Doubling and Duplicating in the Book of Genesis: Literary and Stylistic Approaches to the Text 9781575064550

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Doubling and Duplicating in the Book of Genesis

Doubling and Duplicating in the Book of Genesis Literary and Stylistic Approaches to the Text

edited by

Elizabeth R. Hayes and Karolien Vermeulen

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2016

© Copyright 2016 Eisenbrauns All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Hayes, Elizabeth R. (Elizabeth Russell), 1952–  editor. | Vermeulen, Karolien, editor. Title: Doubling and duplicating in the Book of Genesis : literary and stylistic approaches to the text / edited by Elizabeth Hayes and Karolien Vermeulen. Description: Winona Lake, Indiana : Eisenbrauns, 2016. | “The essays in this volume were initially presented at the joint session of the Stylistics and the Hebrew Bible section of the International Society of Biblical Literature and the “Literary Figures”: Fact of Fiction section of the European Association of Biblical Studies at the 2014 meeting in Vienna.”—Preface. | Includes bibliographical references and indexes. Identifiers: LCCN 2016020813 | ISBN 9781575064543 (hardback : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Bible. Genesis—Criticism, interpretation, etc.— Congresses. | Bible. Genesis—Language, style—Congresses. | Hebrew language—Parallelism—Congresses. Classification: LCC BS1235.52 .D66 2016 | DDC 222/.11066—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016020813 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48–1984. ♾™

Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi General xi Reference Works  xii Introduction: The Stylistics of Genesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Karolien Vermeulen The Genesis of Doubling and Duplicating 1 Style and the Hebrew Bible  2 The Structure of Doubling and Duplicating 3 In Conclusion  6

Part 1

Formal Doubles and the Whole 1. Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal: The Verb ‫ פצר‬in Biblical Narrative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 George Savran Introduction 9 Urging in Genesis  12 Persistence in the Former Prophets  18 Determination Met with Doubled Refusal  21 Conclusion 25 2. The Expulsion of Ishmael Narrative: Boundaries, Structure, and Meaning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Jonathan Grossman The Question of Cohesion in Genesis 21:1–21  27 Two Sons, Two Mothers, One Father, One Unit  29 Banished by Sarah, Sent by Abraham  32 The Rebirth of Ishmael  35 3. The Proof-and-Play of Quoted Speech in the Joseph Story (Genesis 37–50) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Samuel Hildebrandt Introduction 39 The Proof-and-Play of Quoted Speech  40 v

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Contents Quoted Speech in the Joseph Story  42 Conclusion 55

4. The Intersection of Orality and Style in Biblical Hebrew: Metapragmatic Representations of Dialogue in Genesis 34 . . . . . . . 57 Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Jacobus A. Naudé Introduction 57 Orality, Scribal Practice, and Hearing-Dominant Cultures  58 Style, Linguistics, and Sociolinguistics  61 Metapragmatics and the Representation of Speech  63 Orality and Style in Genesis 34  67 Conclusion 76 5. Alliteration in the Book of Genesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Gary A. Rendsburg

Part 2

Thematic Pairs 6. One, Two, or Three . . . ? The Confusion of the Trees in Genesis 2–3 and Its Hermeneutical Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michaela Bauks The Trees of the Garden of Eden  100 The Tree of Life in a Wisdom Context  102 The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil  103 The Changing of Meaning of “the Knowledge of Good and Evil”  106 The Changing Meaning of Life in Genesis 3:22  108 Conclusion 110

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7. The Art of Blessing and Cursing in Genesis 1–11: Stylistic Patterns and Their Ideological Motivation . . . . . . . . . . . 113 Karolien Vermeulen Introduction 113 Findings 114 Conclusion 127 Appendix: Genesis 1–11 Blessings and Curses  128 8. Distinguishing Abraham from the “Terahides”: The Ideology of Separation behind Etiology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 Zvi Shimon An Incomplete Journey and Report  130 The Function(s) of the Terah Unit  133

Contents

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Contrasting Migrations  134 Reevaluating Abram’s Migration  137 Patriarchal and Other Ancient Migrations: Hebrews and Ḫabiru  138 Constructing Israelite Identity  141

Part 3

Doubling Plots and Duplicating Stories 9. Whose World? Whose Time? A Text World Theory Examination of the Style and Message of Genesis 1:1­­­–2:25 . . . . . . . 145 Elizabeth R. Hayes Theoretically Speaking: Text World Basics  145 Artists Build a World: Reception History of Genesis 1:1–2:25  151 Modern Interpreters Build a World  155 Genesis 1:1–2:4a: A Text World Model  161 Summary and Conclusion  165 10. Double-Plotting in the Garden: Stylistics of Ambiguity in Genesis 2–3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167 Karalina Matskevich Binarity and Ambivalence in Genesis 2–3: Preliminary Observations  167 The Voices of Yahweh Elohim and the Serpent  170 “Let Us Make for Him a Helper”: Closing the Gap  175 The Two Plots of Yahweh Elohim  178 11. Inclusio in Genesis 28 and 32: Synchronically and Diachronically . . 183 Urmas Nõmmik The Inclusio in Genesis 28:10–29:1  184 The Inclusio in Genesis 32:22–33  191 Concluding Reflections  196 Indexes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 Index of Ancient and Modern Authors  199 Index of Scripture  204

Preface The essays in this volume were initially presented at the joint session of the Stylistics and the Hebrew Bible section of the International Society of Biblical Literature and the “Literary Figures”: Fact of Fiction section of the European Association of Biblical Studies at the 2014 meeting in Vienna. We continue to be grateful for the congenial working environment provided by the joint efforts of the European Association of Biblical Studies and the International Society of Biblical Literature. Many thanks are due to the ISBL committee, Rosemari Lillas, Zvi Shimon, Gary Rendsburg, and Scott Noe­ gel, whose behind-the-scenes counsel and support have caused the section to flourish. Thanks are also due to Cynthia Miller-Naudé and Jacobus Naudé for their encouragement and practical assistance, which have contributed greatly to this volume. Finally, particular thanks go to Jim Eisenbraun, both for accepting the manuscript and for his invaluable direction along the way, and to Beverly McCoy, whose sure-footed guidance has ushered the essays from manuscript to book. —Elizabeth Hayes and Karolien Vermeulen Seattle and Antwerp March 2016

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Abbreviations General ch(s). chapter(s) cstr. construct diss. dissertation E Elohistic source or writer EABS European Association for Biblical Studies EB Early Bronze age ed. edited by, editor, edition EIN Einheitsübersetzung (Unity Translation of the Bible in German) Heb. Hebrew IVP InterVarsity Press J Yahwistic source or writer JPS Jewish Publication Society version KJV King James Version lit. literally LXX Septuagint MB Middle Bronze age ms manuscript MT Masoretic Text n(n). note(s) no(s). number(s) NET New English Translation NIV New International Version NJPS New Jewish Publication Society version NKJV New King James Version NRSV New Revised Standard Version P Priestly source or writer pl. plural sg. singular SV Statenvertaling (Dutch version of the Bible) Tg. Targum TOB Traduction Oecuménique de la Bible (French Ecumenical translation of the Bible) trans. translated by, translator Vulg. Vulgate v(v). verse(s) Willibrord De Bijbel uit de grondtekst vertaald: Willibrord vertaling (Dutch Northumbrian version of the Bible)

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xii

Abbreviations

Reference Works AB ABD

Anchor Bible Freedman, David Noel, editor. The Anchor Bible Dictionary. 6 vols. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1992 ABR Australian Biblical Review AIL Ancient Israel and Its Literature ANESSup Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplements AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament AOS American Oriental Series AYBRL Anchor Yale Bible Reference Library BA Biblical Archaeologist BDB Brown, Francis, S. R. Driver, and Charles A. Briggs. Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford: Clarendon, 1907 BETL Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium Bib Biblica BibInt Biblical Interpretation BLS Bible and Literature Series BN Biblische Notizen BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft CAD Gelb, Ignace J., et al., editors. The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. 21 vols. (A–Z). Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1956–2011 CBET Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly ConBOT Coniectanea Biblica, Old Testament DBAT Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament und seiner Rezeption in der Alten Kirche DCH Clines, David J. A., editor. Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. 9 vols. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 1993–2014 DDD Toorn, Karel van der, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. van der Horst, editors. Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Leiden: Brill, 1999 EHLL Khan, Geoffrey, editor. Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics. 4 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2013 EncJud Skolnik, Fred, and Michael Berenbaum, editors. Encyclopedia Judaica. 2nd ed. 22 vols. Detroit, MI: Macmillan Reference, 2007 FOTL Forms of the Old Testament Literature FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments GKC Kautzsch, Emil, editor. Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar. Translated by Arthur E. Cowley. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1910 HALOT Koehler, Ludwig, Walter Baumgartner, and Johann J. Stamm. The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Translated and edited under supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. 5 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1994–2000 HBS Herders biblische Studien HKAT Handkommentar zum Alten Testament HS Hebrew Studies

Abbreviations

xiii

HTR Harvard Theological Review HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual ICC International Critical Commentary Int Interpretation ISBL Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature JAJ Journal of Ancient Judaism JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JBQ Jewish Bible Quarterly JBTh Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages JSJSup Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplements JTS Journal of Theological Studies LHBOTS Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies NAC New American Commentary NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament NIDOTTE VanGemeren, Willem A., editor. New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis. 5 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1997 OBO Orbis biblicus et orientalis OED Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd ed. 20 vols. Oxford: Clarendon; New York: Oxford University Press, 1989 OTL Old Testament Library OTS Oudtestamentische Studiën Proof Prooftexts SBLDS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series SBLSP Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien SemeiaSt Semeia Studies SSN Studia Semitica Neerlandica SubBi Subsidia Biblica TB Theologische Bücherei: Neudrucke und Berichte aus dem 20. Jahrhundert TBT Topoi Biblischer Theologie TDOT Botterweck, G. Johannes, and Helmer Ringgren, editors. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Translated by John T. Willis et al. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974–2006 ThViat Theologia Viatorum UF Ugarit-Forschungen VT Vetus Testamentum VTSup Vetus Testamentum Supplements WAW Writings from the Ancient World WBC Word Biblical Commentary WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie ZABR Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte

xiv ZAH ZAW ZDMG

Abbreviations Zeitschrift für Althebräistik Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenlandischen Gesellschaft

Introduction: The Stylistics of Genesis Karolien Vermeulen

Institute of Jewish Studies, University of Antwerp

The Genesis of Doubling and Duplicating In 2013, the Society of Biblical Literature hosted the first session of the Stylistics and the Hebrew Bible session in St. Andrews, Scotland. After a previous successful edition for the European Association of Biblical Studies in Amsterdam in 2012, colleagues showed interest in more research units on the style of the Hebrew Bible at international conferences. This resulted in the foundation of the Stylistics and the Hebrew Bible session by Elizabeth Hayes and Karolien Vermeulen. The current volume is the output of the work done in 2014 on the stylistics of the book of Genesis at the joint Vienna meeting of ISBL and EABS. The unit carries the label stylistics rather than literariness or some other noun paired with the word literary. The reasons are manifold. First, the literary readings of the Hebrew Bible have taken on a particular form and format over the years. After the initial excitement of a new and valuable approach to the biblical text, the lines seemed to have been laid out. Literary approaches discuss characters, perspectives, themes, and motives. With this clear set of terms and aspects to analyze, the discipline has limited itself. Some even wonder about its future. 1 Yet nowadays, there is a clear tendency to open up these boundaries again. Scholars combine literary, also called synchronic, readings with diachronic findings. They merge a narratological analysis with a cognitive framework. They bring in 1. Steven Weitzman, “Before and after The Art of Biblical Narrative,” Proof 27 (2007): 191–210. Weitzman’s initial picture of the role of literary criticism in current research is rather pessimistic: “Work in this vein continues to this day in America, Israel, and Europe, but there are also indicators of a marked decline in the approach’s capacity to generate first rate work” (p. 195). Near the end of the article, when he addresses the other contributions in the Prooftexts volume of which his piece forms the introduction, Weitzman nuances his claim. The future of literary criticism à la Alter is unclear. Given the changed academic landscape, it will necessarily be recontextualized and modified (pp. 201–6).

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sociological or economic theories. 2 Nevertheless, because the main focus remains the interest in narrative and the way in which the story is told, these pieces are often labeled “literary” research. It is our understanding that such a label does not do justice to the new roads that the current research is taking. Therefore, inspired by our own interest in the crossover field of linguistics and literature, we adopt the term stylistics. This term covers traditional literary approaches, some of which the reader will find in the current volume, but also more hybrid methods, bringing in redaction criticism, ideology, and text world theory. In all cases, the central question is why the text takes the form, shape, or formulation as we have it. Stylistics is concerned with this: the why of the form and its impact on the reading process and the consequent interpretation(s) of a text. 3 Whereas the evolution of the field outside biblical studies shows a strong cognitive-linguistic influence, it seems that biblical studies may draw on other methodologies that have been traditionally important in understanding the text. Self-evidently, a stylistic analysis of a novel by J. K. Rowling does not need to take into account a complex composition history or a history of theological-religious interpretation. For the biblical text, however, such elements determine the style as much as the use of stylistic figures or plot changes.

Style and the Hebrew Bible The style of the Hebrew Bible has long been of significant interest to scholars and exegetes alike. Early Jewish and later Christian commentaries point out the importance of the exact wording in interpreting the text and many an article has been written on features such as repetition and inclusio. With the rise of literary and narrative criticism in biblical studies, these features have received even more attention. The work of Robert Alter (The Art of Biblical Narrative as well as The Art of Biblical Poetry) is groundbreaking in that respect. 4 Whereas the term Leitmotif was introduced earlier by Martin Buber and Franz Rosenzweig, 5 the key 2.  E.g., Yairah Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (Leiden: Brill, 1999); Ellen van Wolde, ed., Job 28: Cognition in Context, BibInt 64 (Leiden: Brill, 2003); Martin A. Halvarson-Taylor, Enduring Exile: The Metaphorization of Exile in the Hebrew Bible, VTSup 141 (Leiden: Brill, 2011). 3. Lesley Jeffries and Dan McIntyre, Stylistics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 2; Peter Stockwell, Cognitive Poetics: An Introduction (London: Routledge, 2002), 1–11. 4. Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981); idem, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985). 5. Martin Buber, “Leitwortstil in der Erzählung des Pentateuchs,” in Die Schrift und ihre Verdeutschung, ed. Martin Buber and Franz Rosenzweig (Berlin: Schocken, 1936), 211– 38; idem, “Das Leitwort und der Formtypus der Rede,” in ibid., 262–75.

Introduction: The Stylistics of Genesis

3

word and type scene of Alter have made narrative categories common knowledge in the biblical field. Although the approach has been accused of being ahistorical and areligious, literary criticism at its best took and takes into account both history and religion. 6 The current book stands in the tradition of Alter in that it focuses on how the text of Genesis is written and phrased. It adds, more explicitly, an interest in why the text is formulated in the way it is and how this affects the reader in his/ her encounter with the text. Doubling and Duplicating is not only concerned with style as an analytical frame for the interpreter but also with its role as guide for the audience and its gateway to the ancient mind-set (ideological, ontological, etc.). All of the contributions in this volume focus on the form of the book of Genesis—that is, on its use of language and formulation. Yet, each essay does this in its own way, depending on the most fitting tool for the specific research question or based on the researcher’s methodological background. As such, the collection of essays forms a representation of the various approaches present in current literary and stylistic research, applying these to the biblical corpus. Furthermore, the recurring duality of the features discussed in each of the contributions adds to the overall unity of the volume. This recurrence suggests the presence of a stylistic feature in the book of Genesis, a feature of doubling and duplicating, that surpasses that of individual units or stories. Therefore, the book provides greater insight into meaning-making within both the micro-text and the macro-text.

The Structure of Doubling and Duplicating This book is divided into three parts, beginning with features of doubling on the smaller levels of letters, syllables, words, and word strings. The duplicates in this part are formal in nature. George Savran discusses the pattern of double request and refusal in several stories of the book of Genesis and elsewhere from the point of view of literary character development. Savran argues that such repeated requests allow the depiction of a more nuanced character, one that changes his/her mind. In a case in which the requests are followed by a double refusal, it indicates

6.  As an illustration, see James Kugel’s and Adele Berlin’s dialogue in Prooftexts 1–2 (James Kugel, “On the Bible and Literary Criticism,” Proof 1 [1981]: 217–36; Adele Berlin, “On the Bible as Literature,” Proof 2 [1982]: 323–27; James Kugel, “James Kugel Responds,” Proof 2 [1982]: 328–32). More recent defenses of the approach can be found in Prooftexts 27 by Mara H. Benjamin, who argues that Alter’s work was as much literary as theological (“The Tacit Agenda of a Literary Approach to the Bible,” Proof 27 [2007]: 254–74). See also Robert Kawashima, “Comparative Literature and Biblical Studies: The Case of Allusion,” Proof 27 (2007): 324–44.

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future negative complications. The doubling feature does not merely repeat but generates a complex and unified narrative. Another example of a binary structure leading to a unity can be found in Jonathan Grossman’s article. Grossman challenges the traditional division of Gen 21:1–21 into two parts (Gen 21:1–7 and 8–21). Instead, he proposes a chiastic structure building a single unit. The chiasm revolves around vv. 9–13, opposing the stories of the two sons of Abraham. The opening and ending parts in this structure (vv. 1–5 and 17–21), however, are different in that they present a similar message: God cares for both sons and prepares a future for Isaac and Ishmael. In his analysis of quoted speech in Gen 37–50, Samuel Hildebrandt argues that another theoretical dichotomy presents itself as an indivisible unity in the text. Whereas one can speak of informational versus confrontational speech (Savran) and proof versus play (Lane-Mercier), Hildebrandt shows that the Joseph stories merge these two realms, with one realm reinforcing the other. In each of the examples, this interplay between fact and fiction is motivated by the self-interest of the character uttering the quotation. As other rhetorical devices do, the quoted speech serves to press a personal agenda. Cynthia Miller-Naudé and Jacobus Naudé analyze the dialogue between oral and written in speech and dialogue in Gen 34. Reformulating the debate between oral and/or written culture, they define the biblical text as the product of a hearing-dominant environment. In their analysis of Gen 34, they focus on quotative frames offering metapragmatic information on the speech setting. These frames show many of the characteristics connected to orality in previous research, such as the use of parallelism and redundancy. The frames can furthermore be divided into adjacency pairs, which formal features are played out narratologically, creating contrast. Miller-Naudé and Naudé’s contribution touches on the oral-written binarity within the unity of the final text. In particular, the formal feature of quotative frames and the sophisticated use of adjacency pairs hints at the originally hearing-dominant setting of the text. Another sort of formal duplication forms the topic of Gary Rendsburg’s study of the use of alliteration in the book of Genesis. Rendsburg notes that, despite the book’s primarily prosaic nature, ample examples can be found. Moreover, these examples show that the alliterative device governed the word choice, resulting in the appearance of various hapax legomena. Paying attention to the alliterations may help clarify unusual word choices and their meanings. In part 2, the focus shifts to thematic pairs. Michaela Bauks discusses the binary style of Genesis in terms of the use of the two trees in Gen 2–3, the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The number of trees in the Garden of Eden narrative has formed an issue of debate in biblical scholarship. Initially, the different trees were attributed to different literary strata in the text. Later, when

Introduction: The Stylistics of Genesis

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the literary unity took the foreground, the tradition history of the text served as explanation. However, the reason for their existence may be more complicated. Bauks argues in her article that the indetermination of the number and meaning of the trees is a deliberate stylistic intervention that serves to play with different conceptions of mortality. The tree of life lingers between the good life of Proverbs and the notion of life as opposite to death. Likewise, the tree of knowledge plays on the idea of omniscience and graded antithesis—that is, a knowledge of difference and discrepancies. The pair of blessing and cursing in Gen 1–11 forms the center of attention in the contribution by Karolien Vermeulen. Whereas the author points out that separate patterns of usage can be discerned, the interrelation between both blessings and curses in the Primeval History reveals a unifying tendency. Blessings and curses are connected with the divine character, with blessings grammatically close and curses at a distance. Regardless of the underlying source (P or non-P), the two actions balance each other out throughout the larger narrative. Ideology and stylistics go hand in hand in the text. Ideology also plays a role in Zvi Shimon’s contribution. The narratological similarities between the migration of Terah and the consequent migration of Abraham have prompted readers to focus on the similarities. However, Shimon argues that their differences are as telling as their similarities. Rather than (or in addition to) an etiological explanation, the migrations communicate their fundamentally different motivations. Whereas Terah’s migration is normative, instigated by economic logic, Abraham’s move is ideological and countereconomic. As in many other essays in this volume, Shimon defends an inclusive reading that unites oppositions and overcomes dichotomies. Finally, part 3 discusses duplicates on the level of the plot and story. One of the best-known doublets in the Hebrew Bible is the creation narrative. Elizabeth Hayes revisits the doublet from a Text World Theory point of view. She argues that the text worlds—that is, the conceptual worlds created in the mind of the reader based on the text—in Gen 1 and 2 are complimentary. The study explores how the development of reverse perspective in Gen 1:1–2:4a shapes a text world of monumental proportions, a world that compliments the text world in Gen 2:4b–25, where the normal perspective provides a stable backdrop for a series of unique events that include the naming of animals and the creation of woman from the side of man. The synergy developed between this pair of text worlds, created “only in our heads,” proves to be a powerful vehicle for conveying the significant theological message that God is creator and sustainer of all things. Karalina Matskevich’s article reveals the unifying nature of seeming paradoxes in Genesis. The article traces back the often discussed binary pairs in Gen 2–3 to an ambivalence of the divine character toward human beings. This results

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in two plots that then lead to many more twofold oppositions. More than pointing out additional ambiguity in the text, the article shows how this clever use of a stylistic device allows the building up of an intriguing and all-encapsulating tale such as the Garden narrative. The narrative could be considered the third plot, arising from two conflicting plots, similar to the ambiguous terms bridging the gap between the poles of the binary pairs. Urmas Nõmmik’s article is mostly unifying in its approach, merging a synchronic and diachronic reading of the inclusios in Gen 28 and Gen 32. Nõmmik argues that such a combined reading permits an explanation for the structural irregularities that occur in the later additions to the initially balanced text. According to him, the final text prefers theological argumentation over structural perfection. An inclusive reading takes into consideration both elements.

In Conclusion It is our hope that the essays in Doubling and Duplicating offer the reader, scholarly or otherwise, another glimpse into the richness of the book of Genesis. It is also our hope that the volume affirms that a more inclusive approach to the text, a stylistic one in this case, furthers our understanding of ancient meaning-making through text and language. Or, as Prov 1:5 says, ‫ישמע חכם ויוסף לקח ונבון תחבלות‬ ‫‘ יקנה‬Let the wise one hear and increase in learning, and the one who understands obtain guidance’.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal: The Verb ‫ פצר‬in Biblical Narrative George Savran

Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem

Introduction It is a commonplace that biblical narrative is not very forthcoming when it comes to revealing the inner life of its characters, often hinting at motivations and intentions rather than expressing them directly. While many devices for uncovering such internal states have been discussed in detail, 1 insufficient attention has been paid to the verb ‫ פצר‬in the framework of a doubled request in the sequence “request-refusal-request.” Most entreaties in biblical narrative are met with immediate acceptance or refusal, without much attention by the narrator to the emotional situation of the characters in the story. But in a number of instances we find the unusual situation of an offer being made and refused, only to be followed by a repetition of the offer together with the verb ‫‘ פצר‬to urge’ or ‘to press’. 2 All occurrences of this verb in the Bible appear in the specific context of a doubled 1.  I am referring to devices such as internal monologue, inside views, and free indirect discourse. See Shimon Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (Sheffield: Almond, 1989), 47–92; Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 321–64; Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 114–30. 2.  In a number of instances (1 Sam 28:23; 2 Sam 13:25, 27; 2 Kgs 5:23), the verb ‫פרץ‬ appears where we would expect ‫פצר‬. In these cases, ‫ פרץ‬does not have its usual meaning of ‘to break through’ but has the same sense of ‘urging’ that we find with ‫פצר‬. It has been suggested that ‫ פרץ‬in the above texts is a figurative form of the verb meaning ‘to break through’. Thus TDOT 12.107 defines paratz II as a “weakened meaning” of the verb meaning “to break through someone’s resistance.” But this sense of breaking through generally takes the preposition -‫( ב‬e.g., Exod 19:22, 24; 2 Sam 6:8 [= 1 Chr 15:13]; 2 Kgs 14:13 [= 2 Chr 25:13]), which is absent in the texts under discussion here. It is more likely that ‫ פרץ‬is a metathesis of ‫( פצר‬BDB, 823), or that ‫ פרץ‬II is a secondary form of ‫( פצר‬HALOT, 972; Menahem Z. Kadari, A Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew [Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2006], 883).

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request. 3 In most cases, the second entreaty is followed by the accession of the one who had previously refused (although in a few instances there is a second refusal, which will be addressed subsequently). Nearly all the offers involve some aspect of hospitality—a gift offered (often food), 4 a place to sleep, an invitation as a host, a present offered in response to a favor granted. 5 The negotiation between the offerer and the receiver reflects an unequal power relationship. Additionally, the question of who has the upper hand is often the central issue in the interchange. The verb ‫ פצר‬should be understood as describing an external action—urging or pressing a point—as well as revealing a state of mind. 6 The pattern offers an internal glimpse into the attitudes of both the offerer and the potential recipient, both of whose reactions need to be unpacked in order to grasp the dynamics of their transaction. 7 What, we may ask, is the emotional state of the offerer that causes him to press his point, and what internal change has taken place in the recipient that leads him to accept the offer? The narrative implies that the intentions of the person doing the urging are not overly complex. In most cases, the reiteration of the offer indicates a degree of anxiety or existential urgency, even to the point where the offerer refuses to take no for an answer. The verb ‫ פצר‬reflects the offerer’s worry that failure to comply 3.  The occurrence of ‫ פצר‬in Judg 19:7 is of a different sort. While there is request and refusal in this instance as well, it is part of a continuous chain of request and accession in vv. 5–9. Day after day, the father of the concubine “presses” the Levite to stay and continue to enjoy his hospitality. Here ‫ פצר‬has a less unique force, being synonymous with an entire series of urgings that employ a number of different terms: (1) ‫ ויחזק בו‬in 19:4; (2) a further request to eat with him in v. 5; (3) a request to sleep there in v. 6; (4) yet another urging (‫ )פצר‬in v. 7; (5) a further request to eat in v. 8; and (6) a request to sleep there in v. 9 (here the request speech is longest). Only in v. 11, following numerous acceptances, does the Levite finally refuse the offer of hospitality, which leads to the disastrous events in Gibeah in the continuation of the story. 4.  The business of giving and accepting gifts is rarely an innocent matter in the Bible and often carries with it serious social and personal overtones. Cf. Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. W. D. Halls (New York: Norton, 1990); Gary Stansell, “The Gift in Ancient Israel,” Semeia 87 (1999): 65–90; Victor Matthews, “The Unwanted Gift,” Semeia 87 (1999): 91–104; Mark W. Hamilton, “At Whose Table? Stories of Elites and Social Climbers in 1–2 Samuel,” VT 59 (2009): 523–32. 5.  The sole exception is found in 2 Kgs 2, where the sons of the prophets request permission to be allowed to search for the departed Elijah. See further below. 6.  Compare the internal/external sense of the verb ‫ חמל‬in 1 Sam 15:3, 9, 15; see Meir Sternberg, “The Bible’s Art of Persuasion: Rhetoric, Ideology and Poetics in Saul’s Fall,” HUCA 54 (1983): 45–82. 7.  Previous discussions of ‫ פצר‬have been restricted to individual occurrences of the verb and have not addressed the larger ramifications of this pattern.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

11

may result in physical harm or loss of face, an insult that he cannot afford to bear. Beyond this general impression, the narrator offers little guidance regarding the precise motivations of the character. 8 While English has a range of words to reflect subtler shades of entreaty—“to press,” “to urge,” “to implore,” “to insist,” “to prevail upon”—the exact sense of the Hebrew verb can be determined by context alone. 9 Thus Lot’s doubled request to the visitors to Sodom in Gen 19 may be more of a demand than a casual offer of hospitality, while Amnon’s appeal to David in 2 Sam 13 to attend the sheepshearing festival falls somewhere between royal decorum and filial obligation. Both of these texts will be discussed in greater detail below. A more difficult question is why the recipient changes his mind. If the offer were truly exceptional, one could imagine the potential receiver refusing out of courtesy or disbelief. In this case, the initial refusal would be primarily ceremonial: the potential recipient feels he must reject the offer formally before he can in fact agree to it. One can sense something of this dynamic in the negotiation between Abraham and Ephron regarding the purchase of a burial place in Gen 23. Ephron’s offer of a grave site free of charge is clearly an opening gambit. Abraham’s initial refusal is polite, but in the end he pays a high price for the site. 10 David’s initial refusal to marry Saul’s daughter Merab in 1 Sam 18:18 may have a similar thrust: “Who am I and who are my kin, my father’s family in Israel, that I should become your majesty’s son-in-law?” More commonly, the doubled request followed by assent indicates a change of heart by the potential receiver—while he initially said no (and really meant it), upon further consideration he agrees and accepts the offer. This change of heart could reflect a reassessment of the situation, as in the case in God’s reversal of his

8.  It is always difficult to penetrate beyond the narrator’s reticence to reveal the motivations of his characters, but see the discussion in Amos Frisch, “The Attitude toward Jerusalem in Two Rebellion Narratives: A Literary and Theological Investigation,” BN 150 (2011): 35–48. 9.  Finding a cognate Semitic root for this verb has proved difficult. To date, neither Akkadian nor Ugaritic has shown awareness of the root pṣr, and the various meanings associated with the metathesized root prṣ do not shed light on the meaning of pṣr. Cf. CAD, s.v. parāṣu, where the attested meanings ‘to lie’ or ‘to break an oath’ are not appropriate to the biblical verses under discussion. In light of this, contextual usage serves as the best guide for the meaning of the verb. 10.  See the analysis of this dialogue by Meir Sternberg, “Double Cave, Double Talk: The Indirections of Biblical Dialogue,” in Not in Heaven: Coherence and Complexity in Biblical Narrative, ed. Jason R. Rosenblatt and Joseph C. Sitterson Jr. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991), 28–57.

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refusal to allow Balaam to proceed to Moab to meet with Balak in Num 22. 11 Or it might imply a reevaluation of the benefits and disadvantages of accepting the gift, as in the negotiation between Jephthah and the elders in Judg 11. If the offer is made a second time, he can determine the seriousness of the offer, get a clearer understanding of the offerer’s intentions, and even hold out for better conditions. A proper understanding of the use of the verb ‫ פצר‬requires us to consider both perspectives: each side is appraising the other, and the reiteration of the offer gives both parties a chance to evaluate the situation. The reader, meanwhile, gains further insight into the characters themselves. The final assessment of the reader will depend on additional factors suggested by the narrator—the relative honesty of each party, the circumstances surrounding the offer and the refusal, and what the continuation of the narrative reveals about each party’s intentions.

Urging in Genesis Genesis 33.  In preparation for his reunion with Esau, Jacob assembles an elaborate present to appease and honor him (Gen 32:14–16) and presents it to him in Gen 33:8. Esau initially rejects the gift in Gen 33:9 but agrees to accept it after Jacob presses him (‫ויפצר בו‬, Gen 33:11). 12 This urging takes the form of a unique speech, 13 in which Jacob compares meeting his brother to seeing God’s face, a sight both wonderful and terrifying. 14 Seeing the face of the divine is often a source of favor in the Bible—as in the priestly blessing of Num 6:25—just as divine disfavor 11.  On God’s change of mind regarding Balaam, see Jacob Milgrom, Numbers = Bemidbar: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 189. 12.  In Gen 33:8, Esau’s question ‫ מי לך כל המחנה הזה‬is generally seen as a rebuff. Ramban suggests that the interrogative “Who?” indicates that Esau has refused to accept the gift or has ignored it. Both Ramban and Ibn Ezra understand Esau to be questioning Jacob’s judgment: “Who do you think I am?” Ralbag finds evidence here of Esau’s suspicion that Jacob expects something significant in return. 13. Cf. Ibn Ezra and Ramban ad loc. Although the speech precedes the phrase ‫ויפצר‬ ‫בו‬, we should understand Jacob’s words in Gen 33:10–11 to contain the essence of Jacob’s urging. Similarly, in Gen 19:9 the verb follows words of persuasion. These are the only two cases in which the verb is accompanied by additional direct speech of persuasion. 14.  Many readers have connected this image with Jacob’s struggle with the mysterious “man” in Gen 32:24–32. See, for example, Jan P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art in Genesis, (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 1991), 226–28; Michael Fishbane, Biblical Text and Texture: A Literary Reading of Selected Texts (New York: Schocken, 1979), 52–53; John E. Anderson, Jacob and the Divine Trickster (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 154–56.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

13

is associated with God hiding his face. 15 But God’s face can also be a source of anger and punishment, as in Lev 26:17 and Jer 21:10. It is precisely this anxiety about Esau’s intentions that has preoccupied Jacob in the previous chapter. Jacob concludes the first part of his speech in Gen 33:10 with the verb ‫ותרצני‬, emphasizing what he hopes will be Esau’s benevolence: “You have received me favorably.” The verb is used frequently in sacrificial contexts, and Esau, who is compared to a god being offered a gift, is entreated to accede. 16 The motive behind Jacob’s extravagant flattery is quite clear. If he can persuade his brother to accept his gift, Esau will be obliged to protect Jacob as a host toward his guest, as a master (or as even as a deity) toward his subject. 17 It is more difficult to understand Esau’s change of heart from his initial refusal to his subsequent agreement. Esau’s enthusiastic greeting in v. 4 contrasts sharply with his ensuing rejection of his brother’s gift in v. 9. In light of this snub, it is difficult to see the embrace of v. 4 as a genuine expression of forgiveness. 18 The unusual dots above the word ‫ וישקהו‬in the MT indicate ambivalence about the appropriateness of the word in this context, perhaps as reflected in the rabbinic comment that “Esau kissed him but not with a full heart.” 19 This ambivalence about Esau’s true feelings continues in the ensuing dialogue in Gen 33:5–9. Esau’s 15.  Cf. Samuel Balentine, The Hidden God: The Hiding of the Face of God in the Old Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983), 45–79. 16.  E.g., Lev 7:18, 19:7, 22:23; Ezek 20:41, 43:27; Amos 5:22; Mic 6:7; Mal 1:10; Ps 51:18. 17.  Comparing a human face to the face of God is unprecedented in the Bible. At most, the flattery shown to David compares his wisdom to that of an angel of God in 2 Sam 14:17, 20 and his authority and power to that of an angel in 2 Sam 19:28. Edward J. Bridge understands this language on the basis of politeness theory: “Polite language is needed to defuse the potential loss of face to the hearer if s/he accedes to the request” (“The ‘Slave’ is the ‘Master’: Jacob’s Servile Language to Esau in Genesis 33.1–17,” JSOT 38 [2014]: 263– 78). But the exceptional imagery in the verse goes beyond polite language. 18.  Anderson understands Esau to act impetuously here and compares Esau’s foolish behavior in the sale of the birthright in Gen 25 (Divine Trickster, 163). But Esau hardly seems impulsive here; he may be eager to receive his brother, but he is cautious and genuinely ambivalent about this gift. The comparison with the previous negotiation of the brothers in Gen 25 is of interest here, but not because it indicates Esau’s carelessness. I agree with Ronald Hendel that we can discern growth and maturity in his response to Jacob, even though in the end he will be tricked by his brother once again (The Epic of the Patriarch: The Jacob Cycle and the Narrative Traditions of Canaan and Israel [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987], 130). Indeed, both brothers have grown and matured, but the basic pattern of Jacob’s deceit holds firm. On the puncta extraordinaria in Gen 33:4 and the midrashic understanding of the verse, see Mois A. Navon, “The Kiss of Esau,” JBQ 35 (2007): 127–31. 19.  Sipre Behaʾalotka 69; Num. Rab. 3:13.

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questions to Jacob—“Who are these with you?” and “What do you mean by all this company?”—betray a distinct tone of suspicion. These statements show no positive sentiment toward Jacob’s family, referring to them impersonally as “these” and “all this company.” Nor are the kiss and embrace of v. 4 echoed in relation to the rest of the family. Rather, these questions keep Jacob (and the reader) in suspense about the outcome of his attempted gift-giving. While the actual refusal in v. 9 may leave room for further persuasion—he addresses Jacob as ‫‘ אחי‬my brother’—the basic sense of Esau’s words is not encouraging. So why does Esau reverse his position? To a certain degree, Esau’s assertion in v. 9 that he does not need the gift frees him up to accept it, since he has established that he is not inferior to his brother. 20 But beyond this, it appears that Jacob’s urging in the form of his speech in vv. 10–11 is the decisive factor. Where Esau lays emphasis on parity between the brothers in v. 9, Jacob stresses Esau’s superiority, calling him godlike in his status and, perhaps, in his authority over Jacob. Jacob’s language suggests that his gift is to be seen as a sacrifice intended to propitiate a god, because the term ‫ מנחה‬can mean both a gift of tribute as well as a sacrificial offering, and the root ‫ רצה‬is found frequently in the context of sacrifice. 21 It has been suggested that by using the term ‫ברכתי‬, literally, ‘my blessing’, Jacob is symbolically returning to Esau the blessing the he had stolen. 22 Whereas the blessing in Gen 27 emphasized Jacob’s mastery over his brother, his behavior toward Esau thus far in Gen 33 demonstrates his subservience. While the dominant sense of ‫ ברכה‬in Genesis has to do with the bestowal of a blessing by God or by a patriarch to his sons, elsewhere it may indicate a gift given by an inferior party to a stronger one, as in Isa 36:16 (= 2 Kgs 18:31) and 1 Sam 25:27. 23 While we should not underestimate the importance of Jacob’s flattery of his brother, it is the language of ‫ברכה‬/‫ מנחה‬that is the pivotal factor in his change of heart. 24 Esau’s earlier desire to kill his brother has softened into acceptance, and he is won over by Jacob’s abject submissiveness. Yet despite Jacob’s overt deference to his brother, there is a paradoxical element involved in giving and accepting the gift: ideally, both parties would come 20.  Hamilton, “At Whose Table?” 519. 21.  Jacob emphasizes a number of times that God has shown him grace (‫)חן‬. Perhaps in asking to find favor in Esau’s eyes, he is suggesting to Esau that this is the sort of god-like behavior that he too should emulate. 22.  Anderson, Divine Trickster, 164–65; Fishbane, Text and Texture, 53. 23. Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings, AB 11 (New York: Doubleday, 1988), 232. We should not overlook the connection of the root with bending the knee in submission. 24. Cf. Bridge, “The ‘Slave’ is the ‘Master,’ ” 275.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

15

away empowered by the interchange; however, while Esau’s acceptance of the gift enriches him materially, his retreat from his former position weakens his position vis-à-vis his brother. Here we should take into account the psychological pressure attached to the gift, not to mention Jacob’s outright deception. The dimensions of the gift are overwhelming and, despite Jacob’s words of subservience, its magnitude conveys a message of superiority. This is hinted at further by the contrast between Esau’s statement of his own wealth (‫‘ יש לי רב‬I have enough’ or ‘I have a great deal’) and Jacob’s formulation in v. 11 (‫יש לי כל‬, literally, ‘I have everything’). This is brought home more forcefully in the continuation of the dialogue between the brothers in Gen 33:12–15. Esau now offers Jacob a “gift” of sorts—protection and hospitality in Seir—and it is Jacob who refuses, not once but twice. The first refusal contains a half-truth: Jacob maintains that, while he intends to follow Esau to Seir, he must proceed at a slower pace because of the fragility of his children and his flocks. These same children and flocks that were used to show Jacob’s subservience to Esau in the first part of the dialogue now become his excuse for refusing to travel together. And Esau’s second offer, to have some of his men accompany Jacob, is rejected as well. The very same language that was used to persuade Esau in vv. 8 and 10—“to find favor in your eyes”—is now part of Jacob’s refusal in v. 15—“O no, my lord is too kind to me” (NJPS), or “What for? Please indulge me, my lord.” 25 Jacob’s refusal is a clear demonstration of his superiority to Esau at this point. The pattern of the dialogue in the first part, with Esau accepting Jacob’s gift is countered by Jacob’s doubled refusal in the second part of their interchange. The contrast between the two brothers is brought out clearly: both make a doubled offer, but only Jacob has a doubled refusal. 26 Genesis 19.  Upon arriving in Sodom, the divine messengers sent to scrutinize the city are invited by Lot to his home in Gen 19:2 and refuse the offer. In other stories where hospitality is offered to wayfarers, we find immediate acceptance by the guest: for example, Abraham’s guests in Gen 18, as well as the

25.  Ephraim A. Speiser, Genesis, AB 1 (New York: Doubleday, 1964), 259. Ramban (ad loc.) also sees only refusal here. 26. Amnon Shapira maintains that the use of ‫ פצר‬in Gen 33:11 is pejorative since it is followed by a negative ending to the story (“Jacob and Esau: A Polyvalent Reading,” in Studies in Bible and Exegesis IV, ed. Rimon Kasher, Yitzhak Sefati, and Moshe Zipor [Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1997], 249–82, esp. pp. 254–55 [Heb.]). But Shapira’s analysis is based on the final outcome of the story and not necessarily on the individual offer. The fact that a story may have a negative ending does not necessarily indicate that the urging itself was negative. We will see other cases below where the urging results in something positive.

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hospitality of the Ephraimite sojourner in Gibeah in Judg 19. 27 In this case (Gen 19), the messengers’ refusal may simply be one of politeness, waiting for Lot to insist and persuade them to join him. 28 But given their mission, it is more likely a pretense, a test of the depth and sincerity of Lot’s offer in order to see whether or not there are any righteous people in Sodom. 29 In any case, when pressed by him (‫)ויפצר בם‬, they agree to accompany him and stay the night. Lot’s urging here can be understood in two different ways. If his offer is one of hospitality to strangers who are abandoned by the rest of his townspeople, his insistence upon his offer redounds to his credit. As Nachmanides points out, Lot’s insistence shows him at his best, a man who refuses to let the men sleep outside in the street. 30 But Lot’s offer may emerge from a different concern altogether. Scott Morschauser, discussing the ancient Near Eastern background to the story, suggests that Lot’s insistence is protective of the townspeople: As unknown aliens, the strangers are suspect and should not to be given freedom to roam the entire town without supervision. 31 The fact that Lot is stationed at the city gate indicates that he is on duty, a role marked by his special diligence. His urging is less a repeated request than a firmly worded order indicating that the guests can proceed into the town only at Lot’s pleasure. 32 Both readings show Lot in a positive light, whether as an upstanding member of his community concerned with the protection of his own people or as a model host. 27.  The contrast between our story and the rape in Judg 19 has been discussed frequently. See Stuart Lasine, “Guest and Host in Judges 19: Lot’s Hospitality in an Inverted World,” JSOT 29 (1984): 27–49; Talia Rudin-O’Brasky, The Patriarchs in Hebron and Sodom (Jerusalem: Simor, 1982), 102–6 [Heb.]; Yael Shemesh, “Biblical Stories of Rape: Common Traits and Unique Features,” in Studies in Bible and Exegesis VI, ed. Rimon Kasher and Moshe Zipor (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2002), 315–41, esp. p. 332 [Heb.]. 28. See Ibn Ezra ad loc. 29.  See Nahum M. Sarna, Genesis = Be-reshit: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 135. For a negative impression of Lot as the reason for their refusal, see Rashi, Ramban ad loc.; Jonathan Safren, “Hospitality Compared: Abraham and Lot as Hosts,” in Universalism and Particularism at Sodom and Gomorrah: Essays in Memory of Ron Pirson, ed. Diana Lipton (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 157–78, esp. p. 162 n. 21. 30.  Ramban on Gen 19:3. See also Yitzhak Peleg, “Was Lot a Good Host? Was Lot Saved from Sodom as a Reward for His Hospitality?” in Universalism and Particularism at Sodom and Gomorrah: Essays in Memory of Ron Pirson, ed. Diana Lipton (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 129–56, esp. p. 131; Safren, “Hospitality,” 168. 31.  On Lot’s role sitting at the gate here, see Scott Morschauser, “ ‘Hospitality’, Hostiles and Hostages: On the Legal Background to Gen 19:1–9,” JSOT 27 (2003): 461–85. 32.  According to Tg. Onqelos, Lot may even attempt to restrain them physically, because the targum translates the verb ‫אתקיף‬, which most often has a physical sense of seizing or grabbing hold of. See Tg. Gen. 21.18.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

17

These two readings complement each other in an interesting way. The reader, who is aware of the exploratory nature of the visitors’ mission, understands their refusal as a test of the people of Sodom and sympathizes with their situation. But the characters in the story are unaware of this test and see the appearance of strangers as a potential threat to their well-being, as the continuation of the story will make clear. In this sense, the doubled request shows each side trying to size up the other. This positive view of Lot is undercut, however, by the second use of ‫ פצר‬in Gen 19:9, where the verb is employed with the adverb ‫ מאד‬to indicate an even greater degree of urging. 33 This time, it is the townspeople who are pressing Lot, perhaps even physically. 34 The boisterous crowd demands that the visitors be handed over to them, while Lot tries to persuade them to take his daughters instead of his precious guests. 35 Because every other case of ‫ פצר‬is followed by a verbal response by the one who is “urged,” we await Lot’s verbal response here as well. Will he accede to the crowd’s demands? Given the normative pattern of initial offer – refusal – second offer with ‫–פצר‬acceptance, we expect that Lot will give in to the crowd’s demand. Lot may have displayed firmness in the face of the angels’ demurral, but when faced with an unruly crowd he is ready to capitulate, as shown by his willingness to offer his daughters in place of the guests. We might view this as exemplary hospitality—protecting one’s guests even to the point of one’s own hurt. But offering his own daughters drastically undercuts this positive impression. Here, the actions of the angelic messengers—pulling Lot inside and shutting the door—are meant not only to rescue Lot from the hands of the crowd but also to prevent Lot’s accession to the mob’s demand. 36 The effect of the urging is to bring out Lot’s weakness as a character, one who is unable to defend himself against the verbal assault of the townspeople. The implication is that at best Lot cannot withstand 33.  Peleg is one of the few commentators on the story to pay attention to the double usage of ‫“( פצר‬Was Lot a Good Host?” 134). He sees the function of the verb to provide a contrast between Lot and the townspeople of Sodom as a means of highlighting the reason for Lot’s being saved. 34.  If we follow the translation of Tg. Onqelos here: ‫ואתקיפו בגברה בלוט‬. 35.  On the meaning of ‫ ונדעה להם‬in Gen 19:5, see Peleg, “Was Lot a Good Host?” 132–33; Brian Doyle, “ ‘Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Sodom’s Door’: The Function of ‫פתח‬/ ‫ דלת‬in Genesis 18–19,” JSOT 28 (2004): 431–48; Ron Pirson, “Does Lot Know about yadaʾ ?” in Universalism and Particularism at Sodom and Gomorrah: Essays in Memory of Ron Pirson, ed. Diana Lipton (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 201–13. It is not out of the question that Lot misunderstands their demand to interrogate the strangers and misreads it as a sexual approach. 36.  Nachmanides on Gen 19:9 understands the essentially verbal nature of ‫ פצר‬here and elsewhere. He sees their approach as first verbal and only then physically threatening. See also David Kimḥi on Gen 19:9.

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the crowd’s onslaught (the angels protect him by dragging him inside and shutting the door), and at worst he is ready to accede to the wishes of the mob (the angels whisk him inside before he can respond to the crowd). In either case, the initial use of ‫ פצר‬sets up a straw man in presenting Lot as moral defender, only to have his authority undercut by its second occurrence in Gen 19:9. In this way, the narrator’s deployment of the verb offers a more nuanced depiction of Lot’s character when compared with his actions in the rest of the chapter.

Persistence in the Former Prophets 1 Samuel 28.  Following his devastating encounter with the ghost of Samuel, the necromancer at En-dor urges Saul to eat. He initially refuses, but after pressure from the woman and from Saul’s retainers (‫)ויפרצו בו‬, he complies. 37 Given the length and power of the woman’s speech in vv. 21–22, we might expect Saul to agree immediately to her request. But her heartfelt plea is countered sharply by Saul’s brief and unqualified refusal. 38 Her request that Saul “listen to my voice” contrasts with the very fact that Saul has listened very attentively to her voice as Samuel spoke through her. Because she risked her life to fulfill Saul’s request (‫אשים‬ ‫)נפשי בכפי‬, she now wants to save his life by feeding him (‫)אשמה לפניך פת לחם‬. Although the rhetorical strength of her argument does not succeed in persuading him, when the voices of Saul’s servants are added in v. 23 Saul does agree to eat. This is the only case where the urging is done by additional voices, and it is precisely the weight of their plea that compels Saul to change his mind. The presence of these added voices is an essential part of the narrator’s focus on Saul’s gradual return to consciousness and acceptance of his royal responsibilities. As is usual in biblical narrative, the psychological movement from refusal to consent is evidenced by external markers. Saul’s initial response, “I will not eat,” reflects his single-mindedness throughout the chapter. He has focused exclusively on his need to hear Samuel’s voice, abandoning his troops and contravening his own law. Now, having heard the judgment passed on his life, will he give in to his despair or will he face the enemy on the battlefield tomorrow? Whatever the reason for his fasting up to this point, his refusal is in keeping with his physical posture, lying on the ground as though dead, having no strength at all. 39 It is as 37.  See above, n. 2. 38. Uriel Simon discusses the woman’s language in detail and sees this speech as central in describing the woman as a sympathetic character (“A Balanced Story: The Stern Prophet and the Kind Witch,” Proof 8 [1988]: 159–71, esp. pp. 163ff.). 39.  On the reasons for Saul’s fast here, see Moshe Garsiel, “Torn between Prophet and Necromancer: Saul’s Despair,” Beit Miqra 41 (1966): 172–96; Simon, “Balanced Story,” 163.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

19

though Samuel’s prediction of his death has already taken hold of him. 40 While the liminal encounter with Samuel has taken place in some surreal dimension, the narrator’s naturalistic touch brings us back to earth: “for he had not eaten anything all day and all night.” 41 The woman’s compassionate speech restores a this-worldly perspective to the scene: Saul is still alive, not dead; he is no longer alone with the ghost of Samuel but together with the woman and his servants. At the same time, the woman’s words reinforce the irony of the situation: she has prophesied his death and yet apparently does not know what she has said to him. How else could she tell him to eat so that he can continue on his way? 42 Her voice can hardly be a source of comfort to him, and his refusal in v. 22 is not surprising. Here, the voices of his retainers are all-important: they are familiar voices, different from the voice of the woman, and they restore to Saul the perspective of his responsibilities as king. His realization that he is not yet dead, that he is accountable, not only to God and Samuel, but to his army and his subjects as well forces him to awaken from the surreal atmosphere of the encounter with the deceased Samuel. This is the significance of ‫ ויפרצו בו‬here—behind the phrase lies Saul’s reawakening, his return from the world of the spirits, the world of the dead. First we are told, “He listened to them,” marking a change in his perception, for up to now he has listened only to the voice of Samuel. As a result of this, “He got up from the ground,” abandoning the posture of one who is mourning or even dead. Then “he sat upon the bed,” indicating his willingness to return to human company, for the bed is described elsewhere as the place where meals are taken as a group. 43 No longer detached from everyone else, Saul eats together with his servants, in whose company he leaves

40.  Compare Elijah’s desire to die in 1 Kgs 19:4 with the message of revival given by the angel: “Rise up and eat!” or the widow of Zarephath’s complaint to Elijah about her limited amount of food: “We shall eat it, and then we shall die” (1 Kgs 17:12). 41.  Simon argues that Saul has not undertaken a religious fast here (the word ‫ צום‬is conspicuously absent in the chapter; Simon, “A Balanced Story”); see also Willem A. M. Beuken, “The Prophet as ‘Hammer of Witches’,” JSOT 6 (1978): 3–17, esp. pp. 11–13. But David Gunn points to the similarity with the explicitly religious fast Saul decreed in 1 Sam 14 (The Fate of King Saul [Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980], 109). In both cases, Saul reverses his position after facing opposition. Moreover, the text has emphasized how Saul has tried every option to receive a message from God, and fasting in preparation for a divine message can be seen in 1 Sam 1:7; Dan 9:3, 10:3. 42. On the question of the woman’s awareness of Samuel’s prophecy, cf. Beuken, “Prophet as Hammer of Witches,” 13; Simon, “A Balanced Story,” 164; Jan P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1986), 2.609. 43.  Ezek 23:41; Amos 6:4.

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at the end of the narrative. 44 From a situation of total isolation, he rejoins human society, if only to leave it on the morrow. Saul is urged to accept the woman’s hospitality in order to force him to return to reality after the unworldly and terrifying experience he has undergone. His change of heart indicates his acceptance of his fate together with his willingness to act as a king who will lead his troops into battle for the last time. 2 Kings 2.  Following Elijah’s mysterious ascent to the heavens and Elisha’s assumption of prophetic authority (symbolized by taking up his predecessor’s mantle), the sons of the prophets beg to be allowed to search for their lost leader (2 Kgs 2:16). Unlike Elisha, they have not seen Elijah’s ascent and assume him to be lost or incapacitated on the other side of the Jordan. Elisha refuses, knowing full well that Elijah will not be found. But they press him strongly (the phrase ‫עד‬ ‫ בׁש‬indicates the extent of these continued urgings), and Elisha finally gives in. 45 The contrast in perspective between Elisha, who actually saw Elijah ascend, and the prophets, who did not, highlights the different quality of their vision. 46 Their “pressing” him is expressed in their long speech in v. 16 as well as by the term ‫עד בׁש‬, which indicates the discomfort inherent in the clash of perspectives. The phrase can be read in two ways. Insofar as it refers to the prophets, it may simply mean “for a long time,” as in 2 Kgs 8:17 and Judg 3:25. But if it refers to Elisha’s embarrassment, it points inward and reflects an unanticipated difficulty with his new-found authority. 47 If, in 2 Kgs 2:15, the sons of the prophets have unequivocally accepted Elisha as Elijah’s successor (“They exclaimed, ‘The spirit of Elijah has settled on Elisha!’ ”), how can they question his authority here? 48 The extent of their appeal indicates a certain degree of public shaming of Elisha. Elisha’s capitulation hints at his realization that the assumption of leadership is not automatic 44.  While Saul acts independently throughout the chapter and is largely isolated from his retainers, the end of the story in v. 25 is marked by three plural verbs that underline Saul’s being reunited with his men (‫)ויאכלו ויקמו וילכו‬. 45.  Rashi (ad loc.) sees this as Elisha’s embarrassment: “Lest they say, ‘He does not want to find his master.’ ” David Kimḥi, on the other hand, takes it as referring to repeated requests by the sons of the prophets. Most translations follow Rashi’s reading, except the NJPS Tanakh, which follows Kimḥi and Tg. Jonathan. HALOT identifies this second reading as connected to ‫ בוש‬II ‘to hesitate’, as in Ezra 8:22, or ‘to tarry’, as in Exod 32:1. 46.  The repeated dialogue between Elisha and the sons of the prophets in vv.  3, 5 shows that prior to the event both parties share similar knowledge about Elijah’s imminent departure, a fact that sets up the contrast between their levels of knowledge in vv. 16–18. See Mark O’Brien, “The Portrayal of Prophets in 2 Kings 2,” ABR 46 (1998): 1–16, esp. p. 6. 47. See Rashi ad loc, with reference to t. Soṭah 15.5. 48. See O’Brien, who points out how this section parallels the dialogue between Elisha and Elijah in vv. 2–6 (“Portrayal of Prophets,” 13).

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

21

and must include both challenge and acceptance. Althoughhe gives in to their request, Elisha knows full well that they will not succeed in finding Elijah and that their search for their lost master reflects their lack of vision. But this is also a test of Elisha’s newly acquired leadership. 49 Not having seen their master taken up to heaven, the sons of the prophets must resort to other means to convince themselves that he is gone from them. 50 In contrast to other ‫ פצר‬scenes, their urging does not indicate the end of the scene, for we are told that they searched in vain, and Elisha admonished them saying, “I told you so.” 51 As elsewhere, accession reflects a reevaluation of the situation: Elisha may have accepted the idea that the sons of the prophets will accept Elijah’s disappearance and Elisha’s authority only by seeking and not finding Elijah, but Elisha reserves the final word for himself. His “I told you so” is spoken to assert his authority once again, but as we see from the subsequent story about the youths mocking him he has much to do before his authority will be accepted without reservation.

Determination Met with Doubled Refusal Of particular interest are two cases in which there is a second refusal of an offer followed by an additional occurrence of ‫פצר‬. In the previous texts, the change from rejection to acceptance reflected a dynamic situation that revealed something significant about the characters on the level of story. But a doubled refusal shows no such dynamic. If this were intended simply to show the determination of both sides—the giver who feels compelled to press his point and the receiver who is absolutely firm in his refusal—why bother with the doubled refusal? There are many examples in the biblical narrative where a firm refusal is indicated clearly by a single interchange. The importance of the doubled refusal lies elsewhere: it is a form of repetition that has narrative significance primarily on the level of discourse. 52 Meir Sternberg has argued that such refusals serve to indicate the narrator’s strong disapproval of the refuser. 53 His parade examples are the unwillingness 49.  O’Brien, “Portrayal of Prophets,” 16. 50.  Robert L. Cohn, 2 Kings, Berit Olam (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), 15. 51.  The change in language in Elisha’s quotation of himself (2:18 quotes 2:16) displays a normal amount of variation in quoted direct speech. See my Telling and Retelling (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), 33–35. 52.  Sternberg, Poetics of Biblical Narrative, 365–440. 53. Meir Sternberg, “Why Saying No Makes a Difference: The Bible’s Code of Double Refusal and the Method in Art’s Madness,” in Rereading Texts/Rethinking Critical Assumptions: Essays in Honor of H. S. Daleski, ed. Shlomith Rimmon-Kenan, Leona Toker, and Shuli Barzilai (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1997), 37–53.

