the land of Canaan."In the land of Canaan" simply explicates a reflection then or the words in Genesis 11:2: "and settled there" is distinguished from "here." "There" appears four more times in the Tower of Babel story: in vv. 7, 8, and twice in 9, highlighting its significance as a key word. See Y. Zakovitch, "Reflection Stories – Another Dimension of the Evaluation of Characters in Biblical Narrative," Tarbiz 54, 1985, 165-176, (in Hebrew). 78 Will the conclusion come only at the end of days? See Y. I. Peleg (2010), Two Readings of The Vision of Peace at the End of Days: Isaiah 2:2-5 and Micah 4:1-5, An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Sarah Japhet, ed., Vol. 29, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 11-26, (in Hebrew).

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he dreamt his dream, Bethel. "This" has been seen to indicate Jacob's polemic with another place, with Babylon's tradition as a site of union between heaven and earth. But the journey of the gate of heaven does not end here. A similar expression brings our story to mind in the dedication of Jerusalem in 1 Chronicles 22:1: "David said, ʤʓʦ Here will be the house of the Lord,79 and here ʤʓʦ the altar of burnt offerings for Israel" and the double use of 'here' ʤʓʦ , suggests both in form and content the language of Jacob's Dream in Genesis 28:17. The two are tabulated below: Jacob regarding Bethel (Gen. 28:17) This is ʤʓʦ none other than the house of God And this is ʤʓʦ the gate of heaven

David regarding Jerusalem (1 Chron. 22:1) Here ʤʓʦ will be the house of the Lord And here ʤʓʦ the altar of burnt offerings for Israel

According to Zakovitch, "The removal of the gate of heaven from Babylon, unworthy of such a title, to Bethel where God shows Jacob the place of the gate, is not the end of the process." The story of Araunah's threshing floor, the story of Jerusalem's consecration in David's time as told in Chronicles, the text adds to the account in 2 Samuel 24: "David said, "here ʤʓʦ will be the House of the Lord and here ʤʓʦ the altar of burnt offerings for Israel.""80 Moreover, in both stories the speaker's reaction stems from his awe: Jacob says, "How dreadful is this place," while David "was terrified by the sword of the angel of the Lord" (1 Chron. 21:30).

79 Y. Amit (2011), Araunah’s Threshing Floor: A Lesson in Shaping Historical Memory, in What Was Authoritative for Chronicles?, Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman, eds., Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 133-144: "David states that the place of the altar in Araunah’s threshing floor is Israel’s legitimate temple, repeating the deictic expression ʤʓʦ ‘this’ twice: “This is the house of the Lord, and this is the altar for burnt offerings for Israel." This phrasing returns us to the Jacob’s Dream story, in which Jacob reiterates the sanctity of the place by repeating the deictic expression, “this”, four times (Gen. 28:16–17). It is difficult to ignore the resemblance between Jacob’s words, “This is none other than the house of God,” and those of David, “This is the house of the Lord God,” although Jacob was sanctifying Bethel while the Chronicler is discussing Jerusalem." 80 Y. Zakovitch, above, n. 54, 62

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In Zakovitch's opinion,81 there seems to be a purpose in formulating the Chronicles text in the spirit of its source, expressing the tendency to see in different ritual sites simply other names for a single place, Jerusalem. Thus later the Midrash, which does not recognize the polemic and perhaps not the competition between the two, identifies Bethel with Jerusalem: Jacob was seventy seven years old when he left his father's house and the well went before him from Beer-sheba to Mount Moriah. And he reached there late in the day … and spent the night there, for the sun was setting. Jacob took twelve stones from the stones of the altar on which his father Isaac was bound and set them at his head at that same place …. Jacob awoke in great fright and said: the abode of the Holy One is here: "this is 82 the gate of heaven."

The gate of heaven, then, does not cease to wander in the story of Jacob's sullam that appears as a mirror image or as a reflection story of the Tower of Babel story. The Chronicler moves the gate of heaven at Bethel to the site God chose for the Temple in Jerusalem. Yairah Amit in her book on the revealed and the concealed in the Bible discusses Bethel as the subject of a hidden polemic: "Biblical literature has an ambivalent attitude toward Bethel. There are traditions that indicate its time-honored sacred status, while other texts are acutely critical of the place."83 She clearly refers to Jacob's Dream (28:21-22) and Abraham's earlier building of an altar there (12:8). Criticism of Bethel is familiar from the Prophets, as in Hosea 4:15, 5:8, 10:5; Amos 2:14, 4:4, 5:5; and Jeremiah 48:13. Amit notes: "Ritual at Bethel was criticized particularly at the time of Josiah's reform (1 Kgs. 13),84 in support of ritual concentrated in a single place. Bethel was thus perceived as competing with Jerusalem." Assuming a link between the symbolic interpretation of Jacob's Dream and the motif of ascent to and descent from the Promised Land clarifies the comparison between Jacob's ladder and the Tower of Babel. In the perspective of that motif Babel as a mirror image of Bethel shows Bethel as preferred, and so it is the site of the gate of heaven, the entry to the

81 Y. Zakovitch (1990), Biblical traditions regarding the beginnings of Jerusalem's sacred status, in Jerusalem in the First Temple Period, Jerusalem: Eden, 12-22, (in Hebrew). 82 Pirkei deRabi Eliezer, 35, (in Hebrew). 83 Y. Amit (2003), Hidden Polemics in Biblical Narration, Tel Aviv:Yediot Acharonot, 120-121, (in Hebrew). 84 Y. Amit, above, n. 83, 121.

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abode of God. Therefore, in order to get closer to God one should go up to Bethel and not to Babel. In time, as noted, the abode of God moved from Bethel to Jerusalem, which left the abode of God within Canaan. Jerusalem's centrality is reflected in Isaiah's vision of Judah and Jerusalem: "In the days to come, The Mount of the Lord's House shall stand firm above the mountains, and tower above the hills. Many peoples shall go and say: Come let us go up to the mount of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob"(Isa. 2:2-3). Zakovitch correctly asserts a connection between the End of Days vision in Isaiah and the Tower of Babel story.85 Furthermore, the place of that prophecy in Isaiah tells of human arrogance: "Man's haughty looks shall be brought low and the pride of mortals shall be humbled. None but the Lord shall be exalted in that day" (Isa. 2:11-12). It brings to mind the human pride in the Tower of Babel story. Isaiah declares that God's hand will be "on every soaring tower and every mighty wall" (v. 15). Zakovitch adds: "The word 'mighty' (betzurah) also echoes the Tower of Babel story: "Nothing will be beyond their reach (evatzer - Gen. 11:6). Additionally, one may notice in Isaiah, "every tower" seems to include and indicate the Tower of Babel. Thus many threads connect the Tower of Babel story with the story of the sullam at Bethel and the vision of the End of Days. The centrally important gate of heaven as the entrance to the abode of God, or to the abode of his name, moved from Babylon, to Bethel, and thence to Jerusalem. The centrality86 of the Land of Israel and of Jerusalem within the Jewish culture is stressed, for example, in Midrash Tanhuma: 85

Y. Zakovitch (2004), Proclaims peace, prophesies good, Haifa: University of Haifa Press, 2004, 162, (in Hebrew). He adds that Zephaniah understood the link between the two when he said: "For then I will make the peoples pure of speech, so they all invoke the Lord by name" (Zeph. 3:9), the peoples referring to those in Isaiah 2:3-4. "Pure of speech" alludes to the punishment meted out in the Tower of Babel story in Genesis 11:9. "That is why it was called Babel, because there the Lord confounded the speech of the whole earth." 86 M. Weinfeld, above, 62, 127, notes that the central temple's cosmic quality is that it is the heart of the world, at its center. The map of ancient Babylon puts Babylon at the center of the cosmos. So too Jerusalem (in Ezek. 5:5): "Thus said the Lord God: I will set Jerusalem in the midst of the nations, with countries round about her." Weinfeld notes that "in the midst" can be understood either as a) in the middle or b) among, but the first seems appropriate here, reappearing in v. 6: "the nations that are round about you". Even if Ezekiel were not referring to Jerusalem's location, but only to her connection to the nations, as G. Brinn (1993) assumes (Olam Hatanach, Ezekiel, Haran, ed., Jerusalem: Davidson-Ati Press, 1993), 37), he notes, "following this prophecy and in consequence of other writings, Jerusalem

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The land of Israel is at the center of the world. Jerusalem is at the center of the land of Israel The Temple is at the center of Jerusalem. The Sanctuary is at the center of the Temple. The Ark is at the center of the Sanctuary and The Foundation Stone before the Ark is that on which the world is founded.87

In later Talmudic literature:88 "The Temple is above all Israel, and Israel is above all the nations."

In conclusion: "Going Up and Going Down” A Key to Interpreting Jacob’s Dream indicates its goal. The discussion of ascent and descent as key to the symbolic meaning of Jacob's Dream shows that the vision of ascending and descending is interpreted as, entering and leaving the promised land. Awakening, Jacob exclaims: "This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven" (Gen. 28:17). That gate like all others is meant for coming in and going out. In the course of time the gate of heaven, the abode of God, moves from Bethel to Jerusalem.

and Eretz Israel in general was perceived as the navel of the world, as expressed beginning with the ancient translations of the Bible, the Apocrypha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, Philo, Josephus Flavius, the New Testament and even in later literature. Jerusalem's centrality and Eretz Israel as the navel of the world may also be seen on ancient maps." (Brinn, 37). On Jerusalem perceived as the center of the world see the "Letter of Aristias," Philo of Alexandria and others; Y. A, Zeeligmann (1991), Research in Biblical Literature, Avi Horowitz, Emanuel Tov, Sara Yephet, eds., Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 404. 87 (1972), Midrash Tanhuma, Kedoshim, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 592; M. Weinfeld, above, n. 62, 127, thinks that the central temple is also the starting point of Creation, following Second Temple tradition: "the foundation stone (even hashtiyah) from which the navel of the world and from which the whole world extends", (Pirkei deRav Eliezer, 35). M. Weinfeld, 127, n. 3: "Prof. Greenberg pointed out to me that shtiyah comes from the weaving domain (shti v'erev) and thus corresponds to 'from which the world was woven' not 'on which the world was founded.'" 88 Y. A. Zeeligmann, above, n. 88, 403, cites this tradition from Kiddushin, 69a. See End of Days vision in Isa. 2:2: "The Mount of the Lord's House shall stand above the mountains and tower above the hills." Either in the physical or the spiritual sense one must ascend to reach it, so that leaving it means descent.

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The concept of approaching the abode of God, whether from within the Promised Land or from outside it, is ascent, 'aliya. That idea is most succinctly expressed in the Hebrew epitaph of the revered Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Hacohen Kook (1865-1935), on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem: Ascended 'alah to the land of Israel, 28th of Iyar (1904) Ascended 'alah to Jerusalem, 3rd of Elul (1919) Ascended 'alah to heaven, 3rd of Elul (1935)

References Amit, Y. (2003), Hidden Polemics in Biblical Narration, Tel Aviv: Yediot Acharont, 120-121, (in Hebrew). —. (2011), Araunah’s Threshing Floor: A Lesson in Shaping Historical Memory, in What Was Authoritative for Chronicles?, Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman, eds., Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 133-144. Barzel, H. (1990), The New Commentary, Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan Press, (in Hebrew). Berton, P. (1987), Sacred Place, in: M. Eliade, ed., The Encyclopedia of Religion, London and New York: Oxford University Press, 12, 526. Brinn, G. (1993), Olam Hatanach, Ezekiel, Haran, ed., Jerusalem: Davidson-Ati Press. Buber, M. (1964), The Way of the Bible, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1964, 293, (in Hebrew). Cassuto, U. (1965), From Adam to Noah, Commentary on Genesis, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, (in Hebrew). Clifford, R.J. (1972), The Cosmic Mountain in Canaan and the Old Testament (HSM 4), Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 104. Cohen, H. R. (1978), Biblical Hapax Legomena in the Light of Akkadian and Ugaritic, Chico: SBL, 34, 54-56. —. (1982), The Sullam," Olam Hatanach, Genesis, M. Weinfeld, ed., Jerusalem, Ramat Gan: Revivim Press, 1982,172. —. (1997), The Literary Motif in Jacob's Ladder (Gen. 28:12), A Gift for Hadassah, Studies in Hebrew and in Jewish Languages, Ben Tolila, ed., Beersheba: Magnes Press, 16, (in Hebrew). —. (2010), Medieval Commentary on Genesis in the light of Contemporary Biblical Philology, Part 2, Genesis 19-29, in Language Studies Collection Presented to Aaron Dothan, M. Ben Asher and H. A. Cohen, eds., Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 25-46, especially 31-36.

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Dalley, Stephanie (1998), Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, The Flood, Gilgamesh, and Others, New York: Oxford University Press. Elgavish, D., The Messenger and the Mission, Diplomacy in Cuneiform Sources in the Ancient East and the Bible, doctoral thesis presented to the Senate of Bar Ilan University, 1990, 36, (in Hebrew). Elitzur,Y., (1999), Israel and the Bible, Studies in Geography, History and Biblical Thought, Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 44-48, (in Hebrew). Fidler, R., The Dream Theophany in the Bible, Its Place in the History of Biblical Literature and Israelite Religion, thesis for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1996, 176, (in Hebrew). Fishbane, M. (1979), Biblical Text and Texture, New York: Harper, 1979, pb 1998, London: One World. Frazer, J.G. (1923), Folk-lore in the Old Testament, London: University of London Press, 228. Gitay, Y. (1996), Geography and Theology in the Biblical Narrative: The Question of Genesis 2-12, Prophets and Paradigms, Stephen Breck Reid, ed., Sheffield: Sheffied Academic Press, 206. Gnuse, R .K (1984), The Dream Theophany of Samuel, New York and London: Oxford University Press. Greenspan, F. E. (1984), Hapax Legomena in Biblical Hebrew, Chico: SBL. Greenspan, F. E., A Mesopotamian Proverb and its Biblical Reverberations, JAOS 114, 1994, 37, n. 25. Greenstein, E. L. Trans-Semitic Idiomatic Equivalency and the Derivation of Hebrew ml'kh, UF, 11, 1979. Griffiths, G., The Celestial Ladder and the Gate of Heaven (Gen XXVIII 12 and 17), ET 76, 1964-5, 229. —. The Celestial Ladder and the Gate of Heaven in Egyptian Ritual, ET 78, (1966-7), 54-55. Helzer, M. (1986), Olam Hatanach, Isaiah, Hoffmann, ed., JerusalemRamat-Gan: Revivim Press, 1260, (in Hebrew). Henderson, On Jacob's Vision at Bethel, ET, 4, 1892-93, 151-152. Hoffmann, Y. (1994), Olam Hatanach, Jeremiah, Hoffmann, ed., Tel Aviv: Davidson-Ati Press, 154, (in Hebrew). Houtman, C., What did Jacob See in his Dream at Bethel, VT, Vol. XXVIII, 1977, 339. Lipton, D. (1999), Revisions of the Night: Politics and Promises in the Patriarchal Dreams of Genesis, New York and Boston: Continuum.

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Mandelkern, S. (1974), Sullam, Veteris Testament Concordantiae, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem: Magness Press, 800, (in Hebrew). Margalit, B., A Weltbaum in Ugaritic Literature?, JBL 90, 1971, 481-482; Midrash Tanhuma, Kedoshim, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1972), 592. Millard, A. R., The Celestial Ladder and the Gate of Heaven (Gen XXVIII 12 and 17, ET 78, 1966-67, 86-87. Parrot, A. (1965), The Tower of Babel, London: Clarendon Press. Peleg, Y. I., The “Measure for Measure” Principle by Means of “Word for Word”, Beit Mikra Quarterly, 158, 1999, 357-360, (in Hebrew). —. Going Up and Going Down: A Key to Interpreting Jacob’s Dream, ZAW 116, 2004, 1-11. —. (2004), What is the sullam Jacob saw in his dream at Bethel?, Shnaton: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Japhet, ed., Vol. 14, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 7-26, (in Hebrew). —. (2010), Two Readings of The Vision of Peace at the End of Days: Isaiah 2:2-5 and Micah 4:1-5, An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Japhet, ed., Vol. 29, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 11-26, (in Hebrew). Picchioni, S. A. (1981), II poemetto di Adapa, Budapest: University of Budapest Press. Rendtorff, R., Jakob in Bethel, ZAW 94, 1982, 517. Rofé, A. (1966), Belief in Angels in the Bible, Jerusalem: Magnes Press. Sarna, N. M. (1956), Understanding Genesis, New York: Schocken. Shapira, A., Jacob and Esau – Two Readings, thesis submitted in fulfillment of requirements for the degree of Doctor of Hebrew Literature, JTS, 1988, 11, 25-28, 54-55, (in Hebrew). —. (1997), Jacob and Esau: A Polyvalent Reading (The Ambiguous Reading of the Biblical Text), Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan Press, 249-282, (in Hebrew). Shinan, A. (1985), The Dream in the Midrash and the Midrash of the Dream, Kerem, ed., Opinions and Viewpoints on Israelite Culture, 5, Rechovot: Haminhal Lechinuch Hityashvuti Press, 57, (in Hebrew). Shin Shifra, Klein, J. (1996), In Those Distant Days: Anthology of Mesopotamian Literature in Hebrew, Tel Aviv: Am Oved Publisher. Silverman, Hugh J. (1989), Derrida and Deconstruction, New York: Routledge. Speiser, A., (1964), Genesis, AB, Garden City: Doubleday. Stone, E. (1997), Ziggurat, in Oxford Encyclopedia of the Near East, Eric M. Meyers, ed., New York: Oxford University Press, Vol. 5, 390-391. Von Rad, G. (1973), Genesis (OTL), J.H. Marks, trans., Louisville: Westminster John Knox.

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Westermann, C. (1994), Genesis 12-36 ;37-50, J.J. Scullion S.J., trans., Minneapolis: Fortress. Weinfeld, M. (1982) Olam Hatanach, Genesis,Weinfeld, ed., Jerusalem, Ramat Gan: Revivim Press, (in Hebrew). —. (1992), From Joshua To Josiah, Turning Points in the History of Israel From the Conquest of the Land Until the Fall of Judah, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, (in Hebrew). Zakovitch, Y., Reflection Stories – Another Dimension of the Evaluation of Characters in Biblical Narrative, Tarbiz 54, 1985,165-176, (in Hebrew). —. (1990), Biblical traditions regarding the beginnings of Jerusalem's sacred status, in his Jerusalem in the First Temple Period, Jerusalem: Eden Press, 12-22, (in Hebrew). —. Through the Looking Glass, Reflection Stories in the Bible (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House, 1995), (in Hebrew). —. Proclaims peace, prophesies good, (Haifa: University of Haifa Press, 2004), (in Hebrew). Zakovitch, Y. & Shinan, A.,That's Not What the Good Book Says, (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House, 2005), (in Hebrew). Zeeligmann, Y. A. Research in Biblical Literature, Avi Horowitz, Emanuel Tov, Sara Yephet (eds.), (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1991), 404 (in Hebrew).

CHAPTER TWENTY A FRESH ANALYSIS OF JOSEPHUS’ PORTRAYAL OF HERODIAS, WIFE OF HEROD’S SONS FRED STRICKERT

Herodias was the daughter-in-law of King Herod, once, twice, or maybe even three times. Popular tradition remembers her as the wife of Herod’s son Antipas, the Tetrarch of Galilee who ordered the death of John the Baptist. The tradition also remembers that she had been married previously to another son of Herod as well. Yet, which one? Josephus identifies him as Herod, born from Mariamme 2. The Gospels identify him as Philip, born from Cleopatra of Jerusalem. This long-standing debate has produced some clever solutions ranging from that of Nikos Kokkinos that first Herodias married Herod, then Philip, then Antipas, to the suggestion popularized by the eighteenth-century translator of Josephus, William Whiston, who proposed the idea of a “Herod Philip” so that they all must be correct. Others prefer the credibility of either the Gospels or Josephus on principal and thus opt for either Philip or Herod—sometimes without treating the sources critically. In some ways, the discussion has been like comparing apples and oranges because the Gospel accounts have referred to Herodias’ marriages in the context of the death of John the Baptist, while Josephus’ report about John’s imprisonment and death does not even mention Herodias (Meier, 225-37). As Ross Kraemer has most recently noted, the Gospel account of John’s death includes much embellishment about the dinner party, the plotting wife, the dancing girl, and the promise of a king to grant half his kingdom (though Antipas was not a king and his territory was not a kingdom), so that many of us are inclined to agree that Josephus’ account without all those trappings is more likely closer to historical reality (Kraemer, 321-49). We then take the next step and discredit also the evangelists in naming Philip as the husband slighted by Herodias. Yet

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note this important detail. The evangelists probably got it right in attributing to John the accusation, “It is unlawful for a man to marry his brother’s wife” (Mark 6.18), because it is biblical (Leviticus 18.16; 20.21) and because it seems typical for popular opinion against misbehaving rulers of any age—and John was a popular social critic (a prophet). More importantly, the authenticity of this saying of John the Baptist, which criticizes Antipas, is substantiated by its persistent presence in a Gospel account that places the blame on the women, the conniving villainous Herodias and her seductress daughter Salome (or was the daughter named Herodias as the earliest manuscripts claim?)—what Kraemer refers to as “A (Christian) Theological Strategy.” Likely the affair of Antipas and Herodias continued to be well-known throughout first-century Palestine and repeated in a form similar to this saying of John the Baptist. Perhaps the saying was popularized without mentioning even the name of the earlier husband, but by the simple reference to “his brother’s wife” as in Luke 3:18, so that we are now left with contradictory claims inserted by later writers: Philip in the Gospels or Herod in Josephus. Who is right? Who was the first husband of Herodias? Many of us who have been inclined to disregard the historicity of the Gospel reports of John’s death have also been inclined to reject their identification of the brother as Philip. After all, Josephus is the historian, and we trust historians to get the facts right. Yet I would propose a closer look at Josephus. While Josephus does not mention Herodias in the John the Baptist story, as the Gospels do; he does include plenty of other references to Herodias, which the Gospels do not. These include an episode of marriage matchmaking while Herodias was a child, interactions with her brother Agrippa as an older adult, a short narrative about the beginning of her affair, and a genealogy that reports her place in King Herod’s family tree including marriages and offspring. It is this genealogy that is most quoted. It also includes a fascinating comment about Herodias that in her marriage to Antipas she was “taking it into her head to flout the ways of our fathers” (Ant. 18.136)—blaming the woman, not Antipas. Clearly this is a reminder that Josephus also brings his biases to his reporting and that the reader must understand his goals and purposes.

Josephus’ Reports about Herodias Steve Mason describes what he calls “the misuse of Josephus” when individuals comb his works for data without paying attention to the broader context, to the different sources upon which he draws, and the

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different purposes that guide his historical reporting in his various works (Mason, 1992, 26-9). Even when it comes to autobiographical information, one is struck by contradictions between reports in Jewish War and the later apologetic Life. Similarly, discrepancies occur between the later Antiquities, written in the mid-90s CE, and the Jewish War written two decades earlier in the mid-70s. For those of us who have worked on the Bethsaida Excavations Project, we are struck how Josephus can present two very different reports about the founding of Bethsaida, including a reference that would seem to explain the renaming of the city as Julias in honor of Julia, the discredited daughter of Augustus. Elsewhere, we are perplexed why Josephus would refer to Philip as the full brother of Archelaus (Ant. 17.189), totally at odds with his understanding that one was the son of Malthace and the other of Cleopatra (Ant. 17.20-21 and War 1.563). When it comes to Herodias, there are only two places where Jewish War and Antiquities overlap. One covers an episode when Herodias was just eight years old in 7 BCE (War 1.552-65; Ant. 17.12-18 ) and the other when she was in her mid-50s at the time her husband Antipas was exiled (War 2.178-83; Ant. 18.240-55). Yet there are differences in the way Josephus reports these events. When it comes to sources, Josephus was able to rely on the history of Nicolaus of Damascus for that first episode. Yet, when it comes to the period following the death of King Herod—the first quarter of the century covering the early careers of Philip and Antipas, and the early adulthood of Herodias—we find a paucity of sources and we must question how much Josephus really knew. The situation changes when Herodias’ brother Agrippa emerges and, as the recent work of Daniel Schwartz has demonstrated, Josephus was able to employ several sources for this later period of Herodias’ life: The children of Aristobulus & Berenice The Marriage Arrangement With Berenice in Rome Antipas proposes to Herodias Family Tree Herodias intervenes for Agrippa Antipas chides Agrippa Agrippa accuses Antipas in Rome unsuccessfully Antipas and Herodias go to Rome to seek kingship, but are exiled

Jewish War Source 1.552 Nicolaus

Antiquities 17.12

1.556-65

17.13-18 18.143-6 18.109-12 18.130-42 18.148-9 18.150

2.178 2.181-3

Nicolaus “Agrippa” “Antipas” “Antipas” “Antipas” “Antipas” “Antipas” or “Agrippa”

18.240-55

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The advantage of such source criticism is that we can see the tendencies of the sources and sometimes the hand of Josephus diverging according to his own interests, purposes, and biases. Although Schwartz viewed Josephus as primarily a compiler of material from his sources, who added little of his own, more recently other scholars including Mason and Klaus-Stefan Krieger see evidence of the creative hand of Josephus in shaping the story. It is not surprising that Herodias is mentioned only twice in Jewish War (written in the mid-70s) since her story is basically irrelevant in leading up to that monumental event. There is nothing extraordinary about her marriage to Antipas described simply as his wife (‫ ۏ‬ȖȪȞȘ), loyal and devoted. One might even conclude on the basis of this single work, that she was but a tragic victim living in a world of men, affected by the deeds and decisions of her father, grandfather, and husband. Josephus writes much more about Herodias in Antiquities (written in the mid-90s), a work intended to present Judaism as a noble ancient religion, practiced faithfully by most, but deserted by some for their own ambitions and selfish desires, among them Herod himself and Agrippa 1 (Mason, 64-73). Tal Ilan notes in particular how Josephus, following Nicolaus of Damascus, has painted the women of the Hasmonean and Herodian courts in quite negative terms, presenting especially Herod’s sister and Herodias’ grandmother, Salome, as an evil femme fatale, leaving the impression that “behind every calamity lurks a woman” (Ilan, 1996, 221-62, esp. 222). Is this also the case with Herodias? In a most unexpected place—in the genealogy of Antiquities 18:136--Josephus reveals his bias by inserting the editorial comment previously mentioned that she took “it into her head to flout the way of our fathers” by marrying her husband’s brother Antipas. That this stands in contrast to the formulation in biblical law that speaks of the man who marries his brother’s wife, and to the saying of John the Baptist in the Gospels, is significant. Both are culpable, and Herodias should not go without criticism, but has Josephus gone to the extreme in painting Herodias as the stereotypical villainess? This is not the only example. In one sweeping statement, Josephus pronounces judgment on her, “And so God visited this punishment on Herodias for her envy of her brother and on Herod [Antipas] for listening to a woman’s frivolous chatter” (Antiquities 18.255). Such statements do not occur in the earlier Jewish War. Since Antiquities was written over fifty years after the end of Herodias’ story, one must, therefore, approach these texts with a healthy dose of skepticism and critical analysis, no different than we have done with the Gospel accounts about Herodias. Our procedure will be to begin our analysis of the accounts of the Marriage Arrangement Episode from

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Nicolaus of Damascus, then the parallels from War 2.178-183 in Antiquities from the Antipas source, before turning to the episode of Antipas’ infatuation with Herodias and then the genealogy of Antiquities 18.136-46—the two accounts that specifically mention her first marriage.

The Marriage Arrangement Episode Herodias had an ideal pedigree as the daughter of Aristobulus and Berenice, he the son of King Herod and the Hasmonean Mariamme 1; she the daughter of Herod’s sister Salome and Costabarus, a member of an Idumaean priestly family. Aristobulus and his full brother Alexander had been groomed to succeed Herod and were educated for that purpose in Rome before returning to Jerusalem in 17 BCE to marry and raise families. However, accused of plotting against their father, the two brothers were put to death in 7 BCE. Josephus, following Nicolaus of Damascus, introduces Herodias along with her four siblings in Jewish War 1.552 immediately after reporting the execution of her father and uncle. They are Herod, Agrippa, Aristobulus, Herodias, and Mariamme in that order. Hoehner accepted the order of Josephus as chronological and concluded that Herodias was one of the two youngest (Hoehner, 154). However, that ignores the cultural practice of mentioning sons before daughters, no matter what the birth order. Kokkinos (1998, 264), as also Schwartz (40), conclude that the two daughters were born prior to the three sons with Herodias likely the oldest, noting that a younger Agrippa—born in 11/10 BCE (Ant. 19.350)—would only seek financial help from an older sister (Ant. 18.148-9, Kokkinos, 1986, 39). The following order is likely: Herodias born in 15 BCE, Mariamme in 14/13 BCE, Herod in 12 BCE, Agrippa in 11/10 BCE, Aristobulus in 8 BCE (though Kokkinos reverses the order of Agrippa and then Herod). To these five newly orphaned children, Josephus adds the names of Tigranes and Alexander, the offspring of Alexander and Glaphyra (War 1.552). The children take center stage when Herod recognized the consequences of his actions in the execution of their fathers. Two other sons, Antipater and Herod, have taken on the role of successors in waiting, with Antipater seeking to consolidate power by arranging the marriage of the newly widowed Berenice to his maternal uncle Theudion (War 1.553). Glaphyra, the widow of Alexander, was sent back to her father, Archelaus of Cappadocia.

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In this context King Herod announced to a gathering in Jericho his obligation to look out for these children and to arrange their marriages yet off in the future. Josephus records Herod’s speech on this occasion: For Herod, one day, assembled his relatives and friends, set the young children before them, and said, with tears in his eyes: “I have been bereaved by some evil genius of the sires of these infants, but pity for the orphans and nature alike commend them to my care. If I have been the most unfortunate of fathers, I will try at any rate to prove myself a more considerate grandfather and to leave their tutelage, after my death, to those most dear to me. I affiance your daughter, Pheroras, to the elder of these brothers, Alexander’s sons, in order that alliance may make you his natural guardian. To your son, Antipater, I betroth the daughter of Aristobulus; so may you become a father to this orphan girl. Her sister my own Herod shall take, for on his mother’s side he is grandson of a high-priest. Let then effect be given to my wishes, and let no friend of mine frustrate them. And I pray God to bless these unions, to the benefit of my realm and of my descendants, and to look with serener eyes upon these children here than those with which he beheld their fathers.” (War 1.556-8)

Herod’s plan was to arrange marriages for three of these newly “orphaned” children, all under the age of ten. The three older spouses would come from three Herodian families who were expected to rule—Herod’s brother Pheroras, the tetrarch of Perea; Antipater, now named in Herod’s will as successor; and Herod’s son with Mariamme 2, also named Herod, now named as second to Antipater. The three “orphaned” children designated by Herod were the eldest son of Alexander and the two daughters of Aristobulus, eight-year-old Herodias and seven-year-old Mariamme; x Alexander’s oldest son betrothed to Pheroras’ daughter; x One of Aristobulus’ daughters betrothed to Antipater’s son; x Aristobulus’ other daughter betrothed to Herod, the son of Herod and Mariamme 2. However, Josephus does not specify in Jewish War which daughter is to be married to which husband. The general scholarly consensus, as expressed in the footnotes in the Loeb Classical Library edition, is that the three children were Alexander, Mariamme, and Herodias in that order (Thackeray, 263). That is, Herodias would have been promised to Herod. However, since Josephus did emphasize that it was Alexander’s “oldest son” and since Josephus did name Herodias ahead of her sister in War 1.552, one should be open to the possibility that Herodias had been first betrothed to Antipater’s son.

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Antipater, however, feared that this arrangement would elevate the son of Alexander at his own expense and thus offered a protest. Afraid of practicing a ruse upon so harsh a father, whose suspicions were easily aroused, he boldly ventured into his presence and besought him outright not to deprive him of the honor which he had deigned to confer on him, nor to leave him the mere title of king while others enjoyed the power; for he would never be master of affairs, should Alexander’s son, with Archelaus as his grandfather, also have Pheroras as his father-in-law. He therefore earnestly entreated him, as the palace contained a numerous family, to modify these matrimonial arrangements. (War 1.561-2)

At this interval, Josephus provides a genealogical section naming Herod’s nine wives and offspring, demonstrating that there were in fact many marriage options within the family. Yet the purpose here was the consolidation of political power. King Herod expressed indignation at the maneuvering of Antipater, but eventually altered the arrangement. Herod “gave the daughter of Aristobulus to Antipater himself, and the daughter of Pheroras to his son.” (565) The three arranged marriages, now revised, were as follows: x Antipater’s son betrothed to Pheroras’ daughter; x One of Aristobulus’ daughters betrothed to Antipater himself; x Aristobulus’ other daughter betrothed to Herod the son of Herod and Mariamme 2. Alexander’s sons were thus left out of the picture while Mariamme and Herodias were promised to the two sons who were in line to succeed King Herod, Antipater and Herod, son of Mariamme 2. This same basic episode is included in Antiquities. However, Josephus opts not to include the long speech of Herod and instead presents a narrative report: Herod himself brought up the children of his sons very carefully, Alexander having had two boys by Glaphyra, and Aristobulus three boys and two girls by Berenice, the daughter of Salome. And on one occasion he presented the young children to a gathering of his friends, and after bewailing the fortune of his sons, prayed that no such fate might befall their children and that by their improvement in virtue and concern for righteousness they would repay him for bringing them up. He also promised in marriage, when they should reach the proper age, the daughter of Pheroras to the elder son of Alexander, and the daughter of Antipater to Aristobulus’ son, and he designated one daughter of Aristobulus to marry the son of Antipater, and the other daughter of Aristobulus to marry his

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own son Herod, who had been born to him by the daughter of the high priest, for it is an ancestral custom of ours to have several wives at the same time (Ant. 17. 12-14).

There are some significant changes from the earlier report. While War included three arranged pairs, Josephus now adds a fourth couple, a brother of Herodias to be married to an unnamed daughter of Antipater. These are the four pairs after Antipater’s request: x x x x

Antipater’s son betrothed to Pheroras’ daughter; Antipater’s daughter betrothed to Aristobulus’ son; One of Aristobulus’ daughters betrothed to Antipater himself; The other of Aristobulus’ daughters betrothed to Herod the son of Herod and Mariamme 2.

Again the reader is left wondering about the identity of the designated son of Aristobulus. The notes in the Loeb series identify him as Herod (of Chalcis) (Feldman, 379), but, depending on who was the oldest brother, it is possible that this was Agrippa. Josephus had begun the episode in Antiquities by mentioning that there were seven children from the two executed brothers, but, unlike the account in War, he does not include their names. Herodias will not be mentioned by name until Antiquities 18:110. Her sister Mariamme is never identified by name in all of Antiquities. Since the names also do not appear in the list of marriage arrangements, the reader is left confused, thinking that, other than showing King Herod’s concern for the children, these arrangements have no lasting significance in the story. As we will see, this will also lead to later confusion by Josephus. The ambiguity of Josephus’ reporting here is underscored by the fact that we have no knowledge elsewhere of the names of other characters in this matchmaking, as with Pheroras’ daughter and Antipater’s son and daughter. The point of the inclusion of this episode is not to prepare the reader for later events taking place among the next Herodian generation, but to show how Herod’s tragic life is compounded on the children and grandchildren. They are victims of Herod’s actions, but his attempts to rectify them only make them worse. Among those who are identified by name in this matchmaking are Antipater and Pheroras, who are already well known players in Josephus’ narrative, both in War and in Antiquities. The one character who is identified in some detail is Herod, presumably because he is a lesser known son of Herod, whose star has suddenly risen with the deaths of his older brothers. Josephus identifies him as follows:

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Chapter Twenty “my own Herod. . . on his mother’s side he is grandson of a high priest” (War 1.558); “his own son Herod, who had been born to him by the daughter of the high priest” (Ant. 17.14).

This Herod was the son of Mariamme 2, married when King Herod had been smitten with her beauty, and although her grandfather Boethus had been a priest in Alexandria, Mariamme’s father Simon was conveniently named as High Priest in Jerusalem (Ant. 15.319-22; 19.297). Kokkinos dates this marriage to 29/28 BCE so that Herod would have been about twenty years old at the time of this Jericho gathering, a full decade older than both daughters of Aristobulus (Kokkinos, 222). Josephus includes one additional detail about this Herod that was not included in the War paragraph: “for it is an ancestral custom of ours to have several wives at the same time.”

This Herod was already married. Other sons of King Herod, including Archelaus, Antipas, and Philip, who were closer in age to the two daughters, were passed over as potential spouses in favor of marriage arrangements to two older sons of Herod who were already married, Antipater and Herod. In fact, Herod’s own comments in War 1.557, “so that you may become a father to this orphan girl,” suggest that he saw these arrangements more as adoption than as traditional marriages. In War 1.558, King Herod, completed his matchmaking speech with words that expected an enduring character to his intervention: “Let then effect be given to my wishes, and let no friend of mine frustrate them. And I pray God to bless these unions, to the benefit of my realm and of my descendants, and to look with serener eyes upon these children here than those with which he beheld their fathers.”

Little did he know! Even this now revised arrangement would be short lived. Josephus immediately turns in both works to report further plots against King Herod centering around Antipater, who was executed just five days before King Herod’s own death in 4 BCE (War 1.663). As one of the central players in the marriage arrangement episode, this had the effect of thwarting Herod’s well designed plans. With Herod’s investigative net reaching throughout the palace, others were implicated including Herod’s own brother Pheroras, who was exiled and subsequently met his death by

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poison (War 1.599). The net also reached to Mariamme 2 and her son, Herod, the betrothed to a daughter of Aristobulus: Thus, even Mariamme, the high-priest’s daughter, was discovered to be privy to the plot; for her brothers, when put upon the rack, denounced her. The king’s punishment for the mother’s audacity fell upon her son: for Herod, who he had appointed successor to Antipater, was struck out of the will. (War 1.599-600).

This Herod is never mentioned again in War. In Antiquities, Josephus, while describing the punishment of Herod, also mentions that Mariamme 2 herself was divorced by King Herod, and that her father was deposed as high priest: And the high priest’s daughter, who was the king’s wife, was also accused of having been privy to all those plots and of having been eager to conceal them. For that reason Herod divorced her and struck her son out of his will, for he had been named to the throne. He also took the high priesthood away from his father-in-law Simon (Ant. 17.78)

Once again, Josephus has confounded the reader of Antiquities by his paucity of names. As far as the marriage arrangements made in Jericho in 7 BCE, it would seem that nothing was left. We hear nothing further about the daughter of Pheroras, nor the son and daughter of Antipater. The later reports about the marriages of the sons of Aristobulus do not mention a daughter of Antipater. As for Herodias and Mariamme, Antipater was dead and Herod disgraced. It would seem that they would need to look elsewhere for husbands. It wasn’t only the orphaned children who had fallen victim once again. Their mother Berenice had been married to Antipater’s uncle Theudion (Ant. 17:9). One of the first to fall victims in this great conspiracy against Herod had been his wife Doris, Antipater’s mother and Theudion’s sister, and she was banished from the court perhaps already in 6 BCE, just before Antipater himself left Jerusalem for Rome. Soon after, Theudion was implicated in procuring poison to be used against Herod (War 1.592; Ant. 17.70). While his fate is not given by Josephus, it is likely that he too was banished or even put to death (Kokkinos, 210). Berenice, however, is one individual who was not implicated in the palace intrigues during these last days of Herod. She appears with her children, rather, as tragic victims whose lives were affected by the conspirators.

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Berenice with Children in Rome The fate of Berenice and her children changed when she left Jerusalem and settled in Rome. This is documented by Strabo who notes that Augustus honored her there (Strabo 16, 246). Already Nicolaus of Damascus assumes her presence there in 4 BCE when Augustus evaluated the various wills of Herod concerning successors Archelaus in Judea, Antipas in Galilee and Perea, and Philip in Gaulanitis. Josephus notes this both in War 2.15 and Antiquities 17.220, reporting that Salome led a delegation of family members to lobby against the appointment of Archelaus. According to War 2.15, Salome is described as traveling with her children (‫ڵ‬ȝĮ IJȠ‫ݶ‬Ȣ IJ‫ܙ‬țȞȠȚȢ), presumably Berenice and her five children and also Berenice’s brother Antipater who took the lead in opposing Archelaus before Augustus. Later, when Josephus employs his “Agrippa source,” he provides a slightly different perspective: Shortly before the death of King Herod, Agrippa was living in Rome. He was brought up with and was on very familiar terms with Drusus, the son of the emperor Tiberius. He also won to friendship Antonia, the wife of Drusus the Elder, for his mother Berenice ranked high among her friends and had requested her to promote the son’s interest (Ant. 18.143).

Josephus’ note that this took place “Shortly before the death of King Herod” suggests that Berenice’s purpose in going to Rome was not so much to advocate concerning Herod’s successors as to seek out the better interests of her children through her friendship with Antonia, paralleling Salome’s friendship with Livia, the wife of the emperor. Although this report is written from the perspective of Herodias’ brother Agrippa, there is no reason not to believe that Berenice’s relationships in Rome were aimed at benefitting all of her children. Presumably the catalyst for her departure from Jerusalem was the unfolding conspiracy against Herod including the accusations (along with banishment or death) against her second husband Theudion, and also the implications of the marriage arrangements concerning her daughters as related to men now tainted by the conspiracy. With Agrippa less than seven years old at the time, it is likely that her concern was no less for her older daughters, Herodias and Mariamme. When Augustus appointed Archelaus as ethnarch of Judea, it is completely understandable that Berenice, as also her mother Salome, would have chosen not to return to Jerusalem. Undoubtedly, Berenice was actively promoting all of her children—her daughters until they married, her sons until they were educated and

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recipients of political appointments. Josephus notes that Agrippa was ‫ۯ‬ȝȠIJȡȠij‫ܝ‬ĮȢ --brought up together—with Claudius. Berenice continued on the best of terms with Antonia until her death in Rome shortly after 23 CE (Ant. 18.165)—an event that greatly affected the life of Agrippa, and indirectly Herodias.

Herodias in the Shadow of Brother Agrippa In his report concerning Salome’s trip to Rome with her family in War 2.15, Josephus focuses on the term țĮIJĮȖ‫ܟ‬ȡİȚȞ—to accuse. Salome pretended to support Archelaus, but in reality had come to accuse him. It is Antipater, son of Salome, brother of Berenice, and uncle of Herodias, who played the role of chief prosecutor, bringing accusations against Archelaus (War 2.23, 26, 33, 35). In the Antiquities version of the hearing before Augustus there are certainly accusatory statements, but the term țĮIJĮȖ‫ܟ‬ȡİȚȞ is used rather in relation to the testimony of Sabinus the Syrian Legate. In reality, the use of this term should not be attributed to Josephus in War, but to his source, Nicolaus of Damascus, who coincidentally also played the role of defense attorney for Archelaus. The accuser is not looked upon favorably as becomes clear from the transition in War 2.33: After diluting at length in this strain and producing most of the relatives as witnesses to each item in his accusation, Antipater concluded his speech, Nicolas then rose in defense of Archelaus.

Within the space of three short paragraphs Nicolaus delivered his successful defense which led Augustus to favor Archelaus over Antipas as Herod’s successor. Unlike Antiquities which describes in some detail Agrippa growing to adulthood in Rome, War jumps some three decades from the child Agrippa to the adult Agrippa. In War 1.178, Josephus reintroduces him traveling to the Emperor Tiberius in Rome, taking upon himself the role of accuser. As Mason has noted, “This way of reintroducing the future King Agrippa I. . . is surprising” (Mason 2008, 150). Josephus begins not with the name Agrippa, nor Tiberius, nor even Herod Antipas, but with Agrippa’s role as accuser: ț‫ڶ‬Ȟ IJȠ‫ܡ‬IJ‫ ސ‬țĮIJ‫ܛ‬ȖȠȡȠȢ ۗȡ‫ܣ‬įȠȣ IJȠ‫ ޅ‬IJİIJȡĮȡȤȠ‫ޅ‬ȞIJȠȢ ‫ں‬ȖȡȓʌʌĮȢ which Mason translates as “Meanwhile, an accuser of Herod the Tetrarch came to Tiberius: Agrippa.” The word is stressed a second time in the next sentence when Josephus notes that Tiberius did not accept the accusation, paralleling the earlier situation when Augustus rejected the accusations when there were two dueling brothers for the throne, Antipas and Archelaus. Nothing has changed. Now Antipas and Agrippa have emerged

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as the dueling Herodians, and Herodias, the wife of one and the sister of the other, has found herself caught in between. Eventually she takes upon herself the earlier role of her grandmother Salome, leading her husband to Rome and to defeat when Agrippa follows with still further accusations when yet another emperor has emerged (War 2.183). The short section from War 2.178 to 183 is the extent of Josephus’ reporting in War about the activities of Herodias and her husband Antipas during the ascendancy of Agrippa. Schwartz has identified it as originating from an “Antipas Source” which Josephus used more extensively in Antiquities interweaving the material with the longer “Agrippa Source” and several other sources to produce a rather lengthy Agrippa section of 532 paragraphs from Antiquities 18.143 to 309 and 19.1-366 (Schwartz, 38). Josephus apparently did not have access to the “Agrippa Source” when he wrote War, and only used the “Antipas Source” sparingly. However, he shows that the abbreviated section in War 2.178-183 is developed in greater detail in Antiquities 18.143-255 (Schwartz, 2-11). Yet the role of Agrippa as accuser is played down in Antiquities. Although Agrippa had a spat with Antipas (Ant. 18.150) and although he went to pay a visit to Tiberius (Ant. 18.161), Josephus does not specifically mention that Agrippa went to Tiberius with the purpose of accusing Antipas. And in the case of the later accusations of Agrippa that led to the exile of Antipas (War 2.183), these are only presented indirectly through letters and through an intermediary in Antiquities 18.247. We can conclude, then, that Josephus has carefully presented Agrippa in War as the accuser to present him in a negative light. It is especially important that Tiberius is presented as not accepting the accusation. The standing of Antipas before the emperor is not related to pros or cons of such an accusation, but due to his success as a tetrarch, ruling a region without any major disturbances for over four decades and carrying out public actions to honor the emperor as building a new city called Tiberias and issuing coins with his name inscribed (Braund, 83; Jensen, 224-6). The statement that Antipas “advanced much before Tiberius in regard to friendship” (Ant. 18.36) says it all. Accusations by young Agrippa would have been viewed as petty. The fall of Antipas from favor came, not from anything he did or did not do, but from the ordinary changes that take place through the passage of time. Tiberius’ death in 37 CE left room for Gaius Caligula, a close friend of Agrippa, to rise to the emperorship, and Philip’s death in 34 CE left a tetrarchy to be appointed. Agrippa was in the right place at the right time and was given the tetrarchy of Philip and the title King. Antipas did the right thing in issuing coins in 38/ 39 CE with the name of Gaius

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Caligula (Meshorer, 82-83. Plate 49. Coins 91-4). Yet that was no match for Agrippa’s coinage with the emperor’s image on the obverse and his three sisters’ images on the reverse (Meshorer, 92, plate 52, coins 112-3). Tiberius surely had understood the practice of Antipas in refraining from human images on coins, but the new emperor had other ideas. With Agrippa ingratiating himself to the emperor, the door was open for further testing Jewish norms with the idea of displaying the emperor’s image in Jerusalem, but that came later. What could Antipas do? While Antipas had been faithfully doing the emperor’s bidding in Galilee, Agrippa had been building relationships in Rome. Herodias was right. The only chance for Antipas to succeed under the new emperor was for him to go to Rome to cultivate their relationship. Her advice made perfect sense. He was not asking for the removal of Agrippa, but only to be treated on the same level with the title king, the title that he had been led to believe would be his forty-three years earlier (War 2.20). Herodias did in this situation what any devoted wife would have done. Josephus does use a strong word to describe her role: țĮIJȠȞİȚįȓȗȠȣıĮ, as she was reproaching him for remaining inactive while letting his feelings boil inside (War 2.182). Yet the reader would understand that his lack of action (‫ڲ‬ȡȖȓĮ) was the less admirable trait. In the end, it is Antipas who is blamed by Josephus in War, since he reacted to Agrippa’s appointment with envy (ijșȩȞȠȢ) and desire (‫ۂ‬ʌȚșȣȝȓĮ). Herodias, however, is presented as the loyal wife who accompanies her husband into exile in Spain. This is the way Herodias was presented by Josephus when he wrote War in the mid-70s CE and presumably also in the “Antipas source.” In Antiquities, written twenty years later, the matter is more complicated because Josephus also had available, the longer “Agrippa source” and was writing with a different purpose in mind. That Josephus’ own view of Herodias was quite different when he wrote Antiquities is evident by his final summation. And so God visited this punishment on Herodias for her envy (ijș‫ܟ‬ȞȠȢ) of her brother and on Herod for listening to a woman’s frivolous chatter (Ant. 18.255).

