For the last two hundred years, a central question in biblical studies has been the authorship of the Torah (or Pentateuch). The Age of Enlightenment led scholars to realize that the traditional Jewish and Christian belief in Moses’ participation in the creation of the first five books of the Bible was not historically accurate. Accordingly, scholars began to explore the formation of the Torah.
The dominant school was, and is, the JEDP theory, which holds that the Torah is based on four main sources. According to the classical formulation of this hypothesis, the sources and their dates are as follows: J, the Yahwist (Jahwist in German), dating to the 900s B.C.E.; E, the Elohist, to the 800s B.C.E.; D, the Deuteronomist, to the 600s B.C.E.; and P, the Priestly Code, to the 400s B.C.E. According to this theory, the final redaction of the text also took place in the 400s, that is, during the Persian period.1 A variation on the theme places the Priestly source prior to the Deuteronomist, in the 700s, and thus the entire Torah is considered pre-Exilic (the Babylonian Exile commenced with the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 B.C.E.).2
Recently, the minimalist school has argued that there were no written sources underlying the books of the Pentateuch prior to the late Persian or even the Hellenistic period.3 Moving towards the minimalist school, but not nearly as radical in its conclusion, is a compromise view which holds that the written sources are generally late, but that some segments of the Torah are to be dated to the pre-Exilic period, in particular the seventh century.4
This brief survey indicates that scholars are far from reaching a consensus concerning the crucial question of Pentateuchal authorship.5 The drift is clearly in the 022direction of “the later, the better,” but I would like to reverse that trend with an altogether different proposal. In my view, the Torah stems from the period of the Davidic-Solomonic monarchy, that is, the tenth century B.C.E. Before defending this position in detail, however, I must present a few basic ground rules.
Readers of this magazine know well that a major controversy swirls around the tenth century,a that even mentioning the existence of David and Solomon and the United Kingdom of Israel can create a stir in some circles. This is not the place for a full discussion, but suffice it to say that I accept the account in Samuel and Kings as essentially historical.
In addition, I do not accept the results of source criticism as practiced by most biblical scholars. I am not convinced by the finding of the JEDP theory—which one must recall is simply that, a theory, a hypothesis—especially as it relates to the narrative material in the Torah. A literary analysis shows that the prose stories of the Torah should be read as large unified blocks of literature, that is to say, as true literary compositions. Segmenting them into separate sources destroys the literary artistry of the text.6 Clearly, there is contradictory 023material in the stories of the Torah (for example, the two stories of Creation, the lists of Esau’s wives), but this is not the result of independent preexisting written sources being brought together by a redactor in a haphazard manner. Instead, we should imagine a unified effort to produce Israel’s national epic. This endeavor was not inspired by the need to reduce everything to an irreducible single truth (in line with the logical, rational approach of Aristotle and most of Western culture since his time). Rather, it was produced by a culture that was comfortable with incorporating disparate traditions that existed in Israel (in line with the observation of anthropologists who have studied traditional cultures, including traditional Near Eastern societies, whose thought processes are not guided by pure logic).
I do, however, accept the obvious fact that the Book of Deuteronomy presents a different view of law and cult than the Books of Exodus, Leviticus and Numbers. Here we may speak of separate sources, though I would not wish to argue which came first. Instead, I am content with presuming that two competing systems of law and cult existed side by side in ancient Israel, one reflected in Deuteronomy, the other reflected in Exodus-Leviticus-Numbers. We know that there were such competing systems in the late Second Temple period (here I have in mind the differences between the Pharisees and Sadducees from the second century B.C.E. to the first century C.E.). I propose that we assume a similar situation in the First Temple period, as reflected in the two main traditions of the Torah.
I realize that the above statements are broad strokes, but space does not allow a full defense of these views. I only ask the reader to accept them as the foundation for the analysis that follows.
In attempting to prove that the Torah stems from the tenth century, we will focus mostly on the Book of Genesis. I will add a few words later about the other four books of the Torah, but it is the Book of Genesis in particular that allows us to date the great national story of ancient Israel to the period of the United Monarchy.
