Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism

elements of ancient jewish nationalism David Goodblatt argues that nationalism can be found in the ancient world, contrary to the widespread view that it is a modern phenomenon. He argues that concepts of nationalism compatible with contemporary social scientific theories can be documented in the ancient sources from the Mediterranean Rim by the middle of the last millennium b.c.e. In particular, the collective identity asserted by the Jews in antiquity fits contemporary definitions of nationalism. After the theoretical discussion in the opening chapter, the author examines several factors constitutive of ancient Jewish nationalism. He shows how this identity was socially constructed by such means as the mass dissemination of biblical literature, the retention of the Hebrew language, and the priestly caste. The author also discusses each of the names used to express Jewish national identity: Israel, Judah, and Zion. David Goodblatt is Professor of History at the University of California, San Diego, where he holds the Endowed Chair in Judaic Studies. Previously he taught for more than a decade in the Jewish History Department of the University of Haifa and was the Louis L. Kaplan Professor of Jewish History at the University of Maryland. He is the author of Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia and The Monarchic Principle: Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity.

Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism david goodblatt University of California, San Diego

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521862028 © David Goodblatt 2006 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2006 eBook (NetLibrary) ISBN-13 978-0-511-25061-3 ISBN-10 0-511-25061-4 eBook (NetLibrary) hardback ISBN-13 978-0-521-86202-8 hardback ISBN-10 0-521-86202-7

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For Keren, Michael Moshe, Grace Ayelet




Contents

List of Abbreviations

page ix

Preface

xiii

1

Theoretical Considerations: Nationalism and Ethnicity in Antiquity

1

2

Constructing Jewish Nationalism: The Role of Scripture

28

3

Constructing Jewish Nationalism: The Hebrew Language

49

4

A Kingdom of Priests: The Priestly Component in Ancient Jewish Nationalism

71

5

Israel Nationalism

108

6

Judah Nationalism

140

7

Zion Nationalism

167

8

Conclusions: Jewish Nationalism – What Rose and What Fell?

204

Bibliography

211

Author Index

243

Index

251

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List of Abbreviations

AASOR AB ABD ABRL AGJU

Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary Anchor Bible Reference Library Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Julentums und des Urchristentums AJ Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae AJSR Association for Jewish Studies Review ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der r¨omischen Welt BA Biblical Archaeologist BAR Biblical Archaeology Review BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research b.c.e. Before the Common Era BCH Bulletin de Correspondence Hell´enistique BJ Bellum Judaicum BJS Brown Judaic Studies BJSUCSD Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego CA Josephus, Contra Apionem CAH Cambridge Ancient History CAJ Cambridge Archaeological Journal CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly c.e. Common Era CHI Cambridge History of Iran CHJ Cambridge History of Judaism CII Corpus inscriptionem iudaicarum CRINT Compendia rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert ix

x

DJPA DSD EI EJ ET GLAJJ GCS HAR HSCP HTR HUCA IDB IEJ INJ JAOS JBL JDS JESHO JH JJS JQR JRA JRASS JRS JSNT JSOT JSOTSS JSP JSPSS JSQ JSSS JStJ JTS LCL LSTS MGWJ NC NEA NEAEHL

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

M. Sokolov, Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic of the Byzantine Period Dead Sea Discoveries Eretz-Israel Encyclopedia Judaica English translation M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism Die griechische christliche Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte Hebrew Annual Review Harvard Studies in Classical Philology Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Interpreters’ Dictionary of the Bible Israel Exploration Journal Israel Numismatic Journal Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Judean Desert Studies Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient Jewish History Journal of Jewish Studies Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Roman Archaeology JRA Supplementary Series Journal of Roman Studies Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOT Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha JSP Supplement Series Jewish Studies Quarterly Journal of Semitic Studies Supplements Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal of Theological Studies Loeb Classical Library Library of Second Temple Studies Monatsschrift f¨ur die Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums Numismatic Chronicle Near Eastern Archaeology New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

NEB NT NTOA NTS OTL OTP PEQ PG RB REJ RQ RStR SBL SCI SDB SHCANE SNT SP SR SSEJC STJD STR TDNT TDOT ThWAT ThWNT TSAJ TSJTSA UF VT WUNT ZAW ZDPV ZNW ZPE

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New English Bible Novum Testamentum Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus New Testament Studies Old Testament Library J. H. Charlesworth, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha Palestine Exploration Quarterly Patrologia Graeca – J.-P. Migne, ed., Patrologia Cursus completus: Series graeca Revue Biblique ´ Revue des Etudes Juives Revue de Qumran Religious Studies Review Society of Biblical Literature Scripta Classical Israelica Supplements au dictionnaire de la bible Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Supplements to Novum Testamentum Studia Philonica Studies in Religions/Sciences Religieuses Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity Studies in the Texts from the Judaean Desert Studies in Theology and Religion Theological Dictionary of the New Testament Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament Theologisches W¨orterbuch des Alten Testament Theologisches W¨orterbuch zum Neuen Testament Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Texts and Studies of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America Ugaritische Forschung Vetus Testamentum Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift f¨ur die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift der deutschen Pal¨astina Verein Zeitschrift f¨ur Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift f¨ur Papyrologie und Epigraphik

Preface

The present book is the result of a decade’s worth of research and reflection. Several sources inspired my interest in the topic of ancient Jewish nationalism. One was the work of Fergus Millar that culminated in his book The Roman Near East 31 bc–ad 337 (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 1993). Another was (partial) exposure to the mass of social scientific research on collective identity, ethnicity, and nationalism. Once I began pursuing this interest, I benefited greatly from the work on the topic by Doron Mendels, Shaye Cohen, and Seth Schwartz. As the reader will see from the footnotes, numerous other scholars contributed through their publications to the advancement of my project. My primary focus will be on the province of Judah (Yehud, Ioudaia) of the Achemenid, Ptolemaic, and Seleucid empires, on (nominally) independent, Hasmonean–Herodian Judah, and on the Roman province of Iudaea. Occasionally I will also look at the situation among the Jews of the Diaspora, and occasionally I will take the discussion into the later Roman period. The later period will also come into play in the final chapter where I discuss theories of the “fall” of Jewish nationalism after 70 or 135 c.e. Given my focus on Judah and its residents, I considered using the phrase “Judean nationalism,” rather than “Jewish.” The ancient languages all had only one word to denote the human subjects of this study: (in the singular) Hebrew yehudi, Aramaic yehudai, Greek Ioudaios, and Latin Iudaeus. These languages did not have separate words to distinguish “Judean” from “Jew” as English and French, for example, do. The result, for the contemporary reader, is a certain ambiguity. Modern scholarship has devoted much effort to teasing out the various connotations of the above-mentioned terms in the ancient sources.1 1

Compare the similar problems raised in trying to understand the meaning of the terms “Syrian” and “Arab” in ancient literature and noted by Kevin Butcher, Roman Syria and

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Some of the relevant literature is cited in Chapter 5, note 23, and Chapter 6, note 10. My practice has been to translate the ancient terms by “Judean” and thereby preserve the ambiguities of the original. This seems preferable to risking an incorrect and possibly anachronistic resolution of the ambiguity. In light of this practice, consistency seems to require that I speak here of “Judean nationalism.” The decision to use the phrase “Jewish nationalism” resulted from sensitivity to a different ambiguity. I refer to the overlapping of Judean and Israelite identities. As Chapter 5 discusses, the ancient Judeans also saw themselves as Israelites. So too did Jews in subsequent eras. Consequently the nationalism of ancient Judeans could and did invoke the name “Israel.”2 To allow for this ambiguity I have retained “Jewish” because it can imply either “Judah” or “Israel” or both. The details can be followed in Chapters 5 and 6. To the phrase “Ancient Jewish Nationalism” in the title of this book, I have prefixed the words “Elements of.” This is to make clear that the book has no pretensions to being a comprehensive treatment of the subject. And if I make no claims of exhausting the topic of ancient Jewish nationalism, all the more so is this true regarding other nationalisms in antiquity. Some readers and reviewers (if there are any) will undoubtedly criticize me for insufficient attention to comparative material. It is true that after Chapter 1 my focus narrows almost exclusively to the Jews. My explanation is that I found more than enough in Jewish history to keep me busy and fill these pages. Those with the relevant expertise will more fruitfully address analogous questions of the existence and nature of the collective identities of other peoples of the ancient world. A series of case studies or monographs on the collective identities of various ancient peoples will then permit a synthetic study of nationalism and ethnicity in antiquity. As Ted Kaizer put it in a broader context, “Local studies must remain the starting point for research on the Classical Levant, but the contributions they make have wider implications. Research into particular localities and regions is fundamental to supplementing our understanding of the Near East as a whole, and comparisons between these different perspectives enable us to improve continuously on the wider picture.”3 Finally, one of the many lessons I learned years ago from my mentor Jacob Neusner

2

3

the Near East (London: British Museum Press and Los Angeles: Getty Publications, 2003), pp. 270–2. In part, the relation between the two terms is analogous to the relation between the terms “Persia” and “Iran,” discussed by Josef Wieseh¨ofer in the preface to his Ancient Persia from 550 bc to 650 ad (trans. Azizeh Azodi; London/New York: I. B. Tauris, 2001), pp. xi–xii. Ted Kaizer, “The Near East in Hellenistic and Roman Periods between Local, Regional and Supra-Regional Approaches,” SCI XXII (2003), p. 295.

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is that scholarship is a cooperative venture. This narrow study, then, is my contribution to a larger effort involving others. Portions of this book are revisions and updates of material previously published in various venues. Chapters 1 and 2 develop ideas first explored in “Judean Nationalism in the Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in D. Goodblatt, A. Pinnick, and D. R. Schwartz, eds., Historical Perspectives: From the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium of the Orion Center, 27–31 January 1999, (Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 2001), pp. 3–27. Chapter 4 incorporates material from “Priestly Ideologies of the Judean Resistance,” JSQ 3 (1996), pp. 225– 49. Chapters 5 and 6 build on research published in “From Judeans to Israel: Names of Jewish States in Antiquity,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 29 (1998), pp. 1 –36. And Chapter 7 reprises “Ancient Zionism? The Zion Coins of the First Revolt and Their Background,” International Rennert Guest Lecture Series 8 (2001), and “The Temple Mount: The Afterlife of a Biblical Phrase,” in R. E. Friedman and W. H. C. Propp, eds., Le-David Maskil. A Birthday Tribute for David Noel Freedman (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), pp. 91 –101. I am grateful to the following for granting me permission to use these materials. For the first and third items listed I thank Brill Academic Publishers. For the third item I am grateful to Mohr Siebeck. I am indebted to the Board of Overseers of the Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies for allowing me to use the fourth publication listed. And finally, I thank Eisenbrauns, Inc., for permitting me to use the fifth item. Over the several years of work on this project I have benefited from the help of many people and institutions. To the individuals, I cite the words of the inscription from the late antique synagogue in Jericho: hyqydx lk ![ hyyj rpsb @whty bwtky . . . @wthmv [dyd

As to the institutions, I wish to acknowledge the following. For allowing me to present my research in its earlier stages to a large body of specialists in Jewish studies from all over the world, I am indebted to the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, the Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies, the Martin (Szusz) Department of Land of Israel Studies at Bar-Ilan University, and the Institute for Advanced Studies of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. I also wish to thank the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies for enabling me to spend several months of research and writing at Yarnton Manor on a Skirball Fellowship. Above all I am grateful to my academic home, the Department of History at the University of California, San Diego, for its willingness to allow me to teach subjects not exactly at the forefront of mass student demand while granting abundant

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opportunities for research. The Judaic Studies Program at UCSD, through the Endowed Chair in Judaic Studies, provided generous financial support for all aspects of my work. What I owe my wife, Sasona Kieval Goodblatt, goes beyond words. But one debt that can be mentioned here involves our three children, to whom this book is dedicated: Keren, Michael Moshe, and Grace Ayelet.

1


Theoretical Considerations: Nationalism and Ethnicity in Antiquity

H

istorians of the jews in antiquity have often used the words “nation,” “nationalism,” and related terms when writing of their subject. In some cases this was a conscious choice. For an author committed to the Zionist cause like Michael Avi-Yonah, referring to the Jews in antiquity as a nation in 1946 had an ideological motivation.1 But even authors innocent of such commitments show no hesitation in using these terms. Three late twentieth-century illustrations of this phenomenon will suffice here. E. Mary Smallwood’s The Jews Under Roman Rule from Pompey to Diocletian has long been a standard survey. A glance at her index shows a considerable number of entries under “nationalism, nationalist, Jewish in Palestine.” Martin Goodman, in his Ruling Class of Judaea, puts “Jewish nationalism” in quotation marks when speaking of the treatment of this subject by other scholars. But he goes on to mention the Jews’ “hopes for national restoration” without qualification. Finally, Erich S. Gruen discusses embellishments and rewritings of biblical narratives by Hellenistic Jews in his Heritage and Hellenism. He concludes that these fictions “display a strong sense of identity and national 1

See Michael Avi-Yonah, In the Days of Rome and Byzantium (Third Edition; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1962), p. 10 [Hebrew]. Other twentieth-century authors used the terminology of “nation” from equally ideological positions. An example of a non-Zionist ideological historian using it is Simon Dubnow. See the recent summary of his position in David H. Weinberg, Between Tradition and Modernity. Haim Zhitlowski, Simon Dubnow, Ahad Ha-am, and the Shaping of Modern Jewish Identity (New York/London: Holmes & Meier, 1996), pp. 185–216. This position seems to have influenced Salo Baron, who echoes Dubnow when writing of “the emancipation of Jewish nationality from state and territory.” See Salo W. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1952), Vol. I, pp. 25, 31, 93–6, 237. Like Dubnow, Baron paid a lot of attention to the history of nationalism, including in antiquity. See especially his Modern Nationalism and Religion (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1947), pp. 7–8, with references to older literature in n. 6, p. 275.

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ELEMENTS OF ANCIENT JEWISH NATIONALISM

self-consciousness.”2 In addition to these examples of casual and occasional usage of such concepts, I am aware of three monographs devoted to Jewish nationalism in antiquity from the beginning, middle, and end of the second half of the twentieth century. They are William Farmer’s Maccabees, Zealots and Josephus: An Inquiry into Jewish Nationalism in the Greco-Roman Period (1956), Wilhelm In der Smitten’s Gottesherrschaft und Gemeinde: Beobachtungen an Fr¨uhformen eines j¨udischen Nationalismus in der Sp¨atzeit des Alten Testaments (1974), and Doron Mendels’ The Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism (1992/97).3 As common as these concepts are in historiography on the Jews in antiquity, their use has its problems. In the preface to the second edition of his book, Doron Mendels notes that “some of my readers were uncomfortable with the term ‘nationalism.’”4 The reasons for this discomfort are not hard to find. Over the past century the social sciences have devoted considerable attention to the notions of nation and nationalism. Even though there is a wide variety of opinions, there is also a broad consensus that these are modern phenomena. Thus, to cite a recent study, “Most scholars agree that nationalism is a creature only of the past 200 years of history.”5 Ernest Gellner and Benedict Anderson, to cite two influential students of the subject, differ on the nature and origins of nationalism but agree that it cannot be found before the early modern era. This conclusion was not the product of late twentieth-century thinking. The great nineteenth-century orientalist Ernest Renan asserted, “The idea of nationality as it exists today is a new conception unknown to antiquity.”6 Even those who argue that nationalism has premodern roots concede this point. 2

3

4 5 6

See E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews Under Roman Rule from Pompey to Diocletian. A Study in Political Relations (Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 20, Photomechanical Reprint with Corrections; Leiden: Brill, 1981 ), p. 588; Martin Goodman, The Ruling Class of Judaea. The Origins of the Jewish Revolt Against Rome a.d. 66–70 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 17, n. 30; Erich S. Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism. The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition (Hellenistic Culture and Society XXX; Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1998), p. 188. William Farmer, Maccabees, Zealots and Josephus: An Inquiry into Jewish Nationalism in the Greco-Roman Period (New York: Columbia University Press, 1956); Wilhelm In der Smitten, Gottesherrschaft und Gemeinde: Beobachtungen an Fr¨uhformen eines j¨udischen Nationalismus in der Sp¨atzeit des Alten Testaments (Bern: Herbert Lang and Frankfurt/M: Peter Lang, 1974); Doron Mendels, The Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1992; Second Edition, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997). Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, p. ix. Michael Hechter, Containing Nationalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 24. See Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983); Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (Revised Edition; London/New York: Verso, 1991 ). Renan is quoted by M. Vaziri, Iran as Imagined Nation. The Construction of National Identity (New York: Paragon House, 1993), p. 42.

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Walker Connor, while stressing the “tribal” origins of nationalism, admits there were no real nations until the nineteenth century. Anthony Smith, who emphasizes the ethnic origins of nations, avoids the latter term when treating earlier periods and uses “ethnie” instead. And John Armstrong prefers to speak of “proto-nationalism” or “precocious nationalism” when discussing premodern times.7 If the preceding views are correct, then using a term like “nationalism” when writing ancient history is inappropriate and misleading. The point is made explicitly by Richard Horsley in an essay about the Judean revolt against Rome in 66 c.e. For many scholars this revolt is a parade example of ancient Jewish nationalism. Horsley disagrees. He notes, “While some peoples may have a certain awareness as ethnos, ‘nationalism’ is a modern concept that is anachronistic when applied to ancient societies.”8 Even Mendels, echoing Renan, conceded in the original edition of his book that we cannot speak of nationalism in the ancient world “in the sense it has in modern times.” He defended his use of the term by noting that historians of antiquity frequently use terminology that originated in more recent times.9 Unfortunately he refrained from attempting to define what nationalism might mean in the context of antiquity. In any case, Mendels says, he will deal “with the issue of ethnicity, which will for convenience be called here ‘nationalism.’” Ethnicity is not defined either, though from the continuation it appears to involve the way “peoples” differ from one another “in terms of language, territory, history, culture and religion.”10 In the second edition he still insists that the concept of “nationalism” is applicable “in many of its aspects to the world of antiquity.” And he still appears to merge the latter concept with that of ethnicity.11 The belief that the concept of ethnicity is less anachronistic that that of nationalism may derive from the work of A. D. Smith.12 The thrust of Smith’s 7

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10 11 12

See Walker Connor, Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994); Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford/New York: Blackwell, 1987); idem, National Identity (Reno/London: University of Nevada Press, 1991 ); John A. Armstrong, Nations before Nationalism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1982). Richard Horsley, “Power Vacuum and Power Struggle in 66–7 ce,” in Andrea M. Berlin and J. Andrew Overman, eds., The First Jewish Revolt. Archaeology, History and Ideology (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), p. 87. Compare the remarks of John P. Meier, “Is There Halaka (the Noun) at Qumran?” JBL 122 (2003), p. 151. He observes that “our vocabulary may be anachronistic” as long as “our concepts and affirmations” are not. Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, pp. 13–14. Ibid., p. ix. See n. 7, this chapter. Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, p. 27, n. 1 cites an earlier book of Smith.

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works is summed up in the title of one of his books, The Ethnic Origins of Nations. That is, nations may be modern phenomena, but ethnic groups have a longer history. So concepts like “ethnic identity” and “ethnicity” may be appropriate when discussing the ancient world. Irad Malkin makes the point explicit: “Whereas nationalism is certainly a modern phenomenon, ethnicity is not.”13 Whatever the inspiration, the use of the concept of ethnicity has become fairly common among a number of ancient historians. In a lecture delivered in 1999, Frank Walbank looked back at his article from 1951 on the problem of Greek nationality. He observed, “Certainly ‘ethnicity’, however we define it, has taken the place of ‘nationality’ as a historian’s tool for interpreting Greek history and trying to understand how Greeks saw themselves.”14 Indeed there have been several recent studies on ethnicity in both Greek and Jewish antiquity that show considerable theoretical sophistication.15 Perhaps an argument from etymology is at work, at least on some

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Irad Malkin, “Introduction,” in idem, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity (Cambridge MA/London: Center for Hellenic Studies, 2001 ), p. 16. Frank Walbank, “Hellenes and Achaians: ‘Greek Nationality’ Revisited,” in Pernille FlenstedJensen, ed., Further Studies in the Ancient Greek Polis (Historia Einzelschriften 138; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2000), p. 19. The date of the lecture appears on p. 31, n. 57. Koen Goudriaan, Ethnicity in Ptolemaic Egypt (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1988); Catherine Morgan, “Ethnicity and Early Greek States: Historical and Material Perspectives,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 37 (1991 ), pp. 131 –63; P. Bilde et al., eds., Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt (Studies in Hellenistic Civilization III; Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1992); J. M. Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); idem, Hellenicity. Between Ethnicity and Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002); Siˆan Jones, The Archaeology of Ethnicity. Constructing Identities in the Past and Present (London/New York: Routledge, 1997); the essays collected in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity ; see also Butcher, Roman Syria, pp. 270–334, though this author prefers to speak simply of “identities” rather than ethnicity; E. Theodore Mullen, Jr., Narrative History and Ethnic Boundaries: The Deuteronomistic History and the Creation of Israelite National Identity, SBL, Semeia Studies (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993); idem, Ethnic Myths and Pentateuchal Foundations: A New Approach to the Formation of the Pentateuch (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997); Kenton L. Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel. Prolegomenon to the Study of Ethnic Sentiments and Their Expression in the Hebrew Bible (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1998); Gary G. Porton, Goyim. Gentiles and Israelites in Mishnah-Tosefta (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), pp. 288–98; Shaye J. D. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness. Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley/ Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1999); A. I. Baumgarten, “The Jewish People in the Second Temple Period as an ‘Imagined Community,’” in I. Gafni, ed., Center and Diaspora in the Second Temple Mishnah and Talmud Periods (Jerusalem: Shazar Center, 2004), pp. 17–36 [Hebrew]. Modern scholarship on ethnicity also informs some recent work on Jewish identity in the ancient diaspora. See for example D. Noy, Foreigners at Rome: Citizens and Stangers (Swansea: Duckworth with the Classical Press of Wales, 2000); Maren R. Niehoff, Philo on Jewish Identity and Culture (TSAJ 86; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001); Gideon Bohak, “Ethnic Continuity in the Jewish Diaspora in Antiquity,” in John R. Bartlett, ed., Jews in the Hellenistic and Roman Cities (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), pp. 175–92; Carl R. Holladay, “Paul and His Predecessors in the Diaspora: Some Reflections on Ethnic Identity

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level. We recall the assertion of Horsley that the concept of nationalism is anachronistic in the ancient context, although some peoples were aware of themselves as an ethnos. The terms “ethnic,” “ethnicity,” and so on derive from this Greek word, which was widely used in antiquity to refer to groups of people we might classify as ethnic or national entities.16 But the Latin natio, whence our “nation,” can make the same claim. Clearly we must take a closer look at the definitions of the two concepts. How is national identity distinguished from ethnic consciousness? And isn’t ethnicity as modern a category as nationalism? If so, why would its application to antiquity be any less anachronistic? The literature on ethnicity now rivals that on nationalism.17 Definitions of both concepts abound, but so does confusion. In fact, each term is used in a variety of ways. In contemporary American English “nation” tends to be

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in the Fragmentary Hellenistic Jewish Authors,” in John T. Fitzgerald, Thomas H. Olbricht, and L. Michael White, eds., Early Christianity and Classical Culture. Comparative Studies in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe (SNT CX; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), pp. 429–60. Note also M. Liverani, “Nationality and Political Identity,” ABD, Vol. 4, pp. 1031 –7; and the collected papers of Steven Grosby in his Biblical Ideas of Nationality Ancient and Modern (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2002). As the titles suggest, both are comfortable using the term “nationality.” On the specific problem of the “ethnogenesis” of Israel, see Israel Finkelstein, “Pots and People Revisited: Ethnic Boundaries in Iron Age I,” in Neil Asher Silberman and David Small, eds., The Archaeology of Israel. Constructing the Past, Interpreting the Present (JSOTSS 237; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), pp. 216–37: David Small, “Group Identification and Ethnicity in the Construction of the Early State of Israel: From the Outside Looking In,” ibid., pp. 271 –88; Niels Peter Lemche, The Israelites in History and Tradition (London: SPCK and Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998); Avraham Faust, Israel’s Ethnogenesis: Settlement, Interaction, Expansion and Resistance, forthcoming. See further Chapter 4 in this book. The point is more or less explicit in Uffe Østerg˚ard, “What Is National in Ethnic Identity?” in Bilde et al., eds., Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt, pp. 31 –2, though he also allows use of the term “nation.” For a detailed treatment of one example of ancient Greek usage, see Christopher P. Jones, “
s and s in Herodotus,” Classical Quarterly 46 (1996), pp. 315–20. For general orientation, see Marcus Banks, Ethnicity: Anthropological Constructions (London/ New York: Routledge, 1996). There are also several studies comparing the two concepts. For a brief overview of recent research, see Thomas Spira, “Ethnicity and Nationality. The Twin Matrices of Nationalism,” in Daniele Conversi, ed., Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World. Walker Connor and the Study of Nationalism (London/New York: Routledge, 2002), pp. 248–68. Among the full-length studies are Paul R. Brass, Ethnicity and Nationalism: Theory and Comparison (New Delhi/Newbury Park/London: Sage Publications, 1991 ); Thomas H. Eriksen, Ethnicity and Nationalism. Anthropological Perspectives (London/Boulder, CO: Pluto Press, 1993; Second Edition, London/Sterling, VA: Pluto Press, 2002); James G. Kellas, The Politics of Nationalism and Ethnicity (Second Edition; New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998); and Peter Kr¨uger, ed., Ethnicity and Nationalism. Case Studies in Their Intrinsic Tension and Political Dynamics (Marburg: Hitzeroth, 1993). For a sense of the extent of social scientific literature on the two concepts, see Thomas Spira, ed., Nationalism and Ethnicity Terminologies. An Encyclopedic Dictionary and Research Guide (Gulf Breeze, FL: Academic International Press, 1999), Vol. I. This volume runs to 757 pages, and two more volumes are forthcoming!

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used in the sense of “state, country” with “nationality” having the sense of “citizenship in a state.” Relying on the model of the United States, such citizenship has nothing to do with race, geographic origins, religion or culture. In contrast, an ethnic group is commonly understood to be a subdivision within the body of citizens. Membership in the ethnic group is based precisely on such factors as race (e.g., African Americans), geographical origins (e.g., Polish, Samoan), religion (e.g., Jews, Muslims), and culture (e.g., the category “Hispanic” – though there is considerable overlap between the cultural criterion and the previous three).18 In this usage “ethnic group” appears to have replaced the older term “race,” which was widely applied to such groups as the Jews and the Irish before World War II, when it was discredited by association with Nazi practice.19 Be that as it may, other languages reserve terms derived from the Latin natio for what Americans would call ethnic or cultural categories. Examples include German Nazionalit¨at. For citizenship in a state, German has the self-explanatory Staatsangeh¨origkeit, “state-belonging.” Similarly, internal passports issued by the USSR distinguished between grazhdanstvo, citizenship, and natsional’nost, ethnic-cultural affiliation.20 Thus in the United States the nation transcends ethnicity, while in Germany and Russia it equals ethnicity. A third option in common discourse allows nationality to include either state citizenship or ethnicity, adding modifiers to specify which of the two phenomena is meant. Thus some distinguish between “political nationalism” and “cultural nationalism.” Interestingly enough, this approach appears in the work of Salo Baron, one of the greatest twentieth-century historians of the Jews. For obvious reasons the concept of a kind of nationalism without sovereign political institutions seemed a good fit for the stateless Jewish people.21 A detailed application of distinction between political and cultural nationalisms in the context of ancient Jewish history appears in the work of Moshe and David Aberbach. They argue that the suppression of the revolt

18

19 20

21

A further variation emerged in the concluding third of the twentieth century: the ethnic group as a marginal, deprived, or oppressed group. See, for example, E. Cashmore, Dictionary of Race and Ethnic Relations (Third Edition; London: Routledge, 1994), p. 106. See Bernard Lewis, The Multiple Identities of the Middle East (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1998), pp. 16, 46. See Lewis, Multiple Identities, pp. 15–16. Modern Israel also distinguishes between “citizenship” (ezrahut) (e.g., Israeli) and “nationality” (le’um) (e.g., Jewish or Arab). On the Russian terms, see the discussion in Banks, Ethnicity, p. 23. See Baron, Modern Nationalism and Religion, pp. 7–8; idem, Social and Religious History, pp. 27–8. Mendels, Rise and Fall, p. 15, distinguishes between “the ethnos (people, nation) and a political state.” On p. 22, he uses the term “political nationalism” in the sense of “statehood.” The nonpolitical nation would presumably be characterized by cultural nationalism.

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against Rome in 70 led the Jews to focus their identity on factors such as religion, language, and sacred texts. As they put it, Largely deprived of the territorial, social and political bases of their nationalism, the Jews were forced to base their identity and hopes of survival not on political but on cultural and moral power. . . . The forced split between political and cultural nationalism was a major factor in Jewish survival.

This development, they suggest, is “a possible antecedent of the modern nationalism of defeated peoples.” The Aberbachs ignore the kinship element in Jewish identity, ignore precedents from the Persian and Hellenistic eras, and overstate the effects of the suppression of the revolt in 70. On the positive side, they provide a detailed exposition of the distinction proposed by Baron and show how nationalism can survive the loss of state institutions.22 A related dichotomy contrasts “modern nationalism,” democratically encompassing all the citizens of the state, with “ethnic/tribal nationalism.”23 A less judgmental version appears in some recent theoretical discussions. Eriksen, for example, distinguishes between “ethnic nationalism” and “polyethnic or supra-ethnic nationalism.” And Kr¨uger similarly contrasts the “ethnic nation” and the “political nation.”24 However, one wonders whether these distinctions do not reflect a blurring of the concepts of “state” and “nation” as they are commonly used in English language discourse. The political, polyethnic, or supraethnic “nation,” or the “nation of all its citizens,” is simply a state not organized on an ethnic 22

23

24

See Moshe Aberbach and David Aberbach, The Roman–Jewish Wars and Hebrew Cultural Nationalism (Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire/London: Macmillan Press and New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000). The quotes are from p. 5 and p. 4, respectively. The theoretical inspiration for their approach appears to come from John Hutchinson, The Dynamics of Cultural Nationalism: The Gaelic Revival and the Creation of the Irish Nation State (Hemel Hempstead, Herts/Winchester, MA: Allen & Unwin, 1987). See Y. Lior, “Baderekh la’etniyut [= “On the Way to Ethnicity,” Review of Yig‘al Elam, Yahadut bastatus qvo],” Ha-aretz, March 9, 2001, p. B 15 [Hebrew]. “Nationalism” is the Hebrew le’umiyut. Lior’s approach is typical of anti-Zionist and post-Zionist Jewish and Israeli intellectuals. Some of these intellectuals apply the dichotomy not to nationalism, but to the state. Thus Sammy Smooha distinguishes between a “multicultural civic democracy” and an “ethnic democracy.” One of his articles where he elaborates on these concepts, “Ethnic Democracy: Israel as an Archtype,” Israel Studies 2 (1997), pp. 198–241, appeared in a special section devoted to “The State of the Israeli State.” That these concepts apply to the state is explicit in the title of the article by As‘ad Ghanem, “State and Minority in Israel: The Case of Ethnic State [sic] and the Predicament of Its Minority,” Ethnic and Racial Studies 21 (1998), pp. 428–48. See the discussion immediately preceding it in the text. See Eriksen, Ethnicity and Nationalism, p. 119; Kr¨uger, Ethnicity and Nationalism, “Introduction,” p. 10.

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basis.25 Using the word “state,” rather than “nation,” for the political organization would avoid confusion. Further confusion results when the same definition is proposed for both ethnicity and national identity. For example, Walker Connor writes, “A nation is a group of people characterized by a myth of common descent.” He acknowledges his dependence on Max Weber’s definition of ethnicity: “We shall call ethnic groups those human groups that entertain a subjective belief in their common descent, . . . it does not matter whether or not an objective blood relationship exists.” This suggests the two terms are synonymous. Connor’s definition of “nation” is not original with him. He cites an old European joke that runs, “A nation is a group of people united by a common error about their ancestry and a common dislike of their neighbors.”26 In any case, in view of the same definition for both terms, it is not surprising that Connor admits his terminological combination “ethnonationalism” has “an inner redundancy.”27 Mendels also used “nationality” and “ethnicity” interchangeably, as noted above, though he apparently defines ethnicity in terms of culture rather than kinship. Other similarities between definitions of ethnicity and nation emerge from the quotations cited earlier. Those quotations all acknowledged the subjective and artificial nature of the belief in a shared identity that constitutes nationalism. Contemporary definitions of ethnicity as socially constructed also acknowledge the invented character of the concept.28 Similarly, the psychosocial dimension of ethnicity emphasized by contemporary scholarship has parallels in recent discussions of national consciousness. I refer to assertions that the origins of ethnic consciousness lie in self-differentiation from others, or from “the Other.” The same is argued for the origin of the 25

26

27 28

Eriksen, Ethnicity and Nationalism, p. 7, suggests that in “academic discourse” nationalism is the demand that the political boundaries of a state be coterminous with the cultural or ethnic boundaries. On this view, which Eriksen himself does not share, nationalism is simply the political expression of ethnicity. See there, pp. 117–19. See further discussion later in the chapter. For Connor’s definition, see Ethnonationalism, p. 75. He discusses Weber’s definition of ethnic groups and of nation there, p. 102, citing Max Weber, Economy and Society, 3 Vols. (New York: Bedminster, 1968), Vol. I, p. 389. The joke is cited by Connor, p. 114, n. 10, from Karl Deutsch, Nationalism and Its Alternatives (New York: Knopf, 1969), p. 3. Connor, Ethnonationalism, p. xi. See the comment of Brass, Ethnicity and Nationalism, p. 8. Compare George A. De Vos, “Ethnic Pluralism: Conflict and Accommodation,” in George A. De Vos and L. RomanucciRoss, eds., Ethnic Identity: Creation, Conflict and Accommodation (Third Edition; Walnut Creek/London/New Delhi: Altamira Press, 1995), pp. 24–5. For national identity as socially constructed, see also both Gellner and Anderson, passim.

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nation, already implied in the joke cited in the previous paragraph.29 Even the debates concerning ethnicity reproduce the debates over nationalism. Thus for both concepts we have disagreement between “primordalists” and “instrumentalists.” And some suggest that “core/periphery” tensions contribute to the creation of ethnicity, while others have them play this role for national identity.30 What then are the differences between ethnic identity and national consciousness? Is it that the nation does not rely on a belief in shared kinship? Instead, following Anderson, national identity involves “an imagined political community.” By the latter he means that “members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion.”31 But how different is this sense of commonality from socially constructed kinship ties? That difference, if it exists, shrinks even more when we recall how premodern societies were ready to assimilate outsiders through “adoption” and related procedures (see later). In other words, kinship was to a certain extent a metaphor for community. Be that as it may, the “imagined community” sounds like a deracinated, partially demythologized version of the subjective belief in common descent. Whether it results from a belief in shared DNA (to use modern terminology) or something else, it is the sense of community and shared fate that counts. And the latter is common to both the ethnic group and the nation. Let us look at other attempts to differentiate between the two concepts. Eriksen argues that when an ethnic movement demands its own state, “the 29

30

31

See Østerg˚ard, “What Is National in Ethnic Identity?” pp. 35–6; F. Barth, “Introduction,” in idem, ed., Ethnic Groups and Boundaries. The Social Organization of Cultural Difference (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1969), pp. 11, 13f. Compare Smith, Ethnic Origins of Nations, p. 11, where the distinctions ancient peoples drew between themselves and others provide “striking parallels” to modern notions of national identity. See J. M. Hall, Hellenicity, p. 175, nn. 10, 11, for literature attributing the emergence of Greek ethnic or national consciousness in opposition to the Persian empire, and Shaye Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, pp. 105–6, on the role of opposition to the Seleucids in the emergence of the Judean ethnoreligion. For a suggestion regarding an earlier period, see P. Machinist, “The Rab Saqeh at the Wall of Jerusalem: Israelite Identity in the Face of the Assyrian ‘Other,’” Hebrew Studies 41 (2000), pp. 151 –68. Hall himself takes a much more nuanced position, suggesting, on pp. 172–89, that it was the concept of the barbarian that emerged from the Persian wars. For Hall’s own suggestion regarding “the ethnogenesis of the Hellenes,” see there, pp. 125–71. For ethnicity see the references in Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel, p. 17, n. 50, and p. 19, n. 59. For nationalism see Østerg˚ard and Anderson. In general see Banks, Ethnicity, p. 154, who favorably cites Eriksen on the “parallelism between the theories (and manifestations)” of ethnicity and of nationalism. Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 6.

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ethnic movement therefore by definition becomes a nationalist movement.”32 This suggestion seems to be based on the American usage that interprets “nation” in the sense of state. As we saw earlier, there are other understandings of “nation,” allowing us to speak of “nations without states.”33 Thus adopting Eriksen’s distinction could lead to confusion. Kellas suggests other distinctions. In his view the ethnic group is “more rooted in social psychology” while nationalism has “explicitly ideological and political dimensions.” The former is more clearly based on common ancestry; the later, more defined by culture. Ethnic groups are exclusive; nations, inclusive.34 The first two sets of distinctions sound relative rather than absolute, and this raises the problem of how and where one should mark the dividing line. The third distinction seems to be contradicted by many instances of exclusionary nationalism. Connor suggests a different way to distinguish between the two concepts. Actually, he comes very close to equating ethnic and national groups. Yet ultimately he restricts the latter phenomenon to modern times. Nations can only appear when “a sufficient portion of a people has internalized the national identity so as to cause nationalism to become an effective force for mobilizing the masses.”35 This seems to suggest that national identity and nationalism can exist before a nation. A nation emerges only when national identity and nationalism are sufficiently widespread. Perhaps we can avoid using the concept to define itself by substituting the term “ethnic” for “national.” That is, Connor seems to suggest that an ethnic group evolves into a nation when ethnic consciousness achieves a mass audience. Kr¨uger adopts a similar position. He concedes that the movement from “ethnic consciousness with political intent” to “the development of nationalism and a national movement” involves only “a gradual change.” What marks this transition is when ethnic consciousness moves from being the preserve of an intellectual elite to a broader “social basis” and finally to a “mass movement.”36 These ideas owe a lot to Anderson’s notion of an imagined community constructed by mass print media in a vernacular, compulsory standardized education, and the like. But

32 33 34

35 36

Eriksen, Ethnicity and Nationalism, p. 7, and compare p. 119. See, for example, Monserrat Guibernau, Nations without States. Political Communities in the Global Age (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1999). Kellas, Politics of Nationalism and Ethnicity, p. 3. He does note, “it is often possible to trace the origin of nations and nationalism to ethnic groups and their ethnocentric behaviour.” Connor, Ethnonationalism, pp. 223–4. Kr¨uger, “Introduction,” Ethnicity and Nationalism, pp. 12–16.

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in this case the difference between ethnic identity and national consciousness sounds like a difference in quantity, not quality. Further, it ignores the ability of premodern societies, noted by Anthony Smith, to mobilize the masses for political and military activity.37 This ability means Connor need not restrict the nation to the modern era. Smith sets forth his own ideas on the difference between an ethnic group and a nation. And he does so while devoting considerable attention to ancient history. The main features of each concept as he defines them are set side by side.38 National identity 1. An historic territory, or homeland 2. Common myths and historical memory 3. A common, mass public culture 4. Common legal rights and duties for all members 5. A common economy with territorial mobility for members

Ethnic community 1. 2. 3. 4.

A collective proper name A myth of common ancestry Shared historical memories One or more differentiating elements of common culture 5. An association with a specific homeland 6. A sense of solidarity for significant sectors of the population

From these lists we see the first two items in national identity incorporate items 5, 2, and 3 from the definition of an ethnic community. Item 3 in national identity deals with culture, as does item 4 for the ethnic group. The difference is that with the nation we deal with “mass, public” culture. But Smith himself noted how premodern social groups could engage in mass mobilization. Perhaps they could also create some kind of mass culture. The same is true for the remaining two items unique to the definition of national identity, items 4 and 5. Could premodern societies arrive at something approximating common legal rights and duties and a common economy. A case in the affirmative could be made, as Smith concedes in the case of the Jews. Though emphasizing his reservations, Smith admits “a closer approximation to the ideal type of the nation among the Jews of the late Second Temple period than perhaps anywhere else in the ancient world.” And he adds that this “must make us wary of pronouncing too readily against the possibility of the nation, and even a 37 38

Smith, National Identity, p. 44. Ibid., pp. 14, 21.

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form of religious nationalism, before the onset of modernity.”39 I would prefer to drop the qualification “religious” before “nationalism.” As Smith himself notes, a religious component in the memories and culture of nationalities is fairly common in the modern era. In any case, what we see here is the distinct possibility of finding premodern groups that meet the criteria for a nation (not just for ethnicity), with the Jews providing perhaps the clearest example. This is almost precisely the conclusion of Garvin. He notes, “Something strangely like modern nationalism is documented for many peoples in medieval times and in classical times as well, the ancient Jews, the classical Greeks, and the Gaulish and British Celts of Caesar and Tacitus being obvious examples.”40 Our discussion so far demonstrates the difficulty in distinguishing ethnicity from national identity. We can illustrate this with examples from recent studies of ancient Israel. Sparks, in his Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel, has no problem with using the concept of nation in the Ancient Near Eastern context. He argues that nationality can be based on political, cultural/religious, or ethnic factors, the latter restrictively defined as based on (a belief in) kinship. None of the latter three elements are necessary components of national consciousness. Thus he claims that ancient Assyrian and Egyptian nationalism lacked or minimized ethnicity while stressing the political. By contrast both Greece and Israel stressed kinship and culture or religion, while lacking or minimizing political features.41 In practice, the ethnic, cultural/religious, and political were often intertwined. Indeed the very attempt to distinguish among them is often not sustained. Thus Sparks argues that in the Demotic Chronicle Egyptian national identity was “monarchic and nonethnic.” He then goes on to argue that this identity involved the abhorrence of “foreign rule” and “looked forward to the restoration of native Egyptian kingship.”42 But do not the concepts “foreign”

39

40 41

42

Ibid., pp. 48–50, with quote on p. 50. Regarding “common legal rights and duties and a common economy,” see the comments of Hayim Lapin, Early Rabbinic Civil Law and the Social History of Roman Galilee. A Study of Mishnah Tractate Baba’ Mesi‘a’ (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), pp. 239–41. Lapin notes, among other tendencies, an egalitarian principle in rabbinic civil law based on Jewish ethnic identity. Of course, as he emphasizes, this is an idealized legal tradition. Tom Garvin, “Ethnic Markers, Modern Nationalisms, and the Nightmare of History,” in Kr¨uger, ed., Ethnicity and Nationalism, p. 67. Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel, pp. 1 –2, and p. 18, n. 52, for his definition of ethnicity as based on (a belief in) kinship. Assyrian, Egyptian, and Greek national identities are treated in Chapter 2, pp. 23–93. The remainder of the book treats Israelite and Judean identity. On the nature of Israelite national consciousness, see p. 16. Ibid., pp. 90–1.

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and “native” imply a sense of Egyptian identity based on ethnicity? Similarly, by speaking of the “national gods” of Judah, Ammon, and Moab are we not combining ethnic and political elements with religion?43 In fact, Sparks concedes the close connection among the various forms of group identity by resorting to such neologisms as “ethnoreligious” and “ethnopolitical.”44 A similar approach informs Shaye Cohen’s The Beginnings of Jewishness, which treats the period following the one examined by Sparks. Discussing the term “Judean/Jew,” Cohen distinguishes the original “ethnic-geographical” meaning from subsequent political and cultural/religious connotations. He eventually defines late Second Temple Jewish identity as being “ethno-religious” in character.45 These distinctions obviously have heuristic value as well as the benefit of precision. However, disagreements over definitions and usage can cause confusion. How shall we distinguish the “ethnopolitical” from concepts such as “ethnic nationalism” or “cultural nationalism”?46 And if we follow Smith’s observation of the frequent role of religion in nationalism, how then shall we mark off the “ethnoreligious”? In light of questions like these, the conclusion reached by Spira appears justified. In a survey published in 2002, Spira noted, “Scholars have not succeeded . . . to identify at which point ethnicity and nationality diverge.”47 So even if we assume, with Spira, that there is a difference, it has yet to emerge clearly. Aside from these kinds of difficulties, there is a problem of a different order. One wonders if we seek a precision that does not exist and never existed in reality.48 If so, then trying to impose artificially fine distinctions distorts rather than clarifies. For all these reasons I 43

44 45

46

47 48

Ibid., p. 144. A similar criticism appears in the review of Sparks’ book by Bryan Jack Stone in BASOR 317 (2000), p. 92. Stone notes that Assyrian texts distinguish between Assyrians and other peoples. This means “one’s birth identity was important to the authors . . . suggesting that there was some sense of ethnic identity.” Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel, pp. 146–8, 192–3. Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, p. 137. And note the title of this chapter: “From Ethnos to Ethno-religion.” Cohen acknowledges his debt to Armstrong for the concept “ethnoreligious.” The terminology and its applicability to the Jews in antiquity was anticipated by Salo W. Baron. The latter speaks of “the ethnoreligious unity of [the Israelite] people,” in his Social and Religious History of the Jews, I, p. 338, n. 43. In his Modern Nationalism and Religion, pp. 7, 215, he uses the term “ethnic-religious nationalism” and applies it to both the Jews and the Greeks in antiquity. Compare Garvin, “Ethnic Markers, Modern Nationalisms, and the Nightmare of History,” in Kr¨uger, ed., Ethnicity and Nationalism, p. 67, who defines nationalism as “a cultural phenomenon with political consequences.” Spira, “Ethnicity and Nationality,” p. 248. For the ancient world compare the comments of Martin Goodman, Mission and Conversion. Proselytizing in the Religious History of the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), pp. 12–14.

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share the view of George De Vos. He asserted, “Strictly speaking, nationality is indistinguishable from ethnicity.”49 Consequently, I shall speak of “ethnic or national identity” or use the terms “ethnicity” and “national identity” interchangeably.50 But if there is no real difference, then the arguments against using the concept of nationalism in discussing antiquity apply also to use of the concept of ethnicity. In fact, voices have been raised against using the concept of ethnicity to avoid the anachronism allegedly involved in speaking of nationalism in antiquity. For example, Colin Renfrew echoes Renan on nationalism when he argues that the Greeks had no concept of ethnicity in the modern sense. And Roger Just is “skeptical about whether a discourse of ethnicity can be attributed to Greek antiquity.”51 Responses to these reservations have also appeared.52 Nevertheless, it appears that the concept of ethnicity is not an automatic solution to the problem of anachronism. It may not be possible to distinguish between ethnic identity and national consciousness. And even if it is possible, the concept of ethnicity may be no less anachronistic in the ancient context than the concept of nationalism. At this point, then, we must see if we can develop definitions of these ideas that are applicable to ancient society. My starting point is the discussion of Østerg˚ard. He neither suggests a distinction between ethnicity and national identity nor denies the existence of the concept of nation in antiquity. What he does do is distinguish “modern national discourse” and “modern national and ethnic identity” from their ancient analogues. He writes, “the discourse of national identity has changed to such a degree that it has become impossible for us today to understand what was implied in the language of the ancients or for them to understand the real universality of the discriminating discourse of modern national and ethnic identity.”53 That is, usage has changed so much that it may mislead to use the same term in both premodern and modern contexts. Interestingly, the editors of the volume in which his article appeared presented a more positive version of his conclusion in their introductory summary. They wrote, “His message is that . . . the [Barthian] concept of ethnicity may in fact be 49 50 51 52 53

De Vos, “Ethnic Pluralism,” pp. 24–5. As noted earlier, Mendels also took this position, though without any theoretical discussion. Compare the way Brass, Ethnicity and Nationalism, p. 8, speaks of “ethnicity and nationalism” without distinguishing between them. Colin Renfrew, “From Here to Ethnicity,” CAJ 8 (1998), p. 277; Roger Just, “The Historicity of Ethnicity,” CAJ 8 (1998), p. 279. See Hall, Hellenicity, pp. 16–19. Østerg˚ard, “What Is National in Ethnic Identity?” p. 38, and compare p. 35. Banks, Ethnicity, p. 130, appears to make the same point. In his critique of A. D. Smith, Banks notes it is unlikely that we can know “what the sentiments of affect were between people long dead.”

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fruitfully employed in the analysis of ancient societies too, even though this use is widely different from the one made by the ancients themselves of the concept of ethnos.”54 I would take this a step further. First, I see no reason to drop Østerg˚ard’s reference to the “national” aspect of ancient discourse. And I am more optimistic about the possibility of understanding what the ancients meant in their ethnic and national discourse and of narrowing the difference between modern and ancient usage. Let us begin with the latter point. Østerg˚ard contrasts modern national discourse with pre-modern dichotomies like Greek versus Barbarian, Christian versus Gentile, and “civilized” (European, Chinese, etc.) versus uncivilized. In modern discourse, by contrast, national identities are not such “totalizing” binary categories. Instead, people who identify themselves as members of one nation implicitly recognize other nationalities as belonging to comparable categories. They may assume their nation is superior but do not deny others the right to belong to a different national group. It is this combination of “universality” and reciprocity that constitutes “the gulf that separates the concept of modern national identity from that of antiquity.”55 The problem with this argument is that the Greek–Barbarian dichotomy is not the only ancient analogue of modern national identity. And the Jews–Gentiles dichotomy is rather different, despite Østerg˚ard’s listing of barbaroi (barbarians) and goyim (gentiles) as parallel categories.56 The latter Hebrew word of course literally means “nations.” Used as an antonym to “Jews” or “Israel,” it means “[members of ] nations [other than Israel].” However, the near exclusive use of goy as the binary opposite of “Jew” begins only with Rabbinic Hebrew. In Biblical Hebrew the singular goy can be and is used of Israel/the Jews as well. The most famous example of such usage is probably in Exodus 19:6 where Yahweh promises the Israelites that they will be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (goy qadosh).” But if this instance is famous, it is far from unique. Indeed usage with reference to Israel or Judah appears in the Bible from Genesis through Second Chronicles. The many biblical precedents guaranteed that application of the term goy to Israel was familiar to postbiblical authors,

54

55

56

The editors, “Preface,” in Bilde et al., Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt, p. 10. “Barthian” refers to the definition of ethnicity by the Norwegian anthropologist Fredrik Barth. See n. 29 in this chapter. Østerg˚ard, “What Is National in Ethnic Identity?” p. 35. Garvin, “Ethnic Markers,” p. 67, also appears to believe that modern nationalism has a universalistic aspect lacking in the ancient varieties. He writes there, “Nationalism as a cultural phenomenon with political consequences is far older than the modern universalized version.” Østerg˚ard, “What Is National in Ethnic Identity?” p. 36. Others have also drawn this parallel; for example, see Baron, Modern Nationalism and Religion, pp. 7–8.

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including the rabbis. For example, a phrase from II Samuel 7:23, which is repeated in I Chronicles 17:21, “who is like your people Israel, a nation (goy) unique on the earth,” was incorporated into the Sabbath afternoon amidah prayer.57 If the Jews themselves constituted a goy, then calling non-Jews goyim could not have the same force as Greeks calling others barbaroi. Additional evidence supports the view that Jews viewed other nations as belonging to the same category, however superior or special they may have felt their own group to be. Amos 9:7 has Yahweh declare that he brought the Philistines from Caphtor and the Arameans from Kir to their current territories, just as he had brought the Israelites from Egypt to Canaan. Other biblical passages, such as Micah 4:5, indicate a belief that even the worship of other deities by other nations was legitimate. Each nation had its own god and was entitled to follow that god. Indeed it was Yahweh himself, according to Deuteronomy 4:19, who assigned other objects of worship to the different nations.58 In the future, some hoped, all the nations would recognize Yahweh as the one, true God, but that did not necessarily entail their becoming Israelites. They could retain their separate identities as different nations. Finally, Chapters 10–12 of Daniel assign heavenly “princes” (often referred to as “guardian angels”) equally to Persia, Greece, and Israel.59 All these ideas imply the reciprocal recognition of other nations, alleged to be unique to modern national discourse. The second issue implicitly raised by Østerg˚ard is whether we can know what the ancients meant by their national discourse. I believe we can. We have written sources from antiquity that at the very least disclose the views of the 57

58 59

For the text of the prayer see S. Baer, ed., Seder Avodat Yisra’el (Tel Aviv: Or Torah, 5717; original edition: R¨odelheim: Lehrberger, 1868), p. 262 [Hebrew]. For biblical usage consult the dictionaries, concordances, and encyclopedias. A. Cody, “When Is the Chosen People Called a gˆoy?” VT 14 (1964), pp. 1 –6, asserts that the use of the term for Israel ends by the Hellenistic period. However, the evidence adduced earlier in this discussion shows that this usage had a post-biblical afterlife. For a late biblical example see Daniel 12:1. Note D. J. A. Clines, ed., The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), Vol. II, s.v. goy, p. 329. It claims that the word “rarely” appears with reference to Israel. It appends to this statement a list of sixteen instances of such usage – a list that is not exhaustive! An interesting case occurs in Psalms 33. Verse 12 applies the singular goy to Israel after Verse 10 had applied the plural goyim to the other nations. The point to keep in mind is that there are many nations but only one Israel. So it is logical that most occurrences of the word, and all occurrences of the plural form, would refer to other nations. For rabbinic usage see Porton, Goyim, passim. See Goodman, Mission and Conversion, pp. 52–8, for ongoing Jewish tolerance of gentile paganism (outside the Land of Israel) in Second Temple times. On the variety of biblical and postbiblical ideas concerning non-Israelites, see Robert Goldenberg, The Nations That Knew Thee Not. Ancient Jewish Attitudes toward Other Religions (New York: New York University Press, 1998), passim.

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authors of these texts (or of their employers). When we look at their discourse about collectivities we would call “nations” or “ethnic groups,” we find themes very reminiscent of modern national and ethnic discourse. A much-discussed example appears in Herodotus VIII, 144. In this passage, whose dramatic setting is the Persian invasion of 480–79 b.c.e., the Athenians are reassuring the Spartans that they will not abandon the anti-Persian coalition. The Athenians explain that they would never make common cause with the destroyers of the temples and statues of the gods. Further, There is our common Greekness [   ]: we are all one in blood and one in language, those shrines of the gods belong to us all in common, and the sacrifices in common, and there are our habits, bred of a common upbringing.60

Some modern commentators believe Herodotus has an ironical intent. Intra-Greek warfare in more recent times hardly reflected such a commitment to Greek solidarity. Indeed there are those who argue that the idea of a “panhellenic” identity emerged in response to Athenian claims of distinctiveness and attempts at hegemony in the second half of the fifth century b.c.e.. Others suggest that the sentiment attributed by Herodotus to the Athenians reflects the emergence earlier in the century of a sense of Greek identity in opposition to the Barbarian other represented by the Persians in the war of 480–79 b.c.e.61 For our purposes what counts is that a Greek author, writing in the third quarter of the fifth century, imagines a definition of “Greekness” consisting of kinship (= common blood) and shared language, religion (shrines of the gods and sacrifices) and customary practices. The latter three items can be collapsed into the single category of culture. And this combination of kinship and culture is presented by our ancient author as relevant for political action and military mobilization of the masses in defense of a homeland. Leaving aside the question of ironical intent and what Herodotus himself may actually have thought, the surface meaning of the passage is crystal 60 61

Translation of D. Grene, The History. Herodotus (Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 1987), p. 611. The literature on this passage is extensive. See the discussion in C. W. Fornara, Herodotus. An Interpretive Essay (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971 ), pp. 85–6. For more recent treatments see P. Cartledge, “We Are All Greeks?” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 40 (1995), pp. 75–82; Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, pp. 44–7; idem, Hellenicity, pp. 189– 94; David Konstan, “To Hellenikon ethnos: Ethnicity and the Construction of Ancient Greek Identity,” in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, pp. 32–6; Rosalind Thomas, “Ethnicity, Genealogy and Hellenism in Herodotus,” in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, pp. 213–18. Compare Baron, Modern Nationalism and Religion, p. 8, who emphasizes the religious component in Herodotus’ definition at the expense of the other factors.

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clear. And to me it sounds very much like “modern national (and ethnic) discourse.” Admittedly, modern theorists emphasize some nuances. One is that the shared kinship and shared culture may be imaginary (in whole or part) rather than real. The blood ties may be fictive, and the cultural continuities, artificial. The belief that members of the group are related and share customs, language, and religion distinctive from those of their neighbors may be inculcated rather than empirically deduced by individuals. To use modern terminology alluded to earlier, the sense of national or ethnic identity is “imagined” and “socially constructed.” The emphasis on this aspect may be modern, but the ancients were often aware of the artificial or fictive nature of claims of common kinship or culture.62 Similarly, ancients were aware that the kinship group was not impermeable to outsiders nor was the shared culture monolithic and unchanging. They simply did not emphasize this as much as modern theorists do.63 The invocation of both genetic and cultural factors raises the question of the relative weight of each of these components. Is one of the two more important or decisive in determining membership in the collectivity? Hall maintains that he can trace a shift in the relative importance of the two factors over time, at least in some authors. Such a development is already apparent in the passage from Herodotus. Hall believes that a purely ethnic concept of Greek identity, by which he means one based solely on kinship, emerged during the sixth century. The definition in Herodotus “promotes the cultural criteria (including language and religion) to the same level as kinship.”64 Even more, Hall argues, the cultural factors are now presented as outweighing the kinship factors. The apparent triumph of culture over kinship is attested in another famous passage. In his Panegyricus 50, Isocrates, writing about half a century after Herodotus, asserts, 62

63

64

See for example Herodotus’ account of the Ionians as discussed by McInerney, “Ethnos and Ethnicity in Early Greece,” in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, pp. 58–9. And for a likely case in the Jewish world, see the discussion of the Hasmonean claim of kinship with Sparta in Erich S. Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism, pp. 253–68. For modern literature on this point, see the sources cited by Hall, Hellenicity, p. 10, n. 16. For those Greeks who stressed the cultural aspects of “Greekness,” people could become Greek or equally cease to be Greek. An example of the latter possibility appears in Dionysios of Halicarnassus 1.89.4 regarding the Achaeans near Pontus, cited by Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, p. 132, n. 63. The openness of the Jewish group to outsiders joining is famously illustrated by the biblical example of Ruth and above all by the later concept of conversion. On the latter see Goodman, Mission and Conversion; Christine E. Hayes, Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities. Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002). And note Philo’s comments on converts cited later in this chapter. Hall, Hellenicity, p. 193.

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So far has our city left other men behind with regard to wisdom and expression that its students have become the teachers of others. The result is that the name of the Hellenes [    ] no longer seems to indicate an ethnic affiliation [s] but a disposition [  ]. Indeed, those who are called ‘Hellenes’ are those who share our culture [ s] rather than a common biological inheritance [  ! s].65

Needless to say, classicists have long debated the import of these words. Some understand Isocrates to extend the designation “Hellene” to whoever adopted Greek culture. Others say he is restricting the appellation only to those who share Athenian culture. Hall accepts the latter interpretation but takes it a step farther. For him the definition of Isocrates “emphasizes the point that Hellenicity is something that can be taught and learnt – a matter of enculturation rather than the destiny of birth.”66 Some students of ancient Jewish identity have also discerned a trajectory in which ethnic or national identity changes from a matter of kinship to one of shared culture. Shaye Cohen notes a shift in the character of “Jewishness” in “From Ethnos to Ethno-religion,” to cite the name of a chapter from his book The Beginnings of Jewishness. That is, the original “ethnic-geographical” meaning of the term “Judean/Jew” was supplemented in the Hasmonean era by cultural and religious connotations.67 Mosh´e Bar-Asher notes a similar development attested in the Book of Esther. The term “yehudi” there “ne d´esigne plus seulement le provenance g´eographique ou l’origene familale et tribale, mais s’applique a` quiconque appartient a` un groupe, a` un people dont les members sont unis par un r´eseau complexe de croyances, de lois et de coutumes.”68 Martin Goodman suggests a similar trajectory in the history of Jewishness from ethnicity to religion, a transformation accelerated by the policy of the Roman emperor Nerva.69 For Cohen and Bar-Asher, at least, the ethnic component does not disappear. And some interpreters of Isocrates would argue that the same is true for him. He can be understood to mean that 65

66 67 68 69

Translation of Hall, Hellenicity, p. 209. Compare that of F. W. Walbank in his “The Problem of Greek Nationality,” Phoenix 5 (1951 ), pp. 45–6 [= Selected Papers in Greek and Roman History and Historiography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 5]. See the literature cited by Hall, p. 209, n. 172. Hall, Hellenicity, p. 209. Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, p. 137. Mosh´e Bar-Asher, “hrybh @vwvb hyh ydwhy vya Il Y Avait A` Suse Un Homme Juif,” REJ 161 (2002), pp. 227–31. The quote is from p. 231. Martin Goodman, “Nerva, the Fiscus Iudaicus, and Jewish Identity,” JRS 79 (1989), pp. 40– 4. See the dissent of Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society 200 b.c.e. to 640 c.e. (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001 ), p. 188.

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even though Greek blood is not a sufficient condition for being recognized as a Greek, it is still a necessary condition. That is, even while giving expression to “Athenian chauvinism,” Isocrates does not deny the importance of Greek descent.70 In fact there are some indications in ancient Jewish sources that the kinship factor remained dominant, even during and after the periods when the shifts noted previously took place. According to Cohen, II Maccabees marks a turning in the evolution of the meaning of the term Ioudaios by emphasizing the cultural/religious aspect of Jewish identity.71 But passages in the same book appear to privilege the element of blood relations. Thus II Maccabees 4:13 blames Jason for “the height of Hellenism” and the adoption of “foreignness” (" s). For this he is condemned as “impious and no high priest.” But the author does not say “no Judean.” Despite the adoption (in the author’s eyes) of a gentile lifestyle, Jason is still a Judean. This is because no one could doubt his birth pedigree. This approach appears in later tradition as well, long after the developments noted by Cohen, Bar-Asher, and Goodman. One exemplar is the famous dictum from Bavli Sanhedrin 44a. The context is a discussion of the incident in Joshua 7 where Akhan violates the herem. Verse 11 is quoted, where God tells Joshua “Israel has sinned.” Rabbi Abba bar Zavda (late third–early fourth century) comments, “Even though he has sinned, he is [still] an Israelite” (Af al pi shehata, yisrael hu). A popular proverb is then cited to illustrate this view, “a myrtle standing among the willows – its name is myrtle and it is called a myrtle” (asa deqa’e be hilfe asa shmeh ve’asa qero leh). The myrtle’s identity is determined by its biology. Even if it lives among the willows and acts like a willow, it is still a myrtle. So too, kinship, not behavior, is determinative of Jewish identity. A Jew may be a bad Jew, but he is still a Jew. Other sources that appear to focus on culture and practice do not really deny the primacy of blood. I begin with the famous report by Josephus that Mattathias Antigonos, the last Hasmonean king of Judea, called Herod a “halfJudean” (#

 s). As the passage makes clear, the epithet alluded not to Herod’s behavior, but to his Idumean ancestry.72 Perhaps more indicative of culture determining identity are references to what we would call cases 70 71 72

See Suzanne Sa¨ıd, “The Discourse of Identity in Greek Rhetoric from Isocrates to Aristides,” in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, pp. 282, 285. Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, pp. 105–6. AJ 14:403, Ralph Marcus in H. St. J. Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. VII (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press and London: William Heinemann, 1933), pp. 660–1. Compare Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, p. 18: “Antigonus is commenting not on Herod’s religiosity but on his pedigree.”

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of apostasy. III Maccabees 1 :3 mentions Dositheus son of Drimylos, who was a Judean by genos. That is, he was one by birth. Then he abandoned the ancestral customs and beliefs. But did he thereby cease to be a Judean? A parallel case is that of Tiberius Iulius Alexander. Josephus (AJ 20:100) compares him unfavorably to his father, the Alexandrian Jewish leader (and brother of the philosopher Philo) Alexander. The son “did not stand by the practices of his people,” tois . . . patriois . . . ethesin.73 At AJ 18:141 Josephus mentions another case where Jews by blood abandoned Jewish practices. He refers there to some of Herod’s descendants who “abandoned from birth the observance of the ways of the Jewish land and ranged themselves with the Greek tradition” (ta Hellesi patria).74 Now it is probable that the author of III Maccabees and Josephus considered these people not to be Jews anymore. However, they do not say this explicitly. Moreover, we must be wary of polemic hyperbole. Modern times have witnessed defenders of tradition denying the Jewishness of reformers. For all we know, Philo’s nephew and Herod’s descendants continued to regard themselves as Jewish. And others might have seen them as sinful or bad Jews, but still Jewish – in the spirit of Abba bar Zavda. Finally, the exceptions should not determine the rule. As interesting as these cases of people on the margins are, they are not the norm. Another indication of the ongoing importance of the kinship factor is the way sharp ethnic boundaries might be drawn right through shared behaviors or cultural features. One example from antiquity is the Judean–Idumean divide of the Hellenistic era. Most scholars agree that by this time both Jews and Idumeans spoke Aramaic and used it for literary composition and legal documents. A good illustration of the shared culture is the Idumean marriage contract, dated by its editors to 176 b.c.e, which is strikingly similar to the Aramaic ketubbot used by Judeans.75 Yet these common cultural factors did not prevent at least some Judeans from sensing a firm boundary between the Judean and Idumean peoples. Not far removed chronologically from the aforementioned Idumean document is the passage in Ben Sira 50:25–6 (Geniza Ms. B) expressing hatred for three “nations” (Hebrew goy, Greek ethnos), including “the inhabitants of Se’ir” (i.e., the Edomites/Idumeans). Another one of

73 74 75

Translation of Louis Feldman in H. St. J. Thackeray et al., Josephus Vol. IX (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press and London: William Heinemann, 1965), p. 443. Translation of ibid., p. 95. Esther Eshel and Amos Kloner, “An Aramaic Ostrocon of an Edomite Marriage Contract from Maresha Dated 176 b.c.e.,” IEJ 46 (1996), pp. 1 –22. On Jewish use of Aramaic for literary purposes, see Ben-Zion Wacholder, “The Ancient Judaeo-Aramaic Literature (500–164 bce). A Classification of Pre-Qumranic Texts,” in L. H. Schiffman, ed., Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), pp. 257–81.

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the three targets of the author’s hatred was “the foolish nation that dwells in Shechem.” This refers to the Samaritans, who were probably even closer culturally (and perhaps genetically) to the Judeans. I shall refer shortly to the letter from the Samaritans to Antiochus IV. Eliciting this letter was the apparent inability of the Seleucid officials to distinguish between the Judeans and the Samaritans. Yet for all the extensive cultural similarity, both of these groups clearly saw themselves as distinct goyim/ethne/nations. The preceding discussion indicates that the belief in shared blood continued to be important for ancient Jewish ethnic/national identity, despite an alleged enhancement of the behavioral component. And in evaluating passages that appear to privilege culture, such as the one from Isocrates discussed earlier, one must allow for rhetorical exaggeration and not always take statements at face value.76 Still, it may be the case that some Greek thinkers did in fact conclude that culture rather than kinship was determinative for Hellenic identity. But it is important to note the context in which they reached that conclusion. The point of departure for the argument of Isocrates, for example, is the assumption that Greekness is based on both kinship and culture. He mentions the traditional importance of birth and the existence of a common nature, but he also refers to a common Greek way of thinking and education/culture. The assumption that both of these factors define Greekness could be considered the “default” position. Against this assumption, some ancient authors emphasized one or the other of the two factors or even may have denied the importance of one of them. Nevertheless, the view that both kinship and culture determine ethnic national identity continues to inform Greek “discourse on identity” down into the second century of the Common Era.77 As already noted, even some of the scholars who find analogues to the view of Isocrates in ancient Jewish sources, such as Cohen and Bar-Asher, admit the continued significance of the blood relation. Certainly the opinion that ethnic or national identity was a matter of both kinship and culture is attested among ancient Jewish authors. One example is in the letter the Samaritans purportedly sent to Antiochus IV. The Samaritans explain that they differ from the

76

77

See the caveats of Thomas, “Ethnicity, Genealogy, and Hellenism in Herodotus,” in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, pp. 215, 217. She asserts that the previously discussed passage in Herodotus may not represent or exhaust its author’s understanding of ethnicity. Compare the comments of Goodman, Mission and Conversion, pp. 14–15, 74–5, on apparently universalizing tendencies in Philo. See Sa¨ıd, “Discourse of Identity,” pp. 275–99, and especially her concluding sentence on p. 295. Compare Greg Woolf, “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: Culture, Identity and the Civilizing Process in the Roman East,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 40 (1994), pp. 129–30. Contrast the view of Hall, Hellenicity, pp. 209–26.

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Judeans “both in race (s) and in customs (
s).”78 Another illustration appears in the comments of Josephus about the constitution established by Moses. At one point he writes, “To all who desire to come and live under the same laws with us, he [Moses] gives a gracious welcome, holding that it is not family ties (s) alone which constitute relationship, but agreement in the principles of conduct.” At first glance this seems to mean that lifestyle rather than birth is determinative. But the construction is “not only . . . but also” ($ . . . , "% &). That is, both kinship and culture count. And the immediate context, before and after this sentence, indicates that the sharing of lifestyle does not grant full membership in the community.79 Even Philo appears to have believed that Jewishness is not just a matter of culture. In discussing his views Birnbaum speaks in terms of “philosophy” and politeia. However, I believe the substance of her analysis coincides with my distinction of culture and kinship. She writes that for Philo, “Judaism . . . is more than a philosophy, and being a Jew encompasses more than adherence to Jewish beliefs and practices. Commitment to the Jewish   is clearly important. . . . the Jewish   signifies not just those laws and customs but also the body politic of the Jews.”80 For me that “body politic” involves real bodies and their (presumed) common genetic origin. The intertwining of kinship and culture in the case of the Jews also emerges from the testimony of an outsider. I refer to Tacitus’ comments on people of non-Jewish origin who adopt Jewish practice. Those who do so not only renounce their “ancestral religions” and adopt practices like circumcision but also are taught “to disown their country (patria), and to regard their parents, children, and brothers as of little account.”81 This is the pejorative view of a non-Jew not particularly well disposed toward the Jews. But Jewish sources agree that becoming Jewish involves not only cultural or religious changes but also a change in patria and family. Philo is particularly explicit on this point. He 78

79

80 81

AJ 12:261, translated by Marcus in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. VII, pp. 134–5. For discussion defending the authenticity of this letter, see M. Stern, The Documents on the History of the Hasmonaean Revolt with a Commentary and Introduction (Second Edition, Corrected and Expanded; Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hame’uchad, 1972), pp. 52–3 [Hebrew]. The document itself in Hebrew translation and with notes appears there on pp. 60–6. The authenticity of the letter was already defended by E. Bi(c)kerman(n), “Un document relatif a` la pers´ecution ´ d’Antiochos IV Epiphane,” Revue de l’histoire des religions 115 (1937), pp. 188–223. CA 2:210, translation of H. St. J. Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. I (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press and London: William Heinemann, 1926), pp. 377, 379, with Greek text on pp. 376, 378. For a different assessment of this text and others on the relative importance of kinship and culture from Isocrates on, see Cohen, Beginning of Jewishness, pp. 132–5. Ellen Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism in Philo’s Thought. Israel, Jews and Proselytes (BJS 290; SP Monongraphs 2; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), p. 230. Historiae, V, 5, 1 –2. Translation of C. H. Moore, cited by Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. II, p. 26.

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explains the pentateuchal injunction to love the ger by noting that proselytes have abandoned “their kinsfolk by blood, their country (patria) [and] their customs.” Consequently “all the members of the [Judean] nation (ethnos)” are enjoined to love the proselytes as “friends and kinsfolk ('s).” Similarly in another passage, Philo observes that having left “their country, their kinsfolk and their friends for the sake of virtue and religion,” proselytes should not be denied “another citizenship [() ] or other ties of family [*] and friendship.”82 He thus agrees with Tacitus that the behavioral change dissolves the ties of kinship and blood. And Philo seems to add that the Jewish ethnos should establish a new, if fictive, kinship for the convert. Similar sentiments may appear in rabbinic tradition. The mid-secondcentury master Yosi son of Halafta appears as the author of the statement (see B. Yev. 48b and parallels) that “a convert is like a newborn child [ger shenitgayyer keqatan shenolad dame].”83 This could be construed to mean that the convert is “born again,” this time as a member of the Jewish people. To be sure, one branch of rabbinic tradition maintained a distinction between born Jews and converts. For example, Mishnah Bikkurim 1 :4 forbade converts to recite the prayer formula “God of our fathers.” But another school of thought, cited in Yerushalmi Bikkurim 1 :4, 64a, permitted this because the convert could claim the fathership of Abraham.84 Another source, Tanhuma Lekh Lekha, 6, stated, “Abraham is the father of converts.” While this probably means only that Abraham was the original convert and hence model for all subsequent proselytes, it also could be taken literally. Such a literal reading may be the source of the much later tradition that has converts adopt the patronymic “son of Abraham our father.”85

82

83

84

85

The first passage is from On the Virtues, 102, text and translation in F. H. Colson, G. H. Whittaker, and R. Marcus, Philo, Vol. 8 (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press and London: William Heinemann, 1939), pp. 224–7. The second is from On the Special Laws, I, 52, in Colson et al., Philo, Vol. 7, pp. 128–9. See also Special Laws IV, 178, in Colson et al., Philo, Vol. 8, pp. 118–19, for conversion involving a break with “kinfolk, parents, grandparents, ancestors and blood relations.” See the discussion in John M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Dispora. From Alexander to Trajan (323 bce–117 ce) (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1996), pp. 408–9. For a discussion of this theme, see Gary G. Porton, The Stranger Within Your Gates. Converts and Conversion in Rabbinic Literature (Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 1994), Chapter 9, pp. 166–76. For a discussion with sources and literature, see Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, Chapter 10, pp. 308–40. For a brief summary of the ethnic status of converts in rabbinic tradition, see Sacha Stern, Jewish Identity in Early Rabbinic Writings (Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1994), pp. 88–95. I follow the suggestion of C. G. Montefiore and H. Loewe, A Rabbinic Anthology (New York: Schocken Books, 1974), p. 574.

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The fact that adopting the culture of a group entailed establishing a new kinship relation shows the tenacity of the idea that blood and behavior belong together. This idea informs the appeal of the Ionians to Marcus Agrippa in 14 b.c.e. as reported by Josephus, AJ 12:125–6. Asking that the Jews not enjoy citizenship rights in their cities, the Ionians argued that if the Jews were their kinsmen ('s), they should worship the same gods as the Ionians do. Further evidence of this concept in ancient thinking about ethnic or national identity is the common Greek designation of the culture of an ethnic group as “ancestral” as in “the ancestral customs” or “the ancestral laws.” That is, the culture is connected to the physical forbears of the group. In modern terminology, it is genetic. We saw an example of this usage earlier in the cases of “apostasy,” where individuals allegedly abandoned the ancestral practices. Sometimes authors writing in Greek even omit the substantive “laws” or “customs” or the like and refer simply to ta patria, “the ancestral things.” Josephus provides some clear examples of this usage. Introducing his account of the Jewish sects at AJ 18:11, he writes, The Jews, from the most ancient times, had three philosophies pertaining to their traditions [ton pateron], that of the Essenes, that of the Sadducees, and, thirdly, that of the group called Pharisees.86

As this passage shows, ta patria are to be distinguished from paradosis ton pateron, the tradition of the fathers. At AJ 13:297 Josephus had told us that the sects disagree over this tradition. The Pharisees accept it, but the Sadducees reject it.87 But here ta patria is precisely what all the sects share, however they might disagree on interpretation and details. Another example of this usage occurs in AJ 19. Josephus details how Agrippa I compares favorably to his grandfather Herod the Great. At 331 Josephus writes, He [Agrippa] enjoyed residing in Jerusalem and did so constantly; and he scrupulously observed the traditions of his people [ta patria]. He neglected no rite of purification, and no day passed for him without the prescribed sacrifice.88 86 87

88

Translation of Feldman in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. IX, p. 9. Though less explicit, the same disagreement is suggested at AJ 13:408. Josephus relates there how Salome Alexandra reinstated the regulations in accord with the tradition of the fathers that John Hyrcanus had abrogated. Again, this is to be distinguished from “the ancestral things.” Feldman in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. IX, pp. 369, 371. On the religious practices of Agrippa I and Herod, see D. Goodblatt, “Agrippa I and Palestinian Judaism in the First Century,” JH 2 (1987), pp. 7–32.

