(Library of Hebrew Bible - Old Testament Studies 474) Baruch J. Schwartz, Naphtali S. Meshel, Jeffrey Stackert, David P. Wright - Perspectives On Purity and Purification in The Bible-T&T Clark Int'

LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/
OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES
474
Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series
Editors
Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University
Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge
Founding Editors
David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn
Editorial Board
Richard J. Coggins, Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Robert P. Gordon,
Norman K. Gottwald, Gina Hens-Piazza, John Jarick, Andrew D. H. Mayes,
Carol Meyers, Patrick D. Miller, Yvonne Sherwood
This page intentionally left blank
PERSPECTIVES ON PURITY AND PURIFICATION
IN THE BIBLE
edited by
Baruch J. Schwartz, David P. Wright,

Jeffrey Stackert, and Naphtali S. Meshel
Copyright © 2008 by Baruch J. Schwartz, David P. Wright, Jeffrey Stackert,
and Naphtali S. Meshel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, T & T Clark
International.
T & T Clark International, 80 Maiden Lane, New York, NY 10038
T & T Clark International, The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX
T & T Clark International is a Continuum imprint.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Perspectives on purity and purification in the Bible / edited by Baruch J. Schwartz ... [et al.].
p. cm. -- (The library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament studies ; 474)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-13: 978-0-567-02832-7 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-567-02832-1 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Purity, Ritual--Judaism. 2. Cohanim.
3. Sacrifice--Judaism. I. Schwartz, Baruch J.
BM702.P447 2008
296.3'2--dc22
2007051330
06 07 08 09 10 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
Preface vii
List of Abbreviations ix
INTRODUCTION 1
Part I
SYSTEM
THE FUNCTION OF THE NAZIRITE’S

CONCLUDING PURIFICATION OFFERING
Roy E. Gane 9
SIN AND IMPURITY: ATONED OR PURIFIED? YES!

Jay Sklar 18
PURE, IMPURE, PERMITTED, PROHIBITED:

A STUDY OF CLASSIFICATION SYSTEMS IN P
Naphtali S. Meshel 32
DIRT AND DISGUST:

BODY AND MORALITY IN BIBLICAL PURITY LAWS
Thomas Kazen 43
DOES THE PRIESTLY PURITY CODE DOMESTICATE WOMEN?

David Tabb Stewart 65
Part II
METHOD
BLOOD AS PURIFICANT IN PRIESTLY TORAH:

WHAT DO WE KNOW AND HOW DO WE KNOW IT?
William K. Gilders 77
METHODOLOGY AND IDEOLOGY IN THE STUDY

OF PRIESTLY RITUAL
Jonathan Klawans 84
vi Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
PAGANS AND PRIESTS:

CRITICAL REFLECTIONS ON METHOD
Frank H. Gorman 96
Index of References 111

Index of Authors 116
PREFACE
The essays in this volume are based on papers read at two sessions on Purity and
Purification in Pentateuchal law held at the 125th Anniversary Meeting of the
Society of Biblical Literature at its 125th Annual Meeting in Philadelphia,
November 2005. In coordinating these sessions on behalf of the Pentateuch
Section’s steering committee, I had the gracious assistance of David P. Wright,
who then agreed to join with me in editing the present volume. Sincere thanks to
him, and to our colleagues Jeffrey Stackert and Naphtali S. Meshel, for their
devoted efforts in this cooperative venture. Thanks also to committee co-chairs
Diane M. Sharon and Thomas B. Dozeman for encouraging us to conduct the
sessions and for urging us collect the papers for publication.
On behalf of the editors it is a pleasure to thank the participants for contri-
buting their papers to this collection. Most important, heartfelt thanks go out on
behalf of the editors and contributors to Claudia V. Camp and Andrew Mein for
inviting us to include this collection in the Library of Hebrew Bible/Old
Testament Studies, to Henry Carrigan, Burke Gerstenschlager, Katie Galoff,
Gabriella Page-Fort, along with the rest of the acquisitions, editorial and produc-
tion staff at T&T Clark International/Continuum, and to Duncan Burns, copy-
editor and typesetter of this volume, for their painstaking and accommodating
work in bringing this project to completion.
Baruch J. Schwartz
Jerusalem, April 2008
ABBREVIATIONS
AB The Anchor Bible

ABD Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New
York: Doubleday, 1992
AJS Review Association for Jewish Studies Review
AUSDS Andrews University Seminary Doctoral Dissertation Series
AV Authorized Version
BRLJ Brill Reference Library of Judaism
BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly
CC Continental Commentaries
ConBNT Coniectanea biblica: New Testament Series
FOTL Forms of the Old Testament Literature
HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament
HTR Harvard Theological Review
HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual
ICC The International Critical Commentary
IDB The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by G. A. Buttrick.
4 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 1962
JB Jerusalem Bible
JAAR Journal of the American Academy of Religion
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society
JQR Jewish Quarterly Review
JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series
LXX Septuagint
NAC New American Commentary
NASB New American Standard Bible
NCBC New Cambridge Bible Commentary
NEB New English Bible
NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament
NIV New International Version
NIVAC NIV Application Commentary
NJPS/V New Jerusalem Publication Society Version
NRSV New Revised Standard Version
OBT Overtures to Biblical Theology
OTL The Old Testament Library
OTS Old Testament Studies
PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly
RB Revue biblique
x Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
RSR Recherches de science religieuse

RSV Revised Standard Version
SBLDS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series
SFSHJ South Florida studies in the history of Judaism
SH Scripta hierosolymitana
SJLA Studies in Jerusalem in Late Antiquity
TDNT Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by G. Kittel
and G. Friedrich. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964–76
ThWAT Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament. Edited by G. J.
Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. 10 vols. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer,
1970–2000
TOTC Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries
VT Vetus Testamentum
VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum
WBC Word Biblical Commentary
ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
INTRODUCTION
Two related themes hold the essays in this volume together: the question of
whether the purity laws central to the priestly writings, together with the broader
ritual legislation contained therein, constitute a systematically conceived corpus,
and the question of the methods and perspectives that ought to be employed for
assessing such a system. The first question arises in the wake of research con-
ducted during the last generation, research that tended to emphasize the internal
coherence of the priestly legislation. This includes the work of biblical scholars,
primarily Jacob Milgrom, and that of anthropologists, most notably Mary
Douglas. Their research has been a sort of intellectual fertilizer, yielding a bum-
per crop of younger scholars who have now begun to study the priestly corpus
and its concerns—reviewing, questioning, and proposing corrections to the
accomplishments of their influential mentors.
The essays that appear here range from specific questions to broad methodo-
logical issues. The first five explore the question of system. Roy E. Gane’s essay,
“The Function of the Nazirite’s Concluding Purification Offering,” proposes a
new solution to one of the apparent inconsistencies in the system of the haÓÓƗt
rituals. Within the overall context of haÓÓƗt sacrifices prescribed, Gane finds the
interpretation that the Nazirite’s haÓÓƗt is required because of the desanctifica-
tion occurring when he exits his status as a Nazirite difficult to sustain. Turning
instead to the analogy of the haÓÓƗt performed in the consecration of the priests,
Gane suggests that the Nazirite’s haÓÓƗt is a function of his having dedicated
his hair to the deity, which is the culmination of his vow. The function of the
haÓÓƗt is therefore to effect purification, making it consistent with the majority
of cases.
The essay “Sin and Impurity: Atoned or Purified? Yes!” by Jay Sklar likewise
seeks to solve a classic crux in the attempt to interpret the priestly legislation as
a coherent system, namely, the precise meaning of the verb kipper. Rejecting the
vacillation posited by several scholars in the use of the word, he finds that the
term has a dual meaning, signifying at the same time both ransoming (with
which the concept of “atone” is associated) and purifying. This duality of
meaning, he suggests, explains why the term appears in contexts of both sin and
impurity: the rites that achieve the goal of kippur resolve situations that both
endanger and defile.
The essay by Naphtali S. Meshel, “Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited: A
Study in Classification Systems in P,” seeks to expose the system underlying
the dietary laws of Lev 11. Noting precisely which animal carcasses are called
impure and which are called abominable, and differentiating between those that
2 Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
are said to pollute and those that do not pollute, Meshel is able to arrive at a
complex yet symmetrical classification of animals based on whether they are
pure, may be eaten, or may be touched. This classification, he discovers, was the
result of a sophisticated intellectualization of traditional and simpler dietary
rules, and was probably not practiced or even intended to be practiced. Rather, it
appears to make a theological statement: the prohibitions about contact and
ingestion are divinely decreed inasmuch as their logic does not follow what was
conceived as the natural order or the taxonomy of animals.
Thomas Kazen’s “Dirt and Disgust: Body and Morality in Biblical Purity
Laws” goes beyond the study of the biblical texts in order to make sense of the
nexus of ritual and moral impurity. Kazen employs insights drawn from develop-
mental psychology and evolutionary biology to show how the emotion of disgust
underlies the aversion both to noxious or harmful agents and to unacceptable
behaviors. Hence the use of the terminology for impurity with regard to
behaviors is not simply a function of secondary, metaphorical extrapolation, but
a primary use of that terminology, and what appears to be an inconsistency in
priestly conceptions is in fact a form of coherence. His analysis of the dietary
laws of Lev 11 can profitably be studied in conjunction with Meshel’s analysis.
David T. Stewart’s “Does the Priestly Purity Code Domesticate Women?”
seeks to get behind the priestly text and to detect the hidden female voice or
perspective in the purity laws of Lev 11–15. He notes that women and their
concerns appear, explicitly or implicitly, in the inclusive introduction to the
subsection of Lev 13:29–39, in the context of weaving in 13:47–59 (a passage
perhaps originally addressed to women), in the law of purification after child-
birth in ch. 12 and in the laws of purification from regular and irregular sexual
flows in ch. 15. He argues that the male perspective responsible for creating the
texts of these chapters has appropriated these female realms and effaced female
concerns, and he suggests that the chapters also reflect an uneasiness that the
(male) writers may have had with female potentiality.
The last three essays raise questions not only of system but of method.
William K. Gilders’ essay, “Blood as Purificant in Priestly Torah: What Do We
Know and How Do We Know It?” expresses some doubts on the validity of the
reigning interpretations of the priestly texts by asking pointedly whether the
various blood rites indeed achieve purification. Gilders makes use of the blood
rites prescribed for the person cured of scale-disease in Lev 14 as a heuristic
avenue. His purpose is not to show that interpreting these rites as acts of puri-
fication is necessarily wrong, but that the specific texts in question actually say
very little about the purpose of the blood rites. Turning from Lev 14, Gilders
makes more general observations regarding descriptions of blood manipulation
in the priestly writings, arguing that the P authors never explain what blood
actually does to impurities or why blood possesses purifying power. He thus
questions whether the conceptual gap-filling performed by scholars in their
quest for systematic interpretation of priestly ritual is justified, and suggests that
the texts are more interested in praxis or performance than in the meaning of the
performances.
Introduction 3
Jonathan Klawans’s study, “Methodology and Ideology in the Study of

Priestly Ritual,” treats three broad issues. He calls attention to apologetic inter-
ests that may be at work in some of the symbolic approaches to ritual employed
by scholars, and suggests that appeal to the prophetic texts may lead to a more
objective understanding of the actual degree to which symbolism infused
priestly performance in Biblical Israel. To accomplish this, Klawans explores
the apparent contradiction between the lack of ethical interest in priestly pre-
scriptions and the foregrounding of ethical interests in prophetic texts. An inver-
sion in perspective, based on a more dispassionate approach, reveals that priestly
thought is more precisely nuanced than prophetic, in that it distinguishes shades
of gray, as against the often black-and-white perspective characteristic of pro-
phetic denunciation. Klawans concludes by calling into question the models of
religious development from the Priestly Torah to the Holiness Legislation
proposed by recent scholarship, models that often imply that P’s legislation was
indifferent to moral issues. Linear trajectories, he warns, should be avoided.
Frank H. Gorman, in his wide-ranging essay, “Pagans and Priests: Critical
Reflections on Method,” is concerned, like Klawans, about the symbolic inter-
pretation of ritual that has come to dominate scholarship, but his questions are
more basic: What is a symbol, how is symbolic meaning determined, and what
different types of symbolism are there? Scholars, he observes, do not always
keep these questions separate. Gorman too notes some of the inconsistencies in
the priestly legislation and asks whether its authors even intended to provide a
fully coherent body of literature or whether the perception of system may in fact
be the creation of interpreters. He is further concerned with ascertaining the
precise nature of what is represented by the ritual legislation preserved in P: are
the actions prescribed really rituals in the historical, practical sense, or have they
perhaps been written to be read, but not necessarily to be performed? Gorman
concludes by criticizing some of the comparative analysis found in contempo-
rary scholarship, finding that it errs on the side of privileging the ritual legisla-
tion in the Bible over the “pagan” rites of Israel’s neighbors, a value-laden and
apologetic enterprise.
In sum, there is a range of views represented, from cautious skepticism to
relatively confident reconstructions. Between these two poles we have discus-
sions elucidating priestly thought in terms of common humanity and extrabib-
lical, theoretical models and disciplines. This sampling is representative of the
range of views that can be found in the larger literature on biblical purity and
ritual. All of the authors provide recommendations for approaches they believe
should be adopted and specific questions that need to be explored in future
scholarship.
We would add here only a few of our own broad methodological observa-
tions. When it comes to matters of systematization and symbolic interpretation,
it must be realized that as soon as one translates the text, one has already
affirmatively committed oneself to these matters to a significant degree. Difficult
terms in P such as kipper and haÓÓƗt cannot be translated without making a
decision about what they represent systematically, and even symbolically, in the
thought-world of P, and this applies to all of the many so-called termini technici
employed by P as well. Moreover, any interpretation of the text—any repre-
sentation of it “in other words”—entails decisions about systems of ideas and
symbolic significance. We can strive to follow Klawans’s and Gorman’s advice
to be aware of what we are doing when we are doing it. Yet at the same time,
since these matters come into play at every point of engagement with the text, at
every word and between the words and lines, exaggerated self-awareness can
become debilitating. Moreover, it is no simple matter to be aware of what is not
apparent, and that is why the next generation can often see things to which we
are oblivious.
With regard to system, while one must be careful about assuming complete,
or even extensive, consistency in the priestly writings, one should start from the
indications of the texts themselves. These indicate that the corpus does at least
seek to represent a system of thought to a significant degree. At the level of the
individual pericopae, for instance, the presentation of the several cases of the
haÓÓƗt in Lev 4 and the contrasts between them, which betray gradations of
cases, are clearly indicative of systematic conceptualization, and literary features
such as the chiastic shape of ch. 15 are evidently expressive of a coherence not
only of composition but of thought as well. Larger units of legislation, such as
the arrangement of different types of sacrifices across Lev 1–7 and the treatment
of impurities in chs. 11–15, for all the questions that can be raised regarding the
particulars, display sufficient coherence for us to avoid extreme agnosticism;
indeed such evidence predisposes us at least to begin by searching for system.
One difficulty that complicates this endeavor is the presence of distinct dia-
chronic strata in the priestly writings, primarily the Priestly and Holiness strata.
The system that may be visible in each stratum of the priestly work is harder to
discern because the amount of text available for study is necessarily reduced. At
the same time, diachronic distinctions allow us to investigate the development of
thought. To be sure, as Klawans has argued, this investigation can be adversely
affected by the imposition of evolutionary models that may be tendentious and
may arise from considerations beyond the text. Further, we must recognize the
inherent difficulty of comparing systems when only one of the two strata con-
tains legislation on a topic while the other says little or nothing about it, and we
should take care to avoid the fallacy involved in assuming that silence about a
particular matter is evidence of acquiescence, disagreement or ignorance—or,
for that matter, of anything else. But comparing texts, especially when one text
appears to have been influenced by another, and intuiting how ideas and practice
have changed from one text to another, is still the primary and best way we have
of exploring the history of biblical religion. Some scholars eschew all study of
the stratification of these texts, preferring instead to attempt systematic analysis
of the priestly writings as a whole. This, however, can effectively skew histori-
cal understanding just as much as an approach that searches only for develop-
ment and ignores coherence.
One can only agree with Gorman on the need to avoid confusing different
types of symbolism and to show appropriate regard for the complexity of
Introduction 5
semiotic analysis, distinguishing as required between signs, signals, symbols,

indices and icons. We would also stress the importance of keeping the inter-
pretation of ritual symbols (such as scarlet material in Lev 14:4–6, 49–51 and
Num 19:6, perhaps representing blood) separate from anthropological analysis
that examines how ritual may reflect social categories, keeping in mind that
different symbolic approaches may be complementary. We would further empha-
size the need to avoid as much as possible the temptation to equate latent or
implicit meaning with manifest or explicitly stated rationales. One should ask
oneself what it is that one is looking for: the underlying conceptions of the
society that allegedly practiced these rituals, in which case an etic approach is
indicated and comparative material may be very useful, or the manner in which
the rituals were understood by the practitioners, in which case an emic approach
is most appropriate and the textual evidence is helpful but not conclusive, or the
interpretations of the rituals provided by the literary elite, in which case the
question is hardly anthropological in the narrow sense of the term, but is rather
explicitly ideological or theological and the textual evidence is crucial.
Gilders rightly reminds us of the laconic nature of the priestly writings. The
analysis of the text can only proceed on the basis of what the text provides in its
context, and should begin by assuming that what is necessary for understanding
the text is incorporated therein. At the same time, an examination of genre might
reveal that the gaps can best be filled by attempting systematic analysis of the
broader context. By “the text,” after all, we do not necessarily mean the smallest
textual unit; the dictum of the Talmudic sages that “the words of the Torah are
sparse in one passage and plentiful in another” is often applicable to the priestly
writings when studied in their fullest form.
The key to dealing with the problems posed by the methods plied in these
essays is to be found in the explicit recommendation of the writers, which we
cannot but endorse: to be in dialogue with the whole range of competently
argued views, and to make every effort to take into account the legitimate objec-
tions that may be raised about systematic, diachronic, and symbolic interpre-
tations of biblical ritual practice and ritual texts.
David P. Wright
Baruch J. Schwartz
Jeffrey Stackert
Naphtali S. Meshel
Part I
SYSTEM
THE FUNCTION OF THE NAZIRITE’S
CONCLUDING PURIFICATION OFFERING
Roy E. Gane
Introduction
Numbers 6:13–20 outlines a ceremony, including a purification offering (vv. 14,
16), to be performed at the end of a successfully completed Nazirite period. The
purpose of this mandatory purification offering constitutes a crux. For what
nondefiant sin or severe physical ritual impurity—the evils remedied by non-
calendric purification offerings elsewhere (e.g. Lev 4:1–5:13; 12:6–8; 14:19)—
could such a sacrifice expiate in this context?1 The answer to this question may
affect or at least test our understanding of purification offerings in general.
Sin and/or Desanctification of the Nazirite?

Most commentators fail even to mention the special problem of the Nazirite’s
concluding purification offering.2 Some have attempted to interpret his/her need
for expiation as arising simply from human imperfection and consequent
ongoing need for pardon3 or as a result of “the sins committed involuntarily
during the period of consecration.”4 But elsewhere in pentateuchal ritual law,
1. On the nature of evils that are removed from offerers through noncalendric purification
offerings, see R. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy
(Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 198–213.
2. See, e.g., R. D. Cole, Numbers (NAC 3B; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2000), 125. On
the concluding purification offering in Num 6:14, P. J. Budd simply refers the reader to his comment
on vv. 11–12, in the context of premature termination of Naziriteship due to corpse contamination
(Numbers [WBC 5; Waco, Tex.: Word, 1984], 72), without acknowledging the difference between
the cases. Similarly on vv. 16–17, T. Ashley mentions “the purification offering, to deal with
impurities that have been brought into the sanctuary,” without attempting to identify the “impurities”
remedied by the sacrifice (The Book of Numbers [NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993], 144–46).
B. Levine describes the Nazirite’s concluding purification offering as expiatory, but does not raise
the question of why expiation is needed in this case (Numbers 1–20 [AB 4; New York: Doubleday,
1993], 225–26).
3. E.g. F. B. Meyer, The Five Books of Moses (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1955), 129: “Sin-
offering for the sin that mingles with our holiest service.”
4. C. F. Keil and F. Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Old Testament (trans. J. Martin;
Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1872), 3:39; cf. A. Noordtzij, Numbers (trans. E. van der Maas; Bible
Student’s Commentary; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983), 65.
except during the special initiation ceremonies of (a) consecration and inaugu-
ration in Exod 29 and Lev 8–9 and (b) purification of the Levite work force in
Num 8, a noncalendric purification offering is required when someone realizes
his/her liability with regard to an identifiable evil (e.g. Lev 4:13–14, 22–23, 27–
28; 5:4–5), not because the person may have sinned or become impure without
realizing it or because of an assumption that over a period of time he/she must
have sinned or become impure.5
We would expect Num 6 to prescribe a purification offering that is required
only if the Nazirite realizes that he/she has sinned or needs purification.6 But that
is not how the text reads. Nor does the text hint that the motivation for taking the
Nazirite vow in the first place is “an incurred sin or guilt” and the Nazirite sub-
mits to the votive obligations (including the purification offering) “as an act of
penitence.”7
Ramban found a kind of sin for the Nazirite in his desanctification: up to this
point he had been separated for holiness and service for YHWH, “and he should
therefore have remained separated forever.”8 However, Num 6:8, which Ramban
cites, speaks of the temporary Nazirite’s special holiness only during the prom-
ised time of separation, giving no indication that the votive obligation extends
for the duration of one’s life.
Jacob Milgrom picks up on Ramban’s idea of desanctification, but regards it
as legitimate rather than sinful.9 Milgrom points out that like temporary Nazirite-
ship, votive dedication of land to the sanctuary applies for a limited period of
time, “the land reverting to its owner on the Jubilee and the Nazirite reverting to
5. Cf. J. Milgrom, Numbers (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society
of America, 1990), 48. The nature of expiation provided by calendric purification offerings for the
community, which are appointed for specific days according to the cultic calendar (e.g. Num 28:15,
22; 29:5, 11, 16, etc.), is not clear from the biblical text (cf. Gane, Cult and Character, 63 n. 72).
6. According to b. Nazir 19a, R. Eleazar Ha-Kappar does come up with a specific sin for the
Nazirite, whether he remains ritually pure or his vow is voided by defilement: the sin of excessive
self-denial. But in b. Nazir 3a the same rabbi is reported to regard as a sinner only the Nazirite who
contracts ritual impurity.
7. Against the suggestion of R. Knierim and G. Coats (Numbers [FOTL 4; Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2005], 91).
8. Ramban, Numbers (trans. C. Chavel; Commentary on the Torah; New York: Shilo, 1975),
55–56; cf. A. Rodriguez, Substitution in the Hebrew Cultus (AUSDS 3; Berrien Springs: Andrews
University Press, 1979), 120–21.
9. J. Milgrom, “Sin-Offering or Purification-Offering?,” VT 21 (1971): 237–39 (237); idem,
Cult and Conscience: The Asham and the Priestly Doctrine of Repentance (SJLA 18; Leiden: Brill,
1976), 69; idem, Numbers, 48; cf. Z. Weinberg’s suggestion that the Nazirite’s purification offering
renews a normal relationship with the deity (“Purification Offering and Reparation Offering,” Beth
Miqra 55 [1973]: 524–30 [526] [Heb.]). Some scholars interpret the Nazirite’s entire concluding set
of sacrifices, including the purification offering, as accomplishing his desanctification: G. Wenham,
The Book of Leviticus (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), 121; idem, Numbers (TOTC;
Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1981), 88; N. Amorim, “Desecration and Defilement in the Old Testament”
(Ph.D. diss.; Andrews University, 1985), 166–68; T. Cartledge, “Were Nazirite Vows Uncon-
ditional?,” CBQ 51 (1989): 409–22 (414); P. Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly
Conception of the World (JSOTSup 106; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 51. Jenson supports the idea
of a desanctifying rite of passage here by referring to other ritual activities that some scholars have
GANE The Nazirite’s Concluding Purification Offering 11
his lay status upon the termination of his vow (Lev. 27:21, by implication; Num.
6:13).”10 Rather than resolving our crux, Milgrom’s analogy reinforces it: a
monetary fine for land redemption is imposed only when the owner (voluntarily)
shortens the period of dedication. This parallels the need for a Nazirite to offer
expiatory sacrifices if he (involuntarily) aborts his period of separation by
unavoidable corpse contamination (Num 6:10–12), but not if his term is brought
to completion.11 Notice that the Nazirite, unlike the land owner, has no option of
legally shortening the period of dedication.12
As Milgrom recognizes, desanctification is outside the scope of purification
offering function attested elsewhere.13 The biblical text provides no clear
rationale for such a radically exceptional usage, which would compromise the
cohesion of the purification offering system.
Alfred Marx agrees that the Nazirite’s sacrifice desanctifies. However, by
contrast with Milgrom’s treatment of the case as an anomaly, Marx uses this
instance as a central example of the “rite of passage” function that he finds to be
the common denominator of purification offerings.14 Marx is right that purifica-
tion offerings carry out a kind of “passage” in the sense that they restore status
with YHWH.15 However, his system seriously overextends the “passage” signifi-
cance of purification offerings and he does not adequately justify desanctifi-
cation in the case of the Nazirite.16
“Passage” is not the defining trait of purification offerings, as Marx would
have it, because other classes of sacrifice, such as the ordination sacrifice of the
priests (Lev 8:22–28) and the Nazirite’s own concluding well-being offering
with its accompaniments (Num 6:17), also contribute to changing states of per-
sons. A purification offering can be included in a “passage” process of priestly
consecration because it serves a purifying function prerequisite to transition into
construed as desanctification: changing of clothes and washing by the high priest on the Day of
Atonement (Lev 16:23–24), and scouring or breaking vessels used for cooking purification offering
meat (6:21 [Engl. v. 28]). However, these activities can better be explained in terms of purification
(Gane, Cult and Character, 172–73, 186–90).
10. Milgrom, Numbers, 355–56; cf. 48.
11. Ibid., 356; cf. idem, Cult and Conscience, 67–68. This point is missed by Rodriguez, who
suggests by analogy with Lev 27 that the Nazirite’s concluding purification offering is a “rite of
redemption” that expiates for the “sin” of desanctification (Substitution, 121).
12. Naphtali Meshel; personal communication.
13. Milgrom, Numbers, 48.
14. A. Marx, “Sacrifice pour les pèches ou rite de passage? Quelques réflexions sur la fonction
du aÓÓƗt,” RB 96 (1989): 27–48. Marx interprets combinations of purification and burnt offerings
(e.g. of the Nazirite in Num 6:14, 16) as coordinating to provide dynamics of passage: purification
offerings accomplish separation from the previous state and burnt offerings effect aggregation to a
new or renewed state. Therefore, he proposes that the purification offering should be labeled
“sacrifice of separation.”
15. D. Wright characterizes processes of contracting “tolerated” impurities, being in a state of
impurity, and undergoing purification from them as “rites of passage” (“The Spectrum of Priestly
Impurity,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel [ed. G. A. Anderson and Saul M. Olyan;
JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991], 150–81 [173]; cf. 174).
16. J. Milgrom, “The ÐaÓÓƗt: A Rite of Passage?,” RB 98 (1991): 120–24; idem, Leviticus 1–16
(AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 289–92; cf. my critique in Gane, Cult and Character, 195–97.
a state of enhanced intimacy with the deity (e.g. Exod 29:10–14; Lev 8:14–17).17
However, the goal of consecration is carried out by application of anointing oil
(Exod 28:41; 29:7; 30:30; 40:13, 15; Lev 8:12, 30), rather than by a purification
offering.18 The “passage” function of purification offerings is confined to purifi-
cation; it is not so broad or plastic as to serve also for sanctification or desancti-
fication.
Empowerment of the Nazirite?

Albert Baumgarten argues that because vital force resides in hair, when the
Nazirite cuts and offers his hair to YHWH, this part of his joyful celebration
lowers his status and strength below the normal level. Therefore, to restore the
balance and protect him from possible harm, he needs to offer a purification
offering.19
Aside from systemic flaws in Baumgarten’s approach to purification offerings
as rituals of empowerment, which Milgrom and I have diagnosed elsewhere,20
his explanation of the Nazirite’s sacrifice is immediately invalidated by the fact
that this purification offering is performed (Num 6:16) before the Nazirite cuts
his hair (v. 18), when he would not yet need transcendental medication to
remedy his weakness. Baumgarten tries to address this problem by citing
R. Eliezer, according to whom the haircut accompanies the slaughter of the
purification offering (m. Nazir 6.7).21 But Num 6 rules out such a protocol by
requiring the Nazirite to offer his well-being offering and basket of grain, with
an accompanying grain offering and drink offering (v. 17), between his purifi-
cation offering and his haircut.
Preparation for Culmination of Nazirite Sanctity?

N. Kiuchi suggests that the Nazirite’s concluding ceremony “could mark the cul-
minating point of the Naziritehood expressing the special relationship between
God and the Nazirite. Thus ‘desanctification’ seems rather secondary in the
essential nature of the ceremony.”22 Kiuchi compares the Nazirite’s ceremony
17. Cf. J. Hartley, Leviticus (WBC 4; Dallas: Word, 1992), 56–57.

18. Cf. Milgrom, “The ÐaÓÓƗt: A Rite of Passage?,” 121.
19. A. Baumgarten, “ÐaÓÓƗt Sacrifices,” RB 103 (1996): 337–42 (341–42); cf. the suggestion of
C. Lemardelé that the Nazirite’s sacrifice protects him from impurity (“Le sacrifice de purification:
Un sacrifice ambigu?,” VT 52 [2002]: 284–89 [286–88]).
20. Baumgarten, “ÐaÓÓƗt Sacrifices,” 339–40; idem, “The Paradox of the Red Heifer,” VT 43
(1993): 442–51; J. Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred and the Impure: A Rejoinder,” VT 44 (1994):
555–57; Gane, Cult and Character, 186–91.
21. Baumgarten, “ÐaÓÓƗt Sacrifices,” 341 n. 15. Baumgarten attempts to confirm his inter-
pretation by referring to vulnerability that results from cutting hair in the story of Samson, a lifelong
Nazirite (Judg 16), and vulnerability in folklore (pp. 341–42). Even if he is right about the nature of
vulnerability in these kinds of cases, he has not established that the same dynamics apply to the
temporary Nazirite of Num 6.
22. N. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature: Its Meaning and Function
(JSOTSup 56; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 55.
with the installation of the priests in Lev 8–9. Justifying this comparison are the
facts that the Nazirite’s holy status resembles that of the high priest23 and the
categories of sacrifices brought by the Nazirite are the same as those offered by
the priests: purification, burnt, grain, and well-being offerings.
Focusing on the inauguration ceremony in Lev 9, Kiuchi observes that the
priests, who are already holy after their seven-day period of ordination (Exod
29; Lev 8), nevertheless need expiation/purification through a purification offer-
ing (Lev 9:8–11) because they approach YHWH. He concludes that similarly in
Num 6, the already holy Nazirite “needs expiation/purification simply because he
approaches God (v. 13),” not because he has committed any particular offense.24
Presumably Kiuchi takes these cases of approaching YHWH to be special because
elsewhere in pentateuchal ritual law an Israelite does not need to bring a purifi-
cation offering every time he/she approaches God with another kind of sacrifice
(e.g. Lev 1–3).
Kiuchi’s reasons for comparison with Exod 29 and Lev 8–9 are sound. How-
ever, he fails to point out a crucial difference between Lev 9 and Num 6: whereas
the priests approach YHWH as officiants, even when they are also the offerers,
the Nazirite remains a layperson, who can only approach YHWH as an offerer.25
In spite of his super-sanctity, he needs a priest to officiate his sacrifices. There-
fore, the parallel between the priestly and Nazirite approaches breaks down.
Kiuchi was on a productive track until he took a wrong turn. By backing up
slightly, we can build on his strengths while avoiding his weakness. Rather than
the inauguration in Lev 9, it is the priestly consecration prescribed in Exod 29
and described in Lev 8 that presents the strongest parallels to the Nazirite’s
ritual complex prescribed in Num 6.26 For one thing, in Exod 29 and Lev 8 the
priests are only offerers, not also officiants; it is Moses who officiates. More-
over, the special offering of breads in a basket (Exod 29:2–3, 23–25, 32, 34; Lev
8:2, 26–28, 31–32) is strikingly similar to that of the Nazirite (Num 6:15, 17,
19–20). Unique to these two cases of celebrating consecration are baskets con-
taining unleavened cakes and wafers, of which representative items are placed
on the palms of the offerers with portions of animal sacrifices (ordination and
well-being offerings, respectively) and raised by the officiants as elevation
(9AH?E) offerings dedicated to YHWH.27
23. Like the high priest, the Nazirite is prohibited from any corpse contamination (Lev 21:11;
Num 6:6–7) and his holiness to YHWH is signified on his head as a CK$?, “separation/consecration”
(Exod 28:36; 29:6–7; 39:30; Lev 8:9, 12; 21:12; Num 6:7–9, 11–12, 18–19). The Nazirite’s ban on
wine is much more stringent than that of the priests (including the high priest), which only applies
when they are on duty at the sanctuary (Lev 10:9; Num 6:3–4); cf., e.g., Milgrom, Cult and Con-
science, 67 n. 240; idem, Numbers, 355; Wenham, Numbers, 86–87; Jenson, Graded Holiness, 50.
24. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering, 56.
25. On differences between the Nazirite and the priests, see Wenham, Numbers, 88.
26. Wenham (ibid., 87) and Noordtzij (Numbers, 65) notice that the Nazirite’s set of offerings
are like those of the priestly consecration in Lev 8, but they do not follow up on implications for the
function of the Nazirite’s purification offering.
27. These rituals are somewhat similar to the 95HE, the joyful thank offering of well-being, in
that meat portions are accompanied by unleavened bread cakes and wafers (Lev 7:12–15—but also
including leavened bread).
In Lev 8, when the priests offered their purification offering (vv. 14–17),
their multi-stage consecration/ordination “rite of passage” was in progress, but
not yet complete. They had already been washed and arrayed in holy vestments
(vv. 6–9, 13), and Moses had consecrated Aaron by pouring anointing oil on his
head (v. 12). After the purification offering came further acts of consecration:
Moses put blood from the ram of ordination on the extremities of Aaron and his
sons, affecting them pars pro toto, and sprinkled the rest of the blood on the
altar (vv. 23–24). A little later, Moses sprinkled anointing oil and some blood
from the altar on Aaron and his sons, thereby consecrating them (v. 30). Finally,
the priests had to remain in the sacred precincts to complete their ordination
(vv. 33–35).
Now we can better assess the Nazirite’s purification offering. Before this
sacrifice, he has already been holy from the beginning of his votive period. But
after this, he is to shave his hair and put it on the fire under the well-being
offering (Num 6:18), thereby relinquishing the token portion of himself that
represents his separation to holy YHWH.28 The irrevocable and therefore perma-
nent dedication of hair would consecrate the Nazirite, pars pro toto, to a higher
level of holiness. This extraordinary votive gift of symbolic self-sacrifice to
YHWH (cf. v. 2) is as close as the Israelite cult comes to human sacrifice.29
E. Diamond argues that whether the fire under the well-being offering is the
altar fire or another fire for cooking its meat portions for human consumption
(the Hebrew does not specify), the Nazirite’s act of putting (*E?) his hair in the
fire (Num 6:18) is part of the sacrificial procedure, rather than mere discarding
of consecrated material, for which Hebrew would employ the Hiphil of (=,
“throw/cast” (cf. Ezek 5:4).30 This argument fails because in sacrificial contexts
the Hiphil of (= can be used not only for disposal (Lev 1:16), but also for
throwing that is not disposal (Num 19:6; Ezek 43:24).31
I agree with Diamond that the Nazirite’s act of placing his hair on the fire is
part of the sacrifice, but I reach this conclusion by a different route. Even
disposal can be viewed as a postrequisite part of the ritual if this activity is pre-
scribed as part of the procedural paradigm.32 Cooking meat from the Nazirite’s
well-being offering over a fire is certainly an integral part of the sacrifice
because continuation of the sacrificial process requires the ram’s shoulder to
28. On hair, which represents vitality because it grows throughout life and was offered in place
of whole persons in ancient rituals, see Milgrom, Numbers, 356–57.
29. Cf. G. B. Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Numbers (ICC; New York:
Scribner’s, 1903), 69; E. Diamond, “An Israelite Self-Offering in the Priestly Code: A New
Perspective on the Nazirite,” JQR 88 (1997): 1–18. Diamond points out that in Lev 27:1–8 the
monetary equivalent of a person is vowed to God, but in Num 6 “one dedicates one’s physical self
pars pro toto” (pp. 4–5).
30. Ibid., 10–12; against, e.g., M. Noth, Numbers (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1968), 57.
31. I am indebted to Naphtali Meshel (personal communication) for drawing my attention to
Num 19:6 and Ezek 43:24.
32. R. Gane, Ritual Dynamic Structure (Gorgias Dissertations 14, Religion 2; Piscataway, N.J.:
Gorgias, 2004), 61, 141–42, 153–54, 156–75, 296, 304–5, 311.
have been boiled (Num 6:19), and prescriptions for well-being offerings in
general require their sacred meat to be (cooked and) eaten by offerers while they
are in a state of ritual purity (Lev 7:15–21). Whether the Nazirite puts his hair
on the altar fire, as could be suggested by the wording, “under the sacrifice of
well-being” (Num 6:18), that is, the sacrifice as a whole rather than specifying a
portion of it, or whether he puts it on a cook fire, the act is prescribed and there-
fore part of the sacrificial procedure. It is not disposal because emphasis is on
placement (*E?) of the hair on a ritual fire rather than its mere incineration,
which would be indicated by the verb ,C (Lev 4:12, 21—outside the camp;
6:23 [Engl. v. 30]; 7:17, 19, etc.). Notice that if the Nazirite puts his hair on the
fire burning on the altar, it would be the only occasion when a lay offerer is ever
permitted to place anything on this holy object, which is otherwise exclusively a
locus of priestly officiation.
It is true that the Nazirite as a whole does not retain his Nazirite sanctity after
his hair is burned up and his well-being and grain offerings are finished, as
shown by the fact that he is permitted to drink wine (v. 20b). But for a brief,
shining moment, the ceremony does seem to mark “the culminating point of the
Naziritehood,” to borrow Kiuchi’s phraseology.33 If so, the purification offering
has a prerequisite function of purification within an overall process of ascend-
ing sanctity, as in the consecration of the priests, not the descending sanctity of
desanctification.
Further support for the idea that the Nazirite’s concluding rituals belong to
his dedication rather than serving as his exit from consecration is found in v. 21,
where his offering complex is an integral part of what he has vowed to give to
YHWH.34 Whereas Kiuchi suggested that desanctification may be downgraded to
“secondary,”35 I conclude that the final ceremony of the Nazirite does not enact
desanctification at all. His culminating sanctification simply burns itself out,
after which he is no longer a Nazirite.36
There are two key differences between consecration of the priests and of the
Nazirite. First, whereas the priests offer their consecration gifts at the beginning
of lifelong service at the sanctuary, a Nazirite offers his at the end of a tem-
porary, voluntary period of holiness. This difference is reflected in the fact that
whereas the Nazirite offers his special basket with a well-being offering (Num
6:17), the functionally equivalent animal sacrifice for the priests is their ordi-
nation ()J:=F!>!:) offering, which is also eaten by the offerer(s) (Exod 29:19–28,
31–34; Lev 8:22–32), but signifies authorization37 of the priests for their per-
manent role.