The term translated here as “frivolous chatter” is țȠȣijȠȜȠȖȚ‫ޒ‬Ȟ, the same term that Josephus uses for the women in the Herodian palace in Jerusalem during the conspiracies again Herod (Ant. 17.121). In this summary statement, Josephus pronounces his condemnation on Herodias, consistent with his goals in writing Antiquities, namely that those who transgress the ancient moral law of the Jewish people will be visited with the punishment of God.

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As we saw above, it was Antipas in War 2.181 who was moved by envy (ijș‫ܟ‬ȞȠȢ). Now Josephus has shifted the blame of envy to Herodias. This does not appear merely in Josephus’ conclusion, but he had already worked it into the opening words of this episode. “Herodias, the sister of Agrippa and wife of Herod, tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea, begrudged (ijș‫ܟ‬Ȟ‫ )ސ‬her brother his rise to power far above the state that her husband enjoyed” (Ant. 18.240). She was “especially helpless to keep this unfortunate envy (ijș‫ܟ‬ȞȠȢ) to herself” (Ant. 18.241) so that she urged her husband to travel to Rome to seek this honor for himself. This is not the way readers in the 70s CE would have understood Josephus’ report in War, yet it is difficult for us today to read the War episode without this later interpretation in mind. In War 178-183 the career of Agrippa is introduced in the space of just several sentences up until the events of 39 CE. This same period is covered by Josephus in Antiquities 18.143-255—113 paragraphs where Herodias is mentioned by name four times, always in relation to Herod Antipas (148, 240, 246, 253-5). Josephus interweaves his newly obtained “Agrippa Source” with the earlier “Antipas Source” and still other sources. The surprise is that Herodias is not always painted as the villainess as she is in Josephus’ concluding statement (Ant. 18.255), but her portrait is mixed with both good and evil. As we saw earlier this long section begins with the introduction of the child Agrippa (and presumably his sister Herodias) in Rome prior to Herod’s death. Following the report of Berenice’s death in Rome sometime after 23 CE, the subsequent paragraphs all focus on the struggles of Agrippa, even to the point where he hits bottom, before he is restored to good fortune, due to his close relationship with Caligula who succeeds Tiberius as emperor in 37 CE. Showing a much more positive attitude toward Agrippa than in War, Josephus introduces this section in Antiquities 18.142, “I shall proceed to relate all the vicissitudes that Agrippa experienced and how he eluded them and forged ahead to the highest rank and power.” Without Berenice, Agrippa no longer had her check on his liberal spending – referred to as his generosity – so that he soon went deep into debt (145-6). Depressed also by the death of Tiberius’ son Drusus, Agrippa left Rome for Judea where he contemplated suicide (147). It was Agrippa’s wife Cypros who provided intervention writing to Herodias (148), seeking her aid as an older sister (Kokkinos, 39). Herodias and Antipas, described here as married in Tiberias about the year 25 CE, are portrayed in a very positive light, inviting Agrippa to the city of Tiberias, finding a place for him to stay, providing for him a stipend and a

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position as superintendent of the city markets (Ant. 18.148). Josephus notes that this arrangement was not of long duration. Yet, as is often the case, it is not clear whether Josephus knows how independent episodes fit together. Agrippa next appears at the doorstep of his friend from Rome, Flaccus, who served as governor of Syria from 32-35 CE (150). So the role of Herodias as benefactress need not be minimized. One should not discount the possibility that Agrippa had remained in Tiberias for as long as five years. The situation of Agrippa in Tiberias, however, was eventually disrupted when Antipas and Agrippa found themselves visiting in Tyre and immersed in an argument that arose under the influence of wine. Apparently Agrippa complained that the assistance provided by Herodias and Antipas “was insufficient,” and Antipas “reproached him with his poverty and dependence on charity for his daily bread” (150). The result was that Agrippa left Tiberias in hopes of finding a better situation. It would seem that this is the reason that Agrippa sought to accuse Antipas before Tiberius in Rome (Schwartz, 5). There is a gap of ninety paragraphs before Herodias is reintroduced to the story. During this interval, Agrippa continues his struggles with continued debt and the consequences of careless comments, so that he finds himself in prison in Rome with charges of treason against the emperor Tiberius. Agrippa’s salvation comes only through the death of Tiberius and the succession of Agrippa’s longtime friend Gaius Caligula to the throne, who then released Agrippa from prison and granted him the tetrarchy formerly ruled by Philip and the title that had eluded Herod’s sons, that of king. This is the point, sometime between 37 and 39 CE when Herodias and Antipas, as mentioned earlier, travel to Rome and were exiled to Gaul. Herodias is presented in a very negative light in this lengthy section of sixteen paragraphs (240-55). What is striking about the Josephus’ report about Agrippa, up until paragraph 240, is the extremely positive depiction of women in Agrippa’s life: his mother Berenice who promoted him in Rome and protected him from his liberal spending; his wife Cypros who intervened on his behalf to rescue him from his debts—first, through her sister-in-law Herodias (149), and then through Alexander the Alabarch in Alexandria (159-60); Herodias who assisted him in getting his life on track in Tiberias, until he again took a downward spiral; and Antonia, who also loaned him money (164-7) and who supported him while in prison (202, 236). It is not just the actions of these women that are highlighted, but also their character. Alexander the Alabarch stood in awe of Cypros because of “her love of her husband,” ijȚȜĮȞįȡ‫ܝ‬ĮȞ, and “all her other good qualities,” (‫ڷ‬ʌĮıĮȞ

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‫ڲ‬ȡİIJ‫ܛ‬Ȟ). Berenice was highly honored in Roman circles (143). Antonia was “virtuous and chaste” (180). In contrast, with the exception of Gaius, Agrippa’s downfall came about through rejection by men: Antipas, who chastised him for his dependency (150); his friend Flaccus who quarreled with him and broke off his friendship (151-4); his younger brother Aristobulus who “did not relent in his animosity” (152); his freedman chariot driver who testified against him (168-9, 187); and Tiberius who threw him into prison (189). This consistent positive portrayal of women over the course of 98 paragraphs describing Agrippa’s struggles, until he reached the age of 47 in the year 37 CE, is incongruent with Josephus’ own view in Ant. 18.255 that women are generally engaged in frivolous talk and lead to the downfall of their husbands. This positive portrayal of Herodias, along with these other women in Agrippa’s life would seem to have originated in the sources that Josephus employed. Beginning in paragraph 240, when Agrippa’s life had taken a turn for the better with a new emperor on the throne, Josephus also changes his tone in reporting about women in Agrippa’s life. We have already noted how Josephus shifted the blame from Antipas’ envy to Herodias’ envy. Josephus also now gives Herodias a voice to articulate her feelings to her husband Antipas (243-4) and then to the emperor Gaius (254), while Antipas is given no voice, neither to respond to Herodias nor to present his position to Gaius. He is described merely as “content with his tranquility and wary of the Roman bustle” (245) and accepts his punishment stoically. This portrayal of Antipas is not in character with what we see earlier in Antiquities, even concerning recent events, when Antipas contacted Tiberius directly following his conflict with Aretas (115), or when Antipas eagerly communicated to Tiberius Vitellius’ diplomatic success with Artabanus of Parthia (104-5). Neither is it consistent with the report earlier in the Agrippa source when Antipas openly confronted Agrippa face to face (150). Now in her speech to Antipas, it is Herodias who reminds him that Agrippa had been previously “dependent on your bounty for survival” (244). Josephus portrays Herodias as unrelenting until Antipas gives in to her wishes to travel to Rome in a quest for kingship. When there is such a shift in the portrayal of characters, the inclination would be to attribute it to the creative hand of the author in embellishing the story and changing it according to his biases to fit his purposes. As mentioned earlier, Daniel Schwartz accepts a very limited role for Josephus as “extractor, compiler, and seamster” (Schwartz, 32) in his use of sources. One exception for Schwartz is this particular episode, particularly in the section of Antipas before Gaius. As we saw earlier, the

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“Antipas Source” as preserved in War 2.183 reported that Agrippa himself followed in order to accuse Antipas. In Antiquities 18.247-52, Agrippa sent a freedman named Fortunatus in his stead with letters of accusation. The problem for Schwartz is that while the “Agrippa Source” frequently describes the role of freedmen in the life of Agrippa, none is ever mentioned in the “Antipas Source” (Schwartz, 4, 9). His reluctance to attribute this to the free hand of a creative Josephus leaves him with the alternative that this detail must have been extracted from yet another source. What Schwartz misses is that the name Fortunatus is the Latin equivalent of the Greek Eutychus, the name of the freedman who had earlier landed Agrippa into prison through his accusations to Tiberius (168, 179, 183-6). The likely scenario is that Josephus has simply fabricated this part of the hearing before Gaius. The irony is that the only other mention of Sejanus in Josephus occurs in the context of that Eutychus’ testimony, but only in the most indirect way, related to the trustworthiness of Antonia, who had earlier helped to expose the Sejanus conspiracy (179-83). Sejanus’ name is dropped a second time when Eutychus is escorted to court by Macro, “the successor of Sejanus” (186). So when the name Sejanus appears in the accusations of Agrippa against Antipas, through the freedman Fortunatus, it cannot be coincidental. Clearly Josephus has offered a creative hand in presenting the details of the hearing before Caligula. A greater problem occurs with the charges brought against Antipas, accusations of conspiracy with enemies of Rome, first in league with Sejanus against Tiberius and second in support of the Parthian King Artabanus against Gaius (247). The unlikelihood of these charges is enough to raise at least some doubt by Jensen (226), Mason (2008, 156), and even Schwartz (58-9). The fact is that Sejanus had been executed already six or seven years earlier in 31 CE and in subsequent trials leading senators were acquitted (Tacitus, Annals 6.9, 29). The possibility that Gaius would have been interested in such a charge is remote. As for the charge of conspiring with Artabanus III, even he may have already met his death by this time. Earlier Josephus had reported Antipas’ positive role in assisting Vitellius at Tiberius’ request in bringing Artabanus under Roman control (101-4). Since Josephus had reported that the whole army of Antipas had been wiped out by Aretas (114), one wonders whether he could have been considered a military threat. According to Josephus, Antipas, when asked to respond, merely confirmed his guilt and accepted his punishment (252). The conclusion of Josephus: he should never have listened to a woman’s frivolous chatter. It was not merely a tragedy of poor timing. It

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was not that Agrippa, who had demonstrated thus far a poor track record, was not to be trusted. It was because of a woman that God had exacted this punishment upon him: exile in Lyons, a city of Gaul (in contrast to Spain, as appears in the earlier version). Josephus has simply followed a theme that he presents elsewhere in Antiquities (4.129-54; 13.400-32; 17; 34-76; 18.344-352; 360-62). Although Josephus has the last word on Herodias, she may have in fact left a lasting word that challenges the popular assumptions. When Caligula discovered that Herodias was the sister of Agrippa, he offered her a chance to separate herself from Antipas. This is her response: Indeed, O emperor, these are generous words and such as befit your high office, but my loyalty to my husband is a bar to my enjoyment of your kind gift, for it is not right when I have shared in his prosperity that I should abandon him when he has been brought to this pass (254).

Here Herodias speaks with the highest respect for the emperor, conveying complete loyalty for her husband. In some ways, this contradicts the portrayal of her as a woman driven by envy and greed, a desire for wealth and power. Had she accepted Caligula’s offer she could have returned home to a comfortable life in Tiberias to benefit from her brother’s growing power and stature since his influence had now more than doubled with the addition of Antipas’ tetrarchy. She could have opted to stay in Rome to enjoy the affluent life, as had her mother and grandmother before her. Instead she stands on principle saying, “It is not right” or “It is not just” (Ƞ‫ ۺ‬į‫ܝ‬țĮȚȠȞ). She chooses a life of poverty with Antipas as preferable to life apart. Feldman’s translation speaks of “loyalty to her husband,” although one should note that she does not use a more conventional term “to her man.” Rather she speaks of loyalty, suing the perfect tense, to the one she had married (ȖİȖĮȝȘț‫ܟ‬IJĮ)—a striking comment in view of history’s portrayal of this woman as one making a mockery of vows of marriage. Caligula responds to Herodias in anger and sends her away with Antipas (255). Yet why was he angry? In Greek, we have (‫ۮ‬ȡȖ‫ ݩ‬IJȠ‫ޅ‬ ȝİȖĮȜ‫ܟ‬ijȡȠȞȠȢ). Feldman’s translation has “angered at her proud mood” (Feldman, 151). Whiston writes merely that Caligula “was angry at her,” as if he did not know how to handle the Greek. The problem is that this term ȝİȖĮȜ‫ܟ‬ijȡȠȞȠȢ, translated usually as generosity or high-mindedness, occurs sixteen times in Antiquities in a positive sense among the highest virtues, used to describe among others Joseph (2.141), Samson (5.317), King Uzziah (9.216), King Ptolemy (12.59), and Joseph the father of Hyrcanus (12.224), and in Jewish War 3.393, 397, King Herod. It would

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seem that Caligula’s anger is directed more at the principled character of Herodias’ response, in contrast to what he would have expected from a sister of Agrippa. This must be the sense of the term since it was used by Herodias herself to describe Caligula’s “generous” offer (254), and it will be used again by Josephus in the very next paragraph to characterize the first years of Caligula’s rule (256). How can the term be used in a negative sense when applied to a woman when it appears in a positive sense immediately before and after for a man? On one other occasion is the term used for a woman and translated in a negative sense, when the wife of Mithridates challenges her husband out of principled, highmindedness (18.362). The term will later be used by Josephus to describe Agrippa’s admirable relationships with the Gentiles (19.328), the approach of Claudius when he becomes emperor after Gaius, and for Romans in general, especially Vespasian and Titus (12.122, 128). As a matter of consistency, it would seem that this is the way it should be taken for Herodias—the last word. As we have seen, this section chronicling the downfall of Antipas provides important insights into Josephus’ views about Herodias. We have seen that his presentation in Antiquities 18.240-55 has shifted the emphasis from War 2.9.6 to speak of the envy of Herodias, rather than the envy of Antipas, and to increase her active role in encouraging her husband to travel to Rome for a hearing. We have seen that this section also differs from the previous sections from the Agrippa source (Ant. 18.146-239) which portrayed women, including Herodias, in a positive way. We have seen that this section itself shows some signs of internal inconsistency and development with the final speech of Herodias (254) continuing to reflect the positive portrayal of Josephus’ source. In the end, however, we are left with Josephus’ own view: “And so God visited this punishment on Herodias for her envy of her brother and on Herod for listening to a woman’s frivolous chatter” (255). From this perspective we can take a closer look at the other references to Herodias in Antiquities, in particular those that refer to her earlier marriage.

The beginning of an affair At this point we turn to a critical episode about Herodias from Antiquities that does not have a parallel in War, an account that describes the beginning of Herodias’ relationship with Antipas. The tetrarch Herod had taken the daughter of Aretas as his wife and had now been married to her for a long time. When starting out for Rome, he

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It is helpful to set the context in Antiquities, a general summary of events while Lucius Vitellius was governor of Syria from 35 CE to 39 CE (Ant. 18.261), beginning with the deposing of Pontius Pilate (18.88) and ending with the defeat of Antipas by the Nabatean King Aretas (18.113-115) and Vitellius’ expedition against Aretas (18.120-125). Schwartz suggests that this section originated with the “Antipas source” before Josephus takes up the material from the “Agrippa source.” However, we shall see that much of this adultery episode must be credited to Josephus’ creative hand. Into this context, Josephus inserts three events that had taken place earlier: the death of Philip the Tetrarch in 34 CE (106-108); the marriage of Herodias and Antipas (109-112); and the death of John the Baptist (116119). Kokkinos’ attempt to place the meeting of Herodias and Antipas and the death of John the Baptist in 35 CE (Kokkinos 1998, 265-70) just doesn’t work (Mason 2008, 154-5). These are flashbacks. The latter two events are presented as related to the war with Aretas, the divorce of Aretas’ daughter by Antipas as a precipitating factor in causing war and the death of John at the hands of Antipas as a theological interpretation explaining his defeat. The fact is that both are exaggerations and that there is no reason to think they did not take place significantly earlier. Many have noted difficulties concerning the time, the place, and the purpose of this visit (Kraemer, 328, Hoehner 125-31). Josephus writes that Antipas “had now been married to her [the daughter of Aretas] for a long time” (109). Born about 20 BCE, Antipas had likely married soon after he was named tetrarch. This daughter is never named in Josephus, but some have suggested her name was Sha’udat, one of four daughters of Aretas (Gillman, 21). So a date for this meeting with Herodias in the mid-20s CE would be quite appropriate, consistent with the report of Agrippa’s visit to Tiberias after the death of Drusus, yet seemingly unrelated to a war a decade later. Yet it is puzzling that in a later genealogy Josephus places this encounter just after the birth of Salome, not after “a long time.” As Josephus tells it, this all took place at the home of Antipas’ brother Herod and in the context of a trip Antipas was making to Rome. What is problematic is when scholars might fit such a journey with what we know about Antipas’ life: sometime before 20 CE in order to gain permission to

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mint coins? In 27 CE before John was arrested? In 29 CE to celebrate the birthday of Sejanus, the rising star? In 31 CE when Sejanus was at the height of his power? In 34 CE to inquire about an open tetrarchy following the death of Philip? How strange that Josephus would not even hint at a reason for going to Rome! For many, the matter has been even more confusing because Whiston mistranslated the text, “when he was once at Rome, he lodged with Herod, who was his brother” (my emphasis). Others have suggested a meeting in Caesarea Maritima, simply because it is a seaport. This Herod had not been mentioned since his demise in 4 BCE, so historical accuracy remains elusive. Following the somewhat tenuous situation following the removal of Archelaus in 6 CE, it would seem that Antipas would have limited his travel, especially if Strabo is correct in locating both Philip and Antipas in Rome for Archelaus’ hearing and in recording a reprimand for all the brothers (Strabo 16.2.46; Dio 55.27.6). As Josephus tells it, the downfall of Archelaus came about when he wandered from Jerusalem and ended up marrying Glaphyra (War 2.114-5; Ant. 17.349-50). Because his appointment was by the emperor, further trips by Antipas would only have been undertaken when there was important business with the emperor and with his permission. Leaving his charge would also put him at risk of being replaced by another. So Josephus notes admirably that Philip spent his whole career in his assigned territory. The same is likely for Antipas who later expresses to Herodias his reluctance to travel to Rome, being uncomfortable in the big city and preferring the tranquil life in Galilee (Ant. 18:245). This element of travel serves no purpose in the present story and could well have been introduced by Josephus. Perhaps this is how Josephus understood Divine Providence, the downfall of Antipas all began and ended with a trip to Rome. As we have seen in Antiquities 18.148-9, Herodias was already living with Antipas in Tiberias when Agrippa left Rome not long after the death of Tiberius’ son Drusus in 23 CE, and he sought out the financial help of his elder sister. So with a decade or more interval to the start of the Nabatean war, the linkage of Antipas’ divorce of Aretas’ daughter was minor in comparison to the vacuum left in the Golan by Philip’s death and the border dispute near Gabalis or Gamla. Aretas then expanded his territory north to include even Damascus. More likely Josephus introduced the motif of Antipas’ affair into an existing account of the Aretas-Antipas conflict. The conflict episode could easily have been told without mentioning Herodias and the beginning of the affair. In the larger story of Aretas and

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his daughter, she made a request of Antipas to be sent away to Machaerus on the border between Herod’s territory Perea and Aretas’ Nabatea (Ant. 18.111-112). She made a point to offer Antipas no hint of her “true purpose” and sent word ahead to Aretas to provide officers to accompany her along the last legs of the journey. What was her real purpose and what did she tell her father when she arrived? Josephus only provides a cryptic answer, “What Herod planned to do.” In the context his plan was to divorce her, to send her back to her father. Then why the secrecy from Antipas? And why did she make Antipas’ task easier and leave her secure place in the palace? The purpose of a political marriage like hers was to provide a guarantee of peace among neighboring rulers, minimizing the chance of conflict breaking out. The way the story is told, she appears to have been engaged in providing some kind of intelligence gathering about Antipas’ designs against Aretas and his state. Her secrecy does not fit the context of a marriage gone bad. In that case, she would have informed her father “What Herod had already done.” The most surprising thing in comparison to the popular view (and that of Ant. 18.140-55) is that Herodias is portrayed as passive and reserved while Antipas is the active figure. There is nothing to suggest that Herodias is a seductress. Antipas finds himself physically attracted to her—no different than the way King Herod had been attracted to Mariamme 2 (Ant. 15.319-22), no different than the way Archelaus had been attracted to Glaphyra (War 2.114-5; Ant. 17.349-50). It is the power of Eros that catches hold of these men. There is something about a beautiful woman, Josephus would suggest, that these married men find irresistible, regardless of how the women have acted in the presence of such men. Mason suggests in connection with Archelaus that this motif was related to the affair of Aeneas and Dido—so popular in Rome in the first century—where the man falls in love just “looking” at her (Mason, 77). For Antipas, it is love at first sight (‫ۂ‬ȡĮıșİ‫ݶ‬Ȣ). He proposes marriage and Herodias accepts (110). Feldman in his translation aptly uses the term “brazen” to describe his actions. This is consistent with the early gospel saying of John the Baptist accusing Antipas for marrying his brother’s wife, and this is likely the way the story came to Josephus. Commentators still find a way to turn Herodias into the manipulator, suggesting that she laid conditions on this marriage agreement, namely that Antipas must divorce his first wife. Hoehner notes that as a Hasmonean, Herodias “did not want to share the house with an Arab” or that she would have wanted to avoid the troubles Herod experienced in a polygamous palace (Hoehner, 128). Gilman suggests that Herodias would have viewed her as a political enemy (Gilman, 22). Some suggest that it

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was simply a matter of jealousy, or a manipulative show of power. Yet none of this is even hinted in Josephus. The sentence is written in the passive voice, “It was stipulated that he must oust the daughter of Aretas” (Ant. 18.110). A more literal translation would read “There were stipulations in the agreements (ıȣȞș‫ݨ‬țĮȚ) that (‫܋‬ıIJİ) the daughter of Aretas be cast out (‫ۂ‬țȕĮȜİ‫ݶ‬Ȟ).” There is also no reason to link the request of the daughter of Aretas that Antipas “send her away,” as Feldman translates it. The term in that case is ʌȑȝʌİȓȞ without an ‫ۂ‬ț or an ‫ڶ‬ʌȠ (Ant. 18.111). The agreement between Antipas and Herodias was that his former wife be divorced. As for the daughter of Aretas, the subsequent events do not seem congruent in such a situation. Her trip to Nabatea, carried out secretly and in fear, seem to point to something else. What is pertinent to the story is that friction developed between Antipas and Aretas that eventually led to war. The demise of this arranged political marriage contributed to this growing friction between neighboring states. When and where and how this happened, we simply do not know. From the several episodes in Antiquities and one episode in War, what we know is that Antipas and Herodias were living together as husband and wife from about 25 CE until their exile and death in 39 CE. The same can be gleaned from the gospels’ account when John the Baptist accused Antipas of taking his brother’s wife. In the later episodes in Josephus, there is no hint of that. They are living together as husband and wife. Yet there is no reason to doubt that words similar to those spoken by John were well known about Herodias in the first century. Interestingly, this accusation that it is not lawful to marry one’s brother’s wife appears in Josephus, but in another context. That is, the marriage of Antipas’ full brother, Archelaus, ethnarch of Judea. The main difference in that case was that the brother had died. The executed Alexander had been married to Glaphyra, the daughter of the King of Cappadocia. Upon her first husband’s death, she was sent back to her father until she remarried a man named Juba, and then widowed a second time, she married Archelaus the ethnarch, who immediately divorced his first wife Mariamme. The story is recounted in both War 2.114-6 and Antiquities 17.349-53. At the end, just before she dies, Glaphyra has a dream in which her first husband Alexander appeared to her and chastised her. In the later version, Josephus has Alexander begin his speech, “Glaphyra, you certainly confirm the saying that women are not to be trusted.” He continues to point out what she has done: “You had the temerity to take still a third bridegroom to your bed, and in an indecent and shameless manner, you again became a member of my family by

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entering into marriage with Archelaus, your own brother-in-law and my own brother.” This is more than just a coincidence. The setting of the story is during the travels of Archelaus when he stays at the home, not of the woman’s husband, but of her father. Looking upon Glaphyra, Archelaus immediately falls in love, proposes marriage, and casts out his first wife. Even the same verbs are used as in the story of Herodias: ‫ۆ‬ȡȦȢ and ‫ۂ‬țȕĮȜ‫ܣ‬Ȟ. It is difficult to imagine any other explanation than that Josephus has taken an episode about a conflict between Antipas and Aretas and inserted a newly-created story about Antipas falling in love with Herodias, based on the episode of Archelaus and Glaphyra. It may be that Josephus has totally changed the meaning of the larger episode about Aretas and his daughter. But it is also quite possible that this episode included a brief allusion to Antipas having married his brother’s wife, similar to the saying of John the Baptist. In this episode Josephus takes pains to include the names of Antipas, Aretas, Herod, and Herodias, but the most important character, the daughter of Aretas, is left without a name. The language is quite cumbersome in this section at the end of paragraph 109 and the beginning of paragraph 110 with the introduction of characters. The first is “his halfbrother Herod, who was born of a different mother, namely, the daughter of Simon the high priest.” It is doubtful that Josephus would have expressed it this way, if he were writing from memory. So how did he know the name of Herodias’ first husband? It is possible that Josephus had independent access to that information, yet he never includes Herod’s name after the conspiracy to murder King Herod. More likely Josephus turned to his own earlier report taken from Nicolaus of Damascus concerning the marriage arrangements made in Jericho. There the two daughters of Aristobulus had been promised to two brothers of Antipas, Antipater and Herod. Had Josephus consulted the Jewish War version of the story, he might have concluded that Herodias had been promised to Antipater since her name appears before Mariamme. But in the Antiquities version, Josephus had omitted the names of the five children of Aristobulus. So which sister was promised to which brother? A clue that Josephus does not really know is that he never identifies Herodias’ sister in Antiquities. He follows a process of elimination. Since Antipater had been put to death, Josephus was seemingly safe to identify Herodias’ first husband as Herod. It is clear that Josephus was consulting this episode of the marriage arrangements in 7 BCE in Jericho (Ant. 17.14), where he identifies this Herod as—“his own son Herod, who had been born to him by the daughter of the high

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priest.” In Greek one finds the nearly identical phrases between the Jericho episode and the episode when Herodias met Antipas: Ǽț ȖĮȡ IJȘȢ ȈȚȝȦȞȠȢ IJȠȣ ĮȡȤȚİȡİȦȢ șȣȖĮIJȡȠȢ (Ant. 18.110) Ǽț

IJȘȢ

IJȠȣ ĮȡȤȚİȡİȦȢ șȣȖĮIJȡȠȢ (Ant. 17.14)

While in the earlier account Simon was alive and active as high priest and did not need to be identified by name, in the later account it is necessary to add his name. This is the first mention of Herodias after the episode of her betrothal, and the first time that she is mentioned by name in Antiquities. So her identity is given in relation to her father, her brother, and her husband. Just as the marriage arrangement by King Herod had identified her as the daughter of Aristobulus (Ant. 17:14), here she continues to be described in relationship to her father, now dead for three decades. The reference to her brother as Agrippa the elder is an addition by Josephus (see 17.28) looking ahead to his lengthy report about Agrippa. Although Herod’s name is introduced in Antiquities 18.109, it is not repeated in paragraph 110. Feldman’s translation identifies Herodias there as “the wife of this halfbrother.” A more literal translation would say that she was “the wife of this one.” This suggests that Josephus may have had before him in his sources merely a simple reference to “his brother’s wife,” as appears also in the Gospel saying of John the Baptist. We can conclude that Josephus is not reliable in identifying the first husband of Herodias. Rather it was based on assumptions that were not carefully analyzed. The names mentioned in connection with this Herod are all individuals long discredited: Aristobulus, executed for his role in the first plot against Herod; Mariamme for her role in the plot of Antipater against Herod; her father Simon, removed as high priest because of her actions; her son Herod blotted out of Herod’s will. For Josephus, who saw Herodias as such a villainess, it was only natural that she would be connected to individuals such as these.

Will the real first husband please stand up? So who was the first husband of Herodias? Our analysis has shown that Josephus himself shaped the story of Herodias in Antiquities in order to portray her as a prime example of one who disregarded the ancient Jewish moral law and who received divine retribution as a result. Likely he had before him reports similar to the gospel admonition of John the Baptist

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that “It is not lawful for a man to have his brother’s wife,” which were redirected to place blame on Herodias. We conclude that Josephus simply did not know. This leaves the identification of Herodias’ first husband in doubt. From a historian’s perspective, is it possible to determine which brother of Antipas was Herodias’ first husband? Some will suggest the Gospels were correct in naming Philip the Tetrarch. Others still will conjecture that Herod also had the name Philip. Nikos Kokkinos suggests that Herodias had been married to three different brothers, first Herod, then Philip the Tetrarch, then Antipas (Kokkinos, 1986, 42). Others still will continue to argue that Josephus just may have got it right in identifying him as Herod. This certainly is possible, but is it likely? First, it is not clear from the Jericho betrothal episode which sister was engaged to which brother. On the basis of name order in War 1.552, it seems reasonable that her future marriage had been arranged, not with Herod, but with Antipater. On the basis of the subsequent negotiations, it seems that King Herod was flexible to alter these arrangements. On the basis of the notation that both Antipater and Herod were already married, it seems that such flexibility could lead to other arrangements, were that to benefit the daughters. On the basis of Josephus’ reports, it appears that none of the other three arrangements materialized due to the punishments enacted for the conspirators against Herod. On the basis of Berenice’s decision to leave the Herodian palace for Rome, it would be highly unlikely that she would agree to any marriages in Jerusalem to any of those parties including the discredited Herod. Is it possible that Herodias did in fact marry Herod? Yes, but it is highly unlikely. When Berenice arrived in Rome shortly before the death of King Herod, foremost in her mind was the future of her five children, now ranging in age from two to eleven. Her networking with Antonia and Salome’s networking with Livia and Augustus paved the way for significant positions for her three sons, Agrippa as eventual King of the Jews, Herod as King of Chalcis, and Aristobulus in a lesser position in Syria. Such networking also involved arrangements for marriage which we know were under the purview of the emperor. Suetonius tells us that Augustus “followed a policy of linking together his royal allies by mutual ties of friendship or intermarriage, which he was never slow to propose” (Suetonius, Augustus 48). This is likely what occurred for Herodias and Mariamme, now approaching marriageable age when the whole Herodian family swarmed to Rome in 4 BCE to settle Herod’s will and to decide upon his successors. That decision divided Herod’s rule among three sons, all of marriageable age: Archelaus 19, Antipas 16, and Philip 16. Josephus explicitly notes that on this occasion Augustus did arrange marriages for

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Herod’s two young daughters, Roxanne and Salome, to marry sons of Pheroras and that Augustus himself paid for each of them 250,000 denarii as dowry (Ant. 17.322). It seems improbable that Augustus would have dismissed these new rulers to their territories without such marriage arrangements to cement broken family relationships and to ensure peace with their neighbors. The most obvious of these arrangements was the marriage of Antipas to the daughter of King Aretas, a decision that would follow only upon his appointment over the territory of Perea neighboring upon Nabatea (Schürer, 19; Theissen, 82; Kokkinos, 230). Clearly, one of Augustus’ major concerns for the stable succession of Herod’s kingdom was its role as a buffer against the growing Parthian threat and therefore its alliance with its neighbors to the east. As for Archelaus, Josephus notes the name of his first wife as Mariamme, who was dismissed when Archelaus became infatuated with Glaphyra (Ant. 17.350). The Loeb Classical Library edition mentions very briefly in a footnote: “possibly a daughter of Aristobulus” (Wikgren, 535; see also Kokkinos, 227; Mason 2008, 77). This makes perfect sense for Augustus in bringing several factions of the family together in Jerusalem since Salome and Berenice’s brother had taken the lead in opposing the appointment of Archelaus. The new ethnarch would have been inclined to accept, not only because it was the will of Augustus, but because such a marriage would not have taken place for several more years when Mariamme reached puberty, possibly as early as 1 BCE. Yet, when Archelaus divorced her about five years later, the Jerusalem elite protested vigorously, a fitting response for such treatment of a granddaughter of Mariamme 1 of a prominent Hasmonean family. With Berenice living in Rome and with the influence of Salome, the response of Augustus in deposing Archelaus is not surprising. Again, the likely time for such a betrothal is the occasion of Archelaus’ appointment as ethnarch. What about Philip? The impression given by Josephus is that he remained a bachelor until late in life. As I have written elsewhere this was unthinkable (Strickert, 2011, 143-61; see also Hanson and Oakman, 3152). Marriage was not an individual choice based on infatuation—those marriages were secondary and often led to negative consequences—but a family decision with political implications. With evidence pointing to the marriages of both Antipas and Archelaus arranged in Rome, it makes good sense that this was also the case for Philip. It may have been that a marriage was arranged for him with a woman unknown to Josephus, and also to us. Yet in this case, the Gospels offer a reasonable candidate. Herodias, like her sister, was approaching marriageable age and present in

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Rome, along with her mother and grandmother, at the time of Philip’s appointment. It is most logical to conclude that Philip the Tetrarch was the first husband of Herodias.

Herodias in the Genealogy of Herod This analysis leaves us with one hurdle. In Josephus, the clearest reference to Herodias’ marriages appears in a statement imbedded in a long genealogy (Ant. 18.130-141) that Josephus has inserted just prior to taking up the Agrippa material: Their sister Herodias was married to Herod, the son of Herod the Great by Mariamme, daughter of Simon the high priest. They had a daughter Salome, after whose birth Herodias, taking it into her head to flout the way of our fathers, married Herod, her husband’s brother by the same father, who was tetrarch of Galilee; to do this she parted from a living husband. Her daughter Salome was married to Philip, Herod’s son and tetrarch of Trachonitis (Ant. 18. 136-137).

Steve Mason states “that one cannot easily challenge Josephus’ account of the Herodian family tree because it is a tightly woven and intricate whole, based on excellent sources” (Mason, 98). This seems straightforward and might lead us to take everything at face value, yet there are clear signs that the currently discussed genealogy is an exception. Rather than being a tightly woven whole, this twelve paragraph genealogy is a composite that Josephus has woven together in a rather careless way. A glance at the footnotes for this section in the Loeb Classical Library series, points out many of the difficulties. The current structure is built on a genealogy of the daughters of Herod—all five are included. However, Josephus has inserted genealogical information about the descendants of Aristobulus and Alexander, omitted from Antiquities 17.20, to which Josephus refers with the words “as I have related previously” (134). Likewise, he introduced this whole section with the statement, “I have spoken previously about these matters, but now I shall dwell on them in detail” (129). The awkwardness of this arrangement, with a long insertion, has required Josephus to add the words “as I said” (138) when he returns to the original structure. One can readily read paragraphs 130-132, 138, and 141 as one continuous text with paragraphs 133-137 and 139-140 as insertions. In the text below, the inserted material is included in italics and Josephus’ own comments are underlined.

A Fresh Analysis of Josephus’ Portrayal of Herodias Herod the Great had two daughters by Mariamme the daughter of Hyrcanus. One of them Salampsio, was given in marriage by her father to Phasael, her cousin, the son of Herod’s brother Phasael; the other, Cypros, also married a cousin, Antipater, the son of Herod’s sister Salome (130). By Salampsio Phasael had three sons—Antipater, Alexander, and Herod— and two daughters—Alexandra and Cypros. Cypros’ husband was Agrippa, the son of Aristobulus; Alexandra’s was Timius of Cyprus, a man of some importance, in union with whom she died childless (131). By Agrippa Cypros had two sons, named Agrippa and Drusus, and three daughters, Berenice, Mariamme, and Drusilla. Of these children Drusus died before reaching adolescence (132). Agrippa, together with his brothers Herod and Aristobulus, was raised by their father. Berenice the daughter of Costobar and of Herod’s sister Salome, and these sons of Aristobulus, Herod the Great’s son, were raised together (133). These were left as infants by Aristobulus when, as I have previously related, he, together with his brother Alexander, was put to death by his father. When they had reached adolescence, Herod the brother of Agrippa, married Mariamme, the daughter of Olympias—who was herself the daughter of King Herod—and of Joseph—who was the son of Joseph, the brother of King Herod. By her he had a son Aristobulus (134). The other brother of Agrippa, Aristobulus, married Jotape, the daughter of Sampsigeramus king of Emesa. They had a daughter also named Jotape, who was a deaf-mute. Such were the children of the sons (135). Their sister Herodias was married to Herod, the son of Herod the Great by Mariamme, daughter of Simon the high priest. They had a daughter Salome, after whose birth Herodias, taking it into her head to flout the way of our fathers, married Herod, her husband’s brother by the same father, who was tetrarch of Galilee; to do this she parted from a living husband (136). Her daughter Salome was married to Philip, Herod’s son and tetrarch of Trachonitis. When he died childless, Aristobulus, the son of Agrippa’s brother Herod, married her. Three sons were born to them—Herod, Agrippa, and Aristobulus (137). Such then was the line of Phasael and Salampsio. As to Cypros, a daughter named Cypros was born to her and Antipater; Alexas, who was surnamed Helcias and was the son of Alexas, married this daughter, and she in turn had a daughter named Cypros, Herod and Alexander who, as I have said, were the brothers of Antipater, died childless (138). Alexander, King Herod’s son, who had been put to death by his father, had two sons, Alexander and Tigranes, by the daughter of Archelaus king of Cappadocia. Tigranes, who was king of Armenia, died childless after charges were brought against him at Rome (139). Alexander had a son who had the same name as his brother Tigranes and who was sent forth by Nero to be king of Armenia. This Tigranes had a son Alexander, who married Jotape, the daughter of Antiochus, king of Commagene; Vespasian appointed him king of Cetis in Cilicia (140). The offspring of Alexander

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Chapter Twenty abandoned from birth the observance of the ways of the Jewish land and ranged themselves with the Greek tradition. The other daughters of King Herod, it turned out, died childless (141).

Clearly, Josephus is most interested in presenting the closer relatives of Agrippa. The insertion of material about Agrippa’s siblings takes up five paragraphs, while the section on the daughters of Herod comprises only four. Since Agrippa is already introduced in paragraphs 131 and 132 through his marriage to Cypros, the daughter of Salampsio, the daughter of Herod, the transition to the family tree of Aristobulus in paragraph 133 is quite awkward. Josephus’ stream of thought follows the repetition of similar names. He has last mentioned Agrippa 2 in paragraph 132, and now he returns to Agrippa 1 in paragraph 133. Yet Josephus writes a transitional statement that is blatantly false. Agrippa, together with his brothers Herod and Aristobulus, were not raised by their father, Aristobulus, because he had been put to death by King Herod. Though Josephus corrects this in a later sentence referring to them as infants, he interjects yet another awkward sentence concerning Berenice, their mother. The difficulty Josephus has in writing a clear report continues when he mistakenly writes that Aristobulus was the third brother of Agrippa (135). When Josephus at the end of paragraph 137 mentions yet another Aristobulus who has three sons also named Herod, Agrippa, and Aristobulus, one can only wonder if this may be another awkward transition, and thus information to be doubted. As it stands in the current text, the words at the beginning of paragraph 138, “Such then was the line of Phasael and Salampsio,” does not make sense because of the intervening material. The second insertion (paragraphs 139-40) seems to be connected only by name association. The mention at the end of paragraph 138 of Alexander, the son of Salampsio, leads to the family tree of Alexander, the son of King Herod. As with the report about Aristobulus in Antiquities 17.20, so also the names of Alexander’s children had been omitted at that point of the story. Following Alexander’s genealogy, Josephus resumes with the initial source, very briefly mentioning two other daughters of Herod. Josephus explains his twofold purpose in producing this genealogy at this point in the text, before taking up the story of Agrippa. Above all he desires to emphasize the role of Divine Providence in human affairs and the importance of acts of piety—in this case following the way of their religious ancestors--among those destined to be leaders (127). Secondly, the moral is to be learned from the misfortunes of the family of Herod, “For within a century of Herod’s decease it came about that all but a few of Herod’s issue, and there were many who had perished” (128).

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Josephus, therefore, makes sure that the entire genealogy has a morbid tone, mentioning twice the violent deaths of the two sons of King Herod, Aristobulus and Alexander, and reminding the reader how he had narrated this story in detail earlier (134 and 138). He also notes that Agrippa’s own son Drusus had died before adolescence and he notes seven different instances where individuals had died childless, among these Philip the Tetrarch, whose own death in 34 CE was described a few paragraphs earlier (Ant. 18.106). Although Josephus introduced this genealogy emphasizing the misfortune of the many who had perished, he concludes with a puzzling statement that “those whom I have enumerated were still alive at the time when Agrippa the Great received his royal office” (142). It is puzzling because one can easily point out examples of those already deceased, including for example Philip, and also because Josephus, writing six decades later could hardly have had accurate and complete knowledge of many family members excluded from this section. Among those who are highlighted are those who have strayed from the ancient laws of the Jews and who are destined for a disastrous end, among them the family of Alexander who early on deserted the ways of their ancestors (139-41), and Herodias who took “it into her head to flout the way of our fathers” (136). Again one must ask why was it that Antipas received no censure for his part in their relationship. For Josephus, Herodias is the perfect example of his thesis, and it is no accident that paragraph 136 is the longest in this entire section—a very awkward paragraph. In contrast, Herodias’ sister Mariamme is omitted completely. One can only read this section with skepticism, as the creation of Josephus, not an established genealogy from his sources. The mention of Herod as Herodias’ first husband cannot be taken as independent evidence, but is simply the compounding of his earlier error. Why is it that Josephus mentions Herodias’ first husband, while he fails to mention the first wife of Antipas? More problematic is the mention of Salome in this context. Nikos Kokkinos in an article titled “Which Salome did Aristobulus marry?” has argued that this is a conflation of several women named Salome (Kokkinos 1986, 33-50; Kraemer, 329). A coin from the year 56/ 57 CE with the images of Aristobulus and Salome and the inscriptions “Queen Salome” and “King Aristobulus” provides clear evidence for a Salome ruling with her husband the Kingdom of Lesser Armenia from 52 CE to about 70 CE (Meshorer, 181-2; catalogue # 365; plate 78.). Yet, the gap in time between the death of Herod of Chalcis in 48 CE and the beginning of the rule of his son Aristobulus in 52 CE, would suggest a younger age for

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this couple, perhaps born sometime in the early 30s CE. Josephus’ comment that Herodias left her first husband soon after the birth of Salome fits neither the dates for the earlier episode of the encounter between Antipas and Herodias nor the dates of the rulers of Lesser Armenia. Kokkinos thus concludes that Josephus was mistaken in linking Salome, a daughter of Herodias, and the later Queen Salome. Such confusion also carries over to his claim that Philip married Herodias’s daughter later in life, which Kokkinos discounts completely. It is simply unlikely that a ruler such as Philip would go unmarried for decades and then marry for the first time someone much younger. As for the statement that Philip died childless, it is noteworthy that Josephus here uses the term ‫ڶ‬ʌĮȚȢ (137) while the term ‫ڶ‬IJİțȞȠȢ appears in Josephus’ quotation of the law of levirate marriage (Ant. 4.254) and in his genealogical material from Nicolaus in War 1.563 and in paragraphs 132, 138, 141 of the current genealogy. Presumably Josephus added this detail from his report of Philip’s death in Julias, when he left no heirs -- ʌĮ‫ݶ‬įĮȢ -and his territory was added to that of Syria (18.108). Such a statement would not discount the possibility of daughters. Interestingly the later Slavonic version of Josephus mentions that Philip did have children. There is good reason to question the accuracy concerning the marriage of Herodias as presented in Josephus’ genealogy. He has taken up an existing genealogy and inserted material that he composed rather freely. Yet it seems that Josephus simply did not know. Josephus was not born yet when most of these events took place, and by the time he writes Antiquities in the mid-90s, Herodias had been dead for half a century. The picture that he pieces together then of Herodias is quite different from what we see in War. Josephus has also altered the picture of her as portrayed in his sources, as careful analysis has shown. There is a side to her that makes her a tragic victim in a world controlled by the decisions of men, in her case, her father and her grandfather, her brother and her husbands. Yet she was clearly not a saint. She did marry her husband’s brother. In her age, it was not unusual for a young woman, especially in the Herodian family, to be married to an uncle, sometimes significantly older, sometimes less. The choice was often determined for her by a father or grandfather or even an uncle. In Herodias’ case, she was betrothed to one uncle and married to two others. Josephus assumed that the arrangement made by her grandfather when she was only eight years old was to carry on into her adult life. Thus he names her first husband as her uncle Herod, though in reality her betrothal may have been to her uncle Antipater, as we have seen. Yet in her case, the initiative of her mother Berenice, and the

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connections of her grandmother Salome, led to another arrangement under the watchful eye of the Emperor Augustus so that she was married to a younger uncle, Philip the Tetrarch. In the end, however, she and yet another uncle, Antipas, agreed on their own marriage, contrary to the laws of their ancestors. They seem to have been a good match, living together for perhaps fifteen years, with Herodias showing faithfulness to stay with Antipas even into exile when fame and fortune could have been her continued lot.