In my opinion, the individuals responsible for Genesis were royal scribes living in Jerusalem during the reigns of David and Solomon in the tenth century; their ultimate goal was to justify the monarchy in general, and the kingship of David and Solomon in particular. Interpreted in this way, the Book of Genesis appears as a piece of political propaganda.
At the same time, I accept as a given that the Book of Genesis and the Torah as a whole serve literary and theological purposes as well. My focus on the political angle does not lessen my appreciation of these other two aspects of the text. Accordingly, I should say a few words about these dimensions of the Torah.
The author of Genesis far outpaces any other ancient author in literary brilliance, employing all of the techniques and rhetorical devices we usually associate with much more recent literature.7 The ancient reader (or listener) of Genesis surely would have been entertained. By entertainment, I am not referring to frivolous amusement. I am talking about a culture that values its literature as a national treasure. In countries such as Ireland, 024Russia and Iran, literature functions in a way that, say, movies and television function in our society today. The average Irish, Russian or Persian individual, including the average peasant farmer, not only can quote the classics of his national literature but can analyze and fully appreciate all their intricacies. I believe that this kind of literary appreciation was present in ancient Israel as well; hence, the Book of Genesis would have functioned as a form of entertainment.
The theological agenda is obvious: The basic principles of ancient Israelite belief are presented from the start. There is only one God. He created the world in a perfect manner. Man has free will, but he is expected to live up to certain standards. God has a covenant with all mankind, as symbolized by His relationship with Noah. But He also has a special concern for the people Israel, as symbolized by His covenant with Abraham. God punishes iniquity and rewards righteousness.
Literature and theology are intertwined in a most remarkable way. In a later period, Jewish and Christian writers would adopt the modes of Greek philosophical writing to present the theologies of their respective religions. But in Iron Age Israel, a culture by and large antecedent to classical Greek philosophy, there was no systematic presentation of theology. Instead, religious teaching was conveyed through the literature that emerged as the books of the Torah and the other books of the Bible.
We cannot understand Genesis as a political treatise without first recalling the events of the tenth century B.C.E. The Book of Judges and the first part of the Book of Samuel indicate that in the mid- to late 11th century, certain elements within Israel began to clamor for a king. But the idea of a king faced considerable opposition. A human king was seen as a compromise of traditional Israelite theology, by which God alone was king. Nevertheless, the pro-monarchy movement eventually succeeded. In time, Israel passed from a loose confederation of tribes governed by chieftains (the so-called judges) to a strong centralized monarchy in the hands of David and Solomon.
The monarchy became so strong, in fact, that Israel was able to expand its rule beyond the borders of Canaan. An international empire developed as neighboring countries including Ammon, Moab, Edom and various Aramean states came under Israelite hegemony.
The culture as a whole underwent radical changes. The tenth century was a period of rapid urbanization. The people of Israel had originally been pastoral nomads, or semi-nomads, organized in tribes. Gradually, villages became more and more common in the central hill country, and the people settled down in the land of Canaan. The next step in this process took place in the tenth century. Urban centers developed—not only the capital, Jerusalem, but cities such as Megiddo and Hazor as well.
Establishing Jerusalem as the capital was a radical concept. After all, Jerusalem had not previously been an Israelite city; only with David’s conquest in about 1000 B.C.E. was it incorporated into Israelite territory. Moreover, the development of Jerusalem as the national center brought about major changes in the religion of ancient Israel. David brought the Ark to Jerusalem amidst great pomp and circumstance, and Solomon built the Temple to Yahweh to replace the old Tabernacle.
In building the Temple, Solomon established Jerusalem as the only place where sacrifices to God could be offered. This is known as the centralization of worship. Many other scholars doubt that this was a consequence of Solomon’s building the Temple; they believe that the centralization of worship occurred only later, during the reign of Hezekiah in the eighth century or of Josiah in the seventh century. But if we look at a passage such as 1 Kings 3:2—“The people 025sacrificed in the high places because the Temple was not yet built”—we find that the seeds of cult centralization are already visible at the time of Solomon’s construction of the Temple (though on a popular level clearly this was not the case).
