Canaanite Literary Culture Before the Bible, a View from the Canaanite Amarna Letters

Abstract

The present study highlights how the Canaanite Amarna Letters offer unique insight into Canaanite literary culture in the Late Bronze Age. The letters represent the diplomatic acumen of scribes writing letters for local elites that were sent to the Egyptian court in the mid-fourteenth century BCE. Yet they also preserve the earliest evidence of Canaanite literary forms and compositional practices. The letters include memorized formulae and expressions, word pairs, poetic devices, and the use of repetition to frame poetic units, which are common in the practices of later first-millennium scribes working in this same region, including those who wrote the Hebrew Bible. The letters also offer insight into the ways that the scribes combined memorized units into new narrative contexts. Such features added literary texture to the letters, but also contributed to their rhetorical aims. While some poetic passages in the letters may be novel compositions, there is also evidence that literary forms and expressions were integral to Canaanite scribal education by the Amarna period. The Canaanite Letters therefore set an important precedent for literary creation, and for the scribes’ bricolage practices in the process of creating new diplomatic letters.

1. The Canaanite Amarna Letters: Windows into Canaanite Literary Culture

The earliest evidence for Canaanite literary culture takes the form of poetic passages and literary devices in the Canaanite Amarna Letters. The Canaanite Letters are a subset of the Amarna Letters, a corpus of diplomatic letters found at the site of Tell el-ʿAmarna, Egypt, which date to the mid-fourteenth century BCE. During the Amarna Age, cuneiform scribes wrote letters for local Canaanite elites, which were sent to the pharaoh and his officials. The Canaanite Amarna Letters offer insight into southern Levantine political history in the Late Bronze Age period. Yet they also set an important precedent for the varied use of poetic forms and literary expressions in scribal training and text creation. The letters offer insight into the compositional practices of the scribes, including the ways in which the scribes embedded memorized expressions, poems, and literary units in new compositions. They highlight the importance of bricolage in the scribes’ process of text creation by the Amarna period.1

While scholars have noted the literary features in the Canaanite Letters, they are commonly overlooked in the study of southern Levantine literary culture, with a few important exceptions.2 The letters are sometimes cited as evidence for the use of literary works, and/or proverbs, poems, and local sayings, in scribal education in the late second millennium BCE.3 Yet the letters are largely left out of the study of scribalism in later periods, and most notably, they are overlooked in the classic studies of biblical Hebrew poetry; scholars have instead looked to Ugaritic texts as evidence of Canaanite literary culture, and as a source of parallels for the literary forms in the Hebrew Bible.4 We might ask why scholars have largely sidestepped the Canaanite Amarna materials, and instead focused upon the texts from Ugarit.5 Simply, the preserved texts from Ugarit offer a more robust sampling of literary works and poetic forms, and themes.6 Yet Ugarit represents very different political, sociolinguistic, and scribal contexts than the southern Levant in the Late Bronze Age period.7 The Canaanite Letters are more representative of the political and social context, the linguistic makeup, and the writing practices of scribal communities in the southern Levant in the Late Bronze Age. They even hail from the same sites as later first-millennium scribes who presumably were involved in the writing of the Hebrew Bible. They have much to contribute to the study of the evidence for Canaanite literary culture in the late second millennium BCE.

The Canaanite Letters offer the earliest precedent for the writing down of poetic forms by Canaanite-speaking scribes, including literary features which became hallmark features of Hebrew poetry.8 Yet, they are rarely included in the study of Archaic Biblical Hebrew (ABH), or in discussions of the degree of continuity between second and first millennium literary culture.9 Scholars more commonly cite the Canaanite Amarna Letters as linguistic evidence to support arguments, both for and against, the antiquity of the Hebrew poetic corpus, or to evaluate areas of continuity between second- and first-millennium Canaanite dialects more generally, and often with a focus on Hebrew (see Albright 1950; Cross and Freedman 1952; Cross 1973, 1974; Robertson 1972; Pat-El and Wilson-Wright 2013; Vern 2011; and the summaries in Mandell 2013 and Sáenz-Badillos 1993).10 Even works that are more sensitive to the situated nature of the scribes’ cuneiform writing practices tend to connect the letters to a phase or register of spoken Canaanite in the Amarna period.11 Another primary focus of scholarship on biblical poetry has been on the relative dating of the poetic and prose passages, their respective rhetorical functions, and how and why the scribes integrated poetic materials into narrative frameworks.12 While the Canaanite Letters offer the earliest insight into the scribes’ combination of older materials into a new textual context, moreover, the use of repetition as a framing device and organizational scribal marks, the letters are rarely studied from the perspective of scribal compositional practices.

The present study seeks to address this lacuna by highlighting how the Canaanite Letters can provide insight into these ongoing scholarly discussions. Drawing on four case studies, it is argued that the letters are a valuable and underutilized resource for studying the history of Canaanite literary culture. They illuminate the ways that late second-millennium scribes drew upon and adapted aspects of their own literary culture to create new texts. Not only do the letters offer the earliest evidence from the southern Levant of poetic structures that parallel those in biblical Hebrew texts, they also offer insight into scribal strategies of composition and bricolage, which also find parallel in the Hebrew Bible and other first-millennium texts from this region.

The case studies analyzed below highlight three aspects of the scribes’ literary practices: their use of literary units (poems, proverbial expressions, and word pairs); imagery (e.g., the scribes’ use of metaphor and simile); and the scribes’ strategies to embed these forms into the structure of diplomatic missives (vis-à-vis framing devices, scribal marks, and code alternation). The four case studies furthermore offer a window into the literary practices of scribes working in different regions, with different training conventions. The Canaanite Letters are predominantly written in Canaano-Akkadian, an Akkadian-based scribal code rooted in the conventions of Canaanite grammar;13 however, the Canaanite Amarna scribes also periodically employed Canaanite and even Egyptian forms in their letters, which were written using syllabic cuneiform signs (see the summary in Mandell 2023).14 Moreover, the Jerusalem Amarna scribe (discussed below) is distinguished by their adherence to northern Levantine conventions (see Moran 2003). The case studies are therefore reflective of the varied and complex nature of scribal practices in Canaan in the Amarna period. They demonstrate the need for a context-specific approach, grounded in the study of the diversity in scribal practice in this region.

As a further contribution, the present study also contextualizes the literary forms in the letters in their scribal contexts. Advances in the study of paleography (Vita 2015) and the petrographic analysis of the tablets’ clays (Goren et al. 2004) enable us to study the Amarna scribes and their communities with more precision. The tablets can be connected to specific sites, and even to scribes working for local elites, who are named in the letters. The letters can also be used to study the educational practices of scribal communities in Canaan in the Amarna period, as the letters demonstrate a range of skills learned by scribes in the process of tablet creation and in the composition of letters.15 They thereby complement the small number of cuneiform texts and exercises from Canaan, which were used in cuneiform scribal education.16 This aggregate evidence suggests that scribes in Canaan employed similar pedagogical strategies as cuneiform scribes in other regions;17 however, even these materials reflect the drift of local scribal communities from inherited educational models and pedagogies, and their efforts to adapt them to better represent their own needs by the Amarna period.18

The case studies will therefore balance the micro-level context of the forms and also address the macro-level context of the letters, namely, the extant evidence regarding the letter writers and their communities. The first case study examines both a scribe’s use of a poem in a letter along with their use of a framing repetition (EA 264). The second case study evaluates the use of the same poetic expressions by a single scribe (Scribe 1 of Gezer) in three letters, which were written for three different elites and created at three different sites (EA 266, 292, and 296). The letters also address three different political situations, which raises the question of how and why the scribe recycled and repurposed these literary expressions in the letters. These two case studies highlight the complex literacy practices of scribes working in well-trafficked regions of the southern Levant, which were critical to Egyptian military and economic interests: the Jezreel Valley and the Shephelah and southern coast.

The third and fourth case studies represent the work of master scribes, who worked for single elites, writing from Jerusalem and Byblos. The third study evaluates the use of simile and parallelism by a scribe working for an elite based in Jerusalem in several complaint letters. The scribe is unusual: there are clear signs that they were trained outside the southern Levant. Nevertheless, the scribe adapted to local scribal conventions, and even employed clusters of Canaanite and Canaano-Akkadian forms in their letters. The final example derives from the community of scribes at Byblos, who wrote for Rib-Hadda. Several scribes use the same two literary expressions in their letters, though in different contexts. The scribes also employ the same Canaanite gloss in a literary expression, following an Akkadian term. The lexical pairing was likely learned during their cuneiform training, perhaps, via a local lexical list with a Canaanite column.

The aims of the present study may therefore be summarized as follows:

The first aim is to offer a more in-depth analysis of a range of literary features in the Canaanite Letters, and to situate them in their micro-level contexts. By micro-level context, I mean the organizational and rhetorical context in each respective letter. As the following demonstrates, the raison d’être of the literary expressions appears to be related to the rhetorical aims and political ambitions of the elites who commissioned the letters. The poetic and literary elements were likely employed to emphasize the rulers’ obedience to the pharaoh or to enhance the rhetorical impact of a particular passage. Yet there is also compelling evidence that the scribes employed literary forms and glosses to engage the recipient scribal audience, perhaps to showcase their own local Canaanite scribal culture (see the discussion of the different uses of the Canaanite glosses in Gianto 1995; Izre’el 1995; Vita 2012). Therefore, the Canaanite Letters require close reading and a case-by-case analysis to evaluate the literary elements and what they mean about the nature of cuneiform scribal practice in Canaan in the Amarna period.

A second goal is to situate these forms in their macro-level context, both in the evidence for Canaanite Amarna Age scribes and in the extant evidence for scribal education in the Late Bronze Age in this region. We do not know much about the writers of biblical Hebrew poetry, in spite of their rich literary legacy.19 In contrast, the Canaanite Amarna scribes left behind clearer material evidence of their writing practices via the tablets they composed. While there is more limited literary content in the Canaanite Letters, the tablets themselves offer robust data regarding the training, locations, and writing practices of the Canaanite Amarna scribes. The scribes are not identified in the letters by name. Nevertheless, the petrographic analysis of the clays of the tablets and the scribes’ paleographic and linguistic practices can be used, alongside the internal content of the letters, to identify the locations where tablets were produced; the tablets, when studied together, can also be used to track the activities of specific scribes and scribal communities, and their differing relationships with Canaanite elites and Egyptian administrators (Goren et al. 2004; Vita 2015).

The third aim is to encourage biblical scholars to take a closer look at the literary forms in the letters, as they offer the earliest glimpses both into local Canaanite literary culture and into the use of literary forms in scribal communities. Despite the uncertainty regarding the original source or Sitz im Leben of the literary forms in the letters (that is, were these unique scribal compositions, drawn from oral tradition, and/or evidence of the blurred lines between oral and written culture in scribal training?), these forms are pervasive and well-distributed. They are therefore suggestive of the emergence of a highly local literary culture in Canaanite scribal communities. Moreover, the aggregate data from the Canaanite tablets and contemporary textual and archaeological evidence enable us to more confidently date both the letters and their literary features. They offer a glimpse into literary composition and practice within the narrow window of the Amarna period. Moreover, the forms can be connected to individual writers working for elites who are identified by name in the letters. In this way, it is possible to identify with a degree of precision which scribal communities produced scribes who were trained with an added layer of training in local literary features, and in the process of introducing short, literary formulae into new narrative contexts.

2. EA 264: The Pharaoh’s Power over Heaven and Earth

In EA 264, a scribe adds a short poetic composition to a letter sent from an elite named Tagi to the pharaoh regarding a missing caravan that was not dispatched to Egypt. The unnamed scribe employs a framing device—here, a repeated line from the core message—which is echoed at the conclusion of the poem. The scribe is not named or even mentioned in the letters; however, the tablet and its content give clues about this ancient writer. Vita (2015, p. 81) identifies the scribe as “Scribe 1 of Ginti-kirmil”, the writer of two known Amarna letters for Tagi (EA 264 and 265, see discussion below). EA 264 serves a concrete aim: to offer an apology and explain why Tagi failed to send the expected goods to Egypt. Tagi writes that his agent nearly died and could not complete the journey to Egypt. However, the scribe interrupts Tagi’s apology with a poetic description of the pharaoh’s power over the heavens and the earth, and over Tagi and his agent. The poem serves a rhetorical function connected to the message in the body of the letter: Tagi acknowledges that he is at the pharaoh’s mercy.

First, we will look at the larger structure and purpose of the letter, and then evaluate the pertinent passage in lines 13b–19a, which has the hallmark features of a poetic composition.20 Then we will look more closely at the evidence for the scribe and their use of these literary features. The letter comprises a praescriptio (lines 1–4), and a message (lines 5–25). The message is interrupted by a poetic passage, analyzed below (lines 13b–19a). Two references to Tagi’s loyalty to the pharaoh (lines 5 and 24b–25) frame the entire passage.

