Abstracts on Jonah

Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 9 (2009) - Review

Lowell K. Handy, Jonah's World: Social Science and the Reading of Prophetic Story (BibleWorld; London: Equinox, 2008). Pp. 192. Hardcover, 14.99, US$24.95. ISBN 9781845531232.
This handy little book lets us see over the shoulder of the Jerusalem scribe who composed the book of Jonah so we can get a wider picture of the book itself and of the world in which it was produced. As tools for control of the peasants by the elite, scribes held a particular position that tainted their perception of the world in which they lived. This vantage point offers some interesting insights although at certain points, Lowell Handy's own social world taints Jonah's. In the system of patronage that prevailed and still prevails in the Middle East, scribes may have suffered from the boss's son syndrome (21). If the peasants did regard the scribes with envy, hatred and indifference (20), they rarely showed it. On the contrary, the peasants curried the favour of their wasta with gifts since scribes such as the composer of Jonah were the necessary intermediaries between the people and the administration. The description of eastern Mediterranean religion in the latter half of the first millennium BCE as a motley crew of divinities (42) and almost without exception polytheistic (44) derives from Handy's world as much as from ancient oriental perceptions of the divine realm. How should the characterization of the sailors and of the Ninevites in the book of Jonah be understood since Jonah 1:5 does not help decide whether each sailor cried to his god or to his gods? Was the Ninevites' reaction to Jonah's sermon totally out of character? Here we touch upon the methodological difficulty

inherent to the exegesis of any ancient text out which we must extract both the context as well as the writer's reaction to it. Handy's uncritical acceptance of some crucial exegetical truths in Jonah scholarship to explain Jonah's world is problematic. It is far from obvious that the palace of your sanctity in Jonah 2:4 and 7 refers to the temple of Jerusalem. On page 40, Handy implies that Sheol belongs to the Lord's domain. In light of Ps 6:5 it is hard to know when this notion was accepted and how widely so. Yet, this was probably not the position of the scribe who wrote Jonah since the narrator warns the audience that Jonah is in the belly of a fish (Jonah 2:2) while Jonah is deluded in thinking that he has reached the underworld. There are crucial theological points here as well as in the final verses of the book, where Handy fails to note the absence of a question. Ehud Ben Zvi's recent article (published in this journal), has the potential to turn comfortable certainties about Jonah on their head. It will have to be integrated in the next step towards Jonah's imaginary real world (23-41). The volume reveals how little we know about conditions in the ancient world and how difficult it is for us not to transpose our own world onto the world of the Bible. Yet, getting modern readers acquainted with the practical conditions and mindsets of those who wrote biblical stories is a crucial aspect of the exegetical discipline. Hence, Jonah's World is an important exegetical tool. Besides informative chapters such as The Divine Realm (4260), the Human Dimension (61-82), An Unnatural Nature? (83-97), A Moral Universe? (98-109), the articulation between Wisdom Proper and Wisdom on its Head (57-58) and the chapter on Reality as Fiction (110-122) make the entire book an excellent introduction to Biblical stories. Jonah's World deserves a place of honour on every reading list for courses on the book of Jonah. It poses the right questions and supplies lots of information to guide readers towards the ancient world. The volume's editorial quality is excellent. It closes with authors, biblical and subjects indexes.

Philippe Guillaume, The University of Sheffield

Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 10 (2010) - Review

Cary, Phillip, Jonah (BTCB; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Brazos Press, 2008). Pp. 187. Hardcover. US$ 29.99. ISBN 978-158743-137-1.
As a biblical scholar and philosopher it is intriguing to read a theological, Christian commentary by another philosopher. Cary directs the philosophy program at Eastern University. Cary's commentary is a narrative theological reading of Jonah. He declares at the outset that he does not know Hebrew, but nevertheless he does a fine job analyzing Jonah's narrative art, making use, among other sources, of Meir Sternberg's fine work.[1] He reads Jonah as a postexilic comedy written for returning exiles; it is a story about a prophet from the northern kingdom, a parable written for returning Judean exiles about what might have been (36). Cary rightly recognizes that the audience is intended to see Jonah as representing themselves; Jonah stands for Israel among the nations. The Word of the LORD drives the story even as the prophet flees from the LORD. His geographical flight from the Temple (cf. 2:4) is an enactment of his heart's refusal to obey the Word. The action of Jonah thus takes place outside the sacred place of Israel. Jonah utilizes the technological achievements of his dayship building in Tarshishto escape from the LORD, but, as the story reveals, this is impossible. God hurls the storm into the sea around the boat; it is like Noah's flood inside out! Ironically, the non-Israelite sailors do all that we would hope a prophet would do; they call to God, worship him and are rescued, whereas Jonah is cast into the depths. According to Cary, the great fish is a reversal of the views of ANE mythology; Yahweh's power extends to every aspect of the creation. Even after his return to the dry land Jonah is a reluctant prophet. Cary argues unconvincingly in my viewthat the gourd represents the line of David. God's compassion contrasts with that of Jonah, and Cary is

attentive to the remarkable concern of God not just for the Ninevites but also for their livestock. The strength of Cary's commentary is in its attention to the narrative art of Jonah and intertextual connections with the rest of the OT, as well as his exploration of Jonah as a type of Jesus. I think that he rightly recognizes that Jonah is a parable of Israel herself, and this is its sting in the tail. By the end of Jonah we have no idea whether God's gracious work with his prophet has been transformative or not, and, for me and Cary, the ultimate question is not is not whether Jonah has been transformed but have we (i.e. the readers)? Theologically Cary acknowledges the influence of Barth (hence the emphasis on the Word as driving Jonah) and Soulen's God of Israel and Christian Theology.[2] In applying Jonah, Cary's main focus is that Christians today should have compassion on Jews, particularly on messianic Jews, who remain God's people. Of course, Christians, just as any other group, should be compassionate, but Cary's position strikes me as an unusual limitation for the application of an explosive narrative to contemporary, and even political, theological thinking. For instance, I wonder what Jonah, if read in this way, might mean today for Israeli Jews in relation to Palestinians, or what could mean for Palestinian Christians. As I read it, Jonah cries out for a far broader and richer present-day, theological application than Cary provides. A further limitation of Cary's commentary is that the introduction is very short, there is no bibliography, and very few footnotes. The reader is left unaware whether he has read very widely in the literature on Jonah or not, and there is no reflection on his hermeneutic and why it is particularly suitable for a Christian theological commentary. This is a useful resource for narrative theological readings of Jonah within the Church, but to serve its audience it would have to be supplemented by the major commentaries and other Christian theological literature.

Craig G. Bartholomew, Paideia Centre for Public Theology and Redeemer University College
[1] Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (The Indiana Literary Biblical Series; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985). [2] R. K. Soulen, God of Israel and Christian Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996).

T. A. Perry, The Honeymoon Is Over: Jonahs Argument with God. (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2006). Pp. xxxvii + 250. Paper, US$19.95. ISBN: 1-56563-672-4.
Reviewed by Barbara Green Dominican School of Philosophy and Theology, Berkeley Perry provides a wonderful addition to Jonah literature, with surprises on every page. He specifies the book to involve reading that avoids two extremes: refusal to loosen pre-conceived interpretations and failure to imagine fresh possibilities. Perry works with his readers as he claims the biblical characters interact: respectfully and patiently. Perry is in steady dialogue with Jonah scholarshipancient and modern, Jewish and other, canonical and extra-biblical. A preface contributes his guiding thesis that the main question to be probed is the motivation of the prophet: specifically why he flees God and generally why he acts as he does. Jonahs issues are characterized as deeply serious and existentially significant, not trivial as they are often rendered. And Perry commits to treat the books erotic aspect carefully: Jonah is a love story between prophet and deity. An introduction sorts the motive issues preliminarily, laying out in more detail the base claim that love of God motivates the prophet rather than venality (e.g., that Jews lose if Gentiles gain). Jonah feels like a jilted loverhence the title of Perrys book. Four large parts follow, with issues first overviewed in italics and then unpacked in chapters: Part One, with two chapters, gives the overview of what happens as Jonah descends (Jonah 1 and 2). How is the experience and its stages to be understood? Part Two takes us onto dry ground and considers what happens in Jonah 3 and 4. These chapters are not commentary but lay forth bases on which Perrys readings rest and plot the main positions he will take as the book moves on. Part Three is titled The Theology of the Book of Jonah and comprises four chapters: the Book

of Love, of Prayer, of Repentance, of Prophecy. Part Four, with two chapters, is a much sketchier portion about Life on the Edge, offering some pastoral implications and urging that the book be considered under the fantasy rubric. A conclusion summarizes key arguments. Four brief excurses touch on tangential points: the importance of reading the book itself; the sub-genre of comparison in wisdom literature (better than x is y); the time notations in the book; and the gender of the fish. A bibliography and three indices conclude this book. Most valuable and distinctive is the motive question, not a single-stranded matter but gathering complexity as it weaves its way through both the story and centuries of commentary. Perry draws us past, or rather through, over-simplifying polarities: We are not to choose between Jonah as acting for personal or pastoral reasons; the justice/mercy split is rejected, as Perry calls them twins; the Jew/Gentile polemics so beloved of commentators are refused. Readings which are basically disrespectful of any character (Jonah as petty and spiteful, God as bossy and domineering) are challenged. Perry combs the book against the grain of easy readings and of familiar commentary. He consistently raises the importance of genre: canonically, the book is prophetic, but it also shares features with writings, with the literatures of the imagination, with works of literature and philosophy. Most unusual, I think, and most important is Perrys treatment of Jonah as a lovestory (his chapter 5), and a quick discussion of that topic can exemplify the nature of this study. Perry argues that Jonah 4 concerns Jonah and God dialoguing about their love bond, with Jonahs distress arising from feeling that relatedness threatened. This point is sustained by exploiting numerous intertexts which help us re-see the passage: The wilderness ofJonah 4 is reminiscent of certain prophets and in the Song of Songs where love language occurs and the dove/yonah is a term of endearment; other biblical vocabularygranted commonhas spent time in love topoi: rise, go, flee, love, distress, banish, take, fear. Jonahs sukkah is shown to be homologous with dwelling places where communion with God is sought, notably the temple; it becomes a canopy God provides for the prophet. Jonah thus emerges as estranged from God, driven from the relationship he most desires which God desires as welllonging to die rather than to exist in such alienation. Finally, intertexts from non biblical sources (e.g., Emerson, Thoreau, Molire) are interposed to flesh out or make strange and re-interpretable the Jonah topos which may be threadbare. The exercise of seeing afresh, of reconsidering a substantially

different scenario than the whiny Jonah and imperious God is beneficial to the imagination. Amid the many strengths of this work are a few small criticisms. Given the tremendous originality and significance of many fresh intertexts, some theoretical discussion of how they work would be useful. Granted, intertextuality is a (post -) modern word for a mode that rabbinic and virtually all Jewish interpretation does almost instinctively. But an analysis of why it is so freeing and valuable to interpose fresh (or classic) quotations from other works while reading Jonah would be useful for many readers of this book. Related: there is virtually no explicit discussion of the role of the reader: Why and how do we proceed to read a classic with fresh insights, to move beyond where we might like to rest and consider readings that seem outrageously wrong? A bit of theory would have been welcome, and if held in moderation would not have thwarted the basically popularizing purpose of this studyto the contrary. The chapters are written loosely, which suits the generally gently pedagogic style of the biblical book. But consequently, it is not as tightly argued or as clear as it might be. The subtitles do not help. Occasionally summaries of the argument are welcome; more would not have been bad. There are a few misspellings, notably of scholars names, which is a bit disconcerting, since it suggests a less-than-careful reading, which I think is not the case. On the whole, though, this book is fresh, stimulating and valuable.
Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 9 (2009) - Review

Peter Philip Jenson, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah: A Theological Commentary(LHBOTS 496; New York and London: T&T Clark, 2008). Pp. ix+227, Hardcover, US$140.00, 978 0 567 04222 4.
With this relatively small commentary Jenson offers readers a helpful and accessible guide to interpreting the books of Obadiah, Jonah, and Micah. The volume combines strong scholarship, good writing, and capable and detailed exegesis. What is lacking, however, is explicit methodology and, given the subtitle of the volume, significant theological reflection. Each of the three biblical books are examined separately, and Jenson explicitly reads them as individual books and not subsections of a larger Book of the Twelve (1-2). The commentary

is structured along a familiar format. Each book is introduced briefly. In this introduction Jenson reflects upon issues like provenance, literary development and structure, and overall theme. These introductions are generally rather short, but provide the reader with a basic understanding of the historical and literary issues involved. Jenson then moves to a detailed examination of each verse. Within the detailed examination Jenson provides a short introductory synopsis of each literary sub-section outlining the theme(s) of the passage that is about to be examined. These sub-section summaries are also very brief, taking up only one or two pages. The actual commentary is presented in a verse-byverse format, usually offering one or two short paragraphs of commentary for each verse. Though he does make some note of historical-critical concerns, Jenson primarily engages in a synchronic, literary examination each book. The goal of the commentary is to be an explanation of the English text of these biblical books, with an eye to the plain sense of the text (1). He certainly does interact with various English translations, but still makes extensive reference to the Masoretic Text (MT) as an arbiter between English versions. All Hebrew is in transliterated format and the discussions that involve the MT are generally accessible to the non-specialist. Discussions of Hebrew tend to focus on the semantic range of individual words, though Jenson does on occasion make note of literary structures in the Hebrew text (e.g. his discussion of the structure of Micah 4-5 on pp. 141-142). In cases where there are significant disagreements among scholars over important interpretive issues Jenson does a good job of laying out the various major options and tends to take a middle path for his own interpretation. His discussion of the genre questions surrounding the book of Jonah is a case in point. He examines various options including historical narrative, imaginative literature, satire/parody, and the final (very general) category of story (31-35). Jenson suggests that the broader category of story is helpful as it encompasses various elements of the other genres discussed. Though he is certainly correct that overly narrow genre identifications can inhibit one's engagement

with the text, his story genre is so very general that one wonders by the end of the discussion if a genre classification is helpful or necessary at all. One of the more frustrating aspects of the commentary is a lack of clearly defined methodology. Though Jenson does from time to time make note that he is interested in synchronic readings, nowhere is he explicit about how he reads generally, about the nature of the connection between these three books, or about the nature of the connection between these books and other canonical and non-canonical material. This theological commentary makes extensive reference to other biblical books (particularly as found in the Protestant canon), but does not discuss how Obadiah, Jonah, and Micah may be connected to books as wide-ranging as Genesis, Matthew, and Revelation. Certainly in a commentary that purports to be theological (and not of historical nature) one may expect to find reference to other Christian canonical works, but the nature of these canonical relationships, which is a matter of some importance to the interpreter, should be examined and explained. Despite its subtitle, there is very little clear identification of theological method in this commentary. If it were presented as an exegetical commentary alone this matter would be of no concern at all, but since it is explicitly and saliently presented as a theological commentary one expects to find more than one or two sentences describing the kind of theology that is being advanced or assumed. In fact, it appears from the very brief instances of theological reflection that Jenson is doing little more than describing the theology of the various books. Very occasionally he will connect these brief musings with some very basic question of Christian theology, but this never takes the form of more than a one or two sentence statement. The lack of extended introduction to the commentary as a whole, as well as the lack of conclusion and reflection for each book, is a serious oversight in the design. It would have taken only a little extra time and space to improve the commentary significantly. Had this commentary not been marketed as a theological

commentary, many of the concerns mentioned here would have not arisen, or only in a minor way. But it is marketed as such. Some of these issues may relate to the fact that this work was originally commissioned as a commentary for the (now defunct) New Century Bible commentary series. Jenson was likely writing with certain series constraints in mind, but still the lack of extended introduction and conclusion is notable. The volume does contain a good bibliography and extensive indexes of both authors and sources (ancient and modern). This book would serve very well as a secondary textbook for a seminary course on these prophetic books, or as a resource for clergy, but due to the fact that it has been published in the relatively expensive Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies series (formally JSOTSup) it may have difficulty finding its intended readership (cf. with usual prices of volumes in the New Century Bible series). T&T Clark should consider releasing this volume in paperback format. In sum and leaving aside the issues raised by the subtitle, Jenson offers a good introductory exegetical commentary of Obadiah, Jonah, and Micah. Though there are elements that might have been included to increase the volume's usefulness, the reader will find Jenson's careful and detailed exegesis helpful.
Colin M. Toffelmire, McMaster Divinity College

THE INTERTEXTUAL ISRAELITE JONAH FACE LEMPIRE: THE POST-COLONIAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE BOOKS COTEXTS AND PURPORTED NEOASSYRIAN CONTEXT
Daniel Timmer Facult de Thologie Rforme FAREL, Montral

Abstract
Jonah's use of various antecedent HB texts and its purported Neo-Assyrian setting are prominent hermeneutical signposts that are integral to the book. Until now, however, the former question has not received sustained attention and the latter has been obscured by disagreement over the book's historical veracity. This paper broadens the scope of postcolonialist discussion by considering empire through the Israelite perspective that Jonah affords and through the Neo-Assyrian literature dealing with its conquest of nation-states in the first half of the first millennium BCE. Special attention is given to how Jonah the prophet and Jonah the book attribute different identities to the different groups that appear in the book and to the book's intertextual connections to other parts of the Hebrew Bible. The paper closes by reflecting on ways that different means of identification entail different responses to power. Note: Readers of this article are encouraged to read first article 3 in this volume. 1. POSTCOLONIALISM, INTERTEXTUALITY, AND THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST Postcolonial studies, in its varied manifestations, is primarily concerned with the relation of the colonizer to the colonized during and after colonialism.1 The field has focused almost exclusively on the period from the latter half of the nineteenth century until the present, identifying the European West as the colonizer and, of course, the peoples and cultures it appropriated as the colonized.2 This selectivity is rather curious, for manifestations of imperialism, which Barbara Bush defines as situations in which the imperialized country forfeits its sovereignty and is incorporated into the state or empire of the imperialist power, have been in evidence for millennia, and date to the earliest phases of human civilization.3 One of the more fertile sources for data on the antiquity of colonialism lies in one of civilizations cradles, Mesopotamia or (somewhat more broadly) the ancient Near East. Here examples of imperialism and colonialism abound, as does literature produced both by empires and those whom they subjugated. The Hebrew Bible is largely literature of the colonized given the small, frail, and short-lived nature of the united monarchy and the two states which formed upon its dissolution about 930 BCE. Israel was often the stronger of the two, but this is only a relative measure: with an area roughly 12% the size of Assyria at the time, it was hardly capable by itself of offering serious resistance to an opposing force. In an effort to understand colonialism in a situation chronologically, geographically, and culturally distant from those normally considered in post-colonialist studies, this paper will explore the history of Israel in the imperialism of the ancient Near East with a view toward illuminating some theoretical and practical aspects of the interface between biblical and postcolonial studies.4

Israels history testifies to numerous occasions on which she was forced to serve the interests of a more powerful entity. For the entirety of her existence, the Neo-Assyrian empire was certainly the most prominent colonizing presence, emerging near the end of the tenth century and lasting some three hundred years. The Book of Jonah, which most likely presents the interaction of an Israelite (rather than Judahite) prophet with the Assyrian behemoth, affords a unique perspective on the relation of the colonized to the colonizer, which it sets in what is most likely the eighth or seventh century.5 By the beginning of the eighth century, Assyrian imperialism had already marked the relationship between the two nations.6 After Ahabs successful resistance as part of the antiAssyrian coalition in the Battle of Qarqar in 853 B.C.E.,7 Jehu (841814) was compelled to pay tribute to Shalmaneser III in 841.8 Though the campaigns of Shalmaneser III against Damascus in 838836 were followed by several decades of Assyrian inactivity in the west, this soon changed and J(eh)oash (798782) was obliged to pay tribute to Adad-Nirari III in 796.9 Beginning just before the reign of Jeroboam II in Israel (782753) and for a few decades more, Assyria entered a period of decline, allowing the Israelite kings J(eh)oash and Jeroboam after him to develop a small-scale empire in southern Syria-Palestine.10 This changed suddenly with the accession (in 744) of Tiglath-Pileser III, who campaigned aggressively and successfully in the West. Consequently, Menahem (752742) and Hoshea (732722) paid tribute to him.11 Tiglath-Pileser IIIs imperialist success reduced Israel to a rump state through repeated annexations of its territory and deportations of its population in the 730s,12 something Shalmaneser V (726722) may have continued and that his successor Sargon II (721705) brought to completion and of which he left detailed records (the HB telescopes the process into one event, 2 Kgs 17:6; 18:11).13 When the dust finally settled near the end of Sargons reign, Samaria had been fully absorbed into the Assyrian empire and Israels inhabitants deported to the far reaches of the colonizing empire.14 Military action, threatened or enacted, was indispensable to the growth of the Assyrian empire. Intimidation, facilitated by Assyrias well-earned reputation as a brutal and merciless military opponent, was often successful in convincing states to assume vassal status.15 This strategy, which avoided the military expenditure necessary for a full conquest and enabled the subjugated entity to become a contributor to the empire without needing to rebuild, was masterfully developed by Ashur-nasir-apli II (883859). This monarchs royal inscriptions also illustrate the religious element that, together with the financial benefits that attended conquest, motivated Assyrias imperialism.16 One such inscription opens in typical fashion by describing him as king of the universe, unrivaled king, king of all the four quarters, sun(god) of the people, chosen of the gods Enlil and Ninurta, beloved of the gods An and Dagan,

destructive weapon of the great gods.17 The subsequent accounts of his battles all follow a standard form, tying his exploits to divine obligations and recounting his brutal tactics: By the command of Ashur (and) the goddess Ishtar, the great gods my lords, I moved out of the city Nineveh. I approached the city Suru. Awe of the radiance of Ashur my lord overwhelmed them. The nobles (and) elders of the city came out to me to save their lives. I erected a pile in front of his gate; I flayed as many nobles as had rebelled against me (and) draped their skins over the pile; some I spread out within the pile, some I erected on stakes upon the pile, (and) some I placed on stakes around about the pile. I flayed many right through my land (and) draped their skins over the walls. I slashed the flesh of the eunuchs (and) of the royal eunuchs who were guilty. I brought Ahi-yababa [the ruler of Suru] to Nineveh, flayed him, (and) draped his skin over the wall of Nineveh.18 The colonial violence that these texts relish is replicated in the narrative art of the period that adorned, if that is the proper term, the palaces of the Assyrian monarchs. Most of the characters and scenes verbalized in the inscription just cited are faithfully represented in the bas reliefs of Assyrian royal architecture, which typically presents as humorous the problems, contortions and maltreatment of dead or doomed enemies.19 As the inscription of Ashur-nasir-apli II shows, Assyrian ideology set its conquests in the context of Ashurs absolute superiority and so allowed for no limits to the empires extension.20 This link between god and king is at the center of Assyrian kingship, as expressed by a royal hymn from the Neo-Assyrian period for Assurbanipal which begins with the exclamation Ashur is king! Ashur is king!21 From the middle of the ninth century onward, this commitment to complete supremacy saw the inferior powers around Assyria become either provinces or client states, with the latter retaining vestiges of independence such as indigenous rulers and their own political institutions. While this relationship also entailed Assyrias protection of the client state, the end result, from any perspective, was the subordination of the lesser power for the good of the dominant power. Not only that, but the identity of the colonized was overwritten: all people dominated by the Assyrian empire, in client states and provinces alike, were termed Assyrians by the colonizer.22 2. INTERTEXTUALITY AS CO-CREATOR OF IDENTITY Given that postcolonial criticism is essentially a style of inquiry, an insight or perspective, it is easily applicable to an almost limitless variety of human cultural expression that is reactive resistance discourse of the colonized.23 This paper proposes that it can therefore be profitably applied to ancient as well as modern literature, and seeks to demonstrate this by

looking closely at the Book of Jonah in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament.24 Though among the shortest of the writing prophets, Jonah is nonetheless highly intertextual with reference to antecedent HB material, and several of the books characteristics make it unusually interesting for post-colonial studies.25 First, postcolonial studies are deeply concerned with identity, whether the identity that the colonizer projects onto the colonized or the various means the colonized use to preserve their identity and freedom.26 This paper will argue that the primary function of many of Jonahs intertextual connections to the Hebrew canon is to create identities for the books main characters, and through these characters to formulate a Hebrew response to Neo-Assyrian colonialism. Second, postcolonial studies is fully receptive to the interaction that various texts have with one another, be they written or not. Here too the book of Jonah is an appealing subject of study, for not only is it peppered with connections to the then-extant corpus of Hebrew literature, but its purported historical setting offers readers the Neo-Assyrian corpus, especially the elements that deal with imperialism, as a context. This paper will explore a resistant postcolonial reading of the book of Jonah, since the prophet himself is not Assyrian in terms of ethnicity or political affiliation, writes in Hebrew for Israelites, but yet does not explicitly repudiate Assyrian rule.27 2.1 Israelite Identity The Book of Jonah addresses the issue of Israelite identity very selectively: Jonah is the only character of Israelite origin, and also the only one to bear the title Hebrew.28 The absence of any mention of other Israelites is striking, not least because the book is written in Hebrew to Israelites. But by gapping Israelite identity apart from that of Jonah, the book gains an incisive rhetorical edge that puts one question squarely before its (Israelite) readers: is their identity that of Jonah, or is it other? The first chapter identifies Jonah in no fewer than four ways: the narrator makes reference to his family and prophetic function (1:1), and Jonah himself makes reference to his ethnicity and religion. It is possible to prioritize some of these elements hermeneutically. The reference to Jonahs family plays no further role in the work, and Jonahs role as prophet, though necessary to the plot, is likewise a peripheral element. Jonah first avoids the role entirely (chs. 12), then performs it perfunctorily (chs. 34), and the book as a whole portrays him as

a prophet who delivers Yahwehs words while himself being fundamentally in conflict with Yahweh. Jonahs own words confirm that his prophetic identity is subordinate to his ethnic and religious identity. With the declaration that he is a Hebrew he sets himself off from the nonIsraelites around him.29 Ironically, the following phrase in which he professes to revere Yahweh who made the sea and the dry land traces all humanity back to the divine act of creation and so articulates its fundamental equality before God.30 Jonahs religious selfdescription complicates the task of interpretation, since the prophet whose actions reveal infidelity to his calling nonetheless claims that he reveres Yahweh. This is more than paradoxical. Wolff notes that fearing/revering God describes a living relationship of obedience and trust; cf. Gen. 22:12; Ex. 20:20; Prov. 1:7; Ps. 111:10,31 but neither of these elements is evident in Jonahs behavior. Tentatively adopting a negative view of Jonahs sincerity, we see in him a colonized individual identifying himself first ethnically, and then religiously. There is no question as to the veracity of the first means of identification, but did all Hebrews revere Yahweh? The first half of chapter 1 leads us to conclude in the negative. Though making use of some of the most powerful and profound language in the HB, Jonahs prayer in chapter 2 does not stand in tension with this sketch of the insincere prophet. Rather, the psalm is Jonahs description of himself and of the sailors, and the narrator controls its contribution to the book by means of the surrounding narrative. As in chapter 1, Jonahs selfidentification is extremely positive, and it is noteworthy that here religious attachment is the only brush with which the prophet paints his character. While his trial, brief though it was, is portrayed in the language of nearly complete abandonment by God (2:4 [Eng 3] echoes Ps 88:8 [Eng 7] and Ps 42:8 [Eng 7], among other texts), Jonah sees his faith as unbreakable. Although he describes his prayer in terms used for the repentant prayers of Israelite exiles (prayer [with or metaphors] towards Yahwehs [1 Kgs 8:38 // 2Chr 6:38] or [as here]), no element of confession or repentance enters his monologue. Echoes of Psalms 3, 5, and 31 figure largely in many of the songs phrases, and all three psalms establish and depend on the speakers integrity while they contrast him with his enemies who have no reverence for God and openly oppress the speaker.32 The final intertextual element that contributes to the books identification of Jonah is again found on the lips of Jonah himself. In 4:1 the prophet reveals the position that he has held, since the beginning of the book, regarding his prophetic commission and the possibility of Ninevehs deliverance. Jonahs use of Yahwehs self-revelation in Exodus 34, rich with connotations of his undeserved mercy to sinful Israel as well as his freedom in choosing the

objects of his grace, is fortified by reference to the deliverance Jonah has just seen, in which Yahweh relented concerning the threat he had made ( ). It is precisely the exercise of these glorious, life-giving attributes of God toward Nineveh that has a killing effect on Jonah (Jonah 4:3).33 As Simon puts it, here he is praying for death because the Lords attributesso frequently stated to praise himare loathsome to the prophet, and his unwilling participation in their application has deprived his life of meaning.34 The fact that Jonah had felt this way since the word of the Yahweh came to him creates a sort of Jonah-based intertextuality, in that the prophets prior text is given later expression once it has worked itself out in his character. By exploiting this diachronic selfinterpretation, the book portrays with immense power the deviant nature of Jonahs attitudes and beliefs. He is utterly and profoundly opposed not only to Yahwehs spreading his grace beyond Israels borders, but to Yahwehs character itself. For Jonah, a happy life is not possible with such a God. The Book of Jonah thus depicts the prophet whose name it bears as a mass of nonsensical contradictions. The prophet whose nation has known the ravages of imperialistic power and been the victim of an empire engorged with violence and self-interest has no interest in seeing them spared what he must think to be a horrible fate. Indeed, the only altruistic moment in his career seems to be his offering himself in an effort to spare the sailors in chapter 1, but even that action is tarnished by his evident disinterest in their later deliverance by Yahweh (2:9). The colonized is fundamentally a colonizer, though the political and military weakness of Israel has not afforded him the opportunity to enact his ideology. This paradox is reflected in the shifting identities of the two non-Israelite groups, to which we now turn. 2.2 Non-Israelite Identity There are two distinct groups of non-Israelites in the Book of Jonah, though neither is identified on that ethnic basis. Since the two groups are located in different narrative settings and have different identities, each will be examined individually. Their identities will, together with that of the Israelites, then be brought into relation with the identity of Yahweh, which drives the whole narrative. 2.2.1 The Ninevites Identity The book opens by identifying the Ninevites toponymically and morally (1:2).35 The Ninevites identity by virtue of their residence in that city is, however, only incidental. Yahwehs message to them hinges not at all on their ethnic or national identity, but

exclusively on their evil behavior ( ). Jonah likely includes them in the class of those who regard vain idols (2:9 [Eng 8]), and his message of imminent destruction identifies them as the intended objects of Yahwehs wrath (3:4).36 The identification of the Ninevites by means of their relationship (or lack thereof) to Yahweh is reinforced in chapter 3 by their self-identification as those who have indeed violated Yahwehs moral standards and so stand exposed to his judgment. In a remarkable presentation of Neo-Assyrian corrigibility, the whole city responds to Jonahs grudgingly-delivered message and escapes the threatened punishment. This reaction involves a disintegration of Neo-Assyrian imperialism and the attendant political structure: imperialism is excluded by the fact that the recognized superior deity is opposed to the political entity, and the exalted position of the king is undone of his own accord as he arises from his throne to sit down in ashes, and lays aside his royal regalia to dress himself in sackcloth. Putting off his royal identity, the king recognizes Gods evaluation of Neo-Assyrian morals as valid and takes seriously the threatened judgment as well as the possibility of Gods clemency, without presuming upon it (cf. 3:9 with Joel 2:14).37 The royal decree, by including the citys cattle, may be seen as putting humans and animals on similar footing as Yahwehs creatures or as demonstrating the sincerity of the citys response.38 These voids in (previously colonial) Ninevehs identity are filled with content that is devoid of imperialism and political hegemony. Even the most restrictive understanding of its believing in God (3:5) establishes that Nineveh responded to Jonahs message in such a way that she thoroughly repented from her sin.39 This is another instance of identifying the Ninevites religiously: the end of chapter 3 sees them move from one extreme to the other in their relationship to Yahweh the Creator. Originally a city who did not know its left hand from its right in religious matters, Nineveh is now one that has responded to, and been spared by, the God who had pity on her ( , 4:11). 2.2.2 The Sailors Identity The sailors in Jonah are almost completely without identity. The only exception consists of religious information, and here the text is comparatively generous. In the beginning, the sailors are theistic, as was normal in the ancient Near East. When the ship is threatened by the storm, their distress reveals the belief or hope that their gods are capable of doing something to save them from a watery grave (1:5), and this same disposition motivates the captains order that Jonah call upon his god (1:6).40

Upon hearing of Yahweh, the fear of the sailors increases ( , and the men feared with a great fear). Confronted with the reality of Yahwehs wrath against Jonah, the sailors make every attempt to save his life (1:13). But the growing storm renders this laudable effort unsuccessful, and with no other option they then pray to Yahweh, demonstrating their newfound conviction that he really is as Jonah had described him. Their prayer, cast in words that echo Psalms 115:3 and 135:6, recognizes Yahwehs sovereignty over them, the sea, and the storm.41 It is noteworthy that they recognize Yahweh as God before he has in fact shown that he will not hold them guilty for Jonahs death and before the storm has abatedtheir religious transformation is evident before they derive any demonstrable benefit from it.42 This verbal characterization of the sailors is complemented by a focus on their actions once the storm has ended. First, their reverence for Yahweh is expressed in precisely the same terms as in v 11, , and the men feared YHWH with a great fear (v 16).43 This can hardly be something less than whole-hearted conversion to Yahweh: the phrase to fear/revere God in the HB consistently describes those who have, and maintain, a healthy relationship with Yahweh. The sailors sacrifices and vows in the same verse confirm this interpretation, indicating the permanent commitment to Yahweh that the Hebrew Bible elsewhere associates with these actions and dispositions (Ps 50:14; Isa 19:21).44 This wealth of identifying information, in addition to establishing a damning contrast between Jonah and the sailors, completes the rapid transformation of their identity.45 The fact that no further information regarding the sailors follows in the remainder of the book hardly means that they are immaterial to its message. Rather, given their clear change in identity, no more needs to be said, and they function as a critique for Jonahs superciliousness in 2:89. While their prior identity included no elements of colonialism or imperialism, it is noteworthy that the clearest instance of changed identity in the Book of Jonah occurs with sailors whose prior identity was a blank in everything but religion. The use of intertextual material from the HB to describe their conversion effectively inducts them into the number of those who revere Yahweh. This in turn suggests that the Book of Jonah, though very interested in the relation between colonized and colonizer, subsumes that paradigm under one predicated on Yahwehs identity as sovereign creator and deliverer. 2.2.3 Yahwehs Identity As with the human characters, intertextual connections do the lions share in identifying Yahweh. The consistency of his interaction with Jonah the Israelite, the non-Israelite sailors, and the colonialist Assyrians confirms that a supra-colonialist paradigm makes sense of the

otherwise nonsensical identity of Jonah and the unexpected responses of non-Israelites to the partial revelation of Israels God. The book begins by identifying the deity who commissions Jonah, and who miraculously delivers the sailors, by means of the tetragrammaton (1:1). The strong connection between Israels deliverance from Egypt (with which Yahweh associates his name in a special way, Exodus 6) and the covenant made with Abram prefaces the narrative events with a hint that divine deliverance can easily extend beyond Israels borders (Exod 6:28). Jonahs subsequent affirmation that Yahweh created the seas and the dry land also establishes divine sovereignty over all of creation (cf. Jonah 1:9 with Exod 20:11; Neh 9:6; Ps 146:6; Am 5:8; 9:6). This openness to Gentiles is strengthened by the description of the storm and subsequent deliverance in terms drawn from Psalm 107:2332, the first section of that psalm which treats Gods relationship to those outside Israel. Ps 107introduces (anonymously) those who go down to the sea in ships and follows them through a storm (in Ps 107:25, 28; in Jonah 1:4) to witness their prayers ( in Ps 107:28; and in Jonah 1:5, 14) and Yahwehs work of deliverance (in Ps 107:24; the hope that Jonahs god will in Jonah 1:6). Once delivered, both groups of sailors offer cultic worship to Yahweh, though the description of the sailors worship in Jonah significantly lacks the Zion element apparent in Ps 107 (Ps 107:32; Jonah 1:16).46 Among these elements, the sailors prayer to Yahweh merits further reflection. As already noted, the authors recounting of the sailors prayer is dependent upon Psalms 115:3 and 135:6. Ps 115 deals at length with the contrast between the nations (115:1) and those who believe in Yahweh and contrasts the idols impotence with Yahwehs sovereignty and deliverance of those who trust in him. Ps 135 overlaps substantially with the description of idols in Ps 115, but adds references to the sea as subject to Yahweh (135:6) and Jerusalem as the site of his throne (135:21) that together create an interesting tension in Yahwehs identity: though he is tied to Israel, his deliverance is available globally. The unlimited geographical reach of this gracious divine deliverance is complemented by its coming to the most unlikely recipients. For different reasons, every human character in the story could be seen as an improbable object of Yahwehs mercy, but all receive it! The nonIsraelite sailors are far from Yahwism until the last minute, yet Yahweh clears them of guilt and saves them from the storm. Jonahs deliverance in 1:16 is almost unbearable for the reader given his twisted theology and xenophobia, and the sparing of Nineveh in chapter 3 surprised the Ninevites themselves and likely every reader of the book! These components constitute a powerful portrait of Yahweh as willing to deliver all those who call on him, regardless of their ethnicity, nationality, ideology, or religion.

Jonah himself continues (with no little disgust) the process of identifying God in 4:2 as a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abundant in loving-kindness, and one who relents concerning calamity. This description first came to expression, canonically speaking, in Exod 34:67, a passage preeminent in the HB/OT as a source of ongoing reflection on Yahwehs character.47 Its historical context is the blatant fracture of the recently concluded Sinai covenant by Israels apostasy and idolatry with the golden calf. Yahweh, deeming the covenant relationship terminated, threatens to annihilate Israel and to continue his purposes through Moses. Moses intercedes passionately and successfully on Israels behalf by arguing on the basis of Yahwehs gracious and compassionate character. Notably, this description of Yahwehs person does not include any limiting element which would confine Yahwehs behavior to Israel.48 On the contrary, the contextual reference to the covenant with Abraham suggests otherwise (Exod 32:13; 33:1). Thus when Exod 34 is used in Jonah 4, divine pity for Nineveh adds further power to that already strong characterization. When Yahweh relented concerning the threat he had made ( ), he did exactly what he had done in Exod 32, sparing those who have sinned against him simply because of his mercy and grace.49 Fittingly, it is Yahweh who has the last word on his identity. He begins by reminding Jonah of the pity he had for the recently withered gourd, and in 4:11establishes the propriety of his own pity for Nineveh, whose value far exceeds that of the gourd.50 The use of the same verbal root-preposition pair ( , have pity on) to describe Jonahs sentiments for the plant and Yahwehs compassion for Nineveh highlights the absurdity of Jonahs behavior and belief, and God concludes his argument by reaffirming his right to pour out his grace on his creatures sovereignly. Yahweh (the only supreme power in the story) has shown his indiscriminate grace and compassion to the disempowered but colonially-motivated Jonah in saving him from a premature death, to the notoriously imperialist Neo-Assyrian empire by effacing Ninevehs identity as a ville violente and so undercutting its colonialism, and to a group of non-Yahwistic sailors by hearing their prayer to withhold judgment for what might have been manslaughter or worse and by delivering them from a life-threatening storm. Ironically, these gentiles who have experienced Yahwehs deliverance follow him more closely than his own prophet. 3. IS A POSTCOLONIAL JONAH POSSIBLE? I have argued that in Jonah, the primary element in non-Israelite and Israelite identity is the individuals relation to Yahweh. This has an interesting effect on postcolonial readings of Jonah. Despite the oppressive presence and influence of the Neo-Assyrian empire in Israelite life in the 8th7th century setting established by the book, the narratives response to this imperialist reality is not simply a form of postcolonialism in which the identity of the

colonized is contrasted with, or developed independently of, that of the colonizer.51 Nor is the response that Jonah proposes essentially one of hybridity, since it transcends and thereby relativizes a response to colonialism on its own terms (i.e., primarily through ethnicity, culture, politics, or other power-related means). Rather, by identifying its human characters primarily in terms of their relationship to Yahweh, who alone rules the entire cosmos, the book puts all humanity on equal footing before him. While the attitude of the prophet Jonah himself is decidedly nationalist, the book that bears is name is supra-nationalist, by which I mean it proposes an alternative to identities staked mainly on nation-states.52 Whatever ones political, ethnic, and historical background might be, religious identity becomes the primary lens through which even issues as prominent as colonialism are seen. Consequently, whether in Assyria or Israel, empire receives a subtle but substantive critique.53 In light of the religious transformations evident in the sailors and the Ninevites, it is important to note that nothing is imposed on themall we witness are spiritual transformations which lead to new identities.54 But were not the transformations of the sailors and the Ninevites both forced upon them, given the danger of the storm in the first case and the threat of divine judgment in the second? Indeed, did not Yahweh act in much the same way as an imperialist nation toward these gentiles in using his unlimited power to get them to do what he wanted? In other words, while Yahweh seems to deconstruct colonialism in the Book of Jonah, does postcolonialism deconstruct Yahweh?55 To begin with the sailors, it is not at all clear that they convert to YHWH to escape death at sea. The text underlines a very different concern on their part, namely, the wish to avoid becoming guilty before Yahweh for murder or manslaughter. Their own gods having failed to save them, they come to revere the Creator without having any assurance that he will deliver them from their life-threatening predicament. That he does so is simply gratuitous. In the case of Nineveh, this same articulation of unmerited and gracious deliverance is fortified by the clear understanding that ones repentance or turning to Yahweh does not guarantee deliverance from threatened punishment: the Ninevites cannot presume that Yahweh will relent and change his mind (3:9).56 Thus while the Assyrians clearly understood the threatened destruction of their city as punishment for their wickedness, their repentance is not presented as being motivated by self-interest; rather, the only sure result of the repentance is subjective, being a new relationship with the God whom they believe they have offended. Doubtless they understood it also increased their chances of being spared, but such concerns are relativized by the emphasis on Yahwehs sovereignty and grace. Threats of punishment in Jonah thus function as epistemological aids designed to help those in violation

of the Creators will remedy the situation before they meet the fate that attends such behavior (this comes to classic expression in Jer 18:710, and addresses worries that God does not remain faithful to his word to punish Nineveh)57 rather than as celestial strong-arming that corrupts the free moral and volitional agency of the one who repents.58 In the end, then, postcolonialism does not deconstruct the Book of Jonah or the God who figures so largely in its story line. Comparisons between Yahwehs exercise of saving, divine power and the exercise of material, military power by colonizing states are misconstrued primarily because the power relationship between the two parties is radically different in its nature and realization: human commitments to fear or believe in the God of Israel without a guarantee that such action will bring with it deliverance from present or possible future distress; a human beings deliverance (rather than subjugation) by the God who created her or him; and the fact that a unique Creator-God delivers human beings with no expectation of himself gaining something so as to self-aggrandize all invert the experience and motives of colonized and colonizer in the imperialist paradigm. 4. POSTCOLONIALISM AND THE PROPHETIC VOICE Jonahs message remains un-deconstructed by postcolonialism, and indeed postcolonialism can help it be heard in our contemporary context.59 Within the bounds of the present study, Jonahs greatest contribution may be his offer of a home independent of human structures and culture to all those disillusioned by the arrogance and violence of human interaction on personal, social, and national levels.60 In the words of Ngugi wa Thiongo, the book of Jonah proposes a solution to the quest for relevance, which he defines as a liberating perspective within which to see ourselves clearly in relationship to ourselves and to other selves in the universe.61 A large part of the books power lies in its zestful articulation of this type of epistemological shift in such unlikely characters. In the course of the narrative the divine identity becomes determinative for the non-Israelite sailors and the Ninevites, creating a disjunction between political and religious identities that the book integrates into its description of an appropriate response to colonialism. This choice by ethnic and religious non-Israelites to order their lives in relation to and with Yahweh, God of Israel, also provides an elegant foil for the rebellious prophet and proposes a transforming response to colonialism and human failings of any kind.