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of Amnon to accede to Tamar’s pleas not to be raped (2 Sam 13) and Asahel’s refusal to heed Joab’s warning to cease his pursuit of the more experienced warrior (2 Sam 2). Both cast a negative light on the character who refuses. But the two cases in which ‫ פצר בו‬is met with a doubled refusal show a more complex situation. While the initial request is countered by rejection, an additional request soon follows and, after further “urging,” this new request is granted with ill-fated results. 2 Samuel 13.  Some time after the rape of Tamar by Amnon, Absalom invites David to accompany him to a sheep-shearing festival. David refuses, Absalom presses him (‫)פרץ‬, and David refuses yet a second time. 54 Why is David so adamant in his refusal that the narrator repeats it? We might take David at his word that he does not want to burden Absalom with elaborate preparations. Or is David suspicious of Absalom’s motives and wary of giving him a chance to act against Amnon? 55 While David’s refusal in 2 Sam 13:24 is polite, it is striking that he states his position twice: ‫‘ אל בני‬No, my son’, and again, ‫‘ אל נא נלך כלנו‬We must not all come’. David continues to rebuff him despite Absalom’s pressing him, and the final word in the verse, ‫‘ ויברכהו‬and he blessed him’, signals that his audience with the king is over. Given the accuracy of David’s reservations about Absalom’s intentions, it appears that the doubled refusal redounds to David’s credit. But David’s response contains the seeds of his undoing, for in saying, “Let not all of us come,” he has opened the door for some of the royal retinue to attend. David’s response undercuts the literal sense of his refusal, and the doubled refusal is not as absolutely firm as we might have assumed. This suspicion is borne out in v. 26 which, somewhat surprisingly, continues the dialogue. As Absalom is leaving, he renews his request, focusing specifically on Amnon as a substitute for David. Fokkelman has suggested that this has been Absalom’s intention all along: Absalom knew that David would not accept his invitation; the previous dialogue was simply a run-up to his real request: “Let my brother Amnon come with us.” 56 Here too David’s initial refusal is phrased as an interrogative: ‫למה ילך עמך‬. While the NJPS Tanakh reads ‫ למה‬as a negative, most translations prefer the interrogative ‘Why should he go with you?’ and this may well be the sense here. As such, it shows a gradual weakening of David’s position in the face of each insistence by Absalom, so that when he presses him a second time, David accedes. 54. 4QSama reads ‫ פצר‬here, as do the ancient versions. 55.  P. Kyle McCarter, II Samuel, AB 9 (New York: Doubleday, 1984), 334. 56.  Jan P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1981), 1.115–16.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

23

The upshot of this second dialogue is that the doubled refusal in the face of urging does not stand by itself but acts as a foil for subsequent urging, to which David capitulates with disastrous results. We cannot say that David was actively involved in the plot against Amnon, but we can certainly wonder about his lack of foresight. The king who is praised as being wise “like an angel of the Lord” displays less than clear thinking in the face of Absalom’s pressure. Twice manipulated by his sons in this chapter, David is less than impressive as a moral force here. 57 The doubled refusal under pressure points ahead to future complications that will result from the doubled refusal. Had David not opened the door to a substitute attending in his place, Absalom’s plan might not have succeeded. Or had David agreed to attend, it is doubtful that Absalom could have proceeded with the plan to isolate and kill Amnon. 58 2 Kings 5.  The other case of a doubled refusal with doubled urging is found in the story of Naaman and Elisha in 2 Kgs 5. After being cured of his leprosy, the Aramean general wishes to repay Elisha with a gift. As in the previous text, both the initial offer (“Please accept a gift from your servant”) and the initial refusal (“As the Lord lives, whom I serve, I will accept nothing”) are reported in direct speech, while the redoubled request with urging and the subsequent refusal in 2 Kgs 5:16 are simply narrated. It is clear why Elisha refuses—his principled position reflects the uncompromising character that we see throughout the chapter and in other stories as well. From his initial message to the king (“he will learn that there is a prophet in Israel,” 2 Kgs 5:8) to dispatching his servant to receive Naaman instead of greeting him personally (2 Kgs 5:10) to the almost offhanded way he issues instructions to Naaman to immerse himself seven times in the Jordan, we see a character who has no doubts whatever about his authority or about the

57.  See David Marcus, “David the Deceiver and David the Dupe,” Proof 6 (1986): 163–71, esp. pp. 163–67. 58.  One wonders, however, about David’s complicity in the entire matter. On the face of things, David is completely taken in by Absalom’s scheme, much as he is unaware of his plan for a coup d’etat in the following chapters. But the narrator’s emphasis on the details of this negotiation—David’s initial doubled refusal following by his surprising accession— suggests that more is going on here beneath the surface. As the father of Amnon, David would be hard pressed to act against his son, yet he may be aware that Absalom’s plan would solve the problem created by the rape of Tamar. It is not out of the question that the pattern of urging here is intended by the narrator to suggest that David had suspicions about, if not awareness of Absalom’s intentions. On David’s greater affection for Absalom, see Ariella Deem, “Cupboard Love: A Study of the Story of Amnon and Tamar,” Hasifrut 28 (1979): 100–107, esp. p. 106 [Heb.].

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efficacy of the cure he proposes. 59 Our study of the convention of ‫ פצר‬may lead us to suspect that Elisha will give in to the offer, because he is not wealthy and there are poor prophets and prophets’ families to be taken care of. However, the character of Elisha is such that he does not waver: he is always certain about himself and clear about his positions. 60 Thus, in contrast to David’s vacillation in the previous example, Elisha’s doubled refusal is a clear indication of his unyielding personality. 61 But a second set of conventions is also at play here—namely that, even though the doubled refusal seems to be the final word, something negative will emerge from the refusal, something that perhaps could have been avoided had the rejection not been so adamant. This second case of urging ends in acceptance, as in the previous case, but in a way that indicates something about both the giver and the receiver.  62 Elisha’s servant, Gehazi, decides that Naaman should not get away without payment and that Gehazi himself should benefit. He runs after Naaman, fabricates a story in Elisha’s name, and asks for a gift of silver and clothing. Here, the urging comes not after refusal but in response to the request itself. Where Gehazi asked for a single talent of silver, Naaman says, “Please take two talents,” and urges him to do so. We can understand the urging as a reflection of Naaman’s desire to give, for he has been frustrated by Elisha’s double refusal. He himself has come away cured with a wagonload of earth from the land of Israel but has been unable to reciprocate. We cannot fault him for improving on Gehazi’s request—he is the victim both of Elisha’s principled refusal and of Gehazi’s deliberate selfishness. 63 But the verb ‫ פרץ‬here may indicate Gehazi’s duplicity in yet another way. 59. Robert Cohn, “Form and Perspective in II Kings V,” VT 33 (1983): 171–84, esp. p. 179. Yair Zakovitch notes the oath formula of “standing before Yhwh” used by Elisha as a point of contrast to Naaman’s “standing before” Elisha in 2 Kgs 5:15 (“Every High Official Has a Higher One Set over Him”: A Literary Analysis of 2 Kings 5 [Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1985], 81). For a different understanding of Elisha’s refusal, see David P. O’Brien, “ ‘Is This the Time to Accept . . . ?’ (2 Kings V 26b): Simply Moralizing (LXX) or an Ominous Foreboding of Yahweh’s Rejection of Israel MT?” VT 46 (1996): 448–57. 60.  On Elisha’s personality, see the in-depth study by Yael Shemesh, “The Stories of Elisha: A Literary Analysis” (Ph.D. diss., Bar-Ilan University, 1977), 226–54 [Heb.]. 61.  Compare Abraham’s refusal in Gen 14. He refuses to take anything for himself but accepts gifts for his troops. O’Brien points out that not only was it acceptable for a prophet to receive payment for his work but this was a particularly difficult time of famine and hardship (“Is This the Time?” 450). 62.  MT 2 Kgs 5:23 reads ‫ויפרץ בו‬. 63.  Zakovitch argues that Naaman may have been aware of Gehazi’s duplicity, but his evidence is rather thin (Every High Official, 107). Naaman is portrayed throughout the narrative entirely as a surface character: his inflated ego in the beginning, his conversion experience after being healed, and now his complete acceptance of Gehazi’s fabricated story are all described as external reactions.

Doubled Request and Doubled Refusal

25

Naaman doubles the offer and insists, but surprisingly, Gehazi’s refusal goes unmentioned. This break with the convention that we have been exploring is glaring, and the absence of a stated refusal is clearly to Gehazi’s detriment: he has not offered even a token denial, knowing full well that Naaman will insist, which effectively doubles his offense. 64 He can get twice what he requested and have it truly appear to be a gift from Naaman. The doubled refusal raises questions about the unfolding of the events in the narratives. If David had accompanied Absalom, would he have persisted in his plan to kill Amnon? If Elisha had accepted a gift on behalf of his prophetic disciples, would Gehazi have chased after Naaman and acted out his deception? But at the same time, it is clear that this is a setup, a plot device used to explain what happens next but not to justify it. As in the real world, behavior in the Bible is never simply a question of response to immediate stimuli; it invariably has to do with deeper drives—complex desires within the person to which the external circumstances are but a trigger. Absalom would no doubt have found another opportunity to kill Amnon, and Gehazi’s character is laid bare in his words in v. 20: he does not pursue the gift for the sake of others but to enrich himself. In his eyes, his master is a fool for not taking advantage of the situation.

Conclusion We have seen how the verb ‫‘ פצר‬urging’ has been deployed in two ways. On the one hand, it may be an opportunity for change, allowing an initial refusal to be reconsidered, rejected, or reformulated in order to indicate a shift in the character’s understanding. Such reconsideration or reevaluation often reveals greater complexity of character, inviting us to examine the character’s motives in more detail. But in the case of the doubled refusal, the reader is being set up by the narrator for a reversal. That David does not succeed in protecting Amnon may satisfy the reader’s desire for vengeance for the rape of Tamar, but it hardly serves to portray David in a positive light. In the case of Elisha, there is no need to reinforce his character with a doubled refusal; we know who he is without that. Rather, it is the narrator’s way of setting the stage for the second “urging,” which brings out the moral dimension of the story in a deeper way. 64.  Zakovitch reasonably suggests that Gehazi had no intention of refusing in the first place (ibid., 107).

The Expulsion of Ishmael Narrative: Boundaries, Structure, and Meaning Jonathan Grossman Bar-Ilan University

The Question of Cohesion in Genesis 21:1–21 Many scholars read Gen 21 as a composition of two different narratives originating from two different sources. While opinions differ regarding where the two units begin and end, the majority view is that vv. 1–7 relate the story of Isaac’s birth and are P’s, except for vv. 1 and 6–7. 1 Verses 8–21 are a separate story that tells of Ishmael’s expulsion and his divine salvation. 2 This story is generally attributed to E or, at the very least, is certainly considered “non-P.” Indeed, the connections of the first story with ch. 17, Abraham’s commandment of circumcision, are salient, and every verse clearly relies on the earlier chapter. The mention of Abraham’s age in 21:5 is characteristic of P. At the same time, the chronological information scattered throughout the Abrahamic cycle is inconsistent with the impression given in the second story of the chapter, the story of Ishmael’s expulsion. There, the child that Hagar carries on her shoulder is a small boy dependent on his mother: she “casts” him underneath one of the bushes until an angel appears and commands her to go back and hold her child again. According to P’s chronology, however, Ishmael should have been around the age of 16 or 17 when Isaac was weaned. Many have pointed to this inconsistency as one overwhelming proof of source criticism in general. 3 If we also consider the expressions 1.  Regarding the claim that v. 2, together with vv. 6–7, is also a direct continuation of the tidings of the birth of a son in ch. 18, see John Van Seters, Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1975), 204–6; idem, Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 257–58. 2.  My discussion concerns vv. 1–21 of Gen 21. Verse 22 introduces an entirely new topic, and therefore vv. 22–34 of ch. 21 are not relevant to the discussion at hand. 3.  For example: The simplest solution is the documentary one: the teenaged Ishmael is a product of P, a later source than the one reporting the episode of his near-death, which is almost universally attributed to E. Once one discounts for the moment the Priestly material that

27

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“handmaiden,” “make a nation,” and the appearance of the angel among other details, then it is clear why this unit is attributed to E. Following this accepted division, according to P, Ishmael never leaves Abraham’s household, which is also evident from P’s description of Abraham’s burial in 25:9. Moreover, some have even challenged the cohesion of the expulsion story itself, arguing that it comprises at least two layers which were combined at a later stage.  4 Consequently, scholars have barely considered the possibility of an artistic structure of the entire chapter as a single unit. I propose that such a structure can be found—a chiastic structure that exposes the narrative objective of this unit. First, however, I would like to mention several claims made by scholars that support the chapter’s cohesion and unity. Mathews argues that, if the expulsion story indeed begins with v. 8 or 9, then it essentially lacks a beginning; instead, vv. 1–8 serve as a fitting introduction to Ishmael’s expulsion. 5 He also adds that the wordplay around the verb ‫‘ צחק‬to laugh’ or ‘to mock’ in v. 9 comes into full play only is Genesis 17, all one knows about Ishmael’s age is that it is greater by an indeterminable figure than that of Isaac, who has just been weaned. This is true whether we are to envision the first-born son riding on his mother’s shoulder or walking on his own. (Jon D. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son, The transformation of Child Sacrifices in Judaism and Christianity [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993], 105)

See also G. von Rad: “With the combination of the sources JE and P, a further difficulty arose, for one must now assume that in ch. 17 Ishmael is about seventeen years old (chs. 16.16; 21.5), which was certainly not the opinion of the narrator (see at ch. 21.15)” (Genesis, OTL [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972], 230). Some have presented the inconsistency of Ishmael’s age as one proof that the story of Hagar’s flight (v. 16) and Ishmael’s expulsion (v. 21) belong to two different sources (August Dillmann, Die Genesis [Leipzig: Hirzel, 1892], 286). However, Alexander rightly claims that this inconsistency only results from Abraham’s age in different episodes, and because all the verses in question are ascribed to P, no conclusions can be drawn from them in relation to chs. 16 and 21 (T. Desmond Alexander, “The Hagar Traditions in Gen 16 and 21,” in Studies in the Pentateuch, ed. John A. Emerton, VTSup 41 [Leiden: Brill, 1990], 131–48). 4.  See especially Rudolf Kilian, Die vorpriesterlichen Abrahamsüberlieferungen: Lite­ rarkritisch und traditionsgeschichtlich Untersucht (Bonn: Hanstein, 1966), 235–49. He sees in vv. 17–20 traces of an older tradition that was incorporated into the longer narrative in the pre-Elohistic stage. 5.  Kenneth A. Mathews, Genesis 11:27–50:26, NAC (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2005), 263–64. However, Aron Pinker is correct in claiming that “Separation of the two sources does not . . . remove the inconsistency. It is hard to imagine that the redactor who merged the two sources was unaware of the incongruity between Ishmael’s chronological age in P and his physical depictions in E, or was insensitive to inner-textual consistency” (Aron Pinker, “The Expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael [Gen 21:9–21],” Women in Judaism 6 [2009]: 1–24). See also Janet E. Tollington, “Abraham and his Wives: Culture and Status,” in The Old Testament in Its World, ed. Robert P. Gordon and Johannes C. de Moor (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 194–95.

The Expulsion of Ishmael Narrative

29

when read against Isaac’s naming at the beginning of the chapter. Otherwise, “the wordplay ‘mocking’ in v. 9 loses its effect.” 6 This is arguable, because the name Isaac also features in v. 10 after the description of Ishmael (‫)המצחק‬, so that this wordplay is also retained within these later verses. It is also worth noting that many claim that the fingerprints of the narrative source of Ishmael’s expulsion are evident as early as v. 6, where there is already intensive use of the verb ‫צחק‬. But Mathews is certainly correct that, if Isaac is named within the same unit and equated with Ishmael, ‫המצחק‬, then the wordplay and conflict between the two sons is more striking. If Joseph Fleishman is correct that the term ‫ מצחק‬in v. 9 refers to sexual perversion, which serves as a contrast to the covenant of circumcision Abraham accepts in ch. 17, 7 then the tension between Isaac’s circumcision in v. 4 and Ishmael’s perversion in v. 9 is salient. Krzysztof Sonek takes a more general approach in arguing that the chapter forms a single, cohesive unit. He claims that a classic narrative structure is only achieved when the two parts of the chapter are combined to form a whole. Based on Ska’s model of narrative structure, Sonek claims that vv. 1–8 comprise the exposition; v. 9 is the inciting moment; vv. 10–14 are the complication; the scene where Hagar abandons her son in vv. 15–16 forms the story’s climax; vv. 17–18 are the turning point; v. 19 is the resolution; and the final verses of the chapter, vv. 20–21, serve as the denouement. 8 Sonek’s direction, to examine the story’s unity according to its form and structure, is important and convincing. It is difficult, however, to prove the entire chapter’s cohesion by tracing the basic narrative stages of the story because, even if the story begins in v. 8, we can trace a similar narrative structure by defining the stages differently. I wish to take a similar approach to Sonek and present a cohesive reading of the chapter based on its structure. My reading, however, is not based on external narrative definitions but on the inherent artistic arrangement of the unit, which forms a chiastic structure.

Two Sons, Two Mothers, One Father, One Unit Unlike Sonek, I believe that the turning point of the story is the divine revelation that supports Sarah’s request to expel the handmaid and her son and the description of the expulsion that follows. This divides the narrative into two clear, 6.  Mathews, Genesis, 264. 7. Joseph Fleishman, “The Expulsion of Ishmael,” Beit Miqra 44 (1999): 146–62. 8. Krzysztof Sonek, Truth, Beauty, and Goodness in Biblical Narratives: A Hermeneutical Study of Genesis 21:1–21, BZAW 395 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 57–58.

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contrasting stages: Isaac’s entry into Abraham’s household in Gen 21:1–11, and Ishmael’s departure from the household depicted in vv. 12–21. The chiastic structure pits the two sons against each other or, to be precise, highlights the contrast between the parents’ attitudes toward their children. In this case, the structural symmetry is largely based on the characters’ order of appearance in the different scenes, although it is enriched with thematic connections: A.  1–5: God’s blessing—Birth of Isaac, Abraham’s son B.  6–7: Sarah and her son: “God has brought me laughter; everyone who hears will laugh with me” / “Sarah would nurse children” C.  8: Abraham and his son: A “great feast” in honor of Isaac’s weaning D.  9–11: Sarah demands Ishmael’s expulsion, but Abraham is reluctant to comply D1.  12–13: God seconds Sarah’s request to expel Ishmael C1.  14a: Abraham and his son: Ishmael is banished from the house with bread and a skin of water B1.  14b–16: Hagar and her son: “When the water was gone from the skin, she left the child under one of the bushes” / “and she lifted up her voice, and wept” A1.  17–21: God’s blessing—the sustenance of Ishmael, Abraham’s son The narrative opens and closes with divine intervention: scene 1 sees God fulfilling his promise to Abraham, and Sarah bears a son. The son is named, and Abraham circumcises him. In the final scene, God once again enables the existence of Abraham’s son—not Isaac’s life but that of Ishmael, who almost perishes in the wilderness. The narrator does not merely report the opening of Hagar’s eyes and her perception of the well, which saves the child’s life; he also adds: “And God was with the boy, and he grew up” (v. 20). In other words, he presents God as a constant presence in the boy’s life, someone who accompanies him as he grows. 9 Note that, while Isaac receives his name in the narrative’s opening scene, the meaning of Ishmael’s name is hinted at in the final scene: “God heard (‫ )וישמע אלהים‬the cry of the boy.” 10 9.  On the significance of the description that God is with someone, see Horst Dietrich Preuss, Verspottung fremder Religionen im Alten Testament, BWANT 5 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1971), 7. 10.  I am not convinced that Wenham is correct that the fact that God heard the boy’s cries implies that he was praying. Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50, WBC 2 (Dallas: Word, 1998), 85. Compare also with Westermann: “God gives ear and intervenes in accordance with the two-part prayer that he do so” (Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36: A Continental Commentary, trans. John J. Scullion [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995], 343). It may well be that,

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Gunkel claims that, in the original story, the boy is named, and the meaning of the name is explained at this point (after v. 19), but the redactor omitted this naming in order to allow the episode to be read in logical sequence with ch. 16, where Ishmael was already named. 11 According to his view, the connection between Isaac’s naming and the implied meaning of his name, and Ishmael’s naming and its implied meaning is even more striking. As Joachim Begrich shows, the angel’s address to Hagar, “Fear not” (‫אל תראי‬, v. 17), is a conventional phrase in the cultic salvation oracle. 12 However, based on other appearances of this phrase, one would expect this expression of encouragement to be juxtaposed with the name of Ishmael, who is in need of salvation (as in Gen 15:1). Hugh White proposes that the angel’s next words are a substitution for the name of the anticipated character: “Fear not—for God has heeded (‫)שמע אלהים‬.” 13 According to this reading, this covert name-play is the heart of the angel’s revelation. However, the connection between the granting of Isaac’s life (A) and the granting of Ishmael’s life (A1) does not end with the covert name-play of each son. In the opening scene, Abraham accepts his son from God and performs the ceremony of circumcision. In the final scene, Hagar reaccepts her son by divine command and takes a wife for him. These two acts, circumcision and marriage, hint at the family line the son will eventually establish: circumcision is associated with birth, 14 and ending Ishmael’s story with marriage anticipates the dynasty that will issue from him. 15 Thus, the narrative framework introduces the reader to the two sons of Abraham, who are both given life and sustained by God. The next parallel scenes (B and B1) contrast the two mothers with their sons: Sarah expresses joy because she has been granted to bear and nurse a son. The verb ‫צחק‬, here meaning ‘to laugh’, is mentioned twice, as a covert explanation for her son’s name: “Sarah said, ‘God has brought me laughter; everyone who hears will rather, the boy’s cries were heard. Hermann Gunkel, Genesis: Translated and Interpreted, trans. Mark E. Biddle (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 228. Concerning this point, see also the discussion by Hugh C. White, “The Initiation Legend of Ishmael,” ZAW 87 (1975): 288–90. In any case, the appearance of the verb ‫ וישמע‬hints at the boy’s name, which is otherwise entirely absent from this episode. 11.  Gunkel, Genesis, 228. 12. Joachim Begrich, “Das priesterliche Heilsorakel,” ZAW 53 (1934): 81–92. 13.  White, “The Initiation Legend,” 290. 14.  I refer to the concept of circumcision as it is reflected in the Abraham narrative: “. . . traditions which claimed that circumcision ensured many offspring who would be blessed by God” (Robert G. Hall, “Circumcision,” ABD 1.1027). 15.  It is therefore crucial that the narrator emphasizes that his wife was Egyptian. By the end of our story, Ishmael’s line is more connected to Hagar than to Abraham (compare with Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 343; Mathews, Genesis, 274).

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laugh with me’ ” (21:6). Unlike Sarah, who nurses her son with milk, Hagar does not even have water to give her son; unlike Sarah’s laughter, Hagar weeps. These opposing descriptions stem, obviously, from the turn in the plot: Sarah is finally granted a son after years of anticipation, while Hagar must part from her dying child. The next parallel scenes (C and C1) present the father in relation to each of his sons. While each son has a different mother, the two sons share a father. Abraham appears twice, and the structure emphasizes the differences between the sons’ status and between their father’s attitudes toward each of them. The earlier scene sees Abraham holding a “great feast” “on the day that Isaac was weaned” (21:8). This presumably occurred when Isaac was around the age of two or three; the feast celebrates the baby’s transformation from helpless infant to an autonomous member of the household who is no longer fully dependent on his mother; “one could describe it as a ‘rite of passage.’ ” 16 It is interesting to note that Sarah celebrates immediately, when Isaac is born, while Abraham’s joy is only portrayed once the baby grows into a child. Abraham celebrates when Isaac joins his household. Conversely, the parallel scene presents Abraham and his other son. Rather than a “great feast,” Abraham takes “bread and a skin of water” (v. 14), and this time these provisions do not signify the son’s induction into Abraham’s household but, rather, his expulsion from it. The sons’ opposite paths are reflected in their father’s attitudes toward them: Isaac enters the house when he is weaned, while Ishmael is dismissed from it. The next, innermost parallel is the story’s climax. When Sarah initially demands Hagar and her son’s dismissal, Abraham is reluctant: “The matter distressed Abraham greatly, for it concerned a son of his” (v. 11). In the second part, God appears to Abraham and bids him to comply with Sarah’s demand: “Do not be distressed over the boy or your handmaiden” (v. 12). An overview of the structure reveals that the story sets the two sons against each other. The first half of the chapter is Isaac’s story: his birth sparks a description of his parents’ reactions to his birth. His mother laughs, and his father makes a great feast. The second half is Ishmael’s story: his expulsion from the house where he grew up also leads to a description of his parents’ reactions. His mother weeps, and his father sends him away with meager bread and water.

Banished by Sarah, Sent by Abraham However, this structure brings another dimension to light, illuminating a silent process that Ishmael undergoes in the narrative. The two halves of the chap16.  Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 338.

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ter are inversely related: the joy of the first half is mirrored by the sorrow in the second. However, in the narrative framework, scene A is not a direct reversal of its parallel, A1. Rather, God acts similarly in both scenes: he gives life to a son of Abraham—first to newborn Isaac and then, finally, to Ishmael. This parallel illuminates the nature of the story. Its purpose is not only to relate Ishmael’s expulsion from Abraham’s household but to tell of his resurrection and rebirth in the wilderness, far from his father’s home. Isaac’s miraculous birth is presented in parallel to Ishmael’s rebirth at the hand of God and his life-giving well. In order to clarify this issue, I return to the heart of the story, its turning point. Above, I mentioned that God supports Sarah’s demand to expel Ishmael, but there is an important difference between Sarah’s words to Abraham and God’s words to Abraham. Sarah wants to banish Hagar and her son for Isaac’s sake: “For the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac” (21:10). Sarah has no interest in Ishmael’s future. While God agrees with Sarah that it is “through Isaac that offspring shall be continued for you,” he also adds, “As for the son of the slave-woman, I will make a nation of him too, for he is your seed” (v. 13). This is the turning point in the narrative, for it reveals that Ishmael is not only banished in order to make room for Isaac but in order to allow him to fulfill the destiny that awaits him outside Abraham’s home. At this point in the story, the reader—together with Abraham himself—learns that, even though Sarah sought to dismiss Ishmael to get him away from “here,” there is also importance in his arrival “there,” in the wilderness, where he will become a “great nation.” This understanding is also reflected in the story’s structure: Sarah seeks what is best for Isaac, and this marks the end of the first half of the story, which is concerned with Isaac. God’s words to Abraham open the second half of the story, which is already concerned with Ishmael’s destiny. This difference may be reflected in the different verbs used in these scenes. Sarah seeks to “banish” Ishmael, while Abraham does not “banish” but “sends away.” Delitzsch explains that, although these verbs are synonyms, the connotation of each is slightly different. The verb ‫‘ שלח‬to send away’ sometimes means “elimination, expulsion, sent away with force,” but the reader can only discern this in context. In contrast, the coercive nature of the verb ‫‘ גרש‬to expel’ is inherent. 17 Indeed, some have noted this difference in our passage. Victor Hamilton, for example, wrote that the verb used to describe Abraham’s action is “softer” and more subtle than Sarah’s demand. 18 17. Franz Delitzsch, A New Commentary on Genesis, trans. Sophia Taylor (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1894), 173. See also C. John Collins, “‫שלח‬,” NIDOTTE 4.120. 18.  Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 18–50, NICOT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995), 82–83. Compare with Cynthia Gordon, “Hagar: A Throw-Away Character among the Matriarchs?” in Society of Biblical Literature 1985 Seminar Papers, ed. Kent H. Richards, SBLSP (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985), 275–76; Laurence A. Turner,

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It is difficult to determine if there is a substantial difference between the two verbs, but Aron Pinker seems to be correct in claiming: The primary difference between ‫ גרש‬and ‫ שלח‬stems from the fact that explicitly or implicitly ‫ גרש‬indicates the “departure from” and ‫“ שלח‬departure to.” Consequently, ‫ גרש‬implies severance of subsequent contacts and relations, while ‫ שלח‬implies extension of reach and therefore continuation of links. 19 I am not convinced that this is always the case in biblical narrative, but the juxtaposition of these two verbs in the story of the expulsion from Eden aptly illustrates the potential difference between them:   Gen 3:23: So the Lord God sent him away (‫ )וישלחהו‬from the garden of Eden, to till the soil from which he was taken.  3:24: He drove the man out (‫)ויגרש‬, and stationed east of the garden of Eden the cherubim and the fiery ever-turning sword, to guard the way to the tree of life. Some claim that this repetition testifies to the combination of two different sources, 20 and if so, this may be the basis for the semantic difference between the verbs. 21 However, the two different verbs may have been chosen intentionally. Verse 23 describes man’s new purpose—he must now work the land. He leaves the garden “to till the soil from which he was taken.” The verb ‫‘ וישלחו‬sent away’ is appropriate because this verse focuses on man’s destination. Verse 24 describes humanity’s expulsion from the garden to prevent them from eating from the Tree of Life. The verb ‫‘ ויגרשהו‬drove out’ is appropriate because this verse wishes to emphasize the importance of Adam and Eve’s departure from the Garden of Eden. This distinction, applied to Gen 21, illuminates the subtle difference between Sarah’s demand and Abraham’s action. The narrator’s choice of the verb “sent Announcements of Plot in Genesis, JSOTSup 96 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 87; Joseph Fleishman, “The Expulsion of Ishmael,” Beit Miqra 44 (1999): 146–62, esp. p. 162. 19.  Pinker, “The Expulsion of Hagar,” 16. 20. Claus Westermann, Genesis 1–11: A Continental Commentary, trans. John J. Scullion (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 274. 21.  Victor P. Hamilton suggests that “the juxtaposition of these two verbs reinforces the idea that man does not leave the garden of his own will. Nor is he gently escorted to the garden’s edge. In fact, he is thrown out! . . . The intensity of the situation is highlighted in this prose text by the use of repetition and synonymous parallelism (šālaḥ/gāraš), devices one normally associates with poetry” (The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17, NICOT [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990], 210).

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away” hints that Abraham has grasped the promise of Ishmael’s destiny. He does not forcefully banish him, as Sarah bids, but “sends him away,” believing in God’s promise. A new future awaits him outside his father’s home. Scott Nikaido reads the story in a similar light: “[B]y being forcefully separated from his home by no fault of his own, Ishmael actually acquires an important trademark of a hero’s story.” 22 He even suggests that the figure of Ishmael can be compared with Samuel, who is separated from his parents and taken under the wing of God Himself. 23

The Rebirth of Ishmael In this light, we can begin to appreciate the full significance of the scene where Ishmael lies close to death, abandoned by his mother under one of the bushes. As Hamilton notes, the image of Hagar casting Ishmael away marks the next stage of Ishmael’s disengagement from his family: Ishmael is separated from his mother as he has been separated from his father: The mother’s treatment of her son parallels Abraham’s treatment of Hagar. Even the verbs sound alike (šālaḥ, šālak). Abraham sent (šālaḥ) Hagar away, and Hagar placed (šālak) Ishmael under a bush on the ground. Over the course of the narrative, Ishmael is rejected twice, first by his father and then by his mother: he first leaves his father’s home and is then deprived of his mother’s care as she leaves him for dead, distancing herself: “Let me not look on as the child dies” (v. 16). 24 22. Scott Nikaido, “Hagar and Ishmael as Literary Figures: An Intertextual Study,” VT 51 (2001): 219–42, esp. p. 233. 23.  Nikaido adds that in this context, Ishmael becomes associated with Jacob, Joseph, Moses, David, and Esther. All of these characters were deprived of the safety of their home, and this separation allows them to flourish (see also Thomas B. Dozeman, “The Wilderness and Salvation History in the Hagar Story,” JBL 117 [1998]: 23–43). Nikaido also claims that Hagar is portrayed as a positive figure, just like Abraham and Hannah (Nikaido, “Hagar and Ishmael,” 240. Compare with Wenham, Genesis 16–50, 87–88). Nikaido is right concerning ch. 16, but in our narrative, Hagar is the subject of gentle criticism. See further Jonathan Grossman, Abram to Abraham: A Literary Analsis of the Abraham Narrative, Das Alte Testament im Dialog 11 (Bern: Peter Lang, 2016), 426–35. 24.  Hamilton, Genesis 1–17, 83. But compare with: “Moreover, the juxtaposition of ‫ שלח‬in Gen 21:14 and the homophone ‫ שלך‬in Genesis 21:15 are intended to convey subtly the difference between the two acts. While Hagar’s ‫ שלך‬was an aggressive act, Abraham’s ‫ שלח‬was a gentle send off ” (Pinker, “The Expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael,” 16). David Cotter claims that vv. 9–21 are in a concentric structure, and v. 14a, ‘sent away’ ‫שלח‬, is parallel

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The narrator places special emphasis on the distance between him and his mother, using a tripartite description: “and then went and sat down opposite him (‫)מנגד‬, at a distance (‫)הרחק‬, a bowshot away (‫( ”)כמטחוי קשת‬21:16). Separation from the father, followed by separation from the mother, in order to reach one’s potential is a well-known process in literature, psychology, and anthropology. 25 As Freud writes of the maturing youth, “[T]he freeing of an individual, as he grows up, from the authority of his parents is one of the most necessary though one of the most painful results brought about by the course of his development.” 26 In his classic anthropological study of rites of passage, Arnold van Gennep acknowledges this two-stage process: The first act is a separation from his previous environment, . . . sometimes [his] link with his mother endures for some time, but a moment always comes when, apparently by a violent action, he is finally separated from his mother, who often weeps for him. . . . the novice is separated from his previous environment, in relation to which he is dead, in order to be incorporated to his new one. 27 Passively, painfully, Ishmael is separated from his parents, dispossessed of all he has ever known. This figurative nakedness, helplessness, desolation—the abandoned figure utterly stripped of all worldly possessions and all human company— are a state of death that anticipates rebirth. It may well be that this is the reason that the verb ‘and she left’ (‫ )ותשלך‬is used to describe Hagar’s separation from her son: “This verb, ‫ שלך‬when used with a human as its object, almost always refers to the replacing of a dead body into a grave or a living person into what it is assumed will be a grave.” 28 The phoenix must wither and disintegrate into ashes before it is reborn. The literary significance of Ishmael’s separation from his biological parents is designed to characterize God as Ishmael’s adoptive father. If not for divine intervention, Ishmael would have died, so his reemergence into life can be perceived to v. 15, ‘cast away’ ‫( תשלך‬David W. Cotter, Genesis, Berit Olam [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003], 137–38). 25.  See, for example, Jonathan Grossman and Sara Daniel, “ ‘Like Arrows in the Hand of the Warrior, So Are Youths’: Reading Ishmael’s Expulsion in Genesis 21 in Light of Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha,” HS (forthcoming). 26. Sigmund Freud, “Family Romances,” in Collected Papers, 5 vols., ed. Joan Riviere and James Strachey (New York: Basic Books, 1959), 5.74–78. 27.  Arnold van Gennep, Rites of Passage, trans. Monika B. Vizedom and Gabrielle L. Caffee (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), 74–75, 81 (italics mine). 28.  White, “The Initiation Legend,” 287.

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as a rebirth granted by God and under his protection. And indeed, the narrator adds: “God was with the boy and he grew up” (21:20). While Hagar was obviously involved with her son’s life after he was saved from death, as is evident from the final verse of the story, the narrator chooses to present God as the boy’s guardian as he grows. In this sense, our story narratively reflects what the psalmist describes metaphorically: “Though my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will take me in” (Ps 27:10). Ishmael is reborn in the desert, under one of the bushes, and God is the one to reveal the well that Hagar draws from to give her child life—just as God is the one who takes note of Sarah so that she can bear Isaac and nurture him. The story of his rebirth shows how Ishmael begins his life anew, outside Abraham’s home, and is able to fulfill the destiny that awaits him. In summary, the chiastic structure of the story configures the two sons of Abraham against each other and illuminates the opposite processes each undergoes: one enters his father’s household, while one is sent away from home. 29 The parallel nature of the two halves contributes to deeper understanding of the process that Ishmael undergoes in the narrative. Unlike Isaac, he is banished from home; like Isaac, however, he is reborn by the divine hand. Eventually, the similarities of the apparently antithetical halves of the narrative emerge. Can this chiastic structure shed light on the story’s compilation? As always, the artistic structure of the narrative certainly challenges traditional scholarly convictions but is insufficient as proof that the alternative is true. Nonetheless, I believe that this reading certainly disputes the notion that this chapter comprises two sources juxtaposed without design or intention. This approach, which is slowly losing momentum, has difficulty explaining the sophisticated, intricate structures of certain narratives that are traditionally perceived as a combination of at least two sources—such as the Flood narrative or the Joseph cycle. 30 On the other hand, the complex design of the chapter cannot prove that it was authored by a single source, because this design may be the result of artistic editing. In the case of such significant editing, however, the difference between the claims for a single author and an editor clearly in his own element is negligible: this editor essentially functions as an author, even if he reworked existing scraps of material to produce a dazzling tapestry of his own. 29.  This structure is one of several literary devices that hint at the tension between the two halves of the chapter. See Larry L. Lyke, “Where Does ‘the Boy’ Belong? Compositional Strategy in Genesis 21:14,” CBQ 56 (1994): 637–48. 30.  Gordon J. Wenham, “The Coherence of the Flood Narrative,” VT 28 (1978): 336– 48; Gary A. Rendsburg, The Redaction of Genesis (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1986), 79–106.

The Proof-and-Play of Quoted Speech in the Joseph Story (Genesis 37–50) Samuel Hildebrandt University of Edinburgh

Introduction From the creation account to Jacob’s blessings, the significance and power of the spoken word is a central component of the rich stylistic palette of the book of Genesis. Between these two bookends, many important speeches are recorded, and we often find dialogues at crucial narrative junctures, such as those between Yhwh and Adam, Abram and Lot, or Jacob and Esau. But the stylistics of speech are not restricted to utterance and response. More than any other biblical narrative book, Genesis records instances of quoted speech, of characters repeating and integrating the words of someone else into their own speeches. These dynamics begin with the serpent’s quotation of Yhwh and run through all of the book, amounting to a total of 33 occurrences. 1 Alongside the multiple quotations of Abraham’s servant (ch. 24), the narrative of chs. 37–50 is particularly responsible for this figure. In fact, with 19 instances in chs. 42–44 and 50 alone, the Joseph story exhibits a concentration of quoted speech that is proportionally without equal in the Hebrew Bible. 2 While interpreters have studied some of these in more depth (e.g., Judah’s Author’s note:  This essay was composed during my doctoral research at the University of Edinburgh, which was sponsored by a generous School of Divinity scholarship. 1.  For figures and comparison, see George W. Savran, Telling and Retelling: Quotation in Biblical Narrative, ISBL (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), 22–23. For speech quotations elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, see esp., Hans Walter Wolff, Das Zitat im Prophetenspruch: Eine Studie zur prophetischen Verkündigungsweise, Beiheft zur evangelischen Theologie 4 (Munich: Chr. Kaiser, 1937); Rolf A. Jacobson, “Many Are Saying”: The Function of Direct Discourse in the Hebrew Psalter, JSOTSup 397 (New York: T. & T. Clark, 2004). 2.  Despite this noteworthy record, quoted speech is at times not addressed in literary studies of Gen 37–50. See, e.g., Robert Longacre, Joseph—A Story of Divine Providence: A Text Theoretical and Textlinguistic Analysis of Genesis 37 and 39–48 (Winona Lake, IN:

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speech in Gen 44:18–34), the nature, function, and interrelationship of these quotations as a group have not received significant attention. Interacting with the work of George Savran and Gillian Lane-Mercier, I will probe these quotations in this essay with a special focus on what we might call the double-sidedness of quoted speech. After a brief description and discussion of this particular phenomenon, I will analyze in the larger part of this essay the way that quoted speech is used among the members of Jacob’s family.

The Proof-and-Play of Quoted Speech Given how often we encounter speech quotations in biblical narrative, there is much that needs to be said about the phenomenon. Obviously, there are formal aspects, such as marking, discourse patterns, and syntax. Since a full account of these components is available in Savran’s seminal work Telling and Retelling (1988), there is no need to address them at this point. 3 Instead, we will focus on the functional dimension of quoted speech, and more precisely, on the reasons and motivations that underlie its use. In Savran’s understanding, “[Q]uoted speech can be put to use in myriad ways,” because each quotation is shaped by its unique contextual parameters. 4 From his analysis of Genesis–Kings, however, he concludes that, in terms of function, quoted speech “tends to fall into two larger groups: informational and confrontational.” 5 According to this framework, quoted speech appears to have two different sides: either it is used to give an informational report, be that in an accurate, slightly modified, or invented manner, or it is used as a rhetorical tool for confrontation, accusation, and self-justification. If, according to Savran, the functionality of quoted speech is entirely determined by context, such an “either/or” division deserves closer attention. Can we divide all of the Bible’s speech quotations into these two categories? If informaEisenbrauns, 1989); W. Lee Humphreys, Joseph and His Family: A Literary Study, Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988); Donald B. Redford, A Study of the Biblical Story of Joseph (Genesis 37–50), VTSup 20 (Leiden: Brill, 1970). 3.  Savran defines quoted speech by attribution (“tagging”) and temporality (i.e., the original must have been spoken prior to the quotation). He distinguishes between verifiable and unverifiable quotes, different discourse patterns (e.g., X quotes Y to Z; X quotes X to Y; X quotes Y to Y), and the aspects of shortening, lengthening, and paraphrase (Telling, 18–36). For other formal features, see Cynthia L. Miller, The Representation of Speech in Biblical Hebrew Narrative: A Linguistic Analysis (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), especially pp. 226–32. 4.  Savran, Telling, 21. For quoted speech and context, see further pp. 3, 75, 109–110. 5.  Ibid., 21.

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tional quotations include accurate and fabricated examples, are we not dealing with two separate categories? More important, however, is the question of whether or not information and confrontation should be regarded as separate categories in the first place. At the end of his analysis, Savran’s remark that “many informational quotations have secondary and tertiary accusatory or self-justifying effects” certainly points to a potential interrelationship between the two. 6 Against the background of his study and being heavily indebted to his manifold insights, I am exploring this functional interrelationship in more depth: can the function of quoted speech be described in “either/or” terms? If there are several functions, how do they relate to one another? Are they hierarchical (primary, secondary, etc.), are they exclusive, or are they somehow intertwined? For questions of this sort, the work of literary critic Lane-Mercier presents itself as a helpful conversation partner. Similarly to Savran, she has detected a binary understanding of quoted speech in classical treatments. On the one hand, other speakers or texts are quoted to establish proof. Here, the information that is reported is frequently taken from the lips of some recognized form of authority. On the other hand, quotation is employed with “parodic creativity” as a form of play that aims to move the listener to cooperation. 7 Although both sides share the same linguistic makeup, their functions are perceived as opposing one another: quoting is either proof or play; it either provides authoritative information, or it functions as a rhetorical tool. As Lane-Mercier probes deeper into this apparent bifurcation, she begins to wonder “to what extent the two functional categories are truly mutually exclusive.” 8 This suspicion relates in particular to the “transformative potential and mediative role” that the framing context exerts with regard to the quoted inset. 9 While deliberate selection and the dynamics of recontextualization are always operative, other interferences, such as omission or addition, only undermine further the rigid division between proof and play. Whatever informational or reporting value there is to the device is inevitably overshadowed by its user’s strategic employment. 10 Hence, whereas Savran understands the 6.  Ibid., 74. In Savran’s analysis, the “schematization is intended to describe only the primary function of each quotation.” 7. Gillian Lane-Mercier, “Quotation as a Discursive Strategy,” Kodikas/Code Ars Semeiotica 14 (1991): 199–214, esp. p. 201. 8.  Ibid., 202. 9.  Ibid. 10.  “The words of the other are used as a springboard for the words of the self, ‘originality’ shifts from the quoted utterance to the framing utterance” (ibid., 201). Elsewhere, Lane-Mercier asserts that “it becomes impossible to equate reported speech with a perfectly disinterested, a-ideological act grounded in objectivity” (ibid., 205).

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double-sidedness of quoted speech in terms of primary and secondary functions, for Lane-Mercier, one side overrides the other. There is no proof, only play; no report, only rhetoric. 11 While this conclusion offers an adequate picture of many instances of quoted speech in the Hebrew Bible and elsewhere, 12 it is only of limited value for Gen 37– 50. Both the man whom Joseph meets in Shechem (37:17) and the report of Hirah (38:22) provide examples in which quoted speech is used simply as a neutral delivery. There is no play or rhetoric, just straightforward information. 13 While LaneMercier’s emphasis on the playfulness of quotation thus must be weighed carefully on a case-to-case basis, her informed discussion is an important affirmation of the functional interrelatedness that seems to be operative in speech quotations: Quotations pertain less to a dualistic logic opposing mimesis (authenticity, Truth) and innovation (inauthenticity, non-truth), than to a logic based on the continuous interplay of reproduction and construction. 14 As we set out to observe how the double-sidedness of quoted speech presents itself in the Joseph story, we will take this idea of a “continuous interplay” as a heuristic framework through which to approach the individual passages: can we differentiate between report and rhetoric, information and intrigue, correspondence and confrontation, proof and play? How do the two sides of quoted speech relate to one another? In their proof, to what authorities do the characters appeal? In their play, how do they shape their frames and phrases? Are there any recognizable patterns or parallels across this group of quotations? For what purposes do Joseph and his brothers use quoted speech, and are their proof-and-play operations successful?

Quoted Speech in the Joseph Story If we search for quoted speeches along the synchronic unfolding of the narrative, we can delimit six distinct passages, all of which are set in scenarios ripe with 11.  “Quotation as play becomes the prototype of reported speech” (ibid., 203). 12.  Thomas W. Overholt, “Jeremiah 2 and the Problem of ‘Audience Reaction,’ ” CBQ 41 (1979): 262–73; Meir Sternberg, “Proteus in Quotation-Land: Mimesis and the Forms of Reported Discourse,” Poetics Today 3 (1982): 107–56; Deborah Tannen, Talking Voices: Repetition, Dialogue, and Imagery in Conversational Discourse (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 99–119. 13.  As far as I can tell, the quotation in Gen 38:22 appears in Savran’s work as the only informational example that is “factually accurate” (Savran, Telling, 21). 14.  Lane-Mercier, “Quotation,” 203. Elsewhere, she speaks of the “ambiguous blurring of the boundaries between sameness and difference” (ibid., 200).

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conflict. 15 While chs. 37–38 establish the torn relations of Jacob’s family, 16 the full dimensions of strife, struggle, and tension are played out in the subsequent interactions and speeches. As we will see shortly, the verbal interplay of reproduction and construction appears to be especially well suited to this sort of environment.

Reuben and His Brothers (Genesis 42:21–22) As we enter the narrative in medias res, Joseph is already fully established at Pharaoh’s court. As he fulfills his charge of distributing grain to the victims of the famine, his brothers resurface on the scene. But instead of a family reunion, we see Joseph undercover as the Egyptian overlord interrogating and arresting his brothers. 17 After this first clash and three days in detention, Joseph’s request for Benjamin initiates a conflict between the brothers themselves: And they said each to his brother: “Truly, we are guilty concerning our brother, whose distress we saw when he was pleading with us—but we did not listen. For this reason, this distress has come upon us.” 22But Reuben answered them, saying: “Did I not say to you, saying: ‘Do not sin against the boy’? But you did not listen. Yes, his blood, see, it is required!” 18 21

Evidently, Reuben’s self-quotation reproduces information from the past. As he links his intervention for Joseph to the current predicament in Egypt, the quotation appears to agree with his brothers’ assessment of cause and effect: they brought distress upon Joseph; now distress has fallen on them. However, several elements indicate that the self-quotation of the oldest brother aims at something else besides information and correspondence. While Joseph’s request triggers the conversation of the group as a whole (‫ ;ויאמרו איׁש אל־אחיו‬v. 21), the subtle note 15.  Since this study focuses on Jacob’s family, the quotations in Gen 37:17 and 38:22 (see above) are not discussed. For the cohesion of the narrative, see Lindsay Wilson, Joseph, Wise and Otherwise: The Intersection of Wisdom and Covenant in Genesis 37–50 (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2004), 138–41. 16.  Aside from the fraternal collision and troubles in Gen 37–38 (“wir finden allseits Konflikte”), Georg Fischer draws attention to the recurrences of the roots ‫( קרע‬Gen 37:29, 34), ‫( טרף‬twice in Gen 37:33), and ‫( פרץ‬three times in Gen 38:29; “Die Josefsgeschichte als Modell für Versöhnung,” in Studies in the Book of Genesis: Literature, Redaction, and History, ed. André Wénin, BETL 155 [Leuven: Peeters, 2001], 244–47). 17.  For the brotherly role-reversal (“helplessness in the hands of a bully, false charge with death in the offing, imprisonment, abrupt commutation of sentence”), see Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987), 294. 18.  All translations in this essay are my own.

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that Reuben answers them (‫ ;ויען ראובן אתם‬v. 22) points to a separation between Jacob’s oldest son and the rest. They give voice to their guilt, yet Reuben stands at a distance, listens to them, and speaks back. 19 This play evinced in the conversation structure of the passage is corroborated by the phrasing of the quoted inset. Whereas Reuben’s speech harks back to Gen 37:21, his words at that venture were much more inclusive (‫ )לא נכנו נפׁש‬than those of his self-quotation (‫אל־תחטאו‬ ‫)בילד‬. 20 As a result of this blend of reproduction and construction, his involvement in the episode is subtly diminished. 21 Moreover, by means of his frame-quote interplay, Reuben manages to switch sides, aligning himself more closely with the innocent Joseph than with his guilty brothers. While they see their dilemma as the punishment for not listening to Joseph (‫ ;ולא ׁשמענו‬v. 21), in Reuben’s view, the current scenario is also the consequence of not listening to him (‫;ולא ׁשמעתם‬ v. 22). While the proof of the quotation increases their awareness of guilt, its playful framing decreases his own. 22 As demonstrated by these observations, the conflict between Joseph and his brothers creates a conflict also between them and Reuben. Trying to shake off his responsibility as Jacob’s firstborn son and possibly still ashamed of his failed attempt to rescue Joseph from the well (37:29–30), 23 his reply to his brothers employs the full potential of quoted speech. Conversation structure, inset formulation, and framing perspective all indicate that the categories of proof and play are strategically merged to create distance between himself and the current predicament. His report is self-rhetoric, his correspondence is confrontation, and it is not possible to tell where reproduction ends and construction begins. 19.  In Genesis, ‫ ענה‬consistently marks speech as a response to a previous address or dialogue (e.g., 18:27; 23:5; 27:37; 31:31; 40:18; 41:16; 45:3). Pace Robert Alter: “Reuben becomes the chief spokesmen for their collective guilt” (Genesis: Translation and Commentary [New York: Norton, 1996], 247). 20.  This difference is already noted by Herrmann Gunkel: “Die Worte Rubens sind ein, nicht wörtliches, Citat von 37:22” (Genesis, HKAT 1 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1901], 401. 21.  The passive construction in Reuben’s last line (‫ )וגם־דמו הנה נדרׁש‬should not be translated as an inclusive first-person plural statement as, for instance, in NIV, NKJV, NET, and EIN. 22.  Our observations confirm Barbara Green’s suspicion: “Reuben seems eager to set himself off from their guilt, perhaps even from his own” (“What Profit for Us?” Remembering the Story of Joseph [Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1996], 123). Walter Brueggemann regards Reuben’s quotation as a “self-serving rebuke” (Genesis, Interpretation [Atlanta: John Knox, 1982], 338). 23.  For this possible connection, see Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50, WBC 2 (Dallas: Word, 1994), 408–9.

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Speech and Sacks (Genesis 42:29–34) After Joseph’s conditions are fulfilled—he keeps Simeon in custody—the brothers set out on their journey back home, loaded with sacks of Egyptian grain. Yet, unbeknownst to them, the sacks also contain the money that they had given as payment. 24 At a rest stop, the nine brothers discover this secret deposit and are greatly dismayed. But despite this severe upset and the note that they told Jacob on arrival “all that had befallen them” (42:29b), the sack-money episode is conspicuously absent from their report. When they open their sacks in v. 35, they react, alongside Jacob, as if they’re seeing the silver for the first time (‫)המה ואביהם וייראו‬. Couched between the initial discovery and the second “discovery” by sons and father, vv. 30–34 record two instances of quoted speech that help to make sense of this incident. The first quotation relates to the brothers’ defense against Joseph’s accusations: But we said to him: “We are honest men! We have never been spies! We are twelve brothers, sons of our father. One is no more, and the youngest is today with our father in the land of Canaan.”

31 32

The self-quotation in vv. 31–32 provides a close enough copy of what had been said in vv. 11–13 and also a few playful adaptations. In their report to Jacob, there is no word about the sacks and, initially, there is also no word about their loss of Simeon. 25 Instead, what is of primary importance is that they made their best effort to convince the powerful (‫ )האיׁש אדני‬and rough (‫ )דבר קׁשות‬man, the “lord of the land,” that they are honest men. Although they did all they could possibly do, their faithful speech was overruled by the Egyptian despot. In the second quotation in vv. 33–34 (cf. vv. 15–20), it is then no accident that Jacob hears the bad news of Simeon’s retention and the demand for Benjamin out of Joseph’s own mouth, who is thus framed as the primary bearer of responsibility. 26 Then the man, the lord of the land, said to us: “By this I shall know that you are honest: leave one of your brothers behind with me, but

33

24.  This return is a long-debated question. For different views, see Claus Westermann, Genesis 37–50: A Commentary, trans. John J. Scullion (London: SPCK, 1987), 111. Within the wider dynamics of the narrative, I favor Sternberg’s reading: “Joseph plants temptation in their bags. . . . Will they now opt for the brother [i.e., Simeon] or for the money?” (Poetics, 293). 25.  For more details on these omissions, see Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 169. 26. “It is not they but ‘the man’ who demands this difficult sacrifice” (Savran, Telling, 44).

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Samuel Hildebrandt concerning the famine of your households, take and go! 34Then bring your youngest brother to me and I will know that you are no spies but that you are honest. I will give back to you your brother and you may trade in the land.”

That they use their reported information as an intrigue to distract Jacob from their own culpability is manifested here also by their constructed promise of future trades with Egypt (42:34b) and the exchange of Joseph’s threat to kill them if they return without Benjamin (v. 20) for his apparent willingness to deliver Simeon (‫)את־אחיכם אתן לכם‬. 27 In summary, what Jacob’s sons provide in their report is a selective combination and construction of phrases from their conversation in Egypt that serves to downplay the danger in which they are caught, to demonstrate that they did their best to avert the situation altogether and, ultimately, to shift all the blame to the Egyptian magistrate. 28 It is then questionable whether their primary concern is “to make it more likely for Jacob to let Benjamin go.” 29 Rather, they are first of all interested in presenting themselves as the innocent victims of an unpredictable villain who issues offhand charges and demands. Just as with Reuben, now the brothers together use their own speech and the speech of others to downplay their culpability. Grounded in the proof of the Egyptian authority, they playfully confront Jacob with the disguised Joseph to distract from themselves. They reproduce bits of authentic information, but it is difficult to draw a line between information and confrontation or self-justification. By its facility of blurring fact and fiction, quoted speech becomes an ideal vehicle in their conflict-laden encounter with the father. Since Jacob appears to ponder silently their account of having lost Simeon and the prospect of losing Benjamin (note the lack of a direct response), his sons open their sacks as a proactive measure to corroborate their speech. With the proofand-play of their report in vv. 30–34 as a preparation, Jacob is now to experience a firsthand encounter of their predicament. The sight of the grain and money should be an obvious indication that someone is interfering with their well-meaning endeavors and seeks to frame them as thieves. Just as they themselves did, now their 27.  “Given their meager options, they did well, or at least could have done no other; and reunion with Simeon and access to more food lack only a step” (Green, Profit, 126). 28. Pace Benno Jacob: “The report only presents the facts important for Jacob” (The First Book of the Bible: Genesis, ed. and trans. Ernest I. Jacob and Walter Jacob [Jersey City, NJ: Ktav, 2007], 288). 29.  Wilson, Joseph, 155. For the self-focus of the brothers, note the pervasive firstperson plural forms in 42:30–32 and the double reference to their honesty (‫ ;כנים‬vv. 31, 33).

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father must grapple with the inexplicable scenario in which they are trapped. Inasmuch as Joseph gives his brothers a taste of his hardship, they attempt to do the same with Jacob. But the father’s suspicion that is aroused by the absence of Simeon and the presence of the money thwarts this strategy. 30 The brothers’ reported version of self and the Egyptian tyrant may have been able to portray them as innocent victims. The hard evidence of the silver, however, leads the twice-bereaved father to disregard their verbal maneuvers as well as their staged dismay. 31

Back to Egypt (Genesis 43:3–7) Whereas neither the opening of mouths and sacks nor Reuben’s appeal (42:37–38) have sufficed to move Jacob, the life-threat of the famine proves to be a more powerful motivator. As the grain is used up (43:2), Jacob calls his sons to go back to Egypt to purchase more. But because the father makes no mention of Benjamin, the conflict is rekindled, and Judah and his brothers get ready for another round of skillful quotation practice: 32 And Judah said to him, saying: “The man strictly warned us, saying: ‘You shall not see my face unless your brother is with you!’ 4If you are willing to send our brother with us, let us go down and let us buy food for you. 5 But if you are unwilling to send him, we will not go down. For the man spoke to us: ‘You shall not see my face unless your brother is with you.’ ” 3

While the previous passages evinced deliberate alterations to the original speeches, Judah’s quotations in 43:3 and 5 lack a comparative basis altogether: Joseph never threatened them with a denial of his audience. 33 The only statement that may come close to this is Joseph’s threat to take their lives (42:20). But since this 30.  “Whatever success they achieved in persuading their father was undercut drastically by the discovery of the money in the sacks” (Savran, Telling, 44). For Jacob’s Simeon/ silver inkling, see Sternberg, Poetics, 298. 31. In Sternberg’s view, father and sons are afraid for different reasons. While Jacob is overcome by the terrible thought that they may have sold Simeon, the brothers are dismayed by an “awakened sense of guilt about Joseph” that arises from Jacob’s outburst in 42:36 (ibid., 298). Yet, since they are afraid before Jacob’s verbal response (v. 35), Sternberg’s alternative suggestion of a staged coup is to be preferred (they are “pretending to be dismayed only to cover their tracks” [ibid.]). This is also Nahum Sarna’s conclusion (The JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis [Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989], 296). 32.  The noteworthy attestation of four distinct speech quotations in 43:3–7 must be added to the compilation by Ronald T. Hyman, “The Transition to the Second Trip to Egypt: Narrative Devices in Genesis 43:1–14,” JBQ 38 (2010): 73–84. 33.  Wenham inaccurately adduces 42:15 and 42:20 as the original locutions for the quotations (Genesis 16–50, 420).

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information cannot be passed on to the shaken father, Judah needs an alternative way of convincing Jacob, and his quotations provide just that. As in 42:29–34, the frame opens again with the appeal (and blame shift) to “the man” whose stern commands (‫ )העד העד בנו‬stand behind all their troubles. The proof for what Judah is about to reiterate is thus anchored again in the unshakable decree of the Egyptian authority. 34 Framed between the discouraging “fact” of the refused reception (43:3, 5), Judah inserts in v. 4 the encouraging promise to buy food specifically for Jacob (‫ ;ונׁשברה לך אכל‬cf. 43:2). Just as with the additional promise of future trading options in the quotation before (42:34), the existential threat of the famine is again incorporated into the quotation games of Jacob’s sons (see also 43:8). What this subtle amalgamation of informative and incentive material seeks to accomplish is revealed in v. 5. Since in reality, the matter is not one of a denied audience but of a potential execution, the brothers will not go without Benjamin, their life insurance. 35 As in ch. 42, the proof-and-play of Judah’s quotations is primarily in the interest of the brothers. Because Jacob remains doubtful of his son’s reproduced rhetoric (43:6; cf. 42:36), the brothers join together for one final attempt: And they said: “The man thoroughly questioned us about ourselves and our kindred, saying: ‘Is your father still alive? Do you have another brother?’ And we spoke to him concerning these matters. How could we have ever known that he would say: ‘Bring your brother down’?” 7

As in 43:3–5, the quotation in 43:7 is again playfully adapted from the original conversation (cf. 42:7–20), 36 and again it serves primarily to shift blame to “the man,” both for his inquisition (‫ )ׁשאול ׁשאל־האיׁש לנו‬and for his arbitrary demand to bring Benjamin to him (‫)הידוע נדע‬. 37 As in their report earlier, the brothers’ framing and phrasing create for Jacob a scenario of unforeseeable developments 34.  Sternberg speaks of an “if-and-if-only proposition that the addressee can take or leave but, since it originates in the Egyptian overlord, not haggle about” (Poetics, 301). 35. Against the background of Judah’s quotations, the statement in 43:8 becomes slightly more ambiguous: “Please send the boy with me and let us rise and go so that we may live and not die.” 36.  Westermann’s suggestion that it was impossible “for them to explain to their father the precise details of the course of the interrogation” does not take into account their previous quotation-conduct and the threat that hangs over them (Genesis 37–50, 121). Wilson also sees “no negative inference about Judah’s reliability” (Wise, 158). 37.  Hyman notes that the three infinitive absolutes in 43:3–7 are considerably above average in Genesis (“Transition,” 76).

