Warfare RitualSymbol - Kelle - SBL

Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol
in Biblical and Modern Contexts

Ancient Israel and Its Literature
Thomas C. Römer, General Editor
Editorial Board:
Suzanne Boorer
Mark G. Brett
Marc Brettler
Cynthia Edenburg
Victor H. Matthews
Gale A. Yee
Number 18
Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol
in Biblical and Modern Contexts
Edited by
Brad E. Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright
Society of Biblical Literature

Atlanta
Copyright © 2014 by the Society of Biblical Literature
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
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Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Atlanta, GA 30329 USA.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Warfare, ritual, and symbol in biblical and modern contexts / edited by Brad Kelle, Frank
R. Ames, and Jacob L. Wright.
p. cm. — (Society of Biblical Literature ancient Israel and its literature ; 18)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Summary: “Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Contexts is a col-
lection of fifteen essays about rituals of war and their function. Comparative and
interdisciplinary approaches are applied to texts in the Hebrew Bible, which are
read in light of ancient Near Eastern literature, artifacts, and iconography and con-
temporary ritual and social theory. Introductory and concluding essays evaluate
each contribution, locate contributions in the history of scholarship, and propose
promising directions for further research. A majority of the essays were presented
in 2010–2012 sessions of the SBL’s Warfare in Ancient Israel Section”— Provided by
publisher.
ISBN 978-1-58983-958-8 (paper binding : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-58983-959-5
(electronic format) — ISBN 978-1-58983-960-1 (hardcover binding : alk. paper)
1. War—Biblical teaching. 2. Bible. Old Testament—Criticism, interpretation, etc.
3. Middle Eastern literature—History and criticism. I. Kelle, Brad E., 1973–, editor. II.
Ames, Frank Ritchel, editor. III. Wright, Jacob L., editor.
BS1199.W2W37 2014
221.8'355—dc23 2014002894
Printed on acid-free, recycled paper conforming to

ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (R1997) and ISO 9706:1994
standards for paper permanence.
Contents
Abbreviations....................................................................................................vii
Introduction
Jacob L. Wright............................................................................................1
Part 1: Social Determination of Rituals and Symbols
Theorizing Circumstantially Dependent Rites in and out of

War Contexts
Saul M. Olyan............................................................................................15
Monumental Inscriptions and the Ritual Representation of War

Nathaniel B. Levtow..................................................................................25
Part 2: Rituals and Symbols of Escalation,

Preparation, and Aggression
Joshua’s Encounter with the Commander of Yhwh’s Army (Josh

5:13–15): Literary Construction or Reflection of a Royal Ritual?
Thomas Römer..........................................................................................49
“A Sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!”: The Representation

of War in Judges 7:16–22
Kelly J. Murphy..........................................................................................65
The Red-Stained Warrior in Ancient Israel

Frank Ritchel Ames...................................................................................83
vi contents
“I Will Strike You Down and Cut off Your Head” (1 Sam 17:46):
Trash Talking, Derogatory Rhetoric, and Psychological
Warfare in Ancient Israel
David T. Lamb.........................................................................................111
“Some Trust in Horses”: Horses as Symbols of Power in Rhetoric

and Reality
Deborah O’Daniel Cantrell....................................................................131
War Rituals in the Old Testament: Prophets, Kings, and the

Ritual Preparation for War
Rüdiger Schmitt.......................................................................................149
Part 3: Rituals and Symbols of Perpetuation,

De-escalation, and Commemoration
Warfare Song as Warrior Ritual

Mark S. Smith..........................................................................................165
A Messy Business: Ritual Violence after the War

Susan Niditch...........................................................................................187
Postwar Rituals of Return and Reintegration

Brad E. Kelle.............................................................................................205
Does Yhwh Get His Hands Dirty? Reading Isaiah 63:1-6 in Light
of Depictions of Divine Postbattle Purification
Jason A. Riley...........................................................................................243
Response
Forging a Twenty-First-Century Approach to the Study of

Israelite Warfare
T. M. Lemos.............................................................................................271
Contributors....................................................................................................287
Index of Ancient Sources..............................................................................289
Index of Modern Authors.............................................................................301
Abbreviations
AB Anchor Bible
ABD Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols.
New York: Doubleday, 1992.
ACCS Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture
ALASP Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-Syren-Palästinas und Mes-
opotamiens
ANEP The Ancient Near East in Pictures Relating to the Old Tes-
tament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1954.
ANET Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament.
Edited by J. B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. Princeton: Princeton Uni-
versity Press, 1969.
AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament
AOTC Apollos Old Testament Commentary
ArBib The Aramaic Bible
AS Assyriological Studies
ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch
BA Biblical Archaeologist
BaM Baghdader Mitteilungen
BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research
BBR Bulletin for Biblical Research
BDB Brown, F., S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and
English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford: Oxford Uni-
BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium
BHS Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Edited by K. Elliger and W.
Rudolph. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1983.
Bib Biblica
BibInt Biblical Interpretation
BibOr Biblica et orientalia
-vii-
viii abbreviations
BInS Biblical Interpretation Series

BJS Brown Judaic Studies
BKAT Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament
BO Bibliotheca Orientalis
BRev Bible Review
BRS The Biblical Resources Series
BWA(N)T Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten (und Neuen) Testa-
ment
BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissen-
schaft
CAD Oppenheim, A. Leo, et al., eds. The Assyrian Dictionary of
the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago:
The Oriental Institute, 1956–2010.
CAT Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly
CBR Currents in Biblical Research
CHANE Culture and History of the Ancient Near East
CKLS Chuen King Lecture Series
COS The Context of Scripture. Edited by W. W. Hallo. 3 vols.
Leiden: Brill, 1997–2003.
CTH Laroche, Emmanuel. Catalogue des textes hittites. Paris:
Klincksieck, 1971
CTN Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud
CTU The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani,
and Other Places. Edited by M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J.
Sanmartín. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 1995.
DJD Discoveries in the Judean Desert
Dtr Deuteronomistic
ER The Encyclopedia of Religion. Edited by Mircea Eliade. 16
vols. New York: Collier Macmillan, 1987.
ERE Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics. Edited by J. Hastings. 13
vols. New York: Scribner, 1908–1927. Reprint, 7 vols., 1951.
ErIsr Eretz-Israel
ESV English Standard Version
ETCSL Black, Jeremy, et al., The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian
Literature. Oxford: University of Oxford, Faculty of Oriental
Studies, 1998–2006.
FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament
FCB Feminist Companion to the Bible
abbreviations ix
GKC Gesenius, Friedrich W., E. Kautzsch, and A. E. Cowley.

Gesenius' Hebrew Grammar. Oxford: Clarendon, 1980.
HALOT Koehler, L., W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm, The Hebrew
and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Translated and
edited under the supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. 4 vols.
Leiden: Brill, 1994–1999.
HAR Hebrew Annual Review
HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament
HB Hebrew Bible
HR History of Religions
HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs
HTKAT Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament
HTR Harvard Theological Review
HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual
ICC International Critical Commentary
IEJ Israel Exploration Journal
Int Interpretation
JAAR Journal of the American Academy of Religion
JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JBQ Jewish Bible Quarterly
JBS Jerusalem Bible Studies
JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies
JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages
JR Journal of Religion
JRitSt Journal of Ritual Studies
JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement
Series
JSS Journal of Semitic Studies
KAI Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften. H. Donner and
W. Röllig. 2nd ed. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966–1969.
KTU Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit. Edited by Manfred
Dietrich, Oswald Loretz, and Joaquín Sanmartín. AOAT
24/1. Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1976. 2nd enlarged ed. of KTU:
The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani,
x ABBREVIATIONS
and Other Places. Edited by M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J.

Sanmartín. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 1995 (= CTU).
LÄ Lexicon der Ägyptologie. Edited by W. Helck, E. Otto, and W.
Westendorf. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1972.
LHBOTS Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Study
LUT Luther
LXX Septuagint
MdB Le Monde de la Bible
MT Masoretic Text
NAC New American Commentary
NASB New American Standard Bible
NCBC New Cambridge Bible Commentary
NEA Near Eastern Archaeology
NEchtB Neue Echter Bibel
NIBCOT New International Biblical Commentary on the Old Testa-
ment
NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament
NIDOTTE New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and
Exegesis. Edited by Willem A. VanGemeren. 5 vols. Grand
Rapids: Zondervan, 1997.
NIV New International Version
NRSV New Revised Standard Version
OBO Orbis biblicus et orientalis
ÖBS Österreichische biblische Studien
OBT Overtures to Biblical Theology
Or Orientalia (NS)
OTL Old Testament Library
OtSt Oudtestamentische Studiën
PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly
Proof Prooftexts: A Journal of Jewish Literary History
PTSD Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
QD Quaestiones Disputate
RevExp Review and Expositor
RGG 4 Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. 4th ed. Edited by H.
D. Betz, Don S. Browning, Bernd Janowski, and Eberhard
Jüngel. 9 vols. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998–2007.
RHR Revue de l’historie des religions
RIMA The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods
RIME The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods
abbreviations xi
RINAP Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period

SAA State Archives of Assyria
SAAS State Archives of Assyria Studies
SB Standard Babylonian
SBLABS Society of Biblical Literature Archaeology and Biblical Stud-
ies
SBLDS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series
SBLRBS Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Studies
SBLSymS Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series
SBLWAW Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient
World
SBTS Sources for Biblical and Theological Study
SBV Standard Babylonian Version
SemeiaSt Semeia Studies
SJOT Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament
STAR Studies in Theology and Religion
SubBi Subsidia Biblica
TDOT Botterweck, G. Johannes, Helmer Ringgren, and Heinz-
Josef Fabry. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament.
Translated by David E. Green. 15 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerd-
mans, 1974–2006.
TOTC Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries
UF Ugarit-Forshungen
VT Vetus Testamentum
VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum
WBC Word Biblical Commentary
WTJ Westminster Theological Journal
WW Word and World
ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie
ZABR Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtgeschichte
ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
ZDPV Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins
Introduction
Jacob L. Wright
Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Contexts is a collection

of twelve essays (and a response essay) about war-related rituals and sym-
bols and their functions in textual, historical, and social contexts. Most of
the essays feature comparative and interdisciplinary approaches applied to
texts in the Hebrew Bible, which are read in light of ancient Near Eastern
literature, artifacts, and iconography, as well as contemporary ritual and
social theory. The editors hope this volume will make a timely contribu-
tion to a growing concentration on the ways social theory and ritual stud-
ies can contribute to the interpretation of biblical texts and ancient social
realities, especially those related to warfare.
Because of the collection’s interdisciplinary character—including
essays that treat theoretical aspects of ritual and society as well as exegeti-
cal and historical matters—it will be of interest to a wide range of scholars
whose research areas include archaeological, sociological, anthropological,
ritual, and literary dimensions, especially in war-related texts and contexts.
The mixture of theoretical examinations with particular historical and
exegetical treatments will provide biblical scholars with new perspectives
on Israelite warfare and its related rituals and symbols and will also be of
interest to scholars working outside of biblical scholarship in fields related
to military studies and social theory.1
1. This volume follows the interdisciplinary success of the most recent publica-
tion to come from the SBL Warfare in Ancient Israel Section. Interpreting Exile: Dis-
placement and Deportation in Biblical and Modern Contexts (ed. Brad E. Kelle, Frank
Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright; SBLAIL 10 [Atlanta: Society of Biblical Litera-
ture, 2011]) was recently selected as one of ten books on religion from 2011 for an
award by the American Association of University Presses and was recommended
for public and secondary school libraries. The award was in the category of works
-1-
2 Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol
Wars and warfare shaped the historical development and religious tra-
ditions of ancient Israel. They serve as leitmotifs in the narrative, poetic,
and prophetic literatures of the Hebrew Bible. And they remain topics of
interest and importance in biblical scholarship. Useful monographs and
multiauthor works have been published on Israel’s epic conflicts and his-
toric battles, on its military tactics and strategic technologies, on its armies
and heroic warriors, on comparative literature and ancient Near Eastern
contexts, and on ideologies and ethics of war. But many questions remain,
including questions about symbolism and rituals:
(1) What constitutes a symbol in war?

(2) What rituals were performed, and why?
(3) How did symbols and rituals function in and between wars
and battles?
(4) What differing effects did they have on insiders and outsid-
ers?
(5) In what ways did symbols and rituals function as instruments
of war, the formation of states, and social reintegration?
(6) What role did they play in the production and use of texts?
The present volume is prompted by a collective interest to answer these

and other questions pertaining to symbol and ritual as strategic elements
in ancient Israelite warfare and as referents and components in the rheto-
ric of the Hebrew Bible. A majority of the essays were presented in 2010–
12 sessions of the SBL Warfare in Ancient Israel Section. Both established
and emerging scholars have contributed essays, which together show-
case depth and breadth of the critical inquiry, along with the application
of comparative and interdisciplinary approaches and social theory. The
essays address questions about ritual behavior and symbolism in ancient
Israelite warfare and related biblical texts and make six contributions to
biblical scholarship in this area:
(1) They propose definitions of ritual and symbol for future war-
fare research.
“with a wide appeal and/or an expectation of lasting importance, [which] may

also be of scholarly technical data on subjects of widespread, current interest.”
wright: Introduction 3
(2) They set forth typologies of war-related rituals, their settings,

and functions.
(3) They identify previously unrecognized rituals and symbolism
in ancient Israelite warfare and related biblical texts.
(4) They compare emic and etic perspectives on the rites and
symbols of war.
(5) They describe how symbolic acts and objects convey power,
perpetuate violence, reintegrate combatants into communi-
ties, produce and are products of texts, and function as social
agents and psychological weapons of war.
(6) They offer new insight into the provenance, structure, imag-
ery, and interpretation of a variety of war-related texts in the
Hebrew Bible.
The essays offer a further contribution as they approach the above topics.
The articles extend the study of war-related rituals and symbols beyond
the context of ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible. Several explore con-
nections between these elements and contemporary rituals and practices
within modern militaries and societies. Others engage scholarship on ritu-
als and symbols that appears in contemporary psychology, military stud-
ies, and clinical literature. The diverse perspectives, theoretical proposals,
and specific case studies that emerge from these intersections provide new
resources for biblical scholarship’s ongoing consideration of the various
dimensions and significance of warfare, ritual, and symbol, as well as the
possible contributions such Israelite rituals and symbols might make to
the study of modern realities related to warfare’s execution and effects.
The essays fall along three coordinates: (1) Social Determination of
Rituals and Symbols; (2) Rituals and Symbols of Escalation, Preparation,
and Aggression; and (3) Rituals and Symbols of Perpetuation, De-escala-
tion, and Commemoration.
The first group of essays explores how the meanings and functions of
war-related rituals and symbols are textually, socially, and culturally deter-
mined in and by different contexts. Saul Olyan’s opening piece examines
a range of rites in biblical texts whose meaning depends on the circum-
stances depicted. These “circumstantially dependent rites” differ, on the
one hand, from ritual actions that are injurious to a victim under any and
all circumstances (for example, blinding; public genital exposure), and on
the other hand, from ritual actions that always produce some kind of ben-
efit to both agent and patient (for example, honorable burial of the dead;
clothing the naked). In contrast, the rites treated by Olyan can harm or
humiliate an enemy, or they can create enmity or provoke military con-
flict—all depending upon circumstances. These include shaving and other
forms of hair manipulation; disinterment and movement of the remains of
the dead; the burning of corpses or bones; and circumcision. The question
that guides Olyan’s investigation is: What makes circumstantially depen-
dent rites distinctive? The approach to the problem is exemplary in the care
and precision with which its author treats all the evidence. The answers
provided include identity of the agent, intent, and the potential role played
by coercion. Circumstantially dependent rites can have either a winner and
a loser or two beneficiaries. But the agent always profits in some way.
Nathaniel Levtow examines the ritual dimensions of Mesopotamian
and biblical conquest “monuments.” He discusses how Mesopotamian
royal monumental victory inscriptions legitimize and perpetuate conquest
and hegemony through their patterned inscriptions and ritual manipu-
lation. Levtow calls attention to the ritual environments of monumental
inscriptions and the ways they fulfill ritual roles in times of both war and
peace. The ritual contexts of ancient Near Eastern monumental inscriptions
are attested by three overlapping sets of evidence: (1) narrative accounts
that depict monumental inscriptions engaged in ritual roles and settings;
(2) ritual archaeological contexts in which monumental inscriptions have
been excavated; and (3) monumental inscriptions that specify their ritual
manipulation. For example, some of the earliest narratives of war, from
the Early Dynastic Period in Mesopotamia, depict the ritual violation of
boundary stones as a casus belli. Just as monumental inscriptions could be
strategically erected and manipulated, they could also be removed and rit-
ually violated. The archaeological evidence indicates that the stone monu-
ments were erected near sanctuaries and city gates, as well as mountain
passes—all ritually significant spaces. And in some cases there is evidence
for the ritualized inscription and erection of the monuments.
In light of the available evidence, Levtow treats (1) the inscribed con-
tent of the monuments, (2) their social location, and (3) their social roles
(namely, as the recipients of rituals and as the targets of attack). All the
comparanda he collates elucidate both archaeological evidence from Israel
(for example, the Tel Dan inscription) and biblical texts (for example, the
Ebal traditions in Deuteronomy and Joshua). Levtow finally extends the
discussion to cover weapons and “ritualized instruments of war.” His wide-
ranging conclusion will prove particularly useful to many who examine
warfare in relation to ritual and symbol.
The second group of essays explores rituals and symbols that relate
to the escalation, preparation, and aggression involved in the initiation
and execution of war. Thomas Römer’s contribution gives an unusually
rich backdrop to the account of an exchange between the Commander of
Yhwh’s army and Joshua on the eve of the conquest (Josh 5:13–15). Römer
begins by showing that this account is not, as assumed by many schol-
ars, missing its conclusion. He suggests that the passage describes what
Joshua sees in a vision, comparing the scene to a seventh-century b.c.e.
account of Ashurbanipal’s vision before his campaign against the Elamites
in the official account of that campaign. This discussion provides a point of
departure for a broad survey of related prebattle mantic rituals. By means
of this survey, which is invaluable in its own right, Römer shows how the
sword figures in the Joshua account in a similar manner to prebattle rituals
in which kings receive a weapon from a deity.
Kelly Murphy’s essay also treats this theme of the sword of Yhwh
as a symbol of war’s aggression, examining an excerpt from the Gideon
account in the book of Judges. Although the featured battle in Judg 7
depicts no hand-to-hand combat between the Israelites and Midianites, it
faithfully portrays some realities and practices of ancient warfare, while
also adding various literary symbols and additions in order to address
the book’s larger concern with issues of power. Through an examination
of the composition history of the text, in particular the now decontex-
tualized "sword of Yhwh," the essay argues that the passage functions to
transform the hesitant Gideon of Judg 6:1–7:15 back into the “mighty
warrior” of the oldest Gideon traditions. Yet even while Gideon appears
as a "mighty warrior," the final editors of the story make it explicit that
it is the deity, though working with and through his human agent, who
is ultimately responsible for the victory against the Midianites. Mur-
phy’s redactional analysis shows how the defeat of the Midianites is ulti-
mately more symbolically than militarily significant. Israel’s fighters are
the underdogs, and, if they prevail, it is because the deity is with them,
just as promised in the prebattle oracular ritual. The narrative downplays
Gideon’s military prowess for which he was likely celebrated through the
ages (at least among some clans).
Frank Ames looks at the color red as a symbol for the status of war-
riors in the preparation for and execution of battle. Weapons, garments,
and bodies of ancient Israelite warriors were reddened by the blood of the
adversaries who had been wounded or slain in battle. Ancient Israelite
warriors may also have stained their bodies red before engaging in battle.
Ames evaluates the evidence for body staining and explains its likely
functions in the context of war. He considers at length modern theories,
ancient Near Eastern contexts, as well as biblical and comparative texts. As
Ames shows in his nuanced reading, when the red stain is actually blood,
it serves as an “index,” a sign that the warrior (both man and woman) has
made a kill. When the stain is red dye, it serves as an “icon” representing
blood, with its life-and-death valences. The observer should in both cases
recognize the warrior’s lethal, irresistible power. Aside from being used
perhaps as a color to mark rank and belonging, the color indicated ruddi-
ness and physical health, as well as offering the warrior a tactical advan-
tage by intimidating the observer.
A common prebattle activity in various cultures is derogatory rhet-
oric and taunting speech. David Lamb shows how “trash talking,” far
from being an innovation of modern athletics, was a staple in ancient
military contexts, the prerequisite hors d'oeuvres, to whet the appetite
for battle. Examples of derogatory military rhetoric can be found in
Egyptian sources being used by Thutmose III, Sethos I, and Ramesses
II, and in the Hebrew Bible by Ahab, Elijah, Jezebel, Jehu, and David in
his encounter with the Philistine giant. Lamb seeks to show how analy-
sis of this type of psychological warfare in biblical literature elucidates
some of the most colorful dialogue of the Hebrew Bible and provides
an interpretive key to understanding the social dynamic behind these
texts. Lamb’s work draws on Geoffrey David Miller’s categorizations of
verbal feuding in the book of Judges, which include boasts, insults, par-
ries, and responses to insults. Lamb situates his own research in a com-
parative context that includes both modern practices and evidence from
the ancient world. This wider perspective draws attention to features and
emphases in many biblical texts (the article focuses on narrative pas-
sages) that one might otherwise miss.
Deborah O’Daniel Cantrell’s article looks at how horses figure as sym-
bols of power in biblical literature. The warhorse was the ultimate symbol
of power and destruction in the ancient world because of its effectiveness
as a lethal weapon. Due to its unsurpassed speed, the horse was also the
definitive symbol of freedom and deliverance. From a military perspective,
trained warhorses were essential to the survival of Israel and Judah during
the monarchic period. The essay explores the rhetoric of the Hebrew Bible
prophets and poets who recognized the awe and reverence inspired by
warhorses, but viewed them as a dangerous threat to their political and
religious agendas. Cantrell draws on firsthand knowledge of horses and
riding, and her contribution is informed by a remarkable wealth of infor-

mation related to ancient warfare.
No military action in the ancient Near East could be undertaken with-
out preceding ritual acts and omina. Rüdiger Schmitt’s essay draws on
comparative evidence to analyze biblical accounts of war oracles, execra-
tion rituals, and related preparatory symbolic actions by prophets. Schmitt
provides a typology of the different kinds of rituals, their socio-religious
setting, and their military and political functions. He treats the icono-
graphic evidence from Iron Age Israelite and Judean seals and shows how
they relate to the textual evidence.
Schmitt’s treatment reveals how ritual strategies were regarded as
critical to secure military success. Due to their literary character, the bibli-
cal narratives about interventions of men of god and prophets in military
campaigns do not directly reflect, according to Schmitt, ritual interven-
tions by prophets that can be used to reconstruct war rituals. The texts
are not historical accounts of military campaigns and cannot be used for
the reconstruction of preexilic war ideologies and related ritual practices.
Nevertheless, Schmitt maintains that these stories do reflect how prophets
and men of god participated in military campaigns. He draws two conclu-
sions: (1) the ritual practices of war preparation, in particular prophetic
consultations and execration rituals, did not differ in ancient Israel, Egypt,
and Mesopotamia, and (2) these practices should be understood in the
context of the closely related concepts of kingship and divinely authorized
war in the ancient Near East.
The third group of essays explores the rituals and symbols related to
perpetuation, de-escalation, and commemoration as war moves toward
conclusion and becomes historical memory. Mark Smith researches early
biblical poetry in this regard. By focusing on issues of dating, past scholarly
discussions have failed to recognize a significant feature of early Israelite
textual production beginning in the premonarchic period (Iron I), namely,
that the texts focus to a great extent on war and warriors. Smith argues that
warfare inspired the composition of several of these relatively early poems.
Postbattle laments such as 2 Sam 1 may be understood as a ritualized
behavior that served to create a community of shared mourners. The poem
as a whole generated a communal identity for a “post-Saulide ‘Israel.’ ”
Smith speaks of David’s lament as “a ritual instrument of public speech”
that constitutes its audience as political subjects—that is, as “David’s Israel.”
According to Smith, the tradition of early heroic poetry was in no
small way the domain of women, and it is arguable that a good deal of
early Israelite heroic poetry should be situated in the context of oral

women’s song. Thanks to the work of Eunice Poethig, Carol Meyers, Sarit
Paz, Susan Ackerman, and others, we have a number of excellent studies
on the role of women in postbattle ritual. Smith cites the imaginative act
represented by the poem of Judg 5. By means of the first-person voice,
the author of that poem uses the figure of Deborah to dramatize postbat-
tle victory. Deborah is the model of communal memory, one who com-
memorates a primordial, foundational conflict. Her example inspires the
composer in the choice of poetic elements. With respect to ritual, Smith
states that “while perhaps not ritualistic in a traditional religious sense,
[the poem] is arguably a sort of political ritual that uses pieces of the past
for its audience to participate in and thus to be literally in-formed.” Judges
5 takes older (Iron I) pieces of a heroic, but “arguably insufficiently politi-
cal, past” and “prepares its audiences for royal governance across tribal
lines.” Thus Smith implies that the poem does not hold up Yhwh as Israel’s
one, true king, as many would interpret its message.
Susan Niditch begins her piece on ritual violence after war with a ref-
erence to the psychoanalyst Jonathan Shay. After the cessation of combat,
normal life is expected to resume. But this is not the case. Shay observes
in his book Achilles in Vietnam2 the many ways in which the traumatic
experience of war makes itself felt in the lives of soldiers long after they
have departed from the battlefield. Shay brings classical texts to bear on
his research; Niditch shows how a number of biblical texts deal with the
“loose ends” after the battle, reflecting concerns with reciprocity (implicit
in vows), guilt, and group identity. Some of these texts relate to events
following war, and others to dealings with human captives and captured
objects. The biblical authors explore the options of dealing with these
objects and captives, ranging from elimination to absorption.
One set of passages that Niditch discusses relates to war vows, vows
gone awry, or tensions involving the interpretation of war vows (Josh 7,
Judg 11, and 1 Sam 15). They point back to unresolved issues stemming
from ritual actions that preceded and framed the fighting. In each case,
acts of controlled sacrificial violence mark the exit from a particular war.
To resolve the conflicts created by the vows, the actors resort to various
forms of controlled ritual violence: the sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter; the
2. Jonathan Shay, Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Char-
acter (New York: Scribner, 1995).
execution of Achan and Agag; the forcible taking of women for Benjamin.
Another set of texts (Num 31:1–24; Deut 21:10–14) more overtly reflects
an effort to transition from the violence of combat to the state of peace. But
this transition too is achieved with violence. These texts reflect a conscious
acknowledgment of the boundaries between wartime and peacetime. One
might mention other texts that do the same, like 1 Kgs 2:5. But the texts
discussed by Niditch do not simply acknowledge the boundary. They are
concerned with the transition back to the normal conditions after war,
and they seek this transition through symbolically charged ritual means,
which include aspects of sacrifice, purification, and transformation.
Brad Kelle’s essay shares the focus on postwar transitions for soldiers
and communities. The essay’s goal is to explore the possible indications
of postwar rituals of return and reintegration within the Hebrew Bible.
Kelle maps the Hebrew Bible texts that possibly present postwar rituals
of return and reintegration and then considers them against the back-
drop of other such rituals from the ancient Near East and elsewhere. In
a subsequent, but more tentative and suggestive move, he concludes with
an interdisciplinary engagement that explores some potential points of
connection between these rituals and perspectives within contemporary
warfare studies and psychology that may illuminate the symbolic func-
tions of the rituals and why they take the shapes they do.
Kelle’s essay is a model of the interdisciplinary approach to the study
of war. It begins with two preliminary considerations. The first helpfully
questions the preoccupation of past studies of war in the Bible with “holy
war” or “Yhwh war.” The second consideration relates to the nature of
the evidence: what do we do when the biblical materials do not permit
a comprehensive or even reliable picture of a phenomenon such as post-
war rituals? The essay itself provides a very useful taxonomy of postbattle
ritual activities, which include (1) purification of warriors, captives, and
objects; (2) appropriation of booty; (3) construction of memorials and
monuments; (4) celebration or procession; and (5) lament. It then con-
cludes by engaging the emerging category of “moral injury” within psy-
chology, military studies, and clinical literature in order to examine the
possible symbolic functions of the biblical rituals, once again placing the
subject within a thoroughly interdisciplinary context.
Jason Riley’s essay directs a similar postwar ritual question to Israel’s
deity rather than Israel’s warriors: “Does Yhwh get his hands dirty?” Did
acts of killing or contact with blood defile the Israelite deity, as in the case
of other ancient Near Eastern gods? Riley begins by cataloguing references
of divine defilement and purification, with references to human defilement

(in wartime) included in the footnotes. What he shows is that the Sumerian
and Assyrian mythological examples parallel the acts of ritual purification
described in royal inscriptions. Thus, the ancient Near Eastern deities were
not impervious to impurity. Just as they could be defiled, they required
purification, particularly after battle. Riley then asks whether there are
comparable cases for Yhwh in the Hebrew Bible. The deity is often depicted
as one who is actively involved in battle, with him as the subject of vio-
lent deeds. Riley focuses especially on Isa 63:1–6 and argues that this piece
of poetry describes Yhwh returning from battle with garments soaked in
blood. There is no reference to ritual purification in this text though, which
raises the question: Does the passage suggest that Yhwh became ritually
impure from his actions on the battlefield? To answer that question, Riley
takes us on a detailed examination of two lines, with a significant payoff
pointing toward an ancient Israelite conception that Yhwh could undergo
war-related defilement and purification.
This preview should suffice to whet the reader’s appetite for the many
good things to be found in the following essays. As with any such collec-
tion, this volume offers a limited and necessarily incomplete treatment of
war-related rituals and symbols. Even so, it successfully unites two signifi-
cant trends in contemporary scholarship: (1) study of the realities and rep-
resentations of war in ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible, and (2) study
of Israelite ritual and symbol, especially in dialogue with contemporary
ritual theory. Still, the essays here constitute only an early move toward a
comprehensive study of warfare, ritual, and symbol as they intersect in the
biblical texts, making important contributions but also revealing often-
unquestioned assumptions, overlooked dimensions, and possible new (or
better) directions. In order to elucidate these elements and show how the
essays might encourage further research, T. M. Lemos provides an evalu-
ative and constructive response to the volume as a whole. Her concluding
essay reflects attentively on some of the overarching themes, noteworthy
findings, differing methodologies, as well as gaps in these articles. Most
importantly, she gathers the essays’ contributions and missing pieces in
order to explore the possible form and content of a “twenty-first century
approach” to the study of warfare. Whatever that form and content might
be, perhaps this volume successfully makes the case that the future study
of warfare in ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible must include sustained
attention to the multiple dimensions of ritual and symbol as they appear
in various textual, historical, and social contexts.
Bibliography
Kelle, Brad E., Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright, eds. Interpret-
ing Exile: Displacement and Deportation in Biblical and Modern Con-
texts. Society of Biblical Literature Ancient Israel and Its Literature 10.
Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011.
Shay, Jonathan. Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of
Character. New York: Scribner, 1995.
Part 1
Social Determination of Rituals and Symbols
Theorizing Circumstantially Dependent Rites
in and out of War Contexts
Saul M. Olyan
In this essay I examine the wartime and nonwartime functions of a number

of rites whose meaning is entirely dependent on circumstance. Such rites
can be used by an agent to physically harm and/or humiliate an established
foe or to create a new enemy and initiate war. But many texts suggest that
they may also have beneficial functions for both the agents and those upon
whom they act under certain circumstances, including in wartime. Such
rites include shaving and other forms of hair manipulation; disinterment
and the movement of the remains of the dead; the burning of corpses or
bones; and circumcision. These circumstantially dependent rites contrast
with other ritual acts that are injurious to a victim under any and all cir-
cumstances (for example, public stripping and genital exposure, blinding,
or severing body parts of an enemy or offender; nonburial of the remains
of the dead). They also differ from ritual action that always produces some
kind of benefit to both agent and patient (for example, honorable burial
of the dead; clothing the naked). What is it that makes circumstantially
dependent rites distinct? In order to address this question, I examine the
roles of intent, force, agency, and cultural norms in shaping circumstan-
tially dependent ritual action.1
I begin with examples of noncircumstantially dependent rites. These
are harmful or salutary under all circumstances, resulting in either physical
and/or psychological injury (for example, shame) or in some kind of gain
1. This piece has been modified slightly (with permission) from the original pub-
lished version. See Saul M. Olyan, “Theorizing Circumstantially Dependent Rites in
and out of War Contexts,” in “The One Who Sows Bountifully”: Essays in Honor of Stan-
ley K. Stowers (ed. Caroline Johnson Hodge et al.; BJS 356; Providence, R.I.: Brown
Judaic Studies, 2013), 69–76.
-15-
(for example, honor) for the patient. (In each instance, the agent benefits, as
I shall discuss.) Such noncircumstantially dependent rites are significant,
as they provide a basis for establishing the distinctiveness of circumstan-
tially dependent rites. My first example is the blinding of a defeated foe, in
this case Zedekiah of Judah as narrated in 2 Kgs 25:7. Such blinding is one
example of a wartime rite of punishment that is obviously never salutary
for the patient. In this case, a defect (‫ )מום‬that results in serious disability
and, very likely, considerable shame, is imposed forcibly on the body of
the victim. Although no explicit idioms of humiliation are used in this
particular narrative, blindness imposed by an enemy is directly linked to
reproach (‫ )חרפה‬in 1 Sam 11:2. Furthermore, blindness is a divine curse in
Deut 28:28–29, where it is associated with abandonment, helplessness, and
victimization; these associations suggest shame indirectly, as other texts
demonstrate.2 Public stripping of a defeated enemy and his dependents is a
second example of a rite that injures the victim without regard to circum-
stance, but in this case, the harm is exclusively psychological. In Isa 20:3–4,
forced nudity is part of the experience of defeat and exile and is a source
of humiliation for the victim.3 Similarly, Lam 1:8 associates the exposure
of the genitals of personified, defeated Jerusalem with her diminishment:
“All who honored her deride her,” // “For they have seen her nakedness.”
Nonburial of an enemy’s corpse, an act that could result in mutilation by
animals and birds, is a common topos in war narratives, as is the severing
of body parts from a corpse—acts with which David threatens Goliath in 1
Sam 17:46. The public exhibition of an enemy’s (often mutilated) corpse by
hanging it on a tree or wall is another common motif in narratives of war,
well illustrated by the Philistines’ display of the stripped, headless corpse
of Saul on the wall of Beth Shean (1 Sam 31:8–10). Other wartime rites
that evidently shame an enemy under any and all circumstances include
the tossing of a corpse (‫שלך‬, hiphil) in a public place instead of its honor-
2. Rejection by Yhwh is said to be shaming in Ps 53:6, as is defeat by and flight

before an enemy in 2 Sam 19:4 (see also Jer 9:18; Ezek 7:18). Conversely, victory in
battle confers honor to the victor (2 Kgs 14:10).
3. As indicated by the somewhat awkward ‫ ערות מצרים‬at the end of the verse,
which is probably best rendered “[to the] shame of Egypt” in the context (see H. Niehr,
“‫ ערה‬ʿārâ,” TDOT 11:346; njps; nrsv). See also Isa 47:3, regarding defeated Babylon:
“Your nakedness (‫ )ערוה‬will be revealed” // “Your reproach (‫ )חרפה‬will be seen.” This
text ties shame and nakedness together directly, as does Lam 1:8 (see further below; all
translations in this essay are my own).
olyan: Theorizing Circumstantially Dependent Rites 17
able burial (for example, Josh 8:29; 10:27) and the placing of the foot on
the neck of a defeated enemy (Josh 10:24). A number of narratives also
associate rites of corpse mutilation, display by hanging, and corpse tossing
with the punishment of offenders in nonwartime contexts (for example, 2
Sam 4:12; Jer 22:19 [with corpse-dragging, ‫ ;]סחב‬see also Deut 21:22–23).
Although explicit discussion of shame is not always present in the nar-
ratives, they typically construe such rites as having negative resonances
of some kind (for example, the association of corpse display or blindness
with divine curse, as in Deut 21:22–23 and 28:28–29). Furthermore, mili-
tary defeat and abandonment by Yhwh are directly associated with humil-
iation in a number of other texts (for example, 2 Sam 19:4; Jer 9:18; Ezek
7:18; Ps 53:6), and rites such as the tossing or display of an enemy’s corpse
or his public stripping are typically coupled with the enemy’s defeat.
In addition to ritual action that harms a patient under any and all
circumstances, many rites consistently confer benefits on all participants.
Appropriate burial and mourning of the dead are primary examples of
such ritual acts. These honor the dead (2 Sam 10:3) and are expected of
those having formal ties with them, such as family members and allies. In
2 Sam 2:5–6, such acts are said to be expressions of ‫חסד‬, “covenant loy-
alty.” These rites might even be undertaken by those who wish to establish
a formal relationship with the dead and their survivors, as in 2 Sam 1:11–
12, where David orders his men to mourn for Saul and defeated Israel
even though officially they work for the enemy and are therefore expected
to rejoice at the Philistine victory.4 David in essence changes sides when
he mourns, reaffiliating himself and his men with Israel and the Saulides.
A second example of a rite that is always salutary is the clothing of the
naked, mentioned as an ethical duty in texts such as Isa 58:7 and Ezek
18:7, 16.5 Its opposite, the forced exposure of persons by stripping off their
garments, is presented as a paradigmatic act of iniquity in Job 22:6. Just as
coerced, public stripping and genital exposure is evidently shaming under
all circumstances, clothing the naked is always understood to be salutary.
4. On the political dynamics of mourning and rejoicing, see Gary A. Anderson,

A Time to Mourn, a Time to Dance: The Expression of Grief and Joy in Israelite Religion
(University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1991), 72–73, 93–95. On the
political dynamics of mourning in 2 Sam 1 in particular, see Saul M. Olyan, Bibli-
cal Mourning: Ritual and Social Dimensions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004),
53–54, 150–51.
5. See similarly Gen 9:23, by implication.
Similarly, honorable burial and the appropriate enactment of mourning

rites may be contrasted with dishonoring ritual actions such as dragging
and throwing the corpse, or leaving it exposed to the depredations of birds
and wild beasts. The meanings of such acts are unmistakable as they have
consistently positive or negative resonances.
Circumstantially dependent rites stand in contrast to the rites dis-
cussed above, whose meaning is not dependent on their context. I shall
discuss four examples of such rites before considering what makes them
distinct. Shaving and other forms of hair manipulation in ritual settings
are my first example of a circumstantially dependent set of rites. These
have no intrinsic meaning in the biblical context, though they may share
in common the function of realizing and communicating status change
of some kind (for example, the passage from pollution to purity or vice
versa).6 That shaving in a ritual setting can be humiliating and even
result in war is illustrated by 2 Sam 10:1–5, where the Ammonites forc-
ibly shave the beard hair of David’s emissaries who have arrived in the
Ammonite court to serve as comforters at the death of the Ammonite
king.7 This act, along with stripping and expulsion, are said to humiliate
the embassy deeply and make the Ammonites, former allies, “odious” to
David (‫)נבאשו בדוד‬. Forced shaving of beard hair appears to be intended
to mock the typical hair and beard manipulation often associated with
mourning, whose agent is the mourner or comforter himself, not some-
one else acting coercively.
Contrast this scenario with the shaving of the female war captive’s head
in Deut 21:12. This is one of several rites she is to undertake in order to
become the wife of her Israelite captor. (Along with her head shaving, she
discards her “garment of captivity,” cuts [?] her nails, and mourns her par-
ents for a month while dwelling in the captor’s house—all rites intended to
terminate her previous identity [Deut 21:12–13].) Shaving in this instance
functions to change status without any negative associations, as it does
in other contexts as well. Just as shaving for one who is purifying himself
from skin disease is a ritual component of his gradual purification in Lev
14:8, 9, the female prisoner’s shaving helps to transform her from a foreign
captive to the wife of an Israelite, a positive outcome in the writer’s eyes.8
6. For the full argument, see Saul M. Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish
and What Do They Signal in Biblical Ritual Contexts?” JBL 117 (1998): 611–22.
7. According to the MT, it is half the beard that is shaved.
8. Though the MT has the woman performing her own rites of transition (includ-
Other examples of ritual hair manipulation that lack negative associations

are the Nazirite’s shaving of his or her consecrated hair in order to com-
plete the Nazirite vow (Num 6:18) and the Levites’ shaving of their bodies
to purify themselves for cultic service (Num 8:7).
Rites of disinterment and transportation of the remains of the dead are
not infrequent occurrences in our narratives, including those of wartime.
Such rites are represented as salutary or hostile, depending on the circum-
stances. A biblical example of disinterment and transportation of remains
for a malevolent purpose is Jer 8:1–2, in which the author foretells the
future exposure of the bones of the Judean elite after their removal from
their tombs as a punishment for the worship of other gods. Though the
bones were previously buried, they will not be reburied, and the text sug-
gests their degradation by comparing them to dung on the surface of the
ground. Nothing is said explicitly about the agent of this punishment of
Judah’s leaders, but an invading enemy in a time of war is a plausible can-
didate. A second, nonbiblical, wartime example of disinterment and trans-
portation with a hostile intent is Ashurbanipal’s description of his abuse
of the tombs and remains of the kings of Elam. In this case, the bones of
the former kings are said to be taken to Assyria in order to impose rest-
lessness on their ghosts and deprive them of ancestral offerings (kispu)
and libations of water.9 Ashurbanipal’s acts are very likely humiliating for
the Elamites, as they do concrete harm both to Elamite tombs and to the
ghosts of the dead Elamite kings.
In contrast to these examples, exhumation and movement of the
remains of the dead could also be construed as salutary acts. According
to 2 Sam 21:12–14, David has the bones of Saul and Jonathan disinterred
and moved from Jabesh-Gilead to the Saulide ancestral tomb in Benjamin,
presumably to curry favor with Saulides and other Benjaminites, as burial
in the family tomb is the ideal, and it may well have been thought to have
positive effects on how the dead fare in the afterlife. The impact of proper
burial on the afterlife of the dead is attested in cuneiform texts, though
ing head shaving), the LXX reads second-person verbal forms, suggesting that the
captor performs the rites of transformation. In either case, the rites have a positive
outcome for the patient from the perspective of the text.
9. Rykle Borger, Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals: Die Prismenklassen
A, B, C = K, D, E, F, G, H, J und T sowie andere Inschriften (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz,
1996), 55 (Prism A vi 74–76 = F v 53–54).
explicit biblical evidence for it is lacking.10 In any case, the narrative seems
to be intended to portray David in a positive light in the wake of his acqui-
escence to the execution of several Saulides by the Gibeonites.11 A second
wartime example of beneficent disinterment and transportation concerns
Merodach-Baladan, who is said to take along the disinterred remains of
his ancestors as well as the images of his gods as he flees from Babylon
before his enemy Sennacherib (according to Sennacherib’s Nebi Yunus
Slab Inscription). It seems likely that Merodach-Baladan sought to protect
both the bones of his ancestors and the images of his gods from the kind
of abuse meted out by Ashurbanipal in a later time.12
Burning the remains of the dead may be a salutary act or an act of
hostility depending on the circumstances. Contrast Josiah’s burning of the
bones of the dead of Bethel on the Bethel temple’s altar in order to pollute
it (2 Kgs 23:16) with the Jabesh-Gileadites’ burning of Saul’s corpse and
the corpses of his sons and the burial of their bones after the Jabeshites
rescue their remains from the wall of Beth Shean (1 Sam 31:12). Both
acts occur in settings of war; the movement of remains characterizes both
narratives; and in both cases, the remains of the dead are burned. Yet the
agent in one case is an invading enemy with hostile intent (Josiah) while
the agents in the other instance are loyal subjects of a king who inconve-
nience themselves in order to provide an honorable burial for their rul-
er’s remains and those of his sons. This act of the Jabeshites is explicitly
associated with the appropriate mourning rite of fasting in 1 Sam 31:13
and—implicitly—with covenant loyalty (‫ )חסד‬by David in a later scene in
the narrative (2 Sam 2:5). In contrast, Josiah’s actions clearly demonstrate
malevolent intent, not only toward the Bethel sanctuary’s altar but also
toward the remains of the dead that are burned on it. In effect, Josiah not
only destroys the Bethel sanctuary and pollutes the Bethel altar, but disin-
ters and moves the remains of dead denizens of Bethel with the intent to
cause harm, as suggested by his order not to disturb the tomb and bones
of the favored man of god who prophesied against Bethel (2 Kgs 23:18).
The nature of the harm is again elusive, given the limitations of the textual
10. On the desirability of burial in the family tomb, see Saul M. Olyan, “Some
Neglected Aspects of Israelite Interment Ideology,” JBL 124 (2005): 603–4, 607–11.
11. On salutary movement of the remains of the dead, see further ibid., 613.
12. See A. Kirk Grayson and Jamie Novotny, The Royal Inscriptions of Sennach-
erib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 1 (RINAP 3/1; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisen-
brauns, 2012), 221 (text 34, lines 7–11).
evidence. It is, however, possible that the text assumes that the afterlife of
those whose bones are disinterred and abused would be disturbed in one
or more ways, and it probably envisions such acts as bringing shame on
the surviving community.
Circumcision is my final example of a circumstantially dependent rite.
In this case, the rite’s effects are normally salutary in biblical contexts. In
Gen 17, circumcision is a sign of the covenant between Yhwh and Abra-
ham; in Exod 12:48, it functions to allow the uncircumcised resident alien
male to “make the Passover”; and in Josh 5:9, circumcision during the wil-
derness wanderings removes (literally “rolls away”) “the reproach (‫)חרפה‬
of Egypt,” a positive thing according to the writer, whatever the reproach
might refer to. Thus, when interpreted in an Israelite context, circumcision
has consistently positive associations: it removes shame; it grants admis-
sion to the cultic community; and it is a sign of Yhwh’s covenant with
Abraham. At the same time, the foreskin is stigmatized, associated with
reproach (‫)חרפה‬, stubbornness, exclusion, and profanation of holiness
(for example, Gen 34:14; Deut 10:16; Jer 4:4; Isa 52:1; Ezek 44:7, 9). Yet in
the war context of 1 Sam 18:27, David’s removal of one hundred foreskins
from the Philistine dead serves as a grotesque bride price that is intended
as an act of hostility.13 This is indicated by the fact that the Philistines
are said not to practice circumcision as a cultural norm—they are often
referred to as the “uncircumcised”—but their corpses have it imposed on
them nonetheless; that the act parallels other forms of corpse mutilation
quite closely (for example, cutting off the head or hands or feet) and would
presumably have been construed as such by the Philistines of the narra-
tive; and most revealing, that Saul’s stated desire is to take vengeance (‫)נקם‬
on his enemies through the act. In this instance, the cultural norms of the
victim play a crucial role in shaping meaning. Though Saul’s intent is to
do his enemy harm, circumcision could not function effectively as a tool
to achieve this end were it not for its alien status and likely negative reso-
nances for Philistines.
What makes circumstantially dependent rites distinct? In each case,
the rite itself tells us little or nothing when considered in isolation from
its context. Shaving, the burning of bones or corpses, exhumation and
transportation of the remains of the dead, and circumcision are rites
13. The MT reads 200; LXXBL and 2 Sam 3:14 read 100. On this, see P. Kyle
McCarter Jr., I Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary
(AB 8; Garden City: Doubleday, 1980), 316.
whose meaning is not consistent or obvious but dependent upon consid-

erations such as the identity and intent of the agent, the role played by
coercion, and the cultural norms of participants. The agent performing
the rite might be oneself or another person. Typically, rites performed
by one on one’s own body are salutary in some way (for example, shav-
ing in order to achieve purification, as in Lev 14:8, 9, or to enter the
mourning state).14 In contrast, rites performed by an agent on a patient
could have either beneficial or injurious effects on the patient, depend-
ing on the agent’s identity as an established or newly minted friend or
advocate, with beneficent intent, or as an enemy, with malevolent intent.
The Jabeshites of 1 Sam 30 are loyal allies whose corpse burning is, like
appropriate burial, construed as a salutary act; in contrast, Josiah is an
enemy invader of Bethel whose bone burning is intended to cause harm
both to the Bethel altar and the dead buried in Bethel’s environs. David’s
disinterment, transportation, and reburial of the remains of Saul and
Jonathan and his burial of the corpses of other Saulides position him as
a new friend of Saulides and Benjaminites; in contrast, through their use
of coerced shaving to abuse David’s ambassadors, the Ammonites recast
themselves as enemies of David. Unlike such circumstantially depen-
dent rites, which could be performed by friend or foe, with beneficent or
malevolent intent, rites that are always injurious to a patient are typically
performed by an established or a new-found enemy (blinding; maltreat-
ment of corpses; forced stripping and genital exposure), but never by a
friend. Similarly, rites that are salutary to both agent and patient irre-
spective of circumstance are performed by an established or newfound
friend or advocate.
Coercion can play an important role in determining the meaning of
circumstantially dependent rites that it does not play with rites whose
effects are always negatively or positively construed. Public exposure of the
genitals is dishonoring whether it is coerced or not, because such nudity
always has a negative resonance in biblical texts. David’s self-diminish-
14. Though mourning has debasing dimensions, particularly when associated

with petition of the deity or with national defeat or personal calamity, its enactment
can have many salutary aspects that evidently outweigh whatever debasement might
be suffered. Examples include the deity’s positive response to the petitioner who has
debased himself through embrace of mourning rites, or the establishment or perpetu-
ation of social relationships that benefit the mourner. On this, see further Olyan, Bibli-
cal Mourning, 78–81, 90–94, 106–7.
ment in 2 Sam 6:16, 20 through (unintentional?) self-exposure while

dancing before the ark is perceived no differently than the humiliation of
David’s forcibly exposed embassy in 2 Sam 10: in each case, dishonor is
the result.15 Yet contrast the forced shaving of the beards of David’s emis-
saries to Ammon with the hair, beard, and eyebrow shaving of the person
purifying himself from skin disease in Lev 14:9.16 The coerced shaving of
David’s ambassadors contributes to their significant humiliation (2 Sam
10:4–5) while the shaving rites of the person purifying himself from skin
disease are routine, have no evident associations with shame, and result in
his cleansing and readmission to the community. These examples suggest
that like an agent’s intent, the presence or absence of coercion can be of
primary importance in shaping the meaning of circumstantially depen-
dent rites.
In addition to the identity and intent of the agent and the potential
role played by coercion, cultural norms can play a part in determining the
meaning of circumstantially dependent rites. Circumcision, usually con-
structed as an entirely salutary act in biblical texts, is clearly not so under
the particular circumstances narrated in 1 Sam 18. Here, it is an act of
hostility and vengeance given Philistine cultural norms and Saul’s stated
intent.
Though rites that are always injurious in some way have both a winner
(the agent) and a loser (the victim), and rites that are always salutary have
two beneficiaries (both agent and patient), circumstantially dependent
rites can have either a winner and a loser or two beneficiaries. Interest-
ingly, no matter what the type of rite or its circumstances, the agent always
profits in some way. Examples of agents who gain something from their
circumstantially dependent ritual actions include David, who in exhum-
ing, transporting, and reburying Saul and Jonathan, and burying other
Saulides, positions himself to appear as a friend of the House of Saul; Saul,
who in calling for and receiving Philistine foreskins exacts vengeance on
15. Michal’s sarcastic comment to David in 2 Sam 6:20 suggests that she finds
his actions profoundly dishonoring. Note that Saul’s self-exposure and helplessness
in 1 Sam 19:24 are evidently intended to detract from his reputation. According to
McCarter, in contrast to his portrayal in 1 Sam 10:10–12, Saul is “now more a victim
of prophetic inspiration than a beneficiary of it; he participates in the prophesying as
a sufferer, an invalid, and the ecstasy is for him a disease” (McCarter, I Samuel, 329;
see also 331).
16. Verse 8 mentions that he shaves all of his hair; v. 9 is more specific.
his enemies through their humiliation and implicitly gains the honor of
victory; and the Ammonites, who in shaming David’s embassy and by
extension, David himself, terminate their parity treaty with David, and
presumably increase their honor at David’s expense.
Bibliography
Anderson, Gary A. A Time to Mourn, a Time to Dance: The Expression of

Grief and Joy in Israelite Religion. University Park: Pennsylvania State
Borger, Rykle. Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals: Die Prismen-
klassen A, B, C = K, D, E, F, G, H, J und T sowie andere Inschriften.
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1996.
Botterweck, G. Johannes, Helmer Ringgren, and Heinz-Josef Fabry. Theo-
logical Dictionary of the Old Testament. Translated by David E. Green.
15 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974–2006.
Grayson, A. Kirk, and Jamie Novotny. The Royal Inscriptions of Sennach-
erib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 1. RINAP 3/1. Winona Lake,
Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2012.
McCarter, P. Kyle, Jr. I Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes
and Commentary. AB 8. Garden City: Doubleday, 1980.
Olyan, Saul M. Biblical Mourning: Ritual and Social Dimensions. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2004.
———. “Some Neglected Aspects of Israelite Interment Ideology.” JBL 124
(2005): 601–16.
———. “Theorizing Circumstantially Dependent Rites in and out of War
Contexts.” Pages 69–76 in “The One Who Sows Bountifully”: Essays in
Honor of Stanley K. Stowers. Edited by Caroline Johnson Hodge, Saul
M. Olyan, Daniel Ullucci, and Emma Wasserman. BJS 356. Provi-
dence, R.I.: Brown Judaic Studies, 2013.
———. “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish and What Do They Signal in
Biblical Ritual Contexts?” JBL 117 (1998): 611–22.
Monumental Inscriptions and the
Ritual Representation of War*
Nathaniel B. Levtow
1. Introduction
The tapestry of war narratives spanning the Pentateuch and Deuteron-

omistic History invokes ritualized memorial traditions dating back to the
earliest extant monumental inscriptions and narrative iconography in the
ancient Near East. These Israelite narratives trace paths of victory through
waters and wilderness, over hills and mountaintops, with ritual conquest
motifs unfolding along the way as Yhwh and Israel vanquish other gods
and peoples and claim hegemony over newly acquired territory.1 The
winding Deuteronomistic narrative of warfare, divine kingship, and state
formation alludes to its own ritual memorialization, moreover, through
prescribed invocations and rites performed in central sanctuaries after
Israelite victories. This includes ceremonial invocations of the path Yhwh
cleared for Israel from Mesopotamia to Egypt to Canaan (Exod 19:3–6;
Deut 6:20–25; 26:5–10; Josh 24:2–13) as well as instructions for the Israel-
ites to install inscribed stelae beside a sacrificial altar upon their victorious
* I thank Brad E. Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright for their invita-
tion to contribute to this volume and for their editorial assistance. I thank also Saul
M. Olyan for providing helpful comments on this paper, the final draft of which was
completed with support from a National Endowment for the Humanities Summer
Stipend (2013). Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in
this publication do not necessarily reflect those of the National Endowment for the
Humanities.
1. On ritual conquest motifs, see Frank M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew
Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1973), 91–144.
-25-
entry into lands west of the Jordan river (Deut 27:1–8; 11: 29–32; Josh
8:30–35; 24:25–27).
The ritual installation of triumphal monuments along routes of con-
quest through the Levant is a widely attested practice most commonly
associated with Neo-Assyrian imperial expansion in the West. Innumer-
able Mesopotamian royal inscriptions include accounts of territorial con-
quests by named kings and their divine patrons. Such accounts were often
inscribed on monumental stelae publicly displayed in conquered lands
in a variety of settings ranging from central sanctuaries and city gates
to remote mountain passes. These inscriptions commonly follow annal-
istic battle narratives with equally formulaic descriptions of postbattle
social orders and then conclude with prohibitions against their violation
and prescriptions for their own ritual maintenance. The purpose of this
paper is to identify the ritual roles of such victory monuments within the
strategic environment of ancient Near Eastern warfare and to reexamine
comparable traditions in the Hebrew Bible.2 I will argue that ancient Near
2. By “victory monuments” I refer to publicly displayed ancient Near Eastern

royal monuments inscribed with accounts of the conquests of named kings. Such
triumphal stelae may also be classified as “memorial” or “commemorative” and are
included among the broader class of ancient Near Eastern royal monumental inscrip-
tions that strategically display the names and deeds of the rulers who commissioned
them. There is much fluidity across functional and descriptive categories of ancient
Near Eastern royal monuments and their classification is debated. So-called “votive”
(or “dedicatory”) inscriptions, “commemorative” (or “memorial”) inscriptions, and
“building” inscriptions can all designate royal monuments inscribed with the names
and pious and heroic deeds of rulers. Ancient monumental inscription practices blend
such categories and defy modern attempts at their rigid classification. See Sandra L.
Richter, The Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology: lešakkēn šemô šām in the
Bible and the Ancient Near East (BZAW 318; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 130–47, esp.
136 n. 32; idem, “The Place of the Name in Deuteronomy,” VT 57 (2007): 344 and n.
4; William W. Hallo, “The Royal Inscriptions of UR: A Typology,” HUCA 33 (1962):
1–43; Joel Drinkard, “The Literary Genre of the Meshaʿ Inscription,” in Studies in the
Mesha Inscription and Moab (ed. J. Andrew Dearman; SBLABS 2; Atlanta: Scholars
Press, 1989), 131–54; Alan R. Millard, “The Practice of Writing in Ancient Israel,” BA
35 (1972): 99; Govert van Driel, “On ‘Standard’ and ‘Triumphal’ Inscriptions,” in Sym-
bolae Biblicae et Mesopotamicae Francisco Mario Theodoro de Liagre Böhl Dedicatae
(ed. M. A. Beek; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 99–106. On biblical and ancient Near Eastern
conquest accounts, see K. Lawson Younger Jr., Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study
in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History Writing (JSOTSup 98; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 1990).
levtow: Monumental Inscriptions 27
Eastern victory monuments signified the ritualization of warfare on two

complementary levels: on one level, conquest and hegemony were orches-
trated into strategically patterned textual and iconographic representa-
tions on publically displayed stone monuments; on a second level, these
monumental representations of war were themselves ritually engaged in
strategic social settings.3 This doubly ritualized orchestration of war and
its aftermath—in which patterned victories and resultant social formations
were inscribed upon ritually deployed monuments—served to legitimize
and perpetuate the presence and power of victorious gods and kings in
their native and conquered lands. In these respects, the strategic installa-
tion and manipulation of victory monuments illuminates socially produc-
tive ritual dimensions to the prosecution and representation of war in the
Hebrew Bible and the ancient Near East.
2. The Ritual Environments of

Monumental Inscriptions in the Ancient Near East
The ritual contexts of ancient Near Eastern monumental inscriptions are

attested by three overlapping sets of evidence: (1) narrative accounts that
depict monumental inscriptions engaged in ritual roles and settings; (2)
ritual archaeological contexts in which monumental inscriptions have
been excavated; and (3) monumental inscriptions that specify their ritual
3. By “ritualization” I refer to the “production of ritual acts”—that is, the pro-

duction of special, strategic ways of acting that “structure and nuance an environ-
ment” (Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice [NewYork: Oxford University
Press, 1992], 140). Such acts are “strategic” in that they legitimate themselves and the
environments they structure. A ritual environment of this sort, writes Bell, is “con-
structed and reconstructed by the actions of social agents within it” and “provides an
experience of the objective reality of the embodied subjective schemes that have cre-
ated it” (ibid.). Royal victory monuments, I argue, can embody and create social reali-
ties in this way because they both represent and configure the social environments in
which they are installed. They depict hegemonic and hierarchical social orders, they
are installed in strategic places (e.g. royal sanctuary cellas and mountain passes), and
they require special interactions (e.g. public readings aloud, anointings with oil, and
sacrifices) with powerful social agents (e.g. priests, kings, and scribes). The “textual
medium” (a monumental inscription) thus achieves social agency through the “ritual
medium” (interactions with people) and this strategic interaction between agents
(human and artifactual) can durably affect the social world. See Catherine Bell, “Ritu-
alization of Texts and Textualization of Ritual in the Codification of Taoist Liturgy,”
HR 27 (1988): 390–92. On the agency of artifacts, see n. 43 below.
manipulation. This range of evidence reveals the ritual roles and con-
texts of monumental inscriptions in times of both war and peace. During
wartime, they were strategically installed and manipulated by victorious
peoples and strategically removed and violated by formerly vanquished
peoples. During peacetime, they remained installed in sanctuary settings
and retained active roles as textual and iconographic representations of
conquest and hegemony.
2.1. Narrative Accounts Depicting Monumental Inscriptions

in Ritual Roles and Settings
Royal monumental victory inscriptions played central roles in the pros-

ecution and representation of warfare throughout the ancient Near East
for millennia. These roles are depicted in Early Dynastic narrative inscrip-
tions including the Stele of the Vultures, which textually and iconographi-
cally represents a mid-third millennium b.c.e. border conflict between the
southern Mesopotamian states of Lagash and Umma.4 This stele’s inscrip-
tion, which stands at the very beginning of the public monumental nar-
rative tradition, describes how Eanatum of Lagash defeated the ruler of
Umma and installed inscribed boundary stones marking the disputed
border between these two states:
Eanatum, the man of just commands, measured off the boundary [from
Umma], left (some land) under the control of Umma and erected a mon-
ument on that spot.… [He] defeated Umma.… Eanatum destroyed the
foreign lands [for the god Ningirsu]; Eanatum restored to the god Nin-
girsu’s control [his] beloved [field], the Gu’eden.5
4. RIME 1, 125–40 (9.3.1); Jerrold S. Cooper, Reconstructing History from Ancient

Inscriptions: The Lagash-Umma Border Conflict (Sources from the Ancient Near East
2/1; Malibu: Undena, 1983), 45–48 (no. 2); idem, Sumerian and Akkadian Royal
Inscriptions, Volume 1: Presargonic Inscriptions (New Haven: American Oriental Soci-
ety, 1986), 33–39 (La 3.1); Irene J. Winter, “After the Battle Is Over: The Stele of the
Vultures and the Beginning of Historical Narrative in the Ancient Near East,” in On
Art in the Ancient Near East, Volume 2: From the Third Millennium b.c.e. (ed. Irene J.
Winter; CHANE 34.2; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 3–51. The conflict was over a tract of agri-
cultural and grazing lands (the Gu’eden) and associated water rights along the border
between Lagash and Umma (Winter, “After the Battle,” 30–31).
5. RIME 1, 131–32 (9.3.1: x.12–xii.4); Winter, “After the Battle,” 30–31.
Following its relatively succinct battle account, this stele’s extant inscrip-
tion is then structured around a series of six oaths in which the ruler of
Umma swears upon “the great battle nets” of six deities not to violate the
territory of Lagash or to remove or destroy the boundary stelae placed
in the disputed borderlands (the “Gu’eden”). A contemporary inscrip-
tion associated with Eanatum’s nephew Enmetana recounts how the ruler
of Umma violated these oaths, marched upon Lagash, and removed and
destroyed the inscribed boundary stones:
The god Enlil, king of the lands, father of the gods, by his firm command
demarcated the border for the gods Ningirsu and Shara. Mesilim, king of
Kish, at the command of the god Ishtaran surveyed the field and erected
stelae there. (But) Ush, ruler of Umma, acted arrogantly—he ripped out
(or smashed) those stelae and marched on the steppe of Lagash. The
god Ningirsu, warrior of Enlil, at Enlil’s just command, did battle with
Umma. At Enlil’s command, he cast the great battle net upon it.6
These earliest narratives of war represent the installation and violation of

stone boundary monuments as pivotal engagements with physical repre-
sentations of the divine will and human social contracts inscribed upon
them.7 Their removal and destruction is represented not as collateral
damage of cross-border military campaigns but as a ritual violation and
focus of the conflict itself, its cause and consequence. As Irene Winter
notes, the longest sequence inscribed on the Stele of the Vultures is occu-
pied not with the battle itself but with the formulaic series of oaths and
rituals in which the leader of Umma swears not to violate boundary stelae
installed after the battle.8 These oaths negotiate territorial hegemony by
orchestrating human interactions with stone monuments.9 Moreover,
6. RIME 1, 195 (9.5.1: i.1–29); Cooper, Reconstructing History, 49–50 (no. 6);
Christopher Woods, “Mutilation of Image and Text in Early Sumerian Sources,” in
Iconoclasm and Text Destruction in the Ancient Near East and Beyond (ed. Natalie N.
May; Oriental Institute Seminars 8; Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University
of Chicago, 2012), 34. Woods (ibid.) writes that “the stelae were tangible embodiments
of the agreement that was arbitrated by a third party, Mesilim, King of Kish.”
7. Ibid., 34.
8. Winter, “After the Battle,” 21.
9. Zainab Bahrani writes in this respect of “conceptions of violence and power
that were inseparable from conceptions of the body and its control; and the processes
and rituals of war that these formulations of the body and power made possible” (Ritu-
als of War: The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia [New York : Zone Books, 2008], 15).
not only does the Stele of the Vultures orient its inscription around stra-
tegic human engagements with boundary stelae, but this Sumerian mon-
ument was itself ritually engaged in strategic social settings. It was most
likely installed in the temple of Ningirsu at Girsu, and this ritual place-
ment of the monument would have provided a strategic environment in
which to engage its agency as a physical representation of Lagash’s hege-
mony over disputed borderlands with Umma.10 The social agency of the
Stele of the Vultures is, furthermore, textually invoked toward the end of
its extant inscription:
“The stele, its name is not a man’s name; it is: ‘the god Ningirsu, Lord,
Crown of Lumma, is the life of the Pirig-eden canal.’ The stele of the
Gu’eden—beloved field of Ningirsu (which) Eanatum for Ningirsu
returned to his (the god’s) hand—he (Eanatum) erected it.”11
Evidence for the ritual agency of royal monumental victory inscriptions

thus dates back to the Early Dynastic period in which Sumerian statuary
For modern rationalists, the ritualized instrumentalization of warfare in the ancient

Near East finds a distant echo in von Clausewitz’s description of war as “violence
that arms itself with the inventions of art and science” (Carl von Clausewitz, On War
[trans. J. J. Graham; Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968], 101) (cited in Bahrani, Rituals
of War, 9).
10. Winter, “After the Battle,” 27. The Stele of the Vultures refers to the disputed
Gu’eden as “the beloved field of the god Ningirsu,” which may indicate its designa-
tion as land holdings belonging to the temple of Ningirsu at Girsu, a satellite city of
Lagash (ibid., 29–30). See RIME 1: 132 (9.3.1: xii 21–xiii 2): “Eanatum erected (this)
[monument] in the lofty temple.” On the deposition of boundary stones (kudurrus) in
sanctuaries, see Kathryn E. Slanski, The Babylonian Entitlement narûs (kudurrus): A
Study in Their Form and Function (ASOR Books 9; Boston: ASOR, 2003), 61.
11. Winter, “After the Battle,” 27; RIME 1, 140 (9.3.1: rev. x. 23–xi.32). Winter
emphasizes that the Stele of the Vultures is dedicated to, named after, and erected
for the god Ningirsu, that the majority of its fragments were found near a temple to
Ningirsu in a sacred precinct of the city Girsu, and that its obverse is “carved with a
monumental figure of Ningirsu as the icon of victory over Umma” (“After the Battle,”
27–28). The figure may possibly depict Eanatum; Winter notes “the distribution of five
of the six excavated fragments on or around Tell ‘K’ at Girsu, a low mound within the
city on which the main temple to Ningirsu was situated” (ibid.; see also RIME 1, 126).
This suggests for Winter that the stele originally stood “as both testimony and votive in
the god’s sanctuary,” and that the stele “was not merely intended as a commemorative
monument; it was rather meant to be a living testimonial witness to the historicity of
the events and the legitimacy of the legal terms … it recorded” (“After the Battle,” 28).
and stelae were assigned divine determinatives, given names, inscribed in

the first person (as if they spoke), and received sacrifices.12 The agency
of monumental Sumerian inscriptions is likewise invoked in Gudean and
Old Akkadian royal statuary inscriptions including that of a Sargonic ruler
(perhaps Naram-Sin) who claims that he “fashioned an image of himself,
a golden eternal statue (depicting) his might and the battles in which he
had been victorious.”13 As Joan Goodnick Westenholz notes, “these public
monuments contained both historical narratives of military conquests and
iconic depictions of royal might.”14 Moreover, the agency of such monu-
mental Sumerian representations of conquest was engaged not only by the
social groups responsible for their original production and installation but
also by Elamite rulers who abducted and usurped them approximately
one thousand years later.15 The ritual foundations of these monumental
victory inscription traditions were thus laid in the mid-third millennium
b.c.e. and continued to develop over the following millennia in the ancient
Near East.
12. Woods writes that “the inviolability of monuments of this type is demon-
strated by the fact that they were often deified—the Sumerian term, na-ru2-a, capable
of taking the divine determinative—with the monuments themselves being revered,
receiving offerings, possessing temples and temple personnel” (“Mutilation of Image
and Text,” 34).
13. Joan G. Westenholz, “Damnatio Memoriae: Destruction of Name and
Destruction of Person in Third-Millennium Mesopotamia,” in May, Iconoclasm and
Text Destruction, 95–96, citing RIME 2, 160 (1.4.1001: 4–12).
14. Ibid., 95; see also Winter, “After the Battle,” 27–28. Westenholz (“Damna-
tio Memoriae,” 96) cites Irene Winter’s salient observations concerning the ritual
dynamics of UR III royal statuary, including the strategic “introduction of the ruler
into, and the appropriation of, ritual space hitherto belonging to the god” (Irene J.
Winter, “‘Idols of the King’: Royal Images as Recipients of Ritual Action in Ancient
Mesopotamia," JRitSt 6 [1992]: 34). “What may be particular to the Mesopotamian
situation is the power vested in the image of the ruler, the alam-lugal, as it takes its
place in … ritual contexts,” Winter writes. “Identified by likeness, inscription, and
name as the ruler … ritually consecrated to be the ruler, the image plays upon repre-
sentation and manifestation … The nature of the ritually empowered royal image is
such that it brings signifier (the statue) and signified (the ruler) together” [emphasis
original] (ibid.).
15. On the Elamite abduction of Mesopotamian monuments to Susa, see
Nathaniel B. Levtow, “Text Destruction and Iconoclasm in the Hebrew Bible and the
Ancient Near East,” in May, Iconoclasm and Text Destruction, 320 n. 32, with refer-
ences noted there.
2.2. Archaeological Evidence for the Ritual Environments of

Monumental Victory Inscriptions
Narrative accounts inscribed on the earliest Mesopotamian victory stelae

indicate how warfare stimulated the production of and strategic interac-
tion with stone monuments that textually, iconographically, and ritually
represented divine and human identities and relationships. The agency
such objects exercised in war contexts was similarly exercised in times
of peace in so far as these monuments remained installed and engaged
in strategic locations. As noted above, the Stele of the Vultures was most
likely installed in the temple of Ningirsu in the sacred quarter of Girsu,
and stone boundary monuments of the sort depicted in its inscription
continued to be installed in second and first millennium b.c.e. Babylonian
sanctuaries.16 Second and first millennium b.c.e. Assyrian monumental
victory inscriptions were likewise set up in ritual environments, including
the stele of Adad-nirari III (ca. 810–783 b.c.e.) set up beside a sanctuary
altar at Tell al Rimah and the Great Monolith of Ashurnasirpal II (883–
859 b.c.e.) that stood by the entrance to Ninurta’s temple at Nimrud.17
Although comparatively fewer in number, extant Northwest Semitic royal
monumental inscriptions were likewise installed and engaged in ritual set-
tings in city gates and sanctuaries.18
Much textual and archaeological evidence thus reveals how ancient
Near Eastern social groups engaged victory monuments in sanctuary set-
tings as ritual embodiments of royal and divine hegemony and how these
objects were therefore strategically targeted in wartime. Numerous South-
ern Mesopotamian monuments were usurped and abducted to Susa by the
Elamite king Shutruk-Nahhunte (ca. 1185–1155 b.c.e.), as noted above,
whereas the stele of Adad-Nirari III was strategically erased but left stand-
ing beside the altar in its sanctuary at Tell al Rimah.19 The ritual installa-
16. See n. 10 above.

