A Thought on Parashat Be’ha’alotcha
Ignoring the Biblical Editor
Finalizing the Biblical Text
We know from the Dead Sea Scrolls, from texts found in other desert locations, from the Cairo Geniza, and from improved analytical techniques, that the text of the Hebrew Bible was essentially finalized within a century, or so, of the turn of the era. That is, about 99% of the text we have now is the same as that in versions dated to that time.
Some of the biblical books matured a bit earlier and some a bit later, but Hebrew University scholar Emanuel Tov writes that the text we have today was accepted “as authoritative by all Jewish communities in its consonantal form probably in the 1st century CE.” (E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, 3rd Ed. p 35) Minor editing continued, however, and it was not until the 7th through the 9th centuries CE that the Masoretes, groups of scribes working in the area of Tiberias, finalized punctuation and vocalization of the text.
Those scribes also created what scholars call a critical apparatus for the text. A critical apparatus is a comprehensive set of notes and annotations that identify variant readings—because, in many cases, there are multiple versions of a given text, and differences among them are noted and discussed in the apparatus—as well as grammatical notes, and other scribal information about the text.
One of the functions of the critical apparatus is to make the work of the scribes transparent; to explain why, for example, one version of a variant text has been selected rather than another. So, what we have in our bible is, in essence, the final version of an edited text. The work of the final editor is explained in the critical apparatus but is not visible in the text itself. In almost all cases scribal notes are confined to the critical apparatus.
There are a few exceptions, and one of the most interesting is in the tenth chapter of the book of Numbers, at Num 10:35–36. There, the text contains two instances of the Hebrew letter נ, (nun). The letters in the text are inverted, though; they are upside-down or, in some texts, reversed. One appears just before verse 35 and the other just after verse 36. So, the inverted letters mark off those two verses as in some way unusual. This is how the text looks in the format of a typical Torah scroll:
Numbers 10:35 – 36
נ ויהי בנסע
הארן ויאמר משה קומה ׀ יי ויפצו איביך וינסו משנאיך מפניך ובנחה יאמר שובה יי
רבבות אלפי ישראל נ
Verses enclosed in inverted Hebrew “nun” letters
Reasons Proposed for the Unusual Markings
Traditional commentaries attempt to explain the reason for the two unusual letters. The Talmud in Shabbat 115b-116a tells us that these two verses are actually a separate book of the Bible. The commentators, Rashi and Ramban, write that the two inverted letters tell us that the text of the marked verses is not in the correct place. Another opinion advanced by Gersonides is that they are set off because they do not relate to a specific journey in the desert.
Modern paleographical analysis and text criticism, though, suggests a different reason for the unusual marking. Scholars have noted that the inverted letters are similar to the Greek scribal markings, antisigma and diple, which are found in Alexandrian papyri and Qumran manuscripts. The antisigma was often used to indicate where a scribe had made a change and the diple was used to mark the beginning of a new section, similar to the ¶ mark of the modern editor.
Tov argues that in the specific case of Num 10:35–36 the markings have been misunderstood; that they are actually scribal signs, like the antisigma and the diple, that call for the removal of inappropriate segments of the manuscript. Traditional commentaries conclude that the two-verse section of text is out of place. Tov concludes that it was marked for removal, but that the Masoretic scribes did not remove them, that “they were maintained perpetually in the Masoretic tradition.” (Tov, TCHB, p 51)
A Possible Conflict
If that is the case, we can only speculate on the motivations of the scribes; why the verses might have been marked for removal and why they were ultimately not removed. But there is at least one plausible argument for removal. Those verses might be seen to be in conflict with prior verses that describe the process of moving the Israelites desert encampment.
Numbers 9:15–16 tells us that,
“On the day that the Tabernacle was set up, the cloud covered the Tabernacle, the Tent of the Pact … and whenever the cloud lifted from the Tent, the Israelites would set out accordingly, and at the spot where the cloud settled, there the Israelites would make camp.”
Then, Numbers 9:18 specifies,
“At the commandment of the Lord the Israelites broke camp, and at the commandment of the Lord they encamped…” That specification is repeated (although reversed) in 9:23, “At the commandment of the Lord they encamped, and at the commandment of the Lord they journeyed.”
The text in Chapter 9 makes the point clearly that the camp was moved on God’s command. It seems that two elements were necessary. The cloud needed to move, or come to rest, and the Lord needed to give a command. But then we reach the text at 10:35 and 36, which reads:
“When the Ark was to set out, Moses would say: ‘Advance (or Arise), O Lord! May your enemies be scattered, and may your foes flee before You! And when it halted he would say: Return, O Lord, You who are Israel’s myriads of thousands.’”
It is possible to interpret that passage to mean that the command by Moses was also needed to set the Ark off on its journey. And that might suggest that Moses is commanding God. Of course, it is also possible to read Moses’s words as an entreaty rather than a command and that is probably the better understanding. But in the context of the actual requirements of signaling a move and a settlement in a new location, Moses’s command/entreaty seem superfluous. The movement of the cloud and the commands by God seem all that is required.
What would be lost if the text at Num 10:35–36 was omitted? The opportunity to see Moses in an act of maximum leadership? Perhaps he seems a bit too commanding, though. Maybe it is necessary for Moses, at that point in the story, to be portrayed as bold and commanding. After all, the people are finally setting out for the land they have been promised and there are likely to be dangers to be confronted.
But perhaps the text does raise the question of the actual mechanism for the movement of the camp. And perhaps it can be read as more command than entreaty. That would clearly not be appropriate.
A Possible Explanation
Is there enough ambiguity in the situation to justify an editor’s marking the passage to be omitted? Maybe there is. But if so, why was it not omitted. One of the things that we do know is that, as time passed, there were fewer and fewer changes in the biblical text. And that the redactors were very hesitant to remove text. That is why there are so many seemingly duplicative passages in the bible.
It is possible that the combination of the actual ambiguity created, and the hesitancy to delete passages, led the Masoretes to decide that the text should remain, while also leaving the editor’s marking to show that it is unusual. And leaving it to the reader to decide how to interpret that.
If that was their decision, we are in their debt. Because the words of those two verses are chanted as a part of our liturgy on every day we take the Torah scroll out of the Ark to read it. When we reach the point in our service when the Torah is to be taken out to be read, the chazzan chants the verse at Numbers 10:35:
“Vayehi bin’soa ha’aron va’yomer Moshe …”
and the scroll is walked in procession through the congregation to the reading desk. When the reading is finished, and the scroll is taken back to the Ark, the chazzan chants …
“U’v’nucho yomar …” and the scroll is replaced in the Ark.
We hear those words chanted in their characteristic melody so often – on every Shabbat, every Monday and Thursday, on every holiday – that they are unforgettable.
A Fortunate Result
For whatever reason it was decided that they should remain in the text, they have become such a part of Jewish liturgy that, if ever they were omitted from a service, many would immediately know that something was wrong.
And, so, whether we are aware of it or not, we intone words again and again throughout our lives as Jews, that were apparently the subject of some significant scribal angst in the middle centuries of the first millennium.
And the decision to ignore editorial direction enriches our liturgical experience.