The Significance of Sinai

THEMES IN

BIBLICAL NARRATIVE
JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN TRADITIONS

Editorial Board
GEORGE H. VAN KOOTEN, Groningen
ROBERT A. KUGLER, Portland, Oregon
LOREN T. STUCKENBRUCK, Durham

Assistant Editor
FREEK VAN DER STEEN

Advisory Board
REINHARD FELDMEIER, Göttingen – JUDITH LIEU, Cambridge
FLORENTINO GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ, Groningen-Leuven
HINDY NAJMAN, Toronto
MARTTI NISSINEN, Helsinki – ED NOORT, Groningen

VOLUME 12
 The Significance of Sinai
Traditions about Sinai and Divine Revelation in
Judaism and Christianity

Edited by
George J. Brooke, Hindy Najman and
Loren T. Stuckenbruck
Editorial Assistance
Eva Mroczek, Brauna Doidge and Nathalie LaCoste

LEIDEN • BOSTON
2008
Cover illustration from: Simon Levi Ginzburg’s Illustrated Custumal, Minhagim-Book
of Venice, 1593.

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 CONTENTS

Editorial Statement ..................................................................... vii

Introduction ................................................................................ ix

Some Unanticipated Consequences of the Sinai Revelation:

A Religion of Laws ................................................................. 1
James L. Kugel

“Fire, Cloud, and Deep Darkness” (Deuteronomy 5:22):

Deuteronomy’s Recasting of Revelation ................................ 15
Marc Zvi Brettler

Priestly Prophets at Qumran: Summoning Sinai through the

Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice ...................................................... 29
Judith H. Newman

Moving Mountains: From Sinai to Jerusalem ............................ 73

George J. Brooke

Moses, David and Scribal Revelation: Preservation and

Renewal in Second Temple Jewish Textual Traditions ......... 91
Eva Mroczek

The Giving of the Torah at Sinai and the Ethics of the

Qumran Community .............................................................. 117
Marcus Tso

Josephus’ “Theokratia” and Mosaic Discourse: The

Actualization of the Revelation at Sinai ................................ 129
Zuleika Rodgers

Why did Paul include an Exegesis of Moses’ Shining Face

(Exod 34) in 2 Cor 3? ............................................................. 149
Moses’ Strength, Well-being and (Transitory) Glory,
according to Philo, Josephus, Paul, and the Corinthian
Sophists
George H. van Kooten
vi contents

In the Mirror of the Divine Face: The Enochic Features

of the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian ................................ 183
Andrei Orlov

Torah and Eschatology in the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch .......... 201

Matthias Henze

Can the Homilists Cross the Sea Again? Revelation in

Mekilta Shirata .......................................................................... 217
Ishay Rosen-Zvi

Hearing and Seeing at Sinai: Interpretive Trajectories ............ 247

Steven D. Fraade

The Giving of the Torah: Targumic Perspectives .................... 269

Charles Thomas Robert Hayward

God’s Back! What did Moses see on Sinai? .............................. 287

Diana Lipton

Sinai in Art and Architecture .................................................... 313

David Brown

Sinai since Spinoza: Reflections on Revelation in Modern

Jewish Thought ....................................................................... 333
Paul Franks

Index of Modern Authors ......................................................... 355

Subject Index .............................................................................. 363
Index of Primary Texts .............................................................. 368
 EDITORIAL STATEMENT

Themes in Biblical Narrative publishes studies dealing with early inter-

pretations of Biblical narrative materials. The series includes congress
volumes and monographs.
Publications are usually the result of a reworking of papers pre-
sented during a TBN-conference on a particular narrative, e.g. the
Balaam story, or a specific theme, for instance: ‘clean and unclean’ in
the Hebrew Bible, or: ‘the ru’ah adonai and anthropological models
of humanity’.
Having treated the basic texts for this narrative or theme, other
contributions follow its earliest interpretations and receptions through-
out the subsequent phases of ancient Judaism, early Christianity, and
if appropriate Islam. Also studies which illuminate the successive
inculturations into the various Umwelts—the Ancient Near East, the
Graeco-Roman World—are included. Extensions to modern Bible
receptions and discussions of hermeneutical questions are welcomed,
if they are related explicitly to the study of early receptions of Biblical
texts and traditions.
Contributions to the series are written by specialists in the relevant
literary corpora. The series is intended for scholars and advanced
students of theology, linguistics and literature.

The series is published in co-operation with the University of Groningen

(The Netherlands), Durham University (United Kingdom), and Lewis
& Clark College (USA). It includes monographs and congress volumes
in the English language, and is intended for international distribution
on a scholarly level.

More information on the series http://www.xs4all.nl/~fvds/tbn/

 INTRODUCTION

In July 2007 a group of us gathered at the Department of Theology

and Religion in the University of Durham to discuss “The Giving
of the Torah at Sinai.” Contributors had been solicited to investigate
the centrality of the theme in biblical, extra-biblical, rabbinic, early
Christian, artistic and later philosophical depictions. Many of the con-
ference participants anticipated a three-day long discussion of Sinai as
the paradigm for all other revelation. The assumption was that Sinai
would then come to be seen all the more clearly as the exclusive and
normative model for subsequent revelation in Judaism, whether as
the basis for the authoritative extrapolation of what had taken place
there or as the touchstone for any claim to revelatory experience of
the divine. For non-Jewish traditions one could well expect that Sinai
was the defining moment for revelation and covenant-making. Thus we
imagined that our conference in Durham and our subsequent volume
would be a work that would discuss Sinai as a paradigm for imagining
all subsequent revelations in Judaism and Christianity.
However, somewhat to the surprise of the editors of this volume,
the papers that were delivered at the conference and that have eventu-
ally been revised for inclusion in this volume did not focus exclusively
on the centrality of Sinai. Neither did they all argue that Sinai was
the paradigmatic revelatory event. Instead, what emerged were very
nuanced discussions of the various ways in which Sinai was not cen-
tral or privileged, but rather relativized amongst many other examples
of revelation in the history of ancient Judaism and beyond. This was
true in discussions of Qumran literature, in analyses of the writings
of Philo and Josephus, in expositions of tannaitic midrash, in fresh
readings of the targums, and so on. The openness and willingness of
the participants in the symposium to reconsider longstanding presup-
positions is what intrigued many of us and will probably surprise our
readers as well.
The essays presented here provide glimpses of how in antiquity
and more recently some Jews and Christians sought to rewrite or even
replace the moment of Sinai with other important moments of revela-
tion and communication with the divine. In this it seems in particular
that the location of revelation was seen as less and less significant; until
x introduction

modern times Sinai as a place was not significant for pilgrimage, even
though a monastery was established at its base. But changes took place
in two other respects as well. First, it is evident that the scriptural nar-
ratives of the Sinaitic revelation were revisited and transformed in a
number of intriguing ways, not least to explain what was perceived
as problematic or awkward in the plain sense of the text. Miraculous
theophany, anthropomorphic description of the divine, the role of
Moses as actor or mediator, the response of Israel, were all handled
with exegetical skills that released the story of what happened and
especially the divine participant in it from the control of the text itself
so that everything could be appropriated afresh. Second, the content of
the revelation, especially the significance of covenant, was rethought
and reworked in philosophical, political, and theological ways. Several
of the studies in this volume represent some of the various ways in
which these modifications of the tradition represent competing claims
to Sinai in antiquity. Some of the post-biblical texts considered here
claim to redo or even replace the Sinai event with a new and better
covenantal event. Other essays suggest that there were many occasions
for authoritative theophany throughout the history of Judaism. The con-
tributors considered a variety of communities in many different places
over a broad chronological span of time. The essays are presented in
an order that indicates approximately the chronology of their princi-
pal subjects and that puts several naturally together; no subheadings
are used in the table of contents to allow the reader to enjoy moving
beyond the regular canonical boxes in the very juxtaposition of studies
that are presented here.
James Kugel provides the opening essay in which he wrestles elegantly
with matters of faith and history, challenging Jewish orthodoxy with an
appealing interrogation of texts that asks how Jewish tradition arrived
at where it is now if its origins were really more in the seventh century
B.C.E. than they were in the wilderness at Sinai; he points out some of
the ways in which the understanding of divine-human relationships in
works like Deuteronomy have been transformed into something pre-
scriptive, a system that successfully both keeps the deity at a distance
and proves itself to be remarkably durable. Marc Brettler offers some
programmatic comments on how the tradition about Sinai was received
as he investigates how a part of the text of Deuteronomy probably
interpreted its sources. In particular he considers how Deuteronomy
fundamentally recasts its source material to foster the notion that “hear-
 introduction xi

ing (rather than seeing) is believing;” he notes how Deuteronomy plays

a careful balancing act, giving the Decalogue and the earlier revelation
of law some importance, but it gives it less importance than its sources;
and he shows how Deuteronomy fundamentally recasts its source mate-
rial to justify its core idea that the Mosaic discourse in year 40 is more
important than the Sinai/Horeb event.
For the late Second Temple period there are four studies that depend
on the scrolls from the Qumran caves. Judith Newman’s essay on the
Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice suggests that they served at Qumran as a
transformative and preparatory rite in the community whose purpose
was to summon anew, with a striking priestly-prophetic inflection, the
divine glory they considered as first revealed at Sinai. The attention
of the songs to description rather than provision of hymns to be sung
underlines the view that ultimately God’s self-revelation is beyond words.
George Brooke offers some clues as to why the Qumran community
and the movement of which it was a part, for all its apparent legal
stringency, seemed more concerned with facing towards Jerusalem with
eschatological hope than with looking back to Sinai; in a way akin to
the authors of Deuteronomy itself, the covenanters may well have had
a faith that moved mountains, a law-filled faith that yearned for Zion
to become truly the dwelling-place of the divine name. Eva Mroczek
neatly aligns the transmission of Mosaic discourse with the prophetic
nature of scribalism in Second Temple times. She argues that the
expansions and changes of Mosaic legal traditions can be illuminated
by considering the related tradition of the growth of psalm collections
as linked to David; David and Moses, respectively divinely inspired
scribes of liturgy and law, are analogous ideal mediatory figures who
inspire continuous text production through the example of their own
scribal activity—they both collect, arrange and transmit revelation in a
perfect and divinely inspired way. Marcus Tso proposes that, alongside
the appropriation of the Sinai and other scriptural traditions, at least
three other factors—namely community identity, political and cultural
contexts, and eschatology—were interwoven with such traditions in the
assembling of the group’s ethical worldview; his own essay concentrates
on the intermixed roles of scripture and community and individual
identity in the ethics of the Qumran community.
Beyond the echoes of Sinai in the Qumran caves, other forms of
early Judaism and its emerging Christian offshoot had significant things
to relay about the Sinaitic traditions. Three studies look in turn at the
xii introduction

varying rhetorical strategies in texts which are almost contemporary.

George van Kooten considers why Paul included an exegesis of Exodus
34 in 2 Corinthians 3. He argues that Paul’s extensive passage on Moses
is embedded in his critique of his opponents at Corinth who, he believes,
are behaving like sophists. Over against his opponents who may have
stressed Moses’ strength and bodily well-being, Paul portrays Moses
in a different and surprisingly positive manner: he does not deny his
glory, though he indicates its temporary character and he does indeed
contrast it with the still greater glory of the new covenant. While van
Kooten considers Josephus’ portrayal of Moses in brief to highlight
its difference from Paul’s view of him, Zuleika Rodgers assesses more
broadly the constitutional interests of Josephus. By examining Josephus
understanding of the transmission of Mosaic law—and his own role in
that—she argues that it is possible to discern a link between the Sinai
event as articulated in Jewish Antiquities and the Jewish theocracy of
Against Apion. Josephus’ reflections on good governance and justice—
its effects, the relationship between the character of the state and its
individuals, and the virtues of the lawgiver and the ideal statesman—
show that themes central to political and philosophical discourse in the
Greco-Roman world are anticipated and emulated by Jewish traditions.
In a similar vein Matthias Henze exposes how the author of Second
Baruch, faced with the destruction of the temple, is left with God and
Torah, views them both from the perspective of a promised restoration,
and embraces Deuteronomic language to call urgently for obedience to
the Torah, the only route to righteousness. In all this he seems to be
far from feeling disenfranchised, marginalized, or that he was writing
out of a sense of opposition to something supposedly more normative;
rather, with Sinai in mind, he addresses all Israel in an inclusive manner.
A fourth study returns to the issue of the transformation of Moses at
Sinai that has formed the focus of van Kooten’s paper. Andrei Orlov
argues that the power struggle between the figures of Enoch and Moses
can sometimes be seen in a single text. He argues that in the Exagoge
of Ezekiel the Tragedian the figure of Moses is indeed highly exalted
as the mediator of esoteric revelation, enthroned as a counterpart to
the stars, transformed so that his luminous face is a reflection of the
glorious face of the deity. But the twist in the tale is that the divine
face that is mirrored is that which is represented by Moses’ long-lasting
contender, Enoch-Metatron.
Rabbinic views, some of them from a somewhat later period, are
presented in four essays. Ishay Rosen-Zvi looks at the interpretative
 introduction xiii

treatment of the Song of the Sea in Mekhilta. He proposes that in intrigu-

ing ways concerning issues of time and revelation this interpretation
anticipates literarily much of what can be discerned in the rabbinic
discussions of Sinai. And like the Sinai traditions, the text of Mekhilta
Shirata has a strategy for provoking fear and providing encouragement.
Steven Fraade then considers various interpretative trajectories sur-
rounding Sinai itself, noting in particular how some of these focus on
the auditory experience of Israel whilst others stress the visual dimen-
sion. With reference to scriptural passages, the Targums, Mekhilta, Philo,
and Sifre Deuteronomy, amongst others, Fraade expounds the intriguing
diversity of the Jewish representation of the kinds of perception that
surround the giving of the Law. Robert Hayward develops some similar
topics in his detailed discussion of some targumic traditions. In some
there is explicit clarification of the role of Moses, in others there is
attention to the whole event as a cultic phenomenon, in yet others
care to preserve the integrity and the distance of the divine. Taking
the matter of precisely what happened at Sinai further, Diana Lipton
wonders about what Moses saw when he ascended Mt. Sinai to collect
the second set of commandments. She argues that the notion that God
allowed Moses to glimpse his back, but not to see his face, has wrongly
dominated the recent history of interpretation and she suggests rather
that God showed Moses neither his face nor his back on Mt. Sinai, but
offered him a glimpse of the future. For Lipton, reading God’s “back”
as an idiomatic reference to the future, reflecting a biblical perception of
time now lost to us, sheds new light on traditional Jewish and Christian
commentaries on Exodus 33:23.
Two concluding studies round out this rich collection. In the first
David Brown takes the reader, now viewer, on a journey through Sinai
in art and architecture, both Christian and Jewish, to reveal from
another dimension that interpretation is as much part of Sinai as the
revelation itself. Though often to be qualified by reference to other
matters, from the Christian perspective Sinai is the locus of revelation
and the setting for depicting Moses as mediator, depictions which are
often replete with typological suggestiveness for Christ himself. For Jew-
ish artists Moses and Sinai have non-typological timeless immediacy,
especially in the modern period, and recent Jewish architecture has
created mountainous synagogues as a sign of differentiated identity.
Paul Franks then concludes the collection with a profound meditation
on the interrelationship of law, nature and society. Although even in
antiquity Greek-speaking Jews equated Torah with nomos and natural
xiv introduction

law, it was Maimonides who most extensively treated nomos as a system

of governance in the service of eternal truths. But for Spinoza, Torah
is not revelation of eternal truths but is only a system of governance,
and Sinai even contains the seeds of the destruction of the state that
it constitutes. Franks expounds judiciously how Spinoza’s propositions
are dealt with directly and indirectly by Moses Mendelssohn, and in
Franz Rozenzweig’s dialogues with Martin Buber.
We are grateful to the university funds that have supported this ven-
ture financially, especially the funds of the Department of Theology
and Religion at the Durham University; the Centre for Biblical Studies
and the Research Support Fund of the School of Arts, Histories and
Cultures, the University of Manchester; and the University of Toronto.
We are also grateful to the Department of Theology and Religion at
Durham University for organising accommodation and for hosting the
participants in Durham for three delightful and insightful days.
In the preparation of this volume we are grateful to the contribu-
tors for the timely completion of their revised essays, to Eva Mroczek,
for extensive editorial assistance, and to the additional assistance of
two undergraduates at the University of Toronto, Brauna Doidge and
Nathalie LaCoste. In addition we want to acknowledge the editors of
the Themes in Biblical Narrative Series, especially George van Kooten,
for accepting this volume.

George J. Brooke, University of Manchester

Hindy Najman, University of Toronto
Loren T. Stuckenbruck, University of Durham
 SOME UNANTICIPATED CONSEQUENCES OF THE
SINAI REVELATION: A RELIGION OF LAWS

James L. Kugel
Bar Ilan University, Israel

Rabbinic Judaism, it almost goes without saying, is a religion of laws.

There are laws governing practically everything: laws about how to
keep sabbath (which nowadays include not driving an automobile
or answering the telephone on God’s holy day); laws about how to
celebrate the biblical festivals (for example, what the maximum and
minimum dimensions of the sukkah, or harvest booth, are to be, and
on what date before the festival it is permitted to begin thatching the
sukkah’s roof ); rules concerning what one is to do upon getting up in
the morning—which blessings to recite upon opening one’s eyes, and
which others when getting out of bed, washing one’s hands, tying one’s
shoes, and so on and so forth.1 Other laws dictate how early, and until
how late, and in what posture, the Shema{ is to be recited, along with
the conditions governing the recital of a lengthy prayer, the {Amidah,
that is to be said (standing) three times day.2 There are laws about rela-
tions between parents and children, husbands and wives, shopkeepers
and customers, beggars and almsgivers, and on and on and on, until it
seems that there is almost no area of life that is not somehow governed
by Jewish law. How did all this come about?
For someone whose focus is the Hebrew Bible itself, this is a
somewhat perplexing question. After all, the stories of Israel’s earli-
est ancestors make no mention of such laws: Abraham and Sarah,
Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and his family—all seem to function quite
well without any legal framework to guide their actions. Apparently,
these people never heard of God issuing any set of laws for them to
obey. True, none of them lived during or after the time of the great
revelation of laws at Mt. Sinai, when God is said to have adopted the

1
These matters are first codified in the great, second-century rabbinic compen-
dium the Mishnah, specifically in the tractates Shabbat, Sukkah, and Berakhot, though all
underwent modification in later rabbinic treatises.
2
m. Berakhot 1–5.
2 james l. kugel

people of Israel as His particular folk on condition that they keep His
covenant stipulations, that is, His laws (Exod 19:5–6). Yet there is not
much mention of those stipulations, or of that covenant, in the period
following Israel’s establishment in its homeland either. Ehud, Deborah,
Gideon, Samson, Jephthah—which of these heroes from the period of
the Judges speaks or acts in obedience to divine laws or on the basis of
some great covenant with God? The same appears to be true even after
the establishment of the monarchy: in general, the stories about David,
Solomon, and their descendants do not show the slightest awareness of
the Sinai laws—or of any divine laws at all, for that matter. Their God
may reward goodness and punish misdeeds, but He generally seems to
do so without evoking any specific legal framework.3 Indeed, scholars
have noted that God at one point offers David an unconditional covenant
of kingship: “Your dynasty and your kingdom will always stand firm
before Me: your throne is established forever” (2 Sam 7:16). Such an
unconditional promise seems to jangle with the conditional covenant
of Sinai. The Sinai covenant said that God would uphold Israel if
it kept His laws, whereas this divine promise to David says He will
maintain David’s dynasty no matter what the people, or even David’s
direct descendants, do. As the biblical scholar Matityahu Tsevat has
observed: “If the existence of the confederacy, which is conditional, is
the body, then kingship, which is an organ, cannot be unconditional.”4
In other words: these two covenants seem to be in conflict, as if each
was unaware of the other’s existence. If one assumes that this account
of the Davidic covenant was written near to the time of David’s reign,5

3
Of course, the Deuteronomistic editor’s summations of various kings and their
reigns are often explicitly based on their adherence to the Deuteronomic strictures
against “high places” and other things associated with forbidden worship; see, e.g.,
2 Kgs 12:2; 14:1–4; 15:1–4, and so forth. But in a sense these summary judgments
actually make the opposite point, that despite these kings’ alleged disdain for such laws,
the kings in question nevertheless “did what was right in the sight of the Lord” and
were rewarded.
4
Cited in Jon D. Levenson, “Who Inserted the Book of the Torah?” HTR 68
(1975): 227.
5
Among others: Frank M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1973), 255; see also P. Kyle McCarter, II Samuel (AB 9: New
York: Doubleday, 1984); Jon D. Levenson, “The Last Four Verses in Kings,” JBL 103
(1984): 353–61; Baruch Halpern, The First Historians: the Hebrew Bible and History (Uni-
versity Park, PA: Pennsylvania State Press, 1996), 144–80; and William Schniedewind,
Society and the Promise to David: The Reception History of 2 Samuel 7:1–17 (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1999). Many scholars have noted that the wording of this covenant
in 2 Sam 7:12–16 is somewhat different from other restatements of it elsewhere in the
 some unanticipated consequences of the sinai revelation 3

then the apparent conflict between it and the traditions of a covenant

at Mt. Sinai would suggest that the latter could not have originated, or
at least become widely accepted, until after the time of David.
The evidence of writings about, or attributed to, Israel’s early
prophets only moves this date still further. Thus Elijah, in the ninth cen-
tury b.c.e., is said to have built an altar to Israel’s God on Mt. Carmel
(1 Kgs 18:30), in obvious contradiction to the Deuteronomic stipulation
that sacrifices be offered only at the one, single place “where the Lord
your God will choose out of all your tribes as His habitation” (Deut
12:5). Similarly, the sayings attributed to the eighth-century prophets
show little awareness of the Sinai covenant, though here the evidence
is not quite unequivocal. The book of Hosea does seem at one point
to echo the prohibitions of the Decalogue, mentioning “False swearing
and murder and stealing and adultery” (Hos 4:1–3). Apart from this
passage, however, there is scarcely anything in the writings attributed
to Hosea—or to his rough contemporaries Amos, Isaiah, and Micah—
that suggests an awareness of the Sinai covenant or, indeed, the whole
notion of God as a great lawgiver.
By the late seventh or early sixth century, of course, the situation
appears to be quite different. There is, to begin with, the evidence
provided by the legal core of Deuteronomy (usually given a terminus
ad quem in the seventh century), as well as what was conceivably the
earliest form of the great Deuteronomistic History. Both of these
writings attest to the centrality of biblical law for their author/edi-
tors. Moreover, as many scholars have argued, the late-seventh and
early-sixth century prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel seem specifically to
evoke biblical laws in their indictment of the people: You have been
commanded not to do what you are doing, they say, and you will be
judged for your violations.
Moving forward in time, no one can miss the centrality of divine
laws in the period following Israel’s return from exile, when the Jewish
people are said to have specifically undertaken “to walk in God’s law,
which was given by Moses the servant of God, and to observe and
do all the commandments of the Lord our Lord and his ordinances
and statutes” (Neh 10:29), for which purpose they were said to have

Deuteronomistic History; see Michael Avioz, Nathan’s Oracle (2 Samuel 7) and its Interpreters
(Bern: Peter Lang, 2005). The apparent ignorance in 2 Samuel 7 of the dissolution of
the united monarchy might indeed suggest an early date.
4 james l. kugel

been guided by one “skilled in the law of Moses” who “set his heart
to study the law of the Lord and to do it, and to teach the statutes
and ordinances in Israel” (Ezra 7:6, 10). In post-exilic prophecy, too,
divine law is an imposing presence: thus, Zechariah has a vision of
a huge scroll of laws that flies through the air to enter the houses of
wrongdoers and punish their violations of the Decalogue (Zech 5:1–4).
Still later, the law is a potent force in the writings of Ben Sira, as well
as in the Qumran scrolls, the writings of Philo and Josephus, and, of
course, rabbinic texts.
So, in posing my opening question as I have, I seem also to have
offered something of an answer to it. Judaism’s “religion of laws”
appears to have developed slowly, emerging only gradually as a central
characteristic of Jewish piety. But this still does not explain how, or why,
the whole idea of divine laws and a divine lawgiver ever got started in
the first place. This question appears, when one considers it, a bit more
challenging. After all, elsewhere in the ancient Near East, laws were
not said to have been promulgated by the gods; they came from men.
Thus, we have law codes from earliest times in ancient Mesopotamia,
but they are attributed to various rulers—Ur-Namma of Ur (2112–2095
b.c.e.), Lipit-Ishtar (ca. 1930 b.c.e.), Eshnunna (ca. 1770 b.c.e.), Ham-
murabi (ca. 1750 b.c.e.) and others. True, their legal codes often begin
by mentioning that the gods X and Y established these kings on their
thrones; in some cases, the king even claims to be of partially divine
ancestry. But the laws themselves are promulgated by the king himself
or his own legists. How did it happen that Israel’s laws came to be
attributed to the authorship of a deity, YHWH Himself ?
I must admit in advance that I have little solid information to offer in
answer to this question, only a few guesses that, even in the friendliest
estimation, could hardly be considered more than possibilities. Still, I
hope that in posing the question as I have, I will have highlighted some-
thing of its importance, and that in setting down my own gropings for
an answer I may at least stimulate others to take up the challenge.
Much scholarly speculation on the biblical theme of divinely-given
laws has naturally centered on the Decalogue, which is presented as
the first set of divine laws delivered by God to Israel (and partially
echoed in Hos 4:1–3). While scholars are generally skeptical about
locating the Decalogue’s origins during Israel’s (supposed) wilderness
wanderings following the exodus, it might seem only reasonable that
these ten rules (or something like them) began to circulate sometime
in the period preceding the rise of Saul and David, since, presumably,
 some unanticipated consequences of the sinai revelation 5

any great law-based agreement joining God and Israel ought, after
the establishment of the monarchy, to have been mediated through
the king, of whom the Sinai covenant makes no mention.6 In other
words: if, unlike other ancient Near Eastern law codes, this one makes
no mention of the king as its author or even mediator, there may be
a simple reason for this circumstance: Israel, or the various tribes that
were to become Israel, did not yet have a king at the time.
Such an approach bumps up against an obvious problem, however—as
we have seen, there is scant mention of a covenant anytime before the
seventh century. But what eventually became the first ten stipulations
of a great covenant binding together God and Israel may not have
started out that way. Perhaps their origins are to be sought, as some
scholars have suggested, not at some mass conclave at the foot of Mt.
Sinai, but in the hill country of ancient Canaan, as different tribes and
ethnic groups in Canaan sought to pull themselves together, through a
common code of conduct and a common deity, into some sort of tribal
coalition.7 Only later would these basic rules have been reconfigured as
the stipulations of a great covenant binding a far larger group of tribes
(and spread out over a greater area) to the, or a, national deity.8 In other
words, what was to become the set of provisions of the Decalogue might
have first been put forward—without the Sinai scenario—in what is
called the period of the Judges, as different tribes and ethnic groups in
Canaan sought to pull themselves together, through a common code of
conduct and a common deity, into some sort of tribal coalition.
Only later would these basic rules have been reconfigured as the
stipulations of a great covenant binding a far larger group of tribes
(and spread over a greater area) to YHWH. But note that even then,
when YHWH was being adopted as Israel’s national deity through the
conception of such a covenant, He must still have been conceived to

6
See James L. Kugel, How to Read the Bible (New York: Free Press, 2007), 247–49
and sources cited there.
7
Kugel, How to Read, 415–16, 432–35.
8
It may be that the prohibitions of murder, adultery, robbery (or kidnapping), and
the others actually owe their origin to a very early attempt to extend the simple rules
governing the kinship groups who dwelled on one hilltop settlement in the central
highlands to other, unrelated kinship groups elsewhere in the same highlands. On the
archaeological evidence of those early, mountaintop settlements as kinship groups:
Lawrence Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel” BASOR 260
(1985): 1–37. Along with such kinship rules, or joined to them at some point, was the
further stipulation that YHWH was to be the, or a, common deity of all the hilltop
settlers. See further: Kugel, How to Read, 248–49 and sources cited there.
6 james l. kugel

have been headquartered far away, in the arid wastelands to the south
(as is indeed reflected in those various ancient texts that still locate Him
as living in or around Horeb/Sinai, Mt. Seir, Mt. Paran, or Teman),9
well before He took up residence in Zion. For it was only a distant divine
monarch who would ever think of approaching Israel with a covenant
modeled in its form and wording on the basic ancient Near Eastern
suzerainty treaty, that is, the standard agreement concluded between
a great emperor and his vassal states, scattered about in the territories
that he controlled.10 As a resident of Horeb/Sinai etc., YHWH was
indeed far from the Israelites in Canaan. No wonder, then, that He
opted for the standard stipulation of ancient Near Eastern suzerainty
treaties, namely, the one that obligates the vassal to pledge its exclusive
loyalty to this monarch, to have no other monarchs before or along with
Him, so as not to enter into any traitorous agreements.
Such a scenario might go far in explaining a basic incongruity in
the Decalogue. For, as scholars have long been aware, the Decalogue
is presented as the set of stipulations binding the vassal-people to their
suzerain. To insert the old hilltop rules of conduct as those covenant
stipulations was, however, hardly a perfect fit. What real, flesh-and-blood
monarch ever cared if his distant vassals honored their parents or had
little extra-marital affairs? This part of the Decalogue only supports
the hypothesis that this group of laws began in the hills of Canaan,
and only later made their way, figuratively speaking, to some southern
site where this new God of Israel was said to make His home. If this
general approach is correct, it would go a long way to explaining both
why this little code of laws came not from a wise king, but from a deity
himself,11 and why that deity cared to regulate His people’s actions in
ways that normally did not concern a distant suzerain.

9
See Deut 33:2; Judg 5:4–5; Hab 3:3; Ps 68:8–9.
10
Having YHWH single out Israel with the offer to become His special people
implies that He, like a flesh-and-blood suzerain, controls other peoples and territories;
that is why He notes specifically in Exod 19:5, “for all the land is Mine,” that is, I
could have chosen some other people among My subjects.
11
Here I don’t wish to overstate things; this distinction between man-given and God-
given laws probably did not mean much at first. The kings of Egypt or Mesopotamia
were certainly deemed to rule, and to issue laws, with the authority that devolved from
their divine patrons. I doubt that, at first, attributing the promulgation of this or that
law via the words, “And the LORD spoke to Moses, saying . . .” made it significantly dif-
ferent from laws alleged to have been spoken firsthand by Hammurabi or Eshnunna
or whoever. But certainly the difference between a divine and a human legislator was
potentially of great significance, and this significance came into full expression soon
 some unanticipated consequences of the sinai revelation 7

To be sure, it must have taken a while for the notion of a set of

divinely given laws to be carried to its logical conclusion. Whatever the
chronology, however, there can be no disputing the fact that eventu-
ally the keeping of God’s laws did become a central form of Jewish
piety. In step with this development, the laws themselves became more
numerous and more elaborate. Keeping the sabbath meant, in second
temple times, not carrying goods in and out of the city gates, or even
from one house to another, or drawing water, or traveling on a ship, or
even setting out on a journey of any length on a Friday.12 The prohibi-
tion of consuming or possessing leavened goods during the festival of
Passover now included (as we know from the Elephantine documents)
drinking or possessing beer, a prohibition not attested within the Bible
itself.13 And so on and so forth.14
The Torah’s laws were so central that it as a whole came to be
thought of as one great regula vitae, a manual telling people how they
ought to live their lives. It was the torah, the nomos, and if neither of
these words means simply “law” or “statute,”15 the legal associations
clinging to both words are nonetheless quite undeniable. Even Philo,
whose love of the allegorical interpretation of biblical narrative hardly
requires glossing, and his younger contemporary Josephus, who says
that his two principal motives in writing a history of his people were to
put the events in which he himself had participated into their broader
historical context as well as to publish an account of events so as to
combat the Greek-speaking public’s general ignorance of them16—both
these writers nevertheless devote a hefty part of their rewriting of the

enough. Someone who violated a law of Hammurabi’s was guilty of committing a

crime. But an Israelite who violated a law issued by Israel’s God had committed a sin.
His offense was against not only the state, but heaven itself. By the same token, obey-
ing Hammurabi’s laws was, well, merely good citizenship, whereas carrying out God’s
commandments was something much higher—doing His will, serving God.
12
See Jer 17:21–22; Neh 10:31; also Jub. 2:29–30 and 50:6–13; James L. Kugel, Tradi-
tions of the Bible (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998), 646–49, 686–87.
13
Kugel, Traditions, 568–69.
14
It would not be inappropriate to cite here words attributed to the fourth-generation
tanna Hananyah ben Aqashiya (m. Makkot 3:16), “It was because God wished to give Israel
the opportunity to acquire merit that He multiplied the Torah’s commandments . . .”
This “multiplication of commandments” is indeed an altogether visible process that
only accelerated in late-biblical times.
15
Ephraim E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1987), 288–90.
16
Ant. 1:3–4; he goes on to say his book will “encompass our entire ancient his-
tory and political constitution,” 1:5—this despite his stated intention (3:223) to compose
a separate treatise on Israel’s laws.
8 james l. kugel

Pentateuch to a review of its laws and their proper interpretation. This

is certainly a significant fact.
What is more, it is not just the laws themselves that acquired a
prescriptive character. The stories of biblical figures like Cain and
Abel, Abraham and Jacob, eventually lost their originally etiological
role;17 now they were read as lessons in morality: “Be like the righteous
Abraham,” the text seemed now to be saying, “don’t be like Cain or
the wicked Esau.” (So of course interpreters were at pains to portray
Esau as wicked, which he was not, and Abraham as righteous, which
he was not always.)18 Similarly, the message of prophets came to be
de-contextualized and turned into moral instruction meant for every
age: pursue justice, denounce corruption wherever it is found. The
same is true of the psalms and songs of Scripture, its wisdom sayings
and other writings—these too came to be divorced from the original
purposes and life-settings for which they had been composed and came
instead to be connected to another set of purposes, those of the great
divine guidebook of which they were now deemed to be part.19 In
short, the whole Bible became, in a sense, a collection of laws designed
to lead people on the proper path. The “religion of laws” was now
everywhere.
Whatever the precise circumstances that led to this state of affairs,
the emergence of this “religion of laws” was, as we have seen, a
gradual process, one that found its first explicit outline in the legal
core of the book of Deuteronomy. But was this a wholly discrete and
isolated development? This seems unlikely; for that reason, the last
subject I wish to evoke in this essay is that of the possible influence of
the very idea of God-given laws on Israel’s way of conceiving of the
divine–human encounter, that is, religion itself. Here again, I aim only
to sketch the vague beginnings of an idea, in the hope that it may lead
to some further discussion.

17
The concept was first extensively applied by Hermann Gunkel; see his Schöpfung
und Chaos in Urzeit und Endzeit (Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1897), and The
Legends of Genesis: The Biblical Saga and History (New York: Schocken, 1964). On Gun-
kel’s work: Werner Klatt, Hermann Gunkel. Zu seiner Theologie der Religionsgeschichte und zur
Entstehung der formgeschichtlichen Methode (Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969);
Konrad von Rabenau, “Hermann Gunkel: auf rauhen Pfaden nach Halle,” EvT 30
(1970): 433–44; Martin J. Buss, Biblical Form Criticism in Context (Winona Lake, IN:
Eisenbrauns, 1999).
18
Kugel, Traditions, 151–52, 254–56, 354–59.
19
For all these: Kugel, How to Read.
 some unanticipated consequences of the sinai revelation 9

It is no secret that the way that God was conceived appears to

have undergone a number of significant changes within the biblical
period. In many of the texts that are generally conceded to represent
the oldest strands of biblical writings, the God of Israel is depicted in
highly anthropomorphic terms: He has a human-like body that is not
much bigger (if at all) than that of an ordinary man’s; He has eyes
and a mouth, arms and fingers, and other human physical character-
istics. (True, later interpreters sought to suggest that these were merely
metaphorical references, or descriptions intended to make it easier for
primitive minds to grasp the reality of God, but—as recent research has
suggested—there really is no reason to follow such an interpretive line.)20
Having a body, this God was certainly not omnipresent, nor do these
early biblical texts suggest otherwise. He moves from place to place:
He is said quite specifically to “go down” from heaven to frustrate the
building of the Tower of Babel or to see what the people of Sodom
were up to; elsewhere He rides about Heaven on a cherub.21 If He was
generally not seen by people, that was not because He was invisible,
but because catching sight of Him was usually fatal: “No one can see
Me and live” (Exod 33:20). That is why He often sent an angel, some
sort of hypostasis, to interact on His behalf with human beings, or else
arrived surrounded by a protective cloud covering—one that protected
not Him, but the humans who might otherwise be harmed by seeing
Him. Nor, finally, was this God omniscient: He asks Adam where he is
hiding and Cain where his brother Abel has gone: on the face of things,
God does not know at the time of asking (though ancient interpreters
of course claimed otherwise). This catalogue could be extended,22 but
the general picture is, I hope, clear.
Two things in particular characterize human interaction with this
deity: intermittence and fear.23 God suddenly appears to humans (often
in the form of an angel)—as He does to Abraham, Sarah, Jacob,
Joshua, Gideon, Manoah and his wife, and so forth—speaks with them
or otherwise interacts for a time, and then disappears. As for fear, this
too is the virtually universal reaction in early parts of the Bible. Ancient

20
I have explored some aspects of this idea in The God of Old (New York: Free Press,
2003); see further references there.
21
See Kugel, How to Read, 108–10.
22
Kugel, How to Read, 110–18.
23
See George W. Savran, Encountering the Divine: Theophany in Biblical Narrative
(LHBOTS 420; London: T & T. Clark International, 2005).
10 james l. kugel

Israelites are never, like later Jews and Christians, “in search of God”:
on the contrary, when God does suddenly appear, their reaction is
inevitably like that of the Israelites at Mt. Sinai, who were “afraid and
trembled and stood at a distance” (Exod 20:18).24 Nor is there anything
particularly Israelite about this reaction. Throughout the ancient Near
East, the gods have the power and humans stand before them in fear
and trembling.
If contact with the deity was frightening and intermittent, contact
was nevertheless something to be desired—precisely because the gods
had the powers they had; despite their fear, humans needed to be able
to seek the gods’ favor, indeed, to curry their favor on an ongoing
basis, if they were to benefit from the gods’ powers. To both problems
mentioned, intermittence and fear, there was a single solution, and that
was the ancient Near Eastern temple. The temple was, quite simply, a
sanitized, sterile environment populated exclusively by a specially trained
cadre of professionals whose whole job consisted of maintaining a home
for the deity that would please him or her in every respect, a home in
which animal sacrifices, pleasant incense, and endless offerings of praise
were all designed to win the god’s favor and ongoing presence. Much
of biblical law has to do with the temple and its proper operation—
laws of cultic purity and impurity, classes of different sacrifices and the
occasions on which they were offered, laws governing cultic personnel,
and so forth. Yet there is a certain dissonance between the very idea of
the temple and the tradition of divinely given laws at Mt. Sinai. It is
not just that; in a much discussed verse in Exodus, Israel’s acceptance
of God’s laws is said to turn Israel into a ‫ממלכת כהנים וגוי קדוש‬, a
“kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exod 19:6)—a state of affairs
in which the whole nation—not just the priests!—are holy and close to
God. But more generally, if, as was suggested earlier,25 obeying divinely
given laws makes one more than just a good citizen, but turns one
into a righteous non-sinner, indeed, a servant of God, then having a
divinely given set of do’s and don’ts may quickly lead to an alternate
form of piety. God is served in His temple via the sacrifices offered by
His priests, but He is also served by the general populace observing
His laws.

24
See further my study The God of Old, 37–70.
25
Above, n. 9.
 some unanticipated consequences of the sinai revelation 11

This point of view comes into clearest expression in the book of

Deuteronomy (though its roots are certainly older). That book end-
lessly uses the phrase otherwise employed to designate the offering of
sacrifices—'‫“ לעבוד את ה‬to serve the Lord”—not in that sense at all,
but to refer to keeping God’s laws: “to serve the Lord your God with
your whole heart and soul, keeping the Lord’s commandments and
laws, which I am commanding you this day for your benefit” (Deut
10:12). The laws of Deuteronomy certainly do not omit the priesthood
and the temple—they hardly could have!—but these are meshed into
a book that clearly presents the ordinary Israelite’s obedience to divine
law as the primary form of piety. The temple is, in Deuteronomy, some
distance from the town or village that is that book’s real home: one
goes on pilgrimages to the temple at the appointed festivals. It is not
necessary to go there and offer a sacrifice in order to eat meat—that
you can do, according to Deuteronomy, “at your gates” thanks to its
innovation of secular slaughter (Deut 12:15). Moreover, that temple is,
as every student of Deuteronomy knows, the “place where I will cause
my name to dwell” (Deut 12:11; 14:23; 16:2, 6, 11; and so forth), a
phrase that seems intended to suggest that God is really elsewhere, in
highest heaven: His presence in the sanctuary is altogether metaphori-
cal.26 So too, at the Sinai revelation, the Israelites hear God’s voice but
see only a symbolic fire: God spoke to them from His heavenly abode
(Deut 4:12, 15, 36; and so forth). As for the sacrifices, modern scholars
have noted that they are more a form of charity than a real offering
to the deity, to be distributed to the proverbially needy, the Levite, the
widow, the orphan.27
It certainly seems no accident that this God is rather more abstract
and distant than the God of the priesthood, who is right there in the
sanctuary, in the Holy of Holies. Even if He is not caught sight of, the
priestly God is still basically human in form: man was created in his
shape and image, and what the priest Ezekiel sees in the throne chariot
was “something that seemed like a human form” (Ezek 1:26)—this and
similar formulations containing only the slightest hesitation at blatant

26
See on this: Sandra L. Richter, Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology (BZAW
318; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002) and my How to Read, 727.
27
See Deuteronomy 16, 11, 14 and two general discussions: Moshe Weinfeld, Social
Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1995)
and Bernard Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1997).
12 james l. kugel

anthropomorphism, “This was the appearance of the likeness of the

glory of the Lord” (1:28).
If one believes in the efficacy of a temple and its specially trained
priesthood, then God can never really be deemed to have withdrawn
permanently to highest heaven—otherwise, what is the point of the
temple? But if, on the contrary, one does believe that God is in highest
heaven, then what is there to tie an individual (or a nation) to Him?
To this question there is hardly one biblical answer, nor, for that mat-
ter, one single cause that one might point to in order to explain how
the Israelites ever came to consider the possibility of a great, abstract,
heavenly deity. But whatever the cause, one adjustment to this great,
abstract deity is well known: the sudden appearance in the post-exilic
period of legions of angels. These are not angels like the ones from
earlier periods, who are really stand-ins for the deity Himself; rather,
they are now part of a complicated divine bureaucracy—angels who
have charge of various natural functions, like rainfall and the winds
and the seasons, as well as angels that act as intermediaries between
God Himself and various nations on earth (eventually including Israel,
though not at first), wicked angels that bring illness and madness and
need to be fought off with apotropaic prayers and symbolic acts.28 Now,
for the first time, these angels have names: Gabriel (Dan 9:11), Michael,
Raphael, and so forth. Their very presence fills the space between
humans on earth and God in highest heaven, and so it is no wonder
that they themselves become the focus of human piety, appealed to or
warded off as the case may be.
But this is not the world of Deuteronomy. There, God rules Israel
directly; although He is said to have given other nations to the worship
of heavenly bodies,29 Israel is His own particular possession, “God’s
portion is His own people, Jacob, his allotted share” (Deut 4:20; 32:9).
What is it, then, that binds this earthly people to its God in highest
heaven? The answer has already been seen: the divinely given laws. It
is observance of the laws that allows Israel to “cling” and “hold fast”
to Him (Deut 13:5; 30:20; etc.). Evidently, obedience to these laws is
thus a form of piety parallel to the sacrificial cult: both are ways of

28
On this there is a vast literature; see recently Esther Eshel, “Demonology in Pales-
tine During the Second Temple Period” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem,
1999) and references there.
29
Deut 4:19–20; 32:8.
 some unanticipated consequences of the sinai revelation 13

serving, la{abod, this God.30 But one might also say that observing God’s
laws is also parallel to the second temple angels just mentioned: they
too fill the gap between heaven and earth, each little commandment,
whether kept or violated, is somehow noticed on high and rewarded
or punished by the distant deity.
As I have already sought to indicate, this notion of things was to
become later Judaism’s—not only the centrality of observing God’s
laws, but with it, the rather abstract and distant deity who looks on
from afar and passes judgment. The point I have been trying to get at
is that these two really go together, even if their genesis was originally
quite independent of each other. The God of Old, the frightening
deity who appeared suddenly and disappeared just as suddenly, was an
invader from another dimension who could, and usually did, upset a
person’s world utterly. Confining Him to a temple and specially trained
personnel was, in a sense, to contain the problem, but the religion of
laws, although never envisaged as such when God first spoke at Sinai,
turned out be no less an effective way of keeping the deity at arm’s
length. He was way up there, and we humans were way down here;
what connected us was not direct contact but a set of clearly estab-
lished ground rules—or, one might say, a set of clearly visible electric
wires along which the current of divine–human relations was to flow.
This view of things may have come about in the somewhat haphazard
way I have described, but it has, in any case, proven to be remarkably
durable, leaving its impress not only on rabbinic Judaism but—in ways
whose detailed exploration must be reserved for another occasion—on
Christianity as well.

30
This is the great theme of Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1972).
 “FIRE, CLOUD, AND DEEP DARKNESS”
(DEUTERONOMY 5:22): DEUTERONOMY’S
RECASTING OF REVELATION

Marc Zvi Brettler

Brandeis University, USA

As the initial paper, and the only paper focussing on the Hebrew Bible
itself, I hope to lay out some of the problems of the biblical text con-
cerning revelation on Sinai. I will do this by highlighting the passage
in Deuteronomy 51 that surrounds the Decalogue, examining how it
interprets its likely sources,2 and reflecting on the broader matters this
interpretation raises, hinting ahead at issues that arise in some of the
other papers in this volume. My comments are programmatic rather
than comprehensive.3
The central Sinai texts in the book of Exodus are extremely difficult
from a source-critical perspective—it is unclear how many different
sources or traditions are represented. Baruch Schwartz, for example,
finds the standard source-critical model of three sources in Exodus
adequate to explain the variation in the chapters.4 Moshe Greenberg
suggests that there are more than three sources present: “The extraordi-
nary complexity is best explained as the result of interweaving of parallel
narrations; the author appears to have been reluctant to exclude any
scrap of data relevant to this momentous occasion”; and suggests that

1
This chapter is typically seen (by and large) as a unity; see e.g., Christianus
Brekelmans, “Deuteronomy 5: Its Place and Function,” in Das Deuteronomium: Entstehung,
Gestalt und Botschaft (ed. N. Lohfink; BETL 68; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University
Press, 1985), 164–73.
2
Many important insights on this issue are found in Benjamin D. Sommer, “Revela-
tion at Sinai in the Hebrew Bible and in Jewish Theology,” JR 79 (1999): 422–51.
3
For this reason, footnotes will be kept to a minimum.
4
Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Priestly Account of the Theophany and Lawgiving at
Sinai,” in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Manahem Haran (ed. M. V. Fox et al.;
Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 104–34. William H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40 (AB
2A; New York: Doubleday, 2006), 141–53, also believes that the mainstream documen-
tary hypothesis is sufficient to explain these chapters. There is even a tendency in some
circles of modern scholarship to emphasize the unity, at least at the editorial level, of
these chapters; see, e.g., T. D. Alexander, “The Composition of the Sinai Narrative in
Exodus XIX 1–XXIV 11,” VT 49 (1999): 2–20.
16 marc zvi brettler

the resulting “looseness and obscurity . . . may well have been intended
as a literary reflex of the multivalence of the event.”5 Jacob Licht
outlines a full fifteen different conceptions of revelation.6 I believe that
the majority of scholars would agree with Greenberg, though perhaps
not to the excesses of Licht, though there is no consensus because “the
traditional source division is unable to cope” with the repetitions and
doublets in Exodus7—“The details of narrative sequence in Exodus
19–20 are famously enigmatic.”8
In addition to significant issues in disentangling the narrative material
in Exodus, it is very unclear how the different blocks of legal mate-
rial fit into the narrative, and at what stage of the tradition they were
added.9 Which sources or traditions believed in “the giving of a torah
on Mt. Sinai”? Which is connected to the Decalogue in Exodus? Which
is connected to the tradition at the end of ch. 20, after the Decalogue,
concerning the building of an altar? Which is connected with the lon-
ger set of laws in chs. 21–23, which begin, “These are the rules that
you shall set before them”? The problems involved with the narrative
descriptions of revelation, and the connections between the narrative
and the law, seem truly intractable.
The situation with Deuteronomy is different. Most scholars agree that
the two central relevant sections in Deuteronomy, chs. 4 and 5:1–6:3,
knew Exodus as we now have it, perhaps without the Priestly texts.10
Furthermore, there is a consensus among scholars of Deuteronomy
that the material in ch. 4 is later than that found in ch. 5–ch. 4 is Dtr2,
namely a revision during the Babylonian exile of Dtr1.11 The implica-
tion of this consensus is that we may assume that these Deuteronomists
knew much of the material in Exodus that we now have. Thus, if we

5
Moshe Greenberg, “Exodus,” EncJud 6:1056.
6
Jacob Licht, “The Sinai Theophany,” in Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East
Presented to Samuel E. Loewenstamm on His Seventieth Birthday (ed. Y. Avishur and J. Blau;
Jerusalem: E. Rubenstein, 1978), 251–67 (Heb.; Eng. summary in English Volume,
201–2).
7
Brevard Childs, Exodus (OTL; Philadelphia, PA: Westminster, 1974), 349.
8
Sommer, “Revelation at Sinai,” 431.
9
These issues are surveyed in John Van Seters, A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision
in the Study of the Covenant Code (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 8–46.
10
Childs, Exodus, 359; and Thomas B. Dozeman, God on the Mountain (SBLMS 37;
Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987).
11
On this topic, and more generally on Deuteronomy 4, see Marc Z. Brettler, “A
‘Literary Sermon’ in Deuteronomy 4,” in “A Wise and Discerning Mind”: Essays in Honor
of Burke O. Long (ed. S. M. Olyan and R. C. Culley; BJS 325; Providence, RI: Brown
University, 2000), 33–50.
 “fire, cloud, and deep darkness” 17

want to see the earliest extant interpretations of the Sinai material, we

need to look in Deuteronomy 5.
Below, I examine nine ways in which Deuteronomy interprets its
sources.12 My examples for each are selective—my interest is in high-
lighting, for the sake of the papers that follow, different types of inter-
pretation, rather than being comprehensive:
1. Deuteronomy follows one of its sources at the expense of the
other(s).
2. Deuteronomy conflates various (contradictory) sources.
3. Deuteronomy takes an idea that is found in its sources as a peripheral
notion and turns it into a central notion.
4. Deuteronomy picks up on the terminology of its sources, but uses the
same word or phrase in a way that is different from Exodus.
5. Deuteronomy moves narrative material from its original place to a
different place.
6. Deuteronomy, as a treaty concerned with laws, uses narrative material
concerning Horeb to substantiate laws given later.
7. Deuteronomy fundamentally recasts its source material to foster the
notion that “hearing (rather than seeing) is believing.”
8. Deuteronomy plays a careful balancing act, giving the Decalogue and
the earlier revelation of law some importance, but it gives it less impor-
tance than its sources.
9. Deuteronomy fundamentally recasts its source material to justify its
core idea that the Mosaic discourse in year 40 is more important than
the Sinai/Horeb event.
I will now examine these proposals one at a time:

1. Deuteronomy follows one of its sources at the expense of the other(s)

This should not be surprising—most authors, when confronted with

contradictory information, decide which traditions are most likely to
be true. The following three examples illustrate how Deuteronomy
accomplishes this.
1. The sources known to Deuteronomy call the place of revelation
either Sinai or Horeb, with the former, from the Pentateuchal E source,

12
Although I adduce no specific references to Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation
in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), the influence of this book is evident
throughout. On inner-biblical interpretation, see also Bernard M. Levinson, Legal
Revision and Religious Renewal in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
forthcoming).
18 marc zvi brettler

predominating. Deuteronomy uses Horeb, the less frequently used term.

The reason for this choice is uncertain, though if E is really northern
in origin,13 and D has its origin in the North,14 this may explain the
unexpected use.
2. It is unclear from the Pre-D sources if God is speaking “from the
very heavens” (Exod 20:22; Eng. 20:19)15 or from the mountain (e.g.,
Exod 19:18). In this chapter, Deuteronomy favors the idea of God
speaking from the mountain rather than from heaven. Twice we hear
of God speaking (5:4, 22) “on the mountain, out of the fire,” and
nowhere does the word “heavens” appear in the narrative section of
ch. 5. The heavens tradition, which is a minority tradition, has lost out
to the majority mountain tradition. A still later text, Neh 9:13, treats
this problem differently. By stating “You came down on Mount Sinai
and spoke to them from heaven,” it conflates the two earlier traditions.
This conflation serves as the basis of the rabbinic midrash that during
the revelation, God bent down the heavens so that they would reach
Mt. Sinai.16
3. Especially if we include Exodus 24 as part of our sources,17 it
is unclear if Moses alone, Moses and Aaron, Moses and Joshua, or
Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abihu and 70 elders ascended the moun-
tain. Deuteronomy with its Moses-centric view18 has, not surprisingly,
opted for a Moses-only experience, rejecting the other options simply
by ignoring them.

13
The most comprehensive argument for this is Alan W. Jenks, The Elohist and North
Israelite Traditions (SBLMS 22; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977).
14
See Adam C. Welch, The Code of Deuteronomy (New York: George H. Doran,
1924); H. Louis Ginsberg, The Israelian Heritage of Judaism (New York: Jewish Theologi-
cal Seminary of America, 1982); and Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11 (AB 5; New
York: Doubleday, 1991), 44–57.
15
Unless indicated, all translations follow njps.
16
See Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication
Society, 1968), 3.91.
17
Although Exodus 24 is separated by a legal collection from the main sections
concerning revelation in ch. 19 and the end of ch. 20, many scholars believe that it
originally preceded the revelation on Sinai as well, and was separated because there
were too many traditions to place before the Decalogue.
18
See, e.g., Robert Polzin, Moses and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic
History Part One: Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges (New York: Seabury, 1980), 25–72; and Patrick
D. Miller, “ ‘Moses My Servant’: The Deuteronomic Portrait of Moses,” in A Song
of Power and the Power of Song: Essays on the Book of Deuteronomy (ed. D. L. Christensen;
Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1993), 301–12 (= Int 41 [1987]: 245–55).
 “fire, cloud, and deep darkness” 19

2. Deuteronomy conflates various (contradictory) sources

Nehemiah 9:13, which conflates the contradictory ideas that God speaks
from heaven and from Mt. Sinai, illustrates the manner in which later
texts may combine different, or even contradictory traditions from
earlier sources. This idea stands behind this essay’s title, which quotes
Deut 5:22: “Fire, Cloud, and Deep Darkness.” Some verses in Exodus
describe a fire on Sinai. This is clear in Exod 19:18, “for the Lord had
come down upon it in fire.” It is also assumed by the burning “bush”
story in Exodus 3. The Hebrew term ‫ סנה‬is often mistranslated as a
(generic) “bush”—it is instead a particular type of bush,19 chosen to
resonate with the name Sinai.20 This episode in Exodus 3 prefigures the
revelation at Sinai21—in fact, the reason that the bush does not burn
is to prefigure that the next burning holy object will be a mountain,
which cannot burn! In addition to burning fires, darkness is important
in the Exodus texts; for example, in 19:9 we have a “cloud,” as in Deut
5:22. Exod 20:21 mentions “deep darkness.” It is unclear what image
the Deuteronomist had in mind by conflating fire, cloud, and darkness,
elements that do not easily fit together, but it is clear that they have
been conflated.
Deut 5:4–5 presents a much more confusing conflation:
(4) Face to face the Lord spoke to you on the mountain out of the
fire—(5) I stood between the Lord and you at that time to convey the
Lord’s words to you, for you were afraid of the fire and did not go up
the mountain—saying.
Many scholars see almost all of v. 5 as a secondary addition, and
believe that v. 4 was originally followed by “saying.”22 There are other
cases where Deuteronomy conflates sources to yield a cumbersome or
grammatically problematic new text.23 This is likely the case here as
well—our author wanted to combine the contradictory ideas that God

19
HALOT, 760.
20
See the literature cited in William H. C. Propp, Exodus 1–18 (AB 2; New York:
Doubleday, 1998), 199.
21
On prefiguration, see Marc Z. Brettler, The Creation of History in Ancient Israel
(London: Routledge, 1995), 48–61.
22
See the discussion in Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11, 240; and Sommer,
“Revelation at Sinai,” 434–35.
23
See the example of ‫ עליו‬in Deut 16:3, and the discussion in Bernard M. Levinson,
Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York: Oxford University Press,
1998), 82–88.
20 marc zvi brettler

spoke (Exod 20:1) and that Moses, rather than God spoke because the
people were afraid of God’s voice (20:19). So our author says both.

3. Deuteronomy takes an idea that is found in its sources as a peripheral notion

and turns it into a central notion

The central notion of Deuteronomy 5 is the role of Moses as covenant

mediator and law-giver. This is clear, for example, in v. 5, “I stood
between the Lord and you at that time to convey the Lord’s words to
you,” and in the end of the chapter, where God approves rather than
disapproves of the people’s request (v. 27), “You go closer and hear
all that the Lord our God says, and then you tell us everything that
the Lord our God tells you, and we will willingly do it.” Moses plays
a much less significant role in Exodus. Deuteronomy has taken Exod
19:9a, “And the Lord said to Moses, ‘I will come to you in a thick
cloud, in order that the people may hear when I speak with you and
so trust you ever after,’” and makes this idea much more central.24
The same principle may be seen by comparing the use of the word
“fire” in both sources. “Fire” appears once in the Exodus Sinai pericope
(19:18). In contrast, it appears seven times in Deuteronomy 5.25 The
Deuteronomist has moved a peripheral element of his source to the
center. Perhaps this change is connected with Deuteronomy’s image of
YHWH as a “consuming fire.”26

4. Deuteronomy picks up on the terminology of its sources,

but uses the same word or phrase in a way that is different from Exodus

It is very difficult to translate the word ‫ יראה‬with its various nuances

into English.27 Most often, it refers to fear, a mental attitude. There
are, however, cases where is seems to have a broader, perhaps techni-
cal meaning connected to following God or his laws. The semantic
development is clear—laws may be followed, or may express, fear of

24
This is suggested somewhat tentatively in Richard D. Nelson, Deuteronomy (OTL;
Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), 77.
25
“Fire” appears another 7 times in ch. 4.
26
See Deut 4:24; 9:3.
27
On the range of meaning of ‫ ירא‬when used in reference to God, see H. F. Fuhs,
“‫ירא‬,” TDOT 6:290–315.
 “fire, cloud, and deep darkness” 21

God and his punishment, yet these two senses, fear and law observ-
ance, are quite distinct.
In Exodus, after the giving of the Decalogue, the people fear God:
“when the people saw it, they fell back and stood at a distance” (20:18).
Moses responds to them two verses later (v. 20): “Moses answered the
people, ‘Be not afraid; for God has come only in order to test you, and
in order that the fear of Him may be ever with you, so that you do
not go astray.’” As the translation makes clear, the context is referring
to gut fear of the numinous.
Deuteronomy transforms the whole episode after the Decalogue in
several ways. It makes it longer and more detailed, and significantly,
views the response of Israel, which Exodus describes in a negative light,
in a positive light. What has not been adequately emphasized, however,
is the reinterpretation that ‫ יראה‬undergoes as a result.28 Deut 5:29 reads:
“May they always be of such mind, to revere (‫ )ליראה‬Me and follow
all My commandments, that it may go well with them and with their
children forever!” The same root ‫ ירא‬is used from the earlier source,
but it is used in its technical sense of following the commandments,
as made clear in what follows, to “follow all My commandments.” If
Deut 6:1–3 is also part of the unit beginning in ch. 5,29 it is significant
that there too we read in v. 2 “so that you may revere (‫ )תירא‬the Lord
your God and follow all His laws and commandments” (njps revised).
Deuteronomy has transformed ‫ יראה‬from fear to reverence. It has not
changed the word, but its revision of context has changed what the
word means.
A similar transformation likely occurs with the word ‫קול‬.30 In Exodus,
this homonymous, or at least polysemic root, clearly means thunder
in 19:16, where it is paired with ‫וברקים‬, “and lightning.” The same
is probably true after the giving of the Decalogue, where we read in
20:18: “All the people witnessed the thunder and lightning”31 ( jps).
Exod 19:19b, ‫ משה ידבר והאלהים יעננו בקול‬is ambiguous: kjv, e.g.,
translates “a voice,” while jps and nrsv translate “thunder.” In sum, the
word ‫ קול‬is never clearly used in Exodus in the sense of the revelatory
voice of God.

28
See Arie Toeg, Lawgiving at Sinai ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1977; Heb.), 133.
29
This is the opinion of most scholars; see, e.g., Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11, 327.
30
See Sommer, “Revelation at Sinai,” 433.
31
For a more recent discussion of the possible meanings of ‫קול‬, see Azzan Yadin,
“‫ קול‬as Hypostasis in the Hebrew Bible,” JBL 122 (2003): 601–26.
22 marc zvi brettler

In contrast, the same word ‫ קול‬is used in a different sense after the
Decalogue in Deuteronomy:
(21) and said, “The Lord our God has just shown us His majestic Pres-
ence, and we have heard His voice (‫ )קול‬out of the fire; we have seen
this day that man may live though God has spoken to him. (22) Let us
not die, then, for this fearsome fire will consume us; if we hear the voice
(‫ )קול‬of the Lord our God any longer, we shall die. (23) For what mortal
ever heard the voice (‫ )קול‬of the living God speak out of the fire, as we
did, and lived?
Here, ‫ קול‬is clearly transformed from thunder to voice. And in case
this meaning is not clear enough here, it is emphasized two verses later,
when we see the same word used of the nation’s voice:
The Lord heard the voice (‫ )קול‬of your words when you spoke to me,
and the Lord said to me, ‘I have heard the voice (‫ )קול‬of the words that
this people spoke to you; they did well to speak thus’” (njps revised).
Here, ‫ קול‬can by no means mean thunder. Thus, as with the root
‫ירא‬, to “fear/revere,” Deuteronomy has retained an earlier term, but
changed its meaning significantly. Deuteronomy is conservative in its
use of the old term, but radical in changing its meaning.

5. Deuteronomy moves narrative material from its original place to a

different place

In Exodus, the request for Moses to act as an intermediary is men-

tioned only after the Decalogue. The Decalogue itself is presented as
uttered by God—20:1: “God spoke all these words, saying.” Given
that the people object to hearing God’s voice at the end of ch. 20,
the chapter as a whole is ambiguous—at what point does Moses take
over from God? This obvious issue was dealt with in classical Jewish
interpretation.32 In its retelling Deuteronomy also notes the role of
Moses as intermediary after the Decalogue, but it also moves this idea
to before the Decalogue, stating in 5:5: “I [Moses] stood between the
Lord and you at that time to convey the Lord’s words to you, for you
were afraid of the fire and did not go up the mountain—saying.” It

32
James L. Kugel, The Bible as it Was (Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 1997), 376–77.
 “fire, cloud, and deep darkness” 23

thus suggests here33 that Moses had the role of intermediary from the
very beginning of the revelation of the Decalogue.
A different type of transfer of material is seen in the notice in 5:23
that “the mountain was ablaze with fire.” This is not expressed anywhere
in the Sinai pericope, but is noted concerning the burning “bush” in
Exod 3:2: “and there was a bush ablaze with fire” (njps revised). The
author of Deuteronomy 5 understood properly that Exodus 3 was
meant to prefigure Sinai/Horeb, and thus moved the Exodus 3 phrase
to Deuteronomy 5.

6. Deuteronomy, as a treaty concerned with laws,

uses narrative material concerning Horeb to substantiate laws given later

Unlike the Exodus pericope, which is focussed on revelation itself, and in

some cases the reception of a body of law, there are at least two specific
laws that stand behind the current phraseology of the Horeb pericope
in Deuteronomy.34 The first of these is the law in 18:14–22, concerning
the true prophet. That law explicitly mentions Horeb (18:16): “This is
just what you asked of the Lord your God at Horeb, on the day of the
Assembly, saying, ‘Let me not hear the voice of the Lord my God any
longer or see this wondrous fire anymore, lest I die.’ ” In the same way
that the law in ch. 18 is cast with Deuteronomy 5 in mind, Deuteronomy
5 is cast with the law of the prophet in mind; this is suggested by the
close verbal similarities between Deut 5:27 (Eng. 24) and 31 (Eng. 28)
and ch. 18; the former are constructed to anticipate the law of the
prophet, and the role of Moses as the prototypical prophet.
A second law that the Horeb pericope hints at is the recitation of the
law every seven years at Sukkot according to Deuteronomy 31—what
is called haqhēl in later Jewish tradition, following the words of Deut
31:12: “Gather (‫ )הקהל‬the people.” It is likely that the law there relates
to calling Israel a “congregation” or ‫ קהל‬in 5:22. The similarity between
the language for following the law in ch. 5 and 31:12b, “that they may
hear and so learn to revere the Lord your God and to observe faithfully
every word of this Teaching” also suggests that the two passages are

33
For a different tradition, see 5:22.
34
In some sense, then, Deuteronomy is hinting ahead to Jubilees, which integrates
law into the narrative in a more systematic and obvious fashion. On the importance of
law and laws in Deuteronomy, see James L. Kugel, “Some Unanticipated Consequences
of the Sinai Revelation: A Religion of Laws,” 1–13 of this volume, esp. 3, 12.
24 marc zvi brettler

interrelated, and that in its current form, Deuteronomy 5 is also inter-

ested in hinting ahead at this law concerning gathering or ‫הקהל‬.

7. Deuteronomy fundamentally recasts its source material to foster the notion that
“hearing (rather than seeing) is believing”

I have already discussed this idea in detail elsewhere in relation to

Deuteronomy 4.35 Deuteronomy can be characterized as super-aniconic,
and as insisting very, very strongly that God is incorporeal—after all,
it is only God’s name that resides in the Temple.36 Seeing is a central
part of the Sinai material in Exodus—for example, 20:18 notes: “All
the people witnessed [lit. “saw”] the thunder and lightning, the blare
of the horn and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw
it, they fell back and stood at a distance.” Exod 24:10 and 11 claim,
“and they [Moses, Aaron, Nadab, Avihu, and the seventy elders] saw
the God of Israel . . . they beheld God;” those phrases are even more
straightforward and emphatic. The assumption that God is visible also
appears several times in ch. 19, e.g., in v. 11: “Let them be ready for
the third day; for on the third day the Lord will come down, in the
sight of all the people, on Mount Sinai.”
Deuteronomy knows these texts, I believe, but will have none of the
idea that they express. That is why Deut 5:1 opens in an auditory, “hear,
O Israel,” and continues “which I speak into your ears today” (transla-
tion mine). In v. 4, God speaks only. In contrast with Exodus, which
uses the verb ‫ראה‬, “to see,” after recounting the Decalogue, Deut 5:22
notes: “The Lord spoke (‫ )דבר‬these words . . . with a mighty voice . . . ”
Later in that same unit, the people don’t talk about fear of seeing God,
as we might expect, but of hearing him (vv. 25–26; Eng. 22–23):
(22) Let us not die, then, for this fearsome fire will consume us; if we
hear the voice of the Lord our God any longer, we shall die. (23) For
what mortal ever heard the voice of the living God speak out of the fire,
as we did, and lived?

35
Brettler, “A ‘Literary Sermon.’ ” For a discussion of this issue in post-biblical lit-
erature, see Steven D. Fraade, “Hearing and Seeing at Sinai: Interpretive Trajectories,”
247–268 of this volume.
36
On this belief, see Tryggve N. D. Mettinger, The Dethronement of Sabaoth: Studies in
the Shem and Kabod Theologies (CBOT 18; Lund: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1982), 38–79.
 “fire, cloud, and deep darkness” 25

In fact, there is a great preponderance of words of hearing in these

post-Decalogue verses in Deuteronomy 5; more than twenty occurrences
of speak (‫)דבר‬, hear (‫)שמע‬, and voice (‫ )קול‬are found at the end of
Deuteronomy 5. Revelation there is an auditory experience only. Even
when the verb “to see (‫)ראה‬,” is used, it emphasizes the auditory, as in
5:24b, ‫היום הזה ראינו כי־ידבר אלהים‬, “We have seen today that God can
speak” (my translation). The author of Deuteronomy 5 is rebalancing
the sensory experience of his source so that it fits his theology—instead
of both seeing and hearing causing belief, as in Exodus, only hearing
is believing.

8. Deuteronomy plays a careful balancing act,

giving the Decalogue and the earlier revelation of law some importance,
but it gives it less importance than its sources

In contrast to the Covenant Collection in Exodus, which does not contain

legislation that contradicts the Decalogue, we read in Deut 7:9–10:
(9) Know, therefore, that only the Lord your God is God, the steadfast
God who keeps His covenant faithfully to the thousandth generation of
those who love Him and keep His commandments, (10) but who instantly
requites with destruction those who reject Him—never slow with those
who reject Him, but requiting them instantly.
This repetitive and emphatic statement is, as Fishbane has noted, a
polemic against what it says in the Decalogue concerning intergenera-
tional punishment.37 The fact that such a polemic could exist suggests
that for the Deuteronomist, the Decalogue and the surrounding material
was not of the greatest importance. In fact, Horeb is not mentioned
very frequently in Deuteronomy, and one of the references, in 9:8,
is negative: “At Horeb you so provoked the Lord that the Lord was
angry enough with you to have destroyed you.” In the eyes of the
Deuteronomist, Horeb is in part a place of anger and destruction; this
may explain why it may feel comfortable disputing part of the Deca-
logue, the centerpiece of the revelation. It is also likely that the next
principle played some role in allowing the Deuteronomist to disagree
with the Decalogue.

37
Michael Fishbane, “Torah and Tradition,” in Tradition and Theology in the Old Testa-
ment (ed. D. A. Knight; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1977), 279–80.
26 marc zvi brettler

9. Deuteronomy fundamentally recasts its source material to justify its core

idea that the Mosaic discourse in year 40 is more important than the
Sinai/Horeb event

One of the final verses in Deuteronomy, 28:69, reflects Deuteronomy’s

ambivalent attitude toward Horeb: “These are the terms of the covenant
which the Lord commanded Moses to conclude with the Israelites in
the land of Moab, in addition to the covenant which He had made
with them at Horeb.” In other words, revelation at Horeb is only one
of two bĕrîtôt or covenants, and at least according to Deuteronomy,
is the less important of the two.38 The end of Deuteronomy 5 says,
in essence, that public revelation by God at Horeb was a bad idea—
revelation through a prophet like Moses is a better idea. A significant
phrase in Deuteronomy consists of the root to command (‫ צוה‬in the
piel) alongside “today” (‫ )היום‬hayom—it is attested over 25 times.39 It
makes a simple point—what Moses is commanding “today,” namely
at the end of the period of wandering, is much more important than
what was commanded then, at Horeb.
This observation concerning the diminished place of Horeb in Deu-
teronomy as compared with other Torah sources means that a final issue
we need to consider in looking at various post-biblical interpretations
is: How important is revelation at Sinai?—after all, it cannot simply
be assumed to be central, as does later Judaism.40 Deuteronomy offers
us an important warning that we must be careful not to buy into the
rabbinic view, and the view of parts of Exodus, that Sinai is the key bib-
lical event. We must remember von Rad’s claim in “The Form-Critical
Problem of the Hexateuch” that the Sinai material is secondary.41 As
significant a source as the Deuteronomist42 might not recognize this
conference’s title, “The Giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai”—he

38
The discussion about the relative value of the different covenants in Deuteronomy
in Toeg, Lawgiving at Sinai, 122, 133, is very instructive.
39
Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1972), 356, #7.
40
The centrality of Sinai is the theme of Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Develop-
ment of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism ( JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003).
41
Gerhard von Rad, “The Form-Critical Problem of the Hexateuch,” in The Problem
of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (trans. E. W. Trueman Dicken; London: SCM Press,
1984), 13–20; see esp. 13–14 on Wellhausen’s geographical observation suggesting
already that the Sinai pericope is secondary.
42
I am here sidestepping the issue of the number of Deuteronomists, and in fact,
whether the term is still helpful; see most recently Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deu-
 “fire, cloud, and deep darkness” 27

certainly would have been happier with a symposium on the giving of

the Torah opposite Beit Pe’or.43
This quick survey highlights certain issues concerning Deuteronomy
that are relevant to post-biblical interpretations: which biblical sources
they prioritize, to what extent they tolerate contradictory biblical views,
which peripheral notions are moved into the center, which biblical
phrases are used in later sources in a way that differs from their bibli-
cal use, to what extent do specific legal concerns enter the narrative of
Sinai/Horeb, are auditory or visual experiences the key, and is Sinai or
Horeb a central or peripheral event? Exploration of these issues might
allow us to begin to sort and categorize interpretative traditions about
Sinai. It would also help answer a question which continues to intrigue
me as a critical biblical scholar who is interested as well in post-biblical
interpretation: which of the many biblical perspectives on such crucial
narratives as Sinai “won” in post-biblical literature, and why?

teronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T & T Clark
International, 2006).
43
See Deut 4:46. For the afterlife of this idea, see George J. Brooke, “Moving
Mountains: From Sinai to Jerusalem,” 73–90 of this volume.
 PRIESTLY PROPHETS AT QUMRAN:
SUMMONING SINAI THROUGH THE SONGS OF THE
SABBATH SACRIFICE

Judith H. Newman
University of Toronto, Canada

What would occasion songs in the liturgical life of the Qumran com-
munity? One could well imagine that given their seeming estrangement
from the priesthood in Jerusalem and its temple praxis, laments, or qinot,
would have been a much more appropriate response to their situation
in the wilderness. And indeed, of the great quantity of liturgical texts
found at Qumran, the number designated as shir is rare.1 The collec-
tion known as Shirot Olat haShabbat constitute a significant exception.2
The nine fragmentary copies of the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice found
at Qumran, eight from cave 4, one from cave 1, not to mention the
text found at Masada, argue for their central role in Qumran ritual life.
But what role was that? In her most recent writing on the purpose of
the Shirot, Carol Newsom has suggested that
The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice provide the means by which those who
read and heard it could receive not merely communion with angels but a
virtual experience of presence in the heavenly temple among the angelic
priests . . . the text readily may be understood as a means of enhancing
the sense of priestly identity through its vivid description of the Israelite
priesthood’s angelic counterparts.3

1
Of the twenty-two occurrences of shir in the so-called non-biblical texts, ten occur
in headings of the Shirot Olat Hashabbat, three occur in the prose Psalms piece, “David’s
Compositions,” two appear in the Songs of the Sage and there are singular mentions in
3Q6 1, 2; 4Q418 (4QInstruction); 4Q433; 4Q448. There are seven occurrences of the
plural form shirot, all in the liturgical/calendrical text 4Q334 and one in 4Q433a ; the
masculine plural construct occurs in 11Q13 II, 10 though with some question about
the final yod; data from Martin Abegg, et al., The Dead Sea Scrolls Concordance (Leiden:
Brill, 2003).
2
The noun can be masculine or feminine, a distinguishable feature of biblical
songs that was interpreted with eschatological significance in the rabbinic literature
and likely influenced early Christian use of odes; see James Kugel, “Is there but One
Song?” Bib 63 (1982): 329–50.
3
Carol Newsom, “Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” EDSS 2:889. Much the same
idea is expressed in her earlier article, “He Has Established For Himself Priests,” in
30 judith h. newman

Others have largely followed Newsom in this characterization, and

her work on the Shirot remains indispensable, yet it seems more could
be said. The Shirot have also often been characterized with the later
trends of Hekhalot and Merkavah mysticism in mind, such that we have
them described as “songs meant to engender mystical communion with
the angels,” or as “mystical songs.”4 These characterizations remain
somewhat vague and perhaps even suggest a kind of passivity or other-
worldliness not otherwise characteristic of the zealous, ascetic sectarians
whose writings and practices reflect a vivid concern for political and
material matters in the here and now.
Although any thesis about the use of these elusive compositions
must remain tentative, I mean to suggest a more specific role for their
use and argue that the thirteen Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, which are
tied to the first quarter of the solar year, served at Qumran as a trans-
formative and preparatory rite in the community that prepared those
who participated in it for the all-important festival of Shavuot and its
calendrical cultic aftermath, including the full vesting of the consecrated
priesthood on the thirteenth Sabbath in breastplate and other sacred
garments. The complete season included reception of the divine spirit
by the purified elect and the production of new scriptural interpreta-
tion through oracular means, perhaps especially toward the end on the
fourteen days between Shavuot and the summer solstice. Their purpose
was thus to summon the immanent presence of the divine glory first
revealed at Sinai anew, though in a new locale and with a decidedly
priestly-prophetic inflection through the influence of Isaiah, Ezekiel,
and Elijah. The scriptural account of the revelation at Sinai in Exodus
is recognized as a notoriously difficult narrative to comprehend because
of its complex incorporation of various traditions. In the case of the
Shirot, the influence of Sinai is seen not in a distinct mention of the
wildernesss mountain nor of the covenant mediator Moses himself, but
more obliquely in the priestly kabod tradition associated with a visual and

Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory
of Yigael Yadin (ed. L. H. Schiffman; JSPSup 8; Sheffield: Sheffield University Press,
1990), 115–16.
4
Esther G. Chazon has rightly suggested that the view of Ithamar Gruenwald,
Rachel Elior, and now we might add Philip Alexander, that proposes a trajectory
between the priestly Qumran community to the merkavah mystics makes some good
sense, but the situation was likely more complicated; see her “Human and Angelic
Prayer in Light of the Scrolls,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the
Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. E. Chazon; STDJ 48; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 35–47, esp. 46–47.
 priestly prophets at qumran 31

mobile manifestation of divine glory which threads its way through the
Sinai narrative emphasizing the mediating leadership of both prophet
Moses and priest Aaron (inter alia Exod 16:7–10; 24:16–17).5 The locale
for revelation has thus shifted from a desert mountaintop to a wilder-
ness sanctuary as refracted through another Israelite mountain, Zion,
and other scriptural traditions as well.6
The ritual function of the Shirot in their particular instantiation at
Qumran may be thought to comprehend three elements: their liturgical
function as texts in the “worship” of the community, their instructional
function as part of a “catechesis” in morally shaping the community,
and their theurgic function as both “inspired” and “inspirational” com-
positions that stimulate the production of additional sacred teachings
and ultimately texts.7 As used at least during part of the history of the
inhabitation of Qumran, the members of the Ya ad were sufficiently
purified during the course of the cycle so that by the seventh Sab-
bath, the congregation had become fully transformed from a group of
embodied men to a symbolic miqdash adam, a sanctuary of men who
understood themselves to have escaped the concerns of the flesh.8 Within

5
Explicit association of the Torah with Moses is rare in the Qumran literature.
The phrase “torah of Moses” appears only eight times, five in the Damascus Document
in the space of two chapters (CD XV, 2, 9, 12; XVI, 25), twice in the Community Rule
(1QS V, 8; VIII, 22) and once in 4Q513. Moses is mentioned by name in connection
with his mediation of the Torah four times (1QS VIII, 15; 4Q364 14, 4; 4Q382 104,
7; 4Q504 4, 8). The book of Jubilees, clearly important at Qumran, depicts Moses as
mediator of a Sinai revelation that comprises much more than the content of the biblical
Pentateuch to include traditions of practice and belief of a contemporaneous Jewish
community. In that sense, the “biblical Moses” is co-opted in Jubilees into the service
of the second century b.c.e. “Moses” responsible for its authorship. As this essay seeks
in part to argue, the scarcity of authority connected explicitly with Moses at Qumran
reflects the donning of the prophetic mantle by priestly leaders of the community.
6
On the nature of this shift, see elsewhere in this volume, George J. Brooke, “Mov-
ing Mountains: From Sinai to Jerusalem.”
7
The role of the Shirot in shaping the sectarians through worship may be under-
stood as one part of the community’s ethical imperatives, on which see Marcus Tso,
“The Giving of the Law at Sinai and the Ethics of the Qumran Community,” in this
volume, esp. 124–126.
8
The sectarian ideal of the community as a divinely constructed and sanctified
temple is evident in a number of texts, rooted interpretively in Exod 15:17–18 and the
play on “house” in 2 Sam 7:10–13 and articulated in Qumran literature in 4QFlorile-
gium (4Q174 III, 6–7) and CD III, 12–IV, 4. For more, see George J. Brooke, “Miqdash
Adam, Eden and the Qumran Community,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: Community without
Temple (ed. B. Ego, A. Lange, P. Pilhofer; WUNT 118; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999),
285–301 and Devorah Dimant “4Q Florilegium and the Idea of the Community as
Temple,” in Hellenica et Judaica (ed. A. Caquot; Leuven: Peeters, 1986), 165–89. The
view taken in this essay, then, is quite distinct from the recent perspective argued by
32 judith h. newman

that figured space a priestly leadership performed its duties, whose own
liturgical telos was ultimately to offer inspired compositions in imitatio
angelorum, the hosts who had commenced their continuous song of praise
upon witnessing the creation. Perhaps a better characterization would
be to liken the priests to malakhim because they became prophetic mes-
sengers in the classic tongue of Hebrew through their divinely inspired
utterances. While detailed argumentation about the calendrical cycle and
its relation to the liturgical performance must await another essay, to
support a more limited thesis, I will consider their sequential structure
as reflected in some particular features of language as a progressive
movement in liturgical time, space, and energy.

Mapping the Genre: the Distinctive Shape of the Shirot

A brief consideration of the genre of the Shirot must set the stage.
The significance of their distinctiveness and its implications for estab-
lishing their possible liturgical function is often given insufficient or
imprecisely described attention by scholars. This seems especially to

P. Alexander, who views the temple of the Shirot as a spiritual, celestial temple created
by the praises of the angels. Praises are not in fact offered but described in the Shirot,
and the two mentions of “heaven” in the Shirot do not refer to the temple; (4Q400
2, 4; 4Q401 14, I, 6); see his Mystical Texts (LSTS 61; London: T & T Clark, 2006),
29–32. He draws support for his argument in part from a comparison with writ-
ings of the later merkavah mystics, which seems methodologically unsound; see n. 9
below. Rather, in my view, according to the sectarian understanding, just as good or
bad spirits may possess individuals, so too spirits inhabit the material temple of men,
which is understood figuratively as the divine temple. In the temple of men, as in the
temple of stone in Jerusalem, the priests understood themselves as serving like angels
(Mal 2:7). An assumption of this paper not argued in detail is that the liturgical cycle
of the Shirot reflects an increasing blurring of distinctions between angels and men,
angels and God, temple features and human features. Such blurring of boundaries
between God and angels was not a new feature of Qumran ideology and practice,
but one of longstanding in ancient Israel; on this phenomenon, see James Kugel,
The God of Old: Inside the Lost World of the Bible (New York: The Free Press, 2003), esp.
ch. 2, “The Moment of Confusion,” 5–36. The identification of priests as angels is not
prominent in the Hebrew Bible although clearly in evidence in the sectarian scrolls;
see the insightful essay by Devorah Dimant, “Men as Angels: The Self-Image of the
Qumran Community,” in Religion and Politics (ed. A. Berlin; Bethesda, MD: University
of Maryland Press, 1996), 93–103. She sees an analogy between men and angels as
well as a strict separation between heaven and earth in perhaps overdrawn fashion,
rather than an identification of the two. Dimant argues that the tasks assigned to
the angels as described particularly in the Shirot, corresponds to that of the priests in
the community rules (see in particular her comparative list on 100–1), an argument
substantiated by this essay.
 priestly prophets at qumran 33

be the case among those scholars of Jewish mysticism who wish to

emphasize thematic continuities with later apocalyptic or Hekhalot and
Merkavah literature, often neglecting formal generic differences.9 Such
inattention to genre results in a skewed interpretation of the ritual role
of the Shirot at Qumran.10 Those who have attempted to evaluate the
precise genre and function of the songs have found the task a chal-
lenge, whether trying to connect them in some way to psalms or on
a continuum between psalms and ascent texts.11 The headings of the

9
The tendency to ignore formal, generic differences in favor of thematic or lin-
guistic similarities mars some otherwise excellent studies; see for example Rachel Elior,
The Three Temples: On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism (Oxford: The Littman Library
of Jewish Civilization, 2004). She refers to the Shirot as “angelic songs,” and describes
their performance thus: “The terrestrial chief priests, who had withdrawn from the
Temple, and the heavenly priests of the inner sanctum, who were painted with a
clearly priestly brush, sang together, in a permanent cyclic order, the Songs of the
Sabbath Sacrifice; in a regularly, prescribed daily, weekly, monthly order of set times
they recited psalms, songs, hymns, and Kedushahs, shared by angels and men” (33).
This assumes too much without argumentation about the context for recitation of the
liturgy, in which perhaps the most overt error is that there is no threefold repetition of
qadosh in the Songs, much less a formal Qedushah in any of the forms known from the
traditional Jewish liturgy. Elliot Wolfson, in “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge: Qumran
E/sotericism Recovered,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L.
Kugel (ed. H. Najman and J. H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 177–213,
reflects a similar tendency to Elior in reading mysticism into the Shirot and overempha-
sizes the individual’s role in the presumed mystical experience engendered by the Shirot,
perhaps influenced by the privatized role of the Hekhalot and other mystical texts in
later Jewish tradition rather than the corporate nature of the Qumran liturgy in which
the worshippers take part as a communal act, as an integrated Ya ad. His reading of
the language of the Shirot is itself nuanced and insightful, although when it comes to
describing the Shirot’s liturgical function, Wolfson fluctuates between acknowledgment
that the community as a whole plays a part in generating the liturgy and an emphasis
on individual, solipsistic experience in describing the role of the “visionary poet and
inspired exegete” who alone imagines the temple. Similarly, and intriguingly sugges-
tive yet problematic, focused as it is on the maskil, is his characterization of the link
between inspired exegesis and liturgy. Wolfson’s essay was developed in conversation
with Hindy Najman, who herself does not discuss the details of the instantiated liturgy,
but points to a general interconnection between revelation and prayer at Qumran and
among the Therapeutae in her recent “Towards a Study of the Concept of Wilderness
in Ancient Judaism,” DSD 13 (2006): 99–113 especially 109–10. By contrast, Michael
D. Swartz offers a more careful assessment of the formal characteristics of the Shirot
in his article, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and Later Jewish Magic and Mysticism,” DSD
8 (2001): 182–93.
10
It is important to recognize that each liturgical performance is unique to its con-
text and dynamic in the sense that such performances evolve over time depending on
the participants and a host of additional contextual factors. Let my use of the term
“liturgical function” thus serve as shorthand for this broader consideration.
11
Daniel K. Falk, Daily, Sabbath, & Festival Prayers in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 27;
Leiden: Brill, 1998), 133. He draws some formal comparisons with biblical psalms, in
particular the fact that the plural imperative ‫ הללו‬hallelu form which begins each song
34 judith h. newman

Songs offer the most uniform element of the compositions. The head-
ings that survive commence with “for the sage,” lammaskil, continuing
with a date formula: “the song of the whole burnt offerings of the xth
Sabbath on the yth day of the zth month.” A call to praise in the form
of a second person plural imperative follows: hallelu. The texts from
each Sabbath vary considerably in length and content. Yet while each
of the Shirot begins with a call to praise, they do not contain actual
words of praise, angelic or human, but rather are almost entirely in
the form of third-person description or second-person exhortation to
praise for which there is no precise parallel in the history of Jewish
mysticism or liturgy.12
One final point to be made about the unique genre of the Shirot
relates to the oft-made comparison to later Merkavah and Hekhalot litera-
ture. While the Songs doubtless belong to the same complex stream of
Jewish tradition which reflects an interest in the human experience of
the enthroned divine king in the heavenly realm as described in Isaiah,
Ezekiel and some enthronement psalms, there is a significant difference
between the Shirot and Jewish mystical texts of a later era. The texts of
the Merkavah and Hekhalot feature long hymns of praise often includ-
ing the scriptural elements (Isa 6:3 and Ezek 3:12) that would later be
incorporated into Jewish liturgy as the Qedushah. The words offered by
the angels in praise as well as the formal element of the Qedushah are
absent from the Shirot. As Newsom notes, “such differences are scarcely
accidental.”13 The Songs concern themselves with the activity of the

is rare in the Qumran corpus aside from the Shirot. While comparing the Shirot to other
songs offered on a Sabbath, he also recognizes their unique character. In terms of their
function, Falk suggests that the single instance of a first person plural form in 4Q400
2, 7 “implies that not only are the songs to be recited communally but they are to be
said by the human community”. It is not clear that a single instance of a first plural
form would permit this inference for the entire collection. A second claim that “the
style of the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice seems intended to engender ecstatic praise”
is more cogent but left undeveloped; Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and Festival Prayers, 135.
12
Crispin H. T. Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam: Liturgical Anthropology in the Dead
Sea Scrolls (STDJ 42; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 259.
13
Carol Newsom, “Mysticism,” EDSS 1:594. On the other hand, her suggestion
that the lack of a Qedushah in the Shirot may possibly suggest a polemical rejection by
the authors of the Songs against such inclusion elsewhere errs in positing a formal
Qedushah in Jewish liturgy at this early date in the first century b.c.e., for which there
is no support from the literature. On the entry of the qedushah into Jewish liturgy, see
Ezra Fleischer, “The Diffusion of the Qedushot of the Amidah and the Yo er in the
Palestinian Ritual,” Tarbiz 38 (1969): 255–84 and D. Flusser, “Jewish Roots of the
Liturgical Trishagion,” Immanuel 3 (1973–74): 37–49. Owing to the first appearance
of two variant forms of the Qedushah/Sanctus in the Apostolic Constitutions, I have
 priestly prophets at qumran 35

angelic priests in praising God rather than the words of the angels
themselves. If the larger thesis of this essay is correct, the significance
of that omission is that the Songs point beyond themselves to the active
composition of new “songs” and other “offerings of the Sabbath” by
those commissioned by the inspired angelic priests during the course
of the liturgy, compositions that are enabled by esoteric knowledge and
which are not disseminated to hoi polloi.
The fact that the Songs defy neat genre classification as a unique set
of compositions both in formal elements and the character of their
language then suggests implications for the evaluation of their function.
Newsom’s more recent work on the Hodayot provides a helpful model
in considering genre as a more elastic concept and a part of discourse
that embraces all text and practices generally.14 Given this suggestion
of taxonomic elasticity, the Shirot may be considered as participating in
genre, so that they may be invoking in some sense other uses of “songs”
in the Jewish tradition or elsewhere, yet they must be understood against
the backdrop of the sectarians’ ideology, practices, and expectations.
Thus, sensitivity to the way in which the language both resonates with
other sectarian texts, thus inculcating the ethos of the group within a
liturgical context, and also may be in tension with the discursive prac-
tices of other Jewish communities, provides a useful way of placing the
Shirot in their broader socio-historical context.15 In order to support the
thesis more fully, it will be helpful to consider some unique features of
the Songs in their language and structure.

The Body Language of the Shirot

One overall point about their language may be made at the outset in
order to consider the Shirot in relation to other literature used uniquely

argued that the first liturgical use of the Qedushah was in Christian worship, adapted
from its appearance in apocalyptic contexts and reflecting the realized eschatological
perspective of the community; Judith H. Newman, “Holy, holy, holy: The Use of Isa
6:3 in AposCon 7:35.1–10 and AposCon 8.12.6–27,” in Of Scribes and Sages: Early Jewish
Interpretation and Transmission of Scripture, vol. 2 Later Versions and Traditions (ed. C. A. Evans;
SSEJC 9; LSTS 51; London: T & T Clark International, 2004), 123–34.
14
Carol Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at
Qumran (STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004).
15
For a discussion of the ways in which scripturally-larded discourse of the com-
munity might serve to reinforce its sectarian values, see Newsom, “How to Make a
Sectarian,” Self as Symbolic Space, 91–190.
36 judith h. newman

by the sectarians at Qumran. Much ink has been spilled by scholars

in attempts to elucidate the nature and function of the Songs. If no
blood has been shed in the academic skirmishes about the human or
angelic nature of those who may have participated in the liturgical
performances of the Shirot, perhaps this is owing to the incorporeal
character of the language in the texts themselves. Except for the flutter
of wings in the twelfth song, the principal body part mentioned aside
from a few mouths, lips, and God’s hand at one point, is the tongue, or
more precisely in this communal liturgical composition, a plurality, or
rather community, of tongues. The Shirot display a decided avoidance of
flesh and blood but an enhanced if sometimes obscure portrayal of the
relationship among spirits, priests, community members, and angels.
The incorporeal language stands in marked contrast to the concern
for bodies and body parts found throughout the rest of the Qumran
corpus. Many texts concern themselves with the body, whether the
character of its different parts or their appearance or the need for
their disciplinary restraint. George Brooke has discussed the ways in
which concern for body parts among the sectarians manifests itself in
various compositions.16 Barkhi Napshi as well as a range of other texts
are quite focused on body parts: on eyes, on ears, on minds, hearts,
kidneys, livers, fingers, knees, and toes. While Barkhi Napshi may well
be of non-Qumran origin, it seems to have been used by the sectarians
for their own purposes. Brooke compellingly argues that an evalua-
tion of the physical appearance of individuals was determinative of
their entry into the community and subsequent status and the degree
to which they might participate in worship. So too, Philip Alexander
and more recently Mladen Popović have discussed the significance of
physiognomies in reading the human body at Qumran.17 We may also

16
George J. Brooke, “Body Parts in Barkhi Nafshi and the Qualifications for
Membership of the Worshipping Community,” in Sapiential, Liturgical, and Poetical Texts
from Qumran (ed. D. Falk, F. García-Martínez and E. Schuller; STDJ 35; Leiden: Brill,
2000), 79–94. He also discusses 1QSa II, 3–9; 1QM VII, 4–5; 11QTa XLV, 12–14;
4QMMT (4Q394 8 III); CD XV, 15–17 (4Q266 8 I, 7–9); 4Q186; 4Q521; 4Q525;
4Q561; and 4Q534. See as well the work of David Seely, “Barkhi Nafshi,” in Qumran
Cave 4. XX: Poetic and Liturgical Texts, Part 2 (ed. E. Chazon et al.; DJD XXIX; Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1999), 255–334.
17
For a discussion of the ranking of the members of the community based on
physical appearance, see Philip S. Alexander, “Physiognomy, Initiation, and Rank in
the Qumran Community,” in Geschichte—Tradition—Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel
zum 70. Geburtstag (ed. H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger, P. Schäfer; Tübingen: J. C. B.
Mohr, 1996), 385–94. More recently, see Mladen Popović, “Physiognomic Knowledge
 priestly prophets at qumran 37

see the various demonic expulsion and purification rites as the opposite
end of the ritual spectrum from the Shirot, reserved for performance
on the ne’er-do-wells of the community, perhaps before they were sent
packing down to the defiled precincts of Jerusalem, descending at least
from the elevated perspective of the sectarians.18 All this suggests that
the community was quite concerned with measuring and evaluating
bodies and their constituent parts, but not, it seems, on the first thirteen
Sabbaths of the solar year. Those who participated in this Sabbath
liturgy had passed the measurement litmus test of membership among
the sons of light, whether reflected in one’s physiognomy or in some
other sign of healthy spirit.19 Indeed, the Shirot reflect a transcendence
of bodily concerns, presumably because those participating in the liturgy
have gone beyond the concerns of the body by virtue of their ascetical
discipline, at least during the length of the Sabbath, in order to ready
themselves as vessels for reception of revelation. These points can be
substantiated through a closer look at the collection.

Language Clues: Tracing the Progression of the Shirot

The general consensus holds that the Songs can be grouped in three
large sections differentiated by content and style: songs 1–5, songs 6–8,
and songs 9–13. Ambiguity is part and parcel of the rhetorical style
of the Shirot and as the sequence unfolds, the language becomes ever
more challenging to parse because of its loosening syntax. Songs 1–5,
though much of the material is lost, offer a clearer, more uniform syn-
tax and poetic parallelism. The five songs describe the establishment of
the angelic priesthood and its responsibilities as well as an account of
the praise that they offer to God. The central section is considerably

in Qumran and Babylonia: Form, Interdisciplinarity, and Secrecy,” DSD 13 (2006):

150–76 and his book Reading the Human Body: Physiognomics and Astrology in the Dead Sea
Scrolls and Hellenistic-Early Roman Period Judaism (STDJ 67; Leiden: Brill, 2007).
18
An expulsion ritual for major infractions is described in the Damascus Document a
and Damascus Document c (4Q266 11; 4Q270 7 I, 2) and was performed at the annual
ceremony of covenant renewal which occurred on Shavuot.
19
On the importance of the term ‫“( תכון‬measurement”) and the verb ‫“( תכן‬to
measure”) as theological terms that reflect divine measurement in the Qumran lit-
erature, particularly the Rule of the Community and 4QInstruction, see Menahem Kister,
“Physical and Metaphysical Measurements Ordained by God in the Literature of the
Second Temple Period,” in Reworking the Bible: Apocryphal and Related Texts at Qumran (ed.
E. Chazon, D. Dimant and R. Clements; STDJ 58; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 153–76.
38 judith h. newman

different, characterized by a formulaic and repetitious literary structure

which stresses the number seven. The sixth and eighth form an inclusio
around the seventh song. The sixth and eighth to some degree mirror
each other in their formulaic repetition of variations of the Hebrew root
‫ שבע‬by the chief princes. The middle sequence of songs has a greater
dependency on Isaiah and in particular, the seventh song evokes the
throne vision of Isaiah 6 with its commissioning of the prophet. The
last songs 9–13 offer a progressive description of the temple and
the praise offered by its various animated parts, with a further description
of the divine chariot throne with its implied divine presence of kabod,
of the angelic priests, with a final vesting of the high priest. The songs
in the last section largely comprise nominal and participial sentences
with extensive construct chains which defy attempts at straightforward
translation. The final collection engages more language and imagery
from Ezekiel, especially the prophet’s vision of the restored temple in
Jerusalem in Ezekiel 40–48.20
Disagreement remains over the focal point or climax of the songs,
whether in the middle at the seventh song or toward the end of the
series. Some follow Carol Newsom who has argued on stylistic grounds
that the song of the seventh Sabbath constitutes the focal point of the
collection. Those who have argued for a progression have done so on
thematic grounds, arguing that the eleventh and twelfth songs culminate
the cycle with the divine chariot’s descent which corresponds to the tim-
ing of the festival of Shavuot.21 The difficulty with the thematic argument
is that the final song which describes the priestly vestments seems to
some as anti-climactic, yet this ignores the possible significance of the
investiture of the priesthood in the final song.22 It seems most likely that
there is more than one high point. Philip Alexander views the climax

20
For a discussion of some of the architectural language shared by Ezekiel 40–48
and the Shirot, see Carol Newsom, Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice: A Critical Edition (HSS 27;
Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1985), 51–58 and more recently, James R. Davila, “The
Macrocosmic Temple, Scriptural Exegesis, and the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,”
DSD 9 (2002): 1–19 (5–7). Davila argues convincingly that a number of terms used
for the priestly angels in the Shirot derive from the description of the construction of
the temple in 1 Chronicles 28–29.
21
Joseph M. Baumgarten, “ShirShabb and Merkabah Traditions,” 206–7, disa-
grees with Newsom’s triangular arrangement positing the seventh as the culmination.
Baumgarten sees a distinct progression culminating in the thirteenth song, the climax
being the burnt offering.
22
Davila, Liturgical Works, 90, suggests that the thirteenth “functioned as a kind of
coda or denouement that described the heavenly cult of the high-priestly angels.”
 priestly prophets at qumran 39

of the cycle coming toward the end, but is ambivalent about whether
the twelfth song marks the end with its resonances with the descent of
the merkavah, the thirteenth thus functioning as a “coda,” or whether the
thirteenth song marks the climactic point of the liturgy. From his per-
spective, the thirteenth song signifies the “transformation of the mys-
tic,” the maskil at the climax of the ceremony, perhaps supplemented
liturgically by the self-glorification hymn from the Hodayot.23 This a
plausible suggestion, but with some modification. As noted above, the
songs focus not on words of praise to God, but on the angelic-human
priests themselves, in part as a means of bolstering the authority of
priesthood within the community; thus the thirteenth song offers a
fitting conclusion to the series, as Russell Arnold has recently argued.24
Yet the liturgy does more than merely affirm the role of priests in an
angel-like status; it also affirms the authority of their inspired teaching.
The thirteenth song presents the angel-like priests with the maskil as their
head as fully vested and equipped for their oracular performance. We
may thus chart a progression and evolution of the songs with multiple
high points and a culminating conclusion.
Many worthy studies of the language of the Shirot have been pub-
lished, but even these have not sufficiently mined the rich compositions
for their multi-layered intertextual resonances; there are limits to pen-
etration into their esoterica. To support the contention of this essay that
the Songs feature the summoning of a reconstrued Sinai revelation and
to illustrate their liturgical movement in time, the focus will remain on
only certain features of the language in the best preserved specimens,
primarily in the first, seventh, eighth, eleventh, and twelfth songs.

Song for the First Sabbath

The first suggestion of a reconceived Sinai revelation occurs already

in the song for the first Sabbath of the year. The first song concerns
the establishment of the angelic priesthood and its principal functions
of atoning for sin and responsibility for divine teaching. According to
the Temple Scroll, the year began with a New Year Festival (11Q19 XIV,

23
Alexander, Mystical Texts, 50.
24
Russell C. D. Arnold, The Social Role of Liturgy in the Religion of the Qumran Community
(STDJ 60; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 146–48.
40 judith h. newman

7–8), followed by a consecration festival lasting seven days for priests

and high priests (11Q19 XV, 3). The consecration festival would have
coincided with the first Sabbath Song, which is dated to the fourth
day of the first month. The first Sabbath Song seems to reflect the
consecration theme because it contains mention of the human priest-
hood as they reflect on their incomparability with the angelic priests.
The angels are first mentioned in the first part of the song, 4Q400 1
I, 4, as the “servants of the presence” (‫)משרתי פנים‬, a phrase that is
somewhat ambiguous in that elsewhere in the Qumran literature, the
angels of the presence are associated with a segment of the Qumran
community itself. The “servants of the presence” are more commonly
referred to as the “angels of the presence” (‫)מלאכי פנים‬, a phrase
that is interpretively derived in part from the phrase in Isa 63:9 (‫מלאך‬
‫ )פניו‬but also from references in the wilderness and Sinai account in
Exodus in which an angel is sent before (‫ )לפני‬the Israelites; cf. Exod
14:19; 23:20–23; 32:34; 33:2.25 The “servants of the presence” at the
beginning of the first song thus provides a link to the wilderness–Sinai
tradition, not only in Exodus but in its remembered narration through
the prophetic prayer in Isa 63:7–64:12.26
Lines 5 and 15 of 4Q400 1 I mark a clear connection to the lawgiving
at Sinai: “He inscribed his statutes concerning all the works of spirit,”
and “statutes of holiness he inscribed for them.”27 The distinctive root
‫ חרת‬appears in both lines.28 The Masoretic Text of the Hebrew Bible

25
James C. VanderKam, “The Angel of the Presence in the Book of Jubilees,” DSD
7 (2000): 378–93 [385–88]. The Rule of Blessings (1QSb IV, 24–26) and the Hodayot
(1QHa I, 12–13) associate the angels of the presence as “holy ones” with the men of the
council of the Ya ad. A working assumption of this paper is that deliberate ambiguity
is built into much of the Songs’ vocabulary, including identity of the angels/priests/
humans in order to obscure the distinction between them as they are brought into
contact through the liturgy. On the ambiguity of elohim and qedoshim in the Shirot, see
also the comments of James R. Davila, Liturgical Works (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans,
2000), 100–1. Davila notes the use of meshartim (servants) for deified humans in the
eschatological temple in 4Q511 35, 4.
26
For a discussion of the textual and theological difficulties posed by the role of the
“angel of the presence” in Isa 63:9 as reflected in the ancient versions and the verse’s
interpretative interrelation to Exod 23:20–21 as a background to the Shirot, see Davila,
“The Macrocosmic Temple,” 14–16.
27
Translations of the Shirot texts from 4Q follow Newsom’s translations with some
variations as discussed ad loc., “Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” in Qumran Cave 4
VI Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 1 (ed. E. Eshel, H. Eshel, et al.; DJD XI; Oxford:
Clarendon, 1998), 173–401.
28
On the basis of the word’s appearance in line 5, Newsom, “Songs of the Sabbath
Sacrifice,” 182, reconstructs the lacuna in line 15, with “statutes of holiness.”
 priestly prophets at qumran 41

includes this word only in Exod 32:16 as Moses brings the tablets of
the law to the people. The engraving refers to God’s own inscription
on the tablets to indicate God’s work and God’s writing, (ma asei elohim,
miktab elohim). The verb is thus associated uniquely with God’s own
action and not that of humans. In that way, arat is like the distinctive
verb bara found only in the Priestly strand of the Pentateuch, Psalm
51, and Second Isaiah, in which the act of creation is uniquely the
prerogative of God and the substance out of which God creates is not
made clear. There is thus an aspect of mystery attached to the word
as is the case with arat.
In the sectarian literature, the root appears with greater frequency
but is still distinctively linked to divine law-giving.29 The verb is used
significantly at the end of the Serekh ha-Ya ad where it appears three
times in the pledge of the maskil (in the passive form ‫ )חרות‬and also
linked with “statute”: 1QS X, 6, 8, 11 in the description of the maskil’s
cyclical liturgical obligations:30 “With the offering of lips [I] will bless
him like an eternally inscribed statute (‫)כחוק חרות‬. . . . And in everything
the inscribed statute shall be on my tongue as the fruit of praise and
the portion of my lips. . . . I will declare His judgment according to my
sins, and my transgressions shall be before my eyes as an engraved
statute.”
The sense of inscribed statute in the maskil’s pledge includes not
only a performative liturgical sense in which the maskil must recount
the acts of God in praise and blessing, but also suggests the juridical in
that divine judgement would also serve as an inscribed statute for the

29
Of the nineteen occurrences of the root ‫חרת‬, four occur in the Shirot, six appear
in copies of the Rule of the Community (3 in 1QS, 2 in 4Q258, 1 in 4Q256), 3 in 4QIn-
struction, 2 in the Damascus Document (one partially in a lacuna), one each in the War
Rule (4QM), Purification Liturgy (4Q284 3, 4), Ages of Creation (4Q180), and the Song of
the Sage (4Q511).
30
There are strong verbal links between the language of the covenant ritual for
admission into the community in 1QS I–II and the instructions for the maskil in 1QS
IX, 12–XI, 22; see Manfred Weise, Kultzeiten und kultischer Bundesschluss in der “Ordensregel”
vom Toten Meer (StPB 3; Leiden: Brill, 1961), 64–68 and Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and Festival
Prayers, 110–11. We will not enter here into the debate about the redactional history of
the Serekh ha-Ya ad and which texts constitute the oldest part(s) of the Rule but simply
affirm C. Newsom’s observation (Self as Symbolic Space, 107) that the role of the material
concerning the Maskil in 1QS IX, 12–XI, 22 and its links to the admission ritual “not
only serve as a literary inclusion but also encourage one to see in the character of the
Maskil the telos of the disciplines and teaching that the Serek ha-Ya ad has described.”
Her interest lies in the moral formation of sectarians as patterned after the leadership
figure of the Maskil, rather than the actual performative texts that result from such
activity on the part of the Maskil.
42 judith h. newman

maskil. The root -r-t appears as the passive participle arut (inscribed
ordinance) everywhere except the Shirot occurrences in which the verb
appears as a third person singular active verb with God implied as the
subject and in the Song of the Sage in which the implied persona of the
maskil claims, “I will recount your wonderful deeds and inscribe them
(‫)ואחורתם‬, laws of praise of your glory.” (4Q511 63–64 II, 2b–3). The
Song of the Sage thus offers a similar juxtaposition to the pledge of the
maskil at the end of the Serekh which combines the recounting of divine
activity in a liturgical setting with legal prescription.
A number of scholars have pointed to a connection between the
inscription of laws in 4Q400 1 I, 15 and the idea of laws inscribed
on heavenly tablets found in the book of Jubilees, yet nowhere in the
first Sabbath Song is the medium of tablets mentioned.31 The writing
down of revelation is an important feature of the narrative in Jubilees.32
There is no mediating role of scribal activity and writing mentioned
in the Shirot, only the reception of revelation and visual and oral com-
munication of divine knowledge. The connection between the tablets of
Jubilees and the engraving of the Songs thus might best be understood if
we think of the role of the angels/priests in the Shirot and the maskil (or
angelic priests) in the Rule of the Community the incarnated “medium” of
the inscribed information, that is, as agents of divine revelation, though
first through visual perception and oral transmission.33 In fact the use

31
Newsom cites seventeen instances of heavenly tablets in the book of Jubilees; she
cites three instances in particular that mention “written and engraved” ( Jub. 5:13;
24:33; 32:1), although it is unclear from her discussion whether these are indubitably
the cognate equivalent of ‫ חרת‬DSD XI, 180); cf. also J. Davila, Liturgical Works, 101–2.
In the book of Jubilees, the heavenly tablets are understood to contain a wide range
of information, including the Torah of Moses, a record of good and evil actions, a
record of history both past and future, calendrical information, and new amplifications
of scriptural law; see Florentino García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book
of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees (ed. M. Albani, J. Frey, A. Lange; Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 243–60.
32
On the importance of written text in Jubilees, see especially Hindy Najman, “Inter-
pretation as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and Its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30
(1999): 379–410. By contrast with Jubilees, the authority of divine teaching is conferred
in the Shirot not through scribal mechanisms but is closely linked to angelic-human
mediation in the ritual performance of the liturgy. Needless to say, authority never
derives inherently from the product of writing nor from narratives about such writing
but from the individuals or communities who confer it; that is, texts gain authority
only through use in particular social contexts, be that through a context of communal
study, liturgical performance, the juridical process, or some other means.
33
There are suggestive connections between the book of Jubilees and the Shirot,
including the role of the angel of the presence as the mediator of the revelation to
Moses in Jubilees and the “servants of the presence” “servants of the face of the holy
 priestly prophets at qumran 43

of the “engraved statute” on the mouth, tongue, and lips in the song of
the maskil suggests precisely such an oral transmission of the “inscrip-
tion,” thus understood as an oral teaching that issues from the mouth
of the instructor based on internalized divine legal knowledge.34 Such
juridical knowledge is itself inseparable from the knowledge of events
from creation onward, the ethical mores expected by God being knit
into the very fabric of the creation. The first song thus provides support
for an association of the angelic servants of the Shirot with sectarian
leadership in the person of the maskil as the one who is responsible
as chief teacher of divine knowledge to the community (cf. 1QS III,
13–15; IX, 18–19).35
Before turning to another excerpt from the Shirot that suggests a
reconceived Sinai revelation, it is important to point to a feature of
the first song that characterizes the beginning of the Shirot series but
not the latter songs, which thus bolsters the argument for a develop-
mental sequence in the liturgical cycle. 4Q400 1 I, 15–16 describes
one task of the angels as those who atone God’s will (itself a unique
expression) for “all who repent of sin” (‫)כול שבי פשע‬.36 The role of
the divine will recurs in the creation account of the seventh song dis-
cussed below. “Those who repent of sin” (or alternatively translated,
“turn from transgression”) is a distinctive sectarian phrase occurring
most notably in the Damascus Document, the Rule of the Community and

king,” and “priests of the inner sanctum” mentioned in 4Q400 1 I, 4, 8, 19, the nearly
angelic status of Israel in their observance of the Sabbath ( Jub. 2:28), the legitimation
of the solar calendar in Jubilees whose use is assumed in the Shirot. The angel of the
presence is to dictate to Moses (‫ )להכתיב‬in 4Q216 V, 6 (4QJuba) an extensive narra-
tion “from the beginning of creation until my sanctuary is built in their midst for all
the centuries of the centuries.”
34
For the importance of priestly leadership in the central activity of studying
Torah and at Qumran, see Steven Fraade, “Interpretive Authority at Qumran,” JJS
44 (1993): 46–69. See in particular his discussion of 1QS VI, 6–8 (56–58). He may
mischaracterize the study of the scroll in that passage to indicate the (written) Torah/
miqra and thus create a somewhat artificial distinction between scripture and sectarian
law which would not have been held so strictly by the community. Fraade views “study
as the link to and reenactment of originary revelatory moment” (68) and acknowledges
a connection between study and worship, but does not fully explicate the function of
prayer and liturgy within the community.
35
The relationship of the role of the maskil to that of the mebaqqer is unclear,
although the mebaqqer also was responsible for instruction according to the Damascus
Document (CD A XIII, 6–8).
36
Davila notes the distinctiveness of the phrase and points to the similar expres-
sions “atonements of favor” (4Q513 13, 2) and “atonements of your favor” (4Q 512
4–6, 6).
44 judith h. newman

three of the Hodayot.37 Here, as in the community rules, it is likely a

description of the covenanted community (4Q266 2 II, 5) or a subset
of the community consisting of the Community Council (1QS I, 1–3).
The contextual horizon of the phrase in Isa 59:20 where it derives is
the imminent divine redemption of those who repent and the restoration
of Jerusalem in a manifestation of divine glory. The covenant marking
this new redemption (Isa 59:21) is the gift of divine spirit that allows
the words of God not to depart from the mouths of those who repent
and their descendants, an internalized teaching that is transmitted orally.
It is difficult to assess how much of the original context of the phrase
from Isaiah is summoned in the Shirot, but the notion of internalized
divine teaching in Isa 59:21 resonates with the task of the angels in
4Q400 1 I, 17 who are to teach concerning all holy matters. So too,
the promised manifestation of divine glory mentioned in Isa 59:19 and
its fulfillment in Isa 60: 2 is a theme threading through the Shirot which
climaxes in the twelfth–thirteenth songs.
Of the extant Shirot texts, sin is mentioned only in the first song and
in 4Q402 1, 5 (‫)יםודי פשע‬, a fragment included with the first group of
songs, 1–5.38 The tone of the latter two groups of songs shifts decisively
from any consideration of sin to praise and blessing, thus serving as an
indication of the evolution of the liturgical sequence.
The language of the Songs, here and elsewhere, should be under-
stood as polyvalent; individual words are often generative of more
than one meaning. One characteristic of the collection is that each
song or cluster of songs favors its own set of several or more Hebrew
roots.39 A significant case in point is the term for the “establishment”

37
CD II, 5//4Q266 2 II, 5//4Q 269 1, 2; CD B XX, 17; 1QS VIII–IX; X,
20//4Q260 4, 10; 1QHa VI, 24; X, 9; XIV, 6; cf. also 4Q299 71, 1; 4Q512 70–71,
2. For discussion about the centrality of repentance to the Qumran community, see
Bilhah Nitzan, “Repentance in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after 50
Years (ed. P. Flint and J. VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 2:145–70.
38
Newsom, “Shirot,” DJD XI, 222–23.
39
Each song contains a repeated use of the root in various forms, yet often there is
ambiguity attached to the precise meaning of the word, which may have more than one
referential value, especially as the cycle unfolds. To employ a contemporary analogy, the
ambiguity is akin to Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on first?” routine in which the two
conversation partners become mired in confusion stemming from the dual referent of
“Who” both as the ballplayer’s surname and as an interrogative pronoun. Whereas the
humor for a modern audience comes from recognizing that both possibilities exist, it is
less than clear how participants in the ShirShabb performance received the ambiguity of
the language, but one can imagine that through the repetition the effect was to draw
on more than one level of meaning. The polyvalence of the language, particularly
 priestly prophets at qumran 45

of priests derived from the root (‫)יסד‬,40 for foundation, a root that is
repeated throughout the first Song. In this case, the verbal root is used
to indicate the establishment of the priesthood but suggestive already
of another foundation, the groundwork that is laid for the construc-
tion of the animate temple to come in the seventh song, building up
from the shovei pesha who constitute the Ya ad or some segment of it.
A similar reading of “foundations” is found in 4Q164, the sectarian
pesher on Isa 54:11–12, in which God’s pledge to rebuild the Jerusalem
temple’s antinomy, pinnacles, foundations, and gates are related to dif-
ferent strata of the community: Israel, the priests and the people, the
Council of the Ya ad, and the twelve chief priests who enlighten with
Urim and Thummim, and the chiefs of the tribes. The term resonates
as well with the foundation, sod (‫ )סוד‬of the community council (1QS
III, 26; IV, 6; CD X, 6; XIX, 4) which also provides an esoteric sense.
Sod itself has the dual meaning of the constituted council of the com-
munity and the results of its deliberations, its counsel.41 A particularly
relevant passage in the Community Rule (1QS VIII, 4b–13) likens
the community to a temple in which the language of foundations and
other architectural elements feature prominently. Once the community
council, with it ruling body of twelve men and three priests, rightly
observes the practices outlined in the Rule:
the Community council will be established in truth, to be an everlasting
plantation, a holy house (‫ )בית קודש‬for Israel and the foundation of the
holy of holies (‫ )וסוד קודש קודשים‬for Aaron . . . This is the tested rampart
(‫)חומת הבחן‬, the precious cornerstone (‫ )פנת יקר‬that does not . [blank]
[. . whose foundations do not shake or tremble from their place . . . the
most holy dwelling for Aaron. . . .
The passage also describes the result of two years’ travel in a pure or
perfected path (‫ )בתמים דרך‬on the part of the Council: the interpreter
will reveal “hidden things” that is, the esoteric revelation, to the elect

related to elohim, and whether it means God, gods, or makes reference to angels or
humans, has bedeviled modern Abbotts and Costellos trying to fix on one meaning,
but it seems it is the very ambiguity of references that serves a rhetorical aim, to blur
the distinctions among angels, men, and even God understood as the creative fashioner
of these two great kinds, as the penetration of alternate realms takes place.
40
For ‫ יסד‬as an alternative form for ‫ סוד‬see Brockelmann, Grundriss 1:275.
41
Daniel Harrington, “Mystery,” EDSS 2:588–91 (589), observes that the word for
sod is associated closely with the esoteric terms raz and nistarot. All three terms “convey
the idea of the essential knowledge of heavenly or historical matters known to God
and granted to humans only by divine revelation.”
46 judith h. newman

fifteen. The precise means by which such revelation occurs is not speci-
fied, but the connections implicit in the language of the Shirot would
suggest that the liturgy plays a role in this regard as will become more
evident below.
The first song also illustrates the developmental nature of the
liturgical cycle as the role of the angels as narrators of God’s glory is
compared to the lot of those mortals who would also wish to make
such an offering. 4Q400 2, 6–7 contains the only first person plural in
the collection which indicates a direct address to God. A speaker, or a
multitude of speakers, poses a series of questions about the incompa-
rability between the angels and the [human] speakers: “How shall we
be reckoned among them and our priesthood in their dwellings? And
our holiness with their holiness? What is the offering of our tongue of
dust with the knowledge of the ‘gods’?”
Such rhetorical questions recall others from scripture, perhaps most
notably, Ps 8:5–6 in which the psalmist ponders God’s concern for
humans ( enosh, ben adam), but then in the subsequent verse affirms
that God has made humans little less than “ elohim”—understood as
angels, who are crowned with glory and honor. It is also similar to
the language of the Hodayot, the hymn of 1QHa XIX in particular,
in which the hymnist thanks God for giving him, a lowly creature of
clay and dust, divine knowledge and understanding, asking in wonder
about such divine providential election. It seems that the same kind of
rhetorical questioning may be occurring here, with a self-abasement
on the part of the human participants in the liturgy, which serves as a
means of asserting their own significance.42 The comparison of these
human tongues of dust at the beginning of the liturgy points to their
elevation to the equivalent of angelic tongues by the cycle’s end, more-
over tongues that might proclaim the “knowledge of God.”
Another implicit if somewhat tentative connection with sectarian
literature may be made at this point. According to the calendar of the
Temple Scroll, the song for the first Sabbath coincides with the week in
which new priests are ordained (11Q19 XV, 3).43 Thus God’s establish-
ment of the angelic priesthood in the Sabbath Shirot seems to correspond
with weekday life at Qumran as well.

42
For an assessment of the role of Hodayot rhetoric in shaping sectarians, see Newsom,
The Self as Symbolic Space, 191–286.
43
Newsom, Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice: A Critical Edition (HSM 27; Atlanta: Scholars
Press, 1985), 72.
 priestly prophets at qumran 47

4Q401 14 II, 6–8 from the first cycle of songs is a fragmentary piece,
perhaps relating to the second Sabbath. The text makes reference to
another task of the angels as communicators of esoteric knowledge
which issues directly from the lips of God:
. . . myster[ies] of his wonderful deeds . . . sound of jubilation [. . .] They are
not able [. . .] God makes strong [. . .] princes of m[. . .] They make known
hidden things [. . .] at the utterance of the lips of the king with [. . .]
The first word of the fragment, raz, is a common word in the sectarian
literature, but appears only three times in the extant portions of the
Shirot, here and at the beginning of the litany of the tongues in the
eighth Sabbath song (4Q403 1 II, 27) in a slightly different formula-
tion [“seven mysteries of knowledge in the mystery of wonder”]. The
phrase “mysteries of his wonderful deeds” which occurs only twice in
the Qumran literature, here and in the War Scroll,44 puts an esoteric
gloss on the word nipla ot, but an esotericism that jibes with the “hidden
things” (nistarot) of line 7. Nipla ot occurs in the Hebrew Bible particularly
in reference to narrating divine judgment and redemption, occurring
seventeen times in the book of Psalms about divine activity that must be
extolled and recounted by those members of Israel who have benefited
from it, particularly in those psalms that recount excerpts of the history
of Israel (e.g., Pss 78:4, 32; 105:2, 5; 106: 7, 22). So too in the Qumran
sectarian texts, the majority of occurrences of nipla ot occurs in liturgical
texts, the Hodayot, Dibrei Hamme orot, and Prayers for Festivals.
Although it contains gaps, the fragment from the second Sabbath
may be read as a statement of the inability of the angels to perform a
particular task (line 4), followed by a reference to God’s strengthening
them (line 5) so that they might make known the hidden things, the
nistarot, those things which proceed from the mouth of God or here
expressed as “lips of the king” (lines 7–8).45 Although it is impossible
to know whether there were other occurrences in the rest of the whole
collection, it seems significant that raz with its esoteric connotations
seems here to be entirely a possession of God and it is the priestly angels

44
The War Scroll reference is 1QM XIV, 14 in which the phrase also appears in a
liturgical context as a blessing of God (1QM XIV, 8b–18) for all the divine activity
wrought on behalf of the covenant people; though not in construct, cf. the use of the
terms mysteries and wonders also in 4Q403 1 I, 19; 4Q405 3 II, 9; 4Q405 13, 3.
45
This understanding of the fragment follows Newsom’s construal, “Songs of the
Sabbath Sacrifice,” DJD XI, 209, of the singular yegabber in line 5 as a Pi’el with God
as the subject.
48 judith h. newman

who are acquiring instruction in holy mysteries as a kind of specialized

catechesis. Given the prevalence of the phrase the “mystery to come”
raz nihyeh in 4QInstruction, it seems that the appearance here and in the
eighth song of raz without verbal qualification would support the idea
that the Songs portray the mystery’s realized eschatological revelation to
the angelic priests and their imitators through the liturgical practice on
the first thirteen Sabbaths of the year. While according to the fragment
taken from the second Sabbath, the knowledge is still being inculculated
by God, by the eighth song such esoteric knowledge becomes a secure
possession of the angels as well (4Q403 1 II, 26–27). The mystery
appropriated would comprise knowledge of creation, ethics, and escha-
tology, an all-embracing comprehension ensuring proper behavior in
relation to the divine plan for creation and all its inhabitants in heavenly
and earthly realms. The contents of the mystery may be understood
as a body of teaching transmitted through oral means.46 A significant
transition point in marking that transformation occurs in the seventh
Sabbath Song in which the divine King and Creator is made manifest
in the throne room of the Temple.

