Abstract
The literary analysis of Exod. 2.1–10 offered in this article identifies a multi-layered narrative performance of identity formation around three foci: first, around ethnic formation shaped by an encounter between an exposed Hebrew child and an Egyptian rescuer who is viewed favorably by the storyteller (2.3–6); second, around ethnicity associated with nurturing that reunites the displaced child with members of his subgroup (2.7–9); finally, around ethnicity portrayed as malleable political identity by which the son of a Levite's daughter becomes the son of Pharaoh's daughter (2.2, 10). Read in light of three major theories on ethnicity (Situationalism, Primordialism, and Constructivism), the story reflects not only circumstantial ethics of individual actions, but also how larger socio-cultural and political shifts create and structure identity formation and meaning. Moses’ adoption (2.10) constitutes the culmination of a cluster of socio-economic, cultural, and political negotiations involving members of his Hebrew subgroup and a member of the house of Pharaoh.
Keywords
1. Introduction
The biblical motif of child birth, exposure, and adoption reflects socio-cultural, political, economic and legal traditions of ancient Near Eastern adoption practices and processes. 1 However, the use of the motif to describe the birth of a son to the daughter of a Levite, his exposure, rescue by the daughter of Pharaoh, nurture by his biological mother, and eventual adoption by the daughter of Pharaoh in Exod. 2.1–10 is concerned with more than the adoption of a single child. A key moment in the narrative is the princess's identification of the exposed child in the basket, first as a young man (רענ) crying and then as one of the Hebrew children (2.6). 2 The princess's dual representation of Moses as ‘young man’ and ‘child’ rhetorically connects Moses with the ‘young women’ (תרענ) that make up her political entourage (2.5), and with Hebrew ‘children’, presumably an ethnic enclave within the geographical confines of Egypt.
The motif that transforms the story of a child's exposure (2.3–4) and adoption (2.10) into a community story is the character of the relationship between the subgroup and the daughter of Pharaoh, the political representative of Egypt (2.6–9). Initially sparked by events involving a young man in distress, a compassionate princess and a watchful sister, this motif plays out in the form of ethnicity, constructed in the genealogical, socio-political, cultural, and economic spaces that define and shape subgroup and national identity. 3 Moses’ dual representation, which comes to full public recognition with his adoption in 2.10, warrants sustained reflection on ethnicity as a hermeneutical rubric for understanding this text as well as key aspects of the Exodus narrative involving the Israelites as a group. In addition to providing narrative and social structure to the birth–exposure–adoption story, Moses’ dual representation provides an interpretive ‘blueprint’ for the larger exodus story, for two reasons. First, his rhetorical association with the princess's entourage corresponds to his special but challenging status with the adopting personality (Yahweh) in Israel's adoption story, in which Moses becomes ‘like God’ (4.16; cf. 7.2). Second, his association with Hebrews by a potential adopter who ultimately claims him as ‘son’ is conceptually analogous to Yahweh's metaphoric adoption of Israel as Yahweh's ‘son’ (Exod. 4.22, 23). One consequence of this double representation is that the language of adoption in the personal story (ךבל הל יהיז, 2.10) becomes part of the language of leadership and authority in the emerging national story (זל היהת םיהלאל, 4.16).
Since Hugo Gressmann argued that the story of Moses’ birth originally existed as a legend of the birth of a hero and was only secondarily linked to the threat against the entire Israelite population, several critical refinements of Gressmann's theory have developed further insights into the genre and rhetorical and socio-political functions of the story.
4
Form-critical and redaction-critical analyses have arrived at a general consensus that the child exposure–adoption theme was a common literary motif in ancient Near Eastern and Greek writing.
5
Comparisons with the tales of Sargon of Akkad (c. 2300
My argument is as follows: a literary analysis that is attentive to the political, cultural, and economic features of Exod. 2.1–10 shows a multi-layered narrative performance of identity formation. This narrative performance revolves around three foci: first, around ethnic formation significantly shaped by an encounter between an exposed Hebrew child and an Egyptian rescuer whom the storyteller views favorably (2.3–6); 8 second, around ethnicity associated with nurturing that reunites the displaced child with members of his subgroup (2.7–9); finally, around ethnicity portrayed as malleable political identity by which the son of a Levite's daughter becomes the son of Pharaoh's daughter (2.2, 10). 9 I will return later to discuss how these three narrative foci are related to three major theories on ethnicity (Situationalism, Primordialism, and Constructivism). For now, it suffices to mention that the narrator repeatedly uses verbs of motion to describe the characters, creating not just the impression of a highly active story world, but also reflecting the larger socio-cultural and political shifts that frame the story and result from characters’ interactions. 10 Indeed, Moses’ adoption (2.10) constitutes the culmination of a cluster of socio-economic, cultural, and political negotiations involving members of his Hebrew subgroup and members of the house of Pharaoh. What I propose to do here is interpret the story as a multi-layered construal of identity formation, refracted through the lens of ethnicity. 11
2. Text, Narrative Anchors, and Narrative Movements
2.1. Text
The text of Exod. 2.1–10 reads as follows:
A man from the house of Levi went and took a daughter of Levi. The woman conceived and gave birth to a son. She saw that he was healthy, so she concealed him for three months. When she could no longer conceal him, she acquired a papyrus basket for him, 12 and she plastered it with bitumen and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and set it among the reeds on the banks of the Nile. His sister stood at a distance to perceive what would happen to him (lit. to know what will be done for/to him). The daughter of Pharaoh went down to bathe at the Nile, and her young women walked beside the Nile. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid, and she got it. She opened it and saw him, and behold, a young man crying. She had compassion on him and said, ‘This is one of the Hebrew children’. Then his sister said to the daughter of Pharaoh, ‘Shall I go and call for you a wet nurse from among the Hebrews to nurse the child for you?’ Pharaoh's daughter said, ‘Go!’ So the young girl went and called the child's mother. Pharaoh's daughter said to her, ‘Make this child walk and nurse him for me, and I will pay your wages’. So the woman took the child and nursed him. When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh's daughter, and he became her son. She named him Moses, for she said, ‘I drew him from the waters’.
2.2. Narrative Anchors
There are three narrative anchors in the story. First, there is a ‘son–son’ anchor (2.2, 10) that describes how the son of a Levite woman becomes the son of an Egyptian princess, a story that uses the circumstantial moment of rescue and the eventual process of adoption to perform a political function of locating Moses in Pharaoh's court. The story is thereby institutionally located. Second, there is a ‘daughter–daughter’ anchor (2.1, 10), structured around the perceptions and ethically based life-saving actions of two daughters, a biological mother and an adoptive mother. The story is thereby ethically motivated. Finally, the middle space, the holding space that brings together individual, circumstantial ethics and institutional practice and policy is the narrative rhetoric of group association, which connects Moses to his biological mother's entourage (described as an ethnic subgroup) and to his adoptive mother's entourage (described as young women). This is also a ‘child–young man’ story, sociologically grounded.
The following narrative structure is discernible in the story, connecting those three anchors:
In the development of the narrative, vv. 5–6 constitute a chiastic turning point that uses social identification to expand the story beyond Moses. 13 Through Miriam's mediation, a ‘daughter–daughter’ relationship connects the daughter of Levi and the daughter of Pharaoh, expanding the story beyond the circumstantial motivations and ethics of both daughters, using the rhetoric of social identification and ethnic representation to add a layer of socio-cultural texture to the story. Ultimately located in Pharaoh's court, the story is not without its enduring ethnic character, expressed through the narrative perspective of the adopting personality's etymology about Moses’ name.
