Living without Justice. Loren R. Fisher
Pelethites, who were from Crete and other islands in the far west, as were the Philistines. He noted, however, that many of the guards knew nothing about Crete or the islands, because their grandparents had arrived in this country with the invasions of the Sea Peoples about two hundred years ago. Some of them were born and raised at Beth-shan where the Sea Peoples had been mercenaries for many years, going back to the time of the Egyptian rule at Beth-shan. The ones from Beth-shan did know something about Crete, because their ancestors had kept alive some of their traditions. It is clear that these people have made some contributions to our own language, that is, the language of Canaan. One example is our use of their word seren, meaning, “lord” or “ruler.” But my father says that the most important thing he has learned from all of these contacts is that all of us in our world—from Babylon to Crete and from Ugarit to Egypt—have a common cultural background. At times, even during periods when we are enemies, we all seem to remember, to write, to tell stories, to celebrate, and to worship in ways that reveal this common background. This common background does not mean that individual countries cannot make important and new contributions, but new contributions always have a world of old traditions to overcome—both foreign and local.
The location of the academy in Jerusalem is also important. Other academies in places like Tyre or ancient Ugarit probably receive information as to recent events before we do, but our weather, especially in the summer, is so much better for our work. The inhabitants of coastal cities have to endure hot and muggy days in the summer while at the same time our thin air is invigorating. True, they have the sea to extend their horizons, but we have the exciting views from the mountains. When looking east from the Judean mountains and down toward the Salt Sea, I have often marveled at how the layers of dirt and rock have been twisted and turned in past ages. This landscape is so different from the horizontal layers of earth that make up the lowlands to the west or can be seen in the Egyptian hieroglyph for earth (Egyptian ta’ represented by a horizontal bar). The sea seems so constant, but the mountains cause one to think about the changes that have occurred in the story of our earth. Living in Jerusalem has made me aware that not only do people change, but the earth changes as well.
So the academy and Jerusalem are important to me; I love them dearly. This is not to say that things are perfect here. In the city we have to be aware of the presence King David and his administration, even his prophets and priests. Especially the priests are difficult, and I must say that some teachers and students in the academy are conservative and always against any change or new thought. Such members of our community do not learn anything from our contacts with others or our mountains. They live in fear of King David, his priests, and his God, and their lives are dull and unrewarding. Among the minority, who are aware of our international setting and the opportunity we have to contribute something new to our world, there is a spirit of adventure, and that makes for an interesting and meaningful life.
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My mother and father, Keziah and Jonathan, are wonderful parents and thoughtful members of the scribal community. They have lived at the Jerusalem Academy since its beginning just after David conquered Jerusalem. My father’s most important works are: The Royal Epic (Genesis), which he edited with the help of others, and his poem, The Rebel Job (Job 3–26). My mother is also a writer. She has always kept a journal, and she has written The Jerusalem Academy, a book about our early years at the academy, and The Minority Report, a book that describes father’s work on The Rebel Job. Both of her books show how our minds and our lives were shaped during those years.
During the first years of the Jerusalem Academy, we celebrated my grandfather Gad’s seventieth birthday party. At the party, my parents also held a naming ceremony for their infant son in which mother read her poem:
“Naam,” we call forth his name.
He will give us pleasant days;
He will fill them with great songs.
Goodness was ours when he came.
We gave him a hero’s name.
Lives touched by him will be changed.
He will sing of great events;
We will never be the same.
My mother had high hopes for me. In her poem she drew upon every possible meaning of the word na‘am. Though I try to be pleasant and good and can sing, as a mature adult I can assure you that I will probably never be a hero.
It was exciting growing up at The Jerusalem Academy, and my childhood was shaped by intellectuals who were drawn to the school. My family had many interesting friends, and they were all involved in projects that could very well change the direction of our lives and our state. My parents invited people into our home who brought growth, change, and happiness to all who were involved in their adventures. This was the case when my father, along with Elimelech and Elishama, produced the Royal Epic. They worked a long time searching for stories about the beginning of our world, and they gathered songs and stories about our fathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. These stories and songs were commonly used in tomb rituals, and it was not an easy task to select the most appropriate stories and songs. They compiled the epic in order to bring unity to the separate states: Israel and Judah. In an epic all the people have to hear the stories and claim them as their stories.
My father, Elimelech, and Elishama were able to complete this epic in time for the dedication of David’s palace. The dedication was a traditional seven-day celebration, and during that time our minstrels performed the entire epic. The people enjoyed this celebration, and it did help to unify them.
Some of the accomplishments of the academy were accompanied by problems and in some cases by dangers. Since the established leaders of both altar and state usually dislike new ideas that are essential to adventure, growth, and happiness, David and the priests did their best to hide my father’s poem, The Rebel Job. Both altar and state went along with The Ancient Story of Job, which stressed the fear of God and obedience as the necessary prerequisites for a good, healthy, and long life. The ancient Job was patient and willing to bow before the creator in repentance for his sins (known or unknown). Thus, he received his reward. But this story was and still is a false illusion. Though threatened by certain priests, father maintained a contrasting opinion: the rebel Job was in touch with the real world and his views were important. The rebel said that the God of the orthodox was not all-powerful and that there was no justice (note God’s hidden testing of the ancient Job). We all suffer in this world regardless of our situation. Father’s Job wanted to build a meaningful life by helping others and blaming no one for life’s difficulties. The Rebel Job, as I have said, is one example of our problems in the academy; it is a powerful example. It is a clear and critical word directed at the idea of retribution by an all-powerful God, and this idea was woven into the fabric of all our traditions: our chronicles, our stories, our laws, our psalms, and even the words of our prophets. But the priests believed that The Rebel Job would create a non-conforming public, and that the public would become impossible to rule. Mother’s book, The Minority Report, deals with this issue in detail, but this is only one example of the kind of tension that existed between some of the scribes at the academy and those entrenched in positions of power in both altar and state. The tensions got better a little later, because Sheva, who was the head of the academy, reversed his rather blind support of altar and state. Also his wife, Sarah, and their daughter, Naomi, helped to convince Sheva to stand with his friends in the academy.
I do not want to give the impression that our life at the academy was always a life of producing great epics or of political tension. We had great times at weddings, parties, celebrations, and at home we always enjoyed our meals around the family table. As children we had great times at school, at play, and in the evenings we would go up on the roof of our house to tell stories. All our friends in The Jerusalem Academy, both adults and children, thought I would become a teacher in the academy. Also they were certain that Rachel, daughter of Elishama and Deborah, and I would be married one day. We grew up together; we went to school together; we helped to care for the other children. Rachel was beautiful and talented, and we sometimes talked about our future life together.
When I was twenty years old, I began to notice just how beautiful Rachel had become, and I was interested in becoming more than Rachel’s good friend. Rachel seemed