[1] In this essay colonizer is synonymous with empire, and colonized with state/province. See the interweaving of empire-terms in colonial theory across the literature, e.g., Fernando Coronil, Can Postcoloniality be Decolonized? Imperial Banality and Postcolonial Power, Public Culture 5:1 (Fall 1992), 89108, Neil

Larsen, Imperialism, Colonialism, Postcolonialism, in A Companion to Postcolonial Studies (ed. Henry Schwarz and Sangeeta Ray; Blackwell Companions in Cultural Studies; London: Routledge, 2000), 2352, and Barbara Bush, Imperialism and Post-colonialism (History: Concepts, Theories and Practice; Pearson Longman, 2006). For some incisive reflections on the term postcolonialism, see Anne McClintock, The Angel of Progress: Pitfalls of the Term Post-Colonialism, Social Text 31/32 (Spring 1992), 8497. An earlier form of this essay was presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Boston, Mass., 22 November 2008. My thanks go to the other panelists and participants, and especially to the designated respondent Uriah Kim, for their helpful comments. [2] Note the chronology and geographical locations of the collected essays that constitute Postcolonial contraventions: Cultural readings of race, imperialism and transnationalism (ed. Laura Chrisman; Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003). Older studies, coming as they did before the postcolonial period, are more likely to range farther in both dimensions, e.g., David E. Owen, Imperialism and Nationalism in the Far East (Berkshire Studies in World History; London: G. Bell and Sons, 1930). Bush, Imperialism and Postcolonialism, gives four pages to the empire before modern Europe (1013), and does not mention Assyria. [3] This is well argued by Rhys Jones and Richard Phillips, Unsettling Geographic Horizons: Exploring Premodern and Non-European Imperialism, in Globalization and Violence, vol. 1, Globalizing Empires: Old and New (Central Currents in Globalization; ed. Paul James and Tom Nairn; London: Sage, 2006), 2156. [4] In doing so it takes up the challenge issued by Rhys Jones and Richard Phillips, Unsettling Geographic Horizons, to engage with the premodern and the non European and to explore what lies beyond: to unsettle geographical horizons. [5] The view that Jonah was a polemic against exclusivist groups in post-exilic Yehud remains the majority position in HB/OT scholarship, but Ehud Ben Zvi properly admits that this position does not have any support from the narrative itself and suggests a post-exilic setting for the book on other grounds; Signs of Jonah: Reading and Rereading in Ancient Yehud (JSOTSup 367; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 101. It is interesting to consider the possibility that the books author was the prophet who spoke during the reign of Jeroboam II (782753 B.C.E), not least since the only Israelite named in the book bears the

same name, prophetic function, and interest in national Israel; see John Stek, The Message of the Book of Jonah, Calvin Theological Journal 4 (1969), 2350, esp. 2335, for a good presentation of the relevance and coherence of an eighth-century setting for Jonah. Be that as it may, even if Jonah was written in the Persian period, when the colonizing Persia acted more humanely with respect to its subjects, the absence of clear parallels to Persian history or ideology as well as the much stronger antipathy that Israelites would have for the empire that had exiled them and ravaged their land provide sufficient grounds for approaching Jonah in a NeoAssyrian setting. [6] For an overview of Neo-Assyrian imperialisms development as a replacement for the practice of concluding treaties with other states, see A. K. Grayson, Studies in Neo-Assyrian History II: The Eighth Century BC, in Corolla Torontonensis: Studies in Honour of Roland Morton Smith (ed. Emmet Robbins and Stella Sandahl; Toronto: TSAR, 1994), 7384. [7] Although the Kurkh Monolith of Shalmaneser III (COS 2.113A) claims an Assyrian victory at Qarqar, the subsequent campaigns in the same area in 849, 848, 845 BCE during the reign of J(eh)oram (see RIMA 3#6) and in 841 BCE during the reign of J(eh)oram or Jehu (see RIMA 3#8) demonstrate that this was not the case; see A. Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Royal Inscriptions. Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II: (858745 BC) (RIMA 3; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996), hereafter RIMA 3. [8] The Black Obelisk epigraphs state (RIMA 3#88, cf. also the Calah Bulls): I received tribute from Jehu (Iaua) of Omri (Humri): silver, gold, a gold bowl, a gold tureen, golden vessels, gold pails, tin, the staffs of the kings hand, (and) spears. [9] See K. Lawson Younger, Jr. on Adad-Niraris Tell Al Rimah Stela, COS 2.114F. [10] In addition to dominating her kinfolk in Judah, Israel subjugated Moab to her east; J. M. Miller and J. H. Hayes, A History of Ancient Israel and Judah (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), 275. On Moab, see 2 Kgs 3:427 and the Mesha Inscription = Moabite Stone (COS 2.23), dating to the second half of the ninth century, which states that Omri was king of Israel, and he oppressed Moab for many days. And his son followed him, and he also said: I will oppress Moab! On Judah, note what is likely an (unsuccessful) attempt by Amaziah of

Judah to break free of Israelite domination (2 Kings 14:814). Israel may even have dominated Hamath and Damascus intermittently (2 Kgs 14:28), though that text poses interpretative difficulties; cf. Isa 8:23. [11] For Menahems tribute, see 2 Kgs 15:1422 and the Calah Annals (COS 2.117A) as well as the Iran Stela (COS 2.117B), which he probably set up after the campaigns of 737 (so Younger, The Iran Stela, ibid.), though the two Assyrian records probably do not describe the same payment. For Hoshea, see 2 Kgs 15:30; 17:16 and Summary Inscription 4 of Tiglath-Pileser III (COS 2.117C). The date of Menahems tribute is debated; see further J. K. Kuan, Neo-Assyrian Historical Inscriptions and Syria-Palestine (Jian Dao Dissertation Series 1; Hong Kong: Alliance Bible Seminary, 1995), 14344, 18788, and Bob Becking, The Fall of Samaria: An Historical and Archaeological Study (SHANE 2; Leiden: Brill, 1992). [12] Thus he states that the wide [land of Bit]-Hazaili (Aram-Damascus) in its entirety, from Mount [Leb]anon as far as the city of Gilea[d, Abel [on the bor]der of Bit-Hurmia (Israel) [he] annexed to Assyria and that he spared only Samaria. See the opening lines of Summary Inscription 910 and lines 1718 of Summary Inscription 13, respectively. This period is helpfully analyzed by K. Lawson Younger, Jr., The Deportations of the Israelites, JBL 117 (1998), 201 27. The population of the Lower Galilee was decimated by Assyrian activity, dropping from about 30,000 to nearly zero from the mid-eighth into the seventh centuries; Z. Gal, The Lower Galilee in the Iron Age II: Analysis of Survey Material and Its Historical Implications, Tel Aviv 15/16:1 (198889), 5664. See also the summary in Seymour Gitin, The Neo-Assyrian Empire and Its Western Periphery: The Levant, with a Focus on Philistine Ekron, in Assyria 1995 (ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997), 77103, esp. 8284. [13] See Sargons Great Summary Inscription and the Nimrud Prism, COS 2.118D and 2.118E. [14] Beyond the few texts cited here there is a wealth of primary sources with which readers of Jonah can come to understand the ideology of the Assyrian empire around this time, including prophetic texts. See David Aberbach, Imperialism and Biblical Prophecy 750500 BCE (London: Routledge, 1993). For reasons of brevity prophetic materials cannot be considered here, but those extant (which date

to the seventh century) reinforce the regimes authority; see Kenton L. Sparks, Ancient Texts for the Study of the Hebrew Bible (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2005), 228. Indeed, failure to support the regime was the hallmark of false prophecy in Assyria; see M. Nissinen, Falsche Prophetie in neuassyrischer und deuteronomisticher Darstellung, in Das Deuteronomium und seine Querbeziehungen (ed. T. Veijola; Helsinki: Finnische Exegetische Gesellschaft, 1996), 17295. [15] Peter Bedford, Empire and Exploitation: The Neo-Assyrian Empire, paper presented at the Social Science History Institute, Stanford University, on May 21 22, 2001, p. 18. The paper is available online athttp://sshi.stanford.edu/Conferences/20002001/empires2/bedford.pdf. [16] See B. Oded, War, Peace and Empire: Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (Weisbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1992). [17] Kirk A. Grayson, Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (vol. 2: From Tiglath-Pileser I to Ashur-nasir-apli II; Weisbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1976), hereafter RIMA 2, 119 (from the Ninurta temple at Kalach, i 9). [18] Grayson, RIMA 2, 12324 (from the Ninurta temple at Kalach, i 69). [19] Jilian Reade, Religious Ritual in Assyrian Sculpture, in Ritual and Politics in Ancient Mesopotamia (ed. Barbara Nevling Porter; AOS 88; New Haven: American Oriental Society, 2005), 761 (20); see further I. J. Winter, Art in Empire: The Royal Image and the Visual Dimensions of Assyrian Ideology, in Assyria 1995 (ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997), 35981; Stephen Lumsden, Narrative Art and Empire: The Throneroom of Assurnasirpal II, in Assyria and Beyond: Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen (ed. J. G. Dercksen; UNINOL 100), 35985. [20] Assyrian texts expound an imperial ideology claiming that Ashur was the pre-eminent deity who ruled over all the gods and, as a corollary, the political reality on earth should therefore be that all peoples acknowledged the sovereignty of Ashurs representative, the Assyrian king. To that end the king was charged at his coronation to extend the borders of Assyria. Bedford, Empire and Exploitation, 21.

[21] A. Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea (SAA 3; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1989), no. 11; see on the circumstances of its use P. Garelli, Les temples et le pouvoir royal en Assyrie du XIVe au VIIIe sicle, in Le temple et le culte. Xxe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Leiden, 37 juillet 1972 (ed. F. R. Kraus et al.; UNHAII 37; Istanbul: Nederlands HistorischArcheologisch Instituut, 1975), 11617. [22] Bedford, Empire and Exploitation, 3031; in Assyrian texts Subjugated peoples and their rulers who were submissive and continued to be obedient were applauded for their moral virtues and for acting like Assyrians (idem, 36). [23] R. S. Sugirtharajah, Charting the Aftermath, in The Postcolonial Biblical Reader (London: Blackwell, 2006), 732 (89). [24] One of the most challenging and exciting aspects of postcolonial cr iticism has been its rereading of ancient documents and literary texts. Sugirtharajah, Charting the Aftermath, 27. See M. A. de la Torre, Liberating Jonah: Forming an Ethics of Reconciliation (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 2007), for an monograph that seeks to do likewise, and Bradlel L. Crowell, Postcolonial Studies and the Hebrew Bible, Currents in Biblical Research 7.2 (2009), 21744, for an overview of interdisciplinary work to date. [25] See most recently H. C. P. Kim, Jonah Read Intertextually, JBL 126 (2007), 497528. Within biblical studies, intertextuality has several meanings. It may denote an understanding of the Bible as intentionally self-referencing, self-focused, and self-contained, e.g., M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985). It is more commonly connected with the approach pioneered by Julia Kristeva, and is less a name for a works relation to prior texts than a designation of its participation in the discursive space of a culture (J. Culler, The Pursuit of Signs: Semiotics, Literature, Deconstruction [Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981], 103). Here I use the term to denote something between the two, including both canonical (cotextual) and historically relevant (contextual) material in the definition. Extra-biblical texts, since they are not part of the biblical corpus, have an inherent literary, cultural, and geographic distance to overcome; see especially W. W. Hallo, Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Their Relevance for Biblical Exegesis, in W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger, Jr. (eds.), Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, vol. 1 of The Context of Scripture (3 vol.; Leiden: Brill, 19972002), xxiiixxviii.

[26] The question of identity traverses post-colonial thinking. Peter Childs, Jean Jacques Weber, and Patrick Williams, Post-Colonial Theory and Literatures: African, Caribbean and South Asian (WVT-Handbcher zum literaturewissenschaftlichen Studium 7; Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2006), 13. [27] R. S. Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism and Biblical Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 52. While at the beginning the native intellectual used to produce his work to be read exclusively by the oppressor, whether with the intention of charming him or of denouncing him through ethnic or subjectivist means, now the native writer progressively takes on the habit of addressing his own people. Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (trans. Constance Farrington; New York: Grove Press, 1968), 240. [28] Ethnicity and religion were the most common elements in ancient Near Eastern identity-creation. See Gary Knoppers, Identity, Ethnicity, and InterDependency: The Judean Communities of Babylon and Jerusalem in the Story of Ezra, paper presented at the CSBS, 28 May 2007, Saskatoon, SK, Canada. This study will approach the issue inductively in order to minimize the danger of reading the text (a colonized voice) against its grain (i.e., imposing, imperialistically, a hermeneutical grid on the text). [29] On why the concept of ethnicity rather than that of racial identity is to be used see Rodney Steven Sadler Jr., Can a Cushite Change His Skin? An Examination of Race. Ethnicity, and Othering in the Hebrew Bible (LHBOTS 425; New York: T & T Clark, 2005), 116, and Kenton L. Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel: Prolegomena to the Study of Ethnic Sentiments and Their Expression in the Hebrew Bible (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1998). On the permeability and overlap that can characterize ethnic identity in an ancient Near Eastern context, see Stuart Tyson Smith, Wretched Kush: Ethnic Identity in Egypts Nubian Empire (London: Routledge, 2003). [30] The term Hebrew, frequently distinguishes Israelites from ethnic nonIsraelites (Abram, Gen 14:13; the Israelites vis--vis Egyptians throughout the first half of Exodus) and sharply contrasts Jonah and the sailors. Rdiger Lux, Jona Prophet zwischen Verweigerung und Gehorsam: Eine erzhlanalytische Studie (Gttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994), 10911, notes the ethnically leveling function of the reference to Yahweh as creator.

[31] Hans Wolter Wolff, Obadiah and Jonah: A Commentary (trans. Margaret Kohl; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1986), Obadiah and Jonah, 121. Roland E. Murphy similarly describes the content of the phrase as the equivalent of biblical religion and piety (The Tree of Life: An Exploration of Biblical Wisdom Literature [3d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002], 16). [32] Psalm 3 is especially interesting intertextually: note the that comes from God (3:3, 9; cf. Jonah 2:10), the peaceful sleep that the one who trusts in Yahweh enjoys (3:6; cf. Jonah 1:5), and the identification of the people of God as those who, like the psalms author, depend on God (3:9; cf. the frictional relationship Jonah has with Yahweh). [33] Ironically, Yahweh had just heard Jonahs own prayer for (unmerited) deliverance and saved him from death in chapter two (Jonathan Magonet notes the semantic overlap of the two passages, Form and Meaning: Studies in Literary Techniques in the Book of Jonah [BBET 2; Bern: Herbert Lang; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1976], 52). [34] Uriel Simon, The JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah (trans. Lenn J. Schramm, adapted by Uriel Simon; Philadelphia: JPS, 1999), 34. [35] Nineveh became the capitol city during the reign of Sennacherib (704 681), and remained so until the end of the empire. It was quite significant before that time as well, being the ancient and revered site of a temple to Ishtar and earlier royal palaces located an important river crossing and natural road junction. Sennacherib augmented the citys agricultural output and added royal infrastructure as well as perimeter defenses; cf. David Oates, Studies in the Ancient History of Northern Iraq (with a preface by Joan Oates; London: British School of Archaeology in Iraq, 2005), esp. 4258; David Stronach, Notes on the Fall of Nineveh, in Assyria 1995 (ed. Parpola and Whiting), 30724. [36] In so far as it goes, this is a fair characterization of the Assyrians given their iconic religion, but quite ironically Sargon IIs records testify that upon the destruction of Israel he carried away as spoil the gods in whom they trusted. Cf. Nimrud Prism 4 and its discussion in Bob Becking, Assyrian Evidence for Iconic Polytheism in Ancient Israel? in The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (ed. K. van der Toorn; CBET 21; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 15771. On icons in

Assyrian religion, see Christopher Walker and Michael B. Dick, The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamian mis pi Ritual (SAALT 1; Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project; Helsinki: University of Helsinki, 2001), Thorkild Jacobsen, The Graven Image, in P. D. Miller, Jr. et al. (eds.),Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 1532. [37] See Job 16:17; Isa 59:6 for the collocation of with as denoting a fundamentally violent character and pattern of behavior. The king calls for a fast in words also used of Jehoshaphat, 2 Chron 20:3, and may echo Joel 2:15. [38] The strange practice of involving animals in fasts and displays of repentance is occasionally attested, as Thomas M. Bolin notes, Freedom Beyond Forgiveness. The Book of Jonah Re-Examined (Copenhagen International Seminar 3; JSOTSup 236; Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 128. Judith 4:10 is a better analogue that Herodotus, Histories, 9.24, as John Day has pointed out (Problems in the Interpretation of Jonah, in A. van der Woude [ed.], In Quest of the Past: Studies on Israelite Religion, Literature and Prophetism [OtSt 26; Leiden: Brill, 1990] 3247 [34]), but Judith is in all likelihood drawing on Jonah. Be that as it may, the search for a literary precedent for Jonah 3:8 is somewhat deceptive, as religious thought in the ANE was fertile enough that it was not absurd to invoke the notion of the totality of the populace of a city by including the animals in [its] religious activities; Lowell K. Handy, Jonahs World: Social Science and the Reading of Prophetic Story (BibleWorld; London: Equinox, 2007), 92, pace E. J. Bickerman, Les deux erreurs du prophte Jonas, RHPR 45 (1965), 23264. This need not rule out the possibility of hyperbole or humor in the description, however; cf. R. W. L. Moberly, Preaching for a Response? Jonahs Message to the Ninevites Reconsidered, VT 53 (2003) 15668, especially 156 n. 4. [39] The use of the Hifil of (believe) with the preposition (in) and God as the grammatical object spans a large semantic spectrum, from the response that Israel should have toward God after seeing his miraculous works on her behalf to believing response to Yahwehs word. For with the preposition and God as the grammatical object in response to divine miracles, see Exod 14:31; Num 14:11; 20:12; Deut 1:32; Ps 78:22. For the phrases description of a response to the divine word, see Gen 15:6; Deut 9:23; 2 Kgs 17:14; 2 Chr 20:20; Ps 106:12. The most general sense for the phrase is required in 2 Chron 20:20, where belief in God has the result that the Judahites would be established (Nifal of ) against the

threat posed by a composite force of Moabites, Ammonites, and others. The following, parallel phrase promises that belief in Yahwehs prophets (again with the Hifil of with ) will see Judah delivered (Hifil of ). [40] Prayer to deity when in distress at sea is widely attested; see Aaron Jed Brody, Each Man Cried Out to His God: The Specialized Religion of Canaanite and Phoenician Seafarers (HSM 58; Atlanta: Scholars, 1998), 8283. There is no clear differences in semantics between the expressions used for prayer, (1:5) and (1:6). [41] The sentence in Psalm 135:6 is explicitly related to Yahwehs free disposal over the sea. In both psalms, the confession of faith contrasts Yahweh with other, impotent gods (135:5) and idols (115:47); Wolff,Obadiah and Jonah, 121. This prohibits the conclusion that the sailors were polytheists who simply added Yahweh to their pantheon, pace Haim Gevaryahu (The Universalism of the Book of Jonah, Dor le Dor 10 [1981]: 2027) and Brody (Each Man Cried Out to His God, 11, n. 9), who seems to favor the understanding that Jonahs description of Yahweh as the God of the heavens is indebted to Baal Samem (following B. Mazar, The Philistines and the Rise of Israel and Tyre, in The Early Biblical Period [Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1986], 8081). [42] Yahwehs deliverance of the sailors was not in the first place saving them from death at sea (that was not their prayer), but from divine condemnation and punishment for murdering Jonah (that was their prayer). They were delivered secondarily (and perhaps consequently) from drowning. [43] On the various meanings of fear in Jonah 1, see Lux, Jona, 101 n. 37, 112 n. 88. Magonet has noted polysemy with other lexemes in Jonah in Form and Meaning, 2228. [44] To note but one practical point, in all likelihood the sacrifices were offered after their voyage ended, since the recently lightened ship would no longer carry the wherewithal for a sacrifice. Ps 50 stresses the propriety of vows and sacrifices provided that the worshipers life is likewise in accord with Gods revealed will. It is also striking that that psalm addresses Israelites who have taken the covenant upon their lips but whose hearts disdain Gods word (50:17; the psalm as a whole stresses the propriety of vows and sacrifices provided that the worshipers life is likewise in accord with Gods revealed will). Likewise Isa 19:21, which describes

the eschatological restoration of Egypt (19:1625), shows Israels ancient enemies fulfilling the normal cultic duties of vows and sacrifices. The language of Isaiah 19:2021 appears to have been consciously chosen to demonstrate that Egypt will share the same kind of relationship with the Lord as Israel did. J. Oswalt, Isaiah (NIV Application Commentary; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003), 243. [45] Der Erzhler stellt dem hebrischen Propheten, der sich Gottes Wort verschliet, Nichtisraeliten gegenber, die sich dem Gott Israels im Gebet ffnen, seine Rechts- und Kultterminologie zu der ihren machen (v. 14) und schlielich zu Teilnehmen am Kultgeschehen werden (v. 16). Lux, Jona, 121. It is within this context that one must see Jonahs contrast of himself with those who regard vain idols [and] forsake their faithfulness (2:8, Eng. 2:9) Since the heathen sailors are prominent in the prior context and the Ninevites in the subsequent context, it is difficult to see how Jonahs words could refer to Israelites. Jonah thus sets himself up as a faithful worshiper who enjoys Yahwehs covenant faithfulness, while those who worship false gods (the construction is very strong, meaning utterly worthless gods) have no hope of experiencing this divine response. Ironically, however, and without Jonahs knowing it, the sailors have been delivered, in nautical and judicial senses, by Yahweh himself. [46] See Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 60150 (trans. Hilton C. Oswald; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1993), 32930; W. VanGemeren, Psalms, in Expositors Bible Commentary (12 vols.; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1991), 5.1 882 (686). [47] James Limburg and others rightly point out that the closest parallel to Jonah 4:2 is Joel 2:13 (Jonah: A Commentary [London: SCM, 1993]), 90). The difficulty of dating Joel greatly hinders any conclusions on the descriptions use there, however. Thomas B. Dozeman, Inner-Biblical Interpretation of Yahwehs Gracious and Compassionate Character, JBL 108 (1989), 207223, explores how the Jonah and Joel texts illuminate each other, and how both together throw light on Exodus 3234. The primacy of Exod 34:67 in the biblical storyline gives it priority, and in fact later uses intend to capitalize on its connotations. [48] Wolff, Obadiah and Jonah, 167.

[49] As Dozeman points out: the expansion of the formula of Yahwehs gracious character [in Jonah 4:2] is, itself, anchored in the same narrative context in which the formula is introduced in Torah (Interpretation, 221). See also Fishbane's brief remarks on the passage, Biblical Interpretation in Israel, 345 47. [50] John H. Walton explores the plants role in making Jonah subjectively aware of the difference between receiving grace and having it taken away (The Object Lesson of Jonah 4:57 and the Purpose of the Book of Jonah, BBR 2 [1992], 47 57). Whether the Book of Jonah ends with a rhetorical question or an assertion has some bearing on the meaning of chapter 4, but this has often been overstated. In recent discussion, e. g., P. Guillaume, The End of Jonah is the Beginning of Wisdom, Bib 87 (2006), 24350, more emphasis needs to be put on the compatibility of Gods sparing Nineveh subsequent to Jonahs preaching with his eventual destruction of it (cf. Nahum). To note but one point, the ambiguity of the Ninevites relationship to Yahweh after their belief in him, contrasted with the clear change to Yahwism on the part of the sailors, makes future judgment of Nineveh quite possible even within the future envisioned by the Book of Jonah. [51] Note, e. g., Wallerstein's argument that ethnic identity is formed when one political entity lives under the hegemony of another; I. Wallerstein, The Capitalist World-Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979). [52] On culture as a boundary marker in the ANE, see Mu-Chou Poo, Enemies of Civilization: Attitudes toward Foreigners in Ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, and China (SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture; Albany: SUNY Press, 2005), 152 and passim. [53] Sugirtharajah concludes that the Hebrew Scriptures seem to suggest that empires, because of their military strength and the power that comes with it, are more than likely to behave arrogantly (The Bible and Empire: Postcolonial Explorations [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005], 191). [54] Note Tzvetan Todorov, The Conquest of America: The Question of the Other (trans. R. Howard; New York: Harper Perennial, 1992), on the violence that human imposition is: To impose ones will on others implies that one does not concede to that other the same humanity one grants to oneself, an implication

which precisely characterizes a lower civilization [h]ere is where the violence resides . (179). [55] Here I take deconstruction to be what a text does when it undermines the philosophy on which it relies. Jonathan Culler, On Deconstruction: Theory and Practice after Structuralism (London: Routledge, 1983), 86, cited in John Barton, Reading the Old Testament: Method in Biblical Study (rev. and enl. ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 225. [56] Philip P. Jensen, Interpreting Jonahs God: canon and criticism, in R. P. Gordon (ed.), The God of Israel (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 64; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 22945, notes that this removes the possibility of cheap grace (244). The observations of W. C. Gwaltney, Jr., that throughout Mesopotamian history one senses a pervasive pessimism that the gods decisions were arbitrary and amoral (Assyria, in Peoples of the Old Testament World [ed. by Alfred J. Hoerth, Gerald L. Mattingly, and Edwin M. Yamauchi, with a foreword by Alan Millard; paperback edition; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1998], 77106) and of F. A. M. Wiggermann, Theologies, Priests, and Worship in Ancient Mesopotamia (CANE 185961), that the affairs of the world were governed by divine decrees, show that this is typical of the Mesopotamian world view in the ancient period. [57] The relevance of Jer 18:710 for the Book of Jonah is noted in Jenson, Interpreting Jonahs God, 234. [58] Given the almost complete silence of the Book of Jonah on the details of divine agency in spiritual transformation (other than the threat against Nineveh), further analysis of the theological and anthropological aspects of religious responses is almost impossible. The long-term commitment of the sailors to Yahweh suggests that they did not resent the possibility that he might have facilitated their change of heart in some waywhatever influence the storm had on their decision, it was a decision to which the narrative leads us to believe they stuck once safe on land. Similarly, the Ninevites show no suspicion that their own repentance was not genuine because it was undertaken under the threat of judgment, or that their actions of repentance somehow compelled Yahweh to change his mind about punishing them. Whatever contemporary convictions about human freedom may be, the Book of Jonah portrays human freedom as inviolate in the context of divine intervention.

[59] See the thought-provoking comments of Sugirtharajah, The Bible and Empire, esp. 14591, and the critical but constructive reflections of Fernando F. Segovia, Postcolonial Biblical Criticism: Taking Stock and Looking Ahead, JSNT 30.4 (2008), 489502, and L. S. Rkukndwa, Postcolonial Theory as a Hermeneutical Tool for Biblical Reading, Hervormde Teologiese Studies 64 (2008), 33951. [60] Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism, 191; this can be done without sacrificing epistemological certainty, however, pace Sugirtharajah. [61] Ngugi wa Thiongo, Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature (Studies in African Literature; London: James Currey, 1986), 87.

A PROPHETIC REFLECTION ON DIVINE FORGIVENESS: THE INTEGRATION OF THE BOOK OF JONAH INTO THE BOOK OF THE TWELVE
Jakob Whrle University of Mnster

Abstract
It has often been recognized that the book of Jonah as well as several other passages in the Book of the Twelve are influenced by the so called grace formula (Gnadenformel) from Exod 34:67 (Joel 2:12-14; Jon 3:9; 4:2; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b, 3a; Mal 1:9a). But up to now the redactional relationship of these passages and their intention in the context of the book of the Twelve have only been defined inadequately. The article shows that the redaction responsible for the final redactional stage of the book of Jonah and for the integration of this book into the book of the Twelve, is also responsible for Joel 2:1214; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b, 3a; Mal 1:9a. Because of this redaction the Book of the Twelve can be read as a reflection on the conditions, the theological reasons and the limits of divine forgiveness. Note: Readers of this article are encouraged to read first article 3 in this volume. 1. INTRODUCTION It has often been recognized that the book of Jonah as well as several other passages in the Book of the Twelve are influenced by the so called grace formula (Gnadenformel) from Exod 34:67, in which Yhwh is described as a gracious and merciful God (Joel 2:12

14; Jonah 3:9; 4:2; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b, 3a; Mal 1:9a). However, the literary connection of these passages has not been defined exactly so far. In previous research, for example, Raymond C. van Leeuwen presumed that the same redaction, which integrated the book of Jonah into the Book of the Twelve, was responsible for Joel 2:1214; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b,3a and for some further additions (Hos 4:10; Joel 4:21; Mic 4:15).1 Additionally, Burkard M. Zapff, Ruth Scoralick and Gerhard Vanoni supposed that at least some of these passages could derive from a common redaction and were added for the context of the Book of the Twelve.2 However, the relationship of these passages has not been explained by a redaction critical analysis of the individual books, and the intention of these passages within the Book of the Twelve has not been defined in detail. In the following, at first the formation of the book of Jonah is considered (section 2). Based on this, the literary connections (section 3) and the compositional relationship (section 4) between the passages of the Book of the Twelve, which are influenced by the grace formula, are explained. At last, the intention of these passages is defined (section 5). 2. THE FORMATION OF THE BOOK OF JONAH Based on a new redaction critical analysis, which cannot be presented in detail here,3 the book of Jonah can be divided, mainly, in a primary layer and a secondary layer: Primary layer 1:15a, 7, 8a , 9, 1113, 15 2:1, 11 3:15 4:5, 6* (without and without to ), 79 Secondary layer 1:5b, 6, 8a, 10ab, 14, 16 2:210 3:610 4:14, 6*(and to ), 1011 Further addition 1:10b

The primary layerdated to the beginning of the Hellenistic periodis concerned with the fact that Yhwhs willingness to save the humans goes beyond the borders of his own

people.4 Jonah 12* narrates how Jonah reluctantly obeys Yhwhs command. After Yhwh has told the prophet to go to Nineveh, the prophet tries to escape by taking a ship to Tarshish. But Yhwh sends a storm and the ship is in danger of breaking up (1:15a). The mariners, by casting lots, find out that Jonah is the reason for the present distress, and they throw him into the sea (1:715*). After this, Yhwh sends a fish, which swallows the prophet and brings him back to the dry land (2:1, 11). Thus, on the level of the primary layer, the religious behaviour of the mariners according to Yhwh, and the religious behaviour of the prophet in the fish has not played any role yet. In the second part of the primary layer, obedient Jonah goes to Nineveh where he warns the people who then repents. Jonah leaves the city and sits nearby to see what will happen. (Jonah 3:15). In the ricinus episode, Yhwh teaches Jonah a lesson to make him feel what it would be like if Nineveh was punished (Jonah 4:6*, 79). The original end of the ricinus-episode, however, is lost.5 It was replaced by verses 4:1011, which derive from the redactors of the secondary level. The primary layer of the book of Jonah can thus be understood as a narrative pleading for a universalistic theology. It is emphasized that Yhwh does not tolerate any resistance against his will to save the nations. It is shown that divine service is possible beyond the borders of Gods own people. It is described, which consequences the judgement of Yhwh would have. And thus it is stressed that one cannot deny the foreign nations the salvific contribution of Yhwh. Within the passages added by the redactors of the secondary layer, which can be dated in the middle of the third century, in Jonah 1 the positive behaviour of the mariners towards Yhwh is described. They tell the prophet to pray to his God (1:5b, 6). They ask Jonah for the originator of the present distress (1:8a). They fear Yhwh (1:10ab), and they turn to Yhwh with prayers, with sacrifices and with vows (1:14, 16). In Jonah 2:210 the prayer of the prophet in the fish was added. Like the mariners, the prophet now turns to Yhwh and is saved. In Jonah 3, the redactors added a speech of the king of Nineveh in Jonah 3:69, in which the king tells his people to repent, and a short notice in Jonah 3:10, according to which Yhwh relents from the evil he has planned to do against the Ninevites. In Jonah 4, a first addition was made in 4:14, in which a dispute between the prophet and Yhwh is narrated. The prophet becomes angry due to the fact that Yhwh has withdrawn the judgement against Nineveh. Finally, the redactors of the secondary layer added a new interpretation of the ricinus-episode in4:1011. The book ends with the unanswered question that if Jonah showed pity on a tree he didnt make grow, shouldnt Yhwh pity Nineveh?

Thus, the secondary layer of the book of Jonah pursues a twofold intention. At first, the turning of the people to Yhwh is set as the condition of Yhwhs turning to the people.6 For Jonah 13 is now characterized by a threefold description of human repentance and divine salvation. In Jonah 1, the mariners fear Yhwh, they turn to him with prayers, sacrifices and vows, and they are saved. In Jonah 2, the prophet also prays to Yhwh and is saved. And finally, in Jonah 3, the Ninevites repent and Yhwh cancels his judgement. Therefore, in Jonah 13 the action-oriented command to turn to Yhwh is decisive. Second, the secondary layer of the book of Jonah delivers insight into the theological reasons of divine forgiveness.7 According to Jonah 4:2, the prophet explains his attempt to escape from Yhwh with the fact that he knew that Yhwh is a gracious and merciful God. Thus, Yhwhs willingness to forgive is here said to be a fundamental attribute of his character. Because Yhwh is gracious and merciful, he reacts to human repentance, as it is described three times in Jonah 13. Additionally, at the end of the ricinusepisode in 4:1011, Yhwhs pity on the Ninevites is explained by the fact that he has made them. Yhwhs creation of man is given as the reason for his willingness to forgive. The question of divine forgiveness, already present in the primary layer of the book of Jonah, is thus elaborated on the level of the secondary layer in a twofold wayan action-oriented and a theological way. The peoples turning to Yhwh is the condition of Yhwhs turning to the people. Yhwh forgives the people because of his gracious and merciful character and because of the fact that he is the creator of man. Therefore, due to the additions of the secondary layer, the book of Jonah was rearranged from a narrative pleading for a universalistic theology to a practical-theological discourse on divine forgiveness. 3. THE GRACE-LAYER OF THE BOOK OF THE TWELVE The redaction-critical analysis of the Book of Jonah leads to the conclusion that this book underwent a redaction oriented on the conditions and on the theological backgrounds of divine forgiveness. Based on a redaction-critical analysis of all the other books of the Book of the Twelve it can be shown that some of them underwent a comparable redaction. This could be a hint that the secondary layer of the book of Jonah is part of a broader redaction which affected the growing Book of the Twelve as a whole. Besides the secondary parts of the book of Jonah, the following additions to the individual books of the Book of the Twelve are oriented on divine forgiveness:8 Joel Micah Nahum Malachi

2:1214

7:1820

1:2b, 3a

1:9a

In Joel 2:1214 the people is summoned to repent with fasting, weeping and mourning because of the before mentioned agricultural catastrophe. Thereby, the gracious and merciful character of Yhwh is given as the reason for the potential salvation of the people. At the end of the book of Micah, in Mic 7:1820, it is said that Yhwh is passing over the transgression of his people because of his kindness and mercy. According to Nah 1:2b, 3aYhwh is slow to anger, but he does not leave his enemies unpunished. Finally, in Mal 1:9a the people is summoned to smooth the face of Yhwh so that he may be gracious. This short overview shows that all these passages, like the secondary layer of the book of Jonah, are oriented on Yhwhs willingness to forgive. In these passages, the conditions of divine forgiveness are mentionedmainly prayer (Joel 2:12; Jonah 1:14; 2:210; 3:8; Mal 1:9a) and ritual actions (Joel 2:12; Jonah 1:16; 2:10; 3:78). It is emphasized that Yhwh is a gracious God, who does not refuse to turn to the people (Joel 2:13; Jonah 3:10;4:2; Mic 7:18 20; Mal 1:9a). But it is also stressed that Yhwhs willingness to forgive has its limits. For although he is slow to anger, he is angry and vengeful according to his enemies (Nah 1:2b, 3a). Besides the rather general observation that the secondary layer of the book of Jonah and the mentioned additions to the books of Joel, Micah, Nahum and Malachi are oriented on Yhwhs willingness to forgive, it is remarkable that all these passages show obvious allusions to the well-known description of Yhwhs character in Exod 34:6, which is often called GraceFormula (Gnadenformel):9 Exod 34:6 Yhwh is a merciful ( ) and gracious ( ) God ( ), slow to anger ( ) and of great kindness ( ) and truth ( ). An almost literal quotation of the Grace-Formula can be found in the first of the above mentioned passages, in Joel 2:1214: Joel 2:12 But now, oracle of Yhwh, turn to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping and with mourning. (13) And rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn to Yhwh your God. For he is gracious ( ) and merciful ( ), slow to anger ( ) and of great kindness ( ), and he relents from doing evil ( ). (14) Who knows if he will turn and relent and leave a blessing behind him, grain offering and drink offering for Yhwh, your God?

In Joel 2:1214, the appeal to react to the present distress with fasting, weeping and mourning, is motivated in 2:13 by a quotation of the Grace-Formula.10 However, compared to Exod 34:6, in Joel 2:13 the attributes gracious and merciful are mentioned in reverse order, and unlike Exod 34:6, Joel 2:13 does not end with a reference to Yhwhs truth ( ), but with the statement that Yhwh relents from doing evil ( ).11 Significantly, in Jonah 4:2a verse added by the redactors of the secondary layer of the book of Jonaha quotation of the Grace-Formula with exactly the same variations of this formula as in Joel 2:13 can be found.12Unlike Exod 34:6, but as Joel 2:13, at first Yhwhs grace and then his mercy is mentioned in Jonah 4:2, and unlike Exod 34:6, but as Joel 2:13, the formula ends with the statement that Yhwh relents from doing evil: For I knew that you are a gracious ( ) and merciful ( ) God ( ), slow to anger ( ) and of great kindness ( ), one who relents from doing the evil ( ) (Jonah 4:2). As there is no other verse in the Old Testament, in which the attributes , , , and are mentioned together, the correspondences between Joel 2:13 and Jonah 4:2 can be taken as an indication that Joel 2:1214 and the secondary layer of the book of Jonah are in some way interdependent.13 Additionally, it is remarkable that in Jonah 3:10, which has been added by the redactors of the secondary layer of the book of Jonah, the divine reaction to the repentance of the Ninevites and holds back the judgement planned against the city, is formulated with the following words: God saw their works, that they turned from their evil way, and God relented from doing the evil ( ), that he had said he would bring upon them, and he did not do it (Jonah 3:10). Thus, in Jonah 3:10 the phrase is used for the description of Yhwhs forgiveness, which is documented in Joel 2:13 and Jonah 4:2 beyond the version of the Grace-Formula given in Exod 34:6. Further allusions to the Grace-Formula known from Exod 34:6 can be found in Mic 7:1820: Who is a God ( ) like you pardoning iniquity and passing over the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? He does not retain his anger forever, because he delights in kindness ( ).14 He will again show mercy against us ( ), he will subdue our iniquities, and he will throw all our sins15 into the depths of the sea.16 You will give truth to Jacob, kindness ( ) to Abraham, as you have sworn to our fathers from the days of old (Mic 7:18).