The two daughters echo and parallel each other in significant ways; they are portrayed as using their economic resources and social virtues to provide security, structure, and cultural texture to an otherwise vulnerable child/son. First, their initial actions are grounded on perceptions of a son/young man: one sees a good/healthy son (2.2) and the other sees a young man crying (2.6). Cumulatively, both daughters see the beauty/goodness and the distress that characterize Moses’ lived experiences in the shadow of Pharaoh's decree (1.22). 14 Second, their perceptions lead to actions attending to survival and nourishment: the biological mother acquires a protective basket for her son (2.3) while the adoptive mother funds the nourishment of the child after getting the basket and rescuing him (2.9). Both daughters initiate attempts at providing a structured solution involving the larger ‘community’ of characters in the story. Third, ironically, these actions lead to momentary separation of both women from the son/young man: the biological mother places the child among the reeds (2.3) while the adoptive mother gives away the child to be nursed by a Hebrew woman (2.9).
While the biological mother, in a moment of political vulnerability when she could no longer hide her son, places the (beautiful/healthy) son on the banks of the Nile and therefore at the discretion of the ‘nation’ (Pharaoh had commanded that children be cast into the Nile, 1.22), the adoptive mother, perhaps at a moment of apparent cultural vulnerability, momentarily releases a (crying) young man whom she already claims (‘nurse this child for me’) to a member of the ethnic subgroup. In this cluster of perceptions and activities, the two daughters, representing ‘subgroup’ and ‘national’ identities respectively, nevertheless interact in ways that mimic each other. And in that narrative mimicry, it is not the subgroup that mimics the nation; rather, it is the adoptive mother that mimics the biological mother. The chiastic structure to the story and the thematic mimicry that characterizes the actions of the two daughters suggests a narrative ‘architecture’ that expands from inside-out.
2.3. Narrative Movements
2.3.1. Exposure, Identification, and Ethnicity (Exodus. 2.3–6)
No longer able to conceal her son after three months, the daughter (תב) of Levi puts the child in a papyrus basket (אמג תבת) and sets it among the reeds of the Nile. Eventually, the daughter (תב) of Pharaoh sees and sends for the basket (הבת). Accordingly, the symbol of security (תבת) has moved from the daughter (תב) of Levi to the daughter (תב) of Pharaoh. As I have suggested above, in this תב-הבת/תבת-תב movement, the two daughters are paralleled and begin to echo each other. Connected by their ‘seeing’ (האר) a son/child (2.3, 6) and their ‘acquiring’ (חקל) a basket (2.3, 5), the two daughters uphold the experiences associated with Moses’ character as a healthy son and a crying young man. And in this narrative movement where the private gaze of a biological mother and the public gaze of a potential adopting mother come together, Moses’ identity shifts from the domain of concealment and the secret to the domain of public recognition and affirmation. In that public space, shared by both daughters, Moses’ persona emerges as two-dimensional. The storyteller describes what the princess saw in 2.6: ‘she saw the child (דלי) and, behold, a young man (רענ) crying’. As if in anticipation of the formal adoption in 2.10, ethnic and political identities converge in Moses.
In terms of socio-political performance, the encounter between the princess and the child/young man publicly initiates the story's political and ethnic character. The encounter not only allows the daughter of Pharaoh to begin laying claim to Moses, it also initiates public dialogue and actions related to the socio-political function of members of the ethnic enclave in constructing subgroup-national identity, now represented in Moses (Exod. 2.6–9; cf. 2.11–15a). Noticeably, the princess's presence in that public space is not threatening, as is evident by the narrator's description of her interactions with the crying young man. 15 The idiom used to describe the princess's motivation towards the crying young man is לע…למח. This idiom is used elsewhere (cf. 1 Sam. 15.3, 9, 15; 23.21; 2 Chron. 36.17; Zech. 11.5, 6) to describe the preservation of someone's life, usually in a context of political violence. It is also used to describe the protective affections of a parent for their child in the midst of destruction (Mal. 3.17). Accordingly, the placement of the child (דלי) in a basket among the reeds (Exod. 2.4) has life-threatening connotations, rendered explicit by the fact that a young man (רענ) was found crying (Exod. 2.6). The trauma of exposure is vital to the public expressions of social belonging and alienation, articulated in ethnic and political terms (cf. Exod. 2.15b–22). Moses’ character embodies a confluence of political and ethnic identities framed around birth, exposure, and adoption.
These identities are vitally connected to the political and economic features of the narrative. In contrast to the Pharaoh's command to ‘throw’ or ‘cast’ (ךלש) male children into the Nile (1.22), Moses is ‘set among’ (ב…םש) the reeds on the banks of the Nile. The phrase echoes as well as anticipates other such prepositional phrases, the ‘setting over’ (לע…םש) of labor force authority in 1.11 and the attempted ‘setting over’ (לע…םש) of Moses’ political and legal authority at the workplace in 2.14. The placement of a makeshift vessel among the reeds of the Nile locates the child at a vulnerable space; his rescue and adoption into Pharaoh's house locates him at a powerful space. The fact that reeds were used in ancient Egypt to produce baskets, pens, sandals, artwork, and even spears adds a layer of meaning to the text. 16 The sociology of the narrative as well as the literary echoes evoked by the language of ‘setting’ suggest that the exposure of the child at the Nile captures anxieties associated with population (dis)placement resulting from Pharaoh's commands (1.11, 22). The story's play on words combining the ‘house’ (תיב) of Levi, the ‘daughter’ (תב) of Levi (2.1), the ‘daughter’ (תב) of Pharaoh (2.5), and the basket (הבת/תבת) may be more than a literary device; it may reflect how subgroup survival and ‘national’ adoption develop when both identities share the same epistemological and political space, albeit with different narrative capabilities and assumptions.
Beyond the immediate literary context of Exodus, two texts provide further insight into the relation between ethnicity, economics, and the socio-political experience of exile or internal displacement. First, a cluster of themes connect this birth–exposure–adoption story with that of Ishmael's forceful expulsion from Abraham's multi-ethnic, Hebrew–Egyptian household: (a) different child-related terms, ‘son’ (זב, Exod. 2.2, 10; cf. Gen. 21.9), ‘child’ (דלי, Exod. 2.3; cf. Gen. 21.16) and ‘young man’ (רענ, Exod. 2.6; cf. Gen. 21.17, 18, 19, 20), are used interchangeably of an individual whose narrative character embodies the eventual formation of a nation; (b) both stories involve a social experience of mother–child (דלי) separation (Exod. 2.3; cf. Gen. 21.16); (c) the separation is tempered by bridgeable distance (קחר) between the exposed child and a family member (Exod. 2.4; cf. Gen. 21.16); and (d) the moment of rescue is associated with crying (הבב, Exod. 2.6; cf. Gen. 21.16–17). As with Moses’ story, questions of social identity, experience, and ethnicity inform the story of Ishmael, who is presented as the son/child/young man of multi-ethnic parentage, Abraham the Hebrew (Gen. 14.13) and Hagar the Egyptian (Gen. 21.9). In contrast to the Moses story, however, there is no adopting personality in Ishmael's story.