EA 264: 1–13a

Introduction: A Letter-Heading and Prostration Formula 1 [a]-na mLUGAL-ri EN-˹ia˺ 2 um-ma mTa-gi ÌR-˹ka˺ 3 a-na GÌR.MEŠ mLUGAL-ri ˹EN˺-ia 4 7-šu ù 7-ta-an am-qut	Introduction: A Letter-Heading and Prostration Formula 1–4 To the king, my lord, a message of Tagi, your servant: To the feet of the king, my lord, I now fall seven and seven times.
Core Message: An Apology For a Missing Caravan 5 a-mur-mì a-na-ku ÌR ša mLUGALri 6 ù bu-i-ti7 pu-ḫi-ir 7 KASKAL.ḪI.A i-na qa-at ŠEŠ-ia 8 ù ú-ba-an la-a mì-ḫi-iṣ 9 la-a i-le-ú uš-šir4 10 KASKAL.ḪI.A-ia a-na mLUGALri EN-ia 11 ù ša-al lú.mešMÁŠKIM-ka 12 šum-ma la ú-ba-an la-a mì-ḫi-iṣ 13a ŠEŠ-ia	Core Message: An Apology For a Missing Caravan 6–13a Look, I am a servant of the king. I tried to assemble caravans, entrusted to my brother, but then he was nearly killed. (Therefore) I have not been able to send my caravans to the king, my lord. So ask your commissioners whether (or not) my brother was nearly killed!

We will now look more closely at the poem, which follows this passage, beginning in 13b. The arrangement of the transliteration and translation below highlights how distinct the following poem is from the preceding message in lines 5–13a, and from the remainder of the letter in lines 19b–25. The two Canaanite glosses are marked in italics in the translation.

The Poetic Passage	Translation
(obverse) 13b ša-ni-tam reverse) 14–19a 14 a-mur ni-nu a-na ˹mu˺-˹ḫi˺-ka4 15 2 IGI-ia   šum-ma ni-tel-lí 16 a-na AN: (GE23) ša-me-ma   šum-ma 17 nu-ra-ad i-na er-ṣé-ti7 18 ù SAG.DU-nu : (GE23) ru-šu-nu 19a i-na qa-te-ka	(obverse) 13b New Topic Marker: (reverse) 14–19a Look, as for us, my two eyes (look) to you,   if we should go up to heaven: (gloss mark) heavens   if we should go down to the earth, then our head: (gloss mark) our head would (still) be in your hands.

The letter resumes with a framing device, in line 19b, that repeats a line from earlier in the letter (lines 6–7).

Core Message Resumption and Conclusion 19bù an-nu-ú 20i-na-an-na bu-i-ti7uš-šir4 21 KASKAL.ḪI.A-ia i-na qa-at 22 lútap-pí-ia a-na mLUGALri 23: (GE23) EN-ia ù yi-ìl-ma-ad 24 mLUGALru EN i-nu-ma ur-ru-du 25 mLUGALra ù i-na-ṣa-ru

Core Message Resumption and Conclusion 19b–25 And behold now, I have tried to send my caravans, entrusted to my agent, to the king: (scribal mark) my lord. And may the king, <my> lord be informed that I will (keep) serving the king and guarding”.

The following analysis will look more closely at the organization of the letter’s different sections. It comprises an introduction, a core message, a poem, and a resumption of the main message, with a concluding signing-off statement in lines 23b–25.

In the Canaanite Letters, certain scribes are careful to correlate the tablet lines with syntactic clauses. The scribe who composed EA 264 did not do this, but wrote continuously. The scribe also did not use internal rulings to demarcate thematic or organizational units within the letter, but only to mark the conclusion of the tablet.21 Rather, the scribe employed the transition words amur and šanītam to signal changes in topic (see Rainey 1996a, III, pp. 167–74, 180–82). The scribe also employed a scribal wedge mark in two ways in the letter, as both an organizational mark and a gloss mark. It is used in lines 16 and 18 before two Canaanite glosses; in line 23, the mark connects the royal title, which is written across two tablet lines (^{22b m}LUGAL^ri 23: EN-ia [“the king my lord”]). The scribe thereby used several different strategies to organize the tablet space and its text.

Notably, the passage in lines 13b–19a is distinguished from the rest of the letter in several key ways. The Akkadian term šanītam, at the end of line 13, can be translated as an adverbial particle (“furthermore”, or “another matter”); however, it also operates as a scribal mark, a metadiscursive signal to readers that there will be a shift in topic. It is therefore translated here as having a clear meta-discursive function, to direct the reader’s attention to the change in the topic of the letter.

Here, we should also note that the layout of the text, too, signals a change in topic. The tablet obverse concludes with the transition word ša-ni-tam. This should start a new section. However, the following passage, in lines 13b–19a, is inscribed on the reverse side of the tablet. To continue reading and to access the short poetic text, a reader had to pause and flip the tablet. The scribe employed a second attention-getting strategy: the 2ms imperative of Akkadian amāru (“to see”) begins the new material on the tablet’s reverse. This word, amur, is commonly used by scribes in the Canaanite Letters as a transition marker (see Rainey 1996b).

Lines 13b–19a are further distinguished by a change in style, from a narrative about the missing caravan to a poetic passage, with a cluster of Canaanite elements. The syntactic parallelism and two Canaanite glosses in this short passage stand out from the preceding narrative about the missing caravan.

The poetic structure is highlighted here:

ša-ni-tam

a-mur ni-nu a-na ˹mu˺-˹ḫi˺-ka₄ 2 IGI-ia

      šum-ma ni-tel-lí a-na AN: ša-me-ma [A, B, C]

      šum-ma nu-ra-ad i-na er-ṣé-ti₇ [A′, B′, C′]

ù SAG.DU-nu: ru-šu-nu i-na qa-te-ka

The passage presents as a short poem, one that is unique in the known Canaanite Letters. We cannot be certain whether it was a poem already known to the scribe (and perhaps Tagi), or whether it was a novel composition, created by the scribe (or Tagi) for the letter. However, it is clear that the passage was composed as a poetic unit that was integrated into the letter by the scribe.

The passage is marked by the scribe as an insertion, a micro-text, embedded into Tagi’s letter in several ways. The scribe employs a framing device, a catch-line from the main message that is repeated after line 19a (discussed below). Not only does the particle ša-ni-tam signal a shift in material, the passage is marked as being quite different from the preceding passages through a change in both syntax and rhetorical style. The scribe breaks from the 1cs narrative in the preceding section of the letter and shifts to 1cp forms. The scribe even employs a topicalized 1cp independent Akkadian pronoun (ni-nu). As seen from the presentation of the text above, the scribe also employs a very different grammatical structure, based on a three-part syntactic parallelism: the Akkadian particle šum-ma, followed by a 1cp prefixed verb, ending with a prepositional clause (A, B, C/A′, B′, C′).

We might also note that within the poetic passage, the scribe employs contrastive verbs, elû, “to ascend” and warādu, “to descend”, and the word pair “heavens” and “earth”. These oppositional elements can be viewed as an early example of antithesis (up//down and heavens//earth), or more precisely, as antonymic parallelism, where the verbs with opposite meanings are set into the same grammatical order. Yet, the context of the poem suggests that the two clauses can also be analyzed as a merism, expressing the totality of the bounds of the known world that are under the pharaoh’s power.22

As discussed, the poetic interlude also stands out from the mainline message because the scribe employs a cluster of Canaanite elements. The scribe introduces two Canaanite glosses, which are marked with scribal wedge marks that are not used elsewhere in the letter. We might also note that while the scribe does not seem to mind breaking up clauses between tablet lines, the scribe keeps the lexical glosses intact, with no interruption in their formatting. They are all written on their own tablet lines (a-na AN: ša-me-ma on line 16 and SAG.DU-nu: ru-šu-nu on line 18).

First gloss: AN [logogram]: ša-me-ma [Canaanite, written syllabically] = heavens.

Second gloss: SAG.DU-nu [logogram and Canaanite 1cs pronominal suffix]: ru-šu-nu [Canaanite written syllabically] = our head.

The glosses in the Canaanite Letters can serve to clarify a corresponding Akkadian term or Sumerogram (Gianto 1995; Izre’el 1995). However, AN and SAG.DU are common Sumerograms, so it seems unlikely that the scribe employed glosses in the local Canaanite dialect to clarify the passage’s meaning. We might ask: Why did the scribe gloss these common words? Vita (2012) has proposed that scribes sometimes employed frozen spellings, and inserted entries from lexical lists in the letters. A related proposal is that scribes employed glosses to also showcase their own scribal training and identities (Vita 2012; Mandell 2022a).

While it is possible that the scribe inadvertently replicated an entry from a lexical list (or by rote habit), there are other features in the passage that are suggestive of the scribe’s intentionality in crafting the poem. It is further distinguished in the letter by the scribe’s use of two Canaanite 1cp pronominal suffixes (-nu) in this short passage.23 The logographic form SAG.DU is a common way to write Akkadian qaqqadu “head” using a Sumerogram. Yet, rather than the expected Akkadian 1cp suffix -ni, the scribe employs a Canaanite 1cp pronominal suffix -nu; the scribe repeats this suffix following the Canaanite gloss: ù SAG.DU-nu: ru-šu-nu.

One possibility is that the scribe translated a Canaanite poem (perhaps spoken by Tagi) into their own scribal code. We might posit, then, that the Canaanite features reflect Canaanite linguistic inference.24 Another possibility is that the scribe employed the Canaanite glosses and 1cp Canaanite suffixes to flag the text as the work of a Canaano-Akkadian scribe. That is, the scribe differentiated this passage linguistically and visually from the rest of the letter through the use of features of their scribal code that mirrored their own scribal practice and even their identity. According to this view, the scribe showcased both their lexical training and local literary culture through the medium of their cuneiform craft.

The placement of the poem is furthermore suggestive of its scribal origin, as opposed to being a text that Tagi dictated to the scribe. The poem comes at the end of Tagi’s description of how he and his agents failed to send a caravan to the pharaoh (lines 5–13a). While the poem complements the letter’s larger aim to win the pharaoh’s favor and forgiveness, it stands out from the rest of the letter. The scribe employs a framing device to bookend the poem, treating it as a discrete composition. Moreover, the poetic passage stands outside of the core narrative about the missing caravan. While the broader rhetorical strategy in the letter may have been a collaboration between Tagi and the scribe, the form of the poem and its location in the letter, and its scribal features (such as the use of scribal marks and Canaano-Akkadian elements), all suggest that the passage was, at the very least, heavily influenced by the scribe.

The internal linguistic features of the poem further support the view that this poem was a scribal composition. The poem is not written in Canaanite using syllabic cuneiform signs, but in the local cuneiform scribal code, which draws from Akkadian and Canaanite. The two Akkadian verbs (elû “to go up, rise” and warādu, “to go down, descend”) have Canaanite cognates (‘ly/h and yrd), which are common in first-millennium Hebrew texts from this same region. As discussed, the scribe employs two glosses and two 1cp pronominal suffixes in the local Canaanite dialect. Yet the suffixes are added to a lexical equivalency written using two different orthographies for the term “head” (a logogram and syllabic Canaanite), thereby showcasing the scribe’s complex linguistic and orthographic skillset: ù SAG.DU-nu: ru-šu-nu. Situating the passage in the writing practices connected to Amarna Age diplomacy raises the possibility that the poem communicated at a deeper sociolinguistic level, bridging together the language of the local elite (Canaanite), and that of the written language of diplomacy of the pharaoh’s court (Akkadian), through the scribe’s own Canaano-Akkadian expertise.

Several aspects of the letter are more clearly the work of a practiced and intentional scribe. This short passage is quite rich in orthographic texture. In the main text of the letter, the scribe employs the full case-inflected paradigm in the writing of the Akkadian term šarru “king” using a Sumerogram and syllabic signs serving as phonetic complements (as LUGAL^ri, LUGAL^ru, and LUGAL^ra in lines 22, 24, and 25). Moreover, the poetic passage in the letter displays the full range of a Canaanite scribe’s orthographic options in the Amarna period. The scribe employs Sumerograms and syllabic signs to represent Akkadian, and syllabic signs are used to write Canaanite glosses and pronominal suffixes; moreover, the scribe even flags the Canaanite lexical glosses with scribal wedge marks. The deep orthography and the Canaanite elements in the letter were likely employed by the scribe to attract the attention of the scribes working for the pharaoh. Together, these features in the letter showcase the scribe’s ability to navigate between the full range of resources afforded by their Canaanite cuneiform training.

