Knoppers, Gary N. - Ackroyd, Peter R. - Grabbe, Lester L. - Fulton, Deirdre N - Exile and Restoration Revisited - Essays On

LIBRARY OF SECOND TEMPLE STUDIES
73
formerly the Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series
Editor
Lester L. Grabbe
Editorial Board
Randall D. Chesnutt, Philip R. Davies, Jan Willem van Henten, Judith M. Lieu,
Steven Mason, James R. Mueller, Loren T. Stuckenbruck, James C. VanderKam
Founding Editor
James H. Charlesworth
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EXILE AND RESTORATION REVISITED
Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter

R. Ackroyd
EDITED BY
GARY N. KNOPPERS
AND LESTER L. GRABBE,
WITH DEIRDRE N. FULTON
Copyright # Gary N. Knoppers, Lester L. Grabbe, Deirdre N. Fulton and
contributors 2009
Published by T&T Clark A Continuum imprint

The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX
80 Maiden Lane, Suite 704, New York, NY 10038
www.continuumbooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.
The picture of Ostracon 283 from Maqqedah (Figure 1 in the Becking chapter)
is published with the permission of Professor André Lemaire, Paris, who first
edited the ostracon and with permission of the publisher, J. Gabalda, Paris.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-567-12256-8
Typeset by Data Standards Ltd, Frome, Somerset, UK

Printed and bound in Great Britain by the MPG Books Group
CONTENTS
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS vii

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS xi
INTRODUCTION 1
Lester L. Grabbe and Gary N. Knoppers
1. ON THE IDENTITY OF THE ‘FOREIGN’ WOMEN IN EZRA 9–10 31

Bob Becking
2. THE PERSIAN PERIOD AS PENITENTIAL ERA:

THE ‘EXEGETICAL LOGIC’ OF DANIEL 9.1-27 50
John S. Bergsma
3. THE MYSTERY OF THE MISSING ‘SONS OF AARON’ 65

Joseph Blenkinsopp
4. FROM EXILE AND RESTORATION TO EXILE AND RECONSTRUCTION 78

Tamara Cohn Eskenazi
5. JESHUA’S ‘HIGH PRIESTLY’ LINEAGE?

A REASSESSMENT OF NEHEMIAH 12.10-11 94
Deirdre N. Fulton
6. ‘THEY SHALL COME REJOICING TO ZION’ – OR DID THEY?

THE SETTLEMENT OF YEHUD IN THE EARLY PERSIAN PERIOD 116
Lester L. Grabbe
7. WAS JERUSALEM A PERSIAN FORTRESS? 128

Lester L. Grabbe
8. ADMINISTRATION OF ACHAEMENID PHOENICIA:

A CASE FOR MANAGED AUTONOMY 138
Vadim S. Jigoulov
vi Contents
9. THE RELATION BETWEEN HISTORY AND THOUGHT:

REFLECTIONS ON THE SUBTITLE OF PETER ACKROYD’s EXILE
AND RESTORATION 152
Reinhard G. Kratz
10. EXILE AND RESTORATION IN LIGHT OF RECENT ARCHAEOLOGY

AND DEMOGRAPHIC STUDIES 166
Eric M. Meyers
11. GOING BEYOND THE MYTH OF THE EMPTY LAND:

A REASSESSMENT OF THE EARLY PERSIAN PERIOD 174
Jill A. Middlemas
12. REBUILDING JERUSALEM: ZECHARIAH’S VISION WITHIN VISIONS 195

Kenneth A. Ristau
INDEX OF REFERENCES 214

INDEX OF AUTHORS 221
ABBREVIATIONS
AAR American Academy of Religion

AB Anchor Bible
ABRL Anchor Bible Reference Library
ADPV Abhandlungen des deutschen Palästina-Vereins
AJBA Australian Journal of Biblical Archaeology
AJSL American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literature
AMI Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran
ANET J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating
to the Old Testament (3rd edn; Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1969)
AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament
AP A. Cowley (ed. and trans.), Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth
Century B.C (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1923)
ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research
ATANT Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen
Testaments
AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies
BA Biblical Archaeologist
BAR Biblical Archaeology Review
BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research
BBB Bonner biblische Beiträge
BDB F. Brown, S. R. Driver and C. A. Briggs (eds), A Hebrew
and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1904)
BEATAJ Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des
antiken Judentums
BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium
BKAT Biblischer Kommentar: Altes Testament
BThSt Biblisch-theologische Studien
BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen
Testament
BZAW Beihefte Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche
Wissenschaft
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly
viii Abbreviations
CHANE Culture and History of the Ancient Near East

CoS W. W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture (3 vols;
Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1997–2002)
CT E. A. Budge, Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in
the British Museum (London: Harrison and Sons, 1896)
DCH D. J. A. Clines (ed.), Dictionary of Classical Hebrew
(Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993–)
DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert
DNWSI J. Hoftijzer and K. Jongeling (eds), Dictionary of the
North-West Semitic Inscriptions (2 vols; Leiden: E. J.
Brill, 1995)
EN Ezra-Nehemiah
EPRO Etudes préliminaires aux religions orientales dans
l’empire romain
ESHM European Seminar in Historical Methodology
EvTh Evangelische Theologie
ExpT Expository Times
FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament
FNT Filologia neotestamentaria
FOTL Forms of the Old Testament Literature
FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und
Neuen Testaments
GTA Göttinger theologischer Arbeiten
HeyJ Heythrop Journal
HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual
ICC International Critical Commentary
IEJ Israel Exploration Journal
Int Interpretation
JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages
JSJSup Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian,
Hellenistic, and Roman Periods: Supplement Series
JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement
Series
JSP Judea and Samaria Publications
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
KAI H. Donner and W. Röllig (eds), Kanaanäische und
aramäische Inschriften (2nd edn; Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz Verlag, 1966–69)
KAT Kommentar zum Alten Testament
LSTS Library of Second Temple Studies
Abbreviations ix
LTQ Lexington Theological Quarterly

LXX Septuagint
MGI Y. Magen, H. Misgav and L. Tsfania, Mount Gerizim
Excavations, I: The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan
Inscriptions (JSP, 2; Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities
Authority, 2004).
MT Masoretic Text
NCB New Century Bible
NEB New English Bible
NJPS Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures: The New JPS Translation
according to the Traditional Hebrew Text
NRSV New Revised Standard Version
OBO Orbis biblicus et orientalis
OLP Orientalia lovaniensia periodica
OTG Old Testament Guides
OTL Old Testament Library
OTS Old Testament Studies
PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly
RevQ Revue de Qumran
RlA E. Ebeling et al. (eds), Reallexikon der Assyriologie
(Berlin: de Gruyter, 1928 )
RSV Revised Standard Version
SBL Society of Biblical Literature
SBLABS Society of Biblical Literature Archaeology and Biblical
Studies
SBLDS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series
SBLMS Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series
SBLSP Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers
SBLSymS Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series
SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien
SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series
SO Symbolae osloenses
SP Sacra Pagina
TA Tel Aviv
TADAE Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni (eds), Textbook of
Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt: 1–4 (Hebrew
University, Department of the History of the Jewish
People, Texts and Studies for Students; Jerusalem:
Hebrew University, 1986–99).
TBC Torch Bible Commentaries
TDOT G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds), Theological
Dictionary of the Old Testament (trans. J. T. Willis, G.
W. Bromiley and D. E. Green; 8 vols; Grand Rapids,
MI: Eerdmans, 1974 )
x Abbreviations
Trans Transeuphrate`ne
TWAT G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds), Theologisches
Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament (Stuttgart: W.
Kohlhammer, 1970–2000)
UF Ugarit-Forschungen
VT Vetus Testamentum
VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum
WBC Word Biblical Commentary
WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen
Testament
WTJ Westminster Theological Journal
WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Alten und
Neuen Testament
ZABR Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische
Rechtgeschichte
ZAH Zeitschrift für Althebräistik
ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
CONTRIBUTORS
Bob Becking is Senior Research Professor for Bible, Religion and Identity
at Utrecht University.
John S. Bergsma is Assistant Professor of Theology at the Franciscan
University of Steubenville, Ohio.
Joseph Blenkinsopp is Professor Emeritus of Old Testament at the
University of Notre Dame.
Tamara Cohn Eskenazi is Professor of Bible at Hebrew Union College,
Los Angeles.
Deirdre N. Fulton is a senior graduate student in History and Religious
Studies at the Pennsylvania State University.
Lester L. Grabbe is Professor of Hebrew Bible and Early Judaism at the
University of Hull.
Vadim S. Jigoulov is Visiting Lecturer at Morgan State University,
Baltimore.
Gary N. Knoppers is Edwin Erle Sparks Professor of Classics and Ancient
Mediterranean Studies, Religious Studies, and Jewish Studies at the
Pennsylvania State University.
Reinhard G. Kratz is Professor of Old Testament at the University of
Göttingen.
Eric M. Meyers is Bernice and Morton Lerner Professor of Judaic Studies
and Director of the Center for Jewish Studies at Duke University.
Jill A. Middlemas is Associate Professor in the Department of Biblical
Studies, Faculty of Theology, at the University of Aarhus.
Kenneth A. Ristau is a senior graduate student in History and Religious
Studies at the Pennsylvania State University.
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INTRODUCTION
Lester L. Grabbe (University of Hull) and Gary N. Knoppers

(Pennsylvania State University)
This volume had its origins in the Annual Meeting of the Society of
Biblical Literature in Washington, DC, in November 2006. Two sessions
at that meeting form the basis of the contents presented here. The initial
idea for a special Society of Biblical Literature session in memory of Peter
R. Ackroyd came from Tamara Eskenazi, who presented a proposal to
Kent Richards, president of the society, and to Matthew Collins (in
charge of programme planning) on behalf of the Chronicles–Ezra–
Nehemiah section. The proposal was approved and Eskenazi organized
the session by inviting speakers and discussing topics with them. Richards
agreed to chair the session.1 Most of those papers from that session are
published here. Another 2006 session of the Society of Biblical Literature
(the Literature and History of the Persian Period Group) was organized
by Oded Lipschits and David Vanderhooft on the theme, ‘The Return to
Zion between Literature and History’. The papers from that session are
also published here, along with some papers subsequently solicited.
We hope this will be a fitting tribute to Peter Ackroyd’s work on the
Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods. A Festschrift was presented to
Professor Ackroyd by colleagues shortly after his retirement, but it
focused on his other main interest – the prophetic books (Coggins, Phillips
and Knibb 1982). Thus, his work on ‘exile and restoration’ has gone
largely unsung, especially in more recent years when a flood of
publications on the period seems to have been unleashed on the scholarly
profession. But his works on the subject remain classics, especially his
Exile and Restoration (Ackroyd 1968). What is surprising in that work
is that Ackroyd concentrated on the relevant prophetic writings
(mainly Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Deutero-Isaiah, Zechariah, Haggai, the
Deuteronomistic history and the Priestly work), but said little about the
1 We thank Tamara Eskenazi for her tireless work in preparing the special session. We
also extend our thanks to Kent Richards and Matthew Collins for expressing support for our
publishing the papers from the session that they helped to organize.
2 Exile and Restoration Revisited
contribution that Ezra–Nehemiah made to the question. This seems an

almost glaring omission, which is surprising for a scholar of Ackroyd’s
calibre. Part of the reason seems to be (as R. Kratz points out) is that he
saw himself as presenting the thought of the period. Nevertheless, he
himself seems to have recognized the incongruity of the omission of Ezra–
Nehemiah, because a couple of years later he published another book that
made use of all the pertinent biblical sources for the period, including Ezra
and Nehemiah (Ackroyd 1970).
In subsequent years, Ackroyd continued to develop his research into the
composition, historiography and theology of the historical books written
during the Persian period. He published a concise commentary on
Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah (Ackroyd 1973a), as well as several
influential studies of particular issues in these traditionally neglected
books (e.g., Ackroyd 1973b; 1976; 1977a). A number of Ackroyd’s
publications, perhaps most famously his essay on the temple vessels theme
published in 1972, tackled the question of how different biblical authors
addressed the difficulties of bridging the gap between the pre-exilic and
postexilic eras. That the history of the Neo-Babylonian and Persian
periods was never very far from his attention is evident from his
publications on the challenges of employing the extra-biblical sources
relating to these times for the difficult work of historical reconstruction
(Ackroyd 1982; 1988b). Connected to this undertaking was the challenge
of integrating, if at all possible, the evidence supplied by archaeology and
epigraphy with the testimony of the biblical writings. This humanistic
duty Ackroyd recognized, more so than many of his contemporaries, is no
easy task.
A related interest of Ackroyd’s research programme was the historical
writing of Samuel–Kings. This area of investigation bore fruit in a
commentary on 2 Samuel (Ackroyd 1977b) and in many scholarly articles
dealing with the source and redaction criticism of these literary works
(e.g., Ackroyd 1984; 1985). Responding thoughtfully to the vigorous
challenges put to the theory of the single authorship of Chronicles and
Ezra–Nehemiah by Sara Japhet (1968; 1983) and Hugh Williamson
(1977), a theory to which he earlier subscribed (1973a), Ackroyd (1988a)
both acknowledged the merit in the new challenges and outlined a number
of ways according to which one could continue to conceive of lines of
unity between the two literary works. Finally, Ackroyd was concerned
with the afterlife of the historical and prophetic writings, the development
of the canon, and the reuse of the Hebrew scriptures by early Jewish and
Christian interpreters. This academic interest resulted in several insightful
publications. Happily, many of Ackroyd’s specialized studies, a number of
which were published in specialized Festschriften, were republished in two
separate collections (Ackroyd 1987; 1991). Several contributors to this
volume talk about Ackroyd’s work, primarily Eskenazi, Kratz and
GRABBE and KNOPPERS Introduction 3
Meyers; these essays should be consulted for further information about

how Ackroyd’s publications were received both at the time in which they
were published and in subsequent decades.
Peter Ackroyd’s contribution to scholarship of the Babylonian and
Persian periods is an important and abiding one. It is easy to forget such
pioneering efforts even as we build on them. The general orientation of
the field has changed since his time (see Eskenazi’s chapter below), but
Ackroyd’s work was instrumental in effecting many changes that we now
take for granted. It is the measure of his work that he helped to bring
about a new approach that differs in some ways from his own and
certainly from that conventional in his own time. The essays included in
this volume help to make it abundantly clear the debt we all owe to Peter
Ackroyd.
1. Summaries of Papers
In ‘On the Identity of the ‘‘Foreign’’ Women in Ezra 9–10’, Bob Becking
examines a significant episode in Ezra 9–10. The ‘Ezra-group’ is looking
for a religious and ethnic identity in these chapters. The women are seen
as ‘foreign’, defiling the ‘holy seed’. Rather than apostasy and syncretism,
the concern is expressed in terms of taboo and fear of pollution, with some
earlier passages (e.g., Deut. 7.1-5) reinterpreted to exclude the foreigner
from the community. D. Janzen has recently argued that the campaign
against mixed marriages can be explained in terms of a ‘witch hunt’
(reminding one of the work of R. Girard). Janzen’s interpretation has
three problems: the identity of the ‘eight nations’ in Ezra 9.1, the
semantics of ‘strange, foreign’ in reference to the women and the question
of whether other ethnicities existed in Yehud. The last consideration may
be the most important. Yet there is also the question – assumed by most
theories, including Janzen’s – that non-Israelite women were a threat to
the community. Three sorts of evidence are used to show mixed ethnicity.
First, the list in Ezra 2 and Nehemiah 7 contains approximately a hundred
personal names, only a small part of which are Yahwistic. A few
specifically non-Israelite or non-Judaean names are examined, some
containing theophoric elements (such as Qos/Qaus, the Edomite deity).
Although theophoric names can rightly be taken as an indication of
religious allegiance in the main, the matter is complicated and the so-
called polytheistic names here are too few for drawing firm conclusions.
Second, the Ammonite site Tell al-Mazār yielded a number of ostraca,
of which Ostracon VII contains some personal names. Although the list
can be interpreted to indicate multi-ethnicity, we do not know the context.
Does it list members of a settlement, a unit of soldiers or a group of
merchants? It is premature to draw conclusions about the community of
Tell al-Mazār from the limited evidence available, especially since so little
is known about the historical and social context. Third, there are the
Samaria papyri from Wadi ed-Daliyeh, in which some 69 personal names
occur, including some Edomite ones (Cross 2006). Yet the recently
published inscriptions from Mt Gerizim show no Edomite names. Once
again, the data are too problematic for drawing clear conclusions. We can
now turn to another possible indication of multi-ethnicity: the polytheistic
religion of ancient Maqqēdāh (Khirbet el-Qôm). In the thousand (or
more) inscriptions are many theophoric names, mostly with qws and some
with yhw/yw, but the main text relevant for this particular discussion is the
one mentioning the ‘temple of Yaho’, alongside temples of Uzzah and
Nabu. These are indications of a multi-ethnic community, but Maqqēdāh
was outside the borders of Judah. In conclusion, the data are not clear-
cut, but the possibility emerges that the ‘strange’ women were members of
an inner-Yehudite group. Thus, Janzen’s theory remains a possibility.
John S. Bergsma (‘The Persian Period as Penitential Era: The
‘‘Exegetical Logic’’ of Daniel 9.1-27’) aims to point out the differences
between the received text of Daniel 9 and the perceived text (i.e., how
people remember the text after reading it), to contribute to a more
accurate appreciation of the inner logic of Daniel 9. A side benefit will be a
clearer understanding of one later Jewish perspective on the theological
significance of the return and re-establishment of the Judahite state under
Persia. Daniel 9 is usually understood (i.e., the perceived text) in such a
way that Gabriel explains to Daniel the true meaning of Jeremiah’s ‘70
years’ relating to the destruction of Jerusalem as ‘70 weeks of years’. The
text actually states that Daniel understood the 70 years and confessed his
sins. Gabriel then gives a new revelation of 70 weeks of years, ending with
the anointing of a ‘Most Holy’ place. The differences between the received
and the perceived text need to be highlighted: first, Daniel knows that
Jeremiah meant 70 years. In 9.2 the meaning ‘searched out’ (so M.
Fishbane) is not justified and is not that of Daniel itself. When Daniel
does not understand, he says so plainly. It is lack of fulfilment, not
understanding that worries Daniel.
Second, Daniel’s prayer is not a request for exegetical insight, but a
penitential prayer. Third, Gabriel does not interpret Jeremiah’s oracle.
The 70 years are accepted as finished, but the conditions for fulfilment
have not been met, which means fulfilment is being postponed – for 70
weeks of years. Daniel’s prayer fulfils the conditions for repentance in
Lev. 26.39-42; Deut. 30.1-4; Jer. 29.12-13 and Exod. 32.30-34. Gabriel
responds by stating that Daniel’s prayer has been heard, but the
restoration has been delayed by a factor of seven. The ‘exegetical logic’
of Daniel 9 achieves greater clarity, when its reuse of Leviticus 25–26 is
brought into view. The Leviticus text speaks of a seven-fold punishment
for failure to repent. The decree to rebuild Jerusalem is that of Cyrus in
Ezra 1.1-4. The theological implications of this understanding are the

following: (1) The return to Zion beginning under Cyrus is only the start
of fulfilment, which will drag on for some time. Even the editors of Ezra–
Nehemiah do not really dissent from such a broader perspective, because
the work ends on a pessimistic note. (2) From the perspective of Daniel 9,
the Persian period (and perhaps the early Hellenistic one) is primarily a
penitential period. (3) But we should not exaggerate the negative features
presented by the author of Daniel, as is sometimes done. Certain positive
events are accepted as having occurred. Judah and Jerusalem cannot have
been utterly desolate during this entire period, even though these centuries
may be characterized as a ‘troubled time’.
In ‘The Mystery of the Missing ‘‘Sons of Aaron’’ ’ Joseph Blenkinsopp
draws attention to an article of R. H. Kennett a century ago. Kennett
pointed out that the priesthood became the ‘sons of Aaron’ only in the
fifth century BCE. Who were these people and where did they come from?
In Deuteronomy the priesthood is made up of ‘Levitical priests’. Aaron is
not a priest in Deut. 9.20 or in Josh. 24.5; 1 Sam. 12.6 and Mic. 6.4. Some
other references to the descendents of Aaron are likely interpolations. In
the history of the monarchy, none of the priests are described as ‘Aaronic’.
The situation is no different with texts stemming from the Neo-
Babylonian and Persian periods, prior to Chronicles. The wording of
Neh. 12.47 indicates that it was written long after the time of Nehemiah.
The Aaronic priests are also absent from the Elephantine papyri. In the
wilderness tradition, where Aaron is mentioned, he does not act as a
priest. Indeed, Joshua seems to be the cultic agent. The development of
the image of Aaron as a priest by and large corresponds to the sequence of
Pentateuchal sources. Kennett concluded that the ‘Golden Calf’ incident,
in which Aaron is fully active, was originally a version of the founding of
the Bethel (non-Levitical) priesthood. He argued that the Bethel temple
survived the Assyrian and Babylonian captivities, to come to prominence
after the fall of Jerusalem, filling the cultic vacuum with its Aaronic
priesthood. In Kennett’s view, the high priest Joshua was Aaronite,
originating in Bethel rather than in Babylonia, but the sanctuary
accommodated both Aaronites and Levites.
F. S. North accepted several aspects of Kennett’s thesis but developed it
further. Aaron’s late appearance requires explanation, and his prominence
in the Golden Calf episode connects him with the Jeroboam cult, as do a
number of other parallels. Further evidence is found in Aaron’s son at
Shiloh (Josh. 19.51; 21.1) and his grandson at Bethel (Judg. 20.28). The
Bethel cult may well have survived Josiah’s reforms. After the destruction
of the temple in 587/586 and the removal of the capital to Mizpeh, Bethel
is likely to have filled the cultic vacuum, with its Aaronic priesthood.
Zechariah. 7.1-3 can be understood as people from Jerusalem asking for a
cultic ruling from Bethel. Similarly, Hag. 2.10-14 seems to refer to a cult
place outside Jerusalem, presumably involving the Aaronic priests of

Bethel. How long the Bethel sanctuary remained operative is not known.
Unfortunately, the archaeological situation is inconclusive. Kennett
suggested that the Aaronites emerged triumphant, but it appears more
likely that the Zadokites became dominant.
Tamara Cohn Eskenazi’s discussion, ‘From Exile and Restoration to
Exile and Reconstruction’, observes that Peter Ackroyd’s books were a
breath of fresh air, giving a new perspective on a period that was largely
ignored or dismissed at the time. This change of perspective seems to have
been his intent. Since the time of the publication of Exile and Restoration,
the Persian period has moved toward the centre of scholarly interests. One
aim of Eskenazi’s essay is to sketch some aspects of a twenty-first-century
perspective on the Persian period, with a focus on the ‘Restoration period’
and EN (Ezra–Nehemiah). Her comments are concentrated on five areas,
the first of which is archaeology. This area has witnessed one of the most
dramatic and influential developments, exemplified in the recent study by
O. Lipschits (2005). His work suggests internal rivalry between the areas
of Benjamin and Jerusalem. The Babylonian policy favoured Benjamin,
but when Judah began to recover in the fifth century, Benjamin declined.
This may explain the tension alleged to be caused by the ‘people of the
land’. It may also explain the tension with Samaria which had remained
stable in the seventh and sixth centuries when Judah was devastated
(Knoppers 2006).
A second development comprises the close analysis of the biblical texts.
Two recent studies by M. W. Duggan and J. L. Wright, both on
Nehemiah, show how close analysis of the text yields valuable results. A
third area of interest may be labelled ‘Sources for Study of the
‘‘Restoration’’ Period’. Eskenazi points out that it is puzzling to see the
Persian period still referred to as a ‘dark age’, since there is more
information available on it than on much earlier periods of Israel’s
history. There is now significant archaeological, epigraphic and literary
data for the region of the southern Levant, as shown by Ackroyd, P.
Briant, L. Grabbe, A. Lemaire, B. Porten and A. Yardeni, J. Elayi and L.
Fried.
A fourth area of commentary is centred on collaborative scholarship.
More primary and secondary material exists than any one person can
master. We have seen effective collaborations in the Achaemenid History
Workshops and the conferences sponsored by Transeuphrate`ne. The early
twenty-first century saw the Symposium on the Persian Authorization of
the Torah (Watts 2001) and several symposia in which O. Lipschits was
the main organizer (Lipschits and Blenkinsopp 2003; Lipschits and
Oeming 2006; Lipschits, Knoppers and Albertz 2007). Finally, a forth-
coming volume edited by M. Boda, in which contributors commented on
each other’s papers before publication, will provide an intergenerational
dialogue dealing with a variety of literary, historical and theological

issues.
A fifth area of interest is new research into the development and
consolidation of the books of the Torah. Recent heated scholarly debates
about the context for the formation of the Torah have not negated the
arguments for the Persian period as a time of major development and
consolidation. Quite the contrary, the Achaemenid era appears to be more
important than ever in understanding the process by which the Pentateuch
was formed and became accepted as an authoritative writing in Judah and
Samaria. The recent volume edited by Knoppers and Levinson (2007)
addresses many of the relevant questions. The place of the Persian
government in this process is still attracting the attention of quite a few
scholars, in spite of the concerted criticism of P. Frei’s thesis of an
imperial authorization (Watts 2001). Recent commentators have related
the reforms of EN, the formation of the Pentateuch, and the Persian
government in very different ways (e.g., J. Berquist, K. Hogland, D. Smith
and M. Brett). Brett (2000) makes an advance with his thesis that Genesis
represents resistance to Persian authority. One can agree that we see a
type of cultural resistance, though it might be against that of Samaria (cf.
Knoppers 2006), since there is no evidence of state-imposed ethnocentrism
in the Persian Empire.
A sixth area of development may be summarized as ‘New Emphases
and Approaches’. The use of new methods, such as social-scientific ones,
is important, but there are also dangers as J. Berlinerblau (1999) has
illustrated. Nevertheless, sensitive post-colonial studies can make a
significant contribution. Berquist’s study (2006) attempts to discuss
identity and ethnicity. He succeeds in demonstrating problems with the
various models, but does not fare as well in coming up with his own
alternative model. Eskenazi finds his attempt to deal with identity
somewhat problematic in that it does not fully take into account the
markers of identity in contemporary sources. In sum, Eskenazi surmises
that Peter Ackroyd would be quite pleased with the scholarly attention
granted to the Persian period in contemporary scholarship.
Deirdre Fulton’s essay, ‘Jeshua’s ‘‘High Priestly’’ Lineage? A
Reassessment of Nehemiah 12.10-11’, deals with a much more closely
defined topic than the series of broad topics addressed by Eskenazi.
Fulton re-examines the context and nature of a highly important six-
member genealogy (Neh. 12.10-11) found among the lists dealing with
assorted topics in Nehemiah 11–12, such as the Persian-period settlement
of Judah, the varieties of temple personnel and the people associated with
the dedication of the walls of Jerusalem. Within this broader literary
context, the section Neh. 12.1-11 is particularly significant, because it
focuses on the priests and Levites who are said to have come with
Zerubbabel and Jeshua (during the kingship of Darius I; cf. 1 Esd. 5.5-6).
As one of the sub-sections in this priestly and Levitical material, Neh.

12.10-11 provides six names in a descending linear genealogical format,
beginning with Jeshua and ending with Jaddua. As Fulton points out,
there are no titles provided either at the beginning or at the end of the
genealogy. Nor are there any titles supplied within the lineage itself.
Nevertheless, this genealogy has almost universally been interpreted as a
list of the high priestly sequence in the Persian period. As such, this
lineage functions as one of the primary building blocks for constructing
the chronology of the postexilic era.
Yet there are several issues relating to this genealogy that are
problematic for interpretation. If Jeshua returned in 520 BCE and
Jaddua, the last person named in the genealogy, was a high priest during
the reign of Alexander the Great, c. 333 BCE (Josephus, Ant. 11.317), the
six names cover a long time-span of almost 200 years. Further, there is a
difference in Jeshua’s genealogy in Neh. 12.10-11 compared with the
shorter list in Neh. 12.22, beginning with Eliashib and continuing to
Jaddua, insofar as this shorter list mentions Johanan (and not Jonathan)
after Joiada. To complicate matters further, Neh. 12.23 (and Ezra 10.6)
lists Johanan as the son of Eliashib. Interestingly, Josephus’s Jewish
Antiquities mentions all of the names in the genealogy: Jeshua (11.73),
Joiakim (11.120-121), Eliashib (11.158), Joiada (11.297), Jaddua (11.317-
318), except Jonathan. Johanan (11.297) is, however, mentioned. Aside
from such issues within the genealogies and lists themselves, there is the
problem of how to fit other relevant priestly figures of the Persian era,
such as Ezra and Meremoth (Ezra 8.33) into the picture.
Scholarly efforts to deal with these issues vary widely. Supposing that
Jeshua’s short lineage is riddled with haplographies, F. M. Cross has
provided his own elaborate reconstruction based on the principle of
papponymy. The high-priestly succession in his theory involves ten, rather
than six, figures to cover the long time-span of almost two centuries (520
BCE–332 BCE). Other scholars, such as H. G. M. Williamson, have also
opined that the genealogy of Neh. 12.10-11 is incomplete, even if they
disagree with elements of Cross’s theory. Other scholars, such as K. Koch,
argue for inserting figures, such as Ezra and Meremoth as high priests,
into the larger succession. Yet others have argued, on the basis of
numismatic finds, for adding figures near the end of the list. J.
VanderKam reacts to all of the attempts to emend the list and defends
the genealogy of Neh. 12.10-11 as being basically complete. All of these
scholars assume, however, that the lineage is a high priestly lineage or, at
least, a high priestly succession in genealogical dress.
Fulton’s essay challenges this dominant assumption. She proposes that
Neh. 12.10-11 is not a high priestly succession masquerading as a
genealogy, but simply a genealogy of Jeshua’s lineage in the Persian
period. In other words, the lack of titles within the lineage is deliberate.
The writer is providing a descending lineage for one of the major leaders
of the restoration. As a genealogy, the lineage charts a basic succession
within a single family. In listing five descendants of Jeshua, it is, however,
unclear whether the genealogist is providing a complete or an incomplete
sequence. In the ancient world, genealogists could often be selective in
their coverage and focus on those characters, who were of most interest to
them. As for the relationship between the figures in the genealogy and the
office of high priest, scholars should no longer assume a simple
correspondence between the two. To be sure, some of the descendants
of Jeshua could have served as high priest, but not all of them need have
done so. It seems doubtful, then, that a single family controlled the post of
high priest for over two centuries. At the very least, the bare lineage of
Neh. 12.10-11 should not be cited as proving the veracity of such an
assumption.
In the first of two articles in this volume (‘ ‘‘They Shall Come Rejoicing
to Zion’’ – or Did They? The Settlement of Yehud in the Early Persian
Period’), Lester Grabbe discusses the supposed resettlement of Judah after
‘the exile’: when did it take place and in what manner? The decree in Ezra
1.2-4, in spite of the claims of E. J. Bickerman, seems to be a piece of
Jewish propaganda, and those who see little historical value in Ezra 1–6
generally appear to have good arguments to support their position. Yet it
seems inherently unlikely that Jerusalem would have been left a desolation
all through the first part of the Persian period. Beyond this prima facie
observation, there are a number of factors that deserve careful consid-
eration. Even Ezra 1–6 depends on some sources apart from the biblical
text, and Zechariah 1–8 and Haggai are best dated to the early Persian
period. Nehemiah came as governor, but there is little evidence that he
brought settlers with him. He rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem but not the
temple. If there had been no temple prior to his time, it seems scarcely
credible that building the temple would not have figured prominently in
the account of his reforms. There was probably no mass emigration of
settlers, as depicted in Ezra 2 and Nehemiah 7; archaeology does not
indicate any period of a large influx. More likely is a steady trickle of
people from Mesopotamia already from an early period. Resources were
scarce, but they were not non-existent. Ezra 6.15 and the date of 516 BCE
cannot be trusted for completion of the temple (there is no evidence of a
source for this date or passage), but a rebuilding of the temple began early
in the Persian period and was probably finished by about 500 BCE or so.
In his second article, Lester Grabbe asks the question, ‘Was Jerusalem a
Persian Fortress?’ This issue is important because a number of theories
about the early Persian period depend on the assumption that Jerusalem
was a vital link in the Persian system of defences. It might seem natural to
assume that Jerusalem housed a Persian garrison but, surprisingly, no
reference to a contingent of Persian soldiers of any sort is to be found
anywhere in the biblical literature, whether it is the account dealing with

Nehemiah’s rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem or the account of the
measures he implements to keep the Phoenician merchants out of
Jerusalem on the sabbath. As governor Nehemiah no doubt commanded
a small number of soldiers, but having such a small contingent of soldiers
is not the same as having a Persian garrison. Reference is also made to the
commandant of the bıˆrāh (Neh. 7.2), which is often translated ‘fortress’.
Yet the word can also refer to other walled edifices, such as a temple. In
this case, it seems to refer to the Jerusalem temple. The Jerusalem citadel,
so well known from the books of Maccabees, does not appear to have
been built until a later time. Jerusalem would have been important only in
defending the local area, not the entire region. The area of most
importance to the Persians, such as a base for operations with regard to
Egypt, was the coast, especially the region of Phoenicia. The sources often
refer to Phoenicia during the Persian period, but never to Jerusalem or the
Judaean hill country.
Vadim Jigoulov (‘Administration of Achaemenid Phoenicia: A Case for
Managed Autonomy’) addresses specifically the question of Phoenicia
under the Persians, but it provides an example to illustrate how the
Persians ran their empire in general. His aim is to argue that the
Phoenician city-states had a considerable amount of autonomy under
Persian rule because of their importance as a source of revenue – an
example of a managed autonomy which contributed to the Persian
domination of the eastern Mediterranean from the sixth to the fourth
centuries BCE. There were several stages of socio-economic developments
under Persian rule: (1) under Cyrus and Cambyses, a smooth transition
period; (2) under Darius and Xerxes, the subjection of conquered
territories to satraps and district governors, with the Phoenicians and
neighbours making up the Fifth Satrapy separate from Babylon (Sidon
had emerged as the leading city on the coast, contributing manpower to
many Persian military operations); (3) a period in the first three quarters
of the fourth century, with deteriorating relations between the
Phoenicians and the Persian government, ending in the destruction of
Sidon. The extant Phoenician epigraphic evidence (the funerary inscrip-
tion of Batnoam of Byblos and the Eshmunazor inscription) shows no
centralized control but indicates the autonomous status of the Phoenician
states: the Phoenician kings were largely autonomous even though in the
service of the Persian ruler. In contrast to L. S. Fried’s interpretation of
CT 55, no. 435, which has suggested a Babylonian governor of Byblos, all
the evidence points to the continuation of the traditional Phoenician
kingship, as also in the other Phoenician city-states. The presence of
Persian architectural elements shows only appropriation for status
purposes.
How the Levant was administered in the Achaemenid period is largely
unknown, though it has been generally neglected in the Neo-Babylonian

period. Apparently, the Persians organized the Phoenician city-states into
a loose confederacy, later transforming them into a federation under
Xerxes. At the end of the fifth century and the beginning of the fourth,
Sidon attempted to become more independent – a disastrous mistake. The
Achaemenid policy toward Phoenicia can be described as ‘managed
autonomy’: from the Persian side the only requirements were payment of
tribute on time and the Phoenician contribution to the imperial economic
and military projects. Evidence for this arrangement is found through (1)
the maintenance of Phoenician cultural distinctiveness throughout the
Achaemenid period (e.g., the traditional religious affiliation), (2) inde-
pendent coinage among the Phoenician city-states, (3) absence of a
uniform weight standard in the coin assemblages and (4) lack of reference
to Persian imperial officials in any Phoenician inscriptions. There was of
course Persian influence, but this is not the same as intensive control. The
Persian Empire benefited from Phoenician trade and shipping. This model
of managed autonomy is paralleled elsewhere in the Persian Empire,
where adoption of imperial iconography did not necessarily indicate
intensive imperial control. In conclusion, the Phoenicians were able to
conduct affairs largely unhindered by the Achaemenid authorities.
In ‘The Relation between History and Thought: Reflections on the
Subtitle of Peter Ackroyd’s Exile and Restoration’, Reinhard Kratz
endeavours to reinvestigate the relationship between history and thought.
Peter Ackroyd was very familiar with the German tradition of OT
scholarship, especially the writings of O. Eissfeldt, K. Galling and G. von
Rad. Like von Rad, Ackroyd separates the events of political life from the
thought about that political life. Insofar as Ackroyd’s Exile and
Restoration is mainly focused on thought, there are some parallels with
the writings of O. H. Steck. Both scholars realized that postexilic literature
is filled with phenomena that von Rad wanted to trace in the Bible as a
whole (such as the interpretation of tradition in the light of changing
historical circumstances and experiences explained in view of God and
theological tradition). Steck developed his model from Chronicles and
Daniel, works which Ackroyd treats in his final chapter.
Three aspects of the relationship between history and thought are
considered, beginning with the tension between history and historiogra-
phy. Ackroyd focused on ‘thought’ rather than on ‘events’, but this
procedure is now disputed. Recent historiography eschews a naive
positivism and recognizes historical writing as a process of interpretation
in which an author and audience each play an important role. There is still
a sharp disagreement with regard to the OT (cf. J. Van Seters and E.
Blum), but Ackroyd’s distinction ignores the purpose of the biblical texts,
which claim historicity: ‘true history’. Kratz argues that a critical reading
has to take this claim seriously, since the biblical authors did not see a
distinction between history and thought. Also, recent historiographical

theory raises doubts about Ackroyd’s methodology, because historical
events can only be derived from interpretation via ‘thought’. Yet
Ackroyd’s differentiation remains valid if one wants to use historical
criticism in one’s work. We have to distinguish the perspective of modern
historians from that of biblical writers. Unlike modern historians and
some ancient Greek historians, biblical writers present their thoughts as
history.
Secondly, how does one deal with the tension between biblical and
extra-biblical sources? The latter reveal a different kind of thought from
the former. Ackroyd’s work shows a reluctance to use extra-biblical
sources, but we currently have many more archaeological, epigraphic and
iconographic ‘primary’ sources than were available to Ackroyd. To be
sure, neither primary sources nor secondary sources simply carry events,
but evince only perspectives on the historical situation. Nevertheless, the
distinction between ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ sources – and the prefer-
ence for the former – is still a valid one. There is hardly any overlap
between the two in the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods. The thought
of primary sources differs remarkably from the thought of biblical
sources. It is not enough to distinguish diverse theological concepts in the
Bible, but we must also consider those available to us in other sources
(e.g., the Elephantine papyri). The ‘Hebrew thought of the sixth century’
can no longer be derived simply from the biblical text.
Thirdly, there is the problem of dating biblical texts. Ackroyd partly
used the method of examining how closely the literature reflects the
historical events. One of the strengths of his work is his description of the
history of Hebrew thought within the framework of the broader history of
biblical literature, but the history of biblical literature is viewed very
differently today from how it was viewed four decades ago. Kratz points
out that if one were to follow the criterion that Ackroyd uses, Chronicles,
Ezra (parts thereof) and Daniel would all fall in the sixth century BCE. The
primary sources do not show events as traumatically as the biblical
sources do. Rather, one gains the impression of continuity and the gradual
return to normality (with the exception of the Elephantine papyri). It is
increasingly difficult to find a biblical document in which one can be sure
that it reacts to immediate historical events. The notion of ‘exile and
restoration’ is already part of the ideology of most texts; they embody the
experience of exile and restoration but not necessarily historical fact. One
can try for a relative chronology from the Bible, but getting to an absolute
one is more difficult. One cannot work from a base that simply follows the
biblical books themselves. Thus, much of the thought in these books is not
of the sixth but about the sixth century. To his credit, Ackroyd recognized
the need to understand the variety of attitudes in the literature, a
necessary precondition for any historical reconstruction.
Eric Meyers (‘Exile and Restoration in Light of Recent Archaeology

and Demographic Studies’) draws attention to Ackroyd’s Israel under
Babylon and Persia, written after Exile and Restoration, but taking the
story to the end of the Persian period and separating the discussion of
history from the biblical sources. Recent scholarship has in many ways
vindicated much of Ackroyd’s emphasis on the enormous creativity and
dynamism emerging from the ashes of destruction. But he was not aware
of the complications in the rebuilding process. He was not aware (nor
could he be, given the limited archaeological publications of his time) of
the real demographic picture. He was aware of problems with the concept
of exile and its chronology, but not of the complicated picture now
evident from the material remains. Ackroyd thought that the ‘multitude’
of the people was left in the land, with only a small number deported.
Ackroyd also believed that many towns were still inhabited, if impover-
ished.
Based on his analysis of recent site surveys and archaeological
excavations, O. Lipschits (2005) estimates that Jerusalem dropped from
25,000 inhabitants to about 2,750. (Benjamin, however, dropped only
about half, from an estimated 28,750 to 12,500. Benjamin began to decline
only after 538 BCE. The real decline of Benjamin came only in the fifth
century, with some migrating to Jerusalem but others east to non-Judaean
areas.) Jerusalem emerged much more slowly as a population centre than
imagined in Ackroyd’s day, which gives one pause in postulating a full-
scale development of Zion theology at this time. Jerusalem did not
become a major city until the Hellenistic period. Ackroyd, although
thinking many still lived in Judah, nevertheless supported the idea of a
major literary shaping in Babylonia, including H, P, Ezekiel and Deutero-
Isaiah. Ackroyd thought Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 were shaped in the
‘Chronistic age’ – along with Ezra–Nehemiah and Chronicles – in the late
fifth or early fourth century.
But if Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 reflect the Diaspora challenge of
rebuilding Jerusalem and the temple, one can see why higher population
numbers were used than may be indicated in the material culture. One can
also better understand the tensions between the returning elite and those
settled in the land; hence, the creation of the ‘myth of the empty land’
(which is not supported by the archaeology). Could such a small Judah
and Jerusalem support the level of literary activity implied by the writings?
The priests, temple servants, scribal classes, along with the military and
administrative personnel, probably made up 5–10 per cent of the elite,
which might be sufficient. But the level of literacy may have been greater
than the 5 per cent or so estimated for the Roman period. What is more, a
concept of ‘aurality’ might be included in one’s calculations, since actual
writing was reserved to the elite. Because Yehud was smaller than once
thought, the presence of xenophobia becomes more understandable. Yet
one also finds universalism in such books as Jonah and Zechariah 8. A

further response to events in the fifth century (such as the Greek–Persian
wars) was the rise and growing popularity of apocalypticism.
Ackroyd recognized the importance of the Diaspora communities that
would affect all of Second Temple Judaism and helped it to survive. The
Golah community assisted in reshaping the community that survived in
the homeland. There was no one single mode of thought. The pre-
canonical scriptures (the ‘Primary History’ and some of the Prophets)
were sufficient for a couple of centuries, but being part of the larger
Hellenistic world called for more literary activity, and the larger body of
writings known from Qumran is a by-product of this desire for expanding
the community’s intellectual and spiritual horizons.
Jill Middlemas (‘Going beyond the Myth of the Empty Land: A
Reassessment of the Early Persian Period’) wants to build on the idea that
the population in Judah may have been a centre of creative activity, rather
than a tiny inactive population. The literary strategies of the scribes of the
Judaean population may have created a new reality. This alters the
perceptions of the early postexilic period, opening up four areas to further
thought, the first of which is the proper delineation of the period in
terminology and chronology. The term ‘exile’ is inexact and inappropri-
ate. There was not a single deportation but three; indeed, from its
inception Jewish history was a series of exiles, and many Jews moved into
neighbouring areas voluntarily. The many left in the land were hardly in
exile, and some members of communities chose to live abroad. With
respect to chronology, the question may be asked whether the advent of
Cyrus in 539 BCE is the best date for closing the period. Second Kings and
Jeremiah end with the release of Jehoiachin from prison. Only after
Deutero-Isaiah’s depiction of Cyrus as redeemer are there any details of
his role in the temple building given in Ezra 1–6. But the perception of
Cyrus’ concerns is based on the Cyrus Cylinder. Haggai and Zechariah 1–
8 say nothing of him. Matters of demography and archaeology suggest
that the rebuilding of the temple marks an appropriate break, with 515
BCE a reference point (contra D. Edelman, though a precise year of
completion is not known). This time between the destruction of one
temple in 587 BCE and the rebuilding of one about 515 BCE may be
categorized as the ‘templeless age’.
A second area of study that deserves closer scholarly scrutiny is
continuity. The first evidence of continuity is the population of the
Benjamin region. Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 are an ideal projection of the
monarchic past, continuing the monarchic tradition found in the ‘Yhwh
mālak’ psalms, the ‘oracles against the nations’, Deutero-Isaiah, and
Ezekiel 40–48. The community was not particularly different from
monarchic Judah. The concept of a complete break is not supported. A
related topic is that of social integration. Reconstruction suggests the
communal strife of Ezra 3–6 belongs to later times, as Haggai and

Zechariah 1–8 indicate. Studies on the language of the biblical literature
show that Haggai was concerned with those who remained in the land.
The use of the term ‘Israel’ reveals an inclusive concept of community
until the time of Ezra, Nehemiah and Chronicles. There was no social
schism in the time of Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, though some have tried
to find it in the terms for ‘people’ and ‘remnant’. But the prophets address
the whole community: the returned, those remaining in the land, even
those living in northern Israel. The people are not unclean, only the work
of their hands (Hag. 2.10-19). There are announcements of consolation
and the redemptive value of suffering. Trito-Isaiah is often seen as
evidence for a community schism, but only with regard to those who
worship other deities. There is no evidence that the returnees and those
who remained in the land competed for resources or access to the temple.
A fourth area of discussion is the return to Zion. Zechariah 7.2 is
interpreted to indicate an attempt to re-establish Jerusalem as a religious
centre, as a request by Bethel for a cultic ruling from Jerusalem. It was a
call for those in Benjamin and the Diaspora to refound the city and make
Jerusalem the capital once more. What are the implications of the
comments made above? Greater awareness of population in Judah
suggests four levels where a reappraisal is called for. One of the outcomes
will be the perception of the community’s character in the templeless
period. The social organization is better defined as a national and political
entity than a confessional one in Haggai and Zechariah 1–8. Viewing the
community in confessional terms is best seen in Trito-Isaiah in which the
community is defined by religious faithfulness rather than by ethnicity.
Later, Ezra and Nehemiah would define the community by both religious
faithfulness and ethnicity. This also allows a rethinking of the Holiness
Code (H), which seems well suited to the last part of this period, because
H has much in common with Ezekiel and Haggai/Zechariah 1–8. The
theme of community restoration and covenant renewal unite Deutero-
Isaiah, Ezekiel 40–48, Haggai/Zechariah 1–8 and H: Haggai/Zechariah
1–8 and H continue ideas promoted by Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel 40–48.
The close of the templeless age reveals a community working out its
identity as a people of Yhwh. Reconsideration of the socio-historical
situation in the sixth century results in a reappraisal of the literature and
thought, especially in the division of the community between the
repatriates and those who never left.
Kenneth Ristau (‘Rebuilding Jerusalem: Zechariah’s Vision within
Visions’) examines the sophisticated literary depiction and promotion of
Jerusalem in Zechariah 1–8. Most of the references to the physical city of
Jerusalem are in the initial and final sections of Zechariah 1–8. The motifs
of restoration and reconstruction in the four visions and exhortations in
1.8–3.10 and the reply in 7.1–8.23 bring to expression a particular idea of
Jerusalem as well as point to a reality behind the text. The first vision (1.8-
17) includes the restoration of the people to the towns, yet the emphasis is
on physical Jerusalem. The importance and centrality of the city for
cultural and religious identity are promoted. The town is presented as the
exclusive cult site. It is both an admission of Jerusalem’s abject state and a
utopian expectation, but the vision is anchored in tangible reality. The
second vision (2.1-4) refers to the scattering of Jerusalem and Judah under
an agricultural metaphor in which ‘ploughers’ then tame rampaging oxen
and restore order to the land.
The third vision (2.5-9) and first exhortation (2.10-17) refer to mundane
building tools to indicate the hard work required for the reconstruction
according to the divine plan. The builders are conscious of the lack of
walls: nevertheless, Yhwh’s return is at the centre of the visions and this
return authorizes the rebuilding. Jerusalem appears as the centre of the
Holy Land, at the intersection of the human and divine planes – an axis
mundi. In the fourth vision (3.1-10), Yhwh is presented as the God of
Jerusalem and the city has now been re-elected. Zechariah 7.1–8.23
returns to some of the themes in the opening section of 1.8–3.10. In
response to a cultic question, a series of promises and admonitions repeat
Yhwh’s intent to do good for Jerusalem, but this commitment is
conditioned by the need to live righteously and to uphold justice.
Zechariah 8.20-22 returns to the concept of universalism, in which Yehud
mediates God to the world. In conclusion, the vision of Jerusalem in the
visions of Zechariah 1–8 presupposes a present starkly different from the
expected new, restored Jerusalem.
2. Themes from the Papers

a. Terminology
Jill Middlemas raises the issue that has exercised her in some other recent
writings (2005; 2007): what do we call this period between the fall of
Jerusalem and the restoration under the Persians? It could, of course, be
referred to as the ‘Neo-Babylonian period’, and we do use that term
sometimes, but this period does not fit neatly with the end of Judah. In
pointing out the problems with the term ‘exile’, Middlemas is, by no
means, alone. There was more than one exile (722, 597, 587/586, 582 BCE,
and so on), so we can hardly speak of ‘the exile’ in the early sixth century
BCE. Furthermore, specialists themselves disagree about the degree of
havoc, death and devastation wrought by the Babylonians. On the one
hand, a strong consensus has been developing among British and
European scholars that the majority of the population remained in
Judah (and certainly in Israel 150 years earlier), so that ‘exile’ is itself
inappropriate to describe the situation in Judah at the time (cf. Grabbe
[ed.] 1998). On the other hand, many American and Israeli scholars
continue to stress the catastrophic effects of the Neo-Babylonian
campaigns in large areas of the southern Levant at the end of the seventh
century BCE and the beginning of the sixth. For these scholars, those
remaining in Judah (mostly in the area of Benjamin and in some areas
south of Jerusalem), were less than half the number of those who
populated the Judahite kingdom at the end of the seventh century.2
There is also the perennial problem of inertia. It is one thing to
recognize what is wrong with current terminology, but quite another to
agree to a replacement. Some of us still reluctantly use ‘exile’ (usually in
quotes) because of the lack of anything better that others will also
recognize. Whether the ‘templeless age’ will catch on remains to be seen. It
is not, of course, the same precise period as ‘the exile’, because the
‘templeless age’ includes the first few years (perhaps decades?) of the
Persian period until the temple was rebuilt (whenever that was).
b. New Sources
Tamara Eskenazi points out that more is known about the Persian period
than is often acknowledged – more, for example, than under the early
monarchy. She draws attention to some of the new sources. One of the
main ones of these is archaeology, as Eric Meyers discusses. The amount
of publishing done recently in the archaeology of Persian Judah is
gratifying, considering the neglect of this period of Israel’s history so often
in the past. E. Stern laid the foundations 40 years ago, but the recent
studies of C. E. Carter and O. Lipschits have finally started to build on
and advance the field. This work and much else now benefits from Pierre
Briant’s magnificent study of the Persian Empire (Briant 2002).
Unfortunately, a number of recent studies by biblical scholars pick and
choose bits of information from Briant without necessarily recognizing
that his tome makes the thesis of their work problematic. Much will be
gained when biblical scholars digest his work and its implications for
Judah instead of just treating it as a convenient database. Much work has
also been done on the biblical text, though not all of it is of superior
quality. In the desire to come up with new interpretations, the poor text
seems to be abused and tortured relentlessly to yield meanings that appear
difficult to justify. But in aggregate these studies will advance the field
over time, as improbable interpretations fall by the wayside and new
insights start to leaven the field. There is also much new epigraphic
material, both from elsewhere in the Persian Empire and from within
2 In the recent study of Lipschits (2005), for example, the population of Judah declined
from about 110,000 down to approximately 40,000 in the transition from the Neo-
Babylonian to the Persian era. In the study of Carter (1999), the decline was even more
precipitous. See also the Meyers chapter in this volume.
Palestine itself, and this will take time to digest (catalogued in Grabbe
2004: 54–69). Even the Elephantine papyri have been put on a new basis
for study with the complete edition of B. Porten and A. Yardeni
(TADAE).
c. Historiography
As Reinhard Kratz indicates, Peter Ackroyd was concerned with the
thought of the period, which was one of the reasons he focused on the
prophetic writings. In this he made the same distinction that Gerhard von
Rad had made. Today our approach to historiography is somewhat
different. Although recognizing that different sources give different sorts
of information, the sharp distinction between thought and events is
generally seen as problematic. As Kratz points out, there are three aspects
of the relationship between history and thought to consider.
First, one has to grapple with the tension between history and
historiography. As pointed out earlier, historians now view historical
writing as a process of interpretation in which both the author and the
audience play important roles. The question of whether the Hebrew Bible
constitutes ‘history writing’ is still debated (Kratz points to J. Van Seters
and E. Blum, but see also Grabbe [2001], who interacts with Van Seters).
The biblical texts claim historicity: ‘true history’. The writers of Samuel–
Kings and Chronicles, for instance, are anonymous. A critical reading
may lead some scholars to the conclusion that the biblical authors did not
see a distinction between history and thought, although other modern
scholars (e.g., Halpern 1988) strenuously argue that they did. Related to
this issue, are recent developments in historiographical theory. Such
developments raise doubts about certain aspects of Ackroyd’s method-
ology, because many contemporary historians stress that historical events
can only be derived from interpretation, via ‘thought’. If one wants to use
historical criticism in one’s work, one must accept the fact that the
perspectives of modern historians differ from those of the biblical writers
themselves. Nevertheless, in another sense, Ackroyd’s differentiation
remains valid. The investigation of the thought world of ancient writers is
important. The close analysis of the different ways they conceived of the
past, present and future is itself a helpful contribution to the study of
ancient history.
Second, scholars have to deal with the tension between biblical and
extra-biblical sources. The latter may exhibit a different set of concerns
and a different kind of thought from the former. In much of his work,
Ackroyd shows a reluctance to use extra-biblical sources, but since his
time the archaeological, epigraphic and iconographic ‘primary’ sources
available to scholars have steadily increased. To be sure, neither primary
sources nor secondary sources simply carry events, but provide perspec-
tives on those events within larger historical situations. Nevertheless,

many would insist that the distinction between ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’
sources is still valid, and that it is also valid to give preference to the
primary sources in historical reconstruction. The ‘Hebrew thought of the
sixth century’ can no longer be derived simply from the biblical text; we
have to pay much closer attention to other sources as well.
Third, scholars are confronted with the thorny problem of dating
biblical texts. Ackroyd partly used the method of determining, as best as
he was able, of how closely the literature reflects the historical events. This
description of the history of Hebrew thought within the framework of the
history of biblical literature is certainly one of the strengths of his
scholarship, but we now know that to follow this criterion of ‘framework’
would allow Chronicles, Daniel and a good portion of Ezra to fall in the
sixth century BCE. Moreover, many would now argue that the primary
sources do not show events as traumatically as the biblical sources do.
Rather, after the era of the Neo-Babylonian invasions, there is a gradual
return to normalcy (on the issue of continuity, see further below under
‘Community Strife and the Intermarriage Issue’).3 Within much, but
certainly not all, of late biblical literature, ‘exile and restoration’ is part
and parcel of the message communicated. The texts themselves embody
the experience of deportation and return. Nevertheless, one has to deal
with the individual ideologies reflected in each of these texts and recognize
that the experiences they depict may not all necessarily reflect historical
fact. One also has to deal with the recognition, as Smith (1971), Japhet
(1983), Grabbe (2000), Lipschits (2005), Middlemas and many others have
emphasized, that the late biblical writers do not all speak with one voice.
In sum, there is much thought about the sixth century in the biblical
books, but it is less clear that we have in many cases thought
contemporary with the sixth century. Our primary sources may not in
each case provide this sort of information either, but they may be
employed as a helpful control on the biblical material. Moreover, study of
the material remains furnishes additional information to that which is
available in biblical sources. Analysis of the primary sources presents its
own challenges, but few would deny that such analysis is useful in
historical reconstruction. To this consideration, another may be added.
When the evidence supplied by archaeology or epigraphy contradicts the
data supplied by biblical texts, we cannot ignore this. In the end, our
historical reconstruction makes use of the Bible, but it is not as directly
dependent upon the Bible as it was a century ago. Ackroyd had not
3 Admittedly, there is no consensus on how long the process took. For some, the stress is
on continuity and a quick return to normality; but, for others, the stress is on discontinuity
and a long, arduous return to normality.
reached that position some four decades ago, but if he were alive today,
we think that he would place more emphasis on the primary sources.
d. Jerusalem and the Persian Relationship with the Provinces

Jerusalem is the focus of several of the essays. Although widely differing
aspects of the city are considered, the topics tend to revolve around the
acute issue of Jerusalem’s place within the Persian Empire and within
Persian history. When was Jerusalem resettled and when was the temple
rebuilt? When and how did Jerusalem become the cult centre of Judah
once again? How important was Jerusalem to the wider Persian political
and military strategy? What was the attitude of Judaeans living in other
lands toward Jerusalem? What level of interest did it occupy in their
imaginations?
The question of Jerusalem as a cult and political centre arises, because
Mizpah had become the capital of the province through much of the Neo-
Babylonian period. Some argue that Mizpah continued to serve as the
political centre of Judah until the mid-fifth century (the arrival of
Nehemiah). Joseph Blenkinsopp and Jill Middlemas both in their own
way draw attention to Jerusalem’s cultic status. Both Blenkinsopp and
Middlemas believe that Zech. 7.2 indicates that Bethel was the cultic site
during the Neo-Babylonian period, even if each interprets the passage in a
different way. Blenkinsopp proposes that the Jerusalemites sent to Bethel
for a ruling, but Middlemas that the Bethelites sent to Jerusalem (see also
the discussion of the verse in Ristau’s chapter below). This passage can
thus be interpreted to indicate an attempt to re-establish Jerusalem as a
religious centre. It was a call for those in Benjamin and the Diaspora to
refound the city and make Jerusalem the capital once more.
Sanctuaries do not exist without their attendant priesthoods. The
history of the priesthood in ancient Israel has posed, however, a huge
challenge to modern historians. Similarly, sorting out the history of the
priesthood in the Persian and Hellenistic periods is no easy task. The
Aaronite priesthood seems to have originated in Bethel, at least as argued
by Blenkinsopp, but it then took a firm hold on the Jerusalem cult.
Whether the Zadokites were dominant is a matter of debate (Grabbe
2003). A related issue is the degree to which the line of Jeshua held sway
over the post of high priest in Jerusalem during the Achaemenid era. If
Fulton’s reconstruction has merit, scholars have assumed much too much
of a narrow stranglehold on power within a single dynastic succession.
Examining matters from the comparative perspective of ancient genea-
logical writing yields new insights into the function and purpose of a key
biblical text. Her essay thus brings the study of the history of the high
priesthood in Achaemenid times back to first principles. The evidence
supplied by extra-biblical documentation (Elephantine, numismatics,
Josephus) coupled with a different interpretation of the biblical data (Neh.