References Braund, David (1985), Rome and the Friendly King: The Character of the Client Kingship. London: Croom Helm. Feldman, Louis, ed. and trans. (1981), Josephus: Jewish Antiquities, Books XVIII-XIX, vol. IX. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge: Harvard. Gilman, Florence Morgan (2003), Herodias: At Home in that Fox’s Den. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Hanson, K. C., and Douglas E. Oakman (2008),. Palestine in the Time of Jesus. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008. Hoehner, Harold W. (1972), Herod Antipas. Cambridge: University Press. Jensen, Morten Horning (2006), Herod Antipas in Galilee: The Literary and Archaeological Sources on the Reign of Herod Antipas and Its Socio-economic Impact on Galilee. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament 2.Reihe. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Ilan, Tal Ilan (2002), “Intermarriage in the Herodian Family as a Paradigm for Intermarriage in Second Temple Judaism.” Paper delivered to SBL Josephus Section. —. (1996). “Josephus and Nicolaus on Women.” in Peter Schäfer, ed., Geschichte—Tradtion—Reflexion. Festschrift fĦr Martin Hengel zum 70 Geburtstag. Band I: Judentum. TĦbingen: Mohr, 221-62. Kokkinos, Nikos (1998), The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society, and Eclipse. JSPS: 26; Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press. —. (1986), “Which Salome Did Aristobulus Marry?” PEQ 118, 33-50. Kraemer, Ross S (2006), “Implicating Herodias and Her Daughter in the Death of John the Baptizer: A (Christian)Theological Strategy?” Journal of Biblical Literature, 125:2, 321-349. Krieger, Klaus-Stefan (2000), “A Synoptic Approach to War 2:117-283 and Antiquities 18-20.” Paper presented at the SBL Annual Meeting. Toronto, Nov. 19, 2000. Mason, Steve (1992), Josephus and the New Testament. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson.

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—. (2008), Judea War 2, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, vol. 1b. Leiden: Brill. Meier, John P. (1991), A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, vol. 1. New York: Doubleday. —. (1992), "John the Baptist in Josephus: Philology and Exegesis." Journal of Biblical Literature 111:2, 225-37. Meshorer, Ya’akov (2001), A Treasury of Jewish Coins: From the Persian Period to Bar Kokhba. Nyack, NY: Amphora. Richardson, Peter (1999), Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans. Minneapolis: Fortress. Schürer, Emil (1924), The History of the Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ, First Division, vol. 2. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Schwartz, Daniel R. (1990), Agrippa I: The Last King of Judea. Tübingen: Mohr. Strickert, Fred (2011), Philip’s City: From Bethsaida to Julias. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Theissen, Gerd (1991), The Gospels in Context: Social and Political History in the Synoptic Tradition. trans. Linda M. Maloney. Minneapolis: Fortress. Whiston, William (1843), translator and editor. The Works of Flavius Josephus. London: George Virtue.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE CAPITAL PUNISHMENT AND BURIAL IN THE ROMAN EMPIRE MARK D. SMITH

The Six Day War of 1967 provided a windfall for archaeologists, for in its aftermath, not uncommonly, clean-up crews and construction workers made accidental archaeological discoveries. One such discovery was a tomb complex at Giv’at ha-Mivtar, near Mount Scopus, in northeast Jerusalem, with excavations, under the direction of Vasilios Tsaferis, beginning in late 1968. Tomb1 was a cave tomb consisting of two adjoined chambers about three meters square, each of which contained burial niches (Latin: loculi; Hebrew: kokhim). These were excavated into its walls and were about two meters long, with small rectangular openings, not unlike the drawers where bodies are stored in a morgue. The two chambers contained 12 loculi and a total of eight ossuaries, small limestone boxes used for the secondary burial of desiccated bones. Cave tombs, loculi and ossuaries were expensive and therefore represent the burials of the Jewish elite of Jerusalem, most commonly from the era of the Herodians.1 The bones of Giv’at ha-Mivtar tell the disturbing story of an elite Jewish family, living in Jerusalem around the time of Jesus. The eight ossuaries contain the bones of 17 individuals spanning two generations. Five died as children under seven years of age. Only two lived to be older 1

To the second century CE. This range is consistent with the pottery assemblage found in the tomb, which dates between the late first century BCE and the Roman sack of Jerusalem in 70 CE. Tsaferis published his original excavation report in the Israel Exploration Journal in 1970, followed by a later popular account (1985). The original analysis of the anthropological finds was conducted by Haas (1970), who was prevented by ill-health from conducting further analysis of the remains according to Zias and Sekeles (1985). For detailed discussion of ossuaries, see Evans, 2003.

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than 50. Of those who made it to adulthood, at least two died violent deaths. One of them, a 24-28 year old male, died by crucifixion. His name, according to an inscription on his ossuary (no. 4), was Yehohanan. He shared his ossuary with another adult and a three year old child. We know that Yehohanan was crucified because his right heel bone (calcaneum) was preserved with an iron nail piercing through it, bent at the tip. Much excitement, along with much controversy, followed this discovery.2 Despite the controversy, however, scholars are agreed on two things: that this discovery provides the first archaeological evidence for a victim of crucifixion, and that Yehohanan was buried in customary Jewish fashion in a family tomb. The purpose of this study is to analyze one significant interpretive challenge raised by Yehohanan and his heel. On the one hand, one might infer from the twin facts that Yehohanan was crucified and buried, that the Romans followed normal procedure when handing the body of the executed man over to the family for burial. On the other hand, one might infer from the fact that Yehohanan’s heel represents the only such archaeological evidence, that his case does not represent normal procedure of the Romans at all, but rather a divergence from the norm, an exception to the rule. This interpretation assumes that the normal procedure of the Romans was not to permit the burial of crucified criminals, but rather to leave their bodies exposed, foul carrion for birds and dogs, as a lasting deterrent to anyone who would dare challenge Roman authority.3 The bones of Yehohanan have been speaking to us for more than four decades, but we have yet to hear everything they have to say. Are they telling us that Yehohanan was the exception that proves the rule? Or that he was one among many buried victims of Roman capital punishment? This may seem a simple binary question, but the path to the most probable answer is long and winding, requiring a thorough analysis of the literary and archaeological evidence for Roman capital punishment, Roman treatment of bodies, and the Roman values that underlie these practices. At the end of our journey, the most probable explanation that accounts for all of the evidence is that the Romans practiced a sort of situational

2

Most of the controversy focused on the original analysis of the bones and nail and the reconstruction of exactly how Yehohanan was placed on the cross (Haas, 1970); cf. Yadin, 1973; Fitzmyer, 1978; Kuhn, 1979; Tzaferis, 1985; Zias and Sekeles, 1985. 3 See the arguments in Crossan, 1995, 160ff. Hengel (1977, 87) is more cautious and more thorough, but still suggests that “quite often,” victims of crucifixion were never buried.

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thanatology,4 treating the bodies of those they executed in a manner that could vary with circumstances. As a result, under certain circumstances the Romans handed the bodies of victims of execution over to those who requested them or if there were no such request, cremated or buried them in the most efficient manner available. On the other hand, there were particular circumstances that caused Romans to expose bodies for short or long periods of time. These circumstances and the values underlying the variation in Roman procedures serve to demonstrate that Yehohanan may have been an exceptional archaeological discovery. His burial was anything but exceptional. This study will focus on evidence for Roman capital punishment and burial (or lack thereof), throughout the empire, between the beginning of the first century BCE and the end of the first century CE, though at times significant evidence beyond these bounds may prove worthy of consideration. In addition, this study will explore only the actions of the Roman government when putting to death its citizens or subjects. Executions by mobs or individuals or client kings may have some relevance to our subject, but we are primarily interested in Roman behavior and values. Further, while it is necessary to consider all forms of capital punishment, the case of Yehohanan calls us to pay particular attention to evidence of Roman crucifixions. One scholar of violent spectacles in the Roman empire tells of the lecture he delivered to his class on the gore and body-counts associated with gladiatorial games. In response, one student blurted out, “But what did they do with all of those bodies?” (Kyle, 1998, ix). That student’s perceptive question lies at the root of this study. Whether as a result of crucifixions, or gladiatorial contests, or other forms of capital punishment, the Roman government produced a significant number of corpses that needed to be dealt with in some manner. “All of those bodies” posed concrete, practical, logistical, ethical, and religious problems.

The Nature of the Evidence for Roman Capital Punishment To do justice to “all those bodies” and those who handled them, it is necessary to undertake a thorough examination (dare I say, autopsy?) of the nature of the evidence. We begin with a brief foray into the evidence for common types of Roman executions, followed by a more detailed analysis of the evidence for crucifixions. 4

I am indebted to Jeff Snyder-Reinke for this phrase.

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Capital punishment under Roman law is a complex topic, but at its core, Romans attempted to exercise justice (iustitia) and jurisprudence (iurisprudentia) by maintaining a reasonable and socially acceptable balance among the competing values of humanity (humanitas), clemency (clementia), equity (aequitas), and severity (saevitia), all in the name of the public interest (utilitas publica). During the early Principate Imperial courts and provincial governors were granted considerable latitude in the application of these principles in cognitio extra ordinem trials (Bauman, 1996, 5-8). The Digest of Roman Law contains a discussion of the gradation of capital crimes and their associated punishments: decapitation (capitis amputatio or decollatio), burning alive (crematio), condemnation to wild beasts (damnatio ad bestias), and crucifixion (ad furcam or crux), with the last three considered the “extreme penalties.”5 To these standard penalties we need to add a few others that appear in the sources: condemnation to the arena (ad ludum or ad gladium), casting down from the Tarpeian Rock, “the sack,” and enforced suicide. Of course, there were other ways to execute people, limited only by the cruelty and creativity of local or imperial magistrates, but these standard means of execution should suffice for the present study.6 The Roman practice of capital punishment considered not only a hierarchy of crimes and punishments, but also a hierarchy of criminals based on social status. For Romans, punishments should not only fit the crime, but the criminal.7 Decapitation is perhaps the most merciful way the Romans executed people, and it was the primary manner of capital punishment for Roman citizens. Unfortunately, we do not see many references to it in the sources, 5 48.19.28. The punishments in the Digest are similar to the list in Julius Paulus, Sententiae 5.17.12 which includes, in order of severity, crux, crematio, and decollatio. For other discussions of Roman Capital punishments, see Sallust, Jugurthine War 14.15; Seneca the Elder, Controversies 8.4; Apuleius, Metamorphoses 6.31-32. All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. 6 Four additional methods are relatively rare: beating to death with rods (e.g. Cicero, In Defense of Rabirius Postumus 16; Suetonius, Nero 49.2), flogging to death (e.g. Dio 30-35, fr. 104.6), strangulation in the forum (e.g. Sallust, Catilinarian Conspiracy 58) and, in the case of an unchaste Vestal Virgin, burial alive (e.g. Livy 22.57.2-6) . See Robinson, 2007, 184ff.; Cantarella, 1991, 140ff.; Bradley, 2012; Schultz, 2012. 7 Increasingly over the course of the Principate, the distinction between honestiores (elites) and humiliores (the rest), affected the application of law until it was solidified under the Severans. Even in the late Republic, it was possible for elites found guilty of capital crimes to receive the non-lethal sentence of aquae et ignis interdictio (exile); not so for the lower classes (Kyle, 1998, 95f.; cf. Robinson, 2007; Levy, 1963; Bauman, 1996, 7, 47).

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perhaps because of a general Roman reluctance to execute citizens, as intimated in the discussion in the Digest cited above. Or perhaps beheading was simply unworthy of papyrus, not interesting to Roman writers or readers unless the circumstances of the beheading were especially newsworthy, such as the execution of the Hasmonaean king Antigonos with an axe (Dio 49.22.6), or the beheading of noteworthy citizens, during Sulla’s proscriptions, whose heads were subsequently displayed on pikes (Dio 30-35 fr. 109.4ff), or the execution of 300 people by the axe in one day by the Proconsul of Asia (Seneca, On Anger 2.5.5), or the beheading of 18 Jews by Quadratus, Legate of Syria (Josephus, War 2.242). An intriguing piece of archaeological evidence may provide an additional angle. In the same tomb complex at Giv’at Ha-Mivtar, this time in Tomb C, the bones of a woman, perhaps nearing sixty years of age, were unearthed. The forensic evidence suggests she was beheaded, whether by homicide or execution is uncertain. In Tomb D, which held remains from the same family as the decapitated woman, the bones of a man were discovered who was also beheaded around the age of 50. It is possible if not probable that these were both executed by Roman authorities, which also suggests that both were Roman citizens.8 In only three of these cases is there any evidence of how the Romans disposed of the bodies of the beheaded victims. The two victims at Giv’at ha-Mivtar were buried but, in the third case, during the era of the proscriptions of Sulla, the bodies were cast into the Tiber. Dio’s distaste is evident throughout his description of Sulla’s violent acts. What are we to infer from both the silence of most sources, and the pieces of evidence we do have? Whether the bodies of the beheaded were most commonly buried or thrown into the Tiber is difficult to discern from this evidence alone.9

8

See the detailed discussion in Evans & Wright, 2009, 55ff., who argue that accidental or homicidal beheadings are quite unusual. In the second case, it appears that the beheading required two strokes. Evans further notes that he has examined a number of bodies of victims of beheading, mostly from England and North Africa. They had all been buried (for detail and bibliography, see Evans, 2011, 94). According to early Christian tradition, St. Paul, a Roman citizen, was also beheaded under Nero and subsequently buried (Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, 2.25.5-8). 9 For further discussion of beheading see Voisin, 1984, who also discusses the occasional decapitation of corpses; cf. Hope, 2000, 113. Noteworthy also is the beheading of John the Baptist by the Tetrarch, Herod Antipas, client of Rome. John was buried by his disciples (Mark 6.14-29; Josephus, Antiquities 18.119).

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The second punishment mentioned in the Digest is crematio, burning alive, a punishment that the text describes as a relatively recent development. For the period under consideration, we see little evidence of this punishment, but we do see some instances, such as the slave in Spain who had killed his master and suffered crematio at the hands of Caesar (Spanish War 20.5-6), or the infamous case of Nero’s burning of Christians as lights for his garden party (Tacitus, Annals 15.44.4). This last case serves as a reminder that punishment by fire was not uncommon among later Roman persecutions of Christians, such as the Martyrdom of Polycarp. Depending on the heat of the fire, there may or may not be many remains to be disposed of after crematio.10 The third form of capital punishment was damnatio ad bestias. With the beasts, we enter the world of the arena. A large amphitheater like the one in Pompeii or the Flavian Amphitheater in Rome, better known as the Colosseum, produced in a short time an enormous number of bodies or parts thereof, both human and animal. Damniatio ad bestias usually meant that the condemned would serve as part of the meridiani, mid-day entertainments in which the noxii, criminals of low status, were slaughtered in many creative ways, most commonly by being attacked by lions and other large carnivores goaded on to their tasks by arena handlers.11 Variations on the penalty ad bestias included condemnation to the games (ad ludum), or to the gladiator’s sword (ad gladium). The latter, along with those condemned to fire and beasts (and sometimes even crucifixion), were often collected by local magistrates and shipped off to the major amphitheaters, for the quantity of games, whether ludi and munera, created a considerable demand for victims which had to be met by an empire-wide supply. Criminals condemned to the arena were evaluated, sorted, and graded, with those showing the right levels of strength or skill being shipped off to gladiatorial managers (lanistae) for training for later battles, or assigned to the naumachiae, mock naval battles staged in flooded arenas, or assigned to battle against trained fighters. The remainder served as mere noxii, herded into the arena like so 10

In the case of Polycarp, when the fire did not kill him, he was dispatched by a dagger. His body was subsequently cremated, after which, his followers collected what remained of his bones and buried them in a place where they could commemorate his martyrdom – one of the early stages of the development of the veneration of martyrs and shrines dedicated to that practice (Martyrdom of Polycarp 15-18); cf. Kyle, 1998, 170-1. On the larger issues of il supplizio del fuoco, see Cantarella, 1991, 223ff. 11 For further discussion see Kyle, 1998, 91ff. For artistic depiction see the mosaic from Liten, Libya (Kyle, 1998, 16; cf. 93).

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many cattle, stripped, burned, attacked, mauled or gored by various animals, or enrolled in “fatal charades” in which living victims were subjected to tortures depicted in well-known literary sources.12 When we consider these victims, along with the significant number of trained gladiatorial combats and the associated beast hunts (venaxiones) in the arenas of the empire, the body count, both human and animal, could be quite staggering. Hundreds, even thousands of the condemned could be killed in a single day.13 All of the detritus of the dead, whether bestial by-product or gladiatorial gore, needed to be cleaned up by someone! When the games were done, the crowds stilled, the wounded were bandaged, and the worthies dispersed to their various celebrations, what happened to “all those bodies?” A few pieces of evidence suggest that the bodies of the slain were dragged from the arena to a spoliarium, a sort of temporary morgue, where the throats of all were slit (to ensure that none attempted escape through feigned death), and where the bodies were stripped and prepared for ultimate disposal elsewhere.14 One inscription suggests the existence of an official, curator spoliarii, who oversaw these logistics.15 Once the bodies were prepared for transport, how were they disposed of? As with the Roman view of crime and punishment, the disposal of one’s corpse depended on one’s social status. The amphitheaters seem to have created their own form of class stratification. On top were the contract gladiators (auctorati) and the servile professional gladiators. At the bottom, were the noxii (Kyle, 87, 160). We have some evidence of the final destination of the auctorati and professional gladiators. A good number, at least, were handed over to their friends, owners, or families for proper burial, as 12

For detailed discussion, see Kyle, 1998, 91-100; cf. Ville, 1981, 227ff. For specific examples, see Apuleius, Metamorphoses 10.28, 34; Seneca, On Anger, 2.2.4, Epistle 7.3-5; Josephus, Jewish War 6.418; 7.23-4, 37-8, 40, 96; Pliny, Epistle 10.31.2; Digest 48.19.29, 31; cf. Coleman, 1990. 13 Our sources tend to include numbers (at times likely exaggerated) only in unusual cases, and they usually indicate participants, not necessarily victims. According to Kyle, Augustus boasted that, during his reign, 10,000 gladiators fought in eight games, 3,500 animals died in 26 hunts, and in a single mock naval battle 3,000 fought and presumably died. In Trajan’s games of 108-9, 10,000 gladiators fought and 11,000 animals were killed (1998, 76-77); cf. Ville, 1981, 395ff.; Edwards, 2007, 46ff. 14 Seneca, Epistle 93.12; Augustan History, Commodus 18.3, 5, 19.1, 3; Suetonius, Claudius 34.1; CIL 14.3041 = ILS 6252. There is some debate as to whether the spoliaria were located within the amphitheater complex, or in a separate building nearby. For further discussion, see Baumgartner, 1989; cf. Kyle, 1998, 158-9. 15 CIL 6.10171; cf. Kyle, 1998, 174.

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commemorated on numerous grave inscriptions.16 When it comes to the final resting place of the noxii, however, there is little direct evidence. Because the noxii were, by definition, of the lowest status, it is no wonder that literary sources waste little papyrus on their fate. Many were slaves, foreigners, or prisoners of war, and most were not Roman citizens,17 without local friends or families to claim their mortal remains. We see no evidence of a prohibition of such claims should they be made of the curator spoliarii, but we should not expect to see examples of such a rare eventuality in literary or epigraphic sources.18 The bulk of the noxii had to be disposed of as paupers. Here we approach the whole complex topic of potter’s fields and undertakers. We will discuss these issues below, but not before examining the other forms of Roman capital punishment. The Tarpeian Rock was an infamous place of shame, rising above the forum, next to the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline hill, from which some particular criminals were thrown down into the area of the Forum. In 386 BC Manlius was executed there (Livy 6.20). The Emperor Tiberius had Sextus Marius, the richest man in Spain, thrown from the Tarpeian Rock on a charge of incest.19 Simon bar Gioras, one of the Zealot leaders of the Jewish Revolt, after enduring the triumphal procession of Titus (celebrated on the Arch of Titus), was executed at the place at the edge of the Forum where malefactors had long been punished – perhaps the last-recorded instance of an execution at the Tarpeian Rock.20 We are not told of the fate of bodies after they landed on the rocky ground of the Forum Romanum.21

16 Dio 78 (77).6.2; CIL 5.563; cf. the examples collected by Wiedemann, 1992, 114-16; 120-22; Ville, 1981, 240-55, 29-32; cf. Kyle, 160-61, who notes that some municipal cemeteries prohibited burial on their grounds to auctorati, and one possible interpretation of a senatus consultum from Larinum might be the denial of proper burial for auctorati, presumably on the logic that they had abandoned their free status to take on the degraded status of the gladiator (see Hope, 2000, 117 for further discussion). 17 For details, see Kyle, 1998, 97ff. 18 With the exception of Christian sources describing persecutions in the arenas, such as the case of Polycarp. 19 According to Tacitus, this was a pretext for imperial appropriation of Sextus’s estate (Annals 6.19). 20 An event that, according to Josephus, was greeted by universal acclamation (Jewish War 7.154-55). It is possible that he was strangled rather than cast from the Tarpeian Rock. 21 Cf. Seneca the Elder, Controversies 1.3; Festus 458L; Aurelius Victor, On Illustrious Men 24.6; 66.8; for the use of the Tarpeian rock by Anthony, see

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“The sack” (poena cullei) was a ritual form of execution usually reserved for parricides, in which the condemned was tied into a leather sack and thrown into the Tiber river. In later manifestations, animals, such as an ape and an adder, were added to the sack.22 There is some argument among scholars on the identity of the first victim of the sack, either Lucius Hostius around 191 BCE or Publicius Malleolus, around 103 BCE.23 Claudius utilized the penalty with some frequency, and its usage continued occasionally at least until the time of Constantine.24 Given the fact that victims, sack and all, were tossed into the Tiber, the bodies were, in fact, denied burial. Enforced suicide seems to have become a favorite form of capital punishment, especially for elite political enemies of embattled or tyrannical emperors. Some of the more famous forced suicides were ordered by Nero: especially those of Seneca, his former tutor and Petronius, his “Arbiter of Elegance.” Tigellinus, former Praetorian Prefect, suffered the same fate under Otho.25 A tone of disgust at such abuses of power permeates the accounts of these deaths in Tacitus and Suetonius. Seneca’s body was cremated without ceremony on his own instructions. Similarly, Lucius Antistius Vetus, his mother-in-law, and daughter all committed suicide on sentence from Nero, and all were honorably buried (Tacitus, Annals 16.9ff). We do not learn from the sources about the other bodies.26 Appian, Civil War 3.3; Dio 42.29-33; cf. David, 1984; Bradley, 2012, 107ff; Kyle, 1998, 60; Cantarella, 1991, 238ff. 22 E.g. Juvenal, Satire 8.213-4. Although some sources suggest that the sack was first introduced by Tarquinius Superbus, the notoriously tyrannical last king of Rome, these references may be anachronisms (Valerius Maximus 1.1.13; Dionysius of Halicarnasus, Roman Antiquities 4.62.4). 23 For Lucius Hostius, see references in Cloud (1971). For Publicius Malleolus, see Orosius 5.16.23; cf. Robinson, 2007, 46-7. The latter was the first so killed for murdering his mother. There seems to have been a hiatus in the use of the sack as a penalty between 55 BC with the passage of the lex Pompeia de parricidiis and the reign of the emperor Claudius, beginning in 41 CE (Robinson, 200, 46); cf. Cantarella, 1991, 264ff. 24 Suetonius, Claudius 34.1; Seneca, On Clemency 1.23.1. Hadrian seems to have substituted a simple death penalty for the sack (Digest 48.19.15). On Constantine, see the Theodosian Code 9.15.1. For further discussion, see Robinson, 2007, 45-7. 25 Seneca: Tacitus, Annals 15.60ff; Petronius: Tacitus, Annals 16.17ff; Tigellinus: Tacitus, Histories 1.72. For other forced suicides under Nero see Suetonius, Nero 37; Tacitus, Annals 16.10-14. Similar incidents happened under Tiberius and Caligula (Suetonius, Tiberius 56; Caligula 23). 26 For detailed discussion of the deep Roman ambivalence about suicide, see Hope, 2000, 118ff.; cf. Edwards, 2007.

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Crucifixion was considered the summum supplicium, the most brutal form of Roman capital punishment (Cicero, Against Verres 2.5.168). A detailed, if not exhaustive examination of the evidence for Roman crucifixions reveals that there are at least three types of sources. First, there are historical narratives, purporting to recount particular cases of crucifixion. Second, there are dramatic accounts of crucifixions found in novels, romances, or comedies. These may not seek to recount particular historical cases of crucifixion, but their quest for verisimilitude may be instructive. Third, there are various reflections on the practice of crucifixion that appear among the extant sources. A note defining terms is in order here. In Greek, the primary noun for “cross” is stauros, and associated verbs, “to crucify,” were stauroǀ, anastauroǀ, and anaskolopizǀ. In Latin, the noun “cross” was crux, (though patibulum, likely referring to the transverse beam on a cross, could also be used). The most common cognate verb was crucio and its derivatives. Cruciarius referred to the victim of crucifixion, and crucifixio refers to the process. The following analysis will be limited to sources that unambiguously refer to Roman crucifixion. Historical narratives of particular crucifixions appear in both the late Republican and the early Imperial periods under consideration, from the eastern and western empire, in both Greek and Latin. First, let us consider the historical narratives of crucifixions purported to have taken place during the late Roman Republic. Most historical sources from the Republican period mention the crucifixion of slaves, especially slaves involved in some sort of revolt or conspiracy.27 The most spectacular of these was the third servile war, 27

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 5.51.3, writes of a slaves’ conspiracy about 500 BCE which ended with the participants tortured and crucified. Livy (22.33.2) tells of a similar conspiracy in 217 BCE just after the devastating Roman defeat at the Battle of Lake Trasimene: 25 slaves were summarily crucified. In 196 BCE Manius Acillius Glabrio crucified a group of slaves who had staged a revolt (Livy 33.36.3). Orosius tells of the crucifixion in 139 BCE of some 450 slaves who had revolted in Sicily (5.9.4). In 135 BCE, Florus (Epitome 2.7 = 3.19.8) notes that Perperna put down a slave revolt in Sicily and crucified the perpetrators. Although these sources are beyond the range of this study, they do represent a pattern in Republican sources which continued thereafter. In 97 BCE, Q. Mucius Scaevola crucified a slave in Asia (Diodorus Siculus 37.5.3). Around this same time, L. Calpurnius had a slave crucified for killing an equestrian (Valerius Maximus 8.4.2). In 88 BCE, Q. Bruttius Sura crucified slaves who had served under Mithridates (Appian, Mithridatic War 29). Cicero says that Verres, proconsul of Sicily 73-71, crucified a group of slaves on suspicion of conspiracy, then took them down from their crosses and restored them

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better known as the Spartacus Slave Revolt of 73-71 BCE. After Marcus Licinius Crassus, the future Triumvir, defeated the rebellion, he crucified some 6,000 of the rebels on either side of the Via Appia (Appian, Civil War 1.119-20). Beyond the crucifixion of slaves, in the Republican period, we encounter only a few instances of the summum supplicium applied to others. In 201 BCE, Scipio Africanus crucified Roman soldiers who had deserted after the Battle of Zama Regia.28 Lucius Domitius Ahenobarabus, governor of Sicily in 96 BCE, crucified a shepherd who used a weapon that had been banned.29 Verres, the corrupt proconsul of Sicily, crucified one Gavius near the straits of Messana. Gavius’s tortured claim that he was a Roman citizen still echoes from the pages of Cicero in his famed speech in prosecution of Verres (Against Verres 2.5.165-9). In sum, of these 13 accounts of crucifixions during the Republican era, 10 were of slaves, most of whom were involved in some sort of conspiracy or revolt. In addition, most of these accounts come from the western empire and, with only a couple of exceptions, they take place in a context of war or rebellion. In all of these cases, we are not told what was done with the bodies of the crucified victims. In the case of the 6,000 along the Via Appia, however, it is a reasonable inference that the bodies were left up on those crosses for at least a few days. This, of all cases of crucifixion, was meant for display, to send an exceedingly strong message to any slaves who might dare consider following in Spartacus’s footsteps.30 When we turn to the analysis of accounts of crucifixions from the Imperial period, we also enter the era of the pax augusta, the Augustan peace. The end of the civil wars and the rise of the Principate created widespread cultural changes that are reflected in the function of capital punishment. During the reign of Augustus, we encounter only one account of crucifixion: of some slaves who had fought against him (Dio 49.12.4). Tiberius crucified some priests of Isis in Rome (Josephus, Antiquities to their masters, suggesting that this unusual act was the result of a bribe (Against Verres 2.5.9-13). In 45 BCE, Caesar captured four enemy scouts in Hispania, three of which were slaves. He crucified the slaves and beheaded the other soldier (Hispanic War 20.5). 28 These soldiers were not Roman citizens. Citizen deserters were beheaded (Livy 33.36.3). 29 Whether the shepherd was a slave is not mentioned. Valerius Maximus 6.3.5; Quintillian 4.2.17. 30 See Hope, 2000, 112. There is only one parallel, equally anomalous: Pliny the Elder notes the practice of Tarquinius Priscus crucifying the bodies of those already dead from suicide to be torn by birds and beasts. Pliny’s tone indicates his strong distaste (Natural History 36.107).

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18.79ff.). Around this same period, Seneca the elder wrote about two cases in which slaves were crucified according to the will of their masters (Controversies 3.9; 7.6). In 33 CE (some would place it in 30), the most infamous of crucifixions, that of Jesus of Nazareth, happened outside the walls of Jerusalem, though in all probability Tiberius knew nothing about it.31 Shortly after Caligula’s accession, Aulus Avilius Flaccus, Prefect of Egypt, presided over a significant persecution of Jews in Alexandria, including the crucifixion of some (Philo, On Flaccus 72ff.). Meanwhile, back in Rome, Caligula demonstrated his brutality in many ways, including the crucifixion of a freedman on a whim (Suetonius, Caligula 12.2). During the reign of Claudius, the Rhodians were punished because they had crucified some Romans (Dio 60.24.4). Nero, while he was not killing his mother or imposing suicide on his tutor and advisor, also crucified some people, most notably Christians including, according to later Christian tradition, St. Peter.32 During 69 CE, the year of the four emperors, three cases of crucifixion are recorded, one of a runaway slave (Tacitus, Histories 2.72), one of a freedman who had been elevated to the rank of the equites (Tacitus, Histories 4.11), and one of a Roman citizen by Galba (Suetonius, Galba 9.2). Two further cases of crucifixion are attested during the reign of Domitian, 81-96: The first was of slaves who copied a book that Domitian found offensive (Suetonius, Domitian 10.1), and the second a “fatal charade” in the Flavian Amphitheater in which a notorious robber, Laureolus, was crucified on stage and then mauled by a Caledonian bear, presumably while still on the cross (Martial, Book of the Spectacles 7). Thus far, we have intentionally neglected Josephus, who records more cases of crucifixion than anyone else in the first century CE. Shortly after the death of Herod the Great in 4 BCE Varus, legate of Syria, cracked down on turmoil in Judaea and Galilee, including the crucifixion of 2,000 rebels outside the walls of Jerusalem (War 2.75; cf. Ant 17.295). Tiberius Alexander, Procurator from 46-48, crucified two Jewish rebels (Ant 20.102). Around 51 CE, Quatratus, legate of Syria, came to Caesarea to

31

Matthew 27.35ff; Mark 15.24ff; Luke 23.33ff; John 19.18ff; Tacitus, Annals 15.44ff; Josephus, Antiquities 18.63 (the so-called testimonium flavianum which was probably interpolated to some extent). 32 Tacitus, Annals 15.44. Concerning the crucifixion of Peter, the sources date from the second and third centuries. Tertullian mentions it in passing (On the Prescription of Heretics 36), and also mentions that Paul was beheaded. Eusebius quotes from Origen the tradition that Peter was crucified upside-down (Ecclesiastical History 2.1). Cf. Acts of Peter.

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restore the peace, and crucified some zealot prisoners.33 Felix, whom Nero appointed as Procurator in 52, crucified such a large group of zealots and their collaborators that the number was beyond counting (War 2.253). The remainder of Josephus’s references to crucifixions in the Roman period take place in the context of the great Jewish Revolt of 66-73. After violence first broke out in Caesarea in 66, the Procurator, Florus, responded by confiscating Temple funds, an act that was greeted by Jewish resistance. Florus thereupon unleashed his soldiers on Jerusalem, resulting in the death of some 3,600 Jews: men, women, and children, some of whom Florus had scourged and crucified, including some equites who were Roman citizens (War 2.293-308). Later that same year, Vespasian laid siege to Jotapata (Yodfat), where Josephus himself was commander of Jewish rebel troops. Before the walls of the town, Vespasian had a Jewish prisoner of war tortured and crucified; according to Josephus, he met his death “with a smile” (War 3.321). Shortly thereafter, Vespasian conquered Jotapata, took Josephus prisoner, and in 69 left his son, Titus, to pursue the war, with Josephus in tow. Josephus tells of one group of Jews being crucified by Titus, which included a couple of Josephus’s personal friends. Josephus received permission from Titus to bring his friends down from the crosses, but it was too late. Two of them later expired (Life 420ff.). In 70, Titus laid siege to Jerusalem, during which he had a Jewish prisoner crucified before the walls, in hopes that the sight might discourage the besieged (War 5.289). When that did not work, Titus had a great number of deserters and prisoners tortured and crucified before the walls. Soldiers amused themselves by nailing the condemned in different configurations, at one point, crucifying more than 500 per day, so many that they eventually ran out of wood for the crosses (War 5.446-51). On this dramatic and disturbing note, we complete our survey of historical narrative sources of crucifixions to the end of the first century. A brief comparison of these early imperial sources with those from the late Republic indicates some of the same trends as well as some differences. Slaves still account for a good number of those subjected to crucifixion, but the proportion is smaller: While slaves accounted for the majority of early crucifixions, they were the victims of only five out of 25 Imperial cases. This change suggests that, while crucifixion may have begun largely as the “slaves’ punishment” (servile supplicium), that description was no

33

Jewish War 2.241; cf. Antiquities 20.129 which introduces some discrepancies.

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longer adequate in the early Empire, when the application of that punishment had been significantly extended.34 Moreover, although slave revolt was a common threat and a regular theme in earlier sources, such is no longer the case in the pax augusta. Indeed, imperial sources make many more references to equites, freedmen, and citizens as victims of crucifixion. A theme that began to emerge in Republican sources is now elevated among imperial sources: a tone of distaste on the part of the authors toward leaders who impose crucifixion without due process or against those of higher social status. Similar to the trend we observed among earlier sources, many if not most recorded cases of crucifixions took place in a context of violence, tyranny, rebellion, or war. Finally, as we observed earlier, of all these 25 cases, we are never directly informed about the disposal of the bodies of the victims, but we do get two hints. The first comes from Philo. The second from Josephus. Philo, in the midst of his discussion of Flaccus’s virulent persecution of Jews in Alexandria, including crucifixions of Jewish elders in the local arena, makes an intriguing comment: I have known, when such a holiday was near, that some of the people who have been crucified have been taken down and their bodies delivered to their family for burial, for they were thought worthy of receiving the 35 customary rites.

Two observations from this text are in order. First, Philo appears to know about some cases in which the bodies of the crucified (or some of them) were not handed over to their family for proper burial (though he does not address how those bodies were handled). Second, he seems to have a strong sense of what he views as ordinary and proper Roman practice of crucifixion, where the bodies of “some of the crucified” were given to their families to provide them with the “customary rites,” including burial. That is, Philo suggests that Flaccus was an aberration, for Romans usually respected local Jewish customs, and apparently had some arrangements surrounding local or imperial holidays. Concerning the “customary rites,” Philo was probably referring at least in part to the standard Jewish practices of the washing and wrapping of the body, its inhumation outside 34

For the use of servile supplicium, see Valerius Maximus 2.7.12; Tacitus, Histories 2.72, 4.11; cf. Hengel, 1977, 51ff. Too many scholars have ignored the chronological development of crucifixion, which has led to considerable confusion. 35 On Flaccus 83: “ƝdƝ tinas oida tǀn aneskolopismenǀn mellousƝs enistasthai toiautƝs ekecheirias kathairethentas kai tois suggenesin epi tǀ taphƝs axiǀthenai kai tuxein tǀn nenomismenǀn apodothentas.”

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of inhabited areas, and a prescribed period of mourning for the family (Davies, 1999, 77ff.). In addition, Jews had one overriding concern, rooted in Deuteronomy 21.22-23: When someone is convicted of a crime punishable by death and is executed, and you hang him on a tree, his corpse must not remain all night upon the tree; you shall bury him that same day, for anyone hung on a tree is under God's curse. You must not defile the land that the LORD your God is giving you for possession” (NRSV).

In light of this command and its application among his contemporaries, Philo appeals to his own experience of Roman practice which allowed the bodies of the crucified (or at least “some of the crucified,” whatever that means) to be taken down on the same day, and buried in the proper Jewish manner.36 This Roman practice seems to be confirmed by one account of those who were crucified with Jesus (John 19.31-2). In this case “the Jews” (hoi Iudaioi) asked the Roman prefect, Pilate, to break the legs of the crucified, precisely to hurry their death so that their bodies could be removed before sunset (and, given the fact that this was a Friday, sunset also meant the beginning of Shabbat). Why would the Romans be willing to hurry the death of the crucified if their objective, as some have suggested, was to prolong the agony, not only of the death, but also of the exposure of the corpse after death? That “the Jews” made this request, and Pilate granted it, provides important corroboration of Philo’s claim.37 The immediate concern of Philo’s essay on Flaccus is that the latter is not acting the part of a good Roman governor, and Philo expects his audience to be repulsed by Flaccus’s violence and violations of Roman mores. Note that Philo does not say how Flaccus in fact treated the bodies of those Jews crucified in the arena in Alexandria during that particular persecution. Did he leave those bodies up on the crosses for an extended period of time to be eaten by Egyptian vultures? Or did he have them cremated or buried along with other criminals and indigents in unmarked graves, their remains to be mixed with those of goyim and unclean

36

For further detail, see Davies, 1999, 102ff; cf. McCane, 2003, 30ff. There is no probability that early Christians would have invented such an incidental reference. The legs of Yehohanan were also broken. The original forensic report suggested that these breaks were pre-mortem, though there has been controversy since then concerning whether those breaks might not have been postmortem. See Haas, 1970, 58; Zias & Sekeles (1985, 24-5) consider the evidence inconclusive.

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animals? Or something else? The text does not inform us, but any of these alternatives would be abhorrent to Jewish sensibilities. Our second hint comes from Josephus, and it points us in the opposite direction. If Titus’s purpose in crucifying hundreds if not thousands before the walls of Jerusalem was to break the spirit of the besieged, it would make some sense that the suffering and visual impact should be prolonged. This inference finds support in Josephus’s reference to running out of crosses. If bodies were being taken down daily to make room for more victims, timber supply would not have been a problem. Therefore, at least some of these bodies were probably exposed on their crosses. Thus far, our survey of Roman capital punishment and detailed examination of two centuries’ worth of evidence for crucifixion has not seemed very fruitful, for we have learned little about the fate of “all those bodies.” We have learned that, in some circumstances, the Romans probably left bodies unburied; in other circumstances, they handed bodies over to friends or relatives for proper disposal. In the majority of the cases, however, our query has been greeted with silence. While on the surface, this silence may seem to frustrate our efforts, it is worth considering whether silence is not exactly what we should expect to encounter when Romans were behaving normally, in a manner consistent with their cultural values. Perhaps a review of dramatic references to crucifixions will illuminate our quest. While well before the chronological parameters for this study, the Roman comedian Plautus quite literally set the stage for dramatic and literary references to crucifixion. Throughout his comedies, the stock characters include scheming slaves who make many references to and threats of crucifixion.38 During the period under consideration, we have two novels that make fictitious, if intriguing, reference to crucifixions: the Greek Callirhoe by Chariton of Aphrodisias, and the Latin Satyricon, most commonly attributed to the same Petronius Arbiter who was forced to commit suicide by Nero. Both date from the first century CE. In Chariton’s romantic novel, Mithridates crucifies a group of prisoners who had rebelled, including Chareas, the protagonist who pines for the love of his lost wife, Callirhoe.39 At the mention of Callirhoe’s name, Mithridates has Chareas taken down from his cross and spared to complete his role in a romantic triangle (4.2-3). The retrieval of Chareas from the cross before he died echoes the historical claims we already encountered in Josephus and 38

E.g. Miles Gloriosus 372f., 539f.; Mostellaria 359ff.; Bacchides 362; cf. Hengel, 1977, 52-3. 39 According to Hengel, “crucifixion of the hero or heroine is part of [the romance genre’s] stock in trade” (1977, 81).

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Cicero that suggest, at least under certain circumstances, that victims of crucifixion may not always have died on the cross. Petronius’s Satyricon is the fictitious account of the raucous and ribald adventures of Encolpius and his fickle lover Giton. The Satyricon is permeated by hyperbole and satire. It features characters and events that carry to absurd extremes the cultural characteristics Petronius wants to lampoon. This is amply demonstrated by the oft-anthologized “Dinner with Trimalchio,” a bizarre account of a Roman orgy hosted by Trimalchio, an immensely wealthy and boorish freedman. Toward the end of the novel, one character tells the tale of a widow from Ephesus whose husband had recently died and who, crushed by grief, wished to starve herself to death in her husband’s tomb. While she was thus languishing, some robbers were crucified nearby, and a soldier stood guard to ensure that the bodies on the crosses would not be taken down. Predictably, the guard found the failing widow, promptly seduced her, and spent the next couple of days with her enjoying an entombed tryst while neglecting the bodies on the crosses. When he emerged from the tomb chamber to discover a cross without a body, the guard feared he would be punished, but the widow came to the rescue by providing her husband’s corpse to be hung on the cross in the stead of the missing stiff. All the company who heard this witty tale responded with laughter save one, who retorted, “If the governor had been just, he should have returned the dead husband to his tomb and affixed the woman on the cross.” (Satyricon 111-112). This tale is typical of the Satyricon: titillating, exaggerated, and humorous. It is tempting to interpret this story literally, as representative of normal Roman practice, with its elements of a guard, moldering corpses, and a presumed prohibition of burial for at least a few days. Such an inference, however, fails to take into account two facts: first, that not one of the historical narratives we possess mentions this particular set of practices;40 and second, that this story is, in context, a comedic fiction within a satirical fiction. It is important to exercise due caution when utilizing a comedic text as historical evidence, especially when that comedic element is often characterized by exaggeration to the point of absurdity, which was one of 40 The reference to the guard is particularly problematic. Roman soldiers certainly participated in some executions and probably stood guard while victims were dying, but the idea of a Roman soldier standing guard over dead bodies on crosses to ensure that relatives would not spirit them away is not attested in any historical narrative, but it is consistent with the absurdist exaggeration typical of Petronius. Moreover, the practical implications of such a practice, if it were utilized regularly, would pose significant problems when multiplied throughout the empire.

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the hallmarks of Petronian humor. If we are to assume that the details of the Satyricon’s crucifixion are representative of normal Roman practice, are we also to assume that it was normal practice for widows to starve themselves over their husbands’ corpses? Or, for guards to seduce widows weeping in tombs? Or, for a mourning widow to volunteer the corpse of her beloved husband to hang on a cross? Or, that a just magistrate would crucify the widow? It is precisely the exaggerated absurdity of this story that gives it its humor and its value as a diversion. Even on the most generous interpretation, we might suggest that some of these elements, such as the presence of a soldier at an execution or a denial of burial, might happen in some cases of crucifixion, but anything more would be an interpretation worthy of the likes of Trimalchio.41 Beyond historical narratives and dramatic sources, a few other types of sources that do not specifically refer to instances of crucifixion may be relevant to our quest. Valerius Maximus tells of the 82 BCE purge of numerous leading citizens and supporters of Sulla at the hands of the Marian partisan and Praetor, Damasippus. On his orders, Carbo Arvina, former tribune, was killed, and his body was affixed to a cross to be publicly displayed.42 Suetonius’s account of the brutal aftermath of the Battle of Philippi in 42 BCE includes an encounter between Octavian (the future Augustus) and an enemy prisoner who assumed that Octavian planned to execute him like other prisoners, so he begged to be allowed proper burial. Octavian retorted that the birds would settle that question. There are no crucifixions in this context, and we are not told how Octavian and his fellow Triumvirs disposed of the bodies of the vanquished, but there is a hint here that at least one body, or perhaps many, might have been left exposed (Augustus 13). Tacitus describes in lurid detail the reign of terror during the later years Tiberius. In this context, Pomponius Labeo, a senator, fearing that Tiberius might have him executed, chose to commit suicide for, comments Tacitus, those who were executed (presumably for maiestas, the favorite charge against Roman elites of the era) would have their property confiscated and be denied burial. 41

Crossan, 1995, 161-2. Kyle, an otherwise thorough and careful scholar, treats the story of Petronius as normative while not considering the literary genre or nature of the story. Nor does he grapple with most of the evidence for crucifixion we have here detailed, much of which creates problems for his arguments about arena disposal (168-9). 42 9.2.3; Appian comments with an embittered tone that at least some of the bodies of those so purged were cast into the Tiber, for denial of burial was becoming increasingly common in the midst of civil war (Civil War 1.88); cf. Kyle, 1998, 220.