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and utter powerlessness. Supplemented by Judah’s subsequent image of the fateful consequences of their delay (43:8b), Jacob’s sons finally reap the fruits of their careful conflation of report and rhetoric in the quotations in chs. 42–43. With just enough proof and informative value to be credible, the subtle exercises of their quotation craft paves the road back to Egypt.

The (Quoted) Speech of Judah (Genesis 44:18–34) With our next passage, we have reached one of the most important texts for quoted speech in the Joseph story and in biblical narrative. While interpreters have always had a very high opinion of Judah’s verbal skill, the central role that speech quotations play in Judah’s speech has not always been recognized. 38 Yet, simply the number and density of quotations shows that Gen 44:18–34 is not like other speeches. In 17 verses, we find 10 quoted phrases, and in vv. 18–29 only 42 words come from Judah, and 84 words are quoted. Following the brothers’ quotations in chs. 42–43, the dynamics of reproduction and construction take on heightened significance in the speech that curbs the conflict and turns the narrative. After the brothers’ return and reunion with Simeon and the hopeful episode in Joseph’s private house (43:23–34), the familial conflict is set aflame yet again by fateful treasure in their baggage. As Joseph commands them to leave Benjamin in his custody (44:17), Judah’s appeal is laden with pressure. In its first part (vv. 18– 23), several features indicate that he is doing much more than simply rehearsing the course of the previous events. The frame opens with portrayals of himself (‫ )ידבר־נא עבדך‬and of his addressee (‫ )כמוך כפרעה‬that clearly seek to promote a favorable reception. After the reports to Jacob in chs. 42–43, Judah goes on to offer yet another version of the brothers’ first encounter with Joseph in Egypt. 39 But 38.  For Gerhard von Rad, for instance, Gen 44:18–34 is “one of the most beautiful examples of lofty rhetorical culture . . . a little work of art” (Genesis, trans. John H. Marks, OTL [London: SCM, 1961], 389). Since Judah’s speech has created a small bibliography on its own, it is not necessary (or possible) to comment here on all of its aspects. For the quotations, see Savran, Telling, 58–63; and David A. Diewert, “Judah’s Argument for Life as Wise Speech,” in The Way of Wisdom: Essays in Honour of Bruce K. Waltke, ed. James I. Packer and Sven K. Soderlund (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2000), 61–74. See further Mark A. O’Brien, “The Contribution of Judah’s Speech, Genesis 44:18–34, to the Characterization of Joseph,” CBQ 59 (1997): 429–47; Peter Weimar, “Eine bewegende Rede: Komposition und Theologie der Rede Judas in Gen 44:18–34,” in Das Manna fällt auch heute noch: Beiträge zur Geschichte und Theologie des Alten, Ersten Testaments: Festschrift für Erich Zenger, ed. Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger, HBS 44 (Freiburg: Herder, 2004), 638–59. Neither von Rad, Weimar, nor O’Brien draws attention to the impressive proportions of quoted speech. 39.  For a full comparison, see in particular O’Brien, “Contribution,” 435.

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whereas Jacob had no way of comparison, it is striking that Judah quotes words of Joseph to Joseph that he had never spoken (44:19). He thus grounds his report in the most authoritative and binding word available to Joseph—namely, his own. This reckless reproduction constructs him as the one who is responsible for all of the events that follow in Judah’s account. As the counterpart to this Josephperspective, the quoted replies of the brothers in vv. 20 and 22 present them as members of a family struck by the death of a brother and gathered around an old and caring father. 40 While the additions in these self-quotations may be small, they suffice to establish the idea that Judah’s addressee knew all about the fatal consequences of his demands—and that he chose to ignore them (vv. 21, 23). 41 The first round of this well-crafted report ends with yet another Joseph-quotation. As previously said to Jacob, Joseph’s threat to the brothers’ life (42:20) is exchanged for the denial of an audience (44:23; cf. 43:3–5). Given how unpredictable the Egyptian overlord has shown himself earlier, Judah wisely chooses not to remind him of these words. Considering 44:18–23 as a whole, we conclude that Judah weaves together a dialogue that, in this form, has never taken place. By creative design and a skillful (re)construction of speaker, addressee, and quoted parties, he subtly advances his strategy of blaming his undercover brother for the father’s misfortune. As Judah seeks to shift the guilt from the brothers (see 44:16) onto Joseph, information and confrontation are once more deliberately and indivisibly intertwined. The second round focuses exclusively on Jacob and his sons back home. Judah’s speech is again created primarily from previous speeches (of the 62 words in 44:24–29, only 16 are Judah’s own). That he delivers not simply an informative rehearsal is indicated here by the patchwork character of his quotation: 44:24–26 are taken from 43:2–4; 44:27–29 stem from 42:38. While the quotation in 44:26 once more shifts the blame to Joseph, the extended quotation of Jacob (44:27–29) paints for him the picture of a frail and sorrowful father who waits alone (and hungry) for his beloved son. The animated presentation of Jacob’s earlier loss of Benjamin’s only brother, 42 which is missing in the original speech, supports this strategy. With 40.  Jacob’s love for Benjamin, and his certain demise at the loss of his son occur nowhere in the original speeches. In this regard, interpreters have often highlighted Judah’s overall focus on Benjamin and Jacob (‫ אב‬occurs 14 times); e.g., Wenham, Genesis 16–50, 426; Savran, Telling, 60; Weimar, “Rede,” 654. 41.  “Judah claims that Joseph repeated his demand in more threatening terms despite the brothers’ warning” (O’Brien, “Contribution,” 438). On this point, see also Green, Profit, 147; and Savran, Telling, 61. 42.  Regarding 44:27–29, Weimar remarks that “Josef in geradezu exklusiver Weise als Bruder Benjamins erscheint” (“Rede,” 654).

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regard to this insider perspective of the events back in Canaan, Judah’s quotations are as intricate and ingenious as they are informative. 43 On the foundation of the words of Joseph, Jacob, and the brothers, Judah launches his final effort (‫ ;ועתה‬44:30). Building directly on the previous quotations (cf. vv. 30–31/27–29), he lays out once more the fatal consequences that a return without Benjamin would have for Jacob. Then, as the finale of his speech, Judah reveals that he has pledged himself for Benjamin’s safety: he would exchange his own life for that of his younger brother to spare his father from grief and certain death. Judah’s offer is commonly and adequately regarded as a manifestation of his honorable character and an expression of repentance. 44 But in the contexts of the previous quotation schemes and the current pressures of ch. 44, one wonders whether this necessarily clears him of all self-interest. Surely, what is at stake is not merely Jacob’s fate but also the lifelong burden of guilt that a failure of Judah’s pledge would entail. While his self-quotation in v. 32 testifies to his laudable selfdenial, it also fits all too well with his strategic appeal to Joseph’s emotions. By this well-timed quotation of his virtuous offer, all of his speech, including the humble self-portrayal in 44:18, is substantiated in retrospect: who would not trust such a selfless man to speak the truth? 45 At the same time, informing Joseph about his pledge via the quotation implicitly confronts his addressee with a moral choice: will he follow Judah’s noble example, or is he willing to be responsible for the death of the frail and bereaved father? 46 Having labored hard throughout the speech to create the picture of the dying old man and to afflict Joseph’s conscience with Jacob’s death, Judah tightens the noose on his listener with his final arrangement of speech and quotation. The combined weight of Joseph’s own words and those of his father and his brothers comes to rest on his shoulders and, as earlier with Jacob, Judah’s quotation tactics succeed. What this victory entails, however, goes far beyond what Judah had hoped for. Having been the silent recipient of his brother’s blend of new and old, proof and play, and fact and fiction, Joseph is no longer able to maintain his façade (45:1–3).

Joseph and Pharaoh (Genesis 50:4–8) While the central conflict of the narrative has reached its resolution in the reunion between Joseph and his family, the proof-and-play of quoted speech 43.  Green’s evaluation (“a highly creative piece of oratory”) is entirely on target (Profit, 147). 44. Von Rad sees Judah in “purified devotion which compels him to speak” (Genesis, 391). Similar comments are made by Sternberg, Alter, Fischer, and Wilson. 45.  Judah refers to himself as ‫ עבדך‬only in 44:18 and 32–33. 46.  “If Joseph rejects Judah’s plea, the implication is that Joseph will be responsible for Jacob’s demise” (Wilson, Wise, 170).

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continues unabatedly. After the settlement in Goshen and Jacob’s blessings, the patriarch dies, and Joseph reports to Pharaoh his father’s last wish: My father made me swear, saying: “Behold, I am about to die. In my gravesite, which I have hewn for myself in the land of Canaan, there you shall bury me.” So now, please let me go up, and let me bury my father. Then I will come back. 5

In his address to the court, three aspects deserve special attention: (1) Joseph’s framing of Jacob’s quoted words; (2) his use of intermediaries (cf. 50:4); and (3) the added phrase that Jacob had hewn his tomb for himself. When compared with the last quotation text in Gen 44, Judah’s self-abasement before Joseph is now apparent in Joseph’s own behavior (50:4b). 47 Since he enjoys a high standing at the Egyptian court (see 41:41–43; 45:17–20; 47:1), this approach “from below” is suspicious. As with Judah, Joseph also appears to be asking for something difficult or controversial; he is faced with the potentially conflictual task of fulfilling his father’s last instructions without offending Egyptian hospitality and customs. Besides his humble approach, the caution that this assignment requires is also reflected in his use of intermediaries. The indirect communication with Pharaoh has often been explained with recourse to Egyptian rites of mourning and purification. Since there is, however, no indication of this in the passage itself, Joseph’s roundabout line of inquiry is understood best as another element in his careful and calculated framing of his address. 48 While it is correct that Jacob had made him swear to bury him with his fathers (47:29–31), Joseph presents this piece of information rather intricately to Pharaoh. Jacob’s explicit wish not to be buried in Egypt (47:29b) is left out; the detail that Jacob had hewn out his tomb himself is added. If this notion of a “personally ‘prepared’ gravesite” is meant to tie Hebrew burial customs to Egyptian practice, both Joseph’s omission and his addition fall right in line with his emphatic and indirect 47.  “He does not merely dispatch them [i.e., the emissaries]; rather, he implores them” (Joshua Berman, “Identity Politics and the Burial of Jacob [Genesis 50:1–14],” CBQ 68 [2006]: 11–31, esp. p. 25 [emphasis original]). 48.  Ephraim A. Speiser speaks of “local taboos calculated to shield the Egyptian godking” (Genesis, AB 1 [Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983], 377). So also von Rad, Wenham, Wilson, and Westermann. Long before Alter and Sternberg, Gunkel had already indicated that Joseph’s distance was intentional: “Joseph wünscht die Fürsprache des Hofes, da sein Wunsch falsch gedeutet werden könnte” (Genesis, 441). It is important to note that Joseph issues his request a whole week after Jacob’s death (50:3–4) and that Pharaoh appears to answer him directly (50:6).

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approach to Pharaoh. 49 This framing of manner and address is further substantiated by the framing of Jacob’s speech itself which focuses explicitly on the authority of his father and his oath (‫ )אבי הׁשביעני‬and adds the closing remark of his sure return to Egypt (‫)ואׁשובה‬. Posing another parallel to Judah’s speech in Gen 44, pledge and paternal loyalty serve again as an elevation of the speaker and as an implicit confrontation of the listener: why would Pharaoh not grant this humble request of the faithful son? As in Judah’s quotations, Joseph likewise grounds his fusion of report and rhetoric in the figure of the patriarch. While this is a powerful demonstration of Jacob’s significance and standing in his family and in Egypt (see 47:7–10), Joseph’s speech shows once more the power of speech quotation. Just as he himself had succumbed to his brother’s quotations of Jacob and his pledge, now he himself succeeds with the same strategy at an even higher level of authority. 50 Having thus maneuvered his way carefully and skillfully through his complex Hebrew-Egyptian context, he fulfills his father’s last wish while also avoiding the irruption of a conflict with his Egyptian superior.

The Brothers and Joseph (Genesis 50:15–17) Just before the narrative closes with Joseph’s death, there is one more speech quotation that deserves our attention. While the brothers have already applied their quotation skills to each other, their father, and the Egyptian overlord, now they gather for a final effort before Joseph. As in the previous two passages, the quote’s proof and authority is located again in the word and will of father Jacob. In the context of chs. 46–50, the brothers have good reason to fear Joseph’s retaliation. As a reaffirmation of Jacob’s favoritism (37:3), the last episodes of his life involve Joseph much more than any of Jacob’s other children. 51 In light of this and the brothers’ record of “evil” against him (50:15), it may well be expected that the powerful Joseph might even the score once their paternal bond is broken. 52 As a proactive gesture, the brothers decide to use a quotation of Jacob (v. 17) to prevent any form of retaliation: 49.  For this idea, Savran (Telling, 43) refers to Nehama Leibowitz, ʿIyyunim Besefer Bereshit (Jerusalem: World Zionist Federation, 1968), 381. See also Berman: “Joseph, as it were, speaks in Pharaoh’s terms” (“Burial,” 26). 50.  Pharaoh’s consent in v. 6 relates explicitly to Joseph’s proof-and-play of father and oath (‫)עלה וקבר את־אביך כאׁשר הׁשביעך‬. 51.  See 46:29–30; 47:7–10, 29–31; 48:1–22; 49:22–26; 50:1–14. 52.  “Jacob embodies something of a barrier against retribution which has now been removed” (Walter Brueggemann, “Genesis L 15–21: A Theological Exploration,” in Congress Volume 1983, ed. John A. Emerton, VTSup 36 [Leiden: Brill, 1985], 40–53, esp. p. 43).

54

Samuel Hildebrandt And they sent to Joseph, saying: “Our father issued a command before his death, saying: 17‘Thus you shall speak to Joseph: I beg you, please forgive the transgression of your brothers and their sin, for they have done evil to you.’ ” 16

As a telling finale to their quotation activity thus far, the report of Jacob’s intercession on their behalf reaches a new level of playful intricacy. Not only is there absolutely no precedent for these words, the very notion that Jacob spoke to them before his death lacks support. Since the last time that father and sons spoke together without Joseph was back in Canaan (Gen 45:25–28), it appears that Joseph’s sudden reappearance has put a decisive end to their communication. In light of this silence in chs. 45–50 but also because of the brothers’ previous reproductive constructions and their fear of Joseph’s revenge, there is little room to evaluate this quotation as anything but a “desperate fabrication.” 53 Just as Joseph had avoided the direct approach in his difficult request to Pharaoh, now the brothers also send messengers. 54 While this allows them to stay at a safe distance, this indirect approach also creates a delay between reception and response in which Jacob’s alleged command can unfold its effectiveness. Faced with this unexpected last word from his beloved father, Joseph spends the time between hearing his brothers’ message (45:17) and their arrival in person (v. 18) in emotional distress. As Joseph was in tears at the reunion and death of his father, 55 the brothers may well have hoped that the resurrected voice of Jacob would place some emotional pressure on their fragile brother. With the memory of his father still fresh, the faithful and obedient son can be expected to grant his final command. Whereas in chs. 42–43, the brothers had played Joseph’s words against Jacob, now at the end of the narrative, they set Jacob’s words against Joseph. The strategic construction of this direct encounter between dead father and mourning son via the quotation is matched by the brothers’ construction of the family as a whole. While they employ the same submissive gestures that we have seen earlier with Judah and Joseph (cf. 50:18), Jacob, whom the frame identifies specifically as “your father” (v. 16), is said to have referred to them as servants of his God (v. 17). 53.  Sternberg, Poetics, 379. Green (Profit, 191) and Savran (Telling, 82) agree. While some interpreters regard the quotation as trustworthy (e.g., von Rad), these cumulative indicators of narrative, speech, and situation significantly undermine this suggestion. 54.  For the difficulties with the MT (‫)ויצוו‬, see David J. Reimer, “Stories of Forgiveness: Narrative Ethics and the Old Testament,” in Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld, ed. Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim, and W. Brian Aucker, VTSup 113 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 368–69. 55.  See 46:29 and 50:1. Joseph weeps also in 42:24; 43:30; 45:2, 14–15.

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55

By means of these small nuances, the brothers’ characters are affirmed, the close relationship of Jacob and Joseph is highlighted, and the report as a whole is endued with paternal authority. Being confronted with such careful framing and delivery of the father’s message from beyond the grave, Joseph once more succumbs to the quotation strategies of his brothers. By means of a single speech quotation, they manage to avert the potential threat and cast the weeping Joseph in the role of the comforter (‫ ;וינחם אותם‬v. 21).

Conclusion While this essay has by no means addressed all of the details and dynamics of these intriguing quotation texts, some important conclusions can be drawn. Our study has shown that quoted speech is an integral element of the story and stylistics of Gen 37–50. It advances the plot at several crucial ventures, such as Joseph’s revelation and Jacob’s burial, and it reflects the dynamics of conflict and power on which the narrative is built. Throughout our analysis, we saw that quoted speech is used consistently “upstream”: whether as sons before the father or as foreigners before the Egyptian court: when the characters’ own authority and claims are thin before their addressees, quoting the speech of others is a welcome vehicle to obtain a hearing. This observation leads directly to our central question of the double-sidedness of quotation, that is, of how proof and play, report and rhetoric, and information and confrontation relate to one another. The aspect of proof, of appealing to authority for one’s information, was certainly present in every single instance: before Jacob, the brothers appeal to Joseph’s Egyptian power; before Joseph, they appeal to father Jacob; before Pharaoh, Joseph appeals to paternal command and binding oath. Even Reuben’s self-quotation can be regarded as an intention to ground his statements in the authority of the firstborn son. That Joseph and his brothers take their quotations from authoritative sources is, of course, only one-half of their quotation practice. Again and again, they combine and infuse their reproductions of these trustworthy speakers with their own playful constructions. Within the conflict-laden atmosphere of the narrative, it is no surprise to find that all of these proof-and-play packages are employed to meet a determined self-focus. Whether to assert their innocence, to shift blame and responsibility, to preserve honor and conscience, or to issue difficult demands, the characters in Gen 37–50 consistently integrate authoritative information into their self-serving agendas. This use of quoted speech is highlighted in the rhetorical shaping of their reports—be that through omission and addition, subtle deictic switches, accompanying actions and frames, or even by means of entirely constructed phrases. Of particular note is the staged coup with sacks and silver,

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the frequent self-abasing phrases and gestures, the indirect communications in ch. 50, and the creative integration of contextual circumstances, such as the two promises of food for the famine-struck Jacob. Throughout the narrative, we have thus witnessed both proof and play at work in the quotations of Jacob’s sons. Their quoted words are informative, but they are also loaded with intrigues and deliberate calculation. They use quotation to correspond with one another, but these correspondences are often implicitly confrontational. For the six passages that we have surveyed, it is impossible to draw clearly defined lines between proof and play or between information and confrontation. As the brothers return empty-handed to Jacob, where does their report end, where does their rhetoric begin? When Joseph asks Pharaoh for a leave of absence, where does the proof of Jacob’s quoted words end and the play of their rephrasing and framing begin? As an affirmation of Lane-Mercier’s definition of quotation as “a continuous interplay of reproduction and construction,” the Joseph narrative shows that the two sides of quotation, however they are perceived, reinforce one another within a complex, indivisible unity. And how can this be any other way? Proof needs play to be applicable; play needs proof to be convincing. The passages from Gen 37–50 have shown over and over what a powerful instrument this device provides which so uniquely inhabits the space between reproduction and construction, between fact and fiction. As a telling counterpart to the serpent’s crafty proof-and-play in Eden, the Joseph narrative records one character after the other surrendering to the subtle and versatile dynamics of quoted speech. Jacob, the suspicious and argumentative father, Joseph, himself a master of disguise, and even almighty Pharaoh—all three yield in their respective positions of power to the influence of quoted words.

The Intersection of Orality and Style in Biblical Hebrew Metapragmatic Representations of Dialogue in Genesis 34 Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Jacobus A. Naudé University of the Free State

Introduction Dialogue is quintessentially oral, both in its component parts (speeches by alternate speakers) and in its sociolinguistic character as talk-in-interaction. 1 Dialogue intersects with “style” in multiple ways, including the following: in the particular speech style (idiolect) of each participant in the dialogue, in the genres or registers of speech and dialogue and, finally, in the conventions and norms that emerge and are exploited (or flouted) in the process of verbal interaction within a dialogic exchange. In the recounting of speech and dialogue, the storyteller has the option to portray the original speech event in ways ranging from mimesis to paraphrase to a simple notice that speech occurred. The storyteller also has the option to characterize the auditory features of speech, the roles of participants within the dialogue, and the purposive intentions of the speakers. In so doing, the storyteller also may exhibit style in a variety of ways: in the storyteller’s own particular speech Authors’ note: This research is supported in part by the National Research Foundation of South Africa (Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé UID 95926 and Jacobus A. Naudé UID 85902). The grantholders acknowledge that opinions, findings, and conclusions or recommendations expressed in any publication generated by NRF supported research are those of the authors and that the NRF accepts no liability whatsoever in this regard. 1. See, for example, Emanuel A. Schegloff, “On the Organization of Sequences as a Source of ‘Coherence’ for Talk-in-Interaction,” in Conversational Organization and Its Development, ed. Bruce Dorval, Advances in Discourse Process 38 (Norwood, NJ: Ablex, 1990), 51–77.

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style, in the storytelling genre that is invoked or created, and in the ways in which the reported speeches and dialogues are shaped and represented. It is, then, the storyteller who ultimately shapes the reports of speeches and dialogues within the story. A similar kind of control is available to the narrator who recounts speech and dialogue within a written story, and the same kinds of stylistic variation can be identified within a narrative. How, then, is it possible to disentangle the various ways in which orality and style intersect in the representations of dialogue in biblical narratives? In this essay, we address the intersection of orality and style with specific reference to how speech and dialogue are metapragmatically represented in biblical narrative, using Gen 34 as an example. The article is organized as follows. In the second section, we summarize how orality has been analyzed, both in the biblical text and in contemporary cultures, in light of the scribal shaping of texts in the ancient Near East and the oral-written interface within hearing-dominant cultures. In the third section, we briefly examine style from a linguistic point of view, sociolinguistic variation and metapragmatics. In the fourth section, we introduce metapragmatics as an insightful way to analyze representations of speech and dialogue. In the fifth section, we examine the representations of speech and dialogue in Gen 34. 2

Orality, Scribal Practice, and Hearing-Dominant Cultures The oral traditions that lie behind the written texts of the Hebrew Bible have been examined extensively for more than a century, and oral features have been identified in a number of genres. 3 But certain essential conceptualizations of 2.  A companion article examines the translation of quotative frames in English versions using examples from Gen 34; see Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Jacobus A. Naudé, “The Translation of Quotative Frames in the Hebrew Bible,” Folia Orientalia 52/2 (2015) 249–69. 3. See, for example, Hermann Gunkel, The Psalms: A Form-Critical Introduction (1930; repr., Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967); Shelomo Morag, “Oral Traditions and Dialects: Towards a Methodology for Evaluating the Evidence of an Oral Tradition” in Proceedings of the International Conference on Semitic Studies Held in Jerusalem, 19–23 July 1965 (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1969), 180–89; Susan Niditch, Oral World and Written Word: Ancient Israelite Literature (Louisville: John Knox, 1996); Robert C. Culley, Oral Formulaic Language in the Biblical Psalms (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1967); idem, “Orality and Writtenness in Prophetic Texts,” in Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Michael H. Floyd, SBL Symposium Series 10 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 45–64; and Marti Nis-

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the oral traditions of the Bible have undergone shifts in recent years. Hermann Gunkel’s oral formulaic theory of the biblical traditions implied that oral cultures and literate cultures can be universally and absolutely differentiated. This dichotomous view was prevalent also in the work of scholars examining contemporary oral traditions, such as Milman Parry and Albert B. Lord, whose work is well known to biblical scholars, as well as the less well-known Marcel Jousse. 4 Jousse (1886–1997) was a French anthropologist who championed the values of orality against the backdrop of predominantly literate contemporary societies. 5 In his view, memory—the uniquely human ability to mimic one’s environment— constituted orality’s main strength and literacy’s main weakness. Memory is most efficient in storing, classifying, and retrieving items that are mimetic, rhythmic, and bilateral. Repetition is seen as a critical means for identifying patterns and formulas that would facilitate memory. Oral style, then, promotes the memory of traditions and is characterized by mimetic, rhythmic, bilateral, and repetitive expressions. Jousse’s views of the dichotomy between oral and literate societies and the role of memory in shaping and transmitting oral tradition were influential. Finnegan’s classic work on oral storytelling traditions in Africa, for example, extended Jousse’s view of oral features to include reduplication, onomatopoeia, and ideophones. 6 Walter Ong and Paul F. Bandia also based their views of features of orality on the work of Jousse. 7 A universal dichotomy of oral versus literate cultures has more recently been revised or nuanced from a variety of perspectives. From intimate knowledge of predominantly oral cultures in Papua New Guinea and Indonesia, Lourens J. de Vries has shown that absolute orality is very rare; he views as “romantic” the quest

sinen, “Spoken, Written, Quoted, and Invented: Orality and Writtenness in Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy,” in ibid., 235–71. 4. Milman Parry, The Making of Homeric Verse: The Collected Papers of Milman Parry, ed. Adam Parry (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971); and Albert B. Lord, The Singer of Tales, ed. Stephen Mitchell and Gregory Nagy, 2nd ed., Harvard Studies in Comparative Literature 24 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000). 5. Marcel Jousse, The Anthropology of Geste and Rhythm, 2nd rev. ed., trans. Edgar Sienaert and Joan Conolly (Durban: Mantis, 2000). 6. Ruth Finnegan, Oral Literature in Africa, World Oral Literature Series 1 (Cambridge: Open Book, 1970); and idem, The Oral and Beyond: Doing Things with Words in Africa (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007). 7. Walter Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (London: Methuen, 1982); Paul F. Bandia, “Orality and Translation,” in Handbook of Translation Studies, 4 vols., ed. Yves Gambier and Luc van Doorslaer (Amsterdam: Benjamins, 2010– 12), 2.108–12.

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to identify exclusively oral societies. 8 Instead, many societies produce oral and written literature simultaneously; oral and written dimensions have many points of contact and co-evolve. Features of orality are also not universal but, rather, have local manifestations in which both oral and written dimensions play a role. 9 Similarly, research concerning oral tradition and the biblical text has shifted to the impact of scribal activity on composition and redaction. 10 David Carr has argued that in ancient societies there was no dichotomy between oral communication and written communication. 11 Instead, the development of writing took place within the broader context of oral communication. The interrelationship of orality and writing has been suggested by Walton and Sandy to be one of dominance— either “hearing-dominant” cultures or “text-dominant” cultures. 12 In hearingdominant cultures, traditions were passed on by word of mouth from generation to generation, whereas in text-dominant cultures, traditions were passed on by scribally-produced texts. They also highlight the different roles played by documents and scribes in the ancient Near East. On the one hand, documents served as symbolic expressions of power. They also served as reference points for oral texts and were often to be read aloud. On the other hand, scribes produced the documents and maintained the archives, but they were not ordinarily the ones who recited the texts in public. On the basis of these nuanced distinctions of oral and written, we have previously described a media history of the Bible (or, a technologizing of the Bible) as follows: 13 8.  Lourens J. de Vries, “Local Oral-Written Interfaces and the Nature, Transmission, Performance, and Translation of Biblical Texts,” in Translating Scripture for Sound and Performance: New Directions in Biblical Studies, ed. James A. Maxey and Ernst R. Wendland, Biblical Performance Criticism 6 (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2012), 68–98. 9.  Ibid., 74–75. 10.  Frank H. Polak, “The Oral and the Written: Syntax, Stylistics, and the Development of Biblical Prose Narrative,” JANES 26 (1998): 59–105; and Alan Millard, “Oral Proclamation and Written Record: Spreading and Preserving Information in Ancient Israel,” in Michael: Historical, Epigraphical, and Biblical Studies in Honor of Prof. Michael Heltzer, ed. Yitzhak Avishur and Robert Deutsch (Tel Aviv: Archaeological Center, 1999), 237–41. 11. David Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); and idem, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011). 12.  John H. Walton and Brent Sandy, The Lost World of Scripture: Ancient Literary Culture and Biblical Authority (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2013). 13.  Tshokolo J. Makutoane, Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé, and Jacobus A. Naudé, “Similarity and Alterity in Translating the Orality of the Old Testament in Oral Cultures,” Translation Studies 8 (2015): 156–74. See also Robert M. Fowler, “Why Everything We Know about the Bible Is Wrong: Lessons from the Media History of the Bible,” in The Bible in

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Hearing-Dominant Oral/aural-written communication / verbal interpretive culture i.  Oral/aural communication (the oral/aural Bible) ii.  Handwritten manuscript communication (manuscript Bible) Text-Dominant Print communication (printed Bible) / typographic interpretive  culture Electronic/media communication (electronic Bible) / digital-media  interpretive culture In the hearing-dominant phase of the Bible, the oral and written dimensions were intimately connected. Long-duration texts were transmitted through indoctrination, education, and enculturation of an elite minority of storytellers and scribes. Oral tradition depends on memorization of the ancient traditions, which are then performed orally. Written versions of the traditions were not intended for immediate reading but were reference points for an ongoing oral tradition of performance. The performance, or “entextualization,” of a text both draws attention to the generic features of the text and “also places that text into a context of previous other texts.” 14 In this way, performance contributes to intertextuality. The biblical writings that have been preserved should, then, be viewed primarily as the “fossil” remains of living oral performances during the hearing-dominant phase of the Bible. 15 The text-dominant phase of the Bible began with the invention of printing around 1440 CE. With mass production of the Bible came individual and silent reading from private copies, and memorization of the text was no longer essential.

Style, Linguistics, and Sociolinguistics Style is a nebulous feature of language since, “on the one hand, there is no such thing as a ‘content’ which does exist quite apart from the words; on the other hand the very existence of the word ‘style’ shows that something can be said about Ancient and Modern Media: Story and Performance, ed. Holly E. Hearon and Philip RugeJones, Biblical Performance Criticism 1 (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2009), 3–18; and Karin Littau, “First Steps towards a Media History of Translation,” Translation Studies 4 (2011): 261–81. 14. Nigel Fabb, Linguistics and Literature: Language in the Verbal Arts of the World (Blackwell Textbooks in Linguistics; Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), 228. 15. David Rhoads, “The Art of Translating for Oral Performance,” in Translating Scripture for Sound and Performance: New Directions in Biblical Studies, ed. James A. Maxey and Ernst R. Wendland, Biblical Performance Criticism 6 (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2012), 26–30.

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the words which does not refer directly to the content.” 16 Identifying and describing style as a feature of the biblical text can be approached from a variety of disciplines. From a linguistic point of view, Roman Jakobson identifies “poetics” as one of the six functions of language. 17 Jakobson viewed language as having the following components, as illustrated in (1)—addresser and addressee in contact using a specific code in a specific context to convey a message: (1) context addresser message addressee contact code These components correspond to the following functions of language—the emotive, conative, phatic, metalingual, referential, and poetic: (2) referential emotive poetic conative phatic metalingual In Jakobson’s view, the speaker’s choice in language relates to selection, the choice of which words to use, and combination, the ways in which these words are combined. The result is the poetic function of language, which focuses primarily on the message itself rather than on its referential content. The subdiscipline of linguistics known as “literary linguistics” examines precisely the aspects of language structure that are exploited in literary form. 18 Jakobson’s notion of the speaker’s choice relating to selection and combination is an important concept to which we return below. From a sociolinguistic point of view, style may relate to the poetics of a particular speaker/author or to a particular genre as a culturally-recognized, patterned

16. Alex Preminger, ed., Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, enlarged ed. (London: Macmillan, 1965), s.v. “Style.” 17. Roman Jakobson, “Closing Statement: Linguistics and Poetics,” in Style in Language, ed. Thomas A. Sebeok (Cambridge: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press, 1960), 351–77; repr. as “Linguistics and Poetics” in Roman Jakobson, Language in Literature, ed. Krystyna Pomorska and Stephen Rudy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), 62–93. 18.  Fabb, Linguistics and Literature, 20–21.

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way of speaking. 19 The speech of individual speakers may exhibit linguistic features relating to dialect, register, or genre. An individual’s speech may also exhibit variation within sociolinguistic contexts so that it is possible to differentiate a formal style or a conversational style, etc. 20 Individual style may serve to secure, demonstrate, or reject affinity with a social group. 21 Individual style may also be tailored to the audience. 22 There are therefore numerous ways in which language may vary and a multitude of factors influencing variation. 23

Metapragmatics and the Representation of Speech The representation of dialogue can be insightfully analyzed by considering the metapragmatic nature of reported speech. 24 In reported speech, an original locution is reported by a second speaker. The reporting speaker has choices in how to represent the original locution, ranging from a mimetic representation of the original locution to a mediated representation or a paraphrase. The traditional binary distinction between direct speech (which purports to mimic precisely the original locution) and indirect speech (in which the original locution is recast from the deictic perspective of the reporting speaker) provides two general ways in which the reporting speaker may represent the original locution, although these are not cross-linguistically universal categories among the languages of the world. 25 Furthermore, the reporting speaker typically introduces the reported speech with a quotative frame that characterizes various aspects of the original locution. 19. Nikolas Coupland, Style: Language Variation and Identity, Key Topics in Socio­ linguistics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 15. 20. Natalie Schilling-Estes, “Investigating Stylistic Variation,” in The Handbook of Language Variation and Change, ed. J. K. Chambers, Peter Trudgill, and Natalie SchillingEstes, Blackwell Handbooks in Linguistics (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002), 376. 21.  See also Walt Wolfram, “Variation and Language: An Overview,” in Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics, ed. Keith Brown, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Elsevier, 2006), 333–41. 22. Allan Bell, “Language Style as Audience Design,” in Sociolinguistics: A Reader and Coursebook, ed. Nikolas Coupland and Adam Jaworski, Modern Linguistics Series (Houndmills, U.K.: Macmillan, 1997), 240–50. 23.  On numerous sorts of variation in language, see Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé, “Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew: Linguistic Perspectives on Change and Variation,” in Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew, ed. Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Ziony Zevit, LSAWS 8 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns), 7–10. 24.  For a more extensive discussion of the metapragmatics of reported speech, see Cynthia L. Miller, The Representation of Speech in Biblical Hebrew Narrative: A Linguistic Analysis, HSM 55 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996; repr. with afterword, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 41–91. 25.  See Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé, “Direct and Indirect Speech,” EHLL 1.739–44.

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The term metapragmatic is based on the more general term metalinguistic, which refers to the recursive use of language to describe or characterize language (e.g., definition and grammatical description are two metalinguistic uses of language). A metapragmatic analysis involves the recursive use of language, which is itself pragmatic, to describe pragmatic features of language. The linguistic term pragmatics refers to the relationship between the linguistic signal and its interpreters. It is used in linguistics in two different but interrelated ways to describe, on the one hand, language as intentional, purposive, social behavior and, on the other hand, the relationship that language bears to its context of use. Both uses of pragmatics are relevant to reported speech as metapragmatic. When speech is retold or represented within a story, the storyteller has the option to provide a metapragmatic analysis of the original speech event. In other words, the storyteller may comment on (or, provide a metapragmatic analysis of) various pragmatic aspects of the original speech event. Most commonly, these metapragmatic comments take the shape of quotative frames, which introduce the represented speech and specify various pragmatic features of its context of use, such as the participants of the original speech event, its time/location, and the linguistic code (language) used. The quotative frame may also be meta­pragmatic in providing the reporting speaker’s analysis of the purposive intention of the original speech event by means of the choice of speech verb used (e.g., an original locution in the form of a command is analyzed by the reporting speaker differently if the verb in the quotative frame is suggested as opposed to insisted) or by additional phrases describing the intention or function of the original speaker or characterizing the pragmatics of the speech event. In Biblical Hebrew, reported speech in the prose narrative portions of the Hebrew Bible is usually represented in one of the three varieties of direct speech; indirect speech occurs less frequently and is syntactically and semantically restrained. Direct speech is introduced with one of three types of quotative frames. 26 In the simplest type, one finite metapragmatic verb occurs, as illustrated in (3); this is referred to as a single-verb quotative frame: (3)  Genesis 34:30

‫ויאמר יעקב אל־ׁשמעון ואל־לוי‬ ‫עכרתם אתי להבאיׁשני ביׁשב הארץ בכנעני ובפרזי‬ ‫ואני מתי מספר‬ ‫ונאספו עלי והכוני ונׁשמדתי אני וביתי‬

Jacob said to Simeon and Levi, “You have brought trouble on me, making me odious among the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites and the Perizzites; my men are few in 26. See idem, The Representation of Speech, 143–232.

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65

number, so that if they unite against me and attack me, I and my house will be destroyed.” The quotative frame has one finite metapragmatic verb (‫)ויאמר‬, which indicates only the fact of the speech event and does not provide any other information concerning its purpose or intention; this is the most common type of single verb frame. The quotative frame also provides a metapragmatic analysis of the participants of the speech event, namely, the speaker (‫ )יעקב‬and his addressees (‫אל־‬ ‫)ׁשמעון ואל־לוי‬. In the second type of direct quotative frame, there are two or more finite metapragmatic verbs in the frame; the last verb is the most semantically general (usually a form of ‫ אמר‬or less frequently a form of ‫)דבר‬, as illustrated in (4): (4)  Genesis 24:50

‫ויען לבן ובתואל ויאמרו‬ ‫מיהוה יצא הדבר לא נוכל דבר אליך רע או־טוב‬ Then Laban and Bethuel answered and said, “The matter was decreed by the Lord; we cannot speak to you bad or good.”

The quotative frame has two finite metapragmatic verbs that refer to the same speech event and have the same speech participants. The first verb provides more semantic information than the second verb. In the third type of direct quotative frame, there is one finite metapragmatic verb as well as the form ‫לאמר‬, an infinitival form of the verb ‫ אמר‬that has become grammaticalized as a complementizer. This frame is illustrated in (5): (5)  Genesis 41:16

‫ויען יוסף את־פרעה לאמר‬ ‫בלעדי אלהים יענה את־ׁשלום פרעה‬

Joseph answered Pharaoh saying, “Not I! God will answer concerning the welfare of Pharaoh.”

The three types of quotative frames relate in part to conventions of biblical narrative and in part to the choice of the author/narrator/storyteller. Single-verb frames are the simplest and most neutral (in linguistic terms, “unmarked”). Multipleverb frames are used in dialogic contexts (they are never used with metapragmatic verbs that do not refer to speaking, such as ‫ שׁמע‬or ‫)כתב‬, and they usually introduce the most salient speech in a dialogue. Frames with ‫ לאמר‬are typically used when nonprototypically dialogic features of the speech situation are in view (for example, when the speaker is unidentified or less than a full character, when

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the addressees are unspecified, anonymous or absent, or when the quotation itself is retold, iterative, hypothetical, or fabricated). Frames with ‫לאמר‬, in contrast to multiple-verb frames, may have metapragmatic verbs and expressions that refer not to nonspeech communication (e.g., ‫צחק‬, ‫)כתב‬, to the reception of information (e.g., ‫)שׁמע‬, and to the absence of verbal communication (e.g., ‫)חרשׁ‬. Indirect speech, though less frequent in Biblical Hebrew, also plays an important role in narrative as the complete reanalysis of speech from the perspective of the reporting speaker. The types of indirect speech are distinguished by the extent to which the original locution is syntactically incorporated into the frame and, correspondingly, the degree to which the quotation possibly reflects the original locution. 27 At the one end of the spectrum, the original locution is represented by a sentential complement of the quotative frame, as illustrated in (6): (6)  Genesis 29:12a

‫ויגד יעקב לרחל‬ ‫כי אחי אביה הוא וכי בן־רבקה הוא‬

Jacob told Rachel that he was the brother of her father and that he was the son of Rebekah.

At the other end of the spectrum, the original locution is represented by only the mention of a speech event, as in (7), the response of Rachel to Jacob’s self-revelation: (7)  Genesis 29:12b She ran and told her father.

‫ותרץ ותגד לאביה‬

Between these extremes, the original locution may be represented by an infinitival complement, as in (8), or a noun phrase or prepositional phrase, as in (9). (8)  Genesis 50:2a

‫ויצו יוסף את־עבדיו את־הרפאים לחנט את־אביו‬ Joseph commanded his servants the physicians to embalm his father.

(9)  Genesis 24:9b

‫ויׁשבע לו על־הדבר הזה‬ He [the servant] swore to him [Abraham] concerning this matter.

27. See ibid., 93–141.

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67

Indirect speech represents a greater degree of metapragmatic analysis on the part of the reporting speaker. In other words, the reporting speaker has complete control over the representation of the original locution. In reporting speech, the reporting speaker—whether storyteller or narrator— has significant options in how to portray the original locution. These metapragmatic choices may reflect the style of the reporting speaker as well as concerns of the broader structure.

Orality and Style in Genesis 34 The story of the rape of Dinah in Gen 34 has been extensively analyzed from the standpoint of literature. 28 We suggest instead that the story exhibits features of the oral-written interface, and thus some features that have been identified as literary are, rather, rooted in orality. While it is possible to identify plays on words, repetition of verbal roots, and formulaic language within the chapter—all potentially features of an oral background—it is not clear that these are necessarily indicative of orality; they could also relate to artful literary composition. We will therefore look for other ways to explore orality in the story, which may be more compelling. One of the most interesting ways that the story is shaped relates to the ways in which speech and the perception of speech are represented; indeed, much of the story consists of dialogue. 29 The simplest quotative frames in our story (namely, single-verb frames) are used in the final exchange between Jacob and Simon and Levi in vv. 30–31: (10)  Genesis 34:30–31

‫ויאמר יעקב אל־ׁשמעון ואל־לוי‬ ‫עכרתם אתי להבאיׁשני ביׁשב הארץ בכנעני ובפרזי‬ ‫ואני מתי מספר‬ ‫ונאספו עלי והכוני ונׁשמדתי אני וביתי‬ ‫ויאמרו‬ ‫הכזונה יעׂשה את־אחותנו‬

28.  See, for example, Adele Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative, BLS 9 (Sheffield: Almond, 1983), 76–79; Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading, ISBL (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 445–75; Danna Nolan Fewell and David M. Gunn, “Tipping the Balance: Sternberg’s Reader and the Rape of Dinah,” JBL 110 (1991): 193–211; Meir Sternberg, “Biblical Poetics and Sexual Politics: From Reading to Counter-Reading,” JBL 111 (1992): 463–88. 29. Gordon Wenham, Genesis 16–50, WBC 2 (Dallas: Word, 1994), 309, 311.

68

Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Jacobus A. Naudé Jacob said to Simeon and Levi, “You have brought trouble on me, making me odious among the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites and the Perizzites; my men are few in number, so that if they unite against me and attack me, I and my house will be destroyed.” They said, “Should he treat our sister like a whore?”

In the first quotative frame, the storyteller specifies the speaker (Jacob) and the addressees (Simeon and Levi). The nature of the speech event is represented in a minimal and neutral way, being indicated only with a finite form of the verb ‫אמר‬, even though the content of the speech is clearly an accusation. The storyteller represents the reply of Simeon and Levi with a still more-minimal quotative frame: only the finite verb form ‫ויאמרו‬, with the speakers (Simeon and Levi) and addressee (Jacob) implicit in the context. Their rhetorical question, which concludes the story, provides the perfect ending to an oral performance of the story by forcing the hearers to reevaluate Shechem’s actions and the brothers’ response in terms of a new concept: Dinah as a ‫‘ זונה‬prostitute’. The most complicated quotative frame and, indeed, one of the most unusual quotative frames in the Hebrew Bible is found in vv. 13–14: (11)  Genesis 34:13–14

‫ויענו בני־יעקב את־ׁשכם ואת־חמור אביו במרמה‬ ‫וידברו אׁשר טמא את דינה אחתם‬ ‫ויאמרו אליהם‬ Jacob’s sons answered Shechem and his father Hamor with deceit. They spoke because he had defiled Dinah their sister. They said to them . . .

The reply of the sons of Jacob to the reiterated requests of Hamor in vv. 8–10 and of Shechem in vv. 11–12 is introduced with a multiple-verb quotative frame comprising three sentences. The first sentence metapragmatically represents the nature of their speech as a reply (‫ )ויענו‬and indicates that the speakers are the “sons of Jacob.” The addressees are identified as “Shechem and Hamor his father,” thus reversing the addressees with respect to the order of their requests: Hamor has made the first request and Shechem the second. The reversed order of names is probably intended to highlight the brothers’ view that it is Shechem who stands behind his father’s request. What is most unusual about this quotative frame is the fact that the storyteller explicitly states that the sons of Jacob answered ‫‘ במרמה‬with deceit’, thus providing a metapragmatic analysis of the veracity of their speech event. The

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second sentence indicates that they spoke ‫‘ אׁשר טמא את דינה אחתם‬because he had defiled Dinah their sister’, thus providing a metapragmatic analysis of the motivation for their speech event and for their deception. The third sentence concludes a quotative frame with multiple finite verbs in the more usual way with a finite form of the verb ‫אמר‬. This extensive quotative frame with three finite sentences serves to provide detailed pragmatic information concerning the speech event so that the hearers are not in doubt about the precise nature of the speech event or its purpose. Although quotative frames could be understood as a feature of literary style, they exhibit a number of puzzling features that can be better explained as rooted in orality. This is especially the case for mutiple-verb quotative frames, which contain more than one finite metapragmatic verb, as just exemplified in Gen 34:13–14. These quotative frames seem to relate to orality for the following reasons. First, the bilateral (or, parallelistic) syntactic structure of a multiple-verb quotative frame functions in unusual ways in terms of narrative style. In contrast to the normal way in which a series of wayyiqtol verbs function in narrative, wayyiqtol verbs within a quotative frame all refer to the same speech event, and the second and subsequent wayyiqtol verbs do not imply sequential events. The very common expression ‫ויען‬ ‫ ויאמר‬does not mean that first he answered and then he said but instead refers to a single speech event. This fact can be further demonstrated by a few cases in which a finite form of ‫ אמר‬appears more than once in a quotative frame, thus providing complete semantic overlap between the metapragmatic verbs in the frame: 30 (12)  Genesis 22:7a

‫ויאמר יצחק אל־אברהם אביו‬ ‫ויאמר אבי‬ Then Isaac said to Abraham his father and he said, “My father.”

Second, explicit references to the speaker and addressee may be distributed between the two verbs of the quotative frame and their respective clauses: (13)  Genesis 27:37b Isaac answered and he said to Esau

‫ויען יצחק‬ ‫ויאמר לעׂשו‬

30.  Explanations of the pragmatic import of this quotative frame differ; see Miller, The Representation of Speech, 387–88; and E. J. Revell, “The Repetition of Introductions to Speech as a Feature of Biblical Hebrew,” VT 47 (1997): 91–110.

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The speaker is explicitly indicated with the first verb, and the addressee with the second verb. Contrast the following example, in which the speaker and addressee are grammatically connected to the first verb and not the second: 31 (14)  Joshua 7:20 Achan answered Joshua and he said

‫ויען עכן את־יהוׁשע ויאמר‬

Third, conversely, there is often a redundancy in explicitly mentioning the speaker and addressee more than once in multiple-verb frames: (15)  1 Samuel 20:32a

‫ויען יהונתן את־ׁשאול אביו ויאמר אליו‬ Jonathan answered Saul his father and he said to him

These features of multiple-verb quotative frames suggest that they have their basis in the oral performance of a storyteller for the following reasons. First, as we noted above, bilateralism or parallelism is often a feature of orality. Furthermore, there is abundant evidence to indicate that parallelism and other poetic features are regular features of direct speech in Biblical Hebrew, thus suggesting a shared oral background for both poetry and representations of direct speech. 32 Second, redundancy, another feature of orality, is often exhibited in the metapragmatic representations of speaker and addressee within the quotative frame. Third, formulaic style in Hebrew and Ugaritic often involves two clause patterns in which “the information conveyed by the two clauses relates to a single action.” 33 The use of two or more clauses to refer to a single speech event in multiple-verb frames is thus part of a larger pattern in Biblical Hebrew, which probably “had its roots in ancient Israelite oral literature.” 34 31.  In rare instances, the metapragmatic information concerning the participants of the speech event occurs in the second clause of the multiple-verb frame; see Miller, The Representation of Speech, 158–62. 32.  Edward L. Greenstein, “Direct Discourse and Parallelism,” in Discourse, Dialogue and Debate in the Bible: Essays in Honor of Frank Polak, ed. Athalya Brenner-Idan (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2014), 79–91. 33.  Frank H. Polak, “Formulaic Style,” EHLL 1.908, 909. See also idem, “Epic Formulas in Biblical Narrative: Frequency and Distribution,” in Les actes du second colloque international: Bible et informatique: Méthodes, outiles, résultats (Jérusalem, 9–13 Juin, 1988), ed. Réginald-Ferdinand Poswick (Geneva: Champion-Skatkine, 1989), 435–83. Greenstein, however, does not view these bi-clausal epic formulas as constituting a poetic bicolon; see Greenstein, “Direct Discourse and Parallelism,” 85 n. 26. 34.  Polak, “Formulaic Style,” 910.

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Finally, the variety that is possible within the relatively formulaic nature of quotative frames suggests an origin in oral storytelling—a storyteller had both precedent and formula as well as scope for variation in the ways that the narratives are shaped. In contrast to multiple-verb frames, frames with ‫ לאמר‬seem to be related to scribal practice rather than to orality. 35 Frames with ‫לאמר‬, unlike multiple-verb frames, occur in the ancient Hebrew epigraphic letters. Furthermore, frames with ‫ לאמר‬use subordination of a grammaticalized infinitival form of ‫ אמר‬within the frame as opposed to multiple-verb frames, which use coordination of a metapragmatic verbs within the frame. As noted above, coordination has been identified as a feature of orality, whereas subordination has been identified as a feature of scribal practice. We can see another way in which the storyteller represents both speech and alternate perceptions in vv. 4–7. To understand fully the force of these verses in terms of orality, it is important to begin with a brief description of the most basic feature of oral conversation, the adjacency pair. 36 Sociolinguists who analyze oral speech have identified paired adjacent turns of speech by alternate speakers as adjacency pairs. In an adjacency pair, a speech by one speaker is paired with another speech by a second speaker. These speeches are joined by the contingent pragmatics of the speech events. For example, if the first speaker makes a request, the second speaker is expected to respond to the request with either agreement or refusal. If the first speaker asks a question, the second speaker is expected to respond with a cooperative answer. Until an appropriate reply is given to the first speaker, the adjacency pair remains open. In order to highlight the opposing viewpoints of Shechem and his father as opposed to Jacob and his sons, the storyteller has exploited the pragmatics of oral communication. In v. 4, Shechem directs his father: “Take for me this girl as a wife”: (16)  Genesis 34:4 Shechem said to Hamor his father, “Take for me this girl as a wife.”

‫ויאמר ׁשכם אל־חמור אביו לאמר‬ ‫ קח־לי את־הילדה הזאת לאׁשה‬

35.  For the evidence of ‫ לאמר‬as a feature of scribal practice, see Miller-Naudé and Naudé, “The Translation of Quotative Frames in the Hebrew Bible,” 257. 36.  For a more detailed explanation of the sociolinguistic analysis of conversation involving adjacency pairs, see Miller, The Representation of Speech, 235–57; Harvey Sacks, Lectures on Conversation (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992); Emanuel A. Schegloff, A Primer for Conversation Analysis: Sequence Organization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007).

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The storyteller does not provide Hamor’s response immediately, however. Instead, the storyteller leaves the adjacency pair open so that his hearers wonder about the response. The fact that the request is not immediately responded to is highlighted by the fact that it is introduced by a quotative frame using ‫לאמר‬, which is optionally used by the storytellers to indicate a nondialogic speech. Then the storyteller represents the reception of information by Jacob concerning the rape of Dinah (“Now Jacob had heard that he had defiled Dinah his daughter”) followed by a parenthetical comment by the storyteller (“and his sons were with his cattle in the field”) and Jacob’s response (“and Jacob keep silent until they came”): (17)  Genesis 34:5

‫ויעקב ׁשמע כי טמא את־דינה בתו‬ ‫ובניו היו את־מקנהו בׂשדה‬ ‫והחרׁש יעקב עד־באם‬ Jacob heard that he had defiled his daughter Dinah. But his sons were in the field with his cattle. Jacob kept silent until they came.

This information is presented as though it is an adjacency pair by presenting the information as a kind of indirect speech introduced with the verb ‫ׁשמע‬, with the quotation represented with an independent complement. This instance of indirect speech serves to highlight the passivity of Jacob: he hears information that is anonymously relayed to him and responds to it with silence. 37 Then the storyteller returns to the open loop (the incomplete adjacency pair) of Shechem’s request to his father and reveals Hamor’s response in the form of action in the narrative: “Then Hamor the father of Shechem went out to Jacob to speak with him.” (18)  Genesis 34:6

‫ויצא חמור אבי־ׁשכם אל־יעקב לדבר אתו‬ Then Hamor the father of Shechem went out to Jacob to speak with him.

Again, the audience expects the conflict between the two fathers to come to a head, but again, the storyteller slows down the story by returning to the perspective of the sons of Jacob. The storyteller does not represent speech directly but instead provides a summary. In v. 7, “The sons of Jacob came in from the field when they heard”:

37.  The explicit mention of silence is not common in the Hebrew Bible; when it is explicitly mentioned, it is always significant; see Cynthia L. Miller, “Silence as a Response in Biblical Hebrew Narrative: Strategies of Speakers and Narrators,” JNSL 31 (2006): 23–43.

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(19)  Genesis 34:7

‫ובני יעקב באו מן־הׂשדה כׁשמעם‬ ‫ויתעצבו האנׁשים ויחר להם מאד כי־נבלה עׂשה ביׂשראל לׁשכב את־בת־יעקב‬ ‫וכן לא יעׂשה‬ Jacob’s sons came in from the field when they heard. The men were distressed and very angry, because he had committed an outrage in Israel by lying with Jacob’s daughter—and thus should not be done.

The storyteller does not directly represent the speech but only provides a meta­ pragmatic comment on the reception of information by the sons; the hearing of the sons is clearly intended to be read as parallel to the hearing of Jacob in v. 5. In a similar way, the storyteller does not directly represent the response of the sons but only their emotional response: “The men were distressed and very angry.” The emotional response of the sons is again in contrast to the lack of any response other than silence on the part of their father. The emotional response of the sons is further highlighted by the reason for it as provided by the storyteller: “because he had committed an outrage in Israel by lying with the daughter of Jacob, and thus should not be done.” This reason has correctly been described by Amit as anachronistic and could well be an indication of a later editorial comment or of a later storyteller. 38 But what is most important here is to note that, in the telling of a story involving opposing sides and communication between them as well as within each faction, the storyteller has exploited the contingent pragmatics of the adjacency pair in order to highlight the opposition between the sides as well as to provide an interior view of each side. We can represent the adjacency pairs in these verses schematically as follows: 39 (20)  Genesis 34:4–7 A1 Shechem said to Hamor his father, “Take for me this girl as a wife.” B1 Jacob heard that he had defiled his daughter Dinah. But his sons were in the field with his cattle. B2 Jacob kept silent until they came home. A2 Then Hamor the father of Shechem came out to Jacob to speak to him. C1 Jacob’s sons came in from the field when they heard. C2 The men were distressed and very angry. . . . 38. Yairah Amit, In Praise of Editing of the Hebrew Bible: Collected Essays in Retrospect, trans. Betty Sigler Rozen (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2012), 47–51. 39.  The capital letters identify the parts of a single adjacency pair; the numerals indicate the position of the pair-part within the adjacency pair.

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The adjacency pair of Shechem and his father in A1 and A2 is interrupted by the parallel adjacency pair between Jacob and his sons in B1 and B2. The interaction between Jacob and his sons is taken up again in C1 and C2. The interwoven adjacency pairs serve to highlight the contrasts and comparisons between the various participants. The center of the story occurs in vv. 8–18 and comprises a complex dialogue between Hamor and Shechem and the sons of Jacob. Hamor and Shechem individually make appeals to Jacob and his sons. In effect, their two speeches are separate first pair-parts of the adjacency pair. The first speech is by Hamor (D1a), speaking ‫‘ אתם‬with them’ on behalf of ‫‘ ׁשכם בני‬Shechem, my son’. The second speech (D1b) is by Shechem, speaking specifically and more politely ‫‘ אל־אביה ואל־אחיה‬to her father and to her brothers’. The storyteller has framed their speeches as follows: (21)  Genesis 34:8–12

‫   וידבר חמור אתם לאמר‬D1a ‫ ויאמר ׁשכם אל־אביה ואל־אחיה‬D1b

Hamor spoke with them saying . . . Shechem spoke to her father and to her brothers . . .

Note that Hamor’s speech is framed by the storyteller with the ‫ לאמר‬frame, thus indicating that it is not prototypically dialogic (since a reply does not follow immediately); whereas Shechem’s speech is framed simply with ‫אמר‬. The sons of Jacob replied to Hamor and Shechem his son in vv.  13–17, as described above in (11). Here, it is important to note that the single speech in fact encompasses both the reply to Hamor and Shechem as the second half of an adjacency pair and provides a counterproposal as the first half of an adjacency pair. The reply of Hamor and Shechem his son is provided in v. 18 as a narrative response to the counterproposal: (22)  Genesis 34:18

‫וייטבו דבריהם בעיני חמור ובעיני ׁשכם בן־חמור‬ Their words were good in the eyes of Hamor and in the eyes of Shechem son of Hamor.

The adjacency pair of the sons of Jacob in vv. 13–17 is thus completed with the storytellers’ evaluation of its acceptance, both by Hamor and by Shechem, his son. We can schematize the complex adjacency pairs in this dialogue as follows, with D indicating the adjacency pair of the proposal-refusal and E indicating the adjacency pair of counterproposal-acceptance:

The Intersection of Orality and Style in Biblical Hebrew (23)  Genesis 34:8–18

75

‫ וידבר חמור אתם לאמר‬D1a ‫ ויאמר ׁשכם אל־אביה ואל־אחיה‬D1b ‫ ויענו בני־יעקב את־ׁשכם ואת־חמור אביו במרמה‬D2/E1 ‫ וידברו אׁשר טמא את דינה אחתם‬ ‫ ויאמרו אליהם‬ ‫ וייטבו דבריהם בעיני חמור ובעיני ׁשכם בן־חמור‬ E1

The following adjacency pair relates the dialogue between Hamor and Shechem with the townspeople at the gate of their city. It is telling that the storyteller introduces their speech with a quotative frame that is reminiscent of their speech to Jacob and his sons (both introduced with a form of ‫ דבר‬in a ‫ לאמר‬frame) and yet crucially different: 40 (24)  Genesis 34:20b They spoke to the men of their city, saying . . .