34. Cf. Cartledge, “Were Nazirite Vows Unconditional?,” 415.
36. Compare Samson, whose literal rather than symbolic self-sacrifice culminated and ended
his career as a lifelong Nazirite (Judg 16:28–30) (a point made by Naphtali Meshel in a personal
communication).
37. Literally, “filling the hand”; Exod 28:41; 29:9, 29, 33, 35; Lev 8:33.
Second, while the purification offering of the priests is on their behalf, as

shown by the fact that they lean their hands (one hand each) on the head of the
victim (Lev 8:14), this sacrifice primarily decontaminates (Piel of I) the altar,
upon which they are to officiate expiatory sacrifices (Exod 29:36–37; Lev 8:15;
cf. Ezek 43:18–27).38 The nonpriestly Nazirite has no such connection with the
altar.
Conclusion
Like the purification offering of the priests at their consecration in Exod 29 and
Lev 8, it appears that the Nazirite’s concluding purification offering (Num 6:14,
16) accomplishes purification that is necessary before a person can be elevated
to an extraordinary degree of sanctity, which exceeds the holy status that the
Nazirite has previously enjoyed during his/her votive period.39 This explains
why a purification offering “was not also imposed upon the Nazirite upon enter-
ing his or her holy status.”40
While purification presupposes some kind of prior condition of impurity,41
the evil removed by prerequisite purification in these cases is unspecified.42 The
purification offerings of the priests and Nazirite are like calendric rituals, such
as festival offerings (Num 28–29), in that they are required at times that are
predetermined (by the command of YHWH and expiration of the votive period,
respectively), whether or not there is awareness of sin or impurity.43 The sacri-
fices of the priests and Nazirite appear to raise the purity of already basically
pure persons, who need no remedy for specific, known evils, to a higher level
that is compatible with a higher level of sanctity.44 Compare the fact that before
basically pure priests, who are free from any particular impurities and therefore
38. The two functions of this purification offering are closely related because the priests and
altar serve together within the holy sphere (cf. G. Klingbeil, A Comparative Study of the Ritual of
Ordination as Found in Leviticus 8 and Emar 369 [Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 1998], 269).
Note that the purification offerings of consecration and of the Day of Atonement, which specify that
they purge sancta (Exod 29:36–37; 30:10; Lev 8:15; 16:16, 18–20, 33), are exceptional in this
regard; all other purification offerings remove evils from their offerers (Gane, Cult and Character,
106–43).
39. Cf. R. Gane, Leviticus, Numbers (NIVAC; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004), 535.
40. Milgrom, “The ÐaÓÓƗt: A Rite of Passage?,” 121.
41. Ibid.
42. Milgrom suggests that during the consecration week the priests may have incurred some
unavoidable physical ritual impurity (Leviticus 1–16, 522). However, it appears unlikely that the
initial decontamination of the altar could remedy specific evils of the priests because the altar itself
was undergoing qualification for its function (Kiuchi, Purification Offering, 42).
43. For the suggestion that treatment of the inauguration ceremonies as calendric may explain
omission of the hand-leaning gesture in Lev 9, see Gane, Cult and Character, 55 n. 34. However,
hand-leaning is included in the consecration sacrifices of Lev 8 (vv. 14, 18, 22).
44. Cf. Jenson’s suggestion that in cases such as Lev 8:14–17; 9:8; and Num 8:8, where purifi-
cation offerings do not seem to deal with specific sin or impurity, they may “be part of a com-
prehensive ritual to insure that purification is complete or fully assured” (Graded Holiness, 157; cf.
156).
eligible to contact sancta (cf. Lev 22:1–9), are permitted to engage in sacred
officiation at the altar or in the sacred Tent, they must wash their hands and feet
with water drawn from the sacred laver in order to reach an elevated level of
purity (Exod 30:17–21).
My bottom line is that the Nazirite’s termination purification offering does
purify like all other instances of this class of sacrifice.45 Therefore, it is an
integral part of the purification offering system, although it occupies a special
niche alongside the purification offering of the priests at their consecration.
45. Strong support for the conclusion that purification offerings uniquely purify is found in the
fact that privative *>: + a term for sin or ritual impurity, expressing removal of that evil, follows and
is syntactically governed by CA< only in goal formulas of purification offerings (Gane, Cult and
Character, 116–19, 139).
SIN AND IMPURITY: ATONED OR PURIFIED? YES!
Jay Sklar
The goal of this essay is to answer one basic question: Why does the verb CA6<!:—
traditionally translated in English with “to atone/make atonement”—occur in
contexts of inadvertent sin and major impurity? To state this differently: it is not
surprising that the verb for atonement occurs in contexts of sin, where the law of
the LORD has been breached and the sinner is very much in need of atonement.
But why does it also occur in contexts of impurity, where the law of the LORD
has not necessarily been breached at all? Indeed, impurity can result from pro-
cesses that are completely in keeping with the law of the LORD, such as giving
birth (Lev 12; cf. Gen 1:28). Why, then, the need for atonement?
In order to answer this question, this essay begins with a consideration of
how the term CA6<:! should be translated. It is argued that the two translations that
do most justice to the verb CA6<:! are “to atone” (understood in the sense of “to
ransom”) and “to purify.” It is then suggested that it is not always necessary to
choose between these two translations, and that in point of fact the verb CA6<:!
includes elements of both. In short, it seems that CA6<:! refers to CA6<!@-purgation,
that is, the effecting of a CA6<-!@ arrangement that has purgative results. The rest of
the essay seeks to establish this by demonstrating on the one hand that sin not
only endangers, it also pollutes; the CA6<:!-rite must therefore accomplish not only
“ransom” but also “purification.” It demonstrates on the other hand that impurity
not only pollutes, it also endangers; the CA6<-:! rite must therefore accomplish not
only “purification” but also “ransom.” Consequently, it is very plausible that
CA6<!: refers to elements of both ransom and purification in these contexts. This
possibility is further supported with reference to the role of blood (which both
ransoms and purifies) and to the use of CA6<!: in Num 35 (which calls for a
ransom of blood in order to address the pollution of the land).
Various Approaches to the Translation of the Verb CA6<!:

The literature on CA6<:! is vast, and a full survey is beyond the range of the present
study.1 Nonetheless, the various approaches to CA6<:! in the priestly literature may
This essay draws heavily from my dissertation, now published as Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice,
Atonement: The Priestly Conceptions (Hebrew Bible Monographs 2; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix,
2005). I am thankful to Sheffield Phoenix Press for granting me permission to draw from this book
in the following pages.
1. A more thorough review of the literature can be found in Bernd Janowski, Sühne als Heils-
geschehen. Studien zur Sühnetheologie der Priesterschrift und zur Wurzel KPR im Alten Orient und
SKLAR Sin and Impurity 19
be conveniently grouped into two main camps. The first camp translates CA6<:!
with “to atone/expiate” or “to make atonement/expiation” in all priestly occur-
rences. The second camp sometimes translates CA6<:! in this manner, but also
translates it with renderings such as “to purify/effect purgation.” Each of these
two main camps will be considered in turn.
“To Atone”
Traditionally, CA6<:! has been translated in the priestly literature with renderings
such as “to atone/make atonement” or “to expiate/make expiation.”2 While these
renderings have generally been agreed upon, there has been a diversity of opin-
ion as to the exact nature of this atonement. At least two main approaches may
be identified.3
“To cover.” Many scholars, especially in the nineteenth century and first half of
the twentieth, argued that CA6<:! is related to Arabic kafara, “to cover,” and that
atonement thus refers to a covering over of sin or the sinner.4 This approach has
been critiqued on both linguistic and exegetical grounds, however, and has
largely fallen out of favor.5
“To ransom.” A second approach understands atonement in terms of CA6< !, that

is, “ransom.” It is helpful in this regard to begin by defining the term CA6<. ! A
survey of the various texts making use of this term leads to the following
definition: “A CA6< ! is a legally or ethically legitimate payment that delivers a
guilty party from a just punishment that is the right of the offended party to
execute or to have executed. The acceptance of this payment is entirely depend-
ent upon the choice of the offended party, it is a lesser punishment than was
im Alten Testament (Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1982), 1–26 (15–25). See also references in
N. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature: Its Meaning and Function (JSOTSup
56; Sheffield: JSOT, 1987), 94 and notes; Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Prohibitions Concerning the
‘Eating’ of Blood in Leviticus 17,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel (ed. Gary A. Anderson
and Saul M. Olyan; JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 34–66 (51 n. 3); and, for important
earlier works, Johannes Herrmann, Die Idee der Sühne im Alten Testament. Eine Untersuchung über
Gebrauch und Bedeutung des Wortes kipper (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1905), 7–31.
2. AV; RSV; NASB; NIV; NEB; JB.
3. A third approach is that of Janowski (Sühne), who emphasizes the positive aspects of
atonement and describes it as a process by which the worshipper symbolically dedicates his or her
life to the holy. His view does not appear to have had a major impact, however, and will not be
considered here. For interaction with and critique of this view, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice,
Atonement, 70–71 nn. 71–72, 113 n. 23.
4. See the references in Janowski, Sühne, 20–22; Schwartz, “Prohibitions,” 54 n. 2. For a full
defense of this view, see Johann Jakob Stamm, Erlösen und Vergeben im alten Testament. Eine
begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Bern: A. Francke, 1940), 61–66 and references cited there. See
also Johann Heinrich Kurtz, Sacrificial Worship of the Old Testament (trans. James Martin;
Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1863), 67–71; Karl Elliger, Leviticus (HAT 4; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr:
1966), 71.
5. For interaction with and critique of this view, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement,
44 n. 2.
originally expected, and its acceptance serves both to rescue the life of the guilty
and to appease the offended party, thus restoring peace to the relationship.”6
The fact that CA6<:! is used to refer to “ransom” in at least some instances
enjoys a broad consensus among biblical scholars. Thus Johannes Herrmann,7
Herbert Brichto,8 Baruch Levine,9 Adrian Schenker,10 Bernd Janowski,11 and
Jacob Milgrom12 all agree that CA6<:! does occur with a meaning denominative of
CA6< ! in at least some passages. Support for this is found in two avenues.
First, and most significantly, the verb CA6<:! and the noun CA6< ! at times occur
together in the same pericope and are clearly related in meaning. Milgrom’s
comments in this regard are helpful:
There are…cases in which the ransom [i.e. CA6<] ! principle is clearly operative. (1) The
function of the census money (Exod 30:12–16) is lpkappƝr !al-napš¿têkem “to ransom
your lives” (Exod 30:16; cf. Num 31:50): here the verb kippƝr must be related to the
expression found in the same pericope k¿per napšô “a ransom for his life” (Exod
30:12). (2) The same combination of the idiom k¿per nepeš and the verb kippƝr is
found in the law of homicide (Num 35:31–33). Thus in these two cases, kippƝr is a
denominative from k¿per, whose meaning is undisputed: “ransom” (cf. Exod 21:30).
Therefore, there exists a strong possibility that all texts that assign to kippƝr the
function of averting God’s wrath have k¿per in mind: guilty life spared by substituting
for it the innocent parties or their ransom.13
6. For fuller discussion, including the exegesis of the relevant texts (Exod 21:28–32; 30:11–16;
Num 35:30–34; Ps 49:8–9 [ET 7–8]; Prov 6:20–35; 1 Sam 12:1–5; Amos 5:12; Isa 43:3–4; Job
33:24), see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 48–67. It is also noted there that the term CA6<@!
can be used in a negative way, that is, as referring to a “bribe.” This sense of the term, however, is
unrelated to the sacrificial contexts of the priestly texts.
7. “Many students rightly assume that there is a close connection between CA< and CA6<”!
(Johannes Herrmann, “JMB TLPNBJ, JMBTNP K,” TDNT 3:301–10 [303]); “At Is. 47:11 CA< means ‘to
pay CA6<,! ’ ‘to raise a CA6<,! ’ ‘to avert by CA6<’! ” (Herrmann, TDNT 3:303).
8. Brichto’s general conclusion on the meaning of the verb is as follows: “To offer/make com-
position [i.e. a CA6<@!], to accept composition—is the basic force of kipper” (Herbert Chanan Brichto,
“On Slaughter and Sacrifice, Blood and Atonement,” HUCA 47 [1976]: 19–55 [35]; see also 26–27,
34, and discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 76–77).
9. Baruch A. Levine, In the Presence of the Lord: A Study of Cult and Some Cultic Terms in
Ancient Israel [SJLA 5; Leiden: Brill, 1974], 67: “KippƝr in biblical cultic texts reflects two distinct
verbal forms: (1) kippƝr I, the primary Pi!!Ɲl, and (2) kippƝr II, a secondary denominative, from the
noun kôper ‘ransom, expiation gift’.” (Note: kippƝr in Levine’s original is likely an error, the correct
form being kipper.)
10. See Adrian Schenker, “k¿per et expiation,” Biblica 63 (1982): 32–46, as well as discussion
in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 72–76.
11. Janowski, Sühne, 154: “Im Interesse einer sachgemäßen Erfassung nicht nur der einzelnen
Bedeutungsaspekte der Wurzel CA<, sondern auch der alttestamentlichen Sühnetheologie wird
darum zu fragen sein, ob die alttestamentlichen CA6<@!-Belege nicht auf eine Bedeutung der Wurzel
CA< hinweisen, die—bei aller sonstigen Differenz!—gerade für die CA6<-:! Belege im kultischen und
außerkultischen Bereich konstitutiv ist. Der älteste CA6<-@! Beleg (Ex 21,30), der diesen Terminus
unzweifelhaft als ‘ein Wort von bürgerlich-juristischer Natur’ ausweist, vermag eine erste, positive
Antwort auf diese Frage zu geben.”
12. Jacob Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16 [AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991], 1082–83) lists no less
than seven different contexts in which he sees CA6<:! functioning as a denominative of CA6<@!.
13. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1082. The last line of the above actually reads as follows: “There-
fore, there exists a strong possibility that all texts that assign to kippƝr the function of averting God’s
Second, the verb CA6<:! is frequently followed by the verb I=2D7 (“to forgive”) in
contexts of sin: “and the priest will atone for them and they will be forgiven”
()96=7 I=2D?:H *9
< !92 )96=
; CA6<:H, Lev 4:20; see also Lev 4:26, 31, 35; 5:10, 13, 16,
18, 26 [ET 6:7]; 19:22; Num 15:25 [cf. v. 26], 28). This is significant because
the term I=2D7 can refer to the acceptance of a mitigated penalty in place of the
penalty deserved, resulting in restored fellowship between the sinner and the
LORD.14 This is illustrated clearly in Num 14, especially vv. 11–25.15 This is
the well-known story of the Israelites’ reaction to the spies’ report. In brief,
the people refuse to obey the LORD’S command to enter the Promised Land
(vv. 1–10a). The LORD then appears and states that he will destroy the people
(vv. 11–12). Moses responds by pleading for forgiveness: “Forgive the iniquity
(*H+;=2 ?%I=2D) of this people…” (v. 19a). The LORD grants this request, stating,
“I have pardoned (JE!:I=2D7), according to your word” (v. 20).
What is important to note is that this granting of pardon does not mean
complete remission of penalty, for the LORD immediately proceeds to state that
the people of Israel who doubted him would surely die before ever reaching the
Promised Land (vv. 21–23)! What this is, however, is a mitigation of the origi-
nal penalty. To be specific, instead of the entire nation being immediately wiped
out, it is only the adults who partook in the Exodus from Egypt that are affected:
they are prohibited from entering the Promised Land and will eventually die in
the wilderness.16 Stated differently, by agreeing to forgive (JE!:I=2D7, v. 20), the
LORD was allowing for a CA6<@!-arrangement with the people.
In sum, forgiveness is not necessarily the remission of all penalty; it can refer
to the allowance of a mitigated penalty—a CA6< !—in place of the one deserved.
This understanding of I=2D7 fits very well in contexts where CA6<:! and I=2D7 occur
together: the sinner has breached the law of the LORD and can expect judgment
to follow; instead, however, the sinner can bring a sacrifice, so that the priest can
CA6<:! (i.e. effect a CA6< !-payment) on the sinner’s behalf with the result that this
mitigated penalty is accepted and the sinner is forgiven (I=2D7). To paraphrase the
wrath have k¿per in mind: innocent [sic] life spared by substituting for it the guilty [sic] parties or
their ransom.” In a private communication to the author, Milgrom states that he inadvertently
switched the words “innocent” and “guilty” in the original, for which reason they are switched back
in the above. (Note: kippƝr in Milgrom’s original is likely an error, the correct form being kipper.)
14. It can also refer to the full remittal of an expected penalty (Num 30:6–16 [ET 5–15]; cf. esp.
vv. 6, 9, 13 [ET 5, 8, 12] with v. 16 [ET 15]) or to the complete cessation of a current penalty (e.g.
1 Kgs 8:33–34; see also 1 Kgs 8:35–36, 37–39, 46–50; 2 Chr 7:13–14; Dan 9:19). In either case, it
again leads to restored fellowship between the sinner and the LORD.
15. Traditionally, Num 13–14 is seen as a mixture of JE and P, with vv. 11–25 belonging to JE
(see the discussion and references in Katharine D. Sakenfeld, “The Problem of Divine Forgiveness
in Numbers 14,” CBQ 37 [1975]: 317–30 [317–20]; see also the overview and critique of the
traditional approach in Gordon J. Wenham, Numbers [TOTC; Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1981], 124–
26). Verses 11–25 are still relevant to our present discussion, however, insofar as the putative P
doublet of vv. 11–25 (i.e. vv. 26–39a) does not contradict or correct the idea of forgiveness pre-
sented in vv. 11–25 in any way; rather, it simply expands on the punishment mentioned in v. 23a.
For further aspects of the coherence of Num 13–14, see Wenham, Numbers, 124–26.
16. For the connection between I=2D7 and the mitigation of the original penalty in this context,
see also Stamm, Erlösen und Vergeben, 160.
texts in Lev 4–5: “*9

< !92 )96=
; CA6<:H (and the priest will effect a ransom payment
for them) )96=7 I=2D?:H (and this mitigated penalty will be accepted in place of the
one deserved, i.e. they will be forgiven).”17
Nonetheless, despite the fact that the verb CA6<:! is clearly related to CA6< ! in
some instances, this understanding of the verb does not always appear to work
well. Two comments may be made in this regard. First, this understanding of
CA6<:! appears problematic in purification contexts, where no obvious sin has been
committed. The woman who has had a baby, for example, offers a purification
offering, by which the priest makes atonement (CA6<):! for her. But why is atone-
ment needed in this context? Indeed, the result of atonement in this instance is
not forgiveness (as one might normally expect for an atoning sacrifice), but puri-
fication: “and the priest will atone for her and she will be pure” (*9
< !92 97J=67 CA6<:H
9C%9
7H, Lev 12:8b; see also 14:20b, 53b). Second, in several instances the sancta
appear to be the direct object of CA6<:! (e.g. Lev 16:20, 33; cf. Ezek 43:20, 26),
and one may legitimately ask what the sense of “atoning the sancta” might be.18
“To Purify/Purge/Effect Purgation”

Recognizing these difficulties, several authors have proposed that CA6<:! can refer
to purification, like Akkadian kuppuru (“to wipe off, to purify”), and can thus be
translated “to purify/purge/effect purgation.”19 This understanding of CA6<:! finds
support in four avenues.
First, the priestly literature uses words for purification, such as C9 and I,
right alongside CA6<:!: “For on this day he will effect purgation for you to purify
you” ()<6E6 C9
2= )<6J=
; CA
<2J 9K!$92 )H+J32 J<:!, Lev 16:30a).20
Second, as mentioned above,21 Akkadian attests kuppuru, “to purify.” This is
not only similar to CA6<:! in form (D stem of kpr), it is also used in cultic texts in
a way analogous to CA6<:!.22
Third, translating CA6<:! with “to purge/effect purgation” works well in contexts
of impurity, the results of which are the purification or consecration of the
offerer or the sancta.
17. For interaction with Milgrom’s understanding at this point, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacri-
fice, Atonement, 87 n. 23.
18. Though see the discussion in ibid., 188–93 (192–93).
19. The principal authors holding to this are Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1040, 1080–82, and
Levine, Presence of the Lord, 56–61 (Levine further notes [p. 56] that a connection between CA6<:!
and kuppuru was favored by Gray; see George Buchanan Gray, Sacrifice in the Old Testament
[Oxford: Clarendon, 1925], 67–73). Though not appealing to the Akkadian, Gerleman understands
CA6<:! to refer to a rite of sprinkling or washing (“streichen, sprengen; [ab]wischen”); see Gillis Gerle-
man, “Die Wurzel kpr im Hebräischen,” in Studien zur alttestamentlichen Theologie (Heidelberg:
L. Schneider, 1980), 11–23. For a summary of the discussion on kapƗru (D stem kuppuru), as well
as a survey of relevant texts, see Janowski, Sühne, 29–60, and Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atone-
ment, 3 n. 7.
20. See also Lev 14:52–53: “Thus [the priest] shall decontaminate (
I:H) the house with the
blood of the bird and with the running water…so he shall CA6<:! for the house (EJ&3!292=2 CA6<:H), and it
shall be clean (C9
7H) ” (Lev 14:52–53).
21. See above, n. 19.
22. See Levine, Presence of the Lord, 60.
Finally, this understanding of CA!6<!: works well when CA!6<!: is followed by the
definite direct object marker, for example, “He shall purge/purify the holiest
part of the sanctuary (+56B!@92 +5!2B>:E6 CA!6<:H), and he shall purge/purify the Tent
of Meeting and the altar (CA
<2J I"3!
K>!:92E6H 5
H+> =96@E6H) …” (Lev 16:33a).23
These authors do not claim that CA6<:! should always be translated with “to
purify” or “to effect purgation.” Recognizing that this translation does not work
in every context, they translate CA6<:! with “to purify/effect purgation” in some
instances and with “to atone/expiate” or “to make atonement/expiation” in other
instances. In short, there are two different translations possible and context must
decide which one to use.
While this understanding appears helpful in approaching the verb CA6<,:! it
turns out that it can be very difficult to choose between these two translations, as
evidenced by certain tensions in the work of those who follow this approach.
One example of this is found in Milgrom’s comments on Num 35:31–33.24
These verses state that no act of CA6<:! can be made for land defiled by bloodshed,
except the shedding of the slayer’s blood. Milgrom understands CA6<:! in this
verse to refer to the ransom principle, which seems justified on the basis of CA6< !
in vv. 31 and 32.25 And yet the text could not be clearer that shed blood pollutes
(,?I, Hiphil, v. 33) and defiles (>, Piel, v. 34) the land, suggesting that the act
of CA6<:! must not only ransom, but also cleanse (a point to which we return in
some detail below).26 How do we resolve this tension? If we argue that Milgrom
has simply put the text in the wrong category, and that CA6<:! here refers to
“effecting purgation,” we have not resolved the dilemma, since then we are fail-
ing to account for the obvious “ransom” elements present in the passage (CA6< ! in
vv. 31 and 32). Perhaps instead, then, we should ask the question: Should the
tension between ransom and purification be solved one way or the other, or are
there elements of both involved in the concept of CA6<:!? Stated differently: Is it
possible that CA6<:! refers to a certain type of purgation, namely, to CA6<@!-purga-
tion? The answer to this question may be found in a more careful consideration
of how sin and impurity are related to one another. It is to the relationship
between sin and impurity that we now turn.
The Relationship Between Sin and Impurity

On the one hand, it is clear that sin and impurity are not the same thing.27 On the
other hand, however, it is also clear that the priestly literature understands sin
23. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1011. See also Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus (JPS Torah Commen-
tary; New York: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1989), 110; Gordon J. Wenham, Leviticus
(NICOT 3; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1979), 227; NJPS.
24. For a different example, this time from Levine, see the discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity,
Sacrifice, Atonement, 4–5.
25. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1082.
26. See the discussion below, “Numbers 35.”
27. Klawans, who discusses the relationship between sin and impurity in terms of “moral
impurity” and “ritual impurity,” identifies five main differences between the two (Jonathan Klawans,
and impurity to be closely related. The Day of Atonement rituals, for example,
were meant to atone (CA6<):! for both sin and impurity: “…thus [the priest] shall
make atonement (CA6<:H) for the holy place, because of the impurities (E >F>): of
the people of Israel, and because of their transgressions ()96J
A:>:H), all their
sins ()E7 I2=<7=)…” (Lev 16:16a). Moreover, several texts speak of sins which
have a polluting effect: “Do not defile yourselves (H>!2E!:=2) by any of these
[sexual sins], for by all these the nations I am casting out before you defiled
themselves (H>?): ; and the land became defiled (#C$797 >7E:!H)" …” (Lev 18:24–
25a; see also 20:3). And finally, people are not purified simply of impurities, but
also of sins: “For on this day shall atonement be made for you, to purify you
()<6E6 C9
2=); from all your sins you shall be pure before the LORD (=< !>:
HC97E:! 9H%9J J?
A=: )<6JE
@9)2 ” (Lev 16:30). Clearly, then, sin and impurity are
closely related.
While there are various similarities between sin and impurity that may be
identified,28 the most relevant to our present discussion is as follows: in contexts
that require CA6<!:, sin not only endangers, it also defiles, while impurity not only
defiles, it also endangers. This may be demonstrated in the following obser-
vations.
Sin Endangers
There is little doubt that sin in the priestly system endangers the sinner. This is
most obviously the case with intentional sin, which consistently calls for death,29
kareth,30 or “bearing one’s sin” (i.e. being punished for it).31
It is also important to note, however, that inadvertent sin—which is addressed
by means of CA6<!:—also endangered insofar as it would result in severe penalty if
not addressed properly. The fact that inadvertent sin endangered is supported by
three factors. First, Lev 4:3 envisions a situation in which the high priest com-
mits an inadvertent sin but does not bring a sacrifice because he is unaware of it
(cf. v. 13). The result of this inadvertent sin is suffering for the people: “If it is
the anointed priest who so does wrong to the detriment of the people (E>22=
)79)7 …”32 Inadvertent sin, therefore, does not mean the absence of punitive
consequences. Second, Lev 17:11 suggests that these punitive consequences
Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000], 26). For further dis-
cussion of the relationship between sin and impurity, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement,
Chapter 5. Klawans is discussed on pp. 144–50.
28. See again discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, Chapter 5.
29. Exod 28:35, 43; 30:20–21; 31:14–15; 35:2; Lev 8:35; 19:20, etc.
30. Exod 30:33, 38; 31:14; Lev 7:20, 21; 17:4, 9; 18:29, etc.
31. Exod 28:43; Lev 7:18; 17:16; 19:17; 20:20; 24:15; Num 9:13, etc. For discussion, see Sklar,
Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 11–25.
32. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 226. Milgrom (ibid., 232) has noted that the sin of the priest does
not simply make the people guilty, it also endangers them: “That priestly misconduct can harm
the community is explicitly stated: ‘Do not dishevel your hair and do not rend your clothes, lest
you die and anger strike the whole community’ (10:6; cf. Gen 20:9, 17–18).” The sense of 9>72
in this passage is therefore consequential. See further Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement,
25–41.
could be severe. This verse states that the blood of atoning sacrifice serves to
ransom the life of the sinner,33 which naturally implies that the life of the sinner
is at risk. Since, however, the principal context of atoning sacrifice is inadver-
tent sin, the implication is that it is the life of the inadvertent sinner that is at
risk, and that sacrifice is the means by which to deliver the inadvertent sinner
from this danger.34 In further support it may finally be noted that it was possible
to commit a sin inadvertently that would result in severe consequences if done
intentionally, for example, eating the meat of fellowship offerings while unclean
(Lev 7:20). If one committed such a sin inadvertently and was then made aware
of it or became aware of it, but refused to bring the appropriate sacrifice, the
natural inference is that such a person would suffer the consequences that this
sin normally calls for, namely, kareth. One does not have to suffer kareth if this
is done inadvertently, but this is only because a sacrifice may be offered instead.
Stated differently, sacrifice allows the inadvertent sinner to escape the danger
caused by their sin.
In short, sin—whether intentional or inadvertent—endangers.
Sin Pollutes
Second, sin also pollutes. This is evident on the one hand from the verses
mentioned above, where sin is described as defiling (Lev 18:24–25a; 20:3; Num
35:33–34a) and as in need of being cleansed (Lev 16:30). It is evident on the
other hand from the fact that inadvertent sins requiring a purification offering
(and thus CA6<!:) pollute the sanctuary and its sancta. The fact that sin pollutes the
sanctuary and its sancta finds support in two considerations.
First, it is clear that sins which do not involve direct contact with the sanctu-
ary can still lead to its pollution. In Lev 20:3, for example, the LORD states that
the one who gives their child to Molech is guilty of “defiling (>!
2) my sanctu-
ary and profaning my holy name.”35 It is therefore possible that the sins of Lev 4
and 5 also result in the defiling of the sanctuary. Second, this possibility is
strengthened by the fact that one function of the purification offering is the
cleansing of the sanctuary and its sancta (Lev 16:16, 19, 33; see also 8:15). For
this reason, the requirement of the purification offering in contexts such as Lev
4:1–5:13 suggests that the sins here have resulted in the pollution of the sanctu-
ary, and that CA6<,:! at least in the context of the purification offering in Lev 4:1–
5:13, could also refer to the cleansing of the sanctuary. Indeed, in Lev 4:1–5:13
the blood of the purification offering is put upon the horns of the altar, an act
33. Levine, Leviticus, 115, and Presence of the Lord, 67–68; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 707–8,
and Leviticus 17–22 (AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1474; Schwartz, “Prohibitions,” 55 and
n. 1; Wenham, Leviticus, 115; Philip J. Budd, Leviticus (NCBC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996),
248.
34. Milgrom’s attempt to limit this verse to the “fellowship” (or “peace”) offering (Leviticus
1–16, 706–13; Leviticus 17–22, 1472–79) has not gained widespread acceptance. For a critique, see
(among others) Schwartz, “Prohibitions,” 58–60, and Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement,
174–79.
35. Noted by Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 257.
which elsewhere clearly refers to cleansing the sanctuary and/or its sancta (Lev
8:15; cf. 16:18–19).
In sum, then, when CA6<!: is required in a context of sin, it appears that the sin
both endangers and pollutes, implying that the CA6<!:-rite must both ransom and
cleanse.
Impurity Pollutes
Naturally, there is no question that impurity pollutes. As this relates to the verb
CA6<:!, however, it may be noted that this verb occurs in a purification context
with reference to cleansing a person or object from a “major” impurity. For this
reason, it is helpful to provide a brief outline of the various grades of impurities
in order to set the context of the discussion.
Impurities may be placed on a continuum between two poles: minor impuri-
ties and major impurities.36 These poles are determined based on the type of rite
required for cleansing, the duration of the impurity, and the degree of its conta-
gion.37 Minor impurities are those which are typically cleansed via bathing and/
or laundering,38 which last one day, and which are not contagious. People or
objects with minor impurities include those who have touched or carried an
unclean carcass (Lev 11:24–28), those who have been touched by a corpse-
defiled person (Num 19:22), those who have entered, slept, or eaten in a dis-
eased house (Lev 14:46–47), and those who have had intercourse (Lev 15:18).39
By way of contrast, major impurities require various other rites for cleansing.
Thus alongside of bathing and laundering we also find shaving, sprinkling with
the water for impurity, anointing with oil or blood, and the sprinkling of blood.40
Most importantly, the cleansing of a major impurity always involves sacrifice,
something that is never found with a minor impurity. Stated differently, major
impurities and sacrificial CA6<:! go together. The significance of this becomes
evident as we turn to consider the next point, namely, that major impurity not
only defiles, it also endangers.
Impurity Endangers
Two considerations are worthy of note in this regard. First, as Milgrom has
argued, those who suffer from a major impurity defile the sanctuary and its
sancta, even if they have not had direct contact with them. This is evident from
the following: (1) the tabernacle is defiled from impurities in the adytum, even
36. The word “continuum” is used above due to the impurity of the corpse-contaminated per-
son and menstruant, which falls in between minor and major impurities. See Sklar, Sin, Impurity,
Sacrifice, Atonement, 128 n. 69.
37. So Philip Peter Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World
(JSOTSup 106; Sheffield: JSOT, 1992), 225–26.
38. The word “typically” is used because in some instances it is not clear that the person had to
bathe or launder, only that they had to wait until sunset (see Lev 11:24, 27).
39. For a comprehensive list of those with minor impurities, see Jenson, Graded Holiness, 225.
40. We also find that the metallic items from the spoil are to be passed through the fire as well
as sprinkled with the “water for impurity” (95!%?: J>
, Num 31:21–24).
though no one is allowed in there (Lev 16:16);41 and (2) those suffering from a
major impurity must bring a purification offering; since the blood of this offer-
ing has a purifying function (Lev 8:15), and since it is placed upon the sanctuary
and its sancta, it follows that the sanctuary and its sancta have been polluted by
the major impurity and are in need of cleansing.42
This leads to the second consideration, namely, that the defiling of sancta is a
sin of the most serious consequences in the priestly literature. Thus the priests
are warned, “If any one of all your descendants throughout your generations
approaches the holy things, which the people of Israel dedicate to the LORD,
while he has an impurity, that person shall be cut off from my presence: I am the
LORD” (Lev 22:3). Again, after a series of warnings to the priests about not
approaching the holy gifts while impure, we read: “They shall therefore keep my
charge, lest they bear sin for it and die thereby when they profane it: I am the
LORD who sanctifies them” (22:9).43
In short, it is not simply that the person has a major impurity. Rather, through
their major impurity they have also (inadvertently) defiled sancta, a sin of the
most serious consequences.44 It thus stands to reason that the verb CA6<:! in these
contexts does not simply refer to cleansing; in keeping with its use elsewhere in
41. Jacob Milgrom, “Israel’s Sanctuary: The Priestly Picture of Dorian Gray,” RB 83 (1976):
390–99 (394).
42. Milgrom, “Israel’s Sanctuary,” 391. For how this relates to Lev 15:31, see the discussion in
Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 129–30 n. 71.
43. See also the warnings of Num 3:10; 8:19; 18:3–5, 7, 22.
44. True, it was never the intent of the parturient, leper, or the one suffering from a flow to
defile the sanctuary or its sancta. This is granted. Nonetheless, even the inadvertent defiling of sancta
was considered sinful, as is made clear by the case of the Nazirite in Num 6: “And if a person dies
very suddenly () EA: E2A63)! beside him [i.e. the Nazirite], and he defiles his consecrated head, then
he shall shave his head on the day of his cleansing; on the seventh day he shall shave it. On the
eighth day he shall bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons to the priest to the door of the Tent
of Meeting, and the priest shall offer one for a purification offering and the other for a burnt offering,
and make atonement for him, because he sinned by reason of the dead body (C6;>
HJ=77 CA6<:H
A6?792=2 7I)7 ” (Num 6:9–11a).
The situation envisaged here is one in which the holy head of the Nazirite has been defiled by
corpse contamination. The inadvertency of the situation is indicated by the suddenness of the death
(E2A63! ) EA): , that is, the Nazirite did not purposefully expose himself to corpse contamination;
instead, the event came about unexpectedly and in a manner outside of his control. Nonetheless,
from the priestly perspective, the Nazirite has sinned, and is in need of atonement: “…and [the priest
will] make atonement for [the Nazirite], because he sinned by reason of the dead body (CA6<:H
A6?792=2 7I7 C6;>
HJ=77)” (v. 11). Granted, the sin in view in this instance is the defiling of the
Nazirite’s head, and the text does not explicitly address the defiling of the sanctuary itself or its
sancta. Nonetheless, the fact remains from this passage that the inadvertent defiling of a holy item
(the Nazirite’s head) was considered a sin in the priestly system, and therefore in need of redressing.
Given that major impurities also defile holy items (namely, the sanctuary and its sancta), it may be
concluded that those suffering from a major impurity are in a similar position as the Nazirite,
namely, as those who have sinned inadvertently. As a result, it would seem that CA6<:! in these
contexts refers not only to an act of purgation, as argued above, but that it also refers to the principle
of CA6<@! (“ransom”), in keeping with its use in contexts of inadvertent sin elsewhere.
the context of inadvertent sin, it also refers to ransom (CA6<!@).45 Stated differently,
major impurities do not only defile, they also endanger, and thus the CA6<:!-rite
must cleanse the impurity (purgation) and rescue the endangered person (CA6<)!@ .46
In sum, major impurities that require CA6<:! not only pollute, they also endanger,
while inadvertent sins requiring CA6<:! not only endanger, they also pollute. This
suggests that the CA6<!:-rite in each context effects both “ransom” and “purgation,”
that is, that CA6<:! refers to CA6<-@! purgation.47 The possibility of this understanding
of CA6<:! finds support in two further avenues.
CA6<:! as CA6<@!-Purgation
The Dual Function of Blood
First, sacrificial blood is presented as that which both purifies and ransoms. The
purifying power of sacrificial blood is evident in various texts where it cleanses
the altar: “Next Moses slaughtered [the purification offering bull] and took the
blood and with his finger put [some of it] around on the horns of the altar, and
purified (
I2JH2) the altar” (Lev 8:15a); “With his finger he shall sprinkle some
of the blood on it seven times and cleanse it (H+C9;:H) …” (16:19a).
The ransoming power of blood is also evident. Most clear in this regard is
Lev 17:11, where the LORD says of sacrificial blood: “I have given it [i.e. the
blood] upon the altar to ransom your lives ()<6JE
A?"=2 CA
<2=)…” (17:11aC). It
is commonly agreed that the atonement referred to by the verb CA6<:! in this verse
is characterized by ransom,48 and the flow of the verse makes clear that it is the
blood that is the ransom payment. In further support of the ransoming power of
blood we may refer to the discussion above concerning the verb I=2D7, which is
used in Lev 4–5 to express the acceptance of a mitigated penalty (a “ransom”) in
lieu of the one deserved. Since this forgiveness resulted from the CA6<:!-rite, the
45. See the discussion above.

