Review: “Knowledge and Rhetoric in Medical Commentary: Ancient Mesopotamian Commentaries on a Handbook of Medical Diagnosis (Sa-gig)” by John Z. Wee

John Z. Wee. Knowledge and Rhetoric in Medical Commentary: Ancient Mesopotamian Commentaries on a Handbook of Medical Diagnosis (Sa-gig). Cuneiform Monographs 49/1. Leiden: Brill, 2019.

The first person to introduce me to Akkadian medical texts was, in fact, John Z. Wee during his course in the NELC department at the University of Chicago. At the time and still now, the intersection of scholasticism and commentaries on Sa-gig struck me as noteworthy because of the pesharim in the Dead Sea Scrolls, not to mention the role of commentaries in Jewish tradition more broadly. Moreover, I was familiar with some of the more recent work exploring the intersection of Assyriology and biblical studies, especially Bronson Brown-deVost’s Commentary and Authority in Mesopotamia and Qumran, with whom I had a delightful conversation at SBL/AAR 2019 regarding my review of his book. So, although my interest in Akkadian medical texts and their commentaries is not driven primarily by an interest in pure Assyriology, such ancient literature and modern scholarship are imperative for exploring historical concepts and the development of authoritative literature in the ancient world, especially how we can more precisely identify not just what textual groupings were authoritative but how they were authoritative: What literary mechanisms did scribes use to allude to other literature, and to what ends do they draw upon that literature? What did ancient Mesopotamian commentators assume about literature, both what they drew upon to establish ideas in commentaries and what they assumed about the texts about which they commented? How do certain textual compendia and serialized texts, as well as how scribes interacted with those things, tell us about the broader structure and ancient concepts in relation to those texts? In some way, John Wee’s volume addresses all these matters. In this review, then, I will briefly summarize his work and then engage with some specific discussions in the volume.

In chapter one (part I), Wee demonstrates that Mesopotamian commentaries are more than texts explaining obscure language and cuneiform. Instead, commentaries are situated, reflecting broader knowledge assumptions of authors and readers, often with idiosyncratic comments. So, while commentaries are a distinct Mesopotamian genre, they are diverse based on their situatedness and contexts. Chapter one (part II) continues by discussing Sa-gig and it’s serialization. Here he focuses on three aspects. First, Sa-gig means, more or less, “the bundling together of sickness” or “all sickness” (25). Second, Sa-gig is designed for magicians, or ashipu. Wee explains this via the origins of Sa-gig: since Esagil-kin-apli was a magician, the text bore authority for those in the ashipu profession. Third, the language in what we call “Esagil-kin-apli’s Manifesto” conveys an image of editorial activity via a metaphor of binding textual strands into a single composition. In part III, he continues with further consideration of Sa-gig’s nature as a serialized text. Considering manuscript variants, he identifies multiple types of variants. (Notably, he doesn’t attempt to prune these variants. Note that this comment is a joke, a reference to Loki.) In his words, “No matter what motivated editors to combine incongruous or even contradictory written descriptions, they gave no indication that later audiences were supposed to pick out the ‘correct’ variant, or that two embedded variants in the same manuscript were not to be considered as both legitimate. Whatever the textual history behind embedded variants, once they were transmitted and received as features of serialized texts, they all became integral to the logic and interpretation of the larger discourse” (51). In other words, variants were not for picking one over the other but rather were incorporated into the discourse’s logic. To conclude chapter one (part IV), Wee explores how and why commentaries use the A:B equation for “interchangeable alternatives in the syntax and context of their larger narrative.” In the serialization process, he suggests the scribal equation A:B was a standard equation for embedded variants. Commentators use this same interpretive framework, ensuring the A:B equation preserved “the perceived significance or original scenarios” (83).

In chapter two (part I), Wee examines various commentary designations. After analyzing each category, he offers a hierarchy: satu and mukallimtu are the main commentary designations. These categories are then qualitified by lower-level categories like shut pi or mash’altu. The final level was the scribal lesson (preserved as cuneiform commentary in a specific tablet). This category invoked ummanu-scholar authoritative teaching for single base text tablets. Moreover, he shows that the level below satu and makallimtu “describe the general approach, philosophy, and method applied to the study of the base text composition” (141). In part II, Wee explores from whence commentators drew from for textual authority and how they used such materials. Working through a broad range of examples, he distinguishes between two types of citation: lexical text citation and narratival intertextuality. Barring my issue with how scholars abuse the term “intertextual,” this distinction is quite productive. Whereas lexical text citations enabled commentators to “adduce logical relationships between lexical entries in close proximity, as if they comprise a single block of text,” narratival intertexuality allowed commentators to “disregard major themes, priorities, and even context of the larger discourse, focusing instead on a lone sentence or turn of phrase for the meaning of an individual word or expression” (183). Part III of chapter two shifts to more technical discussion of the forms of argumentation in Mesopotamian commentaries. Suffice it to say that Wee is remarkably thorough and detailed here, and some Assyriologists will undoubtedly take issue with some parts of this chapter.

Part IV of chapter two offers some final comments to tie the loose ends together. Considering how authority resided in a text, he suggests that the majority of commentaries were “primarily concerned with the meanings of individual expression and ideas, rather than with articulating or promoting selected methods of interpretation” (282). That is, few commentaries—save for the example he offers of the Esoteric Babylonian commentary that functions as an exemplar for certain methods of interpretation—use methodological exemplars. Rather, authority often depended on the “intentions and proclivities of the individual interpreter” (285) within a particular place and time, and so distinguishing between “authority conferred upon a text or technique and that which was inherent in them” is difficult.

Part I of chapter three shifts gears and discusses the macrostructure of Sa-gig itself. Most notably, he considers this structure in light of the therapeutic tradition, especially focusing on how Sa-gig I–III is framed through time, IV–V as the stage for therapy, and VI as focused on other bodies. Part II of chapter three identifies that selected textual elements “reveal knowledge assumptions by commentators concerning their audience” (356). Although that observation is not particularly surprising or revelatory, he nonetheless sheds light on the types of knowledge that would have been taken for granted or required further explanation. Part III briefly considers how folks used Sa-gig, based on the commentaries and their origins. First, Uruk commentaries are typically about Sa-gig II, which makes sense because Sa-gig I–III were “atypical in the medical curriculum so far” (421). By contrast, Sa-gig IV and V were not new threads—that is, they were typical knowledge—and so we have less commentaries. As such, Wee suggests that “the individual Sa-gig tablet came to be treated as a self-contained unit of text for purposes of reading and even instruction,” hence the entries were not approached as a kind of narrative. Wee concludes by contextualizing Mesopotamian scholasticism with the broader swathe of European universities in the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, offering thoughts on how Sa-gig commentaries speaks to scholasticism.

Admittedly, things became busier than expected when I began this book (e.g., COVID-19, new jobs, health issues, etc.). As such, I was unable to interact with this volume as closely as I had hoped. Nonetheless, I offer some minor critiques here and continue by discussing a few routes that scholars outside of Assyriology and medical texts might be able to engage with and utilize Wee’s work.

First, though Wee even notes that “adequate treatment of the issue of canonization is beyond the scope of this volume” (37), his brief consideration does oversimplify the notion of “conferral of canonical status.” Indeed, canon is highly problematic within religious and biblical studies. As such, scholars have spent countless hours and pens processing, articulating, and defining the term canon, not to mention the work of literary theory scholars. As such, that Wee simplifies things to “a strict distinction between the formation of a text ‘series’ and the conferral of canonical status” strikes me a problematic. Although minor, he seems more to claim that he wants to understand Sa-gig and serialized variants as part of a series, not as the unstable category of canon. Unfortunately, his discussion reads as if the term canon is consistent and stable, when in fact it is unstable and highly problematic. Thus, folks interested in drawing from his work to think about notions of textual compendia in the ancient world will need to wrestle with his discussion and reconsider his comments on canon. Nonetheless, thinking about the Sa-gig and its commentaries is, I think, imperative for exploring notions of so-called canon in the ancient world more broadly.

Second, though I do not intend to critique so much as to draw attention to an interesting observation, when Wee discusses textual authority of sources, he articulates the different between lexical text citations and what he calls “narratival intertextuality.” Whereas commentators drew from lexical texts and entries as “blocks of text,” they often ignored the broader context—seemingly an interpretive choice—when drawing from narrative textual sources of authority (160–162). How scribes distinguished between lexical texts and narrative texts, as well as how they interacted with them in discrete ways, is imperative to thinking more broadly about the role of narrative and stories in the ancient world. In particular, I think to the popularity of innerbiblical exegesis and intertextuality in biblical studies. Indeed, we can identify when Text A incorporates Text B, but a more systematic analysis of how texts use other texts (i.e., the extent to which they disregard context) with regard to genre would be a fruitful way to thinking about ancient Judean interpretive and literary practices.

In short, John Wee’s Knowledge and Rhetorical in Medical Commentary in an erudite and refreshing analysis of Sa-gig and its commentaries. Although a highly specialized subject, some of his broader observations about serialization, canonization, textual sources of authority, and embedded variants may be helpful for folks in religious studies thinking about so-called canon, interpretive practices and textual sources of authority, and the boundaries in the ancient world of what we often designate science and literature.

Review: “The Emergence of Subjectivity in the Ancient and Medieval World: An Interpretation of Western History” by Jon Stewart

Jon Stewart. 2020. The Emergence of Subjectivity in the Ancient and Medieval World: An Interpretation of Western History. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

In The Emergence of Subjectivity in the Ancient and Medieval World: An Interpretation of Western Civilization, Jon Stewart draws from philosophical anthropology (“the study of what it is to be human” [10]) and the philosophy of history (“a field that attempts to find patterns or regularities in history” [10]) “to trace the various self-conceptions of different cultures as they developed historically” (11). In particular, following Charles Taylor, he focuses on inwardness, subjectivity, and individual freedom. But whereas Taylor discusses the modern world, Stewart explores inwardness and subjectivity in the ancient world, or rather its development. He defines inwardness and subjectivity broadly, involving moral sensibilities, feeling about right and wrong, one’s role in the universe, relationships to nature and gods, conceptions of the soul and afterlife, and human freedom and culpability. Exploring such ideas, Stewart suggests, help us “better understand our own modern views about what it is to be human” (18).

Indeed, the introduction offers an important and admirable goal. Within various fields, notions of interiority are a hot topic. Likewise, the problem of what being human means is central and particularly relevant in the twenty-first century, a period fraught with competing ideas about how to understand our role in the world as humans. But Stewart’s introduction does not adequately discuss his method and various assumptions. Methodologically, for instance, he suggests that folks in the humanities “study different cultural products in their original context” (7). Stewart is correct to a degree. But reality and practice are different. Though we try to understand texts in their original context, whether the period somebody wrote them or in their reception history, we still read such texts in our own contexts. As such, we interpret cultural products in light of how we perceive the world to function, our assumptions about logic, materiality, and language inputted into the text. As such, that Stewart does not mention or discuss the problem of the reader’s situatedness strikes me as a missed opportunity.

Equally equivocal is his designation of what constitutes a canonical Western text. He refers to “the canonical texts of the Western tradition” (9). At no point does he explain what texts constitute this supposed tradition, why they matter, or how one decides what texts to include. Moreover, as a brief overview of twentieth-century critical theorists illuminates, canon is not self-evident. Thus, Stewart perpetuates the false idea that we can objectively identify a Western canon.

What’s more, the assumption of canon is the symptom of a broader problem: Stewart’s work orientalizes non-Western texts. As Edward Said suggests, orientalizing is not so much about understand the Other than it is about constructing a Western identity at the expense of the Other. (In Said’s words, “Indeed, my real argument is that Orientalism is—and does not simply represent—a considerable dimension of modern political-intellectual culture, and as such has less to do with the Orient than it does with ‘our’ world” [Edward Said, “From Orientalism,” in The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism, 1793]). Stewart does this, in a way, by subsuming all the texts that he examines, including the Hebrew Bible, the Epic of Gilgamesh, Greek works, the Gospel of Matthew, and Latin works, as texts that allow an “overview of Western civilization” (10). That is, Stewart’s use and organization of these texts effectively categorizes them as Western, using them to construct a history of the West.

In chapter 1, Stewart explores the Epic of Gilgamesh. To discuss the broad notion of inwardness and subjectivity, he introduces the text, identifies multiple key passages to discuss various themes, and provides some other, general discussion. Although my role as a reviewer is to include a summary reflective of the book’s central claims, such a task is remarkably difficult because the chapter is haphazardly composed, without any clear central claim and reading more like a series of short, unrelated essays. This problem is consistent throughout the book. As I noted, Stewart’s definition of inwardness and subjectivity is too broad. So, in trying to cover all the matters in his definition, the chapters become convoluted and difficult to follow, with no clear line of continuity.

Additionally, the chapter is unnecessarily long. Although summaries and the history of scholarship are interesting, they take the bulk of space. As a result, the chapter, and most chapters, are mostly summaries rather than nuanced analysis. And while he offers interesting thoughts, he does not usually substantiate them with secondary literature or the primary text. By reducing the summaries and including more detailed analysis throughout, the book could be better and shorter.

In chapter 2, he explores Genesis 1–11 and Job. Like chapter 1, he briefly discusses the history of scholarship, followed by snippets and themes in Genesis 1–11 and Job. As with his discussion about Gilgamesh, his interaction with primary or secondary literature is minimal. And as a person in the field of biblical studies, I see how problematic the absence is. It results in many false, dubious, and unsubstantiated statements [1].

In chapters 3–10, he discusses a wide range of Greek and Latin texts. Since I am not an expert of Greek or Latin literature, I group these chapters together. They follow the same structure as chapters 1–2: an introduction followed by a range of texts and themes. Similarly, he rarely engages with secondary or primary materials. On account of this, I am skeptical about many of his interpretations. One chapter stood out in particular—Sophocles’s Oedipus the King.

In this chapter, Stewart argues that Oedipus’s self-knowledge is a sort of hubris that leads to his downfall, and he makes comparisons with Genesis 2–3 and 11. This reading struck me as odd. Indeed, Oedipus seeks knowledge, but he seeks it so as to lift the curse, not trying “to be like the god Apollo” (148), as Stewart suggests. Such a claim, as far as I can tell, misrepresents the play. Investigating further, I realized another issue: that Oedipus’s problem is the hubris of knowledge is not an original idea. In The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche comments on knowledge and hubris in Oedipus Rex: “It is as though the myth whispered to us that wisdom, and especially Dionysiac wisdom, is an unnatural crime, and that whoever, in pride of knowledge, hurls nature into the abyss of destruction, must himself experience nature’s disintegration” (1956 translation by Francis Golffing). That knowledge leads to destruction is precisely how Nietzsche and Stewart read Oedipus Rex, but for all Stewart writes about knowledge as hubris he never references Nietzsche. While I cannot explain why Stewart does not refer to Nietzsche, his claims about Oedipus as reflecting Nietzsche’s reading bring two things to my mind. First, Nietzsche was not a classicist or historian. As far as I can tell from a cursory overview, classicists took issue with his readings. As such, Stewart’s discussion is problematic, issues of citations and ethical standards aside. Second, this section raises a deeper issue: How often does Stewart elide citations and pass them off as his own? Just as the chapters on the Hebrew Bible and Gilgamesh include dubious claims that I could identify because I know those texts and the scholarship, I wonder how many claims in his discussion of Greek and Latin texts likewise are based on weak grounds, or even other people’s arguments without a citation or reference.

Beyond matters of citation, how Stewart puts different traditions into conversation is questionable. While cross-cultural comparisons are valuable, how he compares Jewish, Christian, and Greek concepts is overly simplistic. While discussing natural law versus relativism, he puts forth problematic claims. First, he invokes the concept of “the Judeo-Christian tradition” (149). (For the history and discussion of why this category is unhelpful, see James Loeffler’s “The Problem With the ‘Judeo-Christian Tradition’ ” in The Atlantic.) He then makes the dubious claim that Judeo-Christian tradition believes that “laws of ethics are absolutes that are non-negotiable” (149). As such, “it would be absurd for individual human beings to rebel against these laws” (149–50). Here Stewart is simply wrong. Regarding negotiability, we see a wide range of ethical norms in the Hebrew Bible, Jewish tradition, and Christian traditions. Sometimes these ethics are rooted in divine authority, other times more akin to natural law. And in some texts, we see ethical tensions with no clear ethical norm. And, third-century BCE through first-century CE Jewish and Christian texts pick up on the idea of natural law! In short, then, Stewart constructs a misrepresentation of Jewish and Christian traditions so they can neatly and easily contrast with Greek traditions. (See, for example, “The Sibylline Oracles,” Josephus’s histories, and John Barton’s Ethics in Ancient Israel.)