Songs for the Sixth–Eighth Sabbaths

The use of language changes with the sixth song, which along with
the eighth song frames the central song of the collection, the sabbath
of Sabbath Songs. Both songs six and eight are highly formulaic and
repetitive, with a recurrence of the number seven. The songs recount
the acts of praise that reverberate from the tongues of the seven angelic
chief princes (song six) and deputy princes (song eight), although the
words of blessing and praise are not included in the songs themselves.
The rhetorical effect of this description is to focus not on God as king,
the ultimate object of praise, but on the angels themselves and their
intensifying ecstatic acts of praise-on-the-tongue. Although we will
return below to the significance of the eighth Song, a brief sample
reveals its character, specifically pertaining to the unique language of
offering:

46
Daniel Harrington, “The Raz Nihyeh in a Qumran Wisdom Text (1Q26,
4Q415–418, 428),” RevQ 65–68 (1996): 549–53. See also the insightful discussion of
Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge.”
 priestly prophets at qumran 49

. . . And the offering of their tongues . . [. . .] seven mysteries of knowledge

in the wonderful mystery of the seven regions of the hol[y of holies . . . the
tongue of the first will be strengthened seven times with the tongue of the
second to him. The tongue of the second to him will be strengthened]
(4Q403 1 II, 26b–27).
The expression “offering of tongue” (‫ )תרמת לשון‬is unique to the Shirot.
Given the heading of each individual song, one might expect mention
of an olah, a whole burnt offering. Aside from that, the formulation
itself is distinctive. Elsewhere in the Qumran literature not to mention
the scriptural psalms, the phrase “offering of the lips” occurs. Not only
is the tongue used here as the instrument of praise instead of the lips,
but there is an intensification of effect as each subsequent angel seems
to join in the exaltation, in a manner approaching a disciplined glos-
solalia. The content of these praises remains esoteric, hidden seemingly
in the razei da at, as “mysteries of knowledge” but in effect, coming as
this eighth shir does after the seventh with its vision of the king and
his creation, it should likely be understood as connected closely with
the revelatory description of the purposeful divine will. Moreover,
the repetition of the angelic “tongues” in the sixth and eighth songs
picks up the theme introduced in the first song in which the human
participants ask how the offering of their tongues of dust might be
compared with those of the angels. The implied answer is that the
human offering should somehow rival that of the angels; the passionate
intensity displayed in the sixth and eighth songs suggests the difficulty
of attaining such a standard without purification and empowerment
by means of divine spirit.
The seventh song can be understood as an expanded depiction of
Isaiah’s temple throne vision in Isaiah 6, with the seraphim’s procla-
mation of divine holiness in Isa 6: 3 preceding the call of Isaiah and
his preparation for service through the means of a burning coal from
the altar to purify his mouth and lips to deliver the divine message.
Although the text of the song is not complete, it can be divided into
two parts.47 The first (4Q403 1 I, 31–40) includes calls for angelic
praise and in the second (4Q403 1 I, 41–II, 1–16), the temple itself
erupts into praise of the King. The location is suggested in part by

47
The text of the excerpt is from Newsom’s critical edition of 4Q403 1 I, 35–42
with reconstructions based on 4Q404 3–5 and 4Q405 4–5; 6, 1–8. Cf. also the transla-
tion and notes of Davila, Liturgical Works, 122–25.
50 judith h. newman

the imbedded allusion to the divine footstool of (4Q404 6, 3).48 One

feature of the first part of the seventh song is a veiled allusion to the
praise of the seraphim in Isa 6:3 (4Q403 1 I, 30–31). Moreover, a less
veiled allusion to Ezek 3:12–13 appears in the song as well.49 Both of
these texts are found in prophetic call narratives, a fact that combined
with other subtle prophetic commissioning elements as detailed below,
loom in significance for understanding the task of the priest-angels as
bearers of the divine word.

Song for the Seventh Sabbath

The seventh song contains no overt links to Sinai revelation, dominated

as it is by the Zion tradition, yet there are several lexical elements that
suggest prophetic revelation.50 At the center of the seventh song, which
is thus the center of the liturgical cycle, lies an account of creation
through divine speech:
35. At the sayings of his mouth come into being a[ll the exalted gods];
at the utterance of his lips all the eternal spirits; [by] his knowledgeable
[w]ill all his creatures 36. in their missions. Sing (‫ )רננו‬with joy you who
rejoice with rejoicing among the wondrous godlike beings. And recount
(‫ )והגו‬his glory with the tongue of all who recount with knowledge; and
[recount] his wonderful songs of joy 37. with the mouth of all who recount
[about him. For he is] God of all who rejoice {in knowledge} forever and
judge in his power of all the spirits of understanding. 38. Ascribe (‫)הודו‬

48
The linkage of king and creation, temple and palace is of course an old one in
ancient Israel and the ancient Near East, and its eventual association with the Sab-
bath in Judaism lies behind its appropriation here. For a thorough discussion of the
concept of divine kingship in the Shirot, see Anna Maria Schwemer, “Gott als König
und seine Königsherrschaft in den Sabbatliedern aus Qumran,” in Königsherrschaft Gottes
und himmlischer Kult im Judentum, Urchristentum und in der hellenistischen Welt (ed. M. Hengel
and A. Schwemer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 45–118.
49
For the allusion to Isa 6:3, see Schwemer, “Gott als König,” 97–98. For a fuller
discussion of the allusions to both Isaiah 6 and Ezekiel 3, see Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and
Festival Prayers, 138–46. His suggestion that the use of the two texts in song seven sug-
gests a fully developed Qedushah in Jewish liturgies of this era nonetheless overstates the
evidence. The earliest appearance of the Qedushah/Sanctus in overtly liturgical material,
as opposed to apocalyptic literature, appears in the Hellenistic Synagogal Prayers, older
prayers imbedded in the fourth century Apostolic Constitutions; nonetheless, Johann Maier’s
suggestion that a liturgical Qedushah was used by priestly groups as part of an esoteric
liturgy is intriguing, if conjectural: “Zu Kult und Liturgie der Qumrangemeinde,”
RevQ 14 (1990): 543–86 (573–74).
50
On the eclipsing of Sinai by Zion at Qumran, see elsewhere in this volume,
Brooke, “Moving Mountains.”
 priestly prophets at qumran 51

majesty, all you majestic gods, to the K[ing] of majesty; for all the gods
of knowledge confess his glory, and all the spirits of righteousness confess
his truth. 39. And they make their knowledge acceptable according to
the judgments of his mouth and their confessions (they make acceptable)
at the return of his powerful hand for judgments of recompense. Sing
(‫ )זמרו‬praises to the mighty God 40. with the choicest spiritual portion,
that there may be [a son]g (sung) with divine joy, and a celebration
among all the holy ones, that there may be wondrous songs (sung) with
eter[nal] joy. 41.With these let all the f[oundations of the hol]y of holies
praise, the oracle columns (‫ )עמודי משא‬of the supremely exalted abode,
and all the corners of its structure. Sin[g praise] 42 to Go[d who is fe]
arful in power [all you spirits of knowledge and light ] in order to [exa]
lt together the most pure firmament of [his] holy sanctuary (4Q403 1 I,
35–42 with reconstructions based on 4Q405 4–6).
The creation account is truncated compared to the priestly creation
account in Genesis or the sapiential account in Ben Sira 24. Whereas
in Genesis 1, God speaks the worldly order into being with narrated
speech, here the creation is described without direct discourse. Moreover
the focus lies on animate beings alone and not the inanimate aspects
of the cosmos. The account of divine creation is consistent with the
character of the Shirot liturgy writ large: a third person account bereft
of the actual speech of the parties described; nonetheless, it is conso-
nant with the understanding of creation through the powerful divine
word. The seventh song presents a three-stage creation through God’s
mouth, lips, and will, resulting in the exalted gods, the eternal spirits,
and finally “his creatures in their missions” (‫)כול מעשיו במשלוחם‬.51
The first two created orders mentioned form parallel expressions and
refer to two non-human orders of creation, “exalted gods” here to be
understood as angelic beings, and “eternal spirits” as perhaps another
kind of angel.52 The characterization of the third creation is different in

51
While the somewhat perplexing choice of ma asei could be translated either “works”
or “creatures,” Newsom’s observation that the word modifying the noun is “undertak-
ings” (translated here as “missions”) precludes inanimate beings is likely correct.
52
Cf. the suggestion of Dimant, “Men as Angels,” 98–99, that “spirits” may des-
ignate angels in charge of various natural elements. The creation of angels and their
subsequent praise, though not mentioned in the Genesis creation accounts, is a well-
known theme in second temple Jewish literature. So, e.g., in Jub. 2:2 the spirits of seven
kinds of angels are described as being created on the first day as well as the spirits of
all his creatures. Their blessing and praise at his seven great works on the first day is
then mentioned in Jub. 2:3. Cf. 11Q5 XXVI, 12 (11QPsa Hymn to the Creator) which
also mentions the angels starting their praise after the division of light and darkness
on the first day. The tradition is contained in the fragmentary targum of Job on Job
38:7 found at Qumran in which “messengers of God” ‫ מלאכי אלהא‬appears for the
52 judith h. newman

part because it involves the knowledge of the divine will, which suggests
a purposeful creation with a special commissioning for divine service.53
In the Hebrew Bible such commissioning is associated especially with
the divine commissioning of angels or human prophets.54 Indeed, the
same noun “mission” though in feminine form (‫ )משלוחת‬occurs twice in
the Song for the Twelfth Sabbath in reference to the obedient oracular
response of the angels to the appearance of divine glory, a feature of
that song to which we will attend more closely below.
The first half of the seventh song contains seven plural imperatives
each of which is repeated three times in the course of the one or two
lines in which it appears.55 The first three imperatives ‫הללו‬, ‫שבחו‬, and
‫רממו‬, in lines 30–33 appear before a significant interruption in the series
in which the role of God as creator is described in lines 36–37. Four
imperatives follow: ‫רננו‬, ‫הגו‬, ‫הודו‬, and ‫זמרו‬. Six of the seven verbs are

MT ‫( בני אלים‬11Q10 XXX, 5); cf. the ἄγγελοί in Job 38:7 of the Septuagint. On
the diverse interpretations of the exact timing of the angels’ creation, see James L.
Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998), 48–52.
53
For a similar depiction of divine creation particularly as it relates to the divine
will and a sequence ending with creatures (“spirit of adam”), cf. 1QHa IX, 8–17. Also
salient for the argument of this essay that the community thought of itself in figura-
tive terms as an animate temple is the fact that the Hymnist refers to himself as a
“foundation (‫ )םוד‬of shame” and a “building (‫ )מבנה‬of sin” (1QHa IX, 22). Though
more remote, compare also the scene of angelic worship at the divine throne in Rev
4:2–11 which recalls Isa 6:3. The twenty-four elders laud creation through the divine
will (Rev 4:11). By contrast, the words of praise offered by angels and elders appears,
and there is no commissioning of the creatures as described in the seventh song.
54
The word for commissioning appears to be another distinctive word chosen for its
resonance with other sectarian discourse. ‫ משלח‬and variants (‫משלוח‬, ‫משלחת‬, ‫)משלוחת‬
occur eleven times in the Qumran literature, three of which are in the Songs, three
in 4QInstruction (4Q418), twice in the Rule of the Community (1QS), once each in the
War Scroll (1QM), a fragmentary part of the Song of the Sage (4Q511), and a hymnic
fragment (1Q40). The first line of the War Scroll, which is also addressed to the Maskil,
describes the beginning of the war between the sons of light and sons of darkness as
a “first mission of hand combat” (‫ )ראשית משלוח יד‬suggesting that the eschatological
battle to be waged is in keeping with the divine purpose.
Divine commissioning of intermediaries in the Hebrew Bible uniquely employing
the verb ‫ שלח‬is associated with either a malakh who goes before (‫ )לפני‬Israel during
the wilderness/Sinai experience (but cf. Gen 24:40) or the commissioning of prophetic
figures at their calling (Exod 3:12, 15; Isa 6:8; Jer 1:7; Ezek 2:3; 2Chr 25:15). On the
use of the verb with prophetic commissioning, see Wolfgang Richter, Die sogenannten
vorprophetischen Berufungsberichte (FRLANT 101; Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht,
1970), 156–78.
55
Newsom refers to seven “calls to praise” rather than identifying imperatives. She
regards the second verb in the seventh Song as a Hifil jussive yagdilu, (in lieu of the
scribal error yaqdilu) as the second call to praise while ignoring the plural imperative ‫והגו‬
in 4Q403 1 I, 36 as governed by the preceding imperative ‫ רננו‬in the same line.
 priestly prophets at qumran 53

quite common in the lexicon of praise in the psalms; moreover, the

same six are related to the primary theme words of the psalms of the
seven angelic princes in the sixth and eighth songs.56 One verb stands
out as distinctive; the fifth imperative derived from ‫ הגה‬is noteworthy
because although it appears in the biblical psalms, it nowhere else
appears in connection with songs and singing and exaltation. It denotes
an oral recitation of some sort, one connected with mental reflection
or rumination and is found in sapiential discourse in both the Hebrew
Bible and Qumran literature.57 Hagu has often been translated “chant”
following Newsom, but “recount” or “proclaim” especially in this
context of praise may provide a better sense of the word’s use here.58
Outside of this occurrence in the seventh song, the root appears only
rarely in the Qumran literature, but it provides another connection
with the understanding of an ongoing, if reconceived, Sinai revelation
rooted both in its use in scripture and in its derived use in the sectar-
ian literature.
The verb occurs at two significant passages in connection with Torah,
in Joshua 1 and Psalm 1. The scriptural passages seem to lie behind
the rarer and more specialized use of hgh at Qumran. In Jos 1:8, the
verb is specifically connected with transmitting the Sinai revelation to
the subsequent generation after Moses’ death. Narrated in the book
of Joshua as a direct divine commissioning, God advises the successor
of Moses: “This scroll of the teaching (‫ )התורה‬shall not depart out of
your mouth; you shall meditate (‫ )הגית‬on it day and night.” Within the
larger narrative of the Hexateuch, the torah of Jos 1:8 is connected to
a written deposit, the Deuteronomic version of law (Deut 31:9), which
itself represents an interpretively transmitted form of the teaching to
the generation that succeeded the wilderness generation.59 The Torah
is strongly associated with Moses and thus implicitly connected to the
divine revelation at Sinai/Horeb but in Joshua, the emphasis is not

56
Newsom, “Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” DJD XI, 270, notes that the theme
verb ‫ ברך‬used by the chief princes is absent from the seventh song, It would seem
that it has been replaced by the distinctive theme verb ‫הגה‬.
57
So for example Ps 37:30–31: “The mouth of the righteous recounts (‫ )יהגה‬wis-
dom and his tongue speaks justice. The teaching (torah) of his God is in his heart;
his steps do not waver.”
58
“Recount” is the translational choice of Davila, Liturgical Works, 123.
59
On the role of the multi-layered book of Deuteronomy as a bridge between torah
and its interpretation, see Bernard Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal
Innovation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997).
54 judith h. newman

on the place of revelation but its divine authorization. The passage

from Joshua models the idea that oral teaching of the Sinaitic revela-
tion by authorized leadership is a crucial part of the transmission of
divine revelation to subsequent generations, wherever the leader may
be located, in or outside the land.
In an overlapping but distinct vein is the word’s use in Ps 1:1–2:
“Happy the man who does not walk in the advice of the wicked, nor
stand in the path of sinners, nor settle in the dwelling of scorners,
but rather his delight is in the teaching of the Lord and he recounts
(‫ )יהגה‬his teaching day and night.” Standing as the psalm does at the
beginning of the collection, the third-person wisdom discourse of the
first psalm invites those who use the collection to ruminate on and
recite the liturgical collection in the manner of a collection of divine
teaching.60 No written scroll is mentioned as in the Deuteronomic pas-
sage from Joshua.61
In the Qumran literature, the word appears notably in references to
the “vision of hagu” and the “book of hagu/hagy.” Whereas in Joshua
and Psalms, the verb is connected to recitation of a scroll of Mosaic
teaching and the teaching of the psalms collection itself, both written
deposits, the use of this root in Instruction and the sectarian rules also
carries an esoteric connotation.”62 The following passage from Instruc-
tion describes the glorious promise offered to the sage who possesses
esoteric knowledge of God:

60
See Gerald Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, CA: Schol-
ars Press, 1985) and Patrick Miller, “The Beginning of the Psalter,” in The Shape and
Shaping of the Psalter (ed. J. C. McCann; JSOTSup 159; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic
Press, 1993), 83–92. Although the collection of psalms was still in flux in the last two
centuries of the common era based on the evidence from Qumran, the first three books
of the Psalter seem to have stabilized; see Peter Flint, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Book
of Psalms (STDJ 17; Leiden: Brill, 1997) and the work of James A. Sanders beginning
with his critical edition of 11QPsa, The Psalms Scroll of Qumrân Cave 11 (11QPs a) (DJD
IV; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965).
61
On the various meanings of torah in post-exilic compositions not tied to a con-
ception of writtenness, see Jon Levenson, “The Sources of Torah: Psalm 119 and the
Modes of Revelation in Second Temple Judaism,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in
Honor of Frank Moore Cross (ed. P. Miller, P. Hanson, and S. McBride; Philadelphia:
Fortress Press, 1987), 559–74.
62
Psalm 37 mentioned in n. 57 above, may suggest something of an intermediate
position between written torah and esoteric wisdom teachings, because the “wisdom”
recounted by the righteous lies in parallel to an internalized torah in the second half
of the verse.
 priestly prophets at qumran 55

[13. And then you will know everlasting glory and his marvelous mercies,
and the might of his deeds. And you] 14 will understand the beginning
of your reward at the remembrance of [the restitution?] that has come.
15. For engraved is the ordinance (‫ )כי חרות מחוקק‬of God concerning
all the in[iquities] of the sons of Seth and a book of remembrance is
written before him 16. for those who observe his word. And this is the
vision of the meditation (‫ )חזון ההגוי‬for a book of remembrance (‫לספר‬
‫ )זכרון‬and he will give it to Enosh to inherit with a people of spirit because
17. according to the pattern (‫ )תבנית‬of the holy ones is his crafting; but
he did not give meditation (‫ )ההגוי‬to the spirit of flesh because it cannot
distinguish between 18. good and evil according to the judgment of its
spirit . . . vacat And you, discerning son, consider vacat the mystery of exis-
tence (‫ )ברז נהיה‬and know . . . (4Q417 1 I, 13–18 = 4Q418 42–45 I).
The passage offers several resonances with distinctive language in the
Shirot that suggest, if not borrowed language, a shared perspective on
esoteric knowledge and its dissemination: the mention of engraved
statutes, the vision of meditation, the pattern of the holy ones, and the
mystery of existence, not to mention the reuse of creation language of
Genesis 1–3 elsewhere in Instruction. There have been various sugges-
tions about the identification and contents of the “vision of hagu,” from
an actual book (whether a portion of 1 Enoch or some other text) to a
visionary experience of some kind.63 Instruction is in fact laconic about
the contents of the vision, with a concern rather to indicate who has
access to the vision. The above excerpt suggests that the vision is given
to the “people of spirit” who can distinguish good from evil in contrast
to the “spirit of flesh” who are morally obtuse. Moreover, the vision
is given to “people of spirit” because they were created “according to
the likeness of the holy ones” (‫( )כתבנית קדושים‬4Q417 1 I, 17).”64 The
distinction would seem to point to those whose physical characteristics,
discerned by physiognomies and the like, mark them as belonging to one
camp or the other. The “vision of hagu” is never identified as an actual
document but rather a visual or perceptual experience that somehow
engenders a written “scroll of remembrance” a phrase known from
Mal 3:16. Moreover, the activity of hgh is equated elsewhere in Instruc-
tion with interpretation, suggesting a continuing reconstrual of events

63
See the review by Matthew Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom of 4QInstruction
(STDJ 50; Leiden: Brill, 2003), especially 80–99.
64
Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom, 81.
56 judith h. newman

related to divine mysteries: “Day and night, ruminate on the mystery

that is to be (‫ )הגה ברז נהיה‬and interpret (‫ )דורש‬continually.” (4Q417
1 I, 6//4Q418 43, 4).65
Just as the “vision of hagu” has generated various perspectives on
its meaning, so too, the “scroll of hagu/hagy,” mentioned in both the
Damascus Document and the Rule of the Congregation has prompted a range
of suggestions.66 According to the Damascus Document (CD XIII, 2;
XIV, 6–8), a priest learned in the “scroll of hagu/hagy” was required
to be present in a quorum of each ten men in order to disseminate its
teaching. 1QSa I, 6–7 also calls on the Zadokite priests in an idealized
time (‫ )אחרית הימים‬to educate youths in the “scroll of hagy” as one
stage in their training. Some scholars have equated it with the Torah
of Moses, understanding it narrowly to be a version of the first five
books of the Bible, others offering broader suggestions not so closely
tied to a particular text or set of texts. Cana Werman has persuasively
argued that the “vision of hagu” in Instruction should be connected to the
“scroll of hagy” in the sectarian texts. Although she overemphasizes the
cognitive dimension of “hagu” and argues that such activity involves only
mental concentration and study using the “mind’s eye” while ignoring
the distinct vocal/aural associations of the verb, her suggestion that the
content relates to the addressee’s call to “meditate both on his own life
and on the course of creation and history” seems plausible.67
If we can understand the seventh Sabbath Song as itself such a per-
ceptual experience that stimulates the witnessing angels to “proclaim”
(‫)הגה‬, a proclamation which ultimately the purified priestly participants
are stimulated to imitate, then the observations of Goff and Werman
about the “vision of hagu” in Instruction would seem to corroborate the

65
The other objects of the verb ‫ הגה‬in Qumran literature, which are also prefaced
with the preposition ‫ב‬, are ‫כבוד‬, ‫פעולת אדם‬, and ‫ ;אמת‬John Strugnell and Daniel
J. Harrington, “Instruction,” DJD XXXIV Qumran Cave 4 XXIV Sapiential Texts, Part 2
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1999), 157.
66
For an overview of proposals, see Steven D. Fraade, “Hagu, Book of,” EDSS 1:327,
and Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom, 82–83, especially n. 8.
67
Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom, 23, n. 111, writes: “Cana Werman uses
4QInstruction to help explain the enigmatic “Book of Hagu” that is mentioned in writings
of the Dead Sea sect. In her opinion, 4QInstruction calls on its addressee to “meditate
both on his own life and on the course of history.” See Cana Werman, “What is the
Book of Hagu?” in Sapiential Perspective: Wisdom Literature in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls
(ed. J. Collins, G. Sterling, and R. Clements; STDJ 51; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 125–40.
Werman also briefly examines 4QInstruction in a study of the role of engraved tablets in
Jubilees: “The torah and the teudah Engraved on the Tablets,” DSD 9 (2002): 75–103.
 priestly prophets at qumran 57

greater argument suggested in this essay. Participation in the Songs of

the Sabbath Sacrifice liturgy is reserved for those sufficiently righteous and
distanced from fleshly impurity through their ascetic discipline that they
have thereby gained access to the vision, a perception of the divine
will in creation which also involves the divine role as judge. If we can
coordinate the understanding of Instruction with the use of the verb in
the seventh Sabbath Song, it may be that a vision of the divine creator
such as suggested by the enthroned king sparks the response of “hagu”
which includes a recounting of the divine mysteries on the part of the
holy ones, understood in the song to be the angels and Qumran priests,
the latter being perhaps an elite subset of the larger group living at
Qumran. Steven Fraade has argued that an “elitist askēsis” within the
community such as the members of the Community Council described
in 1QS VIII, 1–19 could serve the purpose of bridging the gap between
the movement’s ideal and its ability to fulfil it.”68 Those who performed
the Shirot in order to acquire “tongues of angels” would seem to have
been such an elite. Indeed the liturgical ritual itself would have played
a crucial role of transformation in this regard.
Given this brief discussion of hagu in other literature found promi-
nently at Qumran, we can appreciate the word’s significance anew in
the seventh song. Our discussion of the verb begs the next question
about the angelic instruments giving rise to such proclamation. We
noted above that body language is decidedly absent in the Songs, with
the striking exception of words used for speech, specifically and most
prominently the tongue but also a restricted use of mouth and lips, and
one mention of God’s hand. As noted above the tongue is also used in
a unique way in connection with the angelic priesthood in the sixth and
eighth songs, in the expression “offering of tongues.” “Tongue” is used
only once in the entirety of the seventh song; it appears immediately
after and in response to the description of the divine creation:
Sing with joy you who rejoice with rejoicing among the wondrous god-
like beings. And recount his glory (‫ )והגו כבודו‬with the tongue of all
who recount with knowledge; and recount his wonderful songs of joy
with the mouth of all who recount about him. For he is God of all who
rejoice in knowledge forever and judge in his power of all the spirits of
understanding (4Q403 1 I, 36).

68
Steven Fraade, “Ascetical Aspects of Ancient Judaism,” in Jewish Spirituality: from
the Bible to the Middle Ages (ed. A. Green; New York: Crossroad, 1986), 253–88 (269).
58 judith h. newman

Another significant word is “mouth,” which appears in the extant por-

tions of Songs four times, once in relation to the angels in the first Sab-
bath Song (4Q400 1 I, 17 and parallels) in which the angels are said to
offer teachings (‫ )תורות‬by means of their mouth. The second mention
of mouth occurs in reference to the divine mouth that speaks the cre-
ated orders into being in the preceding portion of the seventh song
(4Q403 1 I, 35). The third is the reference to the mouths of those who
join with the wondrous godlike beings in the excerpt above. The fourth
is also in the seventh Sabbath song, in line 39: “And they make their
knowledge acceptable according to the judgments of his mouth and their
confessions (they make acceptable) at the return of His powerful hand
for judgments of recompense.” The mouth, whether of angels, priests,
or God, is thus concerned with special knowledge of the divine will for
creation and redemption, the latter signalled by the divine hand. The
tongue offers creative response echoing this knowledge. In this context,
we can thus understand the mouths of the angels/priests to be echo-
ing the creator’s mouth, recounting the great works of the creator. The
ambiguity created by the use of elohim for both angels/human priests
and the God of Israel reinforces the association between the divine act
of creation through speech and response in speech. Thus the verbal
response being summoned here may itself be understood as a creative
act.69 At the heart of the seventh song then, lies a significant liturgical
moment of transformation as the angelic priests respond with a spiritual
offering of song and the sanctuary itself with its foundations, corners,
and oracle pillars, becomes animated with praise, a movement suggesting
the eschatological realization of the community’s understanding of itself
as the sanctuary, as spiritual power is unleashed by the act of divine
creation, calling up a response from the creatures themselves.
Another text with resonances to the cluster of songs 6–8 is Barkhi
Napshi, mentioned above in connection with its concern for body parts.
With five copies of the composition found in Cave 4, the work seems
also to have played an important role in sectarian worship. The extant
portion of one particular section 4Q436 I, 1–II, 4 acknowledges the
divine power in the worshipper who has purified his body parts and
then engraved God’s law on his heart and inmost parts which shapes the
author in the way of divine understanding and knowledge. Especially
notable is a claim imbedded in 4Q436 I, 7–8 to a prophetic gift:

69
On the phenomenon of creative scripturalized liturgical compositions during the
tannaitic era, see in this volume, Ishay Rosen-Zvi, “Can the Homilists Cross the Sea
Again,” 217–246, especially 224–226.
 priestly prophets at qumran 59

. . . . and perform all your good will (‫)רצונכה‬. You have made my mouth
like a sharp sword (‫)כחרב הדה‬, and my tongue you have set loose for
holy words (‫)ולשני פתחתה לדברי קודש‬. You have set [upon them] a
bridle, that they not meditate (‫ )יהגו‬upon the deeds of mankind, upon
the destruction (emerging from) his lips.70
The allusion to Isaiah’s role as bearer of the divine word is clear (Isa
49:2; cf. Wis 18:16). Whereas in Isaiah, the prophetic commission is
extended to the people of Israel (Isa 49:3), in Barkhi Napshi the role of
prophet seems to pertain only to an individual. The characterization
of the prophetic task also reverberates with the Shirot. As M. Weinfeld/
D. Seely observe, “‘To open the lips or mouth’ is a standard biblical
metaphor, but of course not ‘to open the tongue’.”71 On the other hand,
‫ פתח‬here may reflect its other sense of “engrave” as appears in 4Q405
14–15 I, 5.72 This would make more sense of the passage.
A final point of connection occurs with the distinctive word ‫הגה‬. In
this case, the author is thankful that God had restrained his mouth and
tongue from recounting human deeds; the implication is that divine
deeds are those that should be recounted with a divinely inspired
tongue, as we see in the case of the angelic priests of the seventh Sab-
bath Song. The divine will (‫ )רצון‬described in the seventh Sabbath as
instrumental in the purposeful commissioning of his creatures (4Q403
1 I, 35) is also instrumental in shaping the purposefully purified life of
the reciter of Barkhi Napshi. Although we cannot be sure of the way
in which the Barkhi Napshi were used at Qumran, their resonance with
the Shirot provides another connection with a composition likely used
at Qumran. Whereas songs 6–8 portray angelic priests praising God
for divine work in fashioning a purposeful creation with a uniquely
expressed “offering of the tongues,” Barkhi Napshi suggests that this
ecstatic-prophetic role was clearly held in view as an ideal for some
segment of the human community as well. It would seem that this link
also bolsters the case for the theurgic use of these songs for inspired
composition at other times and in other quarters than on the first
thirteen Sabbaths of the year.
The pivotal role of the seventh Sabbath song in the cycle is also
evident in its mention of spirit and spirits. It is notable that there are
only two appearances of the root spirit (‫ )רוח‬in the first six songs of

70
The translation is that of Moshe Weinfeld and David Seeley, “Barkhi Napshic,”
DJD XXIX, 295–305 (299).
71
Weinfeld and Seeley, “Barkhi Napshic,” 302.
72
Cf. the discussion of Newsom, “Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” DJD XI, 332.
60 judith h. newman

the cycle.73 Beginning in the second half of the seventh song and fol-
lowing, ruah is used frequently, especially in the parts of songs 9–12
that describe the spirits in and among the elements of the sanctuary’s
architecture which are then themselves given to praise and blessing. The
divine “inspiriting” occurs only after the account of divine creation with
its fashioning of the spirits in the center of the seventh song.
One additional unique but related lexical feature in the seventh song
deserves mention, the account of the animate temple praising God
which occurs in lines 41–46 after the description of the angelic praise
and the divine creation through speech. Line 41 begins the description:
“With these let all the foundations of the holy of holies praise, the oracle
columns (‫ )עמודי משא‬of the supremely exalted abode.” The phrase may
be translated alternatively as “supporting columns,” in the sense of a
feature of the temple architecture; however, if we can understand the
temple as an animate and transformed group of the ‫שּבי פשע‬, those
in the Qumran community who have been commissioned for special
service, then given observations made above about the polyvalence of
the term ‫סוד‬, as having both architectural and communal senses, we
can understand these “columns” likewise.74 Moreover, the twelfth song
makes mention of more oracles; the mention of massa in the seventh
song thus serves as an anticipatory signal for the song that follows the
celebration of Shavuot.
Before turning to the last section of the Shirot, one summative point
may be made: the use of the root ‫ הגה‬in the seventh song suggests that
an essential component of angelic-priestly praise and one that lies at
the heart of their created purpose is to communicate divine knowledge.
Understood in connection with the use of ‫ הגה‬in the Hebrew Bible as

73
The first song mentions “spiritual works” (‫ )מעשי רוח‬relating to the divinely
engraved statutes (4Q400 1 I, 5); a second contains the phrase “spirit of all” but the
text is fragmentary and the phrase has no immediate context.
74
Davila, Liturgical Works, 127, notes that this mention of columns (his translation
is “pillars”) is its only occurrence in the extant portions of the Songs. The construal
of “columns” in an animate sense might also clarify the use of the term “column”
in the physiognomic text 4Q186 1 II, 6 and 2 I, 6 used in relation to men, in which
those whose features pass measure make up part of the “second column” indicating
the purity of their spirit; this would obviate an anachronistic translation as a list or
column of writing such as suggested tentatively by P. Alexander, “Physiognomy, Initia-
tion, and Rank,” 388 n. 7.
 priestly prophets at qumran 61

well as its developed use in the sectarian documents of Instruction and

the sectarian rules, such divine knowledge is linked in some fashion to
the esoteric torah acquired, composed, and taught by select prophet-
priests of the community.

Songs for the Eleventh–Thirteenth Sabbaths

As noted at the outset, the final section of the Shirot in songs 9–13 augur
a shift in style. Whereas songs 1–5 offer clear syntax and discursive
poetry, and the middle set 6–8 are highly formulaic and repetitive, in
songs 9–13 nominal and participial sentences with baroque construct
chains fill the compositions. Just as the style suggests a liturgical progres-
sion, so too does the evolving subject matter of the cycle. The climax
of praise in extolling the divine king and his creation followed by the
vivification of the temple and its parts in the second half of the seventh
Sabbath song mark a preparatory transition to the last set of songs.
The final section of the cycle provides a progressive description of the
temple from the entrance to the nave to a description of the innermost
sanctum of the tabernacle, the debir with its chariot throne, concluding
with the vesting of the high priestly figures.
In terms of the development of the liturgical cycle, it is also sig-
nificant that the eleventh song occurs on the day before Shavuot, the
festival observed on the fifteenth day of the third month according to
the solar calendar.75 Shavuot had an elevated importance at Qumran,
serving also as the date for the annual covenant renewal ceremony
which included the yearly evaluation of members and initiation of new
members into the Ya ad.76 One feature of the ritual may in fact draw
on one of the two meanings of Shavuot (oaths, weeks). The initiate was
required to swear an oath (‫ )שבועת אסר‬to turn toward the torah of
Moses “according to all its revealed interpretation” (‫)לכול הנגלה ממנה‬
by the Zadokite priests, the keepers of his covenant and the seekers of

75
On the disputed calendrical observance of Shavuot in early Judaism, see James
C. VanderKam, “The Festival of Weeks and the Story of Pentecost in Acts 2,” in From
Prophecy to Pentecost: the Function of the Old Testament in the New (ed. C. A. Evans; Peabody,
MA: Hendrickson, 2004), 185–205; and more generally, James C. VanderKam, Calendars
in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time (London: Routledge, 1998).
76
On the different accounts of the admission of new members within the Rule of
the Community, see Sarianna Metso, The Serekh Texts (LSTS62; London: T & T Clark
International, 2007), 8–10, 28–30. For a discussion of the initiation ceremony as a rite
of passage, see Arnold, The Social Role of Liturgy, 52–81.
62 judith h. newman

his will (1QS V, 8–9). The qualification suggests an esoteric dimension

of instruction, or at least a knowledge of Mosaic torah with a sectarian
inflection. As has been frequently noted, the book of Jubilees which was
influential at Qumran likewise places a special emphasis on Shavuot and
dates a number of significant events in early Israelite memory to that
date, notably, the eternal covenants made with Noah ( Jub. 6:15–21)
and Abraham ( Jub. 15:1). Also significant is what follows the festival
of Shavuot according to Jubilees: the revelation to Moses commenced on
the day after the festival ( Jub. 1:1) and was of some duration.77 Moses
is with the glory of the Lord for six days before being called on the
seventh day; his time on the mountain lasts forty days.78 According to
Jubilees, the revelation comprises knowledge of events from creation
to the end times. If indeed such a commemoration of the prophetic
process of revelation at Shavuot is being elicited through the perform-
ance of the Shirot, then the implications for ongoing revelation within
the Qumran community are that it might continue beyond even the
first quarter of the solar year. More indications of the prophetic ele-
ments of the final series of songs may help to support the suggestion
of ongoing revelation.
While the songs flanking the Shavuot festival draw on Ezekiel tradi-
tions, especially the call and commissioning of Ezekiel and the prophet’s
vision of the departure and return of the divine kabod to the temple,
the influence of other scripture is evident. The Songs represent a ritual
palimpsest with layered allusions to multiple revelatory experiences in

77
VanderKam, “The Festival of Weeks,” 190, notes that the author of Jubilees does
not actually provide a precise date for the feast, referring rather to “the middle of the
month” which could be the fifteenth or the sixteenth day of the third month of the
solar calendar. Early Christians regarded Sunday, the day after Sabbath, as the first day
of the second creation. The continuing influence on early Christianity of Shavuot as a
first-fruits festival is a topic that warrants further exploration. Consider the statement
by Eusebius of Alexandria: “It was on this day that the Lord began the first fruits of
the creation of the world, and on the same day He gave the world the first-fruits of
the resurrection” J.H. Miller, Fundamentals of the Liturgy (South Bend, IN: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1959), 362.
78
Akin to such a depiction, in rabbinic Judaism the festival of Shavuot came to be
associated with the giving of Torah at Sinai, and some scholars have seen a precedent
for its associated lectionary readings in the eleventh and twelfth Songs. Lieve M. Teu-
gels, “Did Moses See the Chariot? The Link between Exod 19–20 and Ezek 1 in Early
Jewish Interpretation,” in Studies in the Book of Exodus Redaction—Reception—Interpretation
(ed. M. Vervenne; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1996), 594–602. David Halperin
posits a first century c.e. introduction of the Jewish lectionary cycle of parashah and
haftarah (based on Acts 13:15) and in particular the widespread combination of Exodus
19 and Ezekiel 1 for the lectionary reading for Shavuot; The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature
(AOS 61; New Haven: AOS, 1980), 179–80.
 priestly prophets at qumran 63

the cultural memory of Israel. There are at once glimmers of Sinai as

well as the prophetic revelation to Elijah at Horeb, perceived through
a heavy scrim of Ezekielian prophetic revelation.
Sinai is apparent through various verbal clues. The priestly kabod
tradition in Exodus is of course a prominent strand of the Sinai and
wilderness tabernacle narrative; references to divine glory in the Songs
thus resonate with its various appearances in the Hebrew Bible, from
the appearance of the divine glory in the fire and cloud settling on Sinai
(Exod 24:16–17) to Moses’ request to witness the divine glory (Exod
33:18–22) to the ultimate arrival of the divine glory in the desert taber-
nacle carefully made according to divine instruction (Exod 40:34–35).79
Just as in the Sinai and wilderness account, so too in Ezekiel, the kabod
YHWH signifies the visible and mobile divine presence that is incom-
patible with human sin and impurity and so must relocate from the
sanctuary to Babylon, where Ezekiel first encounters it. The mobile
glory is thus an appropriate figure for God for those outside the city of
Jerusalem who view the temple as a place of defiled worship.
Evidence of the priestly Sinai traditions also appears in distinctive
wording. Both the eleventh and twelfth songs make mention of “purely
salted” (‫ )ממולח טוהר‬incense (4Q405 19, 4; 20 II–22, 11; 23 II, 10).
The phrase occurs in Exod 30:35 in reference to a uniquely holy incense
that is restricted for use in the inner parts of the tent of meeting where
God meets Moses. Another link to the wilderness tradition is reflected
in the use of the term “tabernacle” (‫( )משכן‬4Q405 20 II–22, 7; cf. also
403 1 II, 10). The word in its singular form is infrequent in the Qumran
literature but appears most frequently in the priestly wilderness tradition
in Exodus 25–40. Also notable, however, is its significant occurrence
in Ezek 37:26–28 which foresees an eternal covenant in which God’s
tabernacle will dwell with the people forever.
An important indication of the ongoing retrieval of the Sinai/
Horeb tradition appears both at the end of the eleventh song and the
beginning of the twelfth in a clear allusion to the theophany to Elijah
in 1 Kgs 19:12. In a small fragment from the eleventh, again at the

79
Carey C. Newman, Paul’s Glory Christology: Tradition and Rhetoric (NTSup 69; Leiden:
Brill, 1992). Early tradents did not of course explicitly distinguish “priestly” tradi-
tions of the Pentateuch, yet there seemed to be a differentiated sensitivity to certain
strands of the tradition nonetheless. See for example in this volume C.T.R. Hayward’s
characterization of Targum Pseudo-Jonathan as interpretively elaborating especially
implicit “mystical aspects” of the mattan torah; “The Giving of the Torah: Targumic
Perspectives,” 269–86, especially 278–82.
64 judith h. newman

end of the eleventh and four times in the twelfth Song, accompanying
the movement of the cherubim throne is a “still sound” or alternately
“a divine still sound” ( ‫( )קול דממה‬4Q405 19, 7; 4Q405 20 II–22,
6–7, 8, 12, 13).80 Dale Allison has argued that the “still sound” is the
angelic worship itself and accounts for the absence of words of the
angelic songs in the Shirot. His analysis is problematic in terms of other
sounds that are mentioned in the passages, which he treats primarily in
a footnote.81 A stronger suggestion is that of Philip Alexander who in
evaluating occurrences of ‫ דממה‬and ‫ קול‬in the small fragment from
the eleventh Song, 4Q405 18, connects the “quiet divine spirit” with
“the sound of the Glory” namely, the theophany of the divine presence
itself, noting also the connection to the plural “voices” of the Sinai
theophany in Exod 19:16 and Ezek 1:25.82
The significance of the allusion to Elijah’s experience of theophany
is worth elaborating because this provides not only another connec-
tion to Sinai/Horeb revelation, but also a development of it. George
Brooke has underlined the importance of the community’s belief in the
imminent return of Elijah for their eschatology.83 Elijah is portrayed in
scripture as a Moses redivivus, as a prophet worthy of the master (Deut
18:15). Elijah experiences a prophetic revelation in the same place as
his prophetic forebear but in a very different and unexpected way. After
the account of the theophany in 1 Kgs 19:12, God commissions him
to go to the wilderness of Damascus to anoint royal figures where he
will also choose his charismatic successor Elishah, akin to Moses’ des-
ignation of Joshua. The theophany is thus a pregnant pause in Elijah’s

80
Cf. also 4Q401 16, 2; 4Q402 9, 3; 4Q405 18 3, 5. On the distinctive interpretive
combination of 1 Kgs 19:12, Ezek 3:12–13, Ezek 1:24 and 10:5, see Carol Newsom,
“Merkabah Exegesis in the Qumran Sabbath Shirot,” JJS 38 (1987): 11–30.
81
Dale Allison, “The Silence of Angels: Reflections on the Songs of the Sabbath
Sacrifice,” RevQ 13 (1988): 189–197; see 195 n. 17.
82
Cf. also the singular divine “voice” in Exod 19:19. P. Alexander, Mystical Texts,
38–39. For a discussion of the various ways in which post-biblical interpreters negoti-
ated the tension between auditory and visual language related to the Sinai revelation,
see in this volume, Steven Fraade, “Hearing and Seeing at Sinai,” 247–268. The Shirot
in their focus on recreating the sanctuary space emphasize the visual aspects of theo-
phany, though inescapably through words that must be heard through performance.
Whatever ritual actions may have accompanied the Shirot liturgical texts to engage the
participants’ eyes are unfortunately lost to us.
83
Mal 3:23–24 played a crucial role in this expectation; George J. Brooke, “The
Twelve Minor Prophets and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Congress Volume: Leiden 2004 (ed. A.
Lemaire; VTSup 109; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 19–43 (41). See further, G. Xeravits, King,
Priest, Prophet: Positive Eschatological Protagonists of the Qumran Library (STDJ 47; Leiden:
Brill, 2002), 184–91.
 priestly prophets at qumran 65

continued mission and continuing delivery of the prophetic word. The

invocation of his quiet revelatory experience in the twelfth song thus
evokes and legitimates the notion of the renewal and reestablishment
of prophetic tradition; the Sinai/Horeb font thus continues with the
availability of suitable mediators. Occurring as this does in the middle
of a composition that also summons a vision of the presence of the
glory in the tabernacle, it would seem to indicate that the revelation has
become mobile, no longer tied to a fixed geographical location such as
Sinai, but an experience tied to a mobile divine presence, making itself
known to those who have been properly purified for tasks associated
with such divine commissioning.
Further accentuating the prophetic element in the Songs is the occur-
rence of the term massa . The word has a double-meaning as both
burden and oracle, clear already from Jer 23:33–40 where the threat
of false prophecy is articulated through a play on this double sense.84
The two are not unrelated semantically in the sense that prophetic
oracles were also “burdens” borne by the prophet who was neces-
sarily bound to deliver their weighty substance. There are twenty-six
instances of the term in the Qumran literature, eleven of them in the
Shirot, although some appear in fragments so small as to be impossible
to translate with certainty.85 The word occurs in the seventh Sabbath
Song, translated above as “pillar oracle” (4Q403 1 I, 41) and several
times in the twelfth song. Indeed, in the small fragment from the twelfth
Song, 11Q17 VIII, 5b–6, comes the affirmation that “from the four
foundations of the wonderful vault, they declare with the voice of the
divine oracle (‫)מקול משא אלוהים‬. . . .” The twelfth song also contains
the first use of the term ‫כליל‬, which is translated variously as “whole
offering” (used as synonymously with “whole burnt offering” (Ps 51:21)
and also as “crown” in the Qumran literature. Given that the titles of
the compositions suggest the liturgical cycle is to be connected with the

84
The particular word massa as opposed to neum or dabar, is associated in scripture
particularly with southern prophets in close association with the Zion tradition rather
than the northern prophetic tradition. Thus the word is not used with a positive asso-
ciation in Jeremiah to indicate his own delivery of divine messages, but it is found in
Isa 13:1; 15:1; Nah 1:1; Zech 9:1; 12:1; Mal 1:1.
85
The DSSC lists four occurrences of massa as “oracle” and twenty-two occurrences
as having the meaning, “burden, task,” including all eleven instances from the Shirot,
though clearly “oracle” is a possible if not probable meaning in many of the Shirot
instances. See also the corroborating comments of Davila, Liturgical Works, 154, “The
word may be used in this [oracular] sense in lines 8–9 and in XII 4Q405 23 I, 1, 5;
11Q17 X, 6; 4Q405 81, 3 [very fragmentary]; 4Q286 2, 1, although the contexts are
frequently broken.”
66 judith h. newman

whole burnt offerings of the Sabbath, the use of this synonym may
point to another culminating element of the cycle. The remainder of
the twelfth song includes language describing the vivified temple with
gates that give voice to psalms and doorways proclaiming the glory of
the King, language echoing that of Ezek 46:1–10 with its description
of the prince and people in the re-imagined temple or Ps 24:7, 9 with
its portals praising the King of glory. These architectural features are
deemed “not too exalted for his missions (‫( ”)משלוהתו‬4Q405 23 I, 11)
recalling the language of divine creation and commissioning found in
the center of the seventh song (4Q403 1 I, 36). The twelfth song thus
picks up some of the language of the central song of the cycle as the
series comes to its rapturous culmination. If we consider the animate
sanctuary equipped with its furnishings and features as a figuration
of the transformed elect from the community, the miqdash adam in
worship, then the theophanic “still sound” should be understood as
imminently to be replaced by the sound of the priest-prophets in the
community engaged in their oracular teaching stimulated by the onset
of the theophany, the descent of the chariot-throne into the midst of
the gathered community at the Feast of Weeks.
Discussion of oracular elements in the eleventh and twelfth songs
provides an appropriate transition to the thirteenth. A location in
the holy of holies is signalled in the thirteenth song by further men-
tion of the purely blended salt incense, the divine footstool (11Q17
23–25, X, 7; Isa 66:1; 1 Chr 28:2), and finally of course, mention of
the devir itself. The sanctuary is replete with spirits, spirits that in fact
are rather hard to place given the difficult syntax of the composition
and its fragmentary state. The song seems to relate the investiture of
the angelic priests in the highly priestly garb of breastplate, ephod,
and variegated material which prepares them for their priestly role as
sacrificial officiants, teachers, and oracular speakers as well as related
functions of blessing, judging, and differentiating between pure/impure,
clean/unclean.86 Oracular use of the Urim and Thummim by anointed
priests is evident in Apocryphon of Moses:

86
On these chief functions of priests, see Florentino García Martínez, “Priestly
Functions in a Community without a Temple,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel, 303–19. See
also the classic study relating to Mal 2:6–7 of Joachim Begrich, “Die Priestliche Torah,”
in Werden und Wesen des Alten Testaments (BZAW 66; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1936), 63–88.
Begrich understood torah taught by the priests in Malachi to refer to revealed instruc-
tion and oracular knowledge. For a discussion of the semantics of rqmh (“embroidered
material”) at Qumran which suggests that its possessor has acquired an authoritative
 priestly prophets at qumran 67

They shall give light and he shall go out together with it with tongues of
fire. The left-hand stone which is in his left hand side will be revealed to
the eyes of the congregation until the priest is finished speaking . . . (4Q376
1 II, 1–2// 1Q29 1, 1–2).
So too, 4QIsaiah Pesherd (4Q164 1, 3–5) links Isa 54:11–12 to an inter-
pretation of the twelve chiefs of the priests who enlighten through
their use of the Urim and Thummim. Such teaching activity, if not
explicit oracular delivery, is also apparent in the thirteenth Song: “In
the chiefs of offerings are tongues of knowledge; they bless the God of
knowledge with all his glorious works” (4Q405 23 II, 12). The verse
recalls the offerings of tongues found in the sixth and eighth songs,
those ecstatic, if orderly, tongue offerings. Here, the content of the
tongue offerings is more specifically identified with divine knowledge
of God’s works of glory. A liturgical cycle whose calendrical beginning
can be correlated with a ceremony consecrating new priests thus rightly
closes as a group of priestly figures are elevated to their proper role
and prepared for service.

The Liturgical Telos of the Shirot

Florentino García Martínez has observed that “The Ya ad community

considered its inner circle as a temporary functional compensation for
the invalid atonement at the desecrated temple of Jerusalem. Its lay
members are said to form symbolically the heikhal (“house”) and its
priests the Holy of Holies (1QS IV; V, 6; VIII, 11; cf. 4Q258 1 I, 4,
4Q258 2 II, 6–7; 4Q509 97; 98 I, 7–8; 4Q511 35, 3).”87 As suggested
by this essay, he could also have added implicit references to the archi-
tectural features found in the Shirot. The composition and use of the
Shirot may well have predated the sectarians’ settlement at Qumran,
but the architectural elements could variously relate to different parts
of an Essene group and its leadership. As for the sectarians, the ideal
depiction of the Qumran community as described in the Community Rule
might offer a correlation between the Council of the Community, which
when established, would serve as “an everlasting plantation, a house

or leadership status within the community, see George J. Brooke, “From Qumran to
Corinth: Embroidered Allusions to Women’s Authority,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls and the
New Testament (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2005), 195–214.
87
“Temple,” EDSS, 924.
68 judith h. newman

of holiness for Israel, and a foundation (‫ )סוד‬of the holy of holies for
Aaron” (1QS VIII, 5–6).
If indeed as has been argued, the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice served
as a means of preparing a select number of priests for their own role as
ongoing authoritative interpreters of the tradition within such a “house
of holiness,” what would the content of such narrative response be?
Any discussion must also consider other dimensions of community life
at Qumran. An important text in this regard is the Rule of the Community,
with its description of the community’s commitment to spending one-
third of each night in reading (aloud) the scroll (‫)לקרוא בספר‬, and in
studying the law (‫ )לדרוש משפט‬and in blessing as a community (‫ולברך‬
‫( )ביחד‬1QS VI, 7–8). Many scholars have emphasized the first two
activities and neglected the significance of the third, which suggests
considerable time spent in liturgical activities. It is clear that the legal
traditions and their interpretation at Qumran were an ongoing source
of engagement in the community as it sought to extend and develop
scriptural legal traditions. If analogies with later rabbinic practices
hold, much of the interpretation seems to have gone on orally and
was preserved in that way, and perhaps alongside written texts.88 So,
too, studying “the scroll” was also a central common activity.89 Steven
Fraade emphasizes especially the two activities of studying Torah and
sectarian rules as paramount:
Once so established as a ‘community of holiness’, study both of Torah and
communal laws constitutes a central practice of their religious life. Through
such ongoing study, the Torah is more fully disclosed to them and new
laws are revealed to them to suit their changing circumstances.90
He rightly points to study as a medium of their ongoing revelation and
notes the close connection between such collective study and worship,
though neglecting the liturgical context as itself a revelatory locus:

88
Metso, The Serekh Texts, 68–69, refers in particular to the work of Martin S. Jaffee
in discussing the traditions of halakhic interpretation at Qumran; Jaffee has considered
the evidence from Qumran to some extent but certainly not the liturgical materials
which comprise roughly one-third of the “non-biblical” texts discovered: Torah in the
Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 100 B.C.E.–400 C.E. (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2001).
89
Fraade, “Interpretive Authority at Qumran,” 56–57, suggests that the “book of
Torah” may possibly be equated with the “sēper hehāgô” mentioned in a parallel pas-
sage in CD XIII, 2–3.
90
Fraade, “Interpretive Authority at Qumran,” 61.
 priestly prophets at qumran 69

The community considered itself to be a ‘congregation of holiness’ . . . or

‘council of holiness’ . . . whose members worshipped in the presence
of holy angels, as they constructed lives of levitical purity and moral
perfection, while engaging collectively in the cultivation of esoterically
revealed knowledge.91
Given the supposition that these ongoing revelatory compositions were
initially oral, any suggestions must necessarily involve speculation
because the mysteries of knowledge underlying some of the sect’s
activities were indeed kept obscure, and we might consider a range of
possibilities in understanding the nature of such priestly-angelic procla-
mation. It could be understood most narrowly to relate to the content
of the Sabbath Songs themselves.92 It seems more likely to point beyond
the authorship and content of the songs themselves, to be linked to the
group’s discursive composition, whether of liturgical materials, given
the great number of prayers, hymns, and psalms found in the Qumran
collection or even more broadly to the production of such distinctively
sectarian teachings as the pesharim, or the Temple Scroll.
A few examples might illustrate such creative liturgical composition
“on the tongue” on the part of elect priestly elements of the Qumran
community. The Hodayot as uniquely sectarian liturgical compositions
provide a particularly apt example. Using the trope of life-giving
springs, the hymnist describes himself as a source linked to the waters
of divine mystery: “But you, O my God, have placed your words in
my mouth, as showers of early rain, for all who thirst and as a spring
of living waters.” (1QH XVI, 16). Another thanksgiving praises the
“God of knowledge”:
You created spirit for the tongue and you know its words . . . You bring
forth the measuring lines according to their mysteries, and the utterances
of spirits in accordance with their plan in order to make known your
glory and recount your wonders . . . (1QH IX, 27–30).
An even clearer example appears in another thanksgiving which depicts
the vocation of the “holy ones” who have entered a purified realm:
There is hope for the one you have created from dust for the eternal
council. You have purified the perverted spirit from great sin in order that

91
Fraade, “Interpretive Authority at Qumran,” 63–64.
92
This is the view of Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge,” 198 (cf. 208, 213),
who describes the content of the narration suggested by the Songs as a “poetic depiction
of the imaginal realm preserved in the hymns.”
70 judith h. newman

he might take his stand with the host of the holy ones and enter in the
Ya ad with the congregation of the sons of heaven and you have allotted
for each an eternal destiny with the spirits of knowledge to praise your
name joyfully in the Ya ad and to recount your wonders, to declare all
of your works. (1QH XI, 21–23)
The excerpt above would even seem to encapsulate in brief the litur-
gical movement of the Songs themselves, from the first song in which
the worshippers bemoan their “tongue of dust” until their purification
allows them to join in the spirit-induced ecstatic praise to recount the
divine wonders of creation, indeed all of God’s “works.”
As was evident in the seventh Song, blessing at Qumran involves
rumination (hgh), and presupposes interiorization of scriptural instruction
from the daily practice of study that allows for its creative readapta-
tion. An example of such creative praying of the tradition might be
found in one account of the covenant renewal ceremony itself.93 With
an elaborated version of the three-fold priestly blessing known from
Num 6:24–26 (1QS II, 1–4), the priests are called to bless the tammim,
the pure ones who have entered successfully into the Ya ad. While the
blessing of the priests is included in the Rule of the Community, they are
also expected to “recite the righteous deeds of God in all his great words
and announce his merciful favors toward Israel (1QS I, 21). The priests
are not described as reading from a scroll, which would be indicated
by the verb ‫קרא‬, but are depicted as offering a recounting (‫)מספרים‬
of divine involvement in Israel’s past, thus suggesting an oral delivery
of such account. The Levites are also said to play a seemingly shadow
role to the priests in the liturgy by recalling the sinful activity of Israel
and by cursing those of the lot of Belial. A more expansive view of the
content of the narration engendered by the Songs thus might include
various reconstruals of the contents of some parts of the Tanakh,
those compositions that have been classified as “parabiblical” among
the Qumran literature.94 If we can assume that the Songs predate the
settlement of a group at Qumran, the liturgical performances and their

93
Different versions of the entry rites for new members are found in the rule texts;
see the careful discussion of Metso, Serekh Texts, 28–30.
94
The term Tanakh is used heuristically, while recognizing the textual pluriformity
of those books that would later be included in the Bible; on this see the writings of
Eugene Ulrich, e.g., “The Bible in the Making: The Scriptures Found at Qumran,” in
The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation (ed. P. Flint; STDSRL; Grand Rapids;
MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 51–66.
 priestly prophets at qumran 71

aftermath may have generated a host of versions of the torah from

Sinai during the many years of their use.

Conclusion

To come full circle to our initial question: Why would members of the
Qumran Ya ad participate in a liturgy describing angelic priestly praise
and activity, a liturgy that never reveals the words offered to God by
the angelic figures themselves? The unique genre of the Songs suggests a
unique use within the Qumran community. The answer here proposed is
because a remnant of Jacob was indeed no longer rooted in the concerns
of fleshly existence but, over the course of the first quarter of the solar
year of Sabbaths, was enacting its own telos as a purified “sanctuary
of men,” and in performing the heaven-on-earthly, temple-tabernacle
liturgy, provided a model and inspiration for continuing revelation by
the angelic-priests in the community who served among them. The
cumulative evidence of subtle lexical hints suggests as much. At the
center of the liturgical cycle lies an account of the purposeful divine
creation in which energy unleashed serves as a commissioning of all
angels, spirits and created beings by the divine will. For the angels, this
involves in part their call to “proclaim” (hgh) through esoteric knowledge.
The distinctions between priests, humans, angels, deities, and spirits,
clear at the more prosaic beginning of the cycle, gradually becomes
blurred if not indistinguishable by the thirteenth Song.
It seems clear that highly literate individuals with time to devote
to esoteric intellectual pursuits composed the Songs. Just as the Shirot
themselves are rich, multi-layered tapestries that offer a narrative depic-
tion of heaven-on-earthly praise, scripturalized discourse offered to the
divine king, the songs to be sung by ecstatic tongues should be mani-
festations of the purified hearts and minds of the priestly community
members whose proper mission is to reproduce in the best way possible
the gift of divine instruction from Sinai. Depending on the degree of
the author’s (inspired) imagination, the resulting compositions might
be worthy of “tongues of instruction” such as in the Hodayot (1QHa
XVI, 35–36) or other reconstruals of torah (4Q405 23 II, 10b–13).
The songs of the angels, and ultimately their own songs, were to be a
means of summoning a priestly version of Sinai in which the glorious
divine presence and its angelic retinue would continue to reveal the
mysteries of the divine purpose in creation and history, past, present,
72 judith h. newman

and future. The revelation of Torah at Sinai as summoned through the

ritual of the Shirot was retrieved through the lenses of three prophets
and their commissioning for service: Isaiah, a prophet of Zion who
re-conceived the Temple and its role after the exile, Ezekiel, the exiled
prophetic visionary, and finally Elijah, the Mosaic successor, as the
glorious presence of God among the purified elect signals as well its
continuing reception of divine revelation.
Rabbinic Judaism would ultimately recognize torah she-be al-peh and
torah she bikhtab transmitted through a chain of authoritative prophetic-
sagely voices from Moses to Joshua to the men of the great assembly,
but by-passing the priestly house of Aaron (m. Abot 1:1). At Qumran,
we may witness in the performance of the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice a
ritual prompting a torah she be al lashon, torah on the tongue, an ecstatic,
spirit-filled offering of the divine teaching from Sinai, generated through
a liturgical sequence that served both to legitimate and to reinforce the
authoritative angelic-priestly status of the elect leadership. The strands of
Sinai that are summoned are enmeshed closely with those of Zion and
its prophetic priestly traditions. It is not Moses so much in evidence as
the prophetic voice of authority, but the heirs of Aaron and his house
who dominate this retrieval of divine teaching.
 MOVING MOUNTAINS: FROM SINAI TO JERUSALEM

George J. Brooke
University of Manchester, England

The purpose of this paper is to argue that in terms of its religious

outlook the sect behind the sectarian scrolls found in the eleven caves
at and near Qumran was oriented towards Jerusalem more than
towards Sinai, towards Mount Zion more than towards Mount Horeb.
This perspective, it seems to me, can be compared creatively with the
outlook of Philo or with the tendenz of later rabbinic compilations
in which the locus of revelation is clearly less significant than either
what was revealed there or the one to whom the revelation was given.
What the Qumran movement seems to share with both Philo and the
rabbinic tradition is a concern to pay attention to Moses, and what is
mediated through him, moving the focus of attention away from the
locus of revelation itself.1

1. The background in the book of Jubilees

I accept that the book of Jubilees carries much weight for the group
whose library was found at Qumran.2 Jubilees seems to serve several
functions. It not only represents the kind of halakhic concerns that are
developed in more obviously sectarian compositions like the Damas-
cus Document,3 but it also serves to mediate valuable insights from the

1
On the significance of Moses for Philo see especially, Hindy Najman, Seconding
Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism ( JSJSup 77; Leiden:
Brill, 2003), 70–107. On the role of Sinai traditions and Moses at Qumran see, in
this volume, Marcus Tso, “Giving the Torah at Sinai and the Ethics of the Qumran
Community,” 117–28.
2
Michael A. Knibb, Jubilees and the Origins of the Qumran Community: An Inaugural Lecture
in the Department of Biblical Studies (London: King’s College, 1989), 17, writes: “there can
be no question that the Palestinian priestly reform movement that lies behind Jubilees
belongs in the pre-history of the Qumran sect and of the wider Essene movement.”
3
Most scholars have assumed that Jubilees is quoted as an authority in CD XVI,
3–4, but see also Devorah Dimant, “Two ‘Scientific’ Fictions: The So-Called Book of
Noah and the Alleged Quotation of Jubilees in CD 16:3–4,” in Studies in the Hebrew
74 george j. brooke

Enochic traditions into a Sinaitic persepctive,4 it provides a reworked

but primordial5 version of Israel’s meta-narrative of world history in
a chronology of jubilee cycles, and it explains how the revealed law
has to be supplemented through knowledge of what is on the heavenly
tablets. In its overarching priestly and Levitical interests it is naturally
more oriented towards the altar in the Jerusalem temple than towards
the altar at the foot of the mountain built by Moses himself (Exod
24:4). The orientation of Jubilees is made plain at the outset:
And he said to the angel of the presence, “Write for Moses from the first
creation until my sanctuary is built in their midst forever and ever. And
the Lord will appear in the sight of all. And everyone will know that I
am the God of Israel and the father of all the children of Jacob and
king upon Mount Zion forever and ever. And Zion and Jerusalem will
be holy” ( Jub. 1:27–28).6
This is taken forward in Jub. 1:29 in which there is a summary descrip-
tion of the contents of the tablets as containing everything “from the
day of creation”7 until “the sanctuary of the Lord is created in Jeru-
salem upon Mount Zion.”
Of course the narrative of Jubilees is set on Sinai. It is the location
of the establishment of the covenant that God makes with Moses for
the children of Israel and their descendants ( Jub. 1:2–6). And accord-
ing to Jub. 4:26 Sinai is one of the four sacred places on the earth: the
garden of Eden, the mountain of the East, Sinai, and Mount Zion.
But it is Mount Zion that “will be sanctified in the new creation for the
sanctification of the earth.” It is Mount Zion of all the sacred places
that is described as “in the midst of the navel of the earth” ( Jub. 8:19;
cf. Ezek 5:5; 38:12).8 Furthermore, it is Mount Zion that is explicitly
identified as the location of the Aqedah ( Jub. 19:13). Through the

Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich (ed. P. W. Flint, E. Tov and J. C.
VanderKam; VTSup 101; Leiden, Brill, 2006), 230–49, especially 242–48.
4
As argued by Helge S. Kvanvig, “Jubilees—Between Enoch and Moses: A Narra-
tive Reading,” JSJ 35 (2004): 243–61. Kvanvig proposes that the narrative structure
of Jubilees is Enochic, for all that Moses dominates it.
5
To use Hindy Najman’s illuminating term as developed in “Interpretation as
Primordial Writing: Jubilees and Its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30 (1999):
379–410; see also her Seconding Sinai.
6
Trans. Orval S. Wintermute in OTP 2.54. All subsequent English renderings of
the book of Jubilees are taken from Wintermute’s translation.
7
This phrase is a restoration proposed by Michael E. Stone, “Apocryphal Notes
and Readings,” IOS 1 (1971): 123–31 (125–26).
8
1 Enoch 26:1 also describes Jerusalem as the centre of the earth.
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 75

fiction of the heavenly tablets Jubilees provides for the congregation of

Israel the necessary priestly interpretative additions to the Law, addi-
tions that are oriented unashamedly towards Jerusalem.

2. Sinai and Jerusalem: vocabulary data

Before beginning to describe and analyse some of the reasons why

Mount Sinai is left behind in the movement towards Jerusalem, some
raw data can be laid out. As background to these data Martin Abegg
has noted that in what we might call anachronistically the non-biblical
literature of the Qumran library, proper names are far less frequent than
in the Hebrew Bible. For example in the Hebrew Bible over eight per
cent of the vocabulary is personal names, whereas in the non-biblical
Qumran literature the corresponding figure is less than two per cent.9
So, although the Qumran literary corpus has a scriptural feel to it,10
direct comparisons with the situation in the Hebrew Bible are not
entirely appropriate, not least also because certain books of the Bible
are clearly more significant (and more well attested) in the Qumran
collection than others. But we need to get some facts straight before
we try to explain this attitude of facing Jerusalem while only looking
over the shoulder to Sinai.
For place names Abegg has noted as a provisional statistic that in
both the Hebrew Bible and in the Qumran corpus the most frequently
mentioned name is Egypt,11 but in both corpora the next most fre-
quent name is Jerusalem,12 to which can be added Zion, the next most
frequently attested pace name in Qumran Literature. A preliminary
comment would thus be in order: the tendency at Qumran to follow
the Jerusalem orientation of Jubilees is also a reflection of a similar
tendency in the works that were beginning to be assembled to make up
the Hebrew Bible. Nevertheless, the surprising thing is that in the non-
biblical Qumran corpus the name Sinai survives but five times: (1) in

9
Martin G. Abegg, “Concordance of Proper Nouns in the Non-Biblical Texts from
Qumran,” in The Texts from the Judaean Desert: Indices and an Introduction to the Discoveries
in the Judaean Desert Series (ed. E. Tov; DJD XXXIX; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002),
229–84 (231).
10
As I tried to demonstrate in George J. Brooke, “The Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The
Biblical World (ed. J. Barton; London and New York: Routledge, 2002), 1.250–69.
11
Egypt: Hebrew Bible 682 times; Qumran Literature 101 times.
12
Jerusalem: Hebrew Bible 643 times. Qumran Literature 63 times. Zion occurs
38 times in Qumran Literature.
76 george j. brooke

1Q22 1 I, 4 there is a report of a divine speech to Moses in the fortieth

year after the Exodus which is a recollection of “what I commanded
you on Mount Sinai;”13 (2) in 4Q365 26a–b, 4, which composition
might even be deemed to be scriptural,14 contains a verbatim use of
Num 1:1, “in the wilderness of Sinai;” (3) in the so-called Discourse
on the Exodus/Conquest Tradition (4Q374) 2 I, 7 the single word
“Sinai” is preserved at the end of an extant line;15 (4) in 4QApocryphal
Pentateuch B (4Q377) 2 II, 6 in which the revelation at Sinai is recalled
in a context that makes clear that divine communication was to all
the people, not just to Moses;16 (5) in Visions of Amrame (4Q547) 9, 4
there is a mention of Mount Sinai in a context that seems concerned
with the exaltation of the priesthood.17 In addition to these sparse
references to Sinai itself, there is just one extant reference to Horeb,
the Deuteronomic synonym: in The Words of the Luminaries (4Q504) 3
II, 13, in the prayer for the fourth day of the week, God is addressed
as sanctified in his glory and, in a somewhat fragmentary section, the
text recalls the covenant made by God “with us” on Horeb. Some of
the phraseology seems to recall the language of Deut 5:2 in particular:
“The Lord God made a covenant with us at Horeb.” M. Baillet, who
was responsible for the principal edition of 4Q504,18 suggested that
the very title of the composition, The Words of the Luminaries, possibly

13
For improved readings in a small part of 1Q22 and consideration of its relation-
ship to Jubilees that are significant for the point of this paper, see Eibert Tigchelaar,
“A Cave 4 Fragment of Divre Mosheh (4QDM) and the Text of 1Q22 1:7–10 and
Jubilees 1:9, 14,” DSD 12 (2005): 303–12.
14
As proposed for 4Q364, 4Q365 and 4Q366 by Michael Segal, “4QReworked
Pentateuch or 4QPentateuch?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after Their Discovery: Pro-
ceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20 –25, 1997 (ed. L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov and J. C.
VanderKam; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and the Shrine of the Book, 2000),
391–99; and most recently by his teacher Emanuel Tov in a forthcoming study.
15
Carol Newsom, “Discourse on the Exodus/Conquest Tradition,” in Qumran Cave
4.XIV: Parabiblical Texts, Part 2 (ed. M. Broshi et al.; DJD XIX; Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1995), 101, comments: “If ‫ סיני‬is the correct reading (rather than ‫)סוני‬, refer-
ences to taking possession in line 6 and to Sinai here establish the context as that of
the exodus/conquest traditions.”
16
James C. VanderKam and Monica Brady, “4QApocryphal Pentateuch B,” in
Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh and Qumran Cave 4.XXVIII: Miscel-
lanea, Part 2 (ed. D. M. Gropp, M. Bernstein et al.; DJD XXVIII; Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 2001), 213–15. VanderKam and Brady note that the language of Exod 33:11
is transferred from Moses to the assembly of Israel.
17
It might be possible to restore the word “Sinai” in a few other contexts based on
other versions of some compositions such as Jubilees and 1 Enoch.
18
Maurice Baillet, Qumrân Grotte 4.III (4Q482–4Q520) (DJD VII; Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1982), 137–68.
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 77

indicated that the whole was conceived on priestly lines, since works
like Ben Sira (45:17) and the Testament of Levi (4:3; 18:3–4) assign the
priesthood the task of mediating the divine light to the community.19
As with Jubilees the priestly transmission of the Sinai tradition leads to
its transformation in significant ways.
For Jerusalem and Zion, as already indicated above, the situation is
very remarkably different, with several dozen references in a full range
of genres.20 Some of these references are straightforwardly geographical
and neutral in tone; in 4Q180 5–6, 4 “Mount Zion” occurs in apposition
to Jerusalem, confirming the synonymous character of the labels. Other
references are polemical, written against those who have polluted the city
and its sanctuary, apparently forcing the members of the community to
forsake the city. Yet others are aspirational, either laying out the correct
legal framework for the construction of the temple and the sacrifices
to be performed there or looking to the future when the community
would be able to return there to work in the sanctuary that God himself
would build and to live in the city, a perfect piece of town planning.
In some instances the sectarian “camp” is the functional equivalent
of the “city of Jerusalem.”21 Polemical references can be found in the
exegetical compositions. In Pesher Habakkuk the city of which Habak-
kuk speaks in Hab 2:17 is identified explicitly with Jerusalem (1QpHab
XII, 7) and the enemies of the community include the priests of Jeru-
salem (1QpHab IX, 4). Pesher Isaiah and Pesher Nahum similarly offer
negative comments about the inhabitants of Jerusalem (4Q162 II, 7,
10; 4Q169 3–4 I, 10–11). Amongst the aspirational literature is the
War Scroll in whose editorial framework there is technical wilderness

19
On 4Q504 as probably Deuteronomic and Levitical in outlook see Daniel Falk,
Daily, Sabbath, and Festival Prayers in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 27; Leiden: Brill, 1998),
59–94.
20
For a survey of this material and why Jerusalem should be so prominent see,
e.g., Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Jerusalem in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Centrality of
Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives (ed. M. Poorthuis and C. Safrai; Kampen: Kok Pharos,
1996), 73–88; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “Jerusalem,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea
Scrolls (ed. L. H. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam; New York: Oxford University Press,
2000), 402–4; Philip R. Davies, “From Zion to Zion: Jerusalem in the Dead Sea Scrolls,”
in Jerusalem in Ancient History and Tradition (ed. T. L. Thompson; London: T & T Clark
International, 2003), 164–70.
21
As pointed out most recently by Steven Fraade, “Looking for Narrative Midrash
at Qumran,” in Rabbinic Perspectives: Rabbinic Literature and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings
of the Eighth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls
and Associated Literature, 7–9 January, 2003 (ed. S. D. Fraade, A. Shemesh and R. A.
Clements; STDJ 62; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 43–66 (59).
78 george j. brooke

terminology used for describing the arrangement of the community

as military units, in which the wilderness setting is identified as “the
wilderness of Jerusalem” (1QM I, 3); elsewhere in the composition it is
assumed that the army leaves “Jerusalem” to go to war (1QM VII, 4);
this quasi-liturgical and “pacifist” text which sublimates the violence
through cultic action is a priestly text through and through, so the Jeru-
salem orientation is hardly surprising. Hanan Eshel, for one, considers
the hymn that opens with the lines “O Zion, rejoice greatly, O Jerusalem,
show yourself amidst jubilation” (1QM XII, 12–15) to be a Qumranic
composition.22 Other aspirational texts include the Temple Scroll which
describes both how the temple should have been built by Solomon and
others, but never was, and also contains mention of the sanctuary which
God himself will construct. The New Jerusalem composition describes
the perfectly laid out city. The so-called “Apostrophe to Zion” lays out
an ideal picture of Jerusalem and expresses a fundamental loyalty to
the holy city in the present and future.23 In all this much of the pres-
ent experiences and the future hopes of the Qumran community and
the wider movement of which it was a part are given focus through
reacting against the contemporary polluted Jerusalem sanctuary and
through longing for a restored Jerusalem temple.24

3. Moving from Sinai to Jerusalem

There seem to be several reasons why the setting of the Mosaic revela-
tion is no longer important for the compilers of the Qumran library
beyond its cultic and narrative memorialization as the place of the
giving of the Law. As the movement represented by the library in the
eleven caves stood between Sinai and Jerusalem, between the wilder-

22
Hanan Eshel, “A Note on a Recently Published Text: the ‘Joshua Apocryphon’,”
in The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives (ed. M. Poorthuis and Ch. Safrai;
Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996), 89–93 (89).
23
See Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Apostrophe to Zion (11QPsalms Scroll 22:1–15),” in
Prayer from Alexander to Constantine: A Critical Anthology (ed. M. Kiley; London: Routledge,
1997), 18–22. This poem was probably not a sectarian composition, but was copied,
read and used there.
24
On this restoration see Lawrence H. Schiffman, “The Concept of Restoration
in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Restoration: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Perspectives
(ed. J. M. Scott; JSJSup 72; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 203–21. Schiffman argues that the
description of the temple in the Temple Scroll is intended as much for the present as
for the future.
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 79

ness and the purified sanctuary, between exile and complete return, it
devised numerous strategies in self-understanding and religious practice
to assist it in its ideological move from Sinai to Jerusalem.

A. The book of Deuteronomy

The first is perhaps the most obvious. Deuteronomy itself looks else-
where for the location and dwelling-place of the divine name: the legal
core of the book, Deuteronomy 12–26, is a promulgation of legisla-
tion to be observed in the land which is given by God. This collection
of laws opens with rulings on the centralization of worship at “the
place that the Lord your God will choose out of all your tribes as his
habitation to put his name there” (Deut 12:5, 11, 21; cf. 12:14, 18,
26).25 “Deut 12 clearly has Jerusalem in view.”26 But beyond the way
that Deuteronomy speaks of such a place, which is clearly not Sinai,
the book also has a future orientation that looks beyond the journey of
the Israelites with Moses. This orientation is partly responsible for the
lack of attention to Sinai as sacred space. With hindsight portrayed as
foresight the legislation is couched in covenantal terms that depend on
the situation of its pre-exilic redactors in Jerusalem. Those redactors
know that there is no point in seeking to make pilgrimages to Sinai, if
God himself has decamped and moved house to another country.
Part of the trajectory which Deuteronomy itself represents, that is,
the ongoing need for the rewriting of the Law, is taken up by com-
positions such as the Temple Scroll. The content of such rewritings is
often a pointer to the sense of the partial inadequacy of the Law as
given at Sinai. So, for example, the Temple Scroll can take much of the
legislation about the wilderness tabernacle and combine it with other
traditions to create a series of divine speeches in a Sinaitic setting that
speak directly of the Jerusalem sanctuary as it should have been built,
but never was. In imitating and paraphrasing Deuteronomy, works such
as the Temple Scroll introduce content that shows them to be shifting
the Law ever closer to what with hindsight their authors and redactors
could conceive of as life in the land and at the temple. Deuteronomy in

25
The well-known euphemistic phraseology recurs in various guises at Deut 14:23,
25; 16:2, 6, 7, 11, 15, 16; 17:8, 10; 18:6; 26:2; 31:11.
26
Christoph Bultmann, “Deuteronomy,” in The Oxford Bible Commentary (ed. J. Barton
and J. Muddiman; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 144. For a discussion of
how the relativization of Sinai happens already in the book of Deuteronomy, see Marc
Zvi Brettler, “Fire, Cloud, and Deep Darkness,” 15–28 (esp. 26–28) in this volume.
80 george j. brooke

particular provided form, content and purpose for continuing Mosaic

discourse but in a new context away from Sinai.27

B. Focus on the mediator, not the locus of revelation

Secondly, it is possible in the Qumran sectarian texts, as for Philo,28 to
separate the mediator and the revelation he received from the location
where he received the revelation,29 so that although Sinai/Horeb is
seldom referred to in the non-scriptural compositions, there is frequent
reference to Moses and the Law.30 The mediator and his mediation
are indeed recalled, but the setting where it all took place is assumed
rather than named.31 Yet, in this matter the evidence for the treatment
of Moses in the compositions found in the Qumran library is somewhat
ambiguous.32 It has to be acknowledged that Moses generally receives an
excellent press. Not only is his name the most frequent personal name
in the non-scriptural scrolls, but also his status as lawgiver, as mediator
of the Law is unchallenged, as James Bowley has summarised.33 Indeed

27
Overall on how both Jubilees and the Temple Scroll participate in Mosaic discourse
see Najman, Seconding Sinai, 41–69.
28
See Najman, Seconding Sinai, 70–107.
29
Though such separation is not that proposed by Martin Noth, The History of Israel
(New York: Harper & Brothers, 1958), 58: Moses “had no historical connection with
the event which took place on Sinai.”
30
Designations such as “the Law of Moses”, “the book of Moses”, “by the hand of
Moses”: e.g., CD V, 12; VIII, 14; XV, 9; XVI, 5; 1QS I, 3; V, 8; VIII, 15, 22; 1QM
X, 6; 1QHa IV, 12; 2Q25 1, 3; 4Q249 verso 1. Josephus’ statement about the Essenes
that “after God they hold most in awe the name of the lawgiver, any blasphemer of
whom is punished with death” (War 2.145) might also be relevant.
31
Daniel Falk, “Moses, Texts of,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. L. H.
Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam; New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 577–81,
lists briefly many of the compositions associated with Moses: several copies of the
book of Jubilees (1QJuba–b; 2QJuba–b; 3QJub; 4QJuba–h, i?;11QJub + XQTextA); several
copies of what have been labelled an Apocryphon of Moses (1QWords of Moses [1Q22];
Liturgy of the Three Tongues of Fire [1Q29]; and Apocryphon of Moses a,b,c [4Q375, 376, 408]);
various compositions akin to the book of Jubilees (4Q225–227); Apocryphal Pentateuch
A (4Q368); the various copies of the Temple Scroll (4Q524; 11Q19–21; possibly some
fragments of 4Q365), a composition which is addressed to Moses. There are also a
number of exegetical works, in which the exegesis is implicit in the rewriting of large
sections of the Pentateuch, such as Apocryphon of Moses (2Q21); Paraphrase of Exodus (in
Greek; 4Q127); and Apocryphal Pentateuch B (4Q377).
32
Some of the following two paragraphs on Moses is expounded more fully in my
article, George J. Brooke, “Moses in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Looking at Mount Nebo
from Qumran,” in La construction de la figure de Moïse/The Construction of the Figure of Moses
(ed. T. Römer; TranseuSup 13; Paris: Gabalda, 2007), 209–23.
33
James E. Bowley, “Moses in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Living in the Shadow of God’s
Anointed,” in The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation (ed. P. W. Flint; Studies
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 81

to join the movement is to swear “to return to the Torah of Moses”

(CD XV, 12, 19; XVI, 2, 5), an oath based on the view that in the
Law of Moses “everything is precisely explained” (CD XVI, 1–2). As
Geza Vermes pointed out long ago: “The law of Moses was the only
rule of life . . . The Torah of Moses was the charter of the community.
In it . . . all things are strictly defined.”34
Two further items exemplify the high status of Moses. To begin with
there is reflection on his prophetic status. Somewhat in line with the
shift of emphasis from Sinai to Jerusalem, this has an eschatological
dimension. In Testimonia (4Q175) Exodus 20 is cited in a form also known
from the Samaritan Pentateuch in which Deut 5:28–29 and 18:18–19
from the proto-Masoretic tradition are combined to provide a proof-text
for the expectation of an eschatological prophet.35 The identity of the
eschatological prophet who is to be like Moses has been widely debated:
the most popular candidates have been Elijah (cf. 4Q558) or the Teacher
of Righteousness returned from the dead.36 A minority opinion has
identified this eschatological prophet with Moses himself.37
Second, two texts have been understood as possibly indicating the
apotheosis of Moses. In the Discourse on the Exodus/Conquest Tradition
(4Q374) a part of frag. 2, col. II, reads as follows: “(6) [And] he made
him as God [lxlwhym] over the mighty ones and a cause of reeli[ng]
to Pharaoh.”38 Carol Newsom has noted how the phrasing in line 6
recalls the language of Exod 7:1: “And the Lord said to Moses, ‘See, I
have made you God [xlwhym] to Pharaoh and Aaron your brother will
be your prophet’.” Crispin Fletcher-Louis has understood the text as

in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001),
159–81.
34
Geza Vermes, “The Qumran Interpretation of Scripture in its Historical Setting,”
ALUOS 6 (1966–1968): 85–97 (87); reprinted in Geza Vermes, Post-Biblical Jewish Studies
(SJLA 8; Leiden: Brill, 1975), 37–49 (39).
35
On the implications of 4QTestimonia and 4Q158 for the better understanding
of the origins of the Samaritan expectation of the Taheb, see Ferdinand Dexinger,
“Der ‘Prophet wie Mose’ in Qumran und bei den Samaritanern,” in Mélanges bibliques
et orientaux en l’honneur de M. Mathias Delcor (ed. A. Caquot, S. Légasse and M. Tardieu;
AOAT 215; Neukirchen: Kevelaer and Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1985), 97–111.
36
This is the line taken early on by Geza Vermes, “La figure de Moïse au tournant
des deux testaments,” in Moïse: l’homme de l’alliance (H. Cazelles et al.; Paris: Desclée de
Brouwer, 1955), 63–92 (83).
37
A view recently espoused again by John C. Poirier, “The Endtime Return of
Elijah and Moses at Qumran,” DSD 10 (2003): 221–42.
38
Carol Newsom, “374. 4QDiscourse on the Exodus/Conquest Tradition,” in
Qumran Cave 4.XIV: Parabiblical Texts, Part 2 (ed. M. Broshi et al.; DJD XIX; Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1995), 99–110 (102).
82 george j. brooke

implying “that throughout lines 6–10 the actor who stands at centre
stage is the divine Moses, though God himself is ultimately responsible
for the plot as he directs the drama from the wings.”39 The view of
Moses in 4Q374 is certainly exalted; he is likened to the angels, and the
healing properties of his shining face would seem to have theophanic
characteristics, but whether he is as exalted as Fletcher-Louis proposes
has yet to be determined, not least because the statement of Exod 7:1
which might be understood as equating Moses with God seems to be
made into a matter of comparative agency in the Discourse on the Exodus/
Conquest Tradition (4Q374), frag. 2, col. II.
In Apocryphal Pentateuch B (4Q377), frag. 2, there seems to be a con-
tinuation from earlier columns of a narrative reworking of the account
of Israel at Sinai.40 In it a certain previously unknown Elibah exhorts
the congregation of YHWH in a long speech:
(4) . . . vacat Cursed is the man who will not stand and keep and d[o ] (5)
all m.[ ] . . through the mouth of Moses his anointed one [mšy˜w], and
to follow YHWH, the God of our fathers, who m . .[ ] (6) to us from
Mt. Sin[ai] vacat And he spoke wi[th ]the assembly of Israel face to face
as a man speaks (7) with his friend and a[s ]r . . š.[ ]r He showed us in
a fire burning above [from] heaven vacat [ ] (8) and on the earth; he
stood on the mountain to make known that there is no god beside him
and there is no rock like him [ ] (9) the assembly {the congrega[tion}]
they answered. Trembling seized them before the glory of God and
because of the wondrous sounds, [ ] (10) and they stood at a distance.
vacat And Moses, the man of God, was with God in the cloud. And the
cloud covered (11) him because .[ ]when he was sanctified [bhqdšw], and
like a messenger he would speak from his mouth, for who of fles[h ]is
like him, (12) a man of faithfulness [xyš ˜sdym] and yw.[ ].m who were
not created {to} from eternity and forever. . . . [ ]41

39
Crispin H. T. Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam: Liturgical Anthropology in the Dead
Sea Scrolls (STDJ 42; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 137; his ideas on this composition were first
outlined in “4Q374: A Discourse on the Sinai Tradition: The Deification of Moses
and Early Christology,” DSD 3 (1996): 236–52. His ideas have been described as “a
tantalizing possibility” by James R. Davila, “Heavenly Ascents in the Dead Sea Scrolls,”
in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Account (ed. P. W. Flint and J. C.
VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 461–85 (472–73).
40
Johannes Zimmermann, Messianische Texte aus Qumran: Königliche, priesterliche und
prophetische Messiasvorstellungen in den Schriftfunden von Qumran (WUNT 2/104; Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 332–42.
41
James C. VanderKam and Monica Brady, “377. 4QApocryphal Pentateuch B,”
Wadi Daliyeh II: The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh and Qumran Cave 4.XXVIII (ed.
D. M. Gropp, M. Bernstein et al.; DJD XXVIII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001),
205–17 (214).
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 83

Once again, C. Fletcher-Louis has argued that this text envisages a

divine Moses,42 but an earlier close reading of the same fragments by
Johannes Zimmermann did not produce a divine or angelic Moses.43
However, despite these many and varied positive depictions of Moses,
there are several features about him that call for a different kind of
assessment. First, apart from some very minor exceptions, such as the
brief mention of how with Aaron he stood his ground against Jannes
and Jambres (CD V, 18–19), there is no interest in the Qumran library
in the other events or circumstances of Moses’ life beyond his media-
tion of the Law.
Second, even in relation to the Law it is understood that Moses’
mediation was incomplete.44 In the Damascus Document there is multiple
reference to “the hidden things in which all Israel had strayed: his holy
Sabbaths, the glorious appointed times, his righteous testimonies, his
true ways, and the desires of his will, which a person shall do and live
by them”45 (CD III, 12–16). The Law of Moses was not enough to live
by, as 1QS V, 7–10 also makes plain: “Whoever approaches the Council
of the Community shall enter the Covenant of God in the presence of
all who have freely pledged themselves. He shall undertake by a binding
oath to return with all his heart and soul to every commandment of
the Law of Moses in accordance with all that has been revealed of it
to the sons of Zadok, the Priests, Keepers of the Covenant and Seekers
of His will, and to the multitude of the men of their Covenant who
together have freely pledged themselves to His truth and to walking in

42
He is supported in this by Jan Willem van Henten, “Moses as Heavenly Messenger
in Assumptio Mosis 10:2 and Qumran Passages,” JJS 54 (2003): 216–27 (226–27).
43
Furthermore the close textual analysis carried out by Émile Puech also clarifies
the text along the lines of Zimmermann: for Puech in 4Q377 Moses is compared with
an angel, but the designations assigned him are indicative of his human status: Émile
Puech, “Le fragment 2 de 4Q377, Pentateuque Apocryphe B: L’exaltation de Moïse,” RevQ
21 (2003–2004): 469–75.
44
In addition there is the need to consider the wide-ranging debates about which
laws were mediated by Moses and which were heard by the people directly, apart from
Moses’ mediation; see the enlightening study on this by Steven D. Fraade, “Moses and
the Commandments: Can Hermeneutics, History, and Rhetoric be Disentangled?” in
The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. H. Najman and
J. H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 399–422.
45
Trans. Joseph M. Baumgarten and Daniel R. Schwartz, “Damascus Document
(CD),” in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations: vol. 2, Damascus Docu-
ment, War Scroll, and Related Documents (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck;
Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995), 17.
84 george j. brooke

the ways of His delight.”46 Thus the Law of Moses by itself requires
appropriate priestly elucidation, interpretation which itself has also been
revealed. To some extent, then, Moses and his Law were compromised
from the outset; there is the need for an Interpreter of the Law (dwrš
htwrh), whether the Teacher of Righteousness or another.47
Third, the large number of reworkings of the Law, from Jubilees and
the Temple Scroll to a range of pentateuchal paraphrases, some of which
could claim great authority, all indicate that there was a need to rewrite
the Law in various ways for its contemporary appropriation. This was
not done in the form of explicit commentary, but through presenting
new versions of the Law.48 Perhaps an ongoing sense of being in the
wilderness, even if only spiritually, stimulated this literary activity as
the movement perceived itself to be the locus for ongoing revelation.49
Whatever the case, if Deuteronomy itself could be understood as
pointing away from Sinai, then the other Sinaitic compositions in the
Qumran library can also be seen as qualifying the status of both Moses
and the specific revelation entrusted to him. Sinai is relativized.

C. The celebration of Shavuot and the priestly sublimation of Sinai

The publication of the cave 4 Damascus Document manuscripts has made
it clear that the community gathered in the third month to initiate new
members and re-enact the Deuteronomic blessings and curses.50 This
tradition concerning the Feast of Shavuot as the festival associated with
the giving of the Law at Sinai seems to depend on Jub. 6:17: “There-
fore, it is ordained and written in the heavenly tablets that they should
observe the feast of Shebuot in this month, once per year, in order to
renew the covenant in all (respects), year by year.”51 There has been
some debate whether the date given in Exod 19:1, “on the third new

46
Trans. Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (Penguin Classics;
London: Penguin Books, revised edition 2004), 104.
47
See CD VII, 18 = 4Q266 3 III, 19; 4Q159 5, 6; 4Q174 1–2 I, 11; 4Q177 10–11,
5; also 1QS VI, 6.
48
Steven Fraade, “Looking for Narrative Midrash at Qumran,” 59, suggests the
implied use of Exod 19:10–12 in 11QTa 45:7–12 and 1QSa 1:25–27 set up the
covenantal community as a perpetual Mount Sinai. For a discussion of the role of
scribalism in this continued rewriting of Mosaic law, see Eva Mroczek, “Moses, David
and Scribal Revelation: Preservation and Renewal in Second Temple Jewish Textual
Traditions,” 91–115 in this volume.
49
See Hindy Najman, “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness
in Ancient Judaism,” DSD 13 (2006): 98–113 (109–13).
50
This is apparent in 4Q266 11, 17–18 // 4Q270 7 II, 11–12.
51
Wintermute, OTP 2.67 n. f., comments that he attempts to keep the spelling of
Shebuot as that in order to allow for the modern reader to recognize that the author
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 85

moon,” does not really mark “the beginning of a three-day period of

communal purification before the Sinaitic covenant and it may be that
the expulsion ceremony described here [4Q266 11, 17] was similarly
intended to precede Pentecost.”52
As we have already noted in The Words of the Luminaries (4Q504) 3
II, 13, in the prayer for the fourth day of the week, God is addressed
as sanctified in his glory and, in a somewhat fragmentary section, the
text recalls the covenant made by God “with us” on Horeb. It is thus
clear from that text and from the communal purification and initiation
ceremony that Sinai/Horeb played a part in the liturgical life of the
community that collected the library together at Qumran.53 Indeed
it seems that it was the cultic life of the movement that contributed
significantly to enabling them to survive the journey between Sinai and
Jerusalem. On the one hand Sinai could be liturgically recalled without
the need for a pilgrimage there,54 and on the other hand Jerusalem could
be anticipated. The cultic service and its prayers could thus enshrine
the past key moments of significance such as the giving of the Law at
Sinai, the present experiences of the community in which the ongo-
ing significance of such events could be made explicit, and the future
aspirations which were explicitly directed towards Jerusalem.
Both recollection and anticipation were dealt with in some measure
through the conviction that worship in the community involved par-
ticipation in the priestly activities of the angels.55 Concern with the
place and function of angels in the scrolls found at Qumran has been

of Jubilees was probably aware of the play on words between “weeks” and “oaths.”
Isaac is born at the time of Shavuot: Jub. 15:21; 16:13.
52
Jospeh M. Baumgraten, Qumran Cave 4.XIII: The Damascus Document (4Q266–273)
(DJD XVIII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 78.
53
This is argued in detail by James C. VanderKam, “Sinai Revisited,” in Biblical
Interpretation at Qumran (ed. M. Henze; Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Lit-
erature; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005), 44–60 (48–51); to the texts already cited
VanderKam adds 4Q275 which seem to refer to some kind of communal ceremony
and 4Q320 4 III, 1–5 and 4Q321 2 II, 4–5 which show that Shavuot was observed on
the fifteenth of the third month. VanderKam’s attention to Sinai should not be read
as if the Sinai event was the sole provider of terminology for the community’s self-
understanding and self-description. On Shavuot and Sinai in worship contexts in the
Qumran community, see now Judith Newman’s essay in this volume, “Priestly Prophets
at Qumran: Summoning Sinai Through the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” 29–72.
54
The ceremony of blessings and curses in Deuteronomy is not interpreted as a past
historical event but used as a model for the community’s annual ceremony in which
the priests have a dominant role, unlike in Deuteronomy: see Fraade, “Looking for
Narrative Midrash at Qumran,” 51.
55
With a different purpose in mind I have discussed some aspects of some of the
following remarks about communion with angels in George J. Brooke, “Men and
Women as Angels in Joseph and Aseneth,” JSP 14 (2005): 159–77.
86 george j. brooke

a matter of concern almost from the outset.56 The topic has been of
ongoing interest,57 promoted not least by the complete publication in
1985 of the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice.58 In the cycle of the first quar-
ter of the year Songs 11 and 12 would fall on either side of Shavuot,
which might then be seen as forming the backdrop to the climax of
the Songs at the moment of access to the divine throne room.59 As
Devorah Dimant has pointed out, the Qumran “community aimed at
creating on earth a replica of the heavenly world.”60 Point by point
Dimant has shown that life in the priestly community was an imitation
of the functions of the leading angels.61
Dimant’s work has been taken one step further by Björn Frennesson
who has suggested that rather than the angels being involved by way
of analogy, it seems as if there was such a thing as communion with
the angels.62 It is clear that God’s presence with the community on
earth was thought of as an angelic presence; for Frennesson it is also
possible that the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice constitute an example of
a liturgical text-cycle that in fact makes liturgical communion happen,
“joining together heaven and earth through the very performance of
‘a concrete liturgical act’.”63 C. Fletcher-Louis takes a step further, and
probably a step too far, by attempting to describe not just communion
but angelomorphism in the Dead Sea Scrolls.64 Fletcher-Louis’ most

56
See, e.g., Jospeh A. Fitzmyer, “A Feature of Qumran Angelology and the Angels
of 1 Cor 11:10,” NTS 4 (1957–58): 48–58; Dominique Barthélemy, “Le sainteté selon
la communauté de Qumrân et selon l’Évangile,” in La secte de Qumrân et les origines
du Christianisme (ed. J. van der Ploeg; RechBib, 4; Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1959),
203–16.
57
See, e.g., Paul J. Kobelski, Melchizedek and Melchireša{ (CBQMS, 10; Washington,
DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981).
58
Carol A. Newsom, Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice: A Critical Edition (HSS 27; Atlanta,
GA: Scholars Press, 1985).
59
See the brief comments by Russell C. D. Arnold, The Social Role of Liturgy in the
Religion of the Qumran Community (STDJ 60; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 142.
60
Devorah Dimant, “Men as Angels: The Self-Image of the Qumran Community,”
in Religion and Politics in the Ancient Near East (ed. A. Berlin; Studies and Texts in Jewish
History and Culture; Bethesda, MD: University Press of Maryland, 1996), 93–103
(101).
61
A key detail in Dimant’s conclusion is that the community seems to have lived its
own version of Mal. 2.7, the only scriptural text to describe the priest as mlxk (‘angel/
messenger’): “Men as Angels,” 103.
62
Björn Frennesson, “In a Common Rejoicing”: Liturgical Communion with Angels in Qumran
(Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 14; Uppsala: Uppsala University, 1999).
63
Frennesson, “In a Common Rejoicing”, 116.
64
Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam; some of his ideas are also worked out in his
studies “Ascent to Heaven and the Embodiment of Heaven: a Revisionist Reading of the
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 87

valuable contribution may well rest in the way that he develops a high
doctrine of the priesthood, arguing that the priestly leadership of the
Qumran community were envisaged in angelic terms. For him the best
example of such a text is 1QSb IV, 24–26:
May you be as an Angel of the Presence in the Abode of Holiness to
the glory of the God of [ hosts] . . . May you attend upon the service
in the Temple of the Kingdom and decree destiny in company with
the Angels of the Presence, in common council [with the Holy Ones]
for everlasting ages and time without end; for [all] His judgements are
[truth]! May He make you holy among His people, and an [eternal] light
[to illumine] the world with knowledge and to enlighten the face of the
Congregation [with wisdom]! [May He] consecrate you to the Holy of
Holies! For [you are made] holy for Him and you shall glorify His name
and His holiness . . .65
This is certainly addressed to priests, probably to a high priest. Thus,
somebody writing at the beginning of the first century B.C.E. could
readily conceive of the high priest as functioning like the Angel of the
Presence. In the way in which the blessing continues by describing the
priestly functions as enlightening the congregation, it is not inappropri-
ate to envisage that this high priest is supposed to manifest the glory of
God (like Moses on Sinai). This priest does not seem to be transformed
into an angel, but likened to one in a functional analogy.66
What seems to have happened at Qumran in some measure is that the
cultic celebration of initiation and the ongoing experience of the divine
and angelic in the worship of the community sublimated the experience
of alienation that absence from Jerusalem imposed. The route back
to Jerusalem was one of observing the Law as rightly presented and
interpreted, but also included right worship in the here and now. The
place of Jerusalem in that was mixed: on the one hand yearning for
return to it could be expressed through singing Jerusalem’s praise (as
in the Apostrophe to Zion and 1QM XII, 12–15), whilst on the other the

Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” SBLSP (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1998): 367–99; and
“Some Reflections on Angelomorphic Humanity Texts among the Dead Sea Scrolls,”
DSD 7 (2000): 292–312 (that issue of Dead Sea Discoveries is devoted to the theme of
angels and demons in the Dead Sea Scrolls and other early Jewish literature).
65
Trans. Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English, 389.
66
Functional similarity should not slip into ontological sameness.
88 george j. brooke

pollution of the sanctuary could be addressed through laments such as

in Apocryphal Lamentations A (4Q179).67

4. Conclusion

Sinai and the giving of the Law there are intriguingly handled in the
memory, self-understanding and practices of the community responsible
for the Qumran library. The community seems to live out its identity
in an intermediate state, emerging from exile, but not yet at home in
Jerusalem, in the promised land, but not yet out of the wilderness;
furthermore, the community’s worship is an expression of being in
communion with the angels in heavenly praise, but yet away from the
holy of holies. In this in-between state the narrative of Sinai provides
models for some aspects of community organisation,68 as in its militaris-
tic but priestly self-consciousness or its self-understanding as community,
and becomes a touchstone or starting point for both justifying ongoing
revelation and understanding how it should be variously presented.
Three matters become apparent. First, the giving of the Law, particu-
larly as rehearsed in the book of Deuteronomy, points beyond Sinai to
the place where the divine name chooses to dwell. Deuteronomy also
projects a point of view that permits the re-presentation, the rewriting
of Sinaitic revelation. As the sectarian and non-sectarian compositions
in the Qumran library now show, this point of view was widely taken
up, not least in priestly circles. Second, with the place of revelation
somewhat in the background, the figure of Moses and the revelation
given to him is put in the foreground. Moses and the Law are authori-
tative reference points and yet are inadequate in themselves; for those
who put together the Qumran library the Law requires correct priestly
interpretation and as a result much of that is directed against “profana-
tion of the Temple” (CD IV, 18) and has an orientation towards Jeru-
salem, as in the Temple Scroll and MMT. Third, the worship experience

67
See Najman, “Towards a Study of the Uses of the Concept of Wilderness in
Ancient Judaism,” 101–3. Philip S. Alexander has even suggested that some members
of the Qumran community could have perceived of themselves as a group of “Mourn-
ers for Zion.”
68
As VanderKam, “Sinai Revisited,” has argued for the recollection of Sinai at the
annual ceremony of covenant renewal, in the use of the term yahad (possibly based on
Exod 19:8), in the practice of the sharing of goods (based on Deut 6:5), and in the
male only perspective (Exod 19:3, 15). Intriguingly VanderKam makes nothing of the
“priestly kingdom” of Exod 19:6.
 moving mountains: from sinai to jerusalem 89

of the priestly community becomes a substitute for a return to Sinai; it

is in worship that there can be renewed commitment to the covenant
and a sense of the presence of divine glory. With suitable lament and
confession, the Law can be observed in such a way as to qualify the
participants in such worship for staffing the eschatological temple.
The priestly communities behind the compositions in the Qumran
library are on the move. They have their backs to Sinai and are look-
ing forward to Jerusalem.
And he said to the angel of the presence, “Write for Moses from the first
creation until my sanctuary is built in their midst forever and ever. And
the Lord will appear in the sight of all. And everyone will know that I
am the God of Israel and the father of all the children of Jacob and
king upon Mount Zion forever and ever. And Zion and Jerusalem will
be holy” ( Jub. 1:27–28).
 MOSES, DAVID AND SCRIBAL REVELATION:
PRESERVATION AND RENEWAL IN SECOND TEMPLE
JEWISH TEXTUAL TRADITIONS*

Eva Mroczek
University of Toronto, Canada

And he gave all his books and his fathers’ books to

Levi, his son, so that he might preserve and renew
them for his sons until this day.
Jubilees 45:151
The continuous process of remaining open and
accepting of what may reveal itself through hand
and heart on a crafted page is the closest I have ever
come to God.
Donald Jackson, Artistic Director,
St. John’s Bible Project, Monmouth, Wales2

In second temple Judaism, particularly in the texts found at Qumran,

the revelatory event at Sinai is recalled again and again through new
texts that expand and rework materials connected with Moses and
the Law.3 But to speak of a “Mosaic” textual tradition raises a host of

* I would like to thank the organizers of the “Giving the Torah at Sinai” conference,
Professors George Brooke, Hindy Najman, and Loren Stuckenbruck, for inviting my
paper to the volume. This revised version has benefited immeasurably from the sug-
gestions of Profs George Brooke and James Kugel. I also thank the members of the
Mullins Seminar, led by Prof. Jennifer Harris, St. Michael’s College, for their comments
and support. Above all I thank my teacher, Prof. Hindy Najman, who has challenged
and guided me with extraordinary generosity since the inception of this project.
1
Translations from the Book of Jubilees are by O. Wintermute, in Old Testament
Pseudepigrapha (2 vols; ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1985).
2
The St. John’s Bible Project seeks to revive the premodern process of creating
a biblical manuscript. The quote from Donald Jackson is from www.stjohnsbible.org.
See C. Calderhead, Illuminating the Word: the Making of the Saint John’s Bible (Collegeville,
MN: Saint John’s Bible, 2005).
3
Such texts include multiform editions of the Pentateuch and 4QReworked Penta-
teuch, but also Jubilees and the Temple Scroll, which link themselves back to Sinai. The
“Pseudo-Moses” texts could also be counted here. See the discussion by J. Strugnell in
“Moses-Pseudepigrapha at Qumran: 4Q375, 4Q376, and Similar Works,” in Archeology
and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin
( JSOPSS 8, JSOT/ASOR Monographs 2; ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Sheffield: JSOT,
92 eva mroczek

questions about scriptural status and scribal self-understanding. If a text

was attributed to a great mediatory figure and an ancient revelatory
event, how could second temple scribes allow themselves to rearrange,
rework or rewrite this text?4 How did these scribes understand the link
between the ancient figure and the texts in front of them—and how did
they conceive of their own role in the transmission and development of
their textual heritage? Are we not forced to make distinctions between
what would have been understood as a “scriptural” Mosaic text, and
“secondary” rewritings and reworkings by later scribes—distinctions
that the texts themselves do not make?5

1990), 221–56, and S. White Crawford, “The ‘Rewritten’ Bible at Qumran: A Look
at Three Texts,” ErIsr 26 (1999): 1–8.
4
The practice and function of pseudonymous attribution has been the subject of
valuable recent studies. See e.g. M. J. Bernstein, “Pseudepigraphy in the Qumran Scrolls:
Categories and Functions,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha
in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds E. G. Chazon and M. E. Stone; Leiden: Brill, 1999),
1–26, J. J. Collins, “Pseudepigraphy and Group Formation in Second Temple Juda-
ism,” Pseudepigraphic Perspectives, 43–58; D. Dimant, “Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha
at Qumran,” DSD 1 (1994): 151–59; J. A. Sanders, “Introduction: Why the Pseude-
pigrapha?” in Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation (eds J. H. Charlesworth and
C. A. Evans; JSOPSS 14, SSEJC 2; Sheffield: JSOT, 1993), 13–19; M. E. Stone,
“The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Pseudepigrapha,” DSD 3 (1996): 270–95. H. Najman
has written extensively on the practice of pseudepigraphy; see e.g. Seconding Sinai: The
Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2003); “Torah of
Moses: Pseudonymous Attribution in Second Temple Writings,” in The Interpretation of
Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition (ed. C. A. Evans;
JSPSup 33; SSEJC 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 202–16; and most
recently, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation
in 4Ezra,” Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of
Florentino García Martínez (eds A. Hilhorst, E. Puech, and E. J. C. Tigchelaar; JSJSup
122; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 529–36.
5
This is the complex question of how to categorize those texts that are usually
called “rewritten Bible” in the second temple period. A clear-cut distinction between
“biblical” and “non-biblical” in this era has been challenged by many scholars who
have sought to find other terminology and ways of classifying both “rewritten Bible”
and pseudepigrapha. See J. Barton’s early argument against using canonical terminology
in Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile (London: Darton,
Longman & Todd, 1986), esp. 80. For a recent statement on the issue see R. A. Kraft,
“Para-mania: Before, Beside and Beyond Biblical Studies,” JBL 126 (2007): 5–27. See
also J. C. VanderKam, “Authoritative Literature in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 5/3
(1998): 382–402; and VanderKam, “Questions of Canon Viewed Through the Dead
Sea Scrolls,” in The Canon Debate (eds L. M. McDonald and J. A. Sanders; Peabody, MA:
Hendrickson, 2002), 91–109. On the concept of “rewritten Bible” see M. J. Bernstein,
“ ‘Rewritten Bible’: A Generic Category Which Has Outlived its Usefulness?” Textus
22 (2005): 169–96; G. J. Brooke, “Rewritten Bible,” Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls
(Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 777–80; G. W. E. Nickelsburg,
“The Bible Rewritten and Expanded,” Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (ed.
M. E. Stone; CRINT 2/2; Assen/Philadelphia: Van Gorcum/Fortress, 1984), 89–156;
 moses, david and scribal revelation 93

In this paper I address the question of the relationship between the

mediatory figure, the second temple scribe, and the developing text. I
propose that the expansion of Mosaic legal traditions can be illumi-
nated by first considering another tradition—psalm collections linked
to David, which also underwent growth, change and development.6
They pose similar questions, although on a smaller scale, about how a
text might be linked to an ancient figure but remain fluid and tolerant
of growth.
The “Davidic” and the “Mosaic”—liturgy and law—are linked
traditions that undergo analogous development in the second temple
period, as both legal and liturgical practices evolve.7 David and Moses
themselves also have analogous functions: they are not only responsible
for revealed texts, but also serve as ethical models whose pious example
continued to inspire future communities. While I consider their role in
the broad context of ancient Judaism, I pay special attention to what the
figures of Moses and David, the lawgiver and the psalmist, might have
meant at Qumran, in a community that strived for perfect adherence to
the Torah and for perfect prayer and liturgy, and who preserved most
of the expanded “Davidic” and “Mosaic” texts known to us.
The production of these texts, I argue, can be understood by thinking
of David and Moses as analogous ideal figures who inspire continuous
text production through the example of their own scribal activity. Rather
than speaking of authorial attribution, the usual way of understanding
the link between these figures and their texts, I would like to reconsider
the complete identity and function of these mediatory figures by think-
ing of them as ideal, divinely inspired scribes of liturgy and law. For
the second temple period, they are not “authors,” but scribal channels

see also a recent critique of the term by H. Najman, “Reconsidering Jubilees: Prophecy
and Exemplarity,” presented at the Fourth International Enoch Conference, “Enoch
and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees,” 8–13 July, 2007 (forthcoming).
6
See scholarship on the fluid nature of the Psalter and the controversy about the
scriptural status of the Great Psalms Scroll from Qumran, summarized with extensive
bibliography in P. W. Flint, “Chapter 9: True Psalter or Secondary Collection?,” The
Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls and the Book of Psalms (STDJ 17; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 202–27,
and n. 36 below.
7
For the link between David and Moses, see work on the Book of Chronicles,
which explicitly links the two as authoritative figures: S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book
of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (trans. A. Barber; Frankfurt: Peter Lang,
1989), 236-8; S. J. DeVries, “Moses and David as Cult Founders in Chronicles,” JBL
107/4 (1988): 619–39. For the interplay between Sinai traditions and liturgy, see the
contributions of George Brooke and Judith Newman to this volume.
94 eva mroczek

of tradition who collect, arrange and transmit revelation in a perfect

and divinely inspired way. Their scribal work is part of their identity
as exemplars of piety.
Through their intertwined textual and ethical legacy, David and
Moses serve as scribal types: models for emulation by actual scribes,
who continue the chain of transmission through their own inspired
work of collecting, arranging and re-presenting texts for new com-
munities.8 Thus, I offer the concept of the ideal, inspired scribe as
a way of thinking about both the ancient mediatory figure, and the
actual second temple scribe. On this model, the ancient figure and the
working scribe9 occupy successive links on the same chain of revelatory
transmission.
Reconsidering the revelatory power of scribalism—present both at
Sinai and at Qumran—can provide one framework for thinking about
continuous, developing textual traditions that have room both for the
preservation of and for the dynamic renewal of revealed material. They
do not allow themselves to fall into the separate categories of “scriptural”
and “secondary,” but stand in a continuous chain of scribal transmis-
sion that stretches back to the paradigmatic moments and recipients
of revelation. Perhaps this model relativizes Sinai, but it also elevates
the work of ordinary scribes, and explains how new scripture could
develop long after the great mediatory figures were gone.
The argument will be presented in three parts: 1. The Multivalent
Character of the Ideal Scribe and the Power of Scribalism; 2. David and
Moses as Ideal Scribes: Ethical Exemplarity and Inspired Textualization;
and 3. David and Moses as Scribes; Scribes as David and Moses.

8
I am drawing on the work of H. Najman in Seconding Sinai and more recent articles
on the concept of discourse tied to an exemplary founder as a way of understanding
pseudepigraphy, as well as earlier studies, such as the work of D. S. Russell, who argued
for an identification between a writer and his ancient pseudepigraphic “counterpart” (see
The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic [ Philadelphia: Westminster, 1964], 132–39).
However, I am making a different point about the way the link between the founder
and the text was envisioned—not authorial attribution, but scribal transmission. For
another engagement with this concept, see Zuleika Rodgers, “Josephus” ‘Theokratia’
and Mosaic Discourse,” 129–47 in this volume.
9
Certainly, not all scribes would fit this description; I am thinking particularly of
those scribes who were responsible for transmitting and reworking scriptural texts.
For the diverse kinds of scribes active in the second temple period, including those
who were experts in sacred text, see C. Schams, Jewish Scribes in the Second Temple Period
( JSOTSup 291; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998).
 moses, david and scribal revelation 95

1. The Multivalent Character of the Ideal Scribe and the

Power of Scribalism

First, I would like to explain how I understand the idea of the scribe
and scribal activity in the second temple period.10 The ideal scribe is
a multi-faceted figure. First, he is involved with textualizing activity,
but neither as an “author” nor as a “mere copyist”: the scribe is a
textualizer, collector, arranger and transmitter of revealed traditions,
but in this he is an exalted, divinely inspired figure who updates and
re-presents written revelation for his time. Second, the identity of the
scribe extends beyond his text-related activities: he is a model of piety
whose writing is one aspect of his exemplary life.
Two sets of textual evidence will illuminate the way second temple
Jews understood the scribe: 1) the Wisdom tradition, represented here
by Ben Sira and Qohelet, and 2) the Book of Jubilees.

The Scribe in the Wisdom Tradition

In Ben Sira, the scribe is elevated over all other professions (Sir
39:1–8):11
1 [The scribe] seeks out (‫ )ידרש‬the wisdom of all the ancients, and is
concerned with prophecies;
2 he preserves (‫ )ישמר‬the sayings of the famous, and enters into the
subtleties of parables.
...

10
I am primarily concerned with the way scribalism was imagined and idealized. For
a study of real scribes and the diverse scribal profession in ancient Jewish society, see
Schams, Jewish Scribes. See also A. Demsky, “Scribes and Books in the Late Second Com-
monwealth and Rabbinic Period,” Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the
Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. M. J. Mulder; CRINT 2.1; Assen:
Van Gorcum and Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1990), 2–20; M. D. Goodman, “Texts,
Scribes and Power in Roman Judaea,” Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (eds A. K. Bow-
man and G. Woolf; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 99–108; A. Saldarini,
Pharisees, Scribes and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach (Edinburgh: T&T
Clark, 1989), esp. 241–76. For the role of scribes in transmitting and transforming textual
traditions, see M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1985), esp. 23–78, and “From Scribalism to Rabbinism: Perspectives on the Emergence
of Classical Judaism,” The Garments of Torah: Essays in Biblical Hermeneutics (Bloomington,
IN: Indiana University Press, 1989), 64–78. See also D. M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of
the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2005), and K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 2007). On scribal practices, see esp. E. Tov, Scribal Practices and
Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (STDJ 54; Leiden: Brill, 2004).
11
Translations are my own, based on the Hebrew text of Ben Sira in M. Segal,
Sefer Ben-Sira ha-shalem ( Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1997).
96 eva mroczek

5 He sets his heart on rising early to petition the Most High.

He opens his mouth in prayer and asks forgiveness for his sins.
6 If God Most High is willing, he will be filled with the spirit of understanding;
he will pour forth words of wisdom and give thanks to the Lord in
prayer.
7 He [God] will direct his counsel and knowledge, as he meditates on
his mysteries.
8 He will pour forth wise teaching, and will glory in the Law of the
Lord.
Ben Sira’s text of praise shows the scribe as a channel for preserving
and transmitting sacred traditions and as a model of a repentant,
prayerful, and pious life. These characteristics are inextricably linked
in the divinely inspired person of the ideal scribe, whom God “directs”
(‫ )יכין‬and fills with the “spirit of understanding” (‫)רוח בינה‬.
Let us examine the first aspect of the scribal identity: the scribe as
transmitter of traditions. He seeks (‫)ידרש‬, preserves (‫)ישמר‬, and pours
forth (‫ )יביע‬the wisdom of the ancients, all with the help of divine inspi-
ration.12 But what exactly does it mean to “preserve the sayings of the
famous” and “pour forth words of wisdom”? As James Kugel shows in
his article, “Wisdom and the Anthological Temper,” the activity of the
sage was collecting units of wisdom—which were already “out there,”
not created by the sage himself—and handing them down to posterity.13
Wisdom is not the abstract capacity for understanding, but a body of
knowledge about a divine system. It needs to be gathered bit by bit,
arranged in a usable way, and passed down as collections of meshalim.
The anthological enterprise of wisdom is concerned with the quantity of
things known; hence the import of the staggering number of sayings
that Solomon knew (1 Kgs 5:12). The scribe/sage is an anthologist,
indeed, like Ben Sira himself, who has collected and transmitted the
wisdom of his age.
The book of Qohelet provides another witness to how the craft of the
scribe/sage was understood. In the epilogue, we read (Qoh 12:9–12):

12
Schams has challenged the tendency automatically to equate the scribe with the
sage, which were overlapping, but not identical occupations in Jewish society (see Jew-
ish Scribes, 101); here, however, I am treating them as part of one imagined, idealized
type.
13
J. L. Kugel, “Wisdom and the Anthological Temper,” Prooftexts 17 (1997): 9–32,
esp. 9, 18, 30; reprinted in The Anthology in Jewish Literature (ed. D. Stern; New York:
Oxford University Press, 2004), 32–52. See also the introduction to this volume by
D. Stern, who emphasizes the creative and influential role of the scribe, editor, and
anthologist in preserving, transmitting and creating tradition.
 moses, david and scribal revelation 97

9 Besides being wise, Qohelet also taught the people knowledge, and
weighed and studied and arranged many proverbs (‫ואזן וחקר תקן משלים‬
‫)הרבה‬. 10 Qohelet sought to find pleasing words, and he wrote words
of truth plainly. 11 The words of the wise are like goads, and like nails
firmly fixed are those that are composed in collections (‫ ;)בעלי אספות‬they
are given by one shepherd. 12 Beyond these, my son, beware. Of making
many books there is no end (‫)עשות ספרים הרבה אין קץ‬.14
The ‫( חכם‬sage) is occupied with arranging (‫ )תקן‬texts, writing down
and collecting many things together in books,15 and transmitting their
content through teaching. Again, the wise scribe is a prolific anthologist
(one of the ‫)?בעלי אספות‬: an organizer and transmitter of traditions
for those who will come after him.16
In the “anthological” wisdom tradition, then, the scribe is neither
an author nor a copyist: rather, he is an inspired, learned collector and
teacher who both preserves and renews what has been revealed. This
concern with the prolific collection and presentation of traditions is
inextricable from his identity as an ideal figure, who exemplifies repen-
tance and piety and strives to leave a legacy beyond his own life.

Scribal Activity in Jubilees

Jubilees retrojects this ideal onto the patriarchs: ancient heroes are
entrusted with concrete scribal tasks, and scribal activity is made pres-
ent at the distant times and places of divine revelation.17 The heroes of

14
All biblical translations are freely adapted from the nrsv.
15
This is Kugel’s understanding of ‫ עשות ספרים‬as an anthological, not authorial,
enterprise. See “Wisdom and the Anthological Temper,” 31 n. 4; Kugel translates
Qoh 12:12: “There is no end to the collecting of books, and much study wearies a
person.”
16
See B. G. Wright, “From Generation to Generation: The Sage as Father in Early
Jewish Literature,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb
(eds C. Hempel and J. M. Lieu; JSJSup 111; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 309–32.
17
For a discussion of the power of writing in Jubilees, see H. Najman, “Interpreta-
tion as Primordial Writing: Jubilees and Its Authority Conferring Strategies,” JSJ 30
(1999): 379–410, and, on the revelatory power of writing in general, see Najman, “The
Symbolic Significance of Writing in Ancient Judaism,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpreta-
tion: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (eds H. Najman and J. H. Newman; JSJSup 83;
Leiden: Brill, 2004), 139–73. M. H. Floyd argues for the longstanding connection
between scribalism and revelatory/prophetic experience in “ ‘Write the Revelation!’
(Hab. 2:2),” in Writing and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (eds E. Ben
Zvi and M. H. Floyd; Atlanta: SBL, 2000), 103–43. See also E. F. Davis, Swallowing
the Scroll: Textuality and the Dynamics of Discourse in Ezekiel’s Prophecy (BLS 21; JSOTSup
78; Sheffield: Almond, 1989); Fishbane, “From Scribalism to Rabbinism,” esp. 66–67;
and J. L. Kugel, “Early Interpretation: The Common Background of Late Forms
98 eva mroczek

Jubilees are examplars of piety and recipients of revelation, which they

must write again and faithfully transmit, from patriarch to patriarch,
and down to future generations.18 This begins with the first scribe,
Enoch ( Jub. 4:17–19):
[Enoch] was the first who learned writing and knowledge and wisdom,
from (among) the sons of men, from (among) those who were born upon
earth. And who wrote in a book the signs of the heaven according to the
order of their months, so that the sons of man might know the (appointed)
times of the years according to their order, with respect to each of their
months. This one was the first (who) wrote a testimony and testified to
the children of men throughout the generations of the earth. And their
weeks according to jubilees he recounted; and the days of the years he
made known. And the months he set in order, and the Sabbaths of the
years he recounted, just as we made it known to him.
As in Ben Sira, scribal activity is connected with knowledge and wis-
dom. Enoch was a great recipient of divine revelation, and here, as
well as in 1 Enoch,19 he is entrusted with textualizing this revelation in
a book. Enoch transcribes the heavenly tablets, writes down what the
angels tell him, and “recounts” and “sets in order” calendrical matters;
like the sage of the Wisdom tradition, his scribal tasks include writing
down, arranging, and handing on revelation.
Other figures act as scribes in different ways. Abraham “transcribed”
his father’s Hebrew books ( Jub. 12:27); even “mere transcription” is
performed by great exemplary figures, and is crucially important for
posterity, as it revives revelation written in the holy tongue. For another
patriarch, Jacob, the scribal commission is connected to a moment
of divine revelation at Bethel, which includes an encounter with the

of Biblical Exegesis,” in Early Biblical Interpretation (LEC 3; Philadelphia: Westminster,

1986), 11–106.
18
My juxtaposition of Ben Sira and Jubilees on transmitting written tradition by
ideal figures down the generations draws on the observations of B. G. Wright in
“Jubilees, Sirach and Sapiential Tradition,” presented at the Fourth International
Enoch Conference, “Enoch and the Mosaic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees,” 8–13
July, 2007 (forthcoming).
19
Enoch is a wise scribe and copyist in the Book of Watchers (see 1 Enoch 12:3–4,
13:3–7, 15:1), Book of Giants (see 4QEnGiantsa 8:1–4, ii.14–15), and the Epistle of Enoch
(see 1 Enoch 92:1); these traditions cannot be addressed in detail here. See Schams, Jewish
Scribes, 90–98. P. Mandel, however, has proposed an alternative view of the Aramaic
designation “scribe” in some passages in the Enochic corpus as a title unconnected with
books or writing, in “When a Scribe Is Not a Scribe: A Second Look at the Enochic
Scribal Traditions,” presented at the Tenth Annual International Orion Symposium,
“New Perspectives on Old Texts,” Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 10 January, 2005.
I thank Prof. James Kugel for this reference.
 moses, david and scribal revelation 99

heavenly tablets where Israel’s future is inscribed. After his vision ( Jub.
32), he is told to write down everything as he has “seen and read it.”
When he protests that he will not remember, he is given assurance of
divine help during his textualizing work ( Jub. 32:26):
[God] said to him, “I will cause you to remember everything.” And he
went up from him and he woke up from his sleep and he recalled every-
thing that he had read and seen and he wrote down all of the matters
which he had read and seen.
Here again, revelation happens through an ideal figure’s encounter
with a written text, a text that must be written again (with divine aid)
and passed down.
The textual transmission of revelation continues with Jacob’s progeny
( Jub. 45:16):
And [ Jacob] gave all of his books and his father’s books to Levi, his
son, so that he might preserve them and renew them for his sons until
this day.
The commission of Levi shows that the “preservation and renewal” of
written revelation must continuously happen anew. It is not enough that
there are “original” heavenly tablets, or that Enoch has already written
his book, or that there are books written down by Abraham and Jacob;
no, the scribal work of “preserving and renewing” is a chain of revela-
tory acts repeated in every generation by divinely favoured exemplars of
piety who “pour out teaching like prophecy, and leave it for all future
generations” (Sir. 24:33). Indeed, in Jubilees, ‫עשות ספרים הרבה אין קץ‬,
“to making many books there is no end” (Qoh. 12:12).