46. It may be noted in this regard that CA6<:! is distinct from other verbs for cleansing (such as
C9 and I), insofar as it is tied to sacrificial blood in a way that other verbs are not (for elabora-
tion on this point, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 112–15). This is especially important
to note because of the connection between sacrificial blood and CA6<!@ elsewhere (see the discussion
below on “The Dual Function of Blood” as well as “Numbers 35”). The implication is that this is not
any type of purgation that is taking place; this is CA6<!@-purgation. See further ibid., 153–57.
47. It is possible that in some contexts the focus of the CA6<:!-rite is upon cleansing (e.g. Lev
12:8: “…and the priest will make atonement for her, and she shall be pure”), while in other contexts
the focus of the CA6<-:! rite is upon ransom (e.g. Lev 4:20: “So the priest shall make atonement for
them, and they shall be forgiven”). In either context, however, the impure person and the sinner are
in need of both cleansing and ransom, and it is for this reason that the CA6<:!-rite—which has both CA6<@!
and purgation in view—is called for. See the previous note.
48. See n. 33 above. This finds support in the phrase )<6JE
A?"=2 CA
<2= in v. 11aC, which occurs
in only two other instances (Exod 30:15–16; Num 31:50), and which has the meaning “to ransom
your lives” both times. As noted by Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16, 708), this is especially clear in Exod
30, where the phrase )<6JE
A?"=2 CA
<2= in vv. 15–16 is paralleled a few verses earlier with the phrase
H+A?" CA6<,@! “a ransom for his life” (v. 12). That H?JE
A?"=2 CA
<2= refers to a ransom in Num 31:50 is
demonstrated by the fact that the context is the same as Exod 30, namely, the taking of a census.
implication was that the CA6<:!-rite effected a ransom payment on behalf of the
sinner. Significantly, a central part of the CA6<-:! rite in Lev 4–5 is the manipula-
tion of the blood upon the altar (cf. Lev 17:11), suggesting again that blood is
central to the effecting of ransom (and that CA6<:! in Lev 4 and 5 is actually used
in consonance with the understanding of CA6<:! in Lev 17:11).
In sum, blood has both the power to ransom and to purify, which further
supports the possibility that the verb CA6<:! may refer to CA6<-@! purgation.
Numbers 35
This understanding of the verb is confirmed further by the use of CA6<:! in Num
35:30–34.49 Numbers 35:9–29 deals with the cities of refuge and who may legiti-
mately go there, namely, those who have unintentionally slain another. Verses
30–34, which conclude the chapter, read as follows:
If anyone kills a person, the murderer shall be put to death on the evidence of wit-
nesses; but no person shall be put to death on the testimony of one witness. Moreover
you shall accept no ransom (CA6<)! for the life of a murderer, who is guilty of death; but
the murderer shall be put to death. And you shall accept no ransom (CA6<! ) for the one
who has fled to their city of refuge, that they may return to dwell in the land before the
death of the priest. You shall not thus pollute the land in which you live; for blood
pollutes the land, and no atonement can be made for the land, for the blood that is shed
in it (9!37!(A2F C6; )5!%=2 CA2<FJ= #C$7=7H), except by the blood of the one who shed it.
You shall not defile the land in which you live, in the midst of which I dwell; for I the
LORD dwell in the midst of the people of Israel.
The thrust of the passage is straightforward. Verse 30 states that a murderer

must be executed, provided there is more than one witness to the crime.50 Verse
31 then states that when a person is found to be guilty of murder, that no ransom
payment (CA6<! ) can be accepted on their behalf. Though not stated here, a ran-
som payment was often given in the form of money.51 Verse 32 goes on to
clarify that a ransom payment cannot be accepted even when the murder was
unintentional, and thus even the unintentional slayer is not allowed to leave his
49. It is granted that this passage is not a sacrificial context, even though an inadvertent sin is
addressed (v. 32; see vv. 22–25). The reason for the absence of sacrifice appears to be that the
inadvertent sin of murder is so serious that not even animal sacrifice can atone for it; only the blood
of the slayer, or the death (and therefore lifeblood) of the high priest, will do (vv. 25, 28, 32–33).
The passage is still relevant to the present discussion, however, insofar as it is using the verb CA6<:! in
the context of an inadvertent sin which pollutes.
50. On the execution of the murderer, see Gen 9:6; Exod 21:12–14; Lev 24:12.
51. For a narrative example of CA6<@! in the context of murder, see 2 Sam 21:1–9, where the land
is suffering a famine because of Saul’s slaying of the Gibeonites (v. 1). As a result, David calls the
Gibeonites and asks them, “What should I do for you? And with what can I effect ransom (9>!7!32H
CA
<2); that you may bless the heritage of the LORD?” (v. 3). The fact that David was offering a
payment of money is evident from the Gibeonites’ response: “It is not a matter of silver or gold
between us and Saul or his house…” (v. 4). In the end, the only ransom suitable—as in Num 35:33—
was blood, namely, that of Saul’s sons (v. 6). Though not in the context of murder, see also Exod
30:11–16, where the phrase H+A?" CA6<@! (Exod 30:12), which is paralleled in our text by A6?6= CA6<@!
(Num 35:31), is a payment of a half shekel of silver (Exod 30:13). See the discussion in Sklar, Sin,
Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 48–59 for this and other CA6<-@! texts.
or her city of refuge.52 The reason that CA6< ! may not be accepted is given in v. 33:
murder pollutes the land. The severity of this is such that no CA6<:! can be effected
for the land by a CA6< ! of money; it is only a CA6< ! of blood that will CA6<:! the land,
namely, the blood of the slayer: “…for blood pollutes the land, and no CA6<:! can
be made for the land, for the blood that is shed in it, except by the blood of the
one who shed it” (H+<A )523! ):J<:! 9!37!(A2F C6; )5!%=2 CA2<FJ= #C$7=7H, v. 33). To
receive anything less than this would be to leave the pollution of the land
unaddressed, a situation which was inconceivable given that the LORD dwelt in
the midst of it (vv. 33–34).
The relationship between CA6<:! and CA6<! in this passage is self-evident. To
return to Milgrom:
There are…cases in which the ransom [i.e. CA6< !] principle is clearly operative. (1) The
function of the census money (Exod 30:12–16) is lpkappƝr !al-napš¿têkem ‘to ransom
your lives’ (Exod 30:16; cf. Num 31:50): here the verb kippƝr must be related to the
expression found in the same pericope k¿per napšô ‘a ransom for his life’ (Exod 30:12).
(2) The same combination of the idiom k¿per nepeš and the verb kippƝr is found in the
law of homicide (Num 35:31–33). Thus in these two cases, kippƝr is a denominative
from k¿per, whose meaning is undisputed: ‘ransom’ (cf. Exod 21:30).53
In this instance, a normal CA6< ! (i.e. a payment of money) was insufficient to

effect CA6<:! for the land; only a CA6< ! of blood (i.e. the blood of the slayer) would
suffice. In executing the slayer, and thus effecting CA6<,:! the sufficient ransom for
the land would be paid and its defilement would be taken care of.
What is particularly important to note, however, is that while CA6<:! here does
refer to the payment of a suitable ransom, the intended result of the CA6<:!-action—
that is, the payment of a suitable CA6< !—is that of cleansing, since it is the pollu-
tion and defilement of the land that is being addressed (vv. 33–34). In short, it
appears that CA6<:! here refers to the effecting of a ransom payment which has
purgative results.54 This adds still further support to the argument above that the
verb CA6<:! may be used to refer to CA6<- ! purgation.
52. That is, until the death of the high priest (see vv. 25, 28).
54. In an important article on Lev 17:11, Schwartz (“Prohibitions,” 56) argues that “[Lev 17:11]
is the only place in which the CA6<-:! action attributed to blood has the sense of ransom rather than
purification.” Recognizing that Num 35:31–33 would also seem to use CA6<:! in this way, Schwartz
(p. 56 n. 1) offers the following comments: “In vv. 31–32…the noun CA6<@! is, of course, ‘ransom,’
‘payment’. In v. 33, however…the word CA2<FJ not only echoes the CA< of the preceding verses; it is
also, and primarily, the antithesis of ,J?IJ…HAJ?IE, in which case it means ‘purge, purify.’ The play
on words is that CA6<@! ‘ransom’ cannot CA
<2> ‘purify’ the land of the blood of the innocent; only the
blood of the homicide can accomplish this.”
In this way Schwartz holds that CA6<:! in v. 33 refers solely to purification.
While Schwartz’s article as a whole is extremely insightful, the above comments may be ques-
tioned on two grounds. First, even leaving Num 35 aside, it does not seem to be the case that Lev
17:11 is the only verse where the CA6<:!-action attributed to blood refers to ransom (see the comments
above on CA6<:! and I=2D7 in Lev 4–5). (Schwartz has followed Milgrom on the translation of CA6<:! in
Lev 4–5, understanding the purification offering to be that which cleanses the tabernacle from
impurity but which does not atone for the initial inadvertent sin itself. This understanding of the
purification offering, however, is problematic to the context of Lev 4–5; see Sklar, Sin, Impurity,
Summary
This essay has attempted to answer the question: Why does the verb CA6<!: occur
in contexts of inadvertent sin and major impurity? The answer, briefly stated, is
that inadvertent sins and major impurities share this in common: both endanger
(requiring ransom) and both pollute (requiring purification). The verb CA6<!:
occurs in both contexts because it refers to CA6<@!-purgation, with the blood of the
sacrifice serving both to ransom and to purify.
Sacrifice, Atonement, 87 n. 23. For a more thorough critique of Milgrom’s understanding of the
purification offering, see now Roy E. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of
Atonement, and Theodicy [Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005], especially Chapter 6.)
Second, Schwartz has correctly identified that one element of CA6<:! in Num 35:33 is that of
purification. More problematic, however, is his concluding statement: “The play on words is that
CA6<@! ‘ransom’ cannot CA
<2> ‘purify’ the land of the blood of the innocent; only the blood of the
homicide can accomplish this.” There are two issues here which must be addressed. First, this
statement is not specific enough, since it is important to note that the text is not referring at this point
to a CA6<@! in general but to a CA6<@! of money (cf. 2 Sam 21:3-6 and discussion above in n. 51; see also
the use of CA6<@! elsewhere, e.g., Exod 21:28-32; 30:11-16). The text is thus not claiming that a CA6<@!
cannot cleanse the land of blood pollution, only that a CA6<@! of money cannot. This leads to the second
problem: this statement introduces a false disjunction into the text between ransom and cleansing,
assuming that the verb can refer only to one or the other. The context, however, suggests that both
are in view, as Schwartz himself seems to recognize in his very preceding statement: “In v. 33...the
word CA2<FJ: not only echoes the CA< of the preceding verses; it is also, and primarily, the antithesis
of ,J?IJ...HAJ?IE, in which case it means ‘purge, purify’ ” (“Prohibitions,” 56 n. 1; emphasis added).
It is this very “echo” that is the point: the atoning that is taking place here is one which both “ran-
soms” and “cleanses” the land, something that blood is able to do since it fulfills both of these func-
tions (see the discussion above on “The Dual Function of Blood”). In short, it is a ransom payment
that has purgative results, suggesting again that CA6<:! here refers to CA6<-@! purgation.
PURE, IMPURE, PERMITTED, PROHIBITED:
A STUDY OF CLASSIFICATION SYSTEMS IN P
Naphtali S. Meshel
In 1962 C. Lévi-Strauss1 showed that animal classification systems expressed

through ritual attitudes towards particular animal species are neither limited to
societies where there is a fixed correlation between social groups and animal
species, nor do they pertain to species which are materially or symbolically
significant in the respective societies. Therefore, he argued, such systems cannot
be explained as side-effects of social classification, as Durkheim and Mauss had
claimed, nor can they be understood on the narrow materialistic grounds posited
by Radcliffe-Brown and Malinowski.2 According to Lévi-Strauss, the ritual
expression of the mental act of classification functions like a language, con-
taining “stressed” and “unstressed” elements and aiming to convey theoretical
messages.3
Lévi-Strauss argues that in primitive societies, animal species are commonly
chosen as logical operators in the language of classification, since animal
species, as opposed to most natural phenomena, are by nature discrete (there
may be no clear borders between colors in the spectrum of visible light, but
there is a clear border between cats and dogs). Furthermore, there is a homolo-
gous relation between the grouping of individuals in discrete social groups, and
the distribution of individual animals between discrete species.4
1. Claude Lévi-Strauss, Le Totémisme aujourd’hui (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France,

1962), English trans. Totemism (trans. R. Needham; Boston: Beacon, 1963); idem, La Pensée
sauvage (Paris: Plon, 1962), translated into English anonymously as The Savage Mind (London:
Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1966), cf. esp. 115–17.
2. A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, “The Sociological Theory of Totemism,” in his Structure and
Function in Primitive Society (London: Cohen & West, 1952), 117–32; Bronislaw Malinowski,
Magic, Science and Religion and Other Essays (Boston: Beacon, 1948), 27–28; cf. Lévi-Strauss,
Totemism, 56ff.
3. Four years after the publication of these essays, and without explicitly referring to them,
Mary Douglas (Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Pollution and Taboo [London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul, 1966]) attempted to demonstrate how such a system of categorization might serve as a
medium for conveying an ideological, religious message. Since 1966, Douglas has reformulated and
revised several of the insights of Purity and Danger, though without abandoning the general theory
regarding the relation between impurity and anomaly posited in her monograph.
4. Lévi-Strauss, Totemism, 135–36. The seeds of this argument are already intimated by
Durkheim and Mauss, who discerned the problem of lack of differentiation in 1903. Cf. Émile
Durkheim and Marcel Mauss, Primitive Classification (trans. R. Needham; London: Cohen & West,
1963), 7–8. For a lucid discussion, cf. Edmund Leach, “Anthropological Aspects of Language:
MESHEL Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited 33
Thus, animal species became objects of ritual attitudes not due to their
material value, that is to say, not because they are “good to eat,” but rather
because they are “good to think,” serving as a useful model for differentiating
thought.5
However, the animal kingdom was chosen as a model for categorization not,
in Levi-Strauss’s view, merely due to its formal structure. The choice lies also in
the primordial affinity between human and animal, and hence in the semantics
of the language of classification, expressing what Lévi-Strauss considers the
central problem of human culture: the relation between human and animal,
between culture and nature.
What follows is an attempt to prove that one particular system of animal
categorization, produced by ancient Israelite religion and formulated in Lev 11,
is a theoretical attempt to address precisely this central problem. In order to
accomplish this, it will be necessary to set aside the theoretical discussion and
turn to the biblical texts concerned with “ritual taxonomy,” particularly Lev 11
and its parallel Deut 14.
The Common Vorlage of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14

The remarkable similarity between Lev 11:2b–20 and Deut 14:4–19 indicates
that there exists a genetic relation between these two texts. Several models of
this relation have been presented, scholars often emphasizing the textual
evidence which accords with their general conception of the relationship
between P and D, and explaining away the contradictory data accordingly.6
I believe that a common Vorlage underlies the two texts, which can even be
reconstructed with a relatively high degree of certainty. This will not be
attempted here,7 but I will use Deuteronomy as a proof-text: terms and passages
found in Lev 11 but absent from Deut 14, or vice versa, which cannot be
explained in terms of D’s particular ideology will be suspected as alterations
which the authors of Lev 11 made in their Vorlage.
Animal Categories and Verbal Abuse,” in New Directions in the Study of Language (ed. E. H.
Lenneberg; Cambridge: M.I.T., 1964), 34–36.
5. The original context of this well-known aphorism is Lévi-Strauss’s criticism of the
materialistic interpretation offered by Radcliffe-Brown; cf. Lévi-Strauss, Totémisme, 128: “On
comprend enfin que les espèces naturelles ne sont pas choisies parce que ‘bonnes à manger’ mais
parce que ‘bonnes à penser.’ ” The idiom bonnes à penser is syntactically awkward, created by
analogy to bonnes à manger. The wording used above, “a useful model for differentiating thought”
requires clarification in light of the general context of Lévi-Strauss’s writings. Animal classification
systems are not a model external to logic, which logic imitates; rather, thinking with the aid of
animal species is an expression of the mental operation itself.
6. For a brief review of scholarly literature, cf. William L. Moran, “The Literary Connection
between Lev. 11:13–19 and Deut. 14:12–18,” CBQ 28 (1966): 271–77; Meir Paran, Forms of the
Priestly Style in the Pentateuch (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1989 [Hebrew]), 340; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus
1–16 (AB 3a; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 698–704.
7. I hope to address the text-history of Lev 11 in detail in a separate study, “The Structure and
Composition of Leviticus 11: A New Proposal” (forthcoming).
Deuteronomy 14:3–21a
The deuteronomic legislator is no innovator in terms of the classification of the
animal kingdom. First, the general injunction at the head of the sermon asserts
that the legislator was not attempting to define what food is abominable and
what food is not. He simply assumed that the “impure” species and the flesh of
animals that died naturally are t¿!Ɲbâ, that is, abominable and reviling (though
not inedible). His innovation was only that in formulating categorical injunc-
tions, addressed to the whole nation, he prohibited the consumption of such
meat. Just as H forbids those whom it considers inherently holy, namely, the
priests (but not the lay Israelites, striving for holiness), to eat carrion (Lev 22:8),
since carrion is self-evidently inherently impure, so D (like E, in Exod 22:30)
prohibits those whom it considers inherently holy, namely, all Israelites, to eat
certain species (and carrion), since these are self-evidently inherently despicable
(14:21).8 Secondly, the commands in vv. 11 and 20 (“You may eat any pure
birds,” “You may eat any pure winged creature”) presuppose that the audience
knows which birds and flying insects are “pure” and which are not; the law
simply asserts that whatever is known as “pure” is permitted for consumption.
One should not be surprised that D lists the “impure” birds even though it
assumes that they are known; similarly, having listed the criteria for the purity
of large quadrupeds, D proceeds to list the ten pure species. By analogy to a
modern situation, this would be similar to a general ban on cheap meat, followed
by a list of fast food chains for clarification.
D mentions four main categories of animals: large quadrupeds, water animals,
birds, and flying insects. The author consistently distinguishes between species
permitted for consumption (t¿!kƝlǌ, t¿!kelǌ, vv. 4–5, 9, 11, 19) and species
prohibited for consumption (l¿ t¿!kƝlǌ, l¿ t¿!kelǌ, vv. 7–8, 10, 18, 20). The
adjectives ÓƗmƝ (vv. 7–8, 10, 19) and ÓƗh¿r (v. 11) are distributed somewhat
less symmetrically, but in a manner that leaves little doubt that the dichotomy in
its entirety holds true in each of the four groups: the species permitted for
consumption are all “pure” and the prohibited species are all “impure.”
The use of the terms “pure” and “impure” in Deut 14 is somewhat equivocal.
The author may have intended these terms to serve as mere labels, designating
species permitted and prohibited for consumption respectively (this is clearly
how the terms are used in Gen 7:2, 8; Lev 27:11, 27; Num 18:15, where they
refer to live specimens, which are certainly not considered ritually defiling); or
he may have wished to indicate that aside from the fact that some species are
prohibited for consumption, those same species are also ritually defiling.
8. Cf. Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972),
226. For a similar argument (regarding carrion alone, in both D and E), cf. Baruch J. Schwartz, The
Holiness Legislation: Studies in the Priestly Code (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999 [Hebrew]), 126. Israel
Knohl (Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School [Philadelphia: Fortress,
1995], 183 n. 43) argues that as far as lay Israelites are concerned, H permitted defilement but
prohibited remaining impure, and therefore permitted the consumption of carrion, whereas D
prohibited its consumption since it viewed it as absolutely unsuitable for a holy nation. This is true,
though, admittedly, D and E do not assert, but simply assume, that carrion is impure.
In light of D’s general lack of interest in ritual impurity, the former possibil-
ity seems more likely. It appears that D adopted the terms “pure” and “impure”
from its Vorlage, deliberately or unintentionally ignoring the ritual implications
of the labels “pure” and “impure.” In v. 8, D did not discard the command “and
their carcasses you shall not touch,” since it does not oppose to ritual impurity
per se; but for D, the main function of the terms ÓƗh¿r and ÓƗmƝ, in the context
of animal species, is to indicate permissibility or impermissibility for con-
sumption.
In any case, Deut 14 presents a traditional dichotomy: “okay” animals on the
one hand (i.e. species which are termed ÓƗh¿r which may be eaten), and “not
okay” animals on the other hand (i.e. species termed ÓƗmƝ which may not be
eaten) (cf. Appendix II, Table 1).
Leviticus 11
In contrast to this simple dichotomy, Lev 11 presents a complex legal grid,
which I will now proceed to examine.
The chapter treats several groups of animals, presented in a manner which
seems disorderly: large quadrupeds, water animals, birds, flying insects, land
swarmers, again large quadrupeds, and once again land swarmers (cf. Appendix
I, below).
An explanation of this disorder, as well as a thorough presentation of the
theoretical argument of Lev 11, would entail a detailed diachronic analysis of
the chapter.9 For the sake of brevity, however, it is methodologically warranted
to present the argument from the final form of the chapter, since it is textually
demonstrable that all three P strata in the chapter strove in a single theoretical
direction, each logically dependent upon its predecessors, and each pressing the
same theoretical development a step further.
One critical note is called for: the exhortation in vv. 43–45 differs from the
main body of the chapter linguistically, ideologically, and thematically, but is
reminiscent of H in all these aspects (cf. particularly Lev 20:25–26). These
verses do not stem from P, but are related to the Holiness School (H).10
It has long been noticed that in the main body of the chapter (i.e. in P) the
terms šeqeÑ and ÓƗmƝ appear to be mutually exclusive. An animal is either
termed šeqeÑ or ÓƗmƝ, never both. Though this statement may need qualification
(cf. wek¿l in 11:41; see also 7:21), Milgrom’s insightful distinction, intimated in
the Sifra and noticed by David Z. Hoffmann, is basically true: ÓƗmƝ, when
9. Milgrom and Wright differ slightly on the details of this analysis. Cf. Jacob Milgrom, “The
Composition of Leviticus, Chapter 11,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel (ed. Gary A.
Anderson and Saul M. Olyan; JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 182–91; David P.
Wright, The Disposal of Impurity, Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian
Literature (SBLDS 101; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 20; idem, “The Spectrum of Priestly
Impurity,” in Anderson and Olyan, eds., Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel, 168 n. 1; and
Wright’s written communication quoted in Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 698.
10. Cf. Knohl, Sanctuary or Silence, 69; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 683–88, 694.
attributed to a species, designates “ritually defiling, and also prohibited for

consumption”; šeqeÑ indicates “prohibited for consumption, but not ritually
defiling.”11 Milgrom also notes correctly that the author of the H appendix (vv.
41–45 according to Milgrom himself, or vv. 43–45 according to other scholars)
was unaware of this distinction, and that terms from the stems šqÑ and Óm are
therefore used interchangeably in those verses.
The terminological distinction between šeqeÑ and ÓƗmƝ has immediate legal
implications: not every animal which is prohibited for consumption is con-
sidered ritually impure. Thus, only the flesh of large quadrupeds and of eight
species of land-swarmers, which are termed ÓƗmƝ, may convey ritual impurity
(Appendix II, Table 2, category b2; cf. Lev 5:2, as well as the precise wording
of 11:29a and 22:5 regarding land-swarmers;); all other land-swarmers, as well
as all birds and water animals, whether permitted for consumption or not, are
ritually pure and convey impurity neither by contact nor by consumption (Table
2, category a2 and the obvious a1). Like any other transgression in P, consump-
tion of prohibited birds or fish may give rise to a miasma-like substance which
clings to the sancta and which must be purged by the blood of a hattat
sacrifice,12 but the individual remains pure: he is not expected to undergo ritual
ablutions or to wait until sunset before approaching the sancta.13
The other side of this legal distinction between impurity and prohibition is
that not every animal which is ritually contaminating is prohibited for consump-
tion. Although every species which is termed ÓƗmƝ is, in fact, prohibited for
consumption, there is a type of meat which, though ritually contaminating, is
permitted for consumption (cf. Table 2, category b1). Verses 39–40 specify that
if a quadruped of the species permitted for consumption—for example, a cow—
dies of itself, its flesh is ritually contaminating. However, here, as elsewhere in
priestly literature (as opposed to D and E), it is evident that lay Israelites are
permitted to become contaminated by eating the flesh of a cow that died of
itself; it is only priests that are prohibited to do so (7:24; 22:8).
It should be remembered that in priestly literature, becoming ritually impure
is generally not considered a vice—though subsequent purification may be
11. David Z. Hoffmann, Das Buch Leviticus (2 vols.; Berlin: M. Poppelauer, 1905), 1:340; cf.
Jacob Milgrom, “Two Biblical Hebrew Priestly Terms: eqeÑ and ƗmƝ,” Maarav 8 (1992):
107–16.
12. Milgrom has elaborated on this point extensively; the locus classicus for this argument is
perhaps Jacob Milgrom, “Israel’s Sanctuary: The Priestly ‘Picture of Dorian Gray,’ ” RB 83 (1976):
390–99.
13. Milgrom is somewhat unclear on this matter. At times, he states that the animals termed
šeqeÑ “defile not by contact but only by ingestion” (Leviticus 1–16, 648, cf. 656, 694), insinuating
that these animals are ritually impure, though defiling only through ingestion (like the flesh of an
animal that dies of itself in most strata of P, except for Lev 11:39–40). However, he also explicitly
states that “šeqeÑ animals are cultically pure” (p. 656), indicating that in the above-mentioned use of
“defile,” he must have meant metaphoric defilement. Wright opines that “all the prohibited ani-
mals…probably polluted by eating” (“Spectrum,” 167 n. 1; cf. Disposal, 203–4), meaning that the
prohibited water animals, birds and flying insects probably conveyed ritual impurity through
ingestion, though not by contact.
demanded (17:15–16, H). Impurity is often inevitable, and it is even expected of

Israelites as well as priests to become ritually impure at times (e.g. 15:18, 21:2–
3).14
Note that when discussing the eight impure land-swarmers (v. 31) and most
quadrupeds (vv. 24–25), the legislator offers instructions for purification from
external contact only, not from consumption, since such flesh should not be
consumed in the first place. By contrast, vv. 39–40 supply instructions for puri-
fication from touching, carrying, and eating the flesh of a permitted quadruped
which died naturally, since contacting and eating such flesh are equally
permitted.15
At this point, it is already evident that in the ritual taxonomy of Lev 11, a
simple dichotomy was replaced by a tetralemma, where all combinations are
possible: pure and permitted for consumption, pure and prohibited, impure and
permitted, impure and prohibited. However, this is only half of the picture. In
fact, the legislators created a much more complex system of categorization,
applying this differentiating logic not only to the consumption of animals but
also to contact with their carcasses.
Verse 3 creates a simple distinction: quadrupeds with split hooves that chew
their cud may be eaten, all others by implication may not. In vv. 4–8 four species
are named—the only examples known to the author—which were believed to
fulfill one of the criteria but not the other. Verse 8 clearly declares these four
species impure, and forbids both touching their carcasses and eating their flesh
(Table 3, category b2). Presumably, this law, which is paralleled in Deut 14:8,
and which probably derives from the common Vorlage, was originally intended
to apply to quadrupeds lacking both criteria as well, such as dogs and donkeys.
In their original context, the four exceptions were probably named simply to
remove all doubt. Yet, in the context of Lev 11 an interesting transformation
took place. Technically speaking, though quadrupeds lacking both criteria are
prohibited for consumption by implication (v. 3), vv. 2–8 say nothing at all of
their ritual impurity, leaving at least two theoretical possibilities open: (a) pawed
quadrupeds and perissodactyla (animals like horses) are ritually pure, like the
prohibited birds and all but eight species of land-swarmers; or (b) they are
ritually impure, but in contrast to the four exceptional species, it is permissible
to become defiled by touching their carcasses, just as it is permissible for lay
Israelites to become defiled through contact with a human corpse.
14. For a discussion of the complexities of this issue, cf. Tikva Frymer-Kensky, “Pollution,
Purification and Purgation in Biblical Israel,” in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth (ed. Carol L.
Meyers and M. O’Connor; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1983), 399–413; Wright, “Spectrum,”
150–81; and Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2000), 21–42, 94–97, who links the “compartmentalizing” attitude towards impurity and sin
found in tannaitic literature with a similar attitude in P.
15. Note that the law in vv. 39–40 is somewhat more stringent than other priestly laws, since it
states that impurity may be contracted not only through consumption of such flesh (as seems to be
the case elsewhere in P and H; cf. Lev 5:2; 22:8) but also by mere contact with it (v. 39); cf.
Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 681–82.
Verses 24–28 solve this dilemma. They are logically and grammatically
dependent on vv. 2–8, addressing precisely those groups of animals not dis-
cussed there: quadrupeds lacking both signs of purity, having either plain hoofs
or no hoofs at all. These verses settle what those verses had left unsettled, in the
opening words of v. 24, ǌleƝlle tiÓÓammƗǌ.
This formulation, in which the indirect object irregularly precedes the yiqtol
form of the verb, is found in a similar context in Lev 21:3 (H), where it is both
connective and contrastive in relation to what precedes it. The formula lƗh
yiÓÓammƗ, used by the priestly legislators in Lev 21:3, indicates that whereas it
is generally forbidden for a priest to become defiled through contact with the
dead (21:1b, 4b), he is nevertheless permitted to become defiled by contact with
the corpse of a close relative, such as his virgin sister. Therefore, these words
should be translated “by her, however, he may become defiled.”16
Similarly, the contrastive and connective formula in v. 24 should be trans-
lated: “by these, however, you may become defiled.” The legislators wished to
contrast the law of the four exceptional quadrupeds with that of all other
quadrupeds prohibited for consumption. Whereas one is forbidden to become
ritually defiled by contacting the former (v. 8aE), the latter—though no less
defiling—may be touched at will (cf. Table 3, category b1).
This counterintuitive conclusion is again supported by the fact that the
priestly legislators tend to offer instructions for purification only where defile-
ment was not prohibited in the first place. In contrast to the elaborate laws of
purification from contact with the eight impure land-swarmers, perissodactyla,
and hoofless animals, in the case of the four exceptional species, no instructions
for purifications are offered at all, since, as v. 8 explicitly states, it is forbidden
to eat or touch their carcasses.
Already with the juxtaposition of vv. 2–8 and 24–28, a distinction was made
between impure animals whose carcasses may be touched and impure animals
whose carcasses should not be touched. According to all that is known about
ancient Israelite religion, there was no reason to prohibit physical contact with
the carcass of a ritually pure animal.
However, in addition to the prohibition against eating the flesh of certain
species of water animals (v. 11bD), v. 11 also contains a prohibition against
coming in contact with their carcasses (v. 11bE), weet nublƗtƗm tešaqqƝÑǌ,
though they are ritually pure. Here, the legislator made use of the common, non-
technical sense of the verb šiqqƝÑ, attested in Deut 7:26 and elsewhere, refining
its meaning to carry a new legal sense: prohibition against contact which is not
linked to ritual impurity (cf. Table 3, category a2).
This counterintuitive hypothesis is supported by two facts. First, v. 11b is
structurally identical to v. 8a. One may infer that just as the syndetic structure in
v. 8 serves to present two distinct prohibitions (“Of their flesh you shall not eat,
16. The idiom Óm l- indicates becoming impure by (coming in direct of indirect contact with) a
ritually defiling person or object (cf. Lev 22:5). In the case of Lev 21:3, the idiom may carry over-
tones of becoming defiled for the sake of (burying) a person, though this is probably not the primary
reading (cf. Num 9:6–7).
and their carcasses you shall not touch”) followed by a single definition (ÓƗmƝ,
v. 8b), so the same structure in v. 11b (“Of their flesh you shall not eat, and their
carcasses you shall regard as detestable”) indicates two different prohibitions,
followed by a single definition (šeqeÑ, vv. 10–11a). Secondly, the choice of the
term nebƝlâ (“carcass”) in v. 11bE, as opposed to bƗĞƗr (“flesh”) in v. 11bD is
significant: it indicates that the first command refers to the status of the carcass
as potential food (flesh), whereas the second refers to its status as a material
body (a carcass) susceptible to physical contact.17 This same exact terminologi-
cal distinction is found in v. 8: bƗĞƗr is the object of dietary laws, whereas
nebƝlâ is the object of legislation concerned with ritual impurity.
This intriguing legislation completes the logical symmetry of P’s ritual tax-
onomy: not only is there a distinction between animals which are pure and
permitted for consumption; pure and prohibited for consumption; impure and
permitted for consumption; or impure and prohibited for consumption; but also
between species which are pure and permitted to touch; pure and prohibited to
touch; impure and permitted to touch; or impure and prohibited to touch.
Conceptual vs. Normative Legislation

It is quite possible that the complex classification system found in Lev 11 never
took root in Israelite society. Even if one does not accept the position adopted by
Cohen and Haran that P originated as a secret priestly document,18 it is doubtful
that Lev 11 ever served as a normative basis for Israelite society at any given
historical period. The very fact that the law lists species which, according to
textual evidence as well as osteonic findings, were not commonly considered
potential food in the Levant during the Late Bronze and Iron Ages (perhaps with
the exception of the pig),19 indicates that the authors were aiming at conceptual
rather than normative legislation.
17. The distinction between bƗĞƗr and nebƝlâ in legal contexts is not in the way in which the
animal is killed (e.g. bƗĞƗr = properly killed by humans), as Exod 22:30 clearly indicates, but in the
point of view of the writer. The cadaver of an animal may be termed bƗĞƗr only inasmuch as it is
conceived as potential food (even prohibited food, cf. Lev 11:8aD, 11bD, or food for animals Gen
40:19; 2 Kgs 9:36). When viewed not as food but as a physical body carried or touched, it is termed
nebƝlâ (Lev 11:8aE, 11bE, 25ff.). Naturally, even when conceived as potential food, a carcass may
be termed nebƝlâ if the context is ritual impurity, not prohibition of consumption (v. 40), or if there
is any other reason to specify that the flesh(!) that is eaten is that of a carcass (Deut 28:26, etc.).
18. Cf. Chayim Cohen, “Was the P Document Secret?,” JANES 1, no. 2 (1969): 39–44;
Menahem Haran, “Behind the Scenes of History: Determining the Date of the Priestly Source,” JBL
100 (1981): 321–33; and Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22 (AB 3b; New York: Doubleday, 2000),
1410–11. Note that Lev 11, as opposed to ch. 16 and the Babylonian New Year’s ritual text pub-
lished by Thureau-Dangin, is explicitly addressed to the whole community (11:1).
19. Cf. Anneke T. Clason and Hilke Buitenhuis, “Patterns in Animal Food Resources in the
Bronze Age in the Orient,” in Archaeozoology of the Near East: Proceedings of the Third Inter-
national Symposium on the Archaeozoology of Southwestern Asia and Adjacent Areas (ed. H.
Buitenhuis, L. Bartosiewicz, and A. N. Choyke; Groningen: Arc, 1988), 233–42, for a zooarchaeo-
logical survey of the osteonic findings in Palestinian and Syrian cities. For a comprehensive
summary, cf. Walter Houston, Purity and Monotheism: Clean and Unclean Animals in Biblical Law
(JSOTSup 140; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993).
What motivated the authors of Lev 11 to reject the simple, traditional

dichotomy and to classify the animal kingdom according to two contingent
systems of classification, in a way which was more complicated and less
practicable?
The traditional conception, which the authors of Lev 11 rejected, assumed
that the set of species prohibited for consumption and the set of species desig-
nated as “impure” are equal, as are the set of species permitted for consumption
and the set of species designated as “pure.” The author of Deut 14 assumed that
the status of a species as permitted or prohibited for consumption follows from
its natural status as “pure” or “impure,” respectively. Therefore, D can simply
write “any pure bird—you may eat” (v. 11).
The authors of Lev 11 accepted the basic assumption that the impurity of
certain species is naturally inherent. However, they sought to sever the link
between impurity, a cosmobiological trait present from creation on, and pro-
hibition, which is a religious category. In fact, what we have here is a clash
between OP NPK and GV TJK in ancient Israelite religion. By claiming that the status
of an animal as permitted or prohibited for consumption or contact is inde-
pendent of its status as pure or impure, the legislator argued that permission and
prohibition are a divine decree which is imposed upon the natural order, not
derived from it.20
Theoretical Conclusions
The approach advocated by Lévi-Strauss, which views animal classification
systems as essentially theoretical in character, is faced with several difficulties.
First, it tends to ignore concrete social needs, projecting whole systems of ritual
onto an intellectual plane.21 Secondly, the need for a ritual expression of these
theoretical systems of classification remains unexplained.22 But, most severely, it
20. The wording of the recurrent phrase, “it is (or: they are) impure for you” (vv. 4, 5, 6, 8,
etc.), should not mislead one to conclude that the authors considered the animals to be impure only
from an Israelite point of view (for you). By the specification, “for you,” the author wished to
indicate that the legal implications of this universally acknowledged impurity apply to Israelites
only. A telling example of such usage is found in Exod 31:12–17. Although the holiness of the
Sabbath is clearly believed to be inherent in nature, stemming from creation (v. 17), the legislator
still refers to it as holy “for you” (v. 14), since the legal implications of this natural holiness apply to
Israelites alone.
21. Cf. Marvin Harris, Cows, Pigs, Wars and Witches (New York: Vintage, 1974); Cultural
Materialism (New York: Random House, 1979); Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture (New
York: Simon & Schuster, 1985).
22. Cf. S. J. Tambiah, “Animals are Good to Think and Good to Prohibit,” Ethnology 8 (1969):
453. One other problem is the lack of clarity regarding the issue of what exactly is meant by les
espèces naturelles, in relation to the question of the so-called totemism. At times, it would seem that
the term is designed to refer narrowly to fauna (e.g. Lévi-Strauss, Totemism, 20), but in many cases
it obviously includes flora as well, in accordance with the empirical data (p. 17, and cf. the
distinction regarding the Tikopia in p. 29). This seemingly slight ambiguity is significant not only
in the particular case of the biblical classification system, which pertains only to animals, but has
far-reaching theoretical ramifications. Lévi-Strauss’s secondary argument, that humans use the
is difficult to apply Lévi-Strauss’s general theory to particular systems of classi-

fication. Focusing on the formal structure of such systems, Lévi-Strauss remains
at times obscure about their semantics: How precisely could a theoretical mes-
sage regarding the relation between nature and culture be encoded in a ritual
taxonomy, and what could the contents of this message be?
One possible solution, hinted at in the last chapter of Totemism, is that the
message lies in the very act of classification. The mental act of categorization
can be viewed as the primary cultural act expressing the shift from nature to
culture, from animal to human.23 However, this reductionist solution accounts
neither for the wide diversity of classification systems nor for the complexity of
their inner structures.
A better solution would be to argue that no single, universal message com-
mon to all taxonomies exists, but rather a large number of diverse messages,
perhaps as variegated as the systems themselves. In order to “decode” a catego-
rization system one must analyze the system and study the relation between its
categories. In Lev 11, I contend, the message conveyed by the double disso-
ciation between impurity and prohibition—first regarding consumption and
again regarding physical contact—is clear: divine law, according to the priestly
authors of this chapter, does not derive from nature, but is arbitrarily imposed
upon it.
Appendix I: The Structure of Leviticus 11 (Following Milgrom)24

(1) Introduction (1–2ba)
(2) Prohibition (and Contamination)
(a) Large quadrupeds (2bb–8)
(b) Water animals (9–12)
(c) Birds (13–19)
(d) Flying insects (20–23)
(3) Contamination
(a) Large quadrupeds—perissodactyla and hoofless mammals
(24–28)
(b) Land swarmers (29–38)
(c) Quadrupeds—species permitted for consumption (39–40)
(4) Prohibition
Land swarmers (41–42)
(5) Exhortation
Land swarmers (43–45)
(6) Summary (46–47)
All animals: quadrupeds, flying creatures, water animals, land swarmers
differentiation of natural species as a conceptual basis for social differentiation as they were aware
of their primordial closeness to the animal world (ibid., 101), is valid only with regard to animal
species, not plants.
23. Lévi-Strauss, Totemism, 100–101. Apparently, a similar intuition underlies the midrash in
Genesis Rabbah (17.4 on Gen 2:19), which views Adam’s naming of the animals as an act which
establishes the subjugation of the animal world by humans.
24. Cf. above, n. 9.
Appendix II. Tables 1–3

Table 1. The Traditional Dichotomy (Deuteronomy 14)
Pure (okay) Impure (not okay)

Cow Camel
Canary Cat
Carp Crow
Crayfish
Cockroach
Cow (carcass)
Tables 2–3. The Alternative Classification System in Leviticus 11
Table 2
Consumption a. Pure b. Impure

1. Permitted Cow Cow (carcass)
Canary
Carp
2. Prohibited Crow Cat
Crayfish Camel
Crawling creatures (most) Crawling creatures (eight)
Table 3
Contact a. Pure b. Impure

1. Permitted Crow Cow (carcass)
Cow Cat
Crawling creatures (most) Crawling creatures (eight)
2. Prohibited Crayfish Camel
DIRT AND DISGUST:
BODY AND MORALITY IN BIBLICAL PURITY LAWS
Thomas Kazen
Morality and Purity

The relationship between ritual and morality in religion has been hotly debated,
not least in studies of impurity in Judaism.1 Jacob Neusner suggested that the
notion of sin in the sense of an ethical offence originated with acts that were
generally thought to make people “unfit for the holy community.”2 If true, ritual
impurity and moral deficiency would not necessarily have been differentiated at
an early stage.
The issue is sensitive for a number of reasons, evoking the old caricature of
Judaism as a ritually obsessed cult as opposed to Christianity as a purportedly
more spiritual religion. New Testament scholars have often been accused of
confusing sin and impurity, or rather of misunderstanding Judaism as confusing
these concepts.3 As a result, some have attempted to drive a wedge between the
two, claiming that impurity in Judaism must not be understood as a moral
category at all, but as without ethical value.4 This has proved difficult, however,
since the two ideas overlap and at times are intertwined.
Two early scholars to deal with this issue were David Z. Hoffmann and Adolf
Büchler. In his commentary on Leviticus, Hoffmann explained defilement caused
by sin as standing in opposition to holiness rather than to purity. This type of
impurity included the dietary laws and should be regarded as concrete rather
than symbolic.5 Büchler, on the other hand, while taking seriously sin as a
1. See, for instance, Jacob Neusner, The Idea of Purity in Ancient Judaism (Leiden: Brill,
1973); Hyam Maccoby, Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and Its Place in Judaism
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient
Judaism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000).
2. Neusner, Purity, 25.
3. E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, 1985), 182–85. Cf. Klawans’s critique of
Malina, Neyrey, Rhoads, and Borg, in Impurity and Sin, 12, 137, 144–45.
4. Sanders (Jesus and Judaism, 183–84) argues that impurity was not sinful in general. The
exceptions were a few particular acts, as well as ignoring purity laws intentionally. Neusner (Purity
in Rabbinic Judaism: A Systematic Account [SFSHJ 95; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994], 57–59)
attacks Sanders on this point but seems to speak about the priestly legislation of the Hebrew Bible
and Mishnaic Judaism, bracketing out the late Second Temple period. Maccoby (Ritual and Moral-
ity, 195, 204–5) goes further, claiming that differentiation is characteristic for Judaism of all periods.
5. David Z. Hoffmann, Das Buch Leviticus (2 vols.; Berlin: M. Poppelauer, 1905–6), 1:301–8,
340. To Hoffmann, it was rather bodily impurity that should be regarded as symbolic. Cf. the
44 Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
defiling force and a source of a “religious,” as distinct from “levitical,” impurity,

regarded the former as metaphorical.6 For Büchler, sin in general was considered
as defiling by ancient Jews.7
Jonathan Klawans has argued for moral impurity and ritual impurity as
separate but interacting categories, on the one hand merging into a single con-
cept of defilement in the sectarian writings from Qumran, on the other hand
becoming completely “compartmentalized” by the Tannaim.8 Klawans has
convincingly demonstrated how certain immoral acts were generally regarded
as defiling in ancient Judaism, particularly the three grave sins referred to in
the so-called Holiness Code, that is, Lev 17–26 (certain sexual sins; idolatry,
especially child sacrifice; murder). These are thought to convey impurity to the
sinner as well as to the land, although not in the sense of a removable contact-
contagion.9 The idea of defiling sins was then expanded to include a broader
category of misdeeds, leading up to the merging of moral and ritual impurity
found in Qumran.10
Klawans’s clear distinction between ritual and moral impurity is nevertheless
problematic. This is indicated by the dietary laws, which he (unlike Hoffmann,
who assigned them to the category of defiling sins) wishes to place somehow in
between the two systems, pointing out that the Mishnah does not deal with them
in the Seder Toharot.11 This points to a basic problem. Overlaps are found not
only with the dietary laws, but with all three “systems” of impurity, namely,
clean and unclean animals, bodily transferable contact-contagion, and polluting
grave sins. As I have pointed out elsewhere, the dietary laws in Lev 11 transmute
into a discussion about animal carcasses and their defilement by contact, while
the prohibition of sex during menstruation is found not only in Lev 15 but also
in the Holiness Code (Lev 18; 20).12 The isolation of the “leper” and, according
to Num 5, of the 3K as well, would have been stigmatizing also in a moral sense,
which fits the observation that these diseases were regarded as punishments and
related to moral failings.13 The EI sacrifice, translated by the LXX as B
NBSUJB,
was effective for removing ritual impurity as well as moral offence.
opposition of “Wirklichkeit” and “symbolisch” with the discussion below, especially n. 16. For a
comprehensive history of research, see Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 3–20.
6. Adolf Büchler, Studies in Sin and Atonement in the Rabbinic Literature of the First Century
(London: Oxford University Press, 1928), 212–69.
7. See his treatment of post-biblical and rabbinic literature, in ibid., 270–374. Cf. the critique of
Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 6.
8. Klawans, Impurity and Sin. See, for example, the convenient summaries at the end of each
chapter, as well as pp. 158–62.
9. Lev 18–20; cf. Num 35:33–34. See ibid., 26–31.
10. Ibid., 43–60, 67–91. See, however, Martha Himmelfarb, “Impurity and Sin in 4QD, 1QS,
and 4Q512,” Dead Sea Discoveries 8 (2001): 9–37, who considers the association of sin and
impurity in Qumran as primarily evocative rather than halakhic.
11. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 31–32.
12. For further discussion, see Thomas Kazen, Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus
Indifferent to Impurity? (ConBNT 38; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2002), 207–11.
13. Cf. Num 12:9–15; 2 Sam 3:29; 2 Chr 26:16–21. See ibid., 217–18.
KAZEN Dirt and Disgust 45
While there is a moral aspect to the idea of purity in ancient Judaism, 14

talking of moral vs. ritual purity becomes a problem, as if purity ceases to be a
ritual category when applied to moral matters. The problem is further under-
scored by Klawans’s insistence that “moral purity” is no metaphor, but should be
taken literally.15 I have elsewhere tried to show how this discussion results from
a confusion of ontological categories (“real” and its opposites) with linguistic
classifiers (“literal” vs. “metaphorical”).16 Hence, impurity language in regard to
moral deficiencies is at times understood as metaphorical, but when referring to
the three serious defiling sins or their derivatives it is deemed literal. I do not
see, however, why impurity in Ps 106:34–41 or Ezek 36:16–18, 22–25 should
be taken more literally than in Isa 1:15–17; 64:4–5 or Ps 51:4–5, 9, where,
according to Klawans, it is metaphorical.17
The distinction often becomes artificial. Although “metaphorical” generally
refers to the use of language in a secondary or transferred sense, while “literal”
refers to a primary use, literal expressions can be metaphorized and metaphori-
cal language at times literalized.18 At a deep level, human language and thought
are metaphorical throughout, including our moral imagination.19 But even at a
superficial level, assuming a conventional understanding of metaphor as secon-
dary language, there are difficulties with Klawans’s distinctions. In the case of
“impurity,” we would expect the concept to refer primarily to the besmirching
of an item by some objectionable material substance, that is, “dirt.” In a sense,
ritual impurity language is then secondary, just like moral language. This leads
us to consider the possibility of morality as well as of purity originating with
primary emotional bodily reactions. These can be explored from various angles:
philosophy, psychology, neuroscience or evolutionary biology. I will therefore
ask whether purity laws and moral rules in the priestly legislation could be
interpreted as originally based on negative reactions to threatening stimuli, espe-
cially on the emotion of disgust, primarily towards objectionable substances,
and secondarily to states associated with such substances or behavior evoking
similar feelings.
14. Cf. ibid., 214–22.