In Mic 7:1820, as in Exod 34:6, the kindness ( ) of Yhwh is mentioned in 7:18, 20, and his mercy ( ; cf. Exod 34:6) in 7:19. Additionally, in Mic 7:18 as in Exod 34:6 the appellation is used.17 Comparable is the addition to the book of Nahum in Nah 1:2b, 3a: Yhwh takes vengeance on his adversaries and he rages against his enemies. 3a Yhwh is slow to anger ( ), and great in power, and he never lets go unpunished (Nah 1:2b). With the phrase slow to anger ( ) in Nah 1:3a another element of the Grace-Formula from Exod 34:6 is taken up. Furthermore, the subsequent phrase he does not leave unpunished ( ) can be taken as a quotation from Exod 34:7. Due to these allusions to Exod 34, Nah 1:2b, 3a is also connected with the additions in Joel 2:1214, Mic 7:18 20 and with the secondary layer of the book of Jonah.18 The same holds true for the last of the above mentioned additions in Mal 1:9a: Mal 1:9a But now, smooth the face of God ( ) and he will be gracious to us ( ). In Mal 1:9a another two verbal connections to the Grace-Formula of Exod 34:6 can be found. At first, in this verse the appellation is used again. Second, the promise that Yhwh will be gracious ( ) can be taken as a link to the statement of Exod 34:6 that Yhwh is a gracious God ( ).19 All in all, the secondary layer of the book of Jonah and the secondary passages Joel 2:12 14; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b, 3a; Mal 1:9a show obvious common features. All these passages are oriented on Yhwhs willingness to forgive and all these passages are determined by some distinct allusions to the Grace-Formula of Exod 34:6. This suggests that these passages belong to the same redaction, which could be called the Grace-Layer of the Book of the Twelve. However, terminological correspondences alone are not a sufficient basis for such a far reaching assumption. For these passages could have been inserted by various redactions independent from each other. For example, in the case of Joel 2:13 and Jonah 4:2 it has often been recognized that these two passages show common features. But it is mostly assumed that Jonah 4:2 depends on Joel 2:13.20 Thus, the only way to show that the secondary layer of the book of Jonah and the additions to the books of Joel, Micah, Nahum and Malachi go back to the same redaction, is to show that these additions build a common composition.21

4. THE COMPOSITION OF THE GRACE-CORPUS The secondary layer of the Book of Jonah and the secondary passages Joel 2:1214; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b, 3a; Mal 1:9a are not only connected by their common orientation on the question of Yhwhs willingness to forgive and by the above mentioned allusions to the GraceFormula of Exod 34:6. They also build a common composition in the growing Book of the Twelve, reaching on this redactional level from the book of Joel to the book of Malachi.22 To begin with, the distribution of these passages over the whole corpus is remarkable. For these passages were added in the books of Joel, Jonah, Micah, Nahum and Malachi, i.e. at the beginning, in the middle and at the end of the corpus, quasi as a frame and as the center of it. Joel 2:12 14 Joel AmOba d Jona h 1 4* Jona h Mic 7:18 20 Mic Nah 1:2b, 3 a Nah Hab Zec h However, the compositional interrelationship of these passages goes beyond this rather general observation. Only within the additions Joel 2:1214 and Mal 1:9a, and thus only within the additions of the first and of the last book of the corpus, an imperative directed to the addressees of the book can be found (Joel 2:12, 13; Mal 1:9a). The appeal to turn to Yhwh, decisive in these two passages, thus frames the whole corpus. Second, the distribution of the individual elements of the Grace-Formula is notable. As mentioned above, the whole formula is citedwith one little differencein Joel 2:13 and Jonah 4:2. Within the other additions just one or two individual terms of the Grace-Formula are taken up. Thereby, every element of the Grace-Formula in the version of Joel 2:13 // Jonah 4:2 is taken up exactly once more. The phrase is taken up in Jonah 3:10, the terms and are taken up in Mic 7:1820, in Nah 1:3a and in Mal 1:9a. Thus, the Grace-Formula, completely cited in Joel 2:13 // Jonah 4:2, is taken up step by step fragmented in its elements inJonah 3:10; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b, 3a; Mal 1:9a: Mal 1:9 a Mal

 Joel 2:13 (cf. Jonah 4:2) Imperative Jonah 3:10

Mic 7:1820

Nah 1:2b, 3a

Mal 1:9a

Imperative

Thus, the secondary layer of the book of Jonah and the additions to the books of Joel, Micah, Nahum and Malachi indeed build a common composition. This can be taken as distinct evidence that these passages go back on one and the same redaction, which can be called the Grace-Layer of the Book of the Twelve.23 By this redaction, the book of Jonah was re-edited and for the first time taken up in the growing Book of the Twelve, and the other passages were added at the corners and at the center of the Book of the Twelve. The result of this redactional process was a new corpus of prophetic books with a new intention. This corpus can be called the Grace-Corpus. 5. THE INTENTION OF THE GRACE-CORPUS By adding a re-edited version of the Book of Jonah to the growing Book of the Twelve and by adding the secondary passages Joel 2:1214; Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b, 3a; Mal 1:9a the redactors of these passages build a new corpus of prophetic booksthe Grace-Corpus. This corpus is mainly determined by the question of Yhwhs willingness to forgive. It specifies the conditions, the theological reasons and the limits of divine forgiveness. Thereby, with the additions in Joel 2:1214 and Mal 1:9a, a frame was laid around the whole corpus, in which the people are summoned to repent. In Joel 2:12 they are called to fast, to weep and to mourn, and in Mal 1:9athey are called to smooth the face of Yhwh. Thus, from its corners, the Grace-Corpus can be understood as a broad appeal to turn to Yhwh. However, the Grace-Corpus is not only determined by this call to repent. In this corpus it is also explained, why Yhwh will react on the repentance of the people. The explanation of divine forgiveness put forward in the Grace-Corpus is mainly based on the Grace-Formula known from Exod 34:6, which is cited almost literally in Joel 2:13 and Jonah 4:2, and which is cited in certain elements within the passages added in Jonah 3:10; Mic 7:18; Nah 1:2b, 3a and Mal 1:9a. Based on the Grace-Formula Yhwh is described as a gracious and

merciful God, who is slow to anger and of great kindness, and who relents from doing evil. Within the Grace-Corpus, this description of Yhwhs character is the theological key for the understanding of his willingness to forgive. Because of the fact that Yhwh is a gracious and merciful God, he turns to the people, saves them from distress and revokes the judgement he has planned to do. In the first addition brought in by the redactors of the Grace-Corpus, Joel 2:1214, the appeal to repent in Joel 2:12, 13a is motivated by a quotation of the Grace-Formula in 2:13b. That means, because of Yhwhs gracious and merciful character it is possible that he will save his people from the agricultural distress described in Joel 1:12:11. Additionally, the promise of Joel 2:1527, according to which Yhwh will make an end to the present distress, can be taken as a first evidence that he indeed reacts upon the repentance of his people and turns to them with grace. At the beginning of the Grace-Corpus, the book of Joel can thus be understood as an exemplary description, how the people repent in a situation of distress and how Yhwh averts this distress because of his gracious and merciful character.24 In the middle of the Grace-Corpus, the book of Jonah gives another broad portrayal of Yhwhs willingness to forgive.25 As mentioned above, in Jonah 13 it is three times described how Yhwh reacts upon the repentance of the people. In the concluding chapter Jonah 4, Yhwhs willingness to forgive is again explained with a quotation of the Grace-Formula in Jonah 4:2 and by the fact that Yhwh is the creator of man in Jonah 4:1011. With the threefold description of human repentance and divine forgiveness in Jonah 13 and with the comprehensive explanation of Yhwhs willingness to forgive in Jonah 4, the book of Jonah can be seen as the theological centre of the Grace-Corpus. Thereby, one element of the Grace-Formula plays a special role in the book of Jonah: Yhwh relents from doing evil ( ; Jonah 3:10; cf. 3:9). Exemplified by the fate of Nineveh, it is stated in the book of Jonah that Yhwh is willing to cancel his planned judgement.26 Thus he reacts upon the repentance of Nineveh and turns their fate. With the passages added to the books of Micah and Nahum, the fundamental description of Yhwhs willingness to forgive given in the books of Joel and Jonah is further developed. Thereby, in Mic 7:1820 two elements of the Grace-Formula are mentioned: Yhwhs mercy ( ) and his kindness ( ). Because of the fact that Yhwhs character is determined by mercy and kindness, he adheres to the promises given to the fathers and passes over the transgressions of the people.

This last word of the book of Micah gives a theological explanation of the twofold way from judgement to salvation described in the preceding book (Mic 13 / 45 and Mic 6:17:7 / 7:8 17). According to Mic 7:1820the mercy and kindness of Yhwh is the reason for the fact that the judgement oracles of Mic 13; 6:17:7 have not been the final say of Yhwh but that Yhwh, as it is documented in Mic 45; 7:817, is willing to forgive. Remarkable is the next passage, added by the redactors of the Grace-Corpus in Nahum 1:2b, 3a. In this word, added at the beginning of the book of Nahum, in which judgement is promised to the city of Nineveh, the term slow to anger is taken up from the GraceFormula. Thus, in the book of Nahum it is shown by the redactors of the Grace-Corpus that Yhwhs willingness to forgive has its limits. For the statement that Yhwh is slow to anger can be understood in the context of the book of Nahum only in a way that Yhwh, though he is slow to anger, is ultimately able and willing to act in anger.27 Taken together, the books of Jonah and Nahum, both of which focus on the city of Nineveh, show that even this aggressive city had a chance to avert the judgement because of Yhwhs willingness to forgive. But it is also stated that Yhwhs willingness to forgive has its limits, if a nation again acts hostile towards Yhwh.28 Against this background the often discussed problem, how the end of the book of Jonah has to be understood, can be solved. According to Jonah 4:5 the prophet leaves the city and waits in order to see, what will happen in it only after the announcement of Yhwh that he relents from doing evil against the Ninevites (Jonah 3:10). Therefore, it has often been supposed that Jonah 4:5 has either to be transposed behind verse 3:4 and thus before the announcement of divine forgiveness in 3:10,29 or it has been presumed that Jonah 4:5 has to be kept on its place but has to be understood as a retrospect on the time before the announcement of divine forgiveness and has thus to be translated with past perfect.30 However, the transposition of Jonah 4:5 is rather speculative, and no parallels can be given for the interpretation of the narrative forms of Jonah 4:5 as past perfect. In the context of the Grace-Corpus of the Book of the Twelve, however, one can explain why the prophet still wants to see, what is going on in the city, after the announcement of divine forgiveness. In this context the prophet wants to observe the further behaviour of the people of Nineveh.31 For according to the subsequent book of Nahum, Yhwhs willingness to relent from doing evil has not been his final say against the Ninevites. In the context of the GraceCorpus this can only be understood in a way that the repentance of the Ninevites, mentioned in Jonah 3, did not last.

In a way, it could be said that Jonah was still sitting in front of Nineveh when the city was destroyed, as announced in the book of Nahum. For there he waits in order to see, if the repentance of the Ninevites would endure. Therefore, according to the Grace-Corpus, repentance is not a single act, but a continuous turning to Yhwh. Based on the book of Jonah, the question of divine forgiveness is thus further developed in the books of Micah and Nahum in a twofold way. At the end of the book of Micah in Mic 7:18 20, it is emphasized that Yhwh is indeed a merciful and kind God, who turns judgement into salvation. But in the subsequent book of Nahum it is also stressed that Yhwhs willingness to forgive has its limits. For although he is slow to anger, he is also able and willing to act in anger. At the end of the Grace-Corpus, in the book of Malachi, the redactors of this corpus added one last passage, in which again an appeal to turn to Yhwh is put forward. Thereby, the last missing element of the Grace-Formula is taken up and it is stated that Yhwh will act gracious if the people smooth his face. Thus, in Mal 1:9a, as a concluding remark, it is once more stated that repentance is the condition of Yhwhs willingness to forgive and it is emphasized that Yhwh will react upon this repentance. With the additions brought in by the redactors of the Grace-Corpus the growing Book of the Twelve thus gets a theological superstructure. The fact that the individual books of this corpus are determined by the sequence judgement and salvationfor Gods own people as well as for the nationsis explained by the gracious and merciful character of Yhwh. Due to the fact that Yhwh is gracious and merciful he saves the people and he is even willing to relent from doing evil. Thus, the Grace-Corpus presents a differentiated theological determination of divine forgiveness. Based on the default books taken up by the redactors of this corpus with their juxtaposition of judgement and salvation the Grace-Corpus specifies the conditions and the limits of Yhwhs willingness to forgive and it gives a theological explanation of divine forgiveness. 6. CONCLUSION Based on a redaction critical analysis of all the individual books of the Book of the Twelve, it can be shown that the book of Jonah as well as the books of Joel, Micah, Nahum and Malachi underwent a redaction oriented on the question of Yhwhs willingness to forgive. All of these passages show specific allusions to the Grace-Formula known from Exod 34:6. Additionally,

these passages build a common composition on this level of the growing Book of the Twelve as they were added at the beginning, at the center and at the end of the corpus. The insertion of the Grace-Formula in full in Joel 2:13 and in Jonah 4:2 and its careful fragmentation and distribution between Mic 7:1820; Nah 1:2b; Mal 1:9a to produce a second full citation strongly suggest the work of a single redactional process. By this redaction a new version of the growing Book of the Twelve was made, which can be called Grace-Corpus. This corpus can be understood as a reflection on divine forgiveness. It deals with the conditions, the theological backgrounds and the limits of Yhwhs willingness to forgive. It states that Yhwh turns to the people, if the people turn to him. It explains that Yhwhs gracious and merciful character is the theological reason for his willingness to forgive. But it points out that Yhwhs willingness to forgive has its limits, if human repentance does not endure.

[1] Cf. R.C. van Leeuwen, Scribal Wisdom and Theodicy in the Book of the Twelve, in: In Search of Wisdom (eds. L. G. Perdue et al.; FS J. G. Gammie; Louisville; Westminster John knox, 1993) 3149. [2] Cf. B. M. Zapff, Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Michabuch im Kontext des Dodekapropheton (BZAW 256; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 1997) 241 79; R. Scoralick, Gottes Gte und Gottes Zorn. Die Gottesprdikationen in Exodus 34:6f und ihre intertextuellen Beziehungen zum Zwlfprophetenbuch (Herders Biblische Studien 33; Freiburg et al.: Herder, 2002) 21213; G. Vanoni, Spuren bergreifender Redaktionsarbeit im Jonabuch? in: Wort JHWHs, das geschah (Hos 1, 1). Studien zum Zwlfprophetenbuch (ed. E. Zenger; Herders Biblische Studien 35; Freiburg et al.: Herder, 2002) 12337. [3] Cf. J. Whrle, Der Abschluss des Zwlfprophetenbuches. Buchbergreifende Redaktionsprozesse in den spten Sammlungen (BZAW 389; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 2008) 36599. [4] The intention of the book of Jonah has been discussed frequently. Thereby, it has often been supposed that this book is characterized by a universalistic theology, cf. for example J. Wellhausen, Die kleinen Propheten(4th ed.; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 1963) 222; K. Marti, Das Dodekapropheton (KHC 13; Tbingen: Mohr, 1904) 245; A. Weiser, Die Propheten Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadja, Jona, Micha (vol. 1 of Das Buch der zwlf kleinen Propheten; ATD 24; 2nd ed.; Gttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1956) 214; W. Rudolph, Joel-Amos-Obadja-

Jona (KAT 13,2; Gtersloh: Gtersloher, 1971) 325; H. W. Wolff,Dodekapropheton 3. Obadja und Jona (BKAT 14,3; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1977) 6465; O. Kaiser, Wirklichkeit, Mglichkeit und Vorurteil. Ein Beitrag zum Verstndnis des Buches Jona, in:Der Mensch unter dem Schicksal. Studien zu Geschichte, Theologie und Gegenwartsbedeutung der Weisheit (ed. O. Kaiser; BZAW 161; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 1985) 4153, 52; H. Gese, Jona ben Amittai und das Jonabuch, in: Alttestamentliche Studien (ed. H. Gese; Tbingen: Mohr, 1991) 12238, 134; M. Franz, Der barmherzige und gndige Gott. Die Gnadenrede vom Sinai (Exod 34:67) und ihre Parallelen im Alten Testament und seiner Umwelt (BWANT 160; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2003) 259; M. Gerhards, Studien zum Jonabuch (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2006) 131. However, it has also been mentioned that the book of Jonah is generallyand not only with regard to the nationsdetermined by the question of the conditions and the theological backgrounds of divine forgiveness; cf. D. Stuart, HoseaJonah (WBC 31; Waco, Tex.: Word Books, 1987) 43435; F. Golka, Jona (Calwer Bibelkommentare; Stuttgart: Calwer, 1991) 21; U. Struppe, Die Bcher Obadja, Jona (Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar. Altes Testament 24,1; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1996) 8082; J. Jeremias, Die Propheten Joel, Obadja, Jona, Micha (ATD 24,3; Gttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007) 7980. Based on the presented redaction critical analysis, it can be shown that the primary layer is mainly determined by a universalistic tendency, whereas the general question of divine forgiveness was brought in by the redactors of the secondary layer. [5] Cf. for the details Whrle, Abschluss, 38689. [6] Cf. H. Ewald, Die Propheten des Alten Bundes (2 vols.; Stuttgart: Krabbe, 18401841) 557, who already mentioned that the book of Jonah points out dass nur die wahre Furcht und Reue Heil von Jahve bringt; cf. also G. H. Cohn, Das Buch Jona im Lichte der biblischen Erzhlkunst (Assen: van Gorcum, 1969) 85. [7] See above note 4. 4 [8] Cf. J. Whrle, Die frhen Sammlungen des Zwlfprophetenbuches. Entstehung und Komposition (BZAW 360; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 2006) 196, 434; idem, Abschluss, 66, 262.

[9] The term Gnadenformel was established by H. Spieckermann, Barmherzig und gndig ist der Herr ZAW 102 (1990) 118, 3. For Exod 34:6 and the parallels to this formula cf., for example, J. Scharbert, Formgeschichte und Exegese von Ex 34:6f und seiner Parallelen, Bib 38 (1957): 13050; R. C. Dentan, The Literary Affinities of Exodus xxxiv 6f., VT 13 (1963) 34 51; Scoralick, Gte, 10203; Franz, Gott, 11153. [10] The verbal link between Joel 2:13 and Exod 34:6 has often been seen; cf. Marti, Dodekapropheton, 129; Weiser, Propheten, 115; Scharbert, Formgeschichte, 133; Dentan, Affinities, 39; H. W. Wolff,Dodekapropheton 2. Joel und Amos (BKAT 14,2; 2nd ed.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1975) 58; Rudolph, Joel, 58; Spieckermann, Barmherzig, 1213; J. Nogalski, Redactional Processes in the Book of the Twelve (BZAW 218; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 1993) 106 note 44; J. Barton, Joel and Obadiah. A Commentary (OTL; Louisville; Westminster John Knox, 2001) 81; Franz, Gott, 257; Jeremias,Propheten, 3031. [11] Not only the connections, but also the above mentioned differences between Exod 34:6 and Joel 2:13 have often been recognized, cf. Marti, Dodekapropheton, 129; Scharbert, Formgeschichte, 133; Dentan, Affinities, 39; Wolff, Dodekapropheton 2, 58; Rudolph, Joel, 58; Spieckermann, Barmherzig, 12; Barton, Joel, 81; Scoralick, Gte, 142; Franz, Gott, 257; Jeremias, Propheten, 3031. [12] Cf. Scharbert, Formgeschichte, 133; Dentan, Affinities, 39; Rudolph, Joel, 58; L. Schmidt, De Deo. Studien zur Literarkritik und Theologie des Buches Jona, des Gesprchs zwischen Abraham und Jahwe in Gen 18:22ff. und von Hi 1 (BZAW 143; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 1976) 89 90; Wolff, Dodekapropheton 3, 14041; Spieckermann, Barmherzig, 15 16; Nogalski, Processes, 106 note 44; R. Lux, Jona. Prophet zwischen Verweigerung und Gehorsam. Eine erzhlanalytische Studie (FRLANT 162; Gttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992) 190; Scoralick, Gte, 142; Franz, Gott, 257;Jeremias, Propheten, 106. [13] In previous research it is commonly assumed that Jonah 4:2 depends on Joel 2:13; cf. Rudolph, Joel, 363; Golka, Jona, 90; Nogalski, Processes, 273 note 79; E. Bosshard-Nepustil, Rezeptionen von Jesaia 139 im Zwlfprophetenbuch. Untersuchungen zur literarischen Verbindung von Prophetenbchern in

babylonischer und persischer Zeit (OBO 154; Freiburg, Schweiz / Gttingen: Universittsverlag, 1997) 424;A. Schart, Die Entstehung des Zwlfprophetenbuches. Neubearbeitungen von Amos im Rahmen schriftenbergreifender Redaktionsprozesse (BZAW 260; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 1998) 288; Franz,Gott, 259 note 191; A. Schle, Meinst Du, dass dir Zorn zusteht?. Der theologische Diskurs des Jonaschlusses (Jona 3:6 4:11), TLZ 131 (2006) 67588, 680; Jeremias, Propheten, 107. However, sometimes it is also claimed that on the contrary Joel 2:13 depends on Jonah 4:2, cf. J. Magonet, Form and Meaning. Studies in Literary Techniques in the Book of Jonah (BBET 2; Frankfurt a.M. / Bern: Lang, 1976) 7779; S. Bergler, Joel als Schriftinterpret (BEATAJ 16; Frankfurt a.M. / Bern: Lang, 1988) 230 33; Spieckermann, Barmherzig, 1516 with note 41; H. J. OpgenRhein, Jonapsalm und Jonabuch. Sprachgestalt, Entstehungsgeschichte und Kontextbedeutung von Jona 2 (SBB 38; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1997) 21415, or that both passages are dependent on a common source, cf. E. Sellin, Das Zwlfprophetenbuch (KAT 12; Leipzig / Erlangen: Deichert, 1922) 126; Wolff, Dodekapropheton 2, 58. [14] For this methodological demand cf. in detail Whrle, Sammlungen, 2427. [15] Read with LXX ( ) and ; cf. Weiser, Propheten, 287; W. Rudolph, Micha-Nahum-Habakuk-Zephanja (KAT 13,3; Gtersloh: Gtersloher, 1975) 130;Jeremias, Propheten, 220. [16] A detailed description of the supposed formation of the Book of the Twelve is not possible here; cf. Whrle, Sammlungen; idem, Abschluss. A few remarks should suffice. At first, a collection of four prophetic books was made: the exilic Book of the Four comprising the books of Hosea, Amos, Micah and Zephaniah (cf. Sammlungen, 24184). In the early Persian period the book of Hosea was taken out of this collection and replaced by the book of Joel, which can be taken as the introduction to the subsequent books on all further redactional levels of the Book of the Twelve (cf. Sammlungen, 43660). At the time, when the book of Jonah was integrated into the growing Book of the Twelve, all other books of this corpus had been taken up but the book of Hosea, which was reintegrated into the Book of the Twelve at the end of its redactional development (cf.Abschluss, 42937). [17] Cf. Marti, Dodekapropheton, 302; Spieckermann, Barmherzig, 1 note 4; R. Kessler, Micha (Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament;

Freiburg et al.: Herder, 1999) 309; Scoralick,Gte, 143; Vanoni, Spuren, 125; Franz, Gott, 26263; B. M. Zapff, The Perspective on the Nations in the Book of Micah as a Systematization of the Nations Role in Joel, Jonah, Nahum? Reflections on a Context-Oriented Exegesis in the Book of the Twelve, in: Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve (eds. P. L. Redditt and A. Schart; BZAW 325; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 2003) 292312, 305; G. Baumann, Gottes Gewalt im Wandel. Traditionsgeschichtliche und intertextuelle Studien zu Nahum 1,28 (WMANT 108; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2005) 9496; Jeremias, Propheten, 230. [18] Cf. Scharbert, Formgeschichte, 133; Dentan, Affinities, 39; A. Deissler, Zwlf Propheten II. Obadja, Jona, Micha, Nahum, Habakuk (NEchtB 8; Wrzburg: Echter, 1984) 206; Spieckermann, Barmherzig, 1 note 4; K. Seybold, Nahum, Habakuk, Zephanja (ZBK.AT 24,2; Zrich: Theologischer Verlag, 1991) 20; Nogalski, Processes, 1067 note 44; K. Spronk, Nahum (Historical Commentary on the Old Testament; Kampen: Kok, 1997) 36; Vanoni, Spuren, 125; Scoralick, Gte, 143; Franz, Gott, 261; Zapff, Perspective, 300; L. Perlitt, Die Propheten Nahum, Habakuk, Zephanja (ATD 25,1; Gttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004) 9; Baumann, Gewalt, 8294. [19] Cf. A. Meinhold, Maleachi (BKAT 14,8; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2006) 120: Das Zusammenstellen von mit der Wurzel nn lt an die groe Gottesprdikation von Ex 34:6f. denken, wonach JHWH ein barmherziger und gndiger Gott ist, langmtig und reich an zuverlssiger Gte [20] See above note 13. 13 [21] For this methodological demand cf. in detail Whrle, Sammlungen, 2427. [22] A detailed description of the supposed formation of the Book of the Twelve is not possible here; cf. Whrle, Sammlungen; idem, Abschluss. A few remarks should suffice. At first, a collection of four prophetic books was made: the exilic Book of the Four comprising the books of Hosea, Amos, Micah and Zephaniah (cf. Sammlungen, 24184). In the early Persian period the book of Hosea was taken out of this collection and replaced by the book of Joel, which can be taken as the introduction to the subsequent books on all further redactional levels of the Book of the Twelve (cf. Sammlungen, 43660). At the time, when the book of Jonah was integrated into the growing Book of the Twelve, all other books of this corpus had

been taken up but the book of Hosea, which was reintegrated into the Book of the Twelve at the end of its redactional development (cf.Abschluss, 42937). [23] On previous approaches to the question of a common redaction history of the passages affected by the Grace-Formula see above notes 12. 1 [24] Cf. Jeremias, Propheten, 6, who describes the intention of the present form of Joel 12 as follows: weil Israel zu Joels Zeiten dem Ruf des Propheten gefolgt ist, eine Wende der Heuschreckennot erlebt hat und daher vor dem Tag Jahwes bewahrt worden ist (2:18ff), darf es gewiss sein, dass Gott es auch zuknftig vor dem Erleiden von Schmach unter den Vlkern wie im Exil bewahren wird (2:19, 26f). [25] See above part 2. [26] For the meaning of the term describing the withdrawal of an already planned judgement see Exod 32:12, 14; Jer 18:8; Ez 14:22, and cf. for example J. Jeremias, Die Reue Gottes. Aspekte alttestamentlicher Gottesvorstellung (Biblischtheologische Studien 31; 2nd ed.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1997) 10913; idem, Propheten, 31; H. J. Stoebe, , THAT 2:5966, 6466; H. Simian-Yofre, ,ThWAT 5:366384, 37475. [27] Cf. for example Spronk, Nahum, 3637; B. M. Zapff, Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Michabuch im Kontext des Dodekapropheton (BZAW 256; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 1997) 271; Scoralick,Gte, 19596; Franz, Gott, 261 62; Baumann, Gewalt, 8294; M. Roth, Israel und die Vlker im Zwlfprophetenbuch. Eine Untersuchung zu den Bchern Joel, Jona, Micha und Nahum (FRLANT 210; Gttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005) 24748. [28] Already in rabbinic Judaism it was assumed that the relationship between the books of Jonah and Nahum has to be understood in a way that Nineveh, after their first repentance documented in the book of Jonah, sinned once more against Yhwh and thus was punished as it is stated in the book of Nahum; cf. Schart, Entstehung, 2728; B. Ego, The Repentance of Nineveh in the Story of Jonah and Nahums Prophecy of the Citys DestructionA Coherent Reading of the Book of the Twelve as Reflected in the Aggada, in: Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve (eds. P. L. Redditt and A. Schart; BZAW 325; Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 2003) 15564. Among the current approaches on the Book of the

Twelve, Scoralick, Gte, 18485, mentioned that the relationship between these two books has to be understood in such a way. [29] Cf. H. Winckler, Zum Buche Jona, Altorientalische Forschungen 2,2 (1900) 26065, 264; Marti, Dodekapropheton, 256; Sellin, Zwlfprophetenbuch, 252; W. Nowack, Die kleinen Propheten (HKAT 3,4; 3rd ed.; Gttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1922) 193; Weiser, Propheten, 223; T. Robinson and F. Horst, Die zwlf kleinen Propheten (HAT 14; 3rd ed.; Tbingen: Mohr, 1964) 122. [30] Cf. N. Lohfink, Jona ging zur Stadt hinaus (Jon 4,5), BZ 5 (1961) 185203, 19093; H. W. Wolff, Studien zum Jonabuch. Mit einem Anhang von Jrg Jeremias: Das Jonabuch in der Forschung seitHans Walter Wolff (3rd ed.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2003) 4448; idem, Obadja, 136 37; Rudolph, Joel, 36263; G. Vanoni, Das Buch Jona. Literar- und formkritische Untersuchung (Arbeiten zu Text und Sprache im Alten Testament 7; St. Ottilien: EOS-Verlag, 1978) 2021; Deissler, Propheten II, 162; Golka, Jona, 92; Lux, Jona, 14647; Gerhards, Studien, 3340; Schle, Zorn, 685; Jeremias,Propheten, 108. [31] Already Schmidt, De Deo, 2829; J. Limburg, Jonah. A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993) 95; U. Simon, Jona. Ein jdischer Kommentar (SBS 157; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1994) 127 9; Struppe, Bcher, 135, explained the fact that Jonah leaves the city after the announcement of divine forgiveness with the assumption that the prophet wants to see the further behaviour of the Ninevites. However, they read the book of Jonah for its own and not in the context of the Book of the Twelve and thus they cannot explain, why no further events are mentioned in the book of Jonah.
DOI:10.5508/jhs.2006.v6.r3

Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 6 (2006) - Review

Daniel L. Simundson, Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah (Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2005). Pp. ix + 350. Paper, US$32.00, UK23.99, CAN$46.99. ISBN 0-687-34244-9.
This commentary is part of the new Abingdon series written for clergy and theological students (p. vii). Simundson's volume serves the needs of the target audience by providing accessible

first-rate scholarship and insight into these prophetic books. The author writes succinctly and with refreshing clarity. The section on each biblical book begins with an introductory chapter organized according to: Key Issues; Literary Genre, Structure, and Character of the Writing; Occasion and Situational Context; and Theological and Ethical Significance. This is followed by a chapter of commentary on the specific book. The commentary does not include the author's translation of the text or reproduce a standard version, though the editor notes that the NRSV is the principal translation of reference (p. viii). Helpfully, the differences in the chapter / verse distribution between the Hebrew and English are noted, but the commentary references the English text throughout. As should be expected, the length of the commentary varies with each biblical book; generally with longer books receiving more attention (with Hosea meriting 108 pages, and Obadiah, 8). Each chapter of commentary on the biblical books is divided into three parts: Literary Analysis; Exegetical Analysis; and Theological and Ethical Analysis. The organization of the commentary allows the reader to see how the literary analysis leads into the exegesis. The last section lends itself to appropriation by clergy and teachers in congregational settings, though instead of providing theological reflection aimed at contemporary issues (like an NIV Application Commentary [Zondervan]), it aims to instead provide a basis for reflection on them (p. ix). For each prophet, his theological ideas are surveyed and his message is presented. Critical matters are not ignored, but are referred to only briefly. For example, the author notes that redaction has taken place in Micah, but seems interested in a final form reading (e.g., The whole book of Micah needs to be read in the light of the way that it ends. [p. 347]). This approach to critical matters is understandable, given the intended audience, but lamentable on some occasions. For example, in his commentary on the book of Amos, he categorically states that the redactional addition of the hopeful prophecy of Amos 9:11-15 does not contradict the beliefs and aims of the original prophet.

However, many critical commentators assume that Amos's message was actually devoid of hope (thus the lack of hope in his authentic oracles). It seems a more helpful approach would note how the redactor has augmented (or perhaps contradicted) his message, rather than state that this redaction was not contrary to the original prophet. Simundson proves adept at asking theological questions that cause the reader to wrestle with the text. For example, when noting Hosea's imagery of God as husband, Simundson raises the question How does one speak to the culture in language that will be understood, being true to the historical tradition, without becoming one with the current culture? (p. 9). Or concerning the book of Amos he queries How should those who claim to be chosen by God for a special relationship and a unique grasp of spiritual truth think about their special status? and Is everything that happens God's doing? (p. 156). His answers are tentative, befitting the difficult nature of the questions and leading the reader to reflect theologically on the biblical text for themselves. This is not to say that Simundson fails to provide substantial answers as well. For example, in his Theological and Ethical Analysis on the book of Joel, tackling the question of whether God is involved in natural disasters, Simundson does not give pat answers. Instead he gives sage advice that affirms the belief that God is at work in the world but notes the danger of [persons] taking personal blame for every tragic thing that happens in their life (p. 145). At times, however, his conclusions are potentially confusing. For example, he questions whether the prophet's words contradicted God's intentions (In short, are Joel and other prophetic oracles against real and imagined enemies more harsh than God intends to be? [p. 124]), but elsewhere states that, The prophet [Joel] does not speak only his own thoughts, opinions, prejudices, and biases but God's (p. 126). Or when commenting on Joel 2:28 -29 he states that this verse does not eliminate the difference between Jew and Gentile (p. 141) but later argues that it means that all human beings will be equal before God (p. 147).

The volume concludes with a brief annotated bibliography that will assist interested readers with further study. Standard critical works (e.g., Jrg Jeremias The Book of Amos [OTL]) are listed, including one German commentary (Wilhelm Rudolph Hosea [KAT]), along with quite conservative resources (e.g., Walter Kaiser Micah-Malachi [Communicator's Bible]which uses the NKJV as its principal translation). The annotations will be helpful for readers of all levels to select appropriate further reading. In conclusion, this commentary provides excellent introductory information, concise but relatively full commentary on the biblical books and insightful theological exegesis. It would be a welcome and useful addition to the library of both undergraduate students and pastors alike.
Paul Evans, Wycliffe College

RHETORICAL READING REDUNDANT: A RESPONSE TO EHUD BEN ZVI

Philippe Guillaume University of Bern And University of Sheffield

Abstract
Ehud Ben Zvi's claim, in the preceding article, that the final verse of Jonah must be read both as a question and an affirmation is welcomed. Yet, it is argued here that reading a rhetorical question contributes little to the metaprophetic character of Jonah. In fact, a final rhetorical question destroys the open-endedness of the book while YHWH's unambiguous affirmation that he will show no pity for Nineveh faces readers with a deeper meaning of prophecy. Like the Elohim in chapter 3, Jonah in chapter 4 is invited to come out of the circle of anger. Destructions and reversals of fortune occur, but humans are not privy to the divine council. Note: Readers of this article are encouraged to read first article 3 in this volume. 1. INTRODUCTION