The Power of Scribalism

In Jubilees as in Ben Sira, then, scribal activity is powerful and multi-
valent. The enthronement of the scribe as an ideal, divinely inspired
figure, and the elevation of scribal activity to Sinai, shows that a text-
centred tradition does not imply that revelation has ceased.20 Rather,
transcribing, collecting, and presenting revelation is itself revelatory,
and is not done by just anyone—but by ideal scribes or holy patriarchs
who lead righteous lives, receive divine guidance or angelic discourse,
and leave a legacy for the future.

20
See n. 17.
100 eva mroczek

In all these texts, the scribe’s textual activities are embedded in his
broader ethical identity: his importance flows out beyond the texts he
copies or composes. Although Enoch, for instance, performs scribal
tasks, this is part and parcel of his identity as a righteous divine media-
tor; and although Ben Sira’s scribe collects and re-presents revealed
wisdom, this activity is inextricable from his life of prayer and repen-
tance. Thus, the legacy of the ideal scribe is not only a written text, but
also an exemplary life. Below, I will try to show how this multifaceted
scribal exemplarity functions in the continuing expansion of traditions
linked with David and Moses.

2. David and Moses as Ideal Scribes: Ethical Exemplarity and

Inspired Textualization

I would like to see the figures of David and Moses in light of the con-
cept of this ideal scribe, whose pious example and textual legacy leave
a model for future scribes to follow. First, I would like to outline briefly
how the exemplary lives of these figures continued to inspire second
temple communities, particularly the Qumran ya ad. Both Moses and
David are called “man of God,” ‫ איש אלהים‬.21 David is a “man of the
pious ones (‫”)איש חסידים‬22 whose “deeds (‫ )מעשי דויד‬were praised”;23
and Moses is an exalted figure,24 “equal in glory to the holy ones” (Sir
45:2). Like Ben Sira’s pious scribe, both are connected to repentance and

21
See e.g. Deut 33:1, where this prophetic title is applied to Moses. David is an
‫ איש האלהים‬in 2 Chr 8:14.
22
4QMMT e frag. 14 II, 1; see E. Qimron and J. Strugnell, Qumran Cave 4.V: Miq at
Ma aśe ha–Torah (DJD X; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994)
23
CD-A V, 5; see J.M. Baumgarten, Qumran Cave 4.XIII: The Damascus Document
[4Q266–273] (DJD XVIII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). On David as exemplar
at Qumran, see e.g. C. A. Evans, “David in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Scrolls and
the Scriptures: Qumran Fifty Years After (eds S. E. Porter and C. A. Evans; JSPS 26; Shef-
field: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 183–97, and C. Coulot, “David à Qumrân,”
in Figures de David à Travers la Bible (eds L. Desrousseaux and J. Vermelyen; Paris: Cerf,
1999), 315–43.
24
See G. J. Brooke’s contribution to this volume. See also J. E. Bowley, “Moses
in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Living in the Shadow of God’s Anointed,” in The Bible at
Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation (ed. P. W. Flint: Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans,
2001), 159–81. C. H. T. Fletcher-Louis has argued for the divinization of Moses at
Qumran in All the Glory of Adam: Liturgical Anthropology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 42;
Leiden: Brill, 2002) 137; the suggestion of a divine Moses is not thoroughly convincing,
although he is endowed with angelic characteristics. (Cf. Sir 45:2. See also Ap. Zeph.
9:4–5, where David appears with Moses, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob as a “friend” of
the angels; OTP, 514.)
 moses, david and scribal revelation 101

atonement. David becomes an unlikely ethical model, a paradigmatic

forgiven sinner whose prayer was heard, and is invoked as such in the
Damascus Document and 4QMMT.25 While David atones for his own
failings, Moses takes on the sins of his own people (Exod 30:30–32);26
his atoning work is invoked in a penitential prayer from the Qumran
collection The Words of the Luminaries.27 For a community whose peni-
tential life seems to have been so rich, both of these figures must have
served as inspiring models for how to pray, atone for sin, and achieve
angel-like perfection.
David and Moses are also remembered for the legacy they left for
the future, at the cost of their own fulfillment. David is denied the
Temple, while Moses is denied the land, although they are the ones
who do the preparatory work in anticipation of these promises. David
prepares the money, materials and personnel for the Temple “in [his]
poverty” (‫)בעניי‬, by “denying [him]self ”28 (1 Chr 22:14), and establishes
the liturgy for a Temple service he will never see (Sir 47:9–10).29 Moses

25
CD-A V, 5–6:
“And David’s deeds (‫ )מעשי דויד‬were praised, except for Uriah’s blood, 6 and
God forgave him those.”
4QMMT e frag. 14 II, 1–2:
“1 [forgiv]en (their) sins. Remember David, who was a man of the pious ones
(‫)איש חסדים‬, [and] he, too, 2 [was] freed from the many afflictions and was
forgiven.”
Scrolls translations adapted from F. García Martínez and E. J. C. Tigchelaar, The
Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (2 vols; Leiden: Brill and Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans,
2000).
26
But cf. David’s utterance in 2 Sam 24: 17//1 Chr 21:17. The rabbinic tradition
in the Mekhilta de R. Ishmael to Exod 12:1 cites this text, presenting David and Moses
as figures who atoned for the people by offering to sacrifice themselves.
27
4Q504 1–2 II 7–11:
O Lord, act, then, according to yourself, according to your great power, you,
who forgave 8 our fathers when they made your mouth bitter. You became angry
with them in order to destroy them; but you took pity 9 on them in your love for
them, and on account of your covenant, for Moses atoned 10 for their sin (‫כיא‬
‫)כפר מושה בעד חטאתם‬, and so that they would know your great power and
your abundant kindness 11 for everlasting generations.
See M. Baillet, Qumrân Grotte 4.III [4Q482–4Q520] (DJD VII; Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1982), 139
28
The JPS rendering of this expression. David does everything short of actually
constructing the building; see Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, 229–30. The
tradition of David’s preparing the Temple is also reflected in 4QProphecy of Joshua
(4Q522), frag. 2 col. II.
29
9 He established (‫ )תיקן‬music before the altar, and the melody of instruments,
10 He added beauty to the feasts, and set the festivals in order for each year
(‫)ויתקן מועדים שנה בשנה‬,
102 eva mroczek

leads his people through the wilderness and gives them the laws by
which their new polity will be governed, but is allowed only a glimpse
of the promised land before he dies (Deut 34:4). And yet, through this
denial, their intimacy with the divine and their status as God’s chosen
is not compromised. On the contrary, David’s prohibition from build-
ing the temple comes as a direct prophetic oracle,30 and he receives a
divinely revealed, written blueprint (‫ )תבנית‬for the Temple architecture
and liturgy (1 Chr 28:11–19). Moses is the recipient of revelation par
excellence:31 God speaks with him “face to face” (Deut 34:10) and
gives him the written Law. When he must stay behind, God performs
the intimate act of burying him in the wilderness (Deut 34:6). The
experiences of David and Moses are poignant examples for the exiled,
Temple-less community of Qumran, who nevertheless claimed divine
chosenness and strove to live out Mosaic law and Davidic liturgy as
perfectly as possible.

But to characterize them as ideal scribes and not merely ideal figures in
general, I will now turn to the relationship between Moses and David
and their textual legacies, and discuss what it means to speak of “Mosaic
law” and “Davidic liturgy” in the second temple period. I propose that
Moses and David are inspired scribes who receive, collect, arrange,
and transmit law and liturgy. These scribal activities form part of their
broader, exemplary ethical identity, just as the work of transmitting
traditions is inextricable from the pious life of Ben Sira’s sage.
In speaking about a scribal, textualizing relationship between the
figure and the text, I am challenging the understanding of David and
Moses as authors of the Psalms and the Torah for the second temple
period.32 What is at stake in calling them scribes, and not authors? The
concept of authorship is an obstacle to understanding the proliferation
of new “Mosaic” and “Davidic” texts: if we imagine that Moses and
David were believed to be the original authors of a text, then we are
forced to draw an artificial distinction between “scriptural” Mosaic or

So that when his holy name was praised, justice would ring out before daybreak
(Sir 47).
30
The formulation placed in the mouth of David is a prophetic one, ‫ויהי עלי דבר־יהוה לאמר‬
(1 Chr 22:8).
31
For this, see e.g. Ben Sira’s paean to Moses in 45:2–5.
32
For the concern with textualization, rather than authorship, in ancient Judaism, see
J. Wyrick, The Ascension of Authorship: Attribution and Canon Formation in Jewish, Hellenistic,
and Christian Traditions (Harvard Studies in Comparative Literature 49; Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 2004), Chapter 1: “The Scribes of the Hebrew Bible.”
 moses, david and scribal revelation 103

Davidic texts, and “secondary” scribal reworkings. Understanding David

and Moses as scribal channels of tradition helps us envision a fluid,
open, expanding scribal tradition through which revelation continues
to be transmitted and renewed by actual scribes, who emulate the ideal
scribal lives and activities of David and Moses. Thus, second temple
scribes not only copied what David and Moses wrote: they copied what
Moses and David did, which included transmitting perfect, inspired
expressions of liturgy and law.
Below, I discuss the way in which David and Moses are ideal scribal
figures, who receive, write down, collect, arrange, and transmit revela-
tion, in the second temple Jewish imagination.

David the Scribe

The first step in characterizing David as a “scribe” is to show that our
common concept of an authorial link between David and the Psalms does
not resonate with second temple thinking. This claim may be surprising,
for the argument that David was believed to be the “author” of the
Psalter at the time of Qumran has been made again and again.33 The
claim is most often made on the basis of a prose text found near
the end of the Great Psalms Scroll, 11QPsalmsa. This collection contains
about 50 compositions, including ten non-biblical pieces, arranged dif-
ferently from the proto-Masoretic text and the other psalms scrolls found
at Qumran. The prose text in col. 27 of the scroll reads as follows:
2 And David, son of Jesse, was wise, and luminous like the light of the
sun, /and/ a scribe (‫)וסופר‬,
3 and discerning (‫)ונבון‬, and perfect (‫ )ותמים‬in all his paths before God
and men. And
4 YHWH gave him a discerning and enlightened (‫ )נבונה‬spirit. And he
wrote psalms (‫)ויכתוב תהלים‬:
5 three thousand six hundred; and songs to be sung before the altar over
the perpetual
6 offering of every day, for all the days of the year: three hundred

33
See e.g. J. A. Sanders, The Psalms Scroll of Qumran Cave 11 [11QPsa] (DJD IV;
Oxford: Clarendon, 1965), 63–64, 92; P. W. Flint, Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls, 194, 224;
A. Cooper, “The Life and Times of King David According to the Book of Psalms,”
in The Poet and the Historian: Essays in Literary and Historical Biblical Criticism (ed. R. E.
Friedman; HSS 26; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983), 117–31; J. L. Kugel, “David the
Prophet,” in Poetry and Prophecy: the Beginnings of a Literary Tradition (ed. J. L. Kugel; New
York: Cornell University Press, 1991), 45–55, esp. 46, 55; B. Z. Wacholder, “David’s
Eschatological Psalter: 11QPsalmsa,” HUCA 59 (1988): 23–72.
104 eva mroczek

7 and sixty-four; and for the Sabbath offerings: fifty-two songs; and for
the offerings of the first days of
8 the months, and for all the days of the festivals, and for the <Day>
of Atonement: thirty songs.
9 And all the songs which he spoke were four hundred and forty-six.
And songs
10 to perform over the possessed:34 four. The total was four thousand
and fifty.
11 All these he spoke through prophecy (‫ )דבר בנבואה‬which had been
given to him by the Most High.
This text has been read as the earliest assertion of the belief in Davidic
authorship of the Book of Psalms. J. A. Sanders, the original editor, says
that the final columns “clearly stake a claim for the Davidic authorship
of the Psalter as represented by the scroll, the earliest literary evidence
of belief in the Davidic authorship of the Psalter.”35 Sanders’ view that
the scroll is a scriptural Psalter has been challenged;36 but his claim
that this text is about authorial attribution has been widely accepted.

34
Or, the “intercalary days”; on this understanding of ‫ על הפגועים‬see M. Chyutin,
“The Redaction of the Qumranic and the Traditional Book of Psalms as a Calendar,”
RevQ 63 (1994): 367–95, 370; see also R. Elior, The Three Temples: On the Emergence of
Jewish Mysticism (trans. D. Louvish; Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization,
2005), 50–51.
35
Sanders, DJD IV, 92. See also Psalms Scroll, 11: “The Psalms Scroll was believed,
by its scribe and by those who appreciated it, to have been Davidic in original author-
ship.” See also Elior, The Three Temples, 50, and scholarship cited in n. 33.
36
See the excellent summary of the debate between Sanders his critics in Flint, Dead
Sea Psalms Scrolls, 204–17; see also G. Wilson, “The Qumran Psalms Scroll Reconsidered:
Analysis of the Debate,” CBQ 47 (1985): 624–42. 11QPsalmsa has been called everything
from a “true scriptural psalter” (Flint, Psalms Scrolls, 227; and see the earlier work of
Sanders, “Cave 11 Surprises and the Question of Canon,” McCQ 21 [1968]: 1–15;
“The Qumran Psalms Scroll [11QPsa] Reviewed,” in On Language, Culture and Religion:
In Honor of Eugene A. Nida [eds M. Black and W. A. Smalley; The Hague and Paris:
Mouton, 1974], 79–99); a “library copy” (P. Skehan, “Qumran and Old Testament
Criticism,” in Qumrân. Sa piété, sa théologie et son milieu [ed. M. Delcor; BETL 46; Paris:
Duculot; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1978], 163–82, here 168–69); an “incipient
prayer book” (S. Talmon, “Pisqah Bexemsa{ Pasuq and 11QPsa,” Textus 5 [1966] 11–21,
here 13; see also M. H. Goshen–Gottstein, “The Psalms Scroll [11QPsa]. A Problem
of Canon and Text,” Textus 5 [1966]: 22–33); and an “instruction book for budding
levitical choristers” (P. Skehan, “The Divine Name at Qumran, in the Masada Scroll,
and in the Septuagint,” BIOSCS 13 [1980]: 14–44, here 42). This dizzying variety of
definitions shows that although multiformity is a normal feature of second temple
writings, it nevertheless puzzles scholars who feel pressed to define and categorize the
texts as “scriptural” or “secondary.” On an analogous problem in the scholarship on
a “Mosaic” text, 4QRP, see n. 58.
 moses, david and scribal revelation 105

The composition has been called a “prose insert,”37 a catalogue or

“colophon”38 that stands apart from the liturgical collection and intends
to assert that David is the author of the psalms in this very scroll.39
But does the text actually make a claim for Davidic authorship? I
would like to propose a different reading: this composition is not a
colophon asserting Davidic authorship of the Psalter, this scroll, or any
texts in particular; rather, it is a text of praise for David’s exemplary
scribal activity and identity.
The claim for authorship is fraught with difficulties. First, how can
David be considered the “author of the Psalter” when the book of
Psalms is still in a state of flux and allows varying arrangements and
new expansions—indeed, when “the Psalter” does not yet exist? The
continuously changing and expanding text, and the existence of mul-
tiform versions side by side, makes the idea of a belief in an ancient
“author” for the Book of Psalms problematic.40 Second, what is the
referent of the statement that David wrote “4,050 songs”? Clearly,
this refers neither to this scroll, 11QPsa, or, for that matter, any other
scroll that could ever have existed. What, then, is its significance? What
exactly did David “author”?
To further complicate the assumption that this text is about attri-
bution, no earlier traditions present David as an author. In Samuel,
Chronicles and Ben Sira, David sings; plays music; prays; receives rev-
elation; and sets up the musical liturgy for the future Temple. It does
not follow from any of this that he authored psalms, or was responsible
for composing any particular text at all.41 The association with David

37
Sanders, The Dead Sea Psalms Scroll (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997),
133–35.
38
E.g. E. Ulrich, “The Text of the Hebrew Scriptures at the Time of Hillel and
Jesus,” in Congress Volume: Basel 2001 (ed. A. Lemaire; VTSup 92; Leiden: Brill, 2002),
85–108, here 104.
39
See, for example, P. Flint, who writes that “the clear implication is that David,
whose 4,050 compositions even surpassed Solomon’s 4,005, was responsible for all
those in this collection (11QPsa),” Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls, 208.
40
Indeed, Flint is hard pressed to explain how the idea of a belief in Davidic
authorship can be reconciled with the inclusion of blatantly non- or post-Davidic
pieces in the collection. Flint writes of psalms without a Davidic title, e.g. Ps 119 and
Ps 127, which has a Solomonic superscription: “their presence in this Davidic collec-
tion indicates that the compilers regarded them as Davidic Psalms, however illogical
this may seem”; Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls, 194.
41
See Kugel, “David the Prophet,” 51:
[T]here is no reference to David as the composer of the words to be spoken or
sung in the Temple . . . It is important to assert that what goes on in the Temple
is utterly in keeping with God’s will, even if it had not been spelled out in the
106 eva mroczek

and a written text is limited to his reception of the divine ‫ תבנית‬for the
future Temple, which he received “in writing” from God (‫הכל בכתב‬
‫ ;מיד יהוה עלי השכיל כל מלאכות התבנית‬1 Chr 28:19). In this Sinai-
like event, David authors nothing, but he does become a channel for
written revelation, and leaves a liturgical legacy that is later consulted
in textual form (see 2 Chr 35:4). As we have seen, Ben Sira, too, praises
David for his piety, repentance, and liturgical legacy. But while David
is credited with arranging the liturgy and introducing music, there is
no hint here of the authorship of any text.42
Unlike these earlier traditions, the text in 11QPsa does say that David
“wrote psalms.” But the claim is not that he wrote “these Psalms” or
“the Psalms,” but only psalms, ‫תהלים‬. This claim is both grammatically
and conceptually indefinite. It asserts only that David was engaged
in the activity of psalm-writing, not that he authored any particular
text. Further, the songs that David wrote were not his original works,
but were given to him through prophecy, ‫ ;בנבואה‬the word “to write”
does not have the meaning of authorial composition, but rather scribal
textualizing work—writing down revelation.43
In fact, David is explicitly called a “scribe,” a ‫סופר‬: while this does
not denote authorship, it means much more than mechanical tran-

great corpus of priestly law—hence the insistence on David’s ideal qualities, his
status as divinely chosen man, and his role in establishing the Temple music. At
the same time, since the actual words spoken or sung in the Temple were not
supposed to be utterly standardized . . . there was no stress on David’s authorship
of the words spoken or sung there.
42
Some scholars, however, have read authorship in these early texts. See e.g. A.
Cooper, who maintains that “we arrive at the positivistic claim that all of the psalms
are Davidic (perhaps as early as Ben Sira)” (“Life and Times of King David,” 130),
or B. Z. Wacholder, who claims that it is “abundantly clear that the authors of the
books of Ezra and Chronicles had before them collections of psalms attributed to
David” (“David’s Eschatological Psalter,” 25). I do not see the evidence for such claims
in texts that say only that David sang psalms and arranged music. The psalmic super-
scriptions are also too vague and confusing to tell us much about attribution; see, e.g.,
the discussion by A. Pietersma “Septuagintal Exegesis and the Superscriptions of the
Greek Psalter,” in The Book of Psalms: Composition and Reception (eds P. W. Flint and P. D.
Miller; VTSup 99; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 443–75. See also B. S. Childs, “Psalms Titles
and Midrashic Exegesis,” JSS 16 (1971), 137–50.
43
Cf. B. Baba Bathra 14b–15a, where David “writes (down)” the Book of Psalms,
including in it the works of earlier figures. On this text’s concern with textualization
rather than authorship, see Wyrick, The Ascension of Authorship, Chapter 1: “The Scribes
of the Hebrew Bible.”
 moses, david and scribal revelation 107

scription.44 In language that echoes Ben Sira 39,45 David is praised for
his ideal scribal identity in all its fullness and power: he is wise; he is
perfect in all his ways; he is favoured with divine inspiration—and he
receives, performs and writes down songs; we might say he prolifically
“pours [them] forth like prophecy” (Sir 24:33). The scribal activities of
David, who arranges songs for the times and seasons, are reminiscent
of the work of the scribe Enoch, who also writes down and sets the
calendar in order. The only difference, it seems to me, is one of genre—
while Ben Sira’s scribe collects and passes down wisdom, and Enoch
arranges and transmits the revealed calendrical order, David receives,
collects, and writes down prayers and songs. The vast quantity—4,050
songs!—attests to a prolific amassing of revelation, exceeding even the
number of proverbs that Solomon knew (1 Kgs 5:12).
How does this fit in with earlier traditions about David? While there
is no evidence for an assertion of David’s authorship of any psalms in
Samuel, Chronicles or Ben Sira, David does have what I want to call
scribal potential. In Chronicles, David receives a written ‫תבנית‬. In Ben
Sira, we see David’s personal piety and prayerful life, and we also see
him collecting and organizing and passing down a legacy—not of text,
but of materials for the Temple and the organization of the liturgy.
This is clear in Ben Sira’s praise of David (Sir. 47:8–10):
8 In all his deeds he praised God Most High with a word of glory,
With all his heart he loved his maker,
And praised him constantly all day.
9 He arranged (‫ )תקן‬music before the altar, and the melody of instru-
ments,
10 He added beauty to the feasts, and set (‫ )תקן‬the festivals in order
for each year.
Note that the same root word, ‫תקן‬, is used for David’s acts, as for
Qohelet’s arranging proverbs. It is not a large conceptual jump for a

44
Cf. Wyrick’s discussion of Davidic authorship vs. textualization in “Chapter 2:
Attaching Names to Biblical Books,” The Ascension of Authorship.
45
The resonance of this passage with Ben Sira was mentioned by Sanders in his
editio princeps, DJD IV, 92. It is also recognized by C. Schams in her brief two pages
on David as scribe in 11QPsalmsa in Jewish Scribes, 124–5. Schams seems to imply that
an understanding besides authorship is possible in her cautious reference to David’s
activity, “David’s writing and/or authorship of psalms and songs.” She rightly observes
that the “passage further reflects the notion that David’s intelligence, wisdom, piety,
and his inspiration by God were the source of his literary activity and are closely
linked,” 125.
108 eva mroczek

scribe to extrapolate from such acts—of setting a divine cultic order

and calendar down for future use—to the idea of David’s scribal
arrangement and transmission of a liturgical text collection that fol-
lows the correct calendar. This is his ‫תבנית‬, divine pattern for future
practice: David’s life and scribal activity is a model for the pious lives
and prolific, inspired work of actual scribes.
“David’s Compositions,” then, is not a colophon that stands apart
from the rest of the psalm collection, and claims authorship of the
book of Psalms (or this very scroll). It is not about the attribution of a
specific document; rather, it is about celebrating David’s deeds, ‫מעשי‬
‫דויד‬, which include his pious life and inspired textualizing activity.46 The
4,050 songs and their calendrical arrangement testify to the importance
of the idea of scribal proliferation and proper cultic organization, and
exalt David as a scribal ideal for such activities. As an expression of
praise, “David’s Compositions” might stand in a similar relationship
to the Psalms scroll as Ben Sira’s “Praise of the Ancestors” does to
his book: Ben Sira is an anthology of instructive texts concluded by
accounts of role models for the contemporary sage; and the Psalms
Scroll is an anthology of prayers concluded by compositions about a
figure who prayed, preserved and organized prayers—a key exemplar to
the praying community and the working scribe. David is a type for the
scribal activity of collecting and arranging texts in order to preserve,
re-present, and leave a legacy of revealed prayers. This work becomes
a “Davidic” activity, emulated by the compiler of this collection, as he,
too, attempts to transmit a divinely inspired, correctly ordered text.

46
David is said to “write and speak” prayers, but it does not follow that they are
necessarily identical with this collection; by analogy, most characters in Jubilees write
books, but these books are not identical with the book of Jubilees itself (see Wright,
“Jubilees, Sirach, and Sapiential Tradition,” 7–8). They are also not necessarily identical
with any actual text in the writer’s mind—thus, the famed “book of Noah” need not
exist as anything but what H. Najman has called a “bibliomorphic” idea (in her response
to R. A. Kraft, “Pursuing the Prescriptural by Way of the Pre-biblical,” Seminar for
Ancient Judaisms and Christianities, University of Toronto, 11 April, 2007)—an idea
that testifies to the importance of book production, and the figure who is invoked.
Similarly, the epilogue of Qohelet describes that the sage put together many proverbs,
but this, too, need not refer back to any particular document; it simply describes a sage
and his praiseworthy, prolific book–making.
 moses, david and scribal revelation 109

Moses the Scribe

Just as David, as a pious scribe, is not an author but a textualizer and
arranger of revealed liturgical material, so Moses, as pious scribe, is a
textualizer and transmitter of Torah. Indeed, to speak of “Moses the
scribe” is to state the obvious. From the Pentateuch itself, it is clear that
Moses is not the “author” of the Law, but a codifier and transmitter of
revelation. This is not a new claim for either the Pentateuch or the later
Mosaic texts. L. Schiffman has stated that a “Moses pseudepigraphon
does not claim Moses as the actual author, any more than does the
Torah, but rather as the vessel through which God revealed Himself
to Israel.”47 But the implications of this idea for the development and
expansion of later Mosaic traditions have not been fully explored:
“authorship” is still the operative concept for the way the link between
Moses and Torah was understood.
But in our textual evidence, Moses is envisioned as a scribe. As David
is explicitly a ‫סופר‬, “scribe,” in 11QPsalmsa, so targumic traditions call
Moses ‫ספרא רבא דישראל‬, “the great scribe of Israel.”48 But even in
earlier texts, where he is not so named, he performs a scribal role. In
the book of Jubilees, Moses stands in the inspired chain of scribes that
begins with Enoch, the first scribe, and continues through the genera-
tions of patriarchs who read and copy the heavenly tablets and pass
down books to their children.49 First, however, it is not Moses, but God
who acts as a scribe ( Jub. 1:1):
In the first year of the Exodus of the children of Israel from Egypt, in the
third month on the sixteenth day of that month, the Lord spoke to Moses,
saying, “Come up to me on the mountain, and I shall give you two stone
tablets of the Law and the commandment, which I have written, so that
you may teach them.”

47
L. H. Schiffman, “The Temple Scroll and the Halakhic Pseudepigrapha of the Sec-
ond Temple Period,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives, 121–31, here 125. On Moses’ scribal but
not authorial role, see also H. Najman, “Interpretation as Primordial Writing,” 403.
48
See e.g. Targ. Onq. to Deut 33:21 (see also Neof.); Moses and Aaron are both named
scribes in Targ. Neof. to Num. 21:18. (Cf. the textualizing role of Moses, who writes
down not only “his book” but others as well, in B. Baba Bathra 14b–15a.) According to
the targums, Moses also sets in order (‫ )סדר‬God’s revelation to Israel; he is an arranger,
fulfilling the kind of scribal role discussed above in the context of Ben Sira, Qohelet,
Enoch and David. On this expression and its implications, see Robert Hayward’s
contribution to this volume, p. 284 and n. 40.
49
Moses, Najman writes, is “one of many bookish heroes charged with the tran-
scription of the heavenly tablets”; “Interpretation as Primordial Writing,” 388; see
also the discussion of the patriarchs’ technical/occupational scribal duties in Wright,
“Sirach and Jubilees.”
110 eva mroczek

Moses’ role is to teach the law of God to the children of Israel. But
God’s act of writing must be repeated by Moses, who is to be a scribe
on Sinai ( Jub. 1:5–7):
Set your mind on every thing which I shall tell you on this mountain,
and write it in a book so that their descendants might see that I have not
abandoned them on account of all of the evil which they have done . . . And
you, write for yourself all of the words which I shall cause you to know
today, for I know their rebelliousness and their stubbornness . . .
He is told to write yet again, first directly and then through the Angel
of the Presence ( Jub. 1.26–2.1):
1.26 And you write down for yourself all of the matters which I shall
make known to you on this mountain: what (was) in the beginning and
what (will be) at the end, what will happen in all of the divisions of the
days which are in the Law and testimony . . . 1.27 And he said to the
angel of the presence: “Have Moses write50 from the first creation until
my sanctuary is built in the midst forever and ever . . . 2.1 And the angel
of the presence spoke to Moses by the word of the Lord, saying, “Write
the whole account of creation…”
Moses’ role is faithfully to take dictation and accurately transmit the
contents of the heavenly tablets to the Israelites—adding his texts to
the growing corpus of written revelation codified by previous scribal
figures.
But this, of course, is not the earliest occasion where Moses is
clothed in scribal garb. If we saw hints of David’s “scribal potential”
in Chronicles and Ben Sira, Moses’ “scribal potential” is clear already
in the Pentateuch. The characterization of Moses as an exemplary
scribe in Deuteronomy is explored by J. Watts, who writes that Moses
“exemplifies the ancient scribe who records, teaches, and interprets.”51
Moses fulfills all the requirements of an ideal scribe—he is not only a
model of piety, but also a faithful preserver, updater, and transmitter
of tradition. Watts writes of Moses’ “scribal voice”:
The scribe’s authority depends, of course, on the claim to transmit the
text faithfully and is endangered by charges of overt modification (e.g.,
Jer 8:8, “the lying pen of the scribes”). Yet transmission of law always

50
Wintermute’s translation altered after J. C. VanderKam, “The Putative Author
of the Book of Jubilees,” JSS 26 (1981): 209–17.
51
J. W. Watts, “The Legal Characterization of Moses in the Rhetoric of the Pen-
tateuch,” JBL 117 (1998): 415–426, here 422.
 moses, david and scribal revelation 111

requires its interpretation and application, which is a creative process (as

the career of “Ezra the scribe” illustrates). Even in the process of simply
reproducing texts, editorial creativity is by necessity involved as well.52
Watts’ characterization resonates with our description of the scribe as
simultaneous preserver and renewer of tradition. He underlines that
the characterization of Moses as teacher and scribe is able to resolve
tensions between the laws of Deuteronomy and the Pentateuch, since
“the scribal character of Moses’ voice merges precisely in his mastery
of the tradition to present it in a new form.” Moses faithfully records,
but also revises and updates the material that has been revealed to
him; his inspired scribal authority means that faithful preservation and
renewal need not be in conflict with one another, but happen together,
as successive expressions of revealed law are written down.53
I have proposed that David and Moses are linked to their texts as
ideal scribes, in the multifaceted sense of the figure who is both an
example of piety and a channel for textual revelation. Such a relation-
ship between figure and text is richer, more layered, and more open to
future emulation and change than the static idea of “authorship.” When
we think of David and Moses as scribes, and their revelatory experiences
as scribal events, they take their places on a chain of scribal transmis-
sion, from Jerusalem or Sinai, down the generations to the scribes of
Qumran. The texts linked with them are not closed and fixed. Rather,
they are open to continuous development: their inspired textualizing
activity, their scribal ‫תבנית‬, is emulated in future communities, where
they serve as exemplars in multiple ways.

3. David and Moses as Scribes; Scribes as David and Moses

What does it mean to say David and Moses have the status of scribes
of liturgy and law in the second temple period? At first glance it would
seem as if they had been demoted from their positions as authors. But

52
Watts, “Legal Characterization of Moses,” 422 n. 34.
53
Expansions and reworkings generate expansions and reworkings of their own.
See e.g. M. Himmelfarb on Pseudo-Jubilees in A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in
Ancient Judaism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 53, and F. García
Martínez on 11QT, “Multiple Literary Editions of the Temple Scroll?” in The Dead
Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after Their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25,
1997 (eds L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov, and J. C. Vanderkam; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration
Society/Shrine of the Book, 2000), 364–71.
112 eva mroczek

in fact, David and Moses are not dethroned by being called scribes;
rather, scribalism is enthroned, raised to the level of a revelatory prac-
tice, through its connection with these great heroes and their revelatory
experiences. Making Moses a scribe on Sinai and David a scribe in
Jerusalem elevates the scribal occupation itself, and bridges the gap
between ancient revelatory moments and contemporary scribal work.54
If Moses and David are scribes, scribes can be the counterparts of
Moses and David; if Sinai becomes a scriptorium, the scriptorium55
can become a Sinai-like locus of revelation.56
As scribes, Moses and David are figures that can be emulated in their
ethical exemplarity, which includes their inspired, prolific work of text
production and transmission. This makes it possible to produce “Davidic”
liturgy and “Mosaic” law long after David and Moses, in an unfolding, con-
tinuous, revelatory scribal chain. Moses and David are typological figures,57

54
G. W. E. Nickelsburg, writing of the Enoch literature, has made a suggestive
point about how this gap between ancient and contemporary figures might have been
bridged:
Within this community there existed the latter day, real-life counterparts of pri-
mordial Enoch. . . . The title “Scribe,” applied three times to Enoch (12:4, 15:1,
92:1), may point to a concrete social role, while the title “Scribe of Righteousness/
Truth is also reminiscent of the Qumran sobriquet, ‫מורה־הצדק‬.
See “The Nature and Function of Revelation in 1 Enoch, Jubilees, and Some Qumranic
Documents,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives, 91–119, here 99.
55
The question of whether or not a “scriptorium” existed at Qumran and what it
was like is beyond the scope of this paper. Here I am using the term in a metaphorical
sense, for the locus of scribal activity.
56
This understanding of scribal revelation as a continuing, repeating process has
implications for many developing traditions. Some of the most generative discourses
in ancient Judaism are tied to figures who are either called scribes or endowed with
scribal/sagely characteristics, e.g. Enoch (the material collected in 1 Enoch and 2 Enoch;
see e.g. J. C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition [CBQMS 16;
Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association, 1984] and A. Orlov, The Enoch–Metatron
Tradition [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005]); Ezra (see the discussion of the variously
named Ezra traditions in R. A. Kraft, “ ‘Ezra’ Materials in Judaism and Christianity,”
originally in ANRW II.19.1 (1979): 119-36, available at http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/rs/
rak/publics/judaism/Ezra.htm); Baruch (1, 2, 3 and 4 Baruch [Paraleipomena Jeremiou];
for 2 Baruch see the contribution of M. Henze to this volume); and Solomon (the
canonical “Solomonic” texts, Proverbs, Qohelet, and the Song of Songs, as well as
the Psalms and Odes of Solomon).
57
As Moses and David are scribal types who inspire new scribal activity, so other
figures are types for different kinds of activities and roles central to Qumran; one
example is Levi, an ideal priestly figure who serves as a model for Qumran priests.
See R. A. Kugler, “The Priests of Qumran: The Evidence of References to Levi and
Levites,” in The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technological Innovations,
New Texts, & Reformulated Issues (eds D. Parry and E. Ulrich; STDJ 30; Leiden: E. J. Brill,
1999), 465–79. The preservation and renewal of traditions is connected to authorita-
tive lineage in other ancient Jewish contexts as well; Zuleika Rodgers offer a congenial
discussion of the way such a link functions in Josephus, who places himself at the end
 moses, david and scribal revelation 113

ideal transmitters of legal and liturgical traditions; in following their

example, actual scribes could understand themselves as inspired preservers
and renewers of the revelation that they encounter through the text.
When we remember that these “authors” of scripture were textual-
izing channels of revelation—were characterized as ideal scribes—then
we can be more open to the idea that scribal intervention into texts
does not place them in a separate category from “biblical” material.
Rather, we can think of a scribal continuum that started with Enoch
and has continued unbroken through generations who received, wrote
down, rearranged, and presented revelation anew. In this way, texts
like 4QRP—whose status as revelation is called into question because
of its extensive scribal reworking seems incompatible with “scriptural”
status58—can take its place on this continuum, along with even more
radically “renewed” texts like the Temple Scroll or Jubilees.
To follow the ethical example of David and Moses might mean to
practice humility, self-effacing leadership, or penitential prayer; or to
follow their textual ‫תבנית‬, the correct transmission of Torah and
liturgy for posterity. This could mean simply copying a text, being a
faithful transcriber of revelation. Along the same continuum, it could
mean re-arranging or renewing the tradition for a new community, as
in a collection like 11QPsalmsa or one of the reworked Pentateuchal

of an authoritative chain of priestly succession, thus authorizing his re-presentation and

rearrangement of the law of Moses; see “Josephus’ ‘Theokratia,’” esp. 144–147.
58
For the judgment that the scribal intervention into 4QRP was “extensive enough”
to put into question its authoritative status, see White Crawford, “The ‘Rewritten Bible’
at Qumran,” 3. White Crawford and Tov, the editors of 4QRP (“Reworked Pentateuch,”
Qumran Cave 4. VIII: Parabiblical Texts, Part I [eds H. Attridge et al.; DJD XIII; Oxford:
Clarendon, 1994], 187–351, originally asserted that the text was not “biblical”; but Tov
is now suggesting that 4QRP should be studied as Hebrew scripture (in “The Many
Faces of Scripture: Reflections on the LXX and 4QReworked Pentateuch,” Jonas C.
Greenfield Scholars’ Seminar, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 12 December 2006,
and a forthcoming article). E. Ulrich has long called for reading 4QRP as an alternate
edition of the Pentateuch (see e.g. “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Biblical Text,” in The
Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment [2 vols; eds P.W. Flint and J. C.
VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1998) 1.88–89. For other views on the status of 4QRP see
J. M. Allegro, “Biblical Paraphrase: Genesis, Exodus,” Qumran Cave 4. I [4Q158–186]
(DJD V; Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), 1–6; M. J. Bernstein, “Whatever Happened to the
Laws? The Treatment of Legal Material in 4QReworked Pentateuch,” DSD 15 (2008):
24–49; M. Segal, “4QReworked Pentateuch or 4QPentateuch?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls
Fifty Years After their Discovery (eds L. H. Schiffman et al.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration
Society, 2000), 391–99; and the earlier position of Tov, “Excerpted and Abbreviated
Biblical Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16 (1995): 581–600. The various assessments and
definitions of 4QRP—like those of 11QPsa (see n. 36)—shows that the distinction
between the “scriptural” and “secondary” is slippery indeed. I hope to examine this
issue in scholarship on both 4QRP and 11QPsa further in future work.
114 eva mroczek

traditions. 59 The preservation and renewal of text happened together;60

distinctions between “scriptural” and “secondary” are not meaningful
when we imagine a continuous scribal chain in which revelation is
textually experienced again and again, and scribally transmitted anew
in each generation (cf. Jub. 45:15).61

A Scribe Like Moses

I have suggested a way that the expanding Davidic tradition and the
traditions linked to Moses and the Law can illuminate each other, and
how the relationship of both figures to their texts might be understood
via the multivalent identity of the ideal scribe. Sinai and Sinai-like events
are repeated in the chain of scribal revelation, as scribes emulate the
ideal scribal personality of Moses and repeat his scribal law-transmitting
activities, not in “secondary” works, but in unfolding traditions that
are part of the chain of text transmission. But how is it possible to
“repeat” Moses at all, if Moses is the incomparable prophet, the likes
of whom was never seen again? For as the book of Deuteronomy tells
us (Deut 34:10–12):

59
Perhaps it could also mean producing new texts modeled on the old in a looser way.
For Davidic traditions, this might include composing a text such as the Shirot, liturgical
compositions which envision a heavenly Temple and follow the solar calendar, which
is the way 11QPsalmsa claims David arranged the songs; see Elior, The Three Temples,
50–51. For Mosaic traditions, it might mean composing community rules according to
the pattern of the Decalogue; see B. Nitzan, “The Decalogue Pattern in the Qumran
Rule of the Community,” presented at 6th IOQS Meeting, Ljubljana, 16–18 July 2007
(publication forthcoming in Proceedings of this meeting; Brill).
60
The idea that a) copying, and b) reworking, supplementing, or interpreting—what
I have called, in Jubilees’ words, “preservation and renewal”—were not distinguished
from each other is not new. M. Fishbane has pointed out the lack of distinction
between lemma and commentary; see Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 12. On the
lack of scribal distinctions between “original” and “new” or “rewritten” text, see also
S. White Crawford, “The ‘Rewritten Bible’ at Qumran,” 3, and much of the work
of E. Ulrich on the scribal continuity between successive “literary editions” (e.g. The
Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Bible, 99–120). Indeed, firm distinctions between
a base text and secondary scribal intervention are also incompatible with what we
know about the material limitations of writing on scrolls: see E. Tov, “The Writing of
Early Scrolls and the Literary Analysis of Hebrew Scripture,” DSD 13 (2006): 339–47.
Tov observes that scribes did not have any way of making additions or revisions on
existing base texts—rather, transcription and reworking were done together, as each
new scroll was copied.
61
For another way in which revelation is repeated through a participatory encounter
with text, see the contribution of Ishay Rosen-Tzvi to this collection.
 moses, david and scribal revelation 115

10 Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses, whom
YHWH knew face to face, 11 for the various signs and portents which
YHWH sent him to do in the land of Egypt, against Pharaoh and all
his servants and all his land, 12 and for all the mighty deeds and all the
terrifying displays of power that Moses performed in the sight of all
Israel.
Moses is unrepeatable. But yet, he is repeated again and again, in fig-
ures like Josiah or Ezra or the Teacher of Righteousness. These figures
perform the Mosaic activities of leadership, law-giving, and passing on
textualized revelation. There may never have been a prophet like Moses,
who spoke with God face to face and perfomed great miracles;62 but
there certainly were scribes like Moses, whose encounter with revelation
also happened through writing, and who were exemplary preservers,
renewers and teachers of the law.
I have tried to show that the second temple scribes responsible for
reworking and rewriting Torah materials should be understood in
just this way. As scribes following the model of Moses, they can allow
themselves to renew as well as preserve the Sinaitic revelation as they
re-present it in their own contexts. When we consider the multivalent
identity of the scribal figure, and the scribal character of the revelatory
event, as types for the self-understanding of the actual scribe, we find
that Sinai becomes a link in a continuous chain of revelatory scribal
events—from the first scribe, Enoch, through Moses, down to the
copyists/renewers of Torah-like texts at Qumran. There is no dividing
line between a “scriptural” and a “secondary” text if both the ancient
mediatory figure and the contemporary scribe are imagined as inspired
channels for the continuing preservation, renewal and transmission of
revealed tradition. Both Sinai and the Qumran scriptorium were the
loci of revelatory encounters between a holy text, an inspired scribe,
and a blank slate.

62
As G. Knoppers writes in “ ‘There Was None Like Him: Incomparability in the
Books of Kings,” CBQ 54 (1992): 411–31, Moses is incomparable in the same limited
way that the kings of Israel are incomparable: in terms of some specific character-
istics that set them apart. Only Moses spoke with God face to face, and only Moses
performed such impressive miracles (431); other aspects of Moses’ identity seem to
be fair game.
 THE GIVING OF THE TORAH AT SINAI AND THE
ETHICS OF THE QUMRAN COMMUNITY*

Marcus Tso
University of Manchester, England

Determining the proper way to live is at the heart of ethics.1 As far

as the evidence indicates, ethics seems to be a concern in all cultures
throughout history.2 While the precise scope and content of what
constitutes ethics in each society or social group may vary, sometimes
considerably, whenever a group expresses views about the proper way
to live, it is engaging in ethical discourse.3
How the religious community at Qumran formulated its answers to
this apparently universal human question merits further study. Ethics at
Qumran was not simply the compilation of divine commands as found
in authoritative sacred texts, such as those supposedly given at Sinai,
nor purely based on a traditional code of norms and values.4 Rather,
the sectarians at Qumran formulated their ethics based on a number
of interacting factors, or sets of factors.
One of these contributing factors was the use of scriptural tradi-
tions by the Qumran sectarians, that is, how they understood and

* This essay is partly based on my forthcoming doctoral thesis (University of Man-

chester) under the direction of Professor George Brooke, whom, together with Profes-
sors Loren Stuckenbruck and Hindy Najman, the co-organizers of the “Giving of the
Torah at Sinai” conference, I would like to thank for inviting me to the conference
and including my paper in this volume. I deeply appreciate their generosity, hospitality,
friendship, and assistance.
1
I use the word “ethics” here in a broad sense, without insisting on a sharp distinction
from its synonym, “morality.” Thus, “ethics” can refer here either to the reflection and
study of morality, or to morality itself. For the typical definition of ethics as “moral phi-
losophy,” or “a consideration of the various kinds of questions that arise in thinking about
how one ought to live one’s life,” see, e.g., the introductory remarks by Jack Glickman
in Moral Philosophy: An Introduction (ed. J. Glickman; New York: St. Martin’s, 1976), 1.
2
The evidence can be found in both the literature and the artefacts from many
cultures, suggesting a universal concern for ethics. For a discussion on the universality
of ethical concerns, see, e.g., Stanley J. Grenz, The Moral Quest: Foundations of Christian
Ethics (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1997), 212–14.
3
For a discussion on the variety of the language of ethical discourse from the time of
the Qumran community to modern times, especially in the Jewish world, see Chapter
Two of my forthcoming PhD thesis.
4
While these aspects are certainly part of the bases of ethics in many religious
communities, including that at Qumran, to explain the development of ethics only in
these terms is to oversimplify matters.
118 marcus tso

appropriated the various genres of their authoritative texts, especially

laws and narratives, to determine the demands of God. Another con-
tributing factor was the sectarians’ sense of identity, which highlights
for us that ethics was socially constructed at Qumran, as it probably is
elsewhere.5 Yet another contributing factor to ethics was their response
to their political and cultural contexts, which demonstrates that the
formulation of their ethics was not done in a vacuum, but was sensitive
and responsive to their political and cultural environments.6 A fourth
contributing factor was their eschatology, a salient motivating aspect of
their theology. The influence of Qumran eschatology on their ethics
shows that it was also theological. While these four contributory factors
are not meant to be exhaustive, they are offered here as representative
of other factors that may also have contributed to the process of ethi-
cal formulation at Qumran.
Not only does Qumran ethics have a multifaceted basis, but the four
contributing factors identified above also interact with one another in
the formulation of ethics at Qumran. In this essay I will illustrate how
this worked by focusing on how the Qumran sectarians appropriated
the scriptural traditions about the Sinai covenant for their ethics. I will
also focus on how this appropriation of scriptural traditions had effects
on identity formation at Qumran as well, which in turn had ethical
implications. Space does not permit me to explore more fully the other
two contributing factors. Nevertheless, hints will be given along the way
to suggest that the sectarians’ understanding of the Sinai traditions and
their self-identity probably inclined them to certain political stances and
reactions to their surrounding cultures, leading to particular views on
ethics, and that their eschatology also drew from these traditions in ways
that formed their self-understanding, once again with ethical import.
Before examining how these contributing factors operated with
respect to the use of the Sinai traditions at Qumran, let me first address
the more general question of how the scrolls from Qumran speak about

5
For an introduction to social construction as a broader human phenomenon, see
Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in
Sociology of Knowledge (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967). Although not specifically
written from a social-scientific perspective or addressing group identity, Eva Mroczek’s
essay in this volume, “Moses, David and Scribal Revelation: Preservation and Renewal
in Second Temple Jewish Textual Traditions,” 91–116, is a good example of how self-
identity might affect ethics.
6
For an account of how different modern Jewish philosophers formulated divergent
approaches to ethics in response to the cultural and intellectual challenge of modern-
ism, see the essay in this volume by Paul Franks, “Sinai after Spinoza: Reflections on
Revelation in Modern Jewish Thought,” 333–54.
 the giving of the torah at sinai 119

ethics. Using the broad understanding of ethics stated earlier, that it

concerns the proper way to live, we can observe that ethics was front
and centre in the mind of the Qumran sectarians and its wider move-
ment. Already in the Damascus Document we can see the pre-Qumran
concern with this crucial issue of how to live properly before God. For
example, the voice of a teacher exhorts the members of his community
in CD II, 14–16:
And now, children, listen to me, so I may uncover your eyes to see and
to understand the actions that God demands (‫)מעשי אל‬, to choose what
pleases him and to reject what he hates, to walk perfectly in all his ways,
not following thoughts of guilty inclination and adulterous eyes.7
This passage, using language that sometimes echoes scriptural tradi-
tions,8 nevertheless implies that the ethical demands of God are not
completely self-evident in Scripture, but require one to be initiated into
a new way of perceiving.
The Rule of the Community displays a similar concern for proper living
by presenting it as the entry requirement as well as the supreme goal
of the Qumran sectarians.9 The constitutional book opens with these
words about its purpose of instructing the sectarians:
To seek God with all their heart and with all their soul, to do that which
is good and upright before Him, just as He commanded through Moses
and all His servants the prophets . . . to love everything He chose and to
hate everything He rejected, to distance themselves from all evil and to
hold fast to all good deeds; to practice truth, justice and righteousness in

7
Translation mine. Although the rendering for ‫ מעשי אל‬here is uncommon and
debatable, it fits the context very well. In any case, my argument does not depend on
it, as the rest of the quote amply shows the strong concern for ethics.
8
E.g., the injunction “to choose” from Deut 30:19; the phrase “to walk perfectly in
all his ways,” which combines allusions to a key moment in the Abrahamic covenant in
Gen 17:1 that reverberates through the Psalms (15:2; 84:12; 101:6), with the repeated
exhortation to “walk in all his ways” in Deuteronomy (8:6; 10:12; 11:22; 19:9; 26:17;
28:9; 30:16).
9
While the Rule of the Community is a complex document reflecting multiple redactional
layers, some of which may predate the settlement at Qumran by the Qumran com-
munity, the opening lines of 1QS probably belong to the later and Qumranic stage of
redaction. See, e.g., the classic and seminal studies of Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “La
genèse littéraire de la Règle de la Communauté,” RB 76 (1969): 528–49, esp. 537–38,
and Jean Pouilly, La règle de la communauté de Qumrân, son évolution littéraire (CahRB 17;
Paris: J. Gabalda, 1976), 522–51, esp. 550–51. These early redactional theories are
generally confirmed, albeit with various adjustments, by more recent studies based on
manuscripts from Cave 4, such as Sarianna Metso, The Textual Development of the Qumran
Community Rule (STDJ 21; Leiden: Brill, 1997), esp. 146–48, 154. For a critique of Metso,
but not the Qumranic provenance of the beginning of 1QS, see Philip S. Alexander,
“The Redaction History of Serek ha-Ya˜ad,” RevQ 17 (1996): 437–56.
120 marcus tso

the land, and to walk no longer in a guilty, wilful heart and lustful desires,
wherein they did every evil thing (1QS I, 1b–7a).10
Further, the instructor “is to induct all who volunteer to live by the
laws of God into the Covenant of Mercy, so as to be joined to God’s
society and walk faultless before Him, according to all that has been
revealed for the times appointed them” (1QS I, 7b–9a). Once again the
language of this passage is heavily dependent on scriptural traditions,
such as Deut 4:29 and 2 Chr 15:12, for the key opening phrase.
Both of these passages illustrate some of the key concepts in the ethical
terminology of the Qumran community and its wider movement—
‫משפט‬, ‫צדקה‬, ‫אמת‬, ‫טוב‬, ‫רע‬, ‫שנא‬, ‫אהב‬, ‫מאס‬, ‫בחר‬, ‫עשה הישר‬, ‫דרש‬,
‫התהלך לפני תמים‬, ‫ברית‬, ‫חק‬, ‫עיני זנות‬, ‫לב אשמה‬, and ‫הנגלות‬. Judging
by the ethical discourse in these short passages alone, ethical liv-
ing is of paramount importance and is dictated by God’s standard
and will. It is described as walking blamelessly or perfectly in God’s
way; it is rejecting evil human inclinations; it is linked with the cov-
enant with God; and it is informed by special divine revelation. As
noted, the language of this ethical discourse is highly influenced by
scriptural traditions, and the marks of the Sinai traditions, espe-
cially as mediated through Deuteronomy, are clearly seen. On this
note, let us turn to some examples of how these scriptural tradi-
tions were appropriated by the sectarians to formulate their ethics.

The Use of the Sinai Traditions to Inform Ethics

As mentioned above, the recalling of the Sinai traditions among the

Qumran circle was filtered through Deuteronomy, the most attested
Torah book from the Qumran caves, and according to Johann Maier,
the biblical book with the most citations and allusions by far in the
non-biblical scrolls.11 This is evident from the language used, such as
“choosing,” “loving and hating,” “walking in his ways,” “all one’s heart

10
Unless otherwise noted, all translations of Qumran texts are from Michael O.
Wise, Martin G. Abegg, and Edward M. Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation
(San Francisco: HarperCollins SanFrancisco, 1996).
11
According to the index in Johann Maier, Die Qumran-Essener: Die Texte vom Toten
Meer (Band III: Einführung, Zeitrechnung, Register und Bibliographie) (München: E. Reinhardt,
1996), 161–78, Deuteronomy (at c. 155 times) is the most cited or alluded to biblical
book in the Qumran non-biblical manuscripts, followed by Isaiah (c. 110), Leviticus
(c. 76), and Psalms (c. 65). At about 28 extant manuscripts, it is also the second most
attested biblical book after Psalms.
 the giving of the torah at sinai 121

and soul,” and “covenant”—language that is clearly more prominent in

Deuteronomy than in Exodus.12 Deuteronomy does not only rehearse
the giving of the Torah and the establishment of the covenant at Sinai,
it also relates the subsequent breach of this covenant by Israel and its
renewal under the aged Moses, who took on the role of a sage-prophet.13
This particular perspective of Deuteronomy is especially suited to the
sectarian worldview, that they were the community of the renewed
covenant after the apostasy of the nation at large.
A specific example of how the Sinai traditions from Deuteronomy
were used can be found in 1QS I, 16-II, 18, which contains a prescrip-
tion for the initiation ceremony of the Ya˜ad. Within this passage (1QS
II, 1b–18), there is a series of recitations of blessings and curses that
is roughly modelled after texts in Deuteronomy 27–29, a section that
has to do with a renewal, or ratification, of the Mosaic covenant.14 A
more obvious citation appears in 1QS II, 12b–18, where the influence
of Deut 29:18–20 is clearly seen.15 If Sarianna Metso’s theory about
the relative dates of the various versions of S is correct, namely, that
1QS is a relatively late redaction of several forms of S as represented
by 4QSb,d,e,16 and that the material in 1QS I–IV “was brought into the
composition at a very late stage,”17 the allusion to Deuteronomy in 1QS
II seems to fit generally Metso’s proposal that later redaction of S was
meant “to strengthen the self-understanding of the community, and with
the aid of Scriptural proof-texts to provide a theological justification of
the regulations already in force in the community.”18 Even though we

12
As a rough indicator, e.g., ‫ ברית‬is attested in the MT 13 times in Exodus, but 27
times in Deuteronomy, and ‫ בחר‬is found 3 and 31 times respectively.
13
As George Brooke argues in his essay in this volume, “Moving Mountains: From
Sinai to Jerusalem,” 80–84, the use of Deuteronomy allowed the Qumran sectarians
to put the specific locus of revelation in the background and hence to relativize its
importance. What is more important to the Qumranites is the reception of revelation,
which they understood to be repeatable, and part of their experience. For the use of the
Sabbath Songs at Qumran as a means to experiencing divine revelation anew independ-
ently of its original locale, see Judith Newman’s essay in this volume, “Priestly Prophets
at Qumran: Summoning Sinai through the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” 30.
14
Cf. A. Robert C. Leaney, The Rule of Qumran and Its Meaning: Introduction, Translation,
and Commentary (NTL; London: SCM Press, 1966), 104.
15
E.g., “It shall come to pass, when he hears the words of this Covenant, that he
shall bless himself in his heart, saying ‘Peace be with me, though I walk in the stub-
bornness of my heart’” (1QS II, 12b–14). This clearly cites the first part of Deut 29:18,
substituting the word “covenant” (‫ )הברית‬for “oath” (‫)האלה‬. Parts of Deut 29:19–20
that pertain to divine anger and curses are also paraphrased in line 15 and 16.
16
Metso, Textual Development, 146–47.
17
Metso, Textual Development, 145.
18
Metso, Textual Development, 144.
122 marcus tso

are not dealing with explicit scriptural citations here, using the scrip-
tural model of covenant renewal in nascent Israel for its own initiation
ceremony, the Qumran community enhanced its self-understanding as
the true heir of the Mosaic covenant and the latter-day embodiment
of Israel. In terms of its relevance for ethics, this self-understanding
probably added both urgency and freshness to the divine commands in
the mind of the sectarians, motivating them, for example, to conform
to the code of behaviour that they saw as mandated by the covenant.
And having this self-understanding filtered through Deuteronomy could
only facilitate their tendency towards stringency, since Deuteronomy
was already in several respects more stringent than Exodus.19

The Use of the Sinai Traditions and Identity Formation

The enhancement of the self-understanding mentioned above leads to

a consideration of identity formation. Remembering the giving of the
Torah at Sinai was not a trivial matter in the formation of sectarian
identity,20 because included in the sectarian idea of the Torah were
at least two special features. First, the Torah was read as prophetic,
accurately predicting the persistent unfaithfulness of Israel in general
until the Last Days.21 This highlighted the sectarian community’s self-
understanding as the faithful remnant, coexisting with an apostate
nation, and helped them to explain their current experience of dis-
enfranchisement and marginalization. Second, the Torah was seen as
containing both the “revealed laws” and the “hidden laws,” the latter
of which could only be understood by inspired exegesis, and were the

19
E.g., Deut 19:16–21 extends the principal of jus talionis in Exod 21:12–36 to the
case of false witnesses with merely the intent to harm. For a discussion related to parts
of these passages, see Bernard S. Jackson, “The Problem of Exod. XXI 22–5 ( Jus
Talionis),” VT 23 (1973): 271–304. Further, Deut 22:28–29 tightens the penalty for
raping an un-betrothed virgin found in Exod 22:16–17 by stipulating the exact price,
removing the possibility of the father’s intervention, and adding a no-divorce clause. Cf.
Joe M. Sprinkle, “Law and Narrative in Exodus 19–24,” JETS 47 (2004): 235–52.
20
For an account of how the Sinai traditions shaped self-image at Qumran, as seen
especially in 1QS, see James C. VanderKam, “Sinai Revisited,” in Biblical Interpreta-
tion at Qumran (ed. Matthias Henze; SDSSRL; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005),
44–60. However, as suggested by Brooke’s essay in this volume, “Moving Mountains,”
85, VanderKam’s account needs qualification, some examples of which will be given
below.
21
Falk, “Moses,” 577.
 the giving of the torah at sinai 123

basis of the sectarian ordinances.22 In this way, the sectarian remem-

brance of the Sinai event highlighted for the community members the
important role of the Torah for defining who they were, and helped
reinforce their identity as the “keepers/doers of the Torah” and as the
recipients of the hidden revelation contained therein.23
Aside from remembering the giving of the Torah, the sectarians also
remembered Moses as the prophetic lawgiver.24 And this also contrib-
uted to the community’s identity formation, albeit in a less direct way.
Although the Teacher of Righteousness is not presented as a prophet
in the Scrolls,25 his role as the authoritative interpreter of the Torah
and the leader of the community of God in the wilderness appears to
be modelled in part after Moses.26 Thus, the remembrance of Moses
also reinforced for the Qumran community its identity as the true Israel
in the wilderness in the Last Days. This identity of the community as
the faithful recipients and doers of the Torah from Moses, and as the
followers of an inspired leader like him, raised obedience to the Torah,
with all its hidden revelation possessed only by the group, to the level
of a supreme ethical norm.
Another way that social identity was formed at Qumran was through
the way the community was organized. Among the diverse scrolls from
Qumran, we can discern several models of organization—ways that the
sectarians portrayed themselves as a group, ways that they organized
themselves as something else, whether in actuality or in their imagina-
tion. George Brooke has identified four such models as cosmic, tribal,

22
As noted in Falk, “Moses,” 577: “This too is tied up with the idea of Moses as
prophet and recipient of all revelation: inherent in his Torah are the ‘hidden things’
that are discernible only by inspired exegesis.”
23
See, e.g., the phrase ‫ עושי התורה‬in 1QpHab VII, 11; VIII, 1; XII, 4–5; 1QpMic
(1Q14) 8–10; 4QpPsa (4Q171) 1–2 II, 14, 22; cf. 4QFlor (4Q174) 1–3 II, 2. For a
disputed argument that this phrase is the self-designation of the people in the Qumran
community, and is the Hebrew basis the Greek word “Εσσενοι,” see Stephen Goranson,
“Jannaeus, His Brother Absalom, and Judah the Essene” (self-published on-line paper,
http://www.duke.edu/~goranson/jannaeus.pdf, 2005).
24
For a recent account of the various, sometimes contradictory, ways Moses was
remembered at Qumran, see George J. Brooke, “Moses in the Dead Sea Scrolls:
Looking at Mount Nebo from Qumran,” in La Construction de la figure de Moïse/The
Construction of the Figure of Moses (ed. T. Römer; Supplément à Transeuphratène 13; Paris:
Gabalda, 2007), 209–21.
25
George J. Brooke, “Prophecy and Prophets in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Looking
Backwards and Forwards,” in Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism
(ed. M. H. Floyd and R. D. Haak; LHBOTS 427; London: T & T Clark International,
2006), 151–65.
26
Falk, “Moses,” 577.
124 marcus tso

military, and cultic,27 and rightly suggested that self-descriptors implicit

in such organizational models necessarily influence behaviour and
practice and have an ethical dimension.28 Setting the cosmic model
aside for now,29 let us consider how the other three models might have
shaped the collective identity of the Qumran community, models that
all trace their roots to the Sinai traditions.
First, the community organized itself, at least at some point in its
history, using the model of the twelve tribes of Israel,30 which reflects
how Moses organized Israel along tribal lines at Horeb/Sinai (Deut
1:6–18; cf. Exod 18:13–27, which locates the organization of Israel
immediately before the revelation at Sinai, albeit without any explicit
reference to the tribes). When the community patterned itself after the
twelve biblical tribes of Israel at a time when the tribal system was no
longer functional, it was in effect declaring itself to be restored Israel
in the Last Days. Such an identity had political and interpersonal
implications, as out-groups, even other Jews, were seen as the hostile
nations (at least potentially) and in-group members were seen as kins-
men, family, and brothers.31
Being organized as Israel is only a short stretch from being organized
as the host of Israel that God brought out of Egypt (Exod 12:51) to
encamp before him at Sinai (Exod 19:16–17). The sectarians, in various
stages of their history, either imagined themselves or actually organized
themselves in a military pattern, modelled after the camp of Israel’s

27
George J. Brooke, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and New Testament Ecclesiology,” in
Holiness and Ecclesiology in the New Testament (ed. K. E. Brower and A. Johnson; Grand
Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007), 13–16.
28
Brooke, “Dead Sea Scrolls and New Testament Ecclesiology,” 13, 15.
29
Other than the lack of space, the cosmic model is neglected here because it needs
further development.
30
Brooke, “Dead Sea Scrolls and New Testament Ecclesiology,” 16, cites the allu-
sions to tribal organization in 1QM II, 1–4; III, 14; V, 1–2, where the allusions are
best understood as imaginary, and in 1QS I, 8 where the tribal model is reflected in
the actual organization of the council of the community.
31
Cf. Brooke, “Dead Sea Scrolls and New Testament Ecclesiology,” 16: “The tribal
model implies a relational view of communities and encourages stress on kinship,
whether actual or fictive, and the system of honour and shame that accompanied it.”
However, with the exception of the Damascus Document, terminologies of brotherhood
or fictive kinship are relatively rare in the Scrolls, especially when compared with the
NT.
 the giving of the torah at sinai 125

army in the books of Exodus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.32 Being

organized in this biblical military pattern probably helped the sectar-
ians to identify themselves with the people-army of Yahweh, moving
on a holy mission between Sinai and the Promised Land through the
wilderness. This military identification also promoted a sense of exi-
gency with extra-stringent purity requirements, and is consistent with
the theoretical portrayal that the sectarians at Qumran were probably
exclusively male, sexually abstinent, forbidden to relieve themselves
inside the settlement, and otherwise under strict discipline.
Finally, the military model is closely linked to the cultic model.33 In
Exodus and Numbers, the military organization had at its centre the
sanctuary and the Levitical and priestly personnel. Indeed, the organi-
zation of the cultic personnel was integral to the military organization
of Israel on the march from Sinai.34 A cultic model of organization at
Qumran naturally reinforced their well-documented priestly orienta-
tion, and is entirely consistent with the almost obsessive concerns about
requirements of ritual purity, feast days, and calendar found in their
texts. Furthermore, this cultic organization model likely advanced at
least two group identities. First, it doubtless prompted the community
to view itself as a community of priests, perhaps one that fulfils the
divine words of covenant, “You shall be to me a kingdom of priests
and a holy nation” (Exod 19:6). Second, it appears to have fostered
an understanding that the community was in some sense the only
legitimate Temple in the present, perhaps until some eschatological
Temple is built.35

32
Brooke, “Dead Sea Scrolls and New Testament Ecclesiology,” 15, cites texts such
as 11QTa LIV, 4-5; 1QM IV, 1-5; 1QSa I, 29-II, 1; and CD XII, 23-XIII, 2 as reflecting
this military model. For a fuller argument for how the Qumran community organized
itself after the pattern of the military camp of Israel in the wilderness, see Francis
Schmidt, How the Temple Thinks: Identity and Social Cohesion in Ancient Judaism (trans. J. E.
Crowley; BSem 78; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 146–50.
33
This model is based on the Levitical cultic system which the scriptural narratives
present as having been revealed and immediately implemented at Sinai.
34
1QSa I, 29-II, 1, cited by Brooke above, is a good example of how the cultic
model of organization is mixed with the military model at Qumran.
35
For the idea that the concentric circles of increasing holiness from the periphery
to the centre in the organizational structure of the Qumran community were also
modelled after the camp of the wilderness, see Schmidt, How the Temple Thinks, 150–67,
esp. fig. 6. Thus, the Qumran community represented through its organization the
same ideas about purity and holiness that the physical and spatial arrangements of
the sanctuary were supposed to represent. For the use of the Sabbath Songs to enhance
a priestly self-understanding and participate in angelic worship in God’s immediate
holy presence, see Carol Newsom, “Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” EDSS 2:889, cited
126 marcus tso

These self-understandings, which are derived at least partly from the

Sinai traditions, all worked together to reinforce each other and, above
all, the community’s self-understanding of being Israel. Furthermore,
such self-understandings have various ethical implications. Being a
priestly community and even a human sanctuary means, among other
things, extra-stringent purity requirements, which for the Qumranites
went beyond the cultic to the moral realm.36 Being God’s army entails
similar purity requirements and also at least rejecting certain claims
to worldly comfort, such as possessions and family relationships, for
the sake of a struggle, however that was understood, and probably
antagonism towards outsiders perceived as enemies. Being Israel in the
Last Days implies the need to know certain things in the penultimate
age of wickedness, to act in certain ways where they were, and to be
a certain kind of people, distinguishing themselves from all outsiders,
with boundaries that kept out the many and let in a few.

Conclusion

As suggested earlier, the four contributing factors of scriptural tradi-

tion, identity formation, political and cultural contexts, and theology,
especially in the form of eschatology, worked in an interrelated way to
help shape the ethics of the Qumran community. Space has permitted
me only to highlight the first two in relation to how the Sinai traditions
were appropriated at Qumran. Nonetheless, we have already seen hints
of how the Sinai traditions may have played a role in their responses
to their political and cultural contexts, as well as in their eschatology.
For example, their self-identity as true Israel, as reinforced by their
organizational models patterned after the tribes of Israel, probably
the tribes assembled as one before Mt. Sinai, most likely had an effect
on how they viewed the political and religious establishments around
them, causing them to develop or nurture separatist tendencies and
hostility towards outsiders. Furthermore, their self-understanding as
the renewed and faithful covenant community in the Last Days, as
prophesied in the Torah, helped inform their eschatology. This escha-

in Judith Newman’s essay in this volume, “Priestly Prophets,” 29. See also Newman’s
comments on 40, n. 25.
36
See, e.g., Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2000).
 the giving of the torah at sinai 127

tological self-understanding was conducive both to a sense of urgency

and a sense of hope, both of which could motivate ethical behaviours
and attitudes.37
We have seen that the Sinai traditions, broadly understood,38 played
a noticeable and important role in how the Qumran sectarians formu-
lated their ethics, not only as a part of the scriptural traditions that
they appropriated in their own way, but also influencing their identity
formation. Further examination will reveal that this is also true in the
case of their response to their political and cultural contexts, and their
eschatology. Thus, the giving of the Torah at Sinai left its imprints on
the ethics of the Qumran community through the jostling together of
all four of these contributing factors. What this suggests is that in order
to understand the ethics of the Qumran sectarians better, the four-
pronged approach outlined above gives a reading that is more faithful
to the terminology, thoughts, and contexts of the sectarians, than a
retrojection from later ethical systems, be they Christian or rabbinic.

37
For the use of eschatology as a motivator for Torah observance in 2 Baruch, see
the essay in this volume by Matthias Henze, “Torah and Eschatology in the Syriac
Apocalypse of Baruch,” 201–16.
38
Again, see George Brooke’s essay in this volume for the relative absence of
Mt. Sinai in the Qumran literature, while aspects of the Sinai traditions remain
important.
 JOSEPHUS’ “THEOKRATIA” AND MOSAIC DISCOURSE:
THE ACTUALIZATION OF THE REVELATION AT SINAI1

Zuleika Rodgers
Trinity College Dublin, Ireland

Introduction

Notably absent from Josephus’ presentation of the Jewish constitution in

Against Apion, the revelation at Sinai plays a major role in Book 3 of the
Jewish Antiquities and is the focus for Moses’ prophetic activity. Yet the
matter of the superiority of the Jewish constitution and Mosaic Law is
central to both Jewish Antiquities and Against Apion. One explanation for
the difference focuses on the apologetic context of Against Apion where a
treatment of divine authorship of laws would be incongruous. Does this
mean that for Josephus apologetic interests inform his conceptualization
of the Jewish constitution in Against Apion, and the particular revelation
at Sinai is forfeited or subordinated to a universalist worldview?
By examining Josephus’ understanding of the transmission of Mosaic
Law—and his own role in this—perhaps it is possible to discern a link
between the Sinai event as articulated in Jewish Antiquities and the Jew-
ish theocracy of Against Apion.

Josephus and the Jewish Constitution

Historical method has been the focus of recent trends in Josephan schol-
arship.2 Demanding that we acquaint ourselves with Josephus’ historical

1
I would like to thank the editors of this volume who invited me to participate in
the conference at Durham in 2007.
2
The International Josephus Colloquium as well as the Josephus Group (under the
auspices of the Society of Biblical Literature) have provided a forum for the ongoing
development of this field. Two of the most recent of the colloquium meetings (Dub-
lin 2004 and Haifa 2006) specifically focused on historical method. One volume has
appeared: Making History: Josephus and Historical Method (ed. Z. Rodgers; JSJSup 110;
Leiden: Brill, 2006). There are also translation and commentary projects appearing in
Hebrew, German, French, and Italian. The new Brill commentary project is available
online (http://pace.cns.yorku.ca).
130 zuleika rodgers

method (as well as reflect on our own), we are now compelled to give due
regard to his compositional techniques and appreciate the full implica-
tions of his Roman context. Sensitivity to the relationship between the
micro and the macro with regard to the text (viewing each episode as
part of a larger narrative) as well as sensitivity to context (evaluating
the literary, historical and philosophical resonances from his immediate
first century C.E. Roman surroundings) has facilitated a transforma-
tion in the way that scholars use Josephus’ works as a source.3 It has
become apparent that Josephus’ method and concerns were not those
of a truckling provincial clumsily assembling disparate sources; rather,
he must be assessed as an author skilfully controlling his material. The
history behind the text, whether that of the Jews or his own personal
story, is constructed within Josephus’ own conceptual framework, and
how we access the “facts” behind the text is central to methodological
discussions: according to one view, “It is not possible to detach even one
item or case from ‘Josephus’ framework,’ for that framework is pervasive
and fully wrought, animating all of its constituent atoms.”4
Our concern is not methodological per se, but we will depend upon
recent scholarship’s identification of certain pervasive themes within
Josephus’ work. Focusing on the Roman context has revealed Josephus’
interest in the Judean constitution (πολιτεία). Fundamental to the narra-
tive framework of the Jewish Antiquities is reflection on good governance
and justice—its effects (harmony, ἁρμονία and happiness, εὐδαιμονία),
the relationship between the character of the state and its individuals,
and the virtues of the lawgiver and the ideal statesman—themes central
to political and philosophical discourse in the Greco-Roman world.5

3
Treatment of Josephus’ Roman context was the subject for two international con-
ferences and the proceedings have been published as Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome
(eds. J. Edmondson, S. Mason, and J. Rives; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005)
and Josephus and Jewish History in Flavian Rome and Beyond (eds. Joseph Sievers and Gaia
Lembi; JSJSup 104; Leiden: Brill, 2005). Steve Mason, Flavius Josephus: Translation and
Commentary. Volume 9. Life of Josephus (Leiden: Brill, 2000), xix–xxi, xxxiv–l, and “Flavius
Josephus in Flavian Rome: Reading on and Between the Lines,” in Flavian Rome (eds.
A. J. Boyle and W. J. Dominik; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 559–89, has been concerned to
demonstrate how Josephus’ Roman context informs the narrative; themes of govern-
ance—for example, tyranny, succession issues, stasis—relating to the Jewish constitution
and Roman political discourse dominate and the values presented as Jewish would find
a responsive and sympathetic audience among his Roman elite readers.
4
Steve Mason, “Contradiction or Counterpoint? Josephus and Historical Method,”
RRJ 6 (2003): 186.
5
Compositional critical approaches have revealed the pervasiveness of this theme,
which is of particular interest when seen against the background of Domitianic Rome.
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 131

This political focus of the Jewish Antiquities incorporates competitive

cultural claims and permeates the presentation of Jewish history (e.g.,
the issue of the antiquity of the nation), including his interpretation
of the biblical narrative. Louis Feldman in his extensive studies has
demonstrated how Josephus responds to those who slander the Judeans
by manipulating the biblical account,6 and how, in presenting the best
of Jewish culture to the Greco-Roman world, characterized biblical
heroes as exhibiting the virtues that belong to the ideal Greco-Roman
statesman, while Steve Mason identifies the ethnographic and politi-
cal/philosophical as unifying themes of Jewish Antiquities, The Life, and
Against Apion.7 The most recent statement on Josephus’ treatment of
Roman and Judean values is by John Barclay in his translation of, and
commentary on, Against Apion.8
This political theme is set out in the prologue to the Jewish Antiquities:
“having taken in hand this present task thinking that it will appear to all
the Greeks deserving of studious attention. For it is going to encompass
our entire ancient history (ἀρχαιολογία) and constitution of the state
(διάταξις τοὗ πολιτεύματος) translated from the Hebrew writings” (Ant.
1.5 [Feldman, FJTC]). The appearance of this constitutional language
is not only found in the prologue (Ant. 1.1–26) and the concluding sec-
tions (Ant. 20.229, 251, 261), but throughout the work.
In the opening passages, the reader is invited to evaluate whether the
Jewish lawgiver, Moses, has “comprehended His nature worthily and
has always attributed to Him deeds that are befitting His power, pre-
serving the discourse about Him pure from every unseemly mythology

See Steve Mason, “Introduction to the Judean Antiquities,” in Flavius Josephus: Translation
and Commentary, Volume 3. Judean Antiquities Books 1–4 (ed. Steve Mason; Leiden: Brill,
2004), xxxiv–xxxv, and John M. G. Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary,
Volume 10. Against Apion (ed. Steve Mason; Leiden: Brill, 2007) xxxvi–xliv.
6
Feldman’s analysis of Josephus’ portraits of biblical characters highlights the
moral and philosophical assessment that would allow the heroes of Jewish history to
appeal to a hellenised audience. A number of these studies have been included in two
volumes: Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1998) and Studies in Josephus’ Rewritten Bible (Leiden: Brill, 1998). See also: Christopher
T. Begg, Josephus’ Account of the Early Divided Monarchy (AJ 8,212–420): Rewriting the Bible
(BETL 108; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 1993) and Josephus’ Story
of the Later Monarchy (BETL 145; Leuven: Peeters and Leuven University Press, 2000);
Paul Spilsbury, The Image of the Jew in Flavius Josephus’ Paraphrase of the Bible (TSAJ 69;
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998).
7
Mason, Life of Josephus, xlvii–l, and “Introduction to the Judean Antiquities,” xxiii–
xxxiv.
8
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion.
132 zuleika rodgers

that is found among others” (Ant. 1.15 [Feldman, FJTC ]). Since Moses
comprehended the nature of God, he could invite others to imitate
this ideal by directing their thoughts to the divine and the order of the
universe rather than simply through a code of laws. As a consequence
Josephus’ account of Moses’ teaching about God includes a treatment
of the philosophy of nature (φυσιολογία) (Ant. 1.18–24).9 Against Apion
further makes the case that the Judean constitution reflects the laws of
the universe (Ag. Ap. 2.284). When comparing his legal tradition with
the Greek, part of Josephus’ case for its superiority is based on the
claim that the Jewish constitution reflects the truth about God and the
universe (Ag. Ap. 2.190–198).
Moses’ role as lawgiver (νομοθέτης) is central to this philosophical
discussion on the law that appears in both the prologue of the Jewish
Antiquities and in Against Apion.10 Barclay has commented on this corre-
spondence, noting the absence of any discussion of divine authorship. 11
While the heavenly origin of Jewish law is a feature of Jewish Antiquities
3–4, Barclay suggests that the omission is due to the apologetic and
philosophical context: “Josephus knows of claims in the Greek tradi-
tion comparable to the Judean belief that the law was God-given; he
also knows the difficulty of maintaining such claims in the sphere of
history or philosophy.”12
Yet, Moses the lawgiver does function as mediator between God and
the people: With such a fine decision, and after the successful outcome
of some great deeds, he naturally concluded that he had God as his
governor and adviser (ἡγεμὼν καὶ σύμβουλος). Having first come to the
conviction that everything he did and thought was in accordance with

9
Louis Feldman, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 3. Judean Antiqui-
ties Books 1–4 (ed. S. Mason; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 8, n. 23 and 9, n. 26 suggests that
Josephus is attempting to explain why the laws begin with an account of creation,
and he compares this with Philo (Opif. 1.1–2) and rabbinic traditions. For a discussion
on modern Jewish philosophical approaches to defining the relationship between the
Torah revealed at Sinai and natural law, see in this volume Paul Franks, “Sinai Since
Spinoza: Reflections on Revelation in Modern Jewish Thought,” 333–54.
10
E.g., Ag. Ap. 2.157–63. The centrality of Moses the lawgiver for those involved in
Jewish-pagan dialogue is discussed in this volume by George van Kooten, “Why did
Paul include an Exegesis of Moses’ Shining Face (Exod 34) in 2 Cor 3?” 151–54.
11
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, 259
n. 620.
12
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, 259
n. 620. According to Barclay, in a presentation of the Jewish constitution reference to
divine authorship would locate the discussion of the lawgiver in the realm of mythol-
ogy rather than philosophy. In the opening pasages of Jewish Antiquities (Ant. 1.15, 22)
Josephus distinguishes Moses understanding of the divine from the myths of the Greeks,
and he further comments on this in Against Apion (Ag. Ap. 2.239–41).
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 133

God’s will, he considered it his prime duty to impress this notion on the
masses; for those who believe that God watches over their lives do not
allow themselves to commit any sin (Ag. Ap. 2.160 [Barclay, FJTC]).
But the divine source for their law remains oblique in Against Apion and
even in Josephus’ treatise on the Jewish theocratic constitution, while
stating that it reflects God’s will (κατὰ θεοῦ βούλησιν: Ag. Ap. 2.184)
and all Jewish practices are concerned with piety towards God, there
is nothing of the revelatory element in this highly philosophical piece
(Ag. Ap. 2.145–286). The authority of Jewish law and its constitution is
evident in its success and the emulation of other nations not because of
its divine provenance.13 Barclay suggests that Josephus subverts Greco-
Roman discourse on political theory for his own claims about Jewish
traditions, but within this there is no place for the Sinai event, or even
statements about the divine origin of the Law of Moses.14
Is the revelatory event at Sinai forfeited for Josephus’ political and
philosophical interests? This would explain its absence in the philosophi-
cal discussions about the nature of the Jewish constitution where no
explicit claims that the laws are divine in origin appear. Even in the
opening statement of the Jewish Antiquities, when Josephus compares
himself to Eleazar who oversaw the production of the Septuagint, the
matter of divine authorship does not appear (Ant. 1.11–12).
In the Sinai narrative itself, there are numerous statements regarding
the divine origin of this constitution and law: Ant. 3.75, Moses ascends
the mountain at Sinai to receive something from God; Ant. 3.84, God
provides them with a blessed life and a well-ordered constitution; Ant.
3.87, this constitution is from God who gives the words to the Israelites
through his interpreter, Moses; Ant. 3.90, God gives the Decalogue
directly to the Hebrews; Ant. 3.93, the Hebrews ask Moses to seek
divine laws for them; Ant. 3.93, Moses frequents the Tent in order to
receive divine responses.

13
See Ag. Ap. 2.164–286 for the success of the constitution and Ag. Ap 2.255, 257,
281, 293, 295 for the influence of Moses on the Greeks. The reconception of nature
in the early modern period posed a challenge to the idea of the creator of nature as
the creator of Torah, and Paul Franks, “Sinai Since Spinoza: Reflections on Revelation
in Modern Jewish Thought,” 333–54, outlines the way Spinoza presented the Sinai
event within the realm of the political with Torah as nomos: Moses is not a recipient of
divine revelation but a model of statecraft, and the Torah—a theocratic constitution—
while retaining some truths, was no longer applicable as the polity it served no longer
existed. The subsequent response that refocused on the revelatory aspect of Judaism
did not attempt to re-establish the link between Torah and nature.
14
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion,
245–47.
134 zuleika rodgers

In Jewish Antiquities 3 and 4 there remains an interest in political

philosophy (Ant. 3.213), and even the laws themselves are set out in a
way that a non-Jewish audience would easily access them,15 but unlike
in Against Apion, there is no concern for proving the value of these
laws to a Greek or Roman audience.16 Also while the heavenly aspect
is diminished, and the lawgiver is the main focus of the discussion, it
is still clear that God is the source for the laws of Moses.17 Should we
view these two different modes of discussing the laws and constitution—
one political and philosophical, the other drawing on biblical ideas of
revelation—as belonging to two separate conceptual frameworks for
Josephus, albeit united by the idea of good governance?
Perhaps there is a way of connecting them, which takes into account
the very different narrative contexts, but that does not disconnect
completely the Sinai event or the revelatory from the political consid-
erations of the apologetic context. Josephus, while often diminishing
the miraculous in his narrative, does include the revelatory material.
Looking to how Josephus understood Torah transmission and his own
authorial claims might provide a way of linking Sinai and the divine
origin of the law with his philosophical and political discourse.

Transmission of the Law in Josephus

In both Jewish Antiquities and Against Apion, Josephus claims that he

presents scripture in its proper order, neither adding additional mate-
rial nor omitting anything (Ant. 1.17; 10.218; Ag. Ap. 1.42; 2.291). Since
it is self-evident that the biblical material has been altered, sometimes
significantly, scholars have offered a number of explanations.18 Among
ancient historians, particularly of eastern origin, claims regarding

15
Mason, Jewish Antiquities 1–3, xxiv–xxvi, finds comparisons between the constitu-
tional presentation in Jewish Antiquities and Cicero’s On the Republic and On the Laws.
16
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, 259
n. 620, on the difference between the presentation of the laws in Against Apion and Jew-
ish Antiquities 3–4. Also, Paul Spisbury, “Contra Apionem and Antiquitates Judaicae: Points of
Contact,” in Josephus’ Contra Apionem: Studies in its Character and Context (ed. L. H. Feldman
and J. R. Levison; AGJU 34; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 348–68.
17
Mason, Jewish Antiquities 1–3, xxvi, observes the emphasis on the lawgiver over
the divine.
18
Feldman, Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible, 39–44, presents an outline of these.
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 135

the faithful use of sources and the transmission of traditions are not
uncommon.19 Josephus repeats this formula but adds,
I safeguarded myself against those who would criticize the content or
would find fault, committing only to translate the Hebrew books into
the Greek tongue and promising to explain them, neither adding to
the content anything of my own nor taking away anything (Ant. 10.218
[trans. Spilsbury, FJTC]).
In this passage Josephus seems to refer to two separate activities: trans-
lation (μεταφράζειν) and explanation (δηλώσειν).20 His language here
suggests that he does, but elsewhere, his use of various terms implies
a far broader understanding of the act of translation that involves an
interpretative process. In general μεθερμενεύω and ἑρμενεύω and related
terms express much more than translation (Ant. 1.5, 29; 12.20, 39, 48,
49, 108; 20.264) when referring to his own work or the production of
the Septuagint.21 Josephus further categorizes his own work with the
Septuagint translators insofar as a level of knowledge and training in
their traditions is required.22 Feldman observes that “Josephus viewed
himself as carrying on the tradition of the Septuagint in rendering the
Bible for gentiles,” and this process includes interpretation.23 There is
certainly no attempt to separate translation from commentary, to mark
out the biblical text from his additions, or to justify omissions.
While we are reminded of the parallel Josephus drew with Eleazar
(Ant. 1.11), the interpretative method and form of Josephus’ Jewish
Antiquities is very different from the Septuagint. For the Antiquities, the
biblically based part of the text serves the function of the larger histo-
riographical context. It constitutes only part of the larger work, which
just over half way through takes up, and devotes almost as much space
to, the later history of the Jewish, in particular Herodian and Roman

19
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, 31,
n. 171, and Tessa Rajak, “Josephus and the ‘Archaeology of the Jews,’” in The Jewish
Dialogue with Greece and Rome (AGJU 48; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 241–55, esp. 249–50, on
Josephus as part of the oriental tradition.
20
For further discussion, see Christopher T. Begg and Paul Spilsbury, Flavius Josephus:
Translation and Commentary, Volume 5. Judean Antiquities Books 8–10 (ed. Steve Mason;
Leiden: Brill, 2005), 288–89, n. 938, 939, 940.
21
Feldman, Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible, 44–46, has collected the various uses
of these terms.
22
Feldman, Jewish Antiquities 1–3, 4, n. 4 comments on Josephus’ claim with regard
to the training and type of knowledge required for the interpretation of scripture (Ant.
12.49; 20.264; Ag. Ap. 1.54).
23
Feldman, Jewish Antiquities 1–3, 4, n. 4.
136 zuleika rodgers

rule.24 Josephus weaves into the translation interpretations and additional

material, but in contrast with Jubilees for example, he stays relatively close
to the biblical text.25 Comparing him with another Greek writer, Philo,
while there are a great many similarities, and he is evidently deeply
indebted to the innovations of his Judean predecessors writing in and
for the Greek world, his work offers a closer and more comprehensive
presentation of scripture.26
Feldman finds a close parallel for Josephus’ biblical account in Jew-
ish Antiquities in Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities; this work may also be
chronologically close and, like Josephus, includes extra-biblical traditions.
Yet Feldman concludes that
the very fact that Pseudo-Philo refers to biblical books several times is
a clue to the fact that it is not meant to replace the biblical text and,
indeed, assumes a knowledge of those portions of the Bible that it chooses
not to summarize, whereas Josephus’ paraphrase is meant for the reader
who does not know the Bible and who will depend upon Josephus for a
careful summary of its contents.27
For his task, Josephus provides credentials: as with those who produced
the Septuagint (Ant. 1.10–13), he also belongs to a priestly family and
in Against Apion he sets out his qualification for writing both Jewish War
and Jewish Antiquities:
. . . the Ancient History, as I said, I translated from the sacred writings,
being a priest by ancestry and steeped in the philosophy contained in
those writings; and I wrote the history of the war having been personally
involved in many events, an eyewitness of most of them, and not in the

24
While Antiquities 1–10 covers the period from creation to the Babylonian exile,
Antiquities 11–20 focuses on the time between the return under Cyrus to the outbreak
of the first revolt. Within the second half, Books 14–17 are concerned with Herodian
rule. Mason, “Introduction to the Judean Antiquities,” xx–xxii, examines its structure
and content.
25
Feldman, Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible, 14–17 compares Josephus’ rewriting of
the biblical account with the Septuagint, Jubilees, the Genesis Apocryphon, the Qumran
Pesharim, Philo, Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities, rabbinic midrashim, and targumim;
he notes that the author of Jubilees adapts the biblical texts in a far more radical way
than Josephus, and of course, functions with a solar calendrical system.
26
On Josephus indebtedness to Philo, see George P. Carras, “Philo’s Hypothetica and
Josephus’ Contra Apionem and the Question of Sources,” in SBL Seminar Papers 1990 (ed.
D. J. Lull: Atlanta: Scholars, 1990), 431–50. J. M. G. Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation
and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, 353–61.
27
Feldman, Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible, 16–17. Among the targumim, written
in Josephus’ mother tongue, Feldman suggests that we find the closest counterpart for
Josephus’ paraphrase, and yet there remain significant divergences.
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 137

slightest deficient in my knowledge of anything that was said or done (Ag.

Ap. 1.54 [trans. J. Barclay, FJTC]).
The apologetic tone regarding his account in the Jewish War may well
be due to the existence of critics, but Josephus’ emphasis on his priestly
credentials belongs not just to his self-presentation, but rests on a larger
view of Jewish culture.28 The priesthood occupies a central place in
his depiction of Jewish culture and the constitution.29 Jewish Antiquities
with its concern for governance proposes priestly aristocracy as the
ideal constitution (Ant. 3.188; 4.223–234, 304; 6.36)30 and Against Apion
revisits this theme, but restates it: the Jewish constitution is now refor-
mulated as a “theocracy” (θεοκρατία: Ag. Ap. 2.165). Rule is by God.31
This is reiterated in Against Apion 2.185 with an additional explanation
of the role of the priests in this system; responsibility for ministering
the important affairs lie with the priests (under the charge of the high
priest) including education and judicial and punitive matters (Ag. Ap.
2.184–88). The different articulation of the constitution in Jewish Antiq-
uities and Against Apion has given rise to much discussion, but it remains
clear that for Josephus, the priests remain at the centre of this superior
constitution and their functions are numerous.32 Among these, and the
one with which we are currently concerned, is their responsibility with
regard to sacred texts and their transmission.

28
For discussions on Josephus’ possible critics, see: Steve Mason, Flavius Josephus on
the Pharisees: A Compositional-Critical Study (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 322–24; Tessa Rajak,
Josephus: The Historian and his Society (London: Duckworth, 1983), 152–53; Per Bilde,
Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, his Works, and their Importance ( JSPSup
2; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988), 107–13; and Mason, Life of Josephus, xxvii–l.
29
Mason, Flavius Josephus Judean Antiquities 1–3, xxiv–xxix, reveals Josephus’ program-
matic presentation of the Judean constitution and suggests that this characterisation
of the priestly Jewish aristocracy as essentially anti-monarchic would correspond with
anti-autocratic Roman political traditions and could resonate with those concerned by
the increasing monarchical nature of Domitian’s rule.
30
Positive views of priestly aristocracy are combined with a critique of monarchy:
Ant 6.33, 39, 60–61, 89, 262–68; 13.300–1; 14.41–42; 19.222–23.
31
“θεῷ τὴν ἂρχὴν καὶ τὸ κράτος ἂναθείς”; Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and
Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, translates this as: “ascribing to God the power
and the rule.”
32
Most recently Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against
Apion, xxiii–xxiv, 261–62 n. 635, 262–63 n. 638, has proposed that in spite of the
many shared features of Jewish Antiquities and Against Apion, their character and concerns
diverge especially on the subject of the constitution. In particular, Against Apion presents
a philosophical rather than political presentation of divine rule. Theocracy is further
seen as distinct from aristocracy since it describes a metaphysical reality, not a political
one. In this way, Barclay observes that the priesthood is not immediately connected
with this theological understanding of God’s universal rule.
138 zuleika rodgers

Certainly sacerdotal status confers on Josephus personally a special

place in Jewish society, one that he is eager to acknowledge (War 1.3;
3.352; Life 1–6; Ag. Ap. 1.54).33 And as priest, he can claim to be part
of the process of care for the priestly genealogical lists and marriage
records (Ag. Ap. 1.29–30). There seems to be some ambiguity with
regard to the priests’ role in the transmission and preservation of the
sacred scriptures; Josephus insists that only the prophets through divine
inspiration could record history (Ag. Ap 1.37–41) but the accurate
(ἂκρίβεια) maintenance of the records is assigned to the chief priests
and prophets (Ag. Ap. 1.29) and then to all priests (Ag. Ap. 1.31–36).
His claim in Against Apion 1.54 that he translated (μεθερμενεύω) the
sacred texts on the account of his priestly status and familiarity with
their philosophical content suggests that the priests did have a role in
reading and providing interpretations of holy scripture. If among their
tasks is the administration of justice and education, surely they must
have expertise in the exposition of the Law.34 This indicates an impor-
tant role in the transmission and interpretation of the Torah, which
is further suggested by Moses’ entrusting to the care of the priests the
Law (as well as the Ark and the Tent) (Ant. 4.304). The high priestly
line, established at Sinai, has remained pure and unbroken for two
thousand years (Ant. 20.224–236, 261; Ag. Ap. 1.30, 36), unlike that of
the prophets (Ag. Ap. 1.41).35
Maintenance of these sacred records belongs also with the prophets,
and here Josephus introduces a particular prophetic Jewish historiograph-
ical tradition in which he seems to situate his own historical endeavour
(War 1.18; Ant. 1.17; Ag. Ap. 1.47–57).36 This prophetic self-perception has
important implication for how Josephus perceived the status of his work.37

33
On Josephus as priest, see: Joseph Blenkinsopp, “Prophecy and Priesthood in Jose-
phus,” JJS 25 (1974): 239–62; Daniel R. Schwartz, “Priesthood and Priestly Descent:
Josephus’ Antiquities 10, 80,” JTS 32 (1981): 129–35; Daniel R. Schwartz, “Josephus on
the Jewish Constitutions and Community;” P. Bilde, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and
Rome, 189–91; L. H. Feldman, “Prophets and Prophecy in Josephus,” JTS 41 (1990):
419–21; Mason, Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees, 270–71.
34
In this volume, Matthias Henze, “Torah and Eschatology in the Syriac Apocalypse of
Baruch,” 201–15, provides an outline of a near contemporary view of the relationship
between Torah exegesis and communal authority.
35
On Josephus’ computation of the high priesty line, see Barclay, Flavius Josephus:
Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, 27–28, n. 146, who observes that
here Josephus offers a conception of prophetic history writing that is unique in Greek
and Roman culture.
36
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion, 28
n. 152.
37
For discussions on the issues of his prophetic self-designation: Blenkinsopp,
“Prophecy and Priesthood in Josephus,” 239–62; David Daube, “Typology in Jose-
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 139

The consequence of the broken line of prophetic succession at the time

of Artaxerxes is that since “every event has been recorded, but this is
not judged worthy of the same trust (Ag. Ap. 1.41 [ Barclay, FJTC]).38
This seems to clarify that while Josephus may possess prophetic skills,
the authority of his texts cannot be equated with sacred scripture.39
According to Josephus, the number of books belonging to this category
of authoritative works is limited to twenty-two.40

phus,” JJS 31 (1980): 18–36; Schwartz, “Priesthood and Priestly Descent: Josephus’
Antiquities 10, 80,” 135 n. 2; Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,”
History and Theory, 21 (1982): 366–81; Bilde, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome,
189–91; Rebecca Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1993), 35–79; Steve Mason, “Josephus, Daniel, and the Flavian
House” in Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton
Smith (eds. F. Parente and J. Sievers; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 161–91; Per Bilde, “Contra
Apionem 1.28–56: An Essay on Josephus’ View of his own Work in the Context of the
Jewish Canon,” in Josephus’ Contra Apionem: Studies in its Character and Context with a Latin
Concordance to the Portion Missing in Greek (eds. L. H. Feldman and J. R. Levison: AGJU
34; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 94–113.
38
Both Blenkinsopp, “Prophecy and Priesthood in Josephus,” 246–55, and Sid Z.
Leiman, “Josephus and the Canon of the Bible,” in Josephus, The Bible and History (ed.
L. H. Feldman and G. Hata: Leiden: Brill, 1989), 55–56, interpret Josephus as meaning
that there was a difference between pre- and post-Artaxerxes prophecy because Josephus
does allow for a type of later prophetic activity. However, Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late
Second Temple Jewish Palestine, and Bilde, “Contra Apionem 1.28–56: An Essay on Josephus’
View of his own Work in the Context of the Jewish Canon,” 103, read this passage
as stressing that simply the line of exact succession was broken, as opposed to the end
of biblical type prophecy. See also Steve Mason, “Josephus and his Twenty-Two Book
Canon,” in The Canon Debate (eds. L. M. McDonald and J. A. Sanders; Peabody, MA:
Hendrickson, 2002), 16–19.
39
Blenkinsopp, “Prophecy and Priesthood in Josephus,” 239–62, Gray, Prophetic
Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine, 35–79, and Bilde, “Contra Apionem 1.28–56:
An Essay on Josephus’ View of his own Work in the Context of the Jewish Canon,”
94–113, discuss Josephus’ self-perception as a priest and a prophet and how these
qualifications enable him to interpret the scriptures and write Jewish history. P. Bilde,
Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome, 191, views these comments in Against Apion
against War 1.18 where Josephus describes the recording of events by historians when
the Jewish prophets ceased. Bilde concludes that “there is reason to assert that Jose-
phus sees himself as a continuer of the prophetic Jewish ‘writing of history’, and sees
his writings as a parallel to and continuation of the sacred Jewish scriptures, divinely
inspired as they are.” In describing his own predictive abilities, however, Josephus
assiduously avoids calling himself a prophet; in terms of his history writing credentials,
he is qualified by virtue of being a priest (War 1.3; 3.352; Life 1–6; Apion 1.54) as are
those who produce the LXX (Ant. 1.10–13). The biblical prophets share an ability to
predict the future, but all those who predict the future in Josephus’ narrative are not
deemed prophets. A further difference lies with the fact that the prophets of the past
did not simply record events but were involved in mediating between the divine and
humanity (Ant. 8.324–329).
40
Recent discussions of the composition of this twenty-two book “canon” can be
found in Leiman, “Josephus and the Canon of the Bible”; and Mason, “Josephus and
his Twenty-Two Book Canon,” 110–27.
140 zuleika rodgers

At the same time, Josephus suggests that his interpretation of these

sacred scriptures depends on his priestly training and knowledge. It is
in his role as priest rather than prophet that he understands his special
qualifications to interpret sacred scripture. Belonging to the tradition
that produced the inspired translation at Alexandria, Josephus could
claim that he also provided a translation that preserved the philosophy
of the text. Since the law is interpreted by those decreed by Moses
to do so, and whose origins go back uninterrupted to Sinai, then the
constitution as interpreted by the priests must also be of divine prov-
enance, even if not explicitly stated?
Barclay explains Josephus’ refocusing of his constitutional discussion
in Against Apion: “In shifting his discourse into philosophical mode,
Josephus transmutes the traditional claim about a divine origin of the
Law into the value of its truths about God, specifically God’s universal
rule and transcendence.”41 Does this philosophical discourse present a
different or conflicting view of the origin of the constitution as set out
in Jewish Antiquities, or can we trace an internal logic that links these
different modes of discussion?

“Rewritten” Bible and Mosaic Discourse

Post-biblical Judaism saw the development of a tradition of reworking or

rewriting the Bible in various forms, languages and contexts, with each
reflecting different degrees of modification and exegetical techniques.42
Assessing these literary productions in terms of how their relationship
with the original text was viewed contemporaneously is essential for
understanding the phenomenon of pseudonymity, as well as how the
authors perceived this act of re-writing.43 It has been observed that mod-
ern notions of authorship, forgery, and plagiarism impose anachronistic
standards and obscure the world-view of the creators of these texts.44

41
Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 10. Against Apion,
259–60, n. 622.
42
Philip S. Alexander, “Retelling the Old Testament,” in It is Written: Scripture Cit-
ing Scripture. Essays in Honour of Barnabas Linders, SSF (eds. D. A. Carson and H. G. M.
Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 99–121, addresses the
problem of defining the parameters for identifying rewritten Bible as a genre in terms
of literary characteristics.
43
Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple
Judaism ( JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 2–10.
44
Burton Mack, “Under the Shadow of Moses: Authorship and Authority in Hel-
lenistic Judaism,” SBL Seminar Papers 1982 (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982), 299–318,
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 141

These interpretative reworkings are not intended to replace the original

and their authority is derived from their relationship with the biblical
text. Hindy Najman has observed that Deuteronomy provided a model
for these reworkings with regard to Moses and Mosaic Law.45 Under-
standing the ongoing development of the authority and attributes of
the figure of Moses and Mosaic Law in the literature of the period of
the Second Temple as a form of discourse, which links the tradition
to the founder, provides a conceptual framework for understanding
the practice of rewriting and pseudonymity:46 “On this understand-
ing of a discourse tied to a founder, to rework an earlier text is to
update, interpret and develop the content of that text in a way that
one claims to be the authentic expression of the law already accepted
as authoritatively Mosaic.” Establishing this connection with the tradi-
tion authorizes the new interpretation by its link to the Mosaic: “the
only passable roads to textual authority led through the past. Mosaic
discourse was one such route.”47
For Mosaic discourse to take place four conditions must be present,
or if missing, compensated for in some way:48 first, to gain authorized
status, a text must find a link or connection to the tradition it claims
to belong to; secondly the text is presented as an authentic expression
of Torah; thirdly, Sinai is actualised in order to facilitate access to the
revelation; finally, it is seen either to be produced by Moses or is associ-
ated with him. The presence of these features provides the means by
which the text can be reworked and at the same time retain its authority.
Mosaic discourse facilitates the authentic expression of Mosaic Law by
extending this authority to the interpretative community. The transfor-
mation of a particular law laid down in an earlier text does not have
to be considered as among the actual words of the historical Moses,
but “It is rather to say that the implementation of the law in question
would enable Israel to return to the authentic teaching associated with

draws on Harold Blooms’s theory of the anxiety of influence to examine how Helle-
nistic Jewish authors developed various strategies for their authorial self-understanding
in light of the growing dominance of the figure of Moses and his books. See also
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 1–10.
45
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 19–36, 39–40.
46
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 10–14, 19–39. In this volume, an alternative to this model
of discourse is proposed by Eva Mroczek, “Moses, David and Scribal Revelation:
Preservation and Renewal in Second Temple Textual Traditions,” 91–115, in which
the scribal activities of both David and Moses become central to the transmission and
preservation of revelation.
47
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 15.
48
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 16–17.
142 zuleika rodgers

the prophetic status of Moses.”49 Najman assesses the establishment of

Mosaic Discourse in Deuteronomy, and then looks outside the biblical
texts to Jubilees, the Temple Scroll, and Philo for later expressions of this
tradition.50
Philo’s Greco-Roman context provided the dynamic behind a new
development in Judaism for understanding the role of the author, in
which he claims responsibility for his allegorical interpretations, even
if considered inspired.51 Yet, Najman does see Philo participating in
Mosaic Discourse. In light of Josephus’ authorial claims, his Greco-
Roman context, and as a close contemporary of Philo’s, perhaps a
(necessarily brief ) consideration of Philo’s reworking of the Bible may
help us to understand if Josephus understood his own relationship when
rewriting the Bible as Mosaic Discourse.
Writing for a predominately non-Jewish audience, it might seem
erroneous for Philo to be concerned with Mosaic discourse, and the
authentic expression of the Law of Moses; written law was deemed to
be flawed and charges of Jewish exclusivism could only find justification
with claims about the divine authorship for a special law for the Jews.52
Yet in the atmosphere of cultural competition in Roman Alexandria,
Philo transforms the features of Mosaic discourse so that the particular-
ism of Sinai and the Law of Moses has universal significance.53 Moses
remains central as the authority-conferring figure, but the transmission
of the law, and the law itself, is conceived of in a different way.
Philo’s Moses, radically Hellenized, embodies the virtues idealised
by the Greeks, and life—like those of the pre-Sinai patriarchs—is

49
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 13.
50
Najman, Seconding Sinai, on Deuteronomy, 19–36; on Jubilees and the Temple Scroll,
41–69; on Philo, 70–107; and for later examples, 108–37.
51
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 18–19. Burton Mack, “Under the Shadow of Moses:
Authorship and Authority in Hellensitic Judaism,” 316–18, on how Philo constructs
his own authorial authority in relation to the person of Moses. Philip Alexander’s
criteria for rewritten Bible excludes the writings included in The Expositions of the Laws
of Moses from this genre (“Retelling the Old Testament,” 117–18), but Peder Borgen,
Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete for his Time (NTSup 86; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 65, 78–79,
challenges this view and suggests that the criteria need to be expanded.
52
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 71–73. On the flawed character of written law, see
76–77.
53
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 70–71. John W. Martens, One God, One Law: Philo of Alex-
andria on the Mosaic and Greco-Roman Law (Studies in Philo of Alexandria 2; Leiden: Brill,
2003), analyzes how Philo transformed Greek concepts of law in his reconception of
the status of Mosaic law by combining the three aspects of “higher law”—ἄγραφος
νόμος (unwritten law), νόμος φύσεως (law of nature), and νόμος ἔμψυχος (embodied or
living law)—and defining their relationship with the Law of Moses.
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 143

exemplary and provides a model of the virtuous life (e.g., Abr. 5, 16,
276; Prob. 6.2; Mos. 1.162).54 They achieved this by living in accordance
with the Law of Nature, of which the Law of Moses is a copy (Mos.
2.48).55 In this way, Najman shows how Philo represents the written
Law of Moses as a copy of the perfect Law of Nature and as a result
confers on it a significance beyond the Jewish context; the God who
created the world, created the Law of Nature (Mos. 2.48; Sec 2.129;
Sacr. 131; Det. 68) and so too is the source for the copy, the Law of
Moses:56 for this reason the Law is presented after the creation account
(Opif. 3; Mos. 2.47–48). As the non-legal part of the Pentateuch is also
Mosaic, the Law of Moses is not simply a collection of ordinances:
established at creation, it can be accessed through reason as well as by
the revelation to Moses.57
Najman notes that while Philo draws on the Greek tradition of
writing exemplary lives and is also aware of the practice of legitimis-
ing Roman rule through idealized biographies, he combines this with
the Jewish tradition of interpreting the foundation document of the
Pentateuch within an authorised interpretative community.58 This inter-
pretative community is legitimised by the links with Moses. The act of
interpretation belongs within a tradition, and Philo sees himself as part
of that tradition.59 In this way, he participates in and contributes to

54
E.g., “Having related in the preceding treaties the lives of those whom Moses
judged to be men of wisdom, who are set before us in the Sacred Books as founders
of our nation and in themselves unwritten laws . . .” (Philo, Dec. 1 [Colson, LCL]):
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 82, 86, 88–98. On Moses as philosopher, king, prophet, and
embodied law: Mos. 1.148 1.162; 2.2–3, 2.4.
55
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 81–82. Martens, One God, One Law, 95–99, 118–21 on
Mosaic law as a copy; 13–30, 151–58 on the Stoic conception of the law of nature.
56
E.g., Philo, Opif. 89–128; Mos. 2.14, on the cosmic relevance of the Sabbath.
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 80. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 144–48 examines the relationship
between Mosaic law and cosmic law in Philo’s writings. Martens, One God, One Law,
95–99, outlines the argument for Philo’s claim for the divine origin of law.
57
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 98–99. Rival claims about Moses’ special access to revela-
tion appear in the Enochic tradition, which presents Enoch’s reception of revelation as
chronologically and qualitatively superior: Andrei Orlov, “In the Mirror of the Divine
Face: The Enochic Features of the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian,” 183–99 shows
how the author of the Exagoge met this challenge by furnishing Moses with Enochic
attributes.
58
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 99–100. Philo positions himself within a community
tradition, claiming to: “. . . tell the story of Moses as I have learned it, both from the
sacred books, the wonderful monuments of his wisdom which he left behind him; for
I always interwove what I was told with what I read, and thus believed myself to have
a closer knowledge than others of his life history” (Mos. 1.4 [Colson, LCL]).
59
Spec. 3.6.
144 zuleika rodgers

Mosaic discourse.60 For Philo, as interpreter of the text, is drawing out

the hidden meaning of the law and so reveals it for his audience.61
As such then, while not claiming Torah status, the interpretation is
presented as Mosaic in origin. In this way, Philo transforms the first
feature of Mosaic discourse and ignores the second condition. The
third, the present-ness of the Sinai event is not explicitly central for
Philo. Sinai is replaced both by the creation with the establishment of
the Law of Nature, and by Pharos when the inspired translation of the
Law of Nature was made available to everyone:62
. . . and taking the sacred books, stretched them out towards heaven with
the hands that held them, asking of God that they might not fail in their
purpose. And He assented to their prayers, to the end that the greater
part, or even the whole, of the human race might be profited and led
to a better life by continuing to observe such wise and truly admirable
ordinances (Mos. 2.31–40 [Colson, LCL]).63
Sinai, however, retains a significance insofar as Moses achieved divine
comprehension there, and this is present in the Pentateuch and its inter-
pretations: “Sinai . . . becomes omnipresent, since Moses’ divine vision
pervades both the Pentateuch and its correct interpretation, underwrit-
ing its authority.”64 Finally, how does Philo treat the fourth feature of
Mosaic discourse, attribution to Moses? As Moses functioned within
his prophetic role as divine interpreter, so Philo’s act of interpretation
emulated that of Moses.65
While some similarities with Josephus’ understanding of Mosaic Law
and its interpretation can be observed, does it follow that Josephus can
be said belong to this tradition of Mosaic discourse, and in particular
does he claim authorised status for his work? And if Josephus considered
the revelatory event at Sinai as ongoing, would the God-given Law of
Moses be actualised through the Jewish constitution?

60
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 100–6.
61
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 100–6. For Philo’s inspired exegetical experience, see Spec.
3.1–6; Cher. 27–29; Migr. 34–35.
62
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 102–6. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 143, situates Pharos
in the mind of Philo as “. . . a decisive event in revelatory history, the goal of which is
recognition of these Laws of Moses by all nations.”
63
See also Mos. 2.26–27.
64
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 105.
65
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 105–6 and 106, n. 67 notes the parallels between Philo’s
terminology for his own inspired mediating activity that he uses for Moses as God’s
interpreter (Mos. 1.188). Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, 143, on Philo’s self-understanding
of continuing the task of the Septuagint translators.
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 145

Josephus and Mosaic Discourse

Josephus’ statement that his undertaking in Jewish Antiquities emulated

Eleazar places him within the undisputed authorised trajectory of the
Septuagint. Furthermore, we saw that he established his authority to
translate these texts through his priestly status. The eternal priesthood
of Aaron is announced by God to Amran in Ant. 2.216, and throughout
Book 3, Aaron’s role as priest is justified;66 he is chosen because of his
virtue (3.188, 192), and due to his gift of prophecy (3.192) he can be
spokesman for Moses. The direct line of priestly succession from Sinai
to their central place in the maintenance of Jewish tradition and its
constitution confers on the priests a link to that original act of inter-
pretation. They are responsible for the teaching and implementation
of the constitution and as such guard its interpretation.67
Accordingly, if there is a link to sanction Josephus’ interpretation, is
his text an authentic expression of Torah, one condition for inclusion
in Mosaic Discourse? Insofar as Josephus places himself with a tradi-
tion of transmitting to a Greek audience (Ant. 1.9–11), and by inviting
his readers
to turn their thoughts to God and to judge (δοκιμάζειν) whether our
lawgiver comprehended His nature worthily and has always attributed to
Him deeds that are befitting His power, preserving the discourse about
Him pure from every unseemly mythology that is found among others
(Ant. 1.15 [Feldman, FJTC]),
he is taking it upon himself to inform his audience about the divine.68
He even claims that he reordered the laws since they were not given

66
Ant. 2.216; 3.188, 192. On Josephus’ portrait of Aaron, see Feldman, Josephus’
Interpretation of the Bible, 386–87.
67
Cf. texts of the Second Temple period that elevated scribal activity—originating
at Sinai—to a central place in the ongoing interpretation of revelation: Mroczek,
“Moses, David and Scribal Revelation: Preservation and Renewal in Second Temple
Textual Traditions,” 91–115.
68
Different views of Josephus’ audience in Rome are offered by Louis H. Feldman,
“Use, Authority and Exegesis of Mikra in the Writings of Josephus,” in Mikra, Text,
Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christi-
anity (eds. J. Mulder and H. Sysling; CRINT 2.1; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1988), 470–71,
and Steve Mason, “Of Audience and Meaning: Reading Josephus’ Bellum Judaicum
in the Context of a Flavian Audience,” in Josephus and Jewish History in Flavian Rome and
Beyond (eds. J. Sievers and G. Lembi; JSJSup 104; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 71–100, and
Jonathan J. Price, “The Provincial Historian in Rome,” in Josephus and Jewish History in
Flavian Rome and Beyond, 101–18.
146 zuleika rodgers

to Moses in a uniform way (Ant. 4.197). Stating that it is through this

constitution—set out in his own work—that one can achieve happiness,
Josephus invites his readers to consider this way of life, just as Moses
had invited the Hebrews to emulate him, since he understood the divine
will. For Josephus, it would seem that it is not his text as such that is
the authentic expression of Torah, but the Jewish constitution, and his
work provides a means of accessing it.
As for the actualising of the Sinai event, in line with Philo, Josephus
equates the Law of Moses with natural law (Ant. 1.24), and Moses
through his understanding of the nature of God emulated this best
model possible (Ant. 1.19). Likewise, prior to Sinai, the patriarchs
were able to live according to the law of God. Josephus prefaces the
Decalogue with a brief overview of God’s care for the Hebrews even
before the Law of Moses is instituted (Ant. 3.86–88). For this reason,
like Philo, Josephus is clear that the Law does not simply consist of
ordinances (Ant. 1.21). The God of creation who ordered the universe
is the source of the Law of Moses. This ordering according to nature
is reflected in the constitution, and also informs the construction of the
Tent in the desert in accordance with divine instruction (Ant 3.100; War
5.212–14). The symbolic interpretation of the Tent, the priests clothing
and the sacred vessels (Ant 3.180–87), which are presented as a reflec-
tion or representation of the universe confers universal relevance to
what might be perceived as exclusively Jewish.69
Moses could comprehend the divine nature, but the Sinai event
provides the setting for Moses’ interpretations of God’s Law.70 In Jose-
phus’ narrative, Moses’ role is increased significantly, and his function
as mediator between God and the people becomes further emphasized.71
Sinai provides the defining moment for Moses’ prophetic role.

69
Feldman, Judean Antiquities Books 1–4, 280, n. 474, comments on this passage and
notes the parallels in Jewish tradition, and in particular with Philo.
70
For a detailed analysis of Moses’ portrayal in the Jewish Antiquities, see Louis H.
Feldman, “Josephus’ Portrait of Moses. Part One,” JQR 82 (1992): 285–328; “Jose-
phus’ Portrait of Moses. Part Two,” JQR 83 (1992): 7–50; and “Josephus’ Portrait of
Moses. Part Three,” JQR 83 (1993): 301–30, repr. in Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible,
374–442. In this volume, an analysis of Josephus’ portrayal of Moses at Sinai in the
context of sophistic discourse is offered by George van Kooten, “Why did Paul include
an Exegesis of Moses’ Shining Face (Exod 34) in 2 Cor 3?” 168–71.
71
Moses is not only a priest, but also a prophet (Ant. 2.377; 4.320) who predicts
future events (Ant. 4.303, 320, 307), and his part in divine revelation is significantly
increased (Ant. 3.75, 78, 87, 93, 107, 212).
 josephus’ “THEOKRATIA” and mosaic discourse 147

While for Josephus, the revelation at Sinai is not explicitly present in

his discussions of the constitution, it is not completely absent; Josephus
does not adopt a different world-view in which belief in divine origin
of the Mosaic constitution is absent. In Book 3, the divine presence is
transferred from Sinai to the Tent (3.93, 100, 202–203) and here Moses
receives further instruction:
He wished a Tent to be set up for Himself, into which He would descend
to them when He was with them, “in order that when we move to another
place we may take it with us and no longer have need to ascend to Sinai,
but that He Himself, frequenting the Tent, may be present at our prayers”
(Ant. 3.100 [Feldman, FJTC]).
As the Tent becomes the Temple, the one Temple of the Jewish people
that is central to the ordering of the constitution (Ag. Ap. 2.193), then
Sinai is recreated through the Temple and the priesthood (Ag. Ap.
2.193–94). Finally, we must consider the association with Moses; as
outlined, Josephus’ priestly credentials grants him special access to the
Law of Moses and authorize his interpretation. Through this priestly
interpretative community, Josephus is linked with Moses and so too
is his interpretation. Josephus participates in Mosaic discourse and
provides a way in which the interested gentile can access the Jewish
constitution.

Conclusion

Hindy Najman challenges the understanding of “rewritten” Bible since

“the distinction between the transmission and interpretation of biblical tra-
ditions was not as sharp as the term Rewritten Bible implies.”72 Our
examination of Josephus’ claims with regard to his own interpretative
reworking suggests that we cannot judge his modifications to the bibli-
cal text as egregious hypocrisy, rather he belongs to a Jewish tradition
which established authorial authority by its relationship to the Bible.
One way of defining that relationship is through Mosaic Discourse.
Josephus’ participation in this discourse provides a way of view-
ing his presentation of the Jewish constitution as theocracy in Against
Apion within the same conceptual framework as Mosaic Law in Jewish
Antiquities. While the apologetic interests of Against Apion and its highly

72
Najman, Seconding Sinai, 8.
148 zuleika rodgers

metaphysical presentation of the Jewish constitution may preclude the

treatment of the Sinaitic revelation and the heavenly origin of Mosaic
Law, Sinai is present in the priestly administration of the constitution.
As a priest, Josephus’ exposition of the Law of Moses and the theocratic
constitution provides his readers with a link to the ongoing revelation
that began at Sinai.
 WHY DID PAUL INCLUDE AN EXEGESIS OF MOSES’
SHINING FACE (EXOD 34) IN 2 COR 3?
Moses’ Strength, Well-being and (Transitory) Glory, according to
Philo, Josephus, Paul, and the Corinthian Sophists

George H. van Kooten

University of Groningen, The Netherlands

Introduction: Why does Paul draw on Exod 34 in 2 Cor 3?

The question I shall deal with in my paper is why Paul drew so exten-
sively on an episode of the Giving of the Torah in his Second Letter
to the Corinthians.1 In chapter 3 he makes abundant use of Exod 34,
the story about the second giving of the Torah and Moses’ shining
face, which reflects God’s glory. Although Paul does not even men-
tion the fact that the first tablets of the law were replaced, Exod 34 is
terribly important to him because of a particular feature of the Old
Testament narrative. The question is: why did Paul consider Exod 34
so important?
One might point out that the narrative of the giving of the Torah
would have been of importance to any Jew. Indeed, in another let-
ter, too, Paul refers to the way the Law was handed down to Moses.
In his Letter to the Galatians, as part of an intense polemic against
Judaizing parties within Christianity which wish to uphold the Law in
every respect, Paul emphasizes the secondary nature of the Law: it
only arrived on the scene of Israel fairly late on, 430 years after Abra-
ham, the founding father of Judaism (Gal 3:17); its secondary nature
is also evident from the fact that “it was ordained through angels by
a mediator” (Gal 3:19). Here, Paul applies Jewish traditions about the
association of angels in the giving of the law.2 Yet, for all his criticism
of the Mosaic law in Galatians, Paul is very brief about the actual

1
I wish to thank the participants in the conference for their useful and stimulating
suggestions and criticism. Dr Maria Sherwood-Smith kindly corrected the English of
this paper.
2
James D. G. Dunn, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (Black’s New Testa-
ment Commentaries; London: Black, 1993), 191.
150 george h. van kooten

giving of the Torah. In this light, the sheer length of Paul’s passage
on the giving of the law in 2 Cor 3 requires further explanation and
might have to do with the specific setting of 1–2 Cor.
Indeed, Paul has already alluded to specific narratives about the
journey of Israel through the wilderness in 1 Cor. In chapter 10 Paul
writes about Israel’s escape through the Red Sea and talks about the
Israelites’ itinerary through the desert:
I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors
were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were
baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, and all ate the same
spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank
from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ
(1 Cor 10:1–4).3
Paul draws on these narratives because he wants to counter his oppo-
nents’ experience of the sacraments, which leads them to regard them-
selves as invincible. Partaking in the same baptism, spiritual food, and
spiritual drink, Paul explains, did not render the Israelites invulnerable
to God’s judgement:
Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them, and they were
struck down in the wilderness. Now these things occurred as examples
for us, so that we might not desire evil as they did (1 Cor 10:5–6).
In this case, it is very likely that Paul himself draws on the narrative of
Israel’s journey through the wilderness in order to criticize his oppo-
nents’ way of life. In line with this, it could be assumed that in 2 Cor,
too, Paul continues to allude to this story, now commenting on the
giving of the Law. Yet, this time there are clear signs that it is not Paul
himself, but his opponents within the Christian community at Corinth
who were the first to refer to this episode of Moses on Mt. Sinai.
There may have been a simple reason for Paul’s opponents in Corinth
to focus on Moses. They were Christians of Jewish background, as
2 Cor 10–13 makes clear, but their approach seems to have been very
different from the Judaizing Christians among the Galatians, because in

3
Biblical translations are taken from the NRSV; Classical translations either from
the Loeb Classical Library or from Menahem Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and
Judaism: Edition with Introduction, Translation and Commentary (3 vols; Publications of the
Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities; Section of Humanities = Fontes ad res
Judaicas spectantes; Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984),
with minor alterations when necessary.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 151

2 Cor there is neither ethnocentric Jewish discourse nor straightforward

commendation of the Jewish law.4 The Corinthians seem simply to
have brought up the issue of Moses as legislator, whose writings would
also have been read as Scripture in the Christian community. As we
shall see, in a pagan context, with pagan outsiders being introduced
to the meetings of the Christian community (1 Cor 14.16, 23), there
was abundant reason to talk about Moses, since his image among the
pagans was ambiguous and not necessarily positive and, for that reason,
stood in need of clarification.