In chapter 11, he explores subjectivity in Matthew. In addition to the previous criticisms, this chapter is surprising because he draws from Kierkegaard rather than biblical scholars to explain the notion of offense. Why draw from a nineteenth-century philosopher rather than biblical scholars when discussing the Gospel of Matthew? Even if his goal is a philosophical history, he misses a wealth of scholarship that would speak to his research interest.

In the final chapter, Stewart offers a range of concluding thoughts of his history of so-called Western civilization and subjectivity. The heightened version of subjectivity in the modern world—something that would have been progressive in the ancient world—creates a problem. Whereas in the ancient world one “enjoyed a sense of immediate belonging in their world with traditional values and customs, we moderns, wallowing in alienation, can never hope to re-establish this” (358). So, while the modern world was able to develop legal institutions and individual freedom, it developed simultaneously increasing alienation and isolation. Such alienation and “breakdown of traditional values and institutions” (359), he suggests, engenders a societal challenge to self-identity formation. To deal with this problem, social media emerged as a tool for identity formation, albeit one “constantly on him- or herself and not on the external world” (364). This self-obsession on social media he calls narcissism. And since social media is not the “real world,” he doubts social media can solve the problem of alienation. He links this issue to the rise of relativism and the disappearance of truth, a world in which a fictional self-image answers the problem of alienation. So, Stewart claims, it appears we live in a post-truth world. The rise of relativism, alienation, and extreme subjectivity thus yields more people seeking group identity, such as nationalism. Therefore, Stewart suggests a balance between extreme subjectivity and communal identity. We should seek this balance via reflection on the history of Western civilization.

Now, the acute reader will see that I spent more time summarizing this chapter, the conclusion, than any other chapter. The reasons are threefold. First, unlike the other chapters, the conclusion provides a clear through line and coherent, cogent claims. As such, I can effectively engage with his arguments, observations, conclusions, and logic. Additionally, his take on subjectivity is thoughtful and interesting and could stand apart from the book, as it does not rely heavily on the discussion in chapters 2–13. Therefore, I do not suspect it is rooted in nonfactual information, as much of the other chapters either are or may be. Lastly, the final chapter is worth engaging with because the ideas are interesting. So, in the next few paragraphs I analyze Stewart’s logic and conclusions. Admittedly, I disagree with most of his logic and conclusions, but they are not entirely wrong. Instead, I interact with his arguments to refine and nuance his ideas.

Stewart first highlights how shifts toward extreme individualism engender individual alienation. Indeed, extreme individualism can engender and increase isolation. Where I take issue is the strong distinction he makes between communalism and individualism. While individuals may no longer turn toward the government or authority figures since they do not always represent the individual, the implication is not that people necessarily turn inward, diminishing “the traditional sense of solidarity, community, and civic obligation” (358). Rather, people seek different communities and solidarity groups. Such groups, though, are not as apparent, perhaps because they are smaller, more localized, disconnected from powerful institutions, and less public. So, while folks may turn inward, Stewart’s grim picture of communal externalism versus individual inwardness seems to focus on the spectrum’s extremes, not tapping into the grey zone. Taking the extremes as a clear dichotomy appears yet again in his contrasting the ancient with the modern. While ancients may have been more communal and relied on tradition in a way that we might call uncritical, it is not as if ancient people never felt alienation, as is evident in various Mesopotamian literary texts, Job, Psalms, and, I suspect, other ancient literature from around the world.

Furthermore, if we accept that modern people struggle more with self-identity than ancient people—itself a dubious claim—social media, Stewart argues, enables self-identity construction but also gives rise to highly internalized, individualistic, and narcissistic people, since he perceives social media as mainly for constructing a self. On a few fronts, Stewart is undoubtedly correct. Social media can increase isolation and alienation; it is a tool for self-identity construction. But his representation of social media and self-identity formation is far too simplistic. For instance, his suggestion that the rapid development of social media is a “testimony to the important need that it fills” (364), namely, to be part of something and not alienated, fails to interrogate the why. That is, did social media emerge because it purportedly solved the modern alienation and self-identity problem? Or did social media create the problem of alienation and self-identity formation so that it could then offer a solution? Or is another explanation possible?

Equally in need of nuance is his representation of social media as primarily a narcissistic, self-identity platform. While he is correct that social media is about identity formation and can (but not always!) lead to narcissism, this representation is not always true. In my experiences with Twitter, for example, my constructing a self-identity via the platform is also a means to network—or rather socialize—with others in my field of study. Likewise, my wife has found many social groups on Facebook that make her part of a community, of something larger. Therefore, social media is not all about the individual; social media also involves socializing, networking, and engaging with others, albeit digitally.

With this nuanced understanding of social media, I can thus interrogate what Stewart calls the external, real world and the inward, online world. If we understand social media as a real social interaction, then the boundaries between the online and real world become less clear. For even if people stare at their phones, they also discuss content. And as my wife noted, people used to interact with file cabinets, multiple notepads, newspapers, magazines, books, media, and crossword puzzles; however, those tools and activities are now available via a single material object. As such, how we engage with the single material object frequently is just as “inward” as how people used tools and materials 30 years ago. So, if anything, social media is a place where people create content, discuss real life, and engage with the same things they did 30 years ago, albeit via a single material object, such as a phone or computer. Thus, Stewart should further nuance the connection between the virtual world and the nonvirtual world instead of viewing them as a dichotomy.

He continues by suggesting social media leads to a fictional version of one’s self online. As such, whereas in what he calls real life one is special by “verifiable skills, talents, personal qualities, experiences” (368), and more, the online world is about persuading others that you are special. Fictional selves then give rise to relativism and the idea that factual bases do not exist. Of all Stewart’s arguments in this chapter, this section is the most problematic. For from his sharp distinction between the real world and the online world arises the distinction between an online fictional self and a real-world self. These categories are highly problematic, especially the idea that the online and real worlds function differently. Consider, for instance, the role of speech. Even if an individual has no experience or knowledge in a field, people often perceive loud and intense speakers as bearing more authority than a soft-spoken expert. Consider the COVID-19 world, for instance: people frequently turn to congress people as authorities on infectious diseases because said congress people speak from a position of authority and power. Yet, those people often have no training, skills, experiences, or expertise with infectious diseases! Instead, people perceive them as authoritative because of their self-representation as (fictional) experts. And social media is the same! Via careful rhetoric individuals can represent themselves as critical and knowledgeable without a lick of criticism or knowledge. In both cases, an individual self-represents via persuasion, not skills or knowledge. Thus, to distinguish strongly between real life and social media in terms of real skills versus fictional skills strikes me as short sighted. And though I will not discuss this point ad nauseam, many parallels between real life and social media are evident: representing one’s self as an artist via Instagram versus an art gallery or as a rhetorically witty person via Twitter versus in debates; emphasizing different aspects of once identity based on their location is social media (e.g., Twitter, Facebook group, private chat, etc.) versus the real world (public meeting; home with family; out with a friend; etc.). In both the real world and online world, people select and front aspects of their selves to construct an identity. Thus, the claim that the real world is about being and the online world is about persuading does not hold up to scrutiny. Instead, we always persuade others about our identities.

As such, his argument that fictional selves or social media give rise to absolute relativism is on weak grounds. Even if we accept his claim about relativism—which seems overly simplified to me—that the construction of fictional selves necessarily engenders this relativism does not logically follow, especially since his understanding of social media and self-representation is fraught with misunderstandings about how it functions. Moreover, his description of relativism yet again falls into a framework he uses regularly. Rather than identify the nuance and describe a spectrum, he focuses on the extremes of the spectrum: modern versus ancient, internal versus external, fact versus nonfact, relativism versus objectivity.

He concludes by suggesting that we must strike a balance between objectivity and subjectivity. While I do not disagree, I cannot help but wonder, “Is this idea not what many others have already said in different words, what humanities scholars do on a daily basis?” In other words, he develops what may be a recycled conclusion through a series of extremes. Rather than claiming a broad unity between objectivity and subjectivity, his argument would be more effective pedagogically had he demonstrated how to function within that framework. (Recall that he envisions undergraduates using this book in a classroom.)

As the reader may have guessed, I was not a fan of this book. The idea is interesting and important, but Stewart does not execute it well. And the book is not coherent or cogent, save for the last chapter. And even this chapter was chock-full of overly simplified paradigms and misunderstandings of how social media works. So, folks researching issues of subjectivity should engage with this book if they seek specific content. But on account of the lack of coherent and cogency, use of outdated scholarship, wrong facts, and overly simplified discussions, I do not recommend this book for courses or casual reading. And while Stewart is clearly an accomplished scholar, it seems best that he continue to focus and work on Hegel, Kierkegaard, and other philosophers, not ancient literature. Unless another book comes along or Stewart writes a more critical and academically rigorous volume on subjectivity in the ancient world, folks are better off reading older works on subjectivity.

[1] The following are examples of the incorrect information that Stewart offers: he claims that Abraham would have know the flood narrative because he was from Ur (38), but biblical scholars view Genesis as a myth and etiology, not history; he describes prayer as a form of sorcery (45); he frames Genesis 1–3 as describing the Fall, which is more of a Christian tradition than a close reading of the text; he describes Noah as the first patriarch (61), which is problematic; he mentions sin in Gen 1–3 even though sin does not appear until Genesis 4; his references for Job are outdated; he appears to read the Hebrew Bible as representing a monolithic religious tradition, though he does not explore much outside of Genesis 1–11 and Job. While I saw more examples in other chapters, I do not care to list all problematic claims here and instead focus on the broad, systemic issues that I identify I the review.

Review: “First Isaiah” by J. J. M. Roberts

J. J. M. Roberts. First Isaiah. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. 2015.

*After reading the book but before writing my review, I read Matthew Neujahr’s review (click here for his review). He details aspects of Roberts’s commentary that I noticed but do not discuss in my review. Instead, I detail aspects of Roberts’s commentary that Neujahr does not discuss or address. As such, I highly recommend reading Neujahr’s review in addition to this review.

J. J. M. Roberts has published many articles about Isaiah, ancient Near Eastern history and religion, and the Hebrew Bible more broadly. This commentary on First Isaiah, one might presume, would be his magnum opus, an erudite and critical synthesis of his scholarship and work in Isaiah, historical-critical scholarship, and ancient Near Eastern history since completing his dissertation in 1969. Unfortunately, Roberts does not come through. Indeed, his commentary offers a range of interesting nuggets, attends to historical-critical problems, and includes reference to various manuscript traditions. But the strengths of the volume do not outweigh the more systemic problems. As such, I will discuss a few of these systemic problems. To be clear, my goal is not to emphasize this volume is worthless. For while one might use different, and arguably better, commentaries, one may still find undeveloped ideas and observations in the commentary worthy of further synthesis and discussion. So, my hope is that this review enables scholars to be aware of any issues with the commentary should they refer to it in any capacity.

One of the most frequent, reoccurring frames through his volume is the Zion tradition. (Reference to “the Zion tradition” as opposed to “Zion traditions” reflects his language, not mine.) While the Zion tradition is not fundamentally problematic, how he uses this framework for interpretation is somewhat haphazard and uncritical. Indeed, he uses a singular, not the plural, to describe the Zion tradition. From the outset, Roberts comments that “the Zion tradition was the main theological influence on Isaiah’s thought” (5). Beyond this statement’s seemingly massive generalization, he seems to assume a monolithic notion of Zion tradition. The heading, in fact, for Jon Levenson’s (ABD 6:1098–102) article on this tradition in Anchor Bible Dictionary is “Zion Traditions,” the title and his discussion indicating that such a tradition is not monolithic but rather multivocal. At no point in the commentary, though, does Levenson refer to Zion traditions, nor does he specify why he speaks of a monolithic Zion tradition as opposed to a multifaceted tradition, which is more in line with the major work on Zion theology and tradition. Even Ollenburger’s Zion, The City of the Great King: A Theological Symbol of the Jerusalem Cult (1987, 146), though mentioning the Zion tradition, explains that the term regards Zion as a symbol in a broader, diverse symbolic network. That is, Ollenburger allows for the multivocality of the term “Zion tradition. Thus, the question remains for Roberts: What does he mean by “the Zion tradition”?

Now, Roberts seemingly answers this question. Note 8 in the introduction refers to a 2012 article entitled “Public Opinion, Royal Apologetics, and Imperial Ideology.” He comments that earlier articles are cited in this article. After looking at these citations, the lack of references struck me. Roberts cite four articles; and he published each of those articles. Moreover, the works are relatively outdated (1973, 1982, 2002, 2003), especially since he likely finished writing all the articles prior to 2002 (accounting for the production time for the 2003 article). Such outdated and self-referential citations strike me as problematic, and they suggest an insular echo chamber within which Roberts does not deal adequately with approaches to Zion traditions that do not agree with his own. Indeed, that problem compounds and becomes more apparent due to the minimal engagement with any secondary materials, as Matthew Neujahr notes in his 2018 review.

Another ill-defined aspect are his assumptions regarding poetic structure. Throughout the commentary’s textual notes, Roberts frequently makes textual emendations based on whether parallelism is out of place, based on his idea of what constitutes good poetic structure. Three examples will suffice to demonstrate that his assumptions about what makes sense or constitutes normal parallelism may hinder our understanding of the text.

First, he comments on the parallelism in Isaiah 1:13. The MT’s אָוֶן וָעֲצָרָה he calls an “odd parallelism that seems strangely out of place.” So, following only the LXX, he emends אָוֶן to צום on that basis that צום parallels עצרה better in terms of parallelism (16). He does not consider, though that perhaps the tension between אָוֶן and עֲצָרָה is precisely what the text brings to the table. That is, the deity’s speech may construct a tension between Israelite iniquity and their festive gatherings, the עֲצָרָה. In other words, rather than changing the text based on what he perceives to be better parallelism, Roberts should begin by taking the text on its own terms, rhetorically and philology—he does not do this. (Notably, the LXX support his emendation; however, other MSS do not support his emendation.) Similarly, Roberts removes the phrase קָרָמִים וְהַנִשָּׂאִים from Isaiah 2:13 on the grounds that it “disturbs the balance of the poetic parallelism” (38). Were manuscript evidence extant, I might accept Roberts’s claim, but even Roberts admits that the phrase appears in all manuscript traditions! So, yet again Roberts relies on a constructed notion of “good” parallelism, without other manuscript evidence, to make textual deletions. Finally, Roberts suggests emending the second word דּוֹדִי in Isaiah 5:1 to דּוֹדַי because the “slight emendation of the vocalization [. . .] avoids redundancy” (70). Perhaps unsurprisingly, this emendation finds no support in 1QIsaa or other manuscripts. Thus, we see yet again a pattern of emending that is based on an ill-defined notion of what constitutes good poetry.

I do not highlight these examples to be nitpicky. Rather, these examples point to a broader methodological and systemic problem: he organizes poetry and emends texts with no evidence more than his subjective sense of what constitutes good poetry. He should have made clear his position on poetry and when textual emendations are, in his view, necessary. I suspect this systemic problem is also a result of his poorly defined method and theoretical assumptions. Indeed, he mentions issues of textual emendations; however, his stance, method, theory, and underlying assumptions are equivocal. For instance, he writes that “there is no virtue in teasing a bogus meaning out of an obviously corrupt text” (7). How, though, does he determine what is “obviously corrupt”? Likewise, even if the Hebrew Bible require more “creative conjectural emendation than would be the case in New Testament studies,” how he decides what constitutes a reasonable creative emendation is unclear. Had he defined this creative endeavor and offered a methodology, he may have avoided, or at least explained, putting forth so many seemingly unsubstantiated textual emendations. (Admittedly, other scholarship may have influenced some of his emendations; however, he does not refer to such scholarship.)

Equally unclear is how he determines whether two pericopes in Isaiah, or elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, bear a literary connection. Though frequently invoking the term allusion, he never defines the term, nor does he use the concept consistently. For example, he suggests that Isaiah 30:28 is an intentional allusion to Isaiah 8:7–8; however, he offers no justification as to why it constitutes an allusion. After all, just because the same word—or even phrase—appears in two places does not necessarily mean any degree of textual allusion (398). Such failure to use allusion consistently or identify a working method and definition is consistent through the commentary.

