When Seron, the commander of the Syrian army, decides to wage war on Judas and his forces, his real intention is, according to 1 Maccabees, to win honor in the kingdom: ‘I will make a name for myself!’ (3.14). However, he achieves the opposite. As he approaches Beth-Horon, Judas delivers a stirring pre-battle speech to his small band of troops that inspires them to fight valiantly and effectively rout the Syrians. The glory that had impelled Seron to go to war is in the end won by his enemy: ‘The name of Judas became known to the king, and the nations spoke of his battles’ (3.25-26). Later the fame of Judas arouses jealousy among his compatriots: two commanders, Joseph and Azariah, decide to go to battle against their neighbors so that they too could ‘make a name’ for themselves. But because they fight merely for renown and fail to heed the advice of Judas and his brothers, they suffer a great defeat, causing the loss of 2000 lives (5.55-62). In the next chapter we hear of a certain Eleazer (or ‘Avaran’) who in the midst of the Battle of Beth-Zechariah notices an elephant decked in royal armor among the enemy ranks. Supposing that the elephant bore the king, he courageously fights his way to the animal and stabs it from the under- !side. As the massive beast falls, it crushes Eleazar underneath it. The fearless fighter undertakes this suicidal mission, the author declares, in order to ‘save his people and win for himself an everlasting name’ (6.44). 1 Maccabees thus presents men often being driven to war by aspirations of name and fame. While not altogether disparaging this ambition, it portrays true glory being awarded to those who are motivated by higher—or at least collective—concerns (e.g. the survival of the people and their laws; see 3.18-22 and esp. Mattathias’ dying exhortation in 2.64 to ‘be valorous and resolute for the Torah, because through the Torah will you win glory!’). Fame-seeking or name-making is otherwise presented as a vainglorious and reckless enterprise (cf. 5.67). Nevertheless, 1 Maccabees glorifies heroic death and presents mortal sacrifice in battle as a legitimate means of name-making. Thus, when Bacchides and Alcimus march with 20,000 footsoldiers and 2000 cavalry against Jerusalem, the majority of Judas’ 3000 men flee in fear. Judas, however, commands his army of 800 soldiers to attack. In response, they attempt to dissuade Judas: ‘We lack the strength. Let us save our lives now…’ Judas in turn proclaims: ‘Far be it from us to do such a thing as to flee from them. If our time has come, let us die bravely for our kindred, and leave no cause to question our honor!’ In the end, Judas falls in battle and his army is vanquished. Later, at his funeral, ‘all Israel’ extols this warrior’s name, lamenting: ‘How is the mighty fallen, the savior of Israel!’ (9.1-22; cf. 2 Sam. 1). While similar in many ways to what we find in material from Mesopotamia and Greece, the portrayal of heroic death in 1 Maccabees lacks a parallel in transmitted biblical (and later rabbinic) literature. This fact bears exceptional significance and offers us an insight into the ethos and concerns of the authors who shaped this literature. One of the best-known biblical accounts of making a name on the battlefield is the David–Goliath story. While King Saul’s apprehensions

resemble those of Enkidu, David’s response contrasts with that of Gilgamesh in its confidence of not only survival but also triumph (1 Sam. 17.33-37). Moreover, unlike Gilgamesh, David does not aspire to make for himself a name, especially one that would survive a heroic death. Yet even though such is not his intention, the bravery he demonstrates in slaying the giant for reproaching Israel and its deity brings him great renown. The conclusion to the account, which is internally inconsistent, portrays Saul and his general Abner as not knowing who David is (or more precisely, whose son he is) and taking an interest in his identity after witnessing ‘how he went out against the Philistine’. Following his post-battle audience with the king, David goes from the youngest son of a rather insignificant Bethlehemite family to a position in the royal court (17.55–18.5). It is precisely at this point that Jonathan begins to love David, dressing him in his own armor and giving him his own weapons (symbols of a warrior’s individual identity). !In this way the narrator can show how David, at his first encounter with Jonathan, already begins to assume the place of Saul’s biological—and in this case, dynastic—namesake. A different thread of the narrative tells how David also begins to assume Saul’s own name as paramount warrior. When the young hero returns from vanquishing the giant, the women come out of all the towns of Israel and sing his praises: ‘Saul has killed his thousands, and David his ten-thousands’. This name, or ‘tagline’, that David makes for himself with the help of Israel’s women provokes great jealousy and fear on the part of Saul (1 Sam. 18.6-13), and it becomes known word-for-word as far as the Philistine coasts (21.11; 29.4). Many different biblical texts complicate the masculine ambition to make a name for themselves in battle. For example, the book of Judges employs women for this purpose: rather than promoting the names of warriors through their victory songs, as depicted in the book of Samuel, women deflect honor away from men (e.g. 1.12-15; 4.4-9, 17-24; 5.24-31; 9.53-57; 11.34-40; chs. 14–16). Similarly, the divine name contends with and counterbalances the names of warriors and kings. Thus, within the final form of Joshua, it is the deity who wins fame: in the older parts of the book, the kings of Canaan ‘hear’ of Joshua’s military feats (6.27; 9.1; 10.1; 11.1). A later author, however, constructed a new framework for these stories by prefacing them with accounts of how all the kings ‘hear’ about the first great conquests by Yhwh (2.10-11; 5.1). While biblical authors sanction name-making through martial valor (after re-contextualizing it), they leave no room for name-making through heroic death. This fact is remarkable given that commemoration of the war dead occupies such a central place in public ritual and space in cultures from antiquity to the present. We would expect, for example, that the book of Joshua would contain a scene in which the nation’s leader exhorts his soldiers not to shirk their duties but to be willing to die a noble death, as Judas enjoins his men in 1 Maccabees. Likewise, the biblical authors had many occasions to tell how Israel mourned those who fell in the wars of conquest, commemorating their names and sacrifice for the nation. But astonishingly we find nothing of the sort.