1. Moses in Pagan-Jewish Relations

One of the first pagan Greeks to draw a negative portrayal of Moses

as a lawgiver is Hecataeus of Abdera (3rd cent. b.c.e.). Although his
overall attitude to the Jews is not unsympathetic, the following features
in his account are critical about Moses’ legislation for the Jews:
In addition [Moses] (. . .) instituted their forms of worship and ritual, drew
up their laws and ordered their political institutions. (. . .) The sacrifices
that he established differ from those of other nations, as does their way of
living, for as a result of their own expulsion from Egypt he introduced an unsocial
and intolerant mode of life. (. . .) And at the end of their laws there is even
appended the statement: “These are the words that Moses heard from
God and declares unto the Jews” (Hecataeus apud Diodorus Siculus,
Library of History 40.3.3–6; Stern, No. 11).
The Jewish legislation is explicitly linked with the name of Moses, who
is understood to have presented his own words as the word of God.
His institutions are characterized as “unsocial” and “intolerant.”
The passage from Hecataeus just quoted is preserved in a work by
Diodorus Siculus, who is equally critical about Moses’ law elsewhere
in his writings. According to Diodorus (1st cent. b.c.e.), Moses is just
one of the many lawgivers who have claimed divine origins for their
own legislation. Other examples include Mneves, among the Egyptians,
and Zathraustes, among the Arians:
And among the Jews Moyses referred his laws to the god who is invoked
as Iao. They all did it either because they believed that a conception

4
Cf. also Dieter Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians (SNTW; Edinburgh:
T&T Clark, 1987), 248: “The fact that the concept of νόμος is wholly lacking from
2 Cor. 3 argues against a conflict with Jewish nomism.”
152 george h. van kooten

which would help humanity was marvellous and wholly divine, or because
they held that the common crowd would be more likely to obey the laws
if their gaze was directed towards the majesty and power of those to
whom their laws were ascribed (Diodorus, Library of History 1.94.1–2;
Stern, No. 58).
Tacitus (56–120 c.e.) is even more critical about the giving of the Jewish
law. He draws a sharp contrast between the Jewish law and the laws
of “all other religions”:
To establish his influence over this people for all time, Moses introduced
new religious practices, quite opposed to those of all other religions. The
Jews regard as profane all that we hold sacred; on the other hand, they
permit all that we abhor (Tacitus, Historiae 5.4.1; Stern, No. 281).
This opposition between Jewish and other religious laws is also empha-
sized by Juvenal (60–130 c.e.), all the more since he has noted that
some pagans are attracted by Judaism:
Having been wont to flout the laws of Rome, they learn and practise
and revere the Jewish law, and all that Moses handed down in his secret
tome, forbidding to point out the way to any not worshiping the same
rites, and conducting none but the circumcised to the desired fountain
(Saturae 14.100–104; Stern, No. 301).
In this light it becomes understandable that Jewish Christians at Corinth
would feel the need to come to Moses’ defence and portray him in a
positive way, partly with a view to the pagan outsiders who, as we have
seen, visited the Christian meetings (1 Cor 14:16, 23).
That is not to say that pagan outsiders would only have encountered
a negative portrayal of Moses among their fellow pagan authors. The
negative views outlined above contrast with more favourable views,
such as those of Strabo, who is quite positive about Moses himself, his
peaceable reputation and his non-oppressive legislation and govern-
mental organization, and only blames Moses’ successors of later days
for corrupting his legacy:
Moses, instead of using arms, put forward as defence his sacrifices and
his Divine Being, being resolved to seek a seat of worship for Him and
promising to deliver to the people a kind of worship and a kind of ritual
which would not oppress those who adopted them either with expenses
or with divine obsessions or with other absurd troubles. Now Moses
enjoyed fair repute with these people, and organised no ordinary kind of
government (. . .). His successors for some time abided by the same course,
acting righteously and being truly pious toward God; but afterwards, first
superstitious men were appointed to the priesthood, and then tyrannical
people (Geography 16.2.36–37; Stern, No. 115).
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 153

We find unambiguously positive views on Moses in Numenius (2nd

cent. c.e.), who likened Plato to Moses, as is captured in the much-
quoted one-liner “What is Plato but Moses talking Attic?”5 This kind
of perspective, in which Plato is even dependent on Moses, is shared
by Jewish authors such as Aristobulus (2nd cent. b.c.e.), who claims
that even prior to the Septuagint parts of the Jewish writings, includ-
ing the detailed account of Moses’ entire legislation, had already been
translated into Greek, so that
the Greeks begin from the philosophy of the Hebrews; from the (books)
of Aristobulus dedicated to King Ptolemy: It is evident that Plato imi-
tated our legislation and that he had thoroughly investigated each of the
elements in it. (. . .) So it is very clear that the philosopher mentioned
above [Plato] took many things (from it). For he was very learned, as was
Pythagoras, who transferred many of our doctrines and integrated them
into his own system of beliefs (Aristobulus, frag. 3; Eusebius, Praeparatio
Evangelica 13.12.1–2).
These different voices, both negative and positive, provide sufficient
indication that the figure of Moses was an issue in pagan-Jewish relations
and that, for this reason, Jewish Christians, too, would have wanted to
present a positive picture of Moses wherever possible. This necessity
is also emphasized by Philo. In the introduction to his biography of
Moses, Philo explains that whereas the Jewish laws are well known, the
giver of these laws, Moses, seems to be largely neglected:
While the fame of the laws which [Moses] left behind him has travelled
throughout the civilized world and reached the ends of the earth, the
man himself as he really was is known to few. Greek men of letters have
refused to treat him as worthy of memory, possibly through envy, and also
because in many cases the ordinances of the legislators of the different
states are opposed to his (Life of Moses I.1–2).
This complaint resembles that of Origen, some time later, when he
censures Celsus for having omitted Moses from the list of wise men
(Celsus apud Origen, Contra Celsum I.16; Stern, No. 375). Although
this background may explain why Jewish Christians in Corinth felt a
need to repaint a pagan picture of Moses,6 there is more at issue here.

5
Numenius, frag. 8.13 (edn Des Places). On Numenius and Moses, see Myles F.
Burnyeat, “Platonism in the Bible: Numenius of Apamea on Exodus and Eternity,” in
The Revelation of the Name YHWH to Moses: Perspectives from Judaism, the Graeco-Roman World,
and Early Christianity (ed. G. H. van Kooten; TBN 9; Leiden: Brill), 139–168.
6
On this see further John G. Gager, Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism (SBL Monograph
Series 16; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1972); and George H. van Kooten, “Moses/
154 george h. van kooten

It seems that, in their attempts to defend Moses, they have depicted

him in terms of a powerful, glorious kind of sophist whose reputation
and success should not be ignored by the pagans. Not only can this
Moses compete with the pagan sophists in the Mediterranean world,
but should also provide a role-model for rhetoric and performance
within the Christian communities, it seems. It is this picture of Moses
which Paul attempts to redress in 2 Cor. Such an interpretation of the
polemics in Corinth does full justice to the fact that Paul’s re-reading
of the episode of Moses on Mt. Sinai in 2 Cor 3 is firmly anchored
in an anti-sophistic setting.

2. 2 Cor 3 in its Anti-Sophistic Setting

The extensive passage on Moses is embedded in Paul’s criticism of his

opponents at Corinth who—as Bruce Winter has convincingly argued—
behave like sophists. At the end of 2 Cor 2 Paul openly criticizes them
and distances himself by emphasizing that he is not like “the many
who sell the word of God by retail”:
For we are not like so many who sell God’s word by retail—οὐ γάρ ἐσμεν
ὡς οἱ πολλοὶ καπηλεύοντες τὸν λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ; but in Christ we speak
as persons of sincerity, as persons sent from God and standing in his
presence (2 Cor 2:17).
As has been noted by scholars such as Ralph Martin, Dieter Georgi and
Bruce Winter, the phrase οὐ γάρ ἐσμεν ὡς οἱ πολλοὶ καπηλεύοντες τὸν
λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ, “For we are not like so many who sell God’s word by
retail,” is an echo of Plato’s criticism of the sophists in the Protagoras.7
In this dialogue Socrates urges Hippocrates:
We must see that the sophist in commending his wares does not deceive
us, like the wholesaler and the retailer who deal in food for the body.
(. . .) So too those who take the various subjects of knowledge from city
to city, and sell them by retail (οἱ τὰ μαθήματα περιάγοντες κατὰ τὰς πόλεις

Musaeus/Mochos and his God YHWH, Iao, and Sabaoth, Seen from a Greek Perspec-
tive,” in The Revelation of the Name YHWH to Moses, 107–138.
7
Ralph P. Martin, 2 Corinthians (Word Biblical Commentary 40; Waco, Texas:
Word Books, 1986), 50; Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, 234; and
Bruce W. Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists: Alexandrian and Corinthian Responses to
a Julio-Claudian Movement (2nd edition; Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 2002),
168, cf. 91, 167.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 155

καὶ πωλοῦντες καὶ καπηλεύοντες) to whoever wants them, commend

everything that they have for sale (313d–e).
This image is used in the context immediately preceding 2 Cor 3 (in
2 Cor 2:17), and straight after 2 Cor 3 Paul resumes this theme as
a kind of “inclusio” (in 2 Cor 4:2). Instead of tampering with God’s
word, Paul portrays himself as interested in truth:
But we have renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways. We refuse to
practice cunning or to tamper with God’s word (μηδὲ δολοῦντες τὸν λόγον
τοῦ θεοῦ), but by the open statement of the truth (ἀλλὰ τῇ φανερώσει
τῆς ἀληθείας) we would commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience
(συνιστάνοντες ἑαυτοὺς πρὸς πᾶσαν συνείδησιν ἀνθρώπων) in the sight
of God (2 Cor 4:2).
In this way the entire passage devoted to the giving of the Torah to
Moses in 2 Cor 3 appears to be embedded right in the middle of anti-
sophistic polemics. Moreover, it is not only the periphery of 2 Cor 3
that belongs to this setting; the contents of 2 Cor 3 can also be shown
to arise gradually from this debate. In order to demonstrate this, I
shall divide 2 Cor 3 into four parts and comment upon them. I shall
argue (1) that the entire chapter evolves from a reference to “letters of
recommendation,” which were part of sophistic practice in real life and
provided the incentive for Paul to write the chapter (see [a] below); (2)
that the pivotal terms around which the entire passage subsequently
revolves are “letter” ( gramma; see [b]) and “splendour, radiance, fame,
renown” (doxa; see [c]); (3) that the specifically Pauline antithesis between
letter and spirit is not simply inserted into, or applied to this passage
but is being construed throughout it (see [b]; and (4) that it is in this
context that Paul draws on the narrative of Exod 34 (see [c] and [d]).
2 Cor 3, then, does not contain an autonomous, unsolicited exegesis
of Exod 34. On the contrary, the exegesis is deliberately drawn into a
specific polemical context and is wholly intertwined with this situation.
I shall now pay close attention to the composition of the chapter, with
a focus on how its train of thought reveals the underlying discussion.

(a) 2 Cor 3:1–3: Reference to written letters of recommendation and a slow

development towards an implicit antithesis between “letter” and “spirit”
Having stated that he is not selling the word of God by retail but speaks
from sincerity (2 Cor 2:17), Paul subsequently criticizes the practice of
employing συστατικαὶ ἐπιστολαὶ, letters of recommendation (2 Cor
156 george h. van kooten

3:1). Introductory, commendatory letters were not confined to sophistic

circles. Aristotle already remarks that personal appearance is a better
introduction than any letter (Aristotle apud Diogenes Laertius, Vitae
philosophorum 5.18), apparently referring to a widespread phenomenon
(cf. Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum 8.87). Interestingly, this tes-
timony of Aristotle in Diogenes Laertius also demonstrates criticism
of this phenomenon at the hands of philosophers. Similar criticism
is recorded in Epictetus, who has a chapter addressed “to those who
recommend persons to the philosophers.” He refers with approval
to Diogenes the Cynic, who critically questions a man who requests
γράμματα συστατικὰ, a written recommendation:
That is an excellent answer of Diogenes to the man who asked for a let-
ter of recommendation from him (πρὸς τὸν ἀξιοῦντα γράμματα παρ’ αὐτοῦ
λαβεῖν συστατικὰ): “That you are a man,” he says, “he [i.e. the prospec-
tive addressee of this letter] will know at a glance; but whether you are
a good or a bad man he will discover if he has the skill to distinguish
between good and bad, and if he is without that skill he will not discover
the facts, even though I write him thousands of times” (Epictetus, Dis-
sertationes 2.3).
Such letters also very much fit the sophistic atmosphere of appraisal,
repute and self-commendation criticized by Paul, who writes:
(3:1) A
̓ ρχόμεθα πάλιν ἑαυτοὺς συνιστάνειν; ἢ μὴ χρῄζομεν ὥς τινες
συστατικῶν ἐπιστολῶν πρὸς ὑμᾶς ἢ ἐξ ὑμῶν; (2) ἡ ἐπιστολὴ ἡμῶν
ὑμεῖς ἐστε, ἐγγεγραμμένη ἐν ταῖς καρδίαις ἡμῶν, γινωσκομένη καὶ
ἀναγινωσκομένη ὑπὸ πάντων ἀνθρώπων· (3) φανερούμενοι ὅτι ἐστὲ
ἐπιστολὴ Χριστοῦ διακονηθεῖσα ὑφ’ ἡμῶν, ἐγγεγραμμένη οὐ μέλανι
ἀλλὰ πνεύματι θεοῦ ζῶντος, οὐκ ἐν πλαξὶν λιθίναις ἀλλ᾽ ἐν πλαξὶν
καρδίαις σαρκίναις.
Are we beginning to commend ourselves again? Surely we do not need,
as some do, letters of recommendation to you or from you, do we? (2)
You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and
read by all; (3) and you show that you are a letter of Christ, prepared by
us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets
of stone but on tablets of human hearts (2 Cor 3:1–3).
The passage starts off with a reference to letters of recommendation,
συστατικαὶ ἐπιστολαὶ (3:1). Paul criticizes this phenomenon, employed
by his opponents, and refers to the Corinthian community as his letter,
written in his heart (ἡ ἐπιστολὴ ἡμῶν ὑμεῖς ἐστε, ἐγγεγραμμένη ἐν ταῖς
καρδίαις ἡμῶν; 3:2), written not with ink but with the Spirit (ἐγγεγραμμένη
οὐ μέλανι ἀλλὰ πνεύματι θεοῦ ζῶντος; 3:3b), not on tablets of stone
but on the tablet of the human heart (οὐκ ἐν πλαξὶν λιθίναις ἀλλ’ ἐν
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 157

πλαξὶν καρδίαις σαρκίναις; 3:3c). Although the word “letter” (ἐπιστολὴ)

is now used as a metaphor (“You yourselves are our letter”), its charac-
terization as “written” (ἐγγεγραμμένη) is still meant, within the imagery,
in a literal sense, with reference to the writing of actual letters, and not
yet with reference to gramma in the sense of the written Mosaic law. It
only acquires the latter meaning as the chapter unfolds. This sense—
the gramma of the Mosaic law—is only implicitly present in this first
section, when Paul draws an antithesis between “written with ink” and
“written with the Spirit.” The direct opposition is still between “ink”
and “Spirit,” not yet between “letter” ( gramma) and “Spirit.” It shows
that the full-blown antithesis between the gramma of the Mosaic law and
the Spirit develops out of an earlier reference to a letter which is written
(ἡ ἐπιστολὴ . . ., ἐγγεγραμμένη) in 2 Cor 3:2, which alludes to a reality
behind the text, the letters of recommendation mentioned in 3:1. The
antithesis is not yet between two nouns, gramma and Spirit, but between
a past participle (ἐγγεγραμμένη) and a noun (πνεῦμα). The undeveloped
status of the antithesis in question is also confirmed in the last phrase of
the first section. The letter is explicitly said to be written “not on tablets
of stone” (ἐγγεγραμμένη. . . . οὐκ ἐν πλαξὶν λιθίναις; 3:3). Here the way is
being paved for the gramma in the sense of the Torah, written on tablets
of stone; but the law is still not unambiguously mentioned, only alluded
to. The point of departure for the entire passage is still the practice of
giving letters of recommendation, which is contrasted with Paul’s meta-
phorical letter writing, on the hearts of his community.

(b) 2 Cor 3:4–6: The antithesis between “letter” and “spirit” becomes explicit
It is not until the second section of 2 Cor 3 that the implicit antithesis
between gramma and Spirit is rendered explicit and develops into the
pair of opposites for which Paul has become famous (see, besides 2
Cor 3:6, Romans 2:29 and 7:6):
(4) Πεποίθησιν δὲ τοιαύτην ἔχομεν διὰ τοῦ Χριστοῦ πρὸς τὸν θεόν. (5)
οὐχ ὅτι ἀφ᾽ ἑαυτῶν ἱκανοί ἐσμεν λογίσασθαί τι ὡς ἐξ ἑαυτῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ
ἱκανότης ἡμῶν ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ, (6) ὃς καὶ ἱκάνωσεν ἡμᾶς διακόνους καινῆς
διαθήκης, οὐ γράμματος ἀλλὰ πνεύματος· τὸ γὰρ γράμμα ἀποκτέννει, τὸ
δὲ πνεῦμα ζῳοποιεῖ.
(4) Such is the confidence that we have through Christ toward God. (5)
Not that we are competent of ourselves to claim anything as coming from
us; our competence is from God, (6) who has made us competent to be
ministers of a new covenant, not of letter but of spirit; for the letter kills, but
the Spirit gives life (2 Cor 3:4–6).
158 george h. van kooten

After mentioning the “letters of recommendation” in 3:1, and con-

trasting them in 3:2–3 with the metaphorical letter made up by the
community, written in Paul’s heart and legible for all (ἡ ἐπιστολὴ . . .,
ἐγγεγραμμένη . . ., γινωσκομένη καὶ ἀναγινωσκομένη), written not with
ink (ἐγγεγραμμένη οὐ μέλανι) but with the Spirit of the living God,
now, in 3:6, Paul goes on to express the full antithesis between “letter”
(γράμμα) and “Spirit” (πνεῦμα). The new covenant and its ministers
are characterized as a covenant and as ministers “not of letter but
of spirit” (3:6ab). These features are further elaborated in two short
sentences: “for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life”—τὸ γὰρ γράμμα
ἀποκτέννει, τὸ δὲ πνεῦμα ζῳοποιεῖ (3:6cd). Because this phrase sounds
so quintessentially Pauline,8 it is important to be aware of the fact that
this Pauline theologoumenon is not dropped into the text but develops
naturally from the reference to the “letters of recommendation” in 3:1.
In the course of 2 Cor 3:1–6 Paul’s thought crystallizes into the state-
ment of 3:6 about the antagonism between letter and Spirit. The letters
of recommendation have now become (almost intrinsically) linked to the
Mosaic “gramma.” The reason for this equation will be explored later,
but already we can conclude that the term “letter” (γράμμα) is indeed
a pivotal term in 2 Cor, but only because it serves Paul’s criticism of
the practice of letters of recommendation. In the following section of
2 Cor 3 Paul describes the most important feature of this “gramma,”
its temporary, transient glory.

8
The link between Spirit and giving life had already been established in 1 Cor
15:45. But the statement that the letter kills is now added and seems to reflect a
general psychological experience, also attested in Classical sources. According to Dio
Chrysostom, the written law “by threats and violence maintains its mastery” and may
be likened “to the power of tyranny, for it is by means of fear and through injunction
that each measure is made effective”; “the written law is harsh and stern” and “the
laws create a polity of slaves . . . For the laws inflict punishment upon men’s body” (Dio
Chrysostom, Discourses 76.1–4). In the same way as Paul contrasts Spirit and the written
Mosaic law, Dio sets off customs against written laws: “while laws are preserved on
tablets of wood or of stone, each custom is preserved within our own hearts” (76.3).
Paul’s differentiation between written law and Spirit comes close to that between the
letter and the intention of the lawgiver (Libanius, Declamations 31.35; both texts in
G. Strecker & U. Schnelle (with the cooperation of G. Seelig), Neuer Wettstein: Texte
zum Neuen Testament aus Griechentum und Hellenismus, vol. 2.1: Texte zur Briefliteratur und zur
Johannesapokalypse (Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1996), 425–427.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 159

(c) 2 Cor 3:7–11: Moses’ “gramma”: glorious, but only transient glory
The most remarkable feature of Moses’ “gramma” is its glorious
nature, its δόξα, the second key term in 2 Cor 3. Though on closer
reflection, this glory relates not to the law, but the law-giver himself,
Moses. In this, Paul clearly draws upon Exod 34, which talks about
Moses’ radiance. Paul is surprisingly positive about Moses and does
not deny his glory, but merely contrasts it with the still greater glory
of the new covenant. The glory of Moses’ gramma is only temporary,
yet undoubtedly radiant:
(7) Εἰ δὲ ἡ διακονία τοῦ θανάτου ἐν γράμμασιν ἐντετυπωμένη λίθοις
ἐγενήθη ἐν δόξῃ, ὥστε μὴ δύνασθαι ἀτενίσαι τοὺς υἱοὺς I̓ σραὴλ
εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον Μωϋσέως διὰ τὴν δόξαν τοῦ προσώπου αὐτοῦ τὴν
καταργουμένην, (8) πῶς οὐχὶ μᾶλλον ἡ διακονία τοῦ πνεύματος ἔσται
ἐν δόξῃ; (9) εἰ γὰρ ἡ διακονία τῆς κατακρίσεως δόξα, πολλῷ μᾶλλον
περισσεύει ἡ διακονία τῆς δικαιοσύνης δόξῃ. (10) καὶ γὰρ οὐ δεδόξασται
τὸ δεδοξασμένον ἐν τούτῳ τῷ μέρει εἵνεκεν τῆς ὑπερβαλλούσης δόξης· (11)
εἰ γὰρ τὸ καταργούμενον διὰ δόξης, πολλῷ μᾶλλον τὸ μένον ἐν δόξῃ.
(7) Now if the ministry of death, chiselled in letters on stone tablets,
came in glory so that the people of Israel could not gaze at Moses’ face
because of the glory of his face, a glory now set aside, (8) how much
more will the ministry of the Spirit come in glory? (9) For if there was
glory in the ministry of condemnation, much more does the ministry
of justification abound in glory! (10) Indeed, what once had glory has
lost its glory because of the greater glory; (11) for if what was set aside
came through glory, much more has the permanent come in glory!
(2 Cor 3:7–11).
We now have the fullest explication that the “gramma” is indeed the
Mosaic law, “chiselled in letters on stone tablets” (3:7). Paul character-
izes this “gramma” as glorious and tells us that “the people of Israel
could not gaze at Moses’ face because of the glory of his face” (3:7).
For this characterization and anecdote, Paul alludes to Exod 34. There
we find the story that Moses, after the second reception of the law,
came down from Mt. Sinai. While he was descending,
(29) Μωυσῆς οὐκ ᾔδει ὅτι δεδόξασται ἡ ὄψις τοῦ χρώματος τοῦ προσώπου
αὐτοῦ ἐν τῷ λαλεῖν αὐτὸν αὐτᾧ̔ (30) καὶ εἶδεν Ααρων καὶ πάντες οἱ
πρεσβύτεροι Ισραηλ τὸν Μωυσῆν καὶ ἦν δεδοξασμένη ἡ ὄψις τοῦ
χρώματος τοῦ προσώπου αὐτοῦ καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν ἐγγίσαι αὐτοῦ (31) καὶ
ἐκάλεσεν αὐτοὺς Μωυσῆς καὶ ἐπεστράφησαν πρὸς αὐτὸν Ααρων καὶ
πάντες οἱ ἄρχοντες τῆς συναγωγῆς καὶ ἐλάλησεν αὐτοῖς Μωυσῆς (32) καὶ
μετὰ ταῦτα προσῆλθον πρὸς αὐτὸν πάντες οἱ υἱοὶ Ισραηλ καὶ ἐνετείλατο
αὐτοῖς πάντα ὅσα ἐλάλησεν κύριος πρὸς αὐτὸν ἐν τῷ ὄρει Σινα (33) καὶ
160 george h. van kooten

ἐπειδὴ κατέπαυσεν λαλῶν πρὸς αὐτούς ἐπέθηκεν ἐπὶ τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ

κάλυμμα (34) ἡνίκα δ’ ἂν εἰσεπορεύετο Μωυσῆς ἔναντι κυρίου λαλεῖν
αὐτῷ περιῃρεῖτο τὸ κάλυμμα ἕως τοῦ ἐκπορεύεσθαι καὶ ἐξελθὼν ἐλάλει
πᾶσιν τοῖς υἱοῖς Ισραηλ ὅσα ἐνετείλατο αὐτῷ κύριος (35) καὶ εἶδον οἱ
υἱοὶ Ισραηλ τὸ πρόσωπον Μωυσῆ ὅτι δεδόξασται καὶ περιέθηκεν μωυσῆς
κάλυμμα ἐπὶ τὸ πρόσωπον ἑαυτοῦ ἕως ἂν εἰσέλθῃ συλλαλεῖν αὐτῷ.
(29) . . . Moses knew not that the appearance of the skin of his face was
glorified, when God spoke to him. (30) And Aaron and all the elders of
Israel saw Moses, and the appearance of the skin of his face was made
glorious, and they feared to approach him. (31) And Moses called them,
and Aaron and all the rulers of the synagogue turned towards him, and
Moses spoke to them. (32) And afterwards all the children of Israel came
to him, and he commanded them all things, whatsoever the Lord had
commanded him in the mount of Sinai. (33) And when he ceased speak-
ing to them, he put a veil on his face. (34) And whenever Moses went in
before the Lord to speak to him, he took off the veil till he went out, and
he went forth and spoke to all the children of Israel whatsoever the Lord
commanded him. (35) And the children of Israel saw the face of Moses,
that it was glorified; and Moses put the veil over his face, till he went in to
speak with him (LXX Exod 34:29–35; trans. L. C. L. Brenton).
This narrative—which describes how Moses descends from Mt. Sinai,
unaware of his radiant appearance, and meets with the fearsome elders,
rulers and children of Israel to transmit to them the commandments
of God—contains a striking inconsistency. According to Exod 34:33,
when Moses “ceased speaking to them, he put a veil on his face.” In
Exod 34:34–35, however, Moses is said to put the veil over his face as
soon as he communicates with the Israelites: “whenever Moses went
in before the Lord to speak to him, he took off the veil till he went
out. . . .; and Moses put the veil over his face, till he went in to speak
with him.” It seems that the narrative describes two different instances.
The first time, when Moses came down from the mountain, he first
addressed the Israelites without a veil. Only afterwards, once he had
ceased talking, did he put on a veil (34:33). Thereafter, however, when
Moses goes into the tabernacle, which from now on replaces Sinai as
the place of the revelation of God’s commands, he covers himself with
a veil as soon as he leaves the tabernacle (34:34). The report in Exod
34 is somewhat awkward as it concludes as follows: “And the children
of Israel saw the face of Moses, that it was glorified; and Moses put
the veil over his face, till he went in to speak with him” (34:35). The
first part seems to summarize the first experience of the Israelites, when
Moses came down from Mt. Sinai; only on that occasion did they see
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 161

Moses’ face glorified. The second part then summarizes the normal
procedure when Moses used the tabernacle for further encounters with
God; on those occasions he was equally unveiled, but he put on a veil
as soon as he left the tabernacle to communicate with the Israelites.

(d) 2 Cor 3:12–18: The superiority of the Lord’s permanent, inward glory
This slight inconsistency or ambiguity in the text is now fully exploited
by Paul in the next and final section of 2 Cor 3. The fact that the first
time Moses only covered himself after he had ceased talking to the
Israelites suggests—in Paul’s view—that they must have seen the glory
on Moses’ face gradually fading away. It was in order to protect them,
not against fear of Moses’ glory, but against the painful awareness that
Moses’ glory was only transitory, that Moses covered himself. This tem-
porary, transitory glory contrasts with the permanence of the glory of
the Lord himself, into which all believers are being transformed:
(12) Ἔχοντες οὖν τοιαύτην ἐλπίδα πολλῇ παρρησίᾳ χρώμεθα, (13) καὶ
οὐ καθάπερ Μωϋσῆς ἐτίθει κάλυμμα ἐπὶ τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ, πρὸς τὸ
μὴ ἀτενίσαι τοὺς υἱοὺς Ἰσραὴλ εἰς τὸ τέλος τοῦ καταργουμένου. (14)
ἀλλὰ ἐπωρώθη τὰ νοήματα αὐτῶν. ἄχρι γὰρ τῆς σήμερον ἡμέρας
τὸ αὐτὸ κάλυμμα ἐπὶ τῇ ἀναγνώσει τῆς παλαιᾶς διαθήκης μένει μὴ
ἀνακαλυπτόμενον, ὅτι ἐν Χριστῷ καταργεῖται· (15) ἀλλ᾽ ἕως σήμερον
ἡνίκα ἂν ἀναγινώσκηται Μωϋσῆς κάλυμμα ἐπὶ τὴν καρδίαν αὐτῶν κεῖται·
(16) ἡνίκα δὲ ἐὰν ἐπιστρέψῃ πρὸς κύριον, περιαιρεῖται τὸ κάλυμμα. (17) ὁ
δὲ κύριος τὸ πνεῦμά ἐστιν· οὗ δὲ τὸ πνεῦμα κυρίου, ἐλευθερία. (18) ἡμεῖς
δὲ πάντες ἀνακεκαλυμμένῳ προσώπῳ τὴν δόξαν κυρίου κατοπτριζόμενοι
τὴν αὐτὴν εἰκόνα μεταμορφούμεθα ἀπὸ δόξης εἰς δόξαν, καθάπερ ἀπὸ
κυρίου πνεύματος.
(12) Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness, (13)
not like Moses, who put a veil over his face to keep the people of Israel
from gazing at the end of the glory that was being set aside. (14) But
their minds were hardened. Indeed, to this very day, when they hear
the reading of the old covenant, that same veil is still there, since only
in Christ is it set aside. (15) Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is
read, a veil lies over their minds; (16) but when one turns to the Lord,
the veil is removed. (17) Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit
of the Lord is, there is freedom. (18) And all of us, with unveiled faces,
seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being
transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another;
for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit (2 Cor 3:12–18).
Whereas in the previous section Paul has explained the reason for (or
rather the consequence of) Moses’ veil as ὥστε μὴ δύνασθαι ἀτενίσαι
162 george h. van kooten

τοὺς υἱοὺς Ἰσραὴλ εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον Μωϋσέως διὰ τὴν δόξαν τοῦ
προσώπου αὐτοῦ—“so that the people of Israel could not gaze at
Moses’ face because of it of his face” (3:7), the reason given now in
the last section of 2 Cor 3 is πρὸς τὸ μὴ ἀτενίσαι τοὺς υἱοὺς Ἰσραὴλ
εἰς τὸ τέλος τοῦ καταργουμένου—“to keep the people of Israel from
gazing at it that was being set aside” (3:13). This temporary glory is
subsequently contrasted with the permanence of the Lord’s glory,
which Moses himself experienced in a direct, immediate, unveiled way:
“when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed” (3:16)—ἡνίκα δὲ
ἐὰν ἐπιστρέψῃ πρὸς κύριον, περιαιρεῖται τὸ κάλυμμα.
This is an almost verbatim quotation from Exod 34:34: ἡνίκα δ’
ἂν εἰσεπορεύετο Μωυσῆς ἔναντι κυρίου λαλεῖν αὐτῷ περιῃρεῖτο τὸ
κάλυμμα—“whenever Moses went in before the Lord to speak to him,
he took off the veil.” However, the small differences between the LXX
and 2 Cor 3:16 are very revealing. By dropping the name “Moses,”
Paul is able to generalize the subject of “went in before the Lord.”
Not Moses, but everyone who goes in before (or rather: turns to) the
Lord experiences the Lord’s glory. In this way, the stress shifts from
Moses’ exclusiveness to Moses as an example for the possibility of direct
acquaintance with God. As, in Paul’s view, this possibility comes about
through conversion, it is noteworthy that Paul also drops the phrase
ἡνίκα δ’ ἂν εἰσεπορεύετο . . . ἔναντι κυρίου, “whenever [he] went in
before the Lord,” and replaces it with the phrase ἡνίκα δὲ ἐὰν ἐπιστρέψῃ
πρὸς κύριον, περιαιρεῖται τὸ κάλυμμα: “but when one turns, or converts
to the Lord, the veil is removed,” the verb ἐπιστρέφειν expressing the
conversion involved (cf. 1 Thess 1:9; Gal 4:9). Everyone is eligible for
such a conversion. It is no longer that Moses alone has the privileged
position of direct contact with God’s transforming glory, but
ἡμεῖς δὲ πάντες ἀνακεκαλυμμένῳ προσώπῳ τὴν δόξαν κυρίου
κατοπτριζόμενοι τὴν αὐτὴν εἰκόνα μεταμορφούμεθα ἀπὸ δόξης εἰς
δόξαν.
All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though
reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree
of glory to another (3:18).9

9
In rabbinical sources this emphasis that all see God, and not just Moses alone,
surfaces in Pesiqta de Rav Kahana 12.25 (edn Mandelbaum): “R. Levi (ca. 300) said: The
Holy One, blessed be He, appeared to them as a statue with faces on every side, so that
though a thousand men might be looking at the statue, [it would seem as though] it was
looking at them all. So too when the Holy One, blessed be He, spoke, each and every
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 163

This passage highlights both the similarity between Christian believers

and Moses in Paul’s mind and, at the same time, the difference. The
similarity consists in the fact that Christians resemble Moses insofar as
they, like Moses in his contact with God, do not need to cover their
faces (ἀνακεκαλυμμένῳ προσώπῳ). The dissimilarity, however, has to do
with the permanent and still increasing nature of the glory into which
the Christians are transformed. Whereas the glory on Moses’ face was
only temporary and diminished, and was only refreshed for a time after
a new encounter with God, the transformation which the believers
experience does not diminish, but, on the contrary, gradually increases:
“all of us . . . are being transformed into the same image from one degree of
glory to another” (ἡμεῖς δὲ πάντες . . . τὴν αὐτὴν εἰκόνα μεταμορφούμεθα
ἀπὸ δόξης εἰς δόξαν). There is a further important difference, which
Paul brings out in the following chapter, 2 Cor 4; this transformation
only concerns the inner man, and not the outer man (4:16): “So we do
not lose heart. Even though our outer man is wasting away, our inner
man is being renewed day by day”—∆ιὸ οὐκ ἐγκακοῦμεν, ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ
ὁ ἔξω ἡμῶν ἄνθρωπος διαφθείρεται, ἀλλ’ ὁ ἔσω ἡμῶν ἀνακαινοῦται
ἡμέρᾳ καὶ ἡμέρᾳ. Whereas Moses’ glory was visible on his face, the
Spirit-worked glory is not visible on the outside. This is an important
issue which will bring us to the heart of the polemics in Corinth; I
shall return to this in due course.

So far, we have seen that Paul’s exegesis of Exod 34 in 2 Cor 3 hinges

on two key words, “gramma” and “glory.” The first term “gramma”
emerges from a description Paul gives of the practice, current among
his sophistic opponents, of using written letters of recommendation.
Strangely, these written letters somehow develop into the Mosaic gram-
mata, which are characterized as “glorious” because of the “glory”
of their author, Moses. Here a link is being forged between sophistic
letters of recommendation and a particular understanding of Moses
and his grammata. But what exactly is this link? Why does Paul choose
to link Moses with “glory”? The train of thought running through
2 Cor can be apprehended more easily, I shall suggest, if we compare
this to the way in which Moses was understood as a glorious, powerful

person in Israel would say, ‘The Divine Word is addressing me.’ Note that Scripture
does not say, ‘I am the Lord your (plural) God,’ but ‘I am the Lord thy (singular) God’
(Exod 20:20)”; see Steven Fraade’s contribution to this volume, 263–64.
164 george h. van kooten

figure by authors such as Philo and Josephus. This approach has already
been taken in some respects by Ludwig Bieler (1935–36), Wayne Meeks
(1967) and Dieter Georgi (1987),10 but I believe some further progress
can be made.
In other Jewish texts, too, Moses is portrayed as a powerful, almost
divine figure. In Ezekiel the Tragedian—as is highlighted in a separate
contribution to this volume by Andrei Orlov—Moses, in a dream,
appears to be worshipped on God’s throne by the whole of creation (ll.
68–89; cf. Gen 37). And among the Dead Sea Scrolls, 4Q Apocryphon of
Moses A emphasizes that Moses was made like God: “And he made him
like God for the powerful ones, and a fright for the Pharaoh” (4Q374,
frag. 2, col. II.6),11 showing dependence on the biblical text of Exod
7:1 which reads “The LORD said to Moses, ‘See, I have made you like
God to Pharaoh.’” Although such passages show the high estimation
which Moses often received, Philo and Josephus, especially, show what
kind of discourse was involved in the positive representation of Moses
in the Graeco-Roman world. Let us now turn to them.

3. Philo and Josephus on Moses the Legislator

3.1 Philo—Moses’ strength and well-being

In Philo’s biography of Moses, De vita Mosis, in which he aims to show
that “Moses is the best of all lawgivers in all countries” (2.12), he
includes the following description of Moses’ descent from Mt. Sinai.
This passage shows important similarities to and differences from with
2 Cor 3 and provides the setting in which the figure of Moses featured
in contemporary debate. Moses’ descent is described in the following
way:
As for eating and drinking, he had no thought of them for forty successive
days, doubtless because he had the better food of contemplation, through
whose inspiration, sent from heaven above, he grew in grace, first of mind, then
of body also through the soul (τὴν μὲν διάνοιαν τὸ πρῶτον, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ τὸ

10
Ludwig Bieler, Theios anēr: Das Bild des “göttlichen Menschen” in Spätantike und Früh-
christentum (2 vols; Wien: Buchhandlung Oskar Höfels, 1935–36), vol. 2 (1936), chap.
1.1, 3–36, esp. 25–36; Wayne A. Meeks, The Prophet-King: Moses Traditions and the Johan-
nine Christology (SNT 14; Leiden: Brill, 1967), chap. 3, 100–175, esp. 100–131: Philo,
and 131–146: Josephus; and Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, chap.
3, 229–313, esp. 254–258.
11
Cf. George Brooke’s contribution to this volume, section 3 B.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 165

σῶμα διὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐβελτιοῦτο), and in each singly so advanced in strength and
well-being (καθ’ ἑκάτερον πρός τε ἰσχὺν καὶ εὐεξίαν ἐπιδιδούς) that those
who saw him afterwards could not believe their eyes. For we read that
by God’s command he ascended an inaccessible and pathless mountain,
the highest and most sacred in the region, and remained for the period
named, taking nothing that is needed to satisfy the requirements of bare
sustenance. Then, after the said forty days had passed, he descended with a
countenance far more beautiful than when he ascended (κατέβαινε πολὺ καλλίων
τὴν ὄψιν ἢ ὅτε ἀνῄει), so that those who saw him were filled with awe and amaze-
ment; nor even could their eyes continue to stand the dazzling brightness that flashed
from him like the rays of the sun (καὶ μηδ’ ἐπὶ πλέον ἀντέχειν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς
δύνασθαι κατὰ τὴν προσβολὴν ἡλιοειδοῦς φέγγους ἀπαστράπτοντος) (De
Vita Mosis 2.69–70).
In their retelling of the giving of the Law to Moses and his descent
from Mt. Sinai, both Philo and Paul agree that Moses’ appearance
was indeed dazzling and bright, and that the Israelites were incapable
of looking at him. Both also allude to the inward, spiritual process.
According to Paul, Moses, when unveiled, was caught in a process of
spiritual transformation, a process which is now experienced by all
believers (3.18) and comprises a growth in their “inner man” (4.16).
Philo, similarly, emphasized that “Moses grew in grace, first of mind
(διάνοια), then of body (σῶμα) also through the soul (ψυχή)” (2.69).
Yet, at the same time Philo’s characterization of this process reveals
an important difference. Implicit in Philo’s depiction of Moses’ spir-
itual growth in mind (or spirit), soul and body, is the anthropological
trichotomy, known from Greek philosophy, of mind, soul and body. As
I have argued elsewhere, Paul’s anthropology is also best understood
as trichotomous.12 The difference, however, is that according to Paul
the spiritual transformation only affects the inner man, whereas the
outer man, the body, decreases in strength. Only after the resurrection,

12
George H. van Kooten, “The Two Types of Man in Philo of Alexandria and Paul
of Tarsus: The Anthropological Trichotomy of Spirit, Soul and Body,” in Philosophische
Anthropologie in der Antike (ed. Ch. Jedan and L. Jansen; Themen der Antiken Philosophie/
Topics in Ancient Philosophy; Frankfurt: Ontos Verlag, 2008), forthcoming; a shorter
version, entitled “The Anthropological Trichotomy of Spirit, Soul and Body in Philo
of Alexandria and Paul of Tarsus,” is published in Anthropology in Context: Studies on
Ideas of Anthropology within the New Testament and its Ancient Context (ed. M. Labahn and O.
Lehtipuu; Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium; Louvain: Peeters,
2008), forthcoming. See also George H. van Kooten, Paul Anthropology in Context: The
Image of God, Assimilation to God, and Tripartite Man in Ancient Judaism, Ancient Philosophy
and Early Christianity (WUNT; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), chap. 5.
166 george h. van kooten

as Paul has explained in 1 Cor 15, does the Spirit also transform the
human body into a spiritual body (1 Cor 15.44–49). According to Philo,
however, Moses’ growth in mind and soul already affects his body dur-
ing his lifetime: “Moses grew in grace, first of mind, then of body also
through the soul”—τὴν μὲν διάνοιαν τὸ πρῶτον, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ τὸ σῶμα
διὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐβελτιοῦτο (2.69). The mind influences the soul which,
in turn, changes the body. In Philo’s view, the physical effect of Moses’
growth in mind, soul and body is perceptible inasmuch as he “in each
singly so advanced in strength and well-being (καθ’ ἑκάτερον πρός τε
ἰσχὺν καὶ εὐεξίαν ἐπιδιδούς) that those who saw him afterwards could
not believe their eyes” (2.69). Moses’ inward growth affects his outward
condition; he increases in strength (ἰσχύς) and well-being (εὐεξία).13 As a
result, he “descended with a countenance far more beautiful than when
he ascended (κατέβαινε πολὺ καλλίων τὴν ὄψιν ἢ ὅτε ἀνῄει)” (2.70).
Moses is not only a spiritual hero; he is also a physical superstar and
makes a powerful impression. The Israelites are simply overwhelmed by
Moses’ strength and well-being; they cannot “believe their eyes.” It is
the beauty of his face which makes an impact on them. Philo describes
the effect as follows: “those who saw him were filled with awe and
amazement; nor even could their eyes continue to stand the dazzling
brightness that flashed from him like the rays of the sun” (2.70).
In this respect, the difference from Paul could not be greater. In
his Corinthian polemics, Paul is critical of this language of strength
and bodily well-being, hallmarks of sophistic rivalry. According to his
opponents, Paul’s letters may be powerful, but his bodily appearance
is weak: Aἱ ἐπιστολαὶ μέν, φησίν, βαρεῖαι καὶ ἰσχυραί, ἡ δὲ παρουσία
τοῦ σώματος ἀσθενὴς καὶ ὁ λόγος ἐξουθενημένος (2 Cor 10:10). In
their emphasis upon strength and bodily well-being, Paul’s Corinthian
opponents seem to constitute the opposite end of the scale,14 with Philo
balancing the scales in the middle. The latter seems to combine philo-
sophical and sophistic values. Moses’ growth affects not only his mind
and soul, but also his body. The sophists, at one extreme, emphasize the
importance of strength and well-being, while Paul, at the other extreme,
denies the importance of outward well-being and draws attention to
inward, spiritual growth.

13
Cf. Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, 254–255.
14
On the importance of physiognomy and bodily performance in the Second Sophis-
tic, see, e.g., Tim Whitmarsh, The Second Sophistic (Greece & Rome—New Surveys in
the Classics 35; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), chap. 2, 23–40, esp. 26–32.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 167

This debate about strength (ἰσχύς) is already present in 1 Cor. The

term ἰσχυρός, “strong,” is important in the polemics of (a) 1 Cor 1:25:
“God’s weakness is stronger than human strength”—τὸ ἀσθενὲς τοῦ
θεοῦ ἰσχυρότερον τῶν ἀνθρώπων; (b) 1 Cor 1:27: “God chose what
is weak in the world to shame the strong”—τὰ ἀσθενῆ τοῦ κόσμου
ἐξελέξατο ὁ θεὸς ἵνα καταισχύνῃ τὰ ἰσχυρά; and (c) 1 Cor 4:10: “We
are fools for the sake of Christ, but you are wise in Christ. We are weak,
but you are strong. You are held in honour, but we in disrepute”—ἡμεῖς
μωροὶ διὰ Χριστόν, ὑμεῖς δὲ φρόνιμοι ἐν Χριστῷ· ἡμεῖς ἀσθενεῖς, ὑμεῖς
δὲ ἰσχυροί· ὑμεῖς ἔνδοξοι, ἡμεῖς δὲ ἄτιμοι.
In 2 Cor, this polemic reaches its zenith in the opponents explicitly
criticizing Paul’s weak physical and rhetorical performance which is in
sharp contrast with the strength they detect in his letters (2 Cor 10:10).
What seems to be at issue in 2 Cor 3, when understood in such a
polemical setting, is the nature of Moses’ body, which is healthy, dazzling
and resplendent and, as such, provides an exemplar for the Corinthian
sophists: this perfect physical appearance contrasts with Paul’s weak
stature. It seems very likely, then, that the strength and glory of Moses,
as described in Exod 34, was understood as an example of sophistic
strength. Paul’s sophistic opponents, who were of Jewish background
(2 Cor 11:22), and manifested themselves in the largely ex-pagan
Christian community of Corinth, might easily have been tempted into
a sophistic appreciation of the importance of physiognomy. Indeed in
Judaism, too,—as Mladen Popović’s recent monograph has shown15—,
physiognomics was not uncommon. The similarities between Jewish
and sophistic physiognomics may well have facilitated the adoption of
pagan sophistry by Paul’s Jewish-Christian opponents in Corinth.16 By
shedding sophistic light on the strength and glory of Moses, Jews—
Christian and non-Christian alike—could not only defend Moses in
their encounter with pagans, but also compete with the sophistic ideals

15
Mladen Popović, Reading the Human Body: Physiognomics and Astrology in the Dead Sea
Scrolls and Hellenistic-Early Roman Period Judaism (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of
Judah 67; Leiden: Brill, 2007).
16
I owe this observation to Prof. George Brooke. Paul would have been able to
adopt a critical stance towards ( Jewish) physiognomics because of the enduring influ-
ence of Jesus’ compassion for the physically unwell and impaired. On this, see Hector
Avalos, Health Care and the Rise of Christianity (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1999); John
J. Pilch, Healing in the New Testament: Insights from Medical and Mediterranean Anthropology
(Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000); and, for a comparative research into Qumran and
the New Testament, Kathell Berthelot, “La place des infirmes et des ‘lépreux’ dans les
textes de Qumrân et les évangiles,” Revue biblique 113 (2006): 211–241.
168 george h. van kooten

beyond the Jewish and Christian community. As we shall see, Josephus

was very much involved in the same struggle.

3.2 Josephus—Moses’ glory, honour and rivals

According to Josephus, at the Burning Bush already God predicted to
Moses “the glory (δόξα) and honour (τιμή) that he would win from
men, under God’s auspices” ( Jew. Ant. 2.268). When, however, glory
and honour started to materialize, Moses’ integrity did not diminish.
Josephus is keen to give several examples. When Raguel, Moses’ father-
in-law, invented a legal system, Moses did not claim it as his own, but
openly avowed
the inventor to the multitude. Nay, in the books too he recorded the
name of Raguel, as inventor of the aforesaid system, deeming it meet to
bear faithful witness to merit, whatever glory (δόξα) might be won by taking
credit for the inventions of others. Thus even herefrom may one learn
the integrity of Moses ( Jew. Ant. 3.74).
In a similar vein, Moses even paid due homage to Balaam, the pagan
prophet, and did not claim Balaam’s glory for himself:
This was the man to whom Moses did the high honour of recording
his prophecies (μεγάλως ἐτίμησεν ἀναγράψας αὐτοῦ τὰς μαντείας);
and though it was open to him to appropriate and take the glory for them himself
(σφετερίσασθαι τὴν ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς δόξαν καὶ ἐξιδιώσασθαι), as there would
have been no witness to convict him, he has given Balaam this testimony
and deigned to perpetuate his memory ( Jew. Ant. 4.158).
Whereas Moses is an example of integrity, others did become envious
of Moses’ glory and honour. Josephus describes this rivalry in terms
of sophistic in-fighting. He takes Korah’s rebellion against Moses, as
narrated in Numbers 16, as an example and depicts Korah as Moses’
rival in establishing honour and glory. From Korah’s perspective Moses
was “hunting round to create glory for himself ”:
Korah, one of the most eminent of the Hebrews by reason both of his birth and of his
riches (τις Ἑβραίων ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα καὶ γένει καὶ πλούτῳ), a capable speaker
and very effective in addressing a crowd (ἱκανὸς δ᾽ εἰπεῖν καὶ δήμοις ὁμιλεῖν
πιθανώτατος), seeing Moses established in the highest honours (ἐν ὑπερβαλλούσῃ
τιμῇ), was sorely envious; for he was of the same tribe and indeed his
kinsman, and was aggrieved at the thought that he had a greater right to enjoy
all this glory (δόξα) himself, as being richer than Moses without being his inferior in
birth. So he proceeded to denounce him among the Levites, who were his
tribesmen, and especially among his kinsmen, declaring that it was monstrous
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 169

to look on at Moses hunting round to create glory for himself (λέγων Μωυσῆν δόξαν
αὑτῷ θηρώμενον κατασκευάσαι) and mischievously working to attain this
in the pretended name of God ( Jew. Ant. 4.14–15).
Josephus depicts Korah as a sophist rival to Moses and represents him in
terms also used in the Corinthian rivalry in which Paul is engaged:
(1) Korah is “one of the most eminent of the Hebrews by reason
both of his birth and of his riches” (τις Ἑβραίων ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα
καὶ γένει καὶ πλούτῳ). Similarly, Paul warns the Corinthians that not
many of them are wise by worldly standards, not many are powerful,
not many are of noble birth—οὐ πολλοὶ σοφοὶ κατὰ σάρκα, οὐ πολλοὶ
δυνατοί, οὐ πολλοὶ εὐγενεῖς (1 Cor 1:26).
(2) According to Josephus, Korah is competent (ἱκανὸς) to speak
(δ’ εἰπεῖν) and very persuasive (πιθανώτατος) in addressing a crowd
(δήμοις ὁμιλεῖν).
(a) The whole issue of “competence” is also central to the dispute
in 2 Cor 2–3. As regards the dissemination of God’s knowledge, Paul
rhetorically asks himself, probably mirroring the ongoing debate between
himself and his rivals: “Who is competent for these things?”—καὶ πρὸς
ταῦτα τίς ἱκανός; (2 Cor 2:16, cf. 2:6). And in 2 Cor 3 he brings up the
issue once again; this passage is saturated with the language of compe-
tence and uses it in the adjectival, substantival and verbal forms:
οὐχ ὅτι ἀφ’ ἑαυτῶν ἱκανοί ἐσμεν λογίσασθαί τι ὡς ἐξ ἑαυτῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ
ἱκανότης ἡμῶν ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ, ὃς καὶ ἱκάνωσεν ἡμᾶς διακόνους καινῆς
διαθήκης, οὐ γράμματος ἀλλὰ πνεύματος.
Not that we are competent (ἱκανοί) of ourselves to claim anything as
coming from us; our competence (ἱκανότης) is from God, who has made
us competent (ὃς καὶ ἱκάνωσεν ἡμᾶς) to be ministers of a new covenant,
not of letter but of spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life
(2 Cor 3:5–6).
The theme of “competence” permeates 2 Cor 2–3 and is very similar
to the issue which Josephus describes between Korah and Moses.
(b) Josephus also describes Korah as “very persuasive (πιθανώτατος)
in addressing a crowd.” This word, “persuasive” (πιθανός) is especially
used of popular speakers.17 Paul, too, employs this semantic field in
his polemics with the Corinthians when he denies that his speech and
proclamation are filled “with plausible words of wisdom”: καὶ ὁ λόγος

17
H. G. Liddell, R. Scott & H. S. Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon, Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1996 (= LSJ), 1403 s.v. πιθανός.
170 george h. van kooten

μου καὶ τὸ κήρυγμά μου οὐκ ἐν πειθοῖ[ς] σοφίας [λόγοις] (1 Cor 2.4;
cf. Gal 1.10).18
Unlike Paul, however, Josephus is eager to draw Moses into this
competition with the sophists and stress Moses’ glory and honour.
Not only Korah’s competence in rhetoric and public performance is
described, but that of Moses as well: his glory and honour have already
been predicted by God, he is established in the highest honours and,
although less wealthy than Korah, by no means his inferior in birth.
The distinctive features of Moses, in comparison with Korah, are his
integrity and the fact that he, “having declined every honour which he
saw that the people were ready to confer on him, devoted himself solely
to the service of God” ( Jew. Ant. 3.212). At the same time, however,
Moses is portrayed as meeting sophistic standards. In his final encomium
of Moses in Jew. Ant. 4.327–331, Josephus heralds Moses as “having
surpassed in understanding all men that ever lived and put to noblest
use the fruit of his reflections. In speech and in addresses to a crowd
he found favour in every way” (4.328). Particularly the last description
portrays him as not inferior to figures such as Korah, who, as we have
seen, is also “a capable speaker and very effective in addressing a crowd”
(ἱκανὸς δ’ εἰπεῖν καὶ δήμοις ὁμιλεῖν πιθανώτατος; 4.14).
Josephus also draws this picture of a powerful, glorious Moses in his
description of Moses’ ascent of, and descent from Mt. Sinai: Moses
ascends Mt. Sinai although it is beyond men’s power to scale (3.76),
and when he returns he is radiant (γαῦρός) and high-hearted (3.83). An
extensive eulogy on Moses is also found at the very end of book III of
the Jewish Antiquities. According to Josephus, “the admiration in which
that hero [i.e. Moses] was held for his virtues and his marvellous power
(ἰσχύς) of inspiring faith in all his utterances were not confined to his
life-time” (3.317). Subsequently, Josephus remarks that it is possible to
adduce many “proofs of his superhuman power”—τεκμήρια τῆς ὑπὲρ
ἄνθρωπόν ἐστι δυνάμεως αὐτοῦ (3.318). Moses’ powerful authority is
still felt to the present day: “to this very day the writings left by Moses
(τὰ καταλειφθέντα ὑπὸ Μωυσέος γράμματα) have such power (ἰσχύς)
that even our enemies admit that our constitution was established by
God himself, through the agency of Moses and of his merits” (3.222).
Josephus’ last remark contrasts sharply with Paul’s remark at the end

18
LSJ 1353 πειθός = πιθανός.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 171

of 2 Cor 3, that “to this very day whenever Moses is read” he is mis-
understood (3:15).
Josephus’ remark about the acknowledgement of Moses’ merits by
non-Jews also draws attention to the (alleged) impact of the power and
authority of Moses’ writings among the Greeks. As we have seen in §1,
the evaluation of the figure of Moses was indeed an issue in pagan-
Jewish relations and also seems to have played a role in the Corinthian
controversy. Josephus’ attempt to raise awareness for Moses and depict
him in a favourable way is also part of this debate. In order to achieve
this aim, Josephus also emphasizes that Moses could hold his own in
the face of sophistic rivalry and that he was in no way the inferior
of his competitors. For this reason, Josephus stresses Moses’ glory,
honour, power and superhuman identity as among his chief merits.
In so doing, however, he runs the risk of turning Moses himself into
a kind of sophist. This will become clear as we now briefly study the
language of power, glory and superhuman identity among the sophists.
It seems that the same debate is going on here, dominated by the same
concerns and obsessions.

4. The Power, Glory and Theios Anēr-Character among the Sophists

4.1 Power
To show the sophistic nature of this debate, I shall limit myself here
mainly to Philostratus’ Lives of the Sophists. Here the semantic fields
of power, glory and the superhuman are the natural territory of the
sophists. For instance, Philostratus mentions the sophist Carneades of
Athens. He
was also enrolled among the sophists, for though his mind had been
equipped for the pursuit of philosophy, yet in virtue of the power (ἰσχύς)
of his orations he attained to an extraordinarily high level of eloquence
(Lives of the Sophists 1.486).
The inner-sophistic tensions come to the fore in rivalries such as those
between the sophists Polemo and Dionysius. The latter attended a
speech in court by the former, and Philostratus narrates their ensuing
confrontation as follows:
Dionysius heard Polemo defend the suit, and as he left the court he
remarked: “This athlete possesses strength (ἰσχύς), but it does not
come from the wrestling-ground.” When Polemo heard this he came to
172 george h. van kooten

Dionysius’ door and announced that he would declaim before him. And
when he had come and Polemo had sustained his part with conspicuous
success, he went up to Dionysius, and leaning shoulder to shoulder with
him, like those who begin a wrestling match standing, he wittily turned
the laugh against him by quoting: “Once O once they were strong, the
men of Miletus” (Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists 1.525).
This anecdote shows how in daily life the sophists confronted one
another and were engaged in continuous wrangling, demonstrating their
power and readiness to compete. Polemo quotes an iambic response of
Apollo which has become proverbial (cf. Aristophanes, Plutus 1003) as
a reference to degeneration, thus challenging his rival sophist. This is
the atmosphere at Corinth, in which Moses too is turned into a power-
ful competitor, who “in speech and in addresses to a crowd (. . .) found
favour in every way” ( Josephus, Jew. Ant. 4.328). In this way, Moses also
functions as a role model for performance within the Jewish-Christian
community. Quotation from his writings should be apt, and declama-
tions about his life fresh and persuasive.19
Another story about inner-sophistic struggles relates to the sophists
Alexander and Herodes. Alexander, born at Seleucia in Silicia, exercised
his profession in cities such as Antioch, Rome and Tarsus, indicating
that the sophists were very much part of life in the cities which Paul,
too, visited. Alexander, having already performed in Athens before the
arrival of Herodes, outdid the latter in the following way:
he made a further wonderful display of his marvellous power (θαυμασίαν
δὲ ἰσχὺν ἐνεδείξατο) in what now took place. For the sentiments that he
had so brilliantly expressed before Herodes came he now recast in his
presence, but with such different words and different rhythms, that those
who were hearing them for the second time could not feel that he was
repeating himself (Lives of the Sophists 2.572).
Again we experience the atmosphere of sophistic competence and
performance, the command of which is described by Philostratus as
a “marvellous power.” Many other passages could be adduced which
mention the erudition, force and powerful eloquence of particular
sophists (e.g. 1.483; 2.585). One of these figures is lauded for “his
natural display of sophistic power”—φύσεως δὲ ἰσχὺν σοφιστικωτάτην
ἐνδεικνύμενος (2.585).

19
For the importance of improvisations in the Second Sophistic, see Philostratus,
Lives of the Sophists 496, 499, 511.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 173

4.2 Glory and physical appearance

The language of power often overlaps with that of “glory.” Public
speakers and sophists, according to Plutarch, are often “led on by glory
(δόξα) and ambition (φιλοτιμία) (. . .) to competition (ἀγωνίζεσθαι) in
excess of what is best for them” (De tuenda sanitate praecepta 131A). This
sophistic striving for glory is explicitly criticized by Dio Chrysostomus,
in a way very similar to Paul. According to Dio, sophists “are lifted
aloft as on wings by their glorious fame (δόξα) and disciples” (Orations
12.5). He complains, however, that “not one of the sophists is will-
ing to take me on” (12.13). In deliberate contrast to the sophists, Dio
presents himself to his audience at Olympia “as neither handsome in
appearance nor strong, and in age (. . .) already past his prime, one
who has no disciple, who professes (. . .) no ability as a prophet or a
sophist” (12.15). This anti-sophistic talk clearly resembles Paul’s. Like
Dio, Paul stresses that he is not concerned with the outward man but
only with the inward man (2 Cor 4:16); he himself is not strong but
weak and vulnerable:
ἐν παντὶ θλιβόμενοι ἀλλ᾽ οὐ στενοχωρούμενοι, ἀπορούμενοι ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ
ἐξαπορούμενοι, διωκόμενοι ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐγκαταλειπόμενοι, καταβαλλόμενοι
ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀπολλύμενοι, πάντοτε τὴν νέκρωσιν τοῦ Ἰησοῦ ἐν τῷ σώματι
περιφέροντες, ἵνα καὶ ἡ ζωὴ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ ἐν τῷ σώματι ἡμῶν φανερωθῇ.
We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven
to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;
always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus
may also be made visible in our bodies (2 Cor 4:8–10).
Indeed, Paul is not ashamed to repeat his opponent’s judgment that his
bodily, physical appearance is weak (2 Cor 10:10). Yet he rejoices in his
weakness (2 Cor 11:30; 12:5, 9–10; cf. 1 Cor 2:3). In this catalogue of
afflictions and in his acknowledgement of being weak,20 Paul shows the
same philosophical, anti-sophistic pride as Dio. His statements are not
naïve, but deliberately construed to counter sophistic talk of strength,
glory and repute.

20
Cf. John T. Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel: An Examination of the Catalogues
of Hardships in the Corinthian Correspondence (SBL Dissertation Series 99; Atlanta, Ga.:
Scholars Press, 1988).
174 george h. van kooten

4.3 Superhuman identity

Apart from the vocabulary of power, glory and physical performance,
sophists also apply the concept of superhuman beings. This is nicely
illustrated by a report in Philostratus about the sophist Hippodromus
the Thessalian. According to Philostratus,
on one occasion when the Greeks were acclaiming him with flatteries,
and even compared him with Polemo, “Why,” said he, “do you liken me
to immortals?” (Homer, Odyssey 16.187). This answer, while it did not rob
Polemo of his reputation for being a divine man (οὔτε τὸν Πολέμωνα ἀφελόμενος
τὸ νομίζεσθαι θεῖον ἄνδρα), was also a refusal to concede to himself any
likeness to so great a genius (Lives of the Sophists 616).
This anecdote shows that sophists indeed claimed divine inspiration
for their competence (cf. also Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists 521, 554,
570, 590; Lucian, Philopseudes sive incredulus 16); they even regarded
themselves as “divine men,” θεῖοι ἄνδρες. This background to the
Corinthian dispute was already highlighted by Dieter Georgi,21 but he
did not yet integrate his remarks about the concept of the θεῖος ἀνήρ
into what Bruce Winter has noted about the sophistic setting of Paul’s
polemics in 1 and 2 Cor.22
As regards the concept of θεῖος ἀνήρ, Josephus also uses it twice
to characterize Moses.23 On both occasions, it is noteworthy that he
employs it in an apologetic context, once in his Jewish Antiquities, and
once in his Against Apion.24 In the former he states:
One may well be astonished at the hatred which men have for us and
which they have so persistently maintained, from an idea that we slight
the divinity whom they themselves profess to venerate. For if one reflects

21
Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, chap. 3, 229–313, esp. 236,
254–255, 258, 274.
22
Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists; cf. David L. Tiede, “Aretalogy,” The Anchor
Bible Dictionary, (1992) 1.372–373 at 373. Georgi only mentions the sophists in his com-
ments on 2 Cor 2:17; see Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, 234.
23
For Philo’s portrayal of Moses as divine, see Meeks, The Prophet-King, 103–105;
Meeks, “Moses as God and King,” in Religions in Antiquity: Essays in Memory of Erwin
Ramsdell Goodenough (ed. J. Neusner; Studies in the History of Religions; Suppl. to Numen
14; Leiden: Brill, 1968), 354–371; and David T. Runia, “God and Man in Philo of
Alexandria,” JTS 39 (1988): 48–75 at 53–63; also published in Runia, Exegesis and
Philosophy: Studies on Philo of Alexandria (Collected Studies 332; Hampshire: Variorum,
1991), chap. 12, 53–63.
24
Cf. David S. Du Toit, Theios anthropos: zur Verwendung von theios anthrōpos und sinnver-
wandten Ausdrücken in der Literatur der Kaiserzeit (WUNT 2.91; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
1997), chap. 14.3, 382–399.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 175

on the construction of the tabernacle and looks at the vestments of the

priest and the vessels which we use for the sacred ministry, he will discover
that our lawgiver was a divine man (τόν τε νομοθέτην εὑρήσει θεῖον ἄνδρα)
and that these blasphemous charges brought against us by the rest of
men are idle ( Jew. Ant. 3.180).25
Given the ambiguous evaluation of Moses in the pagan Graeco-Roman
world, outlined in §1 above, there was clearly a perceived need to
defend the powerful, superhuman stature of Moses.26 And, as Dieter
Georgi rightly remarks, “the biblical accounts of Moses’ glorification,
especially Exod. 34:29–35, lent themselves well to the full presentation
of the Apologetic conception of the θεῖος ἀνήρ.”27 The same defence
is offered in Against Apion, where Josephus claims that the Egyptians
regarded Moses as a marvellous, admirable, divine man:
Λοιπόν μοι πρὸς αὐτὸν εἰπεῖν περὶ Μωυσέως. τοῦτον δὲ τὸν ἄνδρα
θαυμαστὸν μὲν Aἰγύπτιοι καὶ θεῖον νομίζουσι, βούλονται δὲ προσποιεῖν
αὐτοῖς μετὰ βλασφημίας ἀπιθάνου, λέγοντες Ἡλιοπολίτην εἶναι τῶν
ἐκεῖθεν ἱερέων ἕνα διὰ τὴν λέπραν συνεξεληλαμένον.
It remains for me to say a word to Manetho about Moses. The Egyp-
tians, who regard that man as remarkable, indeed divine (τοῦτον δὲ τὸν ἄνδρα
θαυμαστὸν μὲν Aἰγύπτιοι καὶ θεῖον νομίζουσι), wish to claim him as
one of themselves, while making the incredible and calumnious asser-
tion that he was one of the priests expelled from Heliopolis for leprosy
(Against Apion 1.279).
The apologetic setting of Josephus’ use of the concept of θεῖος ἀνήρ
emerges clearly. It is in this setting that I would understand the incentive
experienced by Paul’s Corinthian opponents. Like Philo and Josephus,
these Jewish Christians felt the need to defend Moses and show his
strength and glory. Yet by taking up the challenges of the Graeco-Roman
world they, to a significantly higher degree than Philo and Josephus,
surrendered to the standards of their sophistic environment, adopted
them, and even implemented them as benchmarks for performance
within the Christian community. By so doing, they changed the figure
of Moses and—as I shall explain briefly—as a further consequence,
also that of Christ.

25
Cf. Meeks, The Prophet-King, 138.
26
Cf. Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, 257; cf. 126, 133.
27
Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, 257–258.
176 george h. van kooten

5. Concluding Observations: Paul’s Definitive Answer to the

Corinthian Sophists

Paul needs to confront the portraits of Moses current among Chris-

tian sophists at Corinth, designed as they are to compete with general
Greek culture. There might be a justifiable apologetic concern behind
those portraits. Yet, in Paul’s view, they are very dangerous inasmuch
as they also—implicitly and perhaps only inadvertently—change the
attitudes within the Christian communities with regard to the impor-
tance of outward, rhetorical competence and bodily, physical strength
and performance. For this reason, it is vital for Paul to discuss Moses’
glory after his descent from Mt. Sinai as narrated in Exod 34. As we
have seen, this passage is discussed right in the middle of anti-sophistic
polemics in 2 Cor and evolves from Paul’s reference to letters of recom-
mendation, a sophistic practice which has been adopted to recommend
powerful rhetoricians to other Christian communities.
Because of this, Paul’s view of Moses differs significantly from those
of both Philo and Josephus. According to Philo, Moses’ spiritual growth
in mind and soul is reflected in his body. It affects his outward condi-
tion; Moses increases in strength (ἰσχύς) and well-being (εὐεξία) (De
vita Mosis 2.69). Paul, on the contrary, denies that strength and physical
well-being are the result of spiritual metamorphosis. Similarly, where
Josephus emphasizes the ongoing strength of Moses’ writings—“to this
very day the writings left by Moses (τὰ καταλειφθέντα ὑπὸ Μωυσέος
γράμματα) have such power (ἰσχύς) that even our enemies admit that
our constitution was established by God himself, through the agency
of Moses and of his merits” ( Jew. Ant. 3.322)—Paul highlights their
possible relative obscurity. He points out that
to this very day, when they [the people of Israel] hear the reading of the
old covenant, that same veil—which keeps them ‘from gazing at the end
of the glory that was being set aside’ (3.13)—is still there, since only in
Christ is it set aside. Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is read, a
veil lies over their minds (2 Cor 3.14–15).
Paul needs to qualify the glory and strength of Moses (and his writ-
ings) because he fears their shortcomings and temporariness are being
overlooked.
Paul not only criticizes his opponents’ image of Moses. It is clear that
their portrayal of Moses also has consequences for their view on Jesus.
Dieter Georgi has already paid attention to the opponents’ false Christol-
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 177

ogy in this respect.28 Although Georgi is right about the Christological

nature of Paul’s controversy with his opponents, which resulted from
a theios anēr-interpretation of Moses, we need Bruce Winter’s analysis
if we are to be more specific about the identity of these opponents.
They are not just protagonists of a theios anēr-movement; their views,
as is evident from 1–2 Cor, have clearly sophistic overtones. It is against
this background that Paul emphatically denies, in 2 Cor 5:16, that their
claim about the character of the historical Jesus is correct:
Ὥστε ἡμεῖς ἀπὸ τοῦ νῦν οὐδένα οἴδαμεν κατὰ σάρκα· εἰ καὶ ἐγνώκαμεν
κατὰ σάρκα Χριστόν, ἀλλὰ νῦν οὐκέτι γινώσκομεν
From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view;
even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know
him no longer in that way.
And in 2 Cor 11 he asserts that their gospel is a different gospel because
their Jesus is a different Jesus:
εἰ μὲν γὰρ ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἄλλον Ἰησοῦν κηρύσσει ὃν οὐκ ἐκηρύξαμεν, ἢ
πνεῦμα ἕτερον λαμβάνετε ὃ οὐκ ἐλάβετε, ἢ εὐαγγέλιον ἕτερον ὃ οὐκ
ἐδέξασθε, καλῶς ἀνέχεσθε. λογίζομαι γὰρ μηδὲν ὑστερηκέναι τῶν
ὑπερλίαν ἀποστόλων· εἰ δὲ καὶ ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τῇ γνώσει.
For if someone comes and proclaims another Jesus than the one we pro-
claimed, or if you receive a different spirit from the one you received,
or a different gospel from the one you accepted, you submit to it readily
enough. I think that I am not in the least inferior to these super-apostles.
I may be untrained in speech, but not in knowledge (2 Cor 11:4–6).
This passage shows that the opponents’ view on and proclamation of
Jesus (4:4) have to do with their stress on being not “untrained in speech”
(4:6a). Their image of Jesus and of Moses would have been very similar,
highlighting these figures’ powerful rhetorical performance.
In some ways, their theios anēr-type of Christology might be reflected
in Josephus’ testimony of Jesus ( Jew. Ant. 18.63–64).29 This passage,
in portraying Jesus as “a wise man, if indeed one ought to call him a
man” (σοφὸς ἀνήρ, εἴγε ἄνδρα αὐτὸν λέγειν χρή) stops short of calling

28
Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, 271–277, 278.
29
On the question of the authenticity of Josephus’ testimony, see, among others,
Alice Whealey, Josephus on Jesus: The Testimonium Flavianum Controversy from Late Antiquity
to Modern Times (Studies in Biblical Literature 36; New York: Lang, 2003); see also
Steve Mason, Josephus and the New Testament (2nd edition; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson,
2003), 225–236.
178 george h. van kooten

him a theios anēr, a divine man. Yet the phrase “if indeed one ought
to call him a man” seems to imply this meaning. In this sense, this
characterization of Jesus comes very close to Josephus’ explicit depiction
of Moses as a theios anēr. As we have already seen, Josephus claims that
if his anti-Jewish opponents would but spare a moment, they would
be able “to discover that [Moses] is a divine man” ( Jew. Ant. 3.179–180)
and that indeed the Egyptians did regard “that man as remarkable,
indeed divine” (Against Apion 1.279). Although it initially seems remark-
able that Josephus should depict Jesus in the same way as he depicted
Moses, against the background of the contemporary interest in theioi
andres, divine men, this assertion becomes less astounding. This part of
Josephus’ testimony of Jesus might well be authentic insofar as it gives a
theios anēr-interpretation of Jesus, who “wrought surprising feats and was
a teacher of such people as accept the truth gladly” (ἦν γὰρ παραδόξων
ἔργων ποιητής, διδάσκαλος ἀνθρώπων τῶν ἡδονῇ τἀληθῆ δεχομένων;
18.63). This portrayal of a powerful and rhetorically skilled Jesus, a
wise, divine man, may well have been very similar to the Christology
of Paul’s opponents in Corinth; we know that, at least from an outside
perspective, some pagans viewed Jesus as a sophist, albeit a crucified, i.e.
unsuccessful one (Lucian, On the Death of Peregrinus 13). Although Paul
is convinced that the heavenly Christ, the second Adam, possesses full
glory, he has a very different understanding of the earthly Jesus. This
Jesus, according to Paul, defies description in the sophistic language of
powerful strength, physiognomic perfection and competitive glory.
In a very philosophical way, Paul counters his opponents’ emphasis
on rhetoric with the claim that, although untrained in speech, he pos-
sesses knowledge (2 Cor 11.6b). To strengthen his case, he also deliber-
ately resorts to the Platonic notion of the inner man in his criticism
of his opponents. This notion of ὁ ἔσω or ὁ ἐντὸς ἄνθρωπος is found
in Plato’s Republic (589a).30 Paul’s application of this notion of the inner

30
See Theo K. Heckel, Der Innere Mensch: Die paulinische Verarbeitung eines platonischen
Motivs (WUNT 2.53; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 19930; Christoph Markschies, “Die
platonische Metapher vom ‘inneren Menschen’: Eine Brücke zwischen antiker Phi-
losophie und altchristlicher Theologie,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 105 (1994): 1–17
(also published in: International Journal of the Classical Tradition 1.3 [1995]: 3–18); cf. also
“Innerer Mensch,” in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, vol. 18 (Stuttgart: Anton
Hiersemann, 1998), 266–312; Walter Burkert, “Towards Plato and Paul: The ‘Inner’
Human Being,” in Ancient and Modern Perspectives on the Bible and Culture. Essays in Honor of
Hans Dieter Betz (ed. A. Y. Collins; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 59–82; and Hans D.
Betz, “The Concept of the “Inner Human Being” (ὁ ἔσω ἄνθρωπος) in the Anthropol-
ogy of Paul,” New Testament Studies 46.3 (2000): 315–341. See also van Kooten, Paul’s
Anthropology in Context, §§ 7.2.2–7.2.3.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 179

man following his criticism of the sophists’ stress on outward perform-

ance seems deliberately chosen. For the sophists, such an inner being
was altogether unimportant. As Tim Whitmarsh emphasizes, “Identity
was not an inner being fixed inside the sophist: it was, rather, linked to his
public persona, and shifted with his fortunes.”31 Paul’s use of the Platonic
notion of the inner man is the logical next step, then, in his debate
with the Corinthian sophists.32 Paul applies it in the following man-
ner. Whereas his Corinthian opponents sell the word of God by retail
(2 Cor 2:17), Paul stresses the need to experience an inward transfor-
mation which affects the inner man and puts him through a process of
a steady, glorious growth by which he gradually turns more and more
into the image of God, Christ (2 Cor 3:18–4:4; 4:16). In marked con-
trast with a sophisticizing emphasis on Moses’ bodily well-being, Paul
holds the view that the condition of the outward man is altogether
irrelevant. The outward man is wasting away, whereas only the inner
man is being progressively renewed: “Even though our outer man is
wasting away, our inner man is being renewed day by day”—εἰ καὶ
ὁ ἔξω ἡμῶν ἄνθρωπος διαφθείρεται, ἀλλ’ ὁ ἔσω ἡμῶν ἀνακαινοῦται
ἡμέρᾳ καὶ ἡμέρᾳ (2 Cor 4:16).
This progressive renewal of the inner man is synonymous with man’s
transformation into God’s εἰκών, Christ. Christ is portrayed here as
Adam, the second Adam that is. Already in 1 Cor, Paul has designated
man as being the “image (εἰκών) and glory (δόξα) of God”: εἰκὼν καὶ
δόξα θεοῦ ὑπάρχων (1 Cor 11:7), and has explained that “Just as we
have borne the image (εἰκών) of the man of dust, we will also bear
the image (εἰκών) of the man of heaven” (1 Cor 15:49). As we learn
from 2 Cor, this bearing of the image of the second Adam is not only
an eschatological event, but rather involves a transformational process
in the present, based on transformation into the image of Christ in
his capacity as the heavenly man (2 Cor 3:18–4:4). The glory of this
Christ (2 Cor 3:18, 4:4), thus, is the glory of the second Adam, just as
the first Adam was God’s image and glory (1 Cor 11:7).
This notion of the glory of Adam reminds us of the importance of
this notion in the Dead Sea Scrolls. The language of Adam, whom
God “fashioned in the likeness of [his] glory” and destined to “walk in

31
Whitmarsh, The Second Sophistic.
32
This has not been noted by Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists, perhaps
mainly because he focuses on 1 Cor. Paul’s criticism of the sophists and his resort to
the Platonic notion of the inner man supplement one another very effectively and
reveal Paul’s full strategy.
180 george h. van kooten

a land of glory” (4Q504 frag. 8 4–7), is applied to the members of the

Qumran community: “to them shall belong all the glory of Adam” (1QS
4.23; cf. CD-A 3.20, 1QHa 4.15). Adam’s glory is being re-established
in their community. Something similar is happening in the Christian
community, according to 2 Cor 3–4. If people convert to Christ, the
second Adam, and reflect his glory (2 Cor 3:16, 18; 4:4), they experience
a transformation ἀπὸ δόξης εἰς δόξαν, “from one degree of glory to
another” (2 Cor 3:18). Despite this similarity between Paul and the
Dead Sea Scrolls, Paul is different in that he moves beyond the Jewish
terminology of the image or likeness of God and the glory of (the
second) Adam. In the course of 2 Cor 3–4, the language of image
(εἰκών) is supplemented with the notion of the ἔσω ἄνθρωπος, the inner
man: man’s transformation into the εἰκών of the second Adam, the
heavenly ἄνθρωπος (1 Cor 15:47–49), results directly in a gradual and
progressive renewal of the inner ἄνθρωπος (2 Cor 4:16). In this way,
Paul recasts the Jewish terminology of the image of God in terms of a
Platonic anthropology.33 To his sophistic opponents, Paul admits that the
wasting away of the outer man causes affliction, but only momentarily
as the growth of the inner man prepares him for “an eternal weight of
glory (αἰώνιον βάρος δόξης) beyond all measure” (2 Cor 4.17). This
eternal glory is the final outcome of the steadily increasing glory which
results from man’s metamorphosis into the εἰκών of the second Adam;
it is his glory into which man is changed.
If this lasting glory of the second Adam is contrasted with the transi-
tory glory of Moses, Paul’s thinking very much resembles the kind of
Moses-Adam polemics present in 2 Enoch.34 In this writing, Enoch,

33
After this turn at the end of 2 Cor 4 in 4.16, Paul’s anthropology and eschatol-
ogy in 2 Cor 5.1–10 are thoroughly Hellenistic, according to Imre Peres, Griechische
Grabinschriften und neutestamentliche Eschatologie (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum
Neuen Testament 157; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), chap. IV.2.2.3, 155–162; and
Manuel Vogel, Commentatio mortis: 2Kor 5,1–10 auf dem Hintergrund antiker ars moriendi
(Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments 214; Göt-
tingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006).
34
I owe this suggestion to Dr. Andrei Orlov. On Adam-Moses polemics, see Andrei
A. Orlov, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition (TSAJ 107; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), chaps
5 and 6, esp. 279–283 and 289–291; Idem, From Apocalypticism to Merkabah Mysticism:
Studies in the Slavonic Pseudepigrapha ( JSJSup 114; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 327–343; and
Silviu Bunta, “One Man (φῶς) in Heaven: Adam-Moses Polemics in the Romanian
Versions of The Testament of Abraham and Ezekiel the Tragedian’s Exagoge,” JSP 16
(2007): 139–165. See also Orlov’s essay in this volume, “In the Mirror of the Divine
Face: The Enochic Features of the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian,” 183–99, for a
specific discussion of Moses’ or Enoch’s glorious face in this context.
 why did paul include an exegesis of moses’ shining face? 181

appearing before the face of God in the highest heaven, is extracted

from his earthly clothing and dressed in the clothes of God’s glory (22.8),
similar to that of the angels (22.10) and the glorious figure of Adam
(30.10–11). In the understanding of the author of 2 Enoch, Enoch’s
newly achieved glory competes with that of Moses. This becomes clear
from what happens when Enoch is sent back to earth after completing
his transcriptions from God’s heavenly books of wisdom (22.11), which
Enoch is to reveal to mankind (33.5, 8; 47.2; 48.6–7). God calls one of
the senior angels and orders him to chill Enoch’s face with ice, because,
God tells Enoch, “if your face had not been chilled here, no human
being would be able to look at your face” (37.2). This clearly recalls
the setting of Exod 34.35 In this way, the author of 2 Enoch contrasts
the figures of Moses and Enoch, as well as their respective revelations.
Whereas Moses needs to veil his head to cover his glory, the heat of
Enoch’s Adam-like glory is cooled down by an angel.
A similar antithesis is clearly discernible in 2 Cor 3–4 in the antago-
nism between Moses’ transient glory, misunderstood and overrated
by Paul’s Corinthian sophistic opponents, and the true, permanent
glory of the second Adam. Paul’s opponents seem to have found the
portrayal of Moses’ glory in Exod 34 very apt for their apologetic
purposes. For this reason Paul has to focus at length on Exod 34; this
chapter is pivotal for a glorious interpretation of Moses. Involved in
a competition with sophistic outsiders, as they sold their wares at the
religio-philosophical market of Antiquity, Paul’s opponents overem-
phasized Moses’ strength and bodily well-being. It is this picture which
Paul sets out to rebalance.

35
Cf. Orlov, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition, 289–290.
 IN THE MIRROR OF THE DIVINE FACE:
THE ENOCHIC FEATURES OF THE EXAGOGE OF
EZEKIEL THE TRAGEDIAN

Andrei Orlov
Marquette University, USA

. . . The Lord of all the worlds warned Moses that

he should beware of his face. So it is written, ‘Beware
of his face’. . . . This is the prince who is called . . .
Metatron.
Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur §§396–397.

Introduction

One of the important compendiums of Jewish mystical lore, a composi-

tion known to scholars as 3 Enoch or the Book of the Heavenly Palaces (Sefer
Hekhalot) offers a striking re-interpretation of the canonical account of
Moses’ reception of Torah. In this text the supreme angel Metatron,
also associated in Sefer Hekhalot with the seventh antediluvian patri-
arch Enoch, is depicted as the one who reveals Torah to the Israelite
prophet by bringing it out of his heavenly storehouses.1 The account
portrays Moses passing the revelation received from Enoch-Metatron
to Joshua and other characters of Israelite history representing the
honorable chain of transmissions of the oral law, known to us also from
the mishnaic Pirke Avot, the Sayings of the Fathers. The Hekhalot writer,
however, revises the traditional mishnaic arrangement of prophets,
rabbis, and sages by placing at the beginning of the chain the figure
of Enoch-Metatron, viewed as the initial revealer. This choice of the
primordial mediator competing with the primacy of Moses is not

1
“Metatron brought Torah out from my storehouses and committed it to Moses,
and Moses to Joshua, Joshua to the Elders, the Elders to the Prophets, the Prophets
to the Men of the Great Synagogue, the Men of the Great Synagogue to Ezra the
Scribe, Ezra the Scribe to Hillel the Elder. . . .” P. Alexander, “3 (Hebrew Apocalypse
of ) Enoch,” The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (2 vols.; ed. J. H. Charlesworth; New York:
Doubleday, 1985 [1983]), 1.315; P. Schäfer, with M. Schlüter and H. G. von Mutius,
Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur (TSAJ, 2; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1981), §80.
184 andrei orlov

coincidental and in many ways serves as an important landmark in

the long-lasting theological tradition that began many centuries earlier
when the Second Temple was still standing. This development points to
the theological competition between two heroes, the son of Jared and
the son of Amram, which had ancient roots traced to the sacerdotal
debates of the second temple era.
Recent scholarship has become increasingly cognizant of the com-
plexity of the social, political, and theological climate of the late sec-
ond temple period when the various sacerdotal groups and clans were
competing for the primacy and authority of their priestly legacy. This
competitive environment created a whole range of ideal mediatorial
figures that, along with traditional mediators like Moses, also included
other characters of primeval and Israelite history, such as Adam, Abel,
Enoch, Noah, Shem, Melchizedek, and Abraham. Scholars now are
well aware that in the late Second Temple period the sacerdotal legacy
of Mosaic revelation came under fierce attack from various mediato-
rial trends that sought to offer a viable ideological alternative to the
Mosaic stream through speculation on the pre-Mosaic protological
traditions. One such development, which has its roots in the early
Enochic materials, tried to portray the seventh antediluvian patriarch
as the custodian of the more ancient cultic revelation that had existed
long before Moses. In this rival paradigm, Enoch was depicted as an
ancient mediator who received from God revelations superior to those
received many centuries later by the son of Amram in the wilderness.
The use of such a protological figure as Enoch does not seem coinciden-
tal, since this primeval hero had been endowed with divine disclosures
long before the Israelite prophet received his revelation and sacerdotal
prescriptions on Mount Sinai. It is apparent that the circumstances
surrounding the patriarch’s reception of revelation described in the
second temple Enochic booklets were much loftier than the circum-
stances of the Mosaic encounter in the biblical narrative. While Moses
received Torah from the Lord on earth, the Enochic hero acquired his
revelation in the celestial realm, instructed there by angels and God.
In the biblical account the Lord descends to Moses’ realm to convey
his revelation to the seer, while Enoch is able to ascend to the divine
abode and behold the Throne of Glory. The advantage here is clearly
on the side of the Enochic hero.
Within the context of an ongoing competition, such a challenge could
not remain unanswered by custodians of the Mosaic tradition. The
non-biblical Mosaic lore demonstrates clear intentions of enhancing
the exalted profile of its hero. This tendency detectable in the non-
 in the mirror of the divine face 185

biblical Mosaic materials, of course, was not provoked solely by the

rival Enochic developments, but rather was facilitated by the presence
of a whole range of competitive exalted figures prominent in second
temple Judaism. Still, the challenge of the pseudepigraphic Enoch to
the biblical Moses cannot be underestimated, since the patriarch was the
possessor of an alternative esoteric revelation reflected in the body of
extensive literature that claimed its supremacy over Mosaic Torah.2
The aforementioned set of initial disadvantages in the fierce rivalry
might explain why the Mosaic tradition, in its dialogue with Enochic
lore and other second temple mediatorial developments, could not rest
on its laurels but had to develop further and adjust the story of its char-
acter, investing him with an angelic and even divine status comparable
to the elevated status of the rivals.
One of the significant early testimonies of this polemical interaction
between Mosaic and Enochic traditions has survived as a part of the
drama Exagoge,3 a writing attributed to Ezekiel the Tragedian that depicts

2
On the interaction between Enochic and Mosaic traditions, see: P. Alexander, “From
Son of Adam to a Second God: Transformation of the Biblical Enoch,”Biblical Figures
Outside the Bible (ed. M. E. Stone and T. A. Bergren; Harrisburg: Trinity Press International,
1998), 102–11; idem, “Enoch and the Beginnings of Jewish Interest in Natural
Science,” in: The Wisdom Texts from Qumran and the Development of Sapiental Thought (ed.
C. Hempel et al., BETL 159; Leuven: Peeters, 2002), 223–43; G. Boccaccini, Beyond the
Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways Between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 1998); A. Orlov, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition (TSAJ, 107; Tübingen: Mohr/
Siebeck, 2005), 254–303; J. VanderKam, Enoch: A Man for All Generations (Columbia:
South Carolina, 1995); idem, “The Interpretation of Genesis in 1 Enoch,” in: The Bible
at Qumran (ed. P. W. Flint and T. H. Kim; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 129–48.
As well, for two different discussions of Moses-like figures and their function and
transformations, see in this volume: Matthias Henze, “Torah and Eschatology in the
Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch,” 201–16 and Zuleika Rodgers, “Josephus’ ‘Theokratia’
and Mosaic Discourse,” 129–48.
3
On the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian, see S. N. Bunta, Moses, Adam and the Glory
of the Lord in Ezekiel the Tragedian: On the Roots of a Merkabah Text (Ph.D. Dissertation;
Marquette University, 2005); J. J. Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem (2nd ed.; Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 224–25; M. Gaster, The Samaritans. Their History, Doctrines and
Literature (London: Oxford University Press, 1925); I. Gruenwald, Apocalyptic and Merkavah
Mysticism (AGJU, 14; Leiden: Brill, 1980); Y. Gutman, The Beginnings of Jewish-Hellenistic
Literature (2 vols.; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1958–1963) [in Hebrew]; C. R. Holladay,
“The Portrait of Moses in Ezekiel the Tragedian,” SBLSP 10 (1976) 447–452; idem,
Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors: Vol. II, Poets (SBLTT, 30; Pseudepigrapha Series
12; Atlanta: Scholars, 1989), 439–49; P. W. van der Horst, “De Joodse toneelschrijver
Ezechiel,” Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 36 (1982): 97–112; idem, “Moses’ Throne
Vision in Ezekiel the Dramatist,” JJS 34 (1983): 21–29; idem, “Some Notes on the
Exagogue of Ezekiel,” Mnemosyne 37 (1984): 364–65; L. Hurtado, One God, One Lord:
Early Christian Devotion and Ancient Jewish Monotheism (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988),
58ff; H. Jacobson, “Mysticism and Apocalyptic in Ezekiel’s Exagoge,” ICS 6 (1981):
273–93; idem, The Exagoge of Ezekiel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983);
186 andrei orlov

the prophet’s experience at Sinai as his celestial enthronement. The

text seeks to enhance the features of the biblical Moses and attribute to
him some familiar qualities of the exalted figure of the seventh ante-
diluvian patriarch Enoch. Preserved in fragmentary form in Eusebius
of Caesarea’s4 Praeparatio evangelica,5 Exagoge 67–90 reads:
Moses: I had a vision of a great throne on the top of Mount Sinai and
it reached till the folds of heaven. A noble man was sitting on it, with a
crown and a large scepter in his left hand. He beckoned to me with his
right hand, so I approached and stood before the throne. He gave me the
scepter and instructed me to sit on the great throne. Then he gave me
a royal crown and got up from the throne. I beheld the whole earth all
around and saw beneath the earth and above the heavens. A multitude
of stars fell before my knees and I counted them all. They paraded past
me like a battalion of men. Then I awoke from my sleep in fear.
Raguel: My friend (ὦ ξένε), this is a good sign from God. May I live
to see the day when these things are fulfilled. You will establish a great
throne, become a judge and leader of men. As for your vision of the
whole earth, the world below and that above the heavens—this signifies
that you will see what is, what has been and what shall be.6

K. Kuiper, “De Ezekiele Poeta Iudaeo,” Mnemosyne 28 (1900): 237–80; idem, “Le
poète juif Ezéchiel,” Revue des études juives 46 (1903): 48–73, 161–77; P. Lanfranchi,
L’Exagoge d’Ezéchiel le Tragique: Introduction, texte, traduction et commentaire (SVTP, 21; Leiden:
Brill, 2006); W. A. Meeks, “Moses as God and King,” in: Religions in Antiquity: Essays
in Memory of Erwin Ramsdell Goodenough (ed. J. Neusner; Leiden: Brill, 1968), 354–71;
idem, The Prophet-King: Moses Traditions and the Johannine Christology (SNT 14; Leiden:
Brill, 1967); A. Orlov, “Ex 33 on God’s Face: A Lesson from the Enochic Tradition,”
SBLSP 39 (2000): 130–47; idem, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition (TSAJ, 107; Tübingen:
Mohr/Siebeck, 2005), 262–68; R. G. Robertson, “Ezekiel the Tragedian,” The Old
Testament Pseudepigrapha (2 vols.; ed. J. H. Charlesworth; New York: Doubleday, 1985
[1983]), 2.803–819; K. Ruffatto, “Raguel as Interpreter of Moses’ Throne Vision:
The Transcendent Identity of Raguel in the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian” (paper
presented at the annual meeting of the SBL, Philadelphia, 22 November 2005); idem,
“Polemics with Enochic Traditions in the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian,” JSP 15
(2006): 195–210; E. Starobinski-Safran, “Un poète judéo-hellénistique: Ezéchiel le
Tragique,” MH 3 (1974): 216–24; E. Vogt, Tragiker Ezechiel ( JSHRZ, 4.3; Gütersloh,
1983); M. Wiencke, Ezechielis Judaei poetae Alexandrini fabulae quae inscribitur Exagoge frag-
menta (Mümster: Monasterii Westfalorum, 1931); R. Van De Water, “Moses’ Exaltation:
Pre–Christian?” JSP 21 (2000): 59–69.
4
Eusebius preserves the seventeen fragments containing 269 iambic trimeter verses.
Unfortunately, the limited scope of our investigation does not allow us to reflect on
the broader context of Moses’ dream in the Exagoge.
5
The Greek text of the passage was published in several editions including: A.-M.
Denis, Fragmenta pseudepigraphorum quae supersunt graeca (PVTG, 3; Leiden: Brill, 1970), 210;
B. Snell, Tragicorum graecorum fragmenta I (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971)
288–301; Jacobson, The Exagoge of Ezekiel, 54; Holladay, Fragments, 362–66.
6
Jacobson, The Exagoge of Ezekiel, 54–55.
 in the mirror of the divine face 187

Wayne Meeks observes that, given its quotation by Alexander Polyhis-

tor (ca. 80–40 b.c.e.), this Mosaic account can be taken as a witness
to traditions of the second century b.c.e.7 Several characteristics of
the narrative suggest that its author was familiar with Enochic tradi-
tions and tried to attribute some features of the story of the seventh
antediluvian hero to Moses.8 This article will investigate the possible
connections between the Exagoge and the Enochic tradition.

Oneiromantic Dreams

In the study of the Enochic features of the Exagoge, one must examine
the literary form of this account. The first thing that catches the eye
here is that the Sinai encounter is now fashioned not as a real life experi-
ence “in a body,” as it was originally presented in the biblical accounts,
but as a dream-vision.9 This oneiromantic perspective of the narrative
immediately brings to mind the Enochic dreams-visions,10 particularly

7
Meeks, The Prophet-King, 149. See also Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish
Authors, 2.308–12.
8
Alexander, Gutman, Holladay, Meeks, Robertson, Ruffatto, and van der Horst
point to various Enochic parallels in the Exagoge. For a preliminary analysis of the
“Enochic” features of the Exagoge, see also A. Orlov, “Ex 33 on God’s Face,” 142–43;
idem, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition, 262–68.
9
The text unambiguously points to the fact that Moses acquired his vision in a
dream. In the Exagoge 82 the seer testified that he awoke from his sleep in fear.
10
Scholars have previously noted that already in early Enochic materials the
patriarch is depicted as an oneiromantic practitioner who receives his revelations in
dreams. Thus, when in the Book of the Watchers (1 Enoch 13:7–9a), Enoch describes
one of his dream experiences, it vividly recalls the model often attested in similar
cases of oneiromantic practices. The text reads: “And I went and sat down by the
waters of Dan in Dan which is south-west of Hermon; and I read out the record of
their petition until I fell asleep. And behold a dream (˜elm) came to me, and vision
fell upon me, and I saw a vision of wrath. . . .” M. Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch:
A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments (2 vols; Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1978), 1.45; 2.94. Other booklets of 1 Enoch also attest to the patriarch’s visions
as mantic dreams. Thus, when in 1 Enoch 83 and 85, the seventh antediluvian patri-
arch describes his revelations, the text makes explicit that these visions are received in
dreams. These passages also point to the fact that Enoch’s oneiromantic experiences
occurred throughout his lifetime, possibly even from his early days, which the seer spent
in the house of his grandfather Malalel. Later developments of this tradition reflected
in the Book of Jubilees and the Book of Giants also highlight dreams as important media
for the patriarch’s revelations. Thus, Jub. 4:19 alludes to a vision that Enoch received
in a sleep-dream in which he saw all the history of humankind until its eschatological
consummation: “While he [ Enoch] slept he saw in a vision what has happened and
what will occur—how things will happen for mankind during their history until the
188 andrei orlov

1 Enoch 14, in which the patriarch’s vision of the Kavod is fashioned as

an oneiromantic experience.11
Additional proof that Moses’ dream is oneiromantic in form and
nature is Raguel’s interpretation, which in the Exagoge follows immedi-
ately after Moses’ dream-vision. The interpretation represents a standard
feature of a mantic dream where the content of the received dream
must be explained by an oneirocritic. Raguel serves here as such an
oneirocritic—he discerns the message of the dream, telling the recipi-
ent (Moses) that his vision was positive.
It is also significant that the dream about the Sinai encounter in the
Exagoge is fashioned as a vision of the forthcoming event, an anticipa-
tion of the future glorious status and deeds of Moses. This prophetic
perspective is very common for Enochic accounts where the Sinai event
is often depicted as a future event in order to maintain the antediluvian
perspective of the narration. Thus, in the Animal Apocalypse (1 Enoch
85–90) Enoch receives a disclosure in his dream in which primeval and
Israelite history is unfolded through distinctive symbolic descriptions
involving zoomorphic imagery. In the course of the unfolding revela-
tion Enoch beholds the vision of the sheep ascending on the lofty rock
which, in the zoomorphic code of the Animal Apocalypse, symbolizes the
future ascent of the Israelite prophet on Mount Sinai to receive Torah
from God.

Heavenly Ascent

Another Enochic detail of the Exagoge is that Moses’ ascension in a

dream allows him not simply to travel to the top of the earthly moun-
tain but, in imitation of the seventh antediluvian hero, to transcend the
orbis terrarum, accessing the various extraterrestrial realms that include
the regions “beneath the earth and above the heavens.” The ascension
vividly recalls the early Enochic journeys in dream-visions to the upper
heavens, as well as the lower regions, where Enoch learns about the

day of judgment.” J. C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11,

Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 2.26–27.
11
Although dreams are not uncommon in classic Greek drama, the content of
the dream—vision suggests a Jewish rather than Greek background. On the use of
dreams in Greek drama in connection with the Exagoge, see: Starobinski-Safran, “Un
poète judéo-hellénistique: Ezéchiel le Tragique,” 216–24; Jacobson, “Mysticism and
Apocalyptic in Ezekiel’s Exagoge,” 273–93; Holladay, Fragments, 2.437.
 in the mirror of the divine face 189

upcoming judgment of the sinners.12 This profile of Moses as a traveler

above and beneath the earth is unknown in biblical accounts and most
likely comes from the early Enochic conceptual developments.
It should be noted that the imagery of celestial travel to the great
throne on the mountain recalls Enoch’s journeys in the Book of the
Watchers to the cosmic mountain, a site of the great throne of the divine
Kavod.13 Scholars have previously noted terminological similarities in the
throne language between the Enochic accounts and the Exagoge.14

Angelus Interpres

The visionary account of the prophet, which is now fashioned as a

celestial journey, also seems to require the presence of another char-
acter appropriate in such settings, the angelus interpres, whose role is to
assist the seer in understanding the upper reality. This new visionary
dimension appears to be reflected in the figure of Raguel.15 His strik-
ing interpretive omniscience recalls the expertise of the angel Uriel of
the Enochic accounts, who was able to help the seventh antediluvian
patriarch overcome initial fear and discern the proper meaning of the
revealed things.16 That Raguel might be understood as a supernatural
helper in the Exagoge is shown in his role of a direct participant in the
vision whose knowledge of the disclosed things, rather unexpectedly,
surpasses that of the seer and allows him to initiate the visionary into
the hidden meaning of the revealed reality.

12
See, for example, 1 Enoch 17–18.
13
The imagery of the divine throne situated on the mountain is widespread in the
Book of the Watchers and can be found, for example, in 1 Enoch 18:6–8 “And I went
towards the south—and it was burning day and night—where (there were) seven moun-
tains of precious stones. . . . And the middle one reached to heaven, like the throne of
the Lord, of stibium, and the top of the throne (was) of sapphire;” 1 Enoch 24:3 “And
(there was) a seventh mountain in the middle of these, and in their height they were
all like the seat of a throne, and fragrant trees surrounded it;” 1 Enoch 25:3 “And he
answered me, saying: ‘This high mountain which you saw, whose summit is like the
throne of the Lord, is the throne where the Holy and Great One, the Lord of Glory,
the Eternal King, will sit when he comes down to visit the earth for good.’ ” Knibb,
The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2.104; 2.113.
14
Holladay, Fragments, 2.440.
15
On the figure of Raguel as a possible angelic interpreter, see also Ruffatto, “Raguel
as Interpreter of Moses’ Throne Vision.”
16
Exagoge 82: “Then I awoke from my sleep in fear.” The awaking of a seer from a
vision-dream in fear is a common motif in the Enochic literature. See 1 Enoch 83:6–7;
90:41–42; 2 Enoch 1:6–7 (shorter recension).
190 andrei orlov

Another fact suggesting that Raguel might be an angelic interpreter

is that it is very unusual in Jewish traditions that a non-Jew interprets
dreams of a Jew. Howard Jacobson observes that
in the Bible nowhere does a non-Jew interpret a symbolic dream for a
Jew. . . . Such dreams when dreamt by Jews are usually assumed to be
understood by the dreamer (e.g. Joseph’s dreams) or else are interpreted
by some divine authority (e.g. Daniel 8).17
It is, however, not uncommon for a heavenly being to discern the proper
meaning of an Israelite’s visions. It is therefore possible that Raguel is
envisioned here as a celestial, not a human, interpreter.
In light of these considerations, it is possible that Raguel’s address,
which occupies the last part of the account, can be seen, at least struc-
turally, as a continuation of the previous vision. One detail that might
support such an arrangement is that in the beginning of his interpreta-
tion Raguel calls Moses ξένος,18 a Greek term which can be rendered
in English as “guest.”19 Such an address might well be interpreted here
as an angel’s address to a human visitor attending the upper celestial
realm which is normally alien to him.

Esoteric Knowledge

It has already been noted that the polemics between the Mosaic and
the Enochic tradition revolved around the primacy and supremacy of
revealed knowledge. The author of the Exagoge appears to challenge
the prominent esoteric status of Enochic lore and the patriarch’s role
as an expert in secrets by underlining the esoteric character of Mosaic
revelation and the prophet’s superiority in the mysteries of heaven and
earth. In Exagoge 85 Raguel tells the seer that his vision of the world
below and above signifies that he will see what is, what has been, and
what shall be.20 Wayne Meeks notes the connection of this statement of
Raguel with the famous expression “what is above and what is below;
what is before and what is behind; what was and what will be,” which

17
Jacobson, The Exagoge of Ezekiel, 92.
18
Jacobson and Robertson render the Greek word ξένος as “friend.”
19
Robertson suggests this rendering as one of the possible options. He writes that
“in addition to the more common meaning of the term, there are various levels of
usage, among which is the meaning ‘guest.’ ” Robertson, “Ezekiel the Tragedian,” 812,
note d2. See also Holladay, Fragments, 2.446.
20
Jacobson, The Exagoge of Ezekiel, 54–55.
 in the mirror of the divine face 191

was a standard designation for knowledge belonging to the esoteric

lore.21 Meeks draws attention22 to m. Æag. 2:1 where the prohibition of
discussing the esoteric lore,23 including the Account of the Creation
( ‫ )מעשה בראשית‬and the Account of the Chariot ( ‫)מעשה מרכבה‬,
is expressed through the following formula that closely resembles the
description found in the Exagoge: “Whosoever gives his mind to four
things it was better for him if he had not come into the world—what
is above? what is beneath? what was beforetime? and what will be
hereafter.”24
It is possible that the formulae expressed in m. Æag. 2:1 and the
Exagoge 85 might have their early roots in the Enochic lore, where the
patriarch’s mediation of esoteric knowledge encompasses the important
spatial dimensions of the realms above and beneath the earth as well as
the temporal boundaries of the antediluvian and eschatological times.25
In the Enochic materials one can also find some designations of esoteric
knowledge that might constitute the original background of the later
mishnaic formulae. Thus, in the section of the Book of the Similitudes
(1 Enoch 59–60) dealing with the secrets of the heavenly phenomena,
the angelus interpres reveals to Enoch the secret that is “first and last in
heaven, in the heights, and under the dry ground” (1 Enoch 60:11).26
These enigmatic formulations pertaining to the patriarch’s role as a

21
Sifre Zutta 84. See also 3 Enoch 10:5; 11:3.
22
Meeks, The Prophet-King, 208. See also van der Horst, “Moses’ Throne Vision
in Ezekiel the Dramatist,” 28; C. Fletcher-Louis, “4Q374: A Discourse on the Sinai
Tradition: The Deification of Moses and Early Christology,” DSD 3 (1996): 236–52,
esp. 246.
23
G. Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York: Schocken, 1954), 74.
24
H. Danby, The Mishnah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 213.
25
The patriarch’s mediating duties comprise a whole range of spatial and chrono-
logical dimensions. His functions as mediator are not confined to a particular realm
or a particular petitioner, since his clients include a range of divine, angelic, human,
and composite creatures situated in the underworld as well as in heaven. In the Book
of the Watchers faithful angels of heaven ask him to assist their brethren in the lower
realm. In the same text he mediates on behalf of the rebellious group which includes
the fallen Watchers and the Giants. Enoch’s mediating activities are also not limited
by specific chronological boundaries. He mediates in the generation of the Flood, but
he is also expected to be a mediator and a witness of divine judgment in the escha-
tological period. It appears that the patriarch is predestined to mediate judgment in
two significant temporal loci. One of them is the historical locus associated with the
generation of the Flood; in this locale Enoch acts as an intercessor and a writer of
testimonies to the Watchers, Giants and humans. The second locus is eschatological
and involves Enoch’s future role as witness of eschatological divine judgment.
26
Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2.144.
192 andrei orlov

possesor of esoteric wisdom27 would never be forgotten in the Enochic

lore and could be found even in the later rabbinic compositions deal-
ing with the afterlife of the seventh antediluvian hero, including the
already mentioned Sefer Hekhalot, which would depict Enoch-Metatron
instructed by God in “the wisdom of those above and of those below,
the wisdom of this world and of the world to come.”28
In light of the passage found in the Exagoge, it is possible that its
author, who shows familiarity with the earlier form of the Mishnaic
formula, attempts to fashion the Mosaic revelation as an esoteric tradi-
tion, similar to the Enochic lore.29

Heavenly Counterpart

The placement of Moses on the great throne in the Exagoge account30

and his donning of the royal regalia have been often interpreted by

27
On the role of the seventh antediluvian hero as an expert in the esoteric lore, see:
Orlov, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition, 31–34; 48–50; 101–104; 188–200.
28
Alexander, “3 Enoch,” 264.
29
The insistence of some extra-biblical Mosaic accounts on the fact that the prophet
ascended to heaven might be directed towards constructing the Mosaic disclosure as
an esoteric tradition in order to secure the superiority of his revelation. Wayne Meeks
observes that “the most common function of ascension stories in literature of the period
and milieu we are considering is a guarantee of esoteric tradition. In the apocalyptic
genre the ascension of the ‘prophet’ or of the ancient worthy in whose name the book
is written is an almost invariable introduction to the description of the secrets which
the ascendant one ‘saw.’ The secrets, therefore, whose content may vary from descrip-
tions of the cosmic and political events anticipated at the end of days to cosmological
details, are declared to be of heavenly origin, not mere earthly wisdom. This pattern
is the clear sign of a community which regards its own esoteric lore as inaccessible to
ordinary reason but belonging to a higher order of truth. It is clear beyond dispute
that this is one function which the traditions of Moses’ ascension serves.” Meeks adds
that in the later rabbinic accounts “the notion that Moses received cosmological secrets
led to elaborate descriptions of his ‘heavenly journeys,’ very similar to those attributed
elsewhere to Enoch.” Meeks, “Moses as God and King,” 367–68.
30
The imagery of Moses’ enthronement is not confined solely to the Exagoge account
but can be found also in other extra-biblical materials. Thus, Crispin Fletcher-Louis
draws attention to a parallel in the Jewish Orphica: an exalted figure, apparently Moses,
is also placed on the celestial throne. C. Fletcher-Louis, All the Glory of Adam: Liturgical
Anthropology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 42; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 137; M. Lafargue,
“Orphica,” The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (2 vols.; ed. J. H. Charlesworth; New York:
Doubleday, 1985 [1983]), 2.796–7. Orphica 26–41 reads: “. . . a certain unique man, an
offshoot from far back of the race of the Chaldeans . . . yes he after this is established in
the great heaven on a golden throne. He stands with his feet on the earth. He stretches
out his right hand to the ends of the ocean. The foundation of the mountains trembles
within at [his] anger, and the depths of the gray sparkling sea. They cannot endure
the mighty power. He is entirely heavenly, and he brings everything to completion on
 in the mirror of the divine face 193

scholars as the prophet’s occupation of the seat of the Deity. Pieter

van der Horst remarks that in the Exagoge Moses become “an anthro-
pomorphic hypostasis of God himself.”31 The uniqueness of the motif
of God’s vacating the throne and transferring occupancy to someone
else has puzzled scholars for a long time.32 An attempt to deal with this
enigma by bringing in the imagery of the vice-regent does not, in my
judgment, completely solve the problem. The vice-regents in Jewish
traditions (for example, Metatron) do not normally occupy God’s throne
but instead have their own glorious chair, which sometimes serves as a
replica of the divine Seat. It seems that the enigmatic identification of
the prophet with the divine Form can be best explained not through the
concept of a vice-regent but through the notion of a heavenly twin or
counterpart. Before investigating this concept in the Exagoge, we need
to provide some background for this tradition in Enochic materials.
Scholars have previously observed33 that Chapter 71 of the Book of
Similitudes seems to entertain the idea of the heavenly twin of a vision-
ary in identifying Enoch with the son of man, an enthroned messianic
figure.34 For a long time scholars have found it puzzling that the son
of man, distinguished in the previous chapters of the Similitudes from

earth, being ‘the beginning, the middle, and the end,’ as the saying of the ancients, as
the one water-born has described it, the one who received [revelations] from God in
aphorisms, in the form of a double law. . . .” Lafargue, “Orphica,” 2.799–800.
31
van der Horst. “Some Notes on the Exagoge,” 364.
32
van der Horst, “Throne Vision,” 25; Holladay, Fragments, 444.
33
See J. VanderKam, “Righteous One, Messiah, Chosen One, and Son of Man
in 1 Enoch 37–71,” in: The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity: The
First Princeton Symposium on Judaism and Christian Origins (ed. J. H. Charlesworth et al.;
Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 182–83; M. Knibb, “Messianism in the Pseudepigrapha
in the Light of the Scrolls,” DSD 2 (1995): 177–80; J. Fossum, The Image of the Invisible
God: Essays on the Influence of Jewish Mysticism on Early Christology (NTOA 30; Fribourg:
Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz; Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995), 144–5;
Fletcher-Louis, Luke-Acts, 151. On a heavenly double see also W. Bousset, Die Religion
des Judentums im späthellenistischen Zeitalter (3d ed.; HNT 21; Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck,
1966), 324; A. Orlov, “The Face as the Heavenly Counterpart of the Visionary in
the Slavonic Ladder of Jacob,” in: Of Scribes and Sages (2 vols.; ed. C. A. Evans; T&T
Clark, 2004), 2.59–76; idem, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition, 165–76.
34
It is important to note that in the Similitudes, the son of man is depicted as the
one seated on the Throne of Glory. See 1 Enoch 62:5, 1 Enoch 69:29. Jarl Fossum
observes that “in the ‘Similitudes’ the ‘Elect One’ or ‘Son of Man’ who is identified
as the patriarch Enoch, is enthroned upon the ‘throne of glory.’ If ‘glory’ does not
qualify the throne but its occupant, Enoch is actually identified with the Glory of God”.
Fossum further suggests that “. . . the ‘Similitudes of Enoch’ present an early parallel to
the targumic description of Jacob being seated upon the ‘throne of glory.’ ’’ Fossum,
The Image of the Invisible God, 145.
194 andrei orlov

Enoch, is suddenly identified with the patriarch in 1 Enoch 71. James

VanderKam suggests that this paradox can be explained by the Jew-
ish notion, attested in several ancient Jewish texts, that a creature of
flesh and blood could have a heavenly double or counterpart.35 As
an example, VanderKam points to Jacob’s traditions in which the
patriarch’s “features are engraved on high.”36 He observes that the
theme of the visionary’s ignorance of his higher celestial identity is
also detectable in the pseudepigraphic text the Prayer of Joseph where
Jacob is identified with his heavenly counterpart, the angel Israel.
VanderKam’s reference to Jacob lore is not coincidental. Conceptions of
the heavenly image or counterpart of a seer take their most consistent
form in Jacob traditions.37
In view of the aforementioned traditions about the heavenly twins
of Enoch and Jacob, it is possible that the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tra-
gedian also attests to the idea of a heavenly counterpart of the seer
when it identifies Moses with the glorious anthropomorphic extent. We
may recall that the text depicts Moses’ vision of “a noble man” with a
crown and a large scepter in the left hand installed on a great throne.
In the course of the seer’s initiation, the attributes of the “noble man,”
including the royal crown and the scepter, are transferred to Moses who
is instructed to sit on the throne formerly occupied by the noble man.
The visionary is clearly identified with his heavenly counterpart in the

35
VanderKam, “Righteous One, Messiah, Chosen One, and Son of Man in 1 Enoch
37–71,” 182–83.
36
The metaphor of “engraving” on the Kavod might signify here that the seer’s
identity became reflected in the divine Face, as in a mirror.
37
Besides the biblical account, the traditions concerning Jacob’s celestial double are
also presented in the pseudepigraphical materials such as the Prayer of Joseph and the
Ladder of Jacob and in several targumic texts, including Tg. Ps.-J., Tg. Neof., and Frg. Tg.
In Tg. Ps.-J. to Gen 28:12, the following description can be found: “He [ Jacob] had
a dream, and behold, a ladder was fixed in the earth with its top reaching toward the
heavens . . . and on that day they (angels) ascended to the heavens on high, and said,
‘Come and see Jacob the pious, whose image is fixed (engraved) in the Throne of Glory,
and whom you have desired to see.’ ” Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis (tr. M. Maher,
M.S.C.; The Aramaic Bible 1B; Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1992), 99–100. A
distinctive feature of this description is that the heavenly counterpart of Jacob, his
“image,” is engraved on the Throne of Glory. Engraving on the Throne indicates
here an association with the Kavod since the Throne is the central part of the Kavod
imagery—the seat of the anthropomorphic Glory of the Lord. Besides the tradition of
engraving on the Throne, some Jewish materials point to an even more radical iden-
tification of Jacob’s image with the Kavod. Jarl Fossum’s research demonstrates that in
some traditions about Jacob, his image or likeness is depicted, not simply as engraved
on the heavenly throne, but as seated upon the throne of glory. Fossum argues that this
second tradition is original. See Fossum, The Image of the Invisible God, 139–42.
 in the mirror of the divine face 195

narrative, in the course of which the seer literally takes the place and
the attributes of his upper identity. The account also underlines that
Moses acquired his vision in a dream, by reporting that he awoke from
his sleep in fear. Here, just as in the Jacob tradition, while the seer is
sleeping on earth his counterpart in the upper realm is identified with
the Kavod.38

Stars and Fallen Angels

The Exagoge depicts Moses as a counter of the stars. The text also seems
to put great emphasis on the prophet’s interaction with the celestial
bodies that fell before Moses’ knees and even paraded past him like a
battalion of men. Such “astronomical” encounters are unknown in the
biblical Mosaic accounts. At the same time preoccupation of the seventh
antediluvian patriarch with astronomical and cosmological calculations
and lore is well known and constitutes a major subject of his revelations
in the earliest Enochic booklets, such as the Astronomical Book and the
Book of the Watchers, in which the patriarch is depicted as the counter
of stars.39 The later Enochic and Merkabah materials also demonstrate
that the patriarch’s expertise in counting and measuring celestial and
earthly phenomena becomes a significant conceptual avenue for his
future exaltation as an omniscient vice-regent of the Deity40 who knows
and exercises authority over the “orders of creations.”41
The depiction of stars falling before Moses’ knees also seems relevant
for the subject of this investigation, especially in view of the symbolism

38
It cannot be excluded, though, that the Exagoge authors might have known the
traditions of the patriarch’s enthronement in heaven, similar to those reflected in the
Similitudes. Also, it cannot be excluded that the Mesopotamian proto-Enochic traditions,
in which the prototype of Enoch, the king Enmeduranki, was installed on a throne
in the assembly of gods, might have influenced the imagery found in the Exagoge.
Pieter van der Horst in his analysis of the Exagoge entertains the possibility that “. . . in
pre-Christian times there were (probably rival) traditions about Enoch and Moses as
synthronoi theou; and . . . these ideas were suppressed (for obvious reasons) by the rabbis.”
van der Horst, “Throne Vision,” 27.
39
1 Enoch 33:2–4.
40
See Synopse §66 (3 Enoch 46:1–2).
41
See 2 Enoch 40:2–4: “I know everything, and everything I have written down in
books, the heavens and their boundaries and their contents. And all the armies and
their movements I have measured. And I have recorded the stars and the multitude of
multitudes innumerable. What human being can see their circles and their phases? For
not even the angels know their number. But I have written down all their names. . . .”
Andersen, “2 Enoch,” 1.164.
196 andrei orlov

found in some Enochic booklets where the fallen angels are often
portrayed as stars. Thus, for example, the already mentioned Animal
Apocalypse depicts the descent of the Watchers as the vision of stars fall-
ing down from heaven: “. . . I saw heaven above, and behold, a star fell
from heaven . . . and again I saw in the vision and looked at heaven, and
behold, I saw many stars, how they came down. . . .” (1 Enoch 86).42
If we assume that in the Exagoge stars indeed signify angels and even
more precisely fallen angels, the vision of the fallen angels genuflecting
before Moses’ feet might again invoke the memory of some Enochic
developments, since the motif of angelic veneration of a seer by the
fallen angels plays a significant role in some Enochic materials. The
memory of this important motif is present even in the later “Enochic”
compositions of the rabbinic period, for example in Sefer Hekhalot, where
the following tradition of Enoch’s veneration by the fallen angels can
be found:
R. Ishmael said: I said to Metatron: “. . . You are greater than all the
princes, more exalted than all the angels, more beloved than all the
ministers . . . why, then, do they call you ‘Youth’ in the heavenly heights?”
He answered, “Because I am Enoch, the son of Jared . . . the Holy One,
blessed be he, appointed me in the height as a prince and a ruler among
the ministering angels. Then three of the ministering angels, {Uzzah,
{Azzah, and {Azaxel, came and laid charges against me in the heavenly
height. They said before the Holy One, blessed be He, ‘Lord of the
Universe, did not the primeval ones give you good advice when they said,
Do not create man!’ . . . And once they all arose and went to meet me and
prostrated themselves before me, saying ‘Happy are you, and happy your
parents, because your Creator has favored you.’ Because I am young in
their company and mere youth among them in days and months and
years—therefore they call me ‘Youth’.” Synopse §§5–6.43
It is striking that in this passage, Enoch-Metatron is venerated by angelic
beings whose names ({Uzzah, {Azzah, and {Azaxel) are reminiscent of
the names of the notorious leaders of the fallen angels found in the
early Enochic lore that are rendered by the zoomorphic code of the
Animal Apocalypse as the stars. The tradition of angelic veneration has
rather early roots in the Enochic lore and can be found in 2 Enoch 22
where the patriarch’s transformation into the heavenly counterpart, like
in the Exagoge, is accompanied by angelic veneration. In this account

42
Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2.196–97.
43
Alexander, “3 Enoch,” 1.258–59.
 in the mirror of the divine face 197

the Lord invites Enoch to stand forever before His Face. In the course
of this initiation, the Deity orders the angels of heaven to venerate
the patriarch.44
Another account of angelic veneration is found in 2 Enoch 7 where
the patriarch is venerated not simply by celestial angels but the fallen
ones. 2 Enoch 7:3 depicts Enoch carried by angels to the second heaven.
There the patriarch sees the condemned angels kept as prisoners await-
ing the “measureless judgment.” Enoch’s angelic guides explain to him
that the prisoners are “those who turned away from the Lord, who
did not obey the Lord’s commandments, but of their own will plotted
together and turned away with their prince and with those who are
under restraint in the fifth heaven.”45 The story continues with angelic
veneration. The condemned angels bow down to Enoch asking for his
intercession: “Man of God, pray for us to the Lord!”46
It should be noted that, although the motif of angelic veneration
has its roots in the Adamic lore,47 the theme of veneration by the fallen
angels might be a peculiar Enochic development. Moreover, it seems
that the initial traits of this theological development in which the fallen
angels “fall before the knees” of the seventh antediluvian patriarch can
be already found in the earliest Enochic booklets, including the Book of
the Watchers, where the fallen Watchers approach the patriarch begging
him for help and intercession.

