The Making of Syriac Jerusalem: Representations of the Holy City in Syriac Literature of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages [1 ed.] 1032470992, 9781032470993, 2022056064, 2022056065, 9781032471020, 9781003384571

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The Making of Syriac Jerusalem

This book discusses hagiographic, historiographical, hymnological, and theological sources that contributed to the formation of the sacred picture of the physical as well as metaphysical Jerusalem in the literature of two Eastern Christian denominations, East and West Syrians. Popa analyses the question of Syrian beliefs about the Holy City, their interaction with holy places, and how they travelled in the Holy Land. He also explores how they imagined and reflected the theology of this itinerary through literature in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, set alongside a well- defined local tradition that was at times at odds with Jerusalem. Even though the image of Jerusalem as a land of sacred spaces is unanimously accepted in the history of Christianity, there were also various competing positions and attitudes. This often promoted the attempt at mitigating and replacing Jerusalem’s sacred centrality to the Christian experience with local sacred heritage, which is also explored in this study. Popa argues that despite this rhetoric of artificial boundaries, the general picture epitomises a fluid and animated intersection of Syriac Christians with the Holy City especially in the medieval era and the subsequent period, through a standardised process of pilgrimage, well-integrated into the custom of advanced Christian life and monastic canon. The Making of Syriac Jerusalem is suitable for students and scholars working on the history, literature, and theology of Syriac Christianity in the late antique and medieval periods. ­Catalin-Stefan ​­ Popa is Research Professor in Church History at the Romanian Academy in Bucharest. He holds his Ph.D. from Georg August University of Göttingen, Germany (2016). In 2021 he received the venia legendi (habilitation) at Karl Franzens University of Graz, Austria. He published articles, and edited volumes on Syriac and Oriental ecclesiastical history, exegesis, and literature, including the monograph Gīwargīs I. (660– ­­ 680). ​­ Ostsyrische Christologie in frühislamischer Zeit (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2016). He is the editor-in- chief and founder of The Syriac Annals of Romanian Academy (SARA). ­

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The Making of Syriac Jerusalem Representations of the Holy City in Syriac Literature of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages ­Catalin-Stefan ​­ Popa

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Catalin-Stefan ­ ​­ Popa The right of Catalin-Stefan Popa to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library ­Cataloguing-in-Publication Data ­​­­ ​­ A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress ­Cataloging-in-Publication ­​­­ ​­ Data Names: Popa, Catalin-Stefan, author. Title: The making of Syriac Jerusalem: representations of the holy city in Syriac literature of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages / Catalin-Stefan Popa. Description: 1. | New York City: Routledge, 2023. | Series: Routledge studies in the early Christian world | Includes bibliographical references and indexes. | Identifiers: LCCN 2022056064 (print) | LCCN 2022056065 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032470993 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032471020 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003384571 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Jerusalem—In literature. | Syriac literature—History and criticism. | Jerusalem—In Christianity. | Syriac Christians—Jerusalem. | Christian pilgrims and pilgrimages—Jerusalem—History. Classification: LCC PJ5607.J47 P67 2023 (print) | LCC PJ5607.J47 (ebook) | DDC 892/.3—dc23/eng/20230228 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022056064 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022056065 ISBN: ­978-1-032-47099-3 ­​­­ ­​­­ ­​­­ ​­ (hbk) ­ ISBN: ­978-1-032-47102-0 ­​­­ ­​­­ ­​­­ ​­ (pbk) ­ ISBN: ­978-1-003-38457-1 ­​­­ ­​­­ ­​­­ ​­ (ebk) ­ DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571 ­ Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

Contents

Preface Introduction

viii 1

PART I

The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land 1 Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine Sinai’s Sacred Topography as Remedy and Substitute for the Holy Places of Jerusalem  16

9 13

2 The Four Legendary Pilgrimages to Jerusalem of the West Syriac Monk Barsauma

33

3 Rabbula of Edessa and Benjamin of Nehardea: Jerusalem as a Stage in the Formation of the Monk

42

4 The Ideal of aksenoyutho: John of Ephesus Portraying Syriac Women as Pilgrims to Jerusalem

52

5 Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem: Philoxenos of Mabug, Īšōʿyahb I, Rabban Hormizd, and the Promotion of Local Tradition

63

6 The Motif of Travelling to Jerusalem in the Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra

77

7 A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology and its Genealogical Interrelation with Jerusalem

93

vi Contents 8

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem in the Consciousness of Syriac Christians East Syriac Patriarch Sabrīšōʿ and the Holy Cross 110 Syriac Literature on the Persian Conquest of Jerusalem and the Transfer of the True Cross to Persia and Its Restoration to the Holy City 113

106

PART II

Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine following the Islamic Conquest of Jerusalem (638–639) 1

125

Syriac Sources and the Muslim Conquest of Jerusalem: Myths and Compilations in Syriac Sources

127

2

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City

135

3

Timotheus I and the East Syriac Bishopric of the Holy Land

149

4

West Syriac Bishops of Jerusalem

157

5

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective: Jerusalem as Viewed through Political and Interreligious Identitary Clichés 161 Jacob of Serugh and the Early Syriac Exegetical Tradition depicting Edessa as Superior to Jerusalem 161 Early and Late Exegesis: Elias of Nisibis and the Rhetoric about the Lost Byzantine Jerusalem and the Syriac Paradise 173

PART III

The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems on the Second Islamic Conquest and Subsequent Period, and the Presence of Syriac Pilgrims in Palestine in the Late Medieval Period 1

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature The Battle of Tiberias 184 The Making of a Count as a Heretic in Syriac Sources: Reymond of Tripoli 187 The Conquest of Jerusalem 194

181 183

Contents  vii 2

3

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City of the Middle Ages Syriac Inhabitants in the Holy City 203 The Turbulent Bar Wahbun and His Migration or Oscillation between the Barsaumo Convent and the Holy City 213 Syriac Possessions in the Holy City 221 Syriac Pilgrimages to the Holy City after the Second Muslim Conquest Between the Earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem in Barhebraeus’ Ethicon 228 Pilgrims from the Far East on Pilgrimage to the West: Rabban Sauma and Marqos and Their Travel towards Jerusalem 246 The Syriac Orthodox Convent of St Mark and Syriac Continuity in Medieval Jerusalem 261

203

228

Conclusion

270

Literature Index

273 301

Preface

This book is the slightly revised and extended result of my habilitation thesis submitted at Karl Franzens University of Graz, Austria. The habilitation colloquium ended successfully on October 8th, 2021. A monograph that examines Jerusalem from the perspective of Syriac Christian texts has been much-needed in modern research. After the completion and publication of my doctoral dissertation written at the University of Göttingen in 2016, from various discussions with colleagues in the field, I became increasingly convinced of the usefulness of starting a research project on this fascinating topic that had gone almost unnoticed for decades. This book discusses Jerusalem as a fluid concept in Syriac literature, and deals with questions related to the larger implications of the Holy City’s theological picture in the Syriac literature and ecclesiastical tradition. I leave the reader to discover the result, with the hope it will prove a captivating story that brings together disparate images and historical perspectives of a dynamic Christianity centred, above all, on its local tradition – a tradition, however, formed (as expected) from the seeds of the Christian message sprung from the liturgical and spiritual lure of early Jerusalem, adapted, integrated, and developed over the centuries in its particular Syriac form. Over the course of this book’s completion, I benefited from opportunities and fellowships that I shall mention here: the Swenson Family Fellowship in Eastern Christian Manuscript Studies for Junior Scholars at the Hill Museum and Manuscript Library, St. John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota, which gave me the opportunity to compare different manuscript collections; the “Dialogical Context of Near-Eastern Polemical Literature” project at the Centre for the Study of Conversion and Inter-Religious Encounters, Ben Gurion University of the Negev; Research Infrastructure on Religious Studies at Katholieke Universiteit Leuven. To all those is to be mentioned my research enrollment at the Romanian Academy in Bucharest. I am grateful to Pablo Argárate for shepherding the various stages of this project, and to Erich Renhart who chaired the habilitation colloquium. Bishop Wilhelm Krautwaschl of the Diocese of Graz-Seckau deserves special thanks for approving the procedure for teaching. I would also like to thank the external evaluators: Katharina Heyden of the University of Bern;

Preface  ix Robert A. Kitchen of the University of Salzburg; and Baby Varghese of the ‘Mahatma Gandhi’ University in Kottayam. Sincere thanks are also rendered to Sebastian Brock and Martin Tamcke for their precious comments, advice, and encouragement. Other scholars shared with me ideas and texts that supported the improvement of this book, and helped in many other issues. Among these are: Herman Teule, Daniel King, Jack Tannous, George Kiraz, Jeanne-Nicole Mellon Saint-Laurent, Ephrem Aboud Ishaq, Iskandar Bcheiry, Fr. Dayroyo Shemun Can, Uri Shachar, Piotr Zelazko, Teodor Tăbuș. I also acknowledge the generous time and collaboration of the editor Amy Davis-Poynter and her colleagues from Routledge who diligently supported the final shape of the manuscript. Yet my most profound debt goes to my wife, Nicoleta-Monica, for her patience and trust throughout the writing of this book, and the person whom I dedicate it to. January 6th 2022, at the Epiphany in Jerusalem

Introduction

Jerusalem was and remains the nucleus for liturgical manifestation of Christian and Jewish religions. Eastern and Western Christian confessions alike have time and again proven their political, administrative, ecclesiastical, and theological interest, both old and new, in the Holy City. The encounter with the holiness in Jerusalem was and continues to be an ideal for Christian communities in the East and West. Pilgrims, simple believers, monks, or clerics manifested a deep attraction to the holy places associated with the Gospels, more than a simple fascination or curiosity for this space of Biblical history and of the beginnings of Christendom. The manifestation of their spiritual interest in the Holy City has primarily taken the form of physical journeys into the region, but has also been achieved through spiritual meditation focusing on the outcome of reaching Heavenly Jerusalem, in the absence of direct physical contact with the Holy Land. Many Christian communities and denominations have formed or enshrined a sacred image of Jerusalem through various typological representations, or through incorporating clichés of the Holy City into their local Church tradition. Moreover, Jerusalem was even imaginarily transferred and remotely adopted into distinct Christian cultures, especially where the physical or geographical distance to the Holy City proved considerable indeed.1 Even though the image of Jerusalem as a land of sacred spaces is unanimously accepted in the history of universal Christianity, there were also various competing positions and attitudes, as happened in Byzantine ecclesiastic culture which often promoted the replacement of Jerusalem’s sacred centrality to the Christian experience with the local sacred heritage of

1 See Sible de Blauuw, “Jerusalem in Rome and the Cult of the Cross,” in R. Colella et al. (eds.), ­ Pratum Romanum: Richard Krautheimer zum 100. Geburtstag ( Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert, 1997), 55–73; Syndney H. Griffith, “What Has Constantinople to Do with Jerusalem? Palestine in the Ninth Century: Byzantine Orthodoxy in the World of Islam,” in L. Brubaker (ed.), Byzantium in the Ninth Century: Dead or Alive? (Aldershot: Hampshire, 1998), 181–194; Alois Grillmeier, Theresia Hainthaler, Christ in Christian Tradition, vol. 2.3 (The Church of Jerusalem and Antioch from 451 to 600) (translated by Marianne Ehrhardt, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-1

2 Introduction Constantinople and the Byzantine Empire as a whole. This form of tension between local and Jerusalemite cultures would manifest in various other Eastern confessions, as would prove the case of Syriac Christianity – whose impressive literary tradition will be discussed at length in this volume. The argument of this book is that Jerusalem has a fluid representation in the Syriac literature, illustrated through a process of pilgrimage that at a certain point become standardised, and through a theological and metaphysical discourse that marks a tension between the Earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem. These Syriac Christians had a great self-awareness as possessors of a religious culture, witness of universal civilisations, formed around Edessa, located at a strategic position at the crossroads of Roman and Parthian influence, and much later at the border of Byzantine and Sassanid territories, and once with the coming of Islam their ecclesiastical culture and theology met this new form of power and religion and coexisted with it over the centuries. In formulating the argument of this book, we will inspect: What did Jerusalem represent to the Syriac Christians and how did they shape and develop a distinct, and not systematically elaborated picture about the Holy City? Did their discourse about the Holy City and sometimes of the entire Holy Land make them particular among the Middle Eastern communities? Around which constituents was organised and centred their theological creed and experience encountering the Holy City? And how did the Syriac church administration, with its great self-awareness as representatives of a vigorous local culture with universal resonance legitimise through its place at the crossroads of civilisations, manage and respond to this tense and diachronic intersection? For getting a glimpse into who Syriac Christians were, and what the local tradition of these churches means and represent among the genuine categories of Eastern Christianity, we should epitomise these Christians as those who benefited from a well- defined confessional identity, legitimated through the early story of King Abgar of Edessa’s correspondence with Jesus and the Christianisation of the city through the mission of the apostles Addai and Mari. They proliferated this nascent identity in all Mesopotamia through the legacy of their Syriac language, a dialect of Aramaic, the spoken language of Jesus, and through the beauty of theological metaphoric composed by its late antique poets like Ephrem the Syrian, Jacob of Serugh, Narsai of Nisibis, Isaac the Syrian, and many other appreciated mystics centred around the School of Nisibis and the famous monasteries that have permanently multiplied its theological treasures through copying and manuscript productions. Being divided, since the 5th century, for their divergent opinions in terms of Christology, they took contrasting theological and ecclesiastical paths and became competitors, the Syriac Orthodox Church adopted Miaphysitism, and the Church of the East a global church at the End of Antiquity with communities as far as China and India, became a defender of Diophysitism. Nevertheless, they continued to share the same cultural

Introduction  3 background. Both East and West Syriac Christians centred their church and literary heritage quartered in Mesopotamia, around the central topos of Edessa, which J.B. Segal, in a seminal work features it “the Blessed City.” The social foundation and identity of these branches of Eastern Christianity shaped in Antiquity around the urban centres Edessa, Nisibis, Seleucia-Ctesiphon, Karka d-Beth Slouq, are often presented in Syriac literature as rivalising with the image of the historical and spiritual Holy City itself, as we shall see from the sources we will peruse. The manner of presenting one’s own tradition as a model of the beginnings of Christianity itself and as a keeper of the original continuity of the Christian truth would come to become dominant in many Syriac sources. Claiming as having Paradise on the East in their area, having apostolic identity, integrating the Abgar’s legend, and possessing a blessed city, Edessa, of their own, having a pole of monks admired for their proved ascesis, initiating famous schools and foundations built under the authority of monastic and ecclesiastical pillars, they made possible translations and circulation of Greek philosophy to Muslim and Arab world, and they consider their vast tradition to be unique and normative for the Eastern Christianity. This perspective would not, however, entirely eclipse the historical and spiritual culture of a Holy City and they created a certain kind of social, cultural, and ecclesiastical relationship with the earthly city of Jerusalem in Late Antiquity and this seems to be more substantial in the Middle Ages. It is self- evident that the Syriac communities could not bypass in their Christian maturity process to interfere and seek spiritual gain from the ideal of the holy places of Jerusalem, which played an essential biblical and historical role for all Christian heritage. Reading the point raised by Hieronymus in his Letter 108 (To ­ Eustochium) on the interaction of pilgrims with the Holy City, we cannot exclude from such potentiality as important a branch of Christianity as the Syriac Christian Churches, “For what race of men is there which does not send pilgrims to the holy places?”2 Similarly to many other Eastern Christian communities, both East and West Syrians were attracted by the sanctity associated with the Holy Land – as we shall see from the surviving sources – and developed a relationship with Palestine and with Jerusalem proven through the mentions of monks and Christians travelling to the Holy City to offer devotion, but also through the adoption the theological motif of the Heavenly Jerusalem as a goal for the cloistered monk lost in meditation and prayer. It is it is crucial to understand if these pilgrimages shaped in a way the elaboration of a theological image of the Holy City in the Syriac Christianity. For this one must look for what the Syriac monks and lay people believed in their travels to the Holy City, how they interacted with the holy places, in

2 W.H. Freemantle (tr.), ­ St. Jerome: Letters and Select Works, vol. 6 ( NPNF, 2nd series; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 344 [196].

4 Introduction brief how they reflected the theology of this itinerarium in their literature from Late Antiquity until the Ottoman period, set in comparison with a well- defined local tradition at times in contrapuntal tension with Jerusalem. In looking for the theological and social roots of this fluid concept of Jerusalem in religious thought of Syriac communities we systematise and discuss sources falling in multiple literary genres (hagiography, historiography, liturgical texts, hymnologies, and theological treatises). In our attempt to understand the formation of the heterogeneous sacred tableau of the Holy City in the literature of two Christian confessions that, throughout the centuries, stretched from eastern Palestine to the Farthest East, we shall divide the book into three sections. To this end, we will begin by evaluating the texts that treat monastic pilgrimages to the Holy City. It might be said from the very outset that the topic tackled has, unfortunately, been either ignored or overlooked by contemporary scholarly research until now. Where Western and Byzantine literature on Jerusalem has been the subject of multiple inquiries in the modern period, we can unfortunately not claim the same for a review of Syriac literature. However, competent monographs have been authored over the past decades, whether we are speaking of the habilitation thesis of Katharina Heyden published a few years ago,3 or older monographs strictly dedicated to the phenomenon of pilgrimage such as the work of Hunt, Kötting, Marraval, Solzbacher, Wilkinson, Pahlitzich, Talbot, and others;4 or even monographs that discuss, on the basis of patris-

3 Katharina Heyden, Orientierung. Die westliche Christenheit und das Heilige Land in der Antike (Jerusalemer Theologisches Forum, 28, Münster: Aschendorff, 2014). 4 E.D. Hunt, Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire, Ad. 312– 460 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982); B. Kötting, Peregrinatio Religiosa: Wallfahrten in der Antike und das Pilgerwesen in der alten Kirche (Münster: Regensberg, 1950); Pierre Maraval, Récits des e premiers pèlerins chrétiens au proche- orient (IVe -VII ​­ siècle) (Paris: Cerf, 1996); Pierre Maraval, Lieux saints et pèlerinages d’Orient: Histoire et géographie des origines à la conquête arabe (Paris: Cerf, 1985); Pierre Maraval, “Les pèlerinages en Orient du Ier au VIIe siècle,” in J. Chelini et H. Branthomme (é d.), Les chemins de Dieu. Histoire des pèlerinages chrétiens des origines à nosjours (Paris: Hachette, 1982), 54–78; Pierre Marraval, “The Earliest Phase of Christian Pilgrimage in the Near East (before the 7th Century),” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 56 (2002), 63–74; R. Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger und Sarazenen. Studien zum Frühchristentum auf der südlichen Sinaihalbinsel: Von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn islamischer Herrschaft (Altenberge: Telos, 1989); John Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims before the Crusaders ( Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 2002); J. Wilkinson, “Christian Pilgrims in Jerusalem during the Byzantine Period,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 108 (1976), 75– 101; Johannes Pahlitzisch, “Zur ideologischen Bedeutung Jerusalems für das orthodoxe Christentum,” in Thomas Pratsch (ed.), Konflikt und Bewältigung: Die Zerstörung der Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem im Jahre 1009 (Millennium-Studien 32, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 239–256; Alice-Mary Talbot, “Byzantine Pilgrimage to the Holy Land from the Eighth to the Fifteenth Century,” in Joseph Patrich (ed.), The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church from the Fifth Century to the Present (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 97–110; Verena Türck, Christliche Pilgerfahrten nach Jerusalem im früheren Mittelalter im Spiegel der Pilgerberichte (Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins, 40, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011). The monograph by Simon Sebag Montefiore, Jerusalem. Die Biographie, tr. by