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Thus ta patria includes the laws of purification and the temple cult. In other passages Josephus uses the phrase to allude to sending money to the Jerusalem temple, pilgrimage to the temple, and prohibition of a woman being married serially to two brothers.89 A final example has a more general meaning and appears to refer to what we would call Judaism. Thus in AJ 17 Josephus describes the establishment of a military colony in the Trachonitis by Herod. The core of the colony is the Babylonian Jewish cavalry commander Zamaris and his troops. Josephus adds in 17:26 that settlers from all over, men devoted to “ta patria of the Jews,” joined the colony. On the other side of the issue, at AJ 18:141 Josephus characterizes the apostasy of some of Herod’s descendants as the adoption by the latter of “the ancestral things of the Greeks” (ta Hellesi patria). Again, the connection of the behavioral expressions of Jewish identity to the ancestors reminds the reader that kinship and culture go together. The results of my consideration of the theoretical issues are as follows. My starting point is that the concept of a nation can and should be distinguished from that of a state. The very term “nation-state,” if it is not tautological, implies this distinction. Modern history reminds us that there are national groups without their own states and states containing several national groups. This was also true in antiquity. Further, I find it difficult and not helpful to distinguish ethnicity from nationality. So I shall generally use only the later and related terms. The definition I adopt here for “nation” and its derivatives is both in accord with modern scholarship on national consciousness (and ethnicity) and is firmly anchored in ancient sources. The latter consideration clears us of the charge of anachronism. Essentially I adopt the (implied) definition of Herodotus, adding only the contemporary emphases on the subjective and socially constructed character of the phenomenon. By national identity I mean a belief in a common descent and shared culture available for mass political mobilization. By shared culture I mean that certain cultural factors are seen as criteria for, or indications of, membership in the national group. Which cultural factors are singled out as criteria or indicators may shift over time.90 Also, the kinship or the cultural factors or both may not in fact be

89 90

See AJ 16:167; 173; and 18:136. For a survey of Josephus’ usage, see K. Rengstorf, A Complete Concordance to Flavins Josephus (Leiden: Brill, 1979), Vol. III, pp. 358–60, s.v. patrios. Hall, Hellenicity, p. 9, with literature cited n. 14, summarizes a distinction between the criteria or “core elements” that determine membership in the ethnic group and the secondary indicia or “surface pointers.” The latter are an “operational set of distinguishing attributes that tend to be associated with membership in an ethnic group.” They include what I have referred to as the cultural factors such as language, religion, and customary behaviors. Hall defines the criteria as “a putative subscription to a myth of common descent and kinship, an association with a specific territory and a sense of shared history.” Note that the last two items are actually

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shared. What counts is that people believe they are and are ready to act on that basis.91 Finally, by nationalism I mean the invocation of national identity as the basis for mass mobilization and action. My purpose in this chapter was to justify the use of the concepts of national identity and nationalism in the study of ancient Jewish history. I believe the preceding discussion establishes the legitimacy of this use by scholars in this field. If so, we need no longer resort to neologisms such as “ethnoreligious” that in themselves are not completely transparent. At the other extreme, we need no longer limit ourselves to such general terms as “group identity” that are so broad as to be vacuous. Instead we can benefit from the associations and comparisons evoked by the term “nationality” and its congeners, as well as from modern theoretical treatments of these concepts. Thus most of the issues I shall address in the following chapters are ones that come up in discussions of modern nationalism. These include the social construction of ancient Jewish nationalism (in Chapters 2–4) and the names used to organize or express that identity (in Chapters 5–7).

91

cultural factors. This shows that the distinction Hall proposes between criteria and indicia is not identical to the distinction between kinship and culture. This definition is very close to Jones’s definition of ethnicity. She writes, “Ethnic groups are culturally ascribed identity groups which are based on the expression of a real or assumed shared culture and common descent (usually through the objectification of cultural, linguistic, religious, historical and/or physical characteristics).” See Jones, Archaeology of Ethnicity, p. 84. Compare the “Definitions” following p. xii there. See also the comments of Naomi Janowitz, “Rethinking Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity,” in Mitchell and Greatrex, eds., Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity, pp. 205–19.

2


Constructing Jewish Nationalism: The Role of Scripture

A

s we saw in chapter 1, both historians and social scientists have noted the existence in ancient Jewish society of something that looks very much like nationalism. Or to use more recent jargon, they have noticed discourses that sound very much like modern national discourse. In other words, and in view of the definitions discussed earlier, belief in a shared kinship and a common culture was widespread among ancient Judeans. Assuming as I do that this observation is correct, the following question arises. How could such a belief achieve an audience large enough to make mass political mobilization possible? It is unlikely that family traditions went back far enough, or extended broadly enough, to lead thousands of people spread over a fairly extensive geographical area to believe they were all related. And as to culture, all indications are that Judeans shared not only the general material culture of the area but also the language and customs of most of their neighbors. We noted above that Aramaic was the common spoken language of most inhabitants of the area including many or even most Judeans. And Judeans, like their neighbors, used Aramaic for legal documents and for much literary production as well.1 And, to cite another cultural marker, male circumcision was not unique to the Judeans.2 Yet despite similarities such as these, many (most?) Judeans believed they constituted a nation distinct from their neighbors. Where could such an idea have originated? Or, to use contemporary terminology, how could such a belief have been socially constructed in a premodern society?

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For details on the role of language, see Chapter 3. Neighbors of the Judeans for whom the practice is asserted in ancient sources include the Egyptians, Edomites, Ammonites, Moabites, Phoenicians, Arabs, and Ethiopians. See the evidence in William H. Propp, “The Origins of Infant Circumcision in Israel,” HAR 11 (1987), p. 355, n. 1.

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Pondering this very question, namely, the sources of Jewish “national identity” and their “nationalist movements of a strikingly modern kind,” Fergus Millar suggested the following, among others: the possession of a text, the Bible, which was both a national history and a source of law; a national language, Hebrew; a system of law . . . ; social institutions, such as schools, synagogues and Sabbath worship.3

Millar is speaking of the first and second centuries c.e., and some of the “social institutions” he mentions may not have existed earlier. In fact, some are questionable even for the first and possibly the second centuries as well. I shall return to this issue later. But everything in Millar’s list before the “social institutions” does appear in Second Temple times. And they all flow from the first item: “a text, the Bible.” Strictly speaking, one cannot refer to “a text” in the singular. First, debate continues over when the twenty-four books of our Hebrew Bible (= the Jewish Tanakh or Christian Old Testament) achieved “canonical” status. Second, the Jews in antiquity used scrolls, rather than codices. So the twenty-four books of the Hebrew Bible could not have been contained for them between the covers of a single book. For convenience’s sake, however, we may continue to use the term “the Bible” as a shorthand for the books included in it. It was the Bible (and related literature), then, that provided the foundation and the building blocks for constructing the beliefs in shared descent and common culture. First, the contents of these books provided the “national history” mentioned by Millar. The stories about the patriarchs and the tribal eponyms in the Pentateuch established the shared physical ancestry of all Israelites. And the books that treated later history explained the connection of the residents of Second Temple Judah with the founding fathers and mothers of the Israelite people.4 Second, these same books serve a source for a sense of shared culture. Among the “laws” found in them were what emerged as distinctive cultural markers of Jewish identity including circumcision of male infants, avoidance 3 4

Fergus Millar, “Empire, Community and Culture in the Roman Near East: Greeks, Syrians, Jews and Arabs,” JJS 38 (1987), pp. 147–8. Compare the comments of Thomas Willi, “Late Persian Judaism and Its Conception of an Integral Israel According to Chronicles: Some Observations on Form and Function of the Genealogy of Judah in I Chronicles 2.3–4.23,” in Eskenazi and Richards, eds., Second Temple Studies 2, pp. 146–62. This “genealogical” content of the literature that eventually formed the Bible is generally ignored in the otherwise enlightening treatment of the “enculturating” role of ancient Hebrew literature by David M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart. Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). Carr, p. 285, goes so far as to argue that by Late Antiquity rabbinic tradition produced a “transnational” system of enculturation in the “people of Israel.” It is unclear to me how socialization into the people of Israel could lack a genealogical/ethnic/national component.

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of pork, observance of the Sabbath, and endogamy.5 Further, these books saved the Hebrew language from sharing the fate of Phoenician, Edomite, and other languages that were swept away by Aramaic. Even those who didn’t speak Hebrew might still write, or read, or at least hear Hebrew and see it. I shall discuss the significance of the use of Hebrew in greater detail in the next chapter. And paradoxically, the existence of the Hebrew books enabled people to believe that their shared culture could exist in other languages. We recall that the defense of “Judeanness” in II Maccabees was written in Greek.6 The existence of a Greek translation of the Pentateuch and other books made possible the conception of a genuine Judean culture in Greek. Similarly, parabiblical literature composed in Aramaic, such as the Genesis Apocryphon, the Enoch literature, and the Levi materials, could also be considered part of Judean culture. The transposition of biblical books into other languages by translation, rewriting, or supplementation provided a Judean vocabulary for those languages. Thus the Bible provided materials for the construction of a national identity. Indeed, some have asserted that accomplishing such a construction was the motivation for the composition of its components in the first place. That is, at least some biblical books were created in an effort at “ethnogenesis.” This view has been worked out in detail by Mullen in a pair of monographs. The theme of his first book appears in its subtitle, “The Deuteronomistic History and the Creation of Israelite National Identity.” The “Deuteronomistic history” comprises the books of Deuteronomy–Joshua–Judges–Samuel–Kings, which many Biblical scholars consider a single, edited work drawing on earlier sources. Mullen suggests that this work was created in the period of the Babylonian Exile in order to shore up a threatened Judean identity. In a second book Mullen turns his attention to the Tetrateuch, the four books (Genesis– Exodus–Leviticus–Numbers) preceding Deuteronomy. This composition, he argued, was compiled during the Persian era in order to create a “group ethnic identity.” Eventually it was prefixed to the Deuteronomic history, creating what David Noel Freedman has called “the primary history,” while when joined with Deuteronomy alone it formed the Pentateuch.7

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These practices caught the attention of Greek and Latin authors. Note, for example, the references to Sabbath observance, abstention from pork, and circumcision in Juvenal, Satires XIV, 96–106. Tacitus, History V, 4–5, also mentions these three along with endogamy and some additional items. And note the author’s recurrent emphasis on the use of Hebrew by his protagonists. On this topic see Jan Willem van Henten, “The Ancestral Language of the Jews in 2 Maccabees,” in Horbury, ed., Hebrew Study, pp. 53–68. Mullen, Narrative History and Ethnic Boundaries; idem, Ethnic Myths and Pentateuchal Foundations. Assertions that biblical books were composed to aid in ethnogenesis appeared before

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Whether or not the biblical books were composed in the first place in order to create an Israelite identity is a question best left to others. This is not the place to debate the origins of the Bible. I simply note how the theories alluded to have as their premise the (potential) contribution of biblical texts to national consciousness, even if that contribution was one of maintenance rather than creation.8 Since my focus is on Second Temple times, we also need not resolve the debate over how much (if any) of the Bible antedates the Babylonian Exile of 587/6 b.c.e. Nor shall I discuss the possible evidence for manifestations of national identity in preexilic Israel.9 What cannot be ignored here is the theory that the Bible is a creation of the Hellenistic era. On this late dating, one could not use the biblical books as evidence for Judean nationalism as early as the Persian era. My impression is, however, that the Hellenistic dating of the entire Bible remains a distinctly minority position.10 Consequently the assumption behind my argument is that the “primary history” existed before the Hellenistic period. The contents of this “history,” then, were at least available by earlier Second Temple times for the construction of a national identity. Whether they were in fact used for this purpose is a separate question that requires further investigation. The existence of a body of written literature asserting a common genealogy and embodying components of a common culture, like the biblical books, is not by itself sufficient for the creation of a national identity. As was noted in Chapter 1 , so long as the belief in shared descent and culture is limited to small circles of the elite, nationalism does not emerge. What students of the phenomenon look for is a mass movement. This is why recent theoreticians of nationalism require widespread literacy with access to material printed in a vernacular language – at least prior to the age of mass communication by radio, television, and audio or video recording. However, as Millar and Smith realize, dissemination of the shared culture and national language could take place before printing. This is why Millar adduced “social institutions, such as

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Mullen, but in less detailed form. See for example Philip R. Davies, In Search of Ancient Israel (JSOTSS 148; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), pp. 114, 117–18. For the “primary history” and the separation out of the Pentateuch, see David Noel Freedman, “The Formation of the Canon of the Old Testament,” in E. B. Firmage et al., eds., Religion and Law: BiblicalJudaic and Islamic Perspectives (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), pp. 315–31. See for example Ilana Pardes, The Biography of Ancient Israel: National Narratives in the Bible (Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2000); R. Christopher Heard, Dynamics of Diselection: Ambiguity in Genesis 12–36 and Ethnic Boundaries in Post-Exilic Judah (SBL Semeia Series, vol. 39; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001 ). See for example Kenton L. Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1998) and other works cited in Chapter 1, n. 15. See the essays in Lester L. Grabbe, ed., Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (JSOTSS 317; European Seminar in Historical Methodology 3; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001 ).

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schools, synagogues and Sabbath worship” when he sought to explain the existence of a Jewish nationalist movement in antiquity. Similarly, Smith invokes “the rise of the synagogue and the Pharisees” to explain this phenomenon.11 These institutions would allow widespread dissemination of the ideas in the Bible. But how ancient and how pervasive were these institutions in antiquity? Can we trace them back even to late Second Temple times, let alone to the Persian era? The schools and synagogues invoked by Millar and Smith are, in fact, difficult to trace back into antiquity. This is especially the case regarding schools. Many years ago I reviewed the evidence for the existence of a network of Jewish elementary schools or, alternatively, community-supported teachers in pre-70 Judah. I discussed at length the two rabbinic texts that are the basis for the claim that some such network existed. A source appearing in Yerushalmi Ketuvot 8.11, 32c, attributes to Simeon son of Shetah an ordinance that “the children should attend school.” Rabbinic tradition portrays Simeon as a contemporary of the Hasmonean monarchs Alexander Jonathan and Salome Alexandra. Based on this we can date him to the early first-century b.c.e. Another source, at Bavli Bava Batra 21 a, attributes to Joshua son of Gamala the ordinance that teachers should be appointed in every town and district to teach children beginning at age 6 or 7. This person is commonly, though not universally, identified with the well-known Joshua son of Gamala who served as high priest in 63–4 and was killed about four years later by the Idumean faction during the Judean revolt. I concluded that there is no reliable evidence to corroborate either tradition, neither in rabbinic literature nor in sources from Second Temple times. Perhaps more importantly, the Second Temple sources that do refer to education among the Jews never mention a network of elementary schools or publicly supported teachers as the means by which children learn. Instead they refer to other educational practices, such as private tutors for the wealthy and, most commonly, instruction by parents in the home. A striking instance of silence concerning schools in a context where we would expect them to be mentioned is the famous apologetic passage in CA 2.175–8. Here Josephus asserts a universal knowledge of Jewish law by his compatriots. In contrast to other peoples, he writes, should anyone of our nation be questioned about the laws, he would repeat them all the more readily than his own name. The result, then, of our thorough grounding in the laws from the first dawn of intelligence is that we have them, as it were, 11

See Millar, “Empire, Community and Culture in the Roman Near East,” n. 3; Smith, National Identity, pp. 49–50.

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engraven on our souls. A transgressor is a rarity; evasion of punishment by excuses an impossibility.

And how was this thorough grounding beginning with the dawn of intelligence accomplished? Josephus had already explained a few lines earlier. For ignorance he [Moses] left no pretext. He appointed the law to be the most excellent and necessary form of instruction, ordaining, not that it should be heard once for all or twice or on several occasions, but that every week men should desert their other occupations and assemble to listen to the law and to obtain a thorough and accurate knowledge of it, a practice which all other legislators seem to have neglected.12

The failure of Josephus – who lived over a century after the floruit of Simeon son of Shetah and was a contemporary of Joshua son of Gamala – to mention schools in an apologetic context such as this is, to my mind, a very loud silence. And the evidence of Josephus accords with what can be gleaned from Philo and other sources. From all of this, I concluded that the only common educational institution among the Jews of antiquity, aside from parental instruction (and private tutors for the wealthy), was the public reading of scripture.13 The absence of a network of schools is reinforced by the consensus that Judean society in antiquity was no more literate than the surrounding cultures. In other words, the vast majority of Judeans were illiterate.14 But this 12

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The first quote is from line 178; the second is from line 175. English translation by Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. I, pp. 363, 365. To lines 176–7 compare the similar language used by Josephus in his description of the septennial reading of the Torah, ordained in Deuteronomy 31 :10, at AJ 4:209–11. See David Goodblatt, “The Talmudic Sources on the Origins of Organized Jewish Education,” Studies in the History of the Jewish People and the Land of Israel (Haifa: University of Haifa, 1980), Vol. 5, pp. 83–103 [Hebrew], English Summary, pp. vi–vii. Recent independent confirmation of my skepticism concerning the rabbinic sources and my assertion of the role of parents appears in Catherine Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (TSAJ 66; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), p. 94 and p. 95, n. 92. Hezser has apparently not seen my article. I take this opportunity to note that the article, which went to press while I was abroad and so was never proofread by me, suffered errors of omission and commission at the hands of the publisher. On the limited extent of literacy in general, see William V. Harris, Ancient Literacy (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 1989), with pp. 281 –2 on Judah. For more on the Judeans, with results compatible with those of Harris, see Me’ir Bar-Ilan, “Scribes and Books in the Late Second Commonwealth and Rabbinic Period,” in Mulder, ed., Mikra, pp. 33–4, and idem, “Illiteracy in the Land of Israel in the First Centuries c.e.,” in Simchah Fishbane, S. Schoenfeld, and A. Goldschlager, eds., Essays in the Social Scientific Study of Judaism and Jewish Society, Vol. II (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1992), pp. 54–5 [n.v.]. The results of these preliminary and partial investigations have since been confirmed by the exhaustive study of Catherine Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (TSAJ 81 ; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001 ). For a somewhat different view see the comments of Albert I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the

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need not mean that they were therefore denied access to biblical (or other) traditions. Mass communication through nonprint media did not have to await the invention of radio and television. The potential of mass oral culture in antiquity is increasingly recognized. Public performances of poetry, drama, religious ritual, and so on could reach large audiences and did not require those audiences to be literate.15 Public reading of scripture would be another instance of oral mass media. The question now is whether we find evidence of this phenomenon in Second Temple Judah beyond the rhetorical and apologetic assertions of Josephus. How common was public reading from biblical texts? How far back can we trace its history? The practice of publicly reading passages from the biblical books may have something to do with the emergence of the synagogue institution. Certainly it became a central feature of the synagogue service by Late Antiquity. However, the origins and early history of the synagogue are much debated, and no consensus has emerged. Few would claim that the procedures in the synagogues of Late Roman and Byzantine Palestine should be projected back to Second Temple times. For our purposes here we may avoid these issues. Instead we can treat the evidence for public reading of scripture without always resolving the question of its institutional context.16 Public reading from biblical texts

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Maccabean Era: An Interpretation (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 48–9, 121 –2, 129–33. The latter sees an expansion of literacy during the Hasmonean era. This claim seems to me to need further documentation. Such documentation is available in Alan Millard, Reading and Writing in the Time of Jesus (New York: New York University Press, 2000), pp. 154–84. Millard makes a case for the widespread presence of books and writing throughout Judah/Iudaea, but he does not hazard an estimate of the percentage of people able to read. See Rosalind Thomas, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Susan Niditch, Oral World and Written Word. Ancient Israelite Literature (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1996). With respect to the public reading from scripture, compare the role of oral performances of Homer in ancient Greek education. See Kevin Robb, Literacy and Paideia in Ancient Greece (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). On the continuing role of orality in post–Second Temple Judaism, see Martin S. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism 200 bce–400 ce (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2001 ), and Y. Elman and I. Gershoni, eds., Transmitting Jewish Traditions: Orality, Textuality and Cultural Diffusion (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2000). See Lee I. Levine, “The Second Temple Synagogue: The Formative Years,” in Levine, ed., The Synagogue in Late Antiquity, pp. 7–31 ; Lester L. Grabbe, “Synagogues in Pre-70 Palestine: A Re-assessment,” JTS 39 (1988), pp. 401 –10; Paul V. M. Flesher, “Palestinian Synagogues before 70 c.e.: A Review of the Evidence,” in D. Urman and P. V. M. Flesher, eds., Ancient Synagogues. Historical Analysis and Archaeological Discovery (Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1995), Vol. 1, pp. 27–39; Lee I. Levine, “The Nature and Origin of the Palestinian Synagogue Reconsidered,” JBL 115 (1996), pp. 425–48 [Levine’s views are now available in his The Ancient Synagogue. The First Thousand Years (New Haven, CT/London: Yale University Press, 2000)]; Rachel Hachlili, “The Origin of the Synagogue: A Re-assessment,” JStJ 28 (1997), pp. 34–47; Donald D. Binder, Into the Temple Courts. The Place of the Synagogues in the

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is depicted in the Bible itself. Even if we assume these accounts are fictions, they still indicate what their authors imagined as possible. And that imagining likely reflects reality outside the text. In other words, I assume these descriptions are based on actual practices in the time(s) of the authors. Watts assumes these accounts reflect preexilic realities. He argues that what he calls “Israel’s tradition of public law readings” shaped the literary forms of the laws in the Pentateuch during the monarchic period. And he suggests that the practice may have become obsolete in the Second Temple era.17 Runesson accepts the more common later dating of our biblical books. He argues that the biblical passages indicate the introduction of public reading and teaching of scripture took place at the time of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Artaxerexes I. In fact, he asserts that the public reading of scripture was introduced to help in “the creation of a national identity.” We recall the arguments of Davies and Mullen (see note 7 in this chapter) that the biblical books were composed for purposes of ethnogenesis. Runesson explains how these efforts reached an audience beyond the literate elite. And, he continues, from the fifth century b.c.e. on public readings can be documented in our sources.18 To my mind, neither Watts nor Runesson gives sufficient weight to the apparent lack of regularity or frequency of the practice according to the biblical depictions. The case of II Kings 23:1 –3 seems to be a one-time event. The public reading of the Torah ordained by Moses at Deuteronomy 31 :9–13 is to take place only once every seven years during the festival of Sukkot (Tabernacles). Interestingly enough, there is no reliable evidence that this ceremony actually took place in Second Temple times.19 The description in Nehemiah 8–9, set in the fifth century

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Second Temple Period (SBL Dissertation Series 169; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999), pp. 390–404; S. Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, pp. 215–25; Anders Runesson, The Origins of the Synagogue. A Socio-Historical Study (Coniectanea Biblical New Testament Series 37; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2001 ); and Birger Olsson and Magnus Zetterholm, eds., The Ancient Synagogue From Its Origins until 200 c.e. Papers Presented at an International Conference at Lund University, October 14–17, 2001 (Coniectanea Biblica New Testament Series 39; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2003). For a judicious summary of the problem see Erich R. Gruen, Diaspora. Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 2002), pp. 119–23. J. W. Watts, “Public Readings and Pentateuchal Laws,” VT 45 (1995), pp. 540–57. And see pp. 540–4 for a survey of the relevant biblical passages. For the biblical passages see Runesson, Origins of the Synagogue, pp. 240–4, with his analysis on pp. 245–303. His argument is presented in briefer form in his “Persian Imperial Politics, the Beginning of Public Torah Readings, and the Origins of the Synagogue,” in Olsson and Zetterholm, eds., Ancient Synagogue, pp. 63–89. For his survey of the evidence concerning the Hellenistic period down to 37 b.c.e., see Runesson, Origins of the Synagogue, pp. 304–38. Despite two references in rabbinic sources to first-century instances of this practice, I remain skeptical. See the discussion in D. Goodblatt, “Agrippa I and Palestinian Judaism,” pp. 10–11, and especially n. 31 on pp. 26–7.

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b.c.e., might be taken to imply a yearly occurrence. But even so, it would appear limited to Jerusalem. A yearly public reading from biblical texts in Jerusalem calls to mind the public reading of sections from Leviticus by the high priest at the Day of Atonement ritual as described in Mishnah Yoma 7:1. Other early evidence for public recitation of scripture is also inconclusive regarding the frequency and diffusion of this practice. Thus Hecataeus of Abdera writes about the high priest as follows: It is he, we are told, who in their assemblies and other gatherings announces what is ordained, and the Jews are so docile in such matters that straightaway they fall to the ground and do reverence to the high priest when he expounds the commandments to them. And at the end of their laws there is even appended the statement: “These are the words that Moses heard from God and declares unto the Jews.”20

Neither “announcing” (+) ) nor “expounding” (() ! ) need imply that the high priest was reading from a text. On the other hand, Hecataeus was not so well informed that we must pay such close attention to his choice of verbs. Certainly one could construe the passage to describe a public reading from the Torah. And the plural “assemblies and other gatherings” could suggest some regularity in the practice. However, the presence of the high priest would seem to limit the reading to the vicinity of the Temple, as in Nehemiah 8–9. Many scholars make the reasonable assumption that the translation of the Torah into Greek during the third century b.c.e. implies the practice of a public reading, but I am not aware of any explicit evidence for this assumption. The Letter of Aristeas 308, 310 – probably from the second century b.c.e. – does report that at the completion of the translation the finished work was read out to the assembled Jewish community. However, there is no indication that this was or became a regular practice.21 I Maccabees 3:46–60 describes the assembly 20

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Translation of F. R. Walton as cited in Menachem Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. I, p. 28. Like most scholars, I assume this passage comes from the historical Hecataeus of Abdera who wrote at the end of the fourth century b.c.e. Daniel R. Schwartz, “Diodorus Siculus 40.3 – Hecataeus or Pseudo-Hecataeus?” in M. Mor et al., eds., Jews and Gentiles in the Holy Land in the Days of the Second Temple, the Mishnah and Talmud. A Collection of Articles (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2003), pp. 181 –97, raises serious doubts about the authenticity of the attribution. He suggests this passage is the work of a Jewish pseudepigrapher during the Hasmonean era. If I understand him correctly, he dates the actual author to the second century b.c.e. Even on this later dating, the passage could be an important testimony given the lack of evidence on regular public reading of scripture before the first century c.e. Sidney Jellicoe, The Septuagint and Modern Study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968), p. 55, lists the assertion that the translation was “undoubtedly for use in synagogue worship and instruction” as part of the “wide consensus” in Septuagint studies. See there pp. 47–52

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of the forces of Judah the Maccabee at Mizpah before the fateful battle with Nicanor. Verse 48 could conceivably refer to a public reading from the Torah. However, the Greek is difficult and lends itself to other interpretations. For example, the passage may mean that a Torah scroll was displayed, but not read from. Above all, this was a singular event.22 It is not until we reach the first century c.e. that we have clear statements asserting regular public reading of scripture. Both Philo and Josephus refer to weekly readings on the Sabbath. Some of the descriptions of what occurs at the gatherings every Sabbath are vague, for example at Life of Moses 2.216, Embassy to Gaius 156, the account of the Therapeutae at Contemplative Life 30–33, and that of the Jews of Ionia at AJ 16:43. In these passages we find references to studying the ancestral philosophy or being instructed in the laws. They likely do refer to public reading of scripture, but we cannot be certain. Fortunately, other texts are more explicit. Thus at Hypothetica 7.10–13 Philo recounts how Moses ordained assemblies every seventh day to hear the laws read.23 Equally clear in referring to reading out loud from scripture every Sabbath is Philo’s account of Essene practice in All Good Men Are Free 81 –2. Similarly, in On Sleep 2.127 Philo has a contemporary opponent of Egyptian Jewry’s Sabbath observance allude to their reading out loud (" ,s) from the holy books in their synagogues. And in the previously cited passage from CA 2.175, Josephus expressly mentions the assembled hearing the laws. Since the last four sources undoubtedly describe weekly public readings from the Torah, it is likely that the first four do also. But of the eight references, six describe the Diaspora. The description of the Essenes in All Good Men Are Free does refer to Judah, but it concerns a small group with unusual customs. As Josephus put it (BJ 2:128), the Essenes had unique forms of piety. Interestingly enough in light of the widespread view that the people at Qumran were Essenes, the Qumran texts themselves do not attest a weekly public reading

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on the date of Aristeas. Compare R. J. H. Shutt, “Letter of Aristeas,” OTP, Vol. 2, p. 9, for something of a recent consensus on the second-century dating. See the discussion in J. Goldstein, I Maccabees (AB 41 ; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1976), pp. 261 –2. See the various translations for other options. That the scroll was simply displayed is the view of Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, p. 59. He notes the absence of the scroll in the parallel at II Maccabees 8:12–20. One may compare the exhortations before battle in the War Scroll from Qumran at 1 QM X–XVIII. Verses from the Pentateuch are quoted in the verbal exhortation, and the high priest reads from two apparently sectarian books. But there is no reference to reading from biblical texts. And compare the comments in 7.14 with those expressed by Josephus in CA 2.177–8. For a recent survey of the passages in Philo describing the Sabbath assemblies, some of which are cited in the following, see Jutta Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria (TSAJ 84; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001 ), pp. 74–95.

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of scripture.24 The Rule of the Community calls for an institutionalized form of daily study. Thus 1 QS 6:6b–7a requires continuous study of the Torah, in shifts, wherever there are at least ten members of the group. And 7b–8a ordains that “the Many” should spend a third of each night “reading the book” along with legal discussion and “blessing together.” While we would normally assume that Josephus describes the situation in Judah in the CA passage, many assume that the encomium of the Torah in this book relies on an Egyptian source. And this is aside from the clearly apologetic and probably hyperbolic tone of the passage, and the fact that it was written after a quarter century of residence in Rome.25 Thus we still lack unambiguous evidence for a common practice in Judah. Unambiguous testimony to public reading in Judah does appear in the famous inscription of Theodotus. This recounts how the latter built the synagogue for, inter alia, “the reading [" ] of the law and the teaching of the commandments.” The inscription thus suggests that such reading was a regular function of the institution. However, the dating of the inscription to before 70 is common but not unanimous. More importantly, we are dealing with a Graecophone synagogue in Jerusalem.26 How indicative its practices are of other synagogues in Judah remains to be established. For contrast note the

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Such a practice might be indicated by 4Q264a = 4QHalakha B 1 4–5. However, the text is fragmentary. See the discussion in n. 23 in Chapter 4. For general discussion of the issue, see Lawrence H. Schiffman, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Early History of Jewish Liturgy,” in Synagogue in Late Antiquity Levin, eds., pp. 33–48; idem,”The Early History of Public Reading of the Torah,” in S. Fine, ed., Jews, Christians, and Polytheists in the Ancient Synagogue: Cultural Interaction During the Greco-Roman Period (Baltimore Studies in the History of Judaism; London/New York: Routledge, 1999), pp. 45–56; Bilhah Nitzan, Qumran Prayer and Religious Poetry (trans. J. Chipman; Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1994); Daniel K. Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and Festival Prayers in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 1998); Runesson, Origins of the Synagogue, pp. 331 –7. And note Michael Fishbane, “Use, Authority and Interpretation of Mikra at Qumran,” in Mulder, ed., Mikra, p. 344, who states that “as yet there is no indication of a synagogue lection” at Qumran. For the view that Josephus uses an Egyptian source, see Daniel R. Schwartz, “Josephus on the Jewish Constitution and Community,” SCI 7 (1983–4), p. 47, with literature cited there, n. 59; compare Albert I. Baumgarten, “The Torah as a Public Document in Judaism,” SR 14 (1985), p. 18, n. 8. And see the latter for the hyperbole in Josephus’ account. For the view that the Judaism reflected in Josephus’ later works was the Diaspora variety, see Daniel R. Schwartz, “Review of Schr¨oder, ‘V¨aterliche Gesetze’: Flavius Josephus als Vermittlen von Halachah an Griechen und R¨omer,” SCI 17 (1998), p. 249. See Lea Roth-Gerson, The Greek Inscriptions from the Synagogues in Eretz-Israel (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 1987), pp. 76–86. On doubts concerning the date of the inscription, see Flesher, “Palestinian Synagogues Before 70 c.e.,” p. 33, n. 21, and, more extensively, Howard C. Kee, “Defining the First-Century ce Synagogue,” NTS 41 (1995), pp. 481 –500. For a rebuttal and strong defense of a pre-70 date, see John S. Kloppenborg Verbin, “Dating Theodotos (CIJ II 1404),” JJS 51 (2000), pp. 243–80.

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evidence of Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities 11 :8. This work is commonly assigned to first-century Judah and assumed to have been written in Hebrew. In his additions to the fourth commandment, the author asserts that the only activity permitted on the Sabbath is praising God in assemblies. Granted, the addition echoes Psalm 107:32. But had the author felt Torah study was central to the Sabbath gathering, he could have found another verse.27 Were we able to rely on it, Luke 4:16–30 would provide additional evidence for Judean practice. The account in Verses 16–21 describes how Jesus attended synagogue in Nazareth one Sabbath. He was given a scroll of Isaiah from which he read out loud to those assembled. However, the parallels at Mark 13:54–8 and Matthew 6:1 –6 lack the circumstantial detail of Luke and simply mention Jesus “teaching” in the synagogue. This same vague description recurs in the account of Jesus teaching in the synagogue of Capernaum at Mark 1 :21 –8 // Luke 4:31 –7 (the partial parallel at Matthew 7:28–9 comes at the end of the Sermon on the Mount and does not involve a synagogue setting). Similarly, the summary account of Jesus’ activities in the Galilee at Mark 1 :39 // Matthew 4:23–5 // Luke 4:44 (see variants) refers simply to his “teaching” or “preaching” in the synagogues. Thus the specific reference to reading from a book is unique to Luke. The same author also refers to public reading from scripture on two occasions in Acts. At 13:14–16 we read how Paul was invited to speak in the synagogue at Pisidian Antioch on the Sabbath “after the readings from the Law and the Prophets.” Then, in the account of the “apostolic council,” James (the brother of Jesus) is quoted at 15:21 as saying, “Moses . . . has never lacked spokesmen in every town for generations past; he is read in the synagogues Sabbath by Sabbath.” While the setting here is Judah, as it was in Luke 4, we may wonder how much knowledge the author had of Jewish practice in the homeland half a century before he wrote. My own suspicion is that the Lukan descriptions reflect the practice in the author’s own community and/or in the Graecophone Jewish diaspora.28 The latter is also the likely background for Paul’s reference, in II Corinthians 3:15, to the Jews “reading Moses [" ,  -./s].”

27

28

On the provenance of this work, see most recently Frederick J. Murphy, Pseudo-Philo. Rewriting the Bible (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 6; and H. Jacobson, A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatem Biblicarum with Latin Text and English Translation, 2 Vols. (Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1996), pp. 199–211. While agreeing on a Hebrew original and Palestinian provenance, Jacobson argues for a dating after 70. A later date would, I think, strengthen the contrast. For a similar view see Kee, “Defining the First-Century ce Synagogue,” p. 490. For an attempt to defend both Luke 4:16–21 and Acts 15:21 as reflecting the way things were done in Iudaea, see Runesson, Origins of the Synagogue, pp. 213–21.

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The evidence surveyed appears to me to attest the custom of regular public reading from scripture in the Diaspora by the beginning of the Common Era. But unambiguous evidence for this practice in first-century Judah is minimal. The scanty evidence would seem to make it difficult to assume that the custom was widespread in the latter land.29 And for earlier Second Temple times we have only a few biblical and other passages reflecting at most an occasional, sporadic practice of public recitation of scripture. Given the absence of schools in ancient Judah, as argued earlier, only regular public reading of the Bible (or recitation of the contents of biblical and related literature) could fill the role of a mass medium needed to disseminate a socially constructed national identity among the people. And our sources do not clearly attest such a practice before the first century. Making matters worse, the surviving literary sources tell us very little about collections of books in Second Temple Judah. As Shavit has noted, the literary sources do not mention public or temple libraries. II Maccabees 2:13–14 attributes the assembling of a collection of books to both Nehemiah and Judah the Maccabee, but it provides few details. While the passage describes the documents assembled by Nehemiah, it does not do so for those collected by Judah. Nor does it state where these collections were kept. Perhaps the author envisaged some kind of temple library, but he does not say this explicitly. The idea or reality of a temple library may lie behind the references in Jubilees 45:16 and in the Testament of Qahat to a collection of books possessed by the patriarchs and passed on to Levi and his descendants. As is well known, rabbinic literature assumed authoritative copies of the Torah were held at the temple. One source speaks of a single copy of the Pentateuch, another of three. But no wider collection is mentioned.30 29

30

The evidence adduced here has been surveyed by many others, but without sufficient attention to the provenance of the various testimonies. See, for example, the section on “Bible Reading Before 70 c.e.” in Charles Perrot, “The Reading of the Bible in the Ancient Synagogue,” in Mulder, ed., Mikra, pp. 149–59; Levine, “Second Temple Synagogue,” pp. 16–17; Schiffman, “Early History of Public Reading of the Torah,” pp. 45–56; Runneson, Origins of the Synagogue, pp. 213–31, and see pp. 193–213 for a survey of evidence from the Mishnah that Runneson believes reflects first-century realities. Levine, “Second Temple Synagogue,” p. 15, asserts that “the reading of the Torah and the accompanying rituals constituted the main and, at least in Israel, exclusive function of synagogue worship.” This is a possible, but not a necessary conclusion from the evidence. My reservations about what the evidence shows were first expressed in D. Goodblatt, “Judean Nationalism in the Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” pp. 16–19. For similar reservations see Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, pp. 218, 221 –5, 241. See Y. Shavit, “The ‘Qumran Library’ in the Light of the Attitude towards Books and Literature in the Second Temple Period,” in Michael Owen Wise et al., eds., Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994), pp. 299–317. However, Shavit does assume the existence of both libraries and significant

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The explicit testimony of Josephus appears to support the presence of a single copy in the temple. His account of the triumph celebrated by Vespasian and Titus at Rome lists the spoils from the temple displayed in the procession. He mentions the golden table, the lamp stand, and then, in BJ 7:150, “the law of the Judeans” (0  s 1  23). Josephus subsequently adds in 162 that while the golden items from the Temple of the Judeans were consigned to the Temple of Peace, “their law” was deposited in the imperial palace. Presumably by the term “law” Josephus means the Torah or Pentateuch. His use of the singular suggests a single copy, though that single copy might involve several scrolls.31 Elsewhere Josephus alludes to other texts deposited in the Jerusalem temple: a “writing” ()4) at AJ 3:38; “a [in one manuscript: the] book” (556) at 4:303; and “documents” ()) at 5:61. The third passage concerns Joshua stopping the sun, as reported in Joshua 10:12–15, so it obviously is not from a copy of the Pentateuch. But the way the first two texts are described, they are also unlikely to allude to passages from the Pentateuch even though both concern Moses. Certainty is impossible, and various suggestions have been made concerning the nature of these texts.32 But the AJ 5:61 passage is

31 32

numbers of readers. Compare Michael Owen Wise, “Accidents and Accidence: A Scribal View of Linguistic Dating of the Aramaic Scrolls from Qumran,” in his Thunder in Gemini and Other Essays on the History, Language and Literature of Second Temple Palestine (JSOTSS 15; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), p. 142–4, on the possession and circulation of books and on libraries. For possible archeological evidence of a library, see Yizhar Hirschfeld, “The Library of King Herod in the Northern Palace of Masada,” SCI 23 (2004), pp. 69–80. On the attribution of a collection of books to Judah the Maccabee at II Maccabees 2:13–15, see the discussion in Philip R. Davies, Scribes and Schools. The Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998), pp. 174–82. For the Testament of Qahat see Emile Puech, “Le Testament de Qahat en Aram´een de la Grotte 4 (4QTQah),” RQ 15 (1991 –2) p. 33, Frag. 1 ii 9–13. And see the comment there, p. 47 at line 12, on the priestly connection. On master scroll(s) in the Temple, see Mishnah Mo‘ed Qattan 3:4 and the sources cited by Hanokh Albeck in the supplementary note to this passage in his Shishah Sidre Mishnah (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute and Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1958), Vol. 2, p. 508 [Hebrew]. On the basis of these sources modern scholars have assumed that rabbinic literature attests the existence of a Temple library. See, for example, Saul Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (Second Edition; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1962), p. 22. Further discussion of the rabbinic sources can be found in Shemaryahu Talmon, “The Three Scrolls of the Law That Were Found in the Temple Court,” Textus 2 (1962), pp. 14–27, and Solomon Zeitlin, “Were There Three Torah-Scrolls in the Azarah?” JQR 56 (1966), pp. 269–72. See Menahem Haran, “Sifre torah vesifre miqra bame’ot harishonot lasefirah hanosrit,” Shenaton lamiqra uleheqer hamizrah haqadmon 10 (1986–9), p. 93 [Hebrew]. Surveys of scholarship on these passages can be found in the recent editions of Josephus. ´ See Flavius Jos`ephe, Les Antiquit´es Juives Livres I a` III, Texte, traduction et notes par Etienne ´ Nodet (Deuxi`eme e´ dition; Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1992), p. 153, n. 1 at 3:38; Volume II, Livres ´ IV et V (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1995), pp. 129–30, n. 7 at 5:61; Flavius Josephus, Translation and Commentary, Vol. 3: Judean Antiquities 1–4, Translation and Commentary by Louis H. Feldman (Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 2000), p. 241, n. 78 at 3:38, p. 465, n. 1042 at 4:303.

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sufficient to establish that the holdings of the temple were not limited to a single copy of the Pentateuch. Possibly relevant in this context are the “sacred books” (5 5 7)) [two manuscripts have this in the singular] given as a gift to Josephus by Titus when Jerusalem fell according to Life 418. Some assume that these books came from the temple collection. However, others suggest they were looted from synagogues or private homes.33 The existence of a library in Alexandria may be implied by the letter at II Maccabees 2:15. After reporting how Judah had collected books scattered during the war, the author offers to supply his addressees with any books they might need. But even if the author is referring to the (re)stocking of a library, it is unclear whether that library is private or public. Since the named addressee is “Aristobulus tutor of King Ptolemy,” the author might even be thinking of the royal library. That is, this passage might be an analogue to the story of the Septuagint. In any event, given the ongoing uncertainty about the authenticity and date of the letter in which these lines occur, we cannot learn very much from them.34 A collection of books in Judah may be implicit in the description of the Essenes by Josephus. He alludes to their books three times. At BJ 2:136 he tells of their interest in “the writings of the ancients” (%    ), especially those concerned with spiritual and physical well-being. Further on, at §142, Josephus tells how initiates swear to preserve “the books of their sect” (%  /s 7)s $ 5 5). Finally, at §159, he reports how some of the Essenes claim prophetic ability based in part on being well versed in “the holy books” (55 s 7)'s). All this does suggest a library of some kind, but the description is not specific with regard to the identity of the books, their number, or their location. Not only are references to the existence of libraries in Judah rare, Second Temple sources hardly mention even possession of individual copies of books. I have already cited II Maccabees 2:14 and its references to “books scattered”

33 34

The first view is that of Jonathan P. Siegel, The Severus Scroll and 1QIsa (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1975), p. 53. For the second view see Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, p. 241. The authenticity of the letter has been defended by Ben-Zion Wacholder, “The Letter from Judah Maccabee to Aristobulus. Is 2 Maccabees 1 :10b-2:18 Authentic?” HUCA 49 (1978), pp. 89–133, and Thomas Fischer, Seleukiden und Makkab¨aer (Bochum: N. Brockmeyer, 1980), pp. 86–7, 184, 216. Joseph Sievers, The Hasmoneans and Their Supporters from Mattathias to the Death of John Hyrcanus I (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 6–7, suggests a date between 124 and 60 b.c.e.; Jonathan Goldstein, II Maccabees (AB 41 A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), pp. 157–67, suggests 103 b.c.e.; and Elias Bi(c)kerman(n), “Ein J¨udisches Festbrief Vom Jahre 124 v. Chr. (II Macc. 1 :1 –9),” in idem, Studies in Jewish and Christian History, 2, pp. 136–7 [originally published in ZNW 32 (1933)], suggests our letter dates between ca. 60 b.c.e. and 73 c.e.

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during the war. I Maccabees 1 :56–7 refers to the destruction of Torah scrolls and the execution of those found in possession of such scrolls during the Epiphanian persecutions. Both references are too general to be very helpful. Neither tells us who possessed the books that were scattered or destroyed or how common such possession was. The same is true of the report in Josephus, BJ 2:228–31 // AJ 20:113–17. During punitive actions under Cumanus (48–52 c.e.) against villages several miles north of Jerusalem (AJ) in the Bet Horon area (BJ), a soldier found a copy of the Torah in one of the villages and destroyed it. This stirred up so much outrage that Cumanus had the soldier executed. While these passages indicate that a Torah scroll could be found in a rural village, it also seems to me to suggest that possession of such a scroll was not all that common. Indeed, the rarity of the scroll might explain the extreme reaction of the Jews to its destruction. In any event, it is not clear that the scroll was owned by an individual, as opposed to the community.35 The scroll of Isaiah from which Jesus read, according to Luke 4, presumably belonged to the Nazareth synagogue. Similarly “the laws” (8s s), which the Jews took with them when they fled Caesarea, must have belonged to the local synagogue. Otherwise the Jewish leaders could not have been charged with improperly removing “the laws” from the city. Unfortunately, it is not clear whether this phrase at BJ 2:291 –2 refers to one scroll or many. Finally, we already mention the “sacred books” Josephus received as a gift from Titus at the fall of Jerusalem. Whatever their source, these books now became the personal possession of Josephus. Given the circumstances, however, it is unlikely that we can generalize from this. What we have seen so far is that the literary sources say relatively little about the availability of books in ancient Judah. If scrolls of biblical books were rare and expensive, then the likelihood that public reading of biblical texts was common in the first century, let alone in earlier times, diminishes.36 Fortunately we are no longer totally dependent on the literary sources. The caves at Qumran have yielded over nine hundred manuscripts, of which about two hundred, or 22 percent, are manuscripts of books in the Hebrew Bible.37 To this number, one may add at least some of the manuscripts containing excerpts

35 36 37

Note the language at AJ 20:115 in MS E: 5s  s. This might suggest a reverence more appropriate to a communal possession. Compare the comments of Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, pp. 240–1, concerning the first and second centuries. See E. Tov, “Categorized List of the ‘Biblical Texts,’” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, p. 167. For a list of all the texts from Qumran, see E. Tov with the collaboration of S. J. Pfann, “List of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, pp. 29–89.

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or abbreviations of biblical texts.38 The significance of this evidence depends in part on how we understand these finds. If Golb is right, what we have found are the remains of several libraries from Jerusalem. In this case the finds may not be representative of the country as a whole. Jerusalem was the religious and intellectual capital of the country, so we would expect it to be a center of book production, possession, and collection. In the countryside, scrolls might have been hard to come by. And relatively broad dissemination of the contents of the Bible might have been limited to the metropolis. Even on the consensus view, that the scrolls were collected by the group that lived at Khirbet Qumran, we may not be able to generalize from the size of the collection. Whether we identify them as Essenes or not, the Qumran community seems to be an eccentric, fringe group. Their collection of several hundred scrolls might not be representative of the Judean population as a whole. Stegemann’s modification of the consensus view might allow additional conclusions. He argues that the Essenes constituted a large, countrywide movement and that Qumran was the movement’s center for book production. Thus the Qumran library was a sort of reference library for the movement and its publishing arm. Stegemann goes on to explain the composition of the library: Some manuscripts were master copies, some were worn-out copies withdrawn from use, some were the subject of special study, while those occurring in many exemplars were for communal study.39 On this view one would have found copies of books known to us from Qumran in the possession of Essene communities throughout the country.40 As long as 38

39

40

See E. Tov, “Excerpted and Abbreviated Biblical Texts from Qumran,” RQ 16 (1995), pp. 581 – 600. The exegetical and parabiblical texts give further, if indirect, evidence for the diffusion of the biblical texts. See the “Appendix. Chronological List of Qumran Exegetical and Parabiblical Writings by Date of Copy” in J. Trebolle-Barrera, “Qumran Evidence for a Biblical Standard Text and for Non-Standard and Parabiblical Texts,” in Timothy H. Lim, ed., The Dead Sea Scrolls in their Historical Context (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), pp. 104–6. Compare the “List of Paleographically Dated Texts from Qumran” in Brian Webster, “Chronological Index of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, pp. 378–434. For a convenient summary see Philip R. Davies, Scribes and Schools, pp. 166–8 and the literature cited there. For rebuttals of Golb, see, for example, James C. VanderKam, The Dead Sea Scrolls Today (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1994), pp. 95–7; Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), pp. 64–5. And see Stegemann, ibid., pp. 51 –5, for the purpose of the Qumran settlement, and pp. 80–5, for a description of the nature of the scrolls collection. Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, pp. 93–8, argues that the sects, including the Essenes, may have comprised a significant percentage of the adult male Judean population. On the other hand, he believes that the sectarians were concentrated “in and around Jerusalem.” On this view, even Stegemann’s theory might not be evidence for wide dissemination of scrolls throughout the country.

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these issues are unresolved, our ability to generalize from the Qumran finds to a broad diffusion of books seems limited. One way out of this impasse is to invoke the survival ratio. This is the ratio of texts surviving into our day to the total number of texts produced in antiquity. Estimating this factor for Roman Egypt, Keith Hopkins suggested that the survival ratio could be less than 1 :10,000!41 That is, only one ten-thousandth of the written materials produced survives. Conversely, we can assume the existence of ten thousand times the number of texts that have come down to us. And this is for a country in much of which conditions for the survival of organic materials like papyrus and animal skins are much better than they are in most of Judah. Even if we reduce the ratio by half, we would still conclude that the 900 manuscripts from Qumran could reflect the circulation of tens of thousands of manuscripts! For example, the thirty or so exemplars of the book of Deuteronomy found at Qumran would suggest the existence of 150,000 copies, and the fifteen of Genesis, 75,000 copies. Even taking into account the fact that these copies span three centuries of production, these are still astronomical numbers. This is especially true when we recall that sober estimates of the population of Jewish districts of the country give a number of half a million.42 Even 25,000 copies of Genesis for a population this size means one copy per twenty souls, most of whom were not literate. These extraordinary results suggest that the survival ratio we are using must be off kilter. But unless we are willing to assume that the Qumran collection constitutes a large percentage of all the scrolls in circulation in first-century Judah, as the Golb thesis might allow, then these finds suggest the existence of thousands of scrolls in the country. And such a large number in a small, predominantly

41

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See Keith Hopkins, “Conquest by the Book,” in J. Humphrey, ed., Literacy in the Roman World (JRASS 3; Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1991 ), p. 133, n. 2. For a similar, if less quantified, argument that explicitly applies outside of Egypt as well, see Millard, Reading and Writing in the Time of Jesus, pp. 33–41, 128–31, 172. Among other factors, Millard notes the amount of “paperwork” generated wherever Roman military forces were stationed. See M. Broshi, “The Population of Western Palestine in the Roman-Byzantine Period,” BASOR 236 (1979), pp. 1 –10; idem, “Methodology of Population Estimates; the Roman-Byzantine Period as a Case Study,’ in A. Biran and J. Aviram, eds., Biblical Archaeology Today, 1990: Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1993), pp. 420–5. For a dissenting view arguing for much larger numbers, see Z. Safrai, The Economy of Roman Palestine (London/New York: Routledge, 1994), pp. 436–7. Wise, “Accidents and Accidence,” p. 141, suggests a population of “well over a million” for Judea, of whom 10–15 percent were literate. The resultant estimated reading public of 100,00 to 150,000 seems much too large both in terms of the lower population estimates cited earlier and the lesser degree of literacy assumed by the scholarship cited in n. 14 in this chapter.

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nonliterate population would make widespread public recitation much more likely. Reinforcing this deduction from the Qumran finds is the accumulating evidence of scrolls from other sites. From the late first century there are the seven biblical scrolls found at Masada. They include one manuscript of Genesis, two of Leviticus, one of Deuteronomy, one of Ezekiel, and two of Psalms. These texts were probably the possession of people not connected with Qumran.43 Also reflecting different communities as well as a time frame three generations later are eleven biblical manuscripts from places of hiding and refuge during the Judean revolt led by Simeon son of Kosiba between 132 and 135 c.e. The caves at Nahal Hever yielded five biblical scrolls: two copies of Numbers, one each of Deuteronomy and Psalms plus a copy of the Twelve (= “Minor Prophets”) in Greek.44 A copy of Genesis was found at Wadi Sdeir (= Nahal David) and one of Numbers at Nahal Se’elim.45 And the caves of Wadi Murabba’at yielded at least four biblical scrolls. There is one manuscript whose remains included sections of Genesis, Exodus, and Numbers, plus single copies of Deuteronomy, Isaiah, and the Twelve. The first named might have contained the entire Pentateuch.46 If we apply our minimalist survival ratio of 1 :5,000 to these last eleven, then we must imagine over 60,000 scrolls of biblical book circulating in the early second century. And because the refugees all appear to have come from a limited geographical area, those 60,000 scrolls circulated not in the entire province of Iudaea, but just in part of the 43

44

45

46

The texts were published by S. Talmon in “Hebrew Fragments from Masada,” Masada VI. Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965 Final Reports (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1999), pp. 31 –97. While at least two other manuscripts found at Masada appear to have been brought there by people affiliated with Qumran and/or the Essene movement, the Masada biblical scrolls do not show affinities with the Qumran bible scrolls, neither in orthography nor in variety of text types. See ibid., pp. 148–9, 24–6. The four Hebrew scrolls are 5/6 Hev Numa , XHev/Se Numb , XHev/Se Deut, and 5/6Hev Ps. They were published by P. Flint in J. Charlesworth et al., eds., Miscellaneous Texts from the Judaean Desert (DJD XXXVIII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), pp. 133–66, 173–82. Walter C. Bouzard, Jr., “The Date of the Psalms Scroll from the Cave of Letters (5/6HevPs) Reconsidered,” DSD 10 (2003), pp. 319–37, argues that the four Hebrew scrolls may have been deposited by refugees from the revolt of 66–70 c.e. If so, they no longer attest conditions in the second century. Moreover we can no longer assign them to the same village or town milieu that is the source of the Bar Kokhva era deposits. Indeed, Bouzard suggests they could have come from Jerusalem. Still, they attest manuscript finds independent of Qumran. For the fifth text see E. Tov, The Greek Minor Prophets Scroll from Nahal Hever (8HevXIIgr) (DJD VIII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990). Sdeir1 Gen was published by C. Murphy in Charlesworth et al., eds., Miscellaneous Texts from the Judaean Desert, pp. 117–24. 34Se Numbers was described by M. Morgenstern in ibid., p. 209. All were Published by J. T. Milik in P. Benoit, J. T. Milik, and R. De Vaux, Les Grottes de Murabba‘at (DJD II; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961 ), pp. 75–80, 180–205.

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subdivision of Judah (as opposed to the subdivisions of Galilee, Samaria, Peraea, etc.). And this occurred at a time when the population of Judah is unlikely to have exceeded 150,000!47 Again, these results are so extraordinary that there must be something wrong with the survival ratio we are using. Still the evidence does suggest a wider diffusion of texts than we might have assumed on the basis of our literary sources. Moreover, the refugees in question appear to have come from towns and villages. If biblical scrolls were so readily available in places like these, they must have been even more accessible in the large cities. The archaeological evidence from late first century (Qumran and Masada) and early second century (caves with refugees from the Bar Kokhba revolt) Judah thus suggests that biblical scrolls were fairly plentiful and widely diffused. Why were so many texts needed in an overwhelmingly nonliterate society? The most probable explanation is that many of these manuscripts, like many or most ancient books, were performance texts. By this I mean they were not intended only, or even primarily, for private use by individuals who read them on their own. Instead the texts commonly were read out loud at public gatherings. To this day, Torah scrolls are used as performance texts. No one takes them home during the week for private study. (To be sure, today other [printed] copies of the Torah are readily available for private reading at home as well as for group study. Obviously this was not the case in antiquity.) The role of books as performance texts was common in surrounding Graeco-Roman society as well as in the early Christian movement.48 A telling example, albeit relating to a much earlier period, is cited by Thomas from a report in Plutarch. The latter reports how the Athenian statesman Lycurgus, in the late fourth century b.c.e., kept copies of the plays of the three great tragedians in a public archive and required adherence to the “original” text. However, the removal of the copies for private consultation was not allowed. Nor were the performers even allowed to read the documents at the archive. Instead a secretary read the texts out loud to them.49 47

48

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This is the estimate of Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, p. 93, for Judah in the first century. We may assume a decline in population in the wake of the suppression of the revolt of 66–70 and destruction of Jerusalem in 70. On the public reading of texts in the Graeco-Roman world, see Moses Hadas, Ancilla to Classical Reading (New York: Columbia University Press, 1954), pp. 50–64. Compare Thomas, Oral Text and Written Record in Classical Athens, pp. 32–4, on books as memory aids. For Christianity, see Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1995), pp. 205–6, 211 –31, on public reading of scriptures in early Christian worship, and pp. 231 –7 for the gradual increase of evidence for private reading, which, however, is not abundant until the third century. Thomas, Oral Text and Written Record, pp. 48–9.

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In light of the common practice of public readings of books in the ancient eastern Mediterranean area, and in light of the occasional references to such a practice in Second Temple Judah, it seems reasonable to understand the function of the ancient Bible manuscripts as performance texts. And the existence of many manuscripts, suggested by the Qumran evidence, further suggests that public reading of biblical texts was in fact common in Second Temple Judah.50 In his chronological survey of the Qumran texts, Webster concludes, “the biblical texts have a fairly even chronological distribution throughout the period from 200 b.c.e.–68 c.e.” He also notes that in the “Archaic Period” (i.e., 250–150 b.c.e.), the biblical manuscripts comprise the most numerous group of texts.51 So, if my line of argument is correct, we may trace public reading back into the third century b.c.e. What about earlier times? Can we assume the practice was common as far back as the Persian era? At present we lack sufficient evidence. The testimony of Nehemiah 8–9 and Hecataeus suggests at least occasional public readings before a mass audience by the late fourth century and probably by late Persian times. Further, the Qumran manuscript finds showed that the silence or scantiness of the literary sources could be misleading. Just as the scarcity of references to manuscripts in late Second Temple times did not prove that written texts were rare, so too minimal mention of public readings from bible texts need not prove that such events were uncommon in the Persian era. Of course, the relative silence of our sources obviously does not prove that public readings were common. But if we find indications of the existence of Judean nationalism in the centuries before the turn of the millennium, we can suggest how it was constructed. Widespread and regular public recitation of biblical texts would explain how ideas of common descent and shared culture could reach a mass audience. This, I submit, is certainly what was going on by the Hellenistic period. And it may have already been the case, albeit in a more limited way, under the domination of the Achemenids. 50

51

Wise, “Accidents and Accidence,” pp. 125–37, characterizes about forty of the Qumran manuscripts as “personal copies.” But this need not preclude their serving as performance texts as well. On the question of personal copies and on the broader issues as well, see Philip S. Alexander, “Literacy among Jews in Second Temple Palestine: Some Reflections on the Evidence from Qumran,” in M. F. J. Baasten and W. Th. Van Peursen, eds., Hamlet on a Hill. Semitic and Greek Studies Presented to Professor T. Muraoka on the Occasion of His SixtyFifth Birthday (Leuven/Paris/Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2003), pp. 3–24. Alexander emphasizes the evidence for literacy that emerges from the Qumran manuscripts. Webster, “Chronological Index of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, p. 375, summarizing the data in “Table 5: Chronological Synopsis of Qumran Texts,” pp. 371 –5.

3


Constructing Jewish Nationalism: The Hebrew Language

I

n the previous chapter i alluded to the role of the hebrew language in the construction and preservation of a Jewish national identity. Here I shall address this subject in detail. The connection between language and identity was recognized in antiquity. As seen earlier, Herodotus included common language as one of the components of “Greekness.” Indeed, common language appeared right after common blood, the first item listed. Sharing in that common language resulted in “grecization” according to Thucydides (II.68.5). He distinguished between those Amphilocians who “hellenized” by adopting the Greek language from their Ambraciot neighbors and the rest of the Amphilocians who remained “barbarians.” Half a millennium later, Tacitus included study of Latin as a factor in the Romanization of the Britons during the governorship of Agricola (Agricola 21). For these authors, use of the appropriate language seems to be a necessary condition for membership in, or adoption into, a national group. Other ancient authors, though, added that language by itself was not a sufficient condition for belonging. According to a report in Livy, for example, Achaean ambassadors dismissed the Aetolians as people who merely speak Greek without really being Hellenes.1 The reservations of the ambassadors have their modern counterpart in theoretical discussions of the components of ethnicity. Contemporary scholars recognize that the relation between language and identity is not always simple.2 The complexity of that relation can be illustrated with an example from the Jewish experience. II Maccabees, a book devoted to a defense of Jewish national identity (“Judeanness”) against the inroads of “Greekness,” is written in Greek. Even more striking in the present context is the frequent 1 2

Livy 34.24.3. See Jeremy McInerney, “Ethnos and Ethnicity in Early Greece,” in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, p. 61. See Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, pp. 143–81, and idem, Hellenicity, pp. 111 –17.

49

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reference to “the ancestral language” as part of what van Henten has called “the patriotic–political message” of the book. That language is certainly not Greek, and most likely is Hebrew.3 So our author emphasized the role of Hebrew as an expression of “national pride” even though Greek was probably his first language and even though he himself may not have known Hebrew.4 With the recognition that the interplay between language and identity may be complex, let us look more closely at the role of Hebrew among Jews in the Second Temple period. We immediately note two major differences from the contemporary situation of the Greeks. While many non-Greeks in antiquity adopted the Greek language, Hebrew never spread among non-Jews. (Even Isaiah 19:18, whatever its historical context and meaning, prophesies only that five cities in Egypt will speak the language of Canaan. It doesn’t envision large, non-Jewish populations adopting the language.5 ) So Jews never had to answer the question of whether speaking Hebrew was a sufficient condition for membership in the Jewish nation. The other major difference was the loss by many Jews of the ability to speak or understand Hebrew. This development must have affected the question whether knowledge of Hebrew was at least a necessary condition for retaining a Jewish identity. Clearly the status of the Hebrew language in Second Temple times needs to be examined in order to clarify its role in ancient Jewish national consciousness. Our survey begins in the Iron Age so as to provide appropriate background. The standard view that Hebrew was the spoken language in the Iron Age kingdoms of Israel and Judah seems undeniable. The epigraphic evidence from this period, although far more meager than what is available from contemporary Egypt and Mesopotamia, is still considerable. The standard collections number several hundred items with writing in Hebrew. Many of these were found in controlled excavations.6 Admittedly, some of the finds are without 3 4

5

6

van Henten, “Ancestral Language of the Jews in 2 Maccabees,” pp. 53–68. See the comments of John R. Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees. The Cambridge Bible Commentary on the New English Bible (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), pp. 271 –2 at II Maccabees 7:8. The usual interpretation is that the text refers to Jewish inhabitants and perhaps also to “converts” to Judaism. If converts are meant, did they (or were they expected to) assimilate linguistically? I know of no evidence for such an expectation. For a recent commentary see Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001 ), p. 144. See G. I. Davies, Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions. Corpus and Concordance, 2 Vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991 –2004); Shmuel Ahituv, Handbook of Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions from the Period of the First Commonwealth and the Beginning of the Second Commonwealth (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1992) [Hebrew]; Sandra Landis Gogel, A Grammar of Epigraphic Hebrew (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998). For a brief survey see A. S´aenz-Badillos, A History

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provenance, and forgeries abound. This is especially true of the inscribed seals. But with the longer texts consensus on lack of authenticity has usually been achieved.7 Reinforcing the authenticity of the epigraphic data from the kingdoms of Judah and Israel is contemporary evidence from neighboring kingdoms such as Ammon and Moab. These Iron Age texts reveal dialects very similar to that of the Hebrew epigraphic material.8 The epigraphic data also strengthen the majority view that the older strata of biblical literature reflect the language of Iron Age Israel and Judah.9 Finally, the contents of the epigraphic material in Hebrew suggest that the written material reflects the spoken language. The profile of the finds is unlike that for purely literary languages not understandable by the populace, such as contemporary Sumerian. Instead there are letters, accounts, and graffiti. All the evidence, then, points to Hebrew as the spoken and written language of the country through the fall of the Kingdom of Israel in the north and that of Judah in the south. The situation prevailing in Second Temple times is less clear, though there is what appears to be a broad consensus at least on one point. This is the penetration and eventual domination of the Aramaic language.10 At first glance, Hebrew seems to have held its own. As we shall detail later, a considerable body of Hebrew literature comes from this period. To be sure, Jews also

7

8

9

10

of the Hebrew Language, trans. J. Elwolde (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 62–8. See for example Frank Moore Cross, “Notes on the Forged Plaque Recording Repairs to the Temple,” and Israel Eph’al, “The ‘Jehoash Inscription’: A Forgery,” IEJ 53 (2003), pp. 119– 22 and 124–8. Of a different order was the challenge to the Iron Age dating of the Siloam inscription by J. W. Rogerson and P. R. Davies, “Was the Siloam Tunnel Built by Hezekiah?” BA 59 (1996), pp. 138–49. Their argument that the paleography could equally allow a date to the Hasmonean era has not convinced many specialists. See the rebuttal by Ronald S. Hendel, “The Date of the Siloam Inscription: A Rejoinder to Rogerson and Davies,” BA 60 (1997), pp. 233–7. See W. Randall Garr, Dialect Geography of Syria-Palestine, 1000–586 b.c.e. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985). A briefer but more recent survey appears in Simeon B. Parker, “Ammonite, Edomite and Moabite,” in Kaltner and McKenzie, eds., Beyond Babel, pp. 43–60. See Jo Ann Hackett, “Hebrew (Biblical and Epigraphic),” in Kaltner and McKenzie, eds., Beyond Babel, pp. 139–56. She observes, p. 141, that “even informal epigraphic Hebrew of the monarchic period is very much like S[tandrard] B[iblical] H[ebrew].” See also Avi Hurvitz, “The Historical Quest for ‘Ancient Israel’ and the Linguistic Evidence of the Hebrew Bible: Some Methodological Observations,” VT 47 (1997), pp. 301 –15. For some dissenting views see the essays collected in Ian Young, ed., Biblical Hebrew. Studies in Chronology and Typology (JSOTSS 369; London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2003). The evidence for the spread of Aramaic is concisely presented in E. Sch¨urer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 b.c.–a.d. 135), Vol. II, G. Vermes and F. Millar, eds. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1979), pp. 20–8. Though additional data have come to light, this account is still valuable. Some of the evidence will be discussed next.

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produced literature in the Aramaic language during this time. In addition to the Aramaic portions of the biblical books of Ezra and Daniel, dozens of purely Aramaic books turned up at Qumran. Still, Hebrew predominates in the literary remains. Thus of the 900 or so manuscripts found at Qumran, about 27 are in Greek, and some 130, in Aramaic. This leaves close to 750 in Hebrew. Using the raw data just cited, at Qumran the Hebrew manuscripts outnumber the Aramaic ones by almost 6 to 1.11 These data may be misleading, however. Many scholars argue that the Hebrew of Second Temple literature betrays strong Aramaic influences. Such influences suggest to them that Aramaic was the spoken (and even the more common written) language of the authors of these works. Reinforcing this argument is the epigraphic evidence. In the epigraphic material the Aramaic finds outnumber those in Hebrew. The finds include both inscriptions and legal documents. Quantification is more difficult because we lack an up-to-date collection of Second Temple epigraphic material.12 However, we can use three corpora as samples or test cases. One comprises the Samaritan inscriptions from the Hellenistic era holy

11

12

For the data see E. Tov, “Lists of Specific Groups of Texts from the Judaean Desert,” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, pp. 215–16 for the Greek manuscripts from Qumran and pp. 221 –5 for the Aramaic texts. Compare the figures from before publication of the Dead Sea Scrolls was completed in E. Puech, “Du bilinguisme a` Qumran,” in F. BriquelChatonnet, ed., Mosa¨ıque culturelle: Le Bilinguisme dans le Proche-Orient ancien (Paris: Jean Maisonneuve, 1996), pp. 171 –9; Martin G. Abegg, Jr., “The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Peter W. Flint and James C. Vanderkam, eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years. A Comprehensive Assessment (Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 1998), Vol. 1, p. 323. And see n. 17 in this chapter regarding the fifteen manuscripts found at Masada of which at least fourteen are in Hebrew! On Aramaic literature composed by Judeans, see B.-Z. Wacholder, “The Ancient Judaeo-Aramaic Literature (500–164 bce). A Classification of Pre-Qumranic Texts,” in L. H. Schiffman, ed., Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), pp. 257–81. Volume II (Asie-Afrique) of J.-B. Frey, Corpus inscriptionem iudaicarum: Recueil des inscriptions juives qui vont du IIIe si`ecle avant J´esus-Christ au VIIe si`ecle de Notre-Ere (Vatican City: Pontificio instituto di archeologia cristiana, 1952), is severely outdated, all the more so earlier collections. It also begins only in the Hellenistic period. Ahituv, Handbook of Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions, extends down to the fourth century, while Davies, Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions, goes to 200 b.c.e. But even Davies leaves out almost three centuries (or over 40 percent) of the Second Temple period. For the Aramaic inscriptions (along with literary texts) from this later period, see Joseph A. Fitzmyer and Daniel H. Harrington, A Manual of Palestinian Aramaic Texts (Second Century b.c–Second Century a.d) (Rome: Pontifical Institute, 1978); Klaus Beyer, Die arama¨ıschen Texte vom Toten Meer: samt den Inschriften aus Pal¨astina, dem Testament Levis aus der Kairoer Genisa, der Fastenrolle und den alten talmudischen Zitaten: aramais¨ tische Einleitung, Text, Ubersetzung, Deutung, Grammatik/W¨orterbuch, deutsch-arama¨ısche Wortliste, Register (G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), Erg¨anzungsband (G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994). The DJD series includes a number of documentary texts from the first and second centuries c.e.

THE HEBREW LANGUAGE

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precinct on Mt. Gerizim. Unfortunately the texts are all fragmentary, and none was found in situ. Some four hundred inscribed fragments have been collected. Of these some 360 are in Aramaic (“Jewish”) script. With only one clear exception (#4), the inscriptions in Aramaic script are in the Aramaic language. Conversely, with only one partial exception (#15), the forty or so texts in the old Hebrew script are in Hebrew. So the Aramaic material seems to outnumber the Hebrew by around 9 to 1 !13 Of course, one could argue that Hebrew was less known and/or less used among the Samaritans. So it is particularly helpful that the other two corpora come from Judeans. The second corpus comprises ossuary inscriptions. Secondary burial in ossuaries was a short-lived phenomenon among the Judeans, concentrated in the century and a half preceding 135 c.e.14 The finds originate mostly in the Jerusalem area. In the catalogue published by Rahmani, there are 157 ossuaries with some Jewish script. It should be noted that these texts are generally not formal grave inscriptions incised by a professional. Such material would not necessarily indicate anything about the spoken language of the deceased and their families. Instead, the ossuary inscriptions are mostly informal and nonprofessional, often graffiti presumably written by family members. They are more likely to be diagnostic of commonly used language than formal inscriptions.15 Unfortunately, the linguistic information obtainable from the ossuary inscriptions is limited because often only the name of the deceased is given. Aside from a very few cases, the only clear indication of language is

13

14

15

See Y. Magen, L. Tsafania [sic], and H. Misgav, “The Hebrew and Aramaic Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim,” Qadmoniot 120 (2000), pp. 125–32 [Hebrew]. The publishers note that the fragments appear to come from different inscriptions. Thus the numbers reflect not just fragments but (on the whole) distinct inscriptions. For the final publication of the Gerizim material, see Y. Magen, H. Misgav, and L. Tsfania [sic], Mount Gerizim Excavations, Volume I. The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan Inscriptions (Judea and Samaria Publications 2; Jerusalem: Staff Officer of Archaeology – Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria and Israel Antiquities Authority, 2004). The authors of this volume do not discuss the issue of Hebrew versus Aramaic in this volume, but only the scripts. See pp. 30–40. See L. Y. Rahmani, A Catalogue of Jewish Ossuaries in the Collections of the State of Israel (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority and Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1994), pp. 21 –5. Use of ossuaries continued on into the mid-third century, but the numbers are small. Compare the warnings of M. C. A. Macdonald, “Some Reflections on Epigraphy and Ethnicity in the Roman Near East,” Mediterranean Archaeology 11 (1998) [= Graeme Clark, ed., Identities in the Eastern Mediterranean in Antiquity, Proceedings of a Conference Held at the Humanities Research Centre in Canberra 10–12 November 1997], pp. 180–1. Macdonald argues that “formal, monumental inscriptions carved by a professional mason usually tell us little about the language(s) used by the titular ‘author’ of the text.” He believes that even graffiti “are uncertain guides as to the languages of their authors.” However, as products of nonprofessional writers, graffiti seem at least a better guide than formal inscriptions.

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in words like “son,” “daughter,” and “wife.” Rahmani notes that the Aramaic word for “wife” appears twice as often as the Hebrew word (six times to three). The Aramaic words for “son” and “daughter” appear “two or three times more often” than the Hebrew equivalents. My own very rough count conforms to these data. I counted sixty-one inscriptions with Aramaic words exclusively as opposed to twenty with only Hebrew ones.16 Our third corpus is comprised of the 701 Hebrew and Aramaic inscriptions found at Masada. It is probable that all these texts date to the period 66– 73 c.e. Here too in many cases the only indication of language is the form of the word “son” or of the definite article. Even these meager indications are lacking in over three quarters of the inscriptions! My rough count of the texts with identifiable elements yielded eighty-five inscriptions with Aramaic elements and seventy-one with Hebrew. This proportion is much closer than what emerged from the previous two corpora. Admittedly the data can be misleading. Appearance of the Hebrew word for “son,” for example, need not indicate that the writer actually had an active proficiency in that language. No one would argue from the title of his poem “Rabbi Ben Ezra” that Robert Browning knew Hebrew. But interestingly enough, there is also a rough parity among the longer, connected texts. The three texts classified as letters, ##554–6, are in Aramaic. On the other hand, the four most extensive jar inscriptions, ##449–52, are in Hebrew. It should also be noted that of the fifteen literary texts found at Masada, fourteen are in Hebrew (the language of one is uncertain).17 16

17

See Rahmani, Catalogue of Jewish Ossuaries, pp. 11 –19, on the languages of the ossuary inscriptions. For the number of inscriptions see p. 12, and for Aramaic versus Hebrew see p. 13. My count ignores a Hebrew–Aramaic bilingual (#24), three inscriptions that contain both Aramaic and Hebrew words (##290, 867, 893), and instances of !lv and !wlv (since this could be a personal name). Compare Seth Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Palestine,” Past & Present 148 (1995), p. 15, n. 22, who relies on earlier publications of ossuary inscriptions. Of the 177 inscriptions he noted in Frey, CII, Vol. II, he found only 24 that used Hebrew forms. However, Schwartz does not say how many inscriptions had Aramaic forms as opposed to just names with no words diagnostic of Hebrew or Aramaic. Without this information we cannot evaluate the datum he supplies. See Yigael Yadin and Joseph Naveh, “The Aramaic and Hebrew Ostraca and Jar Inscriptions,” in Masada I. The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–65 Final Reports (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1989), pp. 8–9, on the languages of the inscriptions and pp. 12–68 for the texts. I ignored items ##514–515 that appear to be in Nabatean script. Of the 701 items listed in this volume, most are not identifiable as Aramaic or Hebrew. For example, ##1 –301 contain just letters and no words; ##302–90 have just names without nicknames or patronymics. The same is true for many other items, aside from those with only fragments of words or names. Compare the remarks of Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Palestine,” p. 15, n. 22. Here too unless one compares the Hebrew items to recognizable Aramaic elements, the data are misleading. For the literary manuscripts found on this site, see Talmon, “Hebrew Fragments from Masada.” One fragment of a manuscript contains what looks like an Aramaic word along with one or two Hebrew words. The text

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The case of Masada is something of an exception, then. It suggests a broader use of Hebrew in nonliterary composition. Perhaps this is a reflection of the ideology of the residents there in 66–73, or of the period of revolt. Hanan Eshel has argued that some of the Hebrew documents from Murabba’at date to the revolt of 66. If so, then the Hebrew revival attributed to the rebels of 132 can also be assumed for the rebels of 66.18 Still, even Masada shows widespread use of Aramaic by the Judeans. So overall these quantifiable corpora illustrate and confirm the conclusions that Naveh and Greenfield reached in 1984. Writing of the Persian era, they observed that Aramaic epigraphic material was more plentiful than the Hebrew data. Almost a decade later Naveh surveyed the entire Second Temple era with an extension to 135. His conclusion was the same.19 The evidence just surveyed shows the predominance of Hebrew as a vehicle for literary expression and the predominance of Aramaic in the epigraphic record. The epigraphic evidence combined with the apparent Aramaic influence on the Hebrew of Second Temple literature has convinced most scholars that Aramaic gradually replaced Hebrew during this era, both as a spoken language as well as the written language used for documentary (as opposed to literary) texts.20 Still subject to debate is how complete that replacement was. The disagreement emerges in the diverse evaluations of the Hebrew used in contemporary literary texts. Was it a purely artificial language heavily influenced by contemporary written and spoken Aramaic.21 Or does it (also) reflect spoken (and written?) Hebrew dialects? The current consensus seems to adopt something of a mediating position. On this view the parts of the Hebrew Bible (and other literature?) that antedate the Persian era supplied

18 19

20

21

is too short and fragmentary to allow any definite conclusion. To the Masada evidence one may compare the corpus of inscriptions from Qumran and Ain Feshka. Unfortunately, the latter body of evidence is more limited in quantity and even less clear regarding the relative uses of Hebrew and Aramaic. See A. Lemaire, “Inscriptions du khirbeh, des grottes et de ‘A¨ın Feshkha,” in J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg, eds., Khirbet Qumrˆan et ’A¨ın Feshkha, Vol. II. Studies of Anthropology, Physics and Chemistry (NTOA, Series Archaeologica 3; Fribourg: Academic Press and G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003), pp. 341 –88. On the question of the use of Hebrew versus Aramaic, see there, p. 381. Hanan Eshel, “Hebrew in Economic Documents from the Judean Desert,” Leshonenu 63 (2003), pp. 41 –52 [Hebrew]. See Joseph Naveh and Jonas C. Greenfield, “Hebrew and Aramaic in the Persian Period,” CHJ I, p. 122; Joseph Naveh, “Hebrew versus Aramaic in the Epigraphic Finds of the Second Temple – Bar-Kokhba Period,” Leshonenu 56 (5752), pp. 301 –16 [Hebrew]. The widespread use of Aramaic for inscriptions, especially grave inscriptions, is alleged to provide further evidence of Aramaic as the common spoken language. For an alternate explanation see n. 56 in this chapter. See for example Giovanni Garbini, “Hebrew Literature in the Persian Period,” in Eskenazi and Richards, eds., Second Temple Studies 2, pp. 180–8.