Ehud Ben Zvis contribution to this set marks a significant advance in Jonah studies. While defending the validity of the rhetorical reading of the books grand finale, he recognizes the soundness of the straightforward reading of the final verse as the affirmation that YHWH will not pity Nineveh. Hence, if the traditional reading of Jonah 4:11 as a question does not create any grammatical or syntactic difficulty,1 it is not the only possible reading, far from it. Ben Zvi insists that the interrogative reading must be considered alongside the assertive reading. Claiming that both readings must be considered together is a major step forward, a first step, the hardest one, in a new direction. If the implied author wished re-readers to ponder both understandings of the verse, so they may balance and inform each other,2 continuing to affirm that the book of Jonah ends with a rhetorical question as does the book of Nahum and that Jonah is all about divine forgiveness is misleading. The argument must be balanced with a serious consideration of the other understanding.3 I welcome Ben Zvis demonstration, and I believe that it can be pushed a little further to show that the interrogative reading is eventually redundant. While posing Jonah 4:11 as a question does not create any grammatical difficulty, it does pose difficulty on the narrative level. The question does not flow well with the rest of the text and it is not the books obvious conclusion. When Jonah feels pity as YHWH strikes the plant, the natural conclusion is that YHWHs killing of the plant foreshadows the overturning of Nineveh. Had YHWH resurrected the plant, the sparing of the city would be the obvious conclusion of the book. As the book stands, the last chapter leaves the plant and the prophet in a sorry state, in spite of the salvation of Jonah in chapter 2. Having thanked YHWH for saving his life in the belly of the fish, Jonah then prays for death outside Niniveh. In the same paradoxical relation, to the salvation of YHWH mentioned at the end of the Psalm (Jonah 2:10) corresponds the destruction of the city in Jonah 4:11.4 Jonahs pity for the plant is but one issue under discussion in Jonah 4. The plant, the worm, the sun and the east wind introduce the matters of anger and destruction in the discussion. The "prophet" as much as the other props, the storm, the fish, the plant, the worm, the sun and the scorching wind are all at YHWHs command.5 Jonah is less docile than the other agents but he gets the job done eventually. During the conference, Ben Zvi made the valuable point that the literati who reread Jonah did not need Nahum to know about Ninevehs destruction, and that the context of the book of Jonah should be extended to the entire Scriptures. Beyond Nahum, Jonahs mention in Kings confirms YHWHs sovereignty over the fate of Israel and Assyria. In 2 Kings 14, YHWH uses Jonah to announce that Israels name would not be blotted out from under the sun because YHWH saw Israels great oppression. As rereaders of prophetic literature, the literati who composed Jonah knew that Shalmaneser of Assyria was

responsible for the demise of the kingdom of Israel (2 Kgs 17:3) and that Nineveh was the capital Assyria (Nah 1:1 and 3:18). As a follow-up, the book of Jonah adds Niveveh to the list of useful tools in YHWHs hands while stating that YHWHs pity is spent. The sun that kills the plant and nearly kills Jonah illustrates the point in a vivid way. The issue is when Nineveh will be destroyed not whether it will be spared. The destruction of Nineveh is as certain as that of the qiqayon. The plant survived one night. Nineveh was granted a reprieve but YHWH states in no ambiguous terms I will not spare Nineveh. The divine argumentation renders Jonahs pity for the plant irrelevant to the fate of Nineveh. Nineveh, as every wind, fish, plant, worm, prophet is entirely under YHWHs sovereignty. Each agent is pitilessly discarded once it has served its purpose. Jonah, as the plant, becomes irrelevant as soon as he preaches his sermon of doom. Nineveh is likewise redundant after it has chastised Israel. 2. IS JONAH A VALID MODEL FOR YHWH? If one were to accept the notion that the book of Jonah ends with a question, it would entail that Jonahs behavior in the final chapter supplies a valid model for YHWHs dealings with Nineveh. Ben Zvi advocates that YHWH and Jonah share a teacher/student relationship. The argumentation finally wins Jonah over to YHWHs line of reasoning.6 The problem is that Ben Zvis analogy would turn the teacher/student relationship upside-down. In this case, YHWHs destruction of the plant entails that YHWH has used the students pity as a example to reverse his initial oracle of doom (Jonah 1:2; 3:2). Or as Phyllis Trible states, Jonahs showing of pity becomes a valid premise from which to argue for YHWHs showing of pity.7 But Trible seems unsatisfied with the notion that the pupils can prevail over his divine master. She adds that, Ironically, Jonah becomes the model for YHWH free of selfinterest, free even of the requirement for repentance.8 I cannot see where Jonah displayed any lack of self-interest, but the implications of the irony are clear. Irony prevails in YHWHs ruthless treatment of Jonah (Jonah 4:410. This irony completely discredits the notion that Jonahs pity is the model for the divine pity towards Nineveh. YHWH has no more misgivings about causing a plant to grow only to destroy it the next day than he has over his ruthless treatment of Jonah. The double divine question Is your anger good invites Jonah to leave the circle of anger.9 The meaning from the lesson of the qiqayon is that Jonah is wrong to be angry. Then, verse 10 shifts to Jonahs pity, which can hardly be a model for YHWHs dealings with Nineveh either. Contrary to the angry and pitiful Jonah, YHWH displays neither anger nor pity. In fact, YHWHs coolness throughout the book of Jonah is striking. The only mention of divine wrath comes from the mouth of the king of Nineveh. A good reader of Israelite prophecy, the king quotes the question from Nah 1:6Who can endure the heat of his anger (note ; and cf. Jonah 3:9). Jonahs Psalm answers that Jonah

can withstand his wrath since Jonah can still sing praises in the belly of the fish. Even the sailors and the Ninevites can withstand YHWHs anger. From this, we can conclude that the book of Jonah erases divine anger. YHWH is no angrier against Jonah than YHWH is against Nineveh. Therefore, Jonah is wrong to be angry and his pity fares no better. So then, how could Jonah be a model for YHWHs dealings with Nineveh? 3. YHWH WITHOUT PASSIONS The reiteration of Ninevehs impending fate at verse 11 severs the causal link Jonah had established between Ninevehs destruction and divine anger. Jonah was wrong to imagine that a merciful God could not destroy Nineveh. Nineveh will be destroyed as decreed, but the lesson of the qiqayon teaches that the destruction of Nineveh does not turn YHWH into a wrathful god la Deuteronomy. The disappearance of divine anger in no way curtails Gods sovereignty. In spite of Ninevehs repentance from its evil ways, in spite of the repentance of the Elohim from the evil he planned to do (Jonah 3:10 compare Nah 1:89), Nineveh will not be spared. Like Qohelet, the narrator of Jonah is flirting with the Stoic notion of determinism.10 YHWH dons the robes of fate as the one who determines in advance what takes place in the world and when it happens. The consequences of this evolution are clearly displayed. Jonahs escape does not foil Gods plan which is duly accomplished by the unwilling agent. In chapter 2, Jonah is rescued and sings a new Psalm for YHWH in the most unpromising surroundings. By this device, the narrator uses Jonah to demonstrate the positive implications of determinism. Nothing bad can possibly happen to Jonah and by extension to the sailors since they all are tools in the hand of fate. YHWH does not hold their transgressions against them. The sailors fear of spilling innocent blood is rendered irrelevant by their confession that YHWH does whatever he wants (Jonah 1:14). Divine will overruns individual accountability. In spite of being guilty of disobedience, Jonah is saved from drowning and discovers that the fishs guts, which he takes for the netherworld, are under YHWHs jurisdiction and are an extension of the palace of his sanctity (Jonah 2:5, 8).11 With a single fish, the narrator kills two birds, YHWHs territoriality and human moral accountability. Instead of striking Jonah with fire, YHWH will strike the repentant Nineveh. YHWH knows those he spares (Nah 1:7), but no one else knows. The king of Ninevehs who knows? (Jonah 3:9) is clearly answered by the bleak characterization of the population of Nineveh, as incapable of distinguishing between its right and its left. Such ignorance, however, is not off the mark. Right or left, there is hardly any right or wrong since YHWH has determined everything in advance and that no one can foil his decrees. Human actions, sinful or repentant, are of little consequence. YHWH strikes Jonah with sun and scorching wind, but this is a dispassionate ploy to show the inadequacy of the sukkot humans make to

protect themselves against divine decrees (Jonah 4:4). Jonahs hut is as ineffective as Ninevehs repentance. This is the philosophical lesson of the book of Jonah. Contrary to the sage depicted in the Wisdom of Solomon, Jonah is saved by determinism rather than by wisdom (Wisdom 9:18). The narrator has sketched Jonah as a fool seriously lacking in selfcontrol, intelligence, justice and courage which Wisdom 8:7 presents as cardinal virtues. In contrast, YHWH metes out judgment and destruction dispassionately and the assertive reading of the end of Jonah challenges the reader to consider the rise and fall of civilizations with the same detachment. For Jonah as for Boethius, there is consolation in philosophy. The book of Jonah states in no veiled fashion that all tyrants meet their end. This could have been a welcome conclusion for the tyrannized throngs of all times, had the meaning of the text not been controlled by a literate elite who perceived the dangers of such a reading. It is bad enough that among the 120,000 witless Ninevites and their countless beasts (counting is beyond their ability), Jonah 4:11 includes the king and his great ones who decreed repentance after the population had donned sackcloth from great to small ones (Jonah 3:5). Elites prefer a tame book of Jonah, a herald of endless divine forgiveness. 4. WHERE JONAH WAS RIGHT AFTER ALL Using the same word ( ) to describe Ninevehs evil (Jonah 1:2; 3:10), Jonahs sin (Jonah 1:7, 8), Jonahs anger (Jonah 4:1, 4, 9) and the Elohims planned destruction (Jonah 3:10), the book lumps human evil and divine retribution under the same dubious category. This could be taken as supporting the rhetorical ending since if he destroyed Nineveh, YHWH would accomplish the evil the Elohim repented from. Evil, however, is not situated in the fact of destruction but in its motivation. Jonah 4 negates prophetic texts that present destructions as the consequence of divine anger. The rise and fall of kingdoms has nothing to do with their moral value. They fall when YHWH has decreed them ripe to fall, whatever oracle raving prophets may have called upon them and however numerous the bleating sheep and the obtuse humans within them. Jonah was wrong to imagine he could escape from YHWHs universal rule by fleeing to Tarshish, wrong to get all worked up over the sparing of Nineveh, but the whether if of Ninevehs destruction is not questioned. In Jonah 4:11, YHWH comforts Jonah that Nineveh will not be spared although YHWH is indeed a merciful god.12 It is only a question of time before Ninevehs day of reckoning comes. This is in line with the differences between the Masoretic text and the Septuagint which disagree over the timing of Ninevehs destruction (three or forty days in Jonah 3:4), while both traditions agree over the lack of interrogative marker at the end. Before the turn of the era, the book was understood as discussing the timing of the destruction, not its eventuality. The rejection of the link between

the morality of a people and the fate of their city is what makes the book of Jonah metaprophetic. 5. METAPROPHETIC CHARACTER ENTAILS ASSERTIVE READING Ben Zvi considers the double ending of the book as essential to its metaprophetic character. The declarative reading places the rhetorical interrogative reading in proportion.13 For Ben Zvi, the burden of Jonah as a metaprophetic book is to teach that reading prophetic books cannot lead to certainty about the deity, or to actual predictions; yet even that they have to learn by reading prophetic books.14 I answer that the declarative reading achieves this important aim without the help of the rhetorical reading. The possibility of a rhetorical reading is part of the strategy of the book. It blunts the edge of the argument after a first reading to encourage rereadings. Yet, the rhetorical reading has silenced the assertive reading for the last two millennia and continues to do so. For instance, Trible begins the concluding chapter of her rhetorical analysis of Jonah by reasserting that By stopping with a question, the rhetorical analysis of Jonah remains open-ended.15 The use of the words question and rhetorical within the same phrase produces an artful ambiguity. One cannot be certain whether the final question is meant to be rhetorical or not. If Jonah ends with a rhetorical question, the expected answer is that YHWH will obviously spare Nineveh. There is no openendedness here. Open-endedness is only achieved when the assertive reading is considered together with the non-rhetorical interrogative reading, as Ben Zvi demonstrates. For Jonahs ending to be open-ended, the answer of YHWHs possible question must, by definition, be ambiguous. For this reason, the postulated question in Jonah 4:11 cannot be rhetorical since, contrary to ordinary information-seeking questions, rhetorical questions have the illocutionary force of an assertion: in fact, of a very strong assertion.16 A strong assertion eliminates open-endedness and forcefully convinces the reader that the obvious meaning conveyed is that YHWH must have mercy. Rhetorical questions are the enemy of openendedness as the last two millennia of interpretation of the book of Jonah amply prove. The rhetorical reading leaves no room for the opposite notion conveyed by the assertive reading. The only way to retain the unresolved tension is to keep together the assertive reading and the non-rhetorical interrogative reading. Otherwise, one has to postulate that Jonah closes with an unmarked rhetorical question whose obvious answer is negated by the possibility of reading the verse as an affirmation of the opposite of what the rhetorical question implies. Is such a contorted case necessary? 6. REDUNDANT INTERROGATIVE READING

The message of the book of Jonah is better appreciated without postulating a question at all. Ockhams razor can be applied to shave off the lose ends of the argumentation. The postulation of an unmarked non-rhetorical question in Jonah 4:11 produces no surplus of meaning compared to the straight-forward reading of the end as it stands. As the affirmation that YHWH will not pity Nineveh, the final verse reverses the readers expectations better than any question could. As noted by Ben Zvi, rhetorical questions in sophisticated literary texts may play on multiple layers of meanings and lack of certainty, and they may be used as both assertions and interrogatives at the same time. As much as Biblical writers used rhetorical questions as de-familiarizing devices to turn widely held expectations upside down, it is the clear and unambiguous affirmation in Jonah 4:11 (after two previous rhetorical questions) that overturns the expectation of mercy that up to this point the book suggested to its intended readership. As mentioned by Ben Zvi, Any reading informed by a theological outlook in which repentance plays an important role would have raised at the very least the possibility of a reading of the book of Jonah in which the city is not destroyed.17 The question is whether or not this possibility turns out to be supported by the text as it stands. Instead of stating a question, the brutal affirmation of the lack of pity on YHWHs part, contrary to Jonahs pity, shifts the interrogation into the mind of the audience. The unexpected divine affirmation initiates the de-familiarization process mentioned by Ben Zvi, and faces readers with a deeper meaning of prophecy. By contrast, the rhetorical reading produces an awkward surplus, since Jonah has already shown that he knows that God is always merciful, and repents from evil (Jonah 4:2).18 It is the assertive reading that opens up the more beefy interpretation required by Jonah 4.19 The interrogation it produces in the readers mind is deeper than the blurred effect of an open-ended question. As it stands, the text has the significant advantage of stating unambiguously the sovereignty of YHWH over the entire world besides Nineveh and avoids the unnecessary clash with Nahum and with the audiences knowledge that Nineveh was destroyed. Reading Jonah 4:11 as a question adds nothing to the effect of the affirmative reading in the readers mind. Ben Zvis demonstration that reading a question is possible grammatically does not imply that this is the best way to read the end of the book of Jonah. Readers that are content with the rhetorical reading of the last verse are like people who leave the theater before the last scene. Such readers are happy with chapter 3 which concludes with the repentance of the Elohim but they are unwilling to wait for the finale sung, not by the disgruntled Jonah, but by YHWH himself. Time has come to return to a more faithful reading of the text as it is transmitted by the MT and the LXX. The notion of an open-ended conclusion is a superfluous exegetical toy. It is a remnant of the Christian colonization of the book of Jonah whereas Jonah prefigures the forgiveness offered through Christ.20 I maintain that the interrogative reading is mostly

redundant, but Ben Zvis article marks a turning point in the exegesis of Jonah as it demonstrates the validity of the affirmative reading. It will take time before the paradigm shift initiated by Thomas Bolin and the authors he mentions in the first contribution in this set is fully integrated. Nineveh was eventually destroyed, so there is hope for some real changes in Jonah scholarship. The issue is highly relevant to the contributions that follow.

[1] E. Ben Zvi, Jonah 4:11 and the Metaprophetic Character of the Book of Jonah in this collection of essays. [2] Ben Zvi, Character, 13. [3] S. L. McKenzie, How to Read the Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 1112, explains that the question in Jonah is transparently didactic. That is, it is designed to teach a theological lessonthat God cares for all people and indeed all creation. Except for the qiqayon? [4] See the diptych at pages 34 of Klaas Spronks contribution further in this set of articles. The corollary of Jonah thanks YHWH for giving him life out of the grave / Jonah prefers death over life is not YHWH is called a savior / YHWH explains why He saved Nineveh as Spronk suggests, but YHWH saves a man / YHWH destroys a city. [5] Y. Sherwood, A Biblical Text and its Afterlives (Cambridge: University Press, 2000), 12728 . [6] Ben Zvi, Character, 11 . [7] Ph. Trible, Rhetorical Criticism (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 222 . [8] Trible, Criticism, 223 . [9] Trible, Criticism, 205 . [10] D. Rudman, Determinism in the Book of Ecclesiastes (JSOTS, 316; Sheffield: SAP, 2001) . [11] Nothing to do with the temple of Jerusalem! [12] See the following contribution by J. Whrle, A Prophetical Reflection on Divine Forgiveness.

[13] Ben Zvi, Character, 14 . [14] Ben Zvi, Character, 15 . [15] Trible, Criticism, 221 . [16] Ben Zvi, Character, 2 . [17] Ben Zvi, Character, 8/15 . [18] Sherwood, Afterlives, 270 . [19] Sherwood, Afterlives, 270 . [20] See Sherwood, Afterlives, 4887 .

Yvonne Sherwood, A Biblical Text and Its Afterlives: The Survival of Jonah in Western Culture. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), xii, 321 pp. Hardcover. ISBN 0-521-79174-X. $65 Paperback. ISBN 0-521-79561-3. $25
Reviewed by Raymond F. Person, Jr. Ohio Northern University
Sherwoods volume represents a postmodern approach to Jonah that draws heavily on the history of interpretation of the book. The first section concerns interpretations in the Mainstream scholarly and Christian tradition from the first to the twentieth century; the second section (Backwaters and underbellies) alternative readings, including medieval poetry, Netherlandish art, and Jewish interpretation; the third section advances her own new interpretation (p. 2). From the title and the organization of the work it seems that Sherwood understands her greatest contribution to derive from her extensive reading in the history of interpretation of Jonah. In fact, her new interpretation comprises only about 40 pages of the volume (pp. 23980). Although the volume has a wealth of information about the history of interpretation, Sherwoods organization of this material is problematic. Her section concerning the Mainstream encompasses diverse readings, including Augustine, Luther, and contemporary

biblical scholars. This unfortunately leads to broad generalizations about Old Testament scholarship that are clearly unfair and/or outdated. For example, she writes, a common story told in Biblical Studies circles is the story of the Old Testaments gradual theological progress from primitive religion, embarrassing anthropomorphisms, and polytheistic slips towards ethical monotheism and universalism (p. 55). Although this statement may have some validity when talking about earlier biblical scholars such as Wellhausen and Albright, such a characterization of the current state of biblical studies cannot be supported. Furthermore, her exclusion of Jewish scholars from her Mainstream category is also problematic, for many of todays Mainstream scholars (she includes, for example, Jack Sasson) have more in common with contemporary Jewish scholars (for example, Baruch Halpern, who in fact Sherwood discusses in her Mainstream section [p. 71]) than with John Calvin. Ironically, the correctives that she prescribes to overcome these supposed shortcomings have already gained a following within the guild. For example, two of her major points(1) taking seriously the history of interpretation and (2) her argument for Jewish Studies to become part of Biblical Studies, as Christian Studies always (implicitly) has been (pp. 9293)are given voice in the annual meetings of the Society of Biblical Literature. Of course, one may debate how pervasive and influential these positions are in the discipline, but Sherwood generally ignores that these positions are now a part of the Mainstream. Because of these shortcomings, I suspect that many others will find her generalizations as hindrances to her message, rather than provocative statements causing her readers to rethink their positions. Some of her generalizations are especially problematic:
The Mainstream absorbs social anxieties (about social discipline, a retrogressive Old Testament, a troubling Jewish Father, a Bible superseded by science) then processes and answers them and gives back to society a coherent solution: all dissidents purged, a rational Bible, the inferior and demoted Jew, a scientifically plausible, naturalized text (p. 187). I find this rhetoric especially odd, since her very audience appears to be primarily those of us who she identifies as Mainstream.

When she is preparing her readers for her own interpretation, Sherwood appears to understand the problems that her earlier rhetoric may have created. First, she acknowledges that a new generation of Mainstream readers are effectively revitalizing (albeit not self-consciously) the themes and questions of the rabbis, Abravanel, Melville, and the Gawain-poet (p. 226). She then refers to a long list of contemporary scholars on Jonah, including Alan Cooper, Kenneth Craig, H. Gese, Abraham Cohen and C. A. Keller, Serge Frolov, Walter

Crouch, Baruch Halpern and Richard Friedman, Thomas Thompson, Thomas Bolin, John Miles, Arnold Band, John Dominic Crossan, Etan Levine, Andr and Pierre-Emmanuel Lacoque, and Phyllis Trible (pp. 22630). Second, she explicitly moderates her bipolar categorization:
At this point something of a confession is in order: if, by concentrating on certain limiting Mainstream readings I have so far tended to depict them (the scholars, the biblical commentators) as bumbling stooges, rather like the unimaginative police officers who act as a foil for the maverick detectivegenius in 1970s cop shows, if the emergent subtext of this book is that the professional paid readers have served the text poorly, and that the truly subtle readers are the unpaid, the unprofessionals, this is crassly cartoonist and polemically skewed. The truth is that the Mainstream is already mutinying against itself, and edging towards Jewish/Popular readings-so much so that having set myself up for a superhuman vault across the abyss between Backwaters and Mainstream, I find myself in the less heroic role of reinforcing the fragile rope-bridge already slung between the two. (p. 234)

It would have been much more helpful to state this truth much earlier in the volume and to find some other way of organizing her discussion of the history of interpretation so as not to give such a crassly cartoonist and polemically skewed view. Sherwoods moderation of her rhetoric prepares her readers for her new interpretation, which clearly draws heavily from the new generation of Mainstream readers. In fact, those who are familiar with recent secondary literature on Jonah, especially readings of Jonah as satire, will find much of her interpretation familiar. Her most interesting and provocative contribution comes in her conclusion, in which she argues that, despite (or even because of) its satirical tone, Jonah conforms to the characteristics of a traditional story and is, therefore, a quintessential story and typical biblical text (p. 280). However, I am uncertain how many of her readers will be willing to wade through her review of the history of interpretation with its organizational and rhetorical problems, in order to find her interpretation of Jonah and her comments on its significance within the canon. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 8 (2008) - Review

Steven L. McKenzie, How to Read the Bible: History, Prophecy, LiteratureWhy Modern Readers Need to Know the Difference and What It Means for Faith Today (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2005).

Pp. 207. Hardcover, US$26.00, CAN$35.00. ISBN 0-19516149-1.

In How to Read the Bible, Steven L. McKenzie invites a popular audience to read the Bible with new eyes and unexpected questions. McKenzie's entry point to the subject of reading the Bible is an awareness of genre. From the outset, McKenzie displays a sensitivity to his audience and a passion for his subject that are the hallmarks of an engaging teacher. While many would begin a work of this kind with a discussion of form criticism, McKenzie defers, choosing instead to begin with an easy-going examination of Jonah from the perspective of literary technique and genre. The effect of this is to focus attention on the message of the book and how it is communicated and so to disarm readers who have been taught to read the story as history. Only once he has illustrated the value of recognizing genre does McKenzie turn to a discussion of form criticism. The rest of the book is structured around five chapters, each focusing on a different genre of biblical literature and each commencing with a common misconception regarding what this literature conveys or how it is to be understood. Pride of place is given to Old Testament genres and examples, not surprising given the author's position as Professor of Hebrew Bible at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee. The genres examined are history, prophecy, wisdom, apocalyptic, and epistles. On rare occasions, How to Read the Bible suffers from a limitation of interpretative options that comes when one reading strategy is privileged above all others. In his discussion of history writing in the Bible, for example, McKenzie tends to emphasize the presence of etiology in a way that might limit the possibility of application in the present. At times, the emphasis on etiology has the effect of relativizing the meaning of the text and drawing attention away from the meaning conveyed by the overall shape of the narrative. An example of this is the treatment of the Tower of Babel incident (Gen 11:1-9) about which McKenzie concludes, Its intent is to provide an explanation for the origins of the different human languages and cultures associated with them (p. 39). While this is undoubtedly true, in the final form of the book of Genesis, this

story is used differentlyto demonstrate the extent to which sin had separated humans from God and each other. In his chapter on prophecy (pp. 67-89), McKenzie explains how prophets encouraged covenant obedience through the use of predictions of blessing or chastisement set in the immediate future. Next, he leads readers through several passages, pointing out easily overlooked features of the text that are nonetheless vital to proper understanding. In one example he shows how the final verses of Amos reapply its message against Israel to exilic Judah (pp. 73-74). This same attention to detail is applied to an examination of how Old Testament prophecy is reinterpreted (often christologically) in the New Testament. Here the effect is to downplay such passages as intentional predictions of Christ. Next, he briefly shows how the New Testament authors appropriated these passages by seizing upon unexhausted meaning, making reapplication, and emphasizing what they regarded as a passage's real intent (pp. 84-89). While McKenzie does an able job in the space allowed, a fuller treatment of the sample passages would be welcome, particularly given what many conservative readers are being asked to surrender at this point. From its opening pages, How to Read the Bible reveals the touch of a master teacher at work. From his judicious use of illustrations drawn from popular culture to the way in which he surreptitiously introduces critical concepts, McKenzie has produced a work that has the potential to transform how many read the Bible. Although it is perhaps best suited for religious studies undergraduates with little or no biblical background, this book will also be of great use to Christian liberal arts or Bible College undergraduates as well as laypeople whose understanding of the Bible may be hampered by misconceptions about the text. Readers from a more conservative church setting might detect an anthrocentric tendency and wish for a greater emphasis on theological meaning than McKenzie sometimes allows. Nonetheless, what is most beneficial in this book is not the author's interpretation of this or that specific passage, but rather the way in which he shows how an appreciation of genre helps guide a reader in approaching a text.

In a work directed at a popular audience, periodic reference to further resources and summaries of reading strategies would have been a useful addition. The book concludes with endnotesmany of which elaborate on ideas introduced in the body of the work as well as a bibliography and a subject index. In How to Read the Bible, Steven McKenzie has made genre analysis accessible to a wide audience and in so doing has provided readers with a useful way to read the Bible intelligently for personal enjoyment and spiritual benefit.
Brian P. Irwin, Knox College, Toronto School of Theology

MULTIVOCALITY IN GROUP SPEECH IN BIBLICAL NARRATIVE

George Savran Schechter Institute for Jewish Studies, Jerusalem

Abstract
While group speech in biblical narrative is generally expressed as a single voice, in certain cases the plain sense of the text is improved by discerning a number of different voices at work. While these voices are unmarked, they are clearly sensed in the cases discussed here, and their presence adds significantly to the dramatic force of the text. In addition to the well known case of Saul and the young women at the well in 2 Sam 9:11-13, there are a number of instances in the Joseph story in Genesis 37 and 42 in which the brothers' speeches reflect multiple voices, providing a fuller picture of their disagreements. InJonah 1:8 the sailors interrogate Jonah in what appears to be a cacophony of voices, and David's return to Jerusalem in 1 Sam 19 is punctuated by verbal disagreements among the Israelites, most noticeably in 2 Sam 19:10-11. The conventions of group speech in biblical narrative are such that the group usually speaks with a single voice, as if one individual comes to speak on behalf of the entire group. This is the normal state of affairs when the people speak to Moses, or when the Gibeonites address Joshua in Joshua 9, but it is true of smaller groups as well. Thus the midwives in Exodus speak as one to Pharoah, and the daughters of Zelophehad speak to Moses in unison, even though we are told their individual names. This norm is in keeping with the rule of two to a

scene, a basic folkloric rule attributed to Axel Olrik, which maintains that the basic unit of interaction in early narrative is dialogue and interaction between two figures at a time.1 For example, in Genesis 34 the dialogue alternates primarily between Jacob/his sons and Shechem/Hamor. At times the brothers or the father speak, but not to each other.2 Only in the last scene does Jacob speak directly with Simeon and Levi in order to confront them (but only after Shechem and Hamor have ceased to exist). In order to minimize the possibility of more than two characters to a scene, the narrator tends to assign all group speech to a simple or to / , and the group is treated as a single character. On occasion, however, we do find explicit mention of distinct subgroups, as in Nehemiah 5, where each voice of protest is introduced by the phrase .3 1 2 3 4 There was a great outcry by the common folk and their wives against their brother Jews. Some said: Our sons and daughters are numerous; we must get grain to eat in order that we may live. Some said: Our fields, our vineyards and our homes we must pawn to get grain to stave off hunger. Some said We have borrowed money against our fields and vineyards to pay the kings tax. Here the narrator keeps the speakers anonymous while preserving the multivocality of the peoples complaints.4 Similarly infrequent are situations in which the different groups are all present in the same scene but take turns speaking in order to create a complex set of interactions, as in Jeremiahs trial in Jeremiah 26. We first encounter two main speakers: Jeremiah and everyone else. Only in v 11 does everyone begin to subdivide: the priests and the prophets address the , who seem to act as judges in the trial. Here each speaker uses the as a foil. They are addressed first by the priests and the prophets in 26:11, then by Jeremiah in 26:1215. The complex dynamic of the trial scene is developed further as the priests and the prophets are

addressed by the and by all the people in v 16, followed by a group of elders who address the entire people in vv 1719. The effect achieved is of an intricate situation whereby Jeremiah is at first attacked by all sides but eventually garners enough support from certain groups to survive the trial.5 Another type of multivocality may be found in Exod 17:24, where the medieval commentator Ibn Ezra suggested that two discrete complaints, attributed in two separate verses to the people, reflect the speech of two distinct groups.6 The first group complains that they have no water, while the second cries that they have been brought out to the desert to die. Ibn Ezras suggestion is certainly possible, since, as he notes, both 17:2 and17:3 cite the people as the source of the complaint, but the text does not specify all the people. At the same time it is equally possible (even preferable) that the two separate speeches reflect a strategy of intensification. The people offer a legitimate complaint in 17:2, Give us water to drink, as verified by the narrator in 17:1. Moses angry response, Why do you try the Lord?, leads to more general dissatisfaction which the people express in17:4 Why did you bring us up from Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?.7 The exegetical principle of assigning sections of a speech to different voices is not new, and can be seen already in the midrash, albeit with a different focus than we are proposing here.8 Thus the Mekhilta on Exod 14:1113 divides a long complaint speech by the Israelites into separate speeches by four distinct groups.9 In this case the biblical text does not quite match up with the four groups. The Israelites may be afraid of dying, but no one mentions the alternatives suggested in the midrash, either diving into the sea or turning to fight the Egyptians. The midrash is derived from Moses response in v 13, reading different parts of it as if they were spoken to different groups. The peoples speech in vv 1112 gives the impression of a single speaker. There are no conflicting viewpoints, no surplus of information, and the parts of the speech connect up together very clearly.10 But the midrash prefers to discern multiple voices in the text, conveying a sense of conflicting responses to their situation. . . . .

. . . . The Israelites at the Red Sea were divided into four groups. One group said: Let us throw ourselves into the sea. One said: Let us return to Egypt One said: Let us fight them. One said: Let us cry out against them. The one that said Let us throw ourselves into the sea was told: Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord (Exod 14:13). The one that said Let us return to Egypt was told: For whereas you have seen the Egyptians today (Exod 14:13). The one that said: Let us fight them was told: The Lord will fight for you (Exod 14:14). The one that said: Let us cry out against them was told: And you shall hold your peace (Exod 14:14). Where the biblical text has the Israelites address Moses in a single long speechitself a dramatic set piecethe midrash uses multiple voices to convey the chaotic situation of Israel about to be recaptured by the Egyptians. The midrash clearly rewrites the biblical text in a way that reflects 2nd temple responses to attack by an enemy; nowhere in the Bible would we find the Israelites throwing themselves into the sea, while martyrdom was an acceptable

alternative to capture by the enemy in 2nd temple times.11 In the eyes of the midrash, the divisive reactions of the various groups are countered by words of Torah, which provide the correct response to every objection. The division into voices functions less as a dramatic device to illuminate the distress of the Israelites and more as a foil for Moses words about faith in God. Most often, when the midrash engages in this sort of creative rereading, the results diverge from the plain sense of the text, which is our primary concern in the following examples.12 I Occasionally, there are places where, despite the absence of any textual marker to indicate overt divisions, it is desirable to divide the group speech into multiple voices. The most famous case is 1 Sam 9:1113, where Saul, looking for a seer to help him locate his fathers lost asses, asks a group of women at a local well: Is there a seer here? Surprisingly, this simple question (a yes or a no is all that is required) is answered at great length by the whole group. 1213 (12) Yes, he is up there ahead of you. Hurry, for he has just come to the town because the people have a sacrifice at the shrine today. (13) As soon as you enter the town you will find him before he goes up to the shrine to eat. The people will not eat until he comes. He must first bless the sacrifice and only then will the guests eat. Go up at once, for you will find him right away. The contrast between Sauls laconic question and the girls verbosity virtually begs for attention.13 The content of their speech is indeed relevant to Sauls situation. There will be a

sacrifice this day, and Saul will be invited to take part in the meal. But Aharon Mirsky and others have noticed that this speech best makes sense if we divide it up into multiple voices.14 Yes, he is up there ahead of you. Hurry, for he has just come to the town Because the people have a sacrifice at the shrine today. As soon as you enter the town you will find him, before he goes up to the shrine to eat. The people will not eat until he comes. He must first bless the sacrifice and only then will the guests eat. Go up at once, for you will find him right away. It is not simply the length of their reply which is surprising, but also the quantity of information conveyed, its limited relevance to the situation, and the loose connections between the various sentences. Despite its overall concern with the seer and the sacrifice, the many disparate parts of the speech do not blend into a harmonious whole.15 The information about the sacrifice may be relevant to Sauls future status and to the events later in the chapter, but it has little immediate significance here, for Sauls interest in Samuel is in his role as seer, not as priest. The speech highlights the adolescent girls fascination with the great Saul, who literally stands head and shoulders above everyone else. Given that the well is the standard location for courtship in the Bible, a romantic subtext suggests that each girl wants to add her few words in order to speak to their collective heartthrob. The idea is not new, and is present already in the midrash:16 They could not get enough of staring at Sauls beauty. Dividing the speech up into voices is, however, a modern interpretation which emphasizes the dramatic potential of the situation.17 Here we can specify a number of criteria for identifying multi-vocal group speech: First, the contrast between the question and its response draws attention to the longer speech and raises

the possibility of multiple speakers. This phenomenon of contrastive dialogue is not uncommon in biblical narrative, and it functions here to highlight the opposition between the individual to the group in an unusual way.18 Second, the disjointed style of the speech further encourages the sense that multiple speakers are active here.19 Frank Polak has noted the stylistic preference for short independent sentences in direct speech in biblical narrative.20 This style is particularly conducive to speeches with multiple voices, where the individual speech units can be recognized quite easily. Finally, the speech is contextualized in a situation in which multivocality is desirable, for it adds a significant dramatic element to the story; for the first time we are aware of other characters observing Saul, and are aware of the powerful effect his presence has upon them. Up to this point Saul has been observed only by the reader, and the contrast with his servant does not speak well for the future leader of Israel.21 But what we see here in the eyes of these women is admiration, respect, and desire. Saul is gazed upon with approval, even veneration.22 From this point on, the phenomenon of Saul observed by others will be repeated a number of times in this pericope, the most famous of which describes Saul acting the prophet, followed by the amazed response of the people, Is Saul too among the prophets?. II In the Joseph story the brothers are usually portrayed as speaking with a single voice, but in a number of places it seems quite reasonable to divide their words into multiple voices. Genesis 37:1920 19 They said to one another (A) (A) Here comes that dreamer! (B) 20 (B) Let us kill him! (C) 23 (C) Or lets throw him into one of the pits.

(D) (D) We can say A savage beast devoured him. (A) (A) We shall see what becomes of his dreams. The key to understanding the speech are the introductory words of v 18, , an expression which is used consistently to describe a process of discussion, often focused around a question. In most cases the actual argumentation is not preserved, but the parameters of the discussion are indicated by the context.24 In this case it seems that the brothers are uncertain as to how to deal with Joseph. The brothers clearly detest Joseph for his dreams and his presumptuousness, but it is a big step from hatred to murder. For all the brotherly conflict in Genesis, nothing exactly like this has taken place earlier in the book, at least since the story of Cain and Abel. The process whereby they move from uncertainty to a decision to do him serious bodily harm is described in the group speech of vv 1920. The idea to kill Joseph is first raised by one of the brothers, then is countered by the idea of throwing him into a pit, and gradually takes shape in the continuation of their dialogue. When we read this speech as an amalgam of separate voices, we can discern the outlines of the group dynamic which takes hold of the brothers. We may be accustomed to reading the speech as a single thought, but the various parts of the speech do not necessarily flow directly from one another, but require a number of unspoken assumptions to create a continuous speech. Here we see another indication of multiple voices, as each one responds to the previous voice and speaks in its own interest. When voice (A) spies Joseph approaching, his very presence is sufficient to excite their hatred. They begin to talk about him, recalling his presumptuous dreams and resenting his intrusion into their group.25 They may fear that he has come to assert his authority over them (as in his dreams) or to inform upon them to their father.26 What follows in voice (B) is hardly a direct conclusion from (A) but likely one of a number of suggestions about how to deal with him. Josephs dreams are about control; if the brothers want to annul his dreams, then we would expect some action which would be a measure-for-measure reversal of his dreams. But murder? Voice (B) puts forth a truly radical suggestion, but it cannot be the only one suggested. Nonetheless, the idea of solving their problem by doing away with Joseph is, for all its violence, attractive because it offers a quick solution and an immediate release of their anger. The suggestion Let us kill him is voiced in the jussive, serving as an invitation to the rest to join in. I take this to mean let us kill him with our bare hands, not just cause his death

indirectly. Voice (C) is taken by the idea, but offers an improvement on it, Well throw him into a pit.27 The idea of foiling Josephs dreams of control by rendering him powerless is more in keeping with the measure-for measure principle which governs much of biblical retribution. Rather than kill him with their bare hands, (C) suggests a less conclusive option: either punishment, abandonment, or indirect causation of his death. This position is taken up by Reuben in his argument in v 22, where he opposes the brothers plan with the phrase , lets not kill him but rather cast him into a pit.28 This can only mean that while some of the brothers did intend to kill Joseph then and there, others were less certain. Regardless of which means of dealing with Joseph they would decide on, voice (D) broaches a new issue, namely how will they explain this to Jacob. One can imagine an entire range of objections in the face of this new dilemma. The solution implied by We will say A wild animal killed him, indicates a further stage in the development of their plan, to the point of finding a way to cover their tracks. This assumes further discussion of the issue, for voice (D) requires that all the brothers agree to say the same thing to their father, a plan that demands consultation and agreement.29 (In this sense (C) and (D) may go together, even though I have marked them as separate voices.) At the end of the speech, voice (A) speaks again, rounding out the process which he began by mentioning Josephs dreams.30 Reubens interjection in vv 2223 takes advantage of this division in the brothers plans, as he lobbies for throwing Joseph into a pit instead of killing him outright. When Joseph finally arrives in v 24 we see the brothers adopting a compromise position, violently attacking Joseph and stripping off his cloak, but heaving him into a pit instead of killing him outright. Thus they do not go along with voice (B), but instead follow voice (C). We should not mistake this action for tendernessthe absence of water in the pit can only mean that Joseph would not have held out for very long. The speech here reveals the process by which the group moves toward a decision. The idea of killing Joseph may be outrageous when first suggested, but once the brothers settle upon a way to cover themselves before their father, the plan takes shape and becomes real. The advantage of this reading is in its emphasis upon the dramatic element of the story. The traditional reading of the story allows for only a few paradigmatic figuresReuben and Judahwho speak for the group. By highlighting the presence of different opinions among the brothers, we can see them as a dynamic group, angry, murderous, yet capable of reasoning and disagreeing with one another. This is made more explicit later on in the chapter as first Reuben, then Judah, take positions which build upon the disagreements voiced in vv 1920. Moreover, the fact that the brothers are of at least two minds about killing Joseph leaves open the possibility for their repentance in the continuation of the story.

Genesis 42:1011 A second instance is found in the brothers speech to Joseph in Gen 42:1011. In contrast to their univocal speech in 42:7, where they present themselves clearly, ([We have come] from the land of Canaan, to procure food), here the brothers are caught off guard by Josephs hostility, and offer a number of different explanations for their presence in Egypt. 10 They said to him (A) (A) No my lord! (B) (B) Your servants have come to procure food. (C) 11 (C) We are all of sons of the same man. (D) (D) We are honest men. (E) (E) Your servants have never been spies. One can sense the anxiety of their response in the disorder of the sentences, and in the overabundance of information which they present. The speech is composed of five short, discrete sentences, not unlike what we saw in1 Sam 9:1112. Voice (A) begins forcefully with a simple denial, and voice (B) offers the explanation that, like everyone else waiting in line, theyve come to Egypt to get food.31 But voice (C) adds the superfluous detail that they are all members of the same family, as if this would convince Joseph that theyre not spies. This is a classic case of saying too much, a revelation which will only get the brothers in deeper trouble as the story progresses.32 The urgency of voice (D), saying Really, were not lying, is a purely emotional response, unconnected to the rational aspects of some of the

other voices. While (A) and (B) connect together logically, each of the other responses has little direct connection with the previous voice. The statement that they are not spies (E) comes to counter Josephs accusation in v 9. But why should this come at the end of the brothers speech, when in fact it is Josephs initial (and most damaging) accusation? The answer may well be that we have here five independent responses all spoken at once, a cacophony of voices reflecting the brothers confusion and distress. This becomes clearer when we compare this speech with the more ordered response of the brothers in 42:13. By this time the brothers have collected themselves and made a more consistent speech focused entirely upon their blood relations: They said We your servants were twelve brothers sons of a certain man in Canaan. The youngest, however, is now with our father and one is no more

The sentences are longer and more interconnected, as they give a complete picture of their family situationten are present in Egypt, one is at home with his father, and one has gone missing. There are no anxious protestations of innocence, only a clear portrait of their family history, yet their anxiety is still noticeable in presenting more information than is necessary. Nonetheless we can see here a single voice projected in the speech.33 Both of these speeches have been reworked and combined in retelling the events to Jacob in 42:3132. Here the brothers are in complete control of the narrative voice. They first recount their denial, and then, to support their claim of honesty, relate the family history. Here we see an even more composed univocal voice.34 42:31 We are honest men; we have never been spies. 42:32 There were twelve of us brothers, sons by the same father, but one is no more, And the youngest is now with our father in the land of Canaan.

The contrast between these last two speeches and the brothers responses in 42:10 11 heightens the sense of disorder in the first speech, and shows how the narrators portrayal of the brothers moves from showing their distress to displaying their attempt to regain control when speaking to their father. Genesis 42:21 A third example of the brothers in dialogue can be seen in 42:21, which is also introduced by . The brothers have been thrown in jail by Joseph, and we are allowed to witness a rare moment of regret and self-evaluation, something which has been absent from the portrayal of the brothers up to now. The narrator has withheld this inner portrait of the brothers state of mind until this moment, for only now does he begins to develop the change in attitude which overtakes the brothers in chapters 4244. This speech is the beginning of his attempt to direct the readers sympathies toward the brothers in order to show that they were not entirely without feelings or conscience. Their confessional speech begins (42:21) with an admission of guilt prompted by the brothers attempts to understand how they ended up in jail in the face of Josephs false accusations about them being spies.35 They said to one another: (A) (A) Alas, we are being punished on account of our brother (B) (B) Because we looked upon his anguish (C) (C) We paid no heed when he pleaded with us (A) (D) Thats why this distress has come upon us.

In the face of their incarceration they would, of course, protest their treatment, Were not spies, were innocent Canaanites whove come to buy food; How dare he accuse us of being spies! At some point, however, voice (A) responds and says, In fact36 we are being punished on account of our brother. To the reader the sense of retribution is clear, but to the brothers it is less than self-evident. Yet despite the fact that it took place many years before, the connection between their present situation and their earlier cruelty to Joseph is not dismissed out of hand. It would seem that this association is not far from their minds. It is, however, likely met with cries of innocence, We were justified in doing what we did to him, He planned to turn us in to our father, He tried to control us. Voice (B) may have agreed with with their motives for punishing Joseph, but he focuses instead upon Josephs misery, a detail the reader might deduce from the story despite the fact that Josephs reactions are never described in Genesis 37. Voice (C) may be a continuation of this same voice, or an additional voice which adds the previously unknown idea of Joseph actually pleading with his brothers, showing us a side of Joseph we never saw in Genesis 37.37 At this point voice (A) breaks in again to proclaim their guilt once more, this time making a stronger connection between past and present by arguing that this is a case of measure for measure. As they were insensitive to so we are now suffering from this present . As we threw Joseph into the pit, now weve been thrown in jail.38 The emergence of Reubens voice in 42:22 adds to this sense of guilt, but gives it a different face. Where some of the brothers are feeling remorse, Reuben says I told you so but you would not listen to me. Reubens claim to be the voice of conscience is undercut by his attempt at self-vindication. The brothers may have a shared sense of anguish in v 21, but Reubens comment places him outside this circle of remorse and shows that the brothers have not achieved consensus amongst themselves, that their group speeches are often indications of discord. Here Reubens separate voice serves much the same purpose as we saw in Genesis 37. His voice reveals the lack of agreement among the brothers, while at the same time attempting to place himself on a more righteous level. The speech restores a human face to the brothers, showing them capable of remorse and reasoning about their own fate, as well as revealing an aspect of Joseph which we had not seen before. The division into voices adds to the sense that the brothers are actually experiencing remorse, that they are involved in discussing their fate, and that they connect their present situation with the events of Genesis 37. When read as a single voice, this speech displays their regret but shows neither their interaction nor the fact that they are calling one another to task. As a demonstration of what Joseph may have hoped to achieve by throwing them in jail, multivocal speech works here to convey depth of emotion, an active process of

recalling and regretting, which emphasizes that the punishment they receive is in fact having the desired effect.39 This portrayal of multiple voices in the brothers speeches throughout chapters 37 and 42 demonstrates something of the discord among the brothers and also paves the way for the change that takes place in their behavior with the emergence of Judah as their leader in Gen 43. While prior to Judahs emergence they may speak with various voices, after his appearance they are unified in their speech, and Judah serves as the univocal spokesman for them. This is part of a larger strategy of displaying the brothers in a negative, discordant light through chapter 42 and in a repentant conciliatory tone from chapter 43 onwards.40 III A third example of multivocality is found in the sailors questions to Jonah in Jonah 1:89. (8) They said to him: Tell us, you, who have brought this misfortune upon us: (A) What is your business? (B) Where have you come from? (C) What is your country? (D) Of what people are you? (9) He said to them: I am a Hebrew; I worship the God of Heaven who made both sea and land.