Introduction  5 tic approaches from Late Antiquity, important aspects of the formation of sacred memory or the encounter with the sacred in this perimeter of great biblical value – and here we can point to the enlightening monographs of 6 Georgia Frank5 and Brouria ­Bitton-Askhelony. ​­ This project, complementary to such monographs, aims to reconstruct a general physical as well as intellectual image of the relationship Syriac Christians had with the Holy City, on the basis of details uncovered in a variety of literary genres and sources and presented within a structured representation, in an attempt to unite various strands from Syriac individuals, communities, and ecclesiastical institutions in physical and spiritual interaction with Jerusalem. One important advantage is that we are able to not limit ourselves to the discussion of the phenomenon of pilgrimage we shall propose in the book’s opening section but extend the analysis to the larger implications of Jerusalem’s theological picture in the Syriac literature and tradition. In dealing with the phenomenon of pilgrimage we will attempt to revisit and correlate all the opinions and hypotheses put forward by the previous research of 20th and 21st century by Fiey, Meinardus, Karkenny, Brock, Kaufhold, Palmer, Tamcke, Teule, Bitton-Ashkelony, Scott Johnson, and many other scholars.7 The topic of pilgrimage will constitute the preamble Ulrike Bischoff und Waltraud Götting (Frankfurt am Main: D. Fischer, 2011) cannot be omitted from this list. 5 Georgia Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 2000). 6 Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, ­ ​­ Encountering the Sacred: The Debate on Christian Pilgrimage in Late Antiquity (The Transformation of the Classical 38, Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 2005). 7 J.-M. Fiey, “Le pèlerinage des Nestoriens et Jacobites à Jerusalem,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale (Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de Civilisation Médiévale, Université de Poitiers. Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique) 12 (1969), 113–126; Otto A. Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,” Orientalia Suecana 12 (1963), ­ 60–82; ­ ​­ Jacoub Koriah Karkenny, The Syrian Orthodox Church in the Holy Land (Jerusalem, 1976); Sebastian P. Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba: The Translation of St. Isaac the Syrian,” in J. ­ Patrich (ed.), The Sabaite Heritage of the Orthodox Church (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 98, Louvain: Peeters, 2001), 201–208; Hubert Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems für die syrisch- orthodoxe Kirche,” in Walter Brandmüller (ed.), L’idea di Gerusalemme nella spiritualità cristiana del Medioevo. Atti del convegno internazionale in collaborazione con l’Istituto della Görres- G esellschaft di Gerusalemme (Gerusalemme, Notre Dame of Jerusalem Center, 31 agosto – 6 settembre 1999, Città del Vaticano: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2003), 132–165; A. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 75 (1991), 16– 43; A. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem, Part 2: Queen Melisende and the Jacobite Estates,” Oriens Christianus 76 (1992), 74–94; Martin Tamcke, “Abraham of Kashkar’s Pilgrimage,” ARAM ­18–19 ​­ (2006–2007), 477– 482; Herman G.B. Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” Christian Art in Its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 2 (2005), ­ 121–126; ­ ​­ Herman G.B. Teule, “The Perception of the Jerusalem Pilgrimage in Syriac Monastic Circles,” in René Lavenant (ed.), VI Symposium Syriacum, 1992: University of Cambridge, Faculty of Divinity, 30 August  – 2 September 1992 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 247,

6 Introduction for an elaboration and expansion of our discussion towards an evaluation of the genealogical interrelationship of the Syriac liturgical tradition and the ecclesiastic rites of Jerusalem, where we shall see that the analogy of the Holy Sepulcher as well as other elements with liturgical connotations have been incorporated by the local Syriac cults, as the current research state suggests (here the seminal studies of Anton Baumstark and Baby Varghese have remained the most authorised in the field).8 One final subtheme from the first part of this book will be a discussion of the Holy Cross’ reception as a motif in Syriac literature, where the research of Jan Willem Drijvers, and other authors have fundamentalised a solid launching point for evaluating the topic,9 with notable addendums and completions brought by the primary analysis of the Syriac sources on the impact of the removal of the Holy Wood from Jerusalem after the Persian conquest and its deposition into the area of East Syriac community, and the effect on its liturgical culture more resilient with regard to the future of the Holy City.10 The second part shall attempt an analysis of the Syriac perception on the first Islamic Conquest of Jerusalem, on the basis of the available primary sources documenting the event. It will moreover discuss the actions of two East Syriac Patriarchs (Īšōʿyahb ­ III and Timotheus I) whose efforts have maintained contact with the Syriac communities in Jerusalem and most likely laid the foundations for a notable expansion of the East Syriac presence in Palestine  – since, as we shall see, the West Syrians already had a substantial presence in the Holy Land. We shall conclude the second section with an evaluation of Syriac exegesis in relation to depictions of the Holy

Roma: Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 1994), 311–321; Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, “From Sacred Travel to Monastic Career: The Evidence of Late Antique Syriac Hagiography,” Adamantius 16 (2010), 353–370; Scott Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage Literature in Late Antiquity? Exploring the Absence of a Genre,” in Peter Van Nuffelen (ed.), Historiography and Space in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), ­164–180; ​­ Scott Johnson, Literary Territories: Cartographical Thinking in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). 8 A. Baumstark, Festbreviar und Kirhenjahr der syrischen Jakobiten (Paderborn: F. Schöningh, 1910); Baby Varghese, “Liturgical Year of the Syrian Orthodox Church: A Historical Introduction,” The Harp. A Review of Syriac, Oriental and Ecumenical Studies XXXVI (2020), 187–240; Baby Varghese, “The Anaphora of Saint James and Jacob of Edessa,” in Bas ter Haar Romeny (ed.), Jacob of Edessa and the Syriac Culture of His Day (Monographs of the Peshitta Institute, Leiden. Studies in the Syriac versions of the Bible and their Cultural Contexts, 18; Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2008), 239–264. 9 J.W. Drijvers, “Helena Augusta, the Cross and the Myth: Some New Reflections,” Millennium- Jahrbuch zu Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr./Yearbook on the Culture and History of the First Millennium C.E. 8 (2011), 125–174; H.J.W. Drijvers, and J.W. Drijvers, The Finding of the True Cross. The Judas Kyriakos Legend in Syriac. Introduction, Text and Translation (CSCO, vol. 565, Subs. 93, Louvain: Peeters, 1997). 10 See Richard E. Payne, A State of Mixture: Christians, Zoroastrians, and Iranian Political Culture in Late Antiquity (Oakland: University of California Press, 2015).

Introduction  7 City in comparison with the local Syriac tradition, beginning from early sources such as Jacob of Serugh until the time of the Syriac Renaissance and including one literary perspective on the way in which the Holy City was disputed amongst the various Christian confessions. Part III shall round off the history of Syriac Christians’ interaction with the Holy Land, focusing its thrust on the genesis of Syriac Orthodox possessions and ecclesiastic bishoprics in Palestine. Here, we shall see that despite the fact that in the history of Christianity Jerusalem was most often associated with its Byzantine heritage, Syriac Christians, especially West Syriac Christians, created their own heritage within the Holy City, boasting an organised leadership structure, establishing monasteries with a legacy of manuscripts, and leaving behind important traces for a vibrant community, being in communion with the culture of holiness in Jerusalem and Palestine. There is no doubt that this community became coagulated, growth and showed maturity in the holy city in the medieval period. This phenomenon was accompanied by the fact that the genuine Syriac interest, theological and social, in Jerusalem becomes more nuanced in all its ecclesiastical forms. This is concluded also in the forms of negotiation and dialogue with institutional religious power such as with Latins, Michael Rabo have done for gaining for his Syriac Orthodox community the privilege of possessing a chapel at the Holy Sepulchre in 1168, or by inaugurating new liturgical habits as was the consecration of the Holy Chrism (named also Holy Myrrh) and the Holy Week liturgical celebrations in their Syriac Orthodox monastery in the Holy City. Of course, we would be remiss if we did not also include an analysis of the chronicles with a focus on how they illustrate changes and transformation in the Holy City, particularly during the second Muslim conquest of Jerusalem under Ṣalāḥ ad-Din. For a unique perspective, we shall compare existing historical chronicles with two lyrical poems composed by a representative of the Syriac Renaissance, Gīwargīs Wardā. We will attempt to highlight any notable similarities and shared motifs, as well as trace possible sources of inspiration from one work to the next in imagining what happened in the Holy City and Holy Land in tense and crucial moments for Christianity, and inspecting what the Syriac author’s community shares with those Christians of Palestine in that moments and what does this say about their concept of Jerusalem. A final section will tackle the continuity of a Syriac standardised pilgrimage to the Holy City illustrating this through the lens of the canons composed by Barhebraeus (13th century) that makes apparent a tension between Earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem within monastic groups. For a continuous phenomenon speaks also a case of burgeoning Syriac pilgrimage of two Chinese monks, Marqos and Rabban Sauma, from Beijing towards Jerusalem. We will illustrate their journey in this section. The theological tableau of this pilgrimage borrows facets and genuine principles from what Barherbaus recommended to pilgrims in his canons. We will attempt to argue that

8 Introduction the intersection with Jerusalem fluctuates in the practice and imagination of writers: in the case of the two pilgrims originally from China, they considered their coming into contact with the local East Syriac spirituality of Mesopotamia a great achievement. This area takes primacy, to the theological allure exerted by the Holy City herself, their initial goal. The section will be completed with the inspection of a selection of literary sources and inscriptions that testify the continuity of East and West Syriac pilgrimage in medieval Jerusalem around the Syriac Orthodox convent of St Mark, and East Syriac ecclesiastical establishments. From a methodological perspective, we shall endeavour to take into account the genre and character of the sources we analyse, be they historical, theological, or hymnological. The diversity of the sources discussed will require their analysis through the lens of their own literary genre, with the requisite attention given to the conditions of each genre in turn. When referring, for example, to hagiographical sources, we shall attempt to distinguish the minimal historical aspects from incorporated literary motifs as well as from the authors’ own stated or implied intention, such as promoting the image of their heroes (saints and individuals endowed with the divine power to heal; to pause time; to miraculously travel overnight, etc.), accounts of legends, or monastic customs. In the case of historical chronicles, our interest will be in their apparent historical objectivity, while with regard to poetic compositions, we will highlight and explain the affective expressivity of Syriac authors in describing events transpiring in the Holy City, elements which must be interpreted in accord with the emotional filter of the authors themselves – as we shall see in the emotional poetic accounts of Gīwargīs Wardā on the changes taking place in the history of Jerusalem. The above images can be compared to the pieces of a jigsaw we will attempt to reconstruct and as far as we are able to fill the gaps in the extant scientific knowledge on the tradition of Syriac Christianity in its interaction with Palestine and the Holy City, and its development of a collective memory of the region identified by Christians everywhere as the Holy Land.

Part I

The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Modern researchers have advanced the hypothesis that Syriac literature lacks the genre of pilgrimage1 to the holy places, that is, the type of travel reports with which Western and in part Byzantine Christianity seem to be intimately familiar. It seems plausible to view “a consequence of this absence” in the fact that a brief introduction to Syriac pilgrimage is completely missing from the Gorgias Encyclopaedic Dictionary of Syriac Heritage, which is a fundamental encyclopaedic tool for Syriac Studies.2



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DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-2

10  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Despite this observation, as well as the state of research thus far, we will attempt to demonstrate that even though this kind of “literary genre” (if we can use this category) was missing, the journeys of Syrians to Jerusalem and, more broadly, to Palestine and Egypt, were not. Indeed, they were part of a universal as well as the local culture surrounding holiness, and the existence of such a phenomenon should not be limited to searching for a certain type of text or “literary genre” that was more characteristic of the Western world. Thus, we will seek to analyse texts whose primary consideration is something other than pilgrimage to Jerusalem and Palestine, and which are not validated as belonging to pilgrimage reports, but which, however, contain some limited descriptions of this itinerarium. From this perspective, Syriac sources which are not “pilgrimage literature” might still be useful to the cultural historian of pilgrimage, and paint a vibrant picture of a community with the spatial practices of asceticism and religious affirmation in the search of the holy.3 Focusing first on two Syriac personalities, Julian Saba and Symeon the Elder, who travelled to the Holy Land in the second half of the 4th century, and who are considered in the literature as the first Syriac pilgrims to Palestine, we will then introduce Barsauma’s pilgrimage to the Holy City, a Syriac monk who has become a legendary figure in literature. Afterwards, based on an example from Philoxenos of Mabug’s attempt to propose the Christians to consider a pilgrimage to a local monastery as remedy for that to the Holy City. Another text, a letter of the East Syriac Patriarch Īšōʿyahb I, will be also presented as part of a similar tense local context of 3 For a brief sketch of Western pilgrimage texts in the Holy Land, see Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 166: “Christian pilgrimage texts show up in a variety of languages in late Antiquity, though the most numerous and familiar are in Latin. Written from the 4th to the 9th centuries, eight independent Holy Land pilgrimage narratives survive in Latin. These texts are: the Bordeaux Pilgrim (333), Egeria (381–384), the anonymous Breviary of Jerusalem (c. 400), Ps.-Eucherius (c. 440), Theodosius (c. 518), the Piacenza Pilgrim (c. 570), Adomnán (before 683), and Willibald of Eichstätt (c. 787).” Johnson “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 166 also offers a comparison with what materials existed in other Eastern traditions, arriving at the conclusion that this period provides us with a single Greek text of this kind, attributed to Epiphanius Hagiopolites, which contains the first Byzantine description of the Holy Land from the end of the 9th century; in Armenian, there are two sources describing the pilgrimage of Joseph the Hermit (660) that have been passed down in the ‘History’ of Moses Kalankatuac’i (10th century), while a description of Mt. Tabor by an anonymous author is included in Eliše Vardapet’s treatise on the Transfiguration, dated between the 6th and 7th centuries; in the Georgian tradition, the genre is represented by the following sources: David Garedjeli’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land (m id- 6th century) known from “The Lives of the Syrian Fathers,” composed by the Georgian Patriarch Arsenius II between 955–980; and a report about Saint Hilarion the Iberian and a description of his pilgrimage from the 10th century, passed down within his lifetime and written on Mount Athos. See also Michael E. Stone, “Holy Land Pilgrimage of Armenians Before the Arab Conquest,” Bible Review 93.1 (1986), 93–110; Yana Chekhanovets, ­ ­ ​­ “Early Georgian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land,” Liber Annuus 61 (2011), 453–471; Kuelzer, ­ ​­ “Byzantine and Early ­Post-Byzantine,” 155.

The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land  11 the ecclesiastical administration against pilgrimage to distant regions. The church instances recommend through canons that Syriac Christians would eventually no longer exhaust their resources in search of the holy sites of Jerusalem, preferring instead to remain more closely tied to their own Syriac spiritual places. The topic of pilgrimage will be expanded with the analysis of two further monastic sources, the monastic history of Thomas of Marga and the Liber Chastitatis of Īšōʿdenāh ̣ of Basra, where we will see how the city of Jerusalem became a waystation for the spiritual formation of monks and simple Christians alike, through the biographical profiles penned by the two authors. Another chapter will summarise the genealogy of the Syriac liturgical interrelationship with Jerusalem, followed by the conclusion of this section in a brief analysis of the representation and significance of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem in the Syriac perception of the temporal context in which this important relic embodying Christian holiness reached the space of Persia, the cultural milieu of the Church of the East, following the Persian conquest of the Holy City. The primary question we will pursue herein concerns the impact of the devotion of the Holy Wood in East Syriac religious community and its liturgical canon after the Persian Conquest, and its influence on a stronger consciousness regarding the future of the Holy City seen from the inside of this Christian community of Mesopotamia.

1

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine

Both monks, Julian Saba and Symeon the Elder, travelled with a group of disciples.1 Even if the texts presented place more emphasis on the sojourn to Mount Sinai than in Jerusalem, the journey these monks undertook follows the same pattern of spiritual attractions that most pilgrims sought in the Holy Land. Syriac literature presents Julian Saba as a famous holy man and an anchorite from the desert of Osrhoene, in the region of Edessa. His pilgrimage to Sinai most likely took place in 362, the year of his death, 367, being mentioned in the Chronicle of Edessa.2 His life is portrayed in Theodoret’s History of the Monks of Syria.3 Moreover, 24 Syriac hymns (madrashe) ­ attributed to Ephrem or to his disciples4 were dedicated to Julian Saba, perpetuating his 1 Alois Grillmeier, Theresia Hainthaler, Christ in Christian Tradition, vol. 2.3 (The ­ Church of Jerusalem and Antioch from 451 to 600) with contribution by Tanios Bou Mansour, Luise Abramowski (translated by Marianne Ehrhardt, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 22; Rudolf Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger und Sarazenen: Studien zum Frühchristentum auf der südlichen Sinaihalbinsel; von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn islamischer Herrschaft (Münsteraner theologische Abhandlungen 3, Altenberge: Telos Verlag, 1989), 111–119. ­ ​­ 2 I. Guidi (ed.), Chronica minora, I (CSCO, 1–2, t. 1–2, Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1955), 5. 3 See Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Historia Religiosa (Histoire des moines de Syrie) ed. and trans. P. Canivet and A. Leroy Molinghen (Sources Chrétienne, 234, Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1977), 222–225; Theodoret of Cyrrhus, A History of the Monks of Syria, translated by R.M. Price (The Cistercian Studies Series, 88; Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1985), 23–36. See also Arthur Vööbus, History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient. A Contribution to the History of Culture in the Near East, vol. II (Early Monasticism in Mesopotamia and Syria) (CSCO, vol. 197, Tomus 17, Louvain: Secrétariat Du CorpusSCO, 1960), 42–51; S.H. Griffith, “Julian Saba, ‘the Father of the Monks of Syria,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 2 (1994), 185–216; Susan Ashbrook Harvey, “Incense in Our Land: Julian Saba and Early Syrian Christianity,” in R.S. Sugirtharajah (ed.), Wilderness: Essays in Honour of Frances Young (Library of New Testament Studies, 295, London/ New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 120–131; Victoria Jugeli, “The Georgian Life of Julian-Saba (cod. Sin. Georg. 6) and its Greek and Syriac Sources (Historia Philothea by Theodoret of Cyrus),” Phasis: Greek and Roman Studies 13–14 ­ ​­ (2010–2011), ­­ ​­ 259–271. ­ ​­ 4 On Julian’s pilgrimage, see Ephrem the Syrian’s Hymns in Edmund Beck, Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Hymnen auf Abraham und Julianos Saba (CSCO, ­ vol. ­322–323, ​­ Scriptores Syri, Tomus 140–141, Louvain: Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1972), 62, 72–76 (syr.); 67, 76–79 ­ ​­ (germ.). ­

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-3

14  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land spiritual image in the church of Edessa. In these hymns appears also his travel to Sinai.5 Theodoret’s report about these pilgrims suggest that they travelled to Sinai to escape the attention of people attracted by their holiness. Another feature worthy of note is that none of the later pilgrims were compared, like Julian and then Symeon were, to important characters of the Old Testament such as Moses and Elijah. From this perspective, Julian and Symeon seem not to fully fit the mould of usual pilgrims, as we will see later in this book. What makes Julian and Symon particular are also that while the later pilgrims were searching holiness at the sacred places, Julian and Symon are depicted as depositories of holiness themselves and inspiration for others on the path of holiness; or, to put in different words, the later pilgrims who travelled to Jerusalem or to the holy places in Palestine were still in search of spiritual advancement, and therefore had not yet ascended the heights of spiritual life as attained by these two earlier pilgrims. Indeed, the monk from Osrhoene was one of the most prominent founding figures of Syriac monasticism.6 If we look at Julian’s description found in the History of the Monks of Syria7 we can easily observe that this fits well with Theodoret’s intention in composing these “encomiastic biographies of several illustrious

5 Jacob of Serugh also composed a mēmrā on Julian Saba. This is no. 250 in Roger-Youssef Akhrass, “A List of Homilies of Mor Jacob of Serugh,” Syriac Orthodox Patriarchal Journal 53 (2015), 87–161, esp. 128. See Sebastian P. Brock, “Yulyana Saba,” in Sebastian P. Brock et al. (eds.), The Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage (Piscataway, ­ NJ: Gorgias Press, 2011), 448; Griffith “Julian Saba,” 197. 6 See Vööbus, History of Asceticism, II, 42–51; ­ ​­ Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 111. 7 The history composed by Theodoret contains 30 short accounts of the lives of ascetics from around Antioch, many of them personally known to the author. Theodoret depicts the profile of the monks as closely integrated into a specific framework of Syriac Christianity dominated by profound asceticism. Theodoret composed his works in Greek, but he was also familiar with Syriac language. Brock, “Yulyana Saba,” 448. In the section about the life of Jacob of Cyrrhestica is mentioned a story about a demon taking to Theodoret in Syriac: “Once by Night There Came a Wicked Demon, Who Exclaimed in Syriac, ‘Why, Theodoret, Do You Make War on Marcion?’” Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 139; see also Th. Urbainczyk, “‘The Devil Spoke Syriac to Me’: Theodoret in Syria,” in S. Mitchell and G. Greatrex (eds.), Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity (London: Duckworth, 2000), 253–265, esp. 255. For Theodoret’s balance of Greek and Syriac cultural idiom see also, A. de Halleux, “L’Histoire Ecclésiastique de Théodoret dans les florilèges grégoriens syriaques,” in G. Troupeau, P.-H. Poirier, A.I. Elanskaya et al. (eds.), ­ Mélanges Antoine Guillaumont: Contributions à l’étude des christianismes orientaux avec une bibliographie du dédicataire (Cahiers d’ orientalisme 20, Genève: Patrick Cramer Éditeur, 1988), 221–232; F. Millar, “Theodoret of Cyrrhus: A Syrian in Greek Dress?,” in H. Amirav and B. ter Haar Romeny (eds.) From Rome to Constantinople. Studies in Honour of A. Cameron (Late Antique History and Religion, 1, Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 105–125; M. Parmentier, “A Letter from Theodoret of Cyrus to the Exiled Nestorius (CPG 6270) in a Syriac Version,” Bijdragen. Tijdschrift Voor Filosofie en Theologie. International Journal in ­ ­ ​­ Philosophy and Theology 51 (1990), 234–245.

