Jewish-Christian Conversation in Fourth-Century Persian Mesopotamia: A Reconstructed Conversation 9781463222710

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Jewish-Christian Conversation in Fourth-Century Persian Mesopotamia

Judaism in Context

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Judaism in Context is a series of monographs and collections focusing on the relations between Jews, Judaism, and Jewish culture and the other peoples, religions, and cultures among whom Jews have lived and flourished.

Jewish-Christian Conversation in Fourth-Century Persian Mesopotamia

A Reconstructed Conversation

Naomi Koltun-Fromm

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34 2011

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2011 by Gorgias Press LLC

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. 2011

‫ܒܐ‬

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ISBN 978-1-4632-0156-2

ISSN 1935-6978

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Koltun-Fromm, Naomi, 1964Jewish-christian conversation in fourth-century Persian mesopotamia : a reconstructed conversation / by Naomi Koltun-Fromm. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. 1. Judaism--Relations--Christianity. 2. Christianity and other religions--Judaism. 3. Aphraates, the Persian sage, fl. 337-345. Tahveyata. 4. Judaism--Controversial literature. 5. Rabbinical literature--History and criticism. 6. Jews--Iran--History--to 640. 7. Christians--Iran--History--to 640. I. Title. BM525.K657 2012 261.2'60935--dc23 2011047204

Printed in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS Preface......................................................................................................vii Abbreviations ...........................................................................................ix Introduction ..............................................................................................1 Overview of Prior Research ..........................................................6 Primary Sources 1: Aphrahat .......................................................33 Primary Sources 2: Rabbinic Texts .............................................38 Chapter 1. Jews, Christians and Persecutions in Fourth-Century Persia..............................................................45 Jewish settlement in Mesopotamia .............................................51 Christian settlement in Mesopotamia.........................................57 Shabur II’s persecutions and the question of Jewish involvement...........................63 Chapter 2. Chosenness: The Election of Israel ................................79 Chosenness .....................................................................................79 Rejection .........................................................................................87 The Ingathering and Redemption...............................................94 Chapter 3. Marriage and Celibacy in Jewish and Christian Tradition .............................................105 The example of Moses................................................................106 Celibacy and Asceticism: Christian ...........................................112 Celibacy and Asceticism: Jewish ...............................................115 Divine Blessing ............................................................................119 Procreation ...................................................................................124 The Social Milieu .........................................................................129 Chapter 4. Ritual: Passover and Circumcision................................135 Passover ........................................................................................141 Circumcision.................................................................................147 Crossing Ritual Practice Boundaries.........................................152 Conclusion.............................................................................................161 Appendix: Post Second Temple Passover Sacrifices? ...................167 Bibliography ..........................................................................................171 v

PREFACE I originally wrote this study as my Ph.D. dissertation, submitted in 1994 to the Department of History, Stanford University. Over the years I have worked on little bits and pieces of related research, finally developing, researching and writing a completely different project that eventually became a book, Hermeneutics of Holiness (Oxford, 2011). The Holiness project grew out of the third chapter of this earlier work, but quickly became a separate entity and production. Only after I saw that book to publication did I return to this dissertation. I have tried for this publication to update the bibliography and research in the introductory and historical background chapters, as 15 years have gone by since I first submitted the dissertation. However, I have left the research and analysis in the later three chapters (my “case studies”) more or less in tact. Only in chapter 3 do I update some of my conclusions to reflect the maturation of my thought processes, knowledge and understanding over time. Despite some updating I would still like to present this as my earliest work in the field, and leave the trail of development transparent to other readers. The theses I present first in chapter 3 of this work thus can be traced as they evolve in two of my other published articles, “Sexuality and Holiness: Semitic Christian and Jewish Conceptualizations of Sexual Behavior,” Vigiliae Christianae 54:3 (2000): 375–395; “Zipporah’s Complaint: Moses is Not Conscientious in the Deed! Exegetical Traditions of Moses’ Celibacy,” in The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, eds. Adam H. Becker and Annette Yoshiko Reed, 283–306. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003; and finally in the Holiness book mentioned above. In addition, some parts of chapters 1 and 2 were combined, condensed and recast in another article, “A Jewish-Christian Conversation in Fourthvii

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Century Persian Mesopotamia,” Journal of Jewish Studies 47.1 (1996): 45–63. I want to thank the generous and hard working folk at Gorgias Press for encouraging me to return to this work. I have thoroughly enjoying working with the full complement of material again. However, in so doing, I am reminded how small my work is compared to what can and should be done in the future. There remain many holes not filled and trails not followed that I hope other students of Syriac and Rabbinic studies will be inspired to fill, follow and pursue even further. As I put the finishing touches into this manuscript, while on sabbatical in Jerusalem, I remember that I started this project here, as a visiting graduate student, oh so many years ago. In the National Library, where I began to conceive the contours of this study, Aphrahat’s Demonstrations and the numerous rabbinic texts sit in the very spots they sat on their shelves 20 years ago. Thus this project has come full circle. With this publication I hope new readers will find inspiration in these books as I continue to do. Jerusalem, 2011

ABBREVIATIONS AAJR AB AJS AMS BT CHI CHJ CQR CSCO HTR HUCA Hugoye JBL JECS JJS JPS JQR JRS JSOR OC OCP OrCh PETSE PO PS PT VC

American Academy of Jewish Research Analecta Bollandiana Association for Jewish Studies Acta Martyrum et Sanctorum Babylonian Talmud Cambridge History of Iran Cambridge History of Judaism Church Quarterly Review Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies (electronic) Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Jewish Studies Jewish Publication Society Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Roman Studies Journal of the School of Oriental Research Oriens Christianus Orientalia Christiana Periodica Orientalia Christiana Papers of the Estonian Theological School in Exile Patrologia Orientalis Patrologia Syriaca Palestinian Talmud Vigiliae Christianea

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INTRODUCTION It happened one day that a man who is called “the sage of the Jews” asked me and said, “Yeshu who is called your teacher wrote to you thus: ‘If there shall be in you faith like one seed of mustard, you will say to this mountain, “move,” and it will move from before you; and even, “lift up,” and it will fall into the sea, for it will obey you’” [Mt. 17.19; 21.21]. “And thus,” [he continued], “there is not among all of you one wise person, whose prayer is heard, and who asks God that your persecutions should cease from you.” Then even I asked him [about] the words from the law and the prophets. And I said to him, “you are convinced, even when you are dispersed, that God is with you.” He agreed with me, “God is with us, for did not God say to Israel, ‘Even in the land of your enemies I have not left you and I have not annulled my covenant with you?’” (Lev. 26.44).1

Aphrahat, a Christian leader known as the “Persian Sage,” reported this Jewish-Christian conversation in mid-fourth century Sasanianruled Mesopotamia. The dialogue appears in his only known work, the Demonstrations, written between the years 337 and 345 CE, to instruct his community in its proper beliefs and practices by delineating what he considers to be the differences between Christianity and Judaism. These Christians lived among a large and prosperous Jewish community which appeared to Aphrhahat to exert a strong influence over Aphrahat’s congregation, an influence that he tried to lessen through his teachings. Aphrahat wrote Aphrahat, Demonstrations 21.1. All translations are my own unless otherwise specified. On the manuscript texts and full translations of the Demonstrations, see M.J. Pierre, Introduction to Aphraates, “Les Exposes,” 2 vols. (Paris: Editions de Cerf, 1988 and 1989), 1:42–46. 1

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twenty-three “demonstrations” in all, nine of which are directed against “the Jews.”2 Although no evidence exists that Mesopotamian Jews ever wrote a comparable work of anti-Christian polemics, a careful reading of Aphrahat’s Demonstrations reveals elements of a Jewish response to such Christian criticisms. Aphrahat describes his own and others’ conversations with Jews concerning the various issues under dispute between Jews and Christians in fourth-century Persian Mesopotamia. While Aphrahat provides testimony to a possible Jewish polemic, Babylonian rabbinic writings echo these same “conversations” as well. Although anti-Christian disputations were not the rabbis’ central focus, this study demonstrates how some rabbis nonetheless participated in this debate. Here I reconstruct some of the rabbinic voices and arguments as heard by Aphrahat, using literary archeology to recreate a lost JewishChristian conversation. Digging past the layers of editing, this study pieces together a fourth-century Jewish response to Christianity. Although one cannot presume that the rabbis represented all the Jews of Mesopotamia in the fourth century, nor even that all the rabbis were united in their opinions, the rabbinic writings are the only Jewish source from this period. The “Jewish” polemics that Aphrahat records may not even be directly from Mesopotamian rabbis, but rather via other Jews who had heard such teachings in the synagogues. Thus I construct (conjure?) a conversation, or pieces of conversations from both Aphrahat and some rabbis, which may not fully represent any particular Jewish group, but rather appear as reflections of various interconnected communities. The twenty-two demonstrations are entitled: 1) “On Faith,” 2) “On Charity,” 3) “On Fasting,” 4) “On Prayer,” 5) “On Wars,” 6) “On the Members of the Covenant,” 7) “On those who Repent” 8) “On the Resurrection of the Dead,” 9) “On Humility,” 10) “On Ministers,” 11) “On Circumcision,” 12) “On the Passover,” 13) “On the Sabbath,” 14) “Synodal Letter,” 15) “On the Dietary Laws,” 16) “On the Election of the Peoples,” 17) “On the Messiah,” 18) “On Virginity,” 19) “On the Jewish Ingathering,” 20) “On Almsgiving,” 21) “On the Persecution,” 22) “On the End of Days. The twenty-third is entitled “On the Grapecluster [from Isaiah.]” 2

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Aphrahat’s Demonstrations, in other words, provide a prism through which I examine the rabbinic literature. Unlike many other authors of adversus Judeaos treatises, Aphrahat often records his opponents’ arguments. While Justin Martyr wrote his Dialogue with Trypho in a fictional dialogue form, Aphrahat’s homiletical Demonstrations include bits of reported conversation that do not fit neatly into any specific writing genre.3 Aphrahat utilizes these dialogues as additional support for his scriptural arguments; they are secondary to Aphrahat, but of primary importance to the historian because they suggest the presence of active Jewish antiChristian polemicists. Furthermore, writing in Mesopotamia especially in the southern parts known as Babylonia, the increasingly productive rabbinic center, Aphrahat flourished contemporaneously with fourth-century Babylonia’s most famous rabbis: Rava and Abaye.4 The “Persian sage” is the only known fourth-century church father to live in the midst of the largest and most rabbinically active Jewish community outside of the Roman Empire. The Jewish traditions he encountered and debated were on some level the products of the rabbinical schools that would eventually dominate the Jewish scene. This study presents the Jewish-Christian polemic as understood by Aphrahat and discussed by the rabbis. I argue that some rabbis did respond to Christian anti-Jewish writing, or simply to the very presence of Christianity, but in their own way and on their own terms.5 The Persian milieu, and Aphrahat’s On the formalized structure of the dialogue literature see A.B. Hulen, “The ‘Dialogues with the Jews’ as Sources for the Early Jewish Argument against Christianity,” JBL 51 (1937): 58–70. Hulen concludes that the dialogue literature as it comes down to us had long lost its first purpose of converting the Jews, and was used for the spiritual support of wavering Christians. Hence, the “Jew”—what he said, and what he represented—was often fictionalized to serve the goals of the Christian writers (63–64). 4 Abaye taught at Pumbeditta between 333–338 CE; Rava taught at Mahoza between 338–352 CE. 5 Marc Hirshman argues that the rabbis were very much involved in countering Christian polemic, but never chose to fight back publically. 3

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Demonstrations provide a perfect opportunity to review the contours of this “conversation.” The remainder of this introduction is given over to descriptions of primary texts and secondary sources central to my study. Chapter one summarizes the pertinent details of Jewish and Christian settlement in Mesopotamia until the mid-fourth century, treats the decades of the persecutions, and discusses the historical issue of the Jewish involvement in these persecutions. While the Christian sources accuse the Jews of calumniating with the authorities, it is not clear that they physically harmed the Christians. One could conceive of the Jews, however, as spiritually or psychologically persecuting the Christians through an active polemic and mission. Nonetheless, the very presence of a prosperous and protected Jewish community thriving while the Christian community suffered could have been prompt enough for Aphrahat. Many points of contention arose between the Jews and Christians in their debates, three of which will be studied in chapters two, three and four. Chapter two focuses on the issue of the election of Israel. While many other anti-Jewish tracts discuss this question, the persecutions most likely heightened the Rather than subsuming and absorbing the many Hellenistic literary tactics that the Christian authors utilize, the rabbis turn inwards towards midrashic interpretation of scriptural text. Nonetheless, for their own consumption, they freely criticize what they consider to be erroneous interpretations. See his book, A Rivalry of Genius: Jewish and Christian Biblical Interpretation in Late Antiquity (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1994). See also the works of B. Visotzky who demonstrates that within the 4th–7th century Palestinian midrashim one can find randomly located pearls of rabbinic anti-Christian polemic. Nevertheless the overriding purpose of the midrashim should be construed as pro-rabbinic rather than anti-anything else. B. Visotzky, “Anti-Christian Polemic in Leviticus Rabbah,” AAJR 56 (1990): 83–100; “Jots and Tittles: On Scriptural Interpretation in Rabbinic and Patristic Literatures,” Prooftexts 8.3 (September 1988): 257–269; “Midrash, Christian Exegesis, and Hellenistic Hermeneutic,” in Current Trends in the Study of Midrash, ed. Carol Bakhos (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 111–132.

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INTRODUCTION

competition to prove that one community was God’s one and only chosen people. The passage cited at the opening of this introduction illustrates the type of claims the Jews might have made against the Christians, namely that the persecutions proved that God did not hear the Christians’ prayers for protection. Chapter three discusses marriage and celibacy. Aphrahat, on the one hand, while never condemning marriage, advocated for the spiritual superiority of the celibate life. The rabbis, on the other, who chastised all who did not marry and procreate, nevertheless retained an understated admiration for asceticism for similar spiritual reasons. Basing their arguments on Hebrew biblical exegesis, both Aphrahat and the rabbis attempted to demonstrate that God favored their view and censured the other. Chapter four centers on Jewish ritual practices. It appears that some Christians celebrated some sort of rites of Passover and circumcision, among others, much to Aphrahat’s and the rabbis’ dismay. The rabbis, on the one hand, insisted on the exclusive Jewish right to celebrate certain rituals they deemed “Jewish,” while on the other, Aphrahat, in light of Jesus’ passion and the subsequent destruction of the Jerusalem temple, attempted to persuade his readers that those same Jewish rituals never had salvific property for Jews, let alone Christians.6 Consideration of these three sets of issues allows me to engage in historical assessment and advance some concluding observations in the final chapter.

This claim that the laws never had salvific powers even for the Jews sets Aphrahat apart from other early church fathers like Melito, Irenaeus and Justin. See more recent discussion by Christine Shepardson, “Paschal Politics: Deploying the Temple’s Destruction against Fourth-Century Judaizers,” VC 62.3 (2008): 233–60. 6

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OVERVIEW OF PRIOR RESEARCH7 One cannot study the early Syriac church without studying Aphrahat. Nevertheless most scholars of the early church focus on Aphrahat’s more prolific younger contemporary Ephrem.8 Yet, it behooves us as scholars to study these two early Syriac church writers together and separately. This study focuses more narrowly on Aphrahat alone. The Aphrahatic scholarship tends to fall into two categories: 1) studies of Aphrahat’s Christian theology or 2) studies of Aphrahat within the context of the Jewish-Christian polemic. Needless to say, Aphrahat contributes to both, but scholars tend to focus on one or the other aspect of this writer. For better or for worse, this study falls into the second category of research. Moreover, within theological studies researchers have necessarily taken very narrow foci. F.C. Burkitt,9 for instance, Some portions of this section also appear, recast and revised in my book, Hermeneutics of Holiness: Ancient Jewish and Christian Notions of Sexuality and Religious Community (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 21–23. 8 See for instance the many works of Sebastian Brock. His vast scholarship, nonetheless, remains groundbreaking, indispensible and inspiration to anyone studying early Syriac theology, culture and literature. Brock discusses Aphrahat in several of his articles. See for instance: “Early Syrian Asceticism,” reprinted in Syriac Perspectives on Late Antiquity (London: Variorum Reprints, 1984), 1–19; “Syria and Mesopotamia: The Share Term Malka Mshiha,” in Redemption and Resistance: The Messianic Hopes of Jews and Christians in Antiquity, ed. By M. Brockmuehl and James Carleton Paget (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 171–182; and Chapter 1 “Aphrahat: Demonstration IV,” in The Syriac Fathers on Prayer and the Spiritual Life (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Cistercian Publications, Inc.: 1987), 1–28, in which he offers a new introduction to and translation of Aphrahat’s 4th demonstration. 9 F.C. Burkitt, Early Christianity outside the Roman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1899). P. Schwen, Afrahat, Seine Person und seine Verstandniss des Christentums (Berlin: Trowitzsch und Sohn, 1907) gives a more detailed explanation of Aphrahat’s milieu and his Christian understandings of faith, God, the sacraments, the end of days and the messiah. 7

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INTRODUCTION

illustrated how Aphrahat could be seen as the last proponent of “Primitive Christianity,” since he reveals no Greek philosophical influences in his doctrine. Others, like Arthur Vööbus,10 studied the Demonstrations to bring to light these writings’ distinctive presentation of Syriac asceticism and monasticism. Robert Murray11 read Aphrahat, along with other Syriac writers, to enhance his research into the exegetical symbols of the Syriac biblical interpretive tradition. Marie-Joseph Pierre has been perhaps the most comprehensive in her introduction to her French translation of the Demonstrations. But even there her study of Aphrahat’s theology remains particularly compartmentalized.12 Other scholars show interest in Aphrahat’s use of Scripture as a means to better understand the earliest forms of the bible in Syriac.13 A good bit of research has focused on the orthodox or heterodox nature of Arthur Vööbus, A History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient: A Contribution to the History of Culture in the Near East, 3 vols. (CSCO 184, 197, 500). 11 Robert Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975). Another scholarly work on Aphrahat is E.J. Duncan, Baptism in the Demonstrations of Aphraates (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1945) who discusses the theology, doctrine and ritual practices of Aphrahat especially having to do with baptism and the question of who received baptism in the early Syriac church. I. Ortiz de Urbina, in his “Die Gottheit Christi bei Afrahat” OrCh 31–1, no.87 also outlines Aphrahat’s theology with a special emphasis on his understanding of Jesus’ divinity. M.J. Pierre’s bibliography is the most extensive concerning works on Aphrahat. See Pierre, Aphraates, 2:529–548. 12 M.J. Pierre, Introduction to Aphraates, 1:33–198. 13 J. Ouellette, “Sens et portée de l’argument scripturaire chez Aphrahat,” in A Tribute to Arthur Vööbus: Studies in Early Christian Literature and Its Environment, Primarily in the Syrian East, ed. R.H. Fischer (Chicago: The Lutheran School of Theology, 1977), 191–202; R.J. Owens, The Genesis and Exodus Citations of Aphrahat the Persian Sage, Monographs of the Peshitta Institute 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1983); T. Baarda, The Gospel Quotations of Aphrahat the Persian Sage. Vol. 1: Aphrahat’s Text of the Fourth Gospel (Amsterdam: Vrije Universitet, 1975). 10

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Aphrahat’s theology, particularly his Christology, given that he wrote soon after the Nicene Council. William Petersen suggested that many a modern scholar (but at least one ancient one as well) proved uncomfortable with Aphrahat’s “unorthodox” Christology, and therefore either misread him or tried to explain it away. Petersen argued that Aphrahat appeared unorthodox by the standards set by the Nicene council, but that he was perfectly within the mainstream before that council decided what was orthodox.14 Bogdan Bucur summarized the German theological studies of Aphrahat’s theologies, which basically agree with Petersen.15 Bucur, in discussing Aphrahat’s angelomorphic pneumatology suggested that Aphrahat carried forward many older traditions concerning the nature of the Godhead, Christ and the Holy Spirit. Bucur further suggested that questioning his orthodoxy proved unproductive. Clearly Aphrahat shows theological interest in what he knows, and he understands his Christian faith outside of any larger emerging orthodox framework. What is important for my study is how both Petersen and Bucur show that certain aspects of Aphrahat’s theology differ little from other early church fathers such as Justin Martyr or Clement, and therefore remains within or close to “normative” early fourth-century Christiain theological musings. While some scholars focused on theological themes apparent throughout Aphrahat’s writing, others focused exclusively on one demonstration.16 William L. Petersen, “The Christology of Aphrahat, the Persian Sage: An Excursus on the 17th ‘Demonstration,’” VC 46.3 (September 1992): 241–256. In this article Petersen further notes that Pierre, in her otherwise thorough introduction, completely skips over any discussion of Aphrahat’s Christology. 15 Bogdan G. Bucur, “Early Christian Angelomorphic Pneumatology: Aphrahat the Persian Sage,” Hugoye 11.2 (Summer, 2008): 1–41. 16 See for example the essays by D.J. Lane, “Of Wars and Rumours of Peace: Apocalyptic Material in Aphrahat and Subhalmaran,” and Loren Stuckenbruck, “The ‘Demonstration on Love’ by Aphrahat the Sage: A Translation and Introduction,” both of which appear in P.J. Harland and C.T.R. Hayward, eds., New Heaven and New Earth: Prophecy and the Millennium (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 229–246; 247–270; Craig E. Morrison, 14

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Nevertheless, most of these authors, however, mention the Jews, Judaism and Jewish literature only tangentially, if at all. Another group of scholars, mostly Jewish in scholarly interest, prove to be the ones that study Aphrahat’s “Jewish” aspects. Early Jewish scholarship on Aphrahat, at the turn of this century, concerned itself almost exclusively with the exegetical and hermeneutical similarities between Aphrahat and the rabbinic literature. S. Funk17 delineated close to forty examples in which he claimed that Aphrahat borrowed his biblical interpretation from the rabbis. Louis Ginzberg18 and Frank Gavin19 compiled a few more examples, going on to demonstrate how, in their opinions, much of Aphrahat’s theology, understanding of creation, the soul, sin and life after death paralleled the rabbis’. Funk, Ginzberg and Gavin “The Reception of the Book of Daniel in Aphrahat’s Fifth Demonstration, ‘On Wars,’” Hugoye 7:1 (January 2004) Online Journal. T.D. Barnes, in “Constantine and the Christians of Persia,” JRS 75 (1985): 126–136 uses Aphrahat’s fifth demonstration to discuss Roman-Christian and Persian relations at the time of Constantine’s conversion and unification of the Roman Empire. See also S. Brock’s chapter on Aphrahat, in his book The Syriac Fathers on Prayer, 1–28. 17 S. Funk, Die Haggadischen Element in den Homilien des Aphraates, des persischen Weisen, inaugural-Dissertation (Vienna, 1891). 18 Louis Ginzberg, Die Haggada bei den Kirchenvarten, 5 vols. (Amsterdam, 1899–1933); Die Haggada bei den Kirchenvarten und in der apokryphischen Litteratur (Berlin: S. Calvary and Co., 1900); and “Aphraates, the Persian Sage,” Jewish Encyclopedia (New York, 1901), 1:663–665. The quest for Jewish elements in the writings of the church fathers is best exemplified by S. Krauss, “The Jews in the Works of the Church Fathers,” JQR 5 (1893): 122–157, 6 (1894): 82–99, and 225–261. Krauss not only discussed the Jewish material that is recorded in the church writings, but also the historical information that can be gleaned from the church fathers’ comments on the Jews. Krauss included only those church fathers he felt would give the most to his study, those that could be proven to have the most contact with Jews. For Krauss, these men were Justin Martyr, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Eusebius, Ephrem Syrus, and Jerome. 19 Frank Gavin, “Aphraates and the Jews,” JSOR 7 (1923): 95–166.

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concluded that Aphrahat was a “docile pupil of the Jews” since his style and exegesis closely followed the rabbinic literature.20 More recently, Jacob Neusner21 has shown that these earlier scholars based their methodology on a false assumption, namely that any similarities between Aphrahat’s texts and the rabbis’ necessarily meant that Aphrahat had borrowed from the rabbis. Much has been written about the problems of textual “borrowing,” as Neusner rightly demonstrates.22 Simply put, not every parallel between two texts is proof of one writer copying from another. There are many other aspects involved, among them, older traditions and common milieus that can affect two peoples’ writings such that it appears as if one might have copied from the other. Funk, Ginzberg and Gavin were correct in looking for similarities, but were misled in assuming Aphrahat’s dependence on the rabbis, and they were too enthusiastic in finding parallels to set about a more searching analysis of their conclusions. In reference to internal rabbinic textual parallels, Martin Jaffee has also argued that various similar traditions can develop along side one another without any need for a direct line of transmission or developmental Ginzberg, “Aphraates,” 664. Jacob Neusner, Aphrahat and Judaism: The Christian-Jewish Argument in Fourth-Century Iran (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1971). I. Ortiz de Urbina, in “La contraversia di Afraate coi Guidei,” Studia Missionalia, vol. 3, 1947, summarizes the demonstrations of Aphrahat that deal with the Jews, but he does not add otherwise to the scholarly discussion. Likewise, J.G. Snaith, “Aphrahat and the Jews,” in Emerton and Reif, eds., Essays in Honor of E.I.J. Rosenthal (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 235–250, adds nothing new. 22 Neusner, Aphrahat and Judaism, 189. He refers to the works of Nahum Sarna, Prologomenon to Moses Buttenwieser, The Psalms (New York, 1969), Samuel Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” JBL 81.1 (1962), and Morton Smith, Tannaitic Parallels to the Gospels (Philadelphia: Society of Biblical Literature, 1951). All three authors illustrate how parallel texts are not necessarily copied one from another. See also Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and Religions of Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1990) for another view of the issues. 20 21

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relationship.23 So too Aphrahat may reveal parallels in his writings which have different transmission histories. In direct opposition to Funk, Ginzberg and Gavin, Neusner explains that the subject of his Aphrahat study, in fact, is not the comparison of exegetical styles, but rather “[w]hat can be learned from Aphrahat about Jews and Judaism in the Iranian empire.”24 Neusner’s textual analysis concludes that Aphrahat had nothing to do with rabbinic Jews: Aphrahat neither copied nor learned a hermeneutic style from rabbinic Jews; indeed he knew no such Jews at all. Because Aphrahat never mentions rabbis, rabbinic schools or the oral law, Neusner convinces himself that Aphrahat knew no rabbinic Jews; Aphrahat’s critiques of Judaism are not by observation of fourth-century Jews necessarily, but of “Jews” (or rather Israelites) of the Bible.25 Neusner does not all together deny that Aphrahat knew any Jews, only that the Jews he would have met would not have been rabbinic. Rather they would have been “Yahwistic,”26 probably descendents of the converts of the royal house of Adiabene or even the ten tribes of Israel who had been exiled to Northern Mesopotamia. This region, Neusner claims, was far enough away not to have been influenced by the rabbinic stronghold of the south.27 Southern Mesopotamia, or Babylonia, Martin Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 135–40. 24 Neusner, Aphrahat and Judaism, 11–12. 25 Neusner, Aphrahat and Judaism, 124. 26 Neusner, Aphrahat and Judaism, 148, 150, labels the Jews “Yahwistic,” implying Jews who followed the laws of the Bible unhampered by rabbinic interpretation. 27 Neusner, Aphrahat and Judaism, 148. According to the biblical texts, the ten tribes of Israel were exiled from their land by Sennacherib in 721/2 BCE. According to Josephus, the royalty of Adiabene converted to Judaism in the first century CE before the destruction of the Second Temple. That some of the Jews of Northern Mesopotamia could be descendents of the Adiabenes is quite plausible, however, that there could be descendents of the lost ten tribes ten centuries after their exile seems speculative. On the difficulty of finding, labeling or discovering what happened to the “lost” ten Israelite tribes and who might be their 23

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was home to most of the region’s Jews, rabbis and academies. The dividing line between north and south ran somewhere northwest of Pumpeditta where the land between the rivers widened.28 While it is true that Aphrahat does not mention specific rabbinic texts or the academies in which they were studied, he does refer to Jewish wisemen, with the same title that the rabbis referred to themselves: ‫ חכם‬hakham. Furthermore, as will be demonstrated in the following chapters, some of Aphrahat’s exegesis does parallel or at least appear to correspond to certain rabbinic writings. Although it is clear that Aphrahat was not a “docile pupil of the Jews,” his writings indicate an awareness of—if not an acquaintance with—rabbinic exegesis, though I also argue that his knowledge may not come directly from rabbinic sources. Moreover, most of the rabbinic texts in and of themselves were most likely not yet formed into discrete books in Aphrahat’s day. Rather, Aphrahat pulls from a common exegetical tradition shared with the Persian Jewish communities, which also included many emerging rabbinic leaders. In addition, evidence suggests that the northern Jews were not completely isolated from their southern co-religionists. A number of rabbinic Jews made northern Mesopotamia their home. Several rabbinic references point to Jews who lived in or hailed from “the north.” We read of Ya’akov of Adiabene who asked Rav Hisda a question about a mishnah, and Zuga of Adiabene who twice added a teaching to a talmudic discussion that the other rabbis did not know.29 Furthermore, the southern rabbis as well as their western

descendents in any age, let alone late antiquity, see Zvi Ben Dor Benite, The Ten Lost Tribes: A World History (New York: Oxford, 2009). 28 See the fold-out maps at the end of A. Oppenheimer, Babylonia Judaica in the Talmudic Period (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichart, 1983). 29 Ya’akov of Adiabene is mentioned in BT Baba Batra 26a, and Zuga in BT Niddah 21b and BT Moed Katan 28a. “Zuga” could be a formal name, or it could mean “a pair of scholars,” either way there was at least one rabbinic Jew in Adiabene. I thank Dr. David Golinkin for these sources. Furthermore, where there was one Jew, there probably were more since Jews rarely lived alone. See also the introduction to Isaiah

13

INTRODUCTION

(Palestinian) counterparts traveled through the northern regions on their journeys between Palestine and Babylonia. Traveling preachers and rabbis most certainly would have stopped along the way in these Jewish communities since the journey back and forth to Palestine could not be accomplished in a day. They may very well have traded lessons in rabbinic teachings for lodging and food. In addition, clear evidence exists for a second-century rabbinic academy in Nisibis, a major city about 100 miles to the north-west of Aphrahat’s supposed diocese of Mar Mattai (near Nineveh).30 The Jewish community there diminished in numbers by the fourth century possibly due to a growing Christian presence.31 If the Jewish community had been rabbinic in the second century it seems unlikely that it would have reverted to “pre-rabbinic” or “Yahwistic” in the fourth (even as the very concept of “rabbinic” was probably in flux far into the fourth century). Moreover, Nisibis’ expanding Christian population might have turned to Aphrahat for guidance, and that, very likely, would have drawn that bishop into closer contact with the Jews of Nisibis. Nonetheless, rabbinic Judaism and rabbis probably did not yet dominate the “Jewish” scene anywhere in Mesopotamia in this period. For lack of evidence we cannot really describe how non-rabbinic Jews behaved or understood scripture, yet Neusner’s descriptive “yahwistic” is no less vague. We simply do not know enough to describe the varieties of communities claiming “Jewish” as part or the whole of their communal identity. Aphrahat’s writings suggest that while he may have spent most of his time in the north he also communicated with Christian communities in the south, specifically in Ctesiphon, the seat of the Gafni, The Jews of Babylonia in the Talmudic Era: A Social and Cultural History (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 1990) [Hebrew: Yehude Bavel]. 30 J.B. Segal, “The Jews of North Mesopotamia before the Rise of Islam,” in Studies in the Bible presented to Prof. M.H. Segal [Sefer Segal] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1964), 38–39. 31 Segal, “The Jews of North Mesopotamia,” 42. Segal claims the reason Christianity spread quickly in Northern Mesopotamia was due to the Jewish populations already established there. See also Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 20–23.

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS

14

Catholicos in later centuries.32 Mahoza, a suburb of Ctesiphon, was home to Rava, a leading rabbi of the mid-fourth century generation. It is possible that Aphrahat addressed the problems plaguing the southern Christian community in its struggle with an emerging large and vibrant rabbinic Jewish populace while at the same time dealing with a similar phenomenon in the north. Thus, while Neusner rightly criticizes Ginzberg and Funk for overemphasizing the parallels between Aphrahat and the rabbis, he goes too far in the other direction in his attempt to show Aphrahat’s complete isolation from rabbinic Jews. I believe that there is evidence to suggest that Aphrahat faced an actual, possibly even, rabbinic opponent. And while these theological combatants may not have been rabbinic (whatever that may have meant in the fourth century), Aphrahat presents them at least as people acquainted with rabbinic and other Jewish traditions. The main body of this study, chapters two, three and four, develops this thesis. Most recently, Marie-Joseph Pierre has claimed that while Aphrahat’s style and some of his doctrines appear similar to rabbinical formulations, in actuality they were inherited from “Jewish-Christians” and early Jewish converts to Christianity.33

Aphrahat addresses his fourteenth demonstration to the clerics and rulers of the Christian community concerning a wayward bishop of high standing. Catholicos is the term used for metropolitan or patriarch in the later centuries. In Aphrahat’s day the bishop of Seleucia-Ctesiphon was not yet at the top of the Mesopotamian hierarchy, but fighting for his supremacy. 33 Pierre, Aphraates, 1:115. Pierre defines “Jewish-Christians” as those who were of ethnic Jewish birth, but chose to follow the Jesus movement. James, brother of Jesus, was considered to be their leader in Jerusalem before 70 CE. After the Roman invasion they dispersed to Asia and Mesopotamia, bringing with them various “Jewish” scriptural hermeneutics. According to Pierre, descendents of this community in Mesopotamia may have been the conduit to Aphrahat’s more “Jewish” interpretations. Many scholars now contest this particular history, and the term “Jewish-Christian” even more so. See recent review article by 32

15

INTRODUCTION

Pierre argues that the “Jew” in Aphrahat’s writing must be a literary fiction, since she believes that Aphrahat wrote his adversus Judaeos for internal consumption only. Aphrahat’s community suffered from Judaizing, the Christian practice of keeping Jewish rites and rituals such as the dietary laws and Passover. Hence the “Jewish” arguments that Aphrahat records do not come directly from fourth-century Jews, but rather from descendants of Jewish converts, or “Jewish-Christians,” eliminating the possibility that Aphrahat maintained contacts with any Jews, rabbinic or other.34 While I agree that Aphrahat wrote for a Christian readership, he specifically noted a number of times that his purpose was to arm his readers for verbal combat with the Jews, for their arguments confused the Christians.35 As a rhetorician, Aphrahat may have created the sage with whom he claims to have conversed. The conversations could be considered fictitious or at best composites. But they could also be dependent on live encounters that Aphrahat combined and recast in his essays. I argue that Aphrahat’s target remains “the Jews” (he mentions no “Jewish-Christians” nor Jewish converts), yet again and again Aphrahat addresses “the Jews” in his writings and instructs his readers to answer back to those Jews with these arguments that he puts forward. Nevertheless, his reading audience was Christian. Aphrahat writes a spiritual guidebook for internal consumption, within which he includes tactics for countering other biblical interpretations that oppose his Jesus-centered reading of biblical text.

D. Boyarin, “Rethinking Jewish Christianity: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category,” JQR 99.1 (Winter 2009): 7–36. 34Pierre, Aphraates, 1:122, 129. A. Lehto points out that Pierre elides the notion of “rabbinic” with all things “halakhic.” Thus, she argues, because Aphrahat records no legal rabbinic material, he was unfamiliar with rabbinic tradition. (Lehto, The Demonstrations of Aphrahat, 51). However, rabbinic traditions contain much more than just legal material, and it is from that rich midrashic, exegetic and theological material that my comparisons are made. 35 See for instance Demonstrations 11.1, 17.12, and 18.12 and further discussion in this book, ch. 1.

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS

16

The “real” threat to Aphrahat’s community, according to Aphrahat, was external: the Jews, for Aphrahat addresses his arguments against the Jews and their criticisms. And as I demonstrate in the next chapters, his understanding of “Jewish” often dovetails with what the rabbis think of as “Jewish” as well, though certainly not always. He claims to converse with Jews and records their accusations, not internal Christian objections. I will argue in chapter one that members of Aphrahat’s congregation went beyond observance of Jewish ritual and actually converted to Judaism and that some Jews encouraged this phenomenon. While it is likely, nevertheless, that many Christians who converted to Judaism at this time were descendants of Jewish converts and possibly even “Jewish-Christians,” however defined, they might not have converted without the heavy pressure from other Jews. It is impossible to tell, however, whether this was a problem restricted to Christians with Jewish lineage or included other Christians. Aphrahat did not write his Demonstrations in a social-historical vacuum, but during the Persian religious persecutions. Faced with martyrdom or other oppressions, it appears that some Christians chose to “backslide” into Judaism in order to preserve their lives. This option may have been equally attractive to Christians of Jewish extraction as well as others. Rabbinic and other Christian sources, all of which will be discussed in chapter one, support this thesis. Since I wrote this study as a Ph.D. dissertation in 1994, much more research has come to light, but particularly in the ways in which Aphrahat broadens our understanding of Jewish-Christian relations in the fourth century. Several other students have focused their dissertations and subsequent work on Aphrahat and his relationship to Jews, or Jewish/rabbinic works. Stephanie Skoyles Jarkins, examining Aphrahat’s temple imagery argued that Aphrahat positioned himself as a mystic in similar ways to the writers of the Merkavah mysticism.36 Adam Lehto, while also Stephanie K. Skoyles Jarkins, Aphrahat the Persian Sage and the Temple of God: A Study of Early Syriac Theological Anthropology (Piscataway, N.J.: Gorgias Press, 2008). 36

17

INTRODUCTION

providing us with a much needed fresh English translation of the Demonstrations, focused his work on Aphrahat’s notion of Law, and suggested that Aphrahat understood his writings as delineating a new law, or “torah” for his followers, which both surpassed the “Jewish” law and encompassed an ascetic agenda.37 Most recently Ilya Lizorkin, in his dissertation argued that Aphrahat’s Demonstrations are more of a coherent whole than previous scholars acknowledged. That is to say, those of us interested in the “JewishChristian” question tended to focus only on those demonstrations with pointed anti-Jewish polemic. Lizorkin, successfully building on the works of scholars before him, shows that in all of his writings Aphrahat manifests a concern for delineating borders and differences between what he considers to be true belief and practice (Christianity) and false (Judaism).38 Adam Lehto, Divine Law, Asceticism, and Gender in Aphrahat’s “Demonstrations,” with a Complete Annotated Translation of the Text and Comprehensive Syriac Glossary (Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 2003) and the published version, Lehto, The Demonstrations of Aphrahat, The Persian Sage (Piscataway, N.J., Gorgias Press, 2010; and “Moral, Ascetic and Ritual Dimensions to Law-Observance in Aphrahat’s Demonstrations,” JECS 14.2 (2006): 157–181. 38 Ilya Lizorkin, Aphrahat’s Demonstrations: A Conversation with the Jews of Mesopotamia (Ph.D. diss., University of Stellenbosch, 2009). This thesis complements my own as it builds on the comparisons I constructed here. While we overlap in some content, Lizorkin also branches out in tackling the “non-polemical” demonstrations and by limiting his comparisons strictly to the Babylonian Talmud. Lizorkin concludes, more stridently than I, that Aphrahat faced real competition from other Jews, most likely rabbinic in orientation. Both Lehto [Divine Law, 55] and Stuckenbruck [“The Demonstration on Love,” 253], argue that Aphrahat must be read as a whole in order to understand each part (theology, anti-Jewish polemic) better and more comprehensively. 15 years after writing this dissertation I could not agree more, but that was not the aim of my dissertation at that time. Nevertheless I would hesitate to call the theological musings on Jews in Aphrahat’s first ten demonstrations the same as his polemic in the next 12. In the former he tends to recast (with minimal change) standard anti-Jewish rhetoric of the New Testament and 37

18

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS

Moreover, in recent years many scholars have focused on this very notion of religion in the late ancient world, and specifically on what these things we call “Judaism” and “Christianity” looked like in the first four centuries of the Common Era. There is now a wider consensus that “Judaism” and “Christianity” existed in many forms, that all those “Jewish-Christians” suspected of muddying the waters between the two were perhaps more normative than not, and that the so-called “parting of the ways” between “Judaism” and “Christianity” was not nearly so monolithic, nor simplistic as earlier scholars suggested. Rather, across the Roman and Persian empires individuals and communities affiliated themselves with ideas that we would later call “Judaism” and “Christianity” in varied ways and at varied times. This study focuses on one location and one Christian author, and concentrates on the social-historical reality of possible encounters between Jews and Christians, but also speaks to the larger variety of ways that late ancient Jews and Christians understood their place in the world, their relationships with others, and how they understood these growing phenomena that we call “Judaism” and “Christianity.39 In this particular case it must be emphasized that we are dealing with a “Christian” author, who rarely uses that term as a self-identifier (rather, Aphrahat prefers “people who are from the peoples” or the “holy-ones”). In addition, the rabbis in this period also did not refer to themselves as “Jews” but preferred “Israel” as their chosen identity. It is Aphrahat who calls his opponents “Jews;” and on other early Christian writers such as Justin Martyr. In the latter set one perceives more of a sense of the urgency of the historical moment and the need for real combative ammunition. Yet this is not to argue that his theology changes drastically from the former to the latter demonstrations, as even I have shown in my own work [see Hermeneutics of Holiness, chapter 5]. Rather Aphrahat’s theology and intellectual persona must be studied comprehensively, taking in all positions recorded in his 23 demonstrations. This, again, is work I leave to some more able future scholar. 39 For further reading on this subject see the edited volume by A.Y. Reed and A. Becker, The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003).