17. Tell al Rimah: RIMA 3, 209–12 (A.0.104.7); Great Monolith: RIMA 2, 237–54
(A.0.101.17).
18. For examples, see Levtow, “Text Destruction and Iconoclasm,” 318–19 n.
29. See also the discussion of the Tel Dan inscription below and cf. Seymour Gitin,
Trude Dothan, and Joseph Naveh, “A Royal Dedicatory Inscription from Ekron,” IEJ
47 (1997): 1–16.
19. On Susa artifacts, see n. 15 above; on the Tell al Rimah stele, see Stephanie
Page, “A Stela of Adad-nirari III and Nergal-ereš from Tell al Rimah,” Iraq 30/2 (1968):
139–53.
tion and manipulation of such monuments made manifest their seman-

tic content in the social world; their abduction, violation, alteration, and
destruction signified the annihilation or reconfiguration of that content
and the social identities and formations it represented.
2.3 Victory Monuments that Specify Their Ritual Manipulation
The social agency of ancient Near Eastern victory monuments is further

attested by self-referential ritual prescriptions and prohibitions inscribed
upon them. Mesopotamian and Levantine monumental inscriptions fre-
quently conclude their accounts of military and political domination with
curses that specify how they are not to be displaced from their original
setting or physically violated in any way, and these same inscriptions often
mandate the performance of attendant sacrificial and anointing rites.20 A
victory monument of Tiglath-pileser III (744–727 b.c.e.) first celebrates
how this Neo-Assyrian king “personally conquered all of the lands from
sunrise to sunset,” then delineates the resultant Assyrian hegemonic order,
and finally narrates its own installation and ritual maintenance:
I had a stele made in the vicinity of the mountains. I depicted on it (sym-

bols of) the great gods, my lords, (and) I fashioned my royal image on it.
I inscribed on it the mighty deeds of (the god) Ashur, my lord, and [my]
personal achievements (that) I accomplished again and again through-
out (all of) the lands … May a future ruler read aloud (this inscription),
wash it with water, anoint (it) with oil, (and) make an offering. 21
The ritual installation and maintenance of such Assyrian victory monu-

ments is narratively depicted in the following inscription of Tiglath-pile-
ser I (1114–1076 b.c.e.):
20. See Richter, Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology, 134–35.
21. Hayim Tadmor and Shigeo Yamada, The Royal Inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser
III (744–727 BC) and Shalmaneser V (726–722 BC), Kings of Assyria (Winona Lake:
Eisenbrauns, 2011), 86–87 (no. 35: ii 18–24, iii 31–36, iii 6'–10'). On reading aloud,
see Seth L. Sanders, The Invention of Hebrew (Traditions; Urbana: University of Illinois
Press, 2009), 147, 224 n. 18. For similar accounts of the installation of Assyrian victory
stelae cf. RIMA 3, 209 (A.0.104.6: 21–22) (Adad-nirari III); and the Dadusha Stele
(Bahija Khalil Ismaïl and Antoine Cavigneaux, “Dādušas Siegesstele IM 95200 aus
Ešnunna: Die Inschrift,” BaM 34 [2003]: 149–51 [xii–xv]).
I wrote on my monumental and clay inscriptions my heroic victories, my

successful battles, (and) the suppression of the enemies (and) foes of the
god Ashur which the gods Anu and Adad granted me. I deposited (them)
in the temple of Anu and Adad, the great gods, my lords, forever. In addi-
tion, (concerning) the monumental inscriptions of Shamshi-Adad (III)
my forefather I anointed (them) with oil, made sacrifices, (and) returned
them to their places.22
3. Ritualized Victory Monuments, Treaty Tablets,

and Weaponry in Ancient Israel
Evidence for the installation and manipulation of ancient Near Eastern

triumphal monuments, such as the narrative and ritual inscriptions and
archaeological contexts discussed above, has parallels in Israelite liter-
ary and archaeological contexts as well. Sandra Richter has documented
significant continuities between Hebrew idioms associated with Deuter-
onomistic “name theology” traditions and Akkadian idioms associated
with name-emplacement practices in Mesopotamian royal monumental
inscription traditions.23 Richter identifies the Deuteronomistic phrases
šakkēn šēm and śîm šēm as adaptations of the Akkadian šuma šakānu,
which signifies the practice of rulers engraving their personal names upon
votive and triumphal monuments to claim ownership of the monuments
and the sites in which they are installed and hegemony over the peoples
and territories identified in their inscribed content. Richter argues on this
basis that Deuteronomistic references to Yhwh “placing his name” are to
be “associated in some manner with an inscribed monument or newly
claimed territory or both.”24 In particular, Richter links these Deuteron-
omistic name-emplacement idioms to the installation of inscribed stelae
beside an altar at the early Israelite central sanctuary on Mount Ebal (Deut
27:1–8; 11: 29–32; Josh 8:30–35).
Richter marshals convincing evidence in support of this argument
for Deuteronomistic employment of Mesopotamian royal monumental
inscription name-emplacement traditions, and I wish to build upon Rich-
22. RIMA 2, 30 (A.O.87.1: viii 39–49). This text then concludes with instructions
for future princes to ritually refurbish the inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser I (viii 50–62)
and with curses against those who violate them (viii 63–88).
23. Richter, Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology; idem, “Place of
the Name.”
24. Richter, “Place of the Name,” 344.
ter’s thesis by focusing on the ritual environments in which such monu-

ments were engaged.25 As Richter notes, these Deuteronomistic traditions
do not only represent clear extensions of Mesopotamian traditions in
which rulers’ names are “placed” (that is, inscribed) upon public monu-
ments; they also extend another aspect of those same Mesopotamian tra-
ditions in which such monumental inscriptions are themselves “placed”
in ritual environments.26 This doubly ritualized emplacement of monu-
mental inscriptions indicates not only how rulers claimed ownership of
votive objects, buildings, cities, and territories and hegemony over subject
peoples; it also indicates how such monuments came to ritually embody
royal and divine presence and power. For just as ancient Near Eastern
25. Richter rejects the so-called “name theology” interpretive tradition in modern
scholarship that identifies biblical idioms such as lĕšakkēn šĕmô šām as evidence of
a Deuteronomistic theological innovation toward a more transcendent conception
of divine presence. According to Richter, this modern interpretive tradition incor-
rectly posits a D “demythologization” program in which anthropomorphic depictions
of Yhwh preserved in early Pentateuchal sources (J/E) are replaced by more abstract
depictions of Yhwh “causing his name to dwell” in the temple as a “hypostasis.” See
Richter, Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology, 7–39, where she argues that
this interpretation is based on an outmoded theory of “nominal realism,” which she
defines as “the supposed perception on the part of the ancient Semite that the name of
an item or person, as a symbol of the thing or person named, was in fact real, having
consubstantial existence with the name bearer” (ibid., 15). Richter rightly resists such
evolutionary models of the development of Israelite religion and convincingly iden-
tifies such biblical name-emplacement idioms as borrowings from Mesopotamian
monumental inscription traditions in which personal names are inscribed upon royal
monuments to establish ownership of and claim hegemony over objects, buildings,
lands, and peoples. My focus here falls not on conceptions of royal and divine pres-
ence but on interactions with their ritual representations. In this respect, my argument
diverges somewhat from Richter’s in that I claim the ritual installation and manipula-
tion of monumental inscriptions establishes not only ownership and hegemony but
also a strategic space for human interactions with their referent kings, gods, and social
orders. I here concur with Woods, who notes with respect to Sumerian monuments
discussed above that “abstract notions of the divine were equated, in a very real sense,
with their concrete man-made embodiments” (“Mutilation of Image and Text,” 36),
and with Winter, “Idols of the King,” 34 (on which see n. 14 above). On recent cri-
tiques of Richter’s argument, see Michael Hundley, “To Be or Not to Be: A Reexami-
nation of Name Language in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History,” VT 59
(2009): 533–55; see also Victor A. Hurrowitz, review of Sandra L. Richter, Deuteron-
omistic History and the Name Theology, JHS 5 (2004–2005): 595–96.
26. Richter, “Place of the Name,” 358–61.
iconodules ritually interacted with cult statues and aniconic stelae as

embodiments of their divine referents, so too could the ritual installation
and manipulation of monumental inscriptions serve to ritually embody
their textual and iconographic referents and content.27 Mesopotamian and
Levantine monumental inscriptions were often engraved with corollary
iconography and commonly occupied cultic positions identical to those
of cult statues. In Northwest Semitic cultural spheres, such engraved and
inscribed monumental stelae could effectively serve the same role as ani-
conic “standing stones” (maṣṣēbōt) as recipients of ritual action.28
Richter notes how the opening pericope of the Deuteronomic code
recalls the widespread practice of violating ancient Near Eastern monu-
mental inscriptions and cultic iconography through their displacement
and destruction and through the effacement and usurpation of personal
names inscribed upon them (Deut 12:1–5).29 Evidence for such practices
has been identified in Israelite archaeological contexts at Tel Dan, where
fragments of a ninth century b.c.e. Aramean victory stele were excavated
from eighth century b.c.e. ritualized city gate precincts.30 Excavators of the
fragments argue that this monument to Aramean hegemony was symboli-
cally smashed by Israelites because it served as a “reminder of the former
weakness of their kingdom.”31 In light of the ritualized monumental
inscription traditions discussed above and of the ritual environment of the
city gate area in which the Tel Dan inscription was found, this monumen-
tal representation of war would have served not simply as a “reminder” but
as an interactive physical manifestation of Aramean conquests in—and
27. On ritual iconic embodiment, see Nathaniel B. Levtow, Images of Others:

Iconic Politics in Ancient Israel (Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of Cali-
fornia, San Diego 11; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2008).
28. See Richter, “Place of the Name,” 347, 360–61.
29. Ibid., 345–6; Richter, Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology, 209–10.
See also Jacob L. Wright, “Remember Nehemiah: 1 Esdras and the Damnatio Memo-
riae Nehemiae,” in Was 1 Esdras First? An Investigation into the Priority and Nature of
1 Esdras (ed. Lisbeth S. Fried; SBLAIL 7; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011),
145–63; and Levtow, “Text Destruction and Iconoclasm,” 334–5, which lacks discus-
sion of these studies.
30. On the archaeological context of the Tel Dan inscription, see Avraham Biran
and Joseph Naveh, “An Aramaic Stele Fragment from Tel Dan,” IEJ 43 (1993): 81–98;
idem, “The Tel Dan Inscription: A New Fragment,” IEJ 45 (1995): 1–18.
31. Biran and Naveh, “The Tel Dan Inscription,” 9. Rachel Ben-Dov, personal
communication.
hegemony over—disputed borderlands with Israel. The content and “biog-

raphy” of the Tel Dan inscription in these respects recalls the hegemonic
claims over disputed borderlands between Lagash and Umma and the
subsequent violation of boundary stones depicted in the Early Dynastic
monumental inscriptions of Eanatum and Enmetana.
Although I have focused on royal monumental victory inscriptions as
a special class of ritualized artifacts, a range of other manufactured objects
occupied similar ritual roles in ancient Near Eastern war contexts. The
Ebal traditions discussed by Richter represent covenant rituals in which
treaty tablets were installed beside altars in sanctuaries following mili-
tary victories. Such treaty tablets resemble victory monuments in both
their inscribed content and their ritual emplacement. Treaty tablets were
often inscribed with patterned recollections (or anticipations) of warfare
together with formulaically inscribed specifications of the vassal status
of imperial subjects and the status of allies. When installed and engaged
in sanctuary settings, their patterned representations of past battles and
resultant social orders formalized and legitimized a suzerain’s hegemonic
claims and associated treaty stipulations. This is exhibited not only by
Deuteronomistic traditions associated with the Ebal sanctuary but also by
Neo-Assyrian treaty inscriptions such as the Succession Treaties of Esar-
haddon (excavated in sanctuary settings at both Nimrud and Tell Tayinat),
and by the Aramaic treaty stelae of Sefire.32 Elements of such ritualized
treaty installations are evident also in Israelite ark traditions that place
legislative tablets in the cella of the Jerusalem sanctuary (1 Kgs 8:6–9).
As Victor Hurowitz observed, these “tablets of testimony” are inscribed
in the first person as if the suzerain were “speaking out of the rock” (“I
am Yhwh”), similar to the Mesopotamian monumental inscriptions noted
above and to a number of Northwest Semitic royal triumphal stelae as
well (“I am Mesha,” “I am Zakur,” “I am Azatiwada,” “I am Kilamuwa”).33
32. On Tell Tayinat, see Bernard M. Levinson, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty

as the Source for the Canon Formula in Deuteronomy 13:1,” JAOS 130 (2010): 340; on
Nimrud, see JoAnn Scurlock, “Getting Smashed at the Victory Celebration, or What
Happened to Esarhaddon’s so-called Vassal Treaties and Why,” in May, Iconoclasm
and Text Destruction, 175–86; on Sefire (KAI 222), see Levtow, “Text Destruction and
Iconoclasm,” 318–19 n. 29.
33. Yhwh “speaking out of the rock”: Victor A. Hurowitz, “What Can Go Wrong
with an Idol?” in May, Iconoclasm and Text Destruction, 299. Mesha: KAI 181; Zakur:
KAI 202; Azatiwada: KAI 26; Kilamuwa: KAI 24. For a hyperbolic Neo-Assyrian
example of this phenomenon, see the Great Monolith, which supplements its lengthy
Emplaced within the ark, these Israelite tablets became ritually engaged
focal sites of the divine suzerain’s presence and legislation. The ark-throne
complex itself represents an iconic focus of Yhwh’s interactive agency at
centralized Israelite temple cults in Shilo (1 Sam 3) and Jerusalem (2 Kgs
19:14–16). It likewise features prominently as a heroic protagonist in Isra-
elite war narratives (1 Sam 4:1–7:2; compare Josh 6) and is “called by the
name of Yhwh of hosts enthroned upon the cherubim” (2 Sam 6:2) simi-
lar to the way personal names and divine determinatives are assigned to
Mesopotamian royal monuments.34
The sacred emplacement and strategic engagement of ancient Near
Eastern political artifacts—including triumphal stelae, treaty tablets and
law codes—is thus attested across East and West Semitic cultural spheres.
Much like cult images, these manufactured objects served as focal recipi-
ents of cult in ways that made manifest in the social world the identities
and relationships inscribed and engraved upon them. Publicly displayed
monumental artifacts of this sort represented and legitimized conquest
and hegemony through their traditionally patterned inscriptions and ico-
nography and through prescribed human interactions with their material-
ity and agency.
The ritual agency of inanimate representations of warfare and political
domination was not limited to victory monuments, law codes, and treaties.
As Seth Sanders notes, the weapons made for Baal by Kothar-wa-Hasis
are activated through imperative incantations such that they, not Baal,
become agents of divine conquest in Ugaritic conflict myth.35 Archaeo-
logical comparanda for such literary motifs of weaponized agency might
include inscribed arrowheads and axeheads that identify the names of war-
and vivid conquest narrative with the following claims in the voice of Ashurnasirpal
II: “I am king, I am lord, I am praiseworthy, I am exalted, I am important, I am mag-
nificent, I am foremost, I am a hero, I am a warrior, I am a lion, and I am virile” (RIMA
2, 239–40 [A.0.101.17: 33–36]).
34. On textual variants of 2 Sam 6:2, see however P. Kyle McCarter Jr., I Samuel
(AB 8a; Garden City: Doubleday, 1980), 163. Note also 1 Kgs 7:2, where sanctuary
pillars are assigned personal names (Boaz and Yachin), on which see Carol L. Meyers,
“Jachin and Boaz in Religious and Political Perspective,” CBQ 45/2 (1983): 167–78. Cf.
Gen 28:18–22, where a stone is anointed with oil and the site in which it is installed is
assigned a name, and Gen 33:20, where an altar is assigned a divine name.
35. Sanders writes of how Kothar-wa-Hasis “creates two magic weapons that are
also incantations,” such that “the sentences themselves … smash into Baal’s opponent”
(Invention of Hebrew, 51).
riors with the materiality of their weaponry, as if the two act as one body.
Such artifacts claim more than ownership in that they represent named
warriors who pierce enemy bodies and can literally “kill with words.”36 A
corollary to such agency ascribed to personally named weaponry may be
found in the sword of Goliath which, as Mark S. Smith notes, was placed
behind an ephod in the sanctuary of Nob (concerning this weapon David
claims “there is none like it” [1 Sam 21:9]); although Goliath’s armor was
taken to David’s tent rather than to the Nob sanctuary (1 Sam 17:54), the
installation of armor in sanctuary settings is likewise attested when Saul’s
armor is placed in the Philistine temple of Astarte (1 Sam 31:10).37 Evi-
dence for ritualized instruments of war extends back to Early Dynastic
inscriptions such as the Stele of the Vultures, in which the ruler of Umma
swears upon “battle nets” of major deities to respect the boundary stones
installed by Eanatum in Ningirsu’s “beloved field.” A ritualized fluidity
between animate and inanimate instruments of war is further attested in
Assyrian royal inscriptions that refer to living kings as artifactual weap-
ons, as when Ashurnasirpal II indentifies himself in the first person on
the Great Monolith as a “merciless weapon.”38 The social agency ascribed
to politically strategic artifacts in war contexts is likewise evident in their
ritual burial, which further signifies how inanimate objects were ritually
imbued with social agency—in various states of activation or dormancy—
in ways that directly affected human beings before, during, and after the
wars waged around them.39
4. Conclusion: Ritual Warfare

and the Agency of Its Representation
The prosecution of war in the ancient Near East may be described as the
orchestration of strategic violence in ritualized social environments. War-
36. See ibid., 106–7.

37. Mark S. Smith, “Warrior Culture in Early Israel,” paper presented at the
Albright Institute of Archaeological Research, Jerusalem, February 24, 2011. See also
Smith’s essay in the present volume.
38. RIMA 2: 239–40 (A.0.101.17: 38–9).
39. On the ritual burial of artifacts in sites unassociated with human burials, see
Nathaniel B. Levtow, “Artifact Burial in the Ancient Near East,” in The One Who Sows
Bountifully: Essays in Honor of Stanley K. Stowers (ed. Caroline J. Hodge et al.; BJS 356;
Providence, R.I.: Brown Judaic Studies, 2013), 141–51.
fare was in this respect not dissimilar to sacrificial temple cult, as a special
theater of operations in which prescribed patterns of practice were per-
formed by controlled social hierarchies and understood to determine the
form and fate of societies. As in sacrificial temple cult, ritual roles were
assigned across multiple arenas of ancient Near Eastern warfare. Humans
naturally engaged the gods most closely in spheres of activity where suc-
cessful conduct—the effective performance of alimentary sacrifice or the
successful prosecution of war—meant life or death for individuals and
social groups.
Biblical authors routinely foreground causal links between sacrificial
cult and warfare. Successful conduct in war depended on successful con-
duct in cult. This is attested by the successful sacrifice of Mesha’s firstborn
son (2 Kgs 3:27), by the disastrous sacrificial errors committed by the Elide
priesthood at Shiloh (1 Sam 2:12–17), and by Saul’s unlawful sacrifice at
Gilgal (1 Sam 13:9–14). On the largest of biblical scales, these inseparable
correlations between ritual and warfare are evident in the catastrophic
political consequences of the cultic errors committed by the people and
kings of Israel and Judah (2 Kgs 17 and 24, respectively).40 These interwo-
ven dynamics of warfare and ritual are embedded in Israelite battle nar-
ratives. The Jericho conquest narrative is in this respect so formulaically
structured that it appears to be modeled more closely upon ritually pre-
scriptive texts delineating priestly conduct for burnt offerings than upon
traditional military historiography (Josh 6). The ritually patterned textu-
alization of warfare evident in such biblical narratives recalls the formulaic
40. I have focused on foreign conflicts and imperial contexts, yet it should be
noted that the ritualization of warfare and the animation of its instruments obtained
in civil war contexts as well. In this respect, ancient Israel’s paradigmatic moment of
internal conflict is projected onto a ritually symbolic setting in which Moses forces his
own people to drink the watered ashes of the molten calf they formed (Exod 32:20).
This ritual ordeal subversively achieves a unification of divine and human subjects
and objects within an iconic cultic framework, inverting divine embodiment by ritu-
ally incorporating “the enemy within” (I thank Mark S. Smith for this insight into the
golden calf episode as a ritual incorporation of civil war). The ritual representation
of civil covenantal violations may find an archaeologically attested corollary in the
ceremonial destruction of Esarhaddon’s succession treaties at Nimrud. These treaties
represent the disloyalty of vassals as a form of civil disobedience, albeit within an
imperial framework of Assyrian domination. Their destruction during the conquest
of Kalhu ritually inverted that hegemonic social order within the heart of the Assyrian
palace-temple complex. See n. 32 above.
war annals inscribed on Mesopotamian royal monuments, just as Deuter-

onomistic name-emplacement formulas recall (following Richter) those
same ritualized Mesopotamian monumental traditions.41
The operative principle of ancient Near Eastern temple cult was the
proper maintenance of divine presence in local sites, made manifest
through the construction of sanctuaries and the installation and manipu-
lation of divine images and related cultic accoutrements. Through their
production and ritual deployment, these crafted products became objects
and subjects of rites. These material foci of cult were textually, iconograph-
ically, and ritually imbued with the divine and royal identities they repre-
sented and the social groups structured around their cults. Hierarchies
of status and power were likewise structured through patterned military
practices oriented around the local presence and power of gods and kings.
Ancient Near Eastern warfare thus involved the production, deployment,
violation, and destruction of inanimate objects ritually imbued with the
presence and power of divine patrons and their earthly regents. In the-
aters of war, acts of strategic violence engaged not only human bodies but
also—and more importantly for the ancients—a range of such manufac-
tured objects that represented conquest and hegemony and that occupied
central roles in cultic settings. These ritualized representations of theo-
political power attracted military engagement and became primary targets
in attacks upon temples, palaces, and cities. Ancient Near Eastern icono-
graphic and textual battle narratives often focus more on the function and
fate of such artifacts than on the humans who fought amidst them.42
Warfare may thus be described as a sphere of ritual activity through
which ancient Near Eastern cultures imbued inanimate objects with
agency and engaged those objects in strategic social settings. In support
of this argument I have highlighted the ritually productive dynamics of
warfare in the creation of a class of artifacts—victory monuments—that
were understood to have, as Irene Winter notes, “the same agency as
41. On Assyrian war annals, see Richter, Deuteronomistic History and the Name
Theology, 133–34. On the narrative dynamics of Assyrian palace reliefs, see Irene J.
Winter, “Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyr-
ian Reliefs,” in On Art in the Ancient Near East, Volume 1: Of the First Millennium
b.c.e. (ed. Irene J. Winter; CHANE 34.1; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 3–70. On the interplay
between ritualization and textualization, see Bell, Ritual Theory, 118–42; idem, “Ritu-
alization of Texts,” 366–92.
42. See, for example, the Stele of the Vultures and the Ark Narrative (1 Sam 4:1–7:2).
living beings.”43 I have also noted how these ritual dynamics extended
beyond the cultic contexts of triumphal monuments to other ritualized
artifacts of war such as treaty tablets, weapons, and armor. These objects
were treated like human beings and gods because they exercised agency
in the strategic settings in which they were deployed. In their ritualized
social locations, through patterned human engagements, they exercised
force upon people as affective embodiments of gods, kings, and social
relationships. As such they were uniquely qualified to win central roles
in theaters of war, where the performance of strategic, controlled vio-
lence targeted vulnerable enemy formations. Warfare and its representa-
tion were in this respect embedded in the ritualized social fabric of the
ancient Near East. The practice of warfare tore and rewove that fabric but
remained of a piece with it. Engagements with ritualized objects thereby
became focal theaters of battle in ancient Near Eastern representations
of warfare, while clashes between warriors were often relegated to the
background as less adeptly configured instruments for the orchestration
of controlled violence.
Victory stelae stood as socially productive sites for the convergence of
cult and conflict in the ancient Near East. They still stand as testimonies
to the degree to which ancient warfare was ritualized in both its prosecu-
tion and its monumental representation. Their patterned blends of past
conquests and present social orders were mutually reinforced through
their self-prescribed maintenance rites for the future. These multiply ritu-
alized representations of war choreographed conquest and hegemony in
strategically embedded and socially durable ways that directly influenced
the development of the biblical text. Deuteronomistic conquest narratives
likewise promote ritually orchestrated representations of war, the canon-
ization of which solidified their strategic emplacement as firmly as stone
monuments set up in sanctuaries. By recalling and prescribing its own
ceremonial invocation and installation, biblical historiography perpetu-
ally embedded itself in new social environments.44 True victory thus came
43. Winter describes “agency” as “the affective or instrumental force exerted by

a source of energy or action upon a recipient,” which could be “exercised not only
by individuals, but also by social institutions and material objects” (“Agency Marked,
Agency Ascribed: The Affective Object in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Winter, On Art
in the Ancient Near East, 2:308). On cognitive theories of agency, see Levtow, “Artifact
Burial,” n. 18.
44. The biblical text thereby invokes its own agency through the ritualized con-
long after the battles, when their scriptural representation transformed

fleeting conquests into an enduring monument to an idealized social order
for future generations.
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Part 2
Rituals and Symbols of
Escalation, Preparation, and Aggression
Joshua’s Encounter with the Commander of
Yhwh’s Army (Josh 5:13–15):
Literary Construction or Reflection
of a Royal Ritual?
Thomas Römer
1. Introduction:
The Book of Joshua and Assyrian Warfare Propaganda
It has often been observed that Assyrians were masters in warfare and also
in warfare propaganda, using texts and images to their advantage. Within
the biblical text of 2 Kgs 18–20, which combines different accounts of the
aborted siege of Jerusalem in 701 b.c.e., a passage recalls how high officers
of the Assyrian army were sent by the king to Jerusalem. In front of the
wall of the city one of these officers utters a speech (in the Judean lan-
guage!), inviting the inhabitants of the city to surrender and to accept the
Assyrian king as their friend:
Then the Rabshakeh stood and called out in a loud voice in the language
of Judah, “Hear the word of the great king, the king of Assyria! … Do not
let Hezekiah make you rely on Yhwh by saying, Yhwh will surely deliver
us, and this city will not be given into the hand of the king of Assyria. …
Make your peace with me and come out to me; then every one of you will
eat from your own vine and your own fig tree, and drink water from your
own cistern.… Has any of the gods of the nations ever delivered its land
out of the hand of the king of Assyria? … Who among all the gods of
the countries have delivered their countries out of my hand, that Yhwh
should deliver Jerusalem out of my hand?” (2 Kgs 18:28–35)
This scene is probably not just an invention of the author of the biblical
narrative. It is likely based on a concrete ritual of propaganda that would
-49-
take place during the siege of a city. A relief from the palace of Sargon II1
illustrates the attack on the city of Pazashi, otherwise unknown. It can be
identified with the city of Panzish, since the inscription locates it in the
land of Manna in front of the pass leading to the land of Zikirtu2. A bat-
tering ram, which approaches the city, figures in the representation of the
siege of the city. In the turret one can distinguish a man apparently holding
an open scroll from which he is reading. This may indeed be a propaganda
text written in the language of the besieged city inviting the population to
surrender. This psychological warfare, which is still used somewhat differ-
ently in modern wars (for example, distribution of pamphlets encouraging
desertion in the Persian Gulf War), is part of a broader Assyrian agenda
of “rituals” that aim at demonstrating the superiority of the Assyrian king,
his gods and his army.
This demonstration can also be made by oracles given to the king
before the campaign, by royal inscriptions or by letters to the gods. In the
Hebrew Bible, the book of Joshua resembles this kind of warfare propa-
ganda and may also be warfare rituals. As shown especially by K. Lawson
Younger and John Van Seters,3 the book of Joshua contains an important
number of parallels to Neo-Assyrian and other warfare accounts and ide-
ology. In Josh 10:8, Yhwh delivers an oracle for Joshua at the cusp of a
decisive battle: “Fear not, for I have handed them over to you; not one of
them shall stand before you” (see also Josh 1:3–6; 11:6). This oracle very
closely parallels numerous oracles given to Esarhaddon by prophets of the
goddess Ishtar, assuring him of future victory, as in the following example
(SAA 9 1.1): “Esarhaddon, king of the lands, fear not … I am Ishtar of
Arbela, I will flay your enemies and deliver them up to you. I am Ishtar of
Arbela. I go before you and behind you”.4 There is also an interesting paral-
lel between a “Letter to the God” written on behalf of Sargon II and an epi-
sode from Josh 10:10–11. Sargon’s “Letter” relates the victory of the Assyr-
1. An image of this relief can be found in Yigael Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Bibli-
cal Lands in the Light of Archaeological Study, (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1963), 320.
2. I owe this information to Lionel Marti, CNRS, Paris.
3. K. Lawson Younger Jr., Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study in Ancient Near
Eastern and Biblical History Writing (JSOTSup 98; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990); John
Van Seters, “Joshua’s Campaign of Canaan and Near Eastern Historiography,” SJOT 2
(1990): 1–12.
4. Quoted from Martti Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East
(SBLWAW 12; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), 102.
Römer: Joshua’s Encounter 51
ian army thanks to an intervention of the storm god Adad. The Assyrian
and the biblical texts relate a great slaughter of enemies on the descent
or ascent of a mountain, and then both episodes are followed by divine
military intervention: “The rest of the people, who had fled to save their
lives … Adad, the violent, the son of Anu, the valiant, uttered his loud
cry against them; and with flood cloud and stones of heaven, he totally
annihilated the remainder.”5 In a similar way, Josh 10:11 reports: “As they
fled before Israel, while they were going down the slope of Beth-Horon,
Yhwh threw down huge stones from heaven on them as far as Azekah, and
they died; there were more who died because of the hailstones than the
Israelites killed with the sword.” Other examples could be added in order
to show how deeply the first part of the book of Joshua is influenced by
ancient Near Eastern and especially Neo-Assyrian warfare ideology. The
question one may ask at this stage is whether these parallels are purely
literary imitations or whether they also reflect concrete rituals of warfare.
The Assyrian divine oracles forecasting the king’s victory against his
enemies are delivered by male or female prophets who are mostly asso-
ciated with the sanctuary of Ishtar. In the book of Joshua, Yhwh speaks
directly to Joshua without any intermediary. This phenomenon may be
understood as a literary transformation of a concrete practice that is
attested elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, as for instance in 1 Kgs 22:6: “Go
up; Yhwh will give it (Ramoth-Gilead) into the hand of the king”; or in Jer
27:17–20, where a negative oracle is given to the king by the prophet Jer-
emiah. The direct communication between Yhwh and Joshua is therefore
based on a prophetic oracular practice, but this oracular practice has been
altered either to show that Joshua is indeed as much a prophet as he is a
military leader or in order to present him as a second Moses who has the
privilege of a direct communication with Yhwh.
The book of Joshua must therefore be understood primarily as a liter-
ary and ideological construction in which the invention of the conquest
of the land serves the theological agenda of the Deuteronomists.6 On the
5. Younger, Ancient Conquest Accounts, 210.

6. See Nadav Na’aman, “The ‘Conquest of Canaan’ in the Book of Joshua and in
History,” in From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of
Early Israel (ed. Israel Finkelstein and Nadav Na’aman; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration
Society; Washington, D.C.: Biblical Archaeological Society, 1994), 218–81; and Erhard
Blum, “Überlegungen zur Kompositionsgeschichte des Josuabuches,” in The Book of
Joshua (ed. Ed Noort; BETL 250; Leuven: Peeters, 2012), 137–57.
other hand, by including motifs and symbols from ancient Near Eastern
warfare discourses, some texts may also allow to uncover reflections of
older practices and rituals, beyond their actual function. This point can
be illustrated with a short and enigmatic text: Joshua’s encounter with the
chief of Yhwh’s army.
2. Joshua 5:13–15 in Its Present Literary Context
Joshua 5, as it now stands, insures the transition from the crossing of the
Jordan in Josh 3:1–5:1 to the divine destruction of Jericho in Josh 6. One
can distinguish three units that at first glance appear quite unrelated: the
circumcision of the second generation born in the wilderness by Joshua
at Gilgal (5:2–9); the first celebration of the Passover in Gilgal combined
with the cessation of the manna (5:10–12); and, finally, Joshua’s encounter
with the chief of Yhwh’s army (5:13–157):
When Joshua was in Jericho,8 he looked up, and saw: and behold a man
standing over against him, his sword drawn in his hand. Joshua went to
him and said to him: are you for us or for our adversaries? He said: No,
I am the chief of Yhwh’s army. Now I have come. Joshua fell on his face
to the earth. [He bowed down]9 and said to him: What does my lord say
to his servant? The chief of Yhwh’s army said to Joshua: Take off your
sandal from your foot. Indeed, the place where you are standing is holy.
[And Joshua did so.]10
7. For questions of textual criticism, see Klaus Bieberstein, Josua-Jordan-Jericho:

Archäologie, Geschichte und Theologie der Landnahmeerzählungen Josua 1–6 (OBO
143; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995), 226–
29; and Blažej Štrba, Take Off Your Sandals from Your Feet! An Exegetical Study of Josh
5, 13–15 (ÖBS 32; Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2008), 81–91.
8. ‫ ִּב ִיריחֹו‬is often translated “by Jericho” or “next to Jericho” because it does not
seem logical that Joshua finds himself already in Jericho. As we will see, one should
maintain the grammatical meaning and translate “in Jericho.”
9. ‫ וַ ּיִ ְׁש ָּ֔תחּו‏‬is missing in LXX. The verb may have been added in order to empha-
size Joshua’s “pious” behavior.
10. The final notice of accomplishment is lacking in LXX; it may be a later addi-
tion in order to underline Joshua’s obedience.
This episode has often been considered to be somewhat out of place, a

fragment of an older conquest account, or an etiological narrative legiti-
mizing the existence of a sanctuary next to Jericho.11
On the literary level, the text is not so “out of order” as many commen-
tators claim. There is no doubt that verse 15 seeks to establish a parallel
between Joshua and Moses:
‫שַׁ ל־נַ ַע ְלָך ֵמ ַעל ַרגְ ֶלָך ִּכי ַה ָּמקֹום ֲאשֶׁ ר ַאתָּ ה ע ֵֹמד ָע ָליו ק ֶֹדׁש הּוא‬
Take off your sandal from your foot. Indeed, the place where you are
standing is holy. (Josh 5:15)
‫עֹומד ָע ָליו ַא ְד ַמת־ק ֶֹדׁש הּוא‬

ֵ ‫שַׁ ל־נְ ָע ֶליָך ֵמ ַעל ַרגְ ֶליָך ִּכי ַה ָּמקֹום ֲאשֶׁ ר ַאתָּ ה‬
Take off your sandals from your feet. Indeed, the place where you are
standing is holy ground. (Exod 3:5)
It is not clear which text depends on the other, but it is clear that through
these verses Joshua appears as a new Moses. Interestingly the whole chap-
ter of Josh 5 points back almost in a concentric way to the beginning of
the Moses story:12
A Divine revelation to Moses (Exod 3)

B Passover (Exod 12:1–28)
C Circumcision for the Passover (Exod 12:43–50; see
also 4:24–26)
D Crossing of the Sea (Exod 14)
Sinai and wilderness
D' Crossing of the Jordan (Josh 3–4)
C' Circumcision before the Passover (Josh 5:2–9)
B' Passover (Josh 5:10–12)
A' Divine revelation to Joshua (Josh 5:13–15)
It is possible that the episodes relating the circumcision and the Passover
are post-Dtr texts, which could belong to a “Hexateuchal redaction.”13 In
11. See, for instance, Martin Noth, Das Buch Josua (HAT I/7; Tübingen: Mohr,
1953), 23.
12. See also Bieberstein, Josua-Jordan-Jericho, 418.
13. For the theory of a competion between a Hexateuchal and a Pentateuchal
redaction see Eckhart Otto, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch: Stu-
dien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuterono-
this context the apparition of the divine warrior in Josh 5:13 can be under-
stood as accomplishing the promise made in Exod 23:20: “I am going to
send an angel in front of you, to guard you on the way and to bring you
to the place that I have prepared.” Its aim is to connect the book of Joshua
as narrowly as possible to the foregoing Pentateuch and thus to de facto
create a Hexateuch. To that purpose, the redactors also make use of an
older tradition, which includes the apparition of a divine warrior.
In the Hebrew Bible, this motif has parallels in Num 22:31 (see v. 23)
and 1 Chr 21:16.
Num 22:31: ‫ת־מ ְל ַאְך יהוה נִ ָּצב בַּ ֶּד ֶרְך וְ ַח ְרּבֹו שְׁ ֻל ָפה בְּ יָ דֹו‬
ַ ‫וַ יַּ ְרא ֶא‬
1 Chr 21:16: ‫לּופה בְּ יָ דֹו‬ ָ ְׁ‫ת־מ ְל ַאְך יהוה ע ֵֹמד … וְ ַח ְרּבֹו ש‬ ַ ‫וַ יַּ ְרא ֶא‬
Josh 5:13: ‫לּופה בְּ יָ דֹו‬
ָ ְׁ‫ה־איׁש ע ֵֹמד ְלנֶ גְ ּדֹו וְ ַח ְרּבֹו ש‬
ִ ֵּ‫וַ יַּ ְרא וְ ִהנ‬
All three texts concur in the description of the drawn sword; whereas
Numbers and Chronicles use the term ‫ ַמ ְל ַאְך יְ הוָ ה‬, the author of Josh 5:13
uses the more neutral ‫ איׁש‬because the identity of the mysterious person
will be revealed later. It is therefore plausible that, in the Hebrew Bible,
Josh 5:13–14 is the oldest of the three texts.
In its present context this episode can well be related to the forego-
ing stories. The exclamation of Yhwh’s commander-in-chief, “Now I have
come,” can be read as a response to the circumcision and the Passover.
Now that the people, who in fact constitute Joshua’s army, have accom-
plished both rituals, the conquest, which the previous generation was
unable to accomplish (Num 13–14), can start. There may also be a refer-
ence to the theophany in the circumcision episode in Josh 5:2–9.14 The
use of ‫ ַאנְ שֵׁ י ַה ִּמ ְל ָח ָמה‬in 5:4 prepares the military vision of Joshua and
the expression ‫“( ַח ְרבֹות ֻצ ִרים‬flint knives”) in 5:2–3 describing the tool
of the circumcision (see ‫ צור‬in Exod 4:24–26) may allude to the impor-
tance of the sword in 5:13. However, despite these links to the preced-
ing episodes, in its present form, Josh 5:13–15 remains an awkward text.
miumsrahmen (FAT 30; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000) and Thomas C. Römer and
Marc Z. Brettler, “Deuteronomy 34 and the Case for a Persian Hexateuch,” JBL 119
(2000): 401–19.
14. Erhard Blum, “Beschneidung und Passa in Kanaan. Beobachtungen und Mut-
maßungen zu Jos 5” in Freiheit und Recht: Festschrift für Frank Crüsemann zum 65.
Geburtstag (ed. Christof Hardmeier, Rainer Kessler and Andreas Ruwe; Gütersloh:
Chr. Kaiser/Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003), 292–322, 309–10.
As already mentioned, the order of the divine commander-in-chief for

Joshua to take off his sandals and Joshua’s execution of this order do not
make much sense, if it were not for the fact that they establish a parallel
between Joshua and Moses. One may therefore assume that verse 15 did
not constitute the original ending of the encounter.15 The continuation to
5:14 must be found elsewhere.
3. Joshua 5:13–15 in Its Original Literary Context
In his commentary on Joshua, Richard Nelson suggests that the origi-

nal ending of Josh 5:13–15 was “cut out as offensive for theological
sensibilities.”16 There is, however, an easier solution, namely to consider
Josh 6:2 and following as the continuation of Joshua’s encounter in 5:13–
15. Indeed, it has sometimes been suspected that 6:1 is a later insertion
which aims to emphasize that the city was totally shut up and could there-
fore be attacked (Deut 20:11–12 stipulates that when a city “opens” [‫]פתח‬
itself, it shall not be destroyed);17
He said: No, I am the chief of Yhwh’s army. Now I have come. Joshua fell
on his face to the earth. [He bowed down] and said to him: What does
my lord say to his servant? (5:14)
Yhwh said to Joshua; See I have given into your hand Jericho, [along with
its king and his soldiers]. (6:2)18
15. See also Cuthbert A. Simpson, The Early Traditions of Israel: A Critical Analy-
sis of the Pre-Deuteronomic Narrative of the Hexateuch (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1948),
287–88. See similarly Volkmar Fritz, Das Buch Josua (HAT I/7; Tübingen: Mohr,
1994), 63.
16. Richard D. Nelson, Joshua: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster
John Knox, 1997), 82.
17. Edmond Jacob, “Une théophanie mystérieuse: Josué 5, 13–15,” in Ce Dieu
qui vient: Etudes sur l’Ancien et le Nouveau Testament offertes au Professeur Bernard
Renaud à l’occasion de son soixante-cinquième anniversaire (ed. Raymond Kuntzmann;
LeDiv 159; Paris: Cerf, 1995), 131–35; Jacques Briend, “Les sources de l’histoire deu-
téronomique: Recherches sur Jos1–12” in Israël construit son histoire: L’historiographie
deutéronomiste à la lumière des recherches récentes (ed. Albert de Pury, Thomas Römer
and Jean-Daniel Macchi; MdB 34; Genève: Labor et Fides, 1996), 343–74, 353.
18. The king and the soldiers do not play a major role in the following story. The
king of Jericho appears however in Josh 2. They may either reflect an older account of
the conquest of Jericho, or constitute later additions.
It is not unusual that a text switches from the “chief of Yhwh’s army” to
Yhwh himself; such passages are frequent in the Hebrew Bible (see for
instance Exod 3:2–4 or Judg 6:12–14). If we accept this reconstruction
of the original narrative, we are also able to understand why the episode
opens with a statement indicating that Joshua is in Jericho. The “in” would
then indicate that the context of the encounter is that of a vision. This
theory can be strengthened by a comparison with an Assyrian text, the
report of Assurbanipal’s campaign against Elam. This campaign is pre-
ceded by a vision in which a prophet sees the goddess Ishtar armed and
standing in front of the king telling him that she will fight for him in his
war against the Elamites:
Ištar heard my desperate sighs and said to me: “Fear not!” She made my
heart confident, saying: “Because of the prayer you said with your hand
lifted up, your eyes being filled with tears, I have compassion with you.”
The very same night as I implored her, a visionary (šabrû) lay down and
had a dream. When he woke up, he reported to me the nocturnal vision
shown to him by Ištar: “Ištar who dwells in Arbela entered, having quiv-
ers hanging from her right and left and holding a bow in her hand. She
had drawn a sharp-pointed sword, ready for battle. You stood before her
and she spoke to you like a mother who gave birth to you. Ištar, the high-
est of the gods, called you and gave you the following order: ‘You are
prepared for war, and I am ready to carry out my plans.’ You said to her:
‘Wherever you go, I will go with you!’ But the Lady of Ladies answered
you: ‘You stay here in your place … until I go accomplish that task.’ ”19
This Assyrian document from the seventh century b.c.e. contains several
parallels to Josh 5: the king who prepares for war receives through a vision
of a seer an oracle of victory given by the goddess Ishtar, who appears with
a drawn sword and ready to engage in battle. This very much resembles the
depiction of the commander of Yhwh’s army. Joshua’s bowing down pre-
cedes the divine announcement of the handing over of Jericho and matches
Assurbanipal’s prayer which precedes the vision of the specialist who then
sees Ishtar apparently already standing in the battlefield. It is, therefore,
quite plausible to argue that the author of Josh 5:13–14 has taken over such
an account, which may, however, itself also reflect the ritual of preparation
for a king before waging war. The Assyrian text suggests the existence of a
practice where a specialist is put in a condition to have a vision in which
19. Quoted from Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy, 147–48.

a divine warrior appears and promises divine assistance for the coming
battle. The description of the drawn sword and the imminence of the battle
are very similar in both texts. We should therefore take our investigation
one step further and ask whether the motif of the drawn sword has any
relation to a warfare ritual.
4. Joshua 5:13–15 and the Question of a Ritual Background
It has become clear that the military nuance of the theophany intro-
duces the following conquest stories and gives Joshua a royal status. Is the
emphasis on the drawn sword of the divine warrior proper only to ancient
Near Eastern iconography of the warrior god, or can we also detect behind
this motif the recollection of a royal ritual? Othmar Keel has pointed out
Egyptian texts and images reflecting the idea that a deity hands his weap-
ons over to the king in order to guarantee his victory against his enemies.20
An inscription from Karnak relates a dream of Merenptah, which comes
quite close to Josh 5:13–15. He sees in his dream something “like a statue
of Ptah,” who speaks to the king and gives him his sword in order to
strengthen his heart: “Then his majesty saw in a dream as if a statue of Ptah
were standing before Pharaoh.… He spoke to him: ‘Take thou (it),’ while
he extended to him the sword, ‘and banish thou the fearful heart from
thee.’ ”21 The handing over of divine arms to the Pharaoh is apparently a
common iconographic motif. A stele from Beth-Shean shows Ramses II
stretching out his right hand in order to receive the divine sword from
Amon-Re. The inscription reads: “I am giving thee the victory.… I am
giving you the boundaries as far as you desirest.… Accept for yourself a
sword against all foreign countries.”22 In the so-called Israel stele there is
a double picture of Merenptah receiving a sword from Amon-Re. In this
inscription, Amon-Re tells him: “Take for yourself your sword for valour,
in every foreign country.”23 A similar scenario occurs for Ramses III in
20. Othmar Keel, Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament: ikonogra-

phische Studien zu Jos 8,12–26; Ex 17,8–13; 2 Kön 13,4–19 und I Kön 22,11 (OBO 5;
Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974), 82–88.
21. James Henry Breasted, Ancient Records of Egypt: Historical Documents From the
Earliest Times to the Persian Conquest (New York: Russell & Russell, 1962), 245 §582.
22. J. Černỳ, “Stela of Ramesses II from Beisan,” ErIsr 5 (1958): 75*–82*, 76.
23. Kenneth A. Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions: Historical and Biographical: 4,
Merenptah and the Late 19th Dynasty (Oxford: Blackwell, 1969), IV/1, 10.
Medinet Habu: Ramses III receives a divine sword and in the next scene
he is on a chair and a prince is holding the sword for him. This motif of
the handing over of a sword given by a god is probably more than a liter-
ary and iconographical motif and may correspond to a ritual, in which,
perhaps after a vision or a dream incubation, a sword is given to the king
by a priest or another cultic person.
The theme of divine weapons given to the king is also attested in the
Levant. Jean-Marie Durand has published letters relating to the storm god
Addu of Aleppo, the “prototype of the Babylonian Marduk.”24 These docu-
ments report that when the king of Mari was enthroned, Addu sent to the
king of Mari the weapons with which he had defeated the Sea. A letter
written perhaps by the governor of Terqa (A.1858) informs Zimri-Lim
that Addu’s armaments have arrived from Aleppo and that he has placed
them in the temple of Dagan while waiting for further instructions of the
king.25 Another letter (A.1858) provides further information: a prophet
received the following oracle from Addu: “I have given the whole land to
Yahdun-Lin [the father of Zimri-Lim], and because of my arms, no rival
arose for him in battle.” Later, in the same letter Addu also addresses an
oracle to the present king Zimri-Lin: “I have brought you to the throne
of your father and I have given you the arms with which I fought against
the Sea. I have anointed you with the oil of my invincibility and no one
could stand in front of you.”26 As Jean-Marie Durand rightly points out,
these letters must reflect a royal ritual in which a king, either on the day
of his enthronement or before waging a war, receives divine arms meant
to confirm divine assistance and establish the king’s superiority. A similar
case can be detected in the inscription of Yahdun-Lim, in which he claims:
“Dagan proclaimed my kingship, gave me the powerful weapon that fells
the kings, my enemies.”27
The so-called Broken Obelisk from the eleventh century b.c.e. may
also refer to the handing over of a divine weapon, even if the interpreta-
tion is much discussed. On the picture a divine hand emerging from the
24. Jean-Marie Durand, Le culte d’Addu d’Alep et l’affaire d’Alahthum (Florilegium

Marianum VII; Paris: Société pour l’étude du Proche-Orient Ancien, 2002), 1.
25. Ibid., 14–15.
26. Ibid., 134–37.
27. Quoted after Lluís Feliu, The God Dagan in Bonze Age Syria (CHANE 9;
Leiden: Brill, 2003), 158. I thank Jack Sasson for pointing out this text to me.
winged disk in heaven is handing over a bow28 to the Assyrian king, often
identified with Aššur-bel-ka. The text, which apparently is a compilation
from at least two different sources, opens with an introduction in which it
is stated that the king acts with the support of the god Aššur (?). This could
be related to a gift of divine arms to a king, but even if this evidence is not
as clear as the foregoing ones there are enough extrabiblical indications
that support the existence of a ritual during which the king was invested
with divine arms.
Going back to the Hebrew Bible, such a handing over is also attested in
Ezek 30:22–26. This passage, which is part of a larger oracle against Egypt
in 30:20–26, is probably a reworking of the older oracle found in v. 20–21:29
Therefore thus says the Lord Yhwh: I am against Pharaoh king of

Egypt, and will break his arms, [both the strong arm and the one that
was broken]30; and I will make the sword fall from his hand.… I will
strengthen the arms of the king of Babylon, and put my sword in his
hand; but I will break the arms of Pharaoh, and he will groan before him
with the groans of one mortally wounded. I will strengthen the arms of
the king of Babylon, but the arms of Pharaoh shall fall. And they shall
know that I am Yhwh, when I put my sword into the hand of the king of
Babylon. He shall stretch it out against the land of Egypt, and I will scat-
ter the Egyptians among the nations and disperse them throughout the
countries. Then they shall know that I am Yhwh.
The broken arms of Pharaoh are opposed to the strong arms of the Babylo-
nian king and the sword of Pharaoh, which—if we relate this oracle to the
Egyptian texts and images discussed above—was given to him by the gods
of Egypt is opposed to Yhwh’s sword, which Yhwh will now give to the
king of Babylon. This oracle clearly presupposes the idea of handing over a
divine weapon to a king, but here the king is a foreign king, who becomes,
like Cyrus in Second Isaiah, the tool of Yhwh’s military intervention in
favor of his people. Ezekiel 30 may, therefore, also present an appropria-
tion of a royal ritual.
28. See, for instance, Tallay Ornan, “Who Is Holding the Lead Rope? The Relief of
the Broken Obelisk,” Iraq 69 (2007): 59–72, 60.
29. See, for instance, Walter Zimmerli, Ezechiel (BKAT 13/1–2; Neukirchen-
Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969), 740–46.
30. This precision is added because the older oracle only spoke of one arm of
Pharaoh that Yhwh announces to break.
In the light of these parallels we may indeed imagine that the short
encounter of Joshua with the chief of Yhwh’s army is composed with
the practice of such a ritual in mind. Interestingly, in the conquest of Ai,
Joshua is equipped with a sword. In 8:18 Yhwh says to him: “ ‘Stretch out
the sword that is in your hand toward Ai (‫ל־ה ַעי‬
ָ ‫)נְ ֵטה בַּ ִּכידֹון ֲאשֶׁ ר־בְּ יָ ְדָך ֶא‬,
for I will give it into your hand’. And Joshua stretched out the sword that
was in his hand toward the city.” If we compare this passage with Josh
5:13–15, we find that the sword has now wandered from the divine com-
mander to the earthly commander. As in 5:15, Joshua immediately obeys
the divine order. Joshua’s sword appears again in 8:26 in the final comment
on Israel’s victory: “Joshua did not draw back his hand, with which he
stretched out the sword, until he had utterly destroyed all the inhabitants
of Ai.” In Josh 8, however the author uses the rarer word ‫ ִּכידֹון‬instead of
‫חרב‬. This may be explained by the fact that Josh 8 is an older story written
without knowledge of the scene of Josh 5:13–15.31 The word ‫ חרב‬associ-
ated with Joshua appears in Josh 10:28 (“Joshua took Makkedah on that
day, and struck it and its king with the edge of the sword”) and similarly
in 10:32, 27, 39, etc., and in Josh 11:10 (“Joshua took Hazor, and struck
its king down with the sword”; compare also 11:12). Since the texts never
explain how Joshua got his sword, the best hypothesis might indeed be to
imagine that he received the divine sword after the encounter related in
Josh 5:13–15.
5. Summary
The book of Joshua appropriates several concepts and ideologies of Neo-

Assyrian and other ancient Near Eastern warfare propaganda. Joshua’s
encounter with the commander of Yhwh’s army can be related to Assyrian
oracles in which the king receives the promise of divine assistance before
the battle. In its present context, the scene follows the circumcision of the
second wilderness generation and the celebration of the first Passover in
the land. The divine warrior appears, therefore, after the accomplishment
of rituals that highlight Israel’s status as Yhwh’s people. Originally, how-
ever, Josh 5:13–15 was conceived as the opening of the conquest story that
begins in 6:2. In a vision Joshua sees the divine commander with a sword,
31. Keel (Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen, 86–87) thinks that Josh 5:13–15 had origi-
nally ‫ ִּכידֹון‬, which later had been changed into ‫חרב‬.
and through this commander, Yhwh ensures Joshua that he has given Jeri-
cho into his hands.
The importance of the sword can be related to iconographic and tex-
tual documents from Egypt, Mari and Assyria where a king receives divine
weapons before battle or at the moment of his enthronement. This motif
probably reflects a concrete ritual in which a divine sword or bow (or other
weapons) were given to the king by a priest or another cultic person. Since
Joshua, who is depicted as a royal figure, often appears after 5:13–15 with
a sword, we can speculate that this sword was given to him by the divine
messenger. The literary legitimization of Joshua may, therefore, be based
on a royal ritual known to the author of 5:13–15. The theme of a god-
given sword is not limited to the ancient Near East. Perseus receives a
sword from Zeus to kill Medusa; in Japanese mythology the magical sword
Kusanagi was given to the emperor by a goddess; and one may also think
of King Arthur and so on. In this respect Josh 5:13–15 participates in an
almost archetypical topic of royal legitimization.
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ologie der Landnahmeerzählungen Josua 1–6. OBO 143. Fribourg:
Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995.
Blum, Erhard. “Beschneidung und Passa in Kanaan: Beobachtungen und
Mutmaßungen zu Jos 5.” Pages 291–322 in Freiheit und Recht: Fest-
schrift für Frank Crüsemann zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by Christof
Hardmeier, Rainer Kessler, and Andreas Ruwe. Gütersloh: Chr.Kaiser/
Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003.
———. “Überlegungen zur Kompositionsgeschichte des Josuabuches.”
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Fritz, Volkmar. Das Buch Josua. HAT I/7. Tübingen: Mohr, 1994.
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“A Sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!”:
The Representation of War in Judges 7:16–22
Kelly J. Murphy
1. Introduction
Stories of swords enclose the book of Judges. As the book opens, Judah
“[fights] against Jerusalem … [putting] it to the sword and [setting] the
city on fire” (1:8). At the end of the book, Judg 21 records how Israel com-
mands that the 12,000 soldiers “put the inhabitants of Jabesh-gilead to the
sword, including the women and the little ones” (21:10). In between, con-
flicts dominate and stories of swords punctuate the book: Ehud makes for
himself a “cubit-length” sword, carrying it into Eglon’s palace and thrust-
ing it into his belly (3:16, 21–22), while “all of the army of Sisera” falls
by the sword in Barak and Deborah’s victory (4:16). Within the story of
Gideon, found in Judg 6–8, sword appears four times (7:14, 20, 22; 8:20;
compare 9:54), most notably in the war cry uttered by Gideon and his
men, ḥ ereb layhwh ûlǝgidǝôn, “A sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!” (7:20).
Judges is at once about conflict, about how later writers and editors of the
biblical material remembered the emergence and formation of early Israel
and its leaders, and about what these later writers and editors perceived as
the power behind the sword, namely, Yhwh. In many ways, Judg 6–8 is this
story in miniature.
Moreover, the Gideon story in Judg 6–8 is a rich source for studying
one way in which the Hebrew Bible depicts both war rituals and sym-
bolism in the premonarchic period—from prebattle rituals to the battles
themselves.1 The scene in Judg 7:16–22 depicts the first of two battles
1. Jean Louis Ska writes of plot and battle depiction in the biblical texts, “The
modern reader feels frustrated by the lack of interest in ‘happenings.’ For instance,
the Bible almost never narrates the details of a battle. The emphasis seems to lie else-
-65-
between Gideon’s army of three hundred men and the Midianite enemy
who, according to the final form of the text, had descended into Israel as
“thick as locusts” and as innumerable as their camels (6:5).2 Despite the
fact that the deity initially charges Gideon to “deliver Israel from the hand
of Midian” in 6:14, the actual battle with the Midianites is not begun until
forty-one verses later, in 7:16. Judges 6 features stories of Gideon’s repeated
tests to ensure that Yhwh is indeed “with him” (6:11–24), Gideon’s renam-
ing scene (6:25–32), a scene in which Yhwh’s spirit “clothes” (lbš*) Gideon
and Gideon calls out the local tribes to do battle (6:33–35), and the infa-
mous fleece scene that reiterates that the deity will go into battle with
Gideon (6:36–40). Judges 7 continues with a divine injunction to reduce
Gideon’s sizeable army through a strange water test (7:1–8) and an oneiric
account in which Gideon overhears the prediction of his forthcoming vic-
tory from the mouth of the enemy (7:9–15).3 Finally, Judg 7:16–22 details
the long-awaited battle. By the time the initial battle begins in 7:16, it is, as
Victor Matthews notes, “almost an afterthought.”4
Yet while the final form of Judg 6–8 largely focuses on the relationship
between the divinely appointed hero Gideon and the deity, the original sto-
where. Events are often at the service of a certain ‘display’ of truth, of the revelation of
a certain aspect of God” (“Our Fathers Have Told Us”: Introduction to the Analysis of
Hebrew Narratives [Rome: Editrice Pontificio Instituto Biblico, 2000], 18). Though this
is frequently the case, here in Judg 7:16–22 the narrative gives an unusual amount of
detail about what happens not only immediately preceding the battle, but also in the
battle plan and attack itself.
2. The material in 6:1–6 is most likely a later addition to the text and was likely not
known (at least in its entirety) to the author of the original war story found in 7:16–
21. For various redactional theories, see Walter Groß, Richter (HThKAT; Freiburg:
Herder, 2009), 367–69, 388–89; Susan Niditch, Judges: A Commentary (OTL; Lou-
isville: Westminster John Knox, 2008), 89; Alberto Soggin, Judges: A Commentary
(OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1981), 109–13. A second battle—and probably the
earliest stratum of the Gideon material—is found in 8:4–21.
3. Overall, Judg 6:11–24, 25–32, 36–40; 7:1–8, 9–15 comprise the expanded final
form of the Gideon story and feature a “divine assurance” motif in which Gideon, not
quite the “mighty warrior” the angel names him but rather embodying his status as
the “least in his family,” repeatedly asks for signs and assurances from the deity that
he will be victorious. These additions largely reflect later redactors’ unease with the
earlier stories of an independent warrior (and set the stage for the critique of both the
leadership of the judges overall and kingship in particular; see 8:22–35).
4. Victor H. Matthews, Judges and Ruth (NCBC; Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2004), 93.
murphy: “A Sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!” 67
ries about Gideon seem to have mainly focused on war stories, and many
scholars argue that some of this original material can be found in 7:16–21
and 8:4–21.5 Numerous signs in the text indicate that this original material
paints Gideon as a fearless leader, a ruthless warrior, a clever tactician—
a genuine gibbôr ḥ ayil, the “mighty warrior” that the divine messenger
claims him to be in 6:12.6 The irony is that while the final form of the
text has very little to do with that original gibbôr ḥ ayil, whose presence is
seen only fleetingly in Judg 6–8 (cf. 7:16–21; 8:4–21), Gideon is most often
remembered for being a warrior (if not necessarily a particularly brave
one). Repeatedly the Gideon of the battlefield appears outside of the Bible:
he is the focus of A. Malamat’s article “The War of Gideon and Midian:
A Military Approach,” in which Malamat argues, “modern military sci-
ence fully justifies [Gideon’s] plan and its postulates as they are revealed
in the Biblical account.”7 John Laffin’s Links of Leadership: Thirty Centu-
ries of Military Command begins with a chapter entitled “Gideon Started
It,” in which he outlines fourteen principles put into effect by Gideon and
emulated, according to Laffin, by countless leaders after him.8 One prin-
ciple includes “Choose the most suitable weapons for the action in hand.”9
More recently an episode of Veggie Tales, featuring Larry the Cucumber
as Gideon, depicts Larry/Gideon defeating the Midianites with horns,
flashlights, and an army reduced to six carrots and six peas (they carry no
5. For instance, Groß argues that 7:16–22 may be part of a pre-Deuteronomistic

Gideon narrative, part of which might be an older story that cannot now be recon-
structed, writing, “7:16–22 sind literarisch einheitlich und Bestandteil der vordtr
Gideon-Erzählung. Mit hoher Wahrscheinlichkeit wurde eine altere Erzahlung
verwendet und zugleich so eingeschmolzen, dass sie nicht mehr rekonstruiert und
erst recht nicht mehr literarkritisch herausoperiert werden kann” (Richter, 383). Of
8:4–21 he notes that 8:4, 7b, 10–12, 18bR* may be part of a pre-Deuteronomistic
story that now incorporates the revenge story also found scattered throughout 8:4–21
(ibid., 386).
6. Out of all of the heroes in Judges, it is only Gideon and Jephthah who are named
gibbôrim. As Gregory Mobley notes, “Etymologically, with its doubled middle conso-
nant, gibbôr, is an intensive form of geber, ‘man.’ ” In other words, as Mobley says, a
gibbôr is “masculinity squared” (The Empty Men: The Heroic Tradition of Ancient Israel
[New York: Doubleday, 2005], 35).
7. A. Malamat, “The War of Gideon and Midian: A Military Approach,” PEQ 85
(1953): 62.
8. John Laffin, Links of Leadership: Thirty Centuries of Military Command (New
York: Abelard-Schuman, 1970), 17–26.
9. Ibid., 19.
swords!).10 In short, later readers and interpreters often remember Gideon

as both warrior and clever tactician, even if the final form of the text has
altered Gideon’s straightforward depiction as gibbôr ḥ ayil.
In the following pages, I will examine how the Gideon narrative, espe-
cially in Judg 7:16–22, appears to faithfully portray some realities and
practices of ancient Israelite warfare, while also examining how various
redactional expansions have modified the text.11 Specifically, the focus
will be on how the weapons that Gideon’s men carry into battle have been
expanded from an earlier story, turning the clever tactics of Gideon the
gibbôr ḥ ayil into a comedic battle account that, together with the addition
of verse 22 and the symbolic role of the sword in the final form of the nar-
rative, emphasizes the power of Yhwh.
2. Traditional Elements of War in Judges 7:16–22
In the final form of the narrative, the battle unfolds accordingly: Judg 7:16
explains that Gideon divides the remaining three hundred men who are
with him into three companies of an unspecified number (7:16). He outfits
them with horns and empty jars, with torches hidden inside the jars (7:16).
In 7:17–18 he commands them, “Look at me, and do the same; when I
come to the outskirts of the camp, do as I do. When I blow the horn, I
and all who are with me, then you also blow the horns around the whole
camp, and shout, ‘For Yhwh and for Gideon!’ ” Judges 7:19 explains how
Gideon’s men approach the camp at night, and then the one hundred men
with Gideon blow the horns and smash the jars in their hands. Next, all
three companies blow their horns, hold up the torches that were concealed
in the jars, and shout, “A sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!” (7:20). Gide-
on’s men then remain in place around the camp, while inside the camp
the Midianites run, cry out, and flee to an unspecified location (7:21). A
10. “Gideon Tuba Warrior: A Lesson in Trusting God,” Veggie Tales (New York:
Sony Music Entertainment, 2006).
11. A previous version of this paper was presented in the SBL Warfare in Ancient
Israel Section at the SBL Annual Meeting (San Francisco, November 2011). That paper
was a revised version of part of a chapter from my dissertation, “Mapping Gideon:
An Exploration of Judges 6–8” (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 2011). I thank Mark
S. Smith for reading an earlier draft of this paper and am grateful for his thoughts on
synergy. Additionally, I am grateful to Jacob L. Wright, who also read various drafts
and helped in countless ways.
third (and final) blowing of all three hundred of the horns occurs, at which
point Yhwh “set every man’s sword against his fellow” in the Midianite
camp and the Midianites again flee, this time (presumably) toward the
Jordan (7:22). This sets the stage for Gideon to cross the Jordan and pursue
the Midianite kings as found in the abbreviated battle account scattered
throughout 8:4–21.
In the final account, no hand-to-hand combat occurs. Instead, the
series of events adds up to an attack strategy centered on psychological
warfare.12 The narrative depicts Gideon and his men using trickery to
route the enemy: a surprise attack under cover of darkness, dividing the
small Israelite forces into groups to surround the enemy camp and give the
impression of a much larger force, and the sounds of loud cries, breaking
jars, and the blowing of horns to scare the enemy awake. Verses 16–21
recount the actions of the Israelite soldiers, never once mentioning the
deity apart from the battle cry. The result of these tactics creates pande-
monium in the Midianite camp: while all of Gideon’s men stand in their
places around the camp, in 7:21 the Midianite camp runs, cries out,13 and
flees.14 Swords do not clash, the deity does not intervene, and the battle is
over without ever having really begun. Judges 7:22 belatedly introduces
Yhwh onto the battlefield after the enemy soldiers have already fled and
seemingly after the “battle” is finished.
Though clearly the text has been rewritten and theologically updated,
a number of elements in Judg 7:16–22 seem to reflect real battle practices
from the ancient Near East. 15 The division of the troops into three compa-
nies is a traditional stratagem that appears with some frequency through-
out the biblical corpus.16 Within the book of Judges itself, such a threefold
division occurs in Judg 9, where Abimelech divides his troops into three
companies (9:43). Outside of Judges, the book of Samuel records the use
12. Daniel Isaac Block, Judges, Ruth (NAC 6; Nashville: Broadman & Holman,
1999), 283.
13. The subject of the verb—whether Israelite or Midianite—is difficult to ascer-
tain. The hiphil form of the verb is usually found as a sort of war cry, which would
make more sense if attributed to Gideon’s men. See Soggin, Judges, 144.
14. The MT contains both a ketiv (wayānîsû) and a qere (wayānôsû) reading. The
qere reading makes more sense here (Block, Judges, Ruth, 283).
15. As Mobley writes, “The narrative of Gideon preserves the most complete
series of martial rituals, a full catalogue of Holy War, of any single biblical narrative”
(The Empty Men, 152).
16. Cf. Block, Judges, Ruth, 281–82; Groß, Richter, 441; Soggin, Judges, 143.
of a similar strategy on more than one occasion, both by Israelites (1 Sam

11:11; 2 Sam 18:2) and by their enemies (1 Sam 13:17–18). Earlier in the
Gideon story, Gideon had amassed a large army composed of Israelite
men from various tribes—32,000 soldiers according to 7:3. Yet the original
Gideon narrative probably only knew three hundred men; the additions
reflect a later updating to make the story about “all Israel” rather than a
local tribal affair.17 Thus, a redactor added the scene in 7:1–8 to explain
how Gideon goes from having a large number of troops to only three hun-
dred before the battle. In this way, the three hundred men with Gideon,
though small in number, will stand against the Midianites in the ensu-
ing verses, reinforcing the idea that even the small, underdog army can
prevail against a larger enemy—especially if they have the deity on their
side.18 While the three hundred men likely remain from an original story
about Gideon and his small band of warriors, and also reflect traditional
battle stratagem, the number becomes symbolic in Judg 7. Three hundred
is the number of men ordained by the deity to go into battle with Gideon,
through which the deity will illustrate that he, and not Gideon or the Isra-
elites alone, will deliver Midian into their hands (see 7:2, 4, 7).
Additionally, the presence of the horns (Hebrew šôpār) is not sur-
prising in a text about conflict and battle. Repeatedly in the biblical texts
the šôpār serves as the sound to battle or as announcing conflict. In Judg
3:27, Ehud called the Israelites to fight against the Moabites by sounding
the šôpār, and in 6:34 Gideon uses the šôpār to call out the local tribes to
battle.19 That the sound of a šôpār might cause fear is evident from Exod
19:16, where the blast of the šôpār is so loud that “all the people trembled.”
In these respects, the Gideon narrative falls well within the larger category
of biblical war stories, drawing upon what appear to be standard battle
tactics (at least as depicted literarily in biblical texts).
17. See especially Judg 6:33–35. These verses shift the focus from Gideon’s own
Abiezerites to the larger tribe of Manasseh and several other tribes as well (6:34–35).
Additionally, the Midianite enemy forces have increased, too, and now also include
the Amalekites and “people of the East” (6:33). In the main section of Judg 8 (vv.
4–21), the focus will return to Gideon and his small band of men, while the end of the
Gideon narrative in 8:22–35 returns to the “Israelites” overall. See Mobley, The Empty
Men, 137; Soggin, Judges, 139.
18. Jacob L. Wright, in a conversation with the author, August 2010; Also Mobley,
The Empty Men, 137–42.
19. Also, e.g., Josh 6:4–20; 1 Sam 13:3; 2 Sam 2:28; 2 Chr 13:12, 14; Jer 4:19; Amos
2:2; 3:6; Zeph 1:16.
Moreover, beyond the apparently traditional tactics, 7:16–22 also

utilizes themes common to various war-centered narratives within the
Hebrew Bible, including the prevalent extrabiblical and biblical motif that
the battle belongs to the deity, who is the root of the people’s success.20
Repeatedly throughout the book of Judges—and in the Gideon narrative
in particular—the Hebrew yād, “hand,” is repeated.21 As Yairah Amit notes,
in the world of Judges, hands symbolize power.22 The text clearly empha-
sizes that it is through Yhwh that the Midianites will be delivered into
Gideon’s hand—that whatever power Gideon holds in his hands, it comes
from the deity (compare 7:7, 9, 14–15). Such a portrayal of Yhwh reflects
the widespread ancient Near Eastern idea that the gods might command
a king or leader to go into battle and/or that the gods might accompany
armies into battle. Thus, the gods were ultimately credited for any victory.23
Just as Yhwh promised to give the Midianites into Gideon’s hand, the god
Dagan promised to deliver Zimri-Lim’s enemies into his power—literally,
“to fill (into) the hand of ” Zimri-Lim.24 Additionally, the gods promised
Esarhaddon that they would “march with [him]” into battle after grant-
ing him an oracle encouraging him to go to war, while the Moabite king
Mesha attributed his victories to the god Chemosh, who “caused me to tri-
umph over all of my adversaries.”25 In short, both via the use of traditional
tactics and through its adaptation of common war themes from both bib-
lical and extrabiblical texts, the Gideon war narrative found in 7:16–22
closely aligns with some known practices and beliefs about warfare from
the ancient world.
20. E.g., Exod 23:27; Deut 7:23; Josh 10:10, 11; 24:7; Judg 4:15; 1 Sam 5:11; 7:10;
14:15, 20. Also the frequent discussions of the divine warriors throughout Sa-Moon
Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (BZAW 177;
Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989).
21. See 1:2, 4, 6–7, 35; 2:14–16, 18, 23; 3:4, 8, 10, 15, 21, 28, 30; 4:2, 7, 9, 14, 21, 24;
5:26; 6:1–2, 9, 21, 36–37; 7:2, 6–9, 11, 14–16, 19–20; 8:3, 6–7, 15, 22, 34; 9:16–17, 24,
29, 33, 48; 10:7, 12; 11:21, 26, 30, 32; 12:2–3; 13:1, 5, 23; 14:6; 15:12–15, 17–18; 16:18,
23–24, 26; 17:3, 5, 12; 18:10, 19; 19:27; 20:16, 28.
22. Yaira Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (BInS 38; Leiden: Brill,
1999), 265.
23. ANET, 281.
24. ANET, 623.
25. ANET, 289, 320.
3. Textual Growth in Judges 7:16–22
Yet even a cursory analysis of 7:16–22 reveals contradictory details that

suggest diachronic growth in the text—and therefore that whatever origi-
nal narrative might be behind the story, it is not an accurate portrayal of
“real” warfare. Rather, the existing text seems to include a hodgepodge
of elements meant to elicit other associations. Tensions in the narrative
include the number of “weapons” taken into the battle by Gideon’s men
and their precise function, as well as whether the text credits Gideon and
his men for the victorious outcome or if the victory comes directly from
divine intervention. All of these inconsistencies make the final form of the
text, to borrow from George Moore, “redundant and confused.”26
One of the principle issues of confusion in Judg 7:16–22 is the number
of weapons wielded by Gideon’s three hundred men as they approach the
enemy camp. Judges 7:16 records: “he divided the three hundred men
into three companies, and put horns into the hands of all of them, and
empty jars, with torches inside the jars” (emphasis added). Additionally, in
7:20, the soldiers cry out “A sword for Yhwh and for Gideon,” despite the
fact that nowhere else in the battle account do the Israelites wield swords.
Commentators and interpreters have long been aware of how complicated
this makes the text, beginning at least as far back as Gregory the Great,
who noted of Gideon and his men, “They go therefore to battle with trum-
pets, with lamps and with pitchers. This, as we have said, was an unusual
order of battle.”27 Wellhausen explains, “The weapons with which the noc-
turnal attack of the 300 is made are torches, pitchers, and trumpets; the
men have not a hand left to hold swords (vii. 20); and the hostile army has
accordingly to do itself the work of its own destruction (vii. 22).”28 Or, per
Soggin, “to sound a trumpet holding a torch in the other hand, and alter-
nating between blowing the horns and uttering [a] war-cry is a complex
operation at the best of times.”29 Horns, empty jars, and torches—even
without the swords from verse 20—are more than an ordinary soldier
26. George F. Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges (ICC; Edin-
burgh: T&T Clark, 1989), 207.
27. John R. Franke and Thomas C. Oden, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 1–2 Samuel
(ACCS; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2005), 131–32.
28. Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Israel (Atlanta: Scholars
Press, 1994), 244.
29. Soggin, Judges, 145–46.
could effectively carry (and much less use) in battle. The overabundance of
weaponry—and the decidedly unweapon-like nature of some of the weap-
ons—suggests that the text is best read diachronically and symbolically
rather than solely mined for historical facts about warfare and weaponry.
Judges 7:17–18 appears to reflect one of the earliest lines of the text,
where Gideon’s instruction to his men lacks any mention of the jars or
torches from 7:16: “Look at me, and do the same; when I come to the
outskirts of the camp, do as I do. When I blow the horn, I and all who are
with me, then you also blow the horns around the whole camp, and shout,
‘For Yhwh and for Gideon!’ ” Notably, the horns are the only instrument
mentioned in Gideon’s initial instructions in 7:18. In fact, throughout the
pericope, only the five-fold mention of the horns is consistent about their
purpose: the horns are to be blown (verses 16, 18, 19, 20, 22). All of these
clues suggest that the horns were original to the story, while the jars and
torches may be later additions.30 As is often observed, the use of the horns
in the final form of the Gideon narrative recalls the story of Joshua and
Jericho, where Joshua conquers the city of Jericho with horns and no real
battle (Josh 6:4–5).31 In both stories, the armies use horns, shouting, and
encircling the enemy camp—and not hand-to-hand combat. However,
the Gideon narrative lacks any divine instructions, unlike the account in
Joshua (see Josh 6:2–3). While Gideon appears to be working at the behest
of and synergistically with Yhwh, there is no suggestion that Yhwh dictates
to Gideon how to defeat the Midianites, something that is clearly outlined
30. Soggin explains the puzzle of vv.16–23 by identifying a two-phase develop-

ment in the narrative: there was an initial story about the war strategy employed by
Gideon and his men in which torches were hidden in the jars which were later broken
outside the enemy camp at night. This, in combination with the war cry, resulted in
the confusion and flight of the enemy. The second phase involved updating the narra-
tive to include the appropriate theological elements: a later (Deuteronomistic?) editor
added the horns to produce a scene not unlike the narrative about Jericho (cf. Josh
6:1) and Yhwh receives credit for the victory via the insertion of v. 22 (Soggin, Judges,
146). Moore attributes the proliferation of weapons not to editorial expansion but to
a combination of sources: horns derive from E, the jars and torches from J (Moore,
A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, 207–8). While he is certainly wrong about the
presence of either J or E sources in Judges, he may be correct in noting that there are
different versions of the story behind the variant details.
31. E.g., Manfred Görg, Josua (NEchtB 30; Würzburg: Echter, 1991), 28; Niditch,
Judges, 98; Soggin, Judges, 146.
for Joshua in the Jericho account.32 Rather, the earliest portions of the nar-
rative suggest that the battle plan comes from Gideon, a clever tactician.33
In addition to the horns, the final form of the text also has Gideon’s
men carrying “jars” into battle. The Hebrew for “jar” in Judg 7 is kād, a
word that occurs in only a few other places in the Hebrew Bible. Nor-
mally, kād refers to a pitcher used to store either water (Gen 24:14; 1 Kgs
18:34) or flour (1 Kgs 17:12)—and it never occurs elsewhere in the con-
text of war. Based on the usage of kād throughout the biblical texts, James
Kelso suggests that these vessels would have been large and designed for
carrying water (compare Gen 24:14 1 Kgs 18:34)—and so hardly battle-
worthy.34 The narrative mentions the jars only in verses 16, 19, and 20;
they are absent from Gideon’s initial command in verse 18.35 In verse
16, the jars conceal hidden torches, while verse 19 does not mention
torches, but only that the men sound the horns and smash the jars, per-
haps indicating that the original function of the jars in the narrative was
to create a startling noise outside the enemy camp. 36 The combination of
sounding horns and smashing jars would thus produce a powerful occur-
rence of sonic warfare.37 Verse 20 again mentions the jars alongside the
32. That Gideon can be understood as working with Yhwh is not a new observa-
tion; see Block, Judges, Ruth, 282; Matthews, Judges, 93. On the question of revelation
regarding the battle plan, Barry G. Webb notes, “The strategy that Gideon employs in
the attack is not a revealed one as far as we can tell from the details of the narrative, but
one devised by Gideon himself. The only thing that has been revealed to him, by the
overheard conversation in the Midianite camp, is the nervousness of the enemy” (The
Book of Judges [NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012], 247).
33. Groß, Richter, 464; Jacob L. Wright, personal communication.
34. James L. Kelso, The Ceramic Vocabulary of the Old Testament (New Haven:
American Schools of Oriental Research, 1948), 19; Mark S. Smith cites Kelso and
notes that Baal drinks from a kd in his feast in CAT 1.3 I, where “the vessel’s size is
emphasized (cf. Deut 32:20; Ps 91:7; CS 267–69),” later adding that “Baal’s feast …
translates superlative drinking in the form of number of vessels into a single divine
vessel capable of handling a comparable quantity of wine” (The Ugaritic Baal Cycle:
Volume II [Leiden: Brill, 2009], 111). The image of kd in the feast described in the
Baal cycle, along with Kelso’s discussion of kād in the biblical texts, again suggests that
the “jars” Gideon’s men carried into battle were very large—highlighting the comedic
nature of their battle gear.
35. See Uwe Becker, Richterzeit und Königtum: Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien
zum Richterbuch (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 167.
36. See ibid., 171.
37. For a discussion of sonic warfare and the battle of Jericho, see Jacob L. Wright,
torches, but it is unclear in this verse whether the jars originally covered
the torches the soldiers carried in their left hands. Uwe Becker’s conclu-
sion seems best: the original function of the jars in the narrative was
not to conceal lit torches, but rather to produce noise.38 The decidedly
unweapon-like nature of the jars, their absence in Gideon’s instructions
in verses 17–18, and the fact that throughout 7:16–22 the exact function
of the jars is inconsistent, suggests perhaps that the presence of “jars”
in the battle account is the result of a later redactional expansion. The
hidden torches also seem to be a later addition or a variant detail from
some other version of the story, now found only in verses 16 and 20.
In short, in the final form of the text, Gideon’s men appear not only to
carry a comedic proliferation of weaponry into battle—but also, if Kelso
is correct, then even the very jars they carry into battle would have been
comically large.
Verse 20a appears to recognize the problem posed by the abundance of
weapons and so attempts to clarify, explaining how the soldiers managed
to wield concurrently horns, jars, and torches: “So the three companies
blew the horns and broke the jars, holding in their left hands the torches,
and in their right hands the horns to blow.”39 By explaining that the jars
hid the torches, the original function of the jars—to make noise when
broken and thus add to the clamor outside the enemy camp—changes.40
It is possible that the addition of “with torches inside the jars” from the
end of verse 16b is from the same hand as verse 20, while the beginning
of verse 19b contains the original function: the empty jars were broken
to create clamor.41 Though the original story of surprise attack by night,
sonic warfare, and surrounding the camp to make the small army appear
larger all suggest carefully worked out tactics, the final presentation of the
“Warfare and Wanton Destruction: A Reexamination of Deuteronomy 20:19–20 in