16. Kazen, Jesus, 204–7. Cf. G. B. Caird, The Language and Imagery of the Bible (London:
Duckworth, 1980), 131.
17. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 28–31, 35–36. It could be argued that the sexual relationship
between David and Bathsheba referred to in Ps 51 was understood as one of the three grave sins
causing “moral impurity,” since she was not yet clean from her menstruation. If so, impurity in this
psalm ought to be understood as “literal” according to Klawans’s scheme.
18. Eva Feder Kittay, Metaphor: Its Cognitive Force and Linguistic Structure (Oxford: Claren-
don, 1987), 19–20.
19. Mark Johnson, Moral Imagination: Implications of Cognitive Science for Ethics (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1993), 32–77; George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live
By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Philosophy in
the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought (New York: Basic, 1999),
45–73, 290–334.
A Common Origin
While concepts of what we would call ritual and moral defilement were vari-
ously integrated or kept apart in Judaism over time, morality and purity have
never been conceived of as totally separated from one another, especially not in
popular belief. The suggestion that the Pharisees at the end of the Second Temple
period had already “compartmentalized” immoral acts, and bodily defilement, to
the extent that appears in Tannaitic literature, is not corroborated by evidence.
Neither priestly purity legislation nor Tannaitic discussion about purity is void
of moral implications.20
Morality and purity seem to have a common origin. When the prophets chal-
lenge the people to behave righteously, cultic matters and purity issues are at
times interwoven.21 It is not as evident where to draw the line between the moral
and the ritual as a modern Westerner would assume, and we should perhaps do
best in using other concepts.22
Such observations are compatible with what we find with Israel’s neighbors.
Numerous Near Eastern and Egyptian examples from various periods give evi-
dence for a lack of distinction between what we would call morality and purity.
One is the well-known 125th chapter from the Egyptian Book of the Dead.23
Other examples are early Mesopotamian texts like the following:
[NN, son of ] NN, whose god is NN, whose goddess is NN,
[who is…], sick, in danger (of death), distraught, troubled,
who has eaten what is tab[oo] to his god, who has eaten what is taboo to his goddess,
who said “no” for “yes”, who said “yes” for “no”,
who pointed (his) finger (accusingly) [behind the back of] his [fellow-man],
[who calumniated], spoke what is not allowed to speak,
…
He entered his neighbor’s house,
had intercourse with his neighbor’s wife,
shed his neighbor’s blood,
…
omitted the name of his god in his incense-offering,
made the purifications, (then) complained and withheld (it).24
20. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 92–117. The lack of evidence is actually admitted by Klawans
himself (p. 150). Cf. Kazen, Jesus, 209–14, 216–18. Cf. m. Ker. 2.3; m. Neg. 12.6; t. Neg. 6.7; Sifre
to Num 5.3; b. Arak. 16a; Lev. Rab. 17.3; 18.4; Num. Rab. 7.1, 10.
21. Cf. Ezek 18:5–9.
22. As for Second Temple Judaism, I have suggested “inner” and “outer” as corresponding
more to contemporary thought. See Kazen, Jesus, 219–22.
23. “I have not…I have not…” “Ritual” issues, such as cultic transgressions or impurities
(“what the gods abominate”) are included in enumerations of otherwise “ethical” transgressions. See
E. A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Dead: Papyrus of Ani, vol. 2 (London: Lee Warner, 1913),
568–96.
24. Tablet II, lines 3–8, 47–49, 75–76, in Erica Reiner, Šurpu: A Collection of Sumerian and
Akkadian Incantations (Archiv für Orientforschung 11; Graz: Im Selbstverlage des Herausgebers,
1958), 13–15.
Discussing morals in ancient Mesopotamia, W. G. Lambert noted that popular

morality “consisted in not transgressing those customs which had come to be
considered socially proper, and so morally right.”25 These included sexual
morals and sacrificial rules alike, and magic rituals played an important role.
From a modern point of view,
morals and magic were inextricably confused. There was no distinction, such as we
tend to make, between morally right and ritually proper. The god was just as angry with
the eating of ritually impure food as with oppressing the widow and orphan. His anger
would be appeased no less with the ritual offering than with a reformed life.26
At a later period we find, almost contemporary with several Qumran texts, the
Egyptian Papyrus Jumilhac (second century B.C.E.), which lists twenty cardinal
offences without attempting to sort them out or make any difference between
purity and morality:27
Connaître les interdictions de ce district (ou: nome).
1. La bête ¨ztt de son dieu, c’est-à-dire le loup et le chien zm.
2. Le cri du chien iwiw.
3. Son horreur est aussi la femme en période de menstruation.
4. L’acte de faire un mensonge.
5. Le grognement du porc.
6. Le fait d’élever la voix en présence (du dieu).
7. Et, également, d’avoir une démarche fière (?) dans le temple.
8. Les violents de sa ville.
9. L’acte de diminuer la longueur de la corde d’arpentage de ses champs.
10. L’acte de fausser l’ouverture de la mesure à grain de ses greniers.
11. L’acte de voler le blé de ses champs.
12. L’acte de diminuer les offrandes divines / de son temple.
13. L’acte d’approcher (avec malveillance) le fils sur le trône de son père, dans sa maison.
14. L’acte de crever l’oeil d’un citoyen de sa ville.
15. L’acte de témoigner contre ses concitoyens.
16. L’acte de porter atteinte aux droits de la ville du dieu en sa présence(?).
17. Le violent qui ne respecte pas les frontières de ses champs.
18. L’acte de manger de la viande provenant de toute sorte de bêtes sacrifiées.
19. Le fait de s’approcher avec des intentions mauvaises de l’oeil oudjat.
20. L’acte d’éloigner les gens d’une semdet pour les placer dans un autre semdet.28
25. W. G. Lambert, “Morals in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Jaarbericht No 15 van het Voor-

aziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap Ex Oriente Lux 1957–1958 (Leiden: Brill, 1959), 184–96 (194).
26. Ibid., 194.
27. Robert Meyer, “Magical Ascesis and Moral Purity in Ancient Egypt,” in Transformations of
the Inner Self in Ancient Religions (ed. Jan Assman and Guy G. Stroumsa; Studies in the History of
Religions 83; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 45–64 (50–51).
28. P. Jumilhac XII.16–21, Jacques Vandier, Le Papyrus Jumilhac (Centre National de la
recherche scientifique, 1962), 123–24. There is to my knowledge no scholarly English translation
available, but I provide my own translation from the French (I am indebted to Dr. Erika Meyer-
Dietrich for revising it against the Egyptian original): “Know the prohibitions of this district
(or: nome).| 1. The animal h`ztt of his god, that is to say the wolf and the dog zm.| 2. The uttering of
the dog iwiw.| 3. His abomination is also the woman during menstruation.| 4. The act of lying.| 5.
The grunting of the pig.| 6. To raise the voice in the presence (of the god).| 7. And, likewise, to have
a proud (?) bearing in his temple.| 8. The violent (ones) of his town.| 9. The act of diminishing the
length of the measuring line for surveying his fields.| 10. The act of falsifying the opening of the
As pointed out by Robert Meyer, this text, which probably applies to the popu-
lation at large, not only to priests, “classifies all types of offences as bw.wt nr,
that is, as ‘abominations of God’, a term otherwise used to designate cultic
taboos.”29 There is no hint at any distinction between purity rules and moral
obligations.
We actually find something of an analogy in contemporary research in devel-
opmental psychology, with its lack of consensus on the relationship between the
development of morality and convention in children. Building on Piaget’s cog-
nitive developmental theory,30 Lawrence Kohlberg has worked out his influential
stage theory of moral reasoning.31 Kohlberg suggests that genuine understanding
of the idea of a moral obligation in children develops from a pre-conventional
stage based on subjective feelings of the self, through a conventional stage
focusing on consensus-based obligations. The idea that obligations are rooted in
convention is taken to precede the idea that obligations are rooted in natural law.
This is seen as a universal development related to the development of rational
reasoning.
Against Kohlberg stands Elliot Turiel’s social interactional theory, according
to which moral understanding is understood as being present in children at an
early age. Convention and morality are not seen as connected in development,
but both are understood as universally present and differentiated from each other
in early childhood. The idea of moral obligation is related to social experiences
with events that have objective or intrinsic implications for justice, rights, harm,
welfare, and so on, while conventional obligations are related to socially regu-
lated events that lack objective or intrinsic implications for such crucial issues.32
It seems, however, that morality and convention (whether in the form of
culture or ritual) are not so easily separable. Richard Shweder and colleagues
have pointed out that children develop an idea of conventional obligation in
cultures like ours, where the social order is separated ideologically from the
measuring of grain at his granaries.| 11. The act of stealing the wheat from his fields.| 12. The act of
diminishing the divine offerings / for his temple.| 13. The act of approaching (with malevolence) the
son on his father’s throne, at his house.| 14. The act of putting out the eye of a citizen of his city.| 15.
The act of testifying against his fellow-citizens.| 16. The act of derogating from the rights of the city
of the god in his presence (?).| 17. The violent that does not respect the border of his fields.| 18. The
act of eating meat originating from all sorts of sacrificial animals.| 19. The fact of approaching with
bad intentions of the oudjat eye.| 20. The act of removing the people of a semdet in order to situate
them in another semdet.”
29. Cf. Meyer, “Moral Purity,” 49–51.
30. Jean Piaget, The Moral Judgment of the Child (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1948), 1–103.
31. Lawrence Kohlberg, Charles Levine, and Alexandra Hewer, Moral Stages: A Current
Formulation and a Response to Critics (Contributions to Moral Development 10; Basel: Karger,
1983). For a convenient summary, with a critique, see Richard A. Shweder, Manamohan Mahapatra,
and Joan G. Miller, “Culture and Moral Development,” in The Emergence of Morality in Young
Children (ed. Jerome Kagan and Sharon Lamb; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 1–83
(5–25).
32. Elliot Turiel, The Development of Social Knowledge: Morality and Convention (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1983), especially 33–49, 130–60. Cf. Shweder, Mahapatra, and Miller,
“Development,” 2–3, 25–34.
natural moral order, for example by morals being reduced to free contracts. This
requires a culture where social arrangements are viewed as secondary forma-
tions.33 On the basis of cross-cultural research, Shweder suggests a “social
communication” theory as more likely:
The research suggests that it is not a universal idea that social practices are conven-
tional formations, deriving their authority from a culture-bound consensus. According
to the theory a culture’s ideology and worldview have a significant bearing on the
ontogenesis of moral understandings in the child, and not all cultures have a place in
their view of the world for the idea that social practices are conventions.34
He goes on to exemplify with cultural differences:

not all cultural worldviews are like our own…and in many parts of the world, including
orthodox Hindu India, customary practices (for example, menstrual seclusion, arranged
marriage, food taboos, kin avoidance, naming practices) are viewed as part of the
natural moral order. Society is not separated conceptually from nature. What is natural
or moral has not been narrowed down to the idea of an individual, empowered and free
to create relationships at will through contract. Forms of human association are thought
to be found (natural law) not founded (conventionism).35
The results, supported by Shweder’s research, include the observation that there
is no class of inherently non-moral events, and that many instances of what we
call ritual events are considered as moral in other cultures. The idea of conven-
tion occurs primarily among American (i.e. Western) adults and older children.36
Examples of cross-cultural research in the area of developmental psychology
should warn us of distinguishing too quickly between ritual and morality in
ancient texts.37 They suggest that purity and morality might have common ori-
gins. They do not help us, however, in our quest for those origins. For that quest
we have to move on from the ontogeny of morality to its phylogeny, that is, its
evolutionary biology. On the way we must also note a few observations from the
field of neuroscience.38
Basis in Body
In the modern West, morality has been assumed to result from an objective
evaluation of right and wrong in a rational process. Morality has thus been seen
as a result of reasoning, a cognitive activity, mainly located in the head. In
Descartes’ Error, Antonio Damasio reverses the Cartesian dictum underlying
33. Shweder, Mahapatra, and Miller, “Development,” 3.

34. Ibid.
35. Ibid., 3–4.
36. Ibid., 34–35.
37. The distinction is problematic from an ethical-philosophical perspective, too. Cf. Catherine
Wilson’s discussion of the “demarcation problem” in Moral Animals: Ideals and Constraints in
Moral Theory (Oxford: Clarendon, 2004), 8–16.
38. Cf. Peter Gärdenfors’ treatment of human cognition, emphasizing four sources of empirical
support for reconstructing the cognitive development of the human species: phylogeny, neuro-
physiology, ontogeny, and archaeology. Peter Gärdenfors, Hur Homo blev Sapiens: Om tänkandets
evolution (Nora: Nya Doxa, 2000), 22–23.
such thinking, claiming: “We are, and then we think.”39 From an evolutionary
perspective, beings existed before mind, and consciousness and thinking devel-
oped gradually. Damasio argues for the importance of bodily sensations and
emotions for a functioning rationality. Their influence on the human brain is
crucial; a disembodied mind cannot exist; human consciousness is dependent on
constant interaction with the sense perceptions of the body.
For the present purpose, the most interesting part of Damasio’s research
relates to patients with prefrontal damages, who display deficits in secondary
emotions, while on the surface rational capacity and primary emotions seem to
remain intact.40 Such patients were able to reason logically, but their reduced
emotional capacity seriously impaired their capacity actually to make rational
decisions. They were able to figure out all possible alternative outcomes of vari-
ous actions, endlessly enumerating advantages and disadvantages, but without
emotions they did not know what to choose in the end.41 The constant interaction
between the brain and the organism in its entirety makes it necessary to talk
about an embodied mind and a minded body. “It does not seem sensible to leave
emotions and feelings out of any overall concept of mind,” says Damasio, and
“mind derives from the entire organism.”42 This means that bodily emotions are
intimately involved in human processes of reasoning and moral judgment.43
Similar conclusions can be drawn from the research of J. D. Greene and col-
leagues, showing that responses to moral dilemmas involve activation of
the same brain regions as in emotional experiences, rather than frontal cortical
areas normally involved in reasoning.44 It becomes quite clear that neither
morality nor identity are matters of the head only, but are “relative to our
biological state.”45
39. Antonio R. Damasio, Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain (New
York: Grosset/Putnam, 1994), 248.
40. Primary emotions are, for example, direct responses of fear or anger to sudden stimuli,
while secondary emotions are conceived reactions to anticipated or imagined events. Cf. Damasio,
Descartes’ Error, 129–39.
41. Damasio’s case studies include “Elliot” whose choices constantly led to detrimental results
for his own person, in spite of being able to reason logically and foresee the outcome of various
decisions in theory (Descartes’ Error, 44–51, 191–96). “The defect appeared to set in at the late
stages of reasoning, close to or at the point at which choice making or response selection must
occur… [T]he defect was accompanied by a reduction in emotional reactivity and feeling… Elliot’s
reasoning prevented him from assigning different values to different options, and made his decision-
making landscape hopelessly flat” (pp. 50–51). Compare the patient whose lack of emotional
capacity was shown to be of great help in driving on an icy road (no panicking, just rational behav-
ior), while it made it virtually impossible for him to decide between two alternative dates, weighing
advantages, and disadvantages endlessly (pp. 193–94).
42. Ibid., 158, 225.
43. Ibid., 245–52; cf. John Kekes, “Disgust and Moral Taboos,” Philosophy 67 (1992): 431–46
(444).
44. J. D. Green et al., “An fMRI Investigation of Emotional Engagement in Moral Judgment,”
Science 293 (2001): 2105–8. Cf. Heather Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality: Divinity,
Identity, and Disgust,” Zygon 39 (2004): 219–35 (229).
45. Nancy Morrison and Sally K. Severino, “The Biology of Morality,” Zygon 38 (2003):
855–69 (860).
From a neurobiological perspective, human morality is thus a rational and an

emotional development, linked to bodily experience. From an evolutionary
perspective, too, the development of morality with the human species can be
seen as based in the body, originating with basic emotions that developed to
regulate and protect the more vulnerable life ascending from the sea to dry land
(“a repertory of built-in survival strategies”).46
In his emphasis on individual organisms and their reproduction and genetic
transmission, Darwin looked at morality as an evolutionary by-product. At the
same time, he also emphasized the social aspects of human development. The
origin of morality was seen as a result of love and sympathy, developing from
primary emotions of pain and pleasure, ultimately leading to the golden rule.
This development is not based on the principle of selfishness, but rather on
social instincts reinforced or modified by community opinions.47 This line of
reasoning was taken much further by Kropotkin, whose observations on the sur-
vival of species under extreme conditions highlighted the importance of coopera-
tion rather than competition for biological evolution.48 Hence evolution must not
necessarily be envisaged as a story about “selfish genes” aiming at replicating
themselves, but as adaptable and evolvable creatures becoming self-conscious
and morally aware.49
As humans evolved as a conscious, self-aware, adaptable, and markedly
social species, the development of emotions was a necessary prerequisite. Our
emotional nature is linked to the evolution of humans as morally responsible
social beings.50
At this point, the distinction between primary and secondary emotions might
be useful. While instant feelings of pain, hunger, anger, or fear aim at protecting
the physical organism from damage and death, the same or more sophisticated
emotions, involving anticipation, imagination, and planning, make sense in a
social context. They are, in a sense, important for survival, too, but in the long
perspective, involving interaction with others, and when impaired, may have
disastrous consequences, as is clear from Damasio’s research.
Most of what we call morality has to do with social interaction and is thus
based on human capacity for secondary emotions, but this is all dependent on a
primary emotional development based on bodily reactions to threatening or
46. William Hurlbut and Paul Kalanithi, “Evolutionary Theory and the Emergence of Moral
Nature,” Journal of Psychology and Theology 29 (2001): 330–39 (334–37, quote from 335).
47. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex, part 1 (The Works
of Charles Darwin 21; New York: University Press, 1989 [1877, 1st ed. 1874]), 101–31 [97–127].
Darwin is not totally clear as to what extent the later stages of the evolution of morality are geneti-
cally dependent—quite naturally, since genes were yet to be discovered when Darwin wrote.
48. Petr Kropotkin, Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution (rev. ed.; London: Heinemann, 1904
[1902]).
49. Hurlbut and Kalanithi, “Moral Nature.” “Of course the genes must be preserved and life
must be sustained; there can be nothing without these fundamental biological processes… Of course
life must be preserved but that does not tell us where it came from, why it arose, or what it might be
for” (p. 333).
50. John Teehan, “Kantian Ethics: After Darwin,” Zygon 38 (2003): 49–60 (57).
promising stimuli, such as pleasure or pain. Moral development is intimately

linked with human relationships.51 However, when morality is studied in living
or historical societies, it is important not to forget its basic corporeal aspect.
Whether morality is understood as developing from social conventions52 or
whether the two are seen as universally present at an early stage and subsequently
distinguished because of direct experiences,53 it is necessary to remember
morality’s origin in the body. This is crucial when we discuss ancient societies
in which our dichotomy between body and mind did not exist or at least had a
different expression.
Morality and Disgust

The case for an emotional origin of morality is supported by psychosocial and
neurobiological evidence, as well as by philosophical discussion.54 Darwin asso-
ciated the moral sense with the development of sympathy in social animals—an
ingredient in what we call love.55 In the process of natural selection, “those com-
munities, which included the greatest number of the most sympathetic members,
would flourish best, and rear the greatest number of offspring.”56 While impor-
tant for the development of morality, sympathy or empathy is not our main
focus here,57 since it does not explain the origin of human reaction to objection-
able deeds or states.
Of the emotions associated with morality,58 disgust has aroused prominent
interest. Disgust is an emotional reaction against that which is experienced as
revolting or objectionable and has been understood as originally relating to taste,
as suggested by the etymology of the English word.59 This is an underlying
51. Cf. Morrison and Severino, “Biology,” 855–62.

52. That is, morality in a narrow sense (justice reasoning) as in Kohlberg’s theory.
53. Cf. Turiel’s model.
54. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality,” 222–23; Teehan, “Kantian Ethics.”
55. Darwin, Descent of Man, 101–31 [97–127].
56. Ibid., 111 [106/7].
57. See Thomas Kazen, “Evolution, Emotion, and Exegesis: Disgust and Empathy in Biblical
Texts on Moral and Ritual Issues,” in Proceedings from the Uppsala Conference on Linnaeus and
Homo Religiosus (forthcoming), and “Empathy and Ethics: Bodily Emotion as Basis for Moral
Admonition,” in Cognitive Science Approaches in Biblical Studies (ed. Risto Uro and István
Czachesz, forthcoming).
58. Awe, elevation, fear, guilt, contempt, anger and disgust. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded
Morality,” 223.
59. This is the case in two of the classic discussions of disgust by Darwin (1872) and Andras
Angyal (1941). According to Darwin, disgust refers to “something revolting, primarily in relation to
the sense of taste, as actually perceived or vividly imagined; and secondarily to anything which
causes a similar feeling, through the sense of smell, touch and even of eyesight.” Charles Darwin,
The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (The Works of Charles Darwin 23; New York:
University Press, 1989 [1890, 1st ed. 1872]), 195 [265/6]. Angyal understood disgust as “a specific
reaction towards the waste products of the human and animal body,” but claimed that “[c]ontact with
the mouth region and particularly the ingestion of disgusting material are the most feared,” and
emphasized disgust reaction as “preventing the oral penetration of disgusting substances”; see
supposition in the research of Paul Rozin and colleagues, and could be argued
from facial expressions of disgust, which center around the mouth and the nose,
as well as from the nausea that commonly accompanies this emotion. To Rozin,
“core disgust” is dependent on three components: oral incorporation, offensive-
ness, and contamination potency.60
The close linking of disgust with taste has been questioned by William
Miller. He claims that we are easily misled by the etymology, while disgust in
effect is much broader than feeling an unpleasant taste. Miller considers smell
and touch to be just as important in the experience of disgust.61 From an evolu-
tionary point of view disgust developed as a primary reaction to protect an
organism from oral incorporation of harmful substances,62 but inhaling and
contacting should be subjected to similar considerations, since taste, smell, and
touch do interact at a very basic level of human emotional capacity. All three
cause instant recoiling from that which is experienced as objectionable; hence
all three should be thought of as involved in “core disgust” as a primary emo-
tion. As soon as sight and memory are added, however, a secondary aspect is
added and disgust may be triggered by the mere thought of a number of situa-
tions, with neither taste, nor smell or touch actually being there.63
Disgust triggers can be defined as relating to nine different areas: “food, body
products, animals, sexual behaviors, contact with death or corpses, violations of
the exterior envelope of the body (including gore and deformity), poor hygiene,
interpersonal contamination (contact with unsavory human beings), and certain
moral offenses.”64 Whether all of these areas apply globally or just to those
Western societies from which most of the researchers involved come is a matter
for discussion. Most people agree, however, that disgust triggers are learned
through socialization, and that “the specific objects, events, and behaviors within
these categories that elicit disgust vary across cultural contexts.”65 As a primitive
reaction to bitter taste, it is present in other mammals as well as in newborn
children.66 But apart from this, disgust seems to be a distinctly human trait,
intimately linked to cultural evolution and socialization. Rozin and colleagues
Andras Angyal, “Disgust and Related Aversions,” Journal of Abnormal Psychology 36 (1941): 393–
412 (quotes from 395, 402, 411). See also Paul Rozin, Jonathan Haidt, and Clark McCauley,
“Disgust,” in Handbook of Emotions (ed. Michael Lewis and Jeanette M. Haviland-Jones; 2d ed.;
New York: Guildford, 2000), 637–53 (637). A third classic discussion of disgust gives more
emphasis to smell than to taste, as it explains a broader range of disgust reactions; see Aurel Kolnai,
On Disgust (ed. Barry Smith and Carolyn Korsmeyer; Chicago and La Salle, Ill.: Open Court, 2004
[1929]).
60. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 638–41.
61. William Ian Miller, The Anatomy of Disgust (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1997), 6, 12, 60–79.
62. Cf. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 639–40.
63. Cf. Miller, Anatomy, 60–88.
64. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 637.
65. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality,” 223; cf. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley,
“Disgust,” 647–48.
66. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality,” 223.
provide a scheme for the development of disgust from distaste and core disgust
through stages of animal-nature and interpersonal disgust to a reaction to moral
offences.67 It is still very uncertain, however, to what extent mere distaste
provides the (primary) springboard for the development of this emotion.
Disgust is definitely involved in moral evaluation, to the point that it has
often become a metaphor for a sense of what is morally inappropriate, even for
issues or experiences that do not elicit the feeling itself.68 Disgust then becomes
a way of phrasing a value judgment. Disgust proper, or “deep disgust” as John
Kekes terms it,69 is more than a metaphor—“a general and natural feeling” that
is “caused by general features of the human relationship to the rest of the
world.”70 As a socially conditioned emotion, it is at times morally mistaken.71
Martha Nussbaum has emphasized the risks of utilizing disgust as a normative
pointer; for such purposes it is quite useless.72 At its core, however, it is a bodily
reaction, just like fear,73 against that which is understood as being dangerous for
human life, regardless of whether triggered as a result of human choice or not.74
At a more developed stage, disgust is a reaction against that which is understood
as threatening to throw society back to a world where basic order and human
identity are absent.75 It causes humans to shun perceived threats associated with
dirt, disorder, demons, decay, and death.76 With these insights in mind I will
look at the three categories for which purity language is used in the priestly
legislation: objectionable animals, objectionable bodily conditions, and objec-
tionable acts.
Disgust and Dietary Laws

As we saw above, Hoffmann wanted to place the dietary laws of Lev 11 in the
category of moral impurity, while Klawans regards them as falling somehow
between two stools. However, if we avoid the dichotomy between ritual and
moral and understand disgust as the common denominator, we will find that
these laws are quite consistent.
67. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 644–47; cf. Paul Rozin et al., “Disgust: Preadapta-
tion and the Cultural Evolution of a Food-Based Emotion,” in Food Preferences and Taste:
Continuity and Change (ed. Helen Macbeth; Providence: Berghahn, 1997), 65–82.
68. Cf. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 643.
69. Note that “deep disgust” should not be identified as a primary emotion only, but involves
disgust felt as a result of reflection or anticipation as well.
70. Kekes, “Moral Taboos,” 436.
71. Kekes is quite clear on the fact that disgust’s involvement in moral evaluation does not
mean that universal moral rules can be based on a universally felt deep disgust, or that disgust can be
defended as an appropriate moral reaction (ibid., 438, 441).
72. Martha Nussbaum, Hiding from Humanity: Disgust, Shame, and the Law (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2004), 13–15, 72–171.
73. Cf. Miller, Anatomy, 25–28.
74. Kekes, “Moral Taboos,” 445.
75. Ibid., 438–43; cf. the idea of disgust as a guardian of the human body against its animal-
nature, Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 644–45; cf. Miller, Anatomy, 40–50.
76. Kekes, “Moral Taboos,” 435; Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 642.
The prohibitions concern eating and touching the dead bodies of a number of
animals. The structure of this chapter is puzzling, but explainable.77 Following
an enumeration of various types of animals (quadrupeds, water animals, birds,
and insects) not to be eaten (vv. 2–23), the text transmutes into a list of animals
whose dead bodies transfer impurity to humans touching them, or to clothes,
vessels, or seed (vv. 24–40). The section is concluded, however, with an addi-
tional prohibition against eating small, creeping animals (vv. 41–45).
At first sight the structure may seem jumbled. There is, however, a logic to
this chapter. The basic instruction (1) is found in 11:2–8, where a number of
quadrupeds are forbidden as food, and thus called “unclean” (>). The animals
listed are those that could otherwise be expected to be used as main sources of
food, in addition to cattle, sheep, and goats, which were regarded as clean.78 It
should be noted that the basic instruction prohibits both eating and contact with
dead bodies of unclean animals.
Following this passage, we find three sections (2) dealing with water animals,
birds, and insects respectively (11:9–12, 13–19, 20–23). Here, however, there is
no mention of contact-contagion, but only of eating. The various animals are not
called unclean, but rather “abominable” (#B).
Only after this is the issue of contamination by contact with dead animals
specified and discussed (3) (11:24–38). The animals mentioned are unclean
quadrupeds and eight forbidden “ground swarmers” (#C), including weasels,
rats, and lizards. These are called “unclean” and instructions for purification
after contact are given, comparable to those found in Lev 12–15.
This is complemented by a comment (4) applying such purification after con-
tact even with animals allowed for food but which died naturally (11:39–40).
Finally, all “ground swarmers” are branded as “abominable” (5) and hence
not to be eaten (11:41–42). The chapter is rounded off (6) with a call to holiness
(11:43–45) and a subscript or summary (7) that could possibly be divided in two
(11:46–47).
Jacob Milgrom suggests a structure based on the use of > and #B respec-
tively. “Unclean” would then refer to the contamination of dead bodies, while
“abominable” would apply to animals prohibited for food. 1, 2, 5 and 7a are
assigned to the P1 stage, 3 and 7b to the P2 stage, 6 is seen as H redaction while
4 is an interpolation.79
77. For suggestions regarding the structure of this chapter, cf. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16:
A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday,
1991), 691–98; David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible and in
Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature (SBLDS 101; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 200–205;
Naphtali Meshel, “Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited: A Study of Classification Systems in P,”
pp. 32–42 in the present volume.
78. As Baruch Schwartz has pointed out, this basic instruction (1) is needed to identify pure
non-domestic quadrupeds, permitting only those wild quadrupeds that resemble the domestic
sacrificeable ones. Baruch Schwartz, “ ‘Profane’ Slaughter and the Integrity of the Priestly Code,”
HUCA 67 (1996): 15–42 (32–35).
79. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 643–98.
However, a number of problems are involved in reserving > for con-

tact-contagion and #B for food prohibition. First, the basic instruction (1)
makes use of “unclean” for both eating and contamination, and the focus is
on eating. Secondly, water animals (2) are not only “abominable” as food, but
their dead bodies should be “abominated” (11:11 uses both the noun and the
verb #B). Thirdly, the call to holiness (6) warns against “uncleanness” from
“ground swarmers” but connects to (5), which prohibits eating them because
they are “abominable.” Fourthly, (7) summarizes by presenting the opposites
“unclean–clean” and “allowed for food–not allowed for food” in a typical
parallelism.80
I find it easier to read this chapter as a basic instruction followed by specifics.
First, animals that would otherwise most probably be used for food are dis-
cussed, both in regard to eating and contact with their dead bodies (1). This was
followed by detailed specifications of what other animals may not be eaten
(2, 5). As the material developed, the addition of (4) at the end of (3) is compre-
hensible; corpses of clean animals did not originally contaminate. The question
is really why, at some stage, the elaboration on contact-contagion (3) was
inserted before (5), since (5) naturally follows straight after (2), adding instruc-
tions on “land swarmers” to previous instructions on “water swarmers” and
winged swarmers” (cf. the structure of v. 20 with v. 41). One possibility is that
the call to holiness (6) was already attached to (5) when (3) was inserted, and
since this call is adapted to (5), mentioning “ground swarmers,” this link was
preserved. Whatever the explanation, the concept of impurity is difficult to
restrict to contact-contagion only. At various levels of the text it is also asso-
ciated with forbidden meat.
For the present purpose, the most important observation is the terminology
revealing an underlying emotional attitude of disgust. The term #B is applied
especially to “swarmers” (#C ), whether aquatic, winged, or earthbound. While
the precise meaning of #C is much discussed, the term probably refers to small,
fast-moving, and/or fast-breeding beings, often thought to be self-generating
from rotting substances, something that would make humans feel uneasy. In
addition, #B is used to characterize larger water animals without fins and
scales, such as mollusks and the slimiest of fish, as well as birds of prey. These
are creatures that easily evoke feelings of revulsion, especially at the thought
of eating them, but often at the mere idea of contact. Possibly, their associa-
tion with deterioration reminds humans about their mortality and animal nature.
This would represent what Rozin and colleagues call animal-nature disgust.81
Aversion to the dead bodies of such animals is likewise easy to understand. The
extension of these prohibitions to corpses of clean animals, however, would
originate rather with systemic reasoning than from emotional disgust.
It is harder to explain the prohibitions of the basic instruction (1) as stemming
from feelings of disgust. Pigs and camels can hardly be placed in the same
80. Against Milgrom, ibid., 690–91, who understands these as two distinct categories.
81. Rozin, Haidt and McCauley, “Disgust,” 641–42.
category as mice and lizards. Nor are they called “abominable” (#B) in the text
of Lev 11. However, when we turn to the parallel in Deut 14:3–21, we find the
material more systematized. Here the various categories not to be eaten are
called “unclean” and they are all introduced (v. 3) by the injunction not to eat
anything “abominable.” The term used here, however, is not #B but 93HE, a
prime example of a term expressing bodily disgust being used in many instances
for denouncing objectionable practices, that is, “abominable” acts, whether we
categorize them as ritual or moral.82 It is thus likely that the emotion of disgust
lies behind a number of food regulations included within the concept of impu-
rity, and that physical reactions against certain animals and animal corpses play
a crucial role for the development of dietary rules.
Disgust and Human Decay

When we turn to the three basic types of bodily contact-contagion in the priestly
legislation—skin disease, genital discharges, and corpse-impurity (Lev 12–15;
Num 19)—the emotion of disgust can be traced here, too, although it is not
discernible on the surface of the legal texts. Elsewhere these impurities are often
associated with decomposition, rotting and decay.
The disgust felt towards the skin conditions defined as EC4, traditionally
translated as “leprosy,” probably had to do with scaliness,83 damage, and decay
of the “body envelope,” which is one of the basic disgust triggers, according to
Rozin and colleagues. This becomes clear in the narrative of Miriam’s punish-
ment (Num 12), where she is likened to a half-decayed, stillborn fetus. The skin
conditions covered by the word EC4 were experienced as repulsive, and one
would guess that this applied also to the various kinds of molds on clothes and
buildings, described in Lev 13 and 14.
In the case of a corpse or a grave, the association with decaying matter is
obvious. Although corpse-impurity was considered as the most serious type of
impurity, contaminating persons and vessels for seven days not only by touch,
but also by overhang, the biblical regulations (Num 5:1–3; 19:11–22; 31:19–24)
are less detailed than in the case of “leprosy” or discharges. The concept of
overhang was greatly expanded in later times.84 The biblical rules describing
how corpse impurity is transmitted (Num 19:14–16) suggest that corpses were
originally thought to ooze out some sort of quasi-physical substance, particularly
threatening the sphere of the holy. Priests were only allowed to contract corpse-
impurity at the death of close relatives, and for high priests there were no such
exceptions (Lev 21:1–4, 11). In the Second Temple period, an extra-biblical first
82. Cf. H. D. Preuss, “937

H+E! tô!eƗh,” ThWAT 8:580–92. The use of 93HE as an expression
of disgust is further discussed below.
83. Cf. E. V. Hulse, “The Nature of Biblical ‘Leprosy’ and the Use of Alternative Medical
Terms in Modern Translations of the Bible,” PEQ 107 (1975): 87–105 (96–100); Milgrom, Leviticus
1–16, 774–76, 816–17.
84. See 11Q19 49.5–19 as well as m. Ohalot.
day ablution had developed in order to mitigate somewhat the strength of corpse-
impurity, so as to make it possible for corpse-impure people to stay within
cities.85
It is possible that we should look for the origin of corpse-impurity in the war-
camp regulations of Num 31:19–24. Here, the slaughtering of enemies as well as
touching them incurs a seven-day impurity, including washing of body, clothes,
and wooden vessels, while metals must go through fire. This represents a
situation when warriors and their attire have become literally impure, that is,
filthied: smeared with blood and gore. If war-camp regulations lie at the bottom
of an expanded concept of corpse-impurity, we could argue for disgust as a
trigger in this case, too.
When we consider genital discharges the evidence is clearer. In another study
I discuss the discrepancies in Lev 12 and 15, arguing among other things for an
early view of the discharges themselves as impure, although this view is made
less visible in the final form of the text due to a systemic redaction of the various
regulations.86 Remnants of such thinking can be found in Samaritan halakhah,
where direct contact with menstrual blood causes a seven-day impurity. Other
examples include detailed regulations implying that the flux or blood transmits
a stronger impurity than the impurity bearer.87 Such considerations explain
some of the discrepancies in the biblical legislation. This could also imply that
blood, of a kind associated with decay, as well as gory or unnatural discharges,
were experienced as disgusting and form the basis for the purity laws about dis-
charges. The contempt with which dischargers are spoken of, together with
“lepers” and the disabled, in 2 Sam 3:29, suggests that the aversion felt against
such categories of people was based on primary feelings of disgust towards their
bodily conditions. Ezekiel utilizes the primary disgust of his readers for men-
strual blood in order to transfer their emotional indignation to the issue of gen-
tile idolatry (Ezek 36:17). Reactions against menstrual blood are found almost
worldwide,88 and Pliny’s superstitious comments regarding its effects breathe
feelings of revulsion (Pliny, Nat. 7.64).
Although the evidence is not conclusive, it seems likely that physical disgust
is behind a number of rules dealing with impurity as a contact-contagion. At the
root we find emotional reactions against decaying substances that emerge from
the human body.
85. Cf. Num 5:1–3; 31:19–24 with actual practice, at least during the Second Temple period,
which allowed the corpse-impure within towns. See Milgrom, “Studies in the Temple Scroll,” JBL
97 (1978): 512–18; Kazen, Jesus, 185–89.
86. Thomas Kazen, “Explaining Discrepancies in the Purity Laws about Discharges,” RB 114
(2007): 348–71; Kazen, Jesus, 144–46.
87. The impurity of the discharges themselves is implied by detailed regulations concerning
items underneath the discharger. Fear of contact with menstrual blood could explain why touching
the bed or anything the menstruant has sat upon requires laundering (Lev 15:21–22) while touching
the menstruant herself does not (v. 19). The invisibility of male discharges on the other hand might
explain why touching the zab necessitates laundering (v. 7). For further discussion, see Kazen,
“Explaining Discrepancies.”
88. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 763–65.
Disgust at Repulsive Behaviour