The second text is the allegorical story in Ezek. 16.1–5 describing the birth of Jerusalem. Not only does the story present Jerusalem as the figurative child of multi-ethnic parentage (Ammonite and Hittite), it also depicts the rescuing and adopting personality (Yahweh) as a wealthy benefactor who showed compassion (לע…למח) on vulnerable, exposed, and endangered Jerusalem. 17 The motif of exposure is taken up in this allegory to speak about the birth and adoption of a community, Jerusalem. And just as with Moses’ story, the ethical motivation behind the adopting personality is compassion.
2.3.2. Ethnicity, Economics, and Cultural Identity (Exodus 2.7–9)
Just as with the story about Ishmael (Gen. 21) and the allegory about Jerusalem (Ezek. 16), the narrative about Moses conveys economic concerns related to food and nourishment. Details in the story fit this economic aspect of the story, covertly and overtly. A change in economic fortunes may explain why the daughter of Levi was no longer able to conceal or ‘store up’ her son after three months. The verb ןבּצ may signal an act of protecting a migrant who is perceived as posing economic and political danger (Josh. 2.4) as well as an act of storing up treasure with direct economic implications (Prov. 2.1; 7.1; 10.14). The expression used to describe the acquisition of a papyrus basket (אמג תבת זל־חקתז) for Moses by his mother anticipates the language of unexpected, punitive burdensome labor that the subgroup faces following its demands for liberation in Exod. 5.11: ךבת םבל זחק (‘Get straw for yourselves!’). Furthermore, the exposure at the Nile evokes economic concerns. In fact, almost all references to the Nile in the exodus story have economic implications, for the local populations, for the Pharaoh's house, or for both. 18
Overtly, the narrative connects the rescue with the need for nourishment (2.7), which is then contractually structured by the conversation between the two mothers (2.9). Moses’ sister stationed herself to know what will be done ‘for/to him (Moses)’ precisely because of the economic requirements associated with nursing (2.7, 9). The princess's descent to the Nile, with attendant maidservants, her encounter with a young man crying, and her contractual agreement to pay for the child's nurture create a socio-economic contrast between the wealthy benefactor adopter and a family whose child is rescued crying and in need of nourishment. Miriam's offer to get a wet nurse (labor force) from the Hebrew women and the resulting contractual agreement to nurse the child for pay bring ‘subgroup’ economics into contact with ‘national’ economics.
The subgroup's capacity for semi-autonomy and self-determination, expressed in the story through the language of cultural nurture of its own children, is nevertheless construed as a structured agreement between the adopter and the adoptee's community: ‘take this child and nurse him for me and I will pay your wages’ (2.9). 19 If the princess's funding of the child's nurture is ironic, it is the kind of irony that sidesteps the effects of the economic staying power of the adopter on the adoptee, of the adopting ‘nation’ on the adopted ‘subgroups’. 20
This economic theme immediately extends beyond the exposure–adoption narrative. It is the primary reason for Moses’ repeated visits to ‘see’ members of a subgroup called his ‘brothers’ (2.11–15a)—a visit that results in multiple levels of violence (interethnic, intraethnic, and national) at the workplace. It is equally part of the reason for God's involvement in a national exodus. Thus, when God hears the cries of the people of Israel (2.23; 3.7) and descends to deliver them (3.8), the purpose is to bring them into a land flowing with milk and honey (3.8, 17). This divine involvement leads to multiple plagues involving the Nile, with direct economic impact.
2.3.3. Biology, Adoption, and Ethnicity (Exodus 2.2, 10)
The final movement that connects the two daughters is the adoption scene. The story has gone from the birth scene (‘the woman conceived and gave birth to a son’, 2.2) to the adoption scene (‘she brought him to Pharaoh's daughter and he became her son’, 2.10). The story has moved beyond the circumstantial moment of rescue, reflected in the fact that Moses is now a grown man. His adoption here probably has to do with legal and institutional privileges and protections against such threats as enslavement. 21 Indeed, the language of adoption inaugurating Moses’ adult life is similar to the language of divine adoption of kings elsewhere (2 Sam. 7.14; Ps. 2.7). Moses does not become a king, although that possibility was not lost on the rabbis. In the midrashic tradition, the princess expresses that possibility:
I have brought up a child, who is divine in form and of an excellent mind, and as I received him through the bounty of the river in a wonderful way, I have thought it proper to adopt him as my son and as the heir of thy kingdom. 22
In the biblical tradition, Moses is given an Egyptian name, followed by an etymology that construes his identity and relationship to the royal court not in terms of biology but in terms of rescue. In the adoption scene, sociology, not genealogy, defines Moses’ relationship with the daughter of Pharaoh. However, the reference to Moses as ‘son’ evokes and recalls the imagery of his birth to the daughter of a Levite. And reference to him as a ‘child’ that his mother brought for adoption echoes his association with ethnic Hebrews. Accordingly, the language of adoption adds a layer of political identity to Moses without replacing either his Levite biological ‘roots’ or his Hebrew ethnic associations.
The storyteller's description of Moses’ adoption when he ‘grew up’ (2.10) is probably intended to reflect the antecedent contractual collaboration of both daughters as well as Moses’ eventual engagement with the reality of his multiple identities in the public space. Ethnicity is the multi-layered and multi-dimensional space around which subgroup identity either connects to or disconnects from national identity, which comes with its own nomenclature (2.10). The issue that frames Moses’ birth, exposure, and adoption, and to which he turns his attention as a grown man in the next two mini episodes (Exod. 2.11–15a, 15b–22) is precisely ethnic identity and its socio-political, legal, and economic manifestations in the public space. The child is publicly introduced as ‘one of the Hebrew children’ (2.6) and his mother is ‘a nursing woman from among the Hebrews’ (2.7) who enters into a contractual economic agreement to nurse the child for pay (2.9). However, as a grown man and a political adoptee of Egypt (cf. 2.19), Moses will reenter the ethnic subgroup space not as a vulnerable child in need of rescue but as a potential supervisor of the labor that generates Egypt's economy (Exod. 2.11).
2.3.4. Concluding Comments
There are three narrative movements in this birth–exposure–adoption story. The first movement brings the exposee and adopter together, setting the stage for the adopter's future claims on the child. The second movement highlights the active role of the exposers to the construction of a structured relationship between the exposers, the exposee, and the adopter. The final movement crystallizes the adoption scene, setting the stage for Moses as a grown man to begin inhabiting his dual representations in the public space. These movements raise important questions about the narrative layering, the permeability and malleability, as well as the structuring of ethnic identity. Largely framed in terms of subgroup–national relations represented by two daughters, the story allows for the exploration of the genealogical, sociological, political, and economic dimensions of ethnic identity construction.
3. Some Theoretical Formulations on Ethnicity
Because of its fluidity as a concept, a comprehensive definition of ethnicity is not only difficult but perhaps ultimately counterproductive. However, for purposes of analysis, working definitions and conceptualizations of ethnicity and its social manifestations are warranted. Three views are important for my analysis. First, Primordialism (‘Essentialism’) defines ethnicity in terms of affective, biological, phenotypical, and emotive attributes, deeply rooted in cultural and socio-political notions of ‘kinship’ that claim common ancestry or origin. By focusing on concepts of identity that construct a sense of belonging across socio-economic classes across the vicissitudes of history and across the permeability of cultural and geographical boundaries, Primordialism seeks to differentiate itself from purely circumstantial forms of social mobilization. Second, Situationalism (‘Circumstantialism’, ‘Instrumentalism’) construes ethnic sentiments and loyalties in largely functionalist terms. Ethnicity in this context is understood simply as a tool for achieving political identity. Individuals choose to belong to one ethnic group or another depending on circumstantial logic and interests. Ethnicity in this sense can be dropped once the goal is achieved. The third category, Constructivism, sees ethnicity as a product of macro ‘streams of traditions’ or ‘universes of discourse’ within which individuals and communities live and operate. 23 Constructivism requires analyses of the ‘protean outcome of a continuous … interaction of political, economic and cultural forces both external and internal to developing ethnic communities’. 24 Ethnicity in that sense is not dependent on or limited to individual volition or the construction of a sense of unchanging primordial identity, but is defined by larger historical, socio-political, and economic structures.