We find here four separate questions about Jonahs profession and his origins. The answer which he gives in 1:9 is only partial. He never states his business or his precise place of origin, only his ethnic origin and something about his beliefs, which was not even asked about. Instead of a surplus of information in the questions, we find much repetition.41 Voice (A) is distinct in inquiring after his profession42 but voices (B), (C) and (D) all pose variations on the same question: Where are you from? It seems most likely that we have here a barrage of questions shouted out simultaneously by different voices in their panic in the face of the storm.43 We have already been told in v 5 that the sailors speak separately; each cries out to his God, and once again we find indicating discussion in the midst of this chaotic situation.44 There are many attempts to explain distinctions between the questions in a logical fashion, separating out the idea of land from people, or mission from

purpose. But basically, the questions repeat two essential things: Who are you? and Whats your business?.45 The contrast between the questions and Jonahs response in 1:9 lends further support to the idea of multiple voices in 1:8. Jonah does not answer all the questions put to him, and he expounds at length on an issue they have not even asked about, namely the nature of Jonahs God.46 According to the MT, Jonah responds to voices (C) and/or (D) by describing himself as a Hebrew, but offers no answer to the question of his occupation or where he has come from. There may be a play on his occupation with the sailors question , indicating mission in the sense of prophetic task, but Jonahs answer in the MT ignores this. The Septuagint is different here, reading I am a servant of the Lord. According to this reading, Jonah is replying to the question of voice (A), because the phrase can clearly signify prophet. If, however, we accept the LXX as original, we would then be left without an answer to the questions of voices (C) and (D), as Jonah gives no indication of his nation or his ethnic background.47 Jonahs failure to answer all the questions of the sailors may indicate his deliberate avoidance of the issue at hand and may tell us something about his person. But it is also indicative of the chaos on deck during the storm, as the sailors shout out their questions at the same time, in keeping with their great fear, and the very real possibility of their boat breaking up. That Jonah would respond to only one or two of the questions is quite in keeping with the situation.48 A detailed account of Jonahs affairs at this point would be inappropriate to the scene.49 The presence of multiple voices here adds significantly to the dramatic situation and highlights the change which overtakes the sailors as a result of Jonahs answer. Just as they had first cried out individually, each to his own god, here they call out a jumble of questions in different voices. After v 11, however, they speak with a single voice and a single purpose (What shall we do with you). The great fear that overtakes them is followed by their single-mindedness in trying to save Jonahs life as well as preserve their own. They pray to God as a group in v 14, offer sacrifices and make vows to God in response to having been saved. In a fashion not dissimilar to what we saw in the Joseph narrative, speaking in multiple voices serves as a foil for a decisive moment of change, after which a univocal response indicates a new, unified sense of purpose. IV Our final example is taken from the account of Davids return to Jerusalem in 2 Samuel 19 following Absaloms death. Following the description of the shame and embarrassment of Davids troops in light of his mourning for Absalom, it is unclear just how (and if) he will be restored to power. Indeed, the extent of the revolt has thrown open the question of Davids

continuing rule. Will the allegiance of the tribes return to David, or are the same forces which led to the rebellion still noticeable?50 10 All the people throughout the tribes of Israel were arguing: (A) The king saved us from all51 our enemies, and he delivered us from the hands of the Philistines (B) But now he fled the country because of Absalom 11 (C) Absalom, whom we anointed over us, has died in battle (D) Why then do you sit idle instead of escorting the king back? (A) (B) (C) (D)

The speech is introduced by the unusual verb form in v 10, indicating not simply discussion but actual disagreement.52 While most commentators agree that there is debate among the troops about the future of their allegiance to David, they have not recognized the presence of multiple voices in this speech. The speech is nearly always read as a description of the process of rationalization by which the people decide to accept Davids authority over them: David, who defended us in the past, did in fact flee before Absalom. But since Absalom is now dead, we should not hesitate to receive David back as our king.53 This reading is certainly possible, but it overlooks the fact that each of the voices we have identified here speaks in a complete sentence, and that these sentences do not flow one from the next. (A) and (D) reflect wholehearted acceptance of Davidic authority, while (B) and (C) show profound dissatisfaction with Davidthe first in bemoaning Davids flight before Absalom, and the second in describing Absalom as the peoples anointed leader. Moreover, both (B) and (D) begin with the term to indicate a change in subject from what has come before.54 When read in this fashion, each sentence is spoken in opposition to the one before it, and not as successive stages in a single argument. (A) Voice (A) speaks with complete allegiance to David on the basis of his past victories. David is not mentioned by name, but the reference to the defeat of the Philistines makes it clear that he is the subject of their words. This voice assigns to David the honorific indicating that Davids prior achievements grant him exceptional status as The King. The speech has two parallel halves, the first describing Davids ability to deliver Israel from all her enemies, and

the second referring specifically to the Philistines. Davids credit is thus grounded both in his general military ability as well as his historic victories over the Philistines. For this alone David deserves the peoples allegiance: He is a tried and true military leader who has traditionally protected the people. (B) At this point voice (B) states the obvious objection to the previous statement: David fled Jerusalem and Judah before Absalom, as recorded clearly in his responses to the rebellion in 2 Samuel 15.55 David made no attempt to stand and fight Absalom. The narrator of 2 Samuel 1516 has tried to put a positive spin on this by showing David as penitent for his sins. He is shown trying to minimize the damage to the kingdom and prevent civil war; he leaves the Ark of the Covenant in Jerusalem, perhaps hoping for his own return but, in any case, guaranteeing its safety by not taking it out as an accompaniment to battle. Most important, David shows great faith in God, viewing Absaloms revolt not as a personal attack upon him but as a divine trial. But all of these explanations cannot undo the fact, perceived by most of the people and voiced explicitly in (B), that David simply turned tail and ran. Whatever the people may have thought of Absalom, David is portrayed as a weak leader who abdicated leadership at the moment of crisis.56 No longer the dependable protector of the people lauded in voice (A), the verb which is describes his behavior is highly pejorative. Whatever his glorious past, how can a king be taken seriously any more after he has fled from the threat of rebellion without even trying to defend his capital and his people? (C) The voice which speaks this sentence is different from the previous. Absalom is described as an anointed king who has been granted official royal status by the people. We, says the voice, embraced him as king and granted him legitimacy. This is not the voice of a subject of David but of one who accepted the authority of the rebel. As opposed to (A), where David is seen as the traditional protector, and (B), where David is described as false to his traditional role, (C) claims that Absalom was a legitimate king, who perished as loyal kings mighthe died in battle. This is a sharp contrast to David who fled from battle.57 The voice speaking here has been loyal to the rebellion, but now faces a difficult decision: If the anointed king is dead, and the previous king proved to be unworthy, who will now ascend the throne? This voice offers no answer to the dilemma, only the sound of lament for the dead king. (D)

This voice may be the same as we heard in (A), a strong supporter of the traditional King David, who urges his immediate return to the throne. The absence of Davids name is significant here. This voice claims the king is dead, long live the king, for the people cannot exist without a king. Yet this voice differs from the previous voices in going beyond a description of the past to challenge the present indecision. The silence of the people is actually dangerous to the situation. This can be seen as a response to the description of the troops stealing back into Jerusalem in 2 Sam 19:4, embarrassed by Davids lamenting over Absaloms death. This voice takes a clear stand in favor of reinstating the king, but not, I suggest, because he is David (his name goes unmentioned), but because he was the king, and the people must have a king in order to continue. Thus we find an argument among the survivors of the rebellion representing a number of different sides: According to (A), David was (and therefore is) the traditional king and savior of the people. But to (B) this mighty defender proved false at the moment of crisis and does not deserve to be reinstated. Therefore, says (C), we embraced Absalom and lament his death as a true anointed king; but no mention is made of returning to David. In contrast to these retrospective voices, (D) focuses on the present: We must have a king, and the most likely candidate is David; it is therefore our responsibility to actively embrace him and reinstate him.58 The placing of this voice at the end of the debate gives it a climactic role, challenging the people to act in Davids favor. The speech as a whole gives expression to the conflicting views which must have been present in Judah and Israel at this time: a powerful tension between reinstating David as king and seeing him as totally discredited. This speech offers one of the few moments in the text in which we can clearly hear the range of different voices surrounding the rebellion. Davids victory was viewed with mixed emotions, as he himself does not fail to notice. His actions immediately following this speech bespeak his awareness of the need to take action in order to regain the trust of the people. If the LXX is correct here, and 12c, The talk of all Israel reached the king in his quarters, belongs at the end of v 11 and not at the end of v 12, then Davids actions and words in vv 1214 are clearly a response to the uncertainty reflected in vv 1011.59 David appeals to the elders of Judah as an authoritative body that can help to legitimize him. His appeal to the Judeans as his own flesh and blood echoes the request of all the tribes in 2 Sam 5:1, when they turned to him as their newly anointed king. And his replacement of Joab with Amasa as commander-in-chief is intended to win over the forces from Judah who were loyal to Absalom but have now lost their leader. The urgent need for all these actionsespecially the drastic act of demoting Joab, who saved his lifemakes clear just how much Davids return to the throne was in jeopardy at this crucial moment.60

Conclusion There are certainly additional cases of multivocal group speech waiting to be discovered and explicated. The examples we have discussed here demonstrate a few of the literary strategies surrounding the use of multivocal group speech. The dramatization of opposing points of view, as in the case of 2 Sam 19, is employed to underline the seriousness of the debate about Davids return to the throne. In other cases, the highlighting of discord between the different voices may serve as a prelude to their subsequent speaking with a unified voice, as a way of emphasizing the change in their self-perception in the continuation of the story. (Jonah and the sailors; Josephs brothers). While the plural verb most often indicates a single voice, these examples show that we should not automatically assume group speech to be univocal. Only by a close examination of both the syntax of the speech and the context in which it is spoken can we determine whether or not a given speech reflects multiple voices or a single point of view.61

[1] Cf. Epic Laws of Folk Narrative in A. Dundes, The Study of Folklore (Englewood: Prentice-Hall, 1965), 134135. See also R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York, NY: Basic Books, 1981), 72; S. Talmon, The Ways of Biblical Narrative (Jerusalem: Academon, 1965), 2325 (Hebrew). [2] The single exception is Gen 34:4, where Shechem speaks directly to Hamor. See the discussion of the chapter in M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1985), 445475. [3] It was suggested by an anonymous reader that the use of this phrase reflects the breakdown of earlier biblical style in Late Biblical Hebrew, and may thus explain the formulaic introduction of each clause. [4] Talmon, Biblical Narrative, 46; H. G. M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1985), 237. Talmon further notes how the separate voices in vv 24 contrast with v 5, where the different groups seem to coalesce into a jumble of voices protesting at the same time: (A) Now our flesh is as good as the flesh of our brothers, and our children as good as theirs. (B) Yet here we are subjecting our sons and daughters to slavery. (C) Some of our daughters are already subjected and we are powerless.

(D) Our fields and vineyards belong to others. Notice how much longer the speech in v 5 is relative to the voices in vv 24, and how clearly it divides into separate voices. We can hear the repetition of some of the complaints from vv 14, but the separation of the voices has been lost in the mix of voices from the crowd. We will note a similar strategy in our treatment of Jonah 1:8 below. [5] See the thorough discussion of the chapter in J. Lundbom, Jeremiah 2136, (AB, 21A; New York, NY: Doubleday, 2004), 283301; G. Brin, The Prophet in his Struggles (Israel: University Press of Israel, 1983), 3382 (Hebrew). On the place of Jer 26:2024 within the chapter see Lundbom, 285. [6] Ibn Ezra at Exod 17:2. My thanks to David Frankel for bringing this interpretation to my attention. [7] William Propp [Exodus 118 (AB, 2; New York, NY: Doubleday, 1999), 604 5] describes a similar sense of intensification, where the people crave water in anticipation in 17:2, but their thirst is not mentioned until v3: The peoples renewed complaint arises from actual discomfort. See also the discussion of this dynamic in N. Leibowitz, Studies in Shemot (Jerusalem: WZO, 1981), 273277. [8] On the principle and the techniques involved see Y. Heinemann, Darkhei HaAggadah (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1970), 131136 (Hebrew). [9] Mek. Beshalah 2; see also y. Taan. 65d; Tg. Neophyti to Exod 14:1314; Philo, Vita Moses 2:249; Pseudo-Philo 10:35. See the discussion of the Mekhilta text in Y. Frankel, Midrash and Aggadah (Tel Aviv: Open University, 1996) vol. 1, 15052 (Hebrew). [10] David Frankel has pointed out that the speech of the Israelites here divides clearly into separable segments, and is thus a good candidate for multivocal speech (private communication). While this is clearly the case, the entire speech makes a single, unified argument: Would that you had let us remain slaves in Egypt. The speech lacks the sense of diverse voices representing different viewpoints which is common to the examples which follow.

[11] W. H. C. Frend, Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church, Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967, but see the response of D. Boyarin, Dying for God (Stanford: Stanford Univ. Press, 1999), 90130. [12] We can see a similar dynamic at work in other midrashim of this type. In t. Soah chapter 9 we are presented with a number of cases (e.g., Gen 38:2526; Judg 5:2831) in which the division into human voices culminates in the emergence of a divine voice which resolves the situation. By contrast, the example drawn from 1 Sam 4:89 seems to accurately represent the multiple voices present in the biblical text. [13] R. Alter (Biblical Narrative, 7275) labels this phenomenon contrastive dialogue and notes its importance in describing nuances of character. [14] A. Mirsky, Colloquial Language in the Bible, Sefer Zeidel, ed. A. Elinar et. al., (Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1962), 290293 (Hebrew). Mirsky himself attributes this interpretation to F. Meltzer. Cf. alsoTalmon, Biblical Narrative, 47; S. Bar Efrat, I Samuel (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1996), 139 (Hebrew); Y. Keel, I Samuel, (Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1981), 82 (Hebrew). [15] J. P. Fokkelmann, Vow and Desire: Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1993), 391, finds an interesting chiastic pattern in these verses, but this type of artistry is effective only on the level of discourse. On the level of the story itself the separate speeches simply do not fit together well. On the distinction between discourse and story see G. Savran, Telling and Retelling (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1988), 1217. [16] Midrash Shmuel 13 [17] An alternative opinion offered by the same midrashic source sees the extended speech of the girls as divinely intended; Sauls arrival had to be delayed in keeping with 9:16: At this time tomorrow I will send you a man. [18] Alter, Biblical Narrative, 7275; Talmon, Biblical Narrative, 49; Mirsky, Colloquial Speech, 291. [19] A. Hurvitz, Ruth 2:7A Midrashic Gloss?, ZAW 95 (1983), 122; G. Rendsburg, Confused Language as a Deliberate Literary Device in Biblical Narrative, JHS 2 (1999), 3.

[20] F. H. Polak, The Style of the Dialogue in Biblical Prose Narrative, JANES 28 (2002), 5395. [21] Saul is prepared to give up the chase and return home, but it is his armor bearer who demonstrates the necessary initiative, first by suggesting a visit to the seer, and then by discovering money for payment in his cloak. Cf. Fokkelmann, Vow and Desire, 378; R. Alter, The David Story (New York: NY: W. W. Norton, 1999), 4748. [22] Rendsburg, Confused Language, 3; R. Gilmour, Suspense and Anticipation in 1 Sam 9:114, JHS 9, 13; M. Buber, The Narrative of Sauls Rise to Kingship, Darkho Shel Miqra (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1978), 190 (Hebrew). [23] The waw at the beginning of the word can be understood as dittography from the previous word, or as orcf. HALOT s.v. #6 [24] Wherever this phrase occurs there is evidence of actual deliberation or argumentation. In Gen 11:3 the phrase precedes the statement about what the generation of the tower wishes to do to anchor itself in one place, clearly an issue which required deliberation before coming to the conclusion reflected in the present text. In Gen 42:21 (to be discussed below) the brothers deliberate on the cause of their present plight. In Gen 42:28 further ruminations are reflected in a question, Whats this? (referring to the appearance of their money in their bags), and an answer, God has done this to us! (cf. Tg. Onkelos; n. 35 below). Exod 16:15 indicates a melding of question and answer with the words , meaning both what is it? as well as it is manna (U. Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Exodus, (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1967), 135; Propp, Exodus 118, 536). The call to return to Egypt in Num 14:4 marks the conclusion reached by the people after much lamenting and complaining in 14:13. Judg 6:29 describes the confusion and questioning created by Gideons actions, and Judg 10:18conveys the question raised by the ascendency of the Ammonites over Gilead. Likewise, Jonah 1:7 (see below) presents the conclusion of the sailors deliberations about the cause of the storm which has suddenly enveloped them. Most exceptional is the occurrence of the phrase three times in 2 Kgs 7:3, 6, 9, describing the conclusions of the lepers (vv 3, 9) and the Arameans (v. 6) regarding their various plights. Cf. also the following situations: Gen 43:33 (surprise); 1 Sam 10:11 (question); Jer 22:8 (question); 23:35 (question); 36:16 (question).

[25] Throughout Genesis 37 Joseph is continuously set apart from the rest of his brothers. [26] Sforno, ad loc, builds upon the brothers resentment of an assumed alliance between Jacob and Joseph; note in particular 37:14; Go and see how your brothers are and bring back word to me. [27] Cf. above n. 19 19. Throwing Joseph into a pit is usually seen as a continuation of the plan to kill Joseph; thus Ishmael, the son of Netaniah, disposes of his victims in Jer 41:9. But the pit is multivalent: elsewhere in Jeremiah we see that the pit ( ) functions as a place of detention from which one can be rescued Jer 38:13, as well as Josephs own experience in 41:14. Cf. further Exod 12:29; Zech 9:11. [28] The relationship between the brothers speech in 37:1920 and Reubens speech in vv 2122 is a classic crux; see, for example, A. Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1983), 118119; G. Coats, From Canaan to Egypt, (CBQMS, 4; Washington D.C., 1976), 16. Ed Greenstein suggests that the ostensible contradiction between the brothers plan in v 21 and Reubens suggestion in v22 can be resolved by seeing v 21 as ambiguous about the brothers intentions (An Equivocal Reading of the Sale of JosephA Revised Reading (forthcoming). Our suggestion solves the problem by embracing ambiguity from another direction. The presence of multiple voices in v 21 indicates that the brothers are indeed of (at least) two minds about how to deal with Joseph. [29] Cf. Bekhor Shor on 37:20. [30] The separate quality of this line was recognized by the midrash; according to Gen. Rab. 84:13, it is recited by a voice from heaven. Cf. Y. Frankel, Darkhei HaAggadah VeHamidrash (Givatayim: Yad LeTalmud, 1991), 150 (Hebrew). [31] Radak on 42:10 understands the waw in as but, emphasizing the urgency of the reply to Josephs accusation [32] Jacob himself raises this point in 43:6: Why did you create more trouble for me by telling the man that you have yet another brother? See, for example, the attempts by Ramban to explain the brothers reasoning here.

[33] At most one might argue for a distinction between 42:13a and 13b, where 13a describes the family structure, and 13b supplements it with an explanation as to why there only ten brothers are present. [34] See my discussion of this last speech in Telling and Retelling, 4344. [35] Alter, Biblical Narrative, 164 points out how the accusation of spying can be read as a psychological trope for Josephs own anxiety about being discovered. Equally striking in the scene before us is the fact that Joseph is actually spying on them in 42:23 as they begin to admit their guilt. [36] Cf. Tg. Onkelos. A. Ehrlich [Miqra Kiphshuto (New York, NY: Ktav, 1969), vol. 1, 115 (Hebrew)] notes that in the Bible generally serves to reverse a previous statementin this case the brothers earlier claim that they are honest We may not be spies, but were certainly not innocent. [37] Sforno ad loc sees this as an example of measure for measureas we were cruel to Joseph, so the man was cruel to us. [38] Cf. Rashbam ad loc. [39] In Gen 42:28 there may be a further case of multivocal speech, reading the verse as question and answer, following the interpretation of R. Yaakov Tzi Mecklenberg [HaKetav Vehaqabbalah, Jerusalem, 1985, p. 79]. The verse is introduced with a variation on the discussion phrase , they turned trembling to one another, in response to finding their money in their saddlebags. Their reaction is actually composed of a question and an answer:
Whats this? God has done this to us! (A) (B)

Their initial reaction of fear is expressed in (A) as a simple question, Whats this?, referring to the impossibility of the money being in their saddlebags. The answer is expressed in voice (B) as a realization that a divine hand is at work here, continuing the train of thought of the jail scene described in 42:21. [40] It is not out of the question that there is an additional case of multi-vocal speech in Gen 37:8,

 His brothers said to him: Do you mean to reign over us? Do you mean to rule over us? While the form of the double rhetorical question is usually spoken by a single speaker, we note the unusual repetition in the parallel of rule and reign. While this is the standard form of double questions of the type , one usually finds greater variation in the language of such questions, as in Gen 17:17; Isa 10:15; Job 4:17; 6:5; see Y. Avishur, Patterns in Double and Triple Rhetorical Questions in the Bible and Ugaritic Literature inZer Ligevurot ed. B. Z. Luria (Jerusalem: Qiryat Sefer, 1973), 421427. Ibn Ezra (ad loc) attributes a different sense to each verb, Will we make you king, or will you rule over us by force? Ramban also sees a difference, following Tg. Onkelos in rejecting both kingship and rule. If there are two separate voices here, this would add a degree of dramatization: (A) Do you really think wed willingly make you a king over us? (B) Or maybe you think you can rule over us by force!! The idea of the brothers speaking in different voices here lends support to the divisions of vv 1920, even though the brothers are in agreement with one another at this point. [41] A similar situation obtains in Judg 18:3. The Danite spies ask three separate questions, but there is significant overlap between them. In addition, the answer given by Micah in 18:4 responds to only one of their questions. The section lacks the dramatic element of the storm in Jonah, but the multiple voices of the spies seem to reflect their surprise at finding a Judean settled in the North. See Y. Amit, Judges, (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1999), 272 (Hebrew); U. Simon, Jonah (Philadelphia: JPS, 1999), 11. [42] The word most often has the sense of trade or business, as in Ps 107:23 (related to the sea), Prov 18:9, 22:9. But its relation to the root , to send and through that to as messenger, opens the way for seeing the term as mission, even prophetic task. See J. M. Sasson, Jonah (AB, 24B; New York, NY: Doubleday, 1990), 114; N. Leiter, Jonah: Servant of the Lord in S. Japhet, ed., The Bible in the Light of its Interpreters (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1994), 6263 (Hebrew).

[43] Uriel Simon has remarked on the dramatic impact of the scene, connecting it in style with our initial example of 1 Sam 9:1213. Amit, Judges, 272, notes the similarity in style between Jonah 1:8 and Judg 18:3, but does not mention multivocality. D. Stuart, HoseaJonah (Waco TX: Word Books, 1987), 460, suggests that the sailors pepper him with urgent questions of which the four mentioned in v 8 are but a selection. [44] Against Sasson, Jonah, 111, who sees the sailors acting as a single group here. The sailors do not come together to speak with a single voice until after Jonahs confession in v 9. This is indicated most strikingly by the great fear which overcomes them in v 11. [45] For as business see Ps 107:23. On as a punning term for = prophet see Y. Sherwood, A Biblical Text and its Afterlives (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2000), 249. For attempts to explain the uniqueness of each question see Rashi, Radak ad loc; Leiter, Servant of the Lord, 58 72; Sasson, Jonah, 113115. [46] The contrast between Jonahs and that of the sailors is one of the most powerful points of irony in the chapter. Jonah professes to fear God, yet the sailors fear is more impressive. J. Magonet, Form and Meaning (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1976), 32; P. Trible, Rhetorical Criticism (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 141; Simon, Jonah, 12 [47] The suggestion of N. Leiter (Jonah: Servant of the Lord, 59), that the original text contained both the MT, I am a Hebrew, as well as the LXX, I am a servant of the Lord reflects yet another attempt to have Jonah answer all the sailors question. Her suggested text is much less likely than the idea of two variant readings which is preferred by most commentators. See Stuart, HoseaJonah, 455; Sasson, Jonah, 116. [48] Sasson, Jonah, 126, sees the questions as too calmly posed to reflect the chaotic situation of the storm. This objection falls away when we see the questions as reflecting separate voices, rather than as an intricately developed program of inquiry. [49] At the same time v 11 includes the curious statement that Jonah had told the sailors that he was fleeing from God. When did he tell them this? Either there was

further conversation between Jonah and the sailors, or Jonahs statement about worshipping the Lord who made the sea contains a hint broad enough to suggest to them that Jonah is in flight from his God. See Sasson, Jonah, 121, Simon, Jonah, 13. [50] The causes of Absaloms rebellion are far from clear, but they certainly go beyond the individual efforts and charisma of Absalom himself. While the revolt is described in 2 Sam 15 as emanating entirely from Absaloms personal ambitions, there are also significant political and social issues: Davids attempts at unifying Judah with the northern tribes, the animosity of the House of Saul and the Benjaminites toward David, general displeasure with monarchic rule as implemented by David, issues of taxation and military service, etc. See M. A. Cohen, The Rebellions During the Reign of David, in Studies in Jewish Bibliography in Honor of Edward I. Kiev, Ed. C. Berlin. (New York, NY: Ktav, 1971), 91112; W. Dietrich, The Early Monarchy in Israel, (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2007), 222226. [51] So LXXM; see P. K. McCarter, II Samuel (AB, 9; New York, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 415. [52] Rashi, following Tg. Yonatan understands arguing here, as do Radak and Ralbag. S. R. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text and the Topography of the Books of Samuel, (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1913), 334, understands the verb as in a state of mutual strife, which reflects the sense of disagreement in the text. So too HALOT, to quarrel, argue; McCarter, on the other hand, prefers complaining, following the LXX. This fits the last part of v 11, but the bulk of the speech is not a complaint. [53] See, for instance, J. P. Fokkelmann, King David: Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel, (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1991), 289290; H. W. Hertzberg, I and II Samuel (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976), 364. [54] The term most commonly occurs in speech situations, often refocusing attention on the issue at hand after a digression or an introduction. Cf. TDOT, vol. 11, 445; E. Jenni, Zur Verwendung von atta jetzt im AT,TZ 28 (1972), 512. [55] The verb can be read as past perfect or past continuous, indicating either Davids initial flight in 2 Samuel 15, or his continued absence from the land even

to the present moment. Driver, Samuel, 334, understands Davids flight as from one whom his presence encumbered. [56] McCarter, II Samuel, 415, follows some LXX mss. traditions in understanding Davids flight as being from control of his kingdom as well as from Absalom. [57] One recalls the criticism of David implicit in when everyone else is out in the field (2 Sam 11:1). [58] Note the ironic parallel with the popular demand to bring back Absalom for fear of not having a successor to the throne expressed in (2 Sam 14:13). On this verse see J. Hoftijzer, David and the Tekoite Woman, VT 20 (1970), 429434. [59] Cf. McCarter, II Samuel, 415. [60] 2 Sam 19:15 emphasizes the importance of these words and actions in winning over the Judeans to support him. This theme of conflicting voices finds expression once again at the end of the chapter in the argument between the Judeans and the Northern tribes as to who is more loyal to the king. We can see here a reversal of the previous section. The disagreement is not about the right of David to ascend the throne, but about his importance to each side. The advice of speaker (D) from v 12 has been heeded and the tribes are falling all over themselves to see who can honor him more. But the revolt of Sheba, the son of Bichri, in 2 Sam 20 shows that the hostilities which were at the root of Absaloms revolt are very much alive. On this revolt see McCarter, II Samuel, 431; Dietrich, Early Monarchy, 225; S. L. McKenzie, King David: A Biography (Oxford/New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 2000), 169172. [61] I would like to thank the anonymous readers and my colleague David Frankel for their incisive and helpful comments on an earlier draft of this essay.

Meir Sternberg, Hebrews Between Cultures: Group Portraits and National Literature. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 730 pp.

Reviewed by Francis Landy University of Alberta

Meir Sternberg has been a major critic of biblical narrative ever since his ground-breaking article, The King through Ironic Eyes, appeared in Hasifrut in 1968. Hebrews between Cultures is a complement to his Poetics of Biblical Narrative (1985), and is a massive work: closely argued, printed, infuriatingly difficult to read, it nonetheless offers a complete, challenging, brilliant, and formidable synthesis of Meir Sternbergs views and of the biblical narrative as a whole. Sternbergs thesis is that the master plot of the Hebrew Bible is a struggle between Hamites and Hebrews, the cursed and the blessed, the slave and the enslaver, and that thereby it sustains a critique of slavery across both narrative and legal corpora. Hebrewness is a sign of intercultural denomination: thus Hamites name Israelites, at least when they want to denigrate them. It is also how Israelites speak of themselves when addressing a Hamite superior. Sometimes the use of the word Hebrew grants us insight into the consciousness of a character, such as Moses; at other times, it expresses the narrators disapproval of individuals or groups. Hebrew is contrasted with Israel as unchosen to chosen; it represents the people before or outside the eponymous struggle with God. Whenever it is used, then, it is a throwback, to an inglorious origin across the River, or a moral exclusion from the covenant community. Sternberg has other objectives. In particular, he wishes to show the fluidity, flexibility, and dense resistance to stereotypes of the biblical narrative, in the service of what he calls its foolproof composition. The Bible, as part of its war against idolatry, rejects all fixture. There are good Hamites and bad Israelites; the Hebrewgram, as Sternberg terms it, is constantly shifting. He is accordingly against atomizing and demarcating the text; not only do all narratives contribute to the whole story, and cannot be read apart from each other, but legal texts are not independent of their narrative frame or vice versa. One of the most impressive features of the book is the sheer remorselessness of its attention to detail and intertextual links. He is very interested in history, eschewing the insularity of historical and literary preserves in biblical scholarship (p. 525). A literary approach, he holds, cannot avoid historical questions, because the work itself is an exercise as well as a participant in history. Just as law and literature cannot be separated, nor can literature and history. Accordingly, a great deal of space is taken up with polemic against the Hab/piru hypothesis, rather too much for those for whom it represents a past era in scholarship. Inevitably, the argumentation is repetitive, as Sternberg frequently acknowledges; yet it is necessary, as a way of thinking through his own

position. Sternberg thrives in controversy; his foolproof Bible has become, in his eyes, a fools paradise. For Sternberg, the Bible, as the national literature of ancient Israel, is ideologically consistent and morally overdetermined. The gaps and indeterminacies of biblical narrative converge on and reinforce the same message. There is very little room for polysemy, contradiction, and doubt. The Bible, in his often repeated phrase, moves between the truth and the whole truth, and it is his job, as critic, to discover that truth for us. This means that he is anything but eirenic. The Midrashic catchword, davar aher, another explanation, is very far removed from his consciousness. Precisely because of his conviction, Sternberg produces a very compelling story. Jonah describes himself as a Hebrew to the sailors, because they are Tyrian, and hence Hamites, and he is insecure among them. Abram is described as a Hebrew in Gen. 14.13, in order to reveal the thought processes of the Sodomite fugitive, for whom he is a relative of the conquering kings. Moses goes out to his Hebrew brothers, because, raised in the Egyptian court, that is how he thinks of them. The Hebrews whose movements and allegiance are at stake in I Sam 1314 are so labelled because of their disloyalty. The laws concerning the Hebrew slave in Exod.21.211,Deut.15.1218, and Jer.34. 816 use the term to emphasize the anomaly of slavery in Israel, in which slave owners act the part of Egyptians. Much of this is convincing. For instance, Sternberg proposes that the detail that the Egyptians do not eat with the Hebrews in Gen. 43.32, because it is an abomination to them, foreshadows the ethnic conflict between them (pp. 286308). He explores, expertly and subtly, the discrepancy between the divine commission and Moses speech to Pharaoh. The overall thesis that Hebrew is a sign of intercultural devaluation, specifically associated with the Egyptians and their literary doubles, the Philistines, is persuasive, as is the contrast with Israel. The shock value of the ebed ivri, the Hebrew slave, is well taken. The book suffers from overkill. Sternberg wants to tie every thread together. The result is that he often constructs a mountain out of very little material, e.g., the Sodomites motivations in Gen. 14.13, or the three incidental mentions of the Hebrews in I Sam 1314. This is symptomatic of a more general tendency, to try to explain everything from a rational, teleological perspective. Sternberg would make a good writer of detective fiction. Every occurrence of the word Hebrew is a puzzle, which needs to be explicated as evidence of national or personal attitudes and ideologies. In other words, interpretation is limited to motive and mindset. Why did Jonah call himself a Hebrew? What did he stand to gain from

it? Why did Moses think of his brothers as Hebrews? Once we have the answer, the whole truth, as Sternberg nominates it, our task is over. This only works insofar as we buy the story. We will only do so, as with any detective story, if we accept the rules of the game. One of the rules is the rejection of indeterminacy. Supposing we said, You may be right, Mr. Sternberg, that the Sodomite fugitive hoped to curry favour with Abram, but supposing that is not the whole truth. Supposing we do not know why the word is there. One of the conditions of biblical interpretation must surely be the surplus of information over any possible interpretation. Similarly, Sternbergs thesis concerning I Sam 1314 may be persuasive, and other constructions may be equally plausible, but we simply cannot tell from the very sparse evidence who the pusillanimous Hebrews were. Sternbergs theory of foolproof composition requires a unitary narrative and unitary ideology. He is accordingly intolerant of contradiction and dialogue in the text. For instance, he argues at length against any substantive as opposed to rhetorical difference between the slave laws in Exodus and Deuteronomy. Nonetheless, biblical evidence is often less than straightforward. Sternberg takes the Table of Nations in Gen. 10, together with Noahs curse in Gen. 9.1829, to be the key to subsequent ethnic strife (pp. 109113). The Table of Nations, however, is very confusing. For instance, Shem is the ancestor of all the children of Eber, according to Gen. 10.21; however, Eber is Shems great grandson (Gen. 10.24.). Are the other Shemites then Eberides? Dependent on this question is the status of Elam, Shems firstborn, one of the Mesopotamian kings in Gen. 14.1. Even more disputatious is the affiliation of Shinar, whose king heads the list in Gen. 14. For Shinar, according to Gen. 10.10, is Cushite, i.e., Hamite, territory. From Shinar, however, arises Assyria (10.11), Shems second son. So Assyria, at several generations remove, is an autochthonous Hamite. Tidal, king of the nations, is, of course, unspecific, and Gen. 10.5 might indeed link it with the children of Japhet. The other ally, Elasar, does not appear in the Table. The Sodomites identification of Abram as an Eberide with a natural affinity for the invaders thus cannot be taken at face value. It is not that Sternberg is completely unaware of these ambiguities (e.g., pp. 78), but they tend to disappear in the analysis. The problem recurs, on a larger scale, in relation to Sternbergs insistence that ibri is always an ethnicon, co-referent with Israel (p. 8), and his rejection of alternative hypotheses. For, when Joseph says that he was stolen from the land of the Hebrews (Gen. 40.15), which land does he mean? Similarly, if it is an abomination for the Egyptians to eat with Hebrews (Gen. 43.32), and Hebrew is co-referent with Israel, the only Hebrews in existence are those sitting at the table. Sternberg interprets these references rhetorically, and often superbly, for instance to suggest Josephs harmlessness, coming from across the border of Egypt, since the word for

cross (br) puns with that for Hebrew. Nonetheless, to make sense in context, they must imply a land and a people within Canaan greater than Jacobs nuclear family. Sternbergs attempts to interpret the literature historically comprise the weakest, though at times the most adventurous, parts of the book. For it is very difficult to ascertain where he stands. He is no fundamentalist, and polemicizes against fundamentalist premises (e.g., p. 448). He knows that literature is not history, and that the Bible knows nothing of Egyptian dominance over Canaan (pp. 118, 209). Yet he wants to believe in the historicity of the Bible. He identifies, almost without argument, the Jonah ben Amittai of the prophetic book with the eighth century prophet of that name, and even suggests that it is set after the fall of Samaria (p. 215). He believes in the conquest under Joshua (pp. 4647) and inveighs against revisionist historians of all colours. Some of his speculations are remarkable: that the Israelites proliferation in Exod.1 is in ironic counterpoint to Rameses fecundity (p. 123); that Mei-Nephtoah in Josh. 15.9 and 18.15 may be a satiric allusion to Mernepthah (pp. 148 149); that the narrative of Moses flight to Midian may consciously reverse the Tale of Sinuhe (p. 367). He argues against the low realism which dismisses the possibility of Mosaic or even divine authorship of Exodus and Deuteronomy (pp. 529530). Yet almost in the same breath he endorses Wellhausens relegation of Leviticus to the post-exilic era (p. 668 n.16), largely because it conflicts with his interpretation of the other slave texts. Notwithstanding this, he frequently adduces the narrative of the blasphemer in Lev. 24.1023 in support of his general thesis. One wonders what Sternberg would make of Israel Knohls and Jacob Milgroms case for the antiquity of the Priestly and Holiness Codes. He does not mention them, however, an omission indicative, I think, of a general isolation within biblical studies. He is extremely critical of everything trendy: feminism, deconstruction, cultural studies, etc., but there is relatively little engagement with contemporary literary-critical writing on the Bible. The closest he comes to approbation is of James Ackermans 1974 essay on the Moses Birth Story. Sternbergs style is extremely complex, convoluted, tortuous. Most sentences I had to struggle through several times, and some I abandoned. Indeed, he reads like a cross between Henry James and the Russian Formalists. But I would not want him any different. His writing is the product of careful craftsmanship as well as enthusiasm; it is extremely funny, dotted with puns, internal rhymes, wild literary allusions. It is a reflection of a mind that is subtle, complex, and almost dizzying in its intelligence. In short, this is a great book, written by one of the finest of contemporary literary critics. But the whole truthno.

DOI:10.5508/jhs.2013.v13.r29

Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 13 (2013) - Review

Ben Zvi, Ehud and Diana V. Edelman (eds.), The Production of Prophecy: Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud (London/Oakville, CT: Equinox, 2009). Pp. 235. Paperback. US$39.95. ISBN 978-1-84553-500-1.
This book gathers some of the papers presented at the 2006 and 2007 meetings of the European Association of Biblical Studies. These essays are substantive contributions to an ongoing conversation that is reorienting the study of biblical prophecy. Since the historical-critical method showed that prophetic books were the product of editorial activity subsequent to the prophets for whom the books were named, the focus has been on reconstructing the message of each prophet in relation to his own time. This endeavor reached a point of diminishing returns as it became evident that the original words of the prophets could not be extracted with any certainty from the redactional material in which they were embedded. Thus the focus has shifted from the original prophets to the books as we have them, and to their message in relation to the context in which they were produced. Some of the essays in this collection are concerned with what might be called the macro level of the discussion, dealing with theoretical concepts and historical considerations relating to the production of prophetic books in general. Other essays are concerned with what might be called the micro level of that discussion, showing how particular texts or books can be fruitfully seen in relation to this broadly described context. On the macro level, Ehud Ben Zvi reiterates in his two contributions the basic points that have become virtually axiomatic for the discussion: biblical prophetic books were produced in Persian Yehud by a small scribal elite that was Jerusalem-based and temple-centeredmore or less the same group which also produced the Torah and the Deuteronomistic historical work (DHW, my neutral terminology for Joshua Kings). One of Diana Edelman's articles elaborates on this

scenario as she relates the emergence of the revelatory texts produced by this scribal elite to a shift in the priestly function and consequent changes in the various forms of divinatory practice associated with the sanctuary. Erhard Gerstenberger sketches one dimension of the overall ideological context in which this scribal elite worked, noting that the basic concept of prophetic writing has striking parallels in the early Avestan traditions of Yehud's Persian overlords, as do some dominant themes of biblical prophetic theology. Axel Knauf's essay deals with the overarching relationship among the three major literary corpora produced by Yehud's scribes: the prophetic books, the Torah, and the book of Kings (in which he includes the narrative of Samuel). He concludes that as the rule of Torah was being established in the course of Jerusalem's restoration, Kings summarized the past so as to show why this particular form of revelatory guidance has become necessary, and to provide a historical framework for the interpretation of the prophetic books. This is one conceivable way of coloring in Ben Zvi's outline of the origin of the Torah, prophetic books, and the DHW within a single shared, integrative discourse (p. 25). On the micro level, two essays explore specific sub-points within this shared discourse. Thomas Rmer investigates specific contacts between Jeremiah and the DHW, taking the obvious overlap of 2 Kgs 2425 and Jer 52 as a point of departure. He concludes that Jeremiah was composed as a supplement to DHW and characterizes the scribes that produced them as members of a Deuteronomistic circle (pp. 168, 171). Edelman's second contribution examines the specific role of Jonah in the discourse common to the prophetic books and the Torah. Jonah is atypical in the extent to which it focuses on the prophet's reaction to the divine word he is called to proclaim, and it thereby provides an interpretive key (p. 160) showing that prophecies should not be taken literally as historical predictions, and that the conflicting claims within both the prophetic books and the Torah need to be taken comprehensively rather than pitting one against the other. Three other essays are concerned with particular points on the micro level. Philip Davies asks, What is the message of

Amos?if we take Amos to mean the book addressed to those who produced it in Persian Yehud rather than the eighth-century prophet speaking to his contemporaries prior to the fall of the north. Rainer Albertz elaborates one of the corollaries of the hypothesis that prophetic books were produced by a Jerusalembased, temple-centered scribal group in Persian Yehud, namely, that they were designed to be disseminated by reading them in various public contexts. Albertz considers the possibilities with regard to Deutero-Isaiah in particular, both cultic and non-cultic, and concludes that this particular document was intended to be read in the , the gathering of all the men of a settlement that takes place every evening (p. 105). Finally, Rannfrid Thelle considers how Jeremiah specifically fits a general theory of mine, attributing the production of prophetic books to interrelated exilic and postexilic changes in Judah's worldview, demographics, and practices of divination. This collection positively advances the discussion on several levels. One of the interesting implications is that several contributions call for further work in comparative studies, in at least three ways. First, the concept of a diversity of views within canonical limits, which characterizes the shared, integrative discourse of Yehud's scribal elite, marks a big change in biblical scholarship. Previously the production of documents with diverse views was imagined in terms of different schools or circles, each with its own distinctive ideology. Are there any parallels to the kind of eclecticism that is imagined for this single group of writers who produced such a variety of documents with such a variety of viewpoints? Second, if the preference for authoritative revelatory writings as a means of discerning the divine will marks a definite shift in divinatory practices, how did this come about? Studies of how African and Latin American divination changed in response to colonialism may be helpful in understanding this development. Third, Gerstenberger's tracing of possible links between Persian and prophetic theology suggests the potential fruitfulness of further comparative study of Jewish, Persian, and Greek philosophical monotheism. This is only a sample of the rich suggestiveness of these essays.