More broadly, and beyond these systemic issues, the commentary is best characterized as haphazardly composed. Indeed, he offers important comments here and there. But Roberts rarely interacts directly with secondary sources (even with a rich bibliography!) and does not dig into content that he could have synthesized into broader conclusions in the introduction. To these unsynthesized observations I shift.

Relevant to my interests, Roberts frequently discuss the problem of the speaker and addressee, highlighting how the text may address a fictive addressee like a foreign nation but direct the oracle itself at the Judean court. Such comments appear especially in his discussion of the הוי oracles. But he never synthesizes problems of the speaker, the real addressee, the fictive addressee, the reader, and other aspects of the speaker–addressee paradigm. For example, how does the addressee impact the speaker’s register? How does the speaker represent speech from non-Judeans, such as Egyptians or Nubians? If we assume the oracles addressed representatives of various nations originally, what is the rhetorical impact and religious significance of directing oracles secondarily to a Judean audience? And what even is the imagined public and Judean royalty in Isaiah? To what degree are they diverse or monolithic? Dealing with such broader, systemic issues in Isaiah would strengthen the commentary.

Similarly, as anyone who read Isaiah knows, Isaiah is replete with texts that flow and ebb with unexpected shifts in the verbal subject and speaker. While he rightly notes such instances throughout the commentary, but not always, I wonder if synthesizing how Isaiah uses enallage may shed light on the composition as a whole and, perhaps, ancient Judean religious and rhetorical ideas. (See, for example, Marc Brettler’s comments on the dearth of enallage in biblical studies at

For both speech and enallage, as well as other content discussed in this review, the introduction would have been a great place to discuss and outline such ideas, showing how the ideas fit into broader scholastic discourse on Isaiah. And an expanded introduction in general would strengthen the volume. In particular, I would have like more on Roberts’s methodology and a thorough overview of the history of scholarship. Unfortunately, the introduction is so broad that it leaves the reader without any sense of the history of scholarship and unclear how Roberts’s commentary fits into the broader systems of scholarship about Isaiah, especially since he rarely interacts with his secondary material in the introduction and commentary.

Even with these criticisms, the volume is not all bad. Indeed, the textual notes often refer to other manuscript traditions and translations. So, such references may be helpful for people not learned in Latin, Syriac, and Greek. Granted, noting every instance of plene spelling in 1QIsaa seems unnecessary and excessive. Likewise, the volume may be of interest to folks with historical-critical interests, though he does not include much in-depth interaction with previous works, nor does he include much in the way of footnotes.

Before concluding this review, I have a relatively extensive list of more specific criticisms.

  • In various places he brings David into the text when David is absent, especially when he invokes the Zion tradition. In various places, that is, he claims that the text refers to David, such as the “hegemony of the Davidic monarchy” (170) and the restoration of “the ancient ideal of the Davidic monarchy” (186). The texts for which he invokes the Davidic monarchy, though, include no explicit mention of David. And Roberts does not explain why the Davidic monarchy might be relevant.
  • Though Roberts clearly knows much about Mesopotamian history, at one point he wastes nearly two full pages citing texts from ancient Near Eastern inscription (180–81). And the full quotations do not bring much more to the text than a short paragraph could have brought.
  • He perpetuates the outdated notion of women participating in so-called pagan worship via Adonis gardens in ancient Israel (244).
  • Some of his readings are not attentive to the text, such as his comment on Isaiah 19:5–15 where he claims that Egypt will collapse politically and economically on account of Yahweh’s judgment. While true to a degree, that the verbs do not associate the drought in Egypt to Yahweh’s agency is notable; instead, Yahweh’s action in the narrative is to add a spirit of confusion (256–60).
  • He claims that Isaiah 24 is a worldwide judgment; however, this understanding is overblown, since the text only refers to the range as from the sea to the east; however, Roberts never puts forward an explanation for what constitutes the east in Isaiah and how far the east reaches (310). Likewise, the text does not mention the north or south.
  • While others such as Neujahr point to Roberts’s discussion of Mari as helpful in understanding Isaiah, I am left wondering about the value of 16th-century materials and political situations on an 8th-century BCE text. I would have liked if Roberts had not just highlighted how texts from Mari might explain Isaiah but also why a text predating Isaiah by 800 years is relevant (372–73).
  • Roberts often assumes an orality-versus-written dichotomy. Recent work by Jacqueline Vayntrub, though argues that orality is a literary trope, not necessarily the historical situation. So, consideration of this problem would have strengthened his volume. Instead, thinking about how Isaiah’s speech appears as “the presentation of speech in the mouth of a socially authoritative individual” (Vayntrub 2019, 204), regardless of the historical background of what Isaiah actually did, may have been a more productive route for exploring speech in Isaiah.
  • Though I do not catalogue every instance, equating the term typically translated “iniquity” as “sin” strikes me as problematic (421). Indeed, the terms may be equivalent in some situations; however, their equivalence is equivocal and depends on the context.
  • He draws from Gustaf Dalman’s Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina to argue for the meaning of a noun as ankle chain jewelry (63). But Dalman’s work is orientalists and regards the early 20th century. Thus, its relevance for an 8th-century BCE text is unclear.

In conclusion, Roberts is an excellent scholar; however, for a broad introduction to and thorough understanding of First Isaiah, his commentary is not the best option. Granted, scholars investigating Isaiah, whether with historical-critical, literary, or philological questions, should consult Roberts’s commentary on First Isaiah. But readers should remember that his use of Zion tradition, textual emendations, short introduction, and unsynthesized observations are broader issues in the commentary.

Typographical Errors: Period should be a question mark after “like a dried-up tree” (34); comma needed in the phrase “inserted unchanged in an” before “unchanged” (164); a bibliographic entry for Albright writes “Preëxilic” instead of “Preexilic” (296); inconsistent spacing regarding typesetting, as far as I can tell (352–3); missing “r” in “Assyria” (385); a double space at the beginning of a sentence instead of a single space (389); missing “t” on “heart” (421).

*I want to express my gratitude to Fortress Press for providing a copy in exchange for my honest opinions.

Forthcoming (and Some Previous) Events, Articles, and Books*

I have been adding things to this list over the last month or two. As such, some events may have already happened and some articles may be old news at this point. Moreover, I include some articles and books not because they are new but because they are classics that I want to read. Enjoy!


Everything from The BRANE Collective; follow them! (Link)

“Where Are the Books of Job’s Daughters? Mapping the Shadow of Libraries of Antiquity” by Eva Mroczek; in Zoomland, of course, on November 18, 7 p.m. to 8:15 p.m. (Link)

“The Story of Sacrifice: New Directions in the Study of the Priestly Source,” a panel discussion of Liane Feldman’s book called, well, The Story of Sacrifice: Ritual and Narrative in the Priestly Source; November 13, 10:30 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. (EST) (Link)

Misc Links and Articles

“The Book of Jonah and the Theme of Exile” by Marian Kelsey (Link)

“Ancient Muses and Student Poets: Storytelling in Verse” by Erin Galgay Walsh (Link)

“What are ᵓElilim?” by Mark Hamilton (Link)

Mark Hamilton explores the word ᵓĕlîlîm.

“The Conflict between Adonijah and Solomon in Light of Succession Practices Near and Far” by Andrew Knapp (Link)

“La Lingua Americana: Voice and Representation in Academic Publishing” by Ella Maria Diaz (Link)

“Rahab: Between Faith and Works” by Jacob Wright (Link)

Report of the Select Committee on Intelligence by the US Senate (Link)

Andrea Seri’s review of Ea’s Duplicity in the Gilgamesh Flood Story by Martin Worthington (Link)

“Discerning False Prophecy: The Story of Ahab and the Lying Spirit” by James A. Diamond (Link)

“Steve A. Wiggins (Oxford University Press): The Editors behind the Great Books in New Testament Studies” by Nijay Gupta (Link)

“Thinking Materially: Making Ostraca in the Classroom” by Patrick Angiolillo (Link)

“The Fascination, Challenges, and Joys of Being a Historian of Ancient Israelite Religion” by Theodore Lewis (Link)

Review of Inventing the Novel: Bakhtin and Petronius Face to Face by Robert Bracht Branham, written by Thomás Fernández (Link)

“Looters Destroy 2000-Year-Old Sudan Archaeological Side in Search for Gold” by The New Arab Staff and Agencies (Link)

“New Sept Volume on Leviticus: An Interview with Mark Awabdy” by William Ross (Link)

“No more office hours! We need student hours” by an individual on Twitter (Link)

An Educator’s Handbook for Teaching about the Ancient World (vol. 1), edited by Pınar Durgun (Link)

“Some Reflections on Ariel Sabar’s Veritas” by Tony Burke (Link)

Beit Mikra – Volume 65 (2020), No. 1 (Link)

“Aural Epistemology: Hearing and Listening in the Text of the Qur’an” by Lauren E. Osborne (Link)

“Feminist Historiography and Uses of the Past” by Blossom Stefaniw (Link)

Twitter Thread by Seth Sanders (Link)

“Epidemics in Mesopotamia” by Annie Attia (Link)

“Michel Foucault – The Dynamics of Power ” by James Bishop (Link)

“Mishnah, Midrash, and How to Read Tannaitic Literature” by Ishay Rosen-Zvi (Link)

“Introduction to the Masorah: The Masorah of the Leningrad Codex in the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia (BHS) Edition” by Daniel Mynatt (Link)

“Imagining History without Heroes and Villains” by Russell P. Johnson (Link)

Vasileios Liotsakis’s review of Narratology: Classics in Theory by Genevieve Liveley (Link)

“The Idea and Study of Sacrifice in Ancient Israel” by Liana Feldman, an article oriented toward undergraduates, if I recall the Twitter post correctly (Link)

Metatron, a new journal from the group Renewed Philology (Link)


The Synagogue in Ancient Palestine: Current Issues and Emerging Trends edited by Rick Bonnie et al.

The Amarna Letters: Transliterations, Translations, and Glossary of the International and Vassal Correspondence from Tell el-Amarna by Jacob Lauinger and Tyler Yoder (Link)

After the Harvest: Storage Practices and Food Processing in Bronze Age Mesopotamia edited by Noemi Borrelli and Guilia Scazzosi (Link)

Painting the Mediterranean Phoenician: On Canaanite-Phoenician Trade-nets by Dalit Regev (Link)

The Ancient South Arabian Royal Edicts from the Southern Gate of Timna and the Gabal Labah by Giovanni Mazzini (Link)

Building between the Two Rivers: An Introduction to the Building Archaeology of Ancient Mesopotamia by Stefano Anastasio and Piero Gilento (Link)

Identity in Persian Egypt: The Fate of the Yehudite Community of Elaphantine by Bob Becking (Link)

Reading Other Peoples’ Texts: Social Identity and the Reception of Authoritative Tradition edited by Ken S. Brown, Alison L. Joseph, and Brennan Breed (Link)

The Oxford History of the Ancient Near East: From the Beginnings to Old Kingdom Egypt and the Dynasty of Akkad (Vol.1), edited by Karen Radner, Nadine Moeller, and D. T. Potts (Link)

Ezekiel, Law, and Judahite Identity: A Case for Identity in Ezekiel 1–33 by Joel B. Kemp (Link)

Semitic, Biblical and Jewish Studies: In Honor of Richard C. Steiner, edited by Aron J. Koller, Mordechai Z. Cohen, and Adina Moshavi (Link)

Tales of Royalty: Notions of Kingship in Visual and Textual Narration in the Ancient Near East, edited by Elisabeth Wagner-Durand and Julia Linke (Link)

Essays on Babylonian and Biblical Literature and Religion by Tzvi Abusch (Link)

On My Right Michael, On My Left Gabriel: Angels in Ancient Jewish Culture by Mika Ahuvia (Link)

Contextualizing Jewish Temples, edited by Tova Ganzel and Shalom E. Holtz (Link)

Hebräisch: Biblisch-Hebräische Unterrichtsgrammatik by Michael Pietsch and Martin Rösel (Link)

God’s Law and Order: The Politics of Punishment in Evangelical America by Aaron Griffith (Link)

The Jewish Annotated Bibliography edited by Jonathan Klawans and Lawrence M. Wills (Link)

Three Skeptics and the Bible: La Peyrère, Hobbes, Spinoza, and the Reception of Modern Biblical Criticism by Jeffrey Morrow (Link) [Mainly included for my own interests]

The “God of Israel” in History and Tradition by Michael J. Stahl (Link)

Roundup of Forthcoming (and Recently Released) Books

The last few months have been pretty busy. As such, I haven’t had much opportunity to write for The Biblical Review. One of the unforeseen consequences is that I haven’t been tracking forthcoming and recently released books. In this post, then, I offer a list of various volumes. For each volume, I include the subject matter along with why I am interested in the book. (Please forgive any typographical errors.)

Authoritative Writings in Early Judaism and Early Christianity: Their Origin, Collection, and Meaning, edited by Tobias Nicklas and Jens Schröter. (Link)

“The articles in this collection start with the assumption that the authorization of writings had already begun in Israel and Judaism before the emergence of Christianity and was continued in the first centuries CE by Judaism and Christianity in their respective ways. They deal with a broad range of sources, such as writings which came to be part of the Hebrew Bible, literature from Qumran, the Septuagint, or early Jewish apocalypses. At the same time they deal, for example, with structures of authorization related to New Testament writings, examine the role of authoritative texts in so-called Gnostic schools, and discuss the authority of late antique apocryphal literature.”

Although I am not particularly interested in the New Testament, I am always interested in the notion of authoritative writings and how texts became authoritative.

Un YHWH venant du Sud? by Fabian Pfitzmann. (Link)

Though I have not dealt with much scholar about Yahweh from the south, I interested in perusing this book, as it may contain some helpful summaries about the current state of scholarship on this subject.

Sovereign Authority and the Elaboration of Law in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, by Dylan Johnson. (Link)

“Five Pentateuchal texts (Lev 24:10–23; Num 9:6–14; Num 15:32–36; Num 27:1–11; Num 36:1–12) offer unique visions of the elaboration of law in Israel’s formative past. In response to individual legal cases, Yahweh enacts impersonal and general statutes reminiscent of biblical and ancient Near Eastern law collections. From the perspective of comparative law, Dylan R. Johnson proposes a new understanding of these texts as biblical rescripts: a legislative technique that enabled sovereigns to enact general laws on the basis of particular legal cases. Typological parallels drawn from cuneiform and Roman law illustrate the complex ideology informing the content and the form of these five cases. The author explores how latent conceptions of law, justice, and legislative sovereignty shaped these texts, and how the Priestly vision of law interacted with and transformed earlier legal traditions.”

Like some of the other books, I’m not interested in reading this; however, I am interested in reading some thorough book reviews and getting a sense of Johnson’s contributions and arguments.

The Pillars of the First Temple (1 Kgs 7,15–22): A Study from Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, Archaeological, and Iconographic Perspectives, by Daniel Prokop. (Link)

“The columns referred to as Jachin and Boaz are certainly one of the most controversial features of the First Temple of Jerusalem. In this volume, Daniel Prokop examines the appearance and the meaning of the twin pillars by approaching them from different perspectives. He investigates the epigraphic evidence from Egypt, Mesopotamia, and Syria-Palestine, defines the relationship between the six different descriptions in the Hebrew Bible, and compares the most important textual witnesses of 1 Kgs 7,15–22, which will provide insight into the narrative development and transmission history of the texts. Studying iconographic data, the author explores a unique way to achieve a better understanding of the material, dimensions, names, location, and decoration of the pillars.”

Dealing with epigraphic and iconographic data in any study can be fruitful, illuminating ambiguous passages in the Hebrew Bible. As such, I am interested not just in how Prokop uses such data but also how he analyzes each data point independent of 1 Kings 7:5–22.

Researching Metaphor in the Ancient Near East, edited by Marta Pallavidini and Ludovico Portuese. (Link)

“This volume edited by Marta Pallavidini and Ludovico Portuese aims to research metaphor from different perspectives by considering its presence in ancient Near Eastern written documents. The contributions focus on several ancient Near Eastern cultures and encompass more than two millennia as well as examine various topics, from Sumerian literature, to Hittite written sources, to Neo-Assyrian art to the Biblical world.”