12.10-11) suggests a more complicated (and contested) history. To be sure,
Fulton’s findings do not invalidate some of the proposals made for
inserting certain names into the high priestly succession. Quite the
contrary, if not all high priests stemmed from a single family line over a
two-hundred-year period, there is no longer a need to suppose that figures
mentioned in extra-biblical documents had to belong (somehow) to
Jeshua’s line. In short, she argues that members of more than one
individual priestly family occupied the high priestly position in Persian
times.
A number of the contributors comment on how the ‘return to Zion’ was
viewed theologically and ideologically. The physical restoration and
resettlement of Jerusalem and even its restoration as a cult centre are
deemed to be insufficient. Middlemas points out that here one finds a
community working out its identity as the people of Yhwh, with some
writings interpreting the community in terms of religious faithfulness (a
confessional community), others in terms of ethnicity (a political and
national entity) and yet others in both terms. Other contributors draw
attention to the gap in some biblical writings between what is and what
will be (or what can be). Ristau argues that Zechariah puts Yhwh’s return
to Judah and Jerusalem at the centre of the visions. It is Yhwh, the God of
Jerusalem, who authorizes the rebuilding, re-elects the city and makes it
not only the centre of the Holy Land, but also the axis mundi – the
intersection of the human and divine planes. In Zechariah’s prophecy,
Judah will come to mediate God to the world. J. Bergsma notes that
Daniel makes the period of deprivation a penitential one, with the return
under Cyrus only the start of the prophetic fulfilment, which culminates
with the ‘anointing of a Most Holy place’.
One of the topics attracting much scholarly attention in recent years is
the initial resettlement of Jerusalem. A major work shaping this discussion
is that of Diana Edelman (2005). Her important monograph argues that
the main resettlement came in the time of Artaxerxes I, with Nehemiah’s
governorship. Lester Grabbe revisits the question in this book. Grabbe’s
investigation is not intended particularly as a critique of Edelman, but
inevitably some of her arguments come into play. It is unfortunate that
archaeology does not settle the matter. It seems clear that there was no
single period of major new settlement under Persian rule. Thus, whatever
and whenever people returned to Judah from Mesopotamia, they did not
come in such significant numbers at any one time as to make an impact on
the material culture. We thus fall back on the literary sources, with all
their problems and ambiguities. Grabbe takes another look at the
arguments (not just those of Edelman nor particularly as a reply to hers),
concluding that evidence exists that the temple was rebuilt in the early
Persian period (though the date of 516 BCE, suggested by Ezra 6.15, is not
reliable) and that returning migrants also began then, though the number
may only have been a trickle initially and continued over a considerable
period of time. In the end, the attempt to redate everything to the mid-
fifth century is ingenious, but not a convincing alternative to the late-
sixth-century option.
A number of theories about the critical role played by Judah within an
imperial Persian network have depended heavily on the assumption that
Jerusalem was important in the Persian military or defensive system. It is
often asserted that Jerusalem was part of the strategic planning of the
Persian Empire. In some cases, scholars assume that Jerusalem was
needed to help protect the Persians against Egypt. There are, however,
problems with such reconstructions. None of the Persian-period sources
make any reference to Jerusalem in this regard. To be sure, Phoenicia was
extremely important for defence, and at times, when Egypt rebelled, the
Persian army embarked from ports in the Phoenician area. But Egypt was
not invaded by Persian armies marching through Palestine. In any case, it
was the coastal areas and major valleys of Palestine, not the Judaean hills,
which were of strategic importance. Jerusalem was not in a prime location
to serve as the focus of major defensive logistics and could only protect
the local area. This point was already argued some years ago (Grabbe
2004: 274–5, 296–8; Lipschits 2006: 35–40; anticipated by Briant 2002:
573–9, 586). Also, Grabbe argues that there is no evidence that Jerusalem
was a Persian fortress or held a Persian garrison. On the contrary, what
evidence exists tells against the city’s serving as a fortress or garrison. The
walls do not appear to have needed to be nor have been a major defence.
Indeed, their purpose may have been to keep the population within under
control. As the residence of the governor in Nehemiah’s time, Jerusalem
no doubt had some local soldiers, though probably from the local
population.
This question of Persian relations with its provinces and satrapies is well
illustrated in V. Jigoulov’s chapter. The question of how directly involved
the Achaemenid administration was in running the internal affairs of the
Phoenician city-states has recently provoked some serious scholarly
disagreement. As already noted, many have proposed that the
Achaemenids practised a laissez-faire style of governance in which local
dynasts were allowed significant freedom in routine economic and local
political matters. In this reconstruction, the Phoenician city-states were
obliged to pay a variety of taxes, submit tribute and gifts, and contribute
to the support of the Persian-led armed forces, but were otherwise allowed
some autonomy over their own local affairs. Recently, a minority of
scholars have deviated from the standard view by arguing that the Persian
emperors actively controlled some major aspects of local political
administration and have built far-reaching theories on this position.
Drawing on the evidence provided by epigraphy and archaeology
specifically of the Phoenician states, Jigoulov proposes to defend the

traditional view and speaks of a ‘managed autonomy’ practised by most
of the Great Kings. In Jigoulov’s view, the Phoenician monarchs were
generally able to enjoy a considerable degree of independence from the
central regime for most of the first century and a half of Persian rule. If
this was true of the Phoenicians, why not also of other subordinate
peoples, including Judah?
e. Community Strife and the Intermarriage Issue

One of the issues that perhaps strikes the modern reader most emotively is
that of the women (and children), who are apparently cast out of the
community in Ezra 9–10. Whether this specific episode is historical as such
(cf. Grabbe 2004: 313–16) is probably less important than its value as an
illustration of the attitude toward certain sorts of women and marriage by
some of the religious leadership of the community. Bob Becking looks at
the issue, partly with a view to D. Janzen’s thesis (2002) that the women
were the victims of a ‘witch hunt’. In his investigation, Becking inquires
whether the community in Judah was a multi-ethnic one. This, in turn,
raises the question: how can one determine multi-ethnicity in a commu-
nity? What are the tell-tale indices of diversity in ethnicity? Names are one
potential source of information, but are by no means an infallible proof.
Names can provide, however, some clues about the religious affiliations of
the inhabitants. In addition to considering the diversity of names, Becking
also draws attention to the text referring to various temples (including a
‘temple of Yaho’). On this basis, he concludes that Maqqēdāh (Khirbet el-
Qôm) was indeed multi-ethnic. Maqqēdāh was, however, outside Judah
proper. To complicate matters, no multi-ethnic sites within Judah are yet
known and to complicate matters even further, neither the names of the
foreign women nor those of their children are provided in the biblical text.
Only the names of the Judaean men are mentioned and intermarriage is
conceived, in this instance, as involving Judaean men with non-Judaean
women (not Judaean women with non-Juadean men; cf. Deut. 7.1-4; Neh.
13.23-28). Theoretically speaking, the women could have come from
outside Yehud, but the lack of names inevitably frustrates the attempts of
scholars to achieve greater precision in interpreting this material. Hence,
the possibility that Ezra 9–10 (or a similar situation) describes an inner-
Judah conflict is still a viable interpretation of the text. The ‘strange
women’ could have been part of the community that remained in the land
when other Judahites were taken captive. Yet, the interpretation that the
women were actually Ammonites, Egyptians, Moabites and Edomites (so
the LXX; MT, Amorites), the four nations added to the traditional list of
autochthonous peoples known from the Pentateuch (Ezra 9.1), must also
be taken as a viable possibility. In any event, the returnees looked down
on these people and wanted in some cases to exclude them from the
community.
In the past few decades, some have proposed that breaking up of mixed
marriages was actually the result of Persian policy, a means of state social
control. Eskenazi expresses her opposition to this interpretation, noting
that there is no evidence elsewhere for such ‘ethnocentrism’. This concept
was also the subject of critique by Grabbe (2004: 297, not cited by
Eskenazi). It is not at all clear how the Persians could have benefited by
interfering with the marriage customs of their subjects. Neither is there
any evidence that the Persians were in the business of regulating their
subject people by such finicky interference in their personal lives or
society. This of course brings us back to the issue of the previous section
and the question of how much the Persian administration attempted to
control the lives of subjects in a minute way.
The text of Ezra–Nehemiah (especially of Ezra 4–6) suggests that the
‘peoples of the land’ had been key opponents of the new settlers. Modern
scholars have tended to interpret this opposition not as coming from
foreigners but as being the result of conflict between the returnees and
those already settled in the land. Middlemas argues that no such conflict is
attested for the early period, as a careful study of Zechariah, Haggai and
Trito-Isaiah shows. These writings do not present competition for
resources or access to the temple. This interpretation agrees with that of
some of her predecessors (Williamson 1998; Grabbe 2004: 285–8).
Generally, Middlemas seems right to stress continuity, since the popula-
tion in Benjamin continued from the late seventh century (note also the
comments of Meyers). It has also been argued that there are literary
continuities, such as between Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, on the one hand,
and the mālak psalms and the ‘oracles against the nations’, on the other;
or between Haggai/Zechariah 1–8 and Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel 40–48.
Again, she thinks that change came later, in the time of Ezra and
Nehemiah, a conclusion with which others would agree (e.g., Grabbe
2004: 288, 294–313).
f. The Question of Literacy

Eric Meyers raised the question of whether literacy was not larger than the
5 per cent or so often cited for the time. He accepts that the number who
could read and write and deal with texts (the elite, including the temple
personnel, scribal classes, military and administrative officials) was
probably about this level. Such a level was sufficient to allow the
composition of literature usually associated with this period of Judahite
history. But what about those who could appreciate and listen in a
sophisticated way to literature read or recited (the ‘principle of aurality’)?
Would not this extend the literacy rate? Meyers has a point. Whether one
can refer to this ‘aurality’ as ‘literacy’ will no doubt be debated and

contested, but there is support for his position in two arguments:
1 The artistry and sophistication of oral literature. This was made
clear already by the work of Milman Parry and its appropriation by
A. B. Lord in his seminal Singer of Tales (1960). Much work since
then has only strengthened this conclusion. Oral literature is not an
inferior form of literature but can be a rich, artistic, elegant medium
in the same way that the written word can.
2 The written and the oral do not represent autonomous, insulated
compartments but exist side by side and relate in an intimate and
complex way. As Ruth Finnegan expresses it in her book, Literacy
and Orality:
Orality and literacy, far from being mutually contradictory poles,
can interact and support each other. This is illustrated from
literature in the South Pacific, where the writing down and
codification of their ‘myths’ or ‘legends’ was not a neutral and
merely ‘technological’ procedure of capturing some exotic and
impervious ‘Old Tradition’ but a social process influenced by
familiar political, ideological and religious pressures . . . Indeed,
there is a striking overlap between oral and written literature . . . All
in all, it seems clear the even where a particular form has been
composed and delivered orally, writing may still play some part.
This interaction between oral and written forms is in no way
‘unnatural’ or surprising for such overlaps can in fact be found in
many areas of the world, but it is worth emphasizing since it is so
often overlooked in the accounts of Pacific oral literature.
(Finnegan 1988: 110–13)
One could well substitute ‘biblical literature’ (or ‘early Persian Jewish
literature’) for ‘Pacific literature’ in the quotation above. The
function of Judahite literature composed in the Neo-Babylonian
and Persian periods seems to be similar to that envisaged by
Finnegan for literature in the Pacific, and the relationship between
the oral and the written along the same lines. The studies of Rosalind
Thomas (1989; 1992) in the classical world and Susan Niditch (1996)
and David Carr (2005) in the biblical world seem to bear this out.
3. Conclusions
When we review Peter Ackroyd’s work on the Neo-Babylonian and
Persian periods with a special view to the essays found in this collection,
we can quickly see some of his concerns surface in the issues addressed by
our contributors. There is still a strong engagement with the books of
Haggai, Zechariah (1–8) and Ezra–Nehemiah, as attested by a number of
the essays focused on topics relating to these works in this volume. Yet the
approaches to many issues are now different: different concerns, different

questions, different answers. Although Peter Ackroyd lived until 2005, it
is a sad fact that for almost the last two decades of his life, he was not able
to join in the scholarly debate, as much as he wanted, due to health
problems. What is astonishing is the way the field has changed in the past
20 years. It seems likely that he would have found the essays in this
volume as covering new territory in many ways, as the synthesis above
indicates. Yet, as a number of contributors have pointed out with weighty
supporting evidence, the field is what it is today due in no small measure
to Professor Ackroyd’s considerable contributions. Whether we refer to
the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods, the ‘exilic and post-exilic age’,
the ‘templeless age’, or some other designation, we dedicate this volume to
his memory as a small token of appreciation from the wider scholarly
community of how much we owe to his work on this period in Jewish
history.
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1992 Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (Key Themes in
Ancient History; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
Watts, James W. (ed.)
2001 Persia and Torah: The Theory of Imperial Authorization of
the Pentateuch (Society of Biblical Literature Symposium
Series, 17; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature).
Williamson, H. G. M.
1977 Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press).
1998 ‘Judah and the Jews’, in Maria Brosius and Amélie Kuhrt
(eds), Studies in Persian History: Essays in Memory of David
M. Lewis (Achaemenid History, 11; Leiden: Nederlands
Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten): 145–63.
Chapter 1
ON THE IDENTITY OF THE ‘FOREIGN’ WOMEN IN EZRA 9–10
Bob Becking (The University of Utrecht)
The Mixed Marriage Crisis in Ezra and Nehemiah

a. Introduction
In the biblical books of Ezra and Nehemiah mention is made of a mixed-
marriage crisis: Israelites had married women from other nations, eight of
which are mentioned at Ezra 9.1. In Ezra 10 the ‘ethnic’ character of these
women is labelled as nokriyyāh, ‘foreign, strange’. The problem is solved
by Ezra and the elders of the community in ending these marriages by
sending away the foreign women.1 These – in modern eyes2 – harsh
measures are motivated by the concept of the ‘holy seed’ and with an
allusion to the Mosaic laws. What intrigues me is the question of the
identity of these women. Who were they? Why did they evoke the anger of
the community? This question will be approached first by looking at the
existing motivation for the measure, then by taking some archaeological
and epigraphic material into account and finally by discussing patterns of
stereotyping and the scapegoat mechanism.
b. Text-Internal Motivation
There exists a text-internal motivation for the measures taken. From the
book of Ezra it becomes clear that one group of ‘Israelites’ construes itself
as the true Israel to the exclusion of other groups and persons. The most
significant indication for this group can be found in Ezra 9.2. In a message
to Ezra, some leaders report the intermarriage of Israelites, priests and
Levites with women from other nations with the outcome that ‘the holy
seed has become mixed with the peoples of the land’. The idea of divine
election is thus reformulated in biological categories.3 This reformulation
should be interpreted as a device of discontinuity. In a way it is an answer
to a changed situation. On the political level, Judah had lost its
1 Ezra 9–10; Neh. 13.23-27.

2 For a different moral attitude see already 1 Cor. 7.11-12; with Matera 1996: 144–8.
3 On the biblical theme of election, Vriezen 1953, is still of great importance.
independence. Apart from the difficult question of how to classify

sociologically the ‘Ezra-group’, it should be noted that this group is
looking for a religious and ethnic identity in Ezra 9–10. The term ‘holy
seed’ should be seen as a combination of two traditional depictions of
Israel. In Deuteronomy, Israel is often called a ‘holy nation’; elsewhere the
‘seed of Abraham’ is used. Both depictions are related to its self-
understanding as elected by God. The term ‘holy seed’ shows a radical
self-interpretation of the Ezra-group. To them being elected by God
implies that the group may not be defiled by foreign elements. As the
background of the indignation of the leaders in Ezra 9.1-2 and also of the
measures taken by Ezra stand the warnings in the Torah of Moses not to
marry with the indigenous population of Canaan because intermarriage
would almost certainly lead to syncretism and apostasy. This proposition
is reinterpreted in the book of Ezra. The negative assessment of
intermarriage is based on fear of apostasy and syncretism. The anguish
is, however, phrased in terms of taboo and fear of the pollution of the
group as can be detected from the use of the words ma‘al and to’ēbāh in
this connection. In Ezra 9 the concept of the ‘holy seed’ functions as a
clear indication of the boundaries of the community (Stiegler 1994; Carter
1999: 307–16). In the ‘Prayer of Ezra’ a ‘quotation’ from the command-
ments is given:
The land which you are about to enter in order to possess it, is a land
polluted by the impurity of the peoples of the land and by their
abominations whereby they have filled it with their uncleanness from
one end to the other. Thus, do not give your daughters to their sons in
marriage nor take their daughters as wives for your sons. Never seek
their peace and welfare, that you may grow strong, eat the good things
of the land and bequeath it in perpetuity to your children.4
Basically, Deut. 7.1-5 is quoted, although some elements have been left
out and some new features have been included.5 What has been left out
are the commandments to ban the indigenous people and not to conclude
a covenant with them. Features that are included have to do with the
concept of uncleanness: the land is said to have been polluted (ndh) by its
inhabitants who had conducted abominations (to’ēbāh). The theme of
pollution is attested in the P-source and related texts.6 In Ezra 9.11 the
Hebrew verb ndh refers to ‘moral turpitude, not to the ritual/legal
4 Ezra 9.11-12; see Myers 1965: 78–9; Gunneweg 1985: 167–8; Blenkinsopp 1988: 179–85;
Williamson 1987: 125–9, 137; Becker 1990: 53–4; Mathys 1994: 21–36; Willi 1995: 81, 125–7.
5 See also Blenkinsopp 1988: 180–1; Fishbane 1985: 114–23, 362–3; Janzen 2002: 44–5.
6 Lev. 20.21; Ezek. 7.19-20. On Deut. 7 see, e.g., Weinfeld 1991: 357–84; Otto 2002: 255–
6; Veijola 2000: 158–62, 228–32.
BECKING Identity of the ‘Foreign’ Women 33
‘‘impurity’’ connected with menstruation’.7 The other concept is rooted in

Deuteronomistic theology.8 Pentateuchal texts, like Exodus 34 and
Deuteronomy 7, do not offer stipulations in cases where the warning is
transgressed. In Ezra 9 measures are taken to dissolve these marriages and
to send away women and children. It should be noted that these rigid
measures are difficult to understand in light of all that is said in the laws of
Israel about the protection of the poor and the needy. Moreover, as has
been observed by Blenkinsopp,9 the Deuteronomic prohibition includes
both sexes, while in Ezra (and Nehemiah) measures are taken against
foreign women only. And, finally, as Olyan has noted, the ideas behind
Ezra 9 contain a deviation from earlier concepts in ancient Israel. The
Holiness Source and the Deuteronomistic texts did find ways to integrate
the resident outsider of foreign origin into the body of Israel. In Ezra 9
traces of this integration are absent.10 In other words, Ezra 9.1-5 implies
an aggregative appropriation of the legal tradition11 and an extension of
the concept of holiness from the priests and Levites to the community in
its – be it restricted – entirety.12
According to the text-internal view, the ‘foreign women’ were women
from a different – non-Judahite/Yehudite – ethnicity, who formed a threat
for the pure form of Yahwism that the ‘Ezra-group’ was trying to
establish.
c. Text-External Motivations
This brings me to the text-external explanations of the character of the
mixed-marriage crisis. As implied by the observations above, the rigid
measures of Ezra and Nehemiah are difficult to understand against all
that is said in the laws of Israel about the protection of the poor and the
needy. Recently, some attempts have been made to understand these
measures against their own historical and social background, that is, to
see in them symbols of a threatened community looking for its identity in
the immense Persian Empire.13 These explanations – that quite often use
models and terminology from the social sciences – tend to see these
measures as part of a programme by which a new identity was found for
Israel after the exile. Recently, David Janzen has added a new proposal to
these explanations. He construes the ‘impurity’ mentioned at Ezra 9 as a
7 Thi Pham 1999: 47.

8 See, e.g., 2 Kgs 16.3; 21.2, with Blenkinsopp 1988: 185.
9 Blenkinsopp 1991: 59.
10 Olyan 2000: 81–90.
11 See on this, e.g., Myers 1965: 76–8; Gunneweg 1985: 160–3; Becking 1999: 270–5.
12 Eskenazi 1988: 68.
13 See, e.g., Smith-Christopher 1994; Eskenazi and Judd 1994; Ben Zvi 1995: 113–16;
Becking 2001.
social category which interprets the acts of the persons involved as

disruptions of the internal consistency of the Yehud-society. ‘The
community’s decision to force its members to divorce their foreign
wives and expel them from the community was a ritualised act of
purification, and a special kind of this action, commonly called a witch-
hunt’.14 Although Janzen does not mention the French anthropologist
René Girard (Girard 1982), he is reading the story in Ezra 9 in a Girardian
way: members of the Jerusalem community who married foreign wives,
were scapegoated for the social misery of the time.
Three problems are involved in his interpretation:
1 The identity of the ‘eight nations’ mentioned at Ezra 9.1;
2 The semantics of the adjective nokrıˆ, ‘strange, foreign’, mentioned
several times in Ezra 10 to denote the ‘other’ women;
3 The question whether or not other ethnicities really existed in
Persian-period Yehud.
These three questions will be discussed – albeit in reversed order – in the
following sections. In my view the third question is of the greatest
importance. As for the identity of the foreign women, all theories
including Janzen’s accept that one way or another non-Israelite women
were a threat to the community. There is, however, one exception.
Building on the idea that the land was not empty in exilic times (Barstad
1996; 2003), Lester Grabbe argued that the women under consideration
should be construed as the remnant of those Judaeans who did not go into
exile. In other words they were not of a foreign ethnicity, but seen as
‘strange’ by the Yahwists returning from Babylon (Grabbe 2004: 285–8,
313–16).
2. Indications for Mixed Ethnicity in the Persian Period?

Other scholars have already hinted at contemporary evidence for the
breaking up of ‘mixed marriages’. In Zoroastranism, every mingling with
people of another background is seen as an abomination (Kent 1953: 137–
41). In Athens, Pericles ordered around 450 BCE that only persons with
full Attic descent on both the maternal and paternal sides should be
accepted as members of the civil community (Blidstein 1974; Blenkinsopp
1988). In this paper, however, I am looking for evidence closer to the
assumed period of the mixed-marriage crisis.15 Therefore, I would like to
look at the epigraphic evidence and other possible analogies in contem-
porary texts such as the Samaria Papyri, the Tell al-Mazār Ostraca, the
14 Janzen 2002: 17.

15 Elsewhere I have opted for a date around 400 BCE for Ezra’s mission, see Becking
1998.
recently published Mount Gerizim inscriptions and the archive from

ancient Maqqēdāh.
a. The List of Ezra 2 // Nehemiah 7

The first text in this connection is not an extra-biblical one, but a list from
Ezra 2, with a parallel in Nehemiah 7. This list presents itself as an
enumeration of all those who returned from exile in Babylon after the
Edict of Cyrus. According to this list, some 42,000 Israelites returned,
women and children not included. I will not enter here into the discussion
about whether this number is hyperbolic or even fictive. Problematic in
this connection are:
1 The fact that this high number is not easy to harmonize with recent
estimates of the extent of the population in Persian-period Yehud
that are based on archaeological evidence (Carter 1999).
2 The fact that this high number does not fit with the emerging
conviction of scholars that the return from Babylon should be seen
as a long-term process of returns in waves through the Persian
Period (Becking 2006).
Nor will I discuss the question as to the emergence of this list. I would like
to pay attention to the following phenomenon. The list under consider-
ation contains some 100 personal names of which only a relatively small
part are names with a Yahwistic theophoric element: Jeshua, Nehemiah,
Seraiah, Reelaiah, Shephatiah, Hezekiah, Delaiah, Tobiah, Habaiah. Of
great interest are personal names of a non-Israelite or non-Judaean origin:
. mordākay contains the name of the Babylonian deity Marduk as a
theophoric element;
. bilsˇān contains the name of the Babylonian deity Bel;
. bigway, is a Semitic rendering of the Persian personal name
*Bagavahya;16
. pasˇh?ûr is an Egyptian name meaning ‘son of Horus’, but note that
already in Jeremiah 20 mention is made of ‘Paschur the son of
16 See also Heb. bigway (Ezra 2.2, 14; 8.14; Neh. 7.7, 19; 10.16); Greek: Bagoaj – many
eunuchs and other high officials are known under this name, see Jdt 12.13; 13.1; 14.14;
Diodorus Siculus, Hist. XVI 40,3; 43,4; 47,4; 50,7; XXXI 19,2–3 (an adviser of Artaxerxes III
Ochus who had led a punishment expedition to Egypt in the context of the subduction of the
rebellion of the satraps against the Persian emperor, see Klinkott 2005: 340); Pliny, Hist. Nat.
13,41; in the Elephantine Papyri a Persian governor over Yehud by the name of Bagohi is
mentioned to whom the Yehudites sent their request for the rebuilding of their temple after
the destruction by Widranag. TADAE A.4.7; A.4.8; A.4.9, see Kottsieper 2001; Klinkott
2005: 456–8. The proposal by Magen, Misgav and Tsfania (2004: 70) to read ‘. . .]why’ in an
inscription in lapidary Aramaic script from the Temple Area at Gerizim as Bagohi, seems
premature (MGI 27.2). See Hjelm 2005: 170; Becking 2007.
Immer, the priest’ indicating that this name could also be borne by a
Judaean priest;
. bēsāy contains the name of the Egyptian demon Bes as a theophoric
element;
. me‘ûnıˆm and nepûsˇıˆm are most probably Arabic names;17
. barqôs contains the name of the Edomite deity Qaus/Qôs as a
theophoric element;
. sıˆserā’ has often been construed as a non-Semitic name.18 Soggin
drew attention to a parallel with the Luwian personal name zi-za-ru-
wa (1981: 63). Garbini sees a connection with the Minoan deity (j)a-
sa-sa-ru known from the Linear A inscriptions (Garbini 1978).
Schneider, however, has made clear that Siserah is a Semitic
personal name (Schneider 1992: 192, 260). This, however, does not
imply that the name would be specifically Israelite.
The presence of non-Israelite theophoric elements in these personal
names, however, is not by definition a clear indication of the multi-ethnic
or multi-religious character of the population of Persian-period Yehud. It
is quite remarkable, though.
A remark of a more methodical character needs to be made here. The
question is to what degree can theophoric elements in personal names be
seen as indicators of ethnicity or religious affiliation? Many scholars opt
for a position that can be summarized as follows: the presence of a
theophoric element in a personal name is an indication of the religious
symbol system of the parents and can therefore be taken as an ethnic
marker.19 This assumption is, in view of the religious character of the
ancient Near Eastern culture, generally true. Features, such as the
presence of a priest bearing a name with an Egyptian theophoric element
in the Yahwistic temple of Jerusalem – pasˇh?ûr, ‘Paschur’, in Jeremiah 20 –
should, however, make us reluctant to transfer this assumption into a
historical law on ethnicity. Phrased otherwise, the presence of a single
name cannot be taken as an ethnic or religious marker, but from a
coherent archive with a sufficient number of personal names conclusions
can be drawn.20 Since Ezra 2/Nehemiah 7 is too small a collection of
names, it is difficult to draw conclusions from it.
b. Tell al-Mazār Ostracon VII

In Transjordanian Tell al-Mazār various Ammonite ostraca have been
found. One of them most probably dates from the fourth century BCE.
17 See Blenkinsopp 1988: 90.

18 Noth 1928: 64. Blenkinsopp (1988: 90) toys with the idea of an Illyric name.
19 See, e.g., Albertz 1978: 23–157.
20 ‘Sufficient’ refers to the possibility of making statistical calculations which would
require the number of names to be greater than 500, see Graham 2003.
This is clear from the archaeological context of Persian and early

Hellenistic sherds and earthenware. The palaeography of their inscriptions
hints at the fifth/fourth century BCE. Ostracon VII contains a list of
personal names. The analysis of this ostracon is especially important,
since Hübner arrived at the conclusion that in the Persian period persons
from a variety of peoples and ethnicities inhabited Tell al-Mazār.21 The
point of the composition of this list is unclear.22
1. Milkomyat [ mlkmyt [
2. Asa [ ’s’ [
3. Baga’ bg’
4. Gad‘azar [ gd‘zr ’l’mr [
5. ’Awri’l [. . .] ‘ [ ’wr’l [. . .] ’ [
6. Hassal’il ’ [ hsl’l ’ [
7. Yahûyada‘ [ yhwyd‘ [
8. ‘Alı̂’il [ ‘ly’l [
9. Yaqqim[’]il [ yqm[’]l [
In this list of personal names a diversity of theophoric elements occur:
. ‘El, ’ilu’, is attested four times: ’Awri’l, Hassal’il, ‘Alı̂’il and
Yaqqim’il. The theophoric element refers to the Canaanite supreme
deity El or, more probably, is an appelativum for the Ammonite
deity Milkom;
. ‘Milkom’ is the main deity of the Ammonite pantheon;
. bg’, is an Iranian word that indicates the divine par excellence or one
of the individual Persian gods;
. ‘Gad’ refers to a Canaanite deity who was later identified with
Roman Fortuna; in Palmyra, Gad was the expression of the deified
concept of providence (Teixidor 1979: 89–95);
. The theophoric element yhw- refers to the main deity of ancient
Israel; the orthography of the theophoric element reminds one of the
way the Israelite divine was referred to in personal names from the
Northern Kingdom (yh) or ‘to be more precise’ of the orthography
of this name in the ostraca and papyri (yhw), and not so much of
Judaean orthography (yw) (Weippert 1976–80).
This inscription seems to show a broad palette of multi-ethnicity. It is,
however, impossible to draw conclusions from it for the question under
consideration. This relates to the unknown reason for the composition of
the list. Various interpretations are possible. The list might reflect some
soldiers and/or officers in Persian service. On the other hand, this could be
21 Hübner 1992: 34.

22 Editio princeps: Yassine and Teixidor 1986: 48–9 no. 7, Fig. 9; see also Heltzer 1989;
Hübner 1992: 33–5.
a listing of taxpayers or of merchants. Therefore, the conclusion by

Hübner ‘dass der Tell el-Mazār in der achämenidischen Zeit von einer
religiös (und etnisch) gemischten Bevölkerung besiedelt gewesen ist’,
seems to be premature.23
c. Samaria Papyri
In the Wadi ed-Daliyeh a few dozen papyri were found.24 Their texts
document the sale of slaves in Samaria. In three papyri the transaction can
be dated by the references to Persian emperors: Artaxerxes (III Ochus,
359–338 BCE; SP 2 and 7) and Darius (III Codomanus, 336–330 BCE; SP
1). It is therefore most probable that the entire archive dates from the
fourth century BCE.25
In this archive 37 personal names occur. Next to the Persian emperors
already mentioned and some governors and officers, the names of buyers
and sellers, slaves and witnesses are recorded. Among the six slaves sold –
two of them also have the names of their fathers recorded – are four slaves
bearing a name with a Yahwistic theophoric element. One name – hnn,
‘Cock’ (SP 8.12; Dušek 2007: 214–26) – is to be construed as common
West Semitic. One name – qwsdqr, ‘Qosdaqar’ (SP 9.1; Dušek 2007.227-
39) – contains a reference to the Edomite god Qaus/Qôs. A comparable
dispersal is found among the names of the buyers. One of them is named
qwsnhr, ‘Qosnahar’ (SP 2.14; Dušek 2007: 130–49). The sellers, generally,
bear West Semitic names such as dlh’l, ‘Delah’el’ (SP 5.4, 6, 8; Dušek
2007: 182–90) and hny, ‘Hanny’ (SP 5.8; Dušek 2007: 182–90).26
It is impossible to draw conclusions on the basis of this material as to
the multi-ethnicity of Samaria and its surroundings in the fourth century
BCE. Recently a few hundred inscriptions have been published – albeit in a
preliminary and sloppy way – from the area of the temple at Mount
Gerizim.27 Among them are about fifty inscriptions in lapidary Aramaic
script, which could have been written in the Persian period. In these
inscriptions, Edomite names are absent, however. The Edomite personal
names in the Samaria Papyri might refer to merchants or to other persons
that were only temporarily in Samaria. In other words, there is too much
uncertainty to reach definite conclusions.
23 Hübner 1992: 34.

24 See the critical edition by Gropp (Gropp et al. 2001: 3–117) and Grabbe 2004: 55–8;
Dušek 2007.
25 It is generally accepted that these papyri were brought to the Wadi ed-Daliyeh by
inhabitants of Samaria when they were fleeing from the campaigns of Alexander the Great
(Cross 1974; see also the remarks by Grabbe 2004: 56; Dušek 2007: 599–608).
26 See also Zsengellér 1996; Dušek 2007: 486–93.
27 Magen, Misgav and Tsfania 2004; see Becking 2007.
d. The Polytheistic Religion of Ancient Maqqēdāh

In the material discussed no clear clues could be found as evidence for the
multi-ethnicity or polytheism in Yehud and surroundings in the fourth
century BCE. A different view, however, might be obtained from an
Aramaic archive that emerged from non-provenanced excavations, most
probably at Maqqēdāh, present day Khirbet el-Qôm. In the Persian
period this area was no longer part of Judah/Yehud, but lay in a zone
controlled by the Edomites/Idumaeans.
The archive contains about 1,000 inscriptions, most of them on
potsherds.28 The greatest part of the inscriptions is of cadastral character.
Many inscriptions are depictions of position and a range of various
agricultural lots and plots especially vineyards and olive groves. Many
owners are mentioned by name. The onomastics of this archive shows a
broad diversity. The most important groups are the group of names with
yhw/yw or qws as a theophoric element. This might indicate a merger of
the more original Judahite population with Edomite elements. The
Edomites ‘conquered’ these southern Judaean areas in the final decades of
the Kingdom of Judah or during the so-called Babylonian Exile.29 Next to
these Judaean and Edomite names, West Semitic, Arabic, Egyptian and
Phoenician personal names are attested in the archive.30 It would be
interesting to analyse the onomastic evidence in full detail. The presence
of diversity in ethnic or religious backgrounds as such, however, is not
proof for the existence of a multi-ethnic or polytheistic population. There
is one document that gives a clear window to the poly-religious character
of the local community: (see Fig. 1):
1 tl’ zy tht byt ‘z’ The hill that is down below the temple of Uzza
2 whybl zy byt yhw and the line of the temple of Yahô
3 zbr zby dpyr’ zy btn’ the fallow plot of Zabi, the terrace of the
terebinth;
4 bzy s‘dw kpr glgwl the ruined plot of Sa’adou, the tomb of Galgûl
5 rqq zy byt nbw the basin of the temple of Nabû
6 kpr ynqm the tomb of Yenaqqem31
This text clearly represents the cadastral character of the Maqqēdāh
archive. Despite the fact that the various Aramaic words for plots and
28 Lemaire 1996; Eph’al and Naveh 1996; Lemaire 2002. See Lemaire 2006.
29 See, e.g., Bartlett 1989: 147–86; Lemaire 2006: 418–19.
30 Lemaire 2002: 218–21.
31 Lemaire 1996: Texte 283, pl. XLVIII, pp. 149–56; See also Lemaire 2001; 2004.
Fig. 1 Ostracon 283 from Maqqēdāh
areas are not prima facie clear,32 it is evident that a diversity of plots of
land is indicated. Presumably, this was all clear to the intended reader.
Intriguing is the mention of three different temples in this short text. It
should be noted that the Aramaic noun byt could also refer to an ordinary
‘house’. The fact, however, that the noun under consideration occurs three
times in a construct chain with a divine name33 is an indication that
‘temples’ are referred to. In ancient Maqqēdāh apparently temples for the
deities Uzzah, Yaho and Nabu existed. Their presence is, even more than
the diverse onomasticon, an indication for multi-religiosity and probably
also for reciprocal religious influence.
A temple for Yaho seems to be a transgression of the aims of the
Deuteronomistic agenda according to which YHWH could only be
venerated in one temple, that is the temple in Jerusalem. The goddess
Uzza was venerated by the Nabateans and later also by the pre-Islamic
Arabs. To the Nabateans al-‘Uzza was the goddess of power. Together
with Allat and Manawat she formed a group of the three most important
32 I here follow Lemaire 2001: 1154–5; 2006: 416–17.

33 In a private communication, Nili Wazana offered the possibility that personal names
are meant. ‘z’, ‘Uzza’, can indeed be construed as a personal name. In her interpretation
Yahû- and Nabû- should be construed as theophoric elements in personal names. The
inscription, however, does not seem to be broken.
deities. The enigmatic reference to a ‘garden of Uzzah’ as the burial place

of the Judaean kings Manasseh and Amon in 2 Kings 21.18, 26 can be
interpreted as an indication that this goddess was venerated in sixth-
century-BCE Judah.34
Nabû – who was venerated in a third sanctuary – is a deity of
Babylonian origin who was worshipped in the Persian period, mainly by
Aramaic parts of the population of the ancient Near East. In Elephantine
not only a temple for Yaho was present, but also a temple for Nabu –
serving the religious interests of the Aramaic part of the border garrison.35
It should be noted that this ostracon does not mention a temple for the
Edomite deity Qôs, despite the fact that many names from the archive
have Qôs as a theophoric element. The existence of a temple for Qôs in
Maqqēdāh can be assumed but is as yet not attested in the inscriptions
known.36 This might be due to the fact that the ostracon is broken or
could be connected to the Gattung of the inscription: the aim of the
inscription was not to catalogue all sanctuaries in ancient Maqqēdāh, but
to indicate a cadastral entity. In sum, this document hints at the peaceful
coexistence of various groups.37
e. Conclusions
In the search for the reality surrounding the mixed-marriage crisis and the
measures narrated in Ezra and Nehemiah against exogamous marriages –
and taking into account the underlying fear for syncretism – only the
archive from ancient Maqqēdāh clearly hints at the possibility of multi-
ethnicity and/or polytheism. It should be noted, however, that Maqqēdāh
was outside the borders of Yehud. The presence of personal names with
non-Yahwistic theophoric elements in Ezra 2//Nehemiah 7, the Ammonite
ostracon from Tell al-Mazār and the Wadi ed-Daliyeh papyri might
indicate the presence of non-Israelite elements in the population in and
around Yehud. Although the evidence does not refer to a major threat for
the Yahwistic religion around the year 400 BCE, the mingling of ethnic
groups was a feature that could be observed beyond the horizon when
looking from Jerusalem.
3. Competing Temples
The discussion on the ostracon from Maqqēdāh brings me to the next step
in the argument. It is interesting to note that at about the same time a
34 On the deity Uzzah see Becking 2008.

35 See Frey 1999.
36 Pace Elayi 2004: 169.
37 See also Elayi 2004: 169.
variety of – probably competing – Yahwistic temples emerged.

Archaeology and epigraphy have indicated the existence of Yahwistic
sanctuaries at Gerizim/Samaria, Maqqēdāh and Lachish.38 In my view,
these archaeological data need to be included in the debate about the
character of the mixed-marriage crisis. Although little is known about the
actual cultic practices, the presence of these competing Yahwistic temples
in the Persian period might have been a greater threat to the identity of
Jerusalem as the centre of ‘real Yahwism’. They indicate the re-emergence
of poly-Yahwism; that is, a variety of forms of Yahwism differing from
temple to temple. It had been the agenda of the Josianic reform to play
down the importance of, or even annihilate local shrines throughout the
country in favour of the aniconic and monotheistic veneration of Yahweh
in Jerusalem. The presence of sanctuaries at the border of the Yehudite
territory might have fuelled antipathy in Jerusalem towards inhabitants
connected with the territories across the borders.
4. Stereotyping the Other

Let us now return to the mixed-marriage crisis and its various explan-
ations and especially to the three problems mentioned above. It should be
observed that the ethnic entities with which they intermingled are
described in a cipher at Ezra 9: the list of eight peoples from whom they
did not keep themselves apart. This list resembles the lists of the five, six,
seven or ten nations in the Pentateuch and the Former Prophets that stand
symbolically for the indigenous population of the land in its entirety.
Surely, persons living in Persian-period Palestine or Yehud would not
have construed themselves as belonging to one of the nations listed. The
first four groups mentioned – Canaanites, Hittites, Perizzites and Jebusites
– had long since died out by the time of Ezra. What group could ‘the
Amorites’ refer to? It should be noted that the Edomites, whose national
deity Qôs/Qaus occurs several times as a theophoric element in the
inscriptions discussed, are not mentioned in this list. In using this
traditional language the author of the book of Ezra is, in a way,
stereotyping and hence demonizing the ‘other’. In view of the presence of
Yahwistic sanctuaries at the border of the Yehudite territories this cipher
might be interpreted as a reference to persons connected to these
sanctuaries, who from a Jerusalemite – or more precise Ezrahite –
perspective were to be seen as dangerous pollutions of the ‘holy seed’.
In Ezra 10, the ‘other women’ are labelled as nokrıˆ.39 This adjective is
generally construed with the meaning ‘foreign’, as from a different ethnic
38 See Magen 2000; Frey 1999: 171–204; Lemaire 2004; Knowles 2006: 44–8.
39 Ezra 10.2, 10, 11, 14, 17, 18, 44.
group,40 indicating that the marriages were understood as exogamous.

There is, however, a problematic side to this interpretation. In biblical
Hebrew the adjective nokrıˆ could also have the connotation ‘strange,
other’.41 In other words, there exists the possibility that the women in
Ezra 10 were not of a different ethnicity, but were only demonized for
their ‘otherness’. In my view, the author of Ezra 9–10 applies stereotyping
language in depicting the other. By the use of a simplified conception or
image with specific meaning, the authors demonize a group of women.42
5. The Identity of the Strange Women in Ezra 9–10

The factual data presented here cannot be used as a knock-down
argument either in favour of or in opposition to one of the theories
developed. This has to do with the scarcity of the evidence and some
uncertainties at the level of interpretation. Nevertheless, the emerging
picture at the level of religion and syncretism is that of an unclear and
vague threat for Yahwism. This brings me to the following, concluding
remarks.
1 The ‘foreign women’ in Ezra and Nehemiah might have been less
foreign than presented in the text or has been assumed by a majority
of its readers. The ‘foreign women’ might have been an inner-
Yehudite group that was assessed as ‘strange’ for their otherness
especially since they might have been connected with the sanctuaries
across the border. This implies that the view of Lester Grabbe
should be favoured: these women were Yehudites.43
2 Vague threats in the context of uncertainties could fuel societal
discomfort, leading to use of the scapegoat mechanism.
3 All in all, these observations and remarks concur with the idea that
the narratives in Ezra and Nehemiah actually reflect an inner-
Yahwistic polemic: a witch-hunt. Or, to phrase it differently, the
epigraphical evidence cannot be used as a falsification of Janzen’s
proposal, but only as a modification.44 The witch-hunt took place
within their own group.
40 See, e.g., Blenkinsopp 1998: 185–201; Williamson 1987: 139–62; Ramı́rez Kidd 1999:
28, 113; Janzen 2002: 41–2.
41 Bultmann 1992: 22–4; DCH, 5: 595.
42 On the idea of stereotyping see, e.g., Ewen and Ewen 2006; a good biblical example is
described by Davies 1998.
43 Grabbe 2004: 285–8, 313–16.
44 Janzen 2002.
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Chapter 2
THE PERSIAN PERIOD AS PENITENTIAL ERA:

THE ‘EXEGETICAL LOGIC’ OF DANIEL 9.1-27
John S. Bergsma (Franciscan University of Steubenville)
Most cinematically literate Americans will recognize the phrase, ‘Play it

again, Sam’, as one of the more famous movie quotes of the silverscreen
era, from the lips of Humphrey Bogart in the classic Casablanca.1 A true
movie buff, however, knows that the actual phrase ‘Play it again, Sam’
never occurs – all Bogart actually says is, ‘Play it again’. This difference
between the actual dialogue of the movie, and the way that dialogue is
remembered by millions of Americans, illustrates the difference between
what one might call the received text and the perceived text. The received
text is the actual script of the movie, in which Bogart merely says, ‘Play it
again’. The perceived text is what audiences remember; and they could
swear he said, ‘Play it again, Sam’.
Differences between the received text and the perceived text abound
when we examine the Bible and the religious communities that read it. The
Gospels nowhere make the visit of the shepherds and the magi to the
manger in Bethlehem simultaneous, for example, but every nativity scene
depicts it so. Biblical scholars are themselves not immune to creating a
perceived text that differs from the received text. We, too, have our own
unique culture, and constitute a reading community with certain
interpretative traditions. In this paper, I wish to point out certain subtle
differences between the received text of Daniel 9 and the way that text is
perceived in biblical scholarship. I hope to contribute to a more accurate
appreciation of the inner logic of Daniel 9, and especially the nature of its
intertextual relationships with other canonical and non-canonical books.
In the process we will come to a clearer understanding of one Jewish
1 I am pleased to offer this essay in honour of the memory of Peter R. Ackroyd and his
many contributions to biblical scholarship. His work on the meaning of Jeremiah’s 70 years
(Ackroyd 1958) is particularly relevant to this essay and was helpful in forming my own views
on the subject.
BERGSMA Penitential Era 51
perspective on the theological significance of the return to Zion and re-

establishment of a Judaean state under Persian authority.
1. The Perceived Text: The Usual Interpretation of Daniel 9

The perceived text of Daniel 9, represented with variations in numerous
commentaries but presented best by Michael Fishbane (1985: 458–533),
usually runs in this fashion: as the chapter opens, Daniel is struggling to
understand the meaning of the ‘70 years’ Jeremiah prophesied for the end
of Jerusalem’s desolations (vv. 1-2). Unable to determine the true meaning
of Jeremiah’s oracle, Daniel prays for illumination (vv. 3-19). The Lord
sends to him the angel Gabriel, who reveals to Daniel the true meaning of
the Jeremianic oracle: namely, the ‘70 years’ actually mean ‘70 weeks of
years’ until the end of the desolations of Jerusalem (vv. 20-27, esp. v. 24).
However, when the received text is examined more carefully, a different
narrative emerges. At the beginning of the chapter (v. 1), Daniel claims to
have understood that the years of the desolation of Jerusalem are 70 in
number (vv. 1-2). He then offers a prayer – not for illumination, but to
confess his sins and the sins of his people (vv. 3-19). In response, Gabriel
appears and gives him a new revelation that does not claim to be an
exegesis of the Jeremianic oracle (vv. 20-23). This new revelation is that 70
weeks of years are decreed for the Jews and Jerusalem (v. 24). The end of
desolations is not mentioned, but a six-fold purpose is given for the 70
weeks of years, including atoning for iniquity and anointing a ‘Most Holy’
(v. 24).
2. Differences Between the Perceived and Received Texts

I wish to highlight the differences between the text perceived by many
scholars and the received text according to the following points:
First, Daniel understands that Jeremiah meant ‘70 years’ in his
prophecy. Second, Daniel’s prayer does not contain a request for
exegetical insight into the true meaning of the 70 years. Third, Gabriel’s
message does not present itself as an exegesis of Jeremiah’s ‘70 year’
prophecy.
a. Daniel Understands that Jeremiah Meant ‘70 Years’.

The plain sense of the text of Dan. 9.2 is that Daniel ‘understands’ (ytnyb)
from the ‘writings’ (Myrps) that the term of the ‘desolations of Jerusalem’
according to Jeremiah was to be 70 years.2 Nevertheless, Fishbane

interprets Myrpsb ytnyb not as ‘I understood from the books’ or even ‘I
perceived in the books’, but that Daniel ‘searched the old books and found
the old oracle whose comprehension eluded him’ (1985: 487–8). In other
words, although the text states that Daniel ‘understood’ (ytnyb) the
oracle, the meaning of the Hebrew Nyb (understood) in v. 2 is stretched in
order to characterize Daniel as essentially not understanding Jeremiah’s
oracle and thus requiring the assistance of an angelus interpretans later in
the passage. Fishbane characterizes this whole process as an example of
‘mantological exegesis’.
But we must ask whether there is justification for taking ytwnb in v. 2 as
‘I searched’ or ‘I tried to understand’ rather than the usual meaning
‘understood’ or ‘perceived’. In my opinion, the answer is negative. The
verb Nyb and the related noun hnyb are important keywords in Daniel,
occurring almost 30 times in the book (Doukhan 1979: 4–5). With the
exception of two instances in Daniel 11 where the verb seems to bear the
meaning ‘give heed to’, Nyb means ‘understood’ or ‘perceived’ and hnyb
means ‘understanding’ throughout the text. Daniel in particular is an
individual marked out by his remarkable hnyb because of his privileged
access to the realm of the divine (Dan. 1.20; 9.22-23; 10.1).
However, there are a few places where even the remarkable Daniel is
unable to ‘understand’ a riddle or a revelation. Let us take note of how
Daniel’s rare failures to comprehend are phrased. In Dan. 8.15, the
prophet initially finds the vision of the ram and the goat incomprehen-
sible, so the text states: ‘When I Daniel had seen the vision, I sought to
understand it’ – hnyb h#qb)w. Gabriel comes to ‘make him understand’
(Nbh, hiphil imperative), but nonetheless, by the end of the chapter, Daniel
says he was ‘appalled at the vision and did not understand it’ (Nybm Ny)w,
literally, ‘there was not understanding’, 8.27). Finally, at the end of the
book, there occurs another vision that Daniel also does not understand,
and this is expressed by the phrase Nyb) )lw: ‘but I did not understand’
(12.8).
Thus we see that there are at least three instances outside of Daniel 9,
where Daniel’s powerful abilities to comprehend are stymied. The author
expresses the lack of understanding in various phrases: hnyb h#qb)w, ‘I
sought to understand’; Nybm Ny)w, ‘there was no understanding’; and
Nyb) )lw, ‘but I did not understand’. Daniel 9.1-2 employs none of these
phrases, but instead Myn#h rp@sm Myrpsb ytnyb, ‘I understood from the
writings the number of years’. I would argue that if the meaning of
Jeremiah’s ‘70 years’ was at issue in Daniel 9, the author would have used
some phrase with the meaning ‘I did not understand’ such as in 8.15, 8.27
2 Wilson (1990: 93) suggests that the Myrps may refer to the letters Jeremiah sent to the
exiles, two of which are conflated in Jeremiah 29.
and 12.8. As it is, the straightforward sense of Nyb in 9.2 is to be preferred.

Daniel understands that Jeremiah meant 70 years for the desolations of
Jerusalem. In fact, the literal meaning of the 70 years is probably related
to the date given to the oracle in Dan. 9.1. Briefly stated, the canonical
‘Daniel’ finds himself at the end of Jeremiah’s 70 years, and that is why he
prays for the fulfilment of Jeremiah’s prophecy.
The reader of Daniel can determine that the vision of Daniel 9 takes
place at the end of Jeremiah’s 70 years in the following manner: Daniel’s
experiences in ch. 9 are dated to the first year of ‘Darius the Mede’. It is
unclear historically just who this individual is meant to be.3 Regardless,
according to the construal of history in the book of Daniel, Darius the
Mede received the kingship of Babylon directly after it was conquered by
Medo-Persian forces (cf. Dan. 5.30–6.1), i.e. c. 538 BCE by our reckoning.
Jeremiah 29 links the restoration of Jerusalem to the fall of Babylon
after 70 years: ‘After 70 years are accomplished for Babylon, I will visit
you, and perform my good word toward you, in causing you to return to
this place’ (Jer. 29.10). Babylon had definitely fallen in the first year of
‘Darius the Mede’ (Dan. 9.1; cf. Dan. 5.30–6.1 MT).4 But Daniel does not
see Jeremiah’s promised restoration of Jerusalem materializing, so he
prays for it. Thus, it is the lack of fulfilment, not the meaning, of
Jeremiah’s 70 years that is the driving issue of Daniel 9.
b. Daniel’s Prayer is not a Request for Exegetical Insight

This point should be relatively non-controversial. There is probably now a
consensus that Dan. 9.3-19 is an excellent example of Second Temple
penitential prayer. In older scholarship it was, in fact, common to dismiss
the entire prayer as a late addition to the chapter because it was
considered to be awkward in its context (Montgomery 1927: 362;
Hartman and Di Lella 1978: 245–6). Scholars construed the problem at
issue in Dan. 9.1-3 as Daniel’s inability to comprehend Jeremiah’s
prophecy, and therefore felt a prayer for illumination would be appro-
priate in the following verses. Realizing that Dan. 9.4-19 was not, in fact,
3 Klaus Koch (1983a), building on work by W. H. Shea and others, presents a case for
identifying Darius the Mede with the Gubaru known from Akkadian tablets as one of Cyrus’
vice-regents and the actual conqueror of Babylon. For a criticism of this view, see Collins
1993: 31. Wiseman (1965: 9–18) argues that Darius is another name for Cyrus himself. Other
identifications have also been proposed (Collins 1993: 348).
4 Gerald Wilson makes the following interesting observation: ‘Dan. 1.2 assumes that
Jehoakim and the temple vessels were carried into exile in the ‘‘third year of
Nebuchadnezzar’’ or 605 B.C.E. It is suggestive that once this move is made, the interval
between Nebuchadnezzar’s profanation of the temple and the recitation of the prayer of Dan.
9 in the first year of Darius, son of Ahasuerus (538 B.C.E.) is sixty-eight years’ (Wilson 1990:
97).
a prayer for illumination, but rather a prayer of confession, scholars

surmised that it was a later insertion into the text.
However, as Fishbane (1985) and others have amply demonstrated, the
prayer has significant, intentional literary links with the preceding and
subsequent verses of Daniel.5 Even if originally a separate source, the
prayer has been carefully worked into the chapter. A small but striking
example of this is how the final request of Daniel in v. 19 on behalf of
‘your city and your people’ is taken up and chiastically inverted in
Gabriel’s response in v. 24 concerning the decree ‘for your people and your
city’.
The prayer in vv. 3-19 is only awkward in its context if one assumes
that the issue in 9.2 is Daniel’s lack of comprehension of the Jeremianic
oracle, and therefore Daniel ought to be praying for illumination rather
than offering a prayer of confession. Once one recognizes that there is no
lack of comprehension of Jeremiah expressed in 9.2, the segue into a
prayer of confession becomes logical, as will be shown below. Gerald
Wilson (1990: 92) summarizes the point succinctly: ‘The apparent
awkwardness [of Dan. 9.4-19] is greatly relieved when one realizes that
the purpose for which this prayer came to its present position is not to
serve as a plea for understanding the ‘‘mystery’’ of the seventy years’.
c. Gabriel does not Interpret Jeremiah’s Oracle.

In Dan. 9.20-27, Gabriel does not refer to the Jeremianic oracle. He does
say that he has come to ‘give wisdom and understanding’, and he
commands Daniel to ‘understand the word (rbd) and comprehend the
vision (h)rm)’ (v. 23). The ‘word’ and the ‘vision’ are almost surely poetic
synonyms for the same revelation, as in Dan. 10.1. One could argue that
the ‘word’ to be understood is the ‘word of the Lord’ (hwhy rbd) to
Jeremiah mentioned in v. 2, but it is far more likely that the ‘word’ and
‘vision’ that Gabriel commands Daniel to understand is the ‘word’
mentioned just above in v. 23 as having gone forth at the beginning of
Daniel’s prayer, the content of which Gabriel proceeds to relate in vv. 24-
27. Although interpreters assert that Dan. 9.24 ‘exegetes’ Jeremiah’s ‘70
years’, that is a claim which the text itself does not make. The text presents
Gabriel’s ‘70 weeks [of years]’ as a new revelation. Nonetheless, there is a
relationship between the ‘70 years’ and the ‘70 weeks’, the ‘exegetical
logic’ of which will be shown below.
5 Cf. Jones 1968: 488–93; Gilbert 1972: 284–310; Wilson 1990: 91–9; and Goldingay
1989: 234–8.
3. The Exegetical Logic of Daniel 9

Now, if we have been successful in showing that the common construal of
Dan. 9.24 as a ‘reinterpretation’ of Jer. 25.11-12 or 29.10 is not supported
by the ‘received text’, it remains to explain how the passage should be
read. Briefly stated, Gabriel’s message in Dan. 9.24-27 should be
understood as a new revelation indicating that the fulfilment promised
by Jeremiah at the conclusion of 70 years has been delayed by a factor of
seven, because of the impenitence of the people of Israel. Nowhere is it
contended that Jeremiah meant anything other than 70 years of
punishment for Jerusalem and the people. However, God is now revealing
to Daniel through Gabriel that – since the condition for the fulfilment of
Jeremiah’s oracle (namely, the repentance of the people) has not been met
– the fulfilment will be postponed, but not indefinitely.
Let us walk through the passage step by step. First, Daniel reads in the
letters of Jeremiah that the years for Jerusalem’s desolations are 70 in
number.6 He can observe that the 70 years have expired, because they are
linked to the fall of Babylon (Jer. 29.10), which has recently occurred
(Dan. 5.30–6.1 MT; Dan. 9.1). Therefore, he begins a lengthy and
impassioned prayer of confession and repentance (vv. 4-19). But why?
What is the link between Daniel reading Jeremiah and then interceding for
the people through a confessional prayer? The key is to examine Jer.
29.10-14 carefully. The passage does indeed say, ‘When 70 years are
completed for Babylon . . . I will bring you back to this place’ (v. 10).
However, the following verses describe what will happen at the end of
those 70 years:
Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear
you. You will seek me and find me; when (or ‘if’: Heb. yk) you seek me
with all your heart, I will be found by you, says the Lord, and I will
restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the
places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back
to the place from which I sent you into exile. (Jer. 29.12-14)7
These verses seem to indicate a conditional nature to the prophecy: it is
necessary for the people to call upon the Lord and pray to him, and seek
him with all their heart – only if and when they do this will he be found by
them, and then will he restore their fortunes.
In the first year of Darius the Mede, has this necessary ‘seeking of the
Lord’ by Israel taken place? Apparently not, because Daniel states in 9.13:
‘As it is written in the law of Moses, all this calamity has come upon us,
yet we have not entreated the favour of the Lord our God, turning from our
6 I agree with Wilson (1990) that by Myrps in Dan. 9.2 the author intends to refer to the
letters of Jeremiah to the exiles.
7 English biblical quotations are from the RSV unless noted otherwise.
iniquities and giving heed to thy truth.’ Daniel prays a prayer of confession
in vv. 3-19 because he understands Jer. 29.12-14 to mean that the
restoration of Jerusalem is conditional upon the repentance of the people.
Moreover, one should note that the prophecies of restoration after exile in
the Holiness and Deuteronomic texts are also conditional on the
repentance of the people, and Daniel 9 draws strongly on the language
and concepts of both the Holiness and the Deuteronomic traditions. For
example, Daniel’s prayer more or less exactly fulfils the conditions for
repentance in exile described in Leviticus 26:
‘Those of you who survive shall be ‘I turned my face to the Lord my

heartsick in the land of your God . . . in fasting, in sackcloth and
enemies . . .’ (Lev. 26.39a) ashes . . .’ (Dan. 9.3) ‘We have
sinned, we have gone astray; we
have acted wickedly; we have been
rebellious . . .’ (Dan. 9.5)
‘They shall be heartsick over the ‘We . . . have not obeyed . . . the
iniquities of their fathers prophets who spoke . . . to our
(Mtb) tnw(b). . .’ (Lev. 26.39b) fathers . . .’ (Dan. 9.6) ‘Because of
our sins and the iniquities of our
fathers (wnytb) twnw(bw),
Jerusalem and Your people have
become a mockery . . .’ (Dan. 9.16b)
‘They shall confess (wdwthw) their ‘I prayed to the Lord my God,
iniquity and the iniquity of their making confession (hdwt)) thus
fathers . . .’ (Lev. 26.40a) . . .’ (Dan. 9.4) ‘While I was
speaking, praying, and confessing
(hdwtmw) my sin . . .’ (Dan. 9.20)
These are just the clearest correspondences; an extensive comparison of

both passages would reveal more (Fishbane 1985: 487–9). Fishbane is led
to conclude: ‘Daniel [turns] to a confessional prayer – that is to precisely
that type of prayer required by Lev. 26.40 for the remission of sins and the
termination of the sabbatical cycles of doom and desolation for the land’
(1985: 489).
Yet it is not exclusively from Leviticus 26 that Dan. 9.3-19 draws. The
use of Deuteronomic language in the prayer is widely recognized (Collins
1993: 350). H. Van Deventer (2000) has dedicated an entire essay to the
subject. Thus, it is also necessary to consider the relevant passages
concerning exile and return from the end of Deuteronomy:
When all these things befall you – the blessing and the curse that I have
set before you – and you take them to heart amidst the various nations to
which the Lord your God has banished you, and you return to the Lord
your God, and you and your children heed His command with all your
heart and soul, . . . then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes
and take you back in love. (Deut. 30.1-4 NJPS)
Here again one can discern implied conditionality: it is only when the
exiles ‘take [these things] to heart’ and ‘return to the Lord’ that the Lord
will restore their fortunes and take them back. The prayer of Daniel 9 may
be interpreted as Daniel attempting to ‘take to heart’ the things that have
befallen Israel and ‘return to the Lord’ so that he will actualize the
promised restoration.
Thus, the minor-key melody of Dan. 9.3-19 needs to be heard with the
accompaniment of Jer. 29.12-13, Lev. 26.39-42, and Deut. 30.1-4. To play
on a phrase from Richard Hays, we need to hear the ‘echoes of Scripture’
in the ‘letters of Daniel’. The significance of the prayer in its ‘projected’
life-setting then becomes explicable. ‘Daniel’ sees that the ‘70 years of
Babylon’ are now over, but there has not yet been any sign of the
restoration of Judah and Jerusalem. Why not? He can only conclude that
the requisite repentance of Jer. 29.12-13, Lev. 26.39-42, and Deut. 30.1-4
has not taken place. He admits as much in a statement that sounds
strongly ‘Deuteronomistic’: ‘As it is written in the law of Moses, all this
calamity has come upon us, yet we have not entreated the favour of the
Lord our God, turning from our iniquities and giving heed to thy truth’
(Dan. 9.13).
Thus, Daniel’s prayer is not a plea for illumination, but a heroic
attempt on his part to repent on behalf of his entire nation. Daniel’s
lengthy confessional prayer in vv. 3-19 is his attempt personally to meet
the standard of penitence necessary for the actualization of the restoration
from exile according to Jeremiah, Deuteronomy and Leviticus. In offering
this prayer ‘for his sins and the sins of the people’, Daniel is adopting an
intercessory posture reminiscent of Exod. 32.30-34, in which Moses,
paradigmatic prophet of Israel (Deut. 34.10), leverages the esteem he has
gained in the sight of the Lord to obtain mercy for an impenitent people.
Gabriel’s oracle in response to Daniel’s prayer is something of a good
news/bad news report. The good news is that Daniel’s prayer has been
heard: God will again have mercy on his people and his holy city. The bad
news is that the time for the restoration of people and city has been
delayed by a factor of seven, namely, for ‘70 weeks’, by which we rightly
understand, ‘70 weeks of years’. Now, although Gabriel gives no explicit
explanation for why the fulfilment of the prophecies of restoration has
been delayed, a study of the intertextual relationship between Daniel 9
and Leviticus 25–26 suggests an ‘exegetical logic’ behind his message.
There is evidence of a significant dependence of Daniel 9 on concepts

and language found in Leviticus 25–26.8 First, as we have seen, Daniel’s
prayer corresponds closely to the kind of repentance insisted upon by
Leviticus 26 as necessary for God’s mercies to be renewed to Israel.
Second, there are significant lexical borrowings between Daniel 9
and Leviticus 26, most notably Dan. 9.7, where virtually the exact
phrase ‘because of their treachery which they committed against you’
(Kb-wl(m r#) Ml(mb) is borrowed from Lev. 26.40. Third, the concept
of ‘weeks of years’ which underlies Dan. 9.24 is found elsewhere in
Scripture only in Leviticus 25, the legislation on the sabbatical and jubilee
years. In fact, the ‘70 weeks’ of years in Dan. 9.24 probably should be
understood as ten jubilee cycles of 49 years each.9 Klaus Koch (1983b)
and others have demonstrated that a concept of ‘ten jubilee cycles until
the eschaton’ was a recurring motif in Second Temple literature.
If, then, we read Daniel 9 in conversation with Leviticus 25–26, it
becomes significant that Leviticus 26 repeatedly expresses the principle
that failure to repent will result in seven-fold punishment. The key verse is
Lev. 26.18: ‘And if in spite of this you will not hearken to me, then I will
chastise you again sevenfold for your sins.’ Virtually identical statements
are repeated in Lev. 26.21, 24, and 28. So then, the ‘exegetical logic’
behind the revelation of Dan. 9.24 becomes clear: God through Gabriel is
declaring that the time of punishment for Israel’s sins has been extended
by a factor of seven, because, as Daniel explicitly states (9.13), the 70 years
of exile have not yet resulted in repentance, except in the case of Daniel
himself. Gabriel’s message, therefore, is not a reinterpretation of the
meaning of Jeremiah’s ‘70 years’. It is a declaration that, the 70 years
having expired, the anticipated restoration will be delayed by a factor of
seven due to the impenitence of the people.
4. The Starting Point for the 70 Weeks of Years