In reality, all three forms of ethnic construction are often organically operational in any given process of identity formation. Andreas Wimmer has argued for a ‘multi-level’ analysis of ethnicity that is attentive not just to the macro, historical forces of Constructivism, but also to the individual, contextual variations that ethnicity embodies in its Circumstantialist formulations, and finally to the socially ‘stabilizing’ function that Primordialism evokes and pursues. 25 Analyses of ethnicity should therefore move beyond definitions to examine how the concept creates specific embodied identities (human, cultural, religious, political), and conversely how particular forms of embodiment set into motion distinct processes of identity formation.
Broadly, post-World War II research on race and ethnicity, following the collapse of Nazi ideology, the end of official colonial rule, the rise of social movements (such as the Civil Rights Movement in the United States), and the end of apartheid in South Africa offered a new space for reimagining ethnicity and race in the reconstruction of European and African nation-states as well as US politics. The emergence of sub-Saharan Africa as a multi-ethnic and multi-racial society, as well as changes in national demographics across the globe resulting from post-war migrations, provided a new context for discussions about critical theory on race and ethnicity framed around notions of Diaspora.
The result of these major shifts has been understandably diverse. On the one hand, there has been a move away from the so-called classical formulations around primordial essence (often critiqued as the ideological bedrock for such oppressive practices as Nazism, Colonialism, racial segregation, ethnic genocide, and apartheid). Instead, ethnicity is understood to be consonant with ongoing economic, social, and historical processes and institutions that emerge and define any historical moment. 26 Racial and ethnic identities are not a given; they are constantly being constructed and enforced. On the other hand, there has been a resurgence of a sense of ethnic nationalism in the face of globalization. As Mark Brett accurately writes, ‘Contrary to the expectations of many social theorists writing in the 1950s and early 1960s, ethnic identity is still a pressing feature of contemporary politics the world over’, with the emergence of ‘ethnic nationalisms’ in Europe and the ‘politics of immigration and indigeneity’ in North America and Africa. 27
Contemporary discussions about racial/ethnic, national, and transnational identity include sustained analyses of the socio-economic and political dynamics of multi-racial and ‘poly-ethnic’ societies. 28 And critical theory on race and ethnicity insists on macro and micro analyses that examine not just inter-ethnic and inter-racial dynamics of identity formation but also its intra-racial and intra-ethnic aspects. 29 Such analyses illustrate the distinctions between cultural and political identities and their relevance to the constructions of subgroup, national, and transnational identity. Although these distinctions are especially pronounced around issues of transnational migration, they are not limited to such formulations.
The implications of such research on biblical interpretation are twofold. The first is that it provides fruitful analogies for interpreting the formation of ancient Israelite institutions and cultural identity in the context of ancient Near Eastern empires. 30 The second implication is decidedly contemporary in its ethical motivation. As Joane Nagel has shown, the construction of ethnicity involves the production of identity and culture markers, functioning as permeable boundary-making and meaning-making tools respectively. 31 The role that ethnicity plays as a boundary-making and even survival-making concept attends to the layers of identity formation that characterize a community's struggle to maintain a sense of structural cohesiveness, meaning, and purpose in the face of internal and external socio-political, economic, and cultural flux. Fredrik Barth, who is most credited with advocating a constructivist view of ethnicity, maintained that a certain quality of stability, even constancy, characterizes multi-ethnic communities:
categorical ethnic distinctions do not depend on an absence of mobility, contact and information, but do entail social processes of exclusion and incorporation whereby discrete categories are maintained despite changing participation and membership in the course of individual life histories … Stable, persisting and often vitally important social relations are maintained across such boundaries, and are frequently based precisely on the dichotomized ethnic statuses. In other words, ethnic distinctions do not depend on an absence of social interaction and acceptance, but are quite to the contrary often the very foundations on which embracing social systems are built. Interaction in such a social system does not lead to its liquidation through change and social acculturation; cultural differences can persist despite inter-ethnic contact and interdependence. 32
The intersection between analyses of ancient Israelite society and contemporary lifestyle and theory is a slippery yet vital part of interpretation and cultural hermeneutics. And it is to that task that I now turn.
4. Yahweh and the Princess: Ethnicity, Adoption, and Empire
The issue now is to identify a possible social history in ancient Israel for the production and/or use of this story. That is, which ancient imperial context provides the best possible setting for understanding the characters in the story as embodying complex empire–subgroup relations in which a cluster of specific forms of political, economic, and cultural manifestations are at the center of ethnic identity construction? Given ancient Israel's multiple experiences of domination under the Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, and Greeks, why does Egypt emerge as the ‘empire’ par excellence for the exodus story?
Helena Zlotnick-Sivan's historical analysis illumines intriguing parallels and variations between the tale of Moses’ birth and the concocted biography of Cyrus the Persian.
33
Dating the story of Exodus 1–2 to the period between Cyrus’ death and the conquest of Egypt by the Achaemenids (530–525
In a bid for Persian favor, ingenious collectors of Israelite annals concocted a hero of their own whose resemblance to Cyrus was immediate and uncanny. But they created a hero who could not lay claim to Mesopotamian royalty, nor one capable of leading rival armies. As a non-Persian and non-Mede, Moses cannot become a contender to the throne. But he can represent a minority in Persia with aspirations of its own. By making Moses an ‘Egyptian’, a liminal man with pure Hebrew ancestry on the one hand and an Egyptian royal upbringing on the other, the makers of the Exodus saga created a unique hero. A private avenger of injustice, he is ideally positioned to become a ‘national’ savior. And he alone can also sever the intimate and longstanding ties between Israel and Egypt. Moses exemplifies the culmination of the transformation of Egypt from a hospitable into a hostile entity. His story provided an excuse and justification for the most extravagant undertaking of the Achaemenids, namely, the conquest and annexation of Egypt. 34
The implications of Zlotnick-Sivan's analysis go beyond the narrative of Exod. 2.1–10, but they provide a possible historical context for interpreting Moses’ exposure–adoption story.