Simply put, metaphors are important to understand and analyze, as most language is metaphor. As such, the chronological and geographical span of this volume may be extraordinarily helpful for thinking about metaphor.

Writing World History in Late Ming China and the Perception of Maritime Asia, by Elke Papelitzky. (Link)

“This book by Elke Papelitzky studies each of the seven author’s knowledge and perception of the world and focuses especially on the countries connected with China at the maritime border: Siam, Malacca, and Portugal, combining a close textual and paratextual analysis with a biographical study to understand why the authors wrote the texts the way they did. This is the first comprehensive introduction to these texts contributing to an understanding of late Ming historiography as well as the perception of foreign countries by late Ming scholars.”

Although I am not particularly interested int he details of late Ming scholars, I am interested in some of the broader historiographical patterns that Papelitzky identifies, as they may prove to be interesting comparisons to Near Eastern and biblical texts.

The Crimean Karaim Bible, edited by Henryk Jankowski et al. (Link)

“The Bible was the most important canonical book of the Karaites, but only short fragments or individual books have been published. The present two-volume publication is a critical edition of approximately a half of Crimean Karaim Bible. Volume I contains the transcription of sixteen biblical books, the Pentateuch, i.e., Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy; the Five Scrolls, i.e., the Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, and Ecclesiastes; as well as six books of the Writings, i.e., the Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Daniel, Ezra, and Nehemiah. Volume II contains the English translation of all biblical books provided in volume I. The transcription is based on the most complete manuscript from Cambridge and a few other manuscripts, including the earliest ones. Therefore, this is the first publication that makes large portions of the Bible accessible to the reader. Although the oldest known datable manuscripts go back to the seventeenth century, the language of Karaim translation is more archaic. This edition is an important source for the study of Middle Karaim and Middle Turkic languages. The edited text is provided with numerous comments and the introduction traces the history of research. All this is important for the study on the Crimean Karaim Bible since Ebenezer Henderson’s seminal study of 1828.”

These volume consists of what is seemingly an understudied portion of Jewish history as well as biblical manuscripts. As a whole, using this volume as a reference may yield some important divergences between it and other manuscripts.

Writing and Rewriting History in Ancient Israel and Near Eastern Cultures, edited by Isaac Kalimi. (Link)

“Most of the papers collected in this volume were delivered at the conference held in June 2018, Mainz. They discuss recent developments in the analysis of history and historiography in ancient Israel and its surrounding cultures. The scholars compare the compositional and editorial approaches evident in biblical and post-biblical writings with those shown in other ancient literature, while concentrating on a specific theme.”

On issues of historiography, especially when it is related to religious studies issues, I suspect this volume may offer a helpful over of a multitude of debates and discourse about the Hebrew Bible, such as the relationship between Ezekiel 16 and Gilgamesh, the Queen of Heaven, and broader methodological discussion about historiography and the bible.

Building in Assyria: A Philological Perspective, by Johanna Tudea. (Link)

“Johanna Tudeau offers with this book a sketch of the practice and ideology of building in Assyria based on textual evidence. The study focuses on the Assyrian royal inscriptions and state archives, two of the most comprehensive textual corpora available on the topic. The temporal and spatial framework is necessarily broad, from the rise to the fall of Assyria, from one end of the empire to the other. This stands in contrast with a targeted terminological approach: architectural keywords structure the chapters and these follow the stages of the building process. The findings come together in a chapter devoted to the modern significance of ancient realities, where grounds for the investigation and interpretation of space are proposed to serve philologists and archaeologists alike, hopefully facilitating the exchange between disciplines.”

This volume looks interesting for two reasons. First, considering the intensity of debates about the Hebrew Bible, history, material culture, and archaeology, the book may serve as a guide book for folks engaged in biblical studies. Second, with portions Ezekiel, Numbers, and Leviticus spend so much time describing physical structures, in will be interesting to Tudea’s conclusions about building in Assyria based on textual evidence.

Between Temple and TombThe Demotic Ritual Texts of Bodl. MS. Egypt. a. 3(P), by Mark Smith. (Link)

“The ritual texts edited in this volume offer an excellent opportunity to explore these and related issues. Most of them are known to have been employed both for the benefit of the god Osiris and for ordinary deceased people, in certain cases, during one and the same period of Egypt’s history. This is one of their most interesting and striking features. They stand at the interface between temple cult and cult of the dead and allow us to trace the transmission of beliefs and practices from one sphere to the other.”

From my experience, folks frequently ignore Demotic texts. That said, ritual text about death rituals, the Osirian temple cult, private funerary cults, and their fluidity sounds interesting and fun. Plus, there is quite a bit of work in biblical studies on material culture, death, and the Hebrew Bible. As such, this volume may have some interesting nuggets of information.

Legal Documents in Ancient Societies: Accounts and Bookkeeping in the Ancient World, by Andrea Jördens and Uri Yiftach. (Link)

“The volume is dedicated to an early and seemingly ubiquitous type of text, which often followed certain classification criteria and which, for the sake of easier clarity, was gladly subjected to a specially developed layout. In addition to the discussions of individual artefacts or artefact groups as well as literary texts, there are considerations of ancient and modern terminology, the choice of writing media used for this purpose, the bodies entrusted with data collection, the purposes pursued with it, the further processing and archiving of the collected data as well as their organisation at the various levels of administration.”

This volume contains a wide range of content. With so little evidence for Israelite/Judean scribal and bookkeeping practices, it could serve as an interesting point of comparison with biblical texts. Likewise, it just looks interesting.

Yahweh before IsraelGlimpses of History in a Divine Name, by Daniel Fleming. (Link)

While the book has no description yet, the content sounds intriguing, at least based on the title.

Divine Aggression in Psalms and Inscriptions: Vengeful Gods and Loyal Kings, by Collin Cornell. (Link)

“The aggression of the biblical God named Yhwh is notorious. Students of theology, the Bible, and the Ancient Near East know that the Hebrew Bible describes Yhwh acting destructively against his client country, Israel, and against its kings. But is Yhwh uniquely vengeful, or was he just one among other, similarly ferocious patron gods? To answer this question, Collin Cornell compares royal biblical psalms with memorial inscriptions. He finds that the Bible shares deep theological and literary commonalities with comparable texts from Israel’s ancient neighbours. The centrepiece of both traditions is the intense mutual loyalty of gods and kings. In the event that the king’s monument and legacy comes to harm, gods avenge their individual royal protégé. In the face of political inexpedience, kings honour their individual divine benefactor.”

I am particularly interested in seeing how Cornell draws together memorial inscriptions and biblical psalms, especially in light of recent research on funerary inscriptions.

The Fundamentals of Hebrew Accents: Divisions and Exegetical Roles beyond Syntax, by Sung Jin Park. (Link)

“This book is designed to serve as a textbook for intermediate Hebrew students and above. Sung Jin Park presents the fundamental features of the Tiberian Hebrew accents, focusing on their divisions and exegetical roles. Providing innovative methods for diagramming biblical texts, the volume explores the two major rules (hierarchy and dichotomy) of disjunctive accents. Students will also attain biblical insights from the exegetical application of the biblical texts that Hebrew syntax alone does not provide. Park’s volume shows how the new perspectives on Hebrew accents enhance our understanding of biblical texts.”

As Tiberian Hebrew accents weren’t discussed extensively in my training, I am interested, generally, in what Sung Jin Park will bring to the table.

Genres of Rewriting in Second Temple Judaism: Scribal Composition and Transmission, by Molly M. Zahn. (Link)

d“In this book, Molly Zahn investigates how early Jewish scribes rewrote their authoritative traditions in the course of transmitting them, from minor edits in the course of copying to whole new compositions based on prior works. Scholars have detected evidence for rewriting in a wide variety of textual contexts, but Zahn’s is the first book to map manuscripts and translations of biblical books, so-called ‘parabiblical’ compositions, and the sectarian literature from Qumran in relation to one another. She introduces a new, adaptable set of terms for talking about rewriting, using the idea of genre as a tool to compare and contrast different cases. Although rewriting has generally been understood as a vehicle for biblical interpretation, Zahn moves beyond that framework to demonstrate that rewriting was a pervasive textual strategy in the Second Temple period. Her book contributes to a powerful new model of early Jewish textuality, illuminating the rich and diverse culture out of which both rabbinic Judaism and early Christianity eventually emerged.”

Simply put, I am interested in seeing what Zahn offers, especially in light books like Eva Mroczek’s The Literary Imagination in Jewish Antiqutiy, which, while I haven’t had the opportunity, I look forward to reading.

The Egyptian Priests of the Graeco-Roman Period: An Analysis of the Basis of the Egyptian and Graeco-Roman Literary and Paraliterary Sources, by Marina Escolano-Poveda. (Link)

“Marina Escolano-Poveda offers for the first time a detailed analysis of the most relevant Egyptian priestly characters from Egyptian and Graeco-Roman literary and paraliterary sources. The examination of these sources contrasts the self-presentation of Egyptian priests in texts created and circulated within the temple environment with images presented by outside sources, providing a solid base to analyze how these figures were seen in their historical milieu. In the second part of the book, the results of the previous analysis are contrasted with a series of widely-used models employed to understand the historical and intellectual context of Egyptian religion and the Egyptian priesthood in the Graeco-Roman period, questioning the usefulness and applicability of such models.”

I am interested in this book for two reasons. First, I would like to understand better Egyptian religion of the 1st millennium. Second, I am generally interested in priestly construction during this period on account of Judeans, or whatever we want to call them, living in Egypt.

Judging Faith, Punish Sin: Inquisitions and Consistories in the Early Modern World, edited by Charles H. Parker and Gretchen Starr-LeBeau. (Link)

“Rooted in local archives and addressing specific themes, the essays survey the state of scholarship and chart directions for future inquiry and, taken as a whole, demonstrate the unique convergence of penitential practice, legal innovation, church authority, and state power, and how these forces transformed Christianity.”

While outside the boundaries of Judaism and Hebrew Bible proper, I have been interested in the notion of so-called sin as of late. So, I am interested in see what this volume contributes in terms of construction of sin/social transgression in the early modern world.

Demons, Angels, and Writing in Ancient Judaism, by Annette Yoshiko Reed. (Link)

I wont’ even include the description here because I have heard nothing but good things about Reed’s work. I look forward to reading it!

God’s Law and Order: The Politics of Punishment in Evangelical America, by Aaron Griffith. (Link)

“America incarcerates on a massive scale. Despite recent reforms, the United States locks up large numbers of people—disproportionately poor and nonwhite—for long periods and offers little opportunity for restoration. Aaron Griffith reveals a key component in the origins of American mass incarceration: evangelical Christianity.”

To criticize and reflect on our interpretations of sin in the Hebrew Bible, it is necessary to recognize the history of how the US Christianity, namely, evangelical Christianity, constructed, fought for, and established norms for social transgressions.

The Origins of the Bible in Early Modern Political Thought: Revelation and the Boundaries of Scripture, by Travis DeCook. (Link)

“Travis DeCook explores the theological and political innovations found in early modern accounts of the Bible’s origins. In the charged climate produced by the Reformation and humanist historicism, writers grappled with the tension between the Bible’s divine and human aspects, and they produced innovative narratives regarding the agencies and processes through which the Bible came into existence and was transmitted. DeCook investigates how these accounts of Scripture’s production were taken up beyond the expected boundaries of biblical study, and were redeployed as the theological basis for wide-reaching arguments about the proper ordering of human life.”

The Reformation, the Bible’s divine origins, and humanity? This sounds great to me. It also contributes (likely) to understand early discourse about biblical authority that shaped the field of biblical studies. Perhaps. We’ll have to see.

Reconstructing the Temple: The Royal Rhetoric of Temple Renovation in the Ancient Near East and Israel, by Andrew R. Davis. (Link)

Though this book has been out for a while, I remain interested in reading it.

A History of Death in the Hebrew Bible, by Matthew Suriano. (Link)

Like the previous book, this has been out for a while. Perhaps I will finally be able to read it in the next few months!

The Emergence of Sin: Cosmic Tyrant in Romans, by Matthew Croasmun. (Link)

With my current interest in sin, this volume looks particularly interesting, especially as the description says that sin is “an emergent feature of a vast human network of transgression.” I have no idea what to expect. Also, it is a few years old. Even so, I am interested.

Philo of Alexandria: On the Contemplative Life; Introduction, Translation and Commentary, by Joan E. Taylor and David M. Hay. (Link)

It’s always good to familiarize myself with classics, especially when they include new commentary and an updated bibliography.

Isaiah, Septuagint Commentary Series, by Ken Penner. (Link)

This commentary, introduction, and translation may be helpful for me when I write my review of Roberts’s commentary on First Isaiah.

Three Hundred Years of Death: The Egyptian Funerary Industry in the Ptolematic Empire, by Maria Cannata. (Link)

“Maria Cannata provides a detailed survey of the organisation of the necropolises and the funerary workers, as well as their role in the practical aspects of the mummification, funeral, burial, and mortuary cult of the deceased, in Ptolemaic Egypt (332-30 BC). The author gathers together and synthesises hundreds of the original textual sources, as well as the relevant archaeological sources, on the organisation of the funerary industry and its practitioners, revealing important regional and chronological variations overlooked in studies focusing on a limited geographical area, a shorter timeframe, or a smaller group of documents.”

As I already noted, death and funerals is a hot topic these days. This may yield some interesting nuggets of information.

The Meaning of Color in Ancient Mesopotamia, by Shiyanthi Thavapalan. (Link)

“Shiyanthi Thavapalan offers the first in-depth study of the words and expressions for colors in the Akkadian language (c. 2500-500 BCE). By combining philological analysis with the technical investigation of materials, she debunks the misconception that people in Mesopotamia had a limited sense of color and positions the development of Akkadian color language as a corollary of the history of materials and techniques in the ancient Near East.”

Colors are important in biblical texts, such as Leviticus, Exodus, and Isaiah 1. So, some insight on color would be nice.

The Expression of Emotions in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, edited by Shih-Wei Hsu and Jaume Llop Raduà. (Link)

The content in this book could be useful for comparison with biblical and Jewish texts.

Review: “The Finger of the Scribe: How Scribes Learned to Write the Bible” by William M. Schniedewind

ShniedewindWilliam M. Schniedewind. 2019. The Finger of the Scribe: How Scribes Learned to Write the Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

With a scarcity of epigraphs from Iron Age Israel in comparison with those of Egypt and Mesopotamia, reconstructing Israelite scribal curriculum is a difficult task. Considering the final publication of the Kuntillet ‘Ajrud inscriptions in 2013, Schniedewind saw data as primarily useful for reconstructing early Israelite scribal curriculum rather than as inscriptions for primarily understanding Israelite religion. By putting the inscriptions into conversation with one other, Near Eastern scribal curriculum, material vectors of transmission, and the Hebrew Bible, he provides a potential reconstruction of early Israelite scribal curriculum. Pushing his conclusions further, he considers how the curriculum enabled scribes to—in the words of his subtitle—write the bible. After summarizing the book, I will discuss criticisms of the volume and potentially productive routes to expand on Schniedewind’s work. As this review will show, though imperfect, The Finger of the Scribe is an excellent starting point for any scholarship concerned with Israelite scribal culture and practice.

In Chapter One, Schniedewind establishes the aim of the volume: to “demonstrate that early Israelite scribes borrowed and adapted from cuneiform curricular traditions in the early Iron Age in creating early Hebrew curriculum” (1). While recognizing the possible influence of Egyptian on early alphabetic scribal curriculum—through highlighting his interpretation of the Lachish Jar inscription as utilizing the hieratic symbol for five and a recent dissertation completed by Philip Zhakevich on Egyptian influence on early Hebrew alphabetic scribal culture—he instead focuses on the cuneiform curriculum “that was readily available to early alphabetic scribes” (7). That is, Egypt “always used foreign languages and writing systems for international relations” (9). As such, he suggests Egyptian is a less likely vector of transmission than Akkadian. He highlights, for example, that the scribal curriculum at Ugarit, though a West Semitic alphabetic script, is based on the Akkadian scribal curriculum. So, drawing from Niek Veldhius’ work, Schniedewind provides a summary of cuneiform school curriculum in Mesopotamia, using it as the model on which the early Israelite scribes based their scribal education.