This interpretation of the significance of Gabriel’s oracle based on the
intertextual relationship of Daniel 9 and Leviticus 26 enables a better
interpretation of the starting point for the counting of the 70 weeks of
years than is usually offered in the commentaries. In v. 25, the beginning
of the ‘70 weeks’ is ‘from the going forth of the word to restore and build
Jerusalem’. What is this ‘word’ – that is, a decree or command – ‘to restore
and build Jerusalem’?
8 For a defence of the close literary relationship between Leviticus 25 and 26, see
Bergsma 2007: 82–3; and Meadowcroft 2001: 433: ‘The applicability [to Daniel 9] of Lev. 25–
26 with its jubilee theology . . . has been amply demonstrated.’
9 Grelot 1969: 182–6; Doukhan 1979: 8, 20; Fishbane 1985: 486; Collins 1993: 352–3;
Redditt 2000: 247; Meadowcroft 2001: 433; Dimant 1993: 57–76; Lacocque 1979: 178, 192.
Frequently this ‘word’ is identified with the promulgation of Jeremiah’s

prophecy of the ‘70 years’ in Jer. 25.11-12 (c. 605 BCE)10 or Jer. 29.10
(c. 594 BCE).11 However, as J. J. Collins helpfully points out, neither
Jeremiah 25 nor 29 can possibly be what Dan. 9.25 means by the ‘word to
restore Jerusalem’ (Collins 1993: 355). First, neither passage of Jeremiah
gives any command to rebuild the city. Second, both oracles are delivered
before Jerusalem was even destroyed, and it is impossible that the word to
rebuild would be given when the city is still standing. Collins himself
proposes to identify the ‘word to restore Jerusalem’ with the very oracle of
Gabriel in Dan. 9.24-27 (1993: 354). However, this is not much more
satisfactory than the identifications he dismisses. The angelic message of
Dan. 9.24-27 is not in itself a command or decree to restore and rebuild
Jerusalem, but rather refers to one presumably known to the readers of
the book. As Goldingay (1989: 260) remarks, ‘the coming forth of a word
from the mouth of Yahweh has already been referred to in v 23, but v 25
surely refers to a different proclamation . . . the term is one for a solemn
royal proclamation (e.g. Est. 1.19; Isa. 2.3; 45.23; 48.3; 51.4; 55.11)’.
Fishbane (1985: 483) and others assume that the ‘word to restore
Jerusalem’ refers to a divine decree that went out immediately upon the
destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BCE, but there is no exegetical support for
this view (Hasel 1986: 26–7), nor is there any evidence in the canonical or
non-canonical texts of a Jewish belief in a divine decree of restoration that
went out from God as soon as the temple was destroyed. There was,
however, a very well-known decree concerning the rebuilding of the
temple and Jerusalem, a decree that is mentioned in no less than three
pivotal passages of the canonical literature, and therefore could be
assumed to have been present to the mind of the ancient Jewish reader of
Daniel. We refer, of course, to the edict of Cyrus, mentioned in 2 Chron.
36.22-23; Ezra 1.1-4; and Isa. 44.24-28. Significantly, 2 Chron. 36.22-23
and Ezra 1.1 explicitly link the edict of Cyrus to the fulfilment of
Jeremiah’s prophecies of restoration, which are mentioned in Dan. 9.1
and thus would still be present to the mind of the ancient reader when he
reached Dan. 9.25. Would it not be very natural, then, for the ancient
reader of Daniel to identify the ‘word to restore Jerusalem’ with Cyrus’
famous edict of return? And is it not reasonable that the author of Daniel
intended such an identification?12
10 E.g. Montgomery 1927: 391; Koch 1986: 150; Pierce 1989: 212.
11 McComiskey 1985: 26; Dequeker 1993: 199; Hartman 1978: 247.
12 Collins (1993: 354) objects that the ‘word to restore’ of Dan. 9.25 cannot be Cyrus’
decree because ‘the word must be taken as the divine word, rather than the decree of a
Persian king’. But Collins overlooks the fact that all three canonical references to Cyrus’
decree – Ezra 1.1; 2 Chron. 34.22-23; and Isa. 44.24-28 – attribute its origins to God Himself,
Cyrus merely being the servant of God, the divine instrument or mouthpiece. Thus, for
ancient Jews, the edict of Cyrus was the ‘divine word’. Cf. W. Johnstone (1999: 274) on 2
Nonetheless, very few major commentators identify the ‘word to restore

and build Jerusalem’ with Cyrus’ edict (e.g., Lebram 1984: 109; Poythress
1985). Why? Because of the widespread view that the ‘70 weeks’ are a
reinterpretation of what Jeremiah meant by ‘70 years’. Gabriel is assumed
to be saying: ‘Jeremiah meant ‘‘70 weeks of years’’ when he said ‘‘70
years’’.’ The starting point of the ‘70 weeks of years’ is then understood to
be the time of the utterance of Jeremiah’s prophecy – a view which Collins
shows to be untenable, as noted above.
It would be better to recognize that Dan. 9.24 announces a 70-week
penitential period that does not start with Jeremiah’s prophecy of ‘70
years’, but rather is subsequent to the Jeremianic period. Cyrus’ decree –
the ‘word to restore and build Jerusalem’ of Dan. 9.25 – terminates the ‘70
years’ of Jeremiah and inaugurates the ‘70 weeks’ of years of Daniel.
Jeremiah’s 70 years were unsuccessful in producing repentance, so a
seven-fold longer penitential period is to begin at their termination. To
summarize, the reading of Daniel 9 proposed here facilitates the
identification of the ‘word to restore and build Jerusalem’ with the edict
of Cyrus, which is the most obvious candidate for its historical referent,
given the deep impact the edict had on Jewish historical memory.
5. Daniel’s Theological Perspective on the Persian Period

If the interpretation advanced above has been correct, then the following
are the implications for understanding the theological perspective on the
Persian period and the return to Zion adopted by the author of Daniel 9:
first, according to Daniel 9 the return to Zion beginning under Cyrus is
only the start of the fulfilment of the prophecies of restoration, and this
progressive fulfilment will drag on for quite some time. At times this
perspective of Daniel, in which the edict of Cyrus is but a beginning and a
small one at that, is contrasted with the supposed perspective of the
Chronicler and Ezra–Nehemiah, according to which, it is claimed, the
decree of Cyrus completely fulfils the prophecy of Jeremiah (cf. Collins
1993: 349). However, at least in the case of Ezra–Nehemiah there is also a
sense that the initial return of the exiles was at best a partial fulfilment of
prophecy. Ezra–Nehemiah ends on a distinctly melancholy note (Neh.
Chron. 36.22: ‘Any motives of political self-interest that Cyrus may have had are beside the
point. Cyrus’ edict is first and last ‘‘to fulfil the Word of the Lord in the mouth of Jeremiah’’.
It is the Lord who ‘‘stirred up the spirit of Cyrus, king of Persia’’: this is an inspiration of a
truly prophetic character (1 Chron. 5.26) . . . The decision is final and as canonical as any
other Scripture.’
Hasel (1986: 50) objects that Cyrus’ edict was not a decree to ‘restore Jerusalem’, but only
the temple. But note that Isa. 44.28 clearly associates Cyrus’ role as God’s servant with the
rebuilding of both the city and the temple.
13.1-31), with Nehemiah recounting his frustration with the people of

Jerusalem and their tendency to return to all the sins of their ancestors
(esp. Neh. 13.17-18, 26-27). This would seem to indicate that the
prophecies of Jeremiah concerning the coming restoration – especially
the prophecy of a new covenant and new heart in Jer. 31.31-40 – have not
been actualized. Therefore, the contrast between Daniel and Ezra–
Nehemiah, in which Daniel is held to dissent from Ezra–Nehemiah’s view
that the edict of Cyrus ‘fulfilled’ Jeremiah’s prophecy of 70 years, is
overdrawn. Both works have a more nuanced view of the significance of
the return to Zion than is sometimes realized.
Second, from the perspective of Daniel 9, the Persian period – and also
the early Hellenistic, for that matter – is primarily a penitential era in the
salvation history of the people of Israel, an era made necessary by the lack
of repentance of exiled Israel during the 70 years prophesied by Jeremiah.
One may rightly ask if this perspective on the Persian period is in truth
only a retrospective from the Hellenistic period. I would suggest not.
Although extensive work may have been done on the book of Daniel
during the tumultuous reign of Antiochus Epiphanes, it seems to me that
the core of several chapters of the book may well have arisen already in
the Persian period itself. I would place Daniel 9 in that category (cf.
Dequeker 1993: 209). Theological concerns about the lack of complete
fulfilment of the prophecies of restoration after the exile were present in
Judaism long before the mid-second century BCE (Hag. 1.1-11; 2.1-9, 15–
19; Zech. 1.12-17) and a theological explanation for the delay – such as the
core narrative of Daniel 9 – would have been apropos already in the early
post-exilic era.
Third, although this era is one of penitence, we should not exaggerate
the negative characterization given to it by the author of Daniel, as is
sometimes done. It is sometimes claimed that Daniel sees nothing positive
about the Second Temple period, that rather it constitutes for him a
continuing ‘desolation’ for Jerusalem, an unmitigated perpetuation of the
condition of exile. This view is too extreme. The author does acknowledge
that certain positive events take place after the return:
. The city is rebuilt, and by implication the temple as well (v. 25).
. One or two messiahs arrive, depending on how the text is read (vv.
25-26).13
13 Whether one or two messiahs are to be expected depends on whether one reads vv. 25-
26 according to the MT punctuation, in which a messiah comes after seven weeks and
presumably a different one is ‘cut off’ after the 62 weeks; or according to the ancient versions,
in which a messiah comes after seven and 62 weeks – i.e., after 69 weeks, and is presumably
the same as the one who is ‘cut off’. See the discussion in Beckwith 1981: 521–42 and Collins
1993: 355. The first clear attestation of the MT punctuation of the text is not until the third
century CE (McComiskey 1985: 20).
. Meanwhile, the penitential suffering of the populace is progressively

putting an end to sin, atoning for iniquity, and moving salvation
history on toward its goal (v. 24).
Moreover, it is clear that the author cannot have regarded the situation of
Jerusalem and Judah as one of ‘desolation’ (hmrx [9.2] or hmm# [9.26])
during the entire Persian and early Hellenistic periods. At the end of the
era the ‘people of the prince who is to come’ render the city and sanctuary
desolate (v. 26). Obviously this would not be possible if the city and
sanctuary were already desolate prior to this destruction. There must have
been something positive which was built up, only to be destroyed at the
end. Therefore, the author does not regard the Persian and early
Hellenistic periods as eras of utter desolation.14 His more nuanced
assessment of the postexilic situation is best expressed by his straightfor-
ward statement concerning Jerusalem: ‘for 62 weeks it shall be built again
with squares and moat, but in a troubled time’ (v. 25).
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Ackroyd, P. R.
1958 ‘Two Old Testament Historical Problems of the Early
Persian Period’, JNES 17: 23–7.
Beckwith, R. T.
1981 ‘Daniel 9 and the Date of the Messiah’s Coming in Essene,
Hellenistic, Pharisaic, Zealot and Early Christian
Computation’, RevQ 10: 521–42.
Bergsma, J. S.
2007 The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of
Interpretation (VTSup, 115; Leiden: Brill).
Collins, J. J.
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1993 ‘King Darius and the Prophecy of Seventy Weeks in Daniel
9’, in A. S. van der Woude (ed.), The Book of Daniel in the
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210.
Dimant, D.
1993 ‘The Seventy Weeks Chronology (Dan. 9,24–27) in the Light
14 Goldingay’s comments (1989: 259) are pertinent: ‘Daniel has not so far pictured the
afflictions of the second century as punishment and it would need to do so more clearly if this
was the implication here; Antiochus is the desolater rather than the rod of Yahweh’s anger
. . . There is no direct indication in the oracle that the whole postexilic period is seen as a
period of wickedness. Only the last ‘‘seven’’ is specifically characterized by wickedness,
wrath, and desolation.’
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Book of Daniel in the Light of New Findings (BETL, 106;
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1968 ‘The Prayer in Daniel IX’, VT 18: 488–93.
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2001 ‘Exploring the Dismal Swamp: The Identity of the Anointed
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1927 A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Daniel
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Chapter 3
THE MYSTERY OF THE MISSING ‘SONS OF AARON’1
Joseph Blenkinsopp (University of Notre Dame)
1
In an article published more than a century ago, the British Old
Testament scholar Robert H. Kennett drew attention to the absence of
Aaronite priests and their priestly eponym from the historical record
covering the two kingdoms and the century following the fall of
Jerusalem. He noted that, whereas in Ezekiel the dominant priestly
family is descended from Zadok, little more than a century later – he had
in mind what he called the Priestly Code – the priests were claiming
descent from Aaron and were referring to themselves as beˇneˆ )āhărôn,
‘sons of Aaron’. He therefore concluded that descent from Aaron as
constitutive of the only legitimate Jerusalemite priesthood was claimed no
earlier than the fifth century BCE (1905: 181–6). This gave rise to the
question: who on earth were these people and where did they come from?
Kennett had his own answer to which we shall return in due course. But
for anyone interested in the history of Israelite religious institutions and
the history of the priesthood in particular the absence of these ‘sons of
Aaron’ from the record cannot fail to be something of a mystery, and not
only for those who accept at face value the role assigned to them in the
Priestly (P) traditions in the Pentateuch. What I propose to do in this
paper is to take up again the issues raised by Kennett and assess his
solutions in the light of what we have learned in the intervening century.
A brief summary of the historical record will clarify the nature of the
problem. In Deuteronomy and related texts the standard terminology for
the official priesthood is ‘Levitical priests’ (kōhănıˆm leˇwiyyıˆm) through-
out.2 The death of Aaron and the succession to his office of Eleazar are
mentioned in Deut. 10.6, but it is tolerably clear from the interruption of
1 This essay was written to honour the memory of Peter Ackroyd, good friend and
exemplary colleague, whose many contributions to the religious history of Israel, especially
the Second Temple period, have left us all in his debt.
2 Deut. 17.9, 18; 18.1-8; 24.8; 27.9; Josh. 3.3; 8.33; 14.3-4; 18.7.
first-person discourse after v. 5 and its resumption in v. 10 that 10.6-9 is an

interpolated fragment of an itinerary set out in the Priestly style, and this
is generally acknowledged (Driver 1895: 118–19; von Rad 1966: 79; Mayes
1979: 205; Weinfeld 1991: 419). The other reference in Deuteronomy to
Aaron’s death occurs in a passage (Deut. 32.48-52) which is synoptic with
Num. 33.38-39, a passage belonging to the Priestly narrative tradition.
The only other mention of Aaron, equally incidental, occurs in Moses’
retrospective account of the Golden Calf episode. Here we learn that
Yahweh was angry enough with Aaron to destroy him on the spot, but he
was saved by the intercession of Moses (Deut. 9.20). This brief notice, less
friendly to Aaron than the account of the incident in Exodus 32, may also
be an insertion, perhaps from a source not well disposed to a priestly guild
which, at the time, was beginning to claim descent from Aaron (cf. Mayes
1979: 210; Weinfeld 1991: 411; Nielsen 1995: 113, 115). In any case, in
Deut. 9.20 he is neither himself a priest nor the ancestor of a priestly
house.
Aaron is named alongside Moses in the valedictory address of Joshua
(Josh. 24.5) and in much the same terms in that of Samuel (1 Sam. 12.6),
but not as priest. The same kind of statement occurs in the only mention
of Aaron in pre-exilic prophetic texts where, in speaking of the exodus,
Micah refers to the role of Moses, Aaron and Miriam (Mic. 6.4). Here,
too, there is no allusion to a priestly function. Towards the end of the
book of Joshua we hear of the death and burial of Eleazar, Aaron’s son,
on a site belonging to Phineas, Eleazar’s son (Josh. 24.33). The sequence
Aaron–Eleazar–Phineas draws on the P genealogical schema, for example
in Exod. 6.14-25. Together with the notice about the reburial of Joseph’s
bones immediately preceding it looks like a postscript following the finale
in 24.29-31 (Noth 1953: 141). The list of Levitical settlements in Josh.
21.1-42 and the parallel recension in 1 Chron. 6.39-66 (cf. also Lev. 25.32-
34 and Num. 35.1-5) probably draw on an earlier document which
presupposes the genealogy featuring the three Levitical orders of Gershon,
Kohath and Merari together with the ‘sons of Aaron’ as a distinct entity.
So, however one interprets this scheme of land distribution – whether
realistic or utopian, whether based on ancient precedent or not – the list
cannot very well be dissociated from or earlier than P.3
In the course of the tribal war against Benjamin, narrated in some detail
in an appendix to the book of Judges (chs 20–21), we hear that after two
defeats and the loss of 40,000 men the confederates, nothing daunted,
gathered one more time at Bethel to seek some reassurance in an oracular
pronouncement. At this point we are told that the ark of the covenant was
3 Wellhausen’s arguments for the Priestly character of the list have never, in my view,
been successfully challenged. See Wellhausen 1957: 159–67. See also Noth 1953: 123–32;
Gray 1967: 175–6; Spencer 1992: 310–11 who also concludes it has a postexilic origin.
BLENKINSOPP The Missing ‘Sons of Aaron’ 67
there at that time, in the care of Phineas ben Eleazar ben Aaron (Judg.
20.27-28). In this brief notice, which most commentators take to be a gloss
(e.g., Moore 1895: 433–4; Gray 1967: 357, 386; Soggin 1981: 283), we
come across the same genealogical sequence as in Josh. 21.13-19 and
24.33. The location of Phineas, son of Eleazar and grandson of Aaron, at
Bethel reminds us that the priestly houses of the two state sanctuaries of
the kingdom of Samaria are presented in a parallel sequence of three
generations: Aaron, Eleazar, Phineas for Bethel; Moses, Gershom and
Jonathan for Dan (Judg. 18.30).4 We hear more about the former than the
latter because the Bethel sanctuary survived the Assyrian conquest (cf. 2
Kgs 17.28) while the Dan sanctuary did not.
Coming now to the history of the kingdoms, none of the many priests
named in it is described as Aaronite, including those identified as chief
priest (kōhēn gādôl): Jehoiada during the reigns of Athaliah and Joash (2
Kgs 12.11), Hilkiah during that of Josiah (2 Kgs 22.4, etc.) and the last
incumbent Seraiah executed by the Babylonians (2 Kgs 25.18; Jer. 52.24-
27). The same can be said, incidentally, for descent from Zadok. The
genealogical table of the high priesthood in 1 Chron. 5.27-41 traces an
unbroken line from Zadok priest of David and Solomon to Jehozadak
exiled by the Babylonians, yet no priest mentioned in the historical record
is identified as Zadokite before the ‘temple law’ of Ezekiel, no earlier than
the mid-sixth century BCE.5
The situation is no different in texts surviving from the Neo-Babylonian
and early Persian periods; in other words, texts which can be dated prior
to Chronicles. Prophetic texts from that time refer frequently to priests,
more often than not in order to denounce them. Both Haggai and
Zechariah address exhortations to the high priest Joshua ben Jehozadak
(Hag. 1.1, 12, etc; Zech. 6.9-14), Malachi launches a vitriolic polemic
against the contemporary Jerusalemite priesthood (Mal. 1.6-14; 2.1-9) and
Joel presents them taking part in a penitential liturgy (Joel 1.9, 13; 2.17).
Nowhere are any of these described as of Aaronite descent – likewise in
Ezra–Nehemiah. None of the priests involved in the first return, none of
the four houses of Judaeo-Babylonian priests numbering 4,289 in all, none
of the priests unable to verify their Israelite descent, and none of those
involved in marriages with native women are identified as beˇneˆ )āhărôn
(Ezra 1.5; 2.36-39 = Neh. 7.39-41; Ezra 2.61-63; 8.24; 10.18-22). The
record of Ezra’s descent makes him a descendant of Aaron (Ezra 7.1-5),
but this notice has evidently been excerpted from the genealogy of the
high priesthood in 1 Chron. 5.27-41 (from which, of course, Ezra is
4 One is tempted to speculate that the parallelism may account for the tradition
representing Moses and Aaron as brothers.
5 Ezek. 40.46; 43.19; 44.15-16; 48.11. The case against a hereditary pre-exilic high priestly
Zadokite line is argued by Bartlett 1968: 1–18.
absent) and inserted at this point at the cost of making Ezra in the mid-
fifth century the son of Seraiah executed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE.
The provision in Neh. 12.47 (cf. 10.39), which places the collection of the
tithe under the supervision of Aaronite priests who are to receive a 10 per
cent commission, refers back to practice in the days of Zerubbabel and
Nehemiah, some time in the not so recent past. The notice must therefore
have been added quite a bit later than the time of Nehemiah in the mid- to
late-fifth century BCE, and the provision itself corresponds to a late
stipulation of Priestly law, one to the evident advantage of the Aaronite
priesthood (Num. 18.25-32).
We must add to Kennett’s account of the problem that Aaron and
Aaronite priests are also absent from the surviving records of the Jewish
colony on the island of Elephantine which covers most of the fifth century
BCE. In the introduction to his edition of the papyri published in 1923,
Arthur Cowley wrote as follows:
Although priests are frequently mentioned [in the papyri] they are
nowhere called sons of Aaron, nor does the name Aaron ever occur, nor
that of Levi or the levitical order. It seems difficult to explain away this
omission and at the same time to maintain that the ‘house of Aaron’
and the levites were recognized in the seventh century in Judaea as they
were later. The question is too large to be discussed here. I will only call
attention to the fact that apart from the Hexateuch (de quo videant
critici!) the name Aaron occurs only in Psalms, Chronicles, and once in
Judges, twice (really once) in Samuel, and once in Micah. The passage in
Micah (6.4) is probably an addition, in 1 Samuel 12.6, 8 the name is
certainly added as the natural accompaniment of Moses, and in Judges
(20.28) it is a gloss to complete the genealogy. That is to say, it does not
occur for certain in any undoubtedly early writer, not even in Ezekiel!
(1967: xxii-xxiii)
The conclusion is warranted that neither Aaronite priests nor their
eponymous priestly founder appears in any text, pre-exilic or postexilic,
with the exception of the Priestly material in the Pentateuch, Chronicles,
three late additions to Ezra–Nehemiah, and some psalms.6 A few texts
refer to a non-priestly Aaron who together with Moses guides the
Israelites in Egypt and in their trek through the wilderness (Josh. 24.5; 1
Sam. 12.6, 8; Mic. 6.4). This is a dominant exodus theme which also
features in those psalms which celebrate the benevolence of Yahweh
towards Israel at the beginning of their history (Ps. 77.21; 105.16). The
Aaron memorialized in the valedictory addresses of Joshua and Samuel
corresponds to the Aaron of the earliest Pentateuchal traditions. We first
encounter him as spokesman for Moses in Midian and Egypt (Exod. 4.14-
6 The house of Aaron in Pss. 115.10, 12; 118.3; 135.19; Aaron the holy one of Yahweh in
Ps. 106.16; in Ps. 99.6 both Moses and Aaron are priests of Yahweh.
17, 27-31; 5.1-20; 7.1-2, 6-7), as brother of Moses and Miriam (Exod. 4.14;
15.20), and as magus whose magic is more powerful than that of the
Egyptian magi (Exod. 7.8-24; 8.1-21). He is also associated with the
shadowy figure of Hur in the war against the Amalekites (Exod. 17.8-13)
and in joint leadership of the people during Moses’ absence on the
mountain (Exod. 24.14). Together with Moses and some Israelite elders he
participates in sacrificial cult with the Midianite priest Jethro, but it is
Jethro not Aaron who presides over the ritual (Exod. 18.10-12).
According to another tradition, also located at a ‘mountain of God’,
the same group augmented by Nadab and Abihu, Aaron’s sons, takes part
in a cultic meal but, again, not one over which Aaron presides as priest
(Exod. 24.1, 9-11).7
At this earlier stage in the development of the wilderness traditions it
seems, in fact, that Joshua rather than Aaron functioned as cultic agent, a
role strikingly different from the one he fills in the book of Joshua. In one
of several traditions about what happened at Sinai, Joshua alone
accompanied Moses on the mountain top (Exod. 24.12-14), and he was
at Moses’ side during the episode of the Golden Calf (32.17). He served as
custodian of the oracle tent in the wilderness and did so in the capacity of
me˘sˇāret, that is, cult official, hierophant (Exod. 33.11).8 At a later stage of
the tradition it was inevitable that this function would be taken over by
Aaron and his sons (Exod. 27.21). The passage from a non-priestly to a
priestly Aaron in the development of the tradition in the historical period
before and after the exile correlates neatly with the arrangement of the
Pentateuchal narratives in which Aaron features. He is first mentioned as
Moses’ brother and, like him, a member of the tribe of Levi (Exod. 4.14 cf.
2.1), and from then until his ordination and that of his sons to the
priesthood in Leviticus 8–9 he remains a lay figure. Instructions
concerning this ceremony and other matters relevant to the office of the
priesthood are communicated to Moses at Sinai in Exodus 28–29, the
(partial) repetition of these instructions after the incident of the Golden
Calf serves to indicate that they have not been nullified by Aaron’s
involvement in the worship of the Golden Calf, and the prescriptions are
finally implemented in the seven-day long and extremely complex
ceremony of ordination.
7 On these early Aaronite traditions see Meek 1936: 118–47; Gunneweg 1965: 81–98;
Cody 1969; 146–66; Valentin 1978.
8 While this term occurs in a secular context, meaning assistant, acolyte or servant, in
later texts it is used in parallelism with kōhănıˆm (Isa. 61.1) and leˇwiyyıˆm (1 Chron. 16.4; 2
Chron. 23.6; Ezra 8.17).
2
If this situation is accepted we are faced with the same question posed by
Kennett: who then were these people and where did they come from?
Cowley, cited earlier, concluded without much conviction that the house
of Aaron must have been ‘a late post-exilic invention’ (1967: xxiii). After
surveying the narratives involving Aaron in the Pentateuch, Kennett
observed that for the most part Aaron gives the impression of being ‘a
mere puppet which performs certain priestly functions when the machin-
ery is set in motion by Moses’ (1905: 164). The one exception is the
Golden Calf episode (Exodus 32) in which the puppet comes alive and acts
on its own initiative. Kennett was by no means the first to draw attention
to the inconsistencies and perplexing non sequiturs of this strange
narrative. The most significant of these is that some 3,000 of those
engaged in the act of worship and its sequel are slaughtered and the
survivors afflicted with pestilence, while Aaron, who takes the lead in the
manufacture of the image and inauguration of the new cult, remains
unpunished. Bearing in mind the close links between this episode and
Jeroboam’s establishment of the cult centres of Bethel and Dan (1 Kgs
12.26-33), Kennett concluded that in its present form the narrative is a
clumsy deformation of what was originally the hieros logos of the Bethel
sanctuary. As such, it was composed to celebrate Aaron as the founder of
the eponymous Bethel priesthood. If this is so, we may add the corollary
that the Aaron of this episode could not have been Levitical since the
zealots who slaughtered the calf worshippers were sons of Levi (Exod.
32.25-29), and the priests appointed by Jeroboam to serve at Bethel and
other ‘high places’ were non-Levitical, as we are explicitly told (1 Kgs
12.31).9 Kennett also assumed that the original version of this narrative
reflected a situation and time prior to the prohibition of making images, a
conclusion reinforced by the notice about Nehushtan, the bronze serpent
made by Moses in the wilderness (Num. 21.4-9), which was venerated in
the temple of Jerusalem as late as the reign of Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18.4), and
perhaps even later. Kennett (1905: 166–67) seems to suggest that, in spite
of the notice that Jeroboam made two calves, one for Bethel, the other for
Dan (1 Kgs 12.2-29), Nehushtan could have been originally the cult object
of the Dan sanctuary, founded by Jonathan, descendant of Moses (Judg.
18.30).
Having established this essential point, Kennett went on to note that
the Bethel sanctuary survived the Assyrian conquest (2 Kgs 17.24-28),
thus enabling the worship of Yahweh to continue in the former kingdom
of Samaria. He proposed that, during the dark days of Manasseh’s reign
9 Both Moses (Exod. 2.1) and Aaron (Exod. 4.14) are identified as Levites, that is,
members of the secular tribe of Levi.
(2 Kings 21), persecuted Judaean Yahweh-worshippers could have found

refuge at the Bethel sanctuary, a mere 11 miles north of Jerusalem, and he
expressed serious doubts about the historicity of Josiah’s desecration of
the altar at Bethel (2 Kgs 23.15-20). Coming then to the period
immediately following the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple, with
Judah (in Wellhausen’s phrase) living under a vast interdict, deprived of
priests and Levites, it was to be expected that the Bethel cult centre would
become more prominent,10 and practically inevitable that the priests of
Bethel would supply for the lack. This then would be the time when the
Bethel sanctuary became for a while, once again, ‘a royal sanctuary, a
temple of the kingdom’ (Amos 7.13), and the Aaronite Bethel priests
secured a pied-à-terre in Jerusalem. Distrusting the information given in
Ezra–Nehemiah, and relying chiefly on Haggai and Zechariah 1–8,
Kennett rejected the common assumption that the temple was rebuilt by
Judaeo-Babylonian immigrants. He also maintained that Joshua ben
Jehozadak was Aaronite not Zadokite, and originated not in Babylon but
in Bethel. The inevitable tension between Aaronites originating in Bethel
and Zadokites originating in Babylon was resolved at least temporarily by
a kind of concordat or ‘counsel of peace’ (‘ăs[at sˇālôm, Zech. 6.13) between
Joshua and Zerubbabel following which Joshua was, by virtue of the
support of the ‘Palestinian remnant’, and in spite of misgivings,11
recognized officially as high priest in Jerusalem. Kennett is somewhat
less clear and less persuasive about the final resolution of hostilities
between Bethel Aaronites and Babylonian Zadokites. Jehozadak and
Joshua, both Aaronites, were inserted into the Zadokite line, a conclusion
deduced from the standard genealogy in 1 Chronicles (5.40-41), but the
Zadokites themselves were obliged to acquiesce to being merged with the
more inclusive Levitical–Aaronite family tree (1 Chron. 5.27-41). The
struggle between the two houses was eventually decided in favour of the
Zadokites who were better educated (no doubt because of their
Babylonian origin) and more numerous.
Kennett’s reconstruction of this important chapter in the history of the
10 Kennett could have found confirmation for the enhanced role of the Bethel sanctuary
at that time in the account of the war of extermination waged by a tribal coalition against
Benjamin in Judges 20–21. In it Mizpah and Bethel serve as base camp and cult centre
respectively, Judah and Benjamin are the principal opponents (Judg. 20.18), the ritual
behaviour (weeping, fasting, penitential prayer) is typical of the early postexilic period, the
confederates are represented as an ‘ēdâ (congregation, Judg. 20.1; 21.10, 13, 16), a term
characteristic of the same period, and we are told, in what is probably a gloss, that Phineas
grandson of Aaron at that time presided over the ark in Bethel (20.27b-28a).
11 The misgivings are reflected in the accusations directed against him by the Satan and
the removal of filthy clothes before putting on the high priestly vestments (Zech. 3.1-5).
Israelite priesthood had a mixed reception in the scholarly guild.12 It was

taken further by Francis S. North who, while accepting several of
Kennett’s basic postulates, rejected the idea that the Aaronites would have
abandoned Bethel for Jerusalem after the fall of the city and pointed out
that, judging by the patronymic, Joshua ben Jehozadak was a Zadokite
not, as Kennett maintained, an Aaronite. North’s main proposal, that
after the Babylonian conquest Bethel supplanted Jerusalem as the
religious centre of the region, was based primarily on a disputed
interpretation of Zech. 7.1-3 as recording a delegation to the house of
Yahweh – in Bethel rather than Jerusalem – to seek counsel on penitential
practices. Zadokite priests from Babylon eventually restored Jerusalem to
its former primacy, and compromise with the Bethel Aaronites resulted in
their insertion into the Levitical–Aaronite genealogical schema as the
more numerous and important unit.13
What are we to make of Kennett’s reconstruction and North’s
emendations and additions? In the first place, there is no question that
the contrast between the role of Aaronites in the Priestly traditions
juxtaposed with their almost complete absence from the historical record
calls for an explanation. There is also no reason to doubt that Aaron’s
role in the worship of the Golden Calf in Exodus 32 is derivative from
Jeroboam’s establishment of the same cult, understood as the worship of
Yahweh in theriomorphic form, in the state sanctuaries of Bethel and Dan
in 1 Kings 12. The main parallels are at once apparent: the same cult
object, the same acclamation addressed to the worshippers, the new
festival and sacrifices.14 The Aaronite–Bethel connection is reinforced by
the association of Eleazar, Aaron’s oldest son, with Shiloh (Josh. 19.51;
21.1), the priesthood of which, at a later time derived from Aaron, is
condemned by the anonymous man of God in 1 Sam. 2.27-36 to be
supplanted by Zadok and his successors. As for Phineas, Eleazar’s son,
the note added to the account of the tribal war against Benjamin (Judg.
20.28) has him stationed at Bethel. The further step in the argument, that
Exodus 32 is a deliberately distorted version of what was originally the
hieros logos of the Bethel sanctuary, is less certain but a reasonable and
arguable deduction from the inconsistencies and non sequiturs of the
narrative itself: Aaron, who took the lead in setting up the calf cult, is the
12 For example, it was accepted by Meek 1928/1929: 149–66; and, in part, by Judge 1956:
70–4. It is criticized by Cody 1969: 156–7.
13 North 1954: 191–9. The disparity between Zadokites and Aaronites is deduced from 1
Chronicles 24, the list of 24 priestly courses, of which 16, descendants of Eleazar, are
Zadokite; and 8, descendants of Ithamar, are Aaronite.
14 Aberbach and Smolar (1967) list 13 parallels in all. It has been noted that the names of
Jeroboam’s sons, Nadab (1 Kgs 14.20) and Abijah (1 Kgs 14.1), are practically identical with
the names of Aaron’s first two sons, Nadab and Abihu, and that all four shared the same fate
of an early and untimely death (Lev. 10; 1 Kgs 14.17; 15.25-28).
only one who emerges unscathed, there is his ridiculous explanation of the
making of the cult object (32.24) and then the curious conclusion
(‘Yahweh sent a plague on the people on account of their having made the
calf that Aaron made’, 32.35).
With respect to Kennett’s account of the later history of the Bethel
sanctuary: the historian states explicitly that the worship of Yahweh, ‘the
god of the land’, was re-established at Bethel by the Assyrians, and that
this was done for political as well as religious reasons, that is, to promote
the rule of law in this subject province (2 Kgs 17.24-28). It is somewhat
less certain, but by no means implausible, that the sanctuary survived the
reforming zeal of Josiah (2 Kgs 23.15-20) whose desecration of Bethel – if
indeed it happened as described – may have been no more permanent than
other aspects of his reforms.15 The critical issues come to the fore in the
period between the destruction of the first and construction of the second
temple, 586–516/515 BCE. We know that the administrative centre of the
province was transferred to Mizpah (Tell en-Nasbeh) about eight miles
north of Jerusalem (2 Kgs 25.23; Jer. 40.6). Since the existence of a cult
centre was a matter of political prudence, as the Assyrians realized in re-
establishing the Bethel cult after the conquest of Samaria (2 Kgs 17.26-
28), and since the Bethel sanctuary was in the immediate vicinity of
Mizpah, it is possible, even likely, that some time after the fall of
Jerusalem Bethel took the place of the destroyed temple of Jerusalem and
its Aaronite priests took the place of the Jerusalemite priests either
executed, deported or dispersed. As North pointed out, Kennett’s
proposal that Aaronites would have transferred from Bethel to
Jerusalem, still in ruins after the Babylonian punitive campaign, is
unlikely (1954: 192). Jerusalem and the temple were in ruins to begin with.
The first thing Nebuzaradan, commander of the guards,16 did on coming
to Jerusalem a few weeks after it had fallen was to destroy the temple and
execute its leading priests who had provided religious legitimation for the
revolt (2 Kgs 25.8-9, 18). It seems quite improbable that Nebuchadnezzar
would have permitted the Jerusalem cult to be resumed, especially when
an acceptable alternative lay at hand.
North reinforced the hypothesis that Bethel supplanted Jerusalem as
the religious centre of the region with reference to Zech. 7.1-3 which he
subjected to a critical analysis. The passage may be translated as follows:
In the fourth year of King Darius, the word of Yahweh came to
Zechariah on the fourth of the ninth month, in Chislev. Sarezer,
15 So, for example, he ejected the image of the goddess Asherah from the temple (2 Kgs
23.4, 6), but it was back there (or still there) a few years before the fall of Jerusalem (Ezek.
8.3; cf. Jer. 7.18; 44.17-19).
16 rab-t[abbāh[ıˆm (2 Kgs 25.8, 18), LXX archimageiros, not ‘chief cook’, surely, as
translated by Cogan and Tadmor 1988: 318–19.
Regemmelech and his men had sent to Bethel to entreat the favor of
Yahweh, and to ask the priests of the house of Yahweh Sebaoth and the
prophets, ‘Should I mourn (weep) in the fifth month and practice
abstinence as I have been doing for these many years?’
Read in this way, we are being told that some time during or before 518
BCE a delegation, provenance unknown, came to the religious centre
dedicated to Yahweh at Bethel bringing offerings and requesting a ruling
about fasting. This is how North understood it, but most of the more
recent commentators and English-language versions (NRSV, JPS, NEB),
reluctant to accept the existence of a Yahweh sanctuary in Bethel at that
time, either take ‘Bethel’, as the subject of the sentence, to mean ‘the
people of Bethel’ as the ones who send the delegation, or as an element in
a personal name, Bethel-sarezer. Yet North’s reading is supported by the
LXX, the Syriac version and the Targum; names compounded with Bethel
are known, but so is Sarezer (2 Kgs 19.37); since there was no ‘house of
Yahweh Sebaoth’ in Jerusalem before the sixth year of Darius (Ezra 6.15),
we would expect the destination to be somewhat differently described, for
example, as the site, or the ruins, of the house of Yahweh. A similar
incident, narrated in Jer. 41.4-8 as taking place a few years after the
destruction of the temple, should perhaps be understood in the same way:
80 penitents from Shechem and Shiloh, bringing offerings to ‘the temple
of Yahweh’, were massacred by Ishmael as they approached Mizpah (Jer.
41.4-8). And, finally, Hag. 2.10-14 records another request for a ruling, on
the laws of clean and unclean, two years earlier than the incident in
Zechariah. As in Zech. 7.4-7, the passage ends with a critical comment of
the prophet, this time in the form of reprobation of sacrificial worship
carried out at some place other than Jerusalem: ‘What they offer there is
unclean’ (Hag. 2.14). If the course of events as described above is
accepted, the allusion here too could be to the Aaronite priests officiating
at Bethel.17
We do not know how long the Bethel sanctuary was able to maintain its
primacy in the region faced with the determined efforts made by Judaeo-
Babylonian immigrants to restore Jerusalem in the first two decades of
Persian rule. Archaeological evidence for the last phase of Bethel is
inconclusive,18 and we have no literary data on which to draw. Kennett
seems to suggest that the Aaronites came out on top since the Aaronite
17 I have dealt with these issues at greater length (1998; 2003).

18 Albright 1968: 166. Albright argues Bethel was destroyed by a ‘tremendous
conflagration’ some time in the late Neo-Babylonian or early Persian period. See Sinclair
1968: 75–6. He dates the destruction level dates to c. 550 BCE. See also Wright and Lapp cited
in Stern 1982: 31, 254, 280 n. 71: the destruction took place 500–450 or a little later.
Unfortunately, no safe conclusions can be drawn on the basis of the excavation of the site,
and in any case the sanctuary was outside of the settlement.
Joshua became high priest in Jerusalem as a result of popular support and

the Babylonian Zadokites merged into the dominant Levitical–Aaronite
genealogical schema. But we have seen that Joshua was almost certainly a
Zadokite, of the class whose status and privileges are set out in the ‘law of
the temple’ (Ezekiel 40–48; see also Ezek. 40.46; 43.19; 44.15; 48.11), and
from that time on down to the fateful moment when Jonathan Maccabee
assumed the high priestly office in 152 BCE (1 Macc. 10.18-21), Zadokites
appear to have been in uninterrupted possession of the high priesthood.19
Zadokite primacy is also reflected in the list of the priestly courses or
divisions (mah9lăqôt) since the Zadokite descendants of Eleazar numbered
16 and the rest of the priests, including the ‘sons of Aaron’, 8 (1 Chron.
24.4). Another point overlooked by Kennett is that in the master
genealogy in 1 Chron. 5.27-41 Zadok occupies the exact central position,
with 12 generations preceding and following his name.
The history of priesthoods is perhaps the most obscure chapter in the
history of Israelite religion, and one which has the further disadvantage
that those who choose to investigate it have little comparative material
external to the biblical texts to help them solve its many mysteries.20 It is
to be hoped that this essay may, following the lead of Peter Ackroyd to
whose memory it is dedicated, serve to illustrate the proposition that we
can make progress only by taking seriously the work of those who have
preceded us.
3. Bibliography
Aberbach, M. and L. Smolar
1967 ‘Aaron, Jeroboam, and the Golden Calves’, JBL 86: 129–40.
Albright, W. F.
1968 Archaeology and the Religion of Israel (5th edn; Garden
City, New York: Doubleday).
Bartlett, J. R.
1968 ‘Zadok and his Successors at Jerusalem’, JTS 19: 1–18.
Blenkinsopp, J.
60: 25–43.
2003 ‘Bethel in the Neo-Babylonian Period’ in O. Lipschits and J.
19 Jonathan was certainly not a Zadokite in spite of the claimed descent of the
Hasmonaeans from the priest Joiarib (1 Chron. 24.7-19; cf. 1 Macc. 2.1). On Jonathan’s high
priesthood see most recently VanderKam 2004: 251–70.
20 The Elephantine papyri provide only negative testimony (no Aaronites, Zadokites,
Levites or even Israelites) and Josephus is marginally helpful only for the later Second
Temple period.
Blenkinsopp (eds), Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-

Babylonian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns): 93–107.
Cody, A.
1969 A History of Old Testament Priesthood (Rome: Biblical
Institute Press).
Cogan, M., and H. Tadmor
1988 II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and
Commentary (New York: Doubleday).
Cowley, A. E.
1967 Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century B.C. (Osnabrück: Otto
Zeller).
Driver S. R.
1895 A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Deuteronomy
(Edinburgh: T&T Clark).
Gray, J.
1967 Joshua, Judges and Ruth (London: Nelson).
Gunneweg, A. H.
1965 Leviten und Priester (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht).
Judge, H. G.
1956 ‘Aaron, Zadok, and Abiathar’, JTS 7: 70–4.
Kennett, R. H.
1905 ‘The Origin of the Aaronite Priesthood’, JTS 6: 161–86.
Mayes, A. D.
1979 Deuteronomy (London: Oliphants).
Meek, T. J.
1936 Hebrew Origins (New York: Harper & Row).
1928/29 ‘Aaronites and Zadokites’, AJSL 45: 149–66.
Moore, G. F.
1895 A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges
(Edinburgh: T&T Clark).
Nielsen, E.
1995 Deuteronomium (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck).
North, F. S.
1954 ‘Aaron’s Rise in Prestige’, ZAW 66: 191–9.
Noth, M.
1953 Das Buch Josua (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck).
Sinclair L. A.
1968 ‘Bethel Pottery of the Sixth Century B.C.’, in J. L. Kelso
(ed.), The Excavation of Bethel (1934–1960) (Cambridge,
MA: ASOR): 70–6.
Soggin, J. A.
1981 Judges: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster).
Spencer, J. R.
1992 ‘Levitical Cities’, in D. N. Friedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible
Dictionary (6 vols; New York: Doubleday).
Stern, E.
1982 The Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian
Period 538–332 BC (Warminster: Aris & Phillips).
Valentin, H.
1978 Aaron. Eine Studie zur vor-priesterschriftlichen Aaron-
Überlieferung (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen:
VanderKam, J.
2004 From Joshua to Caiaphas (Minneapolis: Fortress).
von Rad, G.
1966 Deuteronomy: A Commentary (London: SCM).
Weinfeld, M.
1991 Deuteronomy 1–11: A New Translation with Introduction and
Commentary (New York: Doubleday).
Wellhausen, J.
1957 Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (New York:
Meridian Books).
Chapter 4
FROM EXILE AND RESTORATION TO EXILE AND RECONSTRUCTION1
Tamara Cohn Eskenazi (Hebrew Union College)
When I first met Peter R. Ackroyd in his books, it was like finally
breathing fresh air. I believe that these books represent a paradigm shift in
the attitude of biblical scholarship with respect to the postexilic period.
Such a shift seems precisely to have been one of Ackroyd’s intentions.
This change of attitude is most clearly witnessed in the way Ackroyd
consciously undertakes the task of showing how creative the exilic and
especially postexilic communities and eras were. Although other scholars
also began to appreciate the fertile dynamics of the postexilic era, no one,
as far as I can tell, explicitly set out to illustrate that point over and
against the prevailing prejudices that denigrated this era – either as a
decline from the glory that was the pre-exilic period or valuable only as a
backdrop for Christianity.
A number of Ackroyd’s assumptions in Exile and Restoration (1968)
have since been subject to debate. Robert Carroll asked in 1998, ‘Exile:
What Exile?’ In today’s presentation, H. G. M. Williamson asks:
‘Restoration: What Restoration?’2 But the basic shift in perspective
about the significance of the period has come to be the norm.
Since the publication of Exile and Restoration, the study of the Persian
period has moved from the periphery to the centre. In fact, as we all know,
the ‘maximalist–minimalist’ debate has led to claims that the Persian
period has been all too creative, so much so that it has been accused of
inventing the entire pre-exilic traditions. The current recognition of the
importance of the Persian period represents less the discovery of new data
1 This paper was presented at the SBL session titled ‘ ‘‘Exile and Restoration’’: 21st
century Perspectives in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd’ (19 November 2006). Kent H.
Richards presided and the other papers were by Joseph Blenkinsopp, Reinhard Kratz, Eric
Meyers, and H. G. M. Williamson. Most of these papers are included in this volume. I have
reproduced my original presentation largely as it was delivered at the conference.
2 A reference to the title of the paper by H. G. M. Williamson in this same session,
honouring Ackroyd.
ESKENAZI Exile and Restoration 79
and more a shift in attitude. The great increase of archeological data, for
example, is more the result than the cause of such a shift in interest.
Ackroyd’s work deserves much credit for the direction and impact of this
shift.
To get a sense of the landscape of scholarly research on the postexilic
period, I surveyed three programme books of the SBL Annual Meetings
for the last 25 years. In the programme for 1981, I found only two papers
pertaining to the postexilic period: one on the dating of Nehemiah by
Alberto Green3 and one on the visions of Zechariah by David Petersen.4
Five years later, in 1986, the landscape had already changed dramatically.
One finds several papers on Second Isaiah5 and other postexilic prophets,6
on Ezra-Nehemiah,7 a session on the unity and extent of the Chronicler’s
work, with Ackroyd and Sara Japhet;8 several sessions of the Chronicles–
Ezra–Nehemiah group, chaired by Ralph Klein;9 a paper by Hugh
Williamson on postexilic Judean history;10 and, perhaps most relevant for
my paper today: a two-hour special lecture on ‘The History and Literature
of the Persian Period’, by Peter Ackroyd and Sara Japhet.11
As for 2006, the programme lists so many sessions that pertain to some
aspects of Persian-period literature and history that it is not possible for
me to count – a wonderful ‘surfeit of riches’. These sessions reflect on
subjects that go all the way from the formation of the Pentateuch to the
3 Alberto R. Green, ‘The Date of Nehemiah: A Re-Examination’ (AAR and SBL

1981: 31).
4 David Petersen, ‘Zechariah’s Visions: A Theological Perspective’ (AAR and SBL
1981: 61).
5 E. Cleve Want, ‘Zion and the Servant in Isaiah 40–55’ (AAR, SBL and ASOR
1986: 67).
6 Robert R. Wilson, ‘Prophet and Priest in the Postexilic Period’ (AAR, SBL and
ASOR 1986: 119); Julia M. O’Brien, ‘Malachi and the Priesthood’ (AAR, SBL and ASOR
1986: 119).
7 Tamara C. Eskenazi, ‘The Structure of Ezra-Nehemiah and the Integrity of the Book’
(AAR, SBL and ASOR 1986: 69); Kenneth Hoglund, ‘ ‘‘We are in Great Distress’’:
Reconstructing the Social Context of Ezra-Nehemiah’ (AAR, SBL and ASOR 1986: 69).
8 ‘The Unity and Extent of the Chronicler’s Work’: Ralph W. Klein (chair), Peter R.
Ackroyd, Baruch Halpern, Sara Japhet, (AAR, SBL and ASOR 1986: 85).
9 ‘Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah Consultation’: Ralph W. Klein (chair), (AAR, SBL and
ASOR 1986: 69).
10 H. G. M. Williamson, ‘Early Post-Exilic Judean History’ (AAR, SBL and ASOR
1986: 57).
11 ‘The Interpretation of Hebrew Literature: The History and Literature of the Persian
Period’: H. G. M. Williamson (chair), Peter Ackroyd and Sara Japhet (AAR, SBL and
ASOR 1986: 111).
roles of Ezra–Nehemiah in African biblical hermeneutic, in which the

legacy of Ezra–Nehemiah is explored in light of apartheid policies.12
It is not my goal to review Ackroyd’s work, since his writings on the
subject are well known.13 Nor do I intend to review developments in the
field since his book Exile and Restoration.14 Rather, I want to sketch some
aspects of twenty-first-century perspectives on the Persian period, in part
to contextualize the other presentations on the subject in the session in
Ackroyd’s memory and in part to highlight some issues and possibilities.
Given time and space constraints, I will focus on the so-called ‘restoration
period’ with special reference to Ezra–Nehemiah (EN).
In the twenty-first century, scholars continue to investigate historical
issues, attempting to reconstruct the formative events in Judah during the
Persian period. Topics such as ‘the myth of the empty land’, the date of
the construction of the temple and the demographic pattern of the return
have been in the foreground of research for some time now, alongside
expanding theories about the formation of the Torah. These continue in
full force. In what follows, I limit myself to only five areas where we see
particularly important developments.
1. Archaeology
There is no question in my mind that among the most dramatic and
influential developments in Persian-period scholarship are the studies
pertaining to archaeology. One can arguably claim that the new resources
relating to Persian-period archaeology are themselves a product of the
changed perspective that Ackroyd promoted. To put it more directly, the
availability of new material is the result of the shift in interest, not
the cause of such interest.
The formative change regarding Persian-period archeology begins with
E. Stern whose book Material Culture (1982) assembled the vital
information that had been largely scattered and at times inaccessible.
Stern’s landmark study thereby enabled other scholars to build on
available archaeological data, even when this has meant challenging the
conclusions that Stern himself draws from the data. Among twenty-first-
century archaeological contributions, let me highlight the recent work of
Oded Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem (2005). Studies, such as
12 See for example, ‘The Quest for Survival: The Implications of the Reconstruction
Theology of Ezra-Nehemiah’ by Robert Wafawanaka (18 November) and ‘Collective
Memory as a Hermeneutical Framework: A Partialized Reading of Ezra-Nehemiah’ by
Gerrie Snyman (18 November).
13 For an eloquent reflection on his work, see Carroll 1997.
14 Several reviews of the scholarly literature already exist. See, for example, Klein 1976;
Eskenazi 1993 and the introductions to several new publications.
that of Lipschits, provide some crucial missing data for what have been
largely speculative reconstructions.
Lipschits, for example, exposes the different histories that are ‘told’ by
the archaeological remains in the Benjamin territory vis-à-vis the Judah
territory and examines the Benjaminite traditions in the Bible versus the
Judaean traditions. His findings suggest a likely competition within Judah
itself between two cultural and political centres.15 Lipschits also
documents the relative stability that archaeological data discloses about
the Benjamin territory during the Babylonian period, including also the
time after the fall of Jerusalem. He notes in particular the stamps and
bullae in Mizpah (Tel en-Nasbeh) during that period and the change
reflected in the sharp increase of Yehud stamps during the Persian period,
when Jerusalem begins to claim (or reclaim?) authority. The demographic
studies he presents for the two areas suggest stability in Benjamin
throughout the Babylonian period, but a sharp decline in population in
the areas near Jerusalem around the time of the destruction of the temple.
Looking, in addition, at the biblical accounts, especially Jeremiah and 2
Kings, Lipschits highlights the differences in policy vis-à-vis the
Babylonians that seem to represent the two areas. Benjamin apparently
only began to decline in the fifth century BCE, when Judah and Jerusalem
began to recover. Moreover, one can see from Lipschits’s findings that
there were significant political as well as material differences between
Judah and Benjamin in the Babylonian and Persian periods.
Consequently, one may also conclude that the rebuilding of Jerusalem
may not have been altogether welcomed by those in Benjamin. The
tension with the ‘peoples in the land’ now can be understood in yet an
additional way, as a possible tension specifically with some residents from
the territory of Benjamin.
Even though Lipschits himself does not make this point (and may
disagree with it), one can gain, as a result of his work, a new perspective
on the emphatic references to Benjamin in EN, especially in the first
chapters of EN (see the emphasis on Judah and Benjamin, beginning with
Ezra 1.5). The writer(s) of EN may be attempting to reconcile competing
traditions or to imply there was no tension with a shift from the
Benjaminite political and cultic centre to that of Jerusalem in Judah.
New studies and syntheses of archaeological data, not only of Judah
but also of Samaria, have been especially important. Let me call attention
to the integration of some of these studies into the work by Ingrid Hjelm
(2000) and Gary Knoppers (2006). As Knoppers points out in his article
on Samaria, material culture analysis shows a stable economic and
15 Let me acknowledge in this connection the earlier work of Joseph Blenkinsopp, whose
studies of the Bethel traditions have explored the tension between Judah and Benjamin with
respect to the ascendancy of Jerusalem (e.g., Blenkinsopp 2006).
demographic pattern for Samaria in the seventh and sixth centuries; it also
indicates that Samaria shared linguistic and other cultural features with
Judah in the Persian period. Samaria had remained stable while Judah
suffered devastation. This imbalance between the two provinces can
account for tension in the political arena between Judah and Samaria
during the Persian period. Knoppers’ work brings back to the fore the
likelihood of conflict with Samaria as a Persian-period issue, and provides
compelling evidence in support of a reassessment. The presence of a
strong, better entrenched, Samaria can explain the resistance to unity with
Samaria that EN expresses.
2. Close Analysis of Biblical Texts

Important contributions in the twenty-first century have already been
made with close exegetical analyses of specific biblical texts. Using EN as
a focal point, let me highlight two monographs. One is Michael W.
Duggan’s The Covenant Renewal in Ezra Nehemiah (2001). Duggan
analyses Nehemiah 8–10 through five methodological lenses to see how
the material unfolds. He also connects this material intertextually with
other writings. Duggan’s translation, textual criticism, literary analysis,
lexical examination and thematic summary meticulously explore the final
form of the text. The work is as thorough and comprehensive as one could
hope for. The nuances of each phrase and its relationship to the larger
units are so fully and fairly presented that future studies now have a solid
basis upon which to stand with regard to these issues.
The other book is Jacob L. Wright’s Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah
Memoir and its Earliest Readers (2004). This close exegetical reading of
the Nehemiah Memoir re-evaluates, among other things, the processes by
which EN came into being and also, by inference, how other biblical
books came into being. The book illustrates how the formation of texts
might also serve to rebuild communal identity. These two types of close
exegetical readings are radically different from one another and focus on
different texts and questions with different results, yet both exemplify
important contributions and directions for future work by a new
generation of scholars; they also model ways to extend such analyses to
other texts.
3. Sources for the Study of the So-Called ‘Restoration’ Period16

I am genuinely puzzled by frequent scholarly references to the Persian
period as ‘a dark age’. It seems, rather, that we have more information for
this era than for the earlier periods we associate with ancient Israel. For
one thing, we have large portions of the Bible that are either Persian or, at
the latest, Hellenistic. When read critically, these can shed invaluable light
on the ideology, and at times history, of the period. Furthermore, we have
an immense body of datable archaeological and literary data from the
wider region. In addition to the ancient Near Eastern sources, we have
material from the Levant and also Greek and Egyptian sources, including
the documents from Elephantine, which are not only datable but directly
relevant. Perhaps more importantly, we have for the Persian period more
sources than any one scholar or a group of scholars can assess and
integrate.
In Exile and Restoration, Ackroyd identifies three necessary sources for
the study of the era: the biblical text, archaeology and the wealth of
Greek, Persian, Babylonian and Egyptian material. His own analysis in
that book, however, focuses mainly on the biblical text, although he does
interact with the other sources as well. More recent work, such as Lester
Grabbe’s book Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian (1992), shows that you
cannot even begin to talk about the Persian period without engaging these
diverse sources from other locations: Greece, Egypt and the larger Persian
Empire. Fortunately, this recognition will not go away, and books, such
as that of Grabbe, bring the panoply of available and relevant sources
readily to the scholar’s attention.
Thankfully, we now also have a plethora of newly published primary, as
well as secondary, collections to help us with these riches. I am thinking,
for example, of Pierre Briant’s indispensable volume on the Persian
Empire (2002), as well as his subsequent bibliographies, some of which
appear on the internet. We also have André Lemaire’s work, for example,
on the Edomites (1996), and Josette Elayi (1987) on aspects of the Levant.
The Elephantine documents are now available all together in a critical
edition by Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni (TADAE, 1). Among the new
generation of scholars, Lisbeth Fried (2004) brings together a wide range
of material in her attempt to understand the role of the priesthood. Her
compilation of relevant sources for the question is most helpful.
With what can best be described as a surplus of information, the new
16 In this paper I continue to use the term ‘restoration’, because Ackroyd used it for his
title. Let me note, however, that I do not consider the postexilic period a time of restoration
but rather one of radical reconstruction, under the rubric of restoration (hence, the quotation
marks around the term). Ackroyd himself, of course, was well aware of this radical change in
postexilic Judah.
challenge is to know how to bring the scholarship of ancient Mesopotamia

and the Mediterranean region to bear responsibly and effectively on
biblical studies. This brings me to my fourth point, reflecting on new
developments.
4. Collaborative Scholarship
One of the exciting twenty-first-century developments is collaborative
scholarship. It functions as a creative response to the fact that we have
more sources than any one person can assess and integrate.We already
have had effective gathering of scholars from diverse fields in the twentieth
century in workshops, such as ‘The Achaemenid History Workshops’
organized by Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg (e.g., Sancisi-Weerdenburg
1987; Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Kuhrt 1987; Kuhrt and Sancisi-
Weerdenburg 1988) and those convened through the work of the editors
of the journal Transeuphrate`ne. We now have in the twenty-first century
more focused examples that already demonstrate how valuable such a
format can be. Let me give three examples. First, the SBL ‘Symposium on
the Persian Authorization of the Torah’ in 2000 brought together scholars
representing diverse fields, including Assyriology, Egyptology and biblical
studies, to evaluate one issue from diverse perspectives. The important
results of their deliberations appear in Persia and Torah: The Theory of
Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch (Watts 2001).
Second, there have been three symposia on Judah that Oded Lipschits
organized, together with Joseph Blenkinsopp, Manfred Oeming, Rainer
Albertz and Gary Knoppers, which likewise brought together scholars
from different fields to explore different facets of the literature and history
of Judah at the different stages. The results of these congresses have
appeared in the books titled Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian
Period (Lipschits and Blenkinsopp 2003); Judah and the Judeans in the
Persian Period (Lipschits and Oeming 2006), and Judah and the Judeans in
the Fourth Century BCE (Lipschits, Knoppers and Albertz 2007). The
published papers from these symposia are part of an ongoing conversa-
tion that began as a face-to-face dialogue in which scholars have been able
to receive direct feedback so that the richness of the perception can be
significantly enhanced prior to publication of their conclusions.
Third, collaborative research took a different form among young
scholars who examine the question of the unity and disunity of EN. I am
referring to a book on this subject that Mark Boda proposed and co-edits,
in which a new generation of scholars respond to a central question. In
this case the contributors electronically commented on one another’s
papers before submitting the final version of their work (Boda and
Redditt 2008). These essays then receive formal responses from senior
scholars, creating a focused inter-generational dialogue. This type of

collaboration and the dialogue that it generates are not only helpful but
necessary; they bode well for the advances we may make in the future.
5. The Torah
Heated scholarly debates on all facets of the formation of the Pentateuch
continue. I sometimes think that my fundamentalist friends would be
quite happy with these results, because critical scholars reject each other’s
hypotheses so emphatically, and put forth such strong evidence in support
of competing positions, that every era sooner or later is rigorously
disqualified as a plausible context for the formation of the Torah/
Pentateuch. Scholars have been successful in marshalling evidence that
‘proves’ that the Torah/Pentateuch could not be a product of the pre-
exilic era, could not be a Persian-period document (‘Judah was too poor’)
or could not be Hellenistic. We are running out of eras in which the
composition could be located. These accumulative negations may push
scholarship into concluding that no late era could possibly give birth to
this complex document. Such a conclusion might be most welcomed by
some who ascribe the origin of the Torah to a supernatural source in the
pre-exilic era.
More seriously, however, although the Persian period is now considered
an even more decisive context for the formation of the Pentateuch than in
the past (even when one places the final form in the Hellenistic era), there
is no growing consensus regarding the dates, formation, processes of
composition or purposes of the Pentateuch. It is not possible even to
touch on key developments such as new and evolving understanding of
Leviticus, for example. But I would like to highlight one significant
contribution to that discussion: The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for
Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance, edited by Gary N.
Knoppers and Bernard M. Levinson (2007).17 As the title suggests, this
collection of essays (emerging from the International Meeting of the SBL
in 2006), reviews current thinking on ‘How, When, Where, and Why Did
the Pentateuch Become the Torah’ (Knoppers and Levinson 2007: 1–22).
It addresses a panoply of pertinent questions, such as the ratifying of law
codes in antiquity, the ancient Mediterranean context, the growing
importance of writing, issues of translation as well as hermeneutics and
more.
A key contemporary issue regarding the Torah is whether the fifth
17 Although the book appeared in November 2007, after the session honouring Peter
Ackroyd took place and after this paper has gone to the editors, its significance for the topic
at hand makes mention of this book essential, even though, alas, it is too late to comment on
the specific essays.
century BCE constitutes a major culmination point for the Pentateuch or

just the beginning of its formation. I will, therefore, focus on one aspect of
this question: the relationship between the Persian government and the
literary developments in Judah. Peter Frei’s theory of ‘Imperial
Authorization of the Torah’ (1995) is especially noteworthy for discussing
the formation of the Torah/Pentateuch. This theory explicitly shaped
early discussions and implicitly continues to shape numerous interpret-
ations of the postexilic era and the meaning of the so-called return. Even
works that do not even cite it, nonetheless construct the history of the
period in accordance with his theory (e.g., Berquist 1995). However, in
that important SBL symposium in 2000 on ‘The Persian Authorization of
the Torah’, scholars representing diverse fields, including Assyriology,
Egyptology and biblical studies, systematically dismantled Frei’s theory.
By the time the last speaker, J. L. Ska (2001), finished his pointed critique,
nothing much was left of this particular theory.
While Frei’s influential theory has been essentially and effectively
deconstructed, the question itself, about the relationships between Persian
authority and events in Judah, remains a vital one. New approaches in the
new century, such as colonial and post-colonial studies or studies of
cultural identity, have a great deal to contribute. It is, after all, the case
that regardless of how one dates the material in the Pentateuch/Torah,
whether primarily as pre-exilic, exilic, postexilic or Hellenistic, there is no
question that important aspects of it took shape during the Persian
period. And, to the extent that the content of a work is heavily influenced
by its context, conclusions about the nature of the Persian period continue
to be weighty and shape scholarly discourse.
Several interesting angles of vision for assessing the relationship
between the Pentateuch and the reforms depicted in EN have been
proposed, each with a distinct perspective on the role of the Persian
government. In his very interesting book, Genesis: Procreation and the
Politics of Identity (2000), Mark Brett raises the question of ethnicity as a
lens for interpreting Genesis. He focuses on the issues of mixed marriages
in EN as an important factor. Like Jon Berquist (1995), Kenneth Hoglund
(1992) and Daniel Smith (1989), Brett examines the reforms of Ezra and
Nehemiah, but the conclusions of these scholars diverge dramatically.
Berquist sees the Torah as an extension of the strong arm of the Persian
Empire, now imposed by Ezra and Nehemiah on an indigenous
population that resists it. The Torah, according to him, was initiated by
the Persian imperial authorities and constitutes a decisive aspect of their
micro-management of the province. However, it seems to me that
Berquist’s conclusions run into some serious problems. As Ska (2001)
points out when examining the question of the Torah as a Persian-period
instrument, one can ask: how come the Torah does not reflect Persian
interests and even conflicts with them (such as its claim that God gave the
land to Israel, not to the empire)? And how come Judah alone ends up
with a book, such as the Torah, and not, say Moab, if these measures were
a universal or typical Persian policy?
Hoglund suggests that the prohibition of foreign marriage in EN served
related interests regarding imperial social control. He sees the focus on
genealogical purity as a means for establishing the legitimacy of land
tenure, thereby asserting control of land and property. What is helpful
about Hoglund’s work is that it has made clear the need to examine more
fully the connections between the theology or ideology and the socio-
economic considerations of the Judaean restoration. Smith also attends to
administrative and imperial ideology but concludes the reverse. The ban
on so-called mixed marriages, Smith argues, constitutes a form of
resistance to imperial control by a subjugated people. I mention these late
twentieth-century works in order to provide a context for what Brett
accomplishes in his book.
Brett picks up these earlier views when he identifies resistance to Persian
authority and colonizing power, but locates the resistance in the book of
Genesis. In contrast to Smith, Brett writes that Genesis is in fact ‘a
reaction against policies promulgated by the Persian sponsored govern-
ors’, and, thus, ‘a case of resistance to state-imposed ethnocentrism’ (Brett
2000: 142). One can ask of Brett’s thesis: why does EN portray Ezra as the
one who establishes the Torah as authoritative, if one of its key books,
Genesis, is a form of resistance to Ezra’s reforms?18 One must pose a more
difficult question: are there signs that the Persian Empire practised state-
imposed ethnocentrism elsewhere? The answer to this question is ‘No’.
Hoglund’s thesis notwithstanding, such evidence is not merely lacking
but is, in fact, contradicted by what we know. Similar ethnocentric
emphasis is documented for Judah and classical Athens, not for other
groups. Whatever the causes of EN’s measures, the parallels with Athens,
and Athens alone, preclude ascribing their origin to Persian imperial
policies. For this, and several other reasons, Knoppers’ conclusions about
Samaria in the Persian period appear all the more attractive as an impetus
for some of Judah’s ethnocentric measures. Knoppers’ description of
Samaria’s position as the more stable and dominant culture in the region
can account for the returnees’ (or newcomers’) policies. The ethnocen-
trism of EN can be regarded as an attempt to resist the dominant culture
in which the returnees find themselves (see also Smith).
Regardless of which construct convinces the scholar, what can be said
with a measure of confidence is that EN portrays itself as a culture of
resistance.It is worthwhile to recall in this connection the observation by
Daniel Boyarin that there is no such thing as a cultural unspecificity. In
18 It is, of course, possible to answer the question by supposing that Ezra’s Torah does
not include Genesis.
cases of a minority, such as the community as it portrays itself in EN, lack

of boundaries means merging with the dominant culture (Boyarin 1994:
8).19 That culture could be the wider Persian Empire or that of its
neighbour Samaria. EN’s ethnocentric agenda can be understood,
therefore, as a struggle for identity in the midst of a sea of more powerful
nationalities.
This said, let me hasten to add that I am very impressed by Brett’s
methods of exploration and by his logical conclusions, even when I think
that other or additional legitimate conclusions can be derived from the
same methodologies, presuppositions and data. In addition, I greatly
value in Brett’s approach the questions that he asks, including those he
asks of himself. He explicitly considers to what extent his own subjectivity
as a white, male, Australian Protestant (of a particular kind) has an
impact on how he reads these texts (Brett 2000: 3–5). He then works his
way to an answer by questioning and examining each one of these factors
before offering a nuanced answer to the question.20 In assessing his own
‘social location’ Brett both illumines the questions that all of us in this
post-modern reality need to be asking and models some of the ways we
can weigh the relevant issues as critical scholars.
6. New Emphases and Approaches