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Tacitus’s treatment of the violence of this whole period suggests his disdain for the cruel tyrant Tiberius had become (Annals 6.29). One of the epistles of Horace includes a fictitious exchange between Horace and a slave, making the point that slaves should count their blessings when their masters fail to beat them or worse. Horace asserts that were a slave to tell him that he should be respected because he had killed no one, Horace would respond, “You won’t hang on the cross for crows” (Epistle 1.16.46ff.). The threat of the cross was only too potentially real for any slave, but the inclusion of crows was probably an imaginative exaggeration or perhaps a reference to the worst kind of crucifixion Horace had heard about. Note that this text says nothing about the disposal of the body of a slave who had been crucified. It might suggest that Horace had witnessed or heard of a short (or long) period of exposure after death on the cross, or worse, it might refer to attacks by crows while the slave is still alive and defenseless on the cross. One additional reference to Josephus is worthy of our consideration. It stands in the context of the early stages of the Jewish revolt against Rome. Book Four of the Jewish War narrates the results of the zealots’ alliance with some Idumaeans to take control of Jerusalem. When the Idumaeans entered the city, they engaged in widespread slaughter of those who opposed them, including the chief priests, whose bodies they “threw out” without burial. Josephus, disgusted by this behavior, comments: “…Jews have so much regard for funeral rites that even malefactors who are justly crucified are taken down and buried before sunset” (War 4.317). Josephus is not here referring to internal Jewish practice, for only Romans had the authority to crucify Jews in this period. He is therefore talking about normal Roman practice, in deference to Jewish culture. The idea that Idumaeans, and their Jewish allies, would treat Jews without even the deference shown by the Romans was, for Josephus, reprehensible. This evidence is particularly illuminating, especially when taken together with the aforementioned text from Deuteronomy and the Temple Scroll, discovered near Qumran. One of the longest of the Dead Sea Scrolls, it deals largely with purity regulations fit for a new and purified temple. While the original of this text may date from the period before Roman rule in Judaea, it does reinforce Josephus’s perspective on the proper handling of those who were crucified: If a man informs against his people, and delivers his people up to a foreign nation, and does harm to his people, you shall hang him on the tree, and he shall die. On the evidence of two witnesses and on the evidence of three witnesses he shall be put to death, and they shall hang him on the tree. And if a man has committed a crim[e] punishable by death, and had

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As we have seen, Josephus did not hesitate to describe the many victims of crucifixion before the walls of Jerusalem whose bodies were probably exposed on crosses. Here he seems to be drawing an important distinction between ordinary executions, and the extraordinary ones that took place in a context of war. Josephus and the Temple Scroll agree that victims of crucifixion, even the most heinous of traitors, should be properly buried before sunset, and Josephus implies that, outside of the context of war, Romans commonly allowed Jews to fulfill that cultural expectation. Thus far, our quest has revealed a handful of cases in which the bodies of those who suffered capital punishment were buried, and another handful of cases in which the bodies were probably exposed for at least a while. For the most part, however, silence about the bodies still prevails among the sources. How do we interpret the silence? If the fate of the bodies is not deemed worthy of inclusion in our sources, why not? The most logical inference from the silence would be that the Romans did not deal with these bodies in a remarkable way, but rather followed their standard procedures in accordance with their cultural values. In this sense, the fate of most of the bodies of the executed was simply not newsworthy.44 If this inference has any value, then the next step in our quest should be an examination of Roman funerary practices and the cultural values that inform them.

Roman Burial Practices With the exception of a small number, such as Epicureans, the vast majority of Romans believed that human life, in some form, continued 43 11QT 64:7-13a = 4Q524 frag. 14, lines 2-4. Translation from Charlesworth in Zias & Charlesworth, 1992, 278; cf. Yadin, 1973; Evans & Wright, 2009, 50-51; Fitzmyer, 1978, 503ff. While this text does not specifically use the common vocabulary for crucifixion, most scholars believe that this particular usage of the verb, tlh, “to hang,” refers in context to the specific hanging done on a cross. Most important, however, is the reinforcing reference to the importance of burial by sunset, even for those considered the most heinous of traitors. 44 Hope notes that the “evidence often records the unusual and exceptional rather than the commonplace” when it comes to the Roman treatment of bodies (2000, 105).

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after death, a belief that underlay Roman funerary practices. Burial may do away with the corpse, but not the dead.45 Disembodied souls or spirits were believed to experience shame, restlessness, and dishonor – or peace. For Romans, the divide between the living and the dead was permeable, whether by gods, human heroes, or ancestral ghosts (manes paterni) who remained with the living, for good or for ill.46 The relative peace of the dead, and their disposition toward the living, was largely dependent on how their bodies were treated.47 Therefore, it is not surprising that a significant cult of the dead developed, which included gifts brought to graves, feasts in the tombs of dead relatives. It was not unusual to include food for the dead which reached their bodies through holes or feeding tubes in their graves, a common archaeological find in cemeteries. The birthdays of dead ancestors were commonly celebrated, and some Roman festivals, such as the Parentalia in mid-February and the Lemuria in midMay, included specific rites to honor the dead.48 Burial was even a priority in Roman law when considering the financial legacies of the deceased. It was a capital offense to despoil a Roman corpse or violate a Roman grave.49 All of these practices were informed by that most central of all Roman values: pietas, the pervasive and abiding sense of duty toward the gods, family, and Rome itself. Pietas underlay much of Roman culture (Wagenwoort, 1980). Death brought with it pollution, and demanded that survivors, especially heads of households, follow customary rites for purification, including proper disposal of the corpse, for there were unpleasant repercussions for the deceased who did not receive proper burial, not to mention their families.50 Kyle well summarizes these attitudes: Sacred custom told Romans not to molest corpses (beyond stripping armor), to permit burial by relatives or others claiming the body, and failing that, to provide minimal burial…the sprinkling of three handfuls of 45

Hopkins, 1983, 233; cf. Kyle, 1998, 129. The festivals of Paternalia and Compitalia both included official rites to appease the restless dead; cf. Hope, 2009, 98-102; Toynbee, 1971, 61-64; Kyle, 1998, 1301. 47 Ghost stories are commonly associated with inadequate observance of burial rituals (Hope, 2000, 106; cf. Felton, 1999, 9-12). 48 For further details on the cult of the dead and related festivals, see Toynbee, 1971, 61ff.; cf. Hope, 2009, 98-102. 49 Digest 11.7.14; cf. Hope, 2000, 107, 114. 50 Concerning the pollution caused by death, see Lennon, 2012, 47f; Lindsay (2012) argues that hygienic and religious concepts of pollution mutually reinforce one another; cf. Kyle, 1998, 12-13, 128-9; cf. Fantham, 2012, 62 46

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These, in brief, were the fundamental cultural attitudes, but who was buried and how, are complex matters. While some philosophers or religious cults might suggest that we are all equal in death, the archaeology of mortality in the Roman Empire is anything but an egalitarian enterprise. Most of the evidence we possess, whether literary, epigraphical or archaeological, speaks to the funerary rites and privileges of the elite. Their funerals included detailed preparation, and an elaborate procession, complete with the carrying of the masks or portrait busts of the ancestors, and an oration.52 Their monumental and often decorated mausolea, cenotaphs, tombs, columbaria, urns, and ash chests dominate Roman cemeteries.53 In the two centuries under consideration, Romans practiced both cremation and inhumation regularly, with the former predominating. By the time of Hadrian, inhumation came to prevail.54 For the humble, while most of the cultural attitudes remained unchanged, the logistics differed considerably. Those of modest means might be cremated, with their ashes buried in urns, placed in niches in relatively plain columbaria or even directly in the ground. For those of lesser means, there were always catacombs or simple burials in simple coffins. Some were surrounded by a gabled arrangement of tiles or a number of other methods. Often these were buried with simple markers such as the partial amphorae that dot the landscape between the great mausolea of the Isola Sacra necropolis. For the destitute, there were unmarked mass graves or mass crematoria.55 These procedures prevailed in Italy, but mortal remains were subject to regional variations.56

51

Kyle, 1998, 129. On the minimum burial requirements, Cicero, On the Laws 2.22.57; cf. Toynbee, 1971, 49. 52 E.g. Polybius 6.53; Pliny, Natural History 35.6; Suetonius, Vespasian 19. When not carried in a funeral, these portraits (imagines) often resided in the atria of elite homes, posing to their descendents that ever-present question that haunted all Roman nobiles: Are you worthy? One particularly vivid Augustan statue portrays a togate man holding his ancestors’ portrait busts, presumably as part of a funeral procession. (Zadoks-Josephus Jitta, 1932, pl. 6.a, b.). For further discussion, see Toynbee, 1971, 47f; Hope, 2000, 108; Lindsay, 2012. 53 For numerous examples of different types of burials, see Toynbee, 1971. 54 Toynbee, 1971, 39ff. Both were considered equally appropriate. 55 See Kyle, 1998, 140. For details on types of simple burials, see Toynbee, 1971, 50, 101-3. In Rome and other cities, inscriptions have been unearthed that prohibit the dumping of bodies in certain areas – which reinforces the sense that there was a

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According to Roman law, even criminals, including those condemned to death, should be buried. This was especially required when such burial was specifically requested, presumably by friends or relatives of the deceased. Only in the case of the highest form of treason was denial of burial permitted, though not required, in Roman law.57 Because executed, criminals were often considered as low as one can go on the social hierarchy. We might expect to discover some connections between the disposal of the corpses of the indigent or slaves, and those of executed criminals. Thankfully, some such evidence exists, though not a great deal. According to Tacitus, under Tiberius, the senate executed some astrologers and magicians outside of the Esquiline gate (Annals 2.32.3). In a later context, Tacitus tells of Nero’s condemnation of Lateranus, consul designate, who was executed quickly, by a method not described, at a place reserved for the execution of slaves (Annals 15.60.1). Suetonius describes the Esquiline as a place of execution where some who had falsely claimed Roman citizenship were dispatched by an unrecorded method (Claudius 25). Horace, in a highly metaphorical passage, refers to a piece of wood shaped to become a god of “thieves and birds,” placed on the Esquiline, a “common burial-place for paupers.” To that site slaves were often hauled on crude biers. There one could look down from the Servian walls to see bleached bones protruding from the minimalist common burials.58 Horace proper and improper way of disposing of the unwanted dead (CIL I2 838, 839, 2981); cf. Hope, 2000, 111. 56 For regional variations, see Toynbee, 1971. 57 Digest 48.24.1 (Ulpian): “The bodies of those who are condemned to death must not be refused to their relatives; and the Divine Augustus, in the Tenth Book on his life, said that this rule had been observed. At present, the bodies of those who have been executed are not otherwise buried (non aliter sepeliuntur) but when this has been requested and permission granted; and sometimes permission to receive the bodies is not granted, where persons have been convicted of the highest form of treason (maxime maiestatis causa). Even the bodies of those who have been sentenced to be burned can be claimed, in order that their bones and ashes, after having been collected, may be buried.” It appears that, by the time of Ulpian (third century CE), judges and magistrates were given some latitude in cases of treason and in other cases where relatives did not submit requests. Seneca the Elder speaks of a controversy over whether suicides ought to be permitted proper burial (Controversies exc. 8.4). 58 Huc prius angustis eiecta cadaver cellis conserves vili portanda locabat in arca; hoc miserae plebe stabat commune sepulcrum… nunc licet Esquiliis habitare salubribus atque Aggere in aprico spatiari, quo modo tristes albis informem spectabant ossibus agrum (Satire 8.6ff, Loeb). The last sentence probably refers to

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goes on to describe this area as the haunt of witches, working their black magic and collecting cadaverous ingredients for their potions. Varro, in his discussion of Latin cognates built on the root “put” mentions “puticuli,” “little pits” that are situated outside of towns, into which corpses are thrown to decompose in a putrefying mass. Varro associates the puticuli with the public burial place beyond the Esquiline (On the Latin Language 5.25). When taken together, these sources paint the outlines of an important picture: of the Esquiline as a place of execution, primarily for those of low standing, where slaves and paupers were buried in little pits forming communal graves, requiring the least possible attention, effort, or expense. Remember that minimal proper burial only required three handfuls of dirt. This reconstruction is partially confirmed by archaeological evidence, though the interpretation of that evidence is complicated. In the 1870s, Lanciani excavated near the Esquiline gate some 75 pits, about 10 meters deep, and lined with tufa (1888). These pits were filled with many bones, mostly human, as well as other refuse. Lanciani believed these pits were the puticuli of Varro. Lanciani also discovered a larger mass grave north of the Esquiline gate. Lanciani’s pits seem to fit Varro’s description, but others have challenged this identification, primarily on grounds of chronology and stratigraphy, for Lanciani’s pits seem to have been covered over with earth by Varro’s time. Bodel attempts to do justice to all of the evidence by arguing that the pits discovered by Lanciani did serve the function Varro describes: as paupers’ graves in the late Republic, but that this specific area ceased to be used for that function sometime early in the first century BCE. Thereafter, the focus of paupers’ graves shifted southward from the Esquiline gate, near the so-called Auditorium of Maecenas. Both Horace and Varro may have been referring to the indigent graves in this area.59 the construction of the gardens of Maecenas. It is possible that the reference to visible bones refers to entirely exposed bodies dumped in this area, but that is an assumption, not an analysis. In context, Horace is referring to commune sepulcrum, which probably refers to the place where the bodies of the indigent received minimal burial in common graves – which by common usage, would mean that these corpses were covered with only a small quantity of dirt, which could easily lend itself to the sight of bones protruding from the shallow graves. There is, however, some epigraphical evidence noted below prohibiting the dumping of corpses in this area, thus suggesting that some corpses were dumped there – though this fact does not preclude the disposal of dumped bodies with minimal burial in common graves by the undertakers who had their headquarters in this area. 59 Fitting together the archaeological, literary and epigraphical data is a complex task beyond the scope of this study. For detailed discussion see Bodel, 1994, 3854.

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In 35 BCE, Maecenas covered this area to construct his famed gardens: Horti Maecenatis.60 The whole region outside the Esquiline gate was later reclaimed to form a fifth region of the city. Thereafter, beginning in the first century CE, Bodel suggests that mass crematoria replaced mass inhumation of those of lower status when population pressures rendered the latter impracticable (2000, 133). Martial refers to the carrying of a common corpse (vile cadaver) to a paupers’ burying-ground where there were a thousand funeral pyres (mille rogus).61 Porphyrion, commenting on Horace’s satire, mentions the existence of large public crematoria and says that the Esquiline was made healthier by moving them farther from town (On Horace, Satire 1.8.11, 14). Lucan wishes that Pompey’s corpse would be handled like a pauper, burned on a humble pyre (8.736-38). Plutarch discusses the practice of mass cremations in which one female is piled on with every ten male bodies to stoke the flames (Moralia 651B). Though the evidence is not overwhelming, it does consistently support Bodel’s contention. In sum, outside the gates of Rome, we find a place where commoners, slaves and, in all probability, executed criminals, were early buried in the simplest fashion in puticuli or larger mass graves. After perhaps a couple of centuries of such practices, the number of bodies overwhelmed the area, and public inscriptions seem to indicate that the area was closed. Thereafter, there is evidence of large-scale cremations. As Kyle notes, however, mass cremations may not take up much space for the ashes, but they do create problematic logistical issues, such as the supply of sufficient wood and the personnel to run such an operation (1998, 169ff.). For our purposes, however, we have ample evidence that, in the period under consideration, the Roman views of the deceased and the proper handling of their corpses seem to have been fairly consistent even at the lower echelons of society, and the Romans provided an infrastructure to ensure that even the destitute and abandoned, even executed criminals, would not rot in the streets or at the places reserved for executions, but would receive at least the minimal form of proper burial in pits or were properly burned in crematoria. This discussion brings us to one additional Roman cultural value that will contribute to our analysis: sanitation. Anyone who has traveled to the lands once ruled by Rome has come to appreciate the chief architectural footprints they left behind. It is a rare Roman site that does not have its 60

See Bodel, 1994, 52ff; cf. Kyle, 1998, 167. 8.75.9-10; cf. Bodel, 1994, 48. Inscriptions that prohibited cremations too close to the Esquiline gate have been discovered (CIL 6.31614, 31615; and CIL I2 2981); cf. Hope, 2000, 111. 61

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bath complex which, in many cases, required aqueducts for ample water supply. Moreover, the Romans were the creators of some of the finest continuous flush toilets in the ancient world.62 From early in their history, they learned from their Etruscan forebears to build extraordinary sewer systems, the most famous of which is the Cloaca Maxima. From this evidence alone, it is clear that the Romans were willing to invest much money and effort to be able to live in a relatively clean environment.63 Flowing from the same logic and the same values, despite their love of blood-sport, they created an infrastructure to clean up the mess. And, despite their living in relatively congested places such as insulae in Rome, they also created an infrastructure to rid the streets of dung, trash, and even corpses. Central to that infrastructure were the libitinarii who served as public undertakers in Rome and other places such as Puteoli.64 Papinian, in his legal treatise on cities, prohibits the dumping 62 Witness the well-preserved latrines at such sites as Corinth, Philippi, Ephesus, or even at Housestead’s Fort along Hadrian’s wall. Such structures continued into the Byzantine period, as at Beth She’an, Roman Scythopolis, in Israel. 63 The Greek, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, marveled at the greatest works of the Roman empire: the aqueducts, the roads, and the sewer systems, as well as the expense they represent (3.67.5); cf. Davies, 2012, 72ff., who details an impressive list of sanitary improvements in Rome in the early Principate. These relatively sanitary conditions, while impressive in an ancient context, should not be confused with modern standards in developed countries. One might argue that the Jews were equally scrupulous about hygiene, given their mikvaot (ritual baths which themselves required significant engineering), and purity laws and rituals, though the Jewish views of religious ritual purity had different roots and priorities than those represented by Roman baths or toilets. One measure of such Jewish sensitivity concerning smell is the scene from the Gospel of John where Jesus approached the tomb of Lazarus who had been dead four days. When Jesus asked for the stone to be removed from the entrance, Martha, Lazarus’s sister, resisted saying, in the inimitable KJV, “…but Lord, he stinketh….” (11.39). 64 Libitina was the morbid and shadowy goddess of funerals; libitinarii seem to have been funeral contractors who offered wares associated with funerals and also provided morticians (pollinctores), corpse-carriers (vespillones), grave-diggers (fossores) and corpse-burners (ustores), not to mention the obligatory flautists, horn players, and dirge-singers. Because of their regular commerce with unclean corpses, they lived in a permanent state of sordidness, and tended to be segregated from the cities, residing in isolated communities on the outskirts of town, often in or near a Grove of Libitina, such as the one in Rome somewhere outside of the Esquiline Gate (Bodel, 2000, 135ff; cf. Lindsay, 2012, 157ff.). The libitinarii in Puteoli were required to remove the bodies of executed criminals, suicides by hanging, and slaves, and to provide a public floggers and an executioner (lex libitinaria Puteolana: L'Année Épigraphique 1971, 88). For similar legislation in

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of dung, discarding of animal skins, and disposing of corpses in the town streets.65 Together with libitinarii, the existence of stercorarii, those who collected dung (stercus) and hauled their fragrant carts around town, demonstrates a Roman aversion to unsightly messes and strong odors in public places.66 One final line of evidence will round out our discussion of Roman burial practices and the values that lie beneath them. Kyle proposes that, because mass inhumation in large pits and puticuli took up too much land, and because mass crematoria took too much effort and too much wood, the raw numbers of bodies produced by the amphitheaters required another means of disposal: the Tiber river. We have already encountered evidence that those executed in the sack were thrown into the Tiber. And we have seen that some of those citizens beheaded during Sulla’s proscriptions had their bodies cast into the Tiber. Beyond these two, there is evidence of a number of cases of Tiber body dumping. Tiberius Gracchus, the famed Tribune and progenitor of the “Roman Revolution,” and 300 of his followers were beaten to death by a faction of senators, and their bodies cast into the Tiber.67 Not to be outdone, his brother, Gaius, together with 3,000 of his followers were, in 121 BCE, killed by decree of the Senate, their bodies ultimately tossed into the Tiber.68 As we have already noted, in 82 BCE, the younger Marius killed many of Sulla’s supporters, dragged Cumae, see the lex Cumana libitinaria: L'Année Épigraphique 1971, 89. For further details, see Bodel, 1994; cf. Kyle, 1998, 166-167; cf. Toynbee, 1971, 45, 54-55. Undertaking functions could also be handled by collegia, burial clubs to which members paid fees over time to provide for proper care of their remains upon death (Davies, 1999, 147). For further details and epigraphical evidence, see Hope, 2009, 68. 65 Digest 11.7.43.2a; cf. Bodel, 2000, 134. 66 On Stercorarii: CIL I2 593.66-67; 839; Digest 33.7.12.10; CIL 4.10606, 10488 (Herculaneum); CIL 4.7.38 (Pompeii). The stercorarii were largely funded by selling what they collected as fertilizer. Sanitary and odoriferous conditions in urban centers in the Roman Empire, while superior to other civilizations, would likely offend modern nostrils. Roman understanding of the relationship between disease and dung and decay was anything but well-developed. Nevertheless, some did perceive at least some health ramifications (Digest 43.23.1.2-3; Livy 39.44.5; Dio 49.43; Pliny, Natural History 36.104; Strabo 5.235). The Romans were unusual in the ancient world in the effort and expense they were willing to bear to reduce close human association with garbage and human byproducts. For detailed discussion, see Raventós & Remolà (2000); cf. Bodel, 1994, 32ff. 67 Plutarch, Tiberius Gracchus 19.6, 20.2; Gaius Gracchus 3.3; cf. Appian, Civil War 1.16. 68 Plutarch, Gaius Gracchus 17.5; cf. Velleius Paterculus 2.6.

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their bodies by hooks and cast them into the Tiber (Appian, Civil War 1.88). In 57 BCE, Cicero remarked that the violence of the period caused the Tiber to be filled with the bodies of citizens, and sewers stuffed (In Defenses of Sestius, 77). In 44 BC, just after the assassination of Caesar, Antony had the pretender Amatius killed and his body dragged through the streets and cast into the Tiber (Cicero, Philippic 1.5; Livy, Epitome 116). Similarly, in 38 BCE, Antony had rioters killed and their bodies tossed into the Tiber (Appian, Civil War 6.68). Augustus had some disobedient slaves cast alive into the Tiber with weights attached (Suetonius, Augustus 67.2). According to Dio, when the emperor Tiberius executed Sejanus, his body was cast down the “stairway”, abused for three days, then thrown into the Tiber.69 Tiberius, shortly thereafter, imposed similar penalties on many who were implicated with Sejanus (Tacitus, Annals 6.19). Vitellius, the third emperor of the tumultuous year of four emperors (69CE) was arrested, dragged through the streets, tortured on the Stairs of Wailing, then dispatched and dragged off with a hook to the Tiber (Suetonius, Vitellius 17.1ff).70 All of this evidence combined, along with numerous fearful or threatening references to “hooks” in other texts, suggests that the disposal of bodies in the Tiber was not unusual, at least at certain times and under particular circumstances. Based on such evidence, Kyle makes a plausible if not a probable case that the Tiber was the primary means of the disposal of “all those bodies,” especially the noxii, from the arena. He further notes that there are several advantages to disposal in the Tiber. So long as you do not live downstream, disposal in the Tiber provides a ready remedy for the sanitation problems presented by an abundance of putrefying bodies in or just outside of Rome. Moreover, because the corpses in the Tiber float away from Rome, the fear of the spirits of the restless dead who tend to stay in the vicinity of their improperly buried bodies will be less likely to haunt Romans (though this idea might not bring the residents of Ostia much comfort). In addition, casting the bodies of the noxii into the Tiber provides a sort of purifying ritual that cleanses Rome of the pollution caused by both crime and punishment. Perhaps the ritual of the Sacra Argeorum points to this kind of meaning.71 If this argument passes muster,

69

58.11.1ff.; cf. Kyle, 1998, 221-2. On the occasional abuse of corpses on the Steps of Mourning or Wailing, Scalae Gemoniae, see Hope, 2000, 112f. 71 Plutarch, Roman Questions 86; Livy 1.21.5. The ritual included the casting of effigies of men into the Tiber annually; cf. Kyle,1998, 215-16. 70

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might we not propose a similar explanation for victims of other types of executions? There are two problems with this line of argument. First, it is important to note the identity of those whose bodies were cast into the Tiber, according to our evidence. Almost all of them were elites in Roman society, including senators, praetorian prefects, and even former emperors. These were not commoners. Indeed, there is not a single piece of evidence suggesting that noxii were tossed into the Tiber after playing their appointed role in the Colosseum. Nor is there any evidence of victims of crucifixion being dumped into the Tiber. It is possible, and even plausible that, at least on some occasions, some victims of standard forms of execution ended up in the Tiber, but such a practice finds little support in the extant evidence. Second, and more problematic, is the context of all of these cases of body dumping in the Tiber. Time and again, the evidence points to a context of violence, rebellion, or tyranny. One might well ask: What evidence do we have of any bodies being dumped in the Tiber in a time of peace, stability, and sane governance? Kyle seems to notice this problem, for the heading for this section of his argument is “Political violence and disposal by water.” As far as we can tell from the evidence, the tossing of corpses into the Tiber is limited to elites, on the wrong side of the powers that be, in times of violence. This conclusion is supported by close attention to the tone and literary context of the evidence, which demonstrates persistent attitudes of disapproval of such disposal among authors such as Cicero, Dio, Plutarch, Livy, Tacitus, or Suetonius.72 Far from considering the dumping of bodies in the Tiber a time-honored tradition, these authors consider such treatment of the dead as inappropriate if not despicable, a violation of core Roman values. Because of these considerations, it is possible that some of the noxii and perhaps some other victims of executions were disposed of in the Tiber on occasion. However, there is a low probability that this was the normal practice. In addition, any such proposal is at best only applicable to Rome and other cities that have large rivers running through or near them. Any idea of dumping the victims of execution into water has no meaning in other geographical contexts, such as Jerusalem where we began this quest and to which we shall now return to consider the question of how Jewish burial practices fit within the larger context of Roman dealings with the dead. 72

Hope notes the same kind of concern. On the other end of the spectrum, Octavian receives high respect for his honorable treatment of Antony and Cleopatra (2000, 116; Suetonius, Augustus 17).

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Jewish Burial Practices in the Roman Period The topic of Jewish burial practices in Judaea in the Roman period has been analyzed extensively in a number of commendable studies. The present analysis will not attempt to duplicate them, but rather to summarize and supplement them from a Roman perspective. Surprisingly, Jewish burial practices were in some ways similar to those of the Romans, with some important differences, as well as different reasons underlying those practices. Most Jews agreed with their Roman contemporaries that the life force of humans outlasted their bodies, that the dignified handling of the dead with proper rites and burial was a sacred duty, and that the obligation of the living to the dead ought to be organized according to traditional and sacred law to avoid pollution.73 On the other hand, cremation was exceedingly rare among Jews, their view of ritual purity diverged significantly from that of the Romans, and at least official Judaism opposed any cult of the dead. Nonetheless, there is some archaeological evidence that this prohibition was not uniformly enforced.74 For Jews, the victims of capital punishment were humans created by God, and were therefore to be treated with appropriate dignity. As we have seen from Josephus, Philo, and the Temple Scroll, Jews were serious about obeying the Deuteronomic command, ensuring the burial of the executed before sundown, and with proper rites. Widespread Jewish belief in a future resurrection informed their dealings with the dead.75 Both written and archaeological evidence suggests that Jews seldom if ever practiced cremation, corpse abuse, exposure of bodies, or dumping of bodies into rivers.76 73

In later Rabbinic tradition, proper burial of the dead took precedence over the study of torah, circumcision, or the offering of the Passover lamb (b. Megillah 3b); cf. Evans & Wright, 2009, 49. 74 Davies, 1999, 77ff.; cf. Hachili and Killebrew, 1983; McCain, 2003, 50f. 75 The Sadducees, however, rejected this belief. While some scholars have suggested that the rise of the custom of secondary burial in ossuaries was rooted in a theology of a future bodily resurrection (e.g. Rahmani, 1978), the existence of the Caiaphas ossuaries (with two Aramaic inscriptions reading, “Jehoseph bar Qyph’ [or Qph’]”), from a family known to have Sadducean sympathies, suggests that the explanation for the use of ossuaries should be found elsewhere, such as the influence of Roman customs or the presence of a large number of skilled stone cutters in Jerusalem for the massive project of remodeling the second Temple (Evans, 2003, 104ff; Davies, 1999, 110ff; Evans & Wright, 2009, 41ff.; McCain, 2003, 42ff.). 76 One possible exception is the mass crucifixion of 800 Jewish men along with the butchering of their wives and children before their eyes by the Hasmonaean king,

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Since inhumation was the only option, it is not surprising to discover that the primary differentiation of burial method was determined by wealth. Judaea and its environs host many necropoleis and many monumental tombs, largely inhabited by elites.77 The wealthiest Jews of the first century CE were buried in the great mausolea that surround Jerusalem, such as the so-called Tomb of Absalom, the Tomb of Helena of Adiabene, the Tomb of Nicanor, and the Tomb of the Sons of Hazir. For elites who could not afford such monumental tombs, there is the widespread tradition of rock cut family tombs, kokhim, and ossuaries, such as we have already encountered at Giv’at ha-Mivtar. Beth She’arim has its own catacombs and sarcophagi, though most of the burials there date from later centuries.78 The cemeteries at Qumran provide evidence of the burials of those lower in the social hierarchy. There we find over 1,000 trench graves about two meters deep, where individual bodies were usually buried, some of them, at least, in wooden coffins, accompanied by few grave goods.79 It is possible that many of these burials were the remains of the Essenes, who likely inhabited Qumran, though it is possible that others of modest means were also buried there. In addition, in the necropolis at Jericho, for Alexander Jannaeus, who watched the spectacle while reclining and drinking with his concubines (Jewish War 1.97; Antiquities 13.380). While we are not told of the fate of all of these bodies, it does not appear from the context that Alexander was in any hurry to bury them by sunset or to treat them in accordance with Jewish law. 77 See the extensive survey in Evans, 2003, 17-30; cf. Kloner & Zissu (2007) on the necropolis in Jerusalem. Concerning the elite nature of these tombs, see Magness, 2012, 117-119. 78 Davies, 1999, 108f.; cf. Rachmani, 1978. 79 The most sophisticated recent work on the Qumran cemetery was undertaken by Freund and his team who utilized Ground Penetrating Radar, Electrical Resistivity Tomography and Magnetometry, as well as GPS benchmarked mapping to provide a survey of the entire area, including northern and southern cemeteries. By their count, there are a total of 1213 graves, 82 of which have been excavated. 136 of these burial sites are not visible, but anomalies indicated by Ground Penetrating Radar, and thus potential graves. The discovery of a zinc coffin and a mausoleum nearby, at grave # 1,000, were most significant, with the latter possibly the place where the Teacher of Righteousness, mentioned in several of the Dead Sea Scrolls, was laid to rest. Most of the graves were simple, with few grave goods, and occasional evidence of wooden coffins (de Vaux, 1973, 46-7). Wooden coffins are also attested in En Gedi (Avigad, 1962, 181-2) and the necropolis at Dura Europos (Toll, 1946, 20, 99). A few graves at Qumran housed multiple bodies (Zangenberg, 2000). There is also evidence of some secondary burial and some later Bedouin burials. For further discussion, see Freund, 2009, pp. 247-93; Freund, 2002; cf. Hachili, 2000.

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example, we have evidence of individuals interred in wooden coffins.80 Among Jews, we do not find, in the Roman period, mass graves like those outside of the Esquiline Gate in Rome. The closest thing is an unusual pit loculus in the Goliath family tomb at Jericho, which housed the bones of some 100 individuals.81 Trench graves similar to those found at Qumran have also been found in the Judean desert and around Jerusalem.82 Twenty-six burials from the Roman period have been discovered at Bethsaida, all of which were individual primary burials in simple trench graves.83 Many of these places of burial also provide evidence that Jews commonly practiced liqut ‘azamot, the gathering of the bones for secondary burial, though that seems less probable in the case of trench graves.84 The Mishnah tractate Sanhedrin 6.5-6 provides for two types of cemeteries, batei qevarot and batei almin, under the jurisdiction of the Sanhedrin, for burying commoners, the destitute, or those who had been executed.85 We cannot be sure of the location of these cemeteries, or even whether the Sanhedrin exercised this function in the first century, but it is quite probable, as Magness contends, that “the majority of the ancient Jewish population 80

Hachili & Killebrew, 1983, 115. These coffins were used for primary burial in rock cut tombs, and usually placed in kokhim. Up to three bodies inhabited a single coffin, though most contained only individuals. Cf. Davies, 1999, 78. 81 Whether the Goliath family was particularly fruitful or this pit served some sort of community function is not clear. For further discussion, see Hachili & Killebrew, 1983, 124 and Hachili, 2000. 82 Such as at ‘En el-Ghuweir and Hiam el-Sagha. For further discussion, see Eshel & Greenhut, 1992; Zissu, 1998; Hachili, 2000. On Jerusalem, see Kloner & Zissu, 2007, 95-99. 83 According to Chief Archaeologist, Rami Arav (personal correspondence), all Roman period graves at Bethsaida were about one meter deep, in a north-south orientation – like Qumran, except that the bodies faced the opposite way from the majority at Qumran, with heads to the north; cf. Zangenberg, 2000. 84 Thereafter, the bones were interred in pits or ossuaries for those who could afford them. Bones of individuals were not always kept separate in secondary burial, but rather, ossuaries often housed multiple skeletons. This practice ensured that family tombs could accommodate multiple generations and reduce expense over time. See Y. Moe’ed Qatan 1.5, 80c; cf. Evans, 2003, 26. For the possibility of secondary burial in a couple of graves at Qumran, see Zangenberg, 2000, 69. 85 This concept may explain, in part, the reference to the purchase by the “chief priests” of a “potter’s field,” though in this case, graves for foreigners (xenoi) is in view (Matthew 27.7). While Sanhedrin 9.8 says that the executed criminal may not be buried in “the grave of his fathers,” 6.6 allows for the possibility of gathering of the bones of the executed and transferring them to family tombs for secondary burial. See Freund, 2009, 268; cf. Brown, 1994, 1210; Williams, 1994, 171.

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must have been disposed of in a manner that left few traces in the archaeological landscape,” including simple trench, pit, shaft, or cyst graves.86 Given the nature of the preservation, or lack thereof, of the graves of commoners, combined with the consistent value of burial, even for the executed, among Jewish sources, it is probable that some of the bodies thus far unearthed, and far more that will never be unearthed, were the bodies of executed criminals, including victims of crucifixion. The reality is that, because of the nature of the burials, the state of decay of the bones, and the nature of the evidence needed to demonstrate execution, it requires exceedingly fortuitous circumstances to be able to say with any confidence that a particular ancient corpse was the victim of execution.87 All these 86 Magness, 2012, 120-1. Mishnah tractate Ohalot 16.3, 17.1, 18.2-4 and Tosefta tractate Ahilot 2.3-4, 15.13, 17.1, refer to trench graves, as opposed to rock-cut tombs. While the graves at Qumran that have been excavated have yielded skeletons primarily of adult males, the same does not hold true for similar graves elsewhere in the region. For Jewish burial methods in Rome and the broader diaspora, see Williams, 1994. 87 While beheading can be detected in some cases, other means of execution, including crucifixion, would leave behind little if any evidence that would be discoverable by modern forensic analysis. If a person were tied to the cross, for example, the bones would not reveal any evidence (Cf. Evans & Wright, 2009, 58; Magness, 2006). If a person were nailed, it would make the most sense to nail into areas of soft tissue between bones and tendons, such as between the radius and ulna, or between the Achilles tendon and the tibia and fibula. Such practices would probably leave little evidence on the bones, perhaps small scratches that would be easily confused with post-mortem damage. Such scratches are points of controversy concerning Yehohanan’s bones in Zias & Sekeles (1985). From a more traditional angle, nails through the small bones of the palm, the metacarpals, or those of the foot, the metatarsals, would likely fracture some of those small bones. Unfortunately, such small bones are easily fractured or lost in post-mortem settings, for not uncommonly some smaller bones are missing from ossuaries. Moreover, the quality of preservation of bones is variable over a couple of millennia; many are so poorly preserved that detailed analysis is problematic, and those best preserved are often discovered in the ossuaries of the elite – those least likely to suffer execution. For these reasons, we should expect crucifixion to be largely invisible. It is only the exceedingly strange circumstance of a Roman soldier choosing to drive a nail through the calcaneum, and the nail getting bent, that provided us with our sole case of forensic confirmation of crucifixion. If the bones of victims of crucifixion are unlikely to reveal that particular cause of death, it is quite probable that the bodies of many such victims have in fact been discovered. Further, because of understandable cultural sensitivities about the excavation of graves, archaeologists are unlikely to be invited to examine many of

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factors, combined with the traditional Roman respect for the autonomy of the cultural practices of provincials, especially those with a long and venerable religious history, suggest that normal Roman procedure would be to allow Jews to handle their dead as they wished, including those who were executed.88 While Romans often found Jewish cultural practices curious if not incomprehensible, in this particular area, Romans would have had little trouble appreciating the care with which Jews handled their deceased loved ones.89 It should come as no surprise, therefore, that Philo expressed such outrage at how Flaccus treated the Jews of Alexandria, or that Josephus so heartily condemned the cavalier treatment of dead Jews by the Idumaeans, or that the legs of those crucified with Jesus were broken by Roman soldiers. Above all, it was the job of Roman governors, whether the Prefect of Egypt or the Prefect or Procurator of Judaea, to uphold the pax augusta by keeping the peace and by enforcing the prerogatives of Roman rule through the iustitia provided by Roman law. Philo and Josephus had just complaints, and the Jews who asked for the legs of the crucified to be broken to ensure burial before sunset had a just request in Roman eyes.

Conclusions We began this journey by asking whether the fact that Yehohanan was crucified and buried represents normal Roman procedure, or an

the bones that could provide additional evidence. For detailed discussion of the anatomy of crucifixion and causes of death, see Barbet, 1953, 92ff.; Zugibe, 2005, 66ff. For osteoarchaeological analysis of victims of violence, see Cohen et al., 2012. 88 Both Josephus (Jewish War 2.220) and Philo (Embassy 300) insist that the Romans had a long history of treating Jewish culture and customs with deference, a claim that is consistent with the broad range of regional autonomy the Romans commonly permitted in other provinces. 89 A good example is the common inclusion, in both Roman and Jewish graves, of unguentaria, small vessels, initially of ceramic but increasingly over the course of the first century CE, of glass, used to hold oil, wine or powdered incense or spices. Pliny indicates the sprinkling of powdered scents, which may have been contained in unguentaria, in such a context (Natural History 13.3.19). Although the precise usage of unguentaria is not entirely certain, if they were filled with any sort of incense, perfume, spices, or scents, their inclusion among grave goods represents a common desire to mitigate the smell of decomposing corpses. See AndersonStojanoviü, 1987; cf. McCain, 2003, 48.

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exceptional case. We are now in a position to provide the outlines of an answer. First, the extant evidence for the disposal of the bodies of the executed demonstrates that in some situations the Romans engaged in corpse abuse, exposure of bodies, and dumping of bodies into the Tiber. In other situations, they handed the bodies over to family and friends for proper disposal by cremation or burial, or carted them off to places reserved for mass burial or cremation. The vast majority of the recorded cases, however, tell us nothing about the handling of corpses after execution. We have also seen that the treatment of corpses depends a good deal on the deceased’s social stature, as well as regional and religious factors, though underlying those factors is a consistent fundamental conviction that “to deny burial was to contravene all the standard spiritual, moral, and practical norms” of Roman culture (Hope, 2000, 120). Perhaps our most important discovery has been the fact that in virtually every case where the sources discuss corpse abuse or exposure, or the disposing of bodies in water, the act was in a context of violence, rebellion, war, or tyranny.90 Moreover, the authors who record these acts consistently treat them with a tone of disapproval, if not contempt. Virtually every historical narrative of execution followed by non-burial took place in a violent context. Conversely, over the course of two centuries, we do not have evidence of a single case of corpse abuse or exposure of executed bodies under peaceful circumstances, save for the few victims of the sack wending their way down the Tiber. Therefore, we can draw an important conclusion: non-burial of the victims of capital punishment is far more probable in a context of violence, and burial is far more probable in a context of peace. When we put this conclusion together with our discussion of Roman values of pietas and sanitation, and their general commitment to practical efficiency, in times of peace, the Romans were most likely to handle executed corpses in the most efficient manner that guaranteed both minimal dignity and that the stench of rotting corpses would not waft its way into the city. Whether that meant handing them over to friends or relatives, or assigning them to libitinarii, or cremating them, or disposing of them in trench graves, or puticuli, or shallow paupers’ graves would have made little difference from a Roman perspective, so long as the burial was handled in a manner consistent with Roman values. It took unusual circumstances, at least in the Imperial period, in particular war and violence, for the Romans to engage in corpse 90 This conclusion was partially anticipated by Evans when discussing crucifixion in Roman Judea (Evans, 2011, 96).

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abuse or exposure, but this should occasion no surprise for such a dynamic is common throughout history.91 We can take this conclusion a step further by combining the evidence from Philo, Josephus, the victims of execution at Giv’at ha-Mivtar, the broken legs of the Gospel of John, and the crucifixion and burial of Jesus, as recorded in all of the canonical Gospels as well as other early Christian texts.92 All of these pieces of evidence come from near the same time, all from the eastern empire, all from a Jewish context, and most importantly, all agree. From the perspective of over two centuries of evidence in the Roman Empire, there is nothing surprising about how Pilate handled Jesus’ execution or his burial, for unlike the bloody proscriptions of Sulla, and unlike the slave rebellion led by Spartacus, and unlike the Jewish war, or the homicidal rage of Nero, this execution took place in time of peace. Pilate was doing what he was appointed to do as Prefect of Judaea: upholding the pax augusta and applying the iustitia and iurisprudentia of Roman law by executing the non-citizen leader of a potential sedition before it developed into a genuine threat.93 At the same time he was

91

This is a complex topic beyond the scope of this study, but one example might clarify. As I write this article, the President and congress of the US are engaged in a debate about the prison in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, where the military has long held and sometimes tortured prisoners without charges, rights, or trial, all in violation of some of the country’s most deeply-held cultural values. The US government has been willing to violate those cultural values in the name of the “War on Terror” -- that is, in a context of war and violence resulting from 9/11 and responses to it. To oversimplify, this dynamic reveals a conflict between two American cultural values which we popularly call civil liberty and national security. In peace, the former usually prevails, but in war, national security easily trumps civil liberty, at least for a time, but the two always exist in tension. 92 E.g. Matthew 27.32-60; Mark 15.21-47; Luke 23.26-56; John 19.17-42; cf. I Corinthians 15.3-4. Crossan’s argument that a primitive Cross Gospel underlies the Gospel of Peter 4-8 does not adequately account for the manuscript evidence, the dependence of Peter upon canonical sources, or the substantial early multipleattestation to that burial (1995, 169-71; 223-7). 93 The titulus, stating the crime for which Jesus was executed, read “King of the Jews.” According to Sherwin-White, this was a case of cognitio extra ordinem, where the Prefect had significant freedom to do what was needed to uphold Roman authority and the pax augusta. From the perspective of Roman law and history, Pilate probably viewed Jesus as a potentially seditious nuisance, best nipped in the bud, but little more. It is improbable that Jesus was executed on a charge of maiestas, high treason, for that charge was usually reserved for elites who were real or perceived threats to emperors or the Senate in Rome. Thus, “King of the Jews” was an appropriate, if ironic, statement of the charge (Sherwin-White, 1963,

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honoring his alliance with well-connected local elites like the high-priestly family of Annas and Caiaphas. He used the resources of the Roman military with restraint and efficiency, acting with appropriate deference toward regional and religious sensibilities and demonstrating proper respect for the bodies of the crucified and their families. In all probability, Jesus was not the only victim of crucifixion to be buried that day, for the two who died with him had their legs broken precisely because “the Jews” wanted to bury them before sunset and the beginning of Shabbat.94 From a Roman perspective, there could be no more normal procedure. It is certainly true that the single act of crucifying Jesus of Nazareth forever changed the religious landscape of western civilization, but from the perspective of Roman procedure, it was business as usual.95 At the culmination of our winding path, we are finally in a position to return to Yehohanan and his heel. Was his burial the result of normal procedure? Or, was it exceptional? Based on our analysis, the most probable answer that accounts for all of the evidence would be: “it depends.” Was Yehohanan crucified in a time of relative peace as was Jesus? Or, was he executed in the early stages of the Jewish War? Or, at the hands of Varus when he unleashed his wrath on Jerusalem? If Yehohanan was executed in a time of relative peace, his burial was probably normal. Since most scholars date his execution around the 20s to 30s CE, and that period was not characterized by any significant violence in the region, this is the most probable end of our quest. If, however, he were crucified in a time of violence, tyrannical cruelty, or war, we might have encountered a different ending. 35ff.). For further discussion, see Bauman, 1996, 136ff.; cf. Evans & Wright, 2009, 19ff. 94 That Jesus died relatively quickly, and therefore did not have to have his legs broken to speed up the process adds further corroboration that the Romans acted in a manner that respected Jewish religious expectations (John 19.33f.). 95 Magness concludes that the Gospel accounts accurately reflect the “manner in which the Jews of ancient Jerusalem buried their dead in the first century” (2006). McCain argues persuasively that Jesus was probably buried properly, but in shame, for two things are missing from the Gospel accounts that one would expect from a Jewish burial: mourning and burial in a family tomb, though a cave tomb may well have been beyond the means of Jesus’ family. The absence of these elements is consistent with later Rabbinic texts requiring the burial of the executed, but not permitting them to be mourned or buried (at least for primary burial) in a family tomb. Therefore, the burial of Jesus in a “new tomb” of a non-family member, Joseph of Arimathea, would fit with both Roman and Jewish expectations. A year after primary burial, the bones of the executed could be gathered and placed in an ossuary or pit in a family tomb like Yehohanan’s (2003, 89ff).

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The bones of Yehohanan have been speaking to us for more than forty years. In this case, they have guided us to the discovery of the dynamic of Roman capital punishment and burial, while ensuring that some fanciful theories and reconstructions are properly laid to rest. Voltaire famously quipped that history “is a pack of tricks we play on the dead.” If nothing else, we can learn from Yehohanan that the dead are capable of playing a few tricks on historians.

Acknowledgments I would like to express my appreciation to Debra Smith, Hal Drake, Rami Arav, Richard Freund, Craig Evans, Steve Maughan, Jeff Snyder-Reinke, Dori Johnson, and Israel Hershkovitz for their guidance and incisive criticism. I am also indebted to Jessica Hershey, my former student and TA, who participated in the early stages of this research and whose insights have enriched the whole. I owe a special debt of gratitude to John T Greene, fellow-laborer both physically and metaphorically, in the bat guano of Nahal Hever, the “pits” of Bethsaida, the Greek of Josephus, and the intrigues of the Julian family. For your friendship, energy, insight, and unfailing good humor, shalom chaver.