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the model emulated by those attempting to write “classical Hebrew” in the Second Temple era. The differences between the early models and the later imitations can be attributed to the influence of Aramaic and, if they existed, to contemporary written and spoken Hebrew dialects. Whether in fact “Late Biblical Hebrew” (in the literature of the Persian and Hellenistic periods) and “Qumran Hebrew” (mostly in texts of the Hasmonean, Herodian, and Roman eras) also reflect spoken dialects of the language is hotly debated. Similarly, scholars debate whether the Hebrew of tannaitic literature, called “Mishnaic/Rabbinic Hebrew” (primarily second and early third centuries c.e.), also goes back to spoken (and written) dialects of late Second Temple times.22 Let us begin with the question of spoken Hebrew in Second Temple times. In his survey of the epigraphic data from this era, Naveh argues that there is considerable evidence for the survival of Hebrew as a spoken dialect. That evidence includes the occurrence even in Aramaic texts of Hebrew by-names and nicknames and of Hebrew words for everyday items. On the basis of this argument, Naveh asserts the following. “Aramaic gradually replaced Hebrew and became the dominant language. . . . However the Hebrew language (and to a certain extent the [old] Hebrew script) also had a day to day use.” And he concludes, “In Second Temple times the Aramaic language was widely accepted among the Judeans . . . and served as a written and a spoken language. . . . still many continued to speak Hebrew.”23 If we accept these conclusions, then the question of how Aramaic replaced a living Hebrew language (to the extent it did) is even more pressing. 22

23

The literature on these issues is extensive. For an overview of Second Temple and Rabbinic Hebrew, see S´aenz-Badillos, History of the Hebrew Language, pp. 112–201 ; Baruch A. Levine, “Hebrew (Postbiblical),” in Kaltner and McKenzie, eds., Beyond Babel, pp. 157–82. Among the important studies are Elisha Qimron, “Observations on the History of Early Hebrew (1000 b.c.e.–200 c.e.) in the Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in D. Dimant and U. Rappaport, eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls. Forty Years of Research (Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill and Jerusalem: Magnes Press and Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1992), pp. 349–61 ; Shlomo Morag, “Language and Style in Miqsat Ma’ase Ha-Torah – Did Moreh Ha-Sedeq Write This Document?” Tarbiz 65 (1995–6), pp. 209–23 [Hebrew]; Joshua Blau, “The Structure of Biblical and Dead Sea Scrolls Hebrew in Light of Arabic Diglossia and Medieval Arabic,” Leshonenu 60 (5757), pp. 21 –32 [Hebrew]; J. F. Elwolde, “Developments in Hebrew Vocabulary Between Bible and Mishnah,” in T. Muraoka and J. F. Elwolde, eds., The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira (STDJ XXVI; Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1997), pp. 17–55; Jan Joosten, “Pseudo-Classicisms in Late Biblical Hebrew, in Ben Sira, and in Qumran Hebrew,” in T. Muraoka and J. F. Elwolde, eds., Sirach, Scrolls and Sages (STDJ XXXIII; Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 1999), pp. 301 –15. Naveh, “Hebrew versus Aramaic,” p. 301 and p. 315, respectively. For reservations regarding Naveh’s argument from onomastic habits, see Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Palestine,” p. 15, n. 22.

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On the spread of Aramaic, the analysis of Michael Wise is helpful.24 The most common explanation of how Aramaic replaced Hebrew among the Judeans is what Wise calls the lingua franca model. As is well known, Aramaic became a common language and a language of administration beginning with the NeoAssyrian Empire. The process continued during the Neo-Babylonian Empire and reached its peak under the Persians. Under the Achemenids, Aramaic was the language of government and communication in an area that stretched from the Aegean to the Indus.25 The provinces of Judah and Samaria sat almost in the geographical center of this expanse. Thus it is quite understandable that legal and economic documents from here and neighboring areas would be written in the language of empire. So we are not surprised by the use of Aramaic in the Elephantine papyri (including letters addressed to the Judean leadership in Jerusalem), the legal documents found at Wadi Daliyeh that had been executed in the city of Samaria, the economic texts on ostraca from Idumea, and various seals. These items either required government attention or might do so in the future. And once people became accustomed to Aramaic documents, whether as scribes or clients of scribes, the habit could carry over into completely private affairs as well.26 But how would the epigraphic habits of the minority of elites and literates, the ones most likely to leave a “paper trail,” carry over into the spoken language of the mass of peasantry? Naveh and Greenfield seem to be sensitive to this problem when they state their conclusions regarding the linguistic situation in the Persian era. They write, “One may assume that in the cities, especially Jerusalem, the populace was bilingual, but that in many villages Hebrew was the chief language.” Schapes concurs, adding a geographical–political explanation to Naveh and Greenfield’s sociological one. Among the urban elites using Aramaic were the repatriates from Babylonia, where Aramaic of course was the common language. Among the “lower classes” that spoke Hebrew were people who (or whose ancestors) had never been exiled from the land. Consequently the “left behind” population continued to speak the language their families had spoken in the Iron Age (viz., Hebrew).27 But, based on what we quoted earlier, Naveh apparently believed that by the end of the Second Temple era this sociological distinction was less pervasive. Aramaic was no 24 25 26 27

See Michael Owen Wise, “Accidents and Accidence,” in his Thunder in Gemini, pp. 111 –19. See J. C. Greenfield, “Aramaic in the Achaemenian Empire,” CHI II, pp. 698–713. This survey includes information on the pre-Achemenid history of Aramaic. Compare Naveh, “Hebrew versus Aramaic,” p. 310. CHJ I, p. 129; Joachim Schapes, “Hebrew and Its Study in the Persian Period,” in Horbury, ed., Hebrew Study from Ezra to Ben-Yehuda, pp. 16–18.

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longer limited to urbanites, while at least some of the elites were using Hebrew! In any case, the question posed by Wise remains without an answer. How and why was Hebrew abandoned? Wise proposes an alternate explanation for the ascension of Aramaic. Though he does not use the term, he describes a centuries-long situation of “languages in contact.” He notes that the Israelite kingdom (in the north) was contiguous to and in contact with the Aramean (Aramaic-speaking) kingdoms from early in the last millennium b.c.e. As the millennium progressed, speakers of diverse Aramaic dialects settled in Cisjordan in increasing numbers. These Aramaic-speaking newcomers arrived under a variety of circumstances. Some (in the eighth and seventh centuries) were deportees from Mesopotamia forcibly transferred by the imperial authorities, while others (in the late sixth and fifth centuries and later) were voluntary immigrants of Judean descent who had acculturated to their Mesopotamian milieu.28 Hebrew speakers became conversant with Aramaic as a result of frequent and longstanding contact with speakers of the latter language, much as Spaniards on the border with France might know French and vice versa. Nehemiah 13:23–4 describes one of the mechanisms by which Aramaic spread. Judean men married women from neighboring territories where different languages prevailed, and many of the offspring of these marriages adopted their mothers’ language. The passage does not mention the Aramaic language, only “Ashdodite” and “Judean.” The latter is generally assumed to mean Hebrew, as in I Kings 18:26, 28. As to the former, opinions differ, but it might refer to Aramaic.29 In any case, it is the process that is of interest here. Through intermarriage and other mechanisms, spoken Aramaic could penetrate not just among the elites, literates, and urbanites but also among the masses of nonliterate peasants in the countryside. Finally, the spread of spoken Aramaic presumably had a reciprocal and mutually reinforcing relation to the increasing use of a written Aramaic, derived from the Achemenid administrative lingua franca. The “languages-in-contact” model provides a more satisfying explanation for how Aramaic became the dominant language among the Judeans during 28

29

Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Palestine,” p. 13, briefly suggests that “large-scale transfer of populations” may have been a factor in the Aramaization of Syria– Palestine, citing the Aramaization of Meopotamia as a model. Wise, “Accidents and Accidence,” p. 115, provides an argument for identifying Ashdodite as Aramaic. Compare Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Palestine,” p. 8, with references to recent commentaries in n. 6 there. Levine, “Hebrew (Postbiblical),” p. 168, suggests it is Phoenician. Anson Rainey, “Syntax, Hermeneutics and History,” IEJ 48 (1998), p. 244, suggests that “Ashdodite” is “the Philistine version of Canaanite” like the dialect on the Ekron inscription published in 1997.

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Second Temple times. The fact that Hebrew speakers were clearly a minority in Cisjordan by the Persian era must have also contributed to the dominance of Aramaic. The question now is, how did Hebrew survive? It is by no means to be taken for granted that it should have. I am not aware of any clear evidence concerning the survival of Ammonite, Moabite, or Edomite into the Hellenistic–Roman eras. On the contrary, what evidence we have suggests a thorough Aramaization. Thus the hundreds of ostraca reflecting everyday life recovered from fourth-century Idumea are all in Aramaic.30 The case of Phoenician provides another example, an interesting one, because its speakers played a much more important role in the Mediterranean world than did the Edomites or Judeans. Briquel-Chatonnet argues that Phoenician had died out (in Phoenicia) as a living literary language by the end of the last millennium b.c.e. Its demise as a spoken language was still earlier, perhaps about 200 b.c.e as Rabin suggests. While the language survived (as Punic) in the former North African colonies, the homeland spoke Aramaic and Greek.31 Why was the fate of Hebrew in Judah (and Samaria) so different? What motivated people to continue to speak or at least write in Hebrew? Can we identify specific areas in which its use was preferred or expected? If so, perhaps we can explain its persistence.32 30

31

32

Parker, “Ammonite, Edomite and Moabite,” p. 47, observes that these dialects were increasingly displaced by Aramaic in texts from the fifth century on. According to B. Porten and A. Yardeni, “On Problems of Identity and Chronology in the Idumean Ostraca,” in M. Heltzer and M. Malul, eds., Teshurot LaAvishur: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, in Hebrew and Semitic Languages. Festschrift Presented to Prof. Yitzhak Avishur on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (Tel Aviv/Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publications, 2004), p. 161, the Aramaic ostraca from Idumea number over 1600. And see there, n. 2, for the 800 or so that have been published. F. Briquel-Chatonnet, “Les Derniers T´emoignages Sur La Langue Ph´enicienne En Orient,” Revista di Studi Fenici XIX (1991 ), pp. 3–21 ; Chaim Rabin, Semitic Languages. An Introduction (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1991 ), p. 42 [Hebrew]. Briquel-Chatonnet, p. 10, minimizes the significance of the (extremely brief) Phoenician inscriptions on the coins of the first two and a half centuries c.e. On the continuance of Aramaic as the spoken language in Southwest Asia down to the Islamic conquests, see Ran Zadok, “The Ethno-Linguistic Character of the Semitic-Speaking Population (Excluding the Judeo-Samaritans) of Syria in the Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine Periods – A Preliminary and Tentative Survey of the Onomastic Evidence,” in Yitzhak Avishur and Robert Deutsch, eds., Michael. Historical, Epigraphical and Biblical Studies in Honor of Prof. Michael Heltzer (Tel Aviv/Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publications, 1999), pp. 267–301. The other ancient Near Eastern language that survived and flourished into late antiquity was Egyptian. But this case differs from Hebrew in important ways. First, Egyptian was recognized as a prestige language and used (in certain contexts) even by foreign overlords (Persian, Macedonian, and Roman). Second, Egyptian continued to have a large base of native speakers. For details see John Ray, “Literacy and Language in Egypt in the Late and Persian Periods,” in Bowman and Woolf, eds., Literacy and Power in the Ancient World, pp. 51 –66.

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One explanation for the retention of Hebrew focuses on its use in the temple to the God of Israel in Jerusalem. As Naveh puts it, “Hebrew dominated in liturgy, both in the temple and elsewhere.”33 I am not sure what the allusion to liturgical activity outside the temple refers to. But the use of Hebrew in the temple is well attested, for example in the singing of psalms, the priestly blessing, and various ritual recitations. (Presumably the same thing was true at the Samaritan holy precinct on Mount Gerizim.) This practice provides one explanation for use of the phrase leshon haqodesh, literally “the language of holiness,” to denote Hebrew. The phrase was previously known from rabbinic literature and has now turned up in a Qumran text. In the explanation just noted, the Hebrew phrase actually means “the language of the sanctuary.”34 Use in the temple explains what Naveh meant when he stated elsewhere that the Hebrew was “an expression of . . . holiness.”35 The use of Hebrew in the Samaritan inscriptions cited earlier conforms to this explanation. The Hebrew inscriptions seem to relate to the priesthood and appear to have been located in the interior of the holy precinct. The Aramaic inscriptions mention laypeople and likely adorned the outer walls. Similarly, the Hebrew texts among the Masada inscriptions can all be connected to Temple affairs and priests. The same logic can explain the use of Hebrew on the monumental tomb of the priestly family of the Sons of Hezir.36 In any case, this explanation cannot account for the broader use of Hebrew that Naveh discerns in Second Temple Judean society, especially in everyday speech by common people. The “church languages” that survive today, such as Latin, Coptic, and Amharic, all go back to spoken vernaculars. But none have continued or been resurrected for common speech. Similarly, one wonders whether the Temple-related character of Hebrew is enough to account for its use in “secular” economic documents. We recall that Hanan Eshel has traced this usage back into the first century, as

33 34

35 36

Naveh, “Hebrew versus Aramaic,” p. 302. For rabbinic literature see, for example, Mishnah Sotah 7:2. The Qumran occurrence is in 4Q464. On this passage see the discussion of Steve Weitzman, “Why Did the Qumran Community Write in Hebrew?” JAOS 119 (1999), pp. 35–45, with literature cited p. 38, nn. 19 and 21. And see there p. 40 with n. 37 for a discussion of the phrase leshon haqodesh. Add Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Palestine,” pp. 33–4 with n. 73. The meaning “language of the temple” seems explicit in the Aramaic phrase lishan bet qudsha attested in a Geniza manuscript of the Palestinian Targum and in the Targum Neofiti to Genesis 31 :11. See the references in DJPA, p. 283. At the very least this tells how the targumist understood the Hebrew phrase. Naveh, “Hebrew versus Aramaic,” p. 301. See Dan Barag, “The 2000–2001 Exploration of the Tombs of Benei Hezir and Zechariah,” IEJ 53 (2003), pp. 78–110.

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against the older view that this was an innovation dating to the Bar Kokhba revolt of 132 c.e.37 The survival of Hebrew in Second Temple times outside the sacred sphere could find its explanation in a further suggestion of Naveh. He asserts that along with the old Hebrew script the language itself was an expression of “national sentiment.”38 This is a popular view. Often, however, it is invoked with regard to the second half of the Second Temple era. In particular the Hasmonean uprising in 167 b.c.e. is seen as a turning point. According to this view the nationalist impulse evoked by the Hasmoneans led to a new interest in Hebrew that continued through the Bar Kokhba uprising of 132– 135 c.e. Wise is representative of this position. He writes, “Beginning with the time of the Hasmonean revolt, the situation [viz., use of Aramaic as a written language] may have changed, as Hebrew came to the fore in an expression akin to modern nationalism. A form of classical Hebrew was now a more significant written language than Aramaic within Judaea.”39 Hannah Cotton concurs in her explanation of the use of Hebrew in legal documents from the time of the anti-Roman revolts of 66 and 132. As she puts it, “Hebrew became the symbol of Jewish nationalism, of the independent Jewish State.”40 However, as some scholars have noted, the nationalist use of Hebrew antedates the Hasmonean era. We shall review the evidence in detail later. For now we can delay the chronological question and simply note the possible existence of a nationalist motivation for using Hebrew. The two explanations Naveh provided for the continued use of Hebrew in Second Temple times, “holiness” and “nationalism,” appear in the work of Seth Schwartz with further elaboration. According to Schwartz, Hebrew owed its special status to its role as the language of the Temple and the Pentateuch. These two products of the Persian era (and Persian patronage) became “the central symbols of Jewish corporate identity.” As the language of Temple and Torah, Hebrew itself became “a subsidiary national symbol, capable of evoking the central ones.”41 Further, knowledge of Hebrew became a marker of social distinction for the “curatorial classes” that supervised the Temple and transmitted 37 38 39 40

41

Eshel, “Hebrew in Economic Documents from the Judean Desert.” Naveh, “Hebrew versus Aramaic,” p. 315. Wise, “Accidents and Accidence,” p. 117, n. 45. Hannah M. Cotton, “The Languages of the Legal and Administrative Documents from the Judaean Desert,” ZPE 125 (1999), p. 225. The same sentiment appears in eadem, “The Bar Kokhba Revolt and the Documents from the Judaean Desert: Nabataean Participation in the Revolt (P. Yadin 52),” in P. Sch¨afer, ed., The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered. New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome (TSAJ 100; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), p. 136. The quotations come from Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Israel,” p. 3 and p. 44 respectively.

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the Torah. This analysis is combined with the argument that states that only from about 300 b.c.e. on was the Hebrew language ideologized. In earlier times the Israelites/Jews were not particularly self-conscious about language and tended not to consider it an essential component of their national identity. The change in attitude was the eventual result of the reconstruction of the Jerusalem Temple and the final compilation of the Torah during the Persian domination. Since both projects received the backing of the imperial government, those in charge of them accumulated real power and were able to impose their ideology. Precisely how and when this happened is not clear, though the Hasmonean revolt was at the very least a major milepost in the entrenchment of Temple and Torah as national symbols, with Hebrew basking in their reflected glory. Eventually, as the institutions in which Hebrew was embedded lost real power, the role of the language was reduced to what Schwartz calls a talismanic function.42 That is, Hebrew “became not the national language of the Jews, but the language whose representation symbolized Jewish nationhood.”43 Schwartz’s conclusion that Hebrew became “the language whose representation symbolized Jewish nationhood” conforms to the view of many scholars, including Naveh, Wise, and Cotton. Moreover, his use of the concept of a talisman is suggestive and will be revisited later. However, some details of his reconstruction are subject to dispute. For example, the role of Persian patronage in both the reconstruction of the Jerusalem Temple and in the creation or dissemination of the Pentateuch has been questioned recently.44 If the Persian role was merely one of laissez faire or benign neglect, then the alleged power relationships behind the elevated status of Hebrew must be rethought. Then there is the chronological issue. Schwartz traces the “ideologization” of Hebrew back into the third century, with roots in the Persian era. But those “roots” may have been more fully developed than Schwartz allows. Naveh and Greenfield had already pointed out “nationalist” use of Hebrew language and script in the Persian period, by the fourth century at the latest. In Judah

42 43 44

Ibid., pp. 27, 44. The quote is from ibid., p. 25. On the first point see Peter Ross Bedford, Temple Restoration in Early Achaemenid Judah (Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 2001 ). On the second issue see the essays in James W. Watts, ed., Persia and Torah: The Theory of the Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch (Atlanta: SBL, 2001 ). Similar doubts would apply to claims that the Persians supported the preservation of pre-Aramaic languages throughout their empire. Their treatment of ancient imperial languages of high prestige, such as Akkadian and Egyptian, does not necessarily provide a parallel for the case of Hebrew, Ammonite, Edomite, or Moabite.

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the Hebrew forms of the titles “governor” and “priest” appear on the coins, even though the name of the province appears in Aramaic. In Samaria the seal of the governor was in Hebrew and written in Old Hebrew script, even though the documents it sealed are in Aramaic.45 Even more significant is the wealth of Hebrew literature attributable to the era of Achemenid rule. Several books of the Bible explicitly mention figures or events that date after the rise of the Persian Empire. These include Ezra, Nehemiah, Chronicles, Haggai, Zechariah, Second Isaiah, Daniel, Esther, and Psalm 126. For these the Achemenid era provides a certain terminus a quo. Scholars debate how much of this material comes from the Persian era and how much from the Hellenistic. For example, all critical scholars agree that the last six chapters of Daniel come from between 167 and 165 b.c.e. On the other hand, most if not all would assign much of the other literature mentioned to the Persian era. Thus the majority of scholars accept the late sixth-century dates of the oracles stated in Haggai and (First) Zechariah.46 Aside from the literature that explicitly mentions the Achemenid background, other sources are also assigned to this era on the basis of a variety of criteria. Many critical scholars assign composition of the Pentateuch, for example, to the Persian era.47 What are we to make of the extensive composition of Hebrew literature in the Persian era? Was Hebrew still a living language and so available for literary composition? If the memoirs of Nehemiah are genuine, it still was spoken in fifth-century Jerusalem. On the other hand, the literate elites presumably would have found it just as easy, if not easier, to compose in Aramaic, the lingua franca of the Persian Empire. The diplomatic documents in Ezra, the correspondence prepared in Elephantine for dispatch to Jerusalem and Samaria, and the Wadi Daliyeh papyri all attest the Aramaic skills of the local Israelite/Judean scribes, as does the corpus of literature composed in 45 46

47

Naveh and Greenfield, “Hebrew and Aramaic in the Persian Period,” pp. 122–3. See for example the section “Recent Study of Haggai and Zechariah 1 –8” in Carol L. Meyers and Eric M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 (AB 25B; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1987), pp. lxviii–lxxii. For an overview on biblical writings assignable to the Persian period, see Lester L. Grabbe, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 1. Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah (LSTS 47; London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2004), pp. 70–106. For an argument minimizing the literary output of Persian Judah on the basis of limited social and political infrastructures, see William M. Schniedewind, How the Bible Became a Book. The Textualization of Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 165–94. Even Schniedewind assigns Ezra, Nehemiah, Chronicles, the prose framework of Job, the earlier sections of Daniel, and possibly Song of Songs, Esther, and Ecclesiastes to the Persian period. And if Persian era scribes could collect and edit, as he concedes, why could they not also try their hand at composition?

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Aramaic.48 Thus use of Hebrew for literary composition was by no means automatic. It was a conscious and deliberate choice. And if we deal with a choice, then we can look for its motivation.49 Nationalist considerations could provide that motivation, as so many have argued (though in many cases with regard to later periods such as the Hasmonean). This line of reasoning appears even in the more radical scholars who date Israelite ethnogenesis to postexilic times. Garbini is an example. He writes of the community of repatriated exiles in Persian Jerusalem establishing their identity as Israelites, in distinction from both the Samaritans and the inhabitants of the Judean countryside. He continues,

48

49

We saw earlier that Judeans continued to compose and copy literature in Aramaic through the entire Second Temple era. For the period before the Hasmoneans, see Wacholder, “AncientJudaeo-Aramaic Literature,” pp. 257–81. Wise, “Accidents and Accidence,” p. 117, n. 45, notes that composition and copying in Aramaic continued even after the Hasmonean uprising that gave new impetus to Hebrew. Further evidence of ongoing composition in Aramaic comes from the translation of Hebrew literary works into Aramaic. Such translation is best attested for biblical books, a phenomenon that would come to be known as targum literature. Three examples have come to light at Qumran, all datable to the Hasmonean–Herodian era. These are an Aramaic version of Leviticus (4Q156) and two of Job (4Q157, 11 Q10). The Leviticus targum appears in a manuscript possibly going back to the second century b.c.e and, in any case, to the Hasmonean heyday. The Job versions appear in manuscripts datable to the first century c.e. See Webster, “Chronological Index of the Texts from the Judean Desert,” p. 386 (for 4Q156), p. 427 (for 4Q157), and p. 431 (for 11 Q10). One can also cite the Genesis Apocryphon (1 QapGen, 1 Q20, 4Q537, 4Q538), an Aramaic exemplar of the genre of “rewritten Bible.” More important, this text includes direct translation of biblical verses. See the list in Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave I. A Commentary (Second Revised Edition; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1971 ), pp. 31 –2. And see there, pp. 14–19, for his dating the composition of this text to the last century b.c.e. and the copying of the manuscript to the end of that century or the first half of the first century c.e. Some scholars believe that the Hebrew version of Tobit is the original and the Aramaic versions are translations. See the discussion of Fitzmyer in n. 55 in this chapter. On the bilingualism of the Judean scribes and the ease with which they could shift between Aramaic and Hebrew, see the comments of Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Israel,” pp. 11 –12. However, as the overwhelming majority of texts and the phenomenon of translation from one language to another indicate, Judean authors were perfectly capable of writing either all in Hebrew or all in Aramaic, the occasional Aramaisms or Hebraisms aside. This responds to the reservations of James Barr, “Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek in the Hellenistic Age,” CHJ, Vol. 2, 1989, p. 111. Referring to the beginning of the Hellenistic period, he writes, “There is at this time little evidence of sensitivity on the language issue, of value judgements between Hebrew and Aramaic, between classical and colloquial Hebrew; probably many did not perceive that the differences were substantial.” As argued previously, the more use of Aramaic seems natural and normal, the more use of Hebrew appears a deliberate choice requiring explanation. And how are we to explain the phenomenon of translation from Aramaic to Hebrew, a phenomenon that may date to the early Hellenistic era? Finally, there was the sensitivity to language in Nehemiah 13:23–4 and the ideologization of language by fifth-century Greek authors (to be discussed later). Why wouldn’t this continue into the fourth century and beyond?

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I believe that I have thus identified a primary nucleus of Hebrew literary creation during the Persian period, in the need for self-definition within the group in power, which had taken the place of the monarchy. What had been the literature of the court is now replaced by the literature of the temple . . . in the name of national continuity, the most clear expression of which can be seen in the use of the older Hebrew language which was no longer spoken . . . , and its ideological foundation in the cult of the old dynastic god Yahweh.50

One can dispute whether Hebrew was no longer spoken and disagree over the characterization of these writings as “literature of the temple.” But these disagreements do not affect the main point. Writing in Hebrew was a choice taken in pursuit of national continuity with preexilic Israel, whether real or imagined. The epigraphic evidence for use of Hebrew language and/or Old Hebrew script coupled with the evidence from contemporary literary composition in that language suggests that the ideologization of Hebrew begins in the Persian period. It did not have to wait for the Hellenistic or Hasmonean era. A connection between the Hebrew language and maintenance of group identity is of course implicit in the incident alluded to earlier from Nehemiah 13:23–4. Granted, the continuation of the passage in verses 25–30 focuses on the issue of intermarriage as Schwartz observed.51 But the author of the passage would not have mentioned the linguistic factor if it had not troubled him. If we accept the memoirs of Nehemiah as genuine, then we can date the incident to the second half of the fifth century. It was precisely in the same period that Greek is ideologized. That is, in the fifth century the idea of a common Greek language as indicative of a Hellenic ethnos emerges in the West.52 Even without the Nehemiah passage, we have seen evidence for an analogous Israelite/Judean ideologization of Hebrew by the following century. This is the period of the Judean coins and the seal of the Samarian governor as well as of undoubted literary composition in Hebrew. So just as an idealized notion of a Greek language was an indication of “Greekness” for Herodotus and a means of “grecization” for Thucydides, so too Hebrew apparently became in some way an indicator of “Judeanness” in Achemenid Judah.53 50 51 52 53

Garbini, “Hebrew Literature in the Persian Period,” p. 184. Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Israel,” p. 9. I follow Hall, Hellenicity, pp. 111 –17. Admittedly, an explicit statement to this effect, aside from the uncertain case of Nehemiah 13, does not appear until the Hasmonean era. I refer to II Maccabees and the discussion of van Henten, “The Ancestral Language of the Jews in 2 Maccabees,” in Horbury, ed., Hebrew Study, pp. 53–68. On the possible further ideologization of Hebrew by the Qumran community, see W. Schniedewind, “Qumran Hebrew as an Antilanguage,” JBL 118 (1999), pp. 235–252; idem,

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On the chronology just proposed, the emergence of Hebrew as one of the indicia of Jewish identity is not much later than the construction of the Second Temple and perhaps simultaneous with the emergence of the Pentateuch. As we saw, Garbini listed both the creation of the Pentateuch and its composition in Hebrew as elements of Israelite ethnogenesis under Achemenid rule. This means that Hebrew was not a secondary symbol basking in the reflected glow of the primary symbols of Temple and Torah, as Schwartz proposes. Rather it was itself one of the important vehicles for constructing and maintaining Jewish identity. This view also points to an alternative understanding of the power relationships behind the ideologized elevation of the status of Hebrew. As Garbini suggested in the preceding quotation, the Persian refusal to restore Judean kingship may have encouraged the emergence of or emphasis on other vehicles of national identity such as language. In any event, the most important conclusion to emerge from the discussion is the conscious use of the language vehicle already in Achemenid times. Composition of literature in Hebrew continues in post-Achemenid times, indeed throughout the Second Temple period. Most scholars assign at least some of the material with a setting in the Persian Empire to the Hellenistic period. The second half of Daniel is a certain case; Esther is a possible one. Chronicles, Song of Songs, and Ecclesiastes are often assigned to the third century. The most radical scholars assign all the Hebrew Bible to the Hellenistic period as we saw in the previous chapter. Another minority position suggests that some books (or parts thereof) were translated from Aramaic to Hebrew at this time, with Daniel, Ezra–Nehemiah, and Ecclesiastes mentioned as possible examples. Such translation, surprising in light of the presumed dominance of Aramaic, would most probably be dated to the Hellenistic era as well.54 Even if we do not accept these minority views, we have in the Bible a considerable body of Hebrew literature datable from the late sixth century down to the mid second

54

“Linguistic Ideology in Qumran Hebrew,” in T. Muraoka and J. F. Elwolde, eds., Diggers at the Well (STDJ XXXVI; Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 2000), pp. 245–55; and Steve Weitzman, “Why Did the Qumran Community Write in Hebrew?” See H. L. Ginsberg, Studies in the Book of Daniel (TSJTSA, 14; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1948); idem, Studies in Koheleth (TSJTSA 17; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1950); Frank Zimmermann, Biblical Books Translated from the Aramaic (New York: Ktav, 1975); David Marcus, “Is the Book of Nehemiah a Translation from Aramaic?” in Meir Lubetski, Claire Gottlieb, and Sharon Keller, eds., Boundaries of the Ancient Near Eastern World. A Tribute to Cyrus H.Gordon (JSOTSS 273; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), pp. 103–10. And compare the case of Tobit cited later in the chapter. There is a Hebrew manuscript of Ecclesiastes from Qumran, 4Q109, dated to the second quarter of the second century. See B. Webster, “Chronological Index of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” p. 380. If the original was in Aramaic, a third-century date for the translation is conceivable.

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century. To this we can add a corpus of extrabiblical Hebrew literature of which the earliest datable components, such as Ben Sira, precede the latest biblical material in Daniel. The texts discovered at Qumran add dozens of previously unknown Hebrew compositions from the third century b.c.e. through the first century c.e. And thanks to Qumran we may have a certain example of translation from Aramaic to Hebrew in the case of Tobit.55 In sum, we have an uninterrupted tradition of Hebrew literary composition spanning the entire length of the Second Temple period. Though Aramaic apparently was the common vehicle of speech and legal documents, many Judean authors chose to write in Hebrew. Such a choice, evident from the Persian era onward, likely reflects the idea that the national tongue is the most suitable vehicle for national literature. Thus the composition of a sizeable corpus of literature in Hebrew, at a time when Aramaic predominated, is the most significant attestation of the concept of the language as an expression of Israelite/Judean identity. And like the literature, the concept appears throughout the entire Second Temple era. There is some evidence that seems to go against the view that Hebrew was preferred for “holiness” and “nationalism.” One is the Giv’at Hamivtar tomb inscription. The “speaker” in the inscription is a Jerusalem-born priest who emphasizes his Aaronid descent. Despite this priestly theme, the language is Aramaic. The other case is the inscription recording the reburial of the remains of Uzziah king of Judah. In this instance one would assume that nationalist consideration would lead to use of Hebrew. But here too the text is Aramaic.56 One could point out that the first inscription uses the Old Hebrew alphabet, and thus might still reflect nationalist sentiments. Aside from this, and relevant to both inscriptions, is the close relation between tomb inscriptions and legal documents. As noted long ago by H. L. Ginsberg, tomb inscriptions were often modeled on legal documents. This may have been because the inscriptions were intended to establish or attest ownership of the tomb. Healey, in a study of Nabatean tomb inscriptions, provides extensive evidence, including cases where the inscription seems to be copied from a legal document.57 We recall 55

56

57

For the argument that Aramaic was the original language and the Hebrew manuscript is a translation, see Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Tobit (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature; Berlin/ New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2003), p. 25. Both inscriptions appear in Fitzmyer and Harrington, Manual of Palestinian Aramaic Texts, p. 168, #68 and #70, with references to original publication and literature on pp. 221 –2 and 223–4. See H. L. Ginsberg, “Lenusah ketovet hakukh shebenahal qidron,” Tarbiz 7 (5696), pp. 223– 6 [Hebrew]. Ginsberg adduced comparative material from Nabatean and Palmyrene tomb inscriptions to explain a first-century Judean inscription. On the Nabatean material see John F. Healey, The Nabataean Tomb Inscriptions of Mada’in Salih (JSSS 1 ; Oxford: Oxford University

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that the Achemenids’ use of Aramaic as the language of administration led to its widespread adoption for documentary texts by the subject peoples, including the Judeans. Indeed, use of Aramaic by Jews for marriage and divorce documents continues to the present day. To the extent that tomb inscriptions were considered legal documents, the use of Aramaic even by a priest or the authorities who relocated the remains of a king of Judah is understandable. In sum, these two cases indeed are exceptions that test the rule. But, aside from the many uncertainties regarding the Giv’at Hamivtar inscription, these two exceptions are both explicable and also outweighed by the mass of other data alluded to in the previous discussion. Those data indicate a preference for Hebrew as the language of holiness and nationalism. The ongoing role of the Hebrew language in Jewish national consciousness in the period following the destruction of the Second Temple emerges from some comments in rabbinic sources. One is a tradition attributed to the early third-century Palestinian master Eliezer Haqqappar Berabbi/Bar Qappara. According to this tradition the Israelites merited redemption from Egypt because of four things they did. The four things included not changing their names or their language during their sojourn in Egypt. Note that implication is not that abandonment of Hebrew entailed the loss of Israelite identity. Rather, it would have delayed the redemption. And in another tradition this same master invokes a biblical verse to justify (or recommend) use of the Greek language by Jews.58 Be that as it may, the first tradition does not elevate the Hebrew

58

Press on behalf of the University of Manchester, 1993). He notes that the tomb inscriptions are “legal foundation texts” and “rather like real estate deeds.” See pp. 42, 46, 48. In the Giv’at Hamivtar inscription the “speaker” explicitly mentions that he acquired the tomb by a written document. See Mekhilta deRabbi Yishma’el, Bo 5, ed. Horovitz-Rabin, p. 14, with parallels cited there. A list of parallels with references to more recent editions of the rabbinic texts can be found in the notes to the parallel at Shemot Rabbah to Exodus 1 :28 in the edition of Avigdor Shinan (Jerusalem/Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1984), p. 86 [Hebrew]. Most Talmudists assume that the full name of the tradition’s author was Eleazar son of Eliezer Haqqappar, though there is considerable variation in the manuscripts between the names Eliezer and Eleazar. The name is quoted here as it appears in Tosefta Yom Tov 1 :7, ed. Lieberman, p. 281. See Lieberman’s comments in Tosefta Ki-Fshutah ad loc., p. 922. That all the names refer to the same person is also the view of H. Albeck, Introduction to the Talmud, Babli and Yerushalmi (Tel-Aviv: Dvir, 1969), p. 148. Y. N. Epstein, Mavo’ lenusah hammishnah (Second Edition; Jerusalem/Tel Aviv: Magnes Press and Dvir, 5724), p. 24, n. 3 [Hebrew], argues for the identity of Bar Qappara and Rabbi Eleazar Hakkappar Berabbi. For the view that the different forms of this name may refer to different individuals, see H. L. Strack and G. Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash (trans. M. Bockmuehl; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992), pp. 88–9, with literature cited therein. Add Joshua Schwartz, Jewish Settlement in Judaea after the Bar-Kochba War until the Arab Conquest 135 c.e.–640 c.e. (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1986), pp. 249–50 [Hebrew]. On the term “berabbi,” see M. Sokoloff, DJPA, p. 101 –2. On Eleazar’s praise of Greek, see the interpretations of Genesis 9:27 attributed to him at Bereshit Rabbah 36:8, ed. Theodor-Albeck,

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language to the status of a defining criterion of Jewish identity. Nevertheless, Hebrew clearly has some special status that makes it worth preserving. The same position appears in another famous dictum, this one attributed to the mid-second-century master Me’ir. He is quoted as saying, “Whoever dwells in the Land of Israel, and recites the shema’ [the prayer containing Deuteronomy 6:4] morning and evening and speaks in the holy language will partake in the world to come.”59 The list includes duties that however desirable are not definitive of Jewishness. Clearly those who fail to speak in the holy language are not thereby denied membership in the Jewish nation, no more than those who live in the Diaspora are. So both traditions agree that Hebrew is not a necessary condition for Jewish national identity. Not only was it not one of the criteria of Jewish identity, it even seems not to have even been one of the indicia. After all, both comments imply a situation where most Jews did not speak Hebrew. Nevertheless, the language had some connection to Jewish identity. Here the concept of a talisman, suggested by Schwartz, helps to explain the somewhat ambiguous role of Hebrew as a national language that is not spoken by most of the nation. One definition of a talisman is “anything whose presence exercises a remarkable or powerful influence on human feelings or actions.”60 In the case of Hebrew, the mere presence of the language in spoken or written form could invoke the concept of a Jewish national identity. Even if one knew no Hebrew or was illiterate, one could recognize that a group of signs was in Hebrew script.61 One might not understand a set of words heard, but one would still know they were in Hebrew. Those who knew the scriptures only in translation, even if they believed that the translation was as inspired as the original, still were aware that there was an original written in Hebrew. However ignorant one might be of the language, one knew it was the language of the ancestors (cf. II Maccabees). Thus for people who identified as Jews, Hebrew was always “their language” in some sense. If we could ask ancient

59

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p. 342, and Yerushalmi Megillah 1 :8, 71 b. Eleazar is also known for his poetic and rhetorical abilities in Hebrew. This might be related to his campaigning for preservation of the language as a speech vehicle. See Yerushalmi Mo’ed Qattan 3:1, 81 c (and parallels), Bavli Ketuvot 104a, and Yerushalmi Berakhot 1 :4, 3d. Sifre Deuteronomy 333, ed. Finkelstein, p. 383, with parallels cited there. The version in Yerushalmi Shabbat 1 :3, 3c // Sheqalim 3:4, 47c adds an additional practice: eating ordinary food in a state of purity. Random House Dictionary of the English Language, The Unabridged Edition (New York: Random House, 1966), p. 1450 s.v. One extreme example is the minting of rebel coins in the city of Gamala in 66 c.e. The Old Hebrew script used is so crude as to be nearly undecipherable. Local artisans certainly could have produced more legible inscriptions in the Jewish script, but clearly it mattered to them to use the Old Hebrew. See Y. Meshorer, A Treasury of Jewish Coins (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press and Nyack, NY: Amphora, 2001 ), pp. 130–1.

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Jews to list the components of “Judeanness,” analogous to what Herodotus did for “Greekness,” I am convinced that Hebrew would appear on the list. Certainly the existence of the Hebrew, even as a purely literary or artificial language, served to help construct Jewish identity. It was language of the Israelite ancestors, the national literature, and the national religion. As such it was inseparable from the national identity. Indeed, its mere presence in visual or aural medium could invoke that identity.

4


A Kingdom of Priests: The Priestly Component in Ancient Jewish Nationalism

T

he title of this chapter comes from the famous verse at Exodus 19:6. That verse appears in the preliminaries leading up to the theophany at Mount Sinai. When the Israelites arrive at the wilderness of Sinai, Yahweh gives Moses a message to deliver to them. I shall quote the passage (Verses 3b–6) in the fairly literal translation of the Revised Standard Version. Thus shall you say to the house of Jacob and tell the people of Israel. You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now therefore, if you will obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my own possession [segullah] among all the peoples; for all the earth is mine, and you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation [mamlekhet kohanim vegoy qadosh]. These are the words which you shall speak to the children of Israel.

Of interest to us here is how later readers and hearers understood Verse 6. In Chapter 1 I mentioned the Bible’s use of the word “goy” to refer to Israel as well as to other nations. Our passage explains how the Israelite nation will differ from those others as a result of its special relationship with Yahweh. It will be “holy” and “a kingdom of priests.” It is this last phrase that intrigues me, just as it has exercised exegetes. The original meaning of the passage is not our concern. Still, it should be noted that Verse 6 appears to present an instance of synonymous parallelism. That is, “kingdom of priests” has roughly the same meaning as “holy nation.” The first of these phrases involves a construct chain of two nouns. The plural form of the second noun in the chain, “priests,” can function as an abstraction and have the force of an adjective. That is, the Hebrew could mean something like “priestly kingdom,” which is precisely how Jerome renders the phrase, regnum sacerdotale. But in what sense is the entire nation to be priestly? Perhaps the verse envisions “a priesthood of all believers.” That is, within Israel there 71

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will be no distinction between priest and lay. Alternatively, the phrase should be understood as an analogy. Israel’s relation to the other nations will be like that of the priestly caste to the rest of Israel. Just as Israelite priests are holier than lay Israelites because of their special proximity to the deity, so Israel will be holier than the rest of the nations because of its unique relation with Yahweh.1 When we turn to later interpretations of Exodus 19:6, we see rather different understandings. Postbiblical sources do not understand “kingdom of priests” to be in synonymous parallelism with “holy nation.” And instead of interpreting mamlekhet kohanim as a construct chain, they understand it as two, unconnected substantives. Thus in the Onkelos and Fragment targums, Verse 6 mentions a total of three entities: kings, priests, and people. Similarly the Syriac has “kingship and priests [ynhkw atwklm] and holy nation.” The Septuagint is ambiguous. It translates 5  7). The first word can be either an adjective or a substantive. If we take it as an adjective we get something like “a royal priesthood.” This in fact is how Jerome translates the same Greek words when Exodus 19:6 is quoted at I Peter 2:9: regale sacerdotium. However, John H. Elliot makes a persuasive case for the alternative. He notes that in the Septuagint itself 5  is a substantive twenty-three times as opposed to appearing as an adjective only four times. Taking the word to mean “kingdom,” “kingship,” or the like yields an interpretation like that attested in ancient Jewish literature and, Elliot argues, in the quotation of Exodus 19:6 at I Peter 2:9. The second word, 7), mentions a second entity, the body of priests.2 On this view, the Septuagint agrees with the targums in understanding Verse 6 to list three things. Further the Syriac would then essentially be identical to the Septuagint aside from the conjunction “and” that it inserts between “kingship” and “priests.” This postbiblical understanding, which ignores the apparent parallelism, does not resolve the question of how the verse applies to Israel. Are the Israelites kings and priests only with regard to the rest of the nations? Or does the verse assert an egalitarian Israel in which there is no distinction between king and subject, priest and layperson? Recent scholarship has concluded that postbiblical authors did not understand the verse to assert a “priesthood of all believers.” This is the conclusion of Daniel Schwartz, who surveyed both

1 2

For discussion of the passage and the grammatical analysis followed here, see William H. Propp, Exodus 19–40 (AB 2A; New York: Doubleday, 2006), ad loc. John H. Elliot, 1 Peter. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 37B; New York: Doubleday, 2000), pp. 419–20, 436–7.

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Second Temple sources and those in rabbinic literature. He found that the thoroughgoing egalitarian reading appeared only to be rejected. The most common interpretation in the ancient sources is that Verse 6 speaks of three castes within Israel: kings, priests, and the rest of the people.3 The notion of “a priesthood of all believers” is also absent from I Peter 2, according to Elliot. That idea appears in Christian sources only later. On the other hand, he believes I Peter does not understand Exodus 19:6 to refer to three classes or castes within the Israelite nation. Rather the Israelites as a whole (or the Christians who supercede them) are characterized by royal, priestly, and holy status vis-`a-vis the rest of the world.4 What does not appear in the ancient sources is still another option suggested by Jerome’s rendition of 5  7) at I Peter 2:9 as regale sacerdotium, “royal priesthood.”5 On this interpretation, among the factors that will distinguish Israel and make it holy will be the nature of its government. Israel will be ruled by kings who are priests.6 The absence of this interpretation in the literary record is somewhat surprising because, as is well known, Judah did have such a regime under the Hasmonean dynasty. Rulers from this dynasty served simultaneously as high priests and kings from the end of the second century b.c.e. until its fall from power in 37 b.c.e. Moreover, even before the assumption of the title of “king,” high priests had been the highest-ranking native officials in Judah, as will be shown subsequently. Along with many other scholars I believe that this constitutional arrangement has its roots in the Persian era. Moreover, there is considerable evidence for an ideology justifying priestly rule in ancient Jewish sources.7 Admittedly, some other near eastern peoples had “priestly kings.” Assuming Jewish authors were aware of this, then a royal priesthood would not have distinguished Israel from all other nations. But the extent of the phenomenon and Jewish awareness of 3

4 5 6

7

See D. R. Schwartz, “‘Kingdom of Priests’ – A Pharisaic Slogan,” in his Studies on the Jewish Background of Christianity (WUNT 60; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), pp. 57–66. The rest of the article deals with discussions of the phrase in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Elliot, 1 Peter, pp. 449–55. Ibid., p. 437, points out the inconsistency in Jerome’s translation of the same Greek phrase at Exodus 19:6 and I Peter 2:9. M. L. Moran, “A Kingdom of Priests,” in J. L. McKenzie, ed., The Bible in Current Catholic Thought (New York: Herder and Herder, 1962), pp. 7–20, in fact argues for the interpretation “priestly kings” in Exodus. See D. Goodblatt, The Monarchic Principle. Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity (TSAJ 38; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), pp. 6–56. On alleged critiques of and opposition to the Hasmonean combination of kingship and (high) priethood, see David Goodblatt, “The Union of Priesthood and Kingship in Second Temple Judea,” Cathedra 102 (2001), pp. 7–28 [Hebrew].

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it are far from clear.8 And for those seeking scriptural warrants for the rule of the priests, Exodus 19:6 would seem to be a useful source. Surely the amount of midrashic creativity required to adopt this verse to an ideology of hierocracy does not seem great. We cannot rule out the possibility that our verse was interpreted along these lines in sources that have not survived. In a similar way, the evidence for Hasmonean priest-kings appealing to the precedent of Genesis 14:18 is quite limited and could easily have been lost.9 We need not pursue further how ancient Jewish authors understood Exodus 19:6 and the reason they seem to have ignored the interpretation “royal priesthood.” Instead let us return to the alternative, and perhaps the original, meaning of mamlekhet kohanim: “priestly kingdom,” and restore the parallelism of “kingdom” and “nation.” Taken this way our verse provides a motto for the history of early Jewish nationalism. It suggests that Israel became, or at least remained, a nation because of its priests and the cult they staffed. A number of scholars have alluded to this notion in passing. Thus Philip R. Davies observed that in Ben Sira “the cult and priesthood are emphasized as the symbol of national unity and identity.” Further, the centrality of these related institutions helps explain why Antiochus IV’s attacks on them elicited a violent reaction on the part of (some) Judeans a generation or so after Ben Sira.10 Another example of awareness of the priestly role in Judean nationalism appeared in our previous discussion of the Hebrew language. S. Schwartz asserted that as a result of developments in the Persian era the temple and the Pentateuch became “the central symbols of Jewish corporate identity.” And the language shared by these institutions, Hebrew, became “a subsidiary national symbol, capable of evoking the central ones [viz., temple and Pentateuch].”11 The priests were obviously the exclusive curators of the temple, but Schwartz argues that the curators of the Pentateuch included lay experts as well. Still, he concedes the ongoing nexus of the cultic center and the book. For example, he contrasts the Greek Bible of the Diaspora communities with “the Hebrew Bible of the Jerusalem temple.”12 This puts the Pentateuch also under priestly 8

9 10

11 12

Regarding the Persian–Hellenistic–Roman eras, see the references in Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, p. 56 with nn. 71 –3. The classic study of Henri Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods. A Study of Ancient Near Eastern Religion as the Integration of Society and Nature (Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 1948), concerns an earlier period and thus could be relevant to the original intent of Exodus 19:6. See Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, pp. 52–5. Philip R. Davies, “Scenes from the Early History of Judaism,” in Diana Vikander Edelman, ed., The Triumph of Elohim. From Yahwisms to Judaisms (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1996 [First published Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1995]), pp. 171 –2. See Chapter 3, n. 39. See Schwartz, “Language, Power and Identity in Ancient Palestine,” pp, 29, 43.

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control. I shall return to the role of the priests as “curators” of the Torah later in the chapter. For now it suffices to note the agreement of Schwartz and Davies on the essential contribution of cult and priesthood to the construction of a Jewish national identity in late Second Temple times. The most extensive recent exposition of the priestly contribution appears in the study of Mendels. He also puts this in a comparative perspective. Thus he argues, “the temple and priesthood of the native population played an important role in the preservation of a nationalist awareness in the autochthonous populations of the ancient Near East, a role that continued well into the Roman period.” Bowersock confirms this for the latter era as he notes, “wherever there was pagan provincial opposition to Rome in the provinces, it was normally expressed through the traditional cults. . . . And so at the center of provincial subversion stood the local temples.” This obviously gave the native priests an important position in encouraging what I would call “national resistance.”13 In the case of the Jews, Mendels believes the temple and priesthood were particularly important as “symbols of nationalism” during the years 200–63 b.c.e. However, during the Roman period (63 b.c.e. to 66 c.e.) they lost this role because of a variety of historical circumstances. A brief revival in their importance to Jewish nationalism came during the revolts of 66 and 132 c.e.14 In what follows I shall survey three contributions of the priesthood to the construction of Judean national identity. In my view at least some of these contributions continued beyond the eras mentioned by Schwartz, Davies, and Mendels. First is the role of the priests as preservers and teachers of the national literature. Second is their function as actual rulers of Judah whether as independent authorities or as the highest-ranking native officials. Third is their provision of an ideology of resistance to foreign domination. I begin with their involvement with what we call the Bible. As discussed in Chapter 2, the biblical (and parabiblical) books contain the materials from which a Jewish national identity can be constructed. Consequently, the preservation of this literature and the dissemination of its contents to a broad audience were crucial for establishing and/or maintaining that identity over time. That the priests played a central role in these activities is widely acknowledged, though there is considerable debate about the details. Let us start with the actual 13

14

Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, p. 108. G. W. Bowersock, “The Mechanics of Subversion in the Roman Provinces,” Opposition Et R´esistances A L’Empire D’Auguste A Trajan ´ (Entretiens Sur L’Antiquit´e Classique Tome XXXIII; Gen`eve: Foundation Hardt Pour L’Etude de L’Antiquit´e Classique, 1987), p. 315, and see pp. 294–304 on the role of priests. See Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, Chapter 5, “Jerusalem: Capital, Temple and Cult (200–63 b.c.e.),” pp. 107–59, and Chapter 10, “Jerusalem and the Temple, 63 b.c.e.– 66 c.e.,” pp. 277–331.

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physical maintenance of texts. Previously we saw that Second Temple literary sources tell us relatively little about books and libraries, even the collection of texts presumed by many to have existed in the Jerusalem Temple. However, the existence of such a collection is a reasonable assumption. Certain biblical passages portray the sanctuary as the repository of authoritative texts. Thus Deuteronomy 31:24–6 describes how Moses ordered the deposit of the “torah book” he had written next to the Ark of the Covenant in the Tabernacle. In II Kings 22:8 the high priest Hilkiah reports the discovery of the “torah book” in the Jerusalem temple. And Deuteronomy 17:18 represents “the levitical priests” as the source of the “torah” from which a copy should be made by or for the king. From the end of the Second Temple era, we have the testimony of Josephus. Several passages in his writings attest the view that “the physical care and transmission of sacred texts was a specifically priestly responsibility,” as noted by Rebecca Gray.15 However, the mere preservation of the texts, while necessary, is not a sufficient condition for their use in constructing identity. Only their dissemination to a wide audience could create a national consciousness. Did the priests contribute to this endeavor in the period treated here? A variety of biblical texts assign to the priests the role of teachers of torah. They appear as subjects of verbs from the root yrh, whence also the noun torah. Of concern to us here is the applicability of this evidence to Second Temple times, especially from the Hellenistic era onward. A large body of scholarship has argued that the postexilic period witnessed the rise of nonpriestly teachers who eventually broke the priestly monopoly on authoritative interpretation of torah. As Steven Fraade had documented, this view can be considered the consensus position in twentieth-century scholarship. It could draw on evidence from the New Testament, Josephus, and rabbinic literature. A minority of scholars did point out the weaknesses in this view. The rabbinic evidence was late and biased in favor of lay teachers, the New Testament testimony was ambiguous, and Josephus himself asserted a continuation of priestly teaching prerogatives through the destruction of the Second Temple. One compromise position that emerged suggests the presence by the end of this period of competing claims of authority on the part of priests on the one hand and lay teachers on the other.16 Complicating the discussion 15 16

Rebecca Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine: The Evidence from Josephus (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 54 with n. 65 on p. 183. One of the best discussions is the (unfortunately) unpublished paper of Steven D. Fraade, “‘They Shall Teach Your Statutes to Jacob’: Priests, Scribes and Sages in Second Temple Times.” I am grateful to Professor Fraade for supplying me with a copy and allowing me to use it. In note 6 Fraade lists several influential handbooks, monographs, and encyclopedia articles that

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is the frequent identification of the lay teachers as “scribes” and the connection of the latter with the Pharisees.17 Fortunately these complications can be avoided here. The issue of concern in the present discussion is not legal authority, but the reaching of a mass audience. Clarification of this distinction will help advance the discussion. Claims of authority to give instruction from or interpret sacred texts need not entail a desire, let alone actual efforts, to disseminate those texts among the masses. In fact, experts often seek to maintain a monopoly on knowledge in order to preserve their status. Allowing a larger audience direct access to the literature they control would jeopardize their special standing in society. In any case, one must distinguish a passive or reactive role as experts in the ancestral laws and traditions from an active attempt to reach out to the masses. In the first case the experts wait until they are consulted and only then render a reply. This appears to be the model present in the biblical texts, especially when we recall that the noun torah can have the narrow meaning of “instruction [on a specific issue].” Let us take, for example, a pentateuchal passage that mentions the teaching role of the priests. In Leviticus 10:8–11 Yahweh instructs Aaron that he and his sons are not to drink intoxicants when they enter the tent of meeting, they are to distinguish between the holy and the common and between the unclean and clean, and they are “to teach [ulehorot – from the root yrh] the people of Israel all the statutes that the Lord has spoken to them through Israel.” The last phrase could indicate a broad educational mandate. On the other hand, the context of distinguishing between holy and common and clean and unclean suggests the more passive role of expert consultant. That is, people who had questions about cultic matters or issues of purity would request an answer from the priests. The role of priests as experts to be consulted on the initiative of questioners appears in connection with legal matters at Deuteronomy 17:11 and in connection with skin disease (“leprosy”) at 24:8. This understanding could also apply in Deuteronomy 33:10, which assigns to “Levi” the task of teaching (from the root yrh) God’s precepts to Jacob and his torah to Israel. Since the other functions mentioned – such as control of

17

assume a shift in torah-teaching authority from priests to laypeople. The authors include such luminaries as George Foote Moore, Bickerman, Hengel, Tcherikover, and the revised Sch¨urer. The list could be extended. Fraade mentions Saldarini, E. P. Sanders, and Rebecca Gray among those who are skeptical of the consensus. What I have termed the compromise position is shared by Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine, pp. 54, 58; Fraade himself; Daniel R. Schwartz, “‘Scribes and Pharisees, Hypocrites’: Who Are the ‘Scribes’ in the New Testament?” in his Studies on the Jewish Background of Christianity (WUNT 60; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), pp. 88–101; and Runesson, Origins of the Synagogue, p. 339. See the discussion of these and related issues in Christine Schams, Jewish Scribes in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSS 291; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998).

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the Urim and Thummim and offering sacrifices on the altar – belong to the priestly caste exclusively, the same must be true for teaching. But that teaching might consist of responding to questions, as in the previously cited passages. That teaching torah was the responsibility of the priests emerges from a trio of verses from the prophetic books. Here too, however, that teaching was the passive or reactive kind. As part of a condemnation of Jerusalem, Micah 3:11 complains, “Its rulers give judgment for a bribe, its priests teach [yoru from the root yrh] for a price, its prophets give oracles for money.” In Jeremiah 18:18 the prophet quotes his enemies. They insist, “torah shall not perish from the priest, nor counsel from the wise, nor the word from the prophet.” And at Ezekiel 7:26 the prophet foresees that precisely this will happen. He warns, “They shall keep seeking a vision from the prophet; torah shall perish from the priest, and counsel from the elders.” Thus prophets are the source of oracles/vision/the word, counsel comes from the wise or the elders, and judgment, from the rulers. Teaching and instruction, however, are the provenance of the priests. But all three of these passages describe experts who passively wait to be consulted. In Ezekiel, one seeks a vision from the prophet. Similarly, in Micah, disputants bring their case for judgment to a ruler, while people solicit an oracle from the seer. So it is with the instruction of the priests: people come to them. The priests do not seek out opportunities to teach the masses. The role of priests as experts who wait to be consulted appears clearly in two postexilic prophetic passages. In an oracle dated to December 520 at Haggai 2:11, the prophet is instructed by Yahweh to “ask the priests torah.” The question concerns the spread of ritual purity and impurity, and the priests are those with the requisite expertise on the requirements for food offerings brought to the altar. Similarly, in an oracle dated almost exactly two years later, Zechariah 7:1 –3 reports a question concerning the continuation of the fast of the fifth month (commemorating the destruction of the Temple) addressed to “the priests of the House of Yahweh of Hosts” (along with the prophets). Reference to consultation, rather than teaching, could apply to the passage at Malachi 2:4–9. The text condemns dereliction of duty by the priests, and the duty in question is instructing torah. Know, then, that I have sent this command to you, that my covenant with Levi may hold, says the Lord of hosts. My covenant with him was a covenant of life and well-being, which I gave him; and he revered me and stood in awe of my name. True torah was in his mouth, and no wrong was found on his lips. He walked with me in integrity and uprightness, and he turned many from iniquity. For the lips of a priest should guard knowledge, and people should seek torah from his mouth, for he is the messenger of the Lord of hosts. But you have turned aside from the

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way; you have caused many to stumble by your torah; you have corrupted the covenant of Levi, says the Lord of hosts, and so I make you despised and abased before all the people, inasmuch as you have not kept my ways but have shown partiality in your torah.

The phrase “seek torah” appears to refer to consulting an expert, and “shown partiality” also suggests rulings on specific questions. A final illustration of this kind of instruction comes from Josephus. The historian is recounting the debate in Jerusalem in the summer of 66 c.e. over discontinuation of the sacrifices for the welfare of Rome and the emperor. Such an act was tantamount to a declaration of independence. Consequently, it was urged by those in favor of revolt and opposed by those who advocated loyalty to Rome. The debate was framed in terms of the permissibility of accepting sacrifices from foreigners. At BJ 2:417 Josephus recounts how the loyalists “produced priests acquainted with the ancestral [traditions]” ()/ 8s +)s  ) 7)'s) to affirm that previous generations had accepted sacrifices from foreigners. The consultative aspect of torah instruction by the priests, in which the questioner takes the initiative, is thus clear in several biblical texts and still attested at the end of the Second Temple period. Other texts, by contrast, do suggest a more active teaching role. In these cases the priests seem to take the initiative, or at least try to reach an audience broader than individual petitioners. This may already be implicit in the Malachi passage when it refers to “turn[ing] many from iniquity.” Another verse that seems to refer to a broader teaching mission is the prophetic message in II Chronicles 15:3. Set in the reign of King Asa, around the turn of the tenth to the ninth century, it presumably reflects the assumption of the postexilic author concerning priestly roles. The prophet Azariah alludes to a time when “Israel was without the true God, and without a teaching [moreh] priest, and without torah.” The prophetic charge leads to religious reform and a covenant renewal, suggesting that the previously lacking torah was not limited to responses to specific questions of law. The clearest example of a broader concept of both torah and its teaching emerges from another late source in Chapter 8 of Nehemiah. Here it is “Ezra the priest” who brings out “the book of the torah of Moses which the Lord had given to Israel” and reads it out to the assembled people. Clearly this was not just the consultation of a specialist asking for instruction (torah) on a given point of law. The torah is now the book of Moses, and it is communicated to a mass audience. To be sure, it was “the Levites” who “helped the people to understand.” This suggests to some scholars that the priests may have yielded their teaching responsibilities to the lower order of the Levites. A few other postexilic sources also attribute to the Levites the function of “making the

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people understand/wise.” However, here in Nehemiah it is the priest who reads the text out loud. The role of the Levites is still dependent on, and hence subordinate to, the function of the priest Ezra.18 Some ambiguity remains because Ezra is identified as a scribe as well as a priest. One could argue that Nehemiah 8 depicts his role as a scribe, while his priestly status is purely coincidental. That ambiguity is resolved in another source from the early Hellenistic period. Hecataeus of Abdera, it will be recalled, asserted that Moses assigned judicial authority to the priests along with “the guardianship of the laws and customs.”19 He is more specific when he describes the high priest in terms that echo Malachi and verses from the Pentateuch. Thus Hecataeus relates how the people believe that the high priest acts as a messenger to them of God’s commandments. It is he, we are told, who in their assemblies and other gatherings announces what is ordained . . . [and] expounds the commandments to them. And at the end of their laws there is even appended the statement: “these are the words that Moses heard from God and declares unto the Judeans.”

Here too the high priest is clearly doing more than responding to questions of law. Like Ezra in Nehemiah 8, he is teaching the assembled masses. Ben Sira, writing around the beginning of the second century, is unfortunately less specific. The long encomium to Aaron at 45:6–22 contains the following at Verse 17. “In his commandments he gave him [Aaron] authority and statutes and judgments, to teach Jacob the testimonies, and to enlighten Israel with his law [nomos].”20 This verse could be read restrictively as referring to 18

19

20

II Chronicles 35:3 also refers to the Levites “making all Israel understand” (mevinim). II Chronicles 30:22 describes the Levites as “making wise” (maskilim), and Ezra 8:18 refers to a Levite as “a wise man” (’ish sekhkel ). II Chronicles 17:7–9 refers to Levites sent out to teach in the cities of Judah, but they are part of a task force that includes priests and lay princes. See the discussion in Schwartz, “‘Scribes and Pharisees, Hypocrites.’” He argues that the “scribes” were Levite teachers of torah, though they were affiliated with the priestly party of the Sadducees. Compare Fraade, “‘They Shall Teach Your Statutes to Jacob,’” who suggests that the Levites served as “a mediating bridge and buffer between the priests and laity” but still were part of the temple-priestly nexus. As noted in n. 20 in Chapter 2, Daniel R. Schwartz argues that the passage does not go back to the historical Hecataeus but to a Jewish author of the Hasmonean era. If we accept Schwartz’s arguments, then we lose a testimony from the early Hellenistic period. But the evidence for priestly public reading is so thin that evidence from the Hasmonean era is also extremely valuable. This translation follows the Greek text. The Hebrew in MS B from the Cairo Genizah reads, “And he gave him his commandments and gave him dominion in law and statute, and he will teach his people law and the people of Israel statute.” The repetition of “law and statute” in 17b seems stylistically inferior to what the Greek reflects and so may be secondary. This colon is lacking in the Syriac.

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judicial authority and consultative functions. Moreover the longer encomium to Ben Sira’s older contemporary, the high priest Simeon son of John, at 50:1 – 21 mentions Simeon’s civic activities, cultic functions, and blessing of the people – but not any teaching activities. The portrayal of the high priest reading out the laws to the people in Hecataeus does recur in Josephus. AJ 4:209 mentions the septennial reading of “this torah” at the fall pilgrimage festival ordained at Deuteronomy 31:9–13. The biblical text does not specify who reads the text in the hearing of “all Israel,” but Josephus assigns this role to the high priest. This interpretation contrasts with the later rabbinic position, famously expressed at Mishnah Sotah 7:8, that it was the king who read this portion to the assembled throngs. One could argue that these conflicting interpretations reflect no more than divergent exegeses of the text’s lack of specificity. Josephus presumably relied on the mention of “the levitical priests” at 31:9, the verse immediately preceding the section on the septennial reading. The rabbis, in contrast, may have followed the references to the king copying and reading from the torah at Deuteronomy 17:18–19 as well as the famous case of King Josiah reading aloud from the newly discovered torah text according to II Kings 23:1 –3. On the other hand Josephus might reflect a reality of Second Temple times, namely, the role of priests as readers of scriptures at public meetings.21 Some additional evidence portrays priests reading scriptures out loud before audiences. In his Hypothetica, Philo describes the weekly reading of “the laws” to the assembled people on the Sabbath. He writes, “Some priest who is present or one of the elders reads the holy law to them and expounds them point by point.” Philo may indicate here a preference for a priestly reader while allowing a lay elder to teach if no priest is available. This would parallel what appears in the Damascus Document. CD XII:22–XIII:7 seems to indicate that if there is a learned priest, then he is the first choice to lead a “cell” of the community. If he is not learned, then leadership devolves on a learned Levite. Admittedly, this passage seems to refer to leadership in general, not teaching. The logic however is the same. Philo’s other detailed account of a Sabbath assembly at Contemplative Life 30–33 does not mention priests. Instead Philo only mentions a discourse by an elder in his account of the Therapeutae. This need not contradict a general preference for a priestly teacher, but it hardly constitutes positive evidence. Further evidence for priests as readers at public sessions may exist at Qumran, as Fraade and others have noted. Unfortunately the texts in question are 21

For the scholarship on the contradiction between the account in Josephus and that of the rabbis, see Goodblatt, “Agrippa I and Palestinian Judaism in the First Century,” pp. 10–11 with notes 25–31 on pp. 26–7.

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fragmentary, and certainty is not possible. 4Q266 = 4QDamascus Documenta 5 ii 1 –3, restored in light of parallels in other manuscripts, mentions people who should not be allowed to read aloud from the book of torah. Line 5 follows with a reference to “his brothers the priests.” Commenting on this passage, Joseph Baumgarten remarks, “Our text apparently considers the reading of the Torah to be a priestly function.” And he adds that this accords with what Josephus wrote about the high priest and the septennial torah reading.22 The second Qumran text is even more fragmentary. 4Q264a = 4QHalakha B 1 2–3 mentions “the priests sons of/ [Aaron . . . ].” Line 4 then refers to “[a scrol]l of a/the book to [rea]d its writing on the day of [the Sabbath . . . ].” The appearance of the word “Sabbath” in line 7 supports its restoration in line 4. And line 5 has a word that can mean either “they will teach” or “they will learn” depending on the vocalization. So the passage could refer to public reading and teaching by priests at Sabbath assemblies. But it could also refer to private study or readers who are not priests. And still other restorations and interpretations that have nothing to do with public readings are possible.23 One final body of evidence for a priestly role in the public teaching of scripture might emerge from the theory of Flesher concerning the origins of the Aramaic versions, or targums, of the Pentateuch. He argues that these translations, beginning with “proto-Onqelos,” were composed “under the auspices of the priestly elite.” Were there independent evidence establishing this claim, it could support the assertion of a priestly teaching role. However, the argument that the targums originated with the priests is based on the assumption that the priests were responsible for the teaching of the Torah.24 So to then use the priestly origins of the targums as evidence for priestly responsibility 22

23

24

For the text see Joseph M. Baumgarten, ed., Qumran Cave 4, XIII. The Damascus Document (4Q266–273) (DJD XVIII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), pp. 49–50. For discussion see Joseph Baumgarten, “The Disqualifications of Priests in 4Q Fragments of the ‘Damascus Document,’ A Specimen of the Recovery of Pre-Rabbinic Halakha,” in J. Trebolle-Barrera and L. Vegas Montaner, eds., The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls – Madrid, 18–21 March 1991 (2 Vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1992), Vol. 2, p. 508. On this and the following text, compare Fraade, “‘They Shall Teach Your Statutes to Jacob,’” n. 19. For discussion see Ebert J. C. Tigchelaar, “Sabbath Halakha and Worship in 4Q Ways of Righteousness: 4Q421 11 and 13+2+8 par 4Q264a 1 –2,” RQ 18/71 (1998), p. 366. Tigchelaar notes the two possible interpretations, but he does not decide between them. For the final publication see Joseph M. Baumgarten, Torleif Elgvin, Esther Eshel, et al., eds., Qumran Cave 4, XXV. Halakhic Texts (DJD XXXV; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999), p. 54. Baumgarten restores the text so that it refers to “proofreading” a text. See his comments ad loc. lines 4–5 on p. 55. See Paul V. M. Flesher, “The Literary Legacy of the Priests? The Pentateuchal Targums of Israel in Their Social and Linguistic Context,” in Olsson and Zetterholm, eds., Ancient Synagogue, pp. 467–508. See pp. 481 –6 for the evidence Flesher adduces to establish the teaching responsibility of the priests.

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for teaching torah is a circular argument. It turns out that the evidence for priests as those who read out scriptures at public gatherings is rather thin. Certainly there are fewer sources portraying this specific function than there are asserting a general priestly expertise in matters of torah. The evidence about public assemblies where scriptures are read aloud in first-century sources like Josephus, the New Testament, and Philo – with the possible exception of the Hypothetica – does not specify that the readers should be priests. Some Qumran sources do seem to assign this task to priests. One might dismiss this evidence as reflecting the priestly orientation of the Qumran sect. The conclusion would then be that priests normally did not contribute to the diffusion of scripture to mass audiences. While such a conclusion is reasonable enough, much of its force relies on arguments from silence. We saw in Chapter 2 that the available testimony on public reading aloud of scripture is sparse, especially before the Common Era. Against that sparse background the positive evidence about the role of priests seems more significant. That evidence includes Nehemiah 8, the only Persian era source describing a public reading of scripture, and the testimony of Hecataeus, who clearly had Judean informants. It continues with Josephus assigning the septennial public reading of the torah to the high priest. One could further cite the role of the priest Theodotus son of Vettenos in building a synagogue in Jerusalem for “the reading of the Law and the teaching of the commandments.” However, the status of the donor need not imply anything about that of the functionaries in the institution. Perhaps more relevant is the rabbinic rule in Mishnah Gittin 5:8 that priests read first when the torah is read aloud in the synagogues. Of course nonpriests follow as readers, and the Mishnah attributes the precedence of a priest (and then a Levite) to Israelites as a matter of preserving peace. Traditional medieval commentators like Obadiah of Bertinoro and Moses Maimonides explain that the rule precludes priests’ transferring their prerogative to nonpriests. This practice led to conflict as people asked why the priest favored this Israelite and not others. But even though disallowing the priest to delegate his honor avoids this conflict, analogous disputes can emerge when the order of Israelites to be called must be decided. In other words, the Mishnah’s ruling only avoids conflict over who reads first and second. And if there is more than one priest (or Levite), competition even over who reads first (or second) exists. So too there is competition over which Israelite is chosen and, on Sabbaths, new moons, and festivals, over precedence among the Israelite readers. Clearly, then, the traditional interpretation of the passage is problematic. One wonders if the Mishnah’s explanation of priestly precedence – for the sake of peace – may not be secondary. Perhaps this rule is a fossil of a more ancient practice when

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only the priests read, if they were available, with Levites the next choice and Israelites last. This would accord with what the passage in the Hypothetica of Philo implied. Whatever the case with Mishnah Gittin 5:8, one trajectory of tradition running from Nehemiah 8 and Hecataeus through the first-century evidence of Qumran, Philo in the Hypothetica, and Josephus in AJ 4 suggests that priests played a central role in the diffusion of the contents of scripture throughout the Second Temple era. To the extent that this group of sources reflects actual practice, the priests contributed to the social construction of a Judean or Israelite identity. A second contribution of the priests to the creation and maintenance of a Jewish national consciousness was their role as leaders of the nation. Doron Mendels listed kingship, along with temple, territory, and army, as among “the various symbols of nationalism in Judaism.” Elsewhere he suggests a somewhat broader formulation. He writes, “Political authority, independent and sovereign, was perhaps the most important aspect of the nationalistic concept in antiquity” [emphasis in original].25 Here the title “king” is not mentioned. Apparently, then, a major political leader, whatever his title, could be the focus of “the nationalistic concept.” I would go still further and suggest that independence and sovereignty also are not requirements. The masses might not be aware of the degree to which their ruler is subject to others. Even if they are aware that their leader is not completely independent, he could still symbolize the identity of the people under his rule. The modern process of decolonization offers many examples of leaders who became symbols of their nation while lacking sovereign powers and even while in prison. Similarly, a recognized leader of Israel or Judah, even if a vassal to a foreign king and even if lacking any significant political power, could be seen as an expression of or provide a focus for national consciousness. And for most of the Second Temple era those leaders were the priests. That the political rulers of Judah were the high priests is universally conceded for the Hasmonean era. The dynasty came to official power with the appointment in 152 b.c.e. of Jonathan son of Mattathiah as high priest in Jerusalem. His brother Simeon succeeded him and founded a dynasty. Simeon’s grandson assumed the title of king as well. Still all the (male) Hasmonean rulers retained the title of high priest until the dynasty lost power with the fall of Mattathias Antigonus in 37 b.c.e. The priestly title appears on coins of all the Hasmonean rulers who minted. While Alexander Jonathan (Yannai/Janneus) issued some coins with his royal title in Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek, and Mattathias Antigonus used the royal title in Greek legends; the title of high priest or priest predominates in the Hebrew inscriptions. This is 25

See Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, pp. 5 and 59, respectively.

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symbolic of the importance of the position to the Hasmonean rulers. For this century plus, then, the leaders of the Judean nation were “priest-princes.” Less clear is whether this type of regime preexisted the rise of the Hasmoneans or survived their downfall. An influential and perhaps consensus view answers in the affirmative at least for the earlier era. For example, the widely used handbook of Sch¨urer asserts, The salient characteristic of the Jewish constitution in the post-exilic era is that the High Priest was also the political leader of the nation. At the beginning of Persian rule, this was not yet the case. But it indisputably became so from the second half of that period until the Roman–Herodian domination. The High Priests of the pre-Maccabean as well as the Hasmonean age were not merely priests but also princes.26

Even some who dissent from this conclusion concede that the high priests in Jerusalem achieved political supremacy before the Hasmoneans arrived on the scene. Certainly no other native institution or dynasty appears in our sources as the supreme Judean leader. Occasional references to “nobles,” “elders,” or some kind of council lack the continuity possessed by the high priesthood from Persian times onward. A brief survey of the evidence is in order.27 As is well known, the biblical books describing the Persian “restoration” of Judah at the end of the sixth century portray a diarchy consisting of a scion of the preexilic royal dynasty of David and a descendant of pre-exilic high priests of the Jerusalem temple. The Davidide prince, Zerubavel, is described in some sources as the governor of the province. This, however, is a Persian office. In terms of native Judean legitimacy what mattered was descent from David. In any case, Zerubavel disappears from the scene, and no other Davidides succeed to leadership as far as our sources tell us. At least some of the Persian governors were of Judean descent. Zerubavel and Nehemiah are the most famous thanks to the literary sources, but epigraphic evidence appears to identify others. But, again, the governorship was a position in the Persian administration without native sources of legitimacy. It was imposed from outside by the imperial power. Further, there is no indication of a Judean family retaining the office over time. Such a family might have eventually attained some kind of 26

27

E. Sch¨urer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 b.c.–a.d. 135), Vol. II (revised and edited by Geza Vermes and Fergus Millar; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1973–87), p. 227. For the original see idem, Geschichte des j¨udischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi, Vol. I (Third–Fourth Edition; Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1901), p. 181. The following discussion summarizes the detailed accounts, with bibliographic references, in Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, pp. 6–29, on priestly monarchy and, pp. 57–60, on the diarchy in the Persian era. See also pp. 77–99 on pre-Hasmonean councils and pp. 30–56 on the ideologies justifying priestly monarchy.