Relation to Ancient Siegecraft,” JBL 127 (2008): 431. Wright notes, “Although the term
is used here tongue-in-cheek, sonic and ultrasonic warfare (USW), which employs
sound-pressure and -power, represents a heavily researched area in modern military
technology and is already employed by many armies in both their lethal and nonle-
thal arsenals. Additional biblical examples are found in Judg 7:18–22; 2 Chr 13:15;
20:21–23” (ibid., 431 n. 30).
38. Becker, Richterzeit und Königtum, 171.
39. Soggin, Judges, 144–45; for more on the addition of v. 20, see Becker, Richter-
zeit und Königtum, 171–72.
40. Becker, Richterzeit und Königtum, 171.
41. See ibid., 171–72. Alternatively, see Mobley, The Empty Men, 161.
battle after the redactional expansions is strange and comedic, necessitat-

ing the apparently redactional explanation found in verse 20.
Next, in verse 20b, Gideon’s men repeat the battle cry from verse 18b,
“For Yhwh and for Gideon,” but here Gideon and his men add the word
ḥ ereb, “sword,” to the beginning of the battle cry, producing “A sword for
Yhwh and for Gideon.” According to von Rad, a battle in a biblical “holy
war” traditionally opened with a battle cry, an example of which he finds
preserved in 7:20.42 Thus, this twice-uttered war cry (verses 18, 20) gives
the battle account yet another realistic stamp. Yet the narrative does not
otherwise record that Gideon’s men carried swords; in fact, the narrative
depicts only the Midianites as sword-wielding in verse 22. Thus, the battle
cry “A ḥ ereb for Yhwh and for Gideon!” is a surprising addition. To solve
this, BHS suggests replacing “horns to blow (haššôpārôt)” in the first half
of verse 20 with “the sword (haḥ ereb)” so that the complete verse would
instead read, “So the three companies blew the horns and broke the jars,
holding in their left hands the torches, and in their right hand the sword,
and they cried, ‘A sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!’ ” However, no textual
witness supports the deletion of the horns in favor of ḥ ereb.43 Moore sug-
gests that the addition of “sword” in verse 20 is a gloss by a redactor, with
“For Yhwh and for Gideon!” being the original form of the battle cry.44 Yet
already in 7:14—perhaps part of the oldest Gideon story—the text men-
tions Gideon’s sword, suggesting that perhaps a remnant of an older story
has now been decontextualized in the theologically updated battle account
found in 7:16–22.45
4. “A Sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!”
Whether the battle cry is original to the story or not, both instances—“for
Yhwh and for Gideon” in verse 18 and “a sword for Yhwh and for Gideon”
in verse 20—have caused Gideon’s character nothing but grief through-
42. Gerhard von Rad, Holy War in Ancient Israel (trans. Marva J. Dawn; Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans 1991), 48. He points readers to Josh 6:5; 1 Sam 17:20, 52, as well as
an “extremely spiritualized form” of this element in 2 Chr 20:21–22.
43. Soggin, Judges, 143–44.
44. Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, 210.
45. On Judg 7:9–15 containing parts of the oldest Gideon narrative, see Groß,
Richter, 381, 389, 437–440; on the sword as perhaps leftover from an older story, see
ibid., 441–42.
out the history of interpretation. Two examples: Tammi Schneider notes

that by including his name in the battle cry, “Already the deity’s fears were
actualized; Gideon took partial responsibility for the victory even before it
was accomplished.”46 Similarly, Dennis Olson writes, “Gideon had earlier
felt that he was nothing (6:15) and the Lord was everything (7:15). But
now in this shout Gideon claims a piece of spotlight along with God.”47
For these—and other—final form readings, the addition of Gideon in
the battle cry shifts the focus from Yhwh to Gideon and becomes an act
of hubris on Gideon’s part. Yet placed within the larger context of Judg
6–7—and the larger ancient Near Eastern belief that gods accompanied
their chosen leaders into battle—it seems possible to understand the battle
cry as a natural extension of Yhwh’s election of Gideon as leader and his
promise to “be with him” from 6:16.48 Clothed with Yhwh’s spirit in 6:34,
Gideon now works synergistically with the deity, as expressed in the battle
cry “For Yhwh and for Gideon!”
In short, the battle cry recognizes that the battle belongs to Yhwh, who
works with and through the hand of his human agent. In fact, the scene in
7:9–15, which now stands at the end of a series of scenes in which Gideon
asks for divine signs and assurances, aligns with other ancient Near East-
ern texts that depict an omen-seeking ritual by a king or leader before
they go into battle; through this omen ritual the king or leader is reassured
that the deity both sanctions the battle and will be with him.49 In Judg 7:9,
the deity commands Gideon to “Get up and attack, for I have given the
Midianites into your hand.” Building on the idea found in the final form
of the text that Gideon needed numerous signs before he would act, the
deity now provides one final omen: Gideon is to go down to the Midianite
camp where he “shall hear what they say, and afterward [his] hands shall
be strengthened to attack the camp” (7:10). Here the text clearly sanctions
a battle led by Gideon—it is his divinely assigned duty as gibbôr. Gideon
goes down and overhears one of the enemy men telling a dream to his
46. Tammi J. Schneider, Judges (Berit Olam; Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical, 2000),
115; see Block, Judges, Ruth, 282.
47. Dennis Olson, “Judges,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible: Volume 2 (Nashville:
Abingdon, 1998), 803.
48. For a discussion of the Mitsein idea in Egypt and Mesopotamia, see Kang,
Divine War, 102.
49. For a discussion of omens before battle across the ancient Near East, see Kang,
Divine War, 42–45, 56–65, 70–80, 98–101, 215–19.
comrade, describing how he saw “a cake of barley bread [tumble] into the
camp of Midian,” striking a tent that then collapses (7:13). The second
Midianite guard interprets the dream, “This is no other than the sword of
Gideon son of Joash, a man of Israel; into his hand God has given Midian
and all the army” (7:14). Gideon’s sword, the enemy soldiers rightly rec-
ognize, is the deity’s sword. Thus, when Gideon and his men cry out in
7:20, “A sword for Yhwh and for Gideon,” the battle cry extends the idea
that Yhwh and Gideon work synergistically to defeat the enemy—as pre-
dicted in the prebattle omen account found in 7:9–15. The sword in verse
20 is a realization of Yhwh’s power over the Midianites with his human
agent—not an expression of Gideon’s overconfidence or his hubris in bat-
tle.50 Verse 21 then appears to conclude the story: “every man stood in his
place all around the camp, and all the men in camp ran; they cried out and
fled.” Gideon’s attack strategy works—and the Midianite enemy flee with-
out any hand-to-hand combat taking place.
In 7:16–21, the text appears to preserve elements of Gideon as gibbôr
ḥ ayil, even if the original story is now hidden under the comedic expan-
sion of the weaponry his soldiers carry with them into the so-called battle.
Yet then Judg 7:22 recounts, “When they blew the three hundred horns,
Yhwh set every man's sword against his fellow and against all the army;
and the army fled as far as Beth-shittah toward Zererah, as far as the
border of Abel-meholah, by Tabbath”—despite the fact that the enemy had
already fled in verse 21. The difference between verses 16–21 and verse
22 is one of the agent; in verse 22, it is only Yhwh who “set every man’s
sword against his fellow and against all the army.” The deity alone, and not
Gideon working with the deity, thus becomes responsible for the destruc-
tion of the enemy camp—even if this is seemingly unnecessary in light of
verse 21. In short, verse 22 serves as a theological corrective to a story that
otherwise highlights Gideon’s status as capable, independent gibbôr ḥ ayil,
who acknowledges the deity in his war cries, but who otherwise effectively
works alone.51 Verse 22, as Wellhausen notes of the Gideon story overall,
“cast[s] the man into the shade behind the Deity.”52
Most importantly, 7:22 presents an ironic twist to the presence of
the sword in the battle cry in verse 20: Yhwh is so powerful that he can
50. For other understandings of the sword, see Block, Judges, Ruth, 282; Groß,
Richter, 442; Matthews, Judges, 93; Webb, The Book of Judges, 248–49.
51. See Soggin, Judges, 145.
52. Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 243.
cause the Midianites to die by their own swords.53 In the end, Gideon and
his men do not need the swords mentioned in the battle cry. In the final
form of the Gideon narrative, the sword becomes symbolically important.
Othmar Keel writes, “Many rites and symbols visualize the participation of
divine powers in the legitimation, execution, and success of war.”54 Repeat-
edly, swords in both the broader biblical and extrabiblical evidence serve,
per Keel, as “powerful symbols of victory.”55 Frequently, the biblical authors
place a sword in the hands of a human, who then fights for the deity. As
Keel notes, “the motif of the divinity who holds out or presents a sword of
victory to a commander is widespread.” 56 He cites as examples the angelic
commander in Josh 5:13–15, Joshua’s divine sword in Josh 8:18–26, and
Judas’ golden sword in 2 Macc 15:15, which all come from the deity but are
wielded by human agents, symbolizing divine power and victory.57 In the
story of Judg 7, the deity never gives a sword to Gideon—but nevertheless
the enemy rightly recognizes in the prebattle omen ritual that the battle will
be won by the Israelites because of Gideon’s god: “This is no other than the
sword of Gideon son of Joash, a man of Israel; into his hand God has given
Midian and all the army” (7:14).58 If the war cry “A sword for Yhwh and for
Gideon!” is in fact part of the oldest story, later writers and editors carefully
decontextualized it not only through the comedic proliferation of weapons,
but also through the addition of verse 22.59 In case there is any confusion
over the power behind Gideon’s sword, Yhwh’s divine intervention in the
last verse of the battle scene clarifies that it is the deity who finally wins the
battle. Gideon’s sword—from both 7:14 and 7:20—is intricately linked to
Yhwh’s power, and Yhwh even controls the swords of the foreign enemy
army. The power behind the sword clearly belongs to Yhwh.
53. Block, Judges, Ruth, 282.

54. Othmar Keel, “Powerful Symbols of Victory: The Parts Stay the Same, the
Actors Change,” JNSL 25 (1999): 205.
55. Ibid.
56. Ibid., 213–14.
57. Ibid.
58. See Matthews, Judges, 93.
59. For a different understanding of the history of vv. 16–22, especially v. 22, see
Becker, Richterzeit und Königtum, 170–72.
5. Conclusions
In the final form of the narrative, the soldiers both blow the horns and
shout war slogans, while also breaking jars containing lit torches inside
them and simultaneously holding the horns. From a literary perspective,
the use of such “weapons” underscores the difference between Gideon’s
men and the Midianites already set up at the beginning of the narrative:
this is a battle between the underdogs (Israel) and their militarily and
numerically superior (Midianite) opponents. In the final form of the nar-
rative, the weapons become symbolic—the Israelites will win a battle even
when they enter into it without proper weaponry. They will win armed
only with horns, jars, and torches—and without actually fighting. The
combination of seemingly “real” warfare elements alongside war-related
symbols functions to make 7:16–22 the turning point in the Gideon narra-
tive, transforming the anxious, hesitant Gideon of the final narrative back
into the “mighty warrior” that he originally was. Per Judg 7:20, Gideon
carries a sword—for Yhwh and for himself. In its final form, the narra-
tive in Judg 7:16–22 makes explicit, primarily through war-related sym-
bols, that the deity—and not Gideon or any human actors—is ultimately
responsible for the victory against the Midianites.
In the end, the defeat of the Midianites becomes more symbolically
than militarily significant: the underdogs prevail and the deity is with
them, just as he promised Gideon in 6:16 (see also 6:36–40; 7:1–8; 7:9–15).
The final narrative downplays Gideon’s military prowess by adding various
outfitting elements that turn an originally brilliant military strategy into a
comedic account of a battle, where the only swords belong to the enemy
and they use the swords to kill one another. Gideon, so anxious and fearful
until 7:15b in the final form of Judg 6–8, becomes fearless in this account
while the numerically superior enemy comically flees from a band of three
hundred unarmed soldiers. If the battle narrative in 7:16–22 does not nec-
essarily reflect entirely the warfare practices of premonarchic Israel, the
final form of the Gideon narrative does serve as an essential pan-Israelite
myth, stressing concerns that reflect much later Israelite society. Is Yhwh
really “with” the Israelites? Will Yhwh be victorious against the enemy?
The presence of ḥ ereb functions as a powerful symbol of Yhwh’s power
and victory, while verse 22 provides a theological corrective to an earlier
literary stratum of the narrative. Such a theological corrective is in tune
with the later updating of the Gideon narrative, which sought to impose
the divine on an otherwise largely mundane literary tradition.
Bibliography
Amit, Yaira. The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing. Translated by J. Chip-

man. BInS 38. Leiden: Brill, 1999.
Becker, Uwe. Richterzeit und Königtum: Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien
zum Richterbuch. BZAW 192. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990.
Block, Daniel Isaac. Judges, Ruth. NAC 6. Nashville: Broadman & Holman,
1999.
Franke, John R., and Thomas C. Oden. Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 1–2 Samuel.
ACCS. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2005.
“Gideon Tuba Warrior: A Lesson in Trusting God.” Veggie Tales. New York:
Sony Music Entertainment, 2006.
Görg, Manfred. Josua. NEchtB 30. Würzburg: Echter, 1991.
Groß, Walter. Richter. HThKAT. Freiburg: Herder, 2009.
Kang, Sa-Moon. Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near
East. BZAW 177. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989.
Keel, Othmar. “Powerful Symbols of Victory: The Parts Stay the Same, the
Actors Change.” JNSL 25 (1999): 205–40.
Kelso, James L. The Ceramic Vocabulary of the Old Testament. New Haven:
American Schools of Oriental Research, 1948.
Laffin, John. Links of Leadership: Thirty Centuries of Military Command.
New York: Abelard-Schuman, 1970.
Malamat, A. “The War of Gideon and Midian: A Military Approach.” PEQ
85 (1953): 61–75.
Matthews, Victor H. Judges and Ruth. NCBC. Cambridge: Cambridge
Mobley, Gregory. The Empty Men: The Heroic Tradition of Ancient Israel.
New York: Doubleday, 2005.
Moore, George F. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges. ICC.
Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989.
Niditch, Susan. Judges: A Commentary. OTL. Louisville: Westminster John
Knox, 2008.
Olson, Dennis. “Judges” in volume 2 of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited
by Thomas B. Dozeman, R. E. Clements, Peter D. Quinn-Miscall,
Robert B. Coote, Dennis L. Olson, Kathleen A. R. Farmer, and Bruce
C. Birch. Nashville: Abingdon, 1998.
Rad, Gerhard von. Holy War in Ancient Israel. Translated by Marva J.
Dawn. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991.
Schneider, Tammi J. Judges. Berit Olam. Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical,

2000.
Ska, Jean Louis. “Our Fathers Have Told Us”: Introduction to the Analysis of
Hebrew Narratives. Rome: Editrice Pontificio Instituto Biblico, 2000.
Smith, Mark S. The Ugaritic Baal Cycle: Volume II. Leiden: Brill, 2009.
Soggin, J. Alberto. Judges: A Commentary. OTL. Philadelphia: Westmin-
ster, 1981.
Webb, Barry G. The Book of Judges. NICOT. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
2012.
Wellhausen, Julius. Prolegomena to the History of Israel. Atlanta: Scholars,
1994.
Wright, Jacob L. “Warfare and Wanton Destruction: A Reexamination of
Deuteronomy 20:19–20 in Relation to Ancient Siegecraft.” JBL 127
(2008): 423–58.
The Red-Stained Warrior in Ancient Israel
Frank Ritchel Ames
In and around ancient Israel, the bodies, clothing, and armaments of war-
riors were at times stained red—a display of color that is both evocative
and horrific.1 References to red-stained warriors are found in the Hebrew
Bible in 1 Sam 16–17; 1 Kgs 2; Isa 63; Ezek 23; Nah 2; Zech 9; Song 5;
Lam 4; and in ancient Near Eastern texts such as the First Soldiers Oath,
Aqhatu Legend, and Kirta Epic, among others. This essay first presents the
textual evidence for warrior staining as literary trope and ritual behavior
and then discusses its use as sign and symbol in the context of warfare in
ancient Israel. The fundamental question addressed is, How did the red
stain function? In proposing an answer, I have applied methods from con-
temporary biblical criticism and have incorporated perspectives from the
social and biological sciences, including cognitive linguistics, which itself
is an interdisciplinary method relevant to understanding how symbols
work. It is assumed that symbols are embodied and situated—perhaps to
greater degrees than typically acknowledged. The theoretical framework
1. In the Hebrew Bible, ‫אדם‬, the principal term for the color red, represents hues
ranging from light red to dark brown (Athalya Brenner, Colour Terms in the Old Tes-
tament [JSOTSup 21; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1982], 80). Because ‫ אדם‬is the principal
chromatic term for the color, “its references are less restricted and much more given
to manipulation and flexible usage than a comparable term in a language where the
colour field as a whole is better developed” (ibid.). Brenner correlates color terms in
biblical Hebrew with Berlin and Kay’s universal stages of color term evolution (Brent
Berlin and Paul Kay, Basic Color Terms: Their Universality and Evolution [Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1969], 56). For criticism of Berlin and Kay’s theory,
see John Cage, Color and Meaning: Art, Science, and Symbolism (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 2000), 102–20; and Don Dedrick, Naming the Rainbow: Colour
Language, Colour Science, and Culture (Synthese Library 274; Dordrecht, The Nether-
lands: Kluwer Academic, 1998).
-83-
that cognitive linguistics contributes is described in the second part of the

essay. The first part explores the textual evidence.2
1. Textual Evidence of Red-stained Warriors
Isaiah 63:1–6 portrays Yhwh returning from battle clothed in red robes,
and the text characterizes the divine warrior as a victorious avenger who
singlehandedly defeats the enemies of Israel—in this instance, adversarial
Edom. In the poetic dialogue of the text, a sentry in Zion (compare 62:6)
sees a person clothed in red-stained garments returning from Edom and
asks the person to self-identify and to explain the origin of the red stain:
Question: “Who is this that comes from Edom,

from Bozrah in garments stained crimson?3
Who is this so splendidly robed,
marching in his great might?”
Answer: “It is I, announcing vindication,

mighty to save.”
Question: “Why are your robes red,

and your garments like theirs who tread the wine press?”
Answer: “I have trodden the wine press alone,

and from the peoples no one was with me;
I trod them in my anger
and trampled them in my wrath;
their juice spattered on my garments,
and stained all my robes.
For the day of vengeance was in my heart,
and the year for my redeeming work had come.
2. The ideas developed here are adapted from a paper entitled “Ancient Israelite
Warfare and the Stained Body,” which I presented to the Warfare in Ancient Israel
section at the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, San Francisco. November
19, 2011.
3. Based on context, it is likely that the problematic word ‫ חמוץ‬in Isa 63:1 means
“bright red” (HALOT, 327), though the preferred reading of the text might well be
‫חמור‬, from the root ‫חמר‬, “to be red,” an emendation discussed in Julian Morgenstern,
“Further Light from the Book of Isaiah upon the Catastrophe of 485 B.C.,” HUCA 37
(1966): 15.
ames: The Red-Stained Warrior in Ancient Israel 85
I looked, but there was no helper;

I stared, but there was no one to sustain me;
so my own arm brought me victory,
and my wrath sustained me.
I trampled down peoples in my anger,
I crushed them in my wrath,
and I poured out their lifeblood on the earth.”
(Isa 63:1–6 nrsv)
It is Yhwh who answers the two questions, and the reader learns that Yhwh
is returning from battle wearing robes that are spattered and stained red
with the blood of an enemy who has been trodden under foot and crushed
like grapes, having incurred the unrestrained press of divine wrath. The
divine warrior is characterized as powerful (“mighty”; v. 1) and victorious
(“I poured out their lifeblood on the earth”; v. 6), and as a furious com-
batant who needs no assistance in overcoming an opponent. The inde-
pendent power of the warrior is emphasized by the use of the boastful
phrases, “I have trodden … alone” and “no one was with me” in verse 3;
and “no helper,” “no one to sustain me,” and “my own arm” in verse 5; and
by the repeated use of first-person pronouns in verses 3–6. Isaiah portrays
Yhwh as a mighty, ruddy warrior, and the ability and visual appearance
of the warrior are intertwined. The question-and-answer schema exhibits
a parallel (a-b//a'-b') but asymmetrical structure, with the first exchange
presenting a brief summary (v. 1) and the second an expansion describing
Yhwh’s identity and acts (vv. 2–3). The second exchange expresses an idea
that is essentially the same as the first: the warrior overcame the oppo-
nent and is powerful. Political power is emphasized in a subtle way, for
the impression given in the first exchange is that royalty approaches.4 An
interplay between the similar sounding words Edom (‫ ;אדום‬v. 1) and red
(‫ ;אדם‬v. 2; compare Gen 25:25), however, links the name of the nation to
the evidence of its defeat, and directs attention to the violence that has
adorned the approaching person. The red stain is blood, and the stained
outfit identifies a triumphant warrior who possesses irresistible, lethal
strength.5
4. Matthew J. Lynch, “Zion’s Warrior and the Nations: Isaiah 59:15b–63:6 in Isa-
iah’s Zion Traditions,” CBQ 70 (2008): 256.
5. Clothing stained red from blood is also mentioned in Isa 9:1–7, which antici-
pates an end of war and a time of peace. In the text, Zion rejoices over the defeat of its
enemies and in the destruction of the instruments of violent oppression, including the
Similar imagery is employed in Zech 9:15, which associates Yhwh’s

empowerment of the people of Zion for battle with the blood of slain
opponents that is consumed and flows into the mouths and over the
bodies of the Israelite warriors: “They shall devour and tread down the
slingers; they shall drink their blood like wine, and be full like a bowl,
drenched like the corners of the altar.”6 The text offers solace and hope of
deliverance for a downtrodden people, yet the gore horrifies. Readers are
told that the Israelites will devour their enemies and in the process will be
covered with blood. Zechariah’s human warriors, like Isaiah’s divine war-
rior, will be stained red.
In the vision report of Nahum, red attire adorns the warriors who
attack and defeat Nineveh:
The shields of his warriors are red;

his soldiers are clothed in crimson
The metal on the chariots flashes
on the day when he musters them;
the chargers prance.
The chariots race madly through the streets,
they rush to and fro through the squares;
their appearance is like torches,
they dart like lightning. (Nah 2:3–4 nrsv [Heb. 2:4–5])
Nahum’s description of the army and its furious attack is “fear-evoking,”7

but past, present, and future perspectives meld in the prophet’s words, as
do metaphorical and literal elements, and the reader meets difficult-to-
resolve textual issues and ambiguities. Caution and tentativeness must
attend interpretive conclusions, but it is clear that Nahum envisions a swift
strike by red-stained warriors driving horse-drawn chariots.8 The warriors
footwear and uniforms of the warriors: “For all the boots of the trampling warriors
and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire” (v. 5 nrsv).
6. On the interpretive difficulties presented by Zech 9:15, see Susan Niditch,
“Good Blood, Bad Blood: Multivocality, Metonymy, and Meditation in Zechariah 9,”
VT 61 (2011): 641–45.
7. J. Daryl Charles, “Plundering the Lion’s Den—A Portrait of Divine Fury
(Nahum 2:3–11),” Grace Theological Journal 10 (1989): 190.
8. Red horses are mentioned in Zech 1:8 and 6:2, and it is possible that Zechariah’s
horses were stained or draped in red in the tradition of the red-stained warrior. David
L. Petersen, however, argues convincingly that Zechariah envisions only the natural
hues of horses, not colors that symbolize the blood of war, the dawning of a new era,
are ruddy in appearance, but the red (‫ )אדם‬and crimson (‫ )תלע‬seen on their
shields and clothing invite a variety of plausible explanations. The crimson
could be reflections of sunlight (compare the parallel line in verse 3b, “the
metal on the chariots flashes,” and a similar phenomenon described in 1
Macc 6:39). The reddish hues could be incidentally related to the oil used
to treat leather shields (compare 2 Sam 1:21; Isa 21:5). The red, of course,
could be the blood of adversaries being slain in the battle (compare Isa
63:1–6).9 Each of these interpretations is reasonable, but another merits
consideration: the bodies, clothing, and equipment of the warriors had
been ritually stained. In the text, the red shields and crimson clothing are
present at the beginning of the day of battle—”on the day when [the com-
mander] musters them” (v. 3b)—not just after the conflagration. They are
taken into as well as out of the battle. The stains, of course, could be blood
stains that remain from a previous battle. Ancient warriors engaging an
enemy in hand-to-hand combat would become bloody as well as muddy,
with their equipment and garb stained and discolored. It is also possible
that the warriors carried shields, wore tunics, and had saddle blankets or
chariot coverings that had been dyed red in preparation for battle, perhaps
with red ochre or some other pigment, perhaps with human or animal
blood.10 The presence of the stain early in the sequence of the envisioned
events gives weight to this interpretation. Marvin A. Sweeney draws the
same conclusion and argues that it is “more likely” that Nahum’s war-
riors “have reddened themselves as a means to terrify and undermine the
morale of the defending soldiers who will imagine their own blood splat-
tered all over the attacking troops.”11 Whereas Isaiah’s red-stained warrior
is returning from battle, Nahum’s red-stained warriors are entering the
fray, with the stain applied in preparation for battle.
the cosmic regions of heaven, earth, and sea, or the continents of Asia, Europe, and
Africa—interpretations that have been proposed by other biblical scholars (David L.
Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8: A Commentary [OTL; Philadelphia: Westmin-
ster, 1984], 141–43). Petersen’s interpretation does not dispute that the horses are sym-
bolic, only that the individual colors are symbols; rather, they are natural, common
colors that provide a measure of verisimilitude (ibid., 141).
9. Mark Allen Hahlen, “The Background and Use of Equine Imagery in Zecha-
riah,” Stone-Campbell Journal 3 (2000): 243–60.
10. See Kevin J. Cathcart, Nahum in the Light of Northwest Semitic (BibOr 26;
Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1973), 86–89.
11. Marvin A. Sweeney, “Nahum,” in The Twelve Prophets (Berit Olam; Colleg-
eville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 2000), 2:438.
Ezekiel 23:11–27 mentions red warriors in the allegorical personifi-

cation of unfaithful Judah as Oholibah, who “lusted after the Assyrians,
governors and commanders, warriors clothed in full armor” (v. 12). Oho-
libah’s misdirected desire is aroused by the sight of
male figures carved on the wall, images of the Chaldeans portrayed in

vermilion, with belts around their waists, with flowing turbans on their
heads, all of them looking like officers—a picture of Babylonians whose
native land was Chaldea. (vv. 14–15 nrsv).
The warriors in the carving are red or, as the nrsv translates ‫ׁשׁשר‬, “ver-
milion,” bright red (v. 14).12 An artist’s decision to use the color red in a
given painting may be artful, incidental, or arbitrary, but in this case it
is helpful to keep in mind that the author behind the allegory is also the
artist behind the painting, and in the world imagined by Ezekiel, war-
riors are vermilion, powerful, and arousing. The multivalent nature of
a symbol is at work in Ezekiel’s use of red, for the color has sexual and
military associations.13
Similar associations are at play in the Song of Songs, which refers to the
ruddy warrior in the opening line of Shulammite’s description of her lover:
My beloved is all radiant and ruddy,

distinguished among ten thousand. (5:10 nrsv)
The adjectives “radiant and ruddy” characterize Shulammite’s lover as

handsome and as a warrior, an interpretation consistent with Carol
Meyers’s observation that the Song is laden with military imagery.14 For
instance, Shulammite’s lover draws upon military imagery when he com-
pares her to “a mare among Pharaoh’s chariots” (1:9), a tower decorated
with the “shields of warriors” (4:4), and “an army with banners” (6:4). Her
lover’s palanquin, moreover, is escorted by columns of warriors:
Around it are sixty mighty men

of the mighty men of Israel,
12. The term ‫ ׁשׁשר‬is used in the Hebrew Bible only here and in Jer 22:14.
13. Cynthia R. Chapman, “Sculpted Warriors: Sexuality and the Sacred in the
Depiction of Warfare in the Assyrian Palace Reliefs and in Ezekiel 23:14–17,” in The
Aesthetics of Violence in the Prophets (ed. J. M. O’Brien and C. Franke; LHBOTS 517;
New York: T&T Clark, 2010), 1–17.
14. Carol Meyers, “Gender Imagery in the Song of Songs,” HAR 10 (1987): 209–23.
all equipped with swords

and expert in war,
each with his sword at his thigh
because of alarms by night (3:7–8 nrsv).
In 5:10 the phrase “radiant and ruddy” is juxtaposed to “ten thousand,” a

parallel that bears a military connotation.15 Thus, the handsome man in
the Song is characterized as a military man, and perhaps as a member of
a renowned class of warriors, each “distinguished among ten thousand”
(v. 10).
The term “ruddy” is also applied to David, one of Israel’s renowned
warriors and perhaps the most famous, who in 1 Sam 16–17 is character-
ized as the divinely favored successor of King Saul. In the story of Samuel’s
anointing of David above his brothers—all of whom are presumed to be
more suitable candidates—much is made of David’s appearance.
Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel, and Samuel said to
Jesse, “The Lord has not chosen any of these.” Samuel said to Jesse, “Are
all your sons here?” And he said, “There remains yet the youngest, but
he is keeping the sheep.” And Samuel said to Jesse, “Send and bring him;
for we will not sit down until he comes here.” He sent and brought him
in. Now he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome. The
Lord said, “Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.” Then Samuel took
the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and
the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward.
(1 Sam 16:10–13b nrsv)
In the narrative that immediately follows the anointing, David is sum-

moned to play the lyre to ease a torment brought upon Saul by “an evil
spirit from God,” and the narrative mentions David’s prowess as musician,
warrior, and speaker, and his favored status. He is described as “skillful in
playing, a man of valor, a warrior, prudent in speech, and a man of good
presence; and the Lord is with him” (v. 18b), and so he becomes Saul’s
armor-bearer. The familiar account of David and Goliath or, better, David
and Saul, immediately follows (17:1–58), and in the account David proves
to be the better match for Goliath, if not in physical stature, then in a
15. The Song draws imagery from warfare and from other domains, including
architecture (3:4; 7:8; 8:8–11), astronomy (6:10), dance (6:13), diplomacy (8:11), geog-
raphy (6:4; 7:8), and mythology (3:8).
brazen, faith-induced courage. David, as the story goes, cannot manage

the weight and bulkiness of Saul’s bronze helmet and coat of mail, nor
his heavy sword, and eschews these for a staff, sling, and “five smooth
stones” (17:38–40). The narrative reports that the Philistine in response
disdained David, because David was “only a youth, ruddy and handsome
in appearance” (v. 42). The appearance of this under-equipped and osten-
sibly unworthy challenger insulted the Philistine, who bellowed, “Am I a
dog, that you come to me with sticks?” (v. 43). David’s age and appearance
infuriated the seasoned and perhaps more scarred opponent. David, who
did not fit the profile of a mighty warrior or worthy opponent, was, none-
theless, the color of one.16
A staining of belt and sandals with the “blood of war” is mentioned in
the Court History of David (2 Sam 9–20 and 1 Kgs 1–2), the concluding
segment of which reports the succession of Solomon, who is advised to
settle family scores and remove political opponents. According to 1 Kgs
2:5–6, David advises Solomon to put Joab to death for murdering Abner
and Amasa.17 Joab had offended David by “retaliating in time of peace
for blood that had been shed in war, and putting the blood of war on the
belt around his waist, and on the sandals on his feet” (v. 5b).18 The clause
‫ויׂשם דמי‑מלחמה בׁשלם ויתן דמי מלחמה בחגרתו אׁשר במתניו ובנעלו אׁשר‬
‫ ברגליו‬can be read either as a figure of speech related to peacetime retali-
ation for lives lost during war or as a report of a ritual act.19 The meaning
of the ritual is not clear, but the narrative characterizes the act as inap-
propriate during a time of peace. The staining of the belt and sandals, one
may infer, would have been appropriate during wartime. Other images of
warriors reddening feet with blood are found in Pss 58:10 and 68:22–23.
Lamentations 4:7–9 describes the plight of a specific class of Judeans
after the fall of Jerusalem:
16. The ruddiness described in 1 Sam 16–17 and in Lam 4 is more likely natural
skin tone, but this observation does not invalidate the association between red color-
ation and military role.
17. James W. Flanagan, “Court History or Succession Document? A Study of 2
Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2,” JBL 91 (1972): 172–81.
18. The staining of footwear is observed in other cultures. For instance, Bannock
warriors, encountered by migrants along the Oregon Trail, stained moccasin insteps
red to show that they had stepped in the blood of a slain enemy, a symbol of prow-
ess in battle (Sally Zanjani, Sara Winnemucca [Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press,
2001], 146).
19. Vladimír Kubāč, “Blut im Gürtel und in Sandalen,” VT 31 (1981): 225–26.
Her princes were purer than snow,

whiter than milk;
their bodies were more ruddy than coral,
their hair like sapphire.
Now their visage is blacker than soot;
they are not recognized in the streets.
Their skin has shriveled on their bones;
it has become as dry as wood.
Happier were those pierced by the sword
than those pierced by hunger,
whose life drains away, deprived
of the produce of the field (nrsv).
The nrsv translators identified this group of survivors in Jerusalem as

“her princes” (v. 7a), but it has been proposed that the word ‫ נזיריה‬be read
‫נעריה‬, “her warriors,” the reading adopted here.20 Before the devastation
of the city, the bodies of these warriors were “more ruddy than coral” (v.
7b). Afterward, they became increasingly emaciated from lack of food
(vv. 8–9). Although the passage describes a loss of health, the ruddiness
mentioned is not solely an indicator of physical wellbeing; in context, it
characterizes previously healthy warriors, who would have been happier
dying by the sword than by hunger (v. 9). Nonetheless, in this text, the
ruddiness (‫אדמו‬, v. 7b) most likely refers to natural skin color.
The Middle Hittite First Soldiers’ Oath provides extrabiblical evidence
for the staining of the body.21 The Oath contains a series of curses levied
against conscripts who in some way might prove disloyal to the king of
Hatti or, in the press of battle, might be tempted to desert the war band and
escape the dangers of the fray. Each curse in the series begins with a ritual
that serves up an object lesson. The diviner places an object in the hand of
the warrior or on the ground, then describes or destroys the object, and
petitions the oath deities to harm in the same manner the warrior who
abandons duty. The last curse in the tablet (§16), though itself not about
the practice of staining, provides a useful example of the literary pattern
20. See BHS apparatus criticus and Gideon R. Kotzé, “A Text-Critical Analysis of
the Lamentations Manuscripts from Qumran” (Th.D. diss., University of Stellenbosch,
2011), 151–56. On the use of ‫ נער‬as a designation for warrior, see HALOT, 707; cf. Judg
9:54; 1 Sam 14:1; 21:3–5; Isa 13:18; and Neh 4:10.
21. “The First Soldiers’ Oath (1.66),” translated by Billie Jean Collins (COS
1.66:164–67).
repeated throughout the list: the ritual leader ignites and extinguishes a
fire before the warriors and says, “As this burning fire was extinguished,
who[ever] breaks these oaths, let these oath deities seize him, and also
may his life, his youth, (and) his prosperity in future—together with his
wives and his sons—be extinguished in the same way.”22 The preceding
curse, §15, which does refer to staining, follows the pattern, though in a
more complicated way: the ritual leader presents the warrior with a red
pelt and says, “Just as they make this red pelt blood colored and from it
the bl[oo]d color does not leach out, in the same way may the oath deities
seize you and may it (i.e., the blood color) not leave you.”23 The troops
taking the oath, it appears, received a red pelt or had bodies reddened by
ritual, with the intention that the warrior’s commitment and the crimson
stain would endure.
The concluding section of the poetic Aqhatu narrative (CTU 1.19 iv
28–61) provides a compelling example of warrior body staining.24 The
conclusion recounts how Pugatu avenges the death of Aqhatu, her brother,
by assassinating Yatpanu, who had killed him. The final lines of the tablet
are not extant, but the trajectory of the narrative suggests that Pugatu suc-
ceeds and kills Yatpanu. To prepare herself, Pugatu bathes and reddens her
body (lines 41–43), outfits and arms herself (lines 44–45), then conceals
the stain, uniform, and weapons beneath a woman’s cloak that disguises
the role she is assuming and masks her violent intent (line 46).25 The evi-
dentiary text reads,
[A shellfish she brought] from the sea,

she bathed and [reddened herself],26
she reddened herself with the sea snail,
whose [army]27 occupies a field in the sea.
22. Ibid., 167.

23. Ibid.
24. “Aqhat” (Simon B. Parker, Ugaritic Narrative Poetry [SBLWAW 9; Atlanta:
Scholars Press, 1997], 76–78).
25. Observations about the Aqhatu Legend in this paragraph are adapted from
Frank Ritchel Ames, “Women and War in the Hebrew Bible” (Ph.D. diss., University
of Denver and Iliff School of Theology, 1998), 68–70.
26. Restoring lines 41–42 to trtḥ [ṣ ].w[ta]dm based on formulaic use of “bathe and
redden” (cf. CTU 1.14 ii 9 and iii 52) and parallel tidm in the line (Parker, “Aqhat,” 77).
27. Restoring alp to the gap in line 43, d[alp].šd.ẓ uh.bym, and translating “whose
[army]” rather than “whose [source]” (contra ibid.).
Underneath she donned the garb of a warrior,

she put a [dagger] in her sheath,
a sword she put in her [scabbard],
and over these she donned the garb of a woman.
Pugatu transforms herself into a warrior by washing and staining her body,
donning the clothing of a warrior, and arming herself with a dagger and/
or sword—practical and symbolic acts that betray murderous purposes. In
the course of her preparations, she stained herself red (lines 41–42).28 She
is, quite literally, dressed to kill, for she wears (but conceals) battle gear.29
The significance of her attire is patent, and, for her plan to succeed, Pugatu
must disguise herself, and she does so with a woman’s cloak. By covering
“the garb of a warrior” with “the garb of a woman,” Pugatu conceals her
weapons and her violent plan, allowing her to gain access to an unsuspect-
ing victim. Her skin, attire, and weapons would signal an attack, but the
outer, woman's attire conceals the threat and belies peace and safety in
her presence. In lines 43–46 corresponding references to types of cloth-
ing (“warrior’s” and “woman’s”) and layering (“underneath” and “over”)
dress up the quatrain and, in a striking intersection of form and meaning,
surround the references to weapons (“dagger” and “sword”). The literary
and strategic guise works. Pugatu arrives at Yatpanu’s tent, is mistaken
for a “hireling”—either a maidservant, wine steward, or a consort (lines
50–52)—and gains access to Yatpanu. In the layered attires and roles of
maidservant-warrior, Pugatu pours Yatpanu’s wine, then pours out his life
(lines 52–end).
The red-stained warrior also makes an appearance in the epic of Kirta,
who pines for a spouse, children, and an enduring dynasty (CTU 1.14 i
7–37).30 To achieve this objective and guided by a vision of his father, Illu,
28. Although this reference to staining has been widely interpreted as an appli-
cation of purple dye extracted from sea snails (following J. C. de Moor, “Murices in
Ugaritic Mythology,” Or 37 [1968]: 212–15), the established interpretation is not cer-
tain. Dennis Pardee notes, the text’s depiction of the sea snail and its habitat range
is unusual; purple dye is associated with royalty; and “rouged” is a translation of the
Ugaritic term ʾdm, “red,” rather than ʾiqnʾu or pḥ m (“The Aqhatu Legend [1.103],”
translated by Dennis Pardee [COS 1.103:356 n. 130]).
29. Meindert Dijkstra and J. C. de Moor, “Problematic Passages in the Legend of
Aqhatu,” UF 7 (1976): 199, 212.
30. “Kirta” (translated by Edward L. Greenstein in Parker, Ugaritic Narrative
Poetry , 9–48).
Kirta plans a campaign against the city of Udmu, where he will take a bride
(ii 6–iii 32). In the vision, Kirta learns that the campaign requires the sac-
rifice of lamb, bird, wine, and honey, a stockpiling of food for Kirta’s own
city and army (ii 12–34), and ritual staining:
Wash yourself, and rouge yourself too,

wash your hands to the elbow,
[Your fin]gers as far as the shoulder. (ii 9–11)31
In addition, Kirta is advised to prosecute the war with a large army that
even includes mercenaries hired by widows, as well as only sons, the lame
and blind, and newlyweds (ii 41–50; compare iv 21–28)—groups custom-
arily exempt from military service. Kirta obeys Illu’s instructions, includ-
ing those about ritual staining, and before the campaign, reddens himself
(1.15 ii 21–iii 30).32 Though prepared for a large-scale, lengthy seige, Kirta
attacks only outlying towns and does not harm the city, Udmu, again fol-
lowing the instructions that had been given. In accordance with the vision,
Kirta conquers by a display of force and secures the spouse and offspring
he desired (iii 20–25). The ruddy warrior takes a bride: a motif also found
in the Hebrew Bible (for example, Song 3:6–11; Ps 45).
2. Red Stain as Sign and Symbol in Warfare
Biblical and other ancient Near Eastern texts provide prima facie evidence
that the bodies, clothing, and weapons of warriors were reddened—a rec-
ognizable literary trope that reflects material culture and social practice
in various ancient Near Eastern communities. Details are few but pro-
vocative. Some texts attribute the reddening to the detritus of battle, the
blood from wounded opponents (Isa 63:1–6); in other texts red stain was
applied before engaging the enemy and was part of a preparatory ritual
(First Soldiers’ Oath §15; Aqhatu 1.19 iv 46–61; Kirta 1.14 ii 9–26); and
in others, the ruddy complexion seems a natural and attractive hue of
the warrior’s skin (1 Sam 17:42; Song 5:10).33 Whether natural, inciden-
31. Ibid., 14.

32. Ibid., 18.
33. Anat’s bloodbath is an example of a post-battle ritual (KTU 1.3 ii 13–14),
about which see John B. Geyer, “Blood and the Nations in Ritual and Myth,” VT 57
(2007): 1–20.
tal, or intentional, red coloration—unlike a conditioned body, protective

clothing, camouflage, or weaponry—would not have strengthened, pro-
tected, or empowered a warrior directly.34 Rather, the coloration is a sign
that, when observed with other visual and situational clues, identified a
person as a warrior.35 This is patent in the story of Pugatu who concealed
red skin and warrior’s garb under a woman’s cloak to mask her malefi-
cent intent and potential; Pugatu needed to wear a disguise to draw near
to her victim (Aqhatu 1.19 iv 51–61). Except for Isaiah’s vision of Yhwh
returning from battle, which employs a question-and-answer schema as
a rhetorical strategy (Isa 63:1–6), the story of Pugatu and other texts that
portray reddened warriors do not interpret the stain or include explana-
tory glosses for the reader. The evidentiary texts envision a reader who
would recognize the sign.
The red stain, however, is not merely a sign. It is also a symbol—
something that is inherently ambiguous but, through human percep-
tion and social construction, evokes relatively predictable aggregates of
meaning, emotion, and action.36 The symbol is a prompt—a stimulus that
34. Patrizia Calefato, The Clothed Body (trans. Lisa Adams; Dress, Body, Culture;
New York: Berg, 2004), 15.
35. For example, ancient Israelite warriors could be identified from a ‫מד‬, “sol-
dier’s garment” (2 Sam 20:8), or ‫כלי גבר‬, “battle gear” (Deut 22:5). Interpreting ‫כלי‬
‫ גבר‬as battle gear rather than “man’s apparel” (nrsv) was proposed by Cyrus H.
Gordon (“A Note on the Tenth Commandment,” JAAR 31 [1963]: 208–209) and finds
precedent in the Talmud (b. Nazir 59a) and Tg. Onkelos (see B. Grossfeld’s transla-
tion in The Targum Onqelos to Deuteronomy [ArBib 9; Wilmington: Michael Glazier,
1988], 64: “A woman should not wear a man’s armament”). The verse is situated in
a chiasm that spans Deut 19:1–22:8 and is the structural counterpart of the warfare
laws of 20:1–18 (Ames, “Women and War,” 49–99). Deuteronomy 19:1–22:8 applies
the prohibition of murder (5:17) to various life-and-death situations, including war-
fare (Stephen A. Kaufman, "The Structure of the Deuteronomic Law," Maarav 1/2
[1978/1979]: 105–58).
36. Definitions of symbol abound; many are useful, and some highly influential.
Victor Turner, for instance defined a symbol as “a thing regarded by general consent
as naturally typifying or representing or recalling something by possession of analo-
gous qualities or by association in fact or thought” (The Forest of Symbols: Aspects
of Ndembu Ritual [Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967], 19). Understandably, I
offer a new definition with a degree of trepidation. As Northrop Frye confessed, “The
word ‘symbol’ is a term of such Protean elusiveness that my instinct, as a practical
literary critic, has always been to avoid it as much as possible” (Northrop Frye, “The
Symbol as a Medium of Exchange,” in The Secular Scripture and Other Writings on
elicits complex responses—and, to greater and lesser degrees, responses

among members of a social group can be observed, correlated, and antici-
pated, though their most interesting functions may be latent rather than
manifest.37 Symbols do not have precise meanings; rather, they bear
rich meanings, for symbolism condenses and multiplies associations.38
Condensation and multivocality are, to borrow a phrase from David I.
Kertzer, “virtues of ambiguity.”39
My understanding of symbolism is grounded in cognitive theory,40
and the analysis that follows, which is interdisciplinary in nature, draws
key insights from cognitive-based studies of signed languages, primarily
Sarah F. Taub’s Language from the Body: Iconicity and Metaphor in Ameri-
can Sign Language. Taub concluded,
Language, in any modality, is motivated—it draws on structures and

associations in the language user's conceptual system. Iconicity, a fea-
ture of all languages, is based on our ability to associate sensory images
Critical Theory, 1976–1991 [ed. Joseph Adamson and Jean Wilson; Collected Works
of Northrop Frye 18; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006], 327). Definition,
of course, cannot be avoided. Signs and symbols both represent things, but the dif-
ference “is a matter of degree, depending on the density of different and disparate
meanings that [the symbol] connotes, on the intensity of feelings that it evokes, and
on its action-impelling properties” (Abner Cohen, Two-dimensional Man: An Essay on
the Anthropology of Power and Symbolism in Complex Society [Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1974], 24). Turner also refers to symbols as “triggers of social action”
(“Symbolic Studies,” Annual Review of Anthropology 4 [1975]: 155).
37. A distinction that, according to Robert K. Merton, “was devised to preclude
the inadvertent confusion, often found in the sociological literature, between con-
scious motivations for social behavior and its objective consequences” (Social Theory
and Social Structure [enlarged ed.; New York: The Free Press, 1968], 115).
38. David I. Kertzer, Ritual, Politics, and Power (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1988), 11.
39. Ibid., 69.
40. See George Lakoff, “Cognitive Linguistics Versus Generative Linguistics:
How Commitments Influence Results,” Language & Communication 11 (1991): 53–62.
Contrast the cognitive approach of Stefan Thomas Gries, “Introduction” in Corpora
in Cognitive Linguistics: Corpus-Based Approaches to Syntax and Lexis (ed. Stefan Th.
Gries and Anatol Stefanowitsch; Trends in Linguistics, Studies and Monographs 172;
Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 1–18, to the generative approach of Noam Chomsky, Aspects
of the Theory of Syntax (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1965). For a complete introduction,
see William Croft and D. Alan Cruse, Cognitive Linguistics (Cambridge Textbooks in
Linguistics; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004).
with concepts, simplify those images, and create analogues of them

using the resources of the language, all the while preserving the essen-
tial structure of the original image. Conceptual metaphor, another
feature of all languages, creates associations between abstract and con-
crete conceptual domains. Although all languages have metaphor and
iconicity, signed languages excel at putting the two together to create
a vast range of iconic and metaphorical/iconic words, inflections, and
syntactic structures. To give a real description and explanation of
these phenomena, we must adopt a theory of linguistics that can also
draw on the complexities of conceptual structure; we must not sepa-
rate off semantics from syntax and phonology but must integrate them
together in one linguistic representation. In short, we must adopt the
cognitive linguistics point of view.41
Two assumptions that ground cognitive linguistics are especially relevant

to the analysis of the red-stained warrior: “conceptual representation is the
outcome of the nature of the bodies humans have and how they interact
with the sociophysical world … [and] meaning, as it emerges from lan-
guage use, is a function of the activation of conceptual knowledge struc-
tures as guided by context.”42 In short, symbols are embodied and situated.
With this theoretical framework in mind, I turn to the question: How did
red stain on the warrior’s body function in the context of war? An answer
can be inferred from the form, deployment, experience, and perception of
the symbol.43
41. Sarah F. Taub, Language from the Body: Iconicity and Metaphor in American
Sign Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 231. Taub adds, “The
field of linguistics owes a great debt to the world's Deaf communities for creating
and sharing language in the signed modality. Signed languages are vital to our prog-
ress in figuring out the human language capacity, because their iconicity is too strong
and pervasive and multifaceted to ignore. Truly taking signed languages seriously will
cause a revolution in spoken-language linguistics: a new direction for all of us lan-
guage scholars as we enter the third millennium” (ibid.). See, e.g., Karen Emmorey,
Language, Cognition, and the Brain: Insights from Sign Language Research (London:
Lawrence Erlbaum, 2002).
42. Vyvyan Evans, “Cognitive Linguistics,” in The Routledge Pragmatics Encyclo-
pedia (ed. Louise Cummings; New York: Routledge, 2010), 47. Evans also states that
“language is the outcome of general properties of cognition,” and “grammar is concep-
tual in nature” (ibid.).
43. Victor Turner infers the meaning of a symbol from (1) interpretations given
by indigenous informants, (2) the use to which the symbol is put, and (3) the context
in which the symbol is used, including the varied uses of the symbol within the culture.
(1) Form and its relation to function are a consideration in the analy-
sis, for a sign can resemble its semiotic object. Charles S. Peirce recognized
levels of abstraction and so classified signs as icons, indexes, or symbols:
an icon resembles its object; an index is an effect of the object, and the
relationship between a symbol and its object is solely conventional and
arbitrary.44 However, semblances as well as social constructions matter.
Empirical studies of signed languages show that the meanings of some
hand gestures are fairly transparent and can be guessed correctly by non-
signing, nonnative observers.45 Language is conventional, but seeing cer-
tain signs is almost like seeing their referents due to the marked iconicity
of the signs. However, as Taub points out, “Iconicity is not an objective
relationship between image and referent; rather, it is a relationship between
our mental models of image and referent. These models are partially moti-
vated by our embodied experiences common to all humans and partially
by our experiences in particular cultures and societies.”46 Iconicity is
“dependent on our natural and cultural conceptual associations” [italics
mine].47 In the analysis of color symbolism, iconicity has implications. As
Philip P. Arnold points out, “There are no set universal characteristics of
color symbolism just as there are no completely cultural-specific meanings
of color.”48 Color symbolism tends to be motivated, for it “emerges from
Turner labels these the exegetical, operational, and positional meanings (Turner, The
Forest of Symbols, 50–52). I also look to Turner’s three sources for inferring meaning,
but I employ a different set of rubrics that place strong emphasis on the relationship
between form and function, natural and cultural associations, stimulus and response
(i.e., on the complex nature of bio-psycho-social perception).
44. Floyd Merrell, “Charles Sanders Peirce’s Concept of the Sign,” in The Rout-
ledge Companion to Semiotics and Linguistics (ed. Paul Cobley; London: Routledge,
2001), 31.
45. Taub (Language from the Body, 19) cites Emanuela Cameracanna et al., “How
Visual Spatial-Temporal Metaphors of Speech Become Visible in Sign,” in Perspec-
tives on Sign Language Structure: Papers from the Fifth International Symposium on
Sign Language Research, Vol. 1 (ed. Inger Ahlgren, Brita Bergman, and Mary Brennan;
Durham: International Sign Linguistics Association, 1994), 55–68. See also Pamela
Perniss, Robin L. Thompson, and Gabriella Vigliocco, “Iconicity as a General Property
of Language: Evidence from Spoken and Signed Languages,” Frontiers in Psychology
1/227 (2010): 1–15.
46. Taub, Language from the Body, 19–20.
47. Ibid., 20.
48. Philip P. Arnold, “Colors,” ER 3:1860.
the immediate material experience of human beings.”49 Blood is red, and

red resembles blood, and blood is associated with common human experi-
ences of life and death. An episode in the account of Jehoram’s campaign
against Moab displays the associative chain:
When they rose early in the morning, and the sun shone upon the
water, the Moabites saw the water opposite them as red as blood. They
said, “This is blood; the kings must have fought together, and killed one
another. Now then, Moab, to the spoil!” (2 Kgs 3:22–23 nrsv)
The Moabite warriors saw water that looked red, concluded that the water
was blood, and inferred that the opposing forces were fighting and kill-
ing one another: red stands for blood which stands for death. Red, blood,
and death are associated in some of the evidentiary texts that have been
discussed. Red on the robes of Isaiah’s divine warrior represents the blood
of slain Edomites (Isa 63:6). Nahum’s reddened warriors slaughtered the
inhabitants of the “City of bloodshed” (Nah 3:1). Joab dabbed the blood of
his victims on his belt and shoes (1 Kgs 2:5–6). The stained pelt of the First
Soldiers’ Oath is blood colored (§15). The resemblance of sign to signified
is not to be discounted, neither is it to be oversimplified. In some texts, the
stain is an icon that represents blood; in others, it is an index because the
stain is blood and provides evidence that opponents were slain; in more
than a few texts, the stain is a symbol (using Peirce’s narrow definition of
the term) that represents an abstract concept such as hegemony.
(2) Deployment refers to the strategic positioning of resources—a
term often applied to the movement of military personnel and equipment
into the theater of war. The use of the rubric is particularly apropos in
an analysis of the red-stained warrior. The symbol is deployed with the
warrior who could be observed in the war camp, on the battlefield, and
upon returning home. For Isaiah’s sentry, the sight of an unrecognized
person coming toward the city in crimson garments evoked unease and
prompted urgent questions related to the person’s identity and intent (Isa
63:1–3). The unrecognized person could be a foe advancing to fight or a
friend returning from battle. The stain that adorned the shields, clothes,
and chariots of the warriors who raced through Nineveh was deployed as
an element of the assault (Nah 2:3–4). Goliath confronted David’s ruddy
appearance on the battlefield (1 Sam 17:42–43). Pugatu reddened her body
49. Ibid.
and otherwise armed herself before engaging her adversary (CTU 1.19 iv
41–45).
(3) The experience of the sign for the warrior and the opponent would
not have been the same; body art is experienced differently by wearers
and observers. For the warrior wearing the stain, the experience would be
primarily tactile and indirectly visual. The warrior would feel the applica-
tion of the stain on the skin and would have been aware of the texture of
the clothing and the weight of arms and armor, but the warrior would
only see the stain partially on his or her extremities or indirectly on other
warriors. The opponent, on the other hand, would see the stain directly
in its entirety and could not avoid looking at the stain when engaging the
advancing warrior or army. The sight and effect of the red stain, unless
intentionally concealed, would have been unavoidable.
(4) Perception is the recognition and interpretation of sensory stim-
uli, and the dynamics of the process are biological, psychological, and
sociological.50 Icons, indexes, and symbols are bio-psycho-social stimuli
that prompt both conscious responses and unconscious reactions, and
the effects of exposure to the color red are best regarded as multidimen-
sional. Responses to symbols are conditioned, and meanings are socially
constructed, but neurophysiology plays a role. One need only consider
the implications of red-green color vision deficiencies for the recognition
and interpretation of color-dependent symbols in contemporary society,
and inherited color defects are “extremely common.”51 The body engages a
sociophysical world and perceives.
Edmund Leach observed that red has associations that cross multiple
cultures and concluded: “Certainly it is very common to find that red is
treated as a sign of danger, which may be derived from red = blood. But red
is also quite often associated with joy which might come from red = blood
= life.”52 Red ochre has been used widely as pigment, and when mixed with
50. Paul Rookes and Jane Willson, Perception: Theory, Development, and Organi-
sation (Routledge Modular Psychology; London: Routledge, 2000), 1.
51. Maureen Neitz and Jay Neitz, “Color Vision Defects,” in Ocular Disease:
Mechanisms and Management (ed. Leonard A. Levin and Daniel M. Albert; Phila-
delphia: Saunders, 2010), 479. The prevalence of red-green color deficiencies in the
United States and western Europe is estimated to be 1 in 12 among males and 1 in 230
among females (ibid.).
52. Edmund Leach, Culture and Communication: The Logic by which Symbols Are
Connected (Themes in the Social Sciences; New York: Cambridge University Press,
1976), 57–58.
water “may closely resemble the appearance of blood spilled by human

activities.”53 Human stores of red ochre have been dated to 250,000 years
ago, and archaeologists generally accept that “the earliest use of ochre was
for proto-symbolic body decoration.”54 Ernst E. Wreschner, after review-
ing the distribution of red ochre in numerous prehistoric burial sites, con-
cluded that making tools and collecting ochre are “meaningful regulari-
ties in human evolution.”55 The widespread association of red ochre with
blood, death, and life, he dubbed a Neanderthal innovation that cannot be
explained by enculturation and diffusion alone.56 Wreschner concluded
that red became “a synonym for blood and life, for danger and death,”
because biological evolution framed social construction.57
The neurophysiological effects of exposure to red have been tested in
various ways. Andrew J. Elliot and Markus A. Maier hypothesized that
exposure to the color red prompts avoidance behaviors; in short, seeing
red signals danger and prompts flight—an oversimplification that admits
many exceptions, but the conclusion is supported by studies of human
and primate responses.58 Elliot and Maier acknowledge that the meanings
associated with colors are socially constructed, but they add this impor-
tant caveat:
These learned associations may be bolstered by or even derived from an

evolutionarily ingrained predisposition across species to interpret red as
a signal of danger in competitive contexts. For example, in primates, red
on the chest or face (due to a testosterone surge) signals the high status,
53. Nicole Boivin, “From Veneration to Exploitation: Human Engagement with

the Mineral World,” in Soils, Stones and Symbols: Cultural Perceptions of the Mineral
World (ed. Nicole Boivin and Mary Ann Owoc; New York: Routledge, 2004), 16. In
the same volume, also see Paul S. C. Taçon, “Ochre, Clay, Stone and Art: The Sym-
bolic Importance of Minerals as Life-Force among Aboriginal Peoples of Northern
and Central Australia,” 31–42.
54. Piotr Sadowski, From Interaction to Symbol: A Systems View of the Evolution of
Signs and Communication (Iconicity in Language and Literature 8; Amsterdam: John
Benjamins, 2009), 104.
55. Ernst E. Wreschner, “Red Ochre and Human Evolution: A Case for Discus-
sion,” Current Anthropology 21 (1980): 631.
56. Ibid. See also Wil Roebroeks et al., “Use of Red Ochre by Early Neandertals,”
Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 109 (2012): 1889–94.
57. Wreschner, “Red Ochre and Human Evolution,” 633.
58. Andrew J. Elliot and Markus A. Maier, “Color and Psychological Function-
ing,” Current Directions in Psychological Science 16 (2007): 250–54.
and thus danger, of an opponent. … Thus, through both specific and

general associative processes that may themselves emerge from biologi-
cally based proclivities, red carries the meaning of failure in achievement
contexts, warning that a dangerous possibility is at hand. This warning
signal is posited to produce avoidance-based motivation that primarily
has negative implications for achievement outcomes.59
Exposure to the color red correlates with changes in heart rate variabil-
ity, cognitive performance, motor strength, and performance attainment
and can provoke seizures in individuals who have some forms of epilepsy.60
Red uniforms also affect the outcomes of sports competitions.61 Andrei Ilie
(in a coauthored study) proposed that “increased redness during aggres-
sive interaction may act as a signal of relative dominance in humans,” and
the researchers concluded that red “may trigger a powerful psychological
distractor signal in human aggressive competition.”62
59. Ibid., 251. The primate research to which Elliot and Maier refer is discussed in
J. M. Setchell and E. J. Wickings, “Dominance, Status Signals, and Coloration in Male
Mandrills (Mandrillus Sphinx),” Ethology 111 (2005): 25–30.
60. Andrew J. Elliot et al., “A Subtle Threat Cue, Heart Rate Variability, and
Cognitive Performance,” Psychophysiology 48 (2001): 1340–45; Andrew J. Elliot et
al.,”Color and Psychological Functioning: The Effect of Red on Performance Attain-
ment,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 136 (2007): 154–68; Vincent Payen
et al., “Viewing Red Prior to a Strength Test Inhibits Motor Output,” Neuroscience Let-
ters 495 (2011): 44–48; Brian P. Meier et al., “Color in Context: Psychological Context
Moderates the Influence of Red on Approach- and Avoidance-Motivated Behavior,”
PLoS One 7 (2012): 1–5; Robert S. Fischer, et al., “Photic- and Pattern-induced Sei-
zures: A Review for the Epilepsy Foundation of America Working Group,” Epilepsia
46 (2005): 1433.
61. Russell A. Hill and Robert A. Barton, “Red Enhances Human Performance in
Contests,” Nature 435 (2005): 293. Norbert Hagemann, Bernd Strauss, and Jan Leißing
(“When the Referee Sees Red,” Psychological Science 19 [2008]: 769–71) attribute the
competitive advantage reported by Hill and Barton to the effect of the color red on the
referee and not the opponent: “We propose that the perception of colors triggers a psy-
chological effect in referees that can lead to bias in evaluating identical performances”
(769). See also S. Ioan, M. Sandulache, and S. Avramescu, “Red is a Distracter for Men
in Competition,” Evolution and Human Behavior 28 (2007): 285–93.
62. Andrei Ilie et al., “Better to Be Red than Blue in Virtual Competition,” Cyber-
Psychology & Behavior 11 (2008): 377.
3. Conclusions
The portrayal of warriors in the evidentiary texts suggests that the bodies,
clothing, and weapons of warriors in and around ancient Israel were at
times stained red. When the stain is actually blood, it is an index, the effect
of a cause, and the sign suggests that the warrior has killed an opponent
in battle. When the stain is red dye, it is an icon that represents blood,
with blood’s complex life-and-death associations. Whether icon or index,
the stain, I propose, is also an abstract symbol that bears an aggregate of
meanings from which the observer will likely infer that the warrior pos-
sesses lethal, irresistible power.
How did red stain function? First, red stain identified the warrior.
Whether natural or artificial, incidental or intentional, the stain, in combi-
nation with other material, behavioral, and contextual clues, prompted the
observer to regard the ruddy man or woman a person of war. Isaiah’s vision
of Yhwh returning from Edom in bloodied robes and the Aqhatu legend’s
account of Pugatu concealing her weapons, war attire, and stained body,
presuppose that the color red marked a warrior. Some of the warriors in
the evidentiary texts are officers, but it is not clear whether red stain signi-
fied a particular rank or status, or if distinctive patterns of stain were used
to differentiate tribes, clans, or families. Point of view, of course, matters
in the perception of identity. The adorned body is “context-dependent,”
subject to “undercoding,” and “understood and appreciated by different
social strata”.63 Thus, the warrior is not simply a warrior but is a situated
warrior whose appearance evokes contextualized identifications. Based on
allegiances, the inhabitants of a city would perceive the stained warrior to
be a warrior-deliverer or a warrior-destroyer. Ruddiness was an indicator
of physical health and would make the warrior handsome and attractive
to the opposite sex. Fellow warriors would consider the stained warrior an
ally and would see a reflection of themselves. Applying and observing the
stain would also affect the perception of the warrior, who embraced as well
as expressed an identity.
Second, red stain afforded the warrior a tactical advantage. Blood,
which the red stain represents, was “perceived as being simultaneously
pure and impure, attractive and repulsive, sacred and profane; it is at
63. Fred Davis, Fashion, Culture, and Identity (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1992), 8.
once a life-giving substance and a symbol of death.”64 However, point of

view again matters.65 I propose that the stain emboldened the wearer and
intimidated the observer. In ancient Israel, blood was equated with life
(Deut 12:23) and was believed to possess apotropaic properties. Applica-
tions of blood ostensibly saved the lives of a nonconforming Moses (Exod
4:24–26), members of Hebrew households in Egypt (Exod 12:7), and the
leaders of the Hebrews who had fled Egypt (Exod 24:8–11).66 These tra-
ditions are part of the aggregate of meaning of the symbol, though not
exhausting its meaning. Staining skin, clothing, and weapons red perhaps
cleansed and consecrated the warrior, but these functions, though impor-
tant, seem incidental in the context of warfare, for they are neither stra-
tegic nor tactical.67 But the stain was deployed in warfare and did serve
a tactical function. The red stain symbolized life for the dowsed warrior
and death for the confronted opponent, who in the stain saw the horrific
symbol of the warrior’s lethal, irresistible power. For the warrior, the stain
symbolized protection and life; for the opponent, defeat and death. The
red stain emboldened the warrior and intimidated the opponent, who,
seeing red, experienced its subtle but real bio-psycho-social effects. In
ancient Israelite warfare, the red stain granted a tactical advantage over
the opponent.
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“I Will Strike You Down and Cut off Your Head”
(1 Sam 17:46): Trash Talking, Derogatory Rhetoric,
and Psychological Warfare in Ancient Israel
David T. Lamb
1. Introduction
“Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, and anything that may not
misbecome the mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my King”:
this is Shakespeare’s version of the taunt uttered by the Duke of Exeter,
messenger of Henry V, to Charles VI of France.1 Exeter’s words are more
dramatic, but perhaps not as entertaining, as the taunt, “Your mother is a
hamster and your father reeks of elder-berry,” spoken by John Cleese in
Monty Python’s The Holy Grail.2
Trash talking, far from being an innovation of modern athletics, litera-
ture, or film, was a staple course in ancient military contexts, the prereq-
uisite hors d’oeuvres, to whet the appetite for battle. Examples of deroga-
tory military rhetoric can be found in Egyptian sources by Thutmose
III, Sethos I, and Ramesses II; in Assyrian sources by Sargon II and Sen-
nacherib; and in the Hebrew Bible by David, Ahab, Elijah, Jezebel, Jehu,
Ben-hadad, Jehoash, the Rabshakeh, and even Yhwh himself. An analysis
of this aspect of psychological warfare in biblical literature will elucidate
some of the most colorful dialogue of the Hebrew Bible and provides an
interpretive key in understanding the social dynamic behind these texts.
1. Act 2, scene 4.
2. Monty Python and the Holy Grail, directed by Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones
(Michael White Productions, 1975).
-111-
2. Insults, Boasts, and Predictions
Trash talking was often used in military contexts as a means of psychologi-

cal warfare, and it could involve three components: (1) insults that ridicule
an enemy, (2) boasts that exalt the speaker, their country, or their gods;
and (3) predictions of victory by the speaker over the opponent. Each of
the three components contributes to the rhetorical impact of the speech.
Although one might assume that the speaker’s purpose is to intimidate the
enemy,3 trash talking is not always heard by the object of the taunt, and one
purpose in military contexts is to motivate and inspire the speaker’s com-
patriots. Examples of trash talking examined here will include both speech
addressed directly to an opponent and words spoken about an opponent.
As with athletes today, comments not made directly to an opponent often
still reach their ears. Since confidence is crucial for an army to achieve vic-
tory, if verbal assaults succeed at instilling fear in an opponent and cour-
age in one’s own troops, the battle is half-won before any blood is spilt.
The most effective way to counter the intimidating effects of derogatory
rhetoric is to reciprocate in kind, as will be seen in the interaction between
David and the Philistine giant.
3. Trash-Talk Research
Nothing has been written specifically about trash talking in the Hebrew
Bible, but Margaret R. Eaton’s article on “flyting” (verbal dueling) in the
Hebrew Bible perhaps comes closest.4 While Eaton discusses relevant
examples, she unfortunately offers little analysis into the dynamics of taunt
speech, and her discussion of the “David and Goliath” narrative is limited
to a few verses (1 Sam 17:41–47). However, as this examination will show,
taunt speech dominates the entire narrative.
The most insightful works related to the topic of biblical trash talking
are Geoffrey David Miller’s two examinations of verbal feuding in the book
of Judges.5 He offers a theory of verbal feuding and identifies four types:
3. See David G. LoConto and Tori J. Roth, “Mead and the Art of Trash Talking: I
Got Your Gesture Right Here,” Sociological Spectrum 25 (2005): 223–24.
4. Margaret R. Eaton, “Some Instances of Flyting in the Hebrew Bible,” JSOT 61
(1994): 3–14.
5. Geoffrey David Miller, “Verbal Feud in the Hebrew Bible: Judges 3:12–30 and
19–21,” JNES 55 (1996): 105–17; and idem, “A Riposte Form in the Song of Deborah,”
lamb: “I Will Strike You Down and Cut off Your Head” 113
boasts, insults, parries (responses to boasts), and ripostes (responses to

insults). However, his concern for extended conflicts (feuds) rather than
short-term conflicts (duels) makes the analysis less directly relevant to the
contexts examined here.
For discussions of insulting in ancient Greek culture, see Jan N.
Bremmer,6 or in Iraqi Arabic, see Sadok Masliyah,7 whose article is par-
ticularly relevant as it includes significant interaction with the Hebrew
Bible and specifically analyzes the use of animals in insults. The animal
used most frequently in these insults, the dog, is the focus of D. Winton
Thomas’s classic work.8
Recent sociological studies discuss the patterns and impact of trash
talking in contemporary sports.9 One of the issues currently debated in
sociological journals is the appropriateness of trash talking in sports.
Herbert D. Simons argues that trash talking is a normal aspect of athletic
competition and therefore should not be prohibited.10 Nicholas Dixon,
however, believes that trash talking in sports is inexcusable and that
attempts to defend it are “disingenuous.”11 Surprisingly, Dixon appears
to be unaware of Simon’s article which presumably would have provided
a foil for his arguments. While modern sociological studies debate its
appropriateness, within the ancient Near East and the Hebrew Bible trash
talking was not only accepted as normal, but was also seen to be a divinely
inspired activity.
in Gender and Law in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (ed. V. H. Matthews,
B. M. Levinson; and T. S. Frymer-Kensky; JSOTSup 262; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic
Press, 1998), 113–27.
6. Jan N. Bremmer, “Verbal Insulting in Ancient Greek Culture,” Acta Antiqua
Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 40 (2001): 61–72.
7. Sadok Masliyah, “Curses and Insults in Iraqi Arabic,” JSS 46 (2001): 267–308.
8. D. Winton Thomas, “Kelebh ‘Dog’: Its Origin and Some Usages of It in the Old
Testament,” VT 10 (1960): 410–27.
9. For a helpful sociological discussion of the rationale and rules of trash talking
in modern athletics, see LoConto and Roth, “Trash Talking,” 215–30.
10. Herbert D. Simons, “Race and Penalized Sports Behaviors,” International
Review for the Sociology of Sport 38 (2003): 5–22.
11. Nicholas Dixon, “Trash Talking, Respect for Opponents and Good Competi-
tion,” Sport, Ethics and Philosophy 1 (2007): 96–106.
4. Bulls and Birds, Falcons and Foxes:

Trash Talking in the Ancient Near East
Before examining taunt speech in the Hebrew Bible, it will be helpful to

discuss examples in ancient Near Eastern literature in order to understand
the role it served in military contexts more broadly. According to the Bab-
ylonians, trash talking goes back to the time of creation. Before their duel
in the Enuma Elish, Tiamat and Marduk exchanged taunts and insults. As
Marduk approaches Tiamat, she is described as “framing savage defiance
in her lips” (ANET, 66; COS 1:397). In response to her threats, Marduk
exclaims, “Against the gods, my fathers, thou hast confirmed thy wicked-
ness.… Stand up thou, that I and thou meet in single combat” (ANET, 67;
COS 1:398). Tiamat then became “like one possessed; she took leave of her
senses” and cried out in fury as their cosmic battle ensued (ANET, 67; COS
1:398). It thus appears trash talking was divinely initiated.
Eaton discusses an example of flyting from the Egyptian narrative of
Sinuhe.12 Sinuhe is challenged to a duel by a hero from Retenu who informs
Sinuhe that he would be shamed and plundered. During the battle, Sinuhe
dodges arrows and declares, “I shot him, my arrow sticking in his neck. He
screamed; he fell on his nose. I slew him with his axe. I raised my war cry
over his back, while every Asiatic shouted” (COS 1:79).
Ancient royal inscriptions from Egypt and Assyria functioned as a
type of trash talking by publicly exalting previous military victories in a
hyperbolic tone in order to intimidate potential opponents who might
read them or hear of them. Thutmose III repeatedly describes his oppo-
nent as a “feeble enemy” (COS 2:7, 9, 11, 12, 16). One inscription describes
Thutmose in the exaggerated tone that is typical of taunt speech: “He is a
king who fights alone, without a multitude to back him up. He is more
effective than a myriad of numerous armies. … No one can touch him. …
He is a stout-hearted bull” (COS 2:14–15).
Sargon II describes how the noise of his weapons or the sound of
his approaching army causes his enemies to flee in fear (COS 2:296–297;
300).13 Sennacherib describes the effect of his approach on Merodach-
12. Eaton, “Flyting in the Hebrew Bible,” 4.