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Villes, G. (1981), La Gladiature in Occident des origins à la morte de Domitien, Rome: Palais Farnèse. Voisin, J. L. (1984), Les Romains, chasseurs de têtes, in Y. Thomas, ed., Du châtiment dans la cité: supplices corporels et peine de mort dans le monde antique, Rome: Palais Farnèse, 241-293. Wagenwoort, H. (1980), Pietas: Selected Studies in Roman Religion, Leiden: Brill. Wiedemann, T. (1992), Emperors and Gladiators, London: Routledge. Williams, M.H., The Organisation of Jewish Burials in Ancient Rome in the Light of Evidence from Palestine and the Diaspora. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik, 1994,101, 165-182. Yadin, Y., Epigraphy and Crucifixion, Israel Exploration Journal, 23, 1973, 18-22. Zadoks-Josephus Jitta, A.N. (1932), Ancestral Portraiture in Rome, Amsterdam: N.V. Noordhollandsche Uitgevers. Zangenberg, J., Bones of Contention: “New” Bones from Qumran Help Settle Old Questions (and Raise New Ones) – Remarks on Two Recent Conferences. Qumran Chronicle, 9 (1), 2000, 67-70. Zias, J. and Charlesworth, J.H. (1992). Crucifixion: Archaeology, Jesus, and the Dead Sea Scrolls, in J. H. Charlesworth, ed., Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell, 273-289. Zias, J. and Sekeles, E., The Crucified Man from Giv’at ha-Mivtar – A Reappraisal, Israel Exploration Journal, 35 (1), 1985, 22-27. Zissu, B., "Qumran Type" Graves in Jerusalem: Archaeological Evidence of an Essene Community? Dead Sea Discoveries, 5 (2), 1998, 158– 171. Zugibe, F. T. (2005), The Crucifixion of Jesus: A Forensic Inquiry, New York: M. Evans and Company

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO GREEK POLIS AND ROMAN RES PUBLICA: A COMPARISON BETWEEN SPECIFIC FEATURES OF POLITICAL AND SOCIAL INTEGRATION MONIKA BERNETT

The city as a city-state was fundamental to ancient Greek and Roman culture. In Greek history, this polis developed as part of the Greek cultural formation and ethnogenesis in the 8th century BCE. During colonization, beginning approximately 750 BCE, the Greek city-state dispersed beyond the borders of the Greek motherland to the western and eastern coasts of the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. A comparable form of city-states had emerged in middle Italy by 500 BCE, specifically referred to as the Roman Republic or res publica by the Roman community after the fall of monarchy. In this chapter the distinct characteristics of the Greek polis and the Roman res publica will be paralleled in order to clarify their common features and structural differences.

Attributes and distinctive features of the Greek polis The Greek term polis designates the self-governed citizen state encompassing structures of membership, procedures of decision-making, and institutions. Beginning in the early 8th century BCE, these poleis developed within settlements on continental Greece, the Aegean Islands, and the coast of Asia Minor. Forerunners had been numerous, small and, during the “Dark Ages” (12th–9th century BCE), stabilized rural communities that were united by interests of raid and defense. These early associations of people had not yet evolved into institutions with defined competencies and procedures. They were more or less ruled by wealthy

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landowners (basileus) who were claiming and demanding authority and respect (Finley 1979). During the economic and social crises of the archaic period, a political organization emerged that could balance the communities on a higher level of integration, i.e., a body of self-governing citizens. Alfred Heuss once (Heuss 1946) suggested the term “Bürgerstaat” (citizens’ state) instead of “Stadtstaat” for good reason because, at the completion of this process of integration (ca. 500 BCE), the polis consisted, to a great extent, of hardly more than just its citizens. They carried the burden of wars since their citizenship was basically defined by the ability of a man to equip himself with armor and weapons and to take part in battle. Moreover, people coped by themselves with all problems, personal or political, that is, relevant to the entire community. There was no “state” that assisted with resources during critical circumstances and accepted responsibility. Risks, challenges, principles, and the ability to carry out an action were continuously debated by the heads of the house communities (oikos). This occurred in rural neighborhoods, in public places (agora), and within common institutions (ekklesia, boule). Aristotle referred to a citizen (polites) as a man who had not only the right to participate in discussing and decision-making of common issues, in executing decisions and in judging, but who actually did take part (pol. 1297b 37–1298a 7). Otherwise stated, a true citizen was required to be an active citizen and not only possess the rights of a citizen. There were two processes by which the polis, as the citizens’ state, developed during the archaic period: A. Common life was intensified and built on more objective reasons during the 7th and 6th centuries BCE. In a central location of a settlement area, institutions were shaped in which deliberating, deciding and judging occurred according to certain rules. Citizens, the vast majority consisting of peasants and landholders, were required to be members of newly constituted social groups and subgroups (phyle, phratria). In these divisions, where kinship relationships were irrelevant, manifold rights and duties of citizenship were performed and practiced. Polis life was experienced daily everywhere in the small villages within the area of a citystate. The “political” began to be separated from the interests of the “house” and public issues from personal/private matters (Meier 1980). The separation of these two spheres is unique in world history and also peculiar in antiquity since such a separation between “house”/family and politics had not been developed in Rome either.

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B. The idea of a citizen was increasingly identified with the ability to participate personally in the political life of the polis. In the early archaic settlements, a person could belong without participating in common decisions that were solely made by the leading persons, i.e. aristocrats. The more a settlement developed into a polis, a citizens’ state, the more the circle of political participants was enlarged. In democracy, the group affected by political decisions was nearly congruent with the group that made these decisions (Meier 1980). However, not all poleis achieved this radical form. But the constitutional form of isonomia in which the owners of middle possessions (mesoi) constituted the majority of the active citizens was established in many places by the end of the 6th century BCE. Remarkable in this entire development is that all of these small, autonomous poleis tended to be mutually demarcated and exclusive. Around 500 BCE approximately 700 Greek city-states existed, most of them comprising an area between 50–100 square kilometers (Sparta/Lacedaemon had about 8,050 square kilometers, Athens about 2,500 square kilometers, and thus these two were extraordinarily large). Borders were ritually marked with sacred sites and temples. It is amazing that there were, with the exception of Sparta and Argos, no conquests of adjacent city-states and no permanent alliances. On the contrary, the more significant citizen status became in the political process and participation the more strict the criteria became that defined who was a citizen of a polis and who was not, who was excluded and who could benefit from the status of a citizen. This development is very different from Rome where citizenship was not exclusive. Masters could manumit their slaves to citizenship. The senate founded citizen colonies outside the territorial boundaries of Rome. High magistrates and governors of a province could award citizenship to loyal persons and groups. Together with the grant of Latin citizenship to allies, as a reduced variant of Roman citizenship, this practice led to a continuous expansion of the body of citizens. In the middle of the 4th century BCE Rome already consisted of about 125,000 citizens; approximately 915,000 in 124 BCE; and ca. 3,000,000 in 69 BCE. In contrast, on average, a classical polis consisted of between 400 and 900 citizens. Athens with about 30,000 citizens and Sparta with 8,000 in the 5th century BCE are, again, exceptions. Demographic pressure in Greece was obviously, to a good extent, compensated by colonization. It is additionally noticeable that there was reluctance from the Greek city-states to cultivate more farmland in order to increase the body of citizens as

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land-holders. Their number and the number of self-sufficient farms should obviously remain constant (according to the interpretation of a law from Corinth from the second half of the 7th century BCE). The exclusiveness of the Greek polis, together with the political differentiation, impeded the Greek nobles from acting “privately”, e.g. to undertake raids, to support the enterprises of their noble friends in other poleis, or even to establish tyranny. Greek nobility was politically disciplined, thereby decreasing the scope of free acting in foreign affairs (Heuss 1946). Nobles could still mark their distinctiveness and superiority by holding offices. However acting in office was increasingly determined by public discussion between citizens in the assembly. Other fields of honored competition such as athletics, physical beauty, glory of fighting battles, and the arts of the symposium continued to be cultivated and produced levels of noble dignity. Though the classical polis lost autonomy in foreign affairs during the Hellenistic period, beginning with Alexander’s reign in 336 BCE, this did not signify a decline of the polis itself. As the dominant form of political organization and social integration, the Greek city remained crucial, until the end of Late Antiquity, as an administrative unit in the succeeding realms (Hellenistic kingdoms, the Roman Empire) as well as the main reference field for interaction and communication between the citizens. Aristocracy remained related to its cities and competed for rank and esteem through political achievements and donations for their poleis. They were rewarded with superior offices, diplomatic missions, honorific statues and inscriptions. Cities competed against each other to become renowned centers of culture, religious cults and festivals. All of this kept polis life vivid through the centuries.

Attributes and special features of the Roman res publica and comparison with the Greek polis The manner in which the Roman city-state, res publica, developed is, in some respect, very similar to the Greek polis. However, there are also significant differences in regard to important structural features. Res publica and polis share certain basic elements. The vast majority of citizens were farmers who were able to equip themselves for war (for the Roman Republic, this holds true until the end of the 2nd century BCE). They convened for elections and decisions in assemblies. Candidates for the annual public offices were members of the socio-economic elite and, as a rule, members of families that were renowned over generations or had become famous due to their extraordinary achievements for the city-state.

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The Roman Republic, like the polis, also had a council, i.e., the senate. Considering these basic elements in detail, the peculiarities and differences of the Roman res publica become evident. First of all, it must be stressed that the political order of the Roman Republic was not a created constitution (“gestiftete Verfassung”), as was the case in Greek political history, e.g. the laws of Lycurgus in Sparta, the constitutions of Solon and Cleisthenes, respectively, in Athens. Order of power, power exercise, and political competences that were organized and distributed between the body of citizens and nobility, and annual magistrates, developed over a significant period of time and can be classified as the grown constitution (“gewachsene Verfassung”, Meier 1997). During military and social challenges after the fall of the Etruscan monarchy, rules, practices, and expectations were molded to keep Roman society stable and capable of acting. This is why, secondly, res publica was a general concept of order which embraced traditions and innovations. Stabilization and permanent adjustment of the res publica by the interrelation of the three constitutional segments (senate, magistrates, assembly) produced a high normativity of the order in being. To the Romans, res publica could only be accomplished, reformed, damaged, or destroyed but could not be replaced by a new and better order (Meier 1997). Contrary to that, in Greece, beginning in the late-archaic period, there was continuous debate regarding the best constitution of a polis. Basic forms of constitutional order emerged such as aristocracy, oligarchy, and democracy, that could be put in place according to the power relationships between the struggling groups (Meier 1980). In Rome, not only one, but four different types of assembly existed. Assemblies could only be summoned by a magistrate who was entitled, and he was also the chairman who allowed the assembly to vote without debate on propositions he had proposed. The assemblies of the isonomous or democratic poleis were summoned periodically (in 5th century Athens, every 10 days). There was free debate for all participants. Proposals having been prepared by the boule to be presented to the ekklesia could be altered by the assembly and then voted on according to the principle “one man, one vote” (Bleicken 1994). In contrast, Roman voters were divided into voting units, each assembly representing different criteria: relationship to artificial kinship groups (curia), size of land holding and related income (classis and centuria), and district of (primary) land holding (tribus). The votes were only counted as the results of majority votes within the units. Units voted for the proposals on the basis of what their internal constituency's majority determined. Generally, the voting units of the well-to-do peasants and the

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settlers of the urban hinterland held the majority over the voting units of the poor and the inhabitants of Rome proper. In addition to this setting, Roman society was wrought by patron-client relationships that were acquired and subsequently relinquished to descendants. Since electoral voting was the most significant gift from clients and friends of the patrons, candidates canvassed patrons in order to obtain their favor, and the votes of their clients and friends. In spite of this fragmentation of the body of voters – there were no political parties – the corporative voting system produced a fairly rapid, clear and suggestively harmonious result. When the simple majority of the voting units had been reached, the voting process and counting of single votes were, respectively, terminated. This signifies that the number of negative units opposed to a law or a candidate was not even evidenced or published. This procedure was crucial in the century assembly (comitia centuriata) partitioned according to property relations during classical time into 193 centuries (centuria, an old military unit of 100 fighters) and organized into five property classes. The numbers of voters in the centuriae and classes significantly varied from less than one hundred to several thousands, e.g., the unit of the proletarii. Century assembly determined high political offices (consuls, praetors, censors), peace and war, and important laws. The centuries of the rich and well-to-do comprised the majority (centuries of the knights/equites and the first class). With the method of the corporative voting system, it was possible that a candidate for an office, though having obtained more single votes, could not defeat a rival who had attained more voting units. The same was relevant regarding decisions. Conflicts and competition in Rome were, therefore, mirrored only when the upper class, the nobility and the very rich, was extremely divided into dissenting groups (Meier 1997). This institutional peculiarity contributed to the fact that conflicts of rank and power in the Roman aristocracy did not culminate in civil wars until the eighties of the first century BCE (Marius vs. Sulla). The so-called Marian reforms opening military service to men without land or high income had allowed for military mass clientela under the leadership of a general. Before, for more than 400 years, the chances for the implementation of group interests had been low because broad networks of alliances had been involved. Thus, the cohesive, narrow ties of aristocratic friendship could not infiltrate this voting system. A further peculiarity of the Roman Republic was the design of public offices: consulate, praetorship, censorship, aedility, quaestorship, tribunate of the plebs. The two highest offices, consulate and praetorship, had especially extraordinary strong executive rights toward the citizens. They

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held military command over legions, the right to hand out severe punishments, including capital punishment, during a military campaign and in a province, and the means of coercion domi (at Rome) in order to compel decrees and public order. Moreover, both of the censors could impose precarious punishments against citizens whose conduct of life did not conform to laws, tradition and public judgment. In the Greek polis, such power of sanctions could only be exercised by the assembly or by the supreme court. Greek officials also lacked the following particularities: Roman annual magistrates always had at least one colleague who had a mutual veto right and the right to veto decisions of magistrates with a lower rank. The maximum of this type of negative power was held by the (10) tribunes of the plebs that could forbid each action of a magistrate in Rome proper and prohibit decisions of the senate and the assemblies. These negative powers forced arrangements and cooperation among Roman magistrates. Beginning in the middle of the 4th century BCE, rules were developed in Rome to prevent the accumulation of personal power within the political elite such as prolongation of an annual office and or the combination of offices. A year in office was required to be followed by a year out of office; no office, especially the consulate, should be repeated. This disciplining process, which indicated that political power became a rare personal asset among nobles, incited Roman aristocracy to concentrate their activities on leading and administrating the res publica. Politics became a monopole of Roman nobility. Political activity was the single criterion that decided if a man and his family belonged to nobility and, at the same time, to the highest social elite (Meier 1997). Greek noblemen could excel in many different acknowledged fields, politics being among the most esteemed. The social and political rank of a Roman nobilis was only determined by the step he had achieved on the ladder of the career of public offices in Rome (cursus honorum). Consulars, men who had held the consulship, stood in highest esteem; it was only from this most distinguished group that two censors, the most honorable public office, were elected every five years. The institution of the council also significantly differed between the Roman res publica and the Greek polis. In isonomous or democratic poleis members of the council changed each year, were chosen by lot, stemmed from wide circles of the citizenry and were responsible for political procedures, whereas the senate, with approximately 300 lifetime members, constituted the Roman Republic’s political center and was the guardian of the res publica. For the longest span of republican life, only magistrates of higher offices could become members of the senate for lifetime. Its

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sessions occurred under the presence of the annual office holders. This indicates that magistrates and senators interacted for decisions and did not dispute different opinions in public, whereas in Greek assemblies an open discussion ensued for each proposal and matter. Senatorial rank that was based on the sequence of offices determined the order of placement for speaking and voting in the senate. The viewpoint of the consulars carried crucial weight for the formation of opinion concerning a related question. This could refer to any issue of political daily life or matters of principle (Meier 1984). Basic lines of “senatorial constitutional politics” made by the consulars could be described as the following: no increase of public offices, smallest possible expenditure of persons in the case of administration of the Roman city-state and Empire, distaste against alterations of the traditional practice in politics, and strategies opposing the accumulation of power by individual aristocrats.

Social and political integration in Greek polis and Roman res publica Three basic models of social integration in Antiquity have been differentiated: integration according to age groups (model Sparta), political integration (model Athens), integration through social ties and relationships (model Rome) (Martin 2004). Beginning in the second half of the 7th century BCE, young Spartans were educated in small age groups. For boys (7–18 years) education stressed concurrence and strengthened military virtues of the phalanx battle formation (fitness, invigoration, discipline). Adult men resided together in tent communities of military units, even when they were married (for the sake of reproduction). The girls were also educated in similar collectives and physically trained. Once married, women functioned as curators of house and agriculture. Production was required to furnish and finance the maintenance of the husbands in their tent communities. Physical labor was performed by conquered, enslaved people (helots) living in Laconia and Messenia. Approximately 8,000 Spartan citizens were occupied with phalanx battle training for most of the year. Even though the free population of the vast hinterland of the polis (the perioeci) was busy with trade and craftsmanship, and possessed no citizen status, they were also obliged to serve in case of war. Under these conditions, Sparta, with her allies of the Peloponnesian League, rose to hegemonic power in the 6th and 5th centuries BCE in Greece (Finley 1968; Martin 2004; Schmitz 2004). In Athens, since the 6th century BCE, social integration occurred

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through acceptance into citizenship and political participation in assembly and council. Solon had already created the fundamental basis and preconditions for this, but only with the reforms of Cleisthenes was this new model of integration brought to fruition (reforms 508/7–501 BCE). Two elements in these reforms were crucial. First, the citizenry was segmented into small local units (demos) and combined into ten new “tribes” (phyle) that were composed of units from the coast, inland, and the center of Athens. Second, a new “Council of the 500” was created each year by lot based on the ten tribe organization (50 members of each phyle) from broad layers of the citizen-body. Thus, a social and local composition of the council was produced, and its very different members were required to cooperate and master the duties. With this method, the simple citizen became politically active and not only the noblemen, although the latter continued to hold the prominent annual public offices of archons and commanders. As Athens successfully established and maintained a naval force during the conflicts with the Persians, the lowest class of the Athenian society (thetes) was enhanced in status. They were recruited as oarsmen of the warships and thus also now served as citizens. As the fleet comprised 200 ships, and each was rowed by 170 oarsmen, among them at least 80 thetes, 16,000 people of the lowest income class were required and compensated for their service. The victory over the Persians, particularly Athens' crucial naval battle at Salamis in 480 BCE, culminated in Athens being elevated to the role of a naval protecting power for the Greek cities in Asia Minor, on the Aegean islands, and in northern and central Greece. To further prevent attacks by the Persians, the Delian–Attic league was founded. This development was not only the background for Athens’ rise to a naval hegemony in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean, but had also crucial impact on its political constitution. Athens advanced to the form of democracy after the reforms of Pericles and Ephialtes in 462/1 BCE. The assembly became the political center of the city-state. Each issue pertaining to the polis was debated there and resolved with equal, direct franchise according to the majority of the votes. Almost every public office (approximately 700 for the administration of Athens, 600 for the administration of the Delian-Attic league) and the 6,000 judges were designated annually by lot. The magistrates drew wages which also made it possible for less financially advantaged men to hold an office. Only a few offices remained unpaid and were instead awarded by elections, particularly those of military commanders (strategoi). These were the only posts in which wealthy noblemen could still excel and be prominent. Political participation in

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Athens had been very high since the middle of the 5th century BCE. Almost every one of the 40,000 citizens had held several offices during his lifetime, had taken part in land and naval battles, had been a judge, and had visited an abundance of the 40 sessions of the assembly each year. Equality in political life could only be achieved when the manifold differences existing between the rich and the poor regarding education, wealth, dignity of ancestors, number and importance of friends and relatives were ignored. This quite sharp separation between oikos, including wives, and the public sphere dominated by men, thus with the political field having male actors only, was an innovation in polis life. It had to be continuously maintained, confirmed, and expressed: in religious festivals in which women were allowed to act in public; in the art of theatrical tragedy and comedy in which significant current issues were worked through employing the symbolic language of mythos; with sculpture; and with philosophy and rhetoric by which the problems and challenges were kept intellectually up to date with the current period of time (for Athens’ integration see: Bleicken 1994; Meier 1980; Schmitz 2004). Rome’s society was held together, beyond family and kinship ties, by strong social relationships between patrons and clients. Citizen status was, indeed, important in distinguishing free Romans from those who were not free persons or were non-Romans. However, patron-client relationships were crucial for personal advantages and advancement. These networks of acquired and inherited relationships, in which everyone was interwoven, were a distinct feature of Roman society. Fundamental to all this was a generalized, asymmetrical, and mandatory exchange of gifts, whether material goods or personal services. Bonds were also sustained and demonstrated by ritual practices. A ritual crossing the social layers was the steady morning visit of a client to a patron’s house (salutatio). A ritual within the upper social layer was dining together in the evening (convivium) between friends of different rank. The number of clients and friends (with their clients) was of decisive importance for Roman aristocracy since political power and social influence depended on multifold permanent services of clients and friends in the event of elections, voting and court decisions, money lending and mediation of contracts, advice and help, and the like. The enormous political strength of Roman nobility was based, to a great extent, on the fact that this system of bonds and obligations was not only inherited by the descendants of a patron but also implemented in relationships with allied and conquered cultures. This fact induced minimal personal efforts in administrating a vast empire on the part of

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provincial governors with their staff, and assisted in controlling power relationships outside of the Roman city-state. A provincial magistrate could become patron of several local dignitaries, cities or whole provinces. These subjects could address him in order to represent their interests in the senate. A son of a Roman politician who had made a successful career for himself inherited the social bonds of his father and consequently increased his own social prestige and respect. A major Roman difference from the Greek polis was evident in the house of a senator. Even when he was not a magistrate or could not any longer hold an office he was not a private person at home, separated from politics. Numerous interests and needs of Roman citizens could be treated as interests and needs of personal clients and be settled by their noble patrons as senators of Rome. (for Rome’s integration see: Gelzer 1983; Meier 1997; Martin 2002; Winterling 2004a; Winterling 2004b). In contrast, the separation between house and public politics was much more distinct in the Greek polis. Therefore, political matters had to be extended widely and regulated by many laws and decisions.

References Bleicken, J. (1994), Die athenische Demokratie, 2nd ed., Paderborn: Schöningh. Finley, Moses I. (1968), Sparta, in J.-P. Vernant, ed., Problèmes de la guerrre en Grèce anciènne, Paris: Mouton, 143–160. —. (1979), Die Welt des Odysseus, München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag; English edition (1978), The World of Odysseus, New York: Viking Press. Gelzer, M. (1912), Die Nobilität der römischen Republik, new edition by J. v. Ungern-Sternberg (1983), Stuttgart: Steiner. Heuss, A. (1946), Die archaische Zeit Griechenlands als geschichtliche Epoche, Antike und Abendland 2, 26–62; republished (1995), id., Gesammelte Schriften in 3 Bänden, Vol. 1, Stuttgart: Steiner, 2–38. Martin, J. (2002), Familie, Verwandtschaft und Staat in der römischen Republik, in J. Spielvogel, ed., Res publica reperta, Festschrift für Jochen Bleicken zum 75. Geburtstag, Stuttgart: Steiner, 13–24. —. (2004), Erkenntnismöglichkeiten in der Alten Geschichte, in E. Wirbelauer, ed., Antike, München: Oldenbourg, 335–351. Meier, C. (1980), Die Entstehung des Politischen bei den Griechen, Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp (4th ed. 2001); English edition (1990), The Greek Discovery of Politics, Harvard: Harvard University Press.

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—. (1984), Die Ersten unter den Ersten des Senats. Beobachtungen zur Willensbildung im römischen Senat, in D. Nörr/D. Simon, ed., Gedächtnisschrift für Wolfgang Kunkel, Frankfurt/Main: Klostermann, 185–204. —. (1997), Res publica amissa. Eine Studie zu Verfassung und Geschichte der späten römischen Republik, 3rd ed., Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp (1st ed. 1966, 2nd enlarged ed. 1980). Schmitz, W. (2004), Die antiken Menschen in ihren Nahbeziehungen: Griechenland, in E. Wirbelauer, ed., Antike, München: Oldenbourg, 143–161. Winterling, A. (2004a), Die antiken Menschen in ihren Nahbeziehungen: Rom, in: E. Wirbelauer, ed., Antike, München: Oldenbourg, 162–180. —. (2004b), Die antiken Menschen in ihren Gemeinschaften: Rom, in E. Wirbelauer, ed., Antike, München: Oldenbourg, 194–211.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE CURSING THE FIG TREE MISHAEL M. CASPI*

A Parable ? We two were there at Damascus Dealing in figs and wine. “Nice little business! Some one said: “Here, I’ll give you a line! “Buy fish, and set up a booth, Get a tent and make your bread. There are thousands come to listen, They are hungry, and must be fed.” —Edgar Lee Masters1

Jewish sages suggest in one of their discussions that the fig tree was the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Rabbi Jose said: They were figs. He learns the obscure from the explicit.... But because he has eaten of its fruit, the fig tree opened the doors and received him, as it is written; ‘and they sewed the fig leaves together.’ 2

R. Simeon b. Yohai said: That is the leaf which brought the occasion / to-a-nah for death into the world.3

This discussion brings forth the idea that the fruit of the fig tree contains the knowledge of good and evil. Through this fruit human beings came to have this knowledge. Another sage, R. Jose b. Zimra said: 1

Edgar Lee Masters (2000), Business Reverses, in Robert Atwan and Laurance Wieder, eds., Chapters Into Verse, Oxford University Press, 313. 2 Gen. Rab. 15:7; PRE. 20. Yal. 1,21,27. 3 Gen. Rab. 19:6.

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Three things are said about the inside of the fig: it is good to eat, it is fair to behold, and it increases wisdom.4

The Bible views the fig as a famous fruit from the land of Israel. The fable of Yotam presents the words of the fig: Should I forsake my sweetness, and my good fruit and go to be promoted over the trees?(Jud. 9:10)

In Midrashic literature the sages mention two aspects of the fig tree. One aspect causes good by producing the sweet fruit. The second aspect is that while it is sweet, it also introduces death to the world. In Yotam’s fable there is no presentation of evil. The fig tree preferred the good and accentuates the abundance of good that it may give to humanity. It seems that in this period writers did not relate any evil power or evil characteristics to the fig tree. When the change occurred and the interpretations by the sages became accepted or known, fables of the fig tree increased and people were able to elaborate on the sages' teaching. The fig tree has many representations throughout literature. Whether it is the tree of the knowledge of good and evil or just a sweet fruit or even a metaphor for the longing humanity feels in its need for completion, it is worth examining in whatever context it arises, because of the fig tree’s unique character and use. We have chosen for this paper to examine three fig tree stories found in two traditions. The first story is from the Christian tradition and is found in the Synoptic gospels, Matthew and Mark. The two other stories are from the Jewish tradition and are found in the Talmud and in the homiletic literature. In each of these stories there is a curse. Our paper will examine whether this curse is of the fig tree itself or if the curse refers to something other than the most obvious or literal teachings, or a combination of both. From a literary perspective, the fig tree stories in the Talmud,5 Matthew 21:19-22, and Mark 11:12-14; 20-26, offer a dimension beyond the historical interpretations of the nature of Jesus’ teachings. The literary interpretations of the teachings of Jesus differ radically from those popularized by certain scholars in historical analysis. The literary perspective forces recognition of the fact that Jesus’ teachings did not center around the ideas of the fruitlessness of temple worship, the unproductiveness of the nation’s leaders, or the development of mankind towards an ideal; rather Jesus spoke about the divine demand for 4 5

Br. Rab. 19:7. bTa’anit 24a.

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obedience while trying to maintain this demand himself. This is not to say that the meaning of Jesus’ teaching does not include such perceptions as those above, or, for example, the one that Kenneth Bailey poses in his synopsis of the fig tree parable: The present spiritual leadership of the nation is fruitless. Judgement threatens. God in His mercy will act to redeem. If there is no response, judgement will be the only affirmation. His love for the community of faith is too deep for it to be otherwise.6

This perception is significant to historical critique, but not relevant to literary examination. Thus, we prefer not to follow Julicher, C.H. Dodd, Jeremias and others in writing off the parallels between Matthew and Mark, or later interpretations added by the early Christian church. Although the Talmudic story and the story in the NT were written in different times, they both belong to a complex of stories. Both have common elements and confront some of the same issues. By interpreting the Talmudic story with the fig tree stories in Matthew and Mark, and later introducing the story from the homiletic literature, our critical examination led us to two main elements from which a new interpretation about the cursing of the fig tree was conceived. These two elements accentuate the conflict between the written law and the laws of the heart, in addition to the power to interfere in the curse of nature by human or divine command. The elements of production and miscommunication constitute a teaching found in the Talmudic story and in Jesus’ teaching in Matthew and Mark. Our re-application of parables in senses not originally intended leads to provocative insights from which further challenges are made in the hope of a more lucid perspective on the teachings of Jesus. The remainder of this study will be divided into three parts. First, the fig tree stories are presented and interpreted. Second, the interpretations are viewed in light of the parables of the sower along with four versions of a story about miscommunication found in homiletic literature. Third, we conclude by offering a new interpretation of the cursing of the fig tree. Give Them a New Voice. Welcome the light that shudders in the leaves in all weathers and at any season. (Howard Nemerov)7

6

Kenneth E. Bailey (1983), Poet and Peasant Through Peasant Eyes: A Literary and Cultural Approach to the Parables in Luke, Eerdmans, 87. 7 Howard Nemerov (1993), Small Moment, in David Curzon, ed., Modern Poems on the Bible, Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 243.

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In bTa’anit 24a, we read the following story: Once R. Jose of Yokereth had day labourers in the field. Night set in and no food was brought to them and they said to his son: “We are hungry.” Now they were resting under the fig tree and the son exclaimed: “Fig tree, fig tree, bring forth thy fruit that my father’s labourers may eat.” It brought forth fruit and they ate. Meanwhile the father came and said to them: “Do not bear a grievance against me: the reason for my delay is because I have been occupied up till now on an errand of charity.” The labourers replied: “May God satisfy you even as your son satisfied us.” Wherein he asked: “Whence?” And they told him what had happened. Thereupon he said to his son: “My son, you have troubled your Creator to cause the fig tree to bring forth its fruits before its time; may you too be taken hence before your time.”

In the tradition of the New Testament, we read the following in Mark and Matthew: Now in the morning as he was returning to the city [to Bethany], he hungered. And when he saw a fig tree by the wayside, he came to it and found nothing thereon but leaves only, and said unto it, “Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward forever.” And presently the fig tree withered away. And when the disciples saw it, they marveled saying, “How soon is the fig tree withered away.” (Matt. 21:18-20). And on the morrow, when they were come from Bethany, he was hungry: And seeing a fig tree afar off having leaves, he came, if haply he might find anything thereon: and when he came to it, he found nothing but leaves; for the time of figs was not yet. And Jesus answered and said unto it, “No man shall eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever.” And his disciples heard it. (Mark 11:12-14, KJV).

Professor Frenkel8 argues that the legal aspect of R. Jose’s irresponsibility is emphasized in two words present in the first line of the story; day labourers. If we combine Frenkel’s argument with R. Jose’s statement upon his arrival: I have been occupied up till now on an errand of charity. Then the reader can understand, as if he were saying: “Until now I was busy with an important matter, now, I think it is the right moment to deal 8

J. Frenkel (1981), Yiunim Be ‘Olamo ha’ Ruhani Shel Sippur ha’Aggadah, (Hebrew), Readings in the Spiritual World of the Aggadah Story, Tel Aviv: Sifryat Ha'Kibbutz, 36-40.

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with other matters.” The general perception here is R. Jose views his relationship to his workers as a legal one; he does not have to provide them with food, while charity, having no legal aspects, must come first. On his arrival he said to his workers: Do not bear grievance against me ... on an errand of charity.

In a sense, what he is saying is this: “Since I was doing an act of charity, you do not have to be angry.” Thus, he established priorities for his actions and asked his workers to accept his delay. The story does not reveal to us whether R. Jose’s son knew of his father’s charitable actions or views the miracle that happened as a reward for his father’s deeds. Professor Frenkel emphasizes the aspect of the miracles, and suggests that the son knew of his father’s actions, but both the workers and the son did not understand R. Jose’s act of charity. The father is angry because the miracle happened against his will.9 In the New Testament story the immediate interpretation held is that Jesus knew of his father’s action. However, in both the Talmudic story and the NT story there is a curse. If the son and Jesus misunderstood their f/Father’s action, then the question arises: does Jesus misunderstand his Father’s action concerning his humanity? There is a discussion among three rabbis about a person who has committed a breach of the Sabbath laws by taking a fish from the sea. In the concluding argument R. Jose b.Abin states: How could the man who showed no mercy on his son and daughter show mercy to me?10 It seems as if the story emphasizes the aspect of mercy and not the act of charity. Moreover, it suggests that R. Jose’s harsh statement is a cruel one. Two concerns are confronting each other. One is the concern for mercy, suggested by the statement of R. Jose b. Abin, and the second is the curse that has the power to kill. R. Jose of Yokereth knows the power of the curse, yet he does not show any mercy. Does this story which relates a father’s lack of compassion for his son serve as an objection by the sages to R. Jose’s misuse of his power? If so, then does this imply that the disciples also object to the misuse of Jesus’ father’s power? In the Talmudic story, the son turns to the fig tree demanding the tree to bear fruit not in its time. The son’s demand took place immediately after the workers complained, “We are hungry.” The demand by the son suggests that the son was a much more compassionate person than his father; yet, when he requested the tree to bear its fruit he said: 9

Ibid. 39. bTa’anit 24b.

10

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He mentions the fact that these are his father’s labourers, not his. He is incapable of making demands of the tree to bear fruit for his own sake, thus, he uses the authority of the father by mentioning the father’s name. In the New Testament tradition, the commonly held interpretation is that Jesus always acted in his Father’s name. That he was incapable of demanding of the tree for his own sake or that he needed the authority of the Father becomes questionable in light of the parallel between R. Jose’s son’s action and Jesus’ action in altering the nature of the fig tree. If we consider the possibility of Jesus using his Father’s authority in the same way that R. Jose’s son did, then the conflict between the father/Father and son, and written laws and laws of the heart come into play in the Gospels. Upon the workers recounting of the events to the father, he responds: You have troubled your Creator to cause the fig tree to bring forth the fruits.

In the story, R. Jose uses the expression ‘trouble,’ which appears once, hitrahta. There is no doubt that in this story of the fig tree one can see the interference of human beings in the Creator’s deeds. The son interferes in the process of creation using his father’s deeds, and with that power he interferes. The son does not ask for his own sake, but for the sake of the workers. Since they were his father’s day labourers, and since his father seemed irresponsible and uncaring, the son took the responsibility upon himself and asked for the fruit. Jesus interferes in the power of creation also by his demands to the fig tree. The question of time arises in both traditions. If R. Jose’s son acted too quickly in his decision to produce a miracle, then can this also be true of Jesus? If so, what does this mean in terms of the relationship between the son Jesus and the Father God? According to another interpretation, R. Jose’s son understood the miracle as a merit of his father. His father, however, tells him something else: My son you have troubled your Creator. Is R. Jose saying to his son: “The miracle is not because of you, it is because you forced a change in the course of nature without any justified cause and therefore you troubled the Creator.”? Professor Frenkel suggests that the ascetic piety of R. Jose isolates the good deed from the reward, and any one who achieves the reward is a sinner. In this respect, what the son considers to be a good deed, even if it is because of the pious father, is in fact, a sin; thus, the father demands punishment. If Jesus considered his act a good deed, then should we consider Jesus, like R. Jose’s son, a sinner? Did Jesus also trouble the Creator? Is Jesus’ Father punishing him too by causing him to

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wither away, to be sacrificed on the cross ... may you too be taken hence before your time...? R. Jose accuses his son of troubling the Creator by commanding the fig tree to produce not in its time. But he himself is not compassionate, as the verse says: Like as a father pitieth his children. 11 The curse by the father appears not to be of the fig tree but of the son. In this respect we suggest that the story does not emphasize the piety of R. Jose, as much as it accentuates the severity of his action to the point that he did not have mercy upon his son, who for the sake of the workers troubled the Creator. The conflict between upholding the Torah and when to follow one’s own heart is explicit here. However, the sense of curse is found here also, according to the following statement: R. Abbahu said: When a fig tree is gathered at the proper time, it is good for itself and good for the tree: but if it is gathered prematurely, it is bad for itself and bad for the tree.12

This concept of time is important to the two fig tree stories because it presents the aspect of interference in nature based on miscommunication, which in turn produces a teaching. In Mark’s gospel, the event of cursing the fig tree took place before Jesus cleansed the Temple of moneychangers: And they came to Jerusalem and Jesus went to the Temple and began to cast out them that sold and bought... (Mk. 11:15).

The scene of cursing the fig tree in Matthew occurred after Jesus cleansed the Temple from the moneychangers: And Jesus went into the Temple of God and cast out all of them. (Matt. 21:12).

In one of St. Augustine’s sermons he said: Quid arbor fecerat fructum non afferendo? Quae culpa arboris infecunditas?13

The story of the fig tree is placed by both Mark and Matthew prior to the last Passover. This implies that it is unreasonable for Jesus to expect any 11

Ps. 103:13, KJV. Gen. Rab. 62:2. 13 Augustine, Sermons on the New Testament, Sermon 98, (Lc. 7:11-15), 6, 7. Online: http://www.augustinus.it/latino/discorsi/discorso_127_testo.htm 12

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figs on the tree since the season for fig production had not begun. From this point of view the story has little meaning. St. Augustine thinks differently: Non enim dubium est illam inquisitionem non fuisse veram; quivis enim hominum sciret si non infecunditate vel tempore poma illam arborem non habere. Fictio igitur quae ad aliquam veritatem refertur, figura est, quae non refertur mendacium est.14

Still the question remains, how it is that Jesus can expect to find ripe figs out of season. There appears a reference in four prophetical passages to bakkurot, figs which are considered a delicacy that are produced earlier than the abundant crop.15 Is it possible that Jesus’ expectation refers to his finding bakkurot? If we concentrate on the story rather than the curse, then the verse prior to the mention of the fig tree becomes significant. In both Mark and Matthew the verses are: They were come from Bethany, he was hungry (Mk. 11:12),

and Now in the morning as he returned into the city, he hungered (Mt. 21:18).

Both fig tree stories mention hunger. If we extend from the word hunger to the expression of hunger, we have the concept of groaning. If we examine the meaning of the verb groan, we suggest this verb embodies the verbal utterance of pain. In a sense it is the expression of mourning. And if we sense that the highest expression of hunger is groaning, then we align with St. Paul: For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now (Romans 8:22). In this way, does the fig tree become a symbol for the body which groans for its fruit? If we consider the most important verses to be the ones prior to the mention of the fig tree in all stories, we can examine another possible significance to the relationship of the teaching with the words hunger/groan. The tree itself could be seen as breaking and groaning. We can listen to the voices of the fruit growing on the tree. R. Jose’s son comes and commands the tree to produce. Jesus comes and commands the tree to stop growing. R. Jose’s son’s act is one of compassion, expressing 14

Augustine, Liber Secundus: Quaestiones In Evangelium Secundum Lucam: 51:1. Online: http://www.augustinus.it/latino/questioni_vangeli/questioni_vangeli_2_libro.htm 15 See Is. 28:4; Jer. 24:2; Hos. 9:10; Micah 7:1.

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the laws of the heart. Jesus’ act is also one of compassion as he too expresses the laws of the heart. But in the eyes of the father and perhaps Jesus’ Father, their actions violate the tree’s natural cycles within time. However, if the tree is seen as groaning, in need of an impending change, then the son’s and Jesus’ actions are productive. Jesus was on his way to the temple to cast away the moneychangers. The immediate interpretation is that he knew that he was going to be crucified, thus, he wanted to teach the apostles that one never knows when God is going to call. He sees the fig tree with green leaves but bearing no fruit. He thinks of the tree as a person who holds God within him, but in fact doubts this. It is like a man in a church or synagogue who practises the holy rituals daily, but when God calls to him he does not hear. He is spiritually empty with his heart far away from God. Although it is not mentioned explicitly, we have an oath in these verses from both stories: No man eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever. (Mk. 11:14). And Let no fruit grow on the tree henceforward forever. (Mt. 21:19).

This is not a wish, but an oath to the tree in its early growth to not produce in its time. The attempt by the tree to produce before its time requires action. The question remains: how is it possible for Jesus to interfere in the process of nature and assume the power of the Creator to stop the growth in its course, whether in its time or before its time. The tree is groaning, expressing its own sorrow of early growth, thus Jesus interferes out of compassion. Is the act for himself or for the sake of the disciples? His intervention in the form of an oath is not a direct consequence of his seeing the tree. To see is to understand that it is good as defined in the fateful line: So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food and that it was pleasant to the eyes ...” (Gen. 3:6).

So what does Jesus see and understand about the tree and the figs in the Gospel stories? What knowledge might this tree transmit? Does Jesus interfere as a consequence of the pain and deep sorrow he felt in his need to be united with his Father, or was this an act of sacrifice because he felt forsaken? The story in Mark ends with a statement made by Jesus to his disciples: No man eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever: And his disciples heard it. (Mk. 11:14).

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The disciples heard Jesus’ words but they did not understand them until the next day when they saw what had happened to the fig tree. Repetitions in this passage of seeing and hearing attract readers’ attention to verse 20. They saw the fig tree dried up from the roots. (Mk. 11:20).

Only at this point was Jesus able to conclude his teaching and to say, “Have faith in God.” (Mk. 11:22). This notion of faith through repentance also appears in the Jewish tradition: R. Eliezer said: ‘Repent one day before your death.’ His disciples asked him ‘Does thus one know on what day he will die?’ ‘Then all the more reason for one to repent today,’ he replied, lest he die tomorrow and thus his whole life is spent in repentance.16

In our conscience, repentance is the sacrifice that God accepts in the day designated for the repentance. Repentance is what God demands everyone to do, that is, to look into oneself and search for the right way. He does this through His compassion and grace. This idea is exemplified in Ecclesiasticus (Sirach): Make no tarrying to turn to the Lord, and put not off from the day to day: for suddenly shall the wrath of the Lord come forth and in thy security thou shalt be destroyed, and perish in the day of vengeance. (Sirach 5:7).

In addition, we can see the metaphor used in Ecclesiastes to denote this obligation: Let thy garments be always white and let thy head lack no ointment (Eccl. 9:8).

The above analysis of the fig tree stories introduced the idea of productivity. We now would first like to turn to the correspondence of our analysis with the parable of the sower. From this correlation, the second part of our interpretation involving miscommunication, will be brought forth and examined in light of the Homiletic literature. Let us examine the following passage: Harken! Behold, there went out a sower to sow. And it came to pass, as he sowed, some fell by the way side, and the fowls of the air came and devoured it up. And some fell on stony ground, where it had not much earth; and immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of earth. But when the sun was up, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it 16

bShab. 153a.

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withered away. And some fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up, and choked it, and it yielded no fruit. And other fell on good ground, and did yield fruit that sprang up and increased; and brought forth, some thirty, and some sixty, and some an hundred. And he said unto them, He that hath ears to hear, let him hear (Mark 4:3-8).

If we pay attention to the opening word Harken!, the Greek word is akouete. Does this mean the same as shema (Deut. 6:4)? Jesus speaks to his disciples in parables and they do not understand him. This fact is recorded by John who writes that Jesus acknowledges this and says: These things I have spoken unto you in parables: but the time cometh when I shall no more speak to you in proverbs, but I shall show you plainly of the Father (John 16:25). The linguistic form in which Jesus speaks is critical to his teaching. The struggle of the disciples to understand the meaning is seen as dynamic and necessary to his encouragement and hope for their repentance. Harken!, Shema, and Akouete are words used to arrest the disciples’ attention. The similarities between harken and shema are seen in their ability to alert the ears and focus the attention of the disciples. But with shema their mindful attention surely calls forth the following statement: “And thou shalt love they Lord with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.”(Deut. 6:5). With Jesus’ parable of the sower, the idea follows that the heart is not only a source of knowledge but also the place where all human faculties are centred. Thus, the fowls of the air came and devoured the words (the seeds). In essence, Jesus is saying: “Harken! See where they (my teachings) are fallen and see the stony ground and the thorns. Only for those with ears to hear will my words bear fruit.” For indeed: The sower soweth the Word (Mark 4:14). The Abarbanel (1437-1508) interpreted the verse in Deuteronomy 6:5 in the following way: The first one for material good, He delivered you from slavery to freedom. The second for spiritual good, He made you to love Him and His leadership and gave you His laws. The third one for richness and might ... The heart corresponds with the physical freedom, the soul corresponds with divine wholeness that one acquires and might correspond with the property and wealth He willed you.

And he added: With your heart is the intellectual aspects as in the verse, ‘The heart of him that hath understanding seeketh knowledge’ (Prov. 15:14). With all your soul is the soul that desires well, as it says; ‘and his soul dainty meat’ (Job 33:20). With all thy might, the aspects of which one inquires for

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Chapter Twenty Three wealth. With thy heart include the beliefs and creeds, the study of the Torah, Laws, and Prayers. With all thy soul, to stay away from sins. With all thy might include charity and lending to the poor, staying away from thrift and swindling.17

Jesus’ teaching is a Jewish teaching. Harken affects the disciples as it affects the reciter of the essential Jewish prayer. In this teaching, we can correlate the heart, soul, and might with that towards which Jesus is directing the attention of his disciples. The heart is the stony soil. The soul is the good soil. The might is the everyday soil, the life of man. The three aspects together are bound and by this binding, the Word is sown. Each one separately is weak and insignificant. The same dynamic can be seen in Jesus’ teaching about nature. His claim that nature works outside of its course or outside of the laws of nature corresponds with the heart, soul, and might in the Neshama (soul), and the spirit in the word, Harken. Indeed, he shows his disciples that there is a way to interfere in the course of nature; the birds devoured the seeds, the sun dried the seed that sprang up in the stony earth, and the thorns choked the seed that grew among them. Only those that fell on the good soil sprang up and increased. The parable is about faith. It is not important only to hear, but to hear in your ears and to understand in your heart. As the prophet says: I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings (Jer. 17:10).

The disciples failed to understand Jesus’ words, his methodology, his message, and his actions. Every time he showed his disciples his power to interfere with nature, he showed that nature submitted itself to him. His disciples knew from his actions that if he could change nature, then it would logically follow that he could change his fate. However, the general interpretation is that Jesus chose not to change his fate, thereby submitted himself to it much as nature submitted itself to him. By this action he taught that nature is subordinate to faith. If we have faith then we are able to understand the following three dimensions of existence: 1) faith 2) the paradox of the form without the spirit displayed through leaves without fruit 3) his power to change nature without choosing to change his own fate.