19

INTRODUCTION

some level we must accept this nomenclature as his own construct (Though Aphrahat himself slips between “Israel” and “Jews” fairly often too). As noted before the only common identifier between ܺ ܰ hakham/hakhima in Aphrahat and the rabbis is ‫חכם‬/ ‫ܐ‬ reference to scribal or interpretive leaders within their respective communities. Scholars have also noted widely that Christians in particular, but Jews as well, used the discourse of the “other” to help establish borders between communities, particularly competing ones. Daniel Boyarin argues that the very act of creating a heresiology (who is orthodox in faith and practice and who is not) not only patrols the borders but creates them. Early Christian writers create “Jews” and “Judaism” as a way to figure out how to define “Christianity” and “Christian.” In so doing they create realities rather than document them.40 Terminology therefore becomes key. The name “Israel,” for instance, refers to the biblical people of Israel, but is used in post biblical literature, into our period and beyond, to refer to those communities who claim lineage from biblical Israel (e.g. both Jews and Christians). The term “Jew” descends from “Judean” and refers first to an ethnic identity: someone who is from Judea (Judea being the Greco-Roman name for the former territory of Israel). But as more Judeans/Jews settled into Diaspora communities the term “Jew” began to connote something more than just an ethnicity. It is particularly in the Christian authors’ hands that “Jews” were set up as foils to “Christians” both as a divinely abandoned ethnicity/people and as a people of insufficient faith. The term “Christian” also appears relatively late (in Acts) and is hardly used by Aphrahat self referentially in the fourth-century. Adam Becker shows how Aphrahat creates borders as well. In his study of Demonstrations 20, Becker argues that Aphrahat’s theology of Christian charity, does not allow for any comparable Jewish charity, Jews simply cannot be charitable because they do not believe in Christ, who is the role model of charity. While most likely trying to undermine competing Jewish charitable institutions in his community, Aphrahat also creates ethical borders between Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 1–33. 40

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS

20

“us” and “them.” Ironically, Becker argues, this very constructed theology of charity probably reveals an anxiety on Aphrahat’s part that Christians actually receive charity, and maybe more, from Jews.41 Similarly, Christine Shepardson’s work on Ephrem proves helpful to my work on Aphrahat in several ways, the first, of course, stemming from the fact that Ephrem and Aphrahat were near contemporaries. Nevertheless, Shepardson argues that Ephrem’s anti-Jewish rhetoric was not necessarily aimed at contemporary Jews, but rather at contemporary Christians with whom Ephrem had theological differences. This claim moves the scholarly discussion of Jewish-Christian relations in the ancient world forward in several ways. On the one hand it provokes the discourse to move away from taking Ephrem at his word and to assume that he really has little concrete to tell us about “real” Jews in his day. On the other hand, that resulting conclusion frees us up to look at Ephrem’s rhetoric and biblical exegesis in which he couches his rhetoric in more global ways, that is to say in comparison to other Christian authors and to contemporary Jewish conversations or writings. Ephrem may not provide the social history of Jews and Christians that we crave, but he can tell us of their shared cultural and literary milieu. For many of the biblical motifs and themes that he focuses on can be found in contemporary Jewish writings. Shepardson’s work helps us place Ephrem within the Late Ancient internal Christian controversies over “orthodoxy” and “heresy.” Shepardson convincingly argues that Ephrem’s anti-Jewish rhetoric more often than not falls within his program to support Nicene orthodoxy over and against his opponents in the field. Although he writes in Syriac, he is clearly attuned to other contemporary discourses on orthodoxy and Christian identity. Despite his idiosyncrasies Ephrem is as Nicene, and perhaps more so, than any of the Cappadocians.42 41Adam

H. Becker, “Anti-Judaism and care for the Poor in Aphrahat’s Demonstration 20.” JECS 10. 3 (2002): 305–327. 42 Christine Shepardson, Anti-Judaism and Christian Orthodoxy: Ephrem’s Hymns in Fourth-Century Syria (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2008).

21

INTRODUCTION

Thus, in the hands of these fourth-century Syriac and Aramaic-speaking authors, the very terms “Jew” and “Christian” have varying meanings. As noted above, within Aphrahat’s writings, he rarely ever uses the term “Christian” to refer to his readers. Ephrem, however, often uses “Jew” pejoratively to refer to his Christian opponents. Nonetheless, for lack of better terminology I will continue to use “Jew” and “Christian” to differentiate between rabbis and other Jews, on the one hand, and Aphrahat’s community, on the other. Finally what is most important to me here, is the contrast between Aphrahat and Ephrem in relationship to the JewishChristian issue. Aphrahat was clearly not as involved in the larger global church issues of his day, and I argue in this study that his “Jewish” issue remained alive and real to him, even as he was equally adept at creating “Jews” as rhetorical devices to further other theological agendas, as Becker also argues. That is to say that Aphrahat’s “Jew” is more “Jewish,” and I argue “rabbinic” than “Christian.” Nevertheless studying both Ephrem and Aphrahat as biblical exegetes opens up other avenues in which to study these church writers and to compare them to rabbinic exegetes in an attempt to understand the larger Aramaic cultural milieu in which all of these writers lived. While I am most interested in understanding the contours of this conversation between “Jews” and “Christians” in fourth-century Persian Mesopotamia, in so doing I must also explore the contours of “Judaism” and “Christianity” as well. It is also important to keep in mind that whatever Aphrahat considered “Christian” may not have been perceived as such by other “Christians.” Lucas Van Rompay, following G. Rouwhorst, claims that many early Syriac liturgical behaviors must have been borrowed and developed from early Jewish converts such that by the fourth-century, some Syriac churches retained and developed practices that others might have labeled as “Jewish.”43 Weitzman

Lucas Van Rompay, “The East (3): Syriac and Mesopotamia,” in the Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, eds. S.A. Harvey and D.G. Hunter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 365–389; 43

22

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS

further argues that the Peshitta, the Syriac version of the Hebrew Bible was most likely translated by Jews for Jewish readers, but was soon adopted into Syriac churches and eventually abandoned by those Jews who did not convert and adapt themselves to Syriac Christian ways. While all these modern scholars add to our knowledge of Aphrahat by focusing either more directly on Christian theology and exegetical practices, or on the anti-Jewish polemic, particularly highlighting the Syriac Christian formulations, there has yet to be a full study of Aphrahat which brings together all of these facets. In all of our very focused studies we have succeeded in fragmenting Aphrahat rather than bringing him fully into the light. This study is guilty of the same bifurcation. I leave for other scholars to attempt to bring the “Christian” and “Jewish” sides of Aphrahat into one whole. Fifteen years after writing this as a Ph.D. dissertation, I now understand the value of a more integrated study of Aphrahat that incorporates him as theologian, exegete, polemicist and community leader. Yet I was not prepared to write such a book then, nor am I now, but I hope someone else will some day. And I hope the more focused work of this study will prove helpful to them.44

G. Rouwhorst, “Jewish Liturgical Traditions in Early Syriac Christianity,” VC 51: 72–93. 44 For instance, Arieh Kofsky and Serge Ruzer demonstrate the value of such integrated research. In a jointly written article they look comprehensively at Aphrahat’s notions of the divinity of the Messiah. While acknowledging that within his anti-Jewish polemic, Aphrahat must necessarily downplay the divine nature of the Messiah, Kofsky and Ruzer argue that Aphrahat’s Christology elsewhere in the Demonstrations is not that much different. Arieh Kofsky and Serge Ruzer, “Logos, Holy Spirit and Messiah: Aspects of Aphrahat’s Theology Reconsidered,” OCP 73:2 (2007): 347–378. Kofsky and Ruzer further support the idea that Aphrahat presents a more rather than less unified “low” Christology throughout his Demonstrations, despite the polemical nature of some of the demonstrations. That is to say that his theology is hierarchic and more soteriological than incarnational. See the first chapter in their co-authored

23

INTRODUCTION ***

The main focus of my work is the polemic itself, which resulted from, or was at least exacerbated by, the pressures of the Persian anti-Christian persecutions. The Christians, on the one hand, were sharply challenged by governmental oppression, while the Jews, on the other hand, unhindered by religious restrictions, apparently seized the opportunity to win back converts from their competitor religion. This situation generated a polemic, much of which was created from the opposing interpretations of the one text the Jews and Christians held in common, the Hebrew Bible. Unlike other adversus Judaeos texts, however, this polemic was influenced by the Jewish political superiority in fourth-century Persia. The JewishChristian conversations of chapters two, three and four substantiate the reality of the conflict between these two religious communities, a conflict heightened by the crisis of the persecutions. Scholars continue to debate the larger question of continued Jewish polemicizing and proselytism during the first four centuries of the Common Era. The Christian adversus Judeaos treatises remain pertinent to this discussion. Did Christians continue to write antiJewish works in response to an actual confrontation with the Jews; or were these tracts and sermons effective forms of apologetic and group-building, having very little to do with actual Jewish-Christian interaction? Did Christian authors see contemporary Jews only in terms of the biblical narrative or as active adversaries in their cities? The study of the adversus Judaeos literature has led some scholars to believe that the Jews, either after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple in 70 CE, or the devastation of the Bar Kokhba revolt in 135, ceased from active outreach to the Gentile community and turned inward for self preservation. Adolf Harnack,45 at the turn of the century, suggested that the Jew of the book, Syriac Idiosyncrasies: Theology and Hermeneutics in Early Syriac Literature (Leiden: Brill, 2010). 45 Adolf Harnack, “Die Altercatio Simonis Judaei et Theophili Christiani, nebst Untersuchugen uber die antijudische Polemik in der alten Kirche,” Texte und Untersuchugen 1, 3 (1883).

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS

24

early dialogue texts (including Justin Martyr) was a literary convention. The Christians, he presumed, had already by the midsecond century long given up any hope of converting the Jews. Instead, the texts were intended to provide support for the Christian community when it had any doubts about the Christian interpretations. More recently, David Rokeah,46 following Harnack’s line of argument, conceded that Justin Martyr represented the last real Jewish-Christian polemical writer. The later

David Rokeah, Jews, Pagans and Christians in Conflict (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1982). Rokeah attempts to differentiate between “polemic” and “debate” or “dispute.” In his understanding, a polemic is an actual controversy, a verbal battle in which each side hopes and fights for total victory. A debate or dispute is merely an exchange of words without any attempt at winning over the other side. Because the Jews never produced an adversus Christianos literature, Rokeah concludes that the Jews were not involved in the polemics of the ancient world after 135 CE. Any discussion of Christianity in the rabbinic texts is only dispute, for the entertainment, or benefit of its Jewish readers. I find Rokeah’s definitions and distinctions overwrought. Without them, however, his thesis falls apart, since he can easily define any rabbinic critique of Christianity as mere debate rather than polemic. The rabbis did polemicize against Christianity for the purpose of proselytism, as will be demonstrated in the main parts of this study. I substantiate this thesis both from the rabbinic sources as well as from Aphrahat. That the rabbis never produced an antiChristian literature as vast as the Christian anti-Jewish literature suggests only that the debate or polemic was not an obsession to the rabbis as it was to the Christians. Christianity was simply not as threatening to the Jews as Judaism was to the Christians in its formative years. H. Drijvers, “Jews and Christians at Edessa,” JJS 36 (1985): 89, n.2; 101, n.65 supports my contention that the debate, even into the fourth century, was still between the Christians and the Jews. Marc Hirshman also argues that the rabbinic choice of genre, oral dialectic, made their writings less accessible to outsiders, whereas the Christians quickly turned to the Greco-Roman writing styles of the day to better promote their ideas. Thus the rabbis cannot be branded as more or less interested in countering opposition voices, but their way of doing so certainly differed. A Rivalry of Genus, 1–12. 46

25

INTRODUCTION

anti-Jewish writers simply used the motifs of the adversus Judaeos debate in their polemic against the pagans, not the Jews.47 Other scholars have concluded not only that the controversy between the Jews and Christians continued well into the fourth, if not the fifth centuries, but in the places where the controversies continued, it was the Jews who kept them alive. Marcel Simon suggests that the mere existence of adversus Judaeos texts proves that Jews and Judaism were a continual issue for the church.48 Judaism, its practices, rituals and festivals remained a thorn in the side of the church fathers in places where large Jewish communities formed, as in the Roman East.49 In many places, like Antioch, the presence of a large and visible Jewish community attracted the Christians to the Jewish practices and synagogues.50 Simon argues that while Judaizing was not equal to full conversion as far as the Jews were concerned, they nonetheless encouraged the practice in the hopes Rokeah, Jews, Pagans, 9, 78, 216. Marcel Simon, Verus Israel: A Study of the Relations Between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (135–425.), trans. H. McKeating (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), 143. See also Lukyn Williams, Adversus Judaeos: A Bird’s Eye View of Christian Apologiae until the Renaissance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935). Williams, in summarizing all known adversus Judaeos literature, assumes that each work is evidence of Jewish-Christian conflicts in different areas, at different times. Amos B. Hulen attempts to reconstruct, with some success, the Jewish antiChristian polemic from the Christian dialogues with the Jews. Hulen asserts that while the church soon gave up trying to convert the Jews, the genre of adversus Judaeos literature proliferated due to the problems that the continued presence of the Jews caused the Christians. A.B. Hullen, “The ‘Dialogues with the Jews’ as sources for the Early Jewish Argument against Christianity,” JBL 51 (1937): 64, 70. 49 Simon, Verus Israel, 144. 50 For an in-depth analyses of Jewish-Christian relations in Antioch see W.A. Meeks and R.L. Wilken, Jews and Christians in Antioch in the First Four Centuries of the Common Era (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1978); and R.L. Wilken, John Chrysostom and the Jews: Rhetoric and Reality in the Late 4th Century (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1983). 47 48

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS

26

that it would eventually bring the Christians to Judaism.51 Differentiating between active Jewish missionizing and the mere presence of the Jews, Simon demonstrates that in some places the close proximity of a Jewish community caused Christians to Judaize, while in others the Jews encouraged the Christians in this practice.52 While both sides of the scholarly debate present interesting cases, each can be accused of over-generalization. Some Jewish communities may have given up proselytizing soon after the second revolt, though Marcel Simon has shown that the communities of the Roman East did not. On the other hand, one cannot generalize, on the basis of the Roman East, that the dynamics between Jews and Christians were uniform throughout the empire. Both Rokeah and Simon limit themselves to the territorial boundaries of the Roman Empire, hence eliminating from consideration the Jewish cultural center in Persia, the home of Aphrahat.53 Although a mission to the Gentiles may not have been central to rabbinic or other Jewish activity, some form of Judaism clearly influenced some Christians even without active proselytism. In Antioch near the end of the fourth century, for instance, there was a large and prosperous Jewish community, towards which some Christians turned in awe and reverence, especially around the holiday seasons. Chrysostom, a church leader of that city, railed against such pro-Jewish sympathies among his congregants. The Jews may not have invited the Christian observers or participants, but they also did not send them away; it was up to Chrysostom to chastise his parishioners. In Antioch, however, Christians were not Simon, Verus Israel, 286. Simon, Verus Israel, 290, points out that the Christian emperors’ continual outlawing of the propagation of the Jewish faith supports the theory that the Jews persisted in their mission. Simon also illustrates how the rabbis were involved in the debate, but he limits his sources to Palestinian rabbis (179–201). 53 While Rokeah completely ignores the evidence of Aphrahat, Simon makes use of his writings in comparisons to other works like the Didascalia and the homilies of Chrysostom. 51 52

27

INTRODUCTION

converting to Judaism, but rather they were “slumming” across presumed religious boundaries (created by clerics such as Chrysostom) that made the clerics very nervous. Ephrem Syrus, the younger contemporary of Aphrahat and the older contemporary of Chrysostom, also complains of the Jewish influence over his flock and general religious confusion in Nisibis. In his third “Sermon on Faith” and the “Hymns on Unleavened Bread,” Ephrem indicates not only that Christians participated in Jewish rituals like Passover and circumcision, but that the Jews encouraged the practice.54 Stanley Kazan concludes, upon studying these Ephremaic texts in their social-historical context, that Jews proselytized among the Christians in Nisibis.55 On the other hand, Christine Shepherd has more recently argued that in other cases, Ephrem often calls his Christian opponents “Jews” as a way to emphasis how unorthodox they appear to him. Thus it behooves us to be careful as to how we read the socialhistorical situation behind Ephrem’s anti-Jewish language.56 Even for this one author in this one socio-historical situation, his rhetorical defense might shift depending on the particular situation and audience. While Ephrem’s “Jewish” social-historical context, may shift, I argue that Aphrahat clearly did not write in a social vacuum. For I believe that he faced an actual opponent or opposing group in the mid-fourth century in Persian Mesopotamia. In fact, C.S.C. Williams, in criticizing Burkitt’s theological exposition of Aphrahat, questions the possibility of determining Aphrahat’s true Stanley Kazan, “Isaac of Antioch’s Homily against the Jews,” parts 2 and 3, OC 46 (1962): 95–98, and 47 (1963): 89–91. Kazan translates and discusses the relevant parts of Ephrem’s third ‘Sermon on the Faith,’ ‘Hymns on Unleavened Bread.’ Kazan bases his understandings of the social context of Ephrem’s writings on E. Beck, Ephraems Reden uber den Glauben (Rome: “Orbis Catholicus,” Herder, 1953). The Syriac text can be found in CSCO 212/SS 88. For a study on the Paschal hymns see G.A.M. Rouwhorst, Les Hymns Pascales d’Ephrem de Nisibe (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1989). 55 Kazan, “Isaac,” 3.90. 56 Shepardson, Anti Judaism, 157–161. 54

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theological beliefs from his anti-Jewish writings since his whole argument in these particular demonstrations is clearly geared toward refuting the Jews and not necessarily toward establishing a coherent Christian doctrine.57 Like Paul, many centuries before, Aphrahat felt compelled to combat particular incorrect positions without worrying about systematizing his answers into one coherent whole. Ephrem, Aphrahat and Chrysostom all lived in the East, on both sides of the Byzantine/Persian border, in areas where there were large Jewish populations exerting a certain influence on (or simply creating an anxiety of influence among) some Christian leaders and communities. While it is not evident that Chrysostom concerned himself with Jewish proselytism, I will argue in the chapters that follow that Aphrahat worried greatly about this issue.58 The active polemic and mission of the Jews (or perhaps just a fear of one) in Mesopotamia, provoked by the persecution crisis, intensified Aphrahat’s concern for his congregation. More recently Andrew Jacobs argues that determining the reality of Jewish-Christian relations from strictly Christian sources, as many of these scholars do, proves problematic. The Christian supercessionist rhetoric and narrative often shapes these texts’ presentation of Jews and their relatioships to Christians and therefore should not be taken as factual. Rather, they reveal real Christian anxieties about Jews, Judaism and their relationship to Christians and Christianity, which are played out narratively in these texts. We can learn much about Christians, but little about Jews from these sources.59 Much the same can be said about the rabbinic texts, for their interest in things Christian proves C.S.C. Williams, “The Persian Sage,” CQR 145 (1947/1948): 179. Williams writes in order to correct and improve on the work of Burkitt. See next chapter for references to verbal combat with the Jews. Yet new research indicates that Aphrahat may have been more systematic or consistent than Williams suggests. See note 44, above. 58 Chrysostom and Ephrem will be discussed only tangentially to Aphrahat. 59 Andrew S. Jacobs, Remains of the Jews: The Holy Land and Christian Empire in Late Antiquity (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2004), 1–17. 57

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INTRODUCTION

insubstantial to their concern with all things Jewish and rabbinic. Nonetheless, I hold that a comparison of the two sets of literature, as I lay out in this project, opens opportunities to explore the larger shared context within which these texts were composed. *** The scholarship on the rabbinic literature included in my study begins with Travers Herford, who was the first to examine thoroughly and exhaustively the rabbinic literature for traces of Jewish attitudes towards Christianity.60 He catalogued these references under two subjects: Jesus and his ministry, and minut,61 or heresy. Herford concluded that the rabbis use the word minut when they refer to Jewish-Christianity,62 while the few references to Jesus are generally derogatory or condemning.63 According to Herford’s research, a few stories about Jewish-Christians and a handful of comments on Jesus are the extent of rabbinic writings concerning Christianity. Marcel Simon, however, delves much deeper into the rabbinic literature in search of Jewish critiques of Christianity.64 First of all, he defines minut more broadly than Herford did. Minut, for the rabbis is a catch-all term that refers to any divergent group, Gnostic, Jewish-Christian, Gentile-Christian, or other. Simon Travers Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash (London: Williams and Norgate, 1903). 61 The Hebrew word, ‫ מין‬min, from which, ‫ מינות‬minut, derives, means “kind” or “species,” genos (γενος) in Greek. It is used here to define a group of people, or sect. R. Kimelman defines min as inclusive of all Jewish heretics or sectarians which might at times include JewishChristians, but not Gentile-Christians. The term is used differently by the Palestinian and Babylonian rabbis. See his article, “Birkat Ha-Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-Christian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity,” in Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, vol.2: Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-Roman Period, eds. E.P. Sanders, A.L. Baumgarten and A. Mendelson (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1981), 226–244. 62 Herford, Christianity in Talmud, 380. 63 Herford, Christianity in Talmud, 360. 64 Simon, Verus Israel, ch. 7. 60

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gathers proof, citing many of the same passages as Herford, that the rabbis often mean “Christian” when they write “min.”65 He then outlines other passages that refute Christian doctrine without any reference to minut. While demonstrating how the rabbis polemicize against Christianity within the context of their own writings, Simon limits his examples to tanna’im and Palestinian amora’im since he focuses his work on Jewish-Christian relations in the Roman Empire.66 This dissertation recreates what is missing from Simon’s discussion: the voices of the Babylonian rabbis in the Jewish-Christian polemic. Aphrahat is the lens through which I examine the rabbinic literature to tease out some elements of Jewish-Christian conversations in fourth-century Persia. (For the purposes of this study, in the rest of this book, “Jewish-Christian” refers to relations between “Jews” and “Christians” rather than a category of people known as “Jewish-Christians.”) This methodology is not new, for both Louis Ginzberg and Ephraim Urbach utilized it in their work.67 Ginzberg, illustrating Simon, Verus Israel, 183–4. Even though he begins his discussion by stating that, “[t]he entire Talmud could be cited in evidence, [for the Jewish polemic] since from beginning to end it both asserts and demonstrates the eternal and absolute authority of the old covenant, down to the last detail of its regulations. It enshrines, moreover, the unshakable faith of the rabbis in the providential destiny of the chosen people” (p.187), Simon never includes the Babylonian amora’im. Furthermore, Simon did not have the last word on minut in the scholarly literature. I tend to follow those who give a broader, rather than narrower definitions of minut as anyone who does not agree with the rabbis. See Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines, 54–57; Martin Goodman, “The Function of Minim in Early Rabbinic Judaism,” in Geschichte— Tradition—Reflexion: Festshcrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. H. Cancik, H. Lichtenburger, and P. Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 1: 501–10; R. Kimelman, “Birkat Ha-Minim,” 226–44, 391–403; and Richard Kalmin, “Christians and Heretics in Rabbinic Literature of Late Antiquity,” HTR 87.2 (April 1994): 155–69. 67Louis Ginzberg, preface to Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: JPS, 1912) vol. 1, and Ephraim Urbach, “Rabbinic Sermons and Origen’s Exegesis on the Song of Songs and the Jewish-Christian Polemic” 65 66

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INTRODUCTION

how the midrashim in rabbinic and patristic literature can be related, claimed that he depended on Christian as well as Jewish literature as sources for his Legends of the Jews. Urbach asserted that the Jewish and Christian midrashim and other exegetical passages were often composed in response to one another. Although Jews did not write volumes of anti-Christian polemics, certain polemical statements can be found in their literature that were written in answer to Christian anti-Jewish disputations. Furthermore, Urbach suggested that by reading the Christian sources, one can illuminate otherwise obscure passages in the Jewish literature, for often remarks were made in answer to Christian claims, but without knowledge of the Christian sources, these passages remain unclear.68 Urbach asserted that the Jewish anti-Christian polemic was particular to the Palestinian rabbis, while the Babylonian rabbis were less troubled by Christian influences in Persia.69 In this study I shall challenge this historical judgment. In light of my reading of Aphrahat I hope to illuminate the concerns of the on-going JewishChristian dispute in fourth-century Persia as understood by the Babylonian Jewish community. In the last fifteen years many scholars have continued to engage in this discussion, myself included. My own more recent work, as well as others’ tends to focus on the development of Judaism and Christianity and the relationship between the two rather than on relations between Jews and Christians.70 The contours of this [Hebrew], “Rabbinic Sermons on the Prophets of the Nations and Parashat Balaam” [Hebrew], and “The People of Nineveh’s Response and the Jewish-Christian Polemic” [Hebrew], all in Ephraim Urbach, Me’olamam shel hakhamim [From the Sages’ World] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988), 514–560. See also Marc Hirshman, A Rivalry of Genius. Hirshman’s primary interest is literary styles and genres as opposed to exegetical or polemical themes, though he discusses both and argues that they are interrelated. See notes 5 and 46 above. 68 Urbach, “Shir-ha-shirim,” 514–518. 69 Urbach, “Nineveh,” 559. 70 See for instance Boyarin’s Border Lines, and my book, Hermeneutics of Holiness. The vast and growing bibliography on how Judaism and

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study were established to focus on the latter: the social-historical possibility of live conversations about Judaism and Christianity between real Jews and Christians in Persian Mesopotamia. Yaakov Elman has contributed to this issue with his ongoing study of Jews within the Persian Zoroastrian milieu. He argues that Mahoza/ Ctesiphon, a large cosmopolitan city in the mid-fourth century, presents itself as a likely place of “interfaith” dialogue between Jews, Christians and Mandians.71 This supports the possibility that Aphrahat reports accurately concerning Christian encounters with neighboring Jews. In addition, both Geoffrey Hermann and Shai Secunda have argued that the Babylonian rabbis were not as inward looking as they are often described. Their work comparing Babylonian rabbinic sources with Persian sources illuminates the ways in which some rabbis participated or reacted to the more hegemonic Persian culture in which they lived, perhaps even participating in the cultural debates of their days.72

Christianity developed in and out of relationship to each other can be found in those two books and others. 71 Yaakov Elman, “A Tale of Two Cities: Mahoza and Pumpeditta as Representatives of Two Legal Cultures” (Hebrew), in Torah Lishmah a Festchrift for Shamma Friedman, eds. D. Golinkin et al. [Machon Shechter] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2007), 3–38; and “Middle Persian Culture and Babylonian Sages: Accommodation and Resistance in the Shaping of Rabbinic Legal Tradition, in The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud, ed. C.E. Fonrobert and M.S. Jaffee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 165–97. 72 Geoffrey Herman, “Ahasuerus, the Former Stable Master of Belshazzar, and the Wicked Alexander of Macedon: Two Parallels between the Babylonian Talmud and Persian Sources,” AJS Review 29: 2 (2005), 283–297; Shai Secunda, “Reading the Bavli in Iran,” JQR 100.2 (2010): 310–342. Though Secunda argues that the debates would have been mostly Zoroastrian, rather than Christian oriented.

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INTRODUCTION

PRIMARY SOURCES 1: APHRAHAT73 Aphrahat’s name was disconnected from his Demonstrations soon after he composed them, causing some confusion as to the true author. Many early writers referred to the Demonstrations’ author simply as the “Persian Sage.” In one fifth-century manuscript,74 as well as in the Armenian translations,75 the author is “Mar Jacob, the Persian Sage,” (i.e. Jacob the celebrated bishop of Nisibis) while in another he is again just the “Persian Sage.” For many centuries his works were mis-attributed to Jacob of Nisibis, who flourished in the days of Constantine. One can see, however, from the dates Aphrahat gives himself (337–345), that Jacob (d. 338) died before most of these demonstrations were written. At the end of the fifth century a western church father, Gennadius, cites the Demonstrations, but he also mis-attributes them to Jacob and misnumbers them as well.76 The “Persian Sage” is mentioned in a number of later sources, the earliest being the eighth century George, bishop of the Arabs, who claimed that he was a monk and a cleric. George also demonstrates that the “Persian Sage” could not be Jacob of Nisibis because of the internal dating.77 While Ishodad of Merv, in the tenth century, cites the “Persian Sage” in his biblical

Portions of this intellectual biography of Aphrahat appear in a revised form in my book, Hermeneutics of Holiness, 17–19. 74 Manuscript B: BM add. 17182, fol. 1–99. For the best description of the manuscripts see Pierre, Aphraates, 1:42–45. 75 Pierre, Aphraates, 1:34. 76 John Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” from Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers, second series, vol.13, part 2 (Oxford and London: Christian Literature, 1898), 154. 77 William Wright, preface to The Homilies of Aphraates, the Persian Sage (London: n.p., 1869), 4. See Pierre, Aphraates, vol. 2, appendix 1 for text of the letter. Gwynn (154) claims that the earliest reference to Aphrahat is in the writings of the fifth century Isaac of Antioch, who appears to copy Aphrahat, though not exactly. I find this source a bit dubious since there is no direct reference to the Persian Sage. 73

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commentaries,78 the Nestorian lexicographer Barbalul connects the name Aphrahat to the “Persian Sage.” He writes: “Aphraates79 in the ‘Book of the Paradise’ is the Persian Sage, according to the conclusion.”80 Although the Chronicle of Seert81 counts Aphrahat among the important people who lived at the time of Papa, bishop of Seleucia-Ctesiphon (d. 329 or 335),82 the eleventh century bishop of Nisibis, Elias, in his Chronology ascribes his historical computations (taken from Dem. 23) to “Aphrahat the Persian Sage.”83 The twelfth-century Barhebraeus notes in his Ecclesiastical History, book ii, that, “in the time of this one [of Papas] there became famous the Persian Sage whose name was Farhad, who wrote an exhortation in Syriac and twenty-two epistles in alphabetical order”84 [or: “containing 22 epistles”], while in book i, he writes that, “there flourished also the sage Buzitis, also the Persian Sage, who was orthodox, and composed a book of demonstrations.”85 (Farhad is probably the original Persian form of the name of which Aphrahat is the Syriac.)86 In almost the same words as Barhebraeus, Ebed Yeshua, the Nestorian bishop of the Pierre, Aphraates, 1:34. Ishodad of Merv, In Lev. 10, 1–2 (CSCO 179 Syr. 81), p.89; In Jos. 5, 2, (CSCO 230 Syr. 97), 7. 79 A variant spelling taken from the Greek. 80 Wright, Homilies of Aphraates, 3; Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 155, John Parisot, introduction to “Aphraatis Sapientis Persae Demonstrationes,” in Patrologia Syriaca, ed. R. Graffin, 3 vols. (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1894 and 1907), 1: xi. 81 A. Sherr, “Le Chronique de Seert,” PO 4, 292; Pierre, Aphraates, 1:34; Parisot, “Aphraatis Sapientis,” 1:xi. 82 These dates are Pierre’s, Aphraates, 1:34. 83 Pierre, Aphraates, 1:35; Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 158; Parisot, “Aphraatis Sapientis,” 1:xi. 84 Wright, Homilies of Aphraates, 2 ; Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 155; Parisot, “Aphraatis Sapientis,” 1:xi; Pierre, Aphraates, 1:35; I.B. Abeloos and T. Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraeus, Chron. Eccl., Louvain 1872–77. t. 1, p. 85; t. 2, p. 33. 85 Wright, Homilies of Aphraates, 3; Pierre, Aphraates, 1:35, Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 155; Parisot, “Aphraatis Sapientis,” 1:xi. 86 Pierre, Aphraates, 1:37. 78

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fourteenth century claims that, “the most great Aphraates, the Persian Sage, composed two volumes, as well as homilies in the order of the letters of the alphabet [or: with homilies.]”87 The most informative source, an anonymous manuscript of the fourteenth century, lists “the sage Aphrahat who is Jacob bishop of Mar Mattai.”88 This is the only source that gives a locale for Aphrahat, and 1,000 years after his demise at that. Although it is impossible to prove, this manuscript may have preserved an older tradition that was lost to the others. The monastery at Mar Mattai is or was on Mt. Elphah, also known as Maklob, or Sheikh Matta;89 it is east of the Tigris in Northern Mesopotamia in present-day Kurdistan. Lack of an earlier recorded reference between Aphrahat and Mar Mattai, however, makes this association quite tenuous. The use of both the names, Aphrahat and Jacob, might suggest that the Persian Sage actually had two names: Aphrahat, his given name, and Jacob, the name he took either on conversion or when he was consecrated into the priesthood or bishopric, a known practice in the Syriac church.90 The name Aphrahat appears in fifth-century martyrologies and later lists of bishops,91 but it would be hard to tell which came first, Aphrahat, the church father, or Aphrahat, the name. It is possible that Aphrahat was a monk, priest and even a bishop as some of the sources claim;92 the latter title may have been added later in order to lend him additional authority. His Wright, Homilies of Aphraates, 1. Ebed Yesha, Catalogue of Syrian Ecclesiastical Fathers, Ap. BO III, i; Pierre, Aphraates, 1:35; Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 156; Parisot, “Aphraatis Sapientis,” 1: xi. 88 Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 156; Pierre, Aphraates, 1:35; Parisot, “Aphraatis Sapientis,” 1:xii. Manuscript C, BM orient 1017—“on the Grapecluster.” 89 Parisot, “Aphraatis Sapientis,” 1:xv. 90 Pierre, Aphraates, 1:36, and n.15; Wright, Homilies of Aphraates, 8; Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 157. 91 Pierre, Aphraates, 1:37; Wright, Homilies of Aphraates, 7. 92 For example, Wright, Homilies of Aphraates, 8–9. Monasticism as we come to understand it in the fifth century, however, did not yet exist in Mesopotamia. 87

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demonstrations show that at the very least, he was a thinking and educated man with a vast knowledge of the Scriptures. Demonstration fourteen, which is a condemnation of the corruption within the church, especially of its higher ranked clergymen, indicates that Aphrahat had “pulled rank” himself in writing this demonstration. He addresses the other bishops and clergymen as equals: “We bishops, presbyters, deacons and all of the Church of God,” manifesting his potential bishophood. In addition, John Gwynn claims that Mar Mattai’s seat, Aphrahat’s supposed bishopric, at or near Nineveh, was second only to that of Seleucia-Ctesiphon (when the hierarchy was established in later years), perhaps giving Aphrahat the additional clout to chastise other bishops if needed.93 Although it is not clear if he was born a Christian, or converted at an early age,94 in either case, he became master of its traditions and texts, as well as teacher to his flock and protector of his church’s reputation.95 These sources attest that the Demonstrations numbered twentytwo, according to the twenty-two letters of the Syriac alphabet as Aphrahat himself states at the end of sermons ten and twenty-two. In addition, a twenty-third “unaffiliated” demonstration concludes the whole work. Even though both Ebed Yeshua and Barhebraeus claim that Aphrahat wrote two volumes and twenty-two demonstrations, this is probably a mistake. The “and” should be understood as “with,” since Aphrahat wrote the twenty-two demonstrations in two installments, seven or eight years apart. Nevertheless, one cannot eliminate the possibility that he wrote another work that did not survive. Aphrahat composed at least the first set of demonstrations in answer to a friend’s question concerning the true Christian faith.96 Gwynn, “Aphrahat,” 158. Gwynn (“Aphrahat,” 157), Pierre (Aphraates, 1:33, 39–40) and Lehto (Demonstrations, 8–10) believe that he was a convert of pagan parents. 95 For a fuller biography see the introduction to Skoyles Jarkin, Aphrahat, 2–17, and Lehto, Demonstrations, 1–66. 96 The manuscripts contain the letter of the cleric who asked Aphrahat concerning Christian faith. It is in answer to this letter that Aphrahat wrote the first set of demonstrations. He often addresses the questioner as 93 94

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INTRODUCTION

Aphrahat, answering this question directly in his first demonstration “On Faith,” continued to outline other Christian duties and practices in the next nine demonstrations addressing topics such as charity, fasting, prayer, wars, members of the covenant, penitence, the resurrection, humility, and pastors. Three of the second twelve demonstrations cover similar themes, but nine center on issues of conflict with the Jews. Four of these argue against the Jewish ritual practices of circumcision, Passover, the Sabbath and dietary laws, while the last five comprise a rebuttal of Jewish criticism against Christianity on issues such as the Messiah, virginity, the call of the Gentiles, the dispersion of the Jews and the election of Israel. The twenty-third demonstration, tacked on at the end, chronicles righteousness and salvation from Adam to Aphrahat (based on the concept of the “grape-cluster” in Isaiah 65.8). It is equally important to note what these demonstrations do not contain. They do not deal with Arianism, the form of Christianity most threatening to the church in the West, nor with the decisions of the Nicene Council, which had convened only a decade before the composition of the first demonstrations. The Persian church might simply have been outside of the jurisdiction of the council, or the concerns of the Nicene fathers might not have been of interest or threatening to Aphrahat. Luckily for the historian, Aphrahat dated his writings. At the end of demonstration twenty-two he wrote: These twenty-two discourses have I written according to the twenty-two letters of the [Syriac] alphabet. The first ten I wrote in the 648th year of the Kingdom of Alexander the son of Philip the Macedonian [337 CE] as is written in the end of them. And these twelve last I wrote in the 655th year of the Kingdom of the Greeks and of the Romans, which is the

“beloved” a term used between members of the clergy indicating that the letter writer was a fellow cleric. Perhaps it also implies that Aphrahat’s Demonstrations were addressed primarily to other clerics.