In Chapter Two, Schniedewind applies the Mesopotamian curriculum to inscriptions at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud. Following his framing of Kuntillet ‘Ajrud primarily as a fortress along a trade route, he analyzes the inscriptions. First, he describes KA 3.11, 3.7, 3.12, 3.13, 3.8, and 3.14 contextually. Different colored inks as well as paleography found on the abecedaries reflect the varied statuses of scribes. In the case of KA 3.7, but especially KA 3.8, Schniedewind discusses their potential as lexical lists, perhaps about lexical polysemy. Likewise, he suggests KA 3.10 is a scribal exercise. Second, Schniedewind suggests many of the purported scratches on Pithos A are evidence of scribes practicing writing hieratic numerals. Third, the letter formularies (KA 3.1, 3.6, and 3.9) are scribal exercises of epistolary formulas, an exercise possibly using the same physical rubrics of Mesopotamian scribal texts, namely a vertical divider. Also notable is his suggestion that the sequence of words with the root א־מ־ר may have taught etymological roots. Fourth, a proverbial saying (KA 3.9) and what he calls “a corpus of literary texts” (KA 4.2) may have been school texts with religious themes. Considering this information, he tentatively explains the inscriptions as those of soldier-scribes. To substantiate the claim that scribal exercises at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud may be from soldier scribes, he turns to the Egyptian text “The Craft of the Scribe” (COS 3.2), a text that parallels the Hebrew “Letter of the Literate Solider” regarding the complicated relationship between scribes and soldiers.

Finally, he looks at the inscription regarding a certain “commander of the fortress” and an apprentice. Using the former, he offers an exquisite exposition on urbanization in the 9th century and how it may have resulted in the semantic shifts of ער. For נער, he draws from Hebrew, Ugaritic, and Egyptian texts to highlight that a נער could be both a soldier and a scribe, thereby supporting his previous argument that the inscriptions are those of soldier-scribes.

In Chapter Three, Schniedewind explores how alphabets and acrostics made their way into his reconstructed early Israelite scribal curriculum. Highlighting Egyptian hegemony over the Levant in the Bronze Age, he suggests that the invention and spread of the alphabet was a result of Egyptian presence. He further argues that the abgad order “was created as a local Levantine order for the alphabet to distinguish it from its Egyptian counterpart” (54). So, the abecedary itself—at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud and elsewhere—is evidence of early student exercises. This finds precedent and parallel in the bilingual Ugaritic-Akkadian cuneiform abecedary (KTU 5.14), itself an adaptation of a hegemonic power. Abcedary exercises also parallel cuneiform exercises, such as TU-TA-TI tablets. He then discusses how the centrality of the alphabet in the scribal curriculum is reflected in acrostic poetry of the Hebrew Bible, discussing various texts and theorizing that such forms began as scribal exercises and were repurposed into literature (e.g., Nahum 1:2–8). In other words, the forms practiced in scribal curriculum were adapted into literature.

In Chapter Four, Schniedewind explores how lists in elementary scribal education reverberate in biblical literature. First, he views the Kuntillet ‘Ajrud inscriptions, Khirbet Qayafa, and Gezer calendar via the frame of Mesopotamian lexical lists, central to elementary cuneiform education. In particular, he views the format of ירח in the Gezer calendar as a local adaptation of the Mesopotamian tradition of lexical list Ura 1 because a fragment of Ura from the Late Bronze Age was found in Ashkelon. In his own words, “There can be no doubt that this particular list was familiar to Canaanite scribes because this section of Ura was actually found in the fragmentary lexical text excavated at Ashkelon” (84). Second, he describes two types of lists in biblical literature: “autonomous lists embedded into the narrative and the use of lists to create a literary text” (87). For the former, he draws from biblical texts, such as Numbers 7:12–88. For the latter, he draws from texts like the “Oracles Against the Nations.” Throughout his discussion, he provides insightful textual comparisons (Akkadian military annals with Numbers 33:7–15; Solomon as being represented in a Neo-Assyrian scholastic tradition; etc.).

In Chapter Five, Schniedewind analyzes the letter writing genre as a fundamental aspect of Israelite scribal curriculum, focusing on the forms and technical terms of writing, as well as how such features were adapted into biblical literature. First, he draws from Near Eastern materials—such as Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta, the way in which Egyptian narrative threads are carried by messenger scenes, oral performance of written letters in Ugaritic narrative poetry, and Genesis 32:4–14—in order to show that oral conventions turned into the letter writing genre were known to early Israelite scribes. Second, he presents multiple model letter school exercises from Ugarit, extrapolating from them the diversity in terminology for blessings and verbal forms, a tablet with a scribal exercise on the recto, and a palimpsest, all of which allow him to highlight the flexibility of the scribal curriculum at Ugarit. Third, in light of Near Eastern and Ugaritic letter writing and scribal curriculum, he describes KA 3.1, 3.6, and 3.9 as examples of letter writing scribal exercises, highlighting their broader context as scribal curriculum, a degree of creativity in scribal practice fundamental to authoring literature, and letter form diversity as indicative of scribal curriculum not teaching any rigid letter form. Fourth, he argues that the prevalence of w’t(h) in biblical literature up to the Persian period indicates that it was a formal part of scribal curriculum regarding letter writing via letter writing in the epigraphic record. Finally, he argues that the letter writing genre in prophetic texts was shaped by scribal curriculum.

In Chapter Six, Schniedewind outlines the next level of scribal education: proverbial sayings. Based on a “pious proverbial saying” in KA 3.9, parallels in Aramaic inscriptions, biblical correlates, the prevalence of such language in Amarna, the role of proverbial sayings in Near Eastern curriculum, and Papyrus Amherst 63, he suggests that KA 3.9.2–3 is the “smoking gun” (126) for the role of proverbial sayings in Israelite scribal education. Turning to the Amenemope collection, he argues that its presence in Proverbs is best explained by a 12th century BCE vector of transmission. To strengthen his proposed link between Israelite scribal tradition and Egypt, he suggests cultural continuity between Egyptian scribal culture in the Late Bronze Age and the alphabetic scribal culture in the Iron Age. For Schniedewind, all these connections and parallels—primarily exploited due to a single proverbial saying in KA 3.9—are evidence that proverbial sayings were a part of the early Israelite scribal curriculum. He concludes the chapter by providing examples of proverbial sayings in biblical texts, asserting a correlation with scribal curriculum, and suggesting that such texts are normal because scribes were trained “to make this type of integration of memorized sayings in various written contexts” (138).

Venturing into what Schniedewind calls “more turbulent waters,” Chapter Seven attempts an overview of advanced scribal curriculum. As he notes, his conclusions are conjectures based on comparative evidence and are thus quite tentative. First, drawing from cuneiform curriculum, he argues that orality and memorization were central to advanced scribal curriculum, a possible vector of transmission that transcends historical periods and explains parallels between Ecclesiastes and Gilgamesh, a fragment of which was found at Ugarit. Based on other textual parallels as well, he suggests that scribal curriculum was diverse and long lasting. Next, he frames and describe the Deir ‘Alla plaster texts as (a) having a Sitz im Leben of a schoolhouse and (b) encouraging oral recitation, cementing the link between scribal curriculum, oral speech, and writing. Third, in what he calls a digression, Schniedewind questions the relation between scribal curriculum and legal traditions. Casting doubt on the vector of transmission and link between the Covenant Code  and the Code of Hammurabi—as argued by David Wright—he argues that the Hazor Code (Hazor 18 in Cuneiform in Canaan) is the most likely corollary between the Covenant Code and Near Eastern legal traditions, asserting that it was “part of the cuneiform scribal curriculum in the Levant in the second millennium BCE” (156). He proceeds to suggest that texts, such as the Hazor Code, were recited orally. Finally, he approaches KAI 4.1.1, 4.2, 4.3, 4.4.1, and 4.6.4 as examples of school texts about theomachy, recognizing it as conjecture based on his previous arguments and Near Eastern parallels. At base, the advanced curriculum reflects an oral aspect of advanced scribal education, though it is highly conjectural.

Schniedewind’s The Finger of the Scribe provides an insightful and unique approach the Kuntillet ‘Ajrud inscriptions. By drawing from Near Eastern scribal curriculum, he effectively demonstrates that the early Israelite scribal curriculum—as evidenced at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud—may have been heavily influenced by the Mesopotamian scribal curriculum. Surely, scholars exploring literacy and scribal practices in the Levant should engage with this volume. That said, as Schniedewind occasionally suggests, many of his arguments rely on conjecture and extrapolative thinking.

The strongest part of Schniedewind’s argument is the description of his reconstructed scribal curriculum from Kuntillet ‘Ajrud. Initially, describing the various abecedaries (KA 3.11, 3.12, 3.12, and 3.14) and lexical lists (KA 3.7 and 3.8), he places these in juxtaposition with “Syllable Alphabet B” and TU-TA-TI. Regarding KA 3.8, though, it is worth noting that the words שערם and שמרן occurring next to each other teaches more than different ways to read the grapheme ש or polysemous words. Instead, it is notable that the letters of שמרן and שערם are the same—depending on how we read שערם—save for the נ and ע absent in שערם. Accepting Schniedewind’s proposal that KA 3.8 is a type of lexical list, the orthographic similarities may indicate that alphabetic scribal curriculum also taught how to distinguish between words with the similar root letters, even if the letters occurred in different orders. In the same section, though, Schniedewind assumes that KA 3.11, 3.7, 3.12, 3.13, 3.8, and 3.14 should be “understood as six lines of the same practice text” (30); however, he does not justify a synchronic interpretation.

Concerning whether Egyptian or Mesopotamian curricula influenced early Hebrew alphabetic scribal culture, he establishes early in his work that “the technologies and terminology for writing were taken directly from the Egyptian administration into early Hebrew alphabetic scribal culture” (6). Subsequently, he comments that Egyptian “scribal curriculum does not seem to have been widely disseminated” (7). As such, he looks primarily to the cuneiform school curriculum in order to reconstruct early Hebrew alphabet curriculum. Yet, throughout the volume, he highlights how the curriculum employed Egyptian technologies of red and black ink and hieratic numbers, uses Papyrus Anastasi I (“The Craft of the Scribe”) to substantiate a link between a נער as a military scribe, emphasizes Egyptian hegemony in the region as a key to explaining the invention and spread of the alphabet, and draws from the Deir ‘Alla paster texts—the critical editions themselves giving credence to the red/black ink rubrics as Egyptian—in order to describe advanced education. Plainly, it seems that Schniedewind understates the possible influence of Egyptian scribal practices on early Hebrew alphabetic scribal curriculum. Unfortunately, were Egyptian scribes writing on papyrus, it is no longer available today.

Consider, for example, Cairo 25759, an ostracon dated to the 11th century that Ariel Shisha-Halevy argues is a Northwest Semitic text in Egyptian hieratic script (1973). Though seemingly mundane, it shows that social contact occurred between Northwest Semitic and Egyptian scribes to some degree. More importantly, social contact is evident in a text which utilizes Demotic—an Egyptian technology—to write Phoenician. To write in such a way would require a strong social overlap between Egypt and Phoenicia, between Egypt and speakers of a Northwest Semitic language. Such contact can be further ascertained via icongraphy1, the Story of Wenamun2, an Egyptian medical papyrus from the 14th century BCE with a Northwest Semitic incantation3, and “The Craft of the Scribe” (COS 3.2).4 Early Israel’s trading and cultural interactions with Phoenicia suggest that Phoenicians scribes themselves may have served as vectors of transmission for Egyptian scribal curriculum and practices. Thus, Schniedewind should have put model letters and scribal exercises in Egyptian records into conversation and comparison with early Israelite materials.

Another point of Schniedewind that is questionable is the notion that Mesopotamian scribal curriculum somehow influenced early Israelite scribal curriculum. That is, his argument for social contact is on shaky grounds. Undoubtedly, certain school texts were present at Late Bronze Age and Middle Bronze Age sites in Canaan; however, that does not necessarily mean Canaanites were somehow familiar with the curriculum or that the presence of texts means they are a more likely vector of transmission, though he makes such assertions throughout. Hypothetically, for example, with so many McDonald’s wrappers in garbage, a historian from the 23rd century could claim that everybody regularly ate food from McDonald’s due to a material vector of transmission. Yet, the historian from the 23rd century, just as Schniedewind, must also consider the problem of social contact if any materials are to be considered a vector of transmission for some sort of knowledge, cultural system, or technology. It is due to plausibility of social contact, as well, that I think Schniedewind discounts too soon the degree to which Egyptian scribal curriculum and practices may have influenced early Canaanite scribal curriculum and practices. Plainly, I don’t disagree with Schniedewind entirely, as framing early scribal curriculum in Israel via Mesopotamian scribal curriculum is innovative and makes sense of obscure epigraphs; however, due to cultural contact with Egypt, it is probable that the scribal curriculum of ancient Israelite alphabetic scribes was equally influenced by Egypt, resulting in a melding of Egyptian, Mesopotamian, and native elements of for a scribal curriculum.

Additionally, Schniedewind’s analysis of “Proverbial Sayings” and “Advanced Scribal Education” are the two most conjectural and debatable portions of his book. For example, Schniedewind argues that scribes were trained to integrate memorized sayings into various contexts and were taught certain terminology orally—which was then written into various contexts—as part of the scribal curriculum (126, 138). He argues this in order to explain why the language in KA 3.9 parallels KTU 5.9, the Amarna letters, Psalm 20, and Papyrus Amherst 63. While appealing, this approach makes multiple assumptions. First, he assumes that KA 3.9.2–3 is a scribal exercise because of parallels with other texts. Of the other texts, though, only KTU 5.9 is clearly a scribal exercise. As such, I do not see good grounds for putting these texts into conversation as it concerns scribal exercises, culture, and practice. Second, as Schniedewind notes about “proverbial sayings” in elementary scribal education, aside from KA 3.9.2–3, “the Hebrew inscriptional evidence is almost non-existent” (134). Thus, Schniedewind’s construction of elementary scribal curriculum is based on a single text which he characterizes as “proverbial,” a highly conjectural characterization. Moreover, the texts to which he compares KA 3.9.2–3 are not all clearly scribal exercises or school texts, further destabilizing his assertion that KA 3.9.2–3 is an example of elementary scribal education’s “Proverbial phrase” phase. Similar issues are present in Chapter Six about advanced education.

Regarding content more theoretical in nature, though he uses terms like “oral” and “written,” he does not define his theoretical understanding of writing, reading, speech, performance, and other related subjects. For example, in his volume on reading and writing in Babylon, Dominique Charpin “proposes that in almost every case a cuneiform text would be read aloud either by a literate reader to him / herself or by a scribe to a non-literate listening, such as an official or royal recipient. Additionally, Charpin cites rare evidence that scribes might silently read to themselves as a means of rapidly checking their content.”5 Yet, based on Wearne’s reading of the rubric in the Deir ‘Alla plaster texts as an instruction for the oral performance of the narrative, he argues that such a rubric as the poetic parallelism is indicative that fledgling scribes memorized and recited texts (149).6 Following Charpin, though, how does the notion of “reciting” a text change when we consider that reading itself included “reciting”? These nuances should be further explored.

Furthermore, the rubric commanding “recite and memorize it” may also be a literary trope. Though about biblical poetry, Vayntrub’s perspective on orality is nonetheless helpful: how texts are framed as speech shapes our reading of texts.7 As a literary trope, the notion of “oral” scribal curriculum is more difficult to sustain and left me wanting further exploration. Of course, this view is complicated by Robson, who notes that “it is likely that Assyrian and Babylonian scholarship,” done by scholastic scribes, “entailed a great deal of memorization.” She continues by referring to Brian Stock on textual communities: “The question of oral versus written tradition need not be framed in inflexible terms. What was essential for a textual community, whether large or small, was simply a text, an interpreter, and a public. The text did not have to be written; oral record, memory, and reperformance sufficed.”8 Put another way, even if we consider oral recitation and aurality as central to elementary alphabetic curriculum, it must be considered contextually, in a particular textual community. This provide a roadblock to some of the comparisons Schniedewind makes between biblical texts, the Deir ‘Alla plaster texts, and various inscriptions with the content at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud. For his conclusions to be more secure, he should consider this roadblock. How is Kuntillet ‘Ajrud its own scribal community and how does it compare not just to other scribal exercises but to other textual communities?