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internal legitimacy. However, we have no Judean analogue to the governors of Samaria from the dynasty of Sanballat or the apparent dynasty of governors of Ammon from the family of Tobiah. According to surviving evidence the most powerful Judean family, with which both the Sanballats and the Tobiads sought to intermarry, was that of the high priests from the line of Saddoq.28 This is the family sometimes referred to in modern historiography as the “Oniads” after a recurrent nickname in the family. (That nickname, Onias in Greek or Honyo in Hebrew, derives from the name Yohanan.) The extant evidence, then, points to the dominant leadership role of the Jerusalem high priest. This begins with Joshua son of Yehosadaq in the late sixth century, first in a diarchy with Zerubavel and then apparently by himself. Further likely reflections of priestly supremacy appear in correspondence from Elephantine in the late fifth century and on a silver coin from the middle of the fourth century. At the end of the fourth century, Hecataeus (assuming the attribution is genuine) attests that rule of the nation by the high priest is a long-established practice. And sources describing the Ptolemaic and early Seleucid eras also seem to make the high priest the supreme leader. Certainly this is the impression given by Ben Sira early in the second century. Again the point is not to deny other nodes of political power, alongside the high priest, in direct competition with him, or “behind the throne.” And all this time there was a foreign suzerain represented by a resident official (who might himself be a Judean). But no other family or institution emerges as a rival to the status of the high priest, with an equally accepted internal, Judean legitimacy. So I think Sch¨urer was correct in his assessment. From some point in the Persian era down to the Roman, the leadership of the Judean nation was held by the high priests in Jerusalem.29 The end of priestly domination came with the installation of Herod as king. His Idumean ancestry precluded his claiming descent from Aaron, the prerequisite for service as a priest. But when the Romans deposed Herod’s son Archelaus and instituted direct rule over Judah in 6 c.e., priestly leadership 28

29

For a recent survey on these issues, see Lisbeth S. Fried, The Priest and the Great King. Temple– Palace Relations in the Persian Empire (BJSUCSD 10; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), pp. 156–233. For a list of attested Persian-appointed governors of Judah, see there, pp. 184–7. Fried is extremely skeptical regarding the existence of Persian-permitted autonomy in the province. At the same time she concedes the development of local centers of power that contested centralized Persian administrative authority. Among such centers she notes the Sanballat dynasty, the Tobiads, and the high priests of the Jerusalem temple. Compare the conclusion of Fried, The Priest and the Great King, p. 233. While denying the existence of a theocracy in Persian era Judah, she concedes the following point: “The Jewish community in Yehud certainly constructed its identity and its unity around the temple . . . ; the high priest was their spokesman.” To my mind this comes to the same thing.

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returned at least in part. Josephus asserts this directly. Referring to this at AJ 20:251, he states that “the high priests were entrusted with the leadership of the nation.” Again there were several nodes of power in Judean society, including Roman officials, native magnates, and the Herodian dynasty, which continued to rule outlying parts of “Greater Judah” and was well connected with power brokers in Rome. But once again the leadership element with the greatest internal Judean legitimacy was the high priesthood. The New Testament confirms Josephus’ assertion by depicting “the chief priests” as the dominant force in Judean affairs during the trials of Jesus, Peter, and Paul. From this perspective, the half century of rule in Jerusalem by Herod, his son Archelaus, and his grandson Agrippa was an interlude and exception to the centuries-long predominance of the high priests. If this reconstruction of Judean politics is correct, then for most of the Second Temple era the leadership of the nation was in the hand of the high priests. To be sure, they often were vassals of imperial states. Even when fully sovereign, they could not ignore the limitations of a small country surrounded by regional powers. Nor did the limited tools of the premodern polity allow them to function as totalitarian dictators even when they were at the height of their independence. What I claim is that they were the most widely accepted Judean leaders with the best-founded sources of internal legitimacy. As such, they could serve as a symbol of the Judean nation and as a focus of Judean national consciousness. The fact that they controlled the Jerusalem temple, accepted by almost all Jews the world over as the center of Israelite worship and divine accessibility, reinforced this potential. Simply by virtue of their status and function, the priests contributed mightily to the maintenance of Jewish nationalism. In addition to preserving and disseminating scripture and serving as the ideal and often actual leaders of the nations, the priestly caste may have made still another contribution to ancient Jewish nationalism. They may have developed an explicitly nationalist ideology. In what follows I will focus on two clusters of ideas that played a role in the Judean revolt against Rome in 66 c.e. Despite the reservations of Horsley discussed in Chapter 1, note 8 in this book, most scholars see this revolt as an expression of a Jewish nationalism. An effort to free provincia Iudaea from Roman rule that invoked the name Israel on its coins and used an era “of the freedom of Israel” certainly sounds like what we today call a movement for national liberation. And as I have argued, such a characterization of first-century actors need not be anachronistic. Accepting this characterization, then, the two clusters alluded to earlier can be considered elements of a nationalist ideology. And each of these ideas seems to me to have developed in priestly circles.

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One of the clusters asserts that Israel/the Judeans cannot recognize any lord but God. The other is summed up by the ideal of “zeal.” Both clusters appear in the context of the revolt of 66. The slogan “no lord but God” summarizes the message of a movement founded in 6 c.e. and designated by Josephus as “the fourth philosophy.” The movement still existed sixty years later, led by descendants of one of the two founders. In the context of the revolt (and its immediate preliminaries), Josephus refers to the movement by the derogatory title of sicarii or “dagger men, murderers, assassins.” The other cluster of ideas, involving the notion of “zeal,” appears in connection with one of the groups participating in the revolt. Josephus mentions a group that called themselves the Zealots. Most scholars today agree that the Sicarii and the Zealots were two distinct groups, indeed bitter and bloody rivals. At the same time, several scholars argue that despite their rivalry they shared certain ideas. This claim has been worked out most fully by Martin Hengel. He argues that among the unifying factors in what he calls the “j¨udische Freiheitsbewegung” were a “theocratic ideology” and the ideal of “zeal.”30 By “theocratic ideology” Hengel means the claim of the fourth philosophy that Jews can acknowledge no lord but God. I shall discuss each of these concepts in order.

30

M. Hengel, Die Zeloten. Untersuchungen zur j¨udischen Freiheitsbewegung in der Zeit Von Herodes I. bis 70 n. Chr. (Leiden/K¨oln: Brill 1961; 2 Verbesserte und Erweiterte Auflage, Leiden/K¨oln: Brill, 1976); English translation by D. Smith: The Zealots. Investigations into the Jewish Freedom Movement in the Period from Herod I until 70 a.d. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989). I shall cite from the second German edition and, in parentheses, from the English translation (= ET). On the organizational difference between the fourth philosophy/Sicarii and the Zealot party, see M. Smith, “Zealots and Sicarii, Their Origins and Relation,” HTR 64 (1971), pp. 1 –19, and his references to predecessors such as Lake and Zeitlin. For assertion of a common ideology despite the organizational differences, see M. Stern, “Zealots,” Encyclopaedia Judaica Year Book 1973 (Jerusalem: Encyclopaedia Judaica, 1973), pp. 135–52; and M. Hengel, “Nachtrag: Zeloten und Sikarier. Zur Frage nach der Einheit und Vielfalt der j¨udischen Befreiungsbewegung 6–74 nach Christus,” in Die Zeloten, pp. 387–412 (= ET, pp. 380–404), especially pp. 393–4 (= ET, pp. 386–7). To “theocracy” and “zeal” Hengel adds a third complex of ideas: eschatology. However, I am not convinced by his attribution of an eschatological consciousness to the rebels. Stern, “Zealots,” pp. 144–9, speculates that Zadok (Saddoq) the Pharisee, cofounder with Judah the Galilean of the “fourth philosophy,” was the source of the ideas that characterized the Zealot party of 67–70 c.e. That is, he seems to trace the ideal of “zeal” back to the “fourth philosophy,” not just the idea of “theocracy.” See discussion later. The idea of a common ideology was already expressed by Lake, who was credited by Smith with first demonstrating the distinction between the “fourth philosophy”/Sicarii and the Zealot party. See F. J. Foakes Jackson and K. Lake, The Beginnings of Christianity, Vol. I (London: Macmillan, 1920), Appendix A, “The Zealots,” p. 422. Lake wrote there, “No doubt the Fourth Philosophy supplied the intellectual attitude from which the Zealots and Sicarii logically started.” On the other hand, G. Jossa, “Josephus’ Action in Galilee During the Jewish War,” in Parente and Sievers, eds., Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period, pp. 265–6, argues for a clear distinction between the ideology of the Zealots and that of the Sicarii. A recent, brief survey of the various Judean rebel groups is D. Rhoads, “Zealots,” ABD, Vol. 6., pp. 1047–50.

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Before proceeding with this discussion, however, attention should be paid to a major study that appeared after Hengel and challenged some of his conclusions. Israel Ben-Shalom argued that Josephus’ account of a new sect, the fourth philosophy, founded in 6 c.e. is unhistorical. The ideas Josephus attributes to Judah and Saddoq belong to the “Zealot–Hasidic” or “Hasidic– Zealot” ideology/tradition/tendency. This in turn goes back not just to the very beginning of Roman domination of Judah in 63 b.c.e. but to the Hasmonean era. Similarly, the various rebel groups Josephus mentions in the context of the war of 66–70 all “drew from that same Zealot–Hasidic tradition whose origin and crystallization was during the Hasmonean revolt.” The claim of a trajectory from the Hasmoneans to the rebels of 66 agrees with the older view of Farmer. And Ben-Shalom’s “Zealot movement” is very similar to Hengel’s concept of the “j¨udische Freiheitsbewegung.” New in Ben-Shalom is the argument that the Zealot ideology is anchored in the worldview of the Pharisees, who are the heirs of the hasidim mentioned in I and II Maccabees. And that ideology, Ben-Shalom continues, is best represented in late Second Temple times by the branch of the Pharisees known as the House of Shammai.31 The reconstruction proposed by Ben-Shalom is vulnerable at several points. The invocation of the hasidim as the source of Zealot ideas is problematic. This term, usually translated “pietists” or “pious,” in fact shares with the Latin pius the semantic range of “devoted, loyal.” The term is used to describe a group mentioned at I Maccabees 2:42 and 7:12–17 and II Maccabees 14:6. Several scholars have developed an elaborate history of this group, making it the source of the Essenes and possibly the Pharisees as well. However, others point out that such theories go way beyond the limited evidence in our possession.32 In fact, at least part of that evidence does not exactly portray the Hasidim as hard-line “anti-imperialists” along the line of the Zealots. I refer to the

31

32

See Israel Ben-Shalom, The School of Shammai and the Zealots’ Struggle against Rome (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi Press and Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 1993) [Hebrew]. The quote comes from p. 315. See especially Chapter 4, “Zealotry and the Zealots,” pp. 157–71, but also pp. 93, 109, 118, 124, 126–31, 153–4, 313–15. For Ben-Shalom’s varying the order of the two adjectives, see for example p. 251, where we find both “the Hasidic Zealot tendency” and “the Zealot Hasidic heritage.” For the trajectory going back to the Hasmoneans, compare Farmer, Maccabees, Zealots, and Josephus. On the hasidim as antecedents of the Essenes, see Frank Moore Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies (Revised Edition; Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, 1961), pp. 131 –2, and Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism. Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period (2 Vols.; trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974), Vol. I, pp. 175–80. Cross, p. 141, n. 66, suggests the Pharisees also emerged from them. For reservations about such theories that are convincing to this writer, see Philip R. Davies, “Hasidim in the Maccabean Period,” JJS 28 (1977), pp. 127–40. Compare the change of mind of Goldstein, II Maccabees, p. 479, who had earlier shared the view of Cross. Goldstein does not cite Davies.

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group’s willingness to accept the high priest Alcimus and make peace with the Seleucid overlord, as reported in I Maccabees 7. More important, the use of the term “Zealot” to refer to all the anti-Roman or pro-independence groups is confusing because Josephus uses this name to refer to one specific group. The confusion evaporates if we adopt a neutral term like Hengel’s “Judean freedom movement.” Ben-Shalom also does not give adequate attention to the uniqueness of the explicit ideal of “no lord but God” ascribed to the fourth philosophy and the Sicarii by Josephus. Neither the belief that God is the ruler of the universe nor resistance to foreign domination entails rejection of all human lords. Such a rejection is a radicalization that Ben-Shalom cannot explain on the basis of either Hasidic or Pharisaic principles.33 Finally, if the ideas of Judah the Galilean and Saddoq (the founders of the fourth philosophy) were simply those of the House of Shammai wing of the Pharisees, why is only Saddoq identified as a Pharisee? This suggests that Judah was not one. If so, then the assertion that all Zealots were Pharisees (even if not all Pharisees were Zealots) is incorrect. In light of these reservations, I cannot accept Ben-Shalom’s reconstruction of “the Zealot movement.” Rather I accept the statement of Josephus that the fourth philosophy was something new and that it differed from the Pharisees in rejecting all human lords, not just foreign ones. Assuming that the fourth philosophy differed from the Pharisees in rejecting human lords is the easiest way to resolve the apparent contradiction between BJ 2:118 and AJ 18:23. The former passage states that Judah the Galilean founded his own school of thought that had nothing in common with the others. The “others” clearly are the three groups whose description immediately follows: the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes. In the latter (and later!) passage, however, Josephus asserts that the fourth philosophy agrees in everything with the Pharisees, except for the ideal of “no lord but God.” On the other hand, Josephus’ evaluation of the work of Judah and Saddoq at 18:9 recalls the claim in BJ 2 that the new school of thought was unlike any other. This evaluation accused the two men of introducing “an innovation and reform in ancestral traditions” (#  )   s & 54).34 This contradiction has been variously explained.35 On the simplest level, one could argue that when 33

34 35

See Ben-Shalom, School of Shammai and the Zealots’ Struggle against Rome, p. 129. For a rejection of the view that the emphasis on the kingship of God in Jewish liturgy goes back to Second Temple times and reflects a polemic against gentile suzerains, see Reuven Kimelman, “Again Blessing Formulae and Divine Sovereignty in Rabbinic Liturgy,” in Olsson and Zetterholm, eds., Ancient Synagogue, pp. 320–75. Translation of Feldman in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. IX, p. 9. Compare the discussion and literature cited in Hengel, Die Zeloten, pp. 83–4, 89–91 (= ET, pp. 80, 86–8).

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the BJ stated the uniqueness of this group, it referred to its refusal to recognize any lord but God. And this was the innovation condemned by Josephus in AJ. On this view there is no real contradiction. Others see the difference between the two accounts as part of a broader pattern of differences between the BJ and the AJ. D. Schwartz, for example, argues that in BJ Josephus carefully censored information about the political involvement of the Pharisees. But by the time he wrote the AJ, he was less careful and let such information slip out from time to time. Thus, in the case of the fourth philosophy, Josephus did not reveal its close relationship to the Pharisaic party in his earlier work.36 However, as noted previously, only one of the two founders is identified as a Pharisee. And we have no indication that their distinctive slogan was of Pharisaic origin. Closer examination of that slogan and its origin is in order. Let us return then to the idea of “no lord but God” attributed by Josephus to the philosophy or movement founded in 6 c.e. by Judah the Galilean and Saddoq the Pharisee.37 At BJ 2:118 this idea is expressed in the following form. We are told how Judah “incited his countrymen to revolt, upbraiding them as cowards for consenting to pay tribute to the Romans and tolerating mortal masters [ s] after having God for their lord.”38 At AJ 18:23 the distinctive ideas of the fourth philosophy are expressed as follows: they have a passion for liberty that is almost unconquerable, since they are convinced that God alone is their leader and master [#,,  s]. They think little of submitting to death in unusual forms and permitting vengeance to fall on kinsmen and friends if only they may avoid calling any man master [ s].39

This same basic idea is attributed by Josephus to representatives of the Sicarii, the name he gives to those who continued the movement founded by Judah at the time of the Judean revolt of 66 c.e. One instance is the speech Josephus puts in the mouth of Judah’s descendant, Eleazar son of Ya’ir, on Masada. At BJ 7:323 Eleazar begins his first speech with the following: Long since, my brave men, we determined neither to serve the Romans nor any other save God, for He alone is man’s true and righteous Lord [ s].40 36 37

38 39 40

D. Schwartz, “Josephus and Nicolaus on the Pharisees,” JStJ 14 (1983), p. 169. For a discussion of the reports in Josephus and the scholarship on them, see Hengel, Die Zeloten, pp. 79–150, 336–44 (= ET, pp. 76–145, 330–37). Contrast Ben-Shalom, School of Shammai and the Zealots’ Struggle aganist Rome, pp. 126–31. Translation of Thackeray, Josephus, Vol. II, pp. 367–9. Translation of Feldman in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. IX, pp. 21 –3. Translation of Thackeray, Josephus, Vol. III, p. 595.

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Another instance is in Josephus’ report on the Sicarii who escaped to Egypt after the suppression of the revolt. According to 7:410, they tried to incite the local Jews to rebel and to regard God alone as their Lord ( s). Similarly, at 7:418–19, Josephus reports how even under torture these Sicarii refused to call Caesar “lord.” Thus Josephus clearly presents the idea of “no lord but God” as the central one of the movement founded by Judah the Galilean.41 What was the source of this idea? Hengel discusses this problem in detail. He suggests that the idea was a radicalization of originally biblical concepts such as the prohibition of other gods in the first commandment and the notion of God as king. The latter in particular was developed in early Judaism under the rubric of “the kingship of heaven [= God]” (!ymv twklm).42 Among other analogues, Hengel also mentions the notion of “theocracy” in Josephus’ account of the Jewish constitution. And in the foreword to the English translation of his book, Hengel asserts that it is “only a step” from the concept of theocracy to the “no lord but God” ideology of the fourth philosophy.43 I believe Hengel is correct in pointing out this connection. What he does not state is the likelihood that the notion of a theocracy is a priestly ideology. The notion appears in the second book of CA. The context is the discussion by Josephus of the political constitution bestowed by Moses on his people. At CA II, 164–5, Josephus writes,

41

42 43

Ben-Shalom, School of Shammai and the Zealots’ Struggle aganist Rome, pp. 313–315, argues that Josephus is inconsistent in his use of the term “Sicarii,” and that not all occurrences of the term refer to the followers of Judah and his descendants. For example, the Sicarii in Egypt, referred to earlier, cannot be followers of Elezar son of Ya’ir because all those people perished on Masada. Of course once we admit that Josephus was not consistent, we cannot learn anything from the inconsistency between the assertions that all the Sicarii died on Masada and that some escaped to Egypt. Moreover, most scholars assume that the Masada story is, at the least, an exaggerated version of the events. So I continue to assume that the escapees to Egypt were affiliated with the party of Elezar son of Ya’ir. Hengel, Die Zeloten, pp. 84–5 (= ET, p. 88), derives from Josephus three other elements in the ideology of Judah’s movement. They are an invincible love for freedom, the notion that the Judeans must exert themselves before God will help them, and the rejection of the census for religious reasons. As to the first item, I am not sure that this represents a specific ideology. The second point may reflect Josephus’ rhetoric rather than part of Judah’s ideology. See the comments of Feldman in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. IX, p. 6, n. a. The third element, religious objections to a census, was rooted in the Bible and probably commonplace in Judean society. This leaves only the idea of “no lord but God” as unique to Judah. Hengel, Die Zeloten, pp. 93–114 (= ET, pp. 90–110). Ibid., pp. 97–8 (= ET, p. 94), and pp. xiv–xv of the English translation. M. O. Wise, “The Life and Times of Ananias Bar Nedebaeus and His Family,” in his Thunder in Gemini and Other Essays on the History, Language and Literature of Second Temple Palestine (JSOTSS 15; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), p. 62, also asserts that the “no lord but God” slogan “implied the substitution of a theocratic government in which a high priest would serve as the human conduit to the only true king.” He does not cite Hengel.

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There is an endless variety in the details of the customs and laws which prevail in the world at large. To give but a summary enumeration: some peoples have entrusted the supreme political power to monarchies, others to oligarchies, yet others to the masses. Our lawgiver, however, was attracted by none of these forms of polity, but gave to his constitution the form of what – if a forced expression be permitted – may be termed a “theocracy,” placing all sovereignty and authority in the hands of God.

And he continues some lines later, at II, 184–7, For us, with our conviction that the original institution of the Law was in accordance with the will of God, it would be rank impiety not to observe it. What could one alter in it? What more beautiful one could have been discovered? What improvement imported from elsewhere? Would you change the entire character of the constitution? Could there be a finer or more equitable polity than one which sets God at the head of the universe [#  0], which assigns the administration of its highest affairs to the whole body of priests, and entrusts to the supreme high-priest the direction of the other priests? . . . their high office embraced a strict superintendence of the Law and of the pursuits of everyday life; for the appointed duties of the priests included general supervision, the trial of cases of litigation, and the punishment of condemned persons.44

The second passage demonstrates that the theocracy described by Josephus was actually a hierocracy. Rule by God in practice meant rule by the priests. We argued earlier that rule by the priests, and especially the high priest, was the most common internal regime in Judah during the period of the Second Temple. Moreover traces of an ideology justifying priestly rule can be traced back to the period of Persian rule. I think it likely that what Josephus writes in CA is one variety of that ideology.45 And the fact that the theocratic ideal, as presented by Josephus, justifies a hierocratic regime makes it likely that the ideal originated in priestly circles. Why would anyone else be concerned to create a justification for the priestly regime? The assumption of a priestly origin for the section on theocracy is independent of the question of the immediate source of this section. Many scholars believe that Josephus copied it from somewhere else. For example, D. Schwartz argues that the apology for the Jewish law in CA, of which the section on theocracy is a part, is based on an Alexandrian Jewish composition.46 Even if we assume composition in Egypt, 44 45 46

This and the proceeding quotation are the translation of Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. I, pp. 359, 367–9. See Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, Chapter 2. D. R. Schwartz, “Josephus on the Jewish Constitution,” SCI 7 (1983–4), p. 47, with literature cited therein, n. 59. Contrast H. W. Attridge, “Josephus and His Works,” in Stone, ed., Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period, pp. 229–31, with literature cited in p. 229, n. 68.

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this would not preclude a priestly origin for the document. Schwartz himself has argued that priestly influence was pervasive in the Jewish community of Alexandria and has cited instances in Philo where one can assume priestly sources.47 In any case, considerations of cui bono, as argued earlier, point to a priestly source. After all, the passage in CA resolves a major difficulty faced by defenders of the hierocracy. This was the absence of a biblical warrant for such a regime. The passage deals with this problem in two ways. First of all, it traces the priestly regime back to Moses and “the original institution of the Law . . . in accordance with the will of God.” Second, it asserts that priestly rule is actually rule by God himself, and rule by God has ample biblical precedent. Yet another Josephan passage cited by Hengel in connection with the ideal of “no lord but God” may be adduced here (see the first reference in note 34 in this chapter). This is the retelling of “the law of the king” in Deuteronomy 17:14–20 at AJ 4:223–4. Josephus has Moses say the following: Aristocracy, with the life that is lived thereunder, is indeed the best: let no craving possess you for another polity, but be content with this, having the laws for your master [ s] and governing all your actions by them; for God sufficeth for your ruler [#,]. But should you become enamoured of a king. . . .48

According to this, aristocracy is a superior regime to rule by a (human) king. The former is characterized by having God alone as ruler and the laws of the Torah as “lord.” The interesting point is that Josephus on two occasions seems to equate aristocracy with hierocracy. At AJ 11:111 Josephus notes that after the return from the Babylonian exile a form of government existed at Jerusalem that was both aristocratic and oligarchic. And he continues, “For the high priests were at the head of affairs [)  )] until the descendants of the Asmonean family came to rule as kings.”49 The second occasion is when Josephus reports on the deposition of Archelaus and the annexation of his territories to the Roman Empire as provincia Iudaea. He explains at AJ 20:251 that the form of government now became aristocratic with the leadership ()) of the nation entrusted to the high priests. The apparent equation between aristocracy and hierocracy has, however, been rejected by D. Schwartz. He argues that by aristocracy Josephus means rule by a council (of elders), while national leadership by the priest was a 47

48 49

See D. R. Schwartz, “Philo’s Priestly Descent,” in F. E. Greenspahn et al., eds., Nourished with Peace: Studies in Hellenistic Judaism in Memory of Samuel Sandmel (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1984), pp. 155–71; cf. idem, “The Priests in Ep. Arist. 310,” JBL 97 (1978), pp. 567–71. Translation of Thackeray, Josephus, Vol. IV, p. 583. Translation of Marcus in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. VI, p. 369.

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parallel system of government. The latter was not part of his system of constitutions (  ). Schwartz’s argument is based on stylistic considerations in the two passages, other instances where Josephus alludes to aristocracy, and a theory about the meaning of prostasia in the writings of Josephus. I am not convinced by the last point, and thus the first two seem less decisive.50 Moreover, we saw earlier that the ideal, kingless  called “theocracy” at CA II turned out to be a hierocracy. One wonders whether this might also be the case with the ideal, kingless   called an aristocracy at AJ 4:223.51 Is the regime mentioned in the latter passage, in which the laws are “lord” and God the sole “ruler,” equivalent to a hierocracy? Perhaps when writing AJ Josephus had not yet come upon or invented the word “theocracy.” If we can interpret the AJ passage by the CA one, then we can return to the equivalence of aristocracy and hierocracy. If so, then in both AJ 4:223 and CA II the ideal, kingless regime turns out to be rule by the priests. And this would mean that in both passages hierocracy is tantamount to having no lord but God. It must be admitted that the ideal of rule by God himself does not necessarily entail hierocracy. As is well known, the Bible itself contains an antimonarchic tradition that has no apparent connection with priests (e.g., at I Samuel 8:1 –22 and Hosea 13:9–11). But, as we shall see, it is precisely in a priestly milieu that we find echoes of this tradition in post-exilic times. One would think that the suppression of the Judean state and Davidic royalty in 587/6 b.c.e. would have rendered such a tradition redundant, at least until the Hasmoneans took the title of king at the end of the second century b.c.e. Yet it seems that this antiroyalist sentiment was developed in pre-Hasmonean times, and apparently in priestly circles. A. Rof´e has discussed the phenomenon of the Septuagint frequently having 9): where the Masoretic Text has Alm. He argues that the translators must have had a Vorlage in which the latter word had been replaced by aycn. The rationale of this substitution, he suggests, was “to lower the king’s stature in the presence of the only true king, the Lord God of Israel.”52 Rof´e traces this attitude back to the antiroyalist sentiment expressed in Ezekiel 34:1 –16.

50

51

52

Schwartz, “Josephus on Jewish Constitution and Community,” pp. 32–4, on aristocracy equaling rule by a council and not hierocracy, and pp. 43–9, 50–1 on the interpretation of prostasia. See the critique of the latter in Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, pp. 40–3. The noun  occurs in the works of Josephus only in CA. See Rengstorf, Complete Concordance to Flavius Josephus, Vol. 3, p. 475, s.v. The latter work also uses the term   (e.g., in the context of the section on theocracy at CA II:188). So it seems the two terms are used synonymously. A. Rof´e, “Qumran Paraphrases, The Greek Deuteronomy and the Late History of the Biblical aycn,” Textus XIV (1988), pp. 169–73. Quotation is from p. 171.

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This was modified by Ezekiel’s disciples, who felt that the state could not get along without some kind of human authority. The result of this modification was the reduction of the king to “merely” a nasi’. Rof´e traces the continuation of this idea in sources from Qumran. These insights may be developed further. One expression of the reduction in the status of the king by the disciples of Ezekiel may be the diarchy of Davidide prince and priesthood envisioned in the restoration program of Ezekiel 40–48.53 Certainly a number of texts from Qumran envision a diarchy of (high) priest and Davidic prince, as do other writings from Second Temple times. Given the failure of a Davidic restoration in this period, the net result of such ideas was to legitimate priestly rule.54 Further, rehearsing antiroyalist sentiments would have helped justify the usurpation of the position of the ancient Israelite and Judahite kings by the high priests of the Second Temple era. In any case, the post-exilic era witnesses the development of the ancient antiroyalist tradition of rule by God alone in priestly circles: Ezekiel, his disciples, Qumran. The development of this tradition can go in various directions. One possibility yields the idea of diarchy, which increases the power of the priests at the expense of the (pre-exilic) prerogatives of the king. Another possibility is to call for rule by the priests alone, claiming that such a regime was established by Moses and/or is equivalent to the biblical ideal of divine kingship or “theocracy.” In other words, the chronologically closest analogues to the call for “no lord but God” by the fourth philosophy/Sicarii seem to be in priestly traditions of the Second Temple era. Can we find a conduit for priestly traditions to the fourth philosophy? Was either one or both of the founders of this movement of priestly origin? There is no evidence that Judah the Galilean was. Josephus refers to five members of this family over three generations without once mentioning priestly affiliation. I can think of no reason he would omit such an affiliation were it the case. After all, Josephus did not hesitate to note the priestly status of a number of rebel leaders.55 The cofounder with Judah, Saddoq the Pharisee, is a more likely possibility. Josephus identified the latter as a Pharisee, not

53

54 55

See P. D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic (Revised Edition; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), pp. 209–79. Contrast J. D. Levenson, Theology of the Program of Restoration of Ezekiel 40–48 (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1976), p. 143, who denies that “the school of Ezekiel hoped for a diarchy of Davidid and Zadokite.” But even Levenson, p. 115, n. 44, understands that the priesthood is portrayed as a counterbalance to the monarchy. On the history of the idea of a diarchy of Davidic prince and high priest, see Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, Chapter 3. See the details, with reference to scholarship, in Goodblatt, “Priestly Ideologies of the Judean Resistance,” pp. 236–9.

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as a priest. But the latter two affiliations were not mutually exclusive.56 The basis for identifying Saddoq as a priest is his name. As Tal Ilan has noted, the name Saddoq resonated with priestly history. According to Ezekiel, Ben Sira, and the Qumran sect, only descendants of Saddoq, the priest of David and Solomon, could be legitimate high priests. And the name of the Sadducee party is generally assumed to be connected with this belief. Yet Saddoq is extremely rare as a personal name. Indeed, Ilan lists only three other instances besides our Saddoq the Pharisee. Of these three, she considers one legendary: the disciple of Antigonos of Sokho mentioned at Avot Derabbi Natan, Version A, 5:2. In this case, the relatively late rabbinic tradition seems to invent eponymous founders for the Sadducees and for the Boethusians. Another case is extremely speculative. This is the suggestion that Saddoq was the personal name of the individual called the “Teacher of Righteousness” in the Qumran texts. It should be noted that the Sadducee party is commonly associated with the priests, and the Teacher of Righteousness is universally assumed to have been a priest. If we leave aside these two very doubtful cases, the only other Saddoq is the one mentioned in rabbinic sources. This is the father of Rabbi Eleazar son of Saddoq, presumably the Rabbi Saddoq of the legends of the destruction of the temple. And the Saddoq of rabbinic literature is believed by many to have been a priest.57 Thus there may be only one other recorded

56

57

Actually very few named individuals are identified as Pharisees in the works of Josephus. Relying on the listings in A. Schalit, Namenw¨orterbuch zu Flavius Josephus (Leiden: Brill, 1968), p. 122, I counted only seven. Of these, two are definitely priests: Josephus (Life 12) and Yozar (Life 197). Two are definitely not priests: Jonathan and Hanan (Life 197). And one, Simeon son of Gamaliel (Life 191), is most likely not. With regard to the remaining two, there is no clear indication in Josephus: Pollion the Pharisee (AJ 15:3, 370) and Saddoq. Even if we assign Pollion to the nonpriests, we still have one third of the named Pharisees as priests (leaving Saddoq aside). To be sure, the sample is too small to be significant. We could add the data from rabbinic sources on pre-70 masters, believed by many modern scholars to have been Pharisees. However, this material contains so many uncertainties that it would hardly improve the statistical value of our sample. The sources are collected and analyzed in J. Neusner, The Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees before 70, 3 Vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1971). See Tal Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity. Part I, Palestine 330 bce–200 ce (TSAJ 91; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), pp. 208–9, with literature cited therein. That the Teacher of Righteousness was a priest appears to be stated explicitly at 4Q171 (4QpPsa ) III 15. See John M. Allegro, Qumrˆan Cave 4, I (4Q158–4Q186) (DJD V; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), p. 44. On the Saddoq of rabbinic literature and his priestly affiliation, see the discussion of A. Hyman, Toldot Tanna’im Ve’amora’im (3 Vols.; London: Express, 1910), Vol. I, pp. 201 –5 [Hebrew], who distinguishes two Rabbi Saddoq’s: one early in the first century and his grandson at the time of the revolt of 66 (cf. the more noncommittal view of S. Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-Fshutah. A Comprehensive Commentary on the Tosefta [New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1962], Vol. IV, pp. 735–6). The main argument against identifying Rabbi Saddoq as a priest is from a statement attributed to Rabbi Eleazar son of Saddoq at Tosefta Ta’aniyot 3:6, ed. Lieberman, pp. 338–9. The latter seems to assert that the family was of Benjaminite

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instance of the name in Second Temple times, and that other instance was a priest. There is a third possible instance, but it may not be a personal name. According to BJ 2:451, Eleazar son of Hanan sent three men to negotiate the surrender of the besieged Roman garrison in Jerusalem. The three were Gorion son of Nikomedos, Judah son of Jonathan, and ; <! . At 2:628 both Hananiah and Judah are named, along with Joezer son of/the Nomikos and Simeon, as the men dispatched to the Galilee to remove Josephus from his command. At Life 197 Josephus records just the personal names of the four delegates, with no patronymics. Were we sure that the reading in all three passages was correct, we would be able to learn from Life that this Hananiah was not a priest. However Schlatter, followed by S. Cohen, has argued that the patronymics in BJ 2:628 are a contamination from 2:451, and that we are dealing with two different Hananiah’s.58 On this assumption, I shall ignore the Hananiah involved in the delegation to the Galilee and relate only to the Hananiah sent by Eleazar son of Hanan to negotiate with the Roman garrison in Jerusalem. Only the latter was designated “Sadouki.” What does this mean? The problem is that while the names of Jonathan and Nikomedos, the fathers of Judah and Gorion respectively, appear in the genitive, “Sadouki” does not. This probably led both Schlatter and Schalit, in contrast to the translators of Josephus, to conclude that “Sadouki” is not a patronymic but a “Beiname.” But what would such a nickname mean? Could it mean “the Sadducee,” or “the Saddokite?”59 In any case, Saddoq emerges as a extremely rare name with strong priestly associations. Could Saddoq the Pharisee, then, have been a

58

59

descent. However, this statement is explained in such a way to make it compatible with priestly descent by Y. N. Epstein, “Die Zeiten des Holzopfers,” MGWJ 78 (1934), pp. 97–103 [Hebrew translation in idem, Studies in Talmudic Literature and Semitic Languages, Vol. I (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1983), pp. 1 –5]. See A. von Schlatter, Die hebr¨aischen Namen bei Josephus (G¨utersloh: C. Bertelsmann, 1913), pp. 54–5; S. J. D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome. His Vita and Development as a Historian (Leiden: Brill, 1978), p. 223, n. 88. It should be remembered that Hanan/Hananyah was a very common name. See Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity, p. 12. See Schlatter, Die hebr¨aischen Namen bei Josephus, p. 93; A. Schalit, Namenw¨orterbuch zu Flavius Josephus, p. 104. For the reading, see the edition of Josephus by B. Niese, Flavii Iosephi opera (Reprint of the Berlin 1894 edition; Berlin: Weidmann, 1955), Vol. VI, pp. 237, 267. Two manuscripts and the Latin translation do attest a genitive in the first passage, but this is suspect as a lectio facilior. Among the translators who nevertheless interpret “Sadouki” as a patronymic are R. Harmand and T. Reinach, Guerre Des Juives. Livres I–III [= T. Reinach, ed., Oeuvres Compl`etes de Flavius Jos`ephe, Tome Cinqui`eme] (Paris: E. Leroux, 1912), pp. 214, 240; Y. N. Simchoni, Yosef ben-Matityahu. Toldot Milhemet Hayehudim ‘Im Haroma’im (Warsaw: Shtibel, 5683), pp. 172, 190; Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. I, pp. 499, 565; O. Michel and O. Bauerfiend, Die Bello Judaico: Der j¨udische Krieg (Second Edition: Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1962), Vol. I, pp. 273, 307. I found nothing on “Sadouki” as a nickname in Rachel

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priest? And was his contribution to the ideology of “no lord but God” more significant than Josephus lets on? Was Josephus’ emphasis on Judah the result of the role of his descendants in subsequent events, rather than a reflection of his dominant role in creating the ideology of the fourth philosophy? Unfortunately, I see no way to move from speculation to conclusion. To sum up the argument, the ideology of “no lord but God” that characterized the fourth philosophy and its latter-day incarnation as the Sicarii party has connections with ideas circulating in priestly circles. Among those connections was a devaluation of human kingship, including its Israelite and Judahite–Davidide exemplars. More important was the concept of theocracy, that the ideal and original constitution of Israel was rule by God himself. As presented by Josephus – or, rather, by the source he copied – this ideal translated in practice into hierocracy. As Hengel himself observed, it was a short step from ideas such as these to the apparently more radical version taught by the fourth philosophy. But did that radicalization begin with ideas learned from priests? From the evidence at hand, Judah the Galilean was not of priestly descent. But his associate and the cofounder of the fourth philosophy, Saddoq the Pharisee, might have been. And since, according to Josephus, it was precisely on the idea of “no lord but God” that the fourth philosophy differed from the Pharisees, Saddoq could not have derived this idea from his Pharisaic education. Perhaps he derived it from priestly tradition. Josephus’ condemnation of the idea as new and unprecedented should not mislead us. On this point he is consistent in both his great works. Josephus emphasizes the disjunction between anti-Roman ideology and traditional Judaism, whether the latter is represented by the three main philosophies, as in the BJ, or by the Pharisees, as in AJ.60 Similarly, Josephus would want to distance the priestly establishment from such ideas. Admitting that individual priests were involved in the revolt is one thing. Admitting that a central trend in the ideology of revolt was a priestly tradition was something else entirely. In any event, I cannot claim to have demonstrated a priestly origin for the idea of “no lord but God.” But I think I have shown that such an origin is the most reasonable suggestion. And the discovery of a priestly background for other aspects of the Judean anti-Roman resistance movement would make the case still stronger. So let us now consider the ideal of “zeal.” As already mentioned, Hengel listed the ideal of “zeal” as another of the ideas shared by the various anti-Roman groups among the Judeans. He provides

60

Hachlili, “Names and Nicknames Among Jews in the Second Temple Period,” EI 17 (1984), pp. 188–211 [Hebrew], nor as a name in Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity. Compare Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome, pp. 154–6, regarding BJ.

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an extensive account, with references to earlier scholarship, of the term and the concept from its biblical origins through its occurrences in the literature of the Second Temple period to its development in rabbinic sources. And Ben-Shalom concurs that the “Zealot ideology” inspired Judean resistance to foreign rule from the second century b.c.e. onward.61 The claim that the ideal of “zeal” inspired resistance to Roman rule has been criticized by Horsley. He denies that this ideal was very prominent in late Second Temple literature. And he concludes that “the ideal of zeal had little or nothing directly to do with opposition to Rome.”62 Horsley is right to warn against the danger of creating an artificial construct not really attested in any ancient source. Certainly “zeal for the torah” need not lead to anti-Roman activities.63 Still, I believe a case can be made that the ideal of “zeal,” based on biblical and Hasmonean precedents, was a motivating factor in the revolt of 66. To be sure, only one party actually took the name “Zealots,” the one led by Eleazar son of Simon. But, as Hengel emphasizes, this is the only original self-designation reported by Josephus in his account of the rebel groups – assuming that the Greek = reflects the Hebrew !yanq. And the adoption of this name suggests, at the least, that in first-century Judah the notion of zeal was widespread, and the figure of the zealot was honored. As Smith put it, “the popularity of the ideal [of ‘zeal’] must be supposed to explain why a party should decide to call itself ‘The Zealots.’”64 Further, the connection of this term with specific biblical antecedents and with the Hasmoneans was certainly clear to contemporaries. Feldman points out that Josephus omits references to “zeal” in his retelling of the Elijah story. Similarly, Josephus deletes the references to “zeal” and Phinehas in his paraphrase of Mattathiah’s deathbed address at I Maccabees 2. As Feldman plausibly argues, these deletions appear to be an attempt by Josephus to deny respectable biblical and Hasmonean “roots” to the Zealot 61 62

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Hengel, Die Zeloten, pp. 61 –76, 151 –234 (ET, pp. 59–73, 149–77). Ben-Shalom, School of Shammai, passim. See the section entitled “The Ideal of Zeal: Modern Reconstruction Vs. Historical Reality” in Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence: Popular Jewish Resistance in Roman Palestine (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987), pp. 121 –9. The quote is from pp. 127–8. In addition to Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence, p. 128, see also A. Baumgarten, “Qumran and Jewish Sectarianism during the Second Temple Period,” in M. Broshi et al., eds., The Scrolls of the Judaean Desert. Forty Years of Research (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1992), pp. 141 –2 [Hebrew]. Baumgarten argues that the ideal of “zeal” for the Torah was shared by several groups, including Qumran, the Pharisees, and the Jewish Christians. Hengel, Die Zeloten, p. 68 (= ET, p. 66); M. Smith, “Zealots and Sicarii, Their Origins and Relation,” HTR 64 (1971), pp. 17–18; D. M. Rhoads, “Zealots,” ABD, Vol. 6, pp. 1044–5. For surveys on the Zealot party see R. Horsley, “The Zealots: Their Origin, Relationships and Importance in the Jewish Revolt,” NT 28 (1986), pp. 159–92; and Rhoads, “Zealots,” pp. 1045– 7, 1048–9.

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party of his day.65 And this, in turn, indicates that a connection between resistance to Rome and the “zeal” of the Hasmoneans, Elijah, and Phinehas was known and asserted in first-century Iudaea. In the present context what is important is the priestly matrix of the ideal of “zeal.” The prime model for zeal, of course, was Phinehas the son of Eleazar according to the events described in Numbers 25:1 –15. Only two other individuals are described as “zealous for Yahweh” in the Bible: the prophet Elijah (I Kings 19:10–14) and Jehu king of Israel (II Kings 10:16).66 But since Phinehas appeared in the Pentateuch, his example would have been considered both the original and the most authoritative. The zeal of Jehu probably would have been considered an extension of that of Elijah. Alternatively, Jehu would have been ignored as part of the tendency of postexilic Judeans to ignore the northern kingdom.67 As for Elijah, we shall see in a minute how he came to be identified with Phinehas. So the dominant model for “zeal” during Second Temple times was the priest, and eventual high priest, Phinehas. Leaving aside for a moment the specific characteristic of “zeal,” Farmer argued that during this period Phinehas came to be considered one of the “great patriarchs” of Israel, at least in certain circles. And Hengel added that those circles are probably to be found among the ruling priestly dynasty. For the latter, the pentateuchal covenant with Phinehas could be cited to strengthen the legitimacy of the priestly regime.68 And once Phinehas became a major hero, it was hard to ignore his “zeal.” As a result, his militant enforcement of exclusive devotion to Yahweh came to be seen by some as worthy of emulation. Even before the Epiphanian persecutions and the rise of the Hasmoneans, Ben Sira 45:23–5 rehearsed the exploits of Phinehas. And verse 24 makes explicit that the biblical reference to “a covenant of eternal priesthood” refers to the office of high priest. The cause and effect relationship between Phinehas-like militancy and winning the high priesthood would have been extremely helpful to the Hasmoneans in justifying their usurpation of the Saddoqite line.69 So it

65 66

67 68 69

L. H. Feldman, “Josephus’ Portrayal of the Hasmoneans Compared with 1 Maccabees,” in Parente and Sievers, eds., Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period, pp. 47–9. According to II Samuel 21:2, Saul was “zealous for the sons of Israel and Judah.” But, of course, this is not the same as being zealous for Yahweh. And Saul also was relatively marginal in subsequent Jewish tradition, overshadowed as he was by his successor David and the Davidic dynasty. Thus Ben Sira does not mention Saul by name in his list of worthies, though he is alluded to in the encomium of Samuel at 46:13–20. The major exception is Josephus, who devotes considerable space to Saul in Book 6 of his AJ. See L. H. Feldman, “Josephus’ Portrait of Saul,” HUCA 53 (1982), pp. 45–99. Compare the Book of Chronicles and Ben Sira 47–8. Hengel, Die Zeloten, p. 155 (= ET, p. 150), with reference to Farmer there. Compare Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence, pp. 124–5.

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is not surprising to find a court historian of the former explicitly portraying Mattathiah as a latter day Phinehas (I Maccabees 2:23–7, and compare 2:50, 54, 58). Ben Sira attests the appeal of the figure of Phinehas in pro-priestly circles in Seleucid Jerusalem. And I Maccabees witnesses the continuing attraction of the Phinehas model at the end of the second or the beginning of the first century b.c.e.70 On the other hand, neither the figure of Phinehas nor the theme of “zeal” appears to be very important at Qumran, despite the (at least eschatological) militancy of works like the War of the Sons of Light against the Sons of Darkness. The name Phinehas occurs only three times, and in each case it appears only as an ancestor. The focus is never on the events of Numbers 24–5 or 29. And while both verbs and nouns from the root anq appear with some frequency in the texts from Qumran, they never have a technical, political sense.71 Some suggest the absence of this theme reflects opposition to

70

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For the importance of Phinehas to Ben Sira, see Otto Mulder, Simon the High Priest in Sirach 50. An Exegetical Study of the Significance of Simon the High Priest as the Climax to the Praise of the Fathers in Ben Sira’s Concept of the History of Israel (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), pp. 216–18, 344. Compare P. Skehan and A. Di Lella, The Wisdom of Ben Sira (AB 39; New York: Doubleday, 1980), p. 510, who note that Ben Sira gives Phinehas more lines than Moses: 10 bicola to 9. See there also for an interpretation of 45:25b that depicts the Phinehas covenant as superior to the Davidic one. This interpretation is based on an emendation of the Hebrew text, however. For the ideas in I Maccabees 2, see Goldstein, I Maccabees, pp. 6–8. This book can be dated no earlier than the reign of John Hyrcanus (135–104 b.c.e.) on the basis of 16:23–4. Some assume that these verses imply that John was already dead. Thus Goldstein, I Maccabees, pp. 62–3, dates the book to the reign of Alexander Janneus/Jonathan, 103–76 b.c.e. The terminus a quo of 135 is a reply to the argument of Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence, p. 125, that the ideal of zeal is not attested between the time of the Maccabean revolt and that of New Testament literature. But, as Horsley is well aware, I Maccabees postdates the Hasmonean uprising by at least thirty years! It was also a generation and more after the Hasmonean revolt that Ben Sira’s grandson translated his grandfather’s work into Greek. While the replacement of the Saddoqite line of high priests probably led him to modify 50:24, he retained the references to Phinehas in 45:23–5. Compare the comments of R. Hayward, “Phinehas – The Same Is Elijah,” JJS 29 (1978), pp. 29–30. Horsley also ignores the evidence from Philo, which is cited later in this chapter. I counted forty-seven occurrences of nouns and verbs from the root anq. See Martin G. Abegg, Jr., The Dead Sea Scrolls Concordance. Volume One, The Non-Biblical Texts from Qumran (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), pp. 656. And see there pp. 610 and 907 as well as idem, “Concordance of Proper Names in the Non-biblical Texts from Qumran,” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, p. 278, for the name Phinehas. The name Phinehas appears in 4Q243=4Qpseudo-Daniala ar 28, 2 followed by the name Abish[u’a]. The editors, J. Collins and Peter Flint, “Pseudo-Daniel,” in G. Brooke, John Collins, Torleif Elgvin et al., eds., Qumran Cave 4, XVII. Parabiblical Texts, Part 3 (DJD XXII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), p. 116, suggest the text reflects the genealogies at I Chronicles as at 5:31 and 6:35 where Abishu’a is the son of Phinehas. The two names also appear in the genealogy of Ezra at Ezra 7:5. The name Phinehas also appears at 4Q522=4QProph´etie de Josu´e 9 ii 7, published by E. Puech, Qumrˆan Grotte 4, XVIII. Textes H´ebreux (DJD XXV; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), p. 55,

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the Hasmoneans and their claims on the part of the Dead Sea sectarians. Still it is likely that the zeal of Phinehas was celebrated even at Qumran. Several fragmentary copies of the Book of Jubilees were found there. Jubilees (albeit in a section of the book not preserved among the Qumran manuscripts) claims that “the seed of Levi” was chosen for the priesthood because “he was zealous to do righteousness and judgment and vengeance against all who rose up against Israel.” The context is the attack on Shechem by Simeon and Levi (Genesis 34), and the author also may have been thinking of the role of the Levites in Exodus 32:25–9. But use of the term “zeal” and the theme that the priesthood was a reward for militancy clearly reflect the story of Phinehas in Numbers 25. Since the context is the days of Jacob and his sons, one can hardly expect an explicit mention of the grandson of Aaron.72 Assimilation of Levi and his attack on the Shechemites to the model of “zeal” reinforces the motif of fighting against gentile claimants to the Land of Israel. The struggle against gentiles is absent from the Elijah materials, but could be read into the Phinehas story. The latter did not just kill a Midianite woman, but also led a holy war of vengeance against the Midianites (Numbers 31). This people, with the Moabites, not only conspired to lead Israel astray at Ba’al Pe’or (Numbers 25) but also hired Balaam to curse Israel and drive them away (Numbers 22). So the Midianites tried to prevent the Israelites from inheriting the Land of Canaan, and Phinehas played a central role in foiling this plot. And certainly the struggle against gentile overlords and rivals was central to how the Hasmoneans were remembered. This combination gave the ideal of

72

with commentary on p. 60. Puech understands the passage to refer to Saddoq, high priest in Solomon’s temple, who is identified as a descendant of Phinehas. The third occurrence of the name is at 6Q134=6QPriestly Prophecy 4. See M. Baillet in Les ‘Petites Grottes’ De Qumrˆan (DJD III; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962), pp. 126–7. This text mentions the “sons of Phinehas” along with “the son of Yehosadaq” and “[She]nibazzar.” Thus, as Baillet observes there, the text probably refers to the return from the Babylonian exile, and the reference to Phinehas is most likely a reflex of Ezra 8:2. I follow the translation of O. S. Wintermute, “Jubilees,” in OTP, Vol. 2, p. 113. Note that the author of I Maccabees 2:23–7 combined the themes of Numbers 25 and Exodus 32. The first four verses in I Maccabees allude to the Phinehas story, but the last echoes Exodus 32:26. The extent to which the people of Qumran opposed the Hasmoneans has been reexamined in light of the hymn praising “Jonathan the King” (i.e., Alexander Janneus). See E. Eshel, H. Eshel, and A. Yardeni, “A Qumran Composition Containing Part of Ps. 154 and a Prayer for the Welfare of King Jonathan and His Kingdom,” IEJ 42 (1992), pp. 199–229. The authors, pp. 216–19, conclude that this hymn was brought to Qumran from elsewhere and does not reflect the views of the Qumran group. This is possible, but not necessary. See the discussion, with reference to further literature, in A. I. Baumgarten, “Rabbinic Literature as a Source for the History of Jewish Sectarianism in the Second Temple Period,” DSD 2 (1995), p. 48 with n. 121. There is at least a possibility that anti-Hasmonean sentiment may not have been universal or permanent among the Qumran sectarians.

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“zeal” nationalist implications. It was no longer just a matter of exclusive devotion to Yahweh. Zealotry also involved fighting against gentile rivals for the control of the Land of Israel. In any case, Phinehas the Zealot was clearly a hero among elite circles supporting the ruling priestly dynasty both before and after the rise of the Hasmoneans. Yet another example of the continued popularity of the figure of Phinehas in a priestly milieu may be provided by Philo. Morin noted the positive appraisal of Phinehas and his actions in the works of Philo, and he too suggested that it originated in a priestly setting.73 This would fit in well with the suggestion of D. Schwartz, noted earlier, that Philo’s teachings may be based on priestly traditions. If these suggestions are correct, then Phinehas and “zeal” continued to be admired by priestly circles into the first century c.e. And Philo takes us within a generation of the outbreak of the revolt of 66 and the adoption of the name “Zealots” by one of the rebel groups. Further evidence for the development of the ideal of “zeal” in priestly circles comes from the curious identification of Elijah the prophet with Phinehas son of Eleazar, the priest from Numbers 25. This identification appears in rabbinic sources in explicit form only in relatively late documents. The earliest occurrence is an implicit one at Sifre Numbers (#131). From around the same period, the third century, Origen attests the existence of this tradition among the Jews. The earliest preserved evidence for this identification comes from outside the rabbinic movement in the Biblical Antiquities of Pseudo-Philo 48:1. The latter book is commonly dated to the late first century c.e., though Harrington finds a date in the first third of this century most likely.74 I know 73

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See J.-A. Morin, “Les deux derniers des Douze: Simeon Le Z´elote et Judas Iskariˆoth,” RB 80 (1973), pp. 340–2. Philo relates the Phinehas story in both literal and allegorical form. It is allegorical in form at On the Posterity of Cain, 182–3; On Drunkeness, 73–6; Allegorical Interpretation of Genesis, III, 242; and On the Change of Names 108. But the account is literal at Life of Moses I, 301 –4, and The Special Laws I, 55–7. Note also Philo’s positive evaluation of militant zeal in the literal sense at Special Laws II, 253, and III, 125–7. On the sources that assert or assume the identification of Elijah and Phinehas, see those listed by L. Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, Vol. VI (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1928), n. 3 on pp. 316–17. Compare the earlier discussion of M. Friedmann, ed., Seder Eliahu Rabba and Seder Eliahu Zuta (Wien: Verlag der Israel.-theol. Lehranstalt, 1900), Introduction, pp. 6–11. I follow the majority view that sees the Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, one of the documents that asserts the identification of Phinehas and Elijah, as late – pace R. Hayward. See A. Shinan, The Embroidered Targum. The Aggadah in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to the Pentateuch (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992), pp. 193–8 [Hebrew], who suggests a date in the eighth century. For the passage from Pseudo-Philo see G. Kisch, ed., Liber Antiquitatem Biblicarum (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 1949), pp. 239. For an English translation see M. R. James, The Biblical Antiquities of Philo (London: S.P.C.K., 1917; Reissued New York: Ktav Publishing House, 1971), pp. 210–11; and D. J. Harrington, “Pseudo-Philo,” in OTP, Vol. 2, p. 362. For a discussion of the date see Harrington, p. 299, and the literature

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of two attempts to trace the origins of the identification further back. A. Zeron has argued that the book of Malachi was not just a source used by the midrashist who identified Phinehas and Elijah. Rather that identification is already implicit in this biblical book.75 Were we able to accept this view, we could trace this doctrine back to Persian-ruled Judah. Hayward, on the other hand, rejects Zeron’s suggestion, noting that neither Ben Sira nor I Maccabees show any awareness of the identification of the two biblical worthies, both of whom are praised in these books. Hayward’s own view is that the identification of Phinehas and Elijah originated more or less contemporaneously with the composition of I Maccabees. Hayward asserts that the identification emerged as the result of “a process of reflection on the deeds, descent and character of John [Hyrcanus I].”76 An important part of his case is based on an early dating of the material in the Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, in particular the section on Deuteronomy 33:11. The antiquity of this Targum as a whole, and even of the section in question, is not universally accepted.77 Still, I believe Hayward’s related conclusion, that the identification of Phinehas and Elijah emerged in priestly circles, can stand. The assimilation of the prophetic hero with the eschatological role to the priestly class makes most sense in such a milieu.78 If we are correct in our argument, then we have a reply to another aspect of Horsley’s critique of Hengel. Horsley is willing to concede “that Hasmonean propaganda may have been effective and successful in propagating a new ideal of zeal that may have persisted among certain circles. It would be difficult, however, to imagine

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cited therein. On the identification of Phinehas and Elijah, see also Murphy, Pseudo-Philo. Rewriting the Bible, pp. 184–5. Origen, Commentary on John, Book VI (PG, XIV, col. 225; GCS, IV, p. 123), states that the tradition was found + ")) s. L. H. Feldman, in the Prolegomenon to the 1971 reprint of James, p. xi, suggests Origen alluded here to rabbinic traditions. S. Krauss, “The Jews in the Works of the Church Fathers,” JQR V (1892–3), p. 153, following Jerome, understands this to refer to some apocryphal writing. A. Zeron, “Einige Bemerkungen Zu M. F. Collins ‘The Hidden Vessels in Samaritan Traditions,’” JStJ 4 (1973), pp. 165–6; idem, “The Martyrdom of Phinehas-Elijah,” JBL 98 (1979), pp. 99–100. See Hayward, “Phinehas – The Same Is Elijah,” pp. 22–34. For the quote, see pp. 31 –2; for the rejection of Zeron’s view, based on his 1973 article, see n. 36 on pp. 26–7 and p. 29. See the detailed discussion of Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to Deuteronomy 33:11 in R. Syren, The Blessings in the Targum (Abo: Abo Akademi, 1986), pp. 165–78, and the comments of Shinan, Embroidered Targum, pp. 194–5. Compare Hayward, “Phinehas – The Same Is Elijah,” p. 34. The priestly affiliation of Elijah, without reference to Phinehas, appears in The Lives of the Prophets 21:1. D. R. A. Hare, “The Lives of the Prophets,” in OTP, Vol. 2, pp. 380–1, suggests a date for this work in the first quarter of the first century c.e. This is about the same time assigned to Pseudo-Philo by Harrington. However, David Satran, Biblical Prophets in Byzantine Palestine: Reassessing the Lives of the Prophets (Leiden/New York: Brill, 1995), dates the book to the Byzantine era.

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which circles those might have been.”79 On the contrary, I find it quite easy to imagine which circles preserved this ideal: priests supportive of the Hasmonean dynasty and, after the demise of the latter, of a hierocratic regime. The last point closes the circle. Some supporters of a hierocratic regime would take the next step of arguing for “no lord but God.” And the biblical and Hasmonean models of “zeal” would point the way to achieve that goal – violent resistance to Roman rule. The preceding has made the case that two central ideological components in the resistance to Roman rule were likely to have emerged from priestly circles. These are the notion of “no lord but God” and the invocation of biblical and Hasmonean precedents of “zeal.” The former appears to be, as Hengel already suggested, a radicalization of what Josephus called “theocracy.” This is the idea that rule by the priests was tantamount to rule by God himself. The notion that hierocracy equals theocracy is likely to have developed in priestly circles. So it seems probable that the radicalization of that idea took place in a similar milieu. I would speculate that Saddoq the Pharisee was a priest, and that he introduced the idea to the “school” he founded along with Judah the Galilean. In and of itself the slogan of “no lord but God” could have universalistic application and anarchistic implications. However, it emerged in the context of Roman rule over Judah and drew on particularistic notions such as the special covenant between Yahweh and Israel that gave possession of the land to the latter. Consequently, I believe this complex of ideas had a distinctly nationalist flavor in the first century. The argument that the ideal of “zeal” developed in priestly circles is based on the priestly affiliation of the Pentateuchal model of “zeal,” Phinehas; the assimilation of the prophetic model of “zeal,” Elijah, to the priesthood; the adulation of Phinehas in such priestly or pro-priesthood circles as those of Ben Sira and Philo; and the use of the model by the Hasmonean court historian. The nationalist, rather than merely religious, content of this notion emerges from its use by the Hasmonean regime and then by anti-Roman rebels in the revolt of 66. Of course, I do not wish to commit the genetic fallacy. Just because an idea developed in priestly circles does not mean that it was restricted to those circles. I have already concluded that Judah the Galilean, who (and whose descendants) certainly espoused the ideal of “no lord but God,” did not belong to the priestly caste. And many believe that the Zealot party included nonpriests. Just as ideas of priestly origin could be adopted by nonpriests, so could they be rejected

79

Horsley, Spiral of Violence, p. 125.

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by priests. I certainly am not claiming that all priests were anti-Roman.80 What I do argue is that central ideas of the anti-Roman resistance originated in priestly circles. And assuming as I do the nationalist character of that resistance, we thus have a parade example of a priestly contribution to ancient Jewish nationalism. 80

Many priests, whether upper or lower class, committed or half-hearted, did in fact support the revolt of 66. See J. J. Price, Jerusalem under Siege. The Collapse of the Jewish State 66–70 c.e. (Leiden: Brill, 1992), pp. 40–3. For additional evidence of priestly involvement, see James S. McLaren, “The Coinage of the First Year as a Point of Reference for the Jewish Revolt (66–70 ce),” SCI XXII (2003), pp. 135–52.

5


Israel Nationalism

I

n his brief excursus on the name “vietnam,” benedict Anderson makes the following observation.

That today’s Vietnamese proudly defend a Viˆet Nam [a name] scornfully invented by a nineteenth-century Manchu [i.e., Chinese] dynasty reminds us . . . of the imaginative power of nationalism.1

Anderson’s observation illustrates the need to avoid the genetic fallacy when considering the history of a nation. A name whose conception was in imperialism could still become the slogan of a nationalist movement. The case of Palestine provides a contemporary example. Deriving from the ethnonym of invading colonizers from the West, imposed on the country by the Roman Empire after suppressing a native revolt, and resurrected by British imperialists after they seized the area from the Ottomans, the name has been adopted by Arabs claiming to descend from the ancient, autochthonous inhabitants of the country. Despite the ironies suggested by the sagas of Viˆet Nam and Palestine, studying the names chosen to express national identity could be useful. The choice of a name and the circumstances that led to its adoption may illuminate the history of the nationalist movement in question. In the next three chapters I shall examine in turn three different names that have played a role in ancient Jewish nationalism: Israel, Judah, and Zion. Using these names as an organizing principal will, it is hoped, contribute to an understanding of this phenomenon and its history. I begin with Israel. As noted in Chapter 2, the Bible contains materials that allow the construction of a Jewish national identity. The potentially broadest version of such an identity centers on the name Israel. In contrast, the terms “Judah” and “Zion” have a narrower focus. In the biblical account “Israel” is the new name 1

Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 158.

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bestowed on Jacob the son of Isaac and grandson of Abraham. Abraham and Isaac can also be considered the ancestors of the nation, but they are the forbears of other nations as well. According to the Bible Abraham is the ancestor of the Ishmaelites through Hagar and of other groups through Keturah. Isaac is equally the ancestor of the Edomites via Jacob’s brother Esau. But no other nation can legitimately claim Jacob/Israel as ancestor.2 His twelve sons in turn became the ancestors of the twelve Israelite tribes that eventually coalesced into the united Israelite monarchy under David and Solomon. To be sure, that united state split into two kingdoms. The northern one retained the name Israel, while the southern one took the name of its largest tribal component, Judah. But Judah was one of the twelve tribes, its eponymous ancestor a son of Jacob. In other words, it too was part of “the children of Israel.” So the kingdom of Judah also shared in Israelite national identity. The kings of Judah and their subjects could call themselves Israelites just as Darius and Xerxes could call themselves both Persian and Iranian (“Aryan”).3 In sum, descent from the eponymous ancestor established the “common blood” of the Israelite nation. The common culture was somewhat more diffuse in origin according to the Bible. Worship of the God Yahweh and circumcision went back to Abraham, for example. But most of the practices that defined or identified the Israelites originate in the Sinai covenant and the laws mediated by Moses to the twelve tribes. Those laws include not only cultic matters but also many aspects of social organization. Additionally some behaviors were simply considered “a disgraceful deed [nevalah] in Israel” (Genesis 34:7; Deuteronomy 22:21 ; Joshua 7:15; Judges 20:6; Jeremiah 29:23) or something “not done in Israel” (II Samuel 13:12). As a result of the heritage asserted by the Bible, both genetic and behavioral, Israelite nationality survived the destruction of the northern kingdom in the last third of the eighth century and the demise of the southern kingdom early in the sixth century. The historical narratives, the preaching of prophets, and the content of many cultic hymns all preserved the idea of Israelite nationality into the Persian era and beyond. The preceding account relies on the biblical narrative. As the subsequent discussion will document, the historicity of much of that narrative has come under question by critical scholars. In the course of the twentieth century, doubts increased about the existence of the patriarchs, the sojourn in and exodus from Egypt by the descendants of Jacob/Israel, their conquest of Canaan, 2 3

The Samaritans are no exception. The dispute between them and the Jews is over who are the true Israelites. See Wieseh¨ofer, Ancient Persia, pp. xi, 56.

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and the existence of the twelve tribes. Even the existence of the united Israelite monarchy in the tenth century has come under attack in the past generation. A number of scholars have argued not just that the biblical books postdate the Iron Age, the time of the Israelite and Judean monarchies, but that their contents also do so. That is, the biblical narrative is a late fiction. At the very least, they add, caution dictates that we rely only on evidence datable to the period in question. The material remains archaeologists unearth meet this criterion, but they do not necessarily identify the political or ethnic affiliations of the people who left those remains. Consequently, the only reliable evidence for the two monarchies is unquestionably contemporaneous written material that mentions them. Epigraphic attestation of the kingdom of Judah (under this name) does not occur until the eighth century. As to the name “Israel,” the evidence is somewhat better. It first appears, according to the most widely accepted reading, in the Merneptah Stele from the end of the thirteenth century. The majority of scholars accept the evidence of the hieroglyphic determinative that indicates the name refers to a group of people. Even though the geographical location of the people Israel is not completely clear, the view that locates them in the central highland of Cisjordan probably has the most support. This is the area where the subsequent Iron Age northern kingdom of Israel was located. References to kings or the kingdom of Israel also occur in inscriptions from the middle of the ninth century b.c.e. through the end of that century or the beginning of the eighth, according to the common if not unanimous view of scholars. These include the annals of the Assyrian king Shalmaneser III, the inscription of Mesha king of Moab, and the Tel Dan inscription. Assyrian inscriptions of the eighth century refer to the northern kingdom as “the House of Omri,” after its most successful royal dynasty, or by the name of its last capital city, Samaria.4 If we rely only on the epigraphic testimony, we have evidence for an Israelite people probably in Cisjordan around 1200, and then for a short-lived kingdom by the same name in the same general area in the ninth–eighth centuries. After the demise of the kingdom around 720, there is no epigraphic attestation of the name until the second century (see discussion later in this chapter). None of this evidence reflects the idea of an Israelite nation that includes Judah.

4

Up-to-date reviews with references to the literature in Lemche, Israelites in History and Tradition, pp. 35–64, and more briefly in Lester L. Grabbe, “Israel’s Historical Reality after the Exile,” in Bob Becking and Marjo C. A. Korpel, eds., The Crisis of Israelite Religion. Transformation of Religious Tradition in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times (Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 1999), pp. 10–11.

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Only the Bible attests that idea.5 Can we trace the biblical books, or at least the pan-Israelite national ideal (i.e., including Judah) they contain, back into the Iron Age? A number of scholars have answered this question negatively. They assert that the idea is in fact a late invention coming no earlier than the time of Achemenid domination of Southwest Asia. It was authors of the Persian or even Hellenistic period who invented the notion that both the northern and southern kingdoms sprang from the same national group, the Israelites, whose contemporary representatives are those commonly known as Judeans/Jews. P. R. Davies first proposed this idea in a brief monograph that appeared in 1992. He argued that the creators of what he calls “Biblical Israel,” that is, the account of Israelite origins and history as presented in the Bible and summarized here, were not even Judeans. There were people of Mesopotamian origin settled in the province of Yehud by the Persian authorities. The society established by these settlers was accompanied by – or at least soon generated – an ideological superstructure which denied its more recent origins, its imperial basis and instead indigenized itself. Its literate class . . . created an identity continuous with kingdoms that had previously occupied that area of whom no doubt some concrete memory remained within Palestine, and very probably some archival material too, and wrote into the history of this region an ‘Israel’ which explained their own post-‘exilic’ society and the right and privileges of the immigrant elite within that society.6

Subsequently, other scholars took up Davies’ proposal and fleshed out the argument. In his 1998 book N. P. Lemche argued that the picture of the twelve tribes grouped around a sanctuary of Yahweh is not a historical tradition going back to the premonarchic period of the early Iron Age. Rather it was part of “the traditions of Jewish society that sometime in the late Persian and Hellenistic times saw itself as the heir of ancient Israel. The members of this society constructed their own origin myth as a program for taking over a country which they reclaimed for themselves in spite of the inhabitants who already lived there.”7 Nor is there is any historical basis for a united Israelite monarchy. Instead, all we really have “is the tradition of two tiny states in Palestine in the Iron Age, which were long after their disappearance chosen as the basis of a history of a new nation to be established on the soil of Palestine in the postexilic period.”8 The following year Thomas L. Thompson followed 5 6 7 8

For a convenient summary of the biblical material, see H.-J. Zobel, “Israel,” ThWAT, Bd. 4, 986–1011 [= TDOT, 6, cols. 397–420]. Davies, In Search of Ancient Israel, p. 87. Lemche, Israelites in History and Tradition, p. 130. Ibid., p. 155.

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Lemche’s suggestion that the invention of the all-Israel national identity might even postdate the Persian period. Along with others who rely strictly on the epigraphic evidence, he concluded, “the only historical Israel to speak of is the people of the small highland state, which . . . lost its political autonomy in the last quarter of the eighth century.” Aside from this, “No ethnically coherent ‘Israelite’ nation ever existed at all. No political, ethnic, or historic bond existed between the state that was called Israel or ‘the house of Omri’ and the town of Jerusalem and the state of Judah. In history, neither Jerusalem nor Judah ever shared an identity with Israel before the rule of the Hasmoneans in the Hellenistic period.”9 There are serious problems with the claim that the all-Israel national identity was a creation of the post-exilic era. To begin with the most extreme version, the assertion that this identity was an invention of the Hasmonean era is extremely unlikely. As we shall show in the next chapter, the Hasmonean dynasty did not use the name “Israel.” This would be strange if the pan-Israelite concept was created to support Hasmonean state formation and/or expansion. Further, the majority of scholars, even some who agree with Thompson about the situation in the Iron Age, believe we can find the all-Israel idea in literature earlier than the Hasmonean era.10 In fact, the vast majority of contemporary scholars believe we can find the idea in books datable to the Persian era, including Second Isaiah, Haggai, Zechariah, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles.11 It will be recalled that Davies in fact attributed the “invention of Israel” to settlers

9 10

11

Thomas L. Thompson, The Mythic Past. Biblical Archaeology and the Myth of Israel (London: Basic Books, 1999), p. 190. The second passage quoted precedes the first in the original. See Chapter 2, n. 10, for the debate on whether all or most of the Bible came into being in the Hellenistic period. As noted there, the majority of scholars still favor a pre-Hellenistic date for much of the Bible. On this view the sources go back to well before the rise of the Hasmoneans. See next note . Again, dating remains controversial for many books, and one can always find some scholar who will argue for a later date or a different interpretation of any given passage. A good example of a broad scholarly consensus both on Persian provenance and on the presence of the ideal of an all-Israel identity is the Book of Chronicles. The pioneering modern studies are Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (original Hebrew edition, 1977; English translation by A. Barber; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997) and H. G. M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977). The following more recent studies reflect the consensus (albeit with considerable variations) on both points. Willi, “Late Persian Judaism and Its Conception of an Integral Israel According to Chronicles,” pp. 146–62; Jonathan E. Dyck, “The Ideology of Identity in Chronicles,” in Brett, ed., Ethnicity and the Bible, pp. 89–116; Yigal Levin, “Who Was the Chronicler’s Audience? A Hint from His Genealogies,” JBL 122 (2003), pp. 229–45. For the all-Israel identity in other books commonly dated to the Persian era, see H. G. M. Williamson, “The concept of Israel in transition,” in R. E. Clements, ed., The World of Ancient Israel. Sociological, Anthropological and Political Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pp. 141 –61.

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sent to Yehud by the Persian authorities, while Lemche allowed that this development might have taken place in “late Persian times.” So I believe we can dismiss Thompson’s conclusion that the concept of Israelite nationality emerged in the Hasmonean era and no earlier. Even the more moderate view, that dates the “invention of Israel” to the Persian period, encounters serious questions. Above all, why would Judeans, let alone people not even of Judean ancestry, latch on to the name of a longdefunct, insignificant statelet? In fact, if we follow Lemche, that name had not ever been used widely in the Iron Age. As he puts it, “Not even the kingdom known in some contexts to have been called Israel seems to have been generally known under this name. Instead of Israel, the dynastic name of the state, ‘the House of Omri,’ and the name of the capital Samaria seem to have been more widely used, except of course in the Old Testament imagery of the Palestinian kingdom.”12 Moreover, the name “Israel” did not survive in the imperial provinces created on the territory of the former kingdom. Instead the Assyrians created the provinces of Megiddo and Samaria. The latter toponym survived as the name of the province in the Persian and Hellenistic eras. By contrast, the name of the kingdom of Judah lived on in the name of the Persian province of Yehud, itself possibly a continuation of the usage in the preceding Neo-Babylonian Empire.13 Based on the evidence just noted, one could understand “settlers” appropriating the name “Judah” for their identity. In so doing they would assert their status as the “true Judeans,” against the claim of the indigenous population. Contrariwise, why would those indigenous inhabitants of Yehud be impressed by claims of “Israelite” identity on the part of the newcomers? If any of them remembered that once upon a time there was a “small highland state” by that name to the north of Judah, why wouldn’t they tell the newcomers to move up 12 13

Lemche, Israelites in History and Tradition, p. 166. For Judah as a Babylonian province, see O. Lipschits, “Nebuchadnezzar’s Policy in ‘Hattu-Land’ and the Fate of the Kingdom of Judah,” UF 30 (1999), pp. 467–87. Against this see David S. Vanderhooft, “New Evidence Pertaining to the Transition from Neo-Babylonian to Achaemenid Administration in Palestine,” in Albertz and Becking, eds., Yahwism after the Exile, pp. 227–34, who argues that the Babylonians did not create a province of Judah after 586 b.c.e. Rather the province was a creation of the Persians. If this is correct, I believe it reinforces the argument made earlier. The Persians’ choice of the name “Judah” (Yehud) for the province suggests that the name “Israel” was not being pushed by the Judean exiles/repatriates. On conditions in Judah in general, see O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp, eds., Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003). On the provinces of Megiddo and Samaria in the Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian eras, see Ephraim Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II. The Assyrian, Babylonian and Persian Periods 732–332 bce (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 2001 ), pp. 42–51, 312–15, 319–20, 373–9, 422–8.

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there? Nor would the name “Israel” have meant anything to the Persian authorities, who show no awareness of it. It never appears in contemporary (extrabiblical) written materials, neither in the fifth-century Elephantine papyri nor in the fourth-century provincial coinage. Both the latter bodies of evidence refer only to Judah and Judeans. Finally, there is no evidence whatsoever that the “settlers” or repatriates from exile in Babylonia had any designs on the former territories of the northern kingdom. Their focus was on Jerusalem and Judah. Even the Hasmoneans, who did (eventually) conquer and annex the territories of the former northern kingdom, did not adopt the name “Israel” for their state. So why would the “settlers” of Yehud? The question remains without an answer. Why would these people, whether actual descendants of exiled Judeans or foreign “settlers,” invoke the name “Israel” to create an identity for themselves? Some of those who argue that the “invention of Israel” was a late development are aware of this problem. P. R. Bedford had dated the invention to the exilic period. He argued that the use of “Israel” in biblical books like Ezekiel, Deutero-Isaiah, and Ezra “reflects the appropriation of this term by certain Judeans in Babylonia as a name for their group.” He concedes, “Why they [the Judean exiles in Babylonia] would adopt this name is another question.”14 Indeed it is, and it is one Bedford does not answer. Other proponents of this approach do not explicitly acknowledge the problem, but they do suggest possible explanations. Davies spoke of the likelihood that “some concrete memory” and “some archival material” might have remained from the “kingdoms.” But why would the remains of the northern kingdom have been preferred by settlers in Judah? Moreover, we do not have to speculate about the survival of memories (and more!) of the southern kingdom. At the beginning of the Persian era individuals who had actually lived in the kingdom of Judah still survived. And descendants of the royal family of Judah and the priesthood of the (pre-587) Jerusalem temple also could be found in Persian Yehud. Lemche suggests that “the tradition of two tiny states of Palestine in the Iron Age . . . may have been preserved by descendants of the people who were really carried into exile by the Assyrians and Babylonians, or by others who simply inherited the tradition and re-created it as their own history.”15 The latter alternative leaves our question unanswered. What was the appeal to those “others” and why would they choose to re-create it as their own? On the former alternative, the actual descendants of the Iron Age kingdoms of Israel and Judah preserved their identity! This is exactly what the Bible claims, 14 15

Bedford, Temple Restoration in Early Achaemenid Judah, p. 116 and n. 61 there. Lemche, Israelites in History and Tradition, p. 155.