Furthermore, David most likely permitted the Canaanite high priest of Jerusalem to continue functioning in that position. Scholars have noticed that two high priests are referred to in the account of David’s life: Abiathar and Zadok. Abiathar is mentioned early in the narratives, even before David is king (e.g., 1 Samuel 22:20), but Zadok appears suddenly, and only after the conquest of Jerusalem. Zadok was probably the Canaanite high priest of Jerusalem, whom David permitted to continue to serve. If so, Zadok would also have been king of the city-state of Jerusalem; we now know that among the Canaanites (we have Phoenician evidence to this effect) a single 026individual served both roles. I believe that Zadok should be identified with Araunah, the person who sold David the threshing floor for the purpose of building an altar (2 Samuel 24:18–25). Actually, the word Araunah is not a personal name; rather, it is a title meaning “the Lord.” (The term was originally Hurrian but is used in other Near Eastern languages as well.) In one instance he is actually called “Araunah the king” (2 Samuel 24:22). Most scholars, puzzled by this phrase, emend the Masoretic Text, but we should accept this passage as it stands.
What kind of reaction did these actions by David and Solomon elicit from the populace? The Bible does not give us much in the way of clues, but we may be permitted some speculation. We know that traditionalists opposed the notion of kingship. Probably, there also was opposition to the choice of Jerusalem as the holy city; cities with a historical link to Israel would have been better candidates. Even more troublesome would have been the decision to retain a local Canaanite priest and turn him into the high priest of Yahweh. And the centralization of worship would have been fine for those who lived near Jerusalem, but for others who dwelled far from the Temple, it might not have been so acceptable.
With this background, we turn to Genesis. Here we see attempts to justify the political and religious developments of the tenth century, presumably to answer any critics that David and Solomon may have had. Here the propaganda aspect of Genesis comes to light.
Look at Genesis 17:6. God tells Abraham that “kings will issue from you.” This idea is reiterated in Genesis 17:16: “Kings of nations” will issue from Sarah. In this way Abraham and Sarah are made the progenitors of a royal line. I contend that the only time that this would be considered necessary would be in the time of David and Solomon. Before this, there were no kings (except for Saul, whose kingship is transitional); later, kingship was a fait accompli. The only time kingship needed to be justified was when it was the new creation of Israelite political theorists.
The international empire of David and Solomon serves as the background for the statement in Genesis 15:18 that God gave to Abraham and his descendants “this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the Euphrates.” In the days before David and Solomon, it would have been unimaginable for an author to use these boundaries to define the land that God gave to Israel. After David and Solomon, Israel once more became a small state in the ancient Near East, and these boundaries were an impossibility. Accordingly, this passage makes sense only in the period of David and Solomon.
Furthermore, with the rise of David and Solomon, it was clear to all in the tenth century that kingship would reside with this family from the tribe of Judah. 2 Samuel 7 records the covenant established between God and David, communicated via the prophet Nathan, that David’s descendants would rule after him forever. This serves as the background for the statement in Genesis 49:10 that “the ruler’s staff shall not depart from Judah.”
During the United Monarchy, the nations geographically closest to Israel were governed the most firmly, and this is reflected in Genesis. Thus, Moab, Ammon and Edom, the three Transjordanian states ruled by David and Solomon, all appear in Genesis as the sons of Lot (and thus the grandnephews of Abraham) or as the brother of Jacob. In other words, the Genesis author portrays the ancestors of these 027three countries as related to the patriarchs in order to justify Israelite rule over them.
We can be even more explicit. From an analysis of the germane passages in 2 Samuel, we know that in Moab and Ammon the native kings were permitted to rule as tributary vassals; but in Edom the king was deposed, and David and Solomon exercised direct rule over their southeastern neighbor. This explains why Edom, in the character of Esau, is seen as a twin brother of Israel, in the character of Jacob. Moab and Ammon, on the other hand, as portrayed in Genesis by Lot’s two sons, are more distantly related. In addition, note that in Genesis 27:40 it is predicted that Esau would throw off the yoke of Jacob, a clear reflection of the Edomite rebellion against Israel during Solomon’s reign (1 Kings 11:14–22).