What about the possibility that disgust lies behind those types of “immoral”
behaviour for which purity terminology is used? Here, certain rules of the Holi-
ness Code (Lev 17–26) give us some clues. These are particularly found in Lev
18 and 20.
According to a growing tendency, following Milgrom and Knohl, a Holiness
“source” (H, consisting of the Holiness Code and a number of insertions and
redactions in the rest of the Pentateuch89) may be regarded as later than the
Priestly source (P), and even responsible for the final redaction of the Penta-
teuch. Both sources are seen as processes, overlapping in time and extending
through several centuries.90 It is, however, very difficult to claim, as does Knohl,
that P’s legislation is devoid of ethical elements, so that sins against the Lord’s
commandments (Lev 4:2; 5:17) only refer to cultic matters, and that “the inter-
penetration of ethical and cultic considerations” comes only later, with the Holi-
ness School.91 Milgrom objects, pointing to the use of *H in an ethical sense (Lev
5:1, 17; Num 5:15, 31; 30:16), as well as ethical issues involved in the defile-
ment of the sanctuary and the Day of Atonement ritual.92 Both agree, however,
that H extends the sphere of God’s holiness to the whole land.
To regard the usage of purity jargon for moral matters as a secondary
development in relation to a purportedly primary usage for ritual matters in P
does not hold water. This is especially clear from the way the EI sacrifice is
applied in P, to remove both impurity and sin (see below). This seeming anom-
aly is only due to our categorizing.
In the Holiness Code, a number of terms are used for repulsive behavior. This
is especially apparent in sexual matters. At the end of the incest laws (Lev 18:6–
18), sexual relations with a woman and her offspring are called “shameful” (9>K,
v. 17). The term is used to characterize the same relationship in 20:14, although
it is phrased in the opposite direction. It is also used for making a daughter a
prostitute (19:29). The term is used frequently in Ezekiel with a similar meaning,
in comparing the faithlessness and idolatry of the people with sexual immorality.
Another term is =3E, which describes sexual contacts with animals (Lev
18:23) and sexual relations between a man and his daughter-in-law (20:12). A
notion of offensiveness probably lies in the word.
89. For Leviticus, Milgrom assigns the following parts to H (minor variations in Knohl):
3:16b–17; 6:12–18aB; 7:22–29a, 38b(?); 9:17b; 11:43–45; 12:8; 14:34–53(?), 54–57(?); 15:31;
16:2bC, 29–34a; chs. 17–27 (where Knohl assigns a few verses in ch. 23 not to H). See Milgrom,
Leviticus 1–16, 61–63, also his Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commen-
tary (AB 3A; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 2000), 1322–44, and Leviticus 23–27: A New
Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3B; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 2000),
2054–56.
90. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 3–63; Leviticus 17–22, 1319–67; Leviticus 23–27, 2440–46;
Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis:
Fortress, 1995), 199–224.
91. Knohl, Sanctuary, 225–30.
92. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 44; Leviticus 17–22, 1335–36, 1397–400.
The most conspicuous term is “abomination” (93HE), already mentioned,

which is found more than one hundred times in the Hebrew Bible. This word,
which seems to be absent in P, clearly expresses a feeling of disgust and is used
in the Holiness Code for same-sex relations between males (Lev 18:22; 20:13),
and as a blanket term for summarizing all the incest and sexual rules of Lev 18,
including bans on sex with animals and with women during menstruation (18:26,
27, 29, 30).93 When we turn elsewhere (Deuteronomy, 1 and 2 Kings, Isaiah,
Jeremiah, Ezekiel), the term usually relates to idolatry, and in Proverbs it refers to
serious sins in general.94 In Deuteronomy it is, however, also used about defec-
tive sacrifice, invalid offerers, false weights, and remarriage with a remarried
divorcee, and in 14:3 it is used, as we have seen above, to characterize all catego-
ries of unclean food, as an equivalent to P’s #B. Rather than looking at 93HE
as a ritual term becoming metaphorized, we should regard it as a term for a
primary physical and emotional reaction of disgust being used secondarily for
what was understood as repulsive behavior, whether ritual or moral in our eyes.95
This argument is further strengthened by the context in Lev 18, where all these
abominations are said to make the land unclean (v. 27) and cause it to spit or
vomit (JB) the people out (v. 28). Uncleanness and abominations are expressly
paralleled (v. 30). The imagery is repeated in Lev 20:22, at the end of the
corresponding list of sexual laws, where not only the land, but also God, is said
to have felt disgust (#HB, cf. #B in ch. 11) at the repulsive behavior of the
former inhabitants (v. 23). This obviously refers to the preceding list of sexual
sins, but the conclusion (vv. 24–25) is that the Israelites, whom God has sepa-
rated from other people and to whom he has given the land, must themselves
separate between clean and unclean animals. Sexual “immorality” and “ritual”
food taboos are thus combined and jointly seen as repulsive behavior causing
divine disgust to such an extent that the people would be threatened. The final
motivation (20:26) consists of the same phrase as in 11:44: the people should be
holy as God is holy.
The idea of God feeling disgust is also found in Lev 26, but the term used
here is different (the verb =8).96 The context is one of promise and threat asso-
ciated with the keeping of the Holiness Code. Obedience will cause God never
93. Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1345, argues that since 93HE in Lev 18 is used separately only
to characterize one prohibition (18:22), while several times summarizing all the prohibitions in the
closing exhortation, this points to the incorporation of an older list of sexual prohibitions (18:6–23)
into two reworded exhortations (18:1–5, 24–30).
94. The term is also used twice in Genesis (43:32; 46:34) to convey the Egyptian view of
Hebrews and shepherds as unclean. In Exod 8:26 the Egyptians are assumed to regard the sacrifice
of the Hebrews as abominable.
95. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1569, suggesting a root meaning of darken, contaminate or
stain. The variability of the term is emphasized by Humbert, who argues that it cannot be restricted
to a particular type of sacred language. Paul Humbert, “Le substantif to!ƝbƗ et le verbe t!b dans
l’Ancien Testament,” ZAW 72 (1960): 217–37.
96. This verb is not used elsewhere in the Pentateuch, but occurs in Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Cf.
Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2301–2. The fact that the subject changes from God to the people sug-
gests, however, that “expel” is not the best translation, but that a notion of physical disgust is
present. In any case, it is inconsistent to swap between “expel” and “loathe.”
to loathe the people (v. 11), but if the people loathe God’s commands (v. 15),
God will loathe them (v. 30). If they are exiled, however, although the land will
have to be compensated for its sabbaths by lying waste, God will not loathe the
people and break the covenant, although they have loathed God’s commands
(vv. 43, 44). There is nothing about the sexual sins of Lev 18–20, but the prom-
ises and threats rather seem to refer to the laws of worship, sabbaths, and land in
Lev 23–25. It is doubtful whether the language used describes the immediate
emotion of disgust that was found earlier. In any case, it is not the land that
loathes the people, but rather God. The land is not portrayed as actively vomit-
ing the people out, but passively as being laid waste by God (18:32–35). While
the topos of exile is the same as in Lev 18:25–28 and 20:22–24, the imagery is
quite different. There are good reasons for assigning this section of the Holiness
Code to a fairly late stage.97
A different terminology is also used in Deut 23:14, where the idea is expressed
of God feeling disgust at normal human defecation, which necessitates covering
the excrement with the help of a stick carried in the belt for that very purpose.
Although the verb =8 is used in the preceding section dealing with attitudes to
Edomites and Egyptians, and the noun is used in the subsequent rule about cultic
prostitution, God’s revulsion at human excrement is not described by 93HE but
by C35 EHC.98 The reason may be that 93HE is becoming almost a technical
term, and since there are neither ritual nor moral connotations to defecating in
ancient Judaism, it would not be the obvious word to use. At the same time, the
immediate argument for not offending the divine sense of taste is God’s pres-
ence in the camp, which makes it necessary to keep the camp holy. The clear
implication is that holiness requires the covering of human excrement.
It thus has to be concluded that not only human, but also divine disgust were
live issues in the social contexts reflected in these texts, and that divine holiness
was thought of as no more compatible with unsavory sights than with offensive
deeds. We also find that humans were supposed to share the same feelings and
promote these attitudes. When feelings of disgust are understood as lying at the
base of a number of purity rules as well as moral ideas for which purity lan-
guage is occasionally used, their interrelationship is more easily understood.
Dealing With the Objectionable

I have suggested that basic morality as well as ideas of purity originate with
bodily reactions and feelings of disgust, and that such an understanding can be
traced in a number of legal texts, and inform our reading and interpretation of
97. Following Hoffmann, Milgrom (Leviticus 17–22, 1361; Leviticus 23–27, 2272–343) assigns
26:1–2, 33b–35 and 43–44 to HR, the post-exilic final redactor (H itself is considered pre-exilic).
These sections talk about the Sabbath and presuppose the exile. However, in view of the use of the
verb =8 both within and outside of these passages, I think the discrepancies with preceding sections
of the Holiness Code cannot be solved by the excision of a few verses. Rather, this chapter exhibits
quite a different perspective.
98. The same expression is used in Deut 24:1 for the feeling of revulsion causing a man to
divorce his wife.
them. This would mean that ideas of morality, as well as of purity, arise from a
primary, individual reaction of disgust, leading the individual to shun certain
substances, items, or conditions, and in a more developed form, certain states,
acts or types of behavior. However, such individual reaction must, in a society,
be balanced by social concerns. As we have seen, there are good reasons to
believe that human morality has developed not merely out of self-interest,
whether on a genetic or a cognitive level, and that issues such as adaptability
and cooperation are just as important. In the present study the focus has been on
the role of disgust. Contrary emotions, such as empathy or love, should be
considered, in explaining the mitigation of individual reactions by social con-
cerns. There is, however, little room to deal with these emotions here.
Because of such social concerns, a number of disgusting things must be
accommodated within society, reduced, and handled in various ways. As a
society is often understood as consisting of living individuals as well as of
spirits and/or deities, rules and laws must accommodate and control that which
is objectionable to both.
A number of strategies may be conceived of for dealing with the objection-
able: rejection, regulation, and removal. Examples of all three can be seen in the
texts. The prohibition of unclean animals for food, the expulsion of “lepers”
from the camp, or even of dischargers and the corpse-impure, as in the stricter
tradition of Num 5:2–3, all illustrate rejection as a strategy. This is also the case
with the karet penalty and the death penalty, or even the exile of the entire
people, resulting from a number of transgressions of the Holiness Code. Regula-
tion may be exemplified by rules about contact-contagion, defining the ways in
which impurity contaminates, so as to make it possible for people to avoid it.
Such rules are explicitly spelled out in the case of discharges, but were deduced
and developed in regard to other types of impurity as well. The incest laws of
the Holiness Code as well as Deuteronomy’s toilet law may be included in this
category. As examples of removal strategies we should probably mention the
scraping and sometimes removal of stones in “leprous” houses as well as the
burning of “leprous” clothes or the destruction of vessels or ovens that were in
contact with dead “swarmers.” In particular, this category includes purification
rituals involving washing, laundering, sacrifices, and in the case of lepers and
the corpse-impure, apotropaic rites involving a number of red substances.99 The
same or similar rites and sacrifices are used for removing a number of sins, espe-
cially the EI and the Day of Atonement ritual, the latter involving elements
reminiscent of the cleansing of the leper.100
99. For a discussion of similarities between the bird rite (Lev 14:1–7) and the red cow rite
(Num 19:1–10), see Kazen, Jesus, 305–10; Joshua Schwartz, “On Birds, Rabbis and Skin Disease,”
in Purity and Holiness: The Heritage of Leviticus (ed. M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz; Leiden: Brill,
2000), 207–22.
100. Similarities between the two goats (Lev 16:15–22) and the two birds (Lev 14:1–7) are
obvious: slaughtering one, sprinkling its blood seven times, and releasing the other, apparently to
carry sin/impurity away from inhabited areas.
It has long been observed that the EI is no mere “sin-offering,” but serves
an important function as a purification rite.101 To claim that it has no role in
removing sin is, however, an exaggeration, not the least when the result of this
rite in the context of inadvertent sins is described as forgiveness (I=D?), just
as its result in the context of impurity is purification (C9).102 One possible
interpretation of the EI is that of Alfred Marx, suggesting that it should be
understood as a sacrifice of separation. The EI separates the impure and the
sinner from their former states. In the context of impurity, it does not purify by
itself, but is applied after the period of purification usually ending with washing
and laundering. It is used for separating priests, Levites, and altars (consecra-
tion), and even in the opposite direction when a nazir ends his period of separa-
tion (desecration). It thus constitutes a rite of passage, signifying change of
status, time, or place. This is supported by the fact that it also belongs to the
cultic calendar, being employed a number of times throughout the year, with
neither sin nor impurity as its focus. The EI thus has a separating function,
dissociating objects from their former state.103 In contexts of impurity or trans-
gression it concludes the process of removing that which is considered objec-
tionable.
In all strategies, ritual means are employed in one sense or another and social
concerns are involved. At one end of the scale, rejection is considered necessary,
since that which is experienced as objectionable is thought to be so serious and
threatening to the social body that very little room for mitigation is possible. The
threat seems to concern the divine power as well, which might suggest some sort
of link between the emotion of disgust and demon belief. At the other end of the
scale, removal strategies not only mitigate feelings of disgust and avert demonic
threat, getting rid of that which is experienced as objectionable by ritual means,
but also manage to re-integrate the affected or offending person.
While there is no room in the present context for elaborating on the demonic
aspects of biblical purity law, the apotropaic and magical vestiges involved in
removal rites should be noted. This is concomitant with my observation that
various types of objectionable items, states, or deeds are thought of as offensive
and a danger to individuals, to the society, and even to the deity.104
101. See Jacob Milgrom, “Sin-Offering or Purification-Offering,” VT 21 (1971): 237–39;

Gary A. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings: Old Testament,” ABD 5:870–86 (879–80).
There is no room for an elaborate discussion. For more details, and the relationship between EI
and CA<, see Kazen, Jesus, 211–14.
102. Milgrom’s interpretation that the original offence is really forgiven by feeling guilt, while
the EI deals with the defilement of the sanctuary, is somewhat strained.
103. Alfred Marx, “Sacrifice pour les péchés ou rite de passage? Quelques réflexions sur la
fonction du hat>t>at,” RB 96 (1989): 27–48, and Les systèmes sacrificiels de l’Ancien Testament:
Formes et fonctions du culte sacrificiel à Yhwh (VTSup 105; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 157–88.
According to Marx (“Sacrifice,” 46), the positive correspondent is the burnt offering, which func-
tions as an offering of reintegration. This element is present, however, even when the EI is
offered by itself, through the burning of the fatty parts on the altar.
104. I have discussed these apotropaic rites and demonic vestiges in Kazen, Jesus, 301–13.
This offensiveness and danger is best explained as being based on physical

emotions of disgust. The obvious alternative would be Mary Douglas’ classic
idea of anomaly as the crucial factor behind notions of impurity.105 While
violations of boundaries clearly play an important role, anomaly cannot by itself
explain the evolution of the concept of impurity. Nor does it satisfactorily
explain the strong links that we have observed between purity and morality. Dirt
is to humans more than matter out of place. Danger stems from more than sur-
prise. Fear of death, decay, and animality are important factors, too.
Although conceptions of both purity and morality are context-sensitive and
certainly develop in dependence on social factors, they most plausibly find their
common origin in human primary emotions, notably in the individual emotion
of disgust towards objectionable substances. This emotion is secondarily applied
to items, states, and actions associated with such substances or evoking similar
reactions, but it is also mitigated by social concerns. Thus not only rejection, but
also regulation and removal become possible ways of dealing with the objec-
tionable, whether understood as impurity or sin. From this perspective, too, we
find that a number of biblical legal instructions for all three strategies make
sense, not the least rituals such as the EI sacrifice.
Conclusion
The present study has discussed a number of biblical purity laws as well as
moral rules for which purity language is used, or which border on the purity
system in various ways, as well as ritual elements or practices used for dealing
with impurity and sin alike. Using insights from other disciplines about the
origin and development of human morality, I have suggested that a number of
details, often regarded as anomalies that are difficult to explain, can be consis-
tently interpreted. All three phenomena for which impurity language is used in
Leviticus—dietary laws, contact-contagion, and certain types of immorality—
share common traits that can be related to the primary emotion of human disgust
at objectionable substances, being applied secondarily to these phenomena alike.
Similar strategies for dealing with the objectionable can be observed at different
levels and to varying degrees. Impurities as well as offensive behaviour under-
stood as sin are variously dealt with by rejection, regulation, and removal, in
order to avert their threat against individuals, the social body and the divine.
105. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. With
a New Preface by the Author (London: Routledge, 2002 [1st ed. 1966]), 51–71. Douglas later
retreated from this position, but it is uncertain whether her new stance is better, since she claims that
abhorrence has nothing to do with purity laws, but that it is abominable to harm animals not used for
sacrifice. Arguing from divine rationality, justice, and compassion as being incompatible with the
creation of abominable animals is hardly convincing (pp. xiii–xvi).
DOES THE PRIESTLY PURITY CODE
DOMESTICATE WOMEN?
David Tabb Stewart
Introduction
The Priestly Purity Code, or Lev 11–15, is not usually read as a women’s text.1
But it does address matters of concern to women. Leviticus 11 deals with the
realm of food. That is, it deals with the question of what can be cooked and
eaten. Chapter 12 continues with childbirth; ch. 13 with scale disease and
women’s recovery from the species of scalls (vv. 29–30) and tetters (vv. 38–
39)—something of concern to Miriam (Num 12)—and mold on cloth, yarn, and
leather (Lev 13:47–59); ch. 14, mold in houses (vv. 33–53); and ch. 15 with
menstruation and hypermenorrhea. Indeed, at Lev 15:18, we actually have
heterosexual intercourse topicalized under womanhood. Now, it is true that there
are matters of particular concern to men in the Purity Code—seminal emissions,
discharges, and baldness—but one could see these matters placed here by
attraction. This is not to say that the Purity Code is fully an example of écriture
féminine, but rather that here there are matters from women’s experience—preg-
nancy, mothering, health, menses, domestic work, and marriage. Thus I examine
three passages asserting male control over women and women’s spaces: the law
of scalls and tetters in women (13:29–39); the laws concerning mold in women’s
work and workspace (13:47–59); and the laws for the zƗbâ (15:25–30). These
represent an attempted domestication of women’s realms by men.
A model of women’s culture proposes that women constitute a “muted
group.” As Edwin Ardener develops this, the boundaries of the muted group are
not wholly contained by the dominant male group. If one thinks of the commu-
nities of males and females in society as two intersecting circles, these mostly
overlap, but leave small crescents of men’s space and women’s. The zone of
women’s cultural space, that small crescent, Ardener calls the “wild zone”—that
space which is outside of male control. “How does the symbolic weight of that
other mass of persons express itself?” Ardener asks.2 This is a problem because
1. E.g. Judith Romney Wegner, “ ‘Coming Before the LORD’: The Exclusion of Women from
the Public Domain of the Israelite Priestly Cult,” in The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Recep-
tion (ed. Rolf Rendtorff and Robert A. Kugler; VTSup 93; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 451–65 (451–52).
2. Edwin Ardener, “Belief and the Problem of Women,” in Perceiving Women (ed. Shirley
Ardener; New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1975), 1–27 (3).
“all language is the language of the dominant order, and women, if they speak at
all, must speak through it.” Ardener answers, through ritual and art. But there
are other ways.
Leviticus 13:29–39: Scalls and Tetters in Women

In a book that notoriously has no named women characters there is a small
surprise in the gendered and generic references to women in the laws related to
the mpÑ¿rƗ!. Leviticus 13 falls into three sections: (1) diagnostic rules related to
the skin system and ÑƗra!at (13:2–28, 38–39); (2) those related to the body’s
hair system (13:29–37, 40–44); and (3) diagnostics concerning ÑƗra!at or mold
and fungus in thread, cloth and leather (13:47–58). The section on haÑÑƗrûa!
ends with a prescription and summation (vv. 45–46); and likewise the section on
cloth (v. 59). Now as to the skin system (vv. 2–28, 38–39), there are five sections
focused on eight species: vv. 2–8 focus on swellings, rashes, and discolorations
(Ğp!Ɲt, sappaat, baheret); the second section on scale disease or ÑƗra!at proper
(vv. 9–17); the third on inflammations (špîn, vv. 18–29); and the fourth on burns
from fire (mikwat-Ɲš, vv. 24–28). The fifth section on scalls and tetters (neteq,
bphir¿t)3 is an “outlier” found much later (vv. 38–39). So why did the editor
organize the passage in this way? The answer points to the generic, gendered,
and inclusive language used by the writer. And so “woman” emerges as a topic.
The first diagnostic rule concerning swellings, rashes, and discoloring begins
with ƗdƗm (v. 2), as does the second for scale disease proper (v. 9). Mayer
Gruber observed some years ago that this was a neutral term for “person” simi-
lar to nepeš, and so functions as a kind of proto-inclusive language4—that is,
anywhere we find it, we may take it to include women. Nevertheless, after the
initial opening of these two diagnostics, all further referents use masculine-gen-
dered pronouns in a generic way. The third and fourth diagnostic rules concern-
ing inflammations and burns dispense with neutral language, again using generic
pronouns. Women’s presence is effaced if not erased.
So, it becomes all the more striking when the next section concerning head
and hair begins with wpîš ô îššâ (v. 29). Why do women rise to consciousness
here? Why does a women’s disability or disease emerge? Indeed, it is not just
here but in the next section (vv. 38–39), returning to diagnostics for the skin
3. “Scall” and especially “tetter” are arbitrary translation choices for conditions that one cannot
confidently identify. A scall is a scaly, scabby disease of the skin or a scurf (little dry scales shed by
the skin, e.g., dandruff). A tetter is one of a number of skin diseases like eczema that are character-
ized by itching. The English terms carry an aura of specificity for the uninitiated—they are really
generalities. See also the general discussion of ÑƗra !at in David P. Wright and Richard N. Jones,
“Leprosy,” ABD 4:277–82.
4. One might read a woman’s action anywhere the term nepeš or ƗdƗm, “person,” is used as
subject (cf. Num 5:5–7 for evidence that these terms are gender-neutral in Priestly literature). For a
full discussion of the philology, cf. Mayer I. Gruber, “Women in the Cult According to the Priestly
Code,” in Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel (ed. Jacob Neusner, Baruch A. Levine, and Ernest
S. Frerichs; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 35–48 (39–40, 45 n. 33). In sum, the Priestly Source (P)
occasionally makes use of an inclusive language nepeš or ƗdƗm.
STEWART Does the Priestly Purity Code Domesticate Women? 67
system, that the text topicalizes women and men together (v. 38). This skin diag-
nostic rule does not simply repeat the earlier instructions but now includes both
a reprised diagnosis, “white discolorations” (bphir¿t lpbƗn¿t; see Lev 13:4),
and one brand new, “tetter” (b¿haq). A further anomaly: this skin rule actually
separates the two passages on head and hair (vv. 29–37 and 40–44), a seeming
inefficiency. Verse 40 shows a topic change when it opens with wpîš. Verses
40–44 do, after all, take up crown and male-pattern baldness (two “disabilities”
that are not “impure”5) and beard hair. As if to wrap the topic by an inclusion,
v. 44 mentions îš ÑƗrûa! when it diagnoses him ÓƗmƝ hû. Interestingly, iššâ-
Ñprûa! is the unmarked term. The topic changes once again at the start of v. 45
with haÑÑƗrûa!, a neutral term introducing the behavioral laws for the person
with scale disease diagnosed in all the foregoing material.
So, why do these anomalies exist, these bumps in the fabric of the text? Ibn
Ezra provides a possible motivation for the topical shift from “man or woman”
to “man” alone by observing that the beard issue applies only to males, and that
the writer must also distinguish “man” from ƗdƗm, already used neutrally for
“person.”6 But this explanation does not explain the shift from “person” to “man
or woman” in the first place. And also, why the offsetting of vv. 38 and 39 on
skin? Why not place this with other passages about the skin system, as between
vv. 28 and 29? And more, why didn’t the writer lump facial hair impurities
(vv. 42–44) with all the other impurities of the chapter (vv. 2–39), instead of
digressing to baldness (vv. 40–41), which is neither a blemish (mûm) nor impure
(ÓƗmƝ)? The Keter Torah answers, concerning the latter, that the text is simply
keeping male subject matter together.7 We have two textual “bumps” in a row
(vv. 38–39 and vv. 40–41): the topic shifts from the hair system (v. 37) back to
the skin system (vv. 38–39), and then to the hair system again (v. 40); the
implicit topic shifts from things impure (v. 39) to those pure (vv. 40–41), and
then back to impurities (v. 42). In both instances the topic shifts are correlated
with gender as we can see:
A = Hair (vv. 29–37); || A = Hair (vv. 40–44)
Aƍ = Skin (vv. 38–39)
B = Impurity (vv. 29–39) || Bƍ = Purity (vv. 40–41);
B = Impurity (vv. 42–44)
C = Man or Woman (vv. 29–39) || Cƍ = Man alone (vv. 40–44)
So, ABC o AƍBC o ABƍCƍ o ABCƍ. If the writer has gone to such pains, then
we readers ought to take it seriously. Indeed, it is an example of an “inverted
hinge,” as per Parunak.8
5. David Tabb Stewart, “Deaf and Blind in Leviticus 19:14 and the Emergence of Disability
Law” (unpublished paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature,
Philadelphia, November 19, 2005).
6. Jacob Milgrom Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 792.
7. Aaron ben Elijah, Keter Torah: Sefer Va-yikra (repr. ed.; Ramleh, Israel: Ramleh, 1972); cf.
Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 799.
8. See more on this below. Cf. H. van Dyke Parunak, “Transitional Techniques in the Bible,”
JBL 102 (1983): 525–48.
Now, it could be that the changes in gender representation throughout Lev 13

represent the trail of redaction history—the editor has added the sections that
speak directly to gender (vv. 29–44), and has had to sew it all together at v. 45
with the inclusive neutral term, haÑÑƗrûa!. But such an explanation only accounts
for the literary surface of the text. Let me push it a bit further: Why did this
tradent of the Priestly Source (P) have a gender-consciousness that left a visible
space for women? I do not say that “his” consciousness was not framed by male
concerns, as taking up the topics of baldness and beard reveal. And perhaps
he—I use “he” deliberately—felt a need to clarify the “inclusive” language of
ƗdƗm (vv. 2, 9), so offering a lexical commentary with wpîš ô îššâ (vv. 29,
38).
It is just here that Miriam hovers as a ghost over the passage—for she has
scales white as snow (mpÑ¿r!at kaššƗleg in Num 12:10). But her presence must
then hang over all the diagnostic rules governing ÑƗra!at, and not just those of
ch. 13, vv. 38 and 39. This is because of the color specification: “snow-white” is
neither “dull white” nor “striated” as in Leviticus. So, we may think of her pres-
ence, but not by direct reference. This is why we must take the Priestly writer’s
gender notice of women seriously: if women are not mentioned specifically, if
they are subsumed in masculine, or even neutral language, then one might ask as
a male scholar did recently, “Do women have disabilities or diseases in the
Bible? Do they have any disabling conditions worth notice?”9 The P-tradent’s
language suggests they do, and so inadvertently reveals their prior erasure.
Leviticus 13:47–59: Mold and Women’s Work

If male readers have left unweighed places where women are addressed, it is
also true that they have neglected texts with a cast of a women’s milieu. A
further section of Leviticus (13:47–59) covers the case of a moldy or fungal
affection of fabrics, skins, and leather utensils and furniture. At the tail end of
the long section on aÑÑƗrûa! commentators’ interest tends to flag. Wright gives
the pericope two pages,10 Elliger a page,11 and both Maccoby12 and Hulse13 a
paragraph. As a generally neglected section of “P,” it is a candidate passage for
closer attention because of its ostensible connection with women. Hoffner
argues that the quintessential ancient Near Eastern symbols of womanhood are
9. A comment made as an oral aside to his paper: Thomas Hentrich, “Masculinity and Disability
in the Bible” (paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Phila-
delphia, 19 November 2005).
10. David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and
Mesopotamian Literature (SBLDS 101; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 90–91. See also Wright and
Jones, “Leprosy,” 4:277–82.
11. Karl Elliger, Leviticus (HAT 4; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1966), 185.
12. Hyam Maccoby, Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and Its Place in Judaism
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 127.
13. E. V. Hulse, “The Nature of Biblical ‘Leprosy’ and the Use of Alternative Medical Terms
in Modern Translations of the Bible,” PEQ 107 (1975): 87–105 (94).
the spindle or distaff—tools associated with spinning and weaving.14 The peri-
cope on ÑƗra!at in fabrics mentions not only wool and linen, but also the warp
and woof of fabric on the loom, and that repeatedly. We are in a technical sphere
that is often, if not always, the sphere of ancient Near Eastern women.
Milgrom, who in his characteristic way has given this passage more attention
than anyone else among modern writers,15 finds it riddled with anomalies. Of
course, the biggest anomaly is: “Why is it here?” The passage has its own
“separate summation (v. 59)” and “interrupts and jars the flow of chaps. 13 and
14” such that “it is clearly an editorial interpolation.”16 The only answer he
offers, following Wenham,17 is that it deals with the similar symptomology of
“abnormal surface conditions.” By this theory, the pericope was independent
and placed here by topical attraction.
The clustering of technical language represents a second anomaly. “In the
warp,” bišptî, with the sense of “vertical” or “length,” and among its Semitic
cognates, “weave,” is “a technical term that spread over the ancient world.”18 “In
the woof,” be!Ɲreb, speaks to “the horizontal action of the shuttle by which the
thread weaves in and out of the threads of the warp.”19 For both of these terms
the etymology is unknown. It is in the diagnostic terms that we find even more
obscurity: mameret, “malignant” (v. 51); ppetet, a hapax legomenon translated
“fret” (v. 55); and p¿raat, “wild growth” (v. 57).20 These three mold conditions
can appear on the warp or woof threads on the loom or off in their coils of yarn.
Lines of fungus would likely run along threads of the same sort and not con-
taminate other threads as each has a unique thickness, dye, and spin—and so
different pH factors—that would potentially attract particular molds.21 Thus, it is
not redundant for the author to mention both wool and linen fabric and warp and
woof threads. The expressions speak to a life-setting where the technical
language, and knowledge embodied in it, are used comfortably by weavers and
cloth-makers—most likely women.22
14. Harry A. Hoffner, Jr., “Symbols for Masculinity and Femininity: Their Use in Ancient Near
Eastern Sympathetic Magic Rituals,” JBL 85 (1966): 326–34 (329). There is room to critique his
analysis: he depends heavily on the Hittite and Greek evidence (which is convincing), and cursorily
on the Ugaritic, Mesopotamian, and biblical evidence. Indeed, he adduces only two biblical
passages, Prov 31:13 and 2 Sam 3:29, to demonstrate his point.
15. That is, ten pages of two thousand eight hundred (Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 771, 808–16).
16. Ibid., 808.
17. Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus (New York: Doubleday, 1979).
19. Ibid.
20. “Wild growth” in the New Jewish Publication Society translation (NJPS) and not “scaly
eruption” as at Lev 13:42 in the context of scale disease on a bald head.
21. Jane Merritt, Causes, Detection, and Prevention of Mold and Mildew on Textiles (rev. ed.;
Conserve-O-Gram 16/1; Washington, D.C.: Superintendent of Documents, U.S. Government
Printing Office, 1993); cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 810.
22. Elizabeth Wayland Barber, Women’s Work: The First 20,000 Years. Women, Cloth, and
Society in Early Times (New York: W. W. Norton, 1994), 29–41; and Philip J. King and Lawrence
E. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville: Westminster John Knox,
2001), 152. Pages 146–62 of King and Stager’s work offer a nice background discussion of textiles
in ancient Israel.
A morphosemantic surprise constitutes the third anomaly. Milgrom notes that

there is an “unexpected use of the second person singular” tiĞrppennû, “you
shall destroy them [by fire]” (in vv. 55, 57), and tpkabbƝs, “you will wash” (in
v. 58).23 “Who is the subject?” Milgrom asks. “The subject of this verb [at
v. 57]…cannot be explained.”24 Not the priest. He has already been referenced
by third-person masculine singular verb forms (vv. 55c, 56a). Not the people as
a whole, because the chapter is addressed to Moses and Aaron alone (v. 1). One
might say, “Moses and Aaron,” then (who could be concerned for furnishing
covers and wall panels in the sanctuary). Yet this (i.e. using a singular form) is
an awkward way to address both. One could conclude that these forms are an
artifact of the pericope’s earlier, contextual, and independent existence. Who
might be addressed there? Why, a woman; the second-person masculine singular
imperfectives have the same form as third-person singular feminine imperfec-
tives, of course. This possibility would generally not be thought of because of
our predisposition not to see women actors in the Priestly work, but it com-
mends itself further by the observation that the text would then show a con-
sistent use of third person when referring to ritual actors: third-person masculine
singular for the purification priest; third-person feminine singular for the female
technician.
Another concern is v. 59 of ch. 13. The summary of scaly affections in fabrics
and leather items found here is summarized again in ch. 14, vv. 54–56. Milgrom
asks: “Why is there a need for this repetitious and, ostensibly, superfluous
subscript for fabrics?”25 He offers several reasons: it sets off this pericope from
ch. 14 (otherwise, one might think the purification rituals of ch. 14 applied to
fabrics); and, there is no subscript for the sections covering people with scale
disease in ch. 13.26 Perhaps originally the text in ch. 13 (v. 46) connected
directly to the ritual prescriptions of ch. 14. One might further motivate the
fabric subscript by noticing that the fabrics’ pericope is positioned in parallel
with ch. 14’s section on fungus in buildings (vv. 33–53). Both sections may rep-
resent a concern for fungus in sanctuaries—those portable and permanent—but
the surprise of the subscript reminds us of this section’s apparent independence
before the editorial project that now includes it for whatever sacerdotal reasons.
A final anomaly, though not mentioned as such by Milgrom, is the care of the
passage not precipitously to destroy the fabric or leather items. After seven days
of being set aside, if the moldy striations have not spread, it is quarantined for a
second term of seven days and washed. If the affection has faded, the priest tears
out the spot (v. 56). Milgrom and others have noted the economic motivation for
this thrifty approach. Who has the most economic interest here? The worker, the
female weaver, who has put so many hours into making the cloth, or spinning
the yarn, so that its disposal represents a hardship. Only that which is truly
spoiled is destroyed.
23. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 813, 815.

24. Ibid., 814.
25. Ibid., 815.
26. Nevertheless, the use of haÑÑarûa! in 13:45 has a summarizing feel.
Thus I would argue: while this pericope is not obviously an example of écri-
ture féminine, it shows evidence of a women’s milieu, or Sitz im Leben, and its
technical language. It contains threads from Ardener’s “wild zone” of women’s
culture, now redeployed and brought under male priestly control.
Leviticus 15:18: Woman as Heterosexual Subject (Sort of)

One surprise, by way of a small example, is in the organization of Lev 15. The
several pericopae begin as follows:
v. 2b îš îš kî…zƗb A
v. 16 wpîš kî…šikbat-zera B
v. 18 wpîššâ išer yiškab îš ¿tâh X
v. 19 wpîššâ kî…niddâ Bƍ
v. 25 wpîššâ kî…zibâ Aƍ
The first and last section form a topical ring, zƗb and zƗbâ; the first and second
sections address concerns of men; the fourth and fifth, concerns of women. The
center section topicalizes women through a circumlocution that shifts to the
front of the sentence wpîššâ.27 This is not clear in translations like the NJPS,
which reads: “And if a man has carnal relations with a woman…” It should read
something like: “Now as to a woman, if a man has sexual relations with her…”
This topicalization puts the focus on women. That is, heterosexual relations are
placed under the rubric of womanhood. It is gyno-centric, yes, and central. The
topic shift stands at the center of the chiastic structure ABXBƍAƍ and so
underlines what is important.
Now Whitekettle took notice of this structure, but not its implications.28
Likewise Milgrom, following his student R. Scott,29 sees it as an instantiation of
Parunak’s literary device of the “inverted hinge,” a way of pivoting between
topics.30 He does not discuss it further. Nevertheless, placing the topicalization
of women at the center of a chiastic structure suggests that the (male) editor or
writer thought women’s pollution concerns the more important matter—some-
thing confirmed by the greater weight given to the zƗbâ’s pollution over all
others in this chapter. While problematizing vaginal flows, the writer may yet
absorb a women’s point-of-view by placing heterosexual intercourse under the
rubric of “woman.”
Leviticus 15:19, 25–30: ZƗbâ

Both the niddâ (‘menstruant’) and the zƗbâ (‘dysmenorrheal woman’) are
referred to under the rubric of zôb or “discharge”: the niddâ is a zƗbâ dƗm
27. Talmy Givón, Topic Continuity in Discourse: A Quantitative Cross-Language Study

(Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1983), 17, 19, 33–34.
28. Richard Whitekettle, “Leviticus 15:18 Reconsidered: Chiasm, Spatial Structure and the
Body,” JSOT 49 (1991): 31–45 (35).
29. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 905, 931.
30. Parunak, “Transitional Techniques,” 541.
(“woman with a discharge of blood,” v. 19); the zƗbâ proper is an îššâ kî yƗzûb
zôb dƗmƗh yƗmîm rabbîm (“woman who discharges her blood for many days,”
v. 25). Note that this is also a discharge of blood—not apparently a gonorrheal
flow or vaginal secretion. And just to make it perfectly clear, the dysmenorrheal
discharge is a zôb ÓǌmƗtâ (“unclean discharge,” v. 30) that calls for expiation.
As Milgrom noticed, this is a condition that is more severe than that of the
zƗb or niddâ.31 This is seen in two ways. First, one who sits on the seat of the
zƗb must bathe, launder, and wait till evening to be clean (Lev 15:6); but anyone
who touches the seat of the zƗbâ must do the same (15:26–27).32 Though the text
invites us to read about the zƗbâ in the light of the niddâ (kî-tƗzûb !al-niddƗtƗh,
15:25), and the structure of her account parallels that of the niddâ, her pollution
is more severe. The zƗbâ’s ritual for purification is as complex as that of the zƗb
(vv. 13–15 || vv. 28–30), but much more demanding than that of the niddâ (there
are expiatory sacrifices besides the bathing, laundering, and waiting till eve-
ning). Thus, among all of the leakages from orifices, that of the zƗbâ is the most
extreme. While Milgrom mostly argues for severity from rabbinic literature and
prior deduction about how to read silences,33 these two signs of “weight” (touch-
ing the seat and the relative complexity of ritual for the zƗbâ over the niddâ) are
plainly in the text. Milgrom argues, by extension from the conclusion that the
zƗbâ here experiences the most severe pollution, that a fortiori she must be able
to impart impurity by her intentional touching. Does this not give her a sort of
power, one made much of by rabbinic folklore?
Women’s Power
The strength of a woman’s “pollution”34 gives her a special power over her
sexual partner: “As for the woman in her menstrual impurity [niddâ, zƗbâ, and
first stage parturient]: Do not encroach on (her) to uncover her nakedness” (Lev
18:19, my translation). Although the Holiness Code gives menses and dys-
menorrhea an apparently negative valence, the P-source accidentally discloses
its power. A menstruant, or niddâ, becomes “impure” for seven days, confining
her to her tent (15:19); a zƗbâ, until she recovers (15:25). But the condition has
the power to subvert the male-dominated social order. Anyone who touches her
is unclean until evening. Anything she lies on, or sits on, becomes unclean.
Anyone who touches her bed is unclean till evening (15:20–23; and v. 27 read-
ing bƗh with the LXX35). Her liminal status gives the zƗbâ rest from labor, (male)
touch, and conjugal “duties.” Now both the Priestly and Holiness writers

32. The zƗbâ generally follows the rules for the niddâ, as Lev 15:25 indicates, and Milgrom
argues (ibid., 942–43). I differ slightly from David P. Wright and Richard N. Jones, “Discharge,”
ABD 2:206. They suggest that “a zƗbâ pollutes exactly like a zƗb” (my emphasis).
34. Thomas Buckley and Alma Gottlieb, Blood Magic: The Anthropology of Menstruation
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 34–36.
35. Pace Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 943.
constrain this power by labeling it “impurity.” But “the common fact of men-
struation”—and menstrual disorders—“challenges the social order of a male-
dominated society and defines and bounds a female subgroup within the society,
thereby creating a new and dangerous order.”36
What if we were to ask if the “problem” here is one of power? That is, what if
the woman is “dangerous” and must pass through rituals because her bleeding is
a “powerful” event? I am reminded here that in the Mishnah touching the scroll
of a canonical book “pollutes” the hands. That is, the inadvertence creates a
need for ritual resolution, not because the text is polluted, but because of its
perceived sacred power (m. Yad. 3:2, 5). When Maccoby writes that “[s]ome
things may be polluting in proportion to their awesomeness,”37 he suggests
something similar. “[T]he whole cycle of mortality,” he argues, “provides the
basis for an alternative spirituality… The female, more than the male, is
involved in the birth–death cycle, and is therefore a greater focus of impurity.” I
have been contemplating leakages of fluids associated with reproduction.
Women’s association with birth, using Maccoby’s language, ultimately “repre-
sents a potentiality for a different religious orientation,”38 a potential wild zone
of independent spiritual action.39
Summary and Conclusion

The four short examples above—gender shifts in Lev 13 and the particular
mention of women, the women’s technical milieu of weaving and spinning, the
topicalization of heterosexual relations under womanhood, and dysmenorrhea—
unveil simultaneously women’s space and its male control. That women are
addressed, that women have technical realms, that women may be a topic, and
that they may have power are all notions that the text partially domesticates. The
text mutes women’s voices, yet the technical language of their sphere emerges.
The text tries to absorb women’s space—the weaving workshop—yet women
retain a residuum where no man will come during normal or dysfunctional
menstruation or while bearing scale disease. Women may speak the language of
the dominant using generic pronouns, yet their own gendered referents appear;
their own verb forms slip through. Indeed, even while the text absorbs women’s
concerns about reproductive health and presents heterosexual relations as a
women’s topic, the text places all in a frame of ritual purity. And why? Because
what may speak to women’s reproductive power, and perhaps to her spirituality,
the text evaluates as an endangering impurity. There is a worm trail in the apple
here: all traces of women’s lives are not erased, but they are effaced. And our
readings that miss the trace lines efface them again.
36. Buckley and Gottlieb, Blood Magic, 28–29.