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at least for the Judeans. As noted earlier, there seems no doubt of historical continuities between (at least part of) the population of Iron Age Judah and those who claimed to be their descendants in Persian Yehud. Lemche thus conceded here the possibility of actual, historical continuity between Iron Age Israel and those who adopted the designation in the Persian era. Still unclear is why those of Judean descent would appropriate the Israelite identity. The argument made here is well summarized by Lester Grabbe. [I]t is a fact that appropriating the name Israel was important to some Judahites. . . . If the name had no special meaning to them why try to adopt it? Is it likely that, out of the blue, they suddenly decided to appropriate a name with which they had no past connection? . . . There was no reason for Jews/Judahites to take over the name Israel unless it had particular significance to them. Therefore, it seems perverse to me to ignore the fact that that an entity called ‘Israel’ (at least as one of its names) continued to exist long after the Northern Kingdom had become only a memory from ancient history.16

Grabbe does not identify the nature of the “entity” in question. I think it legitimate to call it a national identity. In any case, I agree with him that it is more reasonable to assume that the all-Israel identity of Persian times involved a historic memory rather than that it was a newly invented tradition of inexplicable logic. Some scholars concede that an Israelite national identity had existed in the Iron Age, but add that what survived of it into the Persian period underwent a transformation. The identity that we find now is no longer a national one, but a religious one. Ahlstr¨om developed this idea in a book that appeared in 1986. He argued there that the name “Israel” is used three different ways in the Bible. These three meanings reflect a change over time. Originally “Israel” was a purely geographic term denoting a specific territory. Then, in the course of the Iron Age, it “became a political term designating the state in the central hill country north of Jerusalem [= the area that already bore the territorial designation “Israel”] which was first established by Saul.” Elsewhere, Ahlstr¨om uses the term “national” to refer to this political meaning.17 Since Yahweh was the national God of both the northern kingdom and the Kingdom of Judah, “Israel” could also be used as a theological designation for the population of both states. 16

17

Grabbe, “Israel’s Historical Reality after the Exile,” p. 30. A similar argument appears in Terry Fenton and Bustenay Oded, “The Invention of ‘Ancient Palestinians’: Silencing of the History of Ancient Israel – A Review Essay,” JH 17 (2003), p. 92. G¨osta W. Ahlstr¨om, Who Were the Israelites? (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1986), pp. 101 and 118. The quotation is from the first cited place.

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After the demise of the northern kingdom, some prophetic circles in Judah began to preempt the name Israel for the southern kingdom. The crucial change took place among Judean deportees in Babylonia. These people were “faced with developing a new form of Yahwism which was not bound to state and territory.” As a result, “they came to focus on Israel as the cultic community of true Yahweh worshippers.” So ultimately “Israel” became “the ideological name for those who accepted the Babylonian–Persian party’s religion and customs. . . . Membership in this society was not based on political, civil, or territorial considerations, it was dependent upon embracing this new religious ‘Mosaic’ law of Ezra, the law which made one a member of the people of God.”18 Essentially the same position appeared three years later in an article by H. G. M. Williamson. The last named author emphasizes that by the eve of the Babylonian exile (i.e., by the beginning of the sixth century) “it would probably have been broadly agreed that Israel was a people and a nation with a specific history.” By the end of the Persian period (i.e., the late fourth century), “Israel had been transformed from a national and political to a cultural and religious concept. Henceforth, the future of its cohesion had inevitably to focus on the temple and the law.”19 Finally, Lemche makes a similar point. The people who accepted the biblical portrait of Israel “have to be understood as a religious community, not an ordinary living organism such as a normal people.”20 These approaches overstate the importance of statehood. As already noted, nations can and do exist without possessing statehood. So the fact that postexilic (or, for the skeptics about the reality of the exile, Persian era) Israel lacked an independent state does not prevent it from constituting a nation. On the other hand, these scholars underestimate the significance of culture, including religion, in the formation of national identity. Herodotus had already included these two factors in his definition of Hellenic identity. Moreover, the “law” that both Ahlstr¨om and Williamson mention is full of ideas constituent of an Israelite national identity, as already argued. Those who accepted the Torah would believe they shared a common descent and a common culture. They would also expect their identity ultimately to enjoy a territorial and political expression. (And all this is aside from the Ezra party’s intense emphasis on endogamy and preserving the “purity” of the kinship group.) To revert to current jargon, the “Israel discourse” that even these scholars find in Persian era literature sounds very much like what most 18 19 20

See ibid., pp. 103, 117, respectively, for the two quotes. Williamson, “The concept of Israel in transition,” pp. 142, 158, respectively. Lemche, Israelites in History and Tradition, p. 96.

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people would consider “national discourse.” Thus there seems to be a fairly broad consensus that an all-Israel national identity appears in literature datable to the Persian era. This consensus includes those scholars who assert that this identity was an invention of this era. I am persuaded that this identity can be found in pre-exilic times; however, I can leave this issue to others better qualified to weigh the evidence from the Iron Age. My study begins with the Persian period. The question of the “invention” of the all-Israel identity also does not concern me. The discussion in Chapter 1 noted the widespread view that all national and ethnic identities are, at least in part, socially constructed. Of greater concern is a different issue. The Israelite national identity discussed here has so far been limited to written literature. Is there any indication that it spread beyond the limited circle of those who could read the texts in which we find it? For the Persian period we lack the literary evidence we have from the first century c.e. for regular public readings of (some of) these texts. Nor do we have the indirect or circumstantial evidence for common public reading supplied by the survival of multiple manuscripts from the Hellenistic and early Roman periods. Some of the Persian period writings do mention occasional public recitation or reading, and one could argue that these references are the tip of the iceberg. That is, perhaps the custom was more widespread that one might gather from the surviving literary evidence. This is possible, but hardly constitutes proof. The best we can do, I believe, is to argue from the literature itself and its social context. This kind of argument appears in representatives of the “invention of Israel” school. Thus Lemche suggested that the very preservation of the texts that created the biblical idea of Israel proves the acceptance of this idea by the community at which it was directed. However, he does not indicate the extent or size of the group in question. E. Ben Zvi goes farther. He speculates that the ideas of the literati in their books may have reached and affected the general population in the Persian province of Yehud. The evidence he mentions is the apparent sudden disappearance of figurines that may have had cultic meaning.21 Certainly the preservation of Israelite national identity in the literature of the Hellenistic period and in the politics of the Roman period suggests that this was not just the possession of a few literati. And the power of oral literature to create a pan-Hellenic identity by the fifth century reminds us of the possibilities for constructing analogous identities elsewhere. The fact that Persian Yehud was small in area and its population so small, as recent studies suggest, makes 21

Ibid., p. 96. Ehud Ben Zvi, “What Is New in Yehud? Some Considerations,” in Albertz and Becking, eds., Yahwism after the Exile, pp. 47–8.

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the dissemination of the idea even more feasible.22 For now, this will have to suffice. Once the notion of an Israelite national identity appeared in the literature composed, edited, or transmitted in the Persian period, it is no surprise that it appears also in writings from the Hellenistic era inspired or influenced by that literature. Some of the biblical writings themselves are attributed to the Hellenistic times, but aside from Daniel there is little agreement of which of them can be dated this late. In any case, there is a sizable body of extra-biblical literature clearly datable to post-Persian times. The influence of the biblical idea of Israel on this literature is clear. The evidence available toward the middle of the twentieth century appears in the classic studies of Kuhn and Gutbrod. They document the frequent use of the name “Israel” in literature composed by Jews at this time whether in Hebrew and Aramaic or in Greek.23 The name does seem more common in the Semitic-language sources. This is probably the result of the standard use of the name “Judeans” in non-Jewish Greek and Latin literature. Thus Kuhn concluded that lar`y der Name ist, mit dem das Volk sich selbst bezeichnet, w¨ahrend !ydwhy – 23' der Name ist, mit dem die nichtj¨udische Welt sie nennt.

He adds that Greek-speaking Jews in the Diaspora, influenced by their surroundings, began to use “Judeans” as a self-designation. Use of “Israel” among them continued but was restricted to “den ganz speziellen religi¨osen Sprachgebrauch,” such as prayers and biblical and liturgical turns of phrase. Further, when writing for non-Jews, a Jewish author like Josephus will use “Judeans.” Even in literature written for a Jewish readership, gentiles will be quoted as using the term “Judeans” though Jews are quoted as using “Israel.”24 However, none of this changes the main point that Jews, especially writing in Hebrew or Aramaic, preferred the self-designation “Israel.” Kuhn also noted the absence 22 23

24

For estimates of the population, see C. E. Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period (JSOTSS 294; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999). See K. G. Kuhn, “ 23), 23's, 5)'s in der nach-at.lichen j¨udischen Literatur,” ThWAT, Vol. III, pp. 360–70, and W. Gutbrod, “ 23), 23's, 5)'s in der griechischhellenistischen Literatur,” ThWAT, Vol. III, pp. 370–6; idem, “ 23), 23's, 5)'s in Neuen Testament,” ThWAT, III, pp. 376–94 [English translation: TDOT, Vol. III, pp. 359–69, 369–75, 375–91, respectively]. For more recent surveys see P. J. Tomson, “The Names Israel and Jew in Ancient Judaism and in the New Testament,” Bijdragen, tijdschrift voor filosofie en teologie 47 (1986), pp. 120–40, 266–89; Graham Harvey, The True Israel. Uses of the Name Jew, Hebrew and Israel in Ancient Jewish and Early Christian Literature (Boston/Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 1996). For related issues from later sources, see Porton, Goyim, and S. Stern, Jewish Identity in Early Rabbinic Writings (New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1994). See Kuhn, Gutbrod, and Tomson as cited in the previous note. The latter two demonstrate the distinction in the New Testament. For example, in the Gospels gentiles refer to Jesus as “king of the Judeans,” while Jews refer to the “king of Israel.”

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of the term “Israel” in Jewish inscriptions, both those in Aramaic from Persian era Elephantine and those in Greek from the Hellenistic and early Roman periods. Gutbrod noted the almost total absence of the name Israel in (preChristian, non-Jewish) Greek literature. The one exception, which Gutbrod mentions, is a reference in Pompeius Trogus to “Israhel,” described as a king of Damascus following Abraham. According to Trogus, Israhel gave birth to ten sons and through them to ten kingdoms. All ten were eventually called “Judeans” after Judah, one of the ten who died early. Garbled though it is, this report probably goes back to a Jewish informant.25 In the decades since, Kuhn and Gutbrod wrote some new material and new studies have appeared, but the conclusions they reached still appear valid. The largest addition of original sources comes from the material found at Qumran. The seven hundred or so nonbiblical manuscripts contain many different works. Throughout, the name “Israel” appears in dozens of passages. In fact, it is the most frequently appearing proper name in the nonbiblical texts from Qumran. No significant variations from biblical usage appear, and the term continues to designate an Israelite nation.26 Recent concordances of the writings of Josephus and Philo allow us to check and confirm the conclusions of Kuhn and Gutbrod concerning usage by these two ancient authors of the name “Israel.”27 Outside of Jewish literary sources, however, 25

26

27

The Trogus passage survives as a quotation in Justin’s Historiae Philippicae 36, Epitome 2.3– 4. Compare the discussion on the name “Israel” in the Hellenistic and early Roman eras in Grabbe, “Israel’s Historical Reality after the Exile,” pp. 11 –13, with Trogus discussed on p. 12 with n. 10. For the text with commentary see Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. I, pp. 334–42, especially the comments on p. 339. Another argument for Trogus’ reliance on a Jewish informant appears in Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, p. 36. Gutbrod mentions Alexander Polyhistor as a second exception. However, the passage in question is actually a quotation from the Jewish historian Demetrius. The reference to “the God of Israel” in an opinion attributed to Varro by Augustine is most likely a paraphrase reflecting Augustine’s own usage. For the passage see Stern, p. 210. See Abegg, Jr., “Concordance of Proper Names in the Non-biblical Texts from Qumran,” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, p. 232 for the frequency and pp. 260–6 for a list of passages containing the term. For a survey of usage see Harvey, True Israel, pp. 189–218. See Schalit, Namenw¨orterbuch zu Flavius Josephus, pp. 64–5; Peder Borgen, K˚are Fuglseth, and Roald Skarsten, The Philo Index. A Complete Greek Word Index to the Writings of Philo of Alexandria (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge: Eerdmans and Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill, 2000), p. 180. Schalit’s data confirm the claim of Gutbrod that Josephus uses “Israel” to refer to the nation in the past, but “Judeans” for more recent times. The point where usage changes is the time of Alexander the Great. The last appearance of the term “Israelites” at AJ 11 :312 refers to events shortly before Alexander’s defeat of Darius III at Issus. At CA 1 :40–1 Josephus asserts that the accurate biblical account of history ends with Artaxerxes I. A rabbinic tradition, at Seder Olam Rabbah 30, asserts that prophetic inspiration by the holy spirit ended at the time of Alexander the Great. Since divine inspiration was the criterion for “canonicity,” on this view the biblical period ends at the conclusion of the Persian era. Josephus would then be using “Israelites” for the biblical period and “Judeans” for the post-biblical (as he understood it).

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the name is still almost entirely absent in pre-Christian times. One further exception has come to light among the epigraphic evidence published since Kuhn and Gutbrod. I refer to two inscriptions from Delos that contain the term “Israelites.” However, the precise significance of this evidence is debated. The phrase that appears in each inscription, “the Israelites in Delos who make offerings to holy Argarizim,” clearly points to a Samaritan, rather than a Jewish, community. In the absence of any Jewish inscriptions using the name, one might conclude that Jews did not call themselves “Israelites.” However, as Kraabel argued, the qualification “who make offerings etc.” could imply that there were others on Delos who also called themselves “Israelites” but did not participate in the cult on Mt. Gerizim (viz., Judeans/Jews).28 This calls to mind the situation in Egypt where Jews and Samaritans argued over whether sacrifices should be sent to Jerusalem or Shechem.29 If we accept Kraabel’s interpretation, then the Delos inscriptions indirectly attest use of the term “Israelites” by Diaspora Jews in the last two and a half centuries b.c.e. Whatever the conclusion regarding the Delos inscriptions, the idea of an Israelite nation is clearly attested in Jewish literature of the Hellenistic and early Roman periods. The question now is to what extent this idea moved from the small circle of the literate to larger sections of the Jewish population. I already argued that the number of biblical and parabiblical manuscripts surviving from the third century on in Judah is at least indirect evidence for wider dissemination of the contents of these texts through public recitations or readings. The situation in the Diaspora is less clear. The existence in Egypt of “prayer-houses” (proseuche) in outlying communities by the middle of the third century is very suggestive, at least for that country. Unfortunately we do not know for certain what happened in these sites until the first-century descriptions of Philo. For other Diaspora lands of the pre-Christian era, we are completely uninformed. So let us return to Judah. The latter part of the Hellenistic period saw the rise and expansion of the Hasmonean state. This is a reasonably well-documented period in Jewish history, certainly in comparison to the Persian and early Hellenistic eras. More importantly, many scholars see it 28

29

This is the argument of A. T. Kraabel, “New Evidence of the Samaritan Diaspora Has Been Found on Delos,” BA 47 (1984), p. 45. Grabbe, “Israel’s Historical Reality,” p. 12 with n. 11, is apparently not convinced by Kraabel’s argument, which is not mentioned. The two inscriptions in question are dated by their original editor to 250–175 and 150–50 b.c.e. See P. Bruneau, “Les Isra´elites de D´elos et la juiverie d´elienne,” BCH 106 (1982), pp. 465– 504. See AJ 12:10 and 13:74–9, already cited by Bruneau, “Les Isra´elites de D´elos et la juiverie d´elienne,” p. 476. The second of these passages describes what sounds like a theological debate over which site Yahweh chose. But the first passage sounds like two factions in one community debating over where to send their offerings.

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as a crucial period in the history of Jewish nationalism. Among recent authors Mendels is perhaps most explicit. For him the literature of the Hasmonean era demonstrates that “a new nationalistic phase in Judaism was dawning.”30 Others avoid the term “nationalism” and its congeners, preferring to speak of Jewish “self-identity” or “self-definition.” But they concur that the Hasmonean era was a pivotal one. Cohen, for example, argues that for many people at this time Jewishness evolved into an ethnoreligious identity. Schwartz speaks more vaguely of negotiating the conflict between exclusivity and integration while preserving native culture and pursuing political independence and territorial expansion.31 Cohen understands ethnicity to involve descent, while “religion” certainly overlaps with culture. Hence “ethno-religious” identity, a concept Cohen borrows from Armstrong’s Nations before Nationalism, is essentially the same as what I am calling national identity. Schwartz’s discussion focuses on cultural and religious factors alongside political issues. But his reference to “native” culture invokes descent. In other words, he too treats what I consider national identity. Certainly one must concede that sources from the Hasmonean era depict the founders of the dynasty invoking (belief in) common kinship and shared culture as the basis for mass mobilization and political action. That material factors also motivated the leadership and their followers does not disprove the presence and power of ideological appeals. To argue otherwise is to fall prey to reductionism.32 Whether in fact Jewish nationalism begins with the Hasmoneans is debatable, and obviously I believe otherwise. But it seems beyond question to me that they provide a clear example of ancient Jewish nationalism, as even the more skeptical historians in effect admit. In light of everything that has been said up to this point, a reasonable expectation is that the Hasmoneans would have invoked the name “Israel” for formal expression of their national identity. But as we shall see in the next chapter, this was not the case. The Hasmonean state utilized (derivatives of) the name “Judah” to designate their state. And the Herodian successor state(s) apparently did the same. It is only when we come to the next two native governments in Judah that the name “Israel” plays a central role in formal designations. I refer to the rebel regimes of 66–70 and 132–5. In each case the name “Israel” appears as the name of the state. The discussion that follows will 30 31 32

Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, p. 6. See Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, pp. 109–39; Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, pp. 32–42. Compare Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, p. 34. He distinguishes between structural explanations for the rise of the Hasmoneans and the mechanisms of their rise. Among the mechanisms was their self-presentation, what they claimed to be fighting for.

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examine the evidence relevant to each revolt. Then the question of why “Israel” replaced “Judah” will be addressed. I begin with the Judean government during the first-century rebellion against Rome. Three bodies of data are available. They are the literary sources on the revolt, the coins issued by the rebels, and some documents that may date from this period. We begin with the literary evidence. Not surprisingly, the brief notices by Roman historians do not record what the rebels called themselves or their state. Tacitus, describing conditions inside besieged Jerusalem, reports that there were “three generals and the same number of armies” (Tres duces, totidem exercitus). Subsequent developments left only two factions (factiones) in the city. (Historiae V, 12, 3–4). Cassius Dio, recounting the fall of the Jerusalem temple, describes how the people (demos) were in the courtyard, the councilors (bouleutai) on the steps, and the priests in the sanctuary itself (Historia Romana LXVI, 6, 2). This might indicate a modified polis-like organization of Jerusalem or an interpretatio Graeca of the city government.33 Dio also refers to (Simeon) Bargiora as the “leader” (archon) of the Judeans (Historia Romana LXVI, 6, 3). Neither report tells us what the rebels called their state. More promising as a source for such information is the detailed account of the revolt by Flavius Josephus in his BJ and Life. Josephus is not only a native informant and eyewitness but also a participant. He lived in Jerusalem during the outbreak of the revolt in the spring and summer of 66 and received an appointment from the rebel government in the fall of that year. To be sure, he left the city shortly thereafter to take up his post in the Galilee and did not enter the capital again until after its capture by the Romans. But he continued to be in touch with the rebel leadership in Jerusalem during his service in the north. And his presence in the Roman camp during the siege of Jerusalem and access to escapees and prisoners gave him some information about what was happening inside the rebel capital. More problematic than his absence from Jerusalem for much of the war is the biased nature of his account, which has been the subject of considerable scholarly discussion.34 In any event, Josephus does not help us as much as we might hope in our pursuit of the name of the rebel state. Most commonly he mentions individual leaders (e.g., Ananus son of Ananus, John of Gischala, Simeon son of Giora), 33 34

See the discussion in the note ad loc. in Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. II, p. 376. For general orientations to the life and works, see T. Rajak, Josephus. The Historian and His Society (London: Duckworth, 1983); and P. Bilde, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome. His Life, His Works, and Their Importance (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1988). For a recent treatment of the specific issue of Josephus’ reliability, see Jonathan J. Price, Jerusalem under Siege. The Collapse of the Jewsh State 66–70 c.e. (Leiden: Brill, 1992), “Appendix One: The Bellum Judaicum as an Historical Source,” pp. 180–93.

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groups (e.g., leaders, rebels, brigands, Idumeans), and parties (e.g., Sicarii, Zealots). Only rarely does Josephus mention formal institutions. BJ 4:162 describes how Ananus son of Ananus summoned the people to an assembly (s > s *s + ). Similarly, some role is attributed to “the people” (plethos/demos) at Life 266 and 315. But it is not clear whether we are dealing with regular, formal assemblies. The most frequently mentioned institution is “the   of the Jerusalemites,” alluded to at Life, lines 65, 72, 190, 254, 341, and 393 and, without “of the Jerusalemites,” at lines 267 and 309. Line 62 appears to refer to the same institution by the phrase “the )  of the Jerusalemites,” and BJ 4:213 mentions “those who consulted/met in council on the general weal [ ) 's 0 s].” Thus one could argue for the existence of a formal council in Jerusalem that functioned as the supreme body of the rebel government. The consistent specification of “the Jerusalemites” (compare also Life 28, 217, 237) makes one wonder about the precise nature of this body. Was it perhaps the Jerusalem municipal council?35 Or is this institution, so prominent in the Life but absent in BJ (aside from the uncertain case of 4:213), just a fiction? This is the position taken by Price in his study of the rebel government.36 Again, these questions need not be resolved here. The most important datum for the present discussion is that Josephus never gives a name to the rebel state. Instead he simply refers to the rebels as “the Judeans.” And it is unlikely that this term has any meaning beyond “residents of the territory/province called Judea.” After all, by the time the war broke out, the Roman province of Iudaea had existed for over half a century. The territorial/provincial name would also appear on the series of coins struck by the Flavians to commemorate their triumph: Iudaea Capta and Iudaea Devicta.37 The literary sources thus do not provide us with the name of the rebel state of 66–70. Turning to documentary evidence, we begin with the coins. The coinage, as Kuhn and Tomson noted, attests use of the term “Israel” by the rebel authorities. However, that usage has some ambiguity. It is not completely clear from the coins what the significance of the term is. A review 35

36

37

On the Jerusalem 5 see the discussion and literature cited in Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, pp. 116–18. To the material discussed there add Cassius Dio, Historia Romana, LXVI, 6:2, which mentions the 5 of Jerusalem during a description of the fall of the temple in 70, and the comments, ad loc., of Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. II, p. 376. See Price, Jerusalem under Siege, pp. 64–5, and see pp. 63–7 generally on the “‘Constitution’ and Government” of the “Central Administration.” In addition to the literature cited there, see J. S. McLaren, Power and Politics in Palestine. The Jews and the Governing of Their Land, 100 bc–ad 70 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991 ), pp. 172–84. See Y. Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, 2 Vols. (Dix Hills, NJ: Amphora, 1982), Vol. II, pp. 190–7.

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of the legends on the coins of the first revolt will help frame the discussion. I begin with the date formula. The silver coins (sheqels [tetradrachms], halfsheqels, and quarter-sheqels) bear dates of “1,” and then “Y[ear] 2” through “Y[ear] 5.” That is, the year is indicated by letters of the Hebrew alphabet used numerologically, while the Hebrew word for “year” is abbreviated by its first letter. While the era obviously is one of independence, these coins do not name it. The bronze coins, beginning in year two, bear dates from “year two” through “year four.” The dates are written out in full and appear on the obverse. The reverse of these bronze coins has the phrase “freedom of Zion,” @wyx twrj/trj (in years two and three) or “of/for the redemption [tlagl] of Zion” (in year four).38 It is generally assumed that the latter phrases do not indicate the era. Thus Roth said it was “possible but not probable” that the era was “of the freedom of Zion.” Instead, he argued that the phrases on the reverse were “patriotic slogans.” Similarly, Meshorer assumes they are “a phrase akin to a slogan.”39 In favor of this negative conclusion is the fact that the year and the Zion phrase each appear on different sides on the coins. On the coins of the second revolt, as we shall see, the year and era appear on the same side of the coin. Further, on the bronze coins of year four, the year formula is followed by an indication of denomination. That is, the obverse has “year four half” and “year four quarter.”40 This makes it even less likely that the year formula is to be construed as continuing with the words “of the redemption of Zion” on the reverse. The upshot is that the bronze coins, no more than the silver, do not specify the era being used. The term “Israel” appears only on the silver sheqels (with one possible exception, which is discussed later). These coins bear two phrases in addition to the abbreviated year formula. One phrase, which also appears on the silver halfsheqels and quarter-sheqels, is “Holy Jerusalem.” This is usually compared to the frequent appearance of the adjective “holy” with the names of cities on 38

39

40

The key monograph is L. Kadman, The Coins of the Jewish War of 66–73 c.e. (Corpus Nummorum Palestinensium, III; Tel Aviv: Schocken, 1960). For a survey inclusive of more recent developments, see Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 96–131, 259–63; idem, Treasury of Jewish Coins, pp. 115–34; and see also the discussion in U. Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” in Rappaport, ed., Judea and Rome, pp. 129–32, 359–60, as well as his “Hamered hagadol umahalakho,” in Rappaport, ed., Judea and Rome, pp. 57–8. C. Roth, “The Historical Implications of the Jewish Coinage of the First Revolt,” IEJ 12 (1962), p. 43 with n. 21 ; Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, p. 110. Thus also Price, Jerusalem under Siege, p. 27: the “freedom of Zion” legend is a “slogan” stating the “purpose of the revolutionary state.” Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” p. 131, argues that the “freedom” phrase signifies a state of affairs, not a goal, but he admits that “for the redemption of Zion” clearly states a goal. The significance of the denominations is not relevant to the preceding argument. See the discussion in Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 114–16.

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the municipal coinage of the Hellenistic and early Roman era. In particular, scholars point to the phrase ?@AB@ 3 AC< DC3 C<@EB@ on the Tyrian sheqels, which were “legal tender” in the Jerusalem temple (see discussion later in this chapter). Others note the Phoenician inscription on the Byblian coins: t`dq lbgl.41 In any case, it is the other phrase on the rebel tetradrachms that is crucial for our discussion. This is lar`y lq`. Does this mean “sheqel of Israel,” with the word “Israel” naming the minting authority? In that case, one could conclude that Israel was the name of the rebel state. But some take the minting authority to be Holy Jerusalem. Thus Roth concluded, “It was in a way an urban mint. . . . But at the same time the superscription emphasized the subordination in the new regime of the entire country to the capital city.”42 The references to “Zion” on the bronze coins may reinforce this conclusion. If the coinage is municipal, what is the significance of “Israel” on the sheqels? Meshorer suggests the following: This phrase was depicted because of the repeated rabbinic instruction to use only Tyrian silver when paying tribute money to the Temple. . . . the emphasis of the inscription is both on the word “shekel” which signifies the denomination, and on the word “Israel” noted in contrast to the previous issues ascribed to Tyre.43

Meshorer refers to the famous rabbinic dictum at the end of Tosefta Ketuvot (ed. Lieberman, p. 99): “The money/silver of which the Torah speaks in every place is Tyrian money/silver, yrwx #sk. Tyrian money/silver is Jerusalemite [first edition adds: money/silver].” And in fact Tyrian tetradrachms are common in finds from first-century Judah.44 Meshorer thus argues that the Hebrew words “Israeli Sheqel” are in contrast to “Tyrian Silver,” or “Tyrian Sheqel.” Even though the latter term is not yet attested, documents from the Bar Kokhva revolt do mention “Tyrian sela‘im [a sela‘ = tetradrachm/sheqel]” and “Tyrian 41 42

43 44

See the references in Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” p. 360, n. 8. Roth, “Historical Implication of the Jewish Coinage,” p. 41. Compare Rappaport, “Hamered hagadol umahalakho,” p. 57. On the other hand, L. Mildenberg, The Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War (Aarau/Frankfurt am Main/Salzburg: Sauerl¨ander Verlag, 1984), pp. 61 –2, argues that it was not the city of Jerusalem that was the minting authority, but the rebel administration. Compare his comments regarding the minting authority of the coins of the second revolt, p. 64. One notes that the rebel coins minted at Gamala also have legends that mention Jerusalem. See Chapter 3, n. 58. In any event, Mildenberg does not seem to believe that the minting authority is named on either set of coins. Thus the meaning of “Israel” on the coins still needs to be explained. Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 104–5. See A. Ben-David, Jerusalem und Tyros. Ein Beitrag zur pal¨astinischen M¨unz- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte (126 a.C.–57 p.C.) (Basel: Kyklos-Verlag and T¨ubingen: Mohr, 1969).

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zuzim [a zuz = drachma].”45 This argument seems to imply that “Israel” here does not necessarily indicate the name of the state. In support of this is Rappaport’s argument that the silver coinage was more “restrained” in its expression of nationalistic sentiment. It did not carry either the “freedom of Zion” or “for the redemption of Zion” legends, which appear only on the bronze coins.46 If the silver coins tried to avoid extreme nationalist slogans, then “Israel” on them might indeed simply have the force Meshorer seems to assign it. At the very least, the precise significance of the word on the coins of the first revolt is not as clear as it is in the coins of the second revolt. To be sure, the use of “Israel” contrasts with the use of the geographical–political term “Yehud/Yehudah” on the Persian–Ptolemaic era coins, and with the use of the gentilic “Judeans” on the Hasmonean coinage. It is the first appearance of the word “Israel” on coinage. But the intention of those who put the term on the coins is not self-evident. While the coins leave room for some uncertainty, other documentary evidence may resolve our doubts. That evidence is in date formulas from documents discovered at Wadi Muraba’at. This site is famous for finds relating to the revolt of 132–5, which is discussed later, but some of the material retrieved here dates to the first century. The most certain case is P. Murabba’at 18, dated to “year two of Nero Caesar,” or 55/56. More controversial is P. Murabba’at 19. This is a divorce document that begins “On the first of Marhesvan, year six at Masada.” Milik, the original editor asserted that the unnamed era was that of provincia Arabia and so dated the document to 111 c.e. However, by the mid1960s, Yadin and Koffmahn each (apparently independently) raised doubts about Milik’s view. They suggested the era could be that of the revolt of 66. While the rebel capital fell in the first half of the fifth year of that era, Masada held out for three additional years. Assuming they continued to use the rebel era, year six would be 71 /72 c.e.47 If this view is correct, then we have a second document dated to the first century. Clearly we cannot automatically assume that documents found at Murabba’at date from the revolt of 132–5. This is the case with P. Murabba’at 23, a fragmentary text bearing the date “On 10 Shevat 45

46 47

Both terms appear in papyrus Hever 8, while the former appears in Hever 47b. See A. Yardeni, Judean Desert Studies. “Nahal Se’elim” Documents (Jerusalem: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press and Israel Exploration Society, 1995), p. 38, n. 24 [Hebrew]. Note also Papyrus Murabba‘at 115, a remarriage document from 124 c.e. In line 5 the word !)  clearly refers to sheqels, and Milik in fact translates “(sicles) tyriens.” See Benoit et al., Les Grottes de Murabba‘at, p. 248, for the text and p. 250 for the translation. Compare the discussion in Y. Yadin, J. C. Greenfield, and A. Yardeni, “Babatha’s Ketubba,” IEJ 44 (1994), pp. 90–1. Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” pp. 131 –2. For discussion with references to the scholarly literature, see D. Goodblatt, “Dating Documents in Provincia Iudaea: A Note on Papyri Murabba‘at 19 and 20,” IEJ 49 (1999), pp. 249–59.

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year one of the free[dom of. . . .” The original editor assumed the era was that of the freedom of Israel used during the revolt of 132–5. Others raised the possibility that the phrase should be completed “freedom of Zion” as on the coins of the revolt of 66–70. However, as argued previously, there is no evidence for a freedom of Zion era from the coins, nor from any other documents. On the other hand, other Murabba’at documents may attest that a freedom of Israel era was used during the earlier revolt. The documents in question are P. Murabba’at 22, 25, 29, 30. Milik had dated them all to the revolt of 132–5. Recently Eshel, Broshi, and Jull have argued that they actually date to the first century.48 In the case of 22 and 29, the results of Carbon 14 testing indicate a dating between 91 b.c.e. and 78 c.e. This of course precludes an origin in the second-century revolt. But Carbon 14 dating is far from definitive, especially when we are trying to differentiate between events separated by less than seventy years.49 Fortunately, there are additional arguments for a first-century dating. P. Mur. 29 and 30 are sales documents in Hebrew. 29 bears the date “On the fourteenth of Elul, year two of the redemption of Israel in Jerusalem.” 30 is dated “On the twenty-first of Tishre year four of the redemption of Israel in Jerusalem.” As Eshel, Broshi, and Jull note, the overwhelming majority of historians and archaeologists deny that the rebels ever held the city of Jerusalem during the revolt of 132. It is especially unlikely that they would have held it in Tishre of year 4, or September 135. By contrast, in September 69 (= Tishre, year 4 of the first revolt) Jerusalem was still in Jewish hands. On historical grounds, then, Papyri 29 and 30 are more probably assigned to the revolt of 66–70. A similar argument can be made for P. Mur. 25. Its date is in Marheshvan, “yea]r three of the freedom of Jer[u]salem in. . . .” In this case the place where the document was written is missing. But if Jerusalem never was in rebel hands during the second revolt, a dating to the freedom of the city would not make sense. Consequently P. Mur. 25 should be assigned to the first revolt, when Jerusalem served as the rebel capital. The case of P. Mur. 22 is somewhat weaker, but perhaps still sufficient. As noted, the Carbon 14 results argue for a

48

49

See H. Eshel et al., “Documents from Mura‘abat [sic],” pp. 233–9. All the arguments except for the length of the lacuna in P. Mur. 22 come from this discussion. The arguments are available in English in H. Eshel, “Documents of the First Jewish Revolt from the Judean Desert,” pp. 157–63. For example, XHev/Se 8a, which bears a date equivalent to 134 or 135, was given a Carbon 14 dating of 237–40 by the laboratory in Tucson used by Eshel, Broshi, and Jull. A laboratory in Zurich produced a Carbon 14 dating of 77–132 for Mur 30, which bears a date equivalent to either September 69 or September 135. See Webster, “Chronological Index of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” p. 364.

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first-revolt provenance. And Ada Yardeni read the date as “On 14 Marheshvan year four of the redemption of Is[ra]el,” rather than “year one” as read by Milik. If we assign this document to the second revolt, then the document was executed in October of 135. But most historians believe the revolt had already been crushed by this date, making use of the freedom era unlikely.50 Moreover, the lacuna between the words “redemption of Israel” and the probable appearance of the word zuzim (= drachmas) at the end of the line does not appear to have enough room for the Simeon formula that is characteristic (as we shall see) of documents from the revolt of 132. So the weight of the evidence points to a first-revolt provenance for P. Mur. 22. Another argument may be adduced for Mur. 22 along with 29 and 30. A single exemplar of bronze coin bears on one side the inscription “Holy Jerusalem” used on the silver coins of the revolt of 66. On the other side most of the inscription is missing, but the last three letters of the five-letter Hebrew name “Israel” can be read. In light of the bronze coins with the inscriptions “freedom/ redemption of Zion,” a restoration “[freedom/redemption of Is]rael” seems reasonable. Although this need not be a date formula, as the Zion formulas are not, it does attest use of a phrase similar to what appears on the three documents mentioned earlier. Of course, this assumes the coin is genuine.51 A final argument applies to both these texts and Mur. 25. Eshel, Broshi, and Jull mention that the date formulas in these four documents do not mention the name of Simeon son of Kosiba, leader of the revolt of 132. This, they continue, allows the possibility of dating to the earlier revolt. This point in fact can be developed. Simeon’s name appears in almost all of the date formulas from the second-century revolt with an era of “freedom” or “redemption.” As will be specified later, there are twelve or thirteen documents dated to “the redemption of Israel by Simeon son Kosiba nasi’ of Israel,” five are dated to years “of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel,” two have dates “of the freedom of Israel in the name of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel,” one has a date “of the freedom of Israel by/in the days of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel,” and one has a date “of the freedom of Israel” combined with “Simeon son of 50

51

See however W. Eck and G. Foerster, “Ein Triumphbogen f¨ur Hadrian im Tal von Beth Shean bei Tel Shalem,” JRA 12 (1999), pp. 294–313. They raise the possibility that the revolt lasted into 136. On this view, a date in the fall of year four would not rule out attribution to the revolt of 132. See R. Deutsch, “A Unique Prutah from the First Year of the Jewish War against Rome,” INJ 12 (1992–3), pp. 71 –2; Meshorer, Treasury of Jewish Coins, p. 120. The assignment to year one is based on the ungrammatical form of “Holy Jerusalem” (with the adjective in absolute state) that appears on the sheqels of the first year only. Meshorer suggests this was a prototype for the bronze coins issued in years two through four. Why the minters decided to change the inscriptions is not explained. Could this coin be a forgery that unthinkingly copied inscriptions from the sheqels?

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Kosiba nasi’ of Israel” but with a lacuna where “by” or “in the name/days of” would appear. There are seven documents with “freedom” or “redemption” date formulas that do not mention Simeon: P. Mur. 22, 23, 25, 29, 30, XHev/Se 8a, and Sdeir 2. We should set Mur. 22 and 23 and Sdeir 2 to one side, since the date formulas have lacunae where Simeon’s name could have appeared. This leaves twenty-one or twenty-two formulas with Simeon’s name and only four definitely without. Further, of the four formulas omitting his name, three can be assigned to the first revolt on historical grounds as argued previously. This suggests that date formulas of the revolt of 132–5 normally mentioned the name of Simeon. One is tempted to generalize that all “freedom” or “redemption” dates without the name of Simeon should be assigned to the earlier revolt. This would give us an additional reason for considering P. Mur. 25 a first-century document. Admittedly, there is an element of circularity here. And the case of XHev/Se 8a warns us against generalizing. This is an Aramaic deed of sale dated “On ten[th]/twen[tieth] of Ada[r] year three of the freedom of Israel in Kefar Baro.” Despite the omission of the name of Simeon, this document dates to the second revolt. The handwriting is the same as that in XHev/Se 8, which bears the date “[On the . . . ] of Adar, year three of the freedom of Is[ra]el by/in the days of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Isra[el in Kefar] Baro.”52 Still, the fact remains that we have only one document datable to the revolt of 132 that omits the name of Simeon. I am aware of no other cases datable by the identity of the scribe, as in the preceding case, or by the names of principals known from other documents. So despite the danger of circular reasoning underlined by the two Hev/Se texts, the following conclusion seems reasonable. Mentioning the name of Simeon son of Kosiba appears to be the norm for second-revolt date formulas. Thus the absence of his name in P. Mur. 25, 29, and 30 (and possible absence in 22 if in fact the lacuna is not wide enough) reinforces the other arguments of Eshel, Broshi, and Jull. If P. Mur. 22, 29, and 30 belong to the revolt of 66, we can resolve the ambiguity of the coins. We recall that the silver coins of that revolt bore the legend “Sheqel of Israel.” The contemporary dating formula “year such and such of the redemption of Israel” shows that Israel was in fact the name of the national entity established by the rebels. The significance of the choice of this name will be addressed after we survey the evidence for the revolt of 132–5. For the second-century uprising it is clearer still, thanks to unambiguous coin

52

Both documents are published by Yardeni in Hannah M. Cotton and Ada Yardeni, Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Nahal Hever and Other Sites (DJD XXVII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997). See p. 35 for Yardeni’s consent to the view, previously argued by others, that the same scribe wrote 8 and 8a.

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legends and a significant body of documents, that the rebels called their state “Israel.” I shall begin with the numismatic evidence, and then I shall survey the documents. In the present context we can ignore a series of problems raised by the coin inscriptions. For example, we need not resolve the question of the meaning of the legend “Jerusalem,” the identity of “Eleazar the Priest,” or the difference between “freedom” (twrj) and “redemption” (hlwag). The meaning of the legend “of/for the freedom of Jerusalem” on coins of the third year of the revolt is less easily ignored, since it might be a date formula. But recent scholarship views it a slogan, not a date formula. And for our purposes we can concentrate on what is clear in the coin inscriptions. The latter includes the date formulas of the coinage of the first two years of the revolt. Coins of the first year bear the inscription “year one of the redemption of Israel.” Those from the second year have “y[ear] 2 of the free[dom] of Israel.” Also clear is the identity of the Simeon whose name appears on many of the coins. This is beyond any doubt Simeon son of Kosiba. Some of the legends include his title, “nasi’ of Israel.”53 Both the date formulae and the title of Simeon can now be paralleled from the documents discovered in Wadi Murabba‘at, allegedly in Wadi Seiyal/Nahal Se’elim, in Nahal Hever, and in Wadi Sdeir/Nahal David. Over twenty documents bear date formulas from the revolt of 132–5. We can be certain of this dating if the formula mentions Simeon son of Kosiba. In cases where Simeon’s name is missing, we could still be sure of a second-revolt date if the principals named or the scribe’s handwriting appear in another document that names Simeon son of Kosiba, or if the paleography points to the second century. I shall cite the various formulae according to frequency, and then chronologically within each category.54

53

54

See A. Kindler, “Matbe’ot milhemet Bar-Kokhva,” in A. Oppenheimer, ed., The Bar-Kokhva Revolt (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center and Historical Society of Israel, 1980), pp. 159– 77 [Hebrew]; Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 132–65, 264–77; L. Mildenberg, Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War. For the view that the legend “for the freedom of Jerusalem” is a propaganda slogan, see Mildenberg, pp. 29–31; Eshel et al., “Documents from Wadi Mura‘abat,” pp. 237–8. The citations follow the following system. “Mur” stands for the Murabba‘at documents, with the numbers those used by Milik in Benoit, Milik, and DeVaux, eds., Les Grottes de Murabba‘at (DJD II). XHev/Se refers to documents alleged to come from Wadi Seiyal but more probably from Nahal Hever. The numbers are those in the edition of these texts by Ada Yardeni in Cotton and Yardeni, Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Nahal Hever and Other Sites. 5/6 Hev stands for the documents from the caves excavated by Yadin in 1960–1. The numbers are those used in Yadin et al., eds., The Documents from the Bar-Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters. Hebrew, Aramaic and Nabatean-Aramaic Papyri (JDS; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2002). The editors of this volume also use the designation “P. Yadin.” See pp. XVI–XVII for equivalences. I shall ignore here the various orthographies of the name “Kosiba” and of the Hebrew title nasi’.

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A. “Of the redemption of Israel by Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.” One possible example and twelve or thirteen clear examples. 1. 5/6Hev 42 (= P. Yadin 42). An Aramaic land lease dated “On the first of Iyyar y[ear] one of the redemption of I[s]rael [by Simeo]n son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.” This could be also be “in the days/name of” as in C or D below. But I prefer to list it with the more common and less problematic formula. 2. XHev/Se 49. A Hebrew acknowledgment of debt dated “On the twentieth of [or: twenty and 1 ] Kislev year two [of the redem]ption of Israel by Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.” 3.-13. or 14. Mur 24. Extracts of eleven or twelve leases in Hebrew all dated to “On the twentieth of Shevat year two of the redemption of Israel by Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.”55 B. “Of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.” Four clear examples and one probable example. 1. 5/6Hev 44 (= P. Yadin 44). A Hebrew document concerning leased land dated “On the twenty-eighth of Marheshvan year three of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel in En Geddi.” 2. 5/6 Hev 45 (= P. Yadin 45). A Hebrew document concerning leased land dated “On the second of Kislev year three of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.” 3. 5/6Hev 46 (= P. Yadin 46). Same date. 4. 5/6Hev 47 (= P. Yadin 47). A sale deed dated to 24 Tevet, year three of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel. 5. 5/6Hev 43 (= P. Yadin 43). A receipt dated to a missing year of Simeon bar Kosiba. The title “nasi’ etc.” is not used here, perhaps because of the brief nature of the document. C. “Of the freedom of Israel in the name of [?] Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.” Two examples.56 1. XHev/Se 7. An Aramaic deed of sale dated “On the fourteenth of Iyyar year three of the freedom of Israel in the name of [Sim]eon son of [Kosiba etc.].”

55

56

The formula is not complete in any of the eleven or twelve extracts but can be confidently restored on most of them. See Benoit et al., Les Grottes de Murabba‘at, pp. 122–34. Milik, p. 126, at Mur 24 B line 2, argues that the phrase dy l[ means “par l’autorit´e.” This suggestion is possible in the present case, for these are official government documents leasing out “crown land.” But XHev/Se 49 is a private document. In this case translating “by the authority of Simeon” makes no sense. Both of the examples come from documents written by the same scribe. See Yardeni in Cotton and Yardeni, Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts, p. 20.

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2. XHev/Se 13. An Aramaic receipt dated “On the twentieth of Sivan year three of the freedom of Israel in the name of Sime[o]n son of Kosiba na[si]’ of Israel.” D. “Of the freedom of Israel by/in the days of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel.” One clear example. 1. XHev/Se 8. An Aramaic deed of sale of a house dated “[On the . . . ] of Adar, year three of the freedom of Is[ra]el by/in the days of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Isra[el in Kefar] Baro.”57 E. “Of the freedom of Israel.” One clear example. 1. XHev/Se 8a. An Aramaic deed of sale of a house dated “On the ten[th]/twen[tieth] of Ada[r] year three of the freedom of Israel in Kefar Baro/Bero.”58 As noted previously, this was written in the same handwriting as XHev/Se 8. We can thus date it to the revolt of 132–5 even though the Simeon formula is lacking. F. “Of the redemption of Israel.” One case. 1. 1. Sdeir 2. An Aramaic document dated “On the sixth of Adar year three of the redemption of Israe[l. . . .” Since the lacuna prevents us from knowing the continuation, one must allow for the possibility that Simeon’s name does not occur. Yardeni asserts that the paleography indicates an early second-century date.59 On this basis she reconstructs the Simeon formula. All but one of the twenty-two or twenty-three documents in which the date formula is (more or less) complete mention Simeon, and all of those but one mention his title as nasi’ of Israel. Five of them date simply to an era of Simeon. Thirteen or fourteen dates use a redemption of Israel era; four use a freedom of Israel era. If we reject the arguments given earlier concerning P. Mur. 22, 25, 29, and 30 and follow Milik in assigning them to the revolt of 132–5, little changes. 22, 29, and 30 all have the redemption of Israel formula, as does Sdeir 2. The most significant deviation would be in P. Mur. 25. It uses a freedom of Jerusalem era. One could see this departure from the reference 57

58

59

The text reads ymy l[, “in the days of.” M. Broshi and E. Qimron, “A House Sale Deed from Kefar Baru from the Time of Bar Kokhba,” IEJ 36 (1986), pp. 207, suggest this is a mistake for ydy l[ (= “by”). However, see Yardeni in Cotton and Yardeni, Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts, p. 14, who argues that “in the days of” was intended by the scribe and thus the reading should not be corrected. For the reading and vocalization of the name of the village, see J. Naveh, “Beshule hashetarot mikefar baro,” in M. Goshen-Gottstein et al., eds., Shai leHayyim Rabin (Jerusalem: Akademon, 5751), pp. 231 –4. On the paleography see Yardeni’s comments in Charlesworth et al., Miscellaneous Texts from the Judaean Desert, p. 126.

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to “Israel” as further proof of a first-revolt provenance for this document. On the other hand, the phrase “of/for the freedom of Jerusalem” appears on coins of the second revolt, not on those of the revolt of 66.60 In any case, the other significant deviation would be the omission of Simeon in P. Mur. 25, 29, and 30. (I ignore P. Mur. 22 and Sdeir 2, where a lacuna makes it impossible to know for certain that Simeon did not appear.) What emerges is the clear preponderance of the use of the name “Israel” in dating formulas on the documents. It occurs in both the redemption and freedom formulas as well as in the title “nasi’ of Israel.” The documentary evidence conforms to the previously cited numismatic data. Simeon’s title also appears in an Aramaic letter issued in his name (5/6 Hev. 54) and in a Hebrew one addressed to him (XHev/ Se 30). It further occurs on lead weights apparently issued by Simeon’s administration.61 Note that the combination of the title nasi’ with “of Israel” is not common in extant Hebrew literature. Indeed, in all pre-132 sources, I am aware of only one instance: Ezekiel 21 :30 referring to King Zedekiah of Judah.62 To my mind, this makes the use of “of Israel” in Simeon’s title all the more significant. Be that as it may, the most common dating formula was “of the redemption of Israel,” and the leader of the revolt bore the title “nasi’ of Israel.” In contrast, I found the term “Judeans” 60

61 62

I ignore the document cited by Y. Yadin, “Comments on the Role of Hideaways in Bar-Kokhba’s Strategy, and Some Notes on Documents of Bar-Kokhba,” Cathedra 26 (1982), p. 44, as bearing the date “year three of the redemption of Zion by Simeon son of Kosiba.” One wonders if there was a slip of the pen here, substituting “Zion” for “Israel.” In the continuation Yadin refers to the coin legends “redemption of Zion” and “freedom of Zion.” Of course, the latter appear on coins of the first revolt only. Most importantly, with the publication of the Hever documents now complete, no such formula appears. See A. Kloner, “Lead Weights of Bar Kokhba’s Administration,” IEJ 40 (1990), pp. 58–67. On the history of the title nasi’, see D. M. Goodblatt, “The Title Nasi’ and the Ideological Background of the Second Revolt,” in A. Oppenheimer and U. Rappaport, eds., The BarKokhva Revolt. A New Approach (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben Zvi, 1984), pp. 113–32, and the literature cited there. Add M. Jacobs, Die Institution des j¨udischen Patriarchen. Eine quellenund traditionskritische Studie zur Geschichte der Juden in der Sp¨atantike (TSAJ 52; T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), pp. 18–25; Efrat Habas (Rubin), “Shim’on ben Kosba vehato’ar ‘nasi’,” in J. Schwartz, Z. Amar, and I. Ziffer, eds., Jerusalem and Eretz Israel. Arie Kindler Volume (Tel Aviv: Ingborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies, Bar-Ilan University and Eretz Israel Museum, 2000), pp. 133–46 [Hebrew]; Yadin et al., eds., Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters, “Appendix A: Bar-Kokhba’s Title lar`y ay`n ‘Premier of Israel,’” pp. 369–72. From the Bible one could also cite Ezekiel 45:16, “the nasi’ in Israel.” (II Chronicles 1 :2 refers to a plurality of officials, despite the singular form. That is, these nasi’s are not the supreme leader.) While the title itself appears in literature found at Qumran, it does not occur in construct with “Israel.” One could refer to the CD 7:20, where “the nasi ’ of the whole congregation” is the interpretation given to the phrase “a comet will arise from Israel” at Numbers 24:17. But the explicit combination of the two words is still lacking. The occurrence of “the nasi’ of Israel” at Tosefta Horayot 2:2 is probably post–second revolt; compare Jacobs, Institution des j¨udischen Patriarchen, p. 32.

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only once in the documents of the second revolt. This is in 5/6 Hev 52, a Greek letter possibly written by a non-Jew.63 Thus the conclusion seems obvious. The entity liberated by the rebels of 132 and ruled by their leader Simeon son of Kosiba was called “Israel.”64 Another term appearing in the second revolt is worthy of note. This is the phrase “the house of Israel” (lar`y tyb). A Hebrew letter, 5/6Hev 49, is from Simeon son of Kosiba to Masabala and Jonathan son of Ba’ayan in En Geddi. It accuses the recipients of “eating and drinking from the property of the house of Israel and not caring for your brothers for anything.” Another Hebrew letter, Mur 42, is from the parnasin of Bet Mashikho to Yeshu’a son of Galgula “head of the camp.” The letter concludes with the words “Be [in] peace with all the house of Israel.” Yeshu’a is the recipient of letters from Simeon son of Kosiba (Mur 43 and 44), so both occurrences of the phrase “the house of Israel” come from the second-revolt era. Pardee, making the connection between the two letters, asserted that the phrase refers to “the Jewish community supporting and participating in the revolt against the Romans.”65 While Pardee’s interpretation is reasonable, one wonders whether a more technical meaning is possible. Perhaps “the house of Israel” is the second-century Hebrew equivalent of what we would call “the state of Israel.” An examination of the phrase is in order. To begin with, the phrase has much more ample precedent than the combination “nasi’ of Israel.” One can find over 140 instances of the phrase “house of Israel” in the Hebrew Bible.66 In postbiblical literature one finds it six times in Judith (4:15; 6:17; 8:6; 13:14; 14:10; 16:24), three times in the Psalms of Solomon (9:11 ; 10:8; 17:42), and once in Baruch (2:26). Most often it occurs in poetic passsages or liturgical contexts. The phrase occurs six times in the New 63

64

65

66

See the edition and thorough discussion of this letter, with references to earlier literature, by Hannah Cotton in Yadin et al., eds., Documents from the Bar-Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters, pp. 351 –62. Following the reading of Yadin and others, the letter refers to “the camp of the Judeans,” )54 23. Cotton argues that the author of the letter, Soumaios, was a Nabataean. A parallel Aramaic letter, 5/6Hev 57, does not contain any gentilic or ethnic terms. But another letter to the same addressees does mention “the house of Israel.” See discussion later in chapter. Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, p. 136, argues that “Israel” on the coins “refers to the people, not to the state although the two concepts certainly remain related.” I am not sure what to make of this. D. Pardee, Handbook of Ancient Hebrew Letters (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982), p. 125, ad Mur 42, line 7. Compare Yadin et al., eds., Documents from the Bar-Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters, p. 284. In their comment on the phrase in 5/6Hev 49, they write, “It is suggestive that the letter employs the biblical designation ‘the House of Israel’ . . . idiomatically, as a way of designating the network of communities under Shim’on’s command.” The authors do not explain what it suggests. For a survey of biblical usage see Harvey, True Israel, pp. 160–4.

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Testament. In half of these instances, the Hebrew Bible is being quoted: Acts 7:42 quoting Amos 5:25, and Acts 8:8, 10 quoting Jeremiah 31 :31, 33. In Acts 2:36 the phrase occurs in the Pentecost sermon of Peter that is replete with biblical quotations. Of some interest are the two occurrences in Matthew, at 10:6 and 15:24. In each case the context is the assertion that the mission of Jesus was not to the Samaritans (in 10:6: or to the gentiles) but “to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” While the metaphor of lost sheep appears in Jeremiah 50:6, it is not followed by mention of our phrase. In the literature from Qumran, there are three possible references to the phrase “house of Israel,” and two more passages have the plural “houses of Israel.”67 Beginning with the singular form, in both 4Q382 and 4Q391 the passages are too fragmentary to allow us to say much, while in 4Q161 the reading of “house” is uncertain.68 Of the two instances of the plural form, one appears irrelevant. The phrase in 4Q270 seems to mean “the homes of Israel,” as Baumgarten translates it.69 On the other hand, the plural form in CD VII, 12 is relevant. There “the two houses of Israel” refer to Ephraim and Judah.70 In sum, the phrase does appear in Qumran writings, but is less frequent than other locutions involving the name “Israel.” While much of rabbinic literature is considerably later than the second revolt, it is still worth examining. In the earliest strata, tannaitic documents, the phrase is rare. Thus in the Mishnah, from the early third century, I found only a single instance. At Yoma 6:2 the phrase appears in the high priest’s prayer during the temple ritual for the Day of Atonement. Elsewhere in rabbinic documents it tends to occur in liturgical and rhetorical settings. This conforms to the situation in the postbiblical and New Testament sources surveyed earlier, and it recalls the

67 68

69

70

See Abegg, “Concordance of Proper Names in the Non-biblical Texts from Qumran,” s.v. Israel, pp. 260–6. See 4Qpap paraKings et al. [= 4Q 382] 43, 1 (DJD XIII), p. 383; 4Qpap Pseudo-Ezekiel [= 4Q391 ] 56, 3 in M. Broshi, et al., eds., Qumran Cave 4, XIV: Parabiblical Texts, Part 2 (DJD XIX; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 181, and plate XXIII. Regarding the latter passage, one recalls that most of the occurrences of the phrase “house of Israel” in the Bible appear in the Book of Ezekiel. The third passage is 4QpIsa [= 4Q161 ] 8–10:3 in Allegro, Qumran Cave 4, I, p. 13. On the other hand, Maurya Horgan, Pesharim. Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979), p. 83, reads dyb instead of tyb in the last passage. Her suggestion is followed by J. H. Charlesworth, Graphic Concordance to the Dead Sea Scroll (T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck and Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1991 ), p. 70, s.v., tyb, and pp. 293–5, s.v., lar`y. See 4Q Damascus Documente 3ii19, p. 147, in J. M. Baumgarten, Qumran Cave 4. XIII. The Damascus Document (4Q266–273), with translation on p. 148 and note citing Ezekiel 44:30 on p. 149. See Magen Broshi, ed., The Damascus Documents Reconsidered (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Israel Museum, Shrine of the Book, 1992), p. 22.

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contexts where Kuhn found the name “Israel” – as opposed to “Judeans” – in Jewish Greek literature. The literary evidence thus suggests that the phrase “the house of Israel” constituted “elevated language.” Such language appears elsewhere in the second revolt letters (e.g., Mur 43, line three: “I call heaven to witness for me”). But finding our phrase twice in letters from different writers is somewhat surprising. If “house of Israel” had some official standing, its appearances in the letters would be easily understandable. However, the claim cannot be proved. Let us summarize the evidence. What has emerged is a definite contrast between the Hasmonean state on the one hand and the state of the rebels of 66 and those of 132 on the other. Admittedly, the evidence concerning the former is less than one would hope for. But we do have I Maccabees and the coinage. As I shall argue in the next chapter, the available evidence suggests that the Hasmonean state used the term “the Judeans.” By contrast, considerable documentation points to use of “Israel” by the regime of Simeon son of Kosiba. The case of the rebel state of 66–70 is slightly less clear, but the weight of the evidence aligns it more with the second revolt than with the Hasmoneans. As we saw, the testimony of the coin legends is not transparent, but they did mention “Israel” rather than “Judah.” Moreover, P. Mur. 22, 29, and 30 could resolve any uncertainty. If they do come from the first revolt, they prove that the rebels of 66 also adopted an era “of the redemption of Israel.” And this, in turn, would make it likely that the coin legend “Sheqel of Israel” names the minting authority. That is, the first-century rebel regime already preferred the name “Israel.” Why did the anti-Roman rebels of both the first and second century depart from the model created by their precursors, the anti-Seleucid rebels of 167–142 b.c.e.? As mentioned previously, Kuhn had already noted this shift and sought to explain it. On the one hand, the evidence he himself had assembled showed that the weight of the Jewish literary heritage gave precedence to the name “Israel” for self-description. However, by 66 c.e. use of “Judah” and “Judeans” to denominate the state had two centuries of tradition behind it. So had the rebels used these terms, we would now find it understandable. Similarly, we would not be surprised if Simeon son of Kosiba had called himself “nasi’ of the Judeans.” After all, the title “nasi’ of Israel” had only a marginally better biblical pedigree. Ezekiel’s references to the “nasi’ of Israel” and the “nasi’ in Israel” could be balanced by the mention in Ezra 1 :8 of “Sheshbazzar the nasi’ for Judah.” But the Hasmonean terminology for the name of the state did not recur, neither among the freedom fighters of 66 nor among those of 132. Was the preference for “Israel” over “Judeans” in the first two centuries a conscious, deliberate choice? Kuhn believed it was and suggested that the

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choice was the result of a messianic ideology.71 Many, if by no means all, scholars agree on the basis of rabbinic and patristic sources that the revolt of 132 had messianic overtones.72 However, evidence for messianism in the first revolt is meager.73 Since the revolt of 66 apparently set the precedent for preferring the name “Israel,” explanations that do not invoke messianism should be examined. Could this preference reflect an attempt to differentiate the rebel regime(s) from the Hasmonean–Herodian state “of the Judeans,” or from the Roman province of Iudaea? Certainly the rebels would want to emphasize the discontinuity with the imperial provincial structures. Such a distancing would also be understandable with regard to the “client kingdom” of Herodian Judah. But perhaps the rebels also wanted to distinguish themselves from the Hasmonean regime. Simeon son of Kosiba certainly did not follow the leadership model provided by the Hasmoneans. The “priestly monarchy” of the latter was replaced by the “nasi’-ship” of Simeon, apparently side by side with a priest. Admittedly if Simeon were not a priest, he would perforce have to separate the priestly and political leadership functions. But a case can be made that a diarchy of lay prince and (high) priest had been adopted during the first revolt as well. If so, the leader of the second revolt might have been following non-Hasmonean precedents.74 If in fact the shift in nomenclature reflects a rejection of Hasmonean models, then perhaps we need to rethink the attempts to connect the anti-Roman ideologies of the rebels with Hasmonean tradition.75 Clearly these issues are subjects for further reflection. But they do reinforce the argument of Anderson that the issues examined here are more than a matter of “mere” names. Despite the difference between Hasmonean use of “Judah” and the choice of “Israel” by the rebels of 132, some have argued for at least some continuity between Simeon son of Kosiba and the priestly ruling house of the second and first centuries b.c.e. That continuity involves the title nasi’. Alon and Yadin asserted that Simeon the Hasmonean bore the title of nasi’. More recently, the editors of the Hever documents concur and add that Simeon’s predecessor and brother, Jonathan, might already have borne this 71 72

73 74 75

Kuhn, ThWAT, III, p. 362. For a survey of opinions and literature, see Menachem Mor, The Bar-Kochba Revolt. Its Extent and Effect (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi and Israel Exploration Society, 1991 ), pp. 192–210, 228–9. See Tessa Rajak, “Jewish Millenarian Expectations,” in Berlin and Overman, eds., First Jewish Revolt, pp. 164–88, especially pp. 180–2. On priestly monarchy and diarchy in Judah during second temple times, see Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, Chapters 1 –3, pp. 6–76. See Farmer, Maccabees, Zealots and Josephus, and Ben-Shalom, School of Shammai and the Zealots’ Struggle against Rome.

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title.76 As I have noted elsewhere, we have no Hebrew or Aramaic attestation of the title for the Hasmoneans. As will be discussed in detail in the next chapter, the Hebrew titles preserved on the coins are “high priest,” “head of the hever of the Judeans,” and “king.” To be sure, the Hasmonean coins begin after the reign of Jonathan and Simeon, and neither of them held the royal title. But both certainly served as high priests, and both could have used the second title (“head of the hever”) as well. Further, one is hard pressed to find continuities between the legends of the Hasmonean coins and those of Simeon son of Kosiba. Instead the coins of the second revolt use many of the same terms that appeared on coins of the first revolt but are absent from the Hasmonean coinage. These are “Israel,” “Jerusalem,” “freedom,” and “redemption.” The use of paleo-Hebrew script is common to all three sets of coinage, but Simeon son of Kosiba could have copied this feature from the coins of the revolt of 66. The only feature shared by the Hasmonean coins and those of the second century but not by the coins of the first revolt is the naming of leaders and their titles. But in light of all the other differences, this common feature need not prove influence. Simeon did not have to go back to the Hasmonean coins for the idea of putting his name and title on the coins. All he had to do was look at the coins his minters were preparing to overstrike. Most of them bore the name and the portrait of the Roman emperor. That may have been all the inspiration the rebel leader needed in order to direct that his government’s coins bear the inscription “Simeon nasi’ of Israel.” In sum, the argument for continuity between the Hasmoneans and the second revolt remains weak. At the very least, it is outweighed by the considerable evidence for the differences, above all in the name of the state. That same crucial factor differentiates the regime of 66–70 from the Hasmoneans. In any case, one conclusion seems certain. The revolts of the first and second century attest a nationalist ideology centered on the concept of “Israel.” It is possible that the Israel nationalism of the revolts of 66 and 132 reinforced the tendency of Hebrew literature to use “Israel” as the internal designation for what we today would tend to refer to as “the Jews.” Certainly early rabbinic

76

See G. Alon, Toldot hayehudim be’eres yisra’el betequfat hamishnah vehatalmud (Second Edition; Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Mameuchad Ltd., 1961 ), Vol. II, p. 36 [Hebrew]. Alon argues explicitly there that in adopting the title nasi’ the rebels of 132 renewed the original (preroyalist) Hasmonean regime. Y. Yadin, Milhemet bene ’or bivne hoshekh (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1955), pp. 41 –2, n. 16, finds the title nasi’ in the garbled transliteration of Hebrew words at I Maccabees 14:27. Yadin et al., Documents from the Bar-Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters, pp. 369–72, argue that in adopting the title nasi’ Bar Kokhva modeled himself on “one or more of the Maccabees,” by which they mean the Hasmoneans.

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literature strongly prefers “Israel” whether speaking of an individual Jew or of the Jewish people.77 Rabbinic materials emerge as a literature beginning in the late first century. The earlier strata of rabbinic literature thus reinforce the preference for an Israel nationalism evidenced among the rebels of 66 and 132.

77

See S. Stern, Jewish Identity in Early Rabbinic Writings, pp. 10–11.

6


Judah Nationalism

A

ccording to the biblical narratives, judah was one of the twelve sons of Jacob/Israel. All the sons engendered tribes that bore their names, and these constitute the twelve tribes of Israel. Thus the tribe of Judah was one of the twelve, and members of the tribe were part of “the sons/children of Israel.” The biblical account further related how a member of the tribe of Judah, David, became king of the united Israelite monarchy. Though the united monarchy split in the time of his grandson, the dynasty founded by David retained the kingship of the rump southern kingdom that took the name “Judah.” As already noted, some skeptical scholars doubt the existence of the united monarchy and even the existence of a historical David.1 Even more moderate critics debate the nature of the relation between the tribe of Judah and the tribes that formed the northern kingdom of Israel. Despite all these doubts and debates, the existence of an Iron Age kingdom of Judah is beyond question. Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian epigraphic material attests such a state from the late eighth century b.c.e. onward.2 The precise status and fate of this territory during the half century of Neo-Babylonian domination is unclear.3 In any case, “Judah” appears in the Persian period as the name of the imperial subprovince located on (part of) the territory of the former kingdom. Thus the Persian-appointed governor bore the title “hjp of Judah” as both biblical and extrabiblical evidence attests. The extrabiblical evidence, the Elephantine papyri, also attests the phrase “the nobles of Judah.”4 “Judah” 1 2 3 4

See the summary and literature cited in Lemche, Israelites in History and Tradition, pp. 155–6. See the summary and references in ibid., pp. 54–5. See the literature cited in Chapter 5, n. 13 in this book. The title “hjp of Judah” appears at Haggai 1:1, 14; 2:2, 21, and in Papyrus Cowley 30, line 1. For the latter see B. Porten and A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt (4 Vols.; Jerusalem: Hebrew University, Department of the History of the Jewish People, 1986),

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also appears on coins. The Persian era coins bear the legend dhy, presumably yehud, the Aramaic form of “Judah.”5 The survival of the name into the Persian era can be considered an accident of history. As noted previously, the former Kingdom of Israel did not retain its name after it lost its independence. The Assyrians established in its place and on its territory two provinces: Megiddo and Samaria. These provinces thus bore the names of cities, presumably their provincial capitals. In the case of Samaria, the city had also been the last capital of the now-defunct Kingdom of Israel. The other Assyrian province west of the Rift Valley whose name we know also bears the name of its major city: Dor. By contrast, some of the provinces created by subsequent empires preserve the name of the kingdoms they replaced. In Persian era sources we find not only the province of Judah, but apparently also those of Ammon and Moab. Whether this practice goes back to the Babylonians is debated.6 Be that as it may, had it been the Assyrians who reduced Judah, the province might have been called “Jerusalem.” And that name probably would have remained in use under the Persians, just as the provincial name “Samaria” did. Thus documents from Elephantine and Wadi Daliyeh mention “the hjp of Samaria.” And the name “Samaria” also

5

6

Vol. I, pp. 68–9. For the phrase “the nobles of Judah,” see P. Cowley 31:18, Porten and Yardeni, pp. 72–3. For the coinage from both Samaria and Judah, see the discussion and bibliography in Stephen N. Gerson, “Fractional Coins of Judea and Samaria in the Fourth Century bce,” NEA 64 (2001), pp. 106–21. In theory the name on the coins could be a defective spelling of the Hebrew yehudah, but most scholars assume it reflects the Aramaic form. See E. Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II, pp. 12, 327, 369. On the evidence for Ammon as a Persian province, see L. G. Herr, “The Ammonites in the Late Iron Age and Persian Period,” in Burton MacDonald and Randall W. Younker, eds. Ancient Ammon (SHCANE 17; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1999), pp. 233–4. Regarding Edom see the somewhat qualified argument of Piotr Bienkowski, “New Evidence on Edom in the Neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods,” in J. Andrew Dearman and M. Patrick Graham, eds., The Land That I Will Show You. Essays on the History and Archaeology of the Ancient Near East in Honour of J. Maxwell Miller (JSOTSS 343; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), pp. 212–13. It is not clear whether the arguments of Vanderhooft, “New Evidence Pertaining to the Transition from Neo-Babylonian to Achaemenid Administration in Palestine,” work for or against the attribution of this practice to the Babylonians. That Assyrian practice was to name a province after its capital or principal city is asserted by James D. Purvis in his article “Samaria,” ABD, Vol. 5, p. 914. He also notes, p. 915, that in biblical texts the name “Samaria” refers to the city, not to the territory. The few exceptions can be explained away. If this is correct, then Assyrian nomenclature and biblical usage differ. On the NeoAssyrian provinces in Cisjordan, see also N. Na’aman, “Province System and Settlement Pattern in Southern Syria and Palestine in the Neo-Assyrian Period,” in M. Liverani, ed., NeoAssyrian Geography (Quaderni di Geografici Storica, 5; Roma: Universita di Roma, 1995), pp. 103–15.

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appears on the Persian era coinage.7 But the province to the south preserved the name of the Iron Age kingdom, Judah. The Persian nomenclature continues in the Hellenistic era. While no Samaritan coinage has yet turned up from the Hellenistic era, minting continued in Ptolemaic Judah with the name of the province retained. The old native script, the paleo-Hebrew, also continues to appear. The only change was that the name “Judah” now also appears in Hebrew rather than just in Aramaic. More precisely, some of the coins of the Ptolemaic period have hdhy, clearly the Hebrew form yehudah, while others have the apparently Aramaic forms dhy or dwhy.8 In Greek the geographical name appears as Ioudaia. The survival of “Judah” as the name of the province may have contributed to the exclusive use of the ethnonym Ioudaios, Judean, by non-Jews in the Hellenistic period. As noted previously, the name “Israel” appears only once in a pre-Christian nonJewish author writing in Greek or Latin, and then only from around the turn of the millennium. Instead of “Israel,” the term “Judah” and its derivatives appear in both geographical and ethnic descriptions. We can trace this practice beginning with the earliest references to the Jews and their homeland in Greek literature from the end of the fourth century. Theophrastus may be the first Greek author to mention the Ioudaioi. If not, then Hecataeus of Abdera is. Hecataeus mentions both the people and the territory “now called Ioudaia.” Clearchus of Soli explains that the name of this people derives from “the place called Ioudaia.” Finally, to complete the list of references that date to around the turn of the fourth to the third century, Megasthenes locates the Ioudaioi in Syria.9 In the course of the third century, references to Ioudaioi begin to appear in papyri and epigraphy, such as the Zenon papyri and the Moschos inscription from Boeotia. (For references see note 10 in this chapter.) With minor exceptions this usage continued into the Roman period and determined the

7

8

9

For references to “the hjp of Samaria,” see P. Cowley 30:29, Porten and Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, pp. 68–9; F. M. Cross, Jr., “The Papyri and Their Historical Implications,” Discoveries in the Wˆadi Ed-Dˆaliyeh, AASOR 41 (1974), p. 19 with n. 10. For the coins see Gerson, “Fractional Coins of Judea and Samaria.” L. Mildenberg, “Yehud: A Preliminary Study of the Provincial Coinage of Judaea,” in O. Mrkholm and N. M. Waggoner, eds., Greek Numismatics and Archaeology; Essays in Honour of M. Thompson (Wetteren: NR, 1979), p. 189; and U. Rappaport, “The First Judean Coinage,” JJS 32 (1981), p. 9, 14–15, date these coins to the reign of Ptolemy I. Compare Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. I, pp. 17–20, 184, who dates them to the reign of Ptolemy II, with minting possibly continuing under Ptolemy III. For more recent treatment see D. Barag, “The Coinage of Yehud and the Ptolemies,” INJ 13 (1994–9), pp. 27–38, and Gerson, “Fractional Coins of Judea and Samaria.” These sources may be consulted conveniently in Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. I, ##4, 11, 15, 14. See there for original texts, translations, and discussion.

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nomenclature followed in all of Western civilization influenced by “classical” or Greco-Roman precedents. The many literary and epigraphic occurrences of these terms have attracted the attention of scholars. One result is a considerable body of research on the various nuances of the designation Ioudaios.10 Cohen, for example, distinguishes among a genetic and/or geographic connotation, a religious and cultural one, and a political meaning. As useful as these distinctions are, one should ask whether they were always kept separate in normal usage. In any case, he concludes that through the second century the term has an “ethnicgeographical” connotation. He goes on to say that the Judeans, like other ethnic-geographical groups, had “their own language, customs, institutions, dress, cuisine, religion and so on.”11 To my mind a group with common ancestry, distinctive culture, and connection to a specific territory constitutes a national group. And the Judean ethnos, as Greek sources refer to it by the early second century (see discussion later in this chapter), had already achieved some political expression. Machinist observed that the retention of a distinct Judean coinage is an exception to the general practice of the Ptolemies regarding minting in the territories they controlled. He suggests this attests a toleration of what he calls “the native tradition of polity for Judah that the Achemenids had preserved.”12 At the very least, the dissemination of coins bearing the name of the former kingdom of Judah in the ancient national script and language could well have been a vehicle for preserving a national

10

11 12

In addition to Kuhn and Gutbrod as cited in Chapter 5, n. 23 in this book, see M. Lowe, “Who Were the 23' ?” NT 18 (1976), pp. 101 –30; idem, “23' of the Apocrypha,” NT 23 (1981), pp. 56–90; H. Solin, “Excurs zu Iudaeus” in his “Juden und Syren im westlichen Teil der r¨omischen Welt,” in W. Haase, ed., ANRW II, Vol. 29, 2 (Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1983), pp. 647–51; Tomson, “The Names Israel and Jew in Ancient Judaism and in the New Testament,” pp. 120–40, 266–89; R. S. Kraemer, “On the Meaning of the Term ‘Jew’ in Graeco-Roman Inscriptions,” HTR 82 (1989), pp. 35–53, and the critique in P. W. van der Horst, Ancient Jewish Epitaphs (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1991), pp. 68–71; S. J. D. Cohen, “Religion, Ethnicity and ‘Hellenism’ in the Emergence of Jewish Identity in Maccabean Palestine,” in P. Bilde et al., eds., Religion and Religious Practice in the Seleucid Kingdom (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1990), pp. 204–23; idem, “3B@FC3B< ?B G HB< and Related Expressions in Josephus,” in Parente and Sievers, eds., Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period, pp. 23–38; idem, eds., Beginnings of Jewishness, pp. 69–139, with a survey of the literary and documentary evidence from Persian through the Roman eras on pp. 82–104. See Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, pp. 104–5. For a critique see the comments of Janowitz, “Rethinking Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity,” pp. 205–10. Peter Machinist, “The First Coins of Judah and Samaria: Numismatics and History in the Achaemenid and Early Hellenistic Periods,” in H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, A. Kuhrt, and M. Cool Root, eds., Achemenid History VIII. Continuity and Change. Proceedings of the Last Achaemenid History Workshop April 6–8, 1990 – Ann Arbor, Michigan (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut Voor Het Nabije Oosten, 1994), p. 379.

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identity. Even the majority who could read neither the script nor the language could ask about the writing on the coins. Answers to their questions were likely to invoke what moderns call “national discourse.” And the name for the national group was “Judah.” The presence of a “discourse of nationality” among the inhabitants of Persian and Ptolemaic Judah may be debated. More widely accepted is the view that Jewish nationalism (or something like it) emerged during the following era, especially with the rise and expansion of the Hasmonean state from 167 to 76 b.c.e.13 Certainly the sources from the Hasmonean era depict the founders of the dynasty invoking (belief in) common kinship and shared culture as the basis for mass mobilization and political action. So the Hasmoneans provide a clear example of ancient Jewish nationalism at least according to the definition adopted in Chapter 1 . And the national identity they invoked was embodied in the name “Judah.” This conclusion emerges from the evidence for what the Hasmoneans called the state they created and ruled. The best source for the name the Hasmoneans bestowed on the state they founded would be official documents issued by the government. Unfortunately, the only official documents of the Hasmonean regime that survive in their original form are the coins. Other documents are preserved in literary sources. Private documents might also use officially sanctioned dating formulae. However, I am not aware of any such material. Narratives in literary sources are of lesser value, since authors need not be using official terminology. Moreover, later authors might use anachronistic designations. Therefore I shall focus on the documents, first those that preserved in the literary sources and then the coins. Documents involving the Hasmonean state (and its prehistory) appear in I Maccabees, II Maccabees, and the AJ of Josephus. These documents can be divided into three categories: those that originated with foreign governments, those issued by the Hasmonean state but addressed to foreign governments, and those issued by the Hasmonean state for internal consumption. Prima facie, the first category is least important. Titles and names used by foreign governments may not reflect what the Hasmoneans themselves chose to call their state. The second category is more likely to represent the official terminology. However, in corresponding with a foreign government in the latter’s language, the Hasmonean chancery may have been influenced by the terminology of the foreigners. It is only with the third category that we can be confident that we have before us the terminology favored by the Hasmonean regime. The one complication is that the documents in this third

13

See the sources cited in Chapter 5, n. 31 in this book.