The significance of Jerusalem is reflected in several passages. In Genesis 14:18–20, we read how Melchizedek, king of Salem and priest to the god El-Elyon (commonly translated as “God Most High”), greets Abraham with bread and wine and then blesses him. Abraham responds by giving Melchizedek a tenth of all he has, in other words, the priestly tithe. Later, Abraham specifically identifies El-Elyon with his God, Yahweh (Genesis 14:22).
Virtually all scholars agree that Salem is short for Jerusalem; on this point there is little debate. But what is the purpose of these verses? I believe these lines were included by a royal scribe in David’s court to justify the continuation of Zadok as priest in Jerusalem. The scribe is trying to demonstrate that David did nothing differently from what the glorious ancestor 028Abraham did. Abraham tithed to a Canaanite priest in Jerusalem, and David did the same.
The story of the binding (Hebrew, aqedah) of Isaac (known as the sacrifice of Isaac in Christian tradition), recorded in Genesis 22, is also relevant. A key phrase in this passage is the expression “the mount of the Lord” (Genesis 22:14). Whenever this phrase is used elsewhere in the Bible, it refers to Jerusalem (Isaiah 2:3, 30:29; Micah 4:2; Zechariah 8:3; Psalms 24:3). All of these texts are later than the period of David and Solomon, but it is possible that the expression had already come into use by the time of the monarchy.b
Finally, the centralization of worship in Jerusalem is reflected in the Book of Genesis. Although Abraham built altars elsewhere in the land of Canaan—for example, at Shechem (Genesis 12:6–7) and between Bethel and Ai (Genesis 12:8)—only in the story of the aqedah (Genesis 22) does he actually make a sacrifice, specifically, the ram that he found caught in the thicket. The message would have been clear to anyone living in Solomon’s time: Yes, we know there are altars throughout the countryside, and some are even as old as father Abraham himself. But the only place where the patriarch himself actually sacrificed is the mount of the Lord, that is to say, Jerusalem. That is why only the Jerusalem Temple is approved for sacrifices to Yahweh.
Jerusalem is alluded to in one other spot in the Book of Genesis. Of the four rivers of the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:10–14), there is no difficulty in identifying the two that still have the same names—the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. But the other two, the Gihon and the Pishon, remain problematic. No amount of geographical gymnastics will solve all the problems inherent in locating two rivers with these names.c At the same time, however, it is difficult to imagine an ancient Israelite reading this passage without his attention being called to a Gihon very close to home. I refer, of course, to the powerful spring and water source of Jerusalem called the Gihon (1 Kings 1:33). No doubt we are dealing here with the transfiguration of a myth, but regardless of that phenomenon, the author of the Eden story is evoking Jerusalem as the place where civilization started.d In short, we have here a very subtle reference to the centrality of Jerusalem.8
Most of Genesis, of course, tells the story of a family, what scholars call the patriarchal narratives. Time and again, however, these stories reflect the family of David and Solomon. An oft-repeated theme in Genesis is the motif of the younger son. Isaac supersedes Ishmael; Jacob supersedes Esau; Judah (fourth among Jacob’s sons, but last of the original set born to Leah) and Joseph (eleventh in line) supersede their older brothers; Perez supersedes Zerah; and Ephraim supersedes Manasseh. This pattern is also anticipated in the story of the first two sons born to mankind. Cain is the firstborn of Adam and Eve, yet God favors Abel, the younger son. The theme may also appear in the Book of Exodus, where Moses is specifically described as three years younger than Aaron.