‫וידברו אל־אנׁשי עירם לאמר‬

In making a proposal to Jacob and his sons, Hamor spoke ‫‘ אתם‬with them’. Now in seeking to exert his will on his own people, Hamor and Shechem speak ‫אל־אנׁשי‬ ‫‘ עירם‬to the men of their city’. The townspeople’s reply is not represented as speech by the storyteller, but again as the reception of information: (25)  Genesis 34:24 ‫ויׁשמעו אל־חמור ואל־ׁשכם בנו כל־יצאי ׁשער עירו וימלו כל־זכר כל־יצאי ׁשער עירו‬ All those who went out of the gate of his town listened to Hamor and to Shechem his son. Every male of all of those going out of his town were circumcised. The “reply” of the townspeople is represented first with the verb ‫ ׁשמע‬followed by the preposition ‫ אל‬to indicate that they heard and complied with the directive of Hamor and Shechem. The following sentence is explicit that each male was circumcised. Again, the action of the story serves in the place of verbal agreement to the proposal set forth in the first pair-part of the adjacency pair. From the standpoint of orality, the ways in which dialogue is represented within the narrative suggests that the storyteller intends to mimic the oral 40.  Note also Berlin’s detailed analysis of the proposals as made by Hamor to Jacob’s sons, by Jacob’s sons to Hamor and Shechem, and by Hamor and Shechem to their compatriots; Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative, 76–79.

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arrangement of adjacency pairs while highlighting the opposing viewpoints of the characters within the story. The storyteller also uses both repetition and variation to indicate divergent points of view by the ways to which characters are referred. When he is first introduced in v. 2, Shechem is identified extensively as “Shechem, the son of Hamor the Hivite, the ruler of the land.” This interplay of the son and the father is exploited by the storyteller. In v. 4, Shechem speaks to “Hamor his father” to request that he acquire “this girl” for his wife. In v. 6, “Hamor the father of Shechem” complies with the request by approaching Jacob. Although Jacob as the father of Dinah is the counterpart of Hamor, he is referred to only as “Jacob.” In v. 8, Hamor broaches Shechem’s request with Jacob and his sons by referring to “Shechem, my son.” In v. 13, the sons of Jacob reply to “Shechem and Hamor his father” with a counterproposal for joining their two communities; by mentioning the son first, the storyteller highlights the implicit culpability of Shechem, which is the cause of their deceitful response. In v. 19, the positive response to the counterproposal is described as “their words were good in the eyes of Hamor and in the eyes of Shechem son of Hamor.” In v. 20, “Hamor and Shechem his son” go to speak to their people at the gate of the city to present their proposal—the order reflecting their respective positions of authority within their community. In v. 24, the people follow the recommendation of “Hamor and Shechem his son.” In v. 26, Simeon and Levi, the brothers of Dinah, kill “Hamor and Shechem his son” with the sword and take Dinah out of the house of “Shechem.” The repetition and variation in the references to these two individuals are exploited by the storyteller to highlight responsibility, culpability, and relationship at critical junctures in the story.

Conclusion Biblical scholars have analyzed biblical narratives such as Gen 34 from basically three different perspectives, as described by Amit. 41 One approach is philological-historical and attempts to find earlier components of the stories in various sources. Scholars such as Van Seters have looked at the story as representing a base text of a J story that was expanded by P. For Van Seters, both J and P are authors who made use of “traditional materials”—including oral materials—“to create new compositions to address the concerns of their contemporaries.” 42 41.  Amit, In Praise of Editing of the Hebrew Bible, 47–50. 42. John Van Seters­, The Yahwist: A Historian of Israelite Origins (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 169.

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A second approach is literary and analyzes the text from the standpoint of literary theory and poetics as a unified whole. Variation and discrepancies in language are then viewed as “the writer’s rhetorical means and strategies.” 43 A third approach is exemplified by Amit, who posits that “ancient editors had the status of authors and often did more than connect sources and add comments.” 44 Instead, they “formulated the material at hand on the principle of an inner unity that gives the whole work meaning, including all its parts, and sometimes they created materials that suited their needs.” 45 We suggest that these divergent views can be unified by considering the biblical compositions as emerging within a verbal-interpretive culture in which texts were oral/aural-written compositions for performance. The style of the biblical narratives thus relates in the first instance to matters of oral/aural language. In our view, the notions of author and editor, which relate to the text-dominant world of our modern typographic interpretive culture, should instead be replaced by storyteller/performer/scribe. These roles of storyteller, performer, and scribe could be played by one person or two or three. What is important is that these roles convey the primary tasks of invention, embodiment, and transmission within the hearingdominant world of ancient Israel. The biblical text as we have it now is, as David Rhoads argues, the living fossil of an essentially oral text, which we now hear, read, and interpret within a reading-dominant society. 46 To understand the style of biblical narrative, it is necessary to attempt to move back in time to consider how such a text might have been heard and performed in ancient Israel. 43.  Amit, In Praise of Editing of the Hebrew Bible, 49. 44.  Ibid., 50. 45.  Ibid. 46.  Rhoads, “The Art of Translating for Oral Performance.”

Alliteration in the Book of Genesis Gary A. Rendsburg Rutgers University

In a series of studies over the last decade or so, I have attempted to demonstrate the extent to which alliteration echoes within both biblical prose and po­ etry. 1 Previous scholars have devoted essays to the same subject, 2 though I believe that the literary device of alliteration remains underappreciated in the world of Hebrew Bible scholarship. This picture is even more acute in research on biblical narrative prose; note, for example, that the studies mentioned in n. 2 are all devoted to poetic texts. As I hope to have shown in prior studies, and as I hope to demonstrate here again, the desire to elicit alliteration governs the word choice made by ancient Israelite authors—no less in prose than in poetry. Atypical usages are often present in the text alliterationis causa. While I have discussed the connotation of the term alliteration in previous publications, it seems appropriate to do so again on this occasion. The dictionary Author’s note:  An oral version of this article was presented at the conference entitled “A Literary Creation: Literary Approaches to the Book of Genesis,” held at Bar-Ilan University, June 10–11, 2014. I here express my gratitude to my colleagues Ed Greenstein and Elie Assis for their kind invitation and gracious hospitality, and to Sarah Schwartz, graduate student in the Department of Bible at Bar-Ilan University, for her friendly and efficient assistance in all matters logistical. 1.  The most significant investigations are: Gary A. Rendsburg, “Alliteration in the Exodus Narrative,” in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Chaim Cohen et al. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 83–100; and Scott B. Noegel and Gary A. Rendsburg, Solomon’s Vineyard: Literary and Linguistic Studies in the Song of Songs, AIL 1 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009), 63–106. 2.  Oliver S. Rankin, “Alliteration in Hebrew Poetry,” JTS 31 (1930): 285–91; Lawrence Boadt, “Intentional Alliteration in Second Isaiah,” CBQ 45 (1983): 353–63; and Thomas P. McCreesh, Biblical Sound and Sense: Sound Patterns in Proverbs 10–29, JSOTSup 128 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991).

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definition of alliteration refers to the initial consonants of words. Thus, for example, in the Oxford English Dictionary: “The commencing of two or more words in close connection, with the same letter, or rather the same sound.” 3 Or the Wikipedia entry: “The repetition of the same sounds or of the same kinds of sounds at the beginning of words.” 4 And this is exactly how alliteration operates in Old English poetry (e.g., Beowulf, Battle of Maldon, etc.) and indeed in other Old Germanic verse (e.g., the Old High German Das Hildebrandslied, the Old Norse [Icelandic] Eddas, etc.). In fact, alliteration is so pervasive in these early medieval poems, it is no exaggeration to state that the device is a requirement of the writing style. This is not the case with biblical literature—neither in poetry nor in prose—and yet the ancient Hebrew bards made effective use of the technique, peppering their compositions with alliteration when so desired, in an effort to enhance the reading (or better: listening) pleasure further. Yes, the listening pleasure—for, clearly, the effects of alliteration are better sensed and better appreciated when one hears a string of the same or similar consonants in quick succession. An example from American history demonstrates the point nicely. Perhaps the most famous speech in the annals of American oratory is Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, which begins, “Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” 5 Here, one notes the use of “fourscore,” “fathers,” and “forth” in the opening phrase, followed by the two words “continent” and “conceived” beginning with the same syllable. American schoolchildren, who typically are asked to memorize this line at some point in their elementary school education, never stop to ask, “Why ‘fourscore and seven years ago’? Why not the simpler ‘eighty-seven years ago’?”—which does not require the listener to engage in arithmetic calculations at the outset of the speech. One can similarly imagine other word choices, such as “created” for “brought forth.” If these substitutions were made, the passage would read, “Eighty-seven years ago our fathers created,” a phrase devoid of the alliterative ring used by Lincoln in the words that continue to resonate in the ears of Americans young and old a century and a half after they were uttered. The brilliance of Lincoln’s address, I submit, is not only its stirring content but the manner of elocution, which captures the audience from the start. 3.  OED, s.v. “alliteration.” 4.  “Alliteration,” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alliteration. 5.  All five manuscripts of the Gettysburg Address commence with this same line, with only punctuation differences between and among them. For convenient access to the documents, go to “Gettysburg Address,” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gettysburg_Address.

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And so it is (or was) with the ancient Israelite consumers of (what would become) biblical literature, with its sounds and resonances echoing in the ears of the listeners. But back to our definition of alliteration. As indicated above, most consider alliteration to refer to the repetition of sounds at the beginning of a series of words. As we shall see below, however, the Hebrew writers enjoyed greater freedom and flexibility in creating the acoustic effect. First, given the root structure of Hebrew (and Semitic generally), the repeated sounds are not found at the beginning of words necessarily but, rather, (a) may appear anywhere in a given word or words, 6 and (b) may be accompanied by other like-sounding consonants. Second, the alliteration was heard not necessarily within consecutive words, but, rather, in words also further apart—sometimes in proximity, sometimes at a greater distance. As such, given all the possible permutations and combinations, alliteration in ancient Hebrew texts occurs with two or three identical consonants, two or three similar consonants, or any combination thereof; with the evocative sounds presented either in the same order or in scrambled fashion; with the sound effect placed either in the same verse or in adjacent verses; with the options either of highlighting just two crucial words in the text or of creating a veritable cluster of alliterative words; and so on. 7 The above description of alliteration in Biblical Hebrew literature is best demonstrated by a typical example. Of the literally hundreds of passages that could be selected, I present the following stich from Ps 55:9: Psalm 55:9: ‫ֵרּוח סֹעָה ִמ ָּסעַר‬ ַ ‫מ‬ mērûaḥ sōʿâ missāʿar From the wind, sweeping from the storm. The panoply of permutations and combinations noted in the previous paragraph may be illustrated by these three Hebrew words. Identical sounds are naturally 6.  As such, some may prefer to use the more general term consonance for this device, of which alliteration (with initial consonance) is a specific type. But since the term alliteration is so much better known and since, specifically, “initial consonance” is actually quite rare in Hebrew and thus not germane to our subject, I have elected to use alliteration as the favored term here. 7.  For insights into native appreciation of what constitutes alliteration in ancient Hebrew, see Mic 1:10–16, in which the sounds of many of the place-names listed are echoed in like-sounding words. Note, for example, the alliterations produced between the following sets of words: (a) ‫ׁש ִּפיר‬ ָ šāpîr ‘Shapir’ and ‫ׁשת‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ֶריָה־ב‬ ְ ‫ ע‬ʿeryâ bōšet ‘nakedness (in) shame’ in v. 11; (b) ‫אנָן‬ ֲ ‫ ַצ‬ṣaʾănān ‘Zaanan’ and ‫ָצאָה‬ ְ ‫ לֹא י‬lōʾ yāṣʾâ ‘do not come out’ (see also ‫ָה ֵאצֶל‬ hā-ʾēṣel ‘the Ezel’) in v. 11; and (c) ‫ָכיׁש‬ ִ ‫ ל‬lākîš ‘Lachish’ and ‫ ֶרכֶׁש‬rekeš ‘steed’ in v. 13. For discussion, see Francis I. Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Micah, AB 24E (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 212–14; and Moshe Garsiel, Biblical Names: A Literary Study of Midrashic Derivations (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1991), 109.

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easy to identify. The mem and reš that occur in ‫ מֵרּו ַח‬mērûaḥ and ‫ ִמ ָּסעַר‬missāʿar represent, of course, the same sounds. The samek and ʿayin that occur in ‫ סֹעָה‬sōʿâ and ‫ ִמ ָּסעַר‬missāʿar are again the same sounds. Like-sounding consonants aid the alliteration in the following ways: The ḥet in ‫ רּו ַח‬rûaḥ and the ʿayin in the two words ‫ סֹעָה‬sōʿâ and ‫ ָסעַר‬sāʿar also alliterate, because both /ḥ/ and /ʿ/ are pharyngeal fricatives. 8 Moreover, when we realize that ‫ סֹעָה‬sōʿâ ‘sweeping’ in Ps 55:9 is a hapax legomenon, we understand the conscious lexical choice made by the ancient Israelite poet. Indeed, as adumbrated above and as we shall see below, rare words, including hapax legomena, were specifically chosen by the writers to create or enhance sound play. 9 And finally, in this particular case, we may note that the two instances of samek in the three-word string create an onomatopoetic effect as the reader hears the sound of the wind whistling in these words. 10 In short, I hope to have shown through this single illustration exactly how much thought goes into the creation of a single passage—indeed, in this case, a three-word poetic stich. Multiply this example by hundreds, and one gains a greater appreciation of how the ancient Hebrew texts were composed, with conscious word choices made at every turn. 8.  For general introduction to the sounds of ancient Hebrew, see my “Ancient Hebrew Phonology,” in Phonologies of Asia and Africa, ed. Alan S. Kaye (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 65–83; and my “Phonology: Biblical Hebrew,” EHLL 3.100–109. In this particular case, we must contend with the fact that both ‫( ח‬ḥet) and ‫( ע‬ʿayin) represent two distinct sounds in ancient Hebrew, on which, see Joshua Blau, On Polyphony in Biblical Hebrew, Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities 6/2 (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1982). Cognates from Arabic and Ugaritic inform us that all three sounds, the /ḥ/ in the first word and the /ʿ/ in the second and third words, are indeed pharyngeal fricatives. 9.  For the notion that hapax legomena are actually rare words in the language and not coincidentally attested only once in the corpus, see Frederick E. Greenspahn, Hapax Legomena in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of the Phenomenon and Its Treatment since Antiquity with Special Reference to Verbal Forms, SBLDS 74 (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1984), 31–46. 10.  For a parallel to this effect in an Egyptian text, note Pyramid Text, Utterance 253, §275: šw sšw sw šw sšw sw ‘O Shu, lift him up! O Shu, lift him up!’ with its invocation of Shu, the god of air. See Carleton T. Hodge, “Ritual and Writing: An Inquiry into the Origin of the Egyptian Script,” in Linguistics and Anthropology: In Honor of C. F. Voegelin, ed. Marvin D. Kinkade, Kenneth L. Hale, and Oswald Werner (Lisse: de Ridder, 1975), 331–50, esp. p. 343. Reprinted in Afroasiatic Linguistics, Semitics, and Egyptology: Selected Writings of Carleton T. Hodge, ed. Scott B. Noegel and Alan S. Kaye (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2004), 199– 220, esp. p. 215. The standard English translations are Raymond O. Faulkner, The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts (Oxford: Clarendon, 1969), 63; and James P. Allen, The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts, 2nd ed., WAW (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2015), 46.

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With the foregoing as an introduction to our subject, let us proceed, then, to instances of alliteration in the first book of the Bible as representative of standard Hebrew narrative prose. My examples advance through the book in narrative order, with several exceptions (see nos. 7, 11, 12), for the reasons stated. (1)  Genesis 2:25–3:1 ‫ׁשׁשּו׃‬ ָ ֹ ‫ִתּב‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתֹו ְולֹא י‬ ְ ‫ָדם ְו ִא‬ ָ ‫ֲרּוּמים ָהא‬ ִ ‫ׁשנֵיהֶם ע‬ ְ ‫ִהיּו‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ . . . ‫ָׂשה יְהוָה אֱל ִֹהים‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר ע‬ ֶ ‫ַּׂשדֶה א‬ ָ ‫ְו ַהּנָחָׁש ָהיָה עָרּום ִמּכֹל ַחּיַת ה‬ 2:25 And the two of them were naked—the human and his wife—but they were not embarrassed. 3:1 And the snake was (more) cunning than all the animals of the field that Yhwh God had made . . . We begin with one of the best-known—albeit most simple and most glaring and thus to my mind less sophisticated (as we shall see)—examples of alliteration at work. The last verse of ch. 2 portrays the first human couple as ‫ֲרּוּמים‬ ִ ‫ ע‬ʿărûmmîm ‘naked’, while the first verse of ch. 3 describes the snake as ‫ עָרּום‬ʿărûm ‘cunning’. The sound correspondences here are plain and obvious. 11 (2)  Genesis 6:14 ‫ּומחּוץ ּבַּכֹפֶר׃‬ ִ ‫ֲׂשה אֶת־הַּתֵ בָה ְו ָכפ ְַר ָּת א ָֹתּה ִמ ַּביִת‬ ֶ ‫עֲׂשֵ ה ְלךָ ּתֵ בַת עֲצֵי־גֹפֶר ִקּנִים ּתַ ע‬ Make for yourself an ark of gopher-wood; (from) reeds you shall make the ark; and you shall cover it inside and outside with pitch-cover. Two unique usages are present in this verse. The first is the noun ‫ ּגֹפֶר‬gōper, which occurs only here in the Bible: the word refers to a type of wood, typically translated (since scholars are unsure of which tree) ‘gopher-wood’, though almost undoubtedly to be identified with cypress. This identification is based on (a) the similarity between the Hebrew form ‫ ּגֹפֶר‬gōper and the Greek word κυπάρισσος, whence Latin cupressus and eventually English cypress; 12 and (b) the fact that cypress wood was used in ancient ship building, 13 since (i) long planks could be made from 11.  Again, Arabic cognates inform us that the ‫ ע‬ʿayin in both of these words represents the pharyngeal fricative /ʿ/. 12.  See John Pairman Brown, Israel and Hellas, 3 vols., BZAW 231, 276, 299 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995–2001), 1.329–30, 2.302, 3.283. 13.  See Lionel Casson, Ships and Seamanship in the Ancient World (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1971), 196, 212–13. A key ancient source is Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris (~ De re militaris), 4.34, available online at http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/

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the tall tree, and (ii) the wood is relatively impervious to rot from moisture. But Hebrew has a word for ‘cypress’—namely, ‫ ְּברוֹשׁ‬bərôš, which appears 20 times in the Bible—which raises the question: why did the author of Gen 6 use an atypical word in v. 14 and not the usual word? The answer is forthcoming from a look at the second unique usage (actually, a two-part usage) in the verse: (a) the verb ‫ ְו ָכפ ְַר ָּת‬wəkāpartā ‘and you shall cover’, derived from the root kpr; and (b) the noun ‫ ּכֹפֶר‬kōper ‘pitch’ (rendered above as ‘pitch-cover’ to show the connection between the verb and the noun). This verb is common in the Bible in other patterns, especially in the piel with the connotation ‘atone’. But only here in the Bible does the verb occur in the qal, with the meaning ‘cover’. The noun is a true hapax legomenon; 14 it is used here instead of other potential options, such as ‫ ֵחמָר‬ḥēmār ‘loam’ and ‫ זֶפֶת‬zepet ‘bitumen’ (see Exod 2:2, Isa 34:9). 15 Clearly, the author of our text reached deep into the Hebrew lexicon purposefully to select these words, one with the consonants ‫ גפר‬gpr and two with the consonants ‫ כפר‬kpr, to alliterate with each other. Note that the only distinction between the two is the voiced velar stop /g/ in the former and the voiceless velar stop /k/ in the latter. (3)  Genesis 21:4, 7–8 ‫ֲׁשר ִצּוָה אֹתֹו אֱל ִֹהים׃‬ ֶ ‫ָמים ַּכא‬ ִ ‫ֶן־ׁשמֹנַת י‬ ְ ‫ִצחָק ְּבנֹו ּב‬ ְ ‫ַוּיָמָל א ְַב ָרהָם אֶת־י‬ . . . ‫ְקנָיו׃‬ ֻ‫ׂשרָה ִּכי־יָל ְַד ִּתי בֵן ִלז‬ ָ ‫ִיקה ָבנִים‬ ָ ‫וַּתֹאמֶר ִמי ִמּלֵל ְלא ְַב ָרהָם הֵינ‬ ‫ִצחָק׃‬ ְ ‫ׁש ֶּתה גָדֹול ְּביֹום ִהָּגמֵל אֶת־י‬ ְ ‫ִגּדַ ל ַהּיֶלֶד ַו ִּיָּגמַל ַוּיַעַׂש א ְַב ָרהָם ִמ‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ 4 And Abraham circumcised Isaac his son at eight days old, as God had commanded him. . . . 7 And she said, “Who would declare to Abraham (that) Sarah would nurse sons, that I would bear a son in his old-age.” 8 And the child grew, and he was weaned; and Abraham made a big party on the day of the weaning of Isaac. vegetius4.html. (The reference in Brown [see n. 12] to Vegetius 3.34, should be corrected to 4.34.) 14.  Though notably ‫ ּכֹפֶר‬kōper is cognate with the Akkadian word kupru ‘pitch’, which occurs in the Babylonian flood story preserved both in Atra-ḫasis 3.2.51 and in Gilgamesh 11.55. See Harold R. (Chaim) Cohen, Biblical Hapax Legomena in the Light of Akkadian and Ugaritic, SBLDS 37 (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978), 33–34. 15.  The different English glosses ‘pitch’, ‘loam’, and ‘bitumen’ are used simply to distinguish the different words, without necessarily aligning one specific gloss with one specific word.

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The attentive reader/listener to this text will realize that the verb ‫ ִמּלֵל‬millēl ‘declare’ in v. 7 is a rare verb that is entirely unexpected in the mouth of Sarah within the larger narrative. Apart from Gen 21:7, the verb is limited to poetry in the Bible, the other attestations being in Ps 106:2; Job 8:2, 33:3 16—and here one should note that poetry, not only in ancient Hebrew 17 but in many world literatures (such as ancient Greek and ancient Latin), possesses a richer vocabulary (both words and phrases) employed by the poets to express their passions and emotions. 18 Given the scant distribution of the verb ‫ ִמּלֵל‬millēl ‘declare’ in the Bible, 19 we are led to ask: why, then, did the writer of Gen 21 place the word in Sarah’s mouth in v. 7? Why did he not, for example, use any number of verbs for speech, much more common in the Bible, especially in prose texts, such as ‫ ָאמַר‬ʾāmar ‘say’; ‫ ִּדּבֶר‬dibber ‘speak’; ‫ ִה ִּגיד‬higgîd ‘tell’; etc.? The answer lies in the author’s desire to produce alliteration. I refer here not only to the string of /m/ and /l/ sounds produced in the expression -‫ ִמי ִמּלֵל ְל‬mî millēl lə- ‘who would declare to’ (which is, after all, a rather simplistic example of alliteration given the ordinariness of both the interrogative pronoun ‫ ִמי‬mî ‘who’ and the preposition -‫ ְל‬lə- ‘to’), but more importantly, to the presence of two other verbs in this pericope with the same two sounds, to wit, ‫ ַוּיָמָל‬wayyāmol ‘and he circumcised’ in v. 4, and ‫ ַו ִּיָּגמַל‬wayyiggāmal ‘and he was weaned’ / ‫ ִהָּגמֵל‬higgāmēl ‘weaning’ in v. 8. The unusual nature of the key word ‫ ִמּלֵל‬millēl ‘declare’ in Gen 22:7 is revealed by the comment by Rashi (1040–1105 CE). He noted, quite cleverly, that the gematria of mem-lamed-lamed equals 100, 20 the age of Abraham at the birth of Isaac (see Gen 21:5). Obviously, this is not the reason that the author of Gen 21 selected this verb in our story (especially since the gematria device is a postbiblical development). But, as so often happens when we read the medieval exegetes, the benefit gained is not the answer that a particular commentator provides but 16.  The root ‫ מלל‬mll also produces two other (unrelated) verbs in ancient Hebrew, one with the meaning ‘rub, scrape’ (Prov 6:13) and one with the meaning ‘languish, wither, fade’ (Psalms twice, Job four times). Note that these verbs are also limited to the domain of poetry. 17.  The standard work remains G. R. Driver, “Hebrew Poetic Diction,” in Congress Volume: Copenhagen 1953, ed. George W. Anderson, VTSup 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1953), 26–39. 18.  This was the case in English as well until the Romantics (led by William Words­ worth) and even more so the Modernists challenged the notion of a special poetic diction so that the lexis of prose and poetry has merged to a great extent. 19.  Even the noun ‫ ִמּלָה‬millâ ‘word’ derived from this verb, although more common in the Bible, is also limited to poetry: 2 Sam 23:2; Ps 19:5, 139:4; Prov 23:9; and 34 times in the book of Job. Note that both the verb and the noun belong more properly to the Aramaic lexicon. 20.  The letter mem = 40, and the letter lamed = 30 (× 2 = 60, in this particular case), thus yielding 100.

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the question that underlies his remark. In this case, Rashi’s sensitivity to the text was such that he understood that ‫ ִמּלֵל‬millēl represented a most unusual usage, necessitating comment. Had the author of Gen 21 used any of the aforementioned (near-)synonyms, each a much more common verb in Biblical Hebrew prose, one can be certain that Rashi would not have taken the time to comment. (4)  Genesis 21:14–16 ‫ַל־ׁש ְכמָּה ְואֶת־ ַהּיֶלֶד‬ ִ ‫ׂש֧ם ע‬ ָ ‫ַׁשּכֵם א ְַב ָרהָם ׀ ּבַּבֹקֶר ַוּיִּקַ ח־ ֶלחֶם ְו ֵחמַת ַמיִם ַוּיִּתֵ ן אֶל־ ָהגָר‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ ְ ‫ׁשבַע׃‬ ָ ‫ַויְׁשַ ְּל ֶח ָה וַּתֵ לֶך וַּתֵ תַ ע ְּב ִמ ְדּבַר ְּבאֵר‬ ‫יחם׃‬ ִ ‫ַּׂש‬ ִ ‫ׁשל ְֵך אֶת־ ַהּיֶלֶד ּתַ חַת ַאחַד ה‬ ְ ַ‫ִכלּו ַה ַּמיִם ִמן־ ַה ֵחמֶת וַּת‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ ְ ‫וַּתֵ ל‬ ‫ׁשב‬ ֶ ֵ‫ֶראֶה ְּבמֹות ַהּיָלֶד וַּת‬ ְ ‫ָמרָה אַל־א‬ ְ ‫ֶׁשת ִּכי א‬ ֶ ‫חוֵי ק‬ ֲ ‫ׁשב לָּה ִמּנֶגֶד ה ְַרחֵק ִּכ ְמ ַט‬ ֶ ֵ‫ֶך וַּת‬ ‫ּׂשא אֶת־קֹלָּה וַּתֵ ְבּךְ׃‬ ָ ‫ִמּנֶגֶד ו ִַּת‬ 14 And Abraham arose-early in the morning, and he took bread and a bottle-skin of water, and he gave (them) to Hagar, put (them) on her shoulder—and the child—and he sent her forth; and she went, and she wandered in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. 15 And the water from the bottle-skin was finished; and she cast the child under one of the bushes. 16 And she went and she sat herself opposite (him), at a distance of a bowshot, for she said, “Let me not see the death of the child”; and she sat opposite, and she lifted her voice and cried. This passage includes two unique usages: (a) the pure hapax legomenon ‫חוֵי‬ ֲ ‫ְמ ַט‬ məṭaḥăwê, within the expression ‫ֶׁשת‬ ֶ ‫חוֵי ק‬ ֲ ‫ ִּכ ְמ ַט‬kimṭaḥăwê qešet, lit., ‘like the shooters of a bow’ > ‘bowshot’; and (b) the quasi hapax ‫ ֵחמֶת‬ḥēmet (cstr. ‫ ֵחמַת‬ḥēmat) ‘bottle-skin’. The former is a pure hapax because the noun and indeed the root (presumably ‫ טחה‬ṭḥh ‘shoot’) occurs only here in the Bible. The latter is classified as a quasi hapax because the noun appears twice in our passage, and then again a few lines farther down in v. 19—though nowhere else in the Bible. Most important for our present concern is the manner in which the two forms incorporate the same sounds (or very similar ones in the case of /t/ and /ṭ/). The words were intentionally chosen alliterationis causa. Moreover, additional words aid in the aural effect: (a) ‫ ּתַ חַת‬taḥat ‘under’ and ‫ ַאחַד‬ʾaḥad ‘one’ both have /ḥ/ + /dental/; and (b) ‫ ֶלחֶם‬leḥem ‘bread’ and ‫יחם‬ ִ ‫ ִׂש‬śîḥīm ‘bushes’ both have /ḥ/ + /m/. The first three of these words are common, but the fourth is another rare word: ‫ ִׂשי ַח‬śîaḥ ‘bush’ occurs elsewhere in the Bible only in Gen 2:5; Job 30:4, and 30:7. 21 21.  In all of these cases, Ugaritic and Arabic cognates inform us that the consonant represented by ‫ ח‬ḥet is the pharyngeal fricative /ḥ/ throughout. This includes the noun ‫חוֵי‬ ֲ ‫ ְמ ַט‬məṭaḥăwê ‘bowshot’, on the assumption that it is related to Arabic ṭḥy ‘spread, extend’

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(5)  Genesis 24:18–22 ‫ׁשקֵהּו׃‬ ְ ַ‫ָדּה וַּת‬ ָ ‫ׁשתֵ ה אֲדֹנִי ו ְַּת ַמהֵר וַּת֧ ֹרֶד ּכַָּדּה עַל־י‬ ְ ‫וַּתֹאמֶר‬ ‫ׁשּתֹת׃‬ ְ ‫ם־ּכּלּו ִל‬ ִ ‫ֶׁשאָב עַד ִא‬ ְ ‫ַׁשק ֹתֹו וַּתֹאמֶר ּגַם ִל ְג ַמּלֶיךָ א‬ ְ ‫ו ְַּתכַל ְלה‬ ‫ׁשאַב ְלכָל־ ְּג ַמּלָיו׃‬ ְ ‫ׁשאֹב ו ִַּת‬ ְ ‫ו ְַּת ַמהֵר ו ְַּתעַר ּכַָּדּה אֶל־הַּׁשֹקֶת ו ַָּתרָץ עֹוד אֶל־ה ְַּבאֵר ִל‬ ‫֧יח יְהוָה ּדַ ְרּכֹו ִאם־לֹא׃‬ ַ ‫ֲר֕יׁש לָדַ עַת ה ִַה ְצ ִל‬ ִ‫ׁש ָּתאֵה לָּה ַמח‬ ְ ‫ָאיׁש ִמ‬ ִ ‫ְוה‬ ‫ידים עַל־‬ ִ ‫ּוׁשנֵי ְצ ִמ‬ ְ ‫ׁש ָקלֹו‬ ְ ‫ָאיׁש נֶזֶם זָהָב ּבֶקַ ע ִמ‬ ִ ‫ׁשּתֹות ַוּיִּקַ ח ה‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר ִּכּלּו ַה ְּגמ ִַּלים ִל‬ ֶ ‫ְהי ַּכא‬ ִ ‫ַוי‬ ‫ׁש ָקלָם׃‬ ְ ‫ֲׂשרָה זָהָב ִמ‬ ָ ‫יָדֶי ָה ע‬ 18 And she said, “Drink, my lord”; and she hurried, and she lowered her jug from her hand, and she gave-drink to him. 19 And she finished to give-drink to him; and she said, “Also for your camels I will draw, until they have finished to drink.” 20 And she hurried, and she emptied her jug into the trough, and she ran again to the well to draw; and she drew for all his camels. 21 And the man is gazing at her, being-silent, to know whether or not Yhwh had made his way successful. 22 And it was, after the camels had finished to drink, and the man took a golden nose-ring, a beqaʿ its weight; and two bracelets on her hand, ten (shekels) of gold their weight. This passage provides a paradigmatic example of the employment of a hapax legomenon in order to produce alliteration. The unique word is ‫ׁש ָּתאֵה‬ ְ ‫ ִמ‬mištāʾēh ‘is gazing’ in v. 21, a hithpael masculine-singular participle from the root ‫ שׁאה‬šʾh ‘gaze, watch’. Two common roots appear in the surrounding verses: (a) ‫ שׁתה‬šth ‘drink’, occurring in vv. 18, 19, and 22 (plus four other times in the chapter); and (b) ‫ שׁאב‬šʾb ‘draw (water)’, occurring in vv. 19 and 20 (plus five other times in the chapter). Note especially the form ‫ׁשאַב‬ ְ ‫ ו ִַּת‬wattišʾab ‘and she drew’ in v. 20, which alliterates most closely with ‫ׁש ָּתאֵה‬ ְ ‫ ִמ‬mištaʾēh ‘is gazing’ in v. 21, with only three words intervening. These two words have the most pronounced aural effect, due to the presence of the third feminine-singular preformative t- in the former and the characteristic infix -t- of the hithpael form in the latter, with the alliteration completed by the corresponding labial consonants bet and mem in these two words. (6)  Genesis 25:23–24 ְ ‫ֻּמים ִמ ֵּמ ַעי‬ ‫ִך ִיּפָרֵדּו‬ ִ ‫ּוׁשנֵי ְלא‬ ְ ‫ׁשנֵי גֹויִם* ְּב ִב ְטנ ְֵך‬ ְ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר יְהוָה לָּה‬ ‫ָעיר׃‬ ִ ‫אמָץ ְורַ ב יַעֲבֹד צ‬ ֱֶ‫ּולאֹם ִמ ְלאֹם י‬ ְ ‫תֹומם ְּב ִב ְטנָּה׃‬ ִ ‫ִמ ְלאּו יָמֶי ָה ָללֶדֶת ְו ִהּנֵה‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ and even ‘throw’, for which, see Edward W. Lane, Arabic-English Lexicon, 8 vols. (London: Williams & Norgate, 1863–93), 5.1832.

88

Gary A. Rendsburg And Yhwh said to her, “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples from your innards will divide; and (one) people will be stronger than the (other) people, and the greater shall serve the younger.” 24 And her days of bearing were fulfilled; and behold, twins in her womb. 23

The ancient Israelite listener to this text immediately would have recognized that ‫ ְלאֹם‬ləʾōm ‘people’ (used here three times) is an unusual lexeme to encounter in a narrative prose text. Indeed, of the word’s 31 occurrences in the Bible, 27 appear in poetry (11 in Isaiah, 1 in Jeremiah, 1 in Habakkuk, 10 in Psalms, and 4 in Proverbs). Of the remaining four instances, three occur in the present passage, Gen 25:23, with the one remaining attestation in Gen 27:29, used there in order to evoke the verse interpreted here. 22 The expected word in Hebrew prose is the exceedingly common ‫ עַם‬ʿam ‘people’. This survey of the noun ‫ ְלאֹם‬ləʾōm ‘people’ leads one to inquire: why, then, does the author of Gen 25 use the word three times in v. 23? Now, it is true that the divine word (because we have here an oracle from Yahweh to Rebekah)—even when embedded into narrative prose—often includes elevated (indeed, poetic) language. So this fact partially answers our question, but I believe that there is more at work here. A more complete answer is forthcoming from a look at the first word in v. 24: ‫ִמ ְלאּו‬ ְ ‫ ַוּי‬wayyimləʾû ‘and were fulfilled’ in the expression “and her days of bearing were fulfilled.” The root of this common verb, ‫ מלא‬mlʾ ‘fill’, constitutes an anagram of the noun ‫ ְלאֹם‬ləʾōm ‘people’ with the alliteration heard clearly. (7)  Genesis 48:19 ‫ִגָּדל‬ ְ ‫ֶה־ּלעָם ְוגַם־הּוא י‬ ְ ‫ִהי‬ ְ ‫ָביו וַּיֹאמֶר יָדַ ְע ִּתי ְבנִי יָדַ ְע ִּתי ּגַם־הּוא י‬ ִ ‫ַו ְי ָמאֵן א‬ ‫ִהיֶה ְמלֹא־הַּגֹויִם׃‬ ְ ‫ִגּדַ ל ִמּמֶּנּו ְוז ְַרעֹו י‬ ְ ‫ָחיו ה ַָּקטֹן י‬ ִ ‫ְואּולָם א‬ And his father declined, and he said, “I know, my son, I know—he also will become a people, and he also will grow; however, his younger brother will grow greater than he, and his seed will be the fullness of nations.” As indicated above, my general approach in this article is to proceed via the narrative order of the book of Genesis. In the present instance, however, I elect to treat Gen 48:19 out of order because, once more, it involves the root ‫ מלא‬mlʾ ‘fill’. Jacob’s words to Joseph concerning Ephraim, the younger who will supersede his older brother Manasseh, are on a par with similar expressions in similar situations in the book of Genesis (see especially Gen 17:18–21 regarding Isaac and Ishmael and Gen 25:23–24 regarding Jacob and Esau [treated above]). Yet the verse con22.  For another echo of Gen 25:23, see below, no. (7), regarding Gen 48:19.

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cludes with a most enigmatic locution: ‫ ְמלֹא־הַּגֹויִם‬məlōʾ haggôyīm ‘the fullness of nations’. This two-word phrase is encountered only here in the Bible, 23 and while the sense is clear (especially in light of the parallel texts just cited), the expression is puzzling nonetheless. By now the reader will have discerned my approach, which I would summarize as follows: “Hark! An unusual word (or phrase)! Look for alliteration nearby!” Once more, our search yields the successful result, for in this verse we are able to identify the relatively rare term ‫ ְואּולָם‬wəʾûlām ‘however’, which appears only 4 times in the Torah. 24 Our verse also includes another alliterative word, namely, ‫ ַו ְי ָמאֵן‬waymāʾēn ‘and he declined’. This is a standard verb in Biblical Hebrew, so there is nothing unusual about its presence at the head of the verse—and yet it also serves to enhance the auditory effect. Of the consonants that do not match perfectly between and among the three terms, note that the nun of the root ‫ מאן‬mʾn ‘refuse, decline’ and the lamed of the other two key words in this verse fall under the general category of sonorants (comprising liquids and nasals). There is another reason for the use of ‫ ְמלֹא־הַּגֹויִם‬məlōʾ haggôyīm ‘the fullness of nations’ in Gen 48:19. As intimated above, there is a relationship between the scene in which this verse occurs and the earlier scene in which Rebekah receives the divine word. As we saw in our treatment of Gen 25:23–24, the noun ‫ ּגֹויִם‬gôyīm ‘nations’ and the verbal root ‫ מלא‬mlʾ ‘fill’ appear there, with the latter alliterating with the noun ‫ ְלאֹם‬ləʾōm ‘people’. I suggest that the author of Gen 48:19 intentionally alludes to the earlier scene by using similar language. In fact, ‫ ְמלֹא‬məlōʾ and ‫ ְלאֹם‬ləʾōm also evoke one another through assonance—a literary device that uses vowel patterns, in much the same way that alliteration operates with consonants. As such, through these various sound plays, an allusive or intertextual linkage between the two passages is created. In short, there are several motivations for the presence of the unusual expression ‫ ְמלֹא־הַּגֹויִם‬məloʾ haggôyīm ‘the fullness of nations’ in Gen 48:19. 25 Not only 23.  The closest parallel is Isa 31:4: ‫ ְמלֹא ר ִֹעים‬məlōʾ rōʿîm, lit., ‘fullness of shepherds’, meaning (most likely) ‘a large band of shepherds’ (or something on that order). 24.  In one of these four instances, viz., Num 14:21, the same alliteration occurs, with both ‫ ְואּולָם‬wəʾûlām ‘however’ and the root ‫ מלא‬mlʾ ‘fill’ present in this verse as well. 25.  As another key to the unusual nature of the two-word phrase, note that Tg. Onqelos departs from its usual word-for-word rendering with either ‫‘ שלטין בעממיא‬rulers over peoples’ (thus ms British Library Or. 2363) or ‫‘ מלכין דשליטין בעממיא‬kings who rule over peoples’ (as well as similar wordings in early printed editions). See Alexander Sperber, The Bible in Aramaic (Leiden: Brill, 2004 [repr. of the original 1959–68 four-volume set]), 84.

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does the first part of the phrase alliterate with other words in the verse; the entire phrase brings the listener back to the parallel scene in Gen 25:23–24. (8)  Genesis 27:12 ‫ֵאתי ָעלַי ְק ָללָה ְולֹא ְב ָרכָה׃‬ ִ ‫ִיתי ְבעֵינָיו ִּכ ְמתַ ְעּתֵ ַע ְו ֵהב‬ ִ ‫ָבי ְו ָהי‬ ִ ‫ּׁשנִי א‬ ֵ ֻ‫אּולַי ְימ‬ Perhaps my father will feel me, and I will be in his eyes as a mocker; and I will bring upon myself a curse, and not a blessing. (Notice ‫ַטע ִַּמים‬ ְ ‫‘ מ‬dainties, delicacies’, used 6 times [vv. 4, 7, 9, 14, 17, 31].) Two rare words are collocated in these verses. The noun ‫ ְמתַ ְעּתֵ ַע‬mətaʿtēaʿ ‘mocker’ (actually the masculine-singular participle of the verb ‫ תעע‬tʿʿ ‘mock’ in the pilpel pattern) occurs only here and in 2 Chr 36:16, while the related noun ‫ֻעים‬ ִ ‫ ּתַ ְעּת‬taʿtuʿîm ‘mockery’ appears only in Jer 10:15 and 51:18. The noun ‫ַטע ִַּמים‬ ְ‫מ‬ maṭʿammîm ‘dainties, delicacies’ occurs six times in Gen 27, as indicated in the parentheses above, and again only in Prov 23:3 and 23:6 (albeit in slightly different form, with the ‫וֹת‬- nominal plural ending). In light of the approach taken thus far, I submit that the author of Gen 27 selected these two words intentionally, in order to enhance the oral-aural process through the similar sounds: /m/, /ʿ/, 26 and voiceless dental (either /t/ or /ṭ/). While I have not attempted to capture the alliterations in the verses surveyed thus far in my English renderings, in this case I take the opportunity to do so. Instead of the more standard ‘mocker’, one could imagine an English translation using either ‘derider’ or ‘disdainer’ for ‫ ְמתַ ְעּתֵ ַע‬mətaʿtēaʿ, paired with either ‘dainties’ or ‘delicacies’ for ‫ַטע ִַּמים‬ ְ ‫ מ‬maṭʿammîm. (9)  Genesis 38:21–23 ְ ‫ׁשה ִהוא ָבעֵינַיִם עַל־הַָּדר‬ ‫ְתה‬ ָ ‫אמרּו לֹא־ ָהי‬ ְ ֹ ‫ֶך וַּי‬ ָ ֵ‫ִׁשאַל אֶת־ ַא ְנׁשֵי ְמקֹמָּה לֵאמֹר ַאּיֵ֧ה ה ְַּקד‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ ‫ׁשה׃‬ ָ ֵ‫ָבזֶה ְקד‬ ‫ׁשה׃‬ ָ ֵ‫ְתה ָבזֶה ְקד‬ ָ ‫ָמרּו לֹא־ ָהי‬ ְ ‫ָאתי ָה ְוגַם ַא ְנׁשֵי ַהּמָקֹום א‬ ִ ‫ְהּודה וַּיֹאמֶר לֹא ְמצ‬ ָ ‫ָׁשב אֶל־י‬ ָ ‫ַוּי‬ ‫ָאתּה׃‬ ָ ‫ַּתה לֹא ְמצ‬ ָ ‫ׁשל ְַח ִּתי ַהּג ְִדי ַהּזֶה ְוא‬ ָ ‫ִהיֶה לָבּוז ִהּנֵה‬ ְ ‫ְהּודה ִּתּקַ ח־לָּה ּפֶן נ‬ ָ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר י‬ 21 And he asked the men of her place, saying, “Where is the qədēšâ who (was) in Enayim on the roadway?” And they said, “There has not been a qədēšâ in this [sc. ‘here’].” 22 And he returned to Judah, and he said, “I did not find her, and even the men of the place said, ‘There has not been a qədēšâ in this [sc. ‘here’].’ ” 23 And Judah said, “Let her take (it) for herself, lest we become a ridicule; behold, I sent her this kid, but you could not find her.” 26.  Once more, Arabic cognates of the two vocables demonstrate that the ‫ ע‬ʿayin represents the pharyngeal fricative /ʿ/ in both cases.

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Quite strikingly in this passage, the precise words that Judah’s friend Hirah heard from the townspeople of Enayim (in v. 21) are used in his report to Judah (in v. 22): ‫ׁשה‬ ָ ֵ‫ְתה ָבזֶה ְקד‬ ָ ‫ לֹא־ ָהי‬lōʾ hāytâ bāzeh qədēšâ ‘there has not been a qədēšâ in this [sc. “here”]’. As is well known, the norm in biblical literature is repetition with variation. 27 Verbatim repetition is extremely rare in the Bible, including when direct speech is reported, as we have here in Gen 38:21–22. 28 Another rarity occurs in these verses, the root ‫ בוז‬bwz ‘scorn, ridicule’, in the form ‫ לָבּוז‬lābûz ‘(become) a ridicule’. This is the only appearance of this verbal root in the entire biblical narrative prose corpus. The lexeme is relatively common in poetic texts (e.g., Psalms 4×, Proverbs 10×, Job 3×, etc.) but, as noted, only in Gen 38:23 does the word occur within prose. The sounds of these words evoke one another, with the sound play operating with the bet-zayin combination: ‫ ָבזֶה‬bāzeh ‘in this’ / ‫ לָבּוז‬lābûz ‘(become) a ridicule’. To enhance the alliteration, the author has Hirah repeat the same words that he heard from the townsfolk. (10)  Genesis 38:22–23, 25 ‫ׁשה׃‬ ָ ֵ‫ְתה ָבזֶה ְקד‬ ָ ‫ָמרּו לֹא־ ָהי‬ ְ ‫ָאתי ָה ְוגַם ַא ְנׁשֵי ַהּמָקֹום א‬ ִ ‫ְהּודה וַּיֹאמֶר לֹא ְמצ‬ ָ ‫ָׁשב אֶל־י‬ ָ ‫ַוּי‬ ‫ָאתּה׃‬ ָ ‫ַּתה לֹא ְמצ‬ ָ ‫ׁשל ְַח ִּתי ַהּג ְִדי ַהּזֶה ְוא‬ ָ ‫ִהיֶה לָבּוז ִהּנֵה‬ ְ ‫ְהּודה ִּתּקַ ח־לָּה ּפֶן נ‬ ָ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר י‬ . . . ֹ ֹ ‫ֲׁשר־ ֵאּלֶה ּלֹו אָנ ִכי הָרָה‬ ֶ ‫ָמי ָה לֵאמר ְל ִאיׁש א‬ ִ ‫ׁש ְלחָה אֶל־ח‬ ָ ‫ִהוא מּוצֵאת ְו ִהיא‬ ‫ַּטה ָה ֵאּלֶה׃‬ ֶ ‫ילים ְו ַהּמ‬ ִ ‫וַּתֹאמֶר ַהּכֶר־נָא ְל ִמי הַח ֶֹתמֶת ְוה ְַּפ ִת‬ 27.  See, for example, Shamir Yona, “Stylistic and Syntactic Variants in Repeated Texts in the Bible,” in T eshûrôt LaAvishur: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, in Hebrew and Semitic Languages: Festschrift Presented to Prof. Yitzhak Avishur on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. Michael Heltzer and Meir Malul (Tel-Aviv: Archaeological Center, 2004), 225–32 [Heb.]; idem, “Repetition and Variation in Biblical Texts,” UF 37 (2005): 729–40; Gary A. Rendsburg, “Variation in Biblical Hebrew Prose and Poetry,” in Built by Wisdom, Established by Understanding: Essays on Biblical and Near Eastern Literature in Honor of Adele Berlin, ed. Maxine L. Grossman (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2013), 197–226; and idem, “Repetition with Variation in Legal-Cultic Texts of the Torah,” in Marbeh Ḥokmah: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East in Loving Memory of Victor Avigdor Hurowitz, ed. Shamir Yona et al. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 435–63. 28.  In fact, there are only ten such instances of verbatim repetition of the original speech in the narrative corpus stretching from Genesis through Kings (five in Genesis– Exodus; five in Samuel–Kings); see George W. Savran, Telling and Retelling: Quotation in Biblical Narrative (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), 29. One will admit that in a short speech of only four words, as here in Gen 38:21–22, the opportunity for variation is less. Nevertheless, even short speeches occasionally are varied by the biblical author, as seen, for example, in the comparison between Num 20:17 and Judg 11:17 (even though these two occur at great distance from one another).

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Gary A. Rendsburg And he returned to Judah, and he said, “I did not find her, and even the men of the place said, ‘There has not been a qədēšâ in this [sc. ‘here’].’ ” 23 And Judah said, “Let her take (it) for herself, lest we become a ridicule; behold, I sent her this kid, but you could not find her.” . . . 25 She is brought-out—and she had sent to her father-in-law, saying, “By the man to whom these (belong), I am pregnant”; and she said, “Recognize, please, to whom (belong) these: the seal and the cords and the staff.” 22

The odd usage here is the hophal feminine-singular passive participle form ‫מּוצֵאת‬ mûṣēʾt ‘(she) is brought-out’. 29 The reader of biblical prose would expect to find here a suffix-conjugation form indicating the past tense. The author used the unexpected form, however, because the participle allows the mem to be prefixed to the root ‫ יצא‬yṣʾ ‘go out’ (hiphil ‘bring out’, with the passive expressed by the hophal), thereby creating a string of consonants: mem-ṣade-ʾalep-taw. This unusual form is employed alliterationis causa, to invoke the sounds of the earlier words ‫ָאתי ָה‬ ִ ‫ ְמצ‬məṣāʾtîha ‘I did (not) find her’ (v. 22) and ‫ָאתּה‬ ָ ‫ ְמצ‬məṣāʾtāh ‘you did (not) find her’ (v. 23), both of which contain the same mem-ṣade-ʾalep-taw series. (11)  Genesis 2:15–16, 18 ‫ׁש ְמ ָרּה׃‬ ָ ‫ּול‬ ְ ‫ָב ָדּה‬ ְ ‫ָדם ַוּיַ ִּנחֵהּו ְבגַן־עֵדֶן ְלע‬ ָ ‫ַוּיִּקַ ח יְהוָה אֱל ִֹהים אֶת־ ָהא‬ ‫ָדם לֵאמֹר ִמּכֹל עֵץ־ ַהּגָן אָכֹל ּתֹאכֵל׃‬ ָ ‫ַו ְיצַו יְהוָה אֱל ִֹהים עַל־ ָהא‬ . . . ‫ֶגּדֹו׃‬ ְ ‫ֱׂשּה־ּלֹו ֵעזֶר ְּכנ‬ ֶ ‫ָדם ְלבַּדֹו ֶאע‬ ָ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר יְהוָה אֱל ִֹהים לֹא־טֹוב הֱיֹות ָהא‬ 15 And Yhwh Elohim took the man, and he placed him in the garden of Eden, to till it and to guard it. 16 And Yhwh Elohim commanded the man, saying, “From every tree of the garden you indeed may eat.” . . . 18 And Yhwh Elohim said, “It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make for him a lady as his opposite.” My next example brings us back to the beginning of the book of Genesis, so that once more I have elected to treat a passage out of canonical order. I do so given the very thorny issues involved with the phrase ‫ֶגּדֹו‬ ְ ‫ ֵעזֶר ְּכנ‬ʿēzer kənegdô, 30 a two-word combination that has confounded scholars for millennia. Had we proceeded in 29.  The oddity has been noticed by many scholars: e.g., Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 9: “a rare present passive participle.” 30.  The phrase occurs not only in v. 18, reproduced above, but in v. 20 as well.

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canonical order, these words would have come at the beginning of our explorations (since they appear in the second creation account). I felt it more prudent, however, to set the stage with examples such as Gen 2:25–3:1; 6:14; 21:4, 7–8, etc., given the simpler wording in these verses. Only now toward the essay’s end, with the device of alliteration exemplified and our method of interpretation revealed, may we proceed to this illustration. The famous rendering of the King James Version (1611), “an help meet for him,” 31 became ensconced in the English language, eventually yielding “helpmeet” (with hyphen, used by John Dryden, for example) and then either “helpmeet” (without hyphen, common from the 19th century onward) or “helpmate” (used by Daniel Defoe, for example). 32 The first element, “help,” is a suitable rendering of the Hebrew noun‫ ֵעזֶר‬ʿēzer, which appears about 12 times elsewhere in the Bible (e.g., Deut 33:7); while the second element, “meet,” meaning “equal” (though it would have been archaic even in 1611), is an attempt to render the Hebrew prepositional phrase ‫ֶגּדֹו‬ ְ ‫ ְּכנ‬kənegdô. In truth, however, this compound preposition (formed by ‫ּכ‬ְ kə- + ‫ נֶגֶד‬neged) appears only in Gen 2:18 and 2:20, so we cannot be so certain about its meaning, especially since the simple preposition ‫ נֶגֶד‬neged nowhere else has the meaning ‘equal’ but rather typically means ‘opposite, in front of ’ in a spatial sense. The problem, then, is this: does “help meet” suitably capture the essence of this phrase? Have we, and readers for centuries before us, been misled not only by the KJV (and almost all English translations influenced thereby since 1611) but also by the presence of ‫ ֵעזֶר‬ʿēzer ‘help’ (along with the verbal root ‫ עזר‬ʿzr ‘help’) in the Hebrew lexicon? My even raising the question naturally directs our answer: yes, we have been misled—for there is nothing further in the text that suggests that the woman is to be a helper to the man. Happily, a relatively recent but generally overlooked suggestion points the way and, to my mind, provides an elegant solution to the phrase ‫ֶגּדֹו‬ ְ ‫ ֵעזֶר ְּכנ‬ʿēzer kə-negdô. The remarkable Zeʾev Ben-Ḥayyim (1907–2013), leading Hebraist of the Hebrew University, who continued to produce scholarship well into his nineties, suggested in 1998 that the word ‫ ֵעזֶר‬ʿēzer indeed does not mean ‘help’ but, rather, is cognate with Arabic ‫ عذراء‬ʿaḏrā ‘virgin, young woman’ (the phonetics match perfectly, since Arabic /ḏ/ corresponds to Hebrew /z/). 33 Which is to say, ancient Hebrew had a word ‫ ֵעזֶר‬ʿēzer that meant ‘woman’ (in some fashion)—a meaning 31.  Note the earlier renderings by John Wycliffe (1331–84) “an help lijk to hym silf ” and William Tyndale (1494–1536) “an helper to beare him company.” 32.  OED, s.v., “helpmeet, helpmate.” 33. Zeʾev Ben-Ḥayyim, “‫ הצעה‬:‫עזר כנגדו‬,” Lešonénu 63/1–2 (1998/5758): 45–50. Note that the Arabic word is used by Christian Arabs to refer to the Virgin Mary.

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that fits the context of Gen 2:18 (and 2:20). I have translated the word ‘lady’ above only in order to evoke a different and rarer usage in keeping with the exceptional nature of ‫ ֵעזֶר‬ʿēzer. 34 This word, accordingly, is a homonym of ‫ ֵעזֶר‬ʿēzer ‘help’, but the two are to be sharply distinguished, especially here in Gen 2. We thus are led to ask: why did the author choose this phrase,‫ֶגּדֹו‬ ְ ‫ ֵעזֶר ְּכנ‬ʿēzer kənegdô ‘a lady as his opposite’? By this point, the reader will not be surprised to learn that the answer lies in noticing the sounds at play. The phrases heard earlier, ‫ ְבגַן־ ֵעדֶן‬bəgan ʿēden ‘in the garden of Eden’ (v. 15) and ‫ עֵץ־ ַהּגָן‬ʿēṣ haggān ‘the trees of the garden’ (v. 16), incorporate the same or similar consonants as the expression ‫ֶגּדֹו‬ ְ ‫ ֵעזֶר ְּכנ‬ʿēzer kənegdô ‘a lady as his opposite’ (v. 18). Note that /ʿ/, /n/, and /g/ appear in all three combinations; /d/ appears in two of them; the /ṣ/ in the second one evokes the /z/ of the third one; the /r/ of the last one shares the sonorant qualities of the /n/ in the other two; and the /k/ in the third one is the voiceless velar stop corresponding to the voiced velar stop /g/ that appears in all three. The result is an interweaving of sounds in the three expressions—an effect produced by our author’s reaching deep into the Hebrew lexicon to pluck the word ‫ ֵעזֶר‬ʿēzer ‘lady’, which then works in tandem with the unique compound preposition‫ ְּכנֶגֶד‬kəneged ‘as opposite’ (or whatever its precise nuance may be). (12)  Genesis 12:8, 22:9 ‫ּׁשם ָההָרָה ִמ ֶּקדֶם ְלבֵית־אֵל ַוּיֵט ָאהֳלֹה׃‬ ָ ‫ַוּי ְַעּתֵ ק ִמ‬ ‫ָׂשם אֹתֹו עַל־ה ִַּמ ְזּב ֵַח ִמ ַּמעַל ָלע ִֵצים׃‬ ֶ ‫ִצחָק ְּבנֹו ַוּי‬ ְ ‫ַוּיַעֲק ֹד אֶת־י‬ 12:8 And he proceeded from there to the mountains, to the east of Bethel, and he pitched his tent. 22:9 And he bound Isaac his son, and he placed him on the altar, atop the wood. Previous scholars have observed the many lexical and thematic links that serve to unite the two lēk ləkā chapters, Gen 12 and Gen 22. 35 This long series of interconnections, which collectively serve to conjoin the two key episodes in the life of Abraham, allows one to espy yet another nexus: the long-range alliteration created 34.  I thus reserve ‘woman’ for ‫ּשׁה‬ ָ ‫ ִא‬ʾiššâ; ‘female’ for ‫ ְנ ֵקבָה‬nəqēbâ, etc. 35.  See Benno Jacob, Das erste Buch der Tora: Genesis (Berlin: Schocken, 1934), 493; Umberto Cassuto, From Noah to Abraham (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1964), 296; Robert Davidson, Genesis 12–50 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 94; and most importantly Nahum M. Sarna, Understanding Genesis (New York: Schocken, 1966), 160–61. For a summary of these observations, along with my own contribution to the topic, see my book The Redaction of Genesis (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1986; repr. 2014), 30–35.

