Unforeseen Blessings

This past weekend marked the annual “meeting of the minds.” It was SBL weekend—The Society of Biblical Literature’s Annual Meeting. That means that scholars and aspiring scholars from all over the world gathered at a major US city to catch up with old friends, listen to a few good papers (if they are lucky), defend their scholarly honor, and insult opponents in ways that only PhDs can. 

Consequently, this got me thinking. It got me thinking about the uniqueness of the SBL weekend and the expectations of graduate and post-graduate students as they labor through the lengthy process of a terminal degree.

Graduating with a PhD is a unique experience. When I went through my graduation ceremony, there were so many emotions. There were positive emotions such as fulfillment, pride, satisfaction, and excitement. There were also negative emotions, such as uncertainty, fear, and little disappointment (keep reading). You see, historically speaking, graduation with a terminal degree was often accompanied immediately, or shortly thereafter, with a job. However, as they say in the business community, “History is never a guarantee of future returns.” The realization of this old adage was the source of the conflicting emotions that I felt when I graduated in May of 2012.

Unfortunately, I was not, or am not, alone. We have all seen the depressing graphics that have circulated on the internet and Facebook (the one to the left is one of my personal favorites). More and more recently graduated PhDs are becoming disenfranchised and bitter to the whole post-graduation, job-search process. More importantly, potential students are, more than ever, giving new thought to whether they want to go through with the long process with the very real possibility that they will have to fight tooth and nail just to get a shot somewhere. I can’t blame them. It is the smart this to do, particularly when a family is involved.

However, I choose not to let the negativity of these discussion get to me. The reality is that when I take inventory on my life over the past 18 month I cannot deny the many good things that have happened. I have rediscovered an appreciation for a husband and father’s fundamental duty—provision for one’s family. I have developed professional experience in a vocation that has nothing to do with the academy, which incidentally offers me some vocational options. My family and I have also discovered the joy of a healthy and encouraging small group fellowship through our local church. Most importantly though, I have relearned some valuable theological lessons through the teaching opportunities I have been blessed to have.

I have had the privilege over the past 18 months of securing a few contracts to teach online courses for Adult Professional Studies students. Now, I realize the stigma that often accompanies such an educational context. Yet instead of dwelling upon the tendency for adult learners to be pulled in too many directions, and instead of focusing on a lower level of intellectual capability than say a promising seminary or graduate student, one cannot deny the hunger for learning and desire to accomplish a goal that often accompanies APS student. More to the point, these educational contexts have allowed me to appreciate a unique phenomenon of Scripture—Scripture is both simultaneously simple and complex. Scripture is clear, simple, and sufficient. It changes lives, and you do not need a PhD to experience that. However, if you want to devote your life to the study of it, you will never be satisfied. There will always be more to learn and understand anew. I have found that APS students, with their naive hunger merely to understand Scripture, tend to ask questions and engage in conversation in ways that demand that their professor rediscover the simplicity and complexity of Scripture.

So, yes. History does not guarantee future rewards. However, sometime future rewards are so different that they cannot be properly evaluated against past gains or past expectations. Rather, they must be evaluated with an eye to the future and where trends may be leading.

Should we read "Elisha?"

In my last post, I offered some thoughts on why a certain CBN video release on Tel Rehov bothered me. I suggested that it not only gave an improper impression of what archaeology was for biblical studies, but it also painted Dr. Ami Mazar in a rather unfortunate light. I also mentioned at the end of that post that I disagreed with Dr. Mazar’s (and Samuel Ahituv’s) reading of the ostracon. I want to unpack my reason in this post. However, I tread lightly on this. I saw today on Professor Jacob Wright’s Facebook page the following quote and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

"When biblical scholars who are not trained in epigraphy do epigraphy, when archeologists who are not trained in biblical source criticism and historiography do source criticism and historiography, we are all in danger."

At first I was not going to offer a picture, and in fact I published this post initially without one. However, Dr. Lawson Stone, who owns the picture below, encouraged me to share, particularly since the initial publication of the ostracon has already hit the presses. The title of that article is:

Courtesy of Dr. Lawson Stone

“הכתובות מתל רחוב ותרומתן לחקר הכתב והכתיבה בתקופת הברזל ІІא” [ET: “The Inscriptions from Tel Rehov and their Contribution to the Study of Script and Writing during Iron Age IIA” in See I Will Bring A Scroll and Recount What Befell Me (Ps 40:8): Epigraphy and Daily Life- From the Bible to the Talmud. Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Hanan Eshel (Journal of Ancient Judaism Supplements. Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, in press)]. 