Here, we turn to the way in which the scribe introduced this poetic passage into the narrative core of the letter. The poetic passage is inserted in the letter in a way that draws attention to the plea therein. As discussed, the scribe employs two transitional markers common in the Canaanite Letters (šanītam and amur) and a framing device (lines 5–7 and 20–23a). The scribe introduces the reason for the letter (lines 5–13a); then, inserts the poem (lines 13b–19a); and at the end of the poem, the scribe repeats the statement from the opening lines of the message, about Tagi’s attempt to send a caravan to Egypt, via his agent (lines 19b–23a).

First framing statement:

^5–7a-mur-mì a-na-ku ÌR ša ^mLUGAL^ri ù bu-i-ti₇ pu-ḫi-ir KASKAL.ḪI.A i-na qa-at ŠEŠ-ia

Second framing statement:

^19b–23a ù an-nu-ú i-na-an-na bu-i-ti₇ uš-šir₄ KASKAL.ḪI.A-ia i-na qa-at ^lútap-pí-ia a-na ^mLUGAL^ri: (GE₂₃) EN-ia

In other letters in the Canaanite corpus, scribes similarly repeated lines of text as a way to bracket key information or to introduce insertions (Mandell, forthcoming). A similar compositional strategy is known from later Hebrew biblical texts (known as an inclusio, Weideraufnahme, repetitive resumption, or framing repetition); such repetition can also serve a narrative and rhetorical function (Long 1987).

The shift in the narrative voice, too, distinguishes the poem from the rest of the letter. The letter’s introduction and the core message about the caravan (and the introductions and message in nearly all of the Canaanite Letters) are written in the 1cs, as though the local elite is communicating directly to the pharaoh via direct speech. Yet the poetic unit in EA 264: 13b–19a breaks this pattern. It is marked in the text as a distinct composition through the sudden use of 1cp verbs and pronominal suffixes. While it is possible that Tagi dictated this poetic unit, suddenly shifting from speaking in the 1cs to the 1cp, other features in the letters suggest that the shift in person may have been a part of the strategy of the scribe, to pen an appeal that would represent both Tagi and the unnamed agent responsible for the caravan’s delivery. Another possibility is that this was a poem which was composed in the 1cp, as a liturgical poem/hymn that was repurposed for this letter.25 That is, the scribe replaced the deity (in the poem, addressed as a 2ms entity) with the pharaoh.

The Canaanite features in the poem are reflective of Tagi’s identity as a southern Levantine ruler. Nevertheless, they also showcase the scribe’s cuneiform cultural context. Vita (2012) has proposed that common Sumerograms or Akkadian terms, which were glossed in Canaanite, might not have been deployed for translation purposes; rather, they reflect the scribes’ lexical training. That is, the scribes reproduced word pairs and lexical equivalences that they learned in local lexical lists.26 If we accept this hypothesis, we might view the logogram–Canaanite gloss pairings in the poem to mirror the entries in a local lexical list, and to have even been employed to showcase the scribe’s technical mastery of this script, and their translation abilities in navigating between literary Canaanite forms and the cuneiform conventions expected of diplomatic missives.

We will now situate the textual analysis of the letter within the extant context about Tagi and the scribe who created the letter. Tagi sent three letters to the pharaoh: EA 264, 265, and 266. Based on their clay composition, they are all from the same site, Ginti-kirmil (Goren et al. 2004, pp. 256–58). However, the three letters were written by two different scribes. Vita credits a single scribe, Scribe 1 of Ginti-Kirmil, as the writer EA 264 and 265 (Vita 2015, pp. 84–85). EA 266 was written by a different scribe who wrote letters to Egypt for multiple elites around the site of Tell Gezer, and is identified as Gezer Scribe 1 (see Vita 2015, pp. 83–84, 144–45). (EA 266 will be evaluated in the following case study.)

EA 265, like EA 264, discusses a shipment of goods. However, it has no poetic passage. It is short, comprising only 15 lines of text. Lines 1–4a are a stock letter introduction; the message in lines 4b–15 describes the transport of people and goods from Tagi to the Egyptian court. Tagi writes that he has sent his agent and other people to the pharaoh’s court (lines 4–6). In the rest of the letter, Tagi affirms the arrival of “one golden cup and 12 pairs of linen garments”, which arrived under the care of the pharaoh’s representative, Taḥmaśśi. The passage is short, but it showcases the scribe’s skilled use of cuneiform to represent the complex sociolinguistic backdrop of Egyptian and Levantine interactions. The scribe employs a Canaanite term in line 8, šu-lu-uḫ-ta “shipment”, which is used directly in the text without a preceding Sumerogram or Akkadian equivalent, or a scribal mark. The letter ends with an expression that is likely a calque of an Egyptian letter concluding formula (lines 14–15: ¹⁴ [ù] ˹a˺-˹na˺ la-ma-ad ¹⁵ [^mLUGAL]˹^ri˺ EN-ia “to inform the king, my lord”).27

We can now turn to the broader evidence for the social location of the scribe. The letters’ content suggests that Tagi was in regular contact with the Egyptian court. Indeed, we will see from the case study below that Tagi collaborated with other scribes to create letters that were sent to Egypt.28 Tagi is a rare example of a Canaanite ruler who sent goods to Egypt, but also received valuable commodities from the Egyptian court. His location at Ginti-Kirmil and his ability to facilitate the transport of goods and agricultural products from this region, no doubt, played a role in his access to the pharaoh. The scribe working for Tagi, therefore, was in regular contact with Egyptian officials and messengers and was knowledgeable about the details of the transport of goods and people between these two courts. The scribe was further skilled in the use of cuneiform and able to create missives befitting Tagi’s different rhetorical aims.

Summary of literary features: The present case study demonstrated the use of a framing device (vis-à-vis repetition) to interject a poem into a letter. In addition to several different forms of parallelism in the passage (antonymic parallelism and syntactic parallelism), the scribe employed code alteration, specifically, a cluster of Canaanite elements.

3. Gezer Scribe 1: Literary Flourishes in Diplomatic Letters

In the example below, we will look at two poetic expressions that were used by a single scribe in three letters, EA 266, 292, and 296.29 As discussed, the scribe is identified as a “Gezer” scribe because they wrote letters for several elites connected to the site of Tell Gezer (Vita 2010). However, they also wrote letters for other elites in the environs of Gezer, along the southern coast, and north to the frontier of the Jezreel Valley. While Rib-Hadda sent the largest number of letters in the Amarna corpus, this scribe is the author of the most significant number of known Canaanite Amarna Letters (EA 266–80, EA 292–94, and EA 296–97) (following Vita 2010, 2015, pp. 75–84). The scribe did not just write for Canaanite rulers, but may also have been employed by an elite working for the Egyptian administration (see the discussion of EA 296 below). We therefore have more robust data for the ways that this writer used literary devices in diplomatic letters than for other scribes.

So why did a single scribe write for so many elites? The petrographic analysis of the clay of the scribe’s letters suggests that the scribe worked and traveled in regions that were economically and militarily important to Egypt (see the summary of the provenance of the letters in Goren et al. 2004, pp. 270–79). Notably, the scribe wrote multiple letters from the region of Gezer, and seems to have been a regular writer for the rulers of this site. During the Amarna period, Gezer played an important role as a central node between the southern coast and the Shephelah region. Moreover, there is evidence that Gezer elites, like Tagi of Ginti-Kirmil, cultivated a more reciprocal relationship with Egypt than other southern Levantine elites.30 There is also evidence from the scribe’s letters that they were well-traveled and known to both Egyptian administrators and to other regional scribes. The clay of the scribe’s letters suggests that they traveled in the Shephelah region around Gezer, but also to the Jezreel region, and likely to sites along the southern coast (Goren et al. 2004, p. 279). There is also evidence that scribes based in the southern Levant traveled to Gezer, which might have occasioned contact with the Gezer scribe (e.g., EA 291, a Jerusalem Amarna Letter that was likely written at Gezer) (see Goren et al. 2004, pp. 268–69).

We can use these details to build a preliminary profile for the scribe and to better understand their role as a writer for regional elites. The scribe was skilled in the epistolary conventions of diplomacy and in the crafting of letters with different political aims. The scribe created both routine reply letters and also more complex and politically sensitive missives, including letters with poetic passages. In this respect, the Gezer scribe’s letters find parallel with those of the writer of EA 264 and 265—both scribes combined epistolary formulae, new content, and short poems and literary expressions in their letters. Both scribes even employed poetic language in letters commissioned by Tagi (EA 264 and 266). Yet the Gezer scribe also wrote more staid letters, without these literary features. The cumulative evidence preserved in the scribe’s letters suggests that they were well-established, cosmopolitan, and highly specialized in the practice of writing different types of letters sent to the Egyptian court.

While it is certain that the scribe had a strong connection to the elites of Gezer, it is unlikely that the scribe was attached to this single site. Rather, a more complex professional biography emerges from the evidence for their travel and clientele (see the discussion in Vita 2010, 2015, pp. 134–38). The scribe’s letters suggest that they traveled in the region from the southern coast to the hinterlands of Gezer, providing services where communication was needed to a range of elites seeking the pharaoh’s attention. One possibility is that the scribe was independent and traveled where the work led them, mainly to urban sites in a regional circuit where there was a demand for the services of a cuneiform-trained writer. Another possibility, given the geographic terrain that the scribe covered and the different elites that they wrote for, is that they worked directly for the Egyptian administration.

We will now turn to the literary activities of the scribe, as manifest in the three letters. The scribe used the same literary expressions in three letters for three different elites: EA 266 for Tagi, EA 292 for Baʿlu-šipṭi, and EA 296 for Yaḫtiru. Not only are these letters strikingly different in their aims and core messages, but the paleographic evidence from the clay of the letters suggests that the letters were written at three different sites, respectively, at Ginti-kirmil, Gezer, and Ashdod (or Tel Batash).31 Yet the scribe uses the same two literary passages in all three letters (known here as “light” and “brick”). If the Gilgamesh fragment, dating to a roughly contemporaneous period, is evidence that scribes in and around Gezer were trained in the classics of Mesopotamian culture, the poetic expressions in this scribe’s letters suggest that local literary texts, too, were used in scribal training in this region by the Amarna period.32

In the three letters, a local ruler searches for light but finds it only in the presence of the pharaoh. Immediately after this passage, the scribe introduces a second image, that of a brick under the pharaoh’s feet. Bricks are unstable, and they can slip out of a structure, whereas the local elite promises that they will provide more solid support for the pharaoh. Together, the two passages create a clear political message—the local ruler is the pharaoh’s loyal servant.

In the previous case study, the evidence regarding the source of the poem in EA 264 was ambiguous—the poem may have been from Tagi or Tagi’s scribe. However, the way in which the poetic passage was introduced into the letter was more suggestive of the hand of the scribe. The literary passages in EA 262, 292, and 296 are more clearly those of the scribe who composed the letters.33 The three passages in EA 266, 292, and 296, which are in separate missives for different elites, show minimal variation. The scribe stacks the “light” and “brick” metaphors forming a literary block comprising of 9 to 13 lines of text (EA 266:9–15a; EA 292:8–17a; EA 296:9–22). The literary blocks are inserted in the same “slot” in the three letters, between the introduction and core message. In this location in the letters, the “light + brick” literary complex serves as a preamble to the different requests and concerns communicated by the three elites.34

In the following excerpts, we will see the scribe’s bricolage practice at work, albeit in very different rhetorical contexts. Two of the letters, EA 266 and 292, were written for regional elites, who are known from other letters. In contrast, the third letter, EA 296, was written for Yaḫtiru, who is known only from this letter. Yaḫtiru claims to have been appointed by the pharaoh to the coast, to monitor Gaza and Jaffa. However, their linguistic and cultural identity and even the provenance of EA 296 are still debated (see Katzenstein 1982; Vita 2015, pp. 79–80, 83; Kleiman and Cohen-Weinberger 2020). What is clear is that Yaḫtiru employed a scribe who worked for other regional elites to write to the pharaoh, rather than employing their own scribe; moreover, the scribe did not change their writing practices for Yaḫtiru, but created a letter infused with Canaanite elements characteristic of their own scribal community. EA 296 features the same poetic passage as EA 266 and 292, and even includes a Canaanite gloss in a metaphor that expresses Yaḫtiru’s obedience to the pharaoh.

In the following passages, we will see how the scribe combines the two poetic expressions (“light” and “brick”) in three letters with very different messages.35 The first passage is an excerpt of EA 266, from Tagi of Ginti-kirmil. The clays from which the letter was made are likely from the site of Ginti-kirmil (Jatt) (Goren et al. 2004, pp. 257–58). EA 266 is a letter about goods sent to Egypt (lines 26–33), though most of the tablet is taken up by epistolary formulae (lines 1–8), and the light and brick expressions (lines 9–25).