Another theoretical grounds for what scribal education that would strengthen Schniedewind’s overall arguments is how to link “religion” to the inscriptions at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud. Early on, he notes that “education shapes what we write and how we write it” (3). Likewise, he comments that the debate about Kuntillet ‘Ajrud and the history of Israelite religion falls outside of the scope of the study, instead viewing “Yahweh and his asherah” as “simply part of a blessing formula used in scribal exercises” (24). Yet, by framing the scribal practice at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud with Bourdieu’s theory of habitus, we can more precisely describe the relationship between religion and scribal curriculum.

Consider, for example, Crisostomo’s description of habitus—“the socially formed, unconscious dispositions… that structures the actor’s orientations and actions”—in the Old Babylonian practice of reproduction, scribal education, and elementary curriculum: “Both in what the scribes wrote and in the activity of reproduction—the physicality of pressing stylus to clay—these scribes internalized particular dispositions and perceptions. The habitus produced via these scribal exercises is continually reinforced throughout the elementary education curriculum. Simple routines that form the basis of the educational system such as these carry with them the force of entire cultural systems. In the case of OB education, scribal practices reproduced a Sumerian culture.”9 As Crisostomo suggests, OB scribal curriculum was not merely a way of teaching writing habits which were eventually adapted into literary texts, an argument Schniedewind makes regarding the alphabetic scribal curriculum. Rather, scribal curriculum serves to reproduce entire cultural system through continual reinforcement. Part of the cultural system is the religious aspect. At base, then, by including the notion of habitus, we can more objectively describe the elementary alphabetic scribal curriculum within its social context. By taking such a perspective, we can refine Schniedewind’s conclusion that “scribal creativity had its foundation in the building blocks of education” (167). Instead, we may say that “scribal creativity had its foundation in the educational curricular habitus of reinforced and reproduced culture,” a refinement that allows us to consider why scribal curriculum forms were adapted into biblical literature alongside the cultural perspectives, systems, and ways of thinking (i.e., religion, economy, social groups, etc.).

Finally, Schniedewind does not consider the relationship between the writing—framed as scribal curriculum—and the drawings. The relationship between scribal curriculum or exercises and drawings, though, is a massive, distinct research project in and of itself.

Overall, The Finger of the Scribe is a helpful development in how we understand ancient Israelite scribal curriculum and its origin. Schniedewind establishes a firm foundation for future studies and Israelite scribalism. And although many of his arguments need to be refined, it is nonetheless a valuable contribution to the history of ancient Israel, a necessary starting point for any scholar interested in ancient Israelite scribalism.

*I want to express my gratitude to Oxford University Press for provide a copy in exchange for my honest opinions. Many thanks as well to Raleigh Heath, PhD student at Notre Dame, who provided helpful feedback on my rough draft of this review.

1 Note Keel and Uehlinger (1998: 17) who comment that Canaan and Egypt “had begun to exert considerable influence on each other already during the Middle Bronze Age” and it is likely “that the same ethnic groups continued to maintain their cultural system from the Middle Bronze Age right into the Iron Age.” In other words, the cultural interactions evident via art are a clear vector of transmission for Egyptian scribal curriculum, arguably a strong vector of transmission than a single lexical text with which a Canaanite may or may not have had contact.

2 Although clearly a literary text, Wenamun disembarks at Dor for nine days. At minimum, this indicates that Egypt had—or imagined—linguistic contact with Phoenicians as plausible. Trading large amounts of good presumably required a scribe to keep records. So, it is safe to assume that a scribe was imagined as being present in the Story of Wenamun. Thus, there is good reason to suspect personal interactions between Egyptian scribes and Phoenician elites in a city not too far from Israelite territory.

3 See Steiner (1992).

4 Though Schniedewind discusses “The Craft of the Scribe” in order to better understand the word mahir—as he notes that “the word mahir appears prominently and repeatedly as a West Semitic loanword in the well-known Egyptian school text “The Craft of the Scribe” (Papyrus Anastasi I)” (131)—he does not highlight other aspects of “The Craft of the Scribe.” James P. Allen (COS 3.2) comments that “its interest lies not only in its numerous Semitic place names and loanwords but also in its vivid descriptions of contemporary Canaanite life and customs.” Put another way, “The Craft of the Scribe” indicates Egyptian scribes were familiar with Canaanite—and thereby pre-Israelite ethnic group—land. Though the text was not discovered in the Levant, it does serve as evidence that Egyptian scribes were vectors of transmission for scribal curriculum models to alphabetic scribes.

It is also worth noting that he specifically notes, concerning the Deir ‘Alla plaster texts, that “the text uses red ink to frame itself almost as if it were copying the framing rubrics used in papyrus documents,” namely Egyptian documents. Though the text itself is not a vector of transmission, the technology and framing which parallels Egyptian scribal curriculum and practice is a vector of transmission.

Finally, it is worth noting that Egyptian is the best represented language in the Late Bronze Age, with more than two times the frequency of Akkadian texts. Even when comparing Egyptian text frequency with Akkadian, Sumerian, West Semitic, Anatolian, and Aegean, Egypt texts are still the most frequent. This is important because it suggests that early alphabetic scribes likely had more contact with Egyptian scribes than with Mesopotamian scribes. See Figure 2 in Sparks (2013).

5 Discussed in Matthews (2013: 70). See also Jean Boettéro, Mesopotamia: Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992).

6 See Wearne (2017).

7 Vayntrub (2019: 9). Her comments on textual performances is equally notable: “because these performances have come to us in writing, it is their representation as speech in the text that must be the central point of analysis for the scholar” (10).

8 Robson (2019: 37).

9 Crisostomo (2019: 76–77).



Allen, James P. 1997. “The Craft of the Scribe (3.2) (Papyrus Anastasi I).” In Context of Scripture Volume 3: Archival Documents from the Biblical World, edited by William Hallo.

Boettéro, Jean. 1992. Mesopotamia: Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Crisostomo, Jay. 2019. Translation as Scholarship: Language, Writing, and Bilingual Education in Ancient Babylonia. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

Keel, Othmar and Christoph Uehlinger. 1998. Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God In Ancient Israel. Edinburgh: T&T Clark.

Matthews, Roger. 2013. “Writing (and Reading) as Material Practice: The World of Cuneiform Culture as an Arena for Investigation.” In Writing as Material Practice: Substance, Surface, and Medium, edited by K. Piquette and R. Whitehouse, 65–74. London: Ubiquity Press.

Robson, Eleanor. 2019. Ancient Knowledge Networks: A Social Geography of Cuneiform Scholarship in First-Millennium Assyria and Babylon. London: UCL Press.

Shisha-Halevy, Ariel. 1978. “An Early North-West Semitic Text in the Egyptian Hieratic Script. Orientalia 47 (2): 145–162.

Sparks, Rachael Thyrza. 2013. “Re-writing the Script: Decoding the Textual Experience in the Bronze Age Levant (c.2000–1150 BC).” In Writing as Material Practice, edited by Kathryn E. Piquette and Ruth Whitehouse, 75–104. London: Ubiquity Press.

Steiner, Richard. 1992. “Northwest Semitic Incantations in an Egyptian Medical Papyrus of the Fourteenth Century BCE.” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 51 (3): 191–200.

Vayntrub, Jacqueline. 2019. Beyond Orality: Biblical Poetry on its Own Terms. London: Routledge.

Wearne, Gareth. 2017. “‘Guard it on your Tongue!’ The Second Rubric in the Deir ‘Alla Plaster Texts as an Instruction for the Oral Performance of the Narrative 1.” In Registers and Modes of Communication in the Ancient Near East, edited by Kyle Keimer and Gillan Davis, Chapter Six. New York: Routledge.



Review: “A Wayside Shrine in Northern Moab” edited by P.M. Michèle Daviau and Margreet L. Steiner

OxbowP.M. Michèle Daviau and Margreet L. Steiner. Eds. A Wayside Shrine in Northern Moab: Excavations in Wadi ath-Thamad. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Excavations at Wadi ath-Thamad Site WT-13 began in 1996 south of al-Rumayl. This volume presents the findings and analysis of material from the site, significant for its cultic nature. In what follows, I will first describe the site in totality through a summary of each contribution. Subsequently, I will note significant findings and conclusions. Finally, I will explore how the data in this volume contributes to more specific conversations in biblical and religious studies.

P.M. Michèle Daviau provides a broad overview of WT-13—especially concerning its cultic character—and describes the technical aspects of excavation history, stratigraphy, and documentary and recording methods (Chapter One). Because religious ritual is central to interpreting WT-13, Daviau subsequently lays out previous studies on cult behavior in the region and draws from Renfrew’s criteria for identifying ritual behavior with material correlates in order to broadly characterize WT-13 as a site of religious activity, parallel to other sites throughout the Levant (Chapter Two). Next, Daviau describes the site’s stratigraphy, finds, and architecture in order to provide an overview of the site’s history. Stratum IIIB (Late Iron I to Early Iron II) suggests “that rituals related to funerary customs were carried out by the local in habitants” (29). Subsequently, Stratum IIIA indicates that layers of fill “above the cooking installations effectively decommissioned the ritual site” (31), a practice common in Palestine and the Transjordan during the Bronze Age. While food preparation rituals ceased, the subsequent stratum points to a major cultural change, as it features “a wide variety of votive offerings and iconographic representation” (36). Stratum II (Iron II) consisted of three stages: building up the soil layers, constructing a wall forming a temenos, using it as a cultic site, and eventually remodeling the shrine. Materials show clear Phoenician, Assyrian, and local influence, meaning Stratum II should be dated between the 8th and 7th centuries BCE. Finally, Stratum I (Post-Iron Age, Nabataean–Early Roman) indicates small use during the period; however, Stratum II shows the clearest evidence of activity (Chapter Three).

In Part Two, specific data sets are analyzed: images of gods and worshipers, various small finds, pottery analyzed from the perspective of Central Jordanian tradition, tripod cups and specialized vessels, the provenance of statues, figurines, and pottery, faunal bone collection, shells and fossil invertebrates, sea urchin fossils, beads, and Nabataean and Roman objects. Part Three considers landscape archaeology and how WT-13 may have functioned as sacred landscape in the central Jordan.

A few conclusions and observations by contributions to the volume are notable. First, data provides insight into social aspects of Iron Age II Moab. For example, WT-13 pottery analysis indicates “that household pottery of both the early and late repertoires of WT-13 was locally made and stood firmly in the pottery tradition of Central Jordan” (177, 202). At the same time, though, weight stones at WT-13 are notably like those at Lachish and Tel Jezreel. These conclusions possibly speak to the socioeconomic situation: although there is not clear trade in terms of pottery, using the same type of weight stones indicates that they engaged in similar trading partners that required a degree of consistency between cities in the area. This correlates well with Master’s construction of the southern Levantine economy: “a system of tiered markets radiated out from the ports of the Mediterranean across political boundaries to reach the smallest hamlets on the desert fringe. The impetus for the market was generated by non-local goods which were an integral part of daily life” (2014, 89). In the same paper, he also notes that many objects, such as stone, fish shell, wood or metals, were imported in exchange for agricultural products (87). Returning to WT-13, the finds may fit this pattern: objects perceived as “exotic” or “Other” were traded and used in cult ritual; however, pottery was unique to Central Jordan because they did not trade it as frequently with nearby regions. Considering that WT-13 and al-Rumayl were on an important trade road, though, this is not too much of a surprise.

In terms of religious rituals, two observations are notable. First, though scholars previously posited that fossil sea urchins as votive objects, WT-13 is “the first direct indication of their occurrence in a votive context in Jordan” (221). As such, it is essential to reconstructing cult rituals in the Central Jordan and, more broadly, their diversity throughout the Levant. Second, Daviau places Stratum III of WT-13 into the broader context of rituals in the Levant, connecting the site the patterns of ritual meals, funerary meals, and decommissioning of cult site (274). Interestingly, while it may be explained as simple cultural change, the shift from site of ritual meals (Stratum III) to a temenos for ritual behavior with anthropomorphic figures (Stratum II) makes me wonder if there is any link between Stratum III and II. That is, did Stratum II arise because of the precedent of Stratum III, a sort of outgrowth of previous rituals practices, or did Stratum II arise without any regard for Stratum III, meaning no clear relationship between ritual meals and cult temenos ritual practices? Though I can’t answer here, it would be interesting to consider, as it would clarify patterns of religious development in the Levant.

Also interesting is that the site was “abandoned or destroyed in the late 7th–early 6th century, indicative of significant cultural change throughout the southern Levant” (77). As is commonly known, Samaria was destroyed around the same time period. Thus, the abandonment of the site in this time period is notable because it corresponds well with a period of regional unrest and conflict throughout the region.

Finally, Daviau mention that “the case of the deep perforated cup is challenging because there are no parallels… pointing to their function. This dilemma can be seen in the assemblages from Kuntillet ‘Ajrud, a site with religious iconography but not one perforated cup” (179; italics added for emphasis). In his recent volume, Schniedewind (2019) argues against approaching Kuntillet ‘Ajrud as a cultic site but rather as a military outpost or trading post. Thus, the relationship between iconography and Kuntillet ‘Ajrud is a poor example to juxtapose with WT-13.

In conclusion, A Wayside Shrine in Moab is a splendid volume for both the archaeology of the Levant broadly construed and for religion in the Levant. As an all too often understudied region, the volume is a welcome addition. Moreover, with a large range of data—data also available online—scholars will undoubtedly engage it and link it with other finds throughout the region.



Master, Daniel M. 2014. “Economy and Exchange in the Iron Age Kingdoms of the Southern Levant.” BASOR 372: 81–97.

Schniedewind, William. 2019. The Finger of the Scribe: How Scribes Learned to Write the Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Review: “Scholars and Scholarship in Late Babylonian Uruk” edited by Christine Proust and John Steele

978-3-030-04176-2Christine Proust and John Steele. Eds. 2019. Scholars and Scholarship in Late Babylonian Uruk. Cham: Springer Press.

Scholars and Scholarship in Late Babylonian Uruk is part of the Springer series Why the Sciences of the Ancient World Matter, which builds bridges between the history of science in the ancient world and other fields in the humanities. With a wide range of subject matter, including mathematics, astronomy, astrology, ritual, and more, this volume works well in this series. After providing an overview of each chapter, I will consider ways that the contributions to this volume can contribute to conversations in religious and biblical studies. I will also comment on a few of the volume’s shortfalls.

In Chapter One, Christine Proust and John Steele provide a broad overview of scholarly archives in Late Babylonian Uruk, outlining the historical context, scholars and scholarly archives, and archaeology of the ‘House of the āšipus’ of Late Babylonian Uruk. Subsequently, they review the Rēš Temple, which shows links to the ‘House of the āšipus’ via onomastic data. They describe the various excavations at the site, the modern collection from the Rēš Temple, and offer a tentative reconstruction of scholarly archives from the Rēš Temple. Though many texts remain unpublished, enough publications indicate two groups: Group A and Group B. Texts in Group A “seems more like a working archive, with many texts which are the result of ongoing astronomical practice, whereas group B seems more like a reference collection containing mostly copies of standard works” (45). Outside of astronomical and astrological texts, though, such a division is less obvious. Concerning the Rēš Temple archives and the two phases of the ‘House of the āšipus’, connections exist. But astronomical texts play a more significant role in the Rēš Temple archives than the ‘House of the āšipus’, possibly due to the role of astronomy in a temple as opposed to a private setting. Throughout Chapter One, they provide four tables: a summary of all tablets from the ‘House of the āšipus’, a list of all texts from in Room 4, level IV of the ‘House of the āšipus’, all joins from fragments of scholarly tablet at the Rēš Temple, and a summary of all tablets from the Rēš Temple discussed in the volume. Each table notes the Museum number, primary publication, genre, content, colophon, and chapter where it is discussed in the volume.

In Chapter Two, Uri Gabbay and Enrique Jiménez investigate Mesopotamian commentaries from Uruk, focusing especially on the Gimil-Sîn family. First, they describe how the Uruk scholarly school is part of the South-Central Babylonian school, highlighting how cult administration and scholarly activity shifted to local families after 484 BCE after the fall of Chaldean kings, texts reflecting more local theological practices in the Achaemenid period than in the Neo-Babylonian period. Increase in local families’ social stature led to the growth of transmission of tablets between Nippur and Uruk. Second, recognizing the special relationship between Nippurean and Urukean scholars, they examine how commentaries were compiled and copied.