What is the fascination with this motif in Genesis? Why emphasize time and again that younger or youngest sons supersede their older brother or brothers? In answering this question, we must remember that David was the youngest of Jesse’s seven sons, and Solomon was among the youngest, if not the youngest, of David’s many sons. The issue of who would succeed David dominates 2 Samuel 13 through 1 Kings 2 to such an extent that many scholars call this section of the Bible the Succession Narrative. There were many sons of David in contention. Amnon was the firstborn, but he was killed by his brother Absalom (2 Samuel 13:29). After Absalom rebelled, he was killed by David’s general Joab (2 Samuel 18:14–15). The two remaining candidates were Adonijah and Solomon, 030and although Adonijah was older, and in fact claimed the throne at one point when David was old and feeble (1 Kings 1), in the end Solomon won out.
How can Solomonic rule be justified in that case, especially when firstborn royal succession was the norm in the ancient Near East? The answer lies before us: Imbed the notion of ultimogeniture into the national epic that comes down to us as the Book of Genesis. God has favored younger sons since Abel. He has blessed the younger sons of Israel since the inception of the covenant: Isaac, Jacob, Judah, Joseph, Perez, Ephraim and Moses. Who could criticize David’s selection of Solomon to succeed him as king over all Israel?
The conflict among David’s sons—between Amnon and Absalom, and between Adonijah and Solomon—is also hinted at in Genesis; in fact, fraternal conflict was common to all three patriarchal generations. It is mildest in the case of Ishmael and Isaac (where it is more the mothers, Sarah and Hagar, who are at odds); the strife increases in the story of Jacob and Esau; and it becomes a major motif in the account of Joseph and his brothers. Again, a Davidic-Solomonic author is retrojecting the events of his own day into the days of the patriarchs. This is especially evident in the case of Joseph. The hatred and fighting among the brothers appears over an extended narrative, as is the case in the Succession Narrative of 2 Samuel and 1 Kings. In both cases the father is portrayed as helpless. Jacob can do nothing to stop the boys, and he probably makes matters worse by showing favoritism to Joseph and perhaps to Benjamin. Similarly, David is unable to prevent his sons from fighting, and he too probably makes matters worse by showing favoritism, first to Absalom and in the end to Solomon.
The first pair of brothers, Cain and Abel, are also involved in the first case of fratricide. The only 031other biblical case of brother actually killing brother is Absalom’s slaying of Amnon. Is there a connection between the two episodes? The wording of the two episodes points in that direction. In both cases, the murder takes place bassadeh, “in the field” (Genesis 4:8, 2 Samuel 14:6 [the latter in the story told by the wise woman of Tekoa]).
The political angle of the Genesis material turns out to be a kind of apologia for the royal family: You may be shocked to find that the paterfamilias David is unable to control the affairs of the family in a civil manner. But remember, hatred among brothers is built into the lives of the ancestors of Israel, including the world’s first brothers.
Similar apologetics appear in the story of Judah and Tamar in Genesis 38, where the characters match up with the family of David. Judah is an image of David: Both are heads of family; both are shepherds who in their youth tended flocks. Judah separates from his brothers to live in Adullam (Genesis 38:1), just as David flees early in his career to live among the outlaws in Adullam (1 Samuel 22:1). Judah has a Canaanite friend named Hirah (Genesis 38:1); David forms an alliance with the Canaanite king of Tyre named Hiram (2 Samuel 5:11). Most significantly, Judah is married to a nameless woman who is bat-sðua‘, “the daughter of Shua” (Genesis 38:2, 12). David’s most prominent wife is Bathsheba, who in Chronicles is called by the variant name bat-sðua‘, “Bathshua” (1 Chronicles 3:5).
Beyond all these surface similarities lies a much more significant parallel between the stories of Judah and David. Judah committed a great sin with a woman. 032He slept with his daughter-in-law, Tamar, when she was disguised as a whore, and then he was tricked into admitting his guilt. The same is true of David. The story of his great sin with Bathsheba forms the focal point of the narrative about his life in 2 Samuel, and he too is tricked into admitting his guilt.