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  15 Syrian holy man,”8 namely to eulogise and defend the monasticism with its status and perpetual ideal. Solzbacher considers that Theodoret’s work does not pursue any historiographical goals because it aims in a hagiographical way to convey the exemplary nature of his heroes and their virtues to the reader.9 I believe that Solzbacher’s statement is deficient because even if there are doubts about the reliability with which Theodoret’s history relates the facts, the composition does pursue historiographical goals, and it proposes itself as a genuine history. Among the sources underpinning the Life of Symeon Palaios, Theodoret mentions the monk’s own mother, while Julianos Saba was known to the chronicler from the reports of Akakios of Berea (d. 437), one of Julian’s disciples.10 In treating Julian’s pilgrimage, we can additionally rely, beyond the description offered by Theodoret (in its Greek version and Syriac translation),11 on the Syriac poems, which are testimony of great theological and literary value. In the comparative approach, we must first highlight that even if Jerusalem is not explicitly mentioned in Theodoret of Cyrrhus’ history, it intertwines nevertheless some minimal elements of the sacred geography of Palestine. A common topic of both texts is the church established by Julian on Sinai, which in the Syriac hymns correlates in some way Sinai and Golgotha. Moreover, the story about Julian on Sinai can inspect something of the tension of a pilgrimage and of the presence in a sacred area like Sinai, which often worked for monks as a remedy of the holy places in Jerusalem. The Sinai region implicitly lies in the broader monastic region of Palestine, and one cannot exclude the possibility for these monks also to have interacted with the Holy City,12 taking into account that the canon and custom of later pilgrims consists of going to Jerusalem and reaching Sinai as well.

8 Cristian, Gaşpar, “An Oriental in Greek Dress: The Making of a Perfect Christian Philosopher in the Philotheos Historia of Theodoret of Cyrrhus,” Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU 14 (2008), ­ 193–229, ­ ​­ esp. 197. ­ 9 See P. Canivet, Le Monachisme syrien selon Theodoret de Cyr (Paris: Beauchesne, 1977), 65–86; ­ ​­ Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 111. 10 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 111. 11 Only three chapters of Theodoret’s Historia religiosa survived in Syriac (these are dedicated to three important personalities: Jacob of Nisibis, Julian Saba, and Abraham of Harran). The chapter devoted to Julian Saba was edited by P. Bedjan (ed.), Acta Martyrium et Sanctorum, vol. 6 (Paris/Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1896), 380– 404. 12 Theodoret further describes ascetics travelling to Jerusalem, with one example that of Peter of Galatia [who] made his way to Palestine, to see the places where occurred the sufferings of Salvation and to worship in them the God who saved us – not that He is circumscribed in place (for he knew the lack of circumscription in His nature) –, but in order to feast his eyes with seeing what he desired […]. Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 82. In another tale about two women named Marana and Cyra, the author emphasises that, in imitation of Moses and Daniel, they undertook a harrowing fast during their pilgrimage to the Holy City:

16  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land

Sinai’s Sacred Topography as Remedy and Substitute for the Holy Places of Jerusalem Julian Saba’s Pilgrimage in Theodoret’s History Julian is a representative monastic personality in Theodoret’s history. At the beginning of the monk’s biography, Theodoret introduces the origin of his name: “Julian, whom the people of the country surnamed ‘Saba’ in honour (the word means ‘Old Man’ in Greek).”13 The author situates his provenance in the area of Syriac ecclesiastical community, offering geographical elements as proof that the monk came from the former province of Osrhoene: He set up his ascetic cell in the land once called Parthia, but now Osrhoene. It extends westwards to the very bank of the river (whose name is the Euphrates), while towards the rising sun its frontier is that of the Roman empire. It is succeeded by Assyria, the western border of the kingdom of Persia, which later people have called Adiabene.14 As Theodoret informs us, Julian travelled to Palestine with not the Holy City as his final destination – as would be the case for later Syriac pilgrims – but rather Sinai, a paradigm about which Hagith Sivan states that the pilgrim Julian Saba “ignores Jerusalem in favour of the Sinai.”15 To advance Sivan’s remark, we can also point out that the first pilgrims sought, above all, places of biblical relevance where the shadow of the prophets was deeply imprinted and especially the place of the Commandments’ reception where the biblical figures of Moses, Elijah, and others became famous; and the

Emulating the fast of the inspired Moses, they did three times spend the same length of time without food, for it was at the end of forty days that they took a little nourishment. Three times also did they emulate the godly Daniel’s abstinence from eating, completing three weeks and only then supplying nourishment to the body. On one occasion, out of a desire to behold the sacred places of the redeeming sufferings of Christ, they hastened to Aelia, enjoying no nourishment on the way. It was after reaching that city and accomplishing their worship that they took nourishment and then, returning back, completed the journey without food – and there are not less than twenty stages. Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. ­ Price), ­184–185. ​­ 13 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta Martyrium, vol. 6, 380; Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. ­ Price), 23. 14 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta Martyrium, vol. 6, 381–382; ­ ​­ Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. ­ Price), 23. 15 Hagith Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages: Barsauma in Jerusalem,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 26.1 (2018), 53–74, esp. 54, n. 4. See also Cornelia Horn, Asceticism and Christological Controversy in Fifth- C entury Palestine: The Career of Peter the Iberian (Oxford ­ Early Christian Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 226–310; Derwas J. Chitty, The Desert a City. An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire (Oxford: Blackwell, 1964), 70, 79, n. 85.

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  17 Sinai was certainly such a place that lay “apart from the rest of the world.”16 This early presence of Syriac monks in the Sinai (known in the year 362, 25 years after the death of the Roman emperor Constantin in 337)17 instead of Jerusalem may lead us to think of a gradual or slow reception in the Syriac speaking area of the transformation of the holy places in Jerusalem and the increase in the Holy City’s ecclesiastic impact after Constantine’s urban policy of transforming the city from an insignificant to a more attractive spiritual destination, and ultimately into the holiest place of Christianity.18 Probably, this is also the reason for which prophets and Old Testament personalities are preferred over the New Testament, one in the stories of Julian and Symeon on Sinai, and so Jerusalem remains absent from the scene. Brouria Bitton-Askhelony associates the topography of 4th- century Sinai with an opportune environment for hesychia and considers that the sources themselves  – especially the Byzantine  – confirm that the Sinai desert was “one of the most sacred spots in the entire network of Christian holy topography then taking shape.”19 It might be that the rivalry between the sacred topographies of various Christian sites has not diminished the Sinai’s primacy as one of the most important attractions for the practice of hesychia.20 The region’s potential in terms of its attraction to pilgrims would remain important throughout the centuries, and would often be closely linked to the holy places in Jerusalem, as we will see in the later chapters of our investigation, the late antique pilgrim’s itinerary often included both destinations. Sinai as well as Jerusalem stand on the pilgrim’s agenda of late Antiquity. Theodoret announces the reason for Julian’s travel, that is: “to escape being honoured – for he became conspicuous to all, and through his fame drew to himself the lovers of good.”21 This attempt to isolate himself from the increasing fame surrounding his person, a recurrent hagiographic trope, is mentioned by the author as his main reason for leaving the area of Syriac ecclesiastical community. Bitton-Askhelony ­ ​­ mentions hesychia as decisive in Julian choosing Sinai as a travel destination.22 However, the attraction of

16 Chitty, The Desert a City, 168. 17 See also William M. Brashear, “Syriaca” with pl. XIII, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 44 (1998), 86 –127, esp.  115: “Syrians were also active in the Sinai early on. The earliest recorded Christian monk in Sinai was neither from Egypt nor Palestine, but from Syria.” 18 See Andreas Müller, “Pilgern im spätantiken Christentum: Der Sinai als Pilgerziel,” in Martin Tamcke, Egbert Schlarb (eds.), Überleben, Pilgern, Begegnen im Orientalischen Christentum. Festschrift für Wolfgang Hage zum 85. Geburtstag  (col. Göttinger Orientforschungen, I. Reihe: Syriaca, vol. 60, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2020), 109–126; see also Jan Willem Drijvers, Cyril of Jerusalem: Bishop and City (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, 72; Boston, MA and Leiden: Brill, 2004). 19 ­Bitton-Askhelony, ​­ Encountering, 159–160. ­ ​­ 20 ­Bitton-Askhelony, ​­ Encountering, 160. 21 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta Martyrium, vol. 6, 393; Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. ­ Price), 29. 22 ­Bitton-Askhelony, ​­ Encountering, 159.

18  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land broader Palestine, with the agglomeration of holy places and biblical historical marks within the area, must also have been just as important, which as we will see was often a recurring consideration for each monk undertaking pilgrimage. What is interesting in Theodoret’s report is that Julian did not travel alone, but rather was accompanied by several people – which on the one hand shows that he already had a group of disciples, and on the other that his desire to travel to Palestine appeared to resonate with the desires of others, a common ideal which gathers together those whose goal is holiness. If the search for holiness associated groups of monastic people, then it might be thought that the common pilgrimage and travel to sacred places as a monastic condition, coagulate them even more. It is no less important to inquire about the time-frame in which this pilgrimage might have taken place. In this regard, Solzbacher gives a plausible estimate: the visit to Sinai might date back to AD 363 (the placement of this episode in the Vita before the death of Emperor Julian in Chapter 14 serving as a clue).23 The author does not appear to be interested in how Julian Saba reached the Sinai, which roads he followed, nor why Palestine and Sinai were important to him; he only off-handedly mentions that he was travelling there to focus on prayer. However, one interesting detail from Theodoret’s description is that the traveling monks took steps to avoid the towns and villages by choosing to traverse the desert and the roads less travelled: “He finally set out for Mount Sinai with a few of those close to him, entering no city or village but making passage through the impassable desert.”24 It is likely that this anonymous route highlights the monks’ desire for atonement and renewal during their journey to the Holy Land, likely observing a certain ritual during their pilgrimages – as we will see would become codified much later, when monks were expected to pray on the road and read psalms while approaching their spiritual destination. Regarding the route taken to the Sinai, it is evident that the author is entirely disinterested in providing more details, content to merely emphasise the spiritual profile of his hero and the attraction of the desert as place for the fulfilment of monastic aspirations, namely prayer and asceticism. The monks always held the desert as their ideal, and their presence here appeared to somewhat ‘tame’ the desert  – even if this was more often the contribution of those writing their biographies, or, as Georgia Frank states, “recast the desert as a biblical land where Paradise was restored and gospel miracles could find their full realization.”25 In addition, we will see that later Syriac pilgrims in Palestine and Jerusalem benefitted from having established trade routes to follow, whilst in Julian’s case he preferred walking. The phrasing used by Theodoret strongly

23 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 112. 24 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta Martyrium, vol. 6, 393; Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 29. 25 Frank, The Memory, 76.

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  19 suggests that the monks observed a certain ritual prior to their journey, including preparing for travel by procuring the particular items that a monk must take with them. We will follow such aspects over the course of the subsequent chapters, and attempt to highlight their evolution throughout different periods of pilgrimage. Concerning travel preparations, Theodoret summarily writes: They carried on their shoulders the necessary food – I mean bread and salt – and also a cup made from wood and a sponge tied to a piece of string, in order (if ever they found the water too deep) to draw it up with the sponge, squeeze it into the cup, and so drink it.26 The search for the Palestinian desert as a place of holiness represents a spiritual goal for the monks. Their desire for spiritual progress is also apparent if we look at the small amount of food the monks took with them on the journey. In this regard, Solzbacher comments how the monks considered themselves in imitation of the biblical prophets on their way through the wilderness: “The wish of the monks to visit the holy places in the desert, therefore, had to spring from their self-i mage with inward consistency, to imitate the great prophets, in whose lineage they knew themselves.”27 Moreover, Solzbacher views the food taken by the pilgrims for their journey (bread, salt, and a drinking vessel with a sponge) to be appropriate to the traditional supplies used on pilgrimage.28 It might be that the three elements enumerated by Theodoret are an allusion to the fasting practices of the monks on their pilgrimage as “an intensification of asceticism”29 for advancing in holiness. Interestingly, the author does not say exactly how long the entire trip took. However, he does offer a broad timeframe: After completing a journey of many days, they reached the mountain they longed for, and, having worshiped their own Master, passed much time there, thinking the deserted character of the place and tranquillity of soul a supreme delight.30 Not only does the author highlight the fact that the pilgrims travelled for many days, but it seems that, for him, the other clue is much more important,

26 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta Martyrium, vol. 6, 393; Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 29. 27 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 112: “Der Wunsch der Mönche, die heiligen Stätten in der Wüste aufzusuchen, mußte demnach mit innerer Folgerichtigkeit ihrem Selbstverständnis entspringen, die großen Prophete nachzuahmen, in deren Kontinuität sie sich wußten.” 28 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 113. 29 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 113. On fasting as a spiritual exercise during pilgrimage, see the stories of Marana and Cyra I introduced above. 30 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta Martyrium, vol. 6, 394; Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 29.

20  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land that the pilgrims “passed much time there” for worship and the tranquillity of the soul in the presence of the desert. This is a crucial aspect as it reveals the fundamental purpose of any monk on pilgrimage to the holy places that consists of some genuine principles, which can be seen in various texts about pilgrims: to achieve tranquillity of the senses and the soul; to touch holiness; to make devotion and pray for the forgiveness of sins and hope of salvation; to learn from other holy people, real-life experiences and models of ascesis; and to keep in vivid memory the holy places and holy ones as a reservoir for one’s Christian life. Moreover, the contribution that Julian makes to the spirituality of Sinai seems to be notable: he and his companions lingered for some time and built a church on the mountain,31 a church described by Egeria not long afterwards.32 Theodoret only offers basic details of where the church was located, alongside a vague temporal confirmation of its existence in the author’s time: On this rock, under which Moses the leader of the prophets hid when he was counted worthy to see God, insofar as it is possible to see Him, Julian built a church and consecrated an altar to God, which has stood to this day, and so returned to his own wrestling-school.33 The leitmotif of building a church will also appear in the Syriac hymns on Julian Saba.34 Derwas James Chitty considers that “the Church upon the peak of the Mountain of Moses– Gebel Musa–has continued ever since to be a focus of pilgrimage.”35 However, one cannot exclude the idea that perhaps this was not a church in the true sense of the word, but rather an area that was liturgically validated by the monks’ presence, prayer, and meditation, thereby adopted by Christians as an important spiritual place in the desert. The trope of establishing churches repeats across short Syriac texts about monks (in the minibiographies written by Īšōʿdenāh ̣ of Basra in his Ktaba ­d-nakputa ​­ [Book of Chastity]), whoever went to Palestine wished to leave their own mark on the spiritual history of the Holy Land and to materialise their veneration of the holy places by building a chapel, church or a place of worship. 31 See M. van Parys, “Abba Silvain et ses disciples,” Irénikon 61 (1988), ­ ­315–330, ​­ esp. 315–318; ­ ­ ​­ Grillmeier, Hainthaler, Christ in Christian Tradition (vol. ­ 2.3), 22. 32 J. Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels to the Holy Land: Newly Translated (from the Latin) with Supporting Documents and Notes (Revised edition) (Jerusalem: Ariel Publishing House, 1981), 97; Grillmeier, Hainthaler, Christ in Christian Tradition (vol. 2.3), 22. 33 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta Martyrium, vol. 6, 394; Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. ­ Price), 29. 34 Hymn 19: 13, in Edmund Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Hymnen auf Abraham und Julianos Saba (CSCO, vol. 323, Scriptores Syri Tomus 141), 76; Brashear, ­ “Syriaca,” 115. 35 Chitty, The Desert a City, 168.

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  21 Julian Saba’s Pilgrimage as Portrayed in Syriac Hymns Having reviewed Theodoret’s perspective on Julianos Saba’s journey to Sinai, we now turn to an analysis of madrashe which touched the same subject. These madrashe are traditionally attributed to Ephrem the Syrian. Although Vööbus considers these texts genuine,36 the editor E. Beck had reservations.37 In accordance with Beck, Solzbacher opines that these hymns are more likely to be the work of his direct disciples.38 These issues are not relevant to our inquiry, so we will focus on the particular theology of Julian Saba’s interaction with Palestine and especially with Sinai, and on the question in what way this picture might prove paradigmatic for later Syriac pilgrims to Palestine. From the beginning, the Syriac hymns centred both on Julian’s spiritual profile39 and on the local Syriac tradition. Even where the author, by virtue of Julian Saba’s journey there, includes the Sinai in his perspective and theological description, a certain tension still remains in the narrative – similar to many theological reports of later Syriac authors writing on that area – so much so that Edessa and Mesopotamia come to eclipse any other region and Christian identity. It is still too early to talk about denominational fragmentation within Syriac Christianity: at the time, Syriac Christianity was a unified tradition (beyond some factions that were excluded such as Marcionites, Manichees and other sectarian small communities). It is interesting to see in the fourth poem an example of public cult in which the author introduces the reader, expressing his gratitude towards God for the fact that Julian Saba is his compatriot from Edessa and that his grave gathers many monks to praise him: Because it is not just through his wealth that he makes us rich, rather, since the place of his grave [dukath qabreh] has become a great harbour [l-mano ­ ​­ rabo], all merchants are invited to come to our country with their treasures.40 36 Vööbus, History of Asceticism, II, 42f. 37 One of the reasons why scholars do not ascribe the text to Ephrem is that he was almost contemporary to Julian Saba. The editor Beck identified a quotation from Philoxenos of Maboug, a Syriac Orthodox bishop who lived much later (d. 521). Beck considers that the hymns probably belong to Ephrem’s disciples or to authors writing “under the dominant influence of his literature” (authors from the first or second generation after Ephrem). Beck (ed.), ­ Des Heiligen Ephraem (CSCO, 323), Foreword, xv. On Beck’s line, Griffith “Julian Saba,” 198–201, mentions also two objections: “the author’s point of view, or position in regard to the saint; and the idea of the intercessory power of a departed saint’s prayer which appear in a number of hymns.” 38 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 114. 39 Hymn 2: 13, paints a short profile of Julian Saba as a hermit (īḥīdāyā). ­ In Hymn 14: 6 – 9, he appears as founder of monastic settlements (dayrātā). ­ See Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen ­ ​­ Ephraem, Foreword, xi–xii. 40 Hymn 4: 3, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 45 (syr.), 50 (germ.).

22  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land In this statement might be viewed an allusion to “Saba’s intercessory prayers for the Edessans.”41 Part of this liturgical cult is also local pride and identity accentuated further in the hymn: even if the monk was attracted to other places, the author most likely having in mind the trip to Sinai, Julian could only truly find solace in the Syriac space, an opinion opposite that of Theodoret of Cyrrhus: Our mouth is a source of gratitude that these tired feet, which were struggling everywhere,42 did not reach out and rest anywhere else than here with us. Blessed are you, our land, for the gift that has been given to us: the treasure of his bones! [simath garmaw].43 Edessa and Mesopotamia are made famous but by a plethora of martyrs and heroes of monasticism intent on living a holy life. The author enumerates Guryā, Habīb and Šmōnā44 as ‘heroes of his land’, whose feasts “resound in you like trumpets.”45 Part of this great spiritual gain of the community of Edessa is now also “the beautiful Saba [sobo fayo].” The author delves deeper into this historical relation invoking Old Testament personalities related to the area of Syriac Christians (Abraham and the Eleven Tribes), creating a connection with Palestine through the transfer of these biblical actors to the Holy Land: Thousands of tongues may give thanks for our land in which Abraham wandered with his offspring Jacob, Sarah, Rebekah, Lia and Rachel and the eleven chiefs of the tribe.46 41 Griffith “Julian Saba,” 202. 42 Beck (ed.), ­ Des Heiligen Ephraem (CSCO 323), 50, n. 5: “Geht wohl auf seine Wanderungen in der Wüste und auf seine Pilgerfahrt zum Sinai.” 214. 43 Hymn 4: 5, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 45– 46 (syr.), 50 (germ.). The motif of highlighting relics of the heroes of Syriac tradition in Edessa and the consequent spiritual enrichment of the city is apparent in multiple of Ephrem’s works, such as the bones (garmē) of the apostle Thomas, brought to Edessa by a merchant from India (discussed in Carmina Nisibena 42:3). According to Ephrem, the transfer of this treasure (sīmtā) made the people of Edessa wealthy. A similar idea, focusing on Thomas and Addai, is present in Carmina Nisibena 33:12. See Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem (CSCO 323), 50, n. 6. 44 See Oscar Gebhardt, Die Akten der edessenischen bekenner Gurjas, Samonas und Abibos (Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur, 37, Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs Verlag, 1911). 45 Hymn 4: 7, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 46 (syr.), 51 (germ.). For the Edessan cult of martyris, see Susan Ashbrook Harvey, “The Edessan Martyrs and Ascetic Tradition,” in R. Levanant (ed.) V Symposium Syriacum 1988 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta, 286, ­ ​­ Rome, 1990), 195–206. 46 Hymn 4: 8, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 46 (syr.), 51 (germ.).