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by two rare verbs in these parallel accounts, ‫ ַוּי ְַעּתֵ ק‬wayyaʿtēq ‘and he proceeded’ in 12:8 and ‫ ַוּיַעֲק ֹד‬wayyăʿqōd ‘and he bound’ in 22:9. 36 The former occurs only here in Gen 12:8 and (as a clear echo) in 26:33. The root ‫ עתק‬ʿtq occurs 12 other times in the Bible, with a range of meanings, among which are three additional instances of the hiphil stem (Prov 25:1; Job 9:5, 32:15), though with different connotations. The latter verb, from the root ‫ עקד‬ʿqd, is a hapax legomenon in the Bible, used here instead of the common root ‫ קשׁר‬qšr ‘tie, bind’ (see, e.g., Gen 38:28; Josh 2:18, 2:21; Job 39:10; etc.). 37 To my mind, the author of these two stories selected these rare lexemes deliberately, as one additional long-range nexus to solidify the association of the two pericopes. 38 As noted above, alliteration does not occur on a regular basis in Biblical Hebrew literature, whether prose or poetry, a point now confirmed by our survey of but 12 instances in the book of Genesis. Yet, when this literary device is employed by the authors of ancient Hebrew literature, the reader—which is to say, the listener—is invited to take note and delight in the pleasure of the text. 36.  For my earlier treatment, see ibid., xix–xx (of the book’s 2nd edition only). 37.  I cite here only passages that entail actual tying or binding, not metaphorical acts. See also Deut 6:8, 11:18, as per rabbinic and other (e.g., Qumran) Jewish interpretation. 38.  Nota bene: “the author” (or at least the single narrative voice present in the Abraham Cycle, if not the book of Genesis as a whole) and not two or more authors (as proposed by devotees of the Documentary Hypothesis, who would assign Gen 12 to so-called J and Gen 22 to so-called E).

One, Two, or Three . . . ? The Confusion of the Trees in Genesis 2–3 and Its Hermeneutical Background Michaela Bauks

University of Koblenz-Landau

For a long time, the crucial point in Gen 2–3 concerning the number of the special trees inside the garden was explained as a result of different literary strata within the narrative. Recently, some colleagues have—for good reasons—defended the literary unity of this text, attributing the discrepancies regarding the number of trees to the text’s tradition history. 1 In this essay, I aim to show that the problem is even more complicated. 1.  Werner H. Schmidt emphasized that it is nearly impossible to identify which verses in the transmitted process belong to the J redaction and that the preceding forms of the narrative cannot be reconstructed (Die Schöpfungsgeschichte der Priesterschrift: Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte von Gen 1,1–2,4a und 2,4b–3,24, 3rd ed., WMANT 17 [NeukirchenVluyn: Neukrichener Verlag, 1974], 224–25). Odil H. Steck advocated for a unified text (“Die Paradieserzählung: Eine Auslegung von Gen 2,4b–3,24,” in Wahrnehmungen Gottes im Alten Testament, ed. Odil H. Steck, 2nd ed., TB 70 [Munich: Chr. Kaiser, 1981], 9–116). Cf. Erhard Blum, “Von Gottesunmittelbarkeit zu Gottähnlichkeit: Überlegungen zur theologischen Anthropologie der Paradieserzählung,” in Gottes Nähe im Alten Testament: Festgabe B. Janowski, ed. Gönke Eberhardt and Kathrin Liess, SBS 202 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2004), 9–29; Eckart Otto, “Die Paradieserzählung Genesis 2–3: Eine nachpriesterliche Lehrerzählung in ihrem religionshistorischen Kontext,” in “Jedes Ding hat seine Zeit . . .”: Studien zur israelitischen und altorientalischen Weisheit: Diethelm Michel zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Anja A. Diesel et al., BZAW 241 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996), 167–92; Konrad Schmid, “Die Unteilbarkeit der Weisheit: Überlegungen zur sogenannten Paradieserzählung Gen 2f. und ihrer theologischen Tendenz,” ZAW 114 (2002): 1–20; Jean-Louis Ska, “Genesis 2–3: Some fundamental Questions,” in Beyond Eden: The Biblical Story of Paradise (Genesis 2–3) and Its Reception History, ed. Konrad Schmid and Christoph Riedweg, FAT II/34 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 1–27; and Howard N. Wallace, The Eden Narrative, HSM 32 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985).

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First, the motif of the tree of life is found in innerbiblical contexts 2 as a wisdom concept describing the knowledge of the sage, with a positive connotation. 3 Therefore, it is not obvious that the knowledge sought by the human being in Gen 2–3 must be judged negatively. Second, we must ask: what is the qualitative difference between the “tree of life,” well known from a broader wisdom context, and the “tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” only present in Gen 2–3? I suggest that the meaning of the two trees is quite similar. Third, the tree of life, mentioned twice in Gen 2:9 and 3:22, takes on a considerably altered meaning at the end of the narrative. In the context of the expulsion report, the tree of life is associated with the idea of immortality. With Gen 3:22, the narrative takes on a new orientation, shifting the focus from the search for knowledge and obedience demanded by God to a reflection on the human destiny of death and the search for immortality. Therefore, I am suggesting that the indeterminate number and meaning of the trees within the narrative is an important stylistic element that allows the text to play with different conceptions of mortality.

The Trees of the Garden of Eden And out of the ground the Lord God made to spring up every tree that is pleasant (neḥmād) to the sight and good for food (ṭôb + infinitive ʾākal). [And] The tree of life (ʿēṣ haḥayyîm) was in the middle of [inside] the garden, and [or: that is] the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. (Gen 2:9) The identity of the trees has been explained in various ways. Often, the tree of life is considered a late addition (a gloss), while the tree of knowledge is taken as the 2.  See Michael Fishbane concerning “the development of inner-biblical exegesis and its post-biblical continuities in early Judaism and Christianity.” He emphasizes that the oral traditions would not be transmitted were they not, to some degree, authoritative in the first place. But the authority of these traditions is singularly assured by the very process of their transmission and final stabilization. Inner-biblical exegesis, on the other hand, takes the stabilized literary formulation as its basis and point of departure. Responses to it are thus interpretations of a basically fixed traditum, despite the somewhat fluid record of the most ancient biblical manuscripts and versions. Accordingly, the movement from tradition-history to inner-biblical exegesis . . . carries with it diverse methodological and historical-analytical considerations. (Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel [Oxford: Clarendon, 1988], 7–8)

3. See my “Erkenntnis und Leben in Gen 2–3: Zum Wandel eines ursprünglich weisheitlich geprägten Lebensbegriffs,” ZAW 127 (2015): 20–42 (with detailed bibliographical references).

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original tree situated in the midst of the garden (see Gen 3:3). Recently, Andreas Michel has explained the construction through a Hebrew syntactical peculiarity, the split coordination (“gespaltene Koordination”). 4 Within this rhetorical treatment, the tree of life and the tree of knowledge both stand in the center of the garden. However, each tree is in focus at different points of the narrative: the tree of knowledge is more important in vv. 9 and 17, emphasized by its placement at the end of the verse, whereas the previously named tree of life becomes significant only in Gen 3:22–23, at the end of the narrative. The adverbial phrase “in the middle of [or inside] the garden” serves as a “blocking clause” that separates the two trees, both situated in the (relative) center of the garden. (clause b) in the middle of the garden (Gen 3:3)

(clause a) tree of life (Gen 3:22–23) (clause c) tree of knowledge . . . (Gen 2:17)

This linguistic analysis is important because it can explain the situation of two trees in the middle of the garden without extracting one of the trees as an editorial addition. 5 However, I want to emphasize that there is a possible third approach, which is that both trees need to be conceived as one and the same. 6 The waw in ‘and the tree of knowledge’ is not a waw of enumeration but a waw adaequationis in the sense of ‘likewise, the tree of knowledge’. 7 Howard Wallace developed this idea as follows: 4. Andreas Michel, Theologie aus der Peripherie: Die gespaltene Koordination im Biblischen Hebräisch, BZAW 257 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997), 1–22, esp. p. 20. 5. See Ska, “Genesis 2–3,” 9–10. 6. See my “Sacred Trees in the Garden of Eden and Their Ancient Near Eastern Precursors,” JAJ 3 (2012): 267–301, esp. pp. 268–70, with references to Wallace, Eden Narrative, 103; and Jutta Krispenz, “Wie viele Bäume braucht das Paradies? Erwägungen zu Gen II 4B–III 24,” VT 54 (2004): 301–18. 7.  See Paul Joüon and Takamitsu Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew: Part 3, SubBi 14/2 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1991), §174h; see also my “Sacred Trees,” 268 with n. 5; and idem, “Der Garten in Eden und seine Bäume: Ein Beitrag zur Botanik aus Sicht der biblischen Symbolsprache,“ in Zur Kulturgeschichte der Botanik, ed. Michaela Bauks and Martin F. Meyer, Antike Naturwissenschaft und ihre Rezeption 8 (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2013), 37–71, esp. pp. 40–42. Terje Stordalen argues differently in Echoes of Eden: Genesis 2–3 and Symbolism of the Eden Garden in Biblical Hebrew Literature, CBET 25 (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 296. He emphasizes that, when they “[eat] from the Tree of Knowledge, life never becomes the same again,” because the human beings,

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Michaela Bauks If we accept that the original form of the story contained only one tree, then the two trees in the present narrative could be the result of the combination of variants of the one motif. At some stage in the [long and oral traditional] history of the narrative, the variants have been joined and the story has developed the concept of two trees side-by-side in the garden. 8

I agree with Wallace that the two trees of Gen 2–3 are two variants, speaking about the same subject.

The Tree of Life in a Wisdom Context In the Old Testament, outside Genesis, the ‘tree of life’ (ʿēṣ ḥayyîm) is only attested in Prov 3:18, 11:30, 13:2, and 15:4. In Prov 3:18, “she [=  wisdom] is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her; those who hold her fast are called happy” (NRSV). Identified with wisdom, the “tree of life” is here a metaphor for life and fortune and emphasizes the blessed situation of a sage. It would be striking if there were any evidence of eternal life or immortality in this context. 9 In the broader world of ancient traditions, we find examples of trees in Egyptian tombs in the New Kingdom, symbolizing food and plentitude for the dead person during his journey to the afterlife. 10 The collected proverbs in Prov 13:1–16 present a context of sapiential education, revealing some parallels: A wise son hears his father’s instruction, but a scoffer does not listen to rebuke. 1

after being expelled from the garden, were separated from the tree of life and lost its rejuvenating forces (for this concept, see, e.g., Gilgamesh XI 283–86.299 and the commentary of Andrew R. George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 2 vols. [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003], 1.525–26; text and translation, pp. 720–23). 8.  Wallace, Eden Narrative, 103. 9.  See the motif of dust and soil in Gen 2–3 indicating the mortal state of humanity. See, for example, Konrad Schmid, who interprets Gen 3:22—like Prov 3:18, 11:30, 15:4, and Rev 2:7—as a metaphorical expression for wisdom (“Loss of Immortality: Hermeneutical Aspects of Genesis 2–3 and Its Early Receptions,” in Beyond Eden: The Biblical Story of Paradise [Genesis 2–3] and Its Reception History, ed. Konrad Schmid and Christoph Riedweg, FAT II/34 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008], 58–78). See also Mark S. Smith, The Origins of Biblical Monotheism: Israel’s Polytheistic Background and the Ugaritic Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 172, 243. 10.  It seems to me that the Egyptian iconography is closer to the tree of life concept than the sacred trees that appear, for example, in Assyrian royal contexts. See my “Sacred Trees,” 275–76 (with detailed bibliographical references). For further Egyptian items, see recently idem, “Erkenntnis,” 27–34; and Krispenz, “Bäume.”

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. . . Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire (taʾăwâ) fulfilled is a tree of life (ʿēṣ ḥayyîm). 13 Whoever despises the word brings destruction on himself, but he who reveres the commandment (miṣwâ) will be rewarded. 4 The teaching of the wise is a fountain of life, that one may turn away from the snares of death. . . . 16 In everything the prudent (ʿārûm) acts with knowledge (bədāʿat), but a fool flaunts his folly. . . . 19 A desire (taʾăwâ) fulfilled is sweet to the soul, but to turn away from evil is an abomination to fools. 12

In this collection of antithetic parallelisms, human knowledge is presented as a positive gain, which is juxtaposed with the idea that obedience to the commandment(s) is a(nother) important presupposition of successful life. Instead of a notion of “absolute wisdom” or “omniscience,” we have a twofold anthropological concept regarding wisdom: seeking wisdom and holding to the Torah is considered a beneficial way to conduct life. In contrast, Gen 2–3 introduces the aspect of divine command and interdiction, which implies a significant tension between the search for knowledge and obedience.

The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil We have seen above that the tree of knowledge is foregrounded in the first part of the narrative (Gen 2:16–17). And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, 17 but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” 16

What does the knowledge of good and evil mean? Traditionally, the expression is interpreted as “omniscience,” because “good” and “evil” suggest a totality, including everything in between. This is a merism, a rhetorical term for a pair of contrasting words (such as “near and far”) that is used in some cases to express totality or completeness. It is a type of synecdoche. The British linguist John Lyons introduced the term complementary to describe a similar device: a dichotomized pair that conveys the concept of a whole. He distinguishes further: antonymy, or “oppositeness of meaning” . . . as one of the most important semantic relations. However it has been the subject of a good deal of confusion, partly because it has generally been regarded as complementary

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In fact, Lyons distinguishes between “complementary” (often graded), “antithesis,” and “conversion.” The combination of “good and evil” can theoretically take two significations: complementary when the antithesis is not in terms of contradiction (thesis and antithesis), but in opposite aspects of the same idea (“the whole”); or it means graded antithesis, because “words as big and small, or good and bad, do not refer to independent ‘opposite’ qualities, but are merely lexical devices for grading as ‘more than’ or ‘less than’ with respect to some implicit norm.” 12 While many exegetes understand “good and evil” to be complementary, describing an all-embracing knowledge (a merism for divine omniscience), 13 I think that understanding this expression as graded antithesis is preferable. So the main topic of the narrative was originally not omniscience but a general capacity of distinction including the quality of knowledge. Unlike many exegetes, I do not think that the legitimation of knowledge is a crucial point of Gen 2–3. 14 There are three instances of ṭôb in combination with rāʿ in the context of the “tree of knowledge of good and evil” 15 in Gen 2:9, 17 and again in 3:4–7, which states: But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not die. 5For God knows [sg.] that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God[s], knowing [pl.] good and evil.” 6So when the woman saw that

4

11. John Lyons, Introduction to Theoretical Linguistics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968) 200, 460–61. 12.  Ibid., 465–66. 13.  See Hans-Peter Müller, “Nicht-junktiver Gebrauch von w- im Althebräischen,” ZAH 7 (1994): 141–74, esp. pp. 145–46: “Merism and polar-binäry Synekdoques describe a totality (‘heaven and earth’ = the whole world; ‘knowledge of good and evil’ = omniscience)” (p. 145). See also idem, “Drei Deutungen des Todes: Genesis 3, der Mythos von Adapa und die Sage von Gilgamesch,” JBTh 6 (1991): 117–34, esp. p. 119. Schmid rejects a differentiation in “eine vollkommene göttliche Weisheit und eine menschliche Dekadenzform dazu” (“Unteilbarkeit,” 30). 14.  Ibid., 31–32; Blum, “Gottesunmittelbarkeit,” 22. See critically Rainer Albertz, “Ihr werdet sein wie Gott: Gen 3,1–7 auf dem Hintergrund des alttestamentlichen und des sumerisch-babylonischen Menschenbildes” (in Geschichte und Theologie: Studien zur Exegese des Alten Testaments und zur Religionsgeschichte Israels, ed. Gabriele Kern, Ingo Kottsieper, and Jakob Wöhrle, BZAW 326 [Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003], 23–47, esp. p. 34). In addition, see Otto, “Paradieserzählung,” 191; and Lyn M. Bechtel, “Genesis 2:4b–3:24: A Myth about Human Maturation,” JSOT 67 (1995): 3–26. 15.  For further investigations into ṭôb–rāʿ, see my “Sacred Trees,” 301.

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the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate. 7 Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves. (NRSV) The vocabulary is striking: taʾăwâ, neḥmād, 16 ṭôb–rāʿ, ʿārûm (+ ḥokmâ/daʿat) are common terms in wisdom literature, used with a positive connotation. Apparently, the woman does not attempt to be like God but to become wise (ləhaśkîl). 17 Semantics and certain word-plays (e.g., paronomasia) are typical wisdom style as well. 18 The prohibition is pronounced in a formal reference to legal texts (hophal: môt yûmat) by the 2nd-person singular qal + infinitive absolute môt tāmût. I agree with Albertz, Erhard Gerstenberger, and Thomas Hieke that this is indicative of human conduct in defiance of God. 19 I disagree with Otto, who suggests that it is a legal sanction like those found in late Deuteronomistic texts. 20 Grammatically, it is also striking that 3:5 twice uses Elohim + participle yādaʿ, the first time in the singular, the second time in the plural (cf. Gen 3:22). 21 It seems 16.  The signification of neḥmād shifts from a concrete “delight” of seeing (2:9) to the more abstract “ambition” to gain wisdom in 3:6 (see here the synonymous use of taʾăwâ + ʿēnayîm in 3:6 instead of ḥāmad; cf. Exod 20:17). It is not correct that ḥāmad originally had a more concrete meaning while ʾawah had a more figurative signification of delight, which changes only in Sirach (cf. Sir 5:2; 14:14; 40:22); cf. G. Wallis, “‫חמד‬,” TDOT 4.452–61, esp. pp. 456–57. 17. Klaus Koenen, “‫שכל‬,” TDOT 14.112–28. He resumes: “Hence a certain concept underlies skl uniting the various aspects ‘be reasonable – act reasonable – recognize God – keep God’s commandments – have a successful life – acquire superiority.’ All these respects resonate in any given instance even if one of them may occupy the foreground” (p. 117). 18.  Cf. particularly Otto, “Paradieserzählung,” 175–78. 19.  Albertz emphasizes the cautious reactions of God—for example, the substitution of the penalty of death with expulsion (3:22ff.; Albertz, “Ihr werdet sein,” 34–35). Erhard Gerstenberger, “ ‘. . . (He/They) Shall be Put to Death’: Life-Preserving Divine Threats in Old Testament Law,” in Die hebräische Bibel als Buch der Befreiung, ed. Ute E. Eisen and Christl M. Meier (Gießen: Gießener elektronische Bibliothek, 2012), 492–511, esp. pp. 495– 96; Thomas Hieke, “Das Alte Testament und die Todesstrafe,” Bib 85 (2004): 349–74. He presumes that the “death edicts” are therefore not “law” but divine dicta that formulate things that should not happen under any circumstances. 20.  Otto, “Paradieserzählung“, 180–84; cf. Bauks, “Erkenntnis,” 34–37. 21.  See Helmer Ringgren, “‫אלהים‬,” TDOT 1.267–84, esp. p. 294. Elohim means both the plural ‘gods’ and also the singular ‘God’ or ‘god’. Verbs and adjectives depend on the meaning of the phrase in the context, with few exceptions (such as Deut 4:7, “near God,” or 5:26, “living God”). It is also possible that the participle refers to the collective noun

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that the tree of knowledge is here primarily associated with the divine realm and not with a particular god (Yhwh). 22 I do not agree with Schmid, who contends that the woman simply misunderstood which tree was banned. 23 Rather, I suggest that the misunderstanding does not concern the position or identity of the tree but its quality. The snake had attributed to the tree divine power that could be attained by the humans. The woman, however, sought knowledge and wisdom. Annette Schellenberg has articulated the dilemma of human knowledge as follows: The equality of man with God in terms of knowledge, achieved by the transgression of the divine prohibition, brings a certain independence, and hence a distance of man from God with it, an autonomy in the assessment of good and evil. This high capacity of man is in itself not bad, but only a basic anthropological condition that allows independent orientation in everyday life. On the other hand, it holds but the possibility that the man is even further away from God, and his cognitive ability (is) used not in the sense of good, but in the sense of evil. 24

The Changing of Meaning of “the Knowledge of Good and Evil” At the end of the narrative, God asserts that human beings became “like one of us in knowing good and evil.” It seems that they have penetrated the divine realm and mixed the divine and human worlds. The motif of preventing the mixture of human and divine issues is also known from Gen 6:1–4 and 11:6–7, which likewise presume a polytheistic context. The expulsion effects a clear differentia‘Elohim’. In Gen 3:5, the different use is striking and allows us to presume that the text is dealing with different items. See my “Erkenntnis,” 36–38. 22.  For the double sense, see Albertz, “Ihr werdet sein,” 34. 23.  Schmid, “Unteilbarkeit,” 31–32. 24. Annette Schellenberg, Erkenntnis als Problem: Qohelet und die alttestamentliche Diskussion um das menschliche Erkennen, OBO 188 (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 2002), 247: Die durch die Übertretung des göttlichen Verbots erreichte Gottgleichheit des Menschen in Bezug auf die Erkenntnis bringt eine gewisse Selbständigkeit und damit auch Distanz des Menschen Gott gegenüber mit sich, eine Autonomie in der Beurteilung von Gut und Böse. Diese hohe Fähigkeit des Menschen ist an sich keineswegs schlecht, sondern eine anthropologische Grundgegebenheit, die eine selbständige Orientierung im alltäglichen Leben erst ermöglicht. Als ‚Kehrseite’ birgt sie allerdings die Möglichkeit in sich, dass der Mensch sich noch weiter von Gott entfernt und seine Erkenntnisfähigkeit nicht im Sinne des Guten, sondern im Sinne des Bösen einsetzt.

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tion between the human and divine realms and introduces a second ban, preventing the first humans from obtaining immortality. The narrative continues in Gen 3:22, where the Lord God says: “Behold, the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil; and now, he might reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life, and eat, and live forever” (NRSV). The concept of “knowing good and evil” has several iterations in tradition history. Deuteronomy 1:39, for example, refers to a functional knowledge (cognition), and passages such as 2 Sam 14:17–20 point to ethical knowledge (morality). In our context, the expression recalls the motif of the tree of life in Proverbs, which is a metaphor for a successful life of humans aspiring to wisdom. Both texts show a graded antithetic understanding of partaking in knowledge. On the one hand, knowledge is still not differentiated in practical (good – bad) and ethical terms (good – evil). On the other hand, it does not mean “all wisdom,” which would imply hubris. When the tree of knowledge is mentioned in Gen 2:17 for a second time, its consumption has been forbidden. The announced penalty in the case of transgression (môt tāmût) should not be understood as a threat of the immediate loss of immortality. The penalty ultimately refers to the implementation of a boundary marker between mankind and God. 25 The so-called “seduction scene” in Gen 3:1–6 refers more generally to the tree in the middle of the garden (v. 2; in v. 5, it is identified in the suffix of the word mimmennû, and in v. 6 in the phrase “the tree”). Nevertheless, it is quite obvious that the knowledge of good and evil is the point of interest: the woman does not misunderstand the identity of the tree but its quality. Whereas the snake speaks of knowledge dedicated to the divine sphere and therefore suggesting omniscience, the woman aims for wisdom, similar to the sage in Wisdom Literature (neḥmād haʿēṣ ləhaśkîl). From the woman’s point of view, she is not trying to be equal to God (and there is no parallel with Ezek 28). Apart from the promise of the snake and the woman’s hope, knowledge itself has become ambiguous. On the one hand, the tree has been banned by a formal interdiction of God. On the other hand, the result of eating did not cause a better, God-like status promised by the snake but, rather, a cognition of ambivalent experiences. Did humankind actually achieve omniscience and divinity? Genesis 3:22 seems to be an ironic statement, emphasizing divine primacy. The plural allusions in Gen 3:5 and 3:22 suggest a stricter differentiation between creator (Yhwh-God) 25. See my “Erkenntnis,” 34–35. See Gerstenberger, “. . . (He/They) Shall be Put to Death”; Hieke, “Das Alte Testament und die Todesstrafe” (see n. 19 above).

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and divinity (ʾĕlōhîm) per se, as revealed by the use of the participle yādaʿ in both the singular and plural forms in Gen 3:5. Additionally, the plural allusion “like one of us” thwarts the concept of man’s resemblance to God, which Gen 1:26 asserts. In the narrative, the often-cited impression of acquired omniscience is not confirmed. The first human meeting with God shows that the man and the woman did not become equal to God. Implicit shame (Gen 3:7; cf. 2:25) and fear of facing God (Gen 3:10) point to a newly born ethical knowledge, going beyond practical life conduct. The curses to the pair of humans can be explained etiologically as successive adjustments made in order to raise the conditio humana into its experienced form: they have become aware of human finiteness (mortality in 3:19). And in view of the subsequent expulsion scene in the narrative, knowledge is defined as recognition of the discrepancies of human existence. Good and evil must be understood as a “graded antithesis,” a “more-than” or “less-than” with respect to some implicit norm of knowledge. It is neither negative knowledge in the sense of illicit knowledge (e.g., 1 En. 7) nor divine omniscience. In fact, Gen 2–3 deals with a specific human experience, the knowledge of difference, to be distinguished from the type of knowledge that existed before the act of disobedience—a knowledge that was characterized as positive and intuitive (e.g., Gen 2:20, 23). The newly acquired knowledge is characterized by the failure of “free choice.” The result of this failure was that the human did not follow the divine command but, rather, the promise of the snake. The knowledge they gained did not include accepting responsibility for their acts (see the investigation scene in Gen 3:9–12; cf. Gen 4:7). The narration of Gen 2–3 shows only partial knowledge. 26 In contrast to that, the snake had promised God-like-status by acquiring infinite knowledge.

The Changing Meaning of Life in Genesis 3:22 Verse 22 is a pivot in the narrative: “Then the Lord God said, ‘Behold, the man has become like one of [1st pl./3rd sg.; cf. Tg. Onq.: “them”] us in knowing 26.  Against K. Schmid, “Unteilbarkeit.” Differently E. Otto, who emphasizes a theological synthesis combining deuteronomistic and late sapiential concepts of knowledge and obedience (“Paradieserzählung,” 176–78). Concerning the ambiguous character of wisdom, see Albertz, “Ihr werdet sein,” 41–43. Often this knowledge was interpreted in terms of sexuality, see, e.g., Bechtel, “Gen 2:4b–3:24,” or Diethelm Michel, “Ihr werdet sein wie Gott: Gedanken zur Sündenfallgeschichte in Genesis 3 (1988),” in Studien zur Überlieferungs­ geschichte alttestamentlicher Texte, ed. Andreas Wagner et al. (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2007), 93–115. However, T. Krüger has convincingly argued, that maturation and separation of God go together and present the human condition in an aetiological way (“Sündenfall? Überlegungen zur theologischen Bedeutung der Paradiesgeschichte,” in Schmid and Riedweg, Beyond Eden, 95–109). Cf. Albertz, “Ihr werdet sein,” 27–28.

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good and evil. Now, he might reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life, and eat, and live forever’—.” This verse transforms the meaning of ‘life’. Not until now has the reader had to understand life as the antonym of death. It is only at this point that the forbidden knowledge is associated with a divine character trait, which is mostly associated with another divine trait: divine “deathlessness.” Although other gods have died (and sometimes reappeared, usually gods such as Baal or Dumuzi/Tammuz, who are responsible for fertility), 27 the biblical God is presented as timeless or eternal (cf. Ps 90:2). Qoheleth 3:11 illustrates an extended reflection on the distinct conception of time: “Everything he [God] made beautiful (yāpeh) in its time; also ʿôlām He gave in their heart, without humanity ever reaching the work which God made, from first to last.” 28 The term ʿôlām signifies primarily eternity, which has the virtue of contextual and etymological support. But the second part of the verse stresses the human inability to comprehend the divine plan, which is concealed. Mark Smith presumed: At work may be a sort of word play involving the different meanings of the same word or “root” in Hebrew derived from the coalescence of two originally different roots. . . . [This Hellenistic text in] Ecclesiastes 3:11 presents this irony to humanity, namely, that the source for human realization of human limits lies within humanity’s own constitution. We can only intuit that which we cannot experience: eternity. 29 I think that Gen 3:22 and Qoh 3:11 both reflect the conditio humana, but Gen 3:22 differs by an extension of the meaning of life when the verse combines life with infinity (wāḥay ləʿōlām). In the early history of reception, comments were often made on this aspect of ‘life’. The ancient Near Eastern motif of the hero’s search for immortality (Lebenssuchermythen) has an important theological reflection in the biblical Wirkungsgeschichte. 30 Peter T. Lanfer has examined the various 27.  For these two divine character traits in monotheistic thought, see Smith, Origins, 97–102. 28.  For this translation, see ibid., 101. Cf. Karel van der Toorn, “God,” DDD 352–65: gods are superhumans (p. 357), possessing life and immortality (p. 361), but “the demarcation lines between human and divine are not as clearly drawn in the ancient Near East as they are in many current religions” (p. 363). 29.  Smith, Origins, 101–2; Reinhard Feldmeier and Hermann Spieckermann, Der Gott der Lebendigen: Eine biblische Gotteslehre, TBT 1 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 403–15, esp. pp. 412–13. 30.  Wolfram von Soden alludes to Adapa, Etana, and Gilgamesh (Einführung in die Altorientalistik, 2nd ed. [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1992], 206).

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reinterpretations of this myth, “which demonstrate a resistance to conformity, pointing rather to the instability of the ideas of resurrection and immortality in the Second Temple Period.” 31 First, apocalyptic texts interpret the disobedience as a “fall,” which sanctioned the loss of immortality. Additionally, they interpreted Eden as “a place of refreshment for the righteous dead” (1 En. 20:7; 32:23; 2 Bar. 51; Apoc. Mos. 28:1–4; 1QH XVI) with the hope of resurrection (Dan 12:1–3; 4Q385; and the reversal from dust/death to life). 32 The Palestinian targumim also include an extension to Gen 3:19 that ends, “For you are dust and to dust you shall return.” Targum Ps.-Jonathan adds, “And from dust you shall rise to give a reckoning of all you have done on the day of the great judgment.” 33 Wisdom 1:13 is the first text that claims explicitly that “God did not make death” but, rather, death is caused by godless men (v. 16). 34 It thereby attempts to ground the concept of original human immortality and the denial of the reality of death for the righteous.

Conclusion As this study demonstrates, it is necessary to distinguish between an original human knowledge and a knowledge of good and evil achieved by transgression. The acquisition of knowledge in Gen 2–3 is not just the result of human disobedience. Humans had practical knowledge before the “fall,” and they had no divine knowledge after the fall. The symbolic trees mark a border for limiting human access to the divine realm. When the myth introduces the snake, presented as more intelligent than humans and interested in (social) intercourse with them, the responsibility for the “fall” is dispersed among several agents. When the human beings decided to alienate God because they trusted in the snake, they implicitly consented to distance themselves from God’s realm. It seems to me that Gen 2–3 is not antisapiential but (is imbued with) a kind of skeptical wisdom about humanity’s acquiring the capacity to distinguish between good and evil. Genesis 3:22 is constructed as a pivot that portrays the traditional 31.  Peter T. Lanfer, Remembering Eden: The Reception History of Genesis 3:22–24 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 97. 32.  Ibid., 97–126; John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Apocalyptic Literature, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), 172–74. 33. Hanneke Reuling, After Eden: Church Fathers and Rabbis on Genesis 3:16–21 (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 44. 34. David Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon, AB 43 (New York: Doubleday, 1979), 107–8; John J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age, OTL (Louisville: Westminster, 1997), 187; and idem, “The Root of Immortality: Death in the Context of Jewish Wisdom,” in Seers, Sybils and Sages in Hellenistic-Roman Judaism, ed. John J. Collins, JSJSup 54 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 351–67, esp. pp. 361–62.

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reflection on wisdom and obedience in a new manner. The designation of life is extended to the afterlife. The motif seems to be a late one, leading to two literary hypotheses. If one agrees with a redaction model of composition, these verses would be a very late addition to the narrative. 35 However, if one agrees with a unified narrative, it is perhaps more convincing to accept a late date for the composition of the whole narrative. 36 35. See Hermann Spieckermann, “Ambivalenzen: Ermöglichte und verwirklichte Schöpfung in Gen 2f.,” in Gottes Liebe zu Israel: Studien zur Theologie des Alten Testaments, ed. H. Spieckermann, FAT 33 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 49–61, esp. pp. 61, 70 (+ bibliographical references). 36. See Ska, “Genesis 2–3”; and Otto, “Paradieserzählung,” 176; cf. my “Erkenntnis,” 40–41.

The Art of Blessing and Cursing in Genesis 1–11 Stylistic Patterns and Their Ideological Motivation Karolien Vermeulen

Institute of Jewish Studies, University of Antwerp

Introduction In the Hebrew Bible, blessings and curses play a prominent role. Recently, Anne Marie Kitz researched the phenomenology of the latter in cuneiform and Hebrew texts, describing the vital role of curses as follows: For the ancient Near Easterns, curses had authentic meaning. Curses were part of their life and religion. In and of themselves, they were not magic or features of superstition, nor were they mere curiosities or trifling antidotes. They were real and effective. They were employed to manage life’s many vicissitudes and maintain social harmony. 1 Similarly, blessings were considered powerful as well. Both actions were connected to divine power, whether explicitly or implicitly. 2 Although blessings and Author’s note: This article was first presented at the EABS/SBL International meeting in Vienna in the summer of 2014. I gave a talk on a revised version at Amherst College in the same year. The present version is a slightly expanded version, taking into account the comments at both events. I would like to thank the participants to the sessions as well as the Belgian American Educational Foundation and Fonds Voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek (Fund for Scientific Research; Flanders, Belgium), which funded me. Special thanks go to Susan Niditch for inviting me to Amherst and Scott Noegel for his comments on the final version. 1. Anne M. Kitz, Cursed Are You: The Phenomenology of Cursing in Cuneiform and Hebrew Texts (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), 3. See also Jeff S. Anderson, “The Social Function of Curses in the Hebrew Bible,” ZAW 110 (1998): 223–37. 2.  On a connection with the divine, see Kitz, Cursed Are You, 5; Mark S. Smith, The Priestly Vision of Genesis 1 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010), 103; James K. Aitken, The Semantics of Blessing and Cursing in Ancient Hebrew, ANESSup 23 (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 10.

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curses formed two sides of the same coin, some curses may have functioned as protection and even as blessing, while certain blessings were disguised curses (e.g., 1 Kgs 21:13, Naboth), thus rendering the dichotomy between the two less rigid. 3 Given the important role of blessings and curses, the following question inevitably comes to mind: does an underlying ideology influence the style of texts containing actions of blessing or cursing and, if so, in what way? A case study of ‫‘ ברך‬to bless’ and ‫ ארר‬and ‫‘ קלל‬to curse’ in Gen 1–11 will help us to formulate an answer to these questions.

Findings In Gen 1–11, six blessings appear as well as six curses (see the appendix for the text). The blessings are all referred to using the verb ‫ ;ברך‬for the curses, the verb ‫ קלל‬is used once, but in all other cases the verb ‫ ארר‬is used. The book of Genesis opens with three actions of blessing in the first creation narrative, in Gen 1:22, 1:28, and 2:3. Three actions of cursing follow in Gen 3 and 4 (3:14 and 17; 4:11). In Gen 5:2, another verb of blessing is used followed by two curses, one in 5:29 with ‫ ארר‬and one in 8:21 with the less common ‫קלל‬. In Gen 9, one finds a blessing in v. 1, a curse in v. 25, and a last blessing in v. 26. Note that the occurrences discussed here concern verbs of blessing and cursing, not direct speech that could be interpreted as being either a curse or a blessing. Only the instances in which such a verb is mentioned—and thus the performative character is explicitly expressed—are taken into account. In Gen 3, for example, vv. 14 and 17 are analyzed because they both use the verb ‫ארר‬. However, the remainder of the so-called curses to the snake and the man as well as the curse addressed to the woman are left out of the discussion. 4 The reason for making this distinction is twofold. First, the occurrences of the verbs are a given, whereas This connection does not exclude the fact that others, such as human beings (from all levels of society), could use curses as well (Kitz, Cursed Are You, 3). However, each of these curses was only powerful and effective in as far as a divine being supported the curse and executed it (pp. 94, 134, 153). 3.  Kitz, Cursed Are You, 4. Older research focuses more on the dichotomy between cursing and blessing. See, e.g., Johannes Hempel, “Die israelitischen Anschauungen von Segen und Fluch im Licht altorientalischer Parallelen,” ZDMG 79 (1925): 20–110, esp. p. 47. For a euphemistic use of ‫ברך‬, see Stefan Schorch, Euphemismen in der hebräischen Bibel, Orientalia Biblica et Christiana 12 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2000), 101–2, 235–37. 4.  For a discussion of the curses in Gen 3:14–17, see among others Nahum M. Sarna, Genesis = Be-reshit: The Traditional Hebrew Text with New JPS Translation (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 27–29; Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15, WBC 1 (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1987), 76; Bruce K. Waltke and Cathi J. Fredricks, Genesis: A Com-

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the occurrence of implied blessings and curses is open to discussion. Second, and more importantly, the ancient Near Eastern world paid particular attention not only to blessings and curses but also to the powerful role of the word. Consequently, the very words ‘to bless’ and ‘to curse’ were considered meaningful in a sense different from the implication of a blessing or curse by the context. 5

Format In the first creation narrative, three blessings occur. In Gen 1:22, God blesses the animals after he has created them. The verb is used in an imperfect consecutive form followed by the object (‫‘ אתם‬them’), the subject (God), and an infinitive that introduces the direct speech that accompanies the blessing. This blessing entails fertility and multiplication of the animals. 6 Another blessing occurs in v. 28 after the creation of the human beings. The sentence structure is similar to the structure in v. 22: an imperfect consecutive of the verb ‫ ברך‬is followed by the object (‫אתם‬, the people) and the subject (God). No infinitive is used, but the words of God are expressed, once more with the ‫ פרו‬phrase. 7 The last blessing of the first creation narrative appears in Gen 2:3, when God blesses the seventh day. An imperfect consecutive is followed by the subject (God) and the object (the seventh day). No mentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2001), 93–95; Bill T. Arnold, Genesis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 67–71. 5.  For ancient Near Eastern views on the power of languages and scripts, see Isaac Rabinowitz, A Witness Forever: Ancient Israel’s Perception of Literature and the Resultant Hebrew Bible, ed. Ross Brann and David I. Owen (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993), 3–25; Scott B. Noegel, Nocturnal Ciphers: The Allusive Language of Dreams in the Ancient Near East, AOS 89 (New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 2007), 36–45; idem, “ ‘Literary’ Craft and Performative Power in the Ancient Near East: The Hebrew Bible in Context,” in Approaches to Literary Readings of Ancient Jewish Writings, ed. Klaas Smelik and Karolien Vermeulen, SSN 62 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 19–36, esp. pp. 20–26; Karolien Vermeulen, “To Play or Not to Play: The Role and Function of Wordplay in Genesis 1–11” (Ph.D. diss., University of Antwerp and Ghent University, 2013), 107–9. 6.  E.g., Jeff H. McCrory Jr., “Blessing and Cursing,” in The IVP Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. Catherine C. Kroeger and Mary J. Evans (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2002), 107–8; Arnold, Genesis, 43; Wenham, Genesis, 24. 7.  Other differences noted by scholars are the addition of “and God said to them,” interpreted as expressing a personal relationship between God and his addressees, and the more elaborate command following the blessing (not only ‫‘ פרו ורבו ומלאו‬be fruitful, multiply and increase’ but also ‫‘ כבשה ורדו‬master it [the earth] and rule’). See, among others, Arnold, Genesis, 47; Wenham, Genesis, 33; Sarna, Genesis, 13. Gary Rendsburg considers the phrase ‫ פרו ורבו‬to be thematic, connecting Gen 1:22 and 1:28 with Gen 8:17 and 9:1, respectively (The Redaction of Genesis [Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1986], 9–10).

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divine words follow. 8 After these three blessings, the reader must wait until Gen 3:14 for more blessing or cursing. Notice that the second creation narrative thus falls out of the sequence. In Gen 3:14, God addresses the snake. The verb ‘to curse’ is part of direct speech and follows a causal clause: ‫‘ כי עשית זאת ארור אתה‬because you have done this, cursed are you’. The speaker is God, but the grammatical subject of the curse is the snake. The verb takes a passive participle form followed by the subject (the snake), referred to with a personal pronoun, and a prepositional construction, ‫מכל‬ ‫‘ הבהמה ומכל חית השדה‬more than all the cattle and all the living creatures of the field’. The other two curses in the Garden of Eden story follow a similar pattern. 9 Each time, God is the speaker issuing the curse, yet he is not the grammatical agent of the curse. In Gen 3:17, a causal phrase is followed by the passive participle with the earth as subject and a prepositional construction introduced by -‫ב‬, whereas in Gen 4:11, a conjunction opens the sentence and continues with a participle, the subject (Cain) addressed with a personal pronoun (as in v. 14), and a prepositional phrase with ‫( מן‬as in v. 14 as well). 10 More blessings and curses occur in Gen 5. In Gen 5:2, God blesses the human beings with an imperfect consecutive followed by the object (‫)אתם‬. The subject is not expressed, and the speaker is God. 11 Another curse appears in Gen 5:29, this time in a relative clause. Lamech is the one speaking, relating that God has cursed the earth. The relative pronoun is followed by a verb in the perfect tense with a pronominal suffix (referring to the earth) and the subject (God). Genesis 6 and 7 do not use the actions of cursing and blessing, even though God verbalizes his plans to wipe out humanity and send a flood to cover the earth. The last curses and blessings occur in Gen 8 and 9. In Gen 8:21, God says that he will not repeat cursing the earth. The phrase opens with a negative particle and a modal verb. Then the verb ‘to curse’ comes in the infinitive followed by an ad8.  Scholars have called this an atypical and unexpected blessing. God is not blessing a specific being or creature but time. See Wenham, Genesis, 36; Sarna, Genesis, 15; Waltke and Fredricks, Genesis, 68; Smith, The Priestly Vision, 104. 9.  On the curses pattern, see Wenham, Genesis, 78. On the role of the passive form, see GKC §116a: “[T]he participle passive, on the other hand, indicates the person or thing in a state which has been brought about by external actions.” See also Kitz, Cursed Are You, 66, 112. 10.  On the similarity of Gen 3:14 and 4:11, see ibid., 138. Note that the construction with ‫ מן‬can be interpreted in several ways: ‘cursed from’, expressing a separation (as in the majority of translations of Gen 4:11; see, e.g., the TOB, KJV, SV); ‘cursed more than/above all’, conveying a hierarchical comparison (mostly for Gen 3:14, as in the JPS, SV, KJV; also in Gen 4:11 in the JPS); ‘cursed among all’, expressing a nonhierarchical comparison (for Gen 3:14 in the Vulg., TOB, and Willibrord). 11.  Sarna remarks that “knowledge of 1:27–28 is presumed” (Genesis, 41).

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verb and the object of the cursing (the earth). This verse includes the only occurrence of the verb ‫קלל‬, meaning ‘to curse’, in Gen 1–11. 12 In Gen 9:1, God blesses Noah and his sons: expressed by an imperfect consecutive, the subject (God), and the object. The blessing is accompanied by the ‫ פרו‬formula, which evokes fertility and prosperity. 13 Whereas the sons are blessed in Gen 8, one grandson (Canaan) is cursed in Gen 9:25. Again the passive participle is used with the name Canaan. The speaker is Noah. The cursing and blessing series ends with a final blessing in Gen 9:26, where Noah says: “Blessed is God.” A passive participle is used with God as subject. 14

Types of Stylistic Patterns Based on the data, one can discern stylistic patterns in the individual actions of blessing and cursing as well as patterns that establish a relationship between them. These arrangements in Gen 1–11 can be connected with a broader ideology of blessing and cursing in biblical times. As pointed out in the introduction, both actions are control mechanisms of a performative nature, or at least a performance is intended in accordance with each blessing and curse, respectively. 15 Furthermore, they have a close connection with the divine realm and the belief that divine power affects the lives of human beings. 16 12. On ‫קלל‬, see HALOT 3.1103–5. The verb does occur in Gen 8:8, 11, thus within the corpus under study but in a different connotation—namely, ‘to go down, be little, low’. 13.  See also Gen 1:22, 28. For echoes of Gen 1, see Arnold Genesis, 108: “The new, post-diluvian cosmic order begins as the old had done, reverting essentially to a pre-creation state. Now that the cosmic waters are tamed again, God blesses the humans and commissions them to take dominion over all creatures.” Rendsburg connects the participles in Gen 4:11 and 9:25 as part of the literary structure created by the redactor of the Primeval History (The Redaction of Genesis, 14). 14.  Kitz, Cursed Are You, 171. 15.  DDD 212; Kitz, Cursed Are You, 172; Brian Britt, Biblical Curses and the Displacement of Tradition, The Bible in the Modern World 34 (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2011), 1–4; Anderson, “The Social Function of Curses,” 223–37. The controlling mechanism is illustrated by the presence of the lex talionis principle in various curses and blessings. See Jonathan Ben-Dov, “The Poor’s Curse: Exodus xxii 20–26 and Curse Literature in the Ancient World,” VT 56 (2006): 431–51, esp. p. 444; Donna Shai, “Public Cursing and Social Control in a Traditional Jewish Community,” Western Folklore 37 (1978): 39–46, esp. p. 39. This principle also occurs in other ritualistic verbal actions, such as dream interpretations. See Noegel, Nocturnal Ciphers, esp. pp. 44–45; idem, “The Ritual Use of Linguistic and Textual Violence in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East,” in Ritual Dynamics and the Science of Ritual, vol. 3: State, Power, and Violence, ed. Margo Kitts et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010), 33–46. 16.  McCrory, “Blessing and Cursing,” 107; Kitz, Cursed Are You, 3–5, passim.

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Patterns for Blessing The six actions of blessing in the stories of the Primeval History all have God as grammatical subject of the verb. In five out of six, God is also the actual executor of the blessing. The only exception is Gen 9:26, where God is called “blessed” by Noah. 17 Also in terms of sentence structure and morphology, the first five occurrences have a great deal in common: the verb in the imperfect consecutive is followed by either the object or the subject. Notice that Gen 1:22 and 28 mention the object first—the animals and then the humans, respectively. Gen 5:2 can also be mentioned here, where the subject is not expressed. In all three cases, God blesses a larger group of beings. He issues, so to speak, a general blessing. In the three remaining cases, the object of the blessing is specific: the seventh day in Gen 2:3, Noah and his sons in Gen 9:1, and God in Gen 9:26. In these verses, the object comes last in the phrase. Another recurring element is the inclusion of the ‫פרו‬ formula as the concretization of the blessing. In Gen 1:22, 28; and 9:1, the animals, the people, and Noah and his sons, respectively, are encouraged to be fruitful. 18 Due to the different nature of the blessings in Gen 2:3 (the blessing of the seventh day), Gen 5:2 (the blessing of the humans as part of a summary post hoc of the second creation narrative), and Gen 9:26 (the blessed state of God), this formula is lacking in these occurrences. Within the story, the blessings also progress in terms of specificity. The initial blessings (Gen 1:22, 28) are general in nature, and it is in Gen 5:2 as well. The blessing of the seventh day seems to form an exception, although one could argue that the blessing entails all seventh days and thus is general in essence as well. 19 The blessings in Gen 9, however, are specific. God blesses Noah and his sons, not 17.  Scholars have drawn attention to the unusual formulation of the phrase (see, e.g., Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 201; Sarna, Genesis, 60), which sometimes has led to alternate writings to solve the issue. Not so in the commentary of Wenham, who explains: “Here the omission of any specific explanation must mean that Noah is blessing the Lord for being the God of Shem. This is the first intimation that the line of God’s election blessing is going through Shem (cf. 4:26)” (Genesis, 202). According to John Day, a blessing of Shem would have maintained the parallel with the previous curse of Canaan and the later blessing of Japheth. The Masoretic Text may imply this after all: “If Shem’s God Yahweh is blessed, so too is Shem” (From Creation to Babel: Studies in Genesis 1–11 [London: Bloomsbury, 2013], 142). 18.  Wenham connects the form with the verb ‫ברך‬, and with ‫ רבה‬and ‫ברא‬, considering all of them to be phonetically similar, which reinforces the blessing (Genesis 1–15, 25). 19.  Smith suggests another interpretation that results in a general blessing. Because the blessing of time is exceptional, he argues, “by implication, the blessing of the Sabbath day suggests that the blessing is for those who keep the Sabbath as commanded” (The Priestly Vision, 104). Hence, all those observing are blessed, not just one in particular.

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the new animals or the earth, and the one blessed in v. 26 is God alone, no other divine being.

Patterns for Cursing The curses also share certain stylistic characteristics. The curses in Gen 3, 4, and 9:25 follow a similar pattern in which the passive participle precedes the subject of the curse. Twice this subject is expressed with a personal pronoun, thus directing the speech to the subject. Twice the text has a third-person reference, creating more of a distance between the speaker and the receiver of the curse. 20 Note that God is the speaker in four out of the six occurrences, but he is never the grammatical subject of the action of cursing. 21 In Gen 3 and 4, passive-participle constructions are used to avoid a direct connection between God and the curse, whereas in Gen 8:21 God is the subject but of a negative sentence: God is not cursing. 22 Moreover a different verb is used, ‫קלל‬, considered a weaker semantic variant of ‫ארר‬. 23 Together with the negation, the different lexical choice distances 20.  On the use of first versus third person in narrative and reader involvement, see Mark Allan Powell, What Is Narrative Criticism (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 23–27; Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1980), 155–77; Hendrik van Gorp, Dirk Delabastita, and Rita Ghesquiere, Lexicon van literaire termen, 7th ed. (Groningen: Nijhoff; Deurne: Plantyn, 1998), 469. 21.  Contrary to what Wenham says on 3:14–19: “What is striking is that here God himself pronounces the curse: its effectiveness is thus completely guaranteed” (Genesis 1–15, 78). 22. Similarly, Rabinowitz remarks that God can be cursed, thus using the verb ‘to curse’ and not the euphemistic ‘to bless’, when formulated in a negated or pejorative phrase (A Witness Forever, 22). Furthermore, with regard to the use of a passive participle, Kitz remarks the following: “Because ‫ ארור‬effectively conceals the agent of the verb, it has been taken to illustrate the Israelites’ belief in magic and the ‘power of the word’ ” (Cursed Are You, 66). She uses Neh 5:13 as a counterexample in which ‫נעור‬, a passive participle, follows the active form of the verb, suggesting that the passive is an affirmation of the active and part of the malediction proper. Kitz furthermore leaves the idea of creating a separation between God and the act of cursing with the use of passive participles open yet doubtful (p. 172): “Whether or not the preference for the use of passive participles in curses has anything to do with socioreligious concerns over the use of God’s name is difficult to ascertain. Even so, as monotheism became established, the need to name Yahweh specifically would no longer be necessary.” Whereas Kitz’s concern is the mention of God’s name, my focus here is on the role of God as acting subject. 23.  Note that this analysis differs from the traditional one of Gen 3, where commentators emphasize that God is cursing the serpent and the earth. The current focus on the verbs sheds a different light on the issue. God is indeed cursing, but simultaneously, grammatical constructions are chosen that avoid a direct connection with the curse, as if it would or could contaminate the divine being. In Gen 12:2 (‫‘ ואברכה מברכיך ומקללך אאר‬and I will

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the divine character from the act of cursing. In Gen 9:25, such a distance is created in yet another way: God is neither speaker (Noah is) nor subject of the verb (Canaan is). The remaining case in 5:29 seems to be the only exception in the current corpus. Whereas God is not speaking but Lamech, he—that is, God—is the grammatical and semantic subject of cursing the earth. Note that another character connects God and the curse here and that the action is placed in the past so that its immediate and performative character is undone. 24 The next occurrence of cursing (in Gen 8:21), moreover, seems to address exactly the statement of Lamech. God makes it clear that he may have cursed the earth in the past (‫ )ארר‬but that he will not do it again (‫)קלל‬. 25 A last recurring element relates to the nature of the curses. Each curse in Gen 1–11 addresses a specific person or entity, never a group: in Gen 3:14 the snake, in Gen 3:17 the earth, in Gen 4:11 Cain, in Gen 5:29 the earth, in Gen 8:21 the earth (not), and in Gen 9:25 Canaan. This is different from what has been observed in the case of the blessings, where both groups and specific entities are addressed.

bless those who bless you, and the one that imprecates you I will curse’) though both verbs are used interchangeably, so it is unclear whether this is a matter of variation or whether the difference in verb is meaningful. According to the Encyclopedia Judaica, the root ‫קלל‬ has a broader connotative range than just cursing. It should be taken as “show disrespect by disobeying moral standards” (Herbert C. Brichto, “Blessing and Cursing,” EncJud 3.750–52, esp. p. 751). See also Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 190; Robert Alter, Genesis: Translation and Commentary (New York: Norton, 1996), 37; Sheldon H. Blank, “The Curse, Blasphemy, the Spell and the Oath,” HUCA 23 (1950–1951): 73–95, esp. p. 84. 24.  Although the performative as a grammatical category is often expressed by the perfect in Biblical Hebrew, the perfect in this verse expresses a completed action in the past. By definition, it cannot be performative (John Searle, “How Performatives Work,” Linguistics and Philosophy 12 [1989]: 535–58). On the performative in Hebrew and Semitic languages, see, among others, Seth Sanders, “Performative Utterances and Divine Language in Ugaritic,” JNES 63 (2004): 161–81; Delbert R. Hillers, “Some Performative Utterances in the Bible,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom, ed. David P. Wright, David N. Freedman, and Ari Hurvitz (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 757–66; Frederick W. DobbsAllsopp, “(More) On Performatives in Semitic,” ZA 17–20 (2004–2007): 36–81. 25.  Several scholars stress that God is not changing his mind here and thus revoking the curse in 3:17 but that he is making an adjustment. The curse of 3:17 remains, but God will not bring another flood over the earth. See, e.g., Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 190; Waltke and Fredricks, Genesis, 142. On blessings that may undo curses, see Kitz, Cursed Are You, 12, 138.

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Patterns for the Relationship between Blessing and Cursing Finally, the way in which the blessings and curses are arranged is meaningful as well. 26 Given the redaction history of the text, it is noteworthy that the three curses in the Garden of Eden narrative are preceded by three blessings in the first creation narrative. Without this intervention, the book of Genesis would have opened with a creator-god cursing some of his creations. The final text, however, presents a blissful first creation narrative, in which animals, humans, and the seventh day are blessed—thus, a celebration of life and order. 27 Thereupon, the book relates what happens when the life as created by God and the order as prescribed by him are not honored. God curses the snake, who thought it necessary to intervene in the peaceful relationship between the humans and God (Gen 3:14). He curses the earth from which the disobedient human being has been made (Gen 3:17). He also curses Cain, the one who considered the divine order to be reversible so that God would look favorably on him instead of his younger sibling (Gen 4:11). 28 Although it is made clear with these curses that those who do not live up to the order of God will be punished, there is a silver lining to be detected: God only curses individuals. This means that the general blessings of Gen 1–2:4a are more far-reaching than the curses in the follow-up narratives. The 3–3 pattern at the beginning of the book (3 blessings followed by 3 curses) changes into an alternating pattern in the remainder of the 11 chapters. The Primeval Cycle opens and ends with a blessing, connecting the blessed creatures (Gen 1:22, 28) with the blessed God (9:26) and referring back to the blessed triad of the first creation narrative: the animals (1:22), the human beings (1:28), and the seventh day (2:3). After the first blessing in the second part, two curses follow in Gen 5:2. At first sight, this seems to interrupt the pattern, yet a closer look reveals that the two curses are more of a curse and an anti-curse. In Gen 5:29, Lamech reminds 26.  Rendsburg has argued for a deliberate arrangement of the book of Genesis on a larger scale (The Redaction of Genesis). The above analysis develops this idea further. 27.  According to Smith, Gen 1 also counters the extratextual situation: “The picture of the orderly structure of creation represented by Gen 1 offered a contrast to the present situation of Israel. It offered an expression of hope, imbued by a priestly sensibility on several fronts” (The Priestly Vision, 90). 28. Nachman Levine has connected the curses of Gen 3 with the blessings in Deut 33: “The blessings’ thematic content contrasts with the curses as if contrapunctally reversing them. . . . The curses at the beginning are about exile . . . the blessings are about settling and inheriting the land” (“The Curse and the Blessing: Narrative Discourse Syntax and Literary Form,” JSOT 27 [2002]: 189–99, esp. p. 196). For Gen 4, see my “Mind the Gap: Ambiguity in the Story of Cain and Abel,” JBL 133 (2014): 29–42.

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the audience of the fact that God cursed the earth because of what happened with Adam and Eve. After the flood, in Gen 8:21, God is stressing that he will not curse the earth again. God is obviously referring to his decision on the flood that took away the individuals who worked the land and those who inhabited it. By extension, however, the phrase also brings to mind the initial curse of the earth (in Gen 3:17, and repeated in Gen 5:29). 29 The anti-curse of 8:21 is then followed by a true blessing, with the verb ‫ברך‬: God blesses Noah and his sons. 30 The blessing’s addressees are more specific than in the previous instances. And this process continues. In Gen 9:25, the blessed Noah is now uttering a curse on his grandson Canaan, and in Gen 9:26 the same Noah calls God blessed. Not only have the blessings become more specific near the end of the Primeval Cycle; a transfer has also taken place in terms of the speaker: it is Noah who curses and calls blessed, not God. The only other exception, in Gen 5:29, should be put in perspective here. Lamech may be the one relating the curse of God, but this does not render him the executor of the curse. Moreover, God’s later statement on no more cursing the earth emphasizes that Lamech spoke of a past event with no speech-act power. The shift from God (initially the agent of blessing and cursing) to the human domain (with Noah as prototype) foreshadows the more prominent role that the human characters will play in the patriarchal narratives. It also concurs with the narrative development, in which God gives human beings responsibility for their own behavior; this is symbolized by the bow in the sky after the flood. 31 29.  Scholars have pointed out that there is no contradiction here with God’s previous words in Gen 3:17. “God is not lifting the curse on the ground pronounced in 3:17 for man’s disobedience but promising not to add to it,” as Wenham states (Genesis 1–15, 190). See also Waltke and Fredricks, Genesis, 142. Yet, whereas the curse is not undone, the form and vocabulary of the non-curse in Gen 8:21 do bring to mind the earlier curse. Add to this the prominence of blessing and cursing in Gen 1–11 and a connection is easily made between “old” and “new” curses, with the “old” curse functioning as a reminder that things can go badly as well. 30. Ada Yardeni, “Remarks on the Priestly Blessing on Two Ancient Amulets from Jerusalem,” VT 41 (1991): 176–85, esp. p. 184; Kitz, Cursed Are You, 12, 138. 31.  Ellen van Wolde, “Bridging the Gap between Linguistics and Literary Studies of Ancient Biblical and Jewish Texts: A Proposal Exemplified by a Study of Gen 9:8–17,” in Approaches to Literary Readings of Ancient Jewish Writings, ed. Klaas Smelik and Karolien Vermeulen, SSN 62 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 137–66, esp. p. 166. See also Devora Steinmetz, who argues that from Gen 3 onward there is a decrease in God’s role and an increase in the responsibility of the humans (“Vineyard, Farm, and Garden: The Drunkenness of Noah in the Context of Primeval History,” JBL 113 [1994]: 193–207, esp. p. 200).