The use of social-scientific approaches, such as cultural anthropology and
sociology, especially studies of ethnicity and identity, is particularly
important, I believe. Unfortunately, as is often the case with the use of
Babylonian, Greek or Egyptian sources, biblical scholars sometime skim
off the top, latch on to trendy models and apply them somewhat naively
to the material at hand. Jacques Berlinerblau (1999) has offered a forceful,
legitimate critique of the misappropriation of social-scientific methodolo-
gies and his critique applies to many studies dealing with the Persian
period. But I do believe that sensitive post-colonial studies, for example,
are relevant, among others. Therefore, Brett’s work strikes me as a
significant contribution as well as a promising new direction.
Berquist’s essay, ‘Constructions of Identity in Postcolonial Yehud’
(2006), is an interesting foray into the questions of ethnicity. Drawing
upon an impressive array of studies from social studies, Berquist reviews
the various attempts to discuss identity critically. He rightly notes how
slippery the terms have become when one seeks to understand the notion
19 I thank Mark Brett for calling attention to this statement (2000: 141–2).
20 This scholarly self-reflection contrasts with the answer by an author of a highly
politicized book on the subject. When asked whether his nationality, religion, gender or class
had any bearing on the way he read the text, that scholar without hesitation answered
emphatically ‘No’.
of identity, either as ethnicity or as nationality, religion or role. Berquist

also explores chaos theory as a possible approach. As is often the case in
the analysis of complex models, Berquist successfully illustrates the
problems with each of these models and the studies that emerged from
them. But he does not succeed as well in proposing an alternative to them.
In other words, the deconstruction is effective but the construction is
problematic.
In discussing the terminology for the inhabitants of Yehud, Berquist
writes that scholarship ‘has tended to ignore such questions, thus using the
term without attention to the important assumptions about what it would
mean to be a Judean’ (2006: 53–4). He contends that we should realize
that every Judaean was also inevitably a Persian and then proceeds to
investigate this double identity. However, even if we set aside the emic/etic
distinction (that is, the question of whether we are dealing with the criteria
of ‘Judaean-ness’ that make sense to us or those that would make sense to
Judaeans themselves), there are still several persisting problems within
scholarly usage of the ‘identity’ as Berquist develops the concept.
One of the problems I see with the specifics of Berquist’s analysis is that
its starting point ignores the markers of identity that the sources in this era
offer. Biblical texts and the Elephantine documents, for example, have
much to say on the subject when one follows these markers, such as when
the same individual, Mahseiah, refers to himself as yehudi in one
document (see AP, 6.3) and as arami in another (see AP, 5.2), but never
as Persian or, for that matter, Egyptian.We need not, of course, naively
rely on such self-designation as conclusive. But the meanings of such self-
designations and the shifts that they divulge, need to be part of the
discussion for the Persian period. To impose certain theoretical models
before unpacking such evidence and ‘hearing’ what the voices from the
past say on this subject risks reproducing, once again (rhetoric to the
contrary notwithstanding), the kind of colonizing of the text à la Edward
Said’s critique.
7. Conclusions
In the conclusion to Exile and Restoration, Ackroyd (1968: 256) writes:
My study of the Old Testament – as I tried to show in my inaugural
lecture in London – increasingly makes me aware of the richness of its
thought and the diversity of its patterns . . . I have tried to trace some of
the patterns of thought to avoid drawing of precise lines where it seems
better to indicate similarities and differences. I am conscious that this is
only a beginning but hope that it may have served to draw out
something of the wealth of thought and the importance of that great
century.
Continuing to explore this diversity through different methodologies and

questions, and in critical, fair yet passionate manner, may be the best
tribute we can offer to Ackroyd’s memory.
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Brett, Mark
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1997 ‘Razed Temple and Shattered Vessels: Continuities and
Discontinuities in the Discourses of Exile in the Hebrew
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1998 ‘Exile? What Exile? Deportation and the Discourses of
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1993 ‘Current Perspectives on Ezra-Nehemiah and the Persian
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2004 The Priest and the Great King: Temple–Palace Relations in
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(Achaemenid History, 1; Leiden: Nederlands Instituut
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Sancisi-Weerdenburg, Heleen, and Amélie Kuhrt (eds)
1987 The Greek Sources: Proceedings of the Groningen 1984
Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History, 2;
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Ska, Jean Louis
2001 ‘ ‘‘Persian Imperial Authorization’’: Some Question Marks’,
in Persia and Torah: The Theory of Imperial Authorization of
the Pentateuch (SBLSymS, 17; Atlanta: SBL): 161–82.
Smith, Daniel
1989 The Religion of the Landless: The Social Context of the
Babylonian Exile (Bloomington, IN: Meyer Stone Books).
Stern, Ephraim
1982 Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian
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Warminster: Aris & Phillips).
Watts, James W. (ed.)
2001 Persia and Torah: The Theory of Imperial Authorization of
the Pentateuch (SBLSymS, 17; Atlanta: SBL).
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2004 Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah Memoir and Its Earliest
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Chapter 5
JESHUA’S ‘HIGH PRIESTLY’ LINEAGE? A REASSESSMENT OF

NEHEMIAH 12.10-11
Deirdre N. Fulton (Pennsylvania State University)
1. Introduction
Among the biblical accounts of the Persian-period settlement and
occupation of Judah, Nehemiah 11–12 contains a number of lists that
recount the people who settled in Jerusalem, a record of settlements
around the region of Judah, lists of temple personnel in Jerusalem, and
catalogues of people associated with the dedication of the walls of
Jerusalem. Nehemiah 12.1-11 is particularly significant since it focuses on
the priests and Levites who came out from the exiled Jewish community in
Babylon with Zerubbabel during the kingship of Darius I.1 Within this
priestly and Levitical material, Neh. 12.10-11 provides six names listed in
a linear genealogical format, beginning with Jeshua and extending to
Jaddua. This genealogy is commonly interpreted as a list of the high
priests in the Persian period. As such, the list is taken as one of the
primary building blocks for constructing the chronology of the postexilic
era. Yet there are several issues concerning this genealogy, particularly in
relation to its length, which following Josephus’s chronology for these
priests spans a period of approximately 200 years.2 There are also
differences in Jeshua’s genealogy in 12.10-11, extending to Jaddua,
compared to the shorter genealogy in 12.22, beginning with Eliashib and
continuing to Jaddua. Additionally, Neh. 12.23 and Ezra 10.6 list
Johanan as the son of Eliashib. These divergences are significant because
of the importance many scholars place on the lineages of Neh. 12.10-11
and 12.22 for reconstructing the history of Persian-period Yehud.
Jeshua’s lineage has drawn much attention in recent biblical scholar-
1 1 Esd. 5.5-6 places Zerubbabel’s return in the second year of Darius I, which dates to c.
520 BCE.
2 Jeshua is said to have returned with Zerubbabel and according to Josephus, Jaddua,
the last name in the genealogy, served as a high priest during the reign of Alexander the
Great, c. 333 BCE (Ant. 11.317).
FULTON Jeshua’s ‘High Priestly’ Lineage? 95
ship, particularly by F. M. Cross (1975; 1998) Klaus Koch (2001), H. G.

M. Williamson (1977; 1985), Joseph Blenkinsopp (1988) and James
VanderKam (2004). These scholars attempt to solve the problem of the
lengthy tenures of these proposed ‘high priests’ in light of various
considerations in order to reconstruct the chronology of the high
priesthood and understand the compositional process of the Nehemiah
material. One of the chief issues in dealing with the interpretation of
genealogies in Nehemiah 12 (12.10-11 and 12.22-23) is the discrepancies in
the two sections dealing with priestly succession. Several solutions have
been proposed to address these major issues. Cross (1975), Koch (2001),
Williamson (1985; 1977) and Blenkinsopp (1988) all argue that the lists are
incomplete and offer different hypotheses to resolve the chronological
issues, including papponymy and textual haplography (Cross 1975), the
intentional omission of names from an earlier version of the list (Koch
2001) and the possibility that these lists were never complete (Williamson
1985; 1977; Blenkinsopp 1988). At the other end of the spectrum,
VanderKam argues for the fundamental accuracy of the list (1991; 2004).
While all of these interpretations admirably attempt to resolve difficult
chronological issues, they are all based on the assumption that this is a
high priestly list in genealogical dress. Such an important assumption
requires greater scrutiny. When one examines the form and structure of
Neh. 12.10-11, one immediately encounters a challenge. The lineage of
Neh. 12.10-11 is problematic, because it does not include any titles for any
of the names it presents.3 Nor does the context suggest that this text is a
high priestly succession in the form of a genealogy. Hence, the widely
accepted theory that the lineage comprises a high priestly list may be
challenged. The traditional scholarly view fails to provide a seamless
solution to the problems inherent within these much-discussed verses.
Instead, I will argue that Neh. 12.10-11 is a priestly lineage and, as such, is
not a high priestly succession list. The offices of priest and high priest are
never mentioned in this genealogy and some of the names appearing in the
lineage are never mentioned as high priests in other biblical contexts.
While exploring these two genealogies (Neh. 12.10-11 and 12.22), it is
necessary to raise some additional considerations, such as the broader
literary context within which the lineages appear (Nehemiah 11–12), the
appearance of some of these names in other places, the varying uses of
linear genealogies in antiquity, the testimony of Josephus and the
immediate literary context of Neh. 12.1-9. It is also important to examine
whether the genealogies are clearly defined by headings, titles, concluding
3 Japhet (1982: 82–3) also observes this phenomenon, but adds that for Jeshua, ‘the
position as high priest is made clear in the list of priests, in which he appears as the first of the
high priests (Neh 12.10)’. Japhet thereby supports the traditional interpretation of this
material.
comments and the like. Are they simply a sequence of names joined by
‘begats’ or are they accompanied by headings, anecdotes and historical
details that contextualize the genealogies themselves? Are the lineages
constructed in a clear, well-defined way with explanatory notes provided
for the reader or are they constructed in a terse, somewhat ambiguous way
that leaves sufficient room for interpretation? Finally, one of the major
questions that arises from the study of genealogies composed in the
postmonarchic period is: how do they fit (or not fit) into the larger work at
hand?4
2. Jeshua’s Genealogy: The History of the Debate

One of the common disputes concerning the interpretation of Neh. 12.10-
11 is the length of the priestly genealogy, which includes only six names
but spans approximately 200 years (following the standard reconciliation
of the biblical data with the presentation of Josephus). The MT of Neh.
12.10-11 states: ‘Jeshua begat Joiakim, Joiakim begat Eliashib, Eliashib
begat Joiada, Joiada begat Jonathan, Jonathan begat Jaddua’.5 An
additional issue is the contrast between the longer genealogy of 12.10-11
and the (what is oftentimes proposed as) the second ‘high priestly’
genealogy of 12.22 (see most recently VanderKam 2004). Nehemiah
12.10-11 lists Jeshua, Joiakim, Eliashib, Joiada, Jonathan and Jaddua.
But Neh. 12.22 begins with Eliashib, the third name in 12.10, and then
lists Joiada, Johanan, and Jaddua. The name Johanan does not appear in
12.11, but it does appear in 12.22 as the son of Joiada. Johanan is also
mentioned in Neh. 12.23 and also Ezra 10.6 as the son of Eliashib.6 For
those arguing that Neh. 12.10-11 is a high priestly succession, the
discrepancy between Neh. 12.10-11 and 12.22-23 renders the exact
sequence of high priests in the Persian period somewhat uncertain.
4 There are several scholars, who have dealt with many of the lists in question,
particularly with regard to how they may affect larger questions in the composition of Ezra,
Nehemiah and Chronicles. See Williamson (1982); Eskenazi (1988); Japhet (1993); Knoppers
(2003; 2004), to name a few.
5 In 12.10-11, the normal pattern is ‘x was the father of y, and y the father of z’. But in
the case of Eliashib, dylwh (‘the father of’) is missing from the MT and the LXX. This could be
a case of haplography, in which the hip‘il pf (3 ms) form of the verb was simply skipped or
lost in textual transmission. The verb does appear in a few Hebrew MSS, the Syriac and the
Vulgate. One question that arises from this text-critical consideration is how much material
may be missing. That the LXX agrees with the MT, in this case, is important, because the MT
and the LXX exhibit significant divergences in Neh. 11.13–12.9.
6 Scholars arguing for the primacy of the order in Neh. 12.22 (Johanan is the grandson
of Eliashib) point out that there are several examples of biblical genealogies glossing over
certain generations in order to make connections between specific people. See Johnson (1988)
and Wilson (1977).
Several important interpretations have been offered in an attempt to

solve the problem of the lengthy tenures of the figures (commonly
understood to be high priests), who appear in Neh. 12.10-11. Both Cross
and Koch offer emendations to the material in 12.10-11.
Proposals for Emendations and Additions to Neh. 12.10-11

MT and LXX Cross’s Proposed High Koch’s Proposed High
Neh. 12.10-11 Lineage Priestly Genealogy7 Priestly Genealogy8
Jeshua Jeshua (b. c. 570) Jeshua

Joiakim Joiakim (b. c. 545) Joiakim
Eliashib [Eliashib I (b. c. 545)] 9 [Meremoth]
Joiada [Johanan I (b. c. 520)] [Ezra]
Jonathan Eliashib II (b. c. 495) Eliashib
Jaddua Joiada (b. c. 470) Joiada
Johanan II (b. c. 445) Jonathan
Jaddua II (b. c. 420) 10 Jaddua
[Johanan III (b. c. 395)] [Shelemiah]
[Jaddua III (b. c. 370)]
To begin with the hypothesis of Cross, it offers a chronology of the high

priests and their dates of birth as well as those of their (political)
contemporaries. In this manner, he systematically attempts to clarify the
tenure of each high priest (Cross 1975: 17). His projected date of birth for
Jeshua, the first high priest listed, is the same projected date of birth as
that of the Judaean governor Zerubbabel’s birth (c. 570 BCE). He situates
the date of birth of Jaddua, the final name in the sequence, around 420
BCE. Observing that the generational span of each priest was longer than
would be expected (around 34.5 years per generation), Cross inserts an
extra Eliashib and a Johanan (both lost in textual transmission), bringing
the average length of a generation down to 27.5 years. But, this length of
tenure is still too long (for Cross). He thus inserts another Johanan and
7 The bracketed names are Cross’s proposed additions to the genealogy (1975: 17).
8 The bracketed names represent Koch’s additions to his compilation of high priests.
9 Cross posits that Joiakim and Eliashib I are brothers rather than father and son. This
reconstruction highlights another problem in the standard high-priestly interpretation. For
the late sixth and early fifth centuries, there are several names (hence Cross makes one pair
brothers, rather than successors) in comparison with the late fifth and fourth centuries for
which there are fewer names. See further below.
10 The reason why Cross begins with Jaddua II and seemingly has no Jaddua I is because
‘yaddūa( is the qattūl hyporcoristicon, a caritative of Yôyādā(’ (1975: 6 n. 12). Thus, Cross’s
theory of papponymy also applies to Jaddua.
Jaddua at the end of the list, bringing the total number of priests to 10 (25
years per generation). Cross hypothesizes that certain names are no longer
present in the genealogy, because of a series of accidental haplographies
occasioned by the repetition of names. The list was especially vulnerable
to copyist(s) losing names because of the phenomenon of papponymy,
when a child is named after his grandfather.11 Thus, Cross restores certain
names in the belief that the unusually long tenure of these priests is itself
evidence of textual loss (especially in the names pertaining to the fourth
century BCE). Simply put, Cross does not think that the present text of
Neh. 12.10-11 and 22 displays the right number of generations. His
reconstruction reduces both the average priestly lifespan and the average
tenure of each high priest to what he considers to be a more reasonable
figure. Regarding the Jonathan/Johanan debate, Cross argues for the
accuracy of Neh. 12.22 over 12.11. In short, Johanan is the more accurate
reading and Jonathan represents a scribal error.
One strength of Cross’s reconstruction is that he addresses the
differences between Neh. 12.10-11 and 12.22-23. Cross posits that the
first three names in Neh. 12.10 (Jeshua, Joiakim, and Eliashib) and the last
three names in Neh. 12.22 (Joiada, Johanan and Jaddua) are correct, but
some names are missing in the middle and at the end. He also attempts to
explain the discrepancies between Neh. 12.22 and 12.23, that is, whether
Johanan was the son or grandson of Eliashib by conjecturing both.
Another advantage of his reconstruction is that he addresses the problem
of the lengthy high priestly tenures. To his credit, he attempts to solve the
problem of the compression of names in the sixth and fifth centuries BCE,
and the fact that there are too few names dating to the fourth century BCE.
Although Cross’s thesis is an attractive solution to the few names and long
tenure of the priests mentioned in the lists, it is built on the supposition
that material repeatedly fell out of an originally much longer genealogy.
While there are several examples of papponymy attested from Persian-
period documents,12 it is difficult to assume, based on Neh. 12.10-11, 22
and 23 that the genealogy was afflicted not once but repeatedly by
haplography in the course of its transmission.
Like Cross, Koch confronts the lengthy tenure of certain priests. He
draws attention to the lack of a priestly designation in Neh. 12.10-11, but
argues that v. 10 probably included the title lwdgh Nhkh, ‘the great
priest’, in the genealogy’s original form. Nevertheless, the title was later
suppressed by a redactor (Koch 2001: 109). According to Koch, this
suppression was due to the struggle for the high priesthood during the
11 Citing the Samaria papyri and certain Ammonite inscriptions, Cross (1974: 21; 1975:
5) argues that papponymy appears in many of the elite ruling families during the Persian
period.
12 For other examples of papponymy, see Mazar (1957) and Porten (2001: 332–61).
Second Temple period, when Jeshua’s descendants were ‘dethroned’ first

by Meremoth and then by Ezra upon his arrival in Jerusalem.13 Koch
contends that because Ezra, as well as Meremoth (8.33), is called Nhkh
(‘the priest’, Ezra 10.10, 16-18) instead of just Nhk (‘priest’), this title
(Nhkh) should be interpreted as a title for the high priest in Chronicles,
Ezra and Nehemiah.14 After Ezra was no longer present, the high
priesthood returned to the family of Jeshua (Koch 2001: 100). In an
attempt to harmonize the Neh. 12.10-11 (high priestly) genealogy with the
supposed high priesthood of Meremoth and Ezra, Koch inserts the names
of Meremoth and Ezra into the larger list. In so doing, Koch supposes
that intentional haplography occurred in this genealogy. Since he believes
Nhkh (‘the priest’) is a title for the high priest, he also has to place
Shelemiah, a relatively obscure character, who is only mentioned in Neh.
13.13, into the list as well. Yet, it is not altogether clear, when Koch thinks
Shelemiah served as high priest.
Williamson (1985: 363; also 1977: 60–4) represents a third position in
this debate, maintaining that the list in Neh. 12.10-11 should not be
viewed as complete. He also cautions against assuming that the discrep-
ancy between Jonathan and Johanan is a simple error. He follows
Mowinckel (1964: 152–3) in asserting that there is more than simply a
spelling difference between Jonathan in 12.11 and Johanan in 12.22 and
23. There is also a difference in their position: Jonathan was the grandson
of Eliashib in 12.11 and Johanan in 12.22, but in 12.23 Johanan was the
son of Eliashib (Williamson 1985: 363). Since Williamson argues the list in
12.10-11 is incomplete, he does not have to reconcile these differences and
in fact, argues that Johanan should be regarded as Eliashib’s son, not his
grandson (1985: 152).
The position of Blenkinsopp (1988) both resembles and differs from
that of Williamson. Blenkinsopp affirms that Neh. 12.10-11 represents a
high priestly succession beginning with Jeshua and continuing through
Jaddua. Rather than positing that names are missing from Neh. 12.10-11,
he states: ‘A simpler solution is that the list is incomplete, and that the
compiler has arranged the names known to him in the usual form of a
linear genealogy’ (1988: 338). Blenkinsopp (1988: 338) also argues that
there could have been periods of political crisis when the office was left
vacant during the Persian period. Like Williamson, Blenkinsopp sees the
13 Meremoth is referred to in Ezra 8.33 as the Nhkh (‘the priest’). On the same title (with
the article), see also 2 Chron. 22.11; 23.8, 9, 14; 24.2, 20, 25; 34.14, 18; Ezra 10.39; 13.4.
According to Koch (2001: 106–8), the Meremoth mentioned in Neh. 12.3 differs from the one
found in Ezra 8.33.
14 Koch notes the important role Ezra, the scribe and priest, plays within the book of
Ezra. Koch also argues that all of the men mentioned in Ezra’s genealogy (7.1-5) functioned
as high priests. Thus, Nhkh ‘ascribes to him the position of highest priest in Jerusalem during
his stay in the holy city’ (2001: 107).
list as incomplete, but he contends that this is not a genealogical

succession. Rather, its importance lies in its being a high priestly list
constructed in a genealogical format.
VanderKam counters the theories of Cross, Koch, Williamson and
Blenkinsopp, contending that this genealogy is a complete list of high
priests. He does, however, point out that Jonathan, as listed in Neh. 12.11,
is not what is found in Josephus, but rather Johanan. VanderKam (2004:
54) prefers to follow the reading in Neh. 12.22 based on several pieces of
evidence, including Josephus’s Antiquities (11.7). He also argues for the
primacy of Johanan against Jonathan because of the attestation of the
name in the Elephantine papyri, where Johanan is listed as a high priest
(Porten 1996: 140; TADAE A4.7). It is significant that Johanan (Nnxwy)
and Jonathan (Ntnwy) are very similar names and, according to
VanderKam, the second reading is simply a scribal error. In the end,
VanderKam’s argument highlights the paucity of evidence for a Jonathan
serving as high priest during the Persian period in both biblical and extra-
biblical sources. Thus, he argues that Neh. 12.10-11 is a realistic list of the
high priesthood, with the exception of the name Jonathan, which was
originally Johanan (VanderKam 2004: 55). He concludes: ‘Though the list
of high priests as given in Nehemiah and Antiquitites is a short one for a
period of slightly more than two hundred years, the six men who are said
to have held office could have served throughout those two centuries’
(2004: 99).
Although VanderKam draws attention to the limitations of Cross’s,
Williamson’s, and Koch’s arguments concerning these lists, one of the
biggest difficulties in his own argument is his assertion that only six high
priests served in a lengthy period extending from the first return of the
Babylonian captives to the time of Alexander the Great. While it is
feasible that certain priests could have had particularly long tenures, it is
also feasible that others would have had short tenures.15 The likelihood
that six generations in a row could span this amount of time, with a mean
tenure for each high priest around 34.5 years, is highly improbable.
Some perspective by which to judge the length of high priestly tenures in
the Persian period may be gained by briefly examining the regnal lengths
of the kings of Israel and Judah. According to Kings, there were 19 kings
for the northern Kingdom of Israel and 20 kings for the kingdom of
Judah. According to the internal chronology in 1 and 2 Kings, the
kingdom of Israel, from Jeroboam to Hoshea, spanned a period of 235.6
years and the kingdom of Judah, from Rehoboam to Zedekiah 392.5
years. Thus, the mean regnal length for the kingdom of Israel was 12.4
15 It is commonly argued by anthropologists that the average lifespan for people in the
ancient world was around 35 to 40 years of age.
years, while the mean regnal length for the kingdom of Judah was 19.6
years.16
The issue may be approached from another angle. Using the chron-
ology from 1 and 2 Kings, there are reigns of Judaean kings for six
generations in a row that span approximately the same length of time as
the six names in Jeshua’s genealogy:17
Longest Reigns for Six Contiguous Judaean Kings:
Length: 182 years Length: 197 years Length: 170 years

(mean = 30 years) (mean = 32.8 years) (mean = 28.3 years)
Joash (40 years) Amaziah (29 years) Azariah (52 years)

Amaziah (29 years) Azariah (52 years) Jotham (16 years)
Azariah (52 years) Jotham (16 years) Ahaziah (16 years)
Jotham (16 years) Ahaziah (16 years) Hezekiah (29 years)
Ahaziah (16 years) Hezekiah (29 years) Manasseh (55 years)
Hezekiah (29 years) Manasseh (55 years) Amon (2 years)
Although it is clear that there were periods of time when six kings could
reign for almost 200 years, it is important to note that the three kings who
reigned for the longest period of time all came to the throne at a young
age – Joash (7 years old), Azariah (16 years old) and Manasseh (12 years
old).18 Unless the high priest’s tenure could begin as a child or unless his
average lifespan was greater than the kings of Israel or Judah, it would
seem highly unlikely that the six names provided in Jeshua’s genealogy
could span approximately 200 years. There are no explicit examples of
high priests who are placed in the position as a young child or adolescent
(such as Joash or Manasseh). Nor is there any foundation for assuming
that high priests enjoyed longer lifespans than the kings of Judah. Hence,
it seems very unlikely that the three case studies outlined above strengthen
the claims of the reality of Neh. 12.10-11 constituting a high priestly
16 This average is based on the year total for the kings of Israel and Judah, according to
1 and 2 Kings. The average does not take into consideration the system of postdating and
antedating that occurred in Israel and Judah nor does it take into consideration the
differences between the MT and the LXX. For the sake of this comparison, I am following the
MT.
17 For the kings of Israel, the longest span of six kings lasted for 116 years: Azariah (2
years), Jehoram (12 years), Jehu (28 years), Jehoahaz (17 years), Jehoash (16 years) and
Jeroboam II (41 years).
18 VanderKam (2004: 98) contends that Jaddua, the last name in Jeshua’s genealogy,
could have been high priest for about 47 years, adding ‘a very long term but not as long as
that of some biblical kings’.
succession in genealogical dress. On the contrary, the case studies speak

against such long high-priestly tenures.
Additionally, the internal regnal chronology available from MT Kings
appears to be too long. Based on the reconstruction of Miller and Hayes
of the chronology (1986: 220–1; see also Miller 1967: 13) of the kings of
Israel and Judah, the kingdom of Israel lasted a total of 202 years
(Jeroboam to Hoshea), while the kingdom of Judah lasted a total of 338
years (from Rehoboam to Zedekiah). Thus, the mean regnal length for
Israel was 16.9 years, while the mean for Judah was 11.2 years. This brings
the mean regnal length of the kings of Israel down from 12.4 years to 11.2
and the mean regnal length of the kings of Judah down from 19.6 to 16.9.
With the amended chronology taken into consideration, it is even more
difficult to support the notion that six high priests could have held tenure
for a combined total of more than 200 years.
Josephus’s construction of the high priestly genealogy should not be
used to argue for the accuracy of Neh. 12.10-11. As Lester Grabbe (2004:
234) observes, in almost every case, Josephus did not have any
genealogical information in addition to what is found in the Bible.
Thus, it seems that Josephus had to have access to this material in
Nehemiah, because several names in Neh. 12.10-11 and 22 only appear in
this context.19 This is most evident for Joiakim, Joiada, Jonathan and
Jaddua, who only appear in the context of Nehemiah 12.20
Yet all of these interpretations are built on the assumption that this
genealogy is made up of high priests. An alternative line of interpretation
would be to construe this material as a genealogy of Jeshua’s family.
Viewing Neh. 12.10-11 as a lineage of Jeshua’s descendants, but not
strictly as a high priestly succession, removes some of the tensions that all
of these interpretations present. It also solves the problem of trying to
determine whether Johanan or Jonathan is the more correct reading in
Neh. 12.11, which scholars like Grabbe (1998: 61–2) and Williamson
(1985: 363) caution against emending. To be sure, this may be a scribal
error (Cross 1975; Rooke 2000; VanderKam 2004), but one has to inquire
how this would be possible. This scribal error would have taken place in
two stages. First metathesis would have had to occur, where two letters
were switched (the n switched places with t). Next, the scribe would have
had to mistake two letters (x/t). Since two major errors would have to
have occurred, this reduces the likelihood of a simple scribal lapse. In
19 This is significant for understanding the compositional history of Josephus’s work,

because he had more sources than just 1 Esdras when compiling his material on the
priesthood. There is no parallel material in 1 Esdras for Neh. 12.10-11 and 22-23.
20 Talshir (1999: 51–2) makes a case for Joiakim, who appears in 1 Esd. 5.5 as the son of
Zerubbabel, but argues it should be amended to the son of Jeshua because there is no known
son of Zerubbabel. The genealogy of 1 Chron. 3.17-24 is, however complicated. See
Knoppers (2004) on 1 Chronicles 3.
other words, one mistake is entirely possible, but there would have to be
actually two discrete steps in the transformation of the name.
3. The Composition of Jeshua’s Genealogy within Nehemiah

In order to argue that Neh. 12.10-11 is not a high priestly succession in
genealogical form, it is necessary to explore the function of Neh. 12.10-11
within the larger compositional framework of Nehemiah 11–12.21
Nehemiah 11 focuses on the priests, Levites, Judahites and Benjaminites
who settled in and around Jerusalem. Nehemiah 12 shifts focus to specific
activities of the priests and Levites.
Outline of Neh. 12.1-26:

12.1-11: Zerubbabel, Jeshua, and other important returnees
12.1a: Introduction of the return with Zerubbabel and Jeshua
12.1b-7: Heads of the priests
12.8-9: Heads of the Levites
12.10-11: Jeshua’s Genealogy
12.12-26: The heads of the priests and Levites during the time of
Joiakim
12.12-21: Heads of the priests
12.22-23: Eliashib’s Genealogy22
12.24-25: Heads of the Levites
12.26: Concluding remarks
Although the format and style of Neh. 12.10-11 does not fit seamlessly
with the material before or after this genealogy, there does seem to be
some overlap with previous material. Nehemiah 12.1-9 provides a list of
priests and Levites who came up with Zerubbabel and Jeshua during the
return from Babylon. While Neh. 12.1-9 presents genealogical lists of
family heads anchored to a specific event (the return under Zerubbabel
and Jeshua), Neh. 12.10-11 shifts focus to a linear genealogy of one
family, beginning with Jeshua and continuing to Jaddua, a span of at least
six generations. Nehemiah 12.12-26 then supplies a list of the second
generation of priests and Levites during the time of Joiakim (early fifth
century BCE), who is presumably the same Joiakim, son of Jeshua,
mentioned in the Neh. 12.10-11 genealogy. Accordingly, 12.1-9 corres-
21 Ackroyd (1970: 162) observes that Ezra and Nehemiah ‘deal with three great moments
in the life of the people – restoration and rebuilding, and the activities of the two great leaders
Ezra and Nehemiah’. Nehemiah 11–12 clearly focus on the era of restoration and rebuilding
as a starting point, but some of the lineages within these chapters extend to the times of Ezra,
Nehemiah and beyond.
22 Eliashib’s genealogy moves to, presumably, the generation after Joiakim, thereby
creating tension between the time of Joiakim and the time of Eliashib.
ponds in several ways to 12.12-26, but 12.10-11 has the strongest affinities
to 12.22, which provides another short genealogy mentioning some of the
same names as in 12.10-11. Although the content of 12.1-9 differs from the
content of the lineage found in 12.10-11, the later verses could be viewed
as the culmination of the material dealing with priestly and Levitical
returnees mentioned in 12.1-9 since the lineage of 12.10-11 begins with
Jeshua.
Without knowledge of other biblical passages mentioning the titles of a
few of the people in 12.10-11, particularly Jeshua and Eliashib, no one
would normally hypothesize that this is a high priestly genealogy. There
are no titles, functions or synchronisms within the material. In fact, to
illuminate the function of this genealogy, scholars have turned to
Josephus who states that these people were all high priests in succession.
Josephus’s chronology of the priests mostly matches the sequence of Neh.
12.10-11, but lists Johanan (not Jonathan).23 Yet, as previously stated,
this is clearly a case in which Josephus is using a version of (or some part
of) Nehemiah as a source to create his own genealogy.
To complicate matters, there is no biblical confirmation that all of the
six individuals named in the lineage served as high priests. Only Jeshua
and Eliashib are listed as high priests.24 Joiakim, Joiada,25 Johanan/
Jonathan and Jaddua are never listed as high priests in the Hebrew
Bible.26
Without references in other contexts to the title of Jeshua, the genealogy
of Neh. 12.10-11 would simply appear as the family tree of a prominent
figure within the returning religious community. Moreover, because the
name of Jeshua is listed four times within 12.1-10, there is a certain
amount of ambiguity in the text. The first Jeshua is listed with Zerubbabel
in 12.1a, and then there is a Jeshua who concludes the list of priests, ‘in the
days of Jeshua’ (12.7). The latter reference thus creates a chronological
marker. There appears to be no reason to assume that both Jeshuas are
not one and the same. Jeshua is the first name appearing in the list of the
returning Levites in 12.8, and the name of Jeshua is, of course, listed first
23 Josephus’s Jewish Antiquities mentions five names in the genealogy: Jeshua (11.73),
Joiakim (11.120-121), Eliashib (11.158), Joiada (11.297) and Jaddua (11.317-318). As
discussed earlier, the fifth name in the list of 12.10-11, Jonathan, does not appear, but rather
Johanan (11.297) is mentioned. On Johanan, see Neh. 12.22.
24 Jeshua is called a high priest in Hag. 1.1, 12, 14; 2.2, 4; Zech. 3.1, 8; 6.11. References to
Eliashib as a high priest are found in Neh. 3.1, 20 and 13.28.
25 Joiada is called the ‘son of the high priest Eliashib’ in Neh. 13.28. Admittedly, it is not
altogether clear, in this instance, whether the epithet ‘high priest’ applies to Joiada or to
Eliashib.
26 The name (wdy (Jaddua) has been found on an imitation Attic coin. Lemaire (1990:
66) has convincingly argued that the coin should be attributed to the son of Sanballat.
Meshorer and Qedar (1999: 23) also argue the coin was minted in Samaria.
within the lineage in 12.10.27 Since Neh. 12.10-11 follows the Levitical list
of returnees (12.8-9), at first glance, this lineage could be interpreted as a
Levitical genealogy. In fact, if the material were to follow the priestly list
of returnees (12.1b-7), rather than the Levitical list of returnees (12.8-9), it
would lessen the confusion as to who Jeshua is (in 12.10).
So which Jeshua is the Jeshua in Neh. 12.10? Following the general
pattern in Nehemiah, which tends to avoid certain titles for prominent
figures, this genealogy does not provide a position or title for Jeshua or
for that of any of his descendants. Indeed, Jeshua is never referred to
as a high priest (lwdgh Nhkh) in Ezra or Nehemiah.28 This is in contrast
with Haggai and Zechariah, where Jeshua is referred to as a high priest
(lwdgh Nhkh) eight times.29 The lack of title or patronymic for Jeshua is
most striking in Neh. 12.1a, where Jeshua follows Zerubbabel, who is
listed as the son of Shealtiel.30 The presence or absence of a patronymic,
specifically in connection to Jeshua is striking in Ezra and Nehemiah. In
the book of Ezra, the patronymic, Jeshua ben Jozadak, appears three
times (Ezra 3.2, 8; 10.18). But Neh. 12.26 is the only time Jeshua’s
patronymic appears in Nehemiah.31 In the end, however, the Jeshua
mentioned in 12.10 seems to refer to the same person as the Jeshua
mentioned in 12.1a.
Even though the exact positions of the people listed in Neh. 12.10-11
are ambiguous, the author makes connections between the individuals
through the use of a descending linear genealogy. It is not necessary for
such a genealogy to be completely comprehensive in its scope. A postexilic
27 There is a ‘Jeshua, son of Kadmiel’ mentioned in 12.24. This is presumably the same
Jeshua who is mentioned in 12.8 among the Levites. On this particular Levitical family, see
also Ezra 2.40//Neh. 7.43.
28 Jeshua is listed without a position in Ezra 2.2, 36; 3.9; 4.3; 5.2; Neh. 7.7, 39; 12.1, 7.
Japhet (1968: 343–4) helpfully points out that the phrase lwdgh Nhkh (‘great priest’) is used
for the office of high priest in Ezra–Nehemiah (Neh. 3.1, 20; 13.28). This is in contrast to
Chronicles, which prefers to use #)rh Nhkh (‘head priest’) for the title of high priest. The
title lwdgh Nhkh appears only once in Chronicles (2 Chron. 34.9).
29 This particular term for high priest is found in Lev. 21.10, which states,
hx#mh Nm# w#)r-l( qcwy r#) wyx)m lwdgh Nhkhw (‘the great priest who is exalted
above his brothers, on whose head the anointing oil will be poured’). For a discussion of this
phrase, see Bailey (1951: 217–27).
30 In Nehemiah, this is the only example of Zerubbabel listed with his patronymic. Other
references to Zerubbabel ben Shealtiel are found in Ezra 3.2, 8; Hag. 1.1, 12, 14; 2.2, 23. It is
also noteworthy that neither Zerubbabel nor Jeshua is given an official title in Neh. 12.1.
31 The verse states: ‘These were in the days of Joiakim son of Jeshua son of Jozadak, and
in the days of the governor Nehemiah and of the priest Ezra, the scribe.’ Williamson observes
that there are basic chronological problems with dating Ezra and Nehemiah to the high
priesthood of Joiakim. But this was not the author’s concern. Rather, he wanted to ‘present
their work as a united activity in the restoration of Jerusalem, the temple and its worship’
(Williamson 1985: 365–6). It is also significant that the only reference to Jeshua’s patronym is
in connection to the person Ezra.
example of a non-comprehensive priestly lineage is found in Ezra 7.1-5.

The writer of this text chronicles Ezra’s genealogy back to Aaron, listing
17 names, including Ezra. Clearly, Ezra 7.1-5 is an incomplete list and the
compiler of the genealogy intentionally glosses over less important figures.
The function of this genealogy is to establish an impeccable lineage for
Ezra, linking him to the relevant authoritative priestly figure of the
Sinaitic age.32
Returning to the question of the placement of the genealogy in Neh.
12.10-11 within its literary context, the conspicuous absence of any titles
in this genealogy seems to be clearly intentional. Rather than this being
due to the work of a later writer deliberately omitting the title (Koch
2001), it seems more likely that this was original to the composition.
Further, Neh. 12.10-11 contains six names that are connected together by
a common tie, a specific statement of kinship presented in a linear
genealogy. Structurally and compositionally, the importance of Jeshua
stands out. He serves as the focal point of the genealogy, because his name
appears first. Jaddua is also important to this genealogy, because of his
position as the final name. Robert Wilson (1977: 72) argues that
telescoping, or linking a person to earlier generations without offering
the entire genealogy, was common in the ancient Near Eastern world,
particularly when a king wanted to connect himself to a ‘dynastic
founder’.33 Even though Neh. 12.10-11 is a priestly genealogy that begins
with Jeshua, this does not mean that it marks a high-priestly succession.
Again, the lack of other biblical references to a number of names
appearing in the list as high priests strengthens the plausibility of this
conclusion.
What, then, is the purpose to Neh. 12.10-11? If legitimacy and thus the
exclusive rights of a group of people to a specific office was central to the
composition of ‘high-priestly’ genealogies, why does Neh. 12.10-11 lack
any priestly, much less high-priestly titles? Another question that could be
asked is: what is the purpose of this list within the current context without
any titles attached to the names? Is this to add to the ambiguity of who
Jeshua and his descendants were? Other sources, such as Haggai,
Zechariah and Josephus’s Antiquities, refer to some of the people listed
32 Knoppers (forthcoming) also points out that Ezra’s pedigree links him to the high
priesthood through Aaron, who is referred to as ‘the high priest’ or ‘the first priest’,
#)rh Nhkh. The MT never refers to Ezra explicitly as a high priest. In 1 Esd. 9.39, 40, 49,
Ezra is, however, explicitly called ho archiereus, or ‘the high priest’.
33 In one of his royal inscriptions, the Assyrian King Esarhaddon provides a genealogy.
He connects himself to Sennacherib (his father), Sargon (his grandfather) and Belubani.
Since Belubani was one of the founders of the Assyrian dynasty, the lineage skips a period of
62 kings (from Belubani to Sargon). Wilson (1977: 65–7) provides several other examples of
this telescopic phenomenon. See also Johnson 1988.
in the linear genealogy in Neh. 12.10-11 as high priests.34 But without

these references, it would be difficult to interpret all the names present in
Neh. 12.10-11 as high priests. As previously stated, the lack of a heading
does not negate the importance of the genealogy altogether. Rather, one
function of the genealogy is to legitimize the group listed by reference to
the first name in the lineage. Was the family so famous that there was no
need to provide a heading for the material? The lack of titles or headings is
unusual within the broader context of the Bible, particularly in light of the
use of titles in Haggai and Zechariah, but perhaps this is not strange
within the work of Nehemiah. The writers of Ezra–Nehemiah tend to
avoid certain titles, particularly in connection to Jeshua (and also in
connection to Zerubbabel). This could be intentional and due to many
factors, but it may be that the prestige of the office was not what was
important for the text of Nehemiah and its audience.35
4. 1 Chronicles 5.27-41: Another Supposed ‘High Priestly’ Genealogy

An example of a genealogy that has some important parallels to features
found in Neh. 12.10-11 is 1 Chron. 5.27-41. In the case of 1 Chron. 5.27-
41, the priestly material is much broader in scope than the Jeshua
genealogies in Nehemiah 12. Additionally, 1 Chronicles 5 contains several
more names that span a longer period of time than the genealogies in
Nehemiah do. In 1 Chron. 5.27-41, the genealogy begins with the phrase,
‘The sons of Levi’ and then continues with listing his three children. The
next generation follows Levi’s second son Qohath, listing his four
children. For what appears to be four successive generations, the
genealogy follows a segmented, or horizontal, genealogy, cataloguing
34 Jeshua is the first to be called, lwdgh Nhkh (‘great priest’) in Hag. 1.1, 12, 14; 2.2, 4;
Zech. 3.1, 8; 6.11. This term does not appear until the postexilic period. VanderKam
(2004: 21) connects this title to the expression in Lev. 21.10, wyx)m lwdgh Nhkh
(‘the priest, exalted, above his brothers’). One question is whether this is equivalent to
the title Mynhkh ynqz (‘elder priests’) in 2 Kgs 19.1-7 and Jer. 19.1. See Dommer-
shausen (1995: 71). Jeshua is also listed in connection to Zerubbabel in these verses
(Hag. 1.1, 12, 14; 2.2, 4; Ezra 2.2; 3.2; 4.3; 5.2; Neh. 7.7; 12.1; 1 Esd. 5.5, 8, 48, 56, 68; 6.2.
During the monarchy, the high priests occasionally could be referred to as Nhkh (‘the priest’,
1 Kgs 4.2), #)rh Nhk (‘head priest’, 2 Kgs 25.18). This same title is also used in Ezra 7.5 to
refer to Aaron. It is, however, debated whether there were any high priests until the late pre-
exilic period.
35 Rooke (2000: 172) argues that it may be due to the lack of power this office held in the
Persian period. Rooke also states: ‘What is striking is where high priests are not mentioned –
in Nehemiah, no high priest is mentioned either by name or by office at the dedication of
Jerusalem’s rebuilt walls (12.27-43), nor as a signatory for the covenant to keep the Law after
the public reading and confession (10.2-28).’
the father and then sons of one son.36 After referencing Aaron and his
four sons, Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar, the genealogy switches to
a linear pattern, following just the father and ostensibly the eldest son, or
at least the person who inherits the chief position in the family, beginning
with Eleazar. This linear genealogy registers 22 generations from Eleazar
to Jehozadak. In Neh. 12.10-11, the kinship connection is clearly stated by
the use of the hip‘il perfect form of the verb dly.37 Like Neh. 12.10-11, the
kinship ties within the linear genealogy are stated with the hip‘il perfect
form of dly, ‘to beget’. Yet unlike Neh. 12.10-11, the generations are
connected together under the heading ‘the sons of Levi’ in v. 27.
Therefore, the genealogy in 1 Chron. 5.27-41 successfully ties in all of
these generations under the name of the ancestral head of the tribe (Levi).
In 1 Chron. 5.27–6.34, the general material devoted to Levi and his
descendants is extensive, listing three different genealogies connected to
the line of Levi (5.27-41, the so-called ‘high-priestly’ genealogy; 6.1-15, the
Levitical genealogy; and 6.16-34, the Levitical singers). First Chronicles
5.27-41 has been compared to other priestly lists, particularly in Ezra’s
genealogy (Ezra 7.1-5).38 Sara Japhet observes that the need for lists that
established ancestral legitimacy arose after the destruction of the First
Temple and before the construction of the Second Temple for the purpose
of focusing on the purity of a line and also to accommodate the emerging
feeling that the priests must be from the Aaronide line (1993: 151). In the
case of 1 Chron. 5.29-41 and also Ezra 7.1-5, the lists clearly connect the
priestly lineages to Aaron. For Ezra, he is attempting to legitimize his
lineage by linking him ultimately to Aaron (Knoppers [forthcoming]). But
in the case of Nehemiah, there are only two references to Aaron: a general
reference to the priests who are descendants of Aaron (10.39) and a
reference to the Levites who ‘set apart that which was for the descendants
of Aaron’ (12.47). In the priestly genealogy that is found in Neh. 12.10-11,
however, there is no mention of Aaron or of Zadoq. The lineage of Neh.
12.10-11 establishes the return as a starting point and deals with
subsequent events, rather than with pre-exilic events.
36 It is noteworthy that in the case of Amram, his offspring are listed as Aaron, Moses
and Miriam (1 Chron. 5.29). In the segmented lists in 1 Chron. 5.27-29, Miriam is the only
woman mentioned in the group.
37 dly appears most often in the qal and hip‘il in the MT. It is also most frequently found
in Genesis and 1 Chronicles. Also, the hip‘il is oftentimes used in vertical genealogies, tracing
a father, son, etc. line, whereas the qal is preferred in horizontal genealogies (Schreiner 1990:
76–80). This is clearly the case in Neh. 12.10-11 and 1 Chron. 5.30-40 which are strictly
vertical genealogies and employ the hip‘il perfect.
38 Several of the names that appear in the priestly genealogy in 1 Chron. 5.27-41 are also
found in Ezra 7.1-5 (16 names overlap), 1 Chron. 6.35-38 (12 names overlap), 1 Chron. 9.11
(5 names overlap) and Neh 11.11 (6 names overlap, although there is a different order of
names).
Further, a comparison of Neh. 12.10-11 with other biblical genealogies,

particularly in 1 Chronicles 5, reveals that reconstructing a complete or
actual succession order is not necessarily the primary motive for
composing a genealogy. The primary concern seems to be the legitimacy
of a specific family line. Like Neh. 12.10-11, 1 Chron. 5.27-41 is
commonly presumed to constitute a high-priestly genealogy. What is
particularly noteworthy about these two genealogies, both of which were
composed in the post-monarchic period, is that they focus on legitimizing
a specific priestly lineage, albeit in different ways. The lineage of 1 Chron.
5.27-41 ties its roots to the ancients, while the lineage of Neh. 12.10-11
strictly ties its roots to the early postexilic return.
For 1 Chron. 5.27-41 the goal of the creation of the genealogy is to tie
the Qohathite priestly line back to the beginnings of Israel.39 There are
many problems with assuming that this text functions strictly as a high-
priestly genealogy, because it is missing key names found in other
contexts.40 Moreover, the titles ‘high priest’ or ‘chief priest’ never appear.
In fact, there is only one title provided in 1 Chron. 5.27-41, which is
‘priest’ (5.36). In the context of postexilic Judah, the writer attempts to
legitimize a specific line of priests. Although the lineage concentrates
attention on the Qohathite priestly family succession, it does not deny the
existence of other priestly lineages. There are other subsidiary lines in the
Aaronide heritage. Thus, this text provides a line of succession in which
some of the descendants could have been high priests and are mentioned
as such in other literary contexts. Yet, by the same token, this does not
mean that each figure in the entire lineage served as a high priest. In the
same way, it appears that some of Jeshua’s descendants could have been
(and were) high priests, but not necessarily all of them. By making a
continuous line from Levi (and Aaron) to Jehozadab, the genealogy of 1
Chron. 5.27-41 asserts the rights of this particular family line for the
position of priest (or high priest) within the postexilic period.
Additionally, by legitimizing this particular line ending with Jehozadak,
this list also implicitly legitimizes Jeshua and his line. Thus, this genealogy
39 Knoppers (2003: 412) points out that a common position concerning this list is that,
‘the Chronicler or a later editor traced a postexilic institution all the way back to the time of
Israel’s origins. In this calculation, Aaron is but the first of a long line of high priests.’
Knoppers, however, argues that the issue of the high priesthood is more complicated than
that. 1 Chron. 5.27-41 represents a succession in the Qohathite priesthood. Some of the
figures in the list were indeed high priests, but that does not necessarily mean that every
person served in the office. The Qohathites were one of a number of priestly families.
40 Knoppers (2003: 412) asserts that some key priests who are found in both the
Deuteronimistic and Chronistic accounts of the monarchy in Judah are absent from 1 Chron.
5.29-41, particularly Jehoiada (2 Chron. 22.11–24.160), Uriah (2 Kgs 16.10-16) and Azariah
(2 Chron. 26.20, during the time of Uzziah).
validates a specific lineage of priests during the pre-exilic period (and

beyond).
Ultimately, the works of both 1 Chron. 5.27-41 and Neh. 12.10-11 do
not need to provide titles for the people enumerated within the
genealogies. For 1 Chron. 5.27-41, tying Jehozadak’s ancestry back to
Aaron and ultimately to Levi clearly makes the claim that a continuum
existed all the way from Levi to Jehozadak. For the compiler, there are
several key names: the first name, Levi, the final name in the segmented
genealogy, Aaron, and then the first and last names of the linear
genealogy, Eleazar and Jehozadak. Although the Nehemiah 12 lineage is
not as complicated as 1 Chron. 5.27-41, the overall goal of the list is
similar: the need to legitimize a specific family line. But unlike the lineage
in 1 Chronicles, Neh. 12.10-11 is not connected to the ancients, but rather
to the generation of returnees associated with the reconstruction of the
temple. In fact, one could argue that if the name of Jeshua’s father were
provided (as in Haggai and Zechariah), the kinship connection to the pre-
exilic office of high priest would be stronger. But for the writer of Neh.
12.10-11, the legitimacy of the family tree rests with Jeshua and not
necessarily with Jeshua’s father or grandfather. His legitimacy lies in the
fact that he returned with Zerubbabel, as mentioned in Neh. 12.1.
5. Conclusion
The importance of validating Jeshua’s lineage appears to be the reason
behind the inclusion of Neh. 12.10-11 within the broader framework of
Nehemiah 11–12. Like 1 Chron. 5.27-41, which links Jehozadak to several
key ancestral and monarchic figures, Neh. 12.10-11 links Jaddua to his
famous ancestor Jeshua, the authoritative priestly figure of the early
postexilic age. Some of the persons named in the list may have served as
high priests and others may have not. Most importantly, this genealogy
was compiled in order to establish a succession within a single family from
Jeshua to Jaddua. Through this connection, Jaddua’s ancestry was clearly
established as legitimate.
There are many benefits to approaching Neh. 12.10-11 and 12.22 as a
priestly lineage. First, it solves the problem of the discrepancies between
12.10-11 and 22, since there is no need to choose between Johanan and
Jonathan as high priests. Additionally, it solves the problem of there being
too many names in the sixth and fifth centuries BCE and too few in the
fourth century BCE. In other words, because this list does not reflect the
exact succession of the high priesthood, the problem of unusually long
tenures does not need to be solved.
Another important matter that arises with this interpretation is the issue
of the possible high priesthood of Ezra.41 Several scholars have used Neh.
12.10-11 and 22 as evidence against the possibility that Ezra was a high
priest (most notably Blenkinsopp 1988: 136). If, however, Neh. 12.10-11
and 22 are not viewed as strict high-priestly succession lists, then the
conflict with Ezra serving as a high priest lessens. In fact, Ezra seems to
serve the function of a high priest in many of the roles he plays (Grabbe
1994; Scolnic 1999). While the argument advanced here does not provide
positive support for the view that Ezra functioned as a high priest for a
period of time, it does remove one of the obstacles to such a view.
Further, the lack of correspondence between extra-biblical evidence and
some of the biblical evidence (namely, Neh. 12.10-11) is no longer a key
issue. One clear example of this lack of correspondence is a ‘Johanan’,
who is referred to as the high priest of Jerusalem, in the Elephantine
papyri dating to 408 BCE (Porten 1996: 140). Another piece of evidence
that has been hard to place within the supposed chronology of Neh. 12.10-
11 and 12.22-23 is the fourth-century-BCE Attic coin with the inscription
Nhkh [N]nxwy (‘Johanan the priest’). It has been argued that this is not, in
fact, a reference to the (high priest) Johanan mentioned in Neh. 12.22 and
23 (Barag 1985: 167). This, indeed, seems to be the case, based on the
length of time between Johanan and Jaddua, which would have been over
80 years. Thus, both pieces of evidence point to chronological issues with
correlating names of persons in this lineage (understanding each as a high
priest) with the available epigraphic evidence.
Finally, Josephus’s list has been used to point out the legitimacy of Neh.
12.10-11 and 12.22 as a high-priestly succession in the form of a
genealogy. Since Josephus claims that there was continued succession
within one family, this interpretation has become the dominant view. Yet,
there is no other evidence for such a high-priestly succession in the Bible
outside of the Nehemiah material. And thus, it should be clear that
Josephus’s narrative is an interpretation of Nehemiah and should not lend
credence to taking Neh. 12.10-11 and 22 as, strictly speaking, high-priestly
genealogies.
All of these points highlight the problems of interpreting Neh. 12.10-11
and 22 as something more than a lineage of Jeshua’s family. It is, of
course, theoretically possible that each person mentioned in this lineage
was a high priest, but even so, it should not be assumed that these
individuals were the only Persian-period high priests. Rather, the primary
function of this material is to call attention to the importance of Jeshua
and to chart a succession among his descendants. My interpretation
allows that people who were not of Jeshua’s line could have been high
priests during the Persian period. Such an interpretation also allows for a
41 DeVaux argues that Ezra held the office of high priest (1997: 397). See also Koch
(2001).
different way to approach the extra-biblical evidence, given that this

material no longer needs to be fitted into or pressed to conform to the
succession of names that appear in Neh. 12.10-11 and 12.22. Finally, my
hypothesis does not rule out the possibility of haplography in the list, but
it also does not necessitate it.
The study of priestly genealogies, particularly Neh. 12.10-11, within
their literary framework, points to the importance of kinship ties in the
post-monarchic era. By creating this genealogy, the authors of Neh. 12.10-
11 and 22 assert specific claims about the connection between Jeshua and
later generations. Within the broader context of the Persian and
Hellenistic periods, genealogies drew attention to the importance of
certain elite families within the community of Yehud. Jeshua’s lineage
clearly attempts to place his family in a prominent position among the
descendants of the returnees in the postexilic community.42
6. Bibliography
Ackroyd, P. R.
1970 Israel under Babylon and Persia (Oxford: Clarendon)
Bailey, J.
1951 ‘The Usage in the Post Restoration Period of Terms
Descriptive of the Priest and High Priest’, JBL 70: 217–27.
Barag, D.
1985 ‘Guide to Artifacts: Some Notes on a Silver Coin of
Johanan the High Priest’, BA 48/3: 166–8.
Bartlett, J.
1968 ‘Zadok and his Successors at Jerusalem’ JTS 19: 1–18.
Blenkinsopp, J.
1988 Ezra-Nehemiah (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press).
Cross, F. M.
1974 ‘The Papyri and their Historical Implications’ in P. Lapp
and N. Lapp (eds), Discoveries in the Wâdi Ed-Dâliyeh
(ASOR, 41: Cambridge, MA: ASOR): 17–29.
1975 ‘A Reconstruction of the Judean Restoration’, JBL 94: 4–
18.
1998 From Epic To Canon: History and Literature in Ancient
Israel (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press).
De Vaux, R.
1997 Ancient Israel (trans. J. McHugh; Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans).
42 I would like to thank Gary Knoppers for his helpful comments and suggestions on
this paper.
Dommershausen, W.
1995 ‘Nhk’, TDOT, 7: 66–75.
Edelman, D.
2005 The Origins of the ‘Second’ Temple (London: Equinox).
Eskenazi, T.C.
1988 In An Age of Prose (Atlanta: Scholars Press).
Grabbe, L. L.
1994 ‘What was Ezra’s Mission?’, in T. C. Eskenazi and K. H.
Richards (eds), Second Temple Studies, 2: Temple
1998 Ezra–Nehemiah (London: Routledge).
Period, vol. 1 (LSTS, 47; London: T&T Clark).
Japhet, S.
1968 ‘The Supposed Common Authorship of Chronicles and
Ezra-Nehemiah Investigated Anew’, VT 18: 330–71.
1982 ‘Sheshbazzar and Zerubbabel. Against the Background of
the Historical and Religious Tendencies of Ezra–Nehemiah’,
ZAW 94/1: 66–98.
1993 I and II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville:
Westminster John Knox).
Johnson, M.
1988 The Purpose of Biblical Genealogies (2nd edn; SNTSMS, 8;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
Knoppers, G. N.
2003 ‘The Relationship of the Priestly Genealogies to the History
of the High Priesthood in Jerusalem’, in O. Lipschits and J.
2004 I Chronicles 1–9 (AB, 12; New York: Doubleday).
(forthcoming)
‘Identity, Ethnicity, Geography, and Change: The Judean
Communities of Babylon and Jerusalem in the Story of Ezra’,
in G. N. Knoppers and K. A. Ristau (eds), Community
Identity in Judean Historiography: Biblical and Comparative
Perspectives (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns).
Koch, K.
2001 ‘Ezra and Meremoth: Remarks on the History of the High
Priesthood’, in M. Fishbane and E. Tov (eds), Sha’arei
Talmon (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns): 105–10.
Lemaire, A.
1990 ‘Populations et territories de la Palestine à l’époque perse’,
Trans 3: 31–74.
Mazar, B.
1957 ‘The Tobiads’, IEJ 7: 228–35.
Meshorer, Y. and S. Qedar
1999 Samarian Coinage (Numismatic Studies and Researches, 9;
Jerusalem: Israel Numismatic Society).
Miller, J. M.
1967 ‘Another Look at the Chronology of the Early Divided
Monarchy’, JBL 86: 276–88.
Miller, J. M., and J. Hayes
1986 A History of Ancient Israel and Judah (London: SCM Press).
Mowinckel, S.
1964 Studien zu dem Buche Ezra-Nehemia; Die nachchronische
Redaktion des Buches: Die Listen: 2 (Oslo: Universitets-
forlaget).
Porten, B.
1996 The Elephantine Papyri in English (Documenta et monu-
menta Orientis Antiqui, 22; Leiden: Brill).
2001 ‘Paponymy among Elephantine Jews’ (Hebrew), in Z.
Talshir, S. Yona and D. Sivan (eds), Homage to Shmuel;
Studies in the World of the Bible (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute,
Ben-Gurion University Press): 332–61.
Porten, B., and A. Yardeni
1986–99 Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt (4 vols;
Jerusalem: Hebrew University).
Rooke, D.
2000 Zadok’s Heirs: The Role and Development of the High
Priesthood in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University
Press).
Schreiner, J.
1990 ‘dly’, TDOT, 6: 76–8, 79–80.
Scolnic, B. E.
1999 Chronology and Papponymy: A List of the Judean High
Priests of the Persian Period (Atlanta: Scholars Press).
Talshir, Z.
1999 I Esdras: From Origin to Translation (Atlanta: Society of
Biblical Literature).
VanderKam, J. C.
1991 ‘Jewish High Priests of the Persian Period: Is the List
Complete?’, in G. A. Anderson and S. M. Olyan (eds),
Priesthood and Cult and Ancient Israel (JSOTSup, 125;
Sheffield: Sheffield Academic): 67–91.
2004 From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile
(Minneapolis: Fortress Press).
1977 ‘The Historical Value of Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities xi.
297–301’, JTS 28: 49–66.
1982 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans).
1985 Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC, 16; Waco: Word).
Wilson, R.
1977 Genealogy and History in the Biblical World (Yale Near
Eastern Researches, 7; Yale: Yale University Press).
Chapter 6
‘THEY SHALL COME REJOICING TO ZION’ – OR DID THEY? THE

SETTLEMENT OF YEHUD IN THE EARLY PERSIAN PERIOD
Lester L. Grabbe (University of Hull)
In spite of the often naive repetition of the text – or of past interpretations

– by those who write about Judah in the Persian period, there has been a
great deal of questioning and doubting in recent years. This is all to the
good, even if you disagree with specific doubts or quibbles. We need new
thinking if we are to progress in our understanding of the Jews under
Achaemenid rule, and new theories are welcome. But every new thesis
must be given a good critical examination, and the fact that something is
new does not mean that it is right.
One of the areas of new ideas is the settlement of Jews from the
Babylonian region in the area of Palestine and Yehud. The text of Ezra 1–
6 suggests that this happened immediately, already at the beginning of
Cyrus’ reign: Ezra 2 lists more than 40,000 who supposedly returned at
that time. The surface picture of Ezra 2 has long been doubted:1 both the
list of settlers (which seems to be composed of two separate lists) and their
numbers, and the timing of Joshua and Zerubbabel’s entrance onto the
scene in Yehud. In spite of Ezra 1 the appearance of Joshua and
Zerubbabel does not seem to have happened until the reign of Darius,
almost two decades after Cyrus conquered Babylon. Despite these doubts,
the general picture of a new settlement of Jews from Mesopotamia in the
early Persian period has been widely accepted. Now, however, Diana
Edelman (2005) has argued that rather than the late sixth century BCE, the
activities of Joshua and Zerubbabel should be dated to the mid-fifth
century BCE.
The purpose of my study here is to ask again the question about the
setting and date of the return of Jews from Babylonia to Yehud. It is not
1 See the commentaries of A. H. J. Gunneweg (1985), H. G. M. Williamson (1985) and J.