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  23 The strophe ends with the statement that Julian continues the tradition of these great figures: “From your treasure, Sion became rich in the sons of Jacob.”47 The link between Mesopotamia and Sinai maintained in the past by the sons of Jacob is completed now by the departure of Julian. At this point, the author seems interested in the promotion of a superior image of Edessa as a sacred area, one which surpasses even the Holy Land: The name of our country is even greater than that of her consort. For in her were born Levi, the chief of the priests [rish kumre], and Judah, the chief of royalty [rish malkutho], and Joseph, the child who went forth and became ​­ the lord of Egypt [moryo d-mesren]. In the light from here the world is enlightened.48 In this theological relationship, the author argues that Christ, the new Sun [shemsho hadtho], is drawn from the tribe of Judah, who hail from Mesopotamia. Judah saw the light of day in the Syriac space and then moved to the Holy Land so that, by divine providence, Christ the Sun would later shine in Bethlehem.49 A further theological image is depicted in hymn 14, where a beautiful comparison emerges between Saba and the Old Testament patriarch Jacob, both of Mesopotamian origin, thereby maintaining the tension between this region and the Holy Land. Saba is a new Jacob, who carried out impressive deeds in his homeland and came into contact with another sacred destination. Julian Saba, who endowed the cultural milieu of Syriac Christians with monastic value by supporting the development of monasticism, later became attracted of the Holy Land.50 At this point, the author’s rhetoric about Saba’s pilgrimage and a relationship between territory, or space, and holiness, with emphasis on how these intersect,51 should be observed. This has also been evaluated in later Syriac literature. The ascetic priest and the monk Julian worked in accordance with the Divine Will, both in the region of Edessa and on Sinai. However, it is not his departure for Sinai that is highlighted in the hymn, but rather the inclusion of the great hero in the Syriac tradition of Edessa and the fact that he was laid to rest in his place of origin, with the author considering Saba a net spiritual gain for Mesopotamia, where a cult was developed around his tomb:

47 Hymn 4: 8, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen, 46 (syr.), 51 (germ.). 48 Hymn 4: 9, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 46 (syr.), 51 (germ.); Griffith “Julian Saba,” 202; Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 177. 49 See Hymn 4: 10, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 46 (syr.), 51 (germ.); Griffith “Julian Saba,” 202; Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 177. 50 See Hymn 14: 2 – 8, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 61 (syr.), ­ ­66–67 ​­ (germ.). ­ 51 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 176.

24  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land You comforted our country with monastic settlements. For you and your flock have become ours. I marveled at you; whom (God), here and on Mount Sinai, made great through the abode of his saints.52 Through Julian’s asceticism, contribution to the heritage of monks in the area of Edessa and the liturgical cult “attached to his tomb,” the city grows in significance among the Christian communities of the Middle East and the author uses this “literary opportunity” “to tout the significance of Edessa as a holy site over and against the revered holy sites of Jerusalem.”53 Edessa overshadows even the grandeur of Jerusalem, an image that becomes common in Syriac homilies of late Antiquity. It is at this point that Julian’s travel to Sinai is first mentioned in the poem.54 After linking the two geographical areas of Osrhoene and Sinai (or Mesopotamia and Palestine) as regions intrinsic to Julian’s monastic mission, the author combines two topographical features specific to the spiritual growth of the monk: the desert [debro] and the mountain [w-turo], ​­ two topoi that mark the transition from the historical space of Syriac Christianity to the Palestinian region: “For you completely imitated his servants. (God) gave you desert and mountain of his just men.”55 If in the famous Life of Antony one views the perspective of a “fusion of city and desert”56 in case of Julian the elements of fusion are desert and mountain as landscape in which the monks lives as the manifestation God’s presence and holiness. The alternation of these two physical coordinates or landscapes in the monk’s ideal effortlessly leads to a third, which Georgia Frank mentions in the specific of ancient travelogues, the sky: “The places may change from mountain to desert to heavens, but the sensory dimensions of the experience are constant.”57 References to Julian Saba’s journey to the Sinai can be found in the second part of the 19th hymn. In this passage, the profile of the Syriac monk is compared to that of Moses (where the monk improves and expands upon the deeds of the Prophet). At this point, while the focus remains on Julian’s person, the motif of Mount Sinai’s attraction as a “sacred place,” paradigmatic

52 Hymn 14: 9–10, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 62 (syr.), 67 (germ.). For Julian’s cult in Edessa see also Griffith “Julian Saba,” 195. 53 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 177. 54 Beck (ed.), ­ Des Heiligen Ephraem (CSCO 323), 67, n. 3: “Die Wanderung zum Sinai wird hier zum erstenmal erwähnt.” 55 Hymn 14: 11, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 62 (syr.), 67 (germ.). 56 Mario Baghos, From the Ancient Near East to Christian Byzantium: Kings, Symbols, and Cities ( Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2021), 164; Andrew Mellas, “The Eremitic ­ Citizen as An-chora-ite in St ­ ­​­­ ​­ Athanasius’ Life of Antony,” Phronema 28.1 ­ ­53–72, ​­ ­ (2013), esp. 68. 57 Frank, The Memory, 101.

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  25 for early Syriac monasticism, becomes part of the frame.58 This mark of the sacred topography of the Mount Sinai is firstly revealed by the desert, in Solzbacher’s opinion “the mention of the desert provides the concrete starting point for the introduction of Mount Sinai.”59 While this claim is true, it is not merely “wilderness” [debro] that appears as a leitmotif in this context, but also the state of “rest or sleep,” both symbols for the temperance of passions and for clearing one’s mind, quintessential for any monastic spiritual progress, and part of the genuine principles the pilgrims apply in their encounter with the sacred space: In the wilderness fair Saba went to rest [b- debro shkheb hwo sobo hdiro]. Moses, whom all the tribes mourned, the great pillar, went to rest in the wilderness, he upon whom the hardship of the camp weighed down.60 The presence in the desert and the search for rest there renders Saba and Moses into the bearers of the same ideal: the discovery of one’s own self and the recovery of their spiritual strength. The quiet context bears fruit, such that Julian builds a church.61 It is here that the tension between Jews (first dubbed “the circumcised” and then “crucifiers”) and Christians portrayed in the passage about the church on Mount Sinai is first alluded to, shows a development which can be taken as a symbol that the old Israel or Jerusalem had been abolished or even replaced by a new topos of spirituality. Based on this, it can be reasonably hypothesised that this would be an explanation as to why Julian did not intend to go to Jerusalem, be that as it may. Looking through this perspective of Christian and non- Christian boundary it appears in the text that the Mount now becomes identified with the presence of the Son through Julian’s church or with other words the Christianity imports the Sinai in his holy heritage and the author of the hymn attributes a direct role to Julian in this regard:

58 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 114–115. ­ ​­ 59 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 117. 60 Hymn 19: 11, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 72 (syr.), 76 (germ.); Kevin van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian, Hymns 19 and 20,” in Daniel F. Caner, Sebastian P. Brock, Kevin Thomas Van Bladel, Richard Price (eds.), History and Hagiography from the Late Antique Sinai: Including Translations (Translated Texts for Historians Series, 53, Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2010), 203–210, esp. 206. 61 The building of the church also appears in Jacob of Serugh’s mēmrā on Julian Saba, where the author shows that Julian’s humility, as an imitator of Moses, raised him on the mountain where he built the church – v iewed as a sacred space designated by its liturgical function which he has already bestowed it, a fact made apparent by the combination of the verbs ‘anointed’ and ‘designed’: “He anointed and designed a holy church in that splendid place.” (trans. by Griffith “Julian Saba,” 191); see also Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 176.

26  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land To you [i.e. Saba] was given on the mountain of Sinai and for you was guarded for a thousand years the pure cave of glory of the Father, and then you built a church for the glory of the Son. The circumcised [gziro] [i.e. Jews] boast of Mount Sinai but you humiliated them down to the ground. This proclamation is great for now the church of the Son [ʿidteh ­d-bro] ​­ is on the Father’s mountain 62 [b-tureh ­ ​­ d-abo]! ­ ​­ Through the image of Moses and other Old Testament elements, in addition to the ecclesiastical monastic framework created by the presence of Julian and his companions here, our author presents the space of the Sinai as the meeting place between the two Testaments. Moreover, the superiority of the latter Testament is made apparent in that the Church is seen to replace the Old Testament tabernacle. Sinai remains the quintessential place of fulfilment in Christ, and we can opine that Julian Saba, in turn, fulfils his monastic vocation by lingering here and by building the small church, mentioned also by Egeria (III, 3 –5), and which Van Blandel views as “perhaps the earliest Christian monument to appear on the Sinai peninsula at all”63: That zeal, my Lord, is from God, for that Church you built at Mount Sinai. For all the mysteries of the tabernacle came and were completed through the church of Christ. For it is from God that he put to shame all the [false] doctrines, together with the crucifiers [zoqufe], and that he completed at Mount Sinai both new and old [covenants].64 Here we see that the author uses a derogatory term for Jews, “crucifiers,” one which was frequently used by Ephrem the Syrian as well as by other Syriac authors (in particular Isaac of Antioch and Jacob of Serugh).65 As we 62 Hymn 19: 12–13, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 72 (syr.), 76 (germ.); Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 206. 63 Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 203. See also Uzi Dahari, Monastic Settlements in South Sinai in the Byzantine Period: The Archaeological Remains (Israel ­ Antiquities Authority Reports 9; Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2000), 21. 64 Hymn 19: ­15–16, ​­ in Beck (ed.), ­ Des Heiligen Ephraem, 72–73 (syr.), 76 (germ.); Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 206. 65 Robert Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition (London: ­ T&T Clark International, 2004), 41, considers Ephrem lying “at the head of that tradition” using two words sālōba and zāqōpā (both have the meaning ‘crucifier’). The genuine concept portraying Jews is identified also in the Persian Martyr Acts as stated by Adam H. Becker, “Syriac Anti-Judaism: Polemic and Internal Critique,” in Aaron Michael Butts and Simcha

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  27 will see, the term becomes part of the Syriac theological vocabulary characterising Jews, and would later be adopted not only in homilies but also in historical writings. It appears, for instance, in the chronicle describing the presence of the Jews in the context of the Persian conquest of Jerusalem and the seizure of the Holy Wood. The concept of “crucifiers” is used for virulent criticism, admonishing and blaming a group perceived as fundamentally incompatible with the authors’ religious identity, the Jews. To return to the final part of the hymn, the author then connects the Sinai to Jerusalem through a direct reference to Golgotha, which is understood as its own mountain, on which Salvation was fulfilled: His heart is of stone, he who doubts that the holy mountains [turay qudshe] are two. For lo! the church of the First-Born [ʿidath bukhro] is at the Mountain of Sinai and also at Golgotha, the Mountain of Zion.66 Solzbacher observes that, in this verse, the author “sets Mount Sinai, since it now bears a church, next to the (new) Mount Zion, namely Golgotha.”67 From this early period, the image of Zion that pilgrims bear in mind in their travels would then be transferred to everyday liturgical use by the fact that Zion would be understood as the mother of all churches; indeed, we later see the reception of this genuine symbol in many texts. One example is a commentary of Dionysius Bar Salibi, noting that the Eucharist is offered “on behalf of Zion, mother of all Churches, that is to say the first Church of Jerusalem established by the Apostle from the people of Israel.”68 In a series of concluding images from Ephrem’s hymn to Julian, we notice a further passage which deserves our attention. Found in hymn 20, here we see a more extensive comparison between Julian Saba and Moses in the context of their paralleled presence on Mount Sinai; in particular, this passage is dedicated to the church attributed to Julian. The Syriac monk came from

Gross (eds.), ­ Jews and Syriac Christians: Intersections across the First Millennium (Texts ­ and Studies in Ancient Judaism, 180, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 47– 66, esp. 57–58: The Jews are commonly called “crucifiers” (ṣāloḅē, ­ zāqopē) in the Syriac tradition, and this is the role they most often play in these narratives, as they do on occasion in the so- c alled Persian Martyr Acts where they can represent a t wo- d imensional chorus demanding the death of Christians. 66 Hymn 19: 17, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 73 (syr.), 77 (germ.); Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 206. 67 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 118. 68 Dionysius bar Salibi: Commentary on the Eucharist, tr. by Baby Varghese (Mōrān ‘Ethō, ­ 10; Kottayam: St. Ephrem Ecumenical Research Institute [SEERI]), 1998), 11; Serafim Seppälä, “Liturgical Representations of Jerusalem in Eastern Christian Traditions,” in Antti Laato ­ ­ (ed.), Understanding the Spiritual Meaning of Jerusalem in Three Abrahamic Religions (Series: Studies on the Children of Abraham, 6, Leiden: Brill, 2018), 139–160, esp. 158.

28  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Mesopotamia to affirm the message of Christ on the high mountain of great spiritual importance. And the comparison between what was old in Moses and what is new in the Christian act of the church’s building is set forth: Small is the construction of Moses the great [d-mushe ­ ​­ rabo] for as for that tabernacle [d-hu ­ ​­ mashkan], its time has passed. Great is the construction of little Saba [sobo zʿuro] for he has built there the church of truth [d-ʿidto ­ ​­ ­d-shroro]. ​­ Moses set up the altar of sacrifices and sprinkled the blood of animals on it. Saba set up the altar of the Holy and there broke upon it the living body [of Christ].69 The antithesis is clear: the tabernacle is inferior to the church, while the sacrificial animal altar has less value compared to the Eucharist. However, in terms of personal comparisons, the author suggests that neither Moses nor Saba was greater than the other, but rather that the superiority between them is rendered by the Testament of Christ itself.70 Further, Julian and Moses alike are described as each having a dominant characteristic in the context of their presence on Mount Sinai: for Moses it is purity (cleanliness), while for Julian Saba it is the immersion into prayer: Moses was standing clean on that serene height of Mount Sinai, and his Lord showed him likenesses of that holy tabernacle that he made there. And Saba was standing in prayer in the pure cave on Mount Sinai, and suddenly there came to his mind a church and likenesses together with measurements.71 Moses made the ephemeral tabernacle [mashkan zabno] with (the strength) of many people and their treasures. Saba built the holy church [ʿidath qudsho] with the strength of the little and of those who fast.72 Many other analogies are contained in the text: the analogy between tabernacle [mashkan] and church [ʿidath]; between the stone tablets of Law 69 Hymn 20: 2–3, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 74 (syr.), 77 (germ.); Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 207. 70 Hymn 20: 5, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 74 (syr.), 77 (germ.); Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 207. 71 Hymn 20: 7– 8, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 74 (syr.), 78 (germ.); Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 207. 72 Hymn 20: 9, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 74–75 (syr.), 78 (germ.); Van Bladel (tr.), “Ephraim the Syrian,” 207.

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  29 and the tablets of the Spirit; between the Sabbath, the synagogue and the Church, etc. Towards the end, in verse 18, we witness a return to another association of terms: “wilderness” and “mountain,” which place in direct antithesis the serpent of Moses and the cross erected by Saba on Sinai as an echo of the former: Moses fixed a serpent up in the wilderness and whoever beheld it was cured. Saba fixed a cross on the mountain and the soul was restrained by it from error.73 In conclusion, what we find in the hymns on Julian Saba is an attempt to correlate the cult of a father of Syriac monasticism with the exposition of an itinerary the pilgrim would follow in their attraction to the Sinai and Palestine. Also containing “the memory of his pilgrimage to Sinai,” the legend presented in the poem “offers an intriguing opportunity to consider the overlap of pilgrimage literature, the celebration of pilgrimage as part of a saint’s biography, and a broader view of literary cartography within the Syriac tradition.”74 Symeon the Elder on Sinai, According to Theodoret’s History Following on from our analysis of Julian, let us briefly introduce another pilgrim: Symeon the Elder, who is also mentioned in Theodoret of Cyrrhus’ History. First of all, a question arises about the timeline of Symeon’s visit to Palestine. In Solzbacher’s opinion, the vita of Symeon Palaios has no direct reference to the time of his living, but one can assume his date of death as falling somewhere between 375 and 380; his pilgrimage probably happened around the same time as that of Julian, or perhaps even a little earlier since Symeon did not seem to have any knowledge of the church built by Julian on Mount Sinai.75 Nevertheless, for Theodoret of Cyrrhus it is clear that both of them made pilgrimages to Mount Sinai.76 Secondly, as was the case of Julian Saba, we should ask what, in particular, it was that drew Symeon to Palestine and to Mount Sinai. According to Theodoret, there were two reasons that determined Symeon to embark on his journey: the first, because ­ of a craving for rest (hesychia): “longing for quiet,” he travelled to Mount Sinai.77 On the other hand, a further passage argues that the monk’s longing

73 Hymn 20:18, in Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem, 76 (syr.), 79 (germ.); Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 118. 74 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 178. 75 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 111. 76 Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 111. 77 Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 65; Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 113.

30  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land for the places that God loves represented a further reason for his desire to make the journey: “For we,” he said, ‘in our pursuit of the ascetic life and longing for quiet are wandering in this desert, wishing to adore the God of all things on Mount Sinai, on which He made His own epiphany to give the tablets of the Law to His servant Moses – not that we think that the Godhead has been circumscribed in place (for we hear Him saying, “I fill heaven and earth, says the Lord,” and “He contains the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants in it as grasshoppers’) – but since to those who love fervently not only are their beloved thrice desired, but lovable too are the places that have been graced by their presence and frequenting.”78 What we see in this paragraph is not so much a simple explanation of the purpose of Symeon’s trip to Sinai, but rather a well- developed argument about the monk’s justification of his pilgrimage to the region – an endeavour which most likely entered the monastic legacy of Eastern Christianity around the same time. Holy places are sought out by pilgrims, especially by monks, for the presence of grace. Here, the author ascribes a series of classic arguments to his character, the Syriac monk, such as Mount Sinai being the Mount of God’s epiphany to Moses and the place where the Tablets of the Law were given to mankind. However, the character also responds to the potential argument invoked by those who would speak out against the pilgrimages of Syriac Christians to the Holy Land: an argument against the circumscription of God to a certain place, invoked by many authors and later patriarchs such as Īšōʿyahb I, whose account we will analyse later in the book (in another chapter). In his pilgrimage to the Sinai, Symeon was a contemporary of Egeria.79 At the time of his sojourn, the Sinai was already an established destination for pilgrimage. In turn, Symeon was already a monastic leader, so that upon hearing that he wanted to travel to this place of pilgrimage, many monks, who shared the same spiritual desire, decided to accompany him: “On learning this, many excellent men who pursued the same philosophy assembled together in their desire to share the journey with him.”80 This report confirms the usual practice, seen also in the case of Julian Saba, that no pilgrim should travel alone, but rather in a group or with a caravan. Regarding the travel conditions, the author vaguely informs us at the beginning that the monks travelled for several days and arrived in the desert of Sodom where they were met by an unexpected event, seeing “from a distance the

78 Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. ­ Price), ­65–66. ​­ 79 Wilkinson (tr.), ­ Egeria’s Travels, 91. Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 65. 80

Early Syriac Pilgrims to Palestine  31 hands of a man stretching upwards out of the depths, whereupon at first they suspected a demonic deception.”81 Solzbacher opines, that the mention of the desert of Sodom suggests that the road taken ran through the Jordan Valley and Wādī ʿAraba, via Aila 82 (Elat). ­ As to their arrival on Mount Sinai, the author shows that when they reached the ­much-desired ​­ mountain, on the very spot where Moses was deemed worthy to see God and beheld Him as far as was possible for human nature, [the monk] knelt down and did not get up until he heard a divine voice announcing to him the Master’s favor.83 As we have seen, the length of Julian’s stay on Mount Sinai was mentioned as an indefinite period (“a long time”). Conversely, Symeon’s stay is documented as only lasting one week, which renders the hypothesis that Symeon visited Sinai during his pilgrimage to other holy places such as Jerusalem much more plausible84: He had spent the whole cycle of a week bent double in this way and taking not a scrap of food when the voice sounded and bade him take what was offered him and eat it willingly.85 The report of Symeon’s journey also makes reference to miracles: after a week of fasting, Symeon received three apples as heavenly food.86 As Solzbacher well observes, the pilgrimage to Sinai is, for Symeon, “the climax of anchorite existence,” of which miracles are also part. The monks are able to live the vocation of real or physical pilgrimage to Mount Sinai, which combined with “the appropriate fasting practices and meditation” create the possibility for the pilgrim to imagine the prophets and follow in their footsteps. These practical Christian conditions of traveling to a sacred and peaceful place, making prayer and meditation are “suitable ascetic means” for encountering sacred characters from the Old Testaments, Moses and Elijah, and imitating their ascetical virtue.87 Another interesting aspect the description of Symeon’s journey offers, one which will be inspected and confirmed in later pilgrimages, refers to the joy with which the monks returned after fulfilling their purpose of performing devotion at the holy places: “So, he returned home rejoicing and exulting

81 82 83 84 85 86 87

Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 65. Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 113. Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 67. Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 114. Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 67; Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 114. Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 67. Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 119.

32  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land at having heard a divine voice and enjoyed food that was likewise a gift from God.”88 The active involvement in the life of the church after a return from a sacred place is best observed in the later mini-biographies of Išō’denāh ̣ of Basra; however, this aspect is also present in Theodoret’s report on Symeon: On his return, he built two philosophic retreats: one on the ridge of the mountain mentioned above, the other on the very skirts of the mountain-foot beneath. He assembled athletes of virtue in each, and was the gymnastic trainer of both groups […].89 It would appear that the author’s intention is to conclude that, after fulfilling the objective of his pilgrimage, the monk became more responsible and more involved in practicing church life, supporting his monastic community and his disciples in passing these values down to future generations,90 a leitmotif embodied in the biographies of Abraham of Kashkar and many later Syriac ascetics.