Persian Yehud is intriguing for a number of reasons. First, part of its literary, religious, and political ideology emphasizes the role that Cyrus’ edict (Ezra 6.1–5) played in setting into motion the migration of exiles from Babylon to Jerusalem and the empire-backed reconstruction work (Ezra 1–2). 35 Yet, as Kuhrt argues, the main significance of Cyrus’ policy is not its depiction of Cyrus as ‘pious’, but its insight into the mechanism by which Cyrus legitimized his conquest of Babylon by ‘manipulating local traditions—an exercise in which he probably received the support of a fairly powerful segment of the urban population in Babylon, whose traditional privileges were being threatened by Nabonidus’ policy’. 36 There is an important, if veiled resonance with the role of the Egyptian princess who, in contrast to Pharaoh, did not just rescue Moses out of compassion but also collaborated with Moses’ ethnic subgroup to ensure the child's nurture. Not unlike Cyrus and his adopted mother, Moses as a leader will need the support of tribal leaders to carry out the exodus mission effectively (Exod. 3.16–18). Second, imperial financial and labor interests fueled Cyrus’ reconstruction project; indeed,
Cyrus followed a policy similar to that of some earlier Assyrian rulers, whereby cities occupying a key-position in troublesome areas or areas where there was likely to be international conflict had their privileges and/or exempt status reinstated and guaranteed by the central government. 37
In Moses’ story, his rescue is followed by economic concerns expressed by Miriam, and the princess structures a contract with Moses’ mother to pay her for her labor, echoing in contrast the economic challenges in the story. Third, the rationale for the migration under Cyrus’ supervision (Ezra 1–2) was not to occupy a Land of Promise, away from imperial influence, but to reconstitute or re-integrate ethnic and religious communities within the confines of the empire. Similarly, Moses reintegrates the cultural and ethnic ‘space’ of his community within the political confines of Egypt. Indeed, part of Moses’ leadership role in the exodus story is defined in terms of religious pilgrimage within Egypt's political purview (Exod. 3.18; 5.3). 38
The cluster of these specific forms of political, economic, and cultural manifestations has indeed been a part of scholarly analysis of the effects of Babylonian and Persian policies dealing with internally displaced migrants. 39 The relative autonomy for local ‘self-’governance triggered by these policies probably set into motion questions about (self-)identity as subgroups within the empire. Analyses of the specific forms of identity formation in these subgroups need not proceed on the assumption that transitions from one empire to another meant the complete eradication of previous imperial policy or that subgroup reaction to changes in imperial structures necessarily meant complete rejection of old forms of identity; such transitions probably had both a layered and a linear effect on subgroup consciousness.
Accordingly, the story of Moses used the genre of the exposure–adoption motif that stretched back to its Sargon inflection by the Assyrians and its Cyrus inflection by the Persians. However, the biblical story used that motif in a manner that aligned Moses’ fate with that of ‘un-exposed’ Hebrews, narratively portrayed as an ethnic group that did not directly experience the compassion of the princess's rescue but would nevertheless be affected by her ensuing policy of adoption. Although Moses alone is rescued, the ethnic group will be involved and implicated in negotiating the adoption policy. With this expanded constituency, the exposure–adoption motif of a single hero is recast as a story about and/or by an oppressed group and presented in a manner that highlights the role of ethnicity and its political, cultural, and economic implications for an adoption story that includes the ‘exposed’ and the ‘un-exposed’. As John Kessler has argued regarding the emergence of Yehud, one needs to examine ‘the dual roles of ethnicity and distinctive beliefs and practices in the formation of group identity in the context of multi-ethnic imperial/colonial administration’. 40 The story represents the distinctiveness and the overlap between rescue and adoption, between relative self-governance and empire-backed governance, and Moses’ challenging role in shaping that double identity (cf. Exod. 2.11–15).
In folkloric fashion, the story is reticent about naming its characters or providing ‘historical’ narrative details. 41 Social, cultural, and political roles, not names, seem to be of particular importance in this story about the son of a Levite who becomes the son of the daughter of Pharaoh. 42 As this ‘son–son’ story unfolds under the narrative guidance of two daughters representing the subgroup and the empire, the text is silent on the princess's criteria for determining the child's ethnicity. This silence has led to several plausible reasons, including the child's presence at the Nile or his garb or what William Propp calls the ‘plain sense’ of the text, namely, that the child was abandoned. 43 The adoption scene itself has an etiological character.
The three working theories on ethnicity outlined above are relevant to understanding how ethnicity functions in the exodus story. The reason is a simple one: the multiple layers of ethnic construction, permeability, and structuring employed to perform the motif of the child's birth, his exposure, and adoption in Exod. 2.1–10 bring together inter- and intraethnic relationships driven and embodied by women who represent and transgress these boundaries. 44 First, all three women (the princess, Moses’ biological mother, and his sister) are portrayed in ways that resonate with Primordialism. In spite of her personal, perhaps political compassion for a crying young man, the princess agrees with the child's sister to get a Hebrew wet nurse, who is conveniently Moses’ biological mother. Second, there is evidence of Circumstantialism. Following the ‘chance’ discovery of the child, the daughter of Pharaoh engages the daughter of Levi in a contractual, legal agreement that funds the child's cultural nurture and nourishment. 45 Finally, all three women are depicted in ways that engage Constructivism largely shaped by the princess's point of view. Their acts of requesting, getting, funding, and providing Hebrew nursing for the child are constructed in the shadows of, and the lead up to, the nation's claims on the child.
The princess's statement that the child belonged to a group of ethnic Hebrews is not the end, but only the beginning of the process of ethnic construction. Following the princess's association of the child with ethnic Hebrews, Miriam asks: ‘Should I get a wet nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you’? The princess says to the child's mother: ‘Nurse this child for me and I will pay you’, and finally, the biological mother brings the child ‘to the daughter of Pharaoh and he became for her a son’. As a precursor to the national story of exodus, this brief narrative constructs and presents the rescue of a ‘crying young man’ as the beginning of circumstantial identity construction that is integrally linked to a larger ethnic subgroup, purposefully developed for the adopting personality. The ‘ethnic’ nurture that Moses receives from his biological mother; the economic resources from the princess to facilitate Moses’ nurture; and the institutional structure that anchors Moses’ formal adoption—these are all narrated as applicable to the national story. The story is conceptually ripe for divine harvesting. This happens with Yahweh's intervention in ch. 3, which sees Israel being brought to the land of their cultural ancestors, providing them a land flowing with milk and honey, and delivering a people adopted by and dedicated to Yahweh alone.
A cluster of themes describing the princess's rescue and adoption activities anticipate Yahweh's actions on behalf of Israel. Both go down to the place of rescue (Exod. 2.5; 3.8), both see and respond to human crying (2.6; 3.7, 9) and, with the help of members of the ethnic subgroup (2.6–9; 3.16–18), both adopt the rescued child/son (2.10; 4.22–23). 46 In Moses’ adoption story as well as in the eventual national adoption story under Yahweh, members of the subgroup nurse (one of) their children for adoption and, in the process, position themselves as the vital ‘middle-persons’ between the adopting personality and the rest of the population.
5. Conclusion
Moses’ birth–exposure–adoption story involves a transformation that stretches from the home of a Levite family to the courts of the Pharaoh. During this transformation, Moses is referred to as ‘son’ (which locates him institutionally), as a ‘young man’ (which associates him with the princess's entourage), and mostly as ‘child’ (which associates him with his biological mother's social group). A key moment in the narrative is the princess's double characterization of Moses as a young man (crying) and an ethnic child. This double recognition and public identification of Moses is important; it inaugurates the process of Moses’ identity construction. The storyteller seems keen to indicate that there will be no contestation of Moses’ Hebrew ethnicity on the part of his adopting mother. If one is to engage meaningfully and successfully the political implications of the adoption policy, as well as explore the role that members of Moses’ subgroup play in the construction of the narrative, it is not particularly important that Moses’ biological mother should be the one to nurse him. What is important, at the macro level of political engagement, is that a generic ethnic mother nurses him. Apparently recognizing the political power of ethnic identity operational in the princess's statement, Miriam asks to get ‘a nursing woman from among the Hebrews’ (2.7).