Blenkinsopp (1989) for a good summary of the different views about this chapter. For
perhaps the most recent argument that the data are from a much later period, see Finkelstein
(2008a).
GRABBE ‘They Shall Come Rejoicing to Zion’ 117
specifically an examination of Edelman’s thesis, but it will be necessary at

certain points to respond to her particular arguments. Yet my concern
primarily is to ask the broader question of the most reasonable way to
understand the data. Thus, the formulation of arguments for a later
dating are my own and not specifically those of Edelman, even though I
try to include what seem to me to be her stronger reasons for redating.2
1. Is There any Credible Reason for Reassessing the Dating?

The biblical text makes it clear that there was a major return of Jews in the
early Persian period, either the reign of Cyrus or Darius, or perhaps both.
Should we not just accept this? Many would argue that it is foolish to look
elsewhere since the text is clear, and we should not disagree with the text
unless there is very good reason. There are, however, several consider-
ations that need to be taken into account:
1 There is no evidence in the archaeology of a sudden influx of new
settlers in the early Persian period. On the other hand, there is no
time during the Persian period with evidence of a sudden expansion
in population numbers (Lipschits 2005: 267–71). I. Finkelstein
(2008a) has now also argued that the lists of returnees in Ezra 2 //
Nehemiah 7 best fit the archaeology of the Hasmonaean period
rather than the Persian period.
2 I have argued in a number of publications that the book of Ezra,
including Ezra 1–6, has many problems (Grabbe 1991; 1994; 1998;
2004; 2006). We cannot take it for granted that its picture of a return
shortly after the Babylonian conquest is correct.
3 There were three Persian kings with the name Darius, at the
beginning, in the middle, and at the end of the Persian period. This
potentially allows for a wide range of dating events assigned to
Darius’ rule.
So, a reassessment of the return is certainly justified. The question is when
we should look for it.
2. Hints at the Date of the First Settlement

There are no new magical sources of information on the Jews in the
Persian period – we are all thrown back on familiar writings and data that
we have dealt with often, however problematic they might be. Because of
2 Not surprisingly, some of her arguments are simply a way of answering objections to
her thesis. Therefore, her argument does not stand on them nor would disproof of them make
her argument fall, yet the strength or otherwise of these supporting arguments does affect the
cogency of her overall thesis.
the nature of our data about Persian Yehud, we have to recognize that
any arguments are likely to be tentative, especially if you argue, as I do,
that the Ezra narrative is very problematic. On the other hand, I do think
it is possible to extract some information here and there from the book of
Ezra. Also, the books of Haggai and Zechariah are useful, probably the
least problematic sources except for the Memorial of Nehemiah. This last
is, for me, the one reasonably certain contemporary written record,
though Nehemiah’s perspective is hardly one we would want to accept
uncritically. Finally, recent work has made the archaeology of the period
much better known. The following are hints about when Jews from
Mesopotamia settled again in Judah:
a. Cyrus’ Decree
This is not the alleged decree in Ezra 1.2-4, which is not an authentic
decree in my opinion, even if a number have tried to defend it (cf. Grabbe
2004: 271–6). Contrary to Ezra 1, Cyrus’ first concern when he became
king of Babylonia was not Judah, Jerusalem or the Jews. It is hardly likely
that in his very first year of rule he set about issuing a special decree of
Jewish return – practically an order, complete with generous benefactions
and Deuteronomic theology. Yet at the beginning of his reign Cyrus did
sponsor a decree that allowed the return of displaced people in a general
way – the Cyrus Cylinder (Schaudig 2001; CoS, 2.314-16; ANET, 315–16).
Although the specific statement is brief and in the context of returning the
gods to their habitations (Cyrus Cylinder, lines 30–33), it does seem to
indicate a general policy of allowing displaced people to return to their
homes (see discussion in Grabbe 2004: 271–6). Exactly how such people
might have returned, what further permits might have been required, what
the procedures might be for returning, and so on are all unknown. There
is still a lot we do not know about the Persian period, but it seems likely
that Jews would have been allowed to return to Yehud from the first part
of Cyrus’ reign.
b. The Dating of Zechariah 1–8

The dating formulae of Haggai and Zechariah have long been disputed,
though they are widely accepted as reasonably accurate. Within Zechariah
1–8, however, are two references to years of punishment or suffering. In
Zech. 2.12 Jerusalem and the towns of Judah have been under a curse for
70 years, but pardon is now proclaimed (2.13-17). Zechariah 7.1-7 relates
to the fasting that had been going on in the fifth month, apparently over
the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians in that month, for 70
years. What is this 70 years?
First, the 70 years is clearly a round number – probably a stereotyped
figure for the period of punishment. In Isa. 23.15-18, Tyre is punished for
70 years. A similar sort of figure is probably referred to in Jer. 25.11-12

and also 2 Chron. 36.21 as the time of punishment on Judah, but there is
no clear evidence that Zechariah has borrowed from Jeremiah or Isaiah;
on the contrary, it is likely to be a conventional number. A 70-year period
of punishment on Babylon is found on an inscription of Esarhaddon, but
the prophesied 70 years was reduced to 11 by a trick of reading cuneiform
writing. Later on, the 70 years of Jeremiah was reinterpreted to 70 weeks
of years in Daniel 9 (cf. Grabbe 1997), a further indication that it was a
stereotyped figure. Whether the writer of Zechariah saw it as a round
figure can be debated, but it is unlikely that he had a precise knowledge of
the events and their dates in the sixth century or earlier. There are many
examples of vagueness on the part of Jewish writers about the length of
the Neo-Babylonian and Persian periods (see Grabbe 1979).
Second, it is important to notice that the purpose of the two passages is
not to explain the figure of 70 years; on the contrary, the 70 years is simply
mentioned in passing as a way to indicate that something happened a long
time ago. The 70-years figure is incidental to the main point, which is that
this has been going on over a long time. At no point in Haggai/Zechariah
1–8 or Ezra-Nehemiah is there an indication that events are interpreted as
fulfilling the completion of 70 years, nor are the biblical prophecies of 70
years alluded to.3
Third, although the figure is stereotyped, it is not completely imaginary.
That is, 70 years is not 150 years. We are dealing with a time period of
approximately 70 years, not approximately twice that length. The writer
of Zechariah may not have known precisely how long it had been since the
fall of Jerusalem, but whereas he could accept 70 years as an approximate
period of time, he is hardly likely to have reduced 140 years to 70. We
often speak of periods of time in round figures, but we know the difference
between an approximate figure and something completely removed from
it. If someone wants to date Joshua and Zerubbabel to the mid-fifth
century, they will need to get rid of these references to 70 years – I see no
way in which they can be accommodated to such a late dating. If 70 years
was a completely elastic term, to cover any period one wished, there would
have been no need for Daniel to reinterpret it to ‘weeks of years’.
3 This fact seriously weakens Edelman’s argument that dates in Haggai and Zechariah 1–
8 were created to fulfil the 70 years (2005: 124, 142, 144, 332). There is not the slightest
indication that the writer had a particular interest in a prophetic period of 70 years when
these are referred to in Zech. 2.12 and 7.5.
c. The Sheshbazzar Tradition

I have argued that this tradition is a problem for the author of Ezra. It is
too strong to ignore, but it does not fit his scheme. The Sheshbazzar
tradition may well have been another foundation story – of how Yehud
was founded and settled after the Babylonian exile (Grabbe 2004: 75–6,
276–7). But the author of Ezra simply made him bring back temple
vessels. This is all we would have known, except that there are several
sources quoted in Ezra 1–6 (Williamson 1983).4 One of these consists of
the so-called Persian letters. Regardless of their authenticity they seem to
constitute a separate block of material taken over by the writer; he created
the surrounding narrative that encloses them but not the contents of the
letters, though he might have edited them in the process of incorporating
them.
One of the letters includes a reference to Sheshbazzar (Ezra 5.14-16), a
reference that jars with the Sheshbazzar of Ezra 1. In Ezra 1 he is a minor
character with a mission to bring back some vessels and disappear from
the scene. In Ezra 5.14-16 he is the governor of the province and lays the
foundations of the temple. This clashes with Ezra’s view that Zerubbabel
laid the foundation of the temple before being stopped (3.10). I have
argued that all the alleged Persian documents show signs of later editing
or composition; whether any is authentic can be debated, but in the
spectrum of probability 5.7-17 comes at the top (Grabbe 2006; 2004: 76–
8). I do not see how Sheshbazzar can be removed from the early Persian
period, when it is dated in both Ezra 1 and 5 to the reign of Cyrus.
d. The Shephelah and Negev

These areas were apparently not inhabited or only thinly so in the time of
Zech. 7.7. After considerable growth during the eighth century, the
Shephelah suffered a severe blow under Sennacherib and continued to
decline through the seventh and into the sixth century BCE, with a major
settlement vacuum in the sixth (Lipschits 2005: 218–23). A new settlement
pattern developed in the Persian period, with more than 70 per cent of the
sites not occupied at the end of the Iron II. In the Negev the seventh
century had seen considerable growth, but this ceased as the Iron Age
came to a close (Lipschits 2005: 224–32). In some cases, there was
destruction of sites; in others we apparently find decline and abandon-
ment. A smaller settlement began to be renewed in the fifth century,
4 I do not accept Edelman’s argument that all the information in Ezra 1–6 is borrowed
from other sections of the Bible (2005: 162–201). It seems clear that there is a good deal of
material that could not come from elsewhere in the biblical text. This does not mean that it is
authentic, but the writer nevertheless had sources. This especially applies to the letters in Ezra
4–6 (and 7), which she rejects as completely literary fictions, whereas I have argued that there
is evidence of Persian-period documents behind at least some of them (Grabbe 2006).
though the Persian period exhibited a 75 per cent drop in inhabited area
(only 30 dunams). Determining precise times when these various events
took place is difficult by archaeology alone, as Edelman argues (2005:
326–30). Nevertheless, the statement of Zech. 7.7 would seem to make
better sense in the late sixth century or even the early fifth than it would in
the mid-fifth century or later.
e. The Memorial of Nehemiah

Whatever we think of Nehemiah – and I have my problems with him – we
should find his statements a reflection of how he saw his own times. When
we read those passages that by convention are thought to be taken from
his memorial, it is interesting to see what he says and also what he does
not say.
First, when Nehemiah arrives in Jerusalem, Judah and Jerusalem are
already inhabited. Some of the inhabitants could have been descendants
of those who were never taken captive, but the priests, Levites and temple
servants mentioned in Nehemiah (2.16; 3; 5.12; 7; 8.2, 9, 13; 9.32, 34, 38;
10.8, 28, 34, 36–39; 11.3, 10, 20; 12–13) are likely to be descendants of
those who returned from Babylonia.
Second, there is already a functioning temple and priesthood in place:
priests work on the wall built opposite their homes (3.20-22, 28); the
temple is mentioned in passing (2.8; 6.10-11). In all the Nehemiah
memorial there is not one reference to building the temple; the temple
already existed when Nehemiah arrived. If it had not, this would surely
have been Nehemiah’s main concern: repair of the wall would have paled
into insignificance compared to erection of the temple, if one had not
existed. Jerusalem with the temple in ruins would have been a real
disgrace.
Third, Nehemiah does not build Jerusalem’s wall for defence. The only
threat of attack mentioned is the one supposedly planned by Sanballat
and his colleagues (4.1-2), and that was a consequence – not a cause – of
building the wall.5 The purpose of building the wall was to remove the
disgrace on Jerusalem (Neh. 1.3; 2.17). It would also be a powerful
instrument of social control over the inhabitants of the city. This became
very evident at the time of the sabbath crisis, when Nehemiah showed that
he could prevent buying and selling by closing and guarding the gates
(13.15-22). The settlers in Jerusalem were not in danger from outsiders; on
the contrary, Nehemiah used the wall he had built to impose his will on
them. Why Jerusalem’s walls should be in such a state is unclear: it is not
impossible that they remained that way since Nebuchadnezzar destroyed
5 I have my doubts as to whether this was anything but a product of Nehemiah’s fevered
imagination (Grabbe 2004: 299).
them in 587/586, but something could have happened during the late sixth
or first part of the fifth century BCE.6
Fourth, we have no indication that Nehemiah’s coming to Judah had
anything to do with a new settlement. No reference is made to settlers
coming with Nehemiah. Nehemiah builds a wall, and he brings people
from the countryside to live in Jerusalem, but this is moving around a
population already there. If there was a new settlement in the time of
Nehemiah, we have to say that there were plenty of opportunities for
reference to it in the Nehemiah memorial, but there is not a peep.
Nehemiah’s document is completely silent on any new immigrants, unlike
Joshua and Zerubbabel (Ezra 2 // Neh. 7; 12.1-25) and Ezra (8.1-20).
Thus, from Nehemiah’s own account we find nothing to suggest a new
settlement or the rebuilding of the temple in his own time.
f. The Generations
This contains two aspects: the question of genealogies and the various
generations within the biblical accounts in Ezra-Nehemiah and Haggai-
Zecharai 1–8. First, genealogies: the use of biblical genealogical data for
historical purposes is often problematic. In this vein, most or all of the
genealogies in Ezra and Nehemiah are of dubious historical value. The
genealogies in Neh. 10.2-28 // Neh. 12.1-26 appear to be cobbled together
from a variety of sources (Grabbe 1998: 56–62; 2004: 80–3). Those in Ezra
2 and Nehemiah 7 have been extensively discussed, but the most recent
study suggests they come from a much later time (Finkelstein 2008a).
What seem to be high-priestly lists in Neh. 12.10, 22 have also been
extensively discussed (cf. the summary in Grabbe [2004: 230–4]; also D.
Fulton in this volume).
One of the main problems we have is that a large reservoir of names
seems to have been common among Jews in this general period and some
names come up time and again for completely different individuals. Only
a few people are designated by patronymics. For the most part, one can
have little confidence that the genealogies will provide sufficient reliable
data to be of much use.7 A few individuals have patronymics, however, or
are sufficiently characterized to distinguish them from others of the same
6 Finkelstein’s recent study (2008b), arguing that there is no evidence for a wall in the
time of Nehemiah, could cause a revision of our view of Nehemiah and his activities. But this
is an issue still being debated. In any case, it could suggest a rather insubstantial structure
rather than the solid defensive walls normally assumed.
7 The use of common names for many different individuals is the main problem with
Edelman’s chapter on generations (2005: 13–79). She attempts to reconstruct five generations
or so, but in order to link the generation of Zerubbabel with that of Nehemiah, she has to use
common names, such as Hananiah, Meshullam, Shemaiah, Zechariah and Berekiah. For
example, Shecaniah son of Arah is placed in generation 2, along with Zerubbabel (2005: 20),
yet the only evidence relating them is Neh. 12.3 which lists a Shecaniah with no patronymic.
name. Two of these are of course Joshua, the high priest, and Zerubbabel,
the governor. Joshua is said to be ‘son of Jehozadak’ (qdcwhy: Hag. 1.1,
12, 14; 2.2, 4; Zech. 6.11; 1 Chron. 5.40-41; qdcwy: Ezra 3.2, 8; 5.2; 10.18;
Neh. 12.26), and Zerubbabel, ‘son of Shealtiel’ (l)ytl)#: Hag. 1.1, 12,
14; 2.2, 23; Ezra 3.2, 8; 5.2; Neh. 12.1; 1 Chron. 3.17; l)ytl#: Hag. 1.12,
14; 2.2). Apart from its connection with Zerubbabel, the name ‘Shealtiel’
occurs in only one other place, 1 Chron. 3.17, where the individual is a son
of King Jeconiah or Jehoiachin. Similarly, apart from its association with
Joshua the high priest, the name ‘Jehozadak’ occurs only with reference to
the son of the high priest who was taken into exile at the fall of Jerusalem
(1 Chron. 6.40-41). Thus, the text seems to be connecting both Zerubbabel
and Joshua with individuals associated with the conquest of Jerusalem by
Nebuchadnezzar. In most cases, ‘son of Shealtiel’ occurs in a framework
passage, but Hag. 2.23 has it as part of the text. Similarly, ‘son of
Jehozadak’ is part of the text in Hag. 2.4.
There thus seems to be little question that the textual tradition dates
Zerubbabel and Joshua to the generation after the fall of Jerusalem. The
question is, why should this be so if these two individuals should actually
be dated to the mid-fifth century BCE (so Edelman)? These bring us to the
next consideraton: the generations according to the text. If you read
Haggai/Zechariah 1–8 and Ezra–Nehemiah, you find a fairly clear
historical sequence that can be divided into generations. In Ezra 1.8-11
and 5.14-16 Sheshbazzar, the first appointee in the Jewish leadership, is
associated with the reign of Cyrus. Zerubbabel and Joshua are another
generation (Ezra 2–6; Haggai; Zechariah 1–8). They have no interaction
with Sheshbazzar, and their activities are all dated to the reign of a
Darius.8 Their task is to build the temple, and the text is silent about other
building activities. A third generation is Ezra (Ezra 7–10; Nehemiah 8)
who is associated with an Artaxerxes. He has no interaction with the
generation of Zerubbabel and Joshua, not with them and not with anyone
associated with them. The temple is already standing (Ezra 8.25, 33, 35-36;
9.9; 10.1, 6, 9). Nehemiah has a separate tradition, though he is also dated
to the reign of an Artaxerxes (Nehemiah 1–7; 10.2; 12.27–13.31).
Nehemiah’s task is to build the walls of Jerusalem. Building with regard
to the temple is mentioned only in the context of walls and gates (e.g.,
Neh. 2.8; 6.10, 11). Nehemiah does not interact with any of the generation
of Zerubbabel, nor does he appear to have any association with Ezra
8 There is a reference to Cyrus (Ezra 4.3), but Zerubbabel is not dated to the time of
Cyrus, only the statement made that the charge to build the house had come from Cyrus. The
references to Xerxes in Ezra 4.6 and to Artaxerxes (Ezra 4.7) do not explicitly mention
Zerubbabel or Joshua. Although this correspondence is brought into the context of temple
building, the contents refer to rebuilding the city (Ezra 4.12, 16, 21). When Zerubbabel and
Joshua are named (Ezra 5.2), the king is Darius (5.5, 6, 7; 6.1, 12, 13).
except for a couple of verses that are widely regarded as secondary (Neh.
8.9; 12.36). In any case, both Ezra and Nehemiah are associated with the
rule of an Artaxerxes. Which Artaxerxes is not clear. Ezra–Nehemiah
seem to know two Artaxerxes, though apparently not three. In discussion
Ezra has sometimes been associated with Artaxerxes II, as has also
Nehemiah (Grabbe 1992: 88–93; Saley 1978). But in either case, the time
of Ezra and Nehemiah is either mid-fifth or early fourth century BCE.
It seems strange that if everything was supposed to be telescoped into
the middle of the fifth century, those who composed the books were able
to keep the various generations so completely separate. It is clear that
from the text’s point of view, these were separate generations, apart from
perhaps Ezra and Nehemiah. The question is, why did the compilers of the
text want it all so separate if these individuals were all really contempor-
aries, more or less? If the purpose was to show that Jeremiah’s prophecy
of 70 years had been fulfilled (Jer. 25.11-12), why put only part of the
actors in the time of Darius (I)? If the compilers were creating their own
scenario, why not also shift Nehemiah to the time of Darius? It would
have been much easier to have shifted the whole lot to the early Persian
period than to split off just Joshua and Zerubbabel. It all looks rather
peculiar, if one wishes to claim that contemporaries had been artificially
split up and part of them moved about 75 years earlier.
3. Conclusions
One of the aspects of the Persian period that has come forcefully home to
me during my research into the general history of the period is how much
we do not know and how problematic our extant sources are. It is not
what we would prefer, but we gain nothing by pretending that we know
more than we do. Critical analysis and critical argument are essential to
any work in this period. But we should not throw up our hands and
relegate the sources to a rubbish heap by the back door. At times they can
suggest things to us even if the data fall short of proof.
When it comes to when and how Jews returned to Judah in the Persian
period, we have few details. Passages such as Ezra 1–6 are problematic.
What actually happened may well have been – indeed, probably was –
different from the picture given there. But there are indications that some
Jews returned, that certain individuals are likely to have held the office of
governor of Yehud, and that settlement of immigrants had to be reckoned
with. The return was probably more gradual than pictured in Ezra and
probably involved smaller numbers (Becking 2006). But there are a
number of hints that already in the early Persian period, new settlement
activity was taking place in Yehud. Although the bulk of the Jews living in
Mesopotamia stayed there, it seems unlikely that some would not have
taken advantage of the opportunity to return in at least the first half

century of Persian rule.
A temple was built, probably taking rather longer than suggested by
Ezra 6.15. Sadly, we cannot say when the temple was rebuilt from
archaeology. Literary references suggest that it was after a period of ‘70
years’ from its destruction – a round but not improbable figure. It
happened before the Negev and Shephelah had been repopulated to any
significant degree. The tradition of Sheshbazzar is one that the writer of
Ezra tries to play down, suggesting that it is problematic for him but too
strong to be ignored, and this tradition indicates that a start on rebuilding
the temple began already in the period before Darius, probably under
Cyrus. There seems no clear reason to reject Joshua and Zerubbabel as
coming sometime about the beginning of the reign of Darius I. We cannot
say when the temple was finished – Ezra 6.15 is not reliable – but it was
probably by the end of the sixth or beginning of the fifth century BCE.
Nehemiah – and Ezra, if his tradition has any basis in fact – found a
functioning temple and priesthood, and also a city of some sort. Much still
needed to be done, but much had already been done 75 or more years
before their time.
Bibliography
Becking, Bob
2006 ‘ ‘‘We All Returned as One!’’: Critical Notes on the Myth of
the Mass Return’, in Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming
(eds), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona
Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns): 3–28.
Blenkinsopp, Joseph
1989 Ezra-Nehemiah (OTL; London: SCM).
Briant, Pierre
ET of Histoire de l’empire perse de Cyrus à Alexandre, Vols
I-II (Achaemenid History, 10; Leiden: Nederlands Instituut
Librairie Arthème Fayard, Paris).
Edelman, Diana
2005 The Origins of the ‘Second’ Temple: Persian Imperial Policy
and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem (London and Oakville, CT:
Equinox).
Finkelstein, Israel
2008a ‘Archaeology and the List of Returnees in the Books of Ezra
and Nehemiah’, PEQ 140: 1–10.
2008b ‘Jerusalem in the Persian (and Early Hellenistic) Period and

the Wall of Nehemiah’, JSOT 32: 501–20.
Grabbe, Lester L.
1979 ‘Chronography in Hellenistic Jewish Historiography’, in P.
J. Achtemeier (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1979
Seminar Papers (SBLSP, 17; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press)
2: 43–68.
1991 ‘Reconstructing History from the Book of Ezra’, in Philip
R. Davies (ed.), Second Temple Studies: The Persian Period
(JSOTSup, 117; Sheffield: JSOT): 98–107.
1992 Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian, vol. I: Persian and Greek
Periods; vol. II: Roman Period (Minneapolis: Fortress Press)
[pagination continuous].
1994 ‘What Was Ezra’s Mission?’, in Tamara C. Eskenazi and
Kent H. Richards (eds), Second Temple Studies, 2: Temple
JSOT Press): 286–99.
1997 ‘The 70-Weeks Prophecy (Daniel 9.24-27) in Early Jewish
Interpretation’, in Craig A. Evans and Shemaryahu Talmon
(eds), The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical
Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (Biblical
Interpretation Series 28; Leiden: Brill): 595–611.
1998 Ezra and Nehemiah (Readings; London: Routledge).
Period 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah
(London and New York: T&T Clark International).
2006 ‘The ‘‘Persian Documents’’ in the Book of Ezra: Are They
Authentic?’, in Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (eds),
Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake,
IN: Eisenbrauns): 531–70.
Gunneweg, A. H. J.
1985 Esra (KAT, 19.1; Gütersloh: Mohn).
1987 Nehemiah (KAT, 19.2; Gütersloh: Mohn).
Kuhrt, Amélie
1983 ‘The Cyrus Cylinder and Achaemenid Imperial Policy’,
JSOT 25: 83–97.
Lipschits, Oded
Saley, R. J.
1978 ‘The Date of Nehemiah Reconsidered’, in G. A. Tuttle (ed.),
Biblical and Near Eastern Studies: Essays in Honor of W. S.
LaSor (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans): 151–65.
Schaudig, Hanspeter
2001 Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Groβen
samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften:
Textausgabe und Grammatik (AOAT, 256; Münster: Ugarit-
Verlag).
1983 ‘The Composition of Ezra i-vi’, JTS 34: 1–30.
1985 Ezra, Nehemiah (Word Bible Commentary, 16; Waco, TX:
Word Books).
Chapter 7
WAS JERUSALEM A PERSIAN FORTRESS?
Lester L. Grabbe (University of Hull)
The assumption too often made by students of Persian-period Judah, it

seems, is that Judah was the axis on which the Persian Empire rotated,
that it was a Judaean tail that wagged the Persian dog. The Persian
emperor apparently had nothing better to do – day or night – than to
evolve schemes to advance the Judahite cause or dream up policies based
on the plight, condition, situation or concerns of Yehud and its
inhabitants. This paper concerns a topic that has appeared to evoke
such an approach on the part of some researchers.
What I wish to examine is an assumption central to a number of
theories about ‘Persian policy’: the supposition that Jerusalem was the site
of a Persian garrison, that the city of Jerusalem – or at least its citadel –
was a Persian fortress and part of the general Persian defence system. It is
no doubt a natural assumption that Jerusalem housed a Persian military
garrison, but when so much is hypothetical about the Persian period, we
need to build theories as much as possible on what can be demonstrated,
not what can be assumed.
1. Garrisons and Fortresses in the Persian Empire

We begin by asking generally about how Persian garrisons and fortresses
worked within the empire. Fortunately, we have a major study – almost a
monograph – on the subject by Christopher Tuplin (1987), and Pierre
Briant speaks on the subject here and there; unfortunately, a lot remains
uncertain. The only really explicit discussion is by Xenophon, in two
major passages. In the Cyropaedia (8.6.1-16) he states:
As Cyrus then organized the service, so is it even to this day: the
garrisons upon the citadels [ai9 e0n tai=j a!kraij fulakai/] are immediately
under the king’s control, and the colonels in command of the garrisons
[xili/arxoi tw~n fulakw~n] receive their appointment from the king and
are enrolled upon the king’s list.
GRABBE Was Jerusalem a Persian Fortress? 129
In the Oeconomicus (4.4-11) he writes:

[The Persian king] has given a standing order to every governor of the
nations from which he receives tribute, to supply maintenance for a
specified number of horsemen and archers and slingers and light
infantry . . . and, apart from these, he maintains garrisons in the citadels.
Maintenance for these is supplied by the governor charged with this
duty, and the king annually reviews the mercenaries and all the other
troops ordered to be under arms, assembling all but the men in the
citadels at the place of muster . . . Moreover, each of these duties is
entrusted to a separate class of officers; one class governs the residents
and the laborers, and collects tribute from them, the other commands
the men under arms and the garrisons . . . Wherever a viceroy
[satra&phj] is appointed, he attends to both these matters.
There are a number of questions to be asked about these passages. First,
the status of Xenophon’s statements has been queried because of the
writings in which they occur, both of which raise issues of historical
authenticity. The Cyropaedia is an idealized work which combines
elements of the character of Cyrus (II) the founder of the Achaemenid
Empire, the later Cyrus the Younger who rebelled against his brother
Darius II, and the Spartan general Agesilaus.1 It is hardly a straightfor-
ward biography of Cyrus the Great. The Oeconomicus is also an idealized
work that represents in some ways an ecological polemic aimed at current
Greek practices (see especially Pomeroy 1994).
While recognizing the merit of those who argue that Xenophon has
unduly schematized things, Tuplin thinks that Xenophon had relevant
information about the Persian system. On the other hand, examination of
the actual evidence as found in all sorts of sources – including Xenophon’s
own statements in other writings – indicates problems with Xenophon’s
scheme. In the end, Tuplin suggests that Xenophon may have extrapo-
lated from the situation in Lycia to the entire Persian Empire. Regardless
of whether this is correct, Tuplin’s own evidence suggests the following:
. The garrisons (frouroi/, frourou=ntej) were found in both urban
areas and the countryside (xw&ra), but they were widely spread out:
only the major urban centres had Persian garrisons.
. Although the garrison commanders in theory answered to the king,
in practice they were subordinate to the satrap. This was especially
evident in the arrangements made for their provisioning and pay,
which came out of the revenues of the satrapy where they were
stationed.
. The appointment of the garrison commander was probably nom-
1 On the Cyropaedia, see Due 1989; Gera 1993; and Tatum 1989; on Xenophon as a
historical source, cf. also Grabbe 2004: 124–5.
inally done by the king, but this would usually have only been
confirmation of the recommendation by the local satrap.
. It is often difficult to know from the literary and archaeological
sources whether a fortress and its soldiers constituted a Persian
garrison.
It should be stated in advance that Tuplin thinks Jerusalem was a Persian
garrison, though this seems assumed from the start since little argument is
given. But his statements about the difficulties of determining such
matters apply equally to Jerusalem as to many other sites.
2. The Biblical Texts

Whatever problems there are with the biblical text, it is one of the very
limited sources of data for Judah in the Persian period. My concern in this
section of the paper is what the text says, without considering for the
moment whether we are willing to believe it or not. Only the relevant
passages are summarized here.
We begin with the book of Ezra. In chapter 1 Cyrus issues a decree for
people to go up to Jerusalem to build the ‘house of Yhwh the god of
heaven’. A group answer the call, and Sheshbazzar is given temple vessels
to bring back to Jerusalem. Chapter 2 talks about where the returnees
settle, while in chapter 3 the people gather in Jerusalem and build an altar
under the leadership of Joshua and Zerubbabel ‘because of their fear
(hmy)) of the peoples of the lands’ (3.3). This is sometimes emended to
hby) ‘enmity’ (cf. Zobel 1974) but, for our purposes, neither reading
makes much of a difference. The altar is erected and put into service
immediately, but this is followed by the laying of foundations for the
‘house of Yhwh’. In all this, nothing suggests a citadel, fortress or soldiers.
Chapters 4 to 6 are very interesting. They contain a number of
embedded documents that do not always mesh with the surrounding text.
Again, our concern is not to worry about any contradictions between the
letters and decrees and the text into which they have been inserted.
Rather, all we want to ask is what each says in its own right. In chapter 4
the ‘enemies of Judah and Benjamin’ ask to help build the temple but are
refused. Therefore, these ‘enemies’ attempt to counter the work by bribery
and accusation, though nothing is said about physical or military threats.
One embedded document is the letter of 4.7-16. Here the concern is not
the temple but the city of Jerusalem whose walls are being rebuilt. One of
its statements reads (4.13): ‘So let it be known to the king that if this city is
built and its foundation laid, tribute, tax, and toll will not be paid, and the
treasury of the king will suffer.’ The city is said to be ‘rebellious’ and
‘causing harm’ to kings and provinces (v. 15). But how could this be if it
was the seat of a Persian garrison? The reply from the king confirms the
accusations. If an armed insurrection is envisaged, it is certainly not stated

explicitly: the concern seems to be about failure to pay the expected
tribute. In chapter 5 the building of the temple is resumed, and the satrap
Tattenai comes to investigate. According to chapter 6, Darius issues his
own decree, allowing the temple to be completed.
The rest of the book of Ezra is given over to the Ezra story. The letter of
Artaxerxes to Ezra assigns major authority to him in certain spheres: ‘to
regulate Judah and Jerusalem’ according to the law of God (7.14) and ‘to
appoint officials and judges to judge all the people in the entire province
of Across the Euphrates’ (7.25), while ‘anyone who does not carry out the
law of your God and the law of the king let judgement be immediately
punished’ (7.26). This might imply that Ezra brings with him some sort of
police or military force, but such is not stated. Who does the punishing
and who enforces Ezra’s decrees is never made explicit. Chapter 8
describes the gathering of people, who then accompany him to Jerusalem.
Ezra explicitly refuses an armed escort (8.22). The orders that Ezra brings
with him (presumably including the decree of Ezra 7) are given to the
satraps of the king and the governors of Across the Euphrates (8.36).
Now we come to the story of Nehemiah. This is unusual in that
Nehemiah speaks in the first person. He says:
I was serving wine to the king, and he said, ‘Nehemiah, Judah and
Jerusalem are in a vital border area. They are essential elements in the
chain of defense of the Persian empire. I want you to lead a large group
of settlers there, take a garrison of Persian soldiers and build up
Jerusalem into a defensive fortress as a bulwark against a possible
invasion from Egypt. Also, I want you to break up any marriages
between Jews and non-Jews, because this is contrary to Persian policy.’
This must be what happened, because a number of recent monographs have
built their theses on such assumptions about what the Persian king
intended. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find the Bible that others
are using. I can only go by the biblical versions that I know, which are the
Masoretic text of Nehemiah and the Greek translation sometimes referred
to as Esdras β. What they say is rather different from the creative
editorializing given above. Here is what the extant text says:
Nehemiah is concerned about the state of things in Judah and
Jerusalem. He is concerned about the state of shame or disgrace
(hprx) in which the people find themselves (Neh. 1.3). The physical
state of the city is a symptom of the state of the people (Neh. 2.3). The
initiative for doing something about it does not come from the Persian
government or Persian king – despite what a number of recent studies
have assumed: it is Nehemiah himself who requests the opportunity for
a mission to rebuild the walls and city of Jerusalem. He also asks for
letters to be given for passage through the satrapy and to have building
materials made available to him. The king grants this, as well as an

escort of cavalry. We also infer from later statements that the king
handled the situation by making Nehemiah governor of Yehud, though
the text is silent on the matter at this point.
After a midnight tour of the wall, Nehemiah orders its rebuilding,

against opposition from Sanballat, Tobiah and Geshem – the first
certainly and the other two probably Persian governors of neighbouring
regions. Chapter 3 lists the builders of the wall; much of this chapter
(3.1-21) seems to come from a separate list that has been inserted into
the text of Nehemiah’s account. According to chapter 4, Sanballat and
company conspired against the builders and proposed to attack them
(though no such action seems to have taken place). Nehemiah’s
response is to arm the workers: they work with a trowel in one hand and
a sword in the other. Nehemiah says that ‘half my servants were
engaged in the work and half of them were wielding’ weapons and
armour (4.10). He arranged that ‘every man and his servant would
spend the night in Jerusalem and would provide a guard at night and
work during the day’ (4.16).
This is a strange situation if Jerusalem was the site of a Persian garrison. If
the city had a garrison, would not Nehemiah have called on it to defend
the building? Or, if Nehemiah did not have direct authority over the
Persian garrison, could he still not have expected that the Persian soldiers
would prevent any attack on the city? We have a reference to Nehemiah’s
‘servants’ who both work and bear weapons and armour. Who are these?
As for himself, he had ‘servants’ (5.16), with 150 ‘Jews and officials
(Myngs)’ as well as people from the neighbouring regions, eating at his
table each day.
In chapter 7 Nehemiah assigns duties to the different personnel. He puts
his brother Hanani, along with Hannaniah the captain of the fortress or
bıˆrāh (hrybh r#&), in charge of Jerusalem. Their main task seems to be to
open and shut the gates of the city and assign watches to the inhabitants.
Because there were few people within the city, he plans to register people
to live there (7.5; 11.1-2). The next three chapters are theological
discussions that have nothing of interest for our concern. Finally, in
chapter 11, the story returns to the population of Jerusalem and those
settled there. The ‘officers of the people’ (M(h yr#&) settle in Jerusalem,
along with a tenth of the population chosen by lot (11.1-2). We come in
the latter half of chapter 12 to a description of the dedication of the wall.
The final episode of concern is the one relating to buying and selling on
the sabbath (13.15-22). Nehemiah forbade the practice, and gave a
command to shut the gates on the day. Initially, he assigned some of his
own ‘servants’ (Myr(n) at the gates to prevent goods from being brought
in (v. 19), but then he had Levites take over the task (v. 22).
3. Analysis
At this point, we can put together the surveys in the previous two sections
with some other considerations, such as archaeology. Does archaeology
help us? Unfortunately, there are still major questions here even about
basic matters such as Nehemiah’s wall (cf. Ussishkin 2006; Finkelstein
2008). To the best of my knowledge no evidence of a citadel has been
found archaeologically, but it could well have been on what is now the
Temple Mount (cf. Knauf 2000). Thus, we are thrown back on the text.
What can be said from Ezra-Nehemiah? The text is surprisingly silent
on anything to do with military matters in the city. A lot is said about the
temple, and a fair amount relates to rebuilding the walls and settling
inhabitants in the city. But nothing is said about Persian soldiers or a
Persian garrison; indeed, some passages militate against such an estab-
lishment. The letter in 4.7-16 about the city and walls being repaired seems
to presuppose a situation in which no garrison is supervising the city or in
position to react to the situation. Similarly, no garrison of Persian soldiers
seems to be present when Nehemiah is repairing the wall because his main
defence is to arm the workers and set up some of his own men as guards.
The one possible reference is to the ‘commander of the bıˆrāh’ in Neh.
7.2. What is the significance of this? The commander clearly has a Jewish
name, not an Iranian one. It appears that garrisons were frequently
Iranian but apparently not invariably so (Tuplin 1987: 219–20). More
important is the bıˆrāh over which he has responsibility. The Hebrew word
bıˆrāh is generally thought to be a borrowing from Akkadian birtu, though
the Akkadian word might actually have originally been a borrowing from
Aramaic. The parallel Aramaic word is bıˆrtā’ and seems to have the same
range of meanings. One meaning is of course ‘fortress’ or the ‘citadel’
within a city. But there are other meanings. The word can be applied
simply to a fortified city,2 and sometimes even refers specifically to a
provincial capital.3 In some contexts, however, it refers to a walled
temple.4 This meaning is attested in later Hatrean and Nabatean
2 Many examples are found in DNWSI, 155–6 and in Lemaire and Lozachmeur 1987,
bıˆrtā’ sometimes being interchangeable with qryt’ ‘town, city’. See also n. 4 below.
3 Lemaire and Lozachmeur 1987: 266.
4 DNWSI, 155–6; Lipiński 2001: ‘Daraus ist der offenkundige Schluβ zu ziehen, daβ
bıˆrtā’ nicht die Zitadelle in einer Stadt ist, sondern die ‘‘wallbewehrte Stadt’’ selbst. Dies wird
dadurch bestätigt, daβ birtu in neuassyr. Königsinschriften āl dannūti ‘‘befestigte Stadt’’
entspricht und bıˆrāh/bıˆrat in der LXX normalerweise mit po/lij wiedergegeben wird. Hebr.
bıˆrāh in Neh 2,8 und Dan 8,2 entspricht aber ba&rij bei Flavius Josephus, Ant. XV,11,4 und
in Q Dan 8,2. Dieses griech. Wort, dessen Etymologie problematisch ist, wird zwar sonst in
der LXX benutzt, um einen Palast order eine Burg zu bezeichnen (Ps 45[44],9), aber es wurde
wahrscheinlich auf Grund des ähnlichen Klanges in diesen Fällen als Wiedergabe von bıˆrāh
gewählt. Durch Ausweitung der Bedeutung kann bjrt dann ein ummauertes Heiligtum
inscriptions,5 but this sense is also found in 1 Chron. 29.1 and 19: (David
states) ‘To my son Solomon give a whole heart to keep your command-
ments, your counsels, and your statutes, to do all and to build the temple
(habbıˆrāh) which I have prepared.’
Coming back to Neh. 7.2, it is useful to ask about the usage of the word
elsewhere in the book of Nehemiah. One is struck by Neh. 2.8, in which
reference is made to ‘the bıˆrāh of the temple’ (tybl-r#$) hrybh), for
which Nehemiah requests timber. As just noted, bıˆrāh can refer to a walled
temple, as seems to be the case here and in 1 Chron. 29.1, 19. Does the title
of Hananiah ‘captain of the bıˆrāh’ refer to an office in association with the
temple? Since no other sort of bıˆrāh for Jerusalem occurs in the texts, this
seems a strong possibility. In any case, this verse is very feeble support for
the view that Jerusalem had a Persian garrison. What we have to keep in
mind is Tuplin’s admonition:
The occurrence of a relevant key word does not necessarily guarantee
that a real fortress is involved at all . . . Yet, without a clearer idea of the
political organization in the cities upon which Achaemenid control was
superimposed, we may still be begging questions if we assume that every
fortified city was a garrison point directly related to the imperial system
in the manner of, for example, Elephantine . . . But in fact it is only in
Fars [central Persia] itself that we are really entitled to assume that any
permanent defense force in a fortified city constitutes an Achaemenid
garrison. (Tuplin 1987: 177, 200–1)
4. Conclusions
The above investigation found little support for the hypothesis that
Jerusalem was a Persian garrison. The general picture of the defence
system in the Persian Empire lacks a great deal of detail. It seems that
such garrisons were not necessarily that frequent, though the major urban
centres would apparently have one under normal circumstances. With
Jerusalem specifically, though, a number of passages went against the
idea, such as the situation described by the letter in Ezra 4.8-16 and the
one envisaged in Nehemiah 2–4 in which the Jerusalem wall was being
repaired. The one passage that might be taken as evidence, Neh. 7.2, turns
out to be far from definitive; in fact, there is good reason to think that the
bezeichen. In dieser Bedeutung begegnet es in 1 Chr 29,1.19 und im Nabat., CIS II 164,3, wo
bjrt’ griech. to\ i9ero/n entspricht. In Aufnahme von 1 Chr 29,1.19 begegnet in JPes II,35a die
Aussage, dasz ‘‘der ganze Tempelberg bıˆrāh genannt wird’’.’
5 Lemaire and Lozachmeur 1987: ‘A l’époque postérieure, birtā’ est attesté en hatréen et
en nabatéen, parfois avec le sens de ‘‘temple’’, ainsi que dans les ostraca de Nisa, et en abrége
sur les monnaies de Frátadára, mais le sens exact de ce mot à cette période et ultérieurement
mériterait une autre étude’ (p. 264).
bıˆrāh in that verse refers to the temple. If not, it could be a reference to the
newly rewalled city of Jerusalem or possibly a contingent of Nehemiah’s
own men or even Jerusalem as the new capital of the province. There is no
explicit evidence for believing that Hananiah is chiliarch or phrourarch
over a garrison of Persian soldiers and an appointee of the Persian king.
Some seem to feel that we can take it for granted that Jerusalem would
have had a Persian garrison. I believe this may be Tuplin’s view, though
he does not say so explicitly. I understand this point of view and do not
think it completely wrong-headed. Nevertheless, there is a lot we do not
know about Persian Yehud, and I believe that too much is assumed and
not enough proved in much of the study focusing on the province. It is not
just an argument from silence that makes me query the presence of a
Persian garrison in Jerusalem; there are also areas where we would expect
such a body to be in clear evidence if it existed. In the end, there is almost
no evidence in favour of Jerusalem as a Persian fortress. We must accept
this and also consider what might follow from this fact, if it is true:
. Is it possible that Jerusalem was not the capital of the province?
Many think that it became the capital only later, whereas Mizpah
was the administrative centre in the earlier period (cf. Lipschits
2006: 34–5). Might it be that Jerusalem was only the ‘temple city’
and that the real capital was still elsewhere at this time? Since the
last part of the Persian period is still a blank, it might be that
Jerusalem became the central city of the province later than the time
of Nehemiah.
. How important, really, were Judah and Jerusalem to the Persian
government? It seems to be assumed that it was important, but
much of this comes from taking the Jewish sources at face value.
. Whatever the value of Jerusalem for other purposes, did it really
have any strategic military value? Far removed and remote, was it
really of much use, even if there had been a threat from Egypt?6
. Did Jerusalem even have a wall? Nehemiah 3 and 4 have usually
been taken at face value, yet archaeology has had a difficult time
providing evidence for a wall built by Nehemiah, as the latest study
(Finkelstein 2008) well demonstrates. It represents a dilemma for
those (like me) who regard the last part of Nehemiah 3 and the
whole of 4 as part of the Nehemiah Memorial (Nehemiah 3.1-32 has
long been thought to be an insertion), but the information in the
Hebrew text is hardly compatible with a substantial wall, since it is
erected in 52 days (Neh. 6.52). Is it possible that the wall was at least
partially a wooden palisade, such as is known from pioneer North
America and many other fortified towns in history? Interestingly, it
6 I have argued that it did not have such strategic value (Grabbe 2004: 274–5, 296–8); see
Lipschits (2006: 35–40). It should be noted, however, that we were both anticipated by Briant
(2002: 573–9, 586).
is possible to read Neh. 2.8 that Nehemiah wants timber to build the
city walls, among other needs (i.e., that the reference to the ‘roofing’
[twrql] applies only to the ‘bıˆrāh of the temple’). This is only a
suggestion, and a number of passages indicate that stone was used in
the building (e.g., Neh. 3.34-35) but the lack of archaeology is a
serious issue.
There is a lot that we do not know about Persian Yehud. It is only when
we stop assuming and start taking a hard look at the actual evidence that
we can make progress in our understanding of the province.
Bibliography
Briant, Pierre
(trans. Peter T. Daniels; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns); of Histoire
de l’empire perse de Cyrus à Alexandre, vols I–II (Achaemenid
History, 10; Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten,
1996 [originally published by Librairie Arthème Fayard, Paris]).
Due, B.
1989 The Cyropaedia: Xenophon’s Aims and Methods (Aarhus:
Aarhus University Press).
Finkelstein, Israel
2008 ‘Jerusalem in the Persian (and Early Hellenistic) Period and the
Wall of Nehemiah’, JSOT 32: 501–20.
Gera, Deborah Levine
1993 Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Style, Genre, and Literary Technique
(Oxford Classical Monographs; Oxford: Clarendon).
Grabbe, Lester L.
2004 A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period
1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah (LSTS, 47;
London and New York: T&T Clark International).
Knauf, E. Axel
2000 ‘Jerusalem in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages: A
Proposal’, TA 27: 75–90.
Lemaire, André, and Hélène Lozachmeur
1987 ‘Bīrāh/Birtā’ en Araméen’, Syria 64: 261–6.
Lipiński, Édouard
2001 ‘tryb bıˆrat, TWAT, 9/1: 116–18.
Lipschits, Oded
Palestine, and the Status of Jerusalem in the Middle of the Fifth
Century B.C.E.’, in Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (eds),
Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN:
Pomeroy, Sarah B.
1994 Xenophon Oeconomicus: A Social and Historical Commentary,
with a New English Translation (Oxford: Clarendon).
Tatum, James
1989 Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction: On The Education of Cyrus
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University).
Tuplin, Christopher
1987 ‘Xenophon and the Garrisons of the Achaemenid Empire’,
AMI 20: 167–245.
Ussishkin, David
2006 ‘The Borders and De Facto Size of Jerusalem in the Persian
Period’, in Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (eds), Judah and the
Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns): 147–
66.
Will, Ernest
1987 ‘Qu’est-ce qu’une Baris?’ Syria 64: 253–9.
Zobel, Hans-Jürgen
1974 ‘hmy) ’êmāh’, TDOT, 1: 219–21.
Chapter 8
ADMINISTRATION OF ACHAEMENID PHOENICIA: A CASE FOR

MANAGED AUTONOMY1
Vadim Jigoulov (Morgan State University, Baltimore)
Achaemenid Phoenicia, an active and valuable player in eastern

Mediterranean affairs, has been capturing scholarly imagination for
many decades now, arguably starting with Rawlinson’s History of
Phoenicia (1889). Recently, the question of administration of Phoenicia,
as well as other entities under the Achaemenid Empire, has been raised in
a number of publications, perhaps as a reflection of the renewed interest in
the empire itself. Some scholars have proposed that the Achaemenids
preferred a laissez-faire style of governance, according to which routine
economic and political affairs were relegated to local ruling houses
(Dandamaev and Lukonin 1989; Dandamaev 1994; 1999; Knoppers 2001;
see the synopsis in Fried 2004: 4–6). Other scholars insist that the Persian
Empire either controlled some aspects of local political affairs, such as the
creation and issuance of laws (e.g., see Frei 2001), or carried out the
governance of subjugated lands through bureaucrats appointed by the
Great King (Eisenstadt 1963). As for the Persian-period Phoenician city-
states, scholars have generally proposed the idea of a considerable degree
of independence from the empire (Elayi 1980: 25; 1982; Stern 1995: 433).
One of the major arguments for this independence has been the
Phoenician trading activity in the Levant and the Mediterranean, which
undoubtedly was a lucrative source of revenue for the Achaemenids
(Edelman 2006: 237; Lipschits 2006: 27). A careful examination of the
available sources, however, allows us to modify this notion and propose
an idea of managed autonomy as an administrative system wherein
Phoenician city-states were allowed to run their affairs largely unhindered,
still within the realm of the empire. In this chapter, we will survey the
1 This article was first presented in abridged form at the 2007 SBL meeting in San Diego,
California. I would like to express my gratitude to L. L. Grabbe and G. N. Knoppers for the
invitation to publish it in this volume.
JIGOULOV Administration of Achaemenid Phoenicia 139
main sources of information regarding the system of administration of the

Phoenician city-states in order to define and explain this proposal.
1. Achaemenid Phoenicia in Classical Sources

Classical sources addressing Achaemenid Phoenicia, which include, first
and foremost, Herodotus’ Histories and Xenophon’s Anabasis, concen-
trate for the most part on the events of struggle and opposition to the
Phoenicians (Mazza 1999: 630); their coverage is patchy and contains vast
gaps. Furthermore, these sources are marked by frequent biases that need
to be taken into consideration before they can be used in historiographic
research. They do consistently reveal, however, a picture of Phoenicia as a
powerful conglomerate of independent city-states, which contributed
heavily to the Persian domination of the eastern Mediterranean in the
sixth to the fourth centuries BCE.
Classical authors report that the Phoenicians were a people of shared
cultural and/or ethnic heritage who occupied the land of the eastern
Mediterranean coast from Tell Suqas to Akko, or even down to Gaza
(Salles 1996: 1173). The Phoenicians of the classical sources were
understood to occupy several city-kingdoms, primarily Byblos, Sidon
and Tyre, although other entities appear as members of the designation
‘Phoenicia’ as well (Arwad/Aradus, Amrith, Berytus and Sarepta). It
should be noted here that the conceptual understanding of various cities
of the Phoenician coast by Greek authors is at times unclear; Homer, for
example, is known to use designations ‘Sidonians’ and ‘Phoenicians’ in the
same sentence (cf. Iliad 23.743-745).
By the time the Persian Empire arrived on the international scene,
Phoenicia and the Phoenicians were very familiar to the Greek world, as
classical authors had already frequently mentioned them in their writings.
The Greek attitude toward the Phoenicians known to them, that is,
primarily those residing in coastal areas, was a mixed one. On the one
hand, the Phoenicians were extolled for their maritime and mercantile
skills. On the other hand, they were considered barbarous (in the Greek
sense), crafty and deceitful, which was likely a reflection of the stand-off
between the Greeks and Phoenicians in the economic sphere. Indeed, from
the time of the first poems of Homer, the Phoenicians were regarded as
powerful competitors in trade, with cities that were highly specialized in
the production and export of certain goods. For example, Tyre was
famous for its production of purple dye, whereas Sidon was regarded as
the premier producer and exporter of glass products.
Classical authors distinguish between several stages of socio-political
developments in Phoenicia in the Persian period. The first period, lasting
from the beginning of the reign of Cyrus the Great through to the
beginning of the reign of Darius (c. 559–522 BCE), represented a

transitional stage in the history of Achaemenid Phoenicia, in which the
process of Phoenician city-states coming under the control and admin-
istration of the Persian Empire was rather slow. Herodotus indicates that
at the time of Cyrus ‘the Phoenicians were not yet subject to Persia’
(Histories 1.143). The fact that classical sources largely ignore the
transition from the Neo-Babylonian to the Persian period in Phoenicia
may indicate that the process was unspectacular and routine. Several
archaeological sources confirm that the process of transition was very
smooth and was hardly felt by the population of the Phoenician cities
(Rainey 1969: 52; Aharoni 1979: 408; Cook 1983: 41; Frye 1984: 113–14;
Briant 2002: 44–5, 70–6, 884–5, 91–2).
Classical sources indicate that the situation changed quite radically
during the second distinct period in the history of Phoenician city-states
(c. 522–486 BCE) that was ushered in by the reign of Darius and ended
with the arrival on the political horizon of Xerxes. Darius reportedly
undertook a grandiose and dramatic reorganization of his empire by
dividing it into 20 satrapies (Histories 3.90-94),2 which helped him
consolidate tribute collecting and centralize administration of dependen-
cies. From Xenophon’s Anabasis we learn that at the top of the Persian
government was the Great King. Next in the Persian hierarchy were the
satraps and local rulers who were in charge of various lands of the empire.
These rulers were rather autonomous – they could have their own armies
(Anabasis 1.1.8) and could even conduct foreign policy (Dillery 1998: 16–
17). According to Xenophon, Persian power was largely decentralized.
The satraps entrusted numerous districts to hyparchs (district governors),
who were allowed to have armies of their own and to collect tribute
(Anabasis 1.4.10, 7.8.25). There were further official posts (such as a
komarch, a village leader), who enjoyed considerable powers (Anabasis
4.5.10ff.). As Dillery (1998: 19) notes, ‘the Anabasis gives the impression
of a highly fragmented empire in which there are several autonomous
regions’.
It is unclear from classical sources whether, prior to Darius’ reforms,
the Phoenician city-states were included in the former Neo-Babylonian
province of ‘Beyond the River’. It appears, however, that sometime at the
end of the sixth to the first half of the fifth century BCE a new development
took place in the political organization of the Levant when Phoenicia and
neighbouring territories became a satrapy (Herodotus’ Fifth Satrapy)
separate from Babylon, which formed a separate entity (Herodotus’ Ninth
2 This passage has remained at the centre of scholarly attention as there are uncertainties
and ambiguities therein that complicate with reconstructions of the Persian-period polities
both the province of ‘Beyond the River’ and Phoenicia (e.g., Calmeyer 1990; Elayi 1997;
Rainey 2001).
Satrapy). Although exact components of the Fifth Satrapy are difficult to

ascertain due to a number of problems in Herodotus’ account, Phoenicia
appears at the centre of an administrative unit that exerted influence over
some cities on the island of Cyprus. This influence was intermittent,
inconsistent and for the most part formal, as it left numerous opportun-
ities for anti-Persian rebellions. Moreover, if we trust classical authors, by
the time of Xerxes, the city of Sidon had emerged as the central and most
powerful player on the Levantine coast in economic, political and
maritime matters. Its citizens supplied manpower to many military
operations of the Persians, for anything from quelling the Ionian revolt of
499 BCE to the operations against pro-Athenian Cypriot towns. Sidon
remained as a satrapal capital city at least until the middle of the fourth
century BCE, as Diodorus (Book XVI.41.2) indicates.
The third period in the history of Achaemenid Phoenicia (405–330 BCE)
receives little attention from classical authors except for the revolt of
Tennes, King of Sidon (346/5 BCE). The period was most likely
characterized by deteriorating relations between the Persians and the
Phoenicians. These, in turn, culminated in the wave of satrapal revolts at
the end of the first half of the fourth century BCE. Those revolts put an end
to the prosperous period in the history of Phoenicia in general and of
Sidon in particular, since the latter sought a greater degree of independ-
ence from Persian authorities. The revolt of Tennes was a thorough
disaster for the city of Sidon, which lost its satrapal capital status in the
Persian Empire. We should note here that the Sidonian rebellion of the
mid-fourth century BCE was limited in scope and barely spread to the
other Phoenician city-states – it was an attempt by a single local king to
disassociate himself and his city-state from the formal suzerainty of the
Great King, perhaps under the influence of similar rebellions in Egypt and
increasingly closer ties with Athens. The only other event of comparable
importance from that period is the siege and destruction of Tyre by
Alexander the Great in 332 BCE. The destruction put an end to any
possible Tyrian political ambitions in response to Sidon’s fall and marked
the end of Phoenician prosperity under the Achaemenids.
2. Achaemenid Phoenicia in Epigraphic Sources

Epigraphic evidence also allows us to make several conclusions regarding
the relationship between the Persian-period Phoenician city-states and the
Achaemenid Empire. One of the recent developments in Achaemenid
studies is the emergence of a notion of the Achaemenid power structure
that is pervasive, image-conscious and controlling through a wide array of
iconic and written means (e.g., Briant 2002). The extant Phoenician
epigraphic evidence, however, shows no centralized control or supervision
over the social or political life of Achaemenid Phoenicia. On the contrary,