44
Andersen, “2 Enoch,” 1.138.
45
Andersen, “2 Enoch,” 1.114.
46
Andersen, “2 Enoch,” 1.114.
47
On the Adamic background of the motif of angelic veneration, see M. E. Stone,
“The Fall of Satan and Adam’s Penance: Three Notes on the Books of Adam and Eve,”
JTS 44 (1993): 143–56; G. Anderson, “The Exaltation of Adam and the Fall of Satan,”
in: Literature on Adam and Eve. Collected Essays (ed. G. Anderson, M. Stone, J. Tromp; SVTP
15; Brill: Leiden, 2000), 83–110; A. Orlov, “On the Polemical Nature of 2 (Slavonic)
Enoch: A Reply to C. Bottrich,” JSJ 34 (2003): 274–303. On the motif of angelic
veneration in rabbinic literature see, also A. Altmann, “The Gnostic Background of
the Rabbinic Adam Legends,” JQR 35 (1945): 371–91; B. Barc, “La taille cosmique
d’Adam dans la littérature juive rabbinique des trois premiers siècles apres J.-C.,” RSR
49 (1975): 173–85; J. Fossum, “The Adorable Adam of the Mystics and the Rebuttals of
the Rabbis,” Geschichte-Tradition-Reflexion. Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag (2
vols; ed. H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger and P. Schäfer; Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck, 1996),
1.529–39; G. Quispel, “Der gnostische Anthropos und die jüdische Tradition,” Eranos
Jahrbuch 22 (1953): 195–234; idem, “Ezekiel 1:26 in Jewish Mysticism and Gnosis,” VC
34 (1980): 1–13; A. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early Rabbinic Reports about Christianity
and Gnosticism (SJLA 25; Leiden: Brill, 1977) 108–15.
198 andrei orlov

Transformation of the Seer’s Face

In the second temple Jewish materials, the transformation of a seer

into his heavenly counterpart often involves the change of his bodily
appearance. It may happen even in a dream as, for example, in the
Similitudes’ account of the heavenly counterpart where, although Enoch’s
journey was “in spirit,” his “body was melted” and, as a result, he
acquired the identity of the son of man.48 A similar change of the
visionary’s identity might be also discernible in the Exagoge where
the already mentioned designation of Moses as ξένος occurs. Besides the
meanings of “friend” and “guest,” this Greek word also can be trans-
lated as “stranger.”49 If the Exagoge authors indeed had in mind this
meaning of ξένος, it might well be related to the fact that Moses’ face
or his body underwent some sort of transformation that altered his
previous physical appearance and made him appear as a stranger to
Raguel. The motif of Moses’ altered identity after his encounter with
the Kavod is reflected not only in Exod 34, but also in extra-biblical
Mosaic accounts, including the tradition found in Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical
Antiquities 12:1. The passage tells that the Israelites failed to recognize
Moses after his glorious metamorphosis on Mount Sinai:
Moses came down. (Having been bathed with light that could not be
gazed upon, he had gone down to the place where the light of the sun
and the moon are. The light of his face surpassed the splendor of the sun
and the moon, but he was unaware of this). When he came down to
the children of Israel, upon seeing him they did not recognize him. But
when he had spoken, then they recognized him.50
The motif of the shining countenance of Moses is important for our
ongoing discussion of the polemics between Enochic and Mosaic tradi-
tions that were striving to enhance the profiles of their main characters
with features borrowed from the hero of the rival trend. This distinctive
mark of the Israelite prophet’s identity, his glorious face, which served
in Biblical accounts as the undeniable proof of his encounter with God,

48
1 Enoch 71:11.
49
Robertson points to this possibility in “Ezekiel the Tragedian,” 812, note d2.
50
H. Jacobson, A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum with Latin Text
and English Translation (AGAJU 31; 2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 1.110. For a discussion
of the significance of Moses’ altered face in Jewish and Christian exegesis, please see
in this volume: George van Kooten, “Why Did Paul Include an Exegesis of Moses’
Shining Face (Exod 34) in 2 Cor 3?” 149–82.
 in the mirror of the divine face 199

later became appropriated in the framework of Enochic51 and Metatron52

traditions as the chief distinguishing feature of the Enochic hero. In this
new development Moses’ shining face became nothing more than the
later imitation of the glorious countenance of Enoch-Metatron. Thus,
in Sefer Hekhalot 15B, Enoch-Metatron tells Moses about his shining vis-
age: “Son of Amram, fear not! For already God favors you. Ask what
you will with confidence and boldness, for light shines from the skin of
your face from one end of the world to the other.”53
Here, as in the case of very few distinctive visionaries who were
predestined to encounter their heavenly counterparts and to behold
the Divine Face like their own reflection in a mirror, Moses too finds
out that his luminous face is a reflection of the glorious face of the
deity. Yet, there is one important difference: this Divine Face is now
represented by his long-lasting contender, Enoch-Metatron.54

51
In 2 Enoch the motif of the luminous face of the seer was transferred for the first
time to the seventh antediluvian patriarch. The text tells that the vision of the divine
Face had dramatic consequences for Enoch’s appearance. His body endures radical
changes as it becomes covered with the divine light. In Enoch’s radiant metamor-
phosis before the divine Countenance, an important detail can be found which links
Enoch’s transformation with Moses’ account in the Book of Exodus. In 2 Enoch 37
one learns about the unusual procedure performed on Enoch’s face at the final stage
of his encounter with the Lord. The text informs us that the Lord called one of his
senior angels to chill the face of Enoch. The text says that the angel was “terrifying
and frightful,” and appeared frozen; he was as white as snow, and his hands were as
cold as ice. With these cold hands he then chilled the patriarch’s face. Right after this
chilling procedure, the Lord informs Enoch that if his face had not been chilled here,
no human being would have been able to look at him. This reference to the dangerous
radiance of Enoch’s face after his encounter with the Lord is an apparent parallel to
the incandescent face of Moses after the Sinai experience in Exodus 34.
52
Synopse §19 (3 Enoch 15:1) depicts the radiant metamorphosis of Enoch–Metatron’s
face: “When the Holy One, blessed be he, took me to serve the throne of glory, the
wheels of the chariot and all the needs of the Shekinah, at once my flesh turned to
flame, my sinews to blazing fire, my bones to juniper coals, my eyelashes to lightning
flashes, my eyeballs to fiery torches, the hairs of my head to hot flames, all my limbs
to wings of burning fire, and the substance of my body to blazing fire.” Alexander,
“3 Enoch,” 267.
53
3 Enoch 15B:5. Alexander, “3 Enoch,” 304.
54
Scholars have observed that in the Merkabah tradition Metatron is explicitly
identified as the hypostatic Face of God. On Metatron as the hypostatic Face of God,
see A. De Conick, “Heavenly Temple Traditions and Valentinian Worship: A Case
for First-Century Christology in the Second Century,” The Jewish Roots of Christological
Monotheism (ed. C. C. Newman, J. R. Davila, G. S. Lewis; JSJSup 63; Brill: Leiden,
1999), 329; D. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision
(TSAJ 16; Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck, 1988), 424–25.
 TORAH AND ESCHATOLOGY IN THE
SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH *

Matthias Henze
Rice University, USA

1. Torah and Eschatology

The Syriac (Apocalypse of ) Baruch, or 2 Baruch, purports to be written by

Baruch, scribe and loyal supporter of the prophet Jeremiah. In it he
tells of the sixth century b.c.e. Babylonian invasion of Jerusalem and
of the destruction of the Solomonic Temple. The reader knows all the
while, however, that Baruch is the pseudonym of an otherwise unknown
Jewish intellectual who wrote in the late first century c.e. in the after-
math of the Roman destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. Syriac Baruch,
one of a number of writings that have come down to us from this pivotal
moment in early Jewish history, succinctly captures the Zeitgeist of the
period, a time of mental reorientation and religious reconstruction.
Syriac Baruch concludes with an epistle sent by Baruch to the Jews
in exile, known as the Letter to the Nine and a Half Tribes (2 Baruch
78–87). Speaking in the voice of Baruch, our author provides the fol-
lowing, somewhat sobering assessment of his own time:
Know, then, that in former times and former generations, our fathers
had righteous helpers and holy Prophets. What is more, we resided in
our land, and they helped us when we were sinning. They implored our
Creator on our behalf, because they trusted in their works. The Mighty
One heard their prayers and was gracious unto us. Now, however, the
righteous have been gathered and the Prophets have fallen asleep. We
have departed from our land, and Zion has been taken away from us.
We have left nothing at all except for the Mighty One and His Torah. If,
therefore, we direct our hearts and set them aright, then we will receive
everything that we have lost—indeed, much better things than we have
lost, many times over. For what we have lost was subject to corruption,
whereas what we are about to receive is incorruptible (85:1–5).1

* I would like to thank Professors George Brooke, Hindy Najman, and Loren
Stuckenbruck for having organized a focused and productive conference in the beauti-
ful surroundings of Durham.
1
All translations of 2 Baruch are mine. The Syriac text, with the exception of the
Epistle, has been edited by Sven Dedering, “Apocalypse of Baruch,” The Old Testament
202 matthias henze

This passage brings up a few theologumena that are central to 2 Baruch as

a whole. I mention four. The first is the dire statement that the present is
a time of loss: the land, the temple, the kingdom—everything has been
lost. Even prophecy in its traditional form has ceased to exist, as the
Prophets have fallen asleep. What remains is God and the Torah: “We
have left nothing at all except for the Mighty One and His Torah.”2 The
author of 2 Baruch is a strong advocate of a Torah–centered Judaism,
and the admonition to observe Torah is a constant theme in his book.
“Your Torah is life, your wisdom is rectitude” (38:2), Baruch exclaims.
Those who live by the Torah will be amply rewarded. The Torah is a
source of wisdom and trust in God, and the possession of the Torah is
the distinguishing characteristic between Israel and the nations. Earlier
in the book Baruch concludes a prayer with the words,
In you we put our trust because your Torah is with us. We know that we
will not fall as long as we observe your statues. Always we are blessed,
because we did not mingle with the people. For we are all One people,
renowned, who have received One Torah from the One [God ]. That
Torah, which is in our midst, is our helper; the surpassing wisdom that
is among us will sustain us (48:22–24).
The second theologumenon that is brought up in our passage is the apoca-
lyptic promise of a complete restoration, the promise of a better reality,
the World to Come, which is thought to be imminent. For the author
of 2 Baruch, the losses of the present were so grave, and the situation
so dire, that a full restoration within the bounds of history had become
too much to hope for. To be sure, Baruch is confident that all losses
will eventually be recovered, in fact many times over, and, even better,
what is corruptible now will be incorruptible then. But this can only
happen with God’s intervention at the inauguration of a new aeon. The
book is drenched with expectation, a pervasive sense that something
great is about to happen. Our author has a developed interest in the
eschaton, not for the sake of predicting the future, but rather in order to
spell out how such knowledge about the End Time has an immediate
effect on the Mean Time, i.e., the time of the author and his original
audience. After all, the apocalyptic promise is just that, a promise that

in Syriac (Leiden: Brill, 1973), par. 4, fasc. 3. My translation of the Epistle follows
the Syriac text in Robert H. Charles, The Apocalypse of Baruch Translated from the Syriac
(London: Adam and Charles Black, 1896).
2
Robert H. Charles, “II Baruch,” in APOT 2.525, observed that land, sanctuary
and David’s kingdom were conditional, whereas the “law was Israel’s everlasting and
unconditional possession.”
 torah and eschatology in the SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH 203

seeks to motivate and to encourage the faithful. In some of the book’s

most poignant passages our author describes what lies in store for the
righteous who look to the World to Come:
The expanses of Paradise will be spread out before their eyes, and they
will be shown the majestic beauty of the living creatures which are
beneath the throne, as well as all the angelic hosts, those now held by my
word, lest they reveal themselves, and those held by [my] command, so
that they stay in their places until the arrival of their advent (51:11).
Third, the language in the passage quoted above is explicitly Deutero-
nomic. “If we direct our hearts and set them aright, then we will receive
everything we have lost.” Syriac Baruch is steeped in Deuteronomic
theology. The destruction and loss Israel is presently experiencing are
signs of God’s anger and punishment for Israel’s sin. Our author follows
the basic Deuteronomic scheme of sin, punishment, repentance and
restoration, and fully embraces traditional Deuteronomic categories.3
Torah observance stands at the center of the book; the righteous will
be rewarded and the wicked severely punished; and, most patently,
Baruch, the hero of our book, is depicted throughout Syriac Baruch as
a latter-day Moses, whose task is to guide what is left of Israel not into
the promised land, but into the World to Come.4 How closely the figure
of Baruch is modeled after that of Moses in the Book of Deuteronomy
is perhaps nowhere more obvious than in the final command Baruch
receives from God. “Ascend to the top of this mountain. All the places
of this earth will file past you, the likeness of the inhabited world, the
top of the mountains, the depth of the valleys, the depths of the sea,
and the number of the rivers. You will see what you are leaving and
where you are going. This will happen after forty days” (76:3–4; cf.
Deut 32:48–52).

3
George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Torah and the Deuteronomistic Scheme on the
Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha,” in Das Gesetz im frühen Judentum und im Neuen Testament:
Festschrift für Christoph Burchard zum 75. Geburtstag (ed. D. Sänger and M. Konradt;
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht; Fribourg: Academic Press, 2006), 222–35; the
classic study on the subject remains, of course, Ed P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism:
A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (London: SCM Press, 1977), 233–428.
4
Matthias Henze, “From Jeremiah to Baruch: Pseudepigraphy in the Syriac Apocalypse
of Baruch,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed.
C. Hempel and J. Lieu; JSJSup 111; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 157–77. For other discussions
of Moses-like figures and their functions and transformations in the unfolding tradition,
see in this volume: Eva Mroczek, “Moses, David, and Scribal Revelation,” 91–115, esp.
109–15; Andrei Orlov, “In the Mirror of the Divine Face,” 183–200; and Zuleika
Rodgers, “Josephus’ ‘Theokratia’ and Mosaic Discourse,” 129–48.
204 matthias henze

Fourth and finally, 2 Baruch is a storehouse of diverse traditions, an

inter-textual wonderland. Like very few other Jewish Pseudepigrapha
(the Book of Parables in 1 Enoch 37–71 readily comes to mind), Syriac
Baruch is an amalgam of diverse and at times contradictory traditions
which are here woven together into the fabric of our text. Two of these
traditions, each highly diverse in itself, are the call to Torah obedience
and the strong eschatological outlook of 2 Baruch. This, it seems to me,
is the most original contribution of Syriac Baruch to the theme of this
volume, namely the way in which our author integrates Torah and
eschatology. In 2 Baruch, Deuteronomic theology, particularly the call
on Israel to live in accordance with the Mosaic Torah and to choose
life over death, has become the central aspect of the book’s apocalyptic
world view.5 Our author manages to harmonize two distinct strands
of early Jewish thought which, by modern literary standards, are not
harmonious but appear to be mutually exclusive, to the extent that they
are normally kept in segregation: the Deuteronomic promise to those who
follow Torah that they will be rewarded with a long and prosperous
life, and the apocalyptic promise that this life will soon come to an end.
The author of 2 Baruch sees no contradiction here but finds the two
to be fully compatible.
Students of 2 Baruch have long wondered what the “central theme” of
our book is—Torah and the temple, theodicy, and the failure of God’s
promises to come true have all been candidates.6 Instead of looking for
a single unifying theme, however, we may learn even more about the
book when we appreciate its diverse character and observe how the
author was able to conflate such remarkably disparate theological tradi-
tions in one coherent book. How, then, was he able to do this in the
case of Torah and eschatology?

5
It is not difficult to find in the Book of Deuteronomy passages that express a strong
hope for the future and therefore readily lend themselves to an eschatological reworking
of the kind we find in 2 Baruch. On one of these passages, Deut 30:1–10, see Mark Z.
Brettler, “Predestination in Deuteronomy 30.1–10,” in Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The
Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (ed. L. S. Schearing and S. L. McKenzie; JSOTSup
268; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 171–88. For a discussion of eschatologi-
cal interpretation in other Jewish contexts, see in this volume, Diana Lipton, “God’s
Back!” 287–311, for the rabbinic context, and Marcus Tso, “The Giving of the Torah
and the Ethics of the Qumran Community,” 117–128, esp. 126–27, for eschatology
and community identity at Qumran.
6
George W. E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature Between the Bible and the Mishnah: A
Historical and Literary Introduction (2nd edition; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005),
277–83; Gwendolyn B. Sayler, Have the Promises Failed? A Literary Analysis of 2 Baruch
(SBLDS 72; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1984).
 torah and eschatology in the SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH 205

For the author of 2 Baruch, Torah observance is Israel’s only way to

righteousness. The idea is expressed repeatedly in a number of memo-
rable passages. Early in the book Baruch recalls how Moses “brought
the Torah to the descendants of Jacob and lit the lamp for the people
of Israel” (17:4), “that light in which nothing can err” (19:3). At another
point he speaks eloquently of “the perfume of righteousness that comes
from the Torah” (67:6). Exactly what the author has in mind when he
calls on Israel to observe the Torah remains somewhat nebulous. The
reader looks in vain for any concrete references to certain legal posi-
tions or halakhic disputes, say, regarding the Temple, the calendar or
the holidays. The call to heed the Torah in Syriac Baruch is not designed
to advocate a certain halakhic position or to take a firm stand on a
matter of legal dispute. Instead, it remains somewhat general. What
matters to our author is the observance of Torah as such, and that
this leads to good works. This, he emphasizes, was already true for the
Prophets. In the passage quoted at the beginning of the paper, Baruch
remembers the Prophets who have now fallen asleep. They are missed
sorely because they were intercessors before God on Israel’s behalf.
The Prophets were able to stand before God because of the confidence
they had in their works. “They implored our creator on our behalf,
because they trusted in their works” (85:2). The same, Baruch asserts,
will also be true in the End Time, only that the award for the faithful
will be even greater. God responds to Baruch’s probing questions with
the following promise:
Miracles will appear at their own time to those who are saved by their
works, to those for whom the Torah is hope, intelligence, expectation, and
for whom wisdom is trust. They shall see that world which is now invisible
to them, and they will see a time now hidden from them (51:7–8).
While keeping the Torah and doing good works is a constant in Israel’s
history that ought to prevail beyond the year 70 c.e., Baruch insists
that now there is an added eschatological urgency. Torah observance
versus rejection of the Torah is the only factor that will decide over
who enters into the kingdom and who does not. The author of Syriac
Baruch substituted the eschatological reward for earthly prosperity as
the blessing for those who keep the covenant.7 Those who “are now
found righteous in [God’s] Torah” will “receive the world that does
not die” (51:3). Yet Baruch also prays, “Justly do they perish who

7
Frederick J. Murphy, The Structure and Meaning of Second Baruch (SBLDS 78; Atlanta:
Scholars Press, 1985), 9.
206 matthias henze

have not loved your Torah; torment of judgment awaits those who
have not subjected themselves to your power” (54:14). A little Ramiel
explains, “the lamp of the eternal Torah enlightened all who sat in
darkness; it informs the believers of their reward and the apostates of
the fiery torment that is reserved for them” (59:2). Indeed, Baruch has
harsh words for the wicked. “[T]heir end shall convict them, and your
Torah, which they have transgressed, will exact vengeance from them
on your day” (48:47). This is Deuteronomic theology propelled to its
eschatological extreme.

2. The Place of Syriac Baruch in Early Judaism

We could go on and cite more examples in order to flesh out further

the place of the Torah in 2 Baruch, but I trust the overall picture would
not change much: as a result of the recent Roman aggression Israel has
lost everything; all that is left are God and the Mosaic Torah; Israel is
now living in anticipation of the End; for post-70 c.e. Judaism, there-
fore, Torah observance is of eschatological significance; and finally,
those found to be righteous will be amply rewarded in the World to
Come. Instead, I would like to step back for a moment and examine
in somewhat more general terms where 2 Baruch is coming from and
who could have penned it.
The Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch, it is commonly agreed, was composed
during the late first century c.e. in response to the Roman sacking of
Jerusalem. The precise date of composition eludes us for lack of any
specific historical data in the text.8 However, we can narrow down the
period of its composition with some confidence to the half century
between the two failed Jewish revolts, the Jewish War and the fall of
Jerusalem (66–73 c.e.), which is “predicted” in chapter 32, and the Bar
Kokhba Revolt (132–35 c.e.), which is never mentioned in 2 Baruch,
presumably because the author did not know of it. The sincere grief
over the destruction of Zion, and the setting of much of the book on
the very ruins of the Temple, suggest that not much time had elapsed

8
The attempt to date Syriac Baruch with any degree of accuracy is further complicated
by the fact that the book as we have it may not have been written in one sitting. Given
the highly complex nature of 2 Baruch as a literary composition, it seems rather more
likely that its compositional history involved several intersecting processes of rewriting
and the joining of source materials; note the recent distinction by Robert A. Kraft
between “evolved” and “composed” literature in his “Para-mania: Beside, Before and
Beyond Bible Studies,” JBL 126 (2007): 5–27 (here pp. 18–22).
 torah and eschatology in the SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH 207

in between the fall of the city in the year 70 c.e. and the composition
of 2 Baruch, but such inferences are, of course, tentative.9
It has become customary among many modern scholars to think of
apocalyptic authors per se as renegades, quintessential outsiders, who
are disillusioned and feel powerless, and who, in response, create their
own view of reality, which is emphatically utopian and which projects
whatever hope they have left into the eschatological future. What gives
the apocalyptically minded a sense of purpose is their opposition to
“mainstream” religion.10 According to this model, which tends to
think of Judaism in binary terms, “mainstream” Judaism at the time
of 2 Baruch would be rabbinic Judaism. If Syriac Baruch stands for the
marginalized, then rabbinic Judaism stands for “normative” Judaism.
One is esoteric, subversive and deeply skeptical of organized religion,
the other exoteric, constructive and concerned with establishing more
permanent religious structures. One is visionary and derives its author-
ity from fanciful claims to revelation, the other textual and bases its
authority on the tradition as it was received by Moses on Mount Sinai
and subsequently handed down through the Prophets to the men of the
Great Synagogue (m. xAbot 1:1). One is a conventicle of self-proclaimed
Prophets, masquerading as authoritative figures from the biblical past
and critiquing the status quo,11 the other consists of legitimate authori-
ties, properly identified by their name and organized in traditional
schools of learning. One is sectarian and heretical, the other “norma-
tive” and “orthodox”. One left us with writings which are, to a certain
degree, visionary, elusive, and obscure, books that were soon considered
heretical and hence were soon forgotten, the other with books which
became foundational for Judaism throughout the ages.
According to this view, 2 Baruch stems from an author—or authors—
who operated on the margins of society, disenfranchised as it were by

9
Other students of 2 Baruch have been less reluctant to assign a specific date; see,
most recently, Nicolae Roddy, “ ‘Two Parts: Weeks of Seven Weeks’: The End of the
Age as Terminus ad Quem for 2 Baruch,” JSP 14 (1996): 3–14, and Antti Laato, “The
Apocalypse of the Syriac Baruch and the Date of the End,” JSP 18 (1998): 39–46.
I remain skeptical that such mathematical calculations do justice to the nature of
the text.
10
A leading proponent of this model is Paul D. Hanson; see, e.g., his “The Matrix of
Apocalyptic,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism. Volume 2: The Hellenistic Age (ed. W. D.
Davies and L. Finkelstein; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 524–33.
11
Annette Yoshiko Reed, “ ‘Revealed Literature’ in the Second Century b.c.e.:
Jubilees, 1 Enoch, Qumran, and the Prehistory of the Biblical Canon,” in Enoch and
Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection (ed. G. Boccaccini; Grand Rapids, MI:
Eerdmans, 2005), 94–98 (here p. 97).
208 matthias henze

the destruction of the Second Temple and withdrawn. The apocalypse

is thus best understood as a theological pamphlet against the ideas we
find expressed in “mainstream” Jewish literature. In the modern recep-
tion history of Syriac Baruch, and indeed of the Jewish Pseudepigrapha
in general, the considerable scholarly appetite for such bifurcations,
for reading non-canonical texts in opposition to canonical texts, has had
a significant influence on how we interpret the so-called Apocrypha
and Pseudepigrapha.
It appears to me that this model regarding the origins of early Jewish
apocalyptic literature is problematic, especially when applied to 2 Baruch.
The traditional view that soon after the year 70 c.e. the Rabbis took
on the role of the preservers of “normative” Judaism in more recent
scholarship has increasingly given way to the view that the nature of
early rabbinic authority initially was rather limited in scope and only
gradually took hold.12 In the words of Martin Goodman, “It seems
likely that the acceptance of rabbinic authority by Jews in Palestine
was gradual and perhaps not even far advanced by a.d. 132 when the
outbreak of revolt seems to have had no connection with the rabbinic
leadership.”13 Exactly when the Rabbis—and, if we want to draw that
parallel, the Church Fathers—were holding the dominance to which
they laid claim has recently been a matter of considerable debate, with
some scholars wanting to push that date forward to the second, third,
or even to the fourth century c.e. What appears to be certain, however,
is that it happened long after 2 Baruch was composed.
The larger question here is what happened to the diversity of Juda-
ism and, specifically, to the Jewish sects that constituted second temple
Judaism, after the Roman destruction of Jerusalem, particularly during
the years 70 c.e. to 135 c.e., the time during which 2 Baruch was com-
posed.14 The issue cannot possibly be resolved here, if only because the

12
For a cogent discussion, see Annette Yoshiko Reed, Fallen Angels and the History
of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005), esp. ch. 4, “The Parting of the Ways? Enoch and the Fallen
Angels in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity,” pp. 122–59.
13
Martin Goodman, “Judea,” in The Cambridge Ancient History. Volume XI: The High
Empire, A.D. 70–192 (ed. A. K. Bowman; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2000), 664–78 (here p. 668).
14
In addition to the important work of Annette Yoshiko Reed already mentioned, see
Daniel Boyarin, “A Tale of Two Synods: Nicaea, Yavneh, and Rabbinic Ecclesiology,”
Exemplaria 12 (2000): 21–62, and his Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo —Christianity
(Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 1–86; and Seth Schwartz,
Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 B.C.E. to 640 C.E. (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
 torah and eschatology in the SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH 209

investigation of a single text such as Syriac Baruch is obviously insufficient.

We would have to cast our textual and historical net much wider to get
a clear reading of the situation. What we can do, however, is turn to
our text—one of the few extant sources of the period—and consider
whether we find in it any clues about the self-understanding of its author
and how, in his own perception, his views relate to those expressed in
other, contemporary writings.
Turning to 2 Baruch, then, we find that there is nothing in it to suggest
that our author felt disenfranchised, marginalized, or that he was writing
out of a sense of opposition, let alone an opposition to “mainstream”
Judaism. It is, of course, true that some early Jewish apocalyptic texts
stem from sectarian circles and foster a social dualism that seeks to
drive a wedge between “insiders” and “outsiders”, or, in theological
parlance, the “saved” and the “sinners”. But not all of apocalyptic
literature fits the pattern. There is nothing sectarian or esoteric in
2 Baruch. The author makes no effort to distinguish between a Baruchian
group of the chosen and the rest of Israel which is rejected. To the
contrary, he repeatedly shows his sincere concern for the wellbeing of
Israel as a whole.
This concern comes through clearly in several passages. In chapters
41–42, for example, Baruch inquires from God what will happen to the
most recent converts to Judaism (“those who have forsaken their vanity
and have fled under your wings”; 2 Baruch 41:4) at the time of judg-
ment, given that they have carried “the yoke of [God’s] Torah” (41:3)
only for a short while, to which God replies that they, too, will receive
their reward.15 Here again, Baruch’s aim is to convince all of Israel
to follow the Torah, not to single out a special group whose identity
derives from a sectarian ideology. Another group of texts that provide
important clues about the author’s concern for Israel as a whole are
Baruch’s public speeches. Three times over the course of the book the
narrative is interrupted and Baruch assembles all of Israel in order to
instruct them.16 The Deuteronomic overtones and the Mosaic model are
unmistakable. On the occasion of his first public speech, for example,
Baruch asks the people to assemble all the elders. He then begins his

2001), 103–10, though Schwartz gives only scant attention to the half century under
consideration here.
15
See the commentary by Pierre Bogaert, L’Apocalypse Syriaque de Baruch: introduction,
traduction du syriaque et commentaire (2 vols; SC 144–45; Paris: Cerf, 1969), 2.75.
16
The texts in question are 2 Baruch 31–34, 44–47, and 77.
210 matthias henze

address with the following words, “Hear, O Israel, and I will speak to
you; give ear, o seed of Jacob, and I will instruct you” (31:3; cf. 77:2;
also 4 Ezra 9:30; 14:28). The Deuteronomic model alludes to the giving
of Torah at Mount Sinai17 and suggests that the author wanted to
reach all of Israel. One could object that the assembled “Israel” here
is merely a cipher which stands for the Baruchian community which
understands itself as the true Israel. But this seems rather unlikely.
If the speeches were indeed intended for a closed circle of insiders
only, then one would expect to find in them the core of the sectarian
beliefs, which would undoubtedly include a more extensive treatment of
2 Baruch’s apocalyptic teachings. Instead, we find the opposite to be the
case. In these sections, apocalyptic speculations play only a limited role.
The author of Syriac Baruch uses the speeches to call on the people to
observe the Mosaic Torah and reserves his more detailed apocalyptic
speculations for other parts of his book. The public addresses, which
are sermonic in character, articulate in condensed form what the author
wants to communicate to Israel as a whole.
My assertion, then, is that Syriac Baruch does not understand itself
as a sectarian document, and that it was not written in opposition to
any other form of Judaism. I find no critique here of the reigning
religious or philosophical traditions. To the contrary, it seems to me
that by combining the call to observe Torah (which 2 Baruch shares
with rabbinic Judaism, as it begins to constitute itself right around the
time when Syriac Baruch was composed) with the eschatological zeal of
Jewish apocalypticism (here understood both as a literary genre and as
a distinct worldview, both of which 2 Baruch inherits from pre-rabbinic
Judaism), our author seeks to overcome the sectarian divisions that had
increasingly plagued second temple Judaism. In this sense 2 Baruch is
an inclusive text that seeks to rid apocalyptic literature of its sectarian
stigma by arguing that an apocalyptic awareness does not preclude one
from leading a faithful life according to the Torah. Once the post-70
C.E. community comes to realize that they are living in the End Time,
they cannot but observe Torah, and they will proclaim, “We have left
nothing at all except for the Mighty One and his Torah” (85:3).
The lack of any clear sign of sectarianism becomes even more
poignant when we compare 2 Baruch with its contemporary sister
apocalypse, 4 Ezra. Towards the end of 4 Ezra, Ezra calls the people
together in order to address them one last time (4 Ezra 14:27–28).

17
Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 308.
 torah and eschatology in the SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH 211

The language of the convocation is nearly identical to the language

in 2 Baruch at the beginning of the speeches. In the book’s final scene,
after the convocation is over and the crowd is dismissed, Ezra and five
other scribes sit down and write incessantly over a period of forty days
and forty nights what God dictates to them. They end up producing a
library of ninety-four books (4 Ezra 14:37–44). Of these writings Ezra
is told to make public twenty-four, an obvious reference to the books of
the Hebrew Bible, yet he is also ordered to keep the remaining seventy
books secret, “in order to give them to the wise among your people. For
in them is the spring of understanding, the fountain of wisdom, and
the river of knowledge” (4 Ezra 14:46–47). Once again, the language
has a close parallel in 2 Baruch. In ch. 59 we find a long list of things
that were revealed to Moses on Mount Sinai. Included in the list are
“the root of wisdom, the riches of understanding, and the font of
knowledge” (2 Baruch 59:7). But the difference between the two texts is
obvious. In 4 Ezra understanding, wisdom and knowledge are gained
not from the biblical but from the secret writings. Indeed, these are the
very attributes that define “the superiority of the esoteric revelation”
over the exoteric teachings that can be derived from Scripture.18 By
contrast, 2 Baruch does not know of any group of writings that is with-
held from the general public. The origins of wisdom, understanding
and knowledge were revealed to Moses on Mount Sinai. It is telling
that the last thing that was revealed to Moses was “the earnest study
of Torah” (59:11).

3. Baruch’s Three Public Speeches

With these reflections in mind, I would like to return one more time
to Syriac Baruch in order to gain a more focused understanding of its
theological program, particularly as it relates to the role of the Torah
in the formation of group leadership in post-70 C.E. Judaism.19 I will
focus on Baruch’s three public speeches already referred to above,
since it is here that Baruch calls on Israel most explicitly to follow the
Torah. Like many great writers before him—the Deuteronomist in
the biblical realm, for example, or Homer and Thucydides in Greek

18
Stone, Fourth Ezra, 442, who lists further parallels in cognate literature.
19
Wofgang Harnisch, Verhängnis und Verheissung der Geschichte: Untersuchungen zum Zeit- und
Geschichtsverständnis im 4 Buch Esra und in der syr. Baruchapokalypse (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht, 1969), 208–22.
212 matthias henze

literature—the author of 2 Baruch puts speeches into the mouth of the

protagonist and uses them effectively as a means of articulating some of
his most cherished theological thoughts. The speeches take the form of
farewell discourses and follow closely the Mosaic model, since Baruch
is preparing for his departure from the community.20 Their function is
strictly parenetic, that is, to exhort the community.
Baruch begins his first public address (2 Baruch 31–34) with a stern
admonition, “If you prepare your hearts to sow into them the fruits
of Torah, the Mighty One will protect you at that time when he will
shake up the whole creation” (32:1). He then goes on to “predict” the
destruction of the First and of the Second Temple, a period that will
transform straight into the New Creation (2 Baruch 32). Baruch then
asks the people not to approach him for a few days until he returns
to them. Greatly distressed by the possibility that Baruch might leave
them for good the people plead with him to stay. He, however, puts
their fears to rest and replies,
Far be it from me that I should leave you or withdraw from you. I only
go as far as the Holy of Holies to inquire from the Mighty One about
you and Zion; perhaps I will be enlightened. Afterwards I shall return
to you (34:1).
And so he leaves them to recite a lament while sitting on the Temple ruins.
The setting of the second public address (2 Baruch 44–47) is similar.
The scene begins with Baruch announcing his departure, though this
time it is clear that he is talking about his death. He then goes on to
exhort the people not to abandon the Torah:
See, I will go to my fathers, as is the destiny of all the world. You, on
the other hand, do not withdraw from the way of Torah, but watch over
the people who are left [with you] and admonish them not to withdraw
from the commandments of the Most High (44:2–3).
As soon as Baruch has finished his address, the people again respond in
fear and express their anxiety over Baruch’s departure. It is important
to notice what exactly it is that upsets them. The people see in Baruch
not only their community leader but also the principal exegete and
interpreter of the Torah on whom they depend.

20
Philipp Vielhauer and Georg Strecker, “Apocalypses and Related Subjects,” in
New Testament Apocrypha (ed. W. Schneemelcher; 2 vols; Louisville, KY: Westminster
John Knox Press, 1989), 2.542–68 (here p. 549).
 torah and eschatology in the SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH 213

The Mighty One is humiliating us to such an extent that he will take you
away from us so soon! We shall truly be in darkness, as there will be no
light for the people who are left behind. Where shall we seek Torah, and
who will distinguish for us between death and life? (46:1–3).
Baruch responds that he is not leaving them of his own will and at the
same time reassures them that there will be other community leaders.
“The throne of the Mighty One I cannot withstand. Nonetheless, Israel
is not in want of a sage, and the tribe of Jacob of a son of Torah”
(46:4).
The third address (2 Baruch 77), finally, is Baruch’s farewell speech to
Israel, closely modeled after the biblical death scene of Moses. God has
just told Baruch to ascend the mountain to “leave this world, though not
to death, but to be preserved temporarily” (76:2), and so Baruch turns
to the people one last time. Again he begins by reminding them of the
gift of Torah. “To you and to your fathers the Lord gave the Torah,
[preferring you] over all the nations” (77:3). But Israel transgressed
the commandments and hence was punished. The people respond by
promising that they will try to recall all the good things God has done
for them. Then they ask Baruch for one last favor:
Write to our brothers in Babylon a letter of instruction, a scroll of hope,
so that you might strengthen them, too, before you no longer walk among
us. For the shepherds of Israel have perished; the lamps that gave light
are extinguished; and the springs from which we used to drink have
dried up. We have been left in darkness, in the thick of the forest, in the
drought of the desert (77:12–14).
Baruch agrees to write the letter and has the following to say about
the dearth of leadership:
Shepherds and lamps and springs come from the Torah. Even though we
are passing on, the Torah abides. If, therefore, you consider the Torah
and remain prudent in wisdom, the lamp will not be wanting, the shep-
herd not be taken, and the spring will not be dry (77:15–16).
A common theme in the three public speeches is the anxiety in the
Jewish community over Baruch’s imminent departure. “Where do you
go, Baruch, away from us? Do you leave us, like a father leaves his
orphan children and abandons them?” (32:9) The people are concerned
about their leadership, or lack thereof. The three public announcements
nicely reflect the development in Baruch’s understanding of his own
leadership and of his thoughts about what should happen after his
death. In the first scene the people’s fear is merely the result of a
214 matthias henze

misunderstanding. In the second, Baruch hints at the possibility that he

will be replaced by another Torah centered leader. In the third scene,
finally, it becomes clear that the Torah plays a major role in continuing
the leadership after Baruch’s departure. Now Baruch states explicitly
that it is the Torah that produces Israel’s new leaders. What creates
continuity in leadership are no longer Israel’s religious institutions but
the holy text itself; “Shepherds and lamps and springs come from the
Torah. Even though we are passing on, the Torah abides” (2 Baruch
77:15). Shepherds, lamps and springs—most likely, these stand for the
Prophets, seers and sages21—are all subordinate to the Torah.

4. Conclusion

When judged by its reception history, 2 Baruch and the theological

program it advocates must be considered a failure. Shortly after its
composition the work suffered a fate most dreaded by every writer—the
apocalypse was condemned to damnatio memoriae. Scribes ceased to copy
it and, as a result, the text was soon forgotten. No Jewish manuscript of
the text survives, and there are no undisputed references to, let alone
quotations of it in ancient literature, Jewish or Christian.22 2 Baruch
was rediscovered only in the nineteenth century in a Syriac biblical
manuscript, though the Syriac version of our text is only the daughter
translation of a no longer extant Greek version.23 The original version
has been lost. Syriac Baruch has hardly fared much better in modern
times, where it is still widely ignored. It is true, then, that 2 Baruch was
written by a “historical loser.” At the time of its composition in the late
first century C.E., however, this may not have been so clear. There is
nothing in the text to suggest that the author himself felt marginalized,
that he wrote from the perspective of a self-imposed exile, imagined
or real, that he represented what he considered the view of a minor-

21
Harnisch, Verhängnis und Verheissung, 213.
22
Bogaert, L’Apocalypse Syriaque de Baruch, 1:55–56.
23
On the manuscript evidence, see Bogaert, L’Apocalypse Syriaque de Baruch, 1:34–55,
and Dedering, “Apocalypse of Baruch,” ii–iv. Recently, an Arabic version has come
to light; see F. Leemhuis, A. F. J. Klijn and G. J. H. van Gelder, The Arabic Text of
the Apocalypse of Baruch: Edited and Translated with a Parallel Translation of the Syriac Text
(Leiden: Brill, 1986); Albertus F. J. Klijn, “The Character of the Arabic Version of the
Apocalypse of Baruch,” in Jüdische Schriften in ihrem antik-jüdischen und urchristlichen Kontext
(ed. H. Lichtenberger and G. S. Oegema; Studien zu den Jüdischen Schriften aus
hellenistisch-römischer Zeit 1; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2002), 204–8.
 torah and eschatology in the SYRIAC APOCALYPSE OF BARUCH 215

ity group. Similarly, he shows no signs of feeling defeated or on the

losing side of a debate. Instead, he developed an apocalyptic program
for post-70 c.e. Judaism that is focused on Torah obedience, gener-
ously draws on past traditions, seeks to overcome social isolation, and
vigorously looks to the future—or to what is left of it, until the advent
of the eschaton.
 CAN THE HOMILISTS CROSS THE SEA AGAIN?
REVELATION IN MEKILTA SHIRATA1

Ishay Rosen-Zvi
Tel-Aviv University, Israel

The Bible’s time is important, while the present is not;

and so it invites the reader to cross over into the
enterable world of scripture.
James L. Kugel2
The Mishnah presents Torah study, even in its most mundane manner,
as generating a divine presence: “If two people sit together and occupy
themselves in the words of Torah, the divine presence rests among
them” (‫ ;שנים שיושבים ועסוקים בדברי תורה שכינה ביניהם‬m. Abot
3:2, cf. 3:6). But how literal should we take this declaration to be? Is
it only a figurative phrase or do the Rabbis (or some of them) really

1
Quotes from Mek. are from MS Oxford 151. I will refer to other manuscripts, as
well as to the Geniza Fragments (found in Menahem I. Kahana, Kitxei Midreshei haHalakha
min haGeniza [ Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2006]) whenever there is a significant difference
in meaning. On the textual witnesses of Mek. see Louis Finkelstein, “The Mekilta and
Its Text,” PAAJR 5 (1934): 3–54; Jacob Z. Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael: a Critical
Edition on the Basis of the Manuscripts and Early Editions (Schiff Library of Jewish Classics;
Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1933) and Menahem I. Kahana,
HaMekhiltot leParshat Amalek: le-rishoniyuteha shel ha-masoret ba-Mekhilta de Rabi Yishma‘’el be-
hash·va’ah la-ma·kbiltah ba-Mekhilta de-Rabi Shim{on ben Yo·hai ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press,
1999). On the importance of the Geniza fragment “A Copy” on this portion of Mek.
(Hereafter “Geniza”) see L. Elias, The MdRI according to an Excellent Copy from the Geniza (MA
Thesis, The Heberw University of Jerusalem, 1996), Menahem I. Kahana, Manuscripts
of the Halakhic Midrashim, An Annotated Catalogue ( Jerusalem: 1995), 41, and Menahem
I. Kahana, “Halakhic Midrashim” in The Literature of the Sages Part 2 (CRINT IV;
S. Safrai et al. eds.; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2006), 70 n. 313. Translations for Tractate
Shirata are based on Judah Goldin, The Song at the Sea (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1971) and to other parts of Mek. on Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael. Both are
modified for the sake of more literal translations as well as according to better textual
evidence. Where no volume is mentioned, vol. 2 of Lauterbach’s edition is implied.
The page numbers conveniently refer to Lauterbach’s edition only. References to other
midrashim are according to the following editions: Jacob Neusner, Sifre to Numbers: An
American Translation and Explanation (2 vols.; BJS 118–119; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986),
Reuven Hammer, Sifre: A Tannaitic Commentary on the Book of Deuteronomy (Yale Judaica
Series 24; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987).
2
James L. Kugel, “Two Introductions to Midrash,” in Midrash and Literature (eds. G. H.
Hartman and S. Budick; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), 89.
218 ishay rosen-zvi

believe that Torah study involves a revelatory event? If the latter is true,
what might be the nature of this revelation? Rabbinic exegetical and
legislative activities, unlike many of their predecessors, do not rest on
any revelatory claim;3 but does this necessarily mean that there is also
no claim for divine presence in the house of study?
These broad issues touch on very basic questions of rabbinic self-
reflection and historiosophic conceptualization, as well as on the nature
of some enigmatic “entities” such as Shekhinah and Bat Kol, which are
believed to appear, from time to time, among Torah students and in the
study house.4 In what follows I will concentrate on one specific aspect
of this wide-ranging revelatory question: Rabbinic attitude(s) towards
the Biblical theophanies in the Sinai desert. Was divine revelation a
one-time event, or did it in any way continue in the Rabbis’ own real-
ity? How can revelation reappear whenever one is “occupied with the
words of Torah”?
Two great collective revelations are narrated in the book of Exodus:
the first at the Red Sea (Exodus 15) and the second on Mt. Sinai (Exo-
dus 19–24). The Rabbis read these two events as closely connected,5
ascribing to both a revelatory nature greater then that of the prophets
Isaiah and Ezekiel (Shirata 3, 24, Ba˜odesh 3, 212). The tannaitic running
commentary on Exodus, the Mekilta, differs, however, in its treatment
of these chapters. Masekta DeBa˜odesh, on Exodus 19–20,6 concentrates
mainly on the content of the Sinaitic revelation (Torah study and the
fulfillment of the commandments) and its covenantal implications,7 while
the nature of the revelatory event itself appears only on its margins.8

3
Steven D. Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary: Torah and its Interpretation in the Midrash
Sifre to Deuteronomy (SUNY Series in Judaica; Albany: State University of New York
Press, 1991), 15–21.
4
On the Shekhina see Peter Schaefer, Mirror of His Beauty: Feminine Images of God
from the Bible to the Early Kabbalah ( Jews, Christians, and Muslims from the Ancient to
the Modern World; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002), 79–102. On Bat Kol
see Peter Kuhn, Offenbarungsstimmen im Antiken Judentum: Untersuchungen zur Bat Qol und
verwandten Phanomenen (TSAJ 20; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1989).
5
See Saul Lieberman, “Mishnat Shir haShirim,” in Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah
Mysticism and Talmudic Tradition (ed. G. Scholem; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary
of America, 1965), 119–122.
6
Mek. does not include a commentary on Exodus 24, and the reconstructed midrash
on the first ten verses of Exodus 24 in MRS, 220–221 is doubtful: See Kahana,
“Halakhic Midrashim,” 75.
7
See for example Parasha 1, which discusses the refusal of the nations to accept
the Torah. See Marc Hirschman Torah for the Entire World (Tel Aviv: Ha-·Kibuts
Ha-me’u·had, 1999), 39–42.
8
The nature of revelation at Sinai appears in but a few homilies in Ba˜odesh 3–4 (see
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 219

Most of the direct discussions on the character of divine revelation

appear a few tractates earlier in the Mekilta’s homilies on Exodus 15.
Since the revelation at the sea, unlike that of Sinai, does not have
any specific content other then the revelatory act itself—fighting the
Egyptians and rescuing the Israelites—it is there that the Rabbis choose
to discuss divine revelation and its relevance for the homilist and his
audience. It is thus in these homilies of Mekilta Shirata that we should
start looking for an answer to our questions.
In what follows we will analyze the midrashic attitude towards the
Red Sea theophany using both the explicit statements in this regard,
and the rhetorical and interpretive strategies taken by the Mekilta, when
engaging the biblical song. The first section will discuss the homilists’
imitation of biblical language and the second their playful use of tenses.
The third and last section will synthesize these two close readings to
offer a new understanding of the way rabbinic midrash adapts, adopts
and ultimately reclaims the biblical revelatory experience.

Imitatio Scriptura: The Midrashic Celebration

of the Biblical Victory

A victory hymn greater and more self-assured than the Song at the Sea
is hard to come by.9 From its beginning, “I will sing to the Lord for
he has triumphed gloriously, horse and driver He has hurled into the
sea” (v. 1), until its very end: “the Lord will reign for ever and ever”
(v. 18),10 the poet praises the God of Israel for his unlimited and
incomparable might. Over nineteen verses the biblical poet does not
only praise God, but goes into great detail to describe the defeat of

esp. the homilies on ‫[ לעיני כל העם‬212], ‫[ ויהי קולות‬218], and ‫[ משה ידבר‬223]), some
of which specifically emphasize the limits of the revelatory event. See for example the
claim that the Divine glory did not actually come down to earth (Ba˜odesh 4, 224); on
rabbinic and other ancient interpretations of the nature of Sinaitic Revelation see the
papers of Steven Fraade (on the Tannaitic Midrashim, 247–68) and Robert Hayward
(on the Aramaic Targums, 269–85) in this volume.
9
On Victory Hymns see Frank M. Cross and David N. Freedman, Studies in Ancient
Yahwistic Poetry (Biblical Resource Series; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995), 31,
Umberto Cassuto, The Book of Exodus ( Jerusalem: Magness Press, 1987), 120, Propp,
Exodus 1–18 (AB; New York and London: Doubleday, 1999), 2.507. Interestingly enough,
the two great biblical victory hymns: Exodus 15 and 2 Samuel 22, are read together in
public, according to rabbinic liturgy, on the last day of Passover (n. 82 below).
10
On v. 19 as an appendix, see Brevard S. Childs, The Book of Exodus: A Critical
Theological Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1974), 248.
220 ishay rosen-zvi

the Egyptians (cf. v. 4–5, 9–10) as well as all other enemies (cf. v. 14–16),
before God. It is this specific description of the divine might that allows
the poet to end with the assurance that: “the Lord shall reign for ever
and ever” (v. 18).
The attraction of the Rabbis to this song is anything but surprising.
Unlike other war hymns, which celebrate earthly victories (gained, to
be sure, with divine assistance),11 this war was exclusively divine, leav-
ing the people, men and women alike, with the sole task of singing
God’s praise.12 This picture fits the rabbinic concept of God as the
(sole) warrior of Israel perfectly.13 For the early Rabbis nothing was
more understandable then God’s promise ‫ה' ילחם לכם ואתם תחרישון‬
(“The Lord will battle for you; you hold your peace,” Exod 14:14).14
Indeed, the Mekilta contrasts this song, dedicated exclusively “to the
Lord” (15:1),15 to the one chanted to David and Saul after the defeat
of Goliath (1 Sam 18:6–7): ‫כמה שנאמר "ותצאנה הנשים המחוללות‬

11
E.g. Jud 5:20, 2 Sam 22:40. See Cross and Freedman, Studies in Ancient Yahwistic
Poetry, 3.
12
Typically a woman’s role, as is well exemplified in Miriam’s song in vv. 20–21
(Propp, Exodus 1–18, 547; compare 508: “the act of singing a victory song arguably
feminizes Moses and the men”). See also Shirata Parasha 1: ‫שכל השירות שעברו קרויות‬
‫“( בלשון נקבה‬For all songs referring to past events the noun used is in the feminine,”
1), and Menahem Kasher, Torah Shelemah (43 vols.; Jerusalem: Mechon Torah Shelema,
1992) 14:97; Judah Goldin, “This Song,” in Studies in Midrash and Related Literature (ed.
B. Eichler and J. Tigay; JPS: Philadelphia, 1988), 151–161.
13
See below, next to n. 74 Compare also Sif. Num. 102: ‫כשהוא יוצא למלחמה אינו‬
‫“( יוצא אלא יחידי שנאמר ה' איש מלחמה‬when He [God] goes out to war, He goes out
only alone, as it says, ‘The Lord is a man of war, The Lord is His name,’ ” 121).
14
See Mek., Vayehi, 3: ‫“( ה' ילחם לכם—לא לשעה אלא לעולם ה' ילחם לכם‬Not only
at this time but at all times He will fight against your enemies,” 1:215). It is only the
second part of the verse: “you will hold your peace,” that the midrash finds problematic,
as it contradicts not only the actual events but also the rabbinic doctrine of prayer
itself. The Mekhilta suggests two possible solutions. According to R. Meir the verse
only says that God will save you even if you remain silent, but “how much more so if
you render praise to Him,” while Rabbi reads the whole verse as a rhetorical question:
“Shall God perform miracles and mighty deeds for you and you be standing there
silent?” Compare the long section on the potency of prayer, at the very beginning of
Parasha 3 (206–9, Kahana, Kit’ei Midreshei haHalakha min haGeniza, 45) commenting on
the words: ‫“( ויצעקו בני ישראל אל ה‬The Israelites cried out to the Lord,” Exod 14:10),
as well as Parasha 2 (203–4) on the words: ‫( יוצאים ביד רמה‬on “high hand” as prayer
see Max Kadushin, A Conceptual Approach to the Mekilta [New York: Jewish Theological
Seminary of America, 1969], 263).
15
Compare the idiom repeated, almost verbatim, three times (!) in tractate Vayehi:
‫אתם תהו מרוממים ומפארים ומשבחין ונותנין שיר ושבח וגדולה ותפארה ונצח והוד‬
‫“( למי שהמלחמות שלו‬But you shall exalt, glorify, praise, and utter songs of praise
and adoration, of laudation and glorification to Him in whose hands are the fortunes
of war,” 1:203, 215, 223).
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 221

‫ ולא אמרוה לבשר ודם‬,‫[ אבל כאן לה' אמרוה‬. . .] "‫מכל ערי ישראל וג‬
(“As in the other passage, ‘And the women came out of all the cities
of Israel etc.’ [. . .] In the present instance, however, it was in praise
of the Lord they recited it and they did not recite it in praise of flesh
and blood”, Shirata 1,7).
But how does the tannaitic homilist read this song of divine potency
and power? What is he to do with such a victory hymn, in a period so
remote from what is celebrated by the song? How can he relate to such
a fancy description of divine heroism? Wouldn’t a dirge or a lamentation
fit his condition better than a lavish celebration? Two homilies in the
Mekhilta seem indeed to indicate such a transition from celebration to
grief. The first appears in a series of homilies on the phrase ‫מי כמוך‬
'‫“( באלים ה‬Who is like you among the gods, O Lord,” v. 11). The
homilies read the word ‫ אלים‬as referring to various entities,16 which
are not actually gods (thus avoiding the trap of polytheism) but are
nevertheless referred to as “gods”: angles, sovereigns, statues, etc.17 One
homily, however, stands out in contrast: ‫מי כמוך באלים ה'—מי כמוך‬
‫ מי כמוך רואה בעלבון בניך ושותק‬,'‫“( באילמים ה‬Who is like Thee, O
Lord, among the elim—Who is like Thee, O Lord, among the mute
ones [. . .], who like Thee sees Thy children disgraced and yet keep still,”
60).18 One cannot think of a greater contrast between the biblical Lord

16
Here, as in many other places along the tractate, the midrash takes advantage of
the fact that “throughout the Song, mixed metaphors and ambivalent language pro-
voke multiple interpretations” (Propp, Exodus 1–18, 507). In this paper I use the word
‘homily’ to refer to a single midrashic unit (and thus ‘homilist’ as its implied author)
and ‘midrash’ for the composition as a whole.
17
The first homily is not entirely clear: ‫ באלם‬:‫מי כמוך באילים ה' ]כ"י אוקספורד‬
‫ מי כמוכה בניסים וגבורות שעשית על הים‬,'‫ מי כמוכה באלמים ה‬,[‫[( כתיב‬cod. Oxford
adds: “Note the spelling ‘lm”] who among those capable of mighty deeds is like unto
Thee, who can be the likes of Thee in the miracles and mighty deeds Thou didst
on the sea,” 60). According to this version (attested in all textual witnesses of Mek.) it
seems that the homily is based on reading ‫ אלים‬as ‫( אלם‬powerful, violent). However
in a Geniza fragment of an abridgement of MRS, 236 (T-S Misc. 36.132), we find
the version: ‫בא עלי ים‬, according to which the homily may have interpreted ‫באלים‬
as ‫( בעל ים‬the master of the sea, or: the sea God). This explains the verses cited from
Psalms 106, which refer to God’s rebuke (‫ )ויגער‬of the sea (Horowitz’s note in his
edition, 142 line 7).
18
The homily placed the past (‫)לשעבר‬, in which God kept silent (‫)אחריש אתאפק‬,
against the expected future, which will bring this silence to an end (‫מכאן ולהלן כיולדה‬
‫)אפעה‬. The tenses reflect Isaiah’s alleged prophetic point of view, for which the present
is past, and the future is: “from now on.” From this perspective, the divine muteness
(‫ )מי כמוך באילמים‬is reinterpreted as a silence which speaks volumes. Instead of being
a testimony of divine impotency, it is reread as deliberate self restraint, like a woman
222 ishay rosen-zvi

of war, and the silent (impotent?) God, as experienced by the homilist.

What is more, the appearance of such a statement in the midst of a
series of homilies of praise, has a clear ironic effect; subverting, even
ridiculing, all the outspoken glorifications surrounding it.
A similar transformation appears in a series of homilies on ‫זה אלי‬
‫“( ואנוהו‬this is my God, and I will glorify/enshrine19 Him” v. 2). The
opening move of the midrash is a rejection of the reading which it
considers to be the most literal, but, at the same time, theologically
unacceptable: ‫ וכי איפשר לו לבשר ודם להנוות‬,‫ואנוהו—ר' ישמעאל אומר‬
‫לקוניו‬.20 Lauterbach’s translation: “and is it possible for a man to add
glory to his creator” (25) does not reveal the depth of the theological
problem.21 A more literal translation, however, articulates the theological
scandal well: “can one of flesh and blood beautify his maker?”22 Such
a reading also clarifies R. Ishmael’s midrashic solution: ‫אלא אנוה לו‬
‫ אעשה לפניו לולב נאה וכו‬,‫“( במצוות‬I will beautify Him by means of
the religious acts: I prepare for His sake a handsome lulab, etc.,” 25).

heavy with child, holding up as much as possible. The divine silence becomes thus itself
a preview of the great yell (see v. 13: ‫ )יריע אף יצריח‬which is due shortly.
19
n. 25 below.
20
Although the question is posed by R. Ishmael as part of his specific homily, its
location at the very beginning, together with the fact that no other question is posed
in the next homilies, presents it as an introduction for all the interpretations which
follow.
21
Similarly Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 113: “Is it then possible for flesh and blood
to bestow glory on its creator.”
22
Although being a rare verb, the meaning of ‫ להנווות‬can be easily deduced from the
nouns which follow: ‫ אעשה‬,‫וכי איפשר לבשר ודם להנוות לקוניו אלא אנוה לו במצוה‬
‫ תפילה נאה‬,‫ ציצית נאה‬,‫ סוכה נאה‬,‫לפניו לולב נאה‬. on ‫נאה‬/‫ נוה‬see Ishay Rosen-Zvi,
“ ‘Even if One Found a More Beautiful Woman”: An Analysis of Grounds for Divorce
in Rabbinic Literature,” JSIJ 3 (2004): 1–11. Compare the reading of the Geniza
fragments: ‫( וכי איפשר לבשר ודם להתנאות לקוניו‬Kahana, Kit’ei Midreshei haHalakha
min haGeniza, 63), which seem to convey a reflective meaning (not necessarily however;
on non-reflective hitpael see Kahana, HaMekhiltot leParshat Amalek, 73, 263): beatifying
oneself before (or: for the sake of ) God. Similar forms appear also in R. Ishmael answer
according to the Geniza: ‫( אלא א>י<נאה לו‬on medial ‘Hiriq’ for hitpael form see Elias,
MdRI according to an Excellent Copy from the Geniza, 23, Shlomo Naeh, “The Tannaic
Hebrew in the Sifra According to Codex Vatican 66” [PhD diss., Hebrew University
of Jerusalem, 1989], 326–27); compare also the reading in ed. princ. ‫אתנאה לפניו‬
(MRS: ‫)היה נאה לפניו‬. However, since the Geniza text here is explicitly corrected, we
should consider a ‘pious’ emendation, softening the daring picture of beautifying God
himself (directly or indirectly).
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 223

One should thus beautify God’s (objects of ) Mizvot (commandments),23

instead of beautifying Him directly.24
A series of alternative readings of ‫ ואנוהו‬then follows:25 be like
Him,26 proclaim His glory,27 or: make Him a beautiful temple.28 Among
these, however, appears also R. Akiva’s famous homily which presents
martyrdom (‫ )שכך אתם מתים עליו‬as the way to proclaim God’s glory
before the nations.29 Is there a greater distance than the one between
the biblical praise ‫ ואנוהו‬and its lethal translation by the martyrs? Here,
as in ‫מי כמוך באלמים‬, the homily appears to be a direct inversion of
the self-assured biblical victory song.
These two homilies, however, are clear exceptions in the midrashic
landscape, isolated subversive moments in the midst of joyful celebration
of victory and defeat. More than a testimony for the general attitude
of the early rabbis toward the song, these homilies are a testimony to
the existence (inevitable, as cultural critics would teach us)30 of cracks

23
On Mitzvah objects as ornaments see Sif. Deut. 36 (Hammer, Sifre, 69), in a homily
on Phylacteries, mezuzot and zizit: ‫ הוי מתקשטת‬.[‫משל למלך בשר ודם שאמ' לאשת]ו‬
‫ היו מצויינין במצוות‬.‫ כך אמר להן הקב"ה לישראל‬.‫בכל תכשיטה כדי שתהא רצוייה לי‬
‫“( כדי שתהיו רצויין לי‬A parable: A king of flesh and blood said to his wife, “Deck
yourself out with all your jewelry so that you would look desirable to me.” Thus also
the Holy One, blessed be He, said to Israel, “My children, be marked by the command-
ments, so that you would look desirable to me”). Consider also the fact that a ‫טוטפת‬
is a women’s ornament in m. Shabb. 6:1, and that phylacteries appear subsequently in
6:2, and compare R. Eliezer’s statement in Mishnah 4 regarding weapons: ‫תכשיטין‬
‫“( הן לו‬they are [a man’s] jewels”).
24
On the decoration of idols see m. Sanh. 7.6, ARN, 66 (version B chap. 30).
25
The rabbis are in good company. Modern commentators also differ significantly
regarding the meaning of this Hapax (Propp, Exodus 1–18, 514).
26
Read ‫ ואנוהו‬as ‫אני הוא‬. Compare the imperative form in the Geniza: ‫הידמי לו‬.
27
As most modern commentators suggest.
28
From ‫=נוה‬tent, house, compare v. 13: ‫( נוה קודשך‬Propp, Exodus 1–18, 532,
Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 6). On these homilies see also Kasher, Torah Shelemah, 14:110.
29
See Daniel Boyarin, Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash (Indiana Studies in
Biblical Literature; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1990), 117–29.
30
Mieke Bal’s analysis of subversive moments in the biblical patriarchal discourse
demonstrates this claim well. “Dominance is, although present and in many ways
obnoxious, not unproblematically established [. . .] It is the possibility of dominance
itself, the attractiveness of coherence and authority in culture, that I see as the source,
rather then consequences of sexism” (see Mieke Bal, Lethal Love: Feminist Literary Readings
of Biblical Love Stories [ Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature; Bloomington, IN: Indiana
University Press 1987], 3). Bal’s followers reveal the artificialness of (any given) domi-
nance through: “search for lapses in ideological coherence of a text [. . .] moments
of disturbance in the overall dominant ideology of a text” (Charlotte E. Fonrobert,
Menstrual Purity: Rabbinic and Christian Reconstructions of Biblical Gender [Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 2000], 9). Without questioning the importance of such ‘readings
against the grain’, the present project is an attempt to unpack exactly this ‘dominant
224 ishay rosen-zvi

in any given discourse; cracks from which, willingly or unwillingly, the

present pops up. In order to analyze the more typical moments of the
rabbinic treatment of the Song, we thus should look at Masekta deShirata
in the Mekilta as a whole.
Masekta deShirata (“the tractate of the songs”)31 stands at the center of
the aggadic (non legal) section of the Mekilta, a running commentary
on the biblical narrative from Exod 13:17 (the Exodus from Egypt) to
Exod 19:25 (the revelation at Sinai). Menahem Kahana has convinc-
ingly shown that the aggadic material in the tannaitic midrashim was
not formed in any specific midrashic school, but is shared by both the
schools of R. Akiva and R. Ishmael. However, as Kahana has also
shown, the version in the “Ishmaelian” Mekilta (Mek.) is earlier and
preserves a more primary form of the aggada than the “Akivan” Mekilta,
MRS (attributed to Rabbi Shim’on).32 Besides being part of the aggadic
section, however, Shirata has specific literary-redactional traits,33 which
distinguish it from other tractates in the Mekhilta, and allow for its
reading as an independent unit. In what follows I will thus concentrate
on the homilies of tractate Shirata,34 according to the more primary
version of Mek.
A survey of Shirata as a whole reveals a picture quite removed from
the one presented by the two individual homilies discussed above.
Most of the homilies join the biblical poet’s praise wholeheartedly and

ideology’ of Mekhilta Shirata, decoding (and therefore also historicizing and de-reifying)
its basic discourse of time and history. Admittedly, gender analysis of the Mekhilta’s
concept of God as “a man of war,” still needs to be done.
31
Hereafter simply: Shirata. On the division of the Mekhilta into nine tractates see
Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, 429, Kahana, “Halakhic Midrashim,” 68–69. On
the Name ‘Shirata’ (in the plural!) see Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, 440, Goldin,
The Song at the Sea, 3 n. 1 (who prefers the reading shirta, in the singular). On the divi-
sion of Shirata into ten chapters (as preserved in the Geniza fragments as well as in
cod. Oxford and Munich), see Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, 452–53; Goldin,
The Song at the Sea, 5–8.
32
Kahana, HaMekhiltot leParshat Amalek.
33
See Louis Finkelstein, “Sources of Tannaitic Midrashim,” JQR 31 (1941): 211–43;
223–27. The term ‫( לעתיד לבא‬n. 58 below) and the concept of “measure for measure”
(n. 52), might be added to his list, as both are exceptionally dominant in this tractate.
There is no need, however, to go as far as Goldin’s statement that “the Mekhilta is
[. . .] an assembly of treatises” and thus “Shirta is a whole tractate in itself ” (The Song
at the Sea, 10–11). On this question see also Jacob N. Epstein, Prolegomena ad litteras
Tannaiticas (ed. E. Z. Malamed; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1957), 572, and Kahana,
HaMekhiltot leParshat Amalek, 27.
34
Comparative material from other tractates (especially Vayehi, which narrates the
scene before the Israelites has crossed the sea, when “the Hiroth were on the one side,
and Migdol on the other, the sea before them and Egypt behind them,” 188), as well
as other midrashic compilations will be cited occasionally.
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 225

unquestioningly.35 In some cases the homilist even creates his own hymn,
which develop and intensify the biblical one. Thus, for example, on the
words '‫ אשירה לה‬the homilist cites a hymn of his own,36 inspired by
biblical verses,37 but not identical to them:38

35
This phenomenon was celebrated by Goldin: “Shirta statements on a number of
occasions get infected by a quality of the very source being interpreted and its theme
and themselves become poetic expressions” (Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 16), “even in
the midst of a perfectly prosaic observation thereof, Shirta will suddenly be inspired”
(18). Indeed, already in the biblical hymn one can detect this kind of sudden inspira-
tion, especially in v. 11, which appears as “an ecstatic interjection into the historical
resume of vv. 10 and 12” (Propp, Exodus 1–18, 528).
36
Note the triple repetition and the exact word structure (3:3:4), both lacking from
the biblical sources (see also next note). Compare the beautiful song appearing at the
very last homily on the song (I quote from cod. Munich): ‫אבל על עמך עדרך צאנך‬
‫צאן מרעיתך זרע אברהם אוהבך בני יצחק יחידך עדת יעקב בנך בכורך גפן שהיסעתה‬
‫ממצרים וכנה אשר נטעה ימינך‬. (“But verily over Thy people/Thy flock, Thy sheep/
The sheep of Thy pasture/The seed of Abraham who loved Thee/The children of
Isaac Thy favorite, The community of Jacob Thy first-born son/ The vine Thou didst
pluck out of Egypt/And the stock which Thy right hand hath planted,” 80). The con-
text of this hymn in the homily not entirely clear (See Horowitz ad loc.); most likely it
is a closing hymn to the Song as a whole (in Mek. there is another short homily after
that, but in MRS it appears at the very end of the song). For the similar phenomenon
of “commentary approaching the idiom of liturgy” (Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 18)
see Targum Neofiti on v. 3 (similar expressions appear in other Palestinian Aramaic
Targums: Pseudo-Jonathan and the Fragment Targum): ,‫ה' גוברא עבד קרביא ה' שמיא‬
‫ יהא שמיה מבורך לעולמי עלמין‬,‫“( כשמיה כן גבורתיה‬The Lord is a brave wager of
wars; the Lord is his name. According to his name, so is his power. Blessed be his name
forever and ever”). Cf. the targums on v. 18 (Etan Levine, “Neofiti 1: A Study of Exodus
15,” Biblica 54 (1973): 317–318). Compare also the Samaritan poem “Al Tehomei
Maayan Eden” v. 38: ‫מי כמוך באילים ה‘—מי כמוך אה עשה כל המאומות ומאום לא‬
‫“( ידמי לך‬Who is like You, O maker of all things, to whom nothing compares?”; see
Zeev Ben Hayyim, ed., Tibat mar·keh: ·ve-hi asupat midrashim Shomroniyim [ Jerusalem:
ha-A·kademiyah ha-le’umit ha-Yisre’elit le-mada‘im, 1988], 138).
37
The homilist combines ‫( ואנוהו‬read as ‫ )נאה‬with 1 Chronicles 29:11. The midrash
continues a long tradition of biblical verses, Psalms (e.g. Isa 12:2, Ps 118:14, see Propp,
Exodus 1–18, 511) and hymns (e.g. Tobit cap. 13, see Judith Newman, Praying by the
Book: The Scripturalization of Prayer in the Second Temple Judaism [ Early Judaism and Its
Literature 14: Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999] 120), which imitates and paraphrases
verses from Shirat Hayam. Compare the homily cited above n. 15, and the Baraita
in b. Ber. 58a, which read the verse from 1 Chron. 29:11 as a list of God’s wars, From
Exodus to “Gog and Magog.”
38
This phenomenon becomes even clearer in the next homily, which is a long
repetitive hymn of God’s qualities: . . . ‫ אשירה לה' שהוא‬. . . ‫'אשירה לה' שהוא גיבור‬
‫ אשירה לה' שהוא רחמן וכו‬. . . ‫ אשירה לה' שהוא חכם‬. . . ‫“( עשיר‬I will sing unto the
Lord for he is mighty . . . I will sing unto the Lord for he is rich . . . I will sing unto the
Lord for he is wise . . . I will sing unto the Lord for he is merciful, etc.”). The homilist
goes on to gather different verses proving that God is indeed heroic, rich, wise, merciful,
a judge and handsome, as he is praised (see esp. the poetic coda: ‫)אשירה לה' שהוא‬
[‫ ואין כערכו‬:‫נאה שהוא הדור שהוא משובח ]דפו"ר נוסף‬. See Goldin, The Song at the
226 ishay rosen-zvi

,‫לה' נאה גרולה‬

,‫לה' נאה גבורה‬
.‫לה' התפארת הנצח וההוד‬
To-the-Lord greatness is-comely
To-the-Lord power is-comely
To-the-Lord glory, victory and majesty are-comely (8).39
Thus writes Judah Goldin, in a chapter aptly titled “Past made Present”:
no reader of Shirta’s (sic!) ten chapters can fail to recognize that what is
astir in the minds of the tannaite savants is not only—one may dare to
say, not mainly—the event in ancient history, but also the immediate and
poignant reflections produced by historical reminiscence, itself recurrently
revived by the experiences in their, the Sages’, times.40
This phenomenon is most evident in the first two verses of the Song,
reiterated in the first person singular: “I will sing to the lord . . . the Lord
in my strength,” and so on.41 The homilies on these verses consistently
preserve the direct speech.42 Thus, on the words ‫ ויהי לי‬,‫עזי וזמרת יה‬
‫“( לישועה‬The Lord is my strength and might; He is become my deliv-
erance,” v. 2) the homilist says: ‫ אבל‬,‫עוזר וסומך אתה לכל באי העולם‬
‫“( לי ביותר‬Thou art the helper and sustainer43 of all the inhabitants
of the world, but mine above all”; 23). This manner of imitating the
biblical poet’s direct speech is not uncommon in the aggadic portions of
the tannaitic midrashim,44 and it seems that its implications—especially

Sea, 81, for a possible reconstruction of the rabbinic hymn (“poetic doxology”) which
stands behind this homily. Note that none of these traits appear in the biblical song,
which refers only to God’s might and dedication to his people. This homily can thus
be read as part of the rabbinic effort to recontextualize the biblical hymn, so as to
include divine justice and mercy in it as well (see n. 52 below).
39
Compare the opposite structure (but same metre) in cod. Munich and Vatican:
'‫ נאה התפארת והנצח וההוד לה‬,'‫ נאה גבורה לה‬,'‫נאה גדולה לה‬. On Poetry in rab-
binic literature in general see Aaron Mirsky, The Origin of Forms in Early Hebrew Poetry
( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1985), Michael D. Swartz, “Patterns of Mystical Prayer in Ancient
Judaism,” in Society and Literature in Analysis (ed. P. Flescher; New Studies in Ancient
Judaism 5; Landham, MD: University Press of America, 1990).
40
Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 13.
41
on this opening style see Childs, The Book of Exodus, 250; Propp, Exodus 1–18, 509.
42
For two exceptional homilies see below n. 85.
43
In Geniza these are clear adjectives: ‫עזר ומסמך‬.
44
The same holds true for verses appearing in the second person: ‫מי כמוך נאדר‬
‫“( בקודש—נאה אתה ואדיר בקדש‬How comely Thou art, how majestic in holiness”;
62). This is quite a common style in non-legal portions of the tannaitic midrashim. See
for example: ‫“( ואני אברכם—אני אברך את עמי ישראל‬I will bless them—I am the one
who will bless my people Israel,” Sif. Num. 43, Neusner, Sifre to Numbers, 201). Compare
the homilies on the Song of Moses (Deut 32) which preserve the first person style of
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 227

with regard to proximity to the so-called ‘Rewritten Bible’ genre—are

yet to be studied. For the present, however, the crucial question is:
who exactly is referred to in this first person singular. Who is the ‫ לי‬in
‫ ?אבל לי ביותר‬Is the homilist simply taking his cue from the biblical
style, referring, like it, specifically to the ancient Israelites, or can the
first person refer to the homilist and his audience? Perhaps it is some
kind of trans-historical entity (a sort of ‫ )כנסת ישראל‬the homilist is
addressing?45
The answer is not unequivocal. While in some cases the first person
seems to refer specifically to the Israelites in the desert,46 other cases
cannot possibly be interpreted so narrowly. Thus, for example, on the
words ‫ ויהי לי לישועה‬the homilist says: ‫היה לי לשעבר ויהיה לי לעתיד‬
‫“( לבוא‬He was my [salvation] in the past, and He will be my [salvation]
in the future”; 24). It is clearly the same “me” who is referred to both
in the context of the (biblical) past and in the days to come.47
In most cases, however, the homilies lack any specification, which
makes the grammatical subject of the homily simply indeterminable.
To whom is the homilist referring, for example, in ‫ישועה אתה לכל באי‬
‫“( העולם אבל לי ביותר‬Thou art the salvation of all the inhabitants of
the world, but mine above all”; 24) or even ‫“( אני מלכה בת מלכים‬I am

the divine narrator himself, e.g. ‫“( לי נקם ושילם—משלם אני שכר מעשיהם‬Vengance
is Mine, and recompense—I will requite it of them,” 337). In some cases, especially
when the paraphrases are attributed to a named sage, they are preceded by a title: ‫אמר‬
‫ אמר להם‬,‫הקב"ה‬, and the like. In these unattributed homilies of Shirata, however, no
introduction is given to the direct speech. This “imitatio-scriptura” style somewhat shakes
the neat division, so popular in current scholarship, between midrash, which distin-
guishes itself clearly from the biblical language, and the paraphrase-style of rewritten
Bible. I intend to return to this neglected issue in a separate paper.
45
Such a phrase was indeed added in the printed editions of the Mekhilta at the end
of Parasha 3: ‫“( אלהי אבי וארוממנהו—אמרה כנסת ישראל לפני הקב"ה‬My Father’s
God and I will exalt him—The community of Israel said before the Holy One, blessed
be he,” 29 and ed. Horowitz, 128). Compare the transformation of the singular ‫אשירה‬
to the plural ‫ נודי ונשבח‬in the Aramaic Targums.
46
See for example ‫“( עמי נהג במידת רחמים ועם אבותי נהג במדת הדין‬with me
He dealt according to the rule of mercy, while with my fathers He dealt according
to the rule of Justice,” 28), which seem to compare the experience of the Israelites
in the desert with that of their fathers in Egypt. See also ‫“( גאני וגיאיתיו‬He exalted
me and I exalted him,” 12) which than refers explicitly to occurrences in Egypt and
at the Red Sea.
47
See also ‫והרי כל אומות שבעולם אומרים שבחו של הקב"ה אבל שלי נעים ונאה לפניו יותר‬
(“For all the nations of the world proclaim the Lord’s praise, but mine is more pleasant
for Him”; 23). From what follows it is clear that “mine” in this homily refers to all the
Jews who recite the ‘Shema’ (‫)ישראל אומרים שמע ישראל‬, including, off course, the
homilist and his audience.
228 ishay rosen-zvi

a queen, the daughter of kings”; 28). I would suggest that this lack of
specification is very telling in itself, and that it is exactly this indeter-
minacy that allows the homilist to present his realm as an undisturbed
continuation of the biblical one.48
The lack of separation between the biblical Song and the homilist is
most evident in those cases which the homilist deduces the very nature
of divine providence from the biblical verses; unquestionably assuming
that this nature is equally relevant for him as it was for the biblical poet.49
Thus, on the words ‫“( ה' איש מלחמה ה' שמו‬The Lord is a man of
war, Lord is his name,” v. 3) the homilist presents a series of differences
between God and a human emperor,50 which become an opportunity
for him to present some of the unchanging ways of the divine.51
Such inferences are based on the most fundamental rabbinic con-
ception of biblical omnisignificance. “The rabbis saw in the Bible not

48
In one case the transformation from the biblical period to the homilist’s is revealed
in the homilitical act itself: ‫ עד שאבוא עמו לבית מקדשו‬,‫ואנוהו—חכמים אומרים אלוינו‬
(“anvehu—The sages say: alavenu. I shall be in His company until I arrive with Him at
His temple”; 27). The homily continues to describe the experience of the Israelites in
the desert, during their long journey to the promised land (and temple). The whole
description is in past tense: ‫ ירדו‬. . . ‫כך כשירדו ישראל למצרים שכינה ירדה למצרים עמהם‬
‫ עד שבאו עימו לבית מקדשו‬. . . ‫ יצאו למדבר שכינה עמהם‬. . . ‫“( לים שכינה עמהם‬So here:
when Israel went down to Egypt, the shekhina was with them . . . when they got down
to the seam the shekhina was with them . . . when they set forth into the wilderness, the
shekhina was with them . . . until they came with Him to His holy Temple; 27; On this
Geniza version, also confirmed by MRS, see Elias, The MdRI, 161). Thus, the experi-
ence of the ancient Israelites in the desert serves the homilist as a precedent for his own
hope to a future revival of the great journey and the restoration of divine presence:
‫עד שאבוא עמו לבית מקדשו‬. Compare Mek. Pischa 14 (and parallels): ‫וכן את מוצא‬
‫ גלו‬. . . ‫ גלו למצרים שכינה עמהם‬.‫שכל מקום שגלו ישראל כביכול גלתה שכינה עמהם‬
:‫ וכשהן חוזרין ]כ"י מינכן ודפוס ראשון‬. . . ‫ גלו לעילם שכינה עמהם‬. . . ‫לבבל שכינה עמהם‬
‫“( וכשעתידין לחזור[ שכינה חוזרת עמהן‬Likewise you find that wherever Israel were
exiled, in a way the Shekhinah was exiled with them. When they went into exile to
Egypt, the Shekhina went into exile with them [. . .] When they were exiled to Babylon,
the Shekhina went into exile with them [. . .] and when they return [Cod. Munich and
ed. Prin.: in the future] the Shekhinah will return with them,” 114–15).
49
In some cases this inference is explicitly stated: ‫ה' ילחם לכם—לא לשעה אלא‬
‫ לעולם ה' ילחם לכם‬215.
50
The recurring phrase is: ‫ [ אבל הקב"ה אינו כן‬. . .] ‫“( מלך בשר ודם‬A king of flesh
and blood [. . .] but The Holy One, Blessed be He is not so,” 33–34).
51
See e.g.: ‫[ שהוא שומע צעקת כל באי‬. . .] ‫עשו תשובה מיד הוא מחזירה ריקם‬
‫‘( העולם‬but when Israel repents, He immediately repeals it [. . .] that he hears the cries
of all the inhabitants of the world,” 33–34). Compare also Parasha 5: ‫'אבל אתה חסדך‬
‫וטובך ורחמיך הרבים וימינך שהיא פשוטה לכל באי העולם וכו‬. (“But as for Thee, Thy
compassion, and Thy goodness, and Thy manifold mercies, and they right hand is
extended to all the inhabitants of the world [. . .],” 39). Since this statement does not
paraphrase any specific verse from the Song, it is clear that it does not refer to the
biblical period specifically, but to the everlasting ways of divine providence.
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 229

only an archive of past history, but an unearthing of the structure of

history itself [. . .] the historical writings in the Bible seemed to the
rabbis powerful enough to elucidate and explain every future historical
development.”52 Thus, the elucidation of the Bible is, in and of itself, the
elucidation of the divine guidance, revealed all throughout history.
There are, to be sure, significant thematic differences between the
Bible’s praise and the praise invoked by the Tannaim. The Rabbis
systematically rework the image of God as a mighty warrior, to present
him as an impartial, yet merciful, judge, who metes out just punish-
ment on the Egyptians. While the biblical hymn concentrates almost
solely on God’s uncontested might, the major theme in the midrash is
the nature of divine justice, returning over and over to the theme of
“measure for measure.”53 We would, however, be mistaken to let these

52
Yosef H. Yerushalmi, Jewish History and Jewish Memory (2nd ed.; Seattle: University
of Washington Press, 1989) 42–43. Compare: “For the Rabbis Scripture represented the
perfect description of reality, which if probed deeply enough could yield information
concerning Israel’s past, present and future as an eternal construct” (Herbert Basser,
Midrashic Interpretations of the Song of Moses [American University Studies 7; Theology
and Religion 2; New York: P. Lang, 1984], 284).
53
See Ishay Rosen-Zvi, “Measure for Measure as a Hermeneutic Tool in Tannaitic
Literature,” JJS 57 (2006): 269–86. On measure for measure in the Aramaic Targums
see Levine, “Neofiti 1: A Study of Exodus 15,” 306. See also Goldin, The Song at the
Sea, 24 for possible hints to the idea of lex talionis in the biblical song itself (which how-
ever does not lessen the rabbinic innovation of making this idea into the key for their
exegesis). Another theme which appears in the midrash, but totally absent from the
biblical hymn, is that of the merciful warrior: ,‫ה' איש מלחמה—שהוא נלחם במצרים‬
‫ [ שהוא זן ומפרנס לכל בריותיו‬. . .] ‫“( ה' שמו—שהוא שומע צעקת כל באי העולם‬The
Lord is a man of war, for He makes battle against Egypt; His name is the Lord, in
that he hears the petitions of all the inhabitants of the world [. . .] in that he sustains
and provides for all his creatures,” 33–34). Compare: ‫אבל אתה חסדך וטובך ורחמיך‬
‫( הרבים וימינך שהיא פשוטה לכל באי העולם‬39). Note that both homilies are based
on duplications (the alleged redundancy of ‫[ ה' שמו‬v. 3] in the first, and the double
appearance of ‫[ ימינך‬v. 6] in the second) which are interpreted as indicating the
divine ability to act mercifully to all creatures, even while fighting the enemies. On
the term ‫ באי העולם‬as expressing rabbinic universalistic ideas, see Hirschman, Torah
for the Entire World, 61–71. The universalistic statements here stand in sharp contrast
to the verses they interpret, e.g. ‫ [ שנתת ארכה לדורו של מבול לעשות‬. . .] ‫נאדרי בכח‬
‫“( תשובה‬Majestic in Power [. . .] For the generation of the flood Thou gave a grace
period to repent”; 39; the homily reads ‫ נאדרי‬as a combination of two words ‫ נאה‬and
‫אדיר‬, which are interpreted as balancing each other: power restrained by justice, See
also Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 146–47). Compare also the critical homily about the
resistance of the sea to accept the Egyptians’ blood (68; cf. the Palestinian Targums
on v. 12; Compare “Al Tehomei Maayan Eden” v. 12 [Ben Hayyim, Tibat mar·keh,
120], where the sea’s resistance come from concerns for its purity rather then moral
considerations). On the combination of divine might and mercy in rabbinic literature
in general see Efraim Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (2nd ed.; Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1987), 80–96.
230 ishay rosen-zvi

admittedly significant thematic differences cover the very basic gesture

of Imitatio Scriptura. The rabbinic homilist joins the biblical poet in the
act of singing God’s praise, and he does so in the first person, as part
of a trans-historical collective; positing the relevance of God’s might
to him just as it was to the biblical poet.54

Succession vs. Sandwich: Tenses in the Mekilta

The adoption of direct speech in the midrash is only one aspect of

the story. Another, which reveals more about the logic of the midrash,
while complicating matters further, is the transition between different
tenses.55 Our homilies present a fascinating use of, and shift between, a
variety of tenses. The relatively free use of tenses in the biblical song56
becomes a playful variety when being translated into the rabbinic tense

54
Note that most of tractate Shirata deals with the verses which describe the
divine war on the sea, while the later verses (13–17), describing the journey to the
promised land, received very limited treatment (only part of Parashot 9,10). Had
the midrash had an interest in downplaying the war celebration, the ratio would have
been reversed.
55
In the rabbinic tense system the perfect (‫ )פעל‬refers always to the past, while future
is usually expressed with the nominal auxiliary: ‫( עתיד ל‬since the regular imperfect
has a modal meaning). The participle (‫)בינוני‬, however, may refer both to the present
and the future (as well as, in some cases, to the past, see Azar, Tahbir Leshon HaMishnah
[ Jerusalem: ha-A·kademyah la-lashon ha-‘Ivrit, 1995], 2–3 and n. 6). See for example
the homilies on ‫( עושה פלא‬v. 11), which read it as referring to all three tenses:
‫ [ עושה פלא עם אבות ועתיד לעשות‬. . .] ‫עשה עמנו פלא ועושה עמנו בכל דור ודור‬
‫“( עם בנים‬He has done wondrous things for us and he performs these for us in every
generation [. . .] Doing wonders for the fathers and will, in the future, do them for the
sons,” 66; Compare the homily on ‫ ויהי לי לישועה‬according to the Geniza version
[Kahana, Kit’ei Midreshei haHalakha, 62]: ‫היה לי לשעבר והווה לי לעתיד לבוא‬, “He
was for me in the past, and he is [i.e. will be] for me in the future). The imperfect is
likewise used in multiple contexts. Compare for example the homilies which read the
biblical imperfect as future (‫לעתיד לבא‬, n. 61 below), to the one reading it as “always”
(‫לעולם‬, n. 14 above). In most cases, however, the meaning can be easily deduces from
accompanying adjectives (e.g. ‫ לעתיד‬,‫ לשעבר‬,‫ להבא‬,‫ עכשיו‬,‫ עם אבותי‬,‫ עימי‬,‫לי‬
‫ בכל דור ודור‬,‫)לבוא‬, or explicit oppositions (e.g. ‫עשה עמנו פלא ועושה עמנו בכל‬
‫)דור ודור‬. On the tense system in rabbinic Hebrew see Shimon Sharvit, “Maarechet
Hazmanim Bilshon HaMishnah,” in Studies in Hebrew and Semitic Languages Dedicated to
the Memory of Prof. Eduard Yechezkel Kutscher (ed. G. B. Sarfatti et al.; Ramat Gan: Bar
Ilan University, 1980), 110–25; Mordechay Mishor, “Maarechet Hazmanim Bilshon
Hatanaim” (PhD diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1984), Azar, 1–27 (and the
bibliography cited 1 n. 2).
56
So much so that “we sometimes cannot tell whether the writer is recalling the
past, describing the present or predicting the future” (Propp, Exodus 1–18, 506–7). On
the biblical tense system see Alviero Niccacci, The Syntax of the Verb in Classical Hebrew
Prose ( JSOTSupp 86; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990).
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 231

system.57 Let us compare, for example, two homilies on the words

‫( ויהי לי לישועה‬v. 2):
.‫ישועה את לכל באי העולם אבל לי ביותר‬
.‫ ויהי לי לישועה—היה לי לשעבר והווה לי לעתיד לבוא‬,‫דבר אחר‬
Thou art the salvation of all the inhabitants of the world, but mine above
all. Another Interpretation: He was my [salvation] in times past, and He
will be my [salvation] in the age to come (24).
Both homilies imitate the biblical use of direct speech, and both refer
to a collective trans-historical figure of some kind. Nonetheless, the
tenses they use seem to suggest different historical conceptualizations
(or, perhaps, different conceptualizations of history). The first homily
appears in a present continuous form, with which, we may assume, both
the biblical poet and the homilist are associated. The second, although
representing a trans-historical figure as well, unmistakably speaks from
the perspective of the present, for which the biblical song is a past,
expected to return in the future.
A similar diversity appears in the homilies discussing the second
part of the verse:
‫ אני מלכה בת מלכים אהובה בת‬:‫ אלוהי אבי וארוממהו‬,‫זה אלי ואנוהו‬
[. . .] ‫אהובים‬
‫לא על ניסים שעשית עמי אומר לפניך שבח וזימרה אלא על ניסים‬
.‫שעשית עמי ועם אבותי ועשה עמי בכל דור ודור‬
My father’s God, and I will exalt him: I am a queen the daughter of
kings, beloved the daughter of beloved [. . .] Not for the miracles You
have wrought for me, I recite songs and hymns before Thee, but for the
miracles which You have wrought for me and my Fathers, and continue
to perform for me in every single generation (29).
Both homilies discus the repetition (and thus possible redundancy) of
the divine name in the verse (‫ אלי‬and ‫)אלהי אבי‬. The first reads it as
referring to a lineage: “a queen the daughter of kings,” without clarify-
ing whether “me” refers to the homilist’s audience or to the Israelites
in the desert.58 The second refers more clearly to the desert experience

57
Such translation is a normal process in rabbinic midrash, not only in the context of
grammar, but also of syntax and vocabulary. See Isaac Heinemann, Darkhe Ha’aggadah
(3rd ed.; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1970), 112–17.
58
As might be hinted in the phrase: ‫( בת מלכים‬e.g. Gen 17:6). The importance of lin-
eage is presented here through the metaphor of Israel as God’s bride (a metaphor totally
absent from the biblical hymn as Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 121, correctly notes).
232 ishay rosen-zvi

(thus the miracles!), but then explicitly extends it to “every single

generation.” This indeed seems to be the whole point of the second
homily, in which the repetition in the verse is taken as a sign that one
should not read it as referring to a specific historical moment, but as
a paradigm of history as a whole.
These two models reappears throughout the whole tractate: on the
one hand ‫לשעבר ולעתיד לבוא‬59 and on the other ‫;בכל דור ודור‬60
“sandwich” vs. “succession.” They differ not only in the manner they
conceptualize history, but also in the ways they make the song relevant
for the present. According to the first model the song is a promise for

59
See: ‫“( אז ישיר משה—יש אז לשעבר ויש אז לעתיד לבא‬sometimes ‘then’ refers
to what is past, and sometimes to what will come in the future”; 1); ‫כי גאה גאה—גאה‬
‫“( ועתיד להתגאות‬He is exalted and will be exalted in the future to come”; 12); ‫היה‬
‫“( לי לשעבר ויהיה לי לעתיד לבוא‬He was [my salvation] in times past, and He will be
in the future to come”; 24); ‫“( הוא לשעבר הוא לעתיד לבוא‬the same in the past, the
same in the future to come”; 31); ‫“( עושה פלא עם אבות ועתיד לעשות עם בנים‬doing
wondrous things for the fathers and in the future continuing to do them for the sons”;
66); ‫ וכן‬,‫כיון שראו ישראל שרה של מלכות נופל התחילו נותנין שבח לכך נאמר רמה‬
‫את מוצא שאין המקום עתיד להיפרע מן המלכיות לעתיד לבא עד שיפרע משריהם‬
‫“( תחילה‬when Israel beheld the Prince of the Empire fall, they began to proclaim
praises. That is why it is said rmh. You find the same true of the future to come, that
not until haMaqom first brings their princes to account will He bring the empires to
account”; 20). The term ‫ לעתיד לבא‬can refer both to simple future (e.g. m. Ber. 9.4,
m. Eruv. 9.3, m. RH 1.6) as well as to the Eschaton (e.g. m. Eduy. 2.10, m. MQ 3.9,
m. Tam. 7.4). Here it clearly refers to the second (note ‫להיפרע מן המלכויות‬, and compare
‫“[ אז ישיר—נמצאנו למדים שתחיית המתים מן התורה‬Then will sing, Moses—thus
from the Torah we derive the ressurection of the dead” 1]). Compare the homilies
on the Song of Moses, Sif. Deut. Piska 315, 321–22, and piska 333, 342–33 (all in ed.
Hammer), and see also below n. 62.
60
The phrase ‫ בכל דור ודור‬appears twice: ‫עושה פלא—עשה עמנו פלא ועושה‬
‫“( עמנו בכל דור ודור‬He did wonders for us and still does wonders for us in every
generation”; 66); ‫אלהי אבי וארוממנהו—לא על ניסים שעשית עמי אומר לפניך שבח‬
‫ אלא על ניסים שעשית עמי ועם אבותי ועשה עמי בכל דור ודור‬,‫“( וזימרה‬My Father’s
God and I will exalt Him—It is not for the miracles You have done for me that I
require songs and hymns before You, but for the miracles which You have done for
my fathers and for me and continue to perform for me in every single generation”;
29). In the first case the derasha is prompted by the duplication ‫ אלהי אבי‬,‫אלי‬, while
in the second by the present form: ‫עושה‬. Since, however, both techniques function
also to deduce the opposite model, of ‫לעתיד לבוא‬, it is clear that the two models are
not simply the result of different hermeneutic methods. Note that the midrash does
not (and cannot) acknowledge the phenomenon of parallelism characterizing biblical
poetry, and thus have to account for a long series of redundancies in the Song, many
of which are explained according to one of these models: ‫ אני מלכה בת מלכים‬or
‫לשעבר ולעתיד לבוא‬. On “parallelism” in biblical poetry, and the conscious “forgetful-
ness” of it in rabbinic literature, see James L, Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1981). Many homilies in Shirata are indeed based on
this kind of “forgetfulness” (see esp. the homilies on ‫גאה גאה‬, ‫ ה' איש מלחמה‬and
‫)עזי וזמרת יה‬.
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 233

the future, a “preview”61 of what is still expected to come, while accord-

ing to the second it is a paradigm of history in general, uncovering the
basic ways of divine providence.
In a few cases the two models actually appear side by side, com-
menting on the same biblical words. Thus on the words: ‫( עושה פלא‬v.
11) we find the following homilies:
‫שנאמר לכן הנה ימים באים נאם ה' ולא לעתיד לבוא עשה פלא אין כתיב‬
.'‫—עושה פלא יאמרו עוד חי ה' וגו‬,‫אלא עושה פלא‬62 ‫כאן‬
‫ שנאמר‬,‫ עושה פלא—עשה עמנו פלא ועושה עמנו בכל דור ודור‬,‫דבר אחר‬
[. . .] ‫נפלאים מעשיך ונפשי יודעת מאוד‬
‫ עושה פלא—עושה פלא עם אבות ועתיד לעשות עם הבנים שנאמר‬,‫ד"א‬
‫ אראנו מה שלא הראיתי‬.[‫כימי צאתך מארץ מצרים ]אראנו נפלאות‬
.‫לאבות‬
“Doing Wonders”—The verse does not say “who did wonders,” but “doing
wonders,” in the future, as it is said: “Therefore, behold, the days come,
say the Lord, that it shall no more be said: As the Lord lives that brought
up the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt” ( Jer. 16:14).
Another interpretation “Doing Wonders”: He did wonders for us and still
does wonders for us in every generation, as it is said: “Wonderful are Your
works; and that my soul knows right well” (Ps. 139:14) [. . .]
Another interpretation “Doing Wonders”: Doing wonders for the fathers
and will in the future do wonders for the children, as it is said: “As in the
days of your coming out of Egypt I will show him marvelous things” (Mic
7:15), I will show him what I have not shown the fathers (66)
While the first and last homilies refer to the past and the future only,63
the second presents a clear model of succession. How are we to account

61
This term is taken from Goldin, The Song at the Sea, 13–20, who however does not
distinguish between these two models, therefore leaving open the question how can
“the past made present” (as the title of this chapter) when “for the Tannaim history is
a preview of that future which arrives with the end of time” (idem, 14).
62
Similar inferences (X is not written, but Y) appear in regard to biblical words in
the imperfect form (e.g. the homilies on ‫תרעץ אויב‬, 42 and on ‫תהרוס קמיך‬, 42). The
original reference of these verbs is not clear enough (n. 55 above). Notwithstanding
this, Goldin is perfectly right that “a cue for prophetic interpretation of the song is
already in the song itself ” (The Song at the Sea, 22–23, Cf. Childs, The Book of Exodus,
249), most evidently with regard to vv. 16–17.
63
The difference between the two homilies (the first refers to the future only, while
the second presents a “sandwich” model), does not seem to convey a debate between
opposing opinions. Rather, it represents a basic dialectic regarding this model—the great
past serve as the precedent (and thus promise) for the future, which at the same time
is expected to exceed (and even erase) it. See: ‫כל השירות שעברו קרואות בלשון נקבה‬
‫ [ כשם שאין הזכר יולד כך התשועה‬. . .] ‫[ אבל התשועה העתידה קרויה לשון זכר‬. . .]
‫העתידה לבוא אין אחריה שעבוד‬. (“For all the songs referring to past events the noun
234 ishay rosen-zvi

for the appearance of these two models side by side? What might be
the relationship between them? Why does the past/future model out-
number the successive one,64 and how does it relate to the phenomenon
of Imitatio Scriptura discussed above?
One simple possibility is to assume a debate. Such a debate might
indeed be reflected in the following homily:
‫ ה' מלך‬:‫ אלו אמרו ישראל על הים‬,‫ה' ימלוך לעולם ועד—ר' יוסי אומר‬
‫ אלא‬,‫ לא היתה אומה ולשון שולטת בהן לעולם‬,(‫טז‬,‫עולם ועד )תהלים י‬
‫יח(—לעתיד לבא‬,‫ ה' ימלוך לעולם ועד )שמות טו‬:‫אמרו‬
The Lord Will Be King For Ever and Ever: Rabbi Yose said: If only at
the Sea Israel had proclaimed, “The Lord is king forever and ever” (Ps
10:16), not a nationality or empire would ever after have ruled over them!
But they said: “The Lord will be kind for ever and ever” (Exod. 16:18),
in the age to come (80).
In his paper on the martyrs of Massada, David Flusser reads this homily
as a polemical statement of the zealots, aimed against those who were
waiting passively for eschatological redemption.65 A historical reconstruc-
tion of two opposing camps, however, can hardly explain the larger
picture of Shirata. These models appear together quite often, without
a sign to an awareness of the alleged contradiction (See especially the
homilies on: ‫ עושה פלא‬,‫ זה אלי‬,‫)ויהי לי לישועה‬. It does not, moreover,
explain the majority of the homilies, which do not lend themselves to
any specific model, but simply discuss the divine permanent attributes
(e.g.—‫ )שהוא שומע צעקת כל באי העולם‬or God’s relationships with
“us” (e.g. ‫)עוזר וסומך אתה לכל באי העולם אבל לי ביותר‬. Debates
over political activism cannot account for the most basic phenomenon
of the tractate: the very gesture of joining the biblical song in first

used is in the feminine [. . .] but for the salvation which is yet to be the noun used in
the masculine [. . .] just as no male gives birth, so the salvation which is to come will
not be succeeded by subjugation”; 6–7), As well as: ‫ "עושה פלא"—עושה פלא‬.‫ד"א‬
‫ אראנו מה‬.'‫ שנ' "כימי צאתך מארץ מצרים" וגו‬.‫עם אבות ועתיד לעשות עם הבנים‬
‫“( שלא הראיתי לאבות‬another interpretation. Doing Wonders: doing wonders for
the Fathers and in the future doing them for the sons, as it is said: “As in the days
of the coming out of the land of Egypt I will show unto him wondrous things” (Mic
7:15). I will show him what I did not show the fathers; 66). Cf. also the discussion in
Mek. Pischa 16 (135), t. Ber. 1.10 whether the salvation from Egypt will be remembered
at all ‫לעתיד לבוא‬.
64
Compare notes 58 and 59 above.
65
See David Flusser, “Harugei Massada Beeinihem uBe’einei Bene Doram,” in
Judaism of the Second Temple Period: Sages and Literature (ed. S. Ruzer; Jerusalem: Yad
Ben-Zvi, 2002), 79–80.
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 235

person.66 What allows the homilist to join the song? What makes it
into his own? What let him see the victory at the sea as relevant for
him and his audience?

Back to the Future: Biblical Promises and

Midrashic Reading Strategies

If we wish to understand these homilies we need tools other than politi-

cal history (or any history, for that matter); we have to analyze them as
homilies, to be attentive to their hermeneutic and rhetorical dimensions,
and not only to their direct content; to examine what they do and not
only what they say. I would like to exemplify this point with a close
reading of one homily in Parasha 4, which discusses the locus classicus
of the Poet’s praise of divine potency: ‫( ה' איש מלחמה‬v. 3).67 68 69 70
‫ ה' שמו"—ר' יהודה אומר הרי זה מקרא עשיר במקומות‬,‫"ה' איש מלחמה‬
'‫ שנ‬,‫ נגלה עליהם כגבור חגור חרב‬.‫ מגיד שנגלה עליו בכל כלי זיין‬.‫הרבה‬
‫ שנ' "וילבש‬,‫ נגלה עליו בשירין וכובע‬.(‫ד‬,‫"חגור חרבך וג' " )תהלים מה‬
"‫ נגלה עליו בחנית שנ' "ולנוגה ברק חניתך‬.(‫יז‬,‫צדקה כשריין" )ישעיה נט‬
‫ נגלה עליו בקשת‬.(‫ג‬,‫ וכת' "הרק חנית וסגור" )תהלים לה‬,(‫יא‬,‫)חבקוק ג‬
‫ "וישלח חיציו ויפיצם‬,(‫ט‬,‫ובחיצים שנ' "עריה תעור קשתך וגו' " )חבקוק ג‬
"‫ נגלה עליהם בצינה ובמגן שנ' "צנה וסוחרה אמתו‬.(‫טו‬,‫וגו' " )תהלים יח‬
.(‫ב‬,‫ "החזק מגן וצנה וגו' " )שם לה‬,(‫ד‬,‫)שם צא‬
‫ תלמוד לומר "ה' איש‬,‫או שומע אני שהוא צריך לאחת ממידות הללו‬
.‫ ה' שמו"—בשמו הוא נלחם ואינו צריך לאחת מכל מידות הללו‬,‫מלחמה‬
‫ אלא שאם‬.‫ לפרט כל אחד ואחד בפני עצמו‬68[‫ואם כן למה צריך ]הכתוב‬
‫ אי להם לאומות העולם‬69.‫ להן לישראל המקום עושה להם מלחמה‬70‫צרכו‬
.‫ שהרי מי שאמר והיה העולם עתיד להלחם בם‬,‫מה הם שומעים באזניהם‬

66
Similarly, Adiel Schremer, “Midrash and History: God’s Power and Hopes for
Redemption in the world of the Tannaim, Under the Shadow of the Roman Empire,”
Zion 72 (2007): 5–36, has offered recently to read these homilies as directed against
Rome, and as a polemic against the zealots’ military activism. He also suggested
a thorough analysis of the militant, vengeful, nature of the future redemption, as
reflected in these homilies. He too, however, ignores the “succession model,” ‫בכל דור‬
‫ודור‬, which appear, as we have seen, side by side with the “sandwich model,” ‫לשעבר‬
‫ולעתיד לבוא‬.
67
The meaning (and thus also translation) of this verse is highly debated; see Propp,
Exodus 1–18, 515.
68
Note 79 below.
69
Geniza: ‫ניסין ומלחמות וגבורן‬.
70
Geniza: (Kahana, Kitxei Midreshei haHalakha, 65): ‫יצטרכו‬.
236 ishay rosen-zvi

The Lord is a Man of War, The Lord is His Name: Rabbi Judah said:
here is a verse made rich in meaning by many passages, for it declares that
He revealed himself to them with every manner of weapon: He revealed
Himself to them as a warrior girt with his sword, as it is said: “Gird thy
sword upon thy thigh, O warrior” (Ps 45:4); He revealed Himself to them
in coat of mail and helmet, as it is said: “and He put on righteousness as
a coat of mail” (Isa 59:17); He revealed Himself to them with a spear,
as it is said, “At the shining of Thy glittering spear” (Hab 3:11), and it
says: “draw out also the spear and the battle-ax” (Ps 35:3); He revealed
Himself to them with bow and arrows, as it is said, “Thy bow is made
quite bare” (Hab 3:9), and it says “and he sent out arrows and scattered
them” (Ps 18:15); He revealed himself to them in buckler and shield, as it
is said, “His truth is a shield and a buckler” (Ps 91:4), and it says “Take
hold of shield and buckler” (Ps 35:2).
Shall I deduce that He is in need of any of these means? The verse says
“The Lord is a man of war, the Lord is His name”: by means of His
name He makes battle, and has no need of any one of these means! If
so, why need [scripture] specify every single one of them? For if Israel is
in need of them God fights their battle. And woe to the nations of the
world at what they hear with their own ears! For lo, He Who Spoke and
the World Came to Be will battle against them in the future (30–31).
The Homily begins in the past tense: “it [the verse] tells that He
appeared (‫ )נגלה‬to them with all weapons,” and ends in the future:
“He Who Spoke and the World Came to Be will battle against them in
the future (‫)עתיד להלחם‬.” The structure, thus, seems clear: the revela-
tions of the past serve as a promise for their return in the future. In
between the homilist gathers various verses which describe God as a
great warrior, armed with horse, sword, helmet, spear, bow and arrow
and shield.71 Indeed, it is this very act of bringing the verses together,
their “co-citation,”72 which has the force to create this promise; for only
this index of verses reveals the fact that it is not a description of a one-
time event, but of a pattern. God is a man of war, as is revealed again
and again in the scripture, and so we may expect him to reappear in
such a way once more in the future.73

71
On the order of the verses see Elias, The MdRI, 172.
72
Boyarin, Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash, 29–30.
73
Another example of this process can be found in the work of Mary Callaway,
Sing, O Barren One: A Study in Comparative Midrash (SBLDS 91; Atlanta: Scholars Press,
1986), which analyzes the rabbinic homilies on barren women in the Bible. Many of
these homilies, as Callaway shows, group together various biblical stories of barren
women (Sarah, Rebbeca, Rachel, Anna, etc.), in order to decode the general pattern
appearing in all of them; a pattern which, according to the homilist, continues to be
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 237

Citing all of these verses together creates an image of a super-soldier:

a hoplite combined with a horseman and an archer. Since a human
being, heroic as he might be, cannot possibly combine all these func-
tions together; it actually presents God not as a mighty warrior, but as
a one-man-army.74 The necessity for such a picture is clear: our God
has to function as a complete army, for he is expected to fight entire
armies,75 all by himself: ‫ה‘ ילחם לכם ואתם תחרישון‬. However, one
should not forget that all this fantasy refers, according to our homily, to
the expected future only. As one critic put it: “God acted (in the past),
will act (in the eschatological future), but is not acting in between.”76
Or isn’t he? The neat past/future structure of the homily is disturbed
by one phrase which explicitely speaks of the present: “woe unto the
nations of the world” says the homilist “what do they hear (‫)שומעים‬
with their own ears, Behold, He Who Spoke and the World Came to
Be will battle against them in the future (‫)עתיד להלחם‬.” God will fight
in the future, but the nations hear this now, in the very present,77 with

valid even in his own time. This last point is proven by the fact that many of these
lists end with none other than Zion, the barren nation, itself, which is expected to be
remembered and saved just like her sisters, the biblical heroines. This last item (which,
unlike all the other items in the list, appears in future, rather than in past, tense), seems
to be the real telos of these homilies which gives them their relevance and make them
a source of consolation.
74
The homilist thus gains twice by citing these verses together: presenting God as
an army of one man and, at the same time, proving they represent a pattern rather
then a one-time event. This midrashic sophistication was not noticed by Goldin (The
Song at the Sea, 124), who simply notes: “Six examples will now be given of how warrior
is equipped, and so when our verse speaks of God as warrior, we are to understand
how well equipped he was.”
75
The rabbis of course have one specific army in mind, with which they have
intimate familiarity. On the explicit association of Egypt with Rome in the Mekilta,
see Kadushin, A Conceptual Approach to the Mekilta, 254, 259, 268, 280. On the detailed
rabbinic knowledge of the Roman army see the classic study of Samuel Krauss, Paras
ve-Romi ba-Talmud uva-Midrashim ( Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1948), as well as
Shmuel Safrai, “The Roman Army in the Galilee,” in The Galilee in Late Antiquity (New
York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1992).
76
Daniel Patte, Early Jewish Hermeneutics in Palestine (SBL Diss. Series 22; Missoula:
Scholars Press, 1975), 72, cited by Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry, 90. Compare
Kugel’s own wording: “the Lord ‘is king’ but not, in external political terms, ‘king-
ing’ ” (102 n. 21).
77
Generally speaking, the participle can refer either to the present or to the
future. In our case, however, the present tense is encoded in the opposition between
the participle ‫שומעים‬, and the nominal auxiliary ‫עתיד ל‬, which follows. Compare
Shirata Parasha 2 (according to cod. Munich, Vatican and Casantanza): - ‫כי גאה גאה‬
‫“( )!( גיאה ועתיד להתגאות‬He is exalted and He will be exalted in the future,” 12), and
see also Mishor, “Ma’arechet Hazmanim,” 320–23.
238 ishay rosen-zvi

their very own ears. How can the nations hear now, that God “will
fight against them,” in the future? What exactly do they hear “with their
own ears”?
In order to answer this, let us look more closely at the structure of
our homily. After interpreting the first part of the verse: ‫ה' איש מלחמה‬,
by gathering various verses which detail God’s military functions, the
homily turns to the second part: ‫ה' שמו‬. The possible redundancy of
this phrase is solved in the homily by reading it as a reservation to the
first part: God has all these weapons, but he is not really in need of
them, for he can fight with his name only.78 In its next move the homily
returns to the first part of the verse and asks again: if God can actually
fight with his name alone, why does he hold all these weapons. The
answer, however, is rather perplexing: “for if Israel is in need of them,
God fights their battle.” How does this statement solve the question?
Why won’t God “fight their battle” with his name only?79
The problem disappears when we recognize a simple fact: the ques-
tion is not about weapons at all, but, from the very beginning, about
verses: “why need [scripture]80 specify every single one of them,” mean-
ing, of course, the verses.81 Thus, the story is clear: God does not need
the weapons, but we need the verses, for it is they, the verses, that the
nations hear with their own ears and become fearful.82

78
The homily below quotes several prooftexts: 1 Sam 17:45, Ps 20:8, 2 Chron 14:10.
The homilist might have also Hos 1:7 in mind.
79
Goldin’s explanation that the homily refers to war which will be fought by the
Israelites themselves, with God supplying their weapons (The Song at the Sea, 125–6) is
refuted by the next sentence: ‫שהרי מי שאמר והיה העולם עתיד להלחם בם‬.
80
‫ הכתוב‬is missing from MS Oxford, but appears in all other MS as well as in
the Geniza fragment (Kahana, Kit’ei Midreshei haHalakha, 65). The meaning, however,
is the same.
81
Compare also Parasha 8: ‫וכן את מוצא שעתידין אומות העולם לכפור בעבודה‬
‫“( זרה שלהן‬you also find that in the future likewise the nations will renounce their
idols”; 60). The nations had renounced their idols after hearing the miracle at the Sea,
and they will do so again in the future. In between the midrash has only the verses,
from which it reconstruct (or “find,” ‫ )מוצא‬both the great past and the promises of
the future.
82
The concept of the Nation’s “hearing” is based of course on v. 14 ‫שמעו עמים‬
‫“( ירגזון‬The peoples hear, they tremble”). Compare also: ‫כיון ששמעו אומות העולם‬
‫ [ כפרו כולם בעבודה זרה שלהם‬. . .] ‫“( שאבד פרעה בים‬as soon as the nations of the
world heard that Pharoh perished in the sea [. . .] they all renounced their idols”; 59–60).
In our homily, however, no possibility of repentance is mentioned. For different models
of redemption in rabbinic and medieval literature (conversion vs. revenge) See Israel
J. Yuval, Two Nations in Your Womb: Perceptions of Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and
Middle Ages (trans. Barbara Harshav and Jonathan Chipman; Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2006), 93–114.
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 239

How do the Nations hear these verses? One could offer synagogue
sermons as a possible source,83 or even speculate about some kind of
public recitation of the Song, but it seems reasonable to suggest that
behind this colorful description of terrifying the nations, lays a less
heroic, but no less important, function of encouraging us. It is the
students, after all, who actually hear the verses, which the homilist
skillfully gathers, with their own ears. The verses teach them that they
are not alone, for there is a whole army with them, if only they know
how (and where) to look.
When the Mekilta (Vayehi 3, 211–12) wishes to exemplify the deep
despair of the Israelites when squeezed between the Egyptians and
the sea (‫)הים סוגר ושונא רודף‬, it cites the story of Elisha the prophet
and his servant, who find themselves suddenly surrounded by the entire
Aramaean army (2 Kgs 6:16–17). The servant’s desperate call to Elisha
is answered by a surprising, miraculous, event: ‫ אל תירא כי רבים‬:‫ויאמר‬
‫ ה' פקח נא את עיניו‬:‫ ויתפלל אלישע ויאמר‬.‫אשר אתנו מאשר אותם‬
‫ ויפקח ה' את עיני הנער וירא והנה ההר מלא סוסים ורכב אש‬.‫ויראה‬
‫“( סביבות אלישע‬Have no fear, he replied, there are more on our side
than on theirs. Then Elisha prayed, Lord, open his eyes and let him
see. And the Lord opened the servant’s eyes and he saw the hills all
around Elisha covered with horses and chariots of fire”). The Mekhilta
imagines a similar event on the shore of the Red Sea:84
‫ אמרו‬.‫ למחר‬:‫ אמר להם משה‬.‫ אימתי‬:‫ "התיצבו וראו"—אמרו לו‬,‫דבר אחר‬
‫ נתפלל משה באותה‬.‫ אין בנו כח לסבול‬,‫ רבינו משה‬:‫לו ישראל למשה‬
‫ טורמיות של מלאכי השרת עומדין‬84‫שעה והראה להם המקום טורמיות‬
.‫לפניהם‬
Another Interpretation: “Stand Still and See”—They said to him: ‘when?’
Moses answered them: ‘tomorrow’. The Israelites said to Moses: ‘Moses,
our Master, we have not the strength to endure’. At that moment Moses
prayed and God caused them to see squadrons upon squadrons of min-
istering angels standing before them.

83
See Epstein, Prolegomena ad litteras Tannaiticas, 549, who claims that the aggadic
portion of the Mekhilta discusses only those units which were read publicly in rabbinic
period. Num 15 was read on the last Yom Tov of Passover (b. Meg. 31a). However, even
in older periods “it seems probable that the poem was recited on such occasions as
the Passover and accompanied with dancing” (Cross and Freedman, Studies in Ancient
Yahwistic Poetry, 34). On the tradition that the Israelites crossed the sea on the last day
of Passover see Seder Olam Raba cap. 5 (ed. Ratner 24).
84
See the gloss added in the Geniza (Kahana, Kit’ei Midreshei haHalakha, 46): ‫כתות‬
‫כתות‬.
240 ishay rosen-zvi

Note that while this homily narrates the miraculous event, the homily in
Shirata 4 actually reconstructs it, presenting to us the great heavenly arsenal
of weapons. In the homilist’s case, however, there is no direct divine
intervention, and so the verses alone (with the correct midrashic treat-
ment, of course) must serve as the eye openers; the tool which teaches
the audience that, truly, “there are more on our side than on theirs.”
This vivid picture of clusters of angels being revealed to the whole
people at the seashore, illuminates yet another point. It is not enough
to possess knowledge regarding the divine power; God’s potency has
to be actually revealed (thus: “He revealed himself [‫ ]נגלה‬to them with
every manner of weapon”). Indeed, the Tannaim saw the episode of
the Sea first and foremost as a narrative of divine revelation, excep-
tional even in biblical terms: ‫ ר' אליעזר אומר מנין אתה אומר‬-‫זה אלי‬
‫ [ כיון שראוהו‬. . .] ‫שראתה שפחה על הים מה שלא ראה ישעיה ויחזקאל‬
‫ זה אלי ואנוהו‬:‫ פתחו כולן פיהן ואמרו‬,‫“( היכירוהו‬This is my God—
Rabbi Eliezer says: How can you tell that at the Sea a bondswoman
could see what neither Isaiah nor Ezekiel ever saw? [. . .] As soon as
they saw Him they recognized Him, and they all opened their mouths
and said: This is my God and I will glorify Him,” 24).85 Note, however,
that this is the only homily which does not preserve the biblical direct
speech, but transforms it into a narrative of past event (‫)ראתה‬.86 The
homilist moves the biblical praise into the present, but not the revelation
which generates it. The revelatory act itself remains a one-time event:
“He revealed himself to them.” Thus it is the verses alone that bear
the responsibility, not only for telling the divine potency, but for actu-
ally revealing it. It is these verses which allow the homilist to experience
divine presence, as well as potency, in a post-revelatory era.

85
See Lieberman, “Mishnat Shir haShirim.” See also Urbach’s claim that the
rabbis’ conception of the revelation at the Sea (as well as at Sinai) as exclusively past
events, distinguishes them from the (contemporaneous) Hekhalot mystic, who claims
for reconstructing these revelation in his own visionary experience of the celestial pal-
ace: Efraim Urbach, “The Traditions about Esoteric Wisdom in Tannaitic Period,” in
The World of the Sages: Collected Studies (2nd ed.; Jerusalem: Magnes, 2002), 504. On the
tight connection between vision and liturgy in Hekhalot literature see Peter Schäfer,
Hekhalot-Studien (TSAJ 19; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), 286–89; see also Judith Newman’s
paper in this volume, 29–72, discussing revelatory claims in Qumran and especially
their use of liturgy to summon revelation.
86
There is only one additional homily which does not preserve the direct speech
of the first two verses in the Song: ‫אלהי אבי וארוממנהו—ר' שמעון בן אלעזר אומר‬
‫“( כשישראל עושין רצונו של מקום שמו מתגדל בעולם‬The God of my Fathers, and
I shall exalt Him—Rabbi Simeon ben Eleazar says: When Israel do the will of God
His name is magnified in the world,” 28). It, however, does not refer to the past, like
our homily, but reads the verse as referring to a general principle. Note also that both
these homilies are attributed.
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 241

The tense shift in the middle of the homily thus conveys a meaningful
message: God will only fight in the future, but the verses already fight
for “us” now, for it is they which reveal our hidden weapons. Between
the great past, narrated in the Bible, and the even greater future, in
which God is expected to fight our enemies again, the present pops up.
It is in the present that the students gather the verses, in the house of
study, and it is these verses which work for them here and now, gener-
ating fear, and, more importantly, encouragement. Thus, the text has
a double role: it tells of a great past, which promises an even greater
future, but it also mediates between the two, and substitutes for their
absence. Most importantly, it is the midrashic practice itself that bridges
the gap between the past and the future, thus allowing the homilist to
join the Bible’s praise in the present.
An explicit account of the way the verses combines these different
tenses, appears in the Sifre to Deuteronomy, referring to the Song of
Moses (Shirat Ha’azinu) in Deut 32. The long commentary on this song
ends with a general remark, which does not refer to any specific verse,
but instead reflect on the special traits of biblical poetry in general, and
its potential for midrashic exegesis: ‫ גדולה שירה שיש בה עכשיו‬,‫אמרת‬
‫ויש בה לשעבר ויש בה לעתיד לבא ויש בה לעולם הזה ויש בה לעולם‬
‫“( הבא‬you may well say: How great is song,87 for it contains references
to the present, to the past and to that which will come, as well as to
this world and the world to come”).88
In a later midrash we find a beautiful description of the dynamic
which transforms textual interpretive practices into a method of sur-
vival for the present:
'‫כא(—ר' אבא בר כהנא בשם ר‬,‫זאת אשיב אל לבי על כן אוחיל )איכה ג‬
‫ וכתב לה כך וכך חופות‬,‫ למשל שנשא אשה וכתב לה כתובה מרובה‬:‫יוחנן‬
‫ כך וכך כסף וזהב אני‬,‫ כך וכך תכשיטין אני עושה ליך‬,‫אני עושה ליך‬
‫ והיו שכנותיה מקנטרות‬.‫ והניחה שנים רבות והלך לו למדינת הים‬.‫נותן ליך‬
‫ והייתה בוכה‬.‫ לא בעליך שביק יתיך?! זילי סבי לך גבר אחרן‬:‫אומרות לה‬
.‫ ואחר כך היתה נכנסת לתוך חופתה וקוראת כתובתה ומתנחמת‬.‫ומתאנחת‬
‫ תמיה אני ממך איך המתנת לי‬:‫לאחר ימים ושנים בא המלך ואמר לה‬
‫ אילולי כתובתך מרובה שכתבת לי‬,‫ אדוני המלך‬:‫ אמרה לו‬.‫כל השנים הללו‬
‫ כך אומות העולם מונים את ישראל ואומרים‬.‫כבר הטעו אותי שכינותיי‬
‫ בואו אצלינו ואנו‬,‫ שביק יתכון וסליק שכינתיה מעליכון‬,‫ לא בעי לכון‬:‫להם‬
‫ וישראל נכנסין לבתי כניסיות‬,‫ממנים מכם דוכסין ואפרכין ואיסטרטליטין‬

87
“Song,” and not “this song,” as was glossed in several medieval midrashim (see
ed. Finkelstein ad loc.).
88
Hammer, Sifre, 343. For parallel statements in Philo and Josephus, see Basser,
Midrashic Interpretations, 259.
242 ishay rosen-zvi

‫ ופניתי אליכם והפרתי אתכם והרבתי‬:‫ולבתי מדרשות שלהן וקורין בתורה‬

‫ למחר כשהגאולה‬.‫ ומתנחמין‬,(‫יב‬-‫ט‬,‫אתכם ולא תגעל נפשי אתכם )ויקרא כו‬
‫ בניי תמיה אני היאך המתנתם לי כל השנים‬:‫ הקב"ה אומר לישראל‬,‫באה‬
‫ אילולי תורתך שכתבת לנו שהיינו‬,‫ רבון העולמים‬:‫ והן אומרים לפניו‬.‫הללו‬
‫ ופניתי אליכם והפריתי אתכם‬:‫נכנסין לבתי כנסיות ובתי מדרשות וקורין בה‬
:‫ הדא הוא דכתיב‬.‫ כבר הטעו אותנו אומות העולם ממך‬,‫והרבתי אתכם‬
8989
.(‫ צב‬,‫לולי תורתך שעשועי אז אבדתי בעניי )תהלים קיט‬
This I call to my mind, therefore I have hope (Lam 3:21): R. Abba bar
Kahana said: It is like a king who married a woman and wrote her
a large marriage settlement (ketubah). He wrote her: this many bridal
chambers I am building for you; this much jewelry I make for you; this
much gold I give you. Then he left her for many years and journeyed
to the provinces. Her neighbors used to taunt her and say to her: Hasn’t
your husband abandoned you? Go! Marry another man. She would
weep and sigh, and afterward she would enter her bridal-chamber and
read her marriage-settlement and would be comforted. Many years and
days later the king returned. He said to her: I am amazed that you have
waited for me all these years! She replied, My master, O king! If not for
that large wedding-settlement that you wrote me, my neighbors long ago
would have led me astray. Likewise: The nations of the world taunt Israel
and say to them: Your God does not want you. He has left you. He has
removed his presence from you. Come with us, and we will appoint you
to be generals, governors and officers. And the people of Israel enter their
synagogues and houses of study, and there they read in the Torah “I will
look with favor upon you, and make you fertile” (Lev 26:9,11), and they
are comforted. In the future, when the redemption comes, the Holy One,
blessed be He, will say to Israel: My children! I am amazed at how you
have waited for me all these years! And they will say to him: Master of
the universe, were it not for the Torah You gave us, in which we read
when we entered our synagogues and houses of study, “I will look with
favor upon you, and make you fertile,” the nations of the world would
have led us away from you. That is what is written: “Were not your Torah
my delight, I would have perished in my affliction” (Ps 119:92)90
Many aspects in this fascinating text deserve our attention,91 but for the
present context suffice it to notice one major phenomenon: the King’s

89
Lamentations Rabbati, 3.21, MS Parma Palatina 2559, cited according to the criti-
cal edition of Parahsa 3 appended to Paul Mandel, Midrash Lamentations Rabati,
Dissertation: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997, vol. 2:102–16. On the dating
of this midrash to approximately the sixth century see idem, 1:14.
90
Adapted from David Stern, Parables in Midrash: Narrative and Exegesis in Rabbinic
Literature (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991), 57.
91
For a literary reading of this homily see Stern, Parables in Midrash, 56–62. For a
reconstruction of the Jewish-Christian polemics behind the parable, see Galit Hasan-
Rokem, Tales of the Neighborhood: Jewish Narrative Dialogues in Late Antiquity (Taubman
Lectures in Jewish Studies 4; Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 40–42.
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 243

wife literally survives by reading the marriage settlement.92 It is the

text alone which serves as the bridge between the great promises (‫כתב‬
‫ )לה כתובה מרובה‬of the past and their fulfillment in the future (‫למחר‬
‫)כשהגאולה באה‬. The promises written in the Torah thus become
a tool for survival even in the bleak present, when the king is gone.
Reading the function of scripture in this parable merely as a promise
for the future misses the complex way it acts in the actual present as
both a consolation in the king’s absence (‫)ומתנחמת‬, and as the tool to
resist the neighbor’/nations’ temptation. The gap between the great
promises and the poor reality is bridged by the very act of reading,
which functions, at one and the same time, both as a guarantee and
as a substitute to the king’s present: ‫לולי תורתך שעשועי אז אבדתי‬
‫בעניי‬, indeed.93
In light of all this, the above presentation of two distinct models
appears to be all too dichotomous. The past points to the future, but at
the same time it acts in the present. Undoubtedly, the dominant structure
of these homilies is that of past and future,94 but this does not exhaust
the homilist’s license to join the biblical praise in the first person. Indeed,
it is the house of study itself which makes the future present here and
now, through the very act of gathering the biblical verses.
This explains how all these seemingly contradictory statements can
live so well together in Shirata: the past/future model, along with the
accompanied recognition that things are very different in the present,
when God is silent, side by side with praise in the first person and the
concept of God as wonder maker “in each and every generation.” God’s
mighty revelation at the Sea becomes a promise for the future, but at
the same time a paradigm to history, due to the homilist activity itself.95
The contradiction between the two models, in other words, disappears
when we read ‫ בכל דור ודור‬not as simply an opinion (thus contradicting

Note the similarity between the neighbors’ seduction here and in R. Akiva’s martyr-
dom’s homily above.
92
See David Stern’s remark: “How many other texts in Rabbinic literature—for
that matter, in all ancient literature—portray a woman who literally survives through
reading, or who reads to survive?” (Parables in Midrash, 57). Indeed, the king himself is
surprised by his wife’s ability to remain faithful.
93
As Stern, Parables in Midrash, 59, observes, the homily does exactly what it preaches
for: it comforts the hearers with its homiletic activity.
94
See note 63 above.
95
This of course does not mean that these statements cannot be used for political
debate, but it seems to be secondary to the homiletic discourse itself.
244 ishay rosen-zvi

the more common model of ‫ )לשעבר ולעתיד לבוא‬but as a discursive

practice,96 which itself makes the revelation present here and now.
A clear example of such a practice appears in the ritual of the Seder,
the annual celebration of the redemption from Egypt.97 Both of the
historical models discussed above, appear clearly in the Seder. On the
one hand: ‫ בו עתידין להיגאל‬,‫[‘( בו נגאלו‬Israel] were redeemed at this
time, and are set to be redeemed at the same time in future to come”),98
and on the other: ‫בכל דור ודור חייב אדם לראות את עצמו כאילו הוא‬
‫“( יצא ממצרים‬In every generation a person should see himself as if
he [ himself ] left Egypt”),99 and these two apparently opposing models
are combined in the Haggadah100 as well as in the description of the
Seder in the Mishnah.101 It seems, moreover, that the tannaitic ritual
itself, as described in the Mishnah (m. Pes. 10), functions exactly as the
bridge which connects the past memories and future expectations with
the experience of the present.102 The myth and ritual of the Exodus are

96
Treating midrash as practice is an old trick (see e.g. the reference to Boyarin,
Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash above). The most nuanced analysis of the rela-
tionship between hermeneutics and practice, I know of, appears in: Elliot R. Wolfson
Through a Speculum that Shines: Vision and Imagination in Medieval Jewish Mysticism (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1994), 74–124.
97
In rabbinic (and maybe also earlier) times the song at the sea was recited on the
last day of Passover (n. 82 above). Compare Philo’s description of the Therapeutae
singing in their feast as “a copy of the choir set up of old beside the Red Sea”
(Contempl. 85, 165).
98
Mek., Pischa 14 (ed. Horowitz, 52); bRH 11b, in the name of R. Yehoshua. On this
Homily (and the opposing homily of R. Eliezer: ‫)לעתיד לבוא אין נגאלין אלא בתשרי‬
See Aharon Shemesh, “What is this Pesach for?” AJSR 21 (1996): 4–5. Compare also
R. Akiva’s version of the salvation benediction in m. Pesa˜ 10.6, beginning with the sal-
vation from Egypt and ending with the hope for rebuilding the temple (‫ )ביניין עולם‬and
renewal of the Paschal sacrifice (‫ )לוכל מן הפסחים ומן הזבחים‬in the future to come.
99
This statement was taken from the Haggadah into the printed editions of m. Pes.
10.6. See Shmuel Safrai and Ze’ev Safrai, Haggadat Hazal ( Jerusalem: Carta 1988), 36.
Similar statements, however, do appear in M (e.g. note 100).
100
Although there is no consensus regarding the date of the Haggadah, we can
fairly assume its roots are tannaitic. See Judith Hauptman “How old is the Haggadah?”
Judaism 51 (2002): 5–18.
101
See for example the mixture of “us” and “our fathers” in M 5: ‫לפיכך אנו חייבים‬
‫[ למי שעשה לנו ולאבותינו את כל הניסים האילו‬. . .] ‫“( להודות‬Therefore we are obli-
gated to thank [. . .] he who performed all these miracles for us and for our fathers”),
as well as in the salvation benediction in M 6: ‫אשר גאלנו וגאל את אבותינו ממצרים‬
(“who hath redeemed us and redeemed our fathers from Egypt”). Compare Mek. cited
above: ‫( אלא על ניסים שעשית עמי ועם אבותי ועושה עמי בכל דור ודור‬29).
102
This phenomenon is evident in the structure of the “freedom feast” in the
Mishnah, which demand several elements, usually appearing only in voluntary, luxu-
rious, meals (reclining and multiple glasses of wine; m. Pes. 10.1); as well as in the
midrash of ‫ארמי אובד אבי‬, which retells the story of the exodus anew each year
 can the homilists cross the sea again ? 245

combined in the midrashic act itself, which makes the future redemption
appear in the very present in every Jewish dining room.
To sum up: this paper is an attempt to decipher the different ways
in which time is conceived, narrated and (ultimately) constructed in
Mekhilta Shirata. I began with a simple yet troubling question: what
allows the homilist to join the biblical victory song? The question
becomes more disturbing in light of the past/future model which
prevails in this tractate. After considering the possibility of two rival
models: “succession” vs. “sandwich,” I have tried to show that there
is no real contradiction between the two. Through a close reading of
one homily I have suggested that the homiletical activity itself as the
mechanism that allows the homilist to transcend the past/future model
and join himself the biblical hymn.
Beyond the specific thematic analysis, this paper can be seen as an
exercise in comparative methodology to tannaitic midrash.103 Where
scholars of rabbinic philosophy (‫ )מחשבת חז"ל‬detect various discrete
themes (the merciful warrior, measure for measure, etc., cf. n. 52 supra),
and the historians see different reactions to post-destruction reality,104 a
hermeneutical-rhetorical analysis, concentrating on the midrashic pro-
cess itself, reveals the mechanism that enables the very act of joining
the biblical song wholeheartedly.