EA 266: 1–8 Praescriptio	EA 266: 1–8 Praescriptio
1 [a-na] mLUGAL ⸢EN⸣-[ia] 2 [DINGIR].MEŠ-ia d[UTU-ia] 3 ⸢qí⸣-bí-⸢ma⸣ 4 ⸢um⸣-ma m ta-a-⸢gi⸣ [ÌR-ka] 5 ⸢ep⸣-ri ⸢ša⸣ ⸢GÌR⸣.[MEŠ-ka] 7 DINGIR.MEŠ-ia dUTU-ia 8 ⸢7⸣-šu 7-tá-a-an [am-qut]	To the king, my lord my gods, my sun god speak! A message of Tagi, your servant, the dirt of your feet. I now fall seven and seven times (before) my god, my sun god.

Lines 9–15a; 15b–25: Light and Brick Preamble 9 ⸢da⸣-ag-la-ti 10 ⸢ki⸣-ia-am ù da-[ag-la]-ti 11 [ki]-ia-am ù ⸢la⸣-[a] 12 [na]-mu-ur ⸢ù⸣ 13 ⸢da⸣-ag-la-⸢ti⸣ 14[a-na] mu-ḫi LUGAL [EN-ia] 15a [ù] ⸢na⸣-mur 15b ⸢ù⸣ 16 [a-nu]-ma ša-ak-[na-ti] (reverse) 17 [pa]-⸢ni⸣-ia a-na ⸢ur⸣-[ru]-⸢ud⸣ 18 ⸢LUGAL⸣ EN-ia 19 ⸢ù⸣ ti-na-ma-šu [SIG4]-⸢tu⸣ 20: (GE23) la-bi-tu 21⸢iš⸣-tu ša-pal ⸢tap⸣-[pa-te-ši] 22 ⸢ù⸣ a-na-ku la-a 23 ⸢i-na⸣-ma-šu iš-⸢tu⸣ 24 ⸢ša⸣-pal GÌR.MEŠ 25 ⸢LUGAL⸣ EN-ia

Lines 9–15a; 15b–25: Light and Brick Preamble I looked this way and I looked that way, but there was no light.36 But, I looked towards the king, my lord, and there was light Now, I have resolved to serve the king, my lord (lit. set my face). Even though a brick : (gloss mark) brick will move from under the one next to it, however, I will never move from under the feet of the king, my lord.

This passage appears between the letter introduction and the main message, serving as an introduction to the message of the letter. Following these two expressions of deference, Tagi details the contents of a shipment that he is sending to Egypt (lines 26–33). It comprises specialized horse equipment (harnesses for two horses, and a horse blanket), and a bow, quiver, and lance.

EA 292 is a letter sent from Baʿlu-šipṭi (or Baʿlu-dāni) of Gezer to the pharaoh. The letter was inscribed at Gezer, which was a stomping ground of the scribe, and perhaps where they were trained (Goren et al. 2004, p. 273). This letter is more complex than EA 266, and it showcases the versatility of the scribe. The introduction precedes the poetic section.

EA 292: 1–7 Praescriptio	EA 292: 1–7 Praescriptio
1 a-na mLUGAL EN-ia ⸢DINGIR.MEŠ⸣-[ia] 2 dUTU-ia qí-bí-⸢ma⸣ 3 um-ma mdIŠKUR-DI.KUD ⸢ÌR-ka⸣ 4 ep-ri ša 2 GÌR.⸢MEŠ-ka⸣ 5 a-na GÌR.MEŠ LUGAL ⸢EN-ia⸣ 6 DINGIR.MEŠ-ia dUTU-ia 7-šu 7 7-ta-a-an am-qú-ut	To the king, my lord my god, my sun god speak! A message of Baʿlu-šipṭi, your servant, the dirt of your two your feet. I now fall seven and seven times at the feet the king, my lord, my god, my sun god.

Next, the scribe employs the same two “light” and “brick” images as a preamble to the core message in lines 17b–52.

Lines 8–12; 13–17a: Light and Brick Preamble	Lines 8–12; 13–17a: Light and Brick Preamble
8 da-ag-la-ti7 ki-ia-˹am˺ 9 ù da-ag-la-ti7 ki-ia-am  10 ù la-a na-mi-ir ù 11 da-ag-la-ti7 a-na mu-˹ḫi˺ 12 LUGAL EN-ia ù na-mi-˹ir˺ 13 ù ti7-na-mu-šu SIG4-˹tu˺ 14 iš-tu šu-pal tap-pa-˹te˺-ši 15 ù a-na-ku la-a i-na-mu-šu 16 iš-tu šu-pal 2 GÌR.˹MEŠ˺ 17 LUGAL EN-ia	I looked this way and I looked that way, but there was no light. But, I looked towards the king, my lord, and there was light. Even though a brick will move from under the one next to it, however, I will never move from under the two feet of the king, my lord.

The poetic passages above lack the statement about serving the pharaoh (seen in EA 266: 15b–18); however, the core literary elements are the same as in EA 266. The placement of the literary passage is also in the same “slot” as in EA 266, just before the core message. The rest of the letter, however, is tailored to Baʿlu-šipṭi’s pressing political concerns (see Lauinger and Yoder 2025, pp. 529–30).

Following the poetic passage, Baʿlu-šipṭi states that he is complying with a past order from the pharaoh, and that he is “guarding” the pharaoh’s cities; here, the scribe uses highly rote and formulaic expressions (lines 17b–26a).37 Next, the letter moves to a specific set of grievances which are the politically specific sections of the letters (lines 26b–51a). In the first complaint, Baʿlu-dāni accuses an Egyptian official, Maya, of taking over a fortress, identified in the letter as Manḫatu (lines 26–35). He requests that Reʿ-anap return the fort to his jurisdiction. Baʿlu-dāni then complains that Pe’ya has been antagonizing the people of Gezer and even holding people hostage for ransom (lines 41–551a).38 At the end of the letter the scribe employs a similar signing-off statement, as in EA 264. EA 292:51b–52 concludes: ù li-ma-ad a-wa-te.^MEŠ ÌR-ka an-nu-ti “May you be informed of these words of your servant!”39

The third letter comes from a very different context. EA 296 is a letter written by this same scribe for Yaḫtiru (or Yaʿṭiru), an elite who claims to be an official working directly for Egypt, and even to have been raised at the Egyptian court. The provenance of the letter is debated, though it is clear that the letter is not from Gezer.40 The letter is quite informative, however, about its writer. The letter suggests that the scribe did not change their writing practices for Yaḫtiru but rather employed the same stock introductory formulae and the “light and brick” poetic complex; the scribe even includes two Canaanite glosses in the letter (lines 17 and 38) in passages that describe Yaḫtiru’s loyalty to the pharaoh.

EA 296: 1–9 Praescriptio	EA 296: 1–9 Praescriptio
1 ⸢a-na⸣ m⸢LUGALri EN-ia⸣ 2 DINGIR.MEŠ-ia ⸢dUTU.⸣⸢MEŠ⸣-⸢ia⸣ 3 qí-bí-ma 4 um-ma m⸢ia-⸣⸢aḫ⸣-ti-⸢ri⸣ ÌR-⸢ka⸣ 5 ep-ri ša GÌR.MEŠ-ka 6 a-na GÌR.MEŠ LUGAL EN-ia 7 DINGIR.MEŠ-ia ⸢dUTU.⸣⸢MEŠ⸣-ia 7-šu 8 ù 7-⸢et-⸣⸢ta⸣-a-an am-qú-ut	To the king, my lord my god, my sun god speak! A message of Yaḫtiru your servant, the dirt of your your feet. I now fall seven and seven times at the feet the king, my lord, my god, my sun god.

Following the praescriptio, the scribe employs a transition marker (šanītam) to mark a new section of the letter. Next, the statement of loyalty in lines 9–10 identifies the sender as the pharaoh’s “true servant”. In lines 11–22a, the scribe employs the light and brick statements, seen in the two previous letters. Finally, the scribe shifts to the core message in lines 22a–39, which outline the sender’s history working for the Egyptian administration at Gaza and Jaffa.

Lines 9–16a; 16b–22a: Light and Brick Preamble	Lines 9–16a; 16b–22a: Light and Brick Preamble
9 ša-ni-tam a-⸢mur⸣ a-na-ku ÌR-di 10 ša ki-it-⸢ti⸣ LUGAL EN-ia 11 da-ag-la-ti ki-ia-⸢am⸣ 12 ù da-ag-la-ti 13 ki-ia-am ù la-a 14 na-mi-ir ù da-ag-la-ti 15 a-na mu-uḫ-ḫi LUGAL EN-ia 16 ù na-mi-ir ù 17 ti-na-mu-šu SIG4 18: (GE23) la-bi-tu iš-tu (reverse) 19 ⸢šu⸣-pal tap-pa-ti-ši 20 ù a-na-ku la-a i-na-mu-šu 21 iš-tu šu-pal GÌR.MEŠ 22a LUGALri be-li-ia	New Topic Marker: Look, I am a servant who is loyal to the king, my lord. I looked this way and I looked that way, but there was no light. But, I looked towards the king, my lord, and there was light. Even though a brick: (gloss mark) brick will move from under the one next to it, however, I will never move from under the feet of the king, my lord.

In the rest of the letter, Yaḫtiru describes spending a portion of his childhood in Egypt as a guard at the gate of the royal court (lines 22–29). He claims that he is similarly guarding the gates of Jaffa and Gaza in the service of the pharaoh (lines 30–33). Notably, the letter ends with a final statement of loyalty, in which the elite places the king’s yoke upon his neck (lines 36–39). The term “yoke” is glossed with the Canaanite term *ġullu: ^GIŠni-ri: ḫu-ul-lu.41

4. Summary of the Light and Brick Letters

The three letters that we examined are very different from each other in terms of their content. Moreover, they represent three different power players in the political landscape of Canaanite-Egyptian diplomacy, including potentially a member of the pharaoh’s own regional administrative team. Nevertheless, the scribe employs the same paired light and brick expressions of loyalty and deference to the pharaoh. Furthermore, these paired expressions serve as a preamble to the core messages in the letters. We can deduce the following from this sample of letters.

• These expressions reflect the training and/or literary knowledge of the scribe; it is unlikely that three different elites dictated the same poetic expressions in their letters.
• The scribe’s use of these expressions in three letters sent to the pharaoh suggests a relatively high register for these literary features. It is unlikely that these passages would have been used multiple times by the scribe had they detracted from the communicative effectiveness of the letters.
• The light and brick expressions were likely part of the curriculum used in the scribe’s local community, perhaps even in the scribal community atGezer. At the very least, the glosses in the letters suggest that the scribe was trained via a local lexical list which included Canaanite words written using syllabic cuneiform signs. In EA 266 and 292, the Sumerogram SIG₄ is glossed with the Canaanite term “brick” using the same orthography: la-bi-tu (for labittu [*labin-tu]). The scribe does not use Akkadian libittu but rather employs a form that is likely the local term for this word. As Vita has argued, when common words like “brick”, “head”, or even “dust” are glossed with Canaanite words, it is unlikely that the gloss is meant to clarify their meaning (Vita 2012). Rather, it is more likely that the gloss in the “brick” expression was learned as an entry in a locally made lexical list. We therefore might further see the glosses in EA 266 and EA 296 as insertions of this same entry, which were inspired by the scribe’s lexical training.
• The pairing of the light and brick expressions in all three letters, in the same order, might furthermore point to the scribe’s training in memorized local sayings and proverbs. We might extrapolate that these two expressions were even memorized in this same order (“light” followed by “brick”), and were reproduced from memory in the three letters.

5. Literary Flourishes in the Jerusalem Amarna Letters

The earliest known literary compositions from Jerusalem are found in the Amarna Letters. The scribe’s unique rhetorical style and use of literary forms are striking (see Jirku 1933, pp. 117–19; Hess 1989, 2003). These texts were all written by a single scribe writing for a ruler known as ʿAbdi-Ḫeba (written ^IÌR-ḫe-ba for the deity name Ḫebat). The scribe employs several different strategies to add literary texture to the letters: framing devices, parallelism, Canaanite elements, and imagery in the form of similes. The scribe also employs linguistic and orthographic variation in key rhetorical junctures in the letters (Mandell, forthcoming). Therefore, while the letters serve a practical political aim (to ask for military aid and protection from the pharaoh), the scribe infuses the letters with complex and highly innovative literary forms which are unparalleled by other scribes from this region.

Here we turn to the evidence for the scribe’s professional background. The Jerusalem Amarna Letters were all written by this same scribe; all six letters (EA 285–91) were crafted for the same ruler, an elite who claims to have been appointed to govern Jerusalem by the pharaoh. The petrographic analysis of the clays of the Jerusalem letters confirms that the scribe wrote from clays around Jerusalem (or its environs) (Goren et al. 2004, pp. 265–69).42 However, the clays in two of the letters also suggest that the scribe traveled to at least two additional regional sites. EA 285 was likely inscribed at Beth Shean, and EA 291 was inscribed at Gezer (Goren et al. 2004, pp. 268–69).