Phoenician inscriptions from the Persian period point to the largely
autonomous character of Phoenician city-states. In Byblos, for example,
political perturbations were more an internal development, rather than a
result of the involvement of imperial authorities. The funerary inscription
of Batnoam of Byblos (KAI, 11) indicates that the changes in royal
succession reflected mostly minor internal tumult and royal shake-ups.
The inscription mentions Batnoam, the mother of Azbaal, a king of
Byblos whose name is known to scholars from the coins bearing his name:
In this coffin lie I Batnoam, mother of King Azbaal, king of Byblos, son
of Paltibaal, priest of the Mistress, in a robe and with a tiara on my
head and a gold bridle on my mouth, as was the custom with the royal
ladies who were before me (from Gibson 1982: 100).
Since Azbaal’s father Paltibaal is described as a priest of ‘the Mistress (of
Byblos)’ and not as a king, scholars (e.g., Dunand 1931[1933]: 156) have
suggested that Azbaal founded a new dynasty in Byblos as a political
challenge to the Achaemenid power during the Phoenician revolt against
Persia in the middle of the fourth century BCE. Such a proposal may seem
appealing, especially if one takes into consideration that the inscription is
usually dated to 350 BCE, the period of the revolt of Tennes of Sidon,
based on palaeographic considerations and Azbaal’s coinage. This
historical picture, however, does not correspond with other sources
mentioning the revolt. According to Diodorus (Book XVI), the extent of
the revolt does not appear to involve the whole of Phoenicia, as Sidon
alone bore the weight of the subsequent punishment. Moreover, there is
no internal indication in the inscription that Batnoam was in a state of
rebellion against the Persian imperial power. The inscription, thus,
indicates internal changes that occurred in Byblian politics, the extent of
which is unclear, but it is unlikely that they were anything but minor – the
continuity of succession is still emphasized in the inscription.
Furthermore, epigraphic evidence (e.g., the inscription of Eshmunazor)
suggests that as a result of a ready involvement of the Sidonian royalty in
military campaigns of the Persian kings, Phoenician city-states were
included in an administrative unit headed by the city of Sidon from the
middle or the end of the fifth century BCE onward. In spite of this
leadership, each Phoenician city-state was still headed by a member of the
local royalty and was able to conduct its affairs unhindered. From the
Phoenician royal inscriptions, one gains the impression of autonomous
kings serving the Great King, whose benevolence and patronage were
acknowledged and revered.
Curious in this regard is an inscription found in the Sippar region,
which seemingly contradicts the autonomous set-up of Phoenician city-
states. In recent years, several scholars (Dandamaev 1995; 2006; Fried
2003a) have suggested on the basis of the text CT, 55, no. 435 that Byblos
was ruled by the Achaemenids at the time of Darius through a Babylonian
landowner. The text mentions Rikis-kalâmu-Bēl, with the title LÚ.NAM,
of Byblos, making a donation of a tithe. The fact that the tithe included
silver, red purple wool, blue purple wool, two vessels of wine and cedar
wood, all products that Byblos was certainly able to provide, indicates
that the text mentions Byblos on the Mediterranean coast rather than a
city by the same name in the Sippar region. Dandamaev and Fried
propose that Rikis-kalâmu-Bēl was a Babylonian, an inhabitant of
Sippar, who held estates in Sippar for which he paid rent. Based on these
assumptions, Fried concludes that the Achaemenids selected Rikis-
kalâmu-Bēl from the landed aristocracy of Babylon to govern Byblos.
Several problems prevent us from accepting this position. First,
although the title LÚ.NAM does indeed designate a ‘provincial governor’
(Black, George and Postgate 2000: 274), the responsibilities of such a
governor and the degree of his involvement in the affairs of the province
are unknown to us. It would be preposterous to assume that the governor
was intimately involved in the affairs of the province, based on one
inscription. Moreover, we know from the Persian-period inscription of
Shiptibaal III (or his son) that the king of Byblos considered himself
under the direct authority of the Great King, without resorting to any
intermediaries. Therefore, even if Dandamaev’s and Fried’s proposal is
correct, the presence of a person with the title ‘provincial governor’ does
not indicate the intrusive character of Achaemenid administration in
ruling Phoenician city-states. Second, it is not apparent whether the title
LÚ.NAM was used frequently in the Phoenician city-states, as there are
no other documents known to us that mention it. It is conceivable that the
installation of a temporary governor was a measure aimed at ensuring
establishment of Achaemenid rule in Byblos. The post could have been
abolished or later become largely a token representation of Achaemenid
power in Byblos. It is also possible that the post survived from the
previous Neo-Babylonian rule by hereditary or other means. In any case,
the presence of a post does not equal a close involvement in administering
the city-state.
Third, as Dandamaev and Fried have both pointed out, classical
sources indicate that the Achaemenid Empire conducted administration of
its territories through local dynasts. Having a provincial governor closely
controlling the state affairs would be an anomaly that would suggest that
Phoenician city-states, and Byblos in particular, were so volatile that they
had to be governed through an outsider, a Babylonian. However, this is
not the case. All the sources, both literary and archaeological, indicate
that the transition from Neo-Babylonian rule to Achaemenid rule was
rather uneventful in the Levant. Furthermore, epigraphic sources from
Achaemenid Phoenicia indicate that Phoenician city-states exhibited

exemplary compliance with the policies of the new empire.
In the final analysis, the suggestion that Rikis-kalâmu-Bēl was a
Babylonian governor of Byblos who was engaged in the administration of
the city-state is not convincing. Equally unconvincing is Markoe’s
proposal (2000: 203) that the presence of traditional Persian architectural
elements in Byblos is an indication of direct Persian influence and
involvement in Byblos. Citing a rectangular building on top of the terrace
with a double row of pillars often identified as of the Apadana type
common in Iranian imperial architecture, he suggests that Byblos served
as a regional administrative and defensive centre in the Achaemenid
period. We would argue, however, that the mere presence of Iranian
architectural elements is insufficient for making conclusions regarding
either Persian domination of the area of Byblos in the Achaemenid period
or the stationing of a Persian official there. What we probably have at
Byblos is yet another example of the syncretism, borrowing and imitation
commonly present at other Phoenician sites. The elites of Byblos were in
tune with artistic and cultural trends of their time, which included
imitation and proliferation of various foreign artistic elements. Finally,
the fact that a structure dated to the sixth century BCE carries Persian
decorative elements does not necessarily indicate that direct Persian
control, even if we allow its presence, persisted in Byblos throughout the
Achaemenid period.
3. Achaemenid Phoenicia and the Material Remains

We have already mentioned that there are material culture remains, such
as architectural elements in the Iranian style of non-administrative
buildings, primarily temples, in Achaemenid Phoenicia that lend some
credibility to the idea of Persian influence, although we would argue that
it was mostly artistic, fuelled by a persistent Phoenician eclecticism. Even
if a Phoenician temple, such as the one at Bostan esh-Sheikh (about 3 km/
1.5 miles southeast of Sidon), carried architectural elements found on
Persian temples (Ciasca 1999: 177), this does not mean that there was a
Persian influence on the cult there. On the contrary, Phoenician builders
employed Persian architectural elements, enhanced by Egyptian and
Greek embellishments, as an expression of their cosmopolitanism. The use
of prestigious imperial Persian artistic iconography was not only an
expression of obeisance on the part of local Phoenician royalty and elites,
but also an attempt to assert self-ascribed high status among commoners
and foreigners. In short, Persian artistic elements appropriated through-
out Phoenicia became status symbols, prestige items par excellence and
visual manifestations of elitist power and authority through which

imperial power was emulated locally.
4. Administration of Achaemenid Phoenicia: Some Proposals

There are still questions about how the Levant was administered during
the Persian period. It is unclear whether the area was organized according
to pre-existing Neo-Babylonian divisions or whether the region received
new organizational structures and status. Scholarship has not been silent
on the issue. On the one hand, Hoglund (1992: 21) suggests that
Achaemenid authorities performed the territorial and administrative
reshaping of the pre-existing Neo-Babylonian dependencies. On the other
hand, Vanderhooft (2003), using Yehud as an example, proposes that the
Neo-Babylonian policy of withdrawal, confrontation and destruction did
not include any administrative organization of any of its territories and
that the situation remained that way until the end of Babylonian rule.
Vanderhooft’s proposal is convincing, as no other Neo-Babylonian
appointees to the southern Levant are known outside of the ancient
Jewish sources. According to his interpretation, the Levant of the Neo-
Babylonian period was generally neglected, a conclusion scholars can
confirm based on the evidence provided by the material culture as well
(Stern 2001: 308, 312–31). Based on our findings we may add that,
subsequently, Persian authorities immediately organized the Phoenician
city-states into a loose confederacy, an arrangement that survived
throughout most of the sixth century and most of the first quarter of
the fifth century BCE. In 482 BCE, after Xerxes had suppressed the revolt in
Babylon (Olmstead 1948: 237 n. 23; Lipschits 2006: 25), this confederacy
was transformed into a federation of Phoenician city-states under the
formal leadership of Sidon in recognition of the city’s contribution to
Persian military causes. However, toward the end of the fifth century BCE
and the beginning of the fourth century BCE, the city-state of Sidon took
several steps to secure greater independence from Persian taxation and
dominance, perhaps inspired to a large degree by Egypt’s rebellion against
the Persian Empire around 464–454 BCE (Thucydides, History 1.104; see
Briant 2002: 573–7). The consequences of such a move by Sidon were
disastrous, as it led to the crushing of the rebellion of its king, Tennes, and
the destruction of the city by Artaxerxes III.
Agreeing in general with a number of previous proposals, we have
adopted the terminology of managed autonomy to refer to the Achaemenid
policy in Phoenicia. The only stipulations from the central Persian
authorities were Phoenician collaboration on imperial economic and
military projects and timely payment of tribute. Several factors point to
such an arrangement. First, the population of Phoenician city-states was
able to maintain its indigenous cultural distinctiveness throughout most of

the Achaemenid period. For example, in religious life, Phoenician city-
states were able to continue their traditional religious affiliations (Tyre
with Melqart and Sidon with Astarte). Second, independent production of
coinage among Phoenician city-states3 indicates that they were able to run
their economies autonomously, without much interference from Persian
authorities. Third, the absence of a uniform weight standard among
assemblages of coinage from Phoenician city-states4 is yet another
indication of the decentralized character of monetary exchange among
Phoenician city-states in the Persian period and the absence of direct,
hands-on imperial control over them. Fourth, nowhere in Phoenician
epigraphic evidence, which frequently details changes introduced into
various temples, is there an indication of the presence or activity of
Persian imperial officials.
This is not to say that Persian imperial influence was absent in
Phoenicia. On the contrary, we actually argue for Persian influence in
Phoenicia, but emphasize that there is no evidence that the empire was
involved in any direct and sustained manner in Phoenician affairs. The
same cosmopolitanism that led to the adoption of foreign pottery styles in
Phoenicia was responsible for the presence of Persian architectural
elements there as well. If Persian representatives were residing in
Phoenician city-states (the evidence for which is absent outside of classical
sources), their outposts served primarily as symbols of Persian influence
rather than controlling offices. There was no pressing need for the empire
to control Phoenicia intensively. Rather, the population of Phoenician
city-states, under the benevolent protection of the Persians, was engaged
in lively economic and trade activity from which Persia benefited
immensely: exchanging goods in the Mediterranean, providing shipping
services, and managing the Persian fleet most certainly docked on the
Phoenician coast (cf. Herodotus, Histories 7.96).
The evidence for this model of managed autonomy, which presupposes
reciprocity on the parts of both the empire and Phoenician city-states, is
paralleled in other parts of the Persian Empire. For example, the
numismatic evidence from many polities in the eastern Mediterranean
preserves numerous examples of Persian imperial iconography, including
traditional Persian images of the ‘heroic encounter’ and the chariot (e.g.,
Root 1979; Garrison and Root 2001). Again, the presence of these images
3 Contrary to scholars who suggest that coins from Cilicia, Samaria and possibly Yehud
of the first half of the fourth century BCE were part of the ‘same monetary system and were
meant to circulate together’ (e.g., Fried 2003b: 74, 79, 82), we propose that there was no
single universal monetary system either in Phoenicia or other administrative units of the
Persian Empire (Jigoulov [forthcoming]).
4 Note the switch from the initial Attic weight standard to the Phoenician weight
standard in Persian-period Byblos (Betlyon 1982: 112; Destrooper-Georgiades 1995: 151).
does not necessitate tight control of territories and resources by the

Persian Empire. A relevant example is Achaemenid Sardis, in which the
Persian imperial influence on social life is quite evident from an analysis of
its material culture. Dusinberre writes:
The creation of a new administrative structure at Sardis is attested in
ancient literary sources and left profound marks on the material record
of Achaemenid-period Sardis, as we have seen. The new ideology of the
Achaemenid Empire was signified in artistic objects, particularly those
intended for public display such as appliqués on clothes and sealstones.
Further manifestations of Achaemenid ideas and culture systems
included the introduction of funerary couches and the probable
association of eternal banqueting with mortuary ritual, and the use of
the Achaemenid bowl for drinking by people of many different social
ranks (Dusinberre 2003: 198).
Nevertheless, as Dusinberre (2003: 210–17) has demonstrated on the basis
of iconographic evidence, this influence was not all-encompassing, as it
left room for expressions of resistance to imperial ideology. Similarly, the
presence of Persian imperial iconography in Phoenicia did not necessarily
entail extensive imperial control of its territory.
In conclusion, the Phoenician ability to conduct their city-state affairs
largely unhindered by the Achaemenid authorities can potentially inform
us as to how Persian kings themselves envisioned their empire. Seeing
themselves as benevolent and magnanimous, under divine protection,5
they exerted their military power only when threatened by an attempt of a
subject state to gain further independence. Overall, though, they allowed
the territories under their domain to remain autonomous, free of direct,
hands-on oversight. This type of governance of a subject territory that we
see in the example of Phoenician city-states can be a useful model when
applied to the analysis of other Persian subject territories, especially
Yehud, which can benefit from a further assessment of the complex web of
interactions among polities in the Achaemenid Levant.
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1999 ‘Achaemenid Imperial Policies and Provincial
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2006 ‘Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid State Administration in
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and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN:
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1989 The Culture and Social Institutions of Ancient Iran (trans. P.
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1998 ‘Introduction’, in C. L. Brownson and J. Dillery (eds)
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Dunand, M.
1931[1933] ‘Inscriptions Phéniciennes de Byblos’, Keˆmi 4: 151–6.
Dusinberre, E. R. M.
2003 Aspects of Empire in Achaemenid Sardis (Cambridge:
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Dussaud, R.
1936 ‘L’Inscription du sarcophage de Batno’am à Byblos’, Syria
17: 98–9.
Edelman, D.
2006 ‘Tyrian Trade in Yehud under Artaxerxes I: Real or
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1982 ‘Studies in Phoenician Geography during the Persian
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Literature): 5–40.
Fried, L. S.
2003a ‘A Governor of Byblos from Sippar’, Nouvelles assyriologi-
ques bre`ves et utilitaires 2: 40–1.
2003b ‘A Silver Coin of Yoh9anan Hakkôhēn’, Trans 26: 65–85, Pls.
II–V.
2004 The Priest and the Great King: Temple–Palace Relations in
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the Heroic Encounter (Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the

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(forthcoming) A Social History of the Phoenician City-States in the
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2001 ‘An Achaemenid Imperial Authorization of Torah in
Yehud?’, in J. W. Watts (ed.), Persia and Torah: The
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Lipschits, O.
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Moscati (ed.), The Phoenicians (New York: Rizzoli): 628–53.
Olmstead, A. T. E.
1948 History of the Persian Empire (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press).
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1969 ‘The Satrapy ‘‘Beyond the River’’ ’, AJBA 1: 51–78.
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BASOR 32: 57–63.
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Creation of an Iconography of Empire (Leiden: Brill).
1991 ‘From the Heart: Powerful Persianisms in the Art of the
Western Empire’, in H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg and A. Kuhrt
(eds), Asia Minor and Egypt: Old Cultures in a New Empire:
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Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten): 1–29.
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The Oxford Classical Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University
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Stern, E.
1995 ‘Between Persia and Greece: Trade, Administration and
Warfare in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods’, in T. E.
Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land
(New York: Facts on File): 433–45.
2001 The Archaeology of the Land of the Bible: The Assyrian,
Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732–332 B.C.E.), vol. 2
(New York: Doubleday).
Vanderhooft, D. S.
2003 ‘New Evidence Pertaining to the Transition from Neo-
Babylonian to Achaemenid Administration in Palestine’, in
R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds), Yahwism after the Exile:
Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era (Studies
in Theology and Religion, 5; Assen: Van Gorcum): 219–35.
Chapter 9
THE RELATION BETWEEN HISTORY AND THOUGHT: REFLECTIONS ON

THE SUBTITLE OF PETER ACKROYD’s EXILE AND RESTORATION
Reinhard G. Kratz (University of Göttingen)
1. Introductory Remarks
Being a representative of the German scholarly tradition as well as a
member of a much younger generation, it was a great honour for me to be
invited to take part in a panel in memory of Peter R. Ackroyd. 1 However,
in the case of Peter Ackroyd both seem to fit very well.
As far as the generation is concerned, it struck me that the first edition
of Exile and Restoration was published in 1968. This was the year during
which students started to demonstrate and revolt against their own
parents (in Germany against the generation of the Nazis). In a way Peter
Ackroyd’s Exile and Restoration also was such a revolt, even though such
tendencies – here I am relying on the information derived from older
colleagues who knew him well – hardly fitted his appearance as that of a
distinguished gentleman. In any case, Exile and Restoration was a protest
voiced against previous scholarship often rooted in Christian, if not to say
anti-Semitic, prejudices against postexilic Judaism and a religion based on
law (Religion des Gesetzes). In opposition to that tradition, Ackroyd
would regard the purpose of his book fulfilled ‘if this study . . . encourages
a more positive appreciation of the post-exilic period (Ackroyd 1968: 12,
see also p. 256).
As far as contacts with the German-speaking world are concerned, one
does not need to stress this as a particular issue. Recall that Peter Ackroyd
was the translator of Otto Eissfeldt’s Introduction to the Old Testament. A
cursory glance at the footnotes and a quick perusal of the index of Exile
and Restoration shows how well acquainted he was with the German
scholarly scene of the time and how much he used its results. Three
German names occur more frequently than others: Otto Eissfeldt, of
1 This paper was delivered at the SBL Meeting in Washington, 11 November, 2006,
within the session: ‘ ‘‘Exile and Restoration’’: 21st Century Perspectives in Memory of P. R.
Ackroyd’, organized by Kent H. Richards and Tamara Eskenazi.
KRATZ History and Thought 153
course, and his Introduction; Kurt Galling, of course, because of his

groundbreaking studies on the Persian period, and finally – surprising, at
least for me – Gerhard von Rad.
Upon closer inspection, the frequent reference to von Rad is, however,
hardly surprising. The position of von Rad fits very well with the way
Ackroyd determines the difficult relationship between history and
tradition or, in other words, between history and thought. Here,
Ackroyd is aware of the problems and difficulties: We may know the
grand political events, but ‘to trace exact relationships between the smaller
incidents of political life and the detailed working of the minds of the
thinkers of the age is much more hazardous’ (Ackroyd 1968: 14). Because
of this, Ackroyd chose the path already followed by von Rad in his
Theology of the Old Testament and separated both aspects from one
another. This implies that some cursory remarks on history suffice,
because the main focus is ‘upon the thought rather than upon the events’
(Ackroyd 1968: 14).
If one follows this trail, it is hardly a coincidence that in the same year
Exile and Restoration was published a pupil of von Rad – Odil Hannes
Steck (1968), my esteemed teacher, who died prematurely – published an
article under the title, ‘The Problem of Theological Currents in the
Postexilic Period’.2 This article was a follow-up to the issues he treated
already in his dissertation on the portrait of history in the
Deuteronomistic tradition (Steck 1967). Both Steck and Ackroyd realized
that postexilic literature is full of the phenomenon that von Rad wanted to
trace in the Bible as a whole: the interpretation of tradition in the light of
changing historical circumstances and experiences that are explained in
view of God and theological tradition. It is hardly surprising that Steck
develops his model on the basis of such late writings as Chronicles and
Daniel. It is precisely these documents that are used and discussed in the
last chapter of Exile and Restoration.
Independently of one another, both Steck and Ackroyd contributed
significantly to the revolution of 1968 in German and English Old
Testament scholarship. Both rediscovered the exilic and postexilic epochs
as a formative period for the development of biblical tradition and for the
history of Judaism. Both elevated the literature of the Second Temple
period, especially the literature relating to the postexilic prophets, to an
honourable status and were able to access the theological significance of
this literature. Both developed von Rad’s point of departure of the
interpretation and reformulation of tradition that draws a sharp distinc-
2 Later on both Ackroyd and Steck published essays in the same volume about the
subject (see Ackroyd 1977; and Steck 1977: esp. 206–7). See also the German version (Steck
1982: esp. 309–10) where he refers to Ackroyd’s Exile and Restoration and also to his Israel
under Babylon and Persia.
tion between history and thought. This was a methodological step that
proved highly fruitful for a study of the postexilic sources.
Revolutionaries, however, have a tendency to age quickly and we are
gathered today to evaluate how their work, 40 years on, has to be
regarded at the beginning of the twenty-first century. I would like to
pursue this question by looking at the relation between history and
thought – a relation that stands behind the subtitle of Exile and
Restoration: A Study of Hebrew Thought of the Sixth Century BC. Here,
I would like to point out three aspects of this relationship. The first is the
tension between history and historiography, while the second is the
tension between biblical and extra-biblical sources. The third and final
aspect of the relationship involves the tension between older and younger
literary layers in the literature of the Old Testament.
2. History and Historiography

Peter Ackroyd wanted to concentrate ‘upon the thought rather than upon
the events’ (1968: 14). This statement is based on the observation that the
biblical texts do not convey ‘events’, but rather ‘thought’. As mentioned
previously, Ackroyd therefore simply offers brief notes on the history of
Israel, focusing instead on outlining the ideas of the historians, theolo-
gians and prophets of the sixth century. This procedure is, however, very
much disputed today. The problem is the meaning of history and
historiography. For a long time scholars believed that the Old Testament
historiography and other writings would relate the past just ‘as it was’
(‘wie es eigentlich gewesen ist’). It is not just in recent times that this naive
positivism became questionable. Historiography was discovered as a
process of interpretation and communication in which the subject of the
author and the recipients (or audience), their knowledge, views and
interests, play an important role. Nevertheless, scholars still do not agree
in defining Old Testament historiography. John Van Seters (1983 [repr.
1997]; 1992; 2002), for instance, finds in the narrative books of the Old
Testament proper Israelite historiography, no matter whether the histor-
ical details are accurate or not, and in principle sees no difference between
Israelite and Greek historiography. Espousing the opposite opinion,
Erhard Blum insists on the differences, in particular with respect to the
fact that Israelite history writing does not mention its author(s) but is an
anonymous tradition.3 The lack of the name of the author(s) is by no
means accidental. It goes hand in hand with the lack of the critical
distance between the narrator (or historian) and the subject he is dealing
3 In this and many other respects, Blum follows here Cancik (1970). See also Cancik
2005.
with, which is a crucial difference with Greek (Ionian) historiography.

Therefore, in Blum’s view, Israelite narration is not proper historiogra-
phy, but the actualization of Israel’s history for its own community. The
historicity of this actualization has never been questioned but is
presupposed by the author(s) as well as the community addressed.4
The consequences of this debate about history and historiography for
the distinction made by Ackroyd between history and thought are
obvious. First, this distinction ignores the purpose of the biblical texts
themselves, which make a claim for historicity. The writers of these works
are not of the opinion that they only convey thought and not history. On
the contrary, the biblical text assumes that its view or explanation of
historical events in the light of God represents the ‘true’ history and that
all of its details indeed occurred.
After the Enlightenment and in the wake of the rise of historical
criticism, we are hardly able to follow this view. Nevertheless, a critical
reading from a historical distance should take the biblical claim of
authenticity and historicity seriously. The claim of historicity as such is a
historical phenomenon that deserves the attention of the historian. This
does not allow for a levelling of the differences between history and
thought, but we have to be clear about the fact that such a distinction does
not exist in the self-presentation of the biblical texts themselves. The
conviction that reported events are factual events simply belongs to the
worldview both of the sixth century and of the following centuries of the
biblical period and is part of their thought.
Second, the methodology employed by Ackroyd raises some suspicions
in the light of recent historiographic theory.5 The differentiation between
history and thought assumes that one knows what history and historical
events really are. However, recent theories teach us that this is far from
clear. Do not worry – I am far from being in agreement with the
minimalist approaches of the so-called Copenhagen School and others.6
However, we cannot ignore the fact that the wonderful times of
historicism and positivism are unfortunately over and neither a
harmonization of archaeological data with the biblical text nor following
the Bible uncritically, even if there is no external evidence, can bring them
back. We know today – as did already the most perceptive minds among
4 See Blum (2005). A quite different way to explain the differences is presented in the
same volume by Halpern (2005).
5 See Lorenz (1997). German Old Testament scholarship often refers to Rüsen and his
three volumes (1983–1989), as well as to his later work (2001). See, for instance, van Oorschot
(2000).
6 For the discussion, see the essays in Grabbe (ed.) 1997, especially Barstad 1997; and
Schaper 2006, and the references found there (pp. 3–4 n. 8). In fact, both the ‘minimalists’
(trusting only in the external evidence) and their critics (trusting in the memory of the biblical
tradition) are still arguing on the basis of a naive positivism.
the nineteenth-century historians7 – that historical events can only be

derived through their interpretation. And this means that we reach history
only via the detour of ‘thought’. Whoever expects more from the
archaeological, epigraphic and literary evidence than accidental glimpses
at or reflexes of a historical situation that is much more complex and
probably impossible to outline is skating on very thin ice indeed.
Following from all of this, one has to say that Ackroyd’s differentiation
between history and thought remains valid and cannot be abandoned if
one wants to maintain a historical consciousness as well as utilize
historical criticism for one’s own work. One sees, nevertheless, that such a
historical critique – in as much as it takes the biblical view of history
seriously, while at the same time not neglecting current historiographic
theory – does not necessarily bring us any closer to the historical events.
On the contrary, the distance to history is growing, and the more it grows,
the more we see the participation of thought in the genesis of biblical
texts. In other words, the relation between history and thought depends
on the perspective from which the distinction is made. One perspective is
that of the authors of the biblical literature. For them, there seems to be
no difference between events and thought. Another perspective is that of
modern historians. They have to take the difference between history and
thought into consideration with respect to the biblical writings themselves
as well as with respect to their own historiographic interests. In both
respects, modern historians have to be aware of the distance to history.
They have to ask not only what the ancient authors wanted to accomplish,
but also what they actually have done and what kind of information
modern historians can expect from them. Doing so, modern historians
will recognize and have to accept the fact that the biblical authors did not
make the distinction between history and thought, although – from our
perspective – the difference between history and thought is present in their
memory of the past. But in contrast with the works of some ancient Greek
historiographers and those of modern historians, the biblical authors were
not aware of this difference and, therefore, present their thought as
history.
3. The Bible and Extra-Biblical Sources

In dealing with the relationship between history and thought, we have to
recognize that thought itself is a historical phenomenon and it would be a
terrible mistake to believe that one could play one off against the other.
7 See, for instance, Wellhausen (1994: 367): ‘History, it is well known, has always to be
constructed . . . The question is whether one constructs well or ill’. The German original
version (1883: 389) reads: ‘Construieren muss man bekanntlich die Geschichte immer . . . Der
Unterschied ist nur, ob man gut oder schlecht construiert.’
This is also true for the extra-biblical sources, which are far away from
only representing pure events of history. As with the biblical sources, the
extra-biblical sources also reflect a certain way of thought depending upon
where the sources come from. It is simply a different kind of thought from
what one finds in the biblical writings. As far as the relationship between
biblical and extra-biblical sources is concerned, Ackroyd displays a careful
reluctance towards the use of extra-biblical material. In the first chapter of
Exile and Restoration he refutes – with great politeness – the approach of
Professor David Winton Thomas. He related the Old Testament to
Zoroaster, Confucius and Buddha. For the sake of completion, Ackroyd
adds – with reference to Charles F. Whitley – Ionian philosophy, but
immediately argues against such a model: ‘The discovery of patterns in
history, fashionable as it has sometimes been, is always in danger of being
an oversimplification’ (1968: 9). Julius Wellhausen, by the way, made the
same point in his argument with Eduard Meyer and the history of
religions school.
Fortunately, we do not have only distant analogies but also sources
with a decisive historical connection to the Old Testament. Here, I am
thinking of the archaeological, iconographic and epigraphic witnesses
from Israel and Judah themselves and from their immediate environment.
Especially relevant for the sixth century and postexilic times are, for
example, bullae, seals and coins from Judah, the Samaria papyri, coins
from Samaria, as well as the most recent results from the excavations on
Mount Gerizim. Furthermore, one can add the archaeological structures
and papyri from Elephantine, the Jewish names in Babylonian economic
documents, and, of course, the non-biblical texts from the Dead Sea, a few
of which date back to the fourth or third century BCE (Stern 1982; 2001).
Recent scholarship generally classifies archaeological, iconographic and
epigraphic material as ‘primary sources’ and distinguishes them from
‘secondary sources’, such as literary (biblical) witnesses.8 This classifica-
tion is far from ideal, since it suggests an assessment of the value of the
material that is hardly justified (Smend 2004: esp. 25–6). It is too simplistic
a move to regard the primary (archaeological and epigraphic) sources as
history, while classifying the secondary (biblical) ones as thought,
ideology or even fiction. Neither the primary nor the secondary sources
simply convey history or events, but document only part of it. They offer
incidental insights into situations without historical context; they rest on a
certain perspective or interpretation of the historical situation and are in
need of critical interpretation and historical reconstruction.
Nevertheless, this classification of the two sorts of sources available to
us seems to point in the right direction. It makes a significant difference
8 For the distinction see Momigliano 1991. For discussion, see Edelman 1991;
Hardmeier 2001.
whether sources can be dated exactly and stem from the period about
which they report or whether we are dealing with literary reflexes from a
later period whose exact date cannot be derived from the material itself
and is therefore subject to hypothetical reconstruction. In the case of these
sorts of sources, historical circumstances and experiences appear to be
refracted in a double sense. On the one hand, we have the reflection and
interpretation of the historical circumstances. On the other hand, we also
have the surrounding (historical and intellectual) milieu in which such an
interpretation took place (Kratz 2002).
If one compares the primary and secondary sources, one quickly
realizes that there is hardly any overlap. The governors and high priests
mentioned in the inscriptions of the postexilic period do not appear in the
Old Testament and vice versa. The social and religious circumstances
described in the Elephantine papyri do not fit the picture of postexilic
Judaism painted by the Bible – despite all points of contact in details of
terminology and religious practice. We do not possess any external
evidence for the ideal community in Persian times depicted by the Bible
that is centred on a temple in Jerusalem and is keeping the Torah. Only
the sources from the Hellenistic period and especially the documents from
Qumran bear witness to a practice of Judaism that seems to be in
accordance with the biblical ideal and with the different variations one
finds within the biblical tradition (Kratz 2004; 2007).
The comparison of extra-biblical sources with biblical sources teaches
us two things. First, such a comparison presents external evidence for the
distance between history and thought and demonstrates again that the
biblical texts represent people’s thoughts and not pure facts. Second, such
a comparison is equally fruitful with respect to the thought of the Old
Testament, because the thought of the primary sources differs remarkably
from the thought of the biblical documents. Such a comparison teaches us
that it does not suffice simply to distinguish between the different ways of
thought within the Old Testament itself, as was done for the sixth century
in such a magnificent way by Ackroyd. Rather, one has to distinguish
between the diverse theological concepts of biblical Judaism and the
ideological, political or religious concepts of those groups, which cannot
be found in the Bible, but can be found in other sources, sources that
partly – as for example in Elephantine – do not know of biblical Judaism.
Concluding from all that we have said, I would want to stress that the
Hebrew Thought of the Sixth Century can no longer be derived simply
from the biblical writings themselves. One has to incorporate (and
probably start with) the extra-biblical witnesses and compare them with
the theological concepts of the Bible. While primary sources undoubtedly
represent the thought of the time from which they derive, we have to ask
whether the biblical sources – especially if they differ from the primary
material – are providing actual information about the sixth century or
whether this (literary) material reflects what a given author thought of the
exile and restoration at a later time.
4. Dating Biblical Texts

We have now arrived at the third issue and the most difficult part of any
reconstruction: the question of dating biblical texts and placing them in
their proper literary–historical contexts. As far as this question is
concerned, Ackroyd proceeds in a careful and level-headed way. For
the exilic period he chooses Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Deutero-Isaiah,
Lamentations and, of course, the larger historical works, the Priestly
Writing (P) and the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH). For the restoration
period he selects Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, with some reservation Trito-
Isaiah and Malachi, and with even greater reservations Ezra 1–6. The
arguments for such a selection are derived from ‘generally accepted views’
and by employing the methodological criterion of how close or distant the
literary reflexes are to the historical events of which they report (Ackroyd
1968: 14–16). The more distant they are from any historical fact, the more
they approach ‘ideology’ or the ‘idea of exile and restoration’ as
represented by Chronicles and the book of Daniel (Ackroyd 1968: 16,
also 237–54).
It is here, in the last chapter of the book, dealing with ideology and the
‘idea of exile and restoration’, where Ackroyd’s work poses problems for
scholarship today. We can learn from Ackroyd’s Exile and Restoration
that a modern presentation of the history of ancient Judaism during the
period of the Second Temple involves more than simply collecting all
available data and then sorting these data into fact and fiction. Such an
approach would be rather boring and completely unhistorical. It is equally
important to place the facts in their historical context and to explain the
literary fiction and theological interpretation of which the majority of
sources available to us consists. History always contains both fact and
fiction and it is very often the fiction (i.e., the theological conceptions of
the Bible) that influences or even dominates the course of history as well
as the facts. Without the ‘fictions’ of the biblical tradition from the
prophetic writings of the late eighth century BCE to the Pesharim from
Qumran, the history of Second Temple Judaism would not be understood.
Moreover, there would have been no history of Judaism at all that
survived the downfall of Israel and Judah and the destruction of the
Second Temple in 70 CE. Here, Ackroyd is a formidable historian because
he does not restrict himself to the few (boring) facts, but describes the
history of Hebrew thought within the framework of the history of biblical
literature.
On the one hand, the chapter demonstrates once again the great
advantage of the book. It offers a history of Hebrew thought that is at the

same time a history of biblical literature of the postexilic period. On the
other hand, it is precisely this history of biblical literature that appears to
be different today. In the area of literary differentiation, much has
changed over the past 40 years.9 To be sure, it makes no sense at all to
play one literary or redaction theory off against another, since we are
always in the hypothetical realm. Nevertheless, Ackroyd’s book offers a
good point of departure to consider which criteria are to be used when
distinguishing contemporary literature of the sixth century from later
‘ideology’ and the ‘idea of exile and restoration’ and how the literary
development can be described.
If one would stick with the simple historical facts (the dates of 587, 539
and 520–515 BCE), all biblical texts that speak of exile and restoration –
including Chronicles, Ezra and Daniel – would have to be dated to the
sixth century. However, if one is a good historian and does not limit
oneself to the pure facts, but also considers the thought of a period as a
historical factor, such a methodological path forbids itself. A better
methodological step, I believe, is to embark on a comparison with those
extra-biblical sources that can be dated exactly (Kratz 2004: 93–119).
However, even this method is limited because we simply do not have
enough material at our disposal. Nevertheless, we have to note that the
primary sources – as far as we can see – do not seem to regard the events
of the sixth century as being as traumatic as the biblical sources would
have us believe. Rather, one gets the impression of a certain continuity
and a quick return to normality. Taking this into account, it might not be
surprising that reactions to the events – as we can find them in the Bible –
are missing not only in the epigraphic evidence of the two former
monarchies and from the later provinces of Judah (Yehud) and Israel
(Samaria) themselves, but also from the neighbouring states that suffered
similar fates.
There is one exception to the rule: the papyri from Elephantine.10 From
them we can derive how Judaeans in the Egyptian Diaspora experienced
the destruction and reconstruction of their temple at Elephantine. The
documents speak of mourning and fasting. In the case of a rebuilding of
the temple, the community promises the Persian king prayers and
sacrifices and for his governor a heavenly reward. However, even the
rebuilding of the temple is by no means the starting point for far-reaching
theological reflections and eschatological expectations, as is the case both
in the biblical prophets and in the historiography of the Old Testament
regarding the destruction and rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem.
9 For my view, see Kratz 2005 [German original: 2000]. For the prophetic literature, see
Kratz 2003: 70–115; 2004: 79–92.
10 For the following, see Kratz 2006 [German original: 2004: 60–78]; 2007.
Set against this background, it becomes increasingly difficult to find a

text among the biblical documents of which one can be sure that it reacts
to immediate historical events. Rather, one gets the impression that exile
and restoration are already part of ‘ideology’ for almost all texts, starting
with Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Deutero-Isaiah, as well as for Haggai and
Zechariah. They do not witness events, but mainly an ‘idea of exile and
restoration’. The same is true for the Priestly work, the Deuteronomistic
History and Chronicles. In a way, Ackroyd’s assessment of Daniel is valid
for all those texts: ‘Here the exile is no longer an historic event to be dated
in one period . . . Though bound to the historical reality of an exile which
actually took place in the sixth century, the experience of exile as such has
become the symbol of a period viewed in terms of punishment but also in
terms of promise’ (1968: 242). Just as with the exile, so the postexilic
period is of interest for biblical literary writers ‘as experience and not
merely as historic fact’ (1968: 244), as Ackroyd shows for Zechariah 8,
where ‘the experience of coming out of exile and rebuilding the Temple
and the life of the community is held up as an example of faith to a later
generation’ (1968: 247).
However, it is not only the historical distance that makes the biblical
presentation of the past coloured by ideology. Also the presentation of
recent events is always determined by the view of its author as well as of
his expectations or predictions of the future. Here, too, Daniel and the
apocalyptic perspective is an excellent example. The apocalyptic descrip-
tions of history (apokalyptische Geschichtsrückblicke), such as the visions
of Daniel (Daniel 7–12), the Animal Apocalypse (1 Enoch 84–90), and the
Apocalypse of Weeks (1 Enoch 93.1-10 + 91.1-17), do not only deal with
the distant past but also with very recent events of their own (Maccabean)
times. However, the presentation of these events is clearly coloured by the
ideology of the apocalyptic writers, their actual/present situation and their
expectations for the future. In addition, ancient historiographers and even
modern historians are not free from the problem of being too close to the
events. One needs the historical distance to gain a critical view of recent
events. Thus, it is not so much the distance of time, but the genre of
literature and the aims of the authors that make the difference.
As far as literary history is concerned, such a presupposition entails that
first and foremost one has to differentiate among the different theological
concepts, the ideologies, and the ideas of exile and restoration found in the
Bible and to bring them – if possible – into a relative chronology. With
that, much is gained already. To transfer a relative chronology into an
absolute one, one has to be clear what theological interpretations we can
expect in the immediate historical context of the exile, and of the
rebuilding of the temple and what might be a later reflection on the events.
Such an understanding is difficult to reach – it has to include the extra-
biblical parallels and rests on general considerations both of the religious
history of Israel and Judah and of the literary analysis of the texts itself.
No matter how one decides these questions, it would probably be better
not simply to follow the information provided by the biblical books
themselves or the ‘generally accepted views’ of the scholarly tradition to
place the theological concepts in a framework. Rather, one should
approach the problem from the other side and move from the differen-
tiation of the various theological concepts towards ascertaining the
original historical location.
What follows from all of our discussion is that we do not find the
majority of the thought of the sixth century in the biblical books treated
by Ackroyd, but rather the thought about the sixth century BCE. Working
with such a presupposition, I can do nothing more than to agree with
Ackroyd (1968: 237–8): The exile was a historical fact, though its precise
description in detail is a matter of great difficulty. But as a fact of Israel’s
historical experience, it inevitably exerted a great influence upon the
development of theological thinking. The handling of the exile is not
therefore solely a problem of historical reconstruction; it is a matter of
attempting to understand an attitude, or more properly a variety of
attitudes, taken up towards that historical fact.
5. Bibliography
Ackroyd, P.
1968 Exile and Restoration: A Study of Hebrew Thought of the
Sixth Century BC (London: SCM).
1970 Israel under Babylon and Persia (New Clarendon Bible, Old
Testament, 4; London: Oxford University Press).
1977 ‘Continuity and Discontinuity: Rehabilitation and
Authentication’, in D. Knight (ed.), Tradition and
Theology in the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress):
215–34.
Barstad, H.
1997 ‘History and the Hebrew Bible’, in L. Grabbe (ed.), Can a
‘History of Israel’ Be Written? (ESHM, 1; JSOTSup, 245;
Blum, E.
2005 ‘Historiographie oder Dichtung? Zur Eigenart alttestamen-
tlicher Geschichtsschreibung’, in E. Blum, W. Johnstone
and C. Markschies (eds), Das Alte Testament – Ein
Geschichtsbuch? Beiträge des Symposiums ‘Das Alte
Testament und die Kultur der Moderne’ anlässlich des 100.
Geburtstags Gerhard von Rads (1901–1971) Heidelberg, 18.–
21. Oktober 2001 (Altes Testament und Moderne, 10;

Münster: Lit): 65–86.
Cancik, H.
1970 Mythische und historische Wahrheit: Interpretationen zu
Texten der hethitischen, biblischen und griechischen
Historiographie (SBS, 48; Stuttgart: Katholisches
Bibelwerk).
2005 ‘Zur Verwissenschaftlichung des historischen Diskurses bei
den Griechen’, in E. Blum, W. Johnstone and C. Markschies
(eds), Das Alte Testament – Ein Geschichtsbuch? Beiträge des
Symposiums ‘Das Alte Testament und die Kultur der
Moderne’ anlässlich des 100. Geburtstags Gerhard von Rads
(1901–1971) Heidelberg, 18.–21. Oktober 2001 (Altes
Testament und Moderne, 10; Münster: Lit.): 87–100.
Edelman, D. (ed.)
1991 The Fabric of History: Text, Artifact and Israel’s Past
(JSOTSup, 127; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991).
Grabbe, L. (ed.)
1997 Can a ‘History of Israel’ Be Written? (ESHM, 1; JSOTSup,
245; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997).
Halpern, B.
2005 ‘Biblical versus Greek Historiography: A Comparison’, in E.
Blum, W. Johnstone and C. Markschies (eds), Das Alte
Testament– Ein Geschichtsbuch? Beiträge des Symposiums
‘Das Alte Testament und die Kultur der Moderne’ anlässlich
des 100. Geburtstags Gerhard von Rads (1901–1971)
Heidelberg, 18.–21. Oktober 2001 (Altes Testament und
Moderne, 10; Münster: Lit): 101–27.
Hardmeier, C. (ed.)
2001 Steine – Bilder – Texte: Historische Evidenz außerbiblischer
und biblischer Quellen (Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer
Geschichte, 5; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt).
Kratz, R.
2000 Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten
Testaments (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht).
2002 ‘Noch einmal: Theologie im Alten Testament’, in H. C.
Bultmann, W. Dietrich and C. Levin (eds),
Vergegenwärtigung des Alten Testaments: Beiträge zur
biblischen Hermeneutik – Festschrift für Rudolf Smend
(Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht): 310–26.
2003 Die Propheten Israels (Munich: C. H. Beck).
2004 Das Judentum im Zeitalter des Zweiten Tempels (FAT 42;
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck [2nd edn, 2006]).
2005 The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old
Testament (trans. J. Bowden; London and New York: T&T

Clark).
2006 ‘The Second Temple of Jeb and of Jerusalem’, in O.
Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds), Judah and the Judeans in
2007 ‘Temple and Torah: Reflections on the Legal Status of the
Pentateuch between Elephantine and Qumran’, in G.
Knoppers and B. Levinson (eds), The Pentateuch as
Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation
and Acceptance (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns): 77–103.
(forthcoming) ‘Zwischen Elephantine und Qumran: Das Alte
Testament im Rahmen des antiken Judentums’, in A.
Lemaire (ed.), The IOSOT Congress Volume Ljubljana,
2007 (VTSup; Leiden: E. J. Brill).
Lorenz, C.
1997 Konstruktion der Vergangenheit: Eine Einführung in die
Geschichtstheorie (trans. A. Börner; Beiträge zur
Geschichtskultur, 13; Köln: Böhlau).
Momigliano, A.
1991 ‘Alte Geschichte und antiquarische Forschung’, in Wege in
die alte Welt; mit einer Einführung von Karl Christ (trans. H.
Günther; Berlin: K. Wagenbach): 111–160.
van Oorschot, J.
2000 ‘Geschichte als Erinnerung und Wissenschaft – ein Beitrag
zu ihrem Verständnis’, in R. Lux (ed.), Erzählte Geschichte:
Beiträge zur narrativen Kultur im alten Israel (BThSt, 40;
Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag): 1–27.
Rüsen, J.
1983–89 Grundzüge einer Historik (Kleine Vandenhoeck-Reihe 1489,
1515, 1542; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht).
2001 Zerbrechende Zeit: Über den Sinn der Geschichte (Köln:
Böhlau).
Schaper, J.
2006 ‘Auf der Suche nach dem alten Israel? Text, Artefakt und
‘‘Geschichte Israels’’ in der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft
vor dem Hintergrund der Methodendiskussion in den
Historischen Kulturwissenschaften’, ZAW 118: 1–21, 181–
96.
Smend, R.
2004 ‘Das alte Israel im Alten Testament’, in Jahrbuch der Görres-
Gesellschaft 111: 15–31.
Steck, O.
1967 Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten:
Untersuchungen zur Überlieferung des deuteronomistischen
Geschichtsbildes im Alten Testament, Spätjudentum und

Urchristentum (WMANT, 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirc-
hener Verlag).
1968 ‘Das Problem theologischer Strömungen in nachexilischer
Zeit’, EvTh 28: 445–58.
1977 ‘Theological Streams of Tradition’, in D. Knight (ed.),
Tradition and Theology in the Old Testament (Philadelphia:
Fortress): 183–214.
1982 ‘Strömungen theologischer Tradition im Alten Testament’,
in Wahrnehmungen Gottes im Alten Testament: Gesammelte
Studien (Theologische Bücherei, 70; Munich: Kaiser): 291–
317.
Stern, E.
1982 Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian
Period 538–332 B.C. (Warminster: Aris & Philips;
Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society).
2001 Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, vol. 2: The Assyrian,
Babylonian, and Persian Periods 732–332 BCE (ABRL; New
York: Doubleday).
Van Seters, J.
1992 Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis
(Louisville: Westminster John Knox).
1997 In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World
and the Origins of Biblical History (2nd edn; Winona Lake,
IN: Eisenbrauns).
2002 ‘Is there any Historiography in the Hebrew Bible? A
Hebrew–Greek Comparison’, JNSL 28: 1–26.
Wellhausen, J.
1883 Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (2nd edn; Berlin: Georg
Reimer)
1994 Prolegomena to the History of Israel (Scholars Press
Reprints and Translation Series, 17; Atlanta: Scholars Press)
Chapter 10
EXILE AND RESTORATION IN LIGHT OF RECENT ARCHAEOLOGY AND

DEMOGRAPHIC STUDIES
Eric Meyers (Duke University)
Peter Ackroyd inspired a whole generation of scholars to look more

positively on the beginning of the Second Temple period and to a lesser
degree on the period of the destruction of the First Temple in 587 BCE and
the early exile. His 1968 work Exile and Restoration was followed up in
1970 by a similar and in many ways more helpful study, Israel under
Babylon and Persia in which he covers the same ground and carries his
analysis to the end of the Persian period, separating history from a
detailed discussion of the biblical sources. Recent scholarship both in
biblical studies and archaeology have thrown new light on the subject and
in many ways vindicated much of what he set out to do, namely to show
the enormous creativity and dynamism that emerged from the ashes of the
destruction of Jerusalem and Judaea that is reflected pre-eminently in the
literature edited and produced during this period. What he was unaware
of, and certainly through no fault of his own, was that the extent of the
rebuilding process in the restoration was a far more complicated affair
and that the demographic picture for the entire period of the exile and
subsequent Persian period may be viewed with far greater precision, which
may well have altered some of his thinking about some postexilic biblical
sources.
In many ways he was prescient in thinking about the entire age that not
only he but others have labelled ‘exile and restoration’. In Israel under
Babylon and Persia, he reflects on the artificiality of the designation since
only a portion of the population was exiled, and he called for scholars to
carefully reassess the role played by those who stayed behind. He (1970: 1)
also noted that hardly one date could be assigned to the beginning of the
exile (597, 587, 581 BCE, etc.) let alone a time for the return, which only
began in 538–537 BCE. The archaeological sources at his disposal were few
and among them Lachish Letter III and Kenyon’s work in Jerusalem in
the 1960’s were foremost in his mind along with the old standbys of
MEYERS Recent Archaeology and Demographic Studies 167
Persian material culture, such as the Behistun sculptures and inscriptions.

His impressions about the destruction in Jerusalem were mostly taken
from Dame Kenyon’s work supplemented by key texts such as 2 Kgs 25.3-
8 and Jer. 39.1-7.
Despite his recognition of the enormity of the event, his strong textual
sensitivity allowed him to see in 2 Kgs 25.11 (cf. Jer. 39.9; 52.15) that
perhaps the text in 2 Kings was in error when it says that the deportees
included all the people in Jerusalem with the deserters and ‘the rest of the
multitude’. Ackroyd (1970: 8) observes that ‘the rest of the multitude’
(hehāmôn) is rendered in Jer. 39.9 as ‘the rest of the people’ (hā‘ām) and in
Jer. 52.15 as ‘the rest of the artisans’ (hā’āmôn). The term ‘multitude’
(hāmôn) is more common than ‘artisan’ (’āmôn) and Ackroyd (1970: 8–9)
correctly notes that the word for people (‘ām) is ‘also very similar in
sound’. What Ackroyd concludes from this situation of textual confusion
within these texts is that the artisans and other types, such as the armies,
were deported but that the ‘multitude’ was left behind, some of them being
the very poorest of the land. In any case, from all these data and relying
heavily on Jeremiah 52 he further concludes that the number of exiles in
the three expulsions, 597, 587 and 582 BCE, was around 4,600. He (1970: 9)
therefore summarizes the situation in Judah during the exile in this way,
namely that ‘there was still a substantial population in Judah after 587’.
He goes on to elaborate that many of the towns of Judah remained under-
occupied and impoverished (Ackroyd 1970: 10).
What Ackroyd could not have known at the time he wrote was that
both archaeological studies and demographic studies would shed new
light on this sort of speculation of a most serious sort. His feelings about
Jerusalem were certainly well grounded and Oded Lipschits’ program-
matic and outstanding recent study, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem (2005),
estimates the decline in Jerusalem and its population in the following way:
at the end of the Iron Age Jerusalem and its environs occupied 1,000
dunams of settled area with a population of around 25,000, but at the
beginning of the Persian period there was a decline of some 89 per cent of
settled land to 110 dunams, or a decline in population to 2,750.1 The
entire kingdom of Judah before the destruction he estimates to have been
110,000 souls in all. I think one can get a pretty dramatic sense of what
happened in Jerusalem from these numbers. Lipschits has provided
numbers for all of Judah as well, but what is most compelling is the
demographic picture for Benjamin or Mizpah-Tel en-Nasbeh, north of
Jerusalem, which on the basis of archaeology and demographics alone
became one of the main locations of the people who stayed behind in the
area. Unlike Jerusalem, Benjamin suffered a loss in population of only
1 See Lipschits (2005: 262, 270). One dunam equals 1,000 square meters, 0.1 hectares and
0.247 acres.
56.5 per cent, from 1,150 dunams to 500 dunams, or a population decline
from 28,750 to 12,500, using a population coefficient of 25 persons to a
dunam.2 Truth be told, however, the excavations at Tel en-Nasbeh go well
back into the early twentieth century (1926, 1927, 1929, 1932 and 1935)
and were well published and Ackroyd’s modest familiarity with the
archaeology of the Holy Land did not serve him well, though as I have
already said his biblical instincts were very sound (Ackroyd 1982). Apart
from Mizpah, the major sites from Benjamin show ‘no evidence of a
destruction at the beginning of the sixth century BCE apart from a partial
destruction of Tell el-Ful’ (Gibeah; Lipschits 2005: 245). Lipschits (2005:
270) estimates the entire population of Judah during the Babylonian
period at 40,000. Benjamin declined only after Jerusalem began to recover
and be resettled in the period of the return to Zion after 538 BCE. The
question is when more precisely that recovery took place, and how
gradually the population was redirected toward and refocused on
Jerusalem?
Judging from Lipschits’ study, my own work and the work of my
former student, Charles Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian
Period: A Social and Demographic Study (1999), in general we may say
that the re-emergence of Jerusalem as a population centre in Judah/Yehud
proceeded far more slowly than one might have imagined in Ackroyd’s
day. According to both Lipschits and Carter, the real decline in Benjamin
was only in the fifth century when some of their inhabitants left to go to
Jerusalem and others to the east, to Lod or to the Shephelah. Carter’s
numbers for the return to Zion in the time of Zerubbabel and Jeshua are
quite a bit lower than Lipschits’ (Carter 1999: 228–9; cf. Lipschits 2005:
270), but either way they ought to give one real pause when we think that
this was the time when Zion theology develops and strengthens in a
significant way in the literature. The fact is that Jerusalem was ‘wretchedly
poor’ to use the words of Lipschits (2005: 212), even after the return and
at the height of the Persian period, something that would certainly have
changed Ackroyd’s views in some ways. The size of the rebuilding of
Jerusalem was modest at best, probably close to 60 dunams in Lipschits’
view (2005: 212), in Carter’s view (1999: 148, 201–2) closer to 150 dunams,
but the larger figure includes 80 dunams on the Temple Mount, which was
not inhabited. Jerusalem at the time of the return was basically a temple
with a smallish settlement alongside it for those who served in it and other
residents who had resettled alongside them. To sum up the new
demographic picture, we are able to infer the following from the
programmatic work of Lipschits and Carter: 75 per cent of the Judaean
exilic population lived in Benjamin and the Judaean Hills, 15 per cent
lived in the Shephelah, and 10 per cent lived in Jerusalem and environs at
2 See Lipschits 2005: 270, Table 4.3.

the height of the Persian period. Jerusalem in other words did not become
a major city again till the Hellenistic period, bolstering Nehemiah’s claims
that the city had one-tenth of the province’s total population, or 3,000
people, which accords with Lipschits’ figure of approximately 30,000
inhabitants for Yehud (Lipschits 2005: 271).3
All this does not at all support the idea of an ‘empty land’ during the
sixth century and a cursory look at Lipschits’ settlement charts will fill in
the lines where Judaeans settled in the transition from the Iron Age to the
Persian period. That being said, Ackroyd, while assuming a major
presence of Judaeans staying behind in the land, still argued as do most
biblical scholars today, that the major parts of the Old Testament were
‘shaped’, if not written, in Babylonia during the exile or shortly after, and
he lists these as taking shape there early on: the Holiness Code (Leviticus
17–26), P, Ezekiel, Deutero-Isaiah, and the Deuteronomic History
(Joshua–2 Kings). Needless to say, he would include other works as
well, such as Lamentations, but he suggests that Lamentations was
composed in the Diaspora rather than ‘shaped’ there, as well as key
psalms, other prophetic works such as Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi,
and so on. (Ackroyd 1970: 34–161). As for the prophets of the restoration,
Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, he was of the opinion that both were shaped
and edited in the period of the Chronicler, which for Ackroyd embraced
Ezra, Nehemiah and 1 and 2 Chronicles and was a product of the late fifth
century or early fourth century. But if we take the Haggai/Zechariah 1–8
corpus as reflecting the point of view of Diasporic Jews who had accepted
the challenge of the Persian authorities to rebuild their temple and
community both for religious and pragmatic reasons, then we can perhaps
begin to fathom the perspective they brought to that unique situation and
moment, which appeared to so many readers, then and today, as having to
do with so many people rather than the smaller numbers we have before
us today in light of scientific archaeological surveys. The subsequent
tensions between Israel/Yehud in the fifth century involving the
Samaritans and other disputes are surely better understood, because of
Ackroyd’s beliefs that most of the people stayed behind in the early part
of the exile,4 which is borne out by all the field surveys cited above that
underlie the work of Lipschits and Carter.
At the same time, we may understand better the tensions that separated
the elites, such as Zerubbabel and Jeshua, who returned from Babylon
3 See also his charts on pp. 156 and 157, where he lists the settlements in Yehud
according to the lists in Ezra and Nehemiah. For Nehemiah he lists chs 3, 7, 11, and 12.
4 When Carol Meyers and I were working on the Anchor Bible Commentary on Haggai
and Zechariah 1–8, and Zechariah 9–14, but especially Meyers and Meyers (1993), Carter
was already involved with the demographic project and so we were privy to his early
research. The figures used in the 1993 commentary thus reflect the higher projections of his
1999 study, so see Meyers and Meyers 1993: 22–6.
with a plan and programme of rebuilding. For the ones who stayed behind
in the land were viewed with suspicion by the returnees especially with
their survival intact and apparently new rites and ritual centres in
Benjamin as well. Hence, the myth of the empty land was created to
substitute for the most recent and ascendant views of the Babylonian
returnees and their refounding of Yehud and the temple in Jerusalem. The
Deuteronomic History and its several revisions reflect the changing
atmosphere and turmoil of this period, and even beyond the return one
can easily understand the rising importance of the priestly elite in this
entire undertaking and the subsequent historical work of Ezra and
Nehemiah and 1 and 2 Chronicles, not to mention the priestly bona fides
of First-Zechariah, who in my view was responsible for promulgating the
composite work of Haggai/Zechariah 1–8 for the dedication of the Second
Temple (Meyers and Meyers 1987: l–lxiii, and ad loc.). Ackroyd, as I have
already said, understood this process to have occurred nearly a century
and a half later, in what others have called a ‘Chronistic milieu’ (Beuken
1967: passim). Such a view as this might be seen in the work of Joel
Weinberg, whose Bürger–Tempel–Gemeinde studies influenced many of
the successive studies of the social structure of Yehud in the Persian
period. His population estimates for Yehud, however, were like everyone
else’s, much higher, estimating the entire population of Yehud at between
200,000 to 300,000 and the Bürger–Tempel–Gemeinde group at up to 50
per cent of that number (Carter 1999: 285).
The major question that arises out of all this new demographic data,
none of which was available to Ackroyd and is still known only to a
smallish clique of biblical scholars, who closely follow or actually do
archaeology, is this: could a small province, such as Yehud, and a small
city, such as Jerusalem, support the level of literary activity that we
associate with this era? If our answer is affirmative, which seems to be the
consensus, what sorts of elites lived there to support those activities? Such
individuals would have included Aaronide, Zadokite and Levitical priests
(Ezra 8.15-36; Neh. 7.1, 39, 43); singers (Neh. 7.1, 23, 45), temple servants
(Neh. 3.26, 31; 7.46; 11.19), gatekeepers (Neh. 7.1, 23, 45) and the scribal
class (Ezra 8.1, 9), etc. This is not to mention the army, workers,
specialists in temple productions, other artisans, and the attendants of the
governor, and so on. The numbers fall well within the 5 to 10 per cent
range of necessary elites or specialists for pre-industrial societies (Lenski
1966: 199–200; Carter 1999: 287–8). So, from a purely sociological point
of view the answer to my questions is affirmative, namely, that there were
sufficient numbers of elites to produce the suggested literary output.
Given the degree of literary output for this and subsequent periods,
especially on the basis of the subsequent Qumran literary corpus both
non-canonical and proto-canonical, we would also have to conclude that
the literacy rate in Yehud was far greater than what classical historians
project for the Roman period, namely 5 per cent or a bit more (Humphrey
1991; Harris 1989). It should also force us to rethink what we mean by
literacy as well, and it well might mean a growing ‘aural’ sensitivity rather
than having anything to do with writing, which was the preserve of the
elites. Ackroyd (1982: 6) was sensitive to another matter in this regard too,
namely that many of the Jews who returned from Babylonia settled
outside the borders of Yehud but remained loyal to the Jerusalem
establishment, though they could well have been living in an area under
Phoenician control, for example.
Given the reality of a ‘smaller’ Yehud in the postexilic community, one
could say that the increasing xenophobia reflected in the works shaped by
priestly interests, but especially Ezra and Nehemiah and 1 and 2
Chronicles, is understandable. Nevertheless, the universality of a book,
such as Jonah, or the magnificent conclusion to Zechariah 1–8 with its
universal message of inclusive monotheism (8.20-23; Meyers and Meyers
1987: 439–45) cautions one not to weigh too heavily the material
considerations and at least allow for the continuing possibility that the
human spirit is always capable of a nobility of thought that does not arise
necessarily from the social conditions attending a particular time and
place. As political events overtook the region in the course of the 200-year
span of Persian control, apocalypticism was another response to events
that seemed to influence negatively the Judaean future: the Babylonian
uprising and Graeco-Persian conflicts in the fifth century to name but two
pivotal developments (Meyers and Meyers 1993: 18–22).
I have no doubt that had Ackroyd lived longer and had access to some
of the new material to which I have referred, he would have had much
more to say. As it was, he sensed very well what it took for the survival of
the Judaean community in the homeland to become a reality, charted the
course of the Diasporic voices that brought about a kind of reconciliation
with pre-exilic thinkers, and was fascinated with the discoveries of
Elephantine and what they meant for postexilic Jewry along with other
notes from the Diaspora. He put it this way: ‘This glimpse of Jewish life
elsewhere (in Egypt), and the rather tantalizing indications of its contacts
with Jerusalem and Samaria, emphasize the importance of realizing how,
in this whole period, the life of the Jewish community was not
concentrated in one place’ (Ackroyd 1970: 170). I would say in this
regard as well, Peter Ackroyd was prescient when he understood that
Second Temple Judaism would somehow be affected by the new realities
and demographics of the twin Diasporas of Egypt and Babylonia, which
would one day produce the Septuagint and Babylonian Talmud respect-
ively.
Nonetheless, the smallish Judaean community that survived 587 BCE
was in many ways revivified by the Golah community that returned after
538 BCE with their own views of reshaping Jewish life. Like so many other
periods in ancient Jewish history, it would be wrong to characterize the

postexilic period with a single, unifying kind of thought, especially with so
many different communities contributing to the voices of that era. The
ascendancy of Scripture in its pre-canonical form, the Primary History,
that is, the Pentateuch plus the Deuteronomic History and the Prophets
and some of the newly composed histories of the Persian period became
symbolized in the Torah of Ezra, which he proclaimed in his day. While it
served well for more than two centuries, by the second century BCE even
that pre-canonical Torah in the most general sense was to be challenged
by a much larger corpus of venerated writings. But the Hellenistic world
was a much larger world than the Persian-period world, and the Jewish
community was eager to participate in it, which it did with gusto for
hundreds of years to come. The Qumran corpus of more than 900
manuscripts, many of them reflecting the broadened horizon of that
world, is one of the major by-products of that acquisitive age and suggests
by its sheer size and numbers that the degree of literacy that characterized
that later period was even higher than before.5
Bibliography
Ackroyd, P. R.
1968 Exile and Restoration (OTL; London: SCM).
1970 Israel under Babylon and Persia (New Clarendon Bible;
London: Oxford University Press).
1982 ‘Archaeology, Politics, and Religion in the Persian Period’,
Iliff Review 39: 5–24.
1991 The Chronicler and His Age (JSOTSup, 101; Sheffield:
Beuken, W. A. M.
1967 Haggai–Sacharja 1–8 (Assen: Van Gorcum).
Carter, C. E.
Academic Press).
Harris, W. V.
1989 Ancient Literacy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press).
5 By literacy we do not only mean to signify the ability to read and write but also we
would suggest that literacy also include the ability to appreciate literature of a belletristic sort
that could have been read or recited aloud as were portions of the Bible, albeit in quite a
different setting. If we take such a capacity to appreciate and listen to literature into account,
the percentage of literacy in late Second Temple Jewish circles could well have reached as
high as 20 per cent as my colleague Lucas Van Rompay has suggested to me in conversation.
Humphrey, J. H.
1991 Literacy in the Roman World (Journal of Roman
Archaeology Supplementary Series, 3; Ann Arbor, MI:
(University of Michigan Press).
Lenski, G.
1966 Power and Privilege: A Theory of Social Stratification (New
York: McGraw Hill).
Lipschits, O.
2005 The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem (Winona Lake, IN:
Eisenbrauns).
Meyers, C. L., and E. M. Meyers
1987 Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 (AB, 25B; Garden City, NY:
Doubleday).
1993 Zechariah 9–14 (AB, 25C; Garden City, NY: Doubleday).
Meyers, E. M.
1987 ‘The Persian Period and the Judean Restoration: From
Zerubbabel to Nehemiah’, in P. D. Miller, P. Hanson and
D. McBride (eds), Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in
Honor of Frank Moore Cross (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress
Press).
Weinberg, J.
1992 The Citizen-Temple Community (trans. Daniel L. Smith-
Christopher; JSOTSup, 151; Sheffield: JSOT Press).
Chapter 11
GOING BEYOND THE MYTH OF THE EMPTY LAND: A REASSESSMENT