 I should mention from the onset that I agree with much of what Drs. Mazar and Ahituv have concluded. And to be clear, I have offered these thoughts to Dr. Mazar through personal correspondence, which has been a neat experience in itself. Ultimately, I do not read the name Elisha, but rather a negated verbal from the root שׁדד.

Mazar and Aḥituv identify two potsherds, one large than the other, as coming from the potsherd in question. I agree; both potsherds exhibit the same red cursive script, grey exterior color, and were found in the same archaeological context. On the smaller potsherd, Mazar and Aḥituv read the traces of a lamed. However, it must be conceded that the smaller potsherd could exhibit traces of a peh as the orthography between a lamed and a peh could be confused if one cannot determine which side of the potsherd is the top. Furthermore, the conclusion of Mazar and Aḥituv that the smaller potsherd was immediately juxtaposed to the right of the larger potsherd is not definitive. It is possible that the smaller potsherd came from the same ostracon but was separated from the letters of the larger potsherd by space enough to allow for other letters. Nevertheless, I suspect that the letter on the small potsherd is a lamed (see below).

On the larger ostracon, traces of five letters are observable. One can discern only the smallest residue of the first letter. It is unquestionable that the end of a vertical stroke appears at the top right corner of the ostracon. The end of horizontal stroke is also observable, and this stroke may exhibit a slight movement upward or diagonally. Mazar and Aḥituv consider a bet or yodh, but eventually conclude that the slightest of trace of an aleph appears. I ultimately agree. A heh, ḥet, and taw are also possibilities, but given the totality of the evidence, it is unlikely.

Mazar and Aḥituv struggle with the second letter on the large potsherd. They admit ayin as a possibility, but ultimately reject it based on their reading of the final letter. Instead, they read another lamed, while admitting its problems. I agree with Mazar and Aḥituv that a lamed should be reconstructed in the second position. The next two letters are clearly a yodh followed by a shin/sin.

What is debatable is the final letter. They read an ayin. While Mazar and Aḥituv offer little to no discussion on the possibilities, in a personal communication regarding the identification of the final letter, Mazar admitted that the leg observable on the right side of the final letter is odd for an ayin. Nevertheless, Mazar and Ahituv reach their reading in light of the perceived difficulties with reading a dalet and the parallels between this ostracon and other inscriptions found at Tel Reḥov.

In response to Mazar and Ahituv’s reading, I propose that the final letter of the ostracon is a dalet. Interestingly, the orthography of the final letter of the Reḥov ostracon exhibits similarities with the orthography of the dalet throughout the Samaria Ostraca, particularly with respect to its curved “delta shape.”

[According to Christopher Rollston, one of the distinctive of the dalet’s orthography is its “delta shape,” its leg, and the overlap on the right side of the head (Christopher Rollston, Writing and Literacy in the World of Ancient Israel: Epigraphic Evidence from the Iron Age. [SBLABS 11; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011], 98-99). In the Reḥov ostracon, there is a clear leg and overlap. As for the “delta shape,” its corner is not sharp, which has caused Mazar and Ahituv to reject such a reading (personal correspondence). However, numerous dalets throughout the Samaria Ostraca do not exhibit a sharp, triangular delta shape. In particular, see ostraca 3, 17, 30-31, 33, 50-51, and 63. See G. A. Reisner, C.S. Fisher, and D. G. Lyon. Harvard Excavations at Samaria: 1908-1910. 2 Vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1924.]

 In addition to the orthographic continuity between scripts, one should also acknowledge 1) the relative chronological association between the Samaria Ostraca and the so-called Elisha ostracon (both being 9^th century) and 2) the geographic association. In other words, there is chronological, geographical, and orthographical continuity that allows the Samaria Ostraca to be a valuable comparative tool.

So, I have reconstructed the following series of letters: ל...[א] [ל] ישד. Naturally, the question that follows: What does this all mean? First, consider the archaeological context. The potsherds were found in an inner room of a large building that exhibits some peculiar features and evidence of cultic activity. Excavations also found in the building altars and an incense jar. In addition, there were also silos apparently used for the storage of grain, cooking utensils, and an oven. Second, if one accepts the sequence of letters just stated, one can read a negated Niphal form of the verbal root of שׁדד (cf. Mic 2:4), probably vocalized al yishshad. Could it be that this inscription was a part of an incantation designed to deter improper use of the sacred space? We know that incantations were often inscribed upon vessels to deter improper use, and so such a suggestion would not be coming out of left field. Furthermore, if the lamed on the smaller potsherd was not immediately juxtaposed to the right of the writing of the larger potsherd (see above), then one may even speculate the presence of a fuller incantation that would communicate something to the effect of, “[Description of contents], belonging to X, may it not be despoiled.”