88 Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 67. 89 Theodoret, A History of the Monks (trans. Price), 67. 90 Symeon as well as Julian Saba are considered founders of monasteries in the Antiochean region and in Osrhoene. See Solzbacher, Mönche, Pilger, 111.

2

The Four Legendary Pilgrimages to Jerusalem of the West Syriac Monk Barsauma

One notable pilgrim to Palestine and to Jerusalem that we cannot fail to include in this research is the figure of Barsauma, whose pilgrimages have been extensively debated in modern research.1 For the reader who has never heard of Barsauma before, this short characterisation Daniel Caner makes to the Syriac monk would suffice to arouse his curiosity: “Barsauma was the rogue monk writ large, credited with razing temples, torching synagogues, terrorizing Samaritans, and after the Council of Chalcedon, harassing heretics until the day he died.”2



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DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-4

34  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Barsauma lived in the time of the Council of Chalcedon and died in AD 458. Versions of his biography were recorded in Syriac, Arabic, and in Ethiopian, and probably in Armenian as well.3 The author of the “Life of Barsauma” (Vita ­ Barsaumae) is his disciple, Samuel, who wrote this as a panegyric for his master.4 A number of relevant passages from this work were translated at the beginning of 20th century,5 and recently a complete translation appeared.6 From the life of Barsauma we learn that the Syriac monk made four pilgrimages to Jerusalem, if these are real and not legendary. The modern research often considered this number of journeys to the Holy City, as an ‘aberration’, because of this pattern “of repeated pilgrimages to the same remote location” which H. Sivan considers unusual.7 To gather a first impression of the ritual of pilgrimage at the beginning of the 5th century, we may ask the usual questions of how Barsauma began his travel. On his first journey, Barsauma travelled barefoot (wearing “no shoes, not even sandals”), a custom compatible with the vocation of an ascetic pilgrim. This assumed form of travel could have early roots into the philosophical as well as ascetical traditions but also in the category of poor people.8 This practice would much later be integrated and become a naturalised habit in the time of Barhebraeus. Barsauma undertook his journey without any preparation for his way from Samosata to Palestine: He wore rags of sackcloth, of double thickness, patched together with thick threads of wool and hair. He resolved to wear no shoes, not even sandals, on his journey; to take neither purse, nor bag, nor stick, nor food from one place to another; neither to enter a village, nor to pass through a city; and to accept neither silver, nor bronze. Thus, he went and thus he returned, all the way to the East.9 3 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 19, n. 10. 4 See E. Honigmann, Le couvent de Barsauma et le patriarcat jacobite d’Antioche et de Syrie (CSCO, vol. 146, Subsidia t. 7, Louvain: L Durbecq, 1954), 11. 5 Selected passages of Barsauma’s life were translated and commented on by François Nau, ­ ­270–276, ​­ ­379–​ “Résumé de monographies syriaques,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 18 (1913), 389; 19 (1914), 113–134, 278–289; and François Nau, “Deux épisodes de l’histoire juive sous Théodose II (423 et 438) d’après la Vie de Barsauma le Syrien”, Revue des études juives 83 (1927), ­ ­184–206. ​­ 6 Andrew Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint Barsauma: Eulogy of a Hero of the Resistance to the Council of Chalcedon (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 61, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2020). 7 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 56. 8 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 56, esp. n. 1 where she links this “fairy common” practice to a Pythagorean practice. See also J. N. Bremmer, “Symbols of Marginality from Early Pythagoreans to Late Antique Monks,” Greece & Rome 39.2 (1992), ­ 205–214. ­ ​­ 9 Vita 4; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 23; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 19.

The Four Legendary Pilgrimages to Jerusalem   35 From this perspective, it would appear that Barsauma was as atypical a pilgrim as he was an atypical monk. Another unusual aspect of this pilgrimage is the age of Barsauma at the time of making the journey: he was probably a child at the time (in the year 400 when the pilgrimage took place),10 at the very least, that is what the author suggests in his hagiographic composition. He was a child, and it is remarkable that he travelled through Jewish and Samaritans regions, viewed as adversaries of Christians.11 Such exceptions of a teenager’s pilgrimage to the holy places are seen also in some other texts, for example in John of Ephesus who also mentions young people, even children, who expressed, and at times even fulfilled, their spiritual desire to visit the Holy City.12 With all the hagiographic tone of this pilgrimage, it is difficult to say whether Barsauma’s first pilgrimage – that imply a young man that could possess only minimal abilities to orient and guide themselves on the road, engaged in humble and impoverished journey, without training and without resources was a ‘real’ pilgrimage or rather an ‘imaginary’ one. Be that as it may, the pilgrimage ‘product’ made Barsauma a competent monk, eventually founding a monastery, and developing into a prestigious master who attracted many disciples.13 All this spiritual gain convinces him to plan a second pilgrimage to the holy city, in the year 420 or 423.14 The purpose of the second journey was fulfiling the goal of each pilgrim, to pray and meditate in the holy places. The framework of this second project of encountering Jerusalem is presented with a slightly more ‘normal’ pilgrimage. Barsauma made the journey accompanied by his disciples as we have already seen that the earlier Julian Saba and Symeon the Elder also travelled with a group of disciples. The number of people in this group travelling with Barsauma is still marginally true: 40 of his disciples made the journey with their master.15 There are opinions that this number is just a symbol for the cause and faith of martyrs; being the emblem or type of the martyrs of Sebaste, both the categories, the martyr saints and the monks, share the same principal, as Sivan observes: “their readiness to die for the cause.”16

10 Nau, “Deux épisodes de l’histoire juive,” 186. 11 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 56. 12 See Cornelia Horn, “Children as Pilgrims and the Cult of the Holy Children in the Early Syriac Tradition,” ARAM 19 (2007), 439– 462. Some examples of young pilgrims are: Euthymius, documented by Cyril of Scythopolis, came to Jerusalem in the year 406/4007 when he was 29 years old, and the monk Sabas arrived to Jerusalem in 457, as he was 18 years old. A.-J. Festugière (ed.), Cyrille de Scythopolis, Vie de Saint Euthyme (Les ­ moines d’Orient, III/1, Les moines de Palestine) (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1962), 65; Vie de Saint Euthyme (Les moines d’Orient, III/2, Les moines de Palestine), 17; Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 58. 13 See Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 23–36. ­ ​­ 14 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 63, n. 38. 15 Vita 32; A. Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint Barsauma: Eulogy of a Hero of the Resistance to the Council of Chalcedon, 36. 16 H. Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages: Barsauma in Jerusalem,” 59, n. 23.

36  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land If we think of the route of the pilgrims to the Holy Land, we learn from the life of Barsauma that the monk travelled with his disciples on the desert road towards the Sinai,17 a route chosen exceptionally by a reduced number of pilger, because of the hard conditions for pilgrims due to the desert environment and a small number of settlements.18 That Barsauma decided to avoid the standard road is explained by his atypical character and his profile of an ‘abnormal pilgrim.’19 Avoiding the road frequently used by pilgrims may show that among the reasons for the journey were – besides the pilgrim’s canon of praying at the holy places, – a further agenda on which probably stand a mission against heretics. Also, the engagement against pagans reached on the way belonged to Barsauma’s objective during the temporary stations until to the final destination. For this reason, we see that the route brought them to Reqem d-Geyʿa, identified with the biblical Kadesh-Barnea, found in the region of Nabataean Petra.20 Here Barsauma converted pagans to Christianity, being the solution to stop the torrential rainfall they faced, so that Barsauma promoted them: “‘If you want the rain to stop before your city is ruined, deny your false guides, the idols, and confess the God of the Christians!’ The pagans cried out with one voice: ‘We deny them! They are dead! We confess the living God.’”21 This is a typical image to promote Christian conversion, and such templates are frequent in composing the biographical profile that the author creates for the atypical monk Barsauma. The journey continues and Barsauma’s first destination was Mount Sinai: “So he went to Sinai, climbed the mountain, prayed there, came down again, and returned on foot by the road of the wilderness.”22 By way of this Via Nova Trajana, he went to Rabbat Moab (Arepolis), where the author opens

17 Vita 34.1; A. Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint Barsauma: Eulogy of a Hero of the Resistance to the Council of Chalcedon, 37: “When he reached Phoenicia, Arabia, and Palestine, he began to demolish the Jewish Sabbath houses, destroy the Samaritan synagogues, and burn down the pagan temples”. 18 Much later, in this milieu “termporary: and “permanent” settlements were established “both types of settlement occurred around stations on the Hajj route.” Andrew Petersen, “The Archaeology of the Syrian and Iraqi Hajj Routes,” World Archaeology 26.1, Archaeology of Pilgrimage (1994), ­ 47–56, ­ ​­ esp. 54. ­ 19 See Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 20. 20 See Vita 34.3; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 37; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 19; Honigmann, Le couvent de Barsauma, 17, n. 1. 21 See Vita 34.10–35.3; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 39–40; ­ ​­ esp. Vita 35.3; Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 40: Then the pagans cried out with a loud voice: ‘Servant of the living God, hold back your rain! Do not ruin our city!’ At which God’s servant said: ‘If you want the rain to stop before your city is ruined, deny your false guides, the idols, and confess the God of the Christians!’ The pagans cried out with one voice: ‘We deny them! They are dead! We confess the living God.’ 22 Vita 36.7; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 42.

The Four Legendary Pilgrimages to Jerusalem   37 the anti-Jewish and anti-pagan ‘measures’ of the pilgrim Barsauma, and in an exaggerated tone notes that his hero destroys an impressive old Jewish synagogue built of stones, and a lot of precious materials and decorations of gold, silver, bronze, and that have almost competed in beauty even with Solomon’s temple.23 In spite of a high number of Jewish opponents (15,000), the gates of the city were miraculously opened and Barsauma with his group, managed to destroy the synagogue.24 This also occurred in Arnon Valley, where they demolished a pagan temple.25 It is therefore obvious that this second pilgrimage of Barsauma and his disciples is portrayed in the vein of a crusade against pagans and Jews, making the pilgrims in a way that contradicts what the true pilgrim should be on his journey with a humble heart and seeking and sharing tranquillity and peace but not causing violence and destruction to the other’s liturgical heritage on his way to the Holy City.26 It might be obvious that this is the most important concern of Barsauma and his companions on the road, to act against pagans and Jews, as the hagiographer portrays them in tones less connected to the idea of quickly reaching the Holy City. He rather attempts to show that, in their minds, a growing Christian propaganda was being born along the way: the struggle to destroy Jewish, Samaritan, and pagan religious architecture.27 This journey is based on a form of religiosity that should not be compatible with piety or orthodoxy, namely aggressive actions and violence. In this travel the Syriac character “elevates violence as an extension of piety and ‘orthodoxy.’”28 One can think of the probability that these violent descriptions are purely literary motifs but this remains a simple hypothesis, as the other side of the medal, that the violent activity is real, remains as well. Yet, one fact that can be situated in the same register of more or less credible stories is the pilgrims’ arrival to the abode of a well-known ascetic of the time: Symeon Stylite. Naturally, the Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem did not hesitate to acquire the blessings of people famous for their holy lives. According to the author, Barsauma and his disciples travelled north to Telanissus, near Antioch, to receive the blessing of Symeon Stylite, who was foretold about the coming of Barsauma in a vision29; upon their meeting, both ascetics blessed each other (the author avoids saying anything about 23 Vita 38.1–2; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 43; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 19, n. 12. 24 Vita ­38–43; ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 43–45. ­ ​­ 25 Vita 44; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, ­46–47; ​­ Sivan, “Subversive ­ Pilgrimages,” 60. 26 This second journey is clearly dominated by the motif of destruction, Vita 45.1; A. Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 47: “As for Barsauma, he journeyed on toward the Eastern Region, destroying pagan temples and burning down Jewish synagogues.” 27 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 60. 28 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages ”, 60, 61. 29 The author mentions three of Symeon’s visions about Barsauma’s ascetic abilities and pil­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 47. grimages. For the third vision, see Vita 47.1–2,

38  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land the traditional fact that Symeon settled on a pillar and blessed the people from the height of this column; on the contrary, he focuses the description on Symeon’s exuberance to see Barsauma and to bless each other).30 The description and the inclusion of this story in the painting of the life of Barsauma is probably intended to justify and validate the holiness of the Syriac monk ambivalent in the eyes of many rivals. Through the voice of Symeon his reputation is built up, as a monk surpassing the holy men of his generation,31 or with Symeons’ statement: “There is no other Righteous Man in this generation on the face of the earth who can compete with the blessed Barsauma.”32 Although Barsauma is not mentioned in Symeon’s life,33 the meeting can be plausible only if we think as part and secondary purpose of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem: such visits of a group of pilgrims to a famous ascetic were still widely practiced both at the time and much later. Moreover, it also resonates with the principal purpose of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem: the pursuit of holiness and progress along the path to asceticism. The third pilgrimage even starts with Barsauma alongside a symbolic number of companions: 100 people. However, compared to the first two, it seems to be the most standard pilgrimage integrating the atypical Syriac monk somehow in what we call a spiritual pilgrimage.34 Certainly, even in this case of a much normal pilgrimage, miracles are not missing from the frame. Their first stop was at Carrhae (Harran), where, beseeched by the inhabitants, Barsauma cured an infectious disease that affected the animals in the region.35

The second vision introduces the third: Vita Barsaumae 46.1; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 47: At this time Symeon addressed a great crowd as follows: ‘Some time ago I told you about a righteous man who was about to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Well, he has been there and performed great deeds; and now he is safely back, and God, heeding my sinful voice, has put it into his mind to visit my insignificant person and pray for me.’ Symeon’s first vision preceded Barsauma’s second pilgrimage to Jerusalem; see Vita 33.1; Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 36–37: ­ ​­

30 31

32 33 34 35

Now on the day Barsauma left his monastery for Jerusalem, Symeon had a revelation concerning Barsauma’s ascetic prowess. The angel of the Lord appeared to him in the night, saying: ‘Why do you think that you are the most excellent of the righteous? No one on earth in this generation can compete for righteousness with Barsauma, who lives on a high mountain on the frontier with Armenia. This very day, as it happens, he left his monastery on pilgrimage to Jerusalem.’ Vita 47.5; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 48; H. Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages: Barsauma in Jerusalem,” 61. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 19. For the Stylite’s gestures and prayer, see also Susan Ashbrook-Harvey, “The Sense of a Stylite: Perspectives on Symeon the Elder,” Vigiliae Christianae 42 (1988), ­ ­376–394, ​­ esp. 382–386. ­ ­ ​­ Caner, The Rich and the Pure, 184. Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 63. Vita 78.12; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 66. ​­ Sivan, “Subversive ­ Vita ­76–77; Pilgrimages,” 63.

The Four Legendary Pilgrimages to Jerusalem   39 From there, they continued their travel by sea: they embarked at Laodicea and sailed to Cyprus, crossing back to Palestine in two boats.36 The group was delivered from the storms of the sea through the hero’s prayers, whereupon the Jewish captain of one of the ships converted to Christianity.37 The pilgrims continued their journey, passing by Samaria not without healing and converting a Samaritan family,38 only this time much more peacefully and without resorting to violence, as we have seen happen in previous journeys to the holy city. This pilgrimage, in turn, appears strict in relation to the rituals observed on the road: apart from some food and drink, the monks were prohibited to take anything else with them, and moreover were not even allowed to pluck fruit,39 travelling in the semblance of the apostles themselves. We can argue that the pilgrims’ strictness of ritual is no different from Barsauma’s first pilgrimage, when he took nothing with him in an effort to further his spiritual growth.40 Upon arriving in the Holy City, the main aim of the journey, the monk prayed at Golgotha, where the hagiographer again places his hero in an exceptional light by his healing of a possessed pilgrim during one night.41 The episode in which Barsauma appears in the Holy City at the same time as Empress Eudocia (the wife of Roman emperor Theodosius II, 408– 450) was there is probably a literary artifice or a fabrication to connect the man that embodied faith, miracle, and religious power, with the imperial authority. Be that as it may, the author presents how the Empress offered Barsauma precious gifts, which he initially rejected.42 The Empress, who visited the holy city following the pattern that many women before her have done (as was the cases of the pilgrim Melania, or Egeria, and for sure Empress Helena), had sent him a letter and invited him to come and talk to her. He came and after a complex discussion,43 at last, the Syriac monk eventually accepted the costly gifts (“the precious veil”) the Empress sent to him, but before this, at her insistence, Barsauma left his cloak as a blessing for her.44 36 For the route taken, see Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, ­15–32. ​­ 37 Vita 78.1–9–79.1–5; ­ ­​­­ ​­ ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, ­66–68; ​­ Sivan, “Subversive ­ Pilgrimages,” 63; Palmer, The History of the Syrian Orthodox, I, 20. 38 Vita 80.1–5; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 68; Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 64. 39 Vita 81.1–4; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, ­68–69; ​­ Sivan, “Subversive ­ Pilgrimages,” 64. 40 Sivan, “Subversive ­ Pilgrimages,” 64. 41 Vita 82.1–4; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint Barsauma, 69; Sivan, “Subversive ­ Pilgrimages,” 64. 42 Vita 83.1; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 69; Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 64. On gift exchange culture, see Daniel Caner, “Alms, Blessings, Offerings: The Repertoire of Christian Gifts in Early Byzantium,” in Michael Satlow (ed.). The Gift in Antiquity (Malden, ­ MA: Wiley-Blackwell, ­ ​­ 2013), 25–44. ­ ​­ 43 Vita 83.2–23; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 70–72. ­ ​­ Vita 83.26–30; ­ ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ­ 44 Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 72–73; Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 65.

40  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Barsauma undertook a fourth pilgrimage, a story that brings the hero back into a setting where only his zeal for Christian truth counts. Here we see again his determination for the cause of Christianity and that this becomes victorious over Judaism in Jerusalem, and the holy city forms again the nucleus for Christian pilgrimage.45 On this journey, Barsauma and his disciples travelled to the Holy City by sea (from the port of Antioch along the coast to the Holy Land) together with a much smaller group than before (only 20 people), and entered the Holy City in secret.46 This secrecy probably means that his approach was different from the manner in which he entered the holy city in previous pilgrimages, as a man causing tension and violence in his zeal for the Christian faith and against any non- Christian element. His journey happens in the context of Empress Eudocia’s policy in the Holy City, an attempt to regulate the permissions of Jews after they addressed letters to her to allow them to enter and pray on the ruins of the temple of Solomon.47 The Vita writes that a decree in Eudocia’s name invited the Jews to come to Jerusalem for the feast of the Tabernacle.48 The fourth pilgrimage of the Barsauma can be correlated with this context in Jerusalem, the monk attempting to block the imperial decree concerning the Jews. The hagiographer’s information is contrary; more than 100,000 Jews gathered atop the Temple Mount to the 20 monks, who were companions of Barsauma.49 It might be that the description of these contrasting categories of Barsauma and his group on one side and the Jews on the Temple Mount on the other is not genuine.50 This fourth visit of Barsauma in Jerusalem is very detailed and is not so important for the study of pilgrimage as it is for the Christological situation caused by Chalcedon, this being a window for what happened in Jerusalem in this context.51 The monk and pilgrim Barsauma had changed his purpose, transforming from a spiritual, conventional pilgrim, to Jerusalem, to an ardent fighter for the identity of his confession in the Holy City, an attitude that we rarely observe in Syriac Christianity. Or, more probably, that was the purpose of his fourth trip to Jerusalem from the beginning. In any case, during his fourth pilgrimage he visited not only Golgotha and the Holy Sepulchre (being lodged in a monastery in Jerusalem  – “where he was known”) but

45 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 66. 46 Vita 90.4; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 77. 47 Vita 91.1; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 78. See also Jan Willem Drijvers, “Barsauma, Eudocia, Jerusalem, and the Temple Mount,” in Hahn and Menze (eds.), The Wandering Holy Man, 89–103. ­ ​­ 48 Vita 91.4; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian, 78; Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 67. 49 Vita 93.13–94.5; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 82; Menze, “The Dark Side of Holiness,” ­236–237. ​­ 50 Drijvers, “Barsauma, Eudocia,” 102. 51 Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 69. See also E. Honigmann, “Juvenal of Jerusalem,” The ­ ­209–279, ​­ esp. 252. ­ Dumbarton Oaks Papers (DOP) 5 (1950),

The Four Legendary Pilgrimages to Jerusalem   41 also Mount Zion, where he stayed in the monastery of Photinus.52 In his life which remains an anti- Chalcedonian “sectarian tour de force,”53 Barsauma shaped, transformed, and dynamised everything around him, monopolised space and time, and reversed the normal course of religious landscape. This atypical monk fought against rivals and spread fear among Christian and non-Christian religious competitors even in the Holy City where once would search for inner and outer peace, for sanctity and quieting of the passions and forsalvation in the afterlife. His journeys to Jerusalem as well as his entire life are dominated by power structures, violence, monastic vocation, miracles, overzealousness for the faith, and a spirit of devotion to his opening up a horizon of Christian hagiographic tension that is almost unique in Late Antiquity hagiography. Whatever the intention of the author was in the hagiographic description of his hero (whether he exaggerated and instead of one pilgrimage he mentioned two, three, or even four), we cannot deny that, throughout and beyond the political context and the interconfessional tensions that occasionally concentrated in and around Jerusalem as consequences of Christological controversies and the fragmentation stemming from the Council of Chalcedon, the pilgrimage to the Holy City remained an important phenomenon in the formation of Syriac monks.