13. Sargon’s inscription here parallels the biblical story of the four lepers who
discover that the besieging Arameans have fled because Yhwh caused them to hear
a great army so that they thought the Hittites and the Egyptians were approaching
(2 Kgs 7:6–7).
Baladan of Babylon: “And he, doer of evil, saw the advance of my cam-
paign from afar. Fear fell upon him and he abandoned all his forces and
fled to Guzummani” (COS 2:301). Sennacherib also boasts about the effect
that the siege of Jerusalem had upon Hezekiah: “He himself, I locked up in
Jerusalem, his royal city, like a bird in a cage” and therefore Hezekiah was
“overwhelmed by the awesome splendor of [Sennacherib’s] lordship” (COS
2:303; I discuss the 2 Kings version of this campaign below).
Other ancient Near Eastern royal inscriptions include specific exam-
ples of taunt speech. The First Beth-Shan Stela describes an incident where
the exploits of Sethos I cause the chiefs of his enemies to “go back on all the
boast of their mouths” (COS 2:25). In another inscription, Sethos speaks
about the ʾApiru who have arisen, “Who [do they] think they are, these
despicable Asiatics? … They shall find out about him whom they did not
know–[the ruler val]iant like a falcon and a strong bull widestriding and
sharp-horned … to hack up the [entire] land of Dja[hy]!” (COS 2:28).
Another inscription describes how the enemies of Sethos fear him, “dread
of him is in their hearts … as they forget (even how) to draw the bow,
spending the day in the caves, hidden away like foxes (COS 2:31).
In the victory stele of King Piye of Egypt, after he hears about the lack
of success of his army against his enemy, he rages like a “panther” and
declares, “I shall go north myself. I shall tear down his works. I shall make
him abandon fighting forever” (COS 2:45). Samaʾgamni, a leader of the
Hatallu tribal confederation brags about an upcoming campaign, “We will
seize his cities of the steppe; and we will cut down their fruit trees” (COS
2:279.4c).
In an inscription narrating the battle at Qadesh against Muwatallis II
of Hatti, Ramesses II taunts his own troops, presumably to exhort them to
greater exploits, “How cowardly are your hearts!” (COS 2:36). Later in the
inscription, he tells his shield-bearer, “I shall go into them like the pounce
of a falcon, killing, slaughtering, felling to the ground. What are these
effeminate weaklings to you, for millions of whom I care nothing” (COS
2:36). Bergmann discusses similar examples from ancient Near Eastern
and Hebrew Bible sources that refer to defeated warriors condescendingly
as females.14
14. The majority of Bergmann’s examples come from prophetic literature. See
Claudia Bergmann, “We Have Seen the Enemy, and He is Only a ‘She’: The Portrayal
of Warriors as Women,” CBQ 69 (2007): 651–72.
The presence of trash talking in the midst of a duel within the Iliad has
led numerous scholars to discuss parallels between the narratives of the
David and Goliath and that of Hector and Achilles.15 Hector proclaims to
Achilles that he will strip off his glorious armor and return his corpse to
the Achaians.16 Achilles replies that Hector will pay for all the deaths of his
companions (Il. 22.249–272). Later, in the midst of their battle, Achilles
informs Hector that “the dogs and birds will rend you—blood and bone”
(Il. 22.416). Based on these parallels, Azzan Yadin argues that the David-
Goliath narrative was intentionally Hellenized in the spirit of the Iliad in
the sixth century.17 However, the presence of similar ancient Near Eastern
parallels elsewhere undermines Yadin’s theory. Threats involving scaven-
gers consuming human corpses are found in numerous other Deuteron-
omistic History contexts (see the discussion of David and the Philistine
below), and Esarhaddon’s vassal treaties include curses that describe how
the flesh of those who break the agreement are meant to be fed upon by
eagles, vultures, dogs, and pigs (ANET, 538).
The most striking point of similarity among these ancient Near East-
ern examples is how zoomorphic language is used rhetorically. The speaker
uses powerful, predatory animals (panthers, falcons, and strong bulls) to
describe his own actions and behavior. These creatures epitomize aggres-
sive, dominant behavior. Frequent references to them in association with
the speaker would therefore be utilized to intimidate even battle-hardened
warriors. Since the current Pharaoh was thought to be an incarnation
of the falcon-god Horus, references to a falcon by Sethos and Ramesses
would remind the inscription readers of the rulers’ divine nature.
Conversely, the speaker compares his enemy to smaller animals of
prey. In particular these animals are situated in contexts emphasizing their
weakness (a hiding fox or a caged bird for Hezekiah), thus communicating
that the opponent is vulnerable and certain to be defeated by their domi-
nant opponent.
15. For example, see Roland de Vaux, “Single Combat in the Old Testament,” in
The Bible and the Ancient Near East (Garden City: Doubleday, 1971), 122–35; Eaton,
“Flyting in the Hebrew Bible,” 5; Azzan Yadin, “Goliath’s Armor and Israelite Collec-
tive Memory,” VT 54 (2004): 389.
16. A similar taunting exchange occurs between Paris and Menelaus (see de Vaux,
“Single Combat,” 128).
17. Azzan Yadin, “Goliath’s Armor and Israelite Collective Memory,” VT 54
(2004): 373–95.
Finally, after the inevitable conquest, the corpses of the opponents

are going to be consumed in a gruesome manner by dogs and birds. The
impact of imagining your own body as carrion, being gnawed upon by
scavengers could terrify even the most experienced warriors facing an
imminent battle. Similar zoomorphic language is also frequently used in
narratives of Hebrew Bible trash talking.
These numerous examples of taunts, boasts, insults, and curses suggest
that trash talking was pervasive in ancient Near Eastern military contexts.
Through the use of derogatory rhetoric and exaggerated claims ancient
Near Eastern leaders waged psychological warfare before and after the
actual bloodshed occurred to intimidate opponents and encourage allies.
If they were successful at inspiring fear in their foes and courage among
their friends, military victory would have been a likely outcome.
5. Flailing Flesh and Smoldering Stumps:

Trash Talking in the Hebrew Bible
The Hebrew Bible includes numerous incidents which could be catego-

rized as trash talking. While taunt speech in the Psalms (e.g., Ps 108:8–9)
or in prophetic literature (e.g., Isa 14:3–23) could also be examined in
this discussion, it is difficult to determine the narrative contexts for these
poetic texts and whether or not they were actually spoken.18 Therefore, I
will focus here on narrative contexts.
I will discuss three concentrations of trash talking: (1) Elijah, Jezebel,
and Jehu; (2) the Rabshekeh, Hezekiah, and Yhwh; and (3) David and the
Philistine giant. However, before looking at these concentrations, I will
briefly examine various examples of taunt speech scattered throughout
Hebrew narratives.
Not surprisingly, texts in the Pentateuch focus on Israel’s conflicts
with Egypt during the Exodus and with Canaanites as they approach the
promised land. The Song of Moses (a postvictory extended taunt-celebra-
tion song) 19 narrates the pre-Red Sea boasts of the Egyptians, how they
foolishly predicted that they would pursue the fleeing Israelites, overtake
18. For discussions of rhetorical features of prophetic taunts, see Jeff S. Anderson,
“The Metonymical Curse as Propaganda in the Book of Jeremiah,” BBR 8 (1998): 1–13;
and Ze’ev Weisman, Political Satire in the Bible (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 73–81.
19. See also the Song of Deborah (Judg 5).
them, destroy them, and divide the spoil (Exod 15:9).20 In an attempt to
encourage the despondent Israelites after the troubling report of the twelve
spies, Caleb declares to them that the Canaanites will be “bread for us;
their protection is removed from them” (Num 14:9). Balaam delivers an
oracle directly to the Moabite king, Balak, prophesying his defeat by Isra-
el’s God: “God who brings [Israel] out of Egypt, is like the horns of a wild
ox for him, he shall devour the nations that are his foes and break their
bones.… He crouched, he lay down like a lion, and like a lioness, who will
rouse him?” (Num 24:8–9 nrsv).
In the book of Judges when the people of Succoth refuse to give pro-
visions to his starving soldiers Gideon declares to them, “I will flail your
flesh with the thorns of the wilderness and with briers” and after finishing
off the Midianite captains, he fulfills his vow against Succoth (Judg 8:7,
16). After he defeated a thousand Philistines, Samson composes a taunt
poem to adulate over his victory: “With the jawbone of a donkey, I have
slain a thousand men” (Judg 15:16 nrsv).
Texts from the books of Samuel and Kings include trash talking in a
variety of contexts. Three of the taunt speeches were unsuccessful at achiev-
ing their intended goal: To avoid a fight, Abner warns Asahel, “Turn away
from following me; why should I strike you to the ground?” but Asahel
ignored the warning only to be killed just as Abner predicted (2 Sam 2:22).
To avoid capture, the people of Jerusalem taunt David by telling him that
even the blind and the lame could keep him from entering the city (2 Sam
5:6) but their politically incorrect (at least to our postmodern ears) taunt
does little to dissuade David who easily takes the stronghold of Zion. To
intimidate the people, a giant of Gath taunts Israel, but Jonathan, son of
David’s brother Shimei, quickly dispatches him (2 Sam 21:21).
Trash talking occurs in wisdom contexts involving rulers who speak
in a proverb and a parable. After Ben-hadad of Aram threatens to oblit-
erate Samaria and turn it into dust, Ahab retorts proverbially, “One who
puts on armor should not brag like one who takes it off ” (1 Kgs 20:10–11).
Amaziah of Judah issues a taunt and a challenge to fight with Jehoash of
Israel, and Jehoash’s parable, which may sound diplomatic, is rather insult-
20. See also my discussion of this song in “Compassion and Wrath as Motivations
for Divine Warfare,” in Holy War in the Bible: Christian Morality and an Old Testament
Problem (ed. H. Thomas, J. Evans, and P. Copan; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity
Press, 2013), 138–39.
ing: Jehoash portrays himself as a wild beast and a strong cedar but por-
trays Amaziah as a thistle to be trampled upon (2 Kgs 14:8–10).21
Taunt speech also appears in contexts involving prophets even though
some of the language is more typically associated with adolescent male
humor. Larry G. Herr argues convincingly that the dialogue between Mic-
aiah and Zedekiah (1 Kgs 22:19–25) is essentially a scatological exchange
of insults, as the two prophets each speak of passing “wind” (rûaḥ ) back
and forth.22 When Elisha encounters a gang of actual adolescents they
mock him by chanting, “Go up, you baldhead! Go up, you baldhead!” and
the prophet responds with a curse—not recorded in the text—that pre-
sumably prompted the two she-bears to instantly appear and attack the
lads (2 Kgs 2:23–24).23
Moving from the Former to the Latter Prophets, the prophet Isaiah
delivers a message of encouragement from Yhwh to Ahaz of Judah which
insults the two rulers who are threatening him from the north, Rezin of
Aram and Pekah of Israel: “Do not let your heart be faint because of these
two smoldering stumps of firebrands” (Isa 7:4).24 Finally, in the book of
Nehemiah, when Sanballat mocks Nehemiah, the Jews, and their wall,
“That stone wall they are building—any fox going upon it would break it
down” (Neh 3:35 [ET 4:3]), Nehemiah responds in kind with an impreca-
tory prayer that God would “turn their taunt back on their own heads, and
give them over as plunder in a land of captivity” (Neh 3:36 [ET 4:4]).
6. Canine Consumption: Elijah, Jezebel, Jehu, and others
The first concentration of taunt speech to be examined here involves proph-

ets (Elijah, Elisha’s prophetic apprentice), rulers (Jezebel, Ahab, Jehu) and
21. Donald J. Wiseman also argues that Amaziah’s comments are not simply an
invitation to meet, but rather are a taunt and a challenge to fight (D. J. Wiseman, 1 and
2 Kings [TOTC 9; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1993], 245).
22. Larry G. Herr, “Polysemy of Rûah in 1 Kings 22:19–25,” in To Understand the
Scriptures: Essays in Honor of William H. Shea (ed. David Merling; Berrien Springs,
Mich.: Institute of Archaeology at Andrews University, 1997), 29–31.
23. See also my discussion of this text in God Behaving Badly: Is the God of the Old
Testament Angry, Sexist and Racist? (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2011),
95–98.
24. While this text obviously appears in prophetic literature, I have included it in
this discussion because the narrative context makes it clear that Isaiah’s words were
meant to be spoken to Ahaz (Isa 7:3–4).
even Yhwh.25 On Mount Carmel Elijah mocks the prophets of Ahab and
Jezebel, suggesting that Baal’s silence is due to the fact that he is presently
urinating and defecating (1 Kgs 18:27). While most English translations
have Elijah describing Baal as meditating or wandering, Rendsberg per-
suasively argues for the scatological interpretation of Elijah’s remarks.26
After Elijah slaughters the prophets, Queen Jezebel vows to kill him in
retaliation (1 Kgs 19:1–2).27 Despite his recent dramatic victory on Mount
Carmel, her trash talking effectively instills fear in the prophet, prompting
him to flee (1 Kgs 19:3).
Eventually Elijah recovers sufficiently from his fear of Jezebel’s threat
so that, in response to the stoning of Naboth, he is able to deliver a mes-
sage from Yhwh to Ahab and Jezebel describing how dogs and birds
will devour the corpses of the king and queen and their family (1 Kgs
21:19–24). Elisha’s prophetic apprentice repeats another version of this
divine curse to Jehu at his anointing, particularly emphasizing the canine
consumption of Jezebel’s remains (2 Kgs 9:10). Jehu enters into the fray
with some extreme trash talking, telling Jehoram immediately before kill-
ing him that his mother Jezebel is both a sorceress and a whore (2 Kgs
9:22). LoConto and Roth observe that among contemporary trash talkers
the type of sexual harassment that Jehu utters against Jehoram’s mother
is typically considered “out of bounds.”28 In her final taunt, Jezebel calls
Jehu, “Zimri” (2 Kgs 9:31), a curious title that takes on an insulting tone
when one recalls that Zimri was not only killed by Jezebel’s father-in-law,
Omri, but was also the shortest reigning ruler of Israel and Judah (only
seven days; 1 Kgs 16:15).29 The narrative provides a graphic fulfillment of
these predictions as Jezebel is ejected from her tower window by her loyal
25. I discuss Elijah’s conflict with Ahab and Jezebel in “ ‘A Prophet Instead of You’:
Elijah, Elisha and Prophetic Succession,” in Prophecy and the Prophets in Ancient Israel:
Proceedings from the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (ed. J. Day; LHBOTS 531; New
York: T&T Clark, 2010), 172–87. I discuss Jehu’s violent accession and his interaction
with Jezebel in my Righteous Jehu and his Evil Heirs: The Deuteronomist’s Negative
Perspective on Dynastic Succession (Oxford Theological Monographs; Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2007), 85–102.
26. Gary A. Rendsburg, “The Mock of Baal of 1 Kings 18:27,” CBQ 50 (1988):
414–17.
27. David makes a similar vow to his men about Nabal after his lack of hospitality
(1 Sam 25:22).
28. LoConto and Roth, “Trash Talking,” 225.
29. Zimri, like Jehu, was a general who killed his king (1 Kgs 16:15).
eunuchs, her blood splatters on the wall, the horses trample on her carcass,
the dogs consume her remains and then deposit her final form as excre-
ment in the fields (2 Kgs 9:33–37). Not surprisingly, these verses do not
regularly appear on inspirational posters.
7. Eating Dung and Drinking Urine:

The Rabshakeh, Hezekiah, and Yhwh
The second concentration of trash talking involves the Rabshakeh of

Assyria (an official of Sennacherib), Hezekiah, Isaiah and Yhwh.30 The
Rabshakeh begins by insulting Egypt, “that broken reed of a staff ” (2 Kgs
18:21). He then taunts Hezekiah that even if Assyria were to give Israel two
thousand horses, they could not find riders, and if they were able, they still
could not defeat even the most pathetic Assyrian captain (2 Kgs 18:23–24).
Finally, he tells all the Israelites that they are doomed to eat their own
dung and drink their own urine (2 Kgs 18:27). In both his initial message
to Isaiah and in his later prayer to Yhwh, Hezekiah focuses on how the
Rabshakeh’s words “mock the living God” (2 Kgs 18:4, 16). Isaiah’s second
response involves a message for Hezekiah from Yhwh that addresses Sen-
nacherib in the second person and begins with Yhwh’s offense at being
mocked and reviled (2 Kgs 19:22–23). Yhwh eventually responds with
some divine trash talking toward Sennacherib: “Because you have raged
against me and your arrogance has come to my ears, I will put my hook in
your nose and my bit in your mouth; I will turn you back on the way by
which you came (2 Kgs 19:28). While the text provides no record of the
Assyrian monarch hearing the divine taunt, it does mention the divine
slaughter of 185,000 Assyrian soldiers and the regicide committed by Sen-
nacherib’s sons against their father, which led to the succession of Esarhad-
don (2 Kgs 19:35–37).
8. Lions, Bears, and Dogs: David and the Philistine
Perhaps the most dramatic example of concentrated taunt speech is found

in the narrative of David and the Philistine giant in 1 Sam 17. While this
narrative presents numerous textual problems, this discussion will remain
30. Danna Nolan Fewell (“Sennacherib’s Defeat: Words at War in 2 Kings 18:13–
19:37,” JSOT 34 [1986]: 79–90) argues that this narrative is best perceived as a verbal
duel between Yhwh and Sennacherib.
focused on the taunting aspects within the dialogue.31 I will simply refer
to David’s opponent as “the Philistine” since the text of 1 Sam 17 calls him
“Goliath” by name only twice (vv. 4 and 23), but refers to him as “the Phi-
listine” twenty-one times (e.g., 17:10, 11, 16, 23, 26).
While 1 Sam 17 is perhaps the best example of trash talking in the
Hebrew Bible, most commentators skim over the taunts in the text. Simon
J. De Vries’s analysis of David’s victory over the Philistine involves text,
form, and redaction critical approaches, but has little room for examin-
ing the role that taunt language plays in the narrative.32 Despite a focus
on honor and shame in the David narratives, Gary Stansell barely men-
tions David’s triumph over Goliath and makes no reference to their taunt
dialogue which presumably would have been directly relevant to his the-
sis.33 Yadin connects the David and Goliath narrative to the Greek epic
tradition, specifically The Illiad, but focuses more on armor than speech.34
Gregory T. K. Wong’s examination of the rhetoric of 1 Sam 17 focuses
exclusively on armament.35
In 1 Sam 17, the taunting begins as the Philistine shouts out a taunt-
ing challenge to the nation and their king, “Today I defy (ḥ ārap) the ranks
of Israel! Give me a man that we may fight together” (v. 10 nrsv). While
BDB defines ḥ ārap as “reproach” or “taunt,” most English translations (e.g.,
esv, nrsv, niv, nasb) and commentators (e.g., McCarter, Klein, Firth) tone
down the taunt rhetoric by translating the word in verse 10 simply as “defy”
and make it appear that the giant is merely issuing a challenge to duel.36
31. On the discrepancy between the MT and the LXX (Vaticanus), see Domi-
nique Barthélemy and David. W. Gooding, The Story of David and Goliath, Textual
and Literary Criticism: Papers of a Joint Research Venture (OBO 73; Fribourg: Éditions
Universitaires, 1986); the LXX (Vaticanus) omits 1 Sam 17:12–31, 55–18:5. On ten-
sions concerning the portrayal of David in 1 Sam 16–17, and tensions concerning the
identity of the person who killed Goliath, see the various commentators; in 1 Sam
17:49 David killed Goliath; in 2 Sam 21:19 Elhanan killed Goliath; and in 1 Chr 20:5
Elhanan killed Lahmi, brother of Goliath.
32. Simon J. De Vries, “David’s Victory over the Philistine as Saga and as Legend,”
JBL 92 (1973): 23–36.
33. Gary Stansell, “Honor and Shame in the David Narratives,” Semeia 68
(1994), 56.
34. Yadin, “Goliath’s Armor,” 373–95.
35. Gregory T. K.Wong, “A Farewell to Arms: Goliath’s Death as Rhetoric against
Faith in Arms,” BBR 23 (2013): 43–55.
36. P. Kyle McCarter, I Samuel (AB 8; Garden City: Doubleday, 1980), 284; Ralph
A challenge does not necessarily imply insult. Hans Wilhelm Hertzberg

perceives no insult in the initial challenge, arguing that the insult only
emerges later in the narrative.37 However, the word ḥ ārap in this context
clearly implies taunting.38 Appropriately, Robert Alter translates ḥ ārap in
verse 10 as “insulted” (“I am the one who has insulted the Israelite lines
this day!”), and Mark K. George renders it as “shame” (“Today I shame the
ranks of Israel”).39 Several German translations also give ḥ ārap a stron-
ger derogatory flavor with “hohngesprochen” (lut, “treat with scorn”) or
“verhöhne” (ein, elb: “jeer”). David and the men of Israel certainly per-
ceive the Philistine’s initial words as an insult and repeatedly refer to it as
a reproach that needs to be overcome (vv. 25–26, 36, 45). By ignoring or
downplaying the initial taunt of the Philistine, these scholars have missed
a crucial aspect of this narrative. Taunting is arguably the major theme of
the entire narrative.
The giant’s taunting of Israel is not limited to his first speech but it
continues throughout the narrative. He “took his stand” morning and eve-
ning for forty days (v. 16). While most commentators completely ignore
or barely mention this verse (e.g., Alter, Baldwin, Gordon, Hertzberg,
McCarter),40 Klein makes the reasonable assumption that the Philistine
did not simply stand before Israel, but actually repeated his initial com-
ments for forty consecutive days.41 According to the text the Israelites were
already “dismayed and greatly afraid” after his initial speech (v. 11), so a
barrage of perhaps eighty repetitions of similar trash talking could have
W. Klein, 1 Samuel (WBC 10; Waco: Word, 1983), 169; David G. Firth, 1 and 2 Samuel
(AOTC 8; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2009), 190.
37. Hans Wilhelm Hertzberg, 1 and II Samuel: A Commentary (trans J. S. Bowden;
OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1964), 149.
38. Mark K. George (“Constructing Identity in 1 Samuel 17,” BibInt 7 [1999], 398)
notes that Goliath’s challenge is more than just a challenge; it is an insult to the honor
of Israel.
39. Robert Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2
Samuel (New York: Norton, 1999), 102; George, “Constructing Identity,” 398–99. The
nasb renders ḥ ārap as “taunt” or “taunted” in 1 Sam 17:26, 36, and 45.
40. See Alter, The David Story, 103; Joyce G. Baldwin, 1 and 2 Samuel: An Intro-
duction and Commentary (TOTC 8; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1988),
126; Robert P. Gordon, I and II Samuel: A Commentary (Library of Biblical Inter-
pretation; Exeter, U.K.: Paternoster, 1986), 155; Hertzberg, I and II Samuel, 149–50;
McCarter, I Samuel, 293–98.
41. Klein, 1 Samuel, 177.
been psychologically devastating. In verse 23, the text makes it explicit that
the Philistine repeated his words from before, and this time David heard it.
The giant’s taunts have the same effect on the Israelites that they did previ-
ously: flight and fear (v. 24).
Interestingly, David’s very first words in the Hebrew Bible include an
insult targeting the Philistine.42 He asks, “What shall be done for the man
who kills this Philistine and takes away the reproach from Israel? For who
is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should taunt the armies of the
living God?” (v. 26).43 If one agrees with Alter’s premise that the first words
spoken by an individual in the narrative are meant to define their charac-
ter, then, interestingly, trash talking would characterize David.44 David’s
question focuses on the shame the Philistine’s initial words brought upon
Israel (“reproach,” “taunt”), as well as the death he deserves.
Twice in the narrative David refers to the giant derogatively as “this
uncircumcised Philistine” (vv. 26 and 36). The term “uncircumcised” ʿārēl
is used eight times in the Deuteronomistic History, seven of them in a con-
text of derision specifically targeting Philistines (Judg 14:3; 15:18; 1 Sam
14:6; 17:26, 36; 31:4; 2 Sam 1:20). While David’s insult is not heard by the
giant, derogatory rhetoric is used to not only to intimidate opponents, but
also to empower allies. Presumably, within the narrative David’s mock was
meant to empower the Israelites after the Philistine’s previous diatribes left
them demoralized (1 Sam 17:11).
Before the Philistine has an opportunity to taunt David, his brother
and his king insult him first. After overhearing David’s question, Eliab
denigrates not only his occupation as a shepherd but also his level of
responsibility: “those few sheep” (v. 28). Alter is unusual among com-
mentators for emphasizing the contemptuous nature of Eliab’s remarks to
his younger brother.45 While Saul’s comments do not appear as harsh as
Eliab’s, nonetheless, he ridicules David’s lack of ability, experience, and age
42. David does not speak during his anointing (1 Sam 16:1–13).
43. In a discussion of insult formulas, George W. Coats (“Self-Abasement and
Insult Formulas,” JBL 89 [1970], 19) examines the parallel between David’s question
here (“Who is this uncircumcised Philistine…?) and the one spoken by Rib-Addi in
Amarna letter 72 (“What is Abdi-Ašuirta, the servant, the dog, that he should take the
land of the king to himself?”).
44. Alter does not focus on the taunting aspect of David’s speech here, but on
David’s concern for personal profit (Alter, The David Story, 105).
45. Ibid.
(v. 33), themes that are echoed in the Philistine’s mocking of David before
their battle (vv. 42–43).
In an interesting trash-talking twist, David takes his brother’s shep-
herding insult and transforms it into a boast, using unexpected zoomor-
phic terms to describe the Philistine. He compares the Philistine to a lion
and a bear, animals that are typically used as self-descriptors to intimi-
date foes. David, however, has already killed such beasts while serving as a
lowly shepherd, so he declares he will do the same to “this uncircumcised
Philistine” (vv. 34–37).
The trash talking reaches its climax when David and the Philistine
finally meet. When the Philistine giant sees David, he despises David’s
youthfulness, and says to David: “Am I a dog, that you come at me with
sticks?” (1 Sam 17:43). He then curses David by his gods and says, “Come
to me, and I will give your flesh to the birds of the air and to the wild
animals of the field” (1 Sam 17:44). The Philistine takes offense at David’s
size, age, and appearance. Like David, he uses an unexpected zoomorphic
term for himself, but his use of “dog” in a rhetorical question (with an
implied negative answer) sets up his taunt of David’s choice of a “stick”
as a weapon in contrast to his own “weaver’s beam”-like spear (1 Sam
17:7). The Philistine’s trash talking concludes with a graphic description
of Davidic carrion.
David’s response to Goliath ends the trash-talking session:
This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you
down and cut off your head. And I will give the dead bodies of the host
of the Philistines this day to the birds of the air and to the wild beasts
of the earth, that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel. (1
Sam 17:46) )
While David’s taunt begins and ends theologically, the middle includes
bold predictions of the decapitation that he will accomplish and of the car-
rion consumption that will follow his deed. David’s language echoes that
of his adversary, although he expands the scavengers’ diet to include the
corpse of not just his opponent but of those of the entire Philistine army.
David’s theological retort to the Philistine’s divine curse confidently attri-
butes his perhaps unexpected but definitely imminent victory to God.46
46. See David G. Firth, “That the World May Know: Narrative Poetics in I Samuel
The narrative concludes with a fulfillment notice about the Philistine’s

decapitation but makes no mention of scavengers (vv. 51–54).
Scholarly discussions that limit the taunting to verses 42–47 miss an
important theme that permeates the chapter. While the physical fighting is
limited to two verses (vv. 48–49), the verbal feuding—the taunting, boast-
ing, and insulting—dominates the entire narrative. The narrative includes
multiple rounds of trash talking, much of it prior to the climatic exchange
between David and the giant. The Philistine begins by shouting insults to
the Israelite army (v. 10), and then repeats these over the course of forty
days (vv. 16 and 23). The Israelites respond with fear (vv. 11 and 24) until
David finally replies in kind with a taunt targeting the Philistine (v. 26),
which is responded to by Eliab and Saul with insults emphasizing David’s
lack of experience (vv. 28, 33). David counters by boasting that his shep-
herding experiences have prepared him perfectly for slaughtering this
“bear” of a man (vv. 34–36). When they finally meet face-to-face to trade
barbs about canine carrion and decapitation, their rhetorical skills have
had a sufficient warm-up. While the compositional history of the David-
Philistine narrative was undoubtedly complex, trash talking brings an ele-
ment of unity to this problematic text.
9. Biomorphic and Zoomorphic, Scatological and Theological
While perhaps not expected in sacred Scripture, trash talking is a frequent

feature of the literature of both the Hebrew Bible and the ancient Near
Eastern. Psychological warfare through the medium of trash talking was
apparently a major feature of ancient conflict. To be effective, the deroga-
tory rhetoric needed to be dramatic, intimidating, and even shocking. The
graphic imagery and colorful terminology of these taunt speeches not only
provide insights into the military strategy of these heroic individuals, but
also entertain readers with vivid portrayals of ancient warriors attempting
to instill courage and fear among their friends and foes.
Three concluding observations, therefore, need to be made about the
graphic nature of the language of biblical trash talking. First, it is both
biomorphic and zoomorphic. The participants in the contestants are
described using terminology from the natural world, both as plants (e.g.,
16–17,” in Text and Task: Scripture and Mission (ed. M. Parsons; Bletchley, U.K.: Pater-
noster, 2005), 20–32.
cedar, thistle, stumps, sticks) and as animals (wild ox, beast, lion, fox, bird,
dog, and so on). As a largely agrarian society, ancient people were less
isolated from the natural world than we are today, and so they were more
familiar with the threats nature can bring. A claim to be lionesque in the
field of battle would be more intimidating in an age where gruesome lion
attacks were not uncommon.
Second, biblical trash talking is scatological. The speakers would
describe not only themselves and their opponents, but also certain ani-
mals as being engaged in scatological activities: passing wind, drink-
ing urine, being eaten, eating dung, making dung, and becoming dung.
While familiar to everyone on a daily basis, these activities would not have
been considered appropriate topics for public speech. Listeners would be
shocked, not only that the subject of scatology was broached in such a
blatant manner, but also that their deaths would be envisioned in such
an appalling manner. The rhetorical impact of using scatological language
could have been devastating.
Third, biblical trash talking is surprisingly theological. In addition
to being used to intimidate enemies and motivate allies, trash talking is
also used to exalt Yhwh since military conflicts were understood as taking
place on both a human and a divine level. But Yhwh is not only honored
by it, he also initiates it. While Dixon viewed trash talking in sports nega-
tively, the Hebrew Bible clearly perceives it positively through this asso-
ciation with Yhwh. Through the medium of his prophets (Balaam, Elijah,
Micaiah, Elisha’s apprentice, and Isaiah), the text portrays Yhwh as a trash
talker. Yes, Israel’s enemies talk trash, but so do the heroes of the narrative,
and even Israel’s God.
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“Some Trust in Horses”:
Horses as Symbols of Power
in Rhetoric and Reality
Deborah O’Daniel Cantrell
Warhorses were the most lethal weapon known in the ancient world. Such
was the raw power of the horse in time past, as today. They choose not
to kill us every time we ride them. Weighing over a thousand pounds
with a mounted warrior, trained warhorses easily knocked the enemy to
the ground and trampled them to death with their sharp hooves, slicing
and crushing vital organs. The warrior assisted by pinning the victim to
the ground with his spear. Death was painful, but swift. Warhorses van-
quished enemies on the battlefield immediately. Pharaohs, kings, and
poets immortalized their reliability as killing machines, faithful defend-
ers, and lifesavers.1 The warhorse became the ultimate symbol of power in
literature, art, and reality.
Paradoxically, horses were also esteemed as agents of rescue because
they provided the only certain means of escape from an advancing army.
With their ability to reach speeds of nearly 40 mph, they could outrun the
foot soldiers and distance the rider from the range of deadly arrows. The
ancient Hebrews knew firsthand that horses were the difference between
1. For example, Ramses II (1279–1213 b.c.e.; henceforth all dates are b.c.e.)
prominently featured his chariot horses in monumental palace reliefs with glorifying
inscriptions such as, “I crushed a million countries by myself on Victory-in-Thebes,
Mut-is-content, my great horses; it was they whom I found supporting me, when I
alone fought many lands. They shall henceforth be fed in my presence, whenever I
reside in my palace” (Miriam Lichtheim, “The Kadesh Battle Inscriptions of Ramses
II,” Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings [3 vols.; Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1973–80], 2:70).
-131-
life and death on the battlefield.2 Horses provided immediate deliverance

on the battlefield, as recounted by the narrow escape of Ben-hadad, king
of Aram, retreating on horseback from Ahab’s forces during the Aramean
invasion of Israel (1 Kgs 20:20).
Hebrew poetry extolled the beauty, death-defying bravery, and domi-
nance of the warhorse, intoxicated by its own killing power, as it charged
into the chaos of battle. The book of Job gives this description: “He paws
with force, he runs with vigor, charging into battle. He scoffs at fear; he
cannot be frightened; he does not recoil from the sword”3 (Job 39:21–22).
The nature of the warhorse was idealized as one of God’s most awesome
creations.4 It is not surprising that the officers and warriors who rode them
and commanded chariots were also revered in the cultural milieu: “and
she lusted after her lovers, the Assyrians—warriors … all of them hand-
some young men and mounted horsemen” (Ezek 23:6).
The “horsemen of Israel” were so famous among the citizenry that the
prophet Elisha had visions of them commanding chariots of fire as they
came to transport Elijah to heaven5 (2 Kgs 6:17). In fact, the Israelite chari-
otry, at least 50 chariots, guarding Samaria during the Assyrian conquest
in 720 were so respected that they were left intact as an “elite” kisir sharruti
regiment of the Assyrian home guard.6 As recorded on the Nimrud Prism,
Sargon II (722–705) claims to have conscripted two hundred Samarian
chariots for his royal contingent, although his Annals and the Display
Inscription mention fifty chariots.7 Even so, it is quite probable that the
2. Deborah O. Cantrell, The Horsemen of Israel: Horses and Chariotry in Monar-

chic Israel (Ninth-Eighth Centuries b.c.e.) (History, Archaeology, and Culture of the
Levant 1; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 35–41, 62–63.
3. For an analysis of the Job 39 warhorse as symbolic of chaos, inner-violence,
and undeserved suffering, see David Odell, “Images of Violence in the Horse in Job
29:18–25,” Proof 13 (1993): 163–73.
4. Other ancient texts acknowledge the high status of the warhorse: for example,
the seventh-century Assyrian fable, “The Ox and the Horse,” in which the two crea-
tures debate which of them is the bravest, strongest, and most beneficial to society
(Wilfred G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature [Oxford: Clarendon, 1960; repr.,
Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1996], 175–83).
5. Martinus A. Beek, “The Meaning of the Expression ‘The Chariots and the
Horsemen of Israel’ (II Kings ii 12),” OtSt 17 (1972): 1–10.
6. Nigel Tallis, “Ancient Near Eastern Warfare,” in The Ancient World at War (ed.
Philip de Souza; New York: Thames & Hudson, 2008), 64.
7. Stephanie Dalley, “Foreign Chariotry and Cavalry in the Armies of Tiglath-
cantrell: “Some Trust in Horses” 133
impressive reputation of the “horsemen of Israel” was further enhanced

by this event, and their proficiency, therefore, remained in the collective
memory of the citizenry.
Often warhorses, as the ultimate symbol of death and destruction,
became icons in the geopolitical diatribes of the prophets who were fre-
quently at odds with the rulers and their military advisers.8 Their universal
allure and almost mystical supremacy in battle resulted in elevating war-
horses symbolically and, in the varied expressions of the Hebrew prophets,
caused the ordinary populace to place unwarranted trust in the power of
the military to save them from danger. The prophets inveighed against the
notion that horses, as inspired symbols of military might, were superior to
a basic trust in the God of Israel. This cautionary missive was eloquently
expressed in Isa 31:1: “Woe to those who go down to Egypt for help, who
rely on horses, who trust in the multitude of their chariots and in the great
strength of their horsemen, but do not look to the Holy One of Israel,
or seek help from the Lord.” Zechariah’s postexilic oracle against the ene-
mies of Jerusalem also reiterates the theme of divine omnipotence: “ ‘On
that day I will strike every horse with panic and its rider with madness,’
declares the Lord” (Zech 12:4).
Political rhetoric similar to that of the prophets is also reflected in the
Psalms: “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the
name of the Lord our God” (Ps 20:7); “A horse is a vain hope for deliver-
ance; despite all its great strength it cannot save” (Ps 33:17); and “At your
rebuke, O God of Jacob, both horse and chariot lie still” (Ps 76:6). The
people considered the power of the horse both awe-inspiring and fright-
ening. Although venerated in the public imagination, the prophets manip-
ulated images of warhorses symbolically as weapons of destruction and
terror, often in support of their own, divinely revealed, political agendas.9
pileser III and Sargon II,” Iraq 47 (1985): 31–48. Bob Becking, The Fall of Samaria: A
Historical and Archaeological Study (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 41–42. For the West Semitic
names appearing as officers in the Assyrian Horse Lists, see Stephanie Dalley and John
N. Postgate, The Tablets from Fort Shalmaneser (CTN 3; London: British School of
Archaeology in Iraq, 1984), 173.
8. Douglas A. Knight, Law, Power, and Justice in Ancient Israel (Louisville: West-
minster John Knox, 2011), 77.
9. Norman K. Gottwald, The Politics of Ancient Israel (Louisville: Westminster
John Knox, 2001), 234–35.
In fact, death by trampling under the sharp, flint hooves of warhorses

was feared and dreaded as one of the most violent and disgraceful ways
to die in the ancient world.10 The account of the ignoble death of Queen
Mother Jezebel at Jezreel, the cavalry headquarters of the Northern King-
dom, emphasized regime change and marked the end of the militaristic
Omrides.11 The usurper, Jehu, publically executed Jezebel by trampling her
under the horses’ hooves of his chariot forces (2 Kgs 9:33). Subsequently,
death by trampling became a literary motif used by numerous prophets to
symbolize their predictions of imminent doom and disaster. From Isaiah
in the late eighth-century context: “you were left lying unburied, like a
trampled corpse [in] the clothing of the slain, gashed by the sword” (Isa
14:19, emphasis added). Later from Ezekiel, Tyre is warned about the
approaching army of Nebuchadnezzar: “His horses will be so many that
they will cover you with dust. Your walls will tremble at the noise of the
war horses, wagons and chariots when he enters your gates. … The hoofs
of his horses will trample all your streets” (Ezek 26:11, emphasis added).
The Iron Age populace, familiar with the realities of warfare, under-
stood that, in fact, horses’ hooves may have killed more enemies than
arrows on the battlefield. Arrows and spears tended to wound and inca-
pacitate, resulting in immediate death only if they happened to hit an
artery or pierce the heart. When the Israelite king Joram was wounded in
battle with the Arameans, he recovered from his wounds at Jezreel; later,
while fleeing in his chariot, Jehu’s arrow pierced his heart (2 Kgs 9:15, 24).
The detailed description of this immediate death suggests that it was a rare
occurrence. By contrast, King Ahab reportedly received an arrow wound
during battle, but was propped in his chariot, slowly bleeding to death for
the entire day, finally dying at sunset (1 Kgs 22:34–35). Death from punc-
ture wounds typically occurred days later from infection—as portrayed in
the biblical accounts of two of Judah’s kings: Ahaziah, who was wounded
in his chariot by Jehu but died later at Megiddo12 (2 Kgs 9:27), and Josiah,
10. Cantrell, Horsemen of Israel, 27–31.

11. Brad E. Kelle, Ancient Israel at War 853–586 bc (Essential Histories 67; Oxford:
Osprey, 2007), 29–33.
12. However, the Tel Dan inscription contradicts this account and claims that
the Aramean king—probably Hazael—killed Ahaziah. See Megan Bishop Moore and
Brad E. Kelle, Biblical History and Israel’s Past: The Changing Study of the Bible and
History (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 277–78.
who was badly wounded in battle at Megiddo, but died after he returned to
Jerusalem (2 Chr 35:23–24).
Spears and swords had to be used with precision to kill instantly; they
had to hit the target between the armor openings, something that the
chaos of the battlefield usually prevented.13 However the stomping action
of the horse, bruising and puncturing organs with its four sharp hooves
by repeatedly stepping into the stomach and on other sensitive areas,
killed the enemy within minutes, if not seconds.14 Ancient battle armor
was helpful in deflecting arrows but virtually useless against the half-ton
weight of a horse. Obviously, any serious consideration of ancient battle-
field tactics must include an assessment of the killing power and potential
for lethal damage inflicted by the horses, as well as the prevalent fear that
such could happen.
The threat of being trampled to death was perhaps the fundamen-
tal reason that the convention of chariot warfare reigned over mounted
combat as the preferred method of warfare for nearly a thousand years.15
As a practical matter, it was substantially more difficult to pull a warrior
from a chariot and throw him to the ground than to simply knock him
off a horse’s back. The chariot warrior benefited from three major advan-
tages: the protection offered by the leather or metal chariot siding; the
possibility of intertwining his feet securely in the leather lattice-woven
bottom of the chariot; and the ability to fight with both hands while the
charioteer handled the horses. By comparison, a mounted rider had to
control his horse, shield himself, and manipulate his weapon simultane-
ously, in addition to being an accomplished rider.16 Either way, whoever
13. Richard A. Gabriel and Karen S. Metz, From Sumer to Rome: The Military
Capabilities of Ancient Armies (Contributions in Military Studies 108; Westport,
Conn.: Greenwood, 1991), 93.
14. Personal communication with Timothy J. Hinton, M.D. Internist, Assistant
Professor of Medicine, Vanderbilt University; Board Certified in Internal Medicine by
American Board of Internal Medicine, 2005.
15. Cantrell, Horsemen of Israel, 136–41. For the contribution of advances in bit-
ting, saddlery, and riding skill on warfare conventions, see Robert Drews, Early Riders:
The Beginnings of Mounted Warfare in Asia and Europe (New York: Routledge, 2004),
65–95. For a discussion of how the various units of the Neo-Assyrian chariotry may
have functioned during battle, see Fabrice de Backer, “Some Basic Tactics of Neo-
Assyrian Warfare,” UF 39 (2008): 69–116, and Backer, “Evolution of War Chariot Tac-
tics in the Ancient Near East,” UF 41 (2010): 29–46.
16. For a discussion of the military effects of horseback riding and chariots as
was unfortunate enough to be prostrate on the ground under the hooves

of warhorses, whether they were harnessed as a chariot team or only one
horse with a mounted warrior, was in imminent danger of being trampled
to death. Also, even if the downed warrior was successful in regaining
his footing, a chariot warrior could escape the battle by simply jumping
aboard the chariot, whereas the cavalryman had the difficulty of catching
his horse and trying to remount from the ground in the chaos of battle.17
Of course, this is not to suggest that all warhorses were trained to
kill; certainly some trampling was accidental, and warfare conventions
changed over time as riding skill and weaponry advanced.18 However,
there is historical reference to the Persians teaching their cavalry horses to
trample fallen soldiers by practicing on dummy corpses filled with straw,
and it is entirely possible that this practice, or a similar one, was also a part
of equine training for earlier armies.19 The Hebrew Bible certainly reflects
memories of the terrors associated with the killing force of warhorses.
Isaiah described the aggressiveness of the invading Assyrian enemy in
a late eighth-century setting: “Their arrows are sharp, all their bows are
strung; their horses’ hoofs seem like flint, their chariot wheels like a whirl-
wind” (Isa 5:28, emphasis added). From Nahum, a seventh-century battle
scene is depicted against Nineveh: “The crack of the whips, the clatter of
wheels, galloping horses and jolting chariots! Charging cavalry, flashing
swords and glittering spears! Many casualties, piles of dead, bodies without
number, people stumbling over corpses” (Nah 3:2–3). In a sixth-century
context, the prophet Habakkuk described the Babylonian cavalry: “Their
horses are swifter than leopards, fiercer than wolves at dusk. Their cavalry
gallops headlong; their horsemen come from afar. They fly like a vulture
“engines of war,” see David W. Anthony, The Horse, The Wheel, and Language (Princ-
eton: Princeton University Press, 2007), 222–24, 397–405.
17. Various ground-to-horse mounting procedures were a regular part of training
for Greek cavalry. See Ann Hyland, The Horse in the Ancient World (Westport, Conn.:
Praeger, 2003), 138.
18. For the fascinating chronicle of how the Comanche’s superior riding skills and
alacrity for mounted combat stymied the Texas Rangers and thwarted the progress
of settlement in the American West for more than half a century, see S. C. Gwynne,
Empire of the Summer Moon (New York: Scribner, 2010), 28–35, 73–88, 132–48.
19. Aelian, On Animals 16.25. A battle inscription of Ramses III (1187–1156)
reads: “The horses were quivering in every part of their bodies, prepared to crush the
foreign countries under their hoofs” (J. A. Wilson, trans., “The War against the Peoples
of the Sea,” ANET, 26, emphasis added).
swooping to devour; they all come bent on violence” (Hab 1:8). Clearly,
the general perception of the lethal danger of warhorses was acknowl-
edged and widespread during the Iron Age.
The Hebrew prophets warned against relying on military might as a
solution to the immediate problem of an invading enemy. Isaiah, Hosea,
Micah, and Amos cautioned their audiences that their reliance for deliv-
erance should be placed on God, not on the seemingly limitless power of
horses. As expressed in Isa 30:15: “In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength but you would have none of it. You
said, ‘No, we will flee on horses.’ Therefore you will flee! You said, ‘We will
ride off on swift horses.’ Therefore your pursuers will be swift.” Hosea, a
contemporary of Isaiah, also sounded the warning: “Assyria cannot save us,
we will not mount warhorses” (Hos 14:3). The underlying belief in the con-
text of both passages is that the army with the fastest, fittest horses would
win, and that escape from the enemy would require access to swift horses.
The biblical prophets also were united thematically in the belief that,
even though both Israel and Judah had huge equine resources, God was
supreme and could subdue the most advanced military weaponry. For
example, Micah warned Judah: “ ‘In that day,’ declares the Lord, ‘I will
destroy your horses from among you and demolish your chariots’ ” (Mic
5:10), and Amos says similarly: “ ‘I killed your young men with the sword,
along with your captured horses,’ … declares the Lord” (Amos 4:10). Their
threats that God would destroy the horses symbolically represented the
downfall of the nation of Judah, as had been the fate of Israel earlier when
the Assyrians invaded.
Israel in the late eighth century was not a tranquil place. Israel was
the battleground for the invading Assyrian army, led by their aggres-
sive, battle-seasoned kings, Tiglath-pileser III (745–727), Shalmaneser
V (727–722), and Sargon II (721–705). Assyria had the most powerful
army in the world at that time, primarily because of its highly effective
chariotry and horsemen.20 To combat the mighty armies of its neighbors,
as early as the ninth century Israel developed an extensive chariotry force
and the infrastructure to support it.21 At the Battle of Qarqar in 853, King
20. Stephanie Dalley, “Ancient Mesopotamian Military Organization,” in Civili-

zations of the Ancient Near East (ed. Jack M. Sasson; New York: Simon & Schuster
Macmillan, 1995), 413–22.
21. Baruch Halpern, “Centre and Sentry: Megiddo’s Role in Transit, Administra-
Ahab of Israel led the largest chariot contingent, some two thousand
strong, to fight the Assyrians.22
The Tel Dan Stele fragment (about 841) proclaims the Aramean vic-
tories against Israel and Judah and claims that “thousands of chariots and
thousands of horsemen” were involved in the battles.23 Horses continued
to be key weaponry in the armies of Israel and Judah for the next hun-
dred years. In the late eighth century, Isaiah described the land as “full of
horses” with “no end to their chariots” (Isa 2:7) and decried against Judah,
“Your choicest valleys are full of chariots and horsemen are posted at the
city gates” (Isa 22:7).
The Isaiah reference to horses posted at the city gates is especially illu-
minating. Archaeological excavations reveal that by the late eighth century,
Israel and Judah had developed an extensive defensive network of walled
cities with chambered gates at their entrances to expedite the hitching and
unhitching of chariot horses. These six and four chambered gates are found
at Dan, Hazor, Bethsaida, Jezreel, Megiddo, Gezer, Ashdod, Lachish, Beer-
sheba, and other sites, as well as various key locations in Moab.24 Armies
or messengers could travel between these strategically located fortresses
conveniently without overtiring the horses. It was possible to travel from
Dan to Beer-sheba, the entire length of Israel and Judah, via chariot or on
horseback in one day by changing horses as necessary at these locations.
The chambered gates served as convenient stalls to harness and attend to
the physical needs of horses, thereby expediting travel, as well as support-
ing the rapid deployment of chariotry units for defensive purposes.25
Jezreel has been identified as the location of the military headquar-
ters and cavalry depot for the Northern Kingdom during the reign of the
Omrides.26 Its proximity to the large Ein Jezreel spring, its panoramic
tion and Trade,” in Megiddo III: The 1992–1996 Seasons (ed. I. Finkelstein, D. Ussish-
kin, and B. Halpern; 2 vols.; Jerusalem: Tel Aviv University Press, 2000), 2:535–77.
22. Anson F. Rainey and R. Steven Notley, The Sacred Bridge (Jerusalem: Carta,
2006), 200. See also Shigeo Yamada, The Construction of the Assyrian Empire: A His-
torical Study of the Inscriptions of Shalmaneser III (859–824 b.c.) Relating to His Cam-
paigns to the West (CHANE 3; Boston: Brill, 2000), 156–63.
23. William M. Schniedewind, “Tel Dan Stela: New Light on Aramaic and Jehu’s
Revolt,” BASOR 302 (1996): 75–90.
24. Cantrell, Horsemen of Israel, 76–86, Fig 4.1 at 77.
25. Ibid., 76–86.
26. David Ussishkin, “Excavations at Tel Jezreel 1992–1993: Second Preliminary
Report,” Levant 26 (1994): 1–48. See also Norma Franklin, “Jezreel: Before and after
view of the Jezreel Valley, and strategic position on the Via Maris trade
route and key military highway made it the ideal location.27 Jezreel could
easily have been the mustering location for Ahab’s forces in the Battle of
Qarqar in 853. The chambered gates at Jezreel faced south toward the
capital city, Samaria. Jezreel provided protection for Samaria, because an
invading army first had to pass by the Jezreel military compound. In addi-
tion, Jezreel was strategically situated as a point of departure for troops
battling in Transjordan and Aram.28 It is to Jezreel that the Israelite kings
returned after battles against Ramoth Gilead (2 Kgs 8:28; 9:15–16). Also,
as mentioned above, Jehu ordered the execution of Jezebel by trampling
at Jezreel.29
The largest and most sophisticated chariot training center in the
ancient world was located at Megiddo, situated on the main trading routes
connecting Egypt, Syria, Phoenicia, and Mesopotamia.30 Perhaps built by
Jeroboam II in the mid eighth century to support his invasions into the
north, Megiddo provided permanent stabling facilities for over 450 horses,
which required hundreds of grooms and related workers.31 The Megiddo
fortress had seventeen well constructed stables, many with carved stone
troughs. It also had two enclosed, smoothly paved courtyards for training,
three sets of chambered gates, a massive granary (12,800-bushel capacity),
Jezebel,” in Israel in Transition: From Late Bronze II to Iron IIA (c. 1250–850) (ed. L. L.
Grabbe; LHBOTS 491; London: Continuum, 2008), 53–54.
27. Jennie Ebeling, Norma Franklin, and Ian Cipin, “Jezreel Revealed in Laser
Scans: A Preliminary Report of the 2012 Survey Season,” NEA 75 (2012): 232–39.
28. It has been suggested that Hosea’s naming of his son “Jezreel” was a symbolic
toponym based on Jezreel’s universal recognition as an important military headquar-
ters. See Shawn Z. Aster, “The Function of the City of Jezreel and the Symbolism of
Jezreel in Hosea 1–2,” JNES 71 (2012): 31–46.
29. Jezebel’s fall from a second floor window—a drop of perhaps ten feet— would
not have killed her, but the horses’ hooves were certain to inflict immediate death.
30. Mario Liverani, “From Melid through Bastam to Megiddo: Stables and Horses
in Iron Age II,” in Leggo! Studies Presented to Frederick Mario Fales (ed. G. Lanfranchi,
et al.; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 443–59; John S. Holladay Jr., “The Stables of
Ancient Israel,” in The Archaeology of Jordan and Other Studies Presented to Siegfried
H. Horn (ed. L. T. Geraty and L. G. Herr; Berrien Springs, Mich.: Andrews University
Press, 1986), 103–66.
31. Deborah O. Cantrell, “Stable Issues,” in Megiddo IV (ed. I. Finkelstein, D.
Ussishkin, and B. Halpern; 2 vols.; Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 2006), 2:630–42;
Deborah O. Cantrell and Israel Finkelstein, “A Kingdom for a Horse: The Megiddo
Stables and Eighth Century Israel,” in ibid., 2:643–65.
and complex watering system. Megiddo was conquered by Assyrian king

Tiglath-pileser III in 732 and converted into the regional headquarters for
the use of the Assyrian army.32
In Judah, the major horse compound at Lachish, about thirty miles
southwest of Jerusalem, also had stables, two sets of chambered gates, and
enclosed training areas.33 Assyrian king Sennacherib conquered Lachish
in his campaign into Judah in 701 during Hezekiah’s reign (715–686). Sen-
nacherib was so pleased with his victory over the military headquarters
at Lachish that he featured this conquest in a series of reliefs prominently
positioned in the entrance hall of his palace in Nineveh, (currently in the
British Museum).34 During the siege of Jerusalem in 701, a commander of
the Assyrian army taunted King Hezekiah and his advisers with the offer
to provide two thousand horses, presumably to escape upon, if they would
surrender the city (2 Kgs 18:23). This taunt was even more stinging, con-
sidering the recent capture of the warhorses and destruction wrought at
Judah’s military center at Lachish.
There were thousands of horses in Judah and Israel during the
monarchic period. Their care and well-being was supported by a large
number of the citizenry, as is reflected in the memory of the highly
structured organization for feeding the royal horses attributed to the
Solomonic period (1 Kgs 4:7, 26–27).35 The infrastructure to support the
horses required the involvement of many people, all of whom undoubt-
edly witnessed the power and superior force of the horse on a regular
basis. Therefore, when the biblical prophets used the imagery of horses
and chariotry symbolically, their audience had the real-world experience
to relate with ease and clarity.
Many horses undoubtedly were bred in Israel, with its suitable topog-
raphy in the areas near Jezreel and Megiddo,36 and some horses report-
edly were purchased from Que (Cilicia, modern-day Turkey; 1 Kgs 10:28)
32. David Ussishkin, On Biblical Jerusalem, Megiddo, Jezreel and Lachish (CKLS
8; Hong Kong: Chinese University, 2011), 60–69.
33. Ibid., 94–96.
34. David Ussishkin, The Conquest of Lachish by Sennacherib (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv
University, 1982), 59–126.
35. Cantrell, Horsemen of Israel, 53–56.
36. With as few as ten stallions and one hundred mares, near 1500 horses could
be produced and trained for battle in twelve years. See Cantrell, Horsemen of Israel,
table 3.1, p. 50.
CANTRELL: “SOME TRUST IN HORSES” 141
and Beth Togarmah (modern-day Armenia; Ezek 27:16) by Israelite horse

traders. However, it was the Egyptian horses that captured the imagina-
tion of the general public and held the greatest symbolic value. The large
Egyptian warhorses were especially prized, and this memory is captured in
several passages in the Hebrew Bible, some warning against making politi-
cal overtures to Egypt for horses, while others acknowledge that Egyp-
tian horses were purchased routinely for the royal stud (Deut 17:16; 1 Kgs
10:28; 2 Kgs 18:23–24).
In the eighth century, the Nubian/Kushite kings of Egypt’s Twenty-
Fifth Dynasty (approximately 750–650), especially King Piye (747–716),
bred and trained the most desirable chariot horses.37 The Kushite horses
were exceptionally tall for the time, about sixteen hands, and especially
favored by the Assyrian kings.38 Sargon II received twelve large Kushite
horses as tribute and recorded that they were superior to any that existed
in Assyria.39 In the late eighth century, Assyria established horse trading
centers on the border with Egypt, which meant that Egyptian horses were
a common sight passing north through Judah.40 At El Kurru, the royal
burial grounds for the Kushite kings, excavators uncovered a horse cem-
etery with twenty-four graves of grandly caparisoned horses buried stand-
ing up and identified as the royal chariot horses.41 The luxurious funeral
trappings found on these carefully buried horses are unsurpassed in the
ancient world, and support the notion that the special Egyptian-bred
horses of the Nubian kings were highly esteemed.
37. Robert G. Morkot, The Black Pharaohs: Egypt’s Nubian Rulers (London: Rubi-
con, 2000), 187–94.
38. Lisa A. Heidorn, “The Horses of Kush,” JNES 56 (1997): 105–14. The beauti-
ful horses with excellent confirmation pictured on the Assyrian reliefs after the death
of Sargon II (705) are probably Kushite horses, assuming typical royal preference for
the best horses and faithful depiction by the artists. The difference in confirmation is
easily apparent when compared to the smaller, leaner Assyrian horses depicted on the
ninth-century Balawat Gate. See Yigael Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands in
Light of Archaeological Study (trans. M. Pearlman; 2 vols.; New York: McGraw-Hill,
1963), 2:403, 432.
39. Andreas Fuchs, Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v. Chr.: Nach Prismenfragmenten
aus Ninive und Assur (ed. R. M. Whiting; SAAS 8; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus
Project, 1998), lines 8–11.
40. Dalley, “Ancient Mesopotamian Military Organization,” 418.
41. Dows Dunham, The Royal Cemeteries of Kush (5 vols.; Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1950–63), 1:110, plates 28–29.
It is not an exaggeration to postulate that the Egyptian horses were

“world famous” in the eighth century and that their celebrity status caused
serious concern among the Hebrew prophets. During Sennacherib’s inva-
sion of Judah in 701, the Assyrian army fought a battle against the Egyp-
tian chariotry forces on the plain of Eltekeh, about six miles northwest of
Ekron and twenty-five miles north of Gaza.42 The inscription on Sennach-
erib’s prism describes how the rulers of Ekron banded together with the
Kushite kings: “They called out for the kings of the land of Egypt, an army
of bowman, charioteers, and horses of the king of the land of Cush, a host
without number; they came to their aid.”43 The Assyrians claimed to have
won this battle and secured control over the main highway leading up from
the south into Judah.44 However, the vast number of chariot horses avail-
able in Egypt meant that Judah also had a resource for mercenary troops
in their defensive efforts against the Assyrian invaders in 701. Apparently
King Hezekiah considered securing the assistance of Egyptian horses and
chariots a viable option to protect Jerusalem, thereby provoking the Assyr-
ian commander’s taunt and disparagement of Egypt as a “splintered reed”
that pierces and wounds those who lean on it (2 Kgs 18:21). It is against
this political reality that Isaiah issued the rhetorical warning mentioned
earlier: “Woe to those who go down to Egypt for help, who rely on horses,
who trust in the multitude of their chariots and in the great strength of
their horsemen, but do not look to the Holy One of Israel” (Isa 31:1).
Yet, symbolically, the image of the powerful Egyptian warhorses as a
means of victory and rescue was so ingrained in the minds of the populace
and rulers in Judah that Isaiah also had to remind his audience: “But the
Egyptians are men and not God; their horses are flesh and not spirit” (Isa
31:3). Such was the grip of the emblematic imagery of the awe-inspiring
power of the warhorse on the mindset of the ancient world.
Today, the memory of the horse as a killing machine has faded, and we
are simply left with the elegant moves of a highly trained dressage horse
in piaffe, passage, pirouette, and other battlefield-based maneuvers, all of
which require a symbiotic relationship between the horse and rider and
thereby recall the ancient rhetoric: “Some trust in horses. …”
42. Rainey and Notley, Sacred Bridge, 240–41.

43. Ibid., 242.
44. Nadav Na’aman, “Sennacherib’s ‘Letter to God’ on His Campaign to Judah,”
BASOR 214 (1974): 25–39.
Appendix: Notes on Various Scenes of Trampling by Warhorses

as Portrayed in Ancient Near Eastern Iconography
Across time and diverse cultures, in the art of the ancient world, battle
scenes of the enemy trapped under the hooves of the warhorses appear as
a commonly repeated theme. From the Early Bronze Age (approximately
2600), the Sumerian Standard of Ur (British Museum) shows onagers pull-
ing wagons over corpses. In Egyptian art beginning in the fifteenth cen-
tury with Thuthmose IV (1411–1397) and afterward, streamlined chariots
are depicted being pulled by extravagantly large warhorses plunging over
enemies and crushing them underfoot. This artistic rendering of death in
battle by trampling under horses’ hooves is repeated by a long succession
of pharaohs (for example. Seti I, Ramses II, Tutankhamun, and others),
who showcase their rearing chariot horses on palace walls, temples, and
in ceremonial halls at Karnak, Luxor, Abydos, Thebes, Abu Simbel, and
other locations.45
From the thirteenth century, the ivory plaques found at Megiddo
depict Canaanite chariots overrunning their enemies, with corpses under-
foot (Museum of the Oriental Institute, Chicago).46 In the tenth and ninth
centuries, Neo-Hittite orthostats from Tel Halaf (National Museum,
Aleppo, Syria) and Carchemish (Hittite Museum, Ankara) show warriors
prostrate under the chariot horses.47 And, from Assyria, in battle reliefs
in the palace of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859) in Nimrud (British Museum),
and on the bronze gates of Shalmaneser III (858–824) at Balawat (Brit-
ish Museum), enemy bodies are featured under the horse’s hooves.48 Also
war reliefs from the palace of Sargon II (721–705) at Khorsabad (Brit-
ish Museum) and Sennacherib’s (704–681) palace at Nineveh (capture of
Lachish) (British Museum) depict mounted warriors using their horses to
knock enemies to the ground and trample them, as they hold them with
45. For examples, see relief on north tower of the western wall of Rameseum,
reproduced in Mark Healy, The Warrior Pharaoh: Rameses II and the Battle of Qadesh
(Oxford: Osprey, 1993), 63; the battle relief of Rameses II at Abydos, reproduced in
Robert B. Partridge, Fighting Pharaohs: Weapons and Warfare in Ancient Egypt (Man-
chester: Peartree, 2002), 114; and relief of the northern tower of the third pylon of
Karnak, showing the wars of Seti I against the Shasu of Canaan, reproduced in Yadin,
Art of Warfare, 1:230.
46. See Yadin, Art of Warfare, 1:243.
47. Ibid., 2:366.
48. See reproduction of Balawat gate scene in Kelle, Ancient Israel at War, 19.
their spears.49 Assyrian iconography frequently depicts the fallen enemy

dying under the horses’ hooves in both chariot scenes and those illustrat-
ing mounted combat.
In classical Greece, long after the demise of chariot warfare, mounted
warriors with long spears (kamax) continued to be shown artistically pin-
ning enemies while horses trample them. An especially interesting scene
on a fifth-century amphora (Louvre) shows an infantryman under the
horse’s hooves trying to defend himself by scaring the horse away with a
leopard skin which he uses as a puppet to induce fear (horses are intrinsi-
cally afraid of lions and leopards).50 The coin below, a tetradracma from
Paeonia (approximately 335–313), features a horse trampling a fallen war-
rior who tries to defend himself with a shield.
For more than a thousand
years, from the Egyptians to
the Greeks, artistic iconogra-
phy emphasizing the power
of the warhorse to destroy
the enemy is displayed for
public scrutiny. These battle
scenes of enemies trampled
by horses depict a frightful,
almost instant death, com-
monly acknowledged in the
ancient world.
Figure 1: Photo of coin from

author’s collection.
49. See reproduction of scenes in Norma Franklin, “A Room with a View: Images
from Room V at Khorsabad, Samaria, Nubians, the Brook of Egypt and Ashdod,” in
Studies in the Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Jordan (ed. A. Mazar; JSOTSup
331; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 257–77, Fig 10.4 at p. 268, and John M.
Russell, The Final Sack of Nineveh: The Discovery, Documentation, and Destruction of
King Sennacherib’s Throne Room at Nineveh, Iraq (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1998), Plate 201, p. 198.
50. See “The Great Melos Amphora by the Suessula Painter” online at: http://
www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/attic-red-figure-neck-amphora; reproduced in
detail in Nicholas Sekunda, Warriors of Ancient Greece (Oxford: Osprey, 1986), Plate
C2, 16.
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War Rituals in the Old Testament:
Prophets, Kings, and the
Ritual Preparation for War
Rüdiger Schmitt
1. Introduction
No military action in the ancient Near East could be started without pre-
ceding ritual actions and omina. Accordingly, military actions in ancient
Israel, as well as in Assyria and Babylonia, were accompanied by ritual
actions and omina. War rituals and mantical consultations were an inte-
gral part of both preparations for war and postwar or postbattle activities
in ancient times.1 Rituals carried out in cases of war are acts with sym-
bolic meaning and communicative functions directed to friend and foe.
War rituals communicate military power, create solidarity within a nation
and between military leaders and their troops, and stimulate confidence
in victory. Ritual actions in the context of war not only have a communi-
cative function for friends and foes, but they always involve a numinous
or divine actor included or instrumentalized in the ritual process. This
ritual communication with the divine was an indispensible part of human
actions before and after war and battle in the ancient Near East.
Both the textual and iconographic evidence attests to a large number
of ritual strategies to secure military success. These include execration rit-
uals, ritual archery, and the smashing of pots and figurines (the sd dšrwt
1. The following article is based on my book Der ‘Heilige Krieg’ im Pentateuch und
im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (AOAT 381; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2011),
esp. 137–43.
-149-
ritual) in Egypt,2 ritual hunting in Egypt and Assyria,3 the military oaths
of the Hittites,4 and posbattle rituals like the cleansing of the weapons in
Assyria.5 Of utmost importance were oracle inquiries before a political
decision was made or a military action started, which served to secure
divine support and create confidence in victory.6
2. Ritual Preparations for War in the Old Testament
Actual ritual texts or prescriptions for war rituals do not appear in the
Old Testament or extrabiblical sources. However, the historiographic
texts of the Old Testament contain various references to war rituals and
accounts of ritual actions performed before or during military actions.7 In
most cases, the texts present short references to oracle inquiries to Yhwh,
asking whether a campaign will be successful. These could be performed
by a ritual or oracle specialist, a prophet or a “man of God” (Shemaiah in
2. For depictions of the Pharaoh as hunter and as archer, see Othmar Keel, “Der
Bogen als Herrschaftssymbol: Einige unveröffentlichte Skarabäen aus Ägypten und
Israel zum Thema ‘Jagd und Krieg,’ ” in Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/
Israel III: Die frühe Eisenzeit: Ein Workshop (ed. O. Keel, M. Shuval, and C. Uehlinger;
OBO 100; Freiburg: Academic Press, 1990), 27–65. On the execration rituals, see G.
Posener, “Ächtungstexte,” LÄ 1:67–69; J. van Dijk, “Zerbrechen der roten Töpfe,” LÄ
6:1389–96. For the texts, see ANET, 328–29; COS, 1:50–52; For execration figurines,
see ANEP, 593. On the motif of slaying the enemy, see Sylvia Schoske, Das Erschlagen
der Feinde: Ikonographie und Stilistik der Feindvernichtung im alten Ägypten (Heidel-
berg: Academic Press, 1982); Dietrich Wildung, “Erschlagen der Feinde” LÄ 2:14–17.
3. See Ursula Magen, Assyrische Königsdarstelllungen: Aspekte der Herrschaft
(Baghdader Forschungen 9; Mainz: von Zabern, 1986), 34–35.
4. See Johannes Friedrich, “Der Hethitische Soldateneid,” ZA 35 (1924): 161–91;
Norbert Oettinger, Die militärischen Eide der Hethiter (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1976).
5. See Walter Mayer, “Waffenreinigung im assyrischen Kriegsritual,” in Kult, Kon-
flikt und Versöhnung: Beiträge zur kultischen Sühne in religiösen, sozialen und poli-
tischen Auseinandersetzungen des Antiken Mittelmeerraumes (ed. R. Albertz; AOAT
285; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001), 123–33; Moshe Elat, “Mesopotamische Kriegsri-
tuale,” BO 39 (1982): 5–25; Magen, Königsdarstellungen, 82.
6. See Simo Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA 9; Helsinki: Helsinki University
Press, 1997), xxxi; Ivan Starr, ed., Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in
Sargonid Assyria (SAA 4; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1990), lvi; Steven W.
Holloway, Aššur is King! Aššur is King!: Religion in the Exercise of Power in the Neo-
Assyrian Empire (CHANE 10; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 78–79.
7. See Rüdiger Schmitt, Magie im Alten Testament (AOAT 313; Münster: Ugarit-
Verlag, 2004), 274–82; Schmitt, Der Heilige Krieg, 137–42.
SCHMITT: WAR RITUALS IN THE OLD TESTAMENT 151
1 Kgs 12:22–24), by means of instrumental mantic techniques (the inquiry

by David with an ephod, a ritual object of unclear character, sometimes
described as a garment or a mask,8 in 1 Sam 30:7–9), or by a direct inquiry
of the king to Yhwh (the account of David’s campaign against the Amale-
kites in 2 Sam 2:1–2). Accounts of war rituals that contain an execration
ritual appear in the story of the ritual shooting and striking with arrows
of King Joash with the support of Elisha in 2 Kgs 13:14–19 and in the
performance with the horns made of iron by the prophet Zedekaiah in
1 Kgs 22:10–12. Psalm 2:9 also seems to refer to a war ritual performed by
the king that is similar to the Egyptian execration ritual of smashing the
red pots (the sd dšrwt ritual). Ritual destruction of pots is also attested in
Mesopotamian ritual literature, in particular from namburbis and in other
apotropaic rituals.9 Actual war rituals depicting the smashing of pots by
the king or religious functionaries, however, are not attested in Mesopota-
mian sources. Nevertheless, Assyrian rulers claimed in their royal inscrip-
tions to have smashed the countries of the enemies like pots,10 but this
may be only a metaphorical expression.
The execration ritual performance with bow and arrows commanded
by Elisha in 2 Kgs 13:14–1911 provides a helpful example of the war rituals
in the historiographic books. The context of the performance is the wars
against the Arameans at the beginning of the eighth century b.c.e. Due
to the Aramean threat, King Joash engages the famous old “man of God”
(ʾîš hāʾǝlōhîm), Elisha, who is here called by his name of honor, “chariot of
Israel and his rider” for having saved Israel in many situations of distress.
The man of God of the northern state is not a prophet in the common
sense, but a ritual specialist performing a great variety of rituals, in par-
ticular healing and other forms of magical intervention in situations of
distress for the individual, family, or local community. Even so, the sources
8. See Rüdiger Schmitt, “Divination II: Hebrew Bible/Old Testament” in Encyclo-

pedia of the Bible and Its Reception (eds. Hans-Josef Klauck et al.; Berlin: de Gruyter,
2009), 2:959–61.
9. See Stefan M. Maul, Zukunftsbewältigung: Eine Untersuchung altorientalischen
Denkens anhand der babylonisch-assyrischen Löserituale (Baghdader Forschungen 18;
Mainz: von Zabern, 1994), 82–84.
10. See Hayim Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-Pileser III King of Assyria: Criti-
cal Edition, with Introductions, Translations and Commentary (Jerusalem: Israel Acad-
emy of Sciences and Humanities, 1994), 122–23, Z. 8 (Summay Inscription I); Maul,
Zukunftsbewältigung, 83.
11. See also Schmitt, Magie, 275–80.
emphasize an often oppositional stance against the king and the elites as
well as ritual specialists and ritual mediators in state affairs.12
The ritual commanded by Elisha contains two parts: (1) shooting with
the bow in the direction of the enemy to the east, and (2) striking the
ground with the arrows. During the first action, in which Joash has to
shoot the arrow, Elisha as a ritual mediator guides his hands, thus assuring
the support of the national god, Yhwh. The symbolic meaning of this ritual
is a magical anticipation of victory. The ritual action is accompanied by the
spell, “Yhwh’s arrow of victory, the arrow of victory against Aram!” (v. 17).
These words communicate a message of victory to the audience of politi-
cal, military, and religious functionaries, as well as the troops, which are,
however, not mentioned, but may be assumed to be present (as in Zedeki-
ah’s performance in 1 Kgs 22 and David’s ritual performance of loyalty in
2 Sam 19:6–9). The second part of the ritual contains the striking on the
ground with the arrows. The number of strikes symbolizes the number of
victories granted by Yhwh. That the man of God criticizes the king for not
having struck more times belongs to the tendency of the story to portray
this king as a failure. Both ritual actions are without doubt acts of imita-
tive magic. Like the arrow flying in the direction of Damascus, the Israelite
troops will penetrate the heartland of the Arameans, and the victories will
be achieved and granted by Yhwh, as often the king strikes the ground.
Previous scholarship has interpreted these rituals as a means by which
the participants sought to coerce a deity to do human will. This interpreta-
tion does not fit the ancient perspectives.13 No person in antiquity was so
naïve as to believe that one could coerce a god to do his or her will. Rituals
were likely performed with the conviction that a god will intervene as a
savior, delivering the enemy into the hand of the king. But this conviction
was based on the ritual authority of the man of God, rooted in his special
relation to Yhwh (as the title “man of god” indicates), and the function of
the king as vicarius dei. In particular, we have to assume that in the emic
perception the man of God was believed to have a direct line to Yhwh and
that Yhwh was bound to the word of his authorized mediators and thus
made what his ritual mediators and vicarii dei were performing ritually
happen in reality. Thus, the magic of these war rituals was not working
automatically, ex opere operato, but worked according to the firm belief
12. Ibid., 294–98.