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Kingdom of Alexander [344 CE] and in the 35th year of the Persian King.97

In addition, number fourteen is dated to the year 655 of Alexander (344 CE) and number twenty-three to 656 of Alexander (345 CE). One can see from the dating that there is a hiatus of seven years between the writing of the first ten and the second twelve and that all the demonstrations concerning Jewish topics are among the latter half. Aphrahat, content to discuss the Christian life in 337, turned to controversy with the Jews in 344 to combat the spiritual and physical onslaught brought on by the persecutions.98 Christians, who were not martyred at the hands of the Persians, might have chosen conversion to Judaism. Since the Jews did not appear to discourage this phenomenon, Aphrahat felt compelled to do so.99 This phenomenon will be discussed further in chapter 1.

PRIMARY SOURCES 2: RABBINIC TEXTS Jewish texts used in this study come from the numerous second to sixth century rabbinic writings: the Mishnah, the midrash, the targums and the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds. This literature is vast, and much of it cannot be dated or its milieu located precisely. Furthermore, the rabbis of this literature did not pay as much attention to Christianity as the Christian writers, like Aphrahat, did to Judaism. Although Christianity, by name, is not mentioned in the rabbinic literature, late ancient rabbis often referred to the Christian polemic indirectly. Moreover, because this literature was not written in order to chronicle Jewish history, but rather to Demonstrations 22.25. The idea that the persecutions distinguish the contents of the two halves of the Demonstrations was made first by Duncan, Baptism, 23 and implied by Gavin, “Aphraates,” 133. 99 It is interesting to note that Aphrahat does not argue against Zoroastrianism, the state religion of the Persians. Either it was not a threat to his flock, or he felt that he could not argue against the state religion publicly. Nevertheless, in the martyrologies, like that of Shimon bar Sabba’e (see next chapter), the Christian martyrs polemicize vigorously against the Magian priests. 97 98

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INTRODUCTION

preserve the didactic traditions and laws of the rabbinic schools, one has to be particularly careful to note the context of the passages used. Often they are integral to the halakhic discussion, but sometimes they are simply added illustrations and can be analyzed separately. Although much of the literature was composed in Palestine, some of it was later edited in Babylonia, creating an added difficulty in discerning what is Palestinian at core, what Babylonian. Furthermore, one needs to determine if the Babylonian gloss changed the meaning or use of the text, for some texts that originated in Palestine were re-used for different reasons by the Babylonian rabbis.100 Tradition divides the rabbinic writings into two basic categories: the halakhah and the aggadah. The halakhah, or law related treatises, is found primarily in the Mishnah and its two commentaries, the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds. The aggadah, also known as the midrash literature, is mostly homilies and Shama Friedman, in his article “Literary Development and Historicity in the Aggadic Narrative of the Babylonian Talmud: A Study based upon B.M. 83b–86a,” in N. Waldman, ed., Community and Culture: essays in Jewish studies in honor of the ninetieth anniversary of the founding of Graetz College 1895–1985 (Ardmore, PA: Seth Press, 1987), 67–80, has shown that when a Palestinian aggadah is incorporated into the Babylonian text, the Babylonian authors often embellish the story with details from elsewhere or even of their own creation. These details cannot accurately relay information about the subject of the original Palestinian passage. However, I. Gafni has suggested that they can provide insights into the Babylonian writers. See for instance Gafni’s article in Tarbiz 49 (April-Sept 1980): 292–301 in which he shows how the Babylonian interpolations into a Palestinian text about rabbinic academies reflect the Babylonian situation in Babylonian academies. More recently Richard Kalmin has argued for a “palestinization” of Babylonian sources in the late third century after an influx of western Jews into the eastern provinces. [Richard Kalmin, Jewish Babylonia between Persia and Roman Palestine (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006)] Nonetheless Secunda, continues Gafni’s argument suggesting that the Babylonians, while adopting Palestinian sources as their own, re-use them for their own benefit. See note 72 above. 100

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exegesis on the Bible; however, it can also be defined as everything in the rabbinic literature which is not halakhah. Nevertheless, there are law-oriented exegetical writings, midrashei halakhah, as well as many homilies and legends mixed into the commentaries of the Talmuds. The legal dicta of the tanna’im, the mishnaic rabbis, were collected together into a compilation known as the Mishnah, in the early third century. Other legal dicta, which were not included in the Mishnah edition were also collected into their own corpus known as the Tosefta. The issues discussed by the tanna’im cover a wide range of subjects from agriculture to divorce laws to ritual practices. Tradition states that the rabbis transmitted their teachings orally to their students throughout the first and second century until bringing them together in the Mishnah.101 The talmudic sages, the amora’im, took up where the tanna’im had left off, commenting on and explicating their teachers’ traditions. The Palestinian amora’im probably composed their talmud between the mid-third century and the end of the fourth, while the Babylonian rabbis finished editing theirs only in the early sixth.102 Similarly to the mishnaic traditions, the talmudic teachings passed orally from rabbi to disciple for many generations before the later amora’im recorded them. Although the Mishnah and the Palestinian Talmud originate in Palestine and the Babylonian in

For a deeper discussion of the oral nature of the rabbinic corpus see Martin Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth, who argues that the oral nature was more written than not. 102 Jacob Sussman, however, has suggested that the Babylonian Talmud was not finished until well into the seventh, while the Palestinian abruptly ends around the year 370 CE. This would explain the concise nature of the latter and the detailed format of the former since the Babylonian Talmud had that many more centuries to develop. See J. Sussman, “Returning again to Yerushalmi Nezikin,” in J. Sussman and D. Rosenthal, eds., Mehqere Talmud 1 [Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1990), 100–103, esp. n.187, 188, 190 and 192. I thank my colleague Christine Hayes for the reference. 101

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southern Mesopotamia, many shared traditions crossed the borders in both directions.103 The midrash comprises a large corpus of writings, the earliest of which, the midrashei halakhah: the Mekhiltas to Exodus, Sifra to Leviticus, Sifre to Numbers and Deuteronomy were probably composed before 300 CE.104 These works consist mostly of exegetical comments on the Pentateuch that connect the tannaitic statements, some also found in the Mishnah, to the biblical text. The later midrashim are mainly homiletical or line-by-line exegesis on the biblical texts. Genesis Rabbah, the oldest and most developed in this style, was most likely edited or collated in the mid-fifth century. While Leviticus Rabbah, Lamentations Rabbah, Esther Rabbah I, Pesikta de Rav Kahana, Song of Songs Rabbah and Ruth Rabbah all fall into this second category as well, Exodus Rabbah was not edited until the ninth or tenth century. Although the midrashic authors probably edited most of their works only in the fifth or sixth centuries, they also transmitted traditions from earlier periods. A third category of midrashim, the tanhuma-yelamdenu and the collections, or yalkut literature, come from the medieval period but also carry earlier traditions. The Aramaic targums, another genre of literature from this era, translate the biblical texts into Aramaic, a lingua franca of the Near East up until the Arab conquest. Whereas the upper echelons usually spoke Greek and Latin in the later centuries, Aramaic remained the language of the common folk. In the first three centuries of this era Aramaic dialects dominated the Jewish and Christian communities, especially outside the Roman Empire. Targum Onkelos, one translation used widely by the Babylonian Jewish community, contains parts that might be as early as the second century CE, while the Palestinian targums are much more difficult to date.105 One thing is known however, namely, that many

But see now Kalmin who argues for a distinct influx of Palestinian sources into Persia in the late third century. See note 100 above. 104 The midrashei halakha are all tannaitic literature. 105 The suggestions concerning this issue range from first century BCE through second or third century CE. See for example, Martin 103

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of the targumic traditions, interpretations and legends parallel other rabbinic literature even in the Babylonian Talmud.106 The targums evolved over a long period of time, changing as interpretations grew and deepened. It is possible that, on the one hand, the amoraic rabbis borrowed from the early targumic traditions, while on the other hand, the targum composers encompassed rabbinic understandings of the biblical text in their translations. The targums were used in the synagogues and schools to help teach the Bible to the laypeople as well as the rabbis.107 Conceivably then, the other rabbinic writings and the targums influenced each other as the rabbis attempted to educate the community. Due to the unclear dating and provenance of the majority of rabbinic writings, their use as historical sources has been questioned, most persistently by Jacob Neusner.108 Neusner rightly criticizes earlier scholarship for depending unquestioningly on the words of the rabbis and for taking the rabbinic attributions for granted. Graetz, Bacher, Urbach, and even Neusner in his early days believed the texts almost always held an accurate reflection of historical reality. If a passage claimed Rabbi X was a blacksmith, then he was; if the text stated that Rabbi Y had decreed a certain law, he had. Thus early scholarship wrote rabbinic biography and talmudic history. Neusner argues, however, that the talmudic texts are so heavily edited that they can only reflect the historical reality of the last editors and not the characters as they appear on its MacNamara, introduction to Targum Neofiti 1: Genesis, the Aramaic Bible, vol. 1A (Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1992), 15. 106 MacNamara has suggested (Targum Neofiti 1, 41) that the targum traditions were transmitted only through the rabbinic circles since there are many parallels between the targums and the other rabbinic literature. Others suggest the targums have independent histories. 107 Rimon Kasher, “The Aramaic Targumim and their Sitz im Leben,” Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies: panel sessions on Bible studies and the Ancient Near East (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies and the Magnes Press, 1988), 75–78. 108 Jacob Neusner, Method and Meaning in Ancient Judaism (Missoula, Mont., 1979); and “Methodology in Talmudic History,” Biblical Theology Bulletin 13.3 (1984): 99–109 among others.

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pages;109 therefore, all the anecdotes that weave in and out of the halakhic discussions cannot be considered historical. Each treatise has to be taken as a whole and cannot be divided into “earlier” and “later” sections. Most modern scholars agree with Neusner that rabbinic biography (as opposed to rabbinic/talmudic history) is impossibile,110 but they do not dismiss talmudic history completely. The texts can be used for certain historical inquiries, such as socioeconomic and institutional histories.111 Philological and literary critical studies of the Babylonian Talmud have shown that there are many layers of writings, from different centuries, woven together and basically unedited; variations in language and terminology can help delineate the passages.112 One can also look to outside sources that might corroborate information culled from the rabbinic writings. Isaiah Gafni suggests using the writings of Sherira Gaon (tenth century) as one method of determining the chronology of Babylonian rabbis and events.113 Contemporary Christian sources like Aphrahat can also be helpful in writing talmudic history, as will be shown in this study. Comparisons with other cultures among whom the Jews lived is as indispensable for the writing of talmudic history as comparing the Jewish communities among themselves.114 In addition Yaacov Elman, Geoffrey Hermann and Shai Secunda are opening doors to rabbinic-Persian comparisons that scholarship has not explored thoroughly before. Daniel Boyarin notes that rabbinic culture can be seen as a rejectionist/reactionary movement against Hellenizing tendencies Neusner, Method, 7; “Methodology,” 108. See David Goodblatt, “Towards the Rehabilitation of Talmudic History,” History of Judaism: The Next Ten Years, ed. B. Bokser (Chico, Ca.: Scholars Press, 1980), 35, n.5. See also I. Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 12–13. 111 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 13; Goodblatt, ”Rehabilitation,” 36. Both Gafni and Goodblatt point out that not all questions are answerable from the extant sources. 112 Goodblatt, “Rehabilitation,” 37. 113 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 15. Sherira Gaon’s famous “Iggeret” delineates the rabbinic lineage. 114 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 16–17. 109 110

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(dualism, spiritualism, anti-corporeal moods) among Jews.115 Boyarin includes Christianity among the other varieties of Hellenistic Judaisms. Hence some of the passages that I use to support my Jewish anti-Christian polemicists may in fact have been composed in response to other internal Jewish cultural tensions. Nevertheless, by the mid-fourth century Christianity was the strongest spiritual/cultural competition to rabbinic Judaism. Many of the same arguments used against earlier Hellenists may have been re-conditioned for the fight against Christianity. Nonetheless, this study focuses on those texts that seem to present a coherent “conversation” between some Jews and some Christians in fourthcentury Persian Mesopotamia.

Daniel Boyarin, Carnal Israel: Reading Sex in Talmudic Culture (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1993), 17, 77. 115

CHAPTER 1. JEWS, CHRISTIANS AND PERSECUTIONS IN FOURTH-CENTURY PERSIA1 In this chapter I determine a possible time, place and setting for a Persian-Mesopotamian debate between Jews and Christians as well as outline the historical development of Jewish and Christian settlement and conflict in Persia. While I argue that the Demonstrations testify to some Jews engaged in polemics with, and possibly missionizing among Christians in the mid-fourth century, there are other Christian sources that accuse the Jews of instigating, or at least participating in the mid-fourth century Persian persecutions against the Christians. In this chapter I ask 1) are there any Jewish sources (or other materials) that corroborate this claim of Jewish proselytism; and 2) can Jewish involvement in the persecutions themselves be determined? The first question can be answered positively, but the second one is not as easily demonstrated if only because the only extant sources for the persecutions are actually Christian sources. I will argue that these sources reflect a later time period and moment of internal Christian crisis. Concerning the issue of Jewish missionizing, Isaiah Gafni has argued, in contrast to many earlier scholars, that most of the Babylonian rabbis did not encourage conversion to Judaism, for not nearly as many references to proselytes appear in the

1

Parts of this chapter appeared in my article, “A Jewish-Christian Conversation in Fourth-Century Persian Mesopotamia JJS 47.1 (1996): 45–63.

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Babylonian literature as in the Palestinian.2 He points out, however, that the few conspicuous Babylonian converts and positive references to proselytism all connect back to Mahoza and its most eminent fourth-century rabbi, Rava.3 Mahoza, a suburb of SeleuciaCtesiphon (Bi-Ardashir), the regional capital, and home to Rava’s academy, was reputed to be a town with many converts to Judaism. While Rava is the rabbi mentioned most often in relation to the Mahozan converts, one cannot assume that all the references are historically correct because of the ahistorical nature of the talmudic texts. However, if a number of stories from various rabbinic writings connect Rava, Mahoza and converts, perhaps one can glean an historical kernel. It may simply be the case that Rava was the most famous fourth-century rabbi from Mahoza, a city that happened to have a large proselyte community. Nonetheless, Yaakov Elman, pursuing this issue further argues that Mahoza/Ctesiphon developed a reputation in this period for cosmopolitanism and in particular for “interfaith” dialogues. Thus, if there were spaces for open religious discourse, conversion certainly could not be out of the question. He also notes that Rava was deeply involved in these conversations.4 I. Gafni, The Jews of Babylonia in the Talmudic Era: A Social and Cultural History (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 1990) [Hebrew: Yehude Bavel], 138, n.81. Gafni notes how these scholars generalize for all of rabbinic Babylonia from too few and specific examples. See the collection of citations in B.J. Bamberger, Proselytism in the Talmudic Period, 2nd ed. (New York: Ktav Publishing, Inc., 1968). Bamberger is convinced that the citations thus collected, both from the Palestinian Talmud and the Babylonian show the rabbis encouraging proselytism throughout the period. Gafni argues that in the case of Babylonia, this was not true. While Bamberger lists all the references to discussions about converts and conversion, Gafni points out that in reality there are only seven proselytes mentioned in all of the Babylonian literature (139). 3 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 137–141. 4 Yaakov Elman, “A Tale of Two Cities: Mahoza and Pumbetta as Representatives of Two Legal Cultures” [Hebrew], in Torah Lishmah a Festchrift for Shamma Friedman, ed. D. Golinkin, et al. [Machon Shechter] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2007), 3–38; and “Middle Persian 2

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For instance, the following legend relates a story about another famous rabbi, Rabbi Zeira, Rava, and converts in Mahoza:5 “R. Zeira [alternate: R. Yehudah] lectured in Mahoza: ‘a proselyte is permitted [to marry] a bastard,’ they all pelted him with their citrons. Rava said: ‘Is there anyone who says a thing like that in a place where there are proselytes?!’ Rava lectured in Mahoza: ‘a proselyte is permitted [to marry] the daughter of a priest,’ they presented him with silks.” Compared to the generally negative, or otherwise ambivalent, rabbinic attitude towards proselytes, Rava’s supposed leniency towards the Mahozan converts appears exceptional.6 Gafni suggests that the tensions caused by Shabur II’s antiChristian persecutions may very well have influenced this supposed generally pro-proselyte policy in fourth-century Mahoza.7 According to the Christian documents these anti-Christian persecutions began in Ctesiphon with the execution of the bishop in c.340. While it is not clear whether the Mahozan rabbis increased solicitation of converts during the persecution years, Rava’s supposed statement above reflects a situation where there might have been many more converts appearing in Mahoza. Among these numerous proselytes there may have been former Christians, perhaps even persecuted Christians who where looking for a safe haven. Rava, or the mid-fourth century Mahozan rabbis may not have actively encouraged conversion, but neither did they seem to

Culture and Babylonian Sages: Accommodation and Resistance in Shaping of Rabbinic Legal Tradition, in The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud, ed. C.E. Fonrobert and M.S. Jaffee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 165–97. 5 BT Kiddushin 73a. Some manuscript versions have Rabbi Yehudah instead of R. Zeira, see Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 137, n.78. 6 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 141. 7 While this Persian monarch’s name is usually spelled Shapur in English, both the Hebrew ‫ שבר‬and the Syriac ‫ ܳ ܽܒ ܪ‬render the name with a bet, Shabur. According to the Christian texts these persecutions began with the execution of the bishop in c.340 and will be discussed in greater detail below.

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condemn the phenomenon either.8 Perhaps they hoped that Jews who had been lost to Christianity years before could be won back. In the same years that Jewish converts supposedly pelted R. Zeira with rotten fruit, Aphrahat complained that Jews proselytized among his flock. Several times in the Demonstrations, Aphrahat instructed his readers to defend against this Jewish onslaught because “they [the Jews] alter and weaken the minds of those simple and common people who are attracted and captivated by their disturbing argument.”9 Parrying with his opponent, Aphrahat accuses the missionaries of “hasten[ing] to disputation”10 while being deceived of the truth. Not only is each reader encouraged to “defend a pressing matter and to give answer so that [he] will strengthen the mind of whoever listens so that he will not be deceived by their [the Jews] seditious arguments,”11 but also to know “what is right to say against [the Jews]” and how to “defend against the Jews.”12 The Jewish disputants appear wily, yet convincing; proper counter-attacks need be prepared. Ephrem, writing from Nisibis, perhaps a few years after Aphrahat, also warns his readers to stay away from the Jews lest they be taken in by them and converted. Ephrem writes, “With a continence of honor [the Jew] consents/ To dishonor free men./ While drawing us towards Moses,/ He separates us from the Messiah.”13 Unlike Aphrahat, Ephrem displays a distinct disdain for Jewish missionary efforts. He continues, “Then he [the Jew] killed openly/Now he [the Jew] kills secretly/ He encompasses sea and land/ To lead a follower [a Christian] into Gehenna./ Flee from his snare, O weak one/ Your blood and death are nothing to him/ He Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 141. Demonstrations 18.1. 10 Demonstrations 15.8. 11 Demonstrations 19.12. 12 For example, Demonstrations 17.12, 18.12. 13 From Ephrem’s third “Sermon on Faith,” lines 305–308 according to the Syriac text of E. Beck in CSCO 212/ SS 88. See also similar comments by S. Kazan, “Isaac of Antioch’s Homily against the Jews,” OC 46 (1962): 98 and E. Beck, Ephraems Reden uber den Glauben (Rome: “Orbis Catholicus,” Herder, 1953), 118–120. 8 9

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took the blood of God/ Will he be terrified of your blood?14/ Flee and rescue yourself from the mad one/ Run and take refuge in the Messiah.”15 Yet Christine Shepardson warns us that Ephrem often used anti-Jewish rhetoric to counter what he considered to be heretical Christian theology. Thus he might be less concerned here about Jewish missionaries, or Christian attraction to fourth-century Judaism, than to heretical forms of Christianity. Shepardson argues that Ephrem constructs this bad “Jew” from New Testament and other early Christian depictions of Jews as Christ-killers, because contemporary Jews are not necessarily his target.16 Yet, the “Jews,” whether real or fanciful, still remain problematic and therefore a useful rhetorical tool for Ephrem, who was much more involved in constructing and supporting Nicene orthodoxy than Aphrahat who seems oblivious to these theological issues. Nonetheless, one cannot dismiss the possibility that Ephrem’s rhetoric was directed at “heretical” Christians as well as fourth-century Jews, because, as Boyarin argues, one cannot have Christian heretics without also constructing Jews as anchors of the far end of the orthodoxy and heresy continuum.17 Aphrahat clearly shares some of the same rhetorical devices and anti-Jewish motifs with Ephrem, but as I will argue below, I believe his context differs greatly. According to the extant sources on Aphrahat, he supposedly lived and worked at or near Mar Mattai, a northern monastery closer to Nisibis than Ctesiphon. Despite his possible physical isolation, Aphrahat revealed his communal involvement when he composed his fourteenth demonstration, which exhorts the other Persian bishops and clerics, especially the bishop of Ctesiphon, to proper behavior. During Aphrahat’s lifetime, the bishop of Ctesiphon attempted to unify the Persian Church under his hegemony, amidst much protest “Sermon on Faith III,” lines 331–334. “Sermon on Faith III,” lines 383–384. 16 Christine Shepardson, Anti-Judaism and Christian Orthodoxy: Ephrem’s hymns in Fourth-Century Syria (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 2008), 106–107. 17 Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 11. 14 15

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from other bishops.18 Aphrahat’s involvement (with the opposition?) in the controversy surely brought him into contact with other communities and their problems, but also demonstrates his engagement with larger communal issues. The persecutions, according to the Christian sources, leveled against Christians throughout Persia, started c. 340 after the Romans defeated the Persians.19 King Shabur then oppressed the Christians, reasoning that because of their shared religion with the hated opponent, Rome, they were dangerous internal enemies.20 These anti-Christian persecutions perhaps then provided an opportunity for a Jewish mission and possibly tempted some rabbis and other Jews to an active interest in polemics and proselytizing. As Aphrahat testifies to the intensity of the Jewish mission (possibly) from Mar Mattai, the rabbis acknowledge its successes in Mahoza. The Persian persecutors attacked Christians all over Mesopotamia, a territory dotted with Jewish communities.21 Where the two religious groups lived in close proximity, as in large cities like Nisibis and Ctesiphon, the polemical conflicts most likely Labourt, Le christianisme dans l’empire perse sous la dynastie sassanide (Paris: V. Lecoffre, 1904), 21. 19 Our only sources for these persecutions are the Christian martyrologies. See discussion below. 20While we are dependent on the Christian sources for all details about these persecutions, determining their extent and ultimate physical damage is hard to realize. The martyrologies often refer to Shabur’s persecutions as the Great Massacre or Great Persecution, yet we do not have exact numbers. Kyle Smith has recently argued that they were not that great at all, and not at all connected to Persian-Roman relations. (The Persian Persecution: Martyrdom, Politics, and Religious Identity in Late Ancient Syriac Christianity, Ph.D. dissertation, Duke University, 2011.). Nonetheless, the numerous martyrologies leave us with the impression that no matter how minor or severe these persecutions may have been, they loom large in the imagination of the later Persian-Christian communities. 21 Most of the Jewish communities were in southern Mesopotamia, but there were a few scattered throughout the north. See the fold-out maps at the end of A. Oppenheimer, Babylonia Judaica in the Talmudic Period (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert, 1983). 18

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began. The scanty evidence that is available does not allow the historian to determine an exact time and place but rather only to speculate on a general milieu, mid-fourth century Mesopotamian cities, for these polemical conversations. Certainly not all Jewish debaters were rabbis, but the arguments offered by these people, as recorded in the Demonstrations, resonate substantially with what we know from rabbinic scriptural interpretations and talmudic understandings of fourth-century Jewish existence. The question of Jewish involvement in the persecutions is discussed after the following brief historical outline of Jewish and Christian settlement in Mesopotamia.

JEWISH SETTLEMENT IN MESOPOTAMIA According to the biblical narratives, Judean captives settled in the lands between the Tigris and the Euphrates in the early 6th century BCE following the Babylonian incursions into Israel.22 Nevertheless, a century or so earlier, Northern Israelites were taken captive to Northern Mesopotamia, by the Assyrians. While these “lost” ten tribes left us little trace of their lives there, the Judeans from the south left only a little bit more for us to follow, yet the late biblical literature continues only their southern narrative, as opposed to their brethren’s from the north. Thus the book of Ezra relates that the Persian king, Cyrus, conqueror of Babylon, permitted the Judeans to return to their homeland and many did, but just as many if not more remained in the land that had become comfortable and prosperous for them.23 By the time the first

2 Kings 25, for instance, depicts the deportation of the Judean upper-class to Babylonia at the time of the Jerusalem temple’s destruction in 586 BCE. 23 Ezra, chapter 1; Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 11.1.3. See E. Bickerman on the little information that we do have on this time period, “Babylonian Captivity,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 1: Introduction, The Persian Period, eds. W.D. Davies and L. Finkelstein (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 342–58. A good English history of the later period can be found in Isaiah M. Gafni, “Political, Social and Economic History of Babylonian Jews, 224–638,” in The 22

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Christians appeared in Mesopotamia in the second century CE, Judeans/Jews had been living there for many centuries.24 The Jewish community of Babylonia, as it came to be known, prospered economically and socially, but always turned to the Temple cult in Jerusalem for spiritual guidance as long as the Temple stood. Contributing taxes to the upkeep of that sanctuary, as most Jews did, the Babylonian Jews collected their shekels and sent them up the rivers to Nisibis and other assembly points on the way to Judea.25 Many Jews travelled to Jerusalem themselves on the three pilgrimage holidays, as did other Jews from elsewhere in the Diaspora. Very little else is known, however, about the Babylonian Jewish community from the time of its first settlement until the rise of the Babylonian rabbinic academies in the mid-third century CE. Under the rule of the Persians, Seleucids and Parthians26 the Mesopotamian Jews remained an autonomous religious community

Cambridge History of Judaism, Vol. 4: The Late Roman-Rabbinic Period, ed. Steven T. Katz (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 792–820. 24 In most of this study I will use the term “Jews” to describe the people who opposed Aphrahat’s community, as it is conventional. But even the Syriac, ‫ ܺ ܽ ̈ܘ ܳܕ ܶܐ‬yehudaye, can be translated as readily as “Judean” as well as “Jew.” In English, “Judean” reflects an ethnic identity, whereas “Jew” encompasses both a distinguishable religious identity as well as an ethnic one. But it must be remembered that it is in this very period that Jews become Jews as opposed to Judeans, at least in the eyes of their Christian opponents. The terms “Jews” and “Judaism” are not widely used in rabbinic literature until the Middle Ages. 25 J.B. Segal, “The Jews of North Mesopotamia before the Rise of Islam,” in Studies in the Bible presented to Prof. M.H. Segal [Sefer Segal] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1964), 38; Josephus, Antiquities 18.9.1. Isaiah Gafni, “Babylonian Rabbinic Culture,” in Cultures of the Jews: A New History, ed. David Biale (New York: Schocken Books, 2002), 225. 26 Persian dynasty: 539—330 BCE; Alexander the Great 330–323 BCE; Seleucids 312–171 BCE; Parthians 171 BCE – 223 CE; Sasanians 223 CE – Arab conquest of 7th century.

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generally left alone as long as they paid their taxes.27 During the Parthian period, the Jews were seen as potential allies against the Romans, the eternal enemy of the Parthians, because of the close communication between Jewish communities on both sides of the border.28 In return, some Jews might have seen the Parthians as potential messianic harbingers because of their animosity towards the Romans.29 Yet there is no evidence that they sided with the Parthians in their campaign against the Romans, even as Jews elsewhere rose up against the Romans in these years.30 During the Persian period most Jews farmed the land, but under the Parthians many became silk merchants due to the liberal policies of the rulers. As traveling merchants with far flung connections these Jews were useful to the Parthians in their international ventures and conquests.31 According to Josephus, in the early first century CE, even before the destruction of the Second Commonwealth, a large influential northern house, the royal family of Adiabene, converted to Judaism.32 The king and queen-mother became increasingly involved in Jerusalem politics and eventually in the Roman-Judean wars. In the same century Rabbi Judah ben Batira, living and working in Nisibis, another northern border town, gave rulings on Temple ritual and supervised the Temple tax collection.33 By the second century Nisibis had grown to be a flourishing Jewish J. Neusner, “Jews in Iran,” Cambridge History of Iran 3.2 (Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1983): 910... Gafni, “Babylonian Rabbinic Culture,” 228. 28 Neusner, “Jews of Iran,” 911. Robin Darling Young suggested to me that in later centuries the Armenian and northern Mesopotamian Christians found themselves in a similar situation vis a vis the Persian government. 29 Neusner, “Jews of Iran,” 912, esp. note 2. 30 David Goodblatt, “The Jews in Babylonia,” in the CHJ 4.86. 31 J. Neusner, A History of the Jews in Babylonia, 5 vols. (Leiden: E.J. Brill. 1965–1970), 1:89. Goodblatt, “The Jews in Babylonia,” 86–8. 32 Josephus, Antiquities 20.2. 33 Neusner, History, 1:44–45. Goodblatt questions the historicity of this episode, “The Jews in Babylonia,” 85. 27

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community with an academy of its own, under the hand of another Judah ben Batira, probably a descendent of the first. This community, however, decreased in the next century due to the growing strength of the communities in the south, the precariousness of life in a border town and possibly also the growing Christian presence.34 At the same time evidence testifies to an early settlement of Jews at Edessa, within the Roman Empire in the early third century. The Doctrine of Addai as well as the talmudic sources attest to Jewish silk merchants plying their trade on the great silk route that went through Edessa.35 Inscriptions depict wealthy Jews buried in first-century cemeteries outside the city.36 Christianity’s rapid growth in that region possibly testifies to a large Jewish population in the first few centuries CE, for it seems that an early Edessene synagogue was converted to a church in later centuries.37 The change in Persian dynasty in 223 CE brought in a government closely connected with its state religion and less tolerant of minority groups. The Sasanians did not employ the Jews as diplomats in their foreign policies as the Parthians had, nor did they allow them as much autonomy.38 The more fanatical Zoroastrian priesthood, offended by many of the Jewish rituals,39 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 23. See also Gafni, “History of Babylonian Jews,” 805. 35 H. Drijvers, “Jews and Christians at Edessa,” JJS 36 (1985): 89. Segal, “Jews,” lists the relevant sources on pp. 40 and 45. 36 Segal, “Jews,” 40–41. 37 Drijvers, “Edessa,” 90; Segal, “Jews,” 40–41. 38 Neusner, “Jews in Iran,” 913, and History 2:39. 39 Jews, as well as Christians, were restricted in ritual bathing, burying their dead and carrying lights, while Christians also severely offended the Persian priests by refusing to marry. On Jewish rituals that offended the Zoroastrians see BT Yevamot 63b concerning three “decrees” that were promulgated for the Jews: against ritually slaughtered meat, ritual bathing, and using lamps on Zoroastrian holidays. While not all scholars would agree that there was an historical event behind these decrees, Moshe Beer connects these decrees with the persecutions of Kartir. “Notes on Three Edicts against the Jews of Babylonia in the Third Century,” Irano Judaica 1, 34

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instigated minor religious persecutions when the king and the priesthood were united in the promotion of the Zoroastrian religion.40 The most famous of these persecutions was under the Mobad Kartir during Bahram II’s reign (276–93).41 Nevertheless, by the beginning of the third century, a working Jewish community with its own institutions and customs emerges.42 While the exilarch, the community’s appointed leader (probably established by the Parthians early in their reign) emerges only in the Sasanian period,43 there is little evidence of a Babylonian tradition of rabbinic activity before Rav’s return in the early third century.44 Rav, a native Babylonian, journeyed to Palestine to study in the academies there, returning a few years later to teach at his own new school in Sura. Rav, and his usually dissenting colleague Samuel of ed. Shaul Shaked (Jerusalem: Yitzhak Ben Zvi and Hebrew University, 1982), 25–37.) This appears plausible considering the numerous Christian martyrologies that attest to similar decrees against their ritual. See Sebastian Brock, “Christians in the Sasanian Empire: A Case of Divided Loyalties,” Religion and National Identity: Studies in Church History XVIII, ed., Stuart Mews (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), 9, n.37. See also J. Duchesne-Guillemin, CHI 3.2:874. Gafni cautions that these events do not necessarily constitute a wholesale persecution, “History of Babylonian Jews,” 797–99. 40 J.P. Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” CHI 3.2:935. 41 Kartir left an inscription to posterity enumerating his deeds, which included the persecutions of Jews and Christians. For the text of this inscription see Geo Widengren, “The Status of the Jews in the Sasanian Empire,” Iranica Antiqua 1 (1961): 130. 42 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 26. 43 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 94. Neusner, History 1:101. The exilarch is first mentioned in connection with Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi. He was believed to be descendent from King David, as was the Nasi, the Jewish Patriarch in Palestine. 44 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 31, 90–91. In chapter two, “Pre-Talmudic Babylonia: Cultural and Spiritual Activity,” Gafni discusses all the relevant sources on rabbinic activity in Babylonia in this period. He concludes that there is not enough evidence to support the theory that there was much, if any, cultural or spiritual activity by rabbis before Rav.

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Nehardea, became the first dialecticians of the Babylonian rabbinical schools. While Rav lamented the fall of the last Parthian king45 and was suspicious of the new regime, Samuel made his peace with it. During the reign of Shabur I (241–272), Samuel pronounced his famous dictum, “the law of the land is law,” allowing the Jews flexibility to function within the Sasanian legal system.46 Throughout the next century the Jewish communities of the south—Nehardea, Sura, Pumpeditta, and Mahoza—grew in strength as those in the north—Edessa, Nisibis and Adiabene— weakened.47 This most likely happened as part and parcel of an aggressive campaign by the Sasanians to promote agriculture that benefited the Jews in the south along with the rest of the populace.48 By the fourth century a number of Jewish schools emerged in southern Mesopotamia, “Babylonia,” which increasingly competed with the Jewish schools of Palestine for cultural and religious hegemony, whereas after the mid-second century we do not hear anymore of Judah ben Batira or his academy in Nisibis. Rav’s school at Sura continued to lead in rabbinic teachings while the school at Pumpeditta replaced the one in Nehardea, which the invading Palmyrenes destroyed in 263 CE. Nehardea, however, was eventually rebuilt, along with a new school at Mahoza on the outskirts of Ctesiphon, the regional capital and the eventual seat of the Christian Catholicos.49 Here, Rava, a leader of his generation, resided, conducted his teachings and made BT Avodah Zara 10b. ‫ דנא דמלכותא דנא‬dina de malkhuta dina, BT Baba Kama 113b. Gafni, Yehude Bavel. 42, and Neusner, History 2:95. Neusner writes, “Samuel’s dictum that the law of the land was law expressed grudging acceptance of this new and disagreeable circumstance [the Sasanian government.]” Gafni label’s Samuel’s decision as “pragmatic.” 47 By the mid-fourth century many of these northern cities were strongholds of Christianity. See Segal, “Jews,” 42. This could have been due to Jews converting in numbers to Christianity, or simply due to emigration because of the growing Christian influence in the cities. 48 Gafni, “History of Babylonian Jews,” 809–11. 49 Neusner, History, 3:213. 45 46

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judgments, supposedly dealt with the city’s many converts, and perhaps participated in the Jewish-Christian “conversations” which propel this study.