17

It might be possible to find this source online. For example, Rosh Emunah, first published in Venice, 1545 is online in Hebrew at this site: http://www.hebrewbooks.org/pdfpager.aspx?req=11860&pgnum=1

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In all three dimensions, nature is subordinate to faith. Because Jesus tried to show this in his teachings, we can suggest that his faith showed others that he had divine power within him. Everything is related to faith and faith transforms everything. In Mark, Jesus attempts to teach his disciples the way of God via the parable. Again, they do not understand this teaching. Instead of asking why, they ask how. Jesus meant for them to understand the why, not the how. When we ask why we know that God is in control. Since they asked how, they showed their superficial understanding as it relates to the interference of God in nature. Thus, we can suggest that both New Testament stories present not only the curse but the problem of miscommunication. In the Homiletic literature, there is a story which presents an aspect of miscommunication similar to that found in the stories of bTa’anit, Matthew and Mark. Here are four versions of this story. Version A: R. Hiyya and his disciples – as others say R. Alciba and his disciples – were accustomed to rise early and sit under a certain fig tree, the owner of which used to rise early to gather its fruit. Said they: ‘Perhaps he suspects us, let us change our place.’ Accordingly, they changed their place. He then went to them and said: ‘My masters, this one merit that ye had conferred upon me by sitting and studying under my fig tree – ye have now deprived me of it.’ ‘We thought perhaps you suspected us,’ they replied. But he reassured them, and they returned to their original places. What did he do? He didn’t gather its fruit in the morning, whereupon the figs became wormy. Said they: ‘The owner of the fig tree knows when the fruit is ripe for plucking and he plucks it.’ In the same way, the holy One, blessed be He, knows when the time of the righteous has come, whereupon He removes them. What is the proof? ‘My beloved is gone down to his garden.’18

Version B: It is related that R. Hiyya the Elder and his disciples – as others say, R. Hoskaya and his disciples, while others refer to R. Akiba and his disciples – used to sit and study under a fig tree whose owner used to rise early every day to gather its fruit. ‘Let us change our place,’ they proposed, lest he suspect us.’ So they went and sat elsewhere. When the owner of the fig 18

Gen. Rab. 62:2. Final quotation from Song of Songs 6:2. See: William B. Silverman (1995), The Sages Speak: Rabbinic Wisdom and Jewish Values, Northvale, N.J: Jason Aronson, 173. Online: books.google.ca/books?isbn=0876688296

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tree rose to pluck the fruit he did not find them. He sought them out and protested. ‘My masters! Would you deprive me of one good deed ye used to perform (to my credit)?’ ‘Heaven forfend!’ they replied. ‘Then why did ye leave your place and go elsewhere?’ he asked. ‘We thought that we had better change our place lest you suspect us’ was the answer. ‘Heaven forfend!’ he exclaimed. ‘I will tell why I arose early to gather the fruit of the fig tree, for as soon as the sun shines upon them, they immediately become wormy!’ So they returned there. One day he left the fruits ungathered and the sun shone upon them: when they opened them they found that they were wormy! ‘Well does the owner of the fig tree know that it is time for the tree to be plucked, and he does so!’ they observed. Similarly, the Holy One, blessed be He, knows when it is the right time for the righteous to depart from the world, and then he removes them. And 19 what is the proof? ‘My beloved is gone down to his garden.’

Version C: R. Hiyya b. Abba and his disciples, or as some say, R. Akiba and his disciples, or as others say, R. Joshua and his disciples used to sit and study under a certain fig tree, and every day the owner of the tree used to rise early and gather the fruit. They said: ‘Let us go to another place, for perhaps he suspects us.’ When the owner of the tree got up the next day, he did not find them. So he looked for them till he found them. He said to them: ‘Sirs, you enabled me to perform a good deed and now you are preventing me?’ They replied: ‘Far be it from us!’ ‘Why, then, have you left your former place and gone somewhere else?’ ‘Because’ they answered: ‘we thought that perhaps you suspected us.’ He replied: ‘Far be it from me. But I will tell you why I rise early to gather the fruit of my fig tree: it is because when the sun shines on the figs they breed worms.’ On that day they found that he had not gathered. They took some of the fruit and when they opened them they found worms inside. They said: ‘The owner of the fig tree was quite right. Now just as he knows the right time for the fig and gather them, so God knows when is the right time for the righteous to remove them and he does remove them’.20

Version D: R. Hiyya the elder and his disciples, or as others say, R. Simeon b. Halafta and his disciples, or R. Akiba and his disciples, were sitting and studying beneath a fig tree. The owner of the tree arose early to gather the fruit. They said: ‘Let us change our place lest he suspects us [of stealing his figs];’ so they sat in another place. On the morrow the owner of the tree arose early to gather his figs, but did not find the Sages there. He went 20 Find this story in Edwin Collins (1910), The Wisdom of Israel, Internet Sacred Text Archive: Online: http://www.sacred-texts.com/jud/wois/wois05.htm

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after them and on finding them said: ‘You performed a pious act for me and now you withhold it from me.’ ‘Heaven forfend!’ they exclaimed. He asked them: ‘Why, then, did you leave your place and sit elsewhere?’ They answered: ‘We said, lest he suspect us.’ He said to them, ‘Heaven forfend! [that I should think so of you.]. But I will tell why I arose early to gather the fruit: it is because it becomes wormy when the sun shines upon it.’ That day he left the fruit without gathering it, and they found that when the sun shone upon it the figs became wormy. They remarked, ‘The owner of the fig tree knows which is the proper time for the figs to be gathered, and gathers them accordingly. Similarly, the Holy One, blessed be He, knows when it is proper time for the righteous man [to die] and then removes him.21

In connection to versions C and D, there is a statement concerning the aspect of readiness: C) R. Abbahu said: When the figs are picked in season, it is good for them and good for the fig tree, and when not picked in season, it is bad for them and bad for the fig tree.22 D) What is the difference between the death of the young and death of the old? R. Judah and R. Nehemiah gave answers. R. Judah says: When a lamp is extinguished of its own accord, it is good for the lamp and for the wick, but when it is not extinguished of its own accord it is bad for the lamp and for the wick. R. Nehemiah says: When the fig is gathered in its due season it is good for the fig and for the tree, but when it is not gathered in its due season, it is bad for the fig and for the tree.23 These four versions of a fig tree story begin with a presentation by wellknown sages: R. Hiyya, R. Akiba, R. Simeon b. Halafta, R. Hosha‘ya and R. Joshua. The narrative is not of a historical nature, but one depicting an active and decisive tradition of oral transmission. The same type of 21

Find this story in Jacob Neusner (1984), Our Sages, God and Israel: An Anthology of the Jewish Talmud, University of Chicago, 4. Online: books.google.ca/books?isbn=0940646188 22 Find this story in Jacob Neusner (2008), The Treasury of Judaism: The Life Cycle, A New Collection and Translation of Essential Texts, Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 42. Online: books.google.ca/books?isbn=0761840486 23 Gen. Rab. 62:2. Find these verses and others quoted in A. Feldman (2011), The Parables and Similes of the Rabbis: Agricultural and Pastoral, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 153-154. Online: books.google.ca/books?isbn=1107640776

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presentation is seen in the three stories in bTa’anit, Matthew and Mark. The question the reader asks upon comparing these particular versions is: what is the connection between the sages and the owner of the fig tree? It seems that the only similarity is that both rise early in the morning. Each character sees the fig tree and uses it for a different purpose. These different uses result in miscommunication between the characters. When the disciples rise early to study the Torah and see the owner of the fig tree, they interpret his early rising as his suspicion of their stealing his fruit, or eating the fruit. The owner does not know what is going on in the minds of the sages. He just wants to see them studying under the fig tree, as he considers this a pious act on his behalf. The sages did not understand the owner’s act and read into it beyond what it truly was. On the other hand, the owner himself did not comprehend the act of the sages, which shows the misunderstanding and lack of communication between the two. One should note that the sages were not those who changed this situation, but the peasant, the common man, clears up the misunderstanding. The owner of the fig tree has the ability to change the situation because he is innocent and worthy of the pious act of the sages studying under the tree, by virtue of his owning the fig tree. The storyteller points out that the owner of the fig tree appeases the sages, but does not say how. Most likely he appeased them with his words, explaining his reasons for gathering the figs early. Since they returned to his tree to continue their studies, they came to know that he did not suspect them, hence, they gave him the pleasure he desired by meeting to study in the shade of his fig tree. The sages realized that they were suspicious of the owner of the fig tree. But this suspicion proved to be unfounded. Thus, the owner went further in his action to allay their suspicions by not rising early one day to gather the figs. The sages realized two things: the owner’s high moral standards and his wisdom about agriculture. From this event they drew the moral understanding that this story remains no longer on the level of communication between the sages and the owner of the fig tree, but may be transferred to humanity’s misunderstanding of the ways of God. The sages who tried to be moral by not suspecting his suspicion, as well as by not troubling the owner of the fig tree, were not able to understand his way. The sages who tried to be moral by not raising further suspicion, as well as by not troubling the owner of the fig tree, were not able to understand the ways of God or men.

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In the story of R. Abbahu and the story of R. Judah, both respond to the following question: “What is the difference between the death of young men and the death of old men?” In these fables the idea seems to be that as long as everything goes in its own course ‘it is good,’ but when an external interference occurs which changes the course of nature, it becomes a curse and then natural cycles lose their strength and vitality.

Parallels? Now learn a parable of the fig tree; When her branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that summer is near: So ye in like manner, when ye shall see these things come to pass, know that it is nigh, even at the doors. (Mark 13:28, 29)

In our attempt to offer the reader new observations, we have accentuated the literary aspects as distinct from the historical, canonized and oral representations of the fig tree stories. Literary analysis provides a new dimension to the actions taken by Jesus, emphasizing his level of humanity prior to his sacrifice. Consequently, the interposing of the Talmudic story and the stories in the New Testament, in particular, the parallel between R. Jose’s son and Jesus, raises questions regarding the nature of the relationship between Jesus and his Father. Was Jesus in conflict with the Father over the authority of the written Law and the laws of the heart? If there was miscommunication between the Father and son, then the resulting events were ones that produced results. How? By showing that miscommunication in oral transmission paradoxically leads to productive teachings. Through withered roots and seeds that failed to germinate, the disciple began to understand. By virtue of our human nature we are to some degree estranged from God. Jesus too was human. He had to participate in this estrangement or else he would not be like us. The Church Fathers say that if Jesus were not human he could not have understood the depths of human nature. Thus, if we combine these two aspects of Jesus, his humanity with his divinity, and juxtapose his position with the power of authority, his cursing of the fig tree, and his crucifixion, we can show parallels between the narratives as follows:

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The Cross The human Jesus remains fully human; he is forsaken and feels cursed for his humanity. He does not use the Father’s power to descend from the cross and does not alter nature to teach. By using his power he showed that he could alter nature which makes his sacrifice on the cross more powerful. His death on the cross was a sign of things to come. The Fig Tree The human Jesus uses Divine power to alter nature. He uses the Father’s power to present his teaching. The tree was a sign of things to come.

Conclusion If we accept the hypothesis of the tradition of the fig tree in Jewish literature as corresponding to or arising from an early oral tradition of the tree of knowledge, then we can suggest that the curse of the fig tree in both the Talmudic texts and New Testament story comprise a tradition stretching back to the sin of Adam. The good and evil aspects of the tree of knowledge can be seen in the evil of Adam’s sin and the goodness of the teachings under the tree performed by the sages. Since a fig tree is prominent in both stories, with slight variations between versions, we can say that these parables were known by oral transmission. If we extend our examination beyond the tree itself and look at what Jesus and the sages were doing in the stories, the element of clouded communication shows itself in both texts. This theme of miscommunication points to other actions performed by Jesus in the Christian tradition which witnesses could not fully comprehend and which illustrate the pre-sinful (or prelapsarian) condition known as paradise. For example, there is much commentary on the healing of the man born blind reported in John 9:1-41. Jesus enlightens the life of this man by employing a remarkable procedure using clay, spittle and washing instructions. Such references hark back to Genesis and carry reminders of the pool of Siloam (or stream of Shiloah) in prophecy. (See Isa 8:6).

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In the New Testament stories, it is obvious that Jesus’ disciples failed to understand his message/s, and in Homiletic literature the students failed to understand the sages. Jesus proceeds to relate his understanding of his sacrifice. He knows that he is to be sacrificed and decides not to change this situation, although he has the power to do so as shown by his withering of the fig tree.24 Hence, his willingness to die on the cross! In a sense this event can be viewed as an extension of his cursing the fig tree, which is also a tree of knowledge as transmitted through oral tradition. The picture of Eden, then, is shown by Jesus cursing the fig tree, or the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and by his atoning for the sins of humanity through dying on the tree of life. The garden of Eden had two trees, the tree of knowledge and the tree of life. Jesus curses the tree of knowledge and glorifies the tree of life. With this glorification, he liberates his believers from original sin by propelling them towards a new paradise, where good prevails over evil and life over death.

Dedication I personally dedicate this chapter to John Tracy Greene. John is a true friend and an intellectual with keen interests in what is around him: in what was, now is, and what will be. He is an open-minded person and a dedicated scholar whose interests extend beyond and above those of others. Yet, as serious a scholar and intellectual as he is, his laughter and wit are very contagious. Throughout our intellectual journeys, John has never failed to make me smile and laugh aloud. *Professor Dr. Mishael M. Caspi passed into his eternal abode suddenly and without warning on August 8, 2013. His untimely departure is an incalculable loss to us all. He held together with grace and integrity the authentic spirituality of the three Abrahamic Religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. He was a singular spirit among us. We loved and admired him immensely. He had an urgent desire to discuss Jesus with me, every chance we got. In my last conversation with him we discussed the notion of unconditional divine grace evident in Jesus perception that spiritual renewal in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam requires a recovery of the radical nature of the Abrahamic Covenant in Genesis 12. When we had pursued that for an hour or two, Mishael got up, leaned across the table to me and said, "I love Jesus." Unfortunately he will not be present for the 24

See also: Jesus calming the storm, (Mk. 4:39), feeding the five thousand, (Mk 6:41), raising Lazarus from the dead (Jn. 11:41-44) and other miracles.

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presentation of this Festschrift to our friend, John Tracy Greene. He would be the life of the party were he with us on this special occasion.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR FACING THE WINDOW: A STUDY OF SCRIPTURE THROUGH SONG RUTHANNE WROBEL

Both Sides Now He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? He that formed the eye, shall he not see? —Ps. 94:9 KJV

In his scholarly writings on biblical and related texts, John T. Greene has concerned himself with questions of communication in many forms. He has expressed the theme that unites his work as: “the question of how the deity communicates with the created order” (Greene, 1992, 13). With careful attention to linguistic analyses, narrative frameworks, and the strata of composition, embellishment, and redaction by generations of writers, Professor Greene’s textual studies stand out as masterful exemplars that apply archaeological methods to probing, uncovering, comparing and interpreting literary texts in context. For example, his study of the Balaam cycle of oracles (Numbers 22-24), follows transformations of an original fable and recounts in detail how stories of Balaam ben Beor were revived and recast in response to shifting political, military, and priestly concerns in Israel, Samaria, Qumran and in post-biblical times. For learning how messages and meanings change within distinctive fields of discourse – this student of scripture thanks John Greene for his dedication and determination to explore many dimensions of this subject for the benefit of colleagues and future researchers. In every civilization, making music is a vibrant form of human expression. Emotive responses to joyful and mournful events are amplified as sounds are set to music. In all religious traditions, worshipers communicate with each other and with their Creator through musical rhythms, vibrations and chords. One composition to be examined in this

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chapter is a sonorous, haunting song by Leonard Cohen that begins with someone (or some being) standing at a window. The identity of this subject is ambiguous and strange; specific objects and actions are rendered in negative terms rather than through positive affirmations. As a modest experiment in conducting a multi-layered, inter-textual inquiry, this essay will imagine several characters from the Bible within the frame of Cohen’s window. While facing a crisis or turning-point in their lives, these figures are watchful and uneasy. The window serves as a barrier and an opening between worlds: internal / external; personal / political; hopeful / fearful and so on. Questions of malfunctions in communication are central to the texts under scrutiny here. In the stanzas of Cohen’s poem entitled “The Window,” it is unclear who is sending or receiving, who is speaking or listening, who remains silent and what (if any) understanding is conveyed. Watching at this ‘window’ invites examination of several biblical characters who send or receive incomplete, imprecise, or mixed messages. For instance, consider exchanges between Saul, David, and Michal (1 Sam 19, 2 Sam 6:16). In these cases, the power of music to evoke strong responses adds passionate intensity to the passages. Holding the tension between silence and speech adds gravitas to praises and laments from the Book of Psalms, attributed to David. Verbal and written letter-messages in the Samaritan city of Jezreel offer further evidence of multifarious messenger activities (1 Kings 21:8-14). Much as a window frames a vantage point in the landscape, so each set of texts delineates a discursive field or “discursive formation” with particular habits of language and patterns of meaning (Foucault, 1972). Comparative readings of these narrative examples reveal how reception of a message may be construed or misconstrued, depending on the authority of the speaker, the psychic or emotional state of the receiver, and the nature of the relationship between them. In every age, the audience plays a role in forming and reforming the message. Through the lens of Leonard Cohen’s lyrical lines, new insights may inform readings of antique stories. In turn, examining biblical texts may deepen appreciation for Cohen’s poetic purpose. Excavating through strata of narrative settings and situations, while listening for accusations, elusions, petitions and protests, serves to pinpoint gaps in communication and to open lines of inquiry for examining messages and their meanings in texts from diverse fields. There are few clues, if any, coming from Cohen that specific biblical characters inspired this piece of writing. One need know nothing of Saul, David or Michal, Rahab or Jezebel to experience this musical journey. However, should one wish, as an experiment, to

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listen to the song while being mindful of message-sending, verbal, written and musical, in one of these life stories – some points of correspondence may resound causing truths yet untold to surface. As a first, vivid example, consider the triumphant song of Deborah from Judges 5, that contains a poignant verse showing a mother at a window waiting for her son to return from battle: “Through the window peered Sisera’s mother; behind the lattice she cried out, / ‘Why is his chariot so long in coming?” (Jud 5:25). As a literary device, dramatic irony heightens the intensity of this scene. The women within are waiting for news, caught up in anxious anticipation. Narrator and audience are secure in the knowledge that Sisera will never return home. His death at the hand of the woman, Jael, cast the Canaanite people into mourning. The face at the window marks a moment of transition and reversal as victor and victim in triumph and defeat exchange places. This work of early Hebrew poetry shows artistic refinement in communicating dramatic actions in terse, yet eloquent phrases. The narrative examples that follow share such artistry and complexity.

Music Has Charms Why do you stand by the window / Abandoned to beauty and pride? The thorn of the night in your bosom / The spear of the age in your side. (L. Cohen, Window, 1979)1

The subject in Cohen’s song is suffering in solitude, standing by a darkened window on a sleepless night, with a heavy heart, clothed in “rags of remorse.” The window is a potent place for contemplation in Cohen’s universe. As one biographer has observed, “The image of the window had long been important in Leonard’s poetry and song, as a place of light and observation, as a mirror and as a boundary between different realities” (Simmons, 2012, 320). A documentary film made in Montreal in 1980, shows Cohen sitting in the window of his apartment, listening to a recording of his song, “The Window” (Simmons, 325). Gazing through a window from either side extends the viewer’s eyes and imagination. As light and air circulate through the framed opening in the wall, the visual sense is heightened for those living within and for any one passing by. As the symbolic eyes of the house, windows are often covered by ‘eyelids’ such as shutters, blinds or curtains (McLuhan, 1964, p 121). 1

The quotations from Cohen's work are excerpted from Stranger Music: Selected Poems and Songs by Leonard Cohen. Copyright ©1993 Leonard Cohen. Reprinted by permission of McClelland & Stewart.

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By definition, symbols are verbal expressions with multiple meanings. Layers of meaning accrue through generations, but within a discrete textual locus, readers must infer meanings from context. The cultural meaning of an assembly of potsherds uncovered in excavation depends upon surrounding coterminous features and artefacts. Questions arise when objects appear out of place, disturbed or far removed from a primary site and date of deposition. Materials from related fields may offer important clues for comparative analysis. When Cohen’s lines are examined with these comments in mind, certain items of distant origin invite close observation. The poet shows a figure framed by a window, suffering from pain that is physical and psychological: “The thorn of the night in your bosom. / The spear of the age in your side./ ... Lost in the waves of a sickness / That loosens the high silver nerves” (L. Cohen, Window, 1979). Placing thorn and spear in proximity on a page evokes an image of Christ in agony, wearing a crown of thorns, (a sign of Adam, Gen. 3:18 and of Moses Ex. 3:2), pierced by a Roman soldier’s spear (Jn. 19:34).2 The “thorn in the bosom,” however, is closer to the chronic weakness, injury or distress that Paul of Tarsus described as a “thorn in the flesh.” (2 Cor. 12:7). Among Christian writers, there has been much speculation about whether Paul’s “thorn” was physical, psychological, inter-personal or spiritual in nature. Yet, before scanning source texts in the New Testament, there are relevant stories to investigate in Hebrew writings. Consider, for example, the story of Rahab as told in the book of Joshua. Israelite spies on a scouting mission to Jericho visited a local woman, (Heb. zonah, an inn-keeper or prostitute), whose house was built on the city wall. When the king sent guards to capture the men, Rahab hid them on her roof where stalks of flax were drying. In short order, Rahab disobeyed the king, misdirected the patrols, negotiated a guarantee to spare the lives of her family during the attack, and testified to her faith in the Lord God of Israel: She lowered them down out of a window with a rope because her house was on the city wall... She told them, “Run for the hills so your pursuers won’t find you. Hide out for three days and give your pursuers time to return. ... So she sent them away, and they departed. And she tied the scarlet cord in the window. (Josh. 2:15, 16, 21).

2

The spear that pierced the crucified body of Christ is found only in the gospel of John. In legend, this item is named: the Holy Lance, Holy Spear, Spear of Destiny, and Spear of Longinus.

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The cord of twisted flax dyed red was strong enough to support a man and to carry an array of symbolic messages. The Hebrew word tiqvah means “hope” as well as “line or cord.” This umbilical cord was a true life line for Rahab and her family, a sign of rebirth for a nation, and a new convert. The cord in the window was a mark of destiny, of life and death, just as lamb’s blood on the lintels saved firstborn Hebrew sons in Egypt. In legend, the “crimson thread” tied on the wrist of Tamar’s first twin son (Gen. 38:28), was entwined with Rahab’s scarlet cord. Foundations for Rahab’s story may rest in ancient Egypt where divine Isis in disguise fled and hid in papyrus swamps, keeping young Horus safe from his vengeful uncle. The belt, girdle or knot of Isis was a potent talisman, a symbol of the divine feminine. Later Christians would read into this story a message of Christ’s redeeming blood. A richly layered work of literary art, this story has no need of explanation. Yet, the quick-witted woman at the window who speaks up and holds her tongue, who risks lives and saves them, who helps to destroy and create just might seize the imagination of an intrepid “ladies man” like Leonard Cohen. The figure standing at Cohen’s window is not identified by gender. The “darling” “abandoned to beauty and pride,” once “chosen” now “frozen” just might be a man, perhaps the first anointed king of Israel, namely Saul the son of Kish, from the tribe of Benjamin.3 As Saul’s story unfolds, his leadership skills were severely tested, along with his emotional stability. Saul slipped into hiding before accepting his anointing as the first king of Israel. (1 Sam. 10:22). Surrounded by enemies, Saul achieved strong military success, while losing the support of his prophet, Samuel. As a leader, he was prone to fits of rage and unpredictable, angry outbursts. Jealous of the prowess and popularity of young David, Saul’s envious suspicions were inflamed by women singing: ... the women came out from all the towns of Israel to meet King Saul with singing and dancing, with joyful songs and with timbrels and lyres. As they danced, they sang: ‘Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands.’ Saul was very angry; this refrain displeased him greatly. (1 Sam. 18:6-8).

Restless from lack of sleep, in a state of distress and distraction, Saul seems a suitable candidate to stand alone and confused in Cohen’s window. Accounts of troubled relations in the house of Saul may well 3

As for the word ‘bosom’ applied to a male figure: consider this line from “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” (published 1862), referring to Jesus being born, “with a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me.”

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have inspired the poet’s pen, especially in light of the contradictory influences of music in this man’s life. Some relevant narrative details follow: Then an evil spirit from the LORD came upon Saul, as he sat in his house with his spear in his hand; and David was playing the lyre. And Saul sought to pin David to the wall with the spear (chanith / javelin); but he eluded Saul, so that he struck the spear into the wall. And David fled, and escaped. (1 Sam. 19:9-10, RSV).

One may imagine Saul hearing the chords of the lyre, lost in ‘rages,’ in ‘rags,’ while caught up in ‘waves,’ of a nervous disorder. (Williams and leRoux, 2012) That night Saul sent messengers to David’s house to watch him, that he might kill him in the morning. But Michal, David’s wife, told him, “If you do not save your life tonight, tomorrow you will be killed.” So Michal let David down through the window; and he fled away and escaped. (1 Sam. 19:11-12, RSV).

The ‘spear,’ ‘remorse,’ ‘sickness,’ and ‘nerves’ from Cohen’s poem all call to mind the story of Saul sending messengers (or spies or assassins) to watch through the night, men who failed to warn or prevent David’s escape through Michal’s window. While the king’s message was obeyed, his instructions proved futile in light of his daughter’s quick actions. Having arranged the escape, Michal also set up a deception, giving her husband more time to get away: Then Michal took an idol [image/ teraphim] and laid it on the bed, covering it with a garment and putting some goats’ hair at the head. When Saul sent the men to capture David, Michal said, “He is ill.”... Saul said to Michal, “Why did you deceive me like this and send my enemy away so that he escaped?” Michal told him, “He said to me, ‘Let me get away. Why should I kill you?’” (1 Sam. 19:13, 14, 17).

Michal implicated herself with a series of three lies in this passage, reporting that her husband was ill, placing a decoy in his bed, and stating that she had acted in self-defence. She must have realized that her life was in danger from her father’s wrath. A sturdy cord must have been part of this escape plan, enabling David to climb down to safety towards his destiny. Set beside Rahab’s deception involving flax, the bed covering and goats’ hair (pillow?) are intriguing details. Through their words, actions and windows Rahab and Michal share a place in salvation history. (Aschkenasy, 1998, 35). In a few short verses, readers learn much about

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sighs, cries and whispers in Saul’s family circle. Truthful, meaningful connections were “lost in the waves” of Saul’s sickness, as his suspicions and mistreatment of (and by) those around him led to retaliation. Betrayed by his daughter, rejected by the prophet, with his enemy eluding his grasp and his God no longer speaking to him, Saul had strong reasons to feel abandoned and besieged. In this context, three prayerful words from the chorus seem most à propos and resonant: “Gentle this soul.” These final three words intensify the mystery at the heart of this song. In terms of message-sending, their source is unclear. The singer describes the subject, perhaps biblical, literary or personal to the poet, in the first stanza with adjectives such as ‘abandoned’ and ‘lost’ (repeated three times); then commands with imperatives in the second verse (‘come forth,’ ‘leave,’ ‘leave,’ ‘be silent’). The chorus further describes the subject in dualistic terms (chosen/frozen; matter/ghost; angels/demons). But who or what pronounces the word ‘gentle’ and is this word to be heard as a verb or an adjective? If an imperative verb, then to whom is the command issued? Perhaps music or the muse or choirs of angels or the Holy Ghost – are one or all of these being invoked to calm and restore this soul? Commentary on this question continues in the sections that follow.

Songs of Love and Hate I came so far for beauty / I left so much behind My patience and my family / My masterpiece unsigned ... (Leonard Cohen, I came so far, 1979) He sang as if he knew me in all my dark despair and then he looked right through me as if I wasn't there. (Fox and Gimbel, 1973)

John Greene’s extensive, thematic study of messenger phenomenon in the Ancient Near East accomplished two tasks: Part I provided a wealth of historical examples of messengers at work as envoys, diplomats, lettercarriers, spies, assassins and more. Messengers extended the vocal range and authority of the sender, often the king, making it possible to assert a person’s presence while absent (Greene, 1989). Part II of Greene’s investigation, compared features of historical messages to the recorded words of those known as prophets. Prophets in the Bible speak in many voices through utterances, oracles, dreams, divinations, symbolic actions and other forms of direct and indirect communications. According to Greene’s analysis, in their functions and speech patterns, the great, individual prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures were not “messengers” in the

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historical sense; this general misperception arose at some later point in time (Greene, 1989, 256). As part of his study, Greene examined an unusual episode when Saul as king (nagid) sent three sets of messengers (mlakim) who failed in their duty and fell into ecstatic experiences as prophets (b’nbiam), (Greene, 1989, 120-122). Saul himself was caught up in the spirit of prophecy as described in these words: He [Saul] stripped off his garments, and he too prophesied in Samuel’s presence. He lay naked all that day and all that night. This is why people say, “Is Saul also among the prophets?” (1 Sam. 19:24).

Such stories seem to recall an early stage of Israelite history when boundaries were blurred between the roles of prophet, priest, warrior, and ruler. In no way was a clear message delivered by Saul’s “prophetic” behaviour; indeed, observers were left with only a perplexing question. Ultimately, Saul misjudged his status in relation to Samuel in ways that brought discredit to his reign and doom to his family. With no clear authority to guide and endorse his actions, Saul lost his way, then his life, and his kingdom. One would expect the sign of Saul to be his spear or javelin, but when David was the target, he often missed the mark. Moreover, there are differing accounts of his death. Why did the armour-bearer refuse to obey Saul’s command to kill him? Did Saul perform the deed himself? When this attempt failed, did he ask an Amalekite soldier to end his suffering? (Compare 1 Sam 31:5 with 2 Sam 1:6). Sources disagree, so much of Saul’s story remains uncertain. The rise and fall of the house of Saul is a tragedy. As a leader of men, Saul tried and fell short in communicating effectively with his soldiers, his family members, his people, and his God. In many ways, Saul’s psychological symptoms, irrational decisionmaking, his love-hate relationships (with Samuel, Jonathan and David), and his susceptibility to ecstatic experiences place him in what some might call an archetypal “feminine” realm of communication behaviour. He sent mixed messages to those around him; he was lost for words at crucial moments; he sought help from unlikely sources, such as the female medium, the witch at Endor. Instead of his spear, his armour was his most distinctive emblem. After Saul’s death, the Philistines found his body and performed these deeds: They cut off his head and stripped off his armour, and they sent messengers throughout the land of the Philistines to proclaim the news in the temple of their idols and among their people. They put his armour in the temple of the Ashtoreths, and fastened his body to the wall of Beth Shan. (1 Sam. 31:9, 10).

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So the signs of Saul were on display in the temple to the goddess Asherah (Astarte/ Ishtar). His body was pinned to the wall in the precise way he had tried to destroy David. Meanwhile, David was enjoying great military success and personal acclaim as the new ruler, so he reclaimed Saul’s daughter Michal from her second husband, Paltiel, and brought her back to his palace. (2 Sam 3:14, 15). Hired as a young man to relieve royal anxiety attacks through soothing music, the figure of David holds a place of honour in Leonard Cohen’s literary labours. His most famous song title, “Hallelujah,” opens with these lines: “I’ve heard there was a secret chord/ that David played, and it pleased the Lord.” Another line refers to David as a “baffled king” who watched Bathsheba “bathing on the roof / Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you” (L. Cohen, 1984). Determined to establish his capital city as a centre for political and religious worship, David organized a grand procession of soldiers, priests, musicians, followers and many people. Participants were “celebrating with all their might ... with castanets, harps, lyres, timbrels, sistrums and cymbals.” (2 Sam. 6:5). Unlike her father and her husband, Michal was resistant to the allure of music and dancing, whether sacred or profane: As the ark of the LORD was entering the City of David, Michal daughter of Saul watched from a window. And when she saw King David leaping and dancing before the LORD, she despised him in her heart.... (2 Sam. 6:16).

The text states that Michal objected to David’s religious exuberance because he was “going around half-naked in full view of the slave girls,” (2 Sam. 6:20 NIV). Perhaps Michal did consider David’s public display indecent. Even though verse 16 says that she “despised” him, perhaps she was jealous of David’s amorous attentions to others. Is it possible that she was deeply offended by David’s ardent devotion to his God? The sounds in the streets may have called to mind her father’s episodes of trance dancing with the prophets, along with his melancholy moods which led to her first encounter with the handsome, young harpist. Watching her husband leaping and dancing, she may have feared for David’s own mental stability. David dressed and offered sacrifices as a priest, sang and danced as a prophet, and led his people as a heroic warrior. Perhaps Michal did not share his vision of a mighty priest-king ruling over Israel. When he defended his behaviour, their exchange of harsh words brought an end to marital relations; so Michal remained childless, leaving no

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offspring from Saul’s bloodline able to challenge David’s right to rule.4 Much as her father had feared losing his crown to a rival, so Michal had good reasons to feel abandoned in David’s palace. A woman unloved, left alone by her husband, might utter words such as these: Oh chosen love, Oh frozen love / Oh tangle of matter and ghost Oh darling of angels, demons and saints / And the whole broken-hearted host Gentle this soul ... (L. Cohen, 1979).

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Or, Michal might have others sing such words to her. Leonard Cohen might savour the darkly ironic sound of David composing and performing this song with Michal in mind. In a sense, one might say that Michal “gave birth” to David and his legend when she arranged his escape through her window.

Sounds of Silence For the holy one dreams of a letter Dreams of a letter's death Oh bless the continuous stutter Of the word being made into flesh. (L. Cohen, 1979) I will speak no more I shall abide until I am spoken for If it be your will (L. Cohen, “If it be,” 2002)

Biblical texts that chronicle the life of David are remarkable for many reasons. From an array of unknown sources, a gifted author, or a group of writers wove or fabricated a plausible, fully human, heroic biography of a shepherd-boy who became a great king. Through two books of Samuel and hundreds of Psalms, readers can imagine hearing David’s voice pronouncing his joys, sorrows, pleasures and pains. The miraculous media 4

As noted in 2 Samuel 6:23, Michal was childless till the day of her death. Yet, 2 Samuel 21:8 reports that Michal, wife of Adriel had five children. Merab was the sister of Michal, and she was the wife of Adriel. So there could be a scribal error, or perhaps Merab died, leaving five children to be adopted and raised by Michal. The NIV and other translations refer to Merab in 1 Samuel 18:19 and 2 Samuel 21:8. The tragic fate of seven of Saul’s sons is reported in 2 Samuel 21:9.

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of music and poetry open windows into emotional worlds for one and all. As a paradoxical example, the silence of voices and strings was the subject of one ancient song now famous in popular culture. Psalm 137 laments the experience of captivity: By the rivers of Babylon / There we sat down ... We hang our harps upon the willows ... For there our captors demanded of us songs ... How can we sing the LORD’S song / In a strange land?

It is unsettling to sense in Cohen’s second stanza of “The Window” an eerie silence rather than hearing voices. The subject receives these instructions: And leave no word of discomfort And leave no observer to mourn But climb on your tears and be silent Like a rose on its ladder of thorns.

Knowing when to keep silent is a common theme in advice literature in every age, especially in sets of instructions directed at women.5 Somehow, in Cohen’s poem, the silence (‘no word’) and absence (‘no observer’) expand to become all-consuming and unspeakable. Through some mysterious alchemy, artist and audience are transported through the window; moving away from the “glowing” “ruin” of a once-holy city, stepping into or out from the “cloud of unknowing.” According to this work of Christian mysticism by an unknown author, the cloud both separates and shields seekers from glories beyond all imagining. The divine cannot be known through intellectual endeavour. Only “By love he can be caught and held, but by thinking never.” The humble seeker is advised to: “Strike that thick cloud of unknowing with the sharp dart of longing love, and on no account whatever think of giving up” (Wolters, 1961, 60). How to write about not thinking and how to sing about silence are struggles steeped in irony for artists of all ages. In “The Window,” Cohen refers to the creative process as “the continuous stutter.” The tongue-tied speaker who stutters and stammers is an archetypal, ambiguous figure in many literary traditions. For example, Moses resisted his call from the Lord by saying: “I am not eloquent ... but I am slow of speech and of a slow tongue” (Exod. 4:10 KJV). In Psalms attributed to David, mention of tongue-tied speech has been set to music: 5

“Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent, and discerning if they hold their tongues.” (Prov. 17:28).

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Chapter Twenty Four I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people. ... My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death (Ps. 22: 6,15 KJV). I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred. My heart was hot within me, while I was musing the fire burned. Then spake I with my tongue ... (Ps. 39:2, 3 KJV).

The fact that many stutterers gain fluency when chanting or singing has been well known for centuries. One of the first composers known by name is Notker Balbulus, known as Notker the Stammerer, (c. 840 to 910 C.E.). As a Benedictine Monk in St. Gall, Switzerland, he wrote poems and hymns and invented new forms of Gregorian chant. In preparation for becoming a prophet, Isaiah had a live coal from the altar placed on his lips by an angel (Isa. 6:6). An essay published in 1856 describes stammering as "a barrier by which the sufferer feels that the world without is separated from the world within" (quoted in Shell, 2009, 36). How well this description corresponds with the challenges in communicating found in these biblical texts and in Cohen’s enigmatic lines.

Soulful Sounds Death and life are in the power of the tongue ... (Prov. 18:21). And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground (Luke 22:44).

A window ledge with no safety cord or ladder makes a perilous perch. One possible reply to the query that opens Cohen’s poem is, “because I intend to jump.” In history and literature, a fall from great heights, as an act of murder or suicide, may signal surrender or escape: from the raptures of falling in love, from disgrace, defeat or shame, from a fate worse than death. In the Bible, one figure dies from defenestration, the notorious Queen Jezebel.6 Stories of King Ahab’s reign in the northern Kingdom of Israel are filled with messenger activities of every sort. Messages sent by Jezebel include taunts, threats and forged letters to defame and assassinate Naboth (1 Kings 21). She waged war for cultural, religious, and political reasons against Elijah and the Jewish prophets. After Ahab’s death, 6

The term defenestration has historical roots as three envoys from the Holy Roman Emperor were thrown to their deaths from a window in Prague Castle in 1618. This incident was a spark for the Thirty Years’ War.

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Jezebel retained power as queen-mother to her ill-fated son. She prepared for her final scene in grand, regal fashion: “she put on eye makeup, arranged her hair, and looked out of a window.” She greeted her enemy, Jehu, with contempt and scorn: “Have you come in peace, you Zimri, you murderer of your master?”(2 Kings 9:30). 7 Her few words speak of peace, dishonour and disdain all in one breath. They call to mind Michal’s scornful words to David as he returned from a joyful day of dancing. Then Jehu spoke with a question that became a command: He looked up at the window and called out, ‘Who is on my side? Who?’ Two or three eunuchs looked down at him. ‘Throw her down!’ Jehu said. So they threw her down, and some of her blood spattered the wall and the horses as they trampled her underfoot. (2 Kings 9:30-33).

Further grisly details bring an end to Jezebel’s story: “when they went out to bury her, they found nothing except her skull, her feet and her hands.” Dogs had devoured her flesh (2 Kings 9:35, 36). Stories of Jezebel’s life and downfall provide images and events most in accord with lines from Cohen’s poem. At her window, she stood “abandoned to beauty and pride.” Her ways to wield power employed both “spear” and “fragrance.” During her life, she used letters to bring death. She was a “darling” of “demons and saints” and met her demise “like a rose on its ladder of thorns.” There was “no observer to mourn” as she fell into a “tangle of matter and ghost.” Her blood on the wall beneath the window echoes Rahab’s scarlet cord and the mistreatment of her remains mirrors Saul’s ignoble end. After falling from grace and into disgrace, with no burial and no honour, does the narrator (the song-writer/ singer?) believe that his incantations might strike the right chords to “gentle” such a doomed soul? Searching for symbols and sources in songs by Leonard Cohen is a passionate pursuit for many people. Through the decades, Cohen has shown no interest in such activity and has been quite dismissive of those who persist in engaging with his work in this way. When asked in an interview about the meaning of the “The Window,” Cohen replied: ... all that kind of explanation is completely irrelevant to the music of a passage which can evoke those things. But as soon as that evocation is clouded or obscured by the kind of mechanism in the heart or the mind that would desire such an explanation, then the song has failed (Rasky, 2011, 94). 7

Find the story of Zimri, who killed his king and reigned for only seven days in 1 Kings 16:8-20.

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While respecting the artist’s creative genius and honouring his lifelong vocation as a “worker in song,” this student of biblical and contemporary literature finds it hard to abandon one of her favourite games of seeking out stray story lines hiding in plain sight. Another writer who ignores Cohen’s warnings about such work has prepared a detailed study of images, symbols and signs in “The Window,” and posted the results online. The essay contains detailed information about poetic influences (Dante, Yeats, Rumi, and others) and religious inspiration in Cohen’s writing (from Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, and Sufi mystical teachings). The researcher explains the project in this way: “My aim here is to try to come as near as possible to what Cohen might have had in mind when composing this song” (D. Cohen, 2009). This present study of “The Window,” has no such aspirations. Through juxtapositions of scripture and song, this reader has traced story lines through layered narrative materials to see how emerging configurations might illumine select works of art. One message rings true from all the texts examined here: the need to “give up” to “give over,” to let go, to surrender. Perhaps the poet utters an invitation or an opening to all those “who have eyes to see, but see not, who have ears to hear but hear not” (Ezek. 12:2). In one interview, Leonard Cohen described “The Window” as “a kind of prayer to bring the two parts of the soul together” (Simmons, 2012, 320). The open window is a negative space, like silence in a song, a place for eye, ear, and mind to rest. In the break between breaths separations dissolve between object/subject, intellect/emotions, outside/inside, discrete parts and a unified whole. Through senses cleansed of preconceptions, insights shine anew, restoring hope to shattered souls for healing and remembering.

References Aschkenasy, Nehama (1998), Woman at the Window: Biblical Tales of Oppression and Escape, Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Cohen, Doron B. (2009), Singing Sweetly from the Window: Reading Leonard Cohen’s Song, The Leonard Cohen files, retrieved from: doi site: leonardcohenfiles.com http://www.leonardcohenfiles.com/doronwindow.pdf Cohen, Leonard (1968), Songs of Leonard Cohen, Columbia, CL 2733. —. (1971), Songs of love and hate, Columbia, CK 30103. —. (1979), The Window, Recent songs, Columbia, WCK 36264. —. (1993), Stranger music: selected poems and songs, Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.

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—. (2002), If it be your will, The essential Leonard Cohen, Sony/Columbia 497995 1. Foucault, Michel (1972), The archaeology of knowledge, A.M. Sheridan Smith, trans., New York: Pantheon Books. Fox, Charles, and Norman Gimbel (1973), Killing me softly, recorded by Roberta Flack, On album, Killing me softly, Atlantic Recording Corp., SD 7271. Frymer-Kensky, Tikva (2002), Reading the women of the Bible: A new interpretation of their stories, New York: Schocken Books. Greene, John T. (1989), The Role of the Messenger and the Message in the Ancient Near East, Brown Judaic Studies, 169, Atlanta: Scholars Press. —. (1992), Balaam and his interpreters: a hermeneutical history of the Balaam Traditions, Brown Judaic Studies 244, Atlanta: Scholars Press. McLuhan, Marshall (1964), Understanding Media: the Extensions of Man, New York: Signet Books. Rasky, Harry (2011), The song of Leonard Cohen: portrait of a poet, a friendship and a film, Oakville, ON: Mosaic Press. Shell, Marc. (2009), Stutter, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Simmons, Sylvie (2012), I’m your man: the life of Leonard Cohen, Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Williams, G. P., and M. le Roux (2012), King Saul’s Mysterious Malady, HTS Teologiese Studies/ Theological Studies 68 (1), Art. #906, retrieved from: http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/ hts.v68i1.906 Wolters, Clifton, Trans. (1961), The Cloud of Unknowing, Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE DAVID REMAINS IN JERUSALEM AND ABSALOM FLEES TO GESHUR: AN IRONIC INTERPRETATION VIRGINIA INGRAM

When examining the Succession Narrative of the Davidic Dynasty (2 Sam 11-14) a key question arises: Why is King David described in such an unflattering light? The answer, according to Rost (1982), is that it is necessary to portray David’s sin, and the consequences brought upon David’s family as a result of that sin, in order to legitimize Solomon’s rule. This is a convincing historical proposition. Yet, the reader who encounters this narrative is, nonetheless, almost certainly conflicted by the presentation of David as a ruthless and ineffectual king, as well as a dysfunctional husband and father. An ironic interpretation allows the reader to evaluate this conflict with a view to resolving the mental tension that arises from a straightforward reading of the narrative. The methodology I will apply to this reading is my interpretation of Muecke’s (1980) requirements of formal irony. They are as follows: (1) Irony is a two-story phenomenon. In the lower level is the situation as it appears to the victim of the irony or of the ironist’s dissimulation. The victim of the irony is ‘innocent’ or oblivious to the possibility that there may be a contrary evaluation of the victim’s actions or outlook. In the upper level is that which is not explicitly expressed and need only be a thought which is ‘evoked’ in the observer. The upper level then suggests that the victim of the irony does not apprehend his or her situation completely, and that the ironist does not believe the situation as it is presented in the lower level. The observer in the upper level is, therefore, aware that the contradiction he or she

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perceives is not recognizable to the victim of the irony. (2) There is a conflict between the two levels. Given the positions of the lower and upper level, the conflict is a difference between what is said and what is meant or what the victim thinks or does, in contrast to what the observer knows of the victim (19). This conflict, in turn, produces a state of dissonance in the reader (Duke, 1985, 36). Dissonance is a psychological term that defines the uncomfortable state of mental confusion created by incompatible knowledge. This compels the sufferer to find consistency in his or her thoughts or beliefs. (Festinger, 1957, 6) In interpreting 2 Samuel 11-14 in light of Muecke’s (1980) requirements of irony I will suggest that the narrative 2 Samuel 11 has a critical undertone that creates dissonance in the reader. For example, it would appear that David had broken his covenantal relationship with Israel by not leading the army out to battle (2 Sam 11:1), by transgressing the laws of adultery (2 Sam 11:4), and by committing murder (2 Sam 11:15). Nonetheless the reader is simultaneously aware that David is the king of the united state of Israel (2 Sam 5:2) and the object of God’s favor (2 Sam 7:15). This is the perplexity that produces conflict in the reader. From an ironic perspective David can be identified as the victim of the narrative, or the character who is oblivious to a contrary evaluation of his actions. The ironist in the upper level then, identifies most readily with Uriah. Uriah is the person in the narrative who seems to be doing God’s bidding by holding up his part of his covenantal responsibilities and refusing to break any laws (2 Sam 11:11). Therefore I argue that David is criticized not strictly on the basis of his misdeeds but on what these misdeeds suggest in terms of underlying motives and outcomes. For instance, in everything that David does in 2 Samuel 11 he shows himself to be far from a representative of God in the world. This perspective is elucidated further in 2 Samuel 12 in which the reader is furnished with God’s response to David’s actions. My examination of 2 Samuel 12 leads me to suggest that the nature of the relationship between David and God was not meritorious even when David’s relationship with the Israelites may have been. Instead, David appeared to have God’s favor regardless of his acts, as can be seen in the story of David, the shepherd boy who became the unlikely king (1 Sam 16:1-13). However, it appears that Yahweh had an expectation that David would act as a godly man would act. God castigates David (2 Sam 12:7-

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14) because of David’s act of "taking" Bathsheba, the antithesis of God’s "giving" nature. Yet, it must be noted that from David’s perspective determining what was a gift from God and what was not could be fraught with difficulties. For example, how would David determine whether Bathsheba bathing in front of him on that evening was a "gift" or not (2 Sam 11:2)? It might, therefore, be suggested that God’s act of "giving" to David was in line with the moral code found in the laws. In the ensuing narrative David is presented as a king who is more introspective than might first be imagined. Although, he has been told that the child from his adulterous affair will die, he still holds out hope for a display of God’s graciousness and generous "giving" (2 Sam 12:22). In regards to the misdeeds of his own children David does not mete out retributive justice but rather extends graciousness (2 Sam 12:21; 2 Sam 14:33). It may even be inferred that David does this because he assumes that it is his misdeeds which have brought about these events. In the narrative 2 Samuel 11-14 David shifts from being the castigated student to the teacher in the evolving relationship between God and king. David learns that although God’s gifts are freely given there is a social obligation. David teaches us that despite this obligation, grace must always be freely extended to all who long for God’s succor. Thus I apply Muecke’s rules of formal irony to selected episodes in the narrative 2 Samuel 11-14. I will begin by examining 2 Samuel 11:1.