13. Ibid., 277.
schmitt: War Rituals in the Old Testament 153
that the deity intervenes in reaction to these faithful acts. The public per-
formance of such rituals created strong emotions of confidence and trust
in victory granted by the god.
Overall, these elements suggest that the first action of Elisha’s laying
on of hands in this context symbolizes that Yhwh, represented by his ritual
mediator Elisha, leads the weapon of the king to its target. The second
part of the ritual with the striking of the arrows works as a specification
of the divine will and therefore has a stronger mantic character than the
previous ritual action with the bow. Additionally, in the second part, the
oracle replaces the conjuration formula. Thus, we can conclude that 2 Kgs
13:14–19 is a war ritual consisting of two performative acts accompanied
by speech acts and includes an execration ritual, an anticipation of victory,
and an oracle granting three victories over the enemy:
(1) Anticipation of Victory

(1.1) command by the man of god
(1.2) ritual action: shooting one arrow to the east by the king
(1.3) conjuration by the man of god
(2) Specification
(2.1) command by the man of god
(2.2) ritual action: striking three times by the king
(2.3) oracle proclaiming three victories
The background of this ritual is the symbolic significance of ritual shooting

and royal bows in the ancient Near East. Ritual shooting is attested both
in ancient Egypt14 and Mesopotamia.15 Moreover, the bow as a symbol
for royal power and dominance over enemies has a longer local history
in glyptic and other small art. 16 In Judean iconography of Iron Age II, the
bow with arrows is, as attested by the seal of the śr hyr (fig. 1),17 a symbol of
14. Cf. Othmar Keel, Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament: Ikonogra-

phische Studien zu Jos 8,18–26; Ex 17,8–13; 2 Kön 13,14–19 und 1 Kön 22,11 (OBO 5;
Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1974), 113; Keel, “Bogen,” 172.
15. A survey is given in Keel, “Bogen,” 278.
16. Ibid.
17. Nahman Avigad and Benjamin Sass, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals
(Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1997), 402; Othmar Keel
and Christoph Uehlinger, Götter, Göttinnen und Gottessymbole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur
Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels aufgrund bisher unerschlossener ikonographi-
scher Quellen (QD 134; Freiburg: Herder, 1999), 346.
the authority and military power of the king. As the iconography of the seal
shows, Judean royal representations of the Iron II period are strongly influ-
enced by Assyrian models.18 The impact of Egyptian iconography, reaching
back to the late Bronze Age and still influential in the Iron Age, can also
be demonstrated by the motif of the king slaying the enemy on the Egyp-
tianizing ivories from Samaria (fig. 2).19 The same motif appears on Iron
Age seals and bullae both from Israel (figs. 3 and 4) and Philistine Ashdod
(fig. 5).20 The iconography of the seals and ivories relates to the aforemen-
tioned execration rituals, in particular with the smashing of the foes in Ps
2:9, which resembles the Egyptian sd dšrwt ritual. Another example of this
type of execration ritual appears in Jer 19, where the prophet performs an
execration ritual by smashing pots against his own city.
The mantic consultation of the prophet Zedekiah in 1 Kgs 22:10–12
provides a second helpful example of war rituals in the Old Testament
historiographic books. The consultation takes place in front of the city
gate of Samaria and belongs to a group of postdeuteronomistic war nar-
rations including 1 Kgs 20:1–43; 22:1–38; 2 Kgs 3:4–27; and 6:24–7:20.
The conflict between Zedekiah ben Chenaanah and Micaiah ben Imlah
perhaps has its background in traditions about conflicts between proph-
ets of salvation and prophets of doom in the late monarchic period,
which may also be reflected in the story about Jeremiah and Hananiah
in Jer 28.21 In their present forms, however, both 1 Kgs 22 and Jer 28 are
examples of the prophetical law in Deut 18,22 and therefore do not read-
ily permit historical facts to be extracted from them. Nevertheless, the
18. See Rüdiger Schmitt, Bildhafte Herrschaftsrepräsentation im eisenzeitlichen

Israel (AOAT 283; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001), 197–98.
19. John W. Crowfoot and Grace M. Crowfoot, Early Ivories from Samaria
(Samaria-Sebaste II; London: Palestine Exploration Fund, 1938), pl. XIV, 1.
20. See Avigad and Sass, Corpus, Nr. 400, 401, 1065; Benjamin Sass, “The Pre-
exilic Hebrew Seals: Iconism Versus Aniconism,” in Studies in the Iconography of
Northwest Semitic Inscribed Seals (ed. Benjamin Sass and Christoph Uehlinger; OBO
125; Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1993), 145.
21. See Ernst Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige (ATD 11.2; Göttingen: Vanden-
hoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 262; Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories: The Narratives
about the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible: Their Literary Types and History (Jerusalem:
Magnes, 1988), 262; Susanne Otto, Jehu, Elia und Elisa: Die Erzählung von der Jehu-
Revolution und die Komposition der Elia-Elisa-Erzählungen (BWA(N)T 152; Stuttgart:
Kohlhammer, 2001), 215.
22. See Schmitt, Magie, 281.
Figure 1. Seal depicting a bow with arrows. After Keel and Uehlinger,
Götter, no. 346.
Figure 2. King slaying an enemy on an ivory from Samaria. After Keel and
Uehlinger, Götter, no. 262b.
Figures 3 and 4. Iron Age seals from Israel. (3) Drawing by the author. (4)
After Sass, “Pre-exilic Hebrew Seals,” 145.
Figure 5. Iron Age seal from Philistine Ashdod. Drawing by the author.
ritual setting and the details of the ritual actions may be seen as typical
for prophetical consultations in situations of national distress and ritual
preparations for war. The public consultation of prophets in front of the
gate of Samaria seems to belong to a whole complex of war related and
royal rituals performed in or in front of the gate.23 For example, in the
context of Absalom’s coup d’état in 2 Samuel, two ritual performances of
David are reported. In 2 Sam 18:1–5, he reviews his troops before battle,
and 2 Sam 19:6–9 contains a ritual confirmation of loyalty. War rituals
and ritual confirmations of loyalty serve to establish or reestablish com-
munity and loyalty among the king, his generals and troops, and the pop-
ulation as a whole by public performance in front of the gate, the public
place per se in ancient Israelite cities.24
The ritual action carried out by Zedekiah includes a performative
act with the presentation of the iron horns and the oracle, “Thus speaks
Yhwh, ‘With these you shall gore the Arameans until they are destroyed.’ ”
The symbolism of the horns is an expression of power owned by Yhwh,
who is represented—like Baal/Hadad—by the bull, whose representations
were erected in the royal sanctuaries of Dan and Beth-El (1 Kgs 12:26–
33).25 The function of the performative ritual actions is clear. The ritual
consultation in public in front of the gate of the nation’s capital makes
the inquiry into a strategy to recreate and maintain the communitas26 of
the kings, the civil, military, and religious dignitaries, and the people. The
kings of Israel and Judah, enthroned and arrayed in their full military
equipment27 are communicating military power. In addition to creat-
ing and confirming communitas, the ritual performance and the oracle
underscore the military power and anticipate victory.
3. Conclusions
The rituals discussed above exemplify the importance of ritual strategies

to secure military success, and they correspond to related rituals known
23. See Rüdiger Schmitt, “Der König sitzt im Tor: Überlegungen zum Stadttor
als Ort herrschaftlicher Repräsentation im Alten Testament,” UF 32 (2000): 475–85.
24. Ibid.
25. See Keel and Uehlinger, Götter, § 119.
26. See Victor W. Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure (London:
Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969), 131–40.
27. With 1 Kgs 22:10 LXX: ἒνοπλοι.
from Egypt and Mesopotamia. However, in the context of 1 Kgs 22:1–38,

the original meaning of the ritual is reversed into the opposite: Micaiah
ben Imlah delegitimizes the positive oracle by his ritual act and the word
of Yhwh which has come to him, and that act legitimizes him as a true
prophet according to the prophetical law in Deut 18. Even so, this is not
a critique of the ritual legitimation of war by prophets but comes from a
later discourse about legitimate rule and prophetic authority. The miracle
stories in 2 Kgs 3:4–27 (Elisha’s water miracle in the context of the war
against Moab), 2 Kgs 6:8–23 (the Aramean attack thwarted by Elisha), and
the story about the critique of Ahab by an unnamed prophet during the
Aramean war in 1 Kgs 20 reflect only a late, postdeuteronomistic stage
of tradition. Due to their literary character, these narratives about inter-
ventions of men of god and prophets in military campaigns, in particular
the miracle stories of Elisha, do not directly reflect ritual interventions by
prophets that can be used to reconstruct war rituals. The insertion of 1 Kgs
20 into the Naboth narrative, for example, justifies the redemption of the
Omride dynasty by Yhwh. These stories reflect a late stage of the picture
of the prophet, who becomes a kind of “superhero” miracle worker.28 First
Kings 20 picks up traditional motifs, in particular the ḥ ērem as criterion
for the obedience of the law. Thus, the story should not be interpreted as
a historical account of a military campaign and cannot be used for the
reconstruction of preexilic war ideologies and related ritual practices.
Nevertheless, these later stories reflect in a more general sense the partici-
pation of prophets and men of god in cases of military campaigns.
With regard to the question of a specific preexilic Israelite ideology of
Yhwh War, as assumed by Gerhard von Rad and other authors still to this
day,29 we have to conclude that the ritual practices of war preparation, in
particular prophetical consultations and execration rituals, did not differ
in ancient Israel, Egypt, and Mesopotamia, and that these practices should
be understood in the context of the closely related concepts of kingship
and divinely authorized war in the ancient Near East.30
28. Schmitt, Magie, 289.

29. For the history of research on this topic, see Schmitt, Der Heilige Krieg, 10–15.
30. See Manfred Weippert, “ ‘Heiliger Krieg’ in Israel und Assyrien: Kritische
Anmerkungen zu Gerhard von Rads Konzept des ‘Heiligen Krieges’ im alten Israel,”
in Jahwe und die anderen Götter: Studien zur Religionsgeschichte des antiken Israel in
ihrem syrisch-palästinischen Kontext (ed. Manfred Weippert; FAT 18; Tübingen: Mohr
SCHMITT: WAR RITUALS IN THE OLD TESTAMENT 159
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Crowfoot, John W., and Grace M. Crowfoot. Early Ivories from Samaria.
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Dijk, J. van. “Zerbrechen der roten Töpfe.” Pages 1389–96 in volume 6 of
the Lexikon der Ägyptologie. Edited by W. Helck. 7 vols. Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 1975.
Elat, Moshe. “Mesopotamische Kriegsrituale.” BO 39 (1982): 5–25.
Friedrich, Johannes. “Der Hethitische Soldateneid.” ZA 35 (1924): 161–91.
Holloway, Steven W. Aššur is King! Aššur is King!: Religion in the Exercise
of Power in the Neo-Assyrian Empire. CHANE 10. Leiden: Brill, 2002.
Keel, Othmar. “Der Bogen als Herrschaftssymbol: Einige unveröffentli-
chte Skarabäen aus Ägypten und Israel zum Thema ‘Jagd und Krieg.’”
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Die frühe Eisenzeit: Ein Workshop. Edited by O. Keel, M. Shuval, and
C. Uehlinger. OBO 100. Freiburg: Academic Press, 1990.
———. Wirkmächtige Siegeszeichen im Alten Testament: Ikonographische
Studien zu Jos 8,18—26; Ex 17,8—13; 2 Kön 13,14—19 und 1 Kön
22,11. OBO 5. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1974.
Keel, Othmar, and Christoph Uehlinger. Götter, Göttinnen und Gottessym-
bole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels
aufgrund bisher unerschlossener ikonographischer Quellen. QD 134.
Freiburg: Herder, 1999.
Magen, Ursula. Assyrische Königsdarstelllungen: Aspekte der Herrschaft.
Baghdader Forschungen 9. Mainz: von Zabern, 1986.
Mayer, Walter. “Waffenreingung im Assyrischen Kriegsritual.” Pages
123–33 in Kult, Konflikt und Versöhnung: Beiträge zur kultischen
Sühne in religiösen, sozialen und politischen Auseinandersetzungen des
Antiken Mittelmeerraumes. Edited by R. Albertz. AOAT 285. Münster:
Ugarit-Verlag, 2001.
Maul, Stefan M. Zukunftsbewältigung: Eine Untersuchung altorientalischen
Denkens anhand der babylonisch-assyrischen Löserituale. Baghdader
Forschungen 18. Mainz: von Zabern, 1994.
Siebeck, 1997), 71–97; Manfred Weippert, “Heiliger Krieg I: Alter Orient und Altes
Testament,” RGG 4 3:1563; Schmitt, Der Heilige Krieg, 212–13.
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Otto, Susanne. Jehu, Elia und Elisa: Die Erzählung von der Jehu-Revolution
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gart: Kohlhammer, 2001.
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Part 3
Rituals and Symbols of Perpetuation,
De-escalation, and Commemoration
Warfare Song as Warrior Ritual
Mark S. Smith
1. Introduction
Warrior poetry in the Bible has not been the subject of particular focus in
biblical scholarship. What counts as warrior poetry, for example, Exod 15,
Judg 5, and 2 Sam 1, has been subsumed under—or perhaps overwhelmed
by—the twentieth century concern for so-called “old poetry.” Appeals
about “old poetry” as dating to the Iron I (approximately 1200–1000) and
Iron IIA (approximately 1000–925), made in the 1950s and 1960s (e.g., by
Frank Moore Cross and David Noel Freedman),1 are rarely heard today in
biblical scholarship. Such claims have come to be viewed as overconfident,
in part because they were based on debatable criteria, as even Cross came
to acknowledge.2 Another objection involved the exaggerated claims made
for old poetry as a source or series of sources for reconstructing early Isra-
elite history, a problem on display in Johannes C. de Moor’s detailed 1990
study, The Rise of Yahwism.3 Research on the subject from David Noel
Freedman4 was likewise not immune from the temptation to reconstruct
1. Perhaps best exemplified by the joint 1950 dissertation of Frank Moore Cross
Jr. and David Noel Freedman, most recently published as Studies in Ancient Yahwistic
Poetry (2nd ed.; BRS; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997).
2. Cross, preface to ibid., viii.
3. Johannes C. de Moor, The Rise of Yahwism: The Roots of Israelite Monotheism
(BETL 91; Leuven: Leuven University Press/Uitgeverij Peeters, 1990; rev. and enl.
ed., 1997).
4. David Noel Freedman, “Early Israelite History in the Light of Early Hebrew
Poetry,” in Unity and Diversity (ed. Hans Goedicke and J. J. M. Roberts; Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1975), 3–35, repr. in David Noel Freedman, Pottery,
Poetry and Prophecy: Collected Essays on Hebrew Poetry (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisen-
brauns, 1980), 131–66; and David Noel Freedman, “Early Israelite Poetry and His-
-165-
early Israelite history based on old poetry. Between the problem of dating
so-called old poetry and its being used as source material for reconstruct-
ing early Israelite history, “old poetry” came to be viewed as problematic.
Following this phase of discussion, in more recent years the debate
over old poetry has issued in a general skepticism about being able to say
anything about the premonarchic period when it comes to texts. One can
see this in introductions to the Hebrew Bible. What Alexander Rofé calls
“the epic poetry” receives only brief notices in his monumental book of
2009, Introduction to the Literature of the Hebrew Bible.5 The early period is
likewise the only phase of Israelite textual production not addressed by the
detailed and otherwise comprehensive survey of David M. Carr, The For-
mation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction.6 Carr offers textual or
literary “profiles”7 for different periods in Israel’s history, with the exception
of the premonarchic period.8 For Carr,9 the early monarchic period is as far
as he believes that scholars can go. The consideration of the earliest Israelite
literature is also missing from Konrad Schmid’s period-by-period survey of
biblical literature, The Old Testament: A Literary History.10 In these schol-
arly works, it is as if Israelite literature in this period never existed. At the
moment, this is the state of the question; I would like to see it reopened.
It is part of my argument that poetry about war and warriors rep-
resents a significant component in the literary profile of early Israelite
textual production beginning in the premonarchic period (Iron I). In a
forthcoming book entitled Poetic Heroes: The Literary Commemoration of
Warriors and Warrior Culture in the Early Biblical World,11 I argue that
torical Reconstructions,” in Symposia Celebrating the Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of the

Founding of the American Schools of Oriental Research (1900–1975) (ed. Frank Moore
Cross Jr.; Cambridge: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1979), 85–96; repr. in
Freedman, Pottery, Poetry and Prophecy, 167-78.
5. Alexander Rofé, Introduction to the Literature of the Hebrew Bible (JBS 9; Jeru-
salem: Simor, 2009), 293, 413.
6. David McLain Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction
(New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).
7. This is Carr’s term in ibid., 8, 491.
8. See Carr’s reflections in ibid., 8–9 and 488–90.
9. Ibid., 489.
10. For a specific statement, see Konrad Schmid, The Old Testament: A Literary
History (trans. Linda M. Maloney; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 51.
11. Mark S. Smith, Poetic Heroes: The Literary Commemoration of Warriors and
Warrior Culture in the Early Biblical World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, forthcoming).
smith: Warfare Song as Warrior Ritual 167
the traditions of the core of Judg 5, if not a good deal of the core itself in
verses 14–29, can be dated to the premonarchic period. The present form
of the poem, in particular much of its introduction (vv. 2–13), with the
new emphasis on both Israel and Yhwh (entirely lacking in the poem’s
core, apart from the isolated piece of verse 23), essentially may be dated
to the tenth century. Similarly, the core of 2 Sam 1:19–27, in particular
the chiastically-arranged verses 19–25, fits well in the tenth century, and
it is quite possible that what seems to be the secondary coda or reprise of
verses 26–27 can be dated to the late tenth century as well. The tenth cen-
tury would seem to be a fitting setting for the poem, by comparison with
some later period, given the usage of “gazelle” in verse 19a as a leadership
term, as well as the currency of the lament tradition over nature in verse
21a.12 The syntax of the opening phrase in verse 19 is also a bit unusual. In
short, the tenth century seems to be a viable setting for the poem, which
draws on traditional warrior features going back to the Iron I period. Even
if these two poems date somewhat later, they contain traditions of material
that ostensibly predate their current form.
What has gone generally unnoticed is that poetry about war and war-
riors forms a particular topic within old poetry. So a point that I would
like to emphasize is that textual production in early Israel seems to have
included warfare and warriors in a significant way. To use Carr’s notion
of profiles for each period of Israelite literature,13 warrior poetry is a dis-
tinctive part of the profile for early Israelite literature. Despite substan-
tial limitations,14 I attempt to hear once more the various—and largely
anonymous—voices of early warrior life and culture embodied in these
two poems.
What also seems to be lacking in the discussion is not just that warfare
and warrior constitute an important topic of this poetry, but also how war-
fare forms one particular arena of activity that inspired the composition
12. These features would fit less well with a substantially later dating for the poem,
even if one could find reasons for such a composition at a later period (whether it was
composed later or simply received later). It is possible to argue that the reference to
Philistines could have been made later based on knowledge from the prose sources,
but it also fits the tenth-century era of the Philistines wars.
13. Carr, Formation.
14. Note generally the serious challenges to reconstructing the past via biblical
sources, as outlined by Megan Bishop Moore and Brad E. Kelle, Biblical History and Isra-
el’s Past: The Changing Study of the Bible and History (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011).
of several of these relatively early poems. As a result, this has made me

wonder what that might say about warfare as the setting for a significant
portion of textual production in early Israel. Relatively little attention has
been given to what these poems may say about the early culture of what
we call Israel that gave rise to these texts. As scholars, we rightly spend a
tremendous amount of time trying to discern the ritual elements from our
texts, but the texts themselves as artifacts of ritual deserve our notice.
2. Postbattle Song as Commemoration in Warrior Poetry
The speech acts surrounding warriors and warfare that we see in the Bible
(and here supplemented sometimes by some earlier and later material)
occur over three phases surrounding battle: prebattle preparations; post-
battle practices; and later commemoration. For the broad evidence that
we have about warfare in West Semitic literature, for the phase of prebattle
preparations, speech acts assume a number of different forms.
It is in the next phase, namely, in postbattle victory or defeat, where
warrior poetry is arguably best known. In cases of defeat, lament following
battle would ensue, performed either by other warriors (the lament over
Saul and Jonathan in 2 Sam 1:19–25), by family members (the laments
of El and Anat over Baal in KTU 1.5 VI 11–25 and KTU 1.5 VI 31–1.6
I 6–8), and by weeping women (for example, Anat over Aqhat in KTU
1.18 IV 39; 2 Sam 1:24; see also Iliad 19.287–300).15 Thomas M. Greene
emphasizes the community formed by the performance of epic lament:
“In the common field of performance, … the grief of the poet merges with
the performer’s, and the character’s, and the audience’s.”16 Viewed in light
of Green’s observations, postbattle laments may be understood as a ritual-
ized behavior that serves “to create a community of shared mourners.”17
Second Samuel 1 provides good material here. For example, 2 Sam 1:20
and 24 point to women’s central role in this community-building activity.
The poem as a whole serves to generate a communal identity for a post-
Saulide “Israel” invoked in verse 19, even as it strives in verse 24 to deny
such an identity-building opportunity to the Philistines.
15. C. H. Gordon, “Indo-European and Hebrew Epic,” ErIsr 5 (1958): 12.

16. Thomas M. Greene, “The Natural Tears of Epic,” in Epic Traditions in the Con-
temporary World (ed. Margaret Beissinger, Jane Tylus, and Susanne Wofford; Berkeley:
University of California, 1999), 195.
17. Ibid., 189.
In cases of victory, women welcome men home from battle and cel-
ebrate their victory (1 Sam 18:6–7; 2 Sam 1:20; 2 Sam 6:20; see also Exod
15:20–21; Judg 9:34).18 It is also their role to spread the good news of tri-
umph (see Ps 68:12–13 [Eng. 11–12], and the image of Zion in Isa 40:9–10;
compare 2 Sam 1:20).19 A victory parade might ensue (see Ps 68:25–26
[Eng. 24–25]; compare ANEP figs. 305 and 332). The tradition of early
heroic poetry is in no small way the domain of women, and it is arguable
18. See Eunice B. Poethig, “The Victory Song Tradition of the Women of Israel”
(PhD diss., Union Theological Seminary, 1985); and Carol L. Meyers, “Mother to
Muse: An Archaeomusicological Study of Women’s Performance in Israel,” in Recycling
Biblical Figures: Papers Read at a NOSTER Colloquium in Amsterdam, 12–13 May 1997
(ed. Athalya Brenner and Jan Willem van Henten; STAR 1; Leiden: Deo, 1999), 50–77.
Both works are cited and discussed by Susan Ackerman, “Otherworldly Music and the
Other Sex,” in The ‘Other’ in Second Temple Judaism: Essays in Honor of John J. Collins
(ed. Daniel C. Harlow, Karina Martin Hogan, Matthew Goff, and Joel S. Kaminsky;
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 86–100, here 87–90. Note also the argument made
for Prov 30:10–31 as a woman’s “heroic poetry” by A. Wolters, “Proverbs XXXI 30–31
as Heroic Hymn: A Form-Critical Analysis,” VT 38 (1988): 452–53; Richard J. Clifford,
Proverbs: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1999), 273. In this
reading, *˙ayil in Prov 31:10 would echo its usage to denote a warrior (my thanks to
Professor Clifford for drawing my attention to this reading).
19. See also the discussion over whether Miriam’s song in Exod 15:21 reflects an
older tradition of women’s song in victory, rather than the song as Moses’ as repre-
sented in Exod 15:1–18. See Frank Moore Cross Jr. and David Noel Freedman, “The
Song of Miriam,” JNES 14 (1955): 237–50; Rita J. Burns, Has the Lord Spoken Only
Through Moses? A Study of the Biblical Portrait of Miriam (SBLDS 84; Atlanta: Schol-
ars Press, 1987), 11–40; Phyllis Trible, “Bringing Miriam Out of the Shadows,” Bible
Review 5.1 (1989): 14–34; J. Gerald Janzen, “Song of Moses, Song of Miriam: Who
is Seconding Whom?” CBQ 54 (1992): 211–20; Athalya Brenner and Fokkelien van
Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts: Female and Male Voices in the Hebrew Bible (BInS
1; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 38–42; and Carol L. Meyers, “Miriam, Music, and Miracles,”
in Mariam, the Magdalen, and the Mother (ed. Deirdre Good; Bloomington: Indiana
University Press: 2005), 27–48. For the further issue of musical instrumentation asso-
ciated with women, see Carol L. Meyers, “Of Drums and Damsels: Women’s Perfor-
mance in Ancient Israel,” BA 54 (1991): 16–27, esp. 24; Sarit Paz, Drums, Women, and
Goddesses: Drumming and Gender in Iron Age II Israel (OBO 232; Fribourg: Academic
Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007); and Raz Kletter and Katri Saare-
lainen, “Judean Drummers,” ZDPV 127 (2011): 11–28. I am grateful to Seth Chalmer
for drawing my attention to this issue. As Chalmer suggests, the Ugaritic literary evi-
dence (see KTU 1.3 III 4–8 and 1.101.15–18; 1.16 I 31–45 as well as 1.16 I 3–5, 17–19,
II 40–42) points to a background for early biblical material such as Ps 68:26 (cf. Exod
15:20–21; Judg 11:34; 1 Sam 18:6).
that a good deal of heroic poetry in early Israel is to be situated in the con-
text of women’s oral song.20 Perhaps the core of Ps 68 is a good example of
postbattle victory celebration in early Israelite poetry. One a lament, the
other a celebratory song, the poems of 2 Sam 1 and Ps 68 offer instances,
to echo the title of this talk, of warfare song as ritual.
Postbattle warrior song may take the further form of later commem-
oration of warriors, for example, Judg 5 and the song of Achilles in Iliad
9. These texts largely consist of warriors singing on behalf of warriors
after battle and away from the battlefield. This may also be the situation
for song and lamentation of soldiers for leaders at their burials (see 2 Sam
3:32–34). A further form of postbattle commemoration involves postmor-
tem recollection of great leaders (and the recollection of warriors—called
Rephaim—seems to be a particular form of commemoration in both the
Ugaritic texts and the Bible). As an example of commemoration in early
Israelite poetry, scholars often discuss Judg 5, but it may also inform the
last two verses of the lament over Saul and Jonathan in 2 Sam 1. It is argu-
able that verses 19–25 constitute a separate section and perhaps even a
separate poem from verses 26–27. On one reading of 2 Sam 1:19–27, it
is all one poem, with verses 19–25 being the public voice of the speaker
and verses 26–27 a distinctive private voice. In another reading, verses
19–25 originated as an anonymous postbattle lament, re-recorded with
the addition of verses 26–27 as a personal commemoration attributed to
David. In this second reading, verses 19–25 would fall in the category of
postbattle lament and verses 26–27 then would fall in the category of later
postbattle commemoration.
20. See the probing discussion on this score by Brenner and van Dijk-Hemmes,
On Gendering Texts, 1–42; and the discussion below for further suggestions in this
vein. Such women poets may be analogous to what Jeremy M. Downes has called “the
female Homer.” See Jeremy M. Downes, The Female Homer: An Exploration of Wom-
en’s Epic Poetry (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2010). Note also his emphasis
(102–19) on the production of oral epic by women; cf. the comparative study of Yiqun
Zhou, Festivals, Feasts, and Gender Relations in Ancient China and Greece (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2010), 267–320 on “What Women Sang Of.” Women
singers later in Israel are also known. Second Chronicles 35:25 mentions Jeremiah’s
laments for Josiah and those of the male and female singers. Neo-Assyrian records
include women singers sent from Judah by Hezekiah as part of his tribute. See Sherry
Lou Macgregor, Beyond Hearth and Home: Women in the Public Sphere in Neo-Assyr-
ian Society (SAAS 21; Publications of the Finnish Assyriological Research 5; Helsinki:
Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2012), 29–54, esp. 30.
3. Commemoration in Judges 5
The first-person lines in Judg 5 tend to be treated cursorily by some com-

mentators, but given their number, they should be taken seriously. There
are five first-person representations, in verses 3, 9a, 13b, 15, and 21b. This
poem is hardly alone in having such first-person references (compare the
first-person references in Gen 49:3, 6, 9, 18; Exod 15:1–2), but of all the so-
called old poetry rendered in the third person (compare the first-person
poems of Num 23–24), Judg 5 contains more than any other.
The first-person references in Judg 5 would appear to correspond
thematically to its division-units, with each of the first-person references
dramatizing the theme in each of these subunits. The poem’s initial first-
person reference in verse 3 declares the wish to sing to Yhwh, and verses
2–5 concern Yhwh’s power. The wish expressed informs the whole poem,
and it stresses Yhwh as the party ultimately responsible for the battle’s
positive outcomes. The next first-person reference, in verse 9a, states the
first-person concern (“my heart”21) for the leaders of Israel, and verses 6–9
discuss human leadership. The third, in verse 13b, if not textually suspect,
anticipates battle in the calls to song in verses 10–13. The fourth, in verse
15, shows the speaker referring to “my princes” (or “chiefs,” so njps) as
they go into battle. The fifth and final first-person reference in verse 21b,
again if not textually suspect,22 offers a command to the speaker’s own self
21. For a defense of the MT against emendations, see Robert H. O’Connell, The
Rhetoric of the Book of Judges (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 464.
22. Verse 21b is difficult. Christoph Levin (“Das Alter des Deboralieds,” in Fortsch-
reibungen: Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament, by Christoph Levin [BZAW 316;
Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2003], 129 n. 30) regards it as “unverständlich” and emends
the root of the verb from *drk to *brk. This would work with the two occurrences of
*brk in v. 24 especially if the composer builds his first-person expressions from the
material that he then recounts. At the same time, such “building” might still work with
*drk if we may regard the proximity of the two roots as “sonant parallelism” (see the
account by Adele Berlin, The Dynamics of Biblical Parallelism [Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1985]). Moreover, there is no particular text-critical support for this
emendation. The Greek versions favor “may you my strong soul trample” or the like.
For the Greek versions, see Paul Harlé (with the collaboration of Thérèse Roqueplo),
La Bible d’Alexandrie: Les Juges (Paris: Cerf, 1999), 126. It is the syntax of the final
noun that may seem problematic, and it may be adverbial, a feature that the Greek
versions might not represent. In either case, one may retain the root as is, and trans-
late, “may you, my soul, march in strength” or the like. For this language of strength,
perhaps compare Job 41:14a [E 22a]: “Strength (ʿōz) dwells (yālîn) on his neck.” For
to march imaginatively at the battle:23 “My very self marches in power.”24

An emendation of verse 21b would eliminate what may be the point of the
first-person reference.
This first-person voice fills out a picture of the singer voice announced
first in verse 3. The poet moves on from this verse, purporting to be with
the human leaders in verse 9, acknowledging their victory in verse 13,
referring to the heads as “mine” in verse 15, and calling on the first-person
self to participate in the battle victory in verse 21. This is a kind of partici-
pation in the narrated past. The first-person lines rhetorically foreground
the represented singer’s excitement for the past events, arguably designed
to similarly move the audience. What the first-person references accom-
plish is to express the imaginative participation of the composer in the
battle, and by implication, to induce the audience to do likewise.25 The
second-person addresses (in vv. 4, 7, 12, 14, and 16)26 likewise contrib-
ute to this imagined relationship between the “singer-I” and the divine
and human figures addressed in the poem. In view of the command to
Deborah to sing in verse 12, the first-person “I-voice” was likely not hers
originally, but belonged to an unnamed singer who sought to imitate what
was thought to have been Deborah’s role as a singer in battle as marked in
this verse. The participation of the “I-voice” extends not only to being with
the leaders and participating imaginatively in the events of battle, but also
in imitating Deborah’s role as singer.27
discussion of the verse, see Frank Moore Cross Jr., “Ugaritic DB’AT and Hebrew Cog-
nates,” VT 2 (1952): 162–63.
23. According to Peter C. Craigie, this line is a war cry. See Peter C. Craigie, “The
Song of Deborah and the Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta,” JBL 88 (1969): 257. The question
is, in context, whose cry would this be?
24. This essentially follows Baruch A. Levine’s translation (Numbers 21–36:
A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB; New York: Doubleday,
2000], 200): “My body marches powerfully.” For ͑z in conflict, see Baal and Mot in
KTU 1.6 VI 16–20.
25. Some of these usages as well as their representation as “spontaneous response
to the victory” are noted by Yaira Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (trans. J.
Chipman; BInS 38; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 219.
26. Cf. the second-person addresses made in the Iliad, for example to Patroklos in
16.843, discussed by Deborah Beck, Homeric Conversation (Washington, D.C.: Center
for Hellenic Studies, Trustees for Harvard University, 2005), 181–82.
27. For this notion, see the comments of Guy Debord, The Society of Spectacle
(New York: Zone, 1994), no. 61, cited in Adam T. Smith, “Representational Aesthet-
ics and Political Subjectivity: The Spectacular in Urartian Images of Performance,” in
In this reading, the singer of the poem as presently constructed iden-

tifies her or his anonymous singing role in the persona of Deborah. In a
sense, she is represented somewhat like the Muse of the Odyssey, charac-
terized by Ralph Hexter as the “repository of the community’s memory
and the acknowledged source of the bard’s song, the guarantee that The
Odyssey draws on and transmits communal truth. The Muse represents
sung tradition itself and guides the epic singer in the right paths as he
chooses elements from the vast ocean of memory and song.”28 Deborah,
too, is a model for the unnamed composer of Judg 5; she is the model of
communal memory about this primordial, foundational conflict, and her
example inspires the composer in his choice of the varied elements of Judg
5. Like Deborah in verse 7, the Muse is addressed in the second-person by
an explicit first-person voice (Odyssey 1.1).29
The first-person voice in Judg 5 might be called the represented “singer
‘I,’ ” as this singing is the stated intent of verse 3. Initially, in verse 3 this
“I” sings or at least represents the self as a singer. This is the “I” of what
Peter Machinist calls the “epic poet-reciter” of archaic Greek and ancient
Near Eastern cultures, or what Susan Niditch calls “the epic-bardic voice.”30
What may be called the epic “I” voice of the Iliad (e.g., in 2.484–493, 761;
11.218; 12.176) noted by Gregory Nagy31 is a comparable first-person voice
in the poetic piece, in Judg 5:3, 9, 13 (if not to be emended), 15, and 21.32
Archaeology of Performance: Theaters of Power, Community, and Politics (ed. Takeski

Inomata and Lawrence S. Coben; Lanham, Md.: AltaMira, 2006), 111. It is often
assumed that Deborah is the singer of the song as a whole. Furthermore, it is viewed
as an example of a woman’s victory song, expressing a number of women’s concerns
and perspective. For this approach, see Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes in Brenner and
van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts, 32–34.
28. Ralph Hexter, A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Transla-
tion of Robert Fitzgerald (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), lxvii.
29. For this aspect of Iliad 1.1, see Gregory Nagy, “Ellipsis in Homer,” in Written
Voices, Spoken Signs: Tradition, Performance and the Epic Text (ed. Egbert Baker and
Ahuvia Kahane; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 188.
30. Peter Machinist, “The Voice of the Historian in the Ancient Near East and
Mediterranean World,” Int 57/2 (2003): 117–37, esp. 120–21, 126, and 131–36; and
Susan Niditch, Judges: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox,
2008), 9–10 and 77–78. Note also Susan Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible: A Study of
the Ethics of Violence (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 90–105.
31. Nagy, “Ellipsis in Homer,” 186–89.
32. For this commonly overlooked “I”-voice in Judg 5, see Mark S. Smith, “What
Is Prologue Is Past: Composing Israelite Identity in Judges 5,” in Thus Says the Lord:
Similarly, second-person address appears in Judg 5:10, 12, 16, and in Iliad
4.127, 146; 7.104; 13.603; 17.679, 702; 23.600 (addressed to Menelaus), and
in 16.20, 584, 692–693, 744, 754, 787, 812, 843 (addressed to Patroklos).33
In addition, rhetorical questions (for example, Judg 5:8b, 16–17; Iliad
8.273–274) seem pertinent to the sort of voice in these texts. The general
thrust of these observations may suggest that the poet-reciter as a repre-
sented voice is not entirely masking another identity, but “adding” one.
With this broad sense of the first-person voice in the older poetic tra-
dition, we may turn to its attestations in Judg 5 and ask what the represen-
tations of the “I-voice” “sound like” in this poem. At its most expansive in
verse, the “I-voice” relates specifically to an imagined royal audience:
Hear, O kings, Listen, O rulers,

I, to Yhwh, may I sing,
May I intone to Yhwh, the God of Israel.
This verse expresses a devotion to a vision of Yhwh as the national god of

Israel addressed to the kings and rulers. As possibly suggested by this verse
as well as other features of the poem, the “singer-I” is a representation
by a tenth century composer-singer creatively participating in the Iron I
events with reference to the recalled site of the battle. Such a creative voice
is operating in a context where an address to king and rulers might make
sense.
Yet in what way would one call this ritual or ritualistic? While per-
haps not ritualistic in a traditional religious sense, it is arguably a sort of
political ritual that uses pieces of the past for its audience to participate in
and thus to be literally “in-formed”. Again to return to Thomas Greene’s
comment on lament, even Judg 5 contains pieces of a heroic, but arguably
insufficiently political, past to help to create a community of those who
should see the need for king and country. In sum, some of the variegated
material of the core of Judg 5:14–30 may go back to an old postbattle tradi-
tion, but this poem’s introduction in verses 2–13 as well as some material
Essays on the Former and Latter Prophets in Honor of Robert R. Wilson (ed. John J. Ahn
and Stephen L. Cook; LHBOTS 502; New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 43–58.
33. Noted by Seth Benardete and Ronna Burger, Achilles and Hector: The Homeric
Hero (Southbend: St. Augustine’s, 2005), 80, 108–109. Is second-person address show-
ing a particular sympathy for the tragedy of these two figures?
within the core of the poem, such as the “I”-voice, seems to represent a
commemorative act.
4. Song as Postbattle Ritual in 2 Samuel 1:19–27
For this phase of postbattle practices, song is a central act. It might be

thought that David’s lament in 2 Sam 1:19–27 is to be assigned to the phase
of relatively immediate postbattle lament. While David’s lament draws on
the tradition of postbattle lament, I suggest the possibility that the poem
reflects two parts: the first is the chiastically arranged verses 19–25, which
may belong to the immediate postbattle phase; the second is a coda, or
better, a reprise in verses 26–27, that is possibly to be seen as a later com-
memoration. Before beginning with this poem, I should note that it is not
my view that “stable meanings and static models of performance”34 are
to be assumed across such celebrations and lamentation. I rather suggest
that song or laments following battle would hold political ramifications
and messages, and these would inform the content of such singing perfor-
mance. With this as backdrop, I would like to make some remarks on the
poem of 2 Sam 1.
The speaker seems to be represented as someone who is either a family
member or not present at the battle. This particular lament is notable in
a number of other respects. What stands out for many readers is verse
26, with its shift in voice and highly personal and charged expression. It
does not offer an evocative description as in verses 19–25, and it is not
addressed to a public audience. Rather, it is an invocation, a very per-
sonal one, addressed to one of the fallen, namely Jonathan. In context, it
follows the public voice of verses 19–25, but it represents a private voice
“overheard” (to echo Todd Linafelt).35 This distinctive first-person voice
comes to the fore only beginning in verse 26, using the phrase “to me”
(lî) three times, along with the first-person suffix on “brother.”36 It is a
personal lamenting voice (compare ṣar lî in 2 Sam 24:14 // 1 Chr 21:13;
34. Lawrence S. Coben and Takeski Inomata, “Behind the Scenes: Producing the
Performance,” in Inomata and Coben, Archaeology of Performance, 6.
35. Todd Linafelt, “Private Poetry and Public Eloquence in 2 Samuel 1:17–27:
Hearing and Overhearing David’s Lament for Jonathan and Saul,” JR 88 (2008): 497–
526.
36. Compare Prov 18:24: “there is a friend (lit., one who loves) who is closer (lit.,
clings more) than a brother.” See Clifford, Proverbs, 169.
Pss 31:10, 59:17, 69:18; 102:3; Lam 1:20; see also Ps 66:14). It is reminis-
cent of Gilgamesh’s first-person voice in his lament for Enkidu in SBV
X.132–133//233–234 (compare SBV X.245–246): “my friend, whom I love
so deeply, who with me went through every danger.” The singular address
to Jonathan is quite pronounced, with the second-person singular forms
of various sorts used four times in this verse. This is a first-person singu-
lar voice locked in lament over a second-person singular intimate. Such
singular devotion to Jonathan is what an audience might expect of David.
The personal voice of David in this poem also includes his famous
gender marked line of verse 26: “O Jonathan, you were so lovely to me. /
Wondrous (nplʾth) was your love for me, / Greater than the love of women.”37
For this expression, I would note the analysis of Gilgamesh and Enkidu
by Tikva Frymer-Kensky: “The gods’ solution to Gilgamesh’s arrogance
indicates a cultural sense that the truest bonding possible is between two
members of the same gender. The true equality that leads to great bonding
is between male and male. The closeness of same-sex bonding holds true
for females.”38 Susan Ackerman comments on the verse in similar terms: “I
would interpret David’s words in 2 Sam 1:26 to mean that David perceived
Jonathan to have loved him in a way analogous to the sexual-emotional
way in which a woman (Michal, say) would love a man and to imply that
David returned that love, finding it to be something ‘wonderful.’ ”39
37. For recent discussions, see Susan Ackerman, When Heroes Love: The Ambi-
guity of Eros in the Stories of Gilgamesh and David (New York: Columbia University
Press, 2005); and the review of Jean-Fabrice Nardelli in Bryn Mawr Classical Review
2007.10.46; online: http:///ccat.sas.upenn.edu/bmcr/2007/2007-10-46.html. Nardelli
has written his own book on the subject entitled Homosexuality and Liminality in
Gilgamesh and Samuel (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 2007).
38. See Tikva Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake of the Goddesses: Women, Culture,
and the Biblical Transformation of Pagan Myth (New York: Free, 1992), 30. As evi-
dence of the latter, Frymer-Kensky also cites the figure of Saltu, a double of Ishtar,
created to battle her and to curb her ferocity. For this text, see Benjamin R. Foster, “Ea
and Saltu,” in Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Memory of J. J. Finkelstein (ed. Maria
de Jong Ellis; Hamden: Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1977), 79–84. For discussion,
see Rivkah Harris, “Inanna-Ishtar as Paradox and Coincidence of Opposites,” HR 30
(1991): 266–67.
39. Ackerman, When Heroes Love, 192. In the case of David and Jonathan, Acker-
man goes on to suggest, “David and Jonathan were in fact imagined to be same-sex
partners by the Samuel narratives” (p. 194). While this could be so, the broader ques-
tion about the sexual relations among these male pairings lies largely beyond reach.
Her characterization of this relationship as “sexual-emotional” is arguably enhanced
Somewhat like Achilles lamenting the dead Patroklos in Iliad 19 or

Gilgamesh mourning Enkidu in SB tablet VIII, the represented David
builds here on traditional formulary for his personal voice, vibrant with
emotion for his fallen beloved.40 This reuse may be seen in how the reprise
with its “I-voice” in verses 26–27 echoes the lament of verses 19–25, with
some rather brilliant turns. Perhaps most cleverly and certainly with pow-
erful affective force, the term used for the comparison of “love,” namely,
“wonderful” (nplʾth) brilliantly echoes the recurring expression of the
heroes as “fallen” (*npl). The roots *nʿm and *ʾhb in verse 26 echo their
use in verse 23. The voice here personalizes what this lovely and beloved
of verse 26 means personally to the speaker, “to me.” This voice laments
the one who has fallen as the most wonderful to the speaker. David’s voice
in verse 27 echoes the inclusion element, “how the mighty have fallen,” in
verses 19 and 25. Verse 27 closes the poem by recalling the perishing of
the weapons that had been named in verses 21 and 22. The picture of the
single man lamenting over Jonathan in verses 26–27 offers a rhetorical
counterpart to the collective of women who would weep over Saul in verse
24. It also seems to offer a counterclaim to the representation of Saul and
Jonathan in verses 19–25: whereas these verses represent the father and
son as inseparable in life and death, verses 26–27 represent David as the
figure no less—and arguably more—deeply tied to Jonathan.
These differences between verses 19–25 and verses 26–27 are striking.
The most economical explanation for this shift is that verses 19–25 provide
a more formal or public lament of David directed to the wider commu-
nity, as suggested by the addressees in verses 20 and 24. With verse 26, the
poetic David in a sense turns aside (compare Gen 42:24) and offers his
own personal expression addressing the particular one of the two royals
whom he loves. Thus the poem would represent both the public face of
by comparisons with Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Here Ackerman is drawing on Saul M.

Olyan’s article (in a prepublication version), “ ‘Surpassing the Love of Women’: Another
Look at 2 Samuel 1:26 and the Relationship of David and Jonathan,” in Authorizing
Marriage: Canon, Tradition, and Critique in the Blessing of Same-Sex Unions (ed. Mark
D. Jordan, Meghan T. Sweeney, and David M. Mellott; Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 2006), 7–16.
40. See Ackerman, When Heroes Love, 189. Note also the acts of lamentation,
including weeping, upon receiving the news, in 2 Sam 1:11–12. Cf. the figure of Odys-
seus weeping in Odyssey 8.499–534, as he hears the song of Demodocus recounting
the story of the fall of Odysseus’s comrades at Troy.
David along with his private moment of grief.41 Both are voices that the
figure permits, perhaps even desires, to have “heard” and “overheard.”
There is another possibility that I would also like to consider. It is
speculative, but it is one that I think deserves a hearing: it is only after an
anonymous lament of verses 19–25 that David’s represented voice begins.42
Verse 26 shows a powerful shift in voice addressed to Jonathan alone,
unlike the verses 19–25 devoted to both Saul and Jonathan. While this
could represent a shift from a public voice to a private one, as I have enter-
tained above, it is also possible that verses 26–27 may be the represented
David’s personal reprise43 that was added to this poem (or was added by
another poet in his voice or name) as received in the aftermath of the battle
on the part of those who had fought in it, survived it, and sung it. Verses
19–25 may be a traditional lamentation pronounced earlier (compare the
lament at the burial of fallen leaders in 2 Sam 3:32–34).44 The additional
reprise that I am entertaining for a represented David in verses 26–27 per-
haps compares with Achilles’ lament for Patroklos in Iliad 19.315–337.
41. This approach was suggested to me by Susan Niditch, in conjunction with

other members of the Colloquium for Biblical Research, at the meeting held on
August 15, 2010 at Princeton Theological Seminary. I am grateful to Professor Niditch.
42. Cf. Diana Vikander Edelman, “The Authenticity of 2 Sam 1, 26 in the Lament
over Saul and Jonathan,” SJOT 1 (1988): 73: “I would suggest that v. 26, and possibly
also v. 27, represents a secondary expansion of the original lament over Saul and Jona-
than that was quoted in the Book of Jashar.” Edelman takes v. 26 as “probably to be a
literary creation by the biblical writer responsible for shaping the Saulide narratives.”
At the same time, Edelman concedes: “it is not impossible that David could have writ-
ten the lament himself.” It is evident that the matter of authorship of v. 26, much less
the entirety of vv. 19–27, remains rather speculative, but it does not eviscerate the
literary observations that Edelman has noted.
43. This view is close to that of Hans J. Stoebe, Das zweite Buch Samuelis (Güter-
sloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1994), 96, discussed by Olyan, “Surpassing the Love of
Women,” 168 n. 15.
44. The voice of vv. 20 and 24 advises women in v. 20 that the news of vv. 21–23 is
not be spread so that Philistine women not announce it for the pleasure of the Philis-
tines. In v. 24 this voice counsels that Israel’s daughters should weep for Saul, perhaps
with these words. Had the poem not been attributed to David in the prose framework,
one might hear in vv. 20 and 24 the voice of someone present at the battle, perhaps
the voice of an unnamed lamenting warrior. The content of what is not to be told by
women in v. 20, that is the object of the verbs of v. 20a, may be the content that follows
in vv. 21–23; in v. 24, the verse corresponding to v. 20, the weeping of the daughters of
Israel is perhaps to be accompanied by a repetition of the lament of vv. 21–23.
Achilles, like David, was not present when his comrade fell.45 David was
not there, while the voice of verses 19–25 sounds like someone who was.
This approach would solve a long-standing crux: the distribution of
the so-called “refrain” in the poem.46 As the poem stands, this “refrain”
appears at verses 19, 25 and 27. Commentators have noted that refrains
usually take place after sections, which are regularly rather well-balanced
in length (e.g., Pss 42–43, with its refrain at 42:6, 12 and 43:5). While there
is some variation in the use of refrains,47 they exhibit “a highly developed
sense of symmetry.”48 Such refrains show nothing that approaches the
alleged “refrain” at the opening of the poem in verse 19, or with the dif-
ference of length involving what would be stanzas in verses 20–24 and
in verse 26. With the so-called “refrain” appearing in the opening verse,
and with the lack of balance in the units that the alleged “refrain” would
govern, the line “how the warriors have fallen” seems to be no refrain.
Instead, in the reading that I am entertaining here, the instances in verses
19 and 25 would not be a “refrain,” but an envelope or inclusion around
the older lament, while the further use of the line in verse 27 serves to tie
the highly personal reprise to Jonathan in verses 26–27 to the earlier poem
of verses 19–25. Diana Vikander Edelman puts the point about verse 27
in this way: “In its present placement, it serves as an inclusio framing the
expansion introduced in verse 26.”49 In this reading, Jonathan is evoked in
verse 25c in a manner parallel to Saul in verse 19, providing a transition
for David’s first-person invocation of Jonathan in the following verse 26.
To summarize, 2 Sam 1:19–25 may reflect a traditional feature of
warrior culture, namely the circulation of songs for its fallen warriors, to
which oral alterations or additions might have been made as the songs
circulated. The reprise in verses 26–27 may have been David’s represented
response in receiving the news of the death of the heroes as expressed in
45. See Andrew Dalby, Rediscovering Homer: Inside the Origins of the Epic (New
York: W. W. Norton, 2006), 12. See also Achilles’ speeches in Iliad 23.19–23, 43–53.
Note also the poignant Iliad 23.54–107. Cf. Iliad 23.391 for the idea of the victorious
warriors singing their victories as they return from battle.
46. The problem was noted by Cross and Freedman, Studies, 15; and Freedman,
Pottery, Poetry, and Prophecy, 263.
47. See Paul R. Raabe, Psalm Structures: A Study of Psalms with Refrains (JSOT-
Sup 104; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 164–66.
48. Ibid., 165, commenting on the refrains found in Pss 39, 42–43, 46, 49, 56, 57,
59, 67, 80, and 80.
49. Edelman, “The Authenticity of 2 Sam 1, 26,” 74.
2 Sam 1:19–25. His own represented voice is added, perhaps as a claim

to both his poetic talent50 and his great attachment to one of the fallen
heroes, not to mention the implicit claim to their succession. This reading
of the poem and its context could work with a theory of different stages in
its production and transmission: the poem produced in the aftermath of
battle by an anonymous elegist; the poem’s circulation more broadly; and
its reception and expansion in the represented voice of David, whether
on David’s own part or on the part of later Davidic propaganda.51 I could
entertain the possibility that this poem is David’s political propaganda,
one that could include some of his own feelings. The political heart is com-
plex, and even calculating political intention may be freighted with deep
emotion. However, it is also possible that the “historical David” had noth-
ing to do with this poem and that he never had the level of relationship
with Jonathan that is represented in this poem and in some of the prose
passages in 1 Samuel. All of this could well be understood as largely the
creation of monarchic political propaganda, whether during David’s own
reign or during the reigns of the immediately subsequent Davidic dynasts.
What this discussion suggests is a series of stages in the development
of the poem. Poetic commemoration in the case of this poem shows the
use of traditional tropes, along with a number of departures from such
conventional material. In other words, the traditional components of the
lament in verses 19–25 serve the poem’s basic scheme, which also goes
beyond the traditional in verses 26–27. The emotional expression directed
to the memory of Jonathan, especially in verse 26, builds on the traditional
elements otherwise seen in the poem. This mode of poetic commemora-
tion also seems to constitute an effective means to reach the intended audi-
ence of the wider Israelite society. The poem begins with well-known ele-
ments that would have resonated for an Israelite audience and then moves
into the internal emotional world of the heroic speaker. Poetic commemo-
ration serves not only to recall the past event and to make the audience feel
its emotionally laden force, but also brings the audience into a new way of
understanding this past event; it offers a revelation of the heart of its great
50. I have been struck by male poetic competitions reported in later cultures.
See the discussion of Heikki Palva, review of Nadia G. Yaqub, Pens, Swords, and the
Springs of Art, ZDPV 160 (2010): 185–88.
51. Cf. “Let the first one hear and te[ll it] to the later ones!” in “The Hunter,” in
Benjamin R. Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (3rd ed.;
Bethesda: CDL, 2005), 337.
hero. Within the larger narrative, the poem’s act of commemoration marks
a watershed in the representation of David, transformed from a success-
ful warrior into a military leader who knows and feels devastating loss for
himself and for Israel.
Largely oral in medium and legendary in character, the battle story
in song is a product preserved not by hard historical memory. That such
a heroic poem as 2 Sam 1:19–27 sounds legendary is not a flaw of history,
but a fact of cultural reality. It should not be taken as a sign of historical
absence or lack, but as a signal of the societal setting of old textual pro-
duction. This heroic song may detail battle, yet in this case it focuses on
legends of the warriors’ fall; the effect is to dramatize loss, not simply to
report facts. The poem’s commemorative purpose is not limited to evoking
and invoking fallen heroes. It also points to some aspects of this commem-
oration’s wider dissemination in Israel. One of its purposes seems to be to
place David in the larger warrior tradition of early Israelite warrior poetry.
David’s lament in 2 Sam 1 provides him with his place—and we may say,
the final and concluding place—in the lineage of early Israelite heroes. We
might say that this lament speaks over and against an earlier poem such as
Judg 5, with its collective polities, politics, and personalities. On the liter-
ary level, the “epic struggle” is waged in early Israel’s poetic tradition over
the reputations of differing groups, polities, and personalities. The lament
tells Israel that David is not simply some sort of latecomer to this heroic
tradition. Its implicit claim is that he is much more: its best exemplar as
well as the founder of the royal “Davidic” age. The person of David as
represented so personally in this poem is more a “person” than any other
figure in early Israelite poetry, and he is the most important person to
emerge from the early era of Israel. Just as the final form of Judg 5 prepares
its audiences for royal governance across tribal lines, the poem of 2 Sam
1 summons up communal identity for a post-Saulide “Israel,” specifically
with David and his line as its head. “David’s” lament is a ritual instru-
ment of public speech that serves to constitute its audience(s) as political
subjects,52 in other words as Israel and specifically as David’s Israel.
52. For performed texts as political vehicles of public spectacle, see Coben and
Inomata, “Behind the Scenes,” 5. To be sure, we have no archaeological evidence for
this spectacle in David’s case.
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A Messy Business: Ritual Violence after the War
Susan Niditch
Juxtaposing classical texts with the experiences of Vietnam War veterans

suffering from PTSD, Jonathan Shay points to the many ways in which the
traumatic violence of war follows soldiers home, extending beyond the
combat even once the battles have concluded and normal life is expected
to resume.1 A number of biblical texts informed by patterns of ritual and
often by ritual violence point to the realization among ancient Israelites
that return to normalcy after the war is no easy journey and that the tran-
sition from war to peace is not automatic.
Several of the texts dealing with events after the war point back to
unresolved issues stemming from ritual actions that precede and frame
the fighting: the sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter resulting from her father’s
war vow (Judg 11); the taking of women for Benjamin made necessary by
another sort of vow that is said to have preceded the fighting (Judg 21);
the killing of Achan and his family due to Achan’s breaking of the ban
(Josh 7), a war vow; and the slaying of Agag by Samuel (1 Sam 15:33),
again relating to the prophet’s understanding of the vow of the ban that
precedes the battle (v. 3). In each of these texts, acts of controlled sacri-
ficial violence mark the exit from a particular war. Another set of texts
more overtly reflects an effort to transition from the violence of combat to
the state of peace. This transition as well, however, is not achieved with-
out violence. In this set of texts we include Num 31:1–24, describing the
elimination of young males and adult females among enemy prisoners, the
transition from the uncleanness of war death to the cleanness of quotidian
normalcy on the part of Israelite fighters, and the cleansing of inanimate
spoil and virgin conquests who are allowed to live. Deuteronomy 21:10–14
1. Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character (New York:
Scribner, 1995).
-187-
also discusses the transformation of female captives from the otherness of

the enemy to the possibility of becoming receptacles for the reproduction
of Israelites, a transformation marked by ritual action which the woman
herself would have no doubt have experienced as a continuation of the
violence of war. Finally, we look at Saul’s actions in 1 Sam 14:31, a scene
in which the king takes control of the way in which food is obtained from
cattle captured from the enemy. In heroic fashion, the king establishes an
altar and turns a wild melée of slaughtering and eating blood that would
offend the deity into a sanctioned sacrificial act. Saul’s action allows for the
proper preparation and consumption of animal protein, turning a messy
business after the war into a ritual participation in normalcy.
1. Vows Gone Awry
Describing vows in terms of obligations, reciprocity, and relationships,

clinical psychologist H. J. Schlesinger explores the deeply human and
social dimensions of vows and relates vows to a variety of cultural and
social expectations.2 Schlesinger’s understanding of the webs of meaning
implicit in taking a vow are relevant to the tale of Jephthah’s daughter. One
needs to take account not only of the ritual and sacrificial implications of
the warrior’s vow, but also of the way in which its imagined violent fulfill-
ment brings closure to violence on mythological, psychological, and sym-
bolic levels. The story justifies an actual form of social fissure, passage, and
redefinition in the life cycle of fathers and daughters and in the formation
and evolution of social groups.
Jephthah’s war vow to the deity promising sacrifice for success in battle
is framed in formulaic language found also in Num 21:2–3: And [name of
vower] vowed a vow to Yhwh: “If you will indeed give [enemy’s name] into
my hands, then I will [terminology for sacrifice].” A reciprocal relation-
ship between warriors and the deity is marked by obligation on each side.
In Num 21:2–3 and other examples of the war ideology of the ban,
including the Mesha Inscription in which the Moabite king has prom-
ised enemies as a sacrifice to Chemosh,3 the sacrifice is the killing that
takes place in the heat of battle itself. I have argued that the sacralization
2. H. J. Schlesinger, Promises, Oaths, and Vows: On the Psychology of Promising

(New York: The Analytic Press, 2008).
3. See Andrew Dearman, ed., Studies in the Mesha Inscription and Moab (SBLABS
2; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989).
niditch: A Messy Business 189
of killing in war, the very completeness of destruction enjoined, and the

language of ritual sacrifice used to justify and frame the destruction are
ways of making sense of all the killing, of reducing guilt and a sense of
personal responsibility for the violent death of other human beings.4 The
ideology that considers the killing in war to be a devotion to destruction,
vowed to the deity, makes the slaughter a necessity, for the dead are prom-
ised to a god. Soldiers need not choose whom to kill and whom to spare.
How this ideology informed the actual prosecution of wars in ancient
Israel is a complex and difficult-to-answer question. In the imaginings
of biblical writers and the ways in which religious texts reveal, in Geertz’s
terms, “a cultural system,”5 the vow to enact ritual violence is fulfilled in
battle. Jephtah’s vow, however, involves an action after the war: devoting
to destruction the first thing he sees upon his victorious return, after his
returning in “shalom,” in peace and fullness. His daughter, his only child,
greets him in joy with timbrels, as the audience expects because of tradi-
tional social and narrative patterns. The scene induces intense pathos pre-
cisely because the revelation that she is lost follows the warring violence,
once the hero returns in shalom. The sacrifice, a consequence of the war
vow, is a controlled, promised violent ritual act that ends the violence.
In narrating the fulfillment of Jephthah’s war vow, this value-rich myth
shapes cultural identity and symbolically encapsulates cultural anxieties.
A variety of mediations hold in tandem critical oppositions that define
both cosmology and social structure in ancient Israel: human and divine;
male and female; peace and war; life and death. The classic study of Hubert
and Mauss explores the ways in which anthropologists have approached
sacrifice in terms of gift-giving that achieves mediation.6 Various relation-
ships are highlighted explicitly or implicitly in this process of exchange
and mediation: that between Yhwh and Jephthah, that between fathers
and daughters, and that between husbands and wives.
Marking the end of war, itself an enactment of ritual violence, with
an additional act of ritual violence actually points, as Peggy L. Day has
4. Susan Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible: A Study in the Ethics of Violence (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 28–55.
5. Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic
Books, 1973), 112.
6. Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss, Sacrifice: Its Nature and Function (trans.
W. D. Hall; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 2–3, 97.
suggested,7 to marriage, a form of social transformation that like combat

itself is fraught with anxiety, fissure, and reconstitution. These nuances are
made clear in the description of the yearly ritual for women, following
Jephthah’s realization that he has unwittingly promised his own daughter
to the deity. Women are the ultimate sacrifices, mediating relationships
between men. The activities undertaken by Jephthah’s daughter and her
cohort of young women effect a rite of passage from a state of unattached
youth when the woman lives among her own immediate kin, the daughter
of her father, to the marriage with a man from another family, in which
she will undertake the life-threatening role of procreator. She links the two
groups and creates social cohesion. The mourning of their virginity, their
stint in the mountains away from the cultural contours of the village, and
the shared condition and status of the young woman all point to a life
passage. The break with the father is a kind of rupture, the giving of the
woman a sacrificial gift on her father’s part to another male. A new family
and relationship is formed between the wife and husband that links social
groups. The imagining of actual slaughter and the male recipient as the
deity underscores symbolically the emotion and the pathos of the ordinary
real-world trade in daughters.
As Gayle Rubin has noted, social relationships between men are
mediated through the exchange of women.8 Rubin explores and inter-
prets social and economic theories of Marx and Engels, ideas concerning
kinship developed by Claude Lévi-Strauss, and psychoanalytical models
proposed by Freud to examine ways in which the exchange of women
has been seen as fundamental to the origins and development of human
society. In its mythological context in Judg 11, the exchange has sacrificial
nuances, suggesting ways in which notions about the primeval transfer
of women from one group of men or one male to another relates to the
ideas of thinkers who see the origin of culture in other sorts of violence.9
7. Peggy L. Day, “From the Child Is Born the Woman,” in Gender and Difference
in Ancient Israel (ed. Peggy L. Day; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989), 58–74.
8. Gayle Rubin, “The Traffic of Women: The Political Economy of Sex,” in Toward
an Anthropology of Women (ed. Rayna R. Reiter; New York: Monthly Review Press),
157–210.
9. See, for example, Walter Burkert’s view on the role of violence in the formation
of culture (“The Problem of Ritual Killing,” in Violent Origins: Walter Burkert, René
Girard, and Jonathan Z. Smith on Ritual Killing and Culture Formation [ed. Robert G.
Hamerton-Kelly; Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1987], 163); René Girard,
The exchange of women in actual societies hopefully makes for a peaceful

relationship between participants, based upon an act of reciprocity, as is
the case for participation in literal ritual sacrifice and the meal that often
follows.10 The tale of Jephthah’s daughter is thus rich in nuances of sacred
violence even though the woman’s death is alluded to quite obliquely (Judg
11:39). This tale is not the only one in the Hebrew Bible in which a war
vow relates to the violent taking of women. One begins to see that women
and warring are integrally interrelated in men’s imaginings of power, the
balance of power, and the formation of societies. The treatment of women
after the war frequently suggests patterns of ritual violence.
The taking of women, violence, and nuances of ritual sacrifice follow-
ing the war are also exemplified by scenes in Judg 21. Here too a war vow
has gone awry, and the relationship between men is mediated by the sac-
rifice of women. The immediate cause of the war is the rape and murder
of a sojourning Levite’s concubine by evildoers of the city of Gibeah in
the tribe of Benjamin. The husband attempts to call up the Israelite league
to exact vengeance upon the perpetrators by cutting the dead woman’s
corpse in pieces and sending them to the tribes. In a shocking way, the
man appears to evoke a ritual act of calling allies to battle whereby an
animal is sacrificed, divided, and sent, a process undertaken, for example,
by the hero Saul in preparing to do battle with the threatening Ammonites
(1 Sam 11:7). Benjaminites refuse to join the Israelites in rooting out the
evil ones in their midst and instead protect their fellow tribesman (Judg
20:13). A vicious civil war ensues, a lengthy stalemate in which the advan-
tage in battle goes back and forth until the Israelites finally win. The story
that ends with the events narrated in Judg 21 is thus built of a series of
violations and violent acts: the murder and rape of the woman; the sacri-
fice and distribution of her corpse; the deadly war itself; and the aftermath
concerning the taking of women by irregular means.
After the war, we learn that the men of Israel had made a vow never
again to give their daughters in marriage to the men of Benjamin (Judg
21:1). Given that women are the links between groups of men, this vow
Violence and the Sacred (trans. Patrick Gregory; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1977), 276.
10. On group cohesion and the sacrificial meal see Marcel Detienne, “Culinary
Practices and the Spirit of Sacrifice,” in The Cuisine of Sacrifice among the Greeks (ed.
Marcel Detienne and Jean-Pierre Vernant; trans. Paula Wissing; Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1989), 14.
promises an internal breach among Israelites, a permanent state of civil

discord. The men of Israel regret their vow after the intense heat of battle
has subsided, and seek to devise a way both to keep the vow and yet to
recommence the giving of women in order to mend the fabric of Israelite
society, one that includes Benjamin. The solution is found in the violent
taking of women.
Both concluding tales about providing women for Benjamin after
the war are framed by custom and obligation, again by vows, implicit or
explicit. The men of Jabesh-Gilead are said to have broken an implicit
vow to aid their fellow Israelites in war. The curse against Meroz in Judg
5 is a consequence of such a broken implicit promise in the context of
war. Jabesh-Gilead thus becomes subject to the ban, group punishment,
and revenge (21:8–12). As in Num 31 (to be discussed below), the virgin
daughters are spared as women-gifts for Benjamin, and still, the number of
women does not suffice. A second solution is to steal young women at the
yearly festival of Shiloh when they come out to dance as is their custom,
with the tacit but nonformalized permission of their male kin (21:16–23).
In this way, the vow concerning Benjamin is not broken, and social heal-
ing can begin. The men’s healing, of course, in both scenes involves acts
of violence, the killing of the men, adult women, and male children of
Jabesh-Gilead, the forcible taking of their virgin girls, and the kidnapping
of young women who dance at the festival of Shiloh.
It is possible that Judg 21:19–23 reflects an ancient ritual for obtaining
wives as 11:29–40 reflects an ancient ritual marking the giving of daugh-
ters in marriage. Vows, wars, violence, and the taking of women inter-
mingle in complex webs of cultural meaning involving social continuities
and discontinuities, and the fall and rise of social groups.
The tales of Judg 21 in the context of an epic war story point to the
way in which war is mythologically associated with the making of a new
order and how, after the war, the social world requires reconstitution. War
always leaves loose ends: new enmities and resentments emerge due to
the traumatic events of battle, the loss of fellow soldiers, and the collateral
damage sustained by noncombatants dear to the fighters. There is also a
need to make good on promises to those who helped in the war, divine or
human. Reciprocity has its costs. The ultimate goal is reconciliation and
finally leaving the war behind.
The sacrifice of the war-vowed daughter of Jephthah offers one such
inclusio whereby a final act of violence ends the war. In Judg 21, the
taking of virgin women from the extirpated men of Jabesh-Gilead and the
stealing of the dancing young women at Shiloh provide means of dealing

with issues in reciprocity and power relations, in reconciliation and vow-
keeping. The enmity of the past is honored, but a new beginning in social
relations is allowed. Nevertheless, this transformation and subsequent
return to normalcy is made possible by acts of violence: the killing of all
but the virgin girls of Jabesh-Gilead and the violent capture of women.
The killing of Achan and his family following the battle of Jericho
(Josh 7:10–26) once again includes a war vow gone awry and a ritual pro-
cess after the war leading to a final act of violence that can be understood
in sacrificial terms. Achan has disobeyed terms of the ban, taking for him-
self some of the objects of Jericho devoted to destruction. As a result, the
Israelites fail to succeed in their battle at Ai. A war vow has been broken
and Achan, the miscreant, has been identified by divinatory means and
confesses his guilt. A highly ritualized violence follows to rid the commu-
nity of this now cancerous other. Not only Achan is viewed as infected but
also his entire family and all that belongs to him. A kind of magic circle
is formed by their consignment to the Valley of Achor where the people
stone him with stones and burn them and stone them with stones. The
language of the text as preserved in MT intensifies the violence with three
references to killing and two verbs for stoning (7:25). The killing of Achan
and his family might be seen both as scapegoating and as a form of purifi-
cation. Defeat is blamed on the actions of an individual thereby explaining
defeat, assuaging self-doubt, and avoiding inner tensions about the group’s
failure.11 Achan’s uncleanness, a result of stealing Yhwh’s spoil, in turn
attaches to those around him. All who are so tainted are to be eradicated
in order to reset the relationship with the deity and end the crisis.
Agag’s killing by Samuel is also framed by the war vow. Saul has been
instructed by the prophet to impose the ban on Amalek, but keeps the best
of the cattle for normal sacrificial purposes (1 Sam 15:15) and spares the
enemy king Agag. Saul shows himself a pragmatist. Why not use captured
animals for food protein and to enhance his own status, for power derives
from the capacity to provide and distribute meat. Total burning offers no
such practical benefits. A captured king allows for negotiation and ransom
11. Building on the work of Mary Douglas concerning pollution behaviors and
the creation of “symbolic boundaries,” sociologist of religion Meredith B. McGuire
discusses socio-historical settings and cultural situations, perceived as threatening,
insecure, and shifting, which are most conducive to scapegoating (Lived Religion:
Faith and Practice in Everyday Life [New York: Oxford University Press, 2008], 41–43).
(as in 1 Kgs 20:32–34) or the status displayed in having a disabled enemy

under your feet (for example, Judg 1:6–7). Samuel chastises Saul for ignor-
ing the ban. The climax occurs when Samuel “cuts Agag in pieces before
the Lord in Gilgal,” an image which strongly suggests the ritual prepara-
tion of animals for sacrifice.12
Stories about the killing of Achan and Agag, in which an act of vio-
lence, ritually framed, occurs after the battle, point to the fraying of groups
in the aftermath of war. When the war results in defeat as in the initial
battle against Ai, there are recriminations. In the Achan episode, the accu-
sation stems from notions about warring under the auspices of the war-
vowed ban and is thereby sacralized and solemnized. The intragroup vio-
lence after the battle also points to the way in which fighting often leads to
more violence inside the group after the battle. Initial unity often breaks
down, and not only after defeat.
These ancient texts suggest that war corrupts and has the potential
to corrode social groups, even in the midst of making and confirming
the formation of new social realities. The acts of violence perhaps sug-
gest efforts to impose, at least temporarily, a strict unity of purpose and
worldview in order to prevent dissolution. While issues concerning the
ban inform Samuel’s treatment of Agag, at the background are ongoing
political disputes: intergroup rivalry between Samuel and Saul and dis-
agreements concerning forms of governance, the chieftaincy versus the
monarchy. The argument about the disposition of Agag and his virtual sac-
rifice under the ban points to these heightened tensions, following the war.
2. The Passage from War: Violence in Peace
Acknowledging that war is a messy business and that the transition to peace
is a rocky one, several biblical scenes describe ritual means of achieving
this passage with emphases on rituals of purification and regularization of
status. These rites of passage, however, are also characterized by violence.
Numbers 31:8 describes in brief the victorious battle waged against
the kings of Midian who had hired Balaam to curse Israel in order to
assure their defeat. Initially, the successful Israelites take as spoil all their
enemies’ women, children, animals, and wealth. The Israelites burn the
towns in language reminiscent of the ban (31:10). Moses, however, tells
12. See Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible, 62.

the people that their acts of destruction are not adequate to please the
deity and to properly wreak vengeance on the Midianites. Instructions
for acts of violence to follow the battle might be viewed as reflecting a
postwar effort to define categories of “us” and “them,” for the presence
of prisoners presents a challenge in the aftermath of war, another messy
situation that must be dealt with. How to integrate the enemy into a new
order once peace has been declared is as problematical as the matter of
reintegrating one’s own soldiers into workaday roles, an issue that also will
be addressed in Num 31:1–24.
A troubling aspect of violence following the war is Moses’ order to kill
all the male children and all women who have had sex with a man. The
extensiveness of the killing suggests the war-view of the ban in which the
enemy is to be destroyed in entirety, a promised sacrifice to the deity. In
this case, however, the order to kill is a considered afterthought, apparently
involving the extermination of prisoners rather than an act of bloodlust
enjoined by the deity and an example of collective apoplexy during the war
itself. We have described a variety of the ban that emphasizes the exact-
ing of justice, from the perspective of the deity and the Deuteronomic-
style writers who invoke his name.13 The ban is thus not merely a vowed
offering to the deity in recompense for victory as in the case of Jephthah
discussed above, but a necessary act of purification, eradicating the evil in
Israel’s midst and the temptation to do evil. As the writer of Num 31:16
notes, Midianites, in particular Midianite women, were implicated in the
apostasy at Baal Peor, tempting Israelite men to abandon their deity and
break covenant (Num 25). And so, Midianite women who have “known a
man” are to be killed, as are male children who presumably grow up to be
warrior enemies. Neither young males nor adult women can somehow be
integrated into the people Israel; they are marked, formed, and cursed by
the identity of their elders or their mates, which in an embodied, physical
sense seems to come from the existence of or sexual contact with males
from the forbidden ethnic group. Virgin girls, however, are a clean slate
and can become the mates of Israelite men, marked and bounded by their
Israelite partner’s identity. The young girls can become one of “us” as they
are unstained by the male physical identity of “them.” Thus, the imposition
of the ban is peculiarly partial, the violence thoughtfully premeditated,
the killing very much like Samuel’s elimination of Agag, an act of sacred
13. Ibid., 56–77.