CHRISTIAN SETTLEMENT IN MESOPOTAMIA The beginnings of Mesopotamian Christianity are obscure. Many of our earliest Christian texts were written originally in Syriac, yet little material culture remains to attest to the size and nature of the communities that created those texts.50 It is not clear when the first Christians crossed the borders from Roman and Hellenized territory, what form the new religion took in the very beginning, nor who were the earliest evangelists. Edessa, the first city one encounters when traveling east from Roman enclaves, was probably the starting point, for it had a large Jewish population.51 This small kingdom, independent of both Rome and Parthia for many years, suffered invasions from both sides including the famous campaign of Trajan in 116 CE but did not succumb completely to the Romans for another hundred years. It is most likely that Christianity came to this city during this century following the footsteps of the Roman invaders.52 Yet as a border province well situated on the ancient silk roads, Edessa played a key role in the economic life of the area. The Chronicle of Edessa, a sixth-century work, relates that a church existed in Edessa in 201,

Susan Ashbrook Harvey, “Syria and Mesopotamia,” in the Cambridge History of Christianity, Vol. 1: Origins to Constantine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 351. 51 Many scholars hold this belief. See for example, F.C. Burkitt, Early Christianity outside the Roman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1899), 9; F. Gavin, “Aphraates and the Jews,” JSOR 7 (1923), 112; J.B. Segal, “When did Christianity Come to Edessa?” Middle Eastern Studies and Libraries: a Felicitation Volume for Prof. J. D. Pearson, ed., B.C. Bloomfield (London: Mansell, 1980), 179; and Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 928. Susan Ashbrook Harvey notes that Antioch served as a hub for Christians moving both west to Asia Minor and east to Mesopotamia and Persia (“Syriac and Mesopotamia,” 351). 52 Burkitt, “Early Christianity,” 9; Segal, “When did Christianity,” 186. 50

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the year of the great flood, but the veracity of this early date cannot be attested.53 In these same early centuries of the Common Era, Syriac, the Aramaic dialect of Edessa became the regular dialect of Christian writers in this area. Nevertheless, these border territories were known for their multicultural societies, and most second-third century Syriac-Christian texts exist also in Greek. The Peshitta, the Syriac translation of the Hebrew Scriptures, appears in these centuries as well. This text manifests similarities to Jewish Aramaic translations, attesting again to the cross-cultural currents in Edessa and Mesopotamia in these centuries.54 Other early Syriac texts, such as the Odes of Solomon, the Diatessaron and the Acts of Thomas further evince growing communities of Syriac-speaking churches with some underlying sense of Christian community, but not completely. The ancient authors also complain of competing Christians, be they Valentinians, Marcionites, followers of Bardaisan, or Manichaens.55 All of these varieties of “Christianities” traveled up and down the trade routes between Rome and Persia. The dividing lines between these communities remained fluid. By the time we get to Aphrahat in the mid-fourth century, he too polemicizes against Mani and Marcion, and of course the Jews, but he proves equally ignorant of Arius and all that provoked the Nicene council but ten years before he began to write. Thus one must speak of many Syriac Christianities and Christian communities in this time period, rather than one monolithic entity. Perhaps the most formative influence on the shape of the Syriac churches was political. During the second and third centuries, the Christians in the Parthian empire suffered little persecution, and thus the cult of martyrs came to them only in the fourth century. Yet, sitting on the border between Rome and Segal, “When did Christianity,” 45; Chronicon Edessenum, ch. i (viii), ed., I. Guidi, Chronica Minora, I (CSCO1, SS 1, 1955), 2. 54 S.A. Harvey, “Syria and Mesopotamia, 354; See also Heleen Murrevan den Berg, “Syriac Christianity,” in The Blackwell Companion to Eastern Christianity (Oxford and Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2007), 251. 55 S.A. Harvey, “Syria and Mesopotamia,” 257. 53

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Persia, these communities eventually had to choose their political loyalties, and sometimes they were forced upon them. With the rise of the Sasanian Empire on the one hand, and the conversion of Rome to Christianity on the other, Christians in Persian territories were often considered suspect. Thus foundation narratives, connecting the early Christian settlements to royal houses and their favor, to the miracles of physical healing that the early evangelicals performed for the local aristocracy, and to economic success on the trade routes, arose to counter negative portrayals of Christian loyalties. One such narrative, the Doctrine of Addai, and its earlier version in Eusebius’ history thus claims that Christianity reached Edessa in the apostolic age. According to the Doctrina Addai (c. 400 CE), Addai, one of the 72 apostles, came to evangelize Edessa by invitation of the king. Scholars concur that if an Edessene monarch ever converted it was probably a later Abgar, Abgar the Great, who reigned from 177–212 CE.56 This does not eliminate the possibility that Christian missionaries arrived in Edessa well before the late second century. The fact that the Doctrina claims that the first evangelist was an apostle, may only indicate that the first Christians came from Palestine.57 Yet, the Doctrina itself gives evidence for another possible origin and date of evangelization. Palut, the second successor to Addai, was ordained by Serapion, the bishop of Antioch, at the end of the second century, during the reign of Abgar the Great. It is possible then that the first evangelists to Edessa came from the Antiochian church which was aligned with Rome. Alternatively, some scholars suggest that the first evangelist, who came either in the first or early second century, originated in Palestine, but the Edessene church re-aligned itself with Antioch, and thereby Rome, in the late second, early third century58 coinciding with Abgar the Great’s “conversion” and the growing Roman presence in northern Burkitt, “Early Christianity,” 27; Segal, “When did Christianity,” 180; and M.-L Chaumont, La Christianisation de l’Empire Iranien (Lovain: CSCO 499/SS 80, 1988), 14. 57 Burkitt, “Early Christianity,” 34. 58 Burkitt, “Early Christianity,” 34 and Segal, “When did Christianity,” 189. 56

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Mesopotamia.59 Nevertheless, the late date of the Doctrine, and its overriding political agenda makes it difficult to assess its evidence. Assuming, nonetheless at least that Edessa was evangelized by the end of the second or third century, it is most likely that the Christian mission spread from there to other parts of Mesopotamia via the major cities of Nisibis, Arbel and Seleucia-Ctesiphon which were all connected by the trade routes. While it has been noted that neither Nisibis nor Ctesiphon had large Christian communities until the early fourth century, probably due to the strong Jewish communities in both of those areas,60 by the year 300 Nisibis had a bishop of its own and soon there after Ctesiphon’s church leader, Papa, was strong enough to compete for supremacy over all the churches in Persian Mesopotamia.61 Abgar supposedly visited Rome at the turn of the second century (Burkitt, “Early Christianity,” 27). Drijvers, in contradistinction to most other scholars, does not believe that Edessa was evangelized by JewishChristians from Palestine. He suggests that the Doctrina was written in the mid-third century in order to combat the Manicheans. Neither the Manicheans nor the orthodox Christians had much of a tradition of settlement, hence the Doctrina was created to give the orthodox an earlier foundation. Addai was actually a Manichean apostle who was borrowed and revamped by the orthodox. (Drijvers, “Edessa,” 91–92, and especially n. 22.) I find Drijvers exclusion of Palestinian (Jewish) Christians from the early history of Christianity in Edessa difficult to accept since Syriac Christianity seems to have retained textual traditions also found among Palestinian Jews, such as the targumic translations. 60 Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 925; Neusner, History 1:169. The Chronicle of Arbel, lists the bishoprics of Mesopotamia in 226 CE. The list includes neither Nisibis nor Ctesiphon, but it does include far-off places like Fars. However the unknown origins of this chronicle may render its information questionable (Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 927). 61 Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 931; Brock, “Christians in the Sasanian Empire,” 4. Brock points out that the emergence of the see of Ctesiphon was directly connected to the fact that Ctesiphon was the winter home of the king, and that the Christians were finding it increasingly necessary to be represented by one person at the seat of the Persian government. 59

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A further source, the Acts of Mari, claim that Addai evangelized in Seleucia-Ctesiphon, the regional capital city, soon after Edessa. J.-M. Fiey suggests that Mari, the apostle’s disciple, was more likely the first evangelist in Ctesiphon bringing Christianity to the south as early as 116 CE.62 As with the Doctrina, it is probable that the Acts of Mari were written after the fact in order to support Ctesiphon’s claim to primacy in the church hierarchy during the late third–early fourth century.63 The assertion that Christianity came to Ctesiphon via Edessa, though probably later than the second century, is more or less accurate.64 J. Labourt, however, suggests that Christianity reached Mesopotamia in the apostolic period, in an early Jewish-Christian form, but suffered little success even among the Jews, remaining a small, sect of little influence. There is no evidence, he claims, for an organized Persian church before the Sasanian period.65 While Labourt exaggerates an early claim for Christian settlement, one cannot dismiss it entirely, for the fact of an unorganized church actually parallels the developments in rabbinic communities in the same time period. We have no information on Jewish institutions in Persia before the Sasanian period, though we can presume there were Jews in residence many years before that period.66 With the rise of the Sasanian dynasty (224–651 CE) and the conversion of Rome to Christianity (mid-fourth century CE), Mesopotamian Christian communities necessarily distanced themselves from their Roman counterparts, and felt compelled to organize themselves as a separate entity. Sebastian Brock also suggests that the Mesopotamian Christians were not necessarily unified as a political or religious group in the early centuries, but simply saw themselves as the ‘People of God.’ Only in the fourth century, due to the Christianization of the Roman Empire and the wars fought between Persia and Rome, did the Christians begin to J.-M. Fiey, Jalons pour une histoire de L’Eglise en Iraq (CSCO 310/SS 36, 1970), 40. 63 Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 927. 64 Gavin, “Aphraates,” 112. 65 J. Labourt, “Le christianisme,” 16–17. 66 See discussion above under “Jewish settlement” above. 62

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consolidate.67 Throughout the second and third centuries, a number of Greek-speaking Christians came to live in Persian territories, some of their own volition, to escape Roman persecution, while the invading Persian armies forcibly transferred many more as captives. These communities settled in different areas of Persia keeping their own traditions and clerical hierarchies.68 These exiles surely aided the spread of Christianity throughout Mesopotamia even while adding to the disunity of the Persian church, for they most likely pursued their own forms of Christianity, in their own languagues and liturgies. Under the Parthians and early Sasanian kings, the Christians lived by and large at peace. Persecutions broke out only when the monarchy was heavily influenced by the more fanatic Zoroastrian priesthood as happened, for instance, during the reign of Bahram II (276–293), when Kartir, the chief Mobad, gained the king’s confidence. At this time all non-Zoroastrians were targeted, Christians and Jews among others.69 Shabur II’s persecution, while distinctly political, cannot be separated from its religious aspects when state and religion were tightly intertwined, nor can it be decoupled from the fact of Roman conversion to Christianity and Shabur’s subsequent military and territorial loss to Rome.70 Brock, “Christians in the Sasanian Empire,” 12–13, 18. The Christians of Persia held their first synod, with the approval of King Yazdegird I, in 410 CE. See term as used by Aphrahat in Dem. 5.1.24. Moreover it is only in the late fourth and early fifth centuries that we begin to see acknowledged divisions within the Syriac speaking churches such as the Syrian Oriental (Jacobite) church, and the Church of the East (“Nestorian”). The political divides between Rome and Persia helped to solidify these divisions. Nonetheless, Aphrahat clearly testifies to a native Persian Syriac church before these divisions crystallized. 68 Fiey, Jalons, 56; Brock, “Christians in the Sasanian Empire,” 3; Chaumont, La Christianisation, 158–160. 69 See n. 39 above, and discussion below. 70 Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 934. The Romans also persecuted the early Christians for refusing to sacrifice to the gods who protected the state. Refusal to participate in state sanctioned ritual was tantamount to treason. J. Duchesne-Guillemin, “Zorastrian Religion,” CHI 3(2): 874– 67

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Richard Kalmin has recently argued that the very nature of living in a border territory influenced the make up of both the Jewish Babylonian community and the Syriac Christian community. Both the need to negotiate political and cultural boundaries, but also the unsettled political climate shaped these communities’ political and religious outlooks. In particular, Shabur’s importation of western Jews and Christians into his eastern territories forced both rabbinic Jews and Syriac Christians, over the next few generations, to re-orient themselves toward the west as a means of absorbing the immigrants.71 Yet, it seems the Christians were less successful in fully fusing the two communities, as many of the Greek-speaking communities built their own churches and maintained their own ecclesiastical structures.72 Moreover, Shabur’s persecutions suggest that the Persian administration did not react positively to this political re-orientation. The political effects on the Jews seem less clear. Contextualizing the persecutions within this larger constantly shifting cultural and political matrix will also help us understand Aphrahat’s polemic against the Jews, as he wrote during this mid-fourth century crisis.

SHABUR II’S PERSECUTIONS AND THE QUESTION OF JEWISH INVOLVEMENT

Jews, Christians and other minorities were occasionally persecuted throughout the Sasanian period. These moments of religious intolerance tended to erupt at times when there was a close alliance 906, describes how religion and politics became increasingly intertwined in the Sasanian empire. He comments, “The whole history of the Sasanians can be envisaged in terms of the relation between the temporal and spiritual powers, which now support, now oppose one another” (874). When the priesthood and the king were close, the fanatical Zoroastrians had more license to persecute minorities, as in the time of Kartir (mid-3rd cen.) and under Shabur II. 71 Richard Kalmin, Jewish Babylonia Between Persia and Roman Palestine (New York: Oxford, 2006), 9–10. 72 Kartir’s use of two different names for several Christian communities in his inscription may reflect this continuing division. Assmusen, “Christians in Iran,” 930.

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between the royal house and the Magian (Zoroastrian) priesthood.73 For instance, Kartir, chief priest under Bahram II (reign 276–93), persecuted all non-Zoroastrians as spiritual enemies. Yet it probably had no long lasting effects, and Bahram’s descendents distanced themselves from the Magian establishment. The persecutions under Shabur II, not only manifested such an allegiance,74 but also targeted the Christians as potential internal enemies of state due to the Christians’ common religious faith with the Romans (the constant Persian opponent) and lasted for some 40 years. What concerns us here in the following discussion is not so much the historicity of the persecutions, but the Christian sources’ claim that the Jews were instigators and provocateurs. I will argue in the end that the narratives reflect a later reality, postJulian, and a literary makeover, in which anti-Jewish sentiment among the various Christian communities was at an all time high. The narratives’ anti-Jewish rhetoric better fit a growing literary motive in hagiography to recast martyrologies as imitations of Jesus’ own life and death. Nonetheless, it is also the case, that these very persecutions provoke Aphrahat to write his own anti-Jewish polemic, and it behooves us to try to understand the social, cultural and historical background to the persecutions and the sources that record their details. According to the Christian sources, the Christians’ troubles began after their leader, Shimon bar Sabba’e, refused to comply with Shabur II’s extra tax request to subsidize his failing Roman wars. Frustrated with the outcome of his campaigns and the immovability of the Christians, Shabur instigated a kingdom-wide persecution that attacked the Christians for their practices as well as beliefs. Many Christians chose martyrdom in the face of Shabur’s fury.75 Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 936. Asmussen, “Christians in Iran,” 935. 75 For details of this persecution and its martyrs see A. Vööbus, A History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient (CSCO 184), 1:234–252. There do not seem to be extant non-Christian, Persian sources for these persecutions. Even concerning the content of the polemics, one depends more on the 4th century Christian sources than on the Persian. Asmussen 73 74

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Shabur II (309–379 CE), having ascended the Sasanian throne as a minor, at first, kept the peace his predecessor, Narses had established, for 30 years. Taking control from the noblemen who had placed him on his throne, the now mature king set out in 338 CE to retake the territories lost in the previous wars and avenge Persian pride.76 He besieged Nisibis unsuccessfully several times, eventually retreating to take care of other conflicts in the East.77 The battle was lost, but not the war. The king was determined to continue, but he needed more money. According to the sources, the Christians, some of them relative newcomers to Persia (having been imported by Shabur I and native Greek speakers) and from the time of Constantine co-religionists with the victorious Roman enemy, received the full weight of Shabur’s wrath. Upon his return to the capital he demanded a double poll tax from his Christian subjects. While swearing loyalty to the King of kings and Persia, the bishop, Shimon bar Sabba’e, claimed his community could not afford such a heavy financial burden. In his anger and frustration Shabur II executed the unfortunate Christian leader. The bishop’s death escalated into a massacre of the Christian clerics. The Martyrology of Azad records that “from the evening of the fourteenth [of Nisan], at the sixth hour, when this order went out until the Sunday after that Saturday of the second week of Pentecost, that being ten days, the sword did not leave off chasing

can only cite a 9th century source (“Christians in Iran,” 939). This one sided narrative in and of itself provides a historiographic problem for the scholar: how trustworthy are these sources? At the very least one can assume there were persecutions of some sort, but the extent and depth remains elusive. See Kyle Smith’s work which begins to question the extent of these persecutions (note 20 above). 76 A. Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides, 2nd ed. (Copenhague: Ejnar Munksgaard, 1944), 236 suggests that Shabur set out for this war in 337, before Constantine died, but the important battles with the Romans occurred in 338 during the reign of Constantine’s sons. 77 R.N. Frye, “Political history of Iran under the Sasanians,” CHI 3.1:137.

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after his servants.”78 Aphrahat, in his twenty-third demonstration, also describes a later bloodbath. He writes: “in the month of Av in the year 656 [345 CE] of the Kingdom of Alexander, son of Philip the Macedonian, and in the 36th year of Shabur the king of Persia, there occurred a persecution in the fifth year [after] the uprooting of the churches, in that year there was great destruction of the martyrs in the land of the East.”79 Shimon bar Sabba’e died around the year 340 CE, while the persecutions seemed to have continued throughout Shabur’s reign with varying intensities.80 The hagiographies of the Persian martyrs produce much information concerning the martyrs and their persecutors but little about the political aspects involved. The thirty-odd martyrologies record mostly the trials and deaths of the men and women, usually of noble Zoroastrian families, who had Christianized and were thus brought to trial. While there may have been martyrs from the lower classes as well, the texts that have survived to this day depict mostly the persecuted former-nobility. Certainly court related people who converted from the state religion deeply troubled the Magian priests and provided inspiration for the Christian populace. Although the Persian persecutions form the backdrop for these martyrologies, only two texts reflect on the original cause: Shabur’s failure to defeat the Christian Roman emperors Constantine and his sons. The Martyrology of Shimon bar Sabba’e and the Narration of Shimon bar Sabba’e, two different renditions of the same tradition, together present the most comprehensive account.81

P. Bedjan, Acta Martyrum et Sanctorum [AMS], 6 vols. (Paris and Liepzig, 1890–97; repr. Hildersheim: G. Olms, 1968), 2:251, the translations of the martyrologies are my own unless otherwise indicated. 79 Demonstrations 23.69. All translations of Aphrahat are my own. They are based on the Syriac text of Parisot in Graffin, Patrologia Syriaca, vol. 1 (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1894). 80 345 CE, however, seems to have been a particularly bloody year, for a number of martyrologies can be dated to that year. 81 These fourth or fifth-century texts can be found in Graffin, Patrologia Syriaca vol. 2 (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1907) with an introduction and translation in Latin by M. Kmosko. Brock considers these two texts 78

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The tribute or poll-tax, in the Martyrology, stands on its own without any connection to the Roman wars. The text records simply that, “thus in this way an affliction came upon our people and subjugated it in a tribute (tax) and began to bring trouble to the clerics,” making no mention of Constantine or the campaigns.82 The Narration, however, attributes the poll tax directly to the death of Constantine, relating that, “immediately then when the celebrated Constantine died, Shabur, King of the Persians, began to loathe the Christian people and he began to oppress and persecute the priests and clerics and even to overturn the churches in all of his jurisdiction.”83 The Narration continues further: In the 655th year of the kingdom of Alexander, that is the 296th year after the crucifixion of our Lord, that is the 117th year of the Kingdom of the Persians, that is the 31st year of the King Shabur,84 son of Hormizd, after the death of the blessed Constantine King of the Romans, Shabur found himself an opportunity to contend with his [Constantine’s] to be variations of the same tradition (“Christians in the Sasanian Empire,” 4, n.13). 82 Martyrology 6. 83 Narration 2. The Narration suggests that Shabur persecuted only the priests and clerics. Although this is not clear from the other texts, the clergy were greatly affected, perhaps even targeted more than the laypeople. 84 A number of suggestions have been put forward as to the exact date of Shimon’s death, based on the dates given in the martyrology texts and in Aphrahat. The dates vary from 339 to 344. I am inclined to an earlier date since both the Martyrology and the Narration agree that Shimon died in the 117th year of the Persians and the 31st year of Shabur (339 or 340 CE). Of the other two dates, that of “Alexander” is off by two years, and that of the “crucifixion” is obscure. These two may have been added later. According to my reading of Aphrahat, he wrote the “Demonstration on Persecution” five years into the crisis. See Martin J. Higgins, “Date of Martyrdom of Shimon bar Sabba’e,” Traditio 11 (1955): 1–30; and P. Peeters, “La Date du Martyre de S. Symeon, AB 56 (1938): 118–34, and the introduction to Kmosko’s translation of the Shimon texts in the Patrologia Syriaca, vol. 2.

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sons, though they were still boys. He continually sent out a band of robbers into the Roman territory. And from this came the pretext to provoke in hatred the servants of God who were in his jurisdiction. So he devised a pretext in order to persecute the believers. And he put together a pretext to capture them in a double tribute levied on all the Christians that were in the jurisdiction of Persia. And he wrote a letter from Beit Huziya to the governor of Beit Aramaye thus: Immediately from whence you see this order of our God, in the writing of this leaflet, which was sent from us to Shimon, head of the Nazareans, hold him and do not leave him until he signs the deed and accepts upon himself the double poll tax and double tribute from everyone of the people Nazarean that are in our God’s land and is settled in our jurisdiction, collect and take. For to our gods there are tribulations and wars, while to them is life, luxury and in our own country they settle. But they are of the same mind as Caesar our enemy. To us is contest and to them is peace.85

Looking for an excuse to attack the Christians, Shabur created the tribute as a test of loyalty, knowing that they could not fulfill his demands. Their inability to provide funds was cause enough to prosecute and punish. While Shimon pleaded that he was simply too poor, Shabur accused him and all Christians of betrayal, the mere fact that the Romans were also Christians threw suspicion on Shimon and his community. Holding to the religious faith of the sworn enemy was equivalent to betraying the state, for in the end Shimon was condemned for his beliefs, not his financial stinginess. The assertion that Shabur instigated the persecution as vengeance against the Romans is widely accepted among ancient and modern historians, even though the earliest source is the Shimon texts themselves.86 Eusebius even claims that Constantine warned Narration 4. Christensen, L’Iran, 268; Frye, “Political History,” 138; J. Labourt, Le christianisme, 46–7. What books remain of Ammianus Marcellinus’ Roman Histories, which chronicled most of Shabur’s wars with the Romans 85 86

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Shabur against harming the Persian Christians, since all his coreligionists were under his (and God’s) protection, thereby adding another reason for Shabur to attack the Christians after Constantine’s death in 337 as the Narration charges.87 Both the Martyrology and the Narration, however, supply an additional reason for the promulgation of the persecution: the Jews. The Jews, the eternal enemy of the Christians, accused Shimon of betraying Persia to the Romans. The text of the Narration reads as follows: The Jews, then, a people who at all times are opposing our people, those who killed the prophets, and crucified the Messiah and stoned the apostles, they continually thirst for our blood. They found for themselves an occasion to slander because they had confidence in their closeness to the queen, since she was of the same mind.88 They began to tell tales about the celebrated Shimon by slander and they said that if the King of kings, Lord of all the earth would send a great and wise letter from his kingdom, with a glorious sacrifice and a desirable gift of your glory to the Caesar, it would not be honorable in his eyes. But if this Shimon should send to him one small and foolish letter, he would get up and worship and accept it in his two hand and its commands he would fulfill completely. And with these there is

(as an eye witness from the Roman side), start in 353 CE. Sozomen, writing in 450, obviously dependent on the Shimon texts for most of his account of the persecutions, nevertheless blames the instigation solely on the Jews (Book 9.11). 87 Eusebius, Vita Constantini, IV, 13. See also Brock, “Christians in the Sasanian Empire,” 1, and N.H. Baynes, Constantine the Great and the Christian Church (London: Humphrey Milford Amen House, 1932), 26–9. The account of this letter is repeated in Sozomen, Historia Ecclesiastica 11:15, and Theodoret Historia Ecclesiastica 1:24. ܰ 88 The Syriac is: :‫ܕܒ ܬ ܶܪ ܳ ܽ ܘܢ ܗ ܳܘܬ‬ ̱ ̱ ‘daughter of their doctrine,’ or ‘daughter of their way of thinking.’

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not a secret of your kingdom that he has not written and made known to the Caesar.89

While the Martyrology does not mention the queen in conjunction with the Jews, it does add that when Shimon was led out of the court, he requested not to be brought past his cathedral which had been destroyed a few days earlier by the Magi “in the association with Jews.” The text relates: Shimon then, the bishop, was imprisoned in chains in order to lead him to Beit Huziya with two out of twelve of his elders. And the name of one was Abhaykla and the other Hanina. And when he left his city his guides directed him to the market of the church that in great glory he had built. And he asked them not to lead him there because a few days earlier it had been destroyed [turned over] by the Magi in the association of the Jews.90

The Narration describes the church’s destruction in greater detail, but never mentions the Jews in this connection. The Martyrology of Tarbo, the bishop’ sister, also accuses the Jews of meddling in court affairs. This text records that “at this time it so happened that the queen fell ill. Since she was favorably inclined to the enemies of the cross,91 the Jews, they told her, making their customary false accusation: ‘the sisters of Shimon have put spells on you because their brother has been put to death.’”92 Like the Narration of Shimon, the Martyrology of Tarbo claims that the queen was somehow sympathetic to, or associated with, the Jews.

89 90

Jews.’

Narration 12. ܳ Martyrium 14, the Syriac is: ‫‘ ܒ ܰ ܒ ܽ ܘܬܐ ܕ ܽ ̱ ̈ܘ ܳܕ ܶܐ‬in associations with the

ܶ

ܺ ܰ ‫‘ ܕ‬close to the way of ̇ ܳ ܳ ‫̱ܗ ܳܘܐ ܪ‬ Syriac: ‫ܽ ̱ ̈ܘ ܳܕ ܶܐ܆ ܒ ܶ ̈ ܳܒ ܰܒ ̱ܗܝ ܰܕܙ ܺ ܳ ܐ‬ thinking (or doctrine) of the Jews, enemies of the cross.’ 92 AMS 2:254; translation in S. Brock and S. Asbrook Harvey, Holy Women of the Syrian Orient (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 73. 91

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The accusation of Jewish responsibility for the persecutions’ instigation calls for serious investigation since the parallels between the martyrdom of Shimon and the death of Jesus, due to the inclusion of these Jewish elements, suggests that they are interpolations. Likewise, the similarities between the Tarbo tradition and the apocryphal biblical Susanna, create the possibility of a literary fiction. The texts themselves bring these parallels to our attention. The author of the Narration remarks: “The Jews are accustomed to testify falsely at all times. Just as they testified falsely against our Lord, so also against the servant of the Messiah did they give false testimony. For they testified falsely against our Lord. They were rejected and fell by the sword of the Romans when their city was destroyed. Likewise they testified evil against Shimon. They fell by the sword at the hand of the Persians.”93 In the one case, the Jews betrayed Jesus, and a few years later Jerusalem was destroyed. In the other, the Jews betrayed Shimon, and they too were justly punished, massacred by the Persians. The author illustrates the truth of these statements with the following story: After twenty-four years [after the death of Shimon], when Constantius and Constantinus, the sons of Constantine the Victorious, had died, Julian ruled over the Romans. Immediately then, when he began to rule, he sacrificed to idols; and aroused jealousy in the Christians and denied the words of the Messiah which he had prophesied about the ruin of Jerusalem, saying: “there shall not remain in it stone on stone, which will not be destroyed.” [Mt. 24.22] On this account he commanded all the Jews of his kingdom to ascend and build Jerusalem and the Temple and to sacrifice offerings according to the commandment of the law. Many went up and began to dig up the foundations of Jerusalem. While these things were happening, a man of the imposters came to the land of the Persians and called to all the Jews saying, “The time for the Return [to Jerusalem] as appointed by the prophets is at hand and I am commanded by God to proclaim to you the Return and to ascend.” 93

Narration 13.

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The imposter came also to Mahoza, in Bet Aramaye, and led astray thousands of Jews who set out and left Mahoza for the sake of the hope of the Return and they went three parsangs from the city. When this matter was made known to King Shabur, he sent his army and they laid waste many thousands of them.94

The fact that the massacre takes place twenty-four years after Shimon’s death is important for two reasons: 1) it provides a suitable parallel to the Jesus story for the author and 2) it establishes, for the historian, the fact that these texts were written, or at least amended much later than the bishop’ actual martyrdom. Since no other martyrology involves the Jews in any way in the persecutions, the Jewish elements in the Shimon and Tarbo traditions are all the more conspicuous. This literary style of paralleling Jesus’ trial and death emerges before the Shimon traditions for other texts, such as the Martyrdom Narration 14. It is interesting to note that this particular incident, of Shabur killing many Jews for following the call of a false messiah, is not recorded anywhere else, certainly not in the Jewish sources. While Julian did call the Jews to return to Jerusalem—and many apparently followed his suggestion—Shabur’s involvement is not mentioned. A similar incident, however, took place under Trajan. The Roman war against the Jews in the Diaspora in 115–117 CE was conducted in part to quell a Jewish rebellion, possibly messianic, in North Africa. At the same time the Romans sent General Quietus to invade Mesopotamia. Gafni, (Yehude Bavel, 29–30, esp. n.53) claims that after the Romans invaded Mesopotamia many of the people, including the Jews, revolted. In the process many Jews were massacred by the Romans. Eusebius also relates this rebellion and massacre (Church History, IV, 2; see also Dio Cassius LXIII, 32). This incident may be the kernel of the story related in the Shimon texts. The collective Persian/Christian memory may have retained a tradition that the Persians killed some Jews after a rebellion or some such happening. The history behind the original event may have been forgotten, while the story of the massacre fit the needs of our text’s author. The traditions of the Jewish-Roman wars have gotten confused in the rabbinic texts, perhaps a similar case can be made for the war traditions in this Christian text. 94

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of Polycarp, which depicts the martyrdom of Polycarp, a secondcentury bishop of Smyrna, uses the same Jesus typologies to establish the sacredness of the martyr’s death.95 Polycarp implicates the Jews—along with the pagans—in aiding the martyr’s betrayal and death. The Martyrology of Shimon implicates only the Jews as solely responsible for Shimon’s betrayal, while it criticizes the pagans for pulling down the cathedral. Furthermore, the martyrs’ deaths all occur on the same day as Jesus’—the fourteenth of Nisan.96 Adding a Jewish element to the story brought the martyrdom closer to Jesus’ passion and the martyr closer to God. A bishop was especially deserving of such honor. Such literary parallels exist in the hagiographies of laypeople as well; Tarbo, Shimon’s sister, provides a good example. The Tarbo tradition coincides with the apocryphal Susanna in that both holy women are falsely accused to the authorities. Likewise, in both cases the women’s beauty so entices the judges that they corrupt their judgments. Interestingly enough, Susanna’s virtue saves her in the end, while Tarbo’s similar virtue provokes her martyrdom. Furthermore, in Tarbo the Jews, portrayed as outsiders to the court, betray Tarbo, a Christian, whereas Susanna is a Jew accused by Jews, elders of the people, and saved by a Jew, Daniel. Most modern scholars agree that the Jews were not directly involved in the persecutions. J. Neusner, concluding likewise, sums up the various positions.97 G. Weissner adds that the texts are See the Martyrdom of Polycarp, chapters 1 and 13 on the stated parallels to Jesus and the involvement of the Jews. 96 See for instance the Martyrology of Azad, quoted above n. 78. Here the massacre started on the fourteenth of Nisan. In the Martyrology of Shimon (37), Shimon is “sacrificed” on the fourteenth of Nisan, just as the paschal lamb was sacrificed in the Temple. 97 Jacob Neusner, “Babylonian Jewry and Shabur II’s Persecution of Christianity from 339 to 379 AD,” HUCA 43 (1972): 88–91. There are really only two scholars who believe that the Jews were involved as the texts relate. These are T. Noldeke in his translation of the Tabari (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1879), 68, n.1, and P. Peeters, “Martyre de S. Symeon,” 125– 128. R. Duval, Literature syriaque 3 ed., reprint (Amsterdam: Philo Press, 1970), 134; Kmosko in his introduction to his translation of the Shimon 95

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products of their milieu in which the Jewish-Christian polemic was a central issue for those communities. Whether or not the Jews were involved does not matter as much as the fact that in their struggle for independence, the Christians resort to this now familiar trope and claim that faults the Jews.98 Like Neusner, I place the martyrologies of Shimon and Tarbo in a separate category from all the other Persian-Christian martyrologies under Shabur by virtue of their anti-Jewish elements. However, the dating problem remains. Most of these martyrdoms occurred in the earlier years of the persecution, between 340 and 365. Although it is not known when they were written they each record the day and year of the martyr’s death. In the case of Tarbo and Shimon, the exact year has been lost, while the day and month remain.99 The references to Julian in the Shimon texts clearly indicate that the text was composed, or amended at least 24 years after the fact (Julian reigned from 361–363.) The anti-Jewish tone of the texts may reflect the Christians’ attitude towards the Jews at a date later than Shimon’s death. Not that there was much love lost between Jews and Christians before Julian, but certainly afterwards the animosity seems to have increased. Weissner suggests that Seleucia-Ctesiphon/Mahoza was a center for both Jews and Christians. It would seem likely that they would have confrontations there and develop antagonistic attitudes towards one another because of the spiritual competition.100 Likewise, Gafni and Elman have shown that Mahoza was the probable center of the Jewish-Christian debate of the mid-fourth century due to the numerous converts to Judaism present there. It is not inconceivable, then, that the Christians could have accused texts (694); Labourt, Le christianisme, 58, n.2; and G. Wiessner, Untersuchungen zur syrischen Literaturgeschichte I. Zur Martyreruberlieferung aus der Chrisstenverfolgung Schapurs II (Gottingen, 1967), 182 all concur that the Jews could not have been involved in the physical persecution of the Christians. 98 Weissner, Untersuchungen zur syrischen Literaturgeschichte, 180. 99 There are internal contradictions within the Shimon text concerning the year of his death, see note 84 above. 100 Weissner, Untersuchungen zur syrischen Literaturgeschichte, 181.

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the Jews of instigating the persecutions at this time. However, Aphrahat, writing an anti-Jewish polemic five years after the death of Shimon, never mentions the martyr let alone any accusation against the Jews in this particular case. This supports the theory that the anti-Jewish elements were a later addition. As far as the early hagiographers were concerned, Shabur’s persecution was an affair between the Persians and the Christians. After Julian’s defeat, however, Christian anxieties may have increased to such an extent that they lashed out at the Jewish community by retroactively accusing them of instigating the persecutions. Averil Cameron has argued that Julian, by attempting to re-paganize the Roman empire, shook the faith and confidence of the Christian community.101 He showed them that their victory over paganism was not solid; there still was a chance that paganism, alongside Judaism, might gain power once again. For this very reason, Christians after Julian were more wary of the Jewish communities’ influences in the government and calumniated against them in their writings. Even though Julian was a Roman emperor, and Shimon a Persian, Syriac-speaking, Christian, many Syriac-speaking Christians lived in the Roman empire, just over the border from Persia. This was especially true just after Julian’s death in 363 CE, when Jovian lost Nisibis to the Persians. Many Christians, including the famous poet and writer, Ephrem, fled over the border to Edessa. Back in Roman territory they were even more concerned that the Christian victory should not be reversed. Nevertheless, even in Persian territory Julian’s defeat had special meaning for the Christians. While the Persian-Christians lived in a pagan empire, the Christian Roman empire was a beacon of hope for the eventual triumph of Christianity everywhere. The fact that the Christian empire might have lost to the forces of paganism traumatized the PersianChristian community as much as the Roman. Anti-Jewish writings

Averil Cameron, “Disputations, Polemical literature and the Formation of Opinion in the Early Byzantine Period,” in G.J. Reinink and H.L.J. Van Stiphout, eds., Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Medieval Near East (Louvain, 1991), 107. 101

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in general became more vitriolic, accusatory and defensive after the defeat of Julian.102 Although the accusations against the Jews in the Shimon and Tarbo texts are probably later additions, there may still be some kernel of truth contained in the allegations, namely, that the Jews had a friend at court. The Narration of Shimon and The Martyrology of Tarbo make the claim that the Jews were successful because the queen was “of their faith” or “a daughter of their doctrine.” The Christians do not claim that she was a Jew or a convert, but rather that somehow she was sympathetic to the Jews. The queen in question is the wife of Shabur. Surprisingly enough, the talmudic texts make a similar assertion although they refer to the queen-mother. The similarities are strong enough to warrant believing that the texts refer to the same woman, whether she was the queen-wife or the queenmother. Of the five talmudic traditions concerning Ifra Hormizd, the mother of Shabur, four deal with interactions directly between Ifra Hormizd and the rabbis.103 In three of these legends, the queen mother sends gifts to the rabbis; in the fourth she asks Rava to distinguish between samples of blood, which he does, showing his skills as a diviner. The fifth passage has to do with the queenmother interfering with a decision of her son, the king, in order to save Rava. The rabbinic text reads as follows: A certain man was judged liable to the lash in the court of Rava because he had intercourse with a Samaritan [i.e. Gentile]104 woman. Rava had him lashed and he died. The matter was heard in the court of Shabur the king. He wanted to punish Rava. Ifra Hormizd, the mother of Shabur the king, said to her son, “Have no dealings with the Jews, for whatever they ask of their Lord he gives to them.” He asked her, “what is asked for?” [She replied, “they pray for] mercy and rain Cameron, “Disputations,” 107. BT Baba Batra 8a-b, 10b–11a; Zebahim 116b; and Niddah 20b. 104 The rabbinic term ‫ כותית‬kutit, meaning literally “Samaritan [female]” was often used as a substitute (so as not to offend Christian readers) for ‫ גוי‬goy, or ‫ נוכרי‬nokhri, both rabbinic terms for “Gentile.” 102 103

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comes.” He said to her, “that comes because it is the normal time for rain, but let them ask for mercy now, in the tammuz cycle [summer] and let there be rain.” She sent to Rava, “Direct your thoughts, and beg for mercy that rain may come. [He] prayed for mercy but rain did not come. He said before God: “Sovereign of the universe, oh God, we have heard with our ears, our fathers have told us; a work you did in their days in the days of old (Ps. 44.2) But with our own eyes have not seen it.” Rain came until the gutters of Mahoza emptied their water into the Tigris.105

In the rabbinic tradition, as in the Christian, the queen appears, not as a Jew, but rather someone who reveres the powers of the rabbis. She also promotes their causes at court against, or despite, the wishes of her son, the king. In both traditions she wields extraordinary influence with the king, be she his wife or mother. In the rabbinic text, the queen tells her son outright not to punish the Jews, and he obliges her. In the Christian text, the Jews have access to the king via the queen for they condemn Shimon to the king through the auspices of the queen. Similarly, the Tarbo text relates that the Jews tell the queen, not the king, that the Christians had poisoned her. Clearly these two texts descend from or relate to a similar source tradition. A queen and queen mother can easily be confused; the importance emerges in the shared tradition of an influential female in Shabur’s court who had dealings with the Jews.106 Jacob Neusner, however, believes that the Christian tradition of a “Jewish” queen descends from the Iranian tradition of a Jewish queen of the following century.107 The Iranian texts claim that Yazdegird I (399–420 CE) married the daughter of the Resh Galuta, the Jewish exilarch. Neusner reasons that the texts were probably written during Yazdegird’s reign and were influenced by the presence of a Jewish queen in his day. That there ever was a BT Taanit 24b. Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 44. Gafni also remarks on this connection. 107 Neusner, “Babylonian Jewry,” 97. Neusner cites the Iranian texts in question. 105 106

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Jewish queen, however, cannot be substantiated by any other source. Sebastian Brock argues that martyrologies are usually composed in times of war and not in peace.108 Yazdegird reigned through a time of peace (except for the last few years) during which the Christians convened their own council and consolidated their church with the king’s acknowledgement and encouragement. It seems more likely, then, that the martyrologies of Shimon and his sister, Tarbo, were written soon after the demise of Julian, during Shabur’s reign, when tensions were still high between the two empires and Julian’s memory had not yet faded. Yazdegird’s possibly Jewish wife of the following century would have had no influence on these traditions if they were written soon after Julian’s defeat. Shabur’s wife or mother’s ethnicity matters less that the claim preserved in the text that Jews had influential friends in the court of the Persian king. Finally, the martyrologies’ evidence does not support the possibility that the Jews were involved in the physical persecution of the Christians. Nonetheless, Aphrahat’s polemic suggests that the Jews “persecuted” the Christians spiritually by pursuing and gaining many converts. Political circumstances after Julian, coupled with the tradition of a woman sympathetic to Jews in Shabur’s court most likely transformed these martyrologies into a Christian anti-Jewish text. This could take place only after Julian, since it was his pro-pagan reign that caused the Christians to reassess their spiritual victory.

108

Brock, “Christians in the Sasanian Empire,” 5.

CHAPTER 2. CHOSENNESS: THE ELECTION OF ISRAEL1 CHOSENNESS The Persian king Shabur’s anti-Christian persecutions, if not generating actual violent reactions between Jews and Christians, certainly affected relations in other ways. Jews neither actively joined in the physical persecutions of their oppressed neighbors nor aided them. However, it seems they did not remain completely uninvolved, for it appears, most poignantly from Aphrahat’s writings, that some Jews, perhaps capitalizing on the situation, actively pursued converts among the harassed Christians. Retaliating and protecting his flock from this real or perceived spiritual onslaught, Aphrahat wrote his nine demonstrations against the Jews. These demonstrations not only contain Aphrahat’s polemic against Jews and Judaism, but they record some of the opposition’s complaints as well. This window into one representation of Jewish anti-Christian arguments frames my discussion since it allows me to illuminate certain polemical rabbinic passages. Christianity’s beleaguered status in Persia caused some Christians to question their faith’s validity. According to Aphrahat, pursuing this very issue, some Jews suggested that the persecutions manifested God’s wrath against the Christians’ incorrect beliefs. (Perhaps not surprisingly, Aphrahat, as well as other Christian authors, accused the Jews similarly of bad faith as cause of their homelessness, after the Jerusalem temple was destroyed.) This 1

Parts of this chapter appeared in my article, “A Jewish-Christian Conversation in Fourth-Century Persian Mesopotamia JJS 47.1 (1996): 45–63.