Judah was unaware that Tamar was the woman with whom he had slept. When he learned that Tamar was pregnant, Judah assumed that she had committed adultery, and therefore he proclaimed her death sentence: “Bring her out, and let her be burnt” (Genesis 38:24). Only upon learning that he had been tricked did Judah admit his guilt with the famous line: “She is more righteous than I” (Genesis 38:26). David, likewise, was tricked into admitting his guilt: When the prophet Nathan told David a parable (2 Samuel 12:1–4) about a rich man who steals a lamb from a poorer fellow, David assumed that the case was a real one, and he condemned the unnamed rich man of the parable. David actually pronounced two sentences: first, presumably out of rage, the death penalty (2 Samuel 12:5); and then, upon further reflection, fourfold restitution (2 Samuel 12:6), in accordance with the law of Exodus 21:37. At that point Nathan issued his famous accusation, “You are the man” (2 Samuel 12:7), whereupon David admitted his guilt: “I have sinned before the Lord” (2 Samuel 12:13).
The author of Genesis 38 may have been poking fun at the royal family, mocking the king and his court. Or, he may have been writing an apologia for the royal family, stating in a sense that the clan has always suffered internal strife. In either case, it is clear that Genesis 38 reflects the situation of King David and has political overtones.
In many ways, the world of Genesis mirrors the personal and political situation of David and Solomon. The era of these two kings was one of rapid change for the nation. A new political entity—a united country ruled by a series of kings—was created. This powerful king ruled far and wide, from the Euphrates to the Brook of Egypt. Jerusalem, a city with no ties to traditional Israel, became not only the capital but the religious center of the country. Sacrifice, which had been permitted throughout the country, was now limited (at least officially, according to the Jerusalem authorities) to the newly built Temple in Jerusalem. Furthermore, the old king-priest of Jerusalem, a man named Zadok, 033with the foreign title Araunah, was permitted to retain his religious functions and was even made high priest of Israel. Finally, when David grew old and a successor needed to be named, it was his youngest son, Solomon, who was selected, quite unexpectedly and quite contrary to usual practice in the ancient world.
How does a ruler get the support of the people for such changes? By writing a great epic about the nation’s founding fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. I do not mean to suggest that the tenth-century scribes simply invented these stories about the men of Genesis—for almost without doubt, stories about these heroes circulated earlier. But they did cast older traditions in a new light. Everything was seen through the filter of Davidic-Solomonic rule. All of the monarchy’s developments were anticipated in hoary antiquity, and all were sanctioned by God. Kingship, power, Jerusalem’s centrality, acceptance of a Jerusalemite priest, supremacy of the youngest son—all were divinely approved since the beginning.
At the same time, this great epic suggested that the negative traits of the royal family should not cause great concern. Hatred among brothers was common among the patriarchs too, but in the end, all’s well that ends well. Sure, David is guilty of a great sin—adultery with Bathsheba—but his ancestor Judah also committed a great sexual offense, and Judah’s sexual sin did not prevent God from blessing Judah’s descendants with kingship. David is forgiven in the same way. Thus, apologia are included in Genesis to downplay the more negative sides of David’s story. Or perhaps, as intimated above, such stories were included in Genesis as a critique or a lampoon of David.
The author of Genesis pulled it off brilliantly. On the face of it, the narrative is about Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, about their lives and about early Israelite history. But this history reflects the contemporary world of the author, the time of David and Solomon, through and through.
If I am correct, then we can in a general sense identify the author of Genesis. He was a man at home in the Davidic-Solomonic court. He had a masterful understanding of literature, theology and politics, which he skillfully combined in creating a national epic. And just as his colleagues provided a balanced picture of David and Solomon in the books of Samuel and Kings—with their virtues and their warts alongside each other—so did the author of Genesis present the material in a balanced fashion.