52 Vita 90.4–5; ­ ​­ Palmer (ed.), ­ The Life of the Syrian Saint, 77; Sivan, “Subversive Pilgrimages,” 66; Nau, “Résumé de monographies,” 9 [19] (1914), 115, 122; J.T. Milik, “La topographie de Jérusalem vers la fin de l’Époque Byzantine,” Mélanges de l’Université ­Saint-Joseph, ​­ 37 (1960–1961), 127–189, esp.  164–166, makes out that this monastery was the church of the Samaritan woman. See also Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 20, n. 13; Vita 95.4; 96.11; Palmer (ed.), The Life of the Syrian Saint, 68–69; ­ ​­ Sivan, “Subversive ­ Pilgrimages,” 84, 87. 53 Caner, The Rich and the Pure, 184.

3

Rabbula of Edessa and Benjamin of Nehardea Jerusalem as a Stage in the Formation of the Monk

Before introducing these two examples, we should notice that many of the accounts or short stories concerning pilgrimage are contained in lives of Syriac saints, therefore, in hagiographic works.1 Johnson’s assertion is correct, if we think of the lives of Rabbula of Edessa and Benjamin of Nehardea as well as profiles of other monks. The pilgrimage to Jerusalem is indeed primarily present in hagiographic works, which from the outset makes the analysis of the phenomenon in its real or historical context more difficult; however, any historical analysis must not reduce or deny the validity of the narratives themselves. Rabbula of Edessa was a contemporary of Barsauma. The bishop of Edessa was a personality fully involved in the Syriac confessional struggles. We read that in his life he came in contact with the Holy City in the early stages of his Christian formation. Early converted from paganism to Christianity, Rabbula was advised by the bishops Acacius of Aleppo and Eusebius of Edessa to enter the monastery of the holy Marcian the Recluse and of the blessed Abraham. His Vita composed, around 440,2 tells that before taking this step, Rabbula wished “to go to Jerusalem and see the holy place and be baptized in the River Jordan where Christ was baptized as a model for us.”3 Even if some pilgrims observed an harsh and exaggerated

1 Scott Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage Literature in Late Antiquity? Exploring the Absence of a Genre,” in Peter Van Nuffelen (ed.), Historiography and Space in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 166. A feature of these hagiographic works that mention pilgrimages is that “monastic writers learned how to blend or mediate those experiences into more familiar hagiographical genres, such as saints’ lives or miracle collections,” Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 176. 2 See G. Bowersock, “The Syriac Life of Rabbula and Syrian Hellenism,” in T. Hägg, and P. Rousseau (eds.), ­ Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 255–271, esp. 269: “The author has painted an image of the saint in a realistic landscape.” 3 The Vita was published by J.J. Overbeck, S. Ephraemi Syri, Rabulae Episcopi Edesseni, Balaei Aliorumque opera selecta (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1865), 154–209; P. Bedjan (ed.), Acta martyrum et sanctorum, IV (Paris / Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1894; repr. Olms, 1968), 396– 470 (syr.). English translation by R. Doran, Stewards of the Poor: The Man of

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-5

Jerusalem as a Stage in the Formation of the Monk  43 abstemiousness during their journey, as we saw in the case of Barsauma, we can notice that most of those who wanted to travel to Jerusalem came from affluent families, as we will see later in the canons of Barhebraeus, which recommend that pilgrims draw upon ‘legitimate’ financial sources, primarily referring to family inheritances. Rabbula also belongs to this category, as “when he grew up, he was – as a child of rich nobles in their city, Qenneshrin – instructed in Greek letters.”4 Rabbula is viewed by his biographer as “the zealous one, a second Josiah.”5 Upon coming into contact with the Christian faith, and being advised to enter the monastery of Marcian and Abraham, he was persuaded to remain in this monastic location.6 Rabbula promised them that he would enter the monastery, but before that he had to take a journey to the holy places: ”I will perfectly cleave to God and I will shut myself up in a monastery ­ ​­ l-urishlem] ­ ​­ like you. But I desire this, that I may go to Jerusalem [d-ezal and see the holy place [w-ehze ­ ​­ ­l-athre ​­ qadishe] and be baptized in the Jordan where Christ was baptized as a model for us.” When the fathers heard this, they rejoiced and dismissed him with prayers and sent him on his way.7 An interesting element here makes an appearance: the bishop rejoices when he hears that Rabbula is to go to Jerusalem; consequently, it can be argued that, during this period, the tension between bishops and believers in discouraging pilgrimages to Jerusalem was not yet as pronounced as would be the case in the later times of Philoxenos, Īšōʿyahb I, and others. It was with the bishops’ blessing, according to the biographer, that Rabbula arrived in Jerusalem, an act that left a great impression on the pilgrim: “When ­ ​ the blessed Rabbula entered Jerusalem, he prayed in front of Golgotha [wsali qdom goghulotho] with many tears and [much] sorrow [b-demʿe ­ ​­ sagiye w­hashe].”8 Like any other pilgrim, he followed an itinerary of the holy places,9

4 5 6 7 8 9

God, Rabbula, and Hiba in Fifth- Century Edessa (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2006). Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 66. Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 66. Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 69, n. 13: “The trip to Jerusalem is thus part of his program before entering the monastery.” Bedjan (ed.), Acta martyrum, IV, ­401–402 ​­ (syr.); ­ Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 69–70. ­ ​­ Bedjan (ed.), Acta martyrum, IV, 402 (syr.); Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 70. See Jan Willem Drijvers, “The Protonike Legend, the Doctrina Addai and Bishop Rabbula of Edessa,” Vigiliae Christianae, 51.3 (1997), ­ ­298–315, ​­ esp. 308. ­ It may well be that in Jerusalem Rabbula, like many other pilgrims, first became acquainted with the legend of the inventio crucis. Relics of the Cross were kept in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The pilgrim Egeria reports that on Good Friday these relics were shown to the Christian community and the pilgrims present, to be venerated and kissed. She also mentions that on 14 September the discovery of the Cross

44  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land arriving at the Holy Sepulchre, at the site of Ascension, at the River Jordan, and at many other places linked to Christ’s life. Following well- established rituals, the pilgrim experienced everything with great passion and, in the end, an enormous satisfaction guided his path to assuming the monastic life: He entered the tomb of Our Lord [w-ʿal ­ ​­ l-qabreh ­ ​­ d-moran] ­ ​­ and the cave where He was born [w-la-mʿarto ­ ­​­­ ​­ ­d-ethiled] ​­ and he went up to the place of Ascension [w-sleq ­ ​­ ­l-beth ​­ suloqo]. He went down from there to the Jordan; at once he petitioned the priests and recited before them the creed, and they anointed him and baptized him. As soon as he came up out of the waters, the special remedy of the blood of Christ with the mark of the crosses was seen shining forth from every part of that whole garment that was wrapped around his body  – as was the custom for spiritual bridegrooms of Christ. When they saw this great marvel, all who were there wondered and trembled and were seized by fear. In their trepidation, they fell down and knelt in prayer before God. With uplifted voices they praised God for all the mighty works that they had seen. After he took part in the holy mysteries of the body and blood of Our Lord and was initiated into the full divine mystery, Rabbula returned to his city, rejoicing in his faith and exulting in his hope, overflowing in his love and intoxicated in his mercy, and rendering thanks to God.10 His return from Jerusalem made Rabbula renounce his wealth for spiritual progress. He distributed his fortune and belongings among the poor and those in need from Edessa, anticipating his involvement and responsibility for the religious future of the city: “This act foretold that he would receive the city of Edessa as his inheritance.”11 Indeed, Rabbula eventually became bishop of Edessa, leading the local church in 411– 412 and again in 435– 436. He was later incorporated into the histories of the Syriac Orthodox Church as he was entirely opposed to the dyophisite Christology, rejecting the doctrine of Nestorius, and being a supporter of Cyril of Alexandria. One can opine that that Rabbula’s ecclesiastical starts already with his pilgrimage that shaped his social optics and faith and acted like a conversion even if this does not culminate already in Jerusalem (“a vital step”12 for his future)

was commemorated in Jerusalem. Rabbula may have been present on one of these occasions or perhaps on both. Since the vita also reports that Rabbula was baptized in the Jordan and since baptisms mostly took place at Easter time, it seems not unlikely that Rabbula was in Jerusalem on Good Friday and participated in the ceremonies in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in which the Cross played a central role. Anyhow, Rabbula must have known the legend of the discovery of the Cross as would any pilgrim who had visited Jerusalem. 10 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta martyrum, IV, 402 (syr.); Doran, Stewards of the Poor, ­70–71. ​­ 11 Bedjan (ed.), ­ Acta martyrum, IV, 403 (syr.); Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 71. 12 Sivan, “Subversive ­ ­ ​­ Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 69–70. ­ ​­ Pilgrimages,” 54–55;

Jerusalem as a Stage in the Formation of the Monk  45 but once he returned and maturized his identity in the social and ecclesiastical frame of the city of Edessa. Painted by his biographer as wise and with a great heart in the same way with Solomon,13 he was for his generation a ‘new Moses’, and in religious controverses “he imitated Joshua bar Nun, and especially the zeal of Josiah.”14 These features attributed to Rabbula’s profile have biblical roots, and makes the history and genealogy of Holy Land present formation of the Syriac monk Rabbula. We should note also that in the Life of Alexander Akoimetos (late 5th or early 6th-century ­ ​­ composition), we read (in ­ Sections ­9–23) ​­ 15 that Rabbula was converted by the monk Alexander, not in Jerusalem as heretofore mentioned in the Syriac Life of Rabbula. This version omits Rabbula’s pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and notes that the monk Alexander “suggested to [Rabbula] that he not be baptized in the city, but that he goes to a certain martyr’s shrine” located three days’ distance from Jerusalem.16 Most probably this is not an accurate and genuine story. However, it might suggest an interesting trend: in its attempt to manipulate reality the story opposes a possible upward trend of Syriac pilgrimages to Jerusalem in favour of promoting the local tradition, “the substitution of Edessa for the sacred landscape of the Holy Land,”17 a tensed rhetoric that perpetuates in Syriac ecclesiastical leadership of Late Antiquity as will be illustrated in later sections. The centrality of the holy places for the formation of monks continues to be an important recurrent trope throughout Syriac hagiographic literature, another normal case being Benjamin of Nehardea (d. 466). As for the dating of the manuscripts, there are considerable variations, but this is not normative for our discussion.18 Mar Benjamin was allegedly one of the disciples of Mar Awgen, the founder of Syriac monasticism.19 This link to Mar Awgen (end of 4th cen13 Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 90. 14 Doran, Stewards of the Poor, 91. 15 E. de Stroop (ed.), ­ La Vie d’Alexandre l’Acémète (Patrologia Orientalis 6, fasc. 5; Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1911), 645–704. English translation in D. Caner, Wandering, Begging ­ Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity (The Transformation of the Classical Heritage 33; Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of Cal­ ​­ ifornia Press, 2002), 250–280. 16 Caner, Wandering, Begging, 259; see also Bitton-Ashkelony, “From Sacred Travel,” 354. 17 Caner, Wandering, Begging, 258–259; ­ ​­ Bitton-Ashkelony, ­ ​­ “From ­ Sacred Travel,” 354. 18 See V. Scheil, “La vie de Mar Benjamin: Texte syriaque,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 12 (1897), 62–96, esp. 62; Carl Brockelmann proved the major similarity between Benjamin’s life and that of Mikha of Nuhadra and he opines that only one is original, and this is most probably the vita of Benjamin while the vita of Mikha plagiarised the first one: “Dass das Leben des Mar Benjamin das Original, das des Mar Micha ein Plagiat ist, geht schon aus dem ganzen Tenor hervor.” Carl Brockelmann, “Zum Leben des Mar Benjamin,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 12 (1897), ­ 270–271, ­ ​­ esp. 271. ­ 19 Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque,” 64 (syr.); V. Scheil, “La vie de Mar Benjamin traduite du ­ 246–261, ­ ​­ esp. 246 ­ (fr.). ­ syriaque,” Revue de L’Orient Chrétien 2 (1897),

46  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land tury), the purportedly founder of monasticism in Mesopotamia, who according to legend, came from Egypt and introduced the monastic life in the region of Nisibis,20 is a mark of spiritual authority already from the beginning of the text. Later on, Benjamin would go on to found a coenobium near Dara. As Bitton Ashkelony observes, “his Life is dotted with dreams and visions that guided the hero from one place to another.”21 The Vita informs the reader that the protagonist received an education “at the school of the great Mar Awgen, star of the East [kawkbo d-madenho]” ­ ​­ and studied the Psalms and the divine Scriptures, spending time in church, and making progress in learning and in practicing inward perfection.22 At the age of 20 he joined the Blessed Mar Awgen and received the precious habit 23 ­ ​­ of the monk [lʿeskimo yaqiro d-dayroyutho], remaining in this convent for 28 years, constantly practicing the Virtues, only leaving his cell on Sunday in order to take part in the Liturgy.24 Benjamin performed a miracle when he prayed and asked for the healing of a demon-possessed young girl. From then on, people continued to seek out his help; they came to find him every day, so much so that he left the region altogether and moved to an anchorite hermitage. This appears to be one of the reasons why Benjamin went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; and, as we have seen, this motif has been in use since Julian Saba, who went to Sinai to be removed from the people of his homeland, who were permanently seeking him out. Moreover, the author also mentions the prospect of praying at the holy sites as another reason to travel to Jerusalem: And he went to Jerusalem first, to venerate the tomb of Our Lord, to be blessed at the holy places where Our Lord has accomplished His wonders, the strength of God accompanying him.25 The first station of his journey was in Emesa (Homs), at the shrine where the holy head of John the Baptist [qadishto ­d-risheh ​­ ­d-yuhanun ​­ maʿemdono] was buried.26 This site would, in time, become a spiritual refuge for many

20 ­Jean-Maurice ​­ Fiey, Saints syriaques (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, 6; Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 2004), 40– 41; J. Labourt, Le christianisme dans l’empire perse sous la dynastie sassanide (224– ­­ 623) ​­ (Paris: V. Lecoffre, 1904), 300–315. 21 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ “From ­ Sacred Travel,” 362. 22 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ “From ­ Sacred Travel,” 247 (fr.) ­ 23 Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque”, 66 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 248 (fr.). 24 Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque”, 70 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 249 (fr.). 25 Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque”, 76 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 252 (fr.). 26 For the story surrounding the discovery of John the Baptist’s head (most probably the second discovery of the relic) in Emesa in the year 453 (on February 24th) and the establishment of the local cult and its veneration, see Baumstark, Festbreviar 203. On p. 203, n. 2, he also refers to the travel report of Willibald, Hodoeporicon, ch. 12, in Titus Tobler, and Augustus Molinier (eds), Itinera hierosolymitana et descriptiones terrae sanctae, I,2 (Geneva: J.- G. Fick, 1880), 258: »Et caput illius: fuit ibi diu«, and he explains: “wo von der

Jerusalem as a Stage in the Formation of the Monk  47 monks on their way to Palestine. It is akin to an itinerary in which the pilgrim, in accordance with the transition from the old law to the new, appears to be preparing to meet the holy places of Christ by first coming to know the holy site of John the Baptist, the precursor or forerunner of Jesus. A testimony to this end will be addressed further on, found in a mini biography of the monk Mār Yoḥannān, the founder of Qanqal Monastery according to Išō’denāh ̣ of Basra’s Liber Chastitatis. In Benjamin’s case, the events that transpired at the tomb of John the Baptist serve to highlight the elevated profile of the Syriac personality, as the hagiographic authors have already made us accustomed to: Mar Benjamin asked the sacristan “to show him the head of John the pure, the chaste [l-risheh ­ ​­ d-yuhanun ­ ​­ zahyo w-nakhfo],” ­ ​­ that Benjamin might thus be blessed, but the sacristan refused to allow him to see it. A miracle then happened: the shrine opened itself on its own, and Benjamin was thus blessed. The Vita further tells that, according to Joseph (a priest at the church in Emesa), it was at the hands of Mar Benjamin that God gave many signs of His will, and many miracles were done in that place.27 Afterwards, the Vita of Benjamin shifts focus and introduces the reader to Benjamin’s onward journey to Jerusalem. We learn that when the protagonist left Emesa and travelled to the Holy City, two other men were with him. He did not travel alone, as seems to have been the custom; and here we are shown one of the many reasons why pilgrims preferred to travel in groups. Along the way, a band of robbers fell upon the pilgrims. Searching their clothes, they found nothing; but, thinking the pilgrims to be spies, the robbers nevertheless bound them. During the night, three of the thieves became ill and nauseous. The prayers of Mar Benjamin offered them a remedy for their plight, and the bandits, in awe, subsequently converted to Christianity. Then, Benjamin blessed the robbers with water; and by drinking it, the bandits were immediately cured, and kept their promise not to return to plunder.28 Such a hagiographic landscape of the monk’s journey to Jerusalem is not uncommon in Syriac literature; we have already seen, in the life of Barsauma and in others, that in the search for spiritual progress the hero performed wondrous deeds in the vicinity of Jerusalem – deeds which the hagiographers are very concerned to present as hyperbolically as possible. Regarding this miraculous setting of Benjamin’s life, we can draw a parallel with another, much later, Syriac personality by the name of Theodota of Amid29 (7th century), whose Vita also includes descriptions of a pilgrimage

hier auf die hl. Helena zurückgeführten Kirche des Täufers in Emesa die Rede ist.” For another pilgrim (from Piacenza) that admired the head of John the Baptist, see Frank, The Memory, 120. 27 Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque,” 76 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 252–253 (fr.). 28 Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque,” 77–78 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 253–254 (fr.). 29 Theodota (Theodotos) entered monasticism at the Zuqnin monastery, moving to the Monastery of Severus in Qenneshrin where he stayed until 666/667, when he embarked on a

48  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land to the holy places.30 In Benjamin’s case, the virtues of the saint overshadow even the pull of the Holy City itself, as the hagiographer presents, the saint performed several healing miracles in Jerusalem which can be considered as constitutive elements in promoting the saint’s life. Indeed, in Scott Johnson’s view: “his visit to the Holy Land seems more about the legitimization of his own authority as a holy man (namely, as a healer).”31 In the description, Theodota appears as an imitator of the Savior, the healer of the sick.32 The resemblance between Benjamin and Theodota is not limited to this aspect of performing healing or miracles, and we will point out another element at a later point; for now, let us return to Benjamin.

pilgrimage to Sinai and Jerusalem. He then remained in Egypt for five years, after which he was installed as bishop; in his old age, he founded a convent adjacent to the Mar Abay Monastery at Qeleth, where he died on August 15, 698. Fiey, Saints syriaques, 188–189; ­ ​­ Robert G. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It: A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish, and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, 13; Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 1997), 156–160; A. Palmer, Monk and Mason on the Tigris Frontier: The Early History of Ṭūr ʿAbdin (Cambridge Oriental Publications, Series Number 39; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 88–91; A. Palmer, “The Garshūnī Version of the Life of Theodotos of Amida,” ParOr 16 (1990–1), ­­ ​­ 253–59; ­ ​­ A. Palmer, “Āmīd ­ in the Seventh- Century Syriac Life of Theodūṭē,” in E. Grypeou et al. (eds.), The Encounter of Eastern Christianity with Early Islam (History ­ of ­Christian-Muslim ​­ relations 5; Leiden / Boston, MA: Brill, 2006), 111–138; A. Palmer, “‘Semper Vagus:’ The Anatomy of a Mobile Monk,” in Studia patristica, vol. 18.2 (1989), 255–260. For Theodota’s Life see also Jack Tannous, The Making of the Medieval Middle East: Religion, Society, and Simple Believers (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2018), 165, 216, 232–233; Jack B. Tannous, “Theodotos of Amid,” in Sebastian P. Brock, Aaron M. Butts, George A. Kiraz and Lucas Van Rompay (eds.), Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage: Electronic Edition, online at https://gedsh.bethmardutho.org/Theodotos-of-Amid. ­ ­­ ­​­­ ​­ The Vita notes: 30 When he had completed his vow, he went out from the monastery of Qenneshrin, with no one having noticed him and he took nothing with him other than the book of the holy Gospel. He set his path to go to Jerusalem and be blessed by the holy places in which our Lord prayed. Vita of Theodotos of Amid, [549a/857], trans. from Karshuni by Jack Tannous, forthcoming. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Jack for providing me with a prepublishing version of the translation. In this short description, we see how the custom of going to Jerusalem is accentuated, highlighting the fact that the monk is expected to take nothing with him, only the spiritual tools. 31 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 170. 32 We reads: When Theodota was walking and visiting the Holy Places in which Our Lord had walked, he saw a paralytic. He placed his hand upon him, and he was restored […]. Word of him went out into all the city and in all its frontiers, and the sick and the paralytic began coming to him […] the Blessed One would take some dirt in the name of Our Lord and sprinkle it over them and they would be healed. Vita of Theodotos, [549b/858], trans. by Jack Tannous; also quoted by Johnson, “Where Is ​­ Syriac Pilgrimage,” 170 (noted §§ ­42–43).