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category survive only in translation. I assume they were issued in Hebrew, even though they are before us in Greek. Still, for our purposes here this does not seem to matter. Finally, despite the limitations already noted, nondocumentary references to the Hasmonean state in literary sources will occasionally be cited. We should concentrate on the internal documents (i.e., the third category), but there are very few of these – as we shall see. In fact, the largest sampling comes from the first category: documents issued by foreign (i.e., nonJudean) governments. For this reason and for purposes of comparison, I shall briefly review all the evidence. The literary sources preserve documents issued by foreign governments from the time of the uprising against Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Thus our survey will include the quarter century preceding Judean independence. I begin with II Maccabees because its documents refer to the earliest period. The documents are cited in the order in which they appear, though most scholars assume that those in II Maccabees are out of chronological sequence (see n. 14 in this chapter). After their first occurrence, Greek terms will be transliterated. 1. The letter of Lysias to the /s of the Judeans at II Maccabees 11:16–21. 2. The letter of Antiochus V to Lysias concerning the Judeans, which refers to them as 
s, at II Maccabees 11:22–7. 3. The letter of Antiochus (IV?) to “the ) of the Judeans and the rest of the Judeans” at II Maccabees 11:27–33. 4. The letter from Roman ambassadors to the /s (variant: /s) of the Judeans at II Maccabees 11:34–8. 5. The treaty between the Romans and the ethnos of the Judeans at I Maccabees 8:23–32. 6. The letter of Demetrius I to the ethnos of the Judeans at I Maccabees 10:35–45. 7. The letter of Demetrius II to Lasthenes (with cover letter), referring to the ethnos of the Judeans, at I Maccabees 11:30–7. 8. The letter of Demetrius II to “Simeon the high priest . . . and to the elders and ethnos of the Judeans” at I Maccabees 13:36–40. 9. The letter of the Spartans to “Simeon the high priest and to the elders and the priests and the rest of the ethnos of the Judeans” at I Maccabees 14:20–3. 10. The letter of Antiochus VII to “Simeon the high priest and ethnarch and to the ethnos of the Judeans” at I Maccabees 15:2–9. 11. The letter of a Roman consul to King Ptolemy referring to the ethnos of the Judeans at I Maccabees 15:16–24.

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12. A decree of the senate from the 120s b.c.e. referring to the ethnos of the Judeans at AJ 13:260–5. 13. A decision of Pergamon referring to John Hyrcanus I and the ethnos of the Judeans at AJ 14:247–55. 14. A decree of Augustus concerning the Jews of the province of Asia at AJ 16:162–5. The decree alluding to the military support provided by Judean troops for Julius Caesar under Hyrcanus II refers to the ethnos of the Judeans. It is not necessary here to discuss the various issues raised by these materials. For our purposes it is enough to note that these documents are generally considered to be genuine.14 What matters in the present context is the frequency of the term “ethnos of the Judeans.” This would seem to be the standard name for the Hasmonean state in contemporary non-Judean documents. The term has roots in pre-Hasmonean times. The “charter” issued by Antiochus III after his conquest of Koile Syria (AJ 12:138–44) refers to the Judeans as an ethnos (142 and, by implication, 141).15 Polybius, Historiae XVI, 39:1 (quoted by Josephus, AJ 12:135), refers to the ethnos of the Judeans in the context of the Ptolemaic counterattack that preceded the final Seleucid conquest of Koile Syria. In the Hellenistic world there were three common types of political entity: dynastic states, poleis, and ethne.16 While ethnos has a variety of meanings, the contrast implicit in these three categories allows us to narrow the definition. An ethnos is not a city-state like the Greek polis. Neither is it a territory defined purely by obedience to a specific ruler. We will not go wrong by defining an ethnos as a group of people concentrated in a given territory and perceived to be culturally homogenous. This certainly applies to the Judeans from the time they first came to the attention of the Greeks. Thus the Judean population was called the “ethnos of the Judeans” before they constituted an independent 14

15

16

In addition to discussions in commentaries on I Maccabees, II Maccabees, and Josephus, see the following: M. Stern, Documents on the History of the Hasmonean Revolt; C. Habicht, “Royal Documents in Maccabees II,” HSCP 80 (1976), pp. 1 –18; T. Fischer, Seleukiden und Makkabaer (Bochum: Brockmeyer, 1980), pp. 64–9; Miriam Pucci Ben Zeev, “Greek and Roman Documents from Republican Times in the Antiquities: What Was Josephus’ Source?” SCI 13 (1994), pp. 46–59. The classic study defending the authenticity of this document is E. Bi(c)kerman(n), “La charte s´eleucide de J´erusalem,” pp. 4–35 [= Bickerman, Studies in Jewish and Christian History, Vol. 2, pp. 44–85]. For additional and subsequent scholarship, see L. H. Feldman, Josephus and Modern Scholarship (1937–1980), pp. 212–13. See the comments of D. Musti, “Syria and the East,” CAH, Second Edition, Vol. VII: The Hellenistic World, pp. 180–1.

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state. And the Hellenistic world used the same phrase to refer to the state formed following the rise of the Hasmoneans.17 Preserved evidence of documents issued by the Hasmonean state and addressed to foreign powers is less than what we found for the previous category. In fact, even using a broad definition of “document,” I am aware of only three examples. 1. Ambassadors sent by Jonathan to Rome inform the senate that they have been sent by Jonathan and the ethnos of the Judeans – I Maccabees 12:3. 2. A letter to the Spartans from “Jonathan the high priest and the gerousia of the ethnos and the priests and the rest of the demos of the Judeans” appears at I Maccabees 12:6–18. The version of this letter presented by Josephus at AJ 13:166 has the salutation, “Jonathan the high priest of the ethnos of the Judeans and the gerousia and the koinon of the priests.” 3. Strabo, apud Josephus, AJ 14:36, reports seeing a work of art in Rome that bore the Greek inscription “from Alexander, king of the Judeans.”18 As already noted, the diplomatic correspondence of the Hasmonean state in Greek could well have been influenced by common Hellenistic usage. That is, since foreign powers addressed the Hasmonean state as “the ethnos of the Judeans,” the Hasmoneans themselves used the same language when responding to those powers. Similarly, the title “king of the Judeans,” rather than “of Judah” or “of Israel,” need not reflect internal, Judean usage. Aristobulus II is called “king of the Judeans” in Diodorus of Sicily’s account, at Bibliotheca Historica XL, 2, of the appeals of the former and his brother Hyrcanus II before Pompey in 63 b.c.e. There is no reason to assume Diodorus, or his source, is reproducing Hebrew terminology.19 Josephus also, at BJ 7:171, refers to Alexander (Jonathan) as “king of the Judeans.” While the latter case involves a “native informant,” it also need not reproduce official titles in use 150 years before 17

18 19

On the status of an ethnos in the Seleucid state, see E. Bi(c)kerman(n), Institutions des S´eleucides (Paris: P. Geuthner, 1938), pp. 164–5. On the meanings of ethnos, see the comments of F. W. Walbank, “Nationality as a Factor in Roman History,” HSCP 76 (1972), pp. 145–68, and, in greater detail, the studies in Malkin, ed., Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity. See also F. Schmidt, “Id´ee de ‘nation’ et sentiment d’appartenance au people dans le judaisme de l’´epoque hellenistique et romaine,” Annuaire de l’Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes, V. Section Sciences Religieuses 85 (1976–7), pp. 323–9. Based on analysis of speeches in Josephus’ BJ, Schmidt argues that the phrase
s  23 refers to the Jews as a politically organized group in a specific territory. On the variant readings of this line, see the discussion in Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. I, ad loc., p. 275. On the sources of this account, see the comments of Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. I, p. 186.

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Josephus wrote. On the other hand, later in this chapter we shall see evidence that the Hasmoneans used the term “the Judeans” in internal documents. In this context references to the position of Antipater, the father of Herod, during the reign of Hyrcanus II are of interest. Josephus, at AJ 14:138–9, quotes from Strabo concerning the aid rendered by Judean troops to Julius Caesar in Egypt in 47 b.c.e. In one of those quotations, at 139, Josephus asserts that Strabo writes in the name of the first-century b.c.e. historian Hypsicrates. This passage refers to Antipater as  /s 23s +  . Scholarship has focused on the meaning of +  s (see discussion that follows). What interests me in the present context is the use of Ioudaia. This contrasts with Josephus’ own wording at 14:127, where Antipater is called “epimeletes of the Judeans.” But it conforms to the way Josephus describes the appointment received by Antipater from Caesar in 47: as  s +)s 23s at BJ 1:199; as +) . . . /s 23s at AJ 14:143. Do these titles attest the use of Ioudaia/Judah as a name for the Judean state during the reign of Hyrcanus II? It is doubtful whether we can read this much out of our sources. First, literary sources need not reflect precise, legal phraseology. Second, the precise nature of the office of Antipater is uncertain. Assuming that the two titles refer to the same office, the latter may have been the creation of Caesar. (On this view, Hypsicrates/Strabo would be anticipating the later position of Antipater.) Thus the title “epimeletes/epitropos of Judah” might not reflect internal, Judean usage. Even if we assume that Antipater held this position before 47, and that Caesar merely confirmed him in office, it still could be a Roman title. One recalls that beginning with Pompey in 63 b.c.e., the Romans interfered with the internal structure of the Judean state. So assuming that our sources accurately cite the official title of Antipater, the mention of Ioudaia may reflect Roman usage. Specifically, it might reflect the Roman view of Judah as a territory and de facto Roman province, rather than an independent state.20 20

Note also the geographical terminology when Josephus reports the appointment of Herod by Cassius and Murcus as “epimeletes of all Syria,” at BJ 1:225. The parallel at AJ 14:280 describes the position as “strategos of Koile Syria.” Similarly, BJ 1:244 mentions Anthony’s appointment of Herod and Phasael as tetrarchs with authority to administer “all of Judah.” Geographical terminology appears also in inscriptions mentioning the triumph ex Iudaea granted Sosius in 34 b.c.e., though later literary sources (Seneca and Tacitus) refer to his subjugating the Iudaeos. For references see Sch¨urer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, Vol. I, p. 252 and p. 284, n. 11. Geographical terminology recurs in the legends Iudaea capta/Iudaea devicta on the coins minted after suppression of the revolt of 66–70. For a recent discussion with references to literature, see D. R. Edwards, “Religion, Power and Politics: Jewish Defeats by the Romans in Iconography and Josephus,” in J. A. Overman and R. S. MacLennan, eds., Diaspora Jews and Judaism. Essays in Honor of and in Dialogue with A. Thomas Kraabel (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), pp. 294–310. For a discussion of the title epimeletes with references to

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We return now to the evidence of documents. What should be most indicative of internal, Judean usage are Hasmonean documents in Hebrew. Unfortunately only two such have survived, both in Greek translation. 1. The dating formula reported at I Maccabees 13:42: “In the first year, under [or: In the first year of] Simeon, high priest, commander and leader of the Judeans.” Josephus’ version, AJ 13:214, omits “high priest” and has “Simeon the benefactor and ethnarch of the Judeans.”21 2. The resolution of 18 Elul 140 b.c.e., at I Maccabees 14:27–45, contains references to the ethnos and to “the Judeans.” And 14:47 reports how Simeon consented to serve as high priest and to be “commander and ethnarch of the Judeans and priests.” Although we have only these two documents, the second is fairly extensive. And both conform fully to the usage noted in the first two categories of documents, where the terms “the ethnos of the Judeans” or “the Judeans” were used to refer to the Hasmonean state. Reinforcing the evidence of these two documents is that of the coinage. As we shall see, the latter also suggests official use by the Hasmonean state of at least the term “the Judeans.” There is a consensus today that Hasmonean coinage began under John Hyrcanus I (135–104 b.c.e.), probably following the decline of Seleucid power after the defeat and death of Antiochus VII in 129.22 A number of issues remain unresolved, among them whether any of the coins of Yehohanan and Yehudah

21

22

additional scholarly literature, see Marcus in Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. VII, pp. 514–15, n.d., and Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. I, p. 221. See also the discussion in Sch¨urer, Vol. 1, pp. 271 –2. See further H. J. Mason, Greek Terms for Roman Institutions (Toronto: Hakkert, 1974), pp. 46–7, s.v. +  4s, p. 49, s.v. +)s, and the discussion on pp. 142–3. See J. Goldstein, I Maccabees, pp. 479–80, who prefers to interpret the formula as an era of Judean freedom. Sievers, Hasmoneans and Their Supporters from Mattathias to the Death of John Hyrcanus I, pp. 110–12, argues that the era is of the rule of Simeon. The date at I Maccabees 14:27 is unclear in the, for us, crucial section. It runs, “the third year under/of Simeon the high priest + ).” Most scholars assume that the text contains some transliterated Hebrew words. See Goldstein, pp. 501 –2; and Uriel Rappaport, The First Book of Maccabees. Introduction, Hebrew Translation, and Commentary (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2004), pp. 315–16 [Hebrew], and the literature cited. See U. Rappaport, “The Emergence of Hasmonean Coinage,” AJSR 1 (1976), pp. 171 –86. For a long time others argued that it began only under Alexander Jonathan (Janneus) who ruled 103–76 b.c.e. See Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. I, pp. 35–47. However, Meshorer subsequently accepted the attribution of Yehohanan coins to John Hyrcanus I. See his “Matbe’ot hahashmona’im,” in D. Amit and H. Eshel, eds., Yime Bet Hashmonai (Iddan 19; Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 1995), pp. 199, 204 [Hebrew]. A. Kindler, “Hasmonean Coinage: Two Problems,” Cathedra 59 (1991), p. 15 [Hebrew], argues that a recently acquired hoard of coins from Samaria lends additional support to the view espoused by Rappaport and now accepted by Meshorer. For older bibliography and a brief survey see Appendix IV in Sch¨urer, History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, Vol. I, pp. 602–6 (pp. 603–5 on Hasmonean coinage).

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are to be assigned to Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus II.23 For our purposes here the outstanding issues do not matter. More important, the information provided by the Hasmonean coinage is of limited value. Some of the coin legends contain only the name and title of the ruler. Thus some of Alexander’s issues have only “King Jonathan” (in Hebrew) or “King Alexander” (in Aramaic) or “of King Alexander” (in Greek). So too, some of the coins of Mattathiah Antigonus, who reigned 40–37 b.c.e., have only “Mattityah the Priest/High Priest” (Hebrew) or “of King Antigonus” (Greek). That is, the state is not mentioned at all. More common, however, are legends that refer to !ydwhyh rbj. The latter phrase occurs together with all four of the dynastic names that appear on the coins (Yehohanan, Yehudah, Yehonatan/Yonatan, and Mattityah). Usually the legend is “X the High Priest and the hever of the Judeans.” Some of the Yehohanan coins have the legend “Yehohanan the High Priest Head of the hever of the Judeans.” Finally, in at least one issue “the hever of the Judeans” appears by itself, without mention of the ruling Hasmonean dynast.24 The hever can thus be documented from the 120s until the end of the Hasmonean regime in 37 b.c.e. The problem, however, is the definition of the term. That the semantic area of the root rbj involves “association” is clear. But the term on the coins appears to be a technical term with a precise meaning. Some argue that it refers to a national council, forerunner of the later Sanhedrin. Others suggest that the term hever on the coins designates the entire Judean people or nation. According to the latter alternative, the phrase “hever of the Judeans” could be the Hebrew equivalent of the Greek “ethnos of the Judeans.” This would also allow us to equate Yehohanan’s title, “Head of the hever of the Judeans,” with the title of ethnarch assigned to Simeon in I Maccabees.25 If we follow this line of reasoning, then we have the official Hebrew name for the Hasmonean state. On the other alternative, that the hever is a council, we do not have a Hebrew equivalent for ethnos. Still, the term “the Judeans” is presumably part of the name of the state. The numismatic evidence thus confirms the evidence from the documents preserved in the literary sources. We can conclude that “the Judeans” was (part of) the internal Hebrew name of the Hasmonean state. In this we follow 23 24 25

For a survey of the state of the field at the end of the millennium, see Meshorer, Treasury of Jewish Coins, pp. 23–57. See Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. I, pp. 123–58. For the coins that mention only the hever, see D. Jeselsohn, “Hever Yehudim – A New Jewish Coin,” PEQ 112 (1980), pp. 11 –17. See the discussion, with reference to literature, in Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, pp. 99–103. Add Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, pp. 128–9. The title “ethnarch” may appear, in the form of a Greek monogram containing the letters IHCJ, on a bulla attributed to the Hasmonean period. Meshorer, Treasury of Jewish Coins, p. 58, assigns it to Hyrcanus II on the basis of his receiving this title from Julius Caesar.

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K. G. Kuhn, who observed long ago that “Judeans” was “die korrekte, amtlich offizielle Aufschrift” for the Hasmonean state. This observation clashed with the main conclusion that emerged from Kuhn’s classic survey of ancient Jewish usage, which was cited earlier.26 As already summarized, Kuhn concluded that the Jews, especially when writing in Hebrew or Aramaic, preferred the selfdesignation “Israel.” The only major exception is in the previously cited internal Hasmonean documents that refer to the state by the term “the Judeans.” This is especially striking in I Maccabees, whose author freely uses the term “Israel.” Kuhn points out that the author even uses the latter term in his comments introducing the internal documents that contain “the Judeans.” Thus, at 13:41, the author introduces the date formula mentioning “Simeon . . . leader of the Judeans” by stating, “the yoke of the gentiles was removed from Israel.” Similarly, in introducing the resolution of Elul. 140 at 14:26, the author has “the people” allude to the Hasmoneans delivering them from “the enemies of Israel.” But in the resolution itself, only the term “Judeans” appears. And he contrasts this with the use of “Israel” on the coins of the first and second revolt, a phenomenon discussed in the previous chapter. However, Kuhn does not suggest any explanation for this deviation of the Hasmoneans from what his survey of the evidence would lead us to expect.27 Hasmonean usage actually raises two issues. The first is the use of (derivatives of) “Judah” rather than “Israel.” The second is the use of the plural gentilic (“Judeans”) rather than simply “Judah,” construed either as a territorial name or as a collective singular ethnonym. “Israel” can also be either a geographic term or a collective ethnic term meaning “the people of Israel.” The author of I Maccabees used “Israel” with the latter meaning, as already noted. Exemplifying both issues are the coin inscriptions that mention “the hever of the Judeans.” Why not call it “the hever of Israel”? In fact, several scholars believe this very term appears in the Damascus Document 12:8 in the form larcy rbj.28 And, if one prefers to avoid “Israel,” why not use “the hever of Judah”? Why have “of the Judeans”? An explanation for both the

26 27 28

See K. G. Kuhn, “ 23), 23's, 5)'s,” pp. 362 and 361, respectively. Ibid., p. 362. In the medieval manuscript of this document, the phrase appears as lar`y rwbj. See the edition of E. Qimron in Broshi, Damascus Document Reconsidered, pp. 32–3. However, a manuscript found at Qumran, 4Q 267, 9iii3, has the phrase with the word hever spelled just as it is on the coins – without a vav. The same spelling of this word seems to appear in XIV, 17, edited Qimron, pp. 36–7, cf. 4Q 266, 10:10. Unfortunately, the reading of both manuscripts is not completely clear in this place. For the Qumran texts see Baumgarten, Qumran Cave 4, XIII, pp. 107 and 72, Plates XX and XII, respectively. For discussion see C. Rabin, The Zadokite Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), pp. 60–1; L. H. Schiffman, “Legislation Concerning Relations with Non-Jews in the Zadokite Fragments and in Tannaitic Literature,” RQ 11 (1982–4), pp. 382–5; Baumgarten, Qumran Cave 4, XIII, p. 73.

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avoidance of “Israel” and the use of the plural gentilic may emerge from Tomson’s discussion. He focuses on what he calls “the non-Jewish self-portrayal of the Hasmonean officials.” By this he means that the “Hasmonean leadership saw itself from a non-Jewish perspective even in official internal communications.”29 Tomson explains this by citing “the external Hellenization of the Hasmonean court.”30 In other words, use of “Judeans” is a Greek calque and a symptom of Hellenization. That Greek models and Greek culture influenced the Hasmonean court is widely acknowledged.31 And certainly the use of a plural gentilic as a designation for a political unit does reflect Greek usage.32 But is Hellenization an adequate or necessary explanation? Let us consider the evidence. It is true that “classical style,” as embodied in biblical literature, would call for the form “Judah.” This is the common term for both the political– territorial unit and the people who live there. When referring to the people, words like “sons of” and “man/men of” may – but need not – precede “Judah.” The political–territorial usage continued in the Persian and Hellenistic eras, as we have already seen. The title of the governor of the Persian province was “hjp of Judah,” not of the Judeans.”33 The preference for “Judah” over the 29 30 31

32

33

Tomson, “Names Israel and Jew in Ancient Judaism and in the New Testament,” pp. 277, 129–30, respectively. Ibid., p. 130, n. 36a; and compare p. 132. See U. Rappaport, “The Hellenization of the Hasmoneans,” in M. Mor, ed., Jewish Assimilation, Acculturation and Accommodation (Studies in Jewish Civilization 2; Lanham, /New York/London: University Press of America, 1991), pp. 2–13; Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, pp. 55–79; T. Rajak, “The Hasmoneans and the Uses of Hellenism,” in P. R. Davies and R. T. White, eds., A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays in Jewish and Christian Literature and History (JSOTSS 100; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), pp. 261 –80; eadem, “The Jews Under Hasmonean Rule,” CAH, Second Edition, Vol. IX, pp. 296–9. See M. I. Finley, Early Greece (New York: Norton, 1970), p. 91: “An ancient Greek could express the idea of Athens as a community or as a political unit only by saying ‘the Athenians.’ The word ‘Athens’ was rarely used in any sense other than geographical.” Compare R. Tomlinson, From Mycenae to Constantinople (London/New York: Routledge, 1992), p. 2: “the ancient historian talks about the Athenians rather than Athens.” On the identification of the city with its citizens, see the discussion of E. L´evy, “La cit´e grecque, invention moderne ou r´ealit´e antique?” in C. Nicolet, ed., Du pouvoir dans l’antiquit´e: mots et r´ealit´es (Gen`eve: Librairie Droze, 1990), pp. 53–68. The title “hjp of Judah” appears at Haggai 1:1, 14; 2:2, 21 and in Papyrus Cowley 30, line 1. For the latter see Porten and Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, Vol. I, pp. 68–9. One passage, Ezra 6:7, has “hjp of the Judeans,” but the reading is uncertain. The Septuagint lacks this phrase, while the parallel at II Esdras 6:26 has
):  /s 3s, “governor of Judah.” Moreover, use of a geographical term with the title hjp and its Akkadian cognate is unanimously attested by the sources. Thus Ezra 5:3, 6; 6:6 and Nehemiah 3:7 refer to “the hjp of Across the River,” as do Akkadian sources from the Achemenid era. The latter also ´ attest a combination of the title with the place “Bactria.” See T. Petit, “L’Evolution S´emantique Des Termes H´ebreux Et Aram´eens Phh Et Sgn Et Accadiens Pˆahatu Et Saknu,” JBL 107 (1988),

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gentilic plural continued on the coins of Ptolemaic era, as already noted. And as late as the first century c.e., the biblical model was followed in the Aramaic inscription recording the re-internment of the remains of “Uzziah King of Judah.”34 So the classical model of calling the country and the state “Judah” was available for and, we can safely assume, known to the Hasmoneans. Consequently their preference for the gentilic plural, analogous to Greek usage, demands explanation. The Hasmoneans’ departure from biblical style stands out even more when we look at comparative material. Use of “classical” Semitic terminology, rather than Greek calques, can be documented among the neighbors of the Hasmonean Judah. I begin with an imperfect analogy, that of the Phoenician cities. The analogy is imperfect because Hasmonean Judah was an ethnic state, not a city-state. On the other hand, the similarity (and eventual assimilation) of the Phoenician city-states to the model of the Greek polis makes the comparison with the Phoenician coinage all the more telling. If we go back to the Persian era, the period of the yehud coins, we find Byblos minting coins bearing the name of its ruler and his title as lbg Alm, “king of Gubl.” Byblian coins from the times of Antiochus IV and Alexander Balas continue the earlier practice of mentioning the city. They have the legends lbgl and t`dq lbgl, “of Gubl,” and “of Gubl the holy.”35 Of greater interest are the bilingual inscriptions on coins from the second and first centuries b.c.e. These coins, which bear Phoenician and Greek legends parallel in meaning, are all in copper or bronze. They thus

34

35

p. 57 with nn. 17, 18 and p. 65 with n. 39. The aforementioned Papyrus Cowley 30 mentions (in line 29) “the hjp of Samaria,” as do papyri and a bulla from Wadi Daliyeh. See F. M. Cross, Jr., “The Papyri and Their Historical Implications,” p. 19 with n. 10. One can also cite the biblical personal [family?] name bawm tjp. In connection with Ezra 6:7, one should notice the two drafts of the letter from the Judeans of Elephantine to the governor of Judah from November 407 b.c.e. In the first draft, at Cowley 30:19, we find “the nobles of the Judeans.” The second draft, at 31:18, has “the nobles of Judah.” See Porten and Yardeni, pp. 68–9, 72–3. Is this a correction of a “vulgar” form to a more “correct” one? See Fitzmyer and Harrington, Manual of Palestinian Aramaic Texts, #70, pp. 168–9, with discussion and bibliography on pp. 223–4. Ada Yardeni, The Book of Hebrew Script (Jerusalem: Carta, 1991), p. 58 [Hebrew], entertains an earlier date, in the last century b.c.e. However, in the English translation (Jerusalem: Carta, 1997), p. 61, she appears to retreat from this position. For the Persian era coins see J. W. Betlyon, The Coinage and Mints of Phoenicia. The PreAlexandrine Period (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982), pp. 116–21. Compare p. 82 where he suggests that a parallel phrase is abbreviated on coins of Arwad/Aradus. For Byblian coins of the Seleucid era, see G. F. Hill, Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Phoenicia (Reprint: Bologna: A. Forni, 1965), pp. 98; A. Houghton, Coins of the Seleucid Empire from the Collection of Arthur Houghton (New York: American Numismatic Society, 1983), p. 68. Some of these have Greek letters, possibly dates. But none are bilingual in the sense of having Greek legends parallel in content to the Phoenician inscriptions.

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parallel the Hasmonean mintage that was all bronze. To start with Sidon, we have coins bearing the Greek legend <3F
H3
H, and the Phoenician !ndxl, “of the Sidonians.” The plural gentilic can be documented, in the title “king of the Sidonians,” from Phoenician inscriptions of the Persian era. So it is not necessarily a calque from the Greek, though the use of the particle l may be a reflection of the genitive case of <3F
H3
H. The Tyrian coins of the same period present a different picture. On them the Greek ?@A3
H is paralleled by the Phoenician rxl, “of Tyre.” A similar practice appears on coins from Beirut: the Greek KLA@?3
H is paralleled by trybl, “of Beirut.”36 These two cities did not reproduce the Greek legend’s plural gentilic in their native language inscriptions; instead, they retained a singular form. An even more precise analogy to the Hasmoneans involves the Nabateans. The latter created an ethnic kingdom contemporaneous with, and contiguous to, the Hasmonean state. The official title of the Nabatean kings is attested on their coins, on inscriptions, and in documents. That title is wfbn Alm, “king of nbtw.”37 This was interpreted by Cantineau as “roi de Nabat`ene,” on the basis of his understanding of nbtw as “n[om] de pays ou de lieu.”38 The consensus today, however, is that the latter term is an ethnic name, the equivalent of H5' , “Nabateans.” However, one should emphasize “equivalent,” for the Nabatean word is singular in form. If we further accept the suggestion of Starcky that nbtw is actually an eponym, then we have an exact parallel to hdwhy 36

37

38

See P. Gardner and R. S. Poole, A Catalogue of the Greek Coins in the British Museum. The Seleucid Kings of Syria (Reprint: Bologna: A. Forni, 1963), pp. 39, 48, 53, 60, and compare p. 79 for a coin from the second period of Demetrius II on which !ndxl parallels <3F
HB< I C<; Hill, Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Phoenicia. pp. 52–3, 155–7, 161 –9, 254–6; Houghton, Coins, pp. 71, 74, 76. For “king of the Sidonians” in Persian era inscriptions, see H. Donner and W. R¨ollig, Kanaan¨aische und Aram¨aische Inschriften, Vol. 1 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966), ##13–16, pp. 2–3, and compare the same usage in an earlier era in #31, p. 7. Interestingly enough, the different usages of Sidon and Tyre are preserved when one city mentions the other. Thus a coin from Tyre has “of Tyre metropolis [literally: mother] of the Sidonians.” A coin from Sidon has “of the Sidonians metropolis of . . . Tyre.” See Gardner and Poole, pp. 39, 48; Hill, pp. 155–6; Houghton, pp. 71, 74. For the coins mentioning “king of [the] nbtw,” which begin around 62 b.c.e., see Y. Meshorer, Nabataean Coins (Qedem 3; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Institute of Archaeology, 1975). An early epigraphic attestation of the title appears in the Elusa inscription. See J. Cantineau, Le Nabat´een, Vol. II (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1932), pp. 43–4; A. Negev, “The Nabateans and the Provincia Arabia,” ANRW II (1977), p. 546; Ada Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic, Hebrew and Nabataean Documentary Texts from the Judaean Desert and Related Material (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, Ben-Zion Dinur Center for Research in Jewish History, 2000), Vol. A, #A/1, p. 306. For examples in documents, see the citations in P. Yadin 1, ll. 1 and 11 –12; 2, ll. 1 and 18; 3, ll. 1 and 21, in Yadin et al., eds., Documents from the Bar-Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters, pp. 178, 208, 210, 236, 238, respectively. J. Cantineau, Le Nabat´een, Vol. II, p. 119, s.v. wfbn.

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or larcy.39 Another aspect of the coin inscriptions is worth noting. The earliest Nabatean minting had only Greek legends. This is attributed to Aretas III and assumed to come from a mint in Damascus in the period 85–71 b.c.e. The inscription is KC<3E
< CA ?B@ M3E EELHB<, “of King Aretas Philhellene.”40 The name, title, and epithet are given, but not the entity over which Aretas ruled. This was typical of the legends of the Seleucid (and Ptolemaic) coins. When Nabatean coins begin to bear Aramaic inscriptions, around 62 b.c.e. under Obodas II, the legend included precisely what was lacking in the Greek. We now find the title “king of [the] nbtw.” Thus the Nabatean Aramaic legend did not simply translate the earlier Greek inscription. It did not limit itself to reproducing the Seleucid model. Rather it inserted an ethnic term in native style. Yet another example of the use of a collective singular ethnic term is late, but instructive because it appears in a bilingual inscription. A thirdcentury c.e. inscription from Umm al-Jimal mentions a king. He is designated as jwnt Alm in Aramaic (in Nabatean script), but as 5 s I  in Greek. The Aramaic title is usually understood as “king of [the] Tanukh” (i.e., “Tanukh” is a collective singular gentilic or tribal name).41 An analogous case appears in two Palmyrene inscriptions of the same era. These mention the title rwmdt `r / rwmdt yd a`r “head of Tadmor,” in Palmyrene Aramaic. In the parallel Greek text this title appears as
N[): O])  / [
N)P : O]) .42 Of course, here we deal with a territorial–political term,

39

40 41

42

For the plural forms of nouns in Nabatean Aramaic, see ibid., pp. 91 –2. For the assertion that nbtw is an ethnic term, see J. Starcky, “P´etra et la Nabat`ene,” SDB, Vol. VII, col. 900: “un nom ethnique”; J. T. Milik, “Origenes des Nabat´eens,” in A. Hadidi, ed., Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan, Vol. I (Amman: Department of Antiquities, Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, 1982), p. 264: “ethnonyme”; and Healey, Nabataean Tomb Inscriptions of Mada’in Salih, p. 13. Compare the translation in Yadin et al., eds., Documents from the Bar-Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters, “king of the Nabateans.” Starcky notes that nbtw is a personal name and so suggests that it is an eponym. The view of Cantineau, that nbtw refers to the territory, is still followed by Fitzmyer and Harrington, Manual of Palestinian Aramaic Texts, #64, pp. 164–5; and K. Schmitt-Korte, “Nabataean Coinage – Part II. New Coin Types and Variants,” NC 150 (1990), pp. 105–33, “king of Nabat(a)ea.” See further M. C. A. Macdonald, “Was the Nabataean Kingdom a ‘Bedouin State’?” ZDPV 107 (1991), pp. 116. Meshorer, Nabataean Coins, pp. 12–14, 86–7. Cantineau, La Nabat´een, Vol. II, p. 25. For recent discussions see G. Bowersock, Roman Arabia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983), pp. 132–6; Millar, Roman Near East, pp. 431 –4. See D. S. Potter, Prophecy and History in the Crisis of the Roman Empire. A Historical Commentary on the Thirteenth Sibylline Oracle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), Appendix IV, “The Career of Odaenathus,” # III, pp. 382–3, and #IV, p. 384, with references to earlier publications. See there, pp. 388–9, for a discussion of the meaning of the Aramaic title, which Potter translates as “ruler of Tadmor.”

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which refers to a city or city-state, not a gentilic. Still we note that the text avoids a calque from the Greek, such as “head of the Tadmorites” (ayrwmdt `r).43 Even though the previous inscriptions are third century c.e., the bilingual coins of Tyre and Beirut were roughly contemporaneous with the Hasmonean state. So we are justified in asking why the Hasmoneans did not adopt a similar approach. That is, in Greek language inscriptions and documents they could have followed normal Greek-usage and written “Judeans,” while in Hebrew (and Aramaic) they could have used “Judah” or “Israel.” As noted, the neighboring and contemporary Nabatean kingdom did not simply reproduce Greek models, used on its earliest coins, when it began to issue coins with Aramaic legends. And on coins, documents, and inscriptions it avoided calques, using the collective singular ethnic term (or the toponym) nbtw. While underlining the deviation of Hasmonean practice from the expected “classical” Semitic style, the comparative evidence does not necessarily support the view of Tomson. After all, the Nabateans were probably no less “Hellenized” than the Hasmoneans, and by all accounts the Tyrians and Beirutis were even more receptive to Greek influences. If they avoided Greek calques and retained Semitic style and usage (in Semitic-language formulas), surely the Hasmoneans could have. This is especially true in light of other evidence that the Hasmonean regime sought to follow traditional forms. In addition to commonly using the old Hebrew script on their coins, the Hasmoneans apparently sponsored the composition of a dynastic history in biblical Hebrew (I Maccabees) and invoked Biblical promises to justify territorial expansion (see I Maccabees 15:33). Even in terms of municipal construction, the Hasmoneans appear to have made an effort to follow the model of the Jerusalem of the Davidide kings.44 In sum I find it hard to believe that the Hasmoneans either were incapable of retaining Semitic style or felt that using it might undermine their status in the Hellenistic world. Another explanation is in order. Use of the plural gentilic by the Hasmoneans may not be a calque from Greek but rather contemporary Hebrew usage. The plural form “Judeans”

43

44

The plural, “Tadmorites,” does appear elsewhere. See for example J. Cantineau, Inventaire des inscriptions de Palmyre, Vol. IX (Beyrouth: Impr. Catholique, 1947), #12, where ayrmdt lbg parallels “demos of the Palmyrenes” in Greek. Compare the variation between br[ yd aklm and aybr[d aklm in the Hatran inscriptions. See the discussion, with references to the literature, in Millar, Roman Near East, p. 495. See B. Mazar, “Josephus Flavius – The Historian of Jerusalem,” in U. Rappaport, ed., Josephus Flavius. Historian of Eretz-Israel in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben Zvi, 1982), p. 4 [Hebrew].

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appears most frequently in the late biblical books of Esther and Nehemiah, with the Aramaic equivalent occurring in (the equally late) Ezra and Daniel. Indeed, aside from these instances, the word “Judeans” occurs only nine times in the Book of Jeremiah, mostly in the historical narratives, and twice in II Kings. Several of these eleven passages clearly come from after 587 b.c.e. The Jewish colony at Elephantine in the late fifth century b.c.e. also used the term “Judeans” to designate its members.45 Use of the plural gentilic could thus be the result of an inner-Hebrew development in exilic and postexilic times, perhaps influenced by Aramaic and Persian government usage. The somewhat anomalous reading of “hjp of the Judeans” at Ezra 6:7 and the phrase “nobles of the Judeans” in Cowley 30:19 (revised in Cowley 30:18 to “nobles of Judah”), discussed earlier in this chapter in n. 22, could be instances of the spoken vernacular penetrating literary texts. They would then attest the contemporary style for referring to the Judean polity that was normally “masked” by use of the classical form “Judah.” In any case, appearance of the plural gentilic in books accepted as authoritative would have made the form familiar by the time the Hasmoneans rose to power. The status of the Books of Esther and Daniel in the eyes of the Hasmoneans is not certain, but the figure of Nehemiah is well known to Ben Sira (49:13) and alluded to in the letter attributed to Judah (the Maccabee?) prefixed to II Maccabees (at 2:13). And we can assume their acquaintance with the Books of Jeremiah and Kings. Besides reflecting the vernacular or Late Biblical Hebrew, use of “Judeans” may have had another, unconscious, motivation. The gentilic form privileges the people over the territory, ethnicity over geography. Perhaps the message was that the Hasmonean state would not be limited to the territory of Persian or Hellenistic subprovince of Judah. Its destiny was to rule over the Judean people throughout their homeland. This suggestion, however, leads us to the other issue raised by the use of “Judeans.” Why not use “Israel”? If their nomenclature sought to declare that the Hasmoneans would not be restricted to the territory of Persian–Ptolemaic–Seleucid Judah, then would it not have made more sense to use the name “Israel”? In other words, even though we might interpret the preference for “the Judeans” over “Judah” as reflecting ideology or inner-Hebrew linguistic developments, the avoidance 45

Cowley 30:22, 26; 31:22, 26; 38:12; and possibly 21:1, 10. See Porten and Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, Vol. I, pp. 68–9, 72–3, 58–9, 54–5, respectively. In the last two passages the editors interpret aydwhy as a masculine singular adjective modifying the preceding noun alyj, but it might also be a plural substantive in construct with the preceding word. In the first case the phrase is “the Judean garrison.” In the second it is “the garrison of the Judeans.” Compare Cowley 30:19, Porten and Yardeni, pp. 68–9, aydwhy yrj, “the nobles of the Judeans.” This shows that the genitive particle yz could be omitted.

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of “Israel” still requires an explanation. Could it be that the latter name had Samaritan associations? The Delos inscriptions are assumed to come from a local Samaritan community, and they use the term “Israelites.” On the other hand, the inscriptions add to the words “the Israelites in Delos” the phrase “who make offerings to holy Argarizim.” This qualification could imply that there were others on Delos who also called themselves “Israelites” but did not participate in the cult at Shechem (i.e., Judeans).46 And certainly as the Hasmonean state expanded and absorbed Samaritan territory, the use of “Israel,” with its broader geographic connotations, would seem to be more attractive. Yet the term “Judeans” persisted. Nor can we attribute its persistence on the coins to unthinking inertia. As Rappaport reminds us, the Hasmonean coinage was relatively insignificant. It was not silver, but bronze. Bronze coins did not circulate internationally, but served as “small change” locally. Consequently they never had the importance of silver coinage, and less care was devoted to their design and legends.47 Still it is clear that attention was paid to the coin inscriptions, as the introduction of the title “King” by Alexander Jonathan and the variations in the hever legends show. And the choice of the old Hebrew script, as opposed to the square, Aramaic script, also indicates that thought was given to the inscriptions. To be sure, the old Hebrew script was used on the Judean coinage of the late Persian and early Ptolemaic period. So one could argue that the Hasmonean minters simply followed the model provided by the earlier coins. But, as already noted, they did not follow that model with regard to mention of the geographical term “Judah.” Moreover, the coins of Alexander Jonathan’s twenty-fifth year, with their Aramaic legend in Jewish script, show that other options were available. Thus the general use of the old Hebrew script on the Hasmonean coinage must have been a deliberate choice.48 And the same should apply to the continued appearance of “the hever of the Judeans” on these coins down through Mattathias Antigonus. 46

47

48

This is the argument of Kraabel. The two inscriptions in question are dated by their original editor, Bruneau, to 250–175 and 150–50 b.c.e., hence before and contemporaneous with the Hasmonean state. For Kraabel and Bruneau see Chapter 5, n. 28, in this work. See Rappaport, “Emergence of Hasmonean Coinage,” pp. 173–5. See also A. Kindler, “The Hellenistic Influence on Hasmonean Coins,” in B. Bar-Kochva, ed., The Seleucid Period in Eretz Israel. Studies on the Persecutions of Antiochus Epiphanes and the Hasmonean Revolt (Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hame’uchad, 5740), pp. 289–308 [Hebrew]. Kindler does not mention the use of the plural gentilic. On the use of the old Hebrew script on most Hasmonean coins, see the discussion in Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. I, pp. 50–1. He attributes its use to “reasons of national prestige.” It has become clear that use of the old Hebrew script continued in Judah during Second Temple times, but the Jewish script, derived from the Aramaic, predominated. Thus the choice of the old Hebrew script is necessarily deliberate. See J. Naveh, On Sherd and Papyrus. Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from the Second Temple, Mishnaic and Talmudic Periods (Jerusalem:

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The upshot of the preceding discussion is that we cannot explain the Hasmoneans’ preference for “Judah” over “Israel.” We can suggest some reasons, but we cannot be sure why they preferred the gentilic plural “Judeans.” Although I doubt that this was a calque of common Greek usage, it remains a possibility. As we saw at the beginning of this chapter, we must avoid the genetic fallacy. Judean nationalists could accept Hellenistic phraseology, just as Vietnamese nationalists use a name that originated with their Chinese overlords. Since there were no linguists at the Hasmonean court, they would not even have been aware that it was a calque. (On the other hand, they could have been aware how referring to “the Judeans,” rather than just to “Judah,” differed from the common biblical idiom.) In any event, what is most important in the present context is the simple fact that the national identity invoked by the Hasmoneans and the nationalist movement they guided from rebellion to regional hegemony was denominated as Judean. So if we agree that the concept of nationalism is appropriate when talking of the Hasmoneans and their state, then we may speak of Judah nationalism.49 Independent Judah survived the demise of the Hasmonean dynasty. The state continued under a new ruling family, that of Herod. The latter did make an effort to legitimate his regime by marrying the Hasmonean princess Mariamme. And a grandson of this couple, Agrippa I, eventually succeeded to the throne. In actuality Herod and his descendants owed their position to appointment by the Romans. But already under the last Hasmonean rulers the kingdom had come within the Roman sphere of influence in the eastern Mediterranean region. Officially the kingdom continued as an ally of Rome and so technically remained an independent state both under the last Hasmonean rulers and under the Herodians. Independence, however nominal, ended in 6 c.e. when (part of) the territory became a province of the Roman Empire called Iudaea. The name of the province appears in the famous inscription from Caesarea in which Pontius Pilate bears the title praefectus Iudaeae.50 Nominal independence returned when Caius and Claudius bestowed the title of king on the aforementioned Agrippa I. At the death of the latter, the Romans restored the provincial regime. Our question here is the name of the kingdom ruled by Herod, his son Archelaus, and his grandson Agrippa I. Granted,

49

50

Magnes Press, 1992), pp. 13–18 [Hebrew]. For the coins with Aramaic legends and Jewish script, see J. Naveh, “Dated Coins of Alexander Janneus,” IEJ 18 (1968), pp. 20–5. I would prefer to use an adjectival form, but both “Judahite” and “Judean” might be misleading. What I mean is a nationalism that invokes the geographical and ethnic name “Judah,” as opposed to the alternatives of “Israel” and “Zion.” A photograph of the inscription can be conveniently found in K. G. Holum et al., Herod’s Dream. Caesarea on the Sea (New York/London: W. W. Norton and Company, 1988), p. 110.

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Archelaus was denied the title “king” and did not rule over all the territories governed previously by his father, Herod, or later by his nephew Agrippa I. But his ethnarchy did include Judah and Samaria, the heartland of ancient Israel. We shall also briefly look at the states ruled by Antipas and Agrippa II, which comprised territories that had been part of the Hasmonean state and the kingdom of Herod and Agrippa I. The evidence for the name(s) of these states is even scantier than what we found for the Hasmoneans. Thus the coinage of all five of the Herodian rulers named in the preceding paragraph contains only their names and titles, with no geographic or ethnic terms.51 Nor am I aware of any dating formulae mentioning these rulers in published ancient Semitic materials.52 Similarly, to the best of my knowledge, the Greek inscriptions mentioning these rulers contain only titles and epithets, without indicating over what these men ruled.53 There

51 52

53

See Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 17, 33, 40–1, 52, 54–7, 60–1, 93–4; idem, Treasury of Jewish Coins, pp. 61 –114, 221 –40. Earlier reports indicated that an acknowledgement of debt, 4Q344, bears a Herodian date formula. See S. A. Reed, M. J. Lundberg, and M. B. Phelps, The Dead Sea Scrolls Catalogue (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), p. 99. However, the document is now published and no such formula appears. Moreover, the Qumran provenance, which would have guaranteed a pre70 date, is seriously in doubt. In fact, a Carbon 14 dating indicates a post-70 date, and the paleography is compatible with such a date. See the comments of Yardeni in Cotton and Yardeni, Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Nahal Hever and Other Sites, pp. 289–91. There are some documents from before 70, but they do not mention the Jewish rulers. For example, A. Yardeni, “A Deed of Sale from the Judaean Desert: Nahal Se’elim 9,” Tarbiz 63 (1993–4), pp. 299–320 [Hebrew], publishes a document she dates to “the late Herodian period.” Unfortunately, most of the date formula, including the year and era, is not preserved. On the other hand, Murabba’at 18 dates to 55/56 c.e., contemporaneous with the rule of the great-grandson of Herod, Agrippa II. But it is dated to a regnal year of Nero. Presumably the document was not written in the territories of Agrippa, but in provincia Iudaea. See Benoit et al., Grottes de Murabba‘at, pp. 100–4. A similar case, apparently, is 4Q348. This is an act regarding ownership possibly dating to the reign of Tiberius, and so contemporaneous with the rule of Antipas and Philip in their tetrarchies. Reed, Lundberg, and Phelps, p. 100, suggested that 4Q348 dates to the reign of Tiberius. However, the date formula is either missing or preserved in an extremely fragmentary form. Although we can no longer assume that it in fact originated in Qumran Cave 4, a reference to the high priest could indicate a pre-70 date. See the publication by Yardeni in Cotton and Yardeni, pp. 300–3 and her cautious comments regarding line 13 on pp. 302–3. For a convenient survey of their careers with reference to literature and selected inscriptions, see Sch¨urer, History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, Vol. I, pp. 287–329 (Herod), 340–53 (Antipas), 353–7 (Archelaus), 442–54 (Agrippa I), and 471 –83 (Agrippa II). On the Greek inscriptions mentioning Herod and his sons, see E. Mantzoulinou-Richards, “From Syros: A Dedicatory Inscription of Herodes the Great from an Unknown Building,” The Ancient World 18 (1988), pp. 96–8; Peter Richardson, Appendix B, “Inscriptions and Coins,” in his Herod, King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1996), pp. 203–15. Add D. M. Jacobson, “King Herod, Roman Citizen and Benefactor of

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is a series of Latin inscriptions mentioning Herod and his title, and I shall begin with them. These appear on wine amphorae dated to 19 b.c.e. and found on Masada. The inscriptions read Regi Herodi Iudaic. Clearly the last word is an abbreviation, but of what? The editors of the texts, Cotton and Geiger, argue that we cannot resolve the abbreviation as Iudaic[orum, since the separation of the latter word from regi by a personal name would be unidiomatic and unparalleled. Hence they prefer to complete the word as Iudaic[o, and they interpret the combination of “king” with Iudaicus as having “the extended meaning of King of the Jews.”54 I am not clear on exactly how one extends the meaning of the singular to get a plural. Hence I prefer the alternative of interpreting Iudaicus as “Judean.” The Greek equivalent 23Qs, appears in a first-century inscription from Pompei. Some interpret the Greek word as a personal name; others interpret it as an adjective, “Judean/Jew.”55 And this presumably is what the Greek word means when Josephus refers to his work as 's )& > 23Q>  55 s at AJ 20:258 and Life 412, and to a specific passage as being + /R )6 556 23Q>  at AJ 18:11. That is, the phrase means “the Judean War.” If we follow the latter alternative, then the Latin inscriptions could mean “for King Herod the Judean.”56 One can compare Plutarch’s references to “Herod the Judean” ( L), s 1 23's) at Vita Antonii, 61:3 and 71:1. In sum, the interpretation of the Latin inscriptions on the amphorae is not certain. And in any case they may not reflect the actual titles preferred by Herod or used by him within Judah. So even in the case of Herod, we have no choice but to look at the evidence in literary sources. Among the earliest of the literary sources mentioning the Herodian state is the Gospel of Luke. Luke 1:5 refers to the days “of Herod King of Judah,” ( L)
 5 s /s 23s). We can compare Matthew 2:22, which mentions that Archelaus “reigned over Judah” (5 ! /s 23s) in

54 55

56

Kos,” Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeology Society 13 (1993–4), pp. 31 –5. Monographic studies on Herodian rulers are H. W. Hoehner, Herod Antipas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972); D. R. Schwartz, Agrippa I: The Last King of Judaea (T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990); N. Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty. Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse (JSPSS 30; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998). H. M. Cotton and J. Geiger, Masada II. The Latin and Greek Documents (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1989), p. 147. See D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe, Vol. I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), #40, pp. 59–60 with references to literature. Frey and the revised Sch¨urer take the word as a personal name, while Ferrua and Lifshitz take it as an adjective. Compare Richardson, Herod, King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans, p. 203: “‘King Herod the Jew’ . . . not ‘Herod King of the Jews.’”

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place of his father, Herod.57 Since these authors wrote at least three quarters of a century after the demise of Herod, their use of the geographical term “Judah” is not necessarily decisive. It might reflect Roman administrative terminology, which since 6 c.e. had called the former territories of Archelaus, son of Herod, provincia Iudaea. The evidence in Josephus, the contemporary of the authors of Luke and Matthew, is mixed. The Jewish historian refers to Herod as “king of the Judeans” at AJ 15:409 (S  23 K 8s L), s). Similar usage appears at BJ 1:282, 388 (see variants); AJ 14:9; 15:373; 16:291, 311. On the other hand, at BJ 1:225 // AJ 14:280 Josephus writes how Cassius intended to appoint Herod 23s 5 /5  /s 23s, “king of Judah.”58 The use of the geographical term also appears at BJ 1:244, where Josephus recounts how Antony entrusted Herod and Phasael with authority to administer “all of Judah.” The role of Roman officials raises the possibility that these last two passages might reflect Roman perspectives and usages. Specifically, Josephus’ sources may reproduce the Roman view of Judah more as a territory/provincia than as an ethnic state. Yet another contemporary of the gospel authors and Josephus, Plutarch, does not help. He does not explicitly mention over what or whom Herod ruled. As already noted, he simply refers to “Herod the Judean” ( L), s 1 23's) – at Vita Antonii, 61:3 and 71:1. From the first half of the second century, Appian of Alexandria may conform to the first usage of Josephus. Appian mentions the appointment of kings by Antony, naming four of them. Among them was Herod, appointed king “of the Idumeans and Samarians” (23  & <)). The failure to mention “Judeans” is puzzling and has been variously explained.59 If “Judeans” originally appeared here, then the avoidance of a geographical term might be significant. Appian does use geographical terms with other royal appointments he mentions here (e.g.,

57

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Admittedly, Matthew 2:1 had the magi from the East ask about the “king of the Judeans.” But this can be part of the use of “Judeans” in speeches by gentiles, while Jews use “Israel.” See Gutbrod, cited in Chapter 5, n. 23 in this book, and compare Matthew 27:11, 29, 37 with 27:42. See Rengstorf, A Complete Concordance to Flavius Josephus, s.v. 5 !s, pp. 298–313. This variation in Josephan usage, together with the evidence for Hasmonean usage of “Judaeans,” makes it unlikely that the two titles have different connotations. Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, pp. 217, 284, 288, has argued that “king of the Jews” implies a claim to authority over Jews throughout the world, while “king of Judea” simply alludes to rule over the territory. I find no basis for such a distinction. Appian Bella Civilia V, 75:319. On the various suggestions concerning the absence of “Judeans,” see the discussion of Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. II, pp. 189–90. Suggestions include the dropping of the term by haplography or its corruption into “Idumeans.”

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Pontus and Cilicia). And Iudaea had been in use as the name of the Roman province for over a century by the time he wrote. So one might argue that Appian reflects the usage of the gentilic “Judeans” to name Herod’s kingdom. However, the uncertainties over the correct reading in this passage prevent us from drawing any firm conclusions. In sum, the literary evidence is not unanimous in its testimony to the name of Herod’s state. Moreover, all of it is late. None of it is contemporary with the rule of the latter king. Thus in the case of the evidence for “king of Judah,” the literary usage could reflect the well-established name of the Roman province. Or, in the case of “king of Judeans,” it could reflect simple ignorance. Admittedly, much of the material in Josephus is likely to go back to Nicolaus of Damascus, an associate of Herod. But since the usage of Josephus is not consistent, we cannot make any inferences about that of Nicolaus. The decade-long reign of Archelaus as ethnarch over the central part of his father’s kingdom has already been mentioned. As we saw, Matthew 2:22 referred to his reigning in place of his father “over Judah.” And it should be noted that Luke 3:1 refers to the tetrarchies of Archelaus’ brother and halfbrother in geographical terms also. Thus we read, “when Herod [Antipas] was serving as tetrarch of Galilee and Philip his [half-]brother was serving as tetrarch of the region of Iturea and Trachonitis.”60 This parallels what Josephus writes in AJ 17:188–9. The latter reports how Herod’s last will ordained that Antipas be “tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea . . . and Gaulonitis, Trachonitis, Batanea and Paneada be a tetrarchy for Philip.” The latter is referred to again as “tetrarch of Trachonitis” at AJ 18:136, but at 136 Antipas is said to have held “the tetrarchy of the Galileans.” Then, at 240, the latter is called “tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea.” So perhaps Archelaus’ title was, after all, “ethnarch of Judah.” Other literary references are much later. Cassius Dio, Historia Romana LV, 27:6, refers to Archelaus as “Herod the Palestinian.”61 This recalls Plutarch’s allusions to Archelaus’ father as “Herod the Judean,” except that the post-135 name of the Roman province is used. Even later is Jerome’s notice about “the grave of Archelaus former king of Judah” (regis quondam Iudaeae Archelai tumulus), at Bethlehem.62 The lateness of this reference makes its value as evidence for the Archelean state questionable. There is also the possibility that

60 61 62

On the use of the term “region,” see the comment of J. A. Fitzmyer, Luke I–X (AB 28; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1981), ad loc., p. 457. For use of the name “Herod” for Archelaus, see the comments of Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. II, p. 365. See E. Klostermann, ed., Eusebius, Das Onomoasticon der biblischen Ortsnamen (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1904; Reprint: Hildesheim: G. Olm, 1966), p. 45.

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Jerome’s wording was influenced by the New Testament usage noted earlier (as well as the Hebrew Bible’s “king of Judah”). On the other hand, Jerome may preserve a native tradition. This may be the case with the title “king” for Archelaus. There is evidence (see BJ 1:203; AJ 14:157, 172) that Judeans referred to Hyrcanus II as “king,” even when the Romans limited him to the title “ethnarch.” And Mark 6:14, 22–27 refers to the tetrarch Antipas as “king.” So perhaps Jerome’s allusion to Archelaus as “king of Judah” preserves his internal, Judean title. The last member of the Hasmonean–Herodian line to rule over all of “greater Judah” was Agrippa I, grandson of Herod. Josephus was an infant during the reign of this monarch, so we now have testimony from a near contemporary with access to living memories. The terminology used to describe the regime of Agrippa is consistently territorial. Thus according to AJ 18:237, the latter began his royal career when Gaius appointed him king of “the terarchy of Philip.” AJ 19:343 refers to his “reigning over all of Judah” (5 ! /s 0 s 23s). The postmortem summary of his career at 19:351 –2 also uses territorial terminology. It mentions his rule of the tetrarchies of Philip and Antipas as well as of Judah, Samaria, and Caesarea. Analogous terminology is used to describe the rule of Agrippa’s brother Herod. The latter is consistently described as “ruling/reigning in Chalcis,” as at BJ 2:221, 223; AJ 19:353, while at 20:158 he is called “king of Chalcis.” Finally, under Agrippa II we find neither ethnic nor geographical specification. His contemporary and acquaintance Josephus consistently refers to him simply as “King Agrippa.” Of course, Agrippa II never ruled over Judah, neither Judah proper nor all the territories of his father (Agrippa I) or great-grandfather (Herod). The evidence from the literary sources is mixed. In Josephus we find Herod called both “King of Judah” and “King of the Judeans.” The latter form with the plural gentilic may be implicit in Appian as well. In the New Testament the former, geographical, terminology appears. With the later Herodians the geographical style predominates. Given the role of Rome in creating these kingdoms, one could assume that Roman usage is reflected here. These “client kingdoms” were in effect territories being administered for Rome, not independent ethnic states ruled by allies. On the other hand, Jerome’s bestowal of the title “King of Judah” on the tetrarch Archelaus might preserve native Judean usage. We recall again the first-century inscription concerning the reinternment of the bones of “Uzziah King of Judah.” The epigraphic evidence, so far limited to the wine jar inscriptions from Masada, was also somewhat ambiguous. Barring new evidence, I see no way to achieve a decisive resolution

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of the question. Still, what is beyond doubt is the continued usage of (forms of) the name “Judah.” This is assured above all by the fact that the Romans bestowed the name “Iudaea” on the province. The fact is proven not only by the previously mentioned Pilate inscription but also by the coins commemorating the visit of Hadrian to the province in 130. They bear the inscription adventi avg ivdaeae.63 Adoption of this name for the province as a whole reflects the geographical usage attested by Strabo. According to his Geographica XVI, 2:21, the coastal strip from Orthosia to Pelusium was called “Phoenicia” while “the interior above Phoenicia, as far as the Arabians, between Gaza and Antilibanus is called Judaea.”64 This in turn reflects the “greater Judah” resulting from Hasmonean expansionism. Thanks to Hasmonean adoption and retention of the name “Judah,” even when they ruled over the territories of the northern Kingdom of Israel, the former name supplanted the latter. A parallel ethnographic process appears in a report by Pompeius Trogus allued to earlier. Trogus claims the Jews originated in Damascus. After stating that this city was named after its first king, Trogus continues as follows: After Damascus, Azelus, Adores, Abraham and Israhel were their kings. But a felicitous progeny of ten sons made Israhel more famous than any of his ancestors. Having divided his people, in consequence, into ten kingdoms, he committed them to his sons, and called them all Judeans from Judas, who died soon after this division, and ordered his memory, whose portion was added to theirs, to be held in veneration by them all.65

Here the ethnonym “Judah,” just like the toponym, swallows up the name “Israel.” In any case, “Judah” survived as a geographic name for the territory even after parts of the territory were stripped from the Hasmoneans and assigned to the province of Syria. Indeed the name survived the demise of the Hasmonean regime. It possibly served as the official name of the Herodian state as it certainly did for the Roman province. The political independence of Judah may have been lost in the first century, but the survival of the name in geographical and administrative terminology allowed the possibility of 63

64 65

See H. Mattingly, Coins of the Roman Empire in the British Museum (Reprint; London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1966), Vol. III, pp. 493–4, ##1655–1661. For a photograph see Y. Meshorer, Ancient Means of Exchange, Weights and Coins (The Reuben and Edith Hecht Museum Collection/A; Haifa: University of Haifa, 1998), p. 120. The Iudaea capta/devicta coins are less decisive, since the name there need not reflect Roman provincial terminology. Translation of H. L. Jones apud GLAJJ, Vol. I, p. 290. Translation of Stern in GLAJJ, Vol. I, p. 337, with “Judeans” for “Jews.”

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Judah nationalism to continue. Yet when we next find active, political expression of Jewish nationalism, in 66 c.e., it invokes the name “Israel.” As I suggested in the previous chapter, the preference for the latter name over “Judah” may have reflected a conscious choice. The Roman, and general outsider, use of the name “Judah” may have diminished its power to evoke nationalist sentiment.

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he use of the name “israel” by the rebels of 66 and 132 is understandable in the light of ancient Hebrew literature and the precedent of the pre-exilic Kingdom of Israel. The use of the name “Judah” (or its Greek and Latin equivalents) by the Hasmonean and Herodian rulers also had biblical warrant and the precedents of the Kingdom of Judah and the Persian, Ptolemaic, and (presumably) Seleucid provinces of Judah. In this chapter we look at another name that may have served to denote or invoke ancient Jewish nationalism. This is the name “Zion.” The evidence is limited, but – especially in view of modern history – tantalizing. The first clue comes from the bronze coins of the first revolt. As noted earlier, one side of these coins bears dates of year two through year four. Some of the year four issues also bear denominations of “half” or “quarter” on the same side that has the date. For all three years of issue the opposite side of the bronze coins has a legend mentioning “Zion.” In years two and three the inscription is “freedom of Zion.” In year four it is “for/of the redemption of Zion.”1 The mention of Zion is both unprecedented and unparalleled in ancient Jewish numismatics. The name did not appear on Persian, Ptolemaic, or Hasmonean era issues, nor was it used later on the coins of the revolt of 132–5. The failure of the second-century rebels to 1

Kadman, Coins of the Jewish War of 66–73 c.e., remains foundational. For surveys inclusive of more recent discoveries, see Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 96–131, 259–63; idem, Treasury of Jewish Coins, pp. 115–34. See Deutsch, “A Unique Prutah,” pp. 71 –2, for a bronze coin with the “ungrammatical” form of the inscription “Holy Jerusalem” on one side and “[ . . . ] Israel” on the other. Compare Meshorer, Treasury of Jewish Coins, p. 120. The “ungrammatical” form appears on the silver coins of the first year, so scholars suggest this bronze coin dates from the same year and was a prototype for the bronze issues of years two through four. Obviously this unique coin lacks the “Zion” phrase of the later coins. Unfortunately the word before “Israel” is missing. Some speculate that the word “freedom” preceded “Israel,” yielding a parallel to the “[for the] freedom of Zion” inscription on the bronzes of the second year. Only additional discoveries can resolve this question.

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mention “Zion” is all the more striking because they did use the terminology of “freedom” and “redemption” on their coins. But they combined these words with “Israel” and, in the case of “freedom,” also with “Jerusalem.” The combinations on the Bar Kokhva coins involving “Israel” also appear in the documents. The evidence from the revolt of 132–5 can be summarized briefly. Detailed references appear in Chapter 5. The two explicit date formulas on the Bar Kokhva coins are “year one of the redemption of Israel” and “y[ear] 2 of the free[dom] of Israel.” The name “Jerusalem” also appears on the opposite side from the date on some of these coins, both in silver and in bronze. Finally, some coins without explicit dates have the legend “for/of the freedom of Jerusalem.” Scholars debate whether this is a slogan or a date. In either case, these coins are dated to year three.2 Documents from the second revolt use both “redemption of Israel” (Mur 24, 5/6Hev 42, XHev/Se 49, and, on paleographic grounds, Sdeir 2) and “freedom of Israel” (XHev/Se 7, 8, 8a, 13) eras. Both formulas may imitate (consciously or not) phrases used in documents during the revolt of 66. If Eshel, Broshi, and Jull are right, the first-century rebels had already used an era “of the redemption of Israel” (Mur 22, 29, 30) and also an era “of the freedom of Jerusalem” (Mur 25 and compare the “free[dom of . . . ]” date on Mur 23) on their documents. But the Zion formula does not recur in the materials from 132 to 135. The data surveyed previously have attracted scholarly interest. Most attention, however, has focused on the precise significance of the terms “freedom” and “redemption.” This focus is understandable since the issue is relevant to both revolts and to the documents as well as the coins.3 In the present context 2

3

See Kindler, “Matbe‘ot milhemet Bar-Kokhva,” pp. 159–77; Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 132–65, 264–77; Mildenberg, Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War; Eshel et al., “Documents from Mura’abat [sic] and the Status of Jerusalem during the War,” pp. 237–8. B. Kanael, “The Historical Background of the Coins ‘Year Four . . . Of the Redemption of Zion,’” BASOR 129 (1953), p. 20, had argued that in the coins of both the first and second revolts “freedom” is a political concept, while “redemption” is a messianic one. Roth, “Historical Implications of the Jewish Coinage of the First Revolt,” agrees that “freedom” refers to political (and social) goals. He also agrees that the change to “redemption” in the fourth year of the first revolt was deliberate and could reflect the changed political circumstances. But Roth does not explicitly describe the “redemption” formula as messianic. Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, pp. 122–3, still maintains Kanael’s distinction between humanly achieved freedom and divinely bestowed redemption. Some version of this approach may be behind the distinction made by Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” p. 131. He says “freedom of Zion” signifies a state of affairs while “for the redemption of Zion” states a goal. On the other side of the debate, Hengel, Zealots, pp. 117–8, rejected the distinction asserted by Kanael. Hengel argues that “freedom” and “redemption” are “almost identical.” In Hengel’s view, both terms can refer to eschatological redemption. But perhaps both terms can have mundane, political connotations. The documents from the second revolt show that the two terms were not restricted to specific

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the unparalleled use of “Zion,” as opposed to “Jerusalem,” on the first, revolt bronze coins is of greater interest. I found three scholars who commented on this topic: Roth, Hengel, and Meshorer. Roth asserted that “Zion” could have been substituted for “Jerusalem” “for the reasons suggested above.” In context he appears to mean the same reasons he gave for the replacement of “freedom” by “redemption.” in the issues of year four.4 But these reasons, allegedly reflecting the conditions of the fourth year of the revolt, cannot apply to the use of “Zion,” which began in the second year. So I must confess that I am not sure how Roth explains the use of the latter toponym. Hengel asserted that the Zion inscriptions of the bronze coins and the “Holy Jerusalem” legend of the silver coins of the first revolt were “concepts in parallel with each other.”5 By this he appears to mean that the two names were equivalent, and the use of one rather than the other requires no explanation. This parallels his view (n. 3 in this chapter) that “freedom” and “redemption” were equivalent. The claim that “Zion” and “Jerusalem” were interchangeable is a definite possibility, though it leaves several questions open. Why did the one name appear exclusively on the bronze and the other exclusively on the silver coinage during the first revolt? Why was “Zion” not used in the second revolt? These questions do not find an answer in the theory of Meshorer either. But at least he offers a detailed explanation of the significance of the reference to Zion. To this we now turn. Alluding to the bronze issues of year two, Meshorer writes: The reverse depicts for the first time in Jewish numismatics not a simple inscription or statement, but a phrase akin to a slogan: “Freedom of Zion.” “Zion” is more than a synonym for Jerusalem; it is a poetic term with nationalistic connotations. It symbolizes not only the city, but also its history, religion, culture, and desire for freedom.6

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years. Compare Mor, Bar-Kochba Revolt, pp. 153–4. And if Eshel, Broshi, and Jull are right that we have first-revolt documents dated to years one and two “of the redemption of Israel,” then it seems impossible to retain Kanael’s distinction. Instead, as Hengel had argued, the formulas were interchangeable. Roth, “Historical Implications of the Jewish Coinage of the First Revolt,” p. 43. Hengel, Zealots, p. 118. Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, Vol. II, p. 110. Subsequently Meshorer proposed a different explanation. See Meshorer, Treasury of Jewish Coins, p. 122. He still argues that “Zion” is more than just a synonym for Jerusalem, but that “more” is explained as follows. He writes, “‘Zion’ is the spiritual expression of the Holy City. Jerusalem is the earthly city, while Zion is its spiritual and symbolic connotation. Perhaps it had countrywide significance, in the form of ‘the Land of Zion.’” No documentation appears for these assertions. That “Zion” could stand for the entire land is well established. I am not sure about his other claim. In any case, for our discussion here the suggestion quoted here is the relevant one.

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There are two claims here. First, Meshorer argues that the legend does not name an era. Rather it is a slogan. Second, he suggests the meaning of that slogan. As to the first point, it is tempting to interpret the inscription of the bronze coins of year four, “for/of the redemption of Zion,” as indicating the era. After all, it begins with the letter lamed that is used in dating formulas. And so perhaps “freedom of Zion” on the bronzes of years two and three is an abbreviated date formula.7 The omission of the lamed would parallel the omission of the definite article he in the inscription “Holy Jerusalem” on the silver coins of the first year. Presumably the designers of the coins were not expert in Hebrew grammar and needed time to get things right. However, as noted earlier, the weight of the evidence supports Meshorer. The Zion phrases and the year appear on different sides of the coin. In contrast, on the coins of the second revolt, the year and era appear on the same side of the coin. Further, on the year four bronzes the year is followed by a denomination. That is, we have “year four half” and “year four quarter.” This makes it even less likely that the year formula should be construed as continuing with the words “of the redemption of Zion” on the other side of the coin. And the documents possibly dating from the first revolt do not attest a Zion era. In fact, Meshorer’s view reflects the consensus. Already Roth had argued that the Zion legends were “patriotic slogans.” Similarly Price states that “freedom of Zion” is a “slogan” stating the “purpose of the revolutionary state.”8 Rappaport appears to agree that these legends do not indicate the era. At least his assertion that the “redemption” formula states a goal seems to preclude it serving for current dating.9 So there seems to be agreement on the first of Meshorer’s assertions. We can now turn to the second. Meshorer had asserted that Zion “is more than a synonym for Jerusalem; it is a poetic term with nationalistic connotations.” He provides no documentation for this claim. There is no question that for an author writing today the word “Zion” does have such connotations. But was this the case in the first century of the Common Era? Did the designers of the bronze coins of 67–8 have the same understanding of the term as we do? This cannot simply be assumed. Instead we need to determine what connotations the name “Zion” might have had in antiquity. Those possible connotations should emerge from a survey of the usage of the term in ancient Jewish literature. And the obvious place

7 8 9

Kanael, “Historical Background of the Coins ‘Year Four . . . of the Redemption of Zion,’” p. 20, asserts that the “freedom/redemption of Zion” formula refers to an “era of reckoning.” Roth, “Historical Implications of the Jewish Coinage of the First Revolt,” p. 43 with n. 21; Price, Jerusalem under Siege, p. 27. Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” p. 131.

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to begin is the Bible. The evidence is conveniently summarized in the various Bible encyclopedias.10 The most restricted or precise usage of the term is as the name of a hill in Jerusalem. Eventually this hill was identified with the one on which the temple of Yahweh stood. In broader usage the term “Zion” could stand for or symbolize the temple, the city of Jerusalem, the land of Judah or Israel, the inhabitants of Jerusalem, or the people of Judah or Israel. It also emerges that use of the term is not evenly distributed over all the books of the Bible. According to the data assembled by Forbes and Andersen, of the 154 occurrences of the word “Zion” in the Bible, 117 – or 76 percent – appear in four books. These are Isaiah (47 occurrences), Psalms (38), Jeremiah (17), and Lamentations (15). Some smaller books have higher percentages of occurrences. Thus in Joel the word constitutes 0.73 percent of the total words in this book, and in Micah 0.64 percent. By way of contrast, for Isaiah the figure is only 0.28 percent and for Psalms 0.19 percent. Clearly the percentage figures can be misleading, especially when we deal with a short book. Thus the two occurrences of Zion in Obadiah give it a frequency of 0.69 percent, third highest in the Bible. On the other hand, the fact that the highest frequency of the term, 0.97 percent of the total words, appears in Lamentations may be significant. Be that as it may, we should note that 85 of the 154 occurrences of the term, or 55 percent of the total, appear in two books, Isaiah and Psalms.11 These two books are among the three most frequently represented among the Qumran manuscripts. Scholars have counted thirty-six Qumran manuscripts of Psalms, thirty of Deuteronomy, and twenty-one of Isaiah. And these same three books are the three most frequently cited biblical books in the New Testament.12 This indicates that Isaiah and Psalms, with their relatively frequent 10

11

12

See for example G. A. Barrois, “Zion,” IDB, Vol. IV, 1962, pp. 959–60; G. Fohrer, “ZionJerusalem in the O.T.” and “Zion-Jerusalem in Post-Biblical Judaism,” TDNT, Vol. 7, 1971 , pp. 293–319, 319–27; [Editors], “Zion,” EJ, Vol. 16, cols. 1030–31; W. H. Mare, “Zion (Place),” ABD, Vol. 6, pp. 1096–7; and Jon D. Levenson, “Zion Traditions,” ABD, Vol. 6, pp. 1098–1102. Surprisingly, there is no entry “Zion” in the Encyclopaedia Biblica (ensiklopediya miqra’it). The entry on “Jerusalem” in Vol. 3 (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1958), col. 793, does refer the reader to an entry “Zion,” but there is no such entry in the appropriate alphabetical location in Vol. 6 (1971), col. 731, between @wdyx and qwnyx. Compare the index in Vol. 9 (1988), col. 300b, s.v. @wyx. For all these statistics see Francis I. Andersen and A. Dean Forbes, The Vocabulary of the Old Testament (Roma: Editrice Pontificio Instituto Biblico, 1992), p. 406. The database is the Leningrad Codex. For the figures from Qumran, which relate to Hebrew texts, see E. Tov, “Categorized List of the ‘Biblical Texts,’” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, pp. 165–83. For the comparison with the New Testament, see Eugene Ulrich, “The Bible in the Making: The Scriptures at Qumran,” The Community of the Renewed Covenant. The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, E. Ulrich and J. VanderKam, eds. (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), p. 79.

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mentions of Zion, were widely disseminated in Second Temple times. And so the term “Zion” should have been familiar to Second Temple authors. Did it have much resonance in their compositions? The answer to this question should emerge from a survey of the literature of this period.13 The survey of pre-70 c.e. extrabiblical literature will be divided into three parts. I will save the books found near Qumran for last. That way we can see whether the Dead Sea Scrolls change the impression we received from previously known Jewish literature. Of the works known before the Qumran discoveries, I will treat those originally written in Hebrew (or Aramaic) separately from those originally written in Greek. In the case of certain books that survive only in non-Semitic languages, this distinction is subject to debate. For example, were all sections of the Book of Baruch in the Apocrypha, which survives in Greek, originally composed in Hebrew? And the debate over when Baruch was composed demonstrates that dating a work before or after 70 may also be subject to disagreement.14 For the purposes of this study, I follow what appears to me to be the consensus or most common view. Of the extrabiblical works composed in Hebrew (or Aramaic) before 70, I found eight that mentioned the name “Zion.” One of these, Syriac Psalm 154 has turned up in Hebrew at Qumran. So I will discuss it together with the other Qumran material. That leaves seven books: Ben Sira, Baruch, Judith, I Maccabees, Jubilees, Psalms of Solomon, and the Biblical Antiquities of Pseudo-Philo.15

13

14

15

In what follows I deal only with the place name “Zion.” For the city of Jerusalem in general, see the sources and literature surveyed by Zeev Safrai, “The Sanctity of Jerusalem in Desolation,” International Rennert Guest Lecture Series 4 (1999), pp. 3–19. Add E. Qimron, “The Controversy over the Holiness of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period,” Judea and Samaria Research Studies. Proceedings of the 6th Annual Meeting – 1996 (Kedumim/Ariel: College of Judea and Samaria, 1997), pp. 73–7 [Hebrew]; David Henshke, “The Sanctity of Jerusalem: The Sages and Sectarian Halakhah,” Tarbiz 57 (1997–98), pp. 5–28 [Hebrew]; L. I. Levine, ed., Jerusalem. Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity and Islam (New York: Continuum, 1999), especially Section II, “Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period,” pp. 53–129. A recent survey is D. Mendels, “Baruch, Book of,” ABD, Vol. I, pp. 618–20. For the positions of scholars on the language of the latter part of the book, see the literature cited by George W. E. Nickelsburg, “The Bible Rewritten and Expanded,” in Stone, ed., Jewish Writings, p. 144, n. 320. Nickelsburg himself (p. 145) opts for a Hebrew original for the entire book. On this point he follows D. G. Burke, The Poetry of Baruch. A Reconstruction and Analysis of the Original Hebrew Text of Baruch 3:9–5:9 (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982). Additional extrabiblical works generally assumed to have pre-70 Hebrew (or Aramaic) origins include I Esdras, Enoch, and parts of the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs. I found no mention of “Zion” in these books. The majority of these books are preserved in Greek. The exceptions are Jubilees and Enoch which are preserved in Ethiopic, while Pseudo-Philo survives in Latin. Psalms of Solomon also exists in a Syriac version, and there are Greek fragments of Enoch and Latin ones of Jubilees. Hebrew or Aramaic fragments of Tobit, Enoch, and Jubilees and a text related to the Testament of Levi (in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs) turned up at Qumran. Jacobson, Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatem Biblicarum, pp. 199–210, argues vigorously for a post-70 dating. However, he admits (p. 199)

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Altogether they contain twenty-four occurrences of the name “Zion.” Since the number is not large, we can review the references in some detail. This will reveal the various ways the term was used. I will begin with Ben Sira, since it is the most securely dated of all these books. There are four mentions of “Zion” in Ben Sira. One is in the poetic “praise of wisdom” of Chapter 24. In Verses 10–11 personified Wisdom testifies, “In the sacred tent I ministered in his presence, and I came to be established in Zion. He settled me in the city he loved and gave me authority in Jerusalem.”16 Since Verse 11 displays parallelism (“the city he loved” = “Jerusalem”), I assume the same is true in Verse 10. On this assumption “Zion” stands for the temple (= “sacred tent”).17 Two more occurrences appear in Chapter 48, which recounts the deliverance of Jerusalem from the Assyrian campaign against Hezekiah. Verse 18 reports how Rav Shaqeh “stretched out his hand against Zion” (translating literally). This clearly echoes Isaiah 10:32. Later the chapter characterizes the prophet Isaiah as one who “saw the future and comforted the mourners in Zion.” The latter phrase appears in Isaiah 61:3. Finally, the psalm preserved only in the Hebrew version contains Verse 33: “Give thanks to him who chooses Zion for his love endures forever.” Segal alluded to Psalms 78:68 and 132:13 which mention how God chose Mount Zion or Zion.18 Thus three of the four occurrences clearly are based on biblical phraseology. In the remaining instance, Zion appears to stand for the temple.