Michael H. Floyd, Quito, Ecuador

DOI:10.5508/jhs.2013.v13.r3

Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 13 (2013) - Review

Galvin, Garrett, Egypt as a Place of Refuge (FAT, II/51; Tbingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). Pp. xv + 230. Sewn paper. 59.00. ISBN 978-3-16-150816-5.
The prominent memory of ancient Egypt in biblical heritage and western culture is that of Egypt as a house of slavery. Egypt as a place of oppression and hostility towards the Israelites is found throughout the Hebrew Bible in its various genres (narrative, law, Psalms). This is not the whole story, however, argues Garrett Galvin in Egypt as a Place of Refuge. Galvin notes at the beginning of his book, Although Scripture usually refers to Egypt as a place of bondage, Egypt also plays a role as a place of refuge for a number of prominent biblical individuals (1). The purpose of the book, therefore, is to provide a close study of the biblical passages in which Egypt functioned as a place of refuge. In Chapter One, the Introduction, Galvin sets up the issues that he deals with in the rest of his book. Some of these issues include the differentiation between a refuge and a religious/criminal asylum, and the portrayal of a given nation (e.g. Egypt) as a refuge place in both the ancient Near East and in the Bible. Thus various genres of ancient Near Eastern literature (e.g. treaties, narratives, etc.) are discussed in Chapter Two in order to explain the concept of refuge. Some characteristics are shared between these refuge accounts: (1) A key figure flees from a position of centrality to a liminal place; (2) In some cases the fleeing figure succeeds in moving back to a position of centrality, in other cases the refugee is doomed. In Chapter Three Galvin underlines the difference between flight and refuge on the one hand, and permanent exile, diaspora, and criminal asylum on the other hand. By comparing the semantic range of verbs like , , to flee, to escape with verbs like , , to go into exile, to take captive, to scatter, respectively, Galvin notes [w]hereas the verbs associated with flight involve an individual

controlling his or her own destiny, diaspora and permanent exile are the lot of individuals who have lost all control of their lives (43). The last section of this chapter looks into refuge as a topos in Old Testament literature. Galvin discusses the theme of flight as it appears in the stories of David (1 Sam 19; 20; 27 and 2 Sam 15; 19), Absalom (2 Sam 1316), Adonijah (1 Kgs 1 2), Hagar (Gen 16; 21), Jacob (Gen 2732), Jephthah (Judg 11), Jonah (1:3, 10; 4:2), Joseph (Gen 3750) and Moses (Exod 2:15; 4:3; 14:5). Similar to the characteristics of flight stories from the ancient Near East, we find that the aforementioned biblical flight stories portray the fleeing figure leaving behind a position of centrality for a location of liminality. While in the stories of David and Jacob the fleeing character returns to a position of centrality, the stories of Absalom and Adonijah present an end of doom. In 1 Kgs 11:1412:24 two figures, Hadad and Jeroboam, take refuge in Egypt to flee from immanent life-threatening danger. Hadad of Edom manages to escape the massacre that Joab, the commander of David's army, conducted against the Edomite males (1 Kgs 11:1422). Jeroboam flees to Egypt, running from Solomon, who seeks his life because Jeroboam had been promised a kingdom. The stories of Hadad and Jeroboam are told in order to underline the divine displeasure with Solomon. Galvin's discussion of these narratives, in Chapter Four, pays a close attention to literary features and textual variations between the MT and the LXX. The Hadad episode shares some literary features with other stories of biblical refuge, especially that they travel through the desert, interact with a nameless pharaoh, and enjoy great material benefits during their sojourn there (116). According to Galvin, the MT of 1 Kgs 11:1412:24 seems to portray Egypt positively as a place of refuge; after all, Hadad and Jeroboam were adversaries that God raised up against Solomon. The Greek versions LXXB and LXXL of the story of Jeroboam, however, according to Galvin, portray Egypt in a far more negative light as they even have Jeroboam return to Israel at an earlier point, seemingly to stir up trouble (117). Galvin devotes Chapter Five to an analysis of the portrayal of Egypt in the book of Jeremiah. The sixty-two references to Egypt

in the book are classified in three different categories: (1) References to the exodus from Egypt; (2) References to contemporary Egypt outside of the Baruch Scroll (Jer 36-45); (3) References in the Baruch Scroll. At the outset of his discussion, Galvin notes that the differences between the MT and the LXX of Jeremiah are not crucial for the material he is concerned with, he will, therefore, focus on the MT, while also making reference to the LXX on those (few) occasions where its portrayal of Egypt does differ (124). The eleven references to the exodus from Egypt that appear in the book of Jeremiah (e.g., 2:6; 7:22) underline the point that Egypt is not a proper place of refuge but rather a place of bondage and slavery. Outside of the Baruch Scroll, Egypt is mentioned nineteen times, where it is acknowledged as a place of refuge, but Jeremiah seems to want the people to accept their fate of exile in Babylon, rather than to seek refuge elsewhere (127). Likening the ones who went to Egypt to the bad figs (24:8), the outcome of Uriah's flight (Jer 26:2023), and the pairing of Egypt with Assyria (2:18) underline Jeremiah's evaluation of Egypt as an improper place of refuge. The Baruch Scroll (chs. 3645), which tells the story of the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians and the flight of some Judeans to Egypt, castigates the Judeans who take refuge in Egypt, highlights that Israel's story ends where it originated: in Egypt (131), and finally points out that Jeremiah's personal history ends in the land where Moses started (135). The focus of Chapter Six is Egypt as a place of refuge in the Greco-Roman period. In this section, Galvin discusses texts from the books of Maccabees, the writings of Josephus, and also the gospel according to Matthew. 1 Maccabees 15:16 mentions a treaty concerned with the Jewish refugees in Egypt, and 2 Macc 12 includes two letters sent from the Jews of Judea to the Jews of Egypt. The Matthean tradition, in which the Holy Family takes refuge in Egypt because of the threat that Herod poses to the babyJesus, draws on the tradition of Egypt as a place of refuge in the OT. Although Matthew makes no explicit mention of OT figures in 2:1315 and 1921, Moses, Jeroboam, and Jeremiah certainly stand in the background of his presentation there (180).

Galvin's work on Egypt as a place of refuge differs from previous scholarship on the relationship between Egypt and Israel in various points. Given the limitations of the historical data and the fact that what is uncovered has been exhaustively discussed by others, the gap that Galvin's work fills is the role of genre in understanding the portrayal of Egypt as a place of refuge in the Bible. Galvin notes, Whereas most previous studies have u sed a historical framework to understand their relationship, I will pay more explicit attention to the question of genre (6). Furthermore, while most earlier scholarship pays more attention to the accounts of 1 Kgs 11:1412:24 and Jer 3645, His work expands the scope to include the books of Maccabees and the flight of the Holy Family in the New Testament. In addition, this work skillfully intertwines insights from three different fields on scholarship. Galvin's study of Egypt as a refuge is informed by the notion of refuge in the ancient Near East, insights from the social sciences (anthropology and sociology) on the concept of liminality, and exegetical analyses of multiple biblical texts with special attention to textual witnesses (MT, LXX). Thus Galvin's work contributes to the study of Egypt as a place of refuge in its inquiry, its method, and also its scope. This work should be applauded for its literary sensibilities and its keen textual analyses. In the course of discussing the phenomenon of refuge in the Old Testament in general, Galvin distinguishes between flight and refuge on the one hand and exile and asylum on the other hand. The criteria that Galvin employs in order to make this distinction between flight and exile include the use of one of the three Hebrew verbs , , ( to flee or to escape). In addition, Galvin notes that the refugees have control over their destiny, while the exiled have lost all control of their lives. The flight of some of the Judeans to Egypt in the aftermath of the Babylonian exile, which Galvin discusses in Chapter Five, raises some questions to the aforementioned propositions. None of the verbs , , ( to flee or to escape) is used to describe the flight of these Judeans to Egypt in the Baruch Scroll. The text instead uses the verb to come, to enter (e.g. Jer 31:17; 42:15, 1719; 43:2, 7, 11; 44:12, 14, 28). Interestingly, outside of the Baruch Scroll, the verbs to flee (in the MT; the verb is

missing in the LXX) and to come are used in order to describe the flight of Uriah to Egypt (26:21) and the verb to escape is used in the Baruch Scroll in order to describe the flight of Ishmael son of Nethaniah to the Ammonites (41:15) and in order to speak of YHWH's deliverance of Ebed-Melech the Ethiopian as a reward for rescuing Jeremiah (39:18). One wonders, therefore, about the possibility that the author(s) of the Baruch Scroll avoided using the verbs that designate a sense of flight or refuge in describing the group of the Judeans who went to Egypt as a way of underlining Jeremiah's critique of this flight, that is, Egypt is not a safe refuge. The fact that the Baruch Scholl and 2 Kgs 25:26 use the verb ( to come) in order to describe the journey of these Judeans who escaped to Egypt because they were afraid of Chaldeans invites us to reconsider the criterion of determining the refuge texts based on vocabulary; taking refuge as a motif is not necessarily bound to a set of verbs. Another issue that is worth exploring when it comes to Jeremiah's skepticism about Egypt as a place of refuge has to do with Judean politics of the 6th century, being divided between pro-Babylonian policy, of which Jeremiah was a supporter, and a pro-Egyptian policy, which Jeremiah denounced. Finally, one of Galvin's contributions to the study of Egypt as a refuge lies in exploring the notion of genre. Looking at the texts Galvin chose to discuss and noting how diverse they are, one wonders, however, whether it is better to speak of a motif rather than a genre. In the Conclusion, Galvin notes that Egypt's role as a place of refuge can be an historical reality and/or literary motif (181). Galvin's work invites further scholarship on the relation between Israel and Egypt as found in both biblical and extrabiblical evidence. Given that most biblical texts emerged at times when Egypt was not the superpower of the ancient Near East, and that Egypt and Israel/Judah interacted in the shadows of the Assyrian, the Babylonia, and the Persian empires, scholarship will need to investigate whether Egypt in these biblical traditions stands for itself or for another power, meaning that Egypt would be used as a code. More research is needed to discuss how literary and

historical elements of texts that speak of Egypt as a place of refuge and those that speak of Egypt as a house of slavery interact with one another. Finally, these stories or accounts of an individual or a group who seek refuge somewhere else other than home invite us to think about how the Israelites understood their identity as strangers or refugees in relation to the surrounding nations, with Egypt as one of the most prominent among them.
Safwat Marzouk, Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary

LOOSE CANONS: REFLECTIONS ON THE FORMATION OF THE HEBREW BIBLE

Philip R Davies University of Sheffield

1. Prolegomena
Study of the rabbinic-Masoretic canon confronts a number of conceptual problems which, despite a number of recent studies,1 persist here and there. Among the most important are the following:

1. The persistence of the concept and evaluation of canon according to the Christian example of a closed and authoritative list. The role of canons within the system of rabbinic Judaism, as well as in other ancient and modern societies has not been fully evaluated. 2. The inherited view of pre-rabbinic Judaism as having been, throughout its development, a unitary phenomenon, with a single line of evolution, and thus, implicitly, with a single canonizing process, leading to a single canon. This is often compounded by the teleological fallacy: that within the process of formation of a canon lie the seeds of the final canon itself, so that histories of canonizing begin with the final shape and work backwards, rather than starting from the beginnings and going forwards as if the final shape of the canon were the outcome of an inevitable growth rather than being the result of discrete historical decisions. 3. The assumption the scriptural canon provides clear and reliable evidence of its own history. One obvious example of this is to divide the history of

canonization into the rabbinic-Masoretic divisions of torah, prophets and writings, without considering that different groupings may have been in force at earlier stages; more generally, there persists a tendency to accept canonical stories such as Ezra as being suitable evidence for the canonization of torah. 4. Within biblical scholarship, it is rarely asked whether or not canon is a good thing; where the matter does get an airing, the answer is a ringing affirmation. Yet an ongoing controversy about whether or not canons do or should exist is raging in the field of English literature.2 Some critics are saying that the notion of canon is no more than an attempt by educational (we could read ecclesiastical) fascists to administer control of ones culture (religion) and ones society, to preserve the values of a powerful few against the interests of the less powerful many. Others counter that excellence cannot be relativized and must be recognized, and that canons do and should exist because they testify to the self-authorizing nature of excellence. But values do not lie in texts. Texts can only refract the values of writers and readers. Canons do not impose themselves.
Writing a history of canonizing, especially of Jewish canonizing, does seem to entail some kind of sacrilege wherever the canon is treated (as in the case of Childss work) as a religious icon. Canon is a Janus-like phenomenon, facing backwards through the process of canonizing that brought it into being, but also forwards in exerting a canonical influence on subsequent study of it. Biblical scholarship, after all, is largely conducted within or among communities for whom that canon is in some way definitional. Any history of canonizing, then, that we construct, though supposedly dealing with the backward-looking face, is being composed under the forward-looking gaze of a final, definitive and authoritative canon, which has helped to shape not just Christian communities, and not just the discourse of biblical scholarship (note the term carefully!) but also Western culture. A canonical culture such as Protestant Christianity may thus harbor an aversion (whether or not conscious) to a process that necessarily treats the creation of its Bible as the result of a series of human decisions. For the discipline of history is about human decisions, about change, about design but also about accident. History shows how things might have been different but were not. More threateningly, the postmodern view of history sees all histories as narratives rather than as objective representations of a real past. Canons are grand narratives, especially when they purvey canonized history. But a canon which is substantially historiographical has in fact

worked its effect in Western culture largely as an account of a real past (and still does, even in critical scholarship). To critique this past by means of archaeology or literary criticism is standard in scholarly practice, but does not pose such a great threat to the status of the canon as does an approach that makes the canon itself a product of history rather than the reverse. The effects of canon and of a secularizing critical history may also conflict in another way. Canons represent eternal, transhistorical values. Whether freezing forever a glorious culture or encoding the eternally valid words of a transcendent deity, they seek to defy or overcome the processes of history, in which cultures age and decay and in which languages shift the meanings of words. Between the perception of a permanent ideal reality and that of a constantly moving flux (between, we could say, Plato and Heraclitus) we are all caught, affirming at some time both one and the other, seeing eternal values behind the transience of our own historical experience. Even historians need to invoke some kind of universal and eternal principles such as providence, human nature or laws of social behaviour. But historians at their best infer these values from the study of individual, the particular and the discrete. Whether or not any of the above considerations are deemed valid, it remains a puzzle that no attempt to understand or explain why Jewish canonizing took place or why Judaism ended up as a religion with a canon. It has generally been taken for granted that this should be so. The most basic historical questions of how and why have scarcely been addressed. To be fair, Harans recent book (cited in n. 1) does make such an effort. But in my opinion it is far too complacent in its use of canonical data as evidence.

2. What are canons?

Rather than begin by asking about the character of Jewish canons, we should take note that canons are an expression of several human cultures and available for comparative analysis. To understand Jewish canonizing entails understanding canonizing generally as human social activity. The obvious starting point is the term canon itself, though the history of the term must not be confused with the history of the phenomenon. The term itself is Greek, and denoted a physical ruler (such as a carpenter would use for measuring) and an abstract standard (as we might nowadays say yardstick). Thus, kanon was accordingly used by Greeks to refer to the rules by which poetry or music could be composed, or geometrical shapes measured: so, for example, in the middle of the fifth century bce, the title canon was given to two textbooks dealing with sculpture. The apparently curious connection thus established between artistic

creation and canon remained in Greek culture into the Hellenistic period, and the notion of a perfect work of art as representing the ideal, to be studied and copied, is fundamental to the Greek concept of canon. For the perfect work is itself a canon because it both enshrines and demonstrates the rules or the art in question (the eternal, as against the ephemeral). And since for Socrates and his circle, goodness was the supreme art (and knowledge the way to it), the good man can, as Aristotle says, be a canon of human nobility.3 Individual works or collections of works could be created in the Greek and Hellenistic world specifically as canons, and such works could cover a range of topics, whether art, medicine, technology or philosophy. These canons were neither exclusive or closed. The notion of a determinate set of books as forming a canon, which is fundamental to the Christian concept, may have originated in the treatment in Hellenistic schools and libraries of Homer, Herodotus and Thucydides as perfect exemplars of their art, from which it follows that the determination of genuine, as opposed to false, works assigned to these authors was an important issue, as was also the establishment of a reliable text. It was, indeed, probably under the influence of the scholars of the Alexandrian library, who used the word canon of collections of ancient authors, that the Christians notion of a canon derives. Our modern use of the word canon has moved some way beyond its classical origins. Yet, if we want to approach Jewish canonizing from a historical perspective, we must ask ourselves what canon might mean in terms of Jewish writings, and return to the definitions that governed the earlier age. Indeed, we must go even further than the classical origins of the word canon. For, even though the word (or its equivalent) may not have existed, a process of canonizing is also clearly at work in both Mesopotamian and Egyptian cultures, and it is important to place Jewish canonizing historically in the wider context of the great literary cultures to which the classical world was also indebted. Millennia before the Greeks learned to write, the civilizations of the Tigris-Euphrates and the Nile valleys had produced highly complex bureaucratic systems in which the art of writing was indispensable: this in turn necessitated a society of scribes, and over time this society defined and replicated itself through a body of literature that served as a kind of genetic blueprint of its own values and world-view, its theoretical and practical philosophy. By means of its own educational system and the constant copying and refining of this corpus, the Mesopotamian and Egyptian civilizations produced, alongside the much more numerous but transient administrative literature which paradoxically has survived where so much creative literature has been lost, works that we would call canonical, even in the Greek sense.

3. The canonizing process

Canons are the products of canonizing processes. Canonizing generates all kinds of canons which, as the process continues, can assume different shapes over time or between different groups. The production of a single closed list of authoritative writings is not the inevitable end product of this ongoing process. Canonizing, however, is an inevitable by-product of a consciously literary culture. Before the age of mass production of books (i.e. printing), the accumulation of a literary corpus involves many stages: composition, copying, editing; but also classifying, collecting and archiving, since the growth of a corpus depends on its physical preservation.Copying and archiving are the very stuff of canonizing. A work does not become canonized by being included in a formal list: that is a final flourish. A work become canonized (a) by being preserved by copying until its status as a classic is ensured; and (b) by being classified as belonging to a collection of some kind. Scrolls can be canons in their own right, but multiple scrolls need to be archived: that means labelling and storing in a sort of order. This in turn entails collecting. The results are various canons, groups of classic texts or classic collections on scrolls or tablets. A written document in the ancient world generally had a very short life. Unless written on stone or maintained by unusual climatic conditions, in order to be preserved it had to be copied, as it did, of course, in order to be distributed. The development of writing seems to have occurred for economic reasons, in order to enable the collection of taxes or mark property or verify transactions. It is a function of the development of an economic system. The earliest texts are administrative, and these were copied for an archive, where they were carefully preserved. They were of value for consultation and needed to be classified for retrieval. Such texts are called documentary. Literary texts, on the other hand, are not preserved as records to be consulted but as cultural artifacts, whose contents contain the stories, philosophy, laws or prayers that furnish the social reality. As with the society itself, these texts are living and organic: they may be copied with reasonable fidelity, but may also be altered by editing, supplementing, or combining with other texts. We have plenty of evidence to show that copying was rarely exact and often highly creative. The fate of documentary texts and literary texts is basically different, even though they were sometimes archived together. Literary texts are transmittedat least, those that survive. Transmission is a selective process: some literary works are copied; some notat least in principle, for those not copied are lost and we cannot be certain. Some texts are rewritten and copied more than others. As this process takes place, some texts become more familiar, more ancient and more respected. Such works become quoted, and influence other works. In other words, some texts become what we would call classic. Classic works constitute a canon,

even when that canon is not formally listed. The listing of such works can come about in a number of ways: there is cataloguing, necessary both for administrative archiving and for the maintenance of libraries of literary works. There is also curricular listing, in which certain texts form the basic of an educational syllabus. And there is also scholarly listing, in which genuine works of a certain type or author are distinguished from those judged to be inauthentic or inferior. These processes of discrimination and of formal selection constitute the core of the canonizing process, and what they produce are canons. Thus, canonizing comprises a sequence of stages from the creation of texts, through transmission and discrimination to formal lists. Though one stage tends to lead naturally to another, so that we can speak of a sequence of processes, even when the production of final canonical lists does not result, we can, and should, speak of a canonizing process. The notion of a canon can be present without any definitive list (as it does in our own days). Indeed, the actual drawing up of formal canons is only a final stage in the entire process. For even before such lists are created, canons are created on shelves and in boxes, where literature of a certain kind or a certain value is grouped together physically. The tendency to issue canonical lists is in fact typical of a post-classical age anxious to control and define exactly the values of a culture that in reality is gone. In such circumstances we see a conscious effort to define and promote the study of a body of work. Such canons can have a long afterlife. The English public school educational system until not so very recently continued to treat the study of the Classics (Greek and Latin) in very much this way. The literate society in which canons develop will, of course, differ over time and place, and even in societies of universal literacy, it is not the society as a whole that determines the canons of the future. Literary canons in the ancient world emerged in a specific (sub)culture, that of the scribal class. Scribe and scribal are not always ideal terms for this society, but they have the advantage of underlining the connection between economic activity and literary culture. Religious canons were also not the product of the body of adherents of a religion, but of those (rabbis, bishops) who identified themselves as the leaders and definers of the value of their society (their religion). Canonizing is elitist in conception and authoritarian in implementation. Canonizing may commence by trying (not even explicitly) to create a culture; but it typically ends by dictating a culture through the medium of a fixed list of what is and what is not canonical. It is thus an entirely open question whether or not fixed, closed and authoritative canons are a good thing at all. Perhaps it depends on how they are used. But typically they are imposed. Finally, canons are not unilayered or undifferentiated. Some works can be more firmly canonical than others. In Greek literature Homer first, Herodotus and Thucydides next, and

so on. Let us take the example of the rabbinic-Masoretic scriptural canon: here there are three division, one at least of which was at one time a canon in itself (torah). The torah has also enjoys a higher degree of authority than the rest of the canon, and sometimes the entire Jewish scriptures are called torah. In the Christian scriptures, the New Testament is a similar sense more canonical than the Old, providing the key to its correct understanding, abrogating many of its statements.4 Thus, the notion that a canon differentiates strongly between authorized and unauthorized, authoritative and non-authoritative, inside and outside, is only true up to a point. Neither within nor outside canonical boundaries is there equality. Canons do not grow up with rigid boundaries, and the creation of such boundaries by fixed canonical lists does not eliminate grey areas either within (law versus gospel, torah versus prophets) or on the edges of (the apocrypha) the canon.

4. Mechanisms of Jewish Canonizing

Historically we start an investigation of Jewish canonizing with the agrarian societies of the Iron Age in which literacy was a monopoly or near-monopoly of the class of scribeadministrators. Scribes were in large measure insulated from the majority of the population; physically (they lived in cities), economically (they were supported by the tax payer) and culturally. At a royal court, perhaps even a provincial governors court, traditional storytelling (the cabaret of the ancient world) may furnish a bridge between the two parts of the society; meeting-places such as the city gate, or the market also afford social contact and cultural exchange, and in general we must not rule out all meaningful contact between popular culture and the world of the scribe. The emergence of a significant artisan and merchant class during the Second Temple period afforded the opportunity for social class mobility (in both directions) and a medium for the negotiation of cultural values between peasants, middle classes and the governing classes. But these contacts played little part in the forming of the scribal identity. They may, however have modified it to a small degree. The scribal duties, as has been seen, traditionally embraced a range of activities, amounting to a good deal of ideological control: archiving (possession and control of the present), historiography (possession and control of the past, didactic writing (maintenance of social values among the lite), predictive writing (possession and control of the future).5 The traditional ethos of the scribal class itself generated works of instruction, speculation on the meaning of life, social ethics, cosmology and manticism. Hence, in Judah as elsewhere in the ancient Near East the scribes can be identified as intellectuals or as sages6 or as the wise, and especially responsible for wisdom literature. A succinct profile of the Judean scribe has been drawn by M. Weinfeld:

persons who had at their command a vast reservoir of literary material, who had developed and were capable of developing a literary technique of their own, those experienced in literary composition, and skilled with the pen and the book: these authors must consequently have been the soferim-hakamim..7 But Weinfeld is talking about the Deuteronomic school, which he places in seventh century Judah. Weinfeld assumes that at this time the Judean scribal class had reached the point of sophistication achieved in Mesopotamia and Egypt, and developed its own distinctive tradition. Such an accomplishment implies the existence of scribal schools, or at least an extensive educational system, in which not just the writing of Hebrew, but the reading of other languages, mastery of diplomatic forms, principles of archiving and so on would be passed on. At some point the number of scribes and variety of their functions makes the provision of a rationalized educational system inevitable. Mesopotamian and Egyptian civilizations possessed scribal schools. But whether in monarchic Judah such schools existed, or, if they existed, reached more than a rudimentary state, is in my judgment unlikely. What evidence do we actually have of literacy, of administrative complexity, and of scribal education in monarchic Israel and Judah? There is sharp disagreement on this question. We can start by noting that scribal schools existed in the Hellenistic age, and E. W. Heatons recent discussion of Jewish schools, in which he comes to the conclusion that the canon is the product of the scribal school system, takes as its starting ben Sira and Qoheleth.8 He notes that ben Sira invites his readers to attend his school (bet midrash, 51:23), possibly even without payment (51:25). The range of topics in his book, however, makes it clear that he is not now training scribes, but offering an education to any who would acquire the Judean form of worldly wisdom, including the national literature, practical etiquette, sound ethics, piety, and so on. As Heaton says, the conservative scribal values came to colour the whole ethos of educated society, the mobile middle class.9 Certainly in the second century literacy was more widespread in Judah because of the advent of Greek culture, the growth of international trade, the emergence of a middle class and the growth of the administrative class (especially under the Ptolemies). But where education extends beyond the scribal school, it is still likely to be the scribes who educate. And so while it is pretty obvious that ben Sira is acquainted with Greek culture, his curriculum owes a great deal to the traditional scribal school and he himself had almost certainly enjoyed a career as a professional administrator. Heaton infers a tradition of scribal school education in Judah. So far, so good. But he then moves to a description of scribal education in Egyptian and Mesopotamian cultures, and posits the existence of libraries, including a Temple

Seminary10 preserving the literary tradition of monarchic Judah beyond the demise of the state. This step entails quite a leap in time, and a considerable leap in social context. The appeal to Egypt and Mesopotamia is rather too superficial. First of all, the most obvious and direct parallel to ben Siras schooling is Hellenistic, and before automatically turning elsewhere this needs to be considered. Second, the scribal school system of Egypt and Mesopotamia at the time of ben Sira ought to be considered. In fact, it seems that in these cultures the old canonized texts were still being taught and copied, though the administration of Seleucid Babylon and Ptolemaic Egypt was being conducted in Greek (and Aramaic in Babylon). But both these civilizations had accumulated a vast canon of very ancient works. At the time of the Judean monarchy, both had been more advanced and more populous states and in existence over a very much longer timespan than Judah. It is entirely misleading to jump from second century bce Seleucid Judah over half a millennium backwards in time via Egypt and Babylon! But Heaton is hardly alone in this. Evidence for a substantial indigenous scribal culture in monarchic Judah is slight. One of the indices of scribal activity is the complexity of state administration. David JamiesonDrake11 has offered an anthropological approach to scribes and schools, based precisely on such considerations: a wide range of non-literary data and some sociological modelling: population size and concentration: luxury goods and monumental architecture, in an attempt to discover at what point in its development a state needs, and can sustain, an administrative class. He concludes that from the eight century on Judah became a fully developed monarchic state, but that literacy did not spread very far: all the writing is associated with government and thus with a specialized administrative class. We do have scribes, in several places. But on Jamieson-Drakes analysis, no likelihood of literacy much beyond this not very large class. What literature did the monarchic scribal class produce? There is certainly evidence of administrative texts from Israel and Judah.12 We have some ostraca from Samaria, totalling some 66 sherds, probably dating from 8th century bce and recording deliveries of wine and oil. Although they were not found in situ, but had been used as a foundation layer for subsequent building, they probably represent originally part of an accounting system, and presumably an archive. But the area the transactions cover is rather small (a radius of a few miles), which does not suggest a large archive or administrative staff. There are precious few royal inscriptions from the area, and none from Judah, unless we count the Siloam inscription (if genuinely from the time of Hezekiah;13 even so, it is not a royal inscription). The newlydiscovered Tel Dan inscription(s)14 are not Israelite, nor is the Mesha inscription. We can assume that Israelite and Judean monarchs had scribes who could erect such inscriptions, but the lack of these remains an embarrassment to any theory of a large scribal-administrative

class. Official correspondence has been preserved: the Arad ostraca (if Arad ever belonged to Judah) and the Lachish letters are probably written down by officials (both cities were sufficiently large to contain royal scribes). But again the evidence is not extensive enough to support the notion of a scribal class in the slightest degree comparable to those of Mesopotamia or Egypt, nor to cities of the size of Ebla, Ugarit or even Bronze Age Hazor (indeed, there were no cities of anything like this size in monarchic Israel or Judah). In the Second Temple period, however, it seems that the Persians employed the Temple personnel to collect imperial taxes and deliver them to the imperial representative; as a result a more substantial scribal activity, combining imperial and cultic business, grew up. 15 The lists of officials the Chronicler assigns to David may be fictitious but it suggests that the Chronicler regarded an extensive scribal-administrative class as plausible. The view of Judah in the Persian period as a cultural backwater and as economically poor perhaps needs to be balanced against such a growth in the scribal-administrative activity of the temple-city. Literary activity in this case is not necessarily to be linked to the size of the state, since the state no longer exists as a political entity; instead Jerusalem is a provincial city. Obviously in the Ptolemaic and Seleucid periods Judahs wealth increased considerably, and the later we move in date the easier it is to conclude that the temple could sustain a number of scribal schools with a vigorous literary activity. Basically, the later in time, the better evidence we have for scribal activity. Those scholars who have objected that canonization could not have begin in the Second Temple period ignore the fact that even on their own views the canonizing of texts continued and increased during this period, so that the objection aims equally at their own view. Since canonizing in any case has to be attributed to the Persian-Hellenistic periods, I suggest that the onus of proof lies on those who want to argue that it could also have begun earlier. I do not think this possibility can be denied, but both the process of canonizing and its extent need to be demonstrated and not assumed. As I have mentioned, the entrenched educational system of the scribal school broadened in the Hellenistic period (perhaps earlier), spreading its values to non-scribal classes; literacy spread, and the scribes themselves found a wider circle for their services, and, concomitantly, expanded their own intellectual interests to accommodate those of their widened intellectual circle. According to 2 Macc. 4:914 (cf. 1 Macc 1:14), a gymnasiumand an ephebeion were introduced into Jerusalem, in 175 bce. No doubt they were already present in the many Greekstyle cities already established (and many still to be built) especially on the Palestinian coast and in Transjordan, but including Samaria and Bethshean.16 According to 2 Maccabees, these were eagerly frequented by the priests especially. If the Hasmoneans officially disapproved of these institutions, they were either unable or unwilling (or both) to halt the spread of Greek

education. But they in a position to foster the Hebrew language, create a Hebrew library, and, perhaps, encourage the development of a Jewish version of the Greek style of education. Between the scribal school and the later rabbinic school, whose aim was religious: to turn out good Jews, lie important developments of which we have too little evidence. It seems likely, however, that a specific emphasis on teaching Judaism(in its various forms) emerged, while some of the basic elements of Greek education (music, gymnastics) were discouraged. Given the indispensability of the Greek language, and the presence of so many Greek-speaking Jews both resident in and visiting Jerusalem, it is impossible to imagine that education for the priestly, administrative and ruling classes in Judah did not include many Greek elements. The distinction between a professional education and a non-professional education entails a distinction between kinds of writing too, which is visible in the canonized literature. We can identity (or hope to identify) literary activity undertaken by the scribes in furtherance of their professional interests: writings that display the scribal ethos itself: historiographic, didactic, liturgical, and legal. Such writings, since they belong in spirit as well as in letter to the scribal class, lend themselves naturally to being canonized by copying, studying and teaching in the schools. Given the likelihood of specialization among the scribes, where different branches dealt with the temple cult, the temple liturgy, fiscal administration, diplomatic correspondence with Persian officials, and perhaps much else, we may be able to identify particular schools as the main agents of canonizing. But not all the canonized books or stories come from a scribal milieu. Many storiesJoseph, Jonah, Ruth, Esther, Danieldeal with questions of ethnicity, sometimes to the suppression of piety. They do, of course, diverge: for Jonah and Ruth, non-Jews are not to be shunned; for Esther and Daniel Jewish identity is something to be preserved from threatening foreigners, even though foreign rulers are not necessarily bad. Issues of gender, which have already been noted, may be related: the question of identity, which was identified as a matter of national importance, of class importance, in the torah and prophetic books, becomes a more personalmatter. Alongside the personalization comes a personalization of piety too: what does mean for an individual to be a Judean, a Jew? We ought not to consider this purely a diaspora matter, for diaspora Jews did not write in Hebrew: it is a matter of ethnicity within Judah itself. These stories ascribe little importance to the temple or cult. The visions of Daniel contrast sharply here with the stories. Jonah mocks it in his psalm: it has nothing to do with Esther or Ruth, and certainly Solomons antics in the Song are unconnected with his temple building. There are, then, a number of writings, many featured in this chapter, that betray an interest in individual identity. The factors promoting this are several. First, the reading classes for which

the stories are told are concerned with their own individual careers: their fortunes depend less on co-operation with others. But in the wider cultural world they inhabit, their own social identity is important. It is, after all, a label they have to wear. Jonah, Esther, Ruth and Daniel all deal with the image of a Jew (or Hebrew) among non-Jews. In this they point not only a diaspora world but also to a Judah that is becoming much more cosmopolitan. Their travels, too, force them to face the question of their ethnic identity. Jonah, asked who he is: he answers I am a Hebrew and worship Yahweh the god of heaven. Precisely what that meant was what Judean schools would try to teach. In what circumstances do such writings move on the path towards canonization? How is a hitherto scribal canon opened up to such works? Is it simply that they are widely read? There are two possibilities: one is that these works were used very widely in the school curriculum. Indeed, Jonah, Ruth and Esther are still used as college texts to teach classical Hebrew, because they are short and grammatically simple. Another factor may be a concern deliberately to loosen the control of one class on the canon and to sanction a wider range of literature held in the temple libraries.

5. Evidence of canonizing processes within canonized texts

We can find traces of the canonical process within the canonized texts of scripture. Several collections within the Psalms canon are headed of David. Whether or not these originally implied Davidic authorship, there are some Psalms whose headings explicitly make such a claim; while other writings from Qumran and the New Testament appear to assign the whole canon of psalms to David. We may argue as to whether this extension is logically speaking a canonical or postcanonical development. We can also see in Psalms evidence of smaller collections: psalms of David, psalms of ascent, psalms of the Korahites, etc. These form sequences that betray their collection as canons. The present Psalms collection itself is composed of five books, and the evidence from the Cave 11 Psalms scrolls may be interpreted to mean that all but the last book had been fixed into a canonical shape by the end of the 1st century bce. Similarly with instructional literature: Proverbs as a whole is assigned to Solomon, yet within the canon of instructional sayings are some collections assigned to others. The book of Ecclesiastes plays with Solomonic authorshiphow seriously we cannot knowand may reflect the existence of a canon of Solomonic wisdom (though the instruction of ben Sira, however, makes no such claim, and yet there is evidence that it was included within some canons of Jewish instructional literature). Psalms and Proverbs thus appear to be composed of once separate collections brought together in a single scroll. The process of writing them on one scroll had implications for

archiving. The contents were given, in all probability, a single name. They would be copied, sooner or later, as a single composition. Hence the Psalms scroll is Davidic and the Proverbs scroll Solomonic. A similar process might be suggested for the scrolls of Isaiah and Jeremiah, both far too long for any serious refashioning as a single coherent book. Despite recent attempts to argue otherwise, it still looks likely that what we now call chapters 4066 of Isaiah were at first written on the same scrolls as what we call chapters 139 (and archived as Isaiah?). The scroll represents the canon of Isaiah: copied and altered, supplemented and cross-referenced as a single entity, it becomes a book of Isaiah. A canon of Daniel stories may also be mooted: in this case supplemented by a series of later additions, this scrolls became the book of Daniel (in different Aramaic/Hebrew and Greek forms). Much the same process, I suggest, accounts for the canon of Enoch, now known as the book 1 Enoch, but once composed of four or five separate compositions. Jeremiahs scroll did not develop by juxtaposition, however, but by inflation. Had Lamentations been written on the same scroll, that scroll would have represented the Jeremiah canon and these poems would have become part of the book of Jeremiah. This did not happen. However, there is a prophetic canon represented by a scroll of twelve different composition. But because of the desire to distinguish the individuality of these prophets, they did not merge into a single book. A single scroll, but not a single composition. At the other end of the scale, we also have multi-scroll canons such as the Mosaic books, while scrolls that contain accounts of a period of history will, under the guidance of a process seeking to create a single comprehensive history, become moulded into a sequential narrative. Once a single more or less coherent narrative is achieved, it can become canonical. The point I am making here is that canonizing is a process that involves all the stages from composition, editing, archiving (combining on a scroll) and collecting scrolls into larger units. There is no single canonical mechanism, nor trajectory. There are canonical processes. However, and they operate within the formation of scrolls as well as in the grouping of scrolls.

6. Reflections
The impossibility of dealing with canonizing in the shadow of later lists can be illustrated by the following scenario. If we were to find in some churchs library in, say the second century ce, some codices of the Mosaic canon alongside a codex of some letters of Paul (let us say excluding Colossians and Ephesians), a scroll of Enoch and a codex of the letters of Ignatius, how would be decided which of these were canonical? We would have before us (a) a clearly

recognized Mosaic canon (b) a collection of works that would be canonized in the Western New Testament but does not match the final list, (c) a work that was canonized but not in the Western church, and (d) a collection that was not later canonized. An illustration such as this shows not only how difficult it is to decide what canonical might mean at any given time or place, and indeed how inappropriate it is to allow the category canonical to get out of hand. Canonical does not imply only a fixed status in a list but can reflect a number of degrees of canonization prior to that. Even where it does make someones list, it may fall out of anothers. Canonizing begins and continues as an open-ended process. To canonize a work is not an entirely conscious process at all stages and does not entail that other works have to be barred from being canonized, or definitely excluded from such a status. Only when definitive canonical lists emerge does the canonizing process stop. While canonizing does entail listing, organizing and labelling, a single definitive list is not, indeed, the purpose of the canonizing process, any more than death is the purpose of life: just its end.17

Endnotes
[1] e.g., J. N. Lightstone, The Formation of the Biblical Canon in Judaism of Late Antiquity: Prolegomena to a General Reassessment, Studies in Religion 8 (1979), pp. 13542; David M. Carr, Canonization in the Context of Community, in R. D. Weis and D. M. Carr (eds.), A Gift of God in Due Season (JSOTS 225). Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996:2264; M. Haran, Ha-asuppah ha-miqrait: t ahalike haggibush ad sof yeme bet sheni veshinnue hatsurah ad motse yeme habbenayyim {The scriptural collection: processes of crystallization up to the end of the Second Temple and changes in form up to the close of the mediaeval period,} Jerusalem: Bialik and Magnes Press, 1996. [2] For a defence of such a canon (and a definitive list), see Harold Bloom, The Western Canon: The Books and School of the Age. New York & London, Harcourt Brace, 1994. [3] For Greek canonizing, I have consulted H. I. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity Tr. G. Lamb. London: Sheed and Ward, 1956 and R. Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968. [4] In Islam, while the Quran is a single-work canon, certain verses also abrogate others.