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situation generated a debate between Jews and Christians on the “election of Israel.” Who were the chosen of God, the “true” children of Israel: the Jews or the Christians? Were the persecutions a sign of God’s wrath against the Christians? Which faith, Judaism or Christianity, was the faith through which one attained divine protection in this life and salvation in the next? (It was understood, of course, that the two were mutually exclusive; the two faiths could not both be true at the same time, yet as I have noted before even here these writers’ notions of “Judaism” and “Christianity” were not monolithic. Nor can “the Jews” or “the Christians” in any given text represent all Jews or Christians in Persia.) While some Jews held that God had never deserted them, other Christians believed that God had rejected all the Jews and turned to the Christians, the “people from among the peoples.” Aphrahat must support the idea that God did indeed reject the “Jews” and would not reverse this decision, no matter how much his parishoners suffered at the moment, in their own apparent rejection. Aphrahat opens his demonstration “On Persecution” with the following report: It happened one day that a man who is called “the sage of the Jews” asked me and said, “Yeshu who is called your teacher wrote to you thus: ‘If there shall be in you faith like one seed of mustard, you will say to this mountain, “move,” and it will move from before you; and even, “ lift up,” and it will fall into the sea, for it will obey you’” (Mt. 17.19; 21.21).2

Before one enters into the polemical content of this passage another question comes to mind: who is this sage? Would a Jew, or better what kind of Jew, let alone a sage, be familiar enough with Christian texts to quote the New Testament? Could the Jew simply be a rhetorical device on the part of Aphrahat, a foil to his argument? Perhaps. But as I demonstrated above, both Aphrahat and Ephrem seem to testify to an active Jewish mission, thereby

Demonstrations 21.1. All translations of Aphrahat are my own unless otherwise noted. 2

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providing Aphrahat with a potential living opponent.3 It is therefore just as likely that a Jewish missionary may have picked up a little New Testament in his dealings with converts and possible proselytes.4 Several New Testament teachings were common knowledge already in the second century as Celsus demonstrates in his writings against Christianity.5 ܺ Aphrahat’s term “sage” is ambiguous; ‫ ܰ ܳ ܐ‬hakhima, “sage” in Syriac is the same cognate of the Hebrew term ‫ חכם‬hakham, which the talmudic rabbis used to refer to themselves. Although Aphrahat does not call his opponent “rabbi”, the use of “sage” indicates that he was at least a learned man. Since ‫ רב‬rav, from which “rabbi” is derived, can mean “master” or “teacher,” Aphrahat may have wanted to avoid such associations of subservience, even though the term as such is not unknown in Syriac.6 Returning to Aphrahat, he adds: “And thus,” [the sage continued], “there is not among all of you one wise person, whose prayer is heard, and who asks God See chap. 1. While the rabbis do not regularly cite the New Testament in the talmudic literature, some passages suggest rabbinic acquaintance with at least the Gospels. Travers Herford has shown that some rabbis had some knowledge of the Jesus stories and perhaps some other New Testament writings or traditions. See his book, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash (London: Williams and Norgate, 1903), 35–96, 344–60. See also E.E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (Jerusalem: Magnus Press, 1979), 1:303. There, Urbach demonstrates not only that some rabbis had familiarity with parts of the New Testament, but that they knew enough to parody the Christian texts. For a more minimalist perspective see A. Schremer, Brothers Estranged: Heresy, Christianity, and Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). 5 See the many reference to the Gospels in Celsus, On the True Doctrine: A Discourse Against the Christians, trans. by R.J. Hoffmann (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978). I thank Robert Gregg for reminding me of this text. 6 ‫ ܰܪ ܰܒ‬raban, meaning “our master” is used as a title for priests and monks in Syriac, though this may be a later usage. 3 4

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that your persecutions should cease from you. Thus it is written to you in the word, “there is nothing which you will be unable to do.”

According to Aphrahat, a Jewish sage, whoever he may be, questions Aphrahat’s faith’s validity. If the Christians believed correctly, God would protect them. Yet, God persecutes them through the Persians; obviously God does not listen to their prayers for they are ill conceived. While the sage’s claim that the Christians have no faith, or that God does not hear their prayers, infuriates Aphrahat, he does not defend the Christian interpretation of the verse used by the Jew. Rather Aphrahat reverses the accusation: the Jews have the wrong faith and God no longer listens to their prayers. First, he goads his opponent into stating the Jewish point of view, then he mounts his counter attack. Aphrahat relates: Then even I asked him [about] the words from the law and the prophets. And I said to him, “you are convinced, even when you are dispersed, that God is with you.” He agreed with me, “God is with us, for did not God say to Israel, ‘Even in the land of your enemies I have not left you and I have not annulled my covenant with you?’” (Lev. 26.44).7

Leviticus 26.44, proffered by the sage to substantiate his view that God remembers or protects the Jews even in their dispersion, can be found in the rabbinic literature sustaining this very assertion. Moreover it supports the possibility that Aphrahat faced a live rabbinic opponent. The Palestinian targums to Leviticus and Midrash Esther Rabbah elaborate on this verse, connecting God’s promise to the historical situation. The midrash reads as follows: Samuel opened with the text: “And yet even then, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them, nor spurn them so as to destroy them, breaking my covenant with them; for I am the Lord their God” (Lev. 26.44). “I did not reject them” in Babylon; “nor did I spurn them” in Media, “To destroy them” in Greece, “breaking my covenant with them” when subject to the kingdom of wickedness [Rome]. “For I am 7

Demonstrations 21.2.

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the Lord their God,” in the time to come. R. Hiya taught, “I did not reject them” in the days of Vespasian; “Nor did I spurn them” in the days of Trajan. “To destroy them” in the days of Haman, “breaking my covenant with them” in the days of the Romans. “For I am the Lord their God” in the days of Gog and Magog.8

The Palestinian targums contain variations on this midrash in their translations of Leviticus 26.44: But in spite of that, when they are in the land of their enemies I shall not reject them in the land of Babylon and I shall not loath them in the Kingdom of Persia breaking my covenant with them. For I am the Lord your God.9 Yet in spite of this, when they are in the land of their enemies I will not reject them totally in the land of Babylonia, nor will I abandon them into the Kingdom of Media nor reject them in order to destroy them in the Kingdom of Greece, nor to change my covenant with them in the Kingdom of Edom [Rome], for I am the Lord their God during the days of Gog and Magog.10 Esther Rabbah, petihta 4. All translations of midrashic and talmudic literature are my own in consultation with the Soncino editions, unless otherwise indicated. 9 Targum Neophiti to Lev. 26.44. Translation from A. Diez Macho, Neophiti I, Leviticus (Madrid, Barcelona: Consejo superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, 1971). It is not clear which was composed first, Esther Rabbah, or the targums. Both the first part of Esther Rabbah and the Palestinian targums were probably written in Palestine between the second and fourth centuries. The second part of Esther Rabbah, however, is probably eleventh century Babylonian, although it clearly contains earlier compositions. The passage quoted above is from the first part of the midrash. In any case, this interpretation of Lev. 26.44 emerges as an early tradition that these texts carried throughout the centuries. 10 Targum Yerushalmi to Lev. 26.44. Translation from The Aramaic Bible, M. MacNamara, ed. Vol. 9: B. Grossfeld, trans., The Targum Onqelos to Leviticus and Numbers (Wilmington, Del., 1988). The Onqelos reads simply: Yet in spite of this, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not 8

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The Babylonian text repeats Samuel’s rendition, with only a few changes; the kingdoms enumerated represent the Greeks, Babylonians, Haman and the Persians, presenting a Babylonian rabbinic point of view emanating from the Persian context. Yet, a braita, a second or third century Palestinian text that was not included in the Mishnah, is added to the Babylonian passage: “I did not reject them” in the days of the Chaldeans when I appointed for them Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah, “Nor did I spurn them” in the days of the Greeks when I appointed for them Simon the Righteous and Hashmonai and his sons and Mattathias the High Priest; “To destroy them” in the days of Haman when I appointed for them Mordechai and Esther; “breaking my covenant with them” in the days of the Persians when I appointed for those of the house of Rabbi [Judah the Prince] and the Sages of the generations. “For I am the Lord their God” in the time to come, when there will be no nation or people who will be able to rule over them.11

The Leviticus verse, which in the biblical text has no historical context, is given one in the targums and midrash. God remains present in all those places where the Jews have lived and suffered (both biblical and post-biblical), and God will continue to be in all those places in the future—right up until the end of days. The first and third texts clearly reflect a Palestinian milieu since the final kingdom mentioned is Rome. While the Babylonian talmudic text does not mention Rome, but rather Persia, one might suppose that the Babylonian rabbis simply changed the text to support their political situation in Sasanian Persia. Especially noteworthy is the change in the sentence, “breaking my covenant with them” in the days of the Persians when I appointed for those of the house of Rabbi [Judah the Prince] and the Sages of the generations.” Rabbi Judah the Prince was a Jewish leader in third-century Palestine, under Roman hegemony. The text should read “in the days of the abandon them nor reject them so as to destroy them, altering My covenant with them, for I am the Lord their God. (See MacNamara, p.61, n.14 on the translation of “alter.”) 11 BT Megillah 11a.

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Romans.” And indeed in the medieval manuscripts the text has “Romans” instead of “Persians.” If then the medieval manuscripts attest to the passage referring to the Romans the text was probably only changed in the later printed editions in order not to offend the Christian authorities.12 Nevertheless the quotation of Samuel and the additional braita, both referring to Rome, were repeated in the Babylonian talmudic text. The historical contextualization of the biblical verse made an impression on the later rabbis as well. Furthermore, since Aphrahat’s sage quotes the same verse from Leviticus, he was obviously aware that some Jews used it to support the argument for God’s continued favor even in the Diaspora and simply reapplied it to his own situation. The Palestinian targums, from which perhaps this interpretation probably originated, were read and studied in the Babylonian schools and synagogues, while the Babylonian rabbinic writings absorbed and transmitted many early midrashic and targumic traditions, which perhaps appears here.13 Finally, this talmudic passage sums up the midrashic sentiment: “In every place that they are exiled to, the Shekhinah [God’s presence] is with them.”14 Even if Aphrahat imagines his Jewish interlocutor, Aphrahat would have had to acquire knowledge of these traditions from some Jewish source. It is possible that these traditions came from Jewish converts, or descendants of other “Jewish-Christian” groups among his congregants. The sage with whom Aphrahat presumably spoke, however, was most likely a real person, who trafficked in these traditions, either from having heard them read in the synagogue or passed on by some other Jew, or even rabbi. It seems more likely that Aphrahat would come into contact with these traditions, as he claims, through direct conversations with Jews, for he constantly reminds his readers that he writes in order to defend against the Jews, not other Christians. He writes in order to arm his

In the talmudic texts Rome often referred to Christiandom. I thank I. Gafni for pointing out the problem between the printed editions and the manuscripts. 13 See introduction, n.105–7. 14 BT Megillah 29a. 12

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fellow congregants with appropriate retorts should they encounter Jewish debaters or missionaries in their own towns. Continuing his discussion with the sage, Aphrahat counters his opponent’s argument that God remains always with the Jews, with a quote from Isaiah, which recalls the Matthean quote cited earlier by the sage. Moreover, Aphrahat’s interpretation of Isaiah parallels the Jew’s understanding of Matthew in its literariness: here, the Jews have no faith and are not protected by God. Aphrahat reads Isaiah (43.2–3) in the following manner: Against your words I also shall say to you, for Isaiah the prophet said to Israel speaking as if from the mouth of his God, “If you pass through the sea, I am with you, and rivers will not overflow you. And if you walk in fire, you will not be burned, and the flame will not scorch you, for the Lord your God is with you” (Is. 43.2–3). Thus there is not one upright, good and wise man among all your people, who can pass through the sea and live and not be drowned or pass through a river without it overflowing him. He should walk on fire and let us see whether he would not be burnt, or whether the flame would not scorch him.15

Aphrahat accuses the sage of understanding Isaiah too literally, while the sage challenges Aphrahat for interpreting Matthew in the same way. Aphrahat, on the one hand, cannot foresee Jews (or anyone for that matter, righteous or not) walking on fire unharmed, while the sage, on the other, cannot believe that a faithful Christian could move a mountain at will. Each understands his chosen proof-texts allegorically or spiritually but reads the other’s literally. This sort of rhetorical tactic pervades the polemical literature of this time. Accusing one’s opponent of “literal mindedness” allows one to show off one’s own interpretive prowess. The non-literal reader gains deeper understanding and hence comes closer to the truth. This tactic is often used defensively, even when one’s own reading proves equally literal. When questioned about the Isaiah text, the sage might have replied: 15

Demonstrations 21.2.

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And even the fire stayed away from Abraham, and also Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah, the fire stayed away from them, and the water stayed away from Israel, as it is said, “and the children of Israel walked on dry land” (Ex. 15.19). And even in the future to come also, as it is said, “because you will cross the water” (Is. 43.2).16

These rabbis read Isaiah 43.2–3, and like verses, as an affirmation that God had protected Jews in the past and as a promise that God would continue doing so in the future. The unpersecuted state of the Persian Jews was just one manifestation of God’s good will toward them. Thus this passage, read allegorically, might trump Aphrahat’s argument, if only for the writers themselves. In the end, Aphrahat and the sage seemingly agree to disagree. Aphrahat, at least, perceives that their belief systems remain too far apart. He writes: “Now if you should bring me an explanation, I shall not be persuaded by you as you will not accept from me the explanation of the words concerning which you questioned me.”17 Nevertheless, despite Aphrahat’s interpretation of Isaiah 43.2–3, these supposedly Jewish arguments continued to trouble many of his congregants. Writing on the issue of virginity, Aphrahat states: “I have written to you, my beloved, about virginity and sanctity because I have heard from [about?] a Jewish man who shamed one of our brethren [with one of his arguments] . . . for this, lo, I have written you this answer.”18 Aphrahat writes the Demonstrations to aid his people in refuting the Jewish claims, but also as a means to bolster his own. Constructing clear borders between “us” and “them,” particularly when the differences can appear fuzzy, solidifies group identity.

REJECTION Focusing on other prophetic verses, Aphrahat interprets God’s relationship with the biblical Israelites in opposition to his contemporary Jews: God rejected the “people” [biblical Israel/the Aggadat Bereshit, Buber p. 33. Demonstrations 21.2. 18 Demonstrations 18.12. 16 17

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Jews] and replaced them with the “peoples of the nations” [the Christians]. A Christian, however, who did not have the benefit of Aphrahat’s scriptural education, might be confused or even convinced by the Jewish interpretation (that God has punished, but not abandoned or rejected the Jews, descendents of ancient Israel). In order to combat this problem Aphrahat explains the situation to his readers: When he [God] saw that they [Israel] did not listen to him, he turned to the peoples [the Gentiles who become Christian], and said to them “Hear O peoples, and know O congregation which is among them, and you will hear, O land, in its fullest.” (Jer. 6.18–19). And when he saw that they [Israel/Jews] presumptuously rose against him and shamelessly responded to his word, then he left them as he had prophesied, and said, “I have left behind my house. I have abandoned my inheritance. I have given the beloved of my soul into the hands of his enemies. And in his place a speckled bird has become my inheritance” (Jer. 12.6–9). And this is the congregation that is from the peoples which has been gathered from among all the languages. So that you will know that truly he has left them Isaiah again said concerning them, “You have abandoned your people, the house of Jacob” (Is. 2.6).19

When the Israelites ceased listening to God, God turned to the peoples, the Gentiles, calling on them as a replacement for God’s originally chosen people. Aphrahat understands the “speckled bird of prey” to be the Christian community which came from the nations of the world, since this bird has many spots on its coat, each representing one of the many peoples that heard the divine call when God rejected the sinful Israelites.20 Both Aphrahat and

Demonstrations 16.2–3. The call of the Gentiles is a popular theme in Patristic literature based on the example of Paul in Romans 11.11. Paul, however, never claims that the Jews were rejected, in fact he insists on the opposite (Rom. 11.1). The Gentiles have been called to provoke the Jews into believing. A favorite verse of Aphrahat’s, Dt. 32.21, “I shall provoke you with a people which is not a people and with a foolish nation I shall anger you,” 19 20

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these rabbinic texts here claim lineage between biblical Israel and fourth-century Jews.21 Yet Aphrahat implies that the “people who come from the peoples” have replaced ancient Israel and hence are New Israel, the truly divinely blessed people. The “Jews” may be physically descendent of ancient Israel, but they have inherited only God’s rejection; because of ancient Israel’s disobedience, God chose another people, the Christians who thereby become spiritual heirs of ancient Israel’s original promise. Perhaps acknowledging this Christian interpretation and attempting to bolster their own position, the rabbinic passage on Isaiah 43 quoted above continues: And thus . . . even the peoples of the world ask to come under the wings of the Shekhinah [God’s presence] at the hour when Israel is doing God’s will.22

The “peoples of the world” might allude to converts, perhaps even Christian converts, “crossing over” to Judaism when that religion and its members appeared to be under divine protection. Or it may portray a rabbinic fantasy that some day all nations will recognize Israel’s special relation to God. These rabbis claim that God grants them protection because they continue to follow all the divine commandments.23 Thus, rather than rejection, the rabbis understand that when they fulfill God’s laws more perfectly, the

used by Paul to illustrate his point (Rom. 10.19; 1 Cor. 10.22), helps Aphrahat support his theory of rejection (Dem. 16.1). 21 Yet it should be noted that most rabbinic texts from this period avoid the term “Jew” when referencing the community. The rabbis are “sages” and the people they tend to remain “Israel.” The Hellenistic Greek texts begin using “Judean” rather than “Israel,” which becomes “Jew” in the Christian texts.” 22 Aggadat Bereshit, Buber, 33. 23 Since this midrash, however, cannot be dated exactly, for it was probably composed in Palestine, but redacted in Babylon a few centuries later, one can never be sure to whom the rabbis referred in this passage. For a more detailed discussion on the role of ritual law as part of the divine commandments in this debate, see chapter 4.

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peoples of the world will finally recognize Israel’s (the rabbinic Jews’) true chosenness. Retelling this debate in his “Demonstration on Persecution,” Aphrahat hoped to encourage his oppressed flock, for it exemplified the Jewish pressures that the Christians experienced during the Persian persecutions. Although Aphrahat did not wish to see his community physically destroyed by the Persians, at the same time he wanted to discourage religious defection from Christianity (and hence show a spiritual victory to Judaism—the eternal opponent.) Much to Aphrahat’s dismay the rabbis’ defense, that they are the true chosen people, appears to have been a particularly troublesome one among his congregants. In addition to the various exegetical proof-texts for such an assertion, the very fact that the Jews thrived while the Christians suffered supported the Jewish case. Nevertheless, this discussion suggests that some rabbis prepared responses to Christian accusations such as Aphrahat’s, if only to support themselves and their own interpretive project. The following midrash can be understood in light of the Christian argument that God had abandoned the Jews for their sins: The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to Hosea, “Your children have sinned,” to which he should have replied, “They are your children, they are the children of your favorite ones, they are the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; take pity on them.” It is not enough that he did not say thus, but he said to God: “Sovereign of the Universe! The whole world is yours; exchange them for a different nation.” Said the Holy One, Blessed be He, “What shall I do with this old man? I will order him: ‘Go and marry a harlot and conceive children of harlotry;’ and then I will order him: ‘Send her away from thy presence.’ If he will be able to send [her] away, so will I too send Israel away . . . .” After two sons and one daughter were born to him, the Holy One, Blessed be He, said to Hosea: “Should you not have learned from your teacher Moses, for as soon as I spoke with him he separated from his wife; so should you also part from her.” “Sovereign of the Universe!” pleaded he: “I have children by her, and I can neither expel her nor divorce her.” Said the Holy One, Blessed be He, to him: “Then if you, whose wife is

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a harlot and your children are the children of harlotry, and you do not know whether they are yours or they belong to others, yet you feel thus; then Israel who are my children, the children of my proven ones [‫ בחוני‬bahuni] the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; one of the four possessions which I have acquired in my world . . . Yet you say, ‘Exchange them for a different people!’” As soon as he [Hosea] perceived that he had sinned, he arose to supplicate mercy for himself . . . Then God began to bless them . . . and it shall come to pass that, “ . . . instead of that which was said unto them: “You are not my people,” it shall be said unto them: “You are the children of the living God” (Hos. 2.1).24

In this midrashic passage, based on Hosea 1, God teaches the prophet a lesson. The children of Israel have sinned and God calls on Hosea to reprimand them. Instead Hosea tells God to disown them. In anger God commands Hosea to marry a harlot (Hosea 1.2). After some years God commands Hosea to divorce his wife because of her licentious ways. Hosea replies that he cannot because he is her husband and father of her children. Likewise, God points out, is God to the children of Israel. How can Hosea suggest, therefore, that God divorce them just because they have sinned? The passage ends with a reaffirmation of God’s blessing upon the children of Israel, based on other verses from Hosea 2. While this particular passage exists in a shorter form in the Targum Jonathan, it appears only once in the Babylonian rabbinic literature.25 In tractate Pesahim the rabbis repeat the basic targumic 24

BT Pesahim 87a-b. In some biblical versions this last verse is Hosea

1.10. Targum Jonathan is a Palestinian targum to the prophets, one of the earliest translations of the Bible into Aramaic. It was most likely composed or collated over the centuries from the time of the Herodian dynasty to that of the Sasanian, although most of it was probably written around the time of the Bar Kokhba revolt in 133–135 CE. On the historical background of this targum see L. Smolar and M. Auerbach, “Studies in Targum Jonathan to the Prophets,” and P. Churgin, “Targum Jonathan to the Prophets,” both in Library of Biblical Studies, ed., 25

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plot line, but embellish it with other scriptural citations that support the midrash’s theme. The repetition of this older Palestinian interpretation may give a clue to its importance. The rabbis, needing a strong defense against Christian claims, might have recalled this particular midrash at this time (mid-fourth to fifth centuries) because the Christians declared that God had rejected the Jews and had chosen a new people—the Christians.26 The Jewish belief, emphatically repeated here, is that no matter how bad the Jews have been, God will never desert them. This is not to say that they have free reign to sin, but that whatever they do, God will forgive them in the end. God is joined with Israel for better or for worse because they, the Jews—the true Israel—are God’s children through the divine promise to Abraham. Hosea, in this passage, at first suggests to God, that if Israel has been unfaithful, God should simply give them up and chose another. This is exactly what some Christians, like Aphrahat, say that God did: God rejected Israel and chose the Christians, who are true Israel because they answered God’s “call.” God chastises Hosea demonstrating that if Hosea, whose children are the offspring of harlotry, refuses to send away his own children, how can God? Israel, the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are God’s children and God cannot reject them—no matter what. When Hosea begs for forgiveness, God instructs him to ask forgiveness for all of Israel, which God grants in answer to Hosea’s reworded prayers—blessing the children of Israel and reaffirming their chosenness. The original targum text may actually reflect an earlier conflict with the Christians in second-century Palestine, when some early Christians first struggled to define themselves as separate and H.M. Orlinsky (New York: Ktav Publishing, 1983), 63–148, 237–279. See also the targum text of A. Sperber, The Bible in Aramaic (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1962), vol. 3: Targum Jonathan, the latter prophets, 385–6. Smolar and Auerbach see this whole passage as a halakhic discussion of proper marriage patterns. God reprimanded Hosea for thinking that God could divorce the children of Israel, 42. 26 See introduction, n.105–7 on the use of Palestinian midrashim in Babylonian literature.

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opposed to “the Jews.” Eugene Mihaly has demonstrated, in reference to a discussion in Sifre27 on Deuteronomy concerning the election of Israel, that the second and third century Palestinian rabbis did polemicize against Christianity in their writings.28 The particular selection that Mihaly interprets presents a refutation of the Christian claim that God rejected the Jews because they were unworthy. The rabbis answer that God cannot and would not do such a thing, because of God’s promise to Abraham. In fourth-century Persia, Aphrahat argues, citing the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, that the sinful Israelites/Jews had lost their chosenness. He writes, “And when [God] saw that they [the Jews] presumptuously rose against him and shamelessly responded to his word, then [God] left them as [Jeremiah] had prophesied.” The Babylonian Talmud represents this midrash on Hosea, which was probably composed in the same milieu as the one cited by Mihaly, in response to this particularly Persian Christian anti-Jewish polemic. These Babylonian rabbis, searching for supporting material to prove their assertions of validity in the face of Christian criticism, re-use this earlier text, further strengthening it with other Sifre is a tannaitic midrash probably edited in the third century. This is the text of Piska 312: For the portion of the Lord is His people (Dt. 32.9). A parable: A king had a field that he leased to tenants. When the tenants began to steal from it, He took it away from them and leased it to their children. When the children began to act worse than their fathers, he took it away from them and gave it to (the original tenants’) grandchildren. When these too became worse than their predecessors, a son was born to him. He then said to the grandchildren, “Leave my property. You may not remain therein. Give me back my portion, so that I may repossess it.” Thus also, when our father Abraham came into the world, unworthy (descendants) issued from him, Ishmael and all of Keturah’s children. When Isaac came into the world, unworthy (descendants) issued from him, Esau and all the princes of Edom, and they became worse than their predecessors. When Jacob came into the world, he did not produce unworthy (descendants), rather all his children were worthy, as it said, And Jacob was a perfect man, dwelling in tents (Gen. 25.27). 28 Eugene Mihaly, “A Rabbinic Defense of the Election of Israel,” HUCA 35 (1964): 105. 27

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biblical references. While Aphrahat claims that God disinherited the Jews for their disobedience, the rabbis insist that despite the Jews’ sinfulness, God cannot replace them for God’s promise to Israel is irrevocable. In response to Hosea’s suggestion of exchanging the sinful Jews for another nation, God answers, ‘Then if you, whose wife is a harlot and your children are the children of harlotry, and you do not know whether they are yours or they belong to others, yet you feel thus; then Israel who are my children, the children of my proven ones, the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob…”

how can God disinherit his own children? The idea that God, after his covenant with Abraham, would even consider going back on his word was absurd in the eyes of the rabbis.

THE INGATHERING AND REDEMPTION Intimately connected with their understanding of chosenness, many Jews believed that God would manifest divine love by gathering the exiles and returning them to a rebuilt Jerusalem—just as the prophets foretold. Aphrahat, using the example of Sodom and Gomorrah—two cites that were destroyed because of their sins— explains that Jerusalem can never be rebuilt (nor will the Jews return there) for Jerusalem’s sins were worse than Sodom and Gomorrah’s. He writes: I have written you this whole explanation, because the Jews boast: “we are destined to be gathered together.” Now if Sodom, whose iniquity was not so great as that of Jerusalem, and until now has not been settled, and if we say thus, that it will never be settled, Jerusalem whose iniquity was greater than that of Sodom and her daughters, how will it ever be settled?”29

Aphrahat strengthens his argument that God has rejected the Jews, as is manifested through the destruction of Jerusalem, by claiming that God will not gather in the Jews since God has yet to restore 29

Demonstrations 21.5.

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Sodom and Gomorrah, which God destroyed many centuries before Jerusalem. In addition Aphrahat substantiates this claim with scriptural prooftexts, placing his teaching within the debate against the Jewish sage: And again I [Aphrahat] questioned him [the Jewish sage] concerning another passage written in Ezekiel in which he said to Jerusalem: “Sodom and her daughters will be built as before and you and your daughters shall be as before” (Ez. 16.55). Now, explain to me this word. He began to make a defense, and said to me, this is what God said by the hand of the prophet to Jerusalem: “Sodom and her daughters shall be built as before, and you and your daughters will be as before. This is the force of the word: Sodom and her daughters will be settled as before and shall be subjugated by Israel, and Jerusalem and her daughters will be in the statelessness of dominion as before.30

In this passage Aphrahat leads his opponent to attempt a textual interpretation of Ezekiel 16.55, but he then quickly cuts down the sage’s exegesis. Aphrahat first discusses the sage’s literal but “misguided” interpretation before he explains his own allegorical and correct one. This Jewish exegesis, that Jerusalem, Sodom and Gomorrah will someday be rebuilt, with Jerusalem as the glorious chief city, can be found in the rabbinic literature, once again supporting the argument that Aphrahat encountered a living Jewish tradition. One must note that because the rabbinic text is not as easily dated as Aphrahat’s text, I am not suggesting that Aphrahat knew the sage responsible for the statement above, but rather that he transmits a tradition that also found expression in the rabbinic texts. If Aphrahat can be believed, Aphrahat learned of this tradition through conversation with a Jew. The rabbinic version reads as follows: Even Sodom and Gomorrah will be built in the time to come, as it is said: (Ez. 16.55) “And your sister Sodom and her daughters will return to their former state “ . . . that God will build Jerusalem

30

Demonstrations 21.3.

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with sapphires, as it says: (Is. 54.11): “I will lay carbuncles as your building stones and will make your foundations out of sapphires.”31

In contradistinction to Aphrahat, this sage understands not only that God will rebuild Sodom and Gomorrah, but that God will also place a rebuilt Jerusalem to reign over them, for that is the “former state” of those cities. Aphrahat counters this sort of rabbinic explanation with his own exegesis. According to his reading Jerusalem will never be rebuilt since Sodom has never been rebuilt, even though that city’s sins were fewer than Jerusalem’s. He explains: From the beginning of the passage until the end the entire passage was spoken in wrath. For he said to Jerusalem, “As I live, says the Lord God, Sodom and her daughters did not do that which you and your daughters have done” (Ez. 16.48). And he said to her,” Be ashamed and receive your ignominy, for you have overcome your sisters in your sins, and they are more righteous than you” (Ez. 16.52). Therefore he said that Sodom and her daughters are more righteous than Jerusalem and her daughters, and Jerusalem has overcome Sodom in her sins, is it not the case that when Israel will be gathered together [!!], its settlement should be in Sodom and Gomorrah?!32

This passage refutes the two Jewish claims with one fell swoop: 1) that Jerusalem will be rebuilt someday and 2) that God will gather the Jews from their exile and return them to Jerusalem. Since Sodom and Gomorrah, the relatively less sinful cities, have Exodus Rabbah 15.21. Demonstrations 21.3. See also Mt. 10.15. In this section and the one just before this one Aphrahat questions the sage as a teacher would a student, leading the student on to conclude in opposition to what he, the student, originally set out to state. This is a tactic often used in debate, especially Jewish-Christian debates. One side tries to show not just the incorrectness of the other’s position but also its improper methodology. See for instance, Justin Martyr’ Dialogue with Trypho, in which both Trypho and Justin accuse each other of taking verses out of context (chap. 65) and being too selective in the use of quotations (chap. 27). 31 32

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not been rebuilt, Aphrahat argues, neither will Jerusalem, the more sinful metropolis. However for argument’s sake, if the Jews should be ingathered anywhere, it would be to those iniquitous cities where they will be subjugated to others forever. Aphrahat implies that if Jerusalem should be rebuilt it would be inhabited by God’s true chosen people, the Christians, who would rule over the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Jews. Nevertheless, Aphrahat does not pursue this heavy theological thought further. A rebuilt Christian Jerusalem remains as implausible as a Jewish one.33 While Jews did not usually pin their hopes of an ingathering on their interpretation of Ezekiel 16, some nevertheless understood the biblical prophecies of an ingathering and return to Jerusalem to be an unfulfilled future event divinely promised and guaranteed. The biblical texts, testifying to God’s love, bolstered Jewish hopes of physical and spiritual redemption from exile. For example, three such verses were linked together in the following midrash which illuminates some rabbinic expectations: For Sennacherib was the lord of the world, and used to exile some to one place and some to another. He exiled Israel to Babylon and brought those who were in Babylon to here. In this world they were exiled because of their sins and scattered to the gates of this country. In the time to come, however, “[e]ven if your outcasts are at the corners of the sky from there the Lord your God will gather you, from there he will fetch you” (Dt. 30.4).34 “And God will gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth” (Is. 11.12). Isaiah in the same strain says, “And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come with shouting to Zion,

Aphrahat, like many pre-Constantinian Christian writers, never foresaw a physical Christian Jerusalem on the site of the old Judean capital. Aphrahat however, technically was a contemporary of Constantine, nonetheless he reflects not a bit on the possibility of a Christian city. 34 It is not clear from these rabbinic texts whether these rabbis expected a full physical redemption or something else “in the time to come” when the Messiah should arrive. 33

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crowned with joy everlasting. They shall attain joy and gladness, while sorrow and sighing flee” (Is. 35.10).35

Without much extra commentary these rabbis demonstrate their hope for a future redemption/ingathering. Someday, God, like Sennacherib who exiled the Northern Israelites in the first place, will gather together and return the dispersed and long-suffering Israelites/Jews to Jerusalem. In another passage other rabbis defend their hopes of an ingathering with a verse from Ezekiel: “Why does the [blessing of the] ingathering come after the blessing of the years [in the prayer of the 18 benedictions]? For it is written [Ez. 36.8], ‘But you, O mountains of Israel, shall yield your produce and bear your fruit for My people Israel, for their return is near.’”36 Furthermore, building on the concept of the Shekhinah who resides with Israel—even in exile—another midrash relates: It has been taught: R. Simon b. Yohai said: Come and see how beloved are Israel before God, in that to every place which they were exiled the Shekhinah was with them . . . And when they will be redeemed in the future, the Shekhinah will be with them, as it says, “The Lord your God will return [with] your captivity,” (Dt. 30.3) this teaches us that the Holy one, Blessed be He, will return with them from the places of exile.37

The full text lists the places of exile, both biblical and post-biblical, indicating that the rabbis believed that the prophecies were yet to be fulfilled. Even the targums reflect the prevalent belief that the Numbers Rabbah 23.14. While this midrash was not edited until the 11th century, it contains texts from earlier periods. While this particular passage is most likely Palestinian, it is also possible that the tradition was known in Babylonia in the years before the text was edited. It is also possible that in the later editing Sennacherib and Nebuhadnezzer have been confused, because it was the latter who exiled the Judeans to Babylonia. 36 BT Megillah 17b. The implication is that the land has to produce fruit and food for the returning exiles, hence one should pray first for the land and then for the ingathering. 37 BT Megillah 29a. Other citations on the ingathering can be found in the Mekhilta Beshalah 14.31, Genesis Rabbah 44.23 and Leviticus Rabbah 7.3. 35

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redemption will happen some time in the future. Translating Isaiah 56.8, which in the Hebrew reads: “Thus declares the Lord God, who gathers the dispersed of Israel, I will gather still more to those already gathered,” the targum states, “Thus says the Lord God who is about to gather the outcast of Israel, I will bring near their exiles and gather them.” Elsewhere the rabbis proclaim: “Great is the gathering of the exiles as the day that the heavens and earth were created;”38 and “great is a day of rain as the gathering of the exiles.”39 Against this assertion—of a future redemption—Aphrahat insists that the prophesies of which these Jews speak have already been fulfilled: I shall persuade you that Israel was saved two times, once from Egypt, the second time from Babylonia. For Isaiah said, “The Lord will stretch his hand a second time to acquire the remnant of his people that remains in the land of Assyria, Egypt, Tyre, Sidon, Hamath, and from the distant islands” (Is. 11.11). Now, if they were destined to be gathered together and redeemed, why did Isaiah say that the Lord would stretch out his hand a second time and acquire the remnant of his people that remained? If there were still a salvation for them, Isaiah should have said, “God will stretch out his hand a third time to acquire the remnant of his people,” and not say “a second time.”40

Aphrahat, with the support of Isaiah 11.11 (“The Lord will stretch out his hand a second time”), claims that the second redemption has already taken place—when the Jews returned from Babylonia. Here lies the basic difference in Jewish and Christian interpretation of future redemptions as understood from Isaiah 11. The rabbis, leaning on Isaiah 11.12 (“Even if your outcasts are at the ends of the earth . . . the Lord your God will gather you”) insist that the second redemption/ingathering has yet to come. The return from Babylonia was not a true redemption, comparable to the Exodus BT Pesahim 88a. BT Ta’anit 8b. 40 Demonstrations 19.7. 38 39

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from Egypt (the first redemption), leaving the second redemption predicted by Isaiah sometime in the future. The following midrash solves the inherent implication of Isaiah 11.11—that the second redemption was in the past in this way: R. Nahman son of R. Hisda gave the following exposition. Why is it written, “Thus said the Lord to his anointed one, [‫למשיחו‬ le-meshiho] to Cyrus, ‘whose right hand I have grasped?’” (Is. 45.1). Now was Cyrus the Messiah? [No!] Rather the Holy One, Blessed be He, said to the Messiah: I have a complaint on your behalf against Cyrus. I said, “He shall build my house and gather my exiles,” (Is. 45.13) but he [Cyrus] merely said, “Whosoever there is among you of all this people let them go up “ (Ezra 1.3).41

Isaiah 45.1 appears to label Cyrus as God’s Messiah, or messenger. Yet, the rabbis claim that he could not have been the Messiah—the redeemer of the people—because he did not fulfill the messianic requirements: leading all the people himself back to Jerusalem, and ingathering all of the exiles no matter where they were. Therefore the rabbis understood from this verse that God was talking to the Messiah-to-come about Cyrus at the time of the Babylonian return. The second physical ingathering, which will be lead by the Messiah, would include all Jews wherever they lived. Cyrus, the instigator of the Babylonian return, was not the prophesied redeemer because he did not lead the Jews out of exile—as Moses did—but merely permitted them to leave. God said, “gather my exiles,” but all Cyrus said was, “whosoever there is among you of all this people let him go up.” Nor did all of the Jews return from Babylonia, thereby eliminating the possibility of a full ingathering. Therefore the second redemption, as predicted in Isaiah, has not yet happened.42

41

BT Megillah 12a. This particular midrash is not found anywhere

else. The rabbis’ ambiguous phrase that the ingathering will occur “in the time to come” (as used in the midrash on Sennacherib) leaves some question as to whether or not they meant some time in this life, or in the next. It is even harder to determine to which Aphrahat alludes, this life or the next, but since he does not connect the Messiah to the Jewish hopes 42

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In conclusion, Aphrahat can only give some support from the New Testament, since such proof-texts would be wasted in disputation with Jews who do not believe in that text’s sanctity. Aphrahat’s declared purpose, however, is not only to provide material for the debate but also to supply moral support for the contestants: This short record I have written to you concerning the peoples, because the Jews boast and say, “we are the people of God and the children of Abraham.” But we shall listen to John [the Baptist] who said, when they boasted [saying] “we are the children of Abraham,” then John said to them “you should not be haughty and say, Abraham is father to us, for from these very rocks can God raise up children for Abraham” (Mt. 3.9).43

John the Baptist refutes the Jews’ exclusive claim to chosenness and to Abraham, as reflected in the Hosea targum above: “They are Thy children, they are the children of Thy favoured ones, they are the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” Hence, a believing Christian should be wary of such Jewish claims. The blessing that is inherent in chosenness, and often tagged “holy” according to some Jews (and contested by other Christians) is the subject of the next chapter. *** Many of Aphrahat’s arguments, while grounded in New Testament doctrine, go beyond the basics found in the Gospels and Paul. God’s growing disfavor towards the Jews for their hypocrisy and disbelief in the Gospels becomes outright rejection of the Jews in Aphrahat.44 While other early Christian thinkers develop similar rejectionist theologies, both Justin Martyr and Irenaeus, for

of an ingathering one might conclude that he understands the Jews to believe in a physical redemption in this life. 43 Demonstrations 16.8. 44 See n.19-20 above.