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Note, however, that there remains a stylistic difference between the curses and blessings by God and those issued by Noah. The curse of Canaan of Gen 9:25 is similar to the curses by God, who distances himself grammatically from the curse by not being its subject. However, the blessing by Noah also follows the same pattern, with a passive participle. Although Noah is speaking, it is unclear whether he is also the one blessing God or whether this is done by somebody else. In comparison, God does bless all the others in the stories. The style suggests that the main authority, especially for blessings, remains God. 32

Consistent or Transforming Patterns and Their Ideological Background Patterns Each of the previously discussed patterns can be connected to the underlying ideology of blessing and cursing in biblical times. In this broader framework, both actions were considered divine or invoking the deities. Not surprisingly, the curses and blessings in Gen 1–11 are mostly uttered by the divine character God. They affirm his power and role as a creator-god. Another pattern relates to the relation of the divine with blessings on the one hand and curses on the other. Whereas God is responsible for both, a stylistic difference has been detected with a tendency to connect the divine being grammatically with the blessing, yet to distance him from the curse. This intervention reflects the assumption that the words of a blessing or curse had a performative character. Even telling about the cursing of a god or person was considered to affect that individual’s life and well-being. 33 Note that the assumption entails a 32.  According to Kitz, the difference also holds true for curses, at least from a phenomenological point of view (Cursed Are You, 153): “Although mortals can and clearly do curse, their maledictions do not have much effect unless the divine world gives its consent and allows the curses to have impact. This hinges on the assumption that a curse cannot be fully efficacious (that is, become energized/active) without some form of heavenly recognition and support.” See in addition, Blank, “The Curse,” 75–80. On Noah in particular, see p. 171. See also Brichto, “Blessing and Cursing,” 750; Rabinowitz, A Witness Forever, 20. Note that Rendsburg matches up the curse in Gen 9:25 with the one in 4˙:11 but does not mention the blessing in Gen 9:26 (The Redaction of Genesis, 14). This may indicate that the blessing by Noah is indeed different from the ones issued by God. 33.  In addition, a prohibition existed against cursing God, parents, authorities, and the deaf in the Hebrew Bible itself (e.g., in Exod 22:28). See Shai, “Public Cursing,” 41; David A. Smith, “Curse and Blessing,” in Mercer Dictionary of the Bible, ed. Watson E. Mills (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1990), 188–89, esp. p. 188. The Encyclopedia Judaica states that the “life of a king or a god could be put in jeopardy by a solemn pronouncement in support of a promise or of the truth of an assertion”(Brichto, “Blessing and Cursing,” 751). Kitz adds that “the culture of the ancient Near East did not limit the objects of

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possibility, not a certainty that something may happen. Nevertheless, also in ancient times, it was better to err on the side of caution than to face the potential harm associated with a curse. A third pattern is syntactical and morphological in nature. The majority of blessings shows the same syntax and morphology, with minor variations only. A similar observation can be made for the curses. The shared structure connects the different blessings and curses and as such reinforces their efficacy. Moreover, it assists the audience in distinguishing what is different. Thus, the animals, the humans, and Noah and his sons all seem to get the same blessing, whereas the snake, the earth, Cain, and Canaan are connected through the same curse. 34 As such a binary distinction is made between the blessed and the cursed, between those living according to God’s order and those violating that same order. 35 Note furthermore that the repeated structures create a sense of harmony that in itself coincides with the notion of order, regardless of the use of blessings or curses. 36 Finally, Gen 1–4 uses a triad of blessings followed by a triad of curses while the remainder of the chapters alternates between blessing and curse. Both patterns show that blessing and curse are each other’s antipode. Their ultimate goal is the same: create an order in line with God’s commands. Creating a structural order in language and in the story may be one way to invoke the order or at least to emphasize it. 37

Deviations In addition, slight but meaningful deviations can be found for each of the patterns. Instead of God, Lamech is the speaker in Gen 5:29 and in Gen 9:25–26 Noah maledictions. All things could be cursed, persons, places, animals, things, even personified diseases. Of course, cursing the deities was another matter” (Cursed Are You, 162). She continues that cursing a god is not without danger, especially in a monotheistic culture in which the curse would come back to the one pronouncing it (ibid.). 34.  Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 24: “The blessing of god is one of the great unifying themes of Genesis.” For the connective function of the curse, see Rendsburg, The Redaction of Genesis, 14. 35.  John F. Walvoord and Roy B. Zuck, The Bible Knowledge Commentary: An Exposition of the Scriptures (Wheaton, IL: Victor, 1985), 22; Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 98, 150. Kitz describes this dichotomy in terms of “separation” (Cursed Are You, 138; see also pp. 238–39). 36.  Arnold, Genesis, 42: “Such literary symmetry (seven days structure) mirrors the balance and order of the created cosmos itself.” See also my “To Play or Not to Play,” 169–72. 37.  On the structure of Gen 1–11 in general and its contribution to (divine) order, see Rendsburg, The Redaction of Genesis, 7–25, esp. pp. 22–25; Jack M. Sasson, “The ‘Tower of Babel’ as a Clue to the Redactional Structuring of the Primeval History (Gen. 1–11:9),” in The Bible World: Essays in Honor of Cyrus H. Gordon, ed. Gary Rendsburg (New York: Ktav, 1980), 211–19, esp. p. 219.

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utters the curse and blessing. Yet in both cases God is still the authoritative source. For the former, Lamech may be the speaker but God issues the curse. In addition, all of this happened in the past, so Lamech is not attributed with any power. The different structure signals that the reader should not mistakenly connect Lamech to the curse. For the latter, Noah uses passive constructions, as did God in most of the curses, creating a distance between himself and the curse or blessing, respectively. This gap, which leaves room for the unmentioned executor, was filled by God, to whom such power was given. God had blessed Noah and his sons in Gen 9:1, and Noah, as a mediator, now calls Canaan cursed and God blessed. Yet, the initial power still traces back to God. 38 In the case of v. 26, scholars have argued that this verse concerns a form of praise rather than a blessing, since a true blessing could not be executed by a human being. 39 The different style therefore may express the different nature of the blessing. The same verses, that is, 5:29 and 9:26, also play a role in the pattern of God and his grammatical connection with either blessing or curse. In Gen 5:29, God is the grammatical subject of the verb. As explained elsewhere, however, the distance is here created by expressing a completed action rather than a present or future action (which would render it performative and thus effective). Hence, the verse affirms the ideology. In Gen 9:26, the opposite seems to take place: an action of blessing is distanced from the speaker. Interestingly, this brings God and the blessing closer, since God becomes the grammatical subject of the verb of blessing. Genesis 5:29, 8:21, and 9:26 present structures different from those described as pattern before. The passive participle of ‫ ארר‬is replaced once by a perfect form and once by an infinitive of a synonym, ‫קלל‬. The first occurrence places the cursing of the earth in the past, whereas the second negates the happening of a curse in the future. In both cases, the stylistic intervention enables the creation of distance between God and the curse. This distance is created regardless of the fact that God is the grammatical subject of the sentence. The example in Gen 9:26 evokes the 38.  McCrory, “Blessing and Cursing,” 107; Smith, “Curse and Blessing,” 188. According to Wenham, “Noah’s words have divine authority” (Genesis 1–15, 201). Brichto, however, stresses that “the source of power is the deity also when man does the invoking” (“Blessing and Cursing,” 750). Kitz explains the role of Noah slightly differently: “Due to this balance [i.e., of the same construction with participles] between the verses, we discover that Noah’s blessing of Yahweh, like the curse, also constitutes an entreaty to God. It represents his effort to convince Yahweh that he should execute the malediction against Shem” (Cursed Are You, 171). 39.  McCrory, “Blessing and Cursing,” 107; Brichto, “Blessing and Cursing,” 750; Kitz, Cursed Are You, 171.

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opposite of distance: the different structure allows maintaining the connection between God and the blessing, although there is a different speaker. The overall pattern of blessing and cursing seems to be violated only once, with two curses in close succession (Gen 5:29 and 8:21). As discussed above, the second curse has an intermediary nature: it negates a curse rather than issuing one. Its peculiar nature is stressed, furthermore, by the use of a different verb, which may be considered to be semantically equal but most often is weaker in connotation. As such, it strengthens the assumption that this curse may be less of a curse—which is exactly what the content affirms: this is not a curse.

Excursus: Patterns, Variations, and Sources In Gen 1–11, the sources P and J, underlying the final text, roughly but not entirely coincide with the mention of blessings and curses, respectively. The P source proclaiming order and the blessing of that order does this in a direct way, clearly connecting God as subject with the verb of blessing. The J source, considered to be more anthropocentric, creates a gap between God and the curses he issues. 40 This source applies a variant of the pattern more often, whether the pattern is typically J’s (for the curses) or P’s (for the blessings). Yet, for all examples, the same ideas are present. Thus, J maintains a distance between God and the curse throughout Gen 1–11, with two alternatives to the pattern of the passive participle with a subject and an unnamed divine agent. For the one blessing composed in the J text in Gen 9:26, it seems that both the curse pattern, using a passive participle, and the pattern of blessing, as later developed by P and with God as grammatical subject, are present, forming a pattern that makes God the grammatical subject of the blessing. 41 Two more remarks can be made here, without making any assumptions about their possible historical-critical implications. First, P also shows variants to the pattern, though in a more subtle way, with the fronting or postponing of objects in the sentence or the use of slight variations. Therefore, the patterns never turn into formulas proper but remain creations tailored to the need of the narrative. For example, in Gen 1:28 and 9:1, the blessing formula is followed by a more explicit speech phrase (‫‘ ויאמר להם‬and he said to them’), whereas in Gen 1:22 the blessing 40.  Among others, Day, From Creation to Babel, 25; Ephraim A. Speiser, Genesis, AB 1 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 18–19; Sarna, Genesis, 16; Waltke and Fredricks, Genesis, 79; Ellen van Wolde, Words Become Worlds: Semantic Studies of Genesis 1–11, BibInt 6 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 13. 41.  This may indicate that P used the stylistic patterns as present in the already existing J narrative to compose a new message with them. Smith has built a similar argument with regard to the use of older texts and traditions by P (The Priestly Vision, 118, 128–29).

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is followed by the infinitive ‫לאמר‬. All verses have a blessing realized through divine speech, but in the case of human recipients the speech part is expressed consecutively with an additional deictic element (‫)להם‬. For the blessing of the non-human addressees in Gen 1:22, the text uses an infinitive instead. This variation astutely reveals the difference in addressee and thus narrative context yet without effacing the pattern. 42 Second, whereas P is considered the more detached source and J the more anthropocentric, it is P who applies a stylistic strategy that focuses on close connection between God and blessing, while J uses a model of distance to relate the curses. Rather than a contradiction, the patterns of blessing and cursing may be modeled on a broader ancient Near Eastern idea regarding benedictions and maledictions—an idea that was common to both J and P. 43

Conclusion Genesis 1–11 shows an interesting patterning of blessing and cursing. First, both actions, ideologically connected to divine power, are issued by God in the narratives. Second, blessings are stylistically close to God, whereas curses are separated from him mostly through use of the passive voice. Third, also morphologically and syntactically, blessings and curses show a recurring pattern, with imperfect consecutives for the blessings and passive participles for the curses, respectively. Finally, Gen 1–11 has a triadic pattern of blessings and curses at the beginning followed by an alternating sequence halfway through. For each of the arrangements, variations occur that may seem deviations at first, but turn out to be ideologically consistent with the pattern. Agents of blessing or cursing other than God do so to incite God to execute the respective act; different structures, such as an active voice in the case of a curse, realize the distance in another way; and double curses function as curse and anti-curse preparing a later blessing. As such, a consistent order is created in Gen 1–11: God blesses all; he calls an individual (person or earth) cursed. 42.  Waltke and Fredricks, Genesis, 67; Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 33. 43. See Kitz, Cursed Are You, in which Hebrew Bible examples are discussed along with Akkadian, Sumerian, and Hittite examples—all showing the same characteristics. See also Patrick D. Miller, “The Blessing of God: An Interpretation of Numbers 6:22–27,” Int 29 (1975): 240–51. Another possibility is to see the hand of the redactor here, as Rendsburg defends: “Too many overall themes, general story links, key vocabulary items, and other details are shared . . . for the structure of 1:1–11:26 to be coincidental” (The Redaction of Genesis, 22).

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Appendix Genesis 1–11 Blessings and Curses Gen 1:22 Gen 1:28

Gen 2:3 Gen 3:14

Gen 3:17

Gen 4:11 Gen 5:2

Gen 5:29

Gen 8:21

Gen 9:1

Gen 9:25 Gen 9:26

‫ ויברך אתם אלהים לאמר פרו‬And God blessed them saying, “Multiply and increase P ‫ ורבו ומלאו את המים בימים‬and fill the waters of the seas.” P ‫ ויברך אתם אלהים ויאמר‬And God blessed them and God said to them, ‫“ להם אלהים פרו ורבו ומלאו‬Multiply and increase and fill the earth and subdue ‫ את הארץ וכבשה ורדו בדגת‬her and rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the ‫ הים ובעוף השמים ובכל חיה‬sky and over all the living creatures that crawl upon ‫ הרמשת על הארץ‬the earth.” P ‫ ויברך אלהים את יום השביעי‬And God blessed the seventh day and he sanctified it. ‫ויקדש אתו‬ J ‫ כי עשית זאת ארור אתה מכל‬Because you have done this, cursed are you from/ ‫ הבהמה ומכל חית השדה‬among/more than all the cattle and all the living creatures of the field. J ‫ כי שמעת לקול אשתך ותאכל‬Because you have listened to the voice of your wife ‫ ארורה‬. . . ‫ מן העץ אשר‬and you have eaten from the tree . . . cursed is the earth ‫ האדמה בעבורך‬because of you. J ‫ ועתה ארור אתה מן האדמה‬And now, cursed are you from the earth, which . . . . . . ‫אשר‬ ‫ זכר ונקבה בראם ויברך אתם‬Male and female he created them, and he blessed them, P ‫ ויקרא את שמם אדם ביום‬and he called their name “human” on the day of their ‫ הבראם‬creation. J ‫ זה ינחמנו ממעשנו ומעצבון‬This one will bring us relief from our work and the ‫ ידינו מן האדמה אשר אררה‬labor of our hands out of the earth that the Lord has ‫ יהוה‬cursed. ‫ ויאמר יהוה אל לבו לא אסף‬And the Lord said to himself, “I will not again curse ‫ לקלל עוד את האדמה בעבור‬the earth because of humankind, . . .” . . . ,‫האדם כי‬ ‫ ויברך אלהים את נח ואת בניו‬And God blessed Noah and his sons, and he said to ‫ ויאמר להם פרו וברו ומלאו‬them, “Multiply and increase and fill the earth.” ‫את הארץ‬ ‫ ויאמר ארור כנען עבד עבדים‬And he said, “Cursed is Canaan; servant of servants he ‫ יהיה לאחיו‬will be to his brother.”

J

P

J

‫ ויאמר ברוך יהוה אלהי שם‬And he said, “Blessed is the Lord, g/God of Shem, and J ‫ ויהי כנען עבד למו‬may Canaan be his servant.”

Distinguishing Abraham from the “Terahides”: The Ideology of Separation behind Etiology Zvi Shimon

Bar-Ilan University

A prevalent approach in modern biblical scholarship has explained the role of “rejected” characters in Genesis in etiological terms. 1 The Lot narrative and the birth of his offspring Moab and Ben-Ammi, for example, are understood as etiological narratives revealing the source of two neighboring Transjordanian nations—the Moabites and the Ammonites. 2 Esau’s character is understood as explaining the roots of the southern Edomite nation and its relationship to the Israelites. 3 In this essay, I propose that underlying the etiological motive is an ideology that can be termed the ideology of separation. Many of the “etiological” narratives are directed, not at explaining specific phenomena or present conditions and circumstances, but at constructing a sense of Israelite identity and ethnic selfconsciousness. I will focus on the transformative function of the biblical narrative in defining the Israelite people as a separate ethnic group. 4 This will be done by analyzing, from a primarily synchronic literary perspective, the short opening unit of the Abraham cycle of narratives—the itineraries describing the migrations of Terah and Abram (Gen 11:27–12:9). 5 1.  See, for example, Hermann Gunkel, Genesis, trans. Mark E. Biddle, 3rd ed. (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997) xiii, xviii–xxii. 2.  Ibid., 159. 3.  Ibid., 308; Gerhard von Rad, Genesis, trans. John H. Marks, rev. ed., OTL (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972), 275–76. 4.  For this approach to biblical narrative, see E. Theodore Mullen Jr., Narrative History and Ethnic Boundaries: The Deuteronomistic Historian and the Creation of Israelite National Identity, SemeiaSt (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 10–18; 63–76; L. Daniel Hawk, Joshua, Berit Olam (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), xi–xiii. For bibliography on the capacity of narrative to construct identity, see ibid., xiii n. 1. 5.  On viewing Gen 11:27–12:9 as a literary unit, see Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15, WBC 1 (Waco, TX: Word, 1987), 267–71; Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36: A

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An Incomplete Journey and Report Genesis 11:27 with its formulaic heading “These are the descendants of Terah” clearly demarcates 11:27–32 from the previous genealogy of Shem, which has its own heading: “These are the descendants of Shem” (Gen 11:10). Verse 27 not only has a separate heading but also repeats the information provided in the previous verse, which also lists the sons of Terah. Hence, it is clear that the verse serves as an introduction to the Abraham cycle of narratives. 6 The section of Gen 11:27–12:9 is essentially an itinerary including genealogical details, divine revelation, and Abram’s response. It recounts a two-stage migration of the family, first led by Terah from Ur of the Chaldeans to Haran and then, led by Abram, from Haran to the land of Canaan. 7 The verse describing Terah’s migration (Gen 11:31) raises a number of questions that are left unanswered by the passage: One, why did Terah depart from Ur for Canaan? 8 Two, why did he fail to reach his planned destination of Canaan and stopped instead in Haran? 9 While Abram’s motive for leaving Haran for Canaan is evident in the divine command (12:1–3), there is no explicit motive provided for Terah’s migration. Although the marginality of the character of Terah could lead to the conclusion that a motive is simply not provided by the text due to its Commentary, trans. John J. Scullion (London: SPCK, 1985), 145; Thomas Desmond Alexander, “A Literary Analysis of the Abraham Narrative in Genesis” (Ph.D. diss., University of Belfast, 1982), 31. The reasons for this delineation will be discussed later in the article. It should be noted that, according to this delineation of the literary unit, the existing chapter division as well as the traditional Jewish division into weekly Torah readings are misleading from a literary perspective. 6. See Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 134, 137; Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 267; Karel A. Deurloo, “The Way of Abraham,” in Voices from Amsterdam: A Modern Tradition of Reading Biblical Narrative, ed. and trans. Martin Kessler, SemeiaSt (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 96. 7.  On the debate regarding the identification of Ur of the Chaldeans and whether it is to be found in Lower or Upper Mesopotamia, see Roland de Vaux, The Early History of Israel to the Exodus and Covenant of Sinai, trans. David Smith (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1978), 186–92; Cyrus H. Gordon, “Where Is Abraham’s Ur?” BAR 3/2 (1977): 20–21, 52; Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 140; Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17, NICOT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990), 363–65. 8.  See discussion of this question and various possible solutions in Yitzhak Peleg, Go Forth: The Journeys of the Patriarchs in the Biblical Narrative (Tel Aviv: Resling, 2013), 170–78, 184–85 [Heb.]. 9.  See John A. Emerton, “When Did Terah Die (Genesis 11:32)?” in Language, Theology, and the Bible: Essays in Honour of James Barr, ed. Samuel E. Balentine and John Barton (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), 170, 175; Kenneth A. Mathews, Genesis 11:27–50:26, NAC (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2005), 102.

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insignificance to the narrative, readers both past and present have nevertheless attempted to uncover a motive for the journey based on the meager information provided by the text. The passage with Terah’s itinerary includes biographical information important to the continuation of the narrative. The notice of the death of Haran—Terah’s son and Lot’s father (Gen 11:28)—explains Lot’s migrating with Terah and Abram (11:31). However, early interpretation connected the notice of the death of Haran with the motive for Terah’s migration. Josephus explained Terah’s departure from Ur as a consequence of his pain over the loss of his son Haran in Ur, which leads him to detest his place of residence and depart. 10 Josephus’s interpretation likely reflected a more expansive aggadic interpretation that appeared in postbiblical literature and elaborated on the circumstances of Haran’s death. 11 According to this version, Haran died in a fire set to the house of idols by Abram. 12 Terah, then, departed from Ur as a consequence of the tragic death of his son. An alternative answer to the motive behind Terah’s departure from Ur is based on a second biographical notice in the Terah passage—the mention of Sarai’s barrenness (11:30). This information introduces a central theme in the Abraham cycle of narratives: the divine promise of progeny. According to a novel interpretation, this information may also be connected to Terah’s migration. One scholar suggests that Terah left due to Sarai’s bareness in the hope that a change of place will lead to a change in fortune and the birth of a child. 13 Both suggestions for explaining Terah’s migration—one, very early, going back to Josephus, and the other, very recent—infer the motive from contextual expository information preceding the mention of the journey. These creative and integrative interpretations read into the text much more than is stated. They are based on the juxtapositioning of expository information and itinerary. However, 10.  Ant. 1.6.151–54. On this line of interpretation, see Yair Zakovitch, “The Exodus from Ur of the Chaldeans: A Chapter in Literary Archaeology,” in Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine, ed. Robert Chazan, William W. Hallo, and Lawrence H. Schiffman (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns 1999), 432–39; Peleg, Go Forth, 174–78. 11.  Zakovitch, “The Exodus from Ur,” 434. 12. Jub. 12:12–15. As Zakovitch (ibid., n. 8) points out, a development of this tradition/legend is found in Ps.-Philo, LAB, chap. 6 as well as in later rabbinic literature. Zakovitch suggests that this “tradition” was known to the biblical authors and purposefully avoided in order to downplay the idolatrous heritage of Abraham’s family. According to his proposal, an echo of a tradition of God’s having saved Abram from the furnace in Ur may be found in Gen 15:7 (ibid., 438–39). 13. Itzhak Benyamini, Abraham’s Laughter: Interpretation of Genesis as Critical Theology (Tel Aviv: Resling 2011), 102–3 [Heb.].

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since the expository notes serve the continuation of the narrative, and since the Terah passage clearly functions as an opening to the Abraham cycle of narratives, these interpretations may be attributing immediate narrative consequence to information that serves an anticipatory function for the extended narrative. 14 The text itself does not seem to provide an explicit explanation for the Terah migration. A second question arising from the Terah passage relates to Terah’s stopping in Haran when, according to the itinerary, the planned destination of the journey was the land of Canaan. There is no reason given for Terah’s failure to complete his journey. This query may underlie the Samaritan version in Gen 11:32, which states that Terah died at the age of 145. According to the Samaritan version, the reason for Terah’s failure to complete the journey is trivial—his death. 15 However, the MT, which maintains that Terah lived till the age of 205 requires elucidation. Emerton postulates that there once existed a tradition explaining why Terah did not complete the journey and that the author of the itinerary presupposes acquaintance with it by the readers. He concedes, however, the very hypothetical nature of this proposition. 16 Cassuto has an interesting proposal that relates to the religious and cultural ties that existed between Ur and Haran, two centers of the moon-cult. 17 He proposes that Terah wished to disconnect from the center of the moon-cult in Ur; however, upon arriving in Haran, another center of moon worship, he did not succeed in freeing himself from his attraction to the idolatrous culture with which he was accustomed and remained there. 18 Cassuto’s interpretation strives to answer both of the questions that were raised regarding Terah’s migration: why Terah left Ur and why he stopped in Haran. According to his suggestion, the journey was spiritual and aimed at dissociating from the moon-cult, but it failed because of Terah’s incapacity to overcome idolatry’s allure. Whereas previous suggestions built off textual information in the Terah itinerary, Cassuto’s 14.  On anticipatory notes in Genesis, see Nahum Sarna, “The Anticipatory Use of Information as a Literary Feature of the Genesis Narratives,” in The Creation of Sacred Literature, ed. Richard E. Friedman (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 76–82. On anticipatory information in the exposition of the biblical narrative, see Yael Tzohar, “Exposition in the Biblical Narrative” (Ph,D, diss., Bar-Ilan University, 2005), 126–28 [Heb.]. 15.  See, e.g., Emerton, “When Did Terah Die?” 175. 16.  Ibid., 176. 17.  See de Vaux, Early History of Israel, 191–92; Andrew F. Key, “Traces of the Worship of the Moon God Sin among the Early Israelites,” JBL 84 (1965): 20–21; Bruce Vawter, On Genesis: A New Reading (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1977), 169. For the later development of the cult, see Julius Lewy, “The Late Assyro-Babylonian Cult of the Moon and Its Culmination at the Time on Nabonidus,” HUCA 19 (1945–46), 405–89. 18. Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis: From Noah to Abraham, trans. Israel Abrahams (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1964), 283.

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suggestion, as criticized by Emerton, has no substantial textual basis. 19 The different attempts by commentators to resolve and illuminate the informational lacunae of the Terah unit seem mostly forced and unsatisfactory.

The Function(s) of the Terah Unit In addition to the specific questions regarding Terah’s motive for migration and reason for failing to fulfill his journey, exegetes have grappled with the underlying purpose and function of the Terah unit. On a very basic level, the unit is understood as providing geographical information regarding the origin of the patriarch who came from Ur, via Haran, to Canaan. The itineraries of Terah and Abram depict a gradual migration that progresses in stages from Mesopotamia to the land of Canaan. 20 Many commentators are of the opinion that the unit also serves a literary function within the book of Genesis. Hermann Gunkel emphasizes that the unit connects the Primeval History, which ends in Babylonia, to the patriarchal legends. Abraham’s migration from Ur, understood as the Ur of Lower Mesopotamia, at the end of Gen 11 provides a link to the story of the Tower of Babel in the beginning of the chapter. 21 Other scholars agree that there is a literary function behind the unit but have considered this function, not in reference to the Primeval History that precedes it, but in reference to Abram’s migration from Haran to Canaan (12:5). Yitzhak Peleg proposes that the section as a whole presents a contrastive analogy between Terah and Abram. Terah’s failure to reach Canaan highlights Abram’s success and accentuates the difference between Terah, the dreamer, and Abram, who actualizes the dream. 22 I believe Peleg is moving in the right direction in focusing on the contrast between Abraham and Terah, but this contrast is more intricate than simply a contrast between success and failure or between vision and actualization. Furthermore, I do not think Abraham and Terah shared a common vision; rather, the difference in motive is an integral part of the contrast itself. 19.  Emerton, “When Did Terah Die?” 178–79. 20. See Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 136; John Van Seters, Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 202–3. 21. Hermann Gunkel, Genesis, 3rd ed., trans. Mark E. Biddle (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 168. See also de Vaux, Early History of Israel, 188; Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 134; Thomas L. Thompson, The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives: The Quest for the Historical Abraham (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1974), 310–11. 22.  Peleg, Go Forth, 181–84. See also Deurloo, “The Way of Abraham,” 97; Mathews, Genesis, 102; Yehoshua Gitay, “Geography and Theology in the Biblical Narrative: The Question of Genesis 2–12,” in Prophets and Paradigms: Essays in Honor of Gene M. Tucker, ed. Stephen Breck Reid, JSOTSup 229 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 208.

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Contrasting Migrations When reading the unit in its totality (Gen 11:27–12:9), one is struck by the stylistic and structural similarity between the two verses describing the migrations led by Terah (11:31) and Abram (12:5). Terah’s Migration (Genesis 11:31)

‫ויקח תרח‬ ‫את אברם בנו‬ ‫ואת לוט בן הרן בן בנו‬ ‫ואת שרי כלתו אשת אברם בנו‬ ‫ויצאו אתם מאור כשדים ללכת ארצה כנען‬ ‫ויבאו עד חרן וישבו שם‬

Abram’s Migration (Genesis 12:5) ‫ויקח אברם‬ ‫את שרי אשתו‬ ‫ואת לוט בן אחיו‬ ‫ואת כל רכושם אשר רכשו‬ ‫ואת הנפש אשר עשו בחרן‬ ‫ויצאו ללכת ארצה כנען‬ ‫ויבאו ארצה כנען‬

Abram took Terah took Sarai his wife Abram his son and Lot, the son of his brother, and Lot, the son of Haran, his son’s son, and all their wealth that they had acquired, and Sarai his daughter-in-law, wife of Abram and the people whom they had gotten in his son, Haran, and they departed with thema from Ur of the and they departed to go to the land of Chaldeans to go to the land of Canaan, Canaan, and they came to the land of Canaan. and they came to Haran and dwelt there. a.  For a summary of the different approaches to the clause ‫‘ ויצאו אתם‬and they departed with them’ (Gen 11:31), see Emerton, “When Did Terah Die?” 177–79.

This similarity has led diachronic analysis to ascribe the two verses to a similar source. 23 From a synchronic literary perspective, the similarity between the verses invites comparison. 24 Both verses have a similar structure opening with a list of all 23.  See, e.g., John Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis, 2nd ed., ICC (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1930), 23; David M. Carr, Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 104–5. Compare with Van Seters, Prologue to History, 202–3. For a summary and critique of classical source criticism of the unit, see Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 134–36; Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 270–71. See also Umberto Cassuto’s claim that the itineraries of Terah and Abram follow a common literary formula for itineraries in Ugaritic texts and, as a common literary heritage, cannot be used in identifying a specific source such as P (Biblical and Oriental Studies, 2 vols., trans. Israel Abrahams [Jerusalem: Magnes, 1975], 2.23–24; idem, Genesis, 278–79, 308). 24.  On the role of similarity in the formation of literary analogy, see my “Contrast in the Biblical Narrative: The Literary Device and the Drama of Choice” (Ph.D. diss., Bar-Ilan University, 2008), 56–85 [Heb.]. Scholars who emphasize the importance of comparing the two verses include Cassuto, Genesis, 280–81; and Peleg, Go Forth, 181–84.

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whom/that the leader of the group takes along on the journey, followed by a mention of his departure for the land of Canaan and arrival at a destination. The same three verbs in identical order organize the itinerary—‫‘ ויקח‬took’, ‫‘ ויצאו‬departed’, and ‫‘ ויבאו‬came’. Although they are mentioned in different order, Abram, Sarai, and Lot participate in both migrations. 25 The point of destination for the two journeys is formulated in identical language—“to go to the land of Canaan.” The expansive parallels invite scrutiny of the differences between the verses. Besides the obvious change in the identity of the leader of the pack—Abram taking the place of his father in the second leg of the journey—several other differences are evident. One difference—Terah does not reach his planned destination as opposed to Abram, who does—was discussed above: scholars surmise regarding the reason for Terah’s failure. However, as stated, the text does not give an explicit explanation. This raises the question: if the reason for failure is not deemed sufficiently important to explain, then why mention the intended destination? What is the point of mentioning Terah’s intention of reaching Canaan if, at the end, he remains in Haran? We can only conclude that the intended destination is important, as is the failure to reach it. A second blatant difference between the two migration verses is the mention of wealth and slaves taken by Abram. 26 Whereas Terah’s verse makes no mention of any wealth, Abram’s verse emphasizes that he brought with him all their wealth, including slaves. The mention of slaves in addition to all their wealth intimates that the family was wealthy. Why then does Terah’s verse not mention the taking of wealth? Peleg, one of the few scholars to pay attention to this point, suggests that Terah may have left behind his wealth because he planned on returning to Ur. 27 This interpretation is, to my mind, misconceived. A close reading of Abram’s migration notes that the wealth is the wealth that was “acquired,” and the slaves are the “people (‫ )הנפש‬whom they had gotten in Haran.” The verse implies that this is recently acquired wealth from the family’s sojourn in Haran. I believe a more plausible inference from the comparison of the two migration verses is that Terah 25.  On the different order of the participants in both migrations, see my Human Choice: Biblical Narrative and the Drama of Choice (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2015), 76 [Heb.]. 26.  The interpretation of “the people whom they had gotten in Haran” (Gen 12:5) as referring to slaves is in accord with the majority of both Jewish medieval and modern commentators. However, see Cassuto, who prefers the alternative line of interpretation appearing in the Midr. Gen. Rab. 39:14 as well as in Tg. Onqelos, ad loc.: the people traveling with Abram are those adopting his monotheistic faith (Genesis, 320–21). See Midrash Bereshit Rabbah, ed. Judah Theodor and Chanoch Albeck, 2nd ed. (Jerusalem: Wahrman, 1965), 378–79; The Targum Onqelos to Genesis, trans. Bernard Grossfeld, Aramaic Bible 6 (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1988), 63. 27.  Peleg, Go Forth, 182.

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did not take his wealth with him because he had none. If the verse about Abram goes out of its way to emphasize that all the wealth was recently acquired, then it seems much more likely that, previous to its residence in Haran, the family had no substantial material means. This proposal, based on a comparison of the two similar migration verses, may be the key to answering the other questions raised regarding Terah’s migration. As shown, commentators and scholars have long grappled with questions regarding the motive for Terah’s migration and the reason for his stopping in Haran and not concluding the journey. Due to the absence of explicit answers provided by the text, the various proposals have for the most part been conjectural in nature and lack sufficient textual basis. However, I believe the answer to these questions is provided, albeit not in the verses treating Terah’s migration; it is in the twin verse treating Abram’s migration. By comparing the two verses, we may conclude that Terah’s motive for migration is evidently a desire to improve his economic plight. Like other emigrants, past and present, most migrate in order to improve material conditions and economic status. Terah’s family was originally poor and lacked material means when they lived in Ur. The move to Canaan was triggered by a desire to improve their economic lot. 28 This proposal may also solve the ancient conundrum regarding Terah’s aborting of the journey when only halfway, in Haran. The subsequent verses, treating the second leg of the journey led by Abram, reveal that the family’s fortunes took a sharp turn for the better when they relocated in Haran. The extremely long trek from Ur (assuming a Lower Mesopotamian provenance) to Canaan along the Fertile Crescent route required occasional resting points for the travelers to set camp for prolonged intervals. 29 One such resting point was Haran. Once they had stopped for an extended time in Haran, the family may have felt comfortable in a culturally similar environment; more importantly, as evidenced by the verses in Abram’s journey, they may have found economically promising conditions. The wealth amassed by Abram (Gen 12:5) reveals that the family did very well in Haran. If this is the case, the riddle as to why Terah stopped midway in Haran is eas28.  The attribution in Gen 15:7 of Abram’s departure from Ur to God’s doing is not necessarily indicative of a different source or tradition but, rather, an example of dual causality. See Peleg, Go Forth, 189–91; Mathews, Genesis, 104. 29.  According to Liora Ravid, the duration of the journey would have extended close to 20 years (Daily Life in Biblical Times, trans. Jessica Setbon [Jerusalem: Gefen, 2013], 60)! Even if one assumes the pace to be much faster than Ravid’s estimation (particularly if one suspects that the first leg of the journey was without herds of goats slowing down the pace), it is clear that the journey was lengthy and continued over an extensive period.

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ily resolved. If the motive for the migration was economic, Terah found what he was looking for in Haran. Following the family’s economic boon in Haran, there remained no reason to continue to remote Canaan.

Reevaluating Abram’s Migration Abram’s migration may now be understood in a new light. If Abram’s roots were in a poor family bereft of any wealth, we can appreciate the dramatic change in his material fortune after the family’s relocation to Haran. The move to Haran initiated a transformation in economic status from poverty and hardship to an upper-class standing, including possession of slaves. It is exactly at this transformative point, when Abram could finally settle down with a sense of economic security, that he receives the divine call: “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (Gen 12:1). Nachmanides, the 13th-century commentator, viewed the underlying aim behind the verbose and elaborate command to Abram to leave country, kindred, and father’s house as emphasizing the difficulty of the test and the immensity of the sacrifice demanded of the patriarch. 30 It is certainly not easy to leave land, tribe, and immediate family. To these reasons, we must now add an additional challenge, no less demanding than the previous: the command to leave a long-sought-after economic security for the unknown—for the land “that I will show you.” Abram’s migration is counterintuitive and goes against economic logic. This understanding sharpens the contrast between the migrations of Terah and Abram. It is not only, as suggested by Peleg, a contrast between success and failure or between vision and actualization. 31 The migrations of Terah and Abram are fundamentally different from their very core. They not only differ in outcome but also, and primarily, in motivation. Terah is the normative economic migrant who uproots himself in search of a better life and improved economic conditions. His motive is not explicitly stated but is readily inferred and, to a certain extent, is so commonplace and mundane as to dispense of the need for explanation. Abram’s migration, by comparison, is an aberration. Its uniqueness is highlighted via contrast with the normative economic migration of Terah. Genesis 12:5, which describes Abram’s migration renders an economic motive highly unlikely. The patriarch has made his fortune in Haran, as the verse emphasizes, and hence, economic conditions there appear to be superior. The motive for Abram’s unusual migration 30.  Moshe ben Nachman, Ramban (Nachmanides): Commentary on the Torah, trans. Charles B. Chavel (New York: Shilo, 1971), 166, on Gen 12:1. 31.  See above, n. 22.

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lies in the divine call in the beginning of the chapter (12:1–3). 32 In contrast to Terah, who represents the economic migrant, Abram embodies the “ideological” migrant, whose actions cannot be understood in the context of economic interests.

Patriarchal and Other Ancient Migrations: Hebrews and Ḫabiru Many of the Genesis narratives, particularly the patriarchal are understood as ethnological legends providing answers to questions regarding the reason for the status of peoples, the relationship that Israel had with the surrounding nations, and the blood ties that existed among them. 33 The Israelites were conscious of their connection to a wider group of people. This group included the Moabites and the Ammonites descended from Lot, the Edomites descended from Esau-Edom, the Arabian tribes descended from Abraham through Ishmael and the sons of Keturah, the Aramean tribes descended from Nahor, and the southern Arabs who were descended from Joktan. 34 Similarly, the short Terah unit has been understood as explaining the close racial and regional bonds of the Israelites with Upper Mesopotamia through the blood-ties connecting the patriarchs with the Semites of the area. 35 This, to my mind, is not a sufficient explanation of the unit. The section not only informs the reader/listener of the family ties with Haran. It outlines a migration led by Terah in which Abram takes part that has as it goal the same destination as Abram’s subsequent, second leg of the journey but falls short and terminates in Haran. The description creates a striking parallel with Abram’s journey and, at the same time, a powerful contrast. I believe the section reflects a consciousness that the migration of Abram, so critical as part of the founding narrative of the Israelites, was not a unique phenomenon. Terah and Abram were not alone in departing Lower Mesopotamia and migrating to the northwestern parts of the Fertile 32.  While the motive for Abram’s migration is made explicit in the form of a divine call in Gen 12:1–3, it is interesting to note that the textual foundations of the contrast between the two migrations are already present in what are postulated by the majority of diachronic biblical scholarship as verses pertaining to the P source: the two verses describing the different itineraries (11:31; 12:5). Genesis 12:1–3, attributed by most diachronic analysis to the J source, makes explicit what may be inferred from the contrast between the two itinerary verses attributed to P. The unit as a whole seems, to my mind, much more consistent than presumed by most source critics. 33.  Gunkel, Genesis, xiv–xix. 34. De Vaux, Early History of Israel, 212. 35.  Ibid., 209; Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 135.

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Crescent. 36 Migration and ongoing cultural, religious, and economic ties between the two centers of the moon cult, Ur and Haran, are historically well attested. 37 The literary account of the patriarchal migrations may not only reflect historical migratory patterns between Lower and Upper Mesopotamia, but also migratory patterns throughout the whole Levant. Migration was a prevalent and a consistent phenomenon throughout the ancient Near East.  38 The biblical account may bear relation to some of the references to the Ḫabiru in more than 210 texts written in many western Asiatic kingdoms from the first half of the 18th century till the 11th century BCE. 39 The appellation, in its different forms, usually 36.  This may be what lies behind the cryptic wording of the ms: ‫‘ ויצאו אתם‬and they departed with them’ (Gen 11:31). This version perhaps hints to a migration wave that brought additional migrants to set out on the same journey as Terah. For alternative interpretations, see Emerton, “When Did Terah Die?” 177–79. 37. John Van Seters was aware of such connections only in the Neo-Babylonian era and therefore preferred a mid-6th-century BCE date for the material (Abraham in History and Tradition [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1975], 23–26). However, the NeoBabylonian era was not the only period of close contact between southern Mesopotamia and northern Syria. The discoveries at Ebla and Mari, both within the geographical horizons of Haran, have revealed strong trade contacts with Ur from the latter parts of the Early Bronze Age (EB III) in the middle of the third millennium BCE. See Frances Pinnock, “Ebla and Ur: Relations, Exchanges and Contacts between Two Great Capitals of the Ancient Near East,” Iraq 68 (2006): 94–95; Edwin M. Yamauchi, “Abraham and Archaeology: Anachronisms or Adaptations,” in Perspectives on “Our Father Abraham”: Essays in Honor of Marvin R. Wilson, ed. Steven A. Hunt (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 18–21. De Vaux states that it is almost certain that the moon cult of Sin (originally Nanna) and Ningal was introduced to Haran from Ur and believes that this probably took place at a very early stage, close to the period of the Third Dynasty (Early History of Israel, 192). According to Abraham Malamat, if the so-called patriarchal age is placed in the first third of the second millennium (MB II), the Mari documents have a chronological bearing on early Israelite history (“Mari,” BA 34 [1971]: 12–13). The picture revealed in the Mari archives is of extensive tribal migrations, such as those of the Yaminite groups, and of caravan conditions existing between the Euphrates region and Syria–north Palestine. He suggests that this would be a realistic backdrop for the biblical narratives of the patriarchal wanderings. It is not my purpose to attempt to date the patriarchal period; however, based on our present historical knowledge, it is clear that there is no necessity to conclude like Van Seters that the Terah migration can only reflect events of a much later period. The Terah migration could reflect historical realities stretching over a very extensive historical period. 38.  For a bibliography on migrations of peoples in the Near East and the migrations of the patriarchs, see Westermann, Genesis 12–50, 94–95. See also Kay Prag, “Ancient and Modern Pastoral Migration in the Levant,” Levant 17 (1985): 81–88. 39. For bibliography on the Ḫabiru, see Nadav Naʾaman, “Ḫabiru and Hebrews: The Transfer of a Social Term to the Literary Sphere,” in Canaan in the Second Millenium BCE: Collected Essays, 2 vols. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns 2005), 2.252–74, especially

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designates a group of nomadic or seminomadic invaders in areas of the Fertile Crescent. These groups did not necessarily hold common ethnic affiliations or speak a common language. 40 For this reason, many scholars see the term more as a social designation than ethnic or tribal. According to Nadav Naʾaman, it was primarily the act of migration that defined the appellative designation Ḫabiru in Western Asiatic societies of the second millennium BCE. 41 The largest group of documents in which the term Ḫabiru is mentioned is the Amarna letters. Most of the Amarna tablets were sent by Canaanite rulers to the Egyptian court during the first half of the 14th century BCE. As evident from many of the letters, Ḫabiru bands were a widespread source of disruption in the Egyptian province of Canaan and were viewed as a serious threat by the city-state rulers. 42 The phonetic resemblance between the names Hebrew (ʿibrî) and Ḫabiru, (more impressive in English translation, but nevertheless present also in the Hebrew), the geographic as well as chronological overlap, and the apparent affinity between the Amarna Ḫabiru and the Israelites aroused the question regarding the equation of the two groups—a question that has been extensively discussed. 43 Most scholars do not think that the Hebrews are identical with the Ḫabiru, but, at the same time, many are of the opinion that there is a connection between the two terms. 44 It seems clear that biblical references to the “Hebrews” reflect some traits borrowed from the image of the second-millennium “Ḫabiru.” 45 The biblical writers knew the difference between Israelite and Hebrew. The term “Hebrew” in the Bible is typically used to describe Israelites in exceptional situations either as aliens who have migrated from their homeland to a foreign country or in an exploited position of slavery. It appears in the context of interactions between Israelites and non-Israelites. The term is especially prevalent in the stories of the Israelite enslavement in Egypt and in the context of Israelite-Philistine relations. 46 Whether in the context of a report by an escapee who informs Abram of the outcome of a p. 252 n. 2; Meir Sternberg, Hebrews between Cultures: Group Portraits and National Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 31–32. 40.  Carol A. Redmount, “Bitter Lives: Israel in and out of Egypt,” in The Oxford History of the Biblical World, ed. Michael D. Coogan (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 98. Compare with de Vaux, who is of the opinion that the appellation “Ḫabiru” refers to western Semitic groups, “Amorites” or “Proto-Aramaeans” (Early History of Israel, 216). 41.  Naʾaman, “Ḫabiru and Hebrews,” 253–57. 42.  Ibid., 257–58 and references in n. 12. 43.  See above, n. 39. 44.  Naʾaman, “Ḫabiru and Hebrews,” 260–72. See also, at length, Sternberg, Hebrews between Cultures, particularly pp. 31–50. 45.  Naʾaman, “Ḫabiru and Hebrews,” 271. 46.  Ibid., 261.

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battle, in Joseph’s or the Israelites’ enslavement in Egypt, in Jonah’s responses to the queries of the foreign sailors, or in the Philistine scorn of the Israelites—the term is usually used in the context of conversation with non-Israelites and often with a disparaging overtone. 47 Identification of Israelites as Hebrews in biblical narrative is usually, though not exclusively, a foreigner’s classification and not an expression of Israelite self-identification. The reason for this is quite evident: from an outsider perspective, there is little, if any, difference between the Hebrews/Ha­biru and the Israelites. Israel’s ancestors were part of the Semitic migrants who infiltrated the edges of the Fertile Crescent. Abram may have been called “the Hebrew” (Gen 14:13) because he left his homeland and migrated to the land of Canaan. 48 According to the biblical narratives, in the eyes of various foreigners—Egyptian, Philistine, or Canaanite—the Israelites were simply part of a much wider group of encroaching immigrants branded Hebrews.

Constructing Israelite Identity I now return to the underlying purpose behind the Terah and Abram itineraries. It is evident from the opening of the Abraham cycle of narratives that the Israelites regarded themselves as an immigrant community with roots in Mesopotamia. Furthermore, the Israelites were cognizant of their close tribal ties with communities living in Upper Mesopotamia, in the Haran area, who shared with Israel similar ethnic and geographical roots. These tribal bonds, the shared geographical roots, and common migratory heritage were also known to the surrounding nations, who viewed Israel as pertaining to a much wider group of people—the Ḫabiru (or Hebrews in the Bible). This similarity between Israelites and related tribes created a challenge to Israelite identity and its sense of uniqueness. It is this specific challenge that I propose was addressed by the Terah/Abram itineraries. Differentiation and separation of Israel from the surrounding peoples is a central component of the plot and theology of the Abraham narrative, of the overall Genesis narrative, of the Deuteronomistic History, and of much of biblical narrative. 49 The Terah/Abram itineraries acknowledge and explain the ties and similarities with other migrants who followed similar migration routes. However, the unit’s primary aim is to distinguish the Israelites and their forebearers from 47.  Ibid., 269. 48.  Ibid., 271. Cf. Sternberg, who suggests that the appellation may reflect the refugee’s motive for coming to Abram. The refugee thought that, as one who originated from the east, Abram might have connections with the conquering kingdoms (Hebrews, 314–18). 49.  See above, n. 4.

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these related tribes. The purpose of the narrative is more ideological than etiological; it is not aimed at explaining the relationship but, rather, at distinguishing between the related peoples, as part of a construction of a unique Israelite identity. The foundational Abram cycle of narratives recounts the roots and origins of the Israelite nation. The literary depictions of the historical beginnings of the nation are of vital import for the creation of an ethnic self-consciousness among the Israelites. Abram and, metonymically, Israel, like other similar tribes/nations, are described as having a migratory heritage. This heritage is not only insufficient for creating a separate ethnic identity; it is a potential impediment, as can be seen by the Bible’s depiction of other peoples’ classification of the Israelites as part of a larger class of migrants such as the Hebrews. It is for this reason that the Abraham cycle of narratives—the beginning of the foundational national narrative—opens by distinguishing Abram and, metonymically, the Israelites from the “Terahides.” Abram like Terah migrated from Ur, and both set their sights on Canaan as their final destination. However, although extrinsically similar, the two migrations are fundamentally different. Abram’s migration is unlike the others; it is not a mundane economically motivated migration. Abram achieved prosperity prior to his arrival in Canaan. Rather, it was his response to a divine call that separated Abram from his land, kindred, and father’s house to create a new nation in a different land, a people who, by responding to this divine call, would bring a blessing upon all the families of the earth. The Terah/Abram itineraries wish to impress the reader/hearer that the Israelites are not marauding nomadic immigrants in search of better economic prospects like other related tribes but, rather, a unique nation that left secure economic conditions in response to a divine calling.

Whose World? Whose Time? A Text World Theory Examination of the Style and Message of Genesis 1:1­­­–2:25 Elizabeth R. Hayes Fuller Theological Seminary

This study is both a response and an homage to Paul Werth and his imaginatively titled 1995 essay, “How to Build a World (in a Lot Less than Six Days, and Using Only What Is in Your Head).” 1 The world-building creation accounts in Gen 1:1–2:25 are some of the most examined and debated portions of the Hebrew Bible, making this a good choice for an analysis using Werth’s text world categories. This essay proceeds in three parts: the first part introduces Text World Theory at a basic level and provides terminology and tools for the text world analysis of Gen 1:1–2:25, which takes place in the second part. Finally, the third part examines the intersection between text and interpretation with a focus on perspective and scale, drawing on iconographic features in early Armenian, Belgian, and French biblical miniatures. As the findings demonstrate, a Text World Theory approach provides insight into the intersection between stylistics and meaning, revealing contours of the text and message.

Theoretically Speaking: Text World Basics Establishing a vocabulary for discussing the various communication situations involved in interpreting an ancient text is a central task that includes grappling with issues such as the original author, the original audience, other primary audiences, and the succession of interpreting audiences over the ages as well. Who is talking to whom? How is a present-day audience to understand these voices from the ancient past? 1. Paul Werth, “How to Build a World (in a Lot Less Than Six Days, Using Only What’s in Your Head),” in New Essays on Deixis: Discourse, Narrative, Literature, ed. Keith Green (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1995), 49–80.

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Naming the Worlds In order to address the issues involved in reading texts, Paul Werth develops a principled theory that differentiates between two basic types of communication situations: the discourse world and the text world. For Werth, the term discourse world represents a typical situation of speaking in which conversation partners are located in shared experiential space. A coffee shop is a good example of this: friends gather together over a hot drink, sharing space, time, and ambiance. Sitting in a conference session is another: participants gather together for the shared experience of hearing and commenting on research projects, for example. In the second instance, participants have immediate access not only to the words of the papers but to the voice and demeanor of the speaker, the size of the desks, the lighting, orientation, and temperature of the room, and countless other elements of a shared cultural context. This differs from the text world, as Werth terms the conceptual world established in the reader’s mind by his or her mental representations of the text itself. 2 Additionally, the situation within a given text world is somewhat fluid: changes in location, character, and modal shifts can create subworlds within the text world. Thus, when reading the text, readers make the move from sharing the discourse world with those in the immediate vicinity to exploring the text world. In doing so, readers run into a situation that Werth describes as a split discourse world. He states, “The discourse worlds of written texts are almost always split: since the writer and the readership occupy different spatio-temporal points, there will be very little which is mutually perceivable.” 3 On the one hand, bridging this gap is a major issue for biblical interpretation as a whole because the contemporary discourse worlds shared by readers of the text is far removed in time, space, and culture from that of the ancient Levant. On the other hand, the Genesis text proves to be a fruitful text for establishing common ground.

Drawing a Text World: Text World Notation System One of the strengths of a text world theory approach is the contribution that the theory makes toward achieving a principled close reading of the text. Text world notation conventions are few, yet comprehensive. The most important items are world-building elements, which provide the background against which the ac2.  “The discourse world is a construct based on the participant’s mental representation of the immediate situation, while the text world is a construct based on the participant’s mental representation of the discourse” (Werth, “How To Build,” 61). 3.  Ibid., 55–56.

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tions of the text world play out; function advancing propositions, which describe the manner in which the actions in the text world play out; and world-switching terms that shift attention within the text world to a subworld. 4 This framework is very helpful for accomplishing a productive close reading. In the case of Gen 1:1– 2:25, the connection between style and text world construction is of particular interest; thus specific instances where style intersects with world-building elements come under close scrutiny in this study, as demonstrated in the examples in the following sections.

Diagraming a Text World: Text World Notation Conventions Text world notation conventions cover three basic categories: world-building elements, function advancing propositions, and world-switch possibilities. Worldbuilding elements include but are not limited to: (1) time, including tense and aspect of verb phrases, and temporal phrases; (2) location, including adverbials and noun phrases specifying place; (3) characters, indicated by proper nouns and pronouns; and (4) objects, indicated by nouns and pronouns. 5 Function advancing propositions include but are not limited to: (1) material processes, including intentional or event processes, which are marked with a downward arrow (see fig. 1); (2) relational processes, such as possessive, and circumstantial processes, which are marked with a horizontal arrow; and (3) mental processes such as thinking, seeing, hearing, knowing, believing, and so forth. 6 World-switch possibilities include but are not limited to: (1) deictic world switches, which are shifts based on changes in time and location—that is, a flashback or projection into the future (these involve a shift in point of view); (2) attitudinal world switches, which are shifts based on expressions of desire, belief, or purpose (in other words, those that involve deontic modality); and (3) epistemic world switches that involve possibility, probability, or hypothetical situations. 7 137.

4. Peter Stockwell, Cognitive Poetics: An Introduction (London: Routledge, 2002),

5.  Ibid. While not mentioning text worlds specifically, Ellen van Wolde notes the significance of both world builders (time, object) and function advancing propositions (creating act) when discussing the bracketing effects of Gen 1:1 and 2:4a. She states, “Three components are central in this story: the aspect of time (‫ בראשית‬and ‫)תולדות‬, the creating act (‫ ברא‬and ‫ )בהבראם‬and the object of creation: the heaven and the earth (‫את־השמים‬ ‫“( ”)ואת־הארץ‬Facing the Earth: Primaeval History in a New Perspective,” in The World of Genesis: Persons, Places, Perspectives, ed. Philip R. Davies and David J. A. Clines, JSOTSup 257 [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998], 23). 6.  Stockwell, Cognitive Poetics, 137. 7.  Ibid., 140–41.

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Elizabeth R. Hayes Gen 1:1–5 Text World Builders (cumulative) Time; “beginning” Location: not specified Characters: God Obects: heaven and earth Gen 1:1–5 Function Advancers: In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth,

1

The earth was formless void and

2

darkness covered the face of the deep A wind from God swept over the waters.

Then God said,

3

“Let there be light”

and there was light. And God saw that the light was good

4

and God separated the light from the darkness

Figure 1.  Genesis 1:1–5: Text World Diagram.

Describing a Text World: An Analysis of the Text (World/s) in Genesis 1:1–2:25 Genesis 1:1–5: Creation, Day One in Text World Perspective An analysis and explanation of the following text world diagram of Gen 1:1–5 will provide a short example of what is involved in the text world theory approach. Text World Builders in Genesis 1:1–5.  The top segment of fig. 1 shows that Gen 1:1–5 contains a series of text world builders, including reference to time, “beginning”; a nonspecificed location; a single charater, God; and two named objects, heaven and earth. Each of these aspects of the text contributes to the background against which the action of the narration plays out via function advancing propositons.

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Function Advancers in Genesis 1:1–5.  The lower segment of fig. 1 demonstrates that Gen 1:1–5 contains several function advancers. In 1:1–2, the predications are relational and thus are marked with horizontal arrows. These predications present background information that fills in the reader’s conception of the text world, but they do not move the narative forward. This changes in 1:3, which contains a world switch based on the semantics of the verb ‫‘( ויאמר‬and God said’). This verb of speaking opens a subworld based on reported speech. This is followed by additional descriptions from the narrator’s perspective: Each of the wayyiqtol verbal forms in 1:3–5 represents an event process. These sentences move the narrative forward and are marked with downward arrows. 8 An analysis of this sort results in a type of discourse-analysis light that encompasses both Robert Longacre’s verbal form analysis and the nested cognitive spaces that are formed due to the use of terms from the semantic domains of speech and perception verbs, and other grammatical features as well. 9 The analysis of verbs of speaking as world-switching (or subworld-forming) devices correlates with the findings of Cynthia Miller, who discusses “the use of reported speech in a non-interactional context” in her analysis of direct speech as a topic-framing device in Gen 1:1–2:4. 10 Simply stated, the voice in the speech frame is that of the narrator; the voice in the embedded quoted speech is that of the character. 11

Genesis 1:6–2:4a: Creation, Days Two through Six in Text World Perspective Just as with Day One, Days Two through Six are also delineated by the worldswitching phrase “and God said” plus jussive (Gen 1:6, 9, 14, 20, 24) and the summary statement “And there was evening, and there was morning” (Gen 1:8, 13, 19, 23, 31), creating a stylistically significant segmenting effect that will be discussed 8.  The statement in Gen 1:4, “and God saw that the light was good,” could also be considered an attitudinal world switch, where the new space contains God’s evaluation of the situation at hand. 9.  Robert E. Longacre’s analysis is largely form driven, but forms alone do not provide a principled way of accounting for the embedded nature of subworlds, each of which might carry its own beginning and end with regard to the forms employed (The Grammar of Discourse, Topics in Language and Linguistics [New York: Plenum, 1983]). 10.  Cynthia L. Miller, The Representation of Speech in Biblical Hebrew Narrative: A Linguistic Analysis, HSM 55 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 286–89. 11.  This is an important switch, because narrator and character demonstrate differing levels of accessibility. The character is less accessible than the narrator; thus, assessing the truth value of a character’s assertions is more difficult than assessing the truth value of the narrator’s. At this point, the statements of narrator and character are accepted as true on the basis of presupposition.

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in the next section. However, Days Two through Six also demonstrate a variety of differences: Day Two has no additional world-switch phrase; Day Three has an additional “and God said” plus jussive in 1:11; Day Four has an additional jussive in 1:15; Day Five has an additional blessing and instruction in 1:22; and Day Six is the most elaborate, with the addition of a second “and God said” plus cohortative in 1:26, a blessing and instruction in 1:28, and instructions regarding food in 1:29. 12 The repeated days of the week–structuring schema is stylistically important for the text, serving to break the text into day-length segments. The “and God said’ plus jussive repetition is a second stylistically important structuring scheme. The second scheme, however, unifies the text rather than creating segments. Both are at play, but depending on where the reader’s focus of attention lies, the text world may take on differing characteristics. The effects of this choice of focus will be discussed in the following section, where it is claimed that, although the connection between style and text-world construction is not monolithic, text world construction is constrained by the text itself. It is noteworthy that, while there are two voices represented in the narrative (the narrator and God), the viewpoint of this text is the narrator’s throughout. This affects both the reader’s conceptualization of the original discourse world (narrator speaking to hearer throughout) and likewise the reader’s understanding of the split discourse world in which he or she is participating: the narrator speaks and describes God’s words and actions; God speaks, but never directly to an identifiable addressee. This third-person description is both cool and evocative, never making claims to intimacy. It also begs the question of how a human author could know the state of affairs that obtained during creation prior to the point in time when humans were created. This narrator is privileged, indeed! 13

Genesis 2:4b–25: In the Garden in Text World Perspective Although Gen 2:4b–25 builds a different sort of world, the viewpoint in this passage is also confined to that of the narrator, who is privileged to have knowledge of God’s first direct speech to a human entity. This comes in Gen 2:16–17, where God instructs Adam to refrain from eating from the tree of good and evil. 12.  Miller notes that the 11 quotative frames act as structuring devices for the passage (Representation of Speech, 289). 13.  This observation is no less true when one examines the creation stories of the surrounding cultures. While Robert Alter notes that biblical poetry resembles narrative verse rather than the epic poetry of the surrounding cultures, because epic poetry is characterized by “larger than life human figures and its deities conceived in essentially human terms,” any discussion of what a deity thinks or decides privileges the narrator with uncommon knowledge (The Art of Biblical Poetry, rev. ed. [New York: Basic Books, 2011], 59).