Jerusalem as a Stage in the Formation of the Monk  49 These wonderful events surrounding Mar Benjamin’s pilgrimage are presented just prior to the author describing his arrival in the Holy City. At this point, the blessed Benjamin and his companions arrived in Jerusalem, prayed there and “sanctified themselves in the holy places where Our Lord had conversed and fulfilled His glorious life for us. They prayed at the tomb of Our Lord and at Golgotha.”33 And given that the Holy City represents a net spiritual gain for the monk, a new challenge for the hero’s ascension now presents itself: either by coincidence or otherwise, the Patriarch of Antioch happened to be in the Holy City at the same time, “to venerate Our Lord [d-nesghud ­ ​­ ­l-moran].” ​­ Hearing about Benjamin, and in admiration of his ascetic life, the Patriarch invited him to rest “from the fatigue of the road.” Travelling together for a few days, they arrived in Tarsus, where the Patriarch consecrated Benjamin as bishop, against his wishes. Benjamin ( perhaps unsurprisingly) abandoned this position, and travelled to Mount Sinai, as many Syriac pilgrims did, to offer devotion at the holy place of God’s revelation to Moses, then travelled onward to the desert of Scetis.34 A second feature common to Benjamin and Theodota of Amid shows that, no matter how distant in both time and space the authors of the respective hagiographies were from each other, the motifs, themes and tools of characterising the saints remained shared from one epoch to another: similar to the case of Benjamin, Theodota – also after a five-year stay in Egypt – achieved a level of spiritual progress so appreciated by the Egyptian monks that they tried to make him bishop; but guided by a vision, he returned to the region of his Syriac ecclesiastical community, and became the bishop of Amid.35 The coincidence of using multiple numbers (five, a multiple of 50) is highly interesting, showing that the hagiographers likely incorporated motifs found in older texts in the descriptions of the spiritual portraits of their own heroes. In what follows, it is likely that the hagiographic author is exaggerating when claiming that Benjamin then remained in the desert for a period of 50 years (in the case of the much later Theodota, only a much more reasonable five-year period in Egypt is mentioned), during which time he fought demons and performed various miracles. Then, in a heavenly vision, Mar Benjamin was invited to return to the Orient and erect a monastery for monks and pilgrims. Ashkelony rightly points out that “this vision reflects the magnetism of the holy places in Palestine and their competition with local Syriac sacred sites.”36 In addition to this tension (that is, in the end, secondary to what the hagiographic authors wish to convey), the most relevant 33 34 35 36

Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque,” 79 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 254 (fr.). Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque,” 80 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 254–255 (fr.). Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 170. Bitton-Ashkelony, “From Sacred Travel,” 367. She further states: “Although many details concerning his miraculous travels to the East can be dismissed by historians as fictitious, the Life of Theodotos provides further confirmation that

50  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land element of this message is the fact that such pilgrimages are seen to have a highly positive effect, even should the monk return and place his virtue and spiritual progress in the service of the Church, perfecting his monastic vocation by founding monasteries and schools. Otherwise, this spiritual imprint of the holy places would not fulfil its supreme purpose, failing to maximise the spiritual gain achieved during and after the pilgrimage. Moreover, we also see that Mar Benjamin’s return falls under the protection of the holiness gained at the holy places in Palestine: on his way, he is again drawn to the Holy City where he “prays at the tomb of Our Lord, at Golgotha, in the holy places.”37 Here, we find it necessary to make some additional clarifications, drawing attention again to the fact that both personalities presented above were guided by visions38 and both found themselves either in spiritual spaces or holy places when that occurred.39 In either instance, Benjamin’s profile reflects that the monk’s presence in the holy context of Jerusalem elevates him to the heights of spirituality. In addition, in the case of Theodota, even if the presence at the holy places is much more obvious the emphasis still falls on highlighting the virtues of the saint. However, what we must understand from these hagiographic biographies is that the image and influence of the holy places are well-integrated in the perfect framework of composing the life of a saint. The presence at the holy sites fits well in the profile of a pilgrim seeking to become a saint or being already a saint, authorising his perfect life in his church and community. The capture of holy places harmonises with the intension of each author to hyperbolise the virtues of a saint, even though they, being relegated to the background of the narrative, only make the contrast with the saint the continuous struggle of monastic and Church leaders to prevent monks going on pilgrimage or incessantly wandering from one holy place to another did not succeed. 37 Scheil, “La vie: Texte syriaque,” 82– 83 (syr.); Scheil, “La vie traduite,” 257 (fr.). 38 With regard to the vision and subsequent return, Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 170, considers that “in this way, the pilgrimage from Theodota’s Life resembles both that of Peter the Iberian and Abraham of Kashkar. The pilgrimage is told in the third person and is functional for the overall argument of the Life.” 39 What we notice in Theodota’s Life is that even though in the first part of his account the author signals the monk’s decision to travel to the holy places in Jerusalem, we nevertheless see that the pilgrim first reaches Sinai in order to manifest his devotion in the sacred space, where he stayed for five days visiting the desert fathers, and only then travels to Jerusalem: He arrived at Mount Sinai and went up to the place where the glory of Our Lord had descended and he knelt there for five days and five nights. He then heard a voice saying, ‘The Lord has accepted your journey.’ He visited many of the solitaries and entered into the cave in which Moses, the head of the Prophets, had been. From there, he went to Jerusalem. He entered, and was blessed by the Holy Places. But as for God, for Whom all things are easy and Whose wonders are not hidden, He wanted to make clear to the inhabitants of Jerusalem some of the righteousness of the Blessed Theodota and the wonders which God had worked through him.  Vita of Theodotos, [549b/858], trans. by Jack Tannous.

Jerusalem as a Stage in the Formation of the Monk  51 even stronger and his image brighter and more virtuous. The advancement in one’s monastic career, the attainment of spiritual progress, the struggle against demons as well as accomplishing miraculous deeds only seem to transpire if the monk actively seeks out the holy places. And this can operate also as a way of legitimising a holy man and making the pilgrimage a formative or transformative station in his holy life.

4

The Ideal of aksenoyutho John of Ephesus Portraying Syriac Women as Pilgrims to Jerusalem

Brief images focusing on Syriac pilgrimage to Jerusalem can also be found in John of Ephesus’ work. He was a later bishop of Ephesus consecrated by Jacob Baradaeus, the promotor of the “Jacobite” church. John of Ephesus wrote the Lives of the Eastern Monks during the 570s containing 58 Miaphysite biographies of monks and nuns.1 Considering the small number of texts that make reference to pilgrims in this work, we can surmise that the author’s focus was not on this phenomenon. However, a unique snippet does appear in John’s writings, namely, profiles of women depicted as pilgrims in Jerusalem – a limited phenomenon2 if we are to compare it both to the literature analysed thus far and that which shall follow. One can observe that the account of pilgrimage found in John of Ephesus “does not play the same structural role” of two genuine monastic authors, Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāh’ṣ of Baṣra. We will investigate these sources in a later section, which briefly covers pilgrimage in short stories about Syriac figures.3

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-6

The Ideal of aksenoyutho  53 John of Ephesus narrates a pilgrimage in Chapter 12, bearing the title: ‘History of two holy Sisters who were called Daughters of the Gazelle.’4 These virtuous ascetic women, Mary and Euphemia, “were both sisters in the body,” “two models of holiness,”5 who lived in Amid (Diarbekir) and, at a certain point, travelled to the Holy City.6 After describing the blessed life of the older sister, Mary, and its experience in spirituality and asceticism, John tells of her plan to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem: But this Mary was a pure virgin, and from her childhood chose for herself quietude and renunciation and great labours of fasting and much vigil, and constant prayers, and exertion in the way of charity [taybutho] or of pilgrimage [aksenoyutho]. This woman, therefore, formed a plan of ­ ​­ ​­ ​­ going up to Jerusalem [l-ureshlem], and in the holy country [w-b-athro hu qadisho] in which the dispensation for the sake of the salvation of ­ ​­ all [ furqono d-kul] was carried out, there to worship and return to her employment [ascetic exercises].7 In this passage in which John also portrays Palestine as the country which embodied the dispensation of saving Grace, we can identify the Syriac term aksenoyutho, translated as “pilgrimage,” which bears further discussion on the basis of available literature. Baby Varghese describes the concept of aksenoyutho as familiar to the Syriac tradition, defining the vocation as “to live as a stranger or in anonymity, or as wandering ascetics.” Varghese gives the term two connected meanings: as one defining monks visiting elders, hermits, or other monks in the monasteries, and the other, a term that can be applied to pilgrimage as the ideal of aksenoyo.8 Guillaumont offers a different perspective, associating aksenoyutho (corresponding to the Greek term ξενιτεία) with the exile of the monk, or otherwise a continuous pilgrimage from place to place in order to renew one’s station, with the danger of becoming a wondering mystic  – here, Guillaumont gives the example of Syria and Mesopotamia, each of which has historically seen a tendency for the creation of groups of wandering

4 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 166–186. ­ ​­ 5 Jeanne-Nicole Saint-Laurent, “Images de femmes dans l’hagiographie syriaque,” in André Binggeli (ed.), ­ Études syriaques (Paris: Paul Geuthner, 2012), 201–224, esp. 205. 6 See also Susan Ashbrook-Harvey, ­ ​­ Asceticism and Society in Crisis, John of Ephesus and the Lives of the Eastern Saints (Berkeley / Los Angeles / Oxford: University of California Press, 1990), 121–124. ­ ​­ 7 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 167. 8 Baby Varghese, “Pilgrimage in the Syriac Tradition,” in Adrian Florentin Crăciun, André Lossky, Thomas Pott (eds.), Liturgies de Pèlerinages. 66e Semaine d’études liturgiques ​­ ­1– ​­4 juillet 2019 (Studia Oecumenica Friburgensia, 104; MünParis, Institut ­Saint-Serge, ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2021), ­97–110, esp. 102–103.

54  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land monks.9 He also attempts to distinguish the application of xeniteia within Syriac and Egyptian Christianity, proposing two broad understandings of the term differentiated on ethnic grounds and showing that Syriac monks were more readily characterised by the phenomenon of pilgrimage than were their Egyptian counterparts. Guillaumont attempted to understand this on the basis of social and societal differences, with Syrians – by virtue of their more established mercantile profession – often being more heavily engaged in travelling than Egyptian monks who, through their recourse to agriculture, led more static lives on the whole and were able to more easily achieve xeniteia, or the withdrawal from the world, in their neighbouring deserts.10 While Guillaumont’s assessment is both an interesting and welcome addition to the scholarly discourse on the topic, if we view the issue strictly through the lens of its relationship with pilgrimage to Jerusalem on ­ the one hand and of the applied understanding of aksenoyutho (xeniteia) to the reality of the Holy City on the other, we must extend our line of reasoning and add an explanation that Syriac Christians are, geographically speaking, located further afield from Jerusalem than the Egyptians. Therefore, in terms of sheer distance, they had to travel farther than their Coptic counterparts  – and this geographic reality, beyond other social and societal considerations and circumstances, is of utmost importance in applying Guillaumont’s concept. Bitton-Ashkelony sees this relationship between alienation and pilgrimage “not as an innovation of the monastic movement,” but with an altogether more ancient origin; we find the same perspective in the ancient attitude of Philo of Alexandria towards pilgrimage to the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. Furthermore, Bitton-Ashkelony asks whether there could have possibly been a “conceptual affinity between pilgrimage and the monastic ideal of voluntary exile on the one hand, and xeniteia on the other, the state of being a traveller, a stranger, to the world.”11

9 A. Guillaumont, “Le dépaysement comme forme d’ascèse dans le monachisme ancien,” ­ ­31–58, ​­ ­ Annuaires de l’École pratique des hautes études, 76 (1967), esp. 46. Guillaumont also adds that: “La vie monastique est conçue comme un pèlerinage jamais achevé, le moine est un éternel pèlerin, ou un perpétuel vagabond.” Rebecca Stephens Falcasantos summarises the semantic meaning of ‘peregrinatio’, ‘peregrinus’/ ξενιτεία, ξένος arguing that in the late antique period they expressed a “notion of absence or exile, that is, of situations that produced a longing for home” respectively in the Middle Ages their religious connotation is more accentuated and they “would acquire a stronger resonance associated with a specific form of long- distance travel undertaken for religious motives (especially penitence),” Falcasantos “Wandering Wombs, Inspired Intellects,” 149. 10 Guillaumont, “Le ­ dépaysement,” 50; Bitton-Ashkelony, ­ ​­ Encountering, 152. 11 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ Encountering, 148. In a similar vein as Guillaumont, Bitton-Ashkelony, Encountering, 148–149, also attempts a characterisation of the term: The term xeniteia (usually translated into Latin as peregrinatio and borrowed intro Syriac as aksenaiutha) implies wandering, leaving one’s birthplace, as well as pilgrimage to holy places, holy men and the shrines of martyrs. Its significance lies in the

The Ideal of aksenoyutho  55 In line with Bitton-Ashkelony’s interpretation,12 we can argue that this idea of estrangement from one’s own space, or of self- exile, fits the women in John of Ephesus’ description – w ith the caveat that their estrangement is always secondary to their pursuit of the holy sites. Therefore, in the case of John of Ephesus’ pilgrim, it is not her wish for estrangement that leads her to the holy places – as was, conversely, the case for Julian Saba – but rather a greater desire to pray in the sacred spaces of the Holy Land that leads her to wish to depart her initial circumstances. Bitton-Ashkelony discusses the two concepts employed in the translation of the term aksenoyutho, namely that of E.W. Brooks who used the term “pilgrimage,” which she views as not broad enough to contain all the “connotations of aksenoyutho that the author wished to convey.” The other translation, by Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey, posits the term “wandering” as a possible translation.13 Of course, it is incredibly difficult to ascertain which of the two translations encompasses a broader reach; from our perspective, a proper utilisation of the terms must take into account the principal aim of the pilgrim or monk, who either travels directly to the holy places, as a pilgrim, in order to worship there, or reaches there tangentially to his main goal of finding another space removed from that of his daily canon wherein he might reinvigorate his internal, spiritual life. Returning to the story of Mary, without offering any specific information about the nun’s preparation for the journey or about her route to Jerusalem, the author directly introduces her pilgrimage to the Holy City: When then she had gone up and prayed, she stood before the place called Golgotha [duktho d-goghultho], ­ ​­ and was lifted up with ecstasy [b­ ​ ­tehro], and she remained standing there for three days and three nights, notion that the monk is a stranger (xenos) ­ to the world – an alienation that could take internal or external form. The monk could realize xeniteia anywhere, and at any stage of his monastic life. Likewise, when a monk ceased to be a stranger in a place, he could again go wandering and realize xeniteia anew. See also Ovidiu Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität Ostsyrisches Pilgerverständnis in frühislamischer Zeit,” in Martin Tamcke, Egbert Schlarb (eds.), Überleben, Pilgern, Begegnen im Orientalischen Christentum. Festschrift für Wolfgang Hage zum 85. Geburtstag (col. Göttinger Orientforschungen, I. Reihe: Syriaca, vol. 60, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2020), 83–98, ­ ​­ esp. 90: ­ Dieses theologische Konzept baut sowohl auf alttestamentlichen Vorbildern wie Abraham, auf antiken paganen Parallelen im Stoizismus und im alexandrinischen Judentum bei Philon wie auf dem neutestamentlichen Bild Christi selbst auf, der als Fremder unter den Menschen dargestellt wird. Diese Ansicht – begründet mit Bibelstellen wie Mt 8,20 und 1 Pet 2,11 – w ird mehrfach in der monastischen Literatur vertreten. 12 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ Encountering, 150: “In John of Ephesus we may detect a similar affinity between xeniteia and pilgrimage.” 13 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ Encountering, 150; Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey, Holy women, 124.

56  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land while men came and saw her; and the custodians wished to drive her away; and on seeing that she was a feeble old woman, and further that she was standing in prayer, they left her alone.14 The author here recounts several interesting facts: foremost that Mary’s first encounter with the holiest place of Christianity, Golgotha, makes her stand in spiritual ecstasy for three days, a likely allusion to the death and resurrection of Christ. It is likely that author named this woman in his narrative by a common name, Mary, which would confirm the hypothesis of “a common ideal of holiness” by which “Syriac hagiography has exalted the memory of exceptional women by portraying them according to biblical models.”15 In case of this ‘Mary’, then, another captivating fact during her pilgrimage to Jerusalem is that those responsible for the holy tomb tried to dispel her and this can be probably an allusion to the tensions and difficulties that Miaphysites often experienced in Palestine, especially in the controversies between Chalcedonian and non- Chalcedonian factions (they being them16 selves ­non-Chalcedonians). ​­ The report continues with a description of the way Mary prayed at Golgotha for the three years she remained there, to the daily admiration of incoming pilgrims: And from that time, she used to sit there in the temple [b-hayklo], ­ ​­ and again she continued going round and praying for three years, without entering anyone’s house or speaking with human beings. And she did not sleep outside the church, but she would sit among the poor and pass the night with them, in the church and wherever else it might be.17 The portrait of the pilgrim Mary, who spent days and nights in intense prayer at Golgotha, shows that her goal was to enhance her own holiness in the very place holiness springs from. As Bitton-Ashkelony well notes, the story of Mary is the story of the extreme ascetic life of a pilgrim attempting to achieve the ideal of aksenoyutho entirely within the sacred spaces of Jerusalem. Bitton-Ashkelony remarks upon a further wrinkle, namely that the temporal finality of this period of prayer unerringly leads to a crux, “to the point that her holiness merged with that of the holy places.”18 The paradox exemplified by the life of Mary, between attempting to remove herself from the world and choosing to pray in a crowded urban environment

14 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 167. 15 ­Saint-Laurent, ​­ “Images ­ de femmes,” 203. 16 See Andrew Louth, “Why Did the Syrians Reject the Council of Chalcedon?” in Richard Price, Mary Whitby (ed. and tr.), Chalcedon in Context: Church Councils 400– 700 (Liverpool: ­ Liverpool University Press, 2009), 107–116; ­ ​­ Volker-Lorenz ­ ​­ Menze, Justinian and the making of the Syrian Orthodox Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 17 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 168. 18 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ ­ “From Sacred Travel,” 366.

The Ideal of aksenoyutho  57 shows, as Bitton-Ashkelony ­ ​­ highlights,19 that upon embarking for the holy sites of Jerusalem the pilgrim was entirely conscious of the fact that Golgotha constituted a magnet for Christians the world over, while profound solace, meditation, and prayer could only be achieved through the pilgrim’s will and capacity to detach themselves from their surroundings – a likely test for any monk or Christian reaching the Holy City. From the description of John of Ephesus, aksenoyutho embodied true pilgrimage, correctly practiced in the most profound sense of the term, through a progressive iteration of the state of prayer in the pilgrim’s act of gazing20 upon and touching holiness itself – as is the case, as we shall see, of certain canons penned by Barhebraeus, themselves part of aksenoyutho in that they involve pilgrimage, prayer, and meditation at the holy sites and the touching of holy relics. Furthermore, if we look into the usage of the term in various writings that have survived, we find it present in a series of Syriac canons, throughout monastic writings, but also in several letters wherein patriarchs or other spiritual leaders referred to themselves using the term, for example, the East Syriac Patriarch Catholicos Gīwargīs I, in his letter to the bishop Mīnā adjoins his name to the term of aksenayutha, designating a lived spiritual life in counterpoint to the life of ordinary people, and in attunement with Christ.21 Similarly, in the case of the pilgrim depicted by John of Ephesus, Mary, we find that she also practiced aksenoyutho in the lay world  – specifically, in the urban agglomeration in front of the Holy Sepulchre, but with her eyes

19 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ Encountering, 151. 20 For the ascetic act of gazing on God, see also John of Dalyatatha’s letters in Mary T. Hansbury (ed. and tr.), The Letters of John of Dalyatha (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2006) (letter 50), 232, 234 (engl.); 233, 235 (syr.). 21 See Catalin-Stefan ­ ​­ Popa, Gīwargīs I. (660– 680). Ostsyrische Christologie in frühislamischer Zeit (Göttinger Orientforschungen, I. Reihe: Syriaca, vol. 50, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2016), 61, n. 16; Oskar Braun (tr.), Das Buch der Synhados oder Synodicon Orientale: Die Sammlung der Nestorianischen Konzilien, zusammengestellt im neunten Jahrhundert nach der syrischen Handschrift, Museo Borgiano 82, der Vatikanischen Bibliothe (Stuttgart ­ / Wien: Rothsche Verlagshandlung, 1900; repr. Amsterdam: Philo Press, 1975), 348; Jean­ Baptiste Chabot (ed. and tr.), Synodicon orientale ou recueil de synodes nestoriens (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1902), 227 (syr.), 490 (fr): “Guiwarguis, étranger.” Chabot, Synodicon, 490 (fr.), n. 3, considers that ξένος [aksanaya] is a “terme d’humilite.” The concept appears also in the first canon of the Synod of Mār Isaac from the year 410. Chabot, Synodicon, 25, 27 (syr.), 265, 267 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 22; O. Braun (ed.), De sancta Nicaena synodo. Syrische Texte des Maruta von Maipherkat nach einer Handschrift der Propaganda zu Rom (Kirchengeschichtliche Studien, 4.3; Münster: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1898), 85. According to Michael Sokoloff, A Syriac Lexicon: A Translation from the Latin, Correction, Expansion, and Update of C. Brockelmann’s Lexicon Syriacum ( Winona Lake, IN / Piscataway, NJ: Eisenbrauns  & Gorgias Press, 2009), 44– 45 aksanaya (­ξένος) means “1. exile; 2. hospitality, lodging; 3. eremitic dwelling.” The term also occurs in the canons of Rabban Mār Dadīšōʿ, and has a monastic inclusion. Oskar Braun (ed.), Ausgewählte Akten persischer Märtyrer (Bibliothek der Kirchenväter, 22; München: Jos. Kösel, 1915), 45; A. Vööbus, Syriac and Arabic Documents Regarding Legislation Relative to Syrian Asceticism (Papers of the Estonian Theological Society in Exile, 11; Stockholm: Etse, 1960), 165.