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instance, address the issue in their writings,45 we do not know whether Aphrahat studied any other patristic traditions. His isolation and possible lack of language skills probably prevented him from reading widely. His superb knowledge of the Hebrew Bible, however, greatly compensated him. While discussing themes that many other Christian writers address, Aphrahat expertly manipulates the texts outshining other authors with his command of Scripture. Where other writers can support their arguments with one or two Hebrew Bible testimonies, Aphrahat marshals five or ten if not more. Almost all of Aphrahat’s proof-texts come from the Hebrew Bible, for good reason, since that text was the one scipture that Jews and Christians shared, but interpreted differently. In the face of Jewish biblical exegesis, New Testament proof-texts could not compel wavering Christians who were sympathetic to the Jewish interpretations. His ability to marshal the supporting Hebrew texts proves essential in this polemic against the Jews. Yet the similarities between some of Aphrahat’s interpretations and those of some rabbinic texts proves even more striking. While Aphrahat finds certain “Jewish” exegesis distressing, where he seemingly unknowingly actually shares similar interpretative traditions (as we shall see in the next chapter), Aphrahat shows no disdain or ambivalence. Since it is not possible to establish precedence in every case one can only suggest that many of these interpretations developed side by side in a shared milieu. For instance, the scriptural basis for Aphrahat’s assertion that the Jews unrighteously argue that the anti-Christian persecutions manifest a sign of God’s wrath against them (and hence a sure sign of the Jews’ chosenness)—since the Jews had been oppressed in other times—finds its parallel in rabbinic midrash. This passage, which serves as exegetical proof for the rabbis that God rewards the persecuted Jewish righteous, changes focus drastically when Aphrahat adds his own twist: the most righteous Dialogue with Trypho 119. Justin allows for some Jews to remain “unrejected” as long as they believe in Jesus; See also Irenaeus, Against Heresies 1.36.2. 45

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persecuted person (in his opinion) was Jesus. The rabbi’s point of departure is Ecclesiastes 3.15, “God seeks the persecuted.” The midrash explains: The Holy One, Blessed be He, demands the blood of the persecuted from the persecutors . . . Abel was persecuted by Cain and God chose Abel . . . Noah was persecuted by his generation and God did not chose anyone but Noah . . . Abraham was persecuted by Nimrod and God chose Abraham . . . Isaac was persecuted by the Philistines and God chose Isaac . . . Jacob was persecuted by Esau and God chose Jacob . . . Joseph was persecuted by his brothers and God chose Joseph.46

The passage continues with the persecutions of Moses, David, Saul and lastly the people of Israel who were persecuted by the nations of the world, but are still the chosen of God. Aphrahat’s rendition includes other Israelite “persecutees” like Joshua, Hezekiah, Elijah and Mordechai, but compares each one to Jesus, who outshines them all. The midrash’s theme, supporting the idea that God cherishes the persecuted righteous, especially among Israel (paralleling the idea that God protects his people always) was probably composed at a time when the Jews were oppressed, perhaps under the Romans. Aphrahat re-uses the theme here to encourage his people during their crisis. Modeling themselves on Jesus’ example Christians should accept their suffering and potential martyrdom. Lastly, consoling his congregation he writes, These records, I have written to you my beloved, because of Jesus who was persecuted and the righteous who were persecuted, so that those who are persecuted today may be comforted—those who are persecuted on account of Jesus who was persecuted.47

For both these rabbis and Aphrahat, to be righteous yet persecuted or even persecuted because of one’s righteousness means

46 47

Leviticus Rabbah 27.5. Demonstrations 21.21.

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nonetheless to be loved by God. True faith gains tough love now and sure salvation later. These rabbinic anti-Christian remarks on the subject of chosenness form a polemic in answer to Christian anti-Jewish claims—and vice versa. While Aphrahat asserts that God has rejected the Jews, these rabbis demonstrate that God cannot and will not desert Israel/the Jews. While some Jews hope for a final redemption, Aphrahat explains that they have lost all chances for an ingathering due to their sins. Finally, where some Jews believed that the anti-Christian persecutions manifested God’s wrath against the Christians, Aphrahat protests that the persecutions have no such meaning since Jews have also been oppressed in their day. In the next chapter we will explore more deeply those interpretive traditions which Aphrahat shares with the rabbinic text as a means to discovering their shared literary/cultural milieu.48 It is perhaps this ambivalently acknowledged (or not) shared tradition that provokes the polemic in the first place. How does one prove one’s differences and distinguishing markers when the “opponent” seems so similar? The answer, on some level is part and parcel of the history of early Syriac Christianity and rabbinic Judaism, to which Aphrahat proves a key witness.

I further develop this notion of a “shared” interpretive tradition in the next chapter, but also in my book, Hermeneutics of Holiness, which grew out of the next chapter. 48

CHAPTER 3. MARRIAGE AND CELIBACY IN JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN TRADITION1 Celibacy or procreation, which did God prefer? While many fourth-century Christians claimed the former and Jews generally the latter, the dividing line between the two was not always clearly defined. While many fourth-century rabbinic Jews promoted marriage and progeny almost exclusively, the celibate tradition, upon which these Christians based their doctrine, had deep Jewish roots. In Aphrahat’s day, however, the rabbis still argued over the place of asceticism in their lives, while many Christian leaders advocated the continent life over conjugal unions at least for the leadership. Nevertheless, marriage, an ancient human institution, could not be displaced—even in Christian circles. Both rabbis and church leaders appreciated the ascetic values but came down on opposite sides of the line in practice.

1

The base argument of this chapter, that Moses modeled an ideal leader for both the rabbis and Aphrahat, has travelled with me for many years after I first wrote this dissertation. Thus I further develop, evolve, nuance and transform this theme and argument in several different places: 1) “Sexuality and Holiness: Semitic Christian and Jewish Conceptualizations of Sexual Behavior,” VC 54:3 (2000): 375–395; 2) “Zipporah’s Complaint: Moses is Not Conscientious in the Deed! Exegetical Traditions of Moses’ Celibacy,” in The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. Adam H. Becker and Annette Yoshiko Reed (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 283– 306; and 3) Hermeneutics of Holiness: Ancient Jewish And Christian Notions Of Sexuality And Religious Community (Oxford University Press 2010), 175–210.

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THE EXAMPLE OF MOSES For many rabbis as well as for Aphrahat, as we shall see, the prototypical celibate biblical personage was Moses, because when he was called to serve God he separated from his wife. The earliest record of this tradition is found in Philo: ... first he [Moses] had to be clean, as in soul so also in body, to have no dealings with any passion, purifying himself from all the calls of mortal nature, food, drink and intercourse with women. This last he disdained for many a day, almost from the time when, possessed by the spirit, he entered on his work as a prophet, since he held it fitting to hold himself always in readiness to receive oracular messages.2

The rabbinic texts build on this first century idea, adding that it was Moses’ choice to be celibate before God. Though God afterwards approved, God had not required it from the start. The Avot de Rabbi Nathan relates: This is one of the things that Moses did on his own and his opinion matched the opinion of God ... He separated from his wife, and his opinion agreed with the opinion of God. How so? [Moses] said, “What if Israel, who are not sanctified except for the hour, and are not called but in order to receive upon themselves the ten commandments from Sinai (for the Holy One, Blessed be He, said to me, ‘go to the people and sanctify them today and tomorrow’); and I, who am called to this every day at every hour and I do not know when God will speak with me—in the morning or in the night—is it not more important for me to separate from my wife?” And his opinion agreed with the opinion of God ... R. Yehudah ben Batira said ... as it is said (Num. 12.8): “Mouth to mouth I will speak to him,”

Philo’s Life of Moses, trans. Colson (Loeb, 1935), 2:68–69. Geza Vermes, Jesus the Jew (London: Collins, 1973), 101 uses these same sources to support his conclusion that Jesus based his celibate life style on what he had experienced as a Jew. 2

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mouth to mouth I said to him separate from your wife” and he separated . . . and his opinion agreed with the opinion of God.3

This midrash is based on Exodus 19.14–15 in which Moses tells the people to purify themselves before God by washing their clothes and refraining from sexual intercourse.4 In actuality God instructs Moses to tell the people to purify themselves by washing only; it is Moses who dictates the forced separation between the men and women. Building on this concept of adding on to God’s words, this text relates how Moses then decides that if the people must remain celibate for three days in order to be present at one divine audience, Moses should be prepared always through permanent sexual renunciation so as to be perpetually at the ready for God’s command. According to this text God retroactively approves of Moses’ sexual continence.

Avot de Rabbi Natan 2.3. All translations of rabbinic literature are my own, leaning on the Soncino translations, unless otherwise noted. This text was chosen for its wording, while it is not necessarily the latest, nor the earliest version, it still transmits tannaitic traditions. This midrash also appears twice in Exodus Rabbah 19.3, 47.3, BT Shabbat 87a and Yevamot 62a with slight variations. The passage from the Hosea Targum, quoted in the previous chapter also refers to this tradition of Moses’ chosen celibacy. It is also interesting to note here that the rabbi cited is the same Rabbi Ben Batira from Nisibis noted in chapter 1. 4 There is some confusion about the correct translation of the Hebrew, ‫ קדש‬qds, in this passage. Most English translations render it as “consecrate” or “sanctify,” but it probably should read “purify.” For many later readers “sanctify” and “purify” come to mean the same thing, probably in part dependent on this passage. In the case of these rabbinic texts and Aphrahat I think there is also some slippage between the ܶ meanings. Surely for Aphrahat ‫ ܐܬ ܰ ܰ ܫ‬etqaddash means “sanctify” more than it means “purify,” but I think he acknowledges the relationship. The rabbinic texts, on the other hand, play fast and easy with the two different connotations. The notion that sexual abstinence creates purity relates to the Levitical texts in which semen is considered impure (Lev. 15.16–18.) For a more in-depth discussion and appropriate bibliography on purity and sanctity, see my book, Hermeneutics of Holiness, esp. chapters 1 and 7. 3

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While abstaining from procreation is elsewhere widely condemned by the rabbis as will be demonstrated below, the tradition of Moses as celibate prophet appears in a number of places. In addition to the passage above there is the following from Sifre: From where did Miriam know that Moses had abstained from procreation? She saw Zipporah, who was not dressed up in the ornaments of women. She said to [Zipporah], “what is wrong such that you are not dressed up in the ornaments of women?” [Zipporah] said to her, “your brother is not conscientious in the deed.” Thus Miriam knew .... Rabbi Nathan said [Miriam knew] because she was standing at Zipporah’s side when it was said that ‘the youth ran’ [to tell Moses that the spirit had rested on Eldad and Medad] (Num. 11.27) and she heard Zipporah say “Oy for the wives of those men!” And thus Miriam knew.5

Here the rabbis comment on Moses’ continence, from his wife Zipporah’s point of view. Zipporah, lamenting the loss of sexual intimacy with her husband, no longer cares for her outward appearances. When she hears that two other men have received God’s call she weeps for their wives as well. This passage was probably composed no earlier than the mid-third century, since Sifre to Numbers is a tannaitic work.6 The first rabbinic passage cited, however, appears in a number of places in the rabbinic literature both Palestinian as well as Babylonian indicating wider popularity. Aphrahat, writing in the mid-fourth century possibly harassed by persecuting Persians, who were equally offended by Christian continence, also utilizes this ancient Jewish tradition to support his chosen way of life. His terminology appears strikingly similar to the rabbinic texts: Sifre to Numbers 99. Hananel Mack, The Aggadic Midrash Literature (Tel Aviv: MOD Books, 1989), 12–13. Boyarin, Carnal Israel: Reading Sex in Talmudic Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 161–162, points out that this particular passage serves two exegetical functions. On the one hand it resolves a biblical textual problem (what exactly did Miriam complain about concerning Moses), and on the other it supports an ideological position that opposes celibate marriage. 5 6

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For Moses was speaking and God answered him with a voice. Israel stood on that day in terror, fear and trembling. They fell on their faces, for they were unable to bear it. And they said to Moses “Let not God speak with us so, that we may not die” (Ex. 20.19). O hard-hearted one! Who is vexed by these things and stumbles! If the people of Israel, with whom God spoke only one hour,7 were unable to hear the voice of God until they had sanctified themselves three days, even though they did not go up the mountain and did not go on the dense cloud; how then could Moses, the man, the prophet, the enlightened eye of all the people, who stood all the time before God, and spoke with him mouth to mouth?8 How was it possible that he be living in the married state?9

Aphrahat’s Moses passage parallels the rabbinic both in theme and language. First and foremost, Moses, after he was “called” by God to lead the Israelites and receive the Torah, separated from his wife. He sacrifices his married life for his special relationship with God. While both these rabbis and Aphrahat may have based their exegesis on Philo, or on a popular tradition of Moses’ continence, the similarities between the passages go beyond Philo. The exegetical hook, extended by both the rabbis and Aphrahat, hangs on Exodus 19.14–15 in which Moses commands the Israelites to purify themselves, a status achieved by washing their clothing (to rid it of semen pollution) and remaining continent for three days (so as not to produce more semen pollution) before they should Aphrahat uses the same words: the Hebrew is: ‫ לפי שעה‬le fi sha’a, the Syriac: ‫ ܰܕ ܳ ܐ ܳ ܳ ܐ ܰܒ ܽ ܕ‬de hada sha’a balhud . 8 The Hebrew is: ‫ פה אל פה‬peh el peh, the Syriac is: ‫ܽ ܡ‬ ‫ ܶ ܽ ܡ‬min pum la pum. Although this phrase is biblical (Num. 12.8), and therefore Aphrahat may have the wording from the Peshitta, it is the fact that both the rabbis and Aphrahat reference the same phrase that matters. In addition the texts in BT Shabbat, Yevamot, and in Exodus Rabbah all include another citation from Dt. 5.28: “And you stood here with me,” which is reflected in Aphrahat’s phrase, “stood all the time before God.” 9 Demonstrations 18.5. All translations of Aphrahat are my own unless otherwise noted. This is an unusual use of this text by Christians, perhaps also alluded to by Clement in Stromateis 3.7.57. 7

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hear the divine word spoken at Sinai. These exegetes all assume that if the people of Israel, for an hour “interview” with God, needed to purify themselves (through sexual abstinence) for three days, shouldn’t Moses, who was constantly called to talk to God, remain perpetually celibate? Aphrahat and the rabbis agree on this point. Second, two phrases parallel each other in the Hebrew and Syriac: “mouth to mouth” and “only one hour” implying perhaps that the rabbis and Aphrahat shared, borrowed or copied the same tradition.10 But here the two part ways, understandings and ultimate conclusions. While the rabbinic text does not seem to draw any general conclusions for rabbinic behavior from Israel’s temporary celibacy or Moses’ special category celibacy, Aphrahat, applies Israel’s and the prophet’s examples to everyday Christian life: And if with Israel, that had sanctified itself for only three days, God spoke, how much better and desirable are those who all their days are sanctified, alert, prepared and standing before God. Should not God all the more love them and his spirit dwell among them . . . ?11

God speaks to those who are pure/sanctified. Moses, as well as all of Israel at Sinai, become here the ideal all Christians should strive to match because Moses (building on the temporary requirements of Israel at Sinai) chose to remain pure continuously so that he could always be standing before God. Celibacy creates purity and purity provides access to God. Aphrahat, like many Christians, thus places the continent life on a higher spiritual plain than marriage. Celibacy as a means to temporary purity, a tradition with deep Jewish roots, becomes complete sexual renunciation for Aphrahat’s understanding of Christian life. While prophethood and celibacy go hand in hand for both these rabbis and Aphrahat, there the consensus stops. Whereas these rabbis willingly made exceptions

10 11

See notes 7-8 above. Demonstrations 18.5.

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for extraordinary people, such as the prophet Moses, certain Christians (especially the leadership) attempted to emulate them.12 Celibacy uplifts the individual before God for, according to Aphrahat, it fosters piety. When a man leaves his mother and father he must forget them and cleave to his wife, but if a man never leaves his spiritual father, God, or spiritual mother, the Holy Spirit, he has no other distractions. “This is the explanation,” he writes, “[w]hen a man has not yet taken a wife, he loves and honors God, his father and the Holy Spirit his mother, and has no other love. But when a man takes a wife he abandons his father and his mother, namely those things which are mentioned above, and his mind is ensnared by this world. His heart, and thought are enticed and are turned aside from God into this world. He adores and loves it as a man adores the wife of his youth, and separate is the love for her from that for his father and mother.”13

Vermes, Jesus the Jew, 99. Vermes notes that there was a long tradition of prophethood and celibacy in the Jewish literature. David Biale, in Eros and the Jews (New York: Basic Books, 1992), 34, also concludes that many rabbis considered Moses to be an exception to the rule. At the same time, these celibate Moses stories reflect a tension in rabbinic culture. On the one hand, the rabbis allow continence for prophets only, on the other, they reveal an ambivalence towards sexuality that suggests an unstated admiration for Moses’ prerogative to follow a celibate life. Steven D. Fraade in “Ascetical Aspects of Ancient Judaism,” in Jewish Spirituality 1, ed. Arthur Green (New York: Crossroads, 1986), 253–288, demonstrates that Jewish asceticism, originating in the prerabbinic period, continued to influence, and perhaps cause tensions among the rabbis while they attempted to construct a rabbinic “way of life.” 13 Demonstrations 18.10. See also Gen. 2.24, quoted in Mk. 10.7 and Mt. 19.4–5, as it emphasizes that the natural state is when a man joins with his wife and leaves his mother and father. However, in some versions of the Diatessaron, verse 25.32 is amended so that it appears that it was Adam’s idea that man should leave his mother and father, thereby suggesting that not leaving one’s parents (in order to marry) is superior in God’s eyes. See 12

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Christian celibacy, a position perhaps harder to support for the laypeople of his community, nonetheless found support in many other scriptural passages, through the creative interpretive skills of Christian readers. So while Aphrahat proves unusual in his dependence on Exodus 19, he shows himself well acquainted with other Christian exegetical support for the ascetic life.

CELIBACY AND ASCETICISM: CHRISTIAN Celibacy and sexual renunciation in the early church had a multifaceted background rooted in Jewish as well as GraecoRoman tradition.14 Many good scholarly works discuss the various theories concerning Christian asceticism and its origins, which I do not want to rehearse here. Both Peter Brown and the collected essays of Wimbush and Valantasis attest to its many manifestations from the pagan Greco-Roman literature to the martyrology literature. Part of the impetus to early Christian celibacy was a call to turn over world culture, to stop society, marriage and procreation in its tracks so as to hasten a better, divine world. This, these authors understood was the ultimate significance of Jesus’ mission on earth. For many, the call to asceticism came directly from Jesus or from Paul. At the same time, others were lead to ascetic practice directly through the Hebrew biblical texts. They believed that the texts taught that the true or more spiritual Christians must embrace celibacy, as the example of Moses above demonstrated for Aphrahat. Elizabeth Clark, in Reading Renunciation, A. Vööbus, “Celibacy, a Requirement for Admission to Baptism in the Early Syriac Church,” PETSE (1951): 18 and A. Vööbus, A History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient: a contribution to the history of culture in the Near East, 3 vols. (CSCO 184, 197, 500) 1:43. 14 See for instance, Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988); Elizabeth Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999); Susanna Elm, Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994); and the collected essays in Vincent L. Wimbush and Richard Valantasis, eds., Asceticism (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995).

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argues that the Hebrew Bible, more than the New Testament texts, posed particular challenges for celibate exegetes, as it appeared to be full of procreating patriarchs. Nonetheless, the mostly Greek and Latin authors she discusses do not focus on Moses as exemplar, thus leaving Aphrahat to forge his own way, even as he also accepts Paul’s apocalyptic view of the purposes of this world anticipating the next.15 Aphrahat, living out of the sphere of influence of the GraecoRoman world, most likely received this tradition heavily laden with Jewish, Semitic and Syriac antecedents. Syriac Christianity16 appears to have been strongly ascetic from its very roots, which are unfortunately difficult to uncover completely.17 While many scholars trace this influence directly back to Tatian, a second century gentlemen of Syrian descent and a student of Justin Martyr, I am not so sure of the extent of his influence.18 Yet, whether or not Tatian should be implicated, certainly other ascetic leaders, such as Marcion in the next century, condemned marriage and promoted virginity exclusively. Marcionism, which was popular in the East was eventually anathematized by all orthodox churches for its dualistic/gnostic tendencies.19 The fourth-century teacher Mani, Clark, Reading Renunciation, 18–27. “Syriac Christianity” refers to the various forms of Christianity that developed among the Syriac-speaking communities. These communities could be found anywhere from Roman Palestine and Northern Mesopotamia to Persian Mesopotamia and eventually to India and China. See J. Walker, “From Nisibis to Xi’an: The Church of the East in Late Antiquity,” in Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), forthcoming. 17 See recent articles by L. Van Rompay, “The East (3): Syria and Mesopotamia,” in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christianity, eds. S.A. Harvey and D. Hunter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 365–388 and J. Walker, above. 18 Vööbus, “Celibacy,” 16–18; Brown, Body and Society, 87. I summarize my dissent from this view in my article entitled: “Re-Imagining Tatian: The Damaging Effects of Polemical Rhetoric,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 16.1 (Spring 2008): 1–30. 19 Brown, Body and Society, 88; Vööbus, Asceticism, 1:49. 15 16

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drawing heavily on his Jewish-Christian background but in competition with the orthodox church, also advocated the celibate life for his followers.20 Robert Murray has suggested that Syriac Christianity, more heavily influenced by Aramaic-Palestinian Jewish-Christianity than Greek and Latin Christianities, favored the sectarian Jewish ascetic ideal that had originally influenced nascent Christianity.21 The true Christian, following in the footsteps of the apostles on the one hand, and the Hebrew Bible’s example of spiritual warfare as allegorized in Gideon on the other, left behind his or her everyday life, which included family and occupation, to seek spiritual redemption.22 These people often left the community and city in order to wander the countryside in hopes of coming closer to God through nature and self-denial. Asceticism, however, soon became part of the daily lives of city-dwellers and church-goers. Some scholars claim that even in the early Syriac church one could not be a full member without taking a vow of celibacy.23 However, the Brown, Body and Society, 197, n.43. R. Murray, “The Exhortation to Candidates for Ascetical Vows at Baptism in the Ancient Syriac Church,” New Testament Studies 21 (1974–5): 75, n.2. 21 Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition (London and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 16. 22 Murray, “Exhortation,” 63. Murray notes that the call to “holy war” which included a vow of celibacy was not unique to Christianity, but originated with Jewish sectarian groups like the ones from Qumran. Vööbus, in turn claims that the Qumran-like sectarians were influenced by the Iranian sense of dual powers of good and evil in the world (Asceticism, 1: 21). Furthermore, Brown conjectures that the tenuous economic life of Mesopotamia made for fertile ground for asceticism (Body and Society, 18). None of these explanations satisfy my curiosity as to why Syria/ Mesopotamia was more receptive to ascetic Christianity than other areas. For more studies on Qumran asceticism see G. Vermes, the Dead Sea Scrolls: Qumran in Perspective (London: Collins, 1977), 193. 23 Brown, Body and Society, 87, and Vööbus, “Celibacy,” 33. Murray, claims, however, that Vööbus’ interpretation may be too restrictive and that mainstream Syriac Christianity may not have been totally celibate. See Symbols, 11, 14–16. 20

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attraction of marriage and procreation competed strongly with the difficulties of a continent life, for marriage and procreation had roots that went deep in human society, thus it is not clear how thoroughly ascetic even the early Syriac Church could have been. Neither Aphrahat nor Ephrem in the fourth century condemn marriage outright, though they emphasized the superiority of virginity in God’s eyes.24 The ascetic ideal was upheld for the ministers of the church, who followed in Jesus’ footsteps, but not necessarily for all Christian believers.25 More important here than ultimate origins, is how ascetic Syriac Christians, such as Aphrahat, expressed and supported their asceticism exegetically in the fourth century. As we have seen, he does not necessarily turn to New Testament texts to support his spiritual lifestyle, but to the image of Moses, and the traditions surrounding his leadership and married life.26 The fact that the rabbinic texts share and express these same interpretive traditions points to a more common starting point within early Jewish exegetical practices and social constructs. Which in turn raises the question as to how “Christian” or “Jewish” asceticism really is. Given this wide spread ascetic phenomena, not just among early Christians, and not just in the Greco-Roman world, ascetic expression in early forms of Judaism and in rabbinic Judaism should also be explored. Aphrahat reveals to us one Christian ascetic tradition that appears to be well grounded in Hebrew biblical texts and traditions not necessarily “imported” from outside, but rather absorbed more organically.

CELIBACY AND ASCETICISM: JEWISH Ascetic piety, including celibacy, while not unknown among the rabbis, was heavily discouraged. After the destruction of the Second Temple the tendency towards asceticism rose out of Murray, Symbols, 12 n.4. Sidney Griffith, “Images of Ephraem: The Syrian Holyman and his Church,” Traditio 45 (1989): 26–33. 26 Aphrahat does support his celibacy by appealing to Jesus’ example in Dem. 6. 24 25

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mourning for the national loss. For instance there is a saying of Rabbi Pinhas ben Yair in the Mishnah: Watchfulness leads to cleanliness, cleanliness to purity, purity to abstinence, abstinence to holiness, holiness to humility, humility to the fear of sin, fear of sin to devoutness, devoutness to the holy spirit, the holy spirit to the resurrection of the dead, and the resurrection of the dead to Elijah of blessed memory.27

While a similar passage appears in BT Avodah Zarah, not all manuscripts include it, nor do all mishnaic versions include the term “abstinence.”28 This might indicate that later generations of rabbis were fearful of the influence such sayings might have— especially in light of what was going on in the Christian community and perhaps because of what the Christians used as proof-texts from the Hebrew Bible. Furthermore there is another text that appears first in the Tosefta and is repeated in the Babylonian Talmud that supports this view. The Tosefta version reads as follows: When the Temple was destroyed, large numbers in Israel became ascetics [‫ פרושין‬perushin],29 binding themselves neither Mishnah Sotah 9.15. This particular passage is an addition to the Mishnah and therefore is missing in many manuscripts, as is noted by Albeck in his notes to the Mishnah Sotah, p. 394. A slightly different version appears in BT Avodah Zara 20b. Fraade notes that this passage appears only in the Munich manuscripts to BT Avodah Zarah (“Ascetical Aspects,” 270 and n.68). The passage in Avodah Zarah emphasizes that ‫ חסידות‬hasidut, devoutness is more important than any other quality. Intending, as Fraade suggests, that asceticism for self-glory is purposeless and potentially dangerous (271). On rabbinic fasting see Eliezer Diamond’s book, Holy Men and Hunger Artists: Fasting and Asceticism in Rabbinic Culture (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 28 According to Fraade abstinence is the rabbinic connotation of ‫ פרישות‬perishut. 29 This term, ‫ פרושין‬perushin, could also refer to Pharisees, or other groups of people who separated themselves from the majority over ascetic ideals. 27

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to eat meat, nor to drink wine. Rabbi Joshua entered into conversation with them and said to them, “my children, why do you not eat meat?” They replied to him, “shall we eat meat which used to be brought as an offering on the altar, now that this altar is in abeyance?” He said, “why do you not drink wine?” They replied, “shall we drink wine which used to be poured as a libation on the altar, but no longer?” [R. Joshua] said, “Let us also not eat figs and grapes, for from them the first fruits were brought .... Let us not eat bread for they used to bring [to the Temple] loaves and the shew bread. Let us not drink water, for they used to pour libations on the festival [of Sukkot]. At this they were silent.30

While the BT version expanded on the Tosefta passage, the point in both remains the same. R. Joshua takes these pietists’ reasoning to its logical conclusion (a reductio ad absurdum) showing them how it is not possible for the whole community to mourn all the time, for it would not be able to survive. On the same page of the BT, however, other rabbis are quoted as saying, From the day that the Evil Empire [Rome] has come to power which issues cruel and difficult decrees against us and takes from us the Torah and the commandments and does not allow us to enter into the ‘week of the son’ [or ‘salvation of the son’] we ought by rights to decree for ourselves not to marry and beget children and the seed of Abraham our father would come to an end in and of itself. However, let Israel be, it is better they should err in ignorance than purposely.

These rabbis then were aware that the destruction of the Temple and the decrees of Hadrian was reason enough for everyone to mourn perpetually, a practice that would ultimately cause the people of Israel to die out. But inasmuch as the rabbis claimed it was part of human nature to want to procreate (just as it was want to eat or drink), they felt the community should be left to do so. There was no way a community could survive and be in perpetual Tosefta Sotah 15.11–15 (BT Baba Batra 60b). Brown, Body and Society, 63, uses the BT version to the same effect. 30

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mourning. The rabbis instead advised alternative modes of mourning for the people—when they built a house they should leave a little bit unbuilt in memory of the Temple, when a woman got dressed she should leave off one piece of jewelry, again in memory of the Temple.31 The ritual of breaking a glass at a Jewish wedding harks back to this same idea of symbolic mourning. Why, however, would the Babylonian rabbis repeat this parable about R. Joshua two centuries later across the Euphrates? There the Jews lived comfortably in Mesopotamia without the religious or economic oppression of the Roman Empire. While one cannot measure at this time in Babylonia, whether Christian asceticism, as expressed by Aphrahat, was taking a toll (as an outside influence) on the Jewish community, one can wonder why these rabbis felt it necessary once again to emphasize the minimum place that ascetic piety had in their fourth-century Jewish tradition. It is stranger still that the aggadah about Moses’ piety and celibacy should also be remembered in such an atmosphere. I suggest that the rabbis remember Moses as the exception to the rule. No other prophet had recourse to God as Moses did—he spoke to God face to face. Not even the high priest who entered the holy of holies needed to remain celibate all his life in order to communicate with God.32 While the rabbis may have admired Moses for his ability to H. Eilberg-Schwartz however, suggests that the addition of “better they should err in ignorance than purposely” might indicate that the rabbis were strongly inclined towards asceticism, but felt that the common folk would not be able to handle or understand the deeper, spiritual essence of an ascetic life and abuse those practices and rituals. See his book, God’s Phallus and Other Problems for Men in Monotheism (Boston: Beacon, 1994). I am thankful to Prof. Eilberg-Schwartz for sharing parts of his pre-publication manuscript with me. 32 Biale, Eros, 34 and Boyarin, Carnal Israel, 134 agree that Moses was the exception; however, Eilberg-Schwartz challenges this view claiming that some rabbis at least attempted to follow an ascetic way of life, but were limited by the commandment to procreate. Eilberg-Schwartz, God’s Phallus, 216, sees the mishnaic rules on procreation (that men are obligated to father at least two children) as a maximum requirement as opposed to a minimum. After one had fathered two children a man could 31

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communicate with God and hence his chosen continence, they feared the consequences to the community if such practices were actively promoted above or even alongside procreation. David Biale suggests, among other things, that the rabbis, who tended to marry into wealthy business-class families for financial security, foresaw the loss of such income if they refused to marry.33 Nevertheless, it is evident from the fact that these issues were often raised throughout the centuries that these problems still perplexed the two communities. Most rabbis promoted procreation as one method of combating asceticism, while celibate Aphrahat searched the Hebrew Bible for support for his position. Nonetheless, it seems that the rabbinic pro-marriage argument not only kept asceticism at bay in the rabbinic community, but perhaps caused confusion in the Christian community as well. This challenge put Aphrahat on the defensive. The Jewish-Christian polemic hinged on issues, such as marriage, because of its social and communal consequences. Families were the basis of a community; take away marriage and society falls apart. Of course, for many Christians that was their very purpose—the restructuring of life as they knew it, for they understood Jesus’ passion to call for total change. Many rabbis, however, considered children and a prosperous family life to be directly related to and an obvious manifestation of the blessings God gave to Abraham.

DIVINE BLESSING Perhaps combating a growing tendency toward celibacy, Aphrahat’s Jews accuse the Christians of disobeying God. According to Aphrahat the Jews argue that Christians scorned God’s blessing by refusing to marry and bear children. First, God blessed Adam (Gen. 1.2834: “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth”), then later Noah (Gen. 9.1: “God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to cease from procreation and turn his attention to other pursuits like the study of Torah. 33 Biale, Eros, 36. 34 All citations from the Hebrew Bible, unless otherwise indicated are from the NRSV translation.

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them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth’”), and finally Abraham (Gen. 12.2: “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you.”) The ability to procreate, according to these Jews, was a blessing from God, the activity of procreating a commandment from God, and the resulting blessing on the people, a gift from God. “But you do something not commanded by God,” the Jews assert according to Aphrahat, “for you have received a curse and have increased barrenness. You hinder generation, the blessing of righteous men. You do not take wives, and you are not wives for husbands. You hate procreation, a blessing given by God.”35 This supposed Jewish argument may have been fabricated by Aphrahat, but it also appears in many rabbinic sources. The midrashim connected with Numbers chapters 4.21 to the end of chapter 7 prove the most fruitful for this discussion. The ones I cite here comprise a commentary on verse 6.22–27, “The Lord spoke to Moses: “Speak to Aaron and his sons: thus shall you bless the people of Israel. Say to them: The Lord bless you and protect you! The Lord deal kindly and graciously with you! The Lord bestow His favor upon you and grant you peace! Thus they shall link My name with the people of Israel, and I will bless them.” The midrash opens: And another thing: “Thus shall you bless the people of Israel” (Num. 6.23), as it is written: “And I will make of you a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you shall be blessed” (Gen. 12.2). Said Rabbi Pinhas ben Yair: seven blessings the Holy One, Blessed be He, blessed Abraham. And what are they? “And I will make of you a great nation.”36

Commenting on “And I will make of you a great nation” the midrash continues: “said Rabbi Berekhiah: It is not written here ‘I will give you,’ nor ‘I will put on you,’ but rather “I will make of you [a great nation] ‘—I will create in you a new creation, that is to say: ‘And God made the heavens’ (Gen. 1.7) and you were fruitful and increased.” Aphrahat’s Jews imply that there is a connection between fruitfulness and blessedness. In order to be blessed (and become a 35 36

Demonstrations 18.1. Numbers Rabbah 11.2.

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great nation) one must procreate. God will make a great nation of Abraham by blessing him so that he can procreate in peace and prosper. Furthermore, Rabbi Berekhiah adds, “‘And I will bless you’—because the way [traveling—being a nomad like Abraham] causes humans three things: it diminishes procreation, the powers of expenditure, and one’s name (one’s fame is not always known in far away places), therefore it was said to him [Abraham]: ‘And I will make of you a great nation’—so that the way should not diminish procreation.” The blessing is two sided: Abraham is blessed so that he can become a great nation, through procreation, and Abraham is blessed because he has a great nation named after him. Perhaps many of Aphrahat’s congregation were persuaded by this argument not only to marry and have children but also to believe that it was a sin not to. Aphrahat writes, “They [the Jews] change and weaken the minds of those simple people who are enticed and captivated by their disturbing argument.”37 Aphrahat would have liked his parishioners to believe, as he did, that the Jews were wrong, that “because of their lasciviousness and the immodesty of their bodies, the Jewish people stumble”38 into this particular conviction. They do not understand, as Aphrahat does, that celibacy was also a blessing of God—and a higher one than procreation. While Aphrahat has a Christian celibate tradition to depend on, its Gospel and Pauline proof-texts would not persuade a Christian who was convinced by the Jewish arguments, let alone a Jew, when both put equal or more weight on the authority of the Hebrew Bible. Aphrahat must support his contentions with Hebrew biblical scriptural proof-texts to show that both the Old and the New Testaments line up behind an ascetic agenda. Hence

Demonstrations 18.1. Aphrahat suggests that “Jewish” emphasis on marriage and procreation was a manifestation of the fact that the Jews could not control their sexual appetites, and therefore he calls them immodest and lascivious. 37 38

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his two pronged approach in which his dependence on Moses and lines up with his further attempt to devalue biblical procreation.39 In direct opposition to his Jewish opponent, Aphrahat claims that procreation was not a blessing. He points, for example, to the generation of the flood. “How did the blessing of Adam help,” he writes, “for they corrupted their ways and were obliterated by the water of the flood. They corrupted the essence of marriage and were condemned, and the blessing was extinguished by the sins of lawless people . . . Noah was better with his few followers than the whole generation of destruction.”40 Continuing his argument Aphrahat explains that while Noah was blessed and told to multiply and re-populate the earth, even these people were corrupted by the tower of Babel. Furthermore, what “profit and advantage” Aphrahat asks, did the Sodomites, or the Israelites who died in the desert, or the peoples that Joshua killed have, all who procreated supposedly according to the Lord’s wishes? Aphrahat, in a moment more creative than scripturally substantiated, elaborates on this argument: If only Zimri had not been born, for because of his licentiousness, in one hour twenty-four thousand of Israel fell. And had Acham not been formed in the belly of his mother, who made a curse on the camp of Israel. Eli should have abided his sanctity and not fathered Hophni and Phineas, who troubled the priesthood and acted greedily. And why for Samuel were sons necessary, who did not keep the law and did not go in his ways? There are many like these, for whom it would have been better for them had they not procreated, indeed had they not been born.41

Aphrahat argues that not all births prove productive for the nation. That is to say, not every child is a blessing! Some can even bring As Elizabeth Clark has remarked, the Old Testament was rife with procreating patriarchs and other biblical exemplars. How was one to combat such authority? Much of early Christian exegesis on the Pentateuch attempted to do just that. See her book, Reading Renunciation. 40 Demonstrations 18.2. 41 Demonstrations 18.6. 39

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disaster. Other rabbis, perhaps attempting to refute such a claim, created the following parable found in both the Tanhuma and Numbers Rabbah: Rabbi Eliezer said: “God said to him [Abraham], ‘From the moment at which I created my world until now, I needed to bless my creations, that is to say: “And God blessed them [Adam and Eve]” (Gen. 1.22) and it says: “And God blessed Noah and his sons” (Gen. 9.1), but from now on behold the blessings are given to you. Whomever it pleases you to bless, bless.’ Nevertheless, Abraham did not bless his sons. Why was this so? A parable about a king, who had an orchard, and he gave it to a tenant. And there was in the orchard one tree of the spice of life and one of the spice of death. Said the tenant, ‘if I water the tree of the spice of life, the tree of the spice of death will drink as well!’ Said the tenant, ‘I will work and complete [the will of the king], and what the king wants to do in his orchard—he will do!’ Thus, the king is the Holy One, Blessed be He, and the orchard is the world. He gave to Abraham and said to him: ‘and you will be a blessing.’ What did Abraham do? He had two sons, one was righteous and one was evil, Isaac and Ishmael. Abraham said, ‘if I bless Isaac, behold Ishmael will ask to be blessed, and he is evil. Therefore I will work and complete [the will of God]. I am of flesh and blood, when I die, whatever the Holy One, Blessed be He, chooses to do with his world, he will do.’ When Abraham died, the Holy One, Blessed be He, appeared to Isaac and blessed him as it says, ‘After the death of Abraham God blessed Isaac his son’” (Gen. 25.11).42 Numbers Rabbah 11.2. It is interesting to note that in this case the version of the parable in the Tanhuma (Naso 25) is much more condensed and does not refer to R. Eliezer. This could indicate that Numbers Rabbah has the older version, or that there was once a third version, that has been since lost. Mack, Midrashic Literature, 74, notes that only the second half of Numbers Rabbah is based on the Tanhuma, and this section is in the first half. (This parable also appears in Tanhuma, the “Lekh-lekha” portion.) 42

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Perhaps in answer to Aphrahat’s assertion that it would have been better if certain evil people had not been born, these Jews might have answered: it is up to God to bless whom he wishes, but it is our job to work and complete God’s will, to be fruitful and multiply as God commanded Adam and Eve, Noah and Abraham. Furthermore, as I demonstrated in the previous chapter, Aphrahat claims direct lineage (and hence equal blessings) from Abraham because he had more than one child. The rabbis cited above reiterate their belief here that the blessing did not belong to all of Abrahams’ children, but only to Isaac, the father of Jacob/Israel.43

PROCREATION In early rabbinic writing it is established that procreation is a commandment from God. The seventh mishnah of chapter six of the mishnaic tractate Yevamot reads: “A man shall not do away with procreation, unless he already has children.” The house of Shammai says: [at least] two males, the house of Hillel says: [at least] one male one female, as it is written: ‘male and female he created them’ (Gen. 1.27). . . . The man is commanded in procreation, but the woman is not. Rabbi Yohanan ben Broka says: both of them [are commanded] because about both of them he said: ‘and God blessed them and said to them...be fruitful and increase.’”44 The Tosefta adds For another parable of similar intent see chap. 2, n. 24. In another discussion on divorce, a man is permitted to divorce his wife after ten years if she has not produced any children. The man is encouraged to remarry so that he can fulfill the commandment to procreate. The woman is also permitted to remarry two more times, but the third time (if she remains sterile) only to a man who already has children, so as not to diminish his potential (Tosefta Yev. 8.6; BT Yev. 64b). I. Gafni points out an interesting variation, or possible scribal mistake on the term nissu’ei ta’ut (mistaken marriage), the case where a sterile woman marries a childless man and the marriage is annulled: in some manuscripts the text appears as nissu’ei minnut (a marriage of heresy [sometimes=Christianity]). Gafni suggests that perhaps this is a reference to the continent marriages of Christians, namely that marrying a sterile woman to a childless man was equivalent to the Christian practice of continent marriages. See Gafni, “Institution of Marriage in Rabbinic 43 44

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that the reason that Shammai said there should be two sons is that Moses had two sons—Gershom and Eliezer. It also relates a different version of the disagreement between the two houses: “Rabbi Nathan said: the house of Shammai said male and female, [while] the house of Hillel said male or female.”45 Not only was procreation a commandment from God, but abstinence from procreation was a double sin. The authors of Genesis Rabbah write: Rabbi Akibah taught: anyone who spills blood, brings upon himself as if he diminishes the image [of God]. What is the reason? “he who spills human blood, his blood will be spilt” (Gen. 9.6). What is the reason? Because in the image of God—God created Adam. R. Eliezer ben Azariah taught: anyone who refrains from procreation diminishes the image [of God]. What is the reason? Because “in the image of God he made Adam” and then it is written, “and you [Adam and Eve] shall be fruitful and increase” (Gen. 1.27, 28). Ben Azzai taught: anyone who refrains from procreation it is as if he spilt blood and diminishes the image [of God]. And Rabbi Eliezer said to him [Ben Azzai], “pleasant are the words when they come out of the mouths of those who do so [procreate]. There are those that pontificate and those that do, Ben Azzai, pontificates but does not do” [he was a bachelor]. Ben Azzai answered him, “because my soul yearns for Torah, the world will be established by others.”46

Times,” in The Jewish Family: Metaphor and Memory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 18. Gafni follows S. Lieberman’s commentary to the Tosefta here. 45 Tosefta Yevamot 8. Both Biale, Eros, 36 and Eilberg-Schwartz, God’s Phallus, 216 suggest that the rabbis perhaps advocated a minimum birthrate specifically because of rabbinic ascetical tendencies. In order to insure that Jews continued to reproduce the rabbis had to legislate procreation. In either case—because they believed in the divine blessing, or because they feared the effects of widespread asceticism (or perhaps both)—the rabbis generally promoted marriage and children. 46 Genesis Rabbah 34.14, also in Tosefta Yevamot 8.