Public pronouncements about the ethnic belonging of a formerly displaced and now reintegrating child, however, do not adequately capture the multi-layered nature of subgroup identity formation. The relationship between the rescuing personality and the rest of the subgroup is not direct, and there is apparently something about Moses’ nurture that needs addressing at the primordial level, especially if the story is to move from rescue to adoption. Accordingly, Moses was nursed by his biological mother before he was adopted; cultural and political identities are clearly distinguished here. Gwynn Kessler has shown that nursing was considered to be an important marker, even a transmitter of ethnic identity in the writings of the rabbis. 47 Such an understanding of ethnicity partly explains the critical exchange between Moses and Yahweh in Exodus 3–4 over Yahweh's credentials as an adopting personality, and the need for the participation of Israelite tribal leaders. Beyond the exodus story, such understandings of ethnic construction and transmission through nurturing partly explain the desire to expel foreign women in Ezra (10.10–11) as well as Naomi's role in nursing Obed, the son of Ruth the Moabite (Ruth 4.16).
The group that this story represents through its narrative themes of birth, concealment, exposure, rescue, nurture, and adoption appears to be wrestling with how to negotiate the world of its biological mother and of its adoptive mother, defined in terms of ethnic and political identities. With such layering of identity, the challenges associated with combining the rescue and adoption motifs in the story begin to play out in the next narrative (Exod. 2.11–15) where Moses’ attempts at establishing workplace authority are questioned. The possibility of ‘self-’determination is fraught by the obligations associated with empire-backed funding for cultural nurture. This challenge, it seems to me, is in full display following Cyrus’ edict that sanctioned internal migrations and reconstitutions of semi-autonomous subgroups within the Persian Empire. For Moses and his subgroup community, the tasks of liberation require one to engage not just the empire-generated identity and its enduring legacy (cf. Exod. 2.19), but also the persistent quest for subgroup identity (Exod. 2.1). The political, economic, and cultural inflections of these identities are complex and layered, reflected in the narrative art of a story that reuses the motif of exposure and adoption to lay the groundwork and begin the process for the liberation of communities, not just the rescue and adoption of individual heroes.
Footnotes
1.
See Meir Malul, ‘Adoption of Foundlings in the Bible and Mesopotamian Documents: A Study of Some Legal Metaphors in Ezekiel 16:1–7’, JSOT 46 (1990), pp. 97–126; Brevard S. Childs, ‘The Birth of Moses’, JBL 84 (1965), pp. 109–22; Jonathan Cohen, The Origins and Evolution of the Moses Nativity Story (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1993), pp. 5–27; Donald B. Redford, ‘The Literary Motif of the Exposed Child’, Numen 14 (1967), pp. 209–28.
2.
Over a third of the uses of ‘Hebrew’ in the Hebrew Bible are found in Exodus: 1.15–16, 19; 2.6–7, 11, 13; 3.18; 5.3; 7.16; 9.1, 13; 10.3; 21.2. See Konrad Schmid, Genesis and the Moses Story: Israel's Dual Origins in the Hebrew Bible (trans. James D. Nogalski; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2010), p. 123 n. 465. Other occurrences include: Gen. 14.13; 39.14, 17; 40.15; 41.12; 43.32; Deut. 15.12; 1 Sam. 4.6, 9; 13.3, 7, 19; 14.11, 21; 29.3; Jer. 34.9, 14; Jon. 1.9. Except for a few instances (Gen. 14.13; Exod. 21.2; Deut. 15.12; Jer. 34.9), the term is often used in the presence of, or by someone considered to be foreign. Shammai Engelmayer, ‘Ivri: Naming Ourselves’, Judaism 54/1–2 (2005), pp. 15–21, has argued that the word is used to describe descendants of Eber who adhered to an exclusive belief in God. Thus, although all Hebrews would be Israelites, not all Israelites were Hebrews. Note the distinction between Hebrew and Israelite in 1 Sam. 14.21. The text in 2.6 reads: הז תירבנה ידלימ. The demonstrative הז places emphasis on Moses. However, the partitive mem of ידלימ simultaneously singles out Moses and associates him with Hebrew children. See similar uses of the preposition in Num. 16.2; 25.6; 1 Sam. 24.28; Josh. 2.2, etc. By connecting Moses to ‘Hebrew children’, the text moves beyond Moses’ fate as an individual, anticipating the future adoption of Israel by Yahweh but also highlighting, in contrast, the death of other children in ch. 1. See Danna Nolan Fewell, The Children of Israel: Reading the Bible for the Sake of Our Children (Nashville: Abingdon, 2003), pp. 25–26.
3.
Although the word ‘Hebrew’ is used in 1.15–16 to make a sociological distinction between women of different ethnic backgrounds (Hebrew versus Egyptian), the word is used here in 2.6 in the context of a distinction between an Egyptian princess (thus a powerful, political figure) and a helpless, vulnerable young man. The distinction is socio-political.
4.
Hugo Gressmann, Mose und seine Zeit: Ein Kommentar zu den Mose-Sagen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1912), pp. 1–16. For a critique and expansion of Gressmann, see Childs, ‘The Birth of Moses’, pp. 109–15; Cohen, The Origins and Evolution of the Moses Nativity Story, pp. 5–27; Redford, ‘Literary Motif’, pp. 218–19 and 221–24; Herbert Marks, ‘Biblical Naming and Poetic Etymology’, JBL 114 (1995), pp. 21–42 (29–31); Athalya Brenner, ‘Female Social Behaviour: Two Descriptive Patterns within the “Birth of a Hero” Paradigm’, VT 36 (1986), pp. 267–69.
5.
Schmid, Genesis and the Moses Story, pp. 139–44; William H.C. Propp, Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 1; New York: Doubleday, 1999), pp. 155–60; George W. Coats, Moses: Heroic Man, Man of God (JSOTSup, 57; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988), p. 43; Coats, Exodus 1–18 (FOTL, 2A; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), pp. 28–29; Nahum M. Sarna, Exploring Exodus: The Heritage of Biblical Israel (New York: Schocken Books, 1986), pp. 27–31; Jacques T.A.G.M. van Ruiten, ‘The Birth of Moses in Egypt according to the Book of Jubilees (Jub 47.1–9)’, in Anthony Hilhorst and George H. van Kooten (eds.), The Wisdom of Egypt: Jewish, Early Christian, and Gnostic Essays in Honour of Gerard P. Luttikhuizen (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005), pp. 43–65.
6.
Important recurring themes include the birth of a son to an unknown father, the exposure of the child in a river, who is found and raised by others, and eventually becomes king. Moses, however, does not become king, and his exposure is tempered by the presence of his sister, who watches from a distance to see what would happen to the child. See Dennis T. Olson, ‘Moses’, in Katharine Doob Sakenfeld et al. (eds.), The New Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible. IV. Me–R (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2009), pp. 142–52 (143–44). On similarities between Moses’ story and that of the neo-Assyrian king, Esarhaddon, particularly the king's sojourn abroad, his return to Nineveh, his coronation and the destruction of his enemies, and his covenant with Aššur, see Eckart Otto, ‘Political Theology in Judah and Assyria: The Beginning of the Hebrew Bible as Literature’, Svensk Exegetisk Årsbok 65 (2000), pp. 59–76 (74–75). On the similarities and differences between Moses and Cyrus, especially the fact that the Mosaic saga appears to be a reversal of the heroic narrative about Cyrus, see Helena Zlotnick-Sivan, ‘Moses the Persian? Exodus 2, the “Other” and Biblical “Mnemohistory” ‘, ZAW 116 (2004), pp. 189–205 (191–96).