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To conclude, two givens regarding the author/s are important for interpreting the combined Genesis creation accounts: (1) the author/s were human, hence built to human scale; and (2) the author/s wrote the narrative/s with “two feet on the ground.” 14 Hence, the magisterial scoping and scaling in the descriptions of God’s creative acts are necessarily “in the heads,” of both the author and the reader.

Artists Build a World: Reception History of Genesis 1:1–2:25 The pair of questions that head this essay, “Whose World? Whose Time?” highlight the importance of the context and background that the interpreter brings to the text. Werth’s split discourse world provides a valuable tool for assessing the impact that context and culture have had on various audiences and their respective interpretations. Before moving on to the description of what is happening in the text world from a cognitive perspective, I will examine three reception history examples. Each example shows awareness of the stylistics of the narrative, and I show that the reader’s focus on either the days of the week or the reported speech–structuring schemas is reflected in the art itself. Here again, observe that, while the connection between style and text world construction is not monolithic (for one hearer may focus on the days of the week, another on the creative words of God, another on both), it is constrained by the text itself. Hence, unlikely additions to the art may be viewed as culturally motivated.

Reception History in Art: Three Traditions In order to compare present-day conceptual worlds with those of previous audiences, an interesting (but not scientific experiment) may be performed to see how contemporary hearers perceive the text. Willing hearers (such as students) are provided with paper and colored pencils. Then, while someone reads the text aloud, the students draw what they hear. It is curious to note the ways that various students deal with the days of the week and reported speech–structuring devices in the Gen 1 text: often student drawings will reflect forms that correlate with the stylistic schemas mentioned above and reflect one of two basic styles. This is also true with regard to some important examples of reception history, such as illuminated manuscripts from the 13th–17th centuries, three of which are examined here. 14.  This raises the question of the nature of the narrator, particularly with regard to Gen 1, where it is clear that the author has privileged the narrator with the ability to see and describe the “larger than life” activities of creation.

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Figure 2.  Erevan, Matenaderan, ms 351, Bible Ilov, 1619, Chazar Baberdtsi.

The “All in One World”: Gestalt Style The Gestalt style tends to conflate the days of Gen 1 into a single large picture. Such a rendering reflects an awareness of the various speech frames that delineate topics in the text, and it has a strong correlate with manuscript illuminations, such as this 17th-century Bible miniature in the Ilov Bible. In fig. 2, at least the first four days of creation are conflated in one frame, and a Christian interpretive context is implied by the addition of the Christ/Logos figure that seems to be flying about the newly created space. Here the Divine is presented as a human figure, seemingly at human scale. In this sequence of miniatures, two Garden of Eden scenes follow, with the events of creation cartooned in one frame, and the temptation of Adam and Eve presented in a second. It appears that the creation of humankind on Day Six has been conflated with the creation of Adam

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and Eve from the Gen 2:4b–25 account, thus melding the two traditions into a single narrative.

The “Day by Day” World: Medallion Style The medallion style tends to locate the activities of each day of creation in a separate space, a representation that seems to reflect an awareness of the stylistic role of the days of the week summary statements that segment the text itself. The medallion style can be seen in many manuscript traditions, such as the 17th-century Armenian Bible from New Julfa, Isfahan. 15 In this illustration, six medallions are situated in a large initial on the right-hand side of the frame, while the story in the Garden of Eden appears on the left-hand side of the frame. The medallions placed within the large initial represent the six days of creation. Here, it is important to note that the similarly sized medallions prevent the elements of creation from being presented at normal scale: instead, the elements are scaled to fit the medallions and are not proportional to one another. The events of the creation of Adam and Eve, the fall, and the expulsion from the garden are cartooned in the left-hand portion of the page. 16 Again, a Christian interpretive context is implied by the preeminent Christ/Logos figure, which is presented prominently in the upper left-hand corner, surrounded by four apocalyptic animals. This human figure is larger than Adam and Eve in the cartooned Garden of Eden events at the bottom of the page but is not so large as to overwhelm them. A conflation of Gen 1:1–2:4a and 2:4b–25 occurs in this image, as it did in the previous example.

The “Blended World”: Hybrid Style The Arras Genesis (fig. 3) from 15th-century France is a curious blend of the Gestalt style and the medallion style. 17 Each of the worlds in this panel is an elaboration on the previous world, yet there are individual sections for at least the first three days. Moreover, there is an emphasis on aspects of separation: light from darkness (Gen 1:4); waters from waters (1:6); and the waters from under 15.  ms 15 (1) Bible dated 1662. Folio 10 verso: Scenes from Genesis. In Sirapie der Nerssian and Arpag Mekhitarian, Armenia Miniatures from Isfahan (Brussels: Editeurs de Art Associés, 1986), 153. 16.  The cartooning of the events in the Adam and Eve story indicates an awareness of sequentiality, which is a characteristic of the Hebrew wayyiqtol verbal form. This narrative verbal form is used extensively throughout the Adam and Eve narration in the Hebrew text. However, what is not certain at this point is the relationship between text and artist. Determining the language in use in a given artistic community is beyond the scope of this study, and it is possible that the artist is working from traditional models. 17.  ms M.730. Psalter-Hours of Guiluys de Boisleux., folio 9 rev. Arras, France, after 1246 (The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York).

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Figure 3.  Arras Genesis, 1350–1400.

the earth from the waters above the earth (1:7). This emphasis on the separating and dividing aspects of creation has been explored and debated extensively in the recent past. 18 It is curious to see an ancient illumination that draws out this aspect of the text. 18.  This discussion is particularly evident in Ellen van Wolde, “Why the Verb ‫ברא‬ Does Not Mean ‘to Create’ in Genesis 1.1–2.4a,” JSOT 34 (2009): 3–23.

Examination of the Style and Message of Gen 1:1–2:25 Day 1: light; day/night Day 2: sky Day 3: earth, vegetation Day 7: rest

Day 4: two great lights Day 5: sea creatures/birds Day 6: animals/humans

155

Figure 4.  Days of the Week.

Again, a Christian context is implied by the Christ/Logos figure in each panel (note the position of his fingers). However, this illustration demonstrates two significant differences. First, the Christ/Logos figure stands outside the circular areas of creation and is grander in proportion. Thus, while the figure is human, the scale of the figure is far larger than any normal human. Second, this large Christ/Logos seems to be separating previously existing materials in stages. 19 Each of the three examples shows awareness of the stylistic-structuring devices present in the text. This is significant because the structuring devices themselves have been accounted for with Text World categories. While it is impossible to draw causal connections between the text, artistic artifacts, and the way modern students and interpreters “hear” the text of Gen 1:1–2:25, the fact that these cultural expressions arose long after the text was written gives the current student of the text a backward glimpse of the far-reaching impact of the interpretation of the text across time and culture.

Modern Interpreters Build a World Modern interpreters also demonstrate that visualizing the text worlds for the Gen 1:1–2:25 creation narrative creates multivalent possibilities, possibilities that are dependent in part on which aspect of the text is perceived to be most salient. For many modern interpreters, the days of the week stylistic device is at the forefront. This is demonstrated by various iterations of fig. 4, which is found in many commentaries and textbooks: This panel-style diagram, examples of which are found in Gordon Wenham’s Exploring the Old Testament and in Jon D. Levenson’s inverted version in The Jewish Study Bible, bears some relation to the medallion style in the ancient manuscripts. Each day of the week is placed into an identically sized box, and the boxes reflect the divisions indicated by the world-switch phrase “and God said” plus jussive (Gen 1:6, 9, 14, 20, 24) and the summary statement “and there was evening 19.  The second and third panels demonstrate connections with Gen 1:4, 6, and 7, where God is said to have initiated the separation between light and darkness (1:4), waters from waters (1:6), and the waters under the dome from the waters over the dome (1:7).

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and there was morning” (Gen 1:8, 13, 19, 23, 31) mentioned above. 20 Notably, such diagrams do not present the elements to visual scale. On the other hand, the manuscript illustrations are not arranged in such a way that the series of correlations between Days One–Three and Four–Six are made explicit, as they are in the schematics of Wenham and Levenson. 21

A Text World “World”: Stylistics and Perspective in Genesis 1:1–2:25 Attention may now be drawn to a little-discussed aspect of the text itself, which is the way that the text draws upon visual perspective in describing the process of creation. Because of the way perspective is developed in Gen 1:1–2:25, it is entirely possible that there is another, more-fruitful way to describe the text world that is Gen 1:1–2:25, one that includes visual aspects of both the medallion-style and the Gestalt-style illustrations. As previously mentioned, text worlds are conceptual structures created in our minds, using references to time, location, characters, and objects. Once a text world is constructed, activities of all types may take place therein, including the formation of subworlds. These maneuvers can incorporate encyclopedic knowledge of the world, some of which may be prefabricated frame knowledge or mental models. Thus, one important thing to add concerning the text of Gen 1:1–2:25 is that the author, part of the split discourse world, probably worked with mental models when creating the text. Some sort of mental model of ancient Near Eastern cosmology was probably in play, possibly based on frame knowledge of ancient Near Eastern cosmology, as illustrated in the following image by Barry Bandstra. 22 20.  Nahum M. Sarna describes this literary device as a heptad, or number symbolism based on the number seven. He groups Days 1–3 under the heading “The Resource” and Days 4–6 under the heading “The Utilizer” (Genesis = Be-reshit: The Traditional Hebrew Text with New JPS Translation (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 4. 21.  Gordon J. Wenham, The Pentateuch (London: SPCK, 2003), 19; Jon D. Levenson in The Jewish Study Bible, ed. Adele Berlin and Marc Zvi Brettler (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 12. 22. Barry Bandstra, Reading the Old Testament, http://barrybandstra.com/rtot4/ rtot4–04-ch1.html. See also the illustration in Michael D. Coogan, The Old Testament: A Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 33. Acceptance of the closed nature of this schematic is by no means monolithic: Othmar Keel argues that the ancient Near East did not view the world as a closed system (Othmar Keel, The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms, trans. Timothy J. Hallett [Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997], 57). Nonetheless, the diagram does provide a rough idea of how the cosmos may have been conceptualized in the pre-Copernican ancient Near Eastern setting in contrast to that of the post–space travel present day.

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Figure 5.  Ancient Near Eastern Cosmology.

Hence, the original author was working with a pre-Copernican understanding of the universe that displays an androcentric understanding of perspective and scale with regard to the cosmos. Elements in this diagram are presented at a more normal scale, with a human figure located on the surface of the earth.

Deixis and Perspective Aspects of the above model may be viewed as representative of an (admittedly not monolithic) ancient Near Eastern world view and, as such, it is possible to understand the way that the author selected and focused on individual aspects of his or her own mental model when crafting the text. Each individual selection represents an instance of pointing to and focusing on a salient feature of the mental model itself in an effort to elaborate upon and make sense of the largeness of creation. To this end, the author makes use of the deictic, or pointing function of language. Again, the basic location of the human on the surface of the earth is a significant starting point, for as previously mentioned, the original authors were human-scale, feet-on-the-ground folks who privileged the narrator with a startling degree of flexibility! With regard to deixis, Werth notes, “Pointing and reference are ways of selecting an object from the represented environment in order to draw someone’s attention to it.” He follows with, “[T]he essential function of deixis then is specification. Specification at the level of the discourse world involves selecting from the

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manifest entities in the . . . immediate situation (for I can point at a desk or chair in our current space). At the level of the text world . . . , specification means setting the working parameters of the space.” 23 And, indeed, the author/s of Gen 1:1–2:25 are quite intent on setting out the working parameters of their various takes on creation. The author of 1:1–2:4a points to different aspects of the creation in a specific order for specific reasons. In doing so, he inscribes a pair of sight lines that delineate a unique take on the universe and draw attention to the relationship between the human and divine in two ways that are quite different from the take of the author of Gen 2:4b–25. These are differences with regard to scale and perspective. Perspective is of primary interest here.

Viewpoint and Perspective The following analysis depends on both the deictic notion of viewpoint and the notion of perspective used in the visual arts. First, according to Werth, “Viewpoint is deixis ‘proper’, that is to say it fundamentally deals with relations in space. . . . [V]iewpoint is always one-sided, i.e., seen from one person’s perspective.” 24 In the case of Gen 1, text world viewpoint remains with the narrator, who invites the reader to join him in a virtual representation of origins. In other words, the narrator takes the reader on a visually based journey that sets up the working parameters of the space. This is congruent with Burkhard Niederhoff ’s definition of perspective in narrative. He states, “Perspective in narrative may be defined as the way the representation of the story is influenced by the position, personality and values of the character.” 25 Thus, deixis and perspective in literature can be tied to the ways that perspective is represented in the visual arts. The following section will explore the way that perspective is presented in Gen 2:4b–25, followed by a detailed description of the way that perspective is developed in 1:1–2:4a, positing that 2:4b–25 is representative of standard one-point perspective, while 1:1–2:4a develops along the lines of the more unusual iconic reverse perspective, a feature that adds uniqueness to the text. 23.  Werth, “How to Build,” 65. 24.  Ibid. 25. Burkhard Niederhoff then ties this to perspective in the visual arts as follows: “Perspective refers to a method that presents a scene as perceived from a ‘single, fixed viewpoint’ (Carter 1970: 840), creating the impression of three-dimensional depth on a twodimensional surface. In a painting of this sort, parallel lines converge as they recede from the viewer; objects gain or lose in size depending on whether they are near or far; . . . the concept of perspective can also be applied to language” (“Perspective—Point of View,” in Handbook of Narratology, ed. Peter Hühn et al. [Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014], 692–705, esp. p. 692). The topic is also addressed in Stockwell, Cognitive Poetics, 41–58 (chap. 4).

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Deixis and Perspective in Poetry: One-Point Perspective “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost is a useful example of one-point perspective in literature. In this poem, there are several one-point, perspectiveinducing features at play in the first two stanzas. The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same. In the first stanza, Frost invites the reader into the speaker’s first-person thoughts as the speaker takes a break while traveling in the woods. The speaker and reader converge at the speaker’s viewpoint, which is located at the intersection of two roads. The speaker is “sorry” that taking both options is not a possibility and invites the reader into his decision-making process. He takes his time. He then directs the reader’s eye from the intersection, down the first road, to the farthest point that the human eye can see. Frost easily pulls the reader into his viewpoint, drawing a sight line from the intersection of the roads to a point that is barely visible to the naked eye, evoking the vanishing point in a painting or photo. This may be visually displayed as in figs. 6–7. In both the schematic and the photo, the direction of the sight line goes from the observer to the vanishing point on the horizon, drawing attention away from the observer to the point where observable space disappears in the same manner as Frost successfully appropriates for his diverging roads.

Deixis and Perspective in Genesis 2:4b–25 As in Frost’s diverging roads, Gen 2:4b–25 presents a view of the scene in which the narrator is located within eye-shot of the situation, steps away from joining in, but safely out of the action. The human author again privileges the narrator with access to the scene at a time prior to the creation of humankind. In this text, one perceives the elements in the way they are perceived in the everyday world: closer elements “appear” larger than far elements, although most of the

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Figure 6.  One-point perspective schematic.

Figure 7.  One-point perspective.

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scene is presented at close range. There is a point in the text where one-point perspective is particularly evident and that is when the narrator describes the river that “flows out of Eden to water the garden” (Gen 2:10). Here, the narrator states that the river divides from the garden and becomes four branches. The narrator describes the scope of each of the four rivers that fan out from the garden, making use of the far demonstrative ‫‘ שם‬there’, thus creating sight lines that lead away from the garden to vanishing points well away from Eden. 26

Deixis and Perspective in Genesis 1:1–2:4a It seems impossible for the narrator of Gen 1:1–2:4a to use one-point perspective at the beginning of the narrative, given that the text begins with a point in time and space where there was no horizon. However, it may be observed that the narrator does play with perspective in a powerful and here-to-fore under-discussed manner that is similar to iconic reverse perspective. A glance at fig. 8 demonstrates the way that the narrator points out elements sequentially, creating a pair of foregrounded sight lines against the background of his own mental model of the cosmos. Each sight line progresses from the farthest distance that the human eye can see to the near and familiar topography of the earth (with accompanying horizon). These world-building, perspective-inducing characteristics and connections are summarized in a text world schematic in fig. 8.

Genesis 1:1–2:4a: A Text World Model The way the days of the week are presented in this text world schematic bears some resemblance to the medallion style present in the ancient manuscripts: each day of the week resides in a circle. Linguistically, these segments have been circumscribed by the “and God said” plus jussive construction along with the “and there was evening and there was morning” combination discussed above. However, these circles indicate focus points, not containment of the elements either in the discourse world or the text world proper.

Explanation Genesis 1:1–2 includes a summary of what God would be creating: the heavens and the earth. It also includes the murky condition described by the Hebrew terms ‫תהו ובהו‬. In this essay, I will not take up the well-rehearsed discussion regarding the finer points behind the translations “in the beginning God” and “in the 26.  The far demonstrative šām ‘there’ is part of a delightful sound play with the word šēm ‘name’ that is present throughout Gen 2:10–13. The word šām appears in 2:10, 11, 12; šēm in 2:11, 13, 14. The concatenation emphasizes both location and identity.

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Figure 8.  A Text World Model of Genesis 1:1–2:4a.

beginning when God.” It suffices to observe that the situation, when viewed from human perspective, must necessarily be a cognitive construct with no observable temporal or locative correlate in the present natural world and that the actor is God. 27 The narrator’s viewpoint is omniscient, yet the elements in the statements remain just out of human apprehension: in Gen 1:2, the hovering spirit presides over formless, spatially unbound moisture. For this reason, the text box is located just beyond the most distant point on the left-hand sight line in this diagram. Genesis 1:3–5 presents a unique perspective. Within the diagram, God’s creation of light on Day One is located at a point far from the reader/observer’s natural viewpoint. The reason for this is the sheer scale of the unbounded term “light.” The light is presented as a visible entity yet without boundaries or limits. (This is perceptually troubling, as we have a figure with no ground against which 27.  “The mystery of divine creativity is, of course, ultimately unknowable. The Genesis narrative does not seek to make intelligible what is beyond human ken” (Sarna, Genesis, 3).

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to view it.) Von Rad claims that the first hearers would not have a problem with this, stating: “[the first hearer] did not consider the remarkable separation of light and stars as something that could not be performed, because he did not think of light and darkness as exclusively in connection with the heavenly bodies.” 28 That God created “something” correlates with the modern understanding of light as a wave-particle entity. Additionally, light is apprehensible by the human eye. Thus, Day One is distant yet visible. Sight joins hearing as one of two human senses now engaged. Genesis 1:6–8.  The narrator’s description of God’s creation of the dome, or rāqîʿa on Day Two draws the reader/observer’s attention to a more visible yet still untouchable aspect of creation, viewable on the midpoint of the left-hand sight line in the fig. 8. Location is more known yet without perspective established by a horizon. According to von Rad, this is a firm boundary. Genesis 1:9–13.  The gathering of the seas and appearance of dry land on Day Three provides a place where vegetation can thrive. 29 This description completes the left-hand sight line. The narrator provides details that scope the situation to human scale. This move adds the possibility of touch to those of seeing and hearing, bringing to three the number of human senses now engaged. It is now possible to find the elusive horizon that contributes to establishing visual perspective. However, one sight line does not create visual perspective. Nonetheless, the author does end up creating a sense of visual perspective in the final “picture” of creation by building a second sight line beginning with Day Four, where once again the reader’s attention is flung to the heights of the rāqîʿa ‘dome’. Genesis 1:14–19.  God’s creation of the unnamed heavenly bodies on Day Four is often seen as a connection to light in Day One. While this is plausible, the locative aspect of Day Four is actually connected to Day Two, due to the mention of the rāqîʿa. (By Day Six, the combination of connections ends up forming a net rather than the series of separate connections implied by Wenham’s and Levenson’s grid diagrams.) This information, once again visible but not touchable, begins the second sight line, which is located slightly below that of Day One in fig. 8. The heavenly bodies are more easily perceptible because they are foregrounded against the stable background of the rāqîʿa ‘dome’. Genesis 1:20–23.  The description of the waters bringing forth swarms of living creatures and birds flying across the dome of the sky on Day Five brings the reader’s attention to two previously created locations: the waters of Day Three and 28.  Gerhard von Rad and John H. Marks, Genesis: A Commentary, OTL, rev. ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972), 51. 29.  Sarna notes that this is the lowest form of organic life (Genesis, 4).

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the rāqîʿa ‘dome’ of Day Two. Both the swarms and the birds are figures against their respective grounds, the swarms as a mass noun, and the birds as a multiplicity of creatures. Neither the birds nor the swarms are directly touchable, but the mention of the first animate characters draws the reader’s attention to the midpoint of the right-hand sight line. Genesis 1:24–31.  Day Six delineates the creation of humankind, which scopes the visual line of sight to human scale, on the one hand, and back to the situation that obtained in v. 1, on the other. The mention of filling the earth includes the mention of fish and birds: all things that are visible to the human eye. The giving of food to all creatures brings the senses of taste and smell to the situation, reinforcing the nature of the description as a human-scale endeavor. 30 Genesis 2:1–4a.  Day Seven brings the reader back to the beginning with regard to unspecified location and character, for here the reader rejoins a nowresting God. This nearness invites the reader to ruminate on the totality of God’s creation and to delight in his delight with a job well done. So, what sort of perspective has the author created by this deliberate ordering of information? First, as discussed with regard to the Frost poem, linear perspective is evoked, and the poet leads the reader’s eye away from the immediate position, down the road to a vanishing point. Conversely, the writer of Gen 1 has drawn a pair of scoped sight lines that begin at a pair of far distant, nearly imperceptible points and converge at or just behind the human-scale writer and his reader. While not a deliberate move, I propose that the author has used a species of reverse perspective in his description of the cosmos. Reverse perspective is a familiar feature of icons, hence the term “Byzantine” perspective. In iconography, perspective of this sort includes the portrayal of distant figures as larger than their probably distance would indicate in real life. This creates a sense of entering into the icon and engaging with the figure portrayed. When the probable frame knowledge of ancient Near Eastern cosmology is added as a backdrop to the reading, the stylized introduction of the elements of creation tends to pull distant elements closer than their real-life counterparts for reasons of focus. This focus is firmly on a human scale, which is consonant with a human attempt to understand the depths of the surrounding world. 30.  The conceptual processes involved in creating a Gen 1 text world might also be accounted for via conceptual blending theory. In their discussion of conceptual integration, Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner delineate a number of constitutive and governing principles that are driven by the single goal “achieve human scale.” This goal is met in the Gen 1 text via the development of reverse perspective (The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities [New York: Basic Books, 2002], 313).

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Summary and Conclusion Paul Werth’s Text World Theory provides a fresh, principled way forward for achieving an effective close reading of biblical text, a reading that accounts for the original speaker and audience and accommodates the split discourse world faced by present-day interpreters as well. As the analysis and description above demonstrate, a Text World approach using Werth’s terminology and tools provides a fresh look at Gen 1:1–2:25, where the exploration of perspective and scale provides novel insight into the intersection between stylistics and meaning. The development of reverse perspective in 1:1–2:4a shapes a text world of monumental proportions, a world that is at once distant and majestic, yet near and familiar, a world that surrounds humanity and is defined by the creator. This compliments the text world in 2:4b–25, where the normal perspective provides a stable backdrop for a series of unique events that includes the naming of animals and the creation of woman from the side of man. This world is also defined by the creator: indeed, the text worlds that are created “only in our heads” prove to be powerful vehicles for conveying the significant theological message that God is creator and sustainer of all things.

Double-Plotting in the Garden: Stylistics of Ambiguity in Genesis 2–3 Karalina Matskevich

Heythrop College, University of London

At the heart of the traditional interpretation of the garden narrative in Gen 2–3 lies the idea of human disobedience to God, which introduces disharmony and pain into the initially perfect universe. 1 Here, God is seen as a monolithic subject: the sole creator, lawgiver, and judge of the human beings and the epitome of authority and power. In relation to this God, the human couple plays a rebellious role by transgressing his command, bringing about their own expulsion and a world order marred with dominance, toil, and death. But is God himself free from ambiguity? In this essay, I suggest shifting the focus of interpretation from the conflict between God’s authority and human disobedience to the contradictory features of God’s own discourse. Looking at the stylistic and structural features of the narrative, I demonstrate that its ambivalence is not only a literary device but also an integral part of its message. In the end, I propose reading the narrative as the interaction of two opposing plots, in which the acquisition of knowledge is as determined by God as it is forbidden by him.

Binarity and Ambivalence in Genesis 2–3: Preliminary Observations As a myth of creation, Gen 2–3 lays out fundamental distinctions between God and human beings, male and female, good and bad, life and death. In this Author’s note:  The present essay reproduces parts of my book, which is provisionally entitled The Subject and the Other: Gender and Identity in the Book of Genesis (London: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, forthcoming).

1. Claus Westermann, Genesis 1–11, trans. John J. Scullion (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1984), 193; see also Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (Dallas: Word, 1994), 90. Hermann Gunkel understands the narrative as an etiology that first describes the “golden age” of humanity and then gives an answer to the basic question “Why are we not there?” (Genesis, trans. Mark E. Biddle [Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997], 33).

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respect, the narrative resonates with the creation account in Gen 1, in which the world comes into existence by being separated into binary pairs. However, while in Gen 1 all the elements of creation are seen as equally “good,” the binary oppositions in Gen 2–3 form hierarchies of value and status. The narrative consistently favors one binary pole over the other, constructing it as more valuable, superior, or morally right. And so male takes precedence over female, divine authority over human freedom, immortality over death, and the easy and harmonious existence in the garden over the harsh and conflicted life outside the garden. The implicit asymmetry of right and wrong pervades the narrative and has over the centuries led to negative evaluations of its central event—the human ascent to the knowledge of good and bad, which happens despite God’s explicit warning and, apparently, against his will. 2 However, for a story whose message has for so long been considered unequivocal, the garden narrative is remarkably ambivalent. At a closer look, each clear opposition or hierarchy appears to be tempered, its contradiction mediated through the use of a middle or “third” category that resists a definite position within a binary structure. 3 Thus, the binarity of man and woman, ʾîš and ʾiššâ, that appears with the institution of gender is undermined by the continuous use of the generic term hāʾādām, which stands at different points for ‘man’ and for ‘human being’. 4 The opposition between life and death, introduced with God’s prohibition 2.  Westermann’s definition of Gen 2–3 as “a primeval narrative of crime and punishment” represents the traditional interpretation of the garden narrative (Westermann, Genesis 1–11, 193; for a presentation of the scholarship on Gen 2–3, see pp. 186–90; Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary, trans. John H. Marks [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1961], 86–102). Wenham develops the same model from the point of view of Christian dogmatics, speaking about the “paradigm of sin” (Genesis 1–15, 90; see also Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17, NICOT [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990], 211–12). 3. Edmund Leach describes the function of a “third category” with respect to binary structures in his essay on Genesis (“Genesis as Myth,” in Genesis as Myth and Other Essays [London: Cape, 1969], 7–24, esp. p. 11). For Leach, the gap between the binary poles of an opposition is bridged by an intermediate or third concept that resists codification; such is the role of anomalous beings in mythology. 4.  It has been widely recognized that hāʾādām is a gender-neutral term that is used collectively for ‘humanity’ and individually for ‘human being’ (Phyllis Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978], 80, 97–98; Carol Meyers, Discovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context [New York: Oxford University Press, 1988], 81–82; idem, Rediscovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context [New York: Oxford University Press, 2013], 70–73; Robert Alter, Genesis [New York: Norton, 1996], 5; David J. A. Clines, “‫אדם‬, the Hebrew for ‘Human, Humanity’: A Response to James Barr,” VT 53 [2003]: 297– 310). In Gen 2–3, however, this generic term refers to the protagonist, who in the course of the narrative evolves from an ungendered human being (2:7–21) to a male character,

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in 2:16–17, is mediated by the idea of mortal life in 3:17–19, which incorporates the notions of both life and death. Similarly, alongside the clear opposition of good and bad, the object of the forbidden knowledge (2:9, 17; 3:5, 22), the narrative uses the term ‘not good’ lōʾ-ṭôb to describe the singular state of the human creature. In a similar way, the distinction between the tree of life and the tree of knowledge is blurred when each one of them is in turn described as the tree “in the middle of the garden” (2:9; 3:3). 5 This underlying ambivalence of the narrative is emphasized by the use of gaps, parallels, and wordplays. At crucial moments, the narrator suppresses information, inviting the reader to fill in the gaps with various hypotheses. What does God intend in issuing the prohibition? How does woman come to know about it? Where is man when she is conversing with the snake? And where is woman when he is leaving the garden? The story generates endless questions, the answers to which can never be comprehensive. 6 At the same time, it constructs complex links between different elements and levels of meaning using parallels and wordplays that guide the reader’s interpretation without offering a definitive closure. A striking example of semantic complexity and openness, achieved through wordplay is the use in Gen 2–3 of the Hebrew words ʿērôm ‘naked’, ʿārûm ‘crafty, wise’, and ʿôr ‘skin’. To begin with, in 2:25, man and his wife are naked (ʿărûmmîm), and in 3:7, once they have eaten from the forbidden tree, they realize that they are naked (ʿêrummîm). The protagonists become aware of their nakedness, helped by the serpent, who is described as ʿārûm ‘wise’ (3:1) and knows God’s secret thoughts (“for God knows that . . . ,” 3:5). The wordplay highlights the ambivalence of the juxtaposed to woman (hāʾādām wəʾištô, 2:25; 3:8, 21). However, as the continued use of the name hāʾādām suggests, the boundaries between the two stages are not definitive and allow a degree of ambiguity in interpreting the identity of the protagonist. The narrator exploits this built-in ambiguity at the end of the narrative, where the term hāʾādām, used on its own, seems to include woman and exclude her simultaneously (3:22, 24), leaving open the question of whether or not she has ever left the garden. 5. David Jobling comments on the uncertainty of binary divisions in Gen 2–3 in The Sense of Biblical Narrative II: Structural Analyses in the Hebrew Bible, JSOTSup 39 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1986), 19. For him, the interpretation of this narrative needs “not only to discover the underlying mythic oppositions, but also to give an account of how and why they have become unclear in the text”. 6. Beverly Stratton demonstrates this in her readerly examination of Gen 2–3 (Out of Eden: Reading, Rhetoric, and Ideology in Genesis 2–3, JSOTSup 208 [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995]). James Charlesworth in a recent study illustrates the ambiguous character of the narrative with an unfinished list of 57 questions (The Good and Evil Snake: How a Universal Symbol Became Christianized, AYBRL [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010], 282–85).

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couple’s transformation: by knowing that they are naked, woman and man become not only like God, who knows good and bad, but also like the serpent, who knows what God knows. This elaborate connection between knowledge and nakedness is echoed at the end of the narrative, when Yahweh Elohim clothes the humans in garments of skins (3:21). The Hebrew term ʿôr ‘skin’, semantically related to ʿērôm ‘naked’, 7 alludes to the connotations of the wordplay ʿērôm/ʿārûm. The skins must have been taken from the animals and therefore, by extension, from the wisest of them—the serpent (ʿôr/ʿārûm). The humans leave the garden covered with the clothes that carry the signs of their nakedness, the serpent’s wisdom, and God’s knowledge of good and bad. A unique stylistic feature of the narrative that contributes to its overall ambiguity is the recurrence of double structures. In Gen 2–3, one finds two names for man (hāʾādām and ʾîš) and two names—and naming ceremonies—for woman (ʾiššâ, 2:23, and ḥawwâ, 3:20), two separate descriptions of hāʾādām’s being put into the garden (2:8, 15), and two accounts of his expulsion (3:23, 24). Furthermore, Gen 2–3 is the only text in Genesis where the narrator consistently presents God with the double name of Yahweh Elohim (20 times). 8 In an otherwise terse narration of Gen 2–3, the technique of double or split presentation adds structural complexity and semantic depth to the characters and events in the story. For the reader, this narrative application of “double vision” signals another departure from fixed meaning and interpretive closure.

The Voices of Yahweh Elohim and the Serpent In the narrative world marked by ambiguity, God’s voice also appears less monolithic. In 2:16–17, Yahweh Elohim addresses his first words to hāʾādām, conveying two mutually exclusive propositions: “You shall certainly eat from any tree in the garden, but from the tree of the knowledge of good and bad you shall not eat, for on the day you eat from it you shall certainly die.” This speech is built on an 7.  Both words come from the root ʿwr, which denotes being laid bare or stripped of outer layers (see BDB 735–36; DCH 6.316–17). 8.  Earlier studies read the double designation “Yahweh Elohim” as resulting from a redactional merging of the J and P sources (see von Rad, Genesis, 77; Westermann, Genesis 1–11, 198). More recently, scholars have seen in it the author’s perception of God as “both Israel’s covenant partner (Yhwh) and the God of all creation (Elohim)” (Tryggve Mettinger, The Eden Narrative: A Literary and Religio-historical Study of Genesis 2–3 [Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007], 14; see also John Day, From Creation to Babel: Studies in Genesis 1–11, LHBOTS 592 [London: Bloomsbury, 2013], 25; Kenneth A. Mathews, Genesis 1–11:26: An Exegetical and Theological Exposition of Holy Scripture, NAC 1A [Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1996], 192–93).

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from any tree in the garden you shall certainly eat (A) sanction all trees

on the day you eat from it (Ā1) you shall certainly die violation one tree

(Ā) from the tree of the knowledge of good and bad you shall not eat prohibition one tree

opposition contradiction implication Figure 1.  Semiotic structure of God’s commandment in Gen 2:16–17.

antithesis between the actions “to eat” and “not to eat,” which could be presented as an incomplete semiotic square (fig. 1). The structure of God’s speech shows a double reversal in which the absolute sanction “you shall certainly eat” (A) is contradicted by the specific prohibition or non-sanction “you shall not eat” (Ā), which is then opposed by its hypothetical violation “on the day you eat” (Ā1). The logic of this double reversal brings the commandment back to its starting point. As a result, violation Ā1 not only echoes sanction A but also appears to be structurally implied in it (see the dashed vertical arrow, fig. 1). A similar relation of implication exists between the respective objects of the action—that is, “any tree in the garden” and the “tree of knowledge.” Eating of all trees presupposes eating of one. In simultaneously implying and denying the prohibited action, God’s communication shows, in the words of Ellen van Wolde, “semantic openness or the possibility for change.” 9 But being semantically open, God’s communication is also semantically selective, drawing attention to one particular meaning, and is, therefore, highly provocative. Based on an internal contradiction, God’s command is also inconsistent with its wider context. The reader already knows that all the trees that God planted are “pleasing to the eye and good to eat” (2:9), and God confirms this by allowing hāʾādām to eat from all the trees in the garden (2:16). Then he sets apart the only tree that is, apparently, not good to eat, because eating from it leads to death (2:17). 9.  Ellen van Wolde, A Semiotic Analysis of Genesis 2–3: A Semiotic Theory and Method of Analysis Applied to the Story of the Garden of Eden (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1989), 137.

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The later narrative, however, seems to refute this idea: in 3:6, woman sees for herself that the tree is “good for food, pleasing to the eyes, and desirable to make one wise.” What God says in 2:17 stands in opposition to the rest of the narrative, which posits that it is good to eat from the tree. Presented simultaneously as “good for food” and “not to be eaten,” the tree of knowledge loses its pragmatic value and becomes a pure sign of prohibition as God’s way of communicating meaning. This sign occupies the center of the narrative: the tree stands, spatially, in the center of the garden (3:3) and, symbolically, at the center of God’s discourse. Yet, along with its structural centrality, the tree also signifies the symbolic boundaries of the garden and points to its finality. In the end, does the garden itself have any purpose other than to produce this tree and, with it, to create the possibility for the human beings to choose and to act? 10 In that case, is the couple’s “disobedience” what God had in mind for them all along? The serpent exploits the provocative ambiguity of God’s communication when he interprets it for the woman in 3:1. Having been introduced as the wisest of God’s creatures, he says, “Indeed! So God has said, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden’!” 11 The serpent uses the exact words of God’s prohibition but makes it appear absolute, extended to all trees. Scholars have discussed at length the subversive character of this speech, describing it as cunning (Phyllis Trible), a “false statement” (Ephraim Speiser), or an “unadulterated distortion” (Victor Hamilton). 12 Walter Moberly has suggested a more nuanced approach. While he admits that the serpent in 3:1 draws an unfavorable picture of God, presenting him as unreasonably restrictive, Moberly also comments on the serpent’s masterly use of God’s language, which makes the accusations of falsehood untenable. The serpent repeats God’s phrase kōl ʿēṣ, meaning either “every tree” or “any tree,” but leaves its meaning open by putting it in a negative sentence. One can therefore 10.  This question is particularly relevant since God’s purpose in planting the garden in 2:8 is never made clear. As Jobling has observed, the existence of the garden is not accountable in terms of creation and interrupts its sequence; the aim of creation, formulated in 2:5 as “a man to till the earth,” can only be fulfilled outside the garden (3:23; The Sense of Biblical Narrative, 22). 11.  Although most modern and ancient translations, including the LXX, render the serpent’s speech as a question, commentators have pointed out that in Hebrew it is more naturally a statement (see Walter L. Moberly, “Did the Serpent Get It Right?” JTS 39 [1988]: 1–27, esp. pp. 5–6; Hamilton, The Book of Genesis, 186 n.1). The present translation reflects John Skinner’s reading of the speech as “a half-interrogative, half-reflective exclamation” [A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis, ICC (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1910], 73). 12.  Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, 109; Ephraim A. Speiser, Genesis, AB 1 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 23; Hamilton, The Book of Genesis, 189.

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from any tree in the garden (A) you shall certainly eat sanction all trees

(A1) you shall not eat from any tree in the garden non-sanction all trees

on the day you eat from it (Ā1) you shall certainly die

(Ā) from the tree of the knowl edge of good and bad you shall not eat prohibition one tree

violation one tree opposition contradiction implication

Figure 2.  Semiotic structure of the discourses of God and the serpent (Gen 2:16–17; 3:1).

read the serpent’s version of the prohibition as “you shall not eat of every tree in the garden,” which stands in accord with God’s putting a restriction on one tree in 2:17. 13 Strictly speaking, the serpent in 3:1 does not contradict God’s command at all; instead, he plays on the contradiction inherent in God’s own discourse and covertly completes its logic. The semiotic square in fig. 2 illustrates the structural connection between the two discourses, whereby the serpent’s voice (A1) completes the antithesis in God’s command (compare with fig. 1). Compared with the subtle play on the words of Yahweh Elohim in 3:1, the serpent contradicts God more directly in 3:4–5, questioning the motives behind his prohibition. Yet even here, the contradiction is moderated, as the apparently conflicting perspectives of God and the serpent seem to overlap. On the one hand, the serpent denies God’s warning that hāʾādām will die on the day he eats of the tree of knowledge (“You will certainly not die!” 3:4; cf. 2:17); on the other hand, he seems to agree with God that eating of the tree of knowledge makes the humans “like God, knowing good and bad” (3:5; cf. 3:22). At different points, the narrative proves either God or the serpent to be accurate. The serpent is correct, since 13. See Moberly, “Did the Serpent Get It Right?” 4–6; James H. Charlesworth corroborates Moberly’s argument, in The Good and Evil Serpent, 291.

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the couple does not die when the two eat of the tree of knowledge, but instead, their eyes are opened (3:5, 7). Yet God is also correct in his death warning, since the knowledge of good and bad brings about the eventual death of hāʾādām, symbolized by his return to dust (2:17; 3:18–19). And finally, the humans experience the knowledge as something different again. For them, ironically, what the serpent promises to be a god-like state turns out to be a realization of their own nakedness (3:7; cf. 3:5). As the narrative unfolds, every statement about the knowledge of good and bad is simultaneously discredited and upheld, subverted and supported through the interplay of differing points of view. While ambiguity pervades all levels of communication, it seems to be originating from God’s initial discourse. The debate between Moberly and James Barr, which is centered on the problem of “a lying God and a truthful serpent,” overlooks the ambiguity inherent in God’s speech. Moberly thus interprets God’s words metaphorically: by saying, “You shall certainly die,” God warns hāʾādām about the “spiritual death” that awaits him when he cuts himself off from God’s presence. 14 Opposing Moberly’s reading, James Barr defends the widespread view that the humans in the story do not die, because God, being merciful, changes his mind or “repents” of his words. 15 Seeking to demonstrate the validity of God’s death warrant in 2:17, both scholars suggest interpretive solutions that find little support in the narrative. In light of the above, a more sympathetic approach to the text would be to attribute the notion of truth or validity, not to any particular character or proposition, but to the narrative communication as a whole. Seen in this way, God, the serpent, and the narrator all participate in creating the complex and dynamic correspondences that together shape the narrative reality. God’s role here is central, not because of his authority and truthfulness, but because he is the one who sets up the parameters of the fundamental ambiguity of the narrative world. 16 14.  Moberly, “Did the Serpent Get It Right?” 9, 18–19; see also idem, “Did the Interpreters Get It Right? Genesis 2–3 Reconsidered,” JTS 59 (2008): 22–40. 15. James Barr, “Is God a Liar? [Genesis 2–3]—and Related Matters,” JTS 57 (2006): 1–22, esp. p. 19; for similar interpretations, see Skinner, Genesis, 67; Johnson Lim, “Did the Scholar(s) Get It Right?” in The One Who Reads May Run: Essays in Honour of Edgar W. Conrad, ed. Roland Boer, Michael Carden, and Julie Kelso (London: T. & T. Clark, 2012), 69–79. 16. Karolien Vermeulen has argued along similar lines, focusing on Yahweh’s speech in 3:15. She views ambiguity as the leading element in the discourses of both the snake and God but, in contrast to the present study, sees the snake as the one who initiates the ambiguous communication, which is then “multiplied” by the divine character (“Eeny Meeny Miny Moe, Who Is the Craftiest to Go?” JHS 10 [2010]: 2–13, esp. p. 12).

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“Let Us Make for Him a Helper”: Closing the Gap The tensions and inconsistencies brought about by the prohibition are left suspended for the whole length of 2:18–25, where the tree of knowledge is not mentioned at all. God’s soliloquy in v. 18 appears to be wholly unrelated to his preceding speech. Here, Yahweh Elohim observes, “It is not good that hāʾādām should be alone” and decides to “make for him a helper corresponding to him.” Scholars generally take this weak transition to indicate the beginning of an entirely new phase of creation, centered on the institution of gender (vv.  18–25). 17 It is possible, however, to see the apparent gap between v. 17 and v. 18 as part of the narrator’s strategy, which leaves God’s plan indeterminable yet at the same time allows room for its reconstruction, a gap that can, in Meir Sternberg’s words, “give rise to a fullness in the reading.” 18 In what follows, I propose a way to fill this gap by reading God’s assessment of hāʾādām in v. 18 in the context of his prohibition of knowledge in v. 17. In order to do so, we need to take a closer look at the formulation of v. 18. Like his prohibition, God’s negative assessment of hāʾādām in v.  18 seems puzzling. Until this point, God’s creative activity has always been triggered by an initial lack (“no shrub,” “no plant,” “no rain,” “no human being,” v. 5) and led to a situation of fulfillment: he plants a garden, watered by the river that flows out of Eden (vv. 8, 10–14), creates a human to till the garden (vv. 7–8, 15), and fills the garden with vegetation (“every tree pleasant to the sight and good for food,” v. 9). In v. 18, for the first time it is not an external condition but God’s own creation that is seen as deficient or “not good,” and this assessment raises a number of questions regarding God’s purpose. If the single state of ungendered hāʾādām is fundamentally deficient, why did God not make the human “male and female” to begin with (cf. 1:27)? And why should human deficiency become apparent at this precise point in the story? The phrase “not good” may imply a lack of expediency with regard to a particular role or function. In this case, what is the role that, in God’s view, the lone human being cannot fulfill? The fact that God seeks to resolve the problem of lone hāʾādām by creating a “helper” seems to indicate that his assessment is pragmatic. Edward Greenstein 17.  Most scholars agree that 2:16–17 and 2:18 belong to different scenes (cf. Terje Stordalen, Echoes of Eden: Genesis 2–3 and Symbolism of the Eden Garden in Biblical Hebrew Literature, CBET 25 [Leuven: Peeters, 2000], 218–20; Jerome T. Walsh, Style and Structure in Biblical Hebrew Narrative [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press: 2001], 21–23; Wenham, Genesis, 50–51; Mettinger gives an overview of the discussion in The Eden Narrative, 16–18). 18. Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading, ISBL (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 230.

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points out that the Hebrew term ləbad ‘alone’ is used in similar contexts in relation to a labor or task that one cannot perform by oneself, without help. 19 For example, in Exod 18:17–18 Jethro says that it is “not good” that Moses should be the sole judge over the Israelites, since the task is too heavy, and he cannot do it by himself (ləbad). Jethro then recommends that Moses appoint officials to help him (Exod 18:21). Similarly, in Num 11:14 and Deut 1:9, 12, Moses says that he cannot carry the burden of his people’s problems by himself (ləbad) and asks the Israelites to choose tribal leaders for themselves. On the basis of these parallels, one could argue that in Gen 2:18a Yahweh Elohim also assesses hāʾādām with regard to a particular task and concludes that he cannot manage it alone. In this case, the required “helper” carries the connotation of sharing the task of the human creature and not of alleviating its loneliness. The use of the word ʿēzer ‘help, helper’ in 2:18 is problematic. In the Hebrew Bible, this term most often has the connotation of divine action that delivers from death or serves as a direct metaphor for God as savior. 20 Taking this meaning further, van Wolde sees ʿēzer as a prerequisite for life. 21 However, in 2:18 these connotations of ʿēzer are not obvious, and neither is its literal meaning of ‘help’. Indeed, what sort of help does hāʾādām require? At the beginning of the narrative, he must till and keep the garden (2:15), and at the end, toil on the ground (3:17–19). In addition, halfway through the story he names the animals (2:19–20). Of all these tasks, hāʾādām is the sole agent, and woman, recognized to be the desired helper, never assists him with his work. 22 What then is the nature of woman’s help? David Clines considers it in the context of the divine mandate to “be fruitful and multiply” (1:28), which man cannot fulfill on his own. 23 In Clines’s view, bearing children is the only “help” expected from woman and the sole purpose of her 19.  Edward L. Greenstein, “God’s Golem: The Creation of Humanity in Genesis 2,” in Creation in Jewish and Christian Tradition, ed. Henning Graf Reventlow and Yair Hoffman (London: Continuum, 2002), 219–39, esp. p. 237. 20.  See Exod 18:4; Deut 33:7, 26, 29; Pss 33:20; 70:5; 115:9–11; 121:2; 124:8; 146:5. Hamilton stresses the connotations of superiority and strength attached to the notion of ʿēzer in the biblical text (The Book of Genesis, 176); for a detailed analysis of the biblical usage of ʿēzer, see Jean-Louis Ska, “ ‘Je vais lui faire un allié qui soit son homologue’ (Gen 2,18): À propos du terme ʿezer—‘aide,’ ” Bib 65 (1984): 233–38, esp. pp. 233–36. 21. Van Wolde, A Semiotic Analysis, 177. 22. Beverly Stratton questions the idea of woman’s implicit agricultural role on narratological grounds. For her, if the narrator infers that woman is to help hāʾādām with tilling the soil, the logical place to introduce her would be following v. 15 and not after the prohibition (Out of Eden, 37). 23.  D. J. A. Clines, What Does Eve Do to Help? and Other Readerly Questions to the Old Testament (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 27–40. Here, Clines concurs with

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creation in Gen 2. If woman’s purpose in the narrative is procreation, then one can understand why God in 3:16 punishes her in her childbearing role, marring it with pain and male domination. Presented from the perspective of 1:28, this understanding of woman’s “help” is also in keeping with the general tendency of biblical authors to construct women as mothers. It is, however, more difficult to find a way in which this meaning of ʿēzer could fit the logic of Gen 2–3, since nothing in it indicates God’s intention to fill the earth (or even the garden) with humans. 24 In addition, the need for procreation does not logically follow from the prohibition of knowledge in 2:17. Though it is in line with the general ideology of the Hebrew Bible, the procreation argument appears extraneous when applied to Gen 2–3 as an independent narrative unit. The difficulty with the interpretation of ʿēzer has led some interpreters to suppress it altogether, using in their translations the word ‘companion’ instead of ‘helper’. 25 In my opinion, however, the semantic connotation of help is crucial for our understanding of woman’s role. For, although woman does not help hāʾādām with any of his jobs, she undoubtedly assists him at another level. The only time that woman takes the initiative and acts is when she eats of the forbidden tree and helps her husband to do the same: “She ate, and she gave also to her husband with her, and he ate” (3:6).  26 This moment is central to the plot, with the sequence “ategave-ate” as its main transformation. From the perspective of the overall narrative, woman’s role is to make sure that both she and hāʾādām eat of the tree of knowledge. If this is what God has in mind in 2:18, then his decision to create a “helper” shows that he intends his prohibition to be broken. Accepting this hypothesis allows one to close a gap between the two apparently unrelated pronouncements of Yahweh Elohim in 2:17–18. Having given the human creature an ambiguous and provoking command, God draws back and Phyllis Bird’s earlier view on woman’s help (Phyllis Bird, “Genesis 1–3 as a Source for a Contemporary Theology of Sexuality,” Ex Auditu 3 [1987]: 31–44, esp. p. 38). 24. See Stratton, Out of Eden, 36. 25. Phyllis Trible and Mieke Bal both opt for the translation ‘companion’, albeit for opposite reasons. Trible rejects the word ‘help’, since for her it presupposes superiority of hāʾādām over the new creature and therefore goes against the idea of equality implied by kənegdô (Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, 88–90). Bal, on her part, suggests that the translation ‘help’ trivializes the meaning of Hebrew ʿēzer, which is associated with divine assistance (Mieke Bal, Lethal Love: Feminist Literary Readings of Biblical Love Stories [Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987], 115). 26.  Here, I disagree with Clines, who states that the only things that woman does in the story is converse with the snake and eat fruit from the forbidden tree (Clines, What Does Eve Do to Help? 34). This observation overlooks the crucial phrase “she gave to her husband with her,” shifting the emphasis away from woman’s mediation.

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takes a look at it, as if to assess its aptitude for knowledge and for decoding the divine double-talk. The result is disappointing: the singular state of hāʾādām is lōʾ-ṭôb, which could be read as “insufficient” or “inadequate,” and therefore, the human requires assistance. It is significant that in 2:18 God speaks to himself, leaving the teleology of his creation hidden from hāʾādām. Excluded from sharing the divine perspective and assessed by God as “not good,” the ungendered human being is placed in a context of suspicion. The figure of the “helper,” on the other hand, from the onset receives a constructive role in Yahweh’s design. Suggested as a remedy to the “non-goodness” of hāʾādām’s state, the presence of the “helper” is implicitly “good,” as is by extension the knowledge that she brings. The inner contradiction of this role is that, despite her crucial importance, woman exists for the sake of hāʾādām, and her narrative presence is subordinated to her task of leading him to the tree. She emerges from the semantic split between ungendered humankind and a gendered man, but this split never becomes definite, and once her task is completed, woman disappears, at least nominally, from the narrative. God does not mention woman when he says that hāʾādām has become like him, “knowing good and bad” (3:22). Likewise, she passes unnoticed when hāʾādām is expelled from the garden (3:23–24). At the closure of the narrative, woman’s identity is subsumed by that of the male protagonist, who has through her become endowed with knowledge.

The Two Plots of Yahweh Elohim The two main interpretive possibilities that arise from the central gap are whether by prohibiting knowledge God seeks to protect the humans or to provoke their disobedience. This, in its turn, determines whether we interpret the main transformation as a fall from grace or as part of the divine design for human beings. But perhaps these possibilities do not need to be mutually exclusive. Could God’s subjectivity be composed of contradictory strands and his intentions be more complex than what either model appears to suggest? If so, what bearing do his conflicting perspectives have on the construction of the characters and events in the rest of the narrative? With a closer look at the structural organization of Gen 2–3, it is possible to identify two distinct narrative strands, governed by Yahweh’s contradictory perspectives. At the most immediate, explicit level, there is a familiar story of creation and fall, highlighted by traditional interpretation. Here, the first human beings disobey God’s order and are consequently banished from the Garden of Eden. This leading narrative strand stems from Yahweh Elohim’s authoritative voice, which in 2:16–17 forbids the human to eat from the tree of knowledge. Knowledge here is

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an anti-value, associated with death, and by prohibiting it, Yahweh Elohim apparently seeks to protect human life. When the human beings break the prohibition, God puts them on trial and administers their punishments. He holds woman responsible for man’s disobedience and punishes her by painful childbirth and male domination. He banishes man from the garden, subjecting him to painful toil and eventual death. With God’s death warning fulfilled and the disobedient human driven away from the tree of life, the leading plot asserts both God’s authority and human fall from grace. At a deeper level, the narrative shows the other, subversive side of God, who orchestrates the human fall, creating all the conditions necessary for the humans to disobey him. By planting the tree of the knowledge of good and bad in the garden, he puts knowledge within human reach. By forbidding the tree of knowledge, he puts it in focus. Looking for a “helper” for hāʾādām, God first makes the animals and, among them, the “wise” serpent who will expose the divine character of knowledge, and then creates woman, who will see this knowledge as desirable and will help hāʾādām gain it. A shadow strand of the narrative emerges, where the knowledge of good and bad, instead of being an anti-value, becomes a value object, a divine quality that God intends for hāʾādām from the beginning. Each of the two plots displays a different set of actors. In the leading plot, the main dramatis personae are Yahweh Elohim and hāʾādām. Both before and after the transgression, hāʾādām’s position vis-à-vis the knowledge remains God’s central concern (2:16–17; 3:11, 17, 22). When the couple hides among the trees, God only looks for hāʾādām, showing no interest either in woman’s whereabouts or in her having eaten of the tree. 27 Similarly, woman is not mentioned in the expulsion scene in 3:22–24. Having entered the garden as hāʾādām, an ungendered human being, the narrative subject also leaves it as hāʾādām—a human, in whose identity gender and difference are concealed. Conversely, the shadow plot of the narrative is centered on woman and the serpent. Here, the serpent rises out of the deeper layers of the narrative, invested with a superior knowledge of its moving forces. Knowing what God knows and revealing it to woman, the serpent brings to the surface the other side of Yahweh Elohim or, in the words of Francis Landy, “a side of God (the tempter; good-andevil) he refuses to recognize.” 28 In this, the serpent functions as God’s Shadow. 27.  Even when God directly interrogates woman in 3:13, his question “What is this that you have done?” seems to refer more to man’s preceding accusation (“The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me from the tree . . . ,” 3:12) than to whether or not she ate of the tree herself. 28. Francis Landy, Paradoxes of Paradise: Identity and Difference in the Song of Song, 2nd ed., Classic Reprints (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix: 2011), 178.

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This subversive connection comes through in the symmetrical composition of the two plots: God’s commandment, addressed to hāʾādām in 2:16–17, is mirrored in the serpent’s interpretation of it, addressed to woman in 3:1, 4–5. But unlike man, a passive recipient of God’s orders, woman in the shadow plot is a thinking, experiencing, and acting subject. She discusses God’s law with the serpent, looks at the tree, and recognizes the desirability of knowledge. She then makes a considered choice, upon which depends the success of God’s hidden plan. On his part, hāʾādām simply adheres or “clings” to her, seeing her as “flesh of his flesh” (2:23). This adherence is necessary for the shadow plot to work so that, once woman has acted, man will inadvertently follow her example (3:6). In this logic, it becomes possible for man to break the prohibition “unconsciously” and for woman to be the sole person responsible for carrying out Yahweh Elohim’s hidden plan. Scholars have long recognized the structural complexity of the garden narrative, presenting it as a combination of various plots or narrative programs. The proposed models often tie different plots to particular segments of the narrative, which can limit the scope of the analysis. 29 David Jobling and Terje Stordalen show a different approach, distinguishing different programs that operate at a deeper level of intention and causality. Jobling thus presents the story as an interplay of two narrative models—“creation and fall” and “a man to till the earth”— which stand in tension with each other. 30 Stordalen, whose interpretation shows a number of parallels with that of Jobling, argues that the narrative connects several plots; the basic plot, according to him, is centered on bringing vegetation to the entire land (2:5; 3:19, 23). 31 Both Jobling and Stordalen recognize the centrality of the narrative program, “a human to till the earth,” to the overall plot of Gen 2–3 but see it as contradicting God’s interests as the owner of the garden. Jobling, for instance, considers the possibility that Yahweh Elohim places hāʾādām in his private garden to stop him from tilling the whole earth. 32 In both cases, the scholars link the ambiguity of the narrative to the problem of God’s intentions—something I have also attempted to do in the present essay—but seem to overlook God’s own 29.  For example, according to George Coats, the narrative rests on two narrative pillars: “paradise gained” (2:8–17) and “paradise lost” (3:1–24; George W. Coats, Genesis, with an Introduction to Narrative Literature, FOTL 1 [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1983], 51). Robert Culley finds here the action sequences of “creation” (2:4b–25) and “fall” (2:16–17; 3:1–19; Robert C. Culley, “Action Sequences in Genesis 2–3,” Semeia 18 [1980]: 25–33, esp. pp. 28–32. 30.  Jobling, The Sense of Biblical Narrative, 20–27. 31. Terje Stordalen, “Man, Soil, Garden: Basic Plot in Genesis 2–3 Reconsidered,” JSOT 53 (1992): 3–25. 32.  Jobling, The Sense of Biblical Narrative, 22.

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ambivalence, interpreting him as the story’s villain. Contrary to Jobling and Stordalen, I argue that God’s primary intention is to provide a human to work the earth, and the garden with the tree of knowledge in the middle is designed to give hāʾādām the competence and complexity necessary for this intention to be realized. 33 In this view, Yahweh Elohim emerges as a complex character who occupies simultaneously the center and the margins of the narrative world. As the central figure, he has absolute power and authority and exercises them through the acts of creating (ʿāśâ, yāṣar) and decreeing (ṣāvâ). In this sense, the God of Gen 2–3 is akin to the transcendent and omnificent creator of Gen 1. On the other hand, the same Yahweh Elohim introduces the seeds of subversion into the world by planting the tree of the knowledge of good and bad alongside the tree of life. The center of the garden, occupied by the two trees, is split from the beginning. Seeing it as the symbolic center that epitomizes God’s own identity, the concepts of Life and Knowledge convey the union of dualities that, at the beginning, only Yahweh Elohim can possess. His knowledge of good and bad constitutes his other side, his Shadow, which is pushed out to the margins and which the subversive voice of the serpent represents. However, it is this suppressed knowledge that guides God’s further creation, resulting in the emergence of the human being who, like God, knows good and bad. By expelling hāʾādām from the garden, God finally provides the earth with a human to till it (3:23), thus fulfilling the ultimate goal of creation, formulated in 2:5. The new world order that comes as a result of the interaction between Yahweh Elohim’s two plots accommodates the dualities of male and female, good and bad, life and knowledge. At the end of the narrative, the human couple assumes both characteristics: hāʾādām becomes like God, who knows good and bad, and woman becomes implicitly like God, as ḥawwâ, the giver of life. The narrative also stresses their respective dissociations from each other’s semiotic “domains”: hāʾādām is structurally separated from the concept of life (his way to the tree of life is barred), while woman is never said to be in possession of knowledge. Each of the two plots tells its own story, complete in itself, with its own system of values, purpose, and outcome. Each plot is a shadow of the other, and because of this the two are inseparably linked. Despite the apparent prominence of the leading plot, which surrounds and contains the “shadow” theme of knowledge, its success depends entirely on the operation of the “other” story. In Sternberg’s definition, such interrelation of two contradictory narrative perspectives leading to a fulfillment 33.  It is in the garden that hāʾādām’s agricultural relationship with the earth is established (3:17–19).