16 17

18

that recently “the weight of scholarly opinion seems to have tended to the earlier [i.e., pre-70] date.” Since the Biblical Antiquities has only a single mention of “Zion,” its placement in the pre-70 group or the post-70 group does not change things. For instances of the toponym “Zion,” I relied on E. Hatch and H. A. Redpath, A Concordance to the Septuagint and the Other Greek Versions of the Old Testament (Including the Apocryphal Books) (2 Vols.; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1897); Lester T. Whitelocke, An Analytical Concordance of the Books of the Apocrypha (Washington, DC: University Press of America, 1978), Vol. II, pp. 311 –12, s.v. “SION”; Albert-Marie Denis, Concordance Grecque Des Pseud´epigraphes D’Ancien Testament (Louvain-la-Neuve: Universit´e Catholique De Louvain, 1987), p. 700, s.v. < ,; and idem, Concordance Latine Des Pseud´epigraphes D’Ancien Testament (Brepols/Turnhout: Universitas Catholica Louvaniensis, 1993), pp. 443–4, s.v. Sion; and OTP, Vol. II, p. 1006, s.v. “Zion.” I supplemented these works with other resources, such as separate editions of the various extrabiblical books. For books of the Hebrew Bible, the Apocrypha, and the New Testament I normally cite the Revised English Bible. For a different view see Skehan and Di Lella, Wisdom of Ben Sira, p. 333. They argue that Verses 9–10 contain a historical progression, not synonymous parallelism. Thus the first half of Verse 10 refers to Wisdom serving in the desert tabernacle, while the second half describes her subsequent service in the Jerusalem temple. This would still allow “Zion” to stand for the temple. But Di Lella prefers to have it stand for Jerusalem for reasons that are not clear to me. M. S. Segal, Sefer Ben Sira Hashalem (Second Corrected and Expanded Edition; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 5732), p. 357 at 51:33 [Hebrew]. For the suggestion that the psalm was composed at Qumran, see Skehan and Di Lella, Wisdom of Ben Sira, pp. 569–71.

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This usage presumably reflects the view that Mount Zion was the temple mount, as in Isaiah 8:18, Joel 4:17, and Psalm 20:3. If Ben Sira’s usage is firmly anchored in biblical precedents, both Baruch and Judith contain unparalleled phrases. However, even these can be seen as resulting from the influence of biblical style. Chapter 4 of Baruch contains the same phrase three times (Verses 9, 14, 24). Jerusalem, personified as a widow, mentions “the neighbors ()  ) of Zion.” This phrase is unique to this text.19 But the theme, that those who witnessed the destruction will also see the deliverance, does occur elsewhere. For example, in Jeremiah 12:14–17 God addresses “the evil neighbors” of Israel and Judah and warns them that Judah’s exile is temporary. On a more militant note, Psalm 79 asked God to avenge the taunts of the neighbors who witnessed the ruin of Jerusalem and its temple. Presumably then “Zion” in Baruch 4 stands for Jerusalem or Judah/Israel, a well-attested biblical usage. Another phrase that is unique but has clear biblical precedents appears at Judith 9:13. In her prayer to God, Judith describes the enemy as threatening “thy covenant and thy hallowed house and the crest of Zion and the house of thy sons’ possession.”20 The phrase “crest ()) of Zion” is unparalleled but presumably corresponds to the common “mount ()s) Zion.”21 As to the sense of the passage, Carey understands the words following “hallowed house” to be in apposition to it: “even against Mount Zion and the house your children possess.” The New English Bible appears to take the same tack. It renders the verse as “against your covenant and against your temple, the summit of Zion, and the house and possession of your children.” Since it does not repeat “against,” I assume both “summit of Zion” and “house and possession” are explanations of “temple.” There is another possibility. The Greek has “against” (%) only one time, before “the covenant.” Assuming the preposition “against” refers to everything that follows, the verse could

19 20

21

See the comments of Burke, Poetry of Baruch, p. 163. Here I have followed the translation of Morton S. Enslin, The Book of Judith. Greek Text with an English Translation, Commentary and Critical Notes (Leiden: Brill, 1972), p. 127. His translation is the most literal. Other translations add punctuation that does not appear in the Greek text. See later. See the note of Enslin, The Book of Judith, ad loc., p. 126. Compare Carey A. Moore, Judith (AB 40; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1985), p. 190, who translates “Mount Zion.” At Jeremiah 31:11 the Masoretic text has @wyx !wrm. The Septuagint (38:12) has   ) < . The Vulgate follows the Septuagint, while the Targum is periphrastic: “on the mount of the temple which is built in Zion.” But the Syriac appears to support the Masoretic text: @wyhxd hmwrb. And this reading seems to be echoed in Biblical Antiquities 26:11, which is discussed later. The words “height of Zion” could be translated into Greek by the phrase in Judith, though so far as I could determine ) never translates !wrm in the Septuagint.

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refer to four distinct targets: covenant, temple (= hallowed house), Jerusalem (= crest of Zion), and the land of Israel (= house of possession). That is, “Zion” may stand for the entire city, not just the temple or temple mount. In either case, the usage has biblical antecedents. So too do the occurrences of the name in Psalms of Solomon and in the Biblical Antiquities of PseudoPhilo. The former book, at 11:1, has “Sound in Zion the signal trumpet of the sanctuary, announce in Jerusalem the voice of one bringing good news.” The parallelism Zion/Jerusalem is common in the Bible. And the specific phrase at the beginning of the verse uses the same words as (the Septuagint of) Joel 2:1 and 2:15.22 At Biblical Antiquities 26:11 reference is made to a stone cut from “the height of Zion” (excelso Syon). This appears to be identical to a phrase in the Masoretic Text (and Syriac) of Jeremiah 31:11.23 The remaining fourteen instances of the name “Zion” are concentrated in two books: Jubilees and I Maccabees. Jubilees contains six of them. In five of the six it is the phrase “Mount Zion” that occurs. In 1:28 Mount Zion is the site from which God will reign. In the following verse Mount Zion is mentioned as the site of the Jerusalem sanctuary. According to 4:26 Mount Zion is one of the four sacred places on the earth, along with the Garden of Eden, “the mountain of the East,” and Mount Sinai. The Garden of Eden, Mount Sinai, and Mount Zion are grouped together as holy places again in 8:19, with the last named located in the navel of the earth. And 18:13 identifies Mount Zion with the mountain of Genesis 22:14. The single reference to “Zion” without “Mount” is also in 1:28, which states that “Zion and Jerusalem will be holy.” This could be a hendiadys for the city of Jerusalem or a way of referring to the city and the temple. The remaining pre-70, originally Semitic-language book that mentions “Zion” is I Maccabees, where the term appears eight times. In 4:37 Judah’s men go up to Mount Zion and find the temple defiled. 4:60 reports how Judah and his men fortified Mount Zion with a wall and towers after they rededicated the temple in December 164 b.c.e. These fortifications play a role in the campaign of Lysias in the name of Antiochus V, who, according to 6:48, “encamped against Judea and Mount Zion.” The campaign ended with 22

23

Translation of P. B. Wright, “Psalms of Solomon,” in OTP, Vol. 2, p. 661. The verse from Joel 2:1 is cited by H. E. Ryle and M. R. James, Psalms of the Pharisees Commonly Called the Psalms of Solomon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891), p. 101, note at 11:1. See Jacobson, Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatem Biblicarum, p. 41 for the Latin, p. 138 for the English translation, and pp. 772–3 for a discussion of the phrase. As noted in n. 21 in this chapter, the Vulgate of Jeremiah 38:12 (= Masoretic 31:11) has “Mount Zion.” But Jacobson cites instances of the translation of !wrm by excelsum elsewhere in the Vulgate. And see there, pp. 556–7, for the argument that the appearance of the toponym at 16:2 is the result of a translator’s mistake or a dittography. On the basis of this argument, I have ignored Biblical Antiquities 16:2 in my survey.

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a peace agreement. But according to 6:62 Antiochus V was so impressed by how strongly Mount Zion was fortified that he ordered the wall around it demolished despite the terms of the agreement. Prior to these events, 5:54 recounted how the Gileadites rescued by Judah celebrated by going up to Mount Zion and offering sacrifices. 7:32 reports how Nicanor returned to “the City of David” after his defeat by Judah at Capharsalama. The next verse, 7:33, tells us that “After these events, Nicanor went up to Mount Zion, where some of the priests and members of the senate came out from the holy place to extend a friendly welcome to him.” According to 10:11 Jonathan ordered the fortification of Mount Zion. Finally, 14:27 reports that the resolution of the assembly of Elul 140 was inscribed on bronze tablets that were set up on Mount Zion. The eight references in I Maccabees have several things in common. In each case we have the phrase “mount ()s) Zion.” In each case the reference is concrete, not symbolic. That is, the reference is an actual hill, the one on which the temple sat. Finally, in each case the reference is to mundane, current events, not to the past or future, not to history or eschatology. This might indicate that “Mount Zion” was the current name for the temple mount at the time of the author. Admittedly, I Maccabees is commonly assumed to have been composed in an archaizing Biblical Hebrew, including use of biblical toponyms and gentilics no longer current when the book was written.24 Its use of “Mount Zion” may be part of that effort. Still, what began as an imitation of biblical style could have become contemporary usage. In favor of “Mount Zion” being the common designation for the temple mount is the very frequency of the phrase in our sample. Of the twenty-four occurrences of “Zion” in extra-biblical, pre-70 Hebrew/Aramaic literature, thirteen are combined with “mount.” These include five of the six occurrences of “Zion” in Jubilees as well as the eight from I Maccabees. To these thirteen we can add the phrase “crest of Zion” in Judith that may refer to the temple mount rather than to Jerusalem as a whole. Both Jubilees and Judith, like I Maccabees, are usually dated to the Hasmonean era.25 So my suggestion is that 24

25

Note the use of “Philistia” in I Maccabees 3:24, 41; 4:22; 5:68; of “Ammonites” in 5:6; of “Kittim” in 8:5; of “Canaan” in 9:37; of “Persia and Media” in 14:2. For the date of I Maccabees around the turn of the second to the first century, see the discussion in T. Fischer, “Maccabees, Books of; First and Second Maccabees,” ABD, Vol. 4, p. 441. Recently an earlier date has been suggested. B. Bar-Kochva, Pseudo-Hecataeus, On the Jews: Legitimating the Jewish Diaspora (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), p. 277 with n. 18, suggests “not long after” 129. Similarly, S. Schwartz, “Israel and the Nations Roundabout: I Maccabees and the Hasmonean Expansion,” JJS 42 (1991), pp. 16–38, argues for a date around 130. On Jubilees see the discussion and references to literature in Wintermute, OTP, Vol. II, 43–4, who suggests a date between 161 –140 b.c.e. For the date of Judith see the discussion in C. A. Moore, “Judith, Book of,” ABD, Vol. 3, 1992, p. 1123.

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during this period the name “Mount Zion” was a current toponym, and its use explains a significant portion of the occurrences of the term in our sample. In other words, common usage rather than ideology accounts for over half of the evidence. We come now to works originally composed in Greek before 70 c.e. It turns out that none, or almost none, of them mention the name “Zion.” The Letter of Aristeas, which has a relatively detailed description (lines 100–4) of the citadel of Jerusalem that contained the temple, fails to mention “Zion.”26 II Maccabees, for all its focus on Jerusalem and the temple, did not use the name “Zion” or “Mount Zion.”27 It appears also that Philo never mentioned the name “Zion.”28 One could try to explain this by noting that Philo focuses on the Pentateuch, where Zion is never mentioned by name. However, Philo does provide descriptions of current practice in the Jerusalem temple, so a reference to Mount Zion or Zion would be possible.29 I am aware of only three possible cases of reference to the name “Zion” in a pre-70 work composed originally in Greek. One case involves the three references to “the neighbors of Zion” noted previously in Baruch 4:9, 14, 24. Some scholars believe that Baruch 4:5–5:9 was composed originally in Greek. (See n. 14 in this chapter.) A more certain case is the Epistle to the Romans of Paul. Here the name “Zion” appears twice, in each case in a direct quote of verses from Isaiah. Romans 9:23 quotes 26

27

28

29

See Appendix B, “The Dating of Pseudo-Aristeas,” in Bar-Kochva, Pseudo-Hecataeus, pp. 271 – 88. Bar-Kochva dates the Letter of Aristeas to the next to the last decade of the second century. On pp. 273–8 he discusses the description of “The Citadel and the Temple” in Aristeas and argues that they reflect Hasmonean Jerusalem. If Bar-Kochva is correct in his dating, then it is all the more striking that the author of the Letter to Aristeas refrained from using the toponym “mount Zion.” Note the references to Jerusalem in the beginning and conclusion of Jason’s narrative at II Maccabees 3:1 and 15:37. And compare the epitomist’s description of the Jews’ achievement at 2:22. On the importance of the Temple in II Maccabees, note the title of the book by R. Doran, Temple Propaganda: The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981). Compare also the title of the third chapter of Daniel J. Harrington, The Maccabean Revolt. Anatomy of a Biblical Revolution (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazer, 1988), pp. 36–56: “Second Maccabees: God’s Temple.” I relied on G¨unter Mayer, Index Philoneus (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 1975), p. 255, s.v.  – and p. 256, s.v.  –. The entry  , on p. 56 refers to the Amorite king Sihon. See also the foldout at the end of the book listing “Biblische Namen Und Ihre Transkription,” where @wyx does not appear. Additional Philonic writings have appeared since Mayer did his work. See now Borgen et al., Philo Index, s.v. The negative result remains. For a convenient selection of Philo’s descriptions of temple practice, not all of which can be based on the pentateuchal accounts, see C. T. P. Hayward, The Jewish Temple. A Non-biblical Sourcebook (London/New York: Routledge, 1996), pp. 108–41. Most scholars believe that the account of a pilgrimage to the Jerusalem Temple in De Prudentia, fragment 2, 64 recounts Philo’s own experience. See the discussion in Y. Amir, “Philo’s Version of the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” in A. Oppenheimer, U. Rappaport, and M. Stern, eds., Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period: Abraham Schalit Memorial Volume (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1980), pp. 154–65.

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Isaiah 28:16, and 11:26 quotes Isaiah 59:20. (As we shall see later, there are five other occurrences of “Zion” in the New Testament, but all are in compositions commonly dated post-70.) Finally, there are two occurrences of the toponym in Lives of the Prophets. At 1:10 we are informed that Solomon built the tombs of the kings “east of Zion.” At 2:12 Jeremiah is quoted as saying that, with the destruction of the temple, “the Lord has gone away from Zion into heaven and will come again in power.”30 The case of Baruch 4 is problematic given the uncertainty concerning the original language of this section as well as whether it (or the book as a whole) was written before 70. There is a consensus that Lives of the Prophets was originally composed in Greek; however, its date of composition is debated. Satran has recently made the case that this book originated in Byzantine times.31 Even if we accept an early date for the origin of the book, one of our two instances sounds Christian. The promise that “the Lord will come again in power” in 2:12 is followed in the next verse by “And this will be for you a sign of his coming, when all the gentiles worship a piece of wood.”32 If these lines are a Christian interpolation, they probably date after 70. It turns out that the only certain occurrences of “Zion” in a work originally composed in Greek are in the Epistle to the Romans. And Paul is quoting a Greek translation of Isaiah. Even if we accept the relevant sections of Baruch and Lives of the Prophets as originating before 70, they constitute only minor exceptions. Lengthier works, which devote considerable attention to contemporary Jerusalem and its temple (including Aristeas, II Maccabees, and Philo), do not mention “Zion” once.33 By contrast, Mount Gerizim does appear in a number of Greek texts – even in the form of a transliteration of the Hebrew har gerizim.34 30 31 32 33

34

See Hare, “Lives of the Prophets,” OTP, Vol. II, pp. 386 and 388. Satran, Biblical Prophets in Byzantine Palestine. Contrast Hare, “Lives of the Prophets,” pp. 380– 1, for the view that the book originated in the first century, before 70 c.e. Translation of Hare, “Lives of the Prophets,” p. 388. See his comments ad loc. One wonders if this evidence supports the view of Schwartz that Diaspora Jews developed loyalty to the city of Jerusalem as the metropolis of the Jews, rather than to the temple alone. See D. R. Schwartz, “Temple or City: What Did Hellenistic Jews See in Jerusalem?” in Poorthuis and Safrai, eds., Centrality of Jerusalem, pp. 114–27. For the transliterated form see the anonymous Samaritan apud Eusebius, Praep. Ev. X, 17, 5; and the two Delos inscriptions published by Bruneau, “Les Israel´ıtes de D´elos et la juiverie d´elienne,” pp. 465–504. Post-70 it appears in Josephus, BJ 1:63, and as late as the sixth-century philosopher Damascius, available in Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. II, #548, p. 674. The nontransliterated form appears in II Maccabees 5:23; 6:2; and eighteen times in the writings of Josephus, according to Schalit, Namenw¨orterbuch zu Flavius Josephus, p. 33. Of course, the Mount Gerizim site of the Samaritan temple was outside the city of Shechem, while Mount Zion was within the walls of Jerusalem. Thus there is a logic to mentioning “the temple in Jerusalem” on the one hand and “the temple on Mount Gerizim” on the other, as II Maccabees 6:2 does. In other words, there would be more reason to mention “Gerizim” than to mention “Zion,” since the temple on the latter site could be identified by its location in Jerusalem.

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We turn now to the extrabiblical writings preserved at Qumran. There are thirty-eight discrete occurrences of the term “Zion” in twenty-three manuscripts.35 These thirty-eight include two passages that appear three times and three others that occur twice.36 So strictly speaking we have only thirtyone different occurrences. Of these, seven instances appear in contexts too fragmentary for us to learn anything.37 This leaves twenty-four cases for us to examine. In five of the twenty-four, the word “Zion” appears in a direct quote from a biblical book. Thus 4Q161 (4QpIsaa ) fragments 2–6, line 9, cites Isaiah 10:24 and line 21 cites Isaiah 10:32. 4Q163(4QpIsac ) fragment 23, column II, line 15, quotes Isaiah 30:19. 4Q176 (4QTanh) fragments 8–11, line 2, cites Isaiah 52:1. And the word “Zion” from Isaiah 52:7 is cited three times at 11 Q13 (11 QMelch) column II, lines 16 and 23. Twelve more instances may not be exact quotations but still fairly obviously reflect biblical phraseology. Thus the call on Zion to rejoice and the cities of Judah to exult at 1 QM 12:13 = 1 QM19:15 = 4Q492 (4QMb ) 1:5 seems based on Psalm 48:12. The combination of “Zion” with “the end of days” at 4Q174 (4QFlor) fragments 1 –2, column I, line 12, though used in a different context, recalls the prophecy at Isaiah 2:2–4//Micah 4:1 –4. The construct phrase “daughter of Zion,” used at 4Q175 (4QTest), line 29, occurs frequently in the Bible. The plural “daughters of Zion” appears at 4Q179 (4QapocrLamA) 2:13 and also occurs in the Bible, at Isaiah 3:116, 17 and Song 3:11. More specifically, this Qumran passage appears to be an adaptation of the phrase “the sons of Zion” in Lamentations 4:2. The description of entering Zion with happiness at 4Q177 (4QCata ) column IV, line 15, in effect quotes Isaiah 35:10 and 51:11, replacing Isaiah’s hnr with hjmv. The apparent allusion to the Jerusalem temple as “the tent of Zion” at 4Q372 (4QapocrJosephb ), line 13, has ample biblical background. The building was seen as heir to the Mosaic tent of meeting and could be poetically referred to as a tent, for example in Psalms 15:1; 27:5–6; 61:10. Moreover, the phrase “the tent of the Daughter of Zion” at Lamentations 2:4 35

36

37

See M. G. Abegg, Jr., “Concordance of Proper Nouns in the Non-biblical Texts from Qumran,” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, pp. 279–80. The twenty-three manuscripts are 1 Q25; 1 QM; 4Q88 (4QPsf ); 4Q161 (4QpIsaa ); 4Q163 (4QpIsac ); 4Q174 (4QFlor); 4Q175 (4QTest); 4Q176 (4QTanh); 4Q177(4QCata ); 4Q179 (4QapocrLamA); 4Q180 (4QAgescreat); 4Q371; 4Q372; 4Q380; 4Q448; 4Q475; 4Q481; 4Q492 (4QMb ); 4Q504 (4QDibHama ); 4Q522; 4Q550f; 11 Q5 (11 QPsa ); 11 Q13 (11 QMelch). This list is identical to what appears in idem, Dead Sea Scrolls Concordance, Vol. I, pp. 637, 911. For Jerusalem in general in Qumran literature, see Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Jerusalem in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Poorthuis and Safrai, eds., Centrality of Jerusalem, pp. 73–88. 11 QMelch quotes “Zion” in Isaiah 52:7 three times in column II, lines 16 and 23 (once as a direct quote and once as a pesher rubric); 1 QM 12:13, 19:5 and 4QMb fragment 1, line 5 all have the same phrase; and 4Q88 column 8, lines 6, 8, 10 recur in 11 QPsa column 22, lines 1 and 11. 1 Q25 fragment 1, line 8; fragment 9, line 1; fragment 11, line 1; 4Q176, fragment 24, line 3; 4Q371, fragment 1 a-b, line 4; 4Q475, fragment 1; 4Q481, fragment 2, line 2.

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provides a close parallel. The hymn in 4Q448, column I, line 10 refers to Yahweh’s dwelling (@kvm) in Zion. This recalls such verses as Isaiah 8:18, Joel 4:17, 21; and Psalm 74:2, which refer to Yahweh dwelling (@kv) in Zion/Mount Zion.38 In 4Q504 (4QDibHama ) fragments 1 –2, column IV, line 12, the phrase “Zion your holy city” recalls Isaiah 64:9. The two references to Zion in 4Q522 (4QapocrJosu´ec ) fragment 9, column II, lines 2 and 4, obviously have as their background the capture of “the fortress of Zion” by David as related in II Samuel 5:7. However, the Qumran text uses the phrase “the rock of Zion.” Two more passages, at 4Q180 (4QAgescreat) fragments 5–6, line 4, and 4Q380 fragment 1, column I, lines 6–7, at the very least reflect the common biblical parallelism of “Zion” and “Jerusalem.”39 This leaves seven more occurrences of the name “Zion” that do not have obvious, close biblical models. In 4Q550f much of the line is preserved, but the context for the mention of Zion is still unclear.40 The other six occurrences appear in a single composition, the hymn known as the “Apostrophe to Zion.” This is preserved in 11 Q5 (11 QPsa ) column XXII, lines 1 b–15, with fragments in 4Q 88 (4QPsf ), columns VII–VIII and 11 Q6 (11 QPsb ) fragment 6. This composition is biblical in style, but its phraseology is fairly original. It also stands apart from other Qumran texts. First, it contains the highest concentration of references to “Zion.” Second, mention of the latter is not just a passing allusion or an alternative name for Jerusalem. Instead Zion is the center of attention. The exclusive focus on Zion is unique in the Qumran corpus. Indeed, at least one scholar has argued that this hymn was not composed by a member of the

38

39

40

This hymn parallels in part the hymn at 11 QPsa column XVIII = Psalm 154 preserved in Syriac. While the conclusion of the 11 Q text is not preserved, the concluding verse of the Syriac version refers to God’s “mishkan in Zion.” See E. Eshel, H. Eshel, and A. Yardeni, “Apocryphal Psalm and Prayer,” in E. Eshel et al., eds., Qumran Cave 4, VI, pp. 419–20. We already saw this parallelism in 1 QM 12:13 = 1 QM 19:5 = 4Q492 (4QMb ) 1:5; 4QCata column IV, line 15; 4Q175 1:29; 4Q448 column I, line 10; and 4Q504 fragments 1 –2, column IV, line 12. In the last case “Zion” is separated from “Jerusalem” by nine lines. However, the fact that “your holy city” follows “Zion” shows that the latter stands for the city (as well as the temple, for “your glorious house” also follows). In 4Q448 the word “Jerusalem” is restored on the basis of the parallel from Syriac Psalm 154. The case of 4Q380 is not certain, for the word “in Zion” could go with the following phrase rather than with the reference to Jerusalem that precedes it. See the comments ad loc. of Eileen Schuller, “4Q380 = 4QNonCanonical Psalms A,” in Eshel et al., Qumran Cave 4,VI, p. 80. The phrase “upon Jerusalem and Zion” might be prosaic, as she argues, but it has biblical precedent. See Zecharaiah 1:14 and Jubilees 1:28 – which seems to have had “canonical” status at Qumran. Compare “Mount Zion and Jerusalem” in Isaiah 10:12, 24:23, and Joel 3:5. Further, the many biblical instances of the parallelism of “Zion” and “Jerusalem” could lead to the hendiadys “Jerusalem and Zion.” If hnb is an alternative spelling of ynb, then we have the phrase “sons of Zion” as at Lamentations 4:2.

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Qumran group but was imported from outside.41 Be that as it may, the fact remains that the name “Zion” occurs in only 23 of the 700 or so nonbiblical manuscripts found in the Qumran caves. Given the frequent mention of Zion in two of the biblical books most frequently attested at Qumran, Isaiah and Psalms, the thirty-one different occurrences of the name do not appear to be a significantly large number.42 The survey of the use of the term “Zion” in extrabiblical Jewish writings from before 70 is now complete. We saw that the term never appears in Jewish literature composed originally in Greek (not counting the two Bible quotations in Paul’s Epistle to the Romans and leaving aside the possible, but not certain, cases of Baruch 4 and Lives of the Prophets). In these books, including II Maccabees, Aristeas, and all the writings of Philo, even a biblical quotation mentioning “Zion” is absent. In writings composed in Hebrew, we find the term occasionally. Since the books of the Bible provided the “classical” models for Hebrew composition by later Second Temple times, this is what we would expect.43 That is, “Zion” could be used as a poetic term, or symbol, for the city of Jerusalem, for Judah, or for the people. In addition, the evidence from I Maccabees and perhaps Judith and Jubilees may indicate that “Mount Zion” was the current designation for the temple mount/citadel in the Hasmonean era. However, there are no traces of this usage in the Herodian or Roman periods. Nothing in any of this suggests that “Zion” was an important, emotionally charged name in late Second Temple times. Nothing seems to 41

42

43

For discussion see the comments of James H. Charlesworth, The Dead Sea Scrolls. Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek Texts with English Translations, Vol. 4A. Pseudepigraphic and Non-Masoretic Psalms and Prayers (T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck and Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), p. 201. He cites biblical models for both the theme and the language. See also Hanan Eshel and John Strugnell, “Alphabetical Acrostics in Pre-Tannaitic Hebrew,” CBQ 62 (2000), pp. 449–53. The suggestion that the Apostrophe of Zion is not a Qumranic composition is made by H. Eshel, “A Note on a Recently Published Text: the ‘Joshua Aprocryphon,’” Poorthuis and Safrai, eds., Centrality of Jerusalem, p. 89. Eshel does not give a reason for his suggestion there. The focus on Zion, unparalleled in other documents from Qumran, seems to support it. Compare the comments of Schiffman, “Jerusalem in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” p. 87. To be sure, according to Abegg’s figures the name “Zion” is the sixteenth most frequent proper name in the nonbiblical texts from Qumran. See the chart in Abegg, “Concordance of Proper Nouns in the Non-biblical Texts from Qumran,” p. 232. Note that the name “Jerusalem” appears as the eleventh most frequent with sixty-eight, occurrences. More significantly, the names “Gamul,” “Shecaniah,” and “Kittim” all occur more often than “Zion.” That only about a quarter of the 900 or so manuscripts found at Qumran are of biblical books is the standard figure. For the figure of around seven hundred nonbiblical manuscripts found at Qumran, see Tov, “Categorized List of the ‘Biblical Texts,’” p. 167. That authors of the Second Temple era were trying to emulate the style of preexilic Hebrew has long been the common view. For a recent defense of this position against revisions suggested by scholars such as Morag, Qimron, and Talshir, see Blau, “The Structure of Biblical and Dead Sea Scrolls Hebrew in Light of Arabic Diglossia and Middle Arabic,” pp. 21 –32 [Hebrew].

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support Meshorer’s claim that it had “nationalistic connotations” or “symbolized . . . [the] . . . history, religion, culture and desire for freedom” of the Judeans. There is one additional testimony that can be invoked. It is not from the literature, but from onomastics. I refer to the fact that one of the most popular Hebrew names for women in Second Temple times was Salome/Shelamsiyyon, assuming that the former is a hypercoristicon for the latter.44 Does the popularity of this name indicate the importance of “Zion” in the popular consciousness? This was suggested by Barrois, who argued that it demonstrated the religious significance of the name “Zion” around the beginning of the Christian era.45 Or was it the popularity of the Hasmonean dynasty that led to the widespread use of the name? It would be easier to adopt the first alternative if we had other evidence for the importance of Zion. But, as our survey of the literature shows, we do not. In contrast, we do have evidence of the popularity of Hasmonean dynastic names for males. This suggests that the same explanation applies to the female name.46 If so, we are left with nothing that prepares us for the important place of “Zion” on the first-revolt coins. It is possible that the traditions that stand behind the adoption of “Zion” on the coins have not survived. We should never forget that we possess only a fraction of ancient literature. As a result, we must be cautious with arguments from silence such as those adduced earlier. Another possibility is that the emphasis on Zion was an innovation of the first revolt. Is there anything else we know about this revolt that might also point to a “Zioncentric” trend? In fact there are indications of an emphasis on Jerusalem and the temple, either of which

44

45 46

See Tal Ilan, “Queen Salamzion Alexandra and Judas Aristobulus I’s Widow,” JStJ 24 (1993), p. 186. She observes that we have no evidence for this assumption. Going farther, I note that the long form, when transcribed in Greek, consistently has an “a” vowel after the consonant “l”. This, along with the defective spelling in Semitic writing, points to the Aramaic shelam rather than to the Hebrew shalom. The latter, on the other hand, is suggested by those Greek transciptions of the shorter name with an “o” vowel after the “l”. This might indicate that we deal with different names, one in Aramaic and one in Hebrew. But for the sake of argument, I will assume here that the two names are a hypocoristic and the full form of the same name. This assumption lies behind the conclusion that we deal here with the single most popular Hebrew name for females in late Second Temple times. See note 46 in this chapter. Barrois, “Zion,” p. 960. See Tal Ilan, “Notes on the Distribution of Women’s Names in Palestine in the Second Temple and Mishnaic Period,” JJS 40 (1989), pp. 186–200. Assuming Salome and Shelamzion to be the same name, Ilan shows that 25 percent of all the named women attested bore it. Ilan follows R. Hachlili, “Names and Nicknames Among the Jews in the Second Temple Period,” EI 17 (1984), pp. 191 –2 [Hebrew], in attributing the popularity of the name to its use by the Hasmonean dynasty. See Ilan’s comments there about the name Mariamme/Maria and her discussion of the frequency among males of names from the first generation of the Hasmonean dynasty in Tal Ilan, “The Names of the Hasmoneans in the Second Temple Period,” EI 19 (1987), pp. 238–41.

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trend might be expressed by use of the name “Zion.” To begin with Jerusalem, we have previously noted that one side of the silver coins of the revolt bore the legend “sheqel of Israel,” while the other had “Holy Jerusalem.” The latter is commonly explained as an imitation of the legend “of Tyre the Holy and place of asylum” on the Tyrian sheqels (= tetradrachms). It is commonly argued that one function of the silver coinage of the revolt was to replace the Tyrian coins as “legal tender” for the Jerusalem temple cult. So imitation of the legends of the latter (along with their weight) on the rebel replacements makes sense.47 Some scholars, however, want to read more into the “Holy Jerusalem” inscription. Thus Roth suggested that the mention of Jerusalem might indicate that we are dealing with an “urban mint.” The claim that Jerusalem was the minting authority was sharply rejected by Mildenberg.48 But Roth’s additional suggestion is more pertinent to our discussion. He went on to argue that the inscription “emphasized the subordination in the new regime of the entire country to the capital city.” Rappaport takes a similar position. He argues that the “Holy Jerusalem” inscription “emphasizes the centrality of Jerusalem in the war and in the independent state established by virtue of the revolt.” And then he adds an additional point: “It is possible that there is also in it an expression of the important place of Jerusalem in the messianic and nationalistic outlooks that were current in the rebel camp.”49 This last point recalls Meshorer’s argument for the “nationalistic connotations” of the term “Zion.” There are other possible indications of the centrality of Jerusalem in the rebel regime, aside from the coins. I refer to evidence in Josephus. The latter actually says very little about the formal structure of the rebel state and its government. Usually he refers only to individuals (e.g., John of Gischala, Simeon son of Giora), groups (e.g., leaders, rebels, brigands), or parties (e.g., Sicarii, Zealots). But occasionally he does mention what could be formal institutions. Assemblies, like those mentioned at BJ 2:562 and 4:162, could have been ad hoc rather than regular meetings. More significant are the references to councils. BJ 4:213 could be construed, with Thackeray, as referring to “those who met in council ()) on the general weal.” However, it could also be taken to refer merely to informal consultation.50 The strongest evidence for a formal rebel institution in Jerusalem asserting a claim to national

47 48 49 50

See references to the literature in Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” p. 360, n. 1. C. Roth, “Historical Implications of the Jewish Coinage of the First Revolt,” p. 41; Mildenberg, Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War, pp. 61 –2. Roth, loc. cit. Rappaport, “Hamered hagadol umahalakho,” p. 57 [my translation]. Thackeray et al., Josephus, Vol. II, p. 65.

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leadership comes in Josephus’ Life. Here Josephus mentions “the   of the Jerusalemites” six times, plus twice more without “of the Jerusalemites,” plus one reference to “the )  of the Jerusalemites.”51 Price has argued that this institution, prominent in Life but absent from BJ, is a fiction.52 However, there is no denying that the rebels in Jerusalem did claim national leadership, with the clearest case being the appointment of generals for the various regions of Judea in Fall 66, as reported at BJ 2:562–8. The attempt by the leadership in Jerusalem to remove Josephus from his command in Galilee, recounted in BJ 2:626–631 // Life 189–332, implies the same claim. Further, several sources report the existence of a Jerusalem city council (5), whose influence was felt beyond the borders of the city and its immediately surrounding territory. Josephus assigns a role to this body in the events leading to the outbreak of the revolt in spring 66, and Cassius Dio refers to its members in his account of the fall of the temple in summer 70.53 The city council of rebel Jerusalem claiming to lead the nation could well explain the references of Josephus to “the koinon of the Jerusalemites.”54 Whatever the precise structure of the Jerusalem authorities, their assertion of national leadership could have found expression in the prominence of “Zion” on the rebel coins issued in Jerusalem. In addition to, or part of, the claim of Jerusalem to dominance during the revolt was the presence of the temple. The defense of the temple became a central theme in rebel thought. For example, Josephus reports in BJ 5:564 how the rebels justified their appropriation of temple supplies by claiming, “those fighting for the Temple should be supported by it.”55 Perhaps the most dramatic expression of the rebel view that their fight was for the temple comes in Cassius Dio. Describing the taking of the temple by Roman forces, Dio reports how the Jews defended themselves even more vigorously “as if they had discovered a piece of rare good fortune in being able to fight near the temple and fall in its defence.” Then, when the temple was set on fire and the Jews realized all was lost, they began to commit suicide. “And it seemed 51 52 53 54

55

Lines 65, 72, 190, 254, 341, 393; 267, 309; 62, respectively, in Josephus’ Life. Price, Jerusalem under Siege, pp. 64–5. For references to the sources and literature with discussion, see Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle, pp. 116–18. For general surveys of the rebel government, see McLaren, Power and Politics in Palestine, pp. 172–84; Price, Jerusalem under Siege, pp. 63–7. That the Jerusalem council also served as a national council is asserted by Z. Safrai, “The Role of the Jerusalem Elite in National Leadership in the Late Second Temple Era,” in Poorthuis and Safrai, eds., Centrality of Jerusalem, p. 71. Safrai states there that this is an opinion that he accepts, but he does not indicate the source of the opinion. Compare the discussion in Price, Jerusalem under Siege, pp. 151 –3.

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to them, that so far from being destruction, it was victory and salvation and happiness to them that they perished along with the temple.” Clearly, by the end of the revolt, the rebels believed they were fighting for the defense of the temple.56 Evidence on the role of the temple in rebel thinking also appears in accounts of earlier stages of the war. One example is in the speech attributed to John of Gischala when he arrived in Jerusalem in the summer of 67. Josephus quotes him as reassuring the people that the metropolis is impregnable by stating that even if the Romans had wings, they could never surmount the city walls. The end of the sentence, pointing to the Roman difficulties with the much weaker defenses of Galilean towns, suggests a purely naturalistic argument. But the reference to wings hints at a different kind of argument: Even if the Romans could overcome the natural defenses and height of the walls, they still could not take Jerusalem. This implies that the impregnability of Jerusalem had supernatural causes.57 And the most likely source of such protection was the presence of the temple. A detailed discussion of the role of the temple in rebel thinking appears in Hengel.58 In sum, the mention of “Zion,” which could allude to the temple mount or to the temple itself, could be an expression of this rebel ideology. If in fact the “Zion” inscriptions on the coins reflected a Jerusalem-centered or temple-centered ideology on the part of the rebels, did any traces of the ideology survive after 70? Anti-Roman sentiment must have continued among some people in Judea, as subsequent revolts perhaps in 115 and certainly in 132 indicate. A desire for “freedom” and “redemption” clearly survived, for these terms reappear on the coins and documents of the second revolt. However, as has been noted, the coins of the second revolt do not use the name “Zion.” The terms “freedom” and “redemption” are applied there to “Israel” or “Jerusalem.” We cannot be certain if first-revolt coins served as direct models for those of the second.59 But surely the connotations of “Zion” and an ideology it expressed could have survived the

56

57

58 59

Cassius Dio, Historia Romana, LXVI, 6, 2–3, translated E. Cary, cited from Stern, GLAJJ, Vol. II, p. 375. For a discussion of this passage, see D. Goodblatt, “Suicide in the Sanctuary: Traditions on Priestly Martyrdom,” JJS 46 (1995), pp. 23–4. On the role of the defense of the temple at the end of the war, see Hengel, Zealots, pp. 221 –4. BJ 4: 121 –7. Compare the comments of U. Rappaport, “John of Gischala: From Galilee to Jerusalem,” JJS 33 (1982), pp. 486–7, especially his suggestion that the speech implies a view of Jerusalem as a “‘messianic’ stronghold.” Presumably, Josephus used popular thinking in composing this speech. Hengel, Zealots, pp. 206–24. See the comments of Mildenberg, Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War, p. 68.

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sixty-two years between the end of the first revolt and the beginning of the second.60 Did the failure to take Jerusalem influence a decision not to use the “Zion” phrases? It is hard to see why it would, especially if the “Zion” phrases were slogans. After all, the rebels of 132–5 did use the legend “of/for the freedom of Jerusalem” on some of their coins. So it appears that there must be another explanation for the non-use of the name “Zion” during the second revolt. In search of an explanation, let us turn to literature usually assigned to the era between the revolts. We can quickly dispose of the New Testament evidence. I have already noted how Paul quoted two verses from Isaiah mentioning “Zion.” There are only five other occurrences of the name in the New Testament, all of them in books commonly dated after 70.61 In three of the five, a biblical verse is quoted: Matthew 21:5 and John 12:15 both quote Zechariah 9:9, while I Peter 2:6 cites Isaiah 38:16. The two instances that mention the name independently, Hebrews 12:22 and Revelations 14:1, both use the toponym “Mount Zion.” Further, both use it in an eschatological context. Of course, the latter usage also has ample biblical precedent. So nothing of special note appears here. The evidence from post-70 Jewish literature is perhaps more revealing. Limiting ourselves to books datable to the interwar era (70–132), we find the name “Zion” in the following: the works of Josephus, IV Ezra, II Baruch, and IV Baruch (= Paraleipomena Ieremiou). The latter three are commonly assumed to have been written originally in Hebrew or Aramaic.62 One is struck immediately by the following information. IV Ezra contains seventeen occurrences 60

61

62

Worthy of mention in this context is a fragmentary ostracon found in the bath at Herodium that contains the word “Zion” in Jewish script. See Emmanuele Testa, Herodion, IV. I Graffiti e gli Ostraka (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1972), #50, pp. 73–4. Were we able to date this inscription to the revolt of 132–5, it would be significant, though the lack of context would limit our ability to draw further conclusions. However, Herodium was also occupied by the rebels of 66–70. The difficulty of differentiating paleographically between inscriptions from the time of Herod and those from the two revolts is noted by G. Foerster in G. Foerster and E. Netzer, “Herodium,” NEAEHL, Vol. II, 1993, p. 621. Differentiating paleographically between the first revolt and the second is still more difficult. See Concordance to the Novum Testamentum Graece of Nestle-Aland, 26th Edition and to the Greek New Testament, 3rd Edition, edited by the Institute for New Testament Textual Research and the Computer Center of M¨unster University with the Collaboration of H. Bachmann and W. A. Slaby (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1987), cols. 1702–3. Compare E. Lohse, “Zion-Jerusalem in the N.T.,” in TDNT, Vol. 7, pp. 327–38. While some would date I Peter and Hebrews to the 60s, the most common view dates all four of these books to the interwar period. See for example Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament (New York: Doubleday, 1997), pp. 216–17 (Matthew), 334 (John), 696–7 (Hebrews), 721 –2 (I Peter), and 805–9 (Revelations). For the date and language of IV Baruch, see S. E. Robinson, “4 Baruch,” OTP, Vol. II, p. 414.

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of the name “Zion,” and II Baruch fourty-three!63 By contrast, all the extrabiblical books from before 70 known to us outside of Qumran contained twenty-five (in eight books: Ben Sira, Baruch, Judith, I Maccabees, Jubilees, Psalms of Solomon, Biblical Antiquities, and Psalm 154). The 700 or so extrabiblical manuscripts from Qumran contributed a gross total of thirty-seven more in twenty-two manuscripts (not counting 4Q 448 containing Psalm 154, which was counted previously). Thus the pre-70 total of sixty-two occurrences of the name “Zion” in some thirty books is practically matched by the sixty in these two post-70 books alone! What are we to make of this? In part, we can explain this by the fact that both IV Ezra and II Baruch respond to the destruction of the Jerusalem temple in 70. As such, the inspiration of the biblical book of Lamentations can be considered to be important. And Lamentations has the highest concentration of mentions of “Zion” of any biblical book, as mentioned earlier. The theme of restoration, earthly or eschatological, could also be found in many biblical verses that mention Zion. So to a large extent the frequent references to the latter in IV Ezra and II Baruch are a function of the genre as well as of the language of the “classical” models used by the authors of these works. But one wonders whether an emphasis on Zion in the ideology and rhetoric of the first revolt might also have contributed to the frequent reference to the toponym in books reflecting on the failure of the rebel movement of 66–70. IV Baruch and, at first glance, the works of Josephus add nothing of significance to our discussion. There is a single occurrence of the name “Zion” in the first named book. The author uses the phrases of Psalm 137:3–4 to create a letter purportedly written in Babylonia by Jeremiah and sent to Baruch. Josephus lacks even a single instance of the toponym, but perhaps his silence is significant.64 Barrois noticed the failure of Josephus to mention “Zion” and 63

64

For Baruch see the index in the edition of P. Bogaert, Apocalypse De Baruch, Tome II (Paris: ´ Les Editions Du Cerf, 1969), p. 213, s.v. “J´erusalem 1. En parallel avec Sion,” and p. 219, s.v. “Sion.” For IV Ezra I used the index in Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990) in addition to the entries in the concordance of Denis (see n. 15 in this chapter). In both cases I cross-checked with the index in Charlesworth, OTP. The references are as follows. Baruch 5:1, 3; 6:2; 7:1; 10:3, 5, 7, 10, 12; 11:1, 2: 13:1, 3: 14:6, 7; 20:2; 31:4; 32:2; 34:1; 35:3; 39:3; 40:1; 44:5, 7; 59:4; 6:2, 7; 63:3, 4, 9; 64:4; 67:1, 2, 6 7; 68:5; 77:8; 79:1; 80:7; 81:2; 84:8; 85:3. IV Ezra 2:42; 3:2, 28, 31; 5:25; 6:4, 19; 10:7, 19, 23, 40, 44; 12:44, 48; 13:35, 36; 14:31. In both books “Zion” can mean the city of Jerusalem. In Baruch certainly and in IV Ezra possibly, it can refer to the temple. Finally both books mention “Mount Zion” both as the site of eschatological events (Baruch 40:1 and IV Ezra 13:35) and as the site where the protagonist had his revelations (Baruch 13:1 and IV Ezra 2:42). See Schalit, Namenw¨orterbuch zu Flavius Josephus. The name does not appear under < –, < –, or
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suggested it had something to do with the “religious significance” attached to the latter name. He continues, “The historical objectivity intended by Josephus in his writings may explain his abstention from the use of Zion as a toponym.”65 Most critics doubt that Josephus was interested in “historical objectivity.” But Barrois may be on the right track in suggesting that Josephus deliberately avoided the term. To begin with, there are many points in the writings of Josephus where the mention of Zion or Mount Zion might naturally occur. These include his account of David’s conquest of Jerusalem, his paraphrase of I Maccabees, and his description of the Jerusalem temple. And yet the name never appears.66 One might invoke the fact that no book originally composed in Greek before 70 contains the name “Zion,” except Paul’s two biblical quotations. But Josephus mentions many (non-biblical) Semitic place names. He even cites several Hebrew or Aramaic words and gives their meaning.67 Hence I doubt he would hesitate to use a term just because it was unparalleled in Greek literature, especially if it appears frequently in Greek translations of biblical books. Paul and subsequent New Testament authors, more or less contemporaneous with Josephus, show a willingness to quote or use the name “Zion.” We are left with Barrois’ suggestion that Josephus deliberately avoided using the term because of its religious significance. But Josephus did not avoid religious concepts in his writings, including in BJ. To mention just one example, Book 2 contains the lengthy description of the three Jewish “philosophies.” So we must refine this point. It is not so much the religious connotations that Josephus may have sought to avoid, but the religio-national ones. Many scholars believe Josephus was careful, especially in BJ, to distinguish between the anti-Roman movement and traditional Judean ideas and leaders.68 Did 65 66

67 68

Barrois, “Zion,” p. 960. Thus the account of David’s conquest of Jerusalem at AJ 7:63 mentions “the citadel” but not “of Zion.” The Septuagint of II Samuel 5:7 and I Chronicles 11:5 does include the latter two words. Goldstein, I Maccabees, p. 287 at 4:60, notes three cases where I Maccabees mentions Mount Zion, and the Josephan parallel lacks the name. He explains this as Josephus’ attempt to resolve the ambiguity of the phrase that could refer to the temple mount or to Jerusalem. This would be a reasonable suggestion were these isolated cases, but not when they are part of a broader pattern. Specifically, since Josephus never mentions “Mount Zion,” how do we know what it might have meant for him? On the broader issues see I. Gafni, “On the Use of I Maccabees by Flavius Josephus,” Zion 45 (1980), pp. 81 –95 [Hebrew]. See the passages cited by Tessa Rajak in Appendix I, “The Native Language of Josephus,” in her Josephus, pp. 230–2. See especially Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome, pp. 154–6. For the view that Josephus sought to disassociate the Pharisees in particular from the rebels, see M. Stern, “The Jewish War of Josephus son of Mattathias and the Parallel Sources,” in Rappaport, ed., Judea and Rome, p. 108, and Schwartz, “Josephus and Nicolaus on the Pharisees,” pp. 169–70. Compare the comments of D. Goodblatt, “The Place of the Pharisees in First Century Judaism: The State of the Debate,” JStJ 20 (1989), pp. 22–4.

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the role of Zion in rebel thinking lead him to avoid its use? If so, his avoidance of the term would be evidence for its significance in rebel ideology. As noted earlier, Feldman pointed out how Josephus omitted references to “zeal” in his retelling of the Elijah story and similarly omitted this term and mention of Phinehas in his paraphrase of the deathbed address of Mattathias at I Maccabees 2. The avoidance of the name “Zion” might reflect the same motivation of distancing the anti-Roman movement from Jewish tradition.69 Obviously, certainty is impossible – especially when we are trying to explain what is not there. But the silence of Josephus is suggestive. Another body of sources we should examine is early rabbinic literature.70 After all, the period of Yavneh comes immediately after the destruction of the temple, and its early part overlaps with the time in which Josephus was writing. Unfortunately the extraction of Yavnean materials from the vast corpus of rabbinic texts is not a simple matter. The decision whether statements attributed to masters of the Yavneh era – let alone anonymous materials – actually go back to or reflect the realities of that time requires an examination of each tradition, its parallels, and context. The following passage illustrates the difficulties. At Bavli Yoma 54a–b the following text appears. Tanya: Rabbi Eliezer says the world was created from its middle, as is said . . . [citing Job 38:38]. Rabbi Joshua says the world was created from the sides, as is said . . . [citing Job 37:6]. Rabbi Isaac the Smith said, The Holy One Blessed be He cast a stone in the sea, from it was the world created, as is said . . . [citing Job 38:6]. And the Sages say it was created from Zion, as is said . . . [Psalm 50:1 –2 is cited and interpreted]. Tanya: Rabbi Eliezer the Great says, [Genesis 2:4 is cited] – the derivatives of the heavens were created from the heavens, the derivatives of the earth were created from the earth. And the Sages say these and these were created from Zion, as is said . . . [Psalm 50:1 –2 is cited and interpreted].

It presents two baraitot (i.e., alleged tannaitic traditions not included in the Mishnah). Beginning with the shorter baraita, it has a disputant of Eliezer mention Zion. One might conclude that this disputant was a contemporary of Eliezer and so an early Yavnean. In the longer baraita, however, we have a multigenerational dispute. The Massoret Hashas already notes that we should consider “the Smith” a mistake and read just “Rabbi Isaac” as the version in ‘En Ya‘akov does. The latter was a tanna of the Ushan era. Another parallel, 69 70

For Feldman’s arguments see Chapter 4, n. 65 in this book. For the city of Jerusalem in general, and not just the name “Zion,” in rabbinic literature, see I. Gafni, “Jerusalem in Rabbinic Literature,” in Y. Tsafrir and S. Safrai, eds., The History of Jerusalem. The Roman and Byzantine Periods (70–638) (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi Press: 1999), pp. 35–59, with literature cited p. 36, n. 4 [Hebrew].

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in Yalqut Shim’oni to Job, #954, attributes the view of “the Sages” to Judah, a contemporary of Isaac. Finally, the shorter baraita is paralleled at Genesis Rabbah 12:11 (Theodor-Albeck, ed., p. 109). There, in addition to the view of Eliezer, Joshua asserts that both what is in the heavens and what is on earth was created from the heavens, citing Job 37:6. This is not the place to try to sort out the history of these traditions.71 But certainly the view that creation began from Zion can not be confidently attributed to a Yavnean master. In view of the complexities involved, an investigation of use of the name “Zion” by the Yavnean masters would require a monographic study.72 Leaving this effort to others, let us instead attempt a more manageable task. What I propose is perhaps analogous to an archaeologist conducting a surface survey, rather than an excavation. Let us look at occurrences of the name “Zion” in the two earliest rabbinic documents: the Mishnah and the Tosefta. The former almost certainly was produced in the early third century c.e. in Galilee. And according to the consensus view, the latter appeared in the same place somewhat later in the same century. Almost all scholars agree that these documents preserve older material, as in fact they claim to do. Less certain is whether they preserve pre-70 material, and if so, then how much. This question is especially acute with regard to those sections describing the temple precincts and cult. Do they preserve accounts or reminiscences of masters who actually visited the temple before 70? Even those who answer in the affirmative appear to concede that the accounts were collected and edited after 70. So I assume that what we find in the Mishnah and Tosefta represents post-70 Hebrew usage.73

71 72

73

Compare the discussion and literature cited in E. E. Urbach, The Sages. Their Concepts and Beliefs (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1969), pp. 167–8 [Hebrew]. My own preliminary impression is that the name “Zion” appears very infrequently, if at all, in the Yavnean materials. In the index to Urbach, for example, p. 642. s.v. “Zion,” there are only three references. One is to the passage just discussed from Yoma. The other two are amoraic traditions. And “Zion” does not appear in the indexes to J. Neusner, The Development of a Legend. Studies on the Traditions Concerning Yohanan Ben Zakkai (Leiden: Brill, 1970); idem., Eliezer Ben Hyrcanus. The Tradition and the Man (2 Vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1973); Y. D. Gilat, R. Eliezer Ben Hyrcanus. A Scholar Outcast (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1984); or BenShalom, School of Shammai and the Zealots’ Struggle against Rome. Again, real conclusions require a full-length study. The older view is that the descriptions of the temple and its cult in the Mishnah go back to eyewitnesses. See S. Safrai, “Jerusalem and the Temple in the Tannaitic Literature of the First Generation after the Destruction of the Temple,” in Houtman et al., eds., Sanctity of Time and Space in Tradition and Modernity, pp. 113–52. For a much more skeptical view, compare J. Neusner, Judaism. The Evidence of the Mishnah (Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 1981), pp. 97–101, 150–3. Even if these accounts do, in part, go back earlier, the present form of the texts cannot be securely dated before the second century. For the dates of the Mishnah and Tosefta, see the relevant sections of G. Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash (Second Edition; trans. and ed. M. Brockmuehl; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1996).

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In the Mishnah the name “Zion” appears three times in quotations of biblical verses: at Bikkurim 3:2, Ta’anit 4:8, and Avot 6:8 quoting, respectively, Jeremiah 31:5, Song 3:11, and Isaiah 24:23. Aside from biblical quotations, “Zion” appears in the Mishnah only in one passage, and then only as part of the personal or family name Ben-Zion.74 Eduyot 8:7 begins with a report by the Yavnean master Joshua of a tradition he received from Yohanan son of Zakkai. Conflicting views of Judah and Simeon, from the following generation of Usha, and of the anonymous “Sages” follow. In between the statements of Joshua and Judah, the following appears apropos of what the former said. “The family of Bet [Variant: Bene] Serifah was in Transjordan, and Ben [Variant: Bene]Zion distanced it by force. And there was another [family] there, and Ben [Variant: Bene]-Zion drew it near by force.”75 Obadiah of Bertinoro explains that Ben-Zion was a powerful and violent individual, while Maimonides, who read Bene-Zion, assumes it refers to a powerful family. Whatever the case, this clearly is not a reference to the site in Jerusalem, since the text appears to locate the events in Transjordan.76 At most, the anthroponym derived from the toponym. But it is the former that is mentioned here. In the Tosefta also the toponym occurs outside biblical quotations in only one passage. In fact, this is the same tradition about Ben-Zion in Transjordan, which appears at Eduyot 3:4 (Zuckermandel, p. 459). The name “Zion” does appear more often in verses quoted from the Bible in the Tosefta. There are nine such passages,

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C. Y. Kasovsky, Thesaurus Mishnae, 4 Vols. (Jerusalem: Massadah, 1956–60), Vol. IV, p. 1525, which refers to the entry in Vol. I, p. 392, s.v. @b; he lists only the occurrence that is not a biblical quotation. I also used the search program of the Bar-Ilan Responsa Project, Version 4.0 for the Mishnah, Tosefta, and halakhic midrashim. The search also brought up Niddah 7:5 where the common noun @Wyx, “mark,” not the toponym “Zion,” appears. The sixth chapter of Avot is generally considered a later addition, though it contains tannaitic materials. Both variants appear in the parallel text at Yerushalmi Qiddushin, 4:1, 65c. The variant BeneZion appears in the first printed edition as well as in the Mishnah text in the Babylonian Talmud. On Serifah see the comments of Epstein, Studies in Talmudic Literature and Semitic Languages, Vol. I, pp. 415–16 and the literature cited there. The latter note appeared originally in MGWJ 64 (1920), pp. 123ff. Both the Mishnah and Tosefta state that the Serifah family was in, not from, Transjordan. Taken at face value, this suggests the events took place in the latter locale. However, I have not reviewed all the witnesses regarding the reading with b. Further, some scholars argue that in Biblical Hebrew the preposition b can mean “from.” See the references in Bruce K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), p. 224, #11.4.3c. Waltke and O’Connor themselves reject this view. On the other hand, Daniel Sivan, A Grammar of the Ugaritic Language (Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1997), p. 195, cites biblical passages where, he believes, b means “from.” And note how Epstein, Studies in Talmudic Literature and Semitic Languages, p. 415, writes that the Serifah family was from Transjordan.

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as opposed to the three in the Mishnah.77 Even including the quotations of scripture, the total of ten Toseftan passages is not very many. The results of our survey of the Mishnah and Tosefta are similar to what emerged from the examination of pre-70 Hebrew and Aramaic literature. The name “Zion” occurs occasionally, but not with notable frequency.78 As a term appearing relatively often in the Bible with reference to Jerusalem and the temple, one would expect to come across it from time to time in postbiblical sources that focus on the latter topics. However, the fact that neither the Mishnah nor the Tosefta ever used the toponym outside of biblical quotations is striking. Certainly there is nothing in these books to indicate that the name “Zion” had special significance for the tannaim. The paucity of references to “Zion” includes the near total absence of the phrase “Mount Zion.” This toponym never appears in the Tosefta and only once in the Mishnah. The single occurrence in the Mishnah is in a quote of Isaiah 24:23 at Avot 6:8.79 But first, most commentators agree that Chapter 6 is a late addition to a tractate that, in its present form, is already fairly late. That is, the language in this chapter does not reflect third-century – let alone pre-70 – Hebrew, but rather the late antique/early medieval stage of the language. Second, it is questionable whether the words “Mount Zion” originally appeared. The part of Isaiah 24:23 that is of interest to the author of the passage is not the allusion to Jerusalem or the temple. The verse is cited because of its conclusion, “honor in the presence of His elders,” to prove that honor is appropriate for the righteous. The author needed only the end of the verse for his proof text and could have easily omitted the first half, the part that mentions “Mount Zion.” Indeed, he might well have done so, and the citation of the entire verse could be the work of a later copyist. So in effect “Mount Zion” is not mentioned in the Mishnah either. This last point will enable us to move beyond a mere argument from silence. We can now move from what is not in the Mishnah or Tosefta to what is there. In contrast to the absence of the toponym “Mount Zion” is the frequency

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See the index III, “Ortsnamen,” in M. S. Zuckermandel, Supplement enthaltend Uebersicht. Register und Glossar zu Tosefta (n.p., n.d.), p. XLIV (included in the Second Edition of Zuckermandel’s edition of the Tosefta, Jerusalem: Bamberger and Wahrman, 5698). The Bar-Ilan Responsa Project gives the following passages where a verse mentioning “Zion” is quoted: Berakhot 1:15, Demai 5:20, Kippurim 2:14, Sukkah 4:9, Sota 9:5, Sanhedrin 13:11, Horayot 2:6, Zevahim 13:20, and Menahot 13:23. The passages at Kilayim 2:16, Sheqalim 1:5, and Bekhorot 3:12 contain the common noun “mark,” not the toponym “Zion.” The Project listed twentyeight occurrences in the halakhic midrashim. All of them were in quotations of Bible verses. By way of contrast, Gafni, “Jerusalem in Rabbinic Literature,” p. 35, n. 2, reports that the name “Jerusalem” appears about 125 times in the Mishnah and about 80 times in the Tosefta. Since the phrase occurs in a biblical verse, it does not appear in Kasovsky, Thesaurus Mishnae, Vol. II, p. 580, s.v. rh. The passage is listed by the Bar-Ilan Responsa Project.

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in both documents of the phrase “the temple mount” (tybh rh). The latter appears twenty-five times in nineteen passages in the Mishnah, and thirty times in twenty-one passages in the Tosefta.80 Clearly in tannaitic Hebrew tybh rh has become the standard designation for the elevation on which the temple (once) stood. By the time of the rabbis, the phrase referred – as it does today – to the artificial platform created by Herod to support his expansion and reconstruction of the temple to the God of Israel in Jerusalem. Holding in the landfill that helps form the platform are massive retaining walls on the west and south, part of which is the famous Western (or “Wailing”) Wall. After the Arab conquest of Palestine, several shrines and mosques were constructed on the platform including the Dome of the Rock (commonly called the Mosque of Omar) and the Al-Aqsa Mosque. Muslims refer to the platform as the haram al-sharif, “the noble sanctuary.” Before Herod’s building project the term tybh rh or “temple mount” would have referred to the natural hilltop on which more ancient temples had stood.81 The frequency of this term in rabbinic writings contrasts with its rarity in the Bible. This suggests that an investigation of its history may be worthwhile.82

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The Bar-Ilan Responsa Project gives the following: Mishnah Berakhot 9:5, Bikkurim 1:9 (2), 3:4 (2), Pesahim 5:10, Sheqalim 7:2, Sukkah 4:4, Ta’anit 2:5, 3:8, Hagigah 1:1 (2), Nedarim 5:5, Sanhedrin 11:2 (2), Middot 1:1, 1:2 (2), 1:3, 2:1, 2:2, Kelim 1:8, Parah 3:3 (2), 3:6; Tosefta Berakhot 6:2, 6:19, Bikkurim 2:10 (2), Shabbat 13:2, 13:3, Pesahim 4:15, Megillah 2:16, Hagigah 2:9 (3), Sheqalim 3:9 (2), 3:27, Sotah 7:13, 9:5, Sanhedrin 2:6, 7:1 (3), Shevu’ot 1:4, Menahot 13:19, Kelim B. Q. 1:8 (2), 1:12 (2), 1:14, Kelim B. M. 2:2, Parah 3:7. Cf. Kasovsky, Thesaurus Mishnae, Vol. I, p. 364, s.v. II tyb. For an overview of the Herodian construction, see D. Bahat, “The Temple Mount and Its Environs,” in the article “Jerusalem,” in NEAEHL, Vol. 2, 1993, pp. 736–44. On pre-Herodian extensions of the natural hilltop, see B. Mazar, “The Temple Mount,” in Biblical Archaeology Today. Proceedings of the International Congress of Biblical Archaeology – Jerusalem, April 1984 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities in cooperation with the American Schools of Oriental Research, 1985), pp. 463–8. Some scholars have argued that the term tybh rh has a more narrow meaning and does not refer to the entire hill/platform on which the temple complex stood. See n. 95 in this chapter. After this section was completed, I discovered that many of its findings were already observed by Yaron Z. Eliav in an unpublished doctoral dissertation submitted to the Hebrew University in 5759/1998–9, “A ‘Mount without a Temple’ – The Temple Mount from 70 c.e. to the MidFifth Century: Reality and Idea.” I have not seen the dissertation, but portions of it are now appearing in print. See idem, “‘Interpretive Citation’ in the Epistle of Barnabas and the Early Christian Attitude Towards the Temple Mount,” in C. A. Evans, ed., The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity. Studies in Language and Tradition (JSPS 33/SSEJC 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), pp. 353–62; idem, “Har habbayit kemeqom pulhan ukemerkaz politi bayahadut uvenasrut – iyyun mehadash,” in Yitzhaq Riter, ed., Ribbonut ha’el veha’adam. Qedushah umerkaziyut politit behar habbayit (Jerusalem: Makhon Yerushalayim Leheqer Yisra’el and Merkaz Teddy Kolak Lemehqare Yerushalayim, 2001), 25– 56 [Hebrew]; idem, “The Temple Mount in Jewish Liturgy: Re-Examination of the Historical Backround,” in Seth Ward et al., eds., Aboda and Ibada (forthcoming). A revised version of

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The phrase tybh rh in fact occurs in only one, single verse – although that verse appears twice in the Bible. The passage in question is Micah 3:12. As is well known, this passage is explicitly quoted in Jeremiah 26:18. By explicit I mean that the text in Jeremiah quotes the verse in the name of Micah. Closely related to tybh rh is another term that also occurs in only a single verse, but again one appearing twice in the Bible. This is the phrase hwhy tyb rh, “the mountain of the house of Yahweh,” at Micah 4:1 = Isaiah 2:2. Verse 3:12 in the Masoretic Text as translated by Freedman and Andersen reads, Therefore, on account of you Zion will be plowed like a field And Jerusalem will become rubbish heaps And the mountain of the house [tybh rh] high places of the forest.83

Freedman and Andersen explain that “mountain” is a “catchword” connecting this passage with the oracle beginning in the next verse, Micah 4:1. There “the phrase is complete – ‘the mountain of the house of Yahweh.’”84 In other words, tybh rh is an abbreviation of hwhy tyb rh, “the house” in question being “Yahweh’s house.” And “the house of Yahweh” refers to the temple of Yahweh.85 The “mountain” on which the temple of Yahweh stood is identified as Mount Zion in Jerusalem. This is implicit in the parallelism of Zion, Jerusalem, and “the mountain of the house” at Micah 3:12. Micah 4 has the same parallelism between “the mountain of the house of Yahweh” in Verse 1 and the pair “Zion/Jerusalem” in Verse 2. The result is a chiastic structure: Zion/Jerusalem tybh rh (3:12) hwhy tyb rh Zion/Jerusalem (4:1 –2).

That Mount Zion was the site of the temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem is often stated in the biblical books.86

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the dissertation in English, God’s Mountain. The Temple Mount in Time, Place and Memory (Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005), is now available. As will be noted later, Eliav and I differ in the interpretation of some of the data and in the contextualizing of the conclusions. Francis I. Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Micah. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 24E; New York/London/Toronto/Sydney/Auckland: Doubleday, 2000), p. 379 with p. 385 for the translation “high places.” Andersen and Freedman, Micah, p. 385, and compare p. 404. On the longer phrase, see the comments on p. 402. See Carol L. Meyers, “Temple, Jerusalem,” in ABD, Vol. 6, 1992, 352. See for example Isaiah 8:18, Joel 4:17, and Psalm 20:3. For a brief and convenient survey, see Mare, “Zion (Place),” ABD, Vol. 6, 1992, pp. 1096–7, and Levenson, “Zion Traditions,” pp. 1098–1102.

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For the purposes of this study we need not resolve the issue of the authorship of Micah 4:1 –5 // Isaiah 2:1 –5.87 However, the fact that Micah 3:12 is the only biblical text that echoes the phrase hwhy tyb rh should be noted. This does not prove that the author of 3:12 also wrote the end of days oracle in Isaiah and Micah. He could well have been influenced by a preexistent text. At the same time the occurrence of tybh rh in Micah 3:12 may limit how late we can date those parallel passages. It is no longer a matter of just Micah 4:1 –5 // Isaiah 2:1 –5 being a post-exilic addition, as many would have it. Since Micah 3:12 and Jeremiah 26:18 seem to reflect the phraseology of the end of days oracle, they must be dated later still. This strikes me as improbable. However we resolve the source critical issues, the textual question is more important for the present investigation. Even if we conclude that reading in the Masoretic Text is original, variants in the ancient translations can be relevant for the afterlife of the text in later Jewish literature.88 I begin with the Hebrew evidence. The only one of four verses (Micah 3:12 and 4:1 and their parallels in Jeremiah and Isaiah) to appear in a Qumran manuscript is Isaiah 2:2. Both 1 QIsaa and 4QIsae read hwhy tyb rh just like the Masoretic Text.89 Similarly, the text of Micah 3:12 from Murabba’at also agrees with the latter, reading tybh rhw.90 Both the Peshitta and Targum Jonathan agree with the Masoretic Text in all four verses, though the latter adds the word avdqm in each case. That is, the Targum turns “the house” (Micah 3:12 // Jeremiah 26:18) and “house of” (Micah 4:1 // Isaiah 2:2) into “house of holiness,” or “sanctuary, temple.” When we come to the Septuagint and the Vulgate, the evidence is mixed. The former goes its own way with the Micah/Isaiah parallel, and the latter deviates at Micah 3:12, though not at the parallel in Jeremiah. The details follow. 87 88 89

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On the relationship between these parallel passages, see the discussion in Andersen and Freedman, Micah, pp. 413–27. I have consulted the standard editions of the versions and M. Goshen-Gottstein, ed., The Syropalestinian Version. Part I, Pentateuch and Prophets (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1975). See E. Ulrich, “Index of Passages in the ‘Biblical Texts,’” in Tov, ed., Texts from the Judaean Desert, pp. 192, 194, 196. For the text of 1 QIsaa , see F. M. Cross, D. N. Freedman, and J. A. Sanders, eds., Scrolls from Qumrˆan Cave I from Photographs by John C. Trever (Jerusalem: Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and Shrine of the Book, 1972), pp. 18–19. For 4QIsae see the edition by P. Skehan and E. Ulrich in E. Ulrich et al., Qumran Cave 4, X. The Prophets (DJD XV; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), p. 91. A fragment of the text of Isaiah 2:1 is also preserved in 4QIsaf . See there p. 102. The word rh is preserved, but not what follows it. A fragment of Micah 3:12–4:1 appears in 4QXIIg , but the relevant words are missing. See the edition by Russell E. Fuller in Ulrich et al., eds., Qumran Cave 4, X, p. 314. A paraphrase of Micah 3:12 // Jer 26:8 at 4Q372, fragment 1, l. 8 has yhla rh, “the mount of my God.” See the edition of E. Schuller in E. Schuller et al., Qumran Cave 4.XXVIII: Miscellanea, Part 2 (DJD XXVIII; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001). See Mur 88 (MurXII) column XIII, line 16, edited by J. T. Milik in Benoit et al., Les Grottes de Murabba at, p. 194. Micah 4:1 appears in line 18 there, but the crucial term is missing.

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The Septuagint of Micah 3:12 // Jeremiah 33:18 conforms to the Masoretic Text:  )s > T. But at Micah 4:1 it has  )s > ), “the mountain of the Lord.” That is, it leaves out the word “house.” At Isaiah 2:2 the Septuagint has  )s ) & 1 Us > >, “the mountain of [the] Lord and the house of the God.” As many scholars observe, the latter reading seems clumsy. Was “the house of the God” added to bring the text more into line with the Masoretic Text? The “Syropalestinian” Aramaic text of Micah 4:1, the only one of our four passages extant in this version, agrees with the briefer Septuagint: armd hrwf “the mountain of the Lord.” The Vulgate agrees with the Masoretic Text at Micah 4:12 and Isaiah 2:2: mons domus Domini. And the same is true at Jeremiah 26:18 where it has mons domus. But at Micah 3:12 the Vulgate has mons templi. This may not represent a divergent text. Instead, the translator may simply have wished to resolve the ambiguity of the Hebrew “house” just as the authors of the Targum did by adding avdqm to the latter word. The standard English translation of tybh rh does the same thing: “temple mount” rather than “mountain of the house.” For our purposes the important point is the existence of the latter phrase, that is, a literal translation of tybh rh, in the Septuagint and Peshitta (Micah 3:12 and Jeremiah 26[Septuagint = 33]:18 in both) as well as in the Vulgate (Micah 3:12). The upshot of the survey of ancient translations is that the phrase “temple mount” was available to ancient readers/hearers of the Bible who did not know Hebrew. So it could have become part of the biblically influenced vocabulary of Greek- or Latin-speaking Jews, for example, even if not idiomatic in their native language. However, it did not become part of that vocabulary. On the basis of the evidence at hand, the phrase had no reverberation in Jewish literature composed in these languages. The locution “mountain of the house” never appears in all the writings of Philo or of Josephus or in the New Testament.91 Since the phrase is so rare in Biblical Hebrew – in only the one verse and its quotation – this does not surprise. And the absence of “house” in the Septuagint tradition of Micah 4:1 and Isaiah 2:2 makes the phrase “mountain of the house” less comprehensible and truly unique for the Greek language community. What is perhaps more striking is how rare the phrase is in extrabiblical Hebrew literature of the Second Temple period. To this we now turn. 91

For Philo, see Borgen et al., Philo Index, p. 239, s.v. Us, and p. 247, s.v. )s. None of the passages listed under the one entry appear under the other. For Josephus see K. Rengstorf, A Complete Concordance to Flavius Josephus, Vol. III (Leiden: Brill, 1979), pp. 240–1, s.v. )s, cross-checked with 182–3, s.v. Us. For the New Testament see Concordance to the Novum Testamentum Graece of Nestle-Aland, 26th Edition, pp. 1331 –4, s.v. Us; and 1375–6, s.v. )s.