7.
Coats, Exodus, pp. 28–29, argues that a secondary intention, perhaps more prominent at the oral stage in the history of the tradition ‘would be to explain that the legendary hero of the Israelites, known by tradition as the son of an Egyptian princess and labeled with an Egyptian name, was in fact an Israelite foundling, deserted by his parents under pressure from the pharaoh after they had taken precaution for his protection and future. The legend introduces the name, Moses, and the child who bears it as an Israelite whose fate cannot yet be clearly seen.’ John I. Durham, Exodus (WBC, 3; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987), p. 15 writes: ‘The exposure of Moses, by a Hebrew woman, and his own mother at that, would turn a positive story, in this context, into negative nonsense’. Accordingly, the story is not framed by a literary type or historical memories ‘but by the larger theological purpose governing Exod. 1 and 2, the sequence dealing with persecution and the deliverer’. Childs, ‘Exposure’, pp. 111–15, notes several differences between this story and that of Sargon. He notes that the presence of Moses’ sister, Miriam, tempers the harshness of the exposure, and therefore represents part of the creative work of the Hebrew writer. See also John Van Seters, The Life of Moses: The Yahwist as Historian in Exodus–Numbers (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1994), pp. 25–27.
8.
Judy Fentress-Williams, ‘Exodus’, in Hugh R. Paige et al. (eds.), The Africana Bible: Reading Israel's Scriptures from African and the African Diaspora (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2010), p. 83, argues that Moses is not just a liberator in the story of exodus but also the recipient of liberation from the hands of the women in the story.
9.
Randall C. Bailey has argued that this story (Exod. 2.1–10) is a later addition intended to de-Africanize Moses’ identity as Egyptian by arguing that he was initially Levite. See Randall C. Bailey Bailey, ‘“Is That Any Name for a Nice Hebrew Boy?” Exodus 2:1–10: The De-Africanization of an Israelite Hero’, in Randall C. Bailey and Jacquelyn Grant (eds.), The Recovery of Black Presence: An Interdisciplinary Exploration—Essays in Honor of Dr Charles B. Copher (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), pp. 25–36 (30–31).
10.
Several verbs of mobility characterize the story's narrative, cultural, socio-economic and political movements: a man ‘goes’ from the house of Levi to take the daughter of Levi (2.1); Moses’ sister ‘stations herself’ (2.4) to see what would become of the child, and eventually demands and is allowed to ‘go’ and get a woman from among Hebrew nurses (2.7, 8); the princess ‘goes down’ to the Nile to bathe (2.5) while her maidservants ‘walk along’ the banks of the river (2.5); Moses’ mother is asked to ‘make go’ the child (2:9) and eventually ‘brings’ the child to the daughter of Pharaoh, who names the child and uses another concept of motion (‘draw out’) to explain the child's name (2.10). Motion introduces, develops, and concludes the story.
11.
Following his formal adoption, Moses is given an Egyptian name with a Hebrew etymology. Herbert Marks, ‘Biblical Naming and Poetic Etymology’, JBL 114 (1995), pp. 21–42 (29–31), argues that the use of etymology in the story is a literary motif that captures makeshift beginnings, not original beginnings and therefore attends to the elements of ‘disguise and doubling’ of identity in the succeeding scenes.
12.
The idiom ל…תקל can be used to describe the creative acquisition of a product or resource. See Exod. 5.11: ךבת םבל זחק (‘Acquire straw for yourselves’). In fact, the word for ‘basket’, הבת, here echoes Noah's ark in Gen. 6.14, an object that required enormous resources to construct.
13.
On 2.6 as the chiastic and narrative turning point, see Susanne Scholz, ‘The Complexities of ‘His’ Liberation Talk: A Literary Feminist Reading of the Book of Exodus’, in Athalya Brenner (ed.), Exodus to Deuteronomy: A Feminist Companion to the Bible (The Feminist Companion to the Bible, 2nd Series, 5; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), p. 25; Gordon F. Davies, Israel in Egypt: Reading Exodus 1–2 (JSOTSup, 135; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), p. 92.
14.
Scholars differ on whether to connect 1.22 with the birth story or with the preceding section (1.15–21). Dennis T. Olson, ‘Literary and Rhetorical Criticism’, in Thomas B. Dozeman (ed.), Methods for Exodus (Methods in Biblical Interpretation; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 33–35, argues that 1.22 should be linked with the birth narrative in 2.1–10, since 1.21 seems to bring the episode about the midwives to a close. Furthermore, 1.22 speaks of throwing children into the Nile, a theme taken up with some modification in 2.1–10. On the other hand, Donald W. Wicke, ‘The Literary Structure of Exod. 1.2–2.10’, JSOT 24 (1982), pp. 99–102, argues that Exod. 1.15–22 serves as a bridge, with 1.1–14 balanced by 2.1–10. I consider 1.22 to be a connecting verse, linking 2.1–10 with the preceding section, although 2.1–10 is certainly intelligible on its own terms as an exposure–adoption story.
15.
Danna Nolan Fewell pointed out to me in a private correspondence that this non-threatening portrayal of the empire points to the multi-dimensionality of imperial identity, in contrast to the imperial manifestation in Exod. 1. The empire can either kill or protect one's life. This threatening presence is indeed implied in Pharaoh's decrees in ch. 1 and will again manifest in the second narrative episode of ch. 2 (Exod. 2.11–15a).
16.
See Loufty Boulos and Ahmed Gamal-El-Din-Fahmy, ‘Grass in Ancient Egypt’, Kew Bulletin 62.3 (2007), pp. 507–11 (509).
17.
Childs, ‘The Birth of Moses’, p. 117; Malul, ‘Adoption of Foundlings’, pp. 97–107. See also T.B. Dozeman, ‘The Wilderness Salvation History in the Hagar Story’, JBL 117 (1998), pp. 23–42.
18.
With the exception of 1.22, see 2.3, 5; 4.9; 7.15, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24, 28; 8.5, 7; 17.5.
19.
That the language here suggests a suzerainty contractual agreement is evident from the use of similar language elsewhere to describe Laban's dealings with Jacob (Gen. 30.28), Leah's self-understanding of God's dealings with her (Gen. 30.18), and Solomon's business contract with workers from Tyre (1 Kgs 5.6).
20.
Terrence E. Fretheim, Exodus (Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching; Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1991), p. 37, identifies eight ironies in the story that work towards redemption. See also Dozeman, Commentary on Exodus, p. 82. For further analyses of the economic character of the exodus story, see Sigmund Wagner-Tsukamoto, ‘An Economic Reading of the Exodus: On the Institutional Economic Reconstruction of Biblical Cooperation Failures’, SJOT 22 (2008), pp. 116–21.
21.
The Ananiah archive from Elephantine describes a similar process of adoption, in which a certain Jedaniah, a Hebrew slave (called ‘lad’ and ‘son’) of Takhoi is adopted by Ananiah. The text repeatedly has Ananiah saying of Jedaniah: ‘my son he shall become’. See Bezalel Porten, The Elephantine Papyri in English: Three Millennia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), pp. 234–35.
22.
Josephus, Ant 2.9.6–7; Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews. II. From Joseph to the Exodus (trans. Henrietta Szold; Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), pp. 271–72.
23.