violence following the war. In the case of Num 31:1–24, the immediate
social context involves doubts and tensions concerning group identity in
the wake of conquest.
The completeness of ban ideologies, whether sacrificial or a matter of
divine justice, allows the conquerors, at least in their imaginings of war,
to deal with the disposition of defeated enemies in a way that does not
compromise the identity of the winners. Absorption of the conquered or
their continued existence may well lead not only to further physical threat
but also to cultural threat, for the worldviews of conquerors and coloniz-
ers are always affected and altered by those of the colonized.14 The authors
of the banning threads in Hebrew Bible are acutely aware of threats to
their own circumscribed sense of identity, and it is this tension that frames
the violence following the battle with the Midianites. Complicating ques-
tions about identity and matters of authorship is the likelihood that Num
31 probably stems from those who are the military and political “losers”
rather than “winners” in the background realities of actual ancient Near
Eastern wars and conquests that are contemporary with the composition
of Numbers. The text, probably no earlier than the Babylonian conquest,
thus reflects a fear of losing cultural identity and independence that is
probably rooted in subservience to ancient near Eastern superpowers.
Nevertheless, the composers of this material can imagine the implications
of being the conquering winners and explore what to do with their pris-
oners, a concern rooted in wish fulfillment and imposed on constructed
memories of the national past. It is interesting that in the pericope that
follows, the distribution of booty includes human spoil, and no distinc-
tion is made between men and women or between girls and adult women
(31:40, 46; see also 31:11). The writer of verses 25–31 seems to be able to
imagine the absorption of foreign conquests as useful commodities and
does not seem to be concerned with the tainting and temptation that their
presence implies.
Concerned with issues of purity and the unclean-rendering nature of
death itself, the priestly writers of Num 31 also include instructions for
the purification of soldiers after the war. This ritual transformation allows
14. On “syncretism” and “religious blending” see McGuire, Lived Religion, 188–
90. On questions concerning the ability of a conquering group to absorb the con-
quered framed in terms of concrete ecological and physical criteria, see Andrew P.
Vayda, “Primitive War,” in War: Studies from Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology (eds.
Leon Bramson and George W. Goethals; New York: Basic Books, 1968), 281–82.
for the transition to peace and, as is typical of Israelite rituals of purifica-

tion, involves the sacrifice of animals, a form of controlled violence that in
this case, after a war, marks the return to the everyday. The passage from
unclean to clean, from death to everyday life, and from war to peace is
achieved by the imposition of a time frame and a spatial separation; the
soldiers are to stay outside the camp for seven days. All who have killed in
battle or touch a corpse are to offer purification sacrifices on the prime-
numbered third and seventh days. For the author, war itself is unclean-
rendering because it involves contact with death. Not only must the fight-
ers’ persons be purified but objects taken in conquest also must be made
pure by fire or water, depending upon their composition. In this way, sol-
diers can make a clear transition from a state of war to a state of peace and
grapple ritually with the recognition that killing is not easy, that the death
of enemies in battle is still a loss of human life, that many of one’s own
comrades will not return from the battle, and that a resumption of ordi-
nary life after the war will not be easy. The emphasis at 31:50 on atonement
via sacrificially offering to the deity valuable objects that have been taken
as spoil is also an admission that war is an irregular, unclean-rendering
activity that rips apart psyches and makes difficult the enjoyment of the
simple daily pleasures of living.15 Acts of atonement and purification by
means of ritual offerings allow for a way back from war. The ancient texts
thus admit of what we might call the trauma of war and offer a means of
reparation and healing.
Another biblical instruction that grapples with issues of “us” versus
“them” after the fighting and what to do with the human spoils of war
is found in Deut 21:10–14. In contrast to Num 31:1–24, no explicit dis-
tinction is made between women at various life stages nor is the passage
framed, even in part, by the ideology of the ban. War is treated as business
as usual in the political life of groups, and in any such war, should a man
see a woman prisoner of war who tempts him, he may take her as a wife.
Women are thus the spoils of war, treated as one of the potential rewards
of victory, valuable commodities over which wars are sometimes fought.
Like Num 31:1–24, this passage points to postwar problems inherent in
making the conquered “them” into members of “our” group, in this case
the need to transition desirable captured woman from belonging to the
15. On the difficult passage from war to peace in classical Greek literature see
David Konstan, “War and Reconciliation in Greek Literature,” in War and Peace in the
Ancient World (ed. Kurt A. Rauflaub; Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 191–205.
defeated enemy to assuming roles as wives in the victorious group. Such

transitions are fraught with anxiety, tension, and perhaps guilt. Ritual
means are described to effect the necessary passage from them to us, and
the symbolic actions that mark the alteration of the woman suggest fis-
sure, violence, and sacrifice. The captors and the captives would no doubt
experience this process of transition differently. For the men of Israel what
occurs is a making whole whereas for the women it is a matter of separa-
tion and rupture.
The language and the acts imposed upon the captive woman are of
shaving, paring, and removing—her hair, her nails, and her clothing. These
ritual acts suggest transformation and separation, as Saul Olyan and I have
both discussed in relation to the treatment of hair. Hair removal may serve
as a sign of mourning, as part of the purification of the leper, or in the
present case, a signal of shedding ethnicity to allow for social remaking
in the eyes of her captors.16 The person shaved is to make a new start, to
achieve a change in status. The acts of cutting and removal imposed on
the woman’s body are signs not only of transformation, in some neutral or
constructive sense, but from the captive’s perspective acts of violence that
ritually remove her identity. Joshua Berman has made similar observations
about implications of Joseph’s cosmetic preparations for his audience with
Pharaoh.17 Identity resides in the body, the hair, the nails, and the clothing.
The woman is moreover expected to engage in ritual crying as she mourns
for parents now deceased or physically and ethnically separated from her.
As in the purification after battle in Num 31, locus and time length are also
involved: she cries for lost mother and father for a month in her house. The
circumscribed period of time and the physical sequester, like the severing
of hair and nails and the removal of clothing, allows, from the captors’
perspective, for her new persona as one of us versus one of them. That the
Israelite authors are not entirely comfortable with the prescribed treat-
ment of captive woman emerges both from the placement of this passage
in context and from the final comment on the process.
16. Saul Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish and What Do They Signal in
Biblical Ritual Contexts,” JBL 117 (1998): 611–22; Susan Niditch, “My Brother Esau Is
a Hairy Man”: Hair and Identity in Ancient Israel (New York: Oxford University Press,
2008), 95–120.
17. Joshua Berman, “Identity Politics in the Burial of Jacob (Genesis 50:1–14),”
CBQ 68 (2006): 14.
As anthropologists such as Mary Douglas and folklorists such as Bar-

bara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett have emphasized in their work, all human
beings try to make order out of the inherently chaotic nature of existence.18
The authors of Deuteronomy have a particular orientation towards and
a particular concept of order. Discussing holy war traditions in Deuter-
onomy, Norman Gottwald notes that they suit “a cultic conception” of
Israel “as a single people sharply separated in religious practice from all
the nations.”19 This emphasis on clear and strong self-definition, on put-
ting a sacred circle around the true Israel, is reflected in exacting rules for
clean versus unclean, in a theological emphasis on blessings and curses, in
a clear demarcation between us versus them, and stems ultimately from a
particular priestly orientation to life in the context of wars, threats of inva-
sion, and conquest in the late eighth to sixth centuries b.c.e. Themes are
about taking control, addressing pollution and ambiguity, and the whole-
ness of the covenant community. The complex of laws pertaining to the
captured bride is found in a series of five seemingly unrelated sets of laws
in Deut 21, but as noted by Calum Carmichael, these sets of laws in fact
have much in common.20
All of the laws in Deut 21 deal with ambiguities that reflect or cause or
result from social conflict, often conflict in the family itself. These messy
situations are sources of individual and community guilt: the body found
in the outback, an unsolved murder described in 21:1–9 which must be
communally acknowledged, and the guilt arising from its presence must
be openly expressed, although the perpetrator is unknown; the captured
bride in 21:10–14 who is of the people but clearly not of the people, who is
treated like a wife and yet, given the means of acquisition, clearly is not a
typical wife; the situation in 21:15–17 in which preference for a second wife
tempts the husband to ignore laws of primogeniture and show preference
to the son of the preferred wife; the troubling case in 21:18–21 allowing for
the slaying of one’s own children; and in 21:22–23 the criminal execution
of a human being whose body is nevertheless shown some respect after
18. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and
Taboo (New York: Praeger, 1966), and Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, “Culture Shock
and Narrative Creativity,” in Folklore in the Modern World (ed. Richard M. Dorson;
The Hague: Mouton, 1978), 109–22.
19. Norman Gottwald, “Holy War,” RevExp 61 (1964): 303, 305.
20. Calum Carmichael, “A Common Element in Five Supposedly Disparate
Laws,” VT 29 (1979): 129–42.
death. These situations raise questions about fairness, justice, and the right
thing to do when one’s emotions may be in conflict with the legal tradi-
tion or when the law seems inadequate to resolve an issue or assuage guilt.
Situations after a war produce just such conflicts and tensions, as noted in
relations to various postwar situations discussed above. The ambivalence
of Israelites in response to the issue of women captives of war emerges in
the very language that concludes this little section of Deut 21.
If the woman does not please her captor/husband, he is free to end
the arrangement, but he is instructed that he may not sell her into slavery
because he has “abused her,” the piel of the verb ʿnh. The same terminology
is applied to Sarah’s treatment of Hagar (Gen 16:6), to the Egyptians’ treat-
ment of the Israelite slaves (Exod 1:11), to the rape of Dinah (Gen 34:2),
and to Amnon’s rape of Tamar (2 Sam 13:12, 14). Implicit are notions of
oppression or, more specifically, forced sex. The very use of this language
in Deut 21 suggests that all is not right with this means of obtaining a wife
and again that after-wars are a messy business, requiring ritual action for
cleanup and closure. The efforts to deal with such lose ends are fraught
with moral ambiguities and never fully satisfying.
A final case study that points to the uneasy state of affairs after the war
and the ways in which the transition to peace is achieved by controlled
ritual violence is offered by 1 Sam 14, a story about Saul as epic hero. Once
again a war vow is implicated in the aftermath of war in ancient Israel.
Saul has taken an oath, pronouncing a curse upon any of his troops who
eat before victory against the Philistines is achieved (1 Sam 14: 24, 28).
Returning from their victorious battle, the famished soldiers fall upon the
captured animal spoil, slaughter it hastily on the ground, and begin to eat
“on the blood” or “with the blood.” In other words, they do not adhere
to proper slaughtering practices that release the blood, pouring it into
the earth as ritually required to make the meat acceptable as food. Eating
“with the blood” is expressly forbidden by the deity, for blood contains the
life force and its consumption is the purview of Yhwh. As indicated by a
range of biblical texts including Gen 9:3–4 a food prohibition set in the
denouement of the flood myth, and a variety of priestly texts (Lev 17:10–
14; 7:26–27; Deut 12:15–16; 23–24), meat is not to be consumed with the
blood.21 The ravenous soldiers of Saul thus risk angering the deity with a
forbidden act of commensal apostasy.
21. For a full discussion of the blood prohibition with special reference to imag-
Upon hearing about the men’s forbidden eating, Saul intervenes,

obtains a large stone, and orders the men to slaughter the animals on the
stone, presumably allowing the blood to run off in proper sacrificial fash-
ion. He is said to build an altar there. The scene of wild uncontrolled con-
sumption thus becomes one of proper sacrifice and eating; Saul himself
becomes remembered for a heroic act, as an altar builder in the style of the
ancient patriarchs.
Writing about the portrayal of Heracles by Euripides, David Konstan
points out that the madness of war makes it impossible for the hero to turn
off the violence: “Having tasted blood, it is difficult for him to calm down
and be rational again.”22 On the one hand, the Israelites’ behavior after the
battle with the Philistines might be seen to be driven by hunger, but it also
seems likely that the frenzy of war, the bloodletting, and the madness now
evidences itself, after the battle is over, in their treatment of the animals
captured, in a lust to consume meat with blood.
Stephen A. Geller’s thoughtful observations on rules pertaining to
the preparation of meat suggest that allowance to eat meat is a kind of
“concession” in postflood contexts, an admission that human beings are in
their very nature violent beings. He writes, “Perhaps there is a hint that by
refraining from blood (= ‘life’) it is as if no life had been taken, a comfort-
ing fiction. Maybe there is an intimation that even through licit slaughter
humanity incurs a degree of ‘blood-guilt’.”23 The portrayal of Saul’s actions
points to the border shared by various kinds of slaughter, in and out of war.
Blood-spilling warriors become the uncontrolled eaters of blood after the
war, and Saul’s ritual actions help to bring them back to a form of bloodlet-
ting that allows for the consumption of meat and return to the ordinary.
The bloodletting, however, need not have ended with the setting up of
the altar. A subsequent episode 1 Sam 14, dealing further with loose ends
stemming from Saul’s oath of fasting before the war, grapples with tensions
in worldview and points again to a messy business following the battle.
This tale concerning Jonathan relates to various scenes discussed above
concerning violence after the war and war vows gone awry, in particular,
the tale of Achan.
ery in Zech 9, see Susan Niditch, “Good Blood, Bad Blood: Multivocality, Metonymy
and Mediation in Zechariah 9,” VT 61 (2011): 629–45.
22. Konstan, “War and Reconciliation,” 193.
23. Stephen A. Geller, “Blood Cult: Toward a Literary Theology of the Priestly
Work of the Pentateuch,” Proof 12 (1992): 112–13.
The king’s own son Jonathan has not heard (or paid attention to) his
father’s fasting battle oath, and eats a little honey before the victory, insist-
ing that the energy allows him to succeed. When his father’s inquiries
to the deity concerning subsequent war plans are met with silence, the
assumption is that some sin has been committed. As in the case of Achan,
the perpetrator is located by divinatory means, but whereas Achan is dealt
with by elimination—a scapegoat who is sacrificed with all his family—
here the people protest and ransom Jonathan. Implicit are continuing
tensions between the old war ways whereby war is often framed by ritual
vows between men and between men and the deity versus a concept of war
whose outcome still depends upon divine favor, but is also a more practi-
cal enterprise involving preparation and strategy.24 Like the scene involv-
ing preparation of the animals for food, this scene, another unintended
consequence of Saul’s vow of fasting, offers a transition to peace that con-
trols violence; indeed violence towards Jonathan is avoided altogether.
3. Conclusions
All the cases explored in this essay acknowledge and underline the diffi-
culties of transitioning from war. In particular, war vows frequently lead to
tensions after the battle, and resolution is made via various forms of con-
trolled ritual violence: the sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter; the execution
of Achan and Agag; the forcible taking of women for Benjamin. Numbers
21:1–24 and Deut 21 overtly grapple with the transition from the condi-
tion of war to a state of peace and achieve this transition through symboli-
cally charged ritual means that include aspects of sacrifice, purification,
and transformation. These passages deal not only with the transition of
Israelite soldiers to peacetime but also, in particular, with captured objects
and objectified human enemies, exploring how they are to be dealt with
after the war, whether by elimination or absorption. Concerns with the
reciprocity implicit in vows, group identity, and challenges to cultural self-
definition inform the need to deal with these “loose ends” after the battle,
but also point to guilt concerning the winners’ success in war.
24. See Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible, 123–32.

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157–210 in Toward an Anthropology of Women. Edited by Rayna R.
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Postwar Rituals of Return and Reintegration
Brad E. Kelle
“I wish I had been untrained afterward … reintegrated and included. My

regret is wasting the whole of my productive adult life as a lone wolf.” —
Jim Shelby, Vietnam veteran1
“There is a boot camp to prepare for war, but there is no boot camp to
reintegrate veterans to civilian life. They were taught reflexive fire shoot-
ing, but not how to recover a shredded moral identity.”2
1. Introduction
The effects of war upon returning soldiers have long been of interest, espe-
cially within modern, Western cultures. At one point during World War I,
Sigmund Freud wrote: “[W]hen the frenzied conflict of this war shall have
been decided, every one of the victorious will joyfully return to his home,
his wife and his children, undelayed and undisturbed by any thought of
the enemy he has slain either at close quarters or by distant weapons of
destruction.”3 Freud was, of course, lamenting this potential outcome,
expressing his fear that the civilized person’s ethical sensitivity would be
1. Quoted in Jonathan Shay, Odysseus in America: Combat Trauma and the Trials
of Homecoming (New York: Scribner, 2002), 1, emphasis original.
2. Rita Nakashima Brock and Gabriella Lettini, Soul Repair: Recovering from
Moral Injury after War (Boston: Beacon, 2012), 42.
3. Sigmund Freud, “Thoughts for the Times on War and Death,” quoted in Ber-
nard J. Verkamp, The Moral Treatment of Returning Warriors in Early Medieval and
Modern Times (2nd ed.; Scranton: University of Scranton Press, 2006), 143. In a simi-
lar vein, Immanuel Kant challenged the dignity of war by referencing an ancient Greek
sentiment: “War is an evil inasmuch as it produces more wicked men than it takes
away” (quoted in Zainab Bahrani, Rituals of War: The Body and Violence in Mesopota-
mia [New York: Zone Books, 2008], 131).
-205-
lost as a result of war’s activities. In spite of the legacy of such expressions

of concern, however, the academic study of warfare in the ancient world
has not examined the aspect of postwar return and reintegration for war-
riors in any substantial way. Certain elements connected to the conclusion
of military conflict, including rituals and symbolic practices, appear con-
sistently throughout the historical sources.4 Yet, the classic work by von
Clausewitz, for instance, which set the agenda for much of the modern
study of warfare, does not even mention the practices involved in the con-
clusion of hostilities.5 Likewise, the classic study within biblical scholar-
ship, Gerhard von Rad’s Holy War in Ancient Israel, assumed that holy war
arose out of a well-formed social/cultic community (the so-called amphic-
tyony) to which warriors would have returned, but identified only rituals
concerned with the preparation for and conduct of battle.6
The aim of this essay is to explore the possible indications of postwar
rituals of return and reintegration within the Hebrew Bible. The goal is
to offer something akin to a mapping survey. I seek to map the Hebrew
Bible texts that likely present postwar rituals of return and reintegration
and then to consider those texts against the backdrop of similar rituals
from the ancient Near East and elsewhere. In a subsequent, but more ten-
tative and suggestive move, I conclude with an interdisciplinary explora-
tion of connections between these rituals and recent perspectives within
contemporary warfare studies, psychology, and clinical literature that may
illuminate the symbolic functions of the rituals. I will suggest that postwar
rituals of return and reintegration in the Hebrew Bible and related con-
texts treat pragmatic issues but are not merely pragmatic: they construct a
semiotics for the realities of war that serves particular symbolic functions
related to what contemporary warfare studies describes as “moral injury.”
4. E.g., Martin Van Creveld (The Culture of War [New York: Ballantine, 2008],
149) surveys the evidence for end of war practices from various historical periods and
identifies four things that “must be done, though not necessarily in this order”: (1)
care for casualties; (2) distribute the spoils and prisoners; (3) celebrate victory with
ceremonies to mark the transition from war to peace; and (4) reach a formal agree-
ment to end hostilities.
5. Ibid., 149. See Carl von Clausewitz, On War (trans. O. J. Matthijs Jolles; The
Modern Library of the World’s Best Books; New York: The Modern Library, 1943).
6. See Gerhard von Rad, Holy War in Ancient Israel (trans. Marva J. Dawn;
Eugene, Ore.: Wipf & Stock, 2000; orig. German 1951), 50–51.
kelle: Postwar Rituals of Return and Reintegration 207
2. Two Preliminary Considerations
There are two preliminary considerations for the inquiry undertaken in

this essay. First, the task represents another attempt to broaden the schol-
arly study of warfare in ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible beyond the
category of so-called “holy war,” “divine war,” or “Yhwh war” that has so
often dominated research.7 While the precise definition of this category
has been and remains the subject of ongoing debate,8 at least since the
work of von Rad, scholars have tried to identify an institution of “holy
war” in ancient Israel that contained certain elements reflected in the
biblical texts. Von Rad himself proposed that ancient Israelite warfare
had a religious and cultic character, originating as a cultic institution of
the amphictyony in the premonarchical period.9 This initial formulation
has, of course, undergone significant criticism and reformulations have
moved toward broader definitions and different sociological and histori-
cal assumptions.10
7. For examples of recent general works on warfare and the Hebrew Bible that
represent a variety of different approaches and perspectives, see T. R. Hobbs, A Time
for War: A Study of Warfare in the Old Testament (Wilmington, Del.; Michael Glazier,
1989); Susan Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible: A Study in the Ethics of Violence (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1993); Tremper Longman III and Daniel G. Reid, God
Is a Warrior (Studies in Old Testament Biblical Theology; Grand Rapids: Zondervan,
1995); Eckart Otto, Krieg und Frieden in der Hebraïschen Bibel und im Alten Orient:
Aspekte für eine Friedensordnung in der Moderne (Theologie und Frieden 18; Stutt-
gart: W. Kohlhammer, 1999); Cynthia R. Chapman, The Gendered Language of War-
fare in the Israelite-Assyrian Encounter (HSM 62; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns,
2004); Brad E. Kelle and Frank Ritchel Ames, eds., Writing and Reading War: Rhetoric,
Gender, and Ethics in Biblical and Modern Contexts (SBLSymS 42; Atlanta: Society of
Biblical Literature, 2008); Bahrani, Rituals of War; Carly L. Crouch, War and Ethics
in the Ancient Near East: Military Violence in Light of Cosmology and History (BZAW
407; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009).
8. See the comprehensive discussion in Sa-Moon Kang, Divine War in the Old
Testament and the Ancient Near East (BZAW 177; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989).
9. Von Rad, Holy War in Ancient Israel, 23.
10. E.g., Rudolph Smend, Yahweh War and Tribal Confederation: Reflections upon
Israel’s Earliest History (trans. from 2nd ed. by Max Gray Rogers; Nashville: Abingdon,
1970); Peter C. Craigie, The Problem of War in the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerd-
mans, 1978); Kang, Divine War; Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible; John J. Collins, Does
the Bible Justify Violence? (Facets; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004).
What is of interest for the purposes of this essay is that the general
notion of holy war/divine war has often functioned as a filter that focused
the study of war in the Hebrew Bible on particular textual elements and
sociological constructions and screened out certain aspects that might
have otherwise been observed or emphasized. Although the concept of
holy war connected warfare with religious and cultic dimensions and high-
lighted the importance of rituals in the practice of such war, there has been
little, if any, interest in possible postbattle rituals and their significance. As
noted above, von Rad assumed that holy war arose out of a well-formed
social/cultic community (the amphictyony) to which warriors would have
returned after battle, but he identified only rituals concerned with the
preparation and conduct of the war. The militia was simply dismissed after
the campaign had ended.11 While some recent interpreters have included
postbattle activities such as praise songs and the giving of plunder to Yhwh
in the elements typically assigned to divine war in the Hebrew Bible,12 the
long-standing preoccupation with the concept of holy war has often led
interpreters to cease the inquiry when the battle ends.13
A second preliminary consideration for the identification of post-
war rituals of return and reintegration in the Hebrew Bible concerns the
nature of the available sources. The biblical texts do not allow any com-
prehensive picture of postwar rituals within ancient Israel. The Hebrew
Bible as a whole contains very few detailed accounts of military activity
and even fewer explicit and reflective accounts of postwar rituals devoted
to the subsequent status and actions of the warriors who fought in the
conflict.14 The texts that contain elements that are at least suggestive of
rituals for return and reintegration appear in various books, with predict-
ably high concentrations in the Pentateuch and Deuteronomistic History.
They reflect different historical backgrounds, compositional histories, and
11. Von Rad identifies the main elements of holy war as the muster of the army,
consecration, offering of sacrifices, proclamation and march, battle, utter annihilation
of the enemy (‫)חרם‬, and dismissal of the militia. See von Rad, Holy War in Ancient
Israel, 50–51.
12. E.g., Longman and Reid, God Is a Warrior, 32–47.
13. See, for instance, the list of five common elements in the Hebrew Bible’s Yhwh
war stories enumerated by Peter Weimar (“Die Jahwekriegserzählungen in Exodus 14,
Joshua 10, Richter 4 und 1 Samuel 7,” Bib 57 [1976]: 38–73). These include no postwar
rituals beyond the annihilation of the enemy. See discussion in Kang, Divine War, 4.
14. See Brad E. Kelle, Ancient Israel at War 853–586 BC (Essential Histories 67;
Oxford: Osprey, 2007).
literary genres, with no explicit connections among them other than the
shared subject of postbattle activities. As the following discussion will
show, there is perhaps only one Hebrew Bible text that explicitly depicts
ritual acts associated with the reintegration of warriors (Num 31:13–54).
Even this text, however, does not provide any sustained reflection on the
significance of the postbattle activities described or on what they might
have meant to those who engaged in them. While the following analysis
attempts to map the postwar rituals that appear in various biblical texts
and consider them in their comparative social and cultural contexts, the
nature of the available sources does not allow the formulation of a stan-
dard practice of postwar rituals, even for specifically defined time periods
or traditions within ancient Israel and Judah.
3. Postwar Rituals of Return and

Reintegration in the Hebrew Bible
Bearing the above considerations in mind, the following discussion

seeks to identify and map postwar rituals of return and reintegration in
the Hebrew Bible and invites reflection upon their significance from dif-
ferent interpretive perspectives. The presentation begs several questions
regarding the precise definition of “ritual,” including what counts as ritual
behavior and how one identifies such behavior within Hebrew Bible texts.
The effort to define ritual behavior remains vexed and different emic and
etic formulations are possible.15 We may assume that a number of rou-
tine activities such as the burial of the dead (e.g., 2 Sam 2:24–32; Ezek
39:11–12) occurred at the conclusion of battle, many of which likely go
undescribed in biblical texts and may or may not have constituted ritual
behavior. Nonetheless, the textual map given here will use the category
of ritual in the most general sense—a set of prescribed or stylized actions
performed for their symbolic function in certain contexts.
15. Saul M. Olyan, Social Inequality in the World of the Text: The Significance
of Ritual and Social Distinctions in the Hebrew Bible (Journal of Ancient Judaism
Supplements 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011); Saul M. Olyan, Rites
and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult (Princeton: Princeton Univer-
sity Press, 2000); James W. Watts, Ritual and Rhetoric in Leviticus: From Sacrifice to
Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); William K. Gilders, Blood
Ritual in the Hebrew Bible: Meaning and Power (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 2004).
The Hebrew Bible texts that are suggestive of postwar rituals of return
and reintegration fall into five categories based on the actions that they
describe, with some overlap among them:16
(1) Purification of Warriors, Captives, and Objects: Num 31:13–24
(2) Appropriation of Booty

(2.1) Simple taking of booty: Deut 20:10–18; Josh 7:1; 8:24–
29; 11:14; 1 Sam 14:31–35; 15:1–9; 23:1–5; 27:8–12; 2 Chr
28:8–15
(2.2) Redistribution of booty among combatants, noncom-
batants, and sanctuaries: Gen 14:17–24; Num 31:25–47;
Josh 6:24; 22:7–9; Judg 5:28–30; 1 Sam 5:1–8; 30:21–31;
2 Sam 8:9–12; 1 Chr 26:26–28; 2 Chr 15:11; Ps 68:11–14
(3) Construction of Memorials and Monuments: Exod 17:14–16;

Num 31:48–54; Josh 6:24; 1 Sam 5:1–8; 31:8–10; 2 Sam 8:9–
12; 1 Chr 18:7–8, 10–11; 26:26–28; Dan 1:1–2; 5:2–3
(4) Celebration or Procession: Exod 15:1–18, 20–21; 1 Sam 18:6–

9; 2 Sam 19:1–8 (implied by opposite); 2 Chr 20:24–30; Esther
9:16–17; Ps 68:21–27; Isa 25:6
(5) Lament (usually corporate): 2 Sam 1:19–27; Pss 44; 60; 74;
79; 80; 89; Isa 14:3–20 (ironic); 15–16 (ironic); Jer 48 (ironic);
Lam 5; Ezek 32:1–16 (ironic); Joel 1:2–2:17
The following discussion will highlight representative texts from each

category to identify some of the central elements that appear across the
depictions.
16. Two additional texts that relate to possibly recurring postbattle activities
are Judg 9:45, which describes sowing the enemy’s lands with salt, and Deut 7:1–11,
which outlines the procedures for ‫חרם‬. However, these texts do not deal directly with
elements concerning the warriors themselves but focus on actions taken against the
enemy or its territory.
3.1. Purification of Warriors, Captives, and Objects
The texts in the first category depict purification rites for returning war-
riors, captives, and objects. Numbers 31:13–24 is the only explicit exam-
ple of this category within the Hebrew Bible. The larger unit of Num
31:13–54 is the most, and perhaps only, explicit depiction of postbattle
rituals for returning warriors, and the unit as a whole devotes much more
space to the postwar activities than to the battle itself, bringing together
in unique ways several elements found individually elsewhere. The pas-
sage describes an encounter among Moses, Eleazar the priest, and Isra-
elite warriors returning to the congregation at the camp in the plains
of Moab after a victorious battle with the Midianites. Having slaugh-
tered all the Midianite men, the returning warriors bring with them “the
women of Midian and their little ones,” as well as “their cattle, flocks,
and all their goods as booty” (Num 31:9 nrsv). In this context, Moses’s
first instructions are to kill all the male children and nonvirgin women.
In the following verses, the instructions turn to activities to be carried
out by the warriors prior to their reintegration into the camp. The first
section of these instructions (vv. 19–24) prescribes the ceremonial (and
literal) purification (and washing) of the warriors, captives, and booty.
Moses commands the returning warriors who killed a person or touched
a corpse to remain outside the camp seven days, purify themselves and
their captive virgin women on the third and seventh day, and purify the
captured garments and articles. Eleazar then stipulates (vv. 21–24) that
any nonflammable objects (gold, silver, bronze, iron, tin, lead)—pre-
sumably both booty and weapons—must be passed through the fire and
perhaps also purified with water. Objects that cannot withstand fire are
simply passed through the water. Additionally, the warriors must wash
their clothes on the seventh day.
The actions depicted in Num 31:13–24 reflect the ideology and con-
cerns of the Hebrew Bible’s priestly tradition. The chapter has generated
a large amount of commentary that tries to understand the postbattle
prescriptions within the origin, development, and expressions of priestly
notions of purity and impurity found in various pentateuchal texts.17 The
17. E.g., George Buchanan Gray, Numbers: A Critical and Exegetical Commen-
tary (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1903); Martin Noth, Numbers (OTL; Philadelphia:
Westminster, 1968); Gordon J. Wenham, Numbers (TOTC 4; Downer’s Grove, Ill.:
InterVarsity Press, 1981); Philip J. Budd, Numbers (WBC 5; Waco, Tex.: Word, 1984);
traditional view since the time of Martin Noth, for instance, has been that
the passage is one of the latest parts of the Pentateuch, perhaps even a
later supplement to the Pentateuch as a whole.18 Much more could be said
about issues of compositional history, yet no other Hebrew Bible text con-
tains this ritual prescription of postbattle purification or explicit exam-
ples of such purification taking place. Within the priestly tradition, the
purification ritual here seems to depend most directly upon priestly laws
concerning defilement caused by corpse contamination (especially Num
5:1–4 and 19:1–22).19 The underlying conviction in these laws is that death
defiles the person and the camp. Numbers 5 provides the initial statement
that contact with a corpse defiles a person, and Num 19 stipulates the pro-
cedures for purification from corpse contamination with the red heifer
ritual. In the latter, the priests involved in disposal of the red heifer must
wash their clothes and bathe before returning to the camp (vv. 5–6), the
one touching a human corpse is unclean for seven days and must wash
on the third and seventh day (vv. 11–13), and one touching specifically a
corpse that was “killed by a sword” in an open field is unclean for seven
days (v. 16).20 A possibly additional background text is the legislation con-
Timothy R. Ashley, The Book of Numbers (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993);
Thomas B. Dozeman, “Numbers,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible (12 vols.; Nashville:
Abingdon, 1998), 2:1–268; W. H. Bellinger, Jr., Leviticus, Numbers (NIBCOT; Pea-
body: Hendrickson, 2001).
18. Noth, Numbers, 229; Gray, Numbers, 418–19. For other views, see Ashley, The
Book of Numbers, 588.
19. See David P. Wright, “Purification from Corpse-Contamination in Num-
bers XXXI 19–24,” VT 35 (1985): 213–23; David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity:
Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature (SBLDS 101;
Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 169–72; Dozeman, “Numbers,” 247. For other refer-
ences to corpse defilement, see Num 6:6–12; 9:6–14; 31:13–24; Lev 10:4–5; 21:1–4,
10–12; 2 Kgs 23:16; Isa 65:4; Ezek 9:6; 39:11–16; 43:7–9; 44:25–27; Hag 2:10–19.
Priestly laws concerning pollution through blood and bloodshed may also underlie
the ritual in Num 31, although Hebrew Bible texts typically distinguish accidental kill-
ing and combat from the type of moral acts such as murder that constitute bloodshed.
See Num 35:33; Ps 106:38–39; Isa 59:1–3; Jer 2:34; Lam 4:14.
20. Niditch (War in the Hebrew Bible, 87) observes that the corpse-contamination
laws in Numbers differ from those found in Leviticus. Leviticus typically treats con-
tact with a corpse or blood from a wound as ritually defiling only for priests (e.g.,
Lev 21:1–11). In Num 5:1–4, the priestly writer extends the defiling nature of corpse
contact to all Israelites, and Num 19 develops the notion into a general principle that
extends even to aliens in the community. For an analysis of the different biblical tra-
cerning the transition of a captive woman taken in battle in Deut 21:10–14.

Before an Israelite can marry the woman, she must shave her head, cut her
nails, change her clothing, and remain for a month in the man’s house—all
symbols of a new birth and transition into a new identity.
The ritual in Num 31 uniquely applies these background provisions
to the practice of war and demands the purification of warriors who have
killed someone, enemy captives, and even objects.21 Perhaps the most
noticeably unique aspect of the Numbers construction, however, is the
way in which the priestly notion of warfare as a ritually defiling activity
departs from the typical understandings within the Hebrew Bible’s other
war traditions. No other traditions make (at least explicitly) this connec-
tion between warfare and corpse contamination.22 It seems likely that the
underlying notion of death being the “utmost desacralization” is what
leads to warfare being considered a defiling activity.23 In the conceptions
represented by biblical and extrabiblical texts, defilement most essentially
represents estrangement from the divine presence and death constitutes
the ultimate form of such separation.24 Hence, often the determining
factor of whether something causes defilement is whether it represents
ditions concerning corpse uncleanness, see Jacob Milgrom, “Studies in the Temple
Scroll,” JBL 97 (1978): 501–23.
21. With regard to the demand for the purification of the captive virgin women,
Budd (Numbers, 334) proposes that the text is expanding the older law in Deut 21:10–
14 concerning the transition of a captive woman from a distant city. Niditch’s reading
(War in the Hebrew Bible, 81–87) of Num 31 also focuses on the sparing of the virgin
girls and compares the text with Deut 21:10–14. She claims that element reveals the
priestly view of the world centered on biological purity of bloodlines.
22. For example, Niditch (War in the Hebrew Bible, 78–89) notes the particu-
lar contrast on this point between the priestly conception in Num 31 and the holy
war or ban traditions in the Hebrew Bible. See also Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel
(McGraw-Hill Paperbacks; New York: McGraw-Hill, 1965), 461–62, which interprets
the demand for purification in Num 31 as an indication that the warriors needed to
desanctify themselves out of a state of holiness now that the battle was over.
23. Emanuel Feldman, Biblical and Post-biblical Defilement and Mourning: Law as
Theology (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1977), xix.
24. See E. N. Fallaize, “Purification, Introductory and Primitive,” in volume 10
of Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics (ed. James Hastings; 12 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T
Clark, 1956), 455–66. Fallaize points out that the identification of death as the ultimate
source of defilement is, at times, connected with the notion that postbattle purification
rituals for warriors serve to protect the warrior from the ghosts or souls of those he
killed (ibid., 457). For an older, general discussion of purification in the Hebrew Bible
death in some manner.25 In the Priestly view of warfare represented by

Num 31, war becomes defiling because it brings about direct contact with
death by various means.26
3.2. Appropriation of Booty
The next section of the story in Num 31 (vv. 25–47) moves the narrative
focus away from the purification of the warriors and onto the second
category of postwar rituals listed above—the appropriation of booty after
battle. Notwithstanding the uniqueness of the preceding purification
ritual, several commentators have noted that the handling of the booty
occupies the central place in the narrative as a whole.27 In verses 25–47,
the people are to divide the booty (presumably equally) between “the
warriors who went out to battle” and “all the congregation” (v. 27 nrsv).
in the context of purification concepts and rituals in ancient cultures, see S. M. Cooke,
“Purification (Hebrew),” in Hastings, Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, 10:489–90.
25. Feldman, Biblical and Post-biblical Defilement and Mourning, xix, 14. Feld-
man identifies defilement of the dead—caused by contact with corpses, carrion, or
certain “creeping things”—as the first of three major categories of defilement within
Hebrew Bible and rabbinical law (ibid., 31–32).
26. The text reflects the Priestly legislation as a whole, in which Israelites—even
priests—are permitted to defile themselves via contact with a corpse on certain occa-
sions after which specific restrictions are placed upon them (see Lev 21:1–6; Num
19:11–20). In addition to the stipulations to wash and remain outside the camp for
seven days—which appear in rituals for nonwar corpse contact in the priestly texts
(Num 5; 19)—the use of water as a purifying agent in the ritual in Num 31 appears
widely in biblical and extrabiblical texts related to purification, although the use of fire
in this text is unique. Wright (“Purification,” 222) observes that Num 31 is the only
place in the Hebrew Bible where fire is required for purification.
More recent interpreters (e.g., Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible, 87–88) have
turned their attention to possible ethical dimensions, proposing that the new elements
found in Num 31 reveal a changed “ethical perception” in postmonarchic traditions
that sees even killing in war as an abomination and expresses doubts about the prac-
tice of warfare itself. For Niditch, the purification part of the postwar ritual in Num
31:19–24 itself is enough to push readers toward “fascinating questions about the psy-
chology and ethics of violence” similar to those explored in contemporary warfare
studies (88). For a similar sentiment, Niditch cites Wenham, Numbers, 212.
27. E.g., Noth (Numbers, 231) calls the division of the booty in Num 31:25–47
an “essential element of the whole chapter” and Dozeman (“Numbers,” 245) states,
“Booty is the central concern underlying the rules and procedures for holy war in
Numbers 31.”
From the warriors’ share, items are set aside as a levy to the priests and
offering to Yhwh at the rate of one per five hundred, while from the con-
gregation’s share items are set aside for the Levites at the rate of one per
fifty.28 The background for the priestly legislation concerning booty is
the general principle in Deut 20 that prohibits booty from cities within
the land but allows women, children, and animals to be taken as plun-
der from distant cities. Similarly, Deut 21:10–14 allows for an Israelite to
marry a woman taken as booty in war after she undergoes a makeover
process signifying her transition to a new identity. Numbers 31 devel-
ops these principles by restricting the human booty to virgin women and
including a levy for the priests.
Although the levy for the priests in Num 31 is unique in the Hebrew
Bible, this practice of the redistribution of the spoils features prominently
in various biblical and extrabiblical texts.29 In fact, the postbattle activity
of handling spoils dominates all others in Hebrew Bible texts. Many texts
within this category simply report the taking of plunder by the victori-
ous warriors and do not allude to any kind of ritual of return or reentry
(e.g., Deut 20:14–15; Josh 8:24–29; 11:14; 1 Sam 14:31–35; 15:1–9; 23:1–5;
27:8–10; 2 Chr 28:8–15).30 Other texts beyond Num 31, however, depict
the postbattle practice of redistributing portions of the booty among the
combatants and noncombatants upon the warriors’ return.31 First Samuel
30:21–25 provides the clearest example. Here, David redistributes the spoil
from his victory against the Amalekites among the 400 men who went to
battle and the 200 who stayed behind, specifically countering the objection
that only the warriors should receive the spoil. He also sends other por-
tions of the booty to his supporters among the elders of Judah. The deu-
teronomistic writer includes the claim that this practice became a “stat-
ute and an ordinance for Israel” that continued to the “present day” (v. 25
28. The booty described in this passage exceeds 800,000 animals and 16,750 shek-
els of gold (Dozeman, “Numbers,” 245).
29. For priestly legislation concerning the priests’ portion of offerings in nonwar
contexts, see Num 7:1–89; 18:8–32; 28:1–31. For discussion of the levy given to the
priests, see ibid., 247–48; Ashley, The Book of Numbers, 597; Budd, Numbers, 331.
30. Reports of the taking of plunder especially appear in the battle texts in Joshua
and Judges. Perhaps because of the premonarchic literary setting of the stories, there
are no significant rituals of warriors returning to their town, but the postbattle activi-
ties often involve booty.
31. See David Elgavish, “The Division of the Spoils of War in the Bible and in the
Ancient Near East,” ZABR 8 (2000): 242–73.
nrsv). Likewise, Gen 14:17–24 notes Abram’s division of the remainder of

the spoil after his gift to Melchizedek between the warriors and the king of
Sodom. Joshua 22:7–9 instructs the tribal warriors from the Transjordan
returning home after the conquest to share the booty with their kindred
who had remained outside the land. Psalm 68:11–14 alludes to the women
who remained home “among the sheepfolds” (v. 13) dividing the plunder
captured from the defeated foe. In perhaps the most poetic depiction, the
conclusion of Deborah’s song in Judg 5:28–30 personifies Sisera’s mother
gazing out the window and imagining the victorious Canaanite warriors
tarrying to divide their booty—human and otherwise.32
3.3. Construction of Memorials and Monuments
The third category of potentially postwar rituals of return and reintegra-

tion in the Hebrew Bible appears explicitly in the final portion of the story
in Num 31 (vv. 48–54), with a few suggestive texts elsewhere—the practice
of using a portion of the booty to construct memorials on the battlefield or
in the sanctuary via dedication to Yhwh. In Num 31, the army’s command-
ers voluntarily bring to Moses an “offering” to Yhwh consisting of various
gold articles of booty and serving to “make atonement” (‫לכפר‬, v. 50) for
themselves. Moses and Eleazar bring this gold into the tent of meeting and
set it up as a “memorial” (‫זכרון‬, v. 54) before Yhwh. The atonement offer-
ing and subsequent memorial appear in this precise form only here, and
debate continues over how to interpret the motivation of the warriors and
the significance of the acts.33
32. In a recent study of textual representations of plunder in Second Temple

Period and early Jewish texts, Kvasnica notes these Hebrew Bible examples of plunder
with a “pious element” of redistribution to the temple or other people became fully
developed in the Jewish exegetical tradition as plundering increasingly came to be
seen as an unlawful activity according to the Torah. See Brian Kvasnica, “Shifts in Isra-
elite War Ethics and Early Jewish Historiography of Plundering,” in Kelle and Ames,
Writing and Reading War, 175–96 (quotation on 176). Among these later texts, for
instance, 2 Macc 8:21–29 reports that Judas redistributed the booty he claimed at the
battle of Ammaus (165 b.c.e.), especially to those who had suffered or were widows
and orphans among them (2 Macc 8:28).
33. Some commentators point to other Hebrew Bible texts in which the act of
taking a census is sinful and demands atonement (e.g., Exod 30:11–16; 2 Sam 24:1–
17). For this view, see Noth, Numbers, 232; Ashley, The Book of Numbers, 599. Alter-
natively, other explanations include the soldiers’ disregard of the strict ban provision
In spite of the unique formulation in Num 31, however, comparable

postwar actions occur elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. Concerning the
erecting of battlefield memorials, Exod 17:14–16 is merely suggestive,
as it describes Moses’s building of an altar with a militaristic name (“the
Lord is my banner,” v. 15 nrsv) in the aftermath of Israel’s defeat of the
Amalekites. Concerning the use of booty for memorials in sanctuaries,
the ending of the Jericho story in Josh 6:24 reports that the Israelites took
the material booty of precious metals and placed it into the “treasury of
the house of the Lord” (nrsv). Similarly, 1 Chr 26:26–28 reports that the
booty was dedicated for the maintenance of the temple (see also 2 Sam
8:9–12; 2 Chr 15:11).34 Similar acts of temple dedication from the opposite
perspective appear in the stories of Israel’s defeat at the hands of the Phi-
listines in 1 Samuel. In 1 Sam 5:1–8, the Philistines place the captured Ark
of the Covenant into the temple of Dagon as a victory memorial. In 1 Sam
31:8–10, they place Saul’s armor into the temple of Astarte and hang his
body on the wall of Beth-shan. One might also note the reference in Dan
1:1–2 to Nebuchadnezzar’s placement of vessels from Jerusalem’s temple
into the “treasury of his gods” (see also Dan 5:2–3). These depictions of
the captured ark and temple vessels fit within the broader category of the
taking of divine images as trophies in the ancient world (see below), but
the Hebrew Bible preserves explicit depictions of this ritual only as it was
done to Israel or Judah in defeat.35
and the sense of having received unmerited divine favor during the battle (see Budd,
Numbers, 332; Gray, Numbers, 425). Norman H. Snaith (Leviticus and Numbers [The
Century Bible; London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1967], 329) proposes that the war-
riors’ motivation is gratitude that their lives have been spared. Hence, the root ‫כפר‬
here carries a denominative force meaning, “to give a ransom for our lives.” Yet the
context of ch. 31 suggests the need for atonement reflects the sense that participation
in the battle was ritually defiling and the offering is part of the purification process (see
Dozeman, “Numbers,” 248; Wenham, Numbers, 212).
34. One might also consider in this category Gen 14:17–24, which depicts Abram
giving part of his booty to the priest Melchizedek.
35. Perhaps the one-sided portrayal is due to the “ideological prohibition of
images” in various Hebrew Bible traditions that resulted in commands to destroy
rather than capture foreign gods and their images (e.g., Exod 34:13; Num 33:52; Deut
7:25) and possibly generated some textual emendations in which the MT obscures
references to Israel’s taking of divine images as trophies (Kathryn Frakes Kravitz,
“Divine Trophies of War in Assyria and Ancient Israel” [Ph.D. diss., Brandeis Univer-
sity, 1999], 118). See the apparent MT emendation of 2 Sam 12:30 from the “crown of
Milcom” to the “crown of their kings.”
3.4. Celebration or Procession
The fourth category of Hebrew Bible texts contains several passages that
portray the victorious returning army participating in rituals of celebra-
tion, procession, and thanksgiving.36 The texts include celebratory praise
songs (Exod 15:1–18), feasting (Esth 9:16–17; Isa 25:6), triumphal proces-
sions back to the city (Ps 68:21–27; 2 Chr 20:24–30), and women coming
out to meet the returning warriors with music and dancing (Exod 15:20–
21; 1 Sam 18:6–9).37 Notable examples here include 1 Sam 18:6–9, which
describes women coming out with singing, dancing, and instruments to
meet Saul and David’s forces returning from victory over the Philistines,
and 2 Chr 20:24–30, which depicts Jehoshaphat leading “all the people of
Judah and Jerusalem” into the capital and to the temple with “harps and
lyres and trumpets” (vv. 27–28).38 Psalm 68:21–27 also seems to place a
possible allusion to a postbattle procession in the context of military vic-
tory and celebration, although the reference is opaque.39 Perhaps as a part
36. For an overview listing, see Leland Ryken, James C. Wilhoit, and Tremper
Longman III, eds. Dictionary of Biblical Imagery (Downer’s Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity
Press, 1998), 78–79.
37. The overall textual evidence in the Hebrew Bible suggests that postbattle
songs were the particular domain of women in ancient Israel (especially the tradi-
tion of early heroic poetry). See Mark Smith’s contribution to this volume (“Warfare
Song as Warrior Ritual”). See also Athalya Brenner and Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes,
On Gendering Texts: Female and Male Voices in the Hebrew Bible (BInS 1; Leiden:
Brill, 1993), 1–42 and Sherry Lou Macgregor, Beyond Hearth and Home: Women in
the Public Sphere in Neo-Assyrian Society (SAAS 21; Publications of the Foundation
for Finnish Assyriological Research 5; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Proj-
ect, 2012), 29–54. On the topic of women celebrating victory, see Eunice B. Poethig,
“The Victory Song Tradition of the Women of Israel” (Ph.D. diss., Union Theologi-
cal Seminary, 1985) and Carol Meyers, “Mother to Muse: An Archaeomusicological
Study of Women’s Performance in Israel,” in Recycling Biblical Figures: Papers Read at
a NOSTER Colloquium in Amsterdam, 12–13 May 1997 (ed. Athalya Brenner and Jan
Willem van Henten; Studies in Religion and Theology 1; Leiden: Deo, 1999), 50–77.
38. The story in 2 Sam 19:1–8 may represent the emotional distress caused by
the failure to provide returning victorious warriors with these kinds of celebratory
processionals. The text reports that David’s troops, although victorious over Absalom’s
forces, “stole into the city that day as soldiers steal in who are ashamed when they flee
in battle” (v. 3). The implication is that a celebratory processional was expected, and
the king somewhat rectified the situation by gathering the troops before him (v. 8).
39. See Crouch, War and Ethics in the Ancient Near East, 76.
of this procession, defeated enemies are said to be brought to Jerusalem so

that the victors may “bathe” their feet in blood (v. 23; see also Ps 58:10).40
It is tempting to see this text as an allusion to a postbattle ritual of bath-
ing the warriors’ feet with the blood of the defeated and connect it with
other evidence for the shame and mutilation of enemies.41 Yet, it is unclear
whether the language is literal or metaphorical and the action does not
appear in any subsequent or developed form.
3.5. Lament (Usually Corporate)
The final category of Hebrew Bible texts contains several references to

lamentations (typically communal in nature) offered in response to mili-
tary failure or defeat in battle. These laments are a natural counterpart to
the victory songs and celebrations that comprise the preceding category.42
The major example in the historiographical books occurs in David’s lam-
entation over the death of Saul and Jonathan in battle in 2 Sam 1:19–27.
Although the passage as a whole is an individual lament by David,43 verses
21–23 seem to envision a communal lament to be given by women (see
verse 24). The highest concentration of such postbattle laments occurs in
the psalms, which include several communal laments related to military
failure. Psalm 44 is a national lament and communal plea for help that
refers to the failure of Israel’s army and the taking of spoil by the enemy
(vv. 9–10). Psalms 60 and 79 offer communal laments after defeat that
express the disastrous consequences that have come from Yhwh’s refusal
to grant victory to the army (see also Pss 74; 80), while Ps 89 has an indi-
vidual form with a focus on the defeat and humiliation of the king and a
plea for a reversal of royal fortune.44
40. The Hebrew term is “shatter” (‫)מחץ‬, but most translators follow the Greek,
Syriac, and Targum, which suggest “bathe” (‫( )רחץ‬see nrsv).
41. See T. M. Lemos, “Shame and Mutilation of Enemies in the Hebrew Bible,”
JBL 125 (2006): 225–41.
42. See William S. Morrow, Protest against God: The Eclipse of a Biblical Tradition
(Hebrew Bible Monographs 4; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2006) and F. W. Dobbs-
Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City-Lament Genre in the Hebrew
Bible (BibOr 44; Rome: Biblical Pontifical Institute, 1993).
43. Note the presence of the expression, “How” (‫ )אך‬known from other lament
contexts (e.g., Jer 2:21; 9:18; Mic 2:4). For similar postbattle laments in 2 Samuel, see
David’s lament over Abner (3:33–44) and his mourning over Absalom (18:33).
44. Note the contrast with other royal psalms that reflect warfare contexts but
Outside of the Psalms, laments after defeat occur in other poetic

contexts. The highest concentration appears in texts that fit the genre of
Hebrew Bible city laments. These laments treat the common subject matter
of the destruction of cities (usually due to enemy invasion) and feature
elements such as divine abandonment of the city, assignment of respon-
sibility for the destruction of the city, and somber expressions of grief.
F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp demonstrates that while the book of Lamentations
represents the fullest example of this genre in the Hebrew Bible, compari-
sons with extrabibiblical writings (see below) reveal that texts from this
genre appear throughout the prophetic literature (especially the oracles
against the nations) and in some psalms. He concludes that a native city
lament genre existed in Israel at least between the eighth and sixth cen-
turies b.c.e.45 The poems in the book of Lamentations offer ceremonial
and, in some cases, communal (especially ch. 5) laments in response to the
Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem that reflect most of the features of the
city lament genre known throughout the ancient Near East. These laments
reflect on military defeat, express the suffering and violence that followed,
and plead for relief. The relevant prophetic oracles at times employ ironic
or sarcastic laments to condemn enemy kingdoms such as Babylon, Moab,
and Egypt (e.g., Isa 14:3–20; 15–16; Jer 48; Ezek 32:1–16). Additionally,
Joel 1:2–2:17 features a prophetic call for an extended communal lamenta-
tion intertwined with references (literal or metaphorical) to an invasion
that has devastated the land (see 1:6–8).
4. Postwar Rituals of Return and

Reintegration Outside the Hebrew Bible
The five kinds of practices represented by the categories discussed above—

purification of warriors, captives, and objects, appropriation of booty,
trophy/monument construction, celebration or procession, and commu-
nal lament—are the most suggestive postwar rituals of return and reinte-
gration in the Hebrew Bible, with various levels of overlap among them.
offer thanksgiving for victory in battle (Ps 18) or prayer for the king prior to going
to war (Ps 20). See also the likely royal prayer for safety and victory in war in Ps 144.
45. Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion, 156. Dobbs-Allsopp speculates
that the city laments may reflect “partial transformations of funeral laments” and
appear most prominently (outside of Lamentations) in the oracles against the nations
in the prophetic books (160).
The next step in considering these texts and practices is to place them
against the backdrop of comparable texts and practices from other sources
in ancient and modern contexts. Prior to doing so, however, there are two
lingering questions for the sources under consideration here that place
ongoing limitations on the analysis. First, as noted above, all of the rel-
evant biblical texts remain only suggestive, so we are left to ask whether
and to what extent the depictions in these texts reflect actual practices or
recurring rituals related to the reintegration of warriors in ancient Israel.
The exact correspondence between these textual expressions and the
actual practices of ancient Israel and Judah cannot be taken for granted.
Second, it remains unclear whether one should (or could) distinguish
among the practices described above those that are truly postwar rituals
and those that are more immediate postbattle rituals. In other words, do
some (most?) of these practices envision activities that took place to mark
the homecoming at the completion of a campaign (“war”) or simply the
end of one particular battle. This question likely bears on the possible sym-
bolic functions fulfilled by the acts themselves, but the available evidence
suggests a high level of overlap among the different kinds of practices and
permits few clear-cut distinctions. As the following discussion shows,
these same two questions bear upon the evidence for postwar practices in
sources outside the Hebrew Bible, as well.
The potential extrabiblical evidence for postwar rituals from the
ancient Near East and other contexts is diverse and widespread, with
significant source material coming from ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt,
Greece, and Rome, as well as modern, especially tribal, cultures and early
and medieval Christianity. What follows is a representative survey that
does not claim comprehensiveness.46 As with the Hebrew Bible, a lack
of clear textual evidence for certain areas, most notably Syria-Palestine,
makes it difficult to describe the various elements of warfare practice in
any systematic or detailed manner. Additionally, Sa-Moon Kang observes
that the overall framework for many of the ancient Near Eastern war texts,
just as for the Hebrew Bible, is the notion of divine war, which includes
both a divine command to execute the war and the belief that the gods
46. For a survey of practices and ideological formulations undergirding warfare

in the ancient Near East and the Hebrew Bible more generally, see Otto, Krieg und
Frieden. For an overall survey of rituals, art, monuments, especially related to the body
in warfare, see Bahrani, Rituals of War.
fight alongside the armies (mainly through natural phenomena).47 This

larger framework shapes the ancient texts’ descriptions of activities before,
during, and after battle.48 Even so, while the relevant practices can vary
greatly in different cultures and societies, the efforts to handle booty, cel-
ebrate victory, and help warriors transition back to life in the community
correspond in general terms to the categories found in the Hebrew Bible.
The first category of the ritual purification of warriors returning
from battle, which appears explicitly in only one Hebrew Bible text (Num
31), is by contrast extensively attested in several comparative contexts.49
Sources from Mesopotamia and the wider ancient Near East, including
Hittite, Egyptian, Ugaritic, and Akkadian texts, refer to a variety of prac-
tices involving ceremonial purification after battle, especially through the
washing of the body or the weapons used in battle. In some cases, the texts
seem to imply that deities themselves became defiled through warfare or
bloodshed and underwent ritual acts of purification following the con-
flict.50 For the purposes of this study, however, one may note that postbat-
tle purification rituals for human warriors appear in a number of Mesopo-
tamian texts.51 An early representative example appears in an inscription
47. For a full treatment of this issue, including extended discussion of prebattle,
battle, and postbattle practices within the framework of divine war in texts from Mes-
opotamia, Arabia, Syria–Palestine, and Egypt see Kang, Divine War.
48. Kang (ibid., 109) observes that in most texts, battle begins with “divine consul-
tation” to discern the divine will and descriptions of the battle include claims that the
gods participated in the conflict through natural phenomena, as well as the recounting
of symbols that represent the divine presence.
49. Kang (ibid., 48) identifies the postbattle purification ritual as “one of the most
important motifs of the divine war in the ancient Near East.” In a broader context,
already in 1903, Gray (Numbers, 243, 422) drew upon anthropological studies and
claimed the purification of warriors and their weapons is a primitive custom evi-
denced among modern cultures such as the Basutos of South Africa. See also Snaith,
Leviticus and Numbers, 324.
50. For full discussion, see Jason A. Riley’s essay in this volume (“Does Yhwh
Get His Hands Dirty? Reading Isaiah 63:1–6 in Light of Depictions of Divine Post-
battle Purification”). Riley’s particular focus is to consider whether this depiction that
appears in some ancient Near Eastern texts is also present implicitly in the Hebrew
Bible in relationship to Yhwh’s defilement and subsequent ritual purification. See
especially his discussion of Anat’s purification following several acts of killing in the
Baal Cycle.
51. These texts imply the seemingly shared view in ancient Near Eastern cultures
that shedding blood in battle rendered one physically and ceremonially unclean. See
of Yahdum-Lim from Mari that reports that the king marched to the Med-
iterranean Sea and offered sacrifices while “his troops washed themselves
in the Ocean.”52 Likewise, the Gilgamesh Epic features Gilgamesh washing
himself and his equipment after battle.53 The Assyrian royal inscriptions
contain numerous similar examples of postbattle ritual washings, usually
of the soldiers’ weapons not bodies and typically featuring some form of
the common expression that “I washed my weapon in the sea.”54 Inscrip-
tions from Sargon, Ashurnasirpal II, Shalmaneser III, and Ashurbanipal,
for instance, record washing their weapons in the Mediterranean Sea and
offering sacrifices.55 Admittedly, these rituals take place while the army
is still abroad and whether they imply ritual impurity remains debated.
Yet, the connection of the washings with offering sacrifice in the Mari and
Assyrian texts suggests a cultic and ritual dimension.
Most historians of Greek warfare have concluded that the evidence
for postwar purification rituals is limited at best.56 There may be sporadic
Robert Parker, Miasma: Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion (Oxford:
Clarendon, 1983), 104–43; Verkamp, Moral Treatment, 11.
52. COS 2:243; ANET, 556. See Abraham Malamat, “Campaigns to the Mediter-
ranean by Iahdunlim and Other Early Mesopotamian Rulers,” in Studies in Honor of
Benno Landsberger on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday (eds. H. Güterbock and T. Jacobsen;
The Oriental Institute of Chicago Assyriological Studies 16; Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1965), 367 and Kang, Divine War, 48.
53. Tablet VI. ANET, 83–84.
54. See Jan van Dijk, “Un Rituel de Purification des Armes et de l’Armée: Essai
de Traduction de YBC 4184,” in Symbolae Biblicae et Mesopotamicae (ed. M. A. Beek;
Studia Francisci Scholten Memoriae Dicata 4; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 107–17.
55. For Sargon, see COS 2:243; ANET, 267–68; for Ashurnasirpal II, ANET, 276;
for Shalmaneser III, ANET, 277; and for Ashurbanipal, Malamat, “Campaigns to the
Mediterranean,” 367. Perhaps the origin of the ritual washing of the weapons lies in
the fact that some Assyrian texts depict the weapons used in battle as having been
provided by the gods and thus in need of ritual purification after the battle. See Bah-
rani, Rituals of War, 197; Bustenay Oded, War, Peace, and Empire: Justifications for
War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (Wiesbaden: Ludwig Reichert, 1992), 15. Albrecht
Goetze (“Warfare in Asia Minor,” Iraq 25 [1963]: 124–30) argues that there is evi-
dence of a purification ritual for the Hittite army between 1800 and 1200 b.c.e. The
army marched through a makeshift symbolic gate made of wood and between the
two halves of a sacrificed captive. The context appears to be specifically one where the
army has suffered defeat and the ritual serves to remove the pollution that made the
army unable to conquer the enemy (197 n. 139).
56. E.g., W. Kendrick Pritchett, The Greek State at War Part III: Religion (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1979), 202.
indications that a soldier required ceremonial atonement before participa-

tion in the temple, but only one seventh-century passage seems to suggest
that soldiers had a formal postwar purification ritual.57 The Greek texts
that most explicitly indicate a purification ritual for the army occur under
particular circumstances and do not seem to reflect a mandated ceremony
upon return from battle.58 Roman sources, however, provide more indica-
tion of ceremonies of purification for returning armies, largely revolving
around lustrations to remove the blood from battle and other evil conta-
gions.59 The most famous Roman victory ritual, the “Triumph” (discussed
below), includes a ritual of purification and thanksgiving for the army
before it began a celebratory procession.60 Other Roman practices are sug-
gestive but their exact meaning remains uncertain. For instance, Roman
soldiers from some eras were prohibited from wearing their red capes into
the city or from marching past the Rubicon into the city of Rome. These
prohibitions may connote a sense of defilement associated with combat.61
57. The text in question is from Aeschylus. See Parker, Miasma, 113. The Delphic
Oracle, for instance, did not view killing in warfare as causing guilt or defilement. See
Herbert W. Parke and Donald E. W. Wormell, The Delphic Oracle (Oxford: Blackwell,
1956), 383.
58. Pritchett, The Greek States at War Part III: Religion, 197–98. Pritchett exam-
ines four general statements in sources such as Plutarch, as well as seven incidents in
various texts that refer to a purification rite for the Greek army, often having the army
pass between halves of a corpse (ibid., 197–202). Based on the contexts, however, he
concludes that such purification rituals in the Greek military occurred while the army
was still in the field and as a response to some military disorder such as a mutiny. Van
Creveld (Culture of War, 166) also notes that Greek postwar texts include some refer-
ences to rituals related specifically to the defeat of the army. These often take the form
of seeking to place blame, sometimes by putting losing generals on trial.
59. See Bahrani, Rituals of War, 197. W. Warde Fowler (The Religious Experience
of the Roman People [New York: Cooper Square, 1971], 217, 297) cites the Roman
“Calendar of Numa” as evidence that returning warriors had to perform purification
rituals related to any possible “evil contagion” and the “taint of bloodshed.”
60. Van Creveld, Culture of War, 164.
61. Additionally, the typical Roman practice did not reintegrate warriors into
the life of the community. Rather, after thirty years of service in the legions, soldiers
received a plot of land in a newly conquered territory. A. Kirk Grayson (“Assyrian
Civilization,” in The Cambridge Ancient History Volume 3 Part 2: The Assyrian and
Babylonian Empires and Other States of the Near East, from the Eighth to the Sixth
Centuries B.C. [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991], 218) notes that some
Assyrian sources also indicate that veterans were settled in military colonies in newly
conquered territories. The likely primary motivation for this practice was the desire to
Anthropological research into tribal societies from various periods,

including modern peoples such as the African Zulus, Eskimos, and Native
Americans, has also produced evidence of postbattle rituals for returning
warriors that include the removal of bloodstained clothes and equipment,
washing, and isolation.62 Among the ancient practices of the ethnic Meru
people of Kenya, for instance, return required the sacrifice of a ram and
the placing of a portion of the sacrifice on the warrior’s spear.63 Similarly,
the early Irish/Celtic literary epic, the Táin, describes a multistep purifica-
tion process for the hero’s return from combat that includes women baring
their breasts to the warrior—likely a symbol of the nurture provided by
children, family, and community—the warrior being placed into succes-
sive baths of water that symbolize a “cooling down,” and the changing of
the soldier’s clothes.64 These kinds of postwar rituals for returning warriors
received their fullest and most explicit articulation in the formulations of
the early and medieval Christian church. Writings from the church in this
era frequently required soldiers to do various kinds of penance as a means
of purification, expiation, and return to the community, even when the war
itself was considered just.65 The texts vary in their prescriptions but gen-
erally involve requirements such as abstaining from communion, church
gatherings, or eating certain foods for a particular length of time. One of
the earliest examples is a canon of Basil the Great that distinguished kill-
ing in war from homicide but stipulated that returning warriors should
secure control in the new territories, but one wonders if it also speaks of an uneasiness
related to participation in warfare.
62. Van Creveld, Culture of War, 163–64.
63. Jeffrey A. Fadiman, Meru of Mount Kenya: An Oral History of Tribal Warfare
(Athens: Ohio University Press, 1982), 118–19.
64. See Karl Marlantes, What It Is Like to Go to War (New York: Atlantic Monthly,
2011), 191–92; Robert Bly, Iron John: A Book about Men (New York: Vantage Books,
1992), 196–97.
65. See the major study by Verkamp, Moral Treatment. The assumption in these
practices seems to be that returning warriors would feel guilty as a result of their kill-
ing in war and needed practices to offer resolution of those feelings. In this way, these
writings resemble the distinction between war as ritually defiling but not sinful that
some have suggested is at work in the prescriptions in Num 31. Some scholars have
expressed caution about the assumption that such penances were a universal church
practice in the early Middle Ages and concluded that they more likely reflect local
and regional perspectives (see Raymund Kottje, Die Tötung im Krieg: Ein moralisches
und rechtliches Problem im frühen Mittelalter [Barsbuettel: Institut für Theologie und
Frieden, 1991], 3–10).
still “abstain from communion for three years.”66 A penitential ascribed to

Theodore of Tarsus (Archbishop of Canterbury 668–690 c.e.) near the end
of the seventh century declared that one who had killed in war even “at the
command of his lord” must “keep away from the church for forty days.”67
Postwar penance within the church began to lose ground under the influ-
ence of Thomas Aquinas and others by the time of the high Middle Ages,
but the practice would continue to appear in Christian writings through
the centuries following the Reformation.68
The second category observed in Hebrew Bible texts—the appropria-
tion of booty—features prominently in postwar rituals found in texts from
the ancient world, often being the most frequently described postbattle
element.69 Mesopotamian sources attest the postwar redistribution of
booty among the king, military officers, and other persons in a manner not
unlike the distribution between combatants and noncombatants in Num
31 and other Hebrew Bible texts. The practice appears in Mari and Hittite
texts,70 with clear examples in other Akkadian inscriptions. The Akkadian
inscription of Idrimi includes the ruler’s claim that he distributed captured
booty to his servants, family, and friends,71 and Esarhaddon’s inscriptions
for his sixth campaign report, “From the booty of the lands … I selected
from among them, and added to my royal equipment. From the great spoil
of enemy-(captives), I apportioned (men) like sheep to all of my camp, to
my governors, and to the people of my (large) cities.”72 Greek postwar texts
66. Quoted in Verkamp, Moral Treatment, 1.

67. Quoted in ibid., 2; for further examples, see 2–4.
68. E.g., as late as the sixteenth century, Carlo Borromeo, archbishop of Milan,
published a penitential text that required anyone who had killed in combat to do pen-
ance on certain days during three Lenten seasons (ibid., 8).
69. K. Lawson Younger Jr. (Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study in Ancient Near
Eastern and Biblical History Writing [JSOTSup 98; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990], 75–76)
concludes that the taking of booty “appears as an all but universal element in ancient
Near Eastern accounts of war and conquest.”
70. A letter from Mari contains a king’s complaint that he has not received his
share of the booty or the portion to be given to the gods from his officers (see Kang,
Divine War, 47), and Hittite texts describe kings bringing spoil to their palace for the
purpose of distribution (ibid., 71).
71. See Kvasnica, “Shifts in Israelite War Ethics,” 176–77 n. 7; Edward L. Green-
stein and David Marcus, “The Akkadian Inscription of Idrimi,” JANES 8 (1976): 59–96;
Elgavish, “The Division of the Spoils,” 242–73.
72. Quoted in Kang, Divine War, 48.
focus on memorials in temples (see below) but also attest that the military
commander was free to distribute booty or proceeds from its sale accord-
ing to his discretion while the army remained in the field.73
The third category observed in the Hebrew Bible texts—the construc-
tion of memorials and monuments—also appears prominently among
ancient postwar rituals in Hittite, Assyrian, Egyptian, and Greek sources.
Many Mesopotamian texts feature the giving of some or all of the booty
to the gods, presumably through dedication to the temple. The practice
reminds biblical readers of the military officers’ donation to the sanctu-
ary in Num 31 and may derive from the ancient Near Eastern conviction
that the battles were a form of divine war.74 Ashurbanipal’s inscriptions
state, “The people and spoil of Elam, which at the command of Ashur,
Sin, Shamash, Adad … I had carried off, the choicest I presented unto
my gods.”75 Likewise, Nebuchadnezzar claims, “I had them brought into
Esagila and Ezida before Marduk the great lord of the gods and before
Nabu his beautiful son who loves my royalty.”76 Greek postwar texts fre-
quently refer to the dedication of portions of booty to the gods, especially
in the form of a “tithe” set aside from the spoils and given to the temple.77
This dekate could consist of various items such as money, captured armor,
land, and slaves, and could be offered by military leaders, as well as ordi-
nary soldiers.78
A significant subdivision of this postbattle category is the practice
of taking divine trophies from the defeated enemy.79 Although trophies
73. Once the army returned home, the booty became property of the state trea-
sury. See W. Kendrick Pritchett, The Greek State at War Part I (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1971), 85; Van Creveld, Culture of War, 159.
74. See Kang, Divine War, 46–48.
75. ARAB 2:308; quoted in ibid., 47.
76. Quoted in ibid.; Kang (ibid., 106) notes that some Egyptian texts also refer to
the postbattle dedication of booty to the gods.
77. For Greek texts related to this aspect, see Pritchett, The Greek State at War Part
I, 53–100. For the donation of the tenth, see also Walter Burkert, Greek Religion (trans.
John Raffan; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1985), 267.
78. Pritchett, The Greek State at War Part III: Religion, 249, 277–80. Kvasnica
(“Shifts in Israelite War Ethics,” 180) notes that the practice appears in the earliest
Greek texts (see Homer, Iliad 10.460) and became a mandatory practice in treaties “for
the Athenian league after its victory in the Persian war.”
79. For a major study, see Kravitz, “Divine Trophies.” See also Bahrani’s (Rituals of
War, 159–81) discussion of the “assault and abduction of monuments in war.”
taken at the conclusion of battle included statues of kings and other public
monuments, the primary trophies were images of gods, which were sub-
sequently exhibited in ceremonies for the public when the army returned
home.80 The practice appears most prominently in Assyrian royal inscrip-
tions, primarily from the time of Tiglath-pileser I in the late Middle Assyr-
ian period and the Sargonids in the eighth and seventh centuries b.c.e.81
The precise function of this postwar practice remains debated and likely
varied in different periods and areas,82 probably serving primarily to legit-
imate the newly expanded kingship of the conqueror and reframe the sol-
diers’ actions as part of the divine world and its orchestration of human,
especially royal, affairs.83
In addition to the dedication of portions of booty for memorials in
temples, the postwar rituals in this third category also take the form of
erecting a monument or boundary stone (often on the battlefield) to com-
memorate the victory and offer praise to a deity.84 The Zakkur Stela, for
instance, mentions the king’s establishment of a stela before the god Ilu-
wer,85 Esarhaddon’s inscriptions refer to erecting a victory stela record-
ing the praise of the god Ashur,86 and Egyptian texts record Thutmose
III’s carving of a stela into a rock following a campaign to the Euphra-
tes.87 Although Greek sources highlight the giving of a tithe of the booty
to temples, they also include the ritual of erecting a monument or trophy
(τρόπαιον) on the battlefield as one of the primary postbattle rituals.88
80. As noted above, the Hebrew Bible preserves explicit depictions of this ritual
only as it was done to Israel or Judah in defeat and a general prohibition against images
perhaps obscures any such capture of foreign gods and their images by Israel (e.g.,
Exod 34:13; Num 33:52; Deut 7:25). This statement holds unless some texts have been
later edited to obscure original realities. See Kravitz, “Divine Trophies,” 118.
81. For a survey of the major Assyrian “trophy texts,” see ibid., 29–117.
82. Ibid., 6–18.
83. For a survey of Assyrian texts related to ceremonies for the taking of divine
trophies, see ibid., 19–28. For example, a sculpture from Tiglath-pileser III’s palace
depicts Assyrian soldiers “carrying the gods of a defeated enemy as part of the booty
paraded before the king” (ibid., 27).
84. See Kang, Divine War, 48, 71.
85. See ibid., 80.
86. ANET, 293. For the construction of victory stelae and monuments by earlier
Assyrian kings such as Ashurnasirpal II and Shalmaneser III, see Kravitz, “Divine
Trophies,” 29.
87. See Kang, Divine War, 107.
88. Pritchett (The Greek State at War Part III: Religion, 186) argues that the raising
These monuments often consisted of captured armor, shields, and weap-

ons, among other items, which were placed around a pole or tree, often at
the place where the battle turned.89
For the fourth category of postwar rituals observed in Hebrew Bible
texts, numerous references exist to various kinds of victory celebrations
that involve processions, music, sacrifice, and so on in many ancient and
modern cultures. Egyptian texts refer to the celebratory homecoming of
the king and army, sometimes including a divine speech by a god about the
king and offerings of praise by the soldiers.90 Greek texts associate various
drink offerings and sacrifices with the end of battle.91 Later Roman texts
from the second century b.c.e. describe what is perhaps the most famous
victory celebration ritual, the “Triumph” (triumphus).92 This celebration
featured a public ceremony honoring certain victorious military leaders
and included an organized procession of the troops and spoils ending at
the temple of Jupiter.
The final category observed in the Hebrew Bible texts—laments (com-
munal and otherwise) following military failure—is also attested in differ-
ent forms within various ancient Near Eastern writings. Some epic poetry
and ritual texts envision defeat in battle being followed by laments offered
by family members of the defeated warrior, often by weeping women
figures. Note, for instance, the laments of El and Anat for Baal or Anat’s
lament for Aqhat.93 The most explicit examples of postbattle laments,
however, appear in the so-called Mesopotamian city laments.94 These texts
contain laments over destroyed cities and their sanctuaries (usually due to
of a battlefield trophy is as old as the time of Homer. The most detailed description
appears in Virgil’s Aeneid (11.4–11) (see Van Creveld, Culture of War, 160–61).
89. Burkert, Greek Religion, 267; Kravitz, “Divine Trophies,” 9 n. 17.
90. See Kang, Divine War, 105–106. For example, one text records the gods extol-
ling Ramses II upon his return in victory: “Welcome, our beloved son, King Usermare-
sotpenre, the Son of Re, Ramses, Beloved of Amun, given life!” (quoted in ibid., 106).
91. See Burkert, Greek Religion, 267. For a list of Greek texts referring to a post-
battle sacrifice, see Pritchett, The Greek State at War Part III: Religion, 187–89.
92. See H. S. Versnel, Triumphus: An Inquiry into the Origin, Development, and
Meaning of the Roman Triumph (Leiden: Brill, 1970); Kravitz, “Divine Trophies,” 9 n.
17; Van Creveld, Culture of War, 164.
93. KTU 1.5 VI 11–25; 1.5 VI 31–1.6 I 6–8; 1.18 IV 39.
94. See Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion. The genre consists of distinct
but related types and the label, “city lament” most often refers to literary laments
related to the destruction of Sumer at the end of the Ur III period (13).
enemy invasion) and some likely functioned as part of ceremonies accom-

panying refounding and restoration more so than the return after battle.
They share common features related to subject, mood, divine abandon-
ment, assignment of responsibility, destruction, and a weeping goddess.95
As noted above, these Sumerian city laments show similarities to the book
of Lamentations in which the patron deity of the city is said to have with-
drawn from it and given it over to enemies.96
5. The Symbolic Functions of Postwar Rituals

of Return and Reintegration
The preceding survey of the potential Hebrew Bible examples of postwar

rituals and their extrabiblical parallels leads to two preliminary observa-
tions. First, the texts do not explicitly state that the practices mentioned
were intended to fulfill certain functions for returning soldiers, and
they certainly are not systematized in a coherent or comprehensive way.
Second, the available texts only describe the practices and rarely, if ever,
offer insight into what possible meanings the various postwar rituals may
have had. Even so, the identification of these rituals begs the question of
their function and meaning for those involved in the practices or the pro-
duction of the writings that depict them. The function of ritual is often
determined by a socio-historical context in which the inherent relation-
ship between an act and its meaning was understood, even if, over time
and distance, this connection became obscured and not always explicitly
expressed.97 Clearly, at the most initial level, the postwar rituals depicted in
these texts deal with pragmatic issues. They are concerned with handling
the material objects used in and gained from combat, compensating and
sustaining those involved and affected, and bringing the soldiers back to
their local and domestic responsibilities. Considered as a whole, however,
the postwar rituals give the impression that they are not merely pragmatic
but had larger symbolic functions unidentified in the available sources.
95. Ibid., 30–31.