[5] Oppenheim (Ancient Mesopotamia: 230) classifies the purposes of Mesopotamian writings as follows: administrative recording; codification of laws; formation of a sacred tradition; for annals; for scholarly purposes. [6] E. g. Gammie and Perdue (eds), The Sage in Israel and in the Ancient Near East., Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1990 [7] M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic School, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972: 17778. [8] E. W. Heaton, The School Tradition of the Old Testament, Oxford: OUP, 1994. [9] The School Tradition: 13, 15. [10] The School Tradition: 185. [11] D. W. Jamieson-Drake, Scribes and School in Monarchic Judah, Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991. [12] For the corpus (excluding Tel Dan) see G. I. Davies (ed.), Ancient Hebrew Inscription Cambrdge: CUP, 1991. [13] J. W. Rogerson and P. R. Davies, Was the Siloam Tunnel Built by Hezekiah?, Biblical Archaeologist 59 (1996): 13849. [14] A. Biran, and J. Naveh, An Aramaic Stele Fragment from Tel Dan, IEJ 43 (1993): 8198. [15] J. Schaper, The Jerusalem Temple as an Instrument of the Achaemenid Fiscal Administration. VT 45 (1995): 52839. [16] For a list and discusssion of these cities, see E. Schrer, (rev. G. Vermes, F. Millar and M. Goodman). The Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ II, Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1979, pp. 85183. [17] The argument advanced in this article is expanded in my forthcoming book in the series Library of Ancient Israel. [Editors note: Philip Davies, Scribes and Schools: the canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures. 1st ed. Louisville, Ky: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998.]

THE VAV-PREFIXED VERB FORMS IN ELEMENTARY HEBREW GRAMMAR

John A. Cook Asbury Theological Seminary

Abstract
The application of linguistics to Biblical Hebrew grammar, particularly its verbal system, has continued in recent decades, while at the same time there has been an marked increase in the number of elementary Hebrew grammars. Sadly, few of these grammars appear to take into account the advances of the last century in the understanding of the Hebrew verbal system. In this article I examine the disconnect between scholarly discussions and elementary grammars with respect to the Hebrew vav-prefixed forms and illustrate how these forms might be explained to beginning Biblical Hebrew students in a way that takes into account recent linguistic insights.

1. Introduction
The last few decades have given rise to a strange state of affairs in Hebrew studies.1 On the one hand, renewed discussions of the Hebrew verb and the application of linguistics to understanding the verbal system in Biblical Hebrew have continued unabated.2 On the other hand, the appearance of new elementary grammars of Biblical Hebrew has increased tremendously over the same period of time.3 Oddly, however, there seems to be very little influence between these two trends: the elementary grammars seem all but unaware of the verb discussion of the past decades and even the last century. Part of the reason may be a pragmatic attitude on the part of Hebrew instructors, something like, If it aint broke, doesnt fix it. In other words, even if the long-standing explanations of the Hebrew verbal system found in the grammars are not exactly accurate, they work well enough at the elementary level, so let the students figure out the correct analysis later on in their course of study. Another reason for this disconnect may be the fact that the field is still so reliant on older reference grammars and lexica, so that it is felt that students need to at least be familiar with the older nomenclature and theories in order to intelligibly use the available resources. In any case, this state of affairs is disturbing pedagogically, both because students deserve the most accurate grammar description of Biblical Hebrew and not just the most expedient, and

because the traditional description has tended to portray the Hebrew verbal system as this strange beast without any parallel among human languages. In this short article I want to counter the disconnect between recent research on the Hebrew verb and the continued proliferation of elementary grammars by showing how modern linguistics, and particularly linguistic typology, provides a means of describing the Biblical Hebrew verbal system as human. That is, the verbal meanings and its configuration as a system are paralleled in other languages and make sense with what is known about verbal systems across the worlds languages. Anyone who has struggled to help students get past the strangeness of Biblical Hebrew can appreciate the importance of explaining the verbal system in a way that is both more accurate and more linguistically plausible to students than the traditional explanations. Practical considerations lead me to restrict my remarks to the vav-prefixed verb forms, which simply means that I am not going to engage extensively with the long-standing debate over tense, aspect, and modality. I will begin with a survey of the traditional approach to the vavprefixed forms, according to which they are usually labeled the conversive or consecutive forms, and I will illustrate how this traditional approach is entrenched in most of the grammars of the past century and up to the present. This survey provides a foil against which I want to present an updated understanding of the verbal system, informed by linguistic typology, with illustrations of how this understanding can be conveyed to first-year students.

2. Biblical Hebrew verb Theory as Reflected in Elementary Grammars

There is a parallel development between the linguistic study of tense, aspect, and mood or modality and the study of the Biblical Hebrew verb. When in the 1940s Reichenbach (1947) reinvigorated the philosophical and linguistic discussion of tense with his reference point theory, Hebraists were engaged in reanalyzing the Biblical Hebrew verbal system in terms of Bauers (1910) tense-model of Semitic (e.g., Blake 1946, 1951; Hughes 1955, 1962). Similarly, a renewed interest in aspect among linguists, marked by Comries (1976) brief but influential book, was paralleled by the renewed debates of the 1980s and 1990s over tense and aspect in Biblical Hebrew (see note 2 above). True then to this pattern, the latest shift in the past couple decades to a renewed linguistic interest in mood and modality is reflected in the recent focus on modality in Biblical Hebrew (e.g.,DeCaen 1995; Dallaire 2002; Shulman 1996, 2002; Warren 1998). However, despite all the debates and recent advances in our understanding of the Biblical Hebrew verbal system, these accomplishments are all but unnoticed in the recent spate of

introductory grammars. For example, the following description of the vav-prefixed forms appears in the grammar by Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright:
It is a stylistic device of Biblical Hebrew when narrating a series of past events to begin the narrative with an affix form of the verb and to continue it with a series of verbs in the prefix form with vav conversive. When a vav is attached to the front of an affix form of the verb, it usually serves to give it a future tense translation. Hence the vav reverses the tense. The name vav reversive is an analogic extension of the vav conversive for the affix (Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright 1989: 387 88; 2d ed. 2004).

This description of the vav-prefixed forms as having a special converting form of the vav appears already early in the sixteenth century, as described by Elias Levitas:
Notice, when you want to convert a past into a future you place a vav with a wa in front of it, as in the case of keep in And Yhwh will keep [ , Deut 7:12], which is like and he will keep [ ]. Likewise, And the sons of Israel shall keep the Sabbath [ , Exod 31:16]. It is like and they shall keep [ ]. And notice that the style in the Bible is to use a past in place of a future and a future in place of a past (my translation; cited in Leo 1818: 226).

Admittedly, however, few grammars continue to embrace the conversive theory as wholeheartedly as Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright. More frequently, they cite the conversive as one alternative alongside the consecutive theory, as illustrated in the following passage from Bornemanns grammar:
To express consecutive narration in the past the first verb is in the perfect (completed action) or its equivalent, and all the following verbs are in the imperfect and prefixed with . This narrative device is calledvav consecutive imperfect. For consecutive narration in the present or future the process is simply reversed. The first verb is in the imperfect (incomplete action) or its equivalent (including the imperative), and all the following verbs are in the perfect and prefixed with pointed exactly like the simple conjunction (Bornemann 1998: 8082).

This consecutive relationship, which Bornemann leaves unexplored, was explained by Ewald over a century earlier as follows:
But as, in creation, through the continual force of motion and progress, that which has become, and is, constantly modifies its form for something new; so, in thought,

the new advances which take place (and thus, then) suddenly changes the action which, taken by itself absolutely, would stand in the perfect, into this tense, which indicates becomingthe imperfect. As, therefore, in the combination previously explained [i.e.,vav-consecutive imperfect], the flowing sequence of time or thought causes that which has been realized, and exists, to be regarded as passing over into new realization; so in the present case [i.e., vav-consecutive perfect], it has the effect of at once representing that which is advancing towards realization, as entering into full and complete existence. Hence, each of the plain tenses gracefully intersects the other, by interchanging with its opposite (Ewald 1879: 20, 2223).

A third understanding of the vav-prefixed forms, which generally masquerades under the label of consecutive, is illustrated by Hostetter: From these examples it can be seen that the verb that stands first in such a series determines both the time (past or future) and the mood (indicative or subjunctive) of the verbs that come next (Hostetter 2000: 84). Compare Hostetters statement with Gells early nineteenth-century explanation of what was termed the vav-inductive theory:
When Verbs are connected in Hebrew (the connexion being generally indicated by the sign prefixed to the latter), the Power, whether temporal or modal, of the first or Governing Verb is communicated from it, and inducted into the Verb following. And whatever be the power proper to the latter Verb, it still retains its use subordinately; but that which is inducted becomes the prevailing power. If a third Verb follows in connexion, and so on, the power communicated from each successive Verb to that next following, without destroying its proper subordinate power, is the same as was previously inducted into the former (Gell 1818: 8; quoted in McFall 1982: 25).

Another early nineteenth-century theory, called the vav-relative theory, is also preserved in recent grammars, as illustrated by Futato: The vav-relative is a special use of the conjunction vav ( ) when attached to a pf orimpf verb. This vav relates the verb to which it is attached to a previous verb (Futato 2003: 162). Compare Futatos explanation with that of Schoeders description of the vav-relative on the imperfect form:
Apart from these various usages, the Future [yiqtol] has yet another, unique and peculiar to the Hebrews, in that it receives the force of our Past, and designates a matter as truly past; not however by itself nor absolutely, but viewed in relation to some preceding past event. When different events are to be narrated that follow the one from the other in some kind of continuous series, the Hebrews consider the first as past, the others, however, that follow, as future on account of the preceding.

Consequently, this describes something that, in relation to another past event, is itself later and future; it may be called the Future relative (Schroeder 1824: 23940, my translation from the Latin).

Finally, Ellis presents a mixture of theories, as seen in the following excerpts from his recently published grammar:
Perfect and imperfect verbs can also take a vav consecutive (vav cons) which has two functions. One is to convey the idea of a conjunction, just as the simple vav conj does. The other is to invert the meaning of the verbs tense, so that a perfect verb with a vav cons has generally the same meaning as an imperfect, and an imperfect verb with a vav cons has roughly the same meaning as a perfect verb. A perf + vav cons typically follows another clause or phrase which establishes the action in a text as incomplete, then the perf + vav cons continues the incomplete action. As the term consecutive implies, vav cons usually appears in a language sequence that is governed by the temporal sense of a preceding verb or phrase. An imperfect with vav cons (impf + vav cons) typically follows another clause or phrase which establishes the action in a text as completed, then the impf + vav cons continues the notion of completed action (Ellis 2006: 160, 161, 164).

This treatment contains elements of the conversive, consecutive, and inductive theories, all of which have roots traceable back two centuries or more. Sadly the advances in our understanding of the Hebrew verb are not influencing the recent generation of introductory grammars.

3. Updating the description of the Biblical Hebrew verbal system

What are those linguistic advances that have been made in the understanding of the vavprefixed forms? Briefly, they are the following: first, comparative data have led to a fairly wide-spread consensus that two separate forms underlie the imperfect and the vav-prefixed imperfect; second, likewise comparative data have shown, by contrast, that the perfect form and the vav-prefixed perfect are a single conjugation; third, research on word order and the traditional modal forms of jussive, cohortative, and imperative has shown that the vavprefixed perfect form is more closely aligned syntactically and semantically with these modal forms, than with the non-modal or indicative forms. I will elaborate on each of these three points in turn.

The idea that the imperfect and vav-prefixed imperfect are two separate conjugations with distinct origins is widespread in the literature (see esp. Rainey 1986). This conclusion is based most notably on two pieces of evidence: the one is the comparative data of Akkadian, which has a prefixed past verbal conjugation (i.e., iprus); the other is evidence in the Amarna correspondence that the ancient Canaanite scribes likewise had a past prefix conjugation in their native West Semitic language, the precursor of Hebrew. This analysis of the vavprefixed imperfect is prevalent enough to be appearing in elementary grammars, albeit in most cases relegated to footnotes. An example of this historical explanation prominently given is in the following quote from Seows grammar:
In fact, the yiql form has two different origins: *yaqulu for imperfect and *yaqul for the preterite (referring to past situations). But early in the evolution of the Hebrew language, final short vowels disappeared and so the imperfect form (*yaqulu > *yaqul) became identical to the preterite (*yaqul). In time, *yaqul (i.e., either imperfect or preterite) developed to yiqol. Thus, the yiqol form may be imperfect or preterite. In its latter function, of course, there is some overlap with the perfect. (Seow 1995: 22526)

By contrast, the comparative data related to the perfect with the vav-prefix exhibit a situation quite unlike that just summarized regarding the vav-prefixed imperfect. On the one hand, there is no evidence for two historically distinct suffixed conjugationsthe perfect and vavprefixed perfect are one and the same, morphologically speaking. On the other hand, the phenomenon of the perfect form expressing non-past or modal nuances alongside its pastperfective indicative sense is widespread in Semitic, including in Classical Arabic (Wright 1962: 2.1417), Ethiopic (Dillman [1899] 1974: 548), Imperial Aramaic (Folmer 1991) and Syriac (Nldeke [1904] 2001: 2035, 265), Ugaritic (Tropper 2000: 715), Phoenician (Krahmalkov 1986), and Amarna Canaanite (Rainey 1996: 35565). In particular, in these languages and in Biblical Hebrew modal meanings are correlated with the perfect form when it appears with a conjunction at the beginning of a conditional protasis or apodosis clause, as illustrated by example (1). (1) The boy is unable to leave his father. If he leaves his father, then he (i.e., his father) will die (Gen. 44:22) At this point there is an important parallel between the vav-prefixed perfect and the traditional modal system in Biblical Hebrew. Revell (1989) and some of his students have developed an

analysis in recent years showing that the prefix-pattern conjugations (imperfect, jussive, cohortative, and imperative) forms are syntactically distinct from the indicative forms in that they consistently appear in verb-subject word order. Revell (1989) argued that the imperfect appears at the head of its clause when it expresses modal or non-indicative meanings, and within its clause when expressing indicative meanings. Shulman (1996) demonstrated that in more than 96% of the occurrences of imperatives and morphologically distinct jussives and cohortatives in Genesis through 2 Kings, the forms appear at the beginning of their clause. DeCaen (1995) noted the syntactic similarity of the vav-prefixed forms and the imperative-jussive-cohortative modal system in Biblical Hebrew and argued that the vavprefixed forms are modal conjugations. On the strength of the comparative data, however, I disagree with half of DeCaens argument: rather, it is only the vav-prefixed perfect that is truly comparable with the modal system, meaning that it is both syntactically and semantically comparable. Thus, I hold that the vav-prefixed perfect form is a syntactically distinct modal use of the perfect conjugation in Biblical Hebrew. This modal use of the perfect is analogous with the modal use of the imperfect, which is syntactically distinct from the indicative imperfect in the same way (see Revell 1989). I would tentatively posit that the development of this modal use of the perfect conjugation came from its widely evidenced use in conditional clauses through a conventionalization of implicature (Dahl 1985: 11). In other words, the perfect became prevalent enough in conditional clauses, in which its modal nuance derived from the modal (protasis-apodosis) syntactic construction, that eventually that implied modal meaning came to be seen as integral with the form when used in VS position, so that it could be used apart from the protasis-apodosis context and still retain the associated modal meaning. This explanation is consonant with the available data and the way in which languages may develop new meanings for existing forms. The implications of these conclusions based on comparative evidence is that the Biblical Hebrew verbal system looks much different than the traditional portrayal, so much so that I would argue we need to approach our treatment of it in a wholly different manner than in the traditional descriptions.

4. Teaching the modal perfect to elementary Hebrew students

In particular, I want to make three suggestions toward a different approach to the Biblical Hebrew verbal system based on the analysis of the vav-prefixed forms that I have just presented. As so many other Hebrew teachers, I too have turned to writing my own grammar. Thus, I will illustrate how the theory of the Hebrew verb I have just described can be

presented to first-year students by citing portions of an unpublished grammar that I have coauthored with Robert Holmstedt of the University of Toronto (Cook and Holmstedt 2007).4 First, the vav-prefixed forms should not be treated as analogous or identical phenomena. They deserve separate treatments in the grammar discussion and descriptions that relate them to something with which the students are familiar or at least with which they are more familiar than Hebrew grammar. Thus, for example, in Cook and Holmstedt the vav-prefixed imperfect is labeled the past narrative form and described as follows:
Languages typically use a past tense or perfective aspect verb form for narrating past events (e.g., English Simple Past). Some languages, however, may devote a particular verb form entirely to literary narrative (e.g., French Pass Simple). In Biblical Hebrew an archaic past tense verb predominates and is mostly restricted to past narrative passages (Cook and Holmstedt 2007: 57).

The modal use of the perfect is presented in the grammar without any reference to the distinct and separate phenomenon of the past narrative form, as illustrated by the following excerpt:
The Perfect Conjugation was described in Lesson 4 as expressing perfective aspect. The Perfect is also used to express non-indicative modality. The most common modal function of the Perfect is to mark (semantically) subordinate clauses. These are equivalent to English clauses beginning with if/when/so that/in order that/because, i.e., conditional, purpose, result, or causal clauses. The modal use of the Perfect is distinguished from the indicative by its word order: the Perfect functioning modally will have a verb-subject word order (Cook and Holmstedt 2007: 53).

Admittedly, teaching beginning students of Biblical Hebrew to distinguish forms based on word order is a challenge, thus there is a certain practicality required, as evidenced by the following note appended to the preceding quote:
Often the subject is not explicit in BH clauses; in such cases, it is impossible to identify whether a perfect is used modally or not based on the word order. However, because most modal Perfects are prefixed with the vav conjunction, the presence of the conjunction is a good introductory way to distinguish the modal from the indicative use of the verb. (Cook and Holmstedt 2007: 53).

Note, however, that while this note directs the student to pay some attention to the prefixed vav, it is not because the conjunction in any way contributes to the form or meaning

of the modally used perfect. Rather, given Biblical Hebrews predilection for coordinated clauses, the vav-conjunction is a useful indicator of the clause boundary. This presentation of the modal perfect raises two difficulties that deserve to be addressed further. First, there is the issue of word order in Biblical Hebrew. While the analysis of the modal perfect presented here does not require adopting the word order theory espoused in the grammar, it makes more sense when taken together with it. The word order view underlying the grammar is that Biblical Hebrew has a basic subject-verb word order in indicative clauses, and a verb-subject word order in non-indicative or modal clauses, as illustrated by the contrastive examples in (2) and (3). (2) Indicative (subject-verb order) and his father kept the word (Genesis 37:11) (3) Modal (verb-subject order) And the fish that are in the Nile will die so that the Nile stinks (Exodus 7:18) Alongside this basic word-order division between indicative and non-indicative clauses, virtually all of the grammatical function words in Biblical Hebrew cause triggered inversion, so that clauses in which these words appear have verb-subject word order, regardless of whether they are modally indicative or non-indicative (see example 4 below). On this basis, the past narrative form is explained as being verb-subject word order not because it has a modal meaning, but because it consistently undergoes triggered inversion, perhaps because of a function word that is preserved now only in the doubling of the forms prefix (example 5; and see Holmstedt forthcoming). (4) because the men knew that he was fleeing from Yhwh (Jonah 1:10) (5) Jonah arose to flee to Tarshish from before Yhwh (Jonah 1:3) The other difficulty with this presentation of the modal perfect is how to bring first-year students to an understanding of a complex notion like subjunctive modalityaside from the issue of how best to label it. In teaching I have tended to employ the notion of contingent modality to describe the modal perfect, and in fact we include the term in a couple of places

in our grammar.5 To speak of contingent situations with respect to a given situation is to employ the same sort of temporal-spatial metaphor that is so frequently used to explain tense and aspect. In the case of modality, indicative or non-modal statements refer to the given or at-hand situation, whereas non-indicative or contingent modalities relate other states of affairs to the given situation in some sort of contingent manner, such as conditionally, temporally, or imperatively. In each case, the situation referred to by the modal form is in some way irreal versus the given real or actual situation. As illustrated in the following diagram, this concept of contingent modality might be schematized as a sort of mental mapping diagram, in which the central event is viewed as the actual or real situation, and the various irreal situations are related to the real one via various contingency notions.

The result of all of this is a very different sort of configuration of the Biblical Hebrew verbal system than portrayed in the traditional theories. The following chart is the summary of the verbal system presented in Cook andHolmstedt (2007: 88): Indicative Function Suff Pref () Modal Functions Suff Pref Pref )( Perfect: perfective (whole view of situation) Past Narrative (Preterite): past event in narrative (or poetry) Imperfect: imperfective (partial view of situation) Perfect: contingent modality/command Modal Imperfect: command or wish (it is negated with ) Jussive: command or wish (any person; it is negated with ) Imperative: command or wish (2nd person only; cannot be negated)

This chart shows that the indicative-modal distinction is the most salient one in the Hebrew verbal system. Within each of these domains the various conjugations of the suffixed and prefixed pattern function with complementary or overlapping meanings. The vav-prefixed forms are listed with the vav conjunction in parentheses to indicate that their meanings are in no way dependent on the semantics of the prefixed conjunction.

5. Summary and conclusions

In conclusion, I hope I have persuaded the reader that (1) we should teach good, linguistically informed understandings of the verbal system of Biblical Hebrew to beginning students, and (2) we can teach such theories in a way that is understandable to first-year language students without resorting to misleading and inaccurate explanations from past centuries.

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2000 Learning Biblical Hebrew: A New Approach Using Discourse Analysis. Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys Publishing. Rogland, Max 2000 The Hebrew Epistolary Perfect Revisited. ZAH 13/2: 194200. 2003 Alleged Non-Past Uses of Qatal in Classical Hebrew. Studia Semitica Neerlandica 44. Assen: Van Gorcum. Ross, Allen P. 2001 Introducing Biblical Hebrew. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker. Schroeder, N. W. 1824 Insititutiones ad Fundamenta Linguae Hebraicae. 4th ed. Glasguae: Prelum Academicum. Seow, C. L. 1995 A Grammar for Biblical Hebrew. 2d ed. Nashville: Abingdon. Shulman, Ahouva 1996 The Use of Modal Verb Forms in Biblical Hebrew Prose. Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, Toronto. 2000 The Function of the Jussive and Indicative Imperfect Forms in Biblical Hebrew Prose. ZAH 13/2: 16880. Talstra, Eep 1997b Tense, Mood, Aspect and Clause Connections in Biblical Hebrew. A Textual Approach. JNSL 23/2: 81103. Tropper, Josef 2000 Ugaritische Grammatik. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 273. Mnster: Ugarit-Verlag. Vance, Donald R.

2004 Introduction to Classical Hebrew. Leiden: Brill. Walker-Jones, Arthur 2003 Hebrew for Biblical Interpretation. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Warren, Andy 1998 Modality, Reference and Speech Acts in the Psalms. Ph.D., University of Cambridge, Cambridge. Wright, W. [189698] 1962 A Grammar of the Arabic Language. 3d ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yates, Kyle Monroe 1954 The Essentials of Biblical Hebrew. Rev. ed. New York: Harper. [1st ed. 1927]

[1] This is a revised version of a paper delivered at the 2007 National Association of Professors of Hebrew Annual Meetings, in a session entitled The Hebrew Verb: Advances in Linguistics and Pedagogy. I want to thank the other participants and attendees for their feedback. [2] Examples (since 1990), Andersen 2000; Buth 1992, 1994; DeCaen 1995, 1999; Cook 2001, 2002, 2004, 2005, 2006; del Barco 2003; Eskults 1990; Dallaire 2002; Dobbs-Allsopp 2000; Furuli 2006; Gentry 1998; Goldfajn 1998; Gropp 1991; Hatav 1997, 2004, 2006; Heller 2004; Joosten 1992, 1997, 1999, 2002, 2006; Ljungberg 1995; Niccacci 1990, 1994, 1997, 2006; Roglund 2000, 2003; Shulman 1996, 2000; Talstra 1997; Warren 1998. [3] Examples (since 1990), Bergman 2005; Bartlet 2000; Bornemann 1998; de Claiss-Walford 2002; Dobson 2005; Ellis 2006; Futato 2003; Garrett 2002; Hostetter 2000; Kelley 1992; Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright 1989 (2d ed. 2004); Martin 1993; Pratico and van Pelt 2001; Rocine 2000; Ross 2001; Seow 1995 (2d ed.); Vance 2004; Walker-Jones 2003. [4] A draft of the grammar may be freely downloaded: http://individual.utoronto.ca/holmstedt/Textbook.html

[5] In preparing this article I discovered that I am not the first to employ the term contingency for these non-indicative meanings in Biblical Hebrew; Yates (1954: 130) notes that the Subjunctive Mood is the mood of contingency.

ISSUES IN THE LINGUISTIC ANALYSIS OF A DEAD LANGUAGE, WITH PARTICULAR REFERENCE TO ANCIENT HEBREW
1

Robert Holmstedt robert.holmstedt@utoronto.ca University of Toronto Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations Rm 328, 4 Bancroft Ave. Toronto, ON M5S 1C1 Canada

Abstract
With the increasing maturation of the linguistic analysis of ancient Hebrew, it becomes increasingly important that we keep in mind the inherent challenges of analyzing no-longerspoken languages, like ancient Hebrew. In this article I address a number of such issues in the hopes of provoking some fruitful discussion. First, I address the distinction between linguistic analysis and philological analysis. Then I address some of the major methodological and theoretical challenges facing those who bring modern linguistic theories to bear upon a dead language such as ancient Hebrew, including the lack of native speakers, the limited corpus, and the relationship of ancient Hebrew to modern Israeli Hebrew.

1. Introduction
The modern linguistic study of ancient Hebrew is transitioning out of adolescence. This is quite clear from the variety of linguistically-oriented offerings in the primary Hebrew language journals, as well as from the diversity of linguistic theories represented at biblical studies or Semitic language conferences. It is thus an opportune time for those of us engaged in this endeavor to step back and ask (or remind) ourselves what distinguishes thelinguistic analysis of ancient Hebrew from philological analysis. A correlative to what distinguishes the linguistic study of ancient Hebrew is what limits there are to the analysis of

no-longer-spoken languages, preserved solely in writing. In addressing these issues in this essay, my intent in casting such a wide net is not to offer any final word, but rather to address the general lack of methodological and theoretical reflection in ancient Hebrew linguistics, and to correct a few misunderstandings along the way. That a methodological and theoretical conversation is conspicuously absent is highlighted by a recent presentation by Jens Bruun Kofoed, Using Linguistic Difference in Relative Text Dating: Insights from other Historical Linguistic Case Studies.2 One of Kofoeds principle motivations is a concern for methodological rigour in the arguments about the history of ancient Hebrew:
[...] I believe it is of equal importance to bring the methodological presuppositions of historical Hebrew linguistics out into the open and has other people looking at it as Pooh phrases it. Biblical scholars too often use methods that are either dated or taken out of context in comparison with the way they are used in their domestic environments of historiography, anthropology, sociology, linguistics etc., and bringing them out in the open often reveals that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside the perimeters of biblical studies, is less straightforward than you expected when it is brought to test in the broader society of scholars.3

I wholly agree with this critique, and Kofoed proceeds to use case studies from unrelated dead languages, Old English and Eddic (Old Norse), to illustrate the disconnect between the modi operandi within ancient Hebrew studies and the modi operandi of linguists in studying similar issues of language change and dialects in Old English and Eddic. What should add a particular sting to Kofoeds challenge for greater awareness is that he is primarily a historian within biblical studies, not a linguist. I have stated elsewhere the need for greater methodological and theoretical clarity, and have addressed this desideratum within my own work,4 but it is now time to move beyond simply stating my own positions and provoke a conversation among ancient Hebrew linguists that I hope is a lengthy and productive one. I will proceed in four parts in this essay. I will first address the various ways to define and distinguish linguistics and philology. Then I will consider the following issues from the standpoint of recent research: ancient Hebrew as a no-longer-spoken linguistic artifact; ancient Hebrew as representative of a real language; and ancient Hebrew in light of Spoken Israeli Hebrew.

2. Linguistics and Philology

First, we must attend to terminology. Konrad Koerner reminds us that the original meaning of philologia was love of learning and literature, and that both this general meaning, as well as the more specialized meaning of the study of literary texts, have been retained in French and German usage; however, the English term philology mostly refers to the more narrow historical study of literary texts only.5 It is worth considering the history of this association, since it highlights the polemic that is quite often involved in the use of the labels philology and linguistics. Beginning with the full bloom of the historical-comparative study of languages in the early nineteenth century, the first generation of scholars involved in this type of study (e.g., Friedrich von Schlegel, Jacob Grimm, Rasmus Rask, Franz Bopp) saw their activity as neue Philologie.6 It was not until the next generation that August Schleicher (18211868) argued for a sharp distinction between Philologie and Linguistik. For Schleicher, philology was an historical inquiry, using language as a vehicle in the study of culture; in contrast, he asserted that linguistics was the scientific investigation of language itself.7 While Schleicher agreed that quite often the linguist and philologist need each other, he envisioned the two to have two distinct objects of investigation: In contrast to a philologist, who could work on the basis of the knowledge of only one language (e.g. Greek), a linguist, in Schleichers view (1850:4) needs to know many languages, to the extent that Linguistik becomes synonymous with Sprachvergleichung (p.5).8 The third generation of historical-comparative scholars, the Junggrammatiker, or neogrammarians, were Schleichers conceptual heirs; the jung did not have the sense of young Turk for nothing, though.
It therefore seems strange to us that Berthold Delbrck in his 1880 Einleitung in das Sprachstudium [...] presents Schleicher in the essence of his being as a philologist, since thirty years before it had been Schleicher (and no one else) who had clearly set off his work from those of the (classical) philologists. However, if one remembers the eclipsing stance which the Young Turks at the University of Leipzig and elsewhere in Germany took vis--vis their elders from the mid-1870s to the mid1880s, one might not be surprised that Delbrck (18421922) distorted the facts to suit his argument, namely that the junggrammatische Richtung represented new endeavors [...] rather than a continuation of research along established lines. 9

Thus the association of philology with older historical-comparative study and linguistics with newer methods does not reflect the earliest uses of the terms (i.e., Schleichers), but it

was a stance adopted soon thereafter, and it was often taken with a dismissive attitude towards philology. That the eclipsing stance towards philology continued well into the twentieth century is represented well by Geoffrey Sampsons brief definition in his history of linguistics: in modern English usage linguistics normally means linguistics in the twentieth-century style therefore primarily synchronic linguisticswhile philology, if used at all refers . . . to historical linguistics as practised in the nineteenth century.10 Unfortunately this approach has been appropriated into ancient Hebrew studies. James Barr, in his 1969 article on the interaction between the two disciplines in our field, defines the two terms in just this way.11 Thankfully, every couple generations of language research the conversation arises about what philology and linguistics concern and how the two relate, and since the 1970s there appears to have been a slow shift back to the view that the two activities may have a productive relationship. In this spirit, I think there are two equally tenable approaches that we can take, one that takes philology as a tool in the use of linguistics, and one that sets the two on equal footing but with different objects of study. The first approach takes philology as the study of written records in order to retrieve linguistic information.12 Thus, Lyle Campbell writes in his introduction to historical linguistics,
In the use of philology for historical linguistic purposes, we are concerned with what linguistic information can be obtained from written documents, with how we can get it, and with what we can make of the information once we have it. The philological investigation of older written attestations can contribute in several ways, for example, by documenting sound changes, distinguishing inherited from borrowed material, dating changes and borrowings, and helping to understand the development and change in writing systems and orthographic conventions.13

Thus it is that Konrad Ehlich can assert philology to be a subsidiary discipline: it is the sometimes necessary handmaiden of linguistics.14 When an old or difficult text must be read, call in the philologist! Undoubtedly this is a legitimate approach, since philology is closely associated with each of the tasks that Campbell describes above. But there is a framework in which the relationship between philology and linguistics is neither chronological nor hierarchical, viz. they differ only in their specific objects of investigation. Consider how H. A. Gleason delineates the two activities: Linguistics, at least potentially, deals with those things which are common to all

texts in a given language, whereas philology deals with those things which are peculiar to specific texts.15 Writing for an ancient Hebrew studies audience, Bodine appropriates Gleasons distinction and elaborates:
Philology gives attention to particular texts (usually of a literary nature and written), seeks to elucidate features of these texts which are more-or-less language specific, emphasizes the content of the texts, and draws implications that are related to the culture in which the texts were produced. Linguistics, on the other hand, studies speech with an eye to language qua language, attends more to features of its texts and other sources of information which are shared among languages rather than language specific, is concerned more with the structure of language than the content of texts, and is more theoretically than culturally oriented.16

To summarize, then, linguists have as their goal the system of language, whereas philologists have as their goal a better understanding of the meaning of the text being observed, and language is simply the primary means to that end. But is text versus system all there is to the distinction between philology and linguistics? Would that it were so simple. There exists yet another important axis by which we can distinguish the two disciplinesby their primary (but not sole) method of inquiry. Philologists primarily adopt an inductive approach in that they take a finite corpus and reconstruct the grammar of that corpus from within. In contrast, linguists, particularly within the generative approach,17 adopt a deductive approach in that they proceed from a small set of presuppositions about the human mind, language, and attested language systems and use the data to test and refine these hypotheses.18 That this is to some degree a legitimate distinction between the two approaches is supported by the common criticisms leveled by each against the other. On the one hand, philologists often claim that linguists impose theory on the data; on the other hand, linguists often describe philological activity as little more than listing and categorization of forms (i.e., simple, and therefore mostly un-insightful, taxonomy). Perhaps it is personal bias on my part, since I have formal training in both philology and linguistics, but I refuse to think that there is no way around this animus. I prefer an approach that allows for a functional and productive working relationship between the two disciplines. In other words, let us allow that the tools may be the same for philologists and linguists, but that the goals differ. Whereas philologists study specific texts, linguists study linguistic systems and even the internal (mental) grammars of native speakers. Whereas philologists privilege the finite corpus and are reticent to hypothesize beyond the extant data (in good Bloomfieldian fashion), linguists recognize that no corpus represents the infinite set of

sentences available to the native speaker. That is, linguists recognize that data from a corpusbound study will always underdetermine grammar.19 Thus, I advocate a complementary approach, in that each discipline is able to address potential weaknesses in the other. As Jan Faarlund has recently stated, A linguist working on historical material depends on a good philologist.20 I agree. Philologists read the texts, sort through the data, establish what is available, and categorize it. Minimally, a philologist tells us what is there to study, and maximally, the reconstruction of the grammar that he provides may be accurate. But it is the role of linguist to check this reconstruction. She compares the given data to unrelated linguistic systems in order to determine possible correspondences as well as potential grammatical gaps or even mistakes. She also checks the reconstructed grammar against the accumulated evidence and hypotheses of modern theories, such as the principles and parameters of generative linguistics. In this way, any Hebraist who investigates the linguistic features of a particular corpus, e.g., a passage or book of the Hebrew Bible, is engaging in philological analysis. In contrast, those who examine linguistic features in light of some linguistic theory in order to make sense of some dialect or stratum of ancient Hebrew as a system are engaging in linguistic analysis.21 And, those of us who examine specific texts or corpora as well as linguistic systems can identify ourselves as both philologists and linguists.

3. Analyzing No-Longer-Spoken Languages

The reconciliation of philology and linguistics does not address an issue that is of central importance to the study of ancient Hebrew, though. How can we analyze a dead language? remains a troublesome question. Faarlund begins his handbook on the syntax of Old Norse by identifying the challenge of using modern linguistic theory to describe nolonger-spoken languages.
Describing the syntax of a dead language is rife with theoretical problems and methodological stumbling blocks. A major question is determining what the description should seem to describe. Traditional, philologically oriented grammars of dead languages are descriptions of finite corpora. Modern generative grammar, on the other hand, aims to account for speakers linguistic competence, their internalized grammar....In the absence of live speakers and their intuitions, and in the absence of contemporary syntactic descriptions, our sources of knowledge of the internalized grammar of the speakers are limited to extant texts, besides grammatical theory.22

Linguists, like Faarlund, are increasingly taking on the challenge of analyzing no-longerspoken languages. While not yet wildly popular, the linguistic analysis of, e.g., Old English, Old Norse, Middle Dutch, Middle French, Early Modern English has a respectable place at the table. And with the recent addition of generative-oriented studies on Old and Coptic Egyptian, Sumerian, Akkadian, biblical Hebrew, Indo-European, classical Greek, Latin, and classical Sanskrit,23 this new trend is slowly but surely expanding in scope. Yet, linguistic analysis of a dead language is a formidable challenge, and discussions of the theoretical challenges lag behind the analysis of the data. It is well-known that, at least within formal linguistic approaches such as generative grammar, native speaker intuition24 is crucial. Why? If a language is represented by the infinite diversity of utterances that the grammar residing in the mental language faculty of the ideal listener-speaker is able to generate, it is impossible to describe the entire language or even to specify all possible constructions. However, the linguist can use the intuition of native speaker informants to discern the boundaries of what is possible.25Hence, great importance is assigned to both counter-examples and the so-called ungrammatical examples (those marked with asterisks): they illustrate grammatical boundaries for the purposes of syntax and provide necessary clarification for semantic readings and pragmatic nuances. This allows whatever proposals are put forth to meet the criteria of observational and descriptive adequacy and to predict the acceptability of novel examples. Consider the contrast among the three English examples in (1).
(1a) I didnt see that the red car went into the ditch (1b) I didnt see which car went into the ditch (1c) *I didnt see which car that went into the ditch

The first two examples illustrate a complement clause and a preposed wh-phrase, respectively. The third example, in (1c), illustrates that a wh-phrase + that sequence is not acceptable in modern standard English. By this process, we are able to establish a linguistic boundary between the grammatically good and bad. Unfortunately, we dont have this type of evidence for ancient Hebrew. The lack of native speakers for ancient Hebrew puts us at a distinct disadvantage; it is impossible to elicit fresh data or to check the semantic reading or pragmatic nuance of the data we do have. To put a fine point on it, are we treading on thin ice to propose unattested counter-examples, as in (2) below, based on the extant data set, and perhaps a bit of intuition?26
(2a) (Gen 6:22)

(2b) unattested:

The clause in (2a) is a relative clause, with a verb-object-subject order within the relative clause; (2b), then, represents the non-relative version of the same clause, with a proposed subject-verb-object(s) order, even though the particular clause in (2b) is not attested within the ancient corpus.27 Is such reconstruction legitimate? Most philologists would consider this process of reconstructing unattested examples methodological thin ice, indeed, particularly if it were used to bolster some other novel or controversial claim, such as basic subject-verb-object word order for ancient Hebrew. So what recourse do we have? The linguist of an ancient language like Hebrew must accept two principles of operation. First, nearly all of the extant ancient data is grammatical, interpretable, and pragmatically felicitous within its discourse context. Aside from some disagreements at the fringes,28 if most of the data were not grammatically acceptable, then we would have nothing upon which to reconstruct the grammar! Second, as the aforementioned quote by Faarlund makes clear, a linguistic theory that has been developed and tested on languages for which native speakers exist must provide the interpretive filter. So, as Kiss asserts,
The difficulties of reconstructing the grammar of ancient language resemble the difficulties that a child experiences when reconstructing the grammar of its mother tongue. A child acquiring its mother tongue, too, has access only to a limitedand sometimes defectiveset of positive evidence (the correction of a childs mistakes by adults is by no means a necessary element of language acquisition). If the two processes are similar, then the methodology adopted in the reconstruction of the grammar of an ancient language must also be similar to that employed by a child in the course of language acquisition. What the child does is interpret the data it has access to on the basis of the genetically coded Universal Grammar that it possesses. This is what the linguist setting out to reconstruct the grammar of a dead language must do, as well; he or she must interpret the data available as indications of how the open parameters of Universal Grammar are to be set.29

Being bound by a corpus that cannot be tested against native-speaker intuition also has implications in the opposite direction, for the contribution of ancient Hebrew study to linguistic theory. In other words, while it is unquestionable that we can use insights from other languages and linguistic theory to elucidate the structure of ancient Hebrew, is it possible to use ancient Hebrew to elucidate features of other languages, or more specifically, to contribute to the generative theory of Universal Grammar? The answer is a qualified yes to the first question and a maybe to the second. Given that the generative search for

Universal Grammar is ultimately about the language faculty within the human mind, and also given that the corpus of data for an ancient language like Hebrew severely limits our access to the ancient Hebrew speakers mind, the question is whether we can legitimately make significant additions or modificationsif any at allto the understanding of Universal Grammar? (I offer this as an open question, not a rhetorical one.) Let me illustrate. It is often asserted that one of the features of left-dislocation in English is that it cannot be embedded, as in example (3).30
(3a) No Left-Dislocation: He loves Abigail (cp. Because he loves Abigail, he bought her a toy) (3b) Left-Dislocation: Abigailhe loves her (cp. *Because Abigailhe loves her, he bought her a toy)

The examples in (3b) illustrate how left-dislocation is prohibited in embedded structures, and apparently this constraint is so well attested that it once was considered a fact of leftdislocation generally.31 But consider the biblical Hebrew examples in (4).
(4) Your eyes were those that saw how Yhwh acted at Baal Peor, that every man who followed Baal Peoryour God destroyed him from your midst (Deut 4.3)

What do we with such examples (and there are more)? We appear to have a case in (4) of leftdislocation embedded within a non-root clause, in this example, a complement clause. But is it really? Can we suggest a modification of a general linguistic principle, even though we cant check the grammaticality or felicitousness by appealing to native speakers? Or must we read ancient linguistic data through the strict lens of principles, parameters, and various derivative conditions built upon modern data? I find no easy answer to this. Moreover, I would argue that certain areas of grammar are more accessible, or to put it another way, we can be more confident of some reconstructions than of others. The written nature of the ancient Hebrew texts limits our access to the phonetics of ancient Hebrew (as opposed to Tiberian Masoretic Hebrew).32 As Cynthia Miller has recently noted, if we had a resurrected native speaker for ancient Hebrew, one could confirm that the orthographic symbol ayin ( ) was used to represent two sounds in ancient Hebrewthe pharyngeal // as well as the postvelar fricative //.33 Without the resurrected native speaker, though, we are

limited to determining a phonetic range for each consonant, based on distribution with other consonants and representation in contact languages, such as Akkadian, Aramaic, and Greek.34 We are similarly deprived of most prosodic features of the language, and the possible connections or uses as signals for syntax (e.g., restrictive versus non-restrictive relative clauses) and pragmatics (e.g., intonation used to mark focus).35 And what about issues of meaning, such as verbal semantics and idioms? We can tell a good story on any of these topics, but no matter how good, coherent, logical, or empirically grounded, it doesnt mean its accurate. Yet, piecing together such proposals is what we must continue to do, hopefully with a greater degree of linguistic refinement at each step, and perhaps every few decades with an additional piece of epigraphic evidence that sheds light on known cruces or adds support to tentative proposals. Finally, I want to address whether there are any linguistic approaches that cannot be used for the study of ancient Hebrew. For instance, William Schniedewind has recently asserted that,
Generative Grammar is not appropriate for the study of ancient written languages, and especially for a specific ancient language like Classical Hebrew, because the assumptions and methodology of Generative Grammar are based on vernacular and on the premise of linguistic universals in spoken languages. Since Classical Hebrew is known to us only as a written language, the traditional and formal linguistic approaches that underlie most modern studies of Classical Hebrew seem especially inappropriate.36

There are many problems with this position, of which I will critique only a few.37 First, Schniedewind makes unsubstantiated assumptions about the nature of the extant data, for instance, that they preserve only the more literary written registers. Yet, some of the epigraphic letters that Schniedewind has published on arguably represent the vernacular form of the language; simply because these letters have been written down does not mean that the actual linguistic system or register differs significantly from if they had remained oral (i.e., one must distinguish between a genre, such as letter, and a register of the language or linguistic system, which Schniedewind does not). Moreover, even if for the sake of argument we were to grant him (and I am not convinced of this) that the conventions of writing in a primarily non-literate society are particularly artificial and often remain unchanged even after speech-forms have undergone profound linguistic changes,38 it does not at all follow from the supposed existence of solely literary forms (e.g., letters) or the conservative nature of writing versus speech (including the spelling conventions that he uses as illustration) that the

morphology, syntax, and semantics of the oral and written texts39 necessarily differ. Such assertions must be supported, and Schniedewind does not do so. Second, Schniedewind has ignored the history of generative linguistics in the last twenty years, and has misunderstood the generative enterprise as a whole. On the former point, generative linguistics has increasingly moved beyond its understandably narrow beginnings, in that where it once was focused primarily on spoken European languages it has now branched out to include languages from every corner of the globe as well as a wide selection of no-longer-spoken languages. Additionally, the study of Universal Grammar is now being applied to diachronic phenomena, not simply synchronic ones (it is worth noting that there was never any theoretical reason that prohibited generativists from examining diachronic issues; rather, it was a matter of prioritizing possible objects of study in order to construct and test a theory and the various frameworks by which it has evolved). On the latter point, the assertion that Chomskyan linguistics denies the importance of the study of particular languages because it has as its primary goal Universal Grammar is sorely misinformed. It is true that Chomskys overriding interest is determining Universal Grammar as a means to understanding the human mind better. However, it is obvious that the means to determining Universal Grammar is the study of particular grammars. And it is quite possible that ancient Hebrew has something to offer the study of Universal Grammar (see above, the discussion surrounding examples [3][4]).