1
OF THE EARLY PERSIAN PERIOD
J. A. Middlemas (University of Aarhus)
1. Introduction
A number of studies have attended to biblical, imperial and archaeo-
logical evidence of life in Judah following the fall of Jerusalem in 587 BCE
(Carroll 1992; 1998; Barstad 1987; 1996; 2003; Blenkinsopp 1998; 2002a;
2002b; 2002c; 2003; Grabbe 1998; Lipschits 1998; 1999; 2001; 2003; 2004;
2005; Middlemas 2005b). Instead of repeating those arguments, this paper
focuses on where we proceed with a reassessment of how acceptance of a
viable homeland population alters perceptions about what is more
generally referred to as the early postexilic period. There are four areas
requiring further thought: the delineation of the period (terminology and
temporality), issues of continuity, social integration and the return to Zion
motif. This paper closes with observations and some thoughts to open
avenues for further discussion.
2. Terminology and Chronology

Two important and related adjustments need to be made at the outset of
the discussion. Firstly, when applied to the period following the collapse
of Jerusalem in 587 BCE the term ‘exile’ is inexact and inappropriate.
There are five chief reasons to alter references to this period.
. The use of the term ‘exile’ implies that there was a single deportation
when in fact there were at least three according to the biblical record
(598, 587, 582 BCE).
1 In his inaugural lecture given at his appointment to the Samuel Davidson Chair of Old
Testament Studies at Kings College London, 10 October 1961, Peter Ackroyd stressed the
importance of the theme of continuity in the biblical view of religion. It was a concept he
would return to again and again over the course of his career. It is an honour to pay tribute
to Ackroyd’s work on the exilic and early postexilic periods by building on his work and
moving past it into new directions – exactly in line with his thoughts on continuity.
MIDDLEMAS Beyond the Myth of the Empty Land 175
. After 587 BCE groups reportedly settled in the neighbouring nation-

states of Ammon, Moab and Edom and, following the assassination
of Gedaliah, another group fled to Egypt. For these voluntary
refugees the identification of the time would be labelled more
suitably the ‘expatriate’ or the ‘refugee’ period.
. An ‘exile’ only exists from the point of view of people who have
been deported. The people who remained in Judah did not regard
the forced relocation of some of its citizenry in any special way
(Carroll 1992; Barstad 1996; Grabbe 1998).
. The traditional view fails to capture the wide varieties of disasters
that struck the nation. In addition to ‘exile’, the people were subject
to a lengthy siege and military engagement that led to injury, death,
starvation, sickness and sexual abuse.
. From its inception Jewish history can be viewed as a series of exiles
(Knibb 1976; Carroll 1992). Furthermore, ‘the exile’ as a period of
time raises separate questions about conceptions of these historical
events. The situation of ‘the exile’ par excellence never actually
ceased to exist (Coggins 1999). Although descendants of the
deportees travelled back to the homeland, not all dispersed
Judahites chose to return. Communities continued to live and
prosper in Egypt and Babylon. They represent some of the
foundational and significant contributors to the continuation of
Israelite religion. For example, the Egyptian community provided
the Septuagint translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek while
their compatriots in Babylon were responsible for the Babylonian
Talmud in the rabbinic period.
In addition to making the use of the term ‘exile’ less attractive, these
points raise the question of whether the advent of Cyrus in 539 BCE is the
best date with which to associate the close of the period.
The association of the close of the period with the ascendancy of Cyrus
is due partly to the biblical view of the historical events. The historical
presentation of ancient Israel concluded with the catastrophic events of
the beginning of the sixth century BCE and resumed at the point of
imperial authorization for the return of the deportees and the rebuilding
of the temple in Jerusalem in the book of Ezra (1.1-4). However, until the
time of the composition of Ezra 1–6 – generally dated to the fifth century
BCE – the biblical historical record included no details about Cyrus and his
role in Judahite repatriation or temple reconstruction. Instead, the
historical record in Kings and the book of Jeremiah concludes with the
poignant detail of Jehoiachin released from prison, yet still resident in
Babylonia (2 Kgs. 25.27-30; Jer. 52.31-34). It is only following Deutero-
Isaiah’s depiction of Cyrus as the earthly redeemer, even messiah, of the
people in exile that the Persian king takes on a greater role in the historical
portrait of ancient Israel. Subsequently, the historical record in Ezra
continues from the point of the Cyrus edict (Ezra 1.1-4). The decree
becomes so significant in the literature of the Second Temple period that 2
Chronicles ends its historical account of the fall of the kingdoms not with
Jehoiachin’s release, but with Cyrus’ command to build a temple for
Yahweh in Jerusalem (2 Chron. 36.22-23).
Even though the advent of Cyrus is an important feature of certain
biblical and academic reconstructions of sixth-century Judah, the signifi-
cance associated with this event does not stem from the period itself. The
physical evidence for Cyrus’ concern to repatriate Judah and rebuild the
sanctuary is based on the Cyrus Cylinder whose application to any
situation other than the return of cult statues to regions outside of
Mesopotamia has been seriously challenged (Kuhrt 1983). Moreover, in
spite of the fact that Cyrus plays a significant role in the restoration of the
exiles and Jerusalem in Deutero-Isaiah, neither Haggai nor Zechariah –
whose prophecies directly relate to the situation in Judah – refer to him in
any way. For them, the end of Yahweh’s wrath is dawning, bringing with
it the resumption of divine presence and protection. Temple reconstruc-
tion remains necessary for the renewal of covenant relations directly
between Yahweh and the Judahites, with no mediation by the imperial
authorities.
To be true to the thought of the age itself urges the adoption of a new
understanding of how the leaders of the time understood the transition
between disaster brought about by divine wrath and the restoration
dawning by divine provision. When a viable homeland population is taken
into consideration along with archaeological evidence suggestive of
commonality between the material culture at the close of the monarchical
period and the final years of the sixth century BCE (albeit with a clear
deterioration in form, see Middlemas 2005a: 37–48), the rebuilding of the
temple marks an appropriate break. According to the biblical record, the
temple was rebuilt and dedicated in 515 BCE (Ezra 6.15). However, Haggai
and Zechariah – the biblical writers associated with that time – do not
provide a date for the completion of the sanctuary. Nevertheless, the
editorial framework associates their prophetic activity with the early years
of Darius: 520–518 BCE. Although it would seem reasonable to suppose
that the completion of the temple cannot be long after this time, since the
people have begun construction on the sanctuary already in Haggai,
beyond Ezra’s association of 515 with the dedication of the temple, there
is no other statement of the year of the completion of the sanctuary. It has
been adopted as a reference point with the qualification that the specific
year remains uncertain.2
2 Edelman has argued that the temple was rebuilt around the time of Nehemiah who was
active in the fifth century BCE (2005). The ideological reasons advanced to discount the
chronological framework of Haggai and Zechariah in order to posit their prophetic activity
Even as the years from the fall of Jerusalem in 587 to the rebuilding of
the temple in 515 adjust our conception of the time frame for what has
been traditionally spoken of as the ‘exile’, they highlight terminology
more appropriate. Indeed, this is the time between the two temples – the
one destroyed in 587 and the one dedicated in 515 – or, for the sake of
brevity, the templeless age. Better than ‘exile’ which privileges the point of
view of the population deported to Babylon or ‘Neo-Babylonian Judah’
that unfortunately divides the period according to the perspective of
empire rather than along the lines drawn by the biblical writers of the
time, ‘templeless’ conveys something about the situation of the period.
During the period of no temple, creative strategies took place to adapt to
and move beyond the loss of a significant place of worship, community
and state. Additionally, the term highlights a more inclusive portrait of
the period. Rather than stemming from the point of view of part of the
population, it remains inclusive of people in many locations who
experienced and survived the collapse of Jerusalem. Finally, it draws
attention to the Judahite population that did not go into exile and for
whom the perspective of events was very different.
3. Continuity
The first evidence of continuity during the sixth century is a population in
the Benjamin region. A second avenue of discussion turns to the literary
deposit. Peter Bedford argued that the literature of Haggai and Zechariah
1–8 displays continuity with the monarchical traditions that existed before
the collapse of the temple in 587 (1995; 2001). Bedford has shown in his
analysis that both prophets drew from monarchical period Zion and
Yahweh ma3lak psalms as well as the ‘oracles against the nations’, but
differ with respect to thematic emphases. Zechariah draws on the theme of
the pilgrimage to Zion while Haggai places greater stress on the
chaoskampf motif, for example.
In addition, Bedford’s study demonstrates the commonality between
the prophetic concerns of Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 with those of
Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel 40–48. Haggai and Zechariah differ from their
immediate forebears by containing specific prophecies about the restor-
ation of the Davidic king. His insight in this regard is reinforced by a
recent study of sixth-century literature delineated according to themes
rather than according to biblical author. In The Templeless Age, I explore
to a later time do not withstand criticism (Middlemas 2007). Although it is true that the
historical presentation of ancient Israel is in need of continuous reassessment in the light of
new evidence and theories, in the case of the Second Temple it is more sensible to accept the
biblical indication of the date. The biblical date of 515 acts as a reference point for the
completion of the Second Temple.
how Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 with their dual focus on Yahweh’s
intervention and human response provide clear strategies to clarify the
idealized portraits presented in Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel 40–48
(Middlemas 2007). In addition, the conception of society and its
governance according to the prophets at the close of the sixth century
stem from ideas about nationality that proliferated during the monar-
chical period and represent ‘an idealized projection of [Judah’s] monar-
chical past’ (Bedford 2001: 260).
Moreover, the community envisioned is not significantly different from
that of monarchical Judah. The community that comes to light in
Bedford’s careful analysis is one defined much as in former times – defined
by a national identity and inclusive of foreigners. The existence of a
confessional community along the lines established by Ezra and Nehemiah
does not appear as early as the time of Haggai and Zechariah. Lines of
continuity in thought traverse the sixth century and provide new avenues
for further discussion. Conceptions of a complete break generated by the
collapse of Jerusalem in 587 BCE do not find support from biblical material
at the close of the sixth century.
4. Social integration
It has tended to be the case that the situation described in Ezra 1–6 and
mentioned specifically in Ezra 4.4 has been read back into the period at
the close of the sixth century BCE. In Ezra 4.1-5 a delegation termed the
‘am ha3 ’a3res@ (4.4) disrupt the construction on the temple begun in the time
of Cyrus until the advent of Darius when their assistance in rebuilding is
rejected (4.3). The identity of ‘the people of the land’ in Ezra has
influenced the interpretation of the term in Haggai (2.4) and Zechariah
(7.5) (Rothstein 1908). In recent years, a significant amount of work on
the book of Ezra has shown that the details provided in chs 1–6 reflect
communal division at a later time (Williamson 1983; Halpern 1990;
Grabbe 1991; Japhet 1994; Bedford 2001). The evidence simply does not
support a portrait of burgeoning communal strife. Reading Haggai and
Zechariah without Ezra provides a different perspective of the commu-
nity.
There have been a series of studies on the language employed in biblical
literature from the Persian period that provide solid evidence against a
division in the community at the time of Haggai and Zechariah. The first
major work on this line of research was begun by Sara Japhet in the 1980s
(1982; 1983; 1991), who demonstrated that Haggai’s concerns are with
and for the benefit of the people that remained in Judah. Following a
different line of inquiry, Hugh Williamson in 1989 argued similarly.
Through an examination of the use of the term Israel, he found that until
the time of Ezra, Nehemiah and Chronicles the concept of the community
remained inclusive with only slight variations in interpretation. In more
recent years, Bedford’s analysis of the nature of the community at the time
of temple construction has advanced, among other arguments, the view
that the community evidences no division at the time of Haggai and
Zechariah. The lack of social schism at the time is defended on the basis of
the language employed by the prophets for members of the community,
the monarchical traditions on which they drew, and counter arguments to
those made in support of prominent theories of division (2001: 270–85).
Arguments about a schism in the community at the time of the prophets
Haggai and Zechariah have stemmed from how the terms for the people
are understood. An examination of the term used for ‘people’ provides
little support for arguments favouring a conflict model. ‘People’ is found
in a variety of contexts in Haggai and Zechariah. It is used for ‘the
people’, hā(ām (Hag. 1.12 //kôls])ērıˆt hā(ām, 13; Zech. 2.15 [ET 11]//rabb|<m
go<y|<m; 8.7, 8). Additionally, it represents ‘this people’ hā(ām hazzeh (Hag.
1.2; 2.14// haggo<y hazzeh), ‘the remnant of the people’ s])ērıˆt hā(ām (Hag.
1.12 ko<l; 14 ko<l; 2.2), ‘all of the people of the land’, kol-(am hā)āres@ (Hag.
2.4; Zech. 7.5), and ‘the remnant of this people’, s])ērıˆt hā(ām hazzeh (Zech.
8.6, 11, 12). Otherwise, it is used generally of the ‘peoples’, ‘amm|<m as a
reference to foreign nations (Zech. 8.20, 22 ‘many peoples//strong
nations’). The references can be organized into five types of texts: an
editorial note (Hag. 2.2), stories relating the obedient response of the
people to Yahweh’s wishes (Hag. 1.12, 14), as recipients of salvation
oracles (Hag. 1.13; 2.4; Zech. 8.8, 11-12), as the recipients of other
prophetic messages (Hag. 2.14; Zech. 7.5; 8.6), and foreign nations
included within the community (Zech. 2.15; 8.20, 22).
The addresses to the people are thought to be at variance to those used
of them in the editorial framework. In Haggai, ‘am is thrice modified by
s])ērıˆt (1.12, 14; 2.2). Elsewhere in the material attributed to the prophet
the people are termed ‘this people’ (1.2; 2.14) and ‘all of the people of the
land’ (2.4) which has sparked the curious question of who are the
‘remnant’? It has been argued that they are to be understood as the
purified remnant, who alone experienced the exile to Babylon (Ackroyd
1994; Rudolph 1976; Wolff 1986). However, the use of ‘remnant’ in such a
technical sense is not at all clear. The single other appearance of the root
s])r in Haggai is the niphal participle nis])ār (2.3) where it stands for those
who remained in Judah after the exile (Japhet 1983: 121 n. 33). In tracing
the history of the term within prophecy, Bedford has shown that the
specific application of s])ērıˆt for the exiles in Babylon is quite rare.
Moreover, neither Jeremiah nor Ezekiel employ it with reference to the
exiles. Finally, it appears in a specialized sense with reference to the exiles
only well into the Persian period in Ezra 9.8, 15 (Bedford 2001: 54–5;
noted previously by Janssen 1956: 119 n. 3). Furthermore, in the framing
material in Haggai, the editor records the positive response to Yahweh’s

word made by the leaders as well as ‘all the remnant of the people’ (1.12).
In the second half of the verse, the people called simply hā(ām adopt a
reverent attitude to the deity (1.12b). Similarly, according to the framing
material the prophet is called to speak ‘to the people’ (lā(ām) as a
messenger of Yahweh (1.13). References to the remnant do not appear
theologically laden (in agreement with Heaton 1952: 31; see Hasel 1974).
Finally, in Kings and Jeremiah the term represents those who remained in
the land (2 Kgs 25.22; Jer. 24.8, cf. 42.2). In all likelihood the remnant in
Haggai is the community that remained in Judah following the fall of
Jerusalem.
In Zechariah, the term ‘remnant’ appears three times and only in the
editorial material (8.6, 11, 12). Oracles are made specifically to repatriated
exiles (called ‘my people’) (8.7) and to another community that would be
more likely to be the non-repatriated community (called ‘the remnant of
this people’) (8.11-12). In defining the community in the concluding
chapters according to two groups ‘my people’ and ‘the remnant of this
people’ the Zechariah editor addresses and includes an audience that is
composed of the repatriated Babylonian exiles as well as the Judahite
population that remained in Judah after the fall of Jerusalem.
Interestingly, he also specifically includes the populace from the former
northern kingdom as well. The prophets in the early Persian period did
not differentiate members of the community according to criteria defined
by righteousness. Instead, they sought to provide grounds for unity.
In the context of Zechariah, additional evidence indicates early
attempts to promote unity in the community. Yair Hoffman (2003) has
considered Zechariah’s discussion of the fast days in chs 7–8 as indicative
of early attempts to forge a common identity (a point noted already by
Meyers and Meyers 1987 and Bedford 2001: 276).
‘Should I mourn and practice abstinence in the fifth month, as I have
done for so many years?’ Then the word of Yahweh of hosts came to
me: Say to all the people of the land and the priests: When you fasted
and lamented in the fifth month and in the seventh, for these seventy
years, was it for me that you fasted? (Zech. 7.3-5)
Thus says Yahweh of hosts: The fast of the fourth month, and the fast
of the fifth, and the fast of the seventh, and the fast of the tenth, shall be
seasons of joy and gladness, and cheerful festivals for the house of
Judah: therefore love truth and peace. (Zech. 8.19)
In the main, Hoffman’s argument focuses on attributing the precedence
for fast days to the prophecies of Zechariah, rather than pointing to
attempts at social cohesion. Nevertheless, his analysis illustrates that the
answers to the question about fasting in 7.3 by the deity in 7.4-5 and the
prophet in 8.19 contain a prophetic imperative to unify. The deity in 7.5
includes the fast for Gedaliah along with the one for the temple. Similarly,
the prophet speaks of all four fast days – for Gedaliah, the temple, the
king and the breaching of the wall. The inclusion of the fast for Gedaliah
among fasts more relevant to all the survivors of the collapse of Jerusalem
(and one might argue, of particular relevance to the community exiled in
Babylon) places on equal footing a ritual observance that would have
been of particular interest to the community that remained in Judah.3 In
so doing, it provides an early indication that the prophet sought to unify
the concerns of the various communities that experienced the disasters of
the Neo-Babylonian period.
Bedford and Japhet argue similarly, but focus instead on the inclusion
of the ‘am hā)āres@ among the remnant of the people who are building the
temple. In addition to their arguments, the references documented clearly
portray the ‘people’ in a positive light in that they are shown to be
obedient to Yahweh, the recipients of salvation oracles, and the recipients
of other divine messages. Nevertheless, the prophetic oracle dealing with
the priestly ruling in Hag. 2.10-19 has been used frequently to argue that
the people are unclean (stemming from Rothstein, but see the counter-
arguments of Koch 1967; May 1968). Against this view Ackroyd has
correctly noted that the uncleanliness relates not to the people, but to the
work of their hands. Moreover, the use of ‘this’ with reference to the
people is not necessarily pejorative as the prophet elsewhere speaks of ‘this
house’ (1.4; 2.3, 9) and ‘this day’ (2.15, 18) with no negative overtones
(Koch 1967: 61). Furthermore, positive prophecies to ‘this people’ are
made by the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah (Hildebrand 1989). Being
parallel to go<y does not alter the fact that the references in v. 14 are the
same people addressed by Haggai throughout the book (1.4-11; 2.3-9, 15-
19) (Ackroyd 1994: 167 n. 71; Cody 1964). The message fits clearly within
Haggai’s worldview in which the community remains under judgement
until it attends to completing the sanctuary, and thereby showing that it
considers a faithful relationship with the deity its highest priority.
Attempts at social inclusion can also be noted in literature that
combines accounts of the experiences of those in the homeland and those
in the Golah. Announcements of consolation and explanations of the
redemptive nature of suffering are made to two figures in Deutero-Isaiah –
there is comfort for Lady Jerusalem (49.13–50.3; 51.12–52.12; 54.1-17)
and a rationale for the Suffering Servant (51; 52.14–53.13). It is likely that
both figures represent the two main communities that survived the
disaster: Lady Jerusalem for the community in the land and the Suffering
3 The fasts are associated with the months as follows: the fourth month with the
breaching of the wall (Jer. 52.6-7), the fifth month with the burning of the temple (Jer. 52.12-
13), the seventh month with the assassination of Gedaliah (Jer. 41.1) and the tenth month
with the siege of Jerusalem (Jer. 52.4).
Servant for the community in exile (cf. Williamson 1989). Recent studies
of the commonality – indeed, how Deutero-Isaiah responds to and
reverses the complaints of Lady Jerusalem in Lamentations – demonstrate
the close links between Isaiah 40–55 and Lamentations (Gottwald 1964:
106–7; Mettinger 1983: 39; Sawyer 1989; Newsom 1992; Willey 1997; Seitz
1998: 130–49; Sommer 1998; Linafelt 2000; Middlemas 2006). In Deutero-
Isaiah every complaint of Lady Jerusalem in Lamentations is overturned –
her painful present becomes the avenue for divine promises of restoration.
The deity pledges betrothal and marriage to Lady Jerusalem, the divorced
wife and widow. Moreover, Yahweh promises the bereft mother
Jerusalem reunion with her exiled children and the reconstruction of her
family home through prophecies to and about the city and the temple.
In addition, a suffering Lady Jerusalem appears alongside a suffering
strong man in the book of Lamentations (Middlemas 2006). Again, the
two are juxtaposed, but with a different purpose. Each represents two
ways to respond to tragedy. Nonetheless, the sufferings of the strong man
(who is depicted similarly to the Suffering Servant) and that of Jerusalem
are held together in Lamentations. The poet like the prophet joined the
experiences of two communities that survived the fall of Jerusalem.
In spite of clear indications of literary perceptions of unity, defence for
arguments in favour of a schism in the community after a return from
exile has been traced to Trito-Isaiah. The collection of material in Isaiah
56–66 is generally agreed to stem from the period following the dedication
of the second temple (see Smith 1995). Although its provenance is
generally recognized to be later than that of Haggai and Zechariah 1–8,
because of details relating to the temple and the community, its prophetic
message has been used to argue for division in the community in the late
sixth century. Arguments in favour of growing division have focused to a
large extent on the issue of control of the temple. Arguments used to
support division in the community based on issues of control or access to
the temple were found to be wanting in a recent analysis of Isaiah 56–66
(Middlemas 2005a). Trito-Isaiah contains a core nucleus in Isa. 60.1–63.6
(Smith 1995), which includes the temple as one feature of the restoration
being brought about by Yahweh at the conclusion of the period that
followed the destruction of the temple. In a second redactional layer of
material, the temple features in prophetic concerns about why promises
made by Deutero-Isaiah have failed to materialize, issues of access to the
divine community, and how divine intervention will transpire. Indeed, it
broadens the prophetic message of restoration in order to explain the
delay in the accomplishment of Yahweh’s purposes, to define more clearly
how the community should worship Yahweh, and to delineate how
Yahweh’s promises of return and renewal will transpire (Middlemas
2005a: 181).
In Isaiah 56–66, access to the temple is not based on ethnicity, but
rather, on obedience to religious worship faithful to Yahweh alone. There

is a discernible schism in the community, but it is based on the religious
practices of unspecified members of the community who worship other
deities, either in conjunction with or to the exclusion of the worship of
Yahweh. In Trito-Isaiah a clear separation between those who will enjoy
the benefits of divine rule and those who will be excised permanently from
Yahwistic blessing will be established only when divine rule is made
manifest. In Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 the age of divine favour is
dawning and remains still in the future in Trito-Isaiah. Indeed, in Isaiah
56–66, the prophet of the second redactional layer seeks to explain the
delay in the inauguration of Yahweh’s rule – to indicate why the
prophecies of Haggai and Zechariah have failed to materialize. Trito-
Isaiah attributes the delay of divine favour to the worship of other deities
and social injustice. Furthermore, the prophecies attribute the establish-
ment of a division between faithful and heterodox members of the
community only at the point when Yahweh returns. The message of Trito-
Isaiah does not support contentions that the homeland population and
the repatriates competed for resources or for access/ control of the temple.
Texts stemming from the period at the onset of Persian rule suggest efforts
were made to honour the multiplicity of experiences that followed the
collapse of Jerusalem. As such, they fail to support arguments advanced
for communal division.
5. Return to Zion (Not Just a Metaphor)

A final implication of reassessment of Judah in the sixth century brings us
to the motif of the return to Zion. With an alternative capital operating in
Mizpah and a Jerusalem so devastated it would take well into the fifth
century to achieve anything like its former population numbers (Carter
1999), the call to return to Zion in the literature of this period takes on
new meaning. More than encouraging the exiles to return to the
homeland, it has the potential to legitimize the location of the capital
city in Jerusalem.
Zechariah 7.2 provides evidence in support of prophetic attempts to
legitimate the re-establishment of Jerusalem as the religious centre.
During the period of time in which Zechariah prophesied, a delegation is
sent from Bethel to Jerusalem concerning a priestly interpretation: ‘And
sent Bethel Sharezer and Regem Melek and their men to entreat the
favour of Yahweh’ (a literal translation from Zech. 7.2). The NRSV
contains the translation: ‘Now the people of Bethel sent’, but Bethel as
the subject is in dispute due to the lack of any indication of the direct
object of the verb. Other arguments have favoured Bethel as the location
to which the men are sent (Blenkinsopp 1998; 2002a: 425–6; 2003) or that
Bethel-sharezer is the name of a royal official who sends a delegation

(Edelman 2005: 91–2). The principles of Hebrew syntax argue against the
former. The latter is based on speculation (Wellhausen 1898: 186)
presumably confirmed by Hyatt (1937), but the evidence adduced is based
on a single reference in an Akkadian text where the translation is under
dispute (Hyatt 1937: 390). Moreover, Sharezer alone is attested as a
proper name in the Hebrew Bible. It is found as the name of one of
Sennacherib’s children, who assassinated him after his failed assault on
Jerusalem (2 Kgs 19.37 // Isa. 37.38). Finally, of the 75 occurrences of
Bethel in the Hebrew Bible, it is never used as the element of a name (see
BDB, 110–11). It is unlikely that Bethel-sharezer represents a proper name
in this text.
Normal Hebrew syntax provides some illumination as the word order in
the Hebrew text is consistent with Bethel as the subject. Furthermore,
place names, such as Egypt, can stand for the people (BDB, 595). For
example, the city of Gilgal appears to stand for its populace when it is
spoken of as going into exile in Amos 5.5.4 Moreover, the cities of
Jerusalem, Babylon and Samaria are personified and most assuredly
represent their inhabitants in texts commonly dated to the sixth century
BCE (Isaiah 49; Jeremiah 50–51; Ezekiel 16; 23; Lam. 1.12-22; 2.20-22,
etc.). These types of references lend support to the use of Bethel for its
inhabitants in Zech. 7.2, ‘Bethelians’ or ‘the people of Bethel’.
Interestingly, Bethel sends a delegation to Jerusalem seeking a ruling on
a cultic matter. A delegation departs from Bethel, the location of religious
authority during the templeless period, to have a ritual matter adjudicated
in Jerusalem. Within the context of Zechariah, the passage contributes to
the prophetic intention to portray the centrality of Jerusalem the place
where Yahweh is to be sought by all the nations (Zech. 8.20-3). Moreover,
it functions to re-establish the religious authority of Jerusalem. Though
not overt, Zech. 7.2 hints that Bethel functioned as a religious centre
before the period of the early return. By sending a delegation to Jerusalem
about a ritual interpretation, it reasserts the authority of the Jerusalem
priesthood.
Ideological support for the re-establishment of Jerusalem as the
political and religious heart of the nation finds some confirmation in a
study of Zechariah 1–8 by Marinkovic (1994). In his analysis, Marinkovic
delineated the prophetic message into three main headings: (1) Yahweh’s
return to Jerusalem and his abode as the turning point for his people’s
return to Jerusalem (note the emphasis on Jerusalem here), (2) communal
leadership in Jerusalem and (3) the ordering of daily life in Jerusalem
according to Yahwistic principles. Marinkovic argues that the reforma-
4 That Bethel is parallel to Gilgal suggests that it functions in a similar way as a means to
represent the inhabitants of the city.
tion of the community in Jerusalem is the main concern of the prophecies,

not the rebuilding of the temple. He writes:
In my opinion, Zechariah did not see the goal of this so-called
restoration primarily in the reconstruction of the temple; for him, its
purpose lay in the restoring, on the designing and organising of a
Yahweh community in Jerusalem. (Marinkovic 1994: 96)
In this he is in agreement with the assessment of the visions made by
Petersen (1984b), who also points to the book’s intention to provide
regulations for the community.
These preliminary examples demonstrate that it is important to
reconsider the intentional use of the motif of the return to Zion in the
literature of this period. It is a call to those in Benjamin as well as those in
the Diaspora to refound the city. More importantly, the literary texts
function to provide ideological support to return the capital to Jerusalem
from the provisional centre established by the Neo-Babylonians in
Mizpah. The motif of the return to Zion added ideological weight to
restore Jerusalem to its former position as the social, political and
religious centre of the community.
6. Implications
A re-examination of the biblical and extra-biblical material relating to
Judah in the sixth century BCE urges greater awareness of how scholarly
constructs are made and the evidence used to support them. Greater
awareness of a population in the homeland suggests a reappraisal on at
least four different levels: terminology and time frame, continuity, societal
integration and how Zion is perceived. Although each area will lead to
fresh insights, one of the more interesting outcomes of this overview has
to do with perceptions about the character of the community in the late
templeless period.
According to close attention to the prophecies of Haggai and
Zechariah, the social organization of the community is defined better as
a national and political entity than a confessional one. This corresponds
well to Petersen’s analysis of the use of go<y in Haggai, which represents
prophetic hopes for the resumption of a political structure (1984a: 81–2).
What is interesting is that when one fails to read the period immediately
before the construction of the Second Temple through the lenses of Ezra’s
communal portrait, the shift to a community defined by confession as
envisioned originally by Wellhausen can be seen in Trito-Isaiah.
The main point in Trito-Isaiah is to explain why his predecessor’s
expectations of divine intervention and reversal have failed to materialize.
In rationalizing the delay, the prophet shows how the community’s
behaviour continues to draw out the period of divine judgement. They are
continuing practices that brought about the nation’s destruction in the
first place (Schramm 1995; Smith 1995). In the course of showing why
divine intervention has been delayed, the prophet regulates who has access
to the temple. In characterizing the ideal community, Trito-Isaiah includes
eunuchs and proselytes among the faithful (Isa. 56.1-8) and excludes
ethnic members who fail to strictly observe the worship of Yahweh alone
(e.g., 57.1-21). The community he envisions is defined by religious
faithfulness rather than ethnicity. Some time later, in the fifth century
BCE Ezra and Nehemiah will define the identity of Yehud’s temple
community by religious faithfulness and ethnicity. Trito-Isaiah marks a
mid-way point between the community envisioned in the thought of
Haggai and Zechariah, on the one hand, and Ezra and Nehemiah, on the
other.
If this can now be taken as true, it is possible to rethink the inclusion of
the thought of the Holiness Code as contemporaneous with Haggai and
Zechariah. Jan Joosten discounted a sixth-century date based on the lack
of the appearance of a confessional community (1997; for other reasons,
see Knohl 1987; 1995; Ross 2002). Otherwise, the message of the Holiness
Code (H) fits well at the close of the period. Since the time of Martin
Noth, it has been generally agreed that H included older legal materials
formulated into a unit during the templeless period by the exiles in
Babylonia. Suggestive of this provenance is its commonality with Ezekiel
in the depiction of the otherness and holiness of Yahweh as well as the
similarity of the final three escalating curses in its closing chapter with the
events that took place (including mass deportation) around the fall of
Jerusalem. In addition to what appears to be the exchange of ideas
between Ezekiel and H, the exhortatory message of Leviticus 26 clearly
speaks to the situation of exile. As Peter Ackroyd recognized, the chapter
(esp. vv. 33-39) not only envisages an exilic situation, but, more
importantly, presents an interpretation of it (Ackroyd 1994: 85–6).
Finally, the Holiness Code retains a future vision with respect to
restoration that would suggest a date before the reconstruction of the
temple. In only one statement is an explicit declaration of Yahweh’s future
plans for the community made and that is with reference to the land (Lev.
26.42).5
A consideration of the thought of the templeless period enables an
5 The debate about the provenance of the final form of H lacks a firm conclusion.
Certain studies place it in the First Temple period (Knohl 1987; 1995; Ross 2002; Joosten
1997) and other redactional studies place it late in the Second Temple period (Fabry 1999). A
close analysis of the Holiness Code to settle the issue is beyond the scope of this inquiry.
However, there are indications that the thought underlying the creation of H as a unified
body of legal material fits well within the templeless period. Moreover, I would not want to
deny that there are later editorial additions, but the thought, the emphasis on the dangers of
assessment of its literature along holistic lines. There are three types of
themes into which the literary deposit fits quite comfortably: literature of
grief with no clear positive outlook such as the communal laments in the
Psalter, the book of Lamentations and the Deuteronomistic History;
prophecies that straddle the themes of judgement and hope like those of
Jeremiah and Ezekiel; and literature that perceives a new divine action
and urges the restoration of the community and a renewal of covenant
loyalty like that of Deutero-Isaiah, Ezekiel 40–48, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8
and the Holiness Code. Because the final group of texts has been studied
less in conjunction with the literature of the sixth century, they will be our
focus.
The main message of Deutero-Isaiah is that Yahweh is about to
intervene in a decisive way to restore the fortunes of defeated and exiled
Judah because the period of divine wrath is over. The prophet focuses on
persuading a despairing people in exile and in the homeland (note
references and direct speech to Jerusalem) of the truth of his
proclamation. Deutero-Isaiah concentrates on the return itself rather
than the homecoming. What the prophet fails to convey in his utopian
and idealistic vision of a grand return figured as a more dramatic exodus
than the previous one is how the community needs to respond to the
deity’s actions. The programmatic vision of the restored temple placed in
the heart of the reorganized community in Ezekiel 40–48 certainly
complements the idealism of Deutero-Isaiah. As Jon Levenson has argued
Ezekiel 40–48 contains the only series of legal regulations outside the
Torah. By so doing, it centres law in the midst of the new community.
Moreover, it provides clear (though idealized) regulations for the
members of Yehudite society.
Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 and the Holiness Code reflect the insights
afforded by Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel, but clarify visions of the deity’s
interaction with and commitment to a forlorn and suffering humanity. In
the first place, Haggai and Zechariah take as the point of departure
Deutero-Isaiah’s announcement of the inbreaking of Yahweh’s redemp-
tive presence. Haggai draws attention to the end of the period of divine
wrath and urges construction work on the temple in anticipation of divine
favour. Yahweh will resume his rulership in the temple in Jerusalem.
From there, divine kingship will extend over the community through the
appointment of the Davidic ruler, Zerubbabel. Haggai showed how the
failure to rebuild the sanctuary had resulted in the extension of Yahweh’s
period of judgement (cf. Bedford 2001). Aware of Yahweh’s change
the worship of deities other than Yahweh, the vision of the community, and the inclusion of
resident aliens in H is more consistent with that of Ezekiel 40–48, Haggai and Zechariah than
the views of Ezra and Nehemiah.
towards the people, he urged them to work on the temple as a faithful

response to the divine actions.
Similarly, Zechariah (the prophet and the editorial additions) recog-
nized that the gradual mediation of divine reversal into the realm of
human history required a human response. What was happening on a
cosmic level was about to happen on a historical one. In the visions, he
illustrated the need for the creation of a Yahweh-centred community over
which the deity could rule once more. A key element of his vision of the
community rests in the purgation of traditions considered non-Yahwistic
such as the elimination of idolatry (via the vision of the woman in the
epha in Zech. 5.5-11) and the establishment of just social relations (via the
vision of the divine scroll flying through the air in Zech. 5.1-4) as well as
the need for right worship and the temple in the midst of the community
(by the placement of the Joshua vision as one of two central chapters) (on
the last, see Meyers and Meyers 1987). In addition, the editorial
framework emphasized the need for repentance (Zech. 1.1-6) and
stipulated clear regulations for societal behaviour in chs 7–8. Closely
related to Haggai, Zechariah envisions the nexus of divine rule in the
cosmic realm and exhorts the community by defining its character in the
new age.
Finally, the Holiness Code places communal response centrally. The
underlying premise of H is that Yahweh is a holy deity (Lev. 20.7, 26;
21.8) whose name is holy (Lev. 20.3; 22.1, 31). In Leviticus 17–26,
however, the holiness of Yahweh is never used as an abstract concept
distanced from historical reality. Each appearance of the holiness of
Yahweh corresponds with legal regulations for the people of ancient
Israel. In addition to the use of Yahweh’s holiness to encourage the
observance of rules of behaviour, H emphasizes the relationality of
Yahweh to the people. Of instances where Yahweh is mentioned, a
startling amount associates the deity and the community. In fact, ‘I am
Yahweh’ qualified by ‘your God’ occurs 22 times (Lev. 18.2, 4, 30; 19.2, 3,
4, 10, 25, 31, 34, 36; 20.7, 24; 23.22, 43; 24.22; 25.17, 38, 55; 26.1, 13, 44).
Exile does not mark the final destiny of the people because a new future is
made available through confession (26.40-41). Finally, H closes with the
possibility of a future based on the permanence and trustworthiness of the
deity who entered into a covenant with the patriarchs (26.42) and Moses
(26.45). The covenant remained unbroken: ‘Yet for all that, when they are
in the land of their enemies, I will not spurn them, or abhor them so as to
destroy them utterly and break my covenant with them; for I am Yahweh
their God’ (26.44). In the light of Yahweh’s ongoing commitment, the
community must enact social justice and principles of right worship. Like
Haggai and Zechariah, the laws of the Holiness Code illustrate how the
people are to respond faithfully to their deity in order to resume a
covenant relationship with Yahweh in the land.
Seen in this way, Haggai, Zechariah and the Holiness Code continue the
ideas promoted by Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel 40–48. The close of the
templeless age reveals a community working out its identity as a people of
Yahweh who have experienced catastrophic collapse and exile. The
framework within which they do so shares links with what has come
before and does not represent the great watershed that has long been
supposed. Theirs is a revision of old concepts as well as a view towards
creating a viable future beyond disaster.
In conclusion, consideration of various points that have been raised
about the details of the socio-historical situation of sixth-century Judah
has resulted in a reassessment of conceptions about the end of the period.
When scholarly constructions of the time are adjusted accordingly, a
reappraisal of the literature emerges. Greater awareness of a templeless
age sheds new light on the thought of Judah/Yehud in the sixth century
BCE. The inclusion of an alternative perspective and a reconsideration of
the evidence for a community divided between repatriates and non-
repatriates contribute to an ongoing discussion about the ‘creation’ of the
identity of ancient Israel during this period.
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2004 ‘The Rural Settlement of Judah in the Sixth Century B.C.E.:
A Rejoinder’, PEQ 136/2: 99–107.
2005 The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah Under Babylonian

Rule (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns).
Lipschits, O., and J. Blenkinsopp (eds)
Marinkovic, P.
1994 ‘Zechariah 1–8 and the Second Temple’, in T. C. Eskenazi
and K. H. Richards (eds), Second Temple Studies, 2: Temple
and Community in the Persian Period (JSOTSup, 175;
May, H. G.
1968 ‘ ‘‘This People’’ and ‘‘This Nation’’ in Haggai’, VT 18: 190–
7.
Mettinger, T. N. D.
1983 A Farewell to the Servant Songs (Lund: Soc Humaniorum
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1987 Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 (AB, 25B; Garden City: Doubleday).
Middlemas, J.
2005a ‘Divine Reversal and the Role of the Temple in Trito-
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(Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 422;
Edinburgh: T&T Clark International): 164–87.
2005b The Troubles of Templeless Judah (Oxford Theological
Monographs; Oxford: Oxford University Press).
2006 ‘Did Second Isaiah Write Lamentations iii?’, VT 56/4: 505–
25.
2007 The Templeless Age: History, Literature, and Theology of
‘the Exile’ (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press).
Newsom, C. A.
1992 ‘Response to Norman K. Gottwald, ‘‘Social Class and
Ideology in Isaiah 40–55’’ ’, Semeia 59: 75–7.
Petersen, D. L.
1984a Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 (OTL; London: SCM).
1984b ‘Zechariah’s Visions: A Theological Perspective’, VT 34:
195–206.
Ross, A. P.
2002 The Holiness School: A Guide to the Exposition of the Book
of Leviticus (Grand Rapids: Baker).
Rothstein, J.
1908 Juden und Samaritaner: Die grundlegende Scheidung von
Judentum und Heidentum (BWANT, 3; Leipzig: Hinrichs).
Rudolph, W.
1976 Haggai, Sacharja 1–8, Sacharja 9–14, Maleachi (Gütersloh:
Gütersloher Verlagshus).
Sawyer, J. F. A.
1989 ‘Daughter of Zion and Servant of the Lord in Isaiah: A
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Schramm, B.
1995 The Opponents of Third Isaiah: Reconstructing the Cultic
History of the Restoration (JSOTSup, 193; Sheffield:
Seitz, C. R.
1998 Word without End: The Old Testament as Abiding
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Smith, P. A.
1995 Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah: The Structure,
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Sommer, B. D.
1998 A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66
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1997 Remember the Former Things: The Recollection of Previous
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Chapter 12
REBUILDING JERUSALEM: ZECHARIAH’S VISION WITHIN VISIONS
Kenneth A. Ristau (Pennsylvania State University)
1. Introduction
While the temple in Jerusalem and the administration of the new
community forming around it are at the centre of Zechariah 1–8,1
references to the physical city of Jerusalem are concentrated as book ends
in the sections 1.8–3.10 and 7.1–8.23. Jerusalem or Zion is explicitly
mentioned 23 times in these sections: in the first vision (1.8-17), the second
vision (2.1-4), the third vision (2.5-9), the first set of exhortations (2.10-
17), the fourth vision (3.1-10), and the prophet’s reply to a question sent
to Jerusalem (7.1–8.23). These visions and exhortations contain motifs or
literary–ideological tropes of restoration and reconstruction, election and
holiness, and the city as an axis mundi, which develop and bring to
expression a vision or idea of Jerusalem as well as point to a reality behind
the text in tension with that vision.
2. The First Vision (1.8-17)

The first vision in Zechariah 1–8 presents Jerusalem and the towns of
Judah as the object of Yahweh’s wrath and the angel of the Lord’s implicit
rhetorical appeal for compassion: ‘O Yahweh of Hosts, how long will you
not be compassionate to Jerusalem and the towns of Judah, which you
cursed these seventy years?’ (v. 12). This early complication of the
prophetic book, therefore, centres on the condition of Jerusalem and the
1 Following convention and consensus, this paper treats Zechariah 1–8 as a discrete unit,
probably written earlier and possibly by a different author than Zechariah 9–14. Although I
typically specify chapters and verses, any undetermined references to Zechariah or the book
of Zechariah in this paper refer to the first eight chapters only. Curtis (2006) recently put
forward a systematic, comprehensive defence of unitary authorship for Zechariah and, in the
course of doing so, provides an excellent overview of the state of research on this problem
(see esp. pp. 231–76). Boda (2003a) provides an excellent survey of recent research and
bibliography on Zechariah (and Haggai), including the questions of authorship and
redaction.
towns of Judah; it is their plight at issue and the resolution of their

negative situation that is the principal subject of the first vision, and
arguably it remains one of the primary concerns of the whole prophetic
book.
Certainly, the author of Zechariah 1–8 employs the literary device of
synecdoche: Jerusalem and the towns of Judah are metonyms for the
people who (should) inhabit them. The restoration of Jerusalem and the
towns of Judah imply, even demand, the restoration of the people. Yet,
the emphasis in Zechariah, after the initial call to moral penitence (1.1-6),
through most of the next two chapters, is the physical Jerusalem, which
the prophet personifies as a participant in the experience of exile and
return. In the second and third visions, the city experiences the exile
(‘these are the horns that scattered . . . Jerusalem’, 2.2) and is summoned
to return from Babylon (‘Now Zion escape, you who dwell with daughter
Babylon’, 2.11), which, while implying the people as the referent,
unmistakably promotes the importance and centrality of the city for the
cultural and religious identity of the people. Similarly, in the first vision,
the oracles and exhortations address the physical city, not the people:
Yahweh burns with jealousy for Zion and Jerusalem (v. 14) and,
answering the angel’s appeal, he announces his return to Jerusalem with
‘compassions’ (Mymxr): his house will be built in her and the measuring
line applied to her (v. 16). The pronouncements continue with declar-
ations that Jerusalem and the towns of Judah will prosper, Zion will
receive comfort, and Yahweh will again choose Jerusalem (v. 17). So, the
city is a subject of concern in its own right.
The language of the first vision addresses this subject with a mix of
ideology and pragmatism. The vision answers the angel’s rhetorical appeal
in v. 12 for compassion to replace indignation with a notable flourish. The
use of the plural absolute Mymxr in v. 16 counters the appeal for
‘compassion’ with ‘compassions’. The vision also situates the text within
the stream of biblical thought that identifies Jerusalem as the place
‘chosen’ by Yahweh.2 In the context of a competition among cult places,
the language is exclusive as is the claim concerning the house in v. 16,
which is by inference a singular house.3 Arguably too, looking back at v.
2 1 Kgs 8.16, 44, 48; 11.13, 32, 36; 14.21; 2 Kgs 21.7; 23.27; Pss. 78.68; 132.13; 2 Chron.
6.5, 6, 34, 38; 12.13; 33.7.
3 See especially the recent contribution of Knowles (2006), who examines archaeological
and biblical evidence of and problems with centrality or (competing) centralities in the
popular worship and religion of the Persian period. Notably too, Knoppers (2003: 314–21)
presents and evaluates evidence for Persian-period Yahwistic temples and sanctuaries and the
influence competition among them may have had on the Chronicler’s portrait of Jerusalem
while Frey (1999), whose focus is the Hellenistic period but whose insights are still relevant
for the Persian period, provides a useful, if in parts problematic, survey of potential rivals to
the Jerusalem temple.
RISTAU Rebuilding Jerusalem 197
12, there is implicit political rhetoric embedded in the phrase ‘Jerusalem

and the towns of Judah’. The expression suggests continuity with the pre-
exilic southern polity of Judah and, by the conspicuous absence of ‘Israel’,
discontinuity with the Israelite state.4
The mix of ideology and pragmatism also comes through in the
depiction of the harsh realities of the Neo-Babylonian conquest (v. 15),
the alienation of the patron deity from the land (vv. 12, 16), and the divine
authorization for reconstruction (vv. 16-17). Throughout these verses,
there is simultaneously an admission of Jerusalem’s abject condition as
well as interaction with an ideological discourse that invites utopian
expectations.5 In v. 12, the messenger’s appeal for compassion and
reference to a curse (M(z) upon Jerusalem and the cities of Judah and, in
v. 15, Yahweh’s admission of anger, which had been compounded by the
evil of the nations, and even the announcement of Yahweh’s desire and
intent to return and bless Jerusalem in vv. 16-17 highlight a real situation
of destruction and distress. Notably, the threefold repetition of ‘again’
(dw() in v. 17, which intensifies Yahweh’s promises of prosperity, divine
comfort and election for Jerusalem and the cities of Judah, also
inescapably highlights the absence of these conditions in the past and
the implied present. However, the allusion to 70 years, which likely draws
on the 70-year prophecy in Jer. 25.11-12; 29.10 (Orr 1956; Fishbane 1985:
479–85; Winkle 1987a; 1987b; Tollington 1993: 184–5; Applegate 1997)
and the proclamation of divine authorization to rebuild the temple and
the city – announced in the first-person voice of the deity – brings the text
into dialogue with ideologies embedded in prophetic literature and ancient
Near Eastern building and restoration texts and so evokes the utopian
expectations for restoration and reconstruction that often typify these
4 Although references to Israel in 2.2 and especially the ‘House of Israel’ in 8.13 show
that the author perceives northern Israel as sharing a common heritage, Judah and Jerusalem
are undeniably at the centre of the author’s hope for restoration (see esp. 2.16; 7.7; 8.15). The
reference in 8.13 perhaps belies that exclusivity but I would argue that the reference to the
‘House of Israel’ – if it is meant to denote a political entity rather than an ethnic/tribal one –
is primarily retrospective; its future salvation and blessing, given the context, presume its
political and cultic subordination to Jerusalem. On Israel in Zechariah 1–8, see the brief
discussion by Danell (1946: 266–7). For a more thorough analysis of postexilic thought
concerning the concept of Israel, see Williamson (1977) and, more problematically, the recent
contribution of Davies (2005).
5 Boda (2006) traces this theme throughout Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, concluding of the
authors that ‘by doing this they were imposing a temporary myopia on their community as a
strategy for dealing with life under the hegemony of a great power. Such short-sighted focus
on the temple project enabled the community to concentrate and combine their efforts in the
midst of the present dystopia in hopes of the inauguration of their utopia.’
texts (Boda 2006).6 Still, that there is no reference to Jerusalem’s place at

the centre of the nations (at this point in the text) and reference to the
‘measuring line’ in v. 16, which places a pragmatic invitation and plan for
reconstruction at the centre of the ideological messages concerning the
return of Yahweh on the one hand (v. 16a) and Yahweh’s promises on the
other (v. 17), keeps the whole vision anchored in a tangible reality.
3. The Second Vision (2.1-4)

In the second vision, an angel identifies Jerusalem, with Judah and Israel,
as having been ‘scattered’ by the ‘four horns’ (v. 2).7 There is a certain
incongruity in the images of the vision, which either evokes an industrial
or agricultural motif (Love 1999: 179–96). The verb ‘scatter’ (hrz) is often
an agricultural motif, reflected in its alternative connotation ‘to winnow’
(e.g., Isa. 30.24; Ruth 3.2). It is common as a prophetic metaphor or motif
for the exile, especially in Jeremiah and Ezekiel, with the people as the
explicit or implicit object.8 It is, however, also used in industrial settings
with reference to scattering the remains of images or idols (Exod. 32.20;
Isa. 30.22) and, in another case, the burnt coals from a fire (Num. 16.37),
though, notably, this industrial image never reinforces a prophetic
metaphor of the exile. Still, expected accompaniments of the agricultural
motif are images of threshing floors, winnowing forks, wind or gathering;9
by contrast, this vision features images of twnrq (vv. 1-2, 4), either
evoking the metal or stone horns of an altar, the metal horns of a soldier’s
helmet or the horns of oxen, and My#rx (vv. 3-4), which can denote a
craftsman or plougher.
Horns are frequently a politico-cultic motif to symbolize authority and
sovereignty (see ‘Horn’, in Ryken, Wilhoit and Longman 1998: 400; Love
1999: 179–96; Meyers and Meyers 1987: 135–7; Niditch 1983: 122–4;
Süring 1980). Often ancient Near Eastern iconography, myth and
6 Boda (2006) is perhaps the most recent scholar to draw parallels between Zechariah 1–6
and Mesopotamian building and restoration texts but see also Lipiński 1970; Petersen 1974;
1984; Halpern 1978; Laato 1994; and more generally on such parallels in the Bible, see esp.
Bedford 2001 and Hurowitz 1992.
7 The Freer-Washington papyrus and the Alexandrinus and Marchalianus codices omit
‘Jerusalem’. One Greek witness omits ‘Israel’ but preserves ‘Jerusalem’. Many Greek texts,
including a probable reconstruction of the Nah[al H9ever Minor Prophets scroll (Tov, Kraft
and Parsons 1990: 71), as well as the Vulgate and the Peshitta, however, support the Hebrew
in listing all three. For discussions of the problem, see Hanhart 1998: 97–8 and Meyers and
Meyers 1987: 138.
8 Lev. 26.33; 1 Kgs 14.15; Isa. 41.16; Jer. (4.11); 15.7; 31.10; 49.32, 36; Ezek. 5.2, 10, 12;
6.8; 12.14, 15; 20.23; 22.15; 29.12; 30.23, 26; 36.19; Pss. 44.11; 106.27. Similarly, in Jer. 51.2,
the Babylonians are the subject while in Ezek. 29.12; 30.23, 26 the Egyptians are the subject.
9 The wind motif appears later in Zech. 2.10 and 6.5.
prophecy employ oxen or the bull – potentially the horned animals

symbolized by the metonym – as a destructive force. Symbolic of the
nations or rulers who effected the exile(s), namely Assyrian and Neo-
Babylonian kings, horns are an appropriate image, and as indicative of
oxen, fall within the agricultural domain (Boda 2005: 63). Oxen are
probably preferable to an altar or a soldier’s helmet as the thing
symbolized by the horns because the former can not execute the action
that the horns of this vision perform, namely ‘scattering’ Judah, Israel and
Jerusalem, and the latter ultimately points to the image of oxen in any
case (Boda 2005: 61–3; cf. Good 1982: 59).
The reference to the My#rx presents greater difficulties for an
agricultural motif because it is not typically taken to refer to an
agricultural occupation. More often, it is translated as ‘artisans’ or
‘blacksmiths’, though another, often neglected, possibility is ‘ploughers’,
which would alleviate the tension in the images (Good 1982: 56–9; Boda
2005: 62). Certainly, the nominal form #$rFhf always refers to an artisan or
blacksmith10 and the LXX reads te/ktonaj (‘carpenters’ or ‘artisans’),
which assumes the former reading. Significantly though, the meaning
‘plougher’ is attested three times in the Hebrew Bible and in every case it is
a substantive participial form of #rx (Isa. 28.24; Amos 9.13; Ps. 129.3) as
here. The context, established by the verb ‘scatter’, also strongly favours
this translation and, when read as ‘ploughers’ rather than ‘artisans’, all of
the imagery is actually quite consistent (Good 1982).
The vision, therefore, probably captures an agricultural scene where
two oxen have trampled unrestrained over the fields and scattered the
harvest. In response, Yahweh sends ploughers to ‘throw down the horns’,
that is, the ploughers round up and harness or domesticate the oxen
(Good 1982: 58–9). The vision, therefore, portrays the reinstitution of
order in the lands of the Near East and the domestication of foreign
powers to Yahweh’s rule. It is undoubtedly significant that this reading
resonates with Yahweh’s exasperation at the nations for their unbridled
destruction (v. 15). In this way, there is also a logical progression from the
first vision through this vision and into the third vision. As Good
observes, this vision portrays a critical step in the reconstruction of
Jerusalem; it envisions the removal of Israel’s enemies from its lands,
presumably by the Persian kings (1982: 59). There is progress, therefore,
from a declaration of Yahweh’s return and divine authorization to rebuild
in the first vision to the recovery of the land in this vision to the third
vision in which the reconstruction of Jerusalem and the cities of Judah
commences.
10 Exod. 28.11; 35.35; 38.23; Deut. 27.15; 1 Sam. 13.19; 2 Sam. 5.11; 2 Kgs 12.12; 22.6;
24.14, 16; Isa. [3.3]; 40.19, 20; 41.7; 44.11, 12, 13; 45.16; 54.16; Jer. 10.3, 9; 24.1; 29.2; Ezek.
21.36; Hos. 8.6; 13.2; Ezra 3.7; 1 Chron. 4.14; 14.1; 22.15; 29.5; 2 Chron. 24.12; 34.11.
3. The Third Vision (2.5-9) and the First Set of Exhortations (2.10-
17)
With the enemies of Israel removed, the third vision picks up on the divine
authorization to rebuild proclaimed in 1.15-17. The third vision opens
with a scene of a man measuring Jerusalem for its width and length (2.5-
6). The ‘measuring line’ (hdm lbx) in v. 5 and the measuring described in
v. 6 evoke a common occupational domain and activity with the word
‘line’ (hwq) in 1.16, though focuses the action more specifically. The hwq is
used in connection with most stages of construction, including land
surveying, marking or determining dimensions, and justifying corners and
walls while the lbx, on the other hand, is used exclusively in the Hebrew
Bible with reference to land surveys, especially for the purposes of
measuring and apportioning territory (Amos 7.17; Mic. 2.4-5; Pss. 16.6;
78.55).11 Significantly, as already suggested in my discussion of 1.16, these
references to trade tools emphasize the pragmatic nature of the call to
restoration and elevate the activities associated with these mundane tools
to an important part in the divine plan; these tools are the divinely
ordained and authorized means to restore Jerusalem and, by reference to
these tools, the author of these visions invites human participation to
enact the divine plan. Hard work not divine intervention alone, or royal
beneficence for that matter (cf. Chronicles and Ezra–Nehemiah), will
effect the reconstruction of Jerusalem.
Strikingly though, the third vision introduces a somewhat unexpected
caveat to the reconstruction of Jerusalem. Following the image of a man
measuring Jerusalem for its width and length (2.5-6), an angel is sent
running after this man to tell him ‘like villages without walls, Jerusalem
will dwell’ (vv. 7-8).12 The angel explains that the men and cattle in
11 Floyd (2000: 363–4) observes this point and then argues that ‘these contrasting
connotations serve to emphasize that the rebuilding of new edifices, which involve the use of
a hwq, has now become extensive enough to entail the use of a hdm lbx. The third vision
thus signals that the prophecy of the first vision (1.14b-17) has begun to be fulfilled.’ While
the conclusion is correct in my opinion, the argument is flawed. Surveys, involving the
hdm lbx, would have to precede the construction of buildings and walls and consequently
Floyd’s understanding of the relationship of one term to the other is not accurate.
Nevertheless, the first vision is a summary and commission to rebuild Jerusalem while the
third vision actually describes the first step in that process of reconstruction: the surveying of
the land.
12 This seems the most likely reading, though Meyers and Meyers (1987: 154–6) suggest
another attractive reading: ‘Jerusalem will be inhabited, with its villages’. The object,
‘villages’, lacks an expected preposition and so either a b or k is a plausible inference. The
Meyers’s reading also has the advantage that there is no explicit statement, comparable to
hmwx Ny)b in Ezek. 38.11, to indicate the absence of walls; it is only implied by twzrp (see
Deut. 3.5; 1 Sam. 6.18; Ezek. 38.11). This verse, however, is a highly stylized tetracolon in
which stichs 1 and 3 and 2 and 4 correspond. Stichs 2 and 4 concern the presence of the
Jerusalem will be too numerous (v.8) and that Yahweh will be a wall of
fire around the city and the glory in it (v. 9). This vision, therefore, seems
to reflect a community that is self-conscious about the lack of walls in
Jerusalem and reads as ideological spin that turns the absence of walls
into an occasion for divine legitimacy and presence. The rhetoric evokes
the juxtaposition of fire and glory in Deut. 5.24, Isa. 4.5 and 2 Chron. 7.1-
3 as well as the unfolding of Yahweh’s presence in the pillar of fire, at
Sinai or descending upon the tabernacle in Exodus (13.21-22; 14.24; 19.18;
24.17; 40.38). Also, Petersen suggests a possible parallel to the
Achaemenid Persian capital of Pasargadae, which had no walls and was
surrounded by ‘fire altars that symbolized the cosmic god Ahura Mazda’
(1984: 171). In any case, this particular declaration stands in contrast to
the concern for Jerusalem’s walls in Ps. 51.18 and, more notably, the book
of Nehemiah, as well as the ideological tendency in Chronicles and even in
Zechariah up to this point to associate building projects with divine
blessing.13
This caveat though amplifies the central claim of Zechariah’s visions,
namely that Yahweh’s return to Jerusalem, which will effect and
consummate the re-election of the city, is the essential ideological
precursor to its renewal and revival. This ideological conviction parallels
other ancient Near Eastern building texts. Perhaps most immediately,
Yahweh’s indignation, implied abandonment of the city, subsequent
compassion and return is typologically and ideologically similar to
Marduk’s indignation and rejection of Babylon and subsequent compas-
sion and return as recounted in Esarhaddon’s Babylon inscription (CoS
2.120) and in the Cyrus Cylinder (CoS 2.124). Interestingly, however, both
those texts centre on the roles played by Esarhaddon and Cyrus
respectively, as agents of Marduk, in bringing about a reversal of fortune.
In Zechariah to this point, any agents of Yahweh, such as the ‘four
ploughers’ in 2.3-4, go unnamed. The restoration is almost exclusively the
work of Yahweh. This may be part of the reason that the visions and
especially the first set of exhortations in 2.10-17 substitute the city in place
of the people. There is no royal authorization, only divine authorization.
multitude and the glory (of Yahweh) in the midst of the city while stichs 1 and 3 presumably
concern the walls, as this is clearly the concern of stich 3. Furthermore, there is no third-
person-singular suffix on twzrp as one would expect for the Meyers’s reading – and which
the Meyers supply in translation – if the text referred to the satellite villages surrounding
Jerusalem (cf. Zech. 7.7). Yet, even if the Meyers’s reading is accepted, the absence of the
walls would still be implied, though admittedly not demanded, by the third stich. It is also
conceivable that the ambiguity is deliberate and that the author, in such a short space,
employs this ambiguity to communicate that Jerusalem expands with its villages and also that
Jerusalem, like its villages, has no need of walls.
13 On this tendency in Zechariah 1–8, especially in connection with ancient Near Eastern
building texts, see Boda (2006). On Chronicles, see esp. Welten (1973: 9–78).
Yahweh simply calls forth the city out of Babylon (v. 11) and she returns
to her place in the ‘Holy Land’ (v. 16).
Striking too is the universalistic vision of the people in v. 15, the first
occurrence of M( in the book. In this verse, ‘many nations’ join themselves
to Yahweh and Yahweh makes them his people and affirms that he will
dwell in their midst, which presupposes that this new people will live in
Jerusalem. It is tempting to see this, in addition to its obvious parallels to
universal themes in Isaiah, Micah and Jeremiah, as an allusion to
Babylon’s multi-ethnic milieu and centrality in the ancient Near Eastern
world. At the very least, there is an implicit connection and contrast
created between Jerusalem and Babylon. From the physical dislocation/
collocation of Zion in Babylon to the parallel phrases lbb-tb and
Nwyc-tb in v. 11 and v. 14 to the typological and ideological similarities
between historical representations of Babylon and the representation of
Jerusalem as a universal capital, Zechariah’s visions seem to belie a subtle
envy of Babylon, hidden only by a modicum of the usual scorn reserved
for it (vv. 13; 5.5-11; cf. Boda [forthcoming]). It would seem Babylon,
obviously shorn of its ‘pagan’ elements and infused with Yahwism, is a
city Jerusalem ought to be or, better, should supersede.14
In any case, the critical element of the exhortations in vv. 10-17 is the
reversal of Yahweh’s alienation from the city, marked by his return and
the divine authorization to rebuild. When Yahweh affirms that he will
dwell in the midst of ‘daughter Zion’ and the ‘many nations’, which he
takes as his people (vv. 14-15), by implication at Jerusalem, the language
seems chosen for this context to keep continuity with the rhetoric in v. 9.
The verb ‘dwell’ is not the standard b#y but rather Nk#, which often has a
cultic nuance because of its etymological relationship to the maqtal noun
Nk#m (‘tabernacle’), its use (as here) with Kwtb (‘in the midst of’) in the
Torah and elsewhere, and always with reference to Yahweh’s presence
with his people (Exod. 25.8; 29.45-46; Num. 5.3; 35.43; 1 Kgs 6.13; Ezek.
43.7, 9), as well as its liturgical use in the Psalms to evoke images of
archaic Israel or to verbalize the presence of Yahweh (Pss. 15.1; 68.16, 18;
74.2; 78.55, 60; 85.9; 120.5-6; 135.21).
Such links to Israel’s formative epic may have also motivated the
assertion that Yahweh will inherit Judah as his portion (v. 16), which
draws on two key words, ‘to inherit’ (lxn) and ‘portion’ (qlx),
prominent in the land discourse in the Torah and the book of Joshua.15
14 In my opinion, this is even more explicit in 8.23 in which Jerusalem’s unassailable

universal dominion is unequivocally envisioned (see my discussion ad loc).
15 More immediately, ‘portion’ (qlx) refers back to the land survey of Jerusalem in 2.5-
6. As discussed above, the ‘measuring line’ (hdm lbx) is usually used to apportion land. In
fact, lbx can also mean ‘region’, which is a synonym of ‘portion’ (see esp. Deut. 32.9; Josh.
19.9). Is the man measuring Jerusalem so that Yahweh can (re-)assert his (rightful) land
claim?
Of course, in this instance, it is Yahweh who inherits and takes possession,

not the Israelites; ironic language in a religious system that would confess
all the earth belongs to Yahweh already (see esp. Ps. 82.8). Yet, it is not
unique in the Hebrew Bible. The language actually echoes the claim that
Israel is Yahweh’s inheritance (Exod. 19.5-6; 34.9; Deut. 32.9; Jer. 10.16;
51.19). A certain incongruity still obtains in that the object is land and not
a people, but this may serve to impart some of the meaning into the text:
Yahweh claims his portion in the ‘Holy Land’ (#dqh tmd)) to be set
apart from the other lands of the world just as he claimed Israel as a ‘holy
people’ (#wdq ywg) to be set apart from the other peoples of the world.
Noticeably, referring to the land as #dqh tmd) – the only occurrence
of this phrase in the Hebrew Bible (cf. Exod. 3.5; Ezek. 48.12-13) – invites
reading the ‘holy habitation’ (#dq Nw(m) in v. 17 – a phrase used only
elsewhere to refer to heaven (Deut. 26.15; Jer. 25.30; Ps. 68.6; 2 Chron.
30.27) – as synonymous, in which case the land is ‘heaven on earth’.
Moreover, the phrase ‘and he will choose again Jerusalem’ in 2.16b
reintroduces the centrality of Jerusalem within Judah, and so puts the city
at the centre of this Holy Land, at the apex of the holy habitation.16 As
the abode of the people and the divine, this portrait draws Jerusalem at
the intersection of the human and divine planes; it is undeniably an axis
mundi. The phrase is also a verbatim repetition of 1.17, and so completes
an inclusio and serves as a conclusion that recapitulates and highlights the
central focus of the whole unit. The inclusio circumscribes the prophecies
and defines them as a treatise on Yahweh’s re-election of Jerusalem.
4. The Fourth Vision (3.1-10)