My approach to the Book of Genesis can be applied to the other books of the Torah, but I will limit myself to just two examples. In the final four books of the Torah, Israel’s number one enemy is Amalek. God promises to annihilate the Amalekites in Exodus 17:14–16, and Israel is commanded to blot out all memory of them in Deuteronomy 25:17–19. So too in the oracles of Balaam: “[Amalek’s] fate is to perish forever” (Numbers 24:20, consistent with the Exodus and Deuteronomy passages); and “[Israel’s] king shall rise above Agag, and his kingdom shall be established” (Numbers 24:7), referring to Agag, king of the Amalekites, whom Saul defeated (1 Samuel 15). In the historical books of the Bible, the Amalekites are mentioned for the last time in the reign of King David (2 Samuel 8:12). The focus on Amalek as the enemy of Israel would be meaningless at any time after the tenth century.9
Most of the laws of the Torah cannot be set in a particular time frame or a specific place. Laws dealing with food, harvests, slavery, marriage, kidnapping and murder are often relevant in many places and times. But there is one law that does bespeak a chronological setting. I refer to the limits placed upon the king in Deuteronomy 17:16–17. The king is forbidden to do three things: to return to Egypt to trade horses, to marry many wives “lest his heart go astray” and to amass silver and gold in excess. Obviously, these stipulations are associated with King Solomon, who is described as having done all three in 1 Kings 10:10–11:8. This Deuteronomic law makes sense only within the context of the tenth century, either late in Solomon’s reign or soon thereafter, especially given the Bible’s honest appraisal of public dissatisfaction with the king in some circles. Several analogies from American law immediately come to mind: The 22nd Amendment to the United States Constitution limits a president to two terms; it was proposed in 1947 and ratified in 1951 after Franklin Roosevelt was elected to four terms. Campaign finance reforms instituted in the 1970s and 1980s were a direct reaction to the excesses of Richard Nixon.
Scholars who hold to a late dating of the Torah have tried to situate the authorship of the five books within the Persian period (sixth to fifth century B.C.E.) using similar methods to mine. For example, they believe that the reference to Abraham (still called Abram at that point) traveling from Ur of the Chaldees (Kasdim) to Canaan (Genesis 11:31–12:6) was included in order to encourage Judean exiles to return to the land of Israel from their homes in Babylonia after 539 B.C.E. Accordingly, one might say that my view and the alternate view are competing plausibilities, especially as they stem from similar methodologies.
Lest you think that subjective judgment is the only way to decide the issue, let me offer one purely objective criterion that demonstrates that the text of Genesis cannot come from the Persian period. This is the linguistic evidence, which is almost never confronted by those who would date the Torah to the Persian period.
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Hebrew, like all languages, underwent changes as the centuries passed. We can clearly distinguish pre-Exilic Hebrew, or Standard Biblical Hebrew, from post-Exilic Hebrew, or Late Biblical Hebrew. Hebraists who have investigated the question have concluded, with great unanimity, that the language of the Torah reflects Standard Biblical Hebrew.10 To illustrate the argument with just one point: If the Torah were composed during the Persian period, we would expect to find Persian loanwords in it, just as they occur in works that surely derive from the fifth century B.C.E.—books such as Esther, Ezra and Nehemiah. But not a single one can be found in the much larger corpus of Genesis through Deuteronomy.11
All of this points to the fact that the Torah is a product of the tenth century B.C.E., created by royal scribes in the court of David and Solomon who sought to further the political agenda and religious initiatives of the early monarchy.12
For the last two hundred years, a central question in biblical studies has been the authorship of the Torah (or Pentateuch). The Age of Enlightenment led scholars to realize that the traditional Jewish and Christian belief in Moses’ participation in the creation of the first five books of the Bible was not historically accurate. Accordingly, scholars began to explore the formation of the Torah. The dominant school was, and is, the JEDP theory, which holds that the Torah is based on four main sources. According to the classical formulation of this hypothesis, the sources and their dates are as […]
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Moreover, there is a concentration of key words in the Genesis 22 story that begin with the consonants yod and resh, the same letters that begin the word “Jerusalem.” Most prominent are the phrases ’elohim yir’eh, [“God will see”] (v. 8); YHWH yir’eh; Adonai yir’eh (v. 14); and behar YHWH yir’eh, “on the mount of the Lord [there is vision]” (v. 14). All of these words evoke the name Jerusalem. Note also “the land of Moriah” (v. 3). This word occurs in the Bible in only one other place, 2 Chronicles 3:1: “Solomon began to build the Temple of YHWH in Jerusalem on Mount Moriah, which appeared to David his father, and which David had prepared as the place, at the threshing floor of Ornan [variant of Araunah] the Jebusite.” This passage comes from a late book; it indicates that by the Persian period Jewish readers of the Torah had identified Moriah with Jerusalem. Unfortunately, we have no independent confirmation, especially from an earlier period, that Moriah was in the vicinity of Jerusalem.