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Relative to other texts used here, this one is quite early, third century Palestinian. Clearly these rabbis intended to promote marriage and children. Even Ben Azzai, the bachelor, is an exception;47 and yet he still promotes marriage for all others. This subject, however, is found in many later texts as well, as if it were continually under discussion and constantly needed elaboration. This would be especially pertinent if some Jews continued to question the importance of procreation due, perhaps, to Christian example. Another version of this midrash adds the following, The Holy One, Blessed be He, said: I created my world for no other reason but procreation. As it says: “He did not create it a waste” (Is. 45.18); and thus it says: “And God said to them be fruitful and increase” (Gen. 1.28). Thus God created Adam and Eve from the beginning that they should be fruitful and increase. For why were they birthing and being fruitful and increasing? Because it is in honor of God.48

Boyarin, Carnal Israel, 135 also claims that Ben Azzai’s continence was an exception to the rule. He notes, however, that there is one source in which he does marry, the daughter of Rabbi Akibah, an exemplary woman (154). The emphasis here is that an extra-ordinary wife, i.e. a woman who would allow her husband to spend as much time as he wanted studying away from home, can domesticate even a man like Ben Azzai. Boyarin argues, moreover, that the stories of Miriam and Zipporah (a Palestinian midrash) form an internal polemic against the rabbinic practice of staying away from home for years at an end in order to study. While the Babylonian renditions of Moses’ celibacy support this practice which was much more prevalent among Babylonian rabbis (163–4). This need not contradict my assertion that some rabbis were also possibly influenced by outside forces, such as Christians, in their promotion of marriage. While both Boyarin and Gafni detail the different approaches the Palestinian and Babylonian rabbis use to solve the problems of marriage and studying away from home, the bottom-line for both remains that all Jewish males should marry and procreate at some point. 48 Deuteronomy Rabbah 1.12 of Lieberman, 10. This also appears in Tanhuma B Bereshit siman 26. See also PT Yevamot 6.6. Deuteronomy Rabbah is based on the Tanhuma to Deuteronomy, which was attributed to 47

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Isaiah 45.18, “He did not create it a waste, but he formed it to be inhabited,” supports the rabbinic understanding of procreation, that it is a divinely ordained necessity. The Mishnah cites this verse in support of fully manumitting a half-slave/half freedman so that he can marry, marriage being important for everyone.49 While this halakhah, with its exegetical basis is repeated throughout the Babylonian literature, the rabbinic reading of Isaiah 45.18 is reapplied to other situations as well. For instance, a man is permitted to sell a Torah scroll for only two reasons, either for the study of Torah or to get married. “A man should not sell a sefer Torah save in order to study Torah and to marry a wife . . . marrying [is also permitted because it says] ‘He created it not a waste, he formed it to be inhabited.’”50 Isaiah 45.18 could also be the inspiration behind Aphrahat’s sage’s comment that the Christians “increase barrenness” by abstaining from marriage. The prophetic “waste” could be generated by barrenness.51 BT Yevamot once again equates abstaining from procreation to murder. The text, however, adds the following comment: Our rabbis taught: “And when it [the tabernacle] halted, he would say: ‘return O Lord unto the tens of thousands of the families of Israel’” (Num. 10.36). This teaches that the Shekhinah does not dwell on fewer than twenty-two thousand of Israel; since if Israel was 22,000 minus 1 and this one did not partake in procreation this is not cause for the Shekhinah to leave Israel . . . but others say that this is cause.52

R. Tanhuma bar Abba, a fourth century amora from the Golan. He was known, among other things, for his debates with foreign scholars, including Christians (Mack, Midrashic Literature, 99; see also PT Berakhot 9.1, 4.2, BT Sanhedrin 39a, Genesis Rabbah 19.4). 49 Mishnah Gittin 4.5. 50 BT Megillah 27a. 51 ܳ ܽ ܰ Barrenness and waste have similar connotations, Aphrahat uses ‫ ܘܬܐ‬akruta and the rabbis use, ‫ תוהו‬tohu, which also means chaos and could refer to the barrenness leading back to the pre-creation chaotic world. 52 BT Yevamot 64a.

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Therefore, for some rabbis procreation proves so important that without everyone participating in the commandment the Shekhinah, God’s emanating presence, would leave the people of Israel. This can also be seen in opposition to what Aphrahat says about quality vs. quantity: for these rabbis every person’s need to procreate counts (as seen in the case of a half-slave). For Aphrahat, the righteous few (the ministers of the church53) need not participate in that part of worldly living. In addition, throughout this discussion on marriage and procreation the rabbis make a number of other comments on the positives of the married state for a man: “It is not good for a man to be alone” (Gen. 2.24). Or, “Any man that has no wife is as if he has no happiness, no blessing and no goodness.”54 Or, “Said Rabbi Eliezer: any man that has no wife is not a man, as it is says: male and female he created them and called them human.”55 Playing on the Hebrew word Adam, which can mean both “man” and “human,” the text implies that one is not fully human until one is married. Rabbi Hama bar Hananiah once said, “Because a man marries a woman his sufferings are stopped as it says: he who finds a woman finds goodness.”56 The problem Aphrahat faces in these Jewish arguments is the fact that he cannot condemn marriage and procreation unilaterally. Unlike other early Christian writers, Aphrahat understands that It is clear that in certain demonstrations Aphrahat addressed those Christians in his community who had chosen to follow the ascetic ideal. He developed for those members of his church an outline of proper behavior. He encourages them to keep to the ideal, while at the same time not condemning those who choose not to. See his “Demonstration on the Members of the Order” (#6), and chapter 5 of my Hermeneutics of Holiness. 54 BT Yevamot 62b. Gafni suggests that Babylonian Jews, more than the Palestinians, were particularly militant in promoting marriage, perhaps due to the Persian dislike of celibacy. While the Palestinian rabbis viewed marriage simply as a means to an end (procreation), the Babylonians were much more positive. This passage continues: “In the West [Palestine] they say: without Torah, without a (protecting) wall” (“Marriage ,” 20). 55 BT Yevamot 63a. 56 BT Yevamot 63b. 53

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procreation is necessary for survival, or at least that it is a natural human desire. He writes: Concerning marriage that God gave in the world, it is not for us to censure, for thus it is written, “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good” (Gen. 1.31). But there are some things that are better than others. God created the heaven and earth, and they are very good, but the heaven is better than the earth . . . He created marriage, worldly procreation, and it is very good, but virginity is better than it.57

But to counter the pro-marriage lobby supported by the Jews, and encourage the celibate community he adds, For this portion [of choosing the celibate life] there is great reward because in our freedom we perfect it, but not from bondage or oppression by the commandment, for we are not prisoners under the law. Its form and image we have found in Scripture.58

In this passage Aphrahat emphasizes not only that the commandment to procreate was just one of the many laws Jesus had abrogated, but that the example of the continent life was found in the Hebrew Scriptures, relying on the same text as these rabbis above do for their interpretations. Therefore, those Christians who felt obligated to depend on the Hebrew Bible for proof-texts could discount the Jewish exegesis in favor of their own.

THE SOCIAL MILIEU While Aphrahat’s advocacy of celibacy proves common among Christians, the fact that he must defend against Jews more than other Christians or the pagan world sets him apart. No other contemporary nor earlier adversus Judaeos text deals with Jewish complaints against celibacy.59 The Persian socio-religious Demonstrations 18.8. Demonstrations 18.12. 59 Justin Martyr, in Trypho, for instance, does not discuss ascetic practice. 57 58

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atmosphere may have prompted this particular polemic, for the Jews were not alone in advancing procreation. Certain pahlavi texts attest to Persian encouragement of marriage: “Through the great mystery full of marvel he gave to the living [people] long immortality: the descent of offspring, that which is the best and most excellent immortality of that which has adversity.”60 The Christian martyrologies also portray Persian officials chastising the women for refusing to marry. When brought to trial before the Persian priests many female martyrs were condemned as strongly for their virginity as for their Christianity. The priests, by forcing the virgins to marry, hoped to rid them of their pernicious beliefs while at the same time guaranteeing the continuity of their society. At the martyr Marta’s trial, for instance, the mobad (Persian priest) said to her, “... seeing that you are set on not giving up your religion, act as you like, but do this one thing only, and you shall live and not die: you are a young girl, and a very pretty one, find a husband and get married, have sons and daughters, and don’t hold on to the disgusting pretext of the ‘covenant.’”61 Roman society, by contrast, was more accepting of some sort of restraint on one’s sexual behavior, even for married couples, although total abstinence was never condoned except in Christian circles.62 Ironically, radical asceticism found greater popularity among the Syriac Christians, perhaps in direct response to the majority culture. The early Syriac church may even have been at one time composed strictly of celibate members. Certainly by Aphrahat’s time, continence had influenced many Christians, Aphrahat included, though married Christians were allowed membership. The refusal to marry and procreate delineated the Gafni, “Marriage,” 21. Gafni cites as his source S. Shaked “Esoteric Trends in Zoroastrianism,” in Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Science and Humanities (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Science and Humanities, 1969), 3:209. 61 Translation from S. Brock and S. Asbrook Harvey, Holy Women of the Syrian Orient (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1987), 70. 62 Brown, Body and Society, 18. 60

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ultimate differences in some Christian worldviews, as Brown explains: In little scattered groups throughout the eastern Mediterranean, other Christians had seized upon the body. They had set it up as a palpable blazon of the end of the “present age.” They believed that the universe itself had shattered with the rising of Christ from the grave. By renouncing all sexual activity the human body could join in Christ’s victory: it could turn back the inexorable. The body could wrench itself free from the grip of the animal world. By refusing to act upon the youthful stirrings of desire, Christians could bring marriage and childbirth to an end. With marriage at an end, the huge fabric of organized society would crumble like a sandcastle, touched by the “ocean-flood of the Messiah.”63

This world view, also expressed in Aphrahat, finds opposing resonance among rabbinic theology as well. Many Jews, also hoping to bring the Messiah some day through their righteousness (believing in God and observing the divine laws), continued to follow and defend the biblical commandments that included “be fruitful and multiply.” In direct contrast to these ascetic Christians some even declared that procreation in and of itself would bring the Messiah, since from the beginning of time a finite number of souls were created and when they were used up the messianic era would begin. Genesis Rabbah relates: “The messianic king will never come until all those souls intended for creation have been created.” The Babylonian Talmud berates men who marry girls too young to bear children because it delays the coming of the Messiah.64 While the Christians insisted that they were bringing the world closer to God (i.e. accelerating the end of days) through their chastity, most rabbis equated procreation with honoring God (and thereby accelerating the end of days) since humans were all made in God’s image.

63 64

Brown, Body and Society, 32. Genesis Rabbah 24.14 and BT Yevamot 62ab.

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The polemic on marriage and celibacy reveals much about the conflict experienced between the Jews and Christians. Behavior, as much as faith, exemplified one’s position vis-a-vis God and eventual salvation. In a world where faiths were presented as mutually exclusive by the clerical elites, only correct conduct as representative of proper belief was considered salvific. Those Jews represented here, believed that they were chosen to obey God’s commandments and through their loyalty would be redeemed. Although they could have written off the Christians as idolaters, they saw them instead as heretics who read the same divine literature but ignored its true intent—the same way the Christians perceived the Jews. They each infuriated the other by misinterpreting and hence misbehaving. In a concluding paragraph in his “Demonstration on Virginity” Aphrahat claims that he composed this particular demonstration because he had heard “ . . . of a Jewish man who insulted one of our brethren, the members of the church, saying ‘you are impure for you don’t take wives, but we are holy and more virtuous for we procreate and multiply seed in the world.’”65 Daniel Boyarin connects this passage with the Babylonian rabbinic assumption that anyone who does not marry soon after puberty will be “impure” due to the “sinful” thoughts that are promoted in a situation where a young person does not have a sexual outlet (i.e. marriage).66 Without going into the details of Boyarin’s discussion, this suggestion that Aphrahat records a real rabbinic defense against celibacy (that unmarried people are somehow impure) also supports my assertion that there was an active polemic between Mesopotamian Jews and Christians on the issue of celibacy and marriage. While the rabbinic text may have been written to support one rabbinic argument against another, the fact that Aphrahat records the same argument in the name of a Jew presumes a situation where Jews and Christians discussed these very issues, disagreed, and brought support from within their respective 65 66

Demonstrations 18.12. Boyarin, Carnal Israel, 139, n.10.

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traditions. One could assume that the next time these two people met, the Christian could claim that his teacher, Aphrahat, has a response to that Jew’s teacher, a rabbi. The Jewish-Christian polemic contrived to bring the opponent around to the correct point of view. In the case of marriage and celibacy the differences in interpretation caused some confusion, for there were traditional ascetical precedents in Judaism as well as pro-marriage precedents among Christians. For this very reason Aphrahat found himself on the defensive when the Jews accused the Christians of disobeying God. Many rabbis, on the other hand, aware of the increasing popularity of asceticism, promoted procreation defensively and vigorously.

CHAPTER 4. RITUAL: PASSOVER AND CIRCUMCISION Ritual practice, that which helps define any religious group, often causes tremendous conflicts between religious communities. Among ancient Judeans, for instance, the Pharisees and Sadducees during the Second Commonwealth competed for the right to determine the Temple ritual, while the later rabbis argued over post-Temple Jewish practices in the academies of Palestine and Babylonia. Christians, from their religion’s inception until well into the fifth century, finding the issue of ritual practice as outlined in the Hebrew Bible quite confusing, anathematized each other for following different ritual practices. The issue was particularly difficult for some Christians, for on the one hand God commanded Israel, the Christians’ spiritual ancestors, to obey the Law, while on the other, they believed that Jesus’ ministry, subsequent death and resurrection abrogated that same Mosaic law. Biblically prescribed ritual observances were common place in many early churches, because the first Christians often saw themselves as Jews as well as Christians. And as I discussed in the introductory chapter, the differences between “Jewish” and “Christian” were not well defined in this period. Jewish and Christian observers of these rites believed that salvation came only by fulfilling God’s commandments. For many early Christians, however, enforcing the extent of the Law on Gentile converts was problematic. Did one need to be a “Jew” (e.g. be circumcised) before one could be a “Christian”? Paul concluded negatively. The word of God, by descending to earth, ended the “rule” of the Law; if many Jews refused to see this truth—this was troublesome indeed—but the now obsolete Law need not burden the Gentiles,

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though Paul conceded that it still held authority for Jews, even Jews who had come to believe in the Christian message.1 What eventually became mainstream Christianity followed Paul’s lead, but some Christian groups held tenaciously to what their Christian opponents would label “Jewish” ritual observances.2 So called “Jewish-Christian” communities flourished in various parts of the Roman and Persian empires, but from the late first century until they died out in the fifth they were probably marginal groups within the Christian community.3 While most of these communities probably were absorbed by mainstream Christianity, their “Jewish” practices left tangible marks. This was especially noticeable in the Syriac church, where the first evangelists may have included “Jewish-Christians” of some sort from Palestine. Much has been written of late lamenting the problematics of this term, “Jewish-Christianity,” for it has been used to describe many a different group. It can describe ethnic Jews, who retain some sort of biblical ritual practice (circumcision, Sabbath, dietary laws, etc.) but accept Jesus as their savior to ethnic Gentiles of various sorts who believe their form of Christianity includes what we think of as “standard” Jewish ritual. The problem is that not one of these groups ever self-identified as “JewishChristian,” this is a modern scholarly term to designate those groups that the emerging “orthodox” Christians considered too Jewish and the emerging “orthodox” Jews (rabbis) considered too

See for instance Rom. 3.25, 7.4; Gal. 3. But see now the work of Matthew Thiessen, Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), who argues that circumcision was always contested as a marker of Jewishness and as a gateway to conversion even in the biblical and second temple periods. 2 I define “Jewish” rituals as those post-temple Jewish practices (that is practices observed more or less by Jews), which are based on the biblically prescribed rites, but are not necessarily observed as they were in biblical times. 3 Henry Chadwick, The Early Church (New York: Penguin, 1967), 22. 1

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Christian, or otherwise problematic. No good solution has been put forward to solve this scholarly problem, so the term remains.4 Ten years after the first ecumenical council at Nicaea, where some of these issues were seemingly settled, Aphrahat wrote four demonstrations against what he labels as Jewish practices (practices that nonetheless obviously confused his community) in an effort to teach his people that “Jewish” rites were unnecessary for Christians. Under the pressure of the persecution during Shabur II’s rule, it is possible that Jewish missionaries easily convinced those Christians who perhaps already had tendencies towards observing Jewish ritual, either because they were recent converts or descendants of Jews or Jewish-Christians, that Judaism, with all of its rituals, based on the authority of the Hebrew Bible, which they both shared, was the superior faith. Perhaps they even won a few Gentile converts who sought haven in another monotheistic salvation religion. Against this danger Aphrahat composed his nine demonstrations against the Jews, four of which concern ritual practice: “On Circumcision,” “On Passover,” “On the Sabbath,” and “On Dietary Laws.” The rites of circumcision and Passover will be discussed in this chapter as two examples of how Jewish ritual became a central theme in the Jewish-Christian debate. Although some Christian communities, such as in Antioch, faced a problem of “Judaizing,” which could take the form of faithful, confessing, orthodox Christians attending Jewish festivals and ceremonies mostly as spectators, sometimes as participants, I argue that Aphrahat’s church suffered from a more serious challenge: apostasy. The terror of the persecutions must have caused some Christians to re-consider their spiritual choice, especially when Judaism, a seemingly similar religion, offered physical safety. If ritual practice had been the only Jewish topic Aphrahat discussed, one might suspect his church merely of Judaizing; however, he also addresses subjects of belief: that Jesus was the Messiah, and that the Jews will not be gathered in. This suggests that his fight against “Judaism” however defined, was as much about true faith as it was about true practice. See review article by D. Boyarin, “Rethinking Jewish-Christianity: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category,” JQR 99:1 (2009): 7–36. 4

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According to Aphrahat, the Jews boast to the Christians of their traditions’ salvific properties as Aphrahat explains in Demonstrations 13 “On the Sabbath”: “On the day of the Sabbath . . . the Jewish people are puffed up and boast, saying ‘that by this we live, namely that we observe the Sabbath and the tradition.’”5 The Jews claim to “live” or “be saved” by following their divinely ordained tradition. Some Christians, desperate for physical as well as spiritual salvation, may have been persuaded by this argument. While Persians persecute the Christian faithful, the law abiding Jews appear to live in peace. Combating the possibility that these Jews have the right answer, Aphrahat explains to his readers that the ritual law was not as it appeared nor as these Jews understood it. He argues that the law was a temporary creation, meant only to exist for a particular time, place and people. How can such a law have any salvific properties, especially after its time is up? Whereas Paul, in Galatians 3.23–24, argues that the law was a constraint and a custodian for the Jews—until true understanding of faith came through Jesus—Aphrahat claims that the Law was a punishment for the ancient Israelite’s sins in the desert (i.e. the golden calf) and never had salvific qualities even in its time. He writes: It was on account of your sins that [God] gave you offerings and distinguished foods for you . . . The commandments and judgments that give life are those which are written above. The upright and righteous judgments that [God] placed before them are the ten holy commandments which [God] recorded with his hand and gave to Moses to teach them. But when they made for themselves the calf and turned away from before him, then [God] gave them commandments and judgments which were not good: sacrifice [and the rest of the ritual law].6 Demonstrations 13.1. Demonstrations 15.8. Justin Martyr in the Dialogue with Trypho 18–19 also expounds on the sins that caused God to give Israel the ritual law as punishment. The Didascalia Apostolorum 26 claims that Moses wrote the laws, taking away all sanctity from the rituals. Marcel Simon, Verus Israel: A Study of the Relations Between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire, 135– 425 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), 73–5, discusses the history 5 6

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Aphrahat clearly distinguishes between what he considers to be the “real” law: ethical/moral law, the ten commandments, and ritual law: sacrifices, Sabbath, dietary laws, Passover, circumcision and so on (even as technically “Sabbath” is one of the Ten). The ten commandments were given to Israel before they sinned in the desert; the ritual law was created as an afterthought to keep them in line until something better was determined (the Messiah/Jesus). The ritual law, by virtue of its temporary nature, could not bring salvation, not now nor even then. Some rabbis, perhaps aware of this Christian criticism, remark that God gave all the laws—biblical and rabbinic, moral and ritual—at Sinai as a special gift (not as a punishment) to God’s chosen people, Israel. While Aphrahat does not refer specifically to rabbinic law, but rather to Levitical and Deuteronomic law (everything that came after the first ten commandments in the biblical account) the rituals, like Passover, which he sees contemporary Jews practicing and Christians imitating, are rabbinic (or other Jewish) interpretations of the biblical law. Countering the accusation that the ritual law was a divine punishment (and that there is no real division between “ritual” and “moral” in the rabbinic understanding of biblical law, for it is all “divine” law), while also supporting the rabbinic right to interpret and practice that law forever, some rabbis explain: Why was it written “And I will give you the stone tablets and the Torah and the commandment that I have written to instruct you?” (Ex. 24.12). The tablets are the ten commandments, the Torah is the Pentateuch, and the commandments are the Mishnah, that I have written is the Prophets and the Writings, to instruct you is the Talmud. This teaches that all of them were given to Moses at Sinai.7

of this argument as well. From the time of Justin Martyr at least, Christian exegetes often distinguished between “Jewish” law, and divine law, the essense of biblical law as they understood it. Obviously the categories were fungible. 7 BT Berakhot 5a.

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All of the law, the ten commandments, the five books of Moses, the Prophets, and all the other biblical Writings, as well as all the rabbinic texts, which are interpretive extensions of the Bible, were given to Moses the first time around, before the incident of the golden calf. (Aphrahat differentiates between the giving of the ten commandments in the first and the ritual law in the second, after the golden calf.) By generating a divine provenance for the rabbinic writings, as well as the whole of the Hebrew biblical text, the rabbis tackle two problems in one: the legitimacy of post-biblical innovations in ritual practice, and an answer to this particularly vexing Christian accusation. One might ask, however, why were the other works not written down at Sinai with the Torah? Another midrash adds that when Moses asks why he should not write down the Mishnah, Midrash and Talmud at the same time as the Torah, God instructs him: It is known to me, that when the Gentiles will have dominion over them [the Jews] and take it [the Torah] away from them, and they will be despised by the Gentiles; only the Bible I give them in writing; but the Mishnah, Talmud, and Aggadah I give them orally, so that when the idolaters enslave them, they will remain distinct from them.8

God, knowing that the ovdai kokhavim, the “star worshippers” (the Gentile Romans who become Christians) would one day take the Torah away from the Jews and claim it as their own, God gave the true chosen people, the Jews, another special gift at Sinai: the Mishnah, Talmud and Aggadah (midrash), but in oral form so that it should not be stolen too. In this way the rabbis, with divine approval, can emphasize the laws’ continuing centrality in Jewish life and salvation. At the same time they insist that “all the rest of the law” remains as special a gift to the Jews as the first five books. Finally, in including their own writings in the divine gift, the rabbis Exodus Rabbah 47.1. The Hebrew in the text reads ‫ עובדי כוכבים‬ovde kokhavim, which I translate as “Gentiles,” though it literally means “star worshipers.” I. Gafni has pointed out to me that due to Medieval Christian censorship “Gentile” was often replaced by “star worshiper.” See also PT Peah 2.6, Numbers Rabbah 14.10. 8

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secure their own law-defining profession as divinely sanctioned as well. Another, sixth or seventh-century midrash re-emphasizes this Jewish distinction from the other peoples. Although this text clearly reflects a later/Byzantine milieu, the midrash expresses, in an elaborated form, the sentiments recorded in the previous passage: Moses asked that the Mishnah also be in written form, like the Torah. But the Holy One, Blessed be He, foresaw that the nations would get to translate the Torah, and reading it, say, in Greek, would declare: “We are Israel; we are the children of the Lord.” And Israel would declare: “We are the children of the Lord.” The scales would appear to be balanced between both claims, but then the Holy One, Blessed be He, will say to the nations: “What are you claiming, that you are My children? I have no way of knowing other than that my child is he who possess my secret.” The nations will ask: “And what is your secret?” God will reply: “It is the Mishnah.”9

This midrash re-affirms the claim that only those who possess all of God’s law (the Mishnah, Talmuds, and the midrashic literature) can be the true Children of Israel (i.e. the Jews, or perhaps even just rabbinic Jews). Moreover, the knowledge is secret, handed down at Sinai to the truly chosen ones, the ones who can absolutely claim divine blessedness and future salvation through the sacred knowledge passed down from Moses to the rabbinic generations.

PASSOVER Passover proves to be a particularly vexing case in point for Aphrahat and his community. According to Aphrahat’s Pesikta Rabbati 5. My translation is based on W.G. Braude Pesikta Rabbati: Discourses for Feasts, Fasts and Special Sabbaths (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968), 93. Braude (n.9) notes that the “Mishnah” in this passage probably includes the early midrashim. Marc Hirshman, Mikra and Midrash: A Comparison of Rabbinics and Patristics [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Ha kibbutz Hameuchad, 1992), 16–17, claims the ‫ מסטירין‬misterin of this passage should be “stamp” and not “secret.” 9

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understanding of biblical law, the paschal sacrifice had to be made in Jerusalem and could not be observed anywhere else. Thus, even contemporary mid-fourth century Jews illegitimately practiced this law when they celebrate Passover. Quoting Deuteronomy 16.5–6 he explains, When you [Israel] enter the land which the Lord gave you, and you make the paschal sacrifice in its season, you and your family “will not be allowed to slay the paschal lamb in any one of your towns, rather only in the place which the Lord your God will choose for himself” (Dt. 16. 5–6). “You will rejoice in your festival” (Dt. 16.14).10

Aphrahat understands “in the place the Lord your God will choose” to be Jerusalem, the home of the Temple, the only proper altar for Israelite sacrifice.11 The Jews, understood here to be descendents of those same Israelites, however, now live in exile among the unclean. He continues: If when Israel was in its own land they were not allowed to make the paschal sacrifice except in Jerusalem, today they are scattered among all the peoples and languages, among the unclean and the uncircumcised, and eat their bread in the impurity among the peoples, as Ezekiel said concerning them . . . For if, as I said above, that when Israel was in its own land, they were not allowed in any place to slay the paschal lamb, but only before one altar in Jerusalem, in our days how is it possible to make the mystery of the paschal sacrifice when they are scattered among the alien peoples? Certainly they are not allowed.12

Demonstrations 12.2. This interpretation is also found indirectly in Justin (Trypho 40), Tertullian (Adversus Judaeos 5), Origen (On Pascha PO XIV.906), and directly (but later) in Chrysostom’s Discourses Against the Jews 3.3.7. 12 Demonstrations 12.3. The “mystery” (‫ ܐ ܳܪ ܳܙܐ‬raza in Syriac) of the paschal ̱ sacrifice for Aphrahat is its spiritual meaning (Jesus’ passion) which dictates a different set of practices and hence significance to the festival. See below. 10 11

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Making a direct connection between biblical law and contemporary Jewish practice, Aphrahat accuses his Jewish neighbors of defying God’s explicit law by celebrating the Passover in the wrong place, that is, outside of Jerusalem. Unfortunately Aphrahat does not elaborate on contemporary Jewish Passover practice. Whether Jews might have continued sacrificial practices of one sort or another in fourth-century Persia will be discussed in the Appendix. Nonetheless, Aphrahat seems aware that contemporary Jews mark the occasion of Passover in some ritualistic way and even this provokes him to his polemic. Responses to this provocative accusation can be found in the rabbinic literature. Even though the rabbis’ words may not be direct rebuttals to Aphrahat, they show awareness of this particular Christian argument. While these rabbinic texts may reflect the general Jewish-Christian polemic, Aphrahat lived among Mesopotamian Jews; these Jews, who eventually redacted the various rabbinic texts into the Babylonian Talmud and later midrashim, may have been Aphrahat’s closest target. The following targum text, perhaps recognizing the problem of the biblical passage that allowed Aphrahat to claim that the sacrifices could not be made outside of Jerusalem, resolves the textual problem through an elaboration in its translation of another verse. Exodus 19.4 reads, “You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself.” The targum extrapolates: You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on clouds as on eagles wings from Pelusium, and carried you to the site of the Sanctuary to celebrate the Passover there, bringing you back to Pelusium [Rameses/Egypt] that same night; and from there I brought you close to the instruction of my Law.13 Translation from M. McNamara and M. Maher, The Aramaic Bible. Vol. 2: Targum Neofiti 1 and Targum Peudo-Jonathan to Exodus (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 215. L. Ginzberg notes that this targum, in turn, could be based on Mekhilta Yitro 2. He also adds (note 210 in vol. 5) that “flying through the air” was common among Christian saints implying that this 13

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This passage solves an internal textual contradiction illuminated by Aphrahat. How can God say, in Deuteronomy, that the paschal sacrifice can only be made in one place, assumed by most interpreters to be Jerusalem, when the Israelites celebrated their first Passover in Egypt? According to this midrash, on that first Passover night the Israelites were carried off to Jerusalem to celebrate and then returned the same night to Egypt. This resolution, however, does not address the problem of fourthcentury Jews celebrating Passover in the Diaspora. Most Jewish exegetes of Deuteronomy 16.5 agree that the place indicated in the passage is Jerusalem (or at least the land of Israel) when the Temple was standing. The crucial question that the rabbis debate, however, is what to do after the Temple’s demise. This of course was also the case before the First Temple existed when the tabernacle wandered about the land from tribe to tribe until it found a permanent home in Solomon’s sanctuary. When there was no permanent altar in all the Land of Israel, one could bring sacrifices to other altars such as Shilo. The rabbinic texts raise the many-altar issue several times in their literature from the Tosefta to the Babylonian Talmud. BT Zebahim relates: Rabbah said this is the reason of Rabbi Shimon: Rabbi Shimon said “From where do we learn that to sacrifice the [paschal lamb] on a personal altar in the time that altars were forbidden transgresses a negative commandment? The Torah says: ‘you will not be able to sacrifice the [paschal lamb]’ (Dt. 16.5). One can, however, in the times when the altars are permitted because the Torah continues: ‘in one of your gates’ It did not say [that] except for when all of Israel was entering in one gate.”14

These rabbis understood “one gate” to be the gate of Jerusalem and the Temple. But when that gate no longer stood was there any reason they could not bring offerings someplace else? No. Why interpretation may have been influenced by Christian exegesis. L. Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 6 vols. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1911–1967), 1:365, 5:433. 14 Tosefta Zebahim 13.16, Sifre on Deuteronomy 132, PT Megillah 1.11, BT Zebahim 114b, Pesahim 91a.

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would this interest rabbis after the Second Temple had been built and destroyed? Could it be a rationalization for keeping up some practices that were related to sacrificing, such as the festival of Passover, when the Temple no longer existed?15 The more pertinent issue concerns location of the altars: if no central altar existed could other sanctuaries replace it? While the Jews lived in the Diaspora could they still celebrate the once-temple-oriented holidays? Yes! But the practices had to differ. Transforming or adapting biblical rituals to Diaspora and post-temple reality created rabbinic Judaism, a practice and belief system based on biblical law, but that evolved to accommodate the realities of a post temple world. If some Jews, let alone Christians, questioned the legality of any non-sacrificial, or non-temple-oriented Passover rituals the rabbis created and promoted, they may very well have had to defend their practices in this way. If it is assumed that the biblical text dictates offering sacrifices only at the Jerusalem altar on the festival holidays, how can the rabbis prescribe celebrating Passover through other means anywhere else but Jerusalem? The rabbis’ answer depends on the precedent of Shilo and the other altars that existed before Jerusalem was sanctified. Although the first midrash quoted corrects the biblical account of the Israelites’ first Passover in the desert and assures its readers that in actuality the Israelites celebrated only in Jerusalem, this passage is probably only an explication of conflicting biblical texts. The altar discussion, appearing repeatedly in the rabbinic literature (twice in the Babylonian Talmud) might indicate that even 300–400 years after the destruction of the Temple rabbis themselves still questioned and tweaked the practices that they had created to replace the Temple offerings. Perhaps Palestinian rabbis, who might object to biblically-based rituals practiced outside the borders of biblical Israel, as well as Christians (some perhaps still peripheral to the Jewish community), questioned the legality of Babylonian rabbinic or other Jewish practices bringing this issue to the forefront once again. It is, of course, impossible to prove that these statements were made in direct response to Christian or I discuss the question whether or not Jews still offered paschal sacrifices in fourth-century Persia in the appendix. 15

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internal rabbinic polemics, but one can surmise that these rabbis were forced to defend their practices—even among their own— when external voices (like those of some Christians) exerted pressures on the community. Nevertheless, reinforcing his argument that the paschal lamb could only be sacrificed in Jerusalem, when the Temple existed, Aphrahat supplies proof-texts from the Prophets predicting the cessation of sacrifices in general. He writes: “Many days will the children of Israel dwell without sacrifices and without an altar, without wearing the ephod and offering incense” (Hos. 3.4). And again [God] said to Jerusalem, “I shall put an end to her joys and festivals, her New Moons and Sabbaths” (Hos. 2.11). And concerning the ark of the testament [God] said, “they shall no longer say ‘ark of the testament of the Lord,’ nor will they remember it, nor will it be made again” (Jer 3.16). Now that [God] said that they will not remember it, nor will it be made, and it will not come to mind, how is it that they dare to do it?16

The paschal sacrifice, the Temple altar and all other rituals, according to Aphrahat, came to an end with the destruction of the Second Temple. Not only did Jesus’ death and resurrection abrogate the Law for Christians, but God removed the Law from the Jews a few years later by destroying their sanctuary. While it is not at all clear whether Aphrahat accuses the Jews of actually offering paschal lambs or simply of commemorating the Passover (see appendix), the cessation of all sacrifice, including the paschal offering, after the destruction of the Temple represented the end of all Jewish ritual, that is it abrogated “Judaism,” as well to Christians in the Christian era. Accusing the Jews of transgressing their own law (by observing any ritual practice after the destruction of the Temple) is a central argument in Aphrahat’s “Demonstration on Passover.” For if he could “prove” that the Jews were not allowed to commemorate Passover outside of Jerusalem (or at all after the destruction of the Temple), then Christians, all the more so, were not supposed to either. This becomes a necessary case to present 16

Demonstrations 12.3.

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because some Christians clearly continued to celebrate Passover according to some form of “Jewish” tradition. Aphrahat writes concerning this issue that, “[g]reatly troubled are the minds of foolish and unintelligent folk concerning this great day of festival [Passover], as to how they should understand and observe it.”17 In order to correct this problem, Aphrahat delineated the differences between “Jewish” Passover and “Christian” Passover, in concept as well as practice. For instance, the Jews celebrated on the fourteen of Nisan, while the Christians celebrated on the fifteenth (according to Aphrahat). Furthermore the Jews celebrated their exodus from Egypt, while the Christians commemorated “the crucifixion and the pain of [their] redeemer.”18 The most important point, however, was that the Jewish Passover had ceased to exist in 70 CE, while Christian Passover had superseded it. Nevertheless, much to Aphrahat’s consternation, Jews in Aphrahat’s day and neighborhood, insisted on celebrating the Jewish Passover. This persistence obviously confused Christians generating this polemic on the “legality” of the Jewish Passover and other rituals.