In Chapter Three, Christine Proust analyzes metrological texts from the house of the āšipus. In particular, she highlights how the texts create bridges between the Old Babylonian system and Late Babylonian system. After analyzing the texts, she suggests that the metrological texts functioned in the household as a link between astrology and divination. As for the articulation and connection between the Old Babylonian system and Late Babylonian system, she suggests scholars tried to link these systems due to “the loss of ancient metrological skills by Late Babylonian scholars” (125). In linking systems, the traditional system is adapted. Linking this practice with the broader Babylonian world, namely the seed system versus the reed system, she draws from Baker (2011), who suggests that the reed system was for urban real estate and the seed system was for agricultural land. As such, she suggests that the āšipus of Achaemenid Uruk, the ones within this household, were “highly interested in quantifying urban real estate and agricultural land” (126). Thus, the metrological tablets and their bridging an old system with the new are a “pragmatic tentative updating [of] ancient methods in order to improve methods of evaluation of surfaces” (126).

In Chapter Four, John Steele analyzes the astronomical activity in the house, trying to understand the role of the astronomical archive and the degree to which the archives reflect practice texts as opposed to reference texts. He concludes that there were at least three periods of astronomical activity: the middle of the Achaemenid period, the end of the Achaemenid period, and the early Seleucid period. He provides a wide range of observations on each period of occupation. Moreover, by comparing the tablets with those in Babylon and the Rēš temple, he concludes that practice of astronomy was significantly less than either Babylon or the Rēš temple.

In Chapter Five, Hermann Hunger discusses 60 Late Babylonian texts from Uruk and their relation to texts from Babylon. First, Hunger describes how astronomical tablets reflect a social link between Uruk and Babylon in the Late Babylonian period through Seleucid era, drawing from onomastica, quotations, links between Iqīshâ and the Rēš Temple, and the relative safety of Uruk families who did not revolt against Xerxes. Second, he discusses the presence of Enūma Anu Enlil commentaries and tablets and how they compare with those at Babylon (i.e., Tablet VIII comments from Babylon start a new line with each omen, whereas the Uruk tablet is written continuously). Beyond Enūma Anu Enlil, he turns to newer forms of astrology indicative of links between Uruk and Babylon: Zodiac texts (TU 14, SpTU 2, 43, and LBAT 1600). Third, he addresses a variety of astrological tablets unique to Uruk. He concludes that the picture of Late Babylonian astrology at Uruk is haphazard and demonstrates that Uruk scholars were creative, though there are some links to Babylon.

In Chapter Six, Mathieu Ossendrijver compiles and investigates mathematics in the Rēš Temple. After analysis of the three mathematical tablets, he explores possible links between the temple and libraries at Uruk. First, Ossendrijver describes the find spots of the mathematical tablets from the Rēš Temple, noting the possibility that the library may have consisted of different physical libraries. Additionally, due to space limitations, he focuses primarily three mathematical texts, studying the others briefly. Second, in discussing AO 6456, using a triaxial index grid, he highlights a wide range of computational errors which confirm Neugebauer’s proposal that the reciprocal analysis uses the sieve method. Turning to other Late Babylonian tablets, he indicates no dependence between AO 6456 and other tablets.  Third, he analyzes VAT 7848, providing a new rendering and commentary of the text. Fourth, he analyzes U 91 + W 169, concluding that it was used “as an aid for multiplying long regular numbers in the context of scholarly mathematics” (212). Fourth, he highlights links between VAT 7848 and AO 6456 and other tablets from Rēš, such as their similar mathematical activities and colophons. He concludes that while the scholars of the Rēš pursued mathematics, they were equally interested in astral sciences. Additionally, while some tablets at Uruk are unique, the similarities are strong enough to imply “a prolonged and rather intensive transfer of knowledge between both cities” regarding mathematics, “as has been argued for the astral sciences” (215). Still, as he notes, the role scholarly mathematics played in the Late Babylonian period is unclear.

In Chapter Seven, Julia Krul argues that “the pre-eminence of astrology and astronomy in Urukean… scholarship led to changes in cultic worship and religious thought” (220). First, she highlights that the intellectual community at Uruk consisted a network of interconnected families who did celestial sciences and worked in the temple as āšipu. Notably, she includes Anu-uballiṭ in the mix because (a) he was connected to a major renovation of the Urukean temple, (b) he reorganized the cultic system, and (c) his family was linked to Uruk intellectuals who were āšipus. Second, regarding tablets written by scholars and priests, she shows how scholars made intellectual connections between the starts and their theologies, combining cultic worship with astrological views. Third, drawing from TU 38 and TU 41, she shows that Seleucid era Uruk rituals texts reveal a relationship between celestial sciences and ritual. Fourth, while recognizing Rochberg’s arguments that “astral religion” never existed in Mesopotamia, she suggests that Hellenistic Uruk is a unique case where astral duties are incorporated into the temple cult, though she doubts whether or not “astral religion” is the proper term. She further substantiates the impact of celestial sciences on rituals by showing how the solstice became a central ritual in the Babylon-Borsippa area. At base, then, Hellenistic priest-scholars of Uruk developed a theological frame that increased Anu’s astral dimensions by providing deities new astral attributes, adding solstice rituals, aligning rituals with the zodiac, and directly worshipping planets, the sun, and the moon.

Paul-Alain Beaulieu explores interactions of Greek and Babylonian thought based on MLC 1866 and MLC 1890 in Chapter Eight. Highlighting the similarities between LÚ, HUN, LU, and UDU, he argues that MLC 1866 attests to the shift from the “Hired Man” sign to the “Sheep,” which occurred at the beginning of the Hellenistic period. The evidence for direction of influence, though, is unclear and could have occurred in both directions. Turning to MLC 1890 and Pythagorean Cosmology, he traces the origins of Anduruna and its developments, noting that “at each state… Anduruna always kept its fundamental aspect as the original, undifferentiated cosmic centre” (246). So, with such a complex history and etymology, he concludes that it probably carried multiple meanings. Its use in MLC 1890, Beaulieu suggests, was primarily “to present Antu as universal goddess and all-encompassing cosmic location” (248). Likewise, the sun was also identified with Anduruna and Antu with the sun. The semantic use of Anduruna with Antu, though, is unprecedented in traditional material. The cosmos, though, is akin to the Pythagorean cosmology which views the center sphere as a hearth, which is in the semantic range of Anduruna. So, “the central fire, the hearth, which stands in the middle of the Pythagorean cosmos, finds a reflection in the sun of MLC 1890 which is identified with Anduruna, the unformed universe of the cuneiform tradition” (250). Other Greek authors support this when equating the hearth with “the mother of gods,” Rhea paralleling Antu in terms of her centrality at the center of the universe. Though unclear which direction influence flowed, he at least concludes “that specific elements of cosmological and mythical imagery, perhaps certain concepts as well, travelled from one world to the other, and possibly in both directions” (251). So, at base, this article looks “beyond the linguistic and cultural expressions of written corpora on both sides, and finds points of commonality, intersections where it is possible that intellectuals reformulated elements of their traditions to harmonize them with ideas developed in other cultural contexts” (252). He does this through MLC 1866, MLC 1890, and various Greek texts.

In Chapter Nine, Alexander Jones looks primarily at Greek texts in order to describe how Uruk was understood in the Greco-Roman world. Because the Greek term for Uruk (Orchoe) occurs so rarely, he describes astrological geography of the Greco-Roman world—namely, how “particular characteristics of each people” is “caused by the linkages between celestial entities and terrestrial region” (260)—and where Uruk fits in the system. In doing so, he shows that Uruk people are characterized as sincere, benevolent lovers of astral sciences. Moreover, Mesopotamians doing astral sciences, he shows, were comparable to other philosophic parties, such as Stoics, Epicureans, and Peripatetics. To demonstrate that Uruk astrologers were perceived as a distinct philosophical sect with distinct views on technical questions, he describes P.Oxy. astr. 4139.

Scholars and Scholarship in Late Babylonian Uruk is a well curated volume with a wide range of studies on scholasticism at Uruk. Particularly notable is Proust and Steele’s introduction in Chapter One, inasmuch as it provides a helpful overview of Late Babylonian scholasticism in Uruk. The overview would be helpful in a Near Eastern course on scholasticism, scholarly archives, and, of course, Late Babylonian Uruk. Also notable is Julia Krul’s analysis about how Hellenistic Babylonian scholarship influenced both scholasticism and ritual. Put another way, she shows that our categories of “scholasticism” as opposed to “religion” may sometimes prevent us from precisely and accurate understanding Late Babylonian Uruk. Put another way, her contribution shows that the secondary categories overlap in many cases.

For scholars who are in religious and biblical studies, this volume correlates significantly with certain subjects. The volume is a good supplement to scholars studying ancient Jewish science in Second Temple Literature. I think of Jonathan Ben-Dov and Seth Sanders’ (eds.) Ancient Jewish Sciences and the History of Knowledge in Second Temple Literature (2014). Equally important, of course, is Geller’s (2017) review article of the volume, wherein he notes that the contributors never confront the issue of “religion” versus “science” head-on. Conversation between Chapter Seven of Scholars and Scholarship and scholars of ancient Jewish science may provide some interesting correlates and lead to some conclusions about the relationship between science and religion as it concerns ancient sciences throughout the ancient world.

Additionally, Paul-Alain Beaulieu’s linking MLC 1866 and 1890 with cosmological and mythical speculation attributed to the Pythagorean school—namely, evidence for interactions between the intellectual worlds of Babylonia and Greece—is notable for scholars exploring connections between the Judean and Babylonian worlds. If, as Beaulieu argues, MLC 1866 and 1890 are evidence of influence between Greek and Babylonian scholasticism, then it is an important addition to scholars exploring links between early Jewish texts and texts from Greece or Babylonia. For, if Greek and Babylonian scholars are influences each other from such a great distance, it is more probable that Judean scholars were influenced by the respective groups.

Finally, a footnote in Proust’s contribution carries significance for scholars exploring the transmission of Babylonian texts to Judea. Discussing a Late Babylonian mathematical collection, a footnote mentions an important detail about Aramaic texts: “Jens Høyrup suggested that the Late Babylonian metrological tables may result from copies of Aramaic texts written from right to left (personal communication)” (103n26). Though obviously conjecture, the link between Late Babylonian metrology and Aramaic is important. I recall Sanders’ argument that Judean and Babylonian scribes were linked via Aramaic through “the long-standing practice of translating a wide range of documentary texts and at least two rhetorically and literarily complex genres of text, royal memorials and treaty-curse rituals” (2017: 193). Though linking a hypothetical Late Babylonian Aramaic metrological text with the cuneiform Late Babylonian metrological tablet is highly conjectural, it would provide another means of transmission by which Judean scribes may have learned about Babylonian sciences. This suggestion is highly conjectural; however, if Proust or Høyrup further substantiate the hypothesis of an Aramaic translation of the metrological tablet, it would provide substantiate Sanders’ claims for literary transmission, albeit in a minor way.

Lacking, though, was a synthesis of all analyses. Discussions of Late Babylonian Uruk all touch upon the āšipu. Because the analysis of āšipus is often synchronized instead of recognizing the diachronic diversity and changes, the editors would have made an important contribution by synthesizing the information in the volume in order to create a short chapter on āšipus in Late Babylonian Uruk. Similar syntheses would have been helpful regarding cultural imports, as most of the authors discuss importing and exporting traditions or texts to and from Uruk. By synthesizing all analyses in the volume regarding this subject, it may serve as a helpful way to objectively and broadly characterize key aspects of Late Babylonian Uruk.

At base, though a technical book of which many may only read one or two chapters, Scholars and Scholarship in Late Babylonian Uruk is a wonderful contribution to the exact sciences and study of Late Babylonian Uruk. While all contributions are focused on exact sciences in the ancient world, there is enough diversity in the volume that there is an article for every reader within and outside of Assyriology.




Ben-Dov, Jonathan and Seth Sanders. Eds. 2014. Ancient Jewish Science and the History of Knowledge in Second Temple Literature. New York: New York University Press and Institute for the Study of the Ancient World.

Geller, Mark. “Debunking Ancient Jewish Science.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 137 (2): 393–400.

Sanders, Seth. 2017. From Adapa to Enoch. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

Review: “Becoming Diaspora Jews: Behind the Story of Elephantine” by Karel van der Toorn

BecomingDiasporaJewsKarel van der Toorn. 2019. Becoming Diaspora Jews: Behind the Story of Elephantine. Yale: Yale University Press.

In the beginning of the 20th century, the Elephantine Papyri were revealed to the world. Unsurprisingly, the texts were popular because they reflected the lives of Jews in exile. As early scholars expressed, they were texts from the people of the bible. Since then, scholarship on Amherst Papyrus 63 provided opportunities to revise and reconsider traditional narratives about Elephantine. A few years after van der Toorn’s critical edition of Amherst Papyrus 63, his newest book reconsiders the Elephantine community’s relation with Arameans, their origins, and the history. After the book’s summary, I will note various places where van der Toorn’s analysis could be developed, providing further considerations that build off van der Toorn’s work.

Chapter One reviews how the papyri were discovered, scholarly trends of the 20th century, and terminological choices, especially Jew versus Judean and diaspora. Notably, readers will find van der Toorn’s narrative remarkably similar to contemporary, questionable actions by the Museum of the Bible and its affiliates.

Chapter Two describes the Aramean heritage of Jews at Elephantine. First, he convincingly hypothesizes that Aramaic was present in the early history of the community. Second, he highlights the “Sayings of Ahiqar” as indicative of a link between the Aramean diaspora and the Jewish community at Elephantine. Third, on account of a papyri instructing shekels to be divided between Yaho and two Aramean gods, there is strong reason to conclude Elephantine Jews were Aramean. Fourth, drawing from onomastics and titles, he argues that the reference to Elephantine Jews as “Jews of Elephantine,” “Aramean,” and “Syenian” indicate they were viewed administratively as Arameans. Similar patterns are evident for the Iranian community. Simply put, “the Jews were technically Arameans but, in reality, Judeans.”

Chapter Three focuses on the Aramean diaspora in Egypt to figure out how Jews at Elephantine were connected to Arameans. After briefly reviewing the terms Aramaic, Aram, and Aramean, he analyzes onomastic data to suggest two Aramean groups: a Bethel group from central Syria and a Babylonian Nabu group. Having laid out these ethnic boundaries, van der Toorn highlights social links and contact between Jews of Elephantine and Syenian Arameans via mundane social interactions and military activity. Notably, his analysis clearly shows that the traditional hypothesis of Jews adopting Aramean culture is implausible.

Chapter Four attempts to identify their origins and explain practices by analyzing Papyrus Amherst 63. Describing the three sections of the text (Syrian, Samarian, and Babylonian), he draws from Ps 20, New Years references, and content throughout the papyri in order to suggest the text was compiled in the 7th century BCE. He suggests that, with the disintegration of the Neo-Assyrian empire at the end of the 7th century, Samarian Arameans began speaking Aramaic when they were becoming the garrison of Syene.

In Chapter Five, van der Toorn explores two aspects of Elephantine in light of the previous discussion: Elephantine Jews as a military colony and as a religion. First, van der Toorn contextualizes the colony, highlighting how Egypt and Persia had been hiring mercenaries since the Samarian migration to Egypt. After discussing relevant textual evidence, he concludes that individuals did not receive wages; rather, battalions held land as possessions, akin to the Babylonian land-for-service system. Due to peace on the southern front, they were relatively inactive, allowing them to work fields and develop wealth. Second, he describes religious practice at Elephantine. The temple, he argues, was not unique, providing examples of Jewish temples at Edfu and Leontopolis. In any case, in functioned as the material guarantee of Yaho’s presence. Socially, the boundary between religious and political, or sacred and secular, was porous, providing various examples of individuals who functioned as political or religious leaders depending on their social context. Finally, drawing from Papyrus Amherst 63 and the Elephantine Papyri, he offers a discussion of the gods of the Elephantine Jews: Yaho, Eshem-Bethel, Herem-Bethel, and the Queen of Heaven. Strong practices and beliefs at Elephantine show that—contrary to Babylonian Jews—there was no desire to return “home.”