37. Maccoby, Ritual and Morality, 48.
38. Ibid., 50.
39. I develop this notion further in David Tabb Stewart, “The Parturient’s Ritual for a Girl: The
Puzzle of Double Pollution,” in Feminist Hermeneutics, Gender and Biblical Law (ed. Athalya
Brenner and Rachel Magdalene; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, forthcoming).
Part II
METHOD
BLOOD AS PURIFICANT IN PRIESTLY TORAH:
WHAT DO WE KNOW AND HOW DO WE KNOW IT?
William K. Gilders
What do texts of Priestly Torah (P) say about the power of sacrificial blood as a
purifying agent, a purificant? Addressing this question in this study, my primary
concern will not be to break new interpretive ground, but to pause and look back
over the ground that has so far been covered. What do we know and how do we
know it? To provide a focus for reflection on these questions, I will center the
discussion on one unit of Priestly textual material, Lev 14, which sets out the
rites for the purification of a person whose impurity-generating skin disease has
healed, and for a house that has suffered from an analogous disease, probably to
be identified as a growth of mold.1
The Bird Rite (Leviticus 14:4–7, 49–53)

For the person who has been healed of a skin disease, the purification process
begins with a rite in which two birds play a crucial role. For a house that has
suffered from an analogous disease, the purification process consists solely of
this rite.
Let us look first at the rite as it is carried out upon the person healed of a skin
disease (14:4–7). In this unit, the identification of the recipient of the ritual
actions as “the one being cleansed” (C9
2!>:!9,2 v. 4) suggests the purpose of the
ritual performance, cleansing. However, it may be asked whether the text makes
explicit the effect of the ritual complex. Does H+C9;:H (v. 7) mean “he makes him
clean,” referring directly to the effect of the sprinkling with the bird’s blood, or
does it mean “he declares him clean”?2 Since the blood is sprinkled on the indi-
vidual, it is apparently the thing that effects the purification, the purificant. But,
note that our text does not tell us this explicitly. What interpreters suggest is
1. My treatment of Lev 14 here builds on and supplements brief treatments of the chapter in
my book, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible: Meaning and Power (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins
University Press, 2004), 105–6, 183. In particular, the present study adds an examination of the bird
ritual, which I did not include in the book.
2. NRSV renders H+C9;:H as “then he shall pronounce him clean,” while NJPSV has “and cleanse
him.” Jacob Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB
3; New York: Doubleday, 1991], 827, 839) supports the NJPSV rendering. Cf. Lev 14:48, where the
meaning of C9
7H is similarly ambiguous.
based on deduction from the effect attributed to the ritual action. Moreover, if
H+C9;:H does mean “he declares him clean,” we may wonder if the blood mani-
pulation itself accomplishes the cleansing, or if it is in fact the priest’s verbal
declaration that does so.
Let us now examine the same basic performance directed at a house (14:49–
53). Here (vv. 49, 52), we have the Piel form of the root I, which is not in the
other passage. This verb clearly refers to an effect on the house. The various
ritual elements are taken to achieve that effect. This textual version of the rite
clarifies an ambiguity in the earlier prescriptions. While the bird was slaughtered
over living water, the former prescriptions referred only to dipping in the blood.
Here the text specifies that the live bird and the other elements are dipped in
both blood and water. Thus, it is clear that the house is sprinkled not only with
blood but also with water.
We are explicitly told the purpose of this act of sprinkling (v. 52): the priest
“purifies the house” (EJ39E !
I:H) . Note that here all of the ritual elements are
identified as instruments by which the purification is effected. The instrumental
bet appears with each element, so that while the blood is explicitly identified as
a purificant, it is not alone in this role. The blood is foregrounded, as it heads the
list. However, the identification of all of the elements as instruments of
purification makes it unclear just what the ritual tradents believed the blood
itself to do.
Up to this juncture, I have been translating !
I: as “purify.” However, it is
possible to question this understanding of the meaning of the verb.3 To what
extent should etymological consideration direct our understanding of the verb in
this context? The etymological meaning of the verb is “de-sin” and this has been
insisted upon by some interpreters. In contrast, we may ignore etymological
considerations and engage in purely contextual determination of the meaning.
Contextually, the basic rendering, “purify,” seems to fit quite well.4
Another significant question concerns the role of the living bird. In the
prescriptions for the rite performed on a person, the statement about cleansing
appears before the reference to the release of the bird. Note, too, that nothing is
said there about the significance of this act. It is natural enough, perhaps, to
draw on the source-internal analogy of the scapegoat (Lev 16:20–22), which
bears away sins.5 It is also possible to refer to various rites of riddance and
3. For discussion of questions about the meaning of the Piel of I and the related nominal
form, E!7I,2 see Gilders, Blood Ritual, 29–32.
4. Some recent attempts have been made to argue against both “purify” and “de-sin,” but these
have been unconvincing. See Noam Zohar, “Repentance and Purification: The Significance and
Semantics of EI in the Pentateuch,” JBL 107 (1988): 609–18; N. Kiuchi, A Study of ÐƗÓƗ and
ÐaÓÓƗ in Leviticus 4–5 (FAT 2. Reihe 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). Both scholars ignore a
large amount of contextual evidence and rest their arguments on ambiguous usage.
5. Note, however, that the scapegoat bears away sins, not physical impurities. On this point, see
the discussion in Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Bearing of Sin in the Priestly Literature,” in Pomegran-
ates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in
Honor of Jacob Milgrom (ed. David P. Wright et al.; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 17–19.
GILDERS Blood as Purificant in Priestly Torah 79
disposal in historically and geographically contiguous cultures.6 But it must be

emphasized that the text itself tells us nothing about the effect of the bird’s
release. What clearly we would be most happy to have is an explicit textual
statement that the released bird carries away impurity! What is missing here,
then, is an explanation of how the various elements contribute to the effect the
text attributes to the whole ritual complex.
The parallel rite for the house complicates matters. In this context, the pur-
pose of the sprinkling rite is explicitly identified with the verb !
I,: which does
not appear in connection with the rite for the person. The text then refers to the
release of the bird, apparently separating this act from the effect indicated with
!
I:. Following this reference, there is what appears to be a summary statement
of the effect of the full ritual complex, inclusive of the release of the bird: “He
makes expiation for the house and it becomes clean” (C9
7H EJ&32!92=2 CA!6<:H, v. 53).
Therefore, another significant difference between the two units is the use of
the verb CA!6<!: to indicate the effect of the rites performed for the house. This verb
seems to refer to the rites themselves while the next verb (C9
7H, “and it becomes
clean”) refers to their effect. It is unlikely that the two terms are simply identical
in meaning. Rather, they seem to refer to steps in a process. Whatever effect is
intended by the verb CA!6<:! leads to cleansing. Earlier, the passage uses the verb
!
I: to refer to the effects of the rites. Is CA!6<:!, then, synonymous with that verb?
Or does it have a distinct meaning? I would urge that, on principle, we should
seek to distinguish verbs from one another. In this context, CA!6<:! seems to sum up
the whole rite.7 It includes, but is not limited to, what is intended by !
I:. The
one action that is not directly covered by the verb !
I: provides, I believe, the
key for differentiating between the two verbs. The verb !
I: refers to the acts by
which the house itself is cleansed. The verb CA!6<!: refers to the elimination of the
impurity. Thus, with this second passage we may have identification of the effect
of sending forth the bird: it is the act that completes the rite of elimination.
Still, I would emphasize two facts. First, we are not told explicitly that the
bird bears away the impurity on itself. Second, the meaning of the verb CA!6<!: is
not beyond dispute. While it often carries the quite concrete sense of “purgate,”
as Milgrom and others have argued, it can also be rendered accurately with more
abstract English terms, such as “expiate.” The verb CA!6<!: carries a weight of con-
crete and abstract meanings that cannot be borne by any single English equiva-
lent, and to choose one English term is to reduce the complexity of the verb’s
meaning.8
Overall, the rite for the house seems more developed. Jacob Milgrom has
suggested that vv. 48–53, which prescribe this rite, are a later addition, likely
from the H tradition.9 The key point to note is that it is this passage that more
6. For examples, see David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible
and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature (SBLDS 101; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 75–86;
see also Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 834.
7. We often find this in P. See, e.g., Lev 4:20b, 26b, 31b, 35b; 5:6b, 10b, 13.
8. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 28–29, 135–38.
thoroughly interprets the rite. Can we assume that the tradents who composed
and transmitted the textual formulation of the bird ritual for a person would
necessarily have agreed with the explanation found in the later passage? We are
becoming increasingly aware that H differs from P in some striking ways. Is it
not possible that this included the interpretation of ritual actions?
The Rites at the Tent of Meeting (Leviticus 14:10–32)

Whereas the ritual complex involving the birds is prescribed for both the person
and the house, and this is all that is performed for the purification of the house,
the person being purified is required to participate in a further ritual complex at
the Tent of Meeting. This takes place after a seven-day period during which the
person going through purification launders his clothing, shaves his hair and
bathes, and moves back into the encampment (14:8–9). On the eighth day the
person being purified comes to the Tent of Meeting. Prescriptions are given both
for the primary form of the rite (vv. 10–20), and for a reduced form for those too
poor to bring the standard offerings (vv. 21–32).
The first part of the ritual complex is the same in both cases. Everyone is
required to bring one male lamb as a “reparation offering” ()7)7 . The priest
takes some of the blood of this offering and daubs it on the lobe of the right ear,
the thumb of the right hand, and the big toe of the right foot of the person being
cleansed (C9
!2>:!9,2 vv. 14, 25). This is a surprising and unique use of the blood of
this sacrifice.10 However, this manipulation is identical with what is done with
the blood of the ordination ram in the priestly ordination rite (Exod 29:19–20;
Lev 8:22–24). Neither of the blood manipulations is explained in its context, and
interpreters have offered many divergent explanations.11 All fill a conceptual
gap. It is possible that the blood application purifies, but the text does not tell us
this explicitly. Does the person still need purification at this juncture? Does
C9
!2>!:92 mean “the one who is being purified” or could it also mean “the purified
one”?
The blood manipulation is followed by manipulation of oil (vv. 15–18a, 26–
29a), some of which is daubed over the blood on the earlobe, thumb, and toe
(vv. 17, 28). At the end of the prescriptions for the oil ritual, we are told: CA<H
ƍ9 J?A= *9<9 HJ=, “and the priest shall effect expiation for him before YHWH”
(v. 18b). This seems to sum up the effect of the whole rite, in all its parts.12 In
the case of the rite for the poor, HJ= CA<= (“to effect expiation for him”) at the
beginning of the ritual prescription (v. 21) seems to identify the purpose of the
10. Elsewhere, it is prescribed that the blood of an ) is to be tossed onto the sides of the altar
(Lev 7:2).
11. For discussion of the various interpretations of these blood manipulations, see Gilders,
Blood Ritual, 96–106.
12. The RSV and NRSV translation is incorrect here, making this phrase refer ahead to the EI
rite rather than back to what has just been described. For the correct rendering, see NJPSV; Milgrom,
Leviticus 1–16, 828, 856; see also NIV (which seems to take the phrase as referring back only to the
oil manipulation).
), including—or even focusing on—the elevation rite. At the end of this unit
(v. 29a), the statement, ƍ9 J?A= HJ= CA<= (“to make expiation for him before
YHWH”) clearly indicates the effect and purpose of what has just been described,
either the whole complex, or possibly only the oil manipulation.13
After the rituals with the ), those with the EI offering(s) are carried out
(v. 19a, 30–31a). The ritual actions performed are here only implied. One must
fill in the details from Lev 4–5, where we find the instructions for the EI
ritual complex in its various forms.14 We are told what the priest accomplishes
with the implied actions: “so the priest shall effect expiation for the one being
purified because of his impurity” (HE>> C9>9= *9<9 CA<H, v. 19a), or “so
the priest shall effect expiation for the one being purified before Yhwh”
(ƍ9 J?A= C9>9 = *9<9 CA<H) (v. 31b). The statement in v. 31b summarizes
both the EI and the burnt offering rites. Here, as elsewhere in P, the verb CA!6<!:
summarizes the whole EI rite, inclusive of the burning of what goes to
the altar.15 The verb includes, but is not restricted to, the blood manipulation.
Milgrom is right in noting the apparent emphasis on purification here in
connection with the EI.16 However, in my view, the quite typical use of CA!6<!:
to summarize the entire EI ritual precludes understanding the verb as mean-
ing only “purgate” and as applying only to the effect of the blood manipulation.
With the notice in v. 31b, we may compare that of v. 20b, which summarizes the
offering of the burnt offering and its grain offering: “so the priest shall effect
expiation for him and he shall be clean” (C9H *9<9 HJ= CA<H). Note that, as in
the case of the purified house, the verb CA!6<:! sums up the whole rite and indicates
that cleanness follows from this total effect. In v. 31b, CA!6<!: sums up the EI,
the burnt offering, and the grain offering, but the final reference to cleanness is
lacking.
While we have one explicit blood manipulation, and three further implicit
ones (if we fill in the blood manipulations of the ), the EI and the 9=H
from other contexts), we are told nothing specific about what these blood
manipulations do. They clearly play a role in achieving the general results indi-
cated with the verb CA!6<!: and the adjective C9
7. But their role is not distinguished
from the role of the oil manipulation, or the burning of altar offerings.
13. With Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16, 862), I take the statement to sum up the effect of the whole
ritual complex with the ) and the oil. It must be noted, however, that the referent of the statement
is somewhat ambiguous, and it could be read as identifying only the effect of the oil manipulation.
14. Presumably, we are to fill in the blood manipulation prescribed when an individual Israelite
brings a EI—either the daubing of blood of a flock animal onto the horns of the altar of burnt
offering (Lev 4:30, 34) or the sprinkling of the blood of a bird onto the side of the altar (Lev 5:9),
with residual blood drained out to the base of the altar. On these blood manipulations, see Gilders,
Blood Ritual, 117–20.
15. For further discussion on this point, see Gilders, Blood Ritual, 127, 135–38; see also
Christian Eberhart, Studien zur Bedeutung der Opfer im Alten Testament: Die Signifikanz von Blut-
und Verbrennungsriten im kultischen Rahmen (Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2002), 135–36,
241–43.
The texts are relatively rich on what is to be done, especially when setting out
details on ritual practices not previously prescribed, but significantly silent on
what the individual ritual acts accomplish and how they accomplish it. Their
clear concern is with ritual praxis, not with the explication of the meaning of this
praxis.
Blood as Purificant: Some General Reflections

From specific observations and conclusions related to the ritual actions repre-
sented in Lev 14, I turn now to some more general observations and reflections.
According to Jacob Milgrom and others, the blood of the EI functions as a
ritual detergent.17 From his perspective, that understanding should be read into
the implied reference to the E!I blood in Lev 14. The argument for this under-
standing of the blood rite, however, is supported, naturally, by reference to other
passages.
I have examined these texts in some detail in my book Blood Ritual in the
Hebrew Bible, and offer here a brief summary of the arguments and conclusions
reached there.18 There are only a very few instances where the verb !
I: refers to
the effect of the EI blood manipulation. One verse is particularly decisive,
Lev 8:15. Much hinges, therefore, on the understanding of the verb there. Does
it mean “purify”? Most scholars would affirm that it does, based on contextual
usage. But it is worth noting, again, that the basic etymological sense of the verb
is “de-sin.”
If blood, as purificant, is a “ritual detergent,” what does it do to the impurity
it removes? Milgrom suggests, somewhat contradictorily, that the blood both
absorbs impurity and transfers it to the carcass of the victim on a pars pro toto
basis. Milgrom argues from analogy with elimination rites in other cultures, but
there are, in fact, no exact parallels that truly illuminate.19 He sees the ritual
instructions of Lev 6:20 as providing evidence to support this view, as well as
the practice of burning those victims whose blood was taken into the Tent. How-
ever, there is a problem with this evidence. If the blood absorbs impurity, and all
of the victim somehow becomes implicated in this impurity, how is it that the
usual internal organs and fat can go to the altar, and more significantly, that the
blood that remains is poured at the base of the altar? Are we really to imagine
impurity-laden blood being poured out on a sanctum? My questions here are not
so much intended to refute Milgrom’s position. I do not wish to substitute one
form of problematic certainty for another. Rather, my intention is to highlight
the not insignificant gaps in our understanding of what is going on in the rituals
represented in Priestly texts. We are told far more about what to do than about
why it is done.
17. Jacob Milgrom, “The Modus Operandi of the EI: A Rejoinder,” JBL 109 (1990): 111–13
(112); Wright, Disposal, 129–31; Frank H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time and Status
in the Priestly Theology (JSOTSup 91; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 81, 87.
18. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41 (129–39).
19. Ibid., 129–30.
A variation on Milgrom’s explanation has been offered by Baruch Schwartz,

who suggests that the blood does not itself absorb impurity; instead it removes
and eradicates it.20 This explanation is, to me, more attractive, as it eliminates
the problem of impure blood being kept in holy space. However, the explanation
remains speculative. It, too, fills a conceptual gap.
I turn now to a fundamental question. If blood does purify, however that
effect occurs, why does blood purify? That is, why does it have the power to
purify? The identification with “life” (A6?6) has, for many interpreters, provided
the essential conceptual element.21 However, it is significant that P identi-
fies blood with “life” only once (Gen 9:4), and never explicitly relates this
identification with blood’s purifying effect. Thus, we must recognize that the
explanation of blood’s purifying effect by reference to “life” is conceptual
gap-filling. We “know” that blood purifies because it is the locus of life by
recreating a Priestly explanation that may have been assumed by the authors of
the ritual texts, but which those texts never actually made explicit. Thus, we must
acknowledge that no Priestly text ever explicitly explains the purifying effect of
blood manipulation with reference to blood’s identification with life.22
To conclude: While there is significant evidence that blood was understood
as a purificant, and that Priestly tradents understood it to function as some kind
of ritual “disinfectant” or “detergent,” and while it does not seem unreasonable
to connect the identification of blood with life to its role as a purificant, I cannot
escape a strong awareness of just how many significant gaps there really are in
our knowledge of what the tradents who composed the Priestly materials
actually believed about blood and its cultic roles.
20. Schwartz, “Bearing of Sin in the Priestly Literature,” 17–18. Note that Schwartz allows
that the blood itself may not eradicate the impurity; instead it is possible that “the impurity, or its
residue, is retro-absorbed by the carcass of the slain animal and eradicated by its eventual disposal”
(17 n. 55). In my view it is just as possible to see the blood as itself eradicating the impurity—as a
“detergent” would.
22. Lev 17:11 does explain cultic blood manipulation with reference to the conceptual identi-
fication of blood with life. However, this verse employs the verb CA!6<!: not !
I:. More important, Lev
17:11 is a product of the H tradition and is almost certainly secondary and interpretive in relation to
the P materials on cultic blood manipulation. It should not be treated as evidence for Priestly (P)
views on sacrificial blood. See Gilders, Blood Ritual, 20–25, 158–76. See also Baruch J. Schwartz,
“The Prohibitions Concerning the ‘Eating’ of Blood in Leviticus 17,” in Priesthood and Cult in
Ancient Israel (ed. Gary A. Anderson and Saul M. Olyan; JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: JSOT Press,
1991), 42–61 (59–60), to which my own treatment of Lev 17:11 is strongly indebted.
METHODOLOGY AND IDEOLOGY
IN THE STUDY OF PRIESTLY RITUAL
Jonathan Klawans
There is nothing novel to the claim that ideological stances—Christian, Jewish,

and other—impact the ways in which scholars study the Pentateuch. Lest I be
misunderstood, I want to begin by stating one claim that will not be made here.
Methodology, however understood (and I will speak below about “approaches”
more generally), is not an antidote to ideology (again, however understood).1 Far
from understanding any particular approach as the way to avoid stances aligned
with ideologies, I will try to elucidate some ways in which methodological
choices can reflect ideological stances. And this is where there is much more
analytic work to be done. James Barr has paved the way as perhaps no one else
but he could in his History and Ideology in the Old Testament. But this work—
as its title suggests—remains focused on issues pertaining to historiographic
work on the Hebrew Bible. A full account of the ways in which various contem-
porary ideologies impact on the understandings of ancient Israelite religion in
general (and its priestly cult in particular) remains to be written, and it remains a
desideratum. Because description is the first step of any sound analysis, it is not
enough to claim that ideologies affect scholarship; the specific interrelationships
between approaches and perspectives must be explained and assessed.
I would like to examine three questions relating to the understanding of cultic
matters, and spell out the ways in which—as I see it—approaches to these ques-
tions can be understood as aligned with one ideological stance or another.2 The
three general questions I would like to examine here are these: (1) Are the
1. The claim that methodological rigor serves to counter ideological stances is made, for
instance, by Philip R. Davies, “Method and Madness: Some Remarks on Doing History with the
Bible,” JBL 114 (1995): 699–705 (700). For a critical discussion of this particular claim—and of the
revisionist approach to history (and ideology) in general—see James Barr, History and Ideology in
the Old Testament: Biblical Studies at the end of a Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2000), 59–101 (69–70).
2. Obviously, the present analysis cannot be comprehensive, either in terms of topics or
ideologies covered. Some fuller analysis of certain themes—especially with regard to the typically
inverse relationships between symbolic approaches and supersessionist ones—can be found in my
Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism
(New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). The present analysis interfaces with—but does not
represent a summary of—the arguments of this book.
KLAWANS Methodology and Ideology 85
central ritual structures of the priestly cult—purity and sacrifice—symbolic

systems? (2) What is the relationship between ethics and ritual in the priestly
corpus in particular, and in biblical religion more generally? And (3) how do we
go about dating the priestly strands in relation to each other and in relation to
other priestly texts? I will conclude with some preliminary suggestions for
avoiding some of the pitfalls in this nexus between ideology and methodology.
Symbolism and Priestly Ritual

The question of symbolism as it pertains to priestly ritual is as good a place as
any to begin a discussion of the relationship between methodology and ideol-
ogy. Indeed, just identifying the topic introduces a host of loaded terms—
symbolism, ritual, priestly—that could keep us occupied for some time. For the
sake of making some descriptive progress, I suggest we can describe three over-
all approaches to this issue.
One approach—which I will refer to as “ubiquitous symbolism”—is modeled
most famously by Mary Douglas. This approach argues—and, to be honest,
assumes—that symbolism is to be found practically everywhere. Not only is
symbolism ubiquitous, it is also unified. While Douglas has modified and revis-
ited her take on the dietary and purity laws over the years, the fundamental tenet
that we can speak of a single symbolic system here remains the same.3 As
anyone who reads more of Purity and Danger than its third chapter knows,
Douglas’s arguments were addressed against a very specific target: the long
history of Protestant anti-ritualism, as evidenced especially (but not exclusively)
in the works of James Frazer and William Robertson Smith.4 The Protestant
biases of these and other classic works on religion in general and biblical ritual
in particular have been sufficiently established (not only by Douglas, but notably
also by Jonathan Z. Smith5), that we need not argue her case against the nine-
teenth-century giants once again. But it must be said that Purity and Danger is
not an unaligned critique. It is an apologetic defense of ritual systems, one that
is explicitly in sympathy with Jewish, Catholic, and Hindu ritual practices.6
Indeed, as far as the broader field of ritual studies is concerned, the jury is still
out on Douglas’s ubiquitous symbolism. Her critics’ arsenal includes the
3. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo
(London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), 29–57 (Chapters 2 and 3), 114–28 (Chapter 7); com-
pare, more recently, the broad thrust of Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1999). On these works, see my Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, esp. 17–20, 45–46, and “Rethink-
ing Leviticus and Rereading Purity and Danger: A Review Essay,” AJS Review 27 (2003): 89–101.
4. Douglas, Purity and Danger, 7–28 (Chapter 1), 58–72 (Chapter 4); see esp. 18–19, 62–63;
see also Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (Routledge Classics ed., with a new
introduction; London: Routledge, 2003), esp. 1–38 (Chapters 1 and 2) and 152–67 (Chapter 9).
5. Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christians and the
Religions of Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 1–34.
6. See, for instance, Douglas’s comments regarding the ritual observances of M. N. Srinivas and
Franz Steiner in the acknowledgments (p. vii) to Purity and Danger.
charges of inadequate evidence and predisposition toward a Catholic view-

point.7 Clifford Geertz’s symbolic anthropology is similarly criticized in the
field as being both apologetic and insufficiently analytic.8 Anyone who has ever
used Purity and Danger Chapter 3 in an undergraduate Hebrew Bible class in
the service of defending the meaning of biblical dietary laws would have to
admit that the charge of pro-ritualist apology is not one that can be dismissed
lightly.
If we speak of Douglas’s approach as one of “ubiquitous symbolism,” a
second approach taken in biblical studies toward priestly rituals is one of
“selective symbolism.” As I have argued more fully elsewhere, the works of
Jacob Milgrom in particular exhibit this kind of selectivity.9 In his case, a
sympathetic and symbolic interpretation of rituals concerning purity and diet is
balanced by a rather dismissive approach to matters sacrificial, one that sees
various integral aspects of priestly practice (including the shew bread and the
sacrificial act itself) as fossilized vestiges.10 In exhibiting selective symbolism,
Milgrom is neither alone nor in bad company. The classic work of William
Robertson Smith too exhibits precisely the same disparity. In his case, however,
the disdain is directed toward purity rites (“taboos” in his parlance), which are
seen as meaningless survivals from primitive times. At the same time, Robertson
Smith respected sacrifice: for him it was social, symbolic, and appropriate; it
even possessed a “sacramental efficacy.”11 So, ironically, Milgrom’s take on
7. For a classic statement of the former critique, see Melford E. Spiro, review of Purity and
Danger, American Anthropologist, NS 70 (1968): 391–93; for a classic statement of the latter
critique, see Edmund Leach, “Mythical Inequalities” (review of Natural Symbols), New York Review
of Books 16 (January 28, 1971): 44–45. For a fuller discussion of Mary Douglas’s life and work—
including the impact of her Catholic upbringing—see Richard Fardon, Mary Douglas: An
Intellectual Biography (London: Routledge, 1999); see esp. 75–101 (on Purity and Danger) and
102–24 (on Natural Symbols).
8. Nancy K. Frankenberry and Hans H. Penner, “Clifford Geertz’s Long-Lasting Moods,
Motivations, and Metaphysical Conceptions,” Journal of Religion 79 (1999): 617–40.
9. See my “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity, and Sacrifice in Jacob Milgrom’s Leviticus,” Religious
Studies Review 29 (2003): 19–28; for a fuller discussion of the context of Milgrom’s work, see my
Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 17–41. For Milgrom’s (partial) response, see his “Systemic
Differences in the Priestly Corpus: A Response to Jonathan Klawans,” RB 112 (2005): 321–29.
10. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary
(AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1992), esp. 440, 1003; see also Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27: A New
Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3B; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 2091–93.
Compare the comments of Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An
Inquiry into Biblical Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Winona
Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1985), 17, 221–25, and Roland de Vaux, Studies in Old Testament Sacrifice
(Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1964), 38–42. In his response to my criticism (“Systemic
Distinctions”), Milgrom reiterates his view that various elements of Israel’s cult are indeed vestiges
(pp. 322–24). Hyam Maccoby also speaks of various sacrificial practices (including the red-cow and
scapegoat rituals) as vestiges throughout his Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and Its
Place in Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); see esp. ix, 93, 102, 114, 123,
125, 139–40.
11. William Robertson Smith, Lectures on the Religion of the Semites: The Fundamental
Institutions (3d ed., with an introduction and additional notes by Stanley A. Cook; New York:
sacrifice today looks a lot like Robertson Smith’s disdainful take on taboo
offered a century earlier; and Milgrom’s approach to purity looks a lot like
Robertson Smith’s approach to sacrifice. The common denominator here is
selective symbolism, and in both cases, the selectivity is all too easily diag-
nosed. Robertson Smith’s conservative Protestantism combines with Victorian
prudery and yields a disdain for taboo and a valorization of sacrifice. Milgrom’s
work is sympathetic to practices concerning diet and purity that are still main-
tained by traditional and modern Jews; it is less sympathetic to those aspects of
the cult that are seemingly unethical or outdated, such as animal sacrifice.
It must be said that there is nothing inherently wrong with a selective
approach to symbolism: why, after all, should symbolism be found everywhere?
Moreover, it is quite possible that some rituals do survive as poorly understood
survivals, performed simply by the force of tradition more than the power of
symbolism: the Sabbath practices of Marrano Jews may be one telling example.
Still, we have to tone down the rhetoric here. I am all for academic freedom, but
we might do well to ban phrases such as “fossilized vestige” from our scholarly
lexicon. A more serious problem concerns the lack of analytical criteria for deter-
mining what is and what is not a survival. The contemporary descriptions of
sacrificial practices as fossilized vestiges—just like Robertson Smith’s dismissal
of biblical taboos—are rhetorical, not analytic: they stand and are accepted
simply on the force of their assertion. There is rarely an argument presented, or
evidence collected. If a selective approach to symbolism is to continue, analyti-
cal criteria for the establishment of survivals must be developed and employed.
And ideally the selections then made might not so obviously cohere with
contemporary religious and cultural biases.
A third approach to biblical rituals denies that biblical rituals are symbolic
altogether. This type of approach has been taken most recently by Ithamar
Gruenwald, who defends his view in part by noting—as I have above—that
advocates of ubiquitous symbolism may be engaged in an apologetic activity.12
In his view, symbolic approaches to symbolism are theological ones. Gruenwald
may be correct in his diagnosis here. Moreover, Gruenwald has allies in the field
of religious studies, in figures such as Jonathan Z. Smith (who asserts the
arbitrary nature of Israelite cultic practices in particular)13 and Frits Staal (who
speaks of the “meaninglessness of ritual,” in general).14
Macmillan, 1927), esp. 269 and 312; for his very different take on purity (taboos) see 446–54. For a
fuller discussion of Robertson Smith’s selective approach, see Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the
Temple, 18–19, 32–34.
12. Ithamar Gruenwald, Rituals and Ritual Theory in Ancient Israel (Leiden: Brill, 2003), esp.
1, 5–6, 34–35, 200–201. See also my review of this book in AJS Review 29 (2005): 163–65.
13. Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1987), 83–86, 96–117.
14. Frits Staal, “The Meaninglessness of Ritual,” Numen 26 (1979): 2–22; Gruenwald rightly
steps back from Staal’s extreme position in this regard (Rituals and Ritual Theory, 198). For a
general discussion on ritual and symbolism, see Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 61–89.
The problem for Gruenwald’s position is that denying that ritual is symbolic
can also be a theological move. Indeed, all our problems here result from the
fact that there is not a theological or religious approach to symbolism. For cen-
turies—indeed, for millennia—the question of whether one can take a symbolic
(or allegorical) approach to ritual has been questioned by some, and defended by
others. Figures like Philo, Josephus, and Pseudo-Aristeas defended ritual prac-
tices against various calumnies by asserting their symbolic significance.15 But
others have feared that symbolic understandings would lead to the abandon-
ment of the letter in favor of the spirit. That is why later religious figures such
as Moses Maimonides and Moses Mendelssohn—with certain rabbinic tradi-
tions behind them—argued in favor of the arbitrary nature of practices such as
the dietary laws.16 Denying symbolism can be as much of a theological move as
asserting it.
Another problem here is that the general conversation is just that: all too
general. Staal’s examples come primarily (if not exclusively) from the rituals of
India. Assuming for a moment that we accept Staal’s interpretation of Hindu
rites, does that mean that biblical rites are necessarily similar in their essential
non-symbolic nature? The case for the symbolic or non-symbolic nature of
rituals needs to be made on a case-by-case basis. Moreover, the claim that rituals
are non-symbolic in essence is a claim pertaining to origins—it cannot be denied
that, at the very least, some rituals are infused with symbolic meanings in certain
religious traditions, at least according to some religious authorities (e.g. Philo).
Even if some cultures’ rituals remain free of symbolic explanation, that fact does
not eliminate the possibility that symbolism looms large in others. Even if it
could be established that rituals were originally arbitrary, that does not preclude
the possibility that developed ritual systems infuse rituals with symbolism. Since
we are interested here in a developed ritual system, it matters little that sym-
bolism may be secondary, and it matters even less that symbolism may be
absent elsewhere.
I think we can find a way out of this impasse, if we put the general questions
of origins and comparison aside, and try to determine what we can with regard
to the role of symbolism in ancient Israel. Perhaps the strongest argument in
15. On symbolic approaches to cultic rituals among second temple Jews, see Klawans, Purity,
Sacrifice, and the Temple, 111–44.
16. Moses Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed (trans. with an introduction and notes by
Shlomo Pines; 2 vols.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), 2:502–10, 612–13 (= Guide
3.25–26, 49); Moses Mendelssohn, Jerusalem: Or On Religious Power and Judaism (trans. Alan
Arkush, with introduction and commentary by Alexander Altmann; Waltham, Mass.: Brandeis
University Press, 1983), 117–18, 133–34. See the discussion of rabbinic sources in Ephraim E.
Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (trans. Israel Abrahams; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1987), 365–99. One rather famous tradition attributes to the late first-century sage
Yohanan Ben Zakkai the view that the red heifer ritual of Num 19 has no known symbolic or
rational basis (Pesikta de Rav Kahana, Parah 7). On the latter source, see Bernard Mandelbaum, ed.,
Pesikta de Rav Kahana: According to an Oxford Manuscript, with Variants from All Known
Manuscripts and Genizoth Fragments and Parallel Passages, with Commentary and Introduction
(2 vols.; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1987), 1:74.
favor of the symbolic nature of ancient Israel’s cultic rituals comes, in my view,
from a rather unlikely place: the biblical prophets.17 Progress on the question of
the symbolic nature of ancient Israel’s cult requires that we recognize the
problematic and biased nature of some of the scholarly terminology frequently
used with reference to our themes. Of course, many thematic discussions of
prophecy in biblical Israel point out that the prophets were wont to perform
“symbolic acts” in order to dramatize and illustrate their message to the Israelite
people.18 It suffices for our concerns to note only a few of the more famous
actions: Hosea’s marrying a prostitute to symbolize Israel’s infidelity (Hos 1:2);
Isaiah’s walking barefoot and naked to symbolize Egypt’s impending doom (Isa
20:1–6); Jeremiah’s wearing a yoke to symbolize God’s desire for the nations to
submit to Babylon (Jer 27:1–15). What is seldom appreciated in the context of
the present theme is that the very existence of this phenomenon proves that the
prophets were aware of and sympathetic to symbolic behavior. By referring to
the prophets’ behavior as “symbolic action,” while dryly describing cultic
behavior as “ritual,” scholars force a divide between, and prevent a comparison
of, two phenomena that are not altogether different, and ought in truth to be
mutually informative.
But surely, Max Weber might object, there is a difference between a passion-
ate, spontaneous, individual, symbolic act and a communal, cultic ritual.19 To
that argument one must remember that Hosea married a prostitute (Hos 1:2)—
possibly two (Hos 3:1–3)—and remained so married for some time. Isaiah, it is
said, walked naked and barefoot for three years (Isa 20:3). Jeremiah must have
worn that yoke for some time as well (Jer 27:1–2; 28:1, 10). The historicity of
such claims is not our concern; I simply call attention to the fact that one can
safely wonder whether all prophetic “symbolic actions” were conceived as fully
spontaneous or free of regulation.20 A repeated, patterned, symbolic action is
hardly all that different from a ritual.
The suggestion—still made in some quarters21—that the prophets opposed
sacrifice because they denied the efficacy of ritual really makes them out to be
17. For a fuller treatment of the relationship between priests and prophets (as well as ritual and
ethics), see Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 75–100.
18. E.g. Joseph Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel (rev. and enlarged ed.; Louisville:
Westminster John Knox, 1996), 146, 157, 167; J. Lindblom, Prophecy in Ancient Israel (Oxford:
Blackwell, 1962), 165–73; H. Ringgren, Israelite Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1966), 214–
15, 256–57, and 284; Alexander Rofé, Introduction to the Prophetic Literature (trans. Judith H.
Seeligmann; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 71–73; Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39:
With an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 19–20.
19. For the classic articulation of Max Weber’s contrasting “ideal types” of the priest and
prophet, see his The Sociology of Religion (Boston: Beacon, 1963), 20–31, 46–59.
20. For a recent assertion of the difference between symbolic acts and rituals, see Ronald S.
Hendel, “Prophets, Priests, and the Efficacy of Ritual,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies
in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (ed.
David P. Wright, David Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1995),
185–98. See esp. 188–89, where Hendel contrasts symbolic actions with ritual.
21. E.g. Hendel, “Prophets, Priests.”
the hypocrites that the priests are commonly assumed to have been: how could
the prophets believe in the efficacy of their own symbolic behavior but deny
efficacy to ritual? Indeed, the phenomenon of prophetic symbolic action demon-
strates the fact that symbolic action was part of the culture of ancient Israel.
This, in my view, is the most compelling argument that various aspects of the
priestly cult (sacrifice included) ought to be understood as symbolic. Indeed, if
biblical and ritual studies emerged in a non-Protestant context, I highly doubt we
would even have two different terms here at all. We would, rather, be accus-
tomed to speaking of either the symbolic actions of Israel’s priests, or the ritual
actions of Israel’s prophets.
Ritual and Ethics