CIRCUMCISION Superseding Passover as the ultimate Jewish ritual, circumcision is the rite by which a male accepted the yoke of the commandments.19 Aphrahat takes pains to explain that this rite,

Demonstrations 12.5. Demonstrations 12.8. 19 Circumcision, an exclusively male ritual, nevertheless represents “being Jewish” for all Jews in a patriarchal society. Yet the totality of “Jewishness” as subsumed into this one rite, in and of itself is probably a relatively late development. Scholars argue that many Jews, before the Roman period did not necessarily identify circumcision as their most salient feature as Jews. In addition, though many Christians soon pick up on the Roman penchant for identifying circumcision as an exclusive (and weird) Jewish identifier, the idea of circumcision also remains close to some Christian understandings of Jesus’ humanity (that he was a Jew and must have been circumcised). See the many articles on this subject by Andrew Jacobs as well as his recently published book, Christ Circumcised: 17 18

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which for many Jews encompasses within its very act all other rituals including sacrifices as the sign of the covenant between Abraham and God, is not salvific as these Jews claim. The Jews proudly say that they are the children of Abraham, and thereby the sole heirs to his covenant with God, represented by their circumcision. These Jews, however, “misunderstand”: When God blessed Abraham and placed him as head of all believing, righteous and upright men, God did not establish him father of one people alone, but of many peoples, when he said to him, “Your name will not be called Abram, but your name will be Abraham, for I have established you father of a multitude of peoples” (Gen. 17.5). Therefore, my beloved friend, hear the sign of the treatise and the foundation of the disputation: that which is right to say against that people which came before us and believes about their souls that they are the seed of Abraham.20

Here, Aphrahat instructs his readers, “what is right to say against that people [the Jews] which came before us,” because the Jewish argument, that they were the true heirs to Abraham’s covenant with God, troubled the Christians. Without ever stating explicitly that fourth-century Persian Christians circumcised their sons, Aphrahat implies that some obviously did. He would not have needed to compose such a lengthy polemic against the practice, if there were not circumcised Christians among his congregants, or worse, Christians who accepted the Jewish understanding of circumcision and converted to Judaism. This phenomenon was aggravated all the more by the arguments of the Jews who continued to observe the rite. For the benefit of these circumcised Christians (or those who were considering the ritual for the sake of conversion) Aphrahat wrote his “Demonstration on Circumcision.” He argues that circumcision was not unique to the Jews, for Abraham fathered many peoples who were all circumcised: Ishmael, the children of

A Study in Early Christian History and Difference (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012). See also, Thiessen, Contesting Conversion. 20 Demonstrations 11.1. See Rom. 4.17 for original reference.

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Keturah, as well as Isaac.21 Furthermore, Aphrahat argues that the Egyptians, who were circumcised by Joseph, remained so until the Exodus. A midrashic text,22 noting the Egyptian’s circumcision by Joseph, maintains, in contradistinction to Aphrahat, that the Egyptians had ceased to circumcise by the time Moses was born. This midrash then can easily explain how Pharoah’s daughter recognized Moses as a Hebrew when she found him in the river. The text relates: “‘And [she—the daughter of Pharoah] said, this is one of the Hebrews’ children.’ (Ex. 2.6) What did she recognize in him? She saw, said R. Jose, son of R. Hanina that he was circumcised.”23 Alluding to this midrash Aphrahat argues: [T]here are men, my beloved, who say that when the daughter of Pharoah found Moses, she realized from the covenant which was in his flesh that he was of the children of Israel. But the literal sense of the text is not as it seems. For the covenant of his circumcision of Moses was in no way distinguished from the circumcision of the children of Egypt . . . [She] knew that he was of the children of the Hebrews, because it was not commanded for Egyptians to be thrown into the river.24

Pointing to this shared tradition, that Moses would have been recognized by his circumcision, Aphrahat counters with another tradition of his own: who else would have been in the water but a Hebrew boy? Moreover, he argues, if Moses had been circumcised while the other Egyptian males were not, how could he have lived in the palace unrecognized as a Hebrew? Aphrahat points out that “there are men” who claim otherwise, but he does not indicate who. These men could be Jews or possibly Christians who had this tradition from some other source, Jewish or not. They might even This interpretation can be found in the Epistle to Barnabas 9.5; and Tertullian Adversus Judaeos 3. See also Justin Martyr, Trypho 28. 22 Genesis Rabbah 90.6 and 91.5. These traditions explain that Joseph required all Egyptian males to be circumcised before he would distribute the grain, for uncircumcision was a disgrace before God, the provider of the grain. 23 Exodus Rabbah 1.24. 24 Demonstrations 11.8. 21

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be “Jewish-Christians” fighting for the right to circumcise their sons, or Gentile-Christians who had just heard this explanation from a Jewish missionary. In any case, Aphrahat insists that circumcision is not necessary for Christians nor did it bring salvation to Jews, for Egyptians circumcised too. If the preceding arguments did not convince his readers, Aphrahat shows them that circumcision without true faith proves useless. Indeed, many circumcised people were evil, like Jeroboam and all the other bad kings of Israel, while uncircumcised folk like Noah and Enoch were righteous.25 Circumcision then did not guarantee anything in this life or the next. Even in the case of Abraham, this sign of the circumcision was given after he had proven his faith to God, making faith a prerequisite to enter the covenant with God and presupposing that without faith circumcision loses all meaning. Aphrahat explains: Circumcision without faith is useless and to no advantage for faith precedes circumcision, and circumcision is a sign. And a covenant was given to Abraham, as God said to him, “This is my covenant which you will keep, that you will circumcise every male” (Gen. 17.10). So long as it pleased its giver, it was observed with the commandments of the law, it gave benefit and life. But when the laws were not observed, circumcision was of no benefit.26

Paul develops this theory of faithless circumcision first in Romans.27 Aphrahat, unlike Paul, however, totally dismisses circumcision, and thereby all ritual law, as meaningless for salvation Aphrahat often marshals lists of biblical heroes who did not observe this or that ritual law but were still considered righteous in God’s eyes. This method of biblical interpretation is also found in Hebrews chapter 11. 26 Demonstrations 11.2. This argument is found foremost in Paul and is repeated widely in early Patristic literature. Justin Martyr adds, however, that circumcision was a sign of the Jews’ future sin and punishment for rejecting Jesus. (Trypho 16). For a more detailed discussion of the sources see Simon, Verus Israel, 164–166. 27 See for instance Rom., ch. 2–4. 25

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from the very beginning. God gave circumcision to Abraham as a seal and sign to their covenant only after Abraham had proven himself through faith. As long as Abraham and his children were circumcised and faithful, they were guaranteed salvation, but once they turned away from God, their circumcision was not salvific; circumcision in and of itself means nothing. Denying all salvific powers of ritual can only strengthen Aphrahat’s cause. If one could imagine Jews and Christians discussing the efficacy of circumcision in the streets of Mesopotamia, a Jew might have supported the argument for circumcision with the following midrashim: “Walk before me and thou shall be whole” (Gen. 17.1) . . . God said to Abraham, “you have no other defect but this foreskin: remove it and the defect will be gone.”28 “And when Abram was ninety-nine years old’” (Gen. 17.1), the Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: “Until now you have not been perfect before me; but circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and ‘walk before me, and be perfect.’ Moreover, the foreskin is a reproach . . . for the foreskin is a blemish above all blemishes. Circumcise the flesh of your foreskin and be perfect.”29

The implication here is that Abraham was not a whole person before God commanded him to circumcise himself. In contrast to the Christian argument faith in and of itself was not enough, for the act of cutting the foreskin completed God’s creation. This midrash continues with another explanation: The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to the ministering angels: Come and see the power of circumcision. Before Abraham was circumcised he fell on his face (before Me), and afterwards I spoke with him, as it is said, ‘Abraham fell upon his face’ (Gen. 17.17). Now that he is circumcised he sits and I stand. Whence do we know that the Holy One, Blessed be He, was standing? Genesis Rabbah 46.4. Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer (PRE) 29. The translations are from G. Friedlander, trans., Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer, 2nd ed. (New York: Hermon Press, 1965), 203. 28 29

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JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS Because it is said, ‘And he looked, and, lo, three men stood over against him’ (Gen. 18.2).30

The author of this text stresses the importance of circumcision not so much for its covenantal sake but for its personal power. Abraham is a better, holier man, and therefore more pleasing to God, without his foreskin than with it. A male Christian, concerned with his eternal salvation and believing that circumcision was commanded to Abraham his forefather, might accept this argument in an attempt to preserve his life on earth while still guaranteeing life to come. The rabbis also discuss the circumstances of Abraham’s circumcision: Why did God not command Abraham to be circumcised earlier? Why should he [Abraham] not have circumcised himself at the age of 48, when he recognized his Creator? In order not to close the door to proselytes.31

This midrash is based on an older version in the Mekhilta, and repeated in the Tanhuma.32 There the reasoning behind God’s answer is fleshed out. If Abraham was 99 when he circumcised himself, no elderly potential convert could claim that he was too old to undergo the operation in order to be a full proselyte. The fact that this part of the midrash is left out in the Genesis Rabbah version may indicate some rabbis’ ambivalent feelings toward converts, but not towards the importance of circumcision.

CROSSING RITUAL PRACTICE BOUNDARIES If there was one issue on which fourth-century Jewish and Christian leaders agreed, it was the impracticality of shared rituals. PRE 29, Friedlander, 205. While this passage and the previous ones quoted from PRE are relatively late, the compiler of this text based his work on earlier traditions, borrowing and embellishing at will. Much of this text has a polemical message, but it may reflect a later stage in the polemic than the one I discuss here. 31 Genesis Rabbah 46.2–3. 32 Mekhilta of Rabbi Yishmael, Mishpatim 18; Tanhuma Lekh lekha 17. 30

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Jews and Christians celebrating the same rites, even if for different reasons, jeopardized the presumed exclusivity and chosenness of each religion. Chrysostom, in late fourth-century Antioch, chastising his congregants for Judaizing exclaimed, What, then, are the questions? I will ask each one of you who is sick with this disease [Judaizing]: Are you a Christian? Why then this zeal for Jewish practices? Are you a Jew? Why then, are you making trouble for the Church? Does not a Persian side with the Persians? Is not a barbarian eager for what concerns the barbarians? . . . The difference between the Jews and us is not a small one, is it? Is the dispute between us over ordinary, everyday matters, so that you think the two religions are really one and the same? Why are you mixing what cannot be mixed?33

After condemning the Jewish practices on Passover, Aphrahat too ܶ petzkha, Syriac attempts to delineate between the rites of ‫ܳ ܐ‬ ܶ “Christian” Passover and ‫ܳ ܐ‬ petzkha “Jewish” Passover. In the ܶ petzkha, means equally Passover and Easter, or better Syriac, ‫ܳ ܐ‬ “Jewish” Passover and “Christian” Passover. What Aphrahat wants to differentiate is not so much the name of the festival, but how it should be observed. The “Jews” follow the letter of the law (sacrifices), while Aphrahat’s readers should follow the “spirit,” the commemoration of Jesus’ passion. Thus the days and rites of celebration differ. 34 The paschal sacrifice of the Jews is the day of the fourteenth, night and day. But for us the great passion is Friday, the fifteenth, night and day. Then after the paschal sacrifice Israel

33John

Chrysostom, Discourses Against the Jews 4.3.5–6. Translation from P. Harkins, Discourses Against the Jews (Washington D.C.: Catholic University Press, 1979), p.78. 34 Note however that the Syriac root ‫ܰ ܚ‬ is not a cognate of the Hebrew ‫פסח‬. The Syriac root means ‘to rejoice,’ while the Hebrew, usually translated as ‘to pass over’, really means to “protect”. (The Greek πασχα, while phonetically based on the Hebrew or Aramaic, is also related to the Greek word “to suffer.”)

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JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS eats unleavened bread seven days until the twenty-first of the month. But we observe as the festival of unleavened bread the festival of our redeemer.35

Passover, the holiday associated with Jesus’ passion and death, posed a special problem for Christians everywhere, including in Mesopotamia. Due to their Christian faith, some people understood “Jewish” Passover to be a Christian holiday as well. This misconception often led to Judaizing, the phenomenon described above. Earlier, I differentiated between conversion and Judaizing claiming that Aphrahat’s community suffered more from the former than from the latter;36 however, I do not wish to exclude the possibility that some Christians in Mesopotamia might also have celebrated “Jewish” rituals while not compromising their faith as Christians. Nonetheless, Aphrahat, in trying to differentiate between “Jewish” and “Christian” only delineates here a difference in when and why to celebrate Passover, but not how. The problem of fuzzy boundaries between “Jewish” ritual and “Christian” ritual disturbed rabbis and church leaders alike. Becoming a Jew was one thing, but remaining faithful to the church while participating in some Jewish rites was uncomfortable to the rabbis since it meant that non-Jews celebrated special rites that they believed were given only to Jews. Church leaders, continually struggling to separate from the synagogue, found Judaizing equally abhorrent because it blurred the demarcation lines they were constructing between Jews and Christians, in fact creating those very differences, deciding what should remain Christian or Jewish and what should not. The greatest fear of all, Demonstrations 12.8. The problem of when to celebrate Passover, which Aphrahat discusses was widespread in the eastern churches. The council of Nicaea solved this issue by setting a date for Easter separate and independent of the Jewish Passover. Some communities, however, continued to follow the Jewish calendar since it was on the historic day of Passover that Jesus was crucified, according to some of the Gospels. See S. Lieberman, “Palestine in the Third and Fourth Centuries,” JQR 36 (1946): 333, especially n.29. 35 36

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for the Christians, was that Judaizing Christians would eventually be convinced of Judaism’s superiority. Although many Jews did not discourage conversion, many rabbis were equally wary of “incomplete” Jews participating in exclusively Jewish rites.37 While Judaizing created a more serious problem for the church, the issue of faithful Christians (as opposed to possible converts) participating in Jewish rituals, especially the Passover celebration, was a reality the rabbis recognized and condemned, as is illustrated in the following passage: An Aramean [non-Jew] that used to go and eat the paschal sacrifice in Jerusalem said, “it is written ‘no foreigners shall eat of it’ (Ex. 12.43) ‘no uncircumcised shall eat of it’ (Ex. 12.44) and here am I who ate from the best parts!” Rabbi Yehuda ben Batira said to him, “did they give you a piece from the tail?” He answered, “no.” [Then R. Yehuda ben Batira told him], “When you go there say to them: ‘Give me from the tail.’” So, when he went there [again] he said to them: “Give me from the tail.” They said to him, “but the tail goes up to the High One.” So they asked of him, “Who told you thus?” He said to them, “Yehuda ben Batira.” Then they said [to themselves], “what have we here?” They checked into his background and found out that he was an Aramean and killed him. They sent to Rabbi Yehuda ben Batira [a compliment], “Shalom to you Rabbi Yehuda ben Batira, who is in Nisibis, but your net is spread out in Jerusalem.”38

The basic plot line is clear: a non-Jew, pretending to be a Jew, goes to Jerusalem to offer the paschal sacrifice. When he returns to Nisibis, he boasts that he “got away with it” to a Jewish sage of the community nonetheless! Yehuda ben Batira, the sage in question, tricking the Aramean, directs him to ask for a certain part of the Over the centuries in the Diaspora, many Jewish communities developed a peripheral community of Gentile Godfearers, people who admired Judaism, perhaps even believed in the one God, but did not accept full conversion. See note 39 below. 38 BT Pesahim 3b. I thank Isaiah Gafni for pointing out this source and its significance. 37

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sacrifice, the tail piece, the next time he goes to Jerusalem. This particular part of the sacrifice is not eaten, but completely burnt on the altar. Any Jew would know the difference, but a non-Jew might not. In this way “they” (the sages in Jerusalem) correctly identify the infiltrator in their midst. Why would a non-Jew be interested in participating in an exclusively Jewish ritual? Throughout the Hellenistic and Roman period there were many non-Jews, who, short of converting to Judaism, were adherents of some sort to the faith because of its monotheistic tenets. Although these “Godfearers” or “fearers of heaven”39 might attend synagogue in the Diaspora communities, they were not allowed into the Temple precincts to bring offerings in Jerusalem, for they were not considered full converts. Despite the destruction of Jerusalem, Godfearers continued to exist in the Diaspora where many eventually converted to Christianity, a monotheistic religion seemingly similar to Judaism with fewer requirements for conversion.40 Furthermore, the passage clearly states that the Aramean in question came from Nisibis. In the first century BCE, and the first two centuries CE, Nisibis had a flourishing Jewish community including a famous academy of Jewish learning. In the next two centuries, however, the Christian community grew and prospered, outnumbering the Jewish population by the end of the century.41 In See discussions on the Godfearers and conversion in S. Safrai and M. Stern, The Jewish People in the First Century, 2 vols. (Amsterdam: Assen, Van Gorcum 1976), 2: 622–624; and in B.J. Bamberger, Proselytism in the Talmudic Period (New York: Ktav Publishing, Inc., 1968), ch. 7. More recently the existence of Godfearers was discussed in Biblical Archeological Review 12.5 (1986): 44–69. A.T. Kraabel and R.S. Maclennan are convinced by the lack of material evidence that the term “Godfearers,” as used in the NT is a literary creation and not a reality. L. Feldman, marshalling a wide variety of evidence, argues cogently for the existence of Jewish “sympathizers” or Godfearers in the Gentile community. 40 Safrai and Stern, Jewish People, 662–624. 41 J.B. Segal, “The Jews of North Mesopotamia before the Rise of Islam,” in Studies in the Bible presented to Prof. M.H. Segal [Sefer Segal] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1964), 42. See also J.P. Asmussen, “Christians in 39

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the fifth century the Christian community supported an academy of its own. It is possible then that the Aramean was a Christian. However, the Aramean could represent any foreigner, including a Christian, who might have thought that he could participate in, or even usurp Jewish ritual, but who would be caught in the end due to his ignorance. In addition, the Talmud records two Yehudah ben Batiras living in Nisibis, one at the end of the Second Commonwealth, and one at the time of the Bar Kokhba revolt in the next century.42 The mix of characters and time periods does not help date the passage, but a study of the language used will show that it was a late creation and possibly even a fabrication for the benefit of the readers. Isaiah Gafni has attempted to date this piece. This story does not appear anywhere else in the earlier rabbinic literature: not in the Palestinian Talmud, nor the Mishnah, the Tosefta nor the various midrashim. Since the passage cannot be dated to an earlier text, one can assume that it is of Babylonian vintage and therefore of the third century at the very earliest.43 The language of the text is also a clue to its date, it is in Aramaic, the language of the third and fourth (and later) century rabbis in both Palestine and Babylon. Another clue is the specific language used. When speaking of the tail piece, the aliya, the rabbis in Jerusalem say, ‫אליה לגבוה סלקא‬, aliyah le-gavohah salka, the aliya (the tail) goes up to the High One. This phrase is used only one other time, also in tractate Pesahim (84b), by Rabbi Nahman bar Yitshak.44 Rabbi Nahman, a Iran” in the Cambridge History of Iran 3.2:924–933. R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 18–21 also describes how the Syriac church in Nisibis could have been influenced by the Jewish schools of Nisibis, although not directly. 42 Isaiah Gafni, The Jews of Babylonia in the Talmudic Era: A Social and Cultural History (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 1990) [Hebrew: Yehude Bavel], 77. The younger Yehuda ben Batira may have been a descendent of the first Yehudah ben Batira of the first century. 43 Babylonia did not become a stronghold of Jewish learning and writing until well into the third century. 44 Gafni, Yehude Bavel, 74.

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Babylonian amora who lived c. 280 CE to 356 CE, a student of Rabbi Nahman bar Yaacov of Nahardea, also studied at Sura and in his declining years became head of the academy at Pumpedita.45 He was known for his painstaking work in gathering and recording the teachings of the sages though he was never mentioned in the Palestinian Talmud. Therefore if this phrase was coined by, or simply used by Rabbi Nahman in the mid-fourth century for the first time, it is safe to conclude that the story is also of the mid-fourth century at the earliest. An Aramean in fourth-century Nisibis was fairly likely to be a Christian in view of the city’s large Christian population and central role in Christian learning at the time. It is more understandable that a Christian, with an obvious knowledge of the Pentateuch (he quotes a biblical verse to Ben Batira), would be interested in Jewish ritual practice, especially concerning Passover, because of its connection with Jesus’ ministry and death. Although the Temple was not functioning in the fourth century, we know from the Christian sources, including Aphrahat, that some Christians still observed other Jewish rites. As I noted above, Aphrahat condemns the practice of the Jewish Passover, both for Jews and Christians, but especially for Christians. The Jewish sages also react negatively to this peculiar situation: they kill the Aramean. Although the rabbis did not regularly execute wayward Christians who stumbled across their path, it is obvious that they disapproved of “incomplete Jews” (Godfearers) or non-Jews (Christians included) participating in certain rituals. Separating the Jews from the other peoples, a topic discussed widely in the rabbinic literature, entailed exclusion of Christians, especially Judaizing Christians.46 That both the rabbis Alfred J. Kolatch, Who’s Who in the Talmud (New York: Jonathan David, 1964), 265. The places mentioned were home to some of the famous Jewish academies of Babylon. 46 Note the inclusion of the “blessing against sectarians” in the morning prayer service in the first century. Though this was probably originally meant to exclude “Jewish-Christians” and other non-rabbinic Jews from the synagogue, it is not clear who was considered a heretic in the fourth century, Christians in general or just “Jewish-Christians.” See 45

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and the Christian writers condemn the practice of Christians partaking in Jewish rites indicates that Christians continued to Judaize despite the clerical disapproval. But it also shows, ultimately, how hard it was at times to differentiate between the two, and the ambivalence to that difference, or the possibility of difference, manifested by many fourth-century Jewish and Christian ritual behavior. Finally, Ephrem, living himself in fourth-century Nisibis, also condemns the Judaizing within his community, but he distinctly blames the Jews not only for causing Christians to Judaize but possibly also to convert. He writes: “[the Jew] drawing us toward Moses/ he separates us from the Messiah.”47 The Jews, aware of the attractions that Judaism held for Christians, but fearful of diluting their people and practices with syncretists, discouraged Judaizing by believing Christians, while promoting full proselytes. The crisis of the persecutions, however, may have pushed some Judaizing Christians over to the Jewish camp. Aphrahat, equally distraught that Christians celebrated Jewish rituals (either as Judaizers or converts-in-the-making), attempted in his Demonstrations to establish the boundaries between “Jewish” and “Christian” in order to preserve the integrity of his community. Aphrahat, like many other church fathers, discouraged Christians from observing Jewish ritual. The Syriac Christian community, however, suffered from a severe religious persecution that may have pushed many Christians, a number of whom had Jewish backgrounds, into the arms of the Jewish community. The Jews in turn argued vigorously for the salvific component of God’s commandments, for those who were willing to accept all of the Law’s requirements. Half-converts (from Christianity and other faiths), or people with a foot in each camp would not be tolerated, for fear that the integrity of the religion would be harmed. R. Kimelman, “Birkat Ha-Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an AntiChristian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity,” in Jewish and Christian Selfdefinition, vol. 2: Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-Roman Period, eds. E.P. Sanders, A.L. Baumgarten and A. Mendelson (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1981), 226–244. 47 Ephrem, Third Sermon on Faith, 305–308. See ch. 1, n.12.

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Furthermore, from Aphrahat’s point of view perhaps he felt compelled to dispute Jewish beliefs as well as practices because he faced losing members to the Jews who could “prove” the efficacy of their beliefs (i.e. chosenness) and practices (Passover, circumcision) during the pressured times of the persecutions.

CONCLUSION In this study I have examined an old problem in late ancient Jewish and Christian history from a new angle. I asked the question: Was there an on-going Jewish-Christian polemic in fourth-century Persia, and if so, what were the issues debated? Furthermore, was there evidence of this polemic in the rabbinic literature? Could I fill in the Jewish half of the conversation? Aphrahat’s Demonstrations, a fourth-century Syriac adversus Judaeos text, indicated that fourthcentury Persian Christians were still interested in the debate. Despite the lack of a comparable Jewish or rabbinic adversus Christianos treatise, there is evidence, particularly from Aphrahat, that this polemic was not one sided and that rabbinic Jews actively participated in it. Establishing the existence of fourth-century Jewish-Christian polemical conversations not only illuminates the areas of conflict between Jews and Christians in Persian Mesopotamia, but it also determines how the external political situation influenced these confrontations. In addition, it allows one to reflect on the nature of rabbinic reactions to Christianity. While some scholars, like A. Harnack and D. Rokeah, assert that the rabbis had little interest in the claims that Christians made against Jews and Judaism (and hence concluded that the Jews were not involved in the polemics against other religions at this time), my studies have shown that there was probably much more interaction between Jews and Christians in these years, including rabbinical counter-attacks against some notion of “Christianity.” Providing a rabbinic context for Aphrahat’s polemic also brings into question J. Neusner’s conclusion that Aphrahat knew no rabbinic Jews, only Yahwistic ones. Nine out of Aphrahat’s twenty-three demonstrations, written between the years 337–345 CE, address polemical issues with Jews. Aphrahat addresses the observance of Passover, the Sabbath and 161

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circumcision, as well as future redemption, the Messiah and virginity within this Jewish-Christian “conversation.” In his writings Aphrahat instructs his congregants how to differentiate between what he considers to be “Christian” and “Jewish.” In addition he presents arguments for his readers to use in their debates with Jews, suggesting the possibility that Jews and/or Christians often found themselves in polemical discussions with one another in fourth-century Persia. Several times in the Demonstrations Aphrahat claims that he writes only in order to defend against Jewish arguments. The need to defend against Jewish debaters proves imperative to Aphrahat, for it appears that some fourth-century Syriacspeaking Christians were converting or otherwise “backsliding” into Judaism. I argue that the stress of the mid-fourth century Persian anti-Christian persecutions heightened or strengthened this phenomenon. Other Christian texts as well as rabbinic sources testify to this trend. The case for active Christian polemicizing against Jews and Judaism in this particular time and place has been established, but what about the other side, the Jews? Aphrahat indicates that he writes, not from isolation, but in response to Jewish polemicizing against Christianity. And in fact, in several instances, Aphrahat records his opponent’s arguments. My second and chief task has been to determine if this phenomenon could be corroborated from the only Jewish source available, the rabbinic literature. I proceeded to probe those writings for possible anti-Christian passages. I approached the problem from several angles. First, I presented the examples of what Aphrahat claimed to be Jewish arguments and biblical interpretations, and then attempted to find comparable exegetical usage in the rabbinic literature. For example, in Aphrahat’s demonstration “On Persecution,” he claims that the Jews believe that God is always with them, based on their interpretation of Leviticus 26.44 (Yet for all that, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not spurn them, or abhor them so as to destroy them utterly and break my covenant with them; for I am the LORD their God.) The Midrash Esther Rabbah, BT Megilla as well as several targum texts present this very interpretation. In this particular case it is evident that while the Jewish interpretation is earlier than the fourth century, some fourth-century Jews still adhered to this argument.

CONCLUSION

163

Second, I noted which biblical verses Aphrahat used in support of his arguments and then searched the rabbinic texts to see if the rabbis used the same verses in similar, opposing, or even unconnected ways. For instance Aphrahat, reading Deuteronomy 16.5–6 (You are not permitted to offer the Passover sacrifice within any of your towns that the LORD your God is giving you. But at the place that the LORD your God will choose), determined that place to be Jerusalem. Therefore, all those Jews who live outside of Jerusalem and celebrate some sort of Passover rite in so doing transgress biblical law. Recognizing and then solving the textual problem of the first Passover, which was celebrated in Egypt, some rabbis claim that God performed a great miracle for Israel that day by carrying them all to Jerusalem for the celebration and then returning them to Egypt. While this answer does not directly address the issue of Jews celebrating Passover outside of Jerusalem centuries after its destruction, as other discussions do, it acknowledges the inherent textual contradiction. I did not find many instances where the rabbis interpret a particular verse in direct opposition to Aphrahat. More often, a verse chosen by Aphrahat, was not considered by the rabbis in the same context. The rabbis found other verses to support their arguments. Nevertheless many of the same concepts, traditions and interpretations appear in both of these Jewish and Christian sources. My third tactic, then, involved delineating these polemical themes, their exegetical support and interpretive strategies. Most of the examples I discuss in this study fall into this third category. The issues of ritual practice, marriage and chosenness remained central topics to the debate. Each side supported its argument in any way it could, though mostly through biblical exegesis. Aphrahat argued for virginity using one passage, while the rabbis argued against it using another. For instance, on the connection between divine blessing and procreation some rabbis claimed that God declared that the world was created “for no other reason but procreation.” These rabbis based their assertion on Isaiah 45.18 (God did not create it a chaos) and Genesis 1.28 (And God said be fruitful and multiply). Aphrahat, however, did not believe that procreation necessarily was a blessing, for many people who procreated, among them Zimri, Acham and Eli, brought evil into the world.

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As I demonstrated, ritual law remained central to the polemical discussions, even in the fourth century. Aphrahat, following an older Christian tradition, claimed that the ritual law (as opposed to the “ethical” law, or the ten commandments) was given to Israel as punishment for the golden calf. Therefore Jewish ritual had no salvific power in and of itself. This argument explained why the biblical narrative repeated the story of the giving of the law. While many rabbis agreed that God gave the law twice, but clamed that in the second the oral traditions were passed down to Moses. This second law-giving, however, was a gift from God, strictly for the Jews, to re-affirm their divine chosenness. The rabbinic texts relate that Moses asked for the oral tradition to be written down as well, but God declined, saying that this way only God’s favored people would know the Divine’s secret lore, and thus retain exclusive access to God. Remarkably, I found one incident where the rabbis and Aphrahat agreed on the biblical exegesis, but differed on its ramifications. This is the case of Moses’ supposed celibacy. Both Aphrahat and the rabbis concur that Moses refrained from sexual contact with his wife after he was called by God. Even though this decision is not expressed by Moses or God explicitly in the biblical text, the rabbis and Aphrahat conclude this from Moses’ lapse in procreation following the divine call. While Aphrahat uses Moses’ example as proof that God prefers celibacy to marriage, the rabbis make an exception in Moses’ case since he was a prophet among prophets and there has been no one like him since. Nonetheless both the rabbis and Aphrahat appreciate the meaning of celibacy: constant purity translates into the possibility of standing in God’s presence perpetually. This mystical “union” stands out as a shared and elevated goal. Aphrahat clearly tries for that goal each and every day, the rabbis demure that maybe only Moses was capable of such a great achievement. *** I have limited my study to fourth-century Mesopotamia since it was in that region and in those years that Aphrahat’s community flourished among the Babylonian Jews. Taking my lead from Aphrahat I chose three of his topics to research: the election of Israel, marriage and celibacy, and ritual practice. In each case I discovered rabbinic passages that suggested a “conversation” with

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Aphrahat’s arguments, or at least Jewish/rabbinic knowledge that such claims against Judaism existed among some Christians. With this textual methodology I have been able to reconstruct a rabbinic voice to a fourth-century Jewish-Christian polemical conversation. This reconstruction, in turn, supports the assertion that some Jews actively participated in a polemic against the Christians around the time that Aphrahat wrote, at the height of the Persian antiChristian persecutions. Although no one rabbi left for us an adversus Christianus treatise resembling Aphrahat’s adversus Judaeos, I argue that echoes of rabbinic complaints against Christianity and proselytizing tactics can be heard in the rabbinic texts. The rabbinic anti-Christian “conversation” should in turn help us reflect more deeply on the nature of both “Judaism” and “Christianity” in late antiquity and especially the fourth century. We like to think of both entities, “Judaism” and “Christianity” as pretty much fixed by this period. But the data show that they were both very much in flux. Clearly Aphrahat, in writing this polemic, participates in what Boyarin calls heresiology: the science of building religious community borders.1 By constructing an opponent “the Jews,” Aphrahat could teach his followers how to be better Christians. In the process, he probably demoted and denied both practices and beliefs that were shared by both. Likewise, the rabbis eventually jettison certain beliefs or practices that they once held as “Jewish,” when they seem to become too “Christian.” But in the middle there remains much give and take around the issues most important to each side and that which they held commonly in authority, the Hebrew Bible. Thus this “conversation” reflects the musing of all sorts of “Jews” and “Christians” struggling with these emerging categories of “Judaism” and “Christianity” through the careful and deliberate process of exegesis and interpretation of God’s word.

See D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), esp. the introduction. 1

APPENDIX: POST SECOND TEMPLE PASSOVER SACRIFICES? When criticizing the Jews for observing Passover in exile, Aphrahat ܶ ‫ ܰܒ‬avad petzkha, making or offering the describes them as ‫ܳ ܐ‬ paschal sacrifice.1 He uses the biblical term “to offer,” or “to make,” as opposed to the word, “to celebrate,” as if he witnessed real sacrifices. Although it is highly unlikely that fourth-century Jews actually offered sacrifices, the Passover seder ritual probably was not quite as developed as it is today. While the Temple still stood in Jerusalem Passover was celebrated, along with the other Jewish festivals, by pilgrimages to the holy city and sacrifices in honor of the holiday. Passover in particular required a unique sacrifice, the paschal lamb, or ‫ פסח‬pesah from each Jewish family. This festival commemorated the first paschal sacrifice the Hebrews offered when they left Egypt. In Exodus 12 God commands Moses to tell the people of Israel that: This month shall mark for you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year for you. Tell the whole congregation of Israel that on the tenth of this month they are to take a lamb for each family, a lamb for each household. If a household is too small for a whole lamb, it shall join its closest neighbor in obtaining one; the lamb shall be divided in proportion to the number of people who eat of it. Your lamb shall be without blemish, a year-old male; you may take it from the sheep or from the goats. You shall keep it until the The Syriac is the equivalent of the Hebrew ‫ עשה פסח‬from the biblical account. 1

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JEWISH-CHRISTIAN POLEMICS fourteenth day of this month; then the whole assembled congregation of Israel shall slaughter it at twilight. They shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they eat it. They shall eat the lamb that same night; they shall eat it roasted over the fire with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. Do not eat any of it raw or boiled in water, but roasted over the fire, with its head, legs, and inner organs. You shall let none of it remain until the morning; anything that remains until the morning you shall burn. This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly. It is the Passover (‫ )פסח‬of the LORD.2

Many centuries later the Mishnah describes how, back when there was a temple, the paschal lamb was prepared and sacrificed at sunset on Nisan 14th, with the priests splashing the blood against the altar, while the Levites sang the hallel (psalms 113–118).3 The roasted lamb was to be eaten, by each family, until midnight that same day.4 The earliest pieces of the seder, the order of the ritual paschal meal, can be found here as well. When the Second Temple was destroyed in 70 CE, the actual sacrificing of the paschal lamb came to an end, but Passover continued to be commemorated in the rest of Palestine and in the Diaspora. It is not clear exactly how the Jews celebrated Passover then, for the order of the seder was not finalized until much later.5 There is evidence, however, that post-temple Jews in various places prepared a lamb for the ritual Passover meal. While not actually making an offering, they slaughtered and roasted a lamb Exodus 12.1–11; NRSV translation. Mishnah Pesahim 5.5,6. 4 Mishnah Pesahim 10.9. 5 Louis Jacobs, “Passover,” Encyclopedia Judaica 13:167. The Haggadah, the book that contains the order of the seder was not finalized until the Middle Ages. On the history of the seder to this day see R. Fredman, The Passover Seder (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981), 3–4, and D. Goldschmidt, Haggadah shel Pesah (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1969), v. 3 and chap. 1. 2 3

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for the seder thereby commemorating the Temple paschal sacrifices.6 They may even have served up ‫גדי מקולס‬, a g’di mikulas, which Gedaliah Alon translates as a helmeted lamb.7 A g’di is a lamb, while mikulas, from the Aramaic kolas for helmet or round, describes a lamb prepared for sacrifice which was roasted with its head and shanks placed with its entrails, but not actually sacrificed at an altar. In other words there was a special way to roast a lamb for a sacrifice that was different from just roasting one for dinner. Nevertheless a sacrifice was not a sacrifice without its blood splashed against the altar in the Temple. A lamb could be prepared as if for sacrifice without the actual ritual occurring. This is exactly the differentiation that Rabban Gamliel made when arguing for the g’di mikulas after the demise of the Temple.8 Namely, that it was permissible to prepare a lamb as if for sacrifice, in memory of the paschal offering, since it could not be a real sacrifice without the Temple. The other rabbis disagreed, however, and even a g’di mikulas was forbidden.9 We learn from another source, Tosefta Beitza 2.15, that some rabbis once asked Theodos, the leader of the Roman Jewish community, not to have helmeted lambs at Passover because people confused them with actual paschal sacrifices.10 The Mishnah discusses elsewhere how, after 70 CE, customs of Passover and the roasted lamb differed from place to place even in the Land of Israel.11 Perhaps some Jews, aware of various changes in the customs due to the destruction of the Temple, practiced rituals differently than they had before, but not necessarily according to rabbinic dictates. Baruch Bokser explains that the whole Passover discussion within the Mishnah is an attempt For a detailed discussion of this problem see Baruch M. Bokser, The Origins of the Seder (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1984), appendix A; and the discussion in Gedaliah Alon, The Jews in their Land in the Talmudic Age, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1980), 1: 261–265. 7 G. Alon, The Jews in their Land, 263. 8 Mishnah Pesahim 7.2. 9 Mishnah Pesahim 7.2. 10 Lieberman, Tosefta to Moed, 291. 11 Mishnah Pesahim 4.4. 6

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to establish a continuum between the tradition of the paschal sacrifice and the rabbinic celebration of the Passover without the actual sacrifice or the Temple.12 While the mishnaic discussions forbidding helmeted lambs take place in the late first or early second centuries, Alon notes that the practice seems to have continued, especially in Diaspora communities.13 Returning now to Aphrahat and fourth-century Jewish Passover rituals: is it possible that some Persian Jews offered paschal sacrifices in Mesopotamia? Not really, as Gamliel demonstrated: a sacrifice is not a sacrifice without an altar; however could they have prepared helmeted lambs? Possibly, and perhaps Aphrahat simply mistook them for sacrificial lambs, for it is not clear what rabbinic laws held sway at this time in Persia. However, it seems most likely that the Jews commemorated the paschal offering—perhaps with a roasted lamb, possibly at a seder table— and even this offended Aphrahat. Aphrahat clearly considered celebrating any Jewish holiday that had anything to do with temple worship a transgression of biblical law. Moreover, undermining Jewish practice helped Aphrahat to discourage Christians from confusing “Jewish” Passover rites with proper “Christian” ones.

Bokser, Origins, 76–100. In this chapter, Bokser also discuses the possibility of sacrifices continuing after 70 CE. He concludes, however, that if they did continue they could not have continued much after the end of the second century, which is when the Mishnah was redacted. 13 Alon, Jews in their Land, 263. 12

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