(m. Pes. 10.4). My (nut shell) analysis differs from that of Baruch Bokser The Origins of
the Seder: The Passover Rite and Early Rabbinic Judaism (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1984), 48, who reads the Mishnah as an assertion “that the Passover celebra-
tion can and should continue even without the paschal lamb,” see also Joseph Tabori,
The Passover Ritual Throughout the Generations (Tel Aviv: Ha-·Kibuts ha-me’u·had, 1996).
On the midrash of ‫ ארמי אובד אבי‬see David Henshke, “Midrash Arami Oved Avi,”
Sidra 4 (1988): 33–52.
103
For a more explicit discussion, see Steven Fraade, “Moses and the Commandments:
Can Hermeneutics, History, and Rhetoric be Disentangled?,” in The Idea of Biblical
Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. H. Najman and J.H. Newman; Leiden:
Brill, 2004), 399–422.
104
Cf. e.g. Flusser, “Harugei Masada.”
 HEARING AND SEEING AT SINAI:
INTERPRETIVE TRAJECTORIES

Steven D. Fraade
Yale University, USA

1. Introduction: The Scriptural Backdrop

The English term “theophany,” often used of the revelation at Mt.

Sinai, is made up of two Greek components, theo- (θeός) and -phany
(φαίνω), together meaning the “appearance of God,” suggesting that
it was an event in which God physically manifested himself in the
sight of Israel. As any reader of the biblical account of Sinai is aware,
however, the central aspect of the revelation is not of God himself,
but of his words, instructions, or commandments. That is not to say
that the Sinaitic revelation is without fantastic visual effects (as any
viewer of the classic movie, “The Ten Commandments,” can attest),
but rather that at the center of the revelation is not the appearance
of God, but the giving and receiving of his words. Whether they are
directly, divinely conveyed or indirectly, humanly meditated,1 they are
not just to be recorded, but to be heard by the whole people, at Sinai
and in the successive loci of revelation. God is revealed through the
revelation of his Torah, Sinai becoming identified, in rabbinic par-
lance, with ‫( מתן תורה‬the “giving of Torah”). As some of our earliest
rabbinic midrashim awkwardly express this idea, ‫כשנגלה הקב"ה ליתן‬
‫תורה לישראל‬. . ., translated literally, “When the Holy One, blessed be
He, was revealed to give Torah to Israel . . .”2
Nevertheless, auditory and ocular modes of revelatory reception at
Sinai both accompany and remain in tension with one another.3 With

1
See Steven D. Fraade, “Moses and the Commandments: Can Hermeneutics,
History, and Rhetoric Be Disentangled?” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in
Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. H. Najman and J. H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill,
2004), 399–422.
2
See Mek. of R. Shim{on bar Yo ai Exod 19:4 (ed. Epstein-Melamed, 138); Sifre
Deuteronomy 314 (ed. Finkelstein, 356); 343 (ed. Finkelstein, 395, 395–96, 397); Midr.
Tanna im Deut 32:11; 33:2 (ed. Hoffmann, 192, 209, 210).
3
While modern critical Bible scholars might attribute these differences to distinct
authorial or editorial literary strands, canonical interpreters would seek either to
248 steven d. fraade

all of the emphasis on hearing the words of an incorporeal God, and

with the anxious recognition that visual manifestations of God could
easily lead to idolatry (Deut 4:12, 15–19), “seeing is believing.” While,
on the one hand, “Man may not see me and live,” ‫לֹא־יִ ְראַנִ י ָה ָא ָדם וָ ָחי‬
(Exod 33:20; cf. Gen 32:31), on the other, God instructs Moses to
prepare the people, “for on the third day the Lord will come down,
in the sight of all the people, on Mount Sinai,” '‫ישׁי יֵ ֵרד ה‬ ִ ‫ִכּי ַבּיּוֹם ַה ְשּׁ ִל‬
‫ל־הר ִסינָ י‬
ַ ‫ל־ה ָﬠם ַﬠ‬
ָ ‫( ְל ֵﬠינֵ י ָכ‬Exod 19:11).
Moses is authorized as supreme prophet by the fact that to him
alone God speaks “face to face, as one man speaks to another,” ‫וְ ִד ֶבּר‬
‫ל־ר ֵﬠהוּ‬ֵ ‫ל־פּנִים ַכּ ֲא ֶשׁר ַיְד ֵבּר ִאישׁ ֶא‬
ָ ‫( ה' ֶאל־מ ֶֹשה ָפּנִים ֶא‬Exod 33:11).4 After the
golden calf incident, Moses, needing a booster shot of prophetic self-
confidence, desires, on the one hand, for God to reveal to him his
“ways” so that he may know him, ‫ת־דּ ָר ֶכָך וְ ֵא ָד ֲﬠָך‬ ְ ‫הוֹד ֵﬠנִ י נָ א ֶא‬
ִ (Exod
33:13), while, on the other, for God to reveal to him his “glory,” ‫ַה ְר ֵאנִ י‬
‫ת־כּב ֶֹדָך‬
ְ ‫( נָ א ֶא‬33:18), that is, God’s physical self-manifestation, with, here
as elsewhere, God’s glory being the object of sight, even if it blocks
seeing God himself.5 God grants the former (Exod 34:6–7), while only

harmonize them or to apprehend their intra-textual interplay. In what follows, I attend

to the relation between hearing and seeing as modes of revelatory reception only with
respect to Sinai, and not within the Hebrew Bible and among its ancient interpreters
more broadly.
4
For Moses’s exceptional prophetic status in this regard, see Deut 34:10 (“Never again
did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses—whom the Lord singled out face to
face,” ‫ל־פּנִ ים‬
ָ ‫א־קם נָ ִביא עוֹד ְבּיִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל ְכּמ ֶֹשׁה ֲא ֶשׁר יְ ָדעוֹ ה' ָפּנִ ים ֶא‬
ָ ֹ ‫ ;)וְ ל‬and Num 12:6–8
(“. . . . Not so with My servant Moses; he is trusted throughout My household. With him
I speak mouth to mouth, plainly and not in riddles, and he beholds the likeness of the
Lord,” ‫וּמ ְר ֶאה וְ לֹא ְב ִחיד ֹת‬
ַ ‫ל־פּה ֲא ַד ֶבּר־בּוֹ‬ֶ ‫ ֶפּה ֶא‬:‫יתי נֶ ֱא ָמן הוּא‬ ִ ‫ל־בּ‬
ֵ ‫א־כן ַﬠ ְב ִדּי מ ֶֹשׁה ְבּ ָכ‬
ֵ ֹ‫ל‬
‫וּת ֻמנַ ת ה' ִיַבּיט‬
ְ ). On the latter, see Sifre Numbers 103, cited below at n. 21. Compare
this with Deut 5:4, where Moses addresses the people, “Face to face the Lord spoke
to you on the mountain out of the fire,” ‫ ָפּנִ ים ְבּ ָפנִ ים ִדּ ֶבּר ה' ִﬠ ָמּ ֶכם‬, which is generally
understood here to be figurative (cf. 5:5), without denoting that Israel as a whole saw
God’s face. See Jeffrey Tigay, JPS Torah Commentary: Deuteronomy (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1996), 61. However, a literal understanding remains an interpre-
tive possibility. Note how a barayta in the Babylonian Talmud (Yebam. 49b) modifies the
contrast between Moses’s direct seeing of God and that of the other prophets in Num
12:6–8: Moses saw God through a clear speculum (‫)באספקלריא המאירה‬, while the
other prophets saw him through an unclear speculum (‫)באספקלריא שאינה מאירה‬.
Compare Lev. Rab. 1:14 (ed. Margulies, 1:31), as well as 1 Cor 13:12. For the continu-
ing development of this dialectical motif, see Elliot R. Wolfson, Through a Speculum That
Shines: Vision and Imagination in Medieval Jewish Mysticism (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1995).
5
See Nahum Sarna, JPS Torah Commentary: Exodus (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication
Society, 1991), 213–14, 261 nn. 13, 14; Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic
School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 201–5. See Exod 24:17, to be cited shortly.
For a thorough examination of Paul’s radical reconfiguring of revelatory divine and
 hearing and seeing at sinai 249

partly granting the latter: “You will see My back; but My face must
not be seen,” ‫וּפנַ י לֹא יֵ ָראוּ‬ ָ ‫ת־אח ָֹרי‬
ֲ ‫ית ֶא‬ ָ ‫( וְ ָר ִא‬33:23). Even so, Moses
has come a long way since, in God’s first self-disclosure to him at the
burning bush, when “Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at
God,” ‫ֹלהים‬ ִ ‫ל־ה ֱא‬
ָ ‫( וַ יַּ ְס ֵתּר מ ֶֹשׁה ָפּנָ יו ִכּי יָ ֵרא ֵמ ַה ִבּיט ֶא‬Exod 3:6).6
Just as the people had previously basked in the sight of God’s glory
at Mt. Sinai (“Now the Presence of the Lord appeared in the sight of
the Israelites as a consuming fire on the top of the mountain,” ‫וּמ ְר ֵאה‬ ַ
‫ [ ְכּבוֹד ה' ְכּ ֵאשׁ א ֶֹכ ֶלת ְבּרֹאשׁ ָה ָהר ְל ֵﬠינֵ י ְבּנֵ י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל‬Exod 24:17]),7 they
are only too happy for the resumption of God’s physical manifesta-
tion in their sight after the Golden Calf incident (which, after all, was
the consequence of their desire for a visual representation of God in
Moses’s absence [ Exod 32:1, 8]). Less dramatically, but more sustainedly,
God’s glory is now visually present to them as the pillar of cloud at the
entrance of the Tent of Meeting: “When all the people saw the pillar
of cloud poised at the entrance of the Tent, all the people would rise
and bow low, each at the entrance of his tent,” ‫ת־ﬠמּוּד‬ ַ ‫ל־ה ָﬠם ֶא‬ ָ ‫וְ ָר ָאה ָכ‬
‫ל־ה ָﬠם וְ ִה ְשׁ ַתּ ֲחוּוּ ִאישׁ ֶפּ ַתח ָא ֳהלוֹ‬ ָ ‫( ֶה ָﬠנָ ן ע ֵֹמד ֶפּ ַתח ָהא ֶֹהל וְ ָקם ָכּ‬33:10).
The biblical scene that most challenges the Torah’s own strictures
against seeing God follows the ratification of the covenant at Sinai, in
which Moses reads ‫“( ֵס ֶפר ַה ְבּ ִרית‬the book of the covenant”) in the
ears of the people, to which they acclaim, “All that the Lord has spo-
ken we will faithfully do!” ‫אמרוּ‬ ְ ֹ ‫וַ יִּ ַקּח ֵס ֶפר ַה ְבּ ִרית וַ יִּ ְק ָרא ְבּ ָאזְ נֵ י ָה ָﬠם וַ יּ‬
‫ר־דּ ֶבּר ה' נַ ֲﬠ ֶשׂה וְ נִ ְשׁ ָמע‬ ִ ‫כֹּל ֲא ֶשׁ‬. However, hearing was insufficient, at
least for Israel’s leaders, for immediately thereafter we are told that
“Moses and Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, and the seventy elders of Israel
ascended; and they saw the God of Israel . . . Yet He [God ] did not
raise His hand against the leaders of the Israelites; they beheld God,

Mosaic “glory” for purposes of inner-Christian dispute, see George van Kooten’s
contribution to this volume.
6
Here, as elsewhere as we shall see, there may be a play on the two verbs ‫( ירא‬to
fear) and ‫( ראה‬to see), which in some forms are morphologically identical. See below,
n. 14. The burning bush pericope (Exod 3:1–4:17), like that of the revelation at Mt.
Sinai, appears ambivalent as to the relation between ocular and auditory means of
God’s self-disclosure and communication with Moses (3:2–6), of God’s perception of
Israel’s suffering (3:7, 9), and of God’s charge to Moses to communicate with Pharaoh
and the Israelites (3:11–4:17). For the variety of interpretations of Moses’s viewing of
God’s “back,” see Diana Lipton’s essay in this volume.
7
Cf. 1 En. 89:30: “And after that, I saw the Lord of the sheep who stood before
them, and his appearance was majestic and fearful and mighty, and all those sheep saw
him and were afraid before him.” George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam,
1 Enoch: A New Translation Based on the Hermeneia Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004),
126. For the connection between seeing and fear, see above, n. 6, and below, n. 14.
250 steven d. fraade

and they ate and drank”, ‫אַהר ֹן נָ ָדב וַ ֲא ִביהוּא וְ ִשׁ ְב ִﬠים ִמזִּ ְקנֵ י‬ ֲ ְ‫וַ יַּ ַﬠל מ ֶֹשׁה ו‬
‫ל־א ִצ ֵילי ְבּנֵ י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל לֹא ָשׁ ַלח יָ דוֹ‬
ֲ ‫ וְ ֶא‬. . . . ‫ֹלהי יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל‬
ֵ ‫יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל וַ יִּ ְראוּ ֵאת ֱא‬
‫ֹאכלוּ וַ יִּ ְשׁתּוּ‬
ְ ‫ֹלהים וַ יּ‬
ִ ‫ת־ה ֱא‬
ָ ‫וַ יֶּ ֱחזוּ ֶא‬: (Exod 24:9–11). Medieval rabbinic
commentators, feeling uncomfortable with such an explicit instance of
visual theophany, seek to explain it away. For example, Ibn Ezra says,
“This is not with the seeing of the eye, but [seeing] in the manner of
prophecy,” ‫ כי אם בדרך נבואה‬,‫אין זה במראה העין‬, that is, they did not
actually see God with their eyes, but only received a prophetic vision, as
did the later prophets.8 Similarly, Maimonides avers that whatever they
“saw” was not with the physical sense of sight, but with the intellect.9
To Rashi, their seeing of God was, indeed, prohibited, but God delayed
their punishment to a more propitious time. None of these, however,
should be confused with the plain sense of the passage.10

2. Hearing and Seeing in Early Rabbinic and

Philonic Interpretations of Sinai

Against this biblical backdrop, we shall look at a few early rabbinic

interpretations that conceive of the relation between the hearing and
seeing of Sinaitic revelation in striking ways, but with some very inter-
esting antecedents.
Our entry point will be a midrashic set of comments to Exod 20:15
(18), which verse may first be cited in its entirety: ‫ת־הקּוֹֹלת‬ ַ ‫ל־ה ָﬠם ר ִֹאים ֶא‬ ָ ‫וְ ָכ‬
‫ת־ה ָהר ָﬠ ֵשׁן וַ יַּ ְרא ָה ָﬠם וַ יָּ נֻ עוּ וַ יַּ ַﬠ ְמדוּ ֵמ ָרחֹק‬
ָ ‫ת־ה ַלּ ִפּ ִידם וְ ֵאת קוֹל ַהשּׁ ָֹפר וְ ֶא‬
ַ ‫וְ ֶא‬,
which is translated in the NJPS as: “All the people witnessed the thunder
and lightning, the blare of the horn and the mountain smoking; and
when the people saw [it], they fell back and stood at a distance.” Note
that a single verb of seeing (‫)ר ִֹאים‬, here (as in the NRSV) translated
as “witnessed,” governs the thunder, the lightning, the blare of the

8
Between his “long” and “short” commentaries, Ibn Ezra refers to the following
cases of prophetic visions of God: 1 Kgs 22:19; 2 Chr 18:18; Isa 6:1–5; Ezek 1:1,
26–28; 10:20; Amos 9:1. See also Ps 17:15.
9
Guide, 1.4, 64; also for Exod 33:18.
10
There is a long prior history to such attempts to avoid the text’s plain sense,
beginning already with the Septuagint’s rendering: καὶ εἶδον τὸν τόπον, οὗ εἱστήκει
ἐκεῖ ὁ θεὸς τοῦ Ισραηλ·. . . . καὶ ὤφθησαν ἐν τῷ τόπῳ τοῦ θεοῦ, “And they saw the
place where the God of Israel stood. . . . and they appeared in the place of God. . . .”
There is a similarly (although not equally) long intellectual history, deeply infused with
Christian anti-Semitism and Jewish apologetic response, of contrasting the emphasis of
“Hellenism” on seeing (and space) with that of “Hebraism” on hearing (and time), and
the resulting characterization of Jews and Judaism as being “aniconic.” See especially
Kalman P. Bland, The Artless Jew: Medieval and Modern Affirmations and Denials of the Visual
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000).
 hearing and seeing at sinai 251

horn, and the mountain smoking. Our earliest rabbinic commentary

to this verse, comprising two opposing views, is stunningly deceptive
in its brevity and seeming simplicity:
‫ דברי‬.‫ רואין את הנראה ושומעין את הנשמע‬.‫״וכל העם רואים את הקולות   ״‬
11
[‫ )ואין( ]רואין‬.‫ רואין ושומעין את הנראה‬.‫ רבי עקיבא אומר‬.‫רבי ישמעאל‬
‫ שנאמר ״קול יי חוצב‬.‫דבר של אש יוצא מפי הגבורה ונחצב על הלוחות‬
12
.‫להבות אש    ״‬
“And all the people saw the thunder”: They saw what was visible and
heard what was audible—These are the words of R. Ishmael. R. Akiba
says: They saw and heard that which was visible. They saw the fiery
word/commandment coming out from the mouth of the Almighty as it
was struck upon the tablets, as it is said, “The voice of the Lord hewed
out flames of fire” (Ps 29:7).
The biblical textual barb that generates these two interpretations is
the use of the verb ‫ראה‬, to see, for that which is audible: thunder. In
the present biblical context the word for thunder (‫)קול‬, is also that for
“voice,” in particular, the voice of God (as well as for the blare of the
horn).13 Thus, whereas we might have expected the text to say “they
heard the thunder and saw the lightning,” with different verbs for that
which is audible and for that which is visible, a single verb of seeing is
instead employed for both. The simplest solution, as expressed in many
modern translations, is to understand the verb ‫ ראה‬here as denoting not
just the physical sense of seeing, but its broader meaning of cognizance
and comprehension, allowing it to govern both the thunder and the
lightning (as well as the blare of the horn and the smoking mountain).14
Thus, we may compare, as do ancient exegetes, this use of the verb

11
Although ‫ ואין‬is the reading in the best manuscripts (Oxford and Munich), as
well as the first printing, ‫ רואין‬and ‫ ראו‬are found in other witnesses, with the former
preferred by the Academy of the Hebrew Language data base and the latter (from Yal.
Shim oni ) adopted by Lauterbach and Horovitz-Rabin in their editions.
12
Mek. Ba odesh 9 (ed. Horovitz-Rabin, 235; ed. Lauterbach, 2:266). The text as I
have presented it follows mainly MS Oxford, according to the data base of the Academy
of the Hebrew Language. For late parallels, see Pirqe R. El. 41 (Warsaw, 98a) and Midr.
Samuel 9:4 (ed. Buber, 74), as well as below, n. 20.
13
For ‫ קול‬as the divine voice, in the immediate context, see Exod 19:5, 19.
14
For “seeing” as representing all five senses combined, see Ibn Ezra to Exod 5:21;
20:15; Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Exodus (trans. Israel Abrahams;
Jerusalem: Magnes, 1967), 252. The emphasis on the verb ‫ ראה‬also allows for a
word play between “seeing” and “fearing” (‫)ירא‬, which verbs in certain forms can be
morphologically identical. Thus, ‫וַ יַּ ְרא ָה ָﬠם‬, “the people saw,” in the latter half of our
verse, has been understood to mean “the people feared,” represented by ‫ ויראו‬in the
Samaritan Pentateuch and by φοβηθέντες in the Septuagint. See the use of ‫ ירא‬twice
in 20:17 (20), as well as above, nn. 6, 7.
252 steven d. fraade

‫ ראה‬with that in Exod 20:19 (22): “You yourselves saw that I spoke to
you from the very heavens,” ‫ן־ה ָשּׁ ַמיִ ם ִדּ ַבּ ְר ִתּי ִﬠ ָמּ ֶכם‬
ַ ‫יתם ִכּי ִמ‬
ֶ ‫אַתּם ְר ִא‬
ֶ .
Thus, returning to Exod 20:15 and our midrash, we may understand
R. Ishmael’s interpretation as one that fills out a presumed ellipsis in
that verse, whereby seeing is shorthand for hearing and seeing, with
the former applying to the audible thunder and the latter to the vis-
ible lightning.15
The recognition of this elliptical presumption and its exegetical
solution is much older than R. Ishmael (early second century c.e.), as
evidenced in the version of this verse in the Samaritan Pentateuch (ca.
100 b.c.e.), which both supplies the missing verb of hearing and reorders
the verse accordingly: ‫וכל העם שמע את הקולות ואת קול השופר וראים‬
‫את הלפידים ואת ההר עשן‬,16 “The whole people heard the thunder
and the blare of the horn, and saw the lightning and the smoking
mountain.”17 Quite plainly, what is auditory is heard and what is visual
is seen. Similarly, Josephus, in his “retold” account of revelation (Ant.
3.81), in what is certainly an exegetical paraphrase of our verse sates:
“As for the Hebrews, the sight that they saw and the din that struck
their ears sorely disquieted them,” τούς γε μὴν Ἑβραίους τά τε ὁρώμενα
καὶ ὁ ταῖς ἀκοαῖς προσβάλλων ψόφος δεινῶς ἐτάραττεν.18

15
Whether this was in fact the historical Rabbi Ishmael’s understanding or one that
was editorially attributed to him is immaterial to my argument.
16
Avraham Tal, The Samaritan Pentateuch Edited According to MS 6 (C) of the Shekhem
Synagogue (Texts and Studies in the Hebrew Language and Related Subjects 8; Tel Aviv:
Chaim Rosenberg School for Jewish Studies, Tel Aviv University, 1994), 76.
17
In this particular case, the Samaritan Pentateuch would appear to be an “improve-
ment” to the MT (that is, to its antecedent), rather than an independent witness.
18
Josephus (or his source) may be dependent on the Septuagint’s rendering of ‫וַ יַּ ְרא‬
(“[the people] saw”) as φοβηθέντες (“feared”), or at least a similar understanding. See
above, n. 14. The association of divine speech with fire at Mt. Sinai is also found in Deut
5:20–24, following the Deuteronomic decalogue, but there it is clear that while the divine
voice issues out of fire, the voice itself is to be heard and not seen. For a similar separa-
tion of senses, and valorization of hearing, see Deut 4:36. The Book of Deuteronomy,
in reworking the Covenant Code (as well as the Priestly document), like the Samaritan
Pentateuch and Josephus, removes any confusion caused by the Book of Exodus’s mixing
of auditory and visual perceptions. Note especially Deut 4:12: “The Lord spoke to you
out of the fire; you heard the sound of words but perceived no shape—nothing but a
voice,” ‫זוּל ִתי קוֹל‬
ָ ‫וּתמוּנָ ה ֵאינְ ֶכם ר ִֹאים‬
ְ ‫אַתּם שׁ ְֹמ ִﬠים‬
ֶ ‫וַ ַיְד ֵבּר ה' ֲא ֵל ֶיכם ִמתּוְֹך ָה ֵאשׁ קוֹל ְדּ ָב ִרים‬.
Although this most likely means that you saw nothing, but only heard a voice (see Ibn
Ezra ad loc.; compare 4:15–19), it could be construed to mean that you saw nothing but
a voice. This is precisely how Philo interprets the verse in Migration 48, treated below.
For further discussion of Deut 4’s reworking of the Sinaitic narratives of Exodus (and
their traces in Deut 5) so as to eliminate or downplay the ocular experience, see most
recently Stephen A. Geller, “Fiery Wisdom: Logos and Lexis in Deuteronomy 4,” Proof
14 (1994): 103–39; Michael Carasik, “To See a Sound: A Deuteronomic Rereading
 hearing and seeing at sinai 253

By contrast, Rabbi Akiba’s interpretation19 applies both faculties of

sight and hearing to what is visual, and by implication also to what
is audible, refusing a simple division of labor between the two senses.
To him, therefore, Scripture’s locution of the people having seen what
is normally thought to be audible (thunderings/voices) is to be taken
literally, and not to be circumvented as an ellipsis in need of filling,
precisely as is done by the Samaritan Pentateuch, Josephus, and some
modern translators. Whether to strengthen or to extend this interpre-
tation, he (or an editor) invokes, in truncated form, a tradition that is
found in several other exegetical locations in the tannaitic midrashim:
what issued from God’s mouth at Sinai were not simply words as
sounds, but hypostatized divine utterances in the form of flying flames,
that burned themselves into the tablets of the decalogue.20 While the
divine words/commandments at Sinai could be experienced as both
sight and sound, in R. Akiba’s extended interpretation the emphasis
(following the lemma understood literally) is on their having been seen.
This understanding of Exod 20:15 is intertextually secured (or extended)
with the citation of Ps 29:7, a Psalm generally associated with Sinai
in rabbinic interpretation, wherein God’s voice (‫ )קול‬is associated with
hewing flames. According to this tradition, prior to the divine voice being
inscribed as writing, so as to be perpetually read and heard, it enjoys
an iconic fiery presence in Israel’s sight. Paraphrasing another tannaitic
midrash, we might say that the experience of revelation is one of ‫מראה‬

of Exodus 20:15,” Proof 19 (1999): 257–76; both of which cite previous scholarship;
as well as Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 198–208; idem, The
Anchor Bible: Deuteronomy 1–11. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New
York: Doubleday, 1991), 204; 212–13. On the Book of Deuteronomy’s favoring of the
auditory over the ocular experience at Sinai, see Mark Brettler’s contribution to this
volume, especially 24–25.
19
Whether this was in fact the historical Rabbi Akiba’s interpretation or one that
was editorially attributed to him is immaterial to my argument.
20
For a fuller version of this tradition, in which each word (‫דבר‬/‫)דיבור‬, upon issu-
ing from God’s mouth, would encircle the whole camp of the Israelites, before being
engraved on the tablets, see Sifre Deuteronomy 343 (ed. Finkelstein, 399), commenting
on Deut 33:2, ‫ ֵא ְשׁ ָדּת‬, “lightning flashing,” or “fiery law” (according to the Masoretic
note, dividing the word into two). For fuller treatment, with references to other loca-
tions and permutations of this tradition, some of which are even more physical (and
erotic), and in which the hypostasization is carried further, see Steven D. Fraade,
From Tradition to Commentary: Torah and its Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991), 45, 207 nn. 91–92, 224 n. 198.
For other texts, see Hans Bietenhard, “Logos-Theologie im Rabbinat: Ein Beitrag zur
Lehre vom Worte Gottes im rabbinischen Schrifttum,” ANRW, Part 2, Principat 19.2
(1979): 580–618.
254 steven d. fraade

‫דיבור‬, the appearance (viewing) of the divine utterance, rather than

one of ‫מראה פנים‬, the appearance of the divine “face.”21
Much the same interpretation of Exod 20:15 (18) is found in the
Mekilta of R. Shim on bar Yo ai (a prominent student of R. Akiba’s), but
unattributed:
‫ בנוהג שבעולם אי אפשר לראות את הקול‬.‫״את הקולות ואת הלפידים   ״‬
‫ כשם שראו את הלפידים כך ראו את‬.‫אבל כן ״את הקולות ואת הלפידים   ״‬
‫ ר' אליעזר אומר מנין שראתה‬.‫ מה ראו כבוד גדול ראו‬.‫״וירא העם   ״‬.‫הקולות‬
.‫ תלמוד לומר ״וירא העם   ״‬.‫שפחה בישראל מה שלא ראה גדול שבנביאים‬
22
.‫מה ראו כבוד גדול ראו‬
“The thunder and the lightning” (20:15a): Normally it is impossible
to see the thunder, but here “[all the people saw] the thunder and the
lightning.” Just as they saw the lightning, so too they saw the thunder.
“And when the people saw” (20:15b): What did they see? They saw the
great glory [of God]. R. Eliezer said: From whence [do we know] that
an Israelite maidservant saw that which the greatest of prophets did not
see?23 Scripture says, “And when the people saw”: What did they see?
They saw the great glory [of God].24

21
See Sifre Numbers 103 (ed. Horovitz, 101), interpreting Num 12:8 (on God’s having
communicated with Moses ‫“[ במראה‬visually”], instead of MT ‫“[ ומראה‬plainly”], the
former also being evidenced in the Septuagint, the Samaritan Pentateuch, the Peshi¢ta,
and the targumim) in light of Exod 33:20: '‫ אתה או‬.‫ זה מראה דיבור‬.‫״במראה    ״‬
‫ שנ' בו ״ויאמר לא תוכל לראות את פני    ״‬.‫ או אינו אלא מראה פנים‬.‫זה מראה דיבור‬,
“ ‘In appearance’: This is the appearance of the divine utterance. You say this is the
appearance of the divine utterance. But perhaps it is none other than the appearance
of [the divine] face. [This cannot be, since] Scripture teaches in this regard, ‘But, He
said, you cannot see My face, [for man may not see Me and live.]’ ” This is the text
chosen by the Academy of the Hebrew Language for its data base, mainly following
MS Vatican. However, ‫ מראה פנים‬here follows MS Oxford and Yal. Shim oni, while
Horovitz and other printed editions (beginning with that of Venice, 1526) have ‫מראה‬
‫שכינה‬, “the appearance of the divine indwelling,” as does MS London. MS Vatican
has ‫ מראה דיבור‬followed by ‫ מראה‬alone, presumably a scribal omission. MS Berlin
has [‫ מראה ]דיבור‬followed by ‫מראה אלהים‬, “the appearance of God.” R. Hillel ad
loc. explains: ‫דהיינו שהיה רואה ומבין בדבורו של הב"ה בפי' לא כעין משל וחידה‬,
“Meaning, that he [Moses] would see and understand the word of the Holy One,
blessed be He, meaning, not in the manner of a parable and riddle.” Note also the
comment of Zayit Ra anan to Yal. Shim oni (r. 739) on ‫מראה דיבור‬: ‫שהיה רואה הקול‬
(“for he [Moses] would see the voice”).
22
Mek. of R. Shim{on bar Yo ai Exod 20:15 (ed. Epstein-Melamed, 154–55). For text
and translation, see also Mekhilta de-Rabbi Shimon bar Yo{ai (ed. and trans. W. David
Nelson; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2006), 253. The following translation,
while consulting Nelson’s, is my own.
23
A similar statement is made, also in the name of R. Eliezer, with regard to the
Israelites’ visionary experience at the Reed Sea: Mek. of R. Shim{on bar Yo ai Exod 15:2
(ed. Epstein-Melamed, 78).
24
In the Hebrew of Exod 20:15 (18), there is no direct object to the phrase ‫וַ יַּ ְרא‬
‫ ָה ָﬠם‬, “and the people saw,” allowing for the present question and for the possibility
 hearing and seeing at sinai 255

Once again, consistent with the view of R. Akiba in the Mekilta of R.

Ishmael, the visionary experience of Israel at Mt. Sinai was exceptional,
in that all of the people saw what is normally only heard. However, here
that interpretation of Exod 20:15 is not connected to the tradition of
seeing the divine utterances as fire (via Ps 29:7), but to that of seeing
the glory of God (via the latter half of Exod 20:15).25
Just as we discovered antecedents to R. Ishmael’s interpretation in the
version of the Samaritan Pentateuch and the paraphrase of Josephus,
we will examine antecedents to R. Akiba’s understanding of the verse
in the writings of Philo of Alexandria (early-mid-first century c.e.).26 In
Decalogue 32–49, Philo discusses various aspects of the divine voice at
Sinai, contrasting it to the human voice, and repeatedly stressing that
the former is seen rather than heard in the normal way of hearing. It
warrants citing at length:
[32] The ten words or oracles, in reality laws or statutes, were delivered by
the Father of All when the nation, men and women alike, were assembled
together. Did He do so by His own utterance in the form of a voice?
Surely not; may no such thought ever enter our minds, for God is not as
a man needing mouth and tongue and windpipe. [33] I should suppose
that God wrought on this occasion a miracle of a truly holy kind by
bidding an invisible sound to be created in the air more marvelous than
all instruments and fitted with perfect harmonies, not soulless, nor yet
composed of body and soul like a living creature, but a rational soul full
of clearness and distinctness, which giving shape and tension to the air
and changing it to flaming fire, sounded forth like the breath through a
trumpet an articulate voice so loud that it appeared to be equally audible
to the farthest as well as the nearest. . . . [35] But the new miraculous voice
was set in action and kept in flame by the power of God which breathed
upon it and spread it abroad on every side and made it more illuminating
in its ending than in its beginning by creating in the souls of each and all
another kind of hearing far superior to the hearing of the ears. For that
is but a sluggish sense, inactive until aroused by the impact of the air, but

that the object of their seeing was not just the thunder, as indicated in the first half of
the verse, but something else, that being the glory of God (for which, see Exod 24:17).
For an alternative understanding of ‫וַ יַּ ְרא ָה ָﬠם‬, see above, n. 14.
25
See previous note and above, n. 5.
26
On Philo’s view of revelatory communication at Sinai, see David Winston, “Two
Types of Mosaic Prophecy According to Philo,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1988
Seminar Papers (ed. David J. Lull; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 448–52; idem, Logos
and Mystical Theology in Philo of Alexandria (The Gustave A. and Mamie W. Efroymson
Memorial Lectures, 1984; Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1985); Maren
R. Niehoff, “What is in a Name? Philo’s Mystical Philosophy of Language,” JSQ 2
(1995): 220–52.
256 steven d. fraade

the hearing of the mind possessed by God makes the first advance and
goes out to meet the spoken words with the keenest rapidity. . . . [46] Then
from the midst of the fire that streamed from heaven there sounded forth
to their utter amazement a voice, for the flame became articulate speech
in the language familiar to the audience, and so clearly and distinctly were
the words formed by it that they seemed to see rather than hear them.
[47] What I say is vouched for by the law in which it is written, “All the
people saw the voice,” a phrase fraught with much meaning, for it is the
case that the voice of men is audible, but the voice of God truly visible.
Why so? Because whatever God says is not words but deeds, which are
judged by the eyes rather than the ears. [48] Admirable too, and worthy
of the Godhead, is the saying that the voice proceeded from the fire,
for the oracles of God have been refined and assayed as gold is by fire.
[49] And it conveys too, symbolically, some such meaning as this: since
it is the nature of fire both to give light and to burn, those who resolve
to be obedient to the divine utterances will live for ever as in unclouded
light with the laws themselves as stars illuminating their souls, while all
who are rebellious will continue to be burnt, aye and burnt to ashes, by
their inward lusts, which like a flame will ravage the whole life of those
in whom they dwell.27
A similar idea, but expressed more briefly, can be found in Philo’s
Migration 47–49:
[47] For what life is better than a contemplative life, or more appropriate
to a rational being? For this reason, whereas the voice of mortal beings is
judged by hearing, the sacred oracles intimate that the words of God are
seen as light is seen; for we are told that “all the people saw the Voice”
(Exod 20:18), not that they heard it; for what was happening was not an
impact of air made by the organs of mouth and tongue, but virtue shining
with intense brilliance, wholly resembling a fountain of reason, and this
is also indicated elsewhere on this wise: “Ye have seen that I have spoken
to you out of Heaven” (Exod 20:22), not “ye heard,” for the same cause
as before. [48] In one place the writer distinguishes things heard from
things seen and hearing from sight, saying, “Ye heard a voice of words
and saw no similitude but only a voice” (Deut 4:12), making a very subtle

27
For text and translation (by F. H. Colson), see the LCL 7:20–31. For fire, repre-
senting Torah, having the ability both to give light and heat as well as (especially its
esoteric teachings) to burn, see Mek. of R. Ishmael Ba odesh 4 (ed. Horovitz-Rabin, 215;
ed. Lauterbach 2:220–21); Mek. of R. Shim{on bar Yo ai Exod 19:8 (ed. Epstein-Melamed,
143–44); Sifre Deuteronomy 343 (ed. Finkelstein, 399–400); m. Abot 2:10; t. ag. 2:5 (ed.
Lieberman, 381); y. ag. 2:1 (77a) (ed. Sussmann, col. 782); b. ag. 13a-b; Abot R.
Nat. 28 (ed. Schechter, 86); as well as discussion in Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary,
46–49 (with notes). For the “voice” of revelation not diminishing with distance/time,
compare Mek. of R. Ishmael Ba odesh 3, 4 (ed. Horovitz-Rabin, 214, 216; ed. Lauterbach,
2:218, 223).
 hearing and seeing at sinai 257

distinction, for the voice dividing itself into noun and verb and the parts
of speech in general he naturally spoke of as “audible,” for it comes to
the test of hearing: but the voice or sound that was not that of verbs and
nouns but of God, seen by the eye of the soul, he rightly represents as
“visible.” [49] And after first saying “Ye saw no similitude” he adds “but
only a Voice,” evidently meaning the reader to supply in thought “which
you did see.” This shews that words spoken by God are interpreted by
the power of sight residing in the soul, whereas those which are divided
up among the various parts of speech appeal to hearing.28
Finally, Philo refers to the tradition of revelation having been seen rather
than conventionally heard in Moses 2.213 (LCL 6:554–55), where he
speaks of “commands promulgated by God not through His prophet
but by a voice which, strange paradox, was visible and aroused the eyes
rather than the ears of the bystanders.”
If R. Akiba is laconic in his expression of the tradition that the divine
voice issued and was perceived at Sinai in visible fiery form, which
only secondarily became audible, Philo is, as we have come to expect,
oppositely loquacious. They both link this shared understanding of the
visual perception of revelation to the words of Exod 20:15 (18), although
employing different inter-texts in so doing (Ps 29:7 for R. Akiba; Exod
20:19 [22] and Deut 4:12 for Philo). Whether they simply come to a
common understanding of the same verse independently, or whether
they draw on a shared tradition of interpretation is impossible to know
for certain. However, in the present case, I think that strong credence
can be given to the latter assumption of a shared exegetical tradition,
even though they are relating to the same scriptural words in different
languages (Hebrew for R. Akiba and Greek for Philo). Undoubtedly, the
fact that the Septuagint renders ‫ קולות‬for “thunder” with τήν φωνήν,
the same Greek word used for the ‫( קול‬blare) of the horn and the
‫( קול‬voice) of God is critical to Philo’s interpretation, as is the use of
‫ קולות‬for thunder to R. Akiba’s interpretation. However, it should be
emphasized that R. Akiba’s interpretation in the Mekilta appears as
part of an ongoing commentary to the Book of Exodus, to which his
is one of several comments to Exod 20:15 (18), whereas Philo’s appears
within thematic treatises, within which he cites Exod 20:15 (18) for sup-
port of his argument. Of course, that tells us nothing of how each of
these interpretations first arose (that is, whether or not from exegetical
contemplation of the verse in its scriptural context), but it does tell us

28
For text and translation (by F. H. Colson), see the LCL 4:158–59.
258 steven d. fraade

something about how their respective interpretations are rhetorically

presented for their respective audiences’ consumption.
Nevertheless, there are several components of Philo’s interpreta-
tion that are not expressed in R. Akiba’s interpretation and which are
uniquely or at least characteristically Philonic, needing to be understood
in terms of Philo’s particular historical/cultural context and ideologi-
cal/rhetorical program. To begin with, Philo repeatedly stresses that
divine speech is unlike human speech, something for which there is
rabbinic evidence as well (notwithstanding the dictum attributed to
R. Ishmael that, ‫דברה תורה כלשון בני אדם‬, “The Torah speaks in
human language”).29 But more broadly, Philo repeatedly emphasizes
the superiority of sight over hearing, or at least over normal physi-
cal hearing. This emphasis needs to be understood in relation to a
broader Platonic deprecation of the physical senses (in comparison to
the faculties of the intellect), among which, however, sight is elevated
above hearing.30 In this regard, Philo stresses that the divine “voice” at
Sinai was miraculous (and paradoxical), unlike any other voice, in that
in issuing from fire, it was more of light than of sound, or at least, a
unique sort of sound that issued not from the physical processes that
normally produce or receive sound, but from a divine effulgence. Thus,
to the extent that revelation was heard at Sinai, it was the “hearing
of the mind possessed by God,” and not by the physical organ of the

29
For the earliest attestations of this dictum, see Sifre Numbers 112 (ed. Horovitz,
121); Sifra Qedoshim parashah 10:1 (ed. Weiss, 91b); in only the first of which is the
saying attributed to R. Ishmael. The saying is much more frequently evidenced in
the Babylonian Talmud (32 times) and in the aggadic midrashim (38 times), in only
some of which is it attributed to R. Ishmael. For the rabbinic differentiation of divine
speech from human, the locus classicus is the interpretation of Ps 62:12 and Jer 23:29
in Sifre Numbers 102 (ed. Horovitz, 100); y. Ned. 3:2 (37d) (ed. Sussmann, col. 1025); b.
Sanh. 34a; b. Shabb. 88b. For the most recent discussion, see Azzan Yadin, Scripture as
Logos: Rabbi Ishmael and the Origins of Midrash (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2004), 69–79.
30
See also Philo, Sacrifices 78 (LCL 2:153): “But when, unforeseen and unhoped
for, the sudden beam of self-inspired wisdom has shone upon us, when that wisdom
has opened the closed eye of the soul and made us spectators rather than hearers of
knowledge, and substituted in our minds sight, the swiftest of senses, for the slower
sense of hearing, then it is idle any longer to exercise the ear with words.” Similarly,
Contempl. Life 10–13 (LCL 9:119): “. . . the most vital of senses, sight. And by this I do
not mean the sight of the body but of the soul, the sight which alone gives a knowl-
edge of truth and falsehood” (10). Compare Plutarch, Isis and Osiris 75 (381B) (LCL
5:172–75): “[ The crocodile] is declared to be a living representation of God, since he
is the only creature without a tongue; for the Divine Word has no need of a voice, and
through noiseless ways advancing, guides by Justice all affairs of moral men” (adapting
Euripides, Troades 887–88; cf. Plutarch, Moralia 1007C).
 hearing and seeing at sinai 259

ear. Similarly, to the extent that the language of revelation is compre-

hensible to humans, it was not produced in the same way that human
speech is normally produced and heard.31 Finally, it should be stressed
that Philo uniquely understands Deut 4:12, which is never rabbinically
adduced in this connection,32 to denote two types of voices/speech: the
human/grammatical, which is (merely) heard, and the divine, which is
“seen by the eye of the soul.”33
We shall now consider one final passage from the Mekilta’s commen-
tary on the Book of Exodus’s account of the revelation at Sinai, which
will suggest that Philonic and the early rabbinic interpretation share
other interpretive moves, notwithstanding their very different historical/
cultural contexts and ideological/rhetorical programs. Coming to Exod
20:19 (22), which was cited by Philo in conjunction with Exod 20:15
(18), the Mek. of R. Ishmael Ba odesh 9, comments:
‫ שכשאחרים‬.‫ הפרש בין שאדם רואה בין שאחרים משיחין לו‬.‫״אתם ראיתם   ״‬
[.‫ רבי נתן אומר‬.‫ אבל כן ]״אתם ראיתם וגו'    ״‬.‫משיחין לו פעמים שליבו חלוק‬
‫לפי שהוא אומר ״יודוך ייי כל מלכי ארץ כי שמעו‬.‫״אתם ראיתם ״ למה נאמר‬
‫ לא‬.‫ תלמוד לומר ״אתם ראיתם   ״‬.‫ יכול כשם ששמעו כך ראו‬.‫אמרי פיך    ״‬
34
.‫ראו אומות העולם‬
“You yourselves have seen [that I spoke to you from the heavens]”: There
is a difference between what a person sees and what others tell him. For
regarding what others tell him he may have doubts in his mind [concern-
ing its veracity]. Here, however, “You yourselves have seen.” R. Nathan
(ca. 200 c.e.) says: “You yourselves have seen”: Why is it said? Since it
says, “All the kings of the earth shall praise you, O Lord, for they have
heard the words You spoke” (Ps 138:4). One might think that just as they
heard, so too they saw. Therefore, Scripture says, “You yourselves have
seen”: The nations of the world have not seen.

31
Compare above, n. 29.
32
The closest is the early medieval Midr. Leqa ov ad loc. (ed. Buber, 14), which
connects the verse to the tradition of the divine voice having encircled the Israelite
camp at Sinai (see above, n. 20), but without any of the visual associations. Elsewhere,
however, the verse is understood to preclude the seeing of God (or his voice), which is
how the verse is usually understood: Pesiq. Rab Kah., supplement 7 (ed. Mandelbaum,
471); Tan . Ha azinu 4. Ibn Ezra ad loc. See above, n. 18.
33
This text is important to Daniel Boyarin (Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-
Christianity [ Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004], 114) in arguing for
a Jewish “logos theology” that is both “pre- and pararabbinic.” However, Boyarin fails
to indicate its comparative and contrastive intersections with early rabbinic midrash.
34
The text as I have presented it follows mainly MS Oxford, according to the data
base of the Academy of the Hebrew Language. The text within square brackets is from
MS Munich. Its absence from MS Oxford most likely represents a scribal error of homo-
ioteleuton. For critical printed editions, see Horovitz-Rabin, 238; Lauterbach, 275.
260 steven d. fraade

This interpretation shares with Philo the view that seeing is superior
to hearing, although here the comparison is between one’s own seeing
and hearing from others. Both Philo and the Mekilta employ Exod 20:19
(22) to valorize Israel’s receiving of God’s revelation at Sinai via sight
rather than normal hearing. However, in Philo’s use of the verse to
illustrate the superiority of seeing over hearing, it is not clear whether
he intends a polemical argument: superiority over whose hearing?
He may be saying that Israel’s revelatory knowledge (and attainment
of reason and virtue) is superior to that which is not based on visual
(mystical?) experience, but merely on oral transmission, e.g., that of
the non-Jewish philosophers. If that is his intent, he does not explicitly
express it. Alternatively, Philo may simply be making a philosophical
argument, buttressed by scriptural citations, that would have resonated
well with an educated audience, whether Jewish or non-Jewish. However,
by grounding his philosophical argument in Jewish scriptures, Philo
may implicitly be claiming a privileged status for those scriptures as
the ultimate source of philosophical wisdom.
The Mekilta’s interpretive argument is two-fold, with both parts of the
argument being grounded in the word ‫“( אתם‬you”), which word is not
strictly required by Hebrew syntax, and therefore must bear particular
meaning.35 The opening anonymous interpretation stresses the superi-
ority of first-hand seeing (‫ )אתם ראים‬to second-hand hearing (‫אחרים‬
‫)משיחין‬, since the latter is potentially suspect. The second half of the
argument, attributed to R. Natan, has a different emphasis, even though
it is based in the same regard for ‫ אתם‬as being non-superfluous: “You
yourselves (and no others) have seen. . . .” This becomes manifest through
the citation of the intertext from Psalms, which might be understood
(were it not for Exod 20:19 [22]) to be an expression of the universal
receiving of divine revelation: all of the nations have “heard the words
You spoke.”36 Having heard, perhaps they also saw. Our verse comes to
assert that whatever the nations have heard, it is nothing compared to
what Israel alone has seen. Israel enjoys an exclusive revelatory intimacy

35
Although Exod 20:15 (18) (“All the people saw . . .”) says much the same thing,
as midrashically understood, it does not place the same emphasis on “you” in an
exclusive sense.
36
Other rabbinic texts stress either that the nations were offered the Torah before it
was revealed to Israel, or that they overheard its revelation to Israel, or that the Torah
is available to them. See Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary, 32–49; Marc Hirshman,
Torah for the Entire World (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1999) (Hebrew).
 hearing and seeing at sinai 261

with God, based on unmediated seeing that is not shared by the nations,
however much they may claim to have heard God’s words.
Although, once again, Philo and the Mekilta employ the same scrip-
tural verse to affirm the superiority of seeing over hearing as modes
of revelatory reception, and may be responding to the same scriptural
barb (“You yourselves have seen [rather than heard] that . . . I spoke with
you”), they do so in very different rhetorical manners, suggesting that
their exegetical programs thereby reflect their very different historical/
cultural contexts and ideological/rhetorical programs. Neither should
the exegetical similarities cause us to lose sight of the rhetorical and
structural differences, nor should those differences cause us to lose sight
of the exegetical similarities.

3. Revelatory Seeing and the Practice of Rabbinic Midrash

Next we shall examine two rabbinic midrashic passages in which the

visualization of the revelatory word or revealer plays an important role
in authorizing and valorizing specifically rabbinic modes of discourse
and interpretation. The first is from Sifre Deuteronomy 313, commenting
on Deut 32:10 as it relates to the revelation at Sinai, the following being
the second of four sets of interpretations of that verse:
‫ מלמד שהיה הדיבר יוצא מפי הקודש‬.‫)״יסובבנהו ״( ]״יבוננהו ״[ בעשר דברות‬
‫]ו[היו ישראל מסתכלין בו ויודעין כמה מדרש יש בו וכמה הלכות יש בו‬
37
.‫וכמה קלין וחמורין יש בו וכמה גזירות שוות יש בו‬
“He cared for (= instructed) him”: With the Decalogue. This teaches that
(when each) Divine Word went forth from the mouth of the Holy One,
Israel would observe38 it and would know how much midrash could be
derived from it,39 how many laws (halakhot) could be derived from it, how
many a fortiori arguments could be derived from it, how many arguments
by verbal analogy could be derived from it.

37
Sifre Deuteronomy 313 (ed. Finkelstein, 355), corrected according to MS London
(MS Vatican not being extant here). For fuller discussion, see Fraade, From Tradition to
Commentary, 60–62; idem, “Rabbinic Polysemy and Pluralism Revisited: Between Praxis
and Thematization,” AJSR 31 (2007): 26–28.
38
For the superiority and significance of this reading, ‫מסתכלין בו‬, rather than
Finkelstein’s ‫משכילים בו‬, see Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary, 222–23 n. 187.
The expression ‫ מסתכלין בו‬conveys the sense both of “observing” and of “gaining
understanding.”
39
Literally, “how much midrash is in it,” and similarly for what follows.
262 steven d. fraade

As elsewhere in tannaitic midrash,40 Deut 32:10 is interpreted to indicate

that Israel’s own interpretive engagement with divinely uttered com-
mands originates with Sinaitic revelation itself. The verb ‫ יְבוֹנְ נֵ הוּ‬of the
lemma is generally understood by biblical scholars as a polel form of the
root ‫בין‬, the only occurrence of this form of the verb in the Hebrew
Bible. As such, it is thought to mean here to “bestow (mental) attention
on” or to “consider (kindly),” but that understanding is derived largely
from the sense of the scriptural context.41 Our commentary similarly
construes the word in relation to its scriptural context, that context
now being taken to refer to God’s revelation of the Torah to Israel
at Sinai, but understanding the verb in terms of its root meaning to
split or discern.42 But even so, the verb is read doubly, first as God’s
instruction of Israel with the Ten Commandments (with God as the
verb’s subject and Israel as its object), and second as Israel’s discerning
of the multiple possibilities of interpretation of each commandment
(with Israel as the verb’s subject and each divine commandment as its
object).43 Thus, already at the very moment of revelation, the Israelites
were not simply passive receivers of the divine word, but empowered by
God as its active perceivers. Israel’s polymorphic vision at Sinai, according
to this formulation, was not so much of God as of his words.44 The

40
Mek. of R. Ishmael Ba odesh 9 (ed. Horovitz-Rabin, 235; ed. Lauterbach, 2:267),
attributed to R. Judah the Patriarch.
41
See S. R. Driver, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Deuteronomy (ICC 5; 3d ed.;
Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1978), 357; BDB, col. 107.
42
In the other three sets of interpretations of this verse different contexts are
suggested and, hence, different understandings of the word ‫ יְבוֹנְ נֵ הוּ‬are suggested,
including both the sense of instruction and the sense of God’s attending to Israel’s
needs. Note that the understanding of ‫ יְבוֹנְ נֵ הוּ‬as “he instructed him” is already found
in the Septuagint (ἐπαίδευσεν αὐτὸν), which does not otherwise construe the verse as
referring to the revelation at Sinai. The targumim all understand the verb in terms of
teaching, using forms of the verbal stem ‫אלף‬. In the present interpretation, the Sifre’s
commentary emphasizes the sense of ‫“( בינה‬discernment”), rabbinically understood
as the ability to penetrate below the surface meanings of a text and learn its extended
meanings. For this understanding, see the commentaries of David Pardo and Zera{
Abraham to the Sifre, as well as Midr. Leqa ob to our verse.
43
Similar elasticity can be seen in the preceding set of interpretations of this verse.
There the verse is taken to refer to Abraham, that is, to God’s accompanying of
Abraham in his move from Ur of the Chaldees to Canaan, even as the word ‫יְבוֹנְ נֵ הוּ‬
is understood to signify Abraham’s having made God known to others as the God of
heaven and earth.
44
Compare with y. Pe ah 2:4 (17a); Lev. Rab. 22:1 (ed. Margoliot, 3:496–97; with
other parallels listed in notes there), in the name of R. Joshua ben Levi (ca. 235 c.e.):
“Even that which an experienced student will someday teach before his teacher was
already said to Moses at Sinai.” Our tannaitic text, though earlier, in a sense goes
 hearing and seeing at sinai 263

emphasis here is on Israel’s visual, possibly even mystical,45 penetration

of the interpretive potentiality of each divine utterance to yield (or
contain) multiple interpretations by means of a variety of rabbinic
hermeneutical rules. Thus, it is asserted that the rabbinic hermeneutical
rules themselves were revealed within revelation to the Israelites at Sinai
by the power of their visual contemplation of each divine utterance so
as to uncover its multiple significations.
A similar idea is expressed by the following, later midrash to the
decalogue, from the Pesiqta de Rab Kahana,46 but with even more strik-
ing visual images:
,‫ א"ר הננא בר פפא נראה להם הקב"ה פנים זעופות‬.‫ד"א ״אנכי י"י אלהיך   ״‬
‫ כשאדם‬,‫ פנים זועמות למקרא‬.‫ פנים שוחקות‬,‫ פנים מסבירות‬,‫פנים בינוניות‬
‫ פנים‬.‫ פנים בינונית למשנה‬.‫מלמד את בנו תורה צריך ללמדו באימה‬
‫ אמ' להם הקב"ה אע"פ שאתם‬.‫ פנים שוחקות לאגדה‬.‫מסבירות לתלמוד‬
.‫ אלא ״אנכי י"י אלהיך    ״‬,‫רואים כל הדמוייות הללו‬
‫ אלף‬,‫א"ר לוי נראה להם הקב"ה כאיקונין הזו שיש לה פנים מכל מקום‬
‫ כך הקב"ה כשהיה מדבר כל אחד‬.‫בני אדם מביטין בה והיא מבטת בכולם‬
,‫״אנכי י"י אלהיכם״ אין כת' כאן‬,‫ואחד מישראל היה אמ' עמי הדבר מדבר‬
.‫אלא ״אנכי י"י אלהיך    ״‬
Another interpretation of “I am the Lord thy God” (Exod 20:2): R. Æanina
bar Pappa (ca. 300) said: The Holy One, blessed be He, appeared to
[= was seen by] them [ Israel] with a stern face, with an equanimous face,
with a friendly face, with joyous face: with a severe face for [the teaching
of ]47 Scripture—when a man teaches Torah to his son, he must do so

further: all of Israel already recognized the multiple interpretive potentialities of each
divine utterance at Sinai. Similarly, note Sifra Be uqqotay parashah 2:12 (ed. Weiss,
112c): “ ‘On Mt. Sinai through Moses’: This teaches that the Torah was given with
its laws (halakhot), and its specifications, and its explications by Moses from (at) Sinai.”
Compare as well Song Rab. 1:2 (1:12) (ed. Dunsky, 13), in the name of R. Yo˜anan
(ca. 250 c.e.), where an angel reveals to (“tells”) each Israelite at Sinai the multiple
contents of each divine utterance/commandment, whereas the other rabbis say that
each commandment itself informed the Israelites of its multiple contents, whereupon
the Israelite would accept it.
45
Elsewhere the verb ‫ הסתכל‬is used with respect to mystical visions, where it
similarly denotes seeing and knowing. See, for example, m. ag. 2:1, where the verb
is used in a mystical context, but in juxtaposition with the verb ‫דרש‬. Here the verb is
employed as a paraphrase of ‫יְ בוֹנְ נֵ הוּ‬, since the root ‫ בין‬can convey in biblical wisdom
literature both the sense of understanding and of perception with the eyes. For the
latter, see Prov 7:7; Job 9:11; 23:8.
46
The collection is conventionally and roughly dated to fifth-century Palestine.
47
The sense could be that these are the faces with which God appeared as he
revealed each of the following, but the reference to the father teaching his son Torah
264 steven d. fraade

in awe; with an equanimous face for [the teaching of ] Mishnah; with a

friendly face for [the teaching of ] Talmud; with a joyous face for [the
teaching of ] xAggadah. Therefore, the Holy One, blessed be He, said to
them: Though you see Me in all these guises, [ I am still One]—“I am
the Lord thy God.”
R. Levi (ca. 300) said: The Holy One, blessed be He, appeared to
them as a statue with faces on every side, so that though a thousand men
might be looking at the statue, [it would seem as though] it was looking
at them all. So too when the Holy One, blessed be He, spoke, each and
every person in Israel would say, “The Divine Word is addressing me.”
Note that Scripture does not say, “I am the Lord your (plural) God,” but
“I am the Lord thy (singular) God.”48
The combined exegesis of Exod 20:2 in these two comments is that a
singular God (despite his many appearances) addressed each and every
Israelite singly (despite being assembled en masse). Assuming, as both
comments do, that the substance of revelation is speech, the images
employed are strikingly visual.
In the first interpretation, attributed to R. Æanina bar Pappa, there
is a subtle slippage between the faces of God revealed to Israel at
Sinai, and the pedagogic countenances of the teacher (first, the father
for Torah, and then, presumably, rabbinic teachers for the specifically
rabbinic modes of Torah discourse). The idea that God appeared to
the Israelites in different human appearances (and costumes), is already
expressed in earlier tannaitic midrashic sources.49 However, here the
emphasis is on the different facial expressions with which God was
revealed to Israel, as if to contradict the biblical statement that only
Moses encountered God “face to face.”50 Given the subtle shift from
revelation to rabbinic pedagogy, we might say that what the people
saw at the moment of revelation (of the decalogue, no less), were the
discursive faces of rabbinic instruction (Mishnah, Talmud, and Agga-
dah). This multiplicity of discursive faces, as seen by Israel at Sinai, is
unified in their single divine locus: ‫ך‬ ָ ‫ֹלהי‬
ֶ ‫ ָאנ ִֹכי ה' ֱא‬.51 Another, earlier

leads me to think that the reference is to the faces appropriate to teaching, and not just
the one-time revelation. However, even if the reference is to the revelation of each of
the following types of teaching, my argument would remain unaffected.
48
Translation is adapted from that of William G. Braude and Israel J. Kapstein,
Pĕsi ta dĕ-Rab Kahăna: R. Kahana’s Compilation of Discourses for Sabbaths and Festal Days
(Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1975), 249.
49
See Mek. of R. Ishmael Shirta 4 (ed. Horovitz-Rabin, 129–30; ed. Lauterbach,
2:30–32); Mek. of R. Shim{on bar Yo ai Exod 15:2 (ed. Epstein-Melamed, 80–81).
50
See above, n. 4. Note that the parallel in Pesiq. Rab. 21 (ed. Buber, 100a-102a)
attaches these interpretations to both Exod 20:2 and Deut 5:4 (“Face to face the Lord
spoke to you,” ‫) ָפּנִ ים ְבּ ָפנִ ים ִדּ ֶבּר יְ הוָ ה ִﬠ ָמּ ֶכם‬.
51
Similarly, elsewhere the ideal of the single sage who masters all forms of rabbinic
 hearing and seeing at sinai 265

midrashic collection makes much the same point, with regard to Moses’s
final words, but employing the sense of taste to denote their discursive
multiplicity, rather than sight: “The words of Torah are all one, but they
comprise Scripture and Mishnah: Midrash, Halakhot, and Aggadot,”
‫דברי תורה כולן אחת ויש בה מקרא ומשנה ומדרש והלכות והגדות‬.”52
Rabbi Levi’s interpretation is even more daring in its implications.
Here the “seeing” is directly reciprocal: God appears to (‫ = נראה‬is seen
by) the Israelites as an “icon,” ‫( איקונין‬Greek: εἰκών), at whose faces
they stare (‫)מביטין‬, as the icon stares (‫ )מבטת‬back at them. I imagine
this ‫ איקונין‬to be a statue, rather than a flat image, since it is said
to have faces ( ‫ )פנים‬facing in every direction ( ‫)מכל מקום‬, perhaps
being a column or an obelisk. How far we have come from Deut 4:12,
‫וּתמוּנָ ה ֵאינְ ֶכם ר ִֹאים‬
ְ (and Philo’s interpretation thereof )! Once again we
find the mixing of hearing and seeing modes of perception, for this
iconic imagery is by way of explaining how God could speak (‫)מדבר‬
to Israel in such a way that each and every one would experience the
‫דבר‬/‫דיבור‬, divine utterance, speaking directly and individually with
him/her (as denoted by the singular pronominal suffix of ‫אלהיך‬, “thy
God”). However, from the remaining interpretations of Exod 20:2, it
becomes clear that each Israelite, individually seen and addressed by
God, understands each divine utterance according to his/her capacity
(‫)כח‬, thereby providing scriptural support and a Sinaitic origin not just
for the multiplicity of rabbinic forms of discourse, but for the multiple
interpretations contained therein.53 These images of a direct and recip-
rocal visual exchange between God and the Israelites at Sinai (like that
of the father teaching his son Torah) lend a feel of both revelatory and
pedagogical intimacy to an event that is scripturally portrayed, rather, in
terms of fear and trembling and a distancing of the revelatory receivers
from the visually veiled source of revelatory utterances.54

discourse is emphasized. See Sifre Deuteronomy 306 (ed. Finkelstein, 339); Abot R. Nat. A
8, A 28, B 18 (ed. Schechter, 35–36, 86, 39).
52
Sifre Deuteronomy 306 (ed. Finkelstein, 339), according to the better reading of MSS
London and Oxford, the first printing, and Yal. Shim{oni, as adopted by the Academy
of the Hebrew Language data base.
53
See Fraade, “Rabbinic Polysemy and Pluralism Revisited,” 25–26.
54
For the inner-scriptural tension between intimacy and alienation at Sinai, see
Nanette Stahl, Law and Liminality in the Bible ( JSOTSup 202; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 1995), 51–73 (“Sinai: Law and Landscape”). See also Fraade, “Moses
and the Commandments,” 399–422; idem, “ ‘The Kisses of His Mouth’: Intimacy and
Intermediacy as Performative Aspects of a Midrash Commentary,” Textual Reasonings:
Jewish Philosophy and Text Study at the End of the Twentieth Century (ed. Peter Ochs and
Nancy Levene; London: SCM, 2002; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2003), 52–56.
For a similar emphasis on the rhetorical significance of rabbinic reworked revelation
266 steven d. fraade

4. Conclusions

In surveying some biblical and post-biblical sources dealing with the

uneasy mixture of hearing and seeing at Sinai, we have barely scratched
the surface. Even so, it would be difficult to reduce this variety of inter-
pretations to a simple exegetical paradigm or set of paradigms, whether
as to substance, form, or meaning. Certainly, most of the interpreta-
tions that we have examined are responding, often quite ingeniously,
to inner-biblical tensions, even contradictions, whether intertextually
across Scripture or intra-textually within single verses. However, to
view these interpretations as being solely scripturally motivated or
attendant would be to deny them their historical localization. Thus, to
take the most obvious set of interpretations that we have compared,
Philo and early midrash, both respond to the same scriptural barbs
(especially in Exod 20:15 [18] and 20:19 [22]), and both emphasize the
visual aspects of the Sinaitic revelation as, what is rabbinically termed
‫מראה דיבור‬, the visual rather than auditory apprehension of divine
speech. However, there are also striking differences between them,
such as Philo’s repeated deprecating of the sense of hearing, which I
have argued must be understood within the broader cultural context
of Platonic philosophy.
On the rabbinic side, the midrashic emphasis on the divine voice
(‫ )קול‬and utterance (‫דבר‬/‫ )דיבור‬assuming physical form or appearance
in the eyes of the Israelites at Sinai goes well beyond anything found in
pre-rabbinic antecedents. In some such texts what is seen at Sinai are
the very faces of rabbinic pedagogical discourse, which might lead us
to posit an inner-rabbinic message and motivation of self-authorization.
However, such expressions might also be understood in relation to the
increasing emphasis on the viewing of icons in contemporary Christian
and pagan late-antique societies, and in particular to the experience
of intimacy between worshiper and worshiped that these afforded. Like-
wise, these expressions might be understood in relation to the dramatic
increase in synagogue inconography, both scriptural and temple-related,
beginning in the mid-third century and accelerating for the next few
centuries.55 The limits of space permit me only to raise these consid-

for inner-rabbinic pedagogical practice, see Ishay Rosen-Zvi’s contribution to this

volume.
55
See my forthcoming article, “The Temple as a Jewish Identity Marker Pre- and
Post-70 c.e.: with Particular Attention to the Holy Vessels in Memory and Imagination,”
 hearing and seeing at sinai 267

erations for future exploration. However, to suggest the fruitfulness of

this line of inquiry, that is, of relating the rabbinic emphasis on seeing
the revelatory divine voice and word to, on the one hand, rabbinic
ritualized practice of Torah study, and, on the other, to the historical
imaging/imagining of the destroyed temple, I shall conclude with one
final midrashic text, from the Sifre’s comment on Deut 32:26, a remark-
able text that has not received its own due attention:
.‫״ויאמר אליהם שימו לבבכם לכל הדברים ]אשר אנכי מעיד בכם היום[״‬
‫ וכן הוא אומר ״בן‬.‫צריך אדם שיהו עיניו ולבו ואוזניו מכוונין לדברי תורה‬
‫אדם שים לבך וראה בעיניך ובאזניך שמע את כל אשר אני מדבר אתך‬
‫ והרי דברים‬.‫]לכל־חקות בית־ה' ולכל־תורתו[ ושמת לבך למבוא הבית  ״‬
‫ ומה בית המקדש שנראה בעיני)ה(ם ונמדד ביד צריך אדם‬.‫קל וחומר‬
‫ דברי תורה שהן כהררין התלויין בסערה‬.‫שיהו עיניו ולבו ואוזניו מכוונין‬
56
.‫על אחת כמה וכמה‬
“He [ Moses] said to them [ Israel]: Take to heart [ lit.: set your heart
toward] all the words [with which I have warned you this day]” (Deut
32:46a): A person needs to direct his eyes and his heart and his ears
toward the words of Torah, and so it says, “O mortal, mark well [lit.:
set your heart], look with your eyes and listen with your ears to what I
tell you [regarding all the laws of the Temple of the Lord and all the
instructions concerning it.] Note well [ lit.: set your heart toward ] the
entering into the Temple” (Ezek 44:5). We may argue a fortiori: If in
the case of the Temple, which could be seen with the eyes and measured
with the hand, a person needed to direct his eyes and his heart and his
ears [toward it], then how much more should this be with words of Torah,
which are like mountains suspended by a hair.
The fragile nature of Torah teaching—written and oral and their
interdependence—requires the full sensory attention of its receiv-
ers, especially ocular and auditory, no less (in fact, more) than did
participation in Temple worship, now lost except to the imagination,
whether via textual or figurative visualization. The rabbinic grap-
pling with the balance of sight to sound at Sinai, while profoundly

in Jewish Identities in Antiquity: Permutations and Transformations (ed. Lee I. Levine; Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 2009). See also Rachel Neis, “Vision and Visuality in Late Antique
Rabbinic Culture” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 2007); idem, “Embracing Icons:
The Face of Jacob on the “Throne of God,” Images: A Journal of Jewish Art and Visual
Culture 1 (2007): 36–54.
56
Text is according to Sifre Deuteronomy 335 (ed. Finkelstein, 384–85), according to MS
London, according to the data base of the Academy of the Hebrew Language. I have
corrected the biblical citation to agree with the Masoretic Text. For fuller treatment of
the larger textual unit in the Sifre, see Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary, 119–20.
268 steven d. fraade

responsive to the conflicting cues of the biblical text, was no less

responsive to the need for study of that text to be sensorially stimulating
to the eyes and ears and heart in the ritual performance of ‫—תלמוד תורה‬
the dialogical study of written and oral Torah—as an act of community-
forming and identity-affirming worship.57

57
This essay benefited from a prior presentation at “The Eleventh International
Orion Symposium, Marking the 60th Anniversary of the Discovery of the Dead Sea
Scrolls: New Approaches to the Study of Biblical Interpretation in Judaism of the
Second Temple Period and in Early Christianity,” Orion Center for the Study of the
Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, and the Center for the Study of Christianity,
the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, June 19, 2007; from the comments of graduate
students in the program in Studies in Hebrew Culture at Tel-Aviv University, June 4,
2008; and from discussions with Hindy Najman, Vered Noam, and Margaret Olin.
 THE GIVING OF THE TORAH:
TARGUMIC PERSPECTIVES

Charles Thomas Robert Hayward

University of Durham, England

Like other rabbinic writings which expound the biblical information

about the place, time, and circumstances of God’s gift of the Torah
to Israel, the targumim of the Pentateuch regard Exodus chapters 19
and 24 as one continuous narrative, in such a way that the one chap-
ter can be read in the light of the other.1 No fewer than six targumim
are extant for the whole of Exod 19, namely Targum Onqelos (= TO);
Pseudo-Jonathan (= PJ); Fragment Targums in the manuscripts Paris 110
(= FTP), Vatican 440 (= FTV), and Cairo Geniza manuscripts (= CG);
and Neofiti (= TN) with its marginal and interlinear glosses.2 Exodus 24,
however, is represented in its entirety only by TO, PJ, and TN, with
FTP preserving targum of verses 10–11, and FTV the single verse
10. These targumim often share with other rabbinic texts common
understandings of key words and expressions in the narratives: thus
the description of Israel as God’s ‫ סגלה‬in Exod 19:5 evokes from all
extant targumim the notion that Israel are ‫חביבין‬, “beloved,” in com-
mon with the Mekilta de R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh 2:48–53 on this verse; and
the interpretation of all extant targumim of Exod 24:11 that those who
ascended Sinai appeared to eat and drink in God’s presence is shared
with Rav’s understanding of this verse preserved in b. Ber. 17a. Indeed,
many examples of interpretation shared by the individual targumim

1
This is most evident in the chronological scheme set out in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan
Exod 19:1, 3, 9, 10–13, 16, continuing into Exod 24:1, 16, with which compare and
contrast b. Shab. 86b, 88a; Mek. de R. Ishmael Beshallah 2:1; 3:5ff.
2
Targumim are cited from the following critical editions: (TO) Alexander Sperber,
ed., The Bible in Aramaic, vol. 1, The Pentateuch according to Targum Onkelos (Leiden: Brill,
1959); (PJ) Ernest G. Clarke in collaboration with W. E. Aufrecht, J. C. Hurd, and
F. Spitzer, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan of the Pentateuch: Text and Concordance (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav,
1984); (FTP, FTV) Michael L. Klein, ed., The Fragment-Targums of the Pentateuch accord-
ing to their Extant Sources (2 vols.; Rome: Pontifical Institute Press, 1980); (CG) Michael
L. Klein, Genizah Manuscripts of Palestinian Targum to the Pentateuch. (2 vols.; Cincinnati:
Hebrew Union College Press, 1986); (TN) Alejandro Díez Macho, ed., Ms. Neophyti 1,
vol. II Éxodo (Madrid-Barcelona: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1970).
Translations are mine.
270 charles thomas robert hayward

and other rabbinic sources have been noted over the years, and there
is no need to rehearse them here.3
By way of contrast, this paper will attempt to discern and comment
upon the differing emphases and concerns which a close reading of the
individual targumim bring to light. In particular, it will investigate the
stances of the several targumim towards the giving of the Torah and
three central matters: the place of the Temple and its relationship to
Torah; the Synagogue and Beth Ha-Midrash and their relationship to
Sinai; and the mystical traditions associated with the theophany at Sinai
as suggested by the targumim. Careful analysis of these items may help
us to elucidate the varied ways in which the targumists understood the
gift of the Torah to Israel, and their conceptions of the meaning of
this central biblical event for their hearers and readers.

1. The Giving of the Torah, the Temple,

and the Temple Service

The Bible itself suggests that Sinai was a sanctuary, at least for the
occasion of the giving of the Torah.4 Thus, like Zion in later times, it
is a mountain on which the Divine Presence is revealed (Exod 19:2,
11, 18–24; 24:9–18). Consequently, it has set boundaries which, if
transgressed, lead to the death of the offender (Exod 19:12–13), and in
whose vicinity only those who have sanctified themselves may congregate
(Exod 19:10–11). Although the Bible has not yet told of the appoint-
ment of sacred ministers, there are nonetheless priests at Sinai (Exod
19:22, 24); an altar is set up (Exod 24:4, 6), ‫ עלת‬and ‫זבחים שלמים‬
are offered (Exod 24:5), and sacrificial blood is dashed upon the altar

3
See, for example, Roger le Déaut, Targum du Pentateuque II Exode et Lévitique (Paris:
Cerf, 1979), 152–61, 199–203; Bernard Grossfeld, The Targum Onqelos to Exodus (ArBib 7;
Edinburgh: T and T Clark, 1988) on chapters 19 and 24; Martin McNamara, Charles
T. R. Hayward, and Michael Maher, Targums Neofiti 1 and Pseudo-Jonathan: Exodus, (ArBib
2; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1994), 79–83, 103–5; Israel Drazin, Onkelos on
the Torah ‫ שמות‬Exodus ( Jerusalem: Gefen Publishing House, 2006/5766), 116–24,
158–66. For a detailed study of these chapters, discussing relationships between the
targumim and other rabbinic texts, see also Jean Potin, La Fête juive de la Pentecôte, (2
vols.; Paris: Cerf, 1971). In this volume, Diana Lipton places targumic and Talmudic (as
well as Christian) interpretations of “God’s back,” from the second Sinai ascent (Exod
33:12–23), in conversation with one another; see “God’s Back! What Did Moses See on
Sinai?” 287–311.
4
On this point, made explicit by the Ramban, see further Nahum Sarna, The JPS
Torah Commentary Exodus (Philadelphia/NewYork/Jerusalem: Jewish Publication Society,
1991/5751), 105–7.
 the giving of the torah 271

(Exod 24:6). All these things are clearly represented in the extant tar-
gumim and, to the extent that the Bible itself lays down possible lines
of communication between the sacred ceremonies accompanying the
giving of the Torah at Sinai and the later Temple and its service, the
targumim all concur with it. Two targumim, however, seem concerned
to strengthen these biblical data with ideas of their own.
TO of Exod 19:4 understood the Hebrew text in which God declares
to Israel ‫ואבא אתכם אלי‬, “And I have brought you to Myself ” to mean
‫וקריבית יתכון לפולחני‬, “And I have drawn you near to my service”.5
This is an entirely appropriate rendering, for the service in question is
almost certainly to be understood as the priestly service which Exod
19:6 goes on to demand, with its injunction that Israel be for God
‫ממלכת כהנים‬. The idea of priestly service is reinforced in TO of Exod
19:22, where the Hebrew refers simply to the priests “who draw near
to the Lord,” while TO adds the information that they “draw near to
minister to the Lord”.
The importance of priests and sacrifice in TO’s account of the giving
of the Torah becomes even more apparent in his version of Exodus
24. Thus, in Exod 24:5, Onqelos adopts a well-known interpretation of
the “Israelite young men,” whom Moses ordered to offer the sacrifices,
as “the firstborn of the Israelites”.6 This interpretation is grounded in
Scriptural information provided by Num 3:11–13; 8:14–19, where we
learn that the priestly service of the tribe of Levi (see especially Num
8:19) took the place of an original service of the firstborn, who belong
to the Lord. The bowls in which the sacrificial blood is collected are
called in Hebrew ‫( אגנת‬Exod 24:6), a hapax legomenon in the Pentateuch:
TO translated using the word ‫מזרקיא‬, which elsewhere he uses to
describe the vessels of the sanctuary (e.g., Exod 27:3; 38:3; Num 4:14).
But most striking is TO of Exod 24:8, where, the Hebrew is commonly
understood to inform us that Moses took sacrificial blood and sprinkled
it upon (‫ )על‬the people. In TO, this becomes:
And Moses took the blood, and sprinkled it upon the altar to make purga-
tion (‫ )לכפרא‬for the people, and he said: Behold, this is the blood of the
covenant which the Lord has made with you concerning all these words.

5
Note here the use of the Aramaic stem ‫קרב‬, very frequent in all the targumim of
Exodus 19 and 24. The root often expresses the idea of people drawing near, or being
brought near, in priestly service to God. TO uses it in Exod 19:12, 13, 15, 22.
6
See also PJ of this verse; m. Zeb. 14:4; b. Zeb. 115b; Mek. de R. Shimon b. Yohai (ed.
Epstein and Melamed), 220; Seder Eliyahu Rabba 9:52; and Roger le Déaut, La Nuit Pascale
(AnBib 22; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1963), 85.
272 charles thomas robert hayward

Onqelos most likely understood the Hebrew preposition ‫ על‬in this verse
twice, first as having the force of “on behalf of, for the sake of,”7 and
then as meaning “upon.” Thus he explained that the blood had been
cast on behalf of the people, and then upon the altar, like all sacrificial
blood, to effect purgation for the people, a cleansing by no means out
of place given the advent of the Divine Presence. The people, as well
as the place, are to be duly cleansed and in a fit state to participate in
a momentous, indeed unique, event in the history of the world. This
explanation of the targum’s interpretation of Exod 24:8, grounded as
it is in the precise elucidation of the Hebrew text, seems preferable
to those which suggest that Onqelos altered the Hebrew to counteract
Christian claims about the atoning blood of Jesus announced at the
Last Supper.8 Onqelos thus introduces into the story of the giving of
the Torah a central aspect of the Temple service, the use of sacrificial
blood in a rite of purgation.
And in a final verse, to which more attention must be given later,
TO takes care to point out that the sacrifices at Sinai were accepted:
the Hebrew of Exod 24:11 records that nobles of Israel beheld the
Almighty, and “ate and drank,” for which TO records that the great
ones of Israel “were rejoicing in their sacrifices which were received,
as if they were eating and drinking.”
PJ also adds mention of the Temple and its service, often with con-
siderable dramatic effect. At Exod 19:4, this targum makes God recall
a miracle He performed for Israel: “I brought you to the place of the
House of the Sanctuary to offer the Pesa˜ there,”9 as part of a triple

7
This is a common meaning of the preposition: see Francis Brown, Samuel R. Driver,
and Charles A. Briggs, The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon (Peabody, MA:
Hendrickson Publishing, 1996) and Bruce K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction
to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 217–18.
8
See, for example, Grossfeld, The Targum Onqelos, 71; Maher, in Targums Neofiti and
Pseudo-Jonathan: Exodus, 231 citing older scholarship; and Drazin, Onkelos on the Torah,
158, 161, who, however, also lists four other more likely reasons for the change. It is not
clear how TO’s interpretation might effectively neutralize Christian assertions.
9
This interpretation, which is unique to PJ (at least in the form which the Targum
presents), may be related to the notice in the Hebrew of this verse that God bore Israel
on eagles’ wings, since the “wings” of the Divine Presence are associated directly with
God’s tabernacle-sanctuary in Ps 61:4. See further Avigdor Shinan, The Aggadah in the
Aramaic Targums to the Pentateuch (2 vols.; Jerusalem: Makor, 1979), 1:247 [in Hebrew].
Mek. de R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh 2:24, however, displays some similarities with PJ of this verse,
including the opinion that God brought Israel to the Temple (though there is no men-
tion of Pesa˜). See now also Beverly Mortensen, The Priesthood in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan
(2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 1.168.
 the giving of the torah 273

interpretation of the Hebrew ‫ ;ואבא אלי‬and at 19:6 the priests of the

Hebrew text are further defined as ministering priests. In agreement with
TO, the priests named in PJ of Exod 19:22 draw near to minister before
the Lord; and at Exod 24:5, where TO is content simply to specify that
the firstborn offered the sacrifices, PJ at some length explains why:
And he [ Moses] sent the firstborn of the Israelites: for up until that time,
the service had been in the hand of the firstborn; for until then the Tent of
Meeting had not been made, and until then the priesthood had not been
granted to Aaron.10
PJ of Exod 24:6, like TO of that verse, describes as ‫ מזרקיא‬the ves-
sels used for the sacrificial blood, adding at 24:8 the same word;11 and,
again in common with TO, this targum insists both that blood was put
upon the altar to make purgation for the people (24:8), and that the
sacrifices of those who had ascended Sinai were accepted (24:11). None
of the other extant targumim displays such an interest in sanctuary and
Temple service, even allowing for a stray reference to the priests who
stand and minister in TN, FTP, FTV, and CG of Exod 19:22. But while
the other targumim are content to retain the biblical material redolent
of sanctuary and priestly service, TO and PJ go out of their way to
highlight them, and thereby to create a context for the giving of the
Torah in which these things are indispensable.
In so doing, these targumim agree with an ancient precedent attested
already by the LXX translators. The Hebrew of Exod 24:10 reports
that those who ascended Sinai “saw the God of Israel, and under his
feet there was as it were the work of a pavement of sapphire, and like
the heaven itself for clearness.” The Greek translation of this verse is
very well known, and runs as follows:
And they saw the place where the God of Israel stood; and the things
under His feet were like a work of a pavement, and like a form of the
firmament of heaven for pureness.

10
A marginal gloss to TN of this verse is almost identical with PJ’s text.
11
On the significant role of these utensils in PJ’s understanding of the priestly ser-
vice, see Mortensen, The Priesthood, 1:144–45. PJ alone of the targumim also seems to
distinguish between the blood of the whole burnt offerings and the blood of the ‫שלמים‬,
“peace offerings”: for the latter at 24:5 PJ uses his usual expression ‫ניכסת קודשין‬, and
goes on to note that it was the blood of the ‫ נכסא‬which featured in the purgation rite
of 24:8.
274 charles thomas robert hayward

The differences between the Hebrew and Greek texts of this verse
are usually accounted for by noting how Exod 33:20 declares that
human beings may not see God’s face and live. The Greek transla-
tors, to eliminate a contradiction between two verses of Scripture, are
thus believed to have adopted a ploy which preserves the coherence of
Scripture and at the same time reduces theological problems arising
from any implication that God may have a visible form.12 The various
factors which produced the Greek translation do not concern us here,
so much as the import of what the translators have actually written. For
they have introduced into the verse language normally associated with
the Temple; and they do so again, quite strikingly, in their rendering
of the following verse (Exod 24:11), where the Hebrew reasserts that
Moses and those with him saw God. Here the Greek translators tell
us that Moses and the others were seen, or appeared, in the place of
God: the Greek words used here, καὶ ὤφθησαν ἐν τῷ τόπῳ τοῦ θεοῦ,
unmistakeably recall the words of Exod 23:17; 34:23, that every Israelite
male shall be seen or appear (ὀφθήσεται) before the Lord, to which
Deut 16:16 adds the words “in the place which the Lord your God shall
choose,” that is, the Temple. Readers of LXX of Exod 24:10 might
reasonably suppose, therefore, that “the place where the God of Israel
stood” was the sanctuary, a supposition reinforced by the Greek version
of Psalm 132:7 (LXX 131:7), which exhorts worshippers: “Let us enter
into His tabernacles; Let us prostrate ourselves towards the place where
His feet stood,” the second part of this verse representing the Hebrew
“let us prostrate ourselves to the footstool of His feet.”13 Mention of the

12
See Alain le Boulluec and Pierre Sandevoir, La Bible d’Alexandrie LXX, tome 2: L’Exode
(Paris: Cerf, 1989), 246; Alison Salvesen, Symmachus in the Pentateuch ( JSS Monograph 15;
Manchester: University of Manchester, 1991), 105–6; and John W. Wevers, Notes on the
Greek Text of Exodus (SCSS 35; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 384–85.
13
Note also Exod 19:9, where God declares to Moses that He will come to His ser-
vant “in the thickness of the cloud”: LXX of this verse states that He will come “in
a pillar of cloud,” possibly under the influence of Exod 13:21 (so Wevers, Notes, 297)
and Exod 13:22; 14:19, 24 (see le Boulluec and Sandevoir, L’Exode, 201). None of these
Exodus verses, however, refers to divine speech so central to the account of Mattan Torah
which does, however feature strikingly in Ps 99:6–7 where Moses, Aaron and Samuel
are said to be among the Lord’s priests who invoke His Name, and to whom God spoke
in a pillar of cloud. This information follows immediately the Psalmist’s exhortation to
exalt the Lord and prostrate to the footstool of His feet, which the LXX translators rendered
as καὶ προσκυνεῖτε τῷ ὑποποδίῳ τῶν ποδῶν αὐτοῦ. Such language is associated in the
Bible with the Ark of the covenant, the Cherubim, and the Temple (see, e.g., 1 Chron
28:2), which are in view also at Ps 132:5–7. For a direct link between sanctuary, pillar
of cloud, and divine speech we have only to turn to Exod 33:9; the Psalm verses quoted
here provided further relevant information, and allowed the LXX translators of Exod
 the giving of the torah 275

Lord’s feet, and more particularly LXX’s “the things under His feet,”
suggest therefore the Ark of the Covenant and its attendant Cherubim
set in the Temple. LXX appears to be aware of this, and we shall have
more to say about these things presently.14 We may also briefly note
LXX’s concern with the details of sacrifices in the Greek of Exod 24:6
where, as John Wevers has noted, technical terms from the sacrificial
laws are introduced.15 We may conclude this section, therefore, by not-
ing that TO and PJ have set the Temple and its service to the fore in
their description of events at Sinai, and that their emphasis on these
things had ancient precedent.

2. Sinai, Beth Ha-Midrash, and Synagogue

Foremost among the targumim which introduce words and phrases

associated with Synagogue and Beth Ha-Midrash into their interpreta-
tions of Exodus 19 and 24 is the Aramaic translation preserved in the
fragment Oxford Bodleian Ms Heb. E 43, folio 61, on Exodus 19. This
is explicitly headed ‫לשבועות‬, indicating its selection as Torah reading
for that feast in accordance with established synagogue tradition.16 Its
translation of Exod 19:3 orders Moses to give instruction “in their
synagogues,” the only targum of Exodus 19 to refer directly to the
institution. Use of the language of instruction, however, is frequently

24:10–11 to understand the Hebrew as they did. Philo, De Somn. I. 62–63, already per-
ceived a clear affinity between the “place” where God stood according to Exod 24:10,
and the “place” which God would choose as His sanctuary.
14
See below, 279–81. On the Ark and Cherubim, and their relationship to the foot-
stool terminology, see most recently John Day, “Whatever Happened to the Ark of the
Covenant?” in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel (ed. J. Day; London: T and T Clark,
2005), 263–64 and literature there cited. See also the Vulgate of Isa 6:1, where Isaiah’s
vision in the Temple includes not only the Lord’s throne, but also ea quae sub ipso erant,
“the things which were beneath it/Him”.
15
See Wevers, Notes, 382–83. On the striking similarity between TO’s and PJ’s
“behold, this is the blood of the covenant” and LXX of Exods 24:8, see Wevers, Notes,
383–84.
16
See tos. Meg. 3:5–6, Saul Lieberman, ed., Tosefta Ki-Fshutah Part V, Order Mo{ed
(New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1962/5722), 1170, where, how-
ever, Exod 19 is given as the custom of some as opposed to the general tradition of read-
ing Deut 16. b. Meg. 31a explains that, since the custom of observing festivals for two
consecutive days arose, both these portions are read. See comments in Lee I. Levene,
The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000),
508, and discussion of these lections and the question of the haftarah for the festival
in David J. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988), 17–19;
Rachel Elior, The Three Temples: On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism (trans. D. Louvish;
Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2004), 154.
276 charles thomas robert hayward

found in CG and elsewhere. Thus Moses went up Sinai “to seek instruc-
tion from before the Lord” according to CG, TN, FTP, FTV of Exod
19:3. This is instruction in the Torah, a phrase introduced by CG of
that same verse, and by PJ, TN, FTP, and FTV of Exod 19:4. Further
references to instruction and to Torah are encountered also at TN of
Exod 24:1, 12, and PJ of Exod 24:12, 18.
Along with the language of instruction we meet the Aramaic verb
‫( תני‬to repeat, relate, teach), whose importance in the world of Torah
learning requires no comment. It is used by PJ, TN, FTP and prob-
ably by FTV to translate Hebrew ‫ הגיד‬at Exod 19:3, where Moses is
to ‫ תני‬God’s words to Israel.17 PJ, TN, FTP, FTV, and CG of Exod 19:9
again translated Hebrew ‫ הגיד‬with the same word in describing Moses’
reporting Israel’s words to God. At Exod 24:3, where the Hebrew notes
that Moses recounted (‫ )ויספר‬God’s words to Israel, TN placed ‫ותני‬.
These words and phrases combine to give the impression of Sinai
as a school or academy, an impression heightened by mention of the
wise men, “the Sages,” whose place is the court, the Beth Ha-Midrash,
or the academy. They feature in TN and its marginal gloss, FTP, FTV,
and CG of Exod 19:7, and again at TN of Exod 24:1, 9, and TN and
PJ of Exod 24:14 representing “the elders” of the Hebrew text. Steven
Fraade has recently offered an interpretation of the two Mekhiltas on
Exod 19:9 which explains their exegesis as depicting an halakhic debate
between Moses and the Almighty, in which Moses emerges victorious,
and thereby establishes his credentials as an authoritative and endur-
ing source of revelation and teaching.18 While such a debate cannot
be discerned directly in our extant targumim, there is no doubt that
the material we have examined in this section sits well with Fraade’s
observations; and the explicit interpretation of Exod 19:9 in TN, CG,
FTP and FTV to give the sense of a divine promise that Israel “will

17
FTV of Exod 19:3 has the form ‫ ותנני‬with a supralinear ‫ ת‬written above the word.
For the technical sense of this verb and its corresponding noun, see Michael L. Chernick,
“Tannax,” in The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion (ed. R. J. Zwi Werblowsky and
G. Wigoder; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 674.
18
See Steven D. Fraade, “Moses and the Commandments: Can Hermeneutics,
History, and Rhetoric be Disentangled?” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation. Essays in
Honor of James L. Kugel ( JSJSupp 83; ed. H. Najman and J. Newman; Leiden: Brill,
2004), 397–422, where he analyses Mek. de R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh 2 and Mek. de R. Shim{on b.
Yohai on Exod 19:9. For a further discussion of revelation through midrashic activity, see
Ishay Rosen-Zvi’s essay on Mekhilta Shirata, “Can the Homilists Cross the Sea Again?”
217–46 in this volume.
 the giving of the torah 277

believe in your prophecy for ever, O Moses my servant” offers some indirect
confirmation of a key element in his argument.19
From Beth Ha-Midrash we may turn to the Synagogue, since some
of the targumim add to the narrative of the giving of the Torah the
language of prayer. This is first evident in TN, FTP, FTV and CG of
Exod 19:8, according to which Moses related the people’s words “in
prayer before the Lord.”20 According to the next verse also (Exod 19:9),
FTP, FTV, and CG Moses reported the people’s words “in prayer,” and
in TN of Exod 24:1 the divine command to Moses and his companions
that they prostrate themselves becomes “and you shall pray.” Closely
allied to the language of prayer is the appearance of the verbal stem ‫כון‬
in TN and FTP of Exod 19:2. The tautologous Hebrew of this verse,
‫ויחנו במדבר ויחן שם ישראל‬, becomes in both targumim “and they
encamped in the desert and directed themselves there.” The sense intended
is that of powerful concentration and purposeful direction in prayer,
expressed by the pa{el of ‫ ;כון‬and it is supported by yet another phrase,
that Israel were present at Sinai “with a perfect/complete heart” (TN
and CG of Exod 19:8) or “with a united heart” (PJ of Exod 19:2).21
Underlying these expressions are thoughts of the undivided loyalty to
God and purposeful concentration of the mind in devotion characteristic
of the ˜asid as he recites the daily {Amidah (‫ כדי שיכונו לבם‬according
to m. Ber. 5:1), and a proper understanding of the words of the Shema{
that one should love the Lord with an undivided heart (Sifre Deut. 32;
b. Ber. 61b), and thus take upon oneself the yoke of the kingdom of

19
See Fraade, “Moses,” 405–11 for the issue about Moses as a source of eternal
authority, and his remarks on the place of the Sages in the targumim of Exodus 19 in the
same essay, 407. Note also that FTP of Exod 19:9 omits the words “Moses, my servant”.
20
B. Barry Levy, Targum Neophyti I: A Textual Study (2 vols.; Lanham, MD: University
Press of America, 1986), 1.392, suggests that this may result from a targumic attempt
to avoid the idea that humans (like Enoch, for example) could approach God, and may
therefore indicate targumic reserve about mystical traditions and belief. In view of the
evidence collected in section 3, such a view seems unlikely.
21
TN of Exod 19:2 uses the form ‫וכוונו‬, and FTP has ‫וכויכו‬. Targumic use of this
verb, and its organic relationship with the note that Israel acted with a whole or united
heart at Sinai, is made clear by Mek. of R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh 1:108 on Exod 19:2, where
the singular form of Hebrew ‫ ויחן‬with Israel as subject, immediately following an occur-
rence of the plural of the same verb, is taken to indicate the essential unity of the
people, ‫השוו כלם לב אחד‬. For the same expression, see Mek. de R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh
2:85–87 on Exod 19:8, and TN of that verse, ‫בלבא שלמא‬. A very similar interpretation
of Exod 19:8 is also attested by LXX, where the Hebrew ‫ יחדיו‬is translated by the rare
form ὁμοθυμαδὸν. In LXX Pentateuch this occurs only twice elsewhere (Num 24:24;
27:21), and signifies unity of mind and intention. See further Philo, De Conf. Ling. 58–59
on this verse.
278 charles thomas robert hayward

heaven, a most appropriate sentiment given the divine command of

Exod 19:6 that Israel become ‫ממלכת כהנים‬.
All the targumim examined in this section are evidently keen to pro-
mote the closest links between the narrative of the giving of the Torah
on the one hand, and academy, Synagogue, and Beth Ha-Midrash on
the other. The account of the giving of Torah legitimates and grants
authority to these institutions in the eyes of the targumists and their
hearers: these institutions, by targumic exegesis, are manifested as
ancient, part of the very stuff of God’s design for His people, alongside
the Temple and its service whose presence is implicit in the Hebrew
Bible and is accepted as such by all targumim. By way of contrast,
TO contains none of the words and phrases associated with Torah
instruction and study examined here. This is not to claim that Onqelos
was indifferent to such things. Rather, his manner of introducing them
into the narratives involves a subtlety and elegance which will, perhaps,
become apparent as we proceed.

3. The World Above and Targumim of Mattan Torah

The biblical narratives of the giving of the Torah recount how two
spheres meet: the earthly realms where human beings dwell are joined
for a brief time to the heavenly world, the Almighty Himself making
his presence known to His people. The association of these narratives
with the first chapter of Ezekiel, which at some point in antiquity was
adopted as accompanying haftarah for Exodus 19 when it was read in
Synagogue, served to reinforce their association with mystical exegesis
in general and the Merkabah in particular.22 Of all the targumim,
PJ most clearly represents the mystical aspects implicit in the biblical
story.23 Thus the “thick cloud” in which the Lord is revealed (Exod 19:9)
becomes in PJ “the thickness of the cloud of Glory,” and the “cloud”
of the Hebrew text of Exod 24:15, 16 is further qualified as “the cloud
of Glory.” The angelic world is explicitly introduced in the figure of

22
See Halperin, Faces, 17–23; Elior, Three Temples, 164.
23
This targum is well known for its interest in the heavenly world and the mystical
traditions: see Avigdor Shinan, The Embroidered Targum: The Aggadah in Targum Pseudo-
Jonathan of the Pentateuch ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992), 120–52 [in Hebrew]; and cf.
Mortensen, The Priesthood, 1.363–92. For a related discussion of the connection between
Sinai, the heavenly world, and angelic liturgy in a different context, the Qumran com-
munity, see Judith Newman, “Priestly Prophets at Qumran: Summoning Sinai Through
the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice,” 29–72 in this volume.
 the giving of the torah 279

Michael, called the sarkhan of wisdom, who according to PJ of Exod

24:1 summoned Moses to Sinai.24 The archangel Gabriel is represented
in PJ’s version of Exod 24:10, which alone among the targumim of this
chapter includes a detailed account of the Lord’s footstool:
And Nadab and Abihu lifted their eyes, and saw the Glory of the God of
Israel; and beneath the footstool of His feet which was placed beneath His
Throne was as it were a work of sapphire stone, recalling the enslavement
with which the Egyptians had enslaved the Israelites with mud and bricks.
As the women kneaded the clay with their menfolk, there was there a
delicate young woman who was pregnant, and she let the child fall and it
was kneaded with the mud. Gabriel descended and made of it a brick and
took it up to the heavens of the height (‫)מרומא‬25 and established it as a
platform beneath the footstool of the Lord of the Universe. Its splendour
was like the work of a precious stone, and like the might of the beauty of
the heavens when they are clear.
Mention of the Lord’s footstool calls to mind earlier discussion of
imagery drawn from the earthly Temple, imagery now used in PJ of
this verse to speak of the Lord’s dwelling on high, whose union with
the realms below is effected, in this dramatic aggadah, with reference to
the sufferings in Egypt and the redemption from slavery, forever pres-
ent in the footstool beneath the Lord’s throne. It must be recalled that
elsewhere in this targum considerable importance is attached to the fact
that the likeness of the Patriarch Jacob, who is Israel, is engraved on
the Throne of Glory itself, so that the place of God’s heavenly dwell-
ing has perpetual memorials not only of Jacob-Israel whose likeness
is a source of awe and wonder to angels, but also of Israel’s affliction
and servitude.26 Not only this: PJ’s description of the footstool and its

24
On this verse, see Shinan, Embroidered Targum, 126, noting that PJ’s tradition here
appears unique, and that b. Sanh. 38b reports how Metatron called Moses, on which see
further Halperin, Faces, 420–27. For the expression “prince of wisdom,” see 3 Enoch 10:5
and the comments of Philip S. Alexander, “3(Hebrew Apocalypse of ) Enoch,” in The
Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (2 vols.; ed. J. H. Charlesworth; London: Darton, Longman
and Todd, 1983, 1985), 1.243, 264.
25
Gabriel thus ascends to Marom; but there is no hint in the Pentateuchal targumim
that Moses did so, even though there are traditions associated with Merkabah mysticism
which asserted this on the basis of Ps 68:19. See Halperin, Faces, 303–5.
26
See PJ, TN of Gen. 28:12, and further b. Hull. 91b; Gen. Rab. 68:12; 78:3; 82:2;
Numb. Rab. 4:1; Lam. Rab. 2.1,2; PRE 35:3, and discussion in Peter Schäfer, Rivalität zwi-
schen Engeln und Menschen: Untersuchungen zur rabbinischen Engelvorstellung (Berlin: de Gruyter,
1975), 204–7; Jarl E. Fossum, The Image of the Invisible God (Göttingen: Vandehoeck
and Ruprecht, 1995), 135–91; and Silviu Bunta, “The Likeness of the Image: Adamic
Motifs and ‫ צלם‬Anthropology in Rabbinic Traditions about Jacob’s Image Enthroned
in Heaven,” JSJ 37 (2006): 55–84.
280 charles thomas robert hayward

association with the clay kneaded by Israel in slavery might further

suggest that the Almighty Himself had, in some mysterious manner,
suffered affliction along with His people.27 The footstool, no part of the
Hebrew text, figures also in TN of Exod 24:10, where it is said that
Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, and the seventy Sages of Israel:
saw the Glory of the Shekhinah of the God of Israel; and under the foot-
stool of His feet was as it were a work of brick of sapphire, and like the
vision of the heavens when they are clear of clouds.
FTP and FTV of the same verse offer a very similar interpretation.
English “footstool” here represents Aramaic ‫( אפיפודין‬PJ, marginal
gloss of TN, and most likely FTP which, however, lacks the letter
dalet), ‫( איפופדין‬FTV), which in turn represent υποποδιον borrowed from
the Greek.28 The footstool serves not only to reinforce association with
the Temple, but draws attention also to the seat which must inevitably
accompany it: the Throne of Glory. This makes its appearance also in
TO of Exod 24:10, and features as a regular object of awe and wonder
for the pious visionary, and is celebrated in many texts from Second
Temple times and later.29
More controversially, PJ alone of the targumim adds to Exod 19:18
details of what the Bible describes as the Lord’s descent onto Sinai.
The Hebrew of the verse begins by declaring that the whole of Sinai
was smoke-covered: the Targum goes on to explain that this was so:
“because the Lord had bowed down (‫ )ארכין‬the heavens to it, and
was revealed upon it in a consuming fire.” This explanation must be

27
See y. Sukkah 4.3; Lev. Rab. 23:8; Song Rab. 4:8.1 and other sources analysed by
Michael Fishbane, Biblical Myth and Rabbinic Mythmaking (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2003), 134–38.
28
The form of the word in TN is ‫אפיפודן‬. See Samuel Krauss, Griechische und
Lateinische Lehnwörter im Talmud, Midrasch und Targum (2 vols.; Hildesheim: Georg Olms
reprint, 1964), 2:39, which notes the appearance of this word in early rabbinic texts like
m. Kelim 16:1; 24:7. The same author also discusses its form and use, in his Talmudische
Archäologie (2 vols.; Leipzig: Gustav Fock, 1910, 1911), 1.62, 385–86.
29
An early description may be found in 1 Enoch 14:18. See Ephraim Isaac, “1 Enoch,”
OTP, 1.21, and R. H. Charles, “Book of Enoch,” in Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the
Old Testament (2 vols.; ed. R. H. Charles; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913), 1.197, whose
translations describe the throne as being like crystal; and George W. E. Nickelsburg,
1 Enoch 1. A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36, 81–108 (Minneapolis: Fortress
Press, 2001), 257, who prefers “ice” for “crystal,” commenting further on the verse
in 264. On the composition of the Throne according to rabbinic texts, see Ithamar
Gruenwald, Apocalyptic and Merkavah Mysticism (Leiden: Brill, 1980), 35 n. 21: Halperin,
Faces, 80–82, 89, 217–20; and on the tables of the Torah and the Throne, see Philip S.
Alexander, The Targum of Canticles (ArBib 17a; London: T and T Clark, 2003), 89.
 the giving of the torah 281

understood in the context of rabbinic discussion concerning the precise

details of the advent of the Almighty at Sinai, given that PJ’s language
here directly recalls the words of Mek. de R. Ishmael:
One might suppose that the glory really went down and was spread upon
Mount Sinai. Scripture states: “For from heaven I have spoken with you”
(Exod 20:19), teaching us that the Holy One, blessed be He, bowed down
(‫ )הרכין‬the lower heavens and the upper heavens of heavens upon the top
of the mountain, and the Glory descended.30
Thus the divine Presence did not actually “go down” in any obvious
and crude manner, a point strongly asserted by R. Jose ben Halafta’s
statement a little later in the same section, that neither Moses nor
Elijah ascended to heaven, nor did the Glory go down to the earth.31
PJ seemingly assumes that his readers have knowledge not only of this
statement, but also of subsequent rabbinic modifications of it,32 to
avoid open conflict with Scripture’s unequivocal statement that God
did indeed “go down” (Exod 19:20). Thus PJ of Exod 19:17 includes a
further well-known tradition, to the effect that Sinai was elevated from
the earth, the Lord having uprooted the mountain and lifted it up like

30
Mek. de R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh 4:46–49 on Exod 19:20; see also b. Sukk. 5a. Note that
the language of the Lord’s “bowing down” the heavens is found also in Ps 18:10, and
is followed at once by the report that He rode upon a Cherub (Ps 18:11), that celestial
creature most intimately associated with the Ark of the Covenant and the Temple, as Ps
99:1 makes plain. PJ’s allusion to the bowed heavens, therefore, may properly be associ-
ated with the Temple imagery apparent elsewhere in this Targum’s account of Mattan
Torah: see above, n. 13.
31
Mek. de R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh 4:53–58; b. Sukk. 5a. The Rabbi’s statement is most
likely connected with his famous assertion (Gen. Rab. 78:8) that God is not restricted to
place, in that the world is not His place (most relevant in the present context), as shown
by Wilhelm Bacher, Die Agada der Tannaiten (2 vols.; Strasbourg, 1884, 1890), 2.185.
See further Ephraim. E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (2 vols.; trans. I.
Abrahams; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1979), 1.48–50, 2:704. Although the Pentateuchal
targumim preserve references in the Hebrew text to Moses’s ascent to Sinai (Exod 19:3,
20; 24:1, 9, 12, 13, 15, 18), they do not introduce notions of a heavenly ascent by Moses,
Aaron, and the elders of the sort found in many mystical texts (see, e.g., Halperin, Faces,
35–37, 85–88, and especially 319–22), and they fail to say explicitly that Moses went up
to heaven to be given the Torah, which Philip Alexander describes as “the standard
Rabbinic view”: see Alexander, Targum, 82, note 42, citing b. Shabb. 89a, Exod. Rab.
28:1and other classical sources.
32
See Urbach, Sages, 1:49, discussing the rabbinic “compromise” whereby it was
deemed that the Almighty did descend, but not more than ten handbreadths, and Moses
and Elijah did ascend, but not more than ten handbreadths, such that another domain
was created for a meeting place. On the relationship between the Throne of Glory and
the descent of the Shekhinah at Sinai, see further Gruenwald, Apocalyptic, 130–31.
282 charles thomas robert hayward

glass, so that Israel stood beneath it.33 For the duration of the giving
of the Torah, therefore, PJ removes Mount Sinai from the confines of
this world, the revelation being granted in a sphere which is specially
created for the purpose.
Other targumim, however, are less reticent in their accounts. TN is
particularly keen to proclaim the revelation of the Glory of the Shekina of
the Lord at the giving of the Torah, and introduces this expression five
times in its version of Exodus 19, and a further five times in expound-
ing Exodus 24. For a detailed study of these verses we may refer to
the monumental work of Domingo Muñoz León, making two remarks
in passing.34 First, TN’s evident concern to embed the biblical story of
the giving of the Torah into the world of academy, Synagogue and
school is entirely consonant with the general rabbinic teaching (m. xAbot
3:6) that wherever people “sit and occupy themselves with the Torah,”
the Shekhinah is present. Second, by using Glory of the Shekhinah TN
contrives to combine the ideas of the otherworldly glory (Exod 19:16,
17) with a term occurring at Exod 24:16 in the form ‫ וישכן‬to introduce
Shekhinah, which often suggests God’s immanent presence with those
devoted to him, and to make the latter as substantially significant as
the former.35 Not unrelated to these matters is the declaration of PJ
Exod 19:19 that God spoke to Moses “in a sweet and majestic voice,”
a tradition represented also in TN, CG, FTP, and FTP of this verse.36
The special quality of this divine voice may be understood in a number
of ways, all of which are suitable for the imparting of heavenly secrets to
a human being, such that PJ of Exod 24:18 can declare that Moses was
on Sinai “learning the words of the Torah from the mouth of the Holy
One, may His Name be praised, for forty days and forty nights.”37

33
Mek. de R. Ishmael Ba˜odesh 3:123–124; b. Shabb. 88a; Av. Zar. 2b.
34
See Domingo Muñoz León, Gloria de la Shekina en los targumim del Pentateuco (Madrid:
Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1977), 86–99.
35
Note TN’s introduction of prayer and concentration discussed above, and in this
connection Urbach’s apt comment in Sages, 1:63: “The sources dealing with the orienta-
tion of prayer in relation to the Shekhina corroborate that which we find also in other
sources, namely that the epithet ‘Shekhina’ expresses the presence and proximity of God.”
36
On the differing readings of the individual targumim, see le Déaut, Targum du
Pentateuque, 158–59; McNamara, Hayward and Maher, Targums Neofiti 1, 82, 216. A simi-
lar idea may be found in Mek. de R. Ishmael Bahodesh 4:42–44, where R. Akiba explains
that God assisted Moses’s voice ‫בנעימה‬, which Lauterbach understood as a “tone” of
voice strong enough for Israel to hear the same quality of voice which Moses himself
was experiencing.
37
Philo, Quis Heres 17–19, observes that the conversation between God and Moses
was prolonged, and consisted of questions and answers, rather in the manner of an
 the giving of the torah 283

Finally, and most intriguingly, TO, PJ, FTP and TN of Exod 24:11
agree that the sacrifices of those who ascended Sinai were accepted,
“as if they were eating and drinking.” The targumic phraseology here
recalls what is said of angels, who appeared as if they were eating
and drinking, at TN and PJ Gen. 18:8; PJ Gen. 19:3; Gen. Rab. 48:11,
14, and suggests that on this unique occasion human beings behaved
according to angelic custom; and in the words of Rab (b. Ber. 17a),
they are like the righteous in the world to come, where “there is no
eating and drinking . . . and the righteous sit and their crowns are on
their heads, and they are feasting on the splendour of the Shekhinah,
as it is said, And they saw God and ate and drank.”38 All the extant
targumim, therefore, in their differing ways acknowledge the events sur-
rounding the giving of the Torah as the revelation of a world normally
concealed from human sight.

4. Concluding Observations

All the targumim which have survived to our own days date, in their
current written forms, from a time after the destruction of the Sec-
ond Temple, a time when Torah study and prayer have come to be
accepted, in the rabbinic world at least, as adequate, or even more
than adequate substitutes for the Temple service. Yet ideas rooted in
the world of the sanctuary and priesthood, and present in the biblical
narratives of Exodus 19 and 24, have not been replaced or modified by
the Aramaic versions; and two of them, TO and PJ, have introduced
additional material relating to sanctuary and sacrifice not present in
the biblical texts. In so doing, they draw on ancient tradition which, in
a post-destruction world, can be used tellingly to assert that the Torah,
given in the course of a solemn ritual centred on the sanctuary, offers to
those who study it now a participation in the fruits of Temple service.

academy; and appropriately for our purposes b. Ber. 45a understands Exod 19:19 by
analogy with the synagogal reader of Torah and the meturgeman, here representing the
Almighty: the voice of the latter is not to be raised above that of the former! For Moses’s
period of study on Sinai, see also PRE 46:1.
38
See also Lev. Rab. 20:10, where the vision of God is food and drink. The crowns
of the righteous here recall the crowns or diadems which, according to PJ Exod 19:6
kings will “bind” on their heads: for the mystical connotations of this, see Gruenwald,
Apocalyptic, 65–66, 128–29. On the meal motif in some Merkabah texts, see David J.
Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature (New Haven: American Oriental Society,
1980), 109, 131.
284 charles thomas robert hayward

The Temple and its service are anything but defunct, but are still vibrant
with eternal significance when the circumstances of God’s enduring gift
of Torah to Israel are seen in their correct perspective.39
TN, CG, FTP, and FTV are keen to assert that Torah study and
prayer are equal to the service of the Temple: when Torah was given,
not only was the service of the sanctuary apparent, but the world of
academy, schoolhouse, and synagogue was present with it. For these
targumim, at Sinai the Sages stood alongside the ministering priests;
prayer with purposeful devotion and undivided heart was required;
transmission of authoritative teaching was the order of the day. If the
Sages were present at Sinai, then their transmitted wisdom may surely
be trusted in later times. PJ, too, shares these same concerns. Although
lacking the distinctive terminology of the other targumim, TO of Exod
19:7 makes the point that Moses set in order, ‫סדר‬, all God’s words to
Israel: this indicates the formal, liturgical and ritual arrangement of
the teachings, and features in the interpretations of this same verse
given by PJ, TN, FTP, FTV and CG, a very similar notion being also
preserved in LXX.40
We have seen how all the targumim in their differing ways attempt to
express how, when the Torah was given to Israel, aspects of the world
above not normally accessible to human beings were revealed. PJ is
pre-eminent in this, in accordance with his keen interest in matters
mystical, the angels, and the heavenly realms; but he is also remark-
able in the way he places in the heavenly realms a perpetual memorial
of Israel’s slavery in Egypt, beneath the Lord’s footstool which is so
evocative of His earthly, as well as of His heavenly Temple. The other
targumim, like the Bible, do not speak of angels, but bring the divine

39
For the Torah as God’s house, see the illuminating article of Marc Hirshman,
“Torah in Rabbinic Thought: The Theology of Learning,” in The Cambridge History of
Judaism Volume 4: The Late Roman-Rabbinic Period (ed. S. T. Katz; Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2006), 899–924.
40
Instructive here are the comments of Drazin, Onkelos, 116, 117. Where the Hebrew
of Exod 19:7 states that Moses set or placed (Hebrew ‫ )וישם‬the Lord’s words before the
elders, LXX put καὶ παρέθηκεν, which indicates that he “proposed, explained, commu-
nicated” the divine words. The word was also used to describe the setting forth of food
at table; and the only other use of this verb in LXX in Exodus, at 21:1 where specific
legal rulings are set forth in order, corresponds well with Mek. de R. Ishmael Nezikin 1:8–10
on Exod 21:1, “Scripture says: And these are the ordinances which you shall set before them.
Arrange them before them like a prepared table”. See on this le Boulluec and Sandevoir,
L’Exode, 214–15. Note also how TN of Exod 24:3 also speaks of ‫ סדרי דינא‬delivered
at Sinai, and the same Targum of Exod 24:5 uses the verb ‫ סדר‬of the sacrifices offered
on the altar.
 the giving of the torah 285

Glory to Israel, whose representatives themselves behave like angels

while Torah is being granted.41
The differing emphases of the several targumim stand side by side:
the three aspects of their interpretation we have investigated all have
their roots in ancient times, and have been developed as time and place
dictated, though which times and what places it is now impossible to
say. Rather, they all bear witness to the richness of the exegetical mate-
rial which may be associated with Mattan Torah, and, like plastered
cisterns, they seem determined to lose not a drop of the tradition they
have received.

41
Note that all the extant Pentateuchal Targums of Deut 33:2 (TO, PJ, TN, FTP, and
FTV) declare that angels were present at the giving of the Torah: see further Schäfer,
Rivalität, pp. 43–49; Cécile Dogniez and Marguerite Harl, La Bible d’Alexandrie LXX, tome
5: Le Deuteronome (Paris: Cerf, 1992), 343–45.
 GOD’S BACK! WHAT DID MOSES SEE ON SINAI?1

Diana Lipton
King’s College, London, England

What did Moses see on Sinai?