In Chapter Six, van der Toorn details three phases leading to Samarian Arameans being identified as Jewish. Early on, “Judean” was a collective term for Samarians and Jews, evident in mixture of Judeans and Samarians together moving to Egypt in the 7th century without conflict, the relation between Jews at Elephantine and other places throughout Egypt, and Persian perception of “Judean,” a geographic term, into the broader notion of a Judean diaspora. For the second phase, van der Toorn highlights Hananyah’s “Passover” letter because the “salutation reflects a self-conscious Jewish identity” (122), an identity possibly creating a sort of “religious nationalism” and fueling conflict between Egyptians and Judeans. Third, political and social conflict between the Jewish Elephantines and Egyptians—namely, Egyptians destroying the Jewish temple in 410 BCE and Persia’s sympathy for them by 407 BCE—cemented Elephantine identity as Jewish, as letters from the period show their communications with Judah and Samaria. The event cementing their identity, van der Toorn argues, was not necessarily religious violence; rather, by examining social conflict at Elephantine prior to the temple’s destruction in 410 BCE, he clearly demonstrates that the conflict was more about personal gain and political choice than anti-Jewish sentiments.

The book concludes with a short epilogue and a full translation of Papyrus Amherst 63.

As a whole, van der Toorn’s analysis of Elephantine, use of onomastica, and inclusion of Papyrus Amherst 63 are extraordinary. Rather than reading like an academic monograph, Becoming Diaspora Jews is a story. It is engaging, flows relatively well, makes strong arguments, and is eye-opening. That said, rather than listing the exquisite aspects of the volume, which are too numerous to list here, I will shift into discussing the finer points of his volume, considering how different perspective could enrich our understanding of the Elephantine Jews.

First, I propose that his perspective on the Persians’ first interactions with Judeans should be more specific. He claims that “the Persians’ first encounter with these Judeans was with the community of Judean exiles in Babylonia” (120). This statement is too ambiguous. Is he claiming that the Persians met the Judeans as they were working in the fields of Babylonia or that Persians knew of Judeans via other means? The details of van der Toorn’s statement, I think, are pertinent. If Persians knew about Judeans and Al-Yahudu, the Judean community in Babylonia, via personal interactions with the community, the implication is that Persian government developed an approach to ethnic groups independent of Babylonian approaches to Judeans.

Records, though, indicate otherwise: “The Achaemenid administration inherited the administrative system and the system of taxation from their Neo-Babylonian predecessors in Babylonia” (Kleber 2015). That is, Persians transferred Neo-Babylonian methods of administration to themselves. And though conjectural, it is more likely that Persians first learned of Judeans through Neo-Babylonian documents. If this is the case, it also provides insight into how the Neo-Babylonian administration approached the Judeans of Al-Yahudu, many of whom were Samarian. Therefore, van der Toorn’s comment that the geographical term “Judean” came to be an ethnic term due to the Persian perception of the Judean diaspora should be pushed back to at least the Neo-Babylonian period. Namely, Judean was an ethnicity because the Persian administration inherited them from the Babylonians as an ethnicity.

Second, van der Toorn regularly notes the three deities present in Yaho’s temple, at least according to the papyrus: Yaho, Eshem-Bethel, and Anat-Bethel. I wonder, though, how the unique identity of Jews at Elephantine could be further defined by viewing the deities in the temple as a divine triad. That is, how do perspectives change when we view the three deities as reflective of the “structural element of Egyptian religion” to describe triads of deities (te Velde 1971, 80)? Though conjectural, it is plausible that the Judean divine triad is indicative of how they adapted to their social and religious environment.

In a similar vein, social network analysis of Jewish Elephantine deities could be used to explore social bonds between various groups in Egypt, drawing from both texts and onomastica. For example, Alstola et al. (2019) uses a computational social networking model in order to analyze the role of Ashur in the Mesopotamian pantheon during the 1st millennium. Through mapping a social network of deities throughout Egypt during the Persian periods, it may provide further socio-religious explanations for the conflict between the Egyptians and Jews [1]. That is, while van der Toorn is undoubtedly correct that events prior to the destruction of the Jewish temple at Elephantine are indicative that Egyptians did not act out of anti-Jewish sentiment, the degree to which Elephantine deities among the Elephantine community can be linked to other groups throughout the region may provide a more nuanced explanation of the events, an explanation which takes into account the degree to which social networks—themselves shaped by religious ritual, practice, and belief—created space for conflict to occur.

Another method to explore the social links between Jews at Elephantine and the region is through archaeological developments. As Müller (2016) highlights, Elephantine is settled throughout the first millennium; however, Demotic and Aramaic documentary texts only appear in the second half of the millennium. That said, it may be helpful to bring into the conversation how the archaeological sites—like the fortress—developing during the 1st millennium (e.g., von Pilgrim 2010) [2]. Though beyond the aim and method of van der Toorn, perhaps future analysis of Elephantine will further explore this issue.

In conclusion, van der Toorn’s Becoming Diaspora Jews: Behind the Story of Elephantine is an excellent and needed historical re-construction of the Jewish Elephantine community. More importantly, he draws into the conversation Papyrus Amherst 63, providing innovative and important insights to the Jews at Elephantine prior to their being in Egypt. Frankly, Becoming Diaspora Jews is a must-read for students and scholars of Jewish studies (broadly construed) and Egyptian history.

[1] As Wilkinson (2000) comments, “Interaction between cults also extended beyond the religious to the economic and social spheres. Though these latter areas are more difficiult to document, it seems that interaction was to the advantage of most temples, as smaller cults might profit from the prestige and power of larger ones and the larger cults could often accept their smaller neighbours as part of their own extended theological cosmos rather than as competitors” (85).

[2] As I do not have access to a library, the degree to which Rohrmoser (2014) discusses this subject is unclear. The closest access I had to it was a review by Cornell (2017).




Alstola, Tero, Shana Zaia, Aleksi Sahala, Heidi Jauhiainen, Saana Svärd, and Krister Lindén. 2019. “Ashur and His Friends: A Statistical Analysis of Neo-Assyrian Texts.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 71: 159–180.

Cornell, Collin. 2017. Review of Götter, Tempel und Kult der Judäo-Aramäer von Elephantine: archäologische und schriftliche Zeugnisse aus dem perserzeitlichen Ägypten by Angela Rohrmoser. Scandanavian Journal of the Old Testament 31 (1): 157–159.

Kleber, Kristin. 2015. “Taxation in the Achaemenid Empire.” In Oxford Handbooks Online. Oxford: Oxford University Press. (Accessed December 10, 2019.)

Müller, Matthias. 2016. “Among the Priests of Elephantine Island: Elephantine Island Seen from Egyptian Sources.” Die Welt des Orients 46 (2): 213–243.

von Pilgrim, Cornelius. 2010. “Elephantine – (Festrungs-)Stadt am Ersten Katarakt.” In Cities and Urbanism in Ancient Egypt, edited by Manfred Bietak, Ernst Czerny, and Irene Forstner-Müller, 257–270. Wien: Österreichische Akademia der Wissenschaften.

Rohrmoser, Angela. 2014. Götter, Tempel und Kult der Judäo-Aramäer von Elephantine: archäologische und schriftliche Zeugnisse aus dem perserzeitlichen Ägypten. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag.

te Velde, H. 1971. “Some Remarks on the Structure of Egyptian Divine Triads.” The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 57: 80–86.

Wilkinson, Richard H. 2000. The Complete Temples of Ancient Egypt. New York: Thames & Hudson.


Review: “Inhabiting the Promised Land: Exploring the Complex Relationship between Archaeology and Ancient Israel as Depicted in the Bible” by Margreet L. Steiner

9781789253306Margreet L. Steiner. Inhabiting the Promised Land: Exploring the Complex Relationship between Archaeology and Ancient Israel as Depicted in the Bible. Philadelphia: Oxbow, 2019.

A search on Google for “ancient Israel archaeology” yields 13.6 million results in 0.72 seconds. With so many resources readily available—many of which are questionable—it is pertinent that scholars more intentionally engage with the public. If scholars do not engage with the public in a reasonable and understandable way, they should not complain about misunderstanding or lack of knowledge. While some scholars use the internet, quite a few publish books as a means of engaging with the public. Margreet Steiner’s Inhabiting the Promised Land seeks to engage with the public.

Inhabiting the Promised Land was originally published in 2015 in Dutch (Op zoek naar… De gecompliceerde relatie tussen archeologie en de Bijbel). Oriented toward the public, the volume aims to characterize the relationship between archaeology and biblical texts in a digestible and understandable way. And as an archaeologist with extensive field experience, Steiner is undoubtedly qualified (click here for Margreet Steiner’s website and CV).

Broadly construed, the book is divided into three sections: introduction; searches for various figures based on biblical chronology; and discussion of the temple in Jerusalem and Asherah. In what follows, I will briefly summarize each chapter. Subsequently, I will reflect on the strengths and weaknesses of the volume.

In Chapter One, Steiner defines key terms (e.g., archaeology, various regions, etc.), compares biblical archaeology with archaeology of the Levant, and outlines primary source materials for the history of Israel (archaeology, inscriptions, and the bible). In doing so, she also describes tradition and redaction criticism in biblical scholarship.

Chapter Two describes biblical stories of Abraham and his descendants, briefly summarizing Canaanites outside of the bible (language, religion, and ethnicity). After juxtaposing Abrahamic and Canaanite traditions, she concludes that Abrahamic traditions cannot confidently be placed into a time period. Subsequently, after describing the exodus account and the lack of non-biblical evidence, she describes the scholarly opinions about sitz im Leben: viewing the biblical texts as reflecting historical reality (maximalists), minimalists, Finkelsteins argument that texts were written in the 7th century BCE as a pious pre-history, and Liverani’s argument for an invented history after exile. Though she doesn’t say it directly, she basically implies that we don’t really know when the Abraham traditions were written, even suggesting that dismissing the patriarchal narratives and the conquest of the promised land as non-historical is “a bit extreme.”

In Chapter Three, she engages the relationship between the bible and archaeology regarding the Saul and the judges, describing various archaeological aspects: Jericho, early Iron Age villages, the Gezer Calendar, and the Merneptah stele. Presented with this information, she describes the four well-known ways about how Israel arose: peaceful infiltration, nomads, revolutions, and mixed multitude.  Though she implies that a mixed multitude is the most reasonable option, she concludes with a simple comment that the “beginning of the biblical Israel is still shrouded in clouds.”

In Chapter Four, Steiner considers the relationship between Goliath and Philistia as represented in biblical texts and archaeology. After broadly outlining Philistines as the Sea People, biblical representations, and archaeology, she describes three phases of Philistine migration based on pottery. Next, she describes Philistine culture via religion and iron use. Moreover, she briefly debunks an inscription that many viewed as evidence for Goliath and, by proxy, David. Thus, Steiner concludes that, while the Philistines migrated from Cyprus and the Aegean to the Levant during the 12th century BCE, they remain shrouded in mystery.

Chapter Five explores David and Solomon outside of biblical texts, discussing the Tel Dan inscription, debated subjects like the stables at Megiddo, the problem of ‘discovering’ King David’s palace in 2005, and Khirbet Qeiyafa. For this period, Steiner makes clear that whereas biblical texts indicate a Golden Age, the stories of David and Solomon appear to be fictive when put into conversation with archaeology.

Chapter Six explores Jezebel and the house of Omri, describing the biblical narrative, various extra-biblical sources, and Omride building projects. After discussing these materials, she highlights that (1) Jezebel is not attested in archaeology and that (2) the House of Omri, especially Ahab, was historically a mighty king, not merely a fictive construction.

Chapter Seven discusses Mesha of Moab, engaging with the Mesha inscription, Moab in the bible, and Moabite religion. She also describes the adventure of how the Moab inscription was discovered and recovered. She concludes that king Mesha—though represented distinctly in biblical texts—did exist as a power competing with Israel.

Chapter Eight turns to Jehoiachin and the exile, examining Neo-Babylonian records, biblical texts, and the Yehuda texts from Babylon. As such, she clearly demonstrates the presence of Judean exiles in Babylon, though admits the picture is somewhat hazy. Subsequently, she provides a brief discussion on how Judean’s seeing a ziggurat in Babylon may have influenced the biblical story about the tower of Babel.

Chapter Nine focuses on Balaam from the Deir Alla plasters in Jordan. After describing the story of discovering the text and the archaeological context, she provides Hoftijizer and Van der Kooij’s translation (1976) and briefly discusses it. She then contrasts the Deir Alla plasters with Balaam in biblical texts. She suggests that editors of the Hebrew Bible knew of Balaam traditions and incorporated them into their narratives.

Chapter Ten shifts to a contentious topic in Levantine archaeology and biblical studies: the goddess Asherah. After describing evidence for Asherah in biblical texts, Astarte, the Queen of Heaven, Kuntillet Ajrud, Khirbet el-Qom, cult stands, and figurines, she concludes that it is not yet clear how or if she was venerated in ancient Israel.

Chapter Eleven concludes with discussion of the temple in Jerusalem, engaging a broad range of data: temples in the Levant and Egypt, a history of the Jerusalem temple and Solomon’s temple according to biblical texts, the ivory pomegranate forgery, Solomon’s temple as a myth, and Herod’s temple. Though unrelated to Solomon’s temple, she subsequently describes various forged inscriptions through stories.

As a volume engaging with the pubic, Steiner’s work is a welcome addition. Covering such a broad range of archaeological data—from Late Bronze age archaeology up to the destruction of Jerusalem—and biblical texts is challenging and admirable, a feat few successfully attempt. In particular, I appreciate how she encourages readers to push against news heralding that archaeology has confirmed the bible. Instead, she encourages readers to acknowledge that the relationship between archaeology and biblical texts is complex. As such, folks should not be too quick to assert that certain archaeological finds support biblical texts.

Regarding her writing style, she writes in a conversational tone. I suspect this may be because it was originally published in Dutch. Presumably, the mood, flow, and tone of the text is culturally inflected. This is, however, a weakness of the volume depending on the reader. Personally, I enjoy German style writing more—sharp, concise, to the point, and not flowery. Her book is not that style. That said, it isn’t a problem so much as personal preference and a note to potential readers.

A few issues are worth addressing. Broadly construed, my criticisms have to do with the degree to which general audiences can interacted with Inhabiting the Promised Land, representation of biblical scholarship, and the books organization.

First, while the book is sometime understandable, she regularly uses language that the average reader does not understand. For example, when discussing the Philistines, she uses technical terms:  for pottery (e.g., monochrome, bichrome, Cypriot pottery, and Mycenaean pottery), Semitic root (most people don’t know what a ‘root’ is), and European Urnfield Culture (I only learned about this recently). Though only a small selection, it suffices to demonstrate that Steiner falls into a trap most academic writer fall into when writing for the public: they forget that while much of their language register is second nature, and the audience has no context or understanding of certain terms and ideas.

Second, Steiner’s volume is disconnected from biblical scholarship. From the outset, she notes that she is not a biblical scholar but an archaeologist of the Levant. As such, her description of the bible and how scholars us it for history is limited, discussing only redaction criticism and tradition criticism. Likewise, in briefly describing the book most relevant for Israel’s history, she only includes the Torah, early prophets (Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings), and the “historical books” (Chronicles, Ezra, and Nehemiah). By excluding a vast portion of biblical texts, she cuts out pertinent literature, such as Jeremiah and Isaiah. In other words, her investigation into the history of ancient Israel and Judah is limited from the outset because she ignores evidence central to reconstructing the history of Israel and Judah.

Similarly, while she defines the goals and questions for Levantine archaeologists, she does not detail the goals and questions of biblical scholars. Undoubtedly, this is a difficult to do due to diversity in the field. Even so, more thorough treatment of biblical scholarly aims would have contributed positively to her overall presentation of the bible and archaeology. It would have also (potentially) impacted some of her conclusions and discussion.

Third, the book’s organization is questionable. Chapters one through eight are arranged by biblical time period; chapters nine through eleven are topical, addressing Balaam, Asherah, and the temple of Jerusalem. The three topical chapters, though, are pertinent for the evidence, archaeological and textual, in chapters one through eight. Moreover, by arranging the chapters by “biblical chronology,” even though she admits that the chronology isn’t always supported by strong archaeological evidence, she does little to provide a new framework to general audiences for thinking about Israelite and Judean history. Had the book been organized as a historical construction of ancient Israel and Judah based primarily on archaeology and then put into conversation with biblical texts, it would have been more helpful by providing a new framework for thinking about history in the region.

Even with these criticism, Margreet Steiner’s Inhabiting the Promised Land is a welcome addition to the small, yet growing, corpus of books related to Levantine archaeology and biblical studies that are written for general audiences. And though the book is imperfect and, in some cases, inaccessible to general audiences, few scholars attempt to engage the public. For this reason, I personally appreciate Steiner’s work and look forward to see how she continues engaging the public.