2 Samuel 11:1: Background Motifs In order to appreciate the subtext in 2 Samuel 11:1 it is necessary to examine the expectations that Israel had of David. This information is primarily found in the stories at 1 Samuel 18:12-16 and 2 Samuel 5:2-3. As far back as 1 Samuel 8:20, it is evident that the Israelites wanted a king who would lead them out to battle. The covenantal stories I will examine in this section, however, give the reader a specific understanding of the relationship between David and the elders of Israel. In 1 Samuel 18:12-16 David was sent by Saul to lead the army and David was ‘loved’ by all Israel and Judah for doing so. In this verse it is the word aheb or "love" which gives the best indication of the basis of Israel’s relationship with David. Moran (1991) writes that love in the Old Testament, when applied to political relationships, is covenantal in nature. For example he writes, "…it is a love which must be expressed in loyalty, in service, and in unqualified obedience to the demands of the Law…." (104). In reference to 1 Samuel 18:16 Moran writes that the unified state of Israel was entering into a de

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facto arrangement with David (104). Ackerman (2002) even goes so far as to suggest that love relationships in the Bible are one-sided, and that the superior party in the relationship can be identified as the party who loves the other (437). By Ackerman’s definition it is all of Israel and Judah who are superior to the individual person, David, and they loved him because he led them out to battle. I would suggest that Ackerman’s thesis must contend with exceptions to the fact, which weaken her argument. However, at the very least her supposition points to the expectation that Israel had of a collaborative, covenantal relationship with David. This is later substantiated in 2 Samuel 5:2 where all of the staff bearers of the tribes of Israel anoint David as their king based on the premise that he led them out to war and brought them back victorious . Furthermore, it was through David’s military prowess and success that Israel perceived Yahweh’s favor with him. (1 Sam 18:12-16)

Ironic interpretation From an ironic perspective there is a conflict between David’s current action, in remaining in Jerusalem, (2 Sam 11:11) with the background knowledge that the reader has of David as the king who is bound by a covenantal relationship to lead Israel out to battle (1 Sam 18:12-16, 2 Sam 5:2). In the lower level we might suggest that David is the victim of the irony. He is not only reneging on the agreement he made with the staff bearers of Israel (2 Sam 5:2), but David is also oblivious to any criticism which might come of his decision not to lead all Israel out to battle. Were he not "innocent" of the critical eye of the observer, David would be leading his army in the war. As justification of David’s behavior the claim that David is not in physical condition to lead the army out to battle is not tenable at this point in the narrative. The narrator provides us no evidence and describes no mitigating circumstances. Moreover the fact remains that David, who was anointed by Israel and entered into a covenant requiring his leading the Israelites out to war, (2 Sam 5:2) was breaking his covenantal agreement. The observer in the upper level does not believe the narrative is benign and goes beyond a "straight" reading of the text. In the upper level, therefore, is the observer who is critical of David’s decision to remain in Jerusalem, given that David had an agreement with the Israelites which rested on him leading them out to battle (2 Sam 5:2). The presence of the upper level suggests that David, who is the victim of the irony, does not apprehend his situation completely. For example, David appears to be

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oblivious to or uncaring of the conditions of the covenant he made with Israel (2 Sam 5:2). If this were not the case he would be honoring the agreement and leading the army in war. Muecke’s second requirement of formal irony is that there is a conflict between these two levels. This conflict concerns a difference between what the victim of the irony does, in contrast to what the observer knows about the victim. This in turn produces dissonance in the reader. In this instance, what the observer knows of David, is that he has entered into a political allegiance with the elders of Israel and was anointed on the basis of leading the army out to war (2 Sam 5:2). However, he was reneging on his responsibilities. Furthermore, it is not only David’s decision to remain in Jerusalem which challenges the reader, but also what David does while he stays behind. Let us now examine this perplexity.

2 Samuel 11:2-5 Background information The hint of criticism which is evoked in the reader of 2 Samuel 11:1 is developed further in the following narrative in which David commits adultery. Not only is David represented as a king who is not loyal to the agreement he made with the Israel (2 Sam 5:2), this new information indicts David further, as a king who is not being obedient to the moral laws. For example, adultery is expressly forbidden in Exodus 20:14, Leviticus 20:10, and Deuteronomy 22:22-27. The severity of transgressing these laws can be comprehended by the original penalty, namely death. There is, however, criticism of this perspective from rabbinical writings such as Tractate Shabbat 56a, of the Talmud Bavli (2012) where it is written that David was not guilty of adultery, as historically soldiers left a bill of divorce with their wives when they went off to battle. Yet, an attempt to exonerate David from any wrongdoing means that the reader must distort the flow of the narrative. Most notably, the narrator makes it clear that David was aware that Bathsheba was a married woman (2 Sam 11:3) before he sent his messengers to collect her for him so he could have sexual intercourse with her (2 Sam 11:4).

Ironic interpretation In the lower level is David, who is yet again the victim of the narrative as he is unconcerned with transgressing the laws in his decision to sleep with another man’s wife (2 Sam 11:4). The ironist in the upper level, who is already critical of David’s behavior in not leading the army out to war, is further challenged by the act of adultery that David commits (2 Sam 11:4).

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Now David has broken both the law and his covenant. However, a number of scholars, including Hertztberg (1964) and Bailey (1990), have attempted to justify David’s behavior by suggesting that Bathsheba’s act of bathing in the king’s sight was seductive (2 Sam 11:2) and, therefore, the king’s act was mitigated by temptation. Yet, this kind of argument is highly speculative, given that the text does not describe whether Bathsheba was in plain view or if David was spying on her from an opportune vantage point (2 Sam 11:2). Moreover, regardless of Bathsheba’s motivation, the fact remains that David was the power person and the gate keeper in the behavior that unfolded and so was, nonetheless, committing adultery in breach of the law (2 Sam 11:3-4). The conflict in this situation arises along with the knowledge that David is the king of the Israelites, yet, he is now known by the ironist to dishonor the covenant he has made with the Israelites in terms of leading them out to battle and to disregard the laws which provide the fabric of the Israelite society. This conflict creates dissonance in the reader as David’s behavior seems to undermine the covenantal and lawful relationship which brings security to the Israelites. Yet, David appears to be in God’s favor regardless.

2 Samuel 11:6-13 Background Information. Coming into the reading of this passage we are aware that David has broken his covenantal agreement with the Israelites (2 Sam 11:1) and that he has transgressed the law of adultery (2 Sam 11:3-4). The following episode of David’s encounter with Uriah also draws on the knowledge that Yahweh’s ark on the battlefield signified Yahweh’s presence with the army (1 Sam 4:3), and a guarantee of military success. Furthermore, for soldiers to be in the company of the ark they had to observe the laws of ritual purity (Deut 23:9-14). This significance of the ark of the covenant appears to be lost on David. Nonetheless, David is the author of the suggestion to Nathan that he would like to build a fixed house for Yahweh in Jerusalem (2 Sam 7:2-5). Nonetheless, in the same passage, Yahweh tells Nathan to remind David that Yahweh has been content to move about in a tent and has never asked for a house of cedar to be made for him (2 Sam 7:5-7). However, Yahweh does make a covenant with David that he will create a dynasty which will rule Israel permanently (2 Sam 7:13) and that his son, whose hands are not bloody, will build God's house.

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Ironic interpretation In the lower level of the narrative is the victim, David, who is unaware that Uriah is remaining ritually pure and obeying the commandments (2 Sam 11:11). In the upper level is the observer who is critical of David’s attempt to cover-up his misdeeds by leading a soldier who is maintaining ritual purity into a state of uncleanness. Yet, this verse does have a sense of resolution for the observer in the voice of Uriah. Uriah might even be seen in the role of the ironist in his transaction with David. For example, verse 11a has Uriah ask David a challenging Socratic question, which makes the ironist’s/observer’s concern explicit in the narrative. Uriah says to David, "The ark and Israel and Judah remain in booths and my lord Joab and the servants of the lord are camping in the open field; shall I then go up to my house, to eat and drink, and to lie with my wife?" (2 Sam 11:11). We know by the following question; "As you live, and as your soul lives, I will not do such a thing" (2 Sam 11:11b) that Uriah is not unsure of what he should be doing and so he is not asking David for a directive. The inference then is that the question is a challenge to David, who has not led the army to the field with the ark (2 Sam 11:11), and who has slept with Bathsheba in an adulterous affair (2 Sam 11:4). The dissonance of the reading, therefore, has come to the surface and David is thoroughly indicted of not adhering to the covenantal agreements he has entered into, nor of obeying the laws.

2 Sam 11:14-17 Ironic interpretation In regards to Uriah carrying his own death note (2 Sam 11: 14), there arises the question as to whether David or Uriah is the victim of the irony. The corollary question is whether this is an instance of two overlapping or dual ironies? The case of Uriah being the victim of the irony is not persuasive. For example, Uriah does not call for a contrary evaluation from the upper level. It might be argued that the observer in the upper level notices that Uriah does not apprehend his situation completely since Uriah is not informed of the content of the letter. Uriah actually functions on both levels in that he assumes on the lower level that David is not involved with his wife and that the letter he carries is a legitimate message from David to the army field commander. On the other hand, on the upper level he sees that David is in breach of both law and covenant. Yet, this does not provoke conflict in the reader, in relation to Uriah. The reader knows that Uriah is a forthright and pious soldier, though uninformed of key data at both levels. We do not expect him to act differently, though we know the context.

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2 Samuel 11:18-21 Background knowledge The reader now knows that David has not led the army out to war and so has broken his covenantal agreement with the Israelites (2 Sam 11:11), that he has broken the laws of Israel in having an adulterous affair (2 Sam 11:4), and that he tried to lure an upstanding soldier to defile himself (2 Sam 11:8). In this episode David orders the death of Uriah, who is the only person in the entire narrative who is not complicit in any kind of manipulation, but rather speaks and acts forthrightly and with honor. The narrative is explicit in condemning David at this point. There is no ambiguity in David’s message to Joab, "Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, and then draw back from him so that he may be struck down and die" (2 Sam 11:15). There is, however, a further indictment of David in Joab’s reaction to this news. It has been suggested that Joab’s interpretation of David’s message is a further indication of David’s character. As Bodner (2002) writes, Joab interprets David’s cryptic missive in light of Joab’s "knowledge of David" (21). Bodner (2002) goes on to say that there is no evidence that Joab, who is away at war, has any knowledge of David’s activities back in Jerusalem, yet, it would be suspected that Joab has an accurate perception of Uriah, who is presented as an upstanding soldier (25). Thereby, it might be concluded that Joab made David’s plan more discreet (2 Sam 11:16-17) as he is aware of David’s usual modus operandi.

Ironic interpretation In any case, David is still the victim of the irony, as he offers up an unworkable plan to keep his misdeeds a secret (2 Sam 11:15), and is oblivious to the error of his plan which Joab appears to see with ease. Moreover, David is oblivious that there might be further casualties in the acting out of his plan, as can be deduced by Joab’s prediction that David will be angry when he hears of the heavy casualties which were suffered in the plan to kill Uriah (2 Sam 11:20). In the upper level, is the ironist who sees with greater insight that David is not adhering to the covenants he has made with Israel, nor is he adhering to the laws. The conflict which then arises for the observer concerns why David, nonetheless, is in God’s favor. He not only is not living up to his obligations, but is rather being exploitative, hence abusive, of the Israelites.

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2 Samuel 11:22-27 Background information The reader is now privy to David breaking the covenantal agreement he made with Israel, (2 Sam 11:11), breaking the law through adultery (2 Sam 11;4) and murder (2 Sam 11:15), and now in this final passage there is a hint of David’s cavalier approach to the scandal of the entire chapter. David is still the victim of the irony in the narrative when he tells the messenger to report to Joab, "Do not let this business trouble you, for the sword devours now one and now another…." (2 Sam 11:25), since he remains innocent that his behavior has any consequences. David remains oblivious to the criticism that comes from the observer in the upper level. Perry and Sternberg (1986) suggest that the narrator leaves out much of the emotional content of the story, and David’s motivation, particularly in the case of the act of adultery with Bathsheba (281). Yet, in verse 25 we get an insight into David’s thoughts, which are cold and dismissive, as the ironist expects them to be.

Ironic interpretation Moreover, the observer experiences dissonance in the last verse where it is reported that David and Bathsheba marry and have a child (2 Sam 11:27). The reader experiences discomfort as there is a sense that David has gotten away with his misdeeds. The reader must either experience a justification through punitive measures or have a conversion of thought and re-frame David’s misdeeds within the covenantal stories - obviously a form of psychological denial.

2 Sam 12:1-13 Background information In what is commonly referred to as Nathan’s Parable, the Lord’s relationship with David is defined in formal terms within the covenant stories, through the words of Nathan. Let us begin by examining the covenant stories. In 1 Samuel 18:12-16 it is stated that David was successful in all that he did, including leading the army out, because Yahweh was with him (1 Sam 18:13-14). Yet, this passage does not specify that the Lord loved David because of his military prowess, but rather that it was the Lord’s favor that guaranteed that success (1 Sam 18:14). Earlier in the story of David’s rise, David was anointed in Judah (2 Sam 2:1-7). In verse 2:1 David asks Yahweh if he should go up to Hebron. Yahweh’s affirmative response would seem to endorse David’s enthronement.

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At Hebron the people of Judah anointed David (2 Sam 2:4) and we are given few details on the anointing. The significant factor here is that Yahweh was with David prior to the anointing by the people of Judah. Indeed, David had already been anointed by Samuel when he was a youth, and was the unlikely choice, given the robust nature of his older brothers (1 Sam 16:1-13). The significance of David’s youth and inexperience is that the history Yahweh has with David is not meritorious as it is with the Israelites. For instance, Yahweh grants his favor to David when David is the unlikely candidate. So Yahweh may be seen to be working with and in David (1 Sam 16:1-13). Clearly, the Israelites perceive David’s merit as a measure of Yahweh working in the king, as King (2 Sam 5:2). So God was keen to work through David and in 2 Samuel 7 we get to see the basis of the evolving relationship between Yahweh and David. This transforming relationship can be seen in that passage, in that Yahweh transforms David’s request to build Yahweh a cedar house into the promise of a dynasty (2 Sam 7:5). Moreover, it has been suggested that the covenant Yahweh makes with David is a development of Yahweh’s relationship with Israel, as it demonstrates that the covenant is not only enduring (2 Sam 7:13) but that sin does not terminate the covenant. In other words the covenant that David makes with Yahweh is conditional in regards to his deeds or in regards to God's faithfulness. The covenant is unconditional in that it promises an unending dynasty for David’s family (Eslinger, 1994, 22-33), and that his son will, indeed, build the fixed cedar house for God that David envisions. Indeed, Yahweh even anticipates that David will transgress (2 Sam 7:14) when Yahweh remarks, "When he commits iniquity, I will punish him…."

Ironic interpretation The phrase which connects 2 Samuel 11 to 2 Samuel 12, "But the thing that David had done displeased the Lord" (2 Sam 11:27b) is graphic and sinister. Nonetheless, it comforts the reader who is in a state of dissonance and anticipates that this passage will provide a resolution for that conflict. In Nathan’s Parable, as in 2 Samuel 11, David is the victim of the irony. The Lord sent Nathan to David who told David a parable about a rich man who stole from a poor man (2 Sam 12:1-6). The ironist in the upper level is aware that the rich man in the parable is metaphorically analogous to David, however, David is oblivious to this criticism until the criticism is spoken clearly without any ambiguity (2 Sam 12:7). In this instance the consonant voice is that of God speaking through Nathan. Nathan does not speak plainly to David but rather forces David into a position in which he

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indicts himself, even before Nathan can castigate David. Yet, the castigation David receives is not about his decision to remain in Jerusalem when the Israelites are fighting but rather for his treatment of Uriah, in particular his act of taking Bathsheba who is Uriah’s wife (2 Sam 12:4). We might suggest then that Uriah’s challenge to David in 2 Samuel 11:11is the voice of the ironist who is aware of Israel’s charge against David. This challenge settles the readers' dissonance in regards to whether David should be out fighting with the army. Yet 2 Samuel 12 shares with us that Yahweh’s displeasure is somewhat different. Yahweh settles the conflict that the reader has of David’s poor behavior with Uriah and Bathsheba. The resolution which comes through the narrative is not one of covenantal responsibilities as such, as Yahweh says that it was by Yahweh’s doing that David came to be king of Israel (2 Sam 12:7), but it was David’s duplicity which displeased the Lord. For example, when we examine the early anointing stories of David we see that they are not based on David’s actions as the later anointing stories are, but rather, David is chosen by Yahweh and Yahweh’s presence is seen to move David. In 2 Samuel 11 David is seen to act contrary to God’s favor by taking what is not his to take instead of waiting for Yahweh to give to him. Janzen (2012) writes that this is an act of David trying to usurp God’s role (209). This is not unlike Eslinger (1994) who says that the act of David deciding to build a permanent home for Yahweh in Jerusalem is an example of David trying to similarly usurp God’s role (32-33). Let me make another suggestion, namely, that David is still learning his relationship with Yahweh. If David were trying to usurp Yahweh’s position he would not be oblivious to Yahweh’s charge until it is spelled out explicitly (2 Sam 7:4-7). However, Janzen (2012) makes an interesting observation declaring that the emphasis of the self-indicting parable is not upon David’s acts of murder and adultery, though they are mentioned, but rather on David’s act of "taking" Bathsheba. This act of taking Bathsheba is seen in contrast to the Lord’s acts of "giving" to David (32-33) which included the gift of David’s palace, wives, and the kinship of Israel and Judah (2 Sam 12:8). As Janzen (2012) writes, ‘it was God’s role to give and David’s to receive…’ (32). In this narrative as David becomes aware of the criticism which existed in the upper level, he ceases to be the victim of the irony (2 Sam 12:13). Thus, the resolution for the ironist is not only in Yahweh’s displeasure, but also in David’s facing up to the reality of his situation and his statement to Nathan, "I sinned against the Lord" (2 Sam 12:13). At the end of 2 Samuel 11:11-12 the reader’s dissonance is eased by Uriah’s protestations that he would not do the wrong thing by Yahweh and

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the army of Israel (2 Sam 11:11), making explicit what the ironist has hinted at in the narrative. The reader is thus shocked by David’s decision to disregard the covenant that he has made with Israel (2 Sam 11:1). In the transition phase the reader’s dissonance is further eased when he or she realizes that Yahweh is not pleased with David’s actions (2 Sam 11:27b). The ironist’s dissonance is further released as he or she realizes that David has been punished in accord with the covenant Yahweh made with him in 2 Samuel 7 (Cf also 2 Sam 12:11-12). At this point there has been a complete denouement of the tension in the story. In other words, the ironist in the upper level’s criticism is satisfied and David’s relationship to the covenants he has made with Israel and Yahweh has been restored. However, this creative process of developing consonance is not completely resolved. In the next passage when the illegitimate child dies (2 Sam 12:7) the reader is further conflicted when David stops his acts of repentance and appears griefless (2 Sam 12:21). The servants challenge his behavior and David’s curious response is, “Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me, and the child may live" (2 Sam 12:22b). It would seem that David is the victim, yet again, as he appears to be oblivious to the fact that behavior has consequences, as Yahweh has written into the covenantal bond between them (2 Sam 7:14). The conflict for the reader in the upper level is about why David is dismissive of the covenantal agreements that he has with Israel and Yahweh, not to mention the long-standing Mosaic covenant as well. For resolution of this psychological impasse the reader must trace this story further. In the following narrative Eslinger (1994) has taken the approach that David is somewhat let off the hook in the punishment that Yahweh metes out to him. However, as the narrative unfolds it appears that David is punished harshly as the child that he has with Bathsheba dies (2 Sam 12:18). Amnon rapes one of his daughters (2 Sam 13:1-18) and is then killed in turn by the servants of Absalom who is the eldest of David’s children (2 Sam 13:23-29).

2 Samuel 13:21 Background motifs Thus far in the story we know that David has neglected his covenantal duties to Israel (2 Sam 11:1) for which he was challenged indirectly by Uriah (2 Sam 11:11). David has also displeased God in his act of taking Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:4). The consequences of this act is noted in 2 Samuel 12, where Nathan relates to David that the house of David will always experience conflict due to his actions (2 Sam 12:11). This is made explicit in the phrase, "Now therefore the sword shall never depart from your

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house for you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife. Thus says the Lord: I will raise up trouble against you from within your own house…" (2 Sam 12:11). In the upper level of 2 Samuel 13:21 the ironist must struggle with the temptation to be critical of David for being too lenient in punishing Amnon. The story leads us to believe that this turn of fate which has befallen the house of David is the fault of both David and Yahweh for carrying out David’s punishment by proxy in his children (2 Sam 12:11). Koch (1998) has even written of ‘Ɨwǀn, or iniquity, as having a deeper meaning than an abstract concept of wrongdoing. Rather it is something that is almost palpable. He writes that ‘Ɨwǀn can be understood as a catastrophic "sphere" which envelops all who come into contact with the person who is afflicted with ‘Ɨwǀn. Koch also notes that this fatalistic state can come about through unmitigated guilt (550-553). Therefore, the conflict for the ironist is that Amnon’s misdeeds contribute to David’s punishment (2 Sam 12:11), so how is it that David can punish Amnon harshly? The conflict must then turn to Yahweh’s basis of unfair retributive justice in which he counters the indiscriminate sword of David (2 Sam 11:25) with an equally indiscriminate sword of God (2 Sam 12:10). In the lower level, therefore, we must find Yahweh as the victim of the irony. From the readers perspective Yahweh does not see that his promise that the house of David will endure forever (2 Sam 7:16) and that the house of David will be punished forever (2 Sam 12:11) are devastating themes which have rendered David paralyzed in his ability to take control of the royal household. How is David to understand the hesed which Yahweh extends to him in 2 Samuel 7 considering the tragedy which has befallen his family?

2 Samuel 13:28-33 Background information As we get to 2 Samuel 13:28-33 much has happened. Solomon has been born (2 Sam 24) and David has led the soldiers out in battle, albeit with prompting from Joab (2 Sam 12:27-30) and thereby, restored his covenantal relationship with the Israelites. Yet, the reader anticipates the punishment which must befall David for his part in "taking" Bathsheba (2 Sam 12:10). The child from the adulterous affair has already died (2 Sam 12:8) and David’s son Amnon has raped Tamar (2 Sam 13:1-19), David’s daughter. Nonetheless, David does not punish Amnon (2 Sam 13:21). This has led scholars such as McCarter (1984) to criticize David for his excessive love for his family (327).

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This observation may well be true. David may be cavalier with people who are not part of the royal family, in stark contrast to the extreme leniency he shows his own children. However, if we follow the narrative closely we sense that David’s leniency is in reaction to what he must perceive as the unfolding of his own punishment (2 Sam 12:10) and his call to act in keeping with God’s "giving" nature (2 Sam 12:7-9). These tragedies are in some regards a sentence he must bear with as much graciousness as he can muster. David suffers further when Amnon is killed by the hands of Absalom’s servants (2 Sam 13:21) but, similarly, David yearns for Absalom who has fled to Geshur (2 Sam 13:39).

Ironic interpretation In the lower level is the victim of the irony, who in this case is Yahweh. For Yahweh has now put David in the invidious position of being bound by the law (2 Sam 7:15) to mete out justice, while at the same time David is aware that Amnon has fallen under the ‘Ɨwǀn of David’s doing. Cartledge (2012) has criticized David for not adhering to the law and serving justice (540) but, according to this text, justice is being served for Uriah, as David’s family falls into travail (2 Sam 12:10). It is not surprising that most scholars take the approach of McCarter (1984) and Cartledge (2012) in being outraged that David is too lenient with his family. They perceive the law as needing to be followed and justice handed out. However, the ironist is aware that the Mosaic law is not centre stage in the relationship between Yahweh and David. Rather, the emphasis of the narrative has thus far been on the necessity for David to intuit God's nature (2 Sam 2:1) and not to be a taker but rather a "giver" (2 Sam 12:9). The laws, or moral obligation are at this stage acting as a guide might act. In the upper level, the observer is critical of Yahweh’s punishment (2 Sam 12:10) and perceives that if Yahweh had extended the same unconditional graciousness and forgiveness to David, once he had been taught the errors of his behavior, the readers would not find themselves with this conflict. The dissonance aspect of irony means that the observer, who is in an uncomfortable mental state from the conflict, will either justify Yahweh, even if the conclusions are irrational, or convert to a new way of thinking which is not punitive, but rather pedagogic and nurturing.

Conclusion I have suggested that the observer perceives in David a shift from being the victim of the irony, to being the teacher who gives grace freely. I have

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come to this conclusion by examining the narrative in 2 Samuel 11-14 from an ironic perspective. In 2 Samuel 11 I have suggested that the reader experiences a level of dissonance due to the background knowledge that the reader has of David as the king who was enthroned by Israel on the basis of leading the army to war (1 Sam 18:12-16 and 2 Sam 5:2-3). David’s decision to remain in Jerusalem contravenes this covenant (2 Sam 11:1). Yet, there is no indication that David perceived his relationship with Yahweh to be this way. From David’s youth his relationship with Yahweh had been known through intimations (2 Sam 2:1). However, it would seem that, regardless of David’s perception of his relationship with Yahweh, there is still criticism of his action in not leading the army out to war. Therefore, from an ironic perspective, on the basis of the knowledge at hand, it appears that David is the victim of the irony as he appears to be reneging on his responsibilities to Israel and not being adequately aware of it. Further into the narrative, when David "takes" Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:4), there is evidence that is beginning to suggest that, although David has related to God through intimations, he is going astray in the choices he makes. The criticism in this passage hangs on the idea that the law and an intuition of God are necessary, and from this perspective David is still the victim of the irony. David is then further indicted by the upper level of criticism in his encounter with Uriah, where David not only tries to lure Uriah into a state of ritual impurity (2 Sam 8) but also orders his death in order to cover up David’s transgression (2 Sam 11:15). The question Uriah poses to David at this juncture is related purely to the laws of purity (2 Sam 11:11). Uriah's statement seems to satisfy the criticism in the upper level. The criticism finally peaks when David suggests to Joab a plan to kill Uriah in an underhanded fashion (2 Sam 11:15). This dialogue heightens the understanding of David’s cavalier approach to human life and is a glimpse at the inner-workings of the king’s court. This evidence of corruption is now plainly evident to the reader, who is morally challenged by the end of the chapter when David and Bathsheba bear a child and get married (2 Sam 11:27). At that point in the narrative it appears as though David is getting off scot-free. Yet, in the transition phrase to 2 Samuel 12, the reader discovers that Yahweh is not pleased, and the reader experiences a degree of cognitive comfort or resolution of the dissonance. Nathan’s Parable, on close inspection, is a castigation of David with a range of nuances. Most notably there is a subtext which contrasts David’s taking behavior and God’s giving behavior (2 Sam 12:8-9). These nuances hark back to the history that David has had with Yahweh. To begin with

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David was a young shepherd boy whose anointing was a gift (1 Sam 16:113), as was his enthronement, in which the Israelites saw God’s favor working in David (1 Sam 18:12-16). Then 2 Samuel 7 is a development of Yahweh’s relationship with David. In this passage Yahweh gives David’s family an unending dynasty, but David will face the consequences of his iniquities (2 Sam 7:14-17). This new development settles the dissonance that the reader who yearns for justice desires, but there are more complexities to follow in David’s relationship with God. David, who still appears to be oblivious to the covenantal bond that he has made with Yahweh, speaks of the possibility that Yahweh will not take the life of his child as a punishment and rather be "gracious" to him (2 Sam 12:22). It would seem as though David anticipates an unconditional, giving relationship from God, however, we know from 2 Samuel 7 that the latest development in the relationship between David and God is that it is only David’s house which will be cherished unconditionally. David will still experience the consequences of his iniquities (2 Sam 7:14-17). Nonetheless, David does not act to his family as Yahweh has acted towards him. For example, David does not mete out justice to Amnon ( 2 Sam 13:21) nor to Absalom (2 Sam 14:33). Rather, David offers unconditional graciousness. In doing so the ironist and the reader are converted to a new vision of their Godconstruct, not justice in all things, but forgiving grace and mercy in all things.

References Ackerman, Susan, The Personal is Political: Covenantal and Affectionate Love (‘ƗhƝb, ‘ahăbИ) in the Hebrew Bible, Vetus Testamentum 52 (4), 2002, 437-458. Retrieved from http://0.www.jstor.org.prospero.murdoch.edu.au/stable/1585137 Bailey, R.C. (1990), David in Love and War, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Bodner, K., Is Joab a Reader-Response Critic?, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament. 27 (19), 2002, 19-35. doi: 030908920202700102 Cartledge, Tony, W. (2001), 1 & 2 Samuel, Atlanta: Smyth & Helwys. Duke, Paul, D. (1985), Irony in the Fourth Gospel, Atlanta: John Knox Press. Eslinger, Lyle (1994), House of God or House of David, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press.

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Festinger, Leon (1957), A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Hertzberg, H.W. (1964), I&II Samuel, London: SCM Press Janzen, David, The condemnation of David’s “taking’ in 2 Samuel 12:114. Society of Biblical Literature, 131.2, Summer 2012, 209, retrieved from http://)0-jbl.metapress.com.prospero.murdoch.edu.au/home/main.mpx Koch, Heinz (1998), ‘Ɨwǀn, in Joannes Botterweck, Helmer Ringgren, and Heinz-Josef Fabry, eds., David E. Green, trans., Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, Vol. X, 550555, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. McCarter, P. Kyle (1984), II Samuel, New York: Doubleday. Moran, William L. (1991), The Ancient Near Eastern Background of the Love of God in Deuteronomy, in Frederick E. Greenspahn, ed., Essential Papers on Israel and the Ancient Near East, 103-115, New York: New York University Press. Muecke, D. C. (1980), The Compass of Irony, London: Methuen. Perry, M., and Sternberg, M. (1986), The King Through Ironic Eyes: Biblical Narrative and the Literary Process, Poetics Today, 7 (2), 275322, retrieved from http://jstor.org/stable/1772762 Rost, L. (1982), The Succession to the Throne of David, Sheffield: The Almond Press. Society of Biblical Literature (1993), The HarperCollins Bible, NRSV, New York: HarperCollins Publishers. Steinsaltz, Adin Even-Israel (2012), Koren Talmud Bavli, Vol. 1, Jerusalem: Koren Publishers.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX VOICE IN PSALMS AS ILLUSTRATED BY PSALM 911 DONALD R. VANCE

In 1985, Meir Sternberg observed that narrative, except in dialogue, is marked by the absence of any grammatical person other than the third, while poetry, on the other hand, is dominated by the first and second persons. Indeed, this marks an important generic distinction between poetry and narrative, certainly one more firm than the sands of parallelism. The Psalter thus operates with a whole range of selves, voices, viewpoints, personae, situational contexts of utterance. Some Psalms are attributed, or even anchored in space and time, and others emerge from nowhere. Some are soliloquies, others appeals, still others dialogues. Some speak with one voice, others with many voices; some in the voice of the individual, others of the collective.2

The importance of voice—reflected in grammatical person—for verse, then, may extend to the definition of verse itself. At the very least it plays a key role in its interpretation since the poets of biblical verse often used change in voice to structure their compositions and reinforce their message. 1

I first met John T Greene in the lobby of our hotel in Auckland, New Zealand in the summer of 2008 at the International Meeting of the SBL. He, Misha Caspi, and J. Harold Ellens invited me to join them for conversation and thus began a friendship that has continued and grown deeper to this day. It is with love and admiration that I make this small contribution to this volume in his honor. 2 Meir Sternberg (1985), The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading, Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature, eds. Herbert Marks and Robert Polzin, Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 72.

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This is how I opened my paper, Psalm 137 Reexamined with a View to Voice, read at the annual meeting of the SBL in Washington 2006. In that paper I presented a structure of Psalm 137 based on the use of voice in the Psalm and contrasted this with David Noel Freedman’s structure based on his metrical analysis. For those not familiar with Freedman’s metrical analysis, it is one based on syllable counting. He does not insist “that the Hebrew poets consciously or deliberately counted syllables in composing their works,” but he observes “that their poems exhibit patterns with a degree of regularity and repetition which is best captured by a syllablecounting process.”3 In his view there is a consistency in syllable counts that is significant. So what did his syllable analysis of Psalm 137 reveal? A chiastic structure of strophes which is reflected in their syllable counts, not the syllable counts of the lines. The chiasmus centers around verses 5–6b. In his analysis, verses 1–2 form a strophe which is balanced by verses 8–9; verse 3 forms a strophe balanced by verse 7 and verses 4–6 form the central strophe. The division into strophes is key, for the line by line comparisons reveal no metrical pattern at all. Now, in my 2001 volume, The Question of Meter in Biblical Hebrew Poetry, I demonstrate that the acrostic poems of the Hebrew Bible do not evince meter and I go on to extrapolate that meter is not a constitutive element in Biblical Hebrew poetry. Consequently, if there is no meter in Biblical Hebrew poetry, Freedman’s structure is inherently flawed. His resulting divisions break up parallel pairs and inclusios and, in my opinion, is inferior to a strophic division based on voice. Using voice as a guide—as revealed in the grammatical person, gender and number—the poem breaks up into four strophes and not Freedman’s five. Strophe I, marked by the use of the 1st person, common, plural and the topic of Zion and her songs, consists of verses 1–4. It has two voices and two personae, the exiles and the tormentors. Strophe II, verses 5 and 6 has only one voice, but two personae. The psalmist speaks in the 1st person, common, singular forms, and directly addresses Jerusalem with 2nd person, feminine, singular pronominal suffixes. Jerusalem is also spoken about as the object of a verb, and maybe as the subject of a 3rd 3 David Noel Freedman (1971), The Structure of Psalm 137, in Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright, Hans Goedicke, ed., Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 305. [All references to this article are to its reprint in David Noel Freedman (1980), Pottery, Poetry, and Prophecy: Studies in Early Hebrew Poetry, Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, and its pagination. He made an almost identical statement in David Noel Freedman, Archaic Forms in Early Hebrew Poetry, ZAW (1960), 72, 101.

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person, feminine, singular verb. Strophe III is a single verse with a 2nd person, masculine, singular imperative and consists of vs. 7 alone. There are two voices, the Psalmist and the Edomites, and three personae, the Psalmist, YHWH, and the Edomites. Finally, Strophe IV uses 2nd person, feminine, singular forms, and consists of vss. 8–9. It has one voice, the Psalmist, and two or maybe three personae, the Psalmist, Babylon, and perhaps Persia who metes out Babylon’s recompense. In Psalm 137, an analysis based on voice and personae structures the poem nicely and this structure is reinforced by various parallels and inclusios. Psalm 91 is a very different animal. A voice analysis of this psalm based on grammatical person, gender, and number, results in three strophes of drastically different lengths, a marked departure from the nice balance of Psalm 137. Strophe 1, comprising verses 1–2, consists of four lines. Strophe 2, verses 3–13, has twenty-five lines, and strophe 3, verses 14–16, has seven lines. Even the number of voices and personae is not clear. Strophe 1 opens with a gnomic saying from the psalmist in verse 1. One who dwells in the hidden place of Elyon in the shade of Shaddai will lodge.

Some translate the participle yǀšƝb and the prefix conjugation verb yitlônƗn as English presents, understanding the participle to be indicating “continual dwelling” and the finite verb “habitual resort.”4 This is possible, of course, but it clouds the fact that two verb forms are involved and that, in fact, the participle is providing the subject of the finite verb. In my analysis, the psalmist opens with the gnomic saying as a description of himself and one to which the addressee should aspire. This is brought out by the psalmist’s speech in verse 2. I will say to YHWH, “My refuge and my stronghold, My God, I will trust in him.”

The switch in voice is abrupt, but I think the juxtaposition of the two verses nudges the reader in the direction of my analysis. Some, however, find the transition too abrupt and emend ’ǀmar in a variety of ways to soften this transition. Interestingly, similar to my analysis, the various emendations usually assume that the persona is the same as in verse 1. So, for example, the NRSV reads 4

Charles Augustus Briggs (1907), A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Pslams, ICC, Vol. 2 ,New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 279.

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The voice is that of the psalmist but he is addressing the hearer whose speech the psalmist quotes. This requires an emendation of ’ǀmar to a second person form. Briggs and Dahood both do something similar but by way of two different emendations. Briggs repoints the verb to a participle and Dahood to an imperative, both spoken by the one who dwells in the hidden place of Elyon. Verse 3 opens strophe 2 which continues through verse 13. This strophe divides into four subsections based on content and the presence of certain poetic features. First there is a repetition of the particle kî in verses 3a, 9a, and 11a which marks three of the four subsections.5 There is a switch in subject in verse 5a that provides the last subdivision. I understand stophe 2 to be providing the benefits of being one who dwells in the hidden place of Elyon. To this end I initially understood the particle kî in verse 3a to be a causal conjunction “for, because,” answering the unexpressed question “Why would I want to dwell in the hidden place”. On further reflection I think it is better understood as the emphatic deictic, that is, “indeed.” Indeed, he himself will snatch you from a fowler’s trapping net, from a plague of destruction. With his feathers he will shield you; under his wings you will find refuge; shield and wall is his truth.

Rhetorically, the result is the same in that the psalmist is still encouraging the addressee to be one who dwells within the hidden place. The voice is that of the psalmist and there are three personae: the psalmist, YHWH, and the addressee. This continues through verse 4. The JPS analyzes the first four verses of Psalm 91 in a different and interesting, somewhat enticing way. It understands the psalmist to be addressing the one who dwells and it is the psalmist who speaks verse 2; and verses 3 and 4 are part of the declaration of the psalmist. The deictic particle kî is introducing what it is that the psalmist says of the LORD:

5

It also occurs in 14a where it marks the beginning of the third and final strophe that exhibits a different persona.

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O you who dwell in the shelter of the Most High and abide in the protection of Shaddai — I say of the LORD, my refuge and stronghold, my God in whom I trust, that He will save you from the fowler’s trap, from the destructive plague.

Rhetorically, the JPS seems to be on the same page in that the psalmist is encouraging the addressee to be one who dwells in the shelter of the Most High. The next subsection consists of verses 5–8 and is indicated by the change in persona. The voice is still that of the psalmist who is still speaking to the addressee. However, the persona of YHWH is no longer present. You will not be afraid of night terror, of arrow that flies by day, of plague that stalks in the gloom, of destruction that destroys at noon. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right, to you it will not draw near. Only with your eyes will you look, and the pay-back of the wicked you will see.

This subsection is marked by strong parallelism including the repetition of the preposition min in verse 6, a chiasm in verse 7a–b. It has long been noted in the commentaries that there is a cluster of words that show up in this psalm and Deuteronomy 32 (see Briggs for a list), including several from this section: ‫ۊ‬Ɲ‫܈‬, qé‫ܒ‬eb, ’élep, and rƟbƗbâ. The calamity spelled out in Deuteronomy 32 is avoided by being the person described in 91:1. It will not befall the dweller, he will only see it happen to the wicked. The third subsection consists of verses 9–10 and is introduced by the causal conjunction, kî, that marks verse 9 as the reason for verse 10. Verse 9 is difficult to understand if the interpreter fails to note the delaying of the verb until the second colon, verse 9b. This is a phenomenon Dahood calls the “double-duty verb” and while not common, it is not that unusual in Hebrew poetry.6 While the NRSV recognized this, the translators misunderstood the object of the verb. 6

For the discussion see Mitchell J. Dahood (1964), Psalms II: 51–100: Introduction, Translation, and Notes, vol. 17, The Anchor Bible, William Foxwell Albright and David Noel Freedman, eds., Garden City: Doubleday, 333.

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The emendation of “my refuge” to “your refuge” is completely unnecessary. The psalmist repeats his epithet for YHWH from verses 1 and 2 and the three phrases are in apposition: YHWH, my refuge, Elyon. The JPS got this right: Because you took the LORD — my refuge, the Most High — as your haven,

The NIV and the NASB also understood the verse correctly. My translation is awkward because I keep the verb in the second colon: Because you, YHWH, my refuge, Elyon, you made your haven

Verse 10 then gives the result of having made YHWH one’s haven: evil will not happen to you, and a scourge will not approach your tent.

In this subsection, the voice is that of the psalmist still, but YHWH rejoins the personae for a total of three again. The last subsection of strophe 2 consists of verses 11–13 and is marked by the introductory kî. How is it that evil will not befall the dweller? Because YHWH will command his angels to guard him. This introduces, perhaps, a fourth persona—the angels. There is still only one voice, that of the psalmist. This subsection differs from the last mainly in the supernatural elements involved. Angels will protect the dweller and he will defeat demonic enemies. The péten and tannîn both show up in Deuteronomy 32 and they echo Ugaritic references to Lôtan, the twisty serpent who is called tnn and b‫ܔ‬n. So the psalmist asserts that one who dwells in the hidden place of the most high will have all these benefits. Now, lest the addressee doubt the validity of that assertion, the psalm ends with a declaration of YHWH himself which comprises the third and final strophe of the poem. The strophe is introduced with yet another causal conjunction, kî, and consists of verses 14–16. Here the voice is of YHWH and there are only two personae: YHWH and the addressee. The psalmist has disappeared. In this strophe, YHWH declares what it is to dwell in the hidden place of Elyon. It is to devote oneself to him, to know his name. It is interesting that this psalm uses three different names for the deity and then specifies that it is knowing the deity’s name that evokes

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God’s protection. The knowing of the name is not magical but relational as the first line indicates. Because he devoted himself to me, I will save him; I will lift him up to safety because he knew my name. He will call me and I will answer him. With him I will be in trouble. I will rescue him and I will honor him. With length of days I will sate him, and I will show him my salvation.

The deliverance is not a simple one, as Briggs pointed out a century ago, but an exalted, glorious one.7 The language is one of relationship wherein YHWH answers when the dweller calls. In concord with the wisdom tradition, YHWH promises to give him long life and prosperity. So, as in Psalm 137, voice and personae make the structure of Psalm 91 clear. The strophes are of very different lengths, but if one looks at the subsections of strophe 2, the poem ends up with six roughly equivalent sections. The use of voice and personae imposes a superstructure complete with subsections on the poem and makes interpreting it much easier. It seems to me, then, that voice and personae analysis has to be a standard part of any methodology for interpreting Hebrew poetry just as analyses of parallelism or figurative language are. But what are we to make of the claim that voice and personae analysis is constitutive of Hebrew poetry? Is it true that the Psalter is dominated by verbs in the first and second person? Actually, no! There are almost twice as many third person verbs in the Psalter as first and second person verbs combined: 3 person 2409; 2 person 602; 1 person 869. However, if we analyze the data in terms of percentages or occurrences per 1000 words the picture changes. Comparing the distribution of verb forms in the Primary History of Genesis to 2 Kings in the Hebrew Bible with that of the Psalter and also of the poetic books of Proverbs, Job (excluding the prose frame), Song of Songs, and Lamentations shows a different picture.

7

Briggs, Psalms, 282.

112166

99441 211607

47317

Joshua Judges 1 Samuel 2 Samuel 1 Kings 2 Kings Prophetic History Group

Psalms Job Proverbs Song of Songs Lamentations Group

Total Words

Genesis Exodus Leviticus Numbers Deuteronomy Torah

508

28.91 29.18 7.83 31.90 20.02 23.57

6.83 12.30 13.00 12.65 9.69 7.54 10.34 9.99

1st 15.46 9.90 4.65 7.42 10.42 9.57

20.03 24.22 17.46 10.97 16.88 17.91

9.65 10.50 11.44 8.98 11.55 8.28 10.07 14.66

Verbs 2nd 9.90 22.65 18.50 13.17 36.66 20.18

80.15 116.03 86.21 45.86 119.68 89.59

72.53 103.26 100.41 96.26 89.04 104.64 94.36 86.38

3rd 95.65 74.98 83.75 70.70 58.96 76.81

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64.38 55.23 13.65 79.26 65.89 55.68

10.28 18.17 22.97 23.86 18.21 10.71 17.37 16.10

1st 28.53 13.64 8.02 9.46 13.27 14.58

44.75 20.30 25.39 50.35 17.93 31.74

20.12 15.78 23.39 21.86 21.88 13.18 19.37 24.88

Pronouns 2nd 24.84 22.54 23.21 15.04 71.80 31.49

55.96 70.82 65.64 45.86 65.47 60.75

52.72 62.93 51.44 47.38 50.42 59.02 53.99 57.93

3rd 62.99 58.72 78.51 59.09 53.99 62.66

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Though the occurrence of third person verbs and pronouns, both independent and suffixal, is higher than the first or second person forms for the Poetic Texts, the occurrence of the first and second person forms is considerably higher than it is for these same forms in the prose texts. 1st person verbs: 23.57 per 1000 in the poetic texts versus 9.99 per 1000 in the prose texts; 1st person pronouns: 55.68 per 1000 in the poetic texts versus 16.10 per 1000 in the prose texts. Second person verbs: 17.91 per 1000 in the poetic texts versus 14.66 per 1000 in the prose texts; second person pronouns: 31.74 per 1000 in the poetic texts versus 24.88 per 1000 in the prose texts. The prose texts are inflated here because of the large amount of legal material in the Torah that utilizes second person forms. Finally, for the third person forms the numbers are: for the verbs 89.59% in the poetic texts versus 86.38% in the prose texts, and for the pronouns 60.75% in the poetic texts and 57.93% in the prose texts. Here the numbers are much closer to each other. Statistically, then, the poetic texts do utilize first and second person forms to a greater degree than do the prose texts and Sternberg was on to something. Whether this is a poetic marker, however, strikes me as dubious since if we were to isolate the discourse sections out of the prose texts, I suspect the numbers would be virtually indistinguishable from the poetic texts. In other words, the prevalence of first and second person forms is a marker of discourse, not necessarily poetry, but the poetic texts of the Hebrew Bible are, in the main, discourse or at least conform to its strictures. I further suspect, though I have not tested this yet, that the syntax—specifically word order—of poetic texts is going to line up much more closely to that of discourse than it is to that of prose narrative.