4. The Linguistic Status of Biblical or Ancient Hebrew

One area of investigation in which we are now seeing a slow but steady degree of refinement concerns the linguistic status of ancient Hebrew. The Semitist Edward Ullendorff famously asked almost thirty years ago whether biblical Hebrew presents us with the adequate data to consider it a language. His conclusion to this question was negative: In the sense in which I have been endeavoring to present the problem biblical Hebrew is clearly no more than a linguistic fragment.40 But it is not clear that Ullendorff is correct. The problem is that Ullendorffs argument simply does not pertain to the linguistic status of biblical Hebrew as a language in the technical sense of the word. A language, in all of its complexity and unlimited expressive variability41 is not an object that is possible to describe fully. So on the issue of the ancient evidence as a language the answer is incontrovertibly no. But Ullendorffs definition of language as a system of communication means that he was really considering the question, is biblical Hebrew a linguistic system? and Miller has cogently pointed out in her recent article, language and linguistic system are two very

different concepts.42 If we take all of the ancient Hebrew data together, they arguably present us with a good representation of the linguistic system.43 Even so, in the spirit of Ullendorffs essential objection, we should ask whether we are justified in treating it all as a single linguistic system, as is the practice of both teaching and reference grammars.44 Minimally, there has been a consensus for over two centuries that at least three historical stages of Hebrew are witnessed to by the biblical and epigraphic evidence, typically referred to as archaic, classical, and late biblical Hebrew. Thus, we are faced with three linguistic systems; moreover, three linguistic systems now appears to be a deficient position. Gary Rendsburg is well-known for advocating a northern dialect of Hebrew within the biblical material that can be distinguished form the dominant southern dialect.45 Rendsburg and Frank Polak each present evidence for a barely discernible distinction between oral/vernacular/colloquial Hebrew and written/literary/formal Hebrew.46 And Ian Young has tirelessly championed the diversity of Hebrew in the pre-exilic period while also challenging the traditional three-stage chronological model.47 Additionally, Rendsburg, Young, and, just recently, I have asserted that some texts reflect deliberately artificial language, whether in terms of the choice of lexical items or syntactic structure.48 For example, consider the case of the relative word . It is often identified as a remnant of both a northern dialect and a standard feature of Second Temple period Hebrew.49 Additionally, the cases of have been explained as instances of a Hebrew vernacular (and would then represent the literary idiom), which increasingly exerted influence on the literary register in the later Second Temple period.50 Such an explanation, that was originally the northern colloquial relative word, made its way south after 722 B.C.E, and infiltrated the literary register until it became the item of choice by the period of the Mishna, may account for many of the occurrences, but not all. In some cases, it appears that the distinction between and was used as a literary device, specifically to create a northern Hebrew or other atmosphere. For instance, in 2 Kgs 6:11, given in (5), the is placed in the mouth of an Aramean king.
(5) And the heart of the king of Aram was moved concerning this matter and he called to his servants and said to them, Will you not tell me who of those that are ours is for the king of Israel? (2 Kgs 6:11)

Not only is this reported speech placed in the mouth of the Aramean king, it is also spoken to his Aramean subordinate. That the use of in this verse is a technique by which to characterize the king of Aram as foreign has been noted by Avi Hurvitz and followed by Rendsburg.51 Similarly, the three examples of in Jonah can be explained as intentional literary devices. The first time we encounter is in 1:7 (6a); note that the clause presents us with reported speech and it is the foreign sailors who speak.
(6a) And each man said to the other: Come, let us cast lots so that we may know on account of (the deed) that belongs to whom this catastrophe (has come) to us. (Jon 1:7)

Whereas (6a) presents the sailors speaking among themselves, or at least to a general audience on board, in (6b) they address Jonah directly. It is significant that these non-Israelites use instead of .
(6b) They said to him: Tell us on account (of the deed) that belongs to whom this catastrophe (has come) to us? (Jon 1:8)

Yet just a few verses later we encounter Jonah speaking to the sailors and using .
(6c) Because I know that on account (of the deed) that belongs to me this great storm (has come) upon you. (Jon 1:12)

In chapter 1, the characters are assigned speech patterns and thus interact with each other based on their constructed identities. In Jonah 1 the contrast between the Israelite Jonah and the non-Israelites sailors, and thus the characterization of each group, is a major component of the message, so we should expect that the sailors use their foreign speech when talking among themselves (6a) (just as we saw in the Aramean court in 2 Kgs 6:11), but speak to Jonah in his own language (6b), and similarly that when Jonah speaks to the sailors he emulates their tongue (6c). Crucially, this description is cogent only if was not a standard lexeme within the audiences grammar(s); must have been perceived as foreign, i.e., nonstandard, even within non-literary registers.

When we turn to the single occurrence of in Jonah 4, given in (7), we should first note that it is almost immediately preceded by the use of .
(7) Yhwh said: You had pity on the castor-oil plant, which you did not toil over or raise, which was one night old and perished (as) a one-day-old (plant). (Jon 4:10)

Certainly Yhwh was not perceived as a foreigner to the books Israelite audience, and, in any case the presence of attenuates any suggested foreign characterization. Why, then, does the author switch the relative words within a single utterance of Yhwhs? Again, it fits the books overall rhetorical purpose, which builds strongly in the final chapter: Yhwh is not just the deity of the Israelites, his domain and care extends well beyond the borders of Israel.52 Thus, the author has used a subtle shift in style, viz., the switch in relative words from to , to reinforce his point linguistically. What this means for out study of Hebrew is clear: in addition to the remnants of real dialects, historical stages, and registers, we may also be dealing with artificial Hebrew, used for rhetorical purposes; crucially, this latter perspective may remove certain features, like , from consideration from the former perspectives. Once again, in light of all these issues, it is a significant linguistic concern whether it is responsible and accurate to speak of biblical Hebrew as a single linguistic system. Perhaps it has come to the point at which a new bottomup approach is needed, in which separate descriptions are constructed for each bibliolect, that is, the grammar of each text.53 We can no longer work with three broad biblical stagesarchaic, classical, and late biblical Hebrewand then a sweeping post-biblical stage. Instead, we have to reckon with, in the least, archaic, archaizing, pre-exilic, exilic, Persian, Hellenistic, early Roman, and Tannaitic, along with Israelian, Judahite, faux Aramean, and oddly sectarian (i.e., certain Qumran texts like the Temple Scroll) forms of Hebrew, some in chronological sequence, some coexistent.54 While many of these issues have been discussed, as of yet there has been no synthesis that presents a plausible description with this level of sophistication of the variety of ancient Hebrew data to which we have access.

5. Ancient and Modern Hebrew

Finally, let us turn our attention to the comparative value of Spoken Israeli Hebrewcan we and should we use it to help us understand ancient Hebrew? Even if we conclude that the lexical inventory of Spoken Israeli Hebrew has undergone too much change, what about the

grammatical structure? And if we do utilize Spoken Israeli Hebrew for comparison, do we restrict the data to the more formal registers of literature, as the best analogue to the Bible, or do we admit modern colloquial data? Clearly there are many issues to address. But an even larger one looms and casts a long shadow over the relationship between the ancient and modern stages of Hebrew: there is no consensus on the linguistic origins of Spoken Israeli Hebrewis it really a Semitic language, or should it be classified instead as an IndoEuropean linguistic system with a Hebrew lexicon? A great deal of debate in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries centered on whether the modern form should be based primarily on the form and lexicon of biblical Hebrew or that of rabbinic Hebrew,55 or both.56This was especially the concern of prescriptivists and the official language academy. But among linguists concerned more with description than prescription, the debate hinged, and in some circles continues to hinge, on the genetic and typological status of Spoken Israeli Hebrew: was it really a Semitic language, given the undeniable influence of Yiddish, Slavic, German, English, French, and Spanish, or should it be classified instead as an Indo-European language, as some continue to claim? A rather pointed challenge to the Semitic background of Spoken Israeli Hebrew was advanced by Paul Wexler in The Schizoid Nature of Modern Hebrew: A Slavic Language in Search of a Semitic Past, the title of which leaves no doubt about his thesis.57 This lack of consensus, along with a complex web of ideological motivations, has resulted in the aforementioned shadow cast over the fruitful study of Hebrew as single language with ancient to modern stages. Rarely are Spoken Israeli Hebrew data used as comparative evidence in the study of biblical Hebrew due to the skepticism over the sufficiently Semitic nature of Spoken Israeli Hebrew.58 While this is more understandable for phonetics, phonology, morphology, and lexical semantics, it cannot be assumed a priori with regard to syntax and the semantics of non-lexical issues (e.g., the verbal system). Furthermore, the rejection or willful ignorance of Spoken Israeli Hebrew data does not take seriously the continued existence and development of literary Hebrew within numerous pretwentieth century Jewish communities nor the use of Hebrew as a Jewish lingua franca both within the Diaspora and Palestine well before Ben-Yehuda.59 And perhaps revival is conceptually inaccurate for Spoken Israeli Hebrew, but rather the language underwent revernacularization as Shlomo Izreel suggests.60 That is, as a language whose literary register had become the sole stratum and whose vernacular had ceased to exist, at least as a first language, death and revival or resurrection are not the correct metaphors. If this is so, and it is also the case that the literary registers of the modern language are the most appropriate with which to compare biblical Hebrew, then the precise status of colloquial

Israeli Hebrew and the process by which it emerged are mostly irrelevant for comparative purposes. In any case, since almost all of the data used to argue for or against the Semitic nature of Spoken Israeli Hebrew have been phonological, morphological, and lexical in nature, the uselessness of Spoken Israeli Hebrew syntax and pragmatics for elucidating ancient Hebrew has not yet been compellingly argued. Additionally, the genetic status of Spoken Israeli Hebrew is hardly relevant; its typological nature is more important, and even Wexler allows at least that Spoken Israeli Hebrew has become typologically Semitic. And if Spoken Israeli Hebrew is minimally typologically Semitic, then more studies that include all stages of Hebrew, like Yitzak Peretzs volume on the relative clause,61 are necessary for us to discern just how many differences and what type exist between the stages. Let me provide one brief but potentially significant comparison, and then conclude with a word of caution. In the formal registers of Spoken Israeli Hebrew that one witnesses in literature, we find a basic variation between the normal SV word order as in (8a) and VS order with a clause-initial constituent, like a subordinating function word as in (8b) or a fronted phrase such as the temporal modifier in (8c).
(8a) (8b) (8c)

Recently, I have argued that biblical Hebrew contains similar variation, illustrated in (9a) with basic SV order and inverted VS order with an initial function word like the relative clause example in (9b).62 This also explains the frozen VS order in the complex wayyiqtol, illustrated in (9c), which is also VS and appears to have a reduced function word manifested only in the gemination of the prefix consonant.
(9a) (Ruth 4:18) (9b) (Ruth 4:11) (9c) (Ruth 1:3)

Any significant similarities between biblical Hebrew and Spoken Israeli Hebrew should not obscure real linguistic differences among the stages of Hebrew, though. The language has

clearly changed in certain aspects, such as the semantics of the verbal system, and those of us who use Spoken Israeli Hebrew, or those for whom it is their native language, must resist the temptation to impose Spoken Israeli Hebrew features back on to earlier stages of the language. For instance, the tense-system of Spoken Israeli Hebrew should not be assumed for any of the earlier stages, such as biblical Hebrew, but must be shown to explain the data adequately. And at present, the most convincing proposals for biblical Hebrew are aspectual,63 although the shift toward a tense-based system by rabbinic Hebrew suggests that Hebrew as a whole was moving towards a tense system. A significant desideratum in the study of Hebrew linguistic history is determining whether the verbal system in Spoken Israeli Hebrew represents the typologically expected result of the evolution leading up to that point.

6. Conclusion
So, how do linguistics and philology relate, and what limits are there to the linguistic analysis of ancient Hebrew? The system orientation native to linguistics contra philology, along with the attention to relevant cross-linguistic patterns (including those from Spoken Israeli Hebrew), suggests that cautious and theoretically-informed linguistic analysis holds immense potential for clarifying numerous long-standing grammatical cruces. However, we must operate with full awareness of the limits of our study, since the nature of the ancient Hebrew data impose certain constraints on the conclusions we might draw. We must reckon with the limited and varied corpus, distinguishing as best we can all of the discernible registers, dialects, and other strata. Since we lack native speakers, who could have provided us with further data as well as intuitive judgments about grammaticality, etc., we must admit that any and every proposal we make is at the mercy of new epigraphic tidbits, or any newly identified construction hiding in the biblical, Qumran, or mishnaic corpora. While this is so for all proposals for any spoken language, it is much more the case, and much closer to the surface for analyses of no-longer-spoken languages, for at least with spoken languages the potential for fully descriptive and explanatory analyses exists in the abstract; for ancient Hebrew, well never know how close weve come. And so, we must take extra care in our analyses and write with considerable humility.

[1] This article is a revision of a paper, What Linguistics Has to Offer Ancient Hebrew Studies (and What It Doesnt), presented at the annual meeting of the Association of Jewish Studies, Washington D.C., December 18, 2005. I with to thank John A. Cook and Cynthia L. Miller for reading and commenting on this essay. I alone am responsible for all opinions and errors contained within.

[2] This paper was presented at the National Association of Professors of Hebrew (NAPH) Session at the Society of Biblical Literatures Annual Meeting in Philadelphia, November 2005. I am grateful to Prof. Kofoed for sharing the revised version (fc., Hebrew Studies) with me. [3] Ibid, p. 2. [4] R. D. Holmstedt, Adjusting Our Focus (review of Katsuomi Shimasaki, Focus Structure in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of Word Order and Information Structure) (Hebrew Studies 44 [2003]:20315; idem, Word Order in the Book of Proverbs (Pp. 13554 in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. K. G. Friebel, D. R. Magary and R. L. Troxel; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005). [5] K. Koerner, Linguistics vs Philology: Self-Definition of a Field or Rhetorical Stance? (Language Sciences 19/2 [1997]:167175), p. 168. [6] Ibid, p. 169. [7] Ibid, p. 170. [8] Ibid. In this quote, Koerner references the introductory chapter, Linguistik und Philologie, in Schleichers 1850 work Die Sprachen Europas in systematischer Uebersicht (Bonn: Knig; reprinted with introduction by K. Koerner; Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1983). [9] Ibid, p. 171. [10] G. Sampson, Schools of Linguistics (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1980), p. 243, n. 1. [11] So J. Barr, The Ancient Semitic LanguagesThe Conflict between Philology and Linguistics (in Transactions of the Philological Society 1968; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1969), pp. 3755, especially p. 37. [12] Although less common among linguists, there still exists the broader definition of philology as the study of texts in order to interpret them and their cultural setting (so P. Daniels, Writing Systems (pp. 4380 in The Handbook of Linguistics, ed. M. Aronoff and J. Rees-Miller; Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), p. 76.

[13] L. Campbell, Historical Linguistics: An Introduction. 2nd Ed. (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2004), p. 362. [14] K. Ehlich, Native Speakers Heritage: On Philology of Dead Languages (in A Festschrift for Native Speaker; ed. F. Coulmas; The Hague: Mouton Publishers, 1981), pp. 153165. [15] H. A. Gleason, Linguistics and Philology (in On Language, Culture, and Religion: In Honor of Eugene A. Nida, ed. M. Black and W. A. Smalley, Jr.; The Hague: Mouton, 1974), pp. 199212, quote from p. 200. [16] W. R. Bodine, Linguistics and Philology in the Study of Ancient Near Eastern Languages (in Working with No Data: Semitic and Egyptian Studies Presented to Thomas O. Lambdin; ed. D. M. Golomb. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1987), pp. 3954, quote from p. 40. [17] Here is a point at which my goal in this article to initiate methodological and theoretical dialogue comes to the fore: it would be extremely useful to have a functionally-oriented Hebrew linguist comment on the inductive-deductive divide as well as the finite-corpus versus mind issues that I use here to distinguish philology from generative linguistics. [18] See K. . Kiss, Introduction (in Universal Grammar in the Reconstruction of Ancient Languages, Studies in Generative Grammar 83; ed. K. . Kiss; New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 2005), pp. 130. [19] Ibid., p. 2. [20] J. T. Faarlund, The Syntax of Old Norse: With a Survey of the Inflectional Morphology and a Complete Bibliography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. xiii. [21] If this distinction is accurate, it entailsand this is significant for our current discussionthat linguistics in the broadest sense has as its object of study any language or dialect of language, whether spoken or written and whether ancient or modern, and accordingly uses any evidence that contributes to the analysis. Thus, one can only hope that younger Hebraists ignore Barrs statement in the same article in which he claims that if philology has its centre in the study of classical texts, linguistics has its centre in the observation of spoken languages (The

Conflict between Philology and Linguistics, p. 37). On this issue, see further my critique of W. M. Schniedewind below. [22] Faarlund, The Syntax of Old Norse, p. 1. [23] These studies have been collected in Kiss, Universal Grammar in the Reconstruction of Ancient Languages. It is notable that the studies in this volume aim to demonstrate that descriptive problems which proved to be unsolvable for the traditional, inductive approach to ancient languages can be reduced to the interaction of regular operations and constraints of the hypothetical Universal Grammar (Kiss, Introduction, p. 3). [24] We should not confuse the use of intuition in generative linguistics with the common use of intuition. Often when we use the word intuition, the connotation is that of guesses and luck, something very unscientific. And, sometimes generative grammar has been criticized this way. However, this reflects a misunderstanding of the use of intuition in generative linguistics, in which it refers to tapping into our subconscious knowledge (A. Carnie, Syntax: A Generative Introduction [Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2002], p. 12). In this way, linguistic intuition about issues like grammaticality are no different, and no less scientific, than visual judgments about colors or shapes. [25] Note that while native speakers cannot provide direct, conscious information about their mental grammar(s) in the form of linguistic analytical propositions, their judgments and intuitions on the grammaticality/acceptability and felicitousness of data do provide access to their mental grammar(s), although admittedly a step removed from the ideal of competence (given that even judgments reflect performance). SeeN. Smith (Chomsky: Ideas and Ideals [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999], pp. 2848) for a clear discussion of these issues. [26] See Ehlich, Native Speakers Heritage, for the following (very intriguing) claim: ...we find the philologist in a position that is parallel to that of the linguist native speaker (LNS). The philologist develops a kind of linguistic knowledge of which he makes use by introspection. Since there is no native speaker..., he himself is the only one who can really speak the language, i.e., who develops a concrete,

individualized competence in that language, a competence comprising all of the elements that make a language. This secondary competence of the philologist is open to introspection, and introspection is the main way how the philologist comes to systematic results on structures of his subject....The philologist is his own LNS (161). I think that Ehlich overestimates the competence of even the most gifted philologist. Or at least Ehlichs understanding of competence is not that of the technical sort discussed within generative linguistics, in which competence refers to the mental language faculty of the ideal native speaker-listener. No amount of expertise in a dead language, gained from textual remains, could allow one to achieve this technical kind of competence, and thus no philologist could be considered a suitable stand-in for a true native speaker (no matter how much we would like to flatter ourselves!). [27] Note that I am highlighting in (2ab) only the issue of the possible word order difference between the relative (2a) and non-relative (2b) clauses. In the reconstructed clause in (2b), the reader may notice that I have lowered the head of the relative in (2a), the quantifier , back into its position within the relative. Within the relative, serves as the direct object (and the phrase is the indirect object). I have included the accusativeon the front of (which I also made definite) within the reconstructed clause simply to disambiguate its role as the accusative complement of . This is almost certainly the grammatical option for the case of the . In other words, the would not be preceded by the that is on the head in the relative version, since that is part of the matrix clause and not part of the relative; additionally, if required an object such as to be in the oblique case, with some sort of preposition marking it as the object, like , the salient feature of ancient Hebrew relative clause formation is that the preposition required by the verb is included in the relative clause along with a resumptive pronoun, e.g., (see Holmstedt 2002:90107). [28] For example, I suggest in The Story of Ancient Hebrew er (f.c. ANES) that eleven cases of the relative word in the MT are not just infelicitous but actually ungrammatical (Gen. 11:7; 34:13; Deut. 4:10, 40;6:3; 11:2628; 1 Sam. 15:15; Ezek. 36:27; Qoh. 7:21; 33 Dan. 1:10; Neh. 2:3). [29] Kiss, Introduction, pp. 23.

[30] See N. Chomsky, On wh-movement (Pp. 71132 in Formal Syntax; ed. P. Culicover, T. Wasow, and A. Akmajian; New York: Academic Press, 1977); M. R. Baltin, A Landing Site Theory of Movement Rules (Linguistic Inquiry 13[1982]:138); H. Lasnik and M. Saito, Move : Conditions on Its Application and Output (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1992); H. Maki, L. Kaiser, and M. Ochi, Embedded Topicalisation in English and Japanese (Lingua 107[1999]:1 14). [31] On this issue, at least, subsequent research on left-dislocation in languages other than English demonstrated that it would have been accurate to modify what was known of the principles of left-dislocation based on biblical Hebrew: for instance, it has been shown that, like biblical Hebrew, other languages, such as Chichea and Zulu, allow left-dislocation in non-root clauses. On Chichea, see J. Bresnan and S. A. Mchombo, Topic, Pronoun, and Agreement in Chichea (Language 63[1987]:741782); on Zulu, see J. Zeller, Left dislocation in Zulu (unpublished ms.; www.jzeller.de/pdf/LDZuluSep04.pdf [cited Sept. 20, 2006]). [32] Analyzing Tiberian Hebrew phonology and then reconstructing behind it presents an entirely different set of challenges than reconstructing ancient Hebrew phonology. For Tiberian Hebrew, see J. L. Malone, Tiberian Hebrew Phonology (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1993). [33] Methodological Issues, p. 292. [34] For example, see A. Senz-Badillos (A History of the Hebrew Language [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993], pp. 8085) for an overview of the core research on the reconstruction of Hebrew phonology from the Greek and Latin transcriptions. [35] This assumes that the Tiberian system of reflects the prosody of the biblical text as it was read from the ca. 5th century C.E. and after, and that it very well may not reflect anything close to the prosody of ancient Hebrew before ca. 200 C. E. For linguistic discussions of the Tiberian , see M. Aronoff, Orthography and Linguistic Theory: The Syntactic Basis of Masoretic Hebrew Punctuation (Language 61 [1985]:2872; B. E. Dresher, The Prosodic Basis of the Tiberian Hebrew System of Accents (Language 70/1[1994]:152).

[36] W. M. Schniedewind, Prolegomena for the Sociolinguistics of Classical Hebrew (JHS 5 [20042005]; www.jhsonline.org/Articles/ article_36.pdf), 1.3; see also 2.11. On the point of writing versus vernacular, Schniedewind has recently repeated this claim: By language, linguists refer to vernacular, not writing, and writingespecially in the ancient Near Eastis certainly not primarily an attempt to transcribe vernacular (Aramaic, the Death of Written Hebrew, and Language Shift in the Persian Period [Pp. 13747 in Margins of Writing, Origins of Culture, The Oriental Institute Seminars 2, ed. S. Sanders; Chicago: The University of Chicago, 2006], p. 138). [37] Particularly revealing in Schniedewinds critique in Prolegomena is footnote 29, in which he suggests that R. P. Bothas book, Challenging Chomsky: The Generative Garden Game (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989) is a general critique of Chomskyan linguistics. However, this book is certainly not a critique of Chomskys framework, but a critical (and eminently enjoyable) defense of it. In fact, Bothas contributions to the field of linguistics as a whole have been thoroughly Chomksyan. [38] Ibid, 2.1415. [39] [T]he term text [is used] to differentiate linguistic material (e.g., what is said, assuming a verbal channel) from the environment in which sayings (or other linguistic productions) occur (context). In terms of utterances, then, text is the linguistic content: the stable semantic meanings of words, expressions, and sentences, but not the inferences available to hearers depending upon the contexts in which words, expressions, and sentences are used (D. Schiffrin, Approaches to Discourse [Blackwell Textbooks in Linguistics; Oxford: Blackwell, 1994], p. 363). [40] E. Ullendorff, Is Biblical Hebrew a Language? (Pp. 317 in Is Biblical Hebrew a Language? Studies in Semitic Languages and Civilizations; Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1977), p. 16. [41] [A] language is a state of the faculty of language, an I-language, in technical usage (N. Chomsky, Three Factors in Language Design [Linguistic Inquiry 36/1(2005):122], p. 2). [42] Methodological Issues.

[43] Putting aside the numerous lexical items that Ullendorff expects but does not find in the lexical inventory of biblical Hebrew, more salient to the issue of a linguistic system are the supposed grammatical gaps that he adduces: the lack of many 2nd person feminine forms, of certain Hofal forms, and of certain types of clauses, and a dearth of genuine dialogue features, of anacoluthon, and especially of non-literary...sentence structure (Is Biblical Hebrew a Language?, p. 14). See Miller (Methodological Issues, pp. 287 n. 24, and pp. 29396) for a response to Ullendorff. [44] The caveats notwithstanding, the fact is that grammars present data that might reflect alternate linguistic systems of ancient Hebrew as marginalia. Even if we refer to ancient or biblical Hebrew as a bona fide language in the abstract, if we do have compelling evidence of historical stages, dialects, and/or registers, each deserves its own full-scale grammatical description. [45] Among other of Rendsburgs works, see The Strata of Biblical Hebrew (JNSL 17[1991]:8199); Morphological Evidence for Regional Dialects in Ancient Hebrew (Pp. 6588 in Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew, ed. W. R. Bodine; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992); Notes on Israelian Hebrew (I) (Pp. 25558 in Michael: Historical, Epigraphical and Biblical Studies in Honor of Prof. Michael Heltzer, ed. Y. Avishur and R. Deutsch. Tel Aviv: Archaeological Center Publications, 1999); Notes on Israelian Hebrew (II) (JNSL 26[2000]:33 45). [46] G. A. Rendsburg, Diglossia in Ancient Hebrew (New Haven, CN: American Oriental Society, 1990); F. Polak, Style is More Important than the Person: Sociolinguistics, Literary Culture, and the Distinction between Written and Oral Narrative (Pp. 38103 in Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology, ed. I. Young; London: T&T Clark, 2003); idem, Sociolinguistics and the Judean Speech Community in the Achaemenid Empire (Pp. 589628 in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and M. Oeming; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006). [47] I. Young, The Style of the Gezer Calendar and Some Archaic Biblical Hebrew Passages (VT 42/3[1992]:362375); idem, Diversity in Pre-Exilic Hebrew (Tbingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1993); idem, The Northernisms of the Israelite Narratives in Kings (ZAH 8/1[1995]:6370); idem, The Archaic Poetry of the Pentateuch in the MT, Samaritan Pentateuch and 4QExodc. (Abr-

Nahrain 35[1998]:7475); idem, Late Biblical Hebrew and Hebrew Inscriptions (Pp. 276311 in Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology, ed. I. Young; London: T&T Clark, 2003); idem, Biblical Texts Cannot be Dated Linguistically (HS46[2005]:34151); idem, Late Biblical Hebrew and the Qumran Pesher Habakkuk (unpublished ms). [48] G. A. Rendsburg, Confused Language as a Deliberate Literary Device in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (JHS 2 [199899]; www.jhsonline.org/Articles/ article_12.pdf); Young, Diversity, for instance, on Qoheleth, p. 157; R. D. Holmstedt, The Distribution of e and er in Qoheleth (Paper presented at the annual meeting of the SBL, Washington, D.C., Nov. 19, 2006). Similarly, see W. M. Schniedewind, Qumran Hebrew as an Antilanguage (JBL 118/2[1999]:235 252). [49] Representative of this near consensus view is P. Joon and T. Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1993), pp. 11819. [50] Rendsburg summarizes (and adopts a modification of) this position in Diglossia (pp. 11617): During the period of the monarchy, 1000586 B.C.E., a standard literary Hebrew was utilized in which was the sole relative pronoun. The colloquial form, which existed side-by-side with the classical form, was , which in a very few instances infiltrated literary composition. The upheaval of 586 B.C.E., with the resultant exile and restoration, effected changes in the Hebrew language, and one of these was the further penetration of into written records. (1990:11617) [51] Rendsburg, Diglossia, p. 123, n. 29. Note Youngs cogent objection to the acceptance of the in 2 Kgs 6.11 as an actual Aramaism (Northernisms, pp. 65 66): We do not know of this word in our Aramaic sources at all. We must therefore raise the possibility that beside genuine foreign and dialectal forms, the Hebrew author could also draw on a body of cliched non-standard forms. The draw some modern analogies, while parodies of foreign or dialectal speech will utilize certain language features which are felt to be absolutely characteristic of the target of the parody..., other accent features used will be from the general category of funny

speech, which is built from a mishmash of many different varieties of nonstandard language. [52] I am indebted to W. Dennis Tucker, Jr. in my understanding of Jon 4.10. [53] Jackie Nauds comments onidiolects and the notion of language are particularly relevant here (The Transitions of Biblical Hebrew in the Perspective of Language Change and Diffusion [Pp. 189214 in Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology, ed I. Young; London: T&T Clark, 2003], pp. pp. 196 97). [54] See E. A. Knauf, War Biblisch-Hebrisch eine Sprache?Empirische Gesichtspunkte zur linguistischen Annherung an die Sprache der althebrischen Literatur. ZAH 3/1(1990):1123. [55] J. Klausner, [A Short Grammar of Modern Hebrew] (2nd ed.; Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1938). [56] A. Bendavid, ? [Biblical or Rabbinic Hebrew?] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1951); idem, [Biblical and Rabbinic Hebrew] (Tel-Aviv: Dvir, 1967). Note the change of conjunctions in the title, as well as the change from interrogative to indicative; this reflects Bendavids shift from a prescriptive stance to a descriptive one. [57] P. Wexler, On the Schizoid Nature of Modern Hebrew: A Slavic Language in Search of a Semitic Past (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1990). [58] N. H. Tur-Sinai, [The Revival of Hebrew and its Problems] (Leshonenu 17 [1951]:2936). [59] S. Izreel, The Emergence of Spoken Israeli Hebrew (Pp. 85104 in Corpus Linguistics and Modern Hebrew: Towards the Compilation of the Corpus of Spoken Israeli Hebrew (CoSIH), ed. B. H. Hary; Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 2003), pp. 8587. [60] Ibid, 86. [61] Y. Peretz, [The Relative Clause in Hebrew in All its Stages] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1967).

[62] R. D. Holmstedt, The Relative Clause in Biblical Hebrew: A Linguistic Analysis (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2002); idem, Word Order in the Book of Proverbs; idem, Topic and Focus in Biblical Hebrew if it is an SV Language (Paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Philadelphia, Nov. 20, 2005). [63] J. A. Cook, The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System: A Grammaticalization Approach (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2002;) idem, The Finite Verbal Forms in Biblical Hebrew Do Express Aspect (f.c. JANES).
DOI:10.5508/jhs.2011.v11.r50

Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 11 (2011) - Review

Holmstedt, Robert D., Ruth: A Handbook on the Hebrew Text (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2010). Pp. vii+226. Softcover. US$24.95. ISBN 978-1-9327-9291-1.
Robert D. Holmstedt has taught Hebrew for over 15 years, and has for the last 10 years pursued, published, and presented significant research in the area of Hebrew linguistics. Working from a generative framework he has contributed in particular to discussions of word order (Holmstedt argues that Hebrew is SV) and to analysis of the relative clause. Current projects include extensive involvement with the syntax database in development for Accordance Bible Software. It is thus out of both a love for teaching and a rich awareness of linguistics that Holmstedt approaches his task in Ruth. My own interest in Holmstedt's work (and in the Baylor series) stems from similar interests: on the one hand, I desire to find a tool I could place in the hands of students who have finished a first-year Hebrew course for self-study; on the other, I would like to see a potential textbook with a particular ability to showcase Hebrew linguistics for the uninitiated. With some minor caveats I may say that Holmstedt's Ruth: A Handbook on the Hebrew Text admirably fulfills both of these longings. The work is divided into four preliminary sections and the commentary proper in four acts, followed by bibliography and author and subject indices. Helpful additions for a future edition

might include a glossary of linguistic terms and an index of Scripture citations. The first section is a brief introduction to the book of Ruth and to Holmstedt's work. His commentary has both the intermediate student and the advanced researcher in mind, and while using the standard reference grammars pushes toward a more linguistically-informed description (p. 2). With this audience in mind it is somewhat surprising that there is no mention of the new edition of the Hebrew text in Biblia Hebraica Quinta. Section two comprises a brief introduction to Holmstedt's linguistic model with focus on syntax, semantics, and pragmatics. While this section is helpful and necessary it is in some ways disappointing, for while the presentation is sufficient for researchers already familiar with linguistics, it is all too brief to be of help to most students who have completed a first year of Hebrew. (For instance, semantics and pragmatics are introduced in a total of three pagesincluding two charts.) Some of this oversight is tempered by 2.5, Putting All the Pieces Together: Constituent Movement (pp. 1116), which is mostly concerned with word order but identifies and discusses specific examples of topic, focus, etc. as it proceeds. The section does state that more detailed information may be sought in Holmstedt 2005, Holmstedt 2009a, and Cook and Holmstedt 2009, all of which are readily accessible from Holmstedt's faculty page.[1] In contrast to the spartan overview of Holmstedt's linguistic model, 3 is a 23-page discussion of linguistic issues in dating Ruth. After discussing the proposal of dates ranging from Solomon to the postexilic period he notes the challenge of Young, Rezetko, and Ehrensvrd[2] to the notion of observable chronological stages in Biblical Hebrew. Holmstedt proceeds to consider matters of orthography, assimilation of the nun in , morphological features (paragogic nun 2fs qatal verbs with endings, and pronouns with apparent feminine antecedents), use of wayyiqtol and modal qatal forms, numerous syntactic features, and lexical features (including archaisms, mixed early/late items, and various potential borrowings from Aramaic).

Holmstedt concludes that all the relevant data suggest (but not strongly) that Ruth was written during a period of Aramaic ascendancy but not dominance, and thus it may come from the early Persian period (p. 39). A more detailed argument (with more direct engagement of Young, Rezetko, and Ehrensvrd) is available on the author's website. The fourth section, The Use of Language to Color Characters' Speech (pp. 4149), brings together linguistics, sociolinguistics, and literary considerations to demonstrate how the storyteller manipulat[es] language for the purpose of characterization (p. 41). Illustrations from Pygmalion, Beowulf, and the Canterbury Tales help show how this technique operates across languages, but there is no shortage of instances in Ruth, either. For example, Holmstedt suggest[s] that the narrator has used marginalbut understandablelanguage to give the book a foreign (Moabitish?) or perhaps archaic (i.e., back in those days they talked funny) coloring (p. 47, in reference to the apparent genderconfusion of pronouns, suffixes, and verb in 1:8, 9, 11, 13, 19, 22; 4:11). Also, regarding [t]he grammatical mess at the end of 2:7, ,I take the overseer's confused language as a reflection of his nervousness. In other words, the end of the verse is not grammatical Hebrew and intentionally so (p. 48). Such helpful insights permeate the commentary, as well. The commentary proper in its four acts is laid out by scene. Each scene has a brief synopsis followed by the author's translation and extended comment on each verse. Headings on each page identify the verses under discussion, making it very easy to find a particular reference quickly. The commentary is particularly rich not only for its linguistic and literary observations, but for Holmstedt's keen ability to address the what on earth is that? issues that sometimes seem to overwhelm intermediate students set loose in real Hebrew texts, for instance, why is there a dagesh qal in the of in 1:1 (p. 54), or, why does Act II Scene 2 begin with aqatal form instead of a wayyiqtol (2:4, p. 112). The introductory sections are very helpful; the commentary is insightful and rewarding. The only caveat regarding content is

rather small: the uninitiated reader will need more background on Hebrew linguistics than found herebut this is, after all, a commentary. My other concerns and disappointments are exclusively with the type-setting, which is truly a disservice to the author (though not one that by any means nullifies the usefulness of the work). Most grievous is the unfortunate line spacing in the commentary: whole phrases are reproduced where they are commented on, and the size of the Hebrew font and the spacing of the lines means that at times vowels and accents are printed on top of one another, requiring the reader to reference a separate Hebrew Bible or turn back a page to where the whole verse is printed with adequate spacing (see, for example, pp. 55, 58, 68, 89, 129, 151, 185, and perhaps the most atrocious: 190). Numerous typos also persist, generally of the type that distracts rather than obfuscates (for example, The challenges to the model has culminated, p. 18; the audience is reminded throughout the Ruth is a foreigner, p. 49; , [inverted order] p. 53; Chr 26:5, [should be 2 Chr 26:5] p. 53; as na alien in a foreign land, p. 55). Future printings will, we may hope, curtail these minor inconveniences. In summary, Holmstedt has provided Hebrew students, teachers, and researchers with an invaluable tool for the book of Ruth. He has further demonstrated the power of linguistics in considering the style and features of a whole text, while addressing many puzzling questions of morphology, phonology, syntax, and semantics along the way. Would that many more such works may follow.
Anthony R. Pyles, McMaster Divinity College
[1] Robert D. Holmstedt, Word Order in the Book of Proverbs, in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. R. L. Troxel, K. G. Friebel, and D. R. Magary; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 13554; idem, Word Order and Information Structure in Ruth and Jonah: A Generative-Typological Analysis, JSS 54 (2009): 11139; John A. Cook and Robert D. Holmstedt, Biblical Hebrew: A Student Grammar (Draft Copy), unpublished manuscript, 2009 [cited 27 July 2011]. Online: http://individual.utoronto.ca/holmstedt/textbook/BHSG2010.pdf.

[2] Ian Young, Robert Rezetko, and Martin Ehrensvrd, eds., Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts (2 vols.; London: Equinox, 2008).

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