What precisely did Moses see when he ascended Mt. Sinai to collect the
second set of commandments? The notion that God allowed Moses to
glimpse his back, but not to see his face, has taken a vice-like imagina-
tive grip on the recent history of interpretation.2 In this paper, I shall
attempt to loosen the vice, suggesting that God showed Moses neither
his face nor his back on Mt. Sinai, but offered him a glimpse of the
future.3 Reading God’s “back” as an idiomatic reference to the future,
reflecting a biblical perception of time now lost to us, sheds new light
on traditional Jewish and Christian commentaries on Exod 33:23. It
helps explain why commentators more or less ignore God’s back until
well into the middle ages. Far from being squeamish about anthropo-
morphic representations of God, they did not even contemplate a literal
reading. It also helps explain thematic preoccupations of these com-
mentaries, such as the relationship between (present) righteousness and
(future) reward. As well as illuminating explicit responses to the second
Sinai ascent, my reading helps to identify new responses. The story in
b. Mena ot 29b of Moses encountering God on Mt. Sinai, sitting and
tying crowns to the letters of the Sefer Torah, and Moses’ subsequent
visit to Rabbi Aqiba’s Torah academy, is among the best known and

1
I dedicate this paper to my husband of twenty-three years, Peter Lipton ‫ז"ל‬, who
died unexpectedly and prematurely on 25th November 2007. Peter regularly told our
friends: “Diana thinks the Bible is all about sex.” Sadly (and happily), he will never know
that I was finally able to write a paper that is all about death—not even a hint of erotic
martyrdom.
2
I have no adequate explanation for the fixation on God’s back, and nor can I tell
when it began. It is often difficult to know what commentators have in mind, as with Ibn
Ezra, who cites Num 12:8 on God’s likeness, whilst seeming to deny that God can have
a form, and Nahmanides, who cites Ps 139:5 without making his own position clear.
3
My initial interest in this subject emerged from an attempt to apply new insights
on biblical and ancient Jewish perceptions of time to the Abraham/Sinai dilemma. I
explore this topic in a chapter of Longing for Egypt and Other Biblical Tales of the Unexpected
(Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2008).
288 diana lipton

most widely discussed of all rabbinic Sinai narratives. I hope to show

that it too is a response to Exod 33:12–23, thereby revealing a crucial
textual dimension hitherto unrecognised, and, perhaps more impor-
tantly, indicating the need for yet another look at Jewish and Christian
engagement over the use of Sinai as a focus for issues of succession,
intercession, and transmission of authority.4

Back to the Future

I see Exod 33:23 as one of a number of biblical texts whose authors

located the past in front of them, since they could see it, and the future
behind them, since they could not see it. This is less strange than it
sounds. Our present-day conception of time is far from straightfor-
ward with regard to spatial orientation.5 Sometimes the language we
use to describe time indicates that we see the future ahead of us, with
ourselves marching bravely—or less timidly—into it, but on other
occasions we speak of the future, say new generations, coming up
behind.6 In Biblical Hebrew, a strong linguistic case may be made for
claiming that the future was physically located behind. Meanings of
the root word ‫ קדם‬range from “original” and “early” through “past”
and “ancient” to “before” and “in front of,” while meanings of the
root ‫ אחר‬include “afterwards” and “end” (as in ‫אחרית הימים‬, “end
of days”) alongside “behind” and “back.”7 A recent study by cognitive

4
Daniel Boyarin, Dying for God: Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999), esp. pp. 22–41. For a discussion of these
issues in earlier Jewish and Christian exegesis of Moses on Mt. Sinai, see George van
Kooten, “Why Did Paul Include an Exegesis of Moses’ Shining Face (Exod 34) in 2 Cor
3?” 149–82 in this volume.
5
See George Lakoff and Michael Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: Chicago
University Press, 1980).
6
This image might emerge from a different concern—the need to look over one’s
shoulder at the competition, yet the very fact that we locate our successors or would-be
successors over our shoulders is at the least an encouragement to perceive the future
there in those particular scenarios.
7
Recent scholarship on biblical and ancient Jewish time has replaced the simple lin-
ear conception of time with a more varied and complex picture. Having made the cru-
cial point that the Bible is not monolithic on this matter, Marc Z. Brettler, “Cyclical and
Teleological Time in the Hebrew Bible,” in Time and Temporality in the Ancient World (ed.
R. M. Rosen; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and
Anthropology, 2004), 111–28, opts for an interplay of teleological and cyclical structures
that might best be described as spiral. Meir Bar Ilan, “Time and its Types in Genesis
1,” Mo’ed: Annual for Jewish Studies, 14:2 n.s. (2004, online; [ Heb.]), envisages four differ-
ent models of time in the Bible: Natural (both linear and cyclical—day follows night);
 god’s back! 289

psychologists of Aymara, an Amerindian language spoken in parts of

Bolivia, Peru and Chile, helps to elucidate this little-considered aspect of
biblical perspectives on time: “In Aymara, the basic word for FRONT
(nayra, ‘eye/front/sight’) is also a basic expression meaning PAST, and
the basic word for BACK (qhipa, ‘back/behind’) is a basic expression
for FUTURE meaning.”8 A similar perception of time seems to have
operated in classical antiquity; the Septuagint’s term for “back” in
Exod 33:23 conveys the same spatial and temporal dimensions as the
Hebrew—behind and future, respectively. An especially pertinent rab-
binic example occurs in b. Hag. 16a, where ‫ לאחור‬and ‫ לפנים‬carry
precisely the spatial and temporal significance I propose for the same
terminology in Exod 33:23:
‫ בשלמא מה‬.‘‫כל המסתכל בארבעה דברים רתוי לו שלא בא לעולם כו‬
‫ אלא לפנים מה דהוה הוה‬,‫למעלה מה למטה מה לאחור לחיי‬
WHOSOEVER SPECULATES UPON FOUR THINGS, IT WERE A
MERCY IF HE HAD NOT COME INTO THE WORLD etc. Granted
as regards what is above, what is beneath, what [will be] after, that is well.
But as regards what was before—what happened, happened!9
The juxtaposition of ‫ לאחור‬and ‫ לפנים‬with “what is above” and “what
is below” underlines the spatial dimensions of all four terms and the
conclusion—“what happened, happened”—makes explicit that the
concern in the latter cases at least is temporal.

Numerological (based on seven day units, not natural); Ritual/Quality (good and bad
times), and Ritual/non-numerological (astronomical/scientific). Rachel Elior, The Three
Temples: On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism (trans. D. Louvish; Oxford: Littman Library
of Jewish Civilization, 2004), posits a spatial conception of time in her monograph on
the biblical origins of some aspects of Jewish mysticism; I am not sure whether or not
she traces this view back to the biblical authors themselves. Nicholas Wyatt, Space and
Time in the Religious Life of the Ancient Near East (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002),
limits conceptual discussion to two footnotes and a brief excursus, in which he mainly
cautions against the pagan/cyclical v. Israel/linear dichotomy. Sacha Stern, Time and
Process in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2003), set out
thinking time means calendars and came to believe that ancient Judaism had no sense of
time at all, just a sense of process, namely the activities that fill time.
8
Rafael E. Núñez and Eve Sweetser, “With the Future Behind Them: Convergent
Evidence From Aymara Language and Gesture in the Crosslinguistic Comparison of
Spatial Construals of Time,” Cognitive Science 30 (2006): 401–50 (here 402).
9
All translations of talmudic texts are from the Soncino editition of the Babylonian
Talmud, ed. Isidore Epstein (London, 1961).
290 diana lipton

Arguments from Exegesis

Despite the fact that the Hebrew is better read as “behind me” (literally,
“my behind”) than “my back,” few modern scholars have doubted that
God showed Moses his back on Mt. Sinai, and no recent translation
offers an alternative.10 Focusing on the final form of Exod 33:12–23, I
shall try to undermine this monolithic certainty. What precisely does
Moses request when he ascends Sinai the second time, and exactly
what does God offer in return?
12 Moses said to the LORD, “See, You say to me, ‘Lead this people for-
ward,’ but You have not made known to me whom You will send with me.
Further, You have said, ‘I have singled you out by name, and you have,
indeed, gained My favor.’ 13 Now, if I have truly gained Your favor, pray
let me know Your ways, that I may know You and continue in Your favor.
Consider, too, that this nation is Your people.” 14 And He said, “I will go
in the lead and will lighten your burden.” 15 And he said to Him, “Unless
You go in the lead, do not make us leave this place. 16 For how shall it be
known that Your people have gained Your favor unless You go with us, so
that we may be distinguished, Your people and I, from every people on
the face of the earth?” 17 And the LORD said to Moses, “I will also do
this thing that you have asked; for you have truly gained My favor and
I have singled you out by name.” 18 He said, “Oh, let me behold Your
Presence!” 19 And He answered, “I will make all My goodness pass before
you, and I will proclaim before you the name LORD, and I will grant the
grace that I will grant and I will show the compassion that I show. 20 But,”
He said, “You cannot see My face, for man may not see Me and live.” 21
And the LORD said, “See, there is a place near Me. Station yourself on
the rock 22 and, as My Presence passes by, I will put you in a cleft of the
rock and shield you with My hand until I have passed by. 23 Then I will
take My hand away and you will see My back [lit. my behind, behind me];
but My face must not be seen.”11

10
I do not know of any modern exegete who understands God’s back as I do here.
Since the standard views are well known, there is little to be gained by rehearsing them.
For commentaries that give a good sense of the range of interpretative options on
this matter, see Brevard S. Childs, Exodus: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press,
1974), and Nahum M. Sarna, Exodus ( JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1991).
11
Hebrew Bible translations based on Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1999).
 god’s back! 291

Moses makes five more or less explicit requests:

1. (?) You have commissioned me to lead this people, but have not made
told me who you will send with me (i.e., tell me who will help me
in future) (v. 12).
2. (3) You have said that I have gained your favour, now tell me your
ways so that I can continue to gain your favour (v. 13).
3. (1) This nation is your people (i.e., they need sight of you) (v. 13).
4. (2) Go with us so that we can be distinguished among the nations
(v. 16).
5. (4) Let me see your presence (v. 18).

God makes five distinct statements which—though they appear in a

different order and, in one instance, in advance of the demand—may
be mapped onto Moses’ five requests:

1. (3) God tells Moses he will go in the lead (to reassure the people?)
(v. 14).
2. (4) God promises to do what Moses asked; Moses has gained his
favour and he has singled out Moses (v. 17).
3. (2) God declares: “I will show you my goodness, declare my name,
and be gracious and compassionate” (v. 19).
4. (5) God refuses to show his face (v. 20).
5. (?) God promises: “Position yourself in a rock-cleft and I will shield
you with my hand and then I will show you my back” (vv. 21–23).

Whether because of the text’s composite nature, or for literary-aesthetic

or theological reasons, the pairing of Moses’ requests and God’s reassur-
ing statements is problematic. As the pericope is traditionally read, one
of Moses’ requests goes unanswered, and one of God’s offers appears
out of the blue. God does not seem to respond to Moses’ request to
discover who will come with him into the land, and Moses does not
appear to initiate God’s offer to reveal his back (‫)אחורי‬, other than by
asking to see God’s presence. Reading “my back” in the first instance
as “behind me” and in the second instance as an idiomatic reference
to the future, resolves these problems. All five of Moses’ requests elicit
a corresponding response from God; Moses expresses anxiety about
the future (32:12), and God agrees to show it to him (32:23). This
reading is supported by the fact that the two statements form a textual
292 diana lipton

inclusio at the beginning and end of the pericope, and by an interplay

throughout the narrative of temporal and spatial notions of what lies
ahead (“lead this people forward,” v. 12; “I will go in the lead,” “unless
you go in the lead,” v. 14; “pass before you,” v. 19). In so far as this
complex text has a plain sense, it is that God agreed on Mt. Sinai to
allow Moses a glimpse of future events, motivated by his request to
know the identity of his successor. This re-reading raises the theological
stakes considerably. As traditionally understood, Moses’ second Sinai
encounter climaxes with a vision of God’s back. As I interpret it, it
ends with what lies ahead—presumably, Joshua in the first instance. No
wonder early commentators seized upon it as a magnet for their own
discussions of succession and transmission.12

Translating God’s Back

With the exception of Targum Pseudo-Jonathan (Tg. Ps.-J.), on which

more below, the Aramaic translations of Exod 33:23 do not appear to
have understood God’s “back” as an anthropomorphic representation.
Onqelos is a case in point:
And the Lord said to Moses, I will do this matter of which you have spo-
ken, because you have found mercy before Me, and I have ordained you
by name. And he said, Show me, I pray, your Glory! And He said, I will
make all My Goodness pass before your face, and I will proclaim the
Name of the Lord before you, and I will be gracious to whom I will be
gracious, and have mercy on whom I will have mercy. And He said, You
cannot see the Face of My Shekinah; for no man can see Me and survive.
And the Lord said, Look, there is a place prepared before Me, and you
will stand on the rock, and it will be that when My Glory passes by, I will
put you in a cavern of the rock, and My Word will overshadow you until I
have passed; and I will take away the word of My Glory, and thou will see
that which is after Me, but what is before Me shall not be seen.13

12
Shmuel Shepkaru, Jewish Martyrs in the Pagan and Christian Worlds (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2006), 81, discusses the relationship between R. Judah
b. Baba, who ordained students despite a Roman death decree (b. Sanh. 14a), and the
transmission of authority from Moses to Joshua.
13
Based on The Targums of Onkelos and Jonathan Ben Uzziel on the Pentateuch with the
Fragments of the Jerusalem Targum from the Chaldee (trans. J. W. Etheridge; London: Longman,
Green, Longman and Roberts, 1862). The texts of the targumim have been taken from
the database of Aramaic texts generated by the Comprehensive Aramaic Lexicon
(CAL), http://call.cn.huc.edu/, under the direction of Professor Steven Kaufman. See
the CAL website for details of each text. Beyond the issues discussed in this paper, the
 god’s back! 293

Since Onqelos does not employ his usual strategies for dealing with
anthropomorphisms, it seems unlikely that he reads ‫ אחורי‬as “my
back.” Whereas “my face” (v. 20) becomes for Onqelos “the face of
my Shekinah,” and “my hand” (v. 21) becomes “my word,” he renders
‫ את אחורי‬as ‫ית דבתרי‬, “that which is behind me” or “that which is
after me”—both straight translations of the Hebrew. His juxtaposition
of ‫ דבתרי‬with ‫ קדם‬suggests the spatial reading as the more likely of
these two; this root occurs three times in the pericope (vv. 17, 19, 21)
before verse 23, and on each of those occasions, it means “in front
of.” Alternatively, and perhaps more attractively, he chooses a term that
preserves the spatial/temporal ambiguity.

God’s Back in Early Christian Commentaries

Although Augustine’s reading seems at first conventionally Christologi-

cal, its temporal emphasis supports my claim that God’s back was not
taken literally:
And as a matter of fact the words which the LORD later says to
Moses . . . are commonly at not without reason understood to prefigure the
person of our Lord Jesus Christ. Thus the back parts are taken to be his
flesh, in which he was born of the virgin and rose again, whether they
are called the back parts [ posteriora] because of the posteriority of his mortal
nature or because he deigned to take it near the end of the world, that is, at a
later period [ posterius].14
Augustine offers two temporal readings for the original term, posteriora,
and proceeds to claim that they may be taken as Jesus’ flesh. This implies
that he did not see them as God’s flesh. Paterius too sees a temporal
connection to Jesus. In this case it is not because God’s “back parts”
prefigure Jesus, but rather that they represent the temporal vantage
point from which Jesus may be seen—hindsight:
The place is the church, the rock is the Lord, Moses is the multitude of
the people of Israel who did not believe in the Lord when he preached
on the earth. So that multitude stood on the rock and beheld the back

targumim are a rich storehouse of other interpretive traditions about the Sinai revela-
tion; see Robert Hayward, “The Giving of the Torah: Targumic Perspectives,” 269–85
in this volume.
14
The Trinity 2.17.29, cited in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Old Testament III
(ed. J. T. Lienhard; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2001), 150.
294 diana lipton

parts of the Lord as he passed by. After the Lord’s passion and ascension
they were led into the church and merited to receive faith in Christ. They
did not recognize him face to face on earth, but later acknowledged him
“from behind.”15
For Gregory of Nazanius, what Moses saw was not Jesus, but “the back
parts of God, which he leaves behind him as token of himself, like the
shadows and reflections of the sun in the water, which show the sun to
our weak eyes, because he is too strong for our power of perception.”16
It is not clear whether these are after-effects that remain when God has
moved to another physical space, or the signs that God leaves behind
him when moving into another time. If the latter, an association between
God’s “after-parts” and the future is implicit; God has moved into the
future, we cannot see him, but we can see the tokens that he leaves as
signs of his former presence.
Most relevant to our concerns is Origen’s commentary on the Song
of Songs; he leaves no doubt that he understands the after-parts tem-
porally:
Like to these is the saying of God to Moses: “Lo, I have set you in a cleft
of the rock, and you shall see my back parts.” That rock which is Christ
is therefore not completely closed but has clefts. But the cleft of the rock
is he who reveals God to men and makes him known to them; for “no-
one knows the Father save the Son.” So no-one sees the back parts of
God—that is to say, the things that are come to pass in the latter times—unless he
be placed in the cleft of the rock, that is to say, when he is taught them by
Christ’s own revealing.17
Whether Origen sees the future as the “plain sense” (in so far as he
thinks in those terms) meaning of Exod 33:23, or whether for him
“back parts” represent future events in the same way that the rock
represents Jesus, his conjunction of Jesus and an emphasis on the
future is critical.

15
Exposition of the Old and New Testament, Exodus, cited in Ancient Christian Commentary on
Scripture: Old Testament III, 151.
16
From Oration 2.3, cited in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Old Testament III,
151–52.
17
From Commentary on the Song of Songs, 3.15, cited in Ancient Christian Commentary on
Scripture: Old Testament III, 152.
 god’s back! 295

God’s Back in Jewish Commentaries

Although, prior to the middle ages, rabbinic commentaries show no

sign of taking God’s back literally, they do exhibit a strong temporal
interest. Perhaps the most explicitly temporal interpretation comes in
the Avot de Rabbi Nathan, where God’s face is interpreted as “this world,”
and his back, or what is behind him, as “the world to come.”18 Exodus
Rabbah shows no indication that God might have been revealing a body
part when he told Moses to look at his back, failing to address the word
‫ אחורי‬at all. This is significant. The preceding midrash analyses ‫פני‬,
“my face,” and the midrash in question addresses ‫כף‬, despite the fact
that these body parts are mentioned often in the Bible. The fact that
Exod 33:23 contains the Bible’s only reference to God’s back, and yet
Exodus Rabbah neither cites the word nor comments on it, suggests that
the midrashic author read it differently. But how? Several midrashim in
Exodus Rabbah on Exod 33:12–23 explore the theme of future reward.
Most relevant are 45.5 and 6, which link Moses’ desire to know what
was the reward awaiting the righteous and why the wicked prosper to
his request to see God’s glory. Although 45.6 cites only the first half of
verse 23—“And I will take away my hand”—it interprets on the basis of
the uncited second half of the verse: “And I will show you ‫”אחורי‬:
God said to him: “I will reveal to you the reward of the righteous which
I will bestow upon them at the end of days, ‫[ ”אחרית הימים‬cf. ‫]אחורי‬.
R. Assi said, “The prophets beheld the banquet prepared in paradise, but
did not behold the reward they would receive, for it says, ‘The eye has not
seen, O God, beside you, what he will do for those who wait for him’ (Isa
64:3), and David also said ‘Oh how abundant is your goodness, which you
have stored away for those who fear you’ (Ps 31:20).” (Exod. Rabbah 45.6)19
According to this midrash, God interprets eschatologically Moses’
request to see the reward for the righteous, identified by the midrash-
ist with his request to see God’s glory. The additional words, “which I
will bestow upon them at the end of days,” reflect God’s offer to show
Moses what is behind him, ‫אחורי‬. For the midrashic author, then, what
is behind God is what will occur at the end of days, and this is the
reward for the righteous.

18
For an English translation see The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan (trans. J. Goldin;
New Haven: Yale University Press, 1955).
19
English translations of Exod. Rabbah based on Midrash Rabbah (3rd edition; trans. S.
Lehrman; London: Soncino Press, 1983).
296 diana lipton

The other important future event linked by midrashim to the second

Sinai ascent is the giving of the Oral Torah. Exodus Rabbah categorically
denies that the Torah was given at Sinai the first time around:
And he [ Moses] began to feel remorse for having broken the tablets, but
God reassured him saying: Do not grieve over the first tablets. They con-
tained only the Ten Commandments, but in the two tablets I am about to
give you now, there will also be laws, midrash and haggadot. (Exod. Rabbah
46.1)
Midrash Tan uma (Buber), on the other hand, presents a range of opin-
ions, including the assertion in Ki Tissa 17 that the contents of both
Written and Oral Torah were given to Moses on his first ascent, but
that both were given orally.20 After learning the entire Torah (i.e., both
the “written” prior to being written down, and the “oral”), Moses
asks God to give it all in writing—he had seen a vision of the future
in which the peoples of the world would steal the Torah in order to
make Israel like them. Hearing this, God compromised: “Scripture”
may be given in writing, but Mishnah and Talmud must remain oral,
since it is these that distinguish Israel from the nations. The prooftext
given for God’s compromise—namely, Scripture in writing, but Mish-
nah and Talmud orally—is the term ‫ על פי‬in Exod 34:27, translated
idiomatically as “according to,” but read literally in the midrash as “by
mouth.” Crucial for our purposes, however, is that Moses’ request for
a written text is motivated by a vision of the future, which emerges
smoothly from Exod 33:12–23 as I have interpreted it.

A Sinai Encounter between Moses and Rabbi Aqiba

The preceding analysis of Exod 33:23 and the Jewish and Christian
commentaries that address it suggest a radical re-interpretation of
what is arguably the Babylonian Talmud’s most evocative and widely
discussed Sinai narrative, b. Mena . 29b:
‫ מצאו להקב"ה שיושב‬,‫ בשעה שעלה משה למרום‬:‫אמר רב יהודה אמר רב‬
:‫ מי מעכב על ידך? אמר לו‬,‫ רבש"ע‬:‫ אמר לפניו‬,‫וקושר כתרים לאותיות‬
‫ שעתיד‬,‫אדם אחד יש שעתיד להיות בסוף כמה דורות ועקיבא בן יוסף שמו‬
‫ הראהו‬,‫ רבש"ע‬:‫ אמר לפניו‬.‫לדרוש על כל קוץ וקוץ תילין תילין של הלכות‬

20
For an English translation, see Midrash Tanhuma (Buber) (ed. J. T. Townsend; Hoboken,
NJ: Ktav, 1997).
 god’s back! 297

‫ ולא היה יודע מה‬,‫ הלך וישב בסוף שמונה שורות‬.‫ חזור לאחורך‬:‫ אמר לו‬,‫לי‬
‫ מנין‬,‫ רבי‬:‫ אמרו לו תלמידיו‬,‫ תשש כחוֹ כיון שהגיע לדבר אחד‬,‫הן אומרים‬
,‫ חזר ובא לפני הקב"ה‬.‫ נתיישבה דעתו‬,‫ הלכה למשה מסיני‬:‫לך? אמר להן‬
‫ יש לך אדם כזה ואתה נותן תורה ע"י? אמר‬,‫ רבונו של עולם‬:‫אמר לפניו‬
‫ הראיתני‬,‫ רבונו של עולם‬:‫ אמר לפניו‬.‫ כך עלה במחשבה לפני‬,‫ שתוק‬:‫לו‬
‫ ראה ששוקלין‬,‫ חזר לאחוריו‬.]‫ חזור [לאחורך‬:‫ אמר לו‬,‫ הראני שכרו‬,‫תורתו‬
‫ כך עלה‬,‫ שתוק‬:‫ זו תורה וזו שכרה? א"ל‬,‫ רבש"ע‬:‫ אמר לפניו‬,‫בשרו במקולין‬
.‫במחשבה לפני‬
Rab Judah said in the name of Rab, At the time [lit. hour] when Moses
ascended on high, he found the Holy One, blessed be He, engaged in
tying crowns [scribal decorations] to the letters. Said Moses, ‘Lord of
the Universe, Who stays Your hand?’ He answered, ‘There will arise a
man, at the end of many generations, Aqiba ben Joseph by name, who
will expound upon each tittle heaps and heaps of laws’. ‘Lord of the
Universe’, said Moses, ‘show him to me’. He replied, ‘Turn backwards’.
Moses went and sat down at the end of eight rows [and listened to the
legal discourses]. Not being able to follow their arguments, he was ill at
ease. But when they came to a particular subject and the disciples said to
the master, ‘From what source do you know it?’ and the latter replied, ‘It is
a law given to Moses at Sinai’, he was comforted. Thereupon he returned
to the Holy One, blessed be He, and said, ‘Lord of the Universe, You
have a man like this and You give the Torah through me?’ He replied,
‘Silence! For this is what has come before me in the plan’. Then Moses
said, ‘Lord of the Universe, You have shown me his Torah, show me his
reward’. ‘Turn backwards’, said He. And Moses turned round and saw
them weighing out his [Aqiba’s] flesh at the market-stalls. ‘Lord of the
Universe’, cried Moses, ‘such Torah, and such a reward!’ ‘Silence!’ He
replied, ‘For this is what has come before me in the plan’.
All modern commentators have recognised that a preoccupation of
this narrative is the relationship between Written and Oral Torahs. In
an earlier analysis of this text, I highlighted the central role of time in
this endeavour, suggesting that b. Mena . 29b converts time into space
with the aim of demonstrating that both Oral and Written Torahs
were given in one “temporal location.” Our standard answer to a
temporal question—When did Moses receive the Law?—is geographic:
“On Mount Sinai.”21
J. Rubenstein emphasises the prominence of time with his observa-
tions about the unusual collapse of biblical and post-biblical time. While
rabbinic texts routinely create “conversations” between Torah scholars

21
See Diana Lipton, Longing for Egypt and Other Biblical Tales of the Unexpected (Sheffield:
Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2008).
298 diana lipton

whose lives were separated by hundreds of years, it is extremely rare to

find rabbis interacting with biblical figures.22 And whereas most rabbinic
texts that blur the boundaries between different generations of scholars
make no issue of it—diverse teachings are juxtaposed as if they were
formed in light of each other—our text articulates the process by which
Moses meets Aqiba. Moses must turn backwards, ‫לאחורך‬, in order to go
into the future. It was the semantic and conceptual similarity between
this and Exod 33:23, and what that implies for the biblical perception of
time, that first interested me in an intertextual reading. What interests
me now in addition, but must be pursued elsewhere, is the extent to
which this conception of time is also a feature of martyrdom texts.
Along with all commentators of whose work I am aware, I had
originally assumed that b. Mena . 29b identifies Moses’ visit to Sinai/the
Aqiba academy with Exodus 19 (the first ascent, the first tablets), not
Exodus 33 (the second set, the second tablets). Although the talmudic
narrative gives no explicit justification for this assumption, neither does
it offer an obvious reason to think otherwise. In fact, b. Mena . 29b
almost certainly relates to Moses’ second ascent, following the Golden
Calf and in anticipation of receiving a second set of commandments.
It is hardly surprising on reflection that a rabbinic narrative seeking
to validate the Oral Torah might appeal to the second set of tablets,
as was indeed the case in the Exodus Rabbah and Tan uma midrashim
cited above. In what ensues, though, I shall focus initially on specific
textual and conceptual, as opposed to basic structural, links between
the two texts.
As usually interpreted, God’s addition to the Torah of the decora-
tive scribal crowns suggest that he had been hard at work and is just
icing the cake when Moses comes across him. Yet the crowns can more
plausibly be viewed as a response to the Golden Calf; God expanded
the Torah to take account of Israel’s freshly displayed intransigence.
On this reading, the additions to the Torah are a permanent memorial
to the incompleteness of the first tablets, and indeed to the failure of
the first giving, a conception that is more than at home in a narrative
that seeks to validate the Oral Torah. Furthermore, while Moses’ first
question to God—“Master of the world, ‫מי מעכב על ידיך‬, who will
stay your hand?”—is hard to fathom in the context of the first Sinai

22
Jeffrey L. Rubinstein (ed.), Rabbinic Stories (Classics in Western Spirituality; New
York: Paulist Press, 2002), 215.
 god’s back! 299

encounter, it fits perfectly after the Golden Calf. Staying God’s hand
is an idiom for deflecting punishment, and Moses now asks God who
will perform this role in future on Israel’s behalf. The juxtaposition of
“hand” and “back” in Exod 33:23 invites the rabbinic association of
the removal of punishment (staying the hand) and the revelation of the
future (seeing what lies behind).
What has not, to my knowledge, been observed by previous com-
mentators on this text is that what Moses sees God doing on Mt. Sinai
alludes directly to the first paragraph of the Shema. Bearing in mind
Daniel Boyarin’s important observations about the centrality of the
Shema and the assertion of God’s oneness in martyrdom texts,23 its
presence here should hardly be surprising, above all in a text about
Rabbi Aqiba, but I shall nevertheless spell out the evidence. First, Moses’
sight of God ‫שיושב וקושר כתרים לאותיות‬, “sitting and tying crowns
onto the letters,” recalls the Shema, ‫וקשרתם לאות על ידיך‬, “and you
shall bind them as a sign upon your hand.” Second, Moses responds to
this sight by asking a seemingly unrelated question that is traditionally
understood as, “Who will restrain your hand?” Once the allusion to
the Shema is recognised, it becomes clear that Moses’ question is not
out of the blue as usually supposed, but emerges directly from what
he observes on Mt. Sinai. God’s decoration of the ‫אותיות‬, letters, but
literally signs, recalls the biblical instruction to “bind the ‫אות‬, sign, upon
your hand,” leading Moses to ask ‫מי מעכב על ידיך‬, “who will bind your
hand?” This reading explains the role of the traditionally overlooked
preposition ‫על‬, upon, in ‫מי מעכב על ידיך‬, “who will bind your hand?”
The words ‫על ידיך‬, upon your hand, are a direct quotation from the
Shema. In its talmudic context, however, its meaning changes, and it
evokes restraint. A midrash from Genesis Rabbah on the creation of the
sun and the moon shows how the term can function in both ways. A
man intends to take a sea voyage during Sukkot, and asks his brother
to pray for him. His brother explains that he is unable to do so, since
this would involve putting his brother’s welfare above the needs of
the community. At Sukkot, Jews pray for rain, but rain is detrimental
during sea voyages, and indeed other forms of travel.24 According to

23
In relation to b. Ber. 61b, Boyarin, Dying for God: Martyrdom and the Making of
Christianity and Judaism, 106, writes: “The story about Rabbi Akiva’s death dramatizes
the connection between ‘the reading of the Shema [Hear O Israel],’ the declaration of
God’s unity and oneness, and Jewish martyrology.”
24
Genesis Rabbah, on Gen 1:14.
300 diana lipton

the midrash, the advisability of staying at home during this festival is

promoted through the dictum, “When you bind your lulav, bind your
feet (restrain yourself ).” Although the meaning of bind changes with
the shift in object from lulav to feet, the verb in both instances is ‫קטר‬,
precisely equivalent to b. Mena ot’s ‫קושר‬, “tie.” B. Mena . 29b uses two
different verbs, the first clearly meaning “tie” and the second evoking
restraint, as with the lulav, by the use of a verb, ‫מעכב‬. It is clear, though,
why Mena ot, unlike the Genesis Rabbah midrash, uses two different verbs.
The second ‫ מעכב‬resonates with Aqiba. Built into Moses’ question is
the single acceptable answer. Who else but Rabbi Aqiba (‫ב‬-‫ק‬-‫ )ע‬could
stay (‫ב‬-‫כ‬-‫ )ע‬God’s hand?25
B. Mena . 29b gives a short version of the story of Rabbi Aqiba’s
death at the hands of Roman torturers. B. Ber. 61b offers a fuller version,
culminating with an account of Aqiba’s dying words, the Shema:26
When R. Akiba was taken out for execution, it was the hour for recit-
ing the Shema, and while they combed his flesh with iron combs, he was
accepting upon himself the kingship of heaven. His disciples said to him:
Our teacher, even to this degree? He said to them: All my days I have
been troubled by this verse, ‘with all thy soul’, [which I interpret,] ‘even if
he takes your soul’. I said: When shall I have the opportunity of fulfilling
this? Now that I have the opportunity shall I not fulfill it? He prolonged
the word ‫‘[ אחד‬one’] until he expired while saying it. A bat kol [ heavenly
voice] went forth and proclaimed: Happy are you, Aqiba, that your soul
has departed with the word ‫ !אחד‬The ministering angels said before the
Holy One, blessed be He: Such Torah, and such a reward? [ He should
have been] among those that die by your hand, O Lord. He replied to them:
Their portion is in life. A bat kol went forth and proclaimed, Happy are
you, R. Akiba, that you are destined for the life of the world to come.
The allusion to the Shema in the opening of the story in b. Mena . 29b
is thus not incidental, but a crucial component of the unfolding nar-
rative. As well as identifying Rabbi Aqiba, the text predicts his dying
words: the final word of the Shema. Indeed, God’s response to Moses’
question identifies Aqiba’s very last word. Asked “Who will stay your

25
Kaf and quf are elsewhere interchangeable, e.g., ‫ ;עכברא עקברא‬see Michael
Sokoloff (ed.), Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic and Geonic Periods
(Ramat-Gan: Bar Ilan University Press; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
2002).
26
For readings of the Aqiba martyrdom traditions, see: Michael Fishbane, The Kiss
of God: Spiritual and Mystical Death in Judaism (Seattle: University of Washington Press,
1994); Daniel Boyarin, Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash (Bloomington, IN: Indiana
University Press, 1990); and Boyarin, Dying for God, 106.
 god’s back! 301

hand,” ‫מי מעכב על ידיך‬, God replies ‫אדם אחד יש שעתיד להיות בסוף‬
‫כמה דורות ועקיבא בן יוסף שמו‬, “In the future, there will be a certain
[literally one] man, and his name is Aqiba ben Joseph.” Aqiba is from
the outset a singular man, with all that entails. We meet him as ‫אדם‬
‫אחד‬, literally, “one man,” and his last word will be ‫אחד‬, “one.”
As usually interpreted, Moses is perturbed by his inability to com-
prehend the dialogue between Aqiba and his students, but is reassured
when he [Aqiba] arrives at “a certain matter,” ‫כיון שהגיע לדבר אחד‬.
In the light of the preceding analysis, this may more plausibly be read,
“when he came to the word ‘one’.” What reassures Moses is hearing
the familiar insistence that the Lord alone is Aqiba’s God, and that
Aqiba learned this from the law of Moses on Sinai. As generally read,
Moses is reassured by the sound of his own name, but I read it differ-
ently. Hearing the incomprehensible scholarly discourse, Moses must
have wondered what he and Rabbi Aqiba had in common. Only when
he heard the word “one,” linked to his own name and the giving of
the law at Sinai, was Moses satisfied that this is not, after all, another
religion with two distinct dispensations. This is not just an internal Jewish
validation of the Oral Torah, but one that engages with the Christian
perception of the New Testament.
Further evidence both that the Shema is central to the Moses/Aqiba
story and that the validity of the Oral Torah was a concern for its
authors emerges from the context in which the story is reported.27 The
Mishnah preceding the Moses/Aqiba story in b. Mena . 29b is cited at
the end of b. Mena . 28a:
Mishnah. Of the seven branches of the candlestick, the [absence of ] one
invalidates the others. Of the seven lamps thereof, the [absence of ] one
invalidates the others. Of the two portions of scripture in the mezuzah, the
[absence of ] one invalidates the other; indeed, even one [imperfect] letter
can invalidate the whole. Of the four portions of scripture in the tefil-
lin, the [absence] of one invalidates the others; indeed, even one [imper-
fect] letter can invalidate the whole. Of the four fringes, [the absence]
of one invalidates the others, since the four together form one precept.
R. Ishmael says, the four are separate precepts. (m. Mena . 3:7)

27
I thank Rabbi David Shapero, for pointing out—quite transformatively for me —
that the Mishnah was consistent with my analysis of the aggadata. Many thanks also to
Gershon Hepner for seeking that advice on my behalf, and for general encouragement
on this paper.
302 diana lipton

Several points of contact leap out from the page to suggest that the
Moses/Aqiba story is relating to this Mishnah. First and foremost is the
word ‫מעכבין‬. The same term occurs at the beginning of the Moses/
Aqiba story where it means “stay” or “restrain” (Babylonian Aramaic),
and here in the Mishnah means “invalidate” (Palestinian Aramaic).
This Mishnah is concerned with validation, precisely the concern we
attribute to the Moses/Aqiba aggadata. Is a menorah with only six
branches valid? No, the absence of one branch renders the remaining
six invalid. When it comes to text, even one imperfect letter, let alone
the absence of a whole portion, renders the whole invalid. The gemara
discusses various aspects of this ruling at some length before focusing
on a second point of contact between the Mishnah and the Moses/
Aqiba story: a text (the mezuzah scroll) with two portions in which the
absence of one invalidates the other. The repetition of this part of
the Mishnah just prior to the telling of the Moses/Aqiba story drives
home its extraordinary central point. This is not, as we had thought,
simply a narrative that claims validity for the Oral Torah by locating
its origin on Mt. Sinai. It is a narrative that asserts that Written and
Oral Torah are symbiotic; without the Written Torah, the Oral Torah
would be invalid, and without the Oral Torah, the Written Torah would
be invalid. That its subject is the Oral and Written Torahs explains,
perhaps, why the gemara repeats the only one of the Mishnah’s original
examples that has two parts (the two scrolls in the mezuzah as opposed
to the four in tefillin); the parallel to the theme of the aggadata is closer.
To be sure, it is little short of chutzpah to claim that the Written Torah
is effectively invalid without its rabbinic accompaniment. Yet the less
dramatic formulation may be the more significant in its context.
A criticism of Aqiban halakhah was that it was not derived from
biblical interpretation, but rather, like Christian scriptures as the
rabbis perceived them, came out of thin air (or meaningless decora-
tions). This aggadata refutes that claim. The Oral Torah does indeed
require the Written Torah, though not in the way that the Ishmaelan
opponents of Aqiban interpretation envisaged. On the Aqiban model,
the two are inextricably bound by their shared revelation. It is simply
not necessary to claim, as Aqiba’s opponents did, that halakhah should
be grounded letter by letter in the Written Torah. This last point—if
correct—indicates that the story works on more than one level, relating
both to internal rabbinic themes as well as Christian. I return now to
an engagement with Christianity—Aqiba as an alternative to Jesus.
 god’s back! 303

A Messiah/Martyr Polemic?

The passage of Mishnah repeated shortly before the Moses/Aqiba

story has two parts, one referring to the loss of one of two portions
of text in the mezuzah, and another referring to a second means by
which they can become invalid—not by the absence of one portion,
but by an incomplete letter. This gives rise to an example of how a
letter might be rendered incomplete:
‫ראמי בר תמרי דהוא חמוה דרמי בר דיקולי איפסיקא ליה כרעא דוי"ו‬
‫ זיל אייתי ינוקא דלא חכים‬:‫ א"ל‬,‫ אתא לקמיה דרבי זירא‬,‫דויהרג בניקבא‬
.‫ אי לא ־ יהרג הוא ופסול‬,‫ אי קרי ליה ויהרג ־ כשר‬,‫ולא טפש‬
It once happened to Rami b. Tamre, also known as Rami b. Dikule, that
the leg of the letter vav in the word ‫ויהרג‬, va-yaharog [and he killed] had
been severed by a perforation; whereupon he came to R. Zera who said,
Go, fetch a child that is neither too clever nor too foolish; if he is able to
read the word as ‫ויהרג‬, va-yaharog [and he killed] it is valid; otherwise, the
word is ‫יהרג‬, yahareg [he will be killed] and it is invalid.
Daniel Boyarin has identified the earliest rabbinic martyrdom text as
the Mekilta on Exod 15:3:
R. Akiba says: I shall speak of the prophecies and the praises of Him by
whose word the world came into being, before all the nations of the world.
For all the nations of the world ask Israel, saying: “What is thy beloved
more than another beloved, that thou dost so adjure us” (Song 5:9), that
you are so ready to die for Him, and so ready to let yourselves be killed
for Him?—For it is said: ‘Therefore do the maidens love Thee’ (Song 1:3),
meaning, they love Thee unto death. And it is also written: ‘Nay but for
Thy sake are we killed all the day’ (Ps 44:23).—‘You are handsome, you
are mighty, come and intermingle with us.’ But the Israelites say to the
nations of the world: ‘Do you know Him? Let us but tell you some of His
praise: “My beloved is white and ruddy (Song 5:10).”28
This text links Rabbi Aqiba’s martyrdom to the assertion in Ps 44:23
that “It is for your sake that we are slain all day long, that we are
regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” The occurrence of a passage
dealing exclusively with the verb ‫הרג‬, kill, in the gemara immediately
preceding b. Mena . 29b’s account of Rabbi Aqiba’s martyrdom enables

28
Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael (trans. J. Lauterbach; Skokie, IL: Jewish Publication
Society, 2005), Tractate Shirata.
304 diana lipton

the talmudic redactor to duplicate a key theme of the Mekhilta, and to

present a richer and more complex analysis of Jewish martyrdom.
The biblical context of the particular instance of ‫ויהרג‬, “and he
killed,” under discussion is Exod 13:15.29 This is one of four tefillin texts,
and thus an important connection to the Moses/Aqiba story as I have
interpreted it. This verse appears in a complex pericope that describes
the consecration of the first-born on the one hand, and, on the other, the
commandment to observe the rules of Passover, using in both cases
the language of the Shema. The first reference to a sign on the hand
and a reminder on the forehead follows directly after the command to
eat unleavened bread, and seems therefore to apply more generally to
the institution of Passover:
And this shall serve you as a sign on your hand and as a reminder on
your forehead—in order that the Teaching of the LORD may be in your
mouth—that with a mighty hand the LORD freed you from Egypt. You
shall keep this institution at its set time from year to year (Exod 13:9–10).
Later in the pericope, the sign on the hand seems to apply specifically
to the redemption of the first-born son:
When Pharaoh stubbornly refused to let us go, the LORD slew every
first-born in the land of Egypt, the first-born of both man and beast.
Therefore I sacrifice to the LORD every first male issue of the womb, but
redeem every first-born among my sons. And so it shall be a sign upon
your hand and as a symbol on your forehead that with a mighty hand the
LORD freed us from Egypt (Exod 13:16).
The point made in BT Men. 29b is that the vav consecutive indicates
a change of subject. Pharaoh refused to send us out, and the LORD
killed all the first-born in Egypt. Without the vav consecutive, the change
of subject is less clear. Far more importantly, the perforation on the
leg of the vav renders it as a yod. A double yod in a manuscript was an
indication that the verb must be read as a niphal (passive): “And when
Pharaoh refused to send us, the LORD will be killed . . .”30 This presents
at least two possible causes for rabbinic anxiety. Most obviously, the
subject becomes God, and the imperfect niphal suggests that he will at
some future time be killed. Slightly less obviously, but far more worry-
ingly, the subject is not straightforwardly God. The talmudic narrative

29
See Rashi’s commentary on the Babylonian Talmud ad loc.
30
I am grateful to Stefan Reif for explaining to me the significance of the double yod
in manuscripts.
 god’s back! 305

is addressing a possible Christian reading of this verse in which it is

taken to predict the killing of Jesus. Given that the pericope in which
the verse appears is about the Passover offering, already equated with
Jesus in Christian sources, and that the verse continues with the words
that every first-born male issue will be sacrificed to the LORD (though
first-born sons will be redeemed), the less obvious reading seems, in
fact, the more plausible.
A final possible reason to see here an allusion to Jesus here is the
gemara’s report that the leg of the vav was ‫ניקבא‬, “perforated” or
“pierced.” John 19 refers to two typological predictions for the cru-
cifixion. First, the fact that Jesus’ legs are not broken on the cross is
linked to the instruction in Exod 12:46 and Num 9:12 that the bones
of the Passover sacrifice must not be broken. Neither text specifies that
the legs of the sheep cannot be broken, but its legs are mentioned in
Exod 12:9, not the usual term ‫רגל‬, but the much less common ‫כרע‬.
The word that signifies the leg of the vav in b. Mena . 29b is likewise
not ‫רגל‬, but ‫כרע‬. Second, the Roman centurion’s piercing of Jesus’
side is linked to Zech 12:10, which predicts the day when Jerusalem will
lament over the “pierced” (slain) as if over a favourite son or a firstborn.
The root for “pierced” is ‫דקר‬, not ‫נקב‬, but the many other points of
contact suggest that we should not dismiss the possibility that the b.
Mena . 29b gemara describes the vav as “pierced” (frequently applied to
vessels, but almost never to letters) in order to allude to the account of
the crucifixion in John 19. Another key term in the discussion of the
perforated letter is ‫איפסיקא‬, severed M. Sokoloff gives as his second
definition of ‫פסק‬: “to stop flowing [cf. Ma, ‫ מיא פסיקיא‬stagnant water,
Gy 57.1].”31 If the pierced leg of the vav in ‫ויהרג‬, va-yarahog, alludes
to Jesus’ unbroken legs and his pierced side in John 19, then the verb
‫ פסק‬may perhaps have been chosen to evoke the blood and water that
came out of his side.32

31
Michael Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic.
32
It would be tempting to explore, in another context, possible connections to the
“pierced Messiah” tradition. See Geza Vermes, “The Oxford Forum for Qumran
Research: Seminar on the Rule of the War from Cave 4 (4Q285),” JJS 43 (1992):
85–90. “Isaiah the prophet: [The thickets of the forest] will be cut [down with an axe
and Lebanon by a majestic one will f]all. And there shall come forth a shoot from the
stump of Jesse [ ] the Branch of David and they will enter into judgement with [ ] and
the Prince of the Congregation, the Bran[ch of David] will kill him [ by stroke]s and
by wounds. And a Priest [of renown (?)] will command [ the s]lai[n] of the Kitti[m].”
Possible parallels between the Messiah son of Joseph (b. Sukkah 52a on Zech 12:12) and
Aqiba ben Joseph are intriguing, as is the fact that the young child called to read the
306 diana lipton

It is hard to resist speculating on the relationship between b. Mena .

29b and early Christianity. Is it possible that the process of validat-
ing the Oral Torah involved not simply locating it at Sinai, as we
have seen, but also differentiating it from the New Testament, which
claimed its own revelatory status? Reasons for thinking that this could
be the case include parallels, presumably for the sake of differentiation,
between Rabbi Aqiba and Jesus: a possible allusion to the crown of
thorns in the two terms (“crown” and “thorns”) used to describe the
Torah’s scribal decorations; Rabbi Aqiba’s eschatological introduction
(“a man will come at the end of many generations”); Aqiba’s ability to
interpret on the basis of signs and symbols with no inherent meaning;
his death at the hands of Roman torturers, and his role as guardian
of a second revealed text. More significantly, a brief overview of early
Christian commentaries on Deut 6:4 highlights their perspective on
God’s oneness:
The Father and the Son are one God, not two (Hilary of Poitiers). The
Father is God, the Son is God, but there is one God (Gregory of Nyssa). We
are called to listen to God. God is immutable and wholly one (Ambrose).
The Jews were called to faith in the one God and this faith saved them
(Chrysostum). The most blessed Trinity is one God. When the Old
Testament speaks of one God, it speaks of the trinity (Augustine). The
prayer ‘Hear O Israel’ is addressed to the one God, yet it does not deny the
distinction of persons (Fulgentius).33
Rabbi Aqiba’s dying word, ‫אחד‬, “one,” may be read as an assertion
of monotheism in the face of Roman polytheism, its explicit narrative
context. In the context of the Torah academy, however, it has a more
subtle feel—not a protest against paganism, but a strong voice in the
theological debate reflected in the patristic commentaries summarised
above. Rabbi Aqiba is not Jesus, b. Mena . 29b seems to say, the Oral
Law is not the New Testament, and Jews, unlike Christians, are in
unbroken continuity with Moses and Sinai. Finally, the spectre of
Christianity brings us full circle back to our starting point: what Moses
saw behind God, that is, in the future. Not surprisingly, Patristic com-
mentators invoke Jesus here—his reign at the end of days, and his role
as guardian of the new covenant. Is it possible that b. Mena . 29b is, at
least in part, a response to this Christian tradition? The rightful heir

pierced vav is a ‫ינוקא‬, cf. the ‫ ינוק‬who plays over a viper’s hole in Isa 11:8; cf. the allu-
sion in the DSS text above to Isa 11:4.
33
Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Old Testament III, 282.
 god’s back! 307

to Moses, identified by God on Mt. Sinai, was not Jesus as Christians

claimed, but Rabbi Aqiba. It is not Jesus who will be killed by Jews,
but Rabbi Aqiba who will be killed by Romans.

Targum Pseudo-Jonathan—a Mystery Solved? 34

The assumption underlying this paper is that many early Jewish and
Christian commentators are unaware that ‫ אחורי‬might refer literally to
God’s back and, on the contrary, are strikingly non-anthropomorphic
in their interpretations. A text that fails entirely to fit this pattern is b.
Ber. 7a, which posits that when God showed Moses what was behind
him, he showed him the knot of his tefillin. This is repeated in Targum
Pseudo-Jonathan, and interpreted by later commentators, including Rashi,
as the tefillin knot at the back of God’s head. It is hard to conceive of
an image more anthropomorphic than God wearing his tefillin, but I
shall try to demonstrate that my proposed reading of b. Mena . 29b
provides a non-anthropomorphic explanation for the tefillin tradition
in b. Ber. 7a, in that it shows that the two texts, along with the story
of Rabbi Aqiba’s martyrdom in b. Ber. 61a, are inextricably linked,
and that it emphasises how all these texts address the same themes of
reward and punishment.
As mentioned above, the one targumic translation that appears at
first glance to take God’s back literally is Tg. Ps.-J.
‫ואעבר ית כיתי מלאכיא דקימין ומשמשין קדמי ותחמי ית קטר דבידא‬
‫דתפילי איקר שכינתי ואפי איקר שכינתי לית אפשר לך למיחמי‬
Although the word order of ‫ דבידא‬and ‫ דתפילי‬is the reverse of what
might have been expected (hence the mysterious reference to “hand-
border” in some English translations), “I will show you the knot of the
tefillin of my hand” probably comes close to the author’s intentions.
As noted above, however, the strikingly anthropomorphic reference to
God’s tefillin is doubly out of place in targum, where hints of divine
physicality are usually minimised, not intensified. Can the author of
Tg. Ps.-J., admittedly less sensitive than other targumists to the perils of

34
I am extremely grateful to Raphael Loewe for drawing my attention to the puzzle
of God’s tefillin. My attempt to find the answer generated the most creative exegesis I
have ever written, all of which I was forced to discard when I discovered that the solu-
tion was before my eyes in b. Mena . 29b, the very text I had been working on all along.
308 diana lipton

anthropomorphism, really have intended to emphasise it in this way?

A possible explanation lies in the analysis offered above of b. Mena .
29b. As I have interpreted it, tefillin and the Shema are at the heart
of this talmudic narrative. Moses’ sight of God tying crowns onto
the letters echoes the Shema, and his question—who will bind onto/
restrain your hand—refers to tefillin. B. Ber. 7a and Tg. Ps.-J. alluded
to this text, or a tradition upon which it is based, when they claimed
that Moses saw the knot of God’s tefillin when he ascended Sinai for
the second time.
The image of God binding crowns onto letters is, I think, dictated
by the author’s need to articulate several different ideas—the validity
of the rabbinic Sefer Torah, precise details of Rabbi Aqiba’s life and
death, and the issue of reward and punishment, whether within one
individual life, or in relation to Israel’s long-term and even eschatologi-
cal destiny. This last theme occurs in almost all commentaries on Exod
33:23. It is also the theological context into which is embedded b. Ber.
7a’s claim that God showed Moses the knot of his tefillin. A complex
discussion of why bad things happen to good people and the wicked
prosper concludes:
R. Meir said: only two [requests] were granted to him [Moses], and one
was not granted to him. For it is said: And I will be gracious to whom I
will be gracious, although he may not deserve it, and I will show mercy
on whom I will show mercy, although he may not deserve it. And He
said, You cannot see My face. A Tanna taught in the name of R. Joshua
b. Korhah: The Holy One, blessed be He, spoke thus to Moses: When
I wanted, you did not want [to see My face]; now that you want, I do
not want.—This is in opposition to [the interpretation of this verse by]
R. Samuel b. Nahmani in the name of R. Jonathan. For R. Samuel b.
Nahmani said in the name of R. Jonathan: As a reward of three [pious
acts] Moses was privileged to obtain three [favours]. In reward of ‘And
Moses hid his face’, he obtained the brightness of his face. In reward of
‘For he was afraid’, he was granted the privilege that they were afraid to
come near to him. In reward of ‘To look upon God’, he received ‘The
likeness of the Lord he does behold’. And ‘I will take away My hand, and
you will see My back’. R. Hama b. Bizana said in the name of R. Simon
the Pious: This teaches us that the Holy One, blessed be He, showed
Moses the knot of the tefillin.
Read in isolation, the reference in this passage and in Tg. Ps.-J. to God’s
tefillin seems obscure, irrelevant and fanciful. Read in the context of
b. Mena . 29b and b. Ber. 61b, we can see that it answers a crucial theologi-
cal question. Without Moses’ intercession on Israel’s behalf, what will
 god’s back! 309

serve in future to “stay God’s hand,” that is to limit the harmful effects
of divine anger? The answer is three in one: tefillin, Torah, and acts
of martyrdom performed in this instance by Rabbi Aqiba.
This interplay between tefillin and Torah is highlighted by an idio-
syncrasy of Tg. Ps.-J. on Exod 33:23. Tg. Ps-J. is the only targum to
feature the word ‫דבידא‬, “hand.” Targumim other than Onqelos use a
term that signifies “word” or “oracle,” as here in Neofiti:
‫ותחמי ית דברא דיקר    ׳ואחמי ית דבורה דאיקר    ״\ואעבר ית כיתי מלאכיה‬
‫דקיימין ומשמשין קדמיי שכינתי ואפי איקר שכינתי לית איפשר דתחמי   ׳לך‬
‫למיחמ י    ״׃‬
Neofiti (and other targumim) uses a word in which three of the letters
(‫א‬-‫ב‬-‫ )ד‬are the same as those in the equivalent word in Tg. Ps.-J. Tg. Ps-
J.’s odd letter out is dalet; we find resh in the equivalent place elsewhere.
Given the similarity between the letters dalet and resh, the dalet in Tg.
Ps.-J. could reflect a scribal error. Alternatively, the similarity could be
coincidental; perhaps the author of Tg. Ps.-J. wanted to allude to the
tefillin tradition, and was not motivated in his choice by the transla-
tions offered by other targumists. I favour a third option: the targumist
chose a form of the word “hand” that enabled him to reflect both the
tefillin tradition found in b. Ber. 7a, and the “word” or “oracle” tradi-
tion of other targumim. As noted above, the word order in Tg. Ps.-J. is
surprising; the word for tefillin would usually come before the word for
hand. Had Tg. Ps.-J. followed the normal word order, the first person
singular possessive ending would be attached to ‫דבידא‬, rather than to
‫דתפילי‬, and this would detract from the “Necker effect” (look once and
you see “hand,” look again and you see “word”) he has achieved. But
why did the author of Tg. Ps.-J. want to achieve this effect? Why not
move unambiguously to “hand”? Perhaps because it reflects concisely
and quite brilliantly the very ambiguity of b. Mena . 29b. The Aramaic
‫ דבירא‬refers in some cases to the revealed Torah (especially the Ten
Commandments), the text that Moses sees when he ascends Mt. Sinai.
Tg. Ps.-J.’s ‫ דבידא‬alludes to the hand that will be stayed, both by the
tefillin, and by the Torah itself, as we see in a passage from b. B. Bat.
16a with striking similar themes:
Raba said: Job sought to exculpate the whole world. He said: Sovereign
of the Universe, you have created the ox with cloven hoofs and you have
created the ass with whole hoofs; you have created Paradise and you have
created Gehinnom: you have created righteous men and you have created
310 diana lipton

wicked men, and who can stay your hand? His companions answered him:
You banish fear and restrain devotion before God. If God created the evil
inclination, He also created the Torah as its antidote.
Setting aside the evil inclination, which has no parallel in b. Mena . 29b,
the problem and the solution are more or less identical in these two
texts. Job exemplifies the righteous man who was not rewarded, and is
therefore like Rabbi Aqiba. The issue is thus God’s punishing hand and
how it might be stayed, and the answer is the Torah. By choosing the
form of a word that evokes both the punishing hand and the revealed
Torah, the author of Tg. Ps.-J. is able to convey to his readers both
the problem that vexed the rabbis above all—divine justice—and its
solution—the Torah.

Conclusions

I am painfully conscious of the sense in which this paper is closer to

the textual equivalent of a cartoon than a finished work of art; what
I have sketched in outline must be filled out in detail elsewhere. My
conclusions will not take the form of a summary of the many interpreta-
tive claims I have made, but rather some methodological observations.
First, it is difficult if not impossible to be a scholar of the Bible and
a scholar of the Talmud. Not surprisingly, most work on the Talmud
is produced by Talmud specialists, but I hope I have shown here that
there are occasions upon which biblical scholars who are not trained
in Talmud can contribute to talmudic scholarship. My re-reading of
b. Mena . 29b was possible only because I first re-examined the bibli-
cal account of what Moses saw on Sinai, using the standard range
of skills and techniques available to Bible scholars, but not generally
used by Talmud scholars. Related to this point, but distinct from it, is
a methodological issue that applies especially to the kind of talmudic
material that attracts non-specialists. Many exegetes, including myself,
have analysed the Moses/Aqiba aggadata in isolation from its talmudic
context. I hope I have shown through my use of the mishnaic discus-
sion of what invalidates a mezuzah that reading in context can be
transformative. We cannot understand the precise way in which the
Moses/Aqiba aggadata uses Sinai to validate the Oral Torah unless we
first take on board the talmudic ruling about what disqualifies a textual
unit with two parts. It seems most likely to me that the Moses/Aqiba
aggadata was placed here in b. Mena . 29b because of its connection
 god’s back! 311

with the preceding discussion, and may even have been redacted to
highlight the thematic links between the two. Finally, my reading of
Jewish and Christian responses to Moses’ second Sinai ascent provides
textual support for those who claim that an increasingly nuanced model
is required to understand the relationship between emerging Christian-
ity and some (not all) Jewish developments in the same period. What is
striking about the analyses offered here is not the differences between
Jewish and Christian approaches to what Moses saw on Sinai, but the
extent to which some rabbinic texts seem bent on offering Jewish alter-
natives to what seem to have started life as Christian traditions. Rabbi
Aqiba is portrayed as Moses’ successor not just as part of an internal
dispute over succession and authority, but to show that Jesus is not
Moses’ successor. Jews need not turn to Jesus to stay God’s punishing
hand in the absence of Moses; Aqiba performs that function. The Oral
Torah is located on Mt. Sinai not only as part of an internal process
of validation, but in order to claim that the New Testament—another,
very different, “second installment”—was not valid. Jews need not read
the New Testament to find out what happens next.
 SINAI IN ART AND ARCHITECTURE

David Brown
University of St. Andrews, Scotland

In this essay I want to explore how Sinai has been treated in the visual
arts (including architecture) over the centuries by both Judaism and
Christianity. Not all is as might be expected from either religion. So
it will be important to examine some of the reasons behind changing
approaches. Although the parody of Judaism uninterested in art till
modern times has long since been discredited (not least under the influ-
ence of archaeological discoveries), I begin with Christianity because
its history of visual engagement with what happened on Mt. Sinai is
more continuous and better known.

1. Christian Developments

Here I examine three types of approach: how Moses’ role in mediating

law is treated, the influence of the presumed place of revelation, and,
finally, Moses as type or pattern and so as anticipatory of Christ.

Traditio Legis
One may begin with a surprise, and that is the fact that, although the
early Latin Church quickly assumed the model of Christ as the new
lawgiver, it was not to Moses that artists turned for suitable models
or parallels but to the existing culture of the Empire. That may seem
all the more puzzling given how deeply that notion of the new law in
Christ runs through Roman Catholic moral theology until at least the
Second Vatican Council.1 But on the other side must be set the huge

1
One indicator of the difference Vatican II (1962–5) made is the contrast between
the earlier and later major works of Bernard Häring (each in three volumes): The Law
of Christ: Moral Theology for Priests and Laity (7th ed.; trans. Edwin Kaiser; 3 vols; Cork:
Mercier Press, 1963–67) and Free and Faithful in Christ: Moral Theology for Clergy and Laity
(3 vols; New York: Seabury Press, 1978–81).
314 david brown

prestige of Roman law both in its original context and in subsequent

Christian centuries.2
Although unfortunately heavily restored and so not always entirely
clear in its intention, an image from the church of Santa Costanza
in Rome from about 350 provides a good example of a pattern that
came to be known as the traditio legis or “handing over of the law.”3 In
imagery that is almost certainly earlier than the keys tradition, Christ
hands over a scroll to Peter in the presence of Paul as witness. While in
this case there is no doubt that it is a scroll, in others the appearance is
more like a tablet.4 Even so, this would not necessarily point to Sinai,
as there was the rival ancient tradition of the Twelve Tables among the
Romans themselves.5 In none is the authority of Christ in doubt, but
sometimes this is given additional emphasis, as in one instance where
Christ stands on a globe.6
That last theme was also derived from imperial art, where the image
of the emperor enthroned on the universe symbolised his worldwide
sovereignty. Were there any uncertainty about the source, such doubts
are quickly put to rest by even more explicit borrowings, not least on
sarcophagi where this theme is frequent. So, for example, on the well-
known sarcophagus of Junius Bassus (4th c.), Christ is presented stand-
ing on the head of Caelus, the classical personification of the heavens.
Equally, there is no shortage of instances where imperial authority is
delegated by means of a scroll, including conspicuously in Rome itself
on the Arch of Constantine.
The delivery of the keys of heaven to St. Peter was eventually to
replace such imagery in the middle ages. In the sixteenth century, how-
ever, the issue of the relation between old and new covenant came to
the fore once more. Whereas medieval Catholicism had been content
to see the Christian gospel as essentially a new form of law, among

2
The greatest flowering of Roman law for the Church occurs between the reigns of
Popes Gregory VII (1073–85) and Innocent III (1198–1216).
3
For illustration, André Grabar, Christian Iconography: A Study of its Origins (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1968), no. 101.
4
As on a silver casket from c. 400 now in the Byzantine Museum at Thessalonica; for
illustration, Thomas F. Matthews, The Clash of Gods: A Reinterpretation of Early Christian Art
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 80.
5
Probably dating from c. 450 b.c.e., they were published on bronze, ivory or wood
(traditions differ). Although the originals had perished by Cicero’s day, as a schoolboy he
was still required to learn their contents by heart.
6
As in an image from c. 450 in S. Giovanni in Fonte at Naples; for illustration,
Grabar, Christian Iconography, no. 102.
 sinai in art and architecture 315

the Reformers Luther in particular was adamant that law and gospel
should be held in sharp contrast. The result was the very reverse of
the idea behind traditio legis imagery. In its place, especially in Germany,
came paintings that underlined the opposition.
It is fascinating to observe the resultant changes in the work of
Lucas Cranach the Elder (1472–1553), as he himself moves from
Catholicism to Lutheranism. The effect of the Reformation is by no
means confined to new theological understandings such as this. More
fundamentally, even the objectives behind his painting changes. Whereas
in his Catholic period his primary aim had been to secure the visual
engagement of the viewer, now intellectual ideas took precedence.
That is to say, instead of encouraging imaginative identification with
what is taking place within the canvas, the idea is now to ensure the
viewer’s endorsement of its implications for faith or belief. The result
is two quite different strategies. In his earlier work, Cranach did not
hesitate to alter the details of the crucifixion story, in order to give it
more immediate contemporary relevance: for instance, indications of
the two thieves having been tortured beforehand was allowed, as this
was a normal part of medieval procedure.7 Again, more pertinently
here, in an early painting of the delivery of the Ten Commandments
which is combined with the incident of the Golden Calf, the idolaters
are placed on the same level as Moses on his mountain.8 Such viola-
tion of space is presumably intended to encourage a more immediate
response on the part of the viewer in confronting the two alternatives
of sin or obedience. But Cranach goes even further in actually alter-
ing the biblical narrative in order to secure a more ready intelligibility
of what the two options are. In place of what would have seemed to
most viewers as the rather puzzling worship of a cow, Cranach has
substituted a statue of a beautiful young god, perhaps Apollo.
Perhaps the most obvious contrast that comes with his conversion to
Protestantism is a desire to ensure that any religious painting is seen
self-evidently to point beyond itself. In the main in his own case this
is achieved largely through a rather obvious use of symbolism. With

7
For a detailed exploration of how Cranach’s pre- and post-Reformation treatments
of the crucifixion differed, Mitchell B. Merback, The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel: Pain
and the Spectacle of Punishment in Medieval and Renaissance Europe (London: Reaktion, 1999),
11–32, 287–95.
8
Original in the Lutherhalle in Wittenberg; for illustration, Régis Debray, The Old
Testament: Through 100 Masterpieces of Art (London: Merrell, 2004), 102–3.
316 david brown

his son, however, that approach is carried one stage further, in a new
use of texts even within the paintings themselves.9 The viewer was no
longer trusted to get the interpretation correct. The nature of that
progression is perhaps best illustrated by comparing a painting by the
elder Cranach with one from Hans Holbein the Younger. In Cranach’s
Law and Gospel (1529) an all too obvious symbolism is dominant, but
textual commentary is reserved for outside and beneath the painting.10
Holbein, however, casts such restraints to the winds in his Allegory of the
Old and New Testaments (1535).11 Homo (duly labelled as such) sits under
a tree, while his two companions, Isaiah and John the Baptist, point
towards the right hand side of the painting and so to what has been
done on his behalf in the crucifixion and resurrection (again labelled
as justificatio nostra and victor noster). Balancing those two events on the
left are Adam and Eve (entitled peccatum) and the brazen serpent (mys-
terium justificationis). It is, however, what is occurring in the top right
and top left that most concerns us here. On the right Christ is on the
Mount of Olives praying as an angel presents the cross to him, while
on the other side Moses is receiving the Decalogue on Mount Sinai.
The elevated position of the latter might be taken to suggest a posi-
tive evaluation for Moses’ role. While no doubt true in part, any such
notion is massively qualified by the fact that the whole of the left side
is in gloom with that side of the tree under which Homo sits stripped of
its leaves. At the foot of the tree (again on that side) lies Death (once
more labelled in Latin).
An interesting challenge to such theology as is presented here by
Holbein has come recently from the modern installation artist, Douglas
Gordon (b. 1966). In a 2006 retrospective of his work at the National
Gallery of Art in Edinburgh, Gordon chose to dedicate a room to
reflection on the painting’s message.12 A large reproduction reversed the
images, while tree stumps and broken mirrors on the floor produced

9
For some examples, Werner Schade, Cranach: A Family of Master Painters (New York:
G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1980), ill. 195, 212, 222, 249.
10
Although woodcuts have also survived, the original is in the Schlossmuseum at
Gotha. For illustration and some discussion of Cranach’s intentions, Joseph L. Koerner,
The Reformation of the Image (London: Reaktion, 2004), esp. 29–33.
11
Now in the National Gallery of Art, Edinburgh. Almost certainly, the more devout
Cranach had some influence on Holbein’s version. For illustration and Holbein’s reli-
gious views, Oskar Bätschmann and Pascal Griener, Hans Holbein (London: Reaktion,
1997), 112–19.
12
In the exhibition catalogue, allusion is made to both Cranach and Holbein but
with only Cranach reversed. There is also some discussion of Gordon’s intentions from
 sinai in art and architecture 317

further deflections of the original. Although Gordon as an atheist saw

himself challenging the dogmatism inherent in all religion, the instal-
lation could equally be read as primarily questioning the priorities
proposed by the original and thus principally its anti-Judaism.
Not all Reformation leaders, however, took so negative a view of
law. In particular Calvin assigned law a key role in what follows justifica-
tion, the sanctification of those thus redeemed. Although both Luther
and Zwingli had some influence on Thomas Cranmer, it was Calvin who
was to be most decisive in shaping thinking in the first few centuries of
the history of the Church of England. Whereas Luther had allowed the
retention of painting and even sculpture in church, and many German
altars had as a result retained their traditional form, in England simple
communion tables were everywhere substituted. Also now taking the
place of a reredos or any other form of decoration behind the altar,
almost invariably, were one or more sets of plain tablets, instructing
the people in the Ten Commandments, in the Apostles’ Creed, and
in the Lord’s Prayer.13 Of these the Decalogue was unusually placed
centrally, with its moral emphasis seen as supported on one side by faith
(the Apostles’ Creed) and on the other by prayer. Although occasion-
ally appearing prior to the Reformation, such prominence for the Law
was made mandatory in the Orders of 1561 and the Advertisement of
1566, and finally enshrined in the canons of 1604.14 Once to be found
in almost every English church, most such tablets were to disappear in
the Catholic reforms of the nineteenth century.15

The Place and its Influence

While various alternative sites have been canvassed for the actual place
of revelation, here I shall ignore other options, not least because my
focus will be on the impact of the particular site chosen on ways of

Keith Hartley: Ian Rankin et al., Douglas Gordon Superhumanatural (Edinburgh: National
Galleries of Scotland, 2006).
13
Where exceptions occurred as in the three pictures by Hogarth purchased for
St Mary Redcliffe in Bristol in 1755 for the same position, another prominent place
had to be found.
14
Canon 82 ordered them to be “set up on the east end of every church and chapel
where the people may best see and read the same.”
15
For some illustrations, George William O. Addleshaw and Frederick Etchells,
The Architectural Setting of Anglican Worship (London: Faber and Faber, 1948), Pl. I and VI;
for commentary, 158–61.
318 david brown

presenting the significance of Moses.16 New Testament scholars are

of course very familiar with the importance of the Codex Sinaiticus,
discovered there in 1888, but no less significant is the way in which
the ancient monastery on the site helped shape the later iconographic
tradition. Legend had it that St. Catherine of Alexandria (to whom
the monastery is dedicated) was buried by angels on the neighbouring
mount. The saint’s great reputation for learning gave an impetus to
the monks to ensure that the place became one of the major centres
of Byzantine learning and iconography.17 Of the two paintings by El
Greco celebrating the place, the one from 1568 simply records the
significance of the two mounts, whereas the later one (from 1572)
attempts to reflect that learning, as pilgrims from both east and west are
shown arriving at the monastery.18 The extent to which both are works
of the imagination is indicated not only in the fact that El Greco had
never been there but also in the way in which the style of presentation
anticipates his more famous view of Toledo a generation later.
Nonetheless, what El Greco’s choice of subject does underline is the
historical reality of the extent of Sinai’s influence on the iconographi-
cal tradition of Eastern Christendom and to some extent on Western
approaches as well, for, while El Greco moved westwards from his home
in Crete, others travelled in the opposite direction.19 One such was the
thirteenth century painter, Stephanos the Venetian, who in his matching
icons of Moses and Elijah produced one of history’s most memorable
images of Moses.20 Commissioned either for the monastery itself or for
chapels on the holy mount, the two paintings nicely illustrate the sort of

16
Depending on whether a northerly, central or southern route is chosen for the
wanderings of the Israelites, at least a dozen sites have been identified as possibilities
for Mount Sinai or Horeb (its most frequent alternative name). The present location
assumes a southerly route.
17
Part of her legend speaks of Catherine defeating in debate fifty pagan, male phi-
losophers. Her reputation for learning is reflected in the founding of colleges in her
name at both Cambridge and Oxford.
18
For illustration and commentary on the earlier Modena polyptych, see David
Davies, John H. Elliot, et al., El Greco (London: National Gallery, 2003), 45–47; for the
1572 version with Mount Sinai on its own, 100–1. In the former Sinai is used as a type
of Christ’s ascension; in the latter while the easterners arrive by camel, the westerners
do so on foot (from the left) and in very obviously western clothing.
19
El Greco eventually reached Spain via Venice.
20
Illustrated in Yuri Piatnitsky, Marlia Mango and Robin Cormack, Sinai, Byzantium,
Russia: Orthodox Art from the Sixth to the Twentieth Century (ed. O. Badderley, E. Brunner
and Y. Piatnitsky; London: The St. Catherine Foundation in association with the State
Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, 2000), 242–44.
 sinai in art and architecture 319

dilemmas an artist can have in portraying specific biblical figures and

the events with which they were associated. Given the setting at Sinai
or Horeb, the reference in the Elijah icon must be to 1 Kings 19 and
the presence of God in “the still small voice.” But how was Stephanos
to indicate this? The artist draws on an unrelated incident, and a raven
carrying a Eucharistic wafer is used to identify Elijah (cf. 1 Kgs 17:6).
In Moses’ case, rectangular tablets are being received from heavenly
hands. However, whereas the portrait of Elijah is of a body held still
in a firm and somewhat stubborn resolution that is reinforced by the
set of his eyes, with Moses the folds of his garments are suggestive
of movement and dynamism and offer a powerful contrast, not least
in his beautifully calm, serene and youthful face.21 While the western
tradition was eventually to represent Moses as old as Elijah at the time
of receiving the Decalogue, here Stephanos follows an artistic tradition
that is at least as old as the sixth century church of St. Apollinare in
Classe at Ravenna that assumes Moses to be still relatively young. It
is a pattern that was to become the norm in eastern representations
of the Transfiguration.22 Both icons carry inscriptions in both Greek
and Arabic. Even at this late date, there is some hesitancy about the
legitimacy of such images. Under Moses we read: “Stephan who has
depicted your sacred image begs you who have seen the Lord to forgive
his errors.” More controversially, under Elijah there is the plea: “Forgive
Stephan who has depicted you, the divine, and remit his sins.”
Another (anonymous) icon from the same century may be used to
illustrate how complex iconographical schemes could become.23 Once
again, Moses is portrayed as a handsome young man, but this time
with the Virgin Mary in the middle and him on one side with John
the Baptist on the other.24 Although such images were often entitled
“Icons of the burning bush,” there is nothing to conjure up that incident

21
The literary tradition is as complex as the artistic, with the rabbinic tradition also
exploring a very wide range of possibilities for Moses’ age at the time.
22
For an illustration of the apse of St Apollinare, see Giuseppe Bovini, Ravenna:
Art and History (Ravenna: Longo, 1991), 97; for an example from the fourteenth cen-
tury Theophanes the Greek, though this time bearded, Konrad Onasch, Russian Icons
(trans. I. Grafe; Oxford: Phaidon, 1977), 28; for one from Armenia (c. 1450), Mahmoud
Zibawi, Eastern Christian Worlds (ed. N. McDarby; trans. M. Beaumont; Collegeville, MN:
Liturgical Press, 1995), Pl. 34. Contrast Raphael’s famous depiction of the same event,
James H. Beck, Raphael (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1977), 174–75.
23
Illustrated in Kurt Weitzmann, The Icon (London: Studio Editions, 1982), 228. For
a slightly older Moses from the same century, 217.
24
Images of John may have influenced how Elijah was portrayed.
320 david brown

before the untrained eye. The clue lies in Mary holding the adult Christ
in her arms in front of her womb. The allusion is to the way in which,
just as the bush before Moses of Exodus 3 was not destroyed by God’s
presence within it, so neither was Mary despite the fact that she bore
God in her womb. Even to this day monks point to the bush at the
foot of the mountain just outside the east end of the church where
they allege the incident happened, while John is there to remind us of
how he leapt with joy in his mother’s womb at this first encounter with
Christ in Mary’s womb.25 Mary’s unique status is underlined by the fact
that she alone stands on a cushion, thus elevating her above the earth.
Sometimes such icons become even more complex. For instance, in one
seventeenth century Russian icon, an eight-pointed star of glory is used
to frame Virgin and Child with the outer concave quadrangle red to
represent the flames of fire and the inner figure green to hint at the
burning bush that was not consumed.26 Yet there are so many additional
allusions that the viewer might easily be overwhelmed by the detail.
However, it was not only through the burning bush that patristic
exegesis was accustomed to connect Mary and Moses. Just as Mosaic
legislation decreed that the Ark of the Covenant should be used to
represent God’s special place in the Temple, so Mary was often com-
pared to the Temple in virtue of the fact that she also held God within
her. As the Ark of the Covenant contained the tablets of the law,
that of course provided a further link with Sinai. Nowhere in eastern
Christendom is the connection celebrated with more fervour than in
Ethiopia. This stems back to the intimate linking of the two themes at
the country’s mother church, the Cathedral of St. Mary at Aksum.27
Since at least the sixteenth century and probably much earlier, a small
building nearby has been taken to mark the final resting place of the
Ark of the Covenant. The great Ethiopian epic Kebra Nagast (“Glory
of the Kings”) tells how it was first brought there by Menelek, son of
Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.28

25
Strictly speaking, the original site is now part of a side chapel. It is only the bush’s
successor that grows outside; for illustration, Orianna Baddeley and Earleen Brunner,
The Monastery of Saint Catherine (London: Saint Catherine Foundation, 1996), 56.
26
Illustrated in Piatnitsky, Mango, and Cormack, Sinai, Byzantium, Russia, 198.
27
Although much altered, the cathedral was probably first erected in the fourth cen-
tury. For illustration, Marilyn Heldman, African Zion: The Sacred Art of Ethiopia (ed. R.
Grierson; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 70.
28
A masterpiece of Gexez literature and dating from the early fourteenth century,
it identifies Aksum as the new Jerusalem and the Ethiopians as the new chosen people
of God.
 sinai in art and architecture 321

The result has been Moses held in special honour within the Ethio-
pian tradition, although this has not prevented some oddities from
emerging along the way. Among them might be included how his pres-
ence at the Transfiguration is treated. In one twentieth century instance
the three disciples are standing on the viewers’ left while on the right,
in contrast to Elijah who sits enthroned on a cloud, Moses alone is
cast to the ground.29 An explanatory inscription records, “Moses said,
I prefer my grave.” Deriving ultimately from Jewish legend, the notion
is found enshrined in the Ethiopian set of liturgical readings known
as the Synaxarion. Apparently, the thought was that since Elijah was
already in heaven, that must be the place to which he returned after
the incident, whereas Moses could only have come from his grave, to
which he must therefore return.30 If that is taken to suggest a church
incapable of stepping beyond tradition, the icon as a whole can quickly
dispel any such illusions. Surrounding panels mix allusions to the past
with a very contemporary appearance to the tormentors of Christ.31

From Type to Character

What I have discussed thus far well illustrates the degree to which the
life of Moses, and his encounter on Sinai in particular, was drawn upon
to provide “types” or patterns that are treated as merely anticipatory of
what are seen as more significant disclosures in the new covenant. Those
types were, however, eventually to yield to a new interest in character,
and it is that new interest that I would like to explore here.
The earlier typological approach is seen to particularly good effect on
the north portal of Chartres, dating from c. 1205. Here Melchizedek,
Abraham and Moses are all deployed as types for Christ’s future role.32
Although Moses has his tablets, what clearly interests the sculptor more
is the snake set up on a pillar (Num 21:4–9) and so the possibility of
an allusion to John 3:14.33 In a similar way at the Renaissance it was

29
For illustration and commentary, Stanislaw Chojnacki, Ethiopian Icons: Catalogue of
the Collection of the Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University (Milan: Skira, 2000),
260, 471–72.
30
Contrast 2 Kings 2:11 and Deuteronomy 34:5.
31
While Christ could be an Ethiopian, the two soldiers who torment him are very
obviously modern Europeans or Americans.
32
Illustrated in Paul Williamson, Gothic Sculpture 1140–1300 (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1995), 41. For a better view of the expressivity in Moses’ face, Brigitte
Kurmann-Schwarz and Peter Kurmann, Chartres: La cathédrale (Paris: Éditions Zodiaque,
2004), 405.
33
The pillar is placed above the hand that holds the tablets.
322 david brown

common to have cycles on the left side of a chapel as the Hebrew anti-
cipation of the more perfect Gospel revelation on the right. Examples
include the Arena Chapel in Padua, the Sistine Chapel in Rome and
the School of San Rocco in Venice. Sometimes, however, it is simply
a matter of contrast or opposition, as in a joint painting by Cosimo
Rosselli and Piero di Cosimo in the Sistine Chapel, in which the
Hebrews’ disobedience is set against Christ’s obedience in the Wilder-
ness. Not that it is entirely a matter of two opposed worlds. Joshua
is dressed as Moses’ assistant but in the garb of a Christian deacon.
Such placing of the new within the old is even more striking in a quite
brilliant painting by Tintoretto at San Rocco from 1576.34 In theory,
Tintoretto’s theme is Moses striking the rock (Exod 17:6). But in order
to conjure in the Christian viewer thoughts of Christ as the source of
living water (in baptism), Tintoretto merges the individual bodies in
the crowd into a single whole, with them all stretching out earnestly in
longing towards the central supernatural source, in the water outpoured.
Equally, although in theory there is to be found in the background the
next episode that immediately follows, of conflict between Joshua and
Amalek (v. Exod 17:8ff.), inevitably this is interpreted in the light of
foreground events and so speaks to the Christian viewer of the victory
that comes through baptism. So it would be quite wrong to think of
typology being applied by artists in a rather wooden or mechanistic
way. Certainly, the almost invariant assumption is of the inferiority of
the Old Testament dispensation. Even so, the events surrounding Sinai
are allowed creatively to enhance understanding of the New.
Accordingly, although initially it might sound plausible to associate
the new stress on Moses’ character with the individualism of the Renais-
sance, what in fact one finds is interest in that aspect being developed
very much earlier. So, for instance, in a late tenth century ivory carving
from Trier an anonymous artist chooses to contrast the hesitant faith
of Doubting Thomas with how Moses’ responds at Sinai.35 As with the
wounds in Christ’s side, the tablets offer an encounter with the divine,
but Moses is portrayed reaching out with a confidence denied to St.
Thomas. The apostle struggles to reach Christ’s side, with one foot raised
from the ground and his head bent right back in his desperate attempt

34
For illustration, Tom Nichols, Tintoretto: Tradition and Identity (London: Reaktion,
1999), 187; also in Debray, The Old Testament, 100–1.
35
Now in Berlin. For illustration, Hanns Swarzenski, Monuments of Romanesque Art (2nd
ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), Pl. 21.
 sinai in art and architecture 323

to see the exalted Christ. Again, in a twelfth century bronze sculpture

from Lorraine, Moses sits with the tablets on his lap in a pose of pensive
but assured meditation, accentuated by the stroking of his beard.36
However, if such a focus did not originate in the Renaissance,
the approach does reach its culmination at this point in the work of
Michelangelo, in his famous statue of Moses now in the church of San
Pietro in Vincoli in Rome.37 It had been intended as part of a much
more elaborate complex that would have included a Virgin and Child
in the middle, with Paul and Moses as supporting figures.38 That com-
mission for the tomb of Pope Julius II in 1505 was only brought to
partial realisation forty years later, in a much reduced design agreed
by the Pope’s family.39 Rachel and Leah are placed on either side of
Moses who now sits in the centre, the inclusion of the two subordinate
figures being interpreted by some as the artist’s move away from an
original Neo-Platonic vision to a more Counter-Reformation focus.40
Double life-size, the statue was originally intended to be viewed from
a distance below, where the sense of impending action on Moses part
would have made a much greater impact on the viewer than it does
today. However, even if it now takes longer to detect the retracted left
foot and so Moses’ readiness to leap up, the widened eyes and the
intensity of his gaze leave us in no doubt about the depth of character
implied. Michelangelo’s aim was to produce terribilità, a sense of the
divine power imparted to the human agent. So, although Moses holds
two rectangular tablets, more important are the symbolic horns which
the artist retains despite his awareness of the inadequacy of Jerome’s
over-literal translation.41 Moses’ face shines as a result of his contact
with divinity on Sinai. Vasari’s comment is relevant here:

36
The sculpture is now in the Ashmolean in Oxford. For illustration, Swarzenski,
Monuments of Romanesque Art, Pl. 227.
37
For illustrations, Gabriele Bartz & Eberhard König, Michelangelo (Cologne:
Kőnemann, 1998), 58–61.
38
For some drawings, Howard Hibbard, Michelangelo (London: Lane, 1975), 52, 99.
39
The della Rovere family.
40
Like the sisters Mary and Martha, Rachel and Leah were taken to represent the
contemplative and active life. Gone were the more inclusive references to paganism that
had characterised earlier versions. For such an argument carried to extremes, see Erwin
Panofksy, “The Neoplatonic Movement and Michelangelo,” in his Studies in Iconology:
Humanistic Themes in the Art of Renaissance (New York: Harper & Row, 1962), 171–230,
esp. 187–99.
41
Exod 34:29: ignorabat quod cornuta esset facies sua ex consortio sermonis
Domini. Although the verb is connected with the Hebrew noun for horn (qeren), the
meaning is more about the skin being transformed into emitting a glorious ray of light:
324 david brown

Michelangelo expressed in the marble the divinity that God first invested
in Moses’ most holy form . . . every part of which is finished so expertly that
today more than ever Moses can truly be called the friend of God . . . and
well may the Jews continue to go there as they do every Sabbath (both
men and women) like starlings to stand and stare since they will be ador-
ing something that is more divine than human.42
While Vasari may have intended to mock a Jewish naivety that bor-
ders on idolatry, it would be a mistake to assume similar prejudice on
the part of Michelangelo himself. In general, his attitudes were sym-
pathetic. Indeed, when visiting Venice, he liked to stay in the Jewish
ghetto there.
Another key example of such a focus on character comes from
Rembrandt in the following century, in the painting commonly known
as “The Breaking of the Tablets” (1659).43 In considering how inter-
est in Moses’ personality changes the nature of the presentation, it
is fascinating to compare Rembrandt’s work here with treatment of
the same incident on a twelfth century capital at Vézelay.44 In that
latter case, as Moses breaks the tablets over the Golden Calf, a devil
emerges from the calf. By re-writing Scripture, the unknown artist has
thus given the incident the maximum possible dramatic power. Yet
Moses’ face is peripheral to the composition. By contrast, although
Rembrandt’s Moses has the tablets raised ready to break them, it is the
expression on his face that most intrigues us. Admittedly, some have
questioned whether the right moment has been correctly identified or
not. The raised tuft of hair and the light on his face could possibly
suggest Exod 34, this time interpreted more naturalistically than was
the case with Michelangelo.45 One of his friends was Menasseh ben
Israel, and so Rembrandt may well have seen the customary raising
of the scrolls during the synagogue service. If so, the theme would be

cf. Hab. 3:4; Perhaps Michelangelo thought the horns could still have a use in symbolis-
ing that light.
42
Quoted in Hibbard, Michelangelo, 101.
43
Illustrated in Christopher Leslie Brown, Jan Kelch and Pieter van Thiel, Rembrandt:
The Master and his Workshop (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 272–74.
44
Véronique Rouchon-Mouilleron, Vézelay (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1999),
140–41.
45
Rembrandt’s customary care with Jewish issues is well indicated by his careful tran-
scription of the Hebrew. He records on the tablets the second half of the decalogue.
Although the tenth is abbreviated, all else is correct apart from one missing letter from
the third word in the ninth commandment.
 sinai in art and architecture 325

their re-presentation to the people. But, on other side must be set the
profound sadness in Moses’ face, and the rocks at the bottom right of
the painting which could so easily be used to break the tablets. One
difference from Michelangelo’s Moses is that the tablets are not rectan-
gular but rounded. In itself this simply reflects their appearance in the
Calvinist Churches that Rembrandt attended. In considering why this
pattern eventually became dominant a number of competing explana-
tion have been canvassed. In my view it probably merely represents
the final triumph of a more appealing aesthetic form. Rounded stele
are to be found intermittently from ancient Egypt onwards, while their
double form reflects long-standing Christian teaching that the first half
of the Decalogue consists of duties to God, the second half duties to
our fellow human beings.46

2. Jewish Developments

Here I want to explore matters under two headings, first images in paint-
ing, then the use of the symbolism of Sinai in synagogue architecture.

Moses in Jewish Painting

Generalisations about religion are always dangerous, and in the case
of religion and art there is no exception. As with Islam, it is still quite
commonly asserted that Judaism was entirely non-iconic until modern
times. But just as evidence from Persia in particular confutes the claim
about Islam, so in respect of Judaism the re-discovery of Dura Euro-
pos (in 1932) and other ancient synagogues within Israel itself such
as Beth Alpha can now be used to tell a quite different tale. Indeed,
it has become legitimate to speak of “Ancient Jewish Art.”47 Nor was

46
Gad Sarfatti in his essay “The Tablets as Symbols of Judaism,” in B-Z Segal
ed., The Ten Commandments in History and Tradition (Magnes Press, Hebrew University of
Jerusalem, 1990), 383–418, esp. 397–402 suggests an origin in the wax writing diptych
tablets of the middle ages. While possible, the division into two was already guaranteed
on other grounds, while inspiration for their rounded character could just as easily have
come from some local church or cemetery.
47
As in the title of Gabrielle Sed-Rajna’s book Ancient Jewish Art: East and West (Paris:
Flammarion, 1975). Among the paintings at Dura Europos is one of someone reading
the law. Sed-Rajna suggests Moses as a possibility (cf. 70), but Elijah is more likely as
the reader is holding a scroll. At Beth Alpha as at Hammath Tiberias the floor mosaic
blends characteristically Jewish elements (e.g. Temple implements and the sacrifice of
326 david brown

medieval Europe much different. Passover Haggadot were often replete

with imagery. In Britain, perhaps the best known is the fourteenth cen-
tury Rylands Haggadah, a Sephardic masterpiece.48 However, precisely
because the main focus is on the celebration of Passover, the illustra-
tions only go so far as escape from Egypt, and thus miss our topic here.
Nonetheless, they are worth mentioning because they can be used to
illustrate the high quality attained in Jewish art long before the major
developments of the nineteenth century and beyond. Understatement
is used to remarkable effect, for example, in the Golden Haggadah which
comes from the same century and was produced in Catalonia around
1330. Particularly impressive is the depiction of one incident in which
an apparently innocent scene of workers making bricks for a tower only
slowly resolves itself before our eyes into its full horror: a woman waits
with her child for him to be bricked up in that self-same tower.49
Even so, it is really only by turning to Christian representations
of Jews that we can find allusions to Sinai as such, and in particular
to the rather unfortunate contrast drawn in medieval Christian art
between Ecclesia and Synagoga. Typical is a work from the anonymous
fifteenth century painter known as the Master of the Ursula Legend.
Handsome and beautifully dressed, Ecclesia holds her head upright as
she proudly carries chalice and host, while the unfortunate Synagoga,
beneath a foreigner’s turban, is blindfolded with head bent down, as
the tablets of the law seem ready to fall from her grasp.50 That type
of contrast seems first to have occurred in manuscript illustrations and
ivories during Carolingian times and to have migrated from there onto
medieval sculptural portals, as at Strasbourg and Trier, and then into
paintings.51 A broken sceptre or spear alternates with broken tablets,

Isaac), with more pagan or astrological elements such as signs of the zodiac and the sun
god Helios (105, 111).
48
For a facsimile edition, Raphael Loewe ed., The Rylands Haggadah: An Illuminated
Passover Compendium from Mid-14th-century Catalonia in the Collections of the John Rylands
University Library of Manchester, with a Commentary and a Cycle of Poems (London: Thames
and Hudson, 1988).
49
For some illustrations, including this one, Ingo F. Walther and Norbert Wolf,
Masterpieces of Illumination: The World’s Most Famous Manuscripts 400 to 1600 (Cologne:
Taschen, 2005), 204–6, esp. 205 top right.
50
Heinz Schreckenberg, The Jews in Christian Art: An Illustrated History (London: SCM,
1996), colour Pl. 4.
51
In numerous other churches of course as well, but Strasbourg and Trier are espe-
cially interesting here as in both cases Synagoga holds the law: Schreckenberg, The Jews
in Christian Art, 47, 50.
 sinai in art and architecture 327

while the presence of a fallen crown alludes to verses from Lamenta-

tions: “The crown has fallen from our head . . . our eyes have grown
dim” (5:16–17).
An early manuscript example that is particularly intriguing (because
ambiguous or ambivalent) is how the theme is treated in the work
known as the Hortus Deliciarum of 1185 by Herrad of Landsberg.
Two allusions seem to pull in quite different directions.52 One has the
blindfolded Synagoga sitting on an ass, with eyes firmly averted from
Christ on the cross. This is in marked contrast to Ecclesia who holds
out a chalice to catch the blood that flows from his side. Presumably
to emphasise her Jewishness, Synagoga holds a circumcising knife and
kid as symbols of her cult, but, whereas Ecclesia’s standard flies aloft,
Synagoga’s banner trails hopelessly on the ground. Throughout word
and image are used to reinforce each other’s message. Yet it is all rather
overdone. To give but one example, a written expression of ignorance is
included (te ego nesciebam) but this would have seemed quite superfluous
to most medieval viewers. That is because the meaning would in any
case have been obvious from the way in which the ass bends its head.
Following a tradition long associated with Nativity paintings, ox and
ass were contrasted as Gentile and Jew, and so the ignorance of the
Jew was already indicated by Ecclesia’s and Synagoga’s mounts and
their contrasting attitudes.53
If all this might be taken to suggest a work shot through with anti-
Semitism, the other image from the same work tells a quite different tale.
Moses is actually made to sit alongside Christ with a sprinkling stick,
as he holds the usual chalice.54 In the accompanying text a number of
parallels are drawn between their two roles, among them the following:
“Moses sprinkles the people with the blood and ashes of the red cow
for purification; Christ sanctifies believers through his blood and the
ashes of his body.” As if to underline their shared role at the bottom
we read: “The sevenfold Spirit illuminated the prophets, apostles and
evangelists and through them he created both testaments.” So it would
be wrong to speak of the Christian artistic tradition as wholly negative

52
Black and white reproductions of the two images are available in Schreckenberg,
The Jews in Christian Art, 43, 69.
53
Based on Isaiah 1:3, the ass came to be assimilated to the Jew of the second half
of the verse.
54
Cf. Numbers 19:1–22. More accurately, they form a single two-headed body, but
one suspects that this is artistic economy rather than deliberate intention.
328 david brown

in its attitude towards Judaism. Indeed, sometimes a legend that had its
origins in Judaism comes to be incorporated into the Christian tradi-
tion, as in a ninth century illuminated Bible from the Monastery of St.
Paul in Rome.55 Within a page that also includes Moses preaching and
him being warned that he will not enter the Holy Land, his subsequent
death is also depicted. But, rather than following the biblical account
of his end in a grave, Jewish folklore is utilised to conclude with him
being carried by an angel to heaven.
It is only really in the twentieth century that we begin to find inter-
esting representations of Sinai from artists who are themselves Jews,
Marc Chagall being most prominent among them. During the 1950s
he settled in the small town of Saint-Paul-de-Vence near Nice, and
it was for its Chapelle du Calvaire that he originally created a series
of works that included several on Sinai.56 The initial reception of the
tablets, the worship of the Golden Calf, the breaking of the tablets
and their second gift all find mention, but almost always qualified in
two important ways: first, as events that are profoundly mysterious
and awe-inspiring, and secondly as marked by continuing relevance to
the present day.57 Thus, in evoking the former, sometimes golden rays
emanating from Moses’ head are used; intriguingly, once with the tab-
lets made themselves gold and Moses given a green face that animates
all present.58 In suggesting contemporary relevance, the most complex
in the series perhaps provides the best example.59 Moses is a dark and
solemn figure who is placed centre-stage, with the tablets lying broken
at his feet. Yet on the right, even as the people stand round the golden
calf, already above Moses is receiving a new set, while on the left a
marriage is being celebrated in the presence of a rabbi who is holding
scrolls of the law.60 That is only one way among many used to hint at
the event’s essentially timeless relevance. In another painting, even as

55
For illustration and commentary, Walther and Wolf, Masterpieces of Illumination,
102–3.
56
Most are now in a specially built museum in Nice, the Musée National Message
Biblique Marc Chagall.
57
For that element of mystery achieved in two quite different ways, Raymond
Cogniat, Chagall (Naefels, Switzerland: Bonfini, 1978), 84–85.
58
For the latter, Werner Haftmann, Chagall (New York: Harry H. Abrams, 1998),
140–1.
59
For illustration, 20th Century Art: Museum Ludwig Cologne (ed. M. Scheps and I.
Bruckgraber; Cologne: Taschen, 1996), 135.
60
Likely also to be an allusion to the biblical image of God married to his people, as
well perhaps as to Lekhah dodi, the synagogue hymn of Israel wed to the Sabbath.
 sinai in art and architecture 329

Moses receives the law, in the distance an angel can be seen flying down
to another group, carrying what looks like synagogue scrolls.61
With rare exceptions Chagall’s oeuvre was always fundamentally
optimistic. For a more sombre approach one might take the work of
the Polish artist Jonasz Stern, in particular his “Tablet” from 1981.62 At
the beginning of the Second World War he had fled from Krakow to
Lodz. There he was put before a firing squad but amid the hundreds
shot down his accidental survival went unnoticed. Unsurprisingly, there-
after his paintings (often in mixed media) focused on the Holocaust. For
example, one uses a prayer shawl floating over the city of Kalusz, to
allude to the destruction of this once Jewish town. In the case of the
“Tablet” at one level it can be read as simply a tombstone on which
some bones have been used to spell out in Hebrew an appropriate
inscription. But its double curved shape is conventionally that reserved
for tablets of law. So the viewer is left pondering on the loss not only
of human beings but of an entire culture and religion.

Jewish Architecture
I have already had occasion to mention a number of mutual borrowings
between Judaism and Christianity. It was a process that accelerated,
so far as Judaism is concerned, in the period of assimilation that first
brought release from the ghettoes. In a way that would now seem quite
impossible, synagogue architecture aped Christian, to such a degree
that the casual visitor might easily have been deceived into mistaking
such synagogues for Christian churches. So, for instance, the internal
front elevation of the Bevis Marks Synagogue in London resembles
nothing so much as a baroque high altar.63 Again, no sooner did the
modern version of Romanesque known as Rundbogenstil became fashion-
able in German lands for the building of churches, than synagogues
followed suit.64

61
For illustration, Gill Polonsky, Chagall (London: Phaidon, 1998), 114–15.
62
Avram Kampf, Chagall to Kitaj: Jewish Experience in 20th Century Art (London: Lund
Humphries, 1990), 99–101, esp. 101.
63
For an illustration of this work (dating from 1701), Harold A. Meek, The Synagogue
(London: Phaidon, 1995), 143. The Israel Museum in Jerusalem has a similar example
(originally from Venice), 135.
64
As in the Glockengasse Synagogue, Cologne (1861), Spanelska Synagoga, Prague
(1868) and, rather late, in the Tempelgasse Synagogue, Vienna (1922); for illustrations,
Dominique Jarrassé, Synagogues: Architecture and Jewish Identity (Paris: Vilo International,
2001), 81, 171, 181.
330 david brown

Not surprisingly, the many shocks of the twentieth century produced

a reaction in a re-assertion of difference. This is reflected not least in
changing patterns of architecture. Jewish immigration into the United
States, combined with growing prosperity within that community, meant
that over two hundred and fifty new synagogues were built in the United
States between 1945 and 1955. Over fifty were built by Percival Good-
man, among them Shaarey Zedek in Southfields, Michigan which is
characteristic of the move of Jews outwards into the suburbs. Built in
1962, it was the seventh synagogue building of this community since
1864.65 As in many other such synagogues, symbolism drawn from
Sinai has moved from largely liturgical and other internal uses to a
very public declaration of identity.66 The synagogue’s external archi-
tecture has been made deliberately suggestive of a mountain, such
that it could not possibly by mistaken for a Christian church. This is
noticeable even where the architect was not himself Jewish, as with
Frank Lloyd Wright’s design in 1954 for the Beth Shalom synagogue
at Elkins Park, Pennsylvania.67 Even interior designs also acquired
more distinctiveness. Ben Shahn’s innovative work at Beth Zion in
New York, for example, is in marked contrast to a 1924 window in the
Isaiah Temple in Chicago where Moses receiving the law is virtually
indistinguishable from how he might have appeared in any Christian
church of the time.68 Although Shahn came from an Orthodox Jewish
home, he rebelled early and it is only really in his post-war painting
that he once more attempts to interact with his Jewish inheritance. For
some (perhaps even Shahn himself ) it was a purely secular recovery
of an inherent value in Jewish symbolism, while others (both Jews and
Christians) have detected a renewed religious dimension. This window
would be one example, his painting The Third Allegory (which also has
the Decalogue as its theme) another.69

65
The first had been in downtown Detroit.
66
For illustration, Jarrassé, Synagogues, 234. For another striking example at El Paso
in Texas, 247.
67
For Wright’s 1954 design, Jarrassé, Synagogues, 239.
68
For Beth Zion and Isaiah Temple, Jarrassé, Synagogues, 205, 245. Shahn’s work
dates from 1967, only two years before his death.
69
For discussion, see Frances K. Pohl, “Allegories in the work of Ben Shahn,” in
Susan Chevlowe, Common Man: Mythic Vision: The Paintings of Ben Shahn (Princeton, NJ;
Princeton University Press, 1998), 111–41, esp. 128–38.
 sinai in art and architecture 331

3. Concluding Remarks

To varying degrees, Judaism and Christianity have become used to

presenting themselves as essentially religions of the book: as verbal
and oral in inspiration rather than visual. Even in respect of scripture,
however, this is somewhat misleading, since, while descriptions and
their associated metaphors sometimes function purely mentally, more
commonly their impact is visual.70 It is often forgotten how often in the
past even Protestant Bibles were illustrated. Likewise, in later history
it would be a mistake to suppose that all art ever has done is to copy
or represent what is endorsed through other means. Calvin himself
did not give the same weight to obedience to law that was later to be
found in English churches. Yet that very weight helped to ensure the
Liberal and Catholic rebellion that was to occur in later centuries. Had
obedience to law been given the joyful character it has in Chagall’s
paintings, a quite different result might have ensued. Nor was that an
impossibility, as Turner’s marvellously positive evocation of Sinai in an
early nineteenth century watercolour demonstrates.71 Again, although
much art reinforced anti-Semitism, it is important to concede that not
all did. Indeed, sometimes it pulled in quite the opposite direction.
The new interest in Moses’ character helped. So too did the earlier
identification of Mary’s role with key moments in the life of Moses.
Our religious beliefs are a reflection of the totality of our experience
and not just of one aspect of it, and it is important that the role of
artistic representation in all of this should be recognised.

70
But not always successfully so. Visually, the Book of Revelation is somewhat comic
in its effect. In chapters 1–2 Christ holds in his mouth a sword 2–3 feet long, while in
chs. 21–2 the heavenly Jerusalem has buildings 1,500 miles high but a surrounding wall
of only 400 feet. Such lack of attention to the visual in scripture is, however, fortunately
rare.
71
Now in the National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh.
 SINAI SINCE SPINOZA: REFLECTIONS ON REVELATION
IN MODERN JEWISH THOUGHT

Paul Franks
University of Toronto, Canada

Spinoza (1632–1677 CE) was the first to understand that modern phi-
losophy, with its new conception of nature, issued an enormous chal-
lenge to Judaism as it had been interpreted in the Jewish philosophical
tradition, with which he was intimately familiar. Here I will bring this
challenge into focus by thematizing the role of Sinai in some strands
of Jewish philosophy. Some brief remarks on the linkage between Sinai
and nature in the Maimonidean tradition well-known to Spinoza will
enable me to characterize the challenge of modernity and to show
both that Mendelssohn’s pioneering response was problematic, and
that it contained the seeds of two contrasting approaches developed
by twentieth century Jewish thinkers.

1. Before Spinoza

The history of Jewish philosophy is intertwined with the history of

translations of the Hebrew Bible and, if one wants to locate the origin of
Jewish philosophy, one could do no better than to name the translation
of the Septuagint in Hellenistic Egypt. This much-storied event gave
rise to the earliest known Jewish philosophical conversation: a discus-
sion, preserved by Eusebius, about anthropomorphic characterizations
of God, between the Hellenistic king Ptolemy and a Jewish philosopher
named Aristobulus.1 More pertinent to my topic here, however, is the
Septuagint’s fateful translation of “Torah” as “nomos.” As has been noted
before, “didache” was an available alternative, yet “nomos” was used 196
times out of 220.2 Whatever the motivation for this choice, the result

1
Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica, 8.10.1–5, translated by A. Y. Collins in The Old
Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; 2 vols; Garden City, NY: Doubleday,
1985), 2.837–838.
2
See T. Muraoka, “A Japanese studying an ancient Greek translation of the Hebrew
Bible at Göttingen.” Online: http://www.humboldt-foundation.de/de/netzwerk/
veranstalt/hoersaal/doc/muraoka.pdf.
334 paul franks

was to present Torah primarily as the legally compulsory norm of a

Jewish polity—a move that would have rich and long-lasting implica-
tions for Jewish philosophy and for Judaism.3
It was of crucial importance that this nomos, unlike any other, was
given by the creator of nature. But the connection could be made
in several, significantly distinct ways. For Philo of Alexandria (ca. 20
BCE–50 CE), who drew on Stoicism among other resources, Torah
was nomos physeos.4 For Maimonides (1138–1204 CE), however, it was
crucial that, while nature was divinely established in its regularity, cre-
ation did not of itself give rise to any rule—or, at least, to any sufficient
rule—of human life. Human beings were unique in being composed
both of matter and of a form—the intellect—that could in principle
become separate from matter, and this gave rise to a problem of indi-
vidual and collective governance that was essentially not natural but rather
political.5 It was a problem best addressed by a law whose origin was
divine. This was in part because such a law, while not natural, could
imitate the divine governance of nature. If, for Maimonides, Torah was
not natural law, then it was nevertheless quasi-natural: a sort of second
nature stemming from the creator of first nature.

3
See James Kugel, “Some Unanticipated Consequences,” in this volume, 1:
“Rabbinic Judaism, it almost goes without saying, is a religion of laws . . . How did all this
come about?” On nomos, see Kugel, 7. In his broad-ranging and fascinating discussion
of the development of the idea of a covenant and of the prescriptive character of prac-
tices and figures, however, Kugel does not address the question of how this prescriptive
character came to be conceptualized as specifically that of law.
4
See Hindy Najman, “The Law of Nature and the Authority of Mosaic Law, ” SPhilo
11 (1999): 55–73; “A Written Copy of the Law of Nature: An Unthinkable Paradox?”
SPhilo 15 (2003): 51–6. On Torah as law and its connection to nature in Josephus, see
Zuleika Rodgers, “Josephus’ ‘Theokratia,’ ” in this volume, 129–47.
5
Thus Adam and Eve misunderstand the serpent’s promise because of the ambigu-
ity of the Hebrew word “elohim.” Whereas they thought that, if they ate the forbidden
fruit, they would become “as gods,” they would in fact become “as judges.” See Moses
Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed (2 vols; trans. Shlomo Pines; Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1963), I, ch. 2, 25. In general, Maimonides follows the Aristotelian view
that moral and political judgments are conventional. He uses no term signifying natural
law. However, as Kraemer has pointed out, it is possible to see natural law as implicit in
Maimonides’ thinking in two ways: he never excludes the possibility that some details
of conventional law may be rationally required for any well-ordered society; and he
asserts that there is an inborn disposition to do what is right, independently of pro-
phetic instruction. See Joel L. Kraemer, “Naturalism and Universalism in Maimonides’
Thought,” in Meah Shearim: Studies in Medieval Jewish Spiritual Life in Memory of Isadore
Twersky (ed. E. Fleischer et al.; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2001), 57, 59. Nevertheless, it
remains the case that, for Maimonides, whatever norms of human life result from cre-
ation do not suffice to solve the problems of human life, which require a law that is not
natural, but political and indeed revealed.
 sinai since spinoza 335

Thus the education that Moses needed and requested in order to

govern a people who could return to idolatry so quickly after the
wonders of Sinai, was an education in physics. When Moses asked
to be shown God’s ways, (Exodus 33:13) his point was that he had to
contend with “a people for the government of which I need to perform
actions that I must seek to make similar to Thy actions in governing
them.”6 And when God responded by causing “all My goodness” to
pass before Moses (Exodus 33:19), what Moses came to understand
were the divine actions—that is, the nature that God had created and
continued to govern, which God had found to be “very good.”7 (Gen-
esis 1:31) Thus, Maimonides emphasized the extent to which Mosaic
governance imitated the divine governance of nature:
If you consider the divine actions—I mean to say the natural actions—the
deity’s wily graciousness and wisdom, as shown in the creation of living
beings, in the gradation of the motions of the limbs, and in the proximity
of some of the latter to others, will through them become clear to you.
Similarly His wisdom and wily graciousness, as shown in the gradual suc-
cession of the various states of the whole individual, will become clear to
you . . . Many things in our Law are due to something similar to this very
governance on the part of Him who governs, may He be glorified and
exalted. For a sudden transition from one opposite to another is impos-
sible. And therefore man, according to his nature, is not capable of aban-
doning suddenly all to which he was accustomed. And therefore God sent
Moses our Master to make out of us a kingdom of priests and a holy nation . . .8
In general, although the Torah was not, for Maimonides, the law of
nature, nevertheless, “the Law always tends to assimilate itself to nature,
perfecting the natural matters in a certain respect.”9
What was the role of Sinai within this conception of Judaism? It was
the event that manifested the identity of (1) the creator of nature, (2) the
giver of natural or quasi-natural law, and (3) the covenantal partner who
intervenes in history to bring Israel out of Egyptian servitude. On the
one hand, the tie between revelation and creation was essential, for the
revealed law had to be either natural or quasi-natural, and such a law
could only originate with the creator. On the other hand, the tie between
revelation and covenantal history was no less important, for although

6
Maimonides, Guide, I, ch. 54, 125.
7
Maimonides, Guide, I, ch. 54, 124.
8
Maimonides, Guide, II, ch. 32, 25–6.
9
Maimonides, Guide, II, ch. 43, 571.
336 paul franks

the law was of significance for all human beings, it was nevertheless
the law of Israel in particular. This duality was reflected in the con-
tent of the Decalogue: the first two commandments were concerned
with God’s existence and oneness, which were knowable through a
speculation on nature that was universally accessible; the remainder
“belong to the class of generally accepted opinions and those adopted
in virtue of tradition, not to the class of intellecta,” and were directly
communicated to Moses the prophet alone, who communicated them
in turn to Israel.10 Since the Torah was the uniquely quasi-natural law,
it was important to emphasize that Sinai was a unique event: “nothing
like it happened before and will not happen after.”11

2. Spinoza and the Advent of Modernity

Spinoza understood with great clarity the importance of the reconcep-

tion of nature articulated in the project of modern physics, and he fol-
lowed what he took to be the radical implications of this reconception
with unparalleled consistency and forthrightness. Among these impli-
cations were consequences for Judaism, and in particular for Judaism
as interpreted by Maimonides, consequences from which Spinoza did
not shy away.
As Spinoza emphasized, the new physics was supposed to employ
mathematics in order to grasp necessary truths about extended things,
giving rise to exceptionless generalizations. Although some modern
philosophers spoke of these truths as laws of nature, Spinoza saw that
this locution was problematic and potentially confusing:
The word “law,” taken in its absolute sense, means that according to
which each individual thing—either all in general or those of the same
kind—act in one and the same fixed and determinate manner, this man-
ner depending either on Nature’s necessity or on human will. A law which
depends on Nature’s necessity [e.g., that all bodies colliding with smaller
bodies lose as much of their own motion as they impart to other bodies]
is one which necessarily follows from the very nature of the thing, that is,
its definition; a law which depends on human will, and which could more
properly be termed a statute [ius], is one which men ordain for themselves

10
Maimonides, Guide, II, ch. 33, 364.
11
Maimonides, Guide, II, ch. 33, 366.
 sinai since spinoza 337

and for others with a view to making life more secure and more conve-
nient, or for other reasons.12
In other words, it was essential that laws of nature be exceptionless,
or else they would not be laws of nature in the modern sense; but it
was equally essential that laws depending on human will should admit
exceptions, otherwise they would not be laws in the relevant sense of
regulating human life. To avoid confusion, Spinoza suggested that we
should be clear about which sense of the term “law” is primary:
Still, it seems to be by analogy that the word “law” is applied to natural
phenomena, and ordinarily “law” is used to mean simply a command
which men can either obey or disobey, inasmuch as it restricts the total
range of human power within set limits and demands nothing that is
beyond the capacity of that power. So it seems more fitting that law should
be defined in its narrower sense, that is, as a rule of life which man pre-
scribes for himself or for others for some purpose.13
Note that laws in the strict sense concern rules that have purposes. In con-
trast, as Spinoza insisted, following Descartes, the modern conception
of nature excluded the notion of purpose from physics altogether.14
It follows, as Spinoza noted, that nature as reconceived by modern
philosophy could offer no ethical or political guidance whatsoever for
human life: “Whatever an individual thing does by the laws of its own
nature, it does with sovereign right, inasmuch as it acts as determined
by Nature, and can do no other.”15 Since the laws of a thing’s nature
were exceptionless, nothing could count as transgressing those laws.
Consequently, the laws of human nature called for no particular actions
or arrangements rather than any other.
It is important to note that this potential for confusion existed because
of the advent of the modern reconception of nature. Aristotelian phys-
ics, for example, articulated a conception of nature that fits more neatly
with the idea of law. According to Aristotle, physics did not deal with
what is always and by necessity, but with what is for the most part.
“Mathematical accuracy is not to be demanded in everything, but only
in things which do not contain matter. Hence this method is not that
of natural science, because presumably all nature is concerned with

12
See chapter 4 in Theological-Political Treatise in Benedictus de Spinoza, Complete
Works: Spinoza (ed. M. Morgan; trans. S. Shirley; Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2002), 426.
13
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 4 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 427.
14
Spinoza’s Ethics I, Appendix in Complete Works, 238–43.
15
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 16 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 527.
338 paul franks

matter.” Since physics dealt with matter, it was not concerned with
exceptionless truths. Rather, it was concerned, for example, with the
truth that honey-water is usually beneficial in the case of fever; there
were numerous exceptions, but stating these was not the task of sci-
ence.16 Similarly, ethics and political science dealt with what is for the
most part.17 Moreover, physics—like ethics and political science—was
concerned with purposes.
In general, Aristotelian physics gave rise to generalizations that were
valid for the most part and involved reference to purposes. Nature was
“very good” (Genesis 1:31) because it served these purposes. Because
ethics and political science also dealt with generalizations that were valid
for the most part and involved reference to purposes, it was eminently
plausible, either that nature could give ethical and political guidance to
human life, or that nature could provide a model for a law that could
give such guidance. In contrast, modern physics gave rise to general-
izations that were exceptionless and involved no reference to purpose.
Consequently, nature could no longer provide guidance, either directly
or indirectly, to human life.
Now, since—according to Spinoza—God was the ground of the ratio-
nality and intelligibility of all that existed, and since what existed was
rational and intelligible to the extent that it operated according to excep-
tionless generalizations, it followed that such generalizations—eternal
truths—were the sole expressions of God. If God had been understood
instead as giving rise to laws in the strict—ethical or political—sense,
then this could only have been a result of ignorance:
God’s affirmations and negations always involve eternal necessity or truth.
So, if for example, God said to Adam that he willed that Adam should not
eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, it would have been a con-
tradiction in terms for Adam to be able to eat of the tree. And so it would
have been impossible for Adam to eat of it, because that divine decree
must have involved eternal necessity and truth. However, since Scripture
tells us that God did so command Adam, and that Adam did neverthe-
less eat of the tree, it must be accepted that God revealed to Adam only
the punishment he must incur if he should eat of that tree; the necessary
entailment of that punishment was not revealed. Consequently, Adam
perceived this revelation not as an eternal and necessary truth but as a
law, that is to say, an enactment from which good or ill consequence would
ensue not from the intrinsic nature of deed performed but only from the

16
Metaphysics, Book VI, 1027a20.
17
Nicomachean Ethics, 1094.
 sinai since spinoza 339

will and absolute power of some ruler. Therefore that revelation, solely
in relation to Adam and solely because of the limitations of his knowl-
edge, was a law, and God was a kind of lawgiver or ruler. For this same
reason, namely, their lack of knowledge, in relation to the Hebrews alone
the Decalogue was a law; for not knowing God’s existence as an eternal
truth, it was inevitable that they should have perceived as a law what was
revealed to them in the Decalogue, namely, that God existed, and that
God alone must be worshipped. But if God had spoken to them directly,
employing no physical means, they would have perceived this not as a law,
but as an eternal truth.18
Here, in a striking break with the Maimonidean tradition, Spinoza
argued in effect that it was impossible for God to be both the origin of
nature and the origin of law.
What, then, could Torah be? After all, it purported to be the law
that originates with God. Spinoza concluded that it could only be a law
based on ignorance. However, such a law was necessary, since ignorance
was to be expected among the majority of human beings, and since
obedience could not be grounded solely on the knowledge that only a
few could be expected to attain. This gave rise to a division of labour
between faith and reason, theology and philosophy:
According to our fundamental principle, faith must be defined as the
holding of certain beliefs about God such that, without these beliefs, there
cannot be obedience to God, and if this obedience is posited, these beliefs
are necessarily posited . . . between faith and theology on the one side and
philosophy on the other there is no relation and affinity . . . The aim of
philosophy is, quite simply, truth, while the aim of faith . . . is nothing other
than obedience and piety. Again, philosophy rests on the basis of univer-
sally valid axioms, and must be constructed by studying Nature alone,
whereas faith is based on history and language, and must be derived only
from S cripture a nd r evelation . . .19
The happy implication of this division of labour was that faith and
reason, theology and philosophy, need not and indeed could not conflict,
since they were concerned with entirely different domains.
Of course, Spinoza’s radical rethinking of Scripture in accordance
with the modern reconception of nature could hardly leave the Sinai
event untouched. He regarded the very idea of a revelatory event as
an inappropriate anthropomorphization of God, and he was scornful

18
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 4 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 430.
19
Theological Political Treatise, chapter 14 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 516–19.
340 paul franks

of Maimonides’ attempt to avoid the problem by portraying divine

speech as issuing from a “created voice”:20
It seems quite alien to reason to assert that a created thing, dependent on
God in the same way as other created things, should be able to express or
display, factually or verbally, through its own individuality, God’s essence
or existence, declaring in the first person, “I am the Lord your God,
etc.” . . . Now in the case of people who previously knew nothing of God
but his name, and desired to speak with him so as to be assured of his exis-
tence, I fail to see how their need was met through a created thing (which
is no more related to God than are other created things, and does not
pertain to God’s nature) which declared, “I am the Lord.” What if God
had manipulated the lips of Moses—but why Moses? the lips of some
beast—so as to pronounce the words, “I am the Lord”? Would the people
thereby have understood God’s existence?21
But there was no problem here, since—as we have seen—a true revela-
tion would have to be of eternal truths. What happened on Sinai was
not an act of revelation, but rather an act of law-giving, and it was in
this light that the pyrotechnics of the event should be understood:
Although the voice which the Israelites heard could not have given those
men a philosophical or mathematical certainty of God’s existence, it suf-
ficed to strike them with awe of God as they had previously known him,
and to induce them to obedience, this being the purpose of that manifes-
tation. For God was not seeking to teach the Israelites the absolute attri-
butes of his essence (he revealed none of these things at the time), but to
break down their obstinacy and bring them to obedience. Therefore he
assailed them, not with arguments, but with the blare of trumpets, with
thunder and with lightnings (see Exodus ch. 20 v. 20).22
In short, Moses was a master of statecraft, and he understood well that
the establishment of a new polity called for, not an impressive feat of
argumentation, but rather an impressive public drama.
There was much, Spinoza thought, to learn from the statecraft of
Moses. Indeed, the original idea of Moses’ theocratic constitution—the
idea of universal equality before God—was an excellent one:
Since the Hebrews did not transfer their right to any other man, but, as in
a democracy, they all surrendered their right on equal terms, crying with
one voice, “Whatever God shall speak, we shall do” (no one being named

20
Maimonides, Guide, II, ch. 33, 365.
21
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 1 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 397.
22
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 14 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 519.
 sinai since spinoza 341

as mediator), it follows that this covenant left them all completely equal,
and they all had an equal right to consult God, to receive and interpret his
laws; in short, they all shared equally in the government of the state.23
However, the seeds of the destruction of the Mosaic constitution were
also planted at Sinai, when the people withdrew after hearing the first
two commandments:
But on this first appearance before God they were so terrified and so thun-
derstruck at hearing God speak that they thought that their last hour had
come . . . they . . . abrogated the first covenant, making an absolute transfer
to Moses of their right to consult God and to interpret his decrees.24
Thus true theocracy became debased theocracy, which eventually
became monarchy:
It had first been intended to entrust the entire ministry of religion to the
firstborn, not to the Levites; but when all except the Levites had wor-
shipped the calf, the firstborn were rejected as defiled and the Levites
were chosen in their place. The more I consider the change, the more I
am forced to exclaim in the words of Tacitus, “At that time, God’s concern
was not for their security, but for vengeance.” I cannot sufficiently marvel
that such was the wrath of heaven that God framed their very laws, whose
sole end should always be the honour, welfare and security of the people,
with the intention of avenging himself and punishing the people, with the
result that their laws appeared to them to be not so much laws—that is,
the safeguard of the people—as penalties and punishments.25
Here we must recall that, by divine reward and punishment, Spinoza
understood nothing other than temporal success and failure, insofar
as these lay beyond the limits of human endeavour. It was in this way
that he explained the election of Israel:
All worthy objects of desire can be classified under one of these three
general headings: 1) To know things through their primary causes. 2) To
subjugate the passions; i.e., to acquire the habit of virtue. 3) To live in
security and good health. The means that directly serve for the attainment
of the first and second objectives lie within the bounds of human nature
itself, so that their acquisition must depend on human power alone; i.e.,
solely on the laws of human nature. For this reason it is obvious that these
gifts are not peculiar to any nation but have always been common to all

23
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 17 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 540.
24
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 17 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 540.
25
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 17 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 549. The Tacitus
quotation is from Histories, I, 31.
342 paul franks

mankind . . . But the means that serve for the attainment of security and
physical well-being lie principally in external circumstances, and are called
the gifts of fortune because they mainly depend on the operation of exter-
nal causes of which we are in ignorance. So in this matter the fool and
the wise man have about an equal chance of happiness or unhappiness.
Nevertheless, much can be effected by human contrivance and vigilance
to achieve security and to avoid injuries from other men and from beasts.
To this end, reason and experience have taught us no surer means than
to organize a society under fixed laws, to occupy a fixed territory and to
concentrate the strength of all its members into one body, as it were, a
social body . . . If [such a society] . . . endures for some considerable time,
this is to be attributed to some other guidance, not its own. Indeed, if it
overcomes great perils and enjoys prosperity, it cannot fail to marvel at
and worship God’s guidance (that is to say, insofar as God acts through
hidden external causes, and not through the nature and mind of man);
for what it has experienced is far beyond its expectation and belief, and
can truly be regarded even as a miracle . . . Thus the Hebrew nation was
chosen by God before all others, not by reason of its understanding
nor of its spiritual qualities, but by reason of its social organization and
the good fortune whereby it achieved supremacy and retained it for so
many years.26
If the original idea of a constitution based on universal equality before
God was the source of Israel’s endurance and the sign of Israel’s elec-
tion, then the debasement of that idea, which eventually led to the
destruction of the state, must have been a sign of Israel’s rejection.
Both were present at Sinai.
This division between the original Mosaic idea and its debasement
also generated a distinction between the eternally valid core of the
Mosaic polity—a politics based on universal equality and an ethics
of neighbourly love—and those aspects that were limited to ancient
Israel. Even if some particular aspects of Mosaic law contributed to
the endurance of Israel, it followed only that these were worthy of
close study, not that they were in any way binding upon contemporary
descendants of the Israelites:
The Divine Law, which makes men truly blessed and teaches the true life,
is of universal application to all men . . . Now ceremonial observances—
those, at least, that are laid down in the Old Testament—were instituted
for the Hebrews alone, and were so adapted to the nature of their gov-
ernment that they could not be practised by the individual but involved
the community as a whole. So it is evident that they do not pertain to

26
Tractatus, chapter 3 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 417–18.
 sinai since spinoza 343

the Divine Law, and therefore do not contribute to blessedness and vir-
tue. They have regard only to the election of the Hebrews, that is (as we
demonstrated in chapter 3) to their temporal and material prosperity and
peaceful government, and therefore could have been of practical value
only while their state existed . . . That the Hebrews are not bound to prac-
tise their ceremonial rites since the destruction of their state is clear from
Jeremiah, who, when he saw and proclaimed the imminent ruin of the
city, said that God delights only in those who know and understand that
he exercises loving-kindness, judgment and righteousness in the earth, and
so thereafter only those who know these things are to be deemed worthy
of praise (see chapter 9 v. 23).27
Thus Spinoza issued a challenge, not only to Jewish philosophy, but to
Judaism itself: according to the philosophical tradition, the validity of
the Torah as law of Israel depended on its direct or indirect linkage to
nature; but nature could no longer be understood as a source or model
of law; so it followed that the law of Israel was no more and no less
sanctioned by nature than any other law, and that the destruction of
the Jewish state should have resulted in the end of Judaism.