References Briggs, Charles Augustus (1907), A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Pslams, ICC, Vol. 2, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Mitchell J. Dahood (1964), Psalms II: 51–100: Introduction, Translation, and Notes, Vol. 17, The Anchor Bible, William Foxwell Albright and David Noel Freedman, eds., Garden City: Doubleday. Freedman, David Noel, Archaic Forms in Hebrew Poetry,” ZAW , 72, 1960, 101 —. (1971), The Structure of Psalm 137, in Hans Goedicke, ed., Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright, , Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press. All references to this article are to its reprint in David Noel Freedman (1980), Pottery, Poetry, and

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Prophecy: Studies in Early Hebrew Poetry, Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, and its pagination.] Sternberg, Meir (1985), The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading, in Herbert Marks and Robert Polzi Hans Goedicke, eds., Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature, Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN THE FRUITS OF THE LABOR OF JOHN T. GREENE J. HAROLD ELLENS

From early in his career, Professor Greene has been a prolific writer with an accomplished record of publications. He served as the Co-Editor (2005 to the present) of the Proceedings of the Seminar on Biblical Characters in the Three Traditions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam), Society of Biblical Literature Annual International Meetings (Singapore 2005-Abraham; Edinburgh 2006-Elijah/Elisha; Vienna 2007-Eve; Auckland, New Zealand 2008-Jesus, Rome 2009-Jonah; Tartu, Estonia 2010-David; London, U.K. 2011-Job, Amsterdam, 2012, St Andrews, Scotland 2013). The following is a list of his most notable publications. Moreover, his university life is studded with an amazing list of assignments and professional service opportunity. Here we present that estimable report.

Authored Books The Role of the Messenger and Message in the Ancient Near East. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989, Brown Judaic Studies 169. Series Editor, Jacob Neusner, 346 pp. Balaam and His Interpreters: A Hermeneutical History of the Balaam Traditions. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992. Brown Judaic Studies 244. Series Editor, Shaye J.D. Cohen, 229 pp. Communication Theory and Praxis in Crisis: The Case of CHRIST in Paul's Thought. Lewiston, NY: Mellon Press, 2012, 256 pp. The third in a planned 5-book series on Communication Concerns in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean World (also a corollary a course packet for the courses on the New Testament, Early Christianity, and Formative Judaism), 93 pp.

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Edited Books The Ewing Family Civil War Letters. East Lansing, MI: Michigan State University Press, 1994. 215 pp., Illustrated. A Businessman with Stripes: The Civil War Correspondence of Sergeant Orrin K. Brownell, 1863-1865. Professor Greene edited critically 150 letters from this 20th Michigan Infantry Regiment non-commissioned officer to his wife, Mary Jane Mitteer-Brownell of Stockbridge, Michigan. 155 pp., Illustrated.

Co-Edited Books Unbinding the Binding of Isaac. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds., Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2006. This edited anthology contains chapters by the co-editors, as well as by other contributors. All participated in the 2005 Annual International Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held in Singapore between June 26 and July 1, 2005. Unbinding the Binding of Isaac. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds. Proceedings of the Seminar in Biblical Characters in Judaism, Christianity and Islam of the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. North Richland Hills, TX: BIBAL Publishers, 2007. And God Said: “You Are Fired”: Elijah and Elisha. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds. North Richland Hills, Texas: BIBAL Publishers, 2007. This edited anthology contains chapters by the co-editors, as well as by other contributors. All participated in the 2006 Annual International Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held in Edinburgh, Scotland at the University of Edinburgh between July 2 and 7, 2006. Probing the Frontiers of Biblical Studies. J. Harold Ellens and John T. Greene, eds., Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, Publishers, 2009. This edited anthology and Festschrift contains chapters by the co-editors, as well as by invited contributors. Problems in Translating Texts About Jesus. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds., Lewiston, MY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2011. This edited volume contains chapters by the co-editors, as well as by other contributors. All presented papers at the 2008 International Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held at the University of Auckland, New Zealand, July 6-11, 2008. How Jonah is Interpreted in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: Essays on the Authenticity and Influence of the Biblical Prophet. Mishael M.

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Caspi and John T. Greene, eds., Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2011. This edited anthology contains chapters by the co-editors, as well as by other contributors. All presented papers at the 2009 International Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held in Rome, Italy at the Pontifical Gregorian University. Eve: The Unbearable Flaming Fire. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds., Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2012. This edited anthology contains chapters by the co-editors, as well as by other contributors. All presented papers at the 2007 International Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held at the University of Vienna, Austria, July 22-26, 2007. In the Arms of Biblical Women. Mishael M Caspi and John T. Greene, eds., Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2013. This edited anthology contains chapters by the co-editors, as well as by other contributors. All presented papers at the 2011 International Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature.

Other Manuscripts 1. Doing Philosophies/Theologies of History Using Human Skin Color: The Use of Negroid Blacks in the Hebrew Scriptures. This work contributes to Ongoing Studies on the African Diaspora. A revised chapter appeared as a chapter in Routes of Passage: Rethinking the African Diaspora East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2008. 2. The Military History of Tzer/Tzed-Bethsaida-Julias from the Early Bronze Age to the First Jewish Revolt Against Rome, 66-73 C.E. Volume I. This work is a series of studies and papers presented at international Conferences in 1993 Münster, Germany; 1995 Budapest, Hungary; 1997 Lausanne, Switzerland; 2000 Israel; 2001 Rome; 2002 Berlin, Germany; 2003 Cambridge, England; 2004 Groningen, The Netherlands; 2005 Singapore; 2006 Edinburgh, Scotland and 2011 London, U.K. This publication reflects Professor Greene's duties as the military historian for the Bethsaida Archaeological Research Project since 1991. This volume is followed by Volume II that traces the military history of the site from the Byzantine Period to the IsraeliArab Wars of 1967 (Six-Day War) and 1973 (Yom Kippur War). 3. A Man of God: King David in Three Traditions. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds. This edited anthology contains essays by the coeditors, as well as by other contributors who presented essays at the July 2010 Annual International Meeting of the Society of Biblical

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Literature held at the University of Tartu, Estonia. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2012. 4. Job of Uz: The Theodicy of God or the Struggle of a Righteous Man? Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds. This edited anthology contains essays by the co-editors, as well as by other contributors who participated in the July 3-7, 2011 Annual International Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held at Kings College. London, U.K.. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2012

Co-Authored Works 1. Because of Your Madness: Korah in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene. This book studies the rebellion of Korah (along with Dathan, Abiram, and On the son of Peleth) against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness—Numbers 16. Lewiston, NY: Mellen Press, 2012. 2. Parables as Jewish Literary Genre. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene. This book examines the parable as a Jewish genre used by priests, educators, and politicians in both the ancient and modern worlds. Lewiston, NY: Mellen Press, 2012. 3. Like Red Pomegranates: Arab Poetry and Commentary of, by, and for Women. Mishael M. Caspi, John T. Greene, Mohammed Jiyad. Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 2013. 4. Samson: A Nazirite Judge. Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene.

Published Articles and chapters by Professor John T. Greene Paul's Hermeneutic Versus Its Competitors in the Journal of Religious Thought. Volume 42, Number 1, Spring-Summer, 1985, 7-21. Justification by Fresh Thought Alone: Pauline Pastoral Hermeneutics versus Its Competition in Michigan Academician. Volume XVII, Number 2, Winter, 1985, 235-246. Jesus of Galilee and Judas the Maccabee: Hero Worship or Messianic Machinations? in New Perspectives on Ancient Judaism. Studies in Judaism Series 2. J. Neusner, ed. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1988, 67-76. Balaam as Figure and Type in Ancient Semitic Literature to the First Century BCE, With a Survey of Selected Post-Philo Applications of the Balaam Figure and Type in Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 29. David J. Lull. ed. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990, 82-147.

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Balaam: Prophet, Diviner, and Priest in Selected Ancient Israelite and Hellenistic Jewish Sources in Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 28. David J. Lull, ed. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989, 57-106. CHRIST in Paul's Thought in Romans 1-8 in the Journal of Religious Thought. Volume 49, Number 1, Summer-Fall, 1992, 44-58. The Integrative Studies Core Program at Michigan State University, in the Association for Integrative Studies Newsletter. Volume 15 Number 1, March 1993, 1-3. The Balaam Figure and Type Before, During, and After the Period of the Pseudepigrapha, in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha, Issue 8 1991, 67-110. Bethsaida-Julias in Roman and Jewish Military Strategies, 66-73 CE in Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee. Rami Arav and Richard Freund, eds. Vol. 1, Kirksville, MO: The Thomas Jefferson University Press, 1995, 203-227. The Honorific Naming of Bethsaida-Julias, in Bethsaida A City By The North Shore Of The Sea of Galilee. Rami Arav and Richard Freund, eds. Vol. 2, Kirksville, MO: The Thomas Jefferson University Press, 1998, 315-338. Covenant and Ecclesiology: Trusting (Hu)Man and God in International Congregational Journal. Volume 4, Number 1, September 2004. Tiglath-Pileser III's War against Tzer/Bethsaida, in Bethsaida A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee. Rami Arav and Richard Freund, eds., Vol. 3, Kirksville, MO: The Thomas Jefferson University Press, 2004, 63-82. Two Courtiers of African Descent in the Kingdom of Judah: Yehudi and Abedmelech, in Ruth Simms Hamilton, ed., Routes of Passage: Rethinking the African Diaspora, Vol.1, Part 1. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2008,169-178. Urbanism in the Galilee Region: A Study of Kinneret, Hazor and Dan in Relation to Iron Age Tzer. In Cities Through the Looking Glass, Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Clifton J. Batchelder Biblical Archaeology Conference at the University of Nebraska at Omaha, October 30-November 1, 2003. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2008. Saint Padre Pio. WorldBook Encyclopedia, 2009. Iron Age Tzer: Preliminary Studies Toward a History of the Religion of the Geshurites Who Resided There, in Papers On Values and Interrelations Between Europe and the Near East in Antiquity. Acta Universitatis Lodziensis Folia Archaeologica 26. Lodz: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Lodzkiego, 2009, 47-90. From David (Indirectly) to Jesus: Archaeological and Military Trajectories

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Through Messianism. Nelson Quarterly Journal, Volume 1, Issue 1, May 2009, 1-16. Who Destroyed Level 5 at Bethsaida?: Aramean Angst, Assyrian Anger, or Israelite Insecurity?: The Problem of Correlating Evidence and the Relative Association of Elements of Material Culture. Nelson Quarterly Journal, Volume 1 Issue 2, March 2010, 167-183.

Book Reviews Raymond E. Brown, Recent Discoveries and the Biblical World. Wilmington, Delaware: Michael Glazier, Inc., 1983, 101 pp. in Horizons: The Journal of the College Theology Society, 1985, pp. 165166. Samuel A. Meier, The Messenger in the Ancient Semitic World. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988. Republished in Harvard Semitic Monographs 45, 269 pp. in Journal of Biblical Literature, Volume 109, No. 3 Fall 1990.

Foreword Foreword to the book The Legend of Elijah in Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and Literature by Mishael M. Caspi and Gerda Neu-Sokol. Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen Press, 2009.

Articles and Chapters Forthcoming The Driving Forces in the Jewish Revolt of 66-73 C.E. in J. Harold Ellens, ed., Winning Revolutions: The Psychology of Successful Revolts for Freedom, Fairness, and Rights. Westview, CT: ABC-CLIO - Praeger, 2013. The Dynamics and Denoument of the Bar Kochba Revolt in J. Harold Ellens, ed., Winning Revolutions: The Psychology of Successful Revolts for Freedom, Fairness, and Rights. Westview, CT: ABC-CLIO - Praeger, 2013. Global Reflections on Heaven, Hell and Afterlife in the Middle Eastern, Mediterranean and Western Worlds in J. Harold Ellens, ed., Heaven, Hell and Afterlife: Eternity in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. ABCCLIO - Praeger, 2013.

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National Conferences, University Addresses, and International Presentations A. National Conferences 1. Indiana Academic Seminar on Judaism and Jewish/Christian Relations. A Series of Three Papers. June 22-27, 1980. Indiana University. Bloomington, Indiana. a. "The Biblical Prophet: Inheritor of a Tradition of Liberation" b. "The Biblical Prophet as Guardian of the Tradition of Liberation" c. "Modern Western Jew and Christian: Sustainers of a Tradition of Liberation" 2. Michigan Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters. Annual Meeting. "Justification By Fresh Thought Alone: Pauline Pastoral Hermeneutics Versus Its Competition." Religious Studies Section, March, 1984. Ferris State University. Big Rapids, Michigan. 3. College Theology Society. Annual Meeting. "The Book of Job: Quaint or Forward-Looking?" Scripture Section. June 1, 1984. Cardinal Stritch College. Milwaukee, Wisconsin. 4. Michigan Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters. Annual Meeting. "The Herald in Biblical and Ugaritic Literature: A Comparative Analysis of Hebrew bsr and Ugaritic bšr." Religious Studies Section, March, 1985. Michigan State University. East Lansing, Michigan. Also served as Chairman of the Religious Studies Section. 5. Society of Biblical Literature. Annual Meeting. "The Role of the Messenger in a Critique of the Form-Critical Approach to Prophetic Literature." African-American Theology and Biblical Hermeneutics Group, December 6, 1987. Boston, Massachusetts. 6. Society of Biblical Literature. Annual Meeting. "Balaam: Prophet, Priest, and Diviner in Selected Ancient Israelite and Hellenistic Jewish Sources." Philo of Alexandria Group, November 18, 1989. Anaheim, California. 7. Society of Biblical Literature. Annual Meeting. "Balaam as Figure and Type in Ancient Semitic Literature to the First Century B.C.E., with a Survey of Selected Post-Philo Applications of the Balaam Figure and Type." Philo of Alexandria Group, November 17-20, 1990. New Orleans, Louisiana. 8. Society of Biblical Literature. Annual Meeting. Critical, Oral Review of Professor Cain Hope Felder's Troubling Biblical Waters: Race, Class and Family, (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 1990), 233 pp. American Theology and Biblical Hermeneutics Group, November 23-

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26, 1991. Kansas City, Missouri. 9. Society of Biblical Literature. Annual Meeting. “Marginalia Brought to the Center Stage: Scribal Hermeneutics and Military Power in PostJosianic Judah." African American Theology and Biblical Hermeneutics Group, November 1992. Chicago, Ill. 10. Society for the Study of Black Religion. Annual Meeting. Saint Lewis University. Response to Professor Randall C. Bailey's (Old Testament, Interdenominational Theological Center, Atlanta, Georgia.) paper entitled: "They're Nothing but Incestuous Bastards: The Polemical Use of Sex and Sexuality in Hebrew Canon Narratives." April 1-3, 1993, Philadelphia Hilton and Towers, Philadelphia, PA. 11. Society of Biblical Literature. Annual Meeting. "Bethsaida-Julias in Both the Roman and Jewish Military Strategies for the Galilee-Golan during the First Jewish Rebellion against Rome, 66-73 C.E." The American Academy of Religion and the Rocky Mountain/Great Plains Regional Meeting. Bethsaida Research Project Group. April 16-17, 1993. University of Nebraska at Omaha. Omaha, Nebraska. 12. Association For Jewish Studies. Annual Meeting. "Bethsaida-Julias in the Military Strategy of the Galilee-Golan." December 12-14, 1993. Boston, Massachusetts. 13. Society of Biblical Literature. Annual Meeting. "Will the Real Julia Please Stand Up?" Views toward the Honorific Re-Naming of Bethsaida-Julias." Iilif School of Theology. American Academy of Religion and the Society of Biblical Literature Rocky Mountain/Great Plains Regional Meeting, April, 1995. Denver, Colorado. 14. Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting. "Bethsaida and Gamla: A Comparison". Denver School of Theology. The American Academy of Religion and the Society of Biblical Literature Rocky Mountain/Great Plains Regional Meeting, April 26-27, 1996. Denver, Colorado. 15. Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting. “Tiglath-Pileser III’s War Against the City of Tzer/Bethsaida-Julias,” Mid-Atlantic Society of Biblical Literature Regional Meeting, February 25-26, 1999. Arlington, Virginia.

B. The following conferences took place in the U.S. but are international conferences 1. Biblical Archaeology for the 21st Century: Conference and Reunion. “Tiglath-Pileser’s War against Bethsaida,” University of Nebraska at Omaha, November 9-11, 1999.

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2. Biblical Archaeology for the 21st Century: A Symposium and Reunion. “Destruction of the City or the City-Gate?” University of Nebraska at Omaha, November 11-14, 2000. 3. Biblical Archaeology for the 21st Century: Conference and Reunion. “Caves, Coins, and Cavities: A Study of the Geographical Limits of the Bar Kokhba Rebellion” University of Nebraska at Omaha, October 25-27, 2001. These conferences became renamed in honor of the person who had been funding them. They subsequently became known as: 4. The Fourth Annual Clifton J. Batchelder Biblical Archaeology Conference and Bethsaida Reunion. “Tzer/Tzed and Two Centuries of Terror: Destruction, Data, and Bethsaida’s Iron Age II B City” University of Nebraska at Omaha, October 24-26, 2002. 5. The Fifth Annual Clifton J. Batchelder Biblical Archaeology Conference and Bethsaida Reunion. “Kinneret, Hazor and Dan: Iron Age Cities in the Galilee and their Relation to Tzer/Tzed (et-Tell)” University of Nebraska at Omaha, October 30-November 1, 2003. 6. The Sixth Annual Clifton J. Batchelder Biblical Archaeology Conference and Bethsaida Reunion. "From David (Almost) to Jesus: Archaeological and Literary Trajectories through Messianism." University of Nebraska at Omaha, October 28-30, 2004. 7. The Seventh Annual Clifton J. Batchelder Biblical Archaeology Conference. "Breaking Torah for the Sake of Torah (Work on the Sabbath): Piquah Nefesh and Some Interpretations." University of Nebraska at Omaha, November 10-12, 2005. 8. The Eighth Annual Clifton J. Batchelder Biblical Archaeology Conference. “Twenty Years of Excavating et-Tell/Bethsaida: A Personal Retrospective.” University of Nebraska at Omaha, November 9-12, 2006.

C. University/College Conferences and Colloquia 1. Michigan State University. "Justification By Fresh Thought Alone: Pauline Pastoral Hermeneutics Versus Its Competition." Dean of the College of Arts and Letters Lecture Series. 1984. 2. Michigan State University. "Light from Supernatural Light: Jesus, Hanukkah and the Cleansing of the Temple." The Dean of the College of Arts and Letters Lecture Series. February, 1985. 3. Lansing Community College. "The Hebrew Prophets." World

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Civilization Program. October, 1985. Taped and televised on Lansing Public Television. 4. Michigan State University. "Medieval and Renaissance ChristianJewish Hebrew Scholarship: How It Influenced Martin Luther." The Dean of the College of Arts and Letters Lecture Series. December 1, 1987. 5. Michigan State University. "One Flower in the Bouquet of the Galilee: The Discovery and Excavation of et-Tell/Bethsaida-Julias." Presentation as part of the Department of Religious Studies Faculty Colloquium, Faculty and Allied Research Series. Minnesota Room, MSU Union. April 12, 1993. 6. Michigan State University. "Doing Theology of History Using Skin Color: Scribal Hermeneutics and Military Power in Post-Josianic Judah, 609-587 BCE." Department of Religious Studies Faculty Colloquium, Faculty and Allied Research Series. Minnesota Room, MSU Union Building. February 4, 1994. 7. Michigan State University. "The Roman War against Bethsaida-Julias and Gamla." Consortium for Archaeological Research Spring 1994 Symposium. MSU Archaeology: Today and Tomorrow. April 22, 1994. 8. Michigan State University. "Josephus, Tacitus, and the Honorific Renaming of Bethsaida-Julias." Department of Religious Studies Faculty Colloquium, Faculty and Allied Research Series. Northwestern Room, MSU Union Building. March 24, 1995. 9. Michigan State University. "Comparative Prophecy: Divination and Magic in the Biblical and Samaritan Pentateuchs: The Case of Balaam: Priest, Prophet, and Diviner." With a Response by Professor Robert T. Anderson, Senior Professor, Department of Religious Studies). Department of Religious Studies Faculty Colloquium, Faculty and Allied Research Series. 213 Agricultural Hall. October 25, 1996. 10.Michigan State University. "Ten Years of Excavating et-Tel (Bethsaida-Julias)," A Slide Presentation and Screening of the Documentary The Lost City Of Bethsaida: A Biblical City Found In Modern Times. Presentation as part of the Department of Religious Studies Colloquium, Faculty and Allied Research Series. Northwestern Room, MSU Union. April 24, 1998.

D. International Conferences (With two exceptions, primarily outside the U.S.) 1. Andrews University. Berrien Springs, Michigan: The International

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Conference on the Archaeological Discoveries at Ebla in Northwestern Syria in 1974. (1984). Professor Greene was a Panelist addressing the question: "What About Ebla and the Bible?" Ebla, a new archaeological discovery in northern Syria, produced thousands of clay-baked tablets which have necessitated a radical re-thinking of much of the history of ancient northwest Syria-Palestine and Biblical literature. 2. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. "Bethsaida-Julias in both the Roman and Jewish Military Strategies for the Galilee-Golan during the First Jewish Rebellion against Rome, 66-73 C.E." July 2528, 1993. Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität. Münster, Germany. 3. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. "Will The Real Julia Please Stand?: Views Toward The Honorific Renaming of Bethsaida-Julias." July 23-27, 1995. Pazmany Pe´ter Catholic University, Budapest, Hungary. 4. From Athens to Jerusalem International Conference. "The Roman War against Bethsaida and Gamla." April 18-20, 1996, the University of Nebraska at Lincoln and at Omaha. 5. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. "Bethsaida and Gamla: A Comparison." July 27-30, 1997. Universite´ de Lausanne, Institut romand des sciences bibliques, Lausanne, Switzerland. 6. The Ginosar, Israel Millennium Conference on the Sea of Galilee. "Tiglath-Pileser III's War against the Inhabitants of Tzer (BethsaidaJulias) in 732 B.C.E.". Nof Ginosar Hotel, Kibbutz Ginosar, Israel. June 25-30, 2000. 7. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. “Caves and Coins as Boundary Markers During the Bar Kokhba Rebellion: A Quest for a Strategy of Evading and Engaging the Romans and their Supporters.” Pontifical Gregorian University, Rome, Italy. July 8-13, 2001. 8. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. “Who Destroyed Level 5 at Bethsaida?: Aramean Angst, Assyrian Anger, or Israelite Insecurity?: The Problem of Correlating Evidence and the Relative Association of Elements of Material Culture" Humboldt Universitaet zu Berlin, Berlin, Germany July 19-22, 2002. 9. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. “Did the Tenth Century B.C.E. Exist Only at Tzer/Bethsaida-Julias?: An Investigation/Evaluation of an Allegedly Lost Century" Cambridge University, Cambridge, England, July 20-25, 2003. 10. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. "Iron Age Tzer: Preliminary Studies toward a History of the Religion of the Geshurites who Dwelt There." The University of Groningen, Groningen, the

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Netherlands, July 25-28, 2004.

E. Double Presentations 1. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. "Christian Interpretations of the Akedat Itzhaq' (The Binding of Isaac): Literary and Artistic Trajectories through Formative Christianity." Trinity Theological College, Singapore, June 26-July 1, 2005. 2. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. "Josephus and the Homeless of Julias: A Tale of Two Cities." Bethsaida Research Project Trinity Theological College, Singapore, June 26-July 1, 2005. 3. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. “A Non-Pauline Case of Justification: Elijah, Jesus, and the Christian Messiah.” University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, Scotland, July 2-6, 2006. 4. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. “Assyrian Military Tactics and the Military Artifacts of Iron IIB Tzer (Et-Tell): A Study in Context.” Bethsaida Research Project University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, Scotland, July 2-6, 2006. 5. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. “The Resurrection(s) of Eve: Reversing the Fortunes of the Theios Aner and Other Saviors.” University of Vienna, Austria, 2007. 6. Society of Biblical Literature International Meeting. "Of Columns and Horns: Bethsaida’s Crio-Morphic Image in Context.“ King’s College, London, U.K. July 4-8, 2011.

F. Invitated Lectures 1. A Series of Six Presentations Delivered Between October 1 and November 5, 2008 to the 1st United Methodist Church of Mason, Michigan. 2. “Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: An Introductory Overview” (2 Lectures-Oct. 1 & 8) “Israel the Jewish People: Defining Israel After 540 B.C.E. The Judaism of the Five Books of Moses” (1 Lecture-Oct. 15) 3. “The Judaism of the Five Books of Moses, Plus the Scribes, Sages, and Rabbis” (1 Lecture-Oct. 22) “Islam: An Introduction to its Basic Worldview and Development” (2 Lectures-Oct. 29& Nov.5) 4. "The Political Origins of Ancient Near Eastern Creation Myths." Delivered to the Michigan State University Freethinker Alliance, April 20, 2005. 5. “Michigan in the Civil War: Rationale for Why the North Fought the

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War, and the Military Enlistments and Activities of Three Sons of Stockbridge.” The Stockbridge, Michigan Genealogical/Historical Society. October 21, 2003. 6. “Sixteen Years of Excavations at Et-Tell: The Archaeological Features of Tzer/Bethsaida-Julias” and “Constantinople, Queen Helena, and the New Atlas of the Holy Land: Identifying Authentic Sites.” The Cobb Institute of Archaeology and the Department of Philosophy and Religion, College of Arts & Sciences. Mississippi State University. February 15-17, 2003. 7. “The Archaeological Excavation of Bethsaida-Julias after Eight Seasons.” Congregation Kehillat Israel. Lansing, Michigan. February 25, 1996. 8. "The Archaeology of the Galilee and the Golan". A series of five lectures and slide presentations invited by Elderhostel, Inc. Butzel Conference Center. Ann Arbor, Michigan. March 29-30, 1993. 9. "The Balaam Figure and Type Revisited in the Light of Richard Elliott Friedman's New Documentary Hypothesis." Congregation Kehillat Israel. Lansing, Michigan. February 23, 1992. 10. "The Ancient Near Eastern Roots of Negroid Africans and the Old Testament: Who Was Liberated from Egypt and When Did the Diaspora Experience Begin for Africans and Jews?" Presented in Honor of Black Studies Month at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. February 13, 1992. 11. "The Pastor as Preacher in the Old Testament/Hebrew Scriptures." The Shaw University. Raleigh, North Carolina. March, 1992. 12. "The Pastor as Preacher in the New Testament." The Shaw University. Raleigh, North Carolina. March, 1992. 13. "The Bethsaida Archaeological Research Project (Israel): An Overview and the Results of Four Seasons of Excavating." Presented to the Michigan State University Jewish Faculty Association. December 3, 1991. 14. "Scribal Hermeneutics and Military Power in Post-Josianic Judah: Views of the Final Decades of Judah Through the Activities of Yehudi the Scribe and (the) Ebedmelech." at the African Diaspora Research Project. Michigan State University. July 7, 1991. 15. "The Pastor Model of Ezra: Its Development as a Metaphor Up to Greco-Roman Times." The Shaw University. Raleigh, North Carolina. March, 1985. 16. "The Pastor Model of the Hebrew Scriptures/Old Testament: From Socio-Economic Origin to Socio-Political Development." The Shaw University. Raleigh, North Carolina. March, 1985.

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17. "Religion and the Black Church in America: African Americans and Biblical Hermeneutics." MSU Observance of Black History Month. February 1985. 18. "The Presence of Negroid Blacks in the Biblical World and the World of Late Antiquity." MSU Observance of Black History Month. February 1985. 19. "Whatever Your Dad Does, Mine Does It Better: The Ubiquitous Element in Biblical Preaching." The Shaw University. Raleigh, North Carolina. March 22, 1984. 20. "Thy Kingdom Come: God as Redeemer of the Commonwealth of Spiritual Israel in Post-Exilic Preaching." The Shaw University. Raleigh, North Carolina. March 21, 1984. 21. "The Sefire Documents: A Study of Ancient Near Eastern Treaty Form and the Possibility of Its Use in the Study of the Covenants Contained in the Hebrew Scriptures." Congregation Kehillat Israel. Lansing, Michigan. January 27, 1984.

University Service 2004: 2004: 2003-4: 2000-Present: 1998-2003: 1995-1998: 1995-1999: 1993-2000: 1995-96: 1993: 1991-1992: 1989-1991:

Chairperson, Department Advisory Committee Chairperson, Department of Religious Studies SelfStudy Committee Member, Search Committee in South Asian Religious and Philosophical Studies College of Arts and Letters Study Abroad Review Committee College of Arts and Letters College Curriculum Committee College of Arts and Letters College Advisory Committee College of Arts and Letters Overseas Study Committee Chairperson. Editorial Review Committee. Michigan State University Press Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). Department of English. Position: Chairperson Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). Department of Philosophy. Position: Ancient Philosophy Lilly Endowment Teaching Fellows Project. Office of the Provost Senior Co-Chairperson. Faculty Seminar Series. Office of the Provost.

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1989-1990: 1990-1991: 1990-1993: 1990-1996: 1989-1991: 1983: 1983: 1983-1984: 1984-1985: 1985-1986: 1985-1986: 1986: 1984-1985: 1984: 1985: 1985-1986: 1986: 1987-1988:

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College of Arts and Letters College Advisory Committee Junior Co-Chairperson. Faculty Seminar Series. Office of the Provost. College of Arts and Letters Overseas Study Committee College of Arts and Letters Overseas Advisory Committee to Director of Overseas Study Program College of Arts and Letters Overseas Study Committee (Chairman) Middle East Studies Committee Jewish Studies Committee Faculty/Academic Council Faculty/Academic Council Faculty/Academic Council Non-Tenured Elected Member of the Faculty Liaison Group to the Board of Trustees University Student Appeals Board Member. Office of the President Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). James Madison College. Position: Justice, Morality, and Constitutional Democracy Faculty Search Committee. Department of Religious Studies. Position: History of Religions Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). Department of Philosophy. Position: Continental Philosopher Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). Department of Linguistic and Germanic, Asian, Slavic and African Languages. Position: Germanistic Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). Department of Philosophy. Position: Ancient Philosophy Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). James Madison College. Position: Justice, Morality, and Constitutional Democracy

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1989-1990: 1986: 1986:

1986: 1986-1987: 1985: 1985-1986:

Faculty Search Committee (External Consultant). Department of Romance and Classical Languages. Position: Latinist Scholarship Committee Member. Distinguished Minority Freshman Scholarship Program. Office of the Provost Program Presenter. MSU High School Scholars Program. Spring Conference for the Ninth Grade Scholars and Parents. Office of Admissions and Scholarships Seminar Leader. MSU Black Graduate Student Association Spring Conference and Awards Program. Theme: Surviving Graduate School and Beyond University Committee on the Academic Environment. Office of the Secretary for Academic Governance. Committee Member. All-University Research Initiation Grant Committee. College of Arts and Letters. Office of the Dean Committee Member. The Black Thinkers Colloquium. Organizers of the Observance of Black History Month

Professional Organizations (Past and/or Current) Michigan Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters. Philo of Alexandria Research Project. African-American Theology and Biblical Hermeneutics Group. Society of Biblical Literature. International Society of Biblical Literature American Academy of Religion. American Schools of Oriental Research College Theology Society. National Association of Professors of Hebrew. American Schools of Oriental Research. The Bethsaida Archaeological Research Project-Co-Director. Phi Alpha Theta. National History Honor Society. Phi Beta Delta. Society of International Scholars. Society for the Study of Black Religion. The John and Carol Merrill Cave of the Letters Archaeological Research Project. Biblical Characters in the Three Traditions Seminar of the Society of Biblical Literature-Co-Convener and Co-Editor.

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Student Advising 1989-1991:

Senior Advisor to MSU Chapter of Mortarboard, Inc.

1988-1989:

Associate Advisor to MSU Chapter of Mortarboard, Inc.

1987-1988:

Assistant Advisor to MSU Chapter of Mortarboard, Inc.

Pedagogics A. Discipline and Curriculum Religious Studies Scriptural and Historical Studies/History of Religions: Ancient Israelite History and Religions; Field Archaeology of Ancient Israel; Early Formative Judaisms; Modern Hebrew Language Studies. Ancient Languages: Hebrew, Aramaic, Ugaritic, Syriac, Arabic, Sanskrit. Modern Languages: Hebrew, Arabic, German, French.

B. Courses 2006 (Spring) Michigan State University: A Critical Introduction to the Epistles of Paul; Myth, Self, and Religion. (Fall) Early Christianity and Formative Judaism: A Parallel History; Myth, Self, and Religion 2005 (Spring): Michigan State University: A Critical Introduction to the Epistles of Paul; Myth, Self, and Religion. (Fall) Myth, Self, and Religion; Introduction to the Old Testament/Hebrew Scriptures 2004-2005: Michigan State University: A Critical Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures/Old Testament; Myth, Self, and Religion (Fall Semester) 2003-2004: Michigan State University. A Critical Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures/Old Testament; Myth, Self, and Religion 2002-2003: Michigan State University. Introduction to the Old Testament/Hebrew Scriptures (Both Semesters); Myth, Self, and Religion(s) (Directed a graduate assistant); Introduction to Biblical Hebrew (An intensive directed study); The Archaeology of Ancient Israel (canceled) 2001-2002: Michigan State University. Early Christianity and Formative Judaism; Introduction to the New Testament; Myth, Self and Religion; Introduction to the Old Testament 2000-2001: Michigan State University. Myth, Self and Religion (Four Sections [two each semester]); Introduction to the New Testament

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(each semester); An Intensive Introduction to Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Aramaic 1999-2000: Michigan State University. Myth, Self and Religion; The Political Context of the Development of the Hebrew Scriptures (canceled); Communication Theory and Praxis in the Ancient Near East (canceled); Introduction to the New Testament 1998-1999: Michigan State University. Early Christianity and Formative Judaism; Myth, Self, and Religion (Two Semesters); the Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphal Literature of Ancient Israel 1997-1998: Michigan State University. The New Testament Against Its Cultural Backdrop; Myth, Self, and Religion(s); Communication Theory and Praxis in the Ancient Near East 1996-1997: Michigan State University. The New Testament Against Its Cultural Backdrop; Early Christianity and Formative Judaism; Myth, Self, and Religion(s). 1995-1996: Michigan State University. Communication Theory and Praxis in the Ancient Near East; The Political Context of the Development of the Hebrew Scriptures; Intermediate, Modern Hebrew 201-202. 1994-1995: Michigan State University. Communication Theory and Praxis in the Ancient Near East; The Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphal Literature of the Old Testament/Hebrew Scriptures. 1994-1995: Sabbatical Leave Fall Semester, 1995 to complete one significant monograph, Communication Theory and Praxis in Crisis: The Case of CHRIST in Paul's Thought, and advanced the manuscript of a second Civil War book, The Civil War Correspondence of Sergeant Orrin K. Brownell, 1862-1865). 1993-1994: Michigan State University. Intermediate, Modern Hebrew 201-202. 1992-1993: Michigan State University. Elementary, Modern Hebrew 101102. 1991-1992: Michigan State University. Intermediate, Modern Hebrew 201, 202, 203. 1990-1991: Michigan State University. Elementary, Modern Hebrew 101, 102, 103. 1989-1990: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel (A Two-Term Course); Modern Hebrew 201, New Testament/Early Christianity; Modern Hebrew 202; Modern Hebrew 203. 1988-1989: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel (A Two-Term Course); Archaeology of the Ancient Near East; Western Religions: Judaism, Christianity, Islam (In the Light of Zoroastrianism); Sex, Magic, and Religions of the Ancient Near East;

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Modern Hebrew 101, 102, 103. Summer/1989: University of Haifa, Israel. Introduction to Archaeological Field Methodology. (Tell Bethsaida-Julias, Israel); History of Ancient Israelite Religions; Accelerated Modern Hebrew. 1987-1988: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel (A Two-Term Course); New Testament/Early Christianity; Western Religions: Judaism, Christianity, Islam (In the Light of Zoroastrianism); Modern Hebrew 201, 202, 203. Summer/1988: University of Haifa, Israel. Introduction to Archaeological Field Methodology. (Tell Bethsaida-Julias, Israel); History of Ancient Israelite Religions; Accelerated Modern Hebrew. 1986-1987: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel (One Term Only); Western Religions: Judaism, Christianity, Islam; New Testament/Early Christianity; Modern Hebrew 102, 103. 1986-1987: Sabbatical Leave, Fall 1986 to research and write one significant monograph, The Role of the Messenger and Message in the Ancient Near East and one chapter for a Festschrift ("Jesus of Galilee and Judas the Maccabee: Hero Worship or Messianic Machinations?") 1985-1986: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel (A Two-Term Course); New Testament/Early Christianity; Modern Hebrew 101, 102, 103, 201, 202, 203. Summer/1985: University of Haifa, Israel. Introduction to Archaeological Field Methodology (Ancient Ruins of Gamla, Israeli Occupied Golan Heights); History of Ancient Israelite Religions; Accelerated, Modern Hebrew. 1984-1985: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel; Western Religions: Judaism, Christianity, Islam (In the Light of Zoroastrianism); New Testament/Early Christianity; Modern Hebrew 101, 102, 103, 201, 202, 203. 1983-1984: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel; Letters of Paul; New Testament/Early Christianity; Modern Hebrew 101, 102, 103, 201, 202, 203. 1982-1983: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel; Letters of Paul; New Testament/Early Christianity; Modern Hebrew 101, 102, 103, 201, 202, 203. 1981-1982: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel (Two Terms); Western Religions: Judaism, Christianity, Islam (Two Sections); The Letters of Paul; Perspectives on the Lives of Jesus; Hebrew 101, 102, 103. 1980-1981: Michigan State University. Old Testament/Ancient Israel (OneTerm); New Testament/Early Christianity; Perspectives on the

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Lives of Jesus; The Letters of Paul; Western Religions; Judaism, Christianity, Islam (Two Sections). Developed Modern Hebrew Language Courses.

CONCLUSION JOHN T. GREENE, COLLEAGUE AND COMPATRIOT J. HAROLD ELLENS

I had the immense good fortune of meeting Professor John T. Greene for the first time at the ISBL conference in Amsterdam a decade ago. It proved to be a life-changing experience from which developed a friendship that is even more dear to me than my relationship to my much beloved brothers. John has become a friend and a brother. It is quite astonishing to me that during my tenure at the University of Michigan in Second Temple Judaism and Christian Origins at the Near Eastern Studies Department from 1990 to 2010 I never became acquainted with John T. Greene despite the fact that he was only one hour away, working in a corollary discipline, at Michigan State University. It must have had something to do with the fact that the Wolverines tended to eat the Spartans whenever they got a chance. John and I not only share the experience of long careers at the two preeminent Michigan universities, but also both celebrate considerable time as eminent soldiers in the US Army, an aspect of our careers that we still celebrate together. We have had that opportunity during the last decade of working together on publications and sharing each other's hospitality. John has enlivened my life immensely with his creative and sophisticated sense of humor and infinitely funny memories. I am very pleased with the enthusiastic interest of the co-authors of this volume for celebrating the life and work of our dear friend. I have noted that their love, esteem, and admiration for Professor John T. Greene is as enthusiastic as my own.

INDEX

Agrippa (Herod) 238ff, 360-94 Ahlstrom, G. W. 52ff Albertz, Reiner, 213 Albright, W. F. 37ff Alexandré, Yardenna 259ff Amiran, Ruth 53ff Arav, Rami (throughout) Artifacts 55ff Assyria 2-13, 48 Attridge, Harold W. 256 Augustus 396-436 Aviam, Mordecai 137 Avigad, N. 54ff Bagatti, Bellarmino 258ff Basilica of the Annunciation 260 Baum, B. 102ff Bernett, O. 205ff Beth Alon Museum 85 Bethel 330-59 Bethsaida (throughout) Biran, Avraham 54ff, 129ff, Bisi, Anna Maria 71ff Blomquist, Tina 49ff Borowski, O. 100ff Brandl, Baruch 206 British Museum 7, 10 Broshi, M. 109 Burke, Aaron, 129ff Caesarea xi, 40ff, 219ff, 223, 227ff, 245ff, 259, Capernaum xii, xiv, 30ff, 224 Catron, J. E. 56ff Chorazin 31-35, 224 Cicero 396-436 Claudius 403ff Cohen, Leonard 470-483 Coins xiii, 153-187, 224, 247, 261 Colosseum 396-436 Council of the 500 445

Criterion of Authenticity 273ff Crucifixion 225ff, 396ff, 405ff, 430 Dalman, G. 37ff Damascus 4, 6, 362ff, Dan xi, 9, 54ff, 95 Dark, Ken R. 260 David xi, xiii, xv,6, 220, 277ff, 31lff, 367ff, 470ff, 484-500 Davies, R. W. 107ff De Haas, R., 43ff Deines, Roland 136 Eames, Alan, 196-97 Ebreo, Leone 318ff Edelmann, Diane, 212 Eusebius 32ff, 66, 227 Exum, J. Cheryl 324ff Ezekiel 13, 200 Finley, Moses I. 444ff Fishing xi, xv, 195, 221ff Freedman, David Noel 502 Freyne, Sean 253 Gaius 396-436 Galilee 4, 28ff, 47, 253ff Gamla 40, 135, 137ff Gate of Heaven 351ff Geshur x, xi-xv, 6, 12, 47, 49, 204ff, 215-30, 308ff Gilead 2, 4, 3, 7 Gods 11ff, 52ff, 63-77, 203ff, 207ff, 250, 275ff, 339 Gospel of Mark 28ff, 215-30. 255ff, 452 Gospel of Matthew 29ff, 215ff, 255ff, 452 Gospel of John 28ff, 215-30, 256, 430 Gospel of Luke 29ff, 39, 215-30 Granaries 9ff Grant, A. 101ff

Bethsaida in Archaeology, History and Ancient Culture Grantham, B. J. 107ff Grayson, D. K. 90ff Hasmoneans 29, 218ff, 254 Hellwing, S. 102ff Hengel, Martin 134ff, 229ff Herodians 29, 220ff, 265 Herodias 360-94 Herod the Great 232-51, 254, 36094 Hesse, B. 92ff Horace 396-436 International Marian Center 264 Jesus' Disciples x, xi, xiii, 28, 215ff, 225ff, 249, 255ff, 449-468 Jewish Burial Customs 396-436 Jordan xi, 7, 29, 33ff, 47, 75, 78, Josephus, Flavius xi, xiv, 23, 36ff, 219ff, 233ff, 252ff, 258, 360-94, 400-36 Julias xi, xiv, xx, 34ff Katz, Jill 48-57 Keel, M. 295ff Kinneret xii, 3, 63ff, 85, 99, 105 Kopp, C 37ff Kraeling, E. 37ff Lachish 7, 10ff, 102ff Lernau, H. 102ff Lernau, O. 102ff Lightfoot, J 37ff Livy 396-436 Macalister, R. A. S., 122-133 Macalister's Wall and Outer Gate, 122-133 Magness, Jodi 135ff, 427, 431 Maps of the Holy Land 32-36 Marshall, F. 90ff Martin, J. 444ff Mary's Well 259, 261ff Mastermann, E. W. G. 37ff McCown, Chester 42 Megiddo 4, 9 Michal 311ff, 470-478 Murphy, Roland E. 322ff Nathan, 493ff Nazareth 252ff Nero 403ff

533

Notley, S 37ff O'Connor, T. P. 86ff Parker, P. 28 Patriarchs 188, 324ff, 330ff Payne, S. 90ff Petronius 396-436 Philip (Herod) xiv, 39ff, 218ff, 23251, 261, 360-94 Philo Judaeus 408-436 Phoenician Influence 55, 63-77, 203-14 Pilgrim, T. 90ff Plautus 396-436 Pliny the Elder xi, xiv, 36, Pope, Marvin 324 Plutarch 423 Pritchard, J. B. 55 Qumran 426ff Rabbis/Rabbinic Judaism 380ff, 449-468 Redding, R. W. 96ff, 110ff, Reed, Jonathan L. 253 Renan, Ernst 37ff Renfrew, Colin 48, 51ff, Robinson, Edward 37ff Rodevald, Regine Hunziker 74ff Saaraleinen, Katri 68ff Sakenfeld, Karen Doob 310ff Salm, René 252ff Saul 311ff, 470ff Savage, Carl D. 90ff, 134ff, 254 Schmitz, W. 444ff Sea of Galilee 6, 29ff, 38, 47, 68 Seger, J. D. 102ff Senacherib 5ff Seneca 396-436 Shalmaneser 4ff Shumacher, G 37ff Silver, I. A. 98ff Sisters of Nazareth Convent 252ff Smith, G 37ff Solomon 324ff St Alban's Bible 33 Stavrakopoulou, F. 213 Sternberg, Meir 501 Stiner, M. 101ff

534 Strabo 36 Strickert, F. 107ff Suetonius 396-436 Sulla 396-436 Tacitus 396-436 Talmai, xiii, 220ff Tarpeian Rock 396-436 Thackeray, H. St. J. 32, 365 Tiber 396-436 Tiberius 255, 396-436 Tiglath-Pilezer III xiii, 2-25, 48ff, Tzed 2, 27 Uehlinger, Christoph 55 Urman, D. 37ff

Index Vermes, Geza 253ff Vespasian 407ff Vilnay, Z. 33ff Voltaire 432 Wapnish, P. 92ff Wattenmaker, P. 92ff Wilken, K. E. 43ff Wilson, Charles W. 37ff Women in the Bible 188-202, 306ff Yadin, Yigal, 128ff Yarbro-Collins, Adela 256 Yehohanan 396-436 Zeder, M. A. 92ff Ziggurat 330-59