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of the overall program manifests the operation of ambiguity as a principle of literary discourse: Only when each hypothesis performs some definite function, illuminating the elements from its own particular angle, and only when the multifold linkage integrates with the other features of the discourse into an overall complex pattern—only then does ambiguity operate as a distinctive principle of literature. 34 In Gen 2–3, ambiguity is not only a stylistic technique but also a key principle that guides every stage of the narrative. God’s fundamental ambivalence toward human beings unfolds here as two plots that simultaneously oppose and resonate with each other and in the end give rise to a world that integrates contradictory perspectives. In this sense, the structures of “double-plotting” in Gen 2–3 iconically represent the creative and cohesive role that ambiguity plays in the construction of meaning. 34.  Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative, 227–28.

Inclusio in Genesis 28 and 32: Synchronically and Diachronically Urmas Nõmmik University of Tartu

In the following essay, I deliberately oppose synchronic and diachronic ways of performing an analysis of biblical texts. In solid and multifaceted studies, this opposition does not exist and is not meant to. The contrast presented here will only address some methodological questions that arise when one examines ancient Hebrew stylistic features. Diachronic analysis is unanimously understood as the examination of a text that takes into consideration its literary development (Literarkritik, redaction criticism, and so on). Synchronic study can be defined in two ways: as an analysis of the final text, without considering the question of its literary growth (this sometimes goes hand in hand with the claim of the original integrity of the text) or as a study of some interim literary layer of the given text that can also be undertaken in terms of an analysis of its meaning, structure, literary figures, and so on. Without any additional claims, and only for pragmatic reasons, I prefer the first definition for the current study. 1 In synchronic studies, an argument for some structural literary feature is frequently used to support the thesis of the literary integrity of the text under discussion. 2 But, when examples of the same literary feature accumulate and sometimes Author’s note:  The research on which this work is based was supported by the Academy of Finland’s Centre of Excellence “Changes in Sacred Texts and Traditions” (CSTT) hosted by the Faculty of Theology, University of Helsinki, and by an Estonian Science Foundation / Estonian Research Council grant ETF9279.

1.  Consider the important remarks made by Michael Cheney, Dust, Wind and Agony: Character, Speech and Genre in Job, ConBOT 36 (Lund: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1994), 20–23 (note his term “achronic”); and Erhard Blum, “Die Komplexität der Überlieferung: Zur diachronen und synchronen Auslegung von Gen 32,23–33,” DBAT 15 (1980): 2–32, esp. pp. 15 (and n. 83), 25–32; idem, “Noch einmal: Jakobs Traum in Bethel—Genesis 28,10–22,” in Rethinking the Foundations: Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible—Essays in Honour of John Van Seters, ed. Steven L. McKenzie, Thomas Römer, and Hans Heinrich Schmid, BZAW 294 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000), 33–54, 38 n. 13. 2.  Some random examples of other scholars who also address the topic of inclusio are: Pieter A. H. de Boer, “Genesis XXXII 23–32: Some Remarks on Composition and

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even collide in a narrow text space, the question about whether a single author can be proved to have written all this complicated macrostructure is introduced. In order to demonstrate the problem, I will discuss the feature of the inclusio in two prominent examples from the book of Genesis: the Bethel episode in Gen 28 and the Jabbok episode in Gen 32. In these examples, inclusio will be understood as a substantial correlation of textual building blocks that are divided from each other by any other part of the text with altering content. In order to avoid random application of the principle of “substantial correlation” and to put the analysis on a more empirically sound basis, I am setting the use of the same or at least very closely related words and expressions as a precondition for the existence of an inclusio. 3

The Inclusio in Genesis 28:10–29:1 The episode of Jacob’s dream at Bethel is an eminent passage among biblical scholars. It has been dealt with in hundreds of studies; many synchronic and diachronic readings have been suggested. 4 Taking advantage of some of these studies Character of the Story,” in Selected Studies in Old Testament Exegesis, ed. Cornelis van Duin, OTS 27 (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 18–32; Stephen A. Geller, “The Struggle at the Jabbok: The Uses of Enigma in a Biblical Narrative,” JANES 14 (1982): 37–60; Louise Roersma, “The First-Born of Abraham: An Analysis of the Poetic Structure of Gen. 16,” in Verse in Ancient Near Eastern Prose, ed. Johannes C. de Moor and Wilfred G. E. Watson, AOAT 42 (Ke­ velaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1993), 219–41. 3.  See, e.g., how Wilfred G. E. Watson (Classical Hebrew Poetry: A Guide to Its Techniques, JSOTSup 26 [Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984], 282–83) defines inclusio in poetic texts— which he, following Richard G. Moulton (The Literary Study of the Bible [London: Isbister, 1896], 53–54) calls the “envelope figure”—as “the repetition of the same phrase or sentence at the beginning and end of a stanza or poem.” See also Tremper Longman III, “Inclusio,” in Dictionary of the Old Testament: Wisdom, Poetry and Writings, ed. Tremper Longman III and Peter Enns (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2008), 323–25, esp. p. 323; and compare with the critical treatment by Roland Meynet, Rhetorical Analysis: An Introduction to Biblical Rhetoric, JSOTSup 256 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), esp. pp. 214–22, 375–76 on “extreme terms” and “concentrism.” 4.  Some overview of earlier research is provided by Albert de Pury, Promesse divine et légende cultuelle dans le cycle de Jacob: Genèse 28 et les traditions patriarcales, 2 vols., EBib (Paris: Gabalda, 1975), 32–45 n. 5; and for recent discussion, see characteristically John Van Seters, The Pentateuch: A Social-Science Commentary, Trajectories 1 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 30–86. Outstanding analyses are provided by J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art in Genesis: Specimens of Stylistic and Structural Analysis (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1975), 46–81, esp. pp. 70–81; Eckart Otto, “Jakob in Bethel: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Jakobüberlieferung,” ZAW 88 (1976): 165–90, esp. pp. 172–75; Erhard Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte, WMANT 57 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1984),

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and concentrating on the feature of inclusio, we find that some critical aspects surface. One remark must precede the following discussion on the Bethel episode, however: the first verse of ch. 29 will be included in the analysis because it concurs with the itinerary in 28:10. The latter is sometimes understood as an integral part of the episode in vv. 11–22 and sometimes not. But there is no doubt: an inclusio exists in 28:10 and 29:1. To start with the text as it is in Gen 28:10–29:1, the first step is the marking of the repetition of words whose position seems to be strategic. In the interest of comprehensibility, not all repetitions will be marked: for instance, the word ‫אמר‬ ‘to say, think’ occurs four times in our passage (vv. 13, 16, 17, 20) but clearly does not feature in any particular stylistic aspect. Other words are ‫‘ מקום‬place’, which comes up six times in multiple combinations (three times in v. 11 and in vv. 16, 17, 19) 5 and must be discussed later; and the word ‫ אלהים‬in v. 13 which is subordinated to ‫יהוה‬. An additional note will be made of the chronological statements in vv. 11 (“the sun had set”) and 18 (“early in the morning”) because they seem to be deliberate in regard to conceptual inclusios. The text then reads as follows (translation is according to the NRSV but is slightly modified; words and expressions important to our discussion are marked in bold): Jacob left Beer-sheba and went toward Haran. 11He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it at his head and lay down in that place. 12And he dreamed that there was a stairway set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. 13And Yhwh stood on it and said, “I am Yhwh, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; 14and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. 15Know that I am

28:10

9–19, 35; idem, “Noch einmal: Jakobs Traum in Bethel,” 34–44; and Jean-Marie Husser, Le songe et la parole: Étude sur le rêve et sa fonction dans l’ancien Israël, BZAW 210 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994), 99–106. 5.  The word ‫ מקום‬makes the analysis of the inclusios very complicated, especially in regard to vv. 16–17. Sometimes the argument of ‫ המקום הזה‬in only these verses is used to underline their coherence; so Blum, “Noch einmal: Jakobs Traum in Bethel,” 41–43. Other times, the awkwardness of Jacob’s first speech is underlined; so John Van Seters, Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 291. The fact of Jacob’s two—and very short—reactions is and will be the main reason to differentiate them, synchronically as well as diachronically.

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Urmas Nõmmik with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” 16Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely Yhwh is in this place—and I did not know it!” 17And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” 18So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put at his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. 19He called that place Bethel; but the name of the city was Luz at the first. 20Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, 21so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then Yhwh shall be my God, 22and this stone, which I have set up for a pillar, shall be God’s house; and of all that you give me I will surely give one-tenth to you.” 29:1Then Jacob went on his journey, and came to the land of the people of the east.

In order to visualize better the parts of the text that are coordinated and appear to be inclusios, we will find it useful to parse the passage into segments. Several inclusios become clear (bold italic, italic, bold, and underlined fonts are used in order to mark repetitions belonging to different levels of inclusio). Jacob left Beer-sheba and went toward Haran. He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it at his head and lay down in that place. C 12And he dreamed that there was a stairway set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. D 13And Yhwh stood on it and said, E “I am Yhwh, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; 14 and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. 15Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” D′ 16Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely Yhwh is in this place—and I did not know it!” C′ 17And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” A B

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B′ 18So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put at his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. 19 He called that place Bethel; but the name of the city was Luz at the first. – 20Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, 21so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then Yhwh shall be my God, 22and this stone, which I have set up for a pillar, shall be God’s house; and of all that you give me I will surely give one-tenth to you.” A′ 29:1Then Jacob went on his journey, and came to the land of the people of the east. With variations here and there, this same structure has often been observed. 6 The text in its received form centers on Yhwh’s speech in vv. 13b–15 (level E), framed by the short introduction of Yhwh in v. 13a (D) and Jacob’s declaration of Yhwh’s presence in v. 16 (D′). The key word in the D-frame logically is ‫יהוה‬. The next inclusio, around D Yhwh, is built on the one hand, of Jacob’s dream vision of the stairway reaching to heaven and the angels of God on it in v. 12 (C) and, on the other hand, of Jacob’s declaration of the numinousness of the locality and its character as the house of God and the gate of heaven in v. 17 (C′). In contrast to the aforementioned inclusio (D, Yhwh), the key word here is ‫אלהים‬. Emphasis is also placed on the vertical dimension marked twice by ‫‘ שׁמים‬heaven’. An additional inclusio regards the sacred stone that, at the beginning, in v. 11, is just one stone among others (B), and later, in v. 18, becomes meaningful because the protagonist sets it up as a pillar (B′). A whole set of words from v. 11 is repeated in v. 18: ‫‘ ויקח‬then he took’; ‫‘ אבן‬stone’; and ‫ שׂים‬+ ‫‘ מראשׁתיו‬to put, to set up’ + ‘under his head’. As remarked above, the chronological information concerning the sunset in the beginning (v. 11) and the early morning at the end (v. 18) is clearly synchronized and belongs both to inclusio B and to the basics of the whole narrative. The text offers one other, ultimate inclusio since the itineraries in 28:10 and 29:1 bring Jacob to Bethel and afterward away. As soon as the Bethel episode, 6.  Depending on which parts of the text are more stressed in the analysis and which parts are evaluated as secondary from the very beginning, scholars sometimes find the center of the text in different verses. For example, Husser takes “then Jacob woke up from his sleep” in v. 16 as the center of the composition (Le songe et la parole, 100–103), whereas Blum sees Yhwh’s monologue in vv. 13b–15 as the focus (“Noch einmal: Jakobs Traum in Bethel,” 34–37). Otto understands the recognition of the holiness of the place in vv. 12 and 17 as central, according to his Elohistic layer (“Jakob in Bethel,” 172–75).

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once probably an independent text, was connected to the cycle of Jacob’s stories, it needed a frame of itineraries. The logical key words are the name ‫ יעקב‬and the verb ‫‘ וילך‬then he went’. So far, several key words already mentioned have been ignored in regard to Jacob’s vow in vv. 20–22. This was intentional: it is important to emphasize that these verses are not part of the composition that consists of several inclusios. They appear to be an extra part between the second halves of the B- and A-frames. The vow synthesizes many key words: the name ‫ יהוה‬and the notion ‫אלהים‬, as well as the sacred stone ‫ אבן‬and the verbs ‫ שׂים‬and ‫הלך‬. If one wishes to analyze our passage only on the level of the final text, the problem of the extra section can be solved by completely ignoring the A-frame and not considering it part of the essential sections of the episode (28:11–19). Thus, Jacob’s vow could be in the form of a summary and conclusion about his stay at Bethel and especially about Yhwh’s monologue in vv. 13b–15. 7 One additional remark should be made regarding the etiology of Bethel. In v. 19a (B′), the phrase ‫‘ בית־אל‬Bethel’, ‘house of El’ seems to be related to Jacob’s declaration about God’s house, ‫‘ בית אלהים‬house of Elohim’ in v. 17 (C′) but is separated from it by v. 18 (D′). The problem can be reduced to a substantial question: was ‫‘ בית־אל‬Bethel’ originally related to the place because of its direct link to God’s dwelling place in heaven, or was the sanctuary originally placed in Bethel because the stone itself was the ‘house of the god El’? For religious-historical reasons, many suggest the latter solution. 8 The beauty of the example of the Bethel episode unveils itself in several diachronic analyses. In general, there have been two alternative models of the emergence of the text. The older model combines the Yahwistic and Elohistic source texts, 9 and the newer postulates the literary growth of the one and only originally independent story. The first model was popular during the reign of the Documentary Hypothesis, and the second seems to dominate nowadays, at least in German 7.  Fokkelman underlines the link between vv. 20–22 and 15 (Narrative Art in Genesis, 74; see also de Pury, Promesse divine et légende cultuelle dans le cycle de Jacob, 434–46), but one must compare John Van Seters, “Divine Encounter at Bethel (Gen 28,10–22) in Recent Literary-Critical Study of Genesis,” ZAW 110 (1998): 503–13, esp. pp. 506–9. 8.  E.g., Manfred Hutter, “Kultstelen und Baityloi: Die Ausstrahlung eines syrischen religiösen Phänomens nach Kleinasien und Israel,” in Religionsgeschichtliche Beziehungen zwischen Kleinasien, Nordsyrien und dem Alten Testament, ed. Bernd Janowski, Klaus Koch, and Gernot Wilhelm, OBO 129 (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 1993), 87–108, 100–103. 9.  On earlier scholarly discussion, see once more the sources cited in n. 5. The Yahwistic layer has mainly been found in vv. 13–16 and 19, and the Elohistic layer in vv. 11–12, 17–18, and 20–22.

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and related scholarship. The second model is particularly interesting for us because, when we ask whether something has been added during the literary history of the text, the mystery starts to unfold precisely along the pattern-lines of inclusios. Diachronically, it is fundamental to observe that the episode also functions without Yhwh’s speech in vv. 13b–15; it even functions without the D-inclusio— that is, without the Yhwh-inclusio (vv. 13a + 16). Those who maintain that the text originally existed independently, of course, also postulate the secondary character of the A-frame together with its itineraries.  10 But it does not preserve Jacob’s vow in vv. 20–22 as part of the oldest textual layer. It goes without saying that Jacob’s vow has been recognized by many as an addition. 11 The story that remains appears to be a small episode, with Jacob (his mention in the exposition of the story is probably lost 12) staying for a night at a certain place, dreaming about the stairway to heaven with God’s messengers on it, declaring the numinousness of the place in the morning, setting up a maṣṣēbâ, and calling the place Bethel. Hence, diachronically, the oldest layer of the text looks like the following: B

He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it at his head and lay down in that place. C 12And he dreamed that there was a stairway set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. C′ 17And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” B′ 18So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put at his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. 19a He called that place Bethel. 11

Two inclusios, the B- and C-frame are still there and belong to the earliest stratum in the text. The stratum is marked by an additional wordplay: the extra occurrence 10.  For example, Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte, 35 passim; but compare Christoph Levin, Der Jahwist, FRLANT 157 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 217–18. 11.  Jacob’s vow is a later addition according to Otto, “Jakob in Bethel,” 173–74; Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36: A Commentary, trans. John J. Scullion (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1985), 453, 458; Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte, 18–19; Levin, Der Jahwist, 218–19; Husser, Le songe et la parole, 103–4; Van Seters, “Divine Encounter at Bethel,” 506–8; to name just a few. 12.  Levin, Der Jahwist, 217.

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of the word ‫ ראשׁ‬in vv. 11, 12, and 18, meaning Jacob’s ‘head’ and the ‘top’ of both the stone and the stairway, tightly integrates the B- and C-inclusio. There is a supplementary close relationship between the stairway ‘set up’ (‫ )מֻּצָב‬on the earth in v. 12 and the ‘pillar’ (‫ )מצבה‬in v. 18. 13 This is evidence that the maṣṣēbâ was understood as a connecting point between the stairway to heaven in Jacob’s dream and the place itself, which is why it was the primary object in the earlier layers of Gen 28. The significance of the maṣṣēbâ is strongly supported by the motif and religious-historical parallels that underline cultic stones as belonging to the central objects in Levantine sanctuaries. 14 And last but not least, the phenomenon of the word ‫ מקום‬can now be discussed. The word has been used to emphasize the distinct place where Jacob had his dream and where he set up the pillar. It is distinct from the very beginning in v. 11 because, at least according to the Masoretic vocalization, it is determined already at its first appearance. Once more underlined through adding ‫ ההוא‬to it in vv. 11 and 19, it helps to tie the C-frame together. But the word also occurs in v. 17 (due to the direct speech distinguished by the predicate ‫ )הזה‬and bravely accompanies the words ‫ ראשׁ‬and the root ‫ נצב‬in connecting the B- and C-frames. 15 Hence, the B- and C-frames are interwoven to a great extent. Even the scholars who have posited two literary sources cannot escape the presence of an inclusio in this text. The assumed Elohistic layer functions better than the assumed Yahwistic layer and would diachronically clearly be the primary source or layer. To sum up: a synchronic reading enables us to understand the inclusios in a hierarchical way as focusing on Yhwh and Jacob’s relation to Yhwh. Jacob’s journey leads him to a certain place with a stone (which later will be a maṣṣēbâ) via a meaningful dream that shows divine presence. The divine appearance is emphasized by specifying that it occurs through Yhwh. The diachronic reading ends at a short original text with one inclusio (B + B′) depicting Jacob’s dream and his subsequent declaration. Thus, the middle part of the text (C + C′) can also be analyzed in terms of an inclusio because it is characterized by the chiastic use of the words ‫ שׁמים‬and ‫אלהים‬. One or two layers (D-inclusio together with Yhwh’s monologue E, the A-frame, Jacob’s vow) and some glosses were added later, with the result being that only the author of Jacob’s vow includes no inclusio. The problem noted here means that, although on the level of the final text it is possible to explain the complex structure of the story through a certain hierarchy 13.  Concisely described by Husser, Le songe et la parole, 104–5. 14.  See, once more, Hutter, “Kultstelen und Baityloi.” 15.  Note also the opposition of ‫ וישׁכב‬and ‫ וישׁכם‬in vv. 11 and 18 (B-frame), as observed by Otto, “Jakob in Bethel,” 173; Husser, Le songe et la parole, 102; and others.

Inclusio in Genesis 28 and 32

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of its components, the extra words regarding Jacob’s vow and the accumulation of too many inclusios call for some kind of diachronic solution. 16

The Inclusio in Genesis 32:22–33 The other episode among the Jacob stories that has been analyzed in a multitude of studies is the episode of Jacob’s combat at Jabbok. 17 Following the principles already applied above, the repetition of words that is used in creating inclusios will also be marked in Gen 32:22–33. One word, the verb ‫‘ עבר‬to cross, pass’ will not be considered since it appears five times (vv. 22–24, 32) and does not create meaningful inclusios on the synchronic level. But, as in the Bethel episode, attention must be paid to the chronological data in vv. 25 and 32, which also make the case more complex than the previous example. The text reads as follows (the translation is according to NRSV and is slightly modified; the words and expressions of importance to our discussion are marked in bold; note that the versification is different in the NRSV: Gen 32:21–32): So the present passed on ahead of him (Jacob); and he himself spent that night in the camp. 23The same night he got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. 24He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. 25Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. 26When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched 18 his hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. 27Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” 28 So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” 29Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” 30Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. 31So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is 22

16.  Note the difficulties that scholars often have with vv. 16–17: e.g., Husser, Le songe et la parole, 102–3, 109–16. 17.  For us, the most interesting studies to compare are John L. McKenzie, “Jacob at Peniel: Gn 32,24–32,” CBQ 25 (1963): 71–76; Fokkelman, Narrative Art in Genesis, 208–23; Blum, “Die Komplexität der Überlieferung”; Geller, “The Struggle at the Jabbok”; Peter Weimar, “Beobachtungen zur Analyse von Gen 32,23–33,” BN 49 (1989): 53–81; 50 (1989): 58–94; and Martin Arneth, “Der Gotteskämpfer am Jabbok,” ZABR 14 (2008): 350–64. 18.  Note the change from the common translation, ‘hit/struck’, and see the explanation below.

192

Urmas Nõmmik preserved.” 32Then the sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip. 33Therefore to this day the Israelites do not eat the thigh muscle that is on the hip socket, because he struck Jacob on the hip socket at the thigh muscle.

After parsing the text into respective segments in line with the repeated vocabulary, we can see that there are multiple coordinated units. In contrast to the previous example, the result is more complex, and besides the capital letters A–D, numbers also must be used. Several inclusios become evident (bold italic, italic, bold, and underlined fonts are used to mark repetitions that belong to different levels of inclusios): B3 22So the present passed on ahead of him; and he himself spent that night in the camp. 23The same night he got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. 24He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. B2 25Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. A 26When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. B1 27Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” C But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” D 28So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” 29Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” 30Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” C′ And there he blessed him. – 31So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” B1′ 32Then the sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, A′ limping because of his hip. 33Therefore to this day the Israelites do not eat the thigh muscle that is on the hip socket, because he struck Jacob on the hip socket at the thigh muscle. The etiology of Israel—that is, the change of Jacob’s name—explicitly appears in the center of the text (D). 19 It is framed by Jacob’s appeal for blessing (C) and re19.  Note that, if the explanation of Israel’s name is taken as a poetic bicolon (see Robert Coote, “The Meaning of the Name Israel,” HTR 65 [1972]: 137–42, esp. p. 137), then the

Inclusio in Genesis 28 and 32

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ceiving it (C′). The daybreak (B1) and the actual sunrise (B1′) constitute another inclusio. This is once more framed by the turning point of the combat through touching or hitting Jacob’s hip, on the one hand (A), and the result of it—Jacob limping because of his hip, and a subsequent food taboo—on the other hand (A′). 20 Three difficulties arise. The first concerns the chronological specifications that occur five times in this rather short text. Only two of them seem to form an inclusio—that is, vv. 27 and 32a (B1 and B1′). In terms of synchronic analysis, the additional references to the night and the daybreak in vv. 22, 23 (B3), and 25 (B2) should be understood as part of the episode’s exposition for the purpose of providing essential background knowledge for the rest of the narrative. At the same time, the dramatic moment in v. 27 is specifically underlined; two chronological steps, the night and the daybreak, prepare for the climax of Jacob’s dominance during the struggle. From the synchronic point of view, it is additionally possible to interpret vv. 25 (B2) and 27 (B1) as forming an inclusio around v. 26 (A). This would mean that we must deal with a double model of inclusios: the second, larger inclusio (B1–B1′) has Jacob’s renaming as its focus (D); the first, smaller inclusio (B2–B1) concentrates on the struggle motif (A); and thus prepares the way for the larger inclusio, the etiology of Israel. The initial verses (B3) must be understood as an overall exposition. We encounter the second problem in vv. 26 and 32b–33. Even though the struggle and the touching of Jacob’s hip (A) and the formulation of the food taboo (A′) are congruent and nicely surround the inclusio of B1–B1′, the A-inclusio robs the Israel-etiology (D) of its weight. Although related through the wrestling as a starting point, Jacob’s renaming and the food taboo simply have totally different outcomes. It would be principally possible to interpret our text through the glasses of two inclusios that address these different outcomes (B1 and A), but a certain effect of double vision must be admitted. The third difficulty is related to the etiology of Peniel in v. 31, which does not fit the framework of inclusios at all; indeed, the verb ‫‘ ראה‬to see’ binds vv. 26 and 31 together, but the context is not substantial enough to form an inclusio. Verse 31 only grows out of the etiology of Israel in v. 29, and out of the direct confrontation with the antagonist in v. 26 and the ford of the Jabbok named in v. 23. Hence, a synchronic exegesis of the whole story is somehow possible, despite the fact that the narrative in its received form has three aims—that is, three etiologies—namely, of Israel, of Penuel, and of the food taboo. Two of them—the concentric structure will be even deeper, and the D-text should be parsed into the poetic bicolon in the middle and the prose frame around it. 20.  See especially Geller, “The Struggle at the Jabbok,” 40–41.

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etiology of Israel and of the food taboo—are more or less in accordance with the framework of inclusios, although they make noticeably different use of the struggle as a point of departure. The Penuel etiology has its raison d’être in several details of the story but is displaced and does not make use of any substantial word repetitions. Several observations made above provide grounds for suspecting more than one literary layer. One likely design of the oldest layer together with some changes in translation looks like this: 21 B(3+2)  . . . 23The same night he got up . . . , and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. . . . 25. . . and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. (A+B1+C+C′)  26Then the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob. When he touched his hip socket, . . . 27he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” . . . 30. . . And there he blessed him. . . . B(1)′  32Then the sun rose upon him . . . In this reconstruction, the etymology of Israel does not belong to the earliest literary layer but probably constitutes the earliest extrapolation of the passage. 22 This means: the issue of blessing was once at the heart of the earliest layer, and it was retained in two sentences: Jacob’s appeal for blessing and its implementation (C+C′). This was preceded by a short description of the combat where, in contrast to the received text, Jacob prevailed and touched the hip of his antagonist—without v. 26b, as we presupposed in the above reconstruction, the remaining half of v. 26 and the beginning of v. 27 (‫ )וירא כי לא יכל לו ויגע בכף־ירכו ויאמר‬can be interpreted as underlining Jacob’s dominance. In this earliest stratum, there was also an inclusio about the daybreak and sunrise (B1+B1′), but its first half included, in a very small text space, three references to the nighttime and the daybreak (rest of B3+B2). The second mention of the daybreak in v. 27 now organically belongs to the depiction of the wrestling (v. 26 in its earlier form) and marks the ultimate 21.  Unfortunately, there is not enough space to substantiate the following reconstruction, but, in addition to those cited in n. 17, one can compare exemplary studies, such as Eckart Otto, Jakob in Sichem: Überlieferungsgeschichtliche, archäologische und territorial­ geschichtliche Studien zur Entstehungsgeschichte Israels, BWANT 110 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1979), 40–47; Levin, Der Jahwist, 250–54. 22.  Among those considering the Israel-etiology as the earliest addition to the oldest layer are Ludwig Schmidt, “Der Kampf Jakobs am Jabbok (Gen. 32,23–33),” ThViat 14 (1977–78): 125–43, esp. pp. 127 and 132; Levin, Der Jahwist, 250–51; Reinhard G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, trans. John Bowden (London: T. & T. Clark, 2005), 268–69, 274; cf. also Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 518.

Inclusio in Genesis 28 and 32

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turn (B1). Furthermore, it can be seen that, originally, the touching of the hip had some other function besides causing Jacob’s limping and the food taboo. The ancient Near Eastern iconography of wrestling suggests that the seizing of the belt or at least the hip was needed to overpower the opponent, mostly in order to lift him up. 23 As already mentioned above, it is very likely that in the earliest version of Gen 32, it was Jacob who touched the hip of the unknown man, and not vice versa. 24 This was meant to indicate to the listeners that the opponent had been overpowered. In line with these arguments, the wording of the above translation has been changed. Against the popular belief among scholars that, in the beginning, the wrestling episode may have been a local etymological legend explaining the name Penuel, 25 an alternative focal point can be considered. It was the actions—the victorious wrestling match and blessing of the legendary proponent—that, by analogy to many other legendary heroes in the ancient Near East, such as Gilgamesh, helped to identify Jacob as the legendary forefather of Israel. In the course of time, the Israel etiology was added, and then the Penuel etiology. Not until this point did the need to harmonize the text with the theological premises of later times emerge. Hence, the problem of Jacob’s surviving a close contact with a divine being, perhaps even God, as it was earlier maintained by the layer of Israel etiology, was to be explained or downplayed. As a result, the meaning of the episode was reduced to the explanation of the food taboo—Jacob’s person was desacralized. 26 The emergence of several inclusios in our text was a complex process: after adding the etymology of Israel (D), the first redactor of the text took advantage of the B-inclusio and reorganized it into a text with two inclusios (parts of B3, B2, B1+B1′ and C+C′, with D between them). One of the last editors created the A-inclusio through changes and extrapolations in vv. 26 and 32–33. One of the interim redactors, who added the Penuel etiology, did not regard the feature of the inclusio as being relevant enough. In addition to our previous example of the Bethel episode, the current example marks the problem of too many inclusios that do not form a hierarchy and 23.  See Joseph Azize, “Wrestling As a Symbol for Maintaining the Order of Nature in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JANER 2 (2002): 1–26, esp. pp. 7–10; and Robert Rollinger, “As­pekte des Sports im Alten Sumer: Sportliche Betätigung und Herrschaftsideologie im Wechselspiel,” Nikephoros 7 (1994): 7–64, esp. pp. 8–13. 24.  See Hermann Gunkel, Genesis, trans. Mark E. Biddle (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 349, 353; and compare Schmidt, “Der Kampf Jakobs am Jabbok,” 126–27. 25.  Particularly since Gunkel, Genesis, 347–53. 26.  See especially Levin, Der Jahwist, 254; Husser, Le songe et la parole, 116–25; compare Weimar, “Beobachtungen zur Analyse von Gen 32,23–33,” 49–55.

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create the effect of double vision. The text, in spite of one of its interim literaryhistorical shapes which focuses on the name Israel, has in its received form three focal points, some of which are more or less supported by inclusios (Israel, the food taboo) and some of which are not (Penuel).

Concluding Reflections Of course, one can ask whether this kind of literary- and redaction-historical reconstruction is substantial enough to allow us to formulate the problems in the way we did. But my concern is small, very complex texts that have classically been subject to synchronic and, equally, complex analyses. The literary history of the texts can be solved in one way or another, but in the case of these two examples we have seen that the synchronic analysis of obvious multiple inclusios does not give a simple answer to all irregularities. The textual “extras” of Jacob’s vow in Gen 28 or the Penuel etiology or even the food taboo in Gen 32 or several other smaller glosses do not fit the framework of inclusios and demand an additional explanation. Such an explanation is possible but makes the exegesis once more very complex. In other words, the literary unity of the text can be maintained, albeit with considerable exegetical effort. On the other hand, different diachronic analyses lack enough certitude. In addition to the above reconstructions, there are others that cannot be discussed here. My own research has convinced me, however, that the study of the motif history of ancient Near Eastern texts and iconography in their background is in many cases of considerable help in enlightening the complexity of those texts. Only in this way does it result in observations such as that about the word ‫ נגע‬in Gen 32:26, which in the received text must be translated ‘to hit’ but in earlier layers probably had a normal connotation of ‘touching’. Thus, together with the moment of daybreak, the word ‫ נגע‬once played a role in the dramatic turn of the narrative and nothing more, whereas later, it laid the groundwork for the food taboo. The other example we mentioned was the phenomenon of the maṣṣēbâ that in the earlier layers of Gen 28 stood in the foreground. Here, a brief analysis of inclusios already hinted at this implication, but the significance of the maṣṣēbâ is particularly supported by the motif and religious-historical parallels. In other words, one or another literary-historical reconstruction presupposes a substantial tradition-historical study of parallels. But it also presupposes form-critical analysis that incorporates the study of inclusios—a feature most likely prominent already in monarchic times but particularly well attested later. That those texts are a production of a multitude of scribal hands is still certain. The very fact that even the small texts have grown immensely through time brings us to the final reflection. A diachronic overview of ancient Hebrew literary

Inclusio in Genesis 28 and 32

197

features is a significant desideratum. The feature of inclusio is certainly a good example. Many synchronic and also diachronic studies of the last decades, such as those of Yitzhak Avishur, Jan P. Fokkelman, Luis Alonso Schökel, Wilfred G. E. Watson, and many others have given a convincing impression of the extent of literary features; and in the case of an inclusio, also the extent of its programmatic value. 27 But a substantial history of literary features would be of great help for the next generation of form- and literary-critical studies, even though it would indisputably be a complex undertaking. Let us mention one development in the history of ancient Hebrew literature that reveals itself in the examples given in this article. In numerous cases, in prose as well as in poetry, there is a strong indication that some interim literary layers of the given texts, such as we had in the case of the Bethel and Jabbok episodes, included some sort of programmatic structure. This does not mean that the oldest layer already had the structure, but some of its advanced shapes did. However, some later additions put the older structures out of balance. For the authors of certain literary layers, the criteria of form and content were equally relevant, whereas for some other authors (especially in later times), form clearly gives way to content. Both the Bethel episode and the Jabbok episode have the noticeable “extras” of Jacob’s vow and the Penuel etiology (and also food taboo) at the end. Both extras ignore the earlier or interim balanced—even though miniature—framework of inclusios. The authors of both additions have changed the theological aims of the texts, trying to grab attention by means of positioning them at the end as summaries. In the case of the Jabbok episode, we can even claim that the battle between several successive etiologies and hence focal points of the text was won by one of the last editors, who added the food taboo. To sum up, a study of biblical texts is a complex matter, and not all aspects could be addressed in this brief reflection. But some observations emerging from other methods than form criticism did hopefully shed light on the challenges and opportunities that the study of literary features currently has and will have. It particularly concerns the important diachronic observation that, in ancient Hebrew literature, there was a shift from the balance between the criteria of form and content toward the domination of (theological) content over formal principles of scribal creation in its youngest layers. Eventually, the careful analysis of a literary feature, such as an inclusio, provides us with a hint about these diachronic shifts. 27.  In addition to the sources mentioned in nn. 2 and 3, see Yitzhak Avishur, Stylistic Studies of Word-Pairs in Biblical and Ancient Semitic Literatures, AOAT 210 (Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1984); idem, Studies in Biblical Narrative: Style, Structure, and the Ancient Near Eastern Literary Background (Tel Aviv: Archaeological Center, 1999); Luis Alonso Schökel, A Manual of Hebrew Poetics, SubBi 11 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1988).

Index of Ancient and Modern Authors Aitken, J. K.  113 Albeck, C.  135 Albertz, R.  104, 105, 106, 108 Alexander, T. D.  28, 130 Allen, J. P.  82 Alonso Schökel, L.  197 Alter, R.  1, 2, 3, 9, 44, 45, 51, 52, 92, 119, 120, 150, 168 Amit, Y.  2, 73, 76, 77 Andersen, F. I.  81 Anderson, J. E.  12, 13, 14 Anderson, J. S.  113, 117 Arneth, M.  191 Arnold, B. T.  115, 117, 124 Assis, E.  79 Avishur, Y.  197 Azize, J.  195 Bal, M.  177 Balentine, S.  13 Bandia, P. F.  59 Bandstra, B.  156 Bar-Efrat, S.  9 Barr, J.  174 Bauks, M.  4, 5, 100, 101, 102, 104, 105, 106, 107, 111 Bechtel, L. M.  104, 108 Begrich, J.  31 Bell, A.  63 Ben-Dov, J.  117 Ben-Ḥayyim, Z.  93 Benjamin, M. H.  3 Benyamini, I.  131 Berlin, A.  3, 67, 75 Berman, J.  52, 53 Beuken, W. A. M.  19 Bird, P.  177 Blank, S. H.  120, 123

Blau, J.  82 Blum, E.  99, 104, 183, 184, 185, 187, 189, 191 Boadt, L.  79 Boer, P. A. H. de  183 Brichto, H. C.  120, 123, 125 Bridge, E. J.  13, 14 Britt, B.  117 Brown, J. P.  83, 84 Brueggemann, W.  44, 53 Buber, M.  2 Carr, D. M.  60, 134 Casson, L.  83 Cassuto, U.  94, 132, 134, 135 Charlesworth, J.  169, 173 Chavel, C. B.  137 Cheney, M.  183 Clines, D. J. A.  168, 176, 177 Coats, G. W.  180 Cogan, M.  14 Cohen, H. R. (Chaim)  84 Cohn, R. L.  21, 24 Collins, C. J.  33 Collins, J. J.  110 Coogan, M. D.  156 Coote, R.  192 Cotter, D.  35, 36 Coupland, N.  63 Culley, R. C.  58, 180 Daniel, S.  36 Davidson, R.  94 Day, J.  118, 126, 170 Deem, A.  23 Defoe, D.  93 Delabastita, D.  119 Delitzsch, F.  33

199

200

Index of Ancient and Modern Authors

Deurloo, K. A.  130, 133 Diewert, D. A.  49 Dillmann, A.  28 Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W.  120 Doyle, B.  17 Dozeman, T. B.  35 Driver, G. R.  85 Dryden, J.  93 Eisen, U. E.  105 Emerton, J. A.  130, 132, 133, 134, 139 Fabb, N.  61, 62 Fauconnier, G.  164 Faulkner, R. O.  82 Feldmeier, R.  109 Fewell, D. N.  67 Finnegan, R.  59 Fischer, G.  43, 51 Fishbane, M.  12, 14, 100 Fleishman, J.  29, 34 Fokkelman, J. P.  12, 19, 22, 184, 188, 191, 197 Fowler, R. M.  60 Fredricks, C. J.  114, 116, 120, 122, 126, 127 Freedman, D. N.  81 Freud, S.  36 Frisch, A.  11 Frost, R.  159, 164 Garsiel, M.  18, 81 Geller, S. A.  184, 191, 193 Gennep, A. van  36 George, A. R.  102 Gerstenberger, E.  105, 107 Ghesquiere, R.  119 Gitay, Y.  133 Gordon, C.  33 Gordon, C. H.  129, 130 Gorp, H. van  119 Green, B.  44, 46, 50, 51, 54 Greenspahn, F. E.  82 Greenstein, E. L.  70, 79, 175, 176 Grossfeld, B.  135

Grossman, J.  4, 35, 36 Gunkel, H.  31, 44, 52, 58, 59, 129, 133, 138, 167, 195 Gunn, D. M.  19, 67 Hall, R. G.  31 Halvarson-Taylor, M. A.  2 Hamilton, M. W.  10, 14 Hamilton, V. P.  33, 34, 35, 130, 168, 172, 176 Hawk, L. D.  129 Hayes, E.  1, 5 Hempel, J.  114 Hieke, T.  105, 107 Hildebrandt, S.  4 Hillers, D. R.  120 Hodge, C. T.  82 Humphreys, W. L.  40 Husser, J.-M.  185, 187, 189, 190, 191, 195 Hutter, M.  188, 190 Hyman, R. T.  47, 48 Ibn Ezra  12, 16 Jacob, B.  46, 94 Jacobson, R. A.  39 Jakobson, R.  62 Jeffries, L.  2 Jobling, D.  169, 172, 180, 181 Josephus 131 Joüon, P.  101 Jousse, M.  59 Kadari, M. Z.  9 Kawashima, R.  3 Keel, O.  156 Key, A. F.  132 Kilian, R.  28 Kimḥi, D.  17, 20 Kitz, A. M.  113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, 122, 123, 124, 125, 127 Koenen, K.  105 Kratz, R. G.  194 Krispenz, J.  101, 102 Krüger, T.  108

Index of Ancient and Modern Authors Kugel, J.  3 Landy, F.  179 Lane, E. W.  87 Lane-Mercier, G.  4, 40, 41, 42, 56 Lanfer, P. T.  109, 110 Lasine, S.  16 Leach, E.  168 Leibowitz, N.  53 Levenson, J. D.  28, 155, 156, 163 Levin, C.  189, 194, 195 Levine, N.  121 Lewy, J.  132 Lim, J.  174 Lincoln, A.  80 Littau, K.  61 Longacre, R.  39, 149 Longman, T., III  184 Lord, A. B.  59 Lyke, L. L.  37 Lyons, J.  103, 104 Makutoane, T. J.  60 Marcus, D.  23 Marks, J. H.  163 Mathews, K. A.  28, 29, 31, 130, 133, 136, 170 Matskevich, K.  5, 167 Matthews, V.  10 Mauss, M.  10 McCarter, P. K.  22 McCreesh, T. P.  79 McCrory, J. H., Jr.  115, 117, 125 McIntyre, D.  2 McKenzie, J. L.  191 Meier, C. M.  105 Mettinger, T.  170, 175 Meyers, C.  168 Meynet, R.  184 Michel, A.  101 Michel, D.  108 Milgrom, J.  12 Millard, A.  60 Miller(-Naudé), C. L.  40, 63, 64, 66, 69, 70, 71, 72, 149, 150

201

Miller, P. D.  127 Miller-Naudé, C. L.  4, 57, 58, 60, 63, 71 Moberly, W. L.  172, 173, 174 Morag, S.  58 Morschauser, S.  16 Moulton, R. G.  184 Mullen, E. T., Jr.  129 Müller, H.-P.  104 Muraoka, T.  101 Nachmanides (Ramban)  12, 15, 16, 17, 137 Naudé, J. A.  4, 57, 58, 60, 71 Navon, M. A.  13 Naʾaman, N.  139, 140, 141 Niditch, S.  58, 113 Niederhoff, B.  158 Nikaido, S.  35 Nissinen, M.  58 Noegel, S. B.  79, 113, 115, 117 Nõmmik, U.  6 O’Brien, M. A.  20, 21, 24, 49, 50 Ong, W.  59 Otto, E.  99, 104, 105, 108, 111, 184, 187, 189, 190, 194 Overholt, T. W.  42 Parry, M.  59 Peleg, Y.  16, 17, 130, 131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137 Pinker, A.  28, 34, 35 Pinnock, F.  139 Pirson, R.  16, 17 Polak, F. H.  60, 70 Powell, M. A.  119 Prag, K.  139 Preminger, A.  62 Preuss, H. D.  30 Pseudo-Philo 131 Pury, A. de  184, 188 Rabinowitz, I.  115, 119, 123 Rad, G. von  28, 49, 51, 52, 54, 129, 163, 168, 170

202

Index of Ancient and Modern Authors

Ralbag 12 Ramban  see Nachmanides Rankin, O. S.  79 Rashi  16, 20, 85, 86 Ravid, L.  136 Redford, D. B.  40 Redmount, C. A.  140 Reimer, D. J.  54 Rendsburg, G. A.  4, 37, 79, 82, 91, 94, 95, 115, 117, 121, 123, 124, 127 Reuling, H.  110 Revell, E. J.  69 Rhoads, D.  61, 77 Riedweg, C.  108 Ringgren, H.  105 Roersma, L.  184 Rollinger, R.  195 Rosenzweig, F.  2 Rudin-O’Brasky, T.  16 Sacks, H.  71 Safren, J.  16 Sanders, S.  120 Sandy, D. B.  60 Sarna, N. M.  16, 47, 94, 114, 115, 116, 118, 126, 132, 156, 162, 163 Sasson, J. M.  124 Savran, G. W.  3, 4, 21, 39, 40, 41, 42, 45, 47, 49, 50, 53, 54, 91 Schegloff, E. A.  57, 71 Schellenberg, A.  106 Schilling-Estes, N.  63 Schmid, K.  99, 102, 104, 106, 108 Schmidt, L.  194, 195 Schmidt, W. H.  99 Schorch, S.  114 Schwartz, S.  79 Searle, J.  120 Shai, D.  117, 123 Shapira, A.  15 Shemesh, Y.  16, 24 Shimon, Z.  5, 134, 135 Simon, U.  18, 19 Ska, J.-L.  29, 99, 101, 111, 176 Skinner, J.  134, 172, 174

Smith, D. A.  123, 125 Smith, M. S.  102, 109, 113, 116, 118, 121, 126 Soden, W. von  109 Sonek, K.  29 Speiser, E. A.  15, 52, 126, 172 Sperber, A.  89 Spieckermann, H.  109, 111 Stansell, G.  10 Steck, O. H.  99 Steinmetz, D.  122 Sternberg, M.  9, 10, 11, 21, 42, 43, 45, 47, 48, 51, 52, 54, 67, 140, 141, 175, 181, 182 Stockwell, P.  2, 147, 158 Stordalen, T.  101, 175, 180, 181 Stratton, B.  169, 176, 177 Tadmor, H.  14 Tannen, D.  42 Theodor, J.  135 Thompson, T. L.  133 Tollington, J. E.  28 Toorn, K. van der  109 Trible, P.  168, 172, 177 Turner, L. A.  33 Turner, M.  164 Tyndale, W.  93 Tzohar, Y.  132 Van Seters, J.  27, 76, 133, 134, 139, 184, 185, 188, 189 Vaux, R. de  130, 132, 133, 138, 139, 140 Vawter, B.  132 Vegetius  83, 84 Vermeulen, K.  1, 5, 115, 121, 124, 174 Vries, L. J. de  59, 60 Wallace, H. N.  99, 101, 102 Wallis, G.  105 Walsh, J. T.  175 Waltke, B. K.  114, 116, 120, 122, 126, 127 Walton, J. H.  60 Walvoord, J. F.  124 Watson, W. G. E.  184, 197 Weimar, P.  49, 50, 191, 195

Index of Ancient and Modern Authors Weitzman, S.  1 Wenham, G. J.  30, 35, 37, 44, 47, 50, 52, 67, 114, 115, 116, 118, 119, 120, 122, 124, 125, 127, 129, 130, 134, 155, 156, 163, 167, 168, 175 Werth, P.  145, 146, 151, 157, 158, 165 Westermann, C.  30, 31, 32, 34, 45, 48, 52, 129, 130, 133, 134, 138, 139, 167, 168, 170, 189, 194 White, H. C.  31, 36 Wilson, L.  43, 46, 48, 51, 52 Winston, D.  110

203

Wolde, E. van  2, 122, 126, 147, 154, 171, 176 Wolff, H. W.  39 Wolfram, W.  63 Wordsworth, W.  85 Wycliffe, J.  93 Yamauchi, E. M.  139 Yardeni, A.  122 Yona, S.  91 Zakovitch, Y.  24, 25, 131 Zuck, R. B.  124

Index of Scripture Genesis 1  117, 121, 151, 152, 158, 164, 168, 181 1–2  5, 121 1–4 124 1–11  5, 113, 114, 117, 120, 122, 123, 124, 126, 127, 128 1–15 134 1:1  147, 148, 149, 161, 164 1:1–2 149 1:1–5 148 1:1–2:4  5, 149, 153, 158, 161, 162, 165 1:1–2:25  145, 147, 148, 151, 155, 156, 158, 165 1:1–11:26 127 1:2 162 1:3  149, 162 1:3–5 149 1:4  149, 153, 155 1:6  149, 153, 155, 163 1:6–2:4 149 1:7  154, 155 1:8  149, 156 1:9  149, 155, 163 1:11 150 1:13  149, 156 1:14  149, 155, 163 1:15 150 1:19  149, 156 1:20  149, 155, 163 1:22  114, 115, 117, 118, 121, 126, 127, 128, 150 1:23  149, 156

1:24  149, 155, 164 1:26  108, 150 1:27  116, 175 1:28  114, 115, 117, 118, 121, 126, 128, 150, 176, 177 1:29 150 1:31  149, 156 2  94, 177 2–3  4, 5, 99, 100, 102, 103, 104, 108, 110, 167, 168, 169, 170, 177, 178, 180, 181, 182 2:1 164 2:3  114, 115, 118, 121, 128 2:4  147, 153 2:4–25  5, 150, 153, 158, 159, 165, 180 2:5  86, 172, 175, 180, 181 2:6–17 169 2:7–8 175 2:7–21 168 2:8  170, 172, 175 2:8–17 180 2:9  100, 104, 105, 169, 171, 175 2:10 161 2:10–14 175 2:11 161 2:12 161 2:13 161 2:14 161 2:15  94, 170, 175, 176 2:15–16 92 2:16  150, 171

204

2:16–17  103, 170, 171, 173, 175, 178, 179, 180 2:17  101, 104, 107, 169, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 177 2:17–18 177 2:18  92, 93, 94, 175, 176, 177, 178 2:18–25 175 2:19–20 176 2:20  92, 93, 94, 108 2:23  108, 170, 180 2:25  83, 108, 169 2:25–3:1  83, 93 3  114, 119, 121, 122 3:1  83, 169, 172, 173, 180 3:1–6 107 3:1–19 180 3:1–24 180 3:2 107 3:3  101, 169, 172 3:4 173 3:4–5  173, 180 3:4–6 104 3:4–7 104 3:5  105, 106, 107, 108, 169, 173, 174 3:6  105, 107, 172, 177, 180 3:6–7 105 3:7  108, 169, 174 3:8 169 3:9 101 3:9–12 108 3:10 108 3:11 179

Index of Scripture 3:12 179 3:13 179 3:14  114, 116, 120, 121, 128 3:14–17 114 3:14–19 119 3:15 174 3:16 177 3:17  101, 114, 116, 120, 121, 122, 128, 179 3:17–19  169, 176, 181 3:18–19 174 3:19  108, 110, 180 3:20 170 3:21  169, 170 3:22  100, 102, 105, 107, 108, 109, 110, 169, 173, 178, 179 3:22–23 101 3:22–24 179 3:23  34, 170, 172, 180, 181 3:23–24 178 3:24  34, 169, 170 4  114, 119, 121 4:7 108 4:11  114, 116, 117, 120, 121, 123, 128 4:14 116 4:26 118 5 116 5:2  114, 116, 118, 121, 128 5:29  114, 116, 120, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 128 6  84, 116 6:1–4 106 6:14  83, 84, 93 7 116 8  116, 117 8:8 117 8:11 117 8:17 115

8:21  114, 116, 119, 120, 122, 125, 126, 128 9  114, 116, 118 9:1  114, 115, 117, 118, 125, 126, 128 9:25  117, 120, 122, 123, 128 9:25–26 124 9:26  114, 117, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 128 11 133 11:6–7 106 11:10 130 11:27 130 11:27–12:9  129, 130, 134 11:28 131 11:30 131 11:31  130, 131, 134, 138, 139 11:32 132 12  94, 95 12–36 31 12:1 137 12:1–3  130, 138 12:2 119 12:5  133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138 12:8  94, 95 14 24 14:13 141 15:1 31 15:7  131, 136 16  28, 35 16–50 30 16:16 28 17  27, 28, 29 17:18–21 88 18  15, 27 18:27 44 19  11, 15, 16 19:1–9 16 19:2 15 19:3 16

205 19:5 17 19:9  12, 17, 18 21  27, 28, 34, 85, 86 21:1 27 21:1–5  4, 30 21:1–7  4, 27 21:1–8  28, 29 21:1–11 30 21:1–21  4, 27 21:2 27 21:4  29, 84, 85, 93 21:5  27, 28, 85 21:6  29, 32 21:6–7  27, 30 21:7 85 21:7–8  84, 93 21:8  28, 29, 30, 32, 85 21:8–21  4, 27 21:9  28, 29 21:9–11 30 21:9–13 4 21:9–21 35 21:10  29, 33 21:10–14 29 21:11 32 21:12 32 21:12–13 30 21:12–21 30 21:13 33 21:14  30, 32, 35 21:14–16  30, 86 21:15  28, 35, 36 21:15–16 29 21:16  28, 31, 35, 36 21:17 31 21:17–18 29 21:17–20 28 21:17–21  4, 30 21:19  29, 31, 86 21:20  30, 37 21:20–21 29 21:21 28 21:22 27 21:22–34 27 22  94, 95 22:7  69, 85

206 22:9  94, 95 23 11 23:5 44 24 39 24:9 66 24:18 87 24:18–22 87 24:19 87 24:20 87 24:21 87 24:22 87 24:50 65 25  13, 88 25:9 28 25:23 88 25:23–24  87, 88, 89, 90 25:24 88 26:33 95 27  14, 90 27:4 90 27:9 90 27:12 90 27:14 90 27:17 90 27:29 88 27:31 90 27:37  44, 69 28  6, 184, 190, 196 28:10  185, 187 28:10–15 185 28:10–17 186 28:10–29:1  184, 185 28:11  185, 187, 190 28:11–12 188 28:11–18 189 28:11–19 188 28:11–22 185 28:12  187, 190 28:13  185, 187, 189 28:13–15  187, 188, 189 28:13–16 188 28:15 188 28:16  185, 187, 189 28:16–17  185, 191

Index of Scripture 28:16–29:1 186 28:17  185, 187, 188, 190 28:17–18 188 28:18  185, 187, 188, 190 28:18–29:1 187 28:19  185, 188, 190 28:20 185 28:20–22  188, 189 29 185 29:1  185, 187 29:12 66 31:31 44 32  6, 195, 196 32:14–16 12 32:21–32 191 32:22 193 32:22–24 191 32:22–31 191 32:22–32 192 32:22–33 191 32:23  193, 194 32:24–32 12 32:25  191, 193 32:25–27 194 32:26  193, 194, 195, 196 32:27  193, 194 32:29 193 32:30 194 32:31 193 32:32  191, 193, 194 32:32–33  192, 193, 195 32:33 192 33  12, 14 33:4  13, 14 33:5–9 13 33:8  12, 15 33:9  12, 13, 14 33:10  13, 15 33:10–11  12, 14 33:11  12, 15 33:12–15 15 33:15 15

34  4, 57, 58, 67, 76 34:2 76 34:4  71, 76 34:4–7  71, 73 34:5  72, 73 34:6  72, 76 34:7  72, 73 34:8 76 34:8–10 68 34:8–12 74 34:8–18  74, 75 34:11–12 68 34:13 76 34:13–14  68, 69 34:13–17 74 34:18 74 34:19 76 34:20  75, 76 34:24  75, 76 34:26 76 34:30 64 34:30–31 67 37–38 43 37–50  4, 39, 42, 55, 56 37:3 53 37:17  42, 43 37:21 44 37:22 44 37:29 43 37:29–30 44 37:33 43 38:21 91 38:21–22 91 38:21–23 90 38:22  42, 43, 91, 92 38:22–23  91, 92 38:23  91, 92 38:25  91, 92 38:28 95 38:29 43 40:18 44 41:16  44, 65 41:41–43 52 42 48 42–43  49, 54 42–44 39

Index of Scripture 42:7–20 48 42:11–13 45 42:15 47 42:15–20 45 42:20  46, 47, 50 42:21 43 42:21–22 43 42:22 44 42:24 54 42:29 45 42:29–34  45, 48 42:30–32 46 42:30–34  45, 46 42:31 46 42:31–32 45 42:33  45, 46 42:33–34 45 42:34  46, 48 42:35  45, 47 42:36  47, 48 42:37–38 47 42:38 50 43:2  47, 48 43:2–4 50 43:3  47, 48 43:3–5  47, 48, 50 43:3–7  47, 48 43:4 48 43:5  47, 48 43:6 48 43:7 48 43:8  48, 49 43:23–34 49 43:30 54 44  51, 52, 53 44:16 50 44:17 49 44:18 51 44:18–23  49, 50 44:18–29 49 44:18–34  40, 49 44:19 50 44:20 50 44:21 50 44:22 50 44:23 50

44:24–26 50 44:24–29 50 44:26 50 44:27–29  50, 51 44:30 51 44:30–31 51 44:32 51 44:32–33 51 45–50 54 45:1–3 51 45:2 54 45:3 44 45:14–15 54 45:17 54 45:17–20 52 45:18 54 45:25–28 54 46–50 53 46:29 54 46:29–30 53 47:1 52 47:6 53 47:7–10 53 47:29 52 47:29–31  52, 53 48:1–22 53 48:19  88, 89 49:22–26 53 50  39, 56 50:1 54 50:1–14 53 50:2 66 50:3–4 52 50:4 52 50:4–8 51 50:5 52 50:6 52 50:15 53 50:15–17 53 50:16 54 50:16–17 54 50:17  53, 54 50:18 54 50:21 55

207 Exodus 2:2 84 18:4 176 18:17–18 176 18:21 176 19:22 9 19:24 9 20:17 105 22:28 123 32:1 20 Leviticus 7:18 13 19:7 13 22:23 13 26:17 13 Numbers 6:25 12 11:14 176 14:21 89 20:17 91 22 12 Deuteronomy 1:9 176 1:39 107 4:7 105 5:26 105 6:8 95 11:18 95 33 121 33:7  93, 176 33:26 176 33:29 176 Joshua 2:18 95 2:21 95 7:20 70 Judges 3:25 20 11 12 11:17 91 19 16

208 19:4 10 19:5 10 19:5–9 10 19:6 10 19:7 10 19:8 10 19:9 10 19:11 10 1 Samuel 1:7 19 14 19 15:3 10 15:9 10 15:15 10 18:18 11 20:32 70 25:27 14 28 18 28:21–22 18 28:22 19 28:23  9, 18 2 Samuel 2 22 6:8 9 13  11, 22 13:24 22 13:25 9 13:26 22 13:27 9 14:17 13 14:17–20 107 14:20 13 19:28 13 23:2 85 1 Kings 17:12 19 19:4 19 21:13 114 2 Kings 2  10, 20 2:3 20 2:5 20

Index of Scripture 2:15 20 2:16  20, 21 2:16–18 20 2:18 21 5 23 5:8 23 5:10 23 5:16 23 5:23  9, 24 8:17 20 14:13 9 18:31 14 Isaiah 31:4 89 34:9 84 36:16 14 Jeremiah 10:15 90 21:10 13 51:18 90 Ezekiel 20:41 13 23:41 19 28 107 43:27 13 Amos 5:22 13 6:4 19 Micah 1:10–16 81 1:11 81 1:13 81 6:7 13 Malachi 1:10 13 Psalms 19:5 85 27:10 37 33:20 176

51:18 13 55:9  81, 82 70:5 176 90:2 109 106:2 85 115:9–11 176 121:2 176 124:8 176 139:4 85 146:5 176 Job

8:2 85 9:5 95 30:4 86 30:7 86 32:15 95 33:3 85 39:10 95

Proverbs 1:5 6 3:18 102 6:13 85 11:30 102 13:1–16 102 13:2 102 15:4 102 23:3 90 23:6 90 23:9 85 25:1 95 Qoheleth 3:11 109 Daniel 9:3 19 10:3 19 12:1–3 110 Ezra 8:22 20 Nehemiah 5:13 119

Index of Scripture 1 Chronicles 15:13 9

25:13 9

209 2 Chronicles 36:16 90

Deuterocanonical Literature Sirach 5:2 105 14:14 105

40:22 105

New Testament Revelation 2:7 102

Wisdom of Solomon 1:13 110 1:16 110