Reconsidering the relationship between priestly rituals and prophetic symbolic
action leads us to our second question, concerning the relationship between
ritual and ethics. The importance of this distinction—historically—for the under-
standing of priestly matters need hardly be stated; the figures of Julius Well-
hausen and Max Weber easily come to mind. It is well known that Wellhausen
and Weber were aligned with their religious and cultural biases. Peter Berger
perhaps put it most clearly:
Developed by 19th-century Protestant scholarship, an image of the Old Testament
prophets has so successfully filtered down to the religiously interested laity that it is
quite difficult for anyone ever subjected to a Protestant Sunday school to think in other
terms. One of the stereotypes connected with this image is the notion of the prophets as
opponents of the priests, brave individualists defying the religious authorities of their
time. It does not require great sophistication in the sociology of knowledge to guess
why this image was developed by Protestant scholars (though perhaps psychological
gifts too may be needed to interpret the rather strange affinity of German university
professors, mostly teaching in theological faculties of established churches, for
prophets as against priests!). In any case, during the period that the Wellhausen school
dominated Old Testament scholarship, the notion that priests and prophets were
fundamentally opposed attained almost axiomatic status.22
The Wellhausen school no longer dominates biblical studies; but the views Peter
Berger argues against here are not entirely of the past.
Ronald Hendel23—following, in part, William McKane24—has recently called
for a return to Weber’s dichotomy when understanding the prophets—and, pre-
sumably, the priests as well. Also, curiously, the image of the closeted, elite, and
morally indifferent priesthood has been resurrected by some members of the
Kaufmann school. Yehezkel Kaufmann himself moved in this direction,25 and
22. Peter L. Berger, “Charisma and Religious Innovation: The Social Location of Israelite
Prophecy,” American Sociological Review 26 (1963): 940–50 (942).
23. Hendel, “Prophets, Priests.”
24. William McKane, “Prophet and Institution,” ZAW 94 (1982): 251–66; cf. also James G.
Williams, “The Social Location of Israelite Prophecy,” JAAR 37 (1969): 153–65.
25. See, e.g., Yehezkel Kaufmann, Toledot ha-Emunah ha-Yisreelit (8 vols.; Tel Aviv: Dvir,
1937–58), 2:532–88; cf. Kaufmann, Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian
Israel Knohl has landed there most decidedly26 (a move that Milgrom has
criticized27). To be sure, Knohl’s Divine Symphony does begin with an assertion
that the priestly tradition itself makes a notable advance over its pre-Israelite,
pre-monotheistic predecessors. By abandoning myth and adopting an abstract
notion of God, the priests “attained an astounding level of abstraction and sub-
limity.”28 But this applies to their theology. According to Knohl, the “elitist
Priestly circles…generated the ideology of a faith that is completely detached
from social, national, or material needs.”29 Marvin Sweeney is correct to see
this as a turn back to Wellhausen.30 Mary Douglas is correct to accuse such
approaches of “P-baiting.”31 As to why such moves would be made by Jewish
scholars—I will consider that shortly.
So what happens if we try to smoothen the contrast between ritual and ethics,
between priests and prophets? Indeed, this is precisely what many biblicists
have been doing for years. Perhaps the most common approach is to suggest in
some way that the prophets are not objecting to sacrifice per se, but to cultic
abuse. One form of the argument is stated succinctly by Roland de Vaux: “The
prophets are opposed to the formalism of exterior worship when it has no corre-
sponding interior dispositions (Isa 29:13).”32 Another form is stated with equal
economy by Abraham Joshua Heschel: “when immorality prevails, worship is
detestable.”33 The common denominator here is that proper worship presupposes
moral righteousness.
Exile (trans. Moshe Greenberg; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 101–21; Haran,
Temples and Temple-Service, 1–12, 132–48; Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic
School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 179–90; cf. Joseph Blenkinsopp, “An Assessment of the
Alleged Pre-Exilic Date of the Priestly Material of the Pentateuch,” ZAW 108 (1996): 495–518
(496–99).
26. Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School
(Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), esp. 138–39; cf. also 175–80, 214–16, and 222–24. See now also The
Divine Symphony: The Bible’s Many Voices (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America),
esp. 9–11, 60–69. To be sure, Knohl struggles in his more recent work to describe P as being less
interested in ethics while still treating P with some sympathy. The ritual structures of P are symbolic
(ibid., 19, 24), and he asserts that the priests were not struck with “moral apathy” (ibid., 22). Still, on
the whole, Knohl’s rhetoric speaks of a “closed, elitist Priestly class” (ibid., 11) whose literary
failings lead to a “schism between morality and ritual,” left to be addressed by the prophets (ibid.,
61). The Holiness Code’s breaking of this schism is viewed by Knohl—using classic evolutionist
language—as a revolutionary moral advance, “traced to the religious and spiritual development of
Israel” (ibid., 69).
27. E.g. Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2440–46.
28. Knohl, Divine Symphony, 9.
29. Ibid., 11.
30. Sweeney, review of Knohl, Divine Symphony, AJS Review 29 (2004): 162–63.
31. Douglas, Leviticus as Literature, 33–34, 128–31; term used on p. 129.
32. Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel (New York: McGraw–Hill, 1961), 454–56; cf. also, e.g.,
Harry M. Orlinsky, Ancient Israel (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1960), 128–30, and H. H.
Rowley, From Moses to Qumran (New York: Association Press, 1963), 83–87.
33. Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Prophets (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of
America, 1962), 195.
There is some substance to these approaches. Nonetheless one must recognize

that Hendel, McKane, Robert Caroll, and Meir Weiss have a point when they
suggest that contemporary ideas of religious piety have impacted the discus-
sion.34 If Weber and Wellhausen articulated an approach to prophecy that was
too close for our comfort to their conservative Protestant backgrounds and
biases, then we must be equally on guard against the possibility that scholars
such as Heschel, de Vaux, and H. H. Rowley (to name only three) have articu-
lated positions that are in line with contemporary Jewish, Catholic, or Protestant
perspectives. Part of what we find here—especially when the question is phrased
in terms of individual, internal dispositions—is that the scholarly dispute on
Israelite ritual has become the arena for contemporary theological disputes of
the place of ritual and morality. In all too many cases, one finds that scholars
understand the prophets to say precisely what one can easily recognize as a
contemporary religious attitude to the question of ethics and ritual.35 I part with
McKane and Hendel, however, in their call for a turn back to Wellhausen and
Weber.36 Perhaps I just like the priests too much.
But I think the real problem here is not disagreement over the values of the
priestly tradition. The real problem here is the lack of disagreement over the
religious or ethical value of the prophetic tradition. Scholarship has given the
prophets the monopoly on biblical ethics. We take the prophets at their word,
and we take the priests at the prophets’ word too. That is not a balanced
approach, but a selective one; a selection in line with an all-too religious Jewish
and Christian reverence for Israel’s prophets.
Yes, we who have read Heschel are inclined to compare the prophets to the
best of our own social reformers—like Dr. Martin Luther King. And there is, to
be sure, some truth to this comparison. But the comparison is imbalanced. If we
take a dispassionate stance (and that, after all, is our task), we would have to
grant that there is an element of Senator Joseph R. McCarthy in our prophets as
well: Can we not find instances of exaggerated claims of widespread guilt,37 or
the refusal to see any shades of gray between the black and the white? The
priests were all about gray—differentiating between more significant and less
significant transgressions, taking into account questions of intention—and that is
not always a bad thing, morally speaking.
34. Hendel, “Prophets, Priests,” 190–91; McKane, “Prophet and Institution,” 252–53; Robert P.
Carroll, From Chaos to Covenant: Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (New York: Crossroad, 1981),
96–106; Weiss, “Concerning Amos’ Repudiation of the Cult,” in Wright, et al., eds., Pomegranates,
esp. 213–14.
35. See, e.g., Carroll, From Chaos to Covenant, 96–106, and the literature cited in previous
note.
36. For a fuller attempt to rethink the divide between priests and prophets, see Purity, Sacrifice,
and the Temple, 75–100.
37. Yes, ancient Israel did have its suffering poor, and its share of indifferent wealthy people.
And there were communist spies in various levels of the U.S. government in the McCarthy era.
The History of Priestly Traditions

The ethical evaluation of the priesthood is not just an abstract question. For both
Wellhausen and Kaufmann—and the schools that follow them—the relationship
of priests to ethics is the key for placing them in a historical trajectory. We
understand why Wellhausen placed the priests in the later period—as a key step
in the devolution of Judaism. But why would, of all people, Jewish Kaufman-
nians resurrect Wellhausen’s and Weber’s image of a detached priesthood?
Truth be told, modernist Judaism—in its various non-Orthodox guises—can be
just as evolutionist and supersessionistic as Wellhausen’s Protestantism.38 And
supersessionism needs a foil—preferably a couple of them. Kaufmannian evo-
lutionism—in line with modernist Jewish supersessionism—conceives of an
amoral and theologically challenged Canaanite religion.39 This is succeeded first
by a theologically astute but still somewhat morally challenged priesthood. Then
we get the prophets, who set things aright. So Wellhausen’s and Weber’s image
of the closeted, morally indifferent priesthood—originally conceived in Protes-
tant terms—is put to the service of a Jewish myth of ethical advance.40 The
difference is that Wellhausen’s supersessionism offends living, religiously
observant Jews who consider themselves to be heirs of the Pharisees; Jewish
supersessionism is considered less remarkable because, I think, those who could
be offended by it—Canaanites primarily, temple priests secondarily—are long
gone. But worse than offending the dead, the myth of ethical advance involves
an all-too-religious unquestioning of prophetic ethics.
As I have already indicated, one thing I would like to see is more critical
reflection on the precise nature of the prophetic ethical advance. But turning
to history, it is also important to think critically about when—or if—such an
advance ever took place. Considering the fact that Third Isaiah (58:1–5) was
complaining about some of the same issues as Amos (2:6–8), how can we be so
sure that some substantive ethical advance was made in the eighth or seventh
century B.C.E.?
The problem with such reconstructions of Israel’s history is that the evolu-
tionist model is inherently flawed. Just as Wellhausen had his reasons for
supposing that second temple Judaism was in a state of moral decline, so too
Kaufmannians have their reasons for arguing that first temple Israelite tradi-
tion exhibited a linear, positive, ethical development over the same period. Of
course, their arguments are not purely evolutionist: on the whole, Knohl’s
careful identification of H-sounding redactional material in various P texts is
compelling, and Milgrom too gathers much evidence to the effect that H is a
38. This is one of the central theses of Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple; see esp.
7–10.
39. Cf. Jon D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible (San Francisco: Harper
& Row, 1985), 109–11, and Levenson, “Is There a Counterpart in the Hebrew Bible to New
Testament Anti-Semitism,” Journal of Ecumenical Studies 22 (1985): 242–60.
40. Consider, for instance, Knohl’s comments in Divine Symphony, 68–69 and 84–85.
later textual layer than P.41 But this can only tell us about the relative placement
of P and H; their absolute dates—vis-à-vis the prophets—are still up for grabs.
Moreover, the textual arguments are put to evolutionist ends: their historical
reconstructions are based on the assumption that what is more ethical must be
later, and what is earlier is deemed subject to due criticism.
So how then are we to proceed? In my view the fact that so much of the
discussion of the priority of P vs. H (or vice versa) is evolutionist in nature
should give sufficient cause to be wary. Instead, we should follow the model
proposed by Rolf Rendtorff and Joseph Blenkinsopp—and recently put to
service by Douglas—that the priestly traditions (both within and without
Leviticus) ought to be interpreted as we have them, and as integral parts of the
Pentateuch as a whole:
After working through the writings of what may be called the Kaufmann school, one is
tempted to suggest that it would be more profitable to put one’s time and energy into a
positive and unprejudicial assessment of P as a religious text, an assessment based on a
synchronic reading without reference to the circumstances of its composition and recep-
tion, rather than attempting to refute Wellhausen’s arguments by means of chronological
displacement.42
In order to make progress in the understanding of Israelite religion, the priestly

traditions of the Pentateuch need to be studied as a whole, regardless of the
history of their component parts. The priestly traditions—to say nothing of the
priests who were responsible even for the earliest of these traditions—deserve a
sympathetic hearing. If we must have a reconstruction of the textual history, can
it be done without imagining a period of time when the priests were closeted and
indifferent to the moral challenges of their day?
Concluding Reflections
There is no single method or approach that will lead us out of this morass. I
would, however, like to offer some suggestions.
First, I think it behooves us to reflect critically now and then on the key terms
of debate. Our terms—even the dryer ones such as “ritual,” “symbol,” and
41. See Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 1–7 and 199–224; cf. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22: A
New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1319–
64.
42. Blenkinsopp, “An Assessment,” 497. Compare Douglas, Leviticus as Literature, 1;
Rendtorff, “How to Approach Leviticus,” in Proceedings of the 10th World Congress of Jewish
Studies, Division A: The Bible and Its World (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1990), 13–
20, and Rolf Rendtorff, “Is it Possible to Read Leviticus as a Separate Book?,” in Reading Leviticus:
A Conversation with Mary Douglas (ed. John F. A. Sawyer; JSOTSup 227; Sheffield: Sheffield Aca-
demic Press, 1996), 22–35. An earlier articulation of this approach can be found in Herbert Chanan
Brichto, “On Slaughter and Sacrifice, Blood and Atonement,” HUCA 48 (1976): 19–55 (43, 47, and
50–55). See also the comments of Howard Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism: An Anthro-
pology of Israelite Religion and Ancient Judaism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990),
124, and Stephen A. Geller, Sacred Enigmas: Literary Religion in the Hebrew Bible (London:
Routledge, 1996), 62–64.
“ethic,” (to say nothing of “survival”)—are not neutral terms. Our distinctions
(cult vs. ethics; ritual vs. symbolic acts) are not neutral distinctions. They are
defined and colored by centuries of religious and philosophical dispute.
Second, it behooves us to try not to take sides in the ancient disputes. If we
sympathize with the prophets, we should try too to sympathize with the priests;
if we criticize the priests, why not try on a critique of the prophets for size?
Third, we may do well to put history of religion on the back-burner and focus
for a while on the meanings of our texts. If we must do history, we should shun
linear trajectories.
Fourth, we may do well to think critically and publicly now and then about
how the various sides of scholarly debate regarding method and approach could
be aligned with known contemporary ideologies.
Fifth, I think we would do well on an individual basis to ask ourselves if our
methodological choices, terminological decisions, and historical reconstructions
may be too closely aligned with our own ideologies.43 We may do well to iden-
tify and bracket those issues that we feel we cannot deal with dispassionately.
Like a good judge, we may need to recuse ourselves now and then.
I want to make clear one thing I am not calling for. I do not think the field (or
the SBL conferences) needs public soul-searching by individuals. And I would
caution against this on both aesthetic and ethical grounds. We have the right to
keep our religious commitments and convictions to ourselves; and we have the
right not to hear about other scholars’ personal struggles. Besides—methodologi-
cally—autobiographical information is, by definition, unverifiable and therefore
of little use. I would suggest, however, that we each ask ourselves—and I have
been asking myself this—whether we are reaching our conclusions because they
match our convictions, or whether we are able to reach conclusions despite com-
mitments we may have. Advances will come not by our defending our positions,
but by our questioning of them.
Biblical studies is probably destined to be populated in part by scholars who
hold religious views toward the Bible, and even adhere to a large or small
degree to biblical commands. It would be hypocritical of me to decry this
phenomenon, for I cannot rightfully wish things were otherwise without wishing
myself out of work. Moreover, it has also long been known that atheistic and
secularist biases can produce their own distortions of religious phenomena—the
figures of James Frazer and Sigmund Freud may come to mind.44 Still, I think
those who approach the study of the Pentateuch from within religious perspec-
tives can do a bit better than has been done heretofore. I have tried to do my part
here—and in other recent work as well45—and I hope that the efforts are well
received and appreciated.
43. In seeking to address the allegation that methodological choices reflect ideological stances,
we scholars of the Pentateuch may be well advised not so much to select one particular methodology
over another, but to implement our methodologies in a more careful and balanced manner.
44. See E. E. Evans-Pritchard, Theories of Primitive Religion (Oxford: Clarendon, 1965), 14–
17.
45. See especially Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple.
PAGANS AND PRIESTS:
CRITICAL REFLECTIONS ON METHOD
Frank H. Gorman
Introduction
The present study emerged from reflections on method and interpretation in
relation to critical analysis of the ritual associated with the jealous husband
(Num 5:11–31) and the ritual of the red cow (Num 19:1–22). These texts led me
to the purification of the formerly skin defiled (Lev 14:1–20) and the ritual for
the day of “atonement” (Lev 16:1–34), texts that have several similarities as well
as significant differences. The rituals depicted in these texts are often thought
to contain elements of a “pagan” or “primitive” past. Biblical interpreters have
generally sought to demonstrate how the priests drew on and adapted common
ritual traditions of the ancient Near East to generate their own ritual system. The
focus of my reflections will be the work of Jacob Milgrom. The reasons are two:
(1) his work is well known, substantive, and influential in the discipline and
(2) his work has been particularly influential in my own work. Although my
initial reflections focus on the relationship of pagans and priests, they broaden
to include questions, methodological and theoretical, critical for the ongoing
analysis of the priestly traditions.
Comparing Pagans and Priests

Comparison of priestly rituals with other religions of the ancient Near East has
been, and often remains, a value-laden enterprise, informed by cultural and
religious values and ideologies.1 Delitzsch2, for example, applauded Babylon’s
1. G. W. Van Beek, “Archaeology,” IDB 1:195–207; W. G. Dever, “The Patriarchal Traditions

1,” in Israelite and Judean History (ed. J. H. Hayes and J. M. Miller; Philadelphia: Westminster,
1977), 70–79; idem, “Archaeology, Syro-Palestinian and Biblical,” ABD 1:354–67; D. P. Wright,
“The Disposal of Impurity in the Priestly Writings of the Bible with Reference to Similar
Phenomena in Hittite and Mesopotamian Cultures” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley,
1982), 1–12; H. Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism (Indianapolis: Indiana University Press,
1990), 87–102; M. Malul, The Comparative Method in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Legal
Studies (Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1990); G. A. Klingbeil, A Comparative Study of the
Ritual of Ordination as Found in Leviticus 8 and Emar 369 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 1998),
325–40.
2. F. Delitzsch, Babel and Bible (trans. J. T. McCormack, W. H. Carruth, and L. G. Robinson;
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1906); J. J. Finkelstein, “Bible and Babel: A Comparative
GORMAN Pagans and Priests 97
superiority over Israel, whereas Kaufmann3 emphasized the unique and superior
elements of Israelite religion. Biblical scholarship has generally used compara-
tive materials to illuminate biblical texts and Israelite practices so as to demon-
strate Israel’s superiority and/or distinctive beliefs and ritual practices.4
Milgrom, in the tradition of Kaufmann, seeks to demonstrate that priestly
theology was superior to the religious practices of other nations.5 In discussing
“Priestly theology,” he identifies three basic premises of “pagan religion”: (1) the
deities are subject to a metadivine realm; (2) this realm spawns both malevolent
and benevolent entities; (3) humans are able to use magic to acquire power from
this realm and coerce the gods.6 Priestly theology seeks to negate these premises
so as “to sever impurity from the demonic and to reinterpret it as a symbolic sys-
tem reminding Israel of the divine imperative to reject death and choose life.”7
I want to raise four critical questions concerning Milgrom’s “comparative”
analysis. First, is “pagan religion” so easily reduced to a homogeneous reality
with a common “essence?”8 Are the similarities of “pagan” religions, reduced to
a common message, more important than the concrete differences? What is the
primary focus of comparison: the “essence” of the religions, their practices, their
messages, or their texts? Is the identification of “similarities” based on concrete
details or cognitive essences? Does an examination of the parts (rites) lead to the
essence of a religion (its meanings), or does the (assumed) essence guide the
interpretation of the details?9
Second, is his discussion of pagan practices in the context of priestly
theology value-free?10 In such a comparison, “theology” is clearly valued more
highly than “practice.”11 Such dualisms are, as suggested by Bell, more an
Study of the Hebrew and Babylonian Religious Spirit,” Commentary 26 (1958): 431–44; H. B.
Huffmon, “Babel und Bibel: The Encounter between Babylon and the Bible,” in Backgrounds for
the Bible (ed. M. P. O’Connor and D. N. Freedman; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1987), 125–36.
3. Y. Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile (trans. M.
Greenberg; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 60 (and throughout).
4. In addition to n. 1, see J. Milgrom, Leviticus (CC; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2004),
11–14. For helpful discussions of the comparative method, see Wright, Disposal of Impurity, 1–12;
M. S. Smith, The Early History of God (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1990), xix–xxxiv (and
examples throughout); Eilberg-Schwartz, Savage in Judaism, 87–102; T. Frymer-Kensky, In the
Wake of the Goddesses (New York: Ballentine, 1992), 1–6 (and examples throughout); B. Lang, The
Hebrew God (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), vii–x (and examples throughout).
5. Milgrom, Leviticus, 9; Kaufmann, Religion of Israel, 60–121.
6. Milgrom, Leviticus, 8, cites Kaufmann, Religion of Israel, 21–59. See also J. Milgrom,
Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 42–51.
7. Milgrom, Leviticus, 13; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 42–52.
8. See Klingbeil, Comparative Study, 325–40.
9. This reflects problems associated with the hermeneutical circle.
10. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 42–51; idem, Leviticus, 8; idem, Numbers (JPS Torah Com-
mentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1990), 353.
11. For dualisms in the interpretation of biblical rituals and human experience, see F. H.
Gorman, “Ritual Studies and Biblical Studies: Assessment of the Past; Prospects for the Future,”
Semeia 67 (1994): 13–36; C. Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1992), 13–66; idem, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1997), 23–89.
element of scholarly thinking and discourse than of actual ritual practices.12

Milgrom’s position suggests that priestly “rituals” are better “to think” than “to
do.” Thus, the “meaning” of a ritual is more important than its “enactment.” The
result is that analysis focuses more on discursive theology than ritual enact-
ment.13
Third, does the priestly cult actually operate without magic? Kaufmann
identifies two basic types of magic, both of which are, in his estimation, alien to
Israelite practice: (1) acts that coerce the gods and (2) acts that are inherently
effective.14 As Knohl notes, however, the statement of “forgiveness” associated
with the EI and ) is not specifically said to have God as its subject (see,
for the EI, Lev 4:20, 26, 31, 35; Num 15:28; for the ), Lev 5:10, 13, 16,
18, 26; 19:22).15 Forgiveness is the guaranteed result of enactment, that is, ritual
is inherently effective, and is not based on an existential decision of Yahweh—
to forgive or not to forgive—at the moment of enactment.16 The priest effects
expiation through the formal enactment of the ritual and the one presenting a
sacrifice is forgiven through participation in the ritual enactment (Lev 4:35b).
Fourth, are pagan rituals less symbolic than those of the priests (both known
only through texts)? I am not aware of a sustained argument by Milgrom that
pagan religion is empty of symbolism, but his argument that the priests con-
structed a symbolic system to negate pagan beliefs and practices suggests this. A
12. Bell, Ritual Theory, 49–54; idem, Ritual, 61–89.

13. For discussions of this issue, see F. H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual, (JSOTSup 91;
Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 13–38; N. Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1992), 1–29; W. K. Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible
(Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 1–11; R. Gane, Cult and Character:
Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 3–24;
I. Gruenwald, Rituals and Ritual Theory in Ancient Israel (BRLJ 10; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 1–39;
D. Janzen, The Social Meanings of Sacrifice in the Hebrew Bible (BZAW 344; Berlin: de Gruyter,
2004), 1–35. From the perspective of ritual studies, see R. L. Grimes, Beginnings in Ritual Studies
(New York: University Press of America, 1982), 53–69; Bell, Ritual Theory, 1–93.
14. Kaufmann, Religion of Israel, 40–42. The definition of “magic” remains problematic,
especially in relationship to theology and ritual. See B. A. Levine, In the Presence of the Lord
(Leiden: Brill, 1974), 77–91; M. Douglas, Purity and Danger (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul,
1966), 7–28. The following discussions are helpful and represent a variety of perspectives: W. J.
Goode, “Magic and Religion: A Continuum,” Ethnos 14 (1949): 172–82; E. Leach, Culture and
Communication (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 29–32; Grimes, Beginnings in
Ritual Studies, 45–47; J. Middleton, “MAGIC: Theories of Magic,” in The Encyclopedia of Religion
(New York: Macmillan, 1987), 9:82–89; D. R. Hill, “MAGIC: Magic in Primitive Societies,” in
Encyclopedia of Religion 9:89–92; S. J. Tambiah, Magic, Science, Religion, and the Scope of
Rationality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 1–31; T. F. Driver, The Magic of Ritual
(San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1991), 166–91; J. K. Kuemmerlin-McLean, “Magic: Old Testa-
ment,” ABD 4:468–71; J. A. Scurlock, “Magic: Ancient Near East,” ABD 4:464–68; Bell, Ritual,
46–52; P. Boyer, Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thoughts (New York:
Basic, 2001), 229–63.
15. I. Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 88, 135 n. 42.
16. This also true of the sacrificial smoke that provides “a soothing aroma” for Yahweh and is
inherently efficacious. Consideration must be given to the possibility that the cult establishes limits
and boundaries for Yahweh as well as for Israel.
symbolic approach to culture, however, would view “religion” as symbolic by

definition.17 Were Babylonian rituals empty of symbolism and, therefore, empty
of meaning?18 The question is critical in that the search for symbolic meaning
provides a hermeneutical directive for interpretation. Milgrom draws on Baby-
lonian (as well as Hittite) purgation texts to argue that the priests also con-
structed purgation rituals, but emphasizes that Babylonian rituals drove away
demonic forces whereas priestly rituals purged symbolic impurity from the
sanctuary.19 Is the Israelite ritual more symbolic than the pagan ritual? How
significant is the difference between “malevolent demonic powers” and “malefic
symbolic impurity” generated by (demonized) humans?20 Equally important,
both rituals reflect superstitious beliefs in the efficacy of ritual actions, as well as
the removal or elimination of unseen but powerful forces that are destructively
operative in the realm of sacred space.
Interpretation and Symbolic Systems

Milgrom employs a hermeneutics of symbolism to interpret the priestly materi-
als.21 He states, “the ritual complexes of Lev 1–16 make sense only as aspects of
a symbolic system.”22 This includes both the sacrificial and the purity/impurity
rulings.23 Central to this system is the divine tent, the place of Yahweh’s sym-
bolic presence.24 When sacred space is made unclean (by symbolic impurity),
the blood of a EI symbolically cleanses it.25
Milgrom fails to clarify four critical issues relating to symbolism. (1) What
constitutes a symbol? (2) How does the interpreter consistently determine sym-
bolic meaning? (3) What are the ways in which a symbol is related to and gen-
erative of its symbolic meaning? (4) What sort of symbolism is present in the
17. See V. Turner, The Ritual Process (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1977 [originally
1969]), 14; idem, From Ritual to Theatre (New York: Performing Arts Journal, 1982), 20–60;
C. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic, 1973), 3–30; Douglas, Purity and
Danger, 65. For important criticisms of this approach, see Bell, Ritual Theory, 182–96; idem, Ritual,
61–89; T. Asad, Genealogies of Religion (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993),
27–79.
18. Are we to believe, for example, that “pagan” cultic meals in Babylon were less symbolic
than those in Israel? D. C. Dennett’s comments, from outside the field, are interesting (Breaking the
Spell [New York: Viking, 2006], 164–65).
19. Milgrom, Leviticus, 163–67; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 1067–70, 1071–84. See also K. van der
Toorn, Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1984), 1–9, 56–93.
20. Milgrom discusses his view of the differences in Leviticus 1–16, 42–51, and Leviticus, 8–16.
21. On symbolism, see R. Firth, Symbols: Public and Private (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University
Press), 1973; D. Sperber, Rethinking Symbolism (trans. A. L. Morton; Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1975); E. M. Zuesse, Ritual Cosmos (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1979); F. W.
Dillistone, The Power of Symbols in Religion and Culture (New York: Crossroad, 1986).
22. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 45; idem, Leviticus, 11; idem, “Confusing the Sacred and the
Impure: A Rejoinder,” VT 44 (1994): 557.
23. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 42–51; idem, Leviticus, 8–16.
24. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 43; idem, Leviticus, 9.
priestly materials: literary (textual analysis), social (an analysis of practice), or

cognitive (analysis of a cognitive system)?
Note the different types of symbolic meanings in the following four exam-
ples. First, in discussing the EI and the priestly understanding of collective
responsibility and sin, Milgrom argues that good people suffered along with
brazen sinners because the former allowed the latter to flourish: “Thus, in the
Priestly scheme, the sanctuary is polluted (read: society is corrupted) by brazen
sins (read: the rapacity of the leaders) and also by inadvertent sins (read: the
acquiescence of the ‘silent majority’), with the result that God is driven out of
his sanctuary (read: the nation is destroyed).”26 The sanctuary is a symbol of
society and (symbolic) pollution is a symbol (or metaphor) of corruption. God is
a symbol for the nation and the departure of God from the sanctuary is a symbol
for the destruction of the nation.
Second, the ascending smoke of a sacrifice may be seen as “a physical
symbol of personal prayers and wishes rising to God.”27 In this view, the smoke
is associated with the prayers of the people rather than the “fragrant aroma” that
calms and soothes Yahweh (see, e.g., Lev 1:9, 13; 2:2; 3:5, 16; 4:31). Third, the
purity and impurity rulings are symbols that “reveal deeper, basically ethical
values that remain relevant to this day.”28 The purity rulings are symbolic state-
ments of ethical values that retain value in the contemporary context. Fourth, the
blood prohibition reflects a rational formulation designed to oppose the practices
of Israel’s neighbors.29 This explanation is anything but symbolic. Further, he
states that the dietary system rests on rationally constructed ethical foundations
designed to teach the inviolability of life.30 Symbolic interpretation seems to
mean little more than that one word or idea stands for or refers to something
else. How does one determine the “true meaning” of symbols? Is there a method
to inform and guide the interpretation?
From a ritual perspective, the emphasis on ritual as a form of symbolic com-
munication runs the risk of emptying ritual enactment of intrinsic value. Must
the rituals be enacted in order for their message to be communicated? Although
Milgrom states that the priests answered questions—he does not indicate whose
questions or what questions—in rituals rather than in words, his approach
suggests that words are necessary for understanding meaning.31 Certainly, he
believes the messages are (most?) clearly and effectively communicated through
(rational) scholarly analysis and discourse. “Ritual” is, however, first and fore-
most the act of “doing something” through structured activity.32 The enactment

27. Milgrom, Leviticus, 17; idem, “Systemic Differences in the Priestly Corpus: A Response to
Jonathan Klawans,” RB 112 (2005): 321–29.
28. Milgrom, Leviticus, 101; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 704–42, 763–68, 816–20, 948–53.
29. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 704–42; idem, Leviticus, 105.
30. Milgrom, Leviticus, 106; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 704–42.
31. Milgrom, Leviticus, 32. I see Milgrom’s priestly “system” as a linguistic construct that may
or may not have anything to do with actual ritual enactment.
32. Although obvious, the study of priestly materials often proceeds as if it is not. From a vari-
ety of perspectives, see, for example, R. A. Rappaport, Ecology, Meaning, and Religion (Richmond,
of priestly rituals accomplished what the structured activity set out to accom-
plish, for example, purification, transformation, passage, or forgiveness.33
Finally, would the common people have understood the symbolic meaning of
priestly rituals (assuming the rituals were enacted)?34 Did they participate in the
cult in order to communicate a (symbolic) message? If so, to whom were they
speaking: themselves, the priests, the community, or God? Did priests and
laypersons share a common understanding of ritual? If, as Milgrom correctly
notes, the priestly duties included instruction (see Lev 10:10),35 would not such
instruction include an effort to correct incorrect beliefs and practices? Milgrom
argues that the priests maintained pagan practices because of the demands of the
people, although this clearly raises questions concerning the nature of priestly
power, authority, and pedagogy.36 This becomes more significant if, indeed, the
priests (and the people) viewed the cult as the revealed will of Yahweh.
A Consistent System?
Milgrom states, “the entire complex of the priestly impurity rules is only a sym-
bolic system…[and] [t]he symbolism of the hat>t>at and, indeed, of the entire
impurity system operates consistently throughout.”37 Thus, the priestly materials
reflect a consistent, coherent, symbolic system of meaning.38 Milgrom shifts
the question of consistency, however, from the enactments themselves to the
Calif.: North Atlantic Books, 1979), 173–221; Grimes, Beginnings, 54–55; S. F. Moore and B. G.
Myerhoff, “Introduction: Secular Ritual: Forms and Meanings,” in Secular Ritual (ed. S. F. Moore
and B. G. Myerhoff; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1975), 3–24; P. Bourdieu, The Logic of
Practice (trans. R. Nice; Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990), 80–97; Bell, Ritual, 138–69;
Boyer, Religion Explained, 229–63.
33. F. Staal, “The Meaninglessness of Ritual,” Numen (1979): 2–22; P. Smith, “Aspects of the
Organization of Rites,” in Between Belief and Transgression (ed. M. Izard and P. Smith; Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1982), 103–28; O. Herrenschmidt, “Sacrifice: Symbolic or Effective?,”
in Isard and Smith, eds., Between Belief and Transgression, 24–41; Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice,
52–65; Boyer, Religion Explained, 229–63; W. K. Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible
(Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 1–11.
34. Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel, 60–121; Milgrom, “Systemic Differences,” 323–24;
I. Knohl, The Divine Symphony (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 2003), 1–8.
Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 52–57.
35. Milgrom, Leviticus, 32.
36. Milgrom often explains the continued existence of pagan practices in priestly rituals as a
demand of the people that the priests could not or would not change. See Milgrom, “The Paradox of
the Red Cow (Num XIX),” VT 31 (1981): 68–69; idem, Numbers, 353, 441. For criticism, see
J. Klawans, “Pure Violence: Sacrifices and Defilement in Ancient Israel,” HTR 94 (2001): 133–40
(see n. 14); idem, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity, and Sacrifice in Jacob Milgrom’s Leviticus,” RSR 29
(2003): 19–28.
37. Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred,” 557–58; idem, Leviticus, 12–18.
38. Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred,” 558. Both M. Douglas, Natural Symbols (London:
Cresset, 1970), 72–73, and Geertz, Interpretation, 33–54 discuss culture in terms of systemic order
and meaning. See Klawans’s discussions in Impurity and Sin in Ancient Israel (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2000), 21–42; idem, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice,
and the Temple (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 17–73.
messages they communicate. In this way, a collection of diverse ritual enact-

ments (or textual rituals) and purity rulings are turned into a unified theological
and ethical system. The belief in a “consistent system” functions as a methodo-
logical presupposition that guides the interpretive process (the “systemic fal-
lacy”). The interpreter’s ability to produce a coherent system on the basis of the
priestly texts, however, does not provide proof that the system is in the texts
themselves (or behind them or underneath them).39 In such an approach, the
interpreter assumes that the priestly writers wanted (or “intended”) to write a
significant number of texts that were based on and reflected a consistent system
of meaning (“the intentional fallacy”).40
The texts, however, do not indicate clearly that a specific type of sacrifice
functions in the same way in every instance. For example, does a EI offered
according to the requirements of the calendrical ritual cycle (a community ritual)
function in the same way(s) as a EI required for a specific occasion of sin and
impurity (generated by an individual or the community)?41 Does a EI in a
ritual of founding (Lev 8 and the inauguration of the priesthood) function in the
same way as a EI in a maintenance ritual (the regularly prescribed sacrifices
based on the calendar) or in a ritual of restoration (Lev 14)?42 If ritual processes
have distinct reasons for being enacted (i.e. they effect different and distinct
outcomes), is it not possible, or even probable that the same sacrifice in name
may function differently in distinctively different types of rituals?43 The priests
may have been more context sensitive than system oriented.
39. Douglas would not necessarily agree with this. See Implicit Meanings (London: Routledge
& Kegan Paul, 1975), 276–314.
40. The problematic relationship between “the intentional fallacy” and “the systemic fallacy”
runs throughout Milgrom’s work. The assumption of a system in the materials reflects an assump-
tion that the priestly writers intended to create such an underlying system. Milgrom’s discussion
of the dietary rulings and ethics is an excellent example. See Milgrom, “The Biblical Diet Laws as
an Ethical System,” Interpretation 17 (1963): 288–301; idem, “Ethics and Ritual: The Foundations
of the Biblical Dietary Laws,” in Religion and Law: Biblical-Judaic and Islamic Perspectives (ed.
E. B. Firmage, B. G. Weiss, and J. W. Welch; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 160–91;
idem, Leviticus 1–16, 643–1009 (704–42); idem, Leviticus, 101–61 (103–10). Wright (“Observa-
tions on the Ethical Foundations of the Biblical Dietary Laws: A Response to Jacob Milgrom,” in
Firmage, Weiss, and Welch, eds., Religion and Law, 193–98) makes helpful observations on
Milgrom’s work. On the same issue, see E. Firmage, “The Biblical Dietary Laws and the Concept
of Holiness,” in Studies in the Pentateuch (ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup 41; Leiden: Brill, 1990), 177–
208; W. J. Houston, Purity and Monotheism (JSOTSup 140; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
1993), 68–123; idem, “Towards an Integrated Reading of the Dietary Laws of Leviticus,” in The
Book of Leviticus (ed. R. Rendtorff and R. A. Kugler; VTSup 93; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 142–61.
41. J. Gammie, Holiness in Israel (OBT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989); Gane, Cult and
Character, 129–43; Gorman, Ideology, 215–27.
42. On distinct types of rituals, see Gorman, Ideology, 52–55; idem, “Priestly Rituals of
Founding: Time, Space, and Status,” in History and Interpretation (ed. M. P. Graham, W. P. Brown,
and J. K. Kuan; JSOTSup 173; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 47–64; G. A. Anderson, “Sacrifice and
Sacrificial Offerings (Old Testament),” ABD 5:875–77; Gruenwald, Rituals, 25–26.
43. S. M. Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish and What Do They Signal in Biblical
Ritual Contexts?,” JBL 117 (1998): 611–22; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 86–87; Levine, In the Presence,
1–8.
The following chart demonstrates one way of recognizing important simi-

larities and differences in three ritual texts: Lev 14:1–32; Lev 16:1–28; and Num
19:1–13.44
Text Lev 14:1–32 Lev 16:1–28 Num 19:1–13
Ritual process Purification and Purification and Purification of
restoration of removal of sin on individuals; available
individual to camp behalf of the for anyone in the
community community
Occasion Situational Calendrical Situational
Temporal focus First day of eight-day One day, once a year Third and seventh days
ritual of seven-day process
Location and Outside the camp to Purification inside Preparation outside
movement inside the camp camp and removal of camp; sprinkling of
sin to a place outside unclean inside camp
the camp (to Azazel)
Animals Two birds Two goats Red cow
Status of animals Not identified as a EI sacrifice Ashes of the red cow
in the ritual sacrifice are mixed with water
Blood sprinkling Seven times on Seven times in holy Seven times toward the
person being cleansed place and on altar front of the tent,
mixture of water and
ashes placed on person
Additional Cedar, crimson — Cedar wood, hyssop,
materials material, hyssop and crimson material
(used to sprinkle (burned with the cow
person) and sprinkled on
person)
Ritual washing Launder clothes, Bathe (twice) change Launder, bathe, wait
and cleansing shave, bathe (on day clothes (twice) (only until evening on day of
one and day seven) the high priest) sprinkling
I would argue that the sevenfold sprinkling of blood in these rituals reflects
distinct functions within distinct types of ritual (see C9 in Lev 14:7; CA< in
16:11, 16, 17, 18, and C9 in 16:19; and C9 in Num 19:4, 11–13).45 They are
not easily grouped into a single system of enactment and/or meaning. In Lev
14:7, blood from a non-sacrificial bird is sprinkled on a person for cleansing
(C9) from a previously defiling skin condition. In Num 19:4, the sevenfold
sprinkling of the red cow’s blood (a EI)46 toward the tent47 takes place outside
the camp. The action is not explained and, importantly, its blood is not placed on
44. See the discussions of Milgrom, Numbers, 438–43; idem, Leviticus, 39–41; N. Kiuchi, The
Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature (JSOTSup 56; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
1987), 111–59; Gorman, Ideology, 61–102, 151–79, 191–214; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41;
M. Douglas, “The Go-Away Goat in the Book of Leviticus,” in Rendtorff and Kugler, eds., The
Book of Leviticus, 121–41; Gane, Cult and Character, 45–284.
45. See Th. C. Vriezen, “The Term hizza: Lustration and Consecration,” OTS 7 (1950): 201–35;
Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41.
46. Milgrom (Numbers, 160) translates EI in v. 9 as “purification offering.”
47. Milgrom argues the sprinkling consecrates the blood and makes it sacrificial (Numbers, 440,
and Leviticus, 40). Cf. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41.
the altar. In Lev 16:11–19, the annual day of purification, the blood of a bull and
a goat, both termed a EI, is sprinkled seven times inside the holy of holies
and seven times on the outer altar to purify (CA<) them (cf. Lev 4:6, 17, the
EI for the anointed priest or the community). The rite and the gesture both
appear to have distinct purposes in these rituals. Does not the use of the same
ritual gesture for three different purposes in three different rituals call for an
explanation that accounts for the differences rather than for a common “essence”
of (practice and) meaning?
The ritual of the “red cow” in Num 19 generates problems for the argument
of a consistent system of practice and meaning.48 Milgrom recognizes that iden-
tifying the red cow in Num 19 as a EI, requires several special explanations if
a consistent system is to be maintained.49 First, the use of the red cow sets this
EI apart from others (see Lev 4): a bull (for the anointed priest or commu-
nity), a male goat (for a chieftain), or a female goat or sheep (for an individual).
Milgrom’s explanation is that a bovine is used to create the maximum amount of
ashes, while a female is used because the final mixture is placed on indi-
viduals.50 The first statement is a functional or practical explanation and assumes
that a pragmatic concern is able to explain a symbolic process. If symbolic,
would not a single drop of blood or a small bit of ash function to communicate
the message?51 Although the final mixture will be sprinkled on individuals, the
text clearly states that the community is responsible to supply the animal. Which
is more important for explanation and understanding: that the mixture is
sprinkled on an individual or that the community provides the cow that will
generate the ashes to be used by the whole community?
Second, contrary to the normal EI, the cow is slaughtered outside the
camp and its blood is not placed on the altar. Milgrom understands this to be a
“burnt purification offering” (see v. 9) that, on the basis of Lev 4:6–7, 11–12,
must be burned outside the camp.52 In his view, the sevenfold sprinkling toward
the front of the tent consecrates the blood and makes the rite a sacrifice.53 The
48. On the ritual of the “red cow,” see, in addition to Milgrom’s work, J. L. Blau, “The Red
Heifer: A Biblical Purification Rite in Rabbinic Literature,” Numen 14 (1967): 70–78; S. Wefing,
“Beobachtung zum Rituals mit der rotten Kuh (Num 19, 1–10a),” ZAW 93 (1981): 342–59; Kiuchi,
Purification Offering, 123–41; D. P. Wright, “Heifer, Red,” ABD 3:115–16; A. I. Baumgarten, “The
Paradox of the Red Heifer,” VT 43 (1993): 442–51; F. S. Frick, “Ritual and Social Regulation in
Israel: The Importance of the Social Context for Ritual Studies and a Case Study—The Ritual of the
Red Heifer,” in “Imagining” Biblical Worlds (ed. D. M. Gunn and P. M. McNutt; JSOTSup 359;
Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 219–31.
49. Milgrom, Numbers, 438–43; idem, Leviticus, 39–41.
50. Milgrom, “Paradox of Red Cow,” 65; idem, Leviticus, 39; idem, Numbers, 439–40.
51. The text makes no statement concerning this matter. All suggestions are hypothetical and
require information (apparently) considered unnecessary by the writers of the text. The priests may
have assumed this information, but that is either an assumption or a matter of “gap-filling” (on “gap-
filling,” see Gilders, Blood Ritual, 113, 125, 132–33). The red cow may have been used in this
instance because this specific ritual required a “red cow” and was understood to be fundamentally
different.
52. Milgrom, Leviticus, 40–41; idem, Numbers, 439.
53. Milgrom, Leviticus, 40; idem, Numbers, 440.
blood is not placed on the altar, he argues, to infuse the ashes with the maximum
amount of blood.54 This again is a functional explanation that is generated pri-
marily by the need to locate this ritual in a pre-existing theoretical system con-
structed by the interpreter.
Third, the ashes containing the blood of the red cow are mixed with water and
sprinkled on the corpse-contaminated person.55 The EI blood is generally
placed on the outer altar (or some object or space associated with the tent) rather
than a person. Milgrom argues that the altar need not be cleansed in this ritual
because the priests have reduced the power of corpse impurity to such an extent
that it does not defile the altar (as noted in the previous paragraph, however, he
also argues the blood is not placed on the altar in order to include the maximum
amount of blood in the ashes, a pragmatic argument).56 The details, complexity,
and length of this ritual process, however, do not support this view.57
Fourth, the ashes defile those who prepare them before the sacrificial blood,
which is believed to absorb impurities, is placed on a corpse contaminated
person. Following Wright, Milgrom states the blood-infused ashes defile “pro-
spectively.”58 Neither Wright nor Milgrom, to my knowledge, provide another
example of such “prospective” defilement in the priestly materials. Would this
“new” type of impurity be necessary if the interpretive process were not guided
by the assumption of a completely consistent system?
How many special explanations are required before we recognize that a given
text or ritual simply does not fit the cognitive system assumed by or constructed
by the interpreter? Why not recognize and accept that this ritual is most easily
explained by recognizing that it does not fit into a supposed abstract and theo-
logical system? This text may reflect a “thrown-together” composition, an act of
ritualizing (or textualizing), that pulls together bits and pieces of known rites
and gestures, and constitutes a unique configuration designed to address the
concerns associated specifically with corpse contamination.
Milgrom argues that a consistent and comprehensive system underlies the
purity and impurity rulings.59 The priestly traditions identify three sources of
impurity: corpse/carcass contamination, scale disease, and genital discharges.
He states, “There must be a comprehensive theory that can explain all of the
cases.”60 That such a system “must” exist clearly functions as an assumption.
Milgrom argues that “death” is the common element shared by these impurities
54. Milgrom, Leviticus, 40; idem, Numbers, 439.