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As we saw earlier in this chapter, some of this literature survives only in translation, and not all of it is securely dated. Let us begin with what survives in Hebrew (or Aramaic) and certainly dates before 70 c.e. Aside from (portions of) Ben Sira and some additional fragments from Masada and the Cairo genizah, what we have essentially are the nonbiblical texts found near Qumran. The latter form a considerable corpus, numbering some seven hundred manuscripts by the standard accounts. Many of the manuscripts are extremely fragmentary, but a large body of evidence remains. Moreover, it is widely agreed that many of the texts found at Qumran are not sectarian in origin. That is, they were not all composed by the residents of Qumran and do not all reflect the special ideas of the Qumran group. This is obviously the case with the biblical manuscripts, containing texts shared by all Jews. And it is assumed to be true for many of the texts not part of the Hebrew Bible. Thus the books found at Qumran may not be a representative sampling of Second Temple literature, but they are a cross section of what was circulating at the time.92 With the nature of the Qumran “library” in mind, we note that the phrase har habayit never appears in the texts found at Qumran.93 There are references 92

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Fragments of Hebrew texts were also found at Masada. In addition to a fairly extensive section of Ben Sira, the nonbiblical manuscripts included a text known from Qumran and three parabiblical texts. None of these fragments contain anything relevant to our discussion. For the nonbiblical material aside from Ben Sira, see Talmon, “Hebrew Fragments from Masada,” Masada VI. Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965 Final Reports, pp. 98–147. For a listing of the nonbiblical texts found at Qumran, see Tov with Pfann, “List of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” pp. 29–89. The sectarian or nonsectarian character of individual books is to be distinguished from the question of the nature of the collection as a whole or the “library.” On these issues, see C. Newsom, “‘Sectually Explicit’ Literature from Qumran,” in W. H. Propp, B. Halpern, and D. N. Freedman, eds., The Hebrew Bible and Its Interpreters (BJSUCSD 1; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 167–87; D. Dimant, “The Qumran Manuscripts: Contents and Significance,” in D. Dimant and L. H. Schiffman, eds., Time to Prepare the Way in the Wilderness. Papers on the Qumran Scrolls by Fellows of the Institute for Advanced Studies of the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1989–1990 (STDJ 16; Leiden/New York/K¨oln: Brill, 1995), 23–58; idem, “The Library of Qumran: Its Contents and Character,” in L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov, and J. C. VanderKam, eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years After Their Discovery. Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society in Cooperation with the Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000), 170–6. See Abegg, Dead Sea Scrolls Concordance, p. 143, s.v. tyb, and p. 229, s.v. rh. At first glance the phrase appears to occur in inflected form at CD V, 15: wtyb rhk. However, this is generally assumed to be a mistake by the medieval copyist of the manuscript. Thus the first editor of the text, S. Schechter, Documents of Jewish Sectaries, Vol. I. Fragments of a Zadokite Work (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1910), p. XXXVIII, suggested emending rhk to !rjk. L. Ginzberg, An Unknown Jewish Sect (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1976; English translation of the 1922 German original), p. 26, suggested emending rhk to rk[ (along with other changes). The most convincing emendation was proposed by Rabin, Zadokite Documents, p. 21. Rabin proposes that wtyb rhk is simply a miscopying of an

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to the temple in Jerusalem and to Zion, as we saw earlier. The following texts are among the more extensive treatments of these topics. 4Q522 “prophesies” the construction of “the house for Yahweh, God of Israel” after mentioning the capture by David of “the rock of Zion.” The text is broken, but this does seem to reflect the assumption that Mount Zion was the site of the temple of Solomon and its successors. There is the hymn dubbed the “Apostrophe to Zion” attested in three Qumran manuscripts: 11 QPsa , 4Q88 (4QPsf ), and 11 Q6(11 QPsb ).94 The “New Jerusalem” document, 11 Q18, and the Temple Scroll, 11 Q19, have descriptions of (an idealized) Jerusalem and its temple. In none of these texts does the combination of “mountain” and “house” occur. 4Q372 paraphrases Micah 3:12 // Jeremiah 26:8 but uses the phrase “mount of my God” instead of “mount of the house.” Of interest in this context is the view of Schiffman concerning the phrase vdqmh ry[, “city of the sanctuary,” in the Temple Scroll. Contrary to the common view that it refers to the city of Jerusalem, Schiffman argues that the phrase refers to the temenos of the temple. In Herod’s temple the temenos was essentially coterminous with the artificial platform or “temple mount.”95 Be that as it may,

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original wtwbrhk. This emendation assumes an easily explainable corruption and yields excellent sense in context. It is the first suggestion in Broshi, ed., Damacus Document Reconsidered, p. 19. Also accepting the emendation are G. Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (New York: Penguin Books, 1997), p. 131, and F. Garc´ıa Mart´ınez and E. J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, Vol. I (Leiden/Boston/K¨oln: Brill and Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), p. 558. The attempt to make sense of the text as written by Joseph M. Baumgarten and Daniel R. Schwartz in James H. Charlesworth, The Dead Sea Scrolls. Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translation, Vol. 2. Damascus Document, War Scroll and Related Documents (T¨ubingen: Mohr Siebeck and Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995), p. 21, does not convince. For recent discussions, see Schiffman, “Jerusalem in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” p. 87; Charlesworth, Dead Sea Scrolls, Vol. 4A. Pseudepigraphic and Non-Masoretic Psalms and Prayers, p. 201. See L. H. Schiffman, “Ir Ha-Miqdash and Its Meaning in the Temple Scroll and Other Qumran Texts,” in Houtman et al., eds., Sanctity of Time and Space in Tradition and Modernity, pp. 95– 109. On the identity of the temenos and the artificial platform, see idem, “Descriptions of the Jerusalem Temple in Josephus and the Temple Scroll,” in Goodblatt et al., eds., Historical Perspectives, pp. 71, 75. As Schiffman notes on the latter page, the Temple Scroll’s temenos would have covered the entire area of Jerusalem, not just Mount Zion. There are also claims that the term tybh rh denoted an area narrower than the entire platform created by Herod. Thus Asher S. Kaufman, “The Term Har Habbayit,” Tarbiz 61 (1991 –2), p. 561 [Hebrew; English summary, p. VIII] and idem, “The Shape of the Ancient Temple Mount,” in Judea and Samaria Research Studies. Proceedings of the 6th Annual Meeting – 1996 (Kedumim/Ariel: College of Judea and Samaria, 1997), pp. 111 –23 [Hebrew], argues that the term refers to the inner court of the temple, between the walls of the temple building and the lyj or terrace. David M. Jacobson, “Sacred Geometry. Unlocking the Secret of the Temple Mount. Part 2,” BAR 25 (1999), pp. 54–63, 74, suggests that the term covers a wider area (viz., everything within the grws or balustrade). But this is still less than the entire hill/platform. These views would

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we have seen that even Qumran texts describing Zion and the temple do not mention tybh rh.96 Aside from the texts found near Qumran, the only extensive example of extrabiblical, pre-70 Hebrew literature to survive in its original language is Ben Sira.97 This book refers three times to temple construction in Jerusalem: in the days of Solomon, Zerubavel, and Simeon son of Yohanan. In these three references the texts use the following terms: tyb (47:13; 49:12; 50:1), vdqm (47:13), lkyh (49:12; 50:1, 2), and @w[m (50:2). Moreover, in describing the renovations undertaken during the high priesthood of Simeon, at the turn of the third to the second century b.c.e., Ben Sira mentions the construction of a wall, ryq. On the basis of the Greek translation, commentators suggest that this refers to a retaining wall. But in none of these passages does the word “mountain” occur.98 In sum, Ben Sira also never uses the phrase tybh rh. Other pre-70 Hebrew (or Aramaic) works survive in translation, as discussed earlier. Leaving aside I Maccabees, which will be treated separately later, none of the other books contain the phrase “mountain of the house” or anything like it.99 At Judith 9:13 the heroine addresses God in a prayer. She describes how the enemy threatens “thy covenant and thy hallowed house and the crest of Zion and the house of thy sons’ possession.” As we noted earlier, most commentators regard the latter three substantives as all referring to the Jerusalem temple.100 In addition to the apparent allusion to Mount Zion, one

96 97

98

99

100

be more plausible if we found the term har habbayit used contemporaneously with “Mount Zion.” As we shall see, the two terms tended to be used in different periods. The only work that uses both, I Maccabees, understands them to be synonymous. Put another way, if har habbayit designated only part of the complex, what was the term for the temple mount as a whole? As will be seen, it wasn’t “Mount Zion!” For appearances of the name “Zion” in Qumran manuscripts, see above, pp. 179–181. Fragments of Ben Sira have been identified at Qumran as well, in 2Q18. But the extensive remnants of the Hebrew original survive in two medieval copies and in the manuscript discovered at Masada. Note especially M. S. Segal, Sefer Ben Sira Hashalem (Second Corrected and Expanded Edition; Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 5732), p. 343, ad 50:2 [Hebrew]. Segal writes that the Hebrew ryq “apparently refers to a wall around the temple mount (tybh rh).” But, as noted previously, the latter phrase does not appear in the text of Ben Sira. Agreeing that the ryq was a retaining wall are Skehan and Di Lella, Wisdom of Ben Sira, pp. 548–9 ad 50:2ab. See Hatch and Redpath, Concordance to the Septuagint and Other Greek Versions of the Old Testament, Vol. II, pp. 1014–17, s.v. )s. Compare Whitelocke, Analytical Concordance to the Books of the Apocrypha, Vol. II, pp. 424–9, s.v. “house,” 2:113–15, s.v. “mount, mountain”; Denis, Concordance Greque, pp. 575–6, s.v. Us; 591 –2, s.v. )s; idem, Concordance Latine, pp. 181 –2, s.v. domus; 317–18, s.v. mons; OTP, Vol. II, p. 999, s.v. “Temple.” Translation of Enslin, Book of Judith, p. 127. Compare inter alia Moore, Judith, p. 190, and the NEB.

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notes the Semitic phraseology of the end of the verse. But there is no reference to “the mountain of the house.” Enoch 26 describes the topography of Jerusalem, but it does not name the mountains. At 91:13 and 93:17 the Book of Enoch uses the word “house,” with modifying phrases, to allude to the Jerusalem temple. However, the combination of this word with “mountain” does not appear in any of these passages.101 The Book of Jubilees mentions Mount Zion five times. Among the five is 1:29, which locates “the sanctuary of the Lord” there. Another of these verses, 18:13, identifies Mount Zion with the mountain of Genesis 22:14 where the near-sacrifice of Isaac took place. But the phrase “mountain of the house” does not occur.102 The Biblical Antiquities of Pseudo-Philo has the phrase “the height of Zion” at 26:11, an apparent reference to Mount Zion. But this book also does not reflect any instances of an original tybh rh.103 That leaves I Maccabees. To my knowledge it is only here in all of surviving extrabiblical, pre-70 Hebrew (and Aramaic) literature that we find the phrase tybh rh. Strictly speaking, what we find is a reflex of it in the Greek version before us. This is clearly the case at 4:46 concerning stones from the profaned altar being stored +  ) > T, “on the mountain of the house.” It is also likely that the same Hebrew phrase stands behind the Greek  )s > 7)>, “the mountain of the sanctuary,” at 13:52 and 16:20. In these verses the translator may have decided on a less literal translation, explaining thereby that “the house” in question was the temple. As noted, the Vulgate to Micah 3:12 (mons templi), Targum Jonathan to all four relevant verses (avdqm tyb rwf), and the current English translation (“temple mount”) all follow the same approach. On the other hand, one could insist that only 4:46 reflects an original tybh rh.104 If it did appear three times in the Hebrew original of I Maccabees, this is a fairly large number given the rarity of the term in the Bible. Of course, the book is concerned with the profanation and then purification

101

102

103

104

See Matthew Black, The Book of Enoch or I Enoch, A New English Edition with Commentary and Textual Notes (Leiden: Brill, 1985), commentary to Chapter 26 on pp. 172–3; p. 86 for Verses 91:13 and 93:7; and Subject Index, p. 463., s.v. “mountain,” and p. 466, s.v. “Temple.” See Jubilees 1:28; 4:26; 8:19; 18:13; 22:14. All five references are historical or eschatological. See above p. 175. The identification of the site of the temple with the site of the near sacrifice of Isaac also appears in Josephus, AJ 1:226, called “Mount Moriah” there, 1:224. The latter mountain is identified as the site of Solomon’s temple at II Chronicles 3:1. See Jacobson, Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatem Biblicarum, Vol. I, p. 41 for the Latin text, excelso Syon; p. 138 for the English translation; and pp. 772–3 for a commentary. The phrase appears to go back to the Masoretic Text of Jeremiah 31:11, although the Vulgate (at 38:12) has “Mount Zion.” Contrast Eliav, “Har habbayit kemeqom pulhan,” p. 35, who suggests that the phrase “temple mount” at I Maccabees 13:52 and 16:20 are post-70 additions to the text.

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and defense of the temple, so we would expect frequent reference to the temple environs. (While II Maccabees is, if anything, more focused on the temple, its Greek language would be less congenial to the Semitic idiom “mount of the house.”) But if there are three occurrences of tybh rh in I Maccabees, they are outweighed by the eight occurrences of the phrase “Mount Zion”: 4:37; 4:60; 5:54; 6:48; 6:62; 7:33; 10:1; 14:27. We saw earlier that every mention refers to contemporary events, not to history or eschatology. The sandwiching of “the mountain of the house” at 4:46 between mentions of “Mount Zion” at 4:37 and 4:60 shows that both phrases denote the same location. It appears, then, that author of I Maccabees preferred the phrase “Mount Zion,” which also was more common in biblical books. The relatively frequent occurrence of this geographical designation in the Book of Jubilees, mentioned earlier, may also indicate the popularity of “Mount Zion” in Hasmonean times. So even the one pre-70 book that used the phrase tybh rh preferred “Mount Zion” as the designation for the temple mount. The results of our survey of Second Temple literature conform to the evidence from the biblical books. To the unique mention of tybh rh in one biblical verse (cited twice), we can parallel the unique usage of the phrase by the author of I Maccabees (whether once or three times). This seems to indicate that “the temple mount” was not a common phrase in Second Temple times. By contrast, by the early third century tybh rh became a common phrase, indeed the standard designation for the elevation on which the temple (had) stood. In other words, even though tybh rh has biblical roots, its usage as the common designation for the temple mount/platform is post-biblical, indeed, post–Second Temple. How are we to explain the discarding after 70 c.e. of the toponym “Mount Zion” with its rich biblical associations? And why was it replaced by “temple mount,” a term so rare in both the biblical books and in (other) Second Temple literature. This replacement was so complete that “Mount Zion” became available to name an entirely different location. In Byzantine times this toponym began to be used for a hill in the southwestern quadrant of old Jerusalem.105 Yaron Eliav has argued that the destruction of the temple led Jews to construe the now-empty platform as a holy site. The temple (tyb) might be gone, but the temple mount (tybh rh) was still there.106 But was the preservation of the word “house/temple” so important that people ceased using the name “Zion” with all its associations? A comparison with the Samaritans is instructive. They too continued to revere the hill on which their temple had stood. 105 106

See Mare, “Zion (place),” p. 1097. See Eliav, “Har habbayit kemeqom pulhan.” He suggests that the destruction of the temple led Jews to construe the now-empty platform as a holy site.

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But they continued to use the biblical name of that hill, Mount Gerizim.107 So perhaps more was involved in replacing “Mount Zion” with “the temple mount.” Perhaps the post-70 masters deliberately dropped the name as part of an effort to avoid the emotional response evoked by the name “Zion.” A similar explanation was suggested earlier to explain the absence of the latter from the writings of Josephus. That the same hypothesis can explain both phenomena enhances its plausibility. It is a fact that Josephus, writing between 70 and 100 c.e., does not mention “Zion.” It is a fact that in the earliest tannaitic documents, the ones most likely to preserve usage from the late first and second centuries, the rabbis do not refer to the site of the temple by its biblical name “Mount Zion.” These authors refrained from using geographical terminology that was common in literature they considered “canonical” (i.e., authoritative). I see no better explanation than that suggested here. In both cases the choice was a deliberate one, motivated by a desire to avoid an emotionally charged religio-political name. And if the term “Zion” was so emotionally charged, this could indicate that it had served as a slogan in the rebellion against Rome. Did the apparent attempt by both Josephus and early rabbinic literature to suppress the use of the name “Zion” succeed? Is this the explanation for the fact that the name did not appear on the coins of the second revolt? Alternatively, had the name invoked the temple that in 66 stood and required defense but in 132 lay in ruins and required reconstruction? Or is the search for an explanation futile? Perhaps we would do well to recall the warning of Mildenberg against reading too much in the legends of coins, especially the idiosyncratic issues of the Judean rebels.108 This would be especially true when trying to read something into what isn’t there. But even our attempt to explain the unique appearance of the name “Zion” on the bronze coins of the first revolt may be misguided. Perhaps our concern to find an explanation is subconsciously based on the role of “Zion” as a symbol in the political movement of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that led to the establishment of the State of Israel. Nevertheless, it appears to me at least possible that the Judean rebels of 66–70, with their emphasis on Jerusalem and its temple, created the first Zionist movement. That is, they used the name “Zion” to express and invoke Jewish 107

108

See James A. Montgomery, The Samaritans, The Earliest Jewish Sect. Their History, Theology and Literature (Philadelphia: John C. Winston, 1907), pp. 234–9; John Macdonald, The Theology of the Samaritans (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1964), pp. 327–23. It is true that John 4:20 has the Samaritan woman refer simply to “this mountain.” Still, this is quite different from the phrase “the mount of the house/temple.” Mildenberg, Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War, p. 61. He speaks there in particular of the secondrevolt coins.

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nationalism. Rappaport suggested it was the bronze coins that gave expression to popular sentiment and hopes, in contrast to the restrained nature of the inscriptions on the silver coinage.109 Perhaps the inspiration moved in the opposite direction. Perhaps it was the widely circulating “small change” that was intended to carry the goal of the rebels to the masses.110 That goal was the freedom of Zion. Better yet, perhaps both the silver and the bronze coinage carried the message of the rebel leaders. If so, their attempt to mobilize the masses to fight for what the Zionist anthem Hatiqvah calls !yl`wryw @wyx $ra, “the land of Zion and Jerusalem,” justifies our characterizing the ideology of the rebels as ancient Zionism – or Zion nationalism. 109 110

Rappaport, “Hamatbe’ot,” pp. 131 –2. Admittedly, it is unlikely that many people were able to read the old Hebrew script used for the inscriptions on the coins. But then few people were able to read the more commonly used Jewish, or “square,” script either. It is widely assumed that only a small percentage of the population was literate. See literature cited in Chapter 2, n. 14. What was common was to have written texts read out loud. Presumably people would ask what was written on the coins. Those able to read the inscriptions (or who already knew what they said) would inform the questioners. Compare the tradition at Mark 12:13–17 // Matthew 22:15–22 // Luke 20:20–6. Jesus asks his questioners “whose likeness and inscription” is on a denarius presented to them. They reply that it is Caesar. The questioners are “some of the Pharisees and some of the Herodians” in Mark, disciples of the Pharisees and the Herodians in Matthew, and agents sent by “the scribes and chief priests” in Luke. Whether the creator of this tradition assumed the questioners could read the Latin or Greek inscription, we do not know. But it is unlikely that he assumed they would recognize the portrait based on having seen the emperor in person. People knew the portrait was supposed to be that of the emperor. And even those who could not read the inscription would know that it carried the emperor’s name(s) and title(s).

8


Conclusions: Jewish Nationalism – What Rose and What Fell?

T

he title of this chapter alludes to the book by doron Mendels, The Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism. As should be evident by now, I agree with Mendels on a number of issues. Like him I am comfortable using the concepts of national identity and nationalism in the context of antiquity. I too do not see any useful distinction between national identity and ethnicity. And I agree that the concept of nationalism can be useful in understanding ancient Jewish history. My disagreement concerns the concept of a “fall” of Jewish nationalism after 135 c.e. In fact, even that disagreement dissolves once we pay careful attention to what Mendels argues. He makes clear that his book will focus on “political nationalism,” and that in its “activist” form. In the case of the Jews, “political activism” meant “the wish for a Jewish state in Palestine.” It is the active striving for such a state that disappears, according to Mendels, after 135 c.e. However, a “passive political nationalism” survived among the rabbis at least. By this he seems to mean that the wish for a Jewish state did not cease, only that it did not lead to “a revolution on a grand scale.”1 Mendels further narrows his focus by concentrating on what he calls the “symbols of political nationalism.” These include the temple, territory, kingship, and army. It is actually the “fall” of these four during the century plus following the Roman conquest of Judah in 63 b.c.e. that his book argues. Mendels is thus explicit that he will deal with the political expressions of national identity, especially its expression in a national state. This is legitimate, especially when he admits the existence of other forms or expressions of national identity. For example, he speaks of “more general facets of 1

For the definition of “political nationalism,” see Mendels, Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, p. 6. For the contrast between active and passive political nationalism and the survival of the latter among the rabbis, see there, pp. 386, 391.

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nationalism, such as the calendar, the law, and the language” that he will not treat.2 But what this means is that the title of his book is an exaggeration. What fell was not Jewish nationalism but the Jewish state. More precisely, what fell were certain institutions that embodied aspects of Jewish national identity. But even some of the four institutions he mentions survived in one way or another – at least among certain segments of the Jewish population. Surely “territory” continued to be a function of Jewish identity as the concept of the Land of Israel remained in the public consciousness. The temple was indeed destroyed, but its site and relics remained a holy place, and certainly some Jews prayed for its restoration. Even kingship did not disappear. Hopes and prayers for the restoration of the Davidic dynasty appear in literature and liturgy. And both the patriarchal dynasty in Palestine and the exilarchic one in Babylonia claimed to embody Davidic kingship at least in attenuated form. All these “national symbols” survive in the manner just indicated among the rabbis. Presumably this was what Mendels meant when he allowed the existence of “passive political nationalism” among the rabbis after 135. Most important, the invocation of a common ancestry and a common culture, which is what I mean by nationalism, continued among the Jews after the fall of their temple in 70 and their last state in 135. The common culture includes calendar, law, and language – enumerated by Mendels as other facets of nationalism. Many of these aspects of national identity survive till the present day, outliving the “fall” discussed in his book by two millennia. Clearly, then, Jewish nationalism even on Mendels’ understanding did not fall in 135. Another version of the “rise and fall” narrative appears in Imperialism and Jewish Society by Seth Schwartz. Here, however, the fall is followed by another rise. That is, Schwartz appears to describe a rise of Jewish nationalism in the Second Temple period, its fall in the wake of the failed revolts of 66 and 132 followed by a period of eclipse during “the high imperial” period (135–350), and then a rebirth in late antiquity. To be precise, the eclipse was not total. At least parts of the Second Temple form of Jewish identity survived among the rabbis, but they were a marginal element in Jewish society during this period. Schwartz generally avoids the terminology of “nation” and its derivatives. Observing that “nationhood” is “a very specific type of groupness,” Schwartz proposes an examination of “whether the Jews constituted a group in antiquity and, if they did, of the character of that group.”3 And yet the reader can easily get the impression that the Jewish “group,” certainly before 70, in fact had a national character. For example, in describing the period of the original 2 3

Ibid., pp. 1 –2. Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, p. 5.

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“rise,” Schwartz writes how “the central national institutions of the Jews, the Jerusalem temple and the Pentateuch, . . . eventually became the chief symbols of Jewish corporate identity. The history of the Second Temple period is one of integration, in which more and more Jews come to define themselves around these symbols.”4 If “Jewish corporate identity” is defined by the “national institutions” of the Jews, then surely that identity can be considered a national one. In discussing the Tobiad family and their activities during the period of Ptolemaic control of Judah, Schwartz calls them “marginally Jewish” because they were lax in their observance of pentateuchal laws. He goes on to say, “their Judaism is of a peculiarly modern-seeming secular-nationalist kind.”5 Thus “Judaism” can denote a national identity rather than just a “religious” one. Despite these occasional intrusions of “nationalist” terminology, Schwartz usually invokes more general concepts. Such terminology does appear again, but within quotation marks. Referring to the impact of the failure of the revolts of 66 and 132, Schwartz speaks of “the deconstitution of the Jewish ‘nation.’”6 Elsewhere he notes that Herod’s Jewish state did not survive his death as a political entity. Instead it survived until 70 as “a religious, cultural and social entity.”7 I wonder if for Schwartz the concept of a “nation” involves political expression as a state. This would explain his avoidance of the terminology of “nationhood” after the fall of the last Jewish state in 135. Be that as it may, he is quite clear that “Judaism” involves “religious, cultural and social norms.”8 It provides (actually or potentially) “the integrating ideology of Jewish society [or world],” “the ordering principle of the public life of most Jews.”9 With this definition in mind, we see where Schwartz goes beyond Mendels. What fell after 135 was not just the Jewish state or the political expressions of Judaism. What “collapsed,” “disintegrated,” and “shattered” was the religious, cultural, and social system of Judaism.10 In its place came the norms of the GrecoRoman city.11 Only after a hiatus of some two centuries did Judaism once again became “the integrative ideology of the Jews.”12 Specifically, late antique Jews “began to construct their symbolic world around the Torah, the (memory of the) temple, and related items.”13 Torah and temple were still as important as 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Ibid., p. 14. Ibid., p. 28. Ibid., p. 15. Ibid., p. 48. Ibid., p. 15. Ibid., pp. 98, 179, 199, 240. Ibid., pp. 1, 15, 103, 114, 159, 175. Ibid., pp. 15, 104. Ibid., p. 179. Ibid., p. 273.

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they had been in pre-135 Judaism, but the late antique version was “altered” – even profoundly so.14 The new version was “centered . . . on the synagogue and the local religious community.”15 The present context is not the appropriate venue for discussing arguments Schwartz puts forth and his suggestions for the causal factors in this process of rise, fall, and rise. Instead, invoking the concepts developed in this book might clarify the issues. Schwartz appears to focus on what I have called the cultural aspects of nationalism. For him Judaism is an ideology involving “shared symbols and discourse.”16 Sometimes he explicitly calls it a “culture” or a “cultural option.”17 The genetic element (i.e., shared descent or kinship) does not seem to play any significant role in this Judaism. This last conclusion is supported by the following observation by Schwartz. Even when “the core ideology of Judaism . . . ceased, after the two revolts, to function as an integrating force in Palestinian Jewish society,” some sense of common kinship survived.18 This implies that the belief in shared genealogy was not part of “the core ideology.” Sometimes, though, Schwartz indicates that kinship was a part of Judaism. Thus he writes, “But for most Jews, Judaism may have been little more than a vestigial identity. . . . Most Jews may have been Jews much the same (tenuous) way as people like, for example, Lucian of Samosata, . . . were Syrian.”19 Describing the same era Schwartz writes, “if there was anything holding Palestinian Jewish society together, it may have been no more than an attenuated sense of a common past, a mild feeling of separation from their neighbors that the latter, who had shared memories of their own, may have conspired to maintain.”20 And again, “the Jews, or some of them, must have retained some consciousness of being separate from their Greco-Roman neighbors.”21 Elsewhere he mentions “the survival of local ethnic identities under the basically uniform surface of high imperial urban culture.”22 Schwartz does not define how he understands ethnicity, though it seems to involve that consciousness of separateness. He does put Palestinian Jews and “other co-opted nations” in apposition with “a variety of other mildly discredited ethnic identities.”23 So there also appears to be some overlap between ethnicity and nationhood. And 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Ibid., pp. 240, 128, 175. Ibid., p. 1. Ibid., p. 240. Ibid., pp. 179 and 105, respectively. Ibid., p. 103. Ibid., p. 15. Ibid., p. 103. Ibid., p. 129. Ibid., p. 129 and cf. pp. 175–6. Ibid., p. 175.

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the identity he discusses in the passages I have cited involve a common past, shared memories, and a sense of separation. Separation could have a cultural basis, but Schwartz argues that the Jews in this period shared the common urban culture. To my mind, then, the identity he describes is the belief in a shared kinship. That is, the Jews in this period continued to believe they had different ancestors than did their neighbors of Phoenician, Arab, Egyptian, or Greek origin. To be sure, Schwartz appears to distinguish “Jewish origin” from “[Jewish] ethnicity.”24 This suggests that ethnicity involves more than just origins (= physical descent). However, Schwartz does not indicate what that “more” could be. If we use the terminology I have outlined in this book, we can understand Schwartz to make the following claims. The cultural component of the Jewish nationalism of Second Temple times (= “Judaism”) disappears after 135, except among a marginal minority (the rabbis). The genetic or kinship component survived. And the survival of this aspect of Jewish nationalism preserved a matrix for the revival of the cultural component after 350.25 As we saw, Schwartz qualifies the survival of the genetic factor as “vestigial,” “attenuated,” and “mild.” I am not sure how we evaluate the depth or extent of these feelings. And I wonder if what he really means is that identity is attenuated because it contains only the kinship element without any cultural aspects. In any event, I would suggest a further reconceptualization of the rise–fall–rise narrative. What I see is not the creation, demise, and then reappearance of “Judaism.” Instead I suggest that the history sketched by Schwartz involves changes in the cultural component of Jewish national identity. I noted earlier that cultural markers can shift over time. Perhaps this is what happened to Palestinian Jews. In view of the survival of the kinship factor, one wonders if some cultural factors also survived. Such factors might be invisible in the evidence that has come down to us. Schwartz himself, as quoted previously, raised the possibility of “the survival of local ethnic identities under the basically uniform surface of high imperial urban culture.”26 In another place he suggests possible examples of the kind of ethnic markers that might be invisible in both the physical evidence and the literary sources. He suggests that, during the eclipse of Judaism, the rabbis may have had a “loose periphery” of “occasional supporters.” These were people “who in most respects lived normatively Greco-Roman lives and whose Jewishness was strictly compartmentalized (e.g., perhaps they refrained from eating pork and circumcised 24 25 26

Ibid., p. 176. Cf. ibid., p. 129. Loc. cit.

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their sons but participated without hesitation in public festivals).”27 Abstention from pork could be indicated in the archeological record by the absence of pig bones, but we could not expect such absence in a mixed (Jewish/nonJewish) urban center. Circumcision obviously is archeologically invisible and is unlikely to have aroused reaction in the literary sources after Antoninus Pius granted blanket permission for Jews to circumcise their children.28 Interestingly enough, circumcision is mentioned in a parallel context as a practice that may have survived beneath the “basically uniform surface of high imperial urban culture” as part of those other “mildly discredited ethnic identities.” In a review essay on Fergus Millar’s The Roman Near East, David Kennedy finds persuasive the arguments that the educated stratum of Near Eastern society came to identify themselves in “a largely hellenised way.” Kennedy then continues as follows. Yet the identity of any community or society must depend on more than whether its elite . . . expressed itself in the language of the imperial power rather than its own, or whether its art and architecture were strongly hellenised. . . . Beyond these aspects . . . there are other features of behaviour and outlook that may be equally important in defining identity. . . . a member of the Syrian urban elite . . . who set up texts in Greek and lived his public life amidst hellenised art and architecture . . . might remain conscious of numerous and significant differences [from the societies of Greek cities in Egypt, Asia or Greece]. Family structure, diet, everyday costume, death rituals, concepts of justice, honesty, love, patriotism and taste in art – these and many more could set him apart. . . . Perhaps we should be seeking the evidence for the degree of survival and diversity of Semitic culture and identity in such features . . . and rites such as circumcision. . . . we may need to recollect that, while some rulers shied away from the required circumcision to marry a Herodian princess, the ruler of Emesa, like that other Emesan, Elagabalus, did not.29 27 28

29

Ibid., pp. 175–6. The permission appears in Digesta 48:8:11, conveniently available in The Jews in Roman Imperial Legislation, edited with introductions, translations, and commentary by Amnon Linder (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press and Jerusalem: Israel Academy of the Sciences and Humanities, 1987), #1, pp. 99–102. Toward the middle of the third century, Origen, Contra Celsus II, 13 mentions in passing that circumcision was permitted to the Jews. And in the late fourth century, Scriptores Historiae Augustae, Hadrianus 14:2, assumed that circumcision was an important Jewish custom. As something permitted and (assumed to be) widely practiced, there would be no particular reason to mention it in the normal course of affairs. David Kennedy, “Greek, Roman and Native Cultures in the Roman Near East,” in J. H. Humphrey, ed., The Roman and Byzantine Near East, Volume 2. Some Recent Archaeological Research (JRASS 31 ; Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1999), pp. 103–4.

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The definitions of ancient Jewish nationalism set forth in this book have thus suggested ways to reframe the issues raised by both Mendels and Schwartz. I believe they have also helped to sharpen the focus of the debate and clarify the questions. As argued earlier, I believe that narratives of “rise and fall” or “collapse and rejudaization” can be misleading.30 Instead the historical picture seems to be more usefully described as one of modification and change in the contents of Jewish national identity. At the very least, this discussion illustrates the potential usefulness of the categories of national identity and nationalism for the study of ancient Jewish history. And that potential is the justification for the work that concludes here.

30

This is not to say that such narratives are impossible. Compare the apparent demise of Nabatean and Palmyrene identities or cultures after the Roman annexations. See Butcher, Roman Syria and the Near East, pp. 274–5, 293.

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Author Index

Abegg, Martin G., Jr., 52, 102, 119, 135, 179, 181 , 197 Aberbach, Moshe and David, 6, 7 Ahituv, Shmuel, 50, 52 Ahlstr¨om, G., 115, 116 Albeck, Hanokh, 41 , 68 Albertz, Rainer, 113, 117 Alexander, Philip S., 48 Allegro, John M., 97, 135 Alon, G., 137, 138 Amar, Z., 133 Amir, Y., 177 Amit, D., 127, 149 Andersen, Francis I., 171 , 194, 195 Anderson, Benedict, 2, 8, 9, 108 Armstrong, John A., 3, 13 Attridge, H. W., 93 Aviram, J., 45 Avishur, Yitzhak, 59 Avi-Yonah, Michael, 1 Azodi, Azizeh, xiv Baasten, M. F. J., 48 Bachmann, H., 186 Baer, S., 16 Bahat, D., 193 Baillet, M., 103 Banks, Marcus, 5, 6, 9 Barag, Dan, 60, 142 Bar-Asher, Moshe, 19, 20, 22 Barber, A., 112 Bar-Ilan, Me’ir, 33, 203

243

Bar-Kochva, B., 176, 177 Baron, Salo W., 6, 7, 13, 17 Barr, James, 64 Barrois, G. A., 171 , 182, 188 Barth, Fredrik, 9, 15 Bartlett, John R., 4, 50 Bauerfiend, O., 98 Baumgarten, Albert I., 33, 38, 100, 103 Baumgarten, Joseph M., 82, 135, 151 , 198, 203 Becking, Bob, 110, 113, 117 Bedford, Peter Ross, 62, 114 Ben-David, A., 125 Benoit, P., 46, 126, 131 , 160, 195 Ben-Shalom, Israel, 89, 90, 91 , 92, 100, 190 Berlin, Andrea M., 3, 127 Betlyon, J. W., 153 Beyer, Klaus, 52 Bi(c)kerman(n), Elias, 23, 42, 77, 146, 147 Bienkowski, Piotr, 141 Bilde, P., 4, 5, 15, 122, 143 Binder, Donald D., 34 Biran, A., 45 Birnbaum, Ellen, 23 Black, Matthew, 51 , 200 Blau, Joshua, 56, 181 Blenkinsopp, J., 113 Bogaert, P., 187 Bohak, Gideon, 4 Borgen, Peder, 119, 177, 196 Bouzard, Walter C., Jr., 46 Bowden, John, 89

244

AUTHOR INDEX

Bowersock, G., 155 Bowman, Alan K., 59 Brass, Paul R., 5, 8, 14 Briquel-Chatonnet, F., 52, 59 Brockmuehl, M., 190 Bromley, G. W., 118 Brooke, G., 102 Broshi, Magen, 45, 100, 127, 128, 130, 132, 135, 151 , 168, 169, 198 Brown, Raymond E., 186 Bruneau, P., 120, 158, 178 Burke, D. G., 172, 174 Butcher, Kevin, xiii, 4, 210 Cantineau, J., 154, 155, 156 Carr, David M., 29 Carter, C. E., 118 Cartledge, P., 17 Cary, E., 185 Cashmore, E., 6 Charlesworth, James H., 46, 105, 132, 135, 175, 181 , 187, 198 Childs, Brevard S., 50 Clements, R. E., 112 Clines, D. J. A., 16 Cody, A., 16 Cohen, Shaye J. D., xiii, 4, 9, 13, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 98, 99, 121 , 143, 150, 188 Cool, Root, M., 143 Collins, John, 102 Collins, M. F., 105 Colson, F. H., 24 Connor, Walker, 3, 8, 10, 11 Conversi, Daniele, 5 Cotton, Hannah M., 61 , 62, 129, 130, 131 , 134, 160, 161 Cowley, P., 141 Cross, Frank Moore, Jr., 51 , 89, 142, 153, 195 Davies, G. I., 50 Davies, Philip R., 31 , 35, 41 , 44, 51 , 52, 74, 75, 89, 111 , 114, 152 De Vaux, R., 126, 131 , 160, 195 De Vos, George A., 8, 14 Dearman, J. Andrew, 141 Denis, A.-M., 199 Deutsch, Karl, 8

Deutsch, Robert, 59, 128, 167 Di Lella, A., 102, 173, 199 Dimant, D., 56, 197 Donner, H., 154 Doran, R., 177 Dyck, Jonathan E., 112 Eck, W., 128 Edelman, Diana Vikander, 74 Edwards, D. R., 148 Elgvin, Torleif, 82, 102 Eliav, Yaron Z., 193, 200, 201 Elliot, John H., 72, 73 Elman, Y., 34 Elwolde, J. F., 51 , 56, 66 Enslin, Morton S., 174, 199 Epstein, J. (Y.)N., 68, 98, 191 Eriksen, Thomas H., 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 Eshel, Esther, 21 , 82, 103, 180 Eshel, Hanan, 55, 60, 61 , 103, 127, 128, 130, 149, 168, 169, 180, 181 Eskenazi, T. C., 29, 55, 112 Evans, Craig A., 193 Farmer, William, 2, 89, 101 , 137 Faust, Avraham, 5 Feldman, Louis H., 21 , 25, 41 , 90, 91 , 92, 100, 101 , 105, 146, 189 Fenton, Terry, 115 Fine, S., 38, 40 Finkelstein, Israel, 5, 69 Finley, M. I., 152 Firmage, E. B., 31 Fischer, Thomas, 42, 176 Fishbane, Michael, 38, 203 Fishbane, Simchah, 33 Fitzgerald, John T., 5 Fitzmyer, Joseph A., 52, 64, 67, 153, 155, 163 Flensted-Jensen, Pernille, 4 Flesher, Paul V. M., 34, 38, 82 Flint, Peter W., 46, 52, 102 Foakes Jackson, F. J., 88 Foerster, G., 128, 186 Fohrer, G., 171 Forbes, A. Dean, 171 Fornara, C. W., 17 Fraade, Steven D., 76, 80, 82

AUTHOR INDEX

245

Haase, W., 143 Habas (Rubin), Efrat, 133 Habicht, C., 146 Hachlili, Rachel, 34, 98, 182 Hackett, Jo Ann, 51 Hadas, Moses, 47 Hall, J. M., 4, 9, 14, 17, 18, 19, 22, 26, 49, 65 Halpern, B., 197 Hanson, P. D., 96 Haran, Menahem, 41 Gafni, I., 188, 189 Hare, D. R. A., 105, 178 Gamble, Harry Y., 47 Harmand, R., 98 Garbini, Giovanni, 55, 64, 65, 66 Harrington, Daniel J., 52, 67, 104, 105, 153, Gardner, P., 154 155, 177 Garr, W. Randall, 51 Harris, William V., 33, 203 Garvin, Tom, 12, 13, 15 Harvey, Graham, 118, 119, 134 Geiger, J., 161 Hatch, E., 173, 199 Gellner, Ernst, 2, 8 Hayes, Christine E., 18 Gershoni, I., 34 Hayward, C. T. P., 177 Gerson, Stephen N., 141 , 142 Hayward, R., 102, 104, 105 Gilat, Y. D., 190 Healey, John F., 67, 155 Ginsberg, H. L., 66, 67 Heard, R. Christopher, 31 Ginzberg, L., 104, 197 Hechter, Michael, 2 Gogel, Sandra Landis, 50 Heltzer, M., 59 Goldenberg, Robert, 16 Hendel, Ronald S., 51 Goldschlager, A., 203 Hengel, Martin, 77, 88, 89, 90, 91 , 92, 94, Goldstein, Jonathan, 37, 42, 89, 102, 149, 99, 100, 101 , 105, 106, 168, 169, 185 188 Goodblatt, David, 33, 35, 40, 73, 74, 85, 93, Henshke, David, 172 95, 96, 119, 123, 126, 133, 137, 150, 184, 185, Henten, Jan Willem van, 30 Hezser, Catherine, 33 188, 198, 199 Goodman, Martin, 1 , 2, 13, 16, 18, 19, 20, 22 Hill, G. F., 153, 154 Hirschfeld, Yizhar, 41 Goshen-Gottstein, M., 132, 195 Hoehner, H. W., 161 Gottlieb, Claire, 66 Holladay, Carl R., 4 Goudriaan, Koen, 4 Holum, K. G., 159 Grabbe, Lester L., 31 , 34, 63, 110, 115, 119, Hopkins, Keith, 45 120 Horbury, William, 30, 50, 57 Graham, M. Patrick, 141 Horgan, Maurya, 135 Gray, Rebecca, 76, 77 Horsley, Richard A., 3, 100, 101 , 102, 105, Greatrex, G., 27 106 Greenfield, Jonas C., 55, 57, 62, 63, 126, 133, Houghton, A., 153 134, 138, 154, 155 Houtman, A., 190, 198 Grene, D., 17 Humber, J.-B., 55 Grosby, Steven, 5 Humphrey, J. H., 209 Gruen, Erich S., 1 , 2, 18, 35 Hurvitz, Avi, 51 Guibernau, Monserrat, 10 Hutchinson, John, 7 Gunneweg, J., 55 Hyman, A., 97 Gutbrod, W., 118, 119, 143, 162 Frankfort, Henri, 74 Freedman, David Noel, 31 , 194, 195, 197 Frey, J.-B., 52, 54, 161 Fried, Lisbeth S., 86 Friedman, R. E., xv Friedmann, M., 104 Fuglseth, K˚are, 119, 177, 196 Fuller, Russell E., 195

246

AUTHOR INDEX

Ilan, Tal, 97, 99, 182 In der Smitten, Wilhelm, 2 Jacobs, M., 133 Jacobson, D. M., 160 Jacobson, H., 39, 172, 175, 200 Jaffee, Martin S., 34 James, M. R., 104, 175 Janowitz, Naomi, 27, 143 Japhet, Sara, 112 Jellicoe, Sidney, 36 Jeselsohn, D., 150 Jones, Christopher P., 5 Jones, H. L., 165 Jones, Siˆan, 4, 27 Joosten, Jan, 56 Jossa, G., 88 Jull, Timothy A. J., 127, 128, 130, 168, 169 Just, Roger, 14 Kadman, L., 124, 167 Kaizer, Ted, xiv Kaltner, John, 51 , 56 Kanael, B., 168, 170 Kasovsky, C. Y., 191 , 192, 193 Kaufman, Asher S., 198 Kee, Howard C., 38, 39 Kellas, James G., 5, 10 Keller, Sharon, 66 Kennedy, David, 209 Kimelman, Reuven, 90 Kindler, A., 130, 149, 158, 168 Kisch, G., 104 Kittel, G., 118 Kloner, Amos, 21 , 133 Klostermann, E., 163 Koffmahn, Elisabeth, 126 Kokkinos, N., 161 Konstan, David, 17 Korpel, Marjo C. A., 110 Kraabel, A. T., 120, 158 Kraemer, R. S., 143 Krauss, S., 105 Kr¨uger, Peter, 5, 7, 10, 12 Kuhn, K. G., 118, 119, 120, 136, 143, 151 Kuhrt, A., 143

Lake, K., 88 Lapin, Hayim, 12 Lemaire, A., 55 Lemche, Niels Peter, 5, 110, 111 , 112, 113, 114, 116, 117, 140 Leonhardt, Jutta, 37 Levenson, J. D., 96, 194 Levin, Yigal, 112 Levine, Baruch A., 56, 58, 130, 133, 134, 138, 154, 155 Levine, Lee I., 34, 40, 172 L´evy, E., 152 Lewis, Bernard, 6 Lieberman, Saul, 41 , 68, 97 Lim, Timothy H., 44 Linder, Amnon, 209 Lior, Y., 7 Lipschits, O., 113 Liverani, M., 5, 141 Loewe, H., 24 Lohse, E., 186 Lowe, M., 143 Lubetski, Meir, 66 Lundberg, M. J., 160 MacDonald, Burton, 141 Macdonald, John, 202 Macdonald, M. C. A., 53, 155 Machinist, Peter, 143 MacLennan, R. S., 148 Magen, Y., 53 Malkin, Irad, 4, 18, 20, 22, 49, 147 Malul, M., 59 Mantzoulinou-Richards, E., 160 Marcus, David, 66 Marcus, Ralph, 20, 23, 94, 149 Mare, W. H., 171 , 194, 201 Mart´ınez, F. Garc´ıa, 198 Mason, H. J., 149 Mattingly, H., 165 Mayer, G¨unter, 177 Mazar, B., 156, 193 McInerney, Jeremy, 18, 49 McKenzie, J. L., 73 McKenzie, Steven L., 51 , 56 McLaren, James S., 107, 123, 184 Meier, John P., 3

AUTHOR INDEX

Mendels, Doron, xiii, 2, 3, 6, 8, 75, 84, 121 , 152, 162, 172, 204, 205, 210 Meshorer, Y., 69, 123, 124, 125, 126, 128, 130, 134, 142, 149, 150, 154, 158, 160, 165, 167, 168, 169, 170, 183 Meyers, Carol L., 63, 194 Meyers, Eric M., 63 Michel, O., 98 Mildenberg, L., 125, 130, 142, 168, 185, 202 Milik, J. T., 46, 126, 128, 130, 131 , 132, 155, 160, 195 Millar, Fergus, xiii, 29, 31 , 32, 51 , 148, 155, 209 Millard, Alan, 34, 45 Misgav, H., 53 Mitchell, S., 27 Montaner, L. Vegas, 82 Montefiore, C. G., 24 Montgomery, James A., 202 Moore, C. H., 23 Moore, Carey A., 77, 174, 176, 199 Moore, George Foote, 77 Mor, Menachem, 36, 137, 152, 169 Morag, Shlomo, 56 Moran, M. L., 73 Morgan, Catherine, 4 Morgenstern, M., 46 Morin, J.-A., 104 Mørkholm, O., 142 Mulder, M. J., 33, 38, 40, 203 Mulder, Otto, 102 Mullen, E. Theodore, Jr., 4, 30, 35 Muraoka, T., 56, 66 Murphy, C., 46 Murphy, Frederick J., 39, 105 Musti, D., 146 Naveh, Joseph, 55, 56, 57, 60, 61 , 62, 63, 132, 158 Negev, A., 154, 155 Netzer, E., 186 Neusner, Jacob, xiv, 97, 190 Newsom, C., 197 Nickelsburg, George W. E., 172 Nicolet, C., 152 Niditch, Susan, 34 Niehoff, Maren R., 4

247

Niese, B., 98 Nitzan, Bilhah, 38 ´ Nodet, Etienne, 41 Noy, D., 4, 161 O’Connor, M., 191 Oded, Bustenay, 115 Olbricht, Thomas H., 5 Olsson, Birger, 35, 82, 90 Oppenheimer, A., 36, 133, 177 Østerg˚ard, Uffe, 5, 9, 14, 15, 16 Overman, J. Andrew, 3, 127, 148 Pardee, D., 134 Pardes, Ilana, 31 Parente, F., 88, 101 , 143 Parker, Simeon B., 51 , 59 Pastor, J., 36 Perrot, Charles, 40 Petit, T., 152 Pfann, S. J., 43, 197 Phelps, M. B., 160 Pinnick, A., xv, 40, 198 Poorthuis, M., 178, 179, 184 Porten, B., 59, 140, 142, 152, 153, 157 Porton, Gary G., 4, 16, 24, 118 Potter, D. S., 155 Price, Jonathan J., 107, 122, 123, 124, 170, 184 Propp, W. H., xv, 28, 72, 197 Pucci Ben Zeev, Miriam, 146 Puech, Emile, 41 , 52, 102 Purvis, James D., 141 Qimron, Elisha, 56, 132, 151 , 172 Rabin, Chaim, 59, 151 , 197 Rahmani, L. Y., 53, 54 Rainey, Anson, 58 Rajak, Tessa, 122, 137, 152, 188 Rappaport, Uriel, 56, 124, 125, 133, 142, 149, 152, 158, 168, 170, 177, 183, 185, 203 Ray, John, 59 Redpath, H. A., 173, 199 Reed, S. A., 160 Reinach, T., 98 Renan, Ernst, 2, 3, 14

248

AUTHOR INDEX

Renfrew, Colin, 14 Rengstorf, K., 26, 95, 162, 196 Rhoads, D., 88, 100 Richards, D., 55 Richards, K. H., 29, 112 Richardson, Peter, 160, 161 Riter, Yitzhaq, 193 Robb, Kevin, 34 Robinson, S. E., 186 Rof´e, A., 95 Rogerson, J. W., 51 R¨ollig, W., 154 Romanucci-Ross, L., 8 Root, M. Cool, 143 Roth, C., 124, 125, 168, 169, 170, 183 Roth-Gerson, Lea, 38 Runesson, Anders, 35, 38, 39, 40, 77 Ryle, H. E., 175 S´aenz-Badillos, A., 50, 56 Safrai, Ch., 178, 179 Safrai, S., 189, 190 Safrai, Zeev, 45, 172, 184 Sa¨ıd, Suzanne, 20 Saldarini, Anthony J., 77 Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H., 143 Sanders, E. P., 77 Sanders, J. A., 195 Satran, David, 105, 178 Sch¨afer, P., 61 Schalit, A., 97, 98, 119, 178, 187 Schams, Christine, 77 Schapes, Joachim, 57 Schechter, S., 197 Schiffman, Lawrence H., 21 , 38, 40, 52, 151 , 179, 181 , 197, 198 Schlatter, A. von, 98 Schmidt, F., 147 Schmitt-Korte, K., 155 Schniedewind, William M., 63, 65 Schoenfeld, S., 203 Schr¨oder, J., 38 Schuller, E., 180, 195 Sch¨urer, E., 51 , 77, 85, 148, 149, 160, 161 Schwartz, Daniel R., xv, 36, 38, 40, 72, 73, 77, 80, 91 , 93, 94, 95, 104, 161 , 178, 188, 198

Schwartz, Joshua, 68, 133 Schwartz, Seth, xiii, 19, 35, 37, 40, 42, 43, 47, 54, 56, 58, 60, 61 , 62, 65, 66, 74, 75, 121 , 176, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210 Segal, M. S., 173, 199 Shavit, Y., 40 Shinan, Avigdor, 68, 104, 105 Shutt, R. J. H., 37 Siegel, Jonathan P., 42 Sievers, Joseph, 42, 88, 101 , 143, 149 Silberman, Neil Asher, 5 Simchoni, Y. N., 98 Sivan, Daniel, 191 Skarsten, Roald, 119, 177, 196 Skehan, P., 102, 173, 195, 199 Slaby, W. A., 186 Small, David, 5 Smallwood, E. Mary, 1 , 2 Smith, Anthony D., 3, 9, 11 , 12, 13, 14, 31 , 32, 100 Smith, D., 88 Smith, M., 88 Smooha, Sammy, 7 Sokoloff, Michael, 68 Solin, H., 143 Sparks, Kenton L., 4, 9, 12, 13, 31 Spira, Thomas, 5, 13 Starcky, J., 154, 155 Stegemann, H., 44 Stemberger, G., 68, 190 Stern, Ephraim, 113, 141 Stern, Menachem, 36, 88, 119, 122, 142, 146, 147, 149, 162, 163, 165, 177, 178, 188 Stern, Sacha, 24, 118, 139 Stone, Jack, 13 Stone, Michael E., 93, 187 Strack, H. L., 68 Strugnell, John, 181 Syren, R., 105 Talmon, Shemaryahu, 41 , 46, 54 Tcherikover, Victor, 77 Testa, Emmanuele, 186 Thackeray, H. St. J., 23, 33, 91 , 94, 98 Theodor, Julius, 68 Thomas, Rosalind, 17, 22, 34, 47 Thompson, Thomas L., 111 , 112

AUTHOR INDEX

249

Webster, Brian, 44, 48, 127 Tigchelaar, Ebert J. C., 82, 198 Weinberg, David H., 1 Tomlinson, R., 152 Weitzman, Steve, 60, 66 Tomson, P. J., 118, 123, 152 Tov, Emmanuel, 43, 44, 46, 48, 52, 102, 119, White, L. Michael, 5 White, R. T., 152 171 , 179, 181 , 195, 197 Whitelocke, Lester T., 173, 199 Trebolle-Barrera, J., 44 Wieseh¨ofer, J., 109 Tsafania, L., 53 Willi, Thomas, 29 Tsafrir, Y., 189 Williamson, H. G. M., 112, 116 Wintermute, O. S., 103, 176 Ulrich, Eugene, 171 , 195 Wise, Michael Owen, 40, 41 , 45, 48, 57, 58, Urbach, E. E., 190 61 , 62, 64, 92 Urman, Dan, 34 Woolf, Greg, 22, 59 Wright, P. B., 175 Vanderhooft, David S., 113 van der Horst, P. W., 143 Yadin, Yigael, 54, 126, 130, 133, 134, 137, 138, VanderKam, James C., 44, 52, 171 , 154, 155 197 Yardeni, Ada, 59, 103, 126, 129, 130, 131 , 132, van Henten, J., 65 133, 134, 138, 140, 142, 152, 153, 154, 155, Van Peursen, W. Th., 48 157, 160, 180 Vaziri, M., 2 Young, Ian, 51 Verbin, John S. Kloppenborg, 38 Younker, Randall W., 141 Vermes, Geza, 51 , 148, 198 Wacholder, Ben-Zion, 21 , 42, 52, 64 Waggoner, N. M., 142 Walbank, Frank W., 4, 19, 147 Waltke, Bruce K., 191 Walton, F. R., 36 Ward, Seth, 193 Watts, James W., 35, 62 Weber, Max, 8

Zadok, Ran, 59 Zeitlin, Solomon, 41 Zeron, A., 105 Zetterholm, Magnus, 35, 82, 90 Ziffer, I., 133 Zimmerman, Frank, 66 Zobel, H.-J., 111 Zvi, Ehud Ben, 117

Index

Aristobulus II, 147, 150 Aristobulus, tutor to King Ptolemy, 42 aristocracy and hierocracy, conflation of, 94–5 Artaxerxes I, 35 Augustus Caesar (emperor), 146

Abba Bar Zabda (Rabbi), 20, 21 Acts, book of, 39, 135 Agricola, 49 Agrippa I, 25, 87, 159, 160, 164 Agrippa II, 160, 164 Alcimus, 89 Alexander Jonathan, 84, 147, 150, 158 Alexandria, library of, 42 Amos, book of, 135 amphorae inscriptions from Masada, 160–1 , 164 Ananus son of Ananus, 122, 123 Antiochus III, 146 Antiochus IV Epiphanes, 22, 74, 145 Antiochus V, 175 Antiochus VII, 145, 149 Antipas, 160, 163 Antipater, 148 Antoninus Pius (emperor), 209 Antony, 162 Apocrypha. See specific texts, e.g., Baruch Apostrophe to Zion, 180–1 , 198 Appian of Alexandria, 162, 163, 164 Aramaic language penetration and eventual dominance of, 51 –9 translations into Hebrew from, 66–7 Archelaus, 86, 87, 94, 159, 161 , 162, 163–4 Aretas Philhellene, 155 Aristeas, Letter of, 36, 177, 178, 181

Bar Kochba revolt of 132 c.e. Israel nationalism and. See Israel nationalism numismatic evidence for Israel nationalism, 130 Zion nationalism, lack of evidence for, 167–70, 185, 202 Scripture as element of Jewish nationalism and, 46, 47, 55, 60–1 Zion not mentioned on coinage or in documents of, 167–70, 185, 202 Barbarian–Greek dichotomy, 15–16 Baruch literature Baruch, book of, 134, 172, 174, 177, 178, 181 II Baruch, 186, 187 IV Baruch, 186, 187 Beirut, coinage of, 156–7 Ben Sira, book of concepts of nationalism, 21 Hebrew language and construction of national identity, 67 Judah nationalism, 157

251

252

INDEX

Ben Sira, book of (cont.) priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 74, 80–1 , 86, 97, 101 , 102, 105, 106 Zion nationalism, 173–4, 197, 199 Bible. See Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, and see individual books, e.g., Deuteronomy blood kinship as element of premodern nationalism, 17–27, 108–9, 207–8 Boethusians, 97 Browning, Robert, 54 Caesarea inscription, 159 Cairo genizah, 197 canonical status of Scripture texts, 29 Cassius, 162 Cassius Dio, 122, 163, 184–5 chiastic structure, 194 Chronicles, books of, 63, 66, 79, 112 circumcision, 28, 109, 208–9 Claudius (emperor), 159 Clearchus of Soli, 142 coinage. See numismatic evidence constructed nature of national identity, 117 conversion to Judaism, 24–5 Corinthians, second epistle to, 39 culture as element of nationalism, 17–27, 109, 207, 210 Cumanus, 43 Damascus Document, 81 , 82, 151 Daniel, book of, 16, 52, 63, 66, 67, 118, 157 David (king of united Israel), 140 Delos inscriptions, 119–20, 158 Demetrius I, 145 Demetrius II, 145 Deuterocanonical literature. See specific texts, e.g., Baruch Deuteronomistic History, 30 Deuteronomy, book of concepts of Jewish nationalism, 16 Israel nationalism, 109 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 76, 77, 81 , 94, 105

Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 30, 35, 45, 46 Zion nationalism, 171 Diaspora Jews Elephantine papyri, 57, 63, 86, 140, 141 , 157 Israel/Judean, use of, 118, 120 public reading of Scripture, evidence of, 37–40 Diodorus of Sicily, 147 Dositheus son of Drimylos, 21 Ecclesiastes, book of, 66 Eleazar son of Hanan, 98 Eleazar son of Saddoq, 97 Eleazar son of Simon, 100 Eleazar son of Ya’ir, 91 Elephantine papyri, 57, 63, 86, 140, 141 , 157 Eliezar Haqqappar Berabbi/Bar Qappara, 68 Elijah and Phinehas, zeal of, 101 –6 Enoch literature, 30, 200 Essenes, 37, 44–5, 89, 90 Esther, book of, 19, 63, 66, 157 ethnicity, concept of, 3–11 , 12–14, 26, 207–8 ethnogenesis as purpose of Scripture, 30 ethnos of the Judeans, meaning of, 146–7 Exodus, book of, 46, 71 –4, 103 Ezekiel, book of, 46, 78, 95–6, 97, 114 Ezra, biblical book of, 35, 52, 63, 66, 112, 114, 157 Ezra, fourth apocryphal book of, 186, 187 family and kinship as element of premodern nationalism, 17–27, 108–9, 207–8 Flavius Josephus. See Josephus fourth philosophy, 88–9, 106 Gaius (emperor), 159, 164 Genesis Aprocryphon, 30 Genesis, book of, 45, 46, 103, 109, 175, 190, 200 Gentile–Jew dichotomy, 15–16 Gerizim, Mount linguistic evidence of Samaritan inscriptions from, 52–3, 60

INDEX

temple mount, Samaritan use of Mt. Gerizim to indicate, 201 –2 Giv’at Hamivtar tomb inscription, 67–8 Gorion son of Nikodemos, 98 goyim, Jewish concept of, 15–16 Greek nationalism concepts of, 17–19, 22 language and, 49–50, 65, 69–70 power of oral literature to create pan-Hellenic identity, 117 Greek–Barbarian dichotomy, 15–16 Hadrian (emperor), 165 Haggai, book of, 63, 78, 112 Hananiah, 98 Hasidim, 89–90 Hasmoneans, 114, 121 , 136–8, 150–1 , 157–8. See also specific rulers, e.g., Aristobulus II Judah nationalism of. See Judah nationalism uprising of 167 b.c.e., 61 , 62, 145 Hebrew language and construction of national identity Greek parallels, 49–50, 69–70 in post–Second Temple period, 68–9 priestly component of Jewish nationalism and, 74–5 in Second Temple period, 50–68 Aramaic penetration and eventual dominance, 51 –9 ideologization of Hebrew as language of holiness and nationalism, 61 –8 literary compositions in Hebrew, 63–5, 66–7 national sentiment, use of Hebrew as deliberate expression of, 61 nature of surviving Hebrew, diverse evaluations of, 55–6 nonreligious use of Hebrew, 60–1 as primary symbol of identity, 66 social distinction, Hebrew as marker of, 61 as spoken language, 50–1 , 56–9 Temple, importance of use in, 60–1

253

talismanic function of language, 62, 69–70 Hebrews, epistle to, 186 Hecataeus of Abdera, 36, 48, 80, 81 , 83, 84, 86, 142 Herod the Great, 206 concepts of nationalism and, 20, 25, 26 Israel nationalism, 121 Judah nationalism, 159, 160–1 priestly component of Jewish nationalism and, 86, 87 Herodians, Judah nationalism of, 148, 159–65. See also specific Herodians, e.g., Agrippa I Herodotus, 17, 18, 49, 69–70, 116 Hever documents, 129, 130–6 Hezir, monumental tomb of priestly family of Sons of, 60 hierocracy implied by theocracy of fourth philosophy, 93–9, 106 Hosea, book of, 95 Hypsicrates, 148 Hyrcanus I, 105 Hyrcanus II, 147, 148, 150, 164 Idumean ostraca, economic texts found on, 53–7, 59 Iron Age Hebrew as spoken language in, 50–1 Israel, existence of concept of, 109–15 Judah, kingdom of, 140 Isaiah, book of Hebrew language and construction of Jewish national identity, 50, 63 Israel nationalism, 114 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 112 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 46 Zion nationalism, 171 , 173–4, 178, 179–80, 186, 191 , 192, 194, 195–6 Isocrates, 18, 19, 22 Israel nationalism, 115–17 Bar Kochba revolt of 132 and, 129–36, 138–9 documentary evidence, 130–6

254

INDEX

Israel nationalism (cont.) Hasmonean state contrasted with, 136–8 numismatic evidence, 130 use of Simeon son of Kosiba’s name as dating evidence, 128, 129, 130 constructed nature of, 117 dissemination of concept of, 117–18, 120–1 Hasmoneans, 114, 121 , 136–8, 150–1 , 157–8 in Hellenistic era, 118–20 Jewish revolt of 66–70 and, 121 –9, 138–9 documentary evidence, 126–9 Hasmonean state contrasted with, 136–8 literary evidence, 122–3 numismatic evidence, 123–6, 128, 129 Judah nationalism and, 109 kinship nature of, 108–9 preexilic/Persian/exilic period, existence of concept in, 109–15 Scriptural origins of, 108–9 Jehu, zeal of, 101 Jeremiah, book of Israel nationalism, 109, 135 Judah nationalism, 157 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 78 Zion nationalism, 171 , 174, 191 , 194, 195, 198 Jerome, 71 , 72, 73, 163–4 Jerusalem, use of Zion on bronze coinage of revolt of 66–70 possibly signifying, 183–4 Jew–Gentile dichotomy, 15–16 Jewish nationalism applicability of concept to premodern peoples, 11 –12, 27 appropriateness of term as applied to premodern societies, 1 –3 culture as element of, 17–27, 109, 207, 210 defined, 26–7 ethnicity vs., 7–11 , 12–14, 26

Hebrew language. See Hebrew language and construction of national identity Israel as focus of. See Israel nationalism Judah as focus of. See Judah nationalism kinship element of, 17–27, 108–9, 207–8 potential sources of, 28–9 priestly component. See priestly component of Jewish nationalism Scripture. See Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism state distinguished from nation, 26 understanding premodern concepts of, 14–26 Zion as focus of. See Zion nationalism Jewish revolt of 132–135 c.e. See Bar Kochba revolt of 132 c.e. Jewish revolt of 66–70 c.e. concept of Jewish national identity and, 3, 6–7 Hebrew language and construction of Jewish identity, 55, 61 Israel nationalism and. See Israel nationalism numismatic evidence for Israel nationalism, 123–6, 128, 129 for Zion nationalism. See Zion nationalism priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 100, 104 ideology of resistance to foreign domination derived from priests, 87–107 symbols of nationalism, priests as, 75 as teachers of torah, 79 Zion nationalism and. See Zion nationalism Jewish vs. Judean 12–13 Job, book of, 189, 190 Joel, book of, 171 , 174 John, Gospel of, 186 John of Gischala, 122, 183, 185 Jonathan Alexander. See Alexander Jonathan Jonathan son of Ba’ayan, 134 Jonathan son of Mattathiah, 84

INDEX

Jonathan the high priest, 147 Josephus concept of Jewish nationalism in antiquity, 20–21 , 25–6 Israel/Judah/Judeans, use of Hasmoneans, Judah nationalism of, 144–9 Herodians, Judah nationalism of, 161 , 162, 163, 164 Israel nationalism, evidence of, 118, 119, 123–9 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 190, 191 ideology of resistance to foreign domination derived from priests, 87–107 rulers and leaders, priests as, 87 teaching and dissemination of torah, 76–7, 79, 81 , 82, 83, 84 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 32–3, 34, 37–8, 41 , 42, 43 Zion nationalism, 196 Jerusalem’s centrality to revolt of 66–70 and, 183–4 possible deliberate avoidance of term, 187–9, 202 temple mount’s centrality to revolt of 66–70, 184 and, 185 Joshua, book of, 20, 41 , 109 Joshua son of Gamala, 32, 33 Joshua son of Yehoshadaq, 86 Jubilees, book of, 40, 103, 175, 176, 181 , 200, 201 Judah nationalism of Hasmonean state, 114, 121 , 136–8, 144–59 as contemporary Hebrew usage, 156–7 documents and literary sources, 144–9 ethnos of the Judeans, meaning of, 146–7 as Hellenizing usage, 152 numismatic evidence, 149–50, 153–7, 158 plural gentilic, 151 –7, 159

255

sources of evidence regarding, 144 ultimate inability to explain, 158–9 in Hellenistic era, 142–3 of Herodians, 148, 159–65 Iron Age kingdom of Judah, 140 Israel nationalism and, 109 non-Jewish use of Judah/Judeans, influence of, 118, 166 nuances behind use of, 143–4 numismatic evidence for of Hasmonean state, 149–50, 153–7, 158 in Hellenistic era, 142 in Persian period, 140 Ptolemaic coinage, 142, 143, 152 in Persian period, 140–2 Roman usage and, 148, 159, 162, 164–6 Scriptural origins of term, 140 Judah son of Jonathan, 98 Judah the Galilean, 90–2, 96, 106 Judah the Maccabee, 157 Judges, book of, 109 Judith, book of, 134, 174–5, 176, 181 , 199 Kings, first book of, 58, 101 , 157 Kings, second book of, 35, 76, 81 , 101 , 157 kinship as element of premodern nationalism, 17–27, 108–9, 207–8 Lamentations, book of, 171 , 180, 187 language and nationalism. See Hebrew language and construction of national identity legal documents and tomb inscriptions, close relationship between, 67–8 Letter of Aristeas, 36, 177, 178, 181 Levi materials, 30 Leviticus, book of, 46, 77 libraries, availability of, 40–7 literacy rates in Judah, 33–4 Lives of the Prophets, 178, 181 Livy, 49 Lucian of Samosata, 207 Luke, Gospel of, 39, 43, 161 , 162, 163 Lycurgus, 47 Lysias, 145

256

INDEX

Maccabees, first book of Israel nationalism, 136 Judah nationalism, 144–9, 151 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 89, 90, 100, 102, 105 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 36–7, 43 Zion nationalism, 175–6, 181 , 188, 189, 199, 200–1 Maccabees, second book of concepts of national identity, 20 Hebrew language and construction of Jewish nationalism, 49, 69 Judah nationalism, 144–9, 157 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 89 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 40 Zion nationalism, 177, 178, 181 , 201 Maccabees, third book of, 20–1 Maimonides, Moses, 83, 191 Malachi, book of, 78, 79 Marcus Agrippa, 25 Mariamme (Hasmonean princess), 159 Mark, Gospel of, 39, 164 Masada inscriptions at, linguistic evidence of, 54–5, 60 texts found at, 46, 47, 197 wine amphorae from, 160–1 , 164 Mattathiah, 100 Mattathias Antigonus, 20, 84, 150, 189 Matthew, Gospel of, 39, 135, 161 , 162, 163, 186 Megasthenes, 142 Me’ir (Rabbi), 69 Merneptah stele, 110 Mesha Moabite stele, 110 Micah, book of, 16, 78, 171 , 179, 194–6, 198, 200 Mishnah. See rabbinic literature Moschos inscription, Boeotia, 142 Mount Gerizim. See Gerizim, Mount Mount Zion. See Zion nationalism Murabba’at documents, 55, 126–9, 130–6, 195

Nabatean kings, coinage of, 154–6 Nabatean tomb inscriptions, 67 names as expressions of national identity, 108 Saddoq as name, significance of, 97–9 Salome/Shelamsiyyon as onomastic evidence of Zion ideology, 182 Nehemiah, book of Hebrew language and construction of Jewish identity, 58, 63, 65, 66, 79–80, 83, 84 Israel nationalism, 112 Judah nationalism, 157 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 35, 36, 48 New Testament, 134–5. See also specific books, e.g., Romans, epistle to evidence of public reading of Scripture in, 39, 43 Judah nationalism of Herodians evidenced in, 161 –2, 163, 164 priestly component of Jewish nationalism and, 76–7, 87 Zion nationalism and, 171 , 177–8, 181 , 186, 196 Nicanor, 176 Nicolaus of Damascus, 163 Numbers, book of, 46, 103, 104 numismatic evidence Bar Kochba revolt of 132 for Israel nationalism, 130 Zion nationalism, lack of evidence for, 167–70, 185, 202 Beirut, 156–7 for Hebrew language as element of Jewish nationalism, 65 for Israel nationalism Bar Kochba revolt of 132, 130 revolt of 66–70, 123–6, 128, 129 for Judah nationalism. See Judah nationalism Nabatean kings, 154–6 Phoenician cities, coinage of, 153–4 for priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 87

INDEX

revolt of 66–70 for Israel nationalism, 123–6, 128, 129 for Zion nationalism. See Zion nationalism Tyre, 156–7, 183 Zion nationalism Bar Kochba revolt of 132, lack of evidence associated with, 167–70 revolt of 66–70. see Zion nationalism Obadas II, 155 Obadiah, book of, 171 Obadiah of Bertinoro, 83 Omri, House of, as name for state of Israel, 110, 112, 113 Oniads, 86 onomastics. See names ossuary inscriptions, linguistic evidence of, 53–4 Palestine, origins of term, 108 Palmyrene inscriptions, 155 Pentateuch Hebrew language as expression of national identity and, 61 , 62, 63, 66 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 74–5 Schwartz’s theory of Judaism under imperial regimes and, 206 Scripture as source of national identity, 30, 40, 41 , 42, 46 Zion not mentioned in, 177 performance texts, 47–8 Peter, first epistle of, 72, 73, 186 Pharisees Hasidim/Zealots/fourth philosophy, relationship to, 89–90, 99 priestly role in teaching of torah and, 76–7 Phasael, 162 Philo Judaeus concept of national identity, 21 , 23–4 Israel/Judean, use of, 119–20 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 81 , 84, 94, 104, 106 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 33, 37

257

Zion nationalism not evidenced in, 177, 178, 181 , 196 Phinehas, 100–106 Phoenician cities, coinage of, 153–154 Plutarch, 47, 161 , 162, 163 Polybius, 146 Pompeii inscriptions, 161 Pompeius Trogus, 119, 165 Pompey, 147, 148 Pontius Pilate, 159, 165 pork, avoidance of, 208 priestly component of Jewish nationalism Exodus 18: 6, Biblical and post-Biblical understanding of, 71 –4 Hebrew language and construction of national identity, 74–5 fourth philosophy, 88–99, 106 Mendels’ theory of, 75 ideology of resistance to foreign domination provided by priests, 99–107 in Josephus. See Josephus recent studies asserting, 74–5 revolt of 66–70 and. See Jewish revolt of 66–70 c.e. rulers and leaders of Israel, priests as, 84–7 before Hasmonean era, 85–6 during Hasmonean era, 84–5 post-Hasmonean era, 86–7 Scripture, priestly involvement with, 75–84 as active teachers, 79–81 as consultants/experts of, torah, 76–9 physical preservation of texts, 75–6 public reading of Scripture, 81 –4 Psalms, book of Hebrew language and construction of Jewish nationalism, 63 Scripture as source of Jewish identity, 39, 46 Syriac Psalm 43, 172, 187 Zion nationalism, 171 , 173–4, 179, 187 Psalms of Solomon, 134, 175 Pseudo-Philo, 38, 104, 175, 200

258

INDEX

public readings of Scripture, 34–48 availability of collections or individual texts for purposes of, 40–8 by priests, 81 –4 Diaspora vs. Judah, 37–40 Greek translations regarded as implying, 36–7 Israel nationalism, dissemination of concept of, 110 performance texts, evidence for, 47–8 survival ratio of texts for purposes of, 45–8 Qahat, Testament of, 40 Qumran community and texts, 135. See also specific texts, e.g., Damascus Document Hebrew language and construction of national identity, 52, 56, 60, 67 Israel/Judaean, use of, 119, 151 nature of Qumran library, 197 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 81 –2, 83, 84, 96, 97, 102–3 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 37–8, 43–45, 46, 47, 48 Zion nationalism and, 171 , 179–81 , 195, 197–99 rabbinic literature, 135–6 kinship as determinative of national identity, 20–1 priestly component of Jewish nationalism, 72, 76–7, 82–3 Zion nationalism and, 189–94, 200, 202 Rav Shaqeh, 173 Revelations, book of, 186 revolt of 132–135 c.e.. See Bar Kochba revolt of 132 c.e. revolt of 66–70 c.e.. See Jewish revolt of 66–70 c.e. Romans, epistle to, 177–8, 181 Rule of the Community, 38

Saddoq, line of, 86 Saddoq as name, significance of, 97–9 Saddoq the Pharisee, 90–2, 96–9, 106 Sadducees, 97 Salome/Shelamsiyyon as onomastic evidence of Zion ideology, 182 Samaritans Antiochus IV, letter from Samaritans to, 22 Delos inscriptions, 119–20, 158 linguistic evidence of Samaritan inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim, 52–3, 60 temple mount, use of Mt. Gerizim to indicate, 201 –2 Wadi Daliyeh, Samaritan legal documents found at, 57, 63, 65, 141 Samuel, first book of, 95 Samuel, second book of, 109, 180 Sanballats, 86 schools as means of disseminating Scripture, evidence of, 31 –4 Scripture as source of Jewish nationalism, 29–30. See also specific books, e.g., Deuteronomy canonical status, 29 dating of, 30 dissemination of, 31 –2 Israel nationalism, origins of, 108–9 Judah nationalism, 140 language of, 30 priestly involvement in. See priestly component of Jewish nationalism public readings of. See public readings of Scripture purpose of Scripture as ethnogenesis, 30 shared physical kinship and culture established by, 29, 108–9 social institutions (schools or synagogues) required for disseminating, 31 –4 Zion nationalism, 171 –2 Septuagint, 72, 195–6 Shalmaneser III, 110

INDEX

Shammai, House of, 89 Sicarii, 88, 90, 91 –2, 99, 123, 183 Simeon son of Giora, 122, 183 Simeon son of John, 81 Simeon son of Kosiba. See Bar Kochba revolt of 132–135 c.e. Simeon son of Mattathiah, 84 Simeon son of Shetah, 32, 33 Simeon son of Yohanan, 199 Simeon the high priest, 145, 149 Solomon, 199 Song of Songs, 66, 179, 191 state distinguished from nation, 26, 116, 205, 206 Strabo, 147, 148, 165 synagogues as means of disseminating Scripture, evidence of, 31 –2, 34, 37, 38 synonymous parallelism, 71 , 72 Syriac Bible, 72 Syriac Psalm 43, 172, 187 Syropalestinian text of Micah, 196 Tacitus, 24, 49, 122 talismanic function of Hebrew language, 62, 69–70 targums. See rabbinic literature Teacher of Righteousness, 97 Tel Dan inscription, 110 temple Mendels’ theory of decline in active political nationalism and, 205 Samaritans’ use of Mt. Gerizim to indicate temple mount, 201 –2 Schwartz’s theory of Judaism under imperial regimes and, 206 Zion nationalism and. See Zion nationalism Temple Scroll, 198 Testament of Qahat, 40 Tetrateuch, 30 theocracy of fourth philosophy, 88–99, 106 Theodotus son of Vettenos, 38, 83 Theophrastus, 142 Therapeutai, 37

259

Thucydides, 49 Tiberius Julius Alexander, 21 Titus (emperor), 41 , 43 Tobiads, 86, 206 Tobit, book of, 67 tomb inscriptions Giv’at Hamivtar, 67–8 legal documents, close relationships to, 67–8 Nabatean, 67 Sons of Hezir, 60 Uzziah king of Judah, inscription recording reburial of remains of, 67–8, 153, 164 Tosefta. See rabbinic literature twelve minor prophets, books of, 46 Tyre, coinage of, 156–7, 183 Umm al-Jimal inscription, 155 Uzziah king of Judah, inscription recording reburial of remains of, 67–68, 153, 164 Vespasian (emperor), 41 Vietnam, origins of term, 108, 159 Vulgate, 71 , 72, 73, 195–6, 200 Wadi Daliyeh, Samaritan legal documents found at, 57, 63, 65, 141 War of the Sons of Light against the Sons of Darkness, 102 wine amphorae inscriptions from Masada, 160–1 , 164 Yeshu’a son of Galgula, 134 Yohanan son of Zakkai, 191 Yosi son of Halafta, 24 Zamaris, 26 Zealots, 88–90, 100, 104, 106, 123, 183 Zechariah, book of, 63, 78, 112, 186 Zenon papyri, 142 Zerubavel, 85, 86, 199

260

INDEX

Zion nationalism Bar Kochba revolt, not mentioned on coinage or in documents of, 167–70, 185, 202 bronze coinage of revolt of 66–70, use of Zion on, 167–70, 202–3 city of Jerusalem possibly signified by, 183–4 possible origins of significance, 182–5 scholarly opinions as to significance of, 168–70 temple mount possibly signified by, 184–5 connotations of Zion in antiquity, 170–1 , 181 –2 deliberate avoidance of term post-70, possibility of, 187–9, 201 –3

Josephus and. See Josephus modern movement, influence on scholarship of, 170, 202 post-70 fate of Zion ideology, 186–96 pre-70 c.e. extrabiblical literature, use of, 172–81 , 196–201 Salome/Shelamsiyyon as onomastic evidence of, 182 Scriptural distribution and use of term, 171 –2 temple mount, Zion as designation for 193–201 on bronze coinage of revolt of 66–70, 184–5 as common usage rather than ideology in pre–70 c.e. extrabiblical sources, 176–7, 181