The Jerusalem Amarna Letters also provide insight into ʿAbdi-Ḫeba’s interactions with contemporary elites and his tense relationship with Egyptian representatives. The ruler sending the letters claims to have had a special relationship and status with Egypt, that of a local “commissioner”. ʿAbdi-Ḫeba therefore was in contact with the Egyptian seat at Gaza; he also consulted with the Beth-Shean wing of the pharaoh’s administration.43 Gaza was the main Egyptian center in the region, and the epicenter of the coast and Shephelah; Beth-Shean was an important contact point between local elites in the central highlands and the Jezreel region, and the Egyptian administration during this period.

In the Jerusalem letters, ʿAbdi-Ḫeba further claims that he was put in power by the pharaoh and that he was a we’u (“soldier” in Egyptian) of the pharaoh.44 This term is not typically used as a title for local elites. Its use in the Jerusalem Amarna Letters serves to underscore ʿAbdi–Ḫeba’s claim to a special relationship with Egypt. The letters furthermore make the case that since ʿAbdi-Ḫeba was placed in Jerusalem, he merits the pharaoh’s protection. While such claims might be simply part of the letters’ rhetorical strategy, to gain favor and the pharaoh’s ear, the cumulative evidence suggests that ʿAbdi-Ḫeba had a close working relationship with the Egyptian administrative apparatus in the region, and that he was appointed to Jerusalem by the pharaoh (see also Hess 2003, pp. 232–34; Morris 2005, pp. 246–49; Na’aman 2011).

Yet the Jerusalem letters also suggest that ʿAbdi-Ḫeba felt quite abandoned by his king. The letters complain that a garrison was dispatched from Gaza, yet an Egyptian official removed the garrison. ʿAbdi–Heba asks for another garrison, but also for provisions from Gaza (see the complaints and requests in EA 285:9–30; EA 286:25–33, 44–45; EA 287:33–57a; and EA 288:30–45). ʿAbdi-Ḫeba also complains that his territories and power were challenged by regional rivals (Šuwardata of Gath, Tagi of Ginti-Kirmil, Milk-ilu of Gezer, and Labʾayu of Shechem), and the ʿApiru in collaboration with other regional elites.45 The letters furthermore identify several Egyptian administrators and local Canaanite elites by name, and accuse them of working against the pharaoh’s interests in the region (see the summary in De Magistris 2024, p. 86).

We can begin to develop a profile of the first known scribe working in Jerusalem based on the extant data from the letters. The scribe worked in the thicket of Egyptian-Canaanite diplomacy in the central highlands of Canaan. The scribe was mobile and interacted in person with the Egyptian administrators and military personnel at Beth Shean, perhaps with the ruling family and officials at Gezer, and the officials based at Gaza; they were also likely known to any Egyptian officials and military personnel periodically stationed in Jerusalem. The scribe was both highly skilled in their cuneiform craft and knowledgeable in local political and military matters. The scribe even appended postscript messages to four letters, which were addressed to the scribes working in Egypt (EA 286–289). Here, the scribe reached out directly to the scribes working for the pharaoh, requesting that they favorably transmit the contents of the longer message. Together, the evidence from the Jerusalem Amarna Letters suggests that this scribe was aware of ʿAbdi–Ḫeba’s precarious situation. Moreover, the scribe employed different strategies in the letters to elicit a positive reply from the pharaoh’s court.

In spite of the evidence that the scribe was very much in tune with current events in and around Jerusalem, other evidence from the letters suggests that the scribe was not originally from the southern Levant, or at least that they were not trained in the local cuneiform tradition. Indeed, the Jerusalem Amarna Letters are so different from the other Amarna Letters from the southern Levant that Moran argued that the scribe was a foreigner who was trained in the northern Levant (Moran 2003, pp. 249–74).46 Nevertheless, the scribe periodically employed Canaanite elements and even Canaanite glosses in their letters (Tropper 1998).47 The scribe’s letters, therefore, suggest that they adapted to the local sociolinguistic and scribal environment, and used their knowledge of Canaano-Akkadian and Canaanite forms judiciously as a part of the broader rhetorical strategy in the letters (Mandell, forthcoming). The letters, therefore, offer insight into the process by which a scribe trained in one way of using cuneiform became enculturated into another scribal community.

6. The Ship at Sea

The Jerusalem scribe wrote eloquent complaints for ʿAbdi-Ḫeba, even about the misdeeds of the Egyptian officials in the region. Nevertheless, the Jerusalem letters are couched in the protocol language of diplomacy. We start with EA 288, in which the scribe employs several different strategies, which contribute to the complexity and literary richness of the letter.48 The passage below communicates a simple message: ʿAbdi-Ḫeba is cut off, and perhaps even militarily sequestered.

In the passage below, the scribe employs repetition, parallelism, and Canaano-Akkadian elements to make the passage stand out from the rest of the letter.

EA 288:23–33

23 li-im-li-ik-mi ˹LUGAL˺ri a-na KUR-šu 24 ḫal-qa-˹at˺ KUR LUGALri gáb-ba-ša 25 ṣa-ba-ta-ni nu-kúr-tú a-na ia-a-ši 26 a-di KUR.ḪI.A Še-e-riki  a-di uruGin8-ti-ki-ir-˹mi˺-˹il˺ 27 šal-mu a-na gáb-bi ˹lú˺.mešḫa-zi-a-nu-ti 28ù nu-kúr-tú a-na ia-a-ši 29 ep-ša-ti e-nu-ma lúḫa-pí-ri 30 ˹ù˺ la-a a-mar 2 IGI.MEŠ LUGAL 31EN-ia ki-i nu-kúr-tú 32 ˹a˺-na muḫ-ḫi-ia ša-ak-na-ti 33 e-nu-ma gišMÁ i-na lìb-bi A.AB.BA

May the king take counsel about his land: The king’s land is gone, All of it has been captured. There is hostility against me. From the mountain ranges of Šēr to Gintu-Kirmil, all is peaceful for the ḫazannu-rulers (the mayors), but there is hostility against me. (Therefore) I have acted like the ‘Apîru, and I have not seen the two eyes of the king, my lord, because there is hostility against me, I am stationed like a ship in the middle of the sea.

The scribe repeats the complaint about being surrounded by enemies three times in this short passage (lines 25a–28 and 32b–33). These lines serve to structure the comparison between ʿAbdi-Ḫeba and the other city rulers, the ʿApiru, and finally, a sequestered ship. As Hess notes, the scribe employs the particle e-nu-ma (“like, or as”) twice in this short passage to emphasize ʿAbdi–Ḫeba’s sense of being cut off from the pharaoh’s presence and protection (Hess 1989, p. 254; 2003, p. 236). First, he has acted “like the ʿApiru” because he is unable to access the pharaoh’s court. In the later simile, the scribe employs a nautical image to describe ʿAbdi–Ḫeba’s isolation and sense of abandonment. Jerusalem is situated at a distance from the coast, yet the image evoked is clear: ʿAbdi-Ḫeba feels alone and unsupported in his current position as the ruler of Jerusalem.

The passage also stands out because the scribe employs a framing device and also several Canaano-Akkadian forms, which are rare in the scribe’s letters. The two clauses in lines 29–30 are dependent and interconnected. They are both framed by an inclusio, a repeated reference to the “hostility” against ʿAbdi-Ḫeba (the phrase ù nu-kúr-tú a-na ia-a-ši in line 28, and nu-kúr-tú ˹a˺-na muḫ-ḫi-ia in lines 31b–32a). They are further connected by a coordinating conjunction (u at the head of the clause in line 30), which suggests that ʿAbdi-Ḫeba has “acted like the ‘Apîru” in the sense that he has failed to present himself to the pharaoh in Egypt. The passage repeats a refrain echoed in EA 286:39–47a, where ‘Abid-Ḫeba similarly complains that he has been unable to see the pharaoh. Here, in EA 288:29–30, he further explains that he has been trapped in Jerusalem due to the hostility against him in the region. While he remains the pharaoh’s loyal servant, he is still unable to travel. The letter further requests that the pharaoh provide military support and relief, and offer him safe passage to Egypt (e.g., 288:48–61).

Both the verbs ep-ša-ti and ša-ak-na-ti are Akkadian verbs (epēšu and šakānu), yet they are marked with 1cs Canaanite pronominal suffixes (-ti). The scribe more rarely uses local scribal verbal orthographies in the letters; therefore, the passage stands out in the letter due to these Canaanite morphemes.49 The form ep-ša-ti is written as an active G stem of epēšu.50 This same form, written with these three same signs, is also attested in EA 286:5–8 with an active meaning.51 This form is not being used as a stative (an Akkadian predicative), but rather, as a Canaano-Akkadian perfective form (following qatal).52 The G stem of šakānu, however, is lexically stative in the following image of the stranded ship (lines 32a–33); the passage refers to ʿAbdi-Ḫeba’s sense of being “stuck”—he is cut off from the pharaoh and any military aid.

It is also telling that the scribe, who employs more normative Akkadian than other scribes in Canaan, does not employ an Akkadian N-Stem in EA 288:29–30 in reference to the ʿApiru. In the Canaanite Letters, the N-stem of epēšu (nenpušu) has a distinct meaning, “to join and collude with;” this form is typically used in this way to describe someone joining the ʿApiru (see a summary in Rainey 1996a, vol 2: pp. 123–26). Perhaps, the avoidance of this form, and the use of the G stem of epēšu, were intentional choices by the scribe to signal that ʿAbdi-Ḫeba had not actually joined Egypt’s enemies. He is merely being perceived as behaving like them because he had not presented himself to the Egyptian court. Indeed, the letter emphasizes the reason for his lapse in protocol—he has been unable to travel due to the hostility in the region against him. He has been sequestered…like a stranded ship. In this example, we might see a collaboration between scribe and ruler to articulate ʿAbdi-Ḫeba’s sense of abandonment. Perhaps ʿAbdi-Ḫeba provided the simile, and the scribe transformed the image into a cuneiform expression, one appropriate to send in a letter to the pharaoh.

7. The Pharaoh’s Strong Arm

Immediately following the “sequestered ship” simile in EA 288, the scribe employs a second image: that of the mighty arm of the pharaoh. This image is used in three Jerusalem Amarna Letters to refer to the pharaoh’s “strong arm” to describe his power (EA 288:7–15, 34–47, but also in EA 286:9–13 and EA 287:25–28) (see Hess 1989, pp. 252–53). The letters are all for the same elite, yet the scribe employs this image in different contexts in the three letters. In EA 288:7–15, EA 286:5–15, and EA 287:25–28, the strong arm motif is employed to describe how the pharaoh placed ʿAbdi-Ḫeba in power in Jerusalem.53 In EA 288:34–47, this expression describes the pharaoh’s military power in regions north and south of Canaan. We will look at both contexts of use in the examples below.

In EA 288:34–47, the scribe builds up a description of the might of the pharaoh’s arm, but then undermines this image with the following description of the way that the local ʿApiru troops are taking over the pharaoh’s cities in Canaan. The passage plays on this motif to raise the question: why is the pharaoh—who is so mighty against distant kingdoms—at the mercy of the ʿApiru fighters in Canaan?

³⁴ ŠU zu-ru-uḫ LUGAL KAL.GA ³⁵ ti-le-eq-⸢qé⸣ ^kurna-aḫ-ri-ma^ki 36 ⸢ù⸣^Kkur⸢ka⸣-áš!(PA)-ší^ki

⸢ù⸣ ⸢i⸣-na-an-na ³⁷ ⸢URU⸣.DIDLI.ḪI.A LUGAL⸢^ri⸣ ³⁸ ti-le-qé-ú ^{⸢lú-⸣⸢meš⸣}⸢ḫa⸣-bi-ru

“As for the mighty arm54 of the pharaoh, it has captured Nahrîma and Cush. But now the ʿApiru are capturing each and every one of the king’s cities!”

• The scribe employs a chiasm to highlight the contrast between the pharaoh and the ʿApiru (a.k.a local regional enemies).

34 ŠU zu-ru-uḫ LUGAL KAL.GA	35 ti-le-eq-⸢qé⸣	kurna-aḫ-ri-maki36 ⸢ù⸣ kur⸢ka⸣-áš!(PA)-šíki
A	B	C
⸢ù⸣ ⸢i⸣-na-an-na 37 ⸢URU⸣.DIDLI.ḪI.A LUGAL⸢ri⸣	38 ti-le-qé-ú	⸢lú⸣-⸢meš⸣⸢ḫa⸣-bi-ru
C′	B′	A′

The scribe also employs a cluster of local elements. The Sumerogram ŠU is followed by a Canaanite gloss (zu-ru-uḫ “arm”), written without a scribal mark; the 3mp form ti-le-qé-ú, marked in the orthography by the affixes tv- and -ū, also follows local Canaano-Akkadian conventions.