96. Five compositions constitute the best representations of the genre: “Lamenta-
tion over the Destruction of Ur;” “Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and
Ur;” “Nippur Lament;” “Eridu Lament;” “Uruk Lament” (see ANET, 455–63).
97. See Yitzhaq Feder, Blood Expiation in Hittite and Biblical Ritual: Origins, Con-
text, and Meaning (SBLWAW Supplement Series 2; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Litera-
ture, 2011), 2, 151–55.
If this is the case, a concluding, albeit tentative and suggestive, inter-

disciplinary exploration of these rituals using contemporary warfare stud-
ies, psychology, and clinical literature may allow readers to recognize sym-
bolic functions that remain unacknowledged (and, perhaps, unintended)
by the sources themselves.98 What follows is more of a suggestive outline
for research than the research itself, and scholars should always bear in
mind the problems and possibilities of interdisciplinary and comparative
study. Yet, perspectives and proposals within contemporary warfare stud-
ies, psychology, and clinical literature concerning how soldiers need to
conceive, experience, and respond to the realities of warfare and return
point to some potential functions of the Hebrew Bible postwar rituals. This
comparison recognizes that ancient warriors may not have experienced
the emotional or physical trauma of war in the same way as moderns and
the need for reintegration may have been different due to the nature of
war and day-to-day life.99 Still, taking a cue from Zainab Bahrani’s study
of rituals, art, and monuments related to war and the body, we might con-
sider whether the postwar rituals under consideration here constitute a
“semiotics” of war designed for the warriors themselves and, to a lesser
extent, the community as a whole.100 Perhaps the postwar rituals concern-
ing purification, booty, memorials, celebration, and lamentation form a set
of signs related to the representation of war that functions to reframe the
98. Perhaps the most apparent function is to provide a transitional or liminal

space between the war space and the community space, with the rituals as practices
that help warriors modulate out of the physical and existential battle space (see Bly,
Iron John, 191–94).
99. Comparisons between ancient and contemporary experiences of warfare
operate on the assumption that combat generated the same kinds of feelings, effects,
and needs in ancient soldiers that it does in modern ones—an assumption articulated
in many contemporary studies of warriors and the dynamics of postwar return and
reintegration (see Verkamp, Moral Treatment, 49; Van Creveld, Culture of War, 163).
The points of connection in interdisciplinary study are not intended as one-to-one
correspondences, and the conversation continues about what methodological controls
and constraints should be applied. The goal of comparison is to “raise new possibilities
for the interpretation of ancient evidence … by alerting the modern reader to a wider
spectrum of possible models of social behaviours and responses” (Daniel L. Smith-
Christopher, “Engendered Warfare and the Ammonites in Amos 1.13,” in Aspects of
Amos: Exegesis and Interpretation [ed. A. C. Hagedorn and A. Mein; LHBOTS 536;
New York: T&T Clark, 2011], 33 n. 41).
100. Bahrani, Rituals of War, 16.
way warriors and communities conceive, experience, and respond to the

realities of combat.
The topic of the return and reintegration of soldiers has been at the
forefront of contemporary military studies in the United States since the
1980s in particular and much of the conversation has been generated by
the experiences of veterans from the Vietnam War.101 There has been
an increasing awareness that the transition of soldiers back from war to
home is a vital topic and that intentional practices can play a key role
in that transition.102 Throughout much of the contemporary conversa-
tion, the focus has been on the psychological needs of returning soldiers,
with special attention to trauma and so-called Post–Traumatic Stress
Disorder (PTSD).103 Most importantly for our purposes here, however,
newer work within contemporary warfare studies, psychology, and clini-
cal literature has foregrounded a new category of effects upon returning
soldiers referred to as “moral injury” or “soul injury.”104 Recent clinical
literature defines this category as the deleterious effects of war on the sol-
dier’s moral and ethical conceptions—the wrecking of the soldier’s fun-
damental assumptions about “what’s right” and how things should work
in the world.105 The recent study by Rita Nakashima Brock and Gabriella
101. See Bly, Iron John, 196–97.

102. E.g., Van Creveld, Culture of War, 160.
103. For a recent, convenient summary of today’s prominent theories of Post–
Traumatic Stress Disorder, see Brett T. Litz et al., “Moral Injury and Moral Repair
in War Veterans: A Preliminary Model and Intervention Strategy,” Clinical Psychol-
ogy Review 29 (2009): 698–99. Discussion of postwar practices of return has largely
focused on how such practices might fulfill psychological functions such as restoring
confidence, overcoming depression, and so on. The field of trauma studies has recently
come into biblical scholarship, especially in studies of the exile and prophetic litera-
ture. See, for example, Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, A Biblical Theology of Exile (OBT;
Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002); Brad E. Kelle, Ezekiel (New Beacon Bible Commentary;
Kansas City: Beacon Hill Press, 2013); Kathleen M. O’Connor, Jeremiah: Pain and
Promise (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011).
104. See especially Brock and Lettini, Soul Repair and Edward Tick, War and the
Soul: Healing Our Nation’s Veterans from Post–Traumatic Stress Disorder (Wheaton,
Ill.: Quest Books, 2005).
105. For a major recent study and clinical articulation of “moral injury,” see Litz
et al., “Moral Injury,” 695–706. See additional articulations in Jonathan Shay, “Casual-
ties,” Daedalus 140 no. 3 (2011): 179–88; Jonathan Shay, Achilles in Vietnam: Combat
Trauma and the Undoing of Character (New York: Atheneum, 1994); Shay, Odysseus in
America; Verkamp, Moral Treatment.
Lettini distinguishes moral injury from PTSD in particular, noting that

the former is a “violation of core moral beliefs” that does not necessarily
include physical effects or psychological disorders.106 Moral injury refers
to “souls in anguish”—experiences of guilt, shame, and moral and ethi-
cal ambiguity that result from a sense of having “transgressed one’s basic
moral identity,” abandoned one’s ethical standing as a decent person, and
lost any reliable, meaningful world in which to live.107 Clinical literature
identifies potentially morally injurious events as “perpetrating, failing
to prevent, or bearing witness to acts that transgress deeply held moral
beliefs and expectations,”108 and some scholars identify a betrayal of what’s
right by those with legitimate authority in a “high stakes” situation as the
most powerful cause of moral injury.109
The operative assumption in the contemporary study of moral injury
is that although the clinical research on this category is recent, war-
riors’ experiences of moral injury in war are ancient.110 Moreover, some
researchers insist that aspects of moral injury are best dealt with through
various postwar practices that serve certain symbolic functions, and recent
research increasingly looks to rituals and practices from traditional and
ancient societies for models.111 Perhaps the most important work along
these lines has been done by Jonathan Shay, especially in his works, Achilles
in Vietnam (1994) and Odysseus in America (2002).112 Shay concludes that
the primary function that needs to be fulfilled for the healthy reintegration
106. Brock and Lettini, Soul Repair, xiii. PTSD (unlike moral injury) results from
physical effects on the brain due to prolonged or extreme trauma, and these effects
disrupt normal responses to fear, emotions, and memory.
107. Ibid., 51.
108. Litz et al., “Moral Injury,” 695.
109. Shay, “Casualties,” 4. See also Shay, Achilles in Vietnam, 3 and Brock and Let-
tini, Soul Repair, xv.
110. See explicitly Brock and Lettini, Soul Repair, 4.
111. E.g., ibid., xviii; Verkamp, Moral Treatment, 95–108; Shay, Odysseus in
America, 245; Marlantes, What It Is Like to Go to War, 205. Van Creveld (Culture of
War, 149–68) offers a lengthy discussion of “Ending War” that focuses on historical
examples of postwar rituals and their importance for modern settings.
112. See also Shay, “Casualties,” and Jonathan Shay, “The Birth of Tragedy—Out
of the Needs of Democracy,” Didaskalia: The Journal for Ancient Performance, online:
http://www.didaskalia.net/issues/vol2no2/shay.html. Besides Shay, see especially
Tick, War and the Soul; Brock and Lettini, Soul Repair; and Dave Grossman, On Kill-
ing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society (New York: Back Bay
Books, 1995).
of morally wounded warriors is the “communalization” of the warfare and

the trauma associated with it. The warriors’ reintegration depends upon
their ability to reframe the warfare as a communally, rather than individu-
ally or personally, owned and executed affair.113 Returning warriors are in
need of practices that give a sense that the moral burden and responsibility
are equally distributed among soldiers, leaders, and their community, even
those who remained outside of the direct conflict.114
Perhaps this perspective within contemporary warfare studies points
to a possible symbolic function for the extensive rituals related to the redis-
tribution and sharing of booty within the biblical and extrabiblical rituals
of return and reintegration. As noted above, this prominent practice usu-
ally involved dividing the booty not only among the warriors but even
among parts of the community that remained at home during the conflict.
Additionally, portions of the booty were given over to the sanctuary or
temple that stood at the center of the community’s religious and social life.
Both actions would seemingly reframe the returning warriors’ conception
of the combat, resisting the sense that the warfare had been about selfish
acquisition of plunder and closing the perceived gap between the soldiers
and the community that stayed behind. The practice of corporate lament
after defeat also potentially served as a mechanism to forge a sense of com-
munity and mutuality in the face of trauma.
A second function identified by contemporary study as necessary for
return and reintegration is to help returning warriors reframe the local
and specific encounters of combat within a larger perspective or plotline
that gives them a broader and perhaps more meaningful significance. Such
reframing allows the soldiers to “emplot” their local and limited actions
within a larger framework that is shared by the community as a whole and,
within many societies, by the deity whose wishes and actions the soldiers
are thought to have carried out. Perhaps these symbolic functions are at
work in the postwar rituals related to the establishment of memorials and
113. For Shay (Achilles in Vietnam, 4), this “communalization” of the trauma
means “being able safely to tell the story to someone who is listening and who can be
trusted to retell it truthfully to others in the community.”
114. Brock and Lettini, Soul Repair, 65. Shay (“The Birth of Tragedy”) identifies
the Athenian theater in ancient Greece as a means to achieve these functions in that
society. He argues that the theater was created and performed by veteran soldiers for
an audience of veteran soldiers in order to rejoin them to the community, reframe
their understanding of their experiences, and restore a shared sense of “what’s right.”
the performance of celebrations and processions observed in the biblical

and extrabiblical texts. Given the religious character of these memorials
and celebrations, they rearticulate the completed conflict into the realm
of larger cosmologies, theologies, and divine action.115 The conversion of
portions of booty into memorial offerings in temples and the taking of
divine images as trophies both imply that local conflicts are part of larger
divine actions in the world.
Finally, and perhaps surprisingly, contemporary warfare studies,
psychology, and clinical literature increasingly propose that some sense
of undergoing purification after battle is a need that must be addressed
by today’s practices of return and reintegration.116 Many contemporary
works explicitly cite ancient ceremonial rituals like those found in Num
31 and other sources as models.117 Without practices that can serve a
function of symbolic purification, warriors may find themselves unable
to shed not only any feelings of guilt or shame from killing but also social
adaptations and behavioral norms that characterize warfare contexts. Per-
haps this is a symbolic function of the ancient rituals of purification that
seem ceremonial and pragmatic on their surface. They mark with clar-
ity the boundary and transition from a combat context, with its norms
and behaviors, to a noncombat context, with a different set of norms and
behaviors. They also create time and space for self-reflection and honest
disclosure of the actions, experiences, and human effects of participation
in the battle.118 Likewise, the practice of communal lament gives cathartic
voice to the community’s sense that their moral understanding of how the
115. E.g., Crouch (War and Ethics in the Ancient Near East) explores the ways that
biblical and Assyrian texts place specific warfare practices into the larger cosmology
and theology of the ancient Near East. A similar reframing function may be fulfilled
by the various justifications for going to war that appear throughout the Assyrian royal
inscriptions. See Oded, War, Peace and Empire.
116. For example, Marlantes (What It Is Like to Go to War, 185) relates the reflec-
tions of a modern era Vietnam veteran on his struggles with homecoming and rein-
tegration who describes wishing someone would put him in a tub of water, wash him
with soap, and “bring my body back from the dead.”
117. E.g. ibid.; Shay, Odysseus in America, 245.
118. See Shay, “Casualties” and Marlantes, What It Is Like to Go to War, 1. The rec-
ognition of these possible social functions has led some recent military scholars and
psychologists to advocate for the establishment of communal rituals with “religious
force” for both returning soldiers and the sending community (e.g., Shay, Odysseus in
America, 245). Marlantes (What It Is Like to Go to War, 205) suggests such reconnec-
world should work has been violated, providing a type of purification and
a plea for reordering.119
6. Conclusion
The preceding discussion has identified five types of potential postwar

rituals of return and reintegration in the Hebrew Bible—purification of
warriors, captives, and objects, appropriation of booty, memorial/monu-
ment construction, celebration or procession, and communal lamenta-
tion—each of which has various parallels in ancient Near Eastern and
other extrabiblical sources. In a subsequent, but more tentative and sug-
gestive move, the final section offered an interdisciplinary exploration of
some potential points of connection between these rituals and recent per-
spectives within contemporary warfare studies, psychology, and clinical
literature that may illuminate the symbolic functions of the rituals that
remain unexplained within the ancient texts. Seen in this way, the post-
war rituals of return and reintegration in the Hebrew Bible and related
contexts, which treat mainly pragmatic issues, are not merely pragmatic.
They construct a semiotics for the realities of war and potentially serve
particular symbolic functions related to what contemporary warfare stud-
ies describes as “moral injury.”
Many questions remain concerning the function, significance, and
virtue (or lack thereof) of such rituals in ancient and modern contexts.
Whatever symbolic functions the rituals may have had in their ancient
context, contemporary readers may worry that the rituals fail to raise
critical questions about the moral appropriateness of war and its deeds,
perhaps allowing the participants too easily to justify (or celebrate) their
actions without dealing with the effects their acts have “inscribed on the
bodies, cities, and soil of the conquered.”120 On the other hand, perhaps
the same rituals help warriors take responsibility for the morality of their
actions, creating space for reflection, contrition, and perhaps atonement.
In any case, consideration of postwar rituals of return and reintegration
pushes scholars of warfare toward a more fully orbed study that moves
tion could take the form of religious services and acts or nonreligious practices such
as sharing poetry and stories.
119. Morrow (Protest against God) identifies lament and protest in the Hebrew
Bible as a type of therapy that attempts to deal with the pathology of guilt.
120. Brock and Lettini, Soul Repair, 107.
beyond how war was done to how war was conceived, constructed, and
experienced personally, socially, and culturally. In this way, the study of
these rituals might be a contribution that scholarship on ancient Israelite
warfare can make to the broader quest of understanding more fully what it
means to be human, especially in war-related circumstances.
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Does Yhwh Get His Hands Dirty?
Reading Isaiah 63:1-6 in Light of Depictions
of Divine Postbattle Purification*
Jason A. Riley
Does Yhwh “get his hands dirty”? That is, was Yhwh considered, as were
other ancient Near Eastern deities, to have become defiled or unclean due
to his acts of killing and/or contact with blood? Postbattle purification rit-
uals for human warriors, including those intended to purify warriors from
defilement caused by bloodshed, are commonly attested throughout the
ancient Near East and beyond.1 However, this article moves beyond the
human aspect of postbattle rituals to investigate divine postbattle purifica-
* This essay benefited greatly from the comments of Christopher B. Hays, Andrew
J. Riley, Daniel Rickett, and Alex Ramos. I am also thankful to the editors Brad E.
Kelle, Frank Ritchel Ames, and Jacob L. Wright for the opportunity to present my
research in the SBL Warfare in Ancient Israel Section at the 2012 Annual Meeting.
1. Israelite, Num 31:13–21 (purification from corpse/blood contamination); Hit-
tite, CTH 426 (this ritual is for the entire army to purify them after a defeat; see “The
Ritual Between the Pieces,” translated by Billie Jean Collins [COS 1:160–61]; Olivier
Masson, “A propos d’un rituel hittite pour la lustration d’une armée: le rite de purifica-
tion par le passage entre les deux parties d’une victime,” Revue de l’historie des religions
137 [1950]: 5–25; James C. Moyer, “The Concept of Ritual Purity among the Hittites”
[Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 1969], 94–95); Assyrian (several royal inscriptions
describing postbattle purification; Abraham Malamat, “Campaigns to the Mediter-
ranean by Iahdunlim and Other Early Mesopotamian rulers,” AS 16 [1965]: 365–74);
Egyptian (“The Victory Stela of King Piye,” translated by Miriam Lichtheim [COS
2:44]); Greek (Hektor admits that he must purify himself after battle in order to make
an offering to Zeus [Homer, Iliad 6:263–68]). Relatively modern examples include
North American Indians (Lewis R. Farnell, The Evolution of Religion [New York: G. P.
Putnam’s Sons, 1905], 94) and the Basutos of South Africa (E. Casalis, The Basutos; Or,
Twenty-three Years in South Africa [London: Nisbet, 1861], 267).
-243-
tion. The method of this study is to establish a typology of divine postbattle

purification in the ancient Near East, with which to evaluate the possible
existence of a similar phenomenon within ancient Israel and associated
with Yhwh. To anticipate the conclusion, the following analysis suggests
that a common motif, or perhaps even literary form, existed throughout
the ancient Near East in which gods who engaged in individual, bloody
combat were thought to have become ritually impure and in need of puri-
fication, and the Divine Warrior hymn in Isa 63:1–6 supports the idea that
Yhwh was considered in similar terms.
1. General Divine Defilement and Purification
Prior to discussing examples of defilement and purification of ancient

Near Eastern deities after battle, it will be helpful to demonstrate more
generally that deities could become impure and need to be purified. Sev-
eral ancient Near Eastern texts depict gods as capable of becoming ritually
defiled and needing purification.2 Examples exist in Akkadian, Sumerian,
Ugaritic, and Hittite literature.3
2. By this I mean literary depictions of gods and not the defilement and purifica-
tion of statues and other physical representations of gods.
3. Ugaritic literature provides at least three references to Anat cleansing or purify-
ing herself: KTU2 1.3 II.1–III.8 (discussed below; Manfried Dietrich, Oswald Loretz,
and Joaquín Sanmartín, The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and
Other Places [KTU; 2nd ed.; ALASP 8; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1995]); KTU2 1.101
(see Loren R. Fisher, “A New Ugaritic Calendar from Ugarit,” HTR 63 [1970]: 495, n.
41; Johannes C. de Moor, “Studies in the New Alphabetic Texts from Ras Shamra I,”
UF 1 [1969]: 180–83); and possibly KTU2 1.96 (see Mark S. Smith, “Anat’s Warfare
Cannibalism and the West Semitic Ban,” in The Pitcher is Broken: Memorial Essays
for Gösta W. Ahlström [eds. Steven W. Holloway and Lowell K. Handy; JSOTSup 190;
Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995], 368–86). For Hittite literature, see Moyer,
“Ritual Purity Among the Hittites,” 38, 49. One example is the Myth of Telipinu, a
“disappearing deity text” that describes the disappearance of the Storm God’s son,
Telipinu. At one point in the story, a bee is sent to find Telipinu, and upon locating
him purifies (parkunu-) and sanctifies (šuppiyaḫ ḫ -) Telipinu from anger, evil, and sin
before returning him to the divine assembly and his land. See “The Disappearance of
Telipinu,” §22 (A iii 28–34) (Harry A. Hoffner Jr., Hittite Myths [ed. Gary M. Beck-
man; SBLWAW 2; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990]). On the ritual meaning of the verbs
parkunu- and šuppiyaḫ ḫ -, see Hans G. Güterbock and Harry A. Hoffner Jr., eds., The
Hittite Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, Vol. P (Chicago:
Oriental Institute, 1989–), 171. In a myth of Canaanite origin in Hittite translation, the
riley: Does Yhwh Get His Hands Dirty? 245
Akkadian literature offers a number of examples of divine defilement

and purification.4 In Atrahasis (Tablet 1, V: 204–209), Enki speaks of
instituting a purification ritual for the gods to purify themselves after the
slaughter of the god Wê-ila:5
denki piamšu īpušamma issaqar ana ilīmeš rabûti ina arḫ i sebūti u šapatti
tēliltam lušaškin rimka ilam išten litbuḫ ū-ma litellilū ilūmeš ina ṭibi
god Baal must be purified from injuries done to him by Asherah (see Harry A. Hoffner
Jr., “Hittite Mythological Texts: A Survey,” in Unity and Diversity: Essays in the His-
tory, Literature, and Religion of the Ancient Near East [ed. Hans Goedicke and J. J. M.
Roberts; Johns Hopkins University Near Eastern Studies; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1975], 141–42).
4. Only two examples are discussed here; however, others could be added. For
example, in the Myth of Nergal and Ereshkigal, after Ereshkigal has intercourse with
Erra, she says, “I am unclean, and I am not pure enough to perform the judging of the
great gods” (“Nergal and Ereshkigal,” translated by Stephanie Dalley [COS 1:387]).
Due to her impurity she cannot perform her divine function (see E. Jan Wilson, “Holi-
ness” and “Purity” in Mesopotamia [AOAT 237; Kevelaer: Butzon and Bercker, 1994],
74). In this same myth, when the divine messenger Namtar enters the divine assembly,
an unknown god tells Ea, “Let Namtar, the messenger who has come to us, drink our
water, wash, and anoint himself ” (COS 1:388). The Descent of Ishtar also illustrates
this phenomenon. After Dumuzi has died, his body is to be washed with pure water
and anointed with sweet oil—common language of purification (“The Descent of
Ishtar to the Underworld,” translated by Stephanie Dalley [COS 1:383]). Sumerian lit-
erature offers a few examples of the defilement and purification of deities. In a Sume-
rian hymn to Inanna, prior to eating sacrifices offered to her, her worshipers “clean
up a place” and “set up handwashing (things) for her.” This hymn, and the immediate
context, is full of language of purity. Several lines later, the hymn states that “the holy
one eats in the pure places, the clean places,” and further along the hymn refers to
“pure libations.” Her worshipers purify the bedding they put down for her, and Inanna
herself bathes the loins of another god, Iddin-Dagan, with whom she subsequently
sleeps and also bathes herself. It is unlikely that the imagery of washing refers simply
to physical cleansing, but rather means some sort of ritual purification. See Thorkild
Jacobsen, Harps That Once…: Sumerian Poetry in Translation (New Haven: Yale Uni-
versity Press, 1987), 121–23.
5. For the text, see W. G. Lambert and Alan R. Millard, Atra-ḫ asis: The Babylonian
Story of the Flood (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), 57–59. See also William L. Moran,
“The Creation of Man in Atrahasis I 192–248,” BASOR 200 (1970): 50. For a brief dis-
cussion, see Pamela Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005), 111. Enki’s purification bath parallels Aruru’s hand-washing
prior to creating Enkidu in the Gilgamesh Epic (see Jeffrey H. Tigay, The Evolution of
the Gilgamesh Epic [Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982], 192–97).
Enki opened his mouth and spoke to the great gods “On the first day,
seventh day, and fifteenth day of the month let me institute a purification
bath.6 Let them slaughter one god, and then let the gods be purified by
submersion.”7
W. G. Lambert and Alan R. Millard read the last two lines to mean, “Let
one god be slaughtered so that all the gods may be cleansed in a dipping,”8
as if the god is slaughtered for the purpose of the other gods’ purification.
However, the overall structure of the passage shows that the god is killed in
order for his blood to be mixed with clay to create humans (lines 210–13),
not so that his blood may be used to purify the gods. As William Moran
has argued, at no time in Mesopotamia was blood believed to have had
magical cleansing powers.9 The blood is what makes the gods impure.
Although it is possible that this passage is an etiology for the institution of
the ritual purification bath,10 as Moran notes, the purification is presented
as occurring after the god’s slaughter.11 The purpose of the cleansing then
6. Literally, “let me establish a purification, a bath,” since the syntax seems to sug-
gest that rimka is in apposition to tēliltam. See “Atra-ḫ asis,” translated by Benjamin R.
Foster (COS 1:451).
7. All translations are the author’s unless otherwise noted.
8. Lambert and Millard, Atra-ḫ asis, 59.
9. Moran, “The Creation of Man,” 51. See also A. Leo Oppenheim, Ancient Meso-
potamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964),
192. Even in the Akītu festival, the one who slaughters the sacrificial sheep became
contaminated (see Julye Bidmead, The Akītu Festival: Religious Continuity and Royal
Legitimation in Mesopotamia [Gorgias Dissertations, Near East Series 2; Piscataway:
Gorgias Press, 2002], 74).
10. Moran, “The Creation of Man,” 51, n. 9.
11. See “balālu,” CAD 2:42: ilam išten liṭbuḫ uma lītellilu ilū ina ṭibi ina šērišu u
damišu DN li-ba-li-il ṭidda ilumma u awīlum li-ib-ta-al-li-lu puḫ ur ina ṭiddi “let them
slaughter one of the gods, and the gods purify themselves through immersion (after
this deed), let Nintu mix clay with his flesh and blood, let god and man (thus) become
altogether of the same nature through the clay.” Von Soden renders the equivalent
lines in an Old Babylonian version of the myth as “Einen Gott soll man schlachten,
dann mögen sich die Götter reinigen durch Untertauchen in seinem Fleisch und
seinem Blut!” See Wolfram von Soden, “Zu einigin altbabylonischen Dichtungen,” Or
26 (1957): 309. He takes the next line of Enki’s speech, ina širīšu u damīšu, as a part of
the purification instructions. However, the syntax and structure require this line to be
interpreted with the following line; that is, the flesh and blood are what Nintu is going
to mix with the clay in order to make humans.
was to purify the gods from both blood-contamination and responsibility

for the god’s death.12
2. Divine Purification Related to Battle
A specific context in which ancient Near Eastern deities become defiled

and undergo some type of purification ritual is after battle. In the Sumerian
mythic poem Lugal-e, the god Ninurta battles Azag, a figure which appears
to be a personified mountain (but which has also been interpreted as a
dragon, volcano, pine tree, or other type of monster).13 Prior to Ninurta’s
first encounter with Azag, Ninurta is instructed to purify his weapons after
battle (lines 126–27): “Ninurta, after gathering the enemy in a battle-net,
after erecting a great reed-altar, lord, heavenly serpent, purify (a tu5-bi2-
ib2) your pickaxe and your mace!”14 Ninurta later attacks, kills, and subse-
quently dismembers Azag. Ninurta then follows his victory by washing his
belt and weapon (lines 302–303): “The lord … his belt and mace in water,
he washed the blood from his clothes, the hero wiped his brow, he made
a victory-chant over the dead body.”15 Thorkild Jacobsen understands the
broken text to refer to washing: “The lord rinsed belt and weapon in water,
rinsed the mittu-mace in water.”16 In another mythical text, “The Return
12. Moran, “The Creation of Man,” 51.

13. See Fumi Karahashi, “Fighting the Mountain: Some Observations on the
Sumerian Myths of Inanna and Ninurta,” JNES 63 (2004): 114–15.
14. For transliteration, see Jeremy A. Black, et al., The Electronic Text Corpus of
Sumerian Literature (ETCSL) (Oxford 1998–2006), online: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/
cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=c.1.6.2& display =Crit&charenc=j&lineid=c162. 122#c162.122.
For translation, see http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl .cgi?text=t.1.6.2&display
=Crit&charenc =j&lineid=t162.p9#t162.p9. Jacobsen renders these lines as “do, Nin-
urta, after you have made the netlike enclosure and have put down the (cultic) reed
hut rinse, (O) adder of heaven, arrow and weapon with water!” (Jacobsen, Harps That
Once, 242–43). Van Dijk, in his critical edition of this myth, also interprets the verbal
phrase here as referring to purification: “aprés les avoir ramassés comme dans un filet
de guerre, après avoir érigé un autel de purification; Seigneur, Constrictor céleste,
purifie ton pic et ta massue” (J. J. A. van Dijk, Lugal ud me-lám-bi nir-Ğál: Le récit
épique et didactique des Travaux de Ninurta, de Déluge et de la Nouvelle Création, vol.
1 [Leiden: Brill, 1983], 68).
15. Black et al., ETCSL, http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.1.6.2
&display=Crit&charenc =j&lineid=t162.p22#t162.p22. Again, van Dijk interprets the
act here as purification. See van Dijk, Lugal ud me-lám-bi nir-Ğál, 89.
16. See, Jacobsen, Harps That Once, 250.
of Ninurta to Nipru,” Ninurta requests that his weapons be purified (lines

152–54): “Let my father therefore bring in my battle trophies and weap-
ons for me. Let Enlil bathe (a he2-em-tu5-tu5-[de3]) my heroic arms. Let
him pour holy water on the fierce arms which bore my weapons.”17 The
phrase used in both of these contexts, “to wash, to purify” (a tu5), is the
equivalent of the Akkadian verb ramāku (“to bathe, to wash”)18 and simi-
lar to the Akkadian rimku (purification bath). Thus, the Sumerian phrase
a-tu5- seems to refer to a ritual washing ceremony.19 The verbal phrase a
tu5 is also used in cultic contexts. For instance, the verb is used in a tablet
providing instructions for cultic chores to be done in the sixth month of
the year by the highest official of the Inanna Temple.20 On day fifteen, the
official is to bathe (a tu5) the goddess—this has been called the “main rite
of the deity.”21
This Ninurta versus Azag episode is particularly instructive since it
parallels the postbattle purification rituals referred to in the Mesopota-
mian royal inscriptions. In fact, in reference to Ninurta washing his weap-
ons, Jacobsen makes this very identification in a footnote to his transla-
tion: “Rinsing the weapons in water was done after the battle or campaign
was over.”22 This demonstrates that postbattle purification was a common
practice, and the language of “washing one’s weapons” was a common
idiom symbolic of purification. A typical example of these statements
17. Black et al., ETCSL, http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.1.6.1

&display=Crit&charenc= gcirc&lineid=t161. p31#t161.p31. For transliteration see,
http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=c.1.6.1& display=Crit& charenc=gc
irc&lineid=c161.152#c161.152.
18. See “a tu” in The Electronic Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary, online at:
http:// psd.museum.upenn.edu/epsd/nepsd-frame.html. See also ramāku in CAD
14:111–14.
19. See Albrecht Goetze, “A Drehem Tablet Dealing with Leather Objects,” JCS 9
(1955): 21.
20. See further Miguel Civil, “Daily Chores in Nippur,” JCS 32 (1990): 229–32;
Richard L. Zettler and Walther Sallaberger, “Inana’s Festival at Nippur under the
Third Dynasty of Ur,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie 101
(2011): 25.
21. Zettler and Sallaberger, “Inana’s Festival,” 25. They also note, “The ‘daily
chores’ date the ‘bathing’ of Inana to the fifteenth day, a rite which symbolized the
ritual renewal of the divine statue in the annual main festival of a deity” (24).
22. Jacobsen, Harps That Once, 243 n. 13.
appears in Sargon of Akkad’s (2334–2279 b.c.e.)23 inscription detailing the

defeat of Uruk and the South (lines 44–58):24
é-nin-mar.KI SAG.GIŠ.RA ù BÀD-śu ˹Ì.GUL.GUL˺ ˹ù˺ KALAM.

MA.KI-śu ù lagaš (LA.BUR.ŠIR.RI).KI a-dì-ma ti-a-am-tim SAG.GIŠ.
RA kakkīsu [GIŠ.TUKUL] in tiāmtim imsi [Ì.LUḪ ]
He conquered Eninmar, destroyed its walls, and conquered its district

and Lagaš as far as the sea. He washed his weapons in the sea (kakkīsu
[GIŠ.TUKUL] in tiāmtim imsi).
Similar statements are found in inscriptions by Naram-Sin (2260–2213

b.c.e.),25 Yaḫ dun-lim (Mari, approximately nineteenth to eighteenth cen-
turies b.c.e.),26 Aššurnasirpal II (Assyria, 883–859 b.c.e.),27 Shalmaneser
23. See Douglas Frayne, Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC) (RIMA
Early Periods 2; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), 7. See also Malamat,
“Campaigns to the Mediterranean,” 365. For translations, see “Inscription of Sargon,”
translated by Burkhart Kienast (COS 2:243); “Sargon of Agade,” translated by A. Leo
Oppenheim (ANET, 267–68).
24. Frayne, Sargonic and Gutian Periods, 11.
25. kakkīsu [GIŠ.TUKUL-kí-śu4] i[n] tiāmtim sapiltim imsi “and washed his
weapons in the Lower Sea” (Frayne, Sargonic and Gutian Periods, 97). For the dates,
see Piotr Bienkowski and Alan Millard, eds., Dictionary of the Ancient Near East
(Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000), 330.
26. ina lēʾûtim u gāmirūtim ana kišād tiāmtim illik-ma ana ayyabba nīqî šarrūtišu
rabiam iqqi u ṣabušu ina qereb ayyabba mê irmuk “by means of his strength and over-
powering might went to the shore of the sea, and made a great offering (befitting)
his kingship to the Sea. His troops bathed themselves in the Sea” (Douglas Frayne,
Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC) [RIMA Early Periods 4; Toronto: University
of Toronto Press, 1990], 605–606). See also Malamat, “Campaigns to the Mediterra-
nean,” 367. This inscription is particularly interesting because of the deified nature of
the Sea (see Abraham Malamat, “The Divine Nature of the Mediterranean Sea in the
Foundation Inscription of Yaḫ dunlim,” in Mari in Retrospect: Fifty Years of Mari and
Mari Studies [ed. Gordon D. Young; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1992], 211–15; and
Sa-Moon Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East [BZAW
177; New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1989], 48).
27. ina tâmti rabīti [GAL-te] kakkīy[a (GIŠ.TUKUL.MEŠ-ia) lū ullil niqê “[I
washed] my weapons in the Great Sea” (A. Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the
Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC) [RIMA Assyrian Periods 2; Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1991], 298). See also Malamat, “Campaigns to the Med-
iterranean,” 369.
III (Assyria, 858–824 b.c.e.),28 as well as the postbattle cleansing of Gil-

gamesh after his battle with Humbaba (Standard Babylonian, Tablet VI,
lines 1–30):29
imsi malīšu ubbib tillīšu / unassis30 qimmatsu elu ṣerišu / iddi maršutišu
ittalbiša zakutišu31
He washed his filthy hair, then cleansed his battle equipment / he tossed
his hair over his back / He threw down his soiled garments and put on
clean ones.
The line common in the royal inscriptions is: “He/I washed (that is, puri-
fied) his/my weapon in the sea.”32 These statements in the royal inscrip-
28. kakkīya [GIŠ.TULUL.MEŠ-ia] ina tâmti ullil niqî [UDU.SISKUR.MEŠ] ana

ilīya [DINGIR.MEŠ-ia] inqi [BAL-qí] “I washed my weapons in the sea [and] made
sacrifices to my gods” (A. Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium
BC II (858–745 BC) [RIMA Assyrian Periods 3; Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
1996], 15). For other similar statements by Shalmaneser, see ibid., 9, 21, 25, 29, 34,
39, 48, 51, 65, 74, 75, 103, 104. See also, Malamat, “Campaigns to the Mediterranean,”
369. Shalmaneser’s inscriptions use the phrase “to wash my weapon” numerous times.
Occasionally, the phrase changes forms: “washed my weapons,” “washed the fierce
weapons of Aššur,” “washed the weapon(s) of Aššur.” As the discussion in CAD under
kakku indicates, it is not always easy to determine meaning of the word kakku in royal
inscriptions. It could mean a weapon in general, a ceremonial weapon or object, or the
Assyrian army. The phrase “weapon of Aššur” may also designate some type of battle
standard with a divine symbol (see “kakku,” CAD 8:55–57).
29. Postbattle purification in individual combat is attested in Akkadian and
Sumerian legends of Gilgamesh. In tablet VI of the Gilgamesh epic, Gilgamesh kills
the monster Huwawa, cuts off his head, washes himself and his equipment and takes
his throne. See “The Epic of Gilgamesh,” translated by E. A. Speiser (ANET, 83–84).
Malamat provides a brief discussion concerning the typological and geographical par-
allels between Gilgamesh’s expedition and the expeditions of Mesopotamian rulers.
Postbattle purification could also be added to the parallels he draws. See Malamat,
“Campaigns to the Mediterranean,” 372–73.
30. According to George, the form unassis “defies interpretation” but is the only
reasonable reading of the tablet (see Andrew R. George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh
Epic [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003], 2:829).
31. Akkadian text taken from Simo Parpola, The Standard Babylonian Epic of Gil-
gamesh (SAA Cuneiform Texts 1; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997),
91. See also, George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:618.
32. kakkēja ina tâmti ú-lil. The verb here is elēlu, which in these contexts means to
purify in a ritual sense. See “elēlu,” CAD 4:81. See also “kakku,” CAD 8:51.
RILEY: DOES YHWH GET HIS HANDS DIRTY? 251
tions are not merely metaphor33 but rather refer to a form of ritual cleans-
ing, particularly since several of the inscriptions also mentions sacrifice in
the same context.34
Finally, a possible example appears in Enuma Eliš (Tablet V, lines
90–93) and refers to Marduk after he has defeated and slaughtered Tiamat:35
[…] ˹x˺ ubbuḫ u turbuʾ šašmi / [ … m]ê?-ma taḫ u qu ˹LIŠ?˺36 /ḫ ašurru x [
… ] zumuršu ušalbak / ūteddiq tēdīq rubûti[šu]
… surrounded by the dust of combat, (water?) … he conditioned his

body with oil, he clothed himself with royal attire.
At this point in the narrative Marduk returns from battle with Tiamat
and is covered in dust. After a difficult line (line 91) in which the word
“water” may be read, the text says that Marduk covered his body with
oil and put on royal garb. In light of the affinities with the depiction of
Gilgamesh’s washing and changing clothes described above, the reference
to Marduk anointing himself with oil and the possible reading of “water”
in line 91 suggest that the difficult line would have referred to Marduk
washing himself.37
Overall, the Sumerian and Assyrian mythological examples parallel
the acts of ritual purification described in the royal inscriptions.38 In this
33. See J. J. A. van Dijk, “Un Rituel de Purification des Armes et de l’Armée: Essai
de Traduction de YBC 4184,” in Symbolae Biblicae et Mesopotamicae (ed. M. A. Beek et
al.; Studia Francisci Scholten Memoriae Dicata 4; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 107.
34. See Malamat, “Campaigns to the Mediterranean,” 367.
35. For the text, see Philippe Talon, The Standard Babylonian Creation Myth:
Enūma Eliš (SAACuneiform Texts 4; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project,
2005), 20, 59.
36. Based on Talon’s transcription, the first half of line 91 is damaged, and the
second half makes little, if any, sense. In fact, Talon does not even attempt to render
the line other than the possible reading of the word “water” (see ibid., 97).
37. Foster provides a brief summarizing preface to this section in his transla-
tion which supports this analysis: “Marduk cleans himself and dons his insignia.” See
Bejamin R. Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (3rd ed.;
Bethesda: CDL, 2005), 466.
38. This would not be the only instance of a portion of the Gilgamesh epic with
parallels to Mesopotamian royal inscriptions. For instance, the section of the Gil-
gamesh hymn in the late version of the epic which describes Gilgamesh’s creation in
terms of being destined by the gods parallels parts of several royal inscriptions that
case, art seems to imitate life—or rather, myth seems to imitate ritual—and
the mythological and inscriptional acts should be considered as describ-
ing the same phenomenon—ritual purification after battle.39 One critique
which may be raised regarding the connection made between these vari-
ous examples is that there is an inconsistent use of terms to refer to wash-
ing: Sumerian A TU5 (“to wash” // Akk ramāku), LUḪ (“to clean, wash”
// Akk mesû), Akkadian ramāku (“to bathe”), mesû (“to wash”), ubbubu
(“to cleanse, ritually purify”), and ullulu (“to purify”). Even so, each of
these verbs may connote ritual purification and are all used in ritual texts
describing purification.40 The distinction between the verbs is mainly in
the manner of the purification. The verbs ubbubu and ullulu are overarch-
ing terms which may mean “to purify” but do not specify the means. The
verb ramāku refers to purification through bathing, while mesû refers
to purification through washing of an object (for example, hands, feet, a
weapon, and so on), and its purificatory connotations are most explicit in
its uses in reference to mīs pî and mīs qātē rituals. Thus, although various
terms are used, they each refer to ritual cleansing in these texts.
Ugarit provides one explicit example of a deity purifying herself after
bloody battle. This occurs in KTU2 1.3 II.1–III.8, part of the Baal Cycle, in
which Anat slaughters a number of human warriors, feasts on her victims,
and then ritually cleanses herself from the bloodshed. Only the most rel-
evant section is presented here (II: 23–41):41
(23) maʾda timtaḫ iṣuna42wa-taʿānu

(24) tiḫ taṣibu wa-taḥ diyu ʿanatu
(25) tiǵdadu kabiduhi bi-ṣaḥ aqi
describe the gods calling the king’s name for kingship either before birth or during
the king’s childhood. Additionally, Ishtar’s marriage proposal to Gilgamesh has been
compared to a sacred marriage ritual. See Tigay, The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic,
153–58, 174–76.
39. See also Moyer, “Ritual Purity Among the Hittites,” 95.
40. Wolfram von Soden, The Ancient Orient: An Introduction to the Study of the
Ancient Near East (trans. Donald G. Schley; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 197.
41. See also Mark S. Smith, “The Baal Cycle,” in Ugaritic Narrative Poetry (ed.
Simon B. Parker; SBLWAW 9; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 107–109. For a lengthy
discussion of the passage, including text critical notes, see Mark S. Smith and Wayne
T. Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, Vol. 2: Introduction with Text, Translation and Com-
mentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 186–94.
42. This is a Gt 3fs imperfect + enclitic –na.
yamluʾu (26) libbuhi bi-šimḫ ati

kabidu ʿanati (27) tūšiyati
ki-birkêma tag´allilu bi-dami (28) damīri
hilqīma bi-mimaʿi mahîrīma
(29) ʿadê tišbaʿu timtaḫ iṣu bi-bêti
(30) tiḫ taṣibu bêna tulḥ anīma
yamḥ û. (31) bi-bêti dama damīri
yûṣaqū šamna (32) šalimu bi-ṣaʿi
tirḥ aṣu yadêhi batū (33) [l]atu ʿanatu
ʾuṣbātihi yabamatu liʾmīma
(34) [t]irḥ aṣu yadêhi bi-dami damīri
(35) [ʾu]ṣbātihi bi-mimaʿi mahîrīma
(36) [ta]ʿāru kissiʾāti li-kissiʾāti
tulḥ anāti (37) li- tulḥ anā<ti>
hadumīma titʿ!aru li- hadumīma
(38) taḥ supīna mêhi wa-tirḥ aṣu
(39)ṭalla šamīma šamna arṣi
rabība (40) [rā]kibi ʿurpati
ṭalla šamūma tissakūhi
(41) [ra]bība nasakūhi kabkabūma
She kills abundantly and looks around,

Anat fights and observes.
Her innards swell with laughter,
Her heart fills with joy,
the innards of Anat with victory.
For she plunges her knees into warrior blood,
her limbs into the innards of the combatants.
Until she is sated, she kills in her house,
She fights between the tables.
They clean the warrior blood from her house,
they pour out the oil of peace from a bowl.
The virgin Anat washes her hands,
her fingers, the sister-in-law of the people.
She washes her hands in warrior blood,43
43. Contra Smith and Pitard, who understand this line as meaning Anat washed
her hands of, i.e., from, the blood, rather than in the blood. See Smith and Pitard,
Ugaritic Baal Cycle, 136, 189–90. Dennis Pardee left the question open of whether rḥ ṣ
b means “wash in” or “wash from” due to lack of evidence (see Dennis Pardee, “The
Preposition in Ugaritic,” UF 8 [1976]: 266–67). There is no way to decisively deter-
mine which meaning is correct. However, it seems overly redundant to state that Anat
her fingers in the innards of the combatants.

Arranging chairs to chairs,
tables to tables,
footstools she arranges to footstools.
She draws water and she bathes.
Dew of the heavens, oil of the earth,
drizzle of the Cloudrider.
Dew, the heavens pour on her,
drizzle, the stars pour on her.
After the slaughter, the blood is wiped from Anat’s house, she washes her
hands in warrior blood, and then finally water is drawn and she washes
again.44 Similar to KTU2 1.101, Anat washes her hands and fingers and
purifies herself. In this passage, the contaminating element is clearly blood.
The clear reference to oil and washing denotes some type of ritual
purification. These actions parallel numerous references in Ugaritic and
other ancient Near Eastern depictions of deities and humans being ritu-
ally purified using oil,45 and Pardee understands these acts as purificatory
rites used to prepare one for a change in status.46 The oil referred to here
may refer to either a libation or an element in the purification ritual. Puri-
fication baths are known at Ugarit particularly in the enthronement and
atonement rituals in which the king ritually bathed and purified himself
on specific days and in which the “oil of peace” was used as a libation.47
However, oil was also used as a purifying agent or to anoint an individual
during a purification rite.48 Regardless of the intended purpose of the oil,
washes again (line 38) if she had previously washed herself from the blood and guts in
lines 34–35. Logically, it makes more sense to understand the imagery as progressing
from Anat washing in the blood of her opponents (lines 34–35) to then washing the
blood from her (line 38). Furthermore, the imagery of washing in the blood of one’s
opponents is also found in biblical texts (1 Kgs 22:38; Ps 58:11; 68:24).
44. See Smith, “The Baal Cycle,” 108–109; Smith and Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal
Cycle, 186–94.
45. For a discussion of the various elements in purification rituals and an example
in an Ugaritic letter, see Dennis Pardee, “A New Ugaritic Letter,” BO 34 (1977): 14–17.
46. Ibid., 17.
47. See Gregorio del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion According to the Liturgical
Texts of Ugarit (trans. W. G. E. Watson; Bethesda: CDL, 1999), 141, 144.
48. See Pardee, “A New Ugaritic Letter,” 14–18.
the example in KTU2 1.3 is important because the washing and purifica-
tion occur after battle and bloodshed.49
What these examples demonstrate is that ancient Near Eastern deities
were not considered to be impervious to impurity.50 They could become
defiled or polluted and required cleansing and purification, particularly
after battle. These examples are obviously limited, and certainly not every
ancient deity is depicted in such a manner.51 From the above examples,
however, it is possible to determine a number of elements which exhibit
a certain literary form: mythological setting, individual combat between
a deity and another individual (or other individuals), blood (only explicit
49. As Smith and Pitard conclude, the ritual exhibited here represents “Anat’s
purificatory transition from battle” (Smith and Pitard, Ugaritic Baal Cycle, 188).
50. In his study on holiness and purity in Mesopotamia, Wilson notes, “One
might think that the gods, at least, would always be considered pure, but this is not the
case. Mesopotamian gods could fall from their own grace, as it were. In other words,
there were certain rules that had to be followed by the celestial inhabitants … in order
for them to be permitted to function in the roles of gods” (“Holiness” and “Purity”
in Mesopotamia, 74). Other non–Near Eastern examples could be added to this. The
Hindu goddess Kali, who mirrors Anat’s bloody, warrior figure, remains continually
in an impure state (see Smith and Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, 193). In Tacitus’
Germania, he records a Teutonic ritual in which the goddess Nerthus, after passing
through and inspecting the villages, “solemnly washed in the waters of a sacred lake,
as if the holy divinity had been polluted by her intercourse with men” (Farnell, The
Evolution of Religion, 107–108).
51. This is probably due to a number of factors. First, the majority of examples
of deities becoming impure and undergoing purification occur in mythological litera-
ture, and only a comparatively small number of deities are depicted to any extent in a
mythological text. For instance, Ugaritic literature attests to approximately 240 names
and epithets for various deities, although the total number of individual deities is less
than that (see del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 78). Of these, only eight primary
gods play any significant role in the major mythological texts (ibid., 46). Second, the
genre and content of a text may not provide a context for the description of either the
purity or impurity of a god, or any type of purification of a god. Furthermore, the rhe-
torical context may not necessitate a depiction of impurity or purification. Third, a text
might simply be silent regarding a god’s purification—following a context in which
the god has clearly become defiled in some way—because necessary purification was
assumed or because of a lacuna in the text. Fourth, the extant literature does not reflect
consistent and comprehensive theologies or perspectives, and perspectives concerning
the gods certainly evolved and changed over time. The idea that gods could become
impure and require purification may have been a concept that is reflected in one text
but not another—even two texts in which the same god is the subject.
in the Anat example) and dismemberment of the dead opponent, the

deity becoming physical filthy and ritually defiled, and a description of
washing/cleansing which signifies ritual purification. Based on the above
examples, it is reasonable to assume that in cases in which a deity is
depicted in individual, bloody combat, that deity would have been con-
sidered physically and ritually contaminated due to bloodshed and in
need of cleansing and purification.
3. Defilement and Purification of Yhwh in the Hebrew Bible
In light of the depictions of other ancient Near Eastern deities becoming

defiled and undergoing some type of purification, and particularly in light
of the postbattle purification of gods such as Ninurta and Anat, it is appro-
priate to ask whether any depictions exist of Yhwh becoming unclean
through battle and needing to purify or cleanse himself. Although some
studies assume that Yhwh cannot become defiled,52 there is no a priori
reason to think that Yhwh would not have become polluted from contact
with the dead and blood, or that he would not need to undergo some type
of purification.
There can be no doubt that, in one sense, Yhwh did “get his hands
dirty,” so to speak. He is depicted in the Hebrew Bible as directly and
actively involved in violent acts and battle. Terence Fretheim’s words
regarding this aspect of the Hebrew Bible are poignant: “The most basic
theological problem with the Bible’s violence is that it is often associated
with the activity of God; with remarkable frequency, God is the subject of
violent verbs.”53 Likewise, Cheryl A. Kirk-Duggan claims that there are
around one thousand passages of divine violence in the Hebrew Bible.54
One of Yhwh’s most significant characteristics is that of divine warrior (for
52. For example, Mary Douglas writes, “The biblical idea of purity is simple and
coherent. The nature of the living God is in opposition to dead bodies. Total incom-
patibility holds between God’s presence and bodily corruption” (see Mary Douglas, In
the Wilderness: The Doctrine of Defilement in the Book of Numbers [JSOTSup 158; Shef-
field: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993], 24). Similarly, in his Old Testament theology,
Ben Ollenburger states, “It would not be conceivable that Yahweh could be defiled”
(see Ben C. Ollenburger, Old Testament Theology: Flowering and Future [SBTS 1;
Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2004], 235).
53. Terence E. Fretheim, “God and Violence in the Old Testament,” WW 24
(2004): 21.
54. Cheryl A. Kirk-Duggan, “Violence,” in Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible (ed.
example, Exod 15:3, “Yhwh is a man of war, Yhwh is his name.”).55 Yhwh
is depicted both as fighting on the side of Israel in historical accounts and
as fighting various opponents in more mythological terms. As Patrick D.
Miller Jr. argues, the idea of Yhwh as warrior is a very early part of Israel’s
understanding of the deity.56
One passage which may shed light on the question of Yhwh and defile-
ment is Isa 63:1–6. This text may provide an explicit context within which
to posit an earlier tradition that Yhwh could, in fact, become physically
defiled from battle. Although a late passage, Isa 63:1–6 preserves imagery
which is similar to the type of visual descriptions of Anat’s bloody warfare
(KTU2 1.3 II 3–30). Isa 63:1–6 reads as follows:
‫ִמי־זֶ ה ָּבא ֵמ ֱאדֹום‬

‫ֲחמּוץ ְּבגָ ִדים ִמ ָּב ְצ ָרה‬
‫זֶ ה ָהדּור ִּב ְלבּוׁשֹו‬
‫צ ֶֹעה ְּבר ֹב ּכֹחֹו‬
‫ֲאנִ י ְמ ַד ֵּבר ִּב ְצ ָד ָקה‬
‫הֹוׁש ַיע׃‬
ִ ‫ַרב ְל‬
‫בּוׁשָך‬
ֶ ‫ּדּוע ָאד ֹם ִל ְל‬ ַ ‫ַמ‬
‫ּובגָ ֶדיָך ְּכד ֵֹרְך ְּבגַ ת׃‬ ְ
‫ּפּורה ָּד ַר ְכ ִּתי ְל ַב ִּדי‬
ָ
‫ין־איׁש ִא ִּתי‬ ִ ‫ּומ ַע ִּמים ֵא‬ ֵ
‫וְ ֶא ְד ְר ֵכם ְּב ַא ִּפי‬
‫וְ ֶא ְר ְמ ֵסם ַּב ֲח ָמ ִתי‬
‫ל־ּבגָ ַדי‬
ְ ‫וְ יֵ ז נִ ְצ ָחם ַע‬
‫ּבּוׁשי ֶאגְ ָא ְל ִּתי׃‬ַ ‫ל־מ ְל‬ ַ ‫וְ ָכ‬
‫ִּכי יֹום נָ ָקם ְּב ִל ִּבי‬
‫אּולי ָּב ָאה׃‬ ַ ְ‫ּוׁשנַ ת ּג‬ ְ
‫וְ ַא ִּביט וְ ֵאין עֹזֵ ר‬
‫סֹומְך‬
ֵ ‫ּתֹומם וְ ֵאין‬ ֵ ‫וְ ֶא ְׁש‬
‫ּתֹוׁשע ִלי זְ ר ִֹעי‬
ַ ַ‫ו‬
David Noel Freedman, Allen C. Myers, and Astrid B. Beck; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
2000), 1358.
55. The relationship between Yhwh and other war gods has been discussed at
length in other places and need not be taken up here. See Patrick D. Miller Jr., The
Divine Warrior in Early Israel (HSM 5; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973);
Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge: Harvard Univer-
sity Press, 1973), 91–111; and Mark S. Smith, The Early History of God (2nd ed.; Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 101–107.
56. Miller, The Divine Warrior, 171.
‫וַ ֲח ָמ ִתי ִהיא ְס ָמ ָכ ְתנִ י׃‬

‫וְ ָאבּוס ַע ִּמים ְּב ַא ִּפי‬
‫וַ ֲא ַׁש ְּכ ֵרם ַּב ֲח ָמ ִתי‬
‫אֹוריד ָל ָא ֶרץ נִ ְצ ָחם׃‬ ִ ְ‫ו‬
1 “Who is this coming from Edom,

crimson of clothes from Bozra?
Who is this honored by his garments,
Striding in the fullness of his strength?”
“It is I, speaking of deeds of justice,
Powerful to save.”
2 “Why are your garments red,
And your clothes like one who treads in the winepress?”

3 “I have trodden the trough alone,
And from the peoples there was not anyone with me;
and I trod them in my anger,
and I trampled them in my rage,
and the juice spattered upon my clothes,
and all of my garments I have defiled.
4 For a day of vengeance I had in mind,
And the year of my revenge had come.

5 And I looked, but there was no helper,
And I looked on amazed, but there was no supporter.

6 So my own arm assisted me,
And my rage, it supported me.

And I trod down peoples in my anger,
And I made them drunk in my rage,
And I poured out their juice to the ground.”
Verse 1 depicts a watchman’s challenge to an approaching stranger—

apparently a warrior as indicated by his blood-stained clothes.57 The
stranger responds with a statement which establishes his identity, based
57. See Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40–66 (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press,
1969), 380–81. A similar type of interaction is depicted in a prism inscription of
Aššurbanipal: “his [mes]senger wi[th a present] approached to ask my health to the
border of my land. The people of my country looked at him and said to him, ‘Who
are you, stranger, whose mounted messenger hitherto has never blazed a trail to the
marches?’” (see Arthur C. Piepkorn, Historical Prism Inscriptions of Ashurbanipal I
[The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago Assyriological Studies 5; Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1933], 17). These types of challenges are not much differ-
ent than the standard modern military challenge, “Halt! Who goes there?”
on deeds of justice and ability to save. In verse 2, the watchman asks why
this individual’s clothes are stained red, and in verse 3 the warrior answers
that he has just trampled his opponents in his anger, with the result that
the juice (that is, blood) spattered on his garments and stained or defiled
(‫ ) ֶאגְ ָא ְל ִּתי‬his clothes.58 The passage relies on the backdrop of mythological
combat—Yhwh’s individual and bloody battle with his opponents. Claus
Westermann has compared the imagery here with that of Marduk’s battle
with Tiamat.59 Other imagery of Yhwh treading the winepress (Lam 1:15;
Jer 48:33) and Yhwh’s sword devouring the enemy and drinking their
blood (Jer 46:10) may further support presuming an earlier mythological
tradition in which Yhwh battles his foes in the language of a bloody mas-
sacre. Isaiah 63:1–6 closely parallels the form of the passages from Ugarit
and Mesopotamia described above: a mythological backdrop, a single
deity’s combat with opponents, and a bloody massacre. Clearly there is no
description of ritual purification, but does the passage suggest that Yhwh
became ritually impure?
The last line in verse 3 is the crux to interpreting this passage with
regard to whether or not Yhwh is depicted as becoming defiled. The two
words necessary to understand in order to decipher the imagery in this
passage are the verbs ‫ נזה‬and ‫גאל‬. The verb ‫ נזה‬occurs in the first colon of
the line: ‫ל־ּבגָ ַדי‬ ְ ‫“ וְ יֵ ז נִ ְצ ָחם ַע‬and the juice spattered upon my clothes.” The
verb ‫ נזה‬occurs a total of twenty-four times in the Hebrew Bible, but only
four times in the qal as it does here.60 Although the meaning of the verb
‫ נזה‬in the hiphil would have obvious connotations of purification,61 the
same cannot be said of the verb used in the qal stem. Based on the very
58. The use of this verb also attests to the lateness of this passage (see HALOT,
169). The verb only appears ten times in the Hebrew Bible (Lam 4:4; Isa 59:3; 63:3;
Zeph 3:1; Mal 1:7, 12; Ezra 2:62; Neh 7:64; Dan 1:8 [2x]), while the noun ‫ּג ַֹאל‬, "defile-
ment," appears once in Neh 13:9. However, the verb’s appearance in Lamentations, an
exilic text, warrants cautious acceptance of HALOT’s note regarding the lateness of
the term.
59. Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 382. He writes, “In the past, as I see it, comment
on Isa 63:1–6 has paid too little attention to what is the really characteristic feature
here, the change made in the description of the divine judgment on the nations so that
it becomes a battle engaged in by a single person, a description which, strictly speak-
ing and in respect of its origin, only suits a battle between two parties, a battle such as
that of Marduk against Tiamat and those who came to her aid in Enuma Elish.”
60. Jacob Milgrom, David P. Wright, “nāzâ,” TDOT, 9:300.
61. Except for Isa 52:15, in which the use of the verb is unclear, the hiphil of ‫ נזה‬is
limited use of the verb in the qal stem, Jacob Milgrom and David Wright
state, “the verb denotes unintentional, accidental spattering.”62 Apart from
Isa 63:3, the qal form occurs in 2 Kgs 9:33 referring to Jezebel’s blood spat-
tering the wall and horses upon hitting the ground after she was thrown
from an upper-level window. The verb also occurs twice in the qal in Lev
6:20 (Eng. 27), where it refers to the blood of the purification offering
spattering the priests clothes.63 In this case, the priest is instructed to wash
(‫כבס‬, piel) in a holy place. The verb ‫ כבס‬in the piel most often refers to
cleansing clothes from various types of uncleanness, often in ritual con-
texts and in addition to the purification of the individual (Lev 11:25; Num
8:7; 19:19).64 In Lev 6:20 (Eng. 27) the blood from the purification offer-
ing imparts impurity and the priest’s garment becomes unclean; thus, he
must wash the blood spots from the garment.65 Any contention that the
imagery used in this passage actually reflects Yhwh being purified by the
blood of his victims should be ruled out. First, the qal rather than the
hiphil of ‫ נזה‬is used, and if there is an allusion in verse 3 to Lev 16:20 (Eng.
27), then it should be noted that the purification offering never purifies
the one offering it.66 With this in mind, it would appear that Isa 63:3 at
the very least simply denotes the accidental spattering of blood on Yhwh’s
garments, and possibly (as in the case of Lev 6:20 [Eng. 27]) implies that
Yhwh’s clothes have become defiled by the blood, which the next colon
appears to make explicit.
Most modern translations (for example, nrsv, niv, esv, jps) render
the verb ‫ ֶאגְ ָא ְל ִּתי‬as “stained,” without any implication of defilement.67 In
form, the verb (‫ גאל‬II) appears to be a hiphil/aphel combination. How-
ever, in accordance with 1QIsaa, 1QIsab, and other witnesses (Symmachus,
always used in ritual contexts and refers to the sprinkling of water or blood to conse-
crate or purify and object, person, or sanctuary (see ibid., 300–303).
62. Ibid., 300.
63. Most translations render ‫ ַח ָּטאת‬as “sin offering;” however, Milgrom has
argued that a better rendering is “purification offering.” See Jacob Milgrom, “Sin-
offering or Purification-offering?” VT 21 (1971): 237–39; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus
1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 253–54.
64. G. André, “kābas,” TDOT, 7:40. The metaphorical uses of ‫ כבס‬referring to
cleansing a person from sin may allude to purification ceremonies (ibid., 41).
65. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 403–4.
66. Ibid., 254.
67. Even HALOT, 169 provides the gloss “to stain” for the hiphil.
Theodotion, the Syrohexeplar, Syriac, and Vulgate),68 several scholars and

lexicographers have proposed reading the verb as a piel stem (‫)ּגֵ ַא ְל ִּתי‬,
“to pollute, to desecrate.”69 In regard to meaning, all other stems (niphal,
piel, pual, and hithpael) carry the connotation of defiling in a ritual sense,
whether passively, actively, or reflexively. Regardless of whether the verb
is meant to be a piel or hiphil/aphel, there does not seem to be any reason
to subdue the meaning of the term from “defile” to “stain,” although stain-
ing is a natural consequence of being covered in blood.70 The hiphil/aphel
form of the verb ‫ גאל‬here would then function causatively71 and would
best be rendered, “I made my garments defiled.”72 In fact, in Isa 59:3, the
prophet proclaims to his audience that their hands are defiled (‫ )נְ ג ֲֹאלּו‬with
blood. In Lam 4:14, the Jerusalemites are described as blindly wandering
the streets so defiled (‫ )נְ ג ֲֹאלּו‬with blood that no one could touch their gar-
ments. The blood-soaked Jerusalemites are then called “unclean” (verse
15, ‫) ָט ֵמא‬. This imagery is reminiscent of the depiction already discussed
of Anat covered in blood and seemingly defiled.73 Taken together, this
68. See BHS. Both 1QIsaa and 1QIsab read ‫ ;גאלתי‬see Eugene Charles Ulrich,
Peter W. Flint, and Martin G. Abegg, Qumran Cave 1. II: The Isaiah Scrolls (DJD 32;
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2010), 100, 148.
69. See HALOT, 169; BDB, 145; GKC, §53p, n. 1.
70. Even so, certainly the visual imagery of the juice/blood staining Yhwh’s
clothes is part of the idea.
71. Paul Joüon and T. Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (SubBi 27; Rome:
Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2006), 150.
72. Cyrus Gordon and Edward Young render the hiphil/aphel form as “to defile”
(see Cyrus H. Gordon and Edward J. Young, “‫( אגאלתי‬Isaiah 63:3),” WTJ 14 [1951]:
54).
73. The Greek translation of Isaiah may provide testimony to the offensive nature
of this imagery. LXX-Isaiah translates around this particular imagery, in an other-
wise fairly literal rendering of the larger context: Τίς οὗτος ὁ παραγινόμενος ἐξ Εδωμ,
ἐρύθημα ἱματίων ἐκ Βοσορ, οὕτως ὡραῖος ἐν στολῇ βίᾳ μετὰ ἰσχύος; ἐγὼ διαλέγομαι
δικαιοσύνην καὶ κρίσιν σωτηρίου. διὰ τί σου ἐρυθρὰ τὰ ἱμάτια καὶ τὰ ἐνδύματά σου ὡς
ἀπὸ πατητοῦ ληνοῦ; πλήρης καταπεπατημένης, καὶ τῶν ἐθνῶν οὐκ ἔστιν ἀνὴρ μετ’ ἐμοῦ,
καὶ κατεπάτησα αὐτοὺς ἐν θυμῷ καὶ κατέθλασα αὐτοὺς ὡς γῆν καὶ κατήγαγον τὸ αἷμα
αὐτῶν εἰς γῆν (Joseph Ziegler, Jeremias, Baruch, Threni, Epistula Jeremiae [Septuaginta
15; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1976], 353–54). I, however, accept Rahlf ’s
punctuation in v. 3: “Who is this that comes from Edom, redness of robes from Bosor,
so beautiful in flowing robe, in strength with power?” “It is I, I am discussing justice
and judgment of salvation.” “Why are your garments red and your clothes as if from
a trodden winepress?” “Full of those having been trampled, and no man was with me
evidence suggests that Isa 63:3 depicts Yhwh as having been defiled by the
blood of his victims; however, no purification is depicted.
Isaiah 63:1–6, then, exhibits all of the elements of the identified lit-
erary form except for purification. This may suggest a deliberate attempt
by the author to depict Yhwh with the same militaristic imagery as other
ancient Near Eastern deities without conceding that Yhwh needed to be
purified. Other passages in the Hebrew Bible also depict a close association
between Yhwh and the blood of his opponents without depicting Yhwh in
direct contact with the blood. In Deut 32:42, Yhwh’s arrows and sword,
rather than Yhwh himself, are said to consume the blood and flesh of his
enemies; thus, distancing Yhwh from a cannibalistic act: “I will make my
arrows drunk from blood, and my sword will consume flesh; from the
blood of the slain and captives, from the head of the leaders of the enemy.”
The imagery in Isa 34:5–6 is similar: “When my sword has drunk its fill in
the heavens, behold, upon Edom it will descend, and upon the people of
my destruction, for judgment. The sword of Yhwh is filled with blood, it
drips with fat, from the blood of rams and goats, from the fat of the kid-
neys of rams, because Yhwh has a sacrifice in Bozra, and a great slaughter
in the land of Edom.” Jeremiah 46:10 also depicts Yhwh’s sword as drink-
ing the blood of his victims. This imagery parallels depictions of Anat and
the Egyptian goddess Hathor devouring their enemies,74 although Yhwh
is distanced from the cannibalistic imagery. Mark Smith and Wayne Pitard
propose that the difference between Yhwh, who is not directly depicted as
eating the enemy, and Anat and Hathor may have developed due to a dis-
comfort with the notion that Yhwh needs to eat, or because of a progres-
sive deanthropomorphization of Yhwh.75 Nevertheless, the use of most of
the elements of the divine postbattle purification motif in Isa 63:1–6 con-
firms that it was well-known throughout the ancient Near East.
from the nations, and I trampled them in anger and I crushed them as earth, and I
brought down their blood to the earth.”
74. For Hathor’s blood thirstiness, see “The Destruction of Mankind” (Miriam
Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature [Berkeley: University of California Press,
1976], 2:197–99). Another connection between the warfare of Yhwh and that of Anat
is the idea of wading or treading in the enemy’s blood. However, in the Hebrew Bible,
it is not Yhwh who wades in the enemy’s blood but Israel (see Ps 68:22–23).
75. Mark S. Smith and Wayne T. Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, Vol. 2: Intro-
duction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4 (VTSup 114;
Leiden: Brill, 2009), 182–83.
4. Conclusions
The above argument may be summarized by the following points. First,

ancient Near Eastern deities were not impervious to impurity and were
often depicted as having become defiled and being purified, particularly
after battle. Second, a literary form existed which depicted a deity in bloody
combat, who was then defiled, and who undertook some type of purifica-
tion ritual. In the case of the Mesopotamian examples, the divine purifica-
tion seems to have been modeled after the human postbattle purification
rituals displayed in royal inscriptions. The Divine Warrior Hymn in Isa
63:1–6 confirms the existence of this literary form and demonstrates that
it was broadly known and used, both geographically and in time, through-
out the ancient Near East. The author of Isa 63:1–6 was able to draw on
several motifs to depict Yhwh’s bloody battle in Bozra—motifs which were
commonly used with regard to other ancient Near Eastern deities. Third,
Isa 63:1–6 suggests that Yhwh was once considered able to be defiled from
bloody battle as were other ancient Near Eastern deities. However, by the
time of Third Isaiah, Yhwh had been disassociated from the full implica-
tions of defilement. Further investigation may reveal additional examples
linking Yhwh to the broader ancient Near Eastern phenomenon of divine
defilement and purification. Yet, this study already sheds light on war ritu-
als as reflected in accounts of divine battle, and points to Israel’s evolving
understanding and depiction of Yhwh.
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Response
Forging a Twenty-First-Century Approach
to the Study of Israelite Warfare
T. M. Lemos
The twentieth century saw several important studies of Israelite warfare.