55. The purgative effect of EI blood on materials rather than humans, with this exception, is
one of Milgrom’s central arguments. See Leviticus 1–16, 226–318, 1079–84.
56. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 42–51; idem, Leviticus, 9–15; idem, Numbers, 442–43.
57. B. Levine, Numbers 1–20 (AB 4A; New York: Doubleday, 1993), 468–79; E. S. Gersten-
berger, Leviticus (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 309–12; H. Maccoby, Ritual
and Morality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 94–117. Note Milgrom’s statement
that “corpse contamination evoked an obsessive, irrational fear in individuals,” and that this fear
extended into rabbinic times (Leviticus, 36).
58. Wright, “Heifer, Red,” 114–15; Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred,” 558.
and, therefore, the struggle between death and life is at the heart of the purity
rulings. The message is clear and consistent: choose life over death.61
The reduction of purity and impurity to a common concern for “life and
death” does not do justice to the rulings.62 Impurity associated with genital flows
and flaking skin, for example, may reflect a concern for the erosion of the
boundaries of the body without necessarily pointing to death as the reality
underlying these experiences.63 The multiple dynamics involved in impurity
rulings concerned with genital flows may reflect cultural or theological struggles
associated with sexual concerns.64 Together these two concerns suggest that
humans are caught between the divine blessing to procreate and the desire to
maintain the integrity of the boundaries of the human body. Further, the dietary
rulings are not easily reduced to a single system of organization or theology;
they reflect both a history of development and a variety of perspectives.65
Rather than arguing that the limited nature of the purity/impurity rulings
points to and demands a comprehensive (and closed) system of explanation, we
might view their limited nature as the presentation of representative cases that
provide a framework for the creation and addition of categories as appropriate
and/or necessary. Or, they may serve as an invitation for readers and/or hearers
to reflect on the nature of impurity as experienced in their own very real and
very concrete bodily (biological) experiences and, at the same time, to allow
textual possibilities to inform their reflections.
Finally, Klawans has been critical of Milgrom’s efforts to identify a system
that holds together the sacrificial rulings, ritual purity, and moral impurity.66 He
emphasizes that Milgrom has discussed the system underlying the purity rulings
most completely and sympathetically, but argues that Milgrom’s treatment of
moral impurity has been unsystematic and, at times, inconsistent.67 Finally,

62. Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism, 177–94 (and throughout); Klawans, Impurity and
Sin, 21–42; idem, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple,
17–48.
63. See Douglas, Purity and Danger, 114–39; Eilberg-Schwartz, Savage in Judaism, 177–94
(and throughout); T. Frymer-Kensky, “Pollution, Purification, and Purgation in Biblical Israel,” in
The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth (ed. C. L. Myers and M. O’Connor; Winona Lake, Ind.:
Eisenbrauns, 1983), 399–410; idem, Wake of the Goddesses, 45–57, 108–43, 187–212; D. P. Wright,
“Unclean and Clean (Old Testament),” ABD 6:729–41; Klawans, “Pure Violence,” 133–55.
64. See previous note.
65. Douglas has published several articles on the dietary rulings. Her approach focuses on the
search for order and system. Examples include Purity and Danger, 41–57; “The Forbidden Animals
in Leviticus,” JSOT 59 (1993): 3–23; “Impurity of Land Animals,” in Purity and Holiness (ed. M. J.
H. M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 35–45; “Deciphering a Meal,” and “Self-
evidence,” in Implicit Meanings, 249–75 and 276–318, respectively; Leviticus as Literature (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1999), 134–75, 218–40; Jacob’s Tears (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2004), 159–75. Difficulties have been pointed out by Firmage, “Biblical Dietary Laws,” 177–208;
Houston, Purity and Monotheism, 68–123; idem, “Towards an Integrated Reading,” 142–61.
66. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 14–15; idem, “Pure Violence,” 133–40; idem, “Ritual Purity,
Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, 17–48 (27–32). Milgrom responds in “Systemic
Differences,” 321–29.
67. Klawans, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, 27–32.
Klawans argues that Milgrom seeks to understand sacrifice primarily in terms of

its origins and too easily views it as a vestigial remnant from Israel’s more
primitive past.68 Klawans attributes the problems primarily to Milgrom’s use of
different methods and assumptions,69 although Klawans does not think that
systemic analysis is misguided.70 Indeed, he seeks to identify systemic elements
in the priestly purity system as well as in the sacrificial system.71
Texts or Enactments?
What is the focus of scholarly analysis of priestly ritual materials: rituals or
texts?72 This is not a reference to the hermeneutical suggestion that we “read”
rituals as “texts.”73 The concern has to do with what we believe we are inter-
preting, not how we are interpreting it.74 Discussion of priestly rituals all too
often assumes that the texts are fairly transparent reflections of and accurate
pointers to actual ritual enactments. This is similar to reading pentateuchal
narratives as history because they “read like history.”75 Does such easy move-
ment between text and enactment have theoretical and methodological support
or is it a methodological assumption?
Milgrom’s discussion of Num 5:11–31, the ritual of the jealous husband,
provides an example.76 Following Fishbane77 and Brichto,78 Milgrom views the
text as “a logical and unified composition,” although he views vv. 21 and 31 as
interpolations.79 In addition, the text reflects an introverted (chiastic) structure of
five parts.80 The oath-imprecation in vv. 19–24 constitutes the structural and
meaningful center of the text. Although his discussion moves back and forth
68. Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, 30–32.

69. Klawans, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28.
71. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 21–42; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, 46–73.
72. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 1–11; Gorman, Ideology, 13–38; Gane, Cult and Character, 3–24;
Klingbeil, Comparative Study, 5–52.
73. C. Geertz, “Blurred Genres: The Refiguration of Social Thought,” AmerSch 49 (1980): 165–
79. See the comments by Gilders (Blood Ritual, 8–11) that ritual may be read as a narrative.
74. On the Bible as a constructed object of analysis, see Gorman, “Ritual Studies and Biblical
Studies,” 13–36.
75. See H. W. Frei, The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1974).
76. Milgrom, Numbers, 37–43, 350–54 (all references will be to this book). See also, Milgrom,
“The Case of the Suspected Adulteress, Numbers 5:11–31: Redaction and Meaning,” in The
Creation of Sacred Literature (ed. R. F. Friedman; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981),
69–75; idem, “On the Suspected Adulteress,” VT 35 (1985): 368–69.
77. M. Fishbane, “Accusations of Adultery: A Study of Law and Scribal Practice in Numbers
5:11–31,” HUCA 45 (1974): 25–45.
78. H. C. Brichto, “The Case of the SOTA and a Reconsideration of Biblical ‘Law’,” HUCA 46
(1975): 55–70. See also T. Frymer-Kensky, “The Strange Case of the Suspected Sotah (Numbers V
13–31),” VT 34 (1984): 11–26.
80. Ibid. See Fishbane, “Accusations of Adultery,” 27–36; Brichto, “The Case of the SOTA,”
56–63; and Frymer-Kensky, “The Strange Case,” 12–17.
between textual analysis and analysis of ritual enactment, his comments con-
cerning v. 18a are of particular interest. The author of the text used a repetitive
resumptive to indicate that the priest, in the ritual enactment, prepared the
waters before placing the woman before the altar.81 A linguistic form is used to
determine ritual procedure, a form generally understood to be a literary and/or
compositional feature of a text. Is the structure of the text a compositional and
literary concern or is it a pointer to actual ritual enactments? Is discussion of
“textual structure” the same as discussion of “ritual procedure?”
Is the necessary social, cultural, cultic, and historical information available to
reconstruct ritual enactments?82 As is widely recognized, interpreters must
engage in a significant amount of “gap filling.”83 Generally, interpreters use
other priestly texts to fill in the gaps, assuming a systemic and coherent con-
sistency in the texts.84 The priestly writers, however, apparently felt no need to
supply the missing pieces and they left no clear statement that they anticipated
readers to do so.
Even if we assume that the priestly texts reflect a coherent and consistent
system, we cannot be certain that they tell us everything we need to know in
order to reconstruct or understand that system. The number of informational
gaps in these texts might indicate that the texts provide only bits and pieces of
information and do not seek to construct a coherent, consistent, and complete
system. Is the information lacking precisely because no consistent system exists?
Does the assumption that the priestly texts reflect a consistent system provide a
better hermeneutical assumption than the assumption that no such system exists?
What is the methodological and theoretical basis to answer the question?
The priestly texts envision and depict ritual processes that achieve specific
goals, for example, forgiveness, purification, founding, or passage. This does
not necessarily mean, however, that the texts were written as prescriptive or
descriptive instructions for enactment.85 The informational gaps in the texts
might be an indication that the texts were written for reading and hearing, not
for enactment. If true, interpretation must seek to understand how reading,
hearing, and reflection accomplish, for example, forgiveness and purification.
The reality of cultic transformation is discovered in the reading and/or hearing

82. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 1–11; Gorman, Ideology, 31; J. W. Rogerson, “Sacrifice in the Old
Testament: Problems of Method and Approach,” in Sacrifice (ed. M. F. C. Bourdillon and M. Fortes;
New York: Academic Press, 1980), 45–47; Geertz, Interpretation of Culture, 5–10.
83. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 113, 125, 132–33.
84. Several charts appear in Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (825–26, 854–968, 986–91) that seek
to “fill in the gaps” by deductions based on other priestly texts. The deductions are made on the
assumption that a complete and consistent system exists in the texts. See Klawans’s comments in
“Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 20–21.
85. On “prescriptive” and “descriptive” texts, see B. Levine, “The Descriptive Tabernacle Texts
of the Pentateuch,” JAOS 85 (1965): 307–18; idem, “The Descriptive Ritual Texts from Ugarit:
Some Formal and Functional Features of the Genre,” in Myers and O’Connor, eds., The Word of the
Lord Shall Go Forth, 467–75; M. Haran, “The Complex of Ritual Acts Performed Inside the
Tabernacle,” SH 7 (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1961), 272–302; Anderson, “Sacrifice,” 876–77.
of the texts, not in some supposed reality or system outside, above, under, or
behind the texts. In such a view, reading and hearing (and writing?) become
ritual practices, acts of textual ritualizing, critical to the experiential engagement
with the cultic reality of the texts.86
The discussion raises the possibility that the priests wrote these texts primar-
ily to be read and heard. This view takes seriously the literary location of the
ritual and purity texts of the Pentateuch. The rulings/instructions form a critical
part of the narrative that is read and heard. Does Leviticus invite the reader to go
to the sanctuary and offer a sacrifice in an officially and completely prescribed
fashion, or does Leviticus, located within the larger pentateuchal story, invite
the reader to continue to read, hear, and reflect?
Conclusion
Presuppositions, assumptions, religious values, cultural values, and ideologies
continue to play a critical role in the interpretation of priestly materials. Many of
the results of an analysis are already determined by what the interpreter brings
to the task. Although historical, rational, logical, linguistic, and comparative
aspects of interpretation may contribute to a more systematic analysis, they also
function as part of an ideological approach to ancient texts. These “objective”
modes are not free from assumptions, presuppositions, and values that inform,
guide, and direct the analytical task. The problem is not that we bring these pre-
interpretive understandings to the analysis of texts, but that we fail to recognize
their role in interpretation.
In the case of the priestly ritual materials, an initial statement that makes clear
whether texts or rituals are being interpreted is critical. All too often our dis-
course on priestly ritual and purity rulings reflects a confused and confusing
combination of historical, literary, and ritual methods. The problem is generally
left unaddressed because the discipline has been content to assume that “texts”
are realistic and accurate representations of “rituals.” The problem is not the use
of multiple methods, but the failure to clarify what it is that is being interpreted:
texts, enactments, cognitive structures (i.e. the “mind” of the priests), or ritual
systems.
What is being interpreted will in many ways determine the questions that are
asked, or the methods that are employed. For example, if the priestly materials
constitute a textual construct found fully in the biblical texts, then a symbolic
analysis that seeks to identify the conceptual system that underlies the texts and
86. Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 1–19 (and throughout). The analysis of the reading and hearing of
scripture by J. W. Watts is critical. See “Rhetorical Strategy in the Composition of the Pentateuch,”
JSOT 68 (1995): 3–22; “Public Readings and Pentateuchal Law,” VT 45 (1995): 540–57; Reading
Law: The Rhetorical Shaping of the Pentateuch (The Biblical Seminar 59; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 1999); “The Rhetoric of Ritual Instruction in Leviticus 1–7,” in Rendtorff and
Kugler, eds., The Book of Leviticus, 79–100; “Ritual Legitimacy and Scriptural Authority,” JBL 124
(2005): 401–17. G. A. Anderson begins to move in this direction in his discussion of “The
Scripturalization of the Cult,” ABD 5:882–85.
holds them together in a coherent and consistent fashion may well be appropri-
ate. If, however, the texts are clear and transparent pointers to enactments, and
interpretation focuses on rituals, a more functional and less symbolic approach
may make more sense. We must recognize that rituals are enacted one way as
opposed to another because, to put it in terms of the participants, “this is the way
we do it, this is the way we have always done it, and this will be the way we will
always do it.” This view could be equally true for priests and laypersons. Such
an explanation for enacting rituals is not “meaningless,” although the “meaning”
may not be a symbolic statement of either theological or ethical ideas. Is the
interpreter in a position to dictate the type of meaning that rituals may have in
the process of their enactment based on contemporary sensibilities of what
constitutes meaning?
I am not convinced that the priests wanted to produce a singularly consistent
system of thinking and theology. The ability of an interpreter to generate such a
system does not constitute definitive evidence that this is what the “writer” had
in mind. Is the insistence on order and coherence of thought a true reflection of
the priests or is it an effort to create the priests in our own image? Obviously, we
must remain open to the possibility, even probability, that our concerns are not
identical with the concerns of the priests.
Finally, what are we to make of the many similarities and differences between
Israel and its neighbors? Is the distinction between “pagan” and “Israelite” priest
a legitimate starting point for comparative analysis? This may be the way Israel’s
priests viewed their neighbors, but the interpreter must be cautious when “siding
with Israel” in order to demonstrate Israel’s theological and ethical superiority
over its neighbors. Values are clearly at work, critically directing the interpretive
process. The assumption seems to be that we think in the same ways that they
thought (and vice versa). Thus, we are able to think their thoughts with them.
The failure to recognize one’s own historical location is, at the same time, a
failure to recognize that “our” ways of thinking are not necessarily “their” ways
of thinking. All too often, historical reality gives way to “timeless values.” The
priestly “past” and the contemporary “present” have collapsed and become one.
I must believe that priests with bloodstained hands, the smell of burning animal
flesh in their nostrils, and the divine directive to maintain order through separa-
tion (Lev 10:10–11) thought in a radically different fashion than the contem-
porary academic community.
A final statement concerning the historical reality of the present will bring
these reflections to a close. We live in the context of a global communication
system, a global economy, and a global crisis related to the environment. How
then do we “compare” ourselves with “the others?” Comparison is a tricky busi-
ness in the present, and it is equally tricky when we turn the comparative gaze
on the past. Is comparison possible without values? This is a critical question in
the contemporary world. At the same time, it is a question that is equally critical
for our analysis of the past. Whose perspective guides the interpretive process
and does it matter?
INDEXES
INDEX OF REFERENCES
HEBREW BIBLE/ 29:35 15 4:1–5:13 9, 25

OLD TESTAMENT 29:36–37 16 4:2 59
Genesis 30:10 16 4:3 24
1:28 18 30:11–16 20, 29, 31 4:6–7 104
7:2 34 30:12–16 30 4:6 104
7:8 34 30:12 29 4:11–12 104
9:4 83 30:13 29 4:12 15
9:6 29 30:15–16 28 4:13–14 10
20:9 24 30:16 30 4:13 24
20:17–18 24 30:17–21 17 4:17 104
40:19 39 30:20–21 24 4:20 21, 28, 79,
43:32 60 30:30 12 98
46:34 60 30:33 24 4:21 15
30:38 24 4:22–23 10
Exodus 31:12–17 40 4:26 21, 79, 98
8:26 60 31:14–15 24 4:27–28 10
21:12–14 29 31:14 24, 40 4:30 81
21:28–32 20, 31 31:17 40 4:31 21, 79, 98,
21:30 20, 30 35:2 24 100
22:30 34, 39 39:30 13 4:34 81
28:35 24 40:13 12 4:35 21, 79, 98
28:36 13 40:15 12 5 25, 29
28:41 12, 15 5:1 59
28:43 24 Leviticus 5:2 36, 37
29 10, 13, 16 1–16 99 5:4–5 10
29:2–3 13 1–7 4 5:6 79
29:6–7 13 1–3 13 5:9 81
29:7 12 1:9 100 5:10 21, 79, 98
29:9 15 1:13 100 5:13 21, 79, 98
29:10–14 12 1:16 14 5:16 21, 98
29:19–28 15 2:2 100 5:17 59
29:19–20 80 3:5 100 5:18 21, 98
29:23–25 13 3:16–17 59 5:26 21, 98
29:29 15 3:16 100 6:7 Eng 21
29:31–34 15 4–5 22, 28–30, 6:12–18 59
29:32 13 81 6:20 82
29:33 15 4 4, 25, 29, 6:21 11
29:34 13 104 6:23 15
Leviticus (cont.) 35, 37, 13:1 70

6:28 Eng 11 39–42, 44, 13:2–39 67
6:30 Eng 15 54, 57, 60, 13:2–28 66
7:2 80 65 13:2 66, 68
7:12–15 13 11:1–2 41 13:4 67
7:15–21 15 11:1 39 13:9–17 66
7:17 15 11:2–23 55 13:9 66, 68
7:18 24 11:2–20 33 13:18–29 66
7:19 15 11:2–8 37, 38, 41, 13:24–28 66
7:20 24, 25 55 13:28 67
7:21 24, 35 11:3 37 13:29–44 68
7:22–29 59 11:4–8 37 13:29–39 2, 65–67
7:24 36 11:4 40 13:29–37 66, 67
7:38 59 11:5 40 13:29–30 65
8–9 10, 13 11:6 40 13:29 66–68
8 13, 14, 16, 11:8 37–40 13:37 67
102 11:9–12 41, 55 13:38–39 65, 66
8:2 13 11:10–11 39 13:38 67, 68
8:6–9 14 11:11 38–40, 56 13:39 67, 68
8:9 13 11:13–19 41, 55 13:40–44 66, 67
8:12 12–14 11:20–23 41, 55 13:40–41 67
8:13 14 11:20 56 13:40 67
8:14–17 12, 14, 16 11:24–40 55 13:42–44 67
8:14 16 11:24–38 55 13:42 67, 69
8:15 16, 25–28, 11:24–28 26, 38, 41 13:44 67
82 11:24–25 37 13:45 67, 68, 70
8:18 16 11:24 26, 38 13:46 70
8:22–32 15 11:25 39 13:47–59 2, 65, 68
8:22–28 11 11:27 26 13:47–58 66
8:22–24 80 11:29–38 41 13:51 69
8:22 16 11:31 37 13:55 69, 70
8:23–24 14 11:39–40 36, 37 13:56 70
8:26–28 13 11:39 37 13:57 69, 70
8:30 12, 14 11:40 39 13:58 70
8:31–32 13 11:41–45 36, 55 13:59 66, 70
8:33–35 14 11:41–42 41, 55 14 2, 57, 65,
8:33 15 11:41 35, 56 69, 70, 77,
8:35 24 11:43–45 35, 36, 41, 82, 102
9 13 55, 59 14:1–32 103
9:8–11 13 11:44 60 14:1–20 96
9:8 16 11:46–47 41, 55 14:1–7 62
9:17 59 12–15 55, 57 14:4–7 77
10:6 24 12 2, 18, 58, 14:4–6 5
10:9 13 65 14:4 77
10:10–11 110 12:6–8 9 14:7 77, 103
10:10 101 12:8 22, 28, 59 14:8–9 80
11–15 2, 4, 65 13 57, 65, 66, 14:10–32 80
11 1, 2, 33, 68–70, 73 14:10–20 80
14:14 80 16:11–19 104 20 44

14:15–18 80 16:11 103 20:3 24, 25
14:18 80 16:15–22 62 20:12 59
14:19 9, 81 16:16 16, 24, 25, 20:13 60
14:20 22, 81 27, 103 20:14 59
14:21–32 80 16:17 103 20:20 24
14:21 80 16:18–20 16 20:22–24 61
14:25 80 16:18–19 26 20:22 60
14:26–29 80 16:18 103 20:23 60
14:29 81 16:19 25, 28, 20:24–25 60
14:30–31 81 103 20:25–26 35
14:31 81 16:20–22 78 20:26 60
14:33–53 65, 70 16:20 22 21:1 38
14:34–53 59 16:23–24 11 21:2–3 37
14:46–47 26 16:29–34 59 21:3 38
14:48–53 79 16:30 22, 24, 25 21:4 38
14:48 78 16:33 16, 22, 23, 21:11 13, 57
14:49–53 77, 78 25 21:12 13
14:49–51 5 17–27 59 21:14 57
14:49 78 17–26 44, 59 22:1–9 17
14:52–53 22 17:4 24 22:3 27
14:52 78 17:9 24 22:5 38
14:53 22, 79 17:11 24, 28–30, 22:8 34, 36, 37
14:54–57 59 83 22:9 27
14:54–56 70 17:15–16 37 23–25 61
15 2, 4, 44, 17:16 24 23 59
58, 65, 71 18–20 44, 61 24:12 29
15:2 71 18 44, 60 24:15 24
15:6 72 18:1–5 60 26 60
15:7 58 18:6–23 60 26:1–2 61
15:13–15 72 18:6–18 59 26:11 61
15:16 71 18:17 59 26:15 61
15:18 26, 37, 65, 18:19 72 26:30 61
71 18:22 60 26:33–35 61
15:19 58, 71, 72 18:23 59 26:43–44 61
15:20–23 72 18:24–30 60 26:43 61
15:21–22 58 18:24–25 24, 25 26:44 61
15:25–30 65, 71 18:25–28 61 27:1–8 14
15:25 71, 72 18:26 60 27:11 34
15:26–27 72 18:27 60 27:21 11
15:27 72 18:28 60 27:27 34
15:28–30 72 18:29 24, 60
15:30 72 18:30 60 Numbers
15:31 27, 59 18:32–35 61 3:10 27
16 39 19:17 24 5 44
16:1–34 96 19:20 24 5:1–3 57, 58
16:1–28 103 19:22 21, 98 5:2–3 62
16:2 59 19:29 59 5:5–7 66
Numbers (cont.) 14:29–39 21 35:9–29 29

5:11–31 96, 107 15:25 21 35:25 30
5:15 59 15:26 21 35:28 30
5:18 108 15:28 21, 98 35:30–34 20, 29
5:19–24 107 18:3–5 27 35:31–33 23, 30
5:21 107 18:7 27 35:31 23, 29
5:31 59, 107 18:15 34 35:32 23
6 10, 12–14 18:22 27 35:33–34 25, 30, 44
6:2 14 19 104 35:33 23, 29–31
6:3–4 13 19:1–22 96 35:34 23
6:6–7 13 19:1–13 103
6:7–9 13 19:1–10 62 Deuteronomy
6:8 10 19:4 103 7:26 38
6:9–11 27 19:6 14 14 33, 35, 42
6:10–12 11 19:9 103, 104 14:3–21 34, 57
6:11–12 9, 13 19:11–22 57 14:3 57, 60
6:11 27 19:11–13 103 14:4–5 34
6:13–20 9 19:14–16 57 14:7–8 34
6:13 11, 13 19:22 26 14:8 35, 37
6:14 9, 11, 16 25:22–25 29 14:9 34
6:15 13 25:25 29 14:10 34
6:16–17 9 25:28 29 14:11 34
6:16 9, 11, 12, 25:30 29 14:18 34
16 25:32–33 29 14:19 34
6:17 11–13, 15 25:32 29 14:20 34
6:18–19 13 28–29 16 14:21 34
6:18 12, 14, 15 28:15 10 23:14 61
6:19–20 13 28:22 10 24:1 61
6:19 15 29:5 10 28:26 39
6:20 15 29:11 10
6:21 15 29:16 10 Judges
8 10 30:5 Eng 21 16 12
8:8 16 30:5–15 Eng 21 16:28–30 15
8:19 27 30:6–16 21
9:6–7 38 30:6 21 1 Samuel
9:13 24 30:8 Eng 21 12:1–5 20
12 57, 65 30:9 21
12:9–15 44 30:12 28 2 Samuel
12:10 68 30:12 Eng 21 3:29 44, 58, 69
13–14 21 30:13 21 21:1–9 29
14 21 30:15 Eng 21 21:1 29
14:1–10 21 30:15–16 28 21:3–6 31
14:11–25 21 30:16 21, 59 21:3 29
14:11–12 21 31:19–24 57, 58 21:4 29
14:19 21 31:21–24 26 21:6 29
14:20 21 31:50 28, 30
14:21–23 21 35 18, 23, 29, 1 Kings
14:23 21 30 8:33–34 21
8:35–36 21 Ezekiel Nazir

8:37–39 21 5:4 14 3a 10
8:46–50 21 36:16–18 45 19a 10
36:17 58
2 Kings 36:22–25 45 Tosefta Talmud
9:36 39 43:18–27 16 Negaim
43:20 22 6:7 46
2 Chronicles 43:24 14
7:13–14 21 43:26 22 MIDRASH
26:16–21 44 Genesis Rabbah
Daniel 17:4 41
Job 9:19 21
33:24 20 Leviticus Rabbah
Hosea 17:3 46
Psalms 1:2 89 18:4 46
49:7–8 Eng 20 3:1–3 89
49:8–9 20 Numbers Rabbah
51 45 Amos 7:1 46
51:4–5 45 2:6–8 93 7:10 46
51:9 45 5:12 20
106:34–41 45 Sifre to Numbers
QUMRAN 5:3 46
Proverbs 11Q19 49:5–19 57
6:20–35 20 CLASSICAL
31:13 69 MISHNAH Pliny
Keritot Natural History
Isaiah 2:3 46 7:64 58
1:15–17 45
20:1–6 89 Nazir INSCRIPTIONS
20:3 89 6:7 12 Papyri Jumilhac
29:13 91 XII:16–21 47
43:3–4 20 Negaim
47:11 20 12:6 46 Egyptian Book
58:1–5 93 of the Dead
64:4–5 45 Yadayim Chapter 125 46
3:2 73
Jeremiah 3:5 73 MESOPOTAMIAN TEXTS
27:1–15 89 Tablet II
27:1–2 89 TALMUDS lines 3–8 46
28:1 89 Babylonian Talmud lines 47–49 46
28:10 89 Arakhin lines 75–76 46
16a 46
INDEX OF AUTHORS
Amorim, N. 10 Douglas, M. 32, 64, 85, 91, 94, 98, 99, 101–
Anderson, G. A. 63, 108, 109 3, 106
Angyal, A. 53 Driver, T. F. 98
Ardener, E. 65 Durkheim, E. 32
Asad, T. 99
Ashley, T. 9 Eberhart, C. 81
Eilberg-Schwartz, H. 94, 96, 97, 106
Barber, E. W. 69 Elija, A. ben 67
Barr, J. 84 Elliger, K. 19, 68
Baumgarten, A. 12, 104 Evans-Pritchard, E. E. 95
Bell, C. 87, 97–99, 101
Berger, P. L. 90 Fardon, R. 86
Blau, J. L. 104 Finkelstein, J. J. 96, 97
Blenkinsopp, J. 89, 91, 94 Firmage, E. 102, 106
Bourdieu, P. 101 Firth, R. 99
Boyer, P. 98, 101 Fishbane, M. 107
Brichto, H. J. 20, 94, 107 Frankenberry, N. K. 86
Büchler, A. 44 Frei, H. W. 107
Buckley, T. 72, 73 Frick, F. S. 104
Budd, P. J. 9, 25 Frymer-Kensky, T. 37, 97, 106, 107
Budge, E. A. W. 46
Buitenhuis, H. 39 Gammie, J. 102
Gane, R. 9–12, 14, 16, 17, 31, 98, 102, 103,
Caird, G. B. 45 107
Carroll, R. P. 92 Gärdenfors, P. 49
Cartledge, T. 10, 15 Geertz, C. 99, 101, 107, 108
Clason, A. T. 39 Geller, S. A. 94
Coats, G. 10 Gerleman, G. 22
Cohen, C. 39 Gerstenberger, E. S. 105, 109
Cole, R. D. 9 Gilders, W. K. 77–81, 83, 98, 101–4, 107,
108
Damasio, A. R. 50 Givón, T. 71
Darwin, C. 51, 52 Goode, W. J. 98
Davies, P. R. 84 Gorman, F. H. 82, 97, 98, 102, 103, 107,
Delitzsch, F. 9, 96 108
Dennett, D. C. 99 Gottlieb, A. 72, 73
Dever, W. G. 96 Gray, G. B. 14, 22
Diamond, E. 14 Green, J. D. 50
Dillistone, F. W. 99 Grimes, R. L. 98, 101
Index of Authors 117
Gruber, M. I. 66 Kurtz, J. H. 19
Gruenewald, I. 87, 98 Lakoff, G. 45
Lambert, W. G. 47
Haidt, J. 53, 54, 56 Lang, B. 97
Haran, M. 39, 86, 91, 108 Lévi-Strauss, C. 32, 33, 40, 41
Harris, M. 40 Leach, E. 32, 33, 86, 98
Hartley, J. 12 Lemardelé, C. 12
Hendel, R. S. 89, 90, 92 Levenson, J. D. 93
Hentrich, T. 68 Levine, B. 9, 20, 22, 23, 25, 98, 102, 105,
Herrenschmidt, O. 101 108
Herrmann, J. 19, 20 Levine, C. 48
Heschel, A. J. 91 Lindblom, J. 89
Hewer, A. 48 Looy, H. 50, 52, 53
Hill, D. R. 98
Himmelfarb, M. 44 Maccoby, H. 43, 68, 73, 86, 105
Hoffmann, D. Z. 36, 43 Mahapatra, M. 48
Hoffner, H. A., Jr. 69 Maimonides, M. 88
Houston, W. 39, 106 Malinowski, B. 32
Houston, W. J. 102 Malul, M. 96
Huffmon, H. B. 97 Mandelbaum, B. 88
Hulse, E. V. 57, 68 Marx, A. 11, 63
Humbert, P. 60 Mauss, M. 32
Hurlbut, W. 51 McCauley, C. 53, 54, 56
McKane, W. 90, 92
Janowski, B. 18–20, 22 Mendelssohn, M. 88
Janzen, D. 98 Merritt, J. 69
Jay, N. 98 Meshel, N. S. 33, 55
Jenson, P. 10, 13, 16, 26 Meyer, F. B. 9
Johnson, M. 45 Meyer, R. 47, 48
Jones, R. N. 66, 68, 72 Middleton, J. 98
Milgrom, J. 10–14, 16, 20, 22–25, 27, 28,
Kalanithi, P. 51 30, 33, 35–37, 39, 55–61, 63, 67, 69–72,
Kaufmann, Y. 90, 91, 97, 98, 101 77, 79–83, 86, 91, 94, 97, 99–108
Kazen, T. 44–46, 52, 58, 62, 63 Miller, J. G. 48
Keil, C. F. 9 Miller, W. I. 53, 54
Kekes, J. 50, 54 Moore, S. F. 101
King, P. J. 69 Moran, W. L. 33
Kittay, E. F. 45 Morrison, N. 50, 52
Kiuchi, N. 12, 13, 15, 16, 19, 78, 103, 104 Myerhoff, B. G. 101
Klawans, J. 23, 24, 37, 43–46, 84–89, 92,
93, 95, 101, 106–8 Neusner, J. 43
Klingbeil, G. 16, 96, 97, 107 Noordtzij, A. 9, 13
Knohl, I. 34, 35, 59, 91, 93, 94, 98, 101 Noth, M. 14
Kohlberg, L. 48 Nussbaum, M. 54
Kolnai, A. 53
Kropotkin, P. 51 Olyan, S. M. 102
Kuemmerlin-McLean, J. K. 98 Orlinsky, H. M. 91
Paran, M. 33 Stager, L. E. 69
Parunak, H. van D. 67, 71 Stamm, J. J. 19, 21
Penner, H. H. 86 Stewart, D. T. 67, 73
Piaget, J. 48 Sweeney, M. A. 89, 91
Preuss, H. D. 57
Tambiah, S. J. 40, 98
Radcliffe-Brown, A. R. 32 Teehan, J. 51, 52
Ramban 10 Toorn, K. van der 99
Rappaport, R. A. 100, 101 Turiel, E. 48
Reiner, E. 46 Turner, V. 99
Rendtorff, R. 94
Ringgren, H. 89 Urbach, E. E. 88
Rodriguez, A. 10, 11
Rofé, A. 89 Van Beek, G. W. 96
Rogerson, J. W. 108 Vandier, J. 47
Rowley, H. H. 91 Vaux, R. de 86, 91
Rozin, P. 53, 54, 56 Vriezen, Th. C. 103
Sakenfeld, K. D. 21 Watts, J. W. 109

Sanders, E. P. 43 Weber, M. 89
Schenker, A. 20 Wefing, S. 104
Schwartz, B. J. 19, 25, 30, 34, 55, 83 Wegner, J. R. 65
Schwartz, J. 62 Weinberg, Z. 10
Scurlock, J. A. 98 Weinfeld, M. 34, 91
Severino, S. K. 50, 52 Wenham, G. 10, 13, 21, 23, 25, 69
Shweder, R. A. 48, 49 Whitekettle, R. 71
Sklar, J. 18–20, 22–31 Williams, J. G. 90
Smith, J. Z. 85, 87 Wilson, C. 49
Smith, M. S. 97 Wright, D. 11, 35–37, 55, 66, 68, 72, 79, 82,
Smith, P. 101 96, 97, 102, 104–6
Smith, R. S. 86, 87
Sperber, D. 99 Zohar, N. 78, 80
Spiro, M. E. 86 Zuesse, E. M. 99
Staal, F. 87, 101

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LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/

OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES

Baruch J. Schwartz, David P. Wright,

T & T Clark International, 80 Maiden Lane, New York, NY 10038

T & T Clark International is a Continuum imprint.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

THE FUNCTION OF THE NAZIRITE’S

SIN AND IMPURITY: ATONED OR PURIFIED? YES!

PURE, IMPURE, PERMITTED, PROHIBITED:

DIRT AND DISGUST:

DOES THE PRIESTLY PURITY CODE DOMESTICATE WOMEN?

BLOOD AS PURIFICANT IN PRIESTLY TORAH:

METHODOLOGY AND IDEOLOGY IN THE STUDY

PAGANS AND PRIESTS:

Index of References 111

AB The Anchor Bible

RSR Recherches de science religieuse

Jonathan Klawans’s study, “Methodology and Ideology in the Study of

semiotic analysis, distinguishing as required between signs, signals, symbols,

Sin and/or Desanctiﬁcation of the Nazirite?

Empowerment of the Nazirite?

Preparation for Culmination of Nazirite Sanctity?

17. Cf. J. Hartley, Leviticus (WBC 4; Dallas: Word, 1992), 56–57.

33. Kiuchi, The Puriﬁcation Offering, 55.

Second, while the puriﬁcation offering of the priests is on their behalf, as

Various Approaches to the Translation of the Verb CA6<!:

“To ransom.” A second approach understands atonement in terms of CA6< !, that

texts in Lev 4–5: “*9

“To Purify/Purge/Effect Purgation”

The Relationship Between Sin and Impurity

45. See the discussion above.

The thrust of the passage is straightforward. Verse 30 states that a murderer

In this instance, a normal CA6< ! (i.e. a payment of money) was insufﬁcient to

In 1962 C. Lévi-Strauss1 showed that animal classiﬁcation systems expressed

1. Claude Lévi-Strauss, Le Totémisme aujourd’hui (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France,

The Common Vorlage of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14

attributed to a species, designates “ritually deﬁling, and also prohibited for

demanded (17:15–16, H). Impurity is often inevitable, and it is even expected of

Conceptual vs. Normative Legislation

What motivated the authors of Lev 11 to reject the simple, traditional

is difﬁcult to apply Lévi-Strauss’s general theory to particular systems of classi-

Appendix I: The Structure of Leviticus 11 (Following Milgrom)24

Appendix II. Tables 1–3

Pure (okay) Impure (not okay)

Tables 2–3. The Alternative Classiﬁcation System in Leviticus 11

Consumption a. Pure b. Impure

Contact a. Pure b. Impure

Morality and Purity

deﬁling force and a source of a “religious,” as distinct from “levitical,” impurity,

While there is a moral aspect to the idea of purity in ancient Judaism, 14

14. Cf. ibid., 214–22.

Discussing morals in ancient Mesopotamia, W. G. Lambert noted that popular

25. W. G. Lambert, “Morals in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Jaarbericht No 15 van het Voor-

He goes on to exemplify with cultural differences:

33. Shweder, Mahapatra, and Miller, “Development,” 3.

From a neurobiological perspective, human morality is thus a rational and an

promising stimuli, such as pleasure or pain. Moral development is intimately

Morality and Disgust

51. Cf. Morrison and Severino, “Biology,” 855–62.

Disgust and Dietary Laws

However, a number of problems are involved in reserving > for con-

Disgust and Human Decay

82. Cf. H. D. Preuss, “937

Various Approaches to the Translation of the Verb CA6<!:

However, a number of problems are involved in reserving > for con-

The most conspicuous term is “abomination” (93HE), already mentioned,