In the passage below, in EA 286, the scribe employs similar literary and linguistic strategies in a different description of the pharaoh’s power—the pharaoh’s act to place ʿAbdi-Ḫeba in Jerusalem. Here, the scribe employs linguistic variation and parallelism, although, with a different aim. These features highlight the contrast between the pharaoh’s superior power in the region and the lesser power of local elites.

EA 286:9–13

⁹ a-mur a-na-ku la-a ^lúa-bi-ia ¹⁰ ù la-a ^munusú-mi-ia: (scribal mark) ša-ak-na-ni ¹¹ i-na aš-ri an-ni-e ¹² ˹zu˺-ru-uḫ LUGAL^ri KAL.GA ¹³ ˹ú˺-še-ri-ba-an-ni a-na É ^lúa-bi-ia

“Look, as for me, neither my father nor my mother: placed me in this position. Rather, it was the strong arm of the king that caused me to enter into my father’s house”.

• The passage below is arranged to highlight the scribe’s use of parallelism:

la-alúa-bi-ia ù la-a munusú-mi-ia	: ša-ak-na-ni	i-na aš-ri an-ni-e
A	B	C
˹zu˺-ru-uḫ LUGALri KAL.GA	˹ú˺-še-ri-ba-an-ni	a-na É lúa-bi-ia
A′	B′	C′

In addition to the use of parallelism, the scribe also employs linguistic variation in this short passage as a means of differentiating the power of the pharaoh from that of ʿAbdi-Ḫeba’s parents. A Canaano-Akkadian verbal form (a 2 person dual qatal form of šakānu) is used to refer to ʿAbdi-Ḫeba’s parents; next, the scribe refers to the pharaoh using a more standard Akkadian verbal form (a 3ms Š stem of Akkadian erēbu [“to cause to enter” and, in this context, “to install”]). Yet, the scribe employs the Canaanite word for “arm” to describe the pharaoh’s mighty arm. This term zu-ru-uḫ (זרע is the Hebrew cognate) is used four times in the Jerusalem letters; it occurs twice on its own (EA 286:12 and EA 288:14), and twice paired with the Sumerogram ŠU (EA 287:27 and EA 288:34).55 While the scribe’s use of different linguistic and orthographic conventions in the passage might be a coincidence, the context and rhetorical force of the passage suggest that the scribe used their rich scribal tool kit in an intentional and thoughtful way, perhaps even drawing upon the “mighty arm” motif in Egyptian texts and iconography.56

In this passage, ʿAbdi-Ḫeba states that he was set in place by the strong arm of the pharaoh. The image of the strong arm refers to his political position as a handpicked elite, chosen by the pharaoh to represent Egypt’s interests in the region.57 In three of the Jerusalem letters (EA 286, 287, and 288), the strong arm motif is used to contrast the pharaoh’s power with that of lesser, local elites. Given the consistent use of the Canaanite term to refer to the pharaoh’s mighty arm in the scribe’s letters, it is possible that the scribe may have learned a local expression used to refer to the pharaoh’s power in the course of their professional work in the southern Levant.58 Given that this Canaanite word is written only in reference to the pharaoh, moreover, using the same cuneiform signs, we may even be looking at a word that was learned by the scribe from a lexical list with a Canaanite entry, or perhaps from another local text describing the pharaoh’s power.

In this same passage, the scribe employs another image, that of a “house” as a signifier of the local Jerusalem dynasty (EA 286: 12–13; EA 288:13–15). References to the “house” of ʿAbdi-Ḫeba’s father might signify an actual palace, yet this motif is best analyzed as a metaphor for the political dynasty in Jerusalem (see also Hess 2003, pp. 223–24). We might also note the pairing of the “strong arm” and “house/dynasty” motifs here, which are both used by later biblical writers.59

To be clear, however, the aim here in outlining the literary features employed in the Jerusalem Amarna Letters and potential parallels in later biblical materials is not to argue for a scribal lineage bridging the Amarna Age and the period of the composition of the Hebrew Bible.60 Moreover, it is noted that studying this lone writer as an emblem of literary culture in Jerusalem is a somewhat precarious endeavor. The scribe who wrote the letters is not a typical Canaanite scribe. They were not trained in the local tradition of cuneiform, but rather had their core training elsewhere, most likely in the northern Levant. While it is likely that the expressions used by the scribe, including the “arm” and “house” motifs, drew from local inspiration or contact with local scribes, it is also possible that these expressions and forms were already known to the scribe, and/or were not a reflection of any niche Jerusalem-based literary culture.

8. Summary of Literary Features in the Jerusalem Amarna Letters

The present case study has highlighted a single scribe’s highly developed literary abilities, which involved literary features employed alongside linguistic and orthographic variation. Code alternation plays an important role in the rhetorical force of the Jerusalem letters. In addition, the scribe employed repetition to frame and highlight key passages; different forms of parallelism; lexical pairings employing both logographic and syllabic spellings of local words; and also different uses of imagery. Notably, the scribe employed clusters of these features to draw attention to specific passages, and to enhance the rhetorical impact of the letters.

9. Bricolage Vis-à-vis Proverbs and Lexical Lists at Byblos

The final case study considers the evidence for the use of literary expressions and locally developed lexical lists in the scribal community at Byblos. The Amarna Letters from this city suggest that the scribal community at Byblos was the largest and the most developed in this region. Rib-Hadda of Byblos wrote the most significant number of letters to the pharaoh, at least within the Amarna corpus. He also worked with the largest number of scribes of any leader represented in the Canaanite Amarna corpus. Vita assigns the Byblian letters to the following scribes based on the letters’ paleography, their language, and historical content (Vita 2015, pp. 47–54).61

Scribe 1: EA 50, 68, 71, 73–74, and 76.

Scribe 2: EA 84, 87–88, 102, and 106.

Scribe 3: EA 77, 81, 93, 110, and 133.

Scribe 4: EA 126, 129?, 138?, and 362.

Scribe 5: EA 114.

Scribe 6: EA 85, 105, and 109.

Scribe 7: EA 69, 127, and 131.

Scribe 8: EA 78–79, 82–83, 90,100, 103–4, 107–8, 112–13, 117–25, 130, and 132.

Scribe 9: EA 86, 101, and 139–40.

EA 136 and (probably) EA 137 = Scribe 1 of Beirut.

By the Amarna period, Byblos was an important coastal city with a strong and well-established scribal community, which was well-versed in the protocols of written diplomacy. Similarities in the Byblian letters further suggest that the scribes working at Byblos developed their own epistolary conventions for communication with the pharaoh and his officials. The Byblian scribes, as a community, wrote the longest and most rhetorically varied letters of the Amara corpus. The letters from this scribal community, thereby, offer insight into how scribes working in a similar professional and political context employed their training in different ways in the course of their epistolary practice.

Three different scribal profiles emerge from this small data set, which are suggestive of the nuanced roles that scribes could play in regional and international diplomacy, and of their differing levels of contact with Levantine polities and Egyptian representatives. The provenance of certain Byblian letters suggests that select scribes traveled on court missions to confer with Egyptian officials at the regional base at Ṣumer, and even traveled to Egypt.62 Such scribes were likely more than just letter writers but served as court advisors. Vita’s study also confirms that Rib-Hadda employed Beirut scribes during his exile from Byblos.63

While there are no extant cuneiform scribal exercises from Amarna Age Byblos, shared features in the Canaanite Letters from this site enable us to begin to reconstruct the scribes’ educational practices. Notably, several Byblian letter-headings include the title “king of battle” in reference to the pharaoh. While no cuneiform literary texts have been recovered from Byblos, it has been proposed that this royal title is an allusion to the šar tamḫāri epic, which is known from Tell el-ʿAmarna (Izre’el 1997, pp. 66–75; Moran 1992, pp. 142–43, n. 2). The inclusion of this title in the letters of several scribes working for the local elite, Rib-Hadda, raises the possibility that multiple scribes at Byblos knew of this epic; moreover, its use in several letters, written by different scribes, would suggest that it was memorized as part of the stock of local epistolary conventions for how to address letters to the pharaoh.64 While this title is used in an elongated royal epithet in letter-headings at this site, it is not attested in any of the references to the pharaoh in the body of the messages. This omission suggests that the phrase šar tamḫāri was learned as a royal title that was constrained in use, and only appropriate for the introductions of letters sent to Egypt. It is furthermore telling that the allusion to šar tamḫāri in the Byblian letters is only known from the letter-headings, which are the most conservative and formulaic section of letters; this feature was a part of the local cuneiform-based epistolary training.

When the Byblian Amarna scribes sought to add richness and literary texture, or urgency, to the messages of the local elite, they employed poems, proverbs, and other short, memorized formulae from their own literary traditions; such passages commonly feature clusters of Canaanite forms, or terms with cognates in both Akkadian and Canaanite. As Karel van der Toorn (2000, pp. 107–8) has proposed, such forms offer insight into the important role of local literature in scribal communities and its use in scribal training.65 In turn, this shared well of literary knowledge impacted the scribes’ letter-writing practices, and the tenor of their messages to Egypt. The widespread nature of these forms in the Byblian Amarna corpus further suggests that it was acceptable (and perhaps preferable) for scribes to draw from local literary forms and oral traditions as they composed new messages for the local ruler, Rib-Hadda.

The Byblian letters further suggest that the scribes developed their own local lexical lists, and even drew from a common stock of literary expressions in the course of their training. Yet these elements are used in different ways by the scribes. The variation in the Byblian letters, therefore, is also suggestive of the agency of scribes regarding the manner in which they used memorized lexical pairings, expressions, and literary forms in their epistolary practice. In the following examples, we will see how several scribes used the same literary forms and glosses. This evidence suggests that they were trained using a shared core pedagogy, which included memorized expressions and a local lexical list tradition. Two expressions occur in the letters written by several scribes, albeit in different contexts: “the snared bird” and “the neglected field” expressions. Additionally, two scribes combined these expressions in their letters, using them in the same order (“bird” + “field”), though in different contexts in their letters. It will be argued that, while the data from Byblos is limited, such similarities in the letters of different scribes point to a shared lexical and literary training particular to the scribal community at Byblos.

10. The Neglected Field

Several scribes from Byblos employed similar rhetorical strategies in their letters to communicate Byblos’s agricultural problems and its isolation. In four letters, Rib-Hadda compares the neglected agricultural areas in and around Byblos to an impoverished woman (EA 74:15b–19a; EA 75:11b–17a; EA 81:37–41a; and EA 90: 36–44). The letters warn of the impending devastation if the pharaoh does not intervene and protect Byblos. The “neglected field” image occurs in different contexts in the letters, whereas in the example from the Gezer scribe, the literary passage was in the same location, between the introduction and core message. EA 74 is cited here, as it is representative of the three other attestations.

EA 74: 17b–19

^17b A.ŠÀ-ia aš-ša-ta ¹⁸ ša la ⸢mu⸣-ta ma!(GIŠ-)ši-ìl ⸢aš⸣-šum ba-li ¹⁹ ⸢i⸣-re-ši-⸢im⸣

“My field is (like) a wife with no husband because there is no plowing…”

• The “wife” in this letter refers to the agricultural territories of Byblos but also, implicitly, to the people of Byblos who suffer because their leader is unable to provide for his people. This same expression is also in EA 75:11b–17a; EA 81:37–38; and EA 90:42a–44, with slight variation. In EA 81:37–38, the expression is framed in the 3p (“their field…”).

11. The Snared Bird

Several scribes also employ a second expression, which compares Byblos to a snared bird, captured in a trap. This expression occurs in seven of the Byblian letters: EA 74:45a–48a; EA 78:13b–16; EA 79:35–38a; EA 81:34–36; EA 90:39b–42a; EA 105:8a–9; and EA 116:18–20a. EA 74 is again cited as being representative of this expression.

11.1. EA 74:42–48 (Scribe 1 of Byblos)

⁴² ki-na-na ti-ìš-ku-nu NAM.ERÍM!(RU) a-na be-ri-šu-nu

⁴³ ù ki-na-na pa-al-ḫa-ti ma-gal ma-gal <<i-nu-ma‹>>

⁴⁴ [i]-nu-ma ia-nu LÚ ša ú-še-zi-ba-an-ni ⁴⁵[iš]-tu qa-ti-šu-nu

ki-ma MUŠEN.MEŠ ša⁴⁶ ⸢i⸣-⸢na⸣lìb-bi ḫu-ḫa-ri: (GE₂₃) ki-lu-bi

⁴⁷ ⸢ša⸣-ak-na-at ki-šu-ma a-na-ku i-na^{48 ⸢uru⸣}⸢Gub⸣-⸢la⸣

⸢am⸣-mi-ni ta-qa-al-mi a-na KUR-ka

“Therefore, they have made an alliance between themselves.