Richard Jenkins, Rethinking Ethnicity: Arguments and Explorations (London: Sage, 2nd edn, 2008), pp. 147–52.
24.
Bruce J. Berman, ‘Ethnicity, Patronage and the African State: The Politics of Uncivil Nationalism’, African Affairs 97/388 (1998), pp. 305–41 (310). For further discussion on the theories on ethnicity, see Francisco J. Gil-White, ‘Are Ethnic Groups Biological “Species” to the Human Brain? Essentialism in our Cognition of Some Social Categories’, Current Anthropology 42 (2001), pp. 515–53; Joane Nagel, ‘Ethnicity and Sexuality’, Annual Review of Sociology 26 (2000), pp. 107–33.
25.
Andreas Wimmer, ‘The Making and Unmaking of Ethnic Boundaries: A Multilevel Process Theory’, American Journal of Sociology 113.4 (2008), pp. 970–1022.
26.
For further analyses on the post-war shift in the conceptualization of race and ethnicity in Europe and Africa, see Chris Lorenz, ‘Representations of Identity: Ethnicity, Race, Class, Gender and Religion: An Introduction to Conceptual History’, in Stefan Berger and Chris Lorenz (eds.), The Contested Nation: Ethnicity, Class, Religion and Gender in National Histories (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), pp. 34–43; Berman, ‘Ethnicity’, pp. 308–26; Thomas Spear, ‘Neo-Traditionalism and the Limits of Invention in British Colonial Africa’, Journal of African History 44 (2003), pp. 3–27.
27.
Mark G. Brett, ‘Interpreting Ethnicity: Method, Hermeneutics, Ethics’, in idem (ed.), Ethnicity and the Bible (Boston: E.J. Brill, 2002), pp. 3–22 (3). Over the last half-century, ethnic-related tensions and violence have plagued many parts of the world, including Iraq, Sudan, Kosovo, Kenya, Rwanda, India, Bosnia, USA, Cameroon, etc.
28.
See Fredrik Barth (ed.), Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture Difference (Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press, 1969), pp. 16–19; Mahmood Mamdani, When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Genocide in Rwanda (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), pp. 19–39; Eliezer Ben-Rafael and Stephen Sharot, Ethnicity, Religion and Class in Israeli Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 3–23.
29.
See Howard Winant, ‘Race and Race Theory’, Annual Review of Sociology 26 (2000), pp. 169–85.
30.
See, e.g., Elizabeth Bloch-Smith, ‘Israelite Ethnicity in Iron I: Archaeology Preserves What is Remembered and What is Forgotten in Israel's History’, JBL 122 (2003), pp. 412–24; Brett (ed.), Ethnicity and the Bible; Kenton L. Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel: Prolegomenon to the Study of Ethnic Sentiments and their Expression in the Hebrew Bible (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1998), pp. 1–22; Neil Glover, ‘Your People, My People: An Exploration of Ethnicity in Ruth’, JSOT 33 (2009), pp. 293–313; Gwynn Kessler, ‘Let's Cross that Body When We Get to It: Gender and Ethnicity in Rabbinic Literature’, JAAR 73 (2005), pp. 329–59.
31.
Joane Nagel, ‘Constructing Ethnicity: Creating and Recreating Ethnic Identity’, Social Problems 41.1 (1994), pp. 152–76 (153).
32.
Barth, Ethnicity Groups, pp. 9–10.
33.
Zlotnick-Sivan, ‘Moses the Persian?’, pp. 191–96. Otto, ‘Political Theology’, p. 75, however, argues that the story belongs to the neo-Assyrian period when the king established a covenant with his god, securing the king's accession to power. The biblical authors thus ‘transferred the structure of events derived from the neo-Assyrian account to the people of Israel under Moses’ guidance’, and thereby ‘denied prestige and authority to the Assyrian king’. Moses thus figured as the king's ‘anti-type’, the one who mediated between Israel and their deity.
34.
Zlotnick-Sivan, ‘Moses the Persian?’, p. 203.
35.
See Amélie Kuhrt, ‘The Cyrus Cylinder and Achaemenid Imperial Policy’, JSOT 25 (1983), pp. 83–97
36.
Kuhrt, ‘The Cyrus Cylinder’, p. 93.
37.
Kuhrt, ‘The Cyrus Cylinder’, p. 93.
38.
On migration as pilgrimage in Ezra, see Melody D. Knowles, ‘Pilgrimage Image in the Returns in Ezra’, JBL 123 (2004), pp. 57–65. Knowles points out a number of differences between the exodus narrative and the migrations in Ezra, including: (1) in Exodus the people move en masse at once, but there are multiple journeys in Ezra; (2) in Exodus the Israelites loot the Egyptians, but the wealth of the migrants in Ezra is a direct command of the emperor, Cyrus; and (3) unlike the exodus story where the people are liberated from bondage to a Land of Promise, in Ezra there is no mention of Land of Promise, but rather of the reconstruction of Jerusalem and the temple.
39.
Charles E. Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period: A Sociological and Demographic Study (JSOTSup, 294; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), pp. 249–94, argues that although Yehud was small, demographically and geographically, it nevertheless experienced significant economic activity both locally and with other colonies and the empire. This led to financial support from both the empire and from loyal Yehudites living outside Jerusalem. See also John Kessler, ‘Persia's Loyal Yahwists: Power Identity and Ethnicity in Achaemenid Yehud’, in Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), pp. 98–107.
40.
Kessler, ‘Persia's Loyal Yahwists’, p. 98.
41.
Several text-critical issues permeate the story: What does it mean that a man ‘went’ from the house of Levi and took a daughter of Levi? Was it an incestuous relationship, the sort prohibited elsewhere in Lev. 18.12 and Lev. 20.19? If the story is relating the initial creation of a union between the man and the daughter of Levi, why is it that we hear about the birth of Moses and nothing is said of Aaron and Miriam, especially given the sudden appearance of Miriam in the narrative? What does it mean to say that the baby was ‘good/beautiful’, and why was Moses’ mother no longer able to conceal a three-month-old baby? Did Moses go nameless all those years he was nurtured by his mother? What was the name of the Pharaoh's daughter, and why would she take pity on a Hebrew child and adopt one, given the imperial decree? How did she know that the baby was ‘one of the sons of the Hebrews’? For the multiple responses to these questions and more, see van Ruiten, ‘The Birth of Moses’, pp. 47–48; Propp, Exodus 1–18, pp. 147–53; Scott M. Langston, Exodus Through the Centuries (Blackwell Bible Commentaries; Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), pp. 21–29.
42.
Given the importance of names in the introduction of the book of Exodus (1.1–5), the lack of names here is conspicuous. This void is later addressed by a brief Mosaic genealogy in Exod. 6.16–27. On the importance of genealogy in ancient Jewish writings, see Louis H. Feldman, Philo's Portrayal of Moses in the Context of Ancient Judaism (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), pp. 35–37.
43.
For summary arguments see Propp, Exodus, p. 151
44.
See Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Whispering the Word: Hearing Women's Stories in the Old Testament (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2005), pp. 69–79. ‘National’ boundaries are bridged in the Zipporah story.
45.
On wet nursing, see Childs, ‘The Birth of Moses’, pp. 111–13; Malul, ‘Adoption’, pp. 105–107.
46.
See Fretheim, Exodus, pp. 38–39. The princess's riverside rescue in 2.6 anticipates Yahweh's rescue in 15.4.
47.
Kessler, ‘Let's Cross that Body’.