58  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land fixed on Christ on the Cross in a form of spiritual alienation,22 a conscious removal from and in abstraction of the soul of the earthly realm – an extremely difficult test for any Christian which, if passed, served to confirm their spiritual progress. Living from the alms of the visitors, Mary’s asceticism was admired by others; and due to the fact that she remained silent for several days in complete ecstasy, with her mind focused on the heavenly, some pilgrims even began to consider her a madwoman: But if it chanced that no one came to the place where she happened to be, she would sit in the same way, and for three and four days, and as much as a week she would sit silent, with her mind wrapped up in heaven. Usually, her seat was in front of Golgotha, while she sat with ­ ​­ her eyes raised, and looking in ecstatic wonder and weeping [w-tehro ­w-bekhyo], ​­ just as if she were looking at God fastened to the cross and standing there, with the result that, while she sat there in admiration every day, those who saw her looked upon her as a madwoman, or as some old person who has become silly; and thus, she completed three years in her praying.23 An intriguing feature appears in this description: the gestures and perception of a pilgrim to the Holy Sepulchre, concentrating on the image of Christ in her mind, is assuredly present in other sources, such as the account of Paula, a Western pilgrim, who saw Christ in the flesh at the Holy Sepulchre and in other places.24 The story of Mary continues so that when some people – most likely pilgrims from her home country – recognised her, they greeted her and began to spread stories about her holy life; and many people wondered at this, and “began to honour her as a great and holy woman, entreating her to pray for them.”25 With great sadness, Mary was forced to 22 Therefore, the term xeniteia/aksenaiutha ­ is suffused with a double meaning in the case of Mary the Pilgrim: beyond the physical and geographical distances involved in her pilgrimage, we also see through her dedication to prayer a definitive mental separation from all that surrounded her. For xeniteia seen as physical distance, geographical remoteness but also spiritual estrangement from all worldly charms, see A. Guillaumont, “Le dépaysement comme forme d’ascèse dans le monachisme ancient,” 42; Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 90. 23 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 168–169. ­ ​­ 24 See Frank, The Memory, 11; Ep. 108.10, ­ 14, Saint Jérôme, Lettres. 8 vols., edited and translated by Jérôme Labourt (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1949–1963). Translated by W.H. Freemantle, St. Jerome: Letters and Select Works, vol. 6 ( NPNF, 2nd series; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 342–368 [195–212]. Another example regarding the perception of women pilgrims is the Latin Saint Melania the Elder. See also Lynda Coon, Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), esp.  1–27; Hagith Sivan, “Holy Land Pilgrimage and Western Audiences: ­ ­528–535. ​­ Some Reflections on Egeria and Her Circle,” The Classical Quarterly 38.2 (1988), 25 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 169.

The Ideal of aksenoyutho  59 leave the holy places in order to avoid the homage of the people she saw as standing in the way of her spiritual progress: But when the blessed woman saw it, inasmuch as she was struck with fear lest she should be honoured by men and lose her labour, fled thence immediately, being distressed at her expulsion from the holy place, as much as she had intended to remain there in that occupation all her lifetime.26 It is interesting how, in Mary’s case, we see a reverse of the same process that occurred, for example, in the case of Julian Saba. Where Julian, or later Benjamin of Nehardea, left their native homelands and travelled to Mount Sinai or to Jerusalem in order to avoid excessive interaction with the world and with those who sought them out for their spiritual fame, Mary was forced to leave Jerusalem for the very reason that people sought her out, there, at the holy places. In fact, this transfer of the spiritual ascetic from one place to another and their continued flight from the world is characteristic of hagiographic writing not only in Syriac, but also Byzantine literature. According to John of Ephesus, Mary returned to Amid, but there she took on the vow to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem every year.27 To this point, John of Ephesus goes on to mention some basic information about how the trip would have taken place. Likely as a form of asceticism, the pilgrim woman would travel in the summer season under extreme heat, practicing a harsh fast. She would only take with her one small basket on her arm and one salver: And so, she departed, and went down again to the East [l-madenho]; ­ ​­ and she determined that all her life she would once every year [d-kul ­ ​­ shanto] offer worship in the place where God suffered. And thus, she did, traveling along that road in the season of extreme heat, and she did not taste anything except every other day, while she carried nothing whatever except one small basket, which she fastened to her arm, and one salver; and thus, she travelled. And she imposed this labour upon herself every year all the days of her life, retuning and applying herself to constant prayers and supplications and tears, all the days of her quiet life; and so, she would when her time came again to return and go up to Jerusalem […].28

26 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 169–170. ­ ​­ 27 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 167 also mentions “the annual pilgrimage” of this woman. 28 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 170.

60  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Such a description of a Syriac woman on pilgrimage to Jerusalem is not so common in Syriac literature so far. Moreover, we see here an annual practice of pilgrimage, which seems quite particular in the life of an ascetic. We can include in the scene a comparison with her sister; both, Mary and Euphemia are “two different models of female piety: one is more contemplative, the other more active.”29 Yet here we are again privy to a peculiar presentation, in the sense that John of Ephesus talks about an actual practice of pilgrimage between women in the family of the two sisters. Mary’s niece (who was also called Mary) and the daughter of the widow Euphemia (the sister of our pilgrim nun from Jerusalem) also travelled to the Holy City.30 In addition, the young Mary, a child “splendidly trained in the Psalms and in the Scriptures and in handwriting” was accompanied by her mother Euphemia, who in the interim had become a widow: “But they left, and went to her blessed sister Mary, and it was their wish to go up to Jerusalem; they went and prayed and returned.”31 Most probably, Euphemia and Mary, her daughter, went to Jerusalem at a time when their aunt Mary was also in the Holy City practicing asceticism. Both already had a spiritual life when departing on pilgrimage, the sight of the holy places therefore a target for the ascension of their spiritual progress. With regard to Euphemia, Saint-Laurent remarks that her example shows that this character practices her vocation and canon demonstrating “that a mother, just as much as a single woman, can become a holy woman, by leading a life of prayer or pilgrimage, by giving alms, or by teaching her children to do the same.”32 The text of John of Ephesus contains yet another account of a journey to Jerusalem attempted by a woman, a story even more particular given its protagonist was no more than a girl at the time. The little Susan from Arzun wished to go and pray at the holy sites in Jerusalem as early as an eightyear-old. John of Ephesus leads us to understand that, upon asking her parents, she would be met with laughter and rhetorical reproaches aimed at her young age, stressing the fact that at her age she could not nearly possess such a spiritual refinement as to justify such an endeavour, and they answered to her: “You have not even learned to understand the Scriptures, and yet you want to go to Jerusalem?”33 29 ­Saint-Laurent, ​­ “Images ­ de femmes,” 205. 30 See also Susan Ashbrook-Harvey, “Sacred Bonding: Mothers and Daughters in Early Syriac Hagiography,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 4.1 (1996), ­ 27–56; ­ ​­ Andrew Palmer, “Sisters, Fiancées, Wives and Mothers of Syrian Holy Men,” in René Lavenant (é d.), V Symposium Syriacum, 1988: Katholieke Universiteit, Leuven, 29– 31 août 1988 (Orientalia ­ Christiana Analecta 236; Rome: Pont. Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1990), 207–214. 31 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, I, 183. 32 ­Saint-Laurent, ​­ “Images ­ de femmes,” 205. 33 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, II, 543–544 [341–342]; Michael Philip Penn, Scott Fitzgerald Johnson, Christine C. Shepardson, Charles M. Stang (eds.), Invitation to Syriac Christianity: An Anthology (Oakland: University of California Press, 2022), 163; BittonAshkelony, “From Sacred Travel,” 367.

The Ideal of aksenoyutho  61 The account goes on to state that despite her parents’ denial Susan nevertheless decided to undertake the journey, with her resolution described in the same terms used for one entering the monastic life: that she “placed her soul in the hands of God and ran away.” She joined a group of pilgrims travelling to Jerusalem, a group that also contained women: And after traversing there or four miles she found a large par[t]y of women and men travelling [rabto d-neshe ­ ​­ w-d-gabre ­ ­​­­ ​­ d-rodin] ­ ​­ along the 34 road to Jerusalem [b-urho ­ ​­ ­l-ureshlem]. ​­ Alongside this caravan [siʿto], Susan exuberantly reached the Holy City. Young Susan would remain in Palestine, entering a community of nuns situated between Ascalon and Gaza. The author describes the insistence with which she desired to remain here and live out the true monastic calling although, as Bitton-Ashkelony shows, it was against monastic rule to accept children to the monasteries.35 In continuing to fashion Susan an ever more perfect image, the author claims that she progressed further on the ascetic path, and even resisted the Chalcedonian cause in very difficult times for non- Chalcedonian Christians. This fits well with the recurring motifs and anti- Chalcedonian tendency throughout John of Ephesus’ work, so that “the story of Susan’s ascetic valor is explicitly intertwined with her uncompromising defense of West Syrian orthodoxy and the stalwart rejection of the council of Chalcedon.”36 The last station of this pilgrim was, as was the norm for the majority of ascetic supplicants, the desert of Egypt. The passing mention of two women pilgrims in Thomas of Marga’s History of the abbots of Bēth ʿAbhē, where he recounts a brief tale of two women from Beth Begash who went to Jerusalem on pilgrimage, can also be circumscribed to this same category of female Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem. While the author provides no further details of the two’s journey, he does however highlight one detail, namely that they had entrusted their wealth to a monk with the promise that they be bequeathed to the monastery should the two fail to return from their sojourn.37 In conclusion, both the brief but exceptional biographies presented by John of Ephesus and the passing mention found in Thomas of Marga give the impression that pilgrimage was routinely practiced at a certain stage in

34 Brooks (ed.). John of Ephesus, Lives, II, 543–544 ­ ​­ [341–342]. ­ ​­ Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey, ­ ​­ Holy women, 133–141; ­ ​­ Bitton-Ashkelony, ­ ​­ “From ­ Sacred Travel,” 367. 35 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ “From ­ Sacred Travel,” 367. 36 Penn, Johnson, Shepardson, Stang (eds.), Invitation to Syriac Christianity, 162. 37 The Book of Governors: The Historia Monastica of Thomas, Bishop of Margā A.D. 840, 2 vols. (ed. and tr. by Ernest A. Wallis Budge, from Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum and Other Libraries, London: K. Paul Trench Trubner & Co., 1893), 213 (syr.), 410f. (engl.); Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 94.

62  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land the life of monks and nuns. Syriac ascetics were attracted to the journey to the holy places, while Syriac women seem to not have been able to resist the temptation to follow the path of the myrrh-bearers and come close to the heavenly bridegroom at the sight of Golgotha.38



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5

Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem Philoxenos of Mabug, Īšōʿyahb I, Rabban Hormizd, and the Promotion of Local Tradition

In later ages, especially starting with the beginning of the 6th century, it becomes apparent that a stronger local tradition began to emerge, coupled with attempts by church leaders and other important personalities within the Syriac ecclesiastical tradition to reduce the phenomenon of Syriac pilgrimages to the Holy City in favour of establishing the primacy of local tradition. In addition to the economic reasons, which probably weighed fairly heavily in the equation, as will be argued based on Īšōʿyahb I, in this respect there was also the issue of the importance of local pride: in the perception of the Syriac authorities, the homeland of the Syriac Christians should be viewed as a new Jerusalem, a topos, which Christian authors attempted to enshrine in a sacred geography. In this same register, we can include the statement of a West Syriac bishop, Philoxenos of Mabug, who attempted to encourage pilgrimage to Tur ʿAbdin to the detriment of a sojourn to Jerusalem. In his letter to Astorkios, Philoxenos of Mabug stated that whosoever visits the monastery of Qartamin (Mor Gabriel, in Tur ʿAbdin)1 sevenfold, has a merit equal to a trip to Jerusalem, as that monastery was built on the model of the Holy City: We also have found in the letter of blessed Philoxenos, sent to Astorkios, because of this holy monastery [ʿumro hono qadisho] that he who

1 See Paul Krüger, Das ­syrisch-monophysitische ​­ Mönchtum im Tur-Ab(h)din ­ ​­ ­ ­ von seinen Anfängen bis zur Mitte des 12. Jahrhunderts (Münster i.W.: Buchdruckerei Heinr. Greve, 1937); P. Krüger, “Das ­ syrisch-monophysitische ­ ​­ Mönchtum im Tur-Ab(h)din ­ ​­ ­ ­ von seinen Anfängen bis zur Mitte des 12. Jahrhunderts,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 4 (1938), 5– 46. Although characterised by Palmer, Monk and Mason, xiii as “inaccurate, shallow and fragmented,” Krüger’s dissertation is still helpful for understanding the formation and development of late antique and early medieval Syriac monasticism in Tur ʿAbdin. To this day, an important feature for understanding the monastic area of Tur ʿAbdin in the context of Syriac monasticism is its parallel to Mount Athos as a representative of Byzantine Orthodoxy. See Krüger, Das ­syrisch-monophysitische, ​­ 13: “Das Klosterland des ­Ṭūr-’Ab(h)dīn, ​­ ­ ­ das man wohl mit dem des Athos vergleichen kann, ist bis in die Zeit des großen Weltkrieges hinein nicht nur der Hauptsitz, sondern auch der geistige Mittelpunkt ​­ des ­syrisch-monophysitischen Kirchentums geblieben.”

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-7

64  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land goes to it seven times with faith [d-ayno ­ ​­ d-ozel ­ ​­ leh shbaʿ ­b-haymonutho], ​­ 2 is like he who goes to Jerusalem [akh hu ­d-ozel ​­ ­l-ureshlem]. ​­ Founded at the end of the 4th century (probably in the year 397, although the sources suggest small variations in the year of its establishment), the monastery of Qartamin quickly developed and reached its first phase of existence to be populated by 400 monks. Its first abbot appears to be a certain Samuel.3 The monastery later became associated in literature and popular practice with the name of its new spiritual patron, Mor Gabriel, who was born in 573/574, embraced monasticism in 588/589 and was elected as the abbot of the monastery in 612/613. In 634 he was consecrated as the bishop of Dara (most probably as the Metropolitan of Dara) and the whole Tur ʿAbdin region.4 To return to Philoxenos’ statement, it might be that this remark highlights the importance of the monastery around the year 500.5 Besides Philoxenos’ intention to bring a local monastic centre of his own church tradition to light and to more closely connect and assimilate it with the spirituality of an universally validated motif such as that of the Holy City, an authorial intention that cannot be denied, we cannot overlook Philoxenos’ confirmation of the importance of pilgrimage at the beginning of the 6th century among Syriac Christians, who considered it a way of advancing in spiritual asceticism and as a way to improve one’s soul and mind. We might better understand what Philoxenos is attempting to convey through a more thorough grasp of the monastic context he was a part of; ­ and here we return to the concept of xeniteia/aksenoyutho we have discussed above. In another letter replying to a monk interested in the perfect manner in which to conduct his monastic existence, Philoxenos again answers that “a monk’s cell is the Promised Land.”6 As Bitton-Ashkelony ­ ​­ opines

2 MS British Library 17.265, fol. 24b; Vööbus, History of Asceticism, II, 319, n. 14; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 18. See also F. Nau, “Notice historique sur le monastère de Qartamin, suivie d’une note sur le monastère de Qennesrè,” in Actes du XIVe Congrès international des Orientalistes, Alger 1897, IIe partie: Section II (Langues sémitiques) (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1907), 37–135, esp. 45. See also Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 171. ​­ 3 Krüger, Das ­syrisch-monophysitische, 31–32. See Nau, “Notice historique,” 38, 49. ­ ​­ ​­ ­ ​­ Being 4 See Palmer, Monk and Mason, 157–158; Krüger, Das ­syrisch-monophysitische, 44–45. one of the local saints, Gabriel of Qartamin’s feast is mentioned in the Syriac Orthodox calendar on December 23rd. See Baumstark, Festbreviar, 204. See also MS Brit. Mus. Add. 18.802. The fact that this monastery became the most important in the Christian history of the Tur ʿAbdin region was unanimous among researchers. See the old observation of Albert Socin, “Zur Geographie des Ṭūr ʿAbdīn,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 35 (1881), 237–269, esp. 251: “Der Heilige des Klosters ist Mōr Gabriel, daher das Kloster im Volksmunde auch meistens bloß Mōr Gabriel genannt wird.” 5 Krüger, Das ­syrisch-monophysitische, ​­ ­31–32, ​­ n. 28. 6 Philoxenus of Mabbug, Lettre aux moines de Sénoun (ed. and tr. by A. de Halleeaux, CSCO vol. 231–232, Scriptores Syri 98–99, Louvain: Secretariat du CorpusSCO, 1963), 11; Bitton­Ashkelony, Encountering, 158.

Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem  65 “Philoxenos put forward the notion that the cell, and not any holy place, is the exclusive territory of grace.”7 Here we find an attempt to curtail the monks’ tendency to travel to Palestine for spiritual reasons, as well as to reinforce the monk’s conviction that Heavenly Jerusalem was superior to the earthly Jerusalem and that the beginnings of a monk’s salvation take place in their cells, through meditation and prayer. Such theological arguments were most useful to the church authorities in stressing the need for sedentary monasticism not only as a guarantee of the proper functioning of local churches, but also for the monk’s own personal equilibrium and aksenoyutho, here seen not as a refuge without, in remote places, but rather within, inside the monastery cell, where the monk could achieve true withdrawal from the world at large. Due to the significantly increased pilgrimages to Jerusalem, church authorities sometimes argued against pilgrimages to holy places other than the shrines of Syriac churches and monasteries. This attitude can also be best observed in Īšōʿyahb I’s sharp criticism of the external travels practiced by East Syriac monks. The rhetoric contained in his letter to Jacob of Dirin appears to testify to the Patriarch’s concern that continuing such practices threatened to weaken the relationship of Syriac Christians with their local churches.8 This letter, containing 20 of the Patriarch’s answers to what were most probably 33 questions posed by the bishop, was included in the Synodicon Orientale, an 8th- century collection of East Syriac canons dealing with aspects of dogma and ecclesiastical life. Īšōʿyahb’s formulated answers parallel in outlook the positions the Patriarch assumed during the ecclesiastic synod he organised and led in the same period the letter is dated to, namely AD 585. In analysing this piece of correspondence together with the canons contained in it and the canons of Īšōʿyahb’s synod which coincide thematically, we should ask whether the Patriarch’s intent was indeed to stand against the current and alter the prevalence of pilgrimages towards the Holy Land by directing them to local Syriac holy sites. Additionally, the question of potential economic and confessional underpinnings for these tensions could further elucidate the matter, given this context. Īšōʿyahb’s canons show that the East Syriac Church also wished to take action against the Messalians, with Canon 8 prescribing that each monk was to have a fixed abode.9 With reference to wandering monks, Guillaumont argues that the phenomenon was widespread both in Syria and in Mesopotamia, while the Syriac term used to describe them, meshanneyane (“they that move”) directly refers to their chosen lifestyle of vagrancy. However, Guillaumont goes on to specify that this lifestyle itself was somewhat discredited by the

7 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ Encountering, 158. ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ­ ​­ 8 Chabot, Synodicon, ­165–192 (syr.), 424–451 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, ­237–272. ​­ ­ ­406–407 ​­ ­ ​­ 9 Chabot, Synodicon, ­144–145 (syr.), (fr.); Braun, Synhados, ­211–212.

66  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land very Messalians – heretical monks – to whom all manner of ills, including vagrancy, are attributed to.10 Insofar as Canon 15 is concerned it would appear that the main issue was defined by the economic situation of local churches, given as the primary reason underpinning the bishop’s expressed urgency in trying to find a way to diminish the consequences of increased outward pilgrimage on local churches that found themselves in financial difficulty as a result of this phenomenon. The underlying issue