And so, I have been very, very afraid,

because there is no one who can rescue me from their hand.

Like birds that are stuck inside of a bird snare: bird cage,

so I am trapped in Byblos.

Why are you silent about your land?!”

The passage compares Rib-Hadda’s isolation in Byblos to that of a bird, captured in a trap. In EA 74:46, the Akkadian term ḫu-ḫa-ri is followed by the Canaanite word ki-lu-bi. The scribe separates these two words with a scribal mark that is used to signal the following lexical gloss. First, we will look at the way in which this expression is used in EA 74, and then examine the other occurrences in the Byblian letters.66

EA 74 is a letter that was written by a scribe who is identified by Vita as “Byblos Scribe 1”, writer of EA 50, 68, 71, 73–74, and 76 (Vita 2015, pp. 47, 50). The letter begins with a “king of battle” letter-heading and a prostration formula (lines 1–5a). The body of the letter has several main thematic units: lines 5b–12 proclaim Byblos’ history of loyalty to the pharaoh, but also complain that the pharaoh has abandoned his city. The scribe references past correspondence as proof and even asks the pharaoh to “examine the tablets of the palace of his fathers…” Lines 13–18 complain about the ʿApiru and the devastation due to the “land of Yarimuta”. Here, the scribe employs the second expression, the “neglected field” image to capture both the collapse of local agriculture but also to refer to the pharaoh’s neglect.

Three Byblian letters use both the “snared bird” and “neglected field” expressions: EA 74 (seen above), EA 81, and EA 90. The letters are written by three different scribes: EA 74 by Byblos Scribe 1; EA 81 by Byblos Scribe 3; and EA 106 by Byblos Scribe 6. In EA 74, the “field” expression occurs in the first complaint about Yarimuta, and the “bird” expression is later in the letter, in a passage about the military takeover of the ʿApiru. In two letters, EA 81 and 90, the two expressions are combined into a literary block; moreover, the “neglected field” expression follows directly after the “snared bird” expression.67 However, the trapped bird image is used to describe different political hardships facing Rib-Hadda and the people of Byblos. First, we will look at the “snared bird” simile, and then the “neglected field” image.

11.2. EA 81:34–41 (Scribe 3 of Byblos)

“Now, like a bird that is stuck inside of a bird-snare: bird-cage [written as [ḫu]-ḫa-ri: ki-lu-bi], so they are inside of Byblos. Their field(s) are like a wife that has no husband, because there is no plowing. Their sons and daughters and trees and houses are all used up in payments to Yarimuta for provisions for their survival”.

Scribe 3 of Byblos uses the “snared bird” expression to describe how Rib-Hadda is trapped inside of Byblos. The scribe follows it with the “neglected field” expression to describe the city’s agricultural crises. Both expressions are employed to convey Byblos’ isolation and abandonment. The “snared bird” expression is marked in bold.

11.3. EA 90: 36–44a (Scribe 8 of Byblos)

“And our sons, our daughters, wood [or trees], (and) our houses are spent as payment to Yarimuta for provisions (for) our lives [or, for our survival]. Like a bird that is stuck inside of a bird-snare [written as ⸢i-⸣⸢na⸣ ⸢lìb_s⸣-⸢bi⸣ ⸢ḫu⸣-[ḫa]-⸢ri⸣], so I am inside of Byblos. My field is (like) a wife with no husband because there is no plowing…”

Scribe 8 of Byblos also uses the same two expressions together, in this same order, to describe the agricultural and economic toll of Yarimuta on the people of Byblos. The scribe does not employ a Canaanite gloss in the snared bird expression, but only uses the Akkadian term ḫuḫāru.

11.4. EA 105: 6–13 (Scribe 6 of Byblos)

“May the king adjudicate towards Ṣumur. Behold: As for Ṣumur, it is like a bird inside of a bird snare: bird-cage [written as ḫu-˹ḫa-˺ri [:] ki-lu-bi]—this is how Ṣumur is. The sons of Abdi-Aširta—by the shore—and the people of Arwada—from the sea—are against it day and night….”

In this example, Scribe 6 of Byblos uses the singular “snared bird” expression to describe how the city of Ṣumur, which was used by the Egyptians as a regional military base, is being “trapped” and attacked by the sons of ʿAbdi-Aširta. The site of Ṣumur, which was considered the pharaoh’s own protected city is now cut off; the enemies are the Amurru and their allies.

But why did multiple scribes at one site use the same set of expressions? Could the similes and perhaps the Akkadian-Canaanite lexical pairing “bird snare: bird cage” have been a part of their scribal training? And, why did the scribes use a Canaanite gloss in a letter to Egyptian-Akkadian trained scribes? If this was a common expression used by so many scribes at Byblos, why was a Canaanite translation necessary? The data gleaned from this set of letters suggest that we are looking at the traces of a shared scribal education at Byblos during the reign of Rib-Hadda.

The similarities in the letters further suggest that the scribes repurposed memorized expressions from their training in letters for Rib-Hadda. The neglected field expression is used in four letters (EA 74:15b–19a; EA 75:11b–17a; EA 81:37–41a; and EA 90: 36–44), and potentially by three different scribes (see Vita 2015, pp. 47–48). EA 75 was not included in Vita’s study (see 2015, p. 48). Vita credits the other letters to Byblos Scribes 1, 3, and 8 (2015, pp. 47–48). The snared bird simile is used in seven Byblian Amarna Letters (EA 74:46; EA 78:14; EA 79:36; EA 81:35; EA 90:40; EA 105:9; and EA 116:18), which were written by at least four scribes at the site. Vita credits the letters to four different writers, identified as Byblos Scribes 1, 3, 6, and 8 (2015, pp. 47–48).

van der Toorn (2000, p. 207) further makes the important observation that the proverbial expressions and sayings in the Canaanite Letters are often distinguished by an influx of Canaanisms. The “snared bird” and “neglected field” expressions similarly co-occur with Canaanite elements, which might substantiate the view that the scribes drew upon local, Canaanite expressions and/or models that were translated into their local cuneiform scribal code.

For example, the “snared bird” expression was likely memorized by the scribes. Moreover, it may have been known both in the local Canaanite dialect and in Akkadian. It is striking that the scribes use a Canaanite gloss following the Akkadian term ḫuḫāru (“bird trap”) in five of seven attestations of this expression. The Canaanite term kilūbu (“cage”) occurs in EA 74:46; EA 79:36; EA 81:35; EA 105:9; and EA 116:18.68 Moreover, the “snared bird” expression is written in the same way in these five letters: ḫu-ḫa-ri: ki-lu-bi, with a scribal wedge mark between the two words. Here, we turn to Vita’s (2012) proposal that such glosses might not have been used for clarification or translation, but rather were memorized lexical list entries. The Akkadian and Canaanite pairing ḫu-ḫa-ri: (gloss mark) ki-lu-bi is likely an excerpt from a local lexical list used by the scribes working for Rib-Hadda. The use of both the snared bird expression with this same glossed entry by several scribes is furthermore suggestive that the scribes memorized this set of expressions along with lexical equivalencies in cuneiform. The local lexical training facilitated the learning of an essential Akkadian vocabulary, but it also trained scribes to write Canaanite words in cuneiform. Moreover, it is clear that the scribes at Byblos were also trained to adapt memorized expressions to new contexts, which included their work to compose new letters to send to Egypt on Rib-Hadda’s behalf.

The “neglected field” expression, too, may reflect a similar training process. This expression occurs in four letters (EA 74:15b–19a; EA 75:11b–17a; EA 81:37–41a; and EA 90: 36–44), written by at least three different scribes, Byblos Scribes 1, 3, and 8 (Vita 2015, pp. 47–48). As we will see from the examples below, the expression occurs in different contexts in the letters, yet the scribes write it with minimal variation. The four passages are presented below to demonstrate the similar grammatical structure and use of logographic and syllabic orthographies. The “neglected field” expression is marked in bold.

11.5. EA 74: 15–19 (Byblos Scribe 1)

¹⁵ DINGIR.MEŠ KUR-⸢ka⸣ ⸢TI⸣ ga-am-ru DUMU.MEŠ-nu ^munusDUMU.MUNUS.MEŠ ¹⁶ GIŠ!(QA?) É-nu i-⸢na⸣ na-da-ni₇ i-na ^kuria-ri-mu-ta ¹⁷ i-na ba-⸢la⸣-ṭá ZI-nu A.ŠÀ-ia aš-ša-ta ¹⁸ ša la ⸢mu⸣-ta ma!(GIŠ-)ši-ìl ⸢aš⸣-šum ba-li ¹⁹ ⸢i⸣-re-ši-⸢im⸣ “As the gods of your land live! Our sons, daughters, wood, and our house (sg.) are spent as payment to Yarimuta for provisions (for) our lives [or, for our survival].69 My field is (like) a wife with no husband because there is no plowing…”

The “wife” in EA 74:15–19 refers to the agricultural territories of Byblos but also, implicitly, to the people of Byblos who suffer because their leader is unable to provide for his people.

11.6. EA 75:11b–17a (Unidentified Scribe)

^11b ga-am-ru DUMU.MEŠ DUMU.MUNUS.MEŠ ¹² GIŠ.[MEŠ] É.MEŠ i-na ⸢na-⸣⸢da⸣-ni ¹³ [i-na] ^kuria-ri-mu-ta i-na ¹⁴ <<i-na>> ba-la-aṭ ZI-⸢nu⸣ ¹⁵ ⸢A.ŠÀ⸣-ia DAM ša la mu-⸢ta⸣ ¹⁶ ma-ši-il₅ aš-šum ba-li ^17a i-re-⸢ši-⸣⸢im⸣

“The sons, daughters, wood, and houses are spent as payment to Yarimuta for provisions (for) our lives) [or, for our survival]. My field is (like) a wife with no husband because there is no plowing…”

The context of this passage is similar to that in EA 74; however, the scribe does not use the 1cs pronominal suffix in the list in lines 11b–12.

11.7. EA 81:37–41a (Scribe 3)

³⁴ [a]-nu-ma ki-ma MUŠEN ša i-na ⸢lìb⸣-[bi] ³⁵ [ḫu]-ḫa-ri: (GE₂₃) ki-lu-bi ša-ak-[na-at]

³⁶ [ki]-šu-ma šu-nu i-na lìb-bi ^⸢uru⸣Gub-⸢la⸣ ³⁷ [A.ŠÀ]-šu-nu DAM ša la mu-ta ⸢ma-ši⸣-ìl ³⁸ [aš]-⸢šum⸣ ⸢ba-⸣⸢li⸣ i-re-ši ga-am-ru ³⁹ [DUMU.MEŠ-šu-nu] ^[munus]⸢DUMU.MUNUS⸣-[šu-nu] ⸢GIŠ⸣.MEŠ É.MEŠ-šu-nu ⁴⁰ [i-na] ⸢na-da-ni⸣ [i]-⸢na⸣ ^⸢kur⸣⸢ia⸣-ri-mu-ta ⁴¹ [i-na] ba-la-aṭ ZI-šu-nu

“Now, like a bird that is stuck inside of a bird-snare: bird-cage, so they are inside of Byblos. Their field(s) are like a wife that has no husband, because there is no plowing. Their sons and daughters and trees and houses are all used up in payments to Yarimuta for provisions (for) their lives [or, for their survival].”

In EA 81:37–38, the expression is framed in the 3p (“their field…”) through the repeated use of the pronominal suffix -šunu. Moreover, the neglected field and snared bird expressions are combined to describe the plight of the people of Byblos. The people are trapped in Byblos, whereas in other examples, Rib-Hadda employs the 1cs or the 1cp to also address his own difficulties (see EA 90 below). (Both the “snared bird” and “neglected field” expressions are marked in bold to highlight how they are combined in this passage.)

11.8. EA 90: 36–44a (Scribe 8)

³⁶ [ù] ⸢ga⸣-[am]-ru [DUMU.MEŠ]-⸢nu⸣ [DUMU.MUNUS]-nu ³⁷ [GIŠ].⸢MEŠ⸣ [É].⸢MEŠ⸣ ⸢i⸣-⸢na⸣ ⸢na-⸣⸢da-⸣⸢ni⸣ ³⁸ [i-na] ^kuria-ri-⸢mu-⸣⸢ta⸣ <<⸢i-⸣⸢na⸣>> ³⁹ [i]-⸢na⸣ ⸢ba-⸣⸢la-⸣⸢aṭ⸣ ⸢ZI⸣-[nu] ⸢ki-ma⸣ ⁴⁰ [MUŠEN] ⸢ša ⸢i-⸣⸢na⸣ ⸢lìb⸣-⸢bi⸣ ⸢ḫu⸣-[ḫa]-⸢ri⸣ ⁴¹ [ša]-⸢ak-⸣⸢na-⸣⸢at⸣ ki-⸢šu-⸣⸢ma⸣ [a-na-ku] [i]-⸢na⸣ ^{42 [uru]}[Gub]-la ⸢A.ŠÀ⸣-ia ⸢DAM⸣ ⸢ša⸣⸢ la-⸣⸢a⸣ ⁴³ [mu]-⸢ta⸣ ⸢ma-⸣⸢ši⸣-ìl ⸢aš-⸣⸢šum⸣ ⸢ba⸣-⸢li⸣ ^44a[i]-⸢re-⸣⸢ši⸣

“And our sons, our daughters, wood [or trees], (and) our houses are spent as payment to Yarimuta for provisions (for) our lives [or, for our survival]. Like a bird that is stuck inside of a bird-snare: bird-cage, so I am inside of Byblos. My field is (like) a wife with no husband because there is no plowing…”

The passage here is heavily damaged, but there are striking similarities to the other uses of the “neglected field” expression; notably, the scribe combines it with the “snared bird” expression, similar to EA 81. (Both expressions are marked in bold.)