The fourth vision concerns the high priest, Joshua, and so marks a turning
point in Zechariah towards the emphasis on the temple and the
community around it, which occupies the book’s central chapters. Still,
in 3.2, Yahweh identifies himself and rebukes the adversary by the name
‘Yahweh who has chosen Jerusalem’. This divine epithet consummates
1.17–2.16 and confirms its literary purpose; the re-election of Jerusalem is
now past tense, so much so that Yahweh is named by that action.
The epithet also echoes another postexilic text, 2 Chron. 32.19, in which
the Chronicler identifies Yahweh as the god of Jerusalem. Though this
seems like conventional biblical language, as Mitchell observes of the title
in 2 Chron. 32.19, it is actually quite unusual (Mitchell 2004). The
epithet’s particularity stands in stark contrast to the cosmic epithet
‘Yahweh of Hosts’, the commonly used title in Zechariah 1–8. It reduces
16 It is perhaps notable, however, that an epithet like ‘holy city’ (#dqh ry() does not
appear here but see Zech. 8.3 and my discussion ad loc.
Yahweh from being a god of the whole cosmos, as especially envisioned in

1.8-11, to a god particular to Jerusalem, a patron deity. This text, like 2
Chron. 32.19, reflects the tension within Yahwism between universalistic
themes and a desire for particularity.17 It also shows, and this is a point
that goes unobserved by Mitchell, the move to subsume both the universal
and the particular in a theology of Jerusalem that places the city at the
centre of the world, as a home to the nations, though these nations are
clearly under the dominion of Judah’s patron Yahweh and, by extension,
Yahweh’s chosen people.
5. Jerusalem in Zechariah 7.1–8.23

The portrait of Jerusalem in the closing section of Zechariah 1–8 returns
to some of the themes and motifs in Zech. 1.8–3.10. It is a much shorter
section though and so not all the concerns of those chapters are presented
again, most conspicuously the building typology. After a date formulation
that establishes a setting a little over a year and half after the date of the
visions in 1.7, this section starts with reference to a question sent to the
priests and prophets of the temple in Jerusalem (7.1-3). The question is
whether the mourning for the first temple, observed in the fifth month,
should continue. This question precipitates a digression in a series of
exhortations spoken by Yahweh (7.4–8.17) before it yields to a short
answer (8.18-19) and a final eschatological oracle (8.20-23).18 While a
digression per se, the exhortations are an important foundation for the
answer in 8.18-19 and very significant in terms of the overall portrait of
Jerusalem’s present and future.
The premise of the entire unit is intriguing, though the details are
obscured by textual problems in Zech. 7.2-3. Specifically, the absence of
an object marker in v. 2 is problematic because it is unclear who asks the
question of v. 3. Unfortunately, all the potential readings present
difficulties. The earliest readings available in the ancient translations
take l)-tyb semantically as a place name and syntactically as an
accusative of place. While the LXX reads ei/j Baiqhl (‘to Bethel’), the
Peshitta and the Targums add a preposition to l)-tyb, which allows a
17 I am not so sure though that Zechariah reflects the same level of psychological tension
that Mitchell (2004) ascribes to the Chronicler on account of 2 Chron. 32.19.
18 The redactional history, or alternatively unity, of this passage is a matter of
considerable debate (see esp. Boda 2003b and the literature cited therein). Although
grammatical and lexical incongruities may point to redactional expansions, the digression
ultimately relates to the question asked in v. 3, simply expanding the ‘liturgical and
communal extent’ of the discussion and moving it ‘beyond the ritual level to the question of
motives and ethics’ (Boda 2003b: 399). As such, by using the word ‘digression’ or
‘digressions’, I do not mean to rule out the unity of the passage or formally distinguish
between original content and subsequent expansions.
reading with either the LXX or the Vulgate’s ‘ad domum Dei’ (‘to the
House of God’). Notably, Blenkinsopp tentatively favours the reading in
the LXX (2003: 100) but his argument is problematic on several counts.
First, the Peshitta and the Targums do not disambiguate the meaning of
l)-tyb and so do not provide the support that Blenkinsopp assumes for
reading ‘Bethel’ instead of ‘House of God’. Second, while there is no
explicit statement that Jerusalem is the place to which the message is sent,
v. 3a clarifies that the message is sent to the ‘priests of the House of
Yahweh of Hosts’, which most likely refers to priests of the temple in
Jerusalem (Hag. 1.14; Zech. 8.9; 14.21). Granted, if the testimony of Ezra
is accepted, this temple had not been rebuilt yet (see Ezra 6.14-15 and cf.
Zech. 7.1) but, Ezra testifies, as does Haggai and Zechariah, that
significant steps towards its reconstruction had taken place by Darius’
fourth year and moreover, the priests, including the high priest, were
present there; all of this notwithstanding the possibility that Zech. 7.1-3
provides an alternative, earlier terminus ad quem for its reconstruction.19
Third, the implied historical setting for the prophet and the book is
Jerusalem, and so, as the prophet is the one who replies to the letter, the
context strongly implies the message is sent to Jerusalem; indeed, cultic
rites for Jerusalem’s temple seem to be the subject of the question, as the
reply also reinforces. Fourth, the book of Zechariah repeatedly affirms
that Yahweh’s presence is in Jerusalem and notably the exact phrase
hwhy ynp-t) twlxl (‘to entreat before Yahweh’) in v. 2 is repeated in
8.21 and 8.22 as the purpose of a universal ingathering, pilgrimage, to
Jerusalem. So, from Zechariah’s perspective, where else but in Jerusalem
would you ‘entreat’ Yahweh?
Still, the reading of the Peshitta, the Targums and the Vulgate, taking
l)-tyb to denote the ‘House of God’ and as the accusative of place,
remains a distinct possibility. Also, another alternative, not attested in the
ancient translations, is reading l)-tyb as a theophoric element in the first
name of a series, that is, ‘Bethel-shar-ezer and Regem-melech and his
men’. Both these alternatives though, either reading l)-tyb as an
accusative of place (as ‘House of God’) or as a theophoric element in the
first name, requires that (1) the subject is absent, which would be a strange
omission by the author or an early textual corruption for which we have
no evidence, or (2) the subject is ‘(Bethel-)shar-ezer and Regem-melech
and his men’, which would ideally be reflected with a plural rather than
singular verb.
One more possibility that avoids both these problems is reading
l)-tyb as Bethel but instead of as the accusative of place, as the subject
and, therefore, ‘Shar-ezer and Regem-melech and his men’ as the ‘object’
19 Marinovic (1994) suggests a further possibility to read tyb as ‘community’ rather

than temple, given the broader usage of the word in the book.
sent (Meyers and Meyers 1987: 379, 382–4). This is awkward though too
because xl# always takes a personal subject.20 Furthermore, while this
option may be consistent with the personification of towns (chiefly
Jerusalem) in Zechariah 1–8, and invites some potentially interesting
insights on the political and cultic dynamics of the early Persian period,
the lack of any compelling parallels to justify taking Bethel as the subject
makes this reading especially problematic.
In my view, the least problematic readings are ‘(Bethel-)shar-ezer, and
Regem-melech and his men, sent (to the ‘House of God’) to entreat the
favour of Yahweh’. The lack of number agreement and the absence of the
direct object, though less than ideal, are not unattested, especially with
this verb, in cases that the implied object is a message or messengers.
Plural subjects (not collectives) for the singular verb are attested in Neh.
6.2; 1 Chron. 19.6; and probably Jer. 39.13, though it is possible only
Nebuchadnezzar sends in the latter verse, while the absence of an object
for this verb is ubiquitous in the Hebrew Bible.21 Unfortunately, little can
be made of this conclusion because it is highly tentative and because of the
uncertainty that remains, that is, whether to read Bethel as an accusative
of place or a theophoric element.22 Regardless of these problems though,
the key element of the presentation is that Jerusalem is portrayed, even at
this awkward stage in its history, as a subject of some veneration and its
cultic personnel as an authority in cultic matters.
In the reply to the question, Jerusalem is the subject of a series of
20 The only conceivable parallels are Num. 21.21 // Judg. 11.19 and Judg. 11.17 where
Israel is the subject of xl#. In these passages though, Israel does not read as a place name
but rather denotes a wandering tribe. A variation of the present proposal would resolve this
problem of an impersonal subject. Taking a cue from Marinovic’s (1994) argument to read
tyb as ‘community’ rather than ‘house’ in several passages in Zechariah would provide a
personal subject: ‘The community of God sent Shar-ezer and Regem-melech and his men to
entreat before Yahweh’. While the semantic argument is doubtful – Marinovic lacks even one
unequivocal occurrence where tyb in construct with God or Yahweh means ‘community’ or
‘group’ – it is an ideal solution grammatically and even makes considerable contextual sense
in that the reply is addressed to a broad audience. The semantic problem, however, ultimately
makes the solution improbable.
21 Regarding the latter observation, see, e.g., Gen. 20.2; 27.42; 31.4; 41.8, 14; Num.
21.32; Josh. 2.3; 10.3; 11.1; 24.9; Judg. 4.6; 1 Sam. 4.4; 16.12, 22; 25.39; 2 Sam. 3.15; 9.5; 10.5,
16; 11.3, 5, 6, 14, 18, 27; 13.7; 14.2, 29; 19.12; 1 Kgs 1.53; 2.36, 42; 5.16, 22; 7.13; 18.20; 2 Kgs
3.7; 5.8; 6.9, 10; 7.14; 10.1, 5, 21; 11.4; 12.18; 14.9; 18.14; 19.20; 23.1, 16; Isa. 37.21; Jer. 37.17;
38.14; 39.13; Hos. 5.13; Amos 7.10; Ps. 105.20; Job 1.4, 5; Est. 5.10; Neh. 6.2; 2 Chron. 2.2,
10; 10.3; 25.17, 18; 25.27; 28.16; 30.1; 34.29; 36.10, 15.
22 In light of this conclusion, a particularly attractive hypothesis, suggested by others
before, is that the question is sent from exiles in Babylonia. If this reading is accepted,
however, it must be observed that the prophet replies not to the delegation but to ‘the people
of the land and the priests’ (7.5). At least to some extent though, this is required by any
reading because of the reference to the priests, who are presumably the priests of 7.3 to whom
the question was, in part, sent.
promises in Yahweh’s exhortations (8.1-8), which are bounded by

admonitions to the people to live rightly and uphold justice (7.4-14 and
8.9-17), and also the subject of the final eschatological oracle (8.20-23).
The organization of the section intimates that the imperatives to live
rightly and uphold justice are the conditions for the fulfilment and
continuation of the promises concerning Jerusalem. Significantly, the
setting for the imperatives in the first set of admonitions (7.4-14) is clearly
urban. This is made explicit by the reference to Jerusalem at the outset of
the historical illustration as well as the specific nature of the admonitions.
The historical reference is the time of the former or first prophets, which is
characterized as a time ‘when Jerusalem was inhabited and at peace and
her cities surrounding her and the Negev and the Shephelah were
inhabited’ (7.7). While this is a possible counter-textual allusion to the
depressed condition of the prophet’s own time, the context is not
immediately conducive to such a reading. Rather, characterizing the
former time in this way serves to create a contrast not with the author’s
present but with the time of exile as described in 7.11-14. It stresses the
capacity of and necessity for the people to undertake their responsibility
to live rightly and uphold justice; the city was prosperous and so without
an excuse. Still, the logic and resonance of the argument for the primary
community of readers ultimately depends on its qal vahomer style.23 The
premise is Jerusalem at its zenith was not immune to Yahweh’s wrath
when they failed to uphold justice and so ‘how-much-more’ ought the
people of the prophet’s Jerusalem listen to and adhere to Yahweh’s words.
To that extent, the qal vahomer style implies that the author’s Jerusalem is
not immediately comparable to its pre-exilic predecessor. In any case, the
message of the admonition is straightforward: Jerusalem’s peace and
population depend on the city’s ethical character (Marinovic 1994: 95–
101; Boda 2003c).
The same message is reiterated in the second set of admonitions, which
remain centred in Jerusalem, though now a postexilic Jerusalem. The
historical reference point for the illustration is the time of the prophets
who spoke when the foundation of the temple was laid (8.9). In this case,
the poor economic conditions of that time are juxtaposed with new
promises from Yahweh for prosperity, symbolized primarily in environ-
mental effusion (8.10-13). Yahweh explicitly declares his intention ‘to do
good to Jerusalem’ (8.14) but immediately reiterates that this is condi-
tional on living rightly and upholding justice. Notably, the list of right
actions includes the idiom to ‘administer justice in your gates’ (8.16), a
motif at the intersection of the urban and rural worlds.
The substance of the ‘good’ Yahweh intends to do for Jerusalem is
23 Qal vahomer is an argument from minor to major, i.e., ‘if this is true, how much more
so is this true’.
captured in the pericope bounded by the admonitions. In 8.1-8, Yahweh

stipulates five major points, which evoke and amplify elements of the
portrait of Jerusalem in 1.7–3.10:
1 He reiterates and amplifies his jealousy for Zion (8.2; cf. 1.14).
2 He reconfirms his zeal to return to Zion and dwell there (8.3; cf.
1.16; 2.9, 14–15).
3 He promises that the city will be filled once again with old and
young, signifying a multi-generational community of native inhab-
itants (8.4-5).
4 He pledges to save the exiles and bring them to Jerusalem (8.7-8a; cf.
2.6-7).
5 He expresses his desire to restore the patron-client relationship
between himself and his people (8.8b; cf. 2.15).
The rhetorical question in 8.6 – ‛For if it would be too difficult in the eyes
of this remnant of the people in these days, would it be too difficult also in
my eyes?’ – interrupts the list and points to the exceptional nature of these
pledges in light of the prevailing conditions in Jerusalem. Strikingly, the
forward-looking aspect of the promises suggests the exile is not over and
so seems to reflect a perception that either the restoration had so far failed
or at least had only just begun. This perception lays the groundwork for
later theological reflections, particularly that of Daniel 9 in which the ‘70
years’ prophecy of Jer. 25.11 and 29.10 (cf. Zech. 1.12; 7.5; 2 Chron.
36.21) is presented as failed and its promises delayed sevenfold, that is, 70
weeks of years (see Bergsma in this volume).
Significantly, in the course of making these stipulations, Yahweh
proposes to rename Jerusalem ‘the city of truth’ (tm)h ry() and ‘the holy
mountain’ (#dqh rh). The epithet ‘the city of truth’ is a hapax legomenon
in the Hebrew Bible, though it echoes Isaiah’s ‘faithful city’ (hnm)n hyrq,
Isa. 1.21, 26). The epithet ‘the holy mountain’ is rarely formulated with
the definite article (only here and Isa. 27.13 and Jer. 31.23) but, in
comparable formulations, the declaration is quite common in the biblical
corpus, though predominantly in later texts.24 The first epithet echoes the
call to justice in the surrounding admonitions (see 7.9; 8.16) while the
second looks back to the parallel epithets #dqh tmd) and #dq Nw(m in
2.16-17. It revisits the holiness motif and definitively asserts that
Jerusalem is the apex, ‘the holy mountain’, of the ‘Holy Land’ and
Yahweh’s ‘holy habitation’.
The closing exhortation returns to the universal–particular dichotomy
reflected in, and discussed earlier in connection with, 1.8–2.17. In 8.20-22,
24 See, e.g., y#dq rh (Isa. 11.9; 56.7; 57.13; 65.11, 25; 66.20; Ezek. 20.40; Joel 2.1; 4.17;
Zeph. 3.11; Ps. 2.6), w#dq rh (Pss. 3.5; 48.2; 99.9), K#dq rh (Pss. 15.1; 43.3; Dan. 9.16),
#dq yrrh (Ps. 87.1), Myhl) #dq rh (Ezek. 28.41), yhl) #dq rh (Dan. 9.20) and
#dq ybc rh (Dan. 11.45).
Yahweh’s exhortation starts with the motif of universality but, in 8.23,

universality is clearly subsumed under particularity. The image in 8.20-22
articulates an occasional biblical image of the ingathering of the nations to
Jerusalem to seek and petition Yahweh (see esp. Isa. 2.2-3; 60; Jer. 3.17;
Mic. 4.2; Zech. 2.15). In 8.23, representatives of the nations ‘grasp the
cloak’ of ‘a certain Yehudi’ and ask to go with him because God is with
him. The expression ‘grasp the cloak’ is common in Semitic languages as
an idiom of supplication and submission (Brauner 1974; Greenstein 1982).
This idiom, taken together with the substance of the entire verse – that
God is mediated to the nations through this certain Yehudi – assigns a
pre-eminent place to Yehud not always present in the parallel passages
just cited. This universalism, therefore, is not egalitarian in the least. It is
realized in this case in a startlingly bold claim for universal dominion,
which echoes the domestication of the horns in 2.1-4 and presumes
Yahweh’s particularity towards his people.
6. Conclusion
So then, the full portrait of Jerusalem in Zechariah 1–8 mixes elements of
exaltation with a pragmatic realization of the city’s condition in the early
Persian period. It lays out a vision for restoration, reconstruction and the
ethical and moral responsibilities of the people to ensure the divine plan is
fulfilled. The first three visions (1.8-17; 2.1-4; 2.5-9) and the accompanying
exhortations (2.10-17) lay out the plan of restoration and reconstruction.
The first vision announces the return of Yahweh to Jerusalem as the
necessary precursor. Yahweh’s return is marked by the re-election of the
city and consequently a renewal of its central place within the ethnic and
religious community. No other city is named or considered. The first
vision also gives divine authorization to rebuild. The second vision
announces the removal of Israel’s enemies from the land, another critical
precursor to the restoration and reconstruction of Jerusalem. By way of
the ploughers, presumably the Persian kings, the Assyrian and Babylonian
imperial complexes that were permitted to overreach and scatter Israel are
now restrained and returned to their proper place; Yahweh restores
‘Israel’s spatial integrity’ in preparation for restoration and reconstruction
(Good 1982: 59). The third vision then takes up the divine authorization
to rebuild given in the first vision and proclaims the start of Jerusalem’s
reconstruction. The vision for the reconstruction of the city emphasizes
the tools of the trade and so envisions human participation to enact the
divine plan. The third vision also prophesies Jerusalem’s repopulation and
explains away the absence of walls to protect Jerusalem with an image of
divine protection.
The fourth vision completes the portrait of Jerusalem in the first three
visions and the exhortations by affixing to the divine name the twice-
repeated claim that Yahweh will choose Jerusalem (1.17; 2.16): ‘Yahweh
who has chosen Jerusalem’ (v. 2). In this way, Jerusalem’s re-election
defines Yahweh and so Jerusalem’s restoration is inexorably tied to
Yahweh’s power, specifically, the power to rebuke the adversary in the
fourth vision. The fourth vision also transitions from the passages
concerning the spiritual and physical restoration, reconstruction and
repopulation of the city to the middle section of the book that concerns
the temple and the leadership of the new community forming around it.
By way of a seemingly innocuous liturgical question, the closing section
of Zech. 7.1–8.23 returns to the promises, themes and motifs concerning
Jerusalem originally articulated in Zech. 1.7–3.2 and connects these with
the book’s opening exhortation in Zech. 1.1-6. Yahweh’s concern for
Jerusalem and its complete restoration are reaffirmed and future hopes for
its universal, and also particular, importance are expressed, though the
ultimate success and fulfilment of the restoration are intimately related to
ethical and moral imperatives. The audience of the book, the leadership
and body of the new community, are admonished to order their lives
around principles of peace and justice, concern for the oppressed and
marginalized, and joyful religious observances.
Notably, this vision within visions presupposes an implied present that
differs starkly from the exalted expectations of a new, restored Jerusalem.
There are persistent signs of a city behind the text that is impoverished
and under-populated, so much so that Yahweh must promise that once
again the elderly and the young will fill the streets (8.14-15). The city is not
surrounded by walls; there is no confirmation that the temple is rebuilt;
and, the hope for complete restoration seems frustrated. Zechariah 1–8
closes, not unlike Chronicles closes, with a forward-looking promise of
aliyah that, from the vantage point of the implied present, remains, as yet,
unfulfilled.
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Tov, E., R. A. Kraft and P. J. Parsons
1990 The Greek Minor Prophets Scroll from Nah9al H9 ever
(8H9 evXIIgr) (DJD, 8; Oxford: Clarendon Press).
Welten, P.
1973 Geschichte und Geschichtsdarstellung in den Chronikbüchern
(WMANT; Tübingen: Neukirchener Verlag).
1977 Israel in the Books of Chronicles (New York: Cambridge
University Press).
Winkle, R. E.
1987a ‘Jeremiah’s Seventy Years for Babylon: A Re-assessment
(Part I: The Scriptural Data)’, AUSS 25: 201–14.
1987b ‘Jeremiah’s Seventy Years for Babylon: A Re-assessment
(Part II: The Historical Data)’, AUSS 25: 289–99.
INDEX OF REFERENCES
BIBLE 32.20 198 25.17 188

32.24 73 25.32-34 66
Genesis 32.25-29 70 25.38 188
20.2 206 32.30-34 4 25.55 188
27.42 206 32.35 73 26 56, 58, 186, 187
31.4 206 33.11 69 26.1 188
41.8 206 34 33 26.13 188
41.14 206 34.9 203 26.18 58
35.35 199 26.21 58
Exodus 38.23 199 26.24 58
2.1 69, 70 40.38 201 26.28 58
3.5 203 26.33 198
4.14 69, 70 Leviticus 26.33-39 186
4.14-17 68, 69 8–9 69 26.39 56
4.27-31 69 10 72 26.39-42 4, 57
5.1-20 69 17–26 169, 188 26.40 56, 58
6–7 69 18.2 188 26.40-41 188
6.14-25 66 18.4 188 26.42 186, 188
7.1-2 69 18.30 188 26.44 188
7.8-24 69 19.2 188 26.45 188
8.1-21 69 19.3 188
13.21-22 201 19.4 188 Numbers
14.24 201 19.10 188 5.3 202
15.20 69 19.25 188 16.37 198
17.8-13 69 19.31 188 18.25-32 68
18.10-12 69 19.34 188 21.4-9 70
19.5-6 203 19.36 188 21.21 206
19.18 201 20.3 188 21.32 206
24.1 69 20.7 188 33.38-39 66
24.9-11 69 20.21 32 35.1-5 66
24.12-14 69 20.24 188 35.43 202
24.14 69 20.26 188
24.17 201 21.8 188 Deuteronomy
24.29-31 66 21.10 105, 107 3.5 201
25.8 202 22.1 188 5.24 201
27.21 69 22.31 188 7 32, 33
28–29 69 23.22 188 7.1-4 23
28.11 199 23.43 188 7.1-5 3, 32
29.45-46 202 24.22 188 9.20 5, 66
32 66, 70, 72 25–26 4, 57, 58 10.5 66
32.17 69 25 58 10.6 65
Index of References 215
10.6-9 66 13.19 199 10.1 206

10.10 66 16.12 206 10.5 206
17.9 65 16.22 206 10.21 206
17.18 65 25.39 206 11.4 206
18.1-8 65 12.11 67
24.8 65 2 Samuel 12.12 199
26.15 203 3.15 206 12.18 206
27.9 65 5.11 199 14.9 206
27.15 199 9.5 206 16.3 33
30.1-4 4, 57 10.5 206 16.10-16 109
32.9 203 10.16 206 17.24-28 70, 73
32.48-52 66 11.3 206 17.26-28 73
34.10 57 11.5 206 17.28 67
11.6 206 18.4 70
Joshua 11.14 206 18.14 206
2.3 206 11.18 206 19.1-7 107
3.3 65 11.27 206 19.20 206
8.33 65 13.7 206 19.37 74, 184
10.3 206 14.2 206 21 71
11.12 206 14.29 206 21.2 33
14.3-4 65 19.12 206 21.7 196
18.7 65 21.18 41
19.9 203 1 Kings 21.26 41
19.51 5, 72 1.53 206 22.4 67
21.1 5, 72 2.36 206 22.6 199
21.1-42 66 2.42 206 23.1 206
21.13-19 67 5.16 206 23.4 73
24.5 5, 66, 68 5.22 206 23.6 73
24.9 206 6.13 202 23.15-20 71, 73
24.33 66, 67 7.13 206 23.16 206
8.16 196 23.27 196
Judges 8.44 196 24.8 73
4.6 206 8.48 196 24.14 199
11.17 206 11.13 196 24.16 199
11.19 206 11.32 196 25.3-8 167
18.30 67, 70 11.36 196 25.8-9 73
20–21 66, 71 12 72 25.11 167
20.1 71 12.2-29 70 25.18 67, 73, 107
20.18 71 12.26-33 70 25.22 180
20.27-28 67, 71 12.31 70 25.23 73
20.28 5, 68, 72 14.1 72 25.27-30 175
21.10 71 14.15 198
21.13 71 14.17 72 1 Chronicles
21.16 71 14.20 72 2.5 199
14.21 196 3 102
Ruth 15.25-28 72 3.17 123
3.2 198 18.20 206 3.17-24 102
4.14 199
1 Samuel 2 Kings 5 109
2.27-36 72 3.7 206 5.26 60
4.4 206 5.8 206 5.27–6.34 108
6.18 201 6.9 206 5.27-29 108
12.6 5, 66, 68 6.10 206 5.27-41 67, 71, 75, 107–
12.8 68 7.14 206 10
5.29 108 34.22-23 60 6 131

5.29-41 108 34.29 206 6.1 123
5.30-40 108 36.10 206 6.12 123
5.36 109 36.15 206 6.13 123
5.40-41 71, 123 36.21 119, 208 6.14-15 205
6.1-15 108 36.22 60 6.15 9, 21, 74, 125, 176
6.16-34 108 36.22-23 59, 176 7–10 123
6.35-38 108 7 120, 131
6.39-66 66 Ezra 7.1-5 67, 99, 106, 108
6.40-41 123 1–6 9, 14, 116, 117, 7.5 107
9.11 108 120, 124, 159, 175, 178 7.14 131
14.1 199 1 116, 118, 120, 130 7.25 131
16.4 69 1.1 59, 60 7.26 131
19.6 206 1.1-4 5, 59, 175, 176 8 131
22.15 199 1.2-4 9, 118 8.1 170
24 72 1.5 67, 81 8.1-20 122
24.4 75 1.8-11 123 8.9 170
24.7-19 75 2–6 123 8.14 35
29.1 134 2 3, 9, 35, 36, 41, 116, 8.15-36 170
29.19 134 117, 122, 130 8.17 69
2.2 35, 105 8.22 131
2 Chronicles 2.6-39 67 8.24 67
2.2 206 2.14 35 8.25 123
2.10 206 2.36 105 8.33 8, 99, 123
6.5 196 2.40 105 8.35-36 123
6.6 196 2.61-63 67 8.36 131
6.34 196 3–6 15 9–10 3, 23, 31, 32, 43
6.38 196 3 130 9 33, 34, 42
7.1-3 201 3.2 105, 123 9.1 3, 23, 31, 34
10.3 206 3.3 130 9.1-2 32
12.13 196 3.7 199 9.1-5 33
22.11 99 3.8 105, 123 9.2 31
22.11-24 109 3.9 105 9.8 179
23.6 69 3.10 120 9.9 123
23.8 99 4–6 24, 120, 130 9.11-12 32
23.9 99 4 130 9.15 179
23.14 99 4.1-5 178 10 31, 34, 42, 43
24.2 99 4.3 105, 123, 178 10.1 123
24.12 199 4.4 178 10.2 42
24.20 99 4.6 123 10.6 8, 94, 96, 123
24.25 99 4.7 123 10.9 123
25.17 206 4.7-16 130 10.10 42, 99
25.18 206 4.12 123 10.11 42
25.27 206 4.13 130 10.14 42
26.20 109 4.15 130 10.16-18 99
28.16 206 4.16 123 10.17 42
30.1 206 4.21 123 10.18 42, 123
30.27 203 5 120, 131 10.18-22 67
32.19 203, 204 5.2 105, 123 10.39 99, 108
33.7 196 5.5 123 10.44 42
34.9 105 5.6 123 12.47 108
34.11 199 5.7 123 13.4 99
34.14 99 5.7-17 120
34.18 99 5.14-16 120, 123
Nehemiah 10.8 121 13.23-28 23

1–7 123 10.16 35 13.26-27 61
1.3 121, 131 10.28 121 13.28 104, 105
2–4 134 10.34 121
2 36 10.36-39 121 Esther
2.3 131 10.39 68 1.19 59
2.8 121, 123, 133, 134, 11–12 7, 94, 95, 110 5.10 206
136 11 103, 132
2.16 121 11.1-2 132 Job
2.17 121 11.3 121 1.4 206
3 121, 132, 135 11.10 121 1.5 206
3.1 104, 105 11.11 108
3.1-21 132 11.13–12.9 96 Psalms
3.1-32 135 11.19 170 2.6 208
3.20 104, 105 11.20 121 3.5 208
3.20-22 121 12–13 121 15.1 202, 208
3.26 170 12 95, 102, 107, 110, 16.6 200
3.28 121 132 43.3 208
3.31 170 12.1 103–105, 110, 123 44.11 198
3.34-35 136 12.1-7 103, 105 45.9 133
4 132, 135 12.1-9 95, 103, 104 48.2 208
4.1-2 121 12.1-10 104 51.18 201
4.7-16 133 12.1-11 7, 94, 103 68.6 203
4.10 132 12.1-25 122 68.16 202
4.16 132 12.1-26 103, 122 68.18 202
5.12 121 12.3 99, 122 74.2 202
5.16 132 12.7 104, 105 77.21 68
6.2 206 12.8 104, 105 78.55 200, 202
6.10 123 12.8-9 103, 105 78.60 202
6.10-11 121 12.10 95, 96, 98, 105, 122 78.68 196
6.11 123 12.10-11 7–9, 21, 94–12 82.8 203
6.52 135 12.11 96, 98–100, 102 85.9 202
7 3, 9, 35, 41, 117, 121, 12.12-21 103 87.1 208
122 12.12-26 103 99.6 68
7.1 170 12.22 8, 94–96, 98, 100, 99.9 208
7.2 10, 133, 134 102, 104, 110–12, 122 105.16 68
7.5 132 12.22-23 95, 96, 98, 105.20 206
7.7 35, 105 102, 103, 111 106.16 68
7.19 35 12.23 8, 94, 98, 99, 111 106.27 198
7.39 105, 170 12.24 105 115.10 68
7.39-41 67 12.24-25 103 115.12 68
7.43 105, 170 12.26 103, 105, 123 118.3 68
7.45 170 12.27–13.31 123 120.5-6 202
7.46 170 12.27 108 129.3 199
8–10 82 12.27-43 107 132.13 196
8 123 12.36 124 135.19 68
8.2 121 12.47 5, 68 135.21 202
8.9 121, 124 13.1-31 61
8.13 121 13.13 99 Isaiah
9.32 121 13.15-22 121, 132 1.21 208
9.34 121 13.17-18 61 1.26 208
9.38 121 13.19 132 2.2-3 209
10.2 123 13.22 132 2.3 59
10.2-28 107, 122 13.23-27 31 3.3 199
4.5 201 25 59 22.15 198

11.9 208 25.11 208 23 184
23.15-18 118 25.11-12 59, 119, 124, 28.41 208
27.13 208 197 29.12 198
28.24 199 25.30 203 30.23 198
30.22 198 29 52, 53, 59 30.26 198
30.24 198 29.2 199 36.19 198
37.21 206 29.10 53, 55, 59, 197, 208 38.11 201
37.38 184 29.10-14 55 40–48 14, 15, 24, 75, 177,
40–55 182 29.12-13 4, 57 178, 187, 188
40.19 199 29.12-14 55, 56 40.46 67, 75
40.20 199 31.10 198 43.7 202
41.7 199 31.23 208 43.9 202
41.16 198 31.31-40 61 43.19 67, 75
44.11 199 37.17 206 44.15 75
44.12 199 38.14 206 44.15-16 67
44.13 199 39.1-7 167 48.11 67, 75
44.24-28 59, 60 39.9 167 48.12-13 203
44.28 60 39.13 206
45.16 199 40.6 73 Daniel
45.23 59 41.1 181 1.2 53
48.3 59 41.4-8 74 1.20 52
49 184 42.2 180 5.30–6.1 53, 55
49.13–50.3 181 44.17-19 73 7–12 161
51 181 49.32 198 8.2 133
51.4 59 49.36 198 8.15 52
51.12–52.12 181 50–51 184 8.27 52, 53
52.14–53.13 181 51.2 198 9 4, 5, 50–3, 55–8, 60,
54.1-17 181 51.19 203 61, 119, 208
54.16 199 52 167 9.1 51, 53, 55, 59
55.11 59 52.4 181 9.1-2 51, 52
56–66 182, 183 52.6-7 181 9.1-3 53
56.1-8 186 52.12-13 181 9.1-27 4, 50
56.7 208 52.15 167 9.2 4, 51–5, 62
57.1-21 186 52.24-27 67 9.3 56
57.13 208 52.31-34 175 9.3-19 51, 53, 54, 56, 57
60 209 9.4-19 53–5
60.1–63.6 182 Lamentations 9.5 56
61.1 69 1.12-22 184 9.6 56
65.11 208 2.20-22 184 9.7 58
65.25 208 9.13 55, 57, 58
66.20 208 Ezekiel 9.16 56, 208
5.2 198 9.19 54
Jeremiah 5.10 198 9.20 56, 208
3.17 209 5.12 198 9.20-23 51
4.11 198 6.8 198 9.20-27 51, 54
7.18 73 7.19-20 32 9.22-23 52
10.3 199 8.3 73 9.23 54, 59
10.9 199 12.14 198 9.24 51, 54, 55, 58, 60, 62
10.16 203 12.15 198 9.24-27 54, 55, 59
15.7 198 16 184 9.25 58–62
19.1 107 20.23 198 9.25-26 61
24.1 199 20.40 208 9.26 62
24.8 180 21.36 199 10.1 52, 54
11 52 2.15 181 2.17 196–8, 203

11.45 208 2.15-19 61, 181 3.1 104, 107
12.8 52, 53 2.18 181 3.1-5 71
8.15 52 2.23 105, 123 3.1-10 16, 195, 203
2.10-14 74 3.2 203
Hosea 3.8 104, 107
5.13 206 Zechariah 5.1-4 188
8.6 199 1–8 9, 13–16, 24, 25, 5.5-11 188, 202
13.2 199 71, 118, 119, 123, 159, 6.5 198
169–71, 177, 178, 182– 6.9-14 67
Joel 4, 187, 195–7, 201, 6.11 104, 107, 123
1.9 67 204, 206, 209, 210 6.13 71
1.13 67 1.1-6 188, 196, 210 7–8 180, 188
2.1 208 1.7 204 7.1–8.23 15, 16, 195,
2.17 67 1.7–3.2 210 204, 210
4.17 208 1.7–3.10 208 7.1 205
1.8–2.17 209 7.1-3 5, 72, 73, 204, 205
Amos 1.8–3.10 15, 16, 195, 7.1-7 118
5.5 184 204 7.2 15, 20, 183, 184,
7.10 206 1.8-17 16, 195, 209 204, 205
7.13 71 1.8-11 204 7.2-3 204
7.17 200 1.12 195, 208 7.3 180, 204, 205
9.13 199 1.12-17 61 7.3-5 180
1.14 208 7.4–8.17 204
Micah 1.14-17 200 7.4-5 180
2.4-5 200 1.15-17 200 7.4-7 74
4.2 209 1.16 200, 208 7.4-14 207
6.4 5, 66, 68 1.17 203, 210 7.5 119, 178–80, 207,
1.17–2.16 203 208
Zephaniah 2.1-4 16, 195, 198, 209 7.7 120, 121, 197, 201,
3.11 208 2.2 196–98 207
2.3-4 198, 201 7.9 208
Haggai 2.4 198 7.11-14 207
1.1 67, 104, 105, 107, 2.5 200 8.1-8 207, 208
123 2.5-6 200, 203 8.2 208
1.1-11 61 2.5-9 16, 195, 200, 209 8.3 203, 208
1.2 179 2.6 200 8.4-5 208
1.4 181 2.6-7 208 8.6 179, 180, 208
1.4-11 181 2.7-8 200 8.7 179
1.12 67, 104, 105, 107, 2.8 201 8.7-8 208
123, 179, 180 2.9 201, 202, 208 8.8 179, 208
1.13 179, 180 2.10 198 8.9 205, 207
1.14 104, 105, 107, 123, 2.10-17 16, 195, 200, 8.9-17 207
179, 205 202, 209 8.10-13 208
2.1-9 61 2.11 196, 202 8.11 179, 180
2.2 104, 105, 107, 123, 2.12 118, 119, 196, 197 8.11-12 179, 180
179 2.13 202 8.12 179, 180
2.3 179, 181 2.13-17 118 8.13 197
2.3-9 181 2.14 196, 202 8.14 208
2.4 104, 107, 178, 179 2.14-15 202, 208 8.14-15 210
2.9 181 2.15 179, 197, 199, 202, 8.15 197
2.10-14 5 208, 209 8.16 208
2.10-19 15, 181 2.16 196–8, 202, 203, 210 8.18-19 204
2.14 74, 179, 181 2.16-17 197, 209 8.19 180
8.20 179 Cuneiform Texts KAI

8.20-22 16, 209 55.435 143 11 142
8.20-23 171, 184, 204, 55 435 10 Lachish Letter
207
8.21 205 Cyrus Cylinder III 166
8.22 179, 205 30–33 118
8.23 202, 209 Mount Gerazim
9–14 169, 195 Dictionary of Classical Investigations
14.21 205 Hebrew 27.2 35
5.595 43
Malachi OSTRACA
1.6-14 67 Dictionary of North-West
2.1-9 67 Semitic Inscriptions VII 3, 36, 37
I 155–156 133
1 Esdras Diodorus Siculus Pliny
5.5 102
5.5-6 7, 94 Histories Natural History
9.39 106 16 142 13.41 35
9.40 106 16.40.3 35
9.49 106 16.41.2 141 PSEUDEPIGRAPHA
16.43.4 35
Judith 16.47.4 35 1 Enoch
12.13 35 16.50.7 35 84–90 161
13.1 35 31.19.2-3 35 91.1-17 161
14.14 35 93.1-10 161
Hebrew and English
1 Maccabees Lexicon TALMUDS
2.1 75 110–111 184 Jerusalem Pesahim
10.18-21 75 595 184 2.35 134
1 Corinthians Herodotus Textbook of Aramaic

7.11-12 31 Documents
Histories 1 82
1.143 140 A.4.7 35, 100
OTHER ANCIENT 3.90-94 140 A.4.8 35
WRITINGS A.4.9 35
Homer
Ancient Near Eastern Thucydides
Texts Iliad
315–16 118 23.743-745 139 History
Aramiac Papyri 1.104 145
5.2 89 JOSEPHUS Xenophon
6.3 89
Antiquities Anabasis
CIS 11.7 100 1.1.8 14
2.164.3 134 11.73 8, 104 Cyropaedia
11.120-121 8, 104 8.6.1-16 128
Context of Scripture ] 11.158 8, 104 Oeconomicus
2.120 201 11.297 8, 104 4.4-11 129
2.124 201 11.317 8, 94 7.8.25 140
CoS 2.314-316 118 11.317-318 8, 104
15.11.4 133
INDEX OF AUTHORS
Aberbach, M. 72 Boyarin, D. 88, 90

Achtemeier, P. J. 126 Brauner, R. A. 209, 211
Ackroyd, Peter 1–3, 6, 7, 11–14, 18, Brett, M. G. 7, 27, 86–8, 90
19, 25, 26, 28, 50, 62, 65, 75, 78–80, Briant, P. 6, 17, 22, 27, 83, 91, 125,
83, 89–91, 103, 112, 152–62, 166–72, 128, 135–6, 140–1, 145, 148
174, 179, 181, 186, 189 Brosius, M. 30
Aharoni, Y. 140, 147 Bultmann, C. 43, 45
Albertz, R. 6, 36, 44, 84, 151, 211 Bultmann, W. 163
Albright, W. F. 74, 75
Anderson, G. A. 114 Calmeyer, P. 140, 148
Applegate, J. 197, 210 Cancik, H. 154, 163
Augustin, M. 47 Carr, D. M. 25, 27
Carroll, R. 78, 80, 91, 174–5, 190
Bailey, J. 105, 112 Carter, C. E. 17, 28, 32, 35, 45, 168–
Barag, D. 111–12 70, 172, 183, 190
Barrick, B. W. 26 Ciasca, A. 144, 148
Barstad, H. M. 34, 44, 155, 162, 174– Cody, A. 69, 72, 76, 181, 190
5, 189 Cogan, M. 73, 76, 191
Bartlett, J. R. 39, 44, 67, 75, 112 Coggins, R. 1, 28, 175, 190
Barton, J. 190 Collins, J. J. 53, 56, 58–62
Becker, J. 32, 44 Cook, J. M. 140, 148
Becking, B. 3, 23, 31, 33–5, 37–9, 41, Coppens, J. 26
43–5, 47, 49, 124–5, 151, 211 Cowley, A. 68, 70, 76
Beckwith, R. T. 62 Cross, F. M. 45, 112, 173
Bedford, P. 177–81, 187, 189, 198, Curtis, A. H. W. 195, 210–11
211
Ben Zvi, E. 33, 45, 211 Dandamaev, M. A. 138, 142–3, 148
Bergsma, J. S. 4, 21, 50, 58, 62, 208 Danell, G. A. 197, 211
Berlinerblau, J. 7, 27, 88, 90 Davies, M. 43, 45
Berquist, J. 7, 27, 86, 88–90 Davies, P. R. 27, 43, 45, 90, 126, 190,
Betlyon, J. W. 146–7 197, 211
Beuken, W. A. M. 170, 172 Day, J. 193
Black, J. 143, 148 De Moor, J. C. 64
Blenkinsopp, J. 5, 6, 20, 27, 29, 32–4, De Vaux, R. 111–12
36, 43–5, 65, 67, 69, 71, 73, 75–8, 81, Dequeker, L. 59, 61, 62
84, 90, 92, 95, 99, 100, 111–13, 116, Destrooper-Georgiades, A. 146, 148
125, 174, 183, 189–93, 205, 211 Di Lella, A. A. 63
Blidstein, G. J. 34, 45 Dietrich, W. 163
Blum, E. 11, 18, 154–5, 162–3 Dillery, J. 140, 149
Boda, M. 6, 84, 90, 195, 197–9, 201–2, Dimant, D. 58, 63
204, 207, 211 Dommershausen, W. 107, 113
222 Exile and Restoration Revisted
Doukhan, J. A. 52, 58, 63 25, 27–9, 34, 38, 43, 46, 83, 91, 102,
Driver, S. R. 66, 76 111, 113, 116–29, 131, 133, 135–8,
Due, B. 26, 106–7, 129, 136 155, 162–3, 174–5, 178, 190–1
Duggan, Michael W. 6, 82, 91 Graham, A. 36, 46
Dunand, M. 142, 149 Gray, J. 66, 67, 76
Dušek, J. 38, 45 Greenstein, E. L. 209, 212
Dusinberre, E. R. M. 147, 149 Grelot, P. 58, 63
Dussaud, R. 149 Gropp, D. 38, 46
Gunneweg, A. H. J. 32, 33, 46, 69, 76,
Edelman, D. 14, 21, 28, 113, 116–17, 116, 126
119–23, 125, 138, 149, 157, 163, 176,
184, 190 Halpern, B. 18, 28, 79, 155, 163, 178,
Ego, B. 46, 212 191, 198, 212
Eisenstadt, S. N. 138, 149 Handy, L. K. 45, 189
Eissfeldt, O. 11, 152 Hanhart, R. 198, 212
Elayi, J. 6, 41, 45, 83, 91, 138, 140, Hanson, P. 173
149 Hardmeier, C. 157, 163
Eph’al, I. 39, 45, 191 Harris, W. V. 171–2
Eskenazi, T. C. 1–3, 6, 7, 24, 33, 45, Hasel, G. F. 59, 60, 63, 180, 191
48, 79–81, 83, 85, 87, 89, 91, 93, 96, Hayes, J. 102, 114
113, 126, 152, 190, 192–3, 213 Hays, R. 57
Evans, C. A. 126 Heaton, E. W. 180, 191
Ewen, E. 43, 46 Heltzer, M. 37, 46
Ewen, S. 43, 46 Hildebrand, D. R. 181, 191
Exum, J. C. 28, 45 Hjelm, I. 35, 46, 81, 91
Hoffman, Y. 180, 191
Fabry, H.-J. 186, 190 Hoglund, K. 7, 79, 86, 87, 92, 145,
Finkelstein, I. 116–17, 122, 125, 133, 150
135–6 Holbrook, F. B. 63
Finnegan, R. 25, 28 Holloway, S. W. 45, 189
Fishbane, M. 4, 32, 46, 51, 52, 54, 56, Hornblower, S. 151
58, 59, 63, 113, 197, 211 Hübner, U. 37, 38, 46
Floyd, M. H. 200, 211–12 Humphrey, J. H. 171, 173
Freedman, D. N. 63, 191 Hurowitz, V. 198, 212
Frei, P. 7, 86, 91, 138, 149 Hyatt, J. P. 184, 191
Frey, J. 41, 42, 46, 196, 212
Fried, L. S. 6, 10, 83, 91, 138, 142–3, Janssen, E. 179, 191
146, 149 Janzen, D. 3, 4, 23, 28, 32–4, 43, 46
Friedman, D. N. 77 Japhet, S. 2, 19, 29, 79, 95, 96, 105,
Frye, R. N. 140, 149 108, 113, 178–9, 181, 191
Fulton, D. 7, 8, 21, 94, 122 Jigoulov, V. S. 10, 22, 23, 146, 150
Jobling, D. 190
Garbini, G. 36, 46 Johnson, M. 96, 106, 113
Garcı́a Martı́nez, F. 44 Johnstone, W. 60, 63, 162–3
Garrison, M. 146, 149 Jones, B. W. 54, 63
George, A. 143, 148 Joosten, J. 186, 192
Gera, D. L. 129, 136 Judd, E. P. 33, 45
Gibson, J. C. L. 142, 150 Judge, H. G. 72, 76
Gilbert, M. 54, 63
Girard, R. 3, 34, 46 Kennett, R. H. 5, 6, 65, 68, 70–6
Goldingay, J. E. 54, 59, 62, 63 Kent, R. G. 34, 47
Good, R. M. 199, 209, 212 Killebrew, A. E. 212
Gottwald, N. K. 27, 90, 182, 190, 193 Klein, R. W. 79, 80, 92
Grabbe, L. L. 1, 3, 5–7, 9, 11, 13, 15– Klinkott, H. 35, 47
Index of Authors 223
Knauf, E. A. 133, 136 Matera, F. J. 31, 48

Knibb, M. 1, 28, 175, 192 Mathys, H.-P. 32, 48
Knight, D. A. 27, 162, 165 May, H. G. 193
Knohl, I. 186, 192 Mayes, A. D. 66, 76
Knoppers, G. N. 1, 6, 7, 29, 44, 81, Mazar, B. 98, 114
82, 84, 85, 87, 92, 96, 102, 106, 108–9, Mazza, F. 139, 150
112–13, 138, 150, 164, 196, 212 McBride, D. 173
Knowles, M. D. 42, 47, 196, 212 McComiskey, T. E. 59, 62, 64
Koch, K. 8, 53, 58, 59, 63, 95, 97–100, McHugh, J. 112
106, 111, 113, 181, 192 Meadowcroft, T. 58, 64
Korpel, M. C. A. 44 Meek, T. J. 69, 72, 76
Kottsieper, I. 35, 44, 47 Meshorer, Y. 104, 114
Kratz, R. G. 2, 11, 12, 18, 47, 78, 152, Mettinger, T. N. D. 182, 193
158, 160, 163 Meyers, C. L. 24, 63, 169–71, 173,
Krings, V. 148 180, 188, 193, 198, 200–1, 206, 213
Kuhrt, A. 27, 30, 84, 92, 93, 126, 148, Meyers, E. 3, 13, 17, 24, 63, 78, 166,
151, 176, 192 169–71, 173, 180, 188, 193, 198, 200–
1, 206, 213
Laato, A. 198, 212 Middlemas, J. 14, 16, 19–21, 24, 29,
Lacocque, A. 58, 63 174–9, 181–3, 185, 187, 189, 191, 193
Lange, A. 46, 212 Miller, J. M. 102, 114
Lapp, P. 74, 112 Miller, P. D. 92, 102, 114, 173
LaSor, W. S. 126 Misgav, H. 35, 38, 47
Lebram, J.-C. 60, 63 Mitchell, C. 204, 213
Lemaire, A. 6, 39, 40, 42, 47, 83, 92, Moller, M. 46
104, 113, 133–4, 136, 164 Momigliano, A. 157, 164
Lemche, N. P. 27, 46, 90 Montgomery, J. A. 53, 59, 64
Lemke, W. E. 92 Moore, F. M. 28
Lenski, G. 170, 173 Moore, G. F. 67, 76
Levin, C. 163 Moore, S. D. 45
Levine, D. 136 Mowinckel, S. 99, 114
Levinson, B. M. 7, 29, 85, 92, 164 Myers, J. 32, 33, 48
Levy, T. E. 151
Linafelt, T. 182, 192 Naveh, J. 39, 45
Linton, S. 211 Newsom, C. A. 182, 193
Lipiński, E. 133, 136, 148, 198, 212 Niditch, S. 25, 29, 198, 213
Lipschits, O. 6, 13, 17, 19, 22, 27, 29, Nielsen, E. 66, 76
44, 47, 75, 81, 84, 90, 92, 113, 117, Niemann, H. M. 47
120, 126, 135–6, 138, 145, 148–50, Noort, E. 44
164, 167–9, 173–4, 189–93, 211 North, F. S. 5, 72–4, 76
Longman, T. 198, 213 Noth, M. 36, 48, 66, 76, 186
Lord, A. B. 25, 29
Lorenz, C. 155, 164 O’Connor, M. 63
Love, M. C. 198, 213 Oeming, M. 6, 29, 44, 47, 84, 92, 148–
Lozachmeur, H. 133–4, 136 50, 164
Lukonin, V. G. 138, 148 Olmstead, A. T. E. 145, 150
Lux, R. 164 Olyan, S. M. 33, 48, 114
Orr, A. 197, 213
Magen, Y. 35, 38, 42, 47 Otto, E. 32, 48
Mandell, S. 27, 90
Marinkovic, P. 184–5, 193, 205–7, Parry, M. 25
213 Parsons, P. J. 198, 213
Markoe, G. 144, 150 Petersen, D. L. 79, 185, 193, 198, 201,
Markschies, C. 162–3 213
224 Exile and Restoration Revisted
Phillips, A. 1, 28 Smolar, L. 72, 75

Pierce, R. W. 59, 64 Sneed, M. R. 27, 90
Pilhofer, P. 46, 212 Soggin, J. A. 36, 48, 67, 76
Pippin, T. 190 Sommer, B. D. 182, 194
Pomeroy, S. B. 129, 137 Spawnforth, A. 151
Porten, B. 6, 18, 83, 98, 100, 111, 114 Spencer, J. R. 26, 66, 77
Postgate, J. N. 143, 148 Steck, O. 11, 153, 165
Poythress, V. S. 60, 64 Stern, E. 17, 74, 77, 80, 93, 138, 145,
Propp, W. H. 191 151, 157, 165
Stiegler, S. 32, 48
Qedar, S. 104, 114 Strecker, G. 29, 191
Süring, M. L. 199, 213
Rainey, A. F. 140, 150
Ramı́rez Kidd, E. J. 43, 48 Tadmor, H. 73, 76, 192
Rawlinson, G. 138, 150 Talmon, S. 126
Redditt, P. L. 58, 64, 84, 90 Talshir, Z. 102, 114
Richards, K. H. 1, 45, 48, 78, 113, Tatum, J. 129, 137
126, 152, 190, 192–3, 213 Teixidor, J. 37, 48, 49
Rimkins, R. 27, 90 Thi Pham, X. H. 33, 48
Ristau, K. A. 15, 20, 21, 113, 195, Thomas, R. 25, 30
197, 199, 201, 203, 205, 207, 209, Thompson, T. L. 46
211, 213 Tollington, J. E. 197, 213
Römer, T. 210 Tov, E. 113, 198, 213
Rooke, D. 102, 107, 114 Tsfania, L. 35, 38, 47
Root, M. C. 146–50 Tucker, G. M. 27
Ross, A. P. 186, 193 Tuplin, C. 128–30, 133–5, 137
Rothstein 178, 181, 193 Tuttle, G. A. 126
Rudolph, W. 179, 193
Rüsen, J. 155, 164 Ussishkin, D. 133, 137
Ryken, L. 198, 213
Valentin, H. 69, 77
Said, E. 89, 92 Van der Woude, A. S. 44, 62–4
Saley, R. J. 124, 126 Van Deventer, H. J. M. 56, 64
Salles, J.-F. 139, 151 Van Oorschot, J. 155, 164
Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H. 84, 93, 148, Van Seters, J. 11, 18, 165
151 Vanderhooft, D. S. 1, 145, 151
Sawyer, J. F. A. 182, 194 VanderKam, J. 8, 75, 77, 95, 96, 100–
Schaper, J. 155, 164 2, 107, 114
Schaudig, H. 118, 127 Vaughn, A. G. 212
Schmitt, R. 44 Veijola, T. 32, 49
Schneider, T. 36, 48 Von Rad, G. 11, 18, 66, 77, 153, 163
Schoors, A. 148 Vriezen, T. C. 31, 49
Schramm, B. 186, 194
Schreiner, J. 108, 114 Watts, J. W. 6, 7, 30, 84, 91, 93, 149–
Scolnic, B. E. 111, 114 50
Seitz, C. R. 182, 194 Wazana, N. 40
Sinclair L 74, 76 Weinberg, J. 170, 173
Sivan, D. 114 Weinfeld, M. 32, 49, 66, 77
Ska, J. L. 86, 93 Weippert, M. 37, 49
Smend, R. 157, 163–4 Wellhausen, J. 66, 71, 77, 156–7, 165,
Smith, D. 7, 86, 87, 93, 182 184–5, 194
Smith, M. 30 Welten, P. 201, 213
Smith, P. 87, 182, 186, 194 Wilhoit, J. C. 198, 213
Smith-Christopher, D. L. 33, 48, 173 Will, E. 137
Index of Authors 225
Willey, P. T. 182, 194 Wolff, H. W. 179, 194

Willi, T. 32, 49 Wright, G. E. 92
Williamson, H. G. M. 2, 8, 24, 28, 30, Wright, J. L. 6, 74, 82, 93
32, 43, 49, 78, 79, 95, 96, 99, 100, 102,
105, 115–16, 120, 127, 178, 182, 194, Yardeni, Ada 6, 18, 83, 114
197, 214 Yassine, K. 37, 49
Wilson, G. H. 52–5, 64 Yona, S. 114
Wilson, R. 54, 79, 96, 106, 115
Winkle, R. E. 197, 214 Zobel, H.-J. 130, 137
Wiseman, D. J. 53, 64 Zsengellér, J. 38, 49
Wohrle, J. 44

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LIBRARY OF SECOND TEMPLE STUDIES

Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter

Published by T&T Clark A Continuum imprint

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Typeset by Data Standards Ltd, Frome, Somerset, UK

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS vii

1. ON THE IDENTITY OF THE ‘FOREIGN’ WOMEN IN EZRA 9–10 31

2. THE PERSIAN PERIOD AS PENITENTIAL ERA:

3. THE MYSTERY OF THE MISSING ‘SONS OF AARON’ 65

4. FROM EXILE AND RESTORATION TO EXILE AND RECONSTRUCTION 78

5. JESHUA’S ‘HIGH PRIESTLY’ LINEAGE?

6. ‘THEY SHALL COME REJOICING TO ZION’ – OR DID THEY?

7. WAS JERUSALEM A PERSIAN FORTRESS? 128

8. ADMINISTRATION OF ACHAEMENID PHOENICIA:

9. THE RELATION BETWEEN HISTORY AND THOUGHT:

10. EXILE AND RESTORATION IN LIGHT OF RECENT ARCHAEOLOGY

11. GOING BEYOND THE MYTH OF THE EMPTY LAND:

12. REBUILDING JERUSALEM: ZECHARIAH’S VISION WITHIN VISIONS 195

INDEX OF REFERENCES 214

AAR American Academy of Religion

CHANE Culture and History of the Ancient Near East

LTQ Lexington Theological Quarterly

Lester L. Grabbe (University of Hull) and Gary N. Knoppers

contribution that Ezra–Nehemiah made to the question. This seems an

Meyers; these essays should be consulted for further information about

Ezra 1.1-4. The theological implications of this understanding are the

place outside Jerusalem, presumably involving the Aaronic priests of

dialogue dealing with a variety of literary, historical and theological

As one of the sub-sections in this priestly and Levitical material, Neh.

anywhere in the biblical literature, whether it is the account dealing with

unknown, though it has been generally neglected in the Neo-Babylonian

distinction between history and thought. Also, recent historiographical

Eric Meyers (‘Exile and Restoration in Light of Recent Archaeology

one also ﬁnds universalism in such books as Jonah and Zechariah 8. A

communal strife of Ezra 3–6 belongs to later times, as Haggai and

2. Themes from the Papers

tives on those events within larger historical situations. Nevertheless,

d. Jerusalem and the Persian Relationship with the Provinces

Josephus) coupled with a different interpretation of the biblical data (Neh.

speciﬁcally of the Phoenician states, Jigoulov proposes to defend the

e. Community Strife and the Intermarriage Issue

f. The Question of Literacy

can refer to this ‘aurality’ as ‘literacy’ will no doubt be debated and

approaches to many issues are now different: different concerns, different

1985 ‘The Historical Literature’, in D. A. Knight and G. M.

(Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville, KY: Westminster

ON THE IDENTITY OF THE ‘FOREIGN’ WOMEN IN EZRA 9–10

Bob Becking (The University of Utrecht)

The Mixed Marriage Crisis in Ezra and Nehemiah

1 Ezra 9–10; Neh. 13.23-27.

independence. Apart from the difﬁcult question of how to classify

‘‘impurity’’ connected with menstruation’.7 The other concept is rooted in

7 Thi Pham 1999: 47.

social category which interprets the acts of the persons involved as

2. Indications for Mixed Ethnicity in the Persian Period?

14 Janzen 2002: 17.

recently published Mount Gerizim inscriptions and the archive from

a. The List of Ezra 2 // Nehemiah 7

b. Tell al-Mazār Ostracon VII

17 See Blenkinsopp 1988: 90.

This is clear from the archaeological context of Persian and early

21 Hübner 1992: 34.