Gerhard von Rad’s Holy War in Ancient Israel and Susan Niditch’s War in
the Hebrew Bible: A Study in the Ethics of Violence stand as the two land-
mark examples, but works by Norbert Lohfink, Sa-Moon Kang, Philip D.
Stern, and Manfred Weippert are also noteworthy.1 As Charles Trimm’s
recent review of scholarship on warfare in the Hebrew Bible makes clear,
biblical scholars have continued to produce many works on biblical war-
fare and violence in recent years.2 At the same time, the study of Israel-
ite ritual has flourished in the last two decades, with works by Saul M.
Olyan, William K. Gilders, James W. Watts, and Gerald A. Klingbeil join-
ing previous research by Frank H. Gorman Jr. and Philip P. Jenson in
examining rituals described in the Hebrew Bible in a manner informed
by research from anthropology and other disciplines.3 With the contin-
1. See Gerhard von Rad, Holy War in Ancient Israel (trans. M. J. Dawn; Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991) (German orig. Der Heilige Krieg im alten Israel [Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1951]); Susan Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible: A Study
in the Ethics of Violence (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); Norbert Lohfink,
Krieg und Staat im alten Israel (Beiträge für Friedensethik 14; Barsbüttel: Institut für
Theologie und Frieden, 1992); Sa-Moon Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and
in the Ancient Near East (BZAW 177; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989); Philip D. Stern, The
Biblical Ḥ erem: A Window on Israel’s Religious Experience (BJS 211; Atlanta: Scholars
Press, 1991); and Manfred Weippert, “Heiliger Krieg in Israel und Assyrien: Kritische
Anmerkungen zu Gerhard von Rads Konzept des ‘Heiligen Krieges im alten Israel,’ ”
ZAW 84 (1972): 460–93.
2. Charles Trimm, “Recent Research on Warfare in the Old Testament,” CBR 10
(2012): 171–216.
3. Frank H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time, and Status in the Priestly
-271-
ued interest in biblical warfare and the surge of interest in biblical ritual,
it is no surprise that eventually these two areas of interest would con-
verge in a volume like this one. This volume presents an important step—
not a first step exactly, but one no doubt early in the journey—toward
understanding better the rituals and symbols of violence described in
quite a large number of biblical texts. My response essay will reflect upon
the approaches found in this volume, relate them to biblical studies as a
whole, and present thoughts and suggestions for where the study of bibli-
cal violence should go from here.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the essays in this volume reflect many of the
most salient tendencies of biblical studies. For example, one sees in sev-
eral essays a continued interest in redactional criticism and the dating
of (layers of) texts, as well as an effort to situate biblical rites of war in
their ancient Near Eastern environment. These are, of course, very long-
standing trends in the field and, while each of these trends can at times
present methodological problems, each is arguably indispensable for the
field. Comparison with other ancient societies is particularly important
when examining Israelite violence. Considering that the Israelites fought
with other ancient groups and were often conquered by them, it would
be truly nonsensical to cordon off the study of Israelite warfare from the
study of ancient Mesopotamian warfare, ancient Egyptian warfare, or
ancient Levantine warfare.
But what are we studying, really—biblical warfare or Israelite warfare?
Or are the two equivalent? The essays in this volume represent different
tendencies and approaches to this issue, which relates to the larger and
quite thorny question of how closely biblical texts mirror Israelite realities
of life.4 While an extreme pessimism or skepticism regarding whether we
Theology (JSOTSup 91; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990); Philip P. Jenson,
Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World (JSOTSup 106; Shef-
field: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992); Saul M. Olyan, Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in
Biblical Representations of Cult (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000); Wil-
liam K. Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible: Meaning and Power (Baltimore: The
Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004); James W. Watts, Ritual and Rhetoric in Leviti-
cus: From Sacrifice to Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); and
Gerald A. Klingbeil, Bridging the Gap: Ritual and Ritual Texts in the Bible (Bulletin for
Biblical Research Supplements 1; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2007).
4. On this issue, see, for example, Megan Bishop Moore and Brad E. Kelle, Biblical
History and Israel’s Past: The Changing Study of the Bible and History (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2011), 1–42.
lemos: Forging a Twenty-First-Century Approach 273
can answer this question has grown in some quarters of the field, such pes-
simism is in my view unwarranted, considering that one can use archaeo-
logical evidence and other ancient Near Eastern texts to corroborate the
evidence found in biblical sources, at least where many issues are con-
cerned. As is well known, many biblical narratives do not find corrobo-
ration in the archaeological record and are not historical as the Hebrew
Bible presents them, but even these sometimes reflect the realities of war
from the times in which they were actually composed. To provide just one
example: the Israelite conquest of Canaan may not have occurred, but the
practice of ḥ ērem is not an invention of biblical authors, as the Mesha stele
demonstrates. Despite our ability, however partial, to corroborate biblical
sources and thus the lack of cogency in arguing that biblical texts cannot
be trusted as sources for reconstructing Israelite history, there is still, it
seems, a bit of a slippage in biblical scholarship between what is biblical
and what is Israelite. The title of this volume is a case in point, referring
as it does to “biblical and modern contexts.” If our concern is with biblical
texts as literary documents, that is, with “biblical contexts,” it would be
methodologically incongruous perhaps to compare war in biblical con-
texts to war in modern contexts unless what one is comparing is modern
literary contexts. It seems to me that such a comparison between biblical
and modern social contexts is warranted more by an interest in Israelite
contexts, that is, Israelite social and historical realities, attested as they are
by biblical, archaeological, and other sources. A lack of clarity on what is
really our main area of focus as biblical scholars and what is really at stake
in what we are doing is arguably one of the main problems facing biblical
studies today as a field.5
Another problem in the field is the isolation of biblical scholars from
other areas of the academy. This isolation is arguably evinced in some,
though certainly not all, of the essays in this volume. The topics of warfare,
ritual, and symbolism have been widely studied in various disciplines of the
academy. For example, there is a decades-long, very rich, and very fruitful
discussion concerning the nature of rituals—how to define ritual, what ritual
does—that has gone on in anthropology and religious studies and is exem-
plified by such figures as Mary Douglas, Victor Turner, Clifford Geertz, Jack
5. See also my discussion of method in T. M. Lemos, “ ‘They Have Become

Women’: Judean Diaspora and Postcolonial Theories of Gender and Migration,” in
Social Theory and the Study of Israelite Religion: Essays in Retrospect and Prospect (ed.
Saul M. Olyan; SBLRBS 71; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 81–109.
Goody, Pierre Bourdieu, Catherine Bell, and others.6 An engagement with

the work of these scholars and familiarity with the larger trends of ritual
studies, as well as with anthropological or sociological studies of violence,
has lent depth to some of the works contained here (for example, the essays
of Niditch, Olyan, Kelle, and Levtow). Still, more of the essays would benefit
from the use of evidence, approaches, or theories from these disciplines,
and such interaction is a desideratum for future research on the war-related
rituals of the Israelites.
These issues aside, there is much to learn from this collection, and the
collection as a whole should convince one of the fruitfulness of examining
not just warfare on its own, or rituals and symbols on their own, but ritu-
als and symbols as they are utilized in wartime contexts. Various essays
here do not merely shed light on their designated area of focus but provide
jumping off points for examining other rituals and symbols of war, often
by use of an interdisciplinary method. For example, Brad E. Kelle’s essay
presents an entry point into research on moral injury that many biblical
scholars, particularly those interested in trauma and/or exilic literature,
might find useful for their own work. Frank Ritchel Ames’s essay similarly
presents interdisciplinary research on symbolism and bodily communica-
tion that biblical scholars could make use of to understand many different
biblical texts or cultural phenomena. Saul M. Olyan’s essay on circumstan-
tially dependent rites encourages one to move away from overly wooden
interpretation of ritual that sees ritual as functioning in the same way in all
contexts. Olyan’s more nuanced and supple approach, too, could be applied
to the study of many different rituals, both those occurring in wartime
contexts and those occurring outside of them. Nathaniel Levtow’s article
also presents a very nuanced approach to examining Israelite rituals in
which textualization and ritualization come together in interesting ways.
His essay draws upon the work of Catherine Bell in particular, a theorist
whose writings present many avenues of research for biblical scholars.7
6. Bell summarizes and critiques research on ritual studies through the early ‘90’s in
Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992).
See also Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1997; a revised ed. was published posthumously in 2009), and William S. Sax,
Johannes Quack, and Jan Weinhold, eds., The Problem of Ritual Efficacy (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2010), which discusses Bell’s work and other more recent research.
7. In fact, some biblicists, e.g., Olyan, Gilders, and Klingbeil, have already drawn
on her work in their own research. See above.
The essays by Kelle and Niditch address a topic that has been mulled
over for centuries and is still the source of much consternation today—
whether those who have committed violence in war can be reintegrated
into regular social life, and if so, by what ritual or social mechanisms and
facilitated by which psychological processes. Niditch’s essay also addresses a
subject important to the study of warfare or violence more generally—how
social groups are constituted, reconstituted, or fragmented by violence. Her
essay demonstrates that a neat division between warfare and other types of
violence is neither possible nor beneficial. Political violence of the type we
term warfare not only intersects with other types of violence (for example,
gender violence or familial violence), but is arguably the product of the
same or at least similar social processes. Without being simplistic, it seems
fair to ask whether the socialization or subjectivity that allows one to kill
on the battlefield is different from the one that allows one to kill or rape in
other contexts. If they are different, what separates one socio-psychological
phenomenon from the other? The evidence examined by Niditch seems to
present wartime violence as seeping into other contexts, raising the ques-
tion of whether there is as much of a break between military killing and
other violence as many in our society would like to think.
Niditch’s essay presents a useful segue into discussing future avenues
of research on warfare in biblical studies, or, where we go from here as
scholars. Naturally, there is much work left to be done in our field not only
on Israelite warfare, but also on the rituals and symbols associated with
it. Niditch’s essay provides a good point of transition because, as I have
already stated, for the study of Israelite warfare to develop to the fullest
extent possible, examinations of Israelite warfare must be connected to
examinations of other types of violence. Warfare is merely a subset of a
wider category of violence, and the violence of warfare bleeds—if you will
excuse the garish pun—into other types of aggression and force, just as
aggression that happens at the lower levels of social organization can lead
or contribute to the political violence of warfare.
In my view, it would also behoove scholars to be clearer about what
their intentions are in studying biblical texts that speak of warfare. As a
biblical scholar who sees herself as primarily a social and cultural histo-
rian, my primary interest is in Israelites and Israelite history and contexts,
rather than in understanding biblical texts for their own sake. As a histo-
rian, biblical texts are for me data among other relevant data. Of course,
for many the Bible is sacred scripture, and so an interest in understanding
biblical texts over and above the historical contexts and social communi-
ties that produced these texts is often rooted in confessional theologies.8 It

is part and parcel of our postmodernist (post-postmodernist?) academic
climate that one is expected to be aware of and upfront about one’s own
social location and biases. At times, biblical scholars are not explicit about
what their ultimate goals are as scholars—what is at stake for them—and
so slippages occur between what is “biblical” and what is “Israelite” and
between literary, theological, and historical approaches.
With these initial observations in mind, I present suggestions for
future research on Israelite warfare that are aimed at biblical scholars who
are historians—and social historians, in particular—rather than biblical
scholars who are literary critics or theologians.9 First, to forge a twenty-
first century approach to violence in ancient Israel, one must be in conver-
sation with approaches current in the twenty-first century. As I have writ-
ten elsewhere, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, biblical
studies and the nascent social sciences had a mutually beneficial relation-
ship that was the result of a conversation going in both directions.10 One
sees this in the work of W. Robertson Smith, James Frazer, Marcel Mauss,
and Julius Wellhausen. In the past half century, however, biblical scholars
have at times drawn on the social sciences and other areas of the humani-
ties, but have rarely if ever contributed to wider discussions in other areas
of academia. To add to the problem, biblical scholars are generally decades
8. This is not at all to say that all scholars who see the Bible as scripture approach
their scholarship in the same way or are “cryptotheologians,” to borrow a word from
Russell McCutcheon (see, e.g., Russell McCutcheon, Manufacturing Religion: The Dis-
course on Sui Generis Religion and the Politics of Nostalgia [Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1997], 16, 93). I myself am a practicing Episcopalian who teaches in an Anglican
seminary. I nonetheless consider myself to be a historian rather than a theologian or
text critic, and my personal theological convictions in no way require me to interpret
biblical texts in particular ways or force my scholarship to move in certain directions.
9. Until the early 1990s, much of the research on warfare in the Bible was domi-
nated by theological concerns. Examples may be found in Peter C. Craigie, The Prob-
lem of War in the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978); Millard C. Lind,
Yahweh Is a Warrior: The Theology of Warfare in Ancient Israel (Scottdale, Penn.:
Herald, 1980); T. R. Hobbs, A Time for War: A Study of Warfare in the Old Testament
(Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1989); and even to a certain extent in von Rad, Holy
War. Theological work on biblical warfare certainly continues, but in the past two to
three decades there has been a greater variety of approaches to examining this topic.
10. See T. M. Lemos, “Cultural Anthropology: Hebrew Bible,” in Oxford Encyclo-
pedia of Biblical Interpretation (ed. Steven L. McKenzie; Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2013), 1:157–65.
out of date in making use of research from outside of their field. This is, I
would argue, a result of the narrow training that biblical scholars receive
at the doctoral level, training focused on philology, acquisition of mul-
tiple languages, and textual issues to the exclusion of method or engage-
ment with other fields.11 For the study of violence in ancient Israel to be
truly contemporary and be something other than merely parasitic of other
fields’ ideas, biblical scholars—both those who consider themselves to be
historians and those who do not—will in many cases have to read widely
in order to overcome the possible lacunae in their doctoral training.
What areas would be particularly fruitful for the study of either Israel-
ite violence in general or Israelite rituals of violence in particular? Already
in the late 1990s, the anthropologists Michael Lambek and Andrew
Strathern wrote of a neomaterialism “concerned with the domain of lived
experience and the effects of the social realm on the human body.”12 They
were referring to the increase in interest in embodiment and how people’s
physical experiences of the world are shaped by social and cultural forces.
As Catherine Bell has noted, an interest in the body has unsurprisingly
given rise to a renewed interest in ritual.13 A focus on embodiment and
lived experience also corresponds well with the study of violence, and
recent works on violence have been informed by discussions of embodi-
ment.14 While some biblical scholars have been influenced by these dis-
11. While it is no doubt necessary for biblical scholars to have a firm ground-
ing in biblical languages, the argument could be made that more training in method
and interdisciplinary approaches could fruitfully replace training in cognate lan-
guages for many scholars, and that biblical scholars and specialists in other areas of
ancient Near Eastern language, history, and culture should engage more frequently in
research collaborations of the type that are very common in the sciences and social
sciences. There is no need to be a jack-of-all-ancient-Near-Eastern-Studies-trades
when one can be a master of one’s own trade and collaborate fruitfully with masters
of other trades. While one might counter that the same could be said for interdisci-
plinary methodological approaches, there is, in fact, no research without method. All
academic study is undergirded by particular assumptions and methodologies, and so
I would argue that more thorough discussion of and training in these areas should
not be seen as optional.
12. Andrew Strathern and Michael Lambek, “Introduction: Embodying Sociality:
Africanist-Melanesianist Comparisons,” in Bodies and Persons: Comparative Perspec-
tives from Africa and Melanesia (ed. Michael Lambek and Andrew Strathern; Cam-
bridge: Camridge University Press, 1998), 5.
13. Bell, Ritual Theory, 96.
14. See, for example, Veena Das et al., eds., Violence and Subjectivity (Berkeley:
cussions, there is much work left to be done by historians of Israel inter-

ested in warfare and violence.
Interest in embodiment and lived experience continues in the human-
ities and social sciences, and the neomaterialist approach that underlies
these interests has led to a related flourishing of work in cognitive science
approaches to the humanities. The recent work of Thomas Kazen on Isra-
elite impurity texts has utilized cognitive science research to very good
effect,15 and it was exciting to see Frank Ritchel Ames’s essay in this volume
expand the use of this approach in biblical studies. A neomaterialist per-
spective can also be seen in academia in recent interest in environmental
approaches to the humanities and perhaps even in disability studies or
food studies. Certainly, the study of Israelite violence could benefit from
work in these areas, as well, and these research trends are current enough
that biblicists could contribute to the wider discussions on these topics
before scholars in other fields turn their attention elsewhere.16
A focus on lived experience is evident in research on trauma, which
is an area of study in which biblicists have shown a great deal of interest
recently. In the past few years, there has been an explosion of work in
this area, and the engagement of scholars with research on trauma from
University of California Press, 2000); Arturo J. Aldama, ed., Violence and the Body:
Race, Gender, and the State (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003); many
of the essays in Nancy Scheper-Hughes and Philippe Bourgois, Violence in War and
Peace: An Anthology (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2004); and Veena Das, Life and Words:
Violence and the Descent into the Ordinary (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2007). A work on ancient violence that deals with not only the body but ritual is
Zainab Bahrani, Rituals of War: The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia (New York:
Zone Books, 2008), an interesting book that in some ways models the approach to
studying violence that I am advocating in this essay.
15. See especially Thomas Kazen, Emotions in Biblical Law: A Cognitive Science
Approach (Hebrew Bible Monographs 36; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2011).
16. In fact, various scholars have already performed research on disability in
ancient Israel or in biblical literature. See, e.g., various works authored or edited by
Jeremy Schipper, such as Hector Avalos, Sarah J. Melcher, and Jeremy Schipper, eds.,
This Abled Body: Rethinking Disabilities in Biblical Studies (SemeiaSt 55; Atlanta: Soci-
ety of Biblical Literature, 2007); Jeremy Schipper, Disability and Isaiah’s Suffering Ser-
vant (Biblical Refigurations; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011); and Candida R.
Moss and Jeremy Schipper, eds., Disability Studies and Biblical Literature (New York:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). See also Saul M. Olyan, Disability in the Hebrew Bible:
Interpreting Mental and Physical Differences (New York: Cambridge University Press,
2008).
outside the field has already been very fruitful. For the most part, how-
ever, biblical scholars have drawn upon psychological or psychologically
informed literary studies of trauma from the 1990s, making much less use
of relevant anthropological literature on trauma and “social suffering.”
In the past twenty years, such scholars as Pierre Bourdieu, Arthur Klein-
man, and Veena Das have pioneered research on social suffering, which
deals with the social nature of suffering, as well as the social forces that
affect human experiences.17 Social suffering as an area of research inter-
sects with and encompasses such topics as political and other forms of
violence, trauma, illness, poverty, and depression. As Kleinman, Das, and
Margaret Lock write: “Social suffering results from what political, eco-
nomic, and institutional power does to people, and, reciprocally, from how
these forms of power themselves influence responses to social problems.
Included under the category of social suffering are conditions that simul-
taneously involve health, welfare, legal, moral, and religious issues. They
destabilize established categories.”18 It is, I think, clear that social suffering
as a concept could be applied to Israelite violence and Israelite experiences
of warfare and violence in fruitful ways. Further, examining the intersec-
tions between Israelite violence, social suffering, and ritualization could
present a fascinating new area of research.
Drawing upon Bell’s research on ritual and ritualization that was cited
above, one could examine different Israelite social settings as ritualized
environments and explore the roles of violence and coercion in such envi-
ronments. These examinations would do well to engage with Foucault’s
ideas concerning power relations and cultural discourses, as well as cri-
tiques of Foucault’s “totalizing” view of social systems and writings on
resistance that have often presented a more agentive view of social rela-
tions. In examining the nature of social relations in ancient Israel and the
17. See Pierre Bourdieu et al., The Weight of the World: Social Suffering in Con-
temporary Society (trans. Priscilla Parkhurst Ferguson; Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 1993); Arthur Kleinman, Veena Das, and Margaret Lock, eds., Social Suffering
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), particularly ix, where the concept
of social suffering is explained; Veena Das et al., eds., Remaking a World: Violence,
Social Suffering, and Recovery (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); and
Iain Wilkinson, “Social Suffering and the New Politics of Sentimentality,” in Routledge
International Handbook of Contemporary Social and Political Theory (ed. Gerard Del-
anty and Stephen P. Turner; New York: Routledge, 2011), 460–70, which provides a
critical appraisal of the concept.
18. Kleinman, Das, and Lock, Social Suffering, ix.
influence of violence on these relations, historically minded biblical schol-

ars could contribute to long-standing debates in the humanities and social
sciences over the nature of subjectivity and how totalizing social systems
are in determining the choices of individuals. Certainly, these debates
directly relate to studies of resistance—in what ways do people resist and
how is it possible for them to resist? That is, what about their subjectivity
or the social or cultural setting allows them to resist? Related questions
might center on why violence arose or was utilized in certain circum-
stances in ancient Israel as opposed to more indirect ways of controlling
behavior. Historians could also make use of theories of “structural vio-
lence” in describing how ancient Israel’s society was organized and, again,
why physical violence was used or threatened in various situations as
opposed to discursive practices that shape behavior or to structural forms
of violence that privilege some and make the lives of others inherently
more precarious.19 Such examinations could incorporate ideas of ritual-
ization and embodiment and newer materialist approaches that attempt to
bridge the gap between older conceptions of materialism and the excessive
constructivism of postmodernists, which leaves no room for the influence
of physical needs and physiological tendencies.20 Awareness of these con-
temporary approaches is necessary for biblical scholars to converse with
scholars in other fields rather than merely adopting others’ ideas, some-
times decades after they have lost currency in other quarters of academia.21
19. On “structural violence,” see, e.g., Johan Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace
Research,” Journal of Peace Research 6 (1969): 167–91, who coined the term; Nancy
Scheper-Hughes, Death Without Weeping: The Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Paul Farmer, Partner to the Poor: A
Paul Farmer Reader (ed. Haun Saussy; Berkeley: University of California, 2010); and
Peter Iadicola and Anson Shupe, Violence, Inequality, and Human Freedom (3rd ed.;
Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield, 2013), 379–450.
20. On these issues, see Edward Slingerland, What Science Offers the Humanities:
Integrating Body and Culture (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008).
21. My point here is not that biblical scholars are poor at keeping up with intellec-
tual fads. The problem is not in applying ideas or methods that have become unfash-
ionable in other fields, but rather in not being aware of how these ideas or methods
have been critiqued or refined. Continuous refinement and critique are necessary
parts of the progress of ideas in academia. Biblical scholars and historians of Israel
cannot participate in interdisciplinary conversations if the conversation has already
moved forward without them. Further, they sometimes make use of the ideas of other
fields in naïve ways by not being aware of what is being said in those fields currently.
My final suggestion for historians of Israel hoping to forge a twenty-

first century approach to studying Israelite violence in ritualized and other
forms relates to the topic of cultural comparison. Biblical scholars, it could
be argued, might be bolder in contributing to understandings of contem-
porary violence.22 Violence, after all, is not merely an “academic” topic
of inquiry in the prejorative sense of that term. Violence occurs in this
world not merely every day, but every hour, every moment. Attempts at
understanding today’s very real and very destructive violence often falter
when they do not look back far enough. This is why, for example, scholars
of genocide have looked to ancient examples of mass violence not only
to understand modern ethnic violence better but to challenge arguments
about genocidal violence that were too centered upon conceptions of
modernity.23 Yet, these genocide scholars, not being specialists in ancient
contexts, sometimes oversimplify or misunderstand ancient cultures and
history. Naturally, scholars of the modern world cannot specialize in both
past and present contexts any more than scholars of the ancient world can
possess a complete understanding of areas in which they do not special-
ize. It is only through scholarly interaction, engagement, and collaboration
that a fuller view of human life in all of its positive and negative dimen-
sions becomes possible. We scholars of antiquity have no less to say about
22. There have been some works by biblicists comparing biblical and contem-
porary violence, e.g., Jeremy Young, The Violence of God and the War on Terror (New
York: Church Publishing, 2008) and Richard S. Hess and Elmer A. Martens, eds., War
in the Bible and Terrorism in the Twenty-First Century (Bulletin for Biblical Research
Supplements 2; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2008), but these have often been theo-
logical in focus and centered on interpretation of biblical texts rather than Israelite vio-
lence, presenting the incongruity in method discussed above. In my view, much more
comparative work could be done by historically minded biblicists, with Bruce Lincoln
perhaps offering a model in Religion, Empire, and Torture: The Case of Achaemenian
Persia, with a Postscript on Abu Ghraib (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007).
23. See T. M. Lemos, “Dispossessing Nations: Population Growth, Scarcity, and
Genocide in Ancient Israel and Twentieth-Century Rwanda,” (paper presented at
Judaic Studies Moskow Symposium: Theorizing Ritual Violence in the Hebrew Bible;
Brown University; Providence, R.I., May 5–6, 2013); Frank Chalk and Kurt Jonas-
sohn, The History and Sociology of Genocide: Analyses and Case Studies (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1990), 58–93; Ben Kiernan, “The First Genocide: Carthage,
146 BCE,” Diogenes 203 (2004): 27–39; and idem, Blood and Soil: A World History of
Genocide and Extermination from Sparta to Darfur (New Haven: Yale University Press,
2007); Adam Jones, Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction (New York: Routledge,
2006), xxi, 3–6.
the present than the scholars of the modern world whose ideas we so often
apply to our own work have to say about the past. If anything, our view is
longer. We historians of Israel and other scholars of the ancient world have
a great deal to contribute to discussions about violence in our own time
and about the human condition more broadly, adding in our own way to
the effort to understand human life in a way that is nuanced and accounts
for particularity, but also acknowledges commonality where it is found.
We have something to say, and it is time that we say it.
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List of Contributors
Frank Ritchel Ames

Rocky Vista University College of Medicine
Deborah O’Daniel Cantrell

Vanderbilt University
Brad E. Kelle
Point Loma Nazarene University
David T. Lamb
Biblical Theological Seminary
T. M. Lemos
Huron University College at the University of Western Ontario
Nathaniel B. Levtow
University of Montana
Kelly J. Murphy
Central Michigan University
Susan Niditch
Amherst College
Saul M. Olyan
Brown University
Jason A. Riley
Fuller Theological Seminary
-287-
Thomas Römer
Université de Lausanne
Rüdiger Schmitt
University of Münster
Mark S. Smith
New York University
Jacob L. Wright
Emory University
Index of Ancient Sources
Hebrew Bible/Old Testament 15:9 118

15:20 210
Genesis 15:20–21 169, 169 n. 19, 218
9:3–4 200 15:21 169 n. 19, 210
9:23 17 n. 5 17:14–16 210, 217
14:7–24 210, 216, 217 n. 34 19:3–6 25
16:6 200 19:16 70
17 21 23:20 54
24:14 74 23:27 71 n. 20
25:25 85 24:8–11 104
28:18–22 38 n. 34 30:11–16 217
33:20 38 n. 34 32:20 40 n. 40
34:2 200 34:13 217 n. 35, 228 nn. 80–83, 86
34:14 21
42:24 177 Leviticus 212 n. 20
49:3 171 6:20 260
49:6 171 7:26–27 200
49:9 171 10:4–5 212 n. 19
49:18 171 11:25 260
14:8 18, 22, 23 n. 16
Exodus 14:9 18, 22–23, 23 n. 16
1:11 200 17:10–14 200
3 53 21:1–4 212 n. 19
3:2–4 56 21:1–6 214 n. 26
3:5 53 21:1–11 212 n. 20
4:24–26 53–54, 104 21:10–12 212 n. 19
12:1–28 53
12:7 104 Numbers 54, 196, 212 n. 20, 213
12:43–50 53 5 212, 214 n. 26
12:48 21 5:1–4 212, 212 n. 20
14 53 6:6–12 212 n. 19
15 165 6:18 19
15:1–2 171 7:1–89 215 n. 30
15:1–18 169 n. 19, 210, 218 8:7 19, 260
15:3 257 9:6–14 212 n. 19
-289-
Numbers (cont.) 12:23 104

13–14 54 18 154, 158
14:9 118 19:1–22:8 95 n. 35
18:8–32 215 n. 30 20 215
19 212, 212 n. 20, 214 n. 26 20:1–18 95 n. 35
19:1–22 212 20:10–18 210
19:11–20 214 n. 26 20:11–12 55
19:19 260 21 199–200, 202
21:1–24 202 21:10–14 9, 187, 197, 213, 213
21:2–3 188 n. 21, 215
22:23 54 21:12 18
22:31 54 21:12–13 18
23–24 171 21:22–23 17
24:8–9 118 22:5 95 n. 35
25 195 23–24 200
28:1–31 215 n. 30 26:5–10 25
31 192, 196, 198, 212 n. 19, 213–17, 27:1–8 26, 34
213 nn. 21–22, 214 nn. 26–27, 217 28:28–29 16–17
n. 33, 222, 225 n. 65, 226–27, 235 32:20 74 n. 34
31:1–24 9, 187, 195–97 32:42 262
31:8 194
31:9 211 Joshua 4–5, 50–51, 60, 73, 215 n. 30
31:10 194 1:3–6 50
31:13–21 243 n. 1 2 55 n. 18
31:13–24 210–11, 212 n. 19 3–4 53
31:13–54 209, 211 3:1–5:1 52
31:16 195 5 52–53, 56
31:19–24 211, 214 n. 26 5:2–3 54
31:25–47 210, 214 n. 27 5:2–9 52–54
31:48–54 210 5:4 54
31:50 197 5:9 21
33:52 217 n. 35, 228 nn. 80–83, 5:10–12 52–53
228 n. 86 5:13 54
35:33 212 n. 19 5:13–14 54, 56
5:13–15 5, 52–55, 57, 60–61, 60
Deuteronomy 4, 199 n. 31, 79
5:17 95 n. 35 5:14 55
6:20–25 25 5:15 53, 55, 60
7:1–11 210 n. 16 6 38, 40, 52
7:23 71 n. 20 6:1 55, 73 n. 30
7:25 217 n. 35, 228 nn. 80–83, 86 6:2 55, 60
10:16 21 6:2–3 73
11:29–32 26, 34 6:4–5 73
12:1–5 36 6:4–20 70 n. 19
12:15–16 200 6:5 76 n. 42
Index of Ancient Sources 291
6:24 210, 217 3:16 65

7 8, 187 3:21 71 n. 21
7:1 210 3:21–22 65
7:10–26 193 3:27 70
7:25 193 3:28 71 n. 21
8 60 3:30 71 n. 21
8:18 60 4:2 71 n. 21
8:18–26 79 4:7 71 n. 21
8:24–29 210, 215 4:9 71 n. 21
8:26 60 4:14 71 n. 21
8:29 17 4:15 71 n. 20
8:30–35 26, 34 4:16 65
10:8 50 4:21 71 n. 21
10:10 71 n. 20 4:24 71 n. 21
10:10–11 50 5 8, 117 n. 19, 165, 167, 170–71,
10:11 51, 71 n. 20 173–74, 173 n. 32, 181, 192
10:24 17 5:2–5 171
10:27 17, 60 5:2–13 167, 174
10:28 60 5:3 171–73
10:32 60 5:4 172
10:39 60 5:6–9 171
11:6 50 5:7 172–73
11:10 60 5:8b 174
11:12 60 5:9 172–73
11:14 210, 215 5:9a 171
22:7–9 210, 216 5:10 174
24:2–13 25 5:10–13 171
24:7 71 n. 20 5:12 172, 174
24:25–27 26 5:13 172–73
5:13b 171
Judges 5–6, 65, 67 n. 6, 69, 71, 73 n. 30, 5:14 172
112, 118, 215 n. 30 5:14–29 167
1:2 71 n. 21 5:14–30 174
1:4 71 n. 21 5:15 171–73
1:6–7 71 n. 21, 194 5:16 172, 174
1:8 65 5:16–17 174
1:35 71 n. 21 5:21 172–73
2:14–16 71 n. 21 5:21b 171–72, 171 n. 22
2:18 71 n. 21 5:23 167
2:23 71 n. 21 5:24 171 n. 22
3:4 71 n. 21 5:26 71 n. 21
3:4–27 154 5:28–30 210, 216
3:8 71 n. 21 6 66
3:10 71 n. 21 6–7 77
3:15 71 n. 21 6–8 65–67, 80
Judges (cont.) 7:17–18 68, 73, 75

6:1–2 71 n. 21 7:18 73–74, 76
6:1–6 66 n. 2 7:18b 76
6:1–7:15 5 7:18–22 75 n. 37
6:5 66 7:19 68, 73–74
6:9 71 n. 21 17:19b 75
6:11–24 66, 66 n. 3 7:19–20 71 n. 21
6:12 67 7:20 65, 68, 72–76, 75 n. 39, 78–80
6:12–14 56 7:20a 75
6:14 66 7:20b 76
6:15 77 7:21 68–69, 78
6:16 77, 80 7:22 65, 68–69, 72–73, 73 n. 30, 76,
6:21 71 n. 21 78–80, 79 n. 59
6:24–7:20 154 8 70 n. 17
6:25–32 66, 66 n. 3 8:3 71 n. 21
6:33 70 n. 17 8:4 67 n. 5
6:33–35 66, 70 n. 17 8:4–21 66 n. 2, 67, 67 n. 5, 69, 70
6:34 70, 77 n. 17
6:34–35 70 n. 17 8:6–7 71 n. 21
6:36–37 71 n. 21 8:7 118
6:36–40 66, 66 n. 3, 80 8:7b 67 n. 5
7 5, 66, 70, 74, 79 8:10–12 67 n. 5
7:1–8 66, 66 n. 3, 70, 80 8:15 71 n. 21
7:2 70, 71 n. 21 8:16 118
7:3 70 8:18bR* 67 n. 5
7:4 70 8:20 65
7:6–9 71 n. 21 8:22 71 n. 21
7:7 70–71 8:22–35 66 n. 3, 70 n. 17
7:9 71, 77 8:34 71 n. 21
7:9–15 66, 66 n. 3, 76 n. 45, 77, 9 69
78, 80 9:16–17 71 n. 21
7:10 77 9:24 71 n. 21
7:11 71 n. 21 9:29 71 n. 21
7:13 78 9:33 71 n. 21
7:14 65, 76, 78–79 9:34 169
7:14–15 71 9:43 69
7:14–16 71 n. 21 9:45 210 n. 16
7:15 77 9:48 71 n. 21
7:15b 80 9:54 65, 91 n. 20
7:16 66, 68, 72–75 10:7 71 n. 21
17:16b 75 10:12 71 n. 21
7:16–21 66 n. 2, 67, 69, 78 11 8, 187, 190
7:16–22 65–66, 66 n. 1, 67 n. 5, 68– 11:21 71 n. 21
69, 71–72, 75–76, 79 n. 59, 80 11:26 71 n. 21
7:16–23 73 n. 30 11:29–30 192
11:30 71 n. 21 11:11 70
11:32 71 n. 21 13:3 70 n. 19
11:34 169 n. 19 13:9–14 40
11:39 191 13:17–18 70
12:2–3 71 n. 21 14 200–201
13:1 71 n. 21 14:1 91 n. 20
13:5 71 n. 21 14:6 124
13:14–19 151, 153 14:15 71 n. 20
13:17 152 14:20 71 n. 20
13:23 71 n. 21 14:24 200
14:3 124 14:28 200
14:6 71 n. 21 14:31 188
15:12–15 71 n. 21 14:31–35 210, 215
15:16 118 15 8
15:17–18 71 n. 21 15:1–9 210, 215
15:18 124 15:3 187
16:18 71 n. 21 15:15 193
16:23–24 71 n. 21 15:33 187
16:26 71 n. 21 16–17 83, 89, 90 n. 16, 122 n. 31
17:3 71 n. 21 16:1–13 124 n. 42
17:5 71 n. 21 16:10–13b 89
17:12 71 n. 21 16:18b 89
18:10 71 n. 21 17 121–22
18:19 71 n. 21 17:1–58 89
19:27 71 n. 21 17:4 122
20:13 191 17:7 125
20:16 71 n. 21 17:10 122, 126
20:28 71 n. 21 17:11 122–24, 126
21 65, 187, 191–92 17:12–31 122 n. 31
21:1 191 17:16 122–23, 126
21:8–12 192 17:20 76 n. 42
21:10 65 17:23 122, 124, 126
21:16–23 192 17:24 124, 126
21:19–23 192 17:25–26 123
17:26 122, 123 n. 39, 124, 126
1 Samuel 69, 118, 176 n. 39, 180, 217 17:28 124, 126
2:12–17 40 17:33 125–26
3 38 17:34–36 126
4:1–7:2 38, 41 n. 42 17:34–37 125
5:1–8 210, 217 17:36 123–24, 123 n. 39
5:11 71 n. 20 17:38–40 90
7:10 71 n. 20 17:41–47 112
10:10–12 23 n. 15 17:42 90, 94
11:2 16 17:42–43 99, 125
11:7 191 17:42–47 126
1 Samuel (cont.) 1:22 177

17:43 90, 125 1:23 177
17:44 125 1:24 169, 177, 178 n. 44
17:45 123, 123 n. 39 1:25c 179
17:46 16, 125 1:26 175–77, 178 n. 42
17:48–49 126 1:26–27 167, 170, 175, 177–80
17:49 122 n. 31 1:27 178 n. 42, 179
17:51–54 126 2:1–2 151
17:52 76 n. 42 2:5 20
17:54 39 2:5–6 17
17:55–18:5 122 n. 31 2:22 118
18:6 169 n. 19 2:24–32 209
18:6–7 169 2:28 70 n. 19
18:6–9 210, 218 3:14 21 n. 13
18:27 21 3:32–34 170, 177
19:24 23 n. 15 3:33–34 219 n. 43
21:3–5 91 n. 20 4:12 17
21:9 39 5:6 118
23:1–5 210, 215 6:2 38, 38 n. 34
25:22 120 n. 27 6:16 23
27:8–10 215 6:20 23, 23 n. 15, 169
27:8–12 210 8:9–12 210, 217
30 22 9–20 90
30:7–9 151 10 23
30:21–31 210 10:1–5 18
30:21–25 215 10:3 17
31:4 124 10:4–5 23
31:8–10 16, 210, 217 12:30 217 n. 35
31:12 20 13:12 200
31:13 20 13:14 200
31:16 39 18 23
18:1–5 157
2 Samuel 69, 118, 157, 176 n. 39 18:2 70
1 7, 17 n. 4, 165, 169–70, 175, 181 18:33 219 n. 43
1:11–12 17, 177 n. 40 19:1–8 218 n. 38
1:19 167, 169 19:1–18 210
1:19a 167 19:3 218 n. 38
1:19–25 167, 169–70, 175, 177–80 19:4 16 n. 2, 17
1:19–27 167, 170, 175, 178 n. 42, 19:6–9 152, 157
181, 210, 219 19:8 218 n. 38
1:20 124, 169, 177, 178 n. 44 20:8 95 n. 35
1:20–24 179 21:12–14 19
1:21 87, 177 21:21 118
1:21a 167 24:1–17 217
1:21–23 178 n. 44 24:14 175
1 Kings 118 9:15 134

1–2 90 9:15–16 139
2 83 9:22 120
2:5 9 9:24 134
2:5b 90 9:27 134
2:5–6 90, 99 9:31 120
4:7 140 9:33 134, 260
4:26–27 140 9:33–37 121
7:2 38 n. 34 14:8–10 119
8:6–9 37 14:10 16 n. 2
10:28 140–41 17 40
12:22–24 151 18–20 49
12:26–33 157 18:4 121
16:15 120, 120 n. 29 18:16 121
17:12 74 18:21 121, 142
18:27 120 18:23 140
18:34 74 18:23–24 121, 141
19:1–2 120 18:27 121
19:3 120 18:28–35 49
20 158 19:14–16 38
20:1–43 154 19:22–23 121
20:10–11 118 12:28 121
20:20 132 19:35–37 121
20:32–34 194 23:16 20, 212 n. 19
21:19 122 n. 31 23:18 20
21:19–24 120 24 40
22 152, 154 25:7 16
22:1–38 154, 158
22:6 51 Isaiah 261 n. 73
22:10 157 n. 27 2:7 138
22:10–12 151, 154 5:28 136
22:19–25 119 7:3–4 119 n. 24
22:34–35 134 7:4 119
22:38 254 n. 43 9:1–7 85 n. 5
9:5 86 n. 5
2 Kings 118 13:18 91 n. 20
2:23–24 119 14:3–20 210, 220
3:4–27 158 14:3–23 117
3:22–23 99 14:19 134
3:27 40 15–16 210, 220
6:8–23 158 20:3–4 16
6:17 132 21:5 87
7:6–7 114 n. 13 22:7 138
8:28 139 25:6 210, 218
9:10 120 30:15 137
Isaiah (cont.) 17:16 141

31:1 133, 142 18:7 17
31:3 142 18:16 17
34:5–6 262 23 83
40–56 59 23:6 132
40:9–10 169 23:11–27 88
47:3 16 n. 3 23:12 88
52:1 21 23:14 88
52:15 260 n. 61 23:14–15 88
58:7 17 26:11 134
59:1–3 212 n. 19 27:16 141
59:3 259 n. 58, 261 30 59
62:6 83 30:20–21 59
63 83 30:20–26 59
63:1 83, 85 30:22–26 59
63:1–3 99 32:1–16 210, 220
63:1–6 10, 83–85, 87, 94–95, 244, 39:11–12 209
257–59, 259 n. 59, 262–63 39:11–16 212 n. 19
63:2 85 43:7–9 212 n. 19
63:2–3 85 44:7 21
63:3 85, 259 n. 58, 260, 262 44:9 21
63:3–6 85 44:25–27 212 n. 19
63:5 85
63:6 85, 99 Hosea
65:4 212 n. 19 14:3 137
Jeremiah Joel
2:21 219 n. 43 1:2–2:17 210, 220
2:34 212 n. 19 1:6–8 220
4:4 21
4:19 70 n. 19 Amos
8:1–2 19 2:2 70 n. 19
9:18 16 n. 2, 17, 219 n. 43 3:6 70 n. 19
19 154 4:10 137
22:14 88 n. 12
22:19 17 Micah
27:17–20 51 2:4 144
28 154 5:10 137
46:10 259, 262
48 210, 220 Nahum
48:33 259 2 83
2:3b 87
Ezekiel 2:3–4 86, 99
7:18 16 n. 2, 17 3:1 99
9:6 212 n. 19 3:2–3 136
Habakkuk 68:21–27 210, 218

1:8 136–37 68:22–23 90, 262 n. 74
68:23 219
Zephaniah 68:24 254 n. 43
1:16 70 n. 19 68:25–26 169
3:1 259 n. 58 69:18 176
6:26 169 n. 19
Haggai 18 219–20 n. 44
2:10–19 212 n. 19 20 219–20 n. 44
74 210, 219
Zechariah 76:6 133
1:8 86 n. 8 79 210, 219
6:2 86 n. 8 80 179 n. 48, 210, 219
9 83, 201–202 n. 21 89 210, 219
9:15 86, 86 n. 6 91:7 74 n. 34
12:4 133 102:3 176
106:38–39 212 n. 19
Malachi 108:8–9 117
1:7 259 n. 58 144 219–20 n. 44
1:12 259 n. 58
Job 132
Psalms 117, 220 22:6 17
2:9 151, 154 39 132 n. 3
20:7 133 39:21–22 132
31:10 176 41:14a 171 n. 22
33:17 133
39 179 n. 48 Proverbs
42–43 179, 179 n. 48 18:24 175 n. 36
44 210, 219 30:10–31 169 n. 18
45 94 31:10 169 n. 18
46 179 n. 48
49 179 n. 48 Song of Songs 88
53:6 16 n. 2, 17 1:9 88
56 179 n. 48 3:4 89 n. 15
57 179 n. 48 3:6–11 94
58:10 90, 219 3:7–8 88–89
58:11 254 n. 43 3:8 89 n. 15
59 177 n. 48 4:4 88
59:17 176 5 83
60 210, 219 5:10 88–89, 94
66:14 176 6:4 88, 89 n. 15
67 179 n. 48 6:10 89 n. 15
68 170 6:13 89 n. 15
68:11–14 210, 216 7:8 89 n. 15
68:12–13 169 8:8–11 89 n. 15
Song of Songs (cont.) 15:11 210, 217

8:11 89 n. 15 20:21–22 76 n. 42
20:21–23 75 n. 37
Lamentations 220, 220 n. 45, 230, 20:24–30 210, 218
259 n. 58 20:27–28 218
1:8 16, 16 n. 3 28:8–15 210, 215
1:15 259 35:23–24 135
1:20 176 35:25 170 n. 20
4 83, 90 n. 16
4:4 259 n. 58 Ancient Near Eastern Texts
4:7–9 90–91
4:14 212 n. 19, 261 Amarna Letter 72 124 n. 43
4:15 261 Aqhatu Legend 83, 92–95, 92 n. 24, 103
5 210, 220 Ashurbanipal 5, 56–57, 223, 223 n. 55,
227, 227 n. 75, 258 n. 57
Esther Ashurnasirpal II 32, 32 n. 17,
9:16–17 210, 218 37–38 n. 33, 39, 223, 223 n. 55, 228 n.
86, 249, 249 n. 27
Daniel Assyrian Horse Lists 133 n. 7
1:1–2 210. 217 Assyrian Royal Inscriptions 223, 228,
1:8 259 n. 58 235 n. 115, 243 n. 1
5:2–3 210, 217 Atrahasis 245–46, 245 n. 5, 246 n. 6
Azatiwada 37 n. 33
Ezra Baal Cycle 74 n. 34, 222 n. 50, 252–54,
2:62 259 n. 58 252 n. 41, 253–54 n. 43, 254 n. 44
Balawat Gate 141 n. 38, 143 n. 48
Nehemiah 119 Beth-Shean Stele 57, 115
3:35 119 Broken Obelisk 58
3:36 119 Calendar of Numa 224 n. 59
4:10 91 n. 20 Dadusha Stele 33 n. 21
7:64 259 n. 58 The Descent of Ishtar 245 n. 4
13:9 259 n. 58 Enuma Elish 114, 251, 251 nn. 35–36,
259 n. 59
1 Chronicles 54 Eridu Lament 230 n. 96
18:7–8 210 Esarhaddon 37, 40 n. 40, 50, 116, 226,
18:10–11 210 226 n. 72, 228
20:5 122 n. 31 First Soldiers’ Oath 83, 91–92, 91 n. 21,
21:13 175 92 nn. 22–23, 94, 99
21:16 54 Gilgamesh Epic 176–77, 223, 250, 250 n.
26:26–28 210, 217 29, 250 n. 31, 251–52 n. 38, 245 n. 5
Great Melos Amphora 144 n. 50
2 Chronicles 54 Hymn to Inanna 245
13:12 70 n. 19 Idrimi 226, 226 n. 71
13:14 70 n. 19 Israel Stele 57
13:15 75 n. 37 Karnak Inscription 57
Karnak Relief 143 n. 45 Victory Monument of Tiglath-pileser III

Kilamuwa Stela 37 n. 33 33
Kirta Epic 83, 93–94, 93 n. 30, 94 nn. Victory Stele of King Piye 115, 243 n. 1
31–32 Yahdun-Lim 58, 223, 249, 249 n. 26, 249
Lament of Anat over Aqhat 169, 229 n. 26
Laments of El and Anat over Baal 169, Zakkur Stela 37 n. 33, 228
229
Lamentation over the Destruction of Deuterocanonical Books
Sumer and Ur 230 n. 96
Lamentation over the Destruction of
Ur 230 n. 96 1 Maccabees
Lugal-e 247, 247 n. 14 6:39 87
Mari Letter 226 n. 70
Mesha 37 n. 33, 188, 273 2 Maccabees
Mesopotamian City Laments 229 8:21–29 216 n. 32
Myth of Nergal and Ereshkigal 245 n. 4 15:15 79
Myth of Telipinu 244 n. 3
Naram-Sin 249, 249 n. 25 Dead Sea Scrolls
Nimrud Prism 132
Nippur Lament 230 n. 96 1QIsaª 260, 261 n. 68
“The Ox and the Horse” 132 n. 4 1QIsab 260, 261 n. 68
Ramses II 115, 131 n. 1, 143 n. 45
Ramses III 136 n. 19 Greek and Latin Authors
Rameseum Relief 143 n. 45
The Return of Ninurta to Nipru 247–48 Aelian, On Animals
The Ritual Between the Pieces 243 n. 1 16.25 136 n. 19
Sargon II 50, 114, 114 n. 13, 132, 223,
223 n. 55, 249, 249 n. 23 Homer, Iliad 122
Sefire Treaty Stelae 37, 37 n. 32 1.1 173 n. 29
Sennacherib 20, 114–15, 142 2.484–493 173
Shalmaneser III 223, 223 n. 55, 228 2.761 173
n. 86, 249–50, 250 n. 28 4.127 174
Sinuhe Narrative 114 4.146 174
Stele of Adad-nirari III 32 6.263–268 243 n. 1
Stele of the Vultures 28–30, 30 nn. 7.104 174
10–11, 32, 39, 41 n. 42 8.273–274 174
Sumerian Standard of Ur 143 9 170
Tel Dan Inscription 4, 32 n. 18, 36–37, 10.460 227 n. 78
36 n. 30, 134 n. 12, 138 11.218 173
Tell al Rimah Stele 32 n. 19 12.176 173
Terqa Letter 58 13.603 174
Thutmose 114 16.20 174
Tiglath-pileser I 33, 34 n. 22 16.584 174
Uruk Lament 230 n. 96 16.692–693 174
16.744 174
Homer, Iliad (cont.) Tacitus, Germania 255 n. 50

16.754 174
16.787 174 Virgil, Aeneid
16.812 174 11.4–11 228–29 n. 88
16.843 172 n. 26, 174
17.679 174 Rabbinic and Medieval Jewish Texts
17.702 174
19 177 b. Nazir 59a 95 n. 35
19.315–337 178
22.249–272 116 Tg. Onkelos 95 n. 35
22.416 116
23.19–23 179 n. 45 Other Ancient Literature
23.43–53 179 n. 45
23.54–107 179 n. 45 Canon of Basil the Great 225, 226 n. 66
23.391 179 n. 45
23.600 174 Penitential of Carlo Borromeo 226 n. 68
Homer, Odyssey Penitential of Theodore of Tarsus 226,

1.1 173 226 n. 67
8.499–534 177 n. 40
Táin 225
Index of Modern Authors
Abegg, Martin G. 261 n. 68 Bell, Catherine 27 n. 3, 41 n. 41, 274,

Ackerman, Susan 8, 169 n. 18, 176, 274 nn. 6–7, 277, 277 n. 13, 279
176 n. 37, 176–77 n. 39, 177 n. 40 Bellinger, W. H., Jr. 212 n. 17
Aldama, Arturo J. 278 n. 14 Benardete, Seth 174 n. 33
Alter, Robert 123–24, 123 nn. 39–40, Ben-Dov, Rachel 36 n. 31
124 nn. 44–45 Bergmann, Claudia 115, 115 n. 14
Ames, Frank Ritchel 1 n. 1, 5–6, 84 Berlin, Adele 171 n. 22
n. 2, 92 n. 25, 95 n. 35, 207 n. 7, 216 n. Berlin, Brent 83 n. 1
32, 274, 278 Berman, Joshua 198, 198 n. 17
Amit, Yairah 71, 71 n. 22, 172 n. 25 Bidmead, Julye 246 n. 9
Anderson, Gary A. 17 n. 4 Bieberstein, Klaus 52 n. 7, 53 n. 12
Anderson, Jeff S. 117 n. 18 Bienkowski, Piotr 249 n. 25
André, G. 260 n. 64 Biran, Avraham 36 nn. 30–31
Anthony, David W. 136–36 n. 16 Black, Jeremy A. 247 nn. 14–15, 248
Arnold, Philip P. 98, 98 n. 48 n. 17
Ashley, Timothy R. 212 nn. 17–18, Block, Daniel Isaac 69 n. 12, 69
215 n. 29, 216 n. 33 n. 14, 69 n. 16, 74 n. 32, 77 n. 46, 78 n.
Aster, Shawn Z. 139 n. 28 50, 79 n. 53
Avalos, Hector 278 n. 16 Blum, Erhard 51 n. 6, 54 n. 14
Avigad, Nahman 153 n. 17, 154 n. 20 Bly, Robert 225 n. 64, 231 n. 98, 232 n.
Avramescu, S. 102 n. 61 101
Backer, Fabrice de 135 n. 15 Boivin, Nicole 101 n. 53
Bahrani, Zainab 29 n. 9, 205 n. 3, 207 n. 7, Borger, Rykle 19 n. 9
221 n. 46, 223 n. 55, 224 n. 59, 227 n. Bourdieu, Pierre 274, 279, 279 n. 17
79, 231, 231 n. 100, 278 n. 14 Bourgois, Philippe 278 n. 14
Baldwin, Joyce G. 123, 123 n. 40 Breasted, James Henry 57 n. 21
Barmash, Pamela 245 n. 5 Bremmer, Jan N. 113, 113 n. 6
Barthélemy, Dominique 122 n. 31 Brenner, Athalya 83 n. 1, 169 n. 19,
Barton, Robert A. 102 n. 61 170 n. 20, 173 n. 27, 218 n. 37
Beck, Deborah 172 n. 26 Brettler, Marc Z. 54 n. 13
Becker, Uwe 74 nn. 35–36, 75, 75 n.. Briend, Jacques 55 n. 17
38–41, 79 n. 59 Brock, Rita Nakashima 205 n. 2,
Becking, Bob 133 n. 7 232, 232 n. 104, 233 nn. 106–107, 233
Beek, Martinus A. 132 n. 5 n. 109–12, 234 n. 14, 237 n. 120
-301-
Budd, Philip J. 212 n. 17, 213 n. 21, Crowfoot, Grace M. 154 n. 19

215 n. 29, 216–17 n. 33 Crowfoot, John W. 154 n. 19
Burger, Ronna 174 n. 33 Cruse, D. Alan 96 n. 40
Burkert, Walter 190 n. 9, 227 n. 77, Dalby, Andrew 179 n. 45
229 n. 89, 229 n. 91 Dalley, Stephanie 132–33 n. 7, 137 n.
Burns, Rita J. 169 n. 19 20, 141 n. 40, 245 n. 4
Cage, John 83 n. 1 Das, Veena 277–78 n. 14, 279, 279 nn.
Calefato, Patrizia 95 n. 34 17–18
Cameracanna, Emanuela 98 n. 45 Davis, Fred 103 n. 63
Cantrell, Deborah O’Daniel 6, 132 n. Day, Peggy L. 189, 190 n. 7
2, 134 n. 10, 135 n. 15, 138 nn. 24–25, De Vries, Simon J. 122, 122 n. 32
139 n. 31, 140 nn. 35–36 Dearman, Andrew 188 n. 3
Carmichael, Calum 199, 199 n. 20 Debord, Guy 172–73 n. 27
Carr, David McLain 166–67, 166 nn. Dedrick, Don 83 n. 1
6–9, 167 n. 13 Detienne, Marcel 191 n. 10
Casalis, E. 243 n. 1 Dietrich, Manfried 244 n. 3
Cathcart, Kevin J. 87 n. 10 Dijk, Jan van 150 n. 2, 223 n. 54, 251
Černỳ, J. 57 n. 22 n. 33
Chalk, Frank 281 n. 23 Dijk-Hemmes, Fokkelien van 169 n.
Chalmer, Seth 169 n. 19 19, 170 n. 20, 173 n. 27, 218 n. 37, 247
Chapman, Cynthia R. 88 n. 13, 207 nn. 14–15
n. 7 Dijkstra, Meindert 93 n. 29
Charles, J. Daryl 86 n. 7 Dixon, Nicholas 113, 113 n. 11, 127
Chomsky, Noam 96 n. 40 Dobbs-Allsopp, F. W. 219 n. 42, 220,
Cipin, Ian 139 n. 27 220 n. 45, 229 n. 94, 230 n. 95
Civil, Miguel 248 n. 20 Dotham, Trude 32 n. 18
Clausewitz, Carl von 30 n. 9, 206, 206 Douglas, Mary 193 n. 11, 199, 199 n.
n. 5 18, 256 n. 52, 273
Clifford, Richard J. 169 n. 18, 175 n. 36 Downes, Jeremy M. 170 n. 20
Coats, George W. 124 n. 43 Dozeman, Thomas B. 212 n. 17, 212 n.
Coben, Lawrence S. 175 n. 34, 181 n. 52 19, 214 n. 27, 215 nn. 28–29, 217 n. 33
Cohen, Abner 96 n. 36 Drews, Robert 135 n. 15
Collins, Billie Jean 91 n. 21, 92 nn. Driel, Govert van 26 n. 2
22–23, 243 n. 1 Drinkard, Joel 26 n. 2
Collins, John J. 207 n. 10 Dunham, Dows 141 n. 41
Cooke, S. M. 213–14 n. 24 Durand, Jean-Marie 58, 58 nn. 24–26
Cooper, Jerrold S. 28 n. 4, 29 n. 6 Eaton, Margaret R. 112, 112 n. 4, 114,
Craigie, Peter C. 172 n. 23, 207 n. 10, 114 n. 12, 116 n. 15
276 n. 9 Ebeling, Jennie 139 n. 27
Croft, William 96 n. 40 Edelman, Diana Vikander 178 n. 42,
Cross, Frank Moore 25 n. 1, 179, 179 n. 49
165, 165 nn. 1–2, 169 n. 19, 172 n. 22, Elat, Moshe 150 n. 5
179 n. 46, 257 n. 55 Elgavish, David 215 n. 31, 226 n. 71
Crouch, Carly L. 207 n. 7, 218 n. 39, 235 Elliot, Andrew J. 101, 101 n. 58, 102 nn.
n. 115 59–60
Index of Modern Authors 303
Emmorey, Karen 97 n. 41 Gilders, William K. 104 n. 65, 209 n. 15,

Evans, Vyvyan 97 n. 42 271, 272 n. 3, 274 n. 7
Fadiman, Jeffrey A. 225 n. 63 Girard, René 190–91 n. 9
Fallaize, E. N. 213 n. 24 Gitin, Seymour 32 n. 18
Farmer, Paul 280 n. 19 Goetze, Albrecht 223 n. 55, 248 n. 19
Farnell, Lewis R. 243 n. 1, 255 n. 50 Gooding, David W. 122 n. 31
Feder, Yitzhaq 230 n. 97 Goody, Jack 273–74
Feldman, Emmanuel 213 n. 23, 214 Gordon, Cyrus H. 95 n. 35, 169 n. 15,
n. 25 261 n. 72
Feliu, Lluís 58 n. 27 Gordon, Robert P. 123, 123 n. 40
Fewell, Danna Nolan 121 n. 30 Görg, Manfred 73 n. 31
Finkelstein, Israel 139 n. 31 Gorman, Frank H., Jr. 271, 271–72 n. 3
Firth, David G. 122, 123 n. 36, 125– Gottwald, Norman K. 133 n. 9, 199, 199
26 n. 46 nn. 18–19
Firth, Raymond 104 n. 67 Gray, George Buchanan 212 nn. 17–18,
Fischer, Robert S. 102 n. 60 216–17 n. 33, 222 n. 49
Fisher, Loren R. 244 n. 3 Grayson, A. Kirk 20 n. 12, 224 n. 61,
Flanagan, James W. 90 n. 17 249 n. 27, 250 n. 28
Flint, Peter W. 261 n. 68 Greene, Thomas M. 169, 169 nn. 16–17,
Foster, Benjamin R. 176 n. 38, 180 n. 174
51, 246 n. 6, 251 n. 37 Greenstein, Edward L. 93 n. 30, 94 nn.
Foucalt, Michel 279 31–32, 226 n. 71
Fowler, W. Warde 224 n. 59 Gries, Stefan Thomas 96 n. 40
Franke, John R. 72 n. 27 Groß, Walter 66 n. 2, 67 n. 5, 69 n.
Franklin, Norma 138 n. 26, 139 n. 27, 16, 74 n. 33, 76 n. 45, 78 n. 50
144 n. 49 Grossman, Dave 233 n. 112
Frayne, Douglas 249 nn. 23–26 Grossfeld, B. 95 n. 35
Frazer, James 276 Güterbock, Hans G. 244 n. 3
Freedman, David Noel 165, 165 n. 1, Gwynne, S. C. 136 n. 18
165–66 n. 4, 169 n. 19, 179 n. 46 Hagemann, Norbert 102 n. 61
Fretheim, Terence 256, 256 n. 53 Hahlen, Mark Allen 87 n. 9
Freud, Sigmund 205, 205 n. 3 Hallo, William W. 26 n. 2
Friedrich, Jannes 150 n. 4 Halpern, Baruch 137–38 n. 21
Fritz, Volkmar 55 n. 15 Harlé, Paul 171 n. 22
Frye, Northrop 95–96 Harris, Rivkah 176 n. 38
Frymer-Kensky, Tikva 176, 176 n. 38 Hastings, James 213–14 n. 24
Fuchs, Andreas 141 n. 39 Healy, Mark 143 n. 45
Gabriel, Richard A. 135 n. 13 Heidorn, Lisa A. 141 n. 38
Galtung, Johan 280 n. 19 Herr, Larry G. 119, 119 n. 22
Geertz,Clifford 189, 189 n. 5, 273 Hertzberg, Hans Wilhelm 123, 123
Geller, Stephen A. 201, 201 n. 23 n. 37, 123 n. 40
Geyer, John B. 94 n. 33 Hess, Richard S. 281 n. 22
George, Andrew R. 250 nn. 30–31 Hexter, Ralph 173, 173 n. 28
George, Mark K. 123, 123 nn. 38–39 Hill, Russell A. 102 n. 61
Hinton, Timothy J. 135 n. 14 Kirk-Duggan, Cheryl A. 256, 256 n. 54

Hobbs, T. R. 207 n. 7, 276 n. 9 Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara 199
Hoffner, Harry A., Jr. 244 n. 3, 245–46 Kitchen, Kenneth A. 57 n. 23
n. 3 Klein, Ralph W. 122–23, 122–23 n. 36,
Holladay, John S., Jr. 139 n. 30 123 n. 41
Holloway, Steven W. 150 n. 6 Kleinman, Arthur 279, 279 nn. 17–18
Hubert, Henri 189, 189 n. 6 Kletter, Raz 169 n. 19
Hundley, Michael 35 n. 25 Klingbeil, Gerald A. 271, 272 n. 3,
Hurrowitz, Victor A. 35 n. 25, 37, 37 274 n. 7
n. 33 Knight, Douglas A. 133 n. 8
Hyland, Ann 136 n. 17 Konstan, David 197 n. 15, 201, 201
Iadicola, Peter 280 n. 19 n. 22
Ilie, Andrei 102, 102 n. 62 Kottje, Raymund 225 n. 65
Inomata, Takeski 175 n. 34, 181 n. 52 Kotzé, Gideon R. 91 n. 20
Ioan, S. 102 n. 61 Kravitz, Kathryn Frakes 217 n. 35, 227
Jacob, Edmond 55 n. 17 n. 79, 228 nn. 80–83, 228 n. 86, 229 n.
Jacobsen, Thorkild 245 n. 4, 247–48, 89, 229 n. 92
247 n. 14, 247 n. 16, 248 n. 22 Kubāč, Vladimír 90 n. 19
Janzen, J. Gerald 169 n. 19 Kvasnica, Brian 216 n. 32, 226 n. 71,
Jenson, Philip P. 271, 272 n. 3 227 n. 78
Jonassohn, Kurt 281 n. 23 Laffin, John 67, 67 nn. 8–9
Jones, Adam 281 n. 23 Lakoff, George 96 n. 40
Joüon, Paul 261 n. 71 Lamb, David T. 6, 118 n. 20, 119 n. 23,
Kang, Sa-Moon 71 n. 20, 77 nn. 48– 120 n. 25
49, 207 n. 8, 207 n. 10, 208 n. 13, 221, Lambek, Michael 277, 277 n. 12
222 nn. 47–49, 223 n. 52, 226 n. 70, Lambert, Wilfred G. 132 n. 4, 245 n. 5,
226 n. 72, 227 nn. 74–76, 228 nn. 246, 246 n. 8
84–85, 228 n. 87, 229 n. 90, 249 n. 26, Leach, Edmund 100, 100 n. 52
271, 271 n. 1 Leißing, Jan 102 n. 61
Kant, Immanuel 205 n. 3 Lemos, T. M. 10, 219 n. 41, 273 n. 5, 276
Karahashi, Fumi 247 n. 13 n. 10, 281 n. 23
Kaufman, Stephen A. 95 n. 35 Lettini, Gabriella 205 n. 2, 232–
Kay, Paul 83 n. 1 33, 232 n. 104, 233 nn. 106–107, 233
Kazen, Thomas 278, 278 n. 15 nn. 109–12, 234 n. 14, 237 n. 120
Keel, Othmar 57, 57 n. 20, 60 n. Levin, Christoph 171 n. 22
31, 79, 79 nn. 54–57, 150 n. 2, 153 nn. Levine, Baruch A. 172 n. 24
14–17, 156, 157 n. 25 Levinson, Bernard M. 37 n. 32
Kelle, Brad E. 1 n. 1, 9, 134 nn. 11– Levtow, Nathaniel B. 4, 31 n. 15, 32
12, 143 n. 48, 167 n. 14, 207 n. 7, 208 n. 18, 36 n. 27, 36 n. 29, 37 n. 32, 39 n.
n. 14, 216 n. 32, 232 n. 103, 272 n. 4, 39, 42 n. 43, 274
274–75 Lichtheim, Miriam 131 n. 1, 243 n. 1,
Kelso, James 74–75, 74 n. 34 262 n. 74
Kertzer, David I. 96, 96 nn. 38–39 Linafelt, Todd 175, 175 n. 35
Kienast, Burkhart 249 n. 23 Lincoln, Bruce 281 n. 22
Kiernan, Ben 281 n. 23 Lind, Millard C. 276 n. 9
Litz, Brett T. 232 n. 103, 232 n. 105, 233 Milgrom, Jacob 212–13 n. 20, 259 n.
n. 108 60, 260, 260 nn. 61–62, 260 n. 63, 260
Liverani, Mario 139 n. 30 nn. 65–66
Lock, Margaret 279, 279 nn. 17–18 Millard, Alan R. 26 n. 2, 245 n. 5, 246,
LoConto, Daivd G. 112 n. 3, 113 n. 9, 246 n. 8, 249 n. 25
120, 120 n. 28 Miller, Geoffrey David 6, 112, 112 n. 5
Lohfink, Norbert 271, 271 n. 1 Miller, Patrick D., Jr. 257, 257 nn.
Longman, Tremper, III 207 n. 7, 208 n. 55–56
12, 218 n. 36 Mobley, Gregory 67 n. 6, 69 n. 15, 70
Loretz, Oswald 244 n. 3 nn. 17–18, 75 n. 41
Lynch, Matthew J. 85 n. 4 Moor, Johannes C. de 93 nn. 28–29,
Macgregor, Sherry Lou 170 n. 20, 218 165, 165 n. 3 , 244 n. 3
n. 37 Moore, George F. 72, 72 n. 26, 73 n. 30,
Magen, Ursula 150 n. 3 76, 76 n. 44
Machinist, Peter 173, 173 n. 30 Moore, Megan Bishop 134 n. 12, 167 n.
Maier, Markus A. 101, 101 n. 58, 102 14, 272 n. 4
n. 59 Moran, William L. 245 n. 5, 246, 246
Malamat, Abraham 67, 67 n. 7, 223 n. nn. 9–10, 247 n. 12
52, 223 n. 55, 243 n. 1, 244 n. 23, 249 Morgenstern, Julian 84 n. 3
nn. 26–27, 250 nn. 28–29, 251 n. 34 Morkot, Robert G. 141 n. 37
Marcus, David 226 n. 71 Morrow, William S. 219 n. 42, 236
Marlantes, Karl 225 n. 64, 233 n. 111, n. 119
235 nn. 116–17, 235–36 n. 118 Moss, Candida R. 278 n. 16
Martens, Elmer A. 281 n. 22 Moyer, James C. 243 n. 1, 244 n. 3,
Marti, Lionel 50 n. 2 252 n. 39
Masliyah, Sadok 113, 113 n. 7 Muraoka, T. 261 n. 71
Masson, Olivier 243 n. 1 Murphy, Kelly 5
Matthews, Victor H. 66, 66 n. 4, 74 n. Na’aman, Nadav 51 n. 6, 142 n. 44
32, 78 n. 50, 79 n. 58 Nagy, Gregory 173, 173 n. 29, 173 n. 31
Maul, Stefan M. 151 nn. 9–10 Nardelli, Jean-Fabrice 176 n. 37
Mauss, Marcel 189, 189 n. 6, 276 Naveh, Joseph 32 n. 18, 36 nn. 30–31
Mayer, Walter 150 n. 5 Neitz, Jay 100 n. 51
McCarter, P. Kyle, Jr. 21 n. 13, 23 n. 15, Neitz, Maureen 100 n. 51
38 n. 34, 122–23, 122 n. 36, 123 n. 40 Nelson, Richard D. 55, 55 n. 16
McCarthy, Dennis J. 104 n. 65 Niditch, Susan 8–9, 66 n. 2, 73 n. 31, 86
McCutcheon, Russell 276 n. 8 n. 6, 173, 173 n. 30, 178 n. 41, 189 n. 4,
McGuire, Meredith B. 193 n. 11, 196 194 n. 12, 195 n. 13, 198 n. 16, 207 n.
n. 14 7, 207 n. 10, 212 n. 20, 213 nn. 21–22,
Meier, Brian P. 102 n. 60 214 n. 26, 271, 271 n. 1, 274–75
Melcher, Sarah J. 278 n. 16 Niehr, H. 16 n. 3
Merrell, Floyd 98 n. 44 Nissinen, Martti 50 n. 4, 56 n. 19
Merton, Robert K. 96 n. 37 Noth, Martin 53 n. 11, 212, 212 nn.
Metz, Karen S. 135 n. 13 17–18, 214 n. 27, 216 n. 33
Meyers, Carol L. 8, 38 n. 34, 88, 88 Notley, R. Steven 138 n. 22, 142 nn.
n. 14, 169 nn. 18–19, 218 n. 37 42–43
Novotny, Jamie 20 n. 12 Quack, Johannes 274 n. 6

O’Connell, Robert H. 171 n. 21 Raabe, Paul R. 179 nn. 47–48
O’Conner, Kathleen M. 232 n. 103 Rad, Gerhard von 76, 76 n. 42, 158,
Oded, Bustenay 223 n. 55, 235 n. 115 206–208, 206 n. 6, 207 n. 9, 208 n. 11,
Odell, David 132 n. 3 271, 271 n. 1, 276 n. 9
Oden, Thomas C. 72 n. 27 Rahlfs, Alfred 261–62 n. 73
Ollenburger, Ben C. 256 n. 52 Rainey, Anson F. 138 n. 22, 142 nn.
Olmo Lete, Gregorio del 254 n. 47, 42–43
255 n. 51 Reid, Daniel G. 207 n. 7, 208 n. 12
Olson, Dennis 77, 77 n. 47 Rendsburg, Gary A. 120, 120 n. 26
Olyan, Saul M. 3–4, 15 n. 1, 17 n. 4, Richter, Sandra L. 26 n. 2, 33 n. 20,
18 n. 6, 20 nn. 10–11, 22 n. 14, 177 n. 34–35, 34 nn. 23–24, 35 nn. 25–26, 36,
39, 178 n. 43, 198, 198 n. 16, 201–202 36 nn. 28–29, 37, 41, 41 n. 41
n. 21, 202 n. 24, 209 n. 15, 271, 272 n. Riley, Jason A. 9–10, 222 n. 50
4, 274, 274 n. 7, 278 n. 16 Roebroeks, Wil 101 n. 56
Openheim, A. Leo 246 n. 9, 244 n. 23 Rofé, Alexander 154 n. 21, 166, 166 n. 5
Ornan, Tallay 59 n. 28 Römer, Thomas C. 5, 54 n. 13
Otto, Eckhart 53 n. 13, 207 n. 7, 221 n. 46 Rookes, Paul 100 n. 50
Otto, Susanne 154 n. 21 Roqueplo, Thérèse 171 n. 22
Page, Stephanie 32 n. 19 Roth, Tori J. 112 n. 3, 113 n. 9, 120,
Palva, Heikki 180 n. 50 120 n. 28
Pardee, Dennis 93 n. 28, 253 n. 43, Roux, Jean-Paul 104 n. 64
254, 254 nn.44–46, 254 n. 48, 255 nn. Rubin, Gayle 190, 190 n. 8
49–50 Russell, John M. 144 n. 49
Parke, Herbert W. 224 n. 57 Ryken, Leland 218 n. 36
Parker, Robert 222–23 n. 51, 224 n. 57 Saarelainen, Katri 169 n. 19
Parker, Simon B. 92 n. 24, 92 nn. 26–27, Sadowski, Piotr 101 n. 54
93 n. 30, 94 nn. 31–32 Sallaberger, Walther 248 nn. 20–21
Parpola, Simo 150 n. 6 Sanders, Seth L. 33 n. 21, 38, 38 n. 35,
Partridge, Robert P. 143 n. 45 39 n. 36
Payen, Vincent 102 n. 60 Sandulache, M. 102 n. 61
Paz, Sarit 8, 169 n. 19 Sanmartín, Joaquín 244 n. 3
Peirce, Charles S. 98–99, 99 n. 49 Sass, Benjamin 153 n. 17, 154 n. 20, 156
Perniss, Pamela 98 n. 45 Sax, William S. 274 n. 6
Petersen, David L. 86–87 n. 8 Scheper-Hughes, Nancy 278 n. 14,
Piepkorn, Arthur C. 258 n. 57 280 n. 19
Pitard, Wayne T. 252 n. 41, 253 n. 43, Schipper, Jeremy 278 n. 16
262, 262 n. 75 Schlesinger, H. J. 188, 188 n. 2
Poethig, Eunice B. 8, 169 n. 18, 218 Schmid, Konrad 166, 166 n. 10
n. 37 Schmitt, Rüdiger 7, 149 n. 1, 150 n. 7,
Posener, G. 150 n. 2 151 n. 8, 151 n. 11, 152 nn. 12–13, 154
Postgate, John N. 133 n. 7 n. 18, 154 n. 22, 157 nn. 23–24, 158
Pritchett, W. Kendrick 223 n. 56, 224 n. nn. 28–29, 159 n. 30
58, 227 n. 73, 227 nn. 77–78, 228–29 Schneider, Tammi 77, 77 n. 46
n. 88, 229 n. 91 Schniedewind, William M. 138 n. 23
Schoske, Sylvia 150 n. 2 Taub, Sarah F. 96–98, 97 n. 41, 98 nn.

Scurlock, JoAnn 37 n. 32 45–47
Sekunda, Nicholas 144 n. 50 Thomas, D. Winter 113, 113 n. 8
Setchell, J. M. 102 n. 59 Thompson, Robin L. 98 n. 45
Shay, Jonathan 8, 8 n. 2, 187 n. Tick, Edward 232 n. 104, 233 n. 112
1, 205 n. 1, 232 n. 105, 233, 233 n. 109, Tigay, Jeffrey H. 245 n. 5, 252 n. 38
233 nn. 111–12, 234 nn. 113–14, 235 Trible, Phyllis 169 n. 19
nn. 117–18 Trimm, Charles 271, 271 n. 2
Shupe, Anson 280 n. 19 Turner, Victor W. 95–96 n. 36, 97–98
Simons, Herbert D. 113, 113 n. 10 n. 43, 157 n. 26, 273
Simpson, Cuthbert A. 55 n. 15 Uehlinger, Christoph 153 n. 17, 156,
Ska, Jean Louis 65–66 n. 1 157 n. 25
Slanski, Kathryn E. 30 n. 10 Ulrich, Eugene Charles 261 n. 68
Slingerland, Edward 280 n. 20 Ussishkin, David 138 n. 26, 140 nn.
Smend, Rudolph 207 n. 10 32–34
Smith, Adam T. 173–73 n. 27 Van Creveld, Martin 206 nn. 4–5,
Smith, Contra 253 n. 43, 254 n. 44, 255 224 n. 58, 224 n. 60, 225 n. 62, 227 n.
nn. 49–50 73, 228–29 n. 88, 229 n. 92, 231 n, 99,
Smith, Mark S. 7–8, 39, 39 n. 37, 40 n. 232 n. 102, 233 n. 111
40, 74 n. 34, 166, 166 n. 11, 173–74 n. Van Seters, John 50, 50 n. 3
32, 218 n. 37, 244 n. 3, 252 n. 41, 257 Vaux, Roland de 116 nn. 15–16, 213
n. 55, 262, 262 n. 75 n. 22
Smith, W. Robertson 276 Vayda, Andrew P. 196 n. 14
Smith-Christopher, Daniel L. 231 n. Verkamp, Bernard J. 205 n. 3, 222–23
99, 232 n. 103 n. 51, 225 n. 65, 226 nn. 66–68, 231 n.
Snaith, Normon H. 217 n. 33, 222 n. 49 100, 233 n. 111
Soden, Wolfram von 246 n. 11, 252 n. Versnel, H. S. 229 n. 92
40 Vigliocco, Gabriella 98 n. 45
Soggin, Alberto 66 n. 2, 69 n. 13, 69 Watts, James W. 42–43 n. 44, 209 n. 15,
n. 16, 70 n. 17, 72, 72 n. 29, 73 nn. 271, 272 n. 3
30–31, 75 n. 39, 76 n. 43, 78 n. 51 Webb, Barry G. 74 n. 32, 78 n. 50
Speiser, E. A. 250 n. 29 Weimar, Peter 208 n. 13
Sperling, S. David 104 n. 66 Weinhold, Jan 274 n. 6
Stansell, Gary 122, 122 n. 33 Weippert, Manfred 158–59 n. 30, 271,
Starr, Ivan 150 n. 6 271 n. 1
Stern, Philip D. 271, 271 n. 1 Weisman, Ze’ev 117 n. 18
Stoebe, Hans J. 178 n. 43 Wellhausen, Julius 72, 72 n. 28, 78, 78 n.
Strathern, Andrew 277, 277 n. 12 52, 276
Strauss, Bernd 102 n. 61 Wenham, Gordon J. 212 n. 17, 214
Štrba, Blažej 52 n. 7 n. 26, 217 n. 33
Sweeney, Marvin A. 87, 87 n. 11 Westenholz, Joan Goodnick 31, 31 nn.
Taçon, Paul S. C. 101 n. 53 13–14
Tadmor, Hayim 33 n. 21, 151 n. 10 Westermann, Claus 258 n. 57, 259,
Tallis, Nigel 132 n. 6 259 n. 59
Talon, Philippe 251 nn. 35–36 Wickings, E. J. 102 n. 59
Wildung, Dietrich 150 n. 2 Wright, Jacob L. 1 n. 1, 36 n. 29, 70

Wilhoit, James C. 218 n. 36 n. 18, 74 n. 33, 74–75 n. 37
Wilkinson, Iain 279 n. 17 Würthwein, Ernst 154 n. 21
Willson, Jane 100 n. 50 Yadin, Azzan 116, 116 n. 15, 116 n. 17,
Wilson, E. Jan 245 n. 4, 255 n. 50 122, 122 n. 34
Wilson, J. A. 136 n. 19 Yadin, Yigael 50 n. 1, 141 n. 38, 143 nn.
Winter, Irene J. 28 nn. 4–5, 29, 29 n. 8, 45–47
30 nn. 10–11, 31 n. 14, 35 n. 25, 41, 41 Yamada, Shigeo 33 n. 21, 138 n. 22
n. 41, 42 n. 43 Yaqub, Nadia G. 180 n. 50
Wiseman, Donald J. 119 n. 21 Young, Edward J. 261 n. 72
Wolters, A. 169 n. 18 Young, Jeremy 281 n. 22
Wong, Gregory T. K. 122, 122 n. 35 Younger, K. Lawson, Jr. 26 n. 2, 50,
Woods, Christopher 29 nn. 6–7, 31 50 n. 3, 51 n. 5, 226 n. 69
n. 12, 35 n. 25 Zanjani, Sally 90 n. 18
Wormell, Donald E. W. 224 n. 57 Zettler, Richard L. 248 nn. 20–21
Wreschner, Ernst E. 101, 101 nn. 55–57 Zhou, Yiqun 170 n. 20
Wright, David P. 212 n. 19, 214 n. 26, Ziegler, Joseph 261 n. 73
259 n. 60, 260, 260 nn. 61–62 Zimmerli, Walter 59 n. 29

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Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol

in Biblical and Modern Contexts

Thomas C. Römer, General Editor

Society of Biblical Literature

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Printed on acid-free, recycled paper conforming to

Part 1: Social Determination of Rituals and Symbols

Theorizing Circumstantially Dependent Rites in and out of

Monumental Inscriptions and the Ritual Representation of War

Part 2: Rituals and Symbols of Escalation,

Joshua’s Encounter with the Commander of Yhwh’s Army (Josh

“A Sword for Yhwh and for Gideon!”: The Representation

The Red-Stained Warrior in Ancient Israel

“Some Trust in Horses”: Horses as Symbols of Power in Rhetoric

War Rituals in the Old Testament: Prophets, Kings, and the

Part 3: Rituals and Symbols of Perpetuation,

Warfare Song as Warrior Ritual

A Messy Business: Ritual Violence after the War

Postwar Rituals of Return and Reintegration

Forging a Twenty-First-Century Approach to the Study of

BInS Biblical Interpretation Series

GKC Gesenius, Friedrich W., E. Kautzsch, and A. E. Cowley.

and Other Places. Edited by M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J.

RINAP Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period

Warfare, Ritual, and Symbol in Biblical and Modern Contexts is a collection

(1) What constitutes a symbol in war?

The present volume is prompted by a collective interest to answer these

“with a wide appeal and/or an expectation of lasting importance, [which] may

(2) They set forth typologies of war-related rituals, their settings,

riding, and her contribution is informed by a remarkable wealth of infor-

early Israelite heroic poetry should be situated in the context of oral

of divine defilement and purification, with references to human defilement

In this essay I examine the wartime and nonwartime functions of a number

2. Rejection by Yhwh is said to be shaming in Ps 53:6, as is defeat by and flight

4. On the political dynamics of mourning and rejoicing, see Gary A. Anderson,

Similarly, honorable burial and the appropriate enactment of mourning

Other examples of ritual hair manipulation that lack negative associations

whose meaning is not consistent or obvious but dependent upon consid-

14. Though mourning has debasing dimensions, particularly when associated

ment in 2 Sam 6:16, 20 through (unintentional?) self-exposure while

Anderson, Gary A. A Time to Mourn, a Time to Dance: The Expression of

The tapestry of war narratives spanning the Pentateuch and Deuteron-

2. By “victory monuments” I refer to publicly displayed ancient Near Eastern

Eastern victory monuments signified the ritualization of warfare on two

2. The Ritual Environments of

The ritual contexts of ancient Near Eastern monumental inscriptions are

3. By “ritualization” I refer to the “production of ritual acts”—that is, the pro-

2.1. Narrative Accounts Depicting Monumental Inscriptions

Royal monumental victory inscriptions played central roles in the pros-

4. RIME 1, 125–40 (9.3.1); Jerrold S. Cooper, Reconstructing History from Ancient

These earliest narratives of war represent the installation and violation of

Evidence for the ritual agency of royal monumental victory inscriptions

For modern rationalists, the ritualized instrumentalization of warfare in the ancient

and stelae were assigned divine determinatives, given names, inscribed in

2.2. Archaeological Evidence for the Ritual Environments of

Narrative accounts inscribed on the earliest Mesopotamian victory stelae

16. See n. 10 above.

tion and manipulation of such monuments made manifest their seman-

2.3 Victory Monuments that Specify Their Ritual Manipulation