We see a similar layer of Canaanite interference in the “neglected field” expression, which connects this proverb to the scribes’ own Canaanite language, as in the “snared bird” expression discussed above. For example, of the four attestations listed above, three employ the Sumerogram DAM; yet, in EA 74:17, the scribe writes out the underlying Akkadian term aš-ša-ta “wife”. Here, the choice of the Akkadian term aššatu for “wife”—which is closer to *ʔiṯṯatu in Canaanite—rather than sinništu/sinniltu might reflect Canaanite interference. The use of bali- after aššum is atypical of Akkadian, where we might expect the scribes to have used the phrase aššum lā. Yet, all of the scribes use this form in this specific expression. Here, too, we potentially see the impact of the local Canaanite dialect, as bl- is also used this way in later texts from this same region.70 The scribes also employ Canaanite 1cp morphemes in this passage (written as -nu). We can therefore tentatively posit that the scribe’s languages influenced how they memorized this written expression. Moreover, given that the scribes all write it in the same way, it is clear that it was memorized with a specific order and range of acceptable orthographic variants.

One proposal has been that the “neglected field” expression was memorized in the course of the scribes’ training in cuneiform. van der Toorn (2000, p. 107) contextualizes such proverbial expressions in the letters in the scribes’ training practices, viewing them as evidence for the “collecting and memorizing of proverbs and sayings” in local scribal communities. Marcus (1973) and Cohen (2013, p. 226) connect this expression to a Sumerian and Akkadian bilingual proverb collection known as the Assyrian Collection. The proposed parallel is cited below from Lambert (1960, pp. 229, 232).

11.9. Col. iv. 14–21

Sumerian	Akkadian
14 un lugal nu.me.a	14–17 (broken)
15 udu sipa.bi in.nu
16 un ugula nu.ma.a
17 a gú.gal.bi in.nu
18 erín nu.banda nu.me.a	18 ÉRIN [ša la-a] ˹ta-˺˹pu-˺ ˹ut-˺˹te˺-[e]
19 a.šà engar.ra in.nu	19 ˹ŠÀ˺ [ša la-]a ik-ka-˹ri˺
20 e en.bi nu.nam	20 É ša la-a EN
21 munus nitá nu.tuku	21 MUNUS ša la-a mu-ti

A people without a king

(is like) sheep without a shepherd.

A people without a foreman

(is like) water without a canal inspector.

Workers without an overseer

(are like) a field without a plowman.

A house without a master (is like)

a woman without a husband.

This passage is found in a section of the proverbs that describes situations where there is no order. As David Marcus writes, “both the field without a plowman and the wife without a husband are compared to institutions without leaders” (Marcus 1973, p. 282). Marcus (1973, p. 281) views the Byblian parallels, however, not to be metaphoric, but to reflect the reality that “enemy conditions around Byblos were so dangerous that the fields could not be properly cultivated”. Ayali-Darshan (2022, p. 350, n. 13) distinguishes between proverbs and “sayings” (citing the literary expressions in the Jerusalem and Byblian letters) that “are mainly similes…and do not necessarily belong to wisdom literature”.71

A closer look at the Byblian letters suggests that both interpretations are possible: the expressions drew from the scribes’ formal training, but were also selected because they fit the political context of the letters. The “snared bird” and “neglected field” expressions were therefore repurposed by scribes in several letters to the pharaoh. Indeed, the literary elements in the letters lend themselves, very naturally, to both a highly local and a more abstract set of meanings. The snared bird simile expresses Byblos and Rib-Hadda’s isolation and vulnerability. The neglected field expression, too, was adapted to express both agricultural and economic devastation, and also the toll of regional enemies. The pharaoh, too, plays a role in the images. Rib-Hadda’s letters, more globally, complain of the pharaoh’s lack of action. The pharaoh implicitly takes on the role of both the bird owner and husband in the expressions. In these messages, the pharaoh is asked to free the bird and to plow Byblos’ fields—that is, to free and care for his land.

Yet, the rhetorical function of these expressions is also telling of another facet of scribal training: how and when to employ memorized forms in new textual contexts. Despite the differences in location in the letters, the “neglected field” expression is used in a similar context in all of the letters in which it appears, in conjunction with a description of the agricultural devastation caused by Egypt’s lack of intervention in local politics. The chief complaint in these letters is that Rib-Hadda’s enemies have both directly and indirectly ruined the local agrarian economy. The scribes, therefore, seem to have had a shared understanding of how and when to use these expressions in their letters about current events in the region.

We can further contextualize the use of this expression against the political backdrop of the period. Several letters reference Byblos’s dependence on Yarimuta for grain (EA 67:27–32; and EA 125:14–24). Other letters identify Yarimuta as a place where grain is produced (EA 85:33–39) and specify that its grain was accessible by ships (EA 82:23–30 and EA 105:79–88). While the location of Yarimuta is still debated, it is clear that Byblos was dependent upon its resources.72

In the Byblian Amarna Letters, Yappaḫ-Hadda, the ruler of Yarimuta, is accused of withholding vital provisions and of colluding with Rib-Hadda’s enemies (EA 85:16–50; EA 105:79–88; and EA 114:44–69). Another complaint is that Yarimuta is exacting too high a price for grain shipments because, the letter implies, the sales and shipments are not being regulated by Egypt.

According to Rib-Hadda, the people of Byblos have sold all of their children and possessions to pay for the shipments (see also EA 112:25–29). Rib-Hadda asks the pharaoh and Egyptian officials to intercede. Another Byblian letter, EA 91, lacks this expression yet describes the agricultural devastation that has been inflicted on the area of Byblos, particularly the cutting down of Rib-Hadda’s orchards and fields and the raiding of his barley (EA 91:14–16). It is therefore fitting that the scribes would employ a well-known proverb, one likely learned during their scribal training, to formulate a complaint about the agricultural devastation and the toll of the payments to Yarimuta.

12. Summary of the Literary Elements in the Byblian Letters

The present case study suggests that the scribes were not simply copying expressions or lexical list entries but were making literary connections between them. The Byblian letters are suggestive of a complex process of text planning and composition. Moreover, they demonstrate how scribes combined microtexts in order to forge new textual creations. The “snared bird” and “neglected field” expressions were memorized in the scribes’ training at Byblos, although, as discussed above, certain aspects of how they are used in the letters seem to reflect the agency of the scribes in the context and location of these expressions at key rhetorical junctures in Rib-Hadda’s letters. I find this small sample of letters to be compelling evidence that we are not looking at records of Rib-Hadda’s speech, but at scribal compositions that drew upon the same stock of proverbial expressions, lexical list entries, and training in the art of diplomatic rhetoric.

13. Implications of the Four Case Studies: The Canaanite Amarna Scribes as Bricoleurs

While the Canaanite Amarna Letters are diplomatic letters communicating requests, complaints, or compliance to the pharaoh, they include a range of literary devices that give insight into Canaanite literary culture. The literary forms and formulae suggest that the scribes did not merely take down notes about the content of the letters. Rather, they were bricoleurs, who drew upon a repository of memorized formulae and forms, adapting them and even combining them to create new letters for Canaanite elites. Certain formulae employed in the letters were tied to the scribes’ epistolary training in cuneiform, such as the introductory formulae in the letters addressed to the pharaoh (Mynářová 2007). The letters also contain a range of stock expressions of obedience learned in local scribal communities, perhaps even from the letters sent by the pharaoh (Liverani 1990a, 1990b).

Yet, as we saw in the examples above, certain scribes also drew from literary features learned in their training, which had developed in local scribal communities by the Amarna Age. They learned similar expressions and strategies of poetic composition, and they even learned from local lexical lists, which included Canaanite lexemes written in the cuneiform script. There is also evidence in the letters that training in the affordances of the cuneiform script via lexical lists enabled scribes to develop conventions about how to write Canaanite words and limited phrases in their letters. We only have single words or, more rarely, small excerpts in Canaanite; yet it is clear that the scribes were experimenting with the elasticity of this script to write words in their local dialects.

The clustering of Canaanite forms and glosses in and around local literary units and proverbial expressions further demonstrates that scribes reproduced what they learned in lexical lists and in their training exercises in their letters (following Vita 2012). They even reproduced learned lexical equivalences along with the accompanying scribal gloss marks. The scribes were therefore learning these expressions and lexical equivalencies aurally and orally, but also spatially, likely through practice by repeatedly copying these forms in their training.

The case studies furthermore highlight the complex entanglement of scribal and extra-scribal knowledge in the letters, as certain forms and formulae were clearly tied to a scribal milieu (e.g., cuneiform-based word pairs that mirrored lexical lists, the epistolary formulae, and cuneiform-based epithets for the pharaoh), whereas other features likely drew from a shared literary culture in Canaan, which was not unique to scribes, but formed a part of the local oral and literary knowledge (e.g., different forms of parallelism and chiasm, imagery, and word pairs).73 Thereby, the letters suggest that the scribes drew from their personal and professional experiences to craft novel compositions.

14. Conclusions

The Canaanite Amarna tablets are not just letters. They are evidence for the earliest literary compositions from the southern Levant. The letters further suggest that scribes learned a breadth of literary features and compositional strategies alongside epistolary formulae and diplomatic protocol language, drawing upon their knowledge of literary and rhetorical strategies known from oral storytelling and performance, and even from local poetry, proverbs, and other formulaic expressions. The letters thereby demonstrate that the scribes’ memorization and bricolage practices were foundational to their scribal craft. Skilled and more proficient writers were distinguished by their ability to reconfigure known forms and formulae into new narratives, which narrated local political histories, cited past letters, and provided the pharaoh and his officials with timely updates. The Canaanite Letters thereby demonstrate the complex interpenetration of Canaanite scribal and literary traditions by the mid-fourteenth century BCE.

The present study, therefore, has sought to draw attention to this less-studied aspect of the Canaanite Letters by the following:

• Outlining a range of literary features in the Canaanite Letters used by several different scribes who, in turn, represent different regional scribal communities;
• Evaluating the micro-level contexts of the forms, that is, their structural location in the letters, their rhetorical functions, and the devices used by scribes to place them into the body of the letters;
• Marshaling the available data from the tablets and the study of the Canaanite Amarna Letters to understand the letters’ broader socio-political, linguistic, and scribal macro-level contexts;
• Creating a preliminary professional profile for the scribes who used literary forms in their letters.

The present study has further proposed that scholars of biblical texts and first-millennium literature revisit the Canaanite Amarna Letters and include them in the discussion of southern Levantine literary culture. The letters demonstrate the creativity of the scribes and their practice of both creating and recycling literary passages in their epistolary practice. The four case studies are furthermore instructive about the widespread nature of the use of such forms in Canaanite scribal communities by the mid-fourteenth century BCE, as the letters examined in this study hail from different geographic and political zones: the Jezreel Valley; the southern coast to the Shephelah; the central highlands; and the northern-most coastal reach of Egypt’s grasp, represented by the city of Byblos. The four case studies thereby highlight how scribes working for different political elites, with different approaches to the process of crafting letters, employed literary forms in their letters in similar ways.

It was also argued that the literary features in the Canaanite Amarna Letters complement the portrait of scribal training in Canaan in the late second millennium, as they contribute a range of poetic forms to the knowledge shared by scribes in this region. Not only did scribes in Canaan use poetic structures and even small compositions in their letters, but the cumulative evidence also suggests that the scribes were trained to use cuneiform to write in their own languages through these pedagogical strategies. Therefore, these memorized texts may have been used in tandem with the locally developed lexical lists, which include Canaanite entries. Such poetic forms also suggest a broader range of cuneiform activity in Canaan, which may have included literary works written in the local languages, albeit in cuneiform, or at the very least, in Canaano-Akkadian with the selective use of the local languages of the scribes. The Canaanite Letters thereby have the potential to give insight into the missing texts of Amarna Age scribal communities, which have not been preserved in the archaeological record.