3. Responses: From Mendelssohn to Breuer,

Buber and Rosenzweig

Mendelssohn (1729–1786 CE) was perhaps the first Jewish philosopher

to respond seriously to Spinoza’s challenge. However, even as he resisted
Spinoza’s conclusions, he adopted some central features of Spinoza’s
views about Judaism, no doubt because he too saw the enormous sig-
nificance of modern philosophy’s reconception of nature.
In particular, Mendelssohn adopted, from Spinoza’s revision of the
Maimonidean tradition, the idea that the Torah revealed on Sinai was
essentially nomos, a purely political law:
Revealed religion is one thing, revealed legislation another. The voice
which let itself be heard on Sinai on that great day did not proclaim, “I
am the Eternal, your God, the necessary, independent being, omnipo-
tent and omniscient, that recompenses men in a future life according to
their deeds.” This is the universal religion of mankind, not Judaism; and
the universal religion of mankind, without which men are neither vir-
tuous nor capable of felicity, was not to be revealed there. In reality, it
could not have been revealed there, for who was to be convinced of these

27
Theological-Political Treatise, chapter 5 in Spinoza, Complete Works, 435–37.
344 paul franks

eternal doctrines of salvation by the voice of thunder and the sound of

trumpets? . . . A historical truth, on which this people’s legislation was to be
founded, as well as laws, was to be revealed here—commandments and
ordinances, not eternal religious truths.28
Mendelssohn rejected Maimonides’ view that the first two command-
ments were speculative in content. Rather, they were expressions of
God’s covenantal relationship with Israel. Indeed, it would have been
odd if God had revealed speculative truths at Sinai, for such truths
were to be known through observation of nature and through rational
reflection, not through pyrotechnics, however divine.
The Torah revealed on Sinai was a political law for a people cov-
enanted to God. It was not, strictly speaking, a religion. For religion
consisted in eternal truths conducive to human felicity, and was con-
sequently universally accessible through reason, not directed to a par-
ticular people through revelation. Consequently, just as Spinoza had
argued that religion and philosophy could not conflict since they were
concerned with different domains, so Mendelssohn argued in effect
that there could be no tension between “the religion of mankind” and
Judaism, which was therefore more compatible with the Enlightenment
than Christianity, which did indeed purport to be a religion.
This was not to say, however, that Judaism lacked all connection to
eternal truths. Here Mendelssohn parted company from Spinoza: “All
[ Mosaic] laws refer to, or are based upon, eternal truths of reason, or
remind us of them, and rouse us to ponder them.”29 Indeed, the mission
of Judaism was to preserve “pure concepts of religion, far removed from
all idolatry.”30 It was to do by embodying and symbolizing ideas, not
in images, which could all too easily give rise to idolatry, but rather in
patterns of living, to be passed down through the generations by largely
unwritten example.31
Mendelssohn also disagreed sharply with Spinoza’s conclusion that
Judaism should have ended with the destruction of the Temple:
I cannot see how those born into the House of Jacob can in any consci-
entious manner disencumber themselves of the law. We are permitted to
reflect on the law, to inquire into its spirit, and, here and there, where the

28
Moses Mendelssohn, Jerusalem or On Religious Power and Judaism (ed. A. Altmann;
trans. A. Arkush; Hanover, NH: University of New England Press, 1983), 97–8.
29
Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, 99.
30
Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, 118.
31
See Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, 102–20 for his account of the need for the oral law.
 sinai since spinoza 345

lawgiver gave no reason, to surmise a reason which, perhaps, depended

upon time, place, and circumstances, and which, perhaps, may be liable
to change in accordance with time, place and circumstances—if it pleases
the Supreme Lawgiver to make known to us His will on this matter, to
make it known in as clear a voice, in as public a manner, and as far beyond
all doubt and ambiguity as He did when He gave us the law itself. As long
as this has not happened, as long as we can point to no such authentic
exemption from the law, no sophistry of ours can free us from the strict
obedience we owe to the law; and reverence for God draws a line between
speculation and practice which no conscientious man may cross.32
In other words, although the Torah was intended as a political con-
stitution, it originated in an event that was not only political but also
revelatory, and only another revelatory event could abrogate it.
However, Mendelssohn’s defence of Judaism was problematic. First,
Mendelssohn himself had argued in an earlier section of Jerusalem
that any exercise of legally coercive power in the domain of religion,
rather than in the domain of the state, was incompatible with natural
right: “Religious society lays no claim to the right of coercion, and cannot
obtain it by any possible contract.”33 This did not make his views con-
tradictory, since he regarded the theocracy established at Sinai to be a
direct effect of revelation, not of a contract. But he offered no account
of what it meant to regard Sinai as revelatory and he did nothing to
counter Spinoza’s objections to traditional conceptions of revelation
as inappropriately anthropomorphic. Consequently, it was hard to see
why the demise of the Mosaic state should be lamented rather than
celebrated, and it was hard to see what force Mendelssohn’s defence
of post-destruction Judaism could have.
Salomon Maimon (1753–1800 CE), a younger contemporary of
Mendelssohn’s and a crucial figure in the development of post-Kantian
Jewish philosophy, drew the conclusion that Mendelssohn wished above
all to avoid:
So far as I am concerned, I am led to assent entirely to Mendelssohn’s
reasoning by my own reflections on the fundamental laws of the religion
of my fathers. The fundamental laws of the Jewish religion are at the
same time the fundamental laws of the Jewish state. They must therefore
be obeyed by all who acknowledge themselves to be members of this state,
and who wish to enjoy the rights granted to them under condition of their
obedience. But, on the other hand, any man who separates himself from

32
Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, 233.
33
Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, 45.
346 paul franks

this state, who desires to be considered no longer a member of it, and to

renounce all his rights as such, whether he enters another state or betakes
himself to solitude, is also in his conscience no longer bound to obey those
laws . . . As far as is known, Mendelssohn lived in accordance with the laws
of his religion. Presumably, therefore, he always regarded himself as still a
member of the theocratic state of his fathers, and consequently acted up
to duty in this respect. But any man who abandons this state is acting just
as little in violation of his duty.34
Exercising the option that he thought Mendelssohn had shown him
to be available, Maimon left not only the observance of Judaism but
also the Jewish community. Since his attempt to convert to Christianity
without compromising his philosophy was rebuffed,35 and since there
was no secular state of which he could become a citizen, he betook
himself to solitude.
Maimon’s attitude to Mendelssohn was widely shared among Jewish
philosophers: they revered Mendelssohn as a pioneer and as a personal-
ity, but they regarded his response to the challenge of modernity raised
by Spinoza as a failure. Nevertheless, Mendelssohn’s work contained the
seeds of at least two later responses that did not break with Judaism,
as Maimon had done. On the one hand, one could continue to main-
tain, with Spinoza and Mendelssohn, that Judaism was fundamentally
not religion but law. Then, however, one would have to explain why
theocratic nomos was a good thing, and why its validity had outlasted
the existence of a Jewish state. On the other hand, one could break
with the entire tradition, originating in the Septuagint, of regarding
Torah as nomos. But then one would have to explain what role, if any,
there could be within Judaism for obligations.
The first option was developed by Isaac Breuer (1883–1946 CE), the
leading intellectual figure of independent German Orthodoxy.36 After

34
Solomon Maimon, Solomon Maimon: An Autobiography (trans. J. Clark Murray;
Urbana and Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2001), 229–30.
35
Maimon, An Autobiography, 253–57.
36
Breuer was the grandson of Samson Raphael Hirsch, who founded independent
Orthodoxy, and he was the son of Joseph Breuer, Hirsch’s son-in-law and successor.
Unlike communal Orthodoxy, independent Orthodoxy insisted on rigorous separation
(Austritt) from all institutions involving non-Orthodox movements, including traditional
Jewish communal institutions, and on the intrinsic value of both Torah and the sur-
rounding, general culture. See Mordechai Breuer, Modernity within Tradition (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1992); Alan Mittleman, Between Kant and Kabbalah (Albany:
SUNY Press, 1990); and Matthias Morgenstern, From Frankfurt to Jerusalem (Leiden: Brill,
2002). Breuer played a leading role in the founding of Agudath Israel—the primary
non-Zionist, Orthodox political movement—and later of Poalei Agudath Israel, but
 sinai since spinoza 347

developing a general account of law within a Neo-Kantian philosophi-

cal framework, Breuer argued that the Torah was obligatory for Jews
in exactly the way that law was obligatory for citizens of a state:
Law is simply obligatory ruling. It is in the concept-characteristic of obli-
gation pure and simple that the complete abstraction from the individual
lies . . . The Jewish law is no different. According to the collective will of the
Jewish nation which was given expression at Mount Sinai, the sole and
exclusive constitutional organ of the legislature is God . . . The individual Jew
is subject to the law by reason of his membership of the Jewish nation. The condi-
tion and basis of his obedience lies not in his personal conviction of the
excellence of the law, indeed not even his conviction of its divine origin.
The law imposes absolute obligation . . . whoever has never seen the king
of Prussia and, therefore, succumbs to the fixed idea that such a person
does not exist at all—then, should he disobey the constitutional will of the
monarch, he will very soon and in a most unpleasant manner receive suf-
ficient conviction, indeed not of his theoretically confirmed existence but of
his practically extremely effective manifestation of power.37
Such a view necessitated an emphasis on Sinai as the location of the
event whereby the polity was established. Employing Neo-Kantian
terms, Breuer regarded the Sinai revelation as the factum at the basis
of Judaism, without which it simply could not be understood, just as
every science has a factum at its basis:38
The teaching of Judaism was demonstrated on Sinai with perfect lucidity
before the eyes of the entire nation. The conviction, which the Sinaitic
community brought to the teaching was not merely subjective, won from
them in their deepest sensitivity; it was rather the direct self-assurance
which was based on their own perception. The Sinaitic community actu-
ally experienced the doctrine of Judaism at Mount Sinai. For them the teach-
ing of Judaism thus became a fact of experience.39
So far, Breuer sounded as though he was merely articulating in Neo-
Kantian terms the idea—developed by Spinoza and Mendelssohn—that
the Torah was a non-natural nomos. But he departed significantly from

his combination of uncompromising Orthodoxy with Neo-Kantianism and socialism

remained largely his own view rather than the ideology of the movement.
37
From Breuer’s Teaching, Law and Nation (1910) found in Isaac Breuer, Concepts of
Judaism (trans. and ed. J. Levinger; Jerusalem: Israel Universities Press, 1974), 41.
38
On the notion of a factum in post-Kantian philosophy, see Paul Franks, “Serpentine
Naturalism and Protean Nihilism: Transcendental Philosophy in Anthropological Neo-
Kantianism, German Idealism, and Neo-Kantianism,” in Oxford Handbook of Continental
Philosophy (ed. B. Leiter and M. Rosen; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).
39
Teaching, Law and Nation, in Breuer, Concepts of Judaism, 43.
348 paul franks

his predecessors in his argument—which draws on the Bible com-

mentary of his illustrious grandfather, Hirsch—that Sinai established
as king, neither God nor Moses, but rather the Torah itself :
“Moses commanded us a teaching; it is to be the inheritance of Jacob’s
congregation; for this reason it became king in Yeshurun” (Deut 33:4–5,
following Hirsch’s translation). . . . Moses commanded a teaching to us who
were collected at Mount Sinai. He has permitted us direct insight into the
truth of this teaching by making it our experience. Therefore he could
command us to accept this as a teaching. But this doctrine is not to disap-
pear with us. The teaching is to become an inheritance for all the future
members of Jacob’s congregation. The revelation was to remain effective
for all time and not just for the contemporary generation. This was the
reason why the teaching should become king in Yeshurun, why it had to
be clothed in the power of the law and secure for itself purity and a future
through the commanding authority of the law.40
Here lay the key both to Judaism’s continued legitimacy and to the need
for separatism. Sovereignty was vested, not in institutions such as the
monarchy or the Temple, but rather in the Torah as Israel’s constitu-
tion. Consequently, Jewish communities that treated the Torah as their
constitution retained the right to exercise legally coercive power, while
Jewish communities that ceased to treat the Torah as their constitution
lost their legitimacy entirely. It was therefore of crucial importance to
maintain the Jewish polity by preserving or, if necessary, re-establishing
“Torah-true” communities, to which Jewish individuals would continue
to be bound, not by subjective consent, but in virtue of what happened
at Sinai.
The continued legitimacy of Judaism after the destruction of the
Jewish state was not the only problem with Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem
that Breuer could claim to address. He also argued that the Jewish pol-
ity founded at Sinai was a good thing from the standpoint of reason.
For Breuer, Kant’s approach to ethics and law was the culmination
of natural right, since it thematized the necessary conditions for the
exercise of practical reason and could therefore claim universal validity.
However, Breuer affirmed the charge—originally made by Maimon but
more famously repeated by Hegel—that Kantian ethics and natural
right were merely formal and empty of content. Kant had succeeded
in formulating the structure of practical rationality, but he had failed
to provide substance for the structure. Indeed, he could not help but

40
Teaching, Law and Nation, in Breuer, Concepts of Judaism, 44–5.
 sinai since spinoza 349

fail, since human reason alone could not solve the problem. Only
revelation could: “From freedom—to law: [Kant] could not tread this
path of Judaism, since he had not stood before Mount Sinai. So he
had to be content with filling up the gap, where the law should have
been, with the idea of the law.”41 Only the Torah, as non-natural and
revealed nomos, could succeed where Kant—and, indeed, human reason
unguided by revelation—had to fail.
A very different view was developed by Martin Buber (1878–1965
CE), who rejected the identification of Torah with nomos, and empha-
sized instead that Torah was teaching. It was as if he was returning to the
Septuagint and re-translating “Torah” as “didache.” In a famous letter,
Rosenzweig (1886–1929 CE) gave Buber full credit for this move, and
for an open-mindedness towards Jewish tradition that had transformed
German liberal Judaism, which had once recognized as Jewish teaching
only what it could also find in Kant:
We accept as teaching what enters us from out of the accumulated knowl-
edge of the centuries in its apparent and, above all, in its real contradic-
tions. We do not know in advance, what is and is not Jewish teaching; when
someone tries to tell us, we turn away in disbelief and anger . . . Earlier
centuries had already reduced the teachings to a genteel poverty, to a few
fundamental concepts; it remained for the nineteenth to pursue this as a
consistent method, with the utmost seriousness. You have liberated the
teaching from this circumscribed sphere and, in so doing, removed us
from the imminent danger of making our spiritual Judaism depend on
whether or not it was possible for us to be followers of Kant.42
However, Rosenzweig complained that Buber had excluded the legal
aspects of Judaism altogether. Indeed, Buber saw revelation as an
immediate I-thou encounter that could only be betrayed if it was
expressed in legal terms:
I do not believe that revelation is ever a formulation of law. It is only through
man in his self-contradiction that revelation becomes legislation. This is
the fact of man. I cannot admit the law transformed by man into the
realm of my will, if I am to hold myself ready as well for the unmediated
word of God directed to a specific hour of life.43

41
The New Kuzari (1934), in Breuer, Concepts of Judaism, 277.
42
“The Builders” (1923) in Franz Rosenzweig, On Jewish Learning (trans. and ed.
N. Glatzer; New York: Schocken, 1965), 77.
43
Martin Buber, letter to Rosenzweig, June 24, 1924, found in Rosenzweig, On Jewish
Learning, 111.
350 paul franks

Surely it was possible instead to adopt towards Jewish law exactly the
same open-mindedness of attitude that Buber had urged towards Jew-
ish teaching:
And so it is all the more curious that after liberating us and pointing the
way to a new teaching, your answer to the other side of the question, the
question concerning the Law: “What are we to do?”—that your answer
should leave this Law in the shackles put upon it—as well as upon the
teachings—by the nineteenth century. For is it really Jewish law with
which you try to come to terms? . . . Is the Law you speak of not rather the
Law of the Western Orthodoxy of the past century?44
Indeed, Rosenzweig suggested that Buber’s narrow-mindedness con-
sisted in rejecting the legal aspects of Judaism as if they could only be
interpreted as Mendelssohn and Breuer had interpreted them—namely,
as obligations stemming from the nomos of a Jewish polity established
at Sinai. Just as problematic as an over-emphasis on Judaism as legal
system was an accompanying over-emphasis on Sinai itself:
Just as the formulas into which the liberalism of the reformers wanted to
crowd the Jewish spirit can be traced back to a long line of antecedents,
so too can one trace back the reasons that S. R. Hirsch gave to his Yisroel-
Mensch45 for keeping the Law. But no one before Hirsch and his followers
ever seriously attempted to construct Jewish life on the narrow base of
these reasons. For did any Jew prior to this really think—without having
the question put to him—that he was keeping the Law, and the Law him,
only because God imposed it upon Israel at Sinai? Actually faced by the
question, he might have thought of such an answer; and the philosophers
to whom the question has been put because they were supposedly “profes-
sional” thinkers, have always been fond of giving this very reply.46
Here Rosenzweig explicitly connected both Kantian Jewish Liberalism
and Hirsch’s independent Orthodoxy—implicitly, also Breuer’s ongo-
ing development of his grandfather’s approach—to the sense in the
nineteenth century that Judaism was compromised by modernity, in the
face of whose challenge it had no choice but to transform itself into
something narrower than traditional Jewish life. Moreover, Rosenzweig
saw clearly that this unfortunate development had begun with Men-

44
“The Builders” in Rosenzweig, On Jewish Learning, 77.
45
Hirsch’s educational ideal was the person who was well-rounded both as a Jew
(“Yisroel”) and as a human being (“Mensch”).
46
“The Builders” in Rosenzweig, On Jewish Learning, 78.
 sinai since spinoza 351

delssohn, and that, if Buber was its leading Liberal exponent, Breuer
was its leading Orthodox representative:
From Mendelssohn on, our entire people has subjected itself to the torture
of this embarrassing questioning; the Jewishness of every individual has
squirmed on the needle point of a “why.” Certainly, it was high time for
an architect to come and convert this foundation into a wall behind which
the people, pressed with questions, could seek shelter. But for those living
without questions, this reason for keeping the Law was only one among
others and probably not the most cogent. No doubt the Torah, both writ-
ten and oral, was given to Moses on Sinai, but was it not created before
the creation of the world? Written against a background of shining fire in
letters of somber flame? . . . And can we really fancy that Israel kept this
Law, this Torah, only because of the one “fact which excluded the possi-
bility of delusions,” that the six hundred thousand heard the voice of God
on Sinai? This “fact” certainly does play a part, but no greater part than
all we have mentioned before, and all that our ancestors perceived in every
“today” of the Torah: that the souls of all generations to come stood on
Sinai along with those six hundred thousand and heard what they heard.
For a Jewish consciousness that does not question and is not questioned,
all this is as important as the “fact,” and that “fact” no whit more impor-
tant than those other considerations.47
Before Mendelssohn, Sinai was indisputably an important factor within
Jewish thinking about the demands of the Torah and their basis. But
it was only one factor among many others, articulated within a web of
midrashic and kabbalistic traditions to be found both in the books of
scholars and in the liturgy familiar to the masses. In the effort to respond
to the challenge arising from the modern severance of law from nature,
too much had been given up. German Jews had been forced into a
choice between revelatory teaching with no ritual or legal expression,
and revelatory law with the heavy-handedness of the state.
There was, Rosenzweig insisted, an alternative to the forced choice
between narrow Liberalism and narrow Orthodoxy. The Torah’s
demands upon action could be conceptualized in a way that was
actually more consonant with traditional Jewish life, if not with Jewish
philosophy—as mitzvah rather than as nomos:
Whatever can and must be done is not yet deed, whatever can and must be
commanded is not yet commandment. Law [Gesetz] must again become
commandment [Gebot ], which seeks to be transformed into deed at the

47
“The Builders” in Rosenzweig, On Jewish Learning, 78–79.
352 paul franks

very moment it is heard. It must regain that today-ness [Heutigkeit] in which

all great Jewish periods have sensed the guarantee for its eternity.48
In other words, each Jew had to face the spiritual challenge of coming
to understand what seemed to be an impersonal law as a personal com-
mandment addressed directly to him or her by God. By invoking the
demand that every day be seen as “today”49—as the present moment
of revelation—Rosenzweig effected, not the replacement of Sinai with
the plains of Moab, but rather the situation of Sinai within a broader
tradition originating with Deuteronomy.50 For, if Sinai was more than
a merely political event that had occurred in ancient history, this was
because of the Deuteronomic repetition of Sinai, and because of the
accompanying call to make revelation ever-present by repeating Sinai
again and again.
As Rosenzweig acknowledged, he learned the distinction between
law and commandment from the controversial Christian theologian,
Christoph Schrempf.51 But he could perhaps have found an intimation
in Section I of Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem:
The state gives orders and coerces, religion teaches and persuades. The
state prescribes laws [Gesetze], religion commandments [Gebote] . . . In one
word: civil society, viewed as a moral person, can have the right of coercion,
and, in fact, has actually obtained this right through the social contract.
Religious society lays no claim to the right of coercion, and cannot obtain it
by any possible contract.52
As was discussed above, it was hard to reconcile Mendelssohn’s rejection
of religious coercion in Section I with his presentation of Judaism as a
revealed nomos in Section II. Why should some parts of this law have
remained obligatory once the state was destroyed? Mendelssohn could
have distinguished between those parts of the law directly associated
with statehood and those whose significance did not depend on legal
coercion. The latter—called commandments in the above passage—
would have retained their obligatory status when the state ceased to

48
“The Builders” in Rosenzweig, On Jewish Learning, 85.
49
See Deut. 26:16 and Rashi’s commentary ad loc.: “Every day [the command-
ments] should be new in your eyes, as if you were commanded concerning them that
very day.”
50
See Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second
Temple Judaism ( JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003).
51
See Franz Rosenzweig, Philosophical and Theological Writings (trans. and ed. P. Franks
and M. Morgan; Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2000), 71.
52
Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, 45.
 sinai since spinoza 353

exist, because their authority rested, not on the coercive power of the
state, but on the authority of the commander. But Mendelssohn did
not in fact develop this distinction. It was left to Rosenzweig and, after
him, to Levinas (1906–1995), to work out an ethics and a politics based
on the command of the other.
In one respect at least, however, Rosenzweig’s view was similar to
Breuer’s. For him too, natural religion was not the doctrinal core of
Judaism; instead, Judaism was the overcoming of natural religion.
Without revelation, nature alone could give rise only to paganism.53
This was one of the fruits of Spinoza’s dissociation of Torah and Sinai
from the ideas of natural and quasi-natural law. However, this did not
mean that the revelation at Sinai became, for Breuer and Rosenzweig,
dissociated from creation. On the contrary, only the creator of nature
could overcome natural religion. In Rosenzweig’s words: “The word
of God is Revelation only because at the same time it is the word of
Creation.”54

4. Conclusion

Spinoza thematized the conception of nature articulated in modern

physics and metaphysics, and the disjunction between nature so con-
ceived and law. Thus he undermined the connection drawn hitherto
within Jewish philosophy between Torah and nature. Sinai became the
site, not of a manifestation of God’s power over nature and human
society, but rather of a solely political event whereby was established
the polity for which the Torah was the nomos. This led Spinoza to con-
clude that, since the Jewish polity no longer existed, its nomos was no
longer obligatory, and there was no good reason for Jews to maintain
Judaism.
While generally regarded as unsuccessful, Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem
contained the seeds of two responses to the challenge of modernity
raised by Spinoza. The first response affirmed Spinoza’s thesis that
the Torah was political and not natural, but sought to show that in
some sense the obligations of Judaism persisted after the destruction of
the Jewish state—either because a second, equal revelation would be

53
See Rosenzweig’s treatment of paganism in The Star of Redemption (trans. B. Galli;
Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005).
54
Rosenzweig, Star, 121.
354 paul franks

required to undo the revelation at Sinai, or because the Jewish polity

could survive without a state. The second response rejected Spinoza’s
thesis and, indeed, questioned the exclusive identification—traceable
back to the Septuagint—of Torah as nomos. But it did not restore the
pre-modern link between Torah and nature. Instead, it insisted that the
Torah was in part teaching (didache), and that the obligations of Juda-
ism were best understood, not as laws, but rather as commandments,
addressed by a personal God to a singular individual or to a singular
people. While the first line of thought made Sinai more central to Juda-
ism than ever, the second sought to undo what it regarded as an undue
emphasis on Sinai that misunderstood Sinai’s importance. Following the
Deuteronomic tradition, this second response took Sinai’s importance
to consist, not in its uniqueness, but rather in its repeatability.55

55
I have of course dealt here with only one strand of modern Jewish philosophy. For
another perspective on the relationship between Torah, Sinai and nature, see David
Novak, Natural Law in Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998).
 INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

Abegg, M. G. 29 n. 1, 75, 75 n. 9, Ben Zvi, E. 97 n. 17

120 n. 10 Berger, P. 118 n. 5
Addleshaw, G. W. O. 317 n. 15 Bergren, T. A. 185 n. 2
Albani, M. 42 n. 31 Berlin, A. 32 n. 8, 86 n. 60
Alexander, P. S. 30 n. 4, 32 n. 8, 36, Bernstein, M. J. 76 n. 16, 82 n. 41, 92
36 n. 17, 38, 39 n. 23, 60 n. 74, 64 nn. 4–5, 113 n. 58
n. 82, 88 n. 67, 119 n. 9, 140 n. 42, Berthelot, K. 167 n. 16
142 n. 51, 183 n. 1, 185 n. 2, 187 Betz, H. D. 178 n. 30
n. 8, 192 n. 28, 196 n. 43, 199 n. 53, Bieler, L. 164, 164 n. 10
279 n. 24, 280 n. 29, 281 n. 31 Bietenhard, H. 253 n. 20
Alexander, T. D. 15 n. 4 Bilde, P. 137 n. 28, 138 n. 33, 139 nn.
Allegro, J. M. 113 n. 58 37–39
Allison, D. 64, 64 n. 81 Black, M. 104 n. 36
Altmann, A. 197 n. 47, 344 n. 28 Bland, K. P. 250 n. 10
Andersen, F. I. 195 n. 41, 197 nn. Blau, J. 16 n. 6
44–46 Blenkinsopp, J. 138 nn. 33, 37, 139
Anderson, G. 197 n. 47 nn. 38–39
Arkush, A. 344 n. 28 Bloom, H. 141 n. 44
Arnold, R. C. D. 39, 39 n. 24, 61 Boccaccini, G. 185 n. 2, 207 n. 11
n. 76, 86 n. 59 Bogaert, P. 209 n. 15, 214 nn. 22–23
Attridge, H. A. 113 n. 58 Bokser, B. 245 n. 102
Aufrecht, W. E. 269 n. 2 Borgen, P. 142 n. 51, 144 nn. 62, 65
Avalos, H. 167 n. 16 Bousset, W. 193 n. 33
Avishur, Y. 16 n. 6 Bovini, G. 319 n. 21
Azar 230 n. 55 Bowley, J. E. 80 n. 33, 100 n. 24
Bowman, A. K. 95 n. 10, 208 n. 13
Bacher, W. 281 n. 31 Boyarin, D. 208 n. 14, 223 n. 29, 236
Badderley, O. 318 n. 20, 320 n. 25 n. 72, 244 n. 96, 259 n. 33, 288 n. 4,
Baillet, M. 76, 76 n. 18, 101 n. 27 299 n. 23, 300 n. 26
Bal, M. 223 n. 30 Boyle, A. J. 130 n. 3
Barc, B. 197 n. 47 Brady, M. 76 n. 16, 82 n. 41
Barclay, J. M. G. 131, 131 nn. 5, 8, Braude, W. G. 264 n. 48
132, 132 nn. 11–12, 133, 133 n. 14, Brekelmans, C. 15 n. 1
134 n. 16, 135 n. 19, 136 n. 26, 137, Brenton, L. C. L. 160
137 nn. 31–32, 138 nn. 35–36, 139, Brettler, M. Z. x, 15–27, 16 n. 11, 19
140, 140 n. 41 n. 21, 24 n. 35, 79 n. 26, 204 n. 5,
Bar Ilan, M. 288 n. 7 253 n. 18, 288 n. 7
Barthélemy, D. 86 n. 56 Breuer, I. 346–349, 346 n. 36, 347 nn.
Barton, J. 79 n. 26, 92 n. 5 37, 39, 348 n. 40, 349 n. 41
Bartz, G. 323 n. 37 Breuer, M. 346 n. 36
Basser, H. 229 n. 52, 241 n. 88 Brooke, G. J. ix–xiv, xi, 27 n. 43, 31
Bätschmann, O. 316 n. 11 nn. 6, 8, 36, 36 n. 16, 50 n. 50, 64,
Baumgarten, J. M. 38 n. 21, 83 n. 45, 64 n. 83, 67 n. 86, 73–89, 75 n. 10,
85 n. 52, 100 n. 23 80 n. 32, 85 n. 55, 91, 92 n. 5, 93
Beaumont, M. 319 n. 22 n. 7, 100 n. 24, 117, 121 n. 13, 122
Beck, J. H. 319 n. 22 n. 20, 123, 123 nn. 24–25, 124 nn.
Begg, C. T. 131 n. 6, 135 n. 20 27–28, 30–31, 125 nn. 32, 34, 127
Begrich, J. 66 n. 86 n. 38, 164 n. 11, 167 n. 16, 201
Ben Hayyim, Z. 225 n. 36, 229 n. 53 Broshi, M. 76 n. 15, 81 n. 38
356 index of modern authors

Brower, K. E. 124 n. 27 Danby, H. 191 n. 24

Brown, D. xiii, 313–31 Daube, D. 138 n. 37
Brown, C. L. 324 n. 43 Davies, D. 318 n. 18
Bruckgraber, I. 328 n. 59 Davies, E. F. 97 n. 17
Brunner, E. 318 n. 20, 320 n. 25 Davies, P. R. 77 n. 20
Buber, M. 349–351, 349 n. 43 Davies, W. D. 207 n. 10
Budick, S. 217 n. 2 Davila, J. R. 38 nn. 20, 22, 40 nn.
Bultmann, C. 79 n. 26 25–26, 42 n. 31, 43 n. 36, 49 n. 47,
Bunta, S. N. 180 n. 34, 185 n. 3, 279 53 n. 58, 60 n. 74, 65 n. 85, 82
n. 26 n. 39, 199 n. 54
Burkert, W. 178 n. 30 Day, J. 275 n. 14
Burnyeat, M. F. 153 n. 5 Debray, R. 315 n. 8, 322 n. 34
Buss, M. J. 8 n. 17 De Conick, A. 199 n. 54
Dedering, S. 201 n. 1, 214 n. 23
Calderhead, C. 91 n. 2 Delcor, M. 104 n. 36
Callaway, M. 236 n. 73 Demsky, A. 95 n. 10
Cancik, H. 36 n. 17, 197 n. 47 Denis, A.-M. 186 n. 5
Caquot, A. 31 n. 8, 81 n. 35 Desrousseaux, L. 100 n. 23
Carasik, M. 252 n. 18 DeVries, S. J. 93 n. 7
Carr, D. M. 95 n. 10 Dexinger, F. 81 n. 35
Carras, G. P. 136 n. 26 Díez Macho, A. 269 n. 2
Carson, D. A. 140 n. 42 Dimant, D. 31–32 n. 8, 51 n. 52, 73
Cassuto, U. 219 n. 9, 251 n. 14 n. 3, 86, 86 nn. 60–61, 92 n. 4
Cazelles, H. 81 n. 36 Dogniez, C. 285 n. 41
Charles, R. H. 202 nn. 1–2, 280 n. 29 Doidge, B. xiv
Charlesworth, J. H. 83 n. 45, 91 n. 1, Dominik, W. J. 130 n. 3
92 n. 4, 183 n. 1, 186 n. 3, 192 Dozeman, T. B. 16 n. 10
n. 30, 193 n. 33, 279 n. 24, 333 n. 1 Drazin, I. 270 n. 3, 272 n. 8, 284
Chazon, E. G. 30 n. 4, 37 n. 19, 92 n. 40
n. 4 Driver, S. R. 262 n. 41
Chevlowe, S. 330 n. 69 Dunn, J. D. G. 149 n. 2
Chernick, M. L. 276 n. 17 Du Toit, D. S. 174 n. 24
Childs, B. S. 16 nn. 7, 10, 106 n. 42,
219 n. 10, 226 n. 41, 233 n. 62, 290 Edmondson, J. 130 n. 3
n. 10 Ego, B. 31 n. 8
Chojnacki, S. 321 n. 29 Eichler, B. 220 n. 12
Christensen, D. L. 18 n. 18 Elias, L. 217 n. 1, 222 n. 22, 228
Chyutin, M. 104 n. 34 n. 48, 236 n. 71
Clarke, E. G. 269 n. 2 Elior, R. 30 n. 4, 33 n. 9, 104 nn.
Clements, R. A. 37 n. 19, 56 n. 67, 34–35, 275 n. 16, 278 n. 22, 289 n. 7
77 n. 21 Elliot, J. H. 318 n. 18
Cogniat, R. 328 n. 57 Epstein, J. N. 224 n. 33, 239 n. 83
Cohen, S. J. D. 139 n. 37 Eshel, E. 12 n. 28
Collins, A. Y. 178 n. 30, 333 n. 1 Eshel, H. 78 n. 22
Collins, J. J. 56 n. 67, 92 n. 4, 185 Etchells, F. 317 n. 15
n. 3 Evans, C. A. 35 n. 13, 61 n. 75, 92
Cook, E. M. 120 n. 10 n. 4, 100 n. 23, 193 n. 33
Cooper, A. 103 n. 33, 106 n. 42
Cormack, R. 318 n. 20, 320 n. 26 Falk, D. K. 33 n. 11, 36 n. 16, 41
Coulot, C. 100 n. 23 n. 30, 50 n. 49, 77 n. 19, 80 n. 31,
Cross, F. M. 2 n. 5, 219 n. 9, 220 122 n. 21, 123 nn. 22, 26
n. 11, 239 n. 83 Feldman, L. H. 131, 131 n. 6, 132
Crowley, J. E. 125 n. 32 n. 9, 134 nn. 16, 18, 135, 135 nn.
Culley, R. C. 16 n. 11 21–23, 136, 136 nn. 25, 27, 138
 index of modern authors 357

n. 33, 139 nn. 37–38, 145 nn. 66, 68, Ginsberg, H. L. 18 nn. 14, 16
146 nn. 69–70, 147 Glickman, J. 117 n. 1
Finkelstein, L. 207 n. 10, 217 n. 1, Goff, M. 55 nn. 63–64, 56, 56 n. 67
224 n. 33, 241 n. 87 Goldin, J. 217 n. 1, 220 n. 12, 222
Fishbane, M. 17 n. 12, 25, 25 n. 37, n. 21, 223 n. 28, 224 n. 33, 225 nn.
95 n. 10, 97 n. 17, 114 n. 60, 280 35–36, 38, 226, 226 n. 40, 229 n. 53,
n. 27, 300 n. 26 231 n. 58, 233 nn. 61–62, 237 n. 74,
Fitzgerald, J. T. 173 n. 20 238 n. 79, 295 n. 18
Fitzmyer, J. A. 86 n. 56 Goodman, M. D. 95 n. 10, 208 n. 13
Fleischer, E. 34 n. 13, 334 n. 5 Goranson, S. 123 n. 23
Flescher, P. 226 n. 39 Goshen-Gottstein, M. H. 104 n. 36
Fletcher-Louis, C. H. T. 34 n. 12, 82, Grabar, A. 314 nn. 3, 6
82 n. 39, 83, 86, 86 n. 64, 100 n. 24, Grafe, I. 319 n. 22
191 n. 22, 192 n. 30, 193 n. 33 Gray, R. 139 nn. 37–39
Flint, P. W. 44 n. 37, 54 n. 60, 70 n. 94, Green, A. 57 n. 68
74 n. 3, 80 n. 33, 82 n. 39, 93 n. 6, 100 Greenberg, M. 15, 16, 16 n. 5
n. 24, 103 n. 33, 104 n. 36, 105 nn. Grenz, J. 117 n. 2
39–40, 106 n. 42, 113 n. 58, 185 n. 2 Griener, P. 316 n. 11
Floyd, M. H. 97 n. 17, 123 n. 25 Gropp, D. M. 76 n. 16, 82 n. 41
Flusser, D. 34 n. 13, 234 n. 65, 245 Grossfeld, B. 270 n. 3, 272 n. 8
n. 104 Gruenwald, I. 30 n. 4, 185 n. 3, 280
Fonrobert, C. E. 223 n. 30 n. 29, 281 n. 32, 283 n. 38
Fossum, J. 193 nn. 33–34, 194 n. 37, Gunkel, H. 8 n. 17
197 n. 47, 279 n. 26 Gutman, Y. 185 n. 3, 187 n. 8
Fox, M. V. 15 n. 4
Fraade, S. D. xiii, 24 n. 35, 43 n. 34, Haak, R. D. 123 n. 25
56 n. 66, 57, 57 n. 68, 64 n. 82, 68, Haftmann, W. 328 n. 58
68 nn. 89–90, 69 n. 91, 77 n. 21, Halperin, D. 62 n. 78, 199 n. 54, 275
83 n. 44, 84 n. 48, 85 n. 54, 163 n. 16, 278 n. 22, 279 nn. 24–25, 280
n. 9, 218 n. 3, 219 n. 8, 245 n. 103, n. 29, 281 n. 31, 283 n. 38
247–68, 247 n. 1, 253 n. 20, 256 Halpern, B. 2 n. 5
n. 27, 260 n. 36, 261 nn. 37–38, 265 Hammer, R. 217 n. 1, 223 n. 23, 241
nn. 53–54, 266 n. 55, 267 n. 56, 276 n. 88
n. 18, 277 n. 19 Hanson, P. D. 54 n. 61, 207 n. 10
Franks, P. xiii, 118 n. 6, 133 n. 13, Häring, B. 313 n. 1
333–54, 347 n. 38, 352 n. 51 Harl, M. 285 n. 41
Freedman, D. N. 219 n. 9, 220 n. 11, Harnisch, W. 211 n. 19, 214 n. 21
239 n. 83 Harrington, D. J. 45 n. 41, 48 n. 46,
Frennesson, B. 86, 86 nn. 62–63 56 n. 65
Frey, J. 42 n. 31 Harris, J. 91
Friedman, R. E. 103 n. 33 Hartley, K. 317 n. 12
Fuhs, H. F. 20 n. 27 Hartman, G. H. 217 n. 2
Hasan-Rokem, G. 242 n. 91
Gager, J. G. 153 n. 6 Hata, G. 139 n. 38
Galli, B. 353 n. 53 Hauptman, J. 244 n. 100
García Martínez, F. 36 n. 16, 42 n. 31, Hayward, C. T. R. xiii, 63 n. 79, 109
66 n. 86, 67, 101 n. 25, 111 n. 53 n. 48, 219 n. 8, 269–85, 270 n. 3,
Gaster, M. 185 n. 3 282 n. 36, 293 n. 13
Gelder, G. J. H. 214 n. 23 Heckel, T. K. 178 n. 30
Geller, S. A. 252 n. 18 Heinemann, I. 231 n. 57
Georgi, D. 151 n. 4, 154, 154 n. 7, Heldman, M. 320 n. 27
164, 164 n. 10, 166 n. 13, 174, 174 Hempel, C. 97 n. 16, 185 n. 2, 203
nn. 21–22, 175, 175 nn. 26–27, 176, n. 4
177, 177 n. 28 Hengel, M. 50 n. 48
358 index of modern authors

Henshke, D. 245 n. 102 Knibb, M. A. 73 n. 2, 187 n. 10, 189

Henten, J. W. van 83 n. 42 n. 13, 191 n. 26, 193 n. 33, 196 n. 42
Henze, M. xii, 85 n. 53, 112 n. 56, Knoppers, G. 115 n. 62
122 n. 20, 127 n. 37, 138 n. 34, 185 Kobelski, P. J. 86 n. 57
n. 2, 201–15, 203 n. 4 Koerner, J. L. 316 n. 10
Hepner, G. 301 n. 27 König, E. 323 n. 37
Hibbard, H. 323 n. 38, 324 n. 42 Konradt, M. 203 n. 3
Hilhorst, A. 92 n. 4 Kooten, G. van xii, xiv, 132 n. 10,
Himmelfarb, M. 111 n. 53 146 n. 70, 149–81, 153 nn. 5–6, 165
Hirschman, M. 218 n. 7, 229 n. 53, n. 12, 178 n. 30, 198 n. 50, 288 n. 4
260 n. 36, 284 n. 39 Kraemer, J. L. 334 n. 5
Holladay, C. R. 185 n. 3, 186 n. 5, Kraft, R. A. 92 n. 5, 108 n. 46, 112
187 nn. 7–8, 188 n. 11, 189 n. 14, n. 56, 206 n. 8
190 n. 19 Krauss, S. 237 n. 75, 280 n. 28
Horst, P. W. van der 185 n. 3, 187 Kugel, J. x, 1–13, 5 nn. 6–8, 7 nn.
n. 8, 191 n. 22, 193, 193 nn. 31–32, 12–13, 8 nn. 18–19, 9 nn. 20–22, 10
195 n. 38 n. 24, 22 n. 32, 23 n. 34, 29 n. 2, 32
Hurd, J. C. 269 n. 2 n. 8, 52 n. 52, 91, 96 n. 13, 97 nn.
Hurtado, L. 185 n. 3 15, 17, 98 n. 19, 103 n. 33, 105
n. 41, 217, 217 n. 2, 232 n. 60, 237
Isaac, E. 280 n. 29 n. 76, 334 n. 3
Kugler, R. A. 112 n. 57
Jackson, B. S. 122 n. 19 Kuhn, P. 218 n. 4
Jackson, D. 91, 91 n. 2 Kuiper, K. 186 n. 3
Jacobson, H. 185 n. 3, 186 nn. 5–6, Kurmann, P. 321 n. 32
188 n. 11, 190, 190 nn. 17–18, 19, Kurmann-Schwarz, B. 321 n. 32
198 n. 50 Kvanvig, H. S. 74 n. 4
Jaffee, M. S. 68 n. 88
Jansen, L. 165 n. 12 Laato, A. 207 n. 9
Japhet, S. 93 n. 7, 101 n. 28 Labahn, M. 165 n. 12
Jarrassé, D. 329 n. 64, 330 nn. 66–68 Lacoste, N. xiv
Jedan, C. 165 n. 12 Lafargue, M. 192 n. 30
Jenks, A. W. 18 n. 15 Lakoff, G. 288 n. 5
Johnson, A. 124 n. 27 Lanfranchi, P. 186 n. 3
Johnson, M. 288 n. 5 Lange, A. 31 n. 8, 42 n. 31
Lauterbach, J. Z. 217 n. 1, 282 n. 36,
Kadushin, M. 220 n. 14, 237 n. 75 303 n. 28
Kahana, M. I. 217 n. 1, 218 n. 6, 220 Leaney, A. R. C. 121 n. 14
n. 14, 222 n. 22, 224, 224 nn. 32–33, Le Boulluec, A. 274 nn. 12–13, 284
230 n. 55, 235 n. 70, 238 n. 80, 239 n. 40
n. 84 Le Déaut, R. 270 n. 3, 271 n. 6, 282
Kampf, A. 329 n. 62 n. 36
Kapstein, I. J. 264 n. 48 Leemhuis, F. 214 n. 23
Kasher, M. 220 n. 12, 223 n. 28 Légasse, S. 81 n. 35
Katz, S. T. 284 n. 39 Lehrman, S. 295 n. 19
Kaufman, S. 292 n. 13 Lehtipuu, O. 165 n. 12
Kelch, J. 324 n. 43 Leiman, S. Z. 139 nn. 38, 40
Kiley, M. 78 n. 23 Leiter, B. 347 n. 38
Kim, T. H. 185 n. 2 Lemaire, A. 64 n. 83, 105 n. 38
Kister, M. 37 n. 19 Lembi, G. 145 n. 68
Klatt, W. 8 n. 17 Levene, L. I. 275 n. 16
Klawans, J. 126 n. 36 Levene, N. 265 n. 54
Klein, M. L. 269 n. 2 Levenson, J. D. 2 nn. 4–5, 54 n. 61
Klijn, A. F. J. 214 n. 23 Levine, E. 225 n. 36, 229 n. 53
 index of modern authors 359

Levine, L. I. 267 n. 55 Metso, S. 61 n. 76, 68 n. 88, 70 n. 93,

Levinger, J. 347 n. 37 119 n. 9, 121, 121 nn. 16–18
Levinson, B. M. 11 n. 27, 17 n. 12, 19 Mettinger, T. N. D. 24 n. 36
n. 23, 53 n. 59 Miller, J. H. 62 n. 77
Levison, J. R. 134 n. 16, 139 n. 37 Miller, P. D. 18 n. 18, 54 nn. 60–61,
Levy, B. B. 277 n. 20 106 n. 42
Lewis, G. S. 199 n. 54 Mirsky, A. 226 n. 39
Licht, J. 16, 16 n. 6 Mishor, M. 230 n. 55, 237 n. 77
Lichtenberger, H. 36 n. 17, 197 n. 47, Mittleman, A. 346 n. 36
214 n. 23 Morgan, M. 337 n. 12, 352 n. 51
Lieberman, S. 218 n. 5, 240 n. 85, Morgenstern, M. 346 n. 36
275 n. 16 Mortensen, B. 272 n. 9, 273 n. 11,
Lienhard, J. T. 293 n. 14 278 n. 23
Lieu, J. M. 97 n. 16, 203 n. 4 Mroczek, E. xi, xiv, 84 n. 48, 91–115,
Lipton, D. xiii, 204 n. 5, 270 n. 3, 118 n. 5, 141 n. 46, 145 n. 67, 203
287–311, 287 n. 3, 297 n. 21 n. 4
Loewe, R. 307 n. 34, 326 n. 48 Muddiman, J. 79 n. 26
Lohfink, N. 15 n. 1 Mulder, M. J. 95 n. 10, 145 n. 68
Luckmann, T. 118 n. 5 Muñoz León, D. 282, 282 n. 34
Lull, D. J. 136 n. 26, 255 n. 26 Muraoka, T. 333 n. 2
Murphy, F. J. 205 n. 7
Mack, B. 140 n. 44, 142 n. 51 Murphy-O’Connor, J. 77 n. 20, 119
Maher, M. 194 n. 37, 270 n. 3, 272 n. 9
n. 8, 282 n. 36 Mutius, H. G. von 183 n. 1
Maier, J. 50 n. 49, 120 n. 11
Maimon, S. 346 nn. 34–35 Naeh, S. 222 n. 22
Malamed, E. Z. 224 n. 33 Najman, H. ix–xiv, 26 n. 40, 33
Mandel, P. 98 n. 19, 242 n. 89 n. 9, 42 n. 32, 73 n. 1, 74 n. 5, 80
Mango, M. 318 n. 20, 320 n. 26 nn. 27–28, 83 n. 44, 84 n. 49, 88
Markschies, C. 178 n. 30 n. 67, 91, 92 n. 4, 93 n. 5, 94 n. 8,
Martens, J. W. 142 n. 53, 143 nn. 97 n. 17, 108 n. 46, 109 nn. 47, 49,
55–56 117, 140 n. 43, 141, 141 nn. 45–48,
Martin, R. P. 154, 154 n. 7 142, 142 nn. 49–53, 143, 143 nn.
Mason, S. 130 nn. 3–4, 131, 131 nn. 54–58, 144 nn. 60–65, 147, 147
5, 7, 132 n. 9, 134 nn. 15, 17, 135 n. 72, 201, 245 n. 103, 247 n. 1, 268
n. 20, 137 nn. 28–29, 139 nn. 37–38, n. 57, 276 n. 18, 334 n. 4, 352 n. 50
40, 145 n. 68, 177 n. 29 Neis, R. 267 n. 55
Matthews, T. F. 314 n. 4 Nelson, R. D. 20 n. 24
McBride, S. 54 n. 61 Nelson, W. D. 254 n. 22
McCann, J. C. 54 n. 60 Neusner, J. 174 n. 23, 186 n. 3, 217
McCarter, P. K. 2 n. 5 n. 1, 226 n. 44
McDarby, N. 319 n. 22 Newman, C. C. 63 n. 79, 199 n. 54
McDonald, L. M. 92 n. 5, 139 n. 38 Newman, J. H. xi, 29–72, 33 n. 9,
McKenzie, S. L. 204 n. 5 35 n. 13, 83 n. 44, 93 n. 7, 97 n. 17,
McNamara, M. 270 n. 3, 282 n. 36 121 n. 13, 126 n. 35, 225 n. 37, 240
Meek, H. A. 329 n. 63 n. 85, 245 n. 103, 247 n. 1, 276
Meeks, W. A. 164, 164 n. 10, 174 n. 18, 278 n. 23
n. 23, 175 n. 25, 186 n. 3, 187, 187 Newsom, C. A. 29, 29 n. 3, 30, 34, 34
nn. 7–8, 190, 191, 191 n. 22, 192 n. 13, 35, 35 nn. 14–15, 38, 38 n. 20,
n. 29 40 nn. 27–28, 41 n. 30, 42 n. 31, 44
Mendelssohn, M. 343–48, 344 nn. n. 38, 46 nn. 42–43, 47 n. 45, 49
28–31, 345 nn. 32–33, 352–53, 352 n. 47, 51 n. 51, 52 n. 55, 53, 53
n. 52 n. 56, 59 n. 72, 64 n. 80, 76 n. 15,
Merback, M. B. 315 n. 7 81, 81 n. 38, 86 n. 58, 125 n. 35
360 index of modern authors

Niccacci, A. 230 n. 56 Rajak, T. 135 n. 19, 137 n. 28

Nichols, T. 322 n. 34 Rankin, I. 317 n. 12
Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 92 n. 5, 112 Reed, A. Y. 207 n. 11, 208 n. 12
n. 54, 203 n. 3, 204 n. 6, 249 n. 7, Reif, S. 304 n. 30
280 n. 29 Richter, S. L. 11 n. 26
Niehoff, M. R. 255 n. 26 Richter, W. 52 n. 54
Nitzan, B. 44 n. 37, 114 n. 59 Rives, J. 130 n. 3
Noam, V. 268 n. 57 Robertson, R. G. 186 n. 3, 187 n. 8,
Noth, M. 80 n. 29 190 nn. 18–19, 198 n. 49
Novak, D. 354 n. 55 Roddy, N. 207 n. 9
Núñez, R. E. 289 n. 8 Rodgers, Z. 94 n. 8, 112 n. 57,
129–48, 129 n. 2, 185 n. 2, 203 n. 4,
Ochs, P. 265 n. 54 334 n. 4
O’Connor, M. 272 n. 7 Römer, T. 26 n. 42, 80 n. 32, 123 n. 24
Oegema, G. S. 214 n. 23 Rosen, M. 347 n. 38
Olin, M. 268 n. 57 Rosen, R. M. 288 n. 7
Olyan, S. M. 16 n. 11 Rosen-Zvi, I. xii, 58 n. 69, 217–45,
Onasch, K. 319 n. 22 222 n. 22, 229 n. 53, 266 n. n. 54,
Orlov, A. xii, 112 n. 56, 143 n. 57, 276 n. 18
164, 180 n. 34, 181 n. 35, 183–99, Rosenzweig, F. 349–53, 349 nn.
185 n. 2, 186 n. 3, 187 n. 8, 192 42–43, 350 nn. 44, 46, 351 n. 47,
n. 27, 193 n. 33, 197 n. 47, 203 n. 4 352 nn. 48, 51, 353 nn. 53–54
Rouchon-Mouilleron, V. 324 n. 44
Panofsky, E. 323 n. 40 Rubinstein, J. L. 298 n. 22
Parente, F. 139 n. 37 Ruffato, K. 186 n. 3, 187 n. 8, 189
Parry, D. 112 n. 57 n. 15
Patte, D. 237 n. 76 Runia, D. T. 174 n. 23
Peres, I. 180 n. 33 Russell, D. S. 94 n. 8
Piatnitsky, Y. 318 n. 20, 320 n. 26 Ruzer, S. 234 n. 65
Pietersma, A. 106 n. 42
Pilch, J. J. 167 n. 16 Safrai, C. 77 n. 20, 78 n. 22
Pilhofer, P. 31 n. 8 Safrai, S. 217 n. 1, 237 n. 75, 244 n. 99
Pines, S. 334 n. 5 Safrai, Z. 244 n. 99
Ploeg, J. van der 86 n. 56 Saldarini, A. 95 n. 10
Pohl, F. K. 330 n. 69 Salvesen, A. 274 n. 12
Poirier, J. C. 81 n. 37 Sanders, E. P. 203 n. 3
Polonsky, G. 329 n. 61 Sanders, J. A. 54 n. 60, 92 nn. 4–5,
Polzin, R. 18 n. 18 103 n. 33, 104, 104 nn. 35–36, 105
Poorthuis, M. 77 n. 20, 78 n. 22 n. 37, 139 n. 38
Popović, M. 36, 36 n. 17, 167 n. 15 Sandevoir, P. 274 nn. 12–13, 284
Porter, S. E. 100 n. 23 n. 40
Potin, J. 270 n. 3 Sänger, D. 203 n. 3
Pouilly, J. 119 n. 9 Sarfatti, G. B. 230 n. 55, 325 n. 46
Price, J. J. 145 n. 68 Sarna, N. 248 n. 5, 270 n. 4, 290
Propp, W. H. C. 15 n. 4, 19 n. 20, n. 10
219 n. 9, 220 n. 12, 221 n. 16, 223 Savran, G. W. 9 n. 23
nn. 25, 28, 225 nn. 35, 37, 226 n. 41, Sayler, G. B. 204 n. 6
230 n. 56, 235 n. 67 Schade, W. 316 n. 9
Puech, É. 83 n. 43, 92 n. 4 Schäfer, P. 36 n. 17, 183 n. 1, 197
n. 47, 218 n. 4, 240 n. 85, 279 n. 26,
Qimron, E. 100 n. 22 285 n. 41
Quispel, G. 197 n. 47 Schams, C. 94 n. 9, 95 n. 10, 96
n. 12, 107 n. 45
Rabenau, K. von 8 n. 17 Schearing, L. S. 204 n. 5
Rad, G. von 26, 26 n. 41 Scheps, M. 328 n. 59
 index of modern authors 361

Schiffman, L. H. 30 n. 3, 76 n. 14, 77 Strecker, G. 158 n. 8, 212 n. 20

n. 20, 78 nn. 23–24, 80 n. 31, 109, Strugnell, J. 56 n. 65, 91 n. 3, 100
109 n. 47, 111 n. 53, 113 n. 58 n. 22
Schlüter, M. 183 n. 1 Stuckenbruck, L. T. ix–xiv, 91, 117,
Schmidt, F. 125 nn. 32, 35 201
Schneemelcher, W. 212 n. 20 Swartz, M. D. 33 n. 9, 226 n. 39
Schnelle 158 n. 8 Swarzenski, H. 322 n. 35, 323 n. 36
Schniedewind, W. 2 n. 5 Sweetser, E. 289 n. 8
Scholem, G. 191 n. 23, 218 n. 5 Sysling, H. 145 n. 68
Schreckenberg, H. 326 nn. 50–51, 327
n. 52 Tabori, J. 245 n. 102
Schremer, A. 235 n. 66 Tal, A. 252 n. 16
Schuller, E. M. 36 n. 16 Talmon, S. 104 n. 36
Schwartz, B. 15, 15 n. 4 Tardieu, M. 81 n. 35
Schwartz, D. R. 83 n. 45, 138 n. 33, Teugels, L. M. 62 n. 78
139 n. 37 Thiel, P. van 324 n. 43
Schwartz, S. 208 n. 14 Thompson, T. L. 77 n. 20
Schwemer, A. M. 50 nn. 48–49 Tiede, D. L. 174 n. 22
Scott, J. M. 78 n. 24 Tigay, J. 220 n. 12, 248 n. 4
Sed-Rajna, G. 325 n. 47 Tigchelaar, E. J. C. 76 n. 13, 92 n. 4,
Seelig, G. 158 n. 8 101 n. 25
Seely, D. 36 n. 16, 59, 59 nn. 70–71 Toeg, A. 21 n. 28, 26 n. 38
Segal, A. 197 n. 47 Toorn, K. van der 95 n. 10
Segal, B. Z. 325 n. 46 Tov, E. 74 n. 3, 75 n. 9, 76 n. 14, 95
Segal, M. 76 n. 14, 113 n. 58 n. 10, 111 n. 53, 113 n. 58, 114 n. 60
Segal, M. H. 95 n. 11 Townsend, J. T. 296 n. 20
Shapero, D. 301 n. 27 Tromp, J. 197 n. 47
Sharvit, S. 230 n. 55 Tsevat, M. 2
Shemesh, A. 77 n. 21, 244 n. 98 Tso, M. xi, 31 n. 7, 73 n. 1, 117–27,
Shepkaru, S. 292 n. 12 204 n. 5
Sherwood-Smith, M. 149 n. 1
Shinan, A. 272 n. 9, 278 n. 23, 279 n. 24 Ulrich, E. 70 n. 94, 105 n. 38, 112
Shirley, S. 337 n. 12 n. 57, 113 n. 58, 114 n. 60
Sievers, J. 139 n. 37, 145 n. 68 Urbach, E. E. 7 n. 15, 229 n. 53, 240
Skehan, P. W. 104 n. 36 n. 85, 281 nn. 31–32
Smalley, W. A. 104 n. 36
Snell, B. 186 n. 5 VanderKam, J. C. 40 n. 25, 44 n. 37,
Sokoloff, M. 300 n. 25, 305 n. 31 61 n. 75, 62 n. 77, 74 n. 3, 76 nn.
Sommer, B. D. 15 n. 2, 16 n. 8, 19 14, 16, 77 n. 20, 80 n. 31, 82 nn. 39,
n. 22, 21 n. 30 41, 85 n. 53, 88 n. 68, 92 n. 5, 110
Sperber, A. 269 n. 2 n. 50, 111 n. 53, 112 n. 56, 113
Spilsbury, P. 131 n. 6, 135 n. 20 n. 58, 122 n. 20, 185 n. 2, 188 n. 10,
Spitzer, F. 269 n. 2 193 n. 33, 194, 194 n. 35, 249 n. 7
Sprinkle, J. M. 122 n. 19 Van Der Water, R. 186 n. 3
Stager, L. 5 n. 8 Van Seters, J. 16 n. 9
Stahl, N. 265 n. 54 Vermes, G. 81 nn. 34, 36, 84 n. 46,
Starobinski-Safran, E. 186 n. 3, 188 87 n. 65, 305 n. 32
n. 11 Vermeylen, J. 100 n. 23
Sterling, G. 56 n. 67 Vervenne, M. 62 n. 78
Stern, D. 96 n. 13, 242 nn. 90–91, Vielhauer, P. 212 n. 20
243 nn. 92–93 Vogel, M. 180 n. 33
Stern, M. 150 n. 3 Vogt, E. 186 n. 3
Stern, S. 289 n. 7
Stone, M. E. 74 n. 7, 92 nn. 4–5, 185 Wacholder, B. Z. 103 n. 33, 106 n. 42
n. 2, 197 n. 47, 210 n. 17, 211 n. 18 Walther, I. F. 326 n. 49, 328 n. 55
362 index of modern authors

Waltke, B. K. 272 n. 7 Winter, B. W. 154, 154 n. 7, 174, 174

Watts, J. W. 110 n. 51, 111 n. 52 n. 22, 177, 179 n. 32
Weinfeld, M. 11 n. 27, 13 n. 30, 19 Wintermute, O. S. 74 n. 6, 91 n. 1,
n. 22, 21 n. 29, 26 n. 39, 59, 59 nn. 110 n. 50
70–71, 248 n. 5, 253 n. 18 Wise, M. O. 120 n. 10
Weise, M. 41 n. 30 Wolf, N. 326 n. 49, 328 n. 55
Weitzmann, K. 319 n. 23 Wolfson, E. 33 n. 9, 48 n. 46, 69
Welch, A. C. 18 n. 14 n. 92, 244 n. 96, 248 n. 4
Werblowsky, R. J. Z. 276 n. 17 Woolf, G. 95 n. 10
Werman, C. 56, 56 n. 67 Wright, B. G. 97 n. 16, 98 n. 18, 108
Wevers, J. W. 274 nn. 12–13, 275 n. 46
n. 15 Wyatt, N. 289 n. 7
Whealey, A. 177 n. 29 Wyrick, J. 102 n. 32, 106 n. 43, 107
White Crawford, S. 92 n. 3, 113 n. 44
n. 58, 114 n. 60
Whitmarsh, T. 166 n. 14, 179, 179 Xeravits, G. 64 n. 83
n. 31
Wiencke, M. 186 n. 3 Yadin, A. 21 n. 31, 258 n. 29
Wigoder, G. 276 n. 17 Yerushalmi, Y. H. 229 n. 52
Williamson, H. G. M. 140 n. 42 Yuval, I. J. 238 n. 82
Williamson, P. 321 n. 32
Wilson, G. 54 n. 60, 104 n. 36 Zibawi, M. 319 n. 22
Winston, D. 255 n. 26 Zimmermann, J. 82 n. 40, 83
 SUBJECT INDEX

Adam 9, 184, 338–39 esoteric lore 192 n. 29

-ic lore 197, 197 n. 47 interpretative 141, 143, 143 n. 58,
Christ 178–81 147
Eve 316, 334 n. 5 Jewish 346
glory 179–81 Josephus 138 and n. 33–34, 172
Moses 180, 180 n. 34 Jubilees 31 n. 5
angels 12–13, 29–72, 82, 85–88, Qumran 30–31, 30 n. 4, 31 n. 5,
98–99, 100 n. 24, 149, 181, 184, 191 n. 7, n. 8, 33 n. 9, 35 n. 13, 36
n. 26, 194 n. 37, 195–99, 239–40, n. 17, 36–37, 40, 41 n. 30, 43
279, 283–85, 300, 318 n. 34, 43–44, 44 n. 37, 52 n. 53,
art 316, 328–29 67 n. 86, 84 n. 48, 85 n. 53, n. 54,
communion with 86, 88 86 n. 61, 88 n. 67, 114 n. 59, 117
interpreters 98–99, 189–92, 189 n. 3, 123 n. 23, 124 n. 30, 125
n. 15, 191 n. 25 n. 32, n. 35, 180, 201 n. 5
Metatron 183–99, 279 n. 24 constitution 7 n. 16, 119, 129–34,
priests 29–72, 32 n. 8, 38 n. 20, 40 130 n. 3, 132 n. 12, 133 n. 13, 137,
n. 25, 42 n. 32, 85–87 137 n. 29, 137 n. 32, 140, 144–48,
Qumran 29–72, 32 n. 8, 40 n. 25, 170, 176, 340–42, 347–48
42 n. 33, 45 n. 39, 51 n. 52, covenant 20, 25, 26 n. 38, 37 n. 18,
85–87, 101, 125 n. 35 41 n. 30, 44, 119 n. 8, 121, 125–26,
Sinai 263 n. 44, 278–79, 278 n. 23, 334–35
283–85, 285 n. 41, 316 Davidic 2–3
stars 195–199 renewed 61–63, 70, 84, 88 n. 68, 89,
apocalyptic 33–34, 35 n. 13, 50 n. 49, 121–22, 157–61, 169, 306, 314, 321
192 n. 29, 204, 207–10, 214–15 Sinai 2–3, 5–6, 26, 30, 74, 76, 84
apologetic texts 129, 132–34, 137, n. 48, 85, 118, 121, 249
147, 174–76, 181, 250 n. 10
Aristobulus 153, 333 darkness 15, 19, 51 n. 52, 52 n. 54,
art and architecture 313–31 206, 213
authoritative works 66 n. 86, 68, David 2–4, 91–115, 220
71–72, 113 n. 58, 117–18, 123, angel-like 100 n. 24
139, 141, 207, 276, 284 covenant 2–3
authority 6 n. 10, 31 n. 5, 39, ethical model 93–94, 100–113
42–43, 42 n. 32, 71–72, 84, 110–111, psalmist 93, 106–109
133, 138 n. 34, 139, 141–147, 142 scribe 94, 100–114
n. 51, 170–171, 184, 195, 207–08, Dead Sea Scrolls 29–127, 164,
223 n. 30, 277 n. 19, 278, 288, 292 179–180 see also Qumran
n. 12, 311, 314, 353 Decalogue 3–6, 15–18, 18 n. 17,
21–25, 114 n. 59, 133, 146, 252
Baruch 112 n. 56, 201–15 n. 18, 253, 261, 263–264, 276, 296,
beit ha-midrash 270, 275–78 309, 315–17, 319, 324 n. 45, 325,
330, 336, 339
chosenness 45–46, 102, 209, 341–43 Deuteronomy 3, 8, 11, 12, 15–27,
Christ See Jesus 53 n. 59, 79
community as ethical discourse 120–22
Baruchian 210–213 as re-written Law 15–27, 83–84, 88,
Corinth 150–51, 156–58, 167–68, 124–25, 141–42, 252 n. 18, 253
172, 175, 180 n. 18, 352, 354
364 subject index

dream visions 164, 187–90, 187 64, 67, 69, 70–72, 74, 76–83, 85–87,
n. 10, 194 n. 37, 195, 198 89, 91, 96, 99–102, 106, 109, 110,
115, 115 n. 62, 118–20, 123, 124,
election see chosenness 125 n. 35, 126, 132–34, 137, 140,
Elijah 3, 30, 63, 64, 72, 81, 281, 281 143, 144 n. 66, 145, 146, 149–152,
n. 32, 318–19, 321, 325 n. 47 160, 162–65, 167–70, 176, 179, 184,
Enoch 74, 112 n. 54 and n. 56, 143 188, 192–93, 193 n. 34, 199 n. 54,
n. 57, 180, 180 n. 34, 181, 183–99 202–6, 209, 211, 219–20, 220 n. 14,
mediator 98–100, 107, 109, 113, 221, 221 n. 17 and n. 18, 217–243,
115, 143 n. 57, 184 247–68, 269, 271–84, 287–311, 319,
Metatron 183, 192–93, 196, 199 320, 324, 325, 328 n. 60, 333, 334
prophecy 184, 186–91, 191 n. 25, n. 6, 335, 336, 338–45, 347, 348,
195 350–54
scribe 98–100, 107, 109, 109 n. 48, abstract 9–13
113, 115 body 9, 36, 57, 59, 248 n. 4, 255,
eschatology 29 n. 2, 35 n. 13, 40 287–93, 295, 307
n. 25, 48, 52 n. 54, 58, 64, 81, 89, incorporeal 24–25, 248
95, 118, 125–27, 179, 187 n. 10, king/ruler 137, 137 n. 32, 140, 193,
201–215, 234, 237, 295, 306, 308 338–45, 348
esoteric traditions 35, 45, 47–49, lawgiver 1–4, 7, 41, 110, 132, 134,
54–55, 69, 71, 185, 190–92, 192 140, 143, 144, 176, 262, 338–45,
n. 29, 211 350
ethics 8, 31, 31 n. 7, 41 n. 30, 43, visible 9–10, 24–45, 162, 162 n. 9,
48, 93, 94, 100–102, 112, 117–27, 248–268, 273–74, 283
337, 338, 342, 348, 353 Gospel 177, 314–15, 322
Exagoge of Ezekiel the
Tragedian 183–199 Heaven 9, 11–13, 18–19, 32 n. 8, 33
exegesis 33 n. 9, 77, 80 n. 31, 122, n. 9, 70–71, 82, 86, 144, 179, 181,
138 n. 34, 140, 144 n. 61, 149–81, 186, 188, 189 n. 13, 190–91, 192
212, 218, 229 n. 53, 241, 251–53, n. 29, 194 n. 37, 195 n. 38, n. 41,
257, 261, 264, 266, 276, 278, 285, 196–97, 252, 262 n. 43, 273, 278–81,
290–92, 307 n. 34, 310, 320 300, 314, 321, 328, 341
Exodus 4, 10, 15–26, 30, 40, 62–63, Horeb 6, 17–18, 23–27, 53, 63–65,
76, 81, 121–22, 125, 218–26, 244, 73, 76, 80, 85, 124, 318 n. 16, 319
252 n. 18, 257, 259, 269, 271, 274
n. 13, 275, 277 n. 19, 278, 282–84, identity 29, 40 n. 25, 81–88, 93–97,
298, 320, 335, 340 100–107, 114–15, 118, 122–27, 171,
Ezekiel 3, 11, 30, 34, 38, 50 n. 49, 174–79, 194–95, 198, 209, 268, 292,
62–63, 72, 218, 278 330, 335
interpretation see also exegesis
fire 11, 15–27, 63, 199 n. 52, 252 biblical 1–127
n. 18, 255–56, 258, 320 Deuteronomic 3, 53–54, 76, 84,
203–6, 209–10, 252 n. 18, 352,
glory 149–181 354
divine 12, 30–31, 44, 46, 50–52, 55, Christian 149–54, 163, 167–8,
57, 62–69, 76, 85–87, 89, 100, 175–6, 180, 266, 272, 287–88,
149, 179–181, 188–89, 193–95, 293–94, 296, 301–2, 305–7, 311,
198, 223, 226, 248–49, 254–55, 313–17, 322, 325–6
279, 281–85, 292, 295 Hellenistic Jewish 4, 7, 73, 80 n. 30,
of Moses 159–63, 167–71, 175–77, 112 n. 57, 129–48, 149–81, 153,
180–81 160, 162, 164, 168–78, 183–99,
of Adam 179–181 241 n. 88, 244 n. 97, 250–61,
God 1–17, 18–26, 32 n. 8, 41–44, 252–55, 257, 262 n. 42, 265–56,
44–45 n. 39 and 41, 46, 47, 47 n. 44 277 n. 21, 284, 289, 333, 334, 346,
and 45, 48, 50–55, 57, 59, 60, 63, 349, 354
 subject index 365

inner-biblical 15–27, 266 Maimonides 250, 334–36, 340,

polemical 34 n. 13, 77, 155, 167, 344
185, 234, 260 Mary 319–20, 323 n. 40, 331
pre-rabbinic 1–13, 210 mediatory figures 5, 20, 30, 31 n. 5,
rabbinic 18, 26, 62 n. 78, 68, 73, 42 n. 33, 65, 80–84, 92–94, 115,
162 n. 9, 192, 196, 207–8, 210, 132, 146, 149, 183–85, 191 n. 25,
217–245, 247–268, 287–88, 340–41
295–99, 302–4, 308, 311, 319 Metatron 183, 192, 193, 196, 199,
n. 21 279 n. 24
targumic 269–85, 292–93, 307, 309 midrash 18, 217–45, 247, 250, 253
Isaiah 3, 30, 34, 38, 41, 44, 49, 50 Mosaic discourse 17, 26–27, 73
n. 49, 59, 67, 72, 120 n. 11, 218, 221 n. 1, 80, 92–94, 130–148
n. 18, 275 n. 14, 35 n. 32, 316 Moses 18, 20–26, 30, 31 n. 5, 41,
42–43 n. 33, 53, 56, 61–64, 66,
Jerusalem 72, 73–115, 121, 123–24, 129–99,
Qumran 29, 32 n. 8, 37–38, 44–45, 203, 205, 207, 211, 213, 239, 241,
63, 67 248–49, 254 n. 21, 262–65, 271,
vs. Sinai 73–89, 112 273–77, 279–84, 287–311, 313,
Zion 73–89 315–16, 318–25, 327–31, 335–51
Jesus/Christ 150, 154, 156, 157, angel 81–83, 83 n. 43, 100 n. 24,
161, 167, 167 n. 16, 173, 175–78, 181
176–80, 272, 293, 293–94, 302, appearance 149–81, 198–99
305–7, 311, 313–14, 316, 318 n. 18, art 313–25, 27–331
320–23, 327, 331 n. 70 Christ 175–81, 313–25, 331
Josephus 4, 7, 129–49, 164–72, divine 82–83, 100 n. 24, 174–75
174–78, 252–53, 255 Enoch, Enochic traditions 109,
180–1, 183–99
kavod 188–89, 194 n. 36, n. 37, 195, example 91–105, 109–115, 144,
198 172, 203–11, 213
knowledge 35, 42–62, 66 n. 86, founder 93 n. 7, 94 n. 8, 141, 143
67–72, 74, 87, 96–98, 135–37, 140, n. 54
154, 169, 177–78, 189–92, 202, legislator 3, 4, 18–26, 30–31, 41,
211, 237 n. 76, 240, 260, 281, 299, 53, 91–115, 123–24, 128–32, 151,
338–39, 349 164–68, 335–56, 340–41
pagan literature 149–81
law see also Torah 1–13, 17–27, polemics 143 n. 57, 149, 154, 163,
117–48, 201–15, 333–54 166–69, 171, 174, 176, 180, 180
2 Corinthians 148–81 n. 34, 183–99
Christianity 149–81, 313, 315, 317 prophet 23, 26, 31, 31 n. 5, 72, 81,
divine 4, 11, 58, 102, 110, 146 100 n. 21, 114–115, 121, 123, 129,
Mosaic 4, 54, 62, 81, 83–84, 84 138, 142–47, 183–84, 248, 248
n. 48, 93, 102, 112, 113 n. 57, 129, n. 4, 336
133, 140–44, 146–49, 151, 157–59, Qumran 31 n. 5, 73–89, 91–105,
165, 185, 204, 206, 210, 301, 320, 109–115, 121, 123
334 n. 4, 342, 344 scribe 91–105, 109–115
natural/of nature 132, 133 n. 13, vs. Rabbi Akiba 287, 296–11
142 n. 53, 143, 143 n. 55, 144, mysticism 30–34, 39, 63 n. 79,
146, 334–39, 343–44, 351, 353–54 183–99, 240 n. 85, 255 n. 26, 260,
revealed 74, 111, 144, 335, 351 263, 263 n. 45, 270, 277 n. 20,
sanctification 81, 201–15 278–84, 289–90 n. 7
after Sinai 333–54
written 142, 157, 158 n. 8 nomos 7, 333–34, 343, 346–54
letter and spirit 155–58
liturgy 29–72, 93, 101–7, 111–13, oneiromancy see also dream
219 n. 9, 240 n. 85, 278 n. 23, 351 visions 187–88
366 subject index

Paul 149–181, 314, 323, 328 liturgy 29–72

Philo of Alexandria 4, 7, 73, 80, Moses 31 n. 5, 73–89, 91–105,
136, 142–44, 146, 149–81, 244 n. 97, 109–115, 121, 123
250–61, 265–56, 334 priesthood 29–72, 76–77, 84–88
physics 335–38, 353 purity 60 n. 74, 63, 69, 125–26
polemics 25, 77, 149, 154–55, 163, scriptural traditions 30–31, 34,
166–69, 174, 176, 180, 185, 190, 49, 53, 68, 70–71, 75–76, 91–115,
198, 234, 235 n. 66, 242 n. 91, 260, 117–18, 120, 141
303–7 Shavuot 30, 37 n. 18, 60–62, 84–88
politics 7 n. 16, 30, 118, 124, 126, songs 8, 29–72, 86, 103–8, 114 n. 59
127, 129–48, 151, 184, 192 n. 29,
234, 235, 237 n. 76, 243 n. 95, 334, Rabbi Akiba 223–24, 242–43 n. 91,
334 n. 5, 337, 338, 342, 343–46, 352, 244 n. 98, 251–58, 282 n. 36, 287,
353 296–311
prayer 1, 12, 33 n. 9, 40, 43 n. 34, rabbinic Judaism 1–13, 26, 62
69, 76, 85, 93, 96, 100–1, 107–8, n. 78, 68, 72–73, 207–10
113, 144, 147, 201–2, 220 n. 14, 277, Reformation 314–17, 323
282 n. 35, 283–84, 306, 317, 329 revelation 1–354
priesthood, priests 10–12, 73 creation 143, 335, 338–39, 353–54
n. 2, 74–76, 78, 83, 84, 85 n. 54, 88, law 1–13, 15–27, 217–45, 269–85,
112 n. 57, 125, 136–40, 145–48, 152, 340
175, 184, 270–75, 297, 284, 305 narrative 15–27
n. 32 ongoing 62, 68, 71–72, 84, 88
angelic 29–72, 85–87, 86 n. 61, Sinai 1–13, 15–27, 29–72, 160, 184,
270–75 217–45, 317–21
community 86, 89, 125–26, 147 Shekhina 217–45, 282
service 49, 60, 67, 72, 85–87, auditory 24–25, 42, 183, 247–68
270–75, 278, 283–84 visual 24–25, 42, 257, 247–68
succession 113 n. 57, 145 exclusive 117–127
Priestly text 15 n. 4, 16, 252 n. 18 universal 76, 129–48
prophecy 3, 4, 30, 31 n. 5, 32, 40, reward 55, 205–6, 209, 287, 295–97,
50, 52 n. 54, 58, 59, 62–65, 72, 81, 300, 307–10, 341
97 n. 17, 99, 100 n. 21, 102, 102 re-written scripture 91–115,
n. 30, 104, 106–7, 122–3, 129, 140–44, 147, 227, 324
138–46, 168, 173, 188, 202, 205, ritual 29–72, 125, 151–52, 244–45,
214, 218, 221 n. 18, 233 n. 62, 248, 267–68, 283–84, 289 n. 7, 351
248 n. 4, 250, 250 n. 8, 277
pseudepigraphy 92 n. 4, 94 n. 8, sacrifice 3, 10–11, 77, 101 n. 26,
109, 112 n. 56, 185, 194, 203 n. 4, 151–52, 244 n. 98, 271–75, 283, 284
204, 208 n. 40, 304–5, 325 n. 47
scribes, scribalism 42, 42 n. 32,
Qumran see also Dead Sea Scrolls 92–115, 183 n. 1, 201, 211, 214,
29–127, 136 n. 25, 167 n. 16, 180 297–98, 306, 337
angels 29–72, 32 n. 8, 40 n. 25, 42 scripture 8, 43 n. 34, 46, 53, 62, 64,
n. 33, 45 n. 39, 51 n. 52, 85–87, 94, 113, 119, 134, 136, 138–40, 151,
101, 125 n. 35 211, 236, 238, 243, 253–54, 260,
body 35–37, 57–59 265–66, 274, 281, 296, 302, 324,
Deuteronomy 73–89 331, 338–39
ethics 117–27 sectarianism 29–78, 80, 88, 117–27,
identity formation 88, 17–27 207, 209–10
initiation 61, 84–87, 119, 121–22, Septuagint 135–6, 139 n. 39, 145,
189 153, 333, 346, 349, 354
Jerusalem 29, 32 n. 8, 37–38, Shekhina 218, 228 n. 48, 280, 281
44–45, 63, 67 n. 32, 282–83
 subject index 367

Sinai 1–354 Torah see also law 7, 16, 26, 27, 31

ascent and decent 164–65, 170, n. 5, 42 n. 31, 43 n. 34, 53, 53
176, 188–89, 296–98, 311 n. 57 and n. 59, 54 n. 61 and n. 62,
covenant 2–3, 5–6, 26, 74, 76, 85, 56, 61, 62, 71, 72, 81, 93, 102, 109,
118, 121–22, 218, 249, 340–41, 113, 115, 120–3, 126–7, 132 n. 9,
344 133 n. 13, 134, 138, 138 n. 34, 141,
dream-vision 187–88 144–6, 149–50, 155, 157, 183–5, 188,
lawgiving 1–27, 117–48, 333–354 201–15, 217–45, 247, 249, 256 n. 27,
Qumran literature 29–127 258, 260 n. 36, 262, 263–68, 269–85,
relativization of 15–27, 79–84, 94, 287, 296–302, 306, 308–11, 333–36,
121 n. 15 339, 343–54
sacred place 74, 79 abrogation of 341–45
sacrificial service 270–75, 283–85 constitution 7 n. 16, 129–48, 170,
school/academy 207, 275–78, 176, 340–42, 333–54
282–84 eschatology 201–15
scriptorium 112, 115 eternal truth 333–54
synagogue 270, 275–78 giving of 16, 21, 26–7, 62 n. 78,
throne of glory 184, 186, 193 n. 34, 63 n. 79, 78, 84, 85, 88, 116–27,
194 n. 37, 199 n. 52, 279–81 149–50, 152, 155, 165, 210, 247,
unique 336, 354 269–85, 296, 301
wilderness tradition 40, 52 n. 54, hidden and revealed 122–23, 189
63, 76–79, 84 mitzvah 351
Zion/Jerusalem 73–89 natural law 132 n. 9, 133 n. 13,
sophistry 149, 154–81, 345 146, 333–54 (see also natural law)
Spinoza 333–54 observance as sacrificial service
spirit 29–72, 96, 103, 155–69, 177, 270–75
198, 327, 344, 350 oral 72, 268, 296–302, 306, 310–11
spiritual transformation 165, prophecy 99, 202
179–80 righteousness 201–45
synagogue 207, 239, 242, 266, 270, sectarian identity 31 n. 8, 41 n. 30,
275–78, 282, 284, 325–30 43 n. 34, 117–27
study 43 n. 34, 68, 217–45, 267
targum 109, 136, 193 n. 34, 269–85, teaching 53–55, 72, 99, 132, 141,
292, 307–310 263–67, 269–85, 333–54
Teacher of Righteousness 81, 84, universality 129, 140–46, 229 n. 53,
115, 119, 123 260, 336, 340–44, 348
temple 10–13, 24, 29, 31–32 n. 8, transmission of tradition 42–44,
38, 45–49, 50 n. 48, 52 n. 53, 60–63, 54, 77, 91–115, 129–148, 183, 260,
66–67, 71–72, 74, 77–79, 89, 101–3, 284, 288, 292
105–7, 125, 147, 201–6, 212, 223, typology 321–322
267, 270–75, 278–280, 283–84, 320,
330, 344, 348 wilderness 4, 29–30, 40, 52 n. 54,
theocracy 129, 137, 147, 341, 345 53, 63–64, 76–79, 84, 88, 102,
theophany 63–64, 66, 219, 247, 250, 123–25, 125 n. 32, n. 35, 150, 184,
270 228 n. 48
throne of glory 184–86, 193 n. 34,
194 n. 37, 199 n. 52, 279–80, 281 Zion 6, 31, 50, 65 n. 84, 72–78, 89,
n. 32 201, 206, 212, 270
 INDEX OF PRIMARY TEXTS

Mesopotamian Texts

Laws of Eshnunna 4, 6 n. 11 Laws of Lipit-Ishtar 4

Laws of Hammurabi 4, 6 n. 11 Laws of Ur-Namma 4

Jewish Texts

1. Hebrew Bible

Genesis 14:19 40, 274 n. 13

1–3 55 14:24 274 n. 13
1 51 15 218
1:14 299 15:1 219, 220
1:31 335, 338 15:2 222, 226, 231,
17:1 119 n. 8 254 n. 23
17:6 231 n. 58 15:3 225 n. 36, 228,
19:3 283 229 n. 53, 235, 303
24:40 52 n. 54 15:4–5 220
28:12 194 n. 37, 15:6 229 n. 53
279 n. 26 15:9–10 220
32:31 248 15:11 221
37 164 15:12 229 n. 53
15:13–17 230 n. 54
Exodus 15:13 223
3:1–4:7 249 n. 6 15:14–16 220
3 19, 23, 320 15:17–18 31 n. 8
3:2–6 249 n. 6 15:18 219, 220, 225 n. 36
3:2 23 15:19 219 n. 10
3:6 249 15:20–21 220 n. 12
3:7 249 n. 6 16:7–10 31
3:9 249 n. 6 16:18 234
3:11–4:17 249 n. 6 17:6 322
3:12 52 n. 54 17:8 322
3:15 52 n. 54 18:13–27 124
5:21 251 n. 14 19–24 218
7:1 81–82 19–20 16, 218
12:1 101 n. 26 19 18 n. 17, 24, 269,
12:9 305 275, 275 n. 16,
12:46 305 278, 282–83, 298
12:51 124 19:1 269 n. 1
13:9–10 304 19:2 270, 277, 277 n. 21
13:15 304 19:3 88 n. 68, 269 n. 1,
13:16 304 275–76, 276 n. 17,
13:17–19:25 224 281 n. 31
13:21 274 n. 13 19:4 247 n. 2, 271, 276
13:22 274 n. 13 19:5–6 2
14:10 220 n. 14 19:5 6 n. 10, 251 n. 13,
14:14 220 269
 index of primary texts 369

19:6 10, 88 n. 68, 21:1 (LXX) 284 n. 40

125, 271, 273, 21:12–36 122 n. 19
278, 283 n. 38 22:16–17 122 n. 19
19:7 276, 284, 284 23:17 274
n. 40 23:20–23 40
19:8 88 n. 68, 256 23:20–21 40 n. 26
n. 27, 277, 277 24 18, 18 n. 17,
n. 21 218 n. 6, 269,
19:8 (LXX) 277 n. 21 271, 275,
19:9 19, 269 n. 1, 282–83
276, 276 n. 18, 24:1 269 n. 1, 276,
277, 277 n. 19, 277, 279, 281
278 n. 31
19:9a 20 24:3 276, 284 n. 40
19:10–13 269 n. 1 24:4 74, 270
19:10–11 270 24:5 270–71, 273,
19:11 24, 248, 270 273 n. 11, 284
19:12–13 270 n. 40
19:12 271 n. 5 24:6 270–71, 273
19:13 271 n. 5 24:6 (LXX) 275
19:15 88 n. 68, 271 n. 5 24:8 271–73, 273 n. 11
19:16–17 124 24:8 (LXX) 275 n. 15
19:16 20, 64, 269 24:9–18 270
n. 1, 282 24:9–11 250
19:17 281 24:9–11 (LXX) 250 n. 10
19:18–24 270 24:9 276, 281 n. 31
19:18 18, 19, 20, 280 24:10–11 269
19:19 64 n. 82, 251 24:10–11 (LXX) 274–75 n. 13
n. 13, 274, 282, 24:10 24, 273, 275
283 n. 37 n. 13, 279–80
19:19b 21 24:10 (LXX) 274
19:20 281, 281 n. 30, 24:11 24, 269, 272–74,
281 n. 31 283
19:22 270–71, 271 24:12 276, 281 n. 31
n. 5, 273 24:13 281 n. 31
19:24 270 24:14 276
20 16, 18 n. 17, 24:15 278, 281 n. 31
22, 81 24:16–17 31, 63
20:1 20, 22 24:16 269 n. 1, 278, 282
20:2 263–65, 264 n. 50 24:17 248 n. 5, 249,
20:15 250, 251 n. 14, 255 n. 24
252–55, 254 nn. 24:18 276, 281 n. 31,
22, 24, 257, 282
259, 260 n. 35, 25–40 63
266 27:3 271
20:17 251 n. 14 30:30–32 101
20:18 10, 21, 24, 256 30:35 63
20:19 18, 20, 252, 32:1 249
257, 259–60, 32:8 249
266, 281 32:12 291
20:20 21, 163 n. 9, 340 32:16 41
20:21 19 32:34 40
20:22 18, 256 32:26 267
21–23 16 32:46a 267
370 index of primary texts

33 298 Deuteronomy
33:2 40 1:16–18 124
33:9 274 n. 13 4 16, 20 n. 25,
33:10 249 24, 252 n. 18
33:11 248 4:12 11, 248, 252
33:12–23 270 n. 3, 288, n. 18, 256–57,
290, 295–96 259, 265
33:12 291–92 4:15–19 248, 252 n. 18
33:13 248, 291, 335 4:15 11
33:14 291–92 4:19–20 12 n. 29
33:16 291 4:20 12
33:17 291, 293 4:24 20 n. 26
33:18–22 63 4:29 120
33:18 248, 250 n. 9, 291 4:36 11, 252 n. 18
33:19 291–93, 335 4:46 27 n. 43
33:20 9, 248, 254 n. 21, 5:1–6:3 16
274, 291, 293 5 15–17, 20, 23,
33:21–23 291 24, 25, 252
33:21 293 n. 18
33:23 xiii, 249, 287–311 5:1 24
34 149–81, 198, 199 5:2 21, 76
n. 51, 324 5:4–5 19
34:6–7 248 5:4 18, 19, 24, 248
34:23 274 n. 4, 264 n. 50
34:27 296 5:5 19, 20, 22, 248
34:29–35 (LXX) 160, 175 n. 4
34:29 323 n. 41 5:20–24 252 n. 18
34:33 160 5:21–23 22
34:34–35 160 5:22–23 (Eng.) 24
34:34 160 5:22 18, 19, 23, 23
34:35 160 n. 33, 24
38:3 271 5:23 23
40:34–35 63 5:24 (Eng.) 23
5:24b 25
Leviticus 5:25–26 24
26:9 242 5:27 20, 23
26:11 242 5:28–29 81
5:28 (Eng.) 23
Numbers 5:29 21
1:1 76 5:31 23
3:11–13 271 6:1–3 21
4:14 271 6:4 306
6:24–26 70 6:5 88
8:14–19 271 7:9–10 25
8:19 271 8:6 119 n. 8
9:12 305 9:3 20 n. 26
12:6–8 248 n. 4 9:8 25
12:8 254, 287 n. 2 10:12 11, 119 n. 8
15 239 11 11 n. 27
16 168 11:22 119 n. 8
19:1–22 327 n. 54 12–26 79
21:4–9 321 12:5 3, 79
21:18 109 n. 48 12:11 11, 79
24:24 (LXX) 277 n. 21 12:14 79
27:21 (LXX) 277 n. 21 12:15 11
 index of primary texts 371

12:18 79119 n. 8 34:5 321

12:21 79 34:6 102
12:26 79 34:10–12 114
13:5 12 34:10 102, 220 n. 11,
14 11 n. 27 248 n. 4
14:23 11, 79 n. 25
14:25 79 n. 25 Joshua
16 11 n. 27, 1 53
275 n. 16 1:8 53
16:2 11, 79 n. 25
16:3 19 n. 23 Judges
16:6 79 n. 25 5:4–5 6 n. 9
16:7 79 n. 25 5:20 220 n. 11
16:11 11, 79 n. 25
16:15 79 n. 25 1 Samuel
16:16 79 n. 25, 274 17:45 238 n. 78
17:8 79 n. 25 18:6–7 220
17:10 79 n. 25
18 23 2 Samuel
18:14–22 23 7:10–13 31 n. 8
18:15 64 7:12–16 2 n. 5
18:16 23 7:16 2
18:18–19 81 22:15 236
19:9 119 n. 8 24:17 101 n. 26
19:16–21 122 n. 19
22:218–29 122 n. 19 1 Kings
26:2 79 n. 25 5:12 96, 107
26:16 352 n. 49 17:6 319
26:17 119 n. 8 18:30 3
27–29 121 19 319
28:9 119 n. 8 19:12 63, 64, 64 n. 80
28:69 26 22:19 250 n. 8
29:18–20 121
29:18 121 n. 15 2 Kings
29:19–20 121 n. 15 2:11 321
30:1–10 204 n. 5 6:16–17 239
30:16 119 n. 8 12:2 2 n. 3
30:19 119 n. 8 14:1–4 2 n. 3
30:20 12 15:1–4 2 n. 3
31 23
31:9 53 Isaiah
31:11 79 n. 25 1:3 327 n. 53
31:12 23 6 38, 49, 50 n. 49
32 226 n. 44, 241 6:1–5 250 n. 8
32:8 12 n. 29 6:1 (Vg) 275 n. 14
32:9 12 6:3 34, 49, 50, 50
32:10 261–62 n. 49, 52 n. 53
32:11 247 n. 2 6:8 52 n. 54
32:48–52 203 11:4 306 n. 32
33:1 100 n. 21 11:8 306 n. 32
33:2 6 n. 9, 247 n. 2, 12:2 225 n. 37
253 n. 20, 285 13:1 65 n. 84
n. 41 15:1 65 n. 84
33:21 109 49:2 59
34:4 102 49:3 59
372 index of primary texts

54:11–12 45, 67 Zechariah

59:17 236 5:1–4 4
59:19 44 9:1 65 n. 84
59:20 44 12:1 65 n. 84
59:21 44 12:10 305
60:2 44 12:12 305 n. 32
63:7–64:12 40
63:9 40, 40 n. 26 Malachi
66:1 66 1:1 65 n. 84
2:7 32 n. 8
Jeremiah 3:16 55
1:7 52 3:23–24 64 n. 83
16:14 233
17:21–22 7 n. 12 Psalms
23:29 258 n. 29 1 53
1:1–2 54
Ezekiel 8:5–6 46
1 278 15:2 119 n. 8
1:1 250 n. 8 17:15 250 n. 8
1:24 64 n. 80 18:10 281 n. 30
1:25 64 18:11 281 n. 30
1:26–28 250 n. 8 20:8 238 n. 78
1:26 11 24:7 66
1:28 12 24:9 66
2:3 52 n. 54 29:7 251, 253, 255,
3 50 n. 49 257
3:12–13 50, 64 n. 80 31:20 295
3:12 34 35:2 236
5:5 74 35:3 236
10:5 64 n. 80 37 54 n. 62
10:20 250 n. 8 37:30–31 53 n. 57
37:26–28 63 44:23 303
38:12 74 45:4 236
40–48 38, 38 n. 20 51 41
44:5 267 51:21 65
46:1–10 66 61:4 272 n. 9
62:12 258 n. 29
Hosea 68:8–9 6 n. 9
4:1–3 3, 4 68:19 279 n. 25
78:4 47
Amos 78:32 47
9:1 250 n. 8 84:12 119 n. 8
91:4 236
Micah 99:1 281 n. 30
7:15 233, 234 n. 63 99:6–7 274 n. 13
101:16 119 n. 8
Nahum 105:2 47
1:1 65 n. 84 105:5 47
106 221 n. 17
Habakkuk 106:7 47
2:17 77 106:22 47
3:3 6 n. 9 118:14 225 n. 37
3:4 324 n. 41 119 105 n. 40
3:9 236 119:92 242
3:11 236 127 105 n. 40
 index of primary texts 373

131:7 (LXX) 274 Daniel

132:5–7 274 n. 13 8 190
132:7 274 9:11 12
138:4 259
139:5 287 n. 2 Ezra
139:14 233 7:6 4
7:10 4
Job
9:11 263 n. 45 Nehemiah
23:8 263 n. 45 9:13 18, 19
38:7 51 n. 52 10:29 3
38:7 (LXX) 52 n. 52 10:31 7 n. 12

Proverbs 1 Chronicles
7:7 263 n. 45 21:17 101 n. 26
22:8 102 n. 30
Song of Songs 22:14 101
1:3 303 28:2 66, 274 n. 13
5:9 303 28:11–19 102
5:10 303 28:19 106
29:11 225 n. 37
Qohelet
12:9–12 96–97 2 Chronicles
12:12 99 8:14 100 n. 21
14:10 238 n. 78
Lamentations 15:12 120
3:21 242 18:18 250 n. 8
5:16–17 327 25:15 52 n. 54
35:4 106

2. Apocrypha

Baruch 112 n. 56 45:2–5 102 n. 31

45:2 100, 100 n. 24
Ben Sira 95 45:17 77
24:33 99, 107 47 102 n. 29
39 107 47:8–10 107
39:1–8 95–96 47:9–10 101

3. Pseudepigrapha

Apocalypse of Zephaniah 38:2 202

9:4–5 100 n. 24 41:3 209
41:4 209
2 Baruch 112 n. 56, 127 44–47 209 n. 16, 212
n. 37, 201–15 44:2–3 212
17:4 205 46:1–3 213
31–34 209 n. 16, 212 46:4 213
31:3 210 48:22–24 202
32 212 48:47 206
32:1 212 51:3 205
32:9 213 51:7–8 205
34:1 212 51:11 203
374 index of primary texts

54:14 206 92:1 98 n. 19, 112

59:2 206 n. 54
59:7 211
59:11 211 2 Enoch 112 n. 56
67:6 205 1:6–7 189 n. 16
76:2 213 4:1–10 196
76:3–4 203 7 197
77 209 n. 16, 213 7:3 197
77:2 210 22 196
77:3 213 22.8 181
77:12–14 213 22.10 181
77:15–16 213 22.11 181
77:15 214 30.10–11 181
78–87 201 33.5 181
85:1–5 201 33.8 181
85:2 205 37 199 n. 51
85:3 210 37.2 181
40:2–4 195 n. 41
3 Baruch 112 n. 56 47.2 181
48.6–7 181
4 Baruch 112 n. 56
3 Enoch 183
1 Enoch 76 n. 17, 112 10:5 191 n. 21, 279
n. 56 n. 24
1–36 189, 191 n. 25, 11:3 191 n. 21
197 15 199
12:3–4 98 n. 19 15:1 199 n. 52
12:4 112 n. 54 46:1–2 195 n. 40
13:3–7 98 n. 19
13:7–9a 187 n. 10 Exagoge of Ezekiel 143 n. 58,
14 188 185–99
14:18 280 n. 29 67–90 186
15:1 98 n. 19, 112 68–69 164
n. 54 82 187 n. 9, 189
17–18 189 n. 12 n. 16
18:6–8 189 n. 13 85 190–91
24:3 189 n. 13
25:3 189 n. 13 4 Ezra
26:1 74 n. 8 9:30 210
33:2–4 195 n. 39 14:27–28 210
37–71 204 14:28 210
59–60 191 14:37–44 211
60:11 191 14:46–47
62:5 193 n. 34
69:29 193 n. 34 Jubilees 23 n. 34, 31
71 193–94 n. 5, 73, 76
71:11 198 n. 48 n. 17, 80 n. 27,
83 187 n. 10 80 n. 31, 91
83:6–7 189 n. 16 n. 3, 95, 97,
85–90 188 108 n. 46, 113,
85 187 n. 10 136 n. 25, 142
86 196 1:1 62, 109
89:30 249 n. 7 1:2–6 74
90:41–42 189 n. 16 1:5–7 110
 index of primary texts 375

1:26–2:1 110 45:15 91, 114

1:27–28 74, 89 45:16 99
1:29 74 50:6–13 7 n. 12
2:2 51 n. 52
2:3 51 n. 52 Ladder of Jacob 194 n. 37
2:29–30 7 n. 12
4:17–19 98 L.A.B. 136
4:19 187 12:1 198
4:26 74
5:13 42 n. 31 Odes of Solomon 112 n. 56
6:15–21 62
6:17 84 Orphica
8:19 74 26–41 192 n. 30
12:27 98
15:1 62 Prayer of Joseph 194, 194 n. 37
15:21 85 n. 51
16:13 85 n. 51 Psalms of Solomon 112 n. 56
19:13 74
24:33 42 n. 31 Testament of Levi
32:1 42 n. 31 4:3 77
32:26 99 18:3–4 77

4. Qumran Texts

CD 1QpHab
II, 5 44 n. 37 VII, 11 123 n. 23
II, 14–16 119 VIII, 1 123 n. 23
III, 12–IV, 4 31 n. 8 IX, 4 77
III, 12–16 83 XII, 4–5 123 n. 23
III, 20 180 XII, 7 77
IV, 8 88 1QS 119 n. 9, 122
V, 5–6 101 n. 25 n. 20
V, 5 100 n. 23 I–IV 121
V, 12 80 n. 30 I–II 41 n. 30
V, 18–19 83 I, 1–3 44
VII, 18 84 n. 47 I, 1b–7a 119–20
VIII, 14 80 n. 30 I, 3 80 n. 30
X, 6 45 I, 7b–9a 120
XII, 23–XIII, 2 125 n. 32 I, 8 124 n. 30
XIII, 2 56 I, 16–II, 18 121
XIII, 6–8 43 n. 35 I, 21 70
XIV, 6–8 56 II, 1–4 70
XV, 2 31 n. 5 II, 1b–18 121
XV, 9 31 n. 5, 80 II, 12b–18 121
n. 30 II, 12b–14 121 n. 15
XV, 12 31 n. 5, 81 III, 13–15 43
XV, 15–17 36 n. 16 III, 26 45
XV, 19 81 IV 67
XVI, 1–2 81 IV, 6 45
XVI, 2 81 IV, 23 180
XVI, 5 80 n. 30, 81 V, 6 67
XIX, 4 45 V, 7–10 83
XX, 17 44 n. 37 V, 8–9 62
376 index of primary texts

V, 8 31 n. 5, 80 n. 30 1Q14 8–10 123 n. 23

VI, 6–8 43 n. 34 1Q22 76 n. 13, 80
VI, 6 84 n. 47 n. 31
VI, 7–8 68 1Q22 1 I, 4 76
VIII–IX 44 n. 37 1Q29 80 n. 31
VIII, 1–19 57 1Q29 1, 1–2 67
VIII, 4b–13 45 2Q21 80 n. 31
VIII, 5–6 68 2Q25 1, 3 80 n. 30
VIII, 11 67 3Q6 1, 2 29 n. 1
VIII, 15 31 n. 5, 80 n. 30 4Q127 80 n. 31
VIII, 22 31 n. 5, 80 n. 30 4Q158 81 n. 35
IX, 12–XI, 22 41 n. 30 4Q159 5, 6 84 n. 47
IX, 18–19 43 4Q162 II, 7 77
X, 6 41 4Q162 II, 10 77
X, 8 41 4Q164 45
X, 11 41 4Q164 1, 3–5 67
X, 20 44 n. 37 4Q169 3–4 I, 10–11 77
4Q171 1–2 II, 14 123 n. 23
1QSa 4Q171 1–2 II, 22 123 n. 23
I, 6–7 56 4Q174 1–2 I, 11 84 n. 47
I, 25–27 84 n. 48 4Q174 1–2 II, 2 123 n. 23
I, 29–II, 1 125 nn. 32, 34 4Q174 1–2 III, 6–7 31 n. 8
II, 3–9 36 n. 16 4Q175 81
4Q177 10–11, 5 84 n. 47
1QSb 4Q179 88
IV, 24–26 40 n. 25, 87 4Q180 5–6, 4 77
4Q186 36 n. 16
1QM 4Q186 1 II, 6 60 n. 74
I, 3 78 4Q186 2 I, 6 60 n. 74
II, 1–4 124 n. 30 4Q203 1–4 II, 14–15 98 n. 19
III, 14 124 n. 30 4Q216 V, 6 43 n. 33
IV, 1–5 125 n. 32 4Q225 80 n. 31
V, 1–2 124 n. 30 4Q226 80 n. 31
VII, 4–5 36 n. 16 4Q227 80 n. 31
VII, 4 78 4Q249 verso 1 80 n. 30
X, 6 80 n. 30 4Q256 121
XII, 12–15 78, 87 4Q258 121
XIV, 8b–18 47 n. 44 4Q258 1 I, 4 67
XIV, 14 47 n. 44 4Q258 2 II, 6–7 67
4Q259 121
1QHa 4Q260 4, 10 44 n. 37
I, 12–13 40 n. 25 4Q266 2 II, 5 44, 44 n. 37
IV, 12 80 n. 30 4Q266 3 III, 19 84 n. 47
IV, 15 180 4Q266 8 I, 7–9 36 n. 16
VI, 24 44 n. 37 4Q266 11 37 n. 18
IX, 8–17 52 n. 53 4Q266 11, 17–18 84 n. 50
IX, 22 52 n. 53 4Q266 11, 17 85
IX, 27–30 69 4Q269 1, 2 44 n. 37
X, 9 44 n. 37 4Q270 7 I, 2 37 n. 18
XI, 21–23 70 4Q270 7 II, 11–12 84 n. 50
XIV, 6 44 n. 37 4Q275 85 n. 53
XVI, 16 69 4Q284 3, 4 41 n. 29
XVI, 35–36 71 4Q286 2, 1 65 n. 85
XIX 46 4Q299 71, 1 44 n. 37
 index of primary texts 377

4Q320 4 III, 1–5 85 n. 53 4Q404 3–5 49 n. 47

4Q321 2 II, 4–5 85 n. 53 4Q404 6, 3 50
4Q334 29 n. 1 4Q405 3 II, 9 47 n. 44
4Q364 76 n. 14 4Q405 4–6 50–51
4Q364 14, 4 31 n. 5 4Q405 4–5 49 n. 47
4Q365 76 n. 14, 80 4Q405 6, 1–8 49 n. 47
n. 31, 91 n. 3 4Q405 13, 3 47 n. 44
4Q365 26a–b, 4 76 4Q405 14–15 I, 5 59
4Q366 76 n. 14, 91 4Q405 18 64
n. 3 4Q405 18, 3 64 n. 80
4Q368 80 n. 31 4Q405 18, 5 64 n. 80
4Q374 2 I, 7 76 4Q405 19, 4 63
4Q374 2 II, 6 81–82, 164 4Q405 19, 7 64
4Q375 80 n. 31, 91 4Q405 20 II–22, 11 63
n. 3 4Q405 20 II–22, 6–7 64
4Q376 80 n. 31, 91 4Q405 20 II–22, 7 63
n. 3 4Q405 20 II–22, 8 64
4Q376 1 II, 1–2 67 4Q405 20 II–22, 12 64
4Q377 80 n. 31, 83 4Q405 20 II–22, 13 64
n. 43 4Q405 23 I, 1 65 n. 85
4Q377 2 II, 4–12 82 4Q405 23 I, 5 65 n. 85
4Q377 2 II, 6 76 4Q405 23 I, 11 66
4Q382 104, 7 31 n. 5 4Q405 23 II, 10b–13 71
4Q394 8, III 36 n. 16 4Q405 23 II, 10 63
4Q398 14 II, 1–2 101 n. 25 4Q405 23 II, 12 67
4Q398 14 II, 1 100 n. 22 4Q408 80 n. 31
4Q400 1 I, 4 40, 43 n. 33 4Q417 1 I, 6 56
4Q400 1 I, 5 40, 60 n. 73 4Q417 1 I, 13–18 55
4Q400 1 I, 8 43 n. 33 4Q417 1 I, 17 55
4Q400 1 I, 15–16 43 4Q418 29 n. 1, 52
4Q400 1 I, 15 40, 42 n. 54
4Q400 1 I, 17 44, 58 4Q418 42–45 I 55
4Q400 1 I, 19 43 n. 33 4Q418 43, 4 56
4Q400 2, 4 32 n. 8 4Q433 29 n. 1
4Q400 2, 6–7 46 4Q433a 29 n. 1
4Q400 2, 7 34 n. 11 4Q434–439 36
4Q401 14 I, 6 32 n. 8 4Q436 I, 1–II, 4 58
4Q401 14 II, 6–8 47 4Q436 I, 7–8 58
4Q401 16, 2 64 n. 80 4Q448 29 n. 1
4Q402 1, 5 44 4Q504 77 n. 19
4Q402 9, 3 64 n. 80 4Q504 1–2 II, 7–11 101 n. 27
4Q403 1 I, 19 47 n. 44 4Q504 3 II, 13 76, 85
4Q403 1 I, 30–31 50 4Q504 4, 8 31 n. 5
4Q403 1 I, 31–40 49 4Q504 8, 4–7 180
4Q403 1 I, 35–42 49 n. 47, 4Q509 97 67
50–51 4Q509 98 I, 7–8 67
4Q403 1 I, 35 58–59 4Q511 35, 3 67
4Q403 1 I, 36 52 n. 55, 57, 4Q511 35, 4 40 n. 25
66 4Q511 63–64 II, 2b–3 42
4Q403 1 I, 41–II, 1–16 49 4Q512 4–6, 6 43 n. 36
4Q403 1 I, 41 65 4Q512 70–71 44 n. 37
4Q403 1 II, 10 63 4Q513 31 n. 5
4Q403 1 II, 26–27 48–49 4Q513 13, 2
4Q403 1 II, 27 47 43 n. 36
378 index of primary texts

4Q521 36 n. 16 11Q17 VIII, 5b–6 65

4Q522 2 II 101 n. 28 11Q17 X, 6 65 n. 85
4Q524 80 n. 31 11Q17 X, 7 66
4Q525 36 n. 16 11Q18 78
4Q534 36 n. 16 11Q19 78, 78 n. 24,
4Q547 9, 4 76 79, 80 n. 27,
4Q558 81 80 n. 31, 88,
4Q561 36 n. 16 91 n. 3, 111
11Q5 93 n. 6, 105, n. 53, 113, 142
113 11Q19 XIV, 7–8 39–40
11Q5 XXII, 1–15 78, 87 11Q19 XV, 3 40, 46
11Q5 XXVI, 12 51 n. 52 11Q19 XLV, 7–12 84 n. 48
11Q5 XXVII 2–11 103–104, 107 11Q19 XLV, 12–14 36 n. 16
n. 45 11Q19 XLV, 4–5 125 n. 32
11Q10 XXX, 5 52 n. 52 11Q20 80 n. 31
11Q13 II, 10 29 n. 1 11Q21 80 n. 31

5. Philo

Abr. 1.162 143 n. 54

5 143 1.188 144 n. 65
16 143 2.2–3 143 n. 54
276 143 2.4 143
2.12 164
Cher. 2.14 143 n. 56
27–29 144 n. 61 2.26–27 144 n. 63
2.31–40 144
Conf. 2.47–48 143
58–59 277 n. 21 2.48 143
2.69–70 164–65
Contempl. 2.69 165–66, 176
85 244 n. 97 2.70 166
2.213 257
Decal.
1 143 n. 54 Opif.
32–49 255 1.1–2 132 n. 9
3 143
Det. 89–128 143 n. 56
68 143
Prob.
Her. 6.2 143
17–19 282 n. 37
Sacr.
Migr. 78 258 n. 30
34–35 144 n. 61 131 143
47–49 256–57
48 252 n. 18 Spec.
2.129 143
Mos. 3.1–6 144 n. 61
1.1–2 153 3.6 143 n. 59
1.148 143 n. 54
 index of primary texts 379

6. Josephus

Against Apion 129, 131, 134 2.216 145, 145 n. 66

1.29–30 138 2.268 168
1.29 138 2.377 146 n. 71
1.30 138 3–4 132, 134, 134
1.31–36 138 n. 16
1.36 138 3 129
1.37–41 138 3.74 168
1.41 138–39 3.75 133, 146 n. 71
1.42 134 3.76 170
1.47–57 138 3.78 146 n. 71
1.54 135 n. 22, 3.83 170
136–38, 139 3.84 133
n. 39 3.86–88 146
1.279 175, 178 3.87 133, 146 n. 71
2.145–286 133 3.90 133
2.157–63 132 n. 10 3.93 133, 146
2.160 132–33 n. 71, 147
2.164–286 133 n. 13 3.100 146–47
2.165 137 3.107 146 n. 71
2.184–88 137 3.179–80 178
2.184 133 3.180–87 146
2.185 137 3.180 174–75
2.190–98 132 3.188 137, 145, 145
2.193–94 147 n. 66
2.193 147 3.192 145, 145 n. 66
2.239–41 132 n. 12 3.202–203 147
2.255 133 n. 13 3.212 146 n. 71, 170
2.257 133 n. 13 3.213 134
2.281 133 n. 13 3.222 170, 176
2.291 134 3.223 7 n. 16
2.293 133 n. 13 3.317 170
2.295 133 n. 13 3.318 170
2.284 132 4.14–15 168–69
4.14 170
Jewish Antiquities 4.158 168
1–10 136 n. 24 4.197 146
1.1–26 131 4.223–34 137
1.3–4 7 n. 16 4.303 146 n. 71
1.5 7 n. 16, 131, 135 4.304 137–38
1.9–11 145 4.307 146 n. 71
1.10–13 136, 139 n. 39 4.320 146 n. 71
1.11–12 133 4.327–31 170
1.11 135 4.328 170, 172
1.15 132, 132 6.33 137 n. 30
n. 12, 145 6.36 137
1.17 134, 138 6.39 137 n. 30
1.18–24 132 6.60–61 137 n. 30
1.19 146 6.89 137 n. 30
1.21 146 6.262–68 137 n. 30
1.22 132 n. 12 10.218 134–35
1.24 146 11–20 136 n. 24
1.29 135 12.20 135
380 index of primary texts

12.39 135 20.261 131, 138

12.48 135 20.264 135, 135
12.49 135, 135 n. 22 n. 264
12.108 135
13.300–301 137 n. 30 Jewish War
14–17 136 n. 24 1.3 138, 139 n. 39
14.41–42 137 n. 30 1.18 138, 139 n. 39
18.63–64 177 2.145 80 n. 30
18.63 178 3.352 138, 139 n. 39
19.222–23 137 n. 30 5.212–14 146
20.224–36 138
20.229 131 The Life 131
20.251 131 1–6 138, 139 n. 39

7. Rabbinic Writings: Mishnah, Tosefta, Talmudim

Mishnah m. Rosh HaShanah

1:6 232 n. 59
m. ’Abot
1:1 72, 207 m. Sanhedrin
2:10 256 n. 27 7:6 223 n. 24
3:2 217
3:6 217 m. Shabbat
6:1 223 n. 23
m. Berakot 6:2 223 n. 23
1–5 1 n. 2
5:1 277 m. Tamid
9:4 232 n. 59 7:4 232 n. 59
m. Eduyyot m. Zevahim
2:10 232 n. 59 14:4 271 n. 6
m. Eruvin Tosefta
9:3 232 n. 59
t. Hagigah
m. Hagigah 1:10 234 n. 63
2:1 191, 263 n. 45 2:5 256 n. 27

m. Kelim t. Megillah
16:1 280 n. 28 3:5–6 275 n. 16
24:7 280 n. 28
Talmudim
m. Makkot b. Avodah Zarah
3:16 7 n. 14 2b 282 n. 33
m. Menahot b. Baba Batra
3:7 301 14b–15a 106 n. 43, 109
n. 48
m. Mo‘ed Qatan 16a 309
3:9 232 n. 59
b. Berakoth
m. Pesahim 7a 307–309
10 244 45a 283 n. 37
10:1 244 n. 102 58a 225 n. 37
10:4 245 n. 102 61a 307
10:6 244 nn. 98–99 61b 277, 299–300, 308
 index of primary texts 381

b. Hagigah 88a 269 n. 1, 282

13a–b 256 n. 27 n. 33
16a 289 88b 258 n. 29
89a 281 n. 31
b. Hullin
91b 279 n. 26 b. Sukkah
5a 281 nn. 30–31
b. Megillah
31a 239 n. 83, 275 b. Yevamot
n. 16 49b 248

b. Menahot b. Zevahim
29a 301 115b 271 n. 6
29b 287, 296–301,
303–307, 307 y. Hagigah
n. 34, 308–310 2:1 256 n. 27

b. Rosh HaShanah y. Nedarim

11b 244 n. 98 3:2 258 n. 29

b. Sanhedrin y. Pe’ah
14a 292 n. 12 2:4 262 n. 44
34a 258 n. 29
38b 279 n. 24 y. Sukkah
4:3 280 n. 27
b. Shabbat
86b 269 n. 1

8. Rabbinic Writings: Targumim

Cairo Geniza Manuscripts Exod 19:6 276

Exod 19:3 276 Exod 19:8 277
Exod 19:7 276 Exod 19:9 276, 277
Exod 19:8 277 Exod 19:19 282
Exod 19:9 276, 277 Exod 19:22 273
Exod 19:19 282 Exod 24:10 280
Exod 19:22 273 Deut 33:2 285 n. 41

Fragment Targums
Targum Neofiti
Paris 110 Gen 18:8 283
Exod 19:2 277 Gen 28:12 279 n. 26
Exod 19:3 276 Exod 15:3 225 n. 36
Exod 19:4 276 Exod 19 282
Exod 19:7 276, 277 Exod 19:2 277, 277 n. 21
Exod 19:8 277 Exod 19:3 276
Exod 19:9 276, 277 n. 19 Exod 19:4 276
Exod 19:19 282 Exod 19:7 276
Exod 19:22 273 Exod 19:8 277, 277 n. 21
Exod 24:10 280 Exod 19:9 276
Exod 24:11 283 Exod 19:16 282
Deut 33:2 285 n. 41 Exod 19:17 282
Exod 19:19 282
Vatican 440 Exod 19:22 273
Exod 19:3 276, 276 n. 17 Exod 24 282
Exod 19:4 276 Exod 24:1 276, 277
382 index of primary texts

Exod 24:3 276, 284 n. 40 Targum Pseudo-Jonathan

Exod 24:5 273 n. 10, 284 Gen 18:18 283
n. 40 Gen 19:3 283
Exod 24:9 276 Gen 28:12 194 n. 37, 279
Exod 24:10 280, 280 n. 28 n. 26
Exod 24:11 283 Exod 19:1 269 n. 1
Exod 24:12 276 Exod 19:2 277
Exod 24:14 276 Exod 19:3 269 n. 1
Exod 24:16 282 Exod 19:4 272, 276
Exod 33:23 309 Exod 19:6 273, 283 n. 38
Num 21:18 109 n. 48 Exod 19:9 276, 278
Deut 33:2 285 n. 41 Exod 19:10–13 269 n. 1
Exod 19:16 269 n. 1
Targum Onqelos Exod 19:17 281
Exod 19:4 271 Exod 19:18 280
Exod 19:7 284 Exod 19:19 282
Exod 19:12 271 n. 5 Exod 19:22 273
Exod 19:13 271 n. 5 Exod 24:1 269 n. 1, 279
Exod 19:15 271 n. 5 Exod 24:5 273, 273 n. 11
Exod 19:22 271, 271 n. 5 Exod 24:6 273
Exod 24:5 271 Exod 24:8 273, 273 n. 11
Exod 24:6 271 Exod 24:10 279, 280
Exod 24:8 271–72 Exod 24:11 273, 283
Exod 24:10 280 Exod 24:12 276
Exod 24:11 272, 283 Exod 24:14 276
Exod 33:20 293 Exod 24:15 278
Exod 33:21 293 Exod 24:16 269 n. 1, 278
Exod 33:23 292 Exod 24:18 276, 282
Deut 33:2 285 n. 41 Exod 33:23 307–309
Deut 33:21 109 n. 48 Deut 33:2 285 n. 41

9. Other Rabbinic Works

Avot of Rabbi Nathan 295 Leviticus Rabbah

28 256 n. 27 1:14 248 n. 4
A8 265 n. 51 2010 283 n. 38
A 28 265 n. 51 22:1 262 n. 44
A 66 223 n. 24 23:8 280 n. 27
B 18 265 n. 51
B 30 223 n. 24 Mekilta de R. Ishmael 303–304

Exodus Rabbah Bahodesh

28:1 281 n. 31 1, 108 277 21
45:5 295, 295 n. 19 2 276 n. 18
45:6 295 2, 24 272 n. 9
46:1 296 2, 85 276 n. 21
3–4 218 n. 8
Genesis Rabbah 3, 4 256 n. 27
68:12 279 n. 26 3, 123 282 n. 33
78:3 279 n. 26 4, 42 282 n. 36
78:8 281 n. 31 4, 46 281 n. 30
82:2 279 n. 26 4, 53 281 n. 31
9 259, 262 n. 40
Lamentations Rabbati 212 218, 219 n. 8
3.21 241–42 215 256 n. 27
 index of primary texts 383

218 219 n. 8 Vayehi

223 219 n. 8 3 220 n. 14
224 219 n. 8 16 234 n. 63
235 251 n. 12 211–12 239

Beshallah Mekilta of R. Shim‘on

2:1 269 n. 1 Exod 15:2 254 n. 23,
3:5 269 n. 1 264 n. 49
Exod 19:4 247 n. 2
Nezikin Exod 19:8 256 n. 27
1, 8–10 284 n. 40 Exod 19;9 276 n. 18
Exod 20:15 254, 254
Pischa n. 22
14 228 n. 48, 244 Exod 24:5 271 n. 6
n. 98
Midrash Leqah Tov
Shirata Deut 4:12 259 n. 32
1 220 n. 12, 232 Deut 32:10 262 n. 42
n. 59
4 264 n. 49 Midrash Samuel
6–7 234 n. 63 9:4 251 n. 12
7 220–21
8 226 Midrash Tanhuma
12 227 n. 46, 232 17 296
n. 59, 237
n. 77 Midrash Tanna’im
20 232 n. 59 Deut 32:11 247 n. 2
23 226, 227 n. 47 Deut 33:2 247 n. 2
24 218, 226, 227,
231, 232 Numbers Rabbah
n. 59, 240 4:1 279 n. 26
25 222
27 228 n. 48 Pesiqta Rabbati
28 227 n. 46, 21 264 n. 50
228, 240 n. 86
29 227 n. 45, Pesiqta de Rab Kahana 263–64
231, 232 n. 60, 7 259 n. 32
244 n. 101 12.25 162 n. 9
30–31 235–36
31 232 n. 59 Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer
33–34 228 nn. 50–51, 35 279 n. 26
229 n. 53 41 251 n. 12
39 228 n. 51, 229 46 283 n. 37
n. 53
42 233 n. 62 Seder Eliyahu Rabbah
59–60 238 n. 82 9:52 271 n. 6
60 221, 221 n. 17,
238 n. 81 Seder Olam Rabbah
62 226 n. 44 5 239 n. 83
66 230 n. 55, 232
nn. 59–60, Sifra
233, 234 2:12 263 n. 44
n. 63 10:1 258 n. 29
80 225 n. 36
384 index of primary texts

Sifre Numbers 335 267, 267 n. 56

43 226 n. 44 343 247 n. 2, 253
102 220 n. 13, 258 n. 20, 256
n. 29 n. 27
103 248 n. 4, 254
n. 21 Sifre Zutta
112 258 n. 29 84 191 n. 21

Sifre Deuteronomy Song of Songs Rabbah

32 277 1:2 263 n. 44
36 223 n. 23 4:8 280 n. 27
306 265 nn. 51–52
313 261, 261 n. 37 Tanh. Ha’azinu
314 247 n. 2 4 259 n. 32
315 232 n. 59
333 232 n. 59 Yalqut 254 n. 21

Christian Texts

1. New Testament

John 2:16 169

3:14 321 2:17 154–55, 174
19 305 n. 22, 179
3–4 180–81
Acts 3 149–81
13:15 62 n. 78 3:1–6 158
3:1–3 155–57
Romans 3:1 155–57
2:29 157 3:2–3 158
7:6 157 3:2 156–57
3:3b 156
1 Corinthians 3:3c 156–57
1:25 167 3:4–6 157–58
1:26 169 3:5–6 169
1:27 167 3:6 157–58
2:3 173 3:7–11 159–61
2:4 170 3:7 159, 162
4:10 167 3:12–18 161–64
10:1–4 150 3:13 162, 176
10:5–6 150 3:14–15 176
11:7 179 3:15 171
13:12 248 n. 4 3:16 162, 180
14:16 151–52 3:18–4:4 179
14:23 151–52 3:18 162, 165,
15:44–49 166 179–80
15:45 158 4:2 155
15:47–49 180 4:4 177, 179–80
15:49 179 4:6a 177
4:8–10 173
2 Corinthians 4:16 163, 165, 173,
2–3 169 179–80, 180
2:6 169 n. 33
 index of primary texts 385

4:17 180 Galatians

5:1–10 180 n. 33 1:10 170
5:16 177 3:17 149
10–13 150 3:19 149
10:10 166–67, 173 4:9 162
11:4–6 177
11:6b 178 1 Thessalonians
11:22 167 1:9 162
11:30 173
12:5 173 Revelation
12:9–10 173 4:2–11 52 n. 53
4:11 52 n. 53

2. Patristic Writers

Augustine Gregory Nazianus

Trinity Oration
2.17.29 293, 293 n. 14 2.3 294, 294 n. 16

Dio Chrysostom Origen

Discourses Comm. on Song of Songs
76.1–4 158 n. 8 3.15 294, 294 n. 17
76.3 158 n. 8
Paterius
Eusebius Comm. on Exodus
Praeparatio Evangelica Exod 33:23 293–94, 294
8.10.1–5 333 n. 15
13.12.1–2 153

Greek and Latin Texts

Alexander Polyhistor 187 Celsus

Apud Origen
Aristobulus Contra Celsum
Frag. 3 153 I.16 153

Aristophanes Cicero
Plutus Laws 134 n. 15
1003 172 Republic 134 n. 15
Aristotle
apud Diogenes Laertius Dio
Vitae philosopharum Orations
5.18 156 12.5 173
12.13 173
Metaphysics 12.15 173
VI, 1027 338, 338 n. 16
Diodorus Siculus
Nicomachean Ethics Bibliotheca Historica
1094 338, 338 n. 17 1.94.1–2 151–52
386 index of primary texts

Epictetus 2.572 172

Dissertationes 2.585 172
2.3 156 521 174
554 174
Euripides 570 174
Troades 590 174
887–88 258 n. 30 616 174

Hecataeus of Abdera Plato

apud Diodorus Siculus Protagoras
Bibliotheca Historica 313d–e 154–55
40.3.3–6 151
Republic
Juvenal 589a 178
Saturae
14.100–104 152 Plutarch
De tuenda sanitate praecepta
Libanius 131A 173
Declamations
31.35 158 n. 8 Isis and Osiris
75 258 n. 30
Lucretius
On the Death of Peregrinus Moralia
13 178 1007C 258 n. 30

Numenius Strabo
Frag. 8.13 153, 153 n. 5 Geography
16.2.36–37 152
Philostratus
Lives of the Sophists Tacitus
1.483 172 Historiae
1.486 171 1.31 341 n. 25
1.525 171–72 5.4.1 152