The best treatment is Richard E. Friedman, Who Wrote the Bible? (New York: Prentice Hall, 1988). For a more detailed discussion of the Yahwist source, see Friedman, The Hidden Book of the Bible (San Francisco: Harper, 1998).
2.
This approach originates with the Israeli scholar Yehezkel Kaufmann (The Religion of Israel, trans. Moshe Greenberg [Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1960], pp. 175–200), and is favored today by, among others, Jacob Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16, Anchor Bible 3 [Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1991], pp. 3–35).
3.
This view has been proffered by scholars such as Niels Peter Lemche. His most recent book is The Israelites in History and Tradition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998).
4.
This view is associated with the name of Israel Finkelstein. Note his plenary talk at the annual meeting of the American Schools of Oriental Research in Nashville, November 2000, entitled “Archaeology and the Biblical Text 2000: The View from the Center.” And now see the coauthored volume: Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman, The Bible Unearthed (New York: Free Press, 2001), p. 14 and passim.
5.
For a detailed survey, see Gordon J. Wenham, “Pondering the Pentateuch: The Search for a New Paradigm,” in David W. Baker and Bill T. Arnold, eds., The Face of Old Testament Studies: A Survey of Contemporary Approaches (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1999), pp. 116–144.
6.
See Gary A. Rendsburg, The Redaction of Genesis (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1986); and Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1982), chap. 7.
7.
See Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington, IN: Indiana Univ. Press, 1985).
8.
See further Jon D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible (Minneapolis, MN: Winston Press, 1985), pp. 129–131.
9.
The use of the phrase “the Agagite” in Esther (3:1, 10, 8:3, 5, 9:24) as an epithet of Haman is a literary construct used to set Haman against Mordecai, for the latter is introduced as a descendant of Kish (like Saul!) (Esther 2:5).
10.
For material attributed to the P source, see the many works of Avi Hurvitz, the most comprehensive of which is A Linguistic Study of the Relationship Between the Priestly Source and the Book of Ezekiel (Paris: Gabalda, 1982). In addition, see Rendsburg, “Late Biblical Hebrew and the Date of ‘P’,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society (JANES) 12 (1980), pp. 65–80; and Ziony Zevit, “Converging Lines of Evidence Bearing on the Date of P,” Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 94 (1982), pp. 481–511. For material attributed to the J source, see Richard M. Wright, “Linguistic Evidence for the Pre-Exilic Date of the Yahwist Source of the Pentateuch” (Ph.D. diss., Cornell Univ., 1998).
11.
The typology of literary style established by Frank Polak, based on a detailed analysis of the biblical narrative corpus, also indicates that the Torah is essentially an early work. See Polak, “Development and Periodization of Biblical Prose Narrative,” Bet Miqra 43 (1997), pp. 30–52, 142–160 (in Hebrew); and “The Oral and the Written: Syntax, Stylistics, and the Development of Biblical Prose Narrative,” JANES 26 (1998), pp. 59–105.
12.
This article is based on a previous study: Rendsburg, “Biblical Literature as Politics: The Case of Genesis,” in Adele Berlin, ed., Religion and Politics in the Ancient Near East (Bethesda, MD: Univ. Press of Maryland, 1996), pp. 47–70, which, in turn, is greatly indebted to a seminal article by the late doyen of Israeli biblical scholars, Benjamin Mazar: “The Historical Background of the Book of Genesis,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 28 (1969), pp. 73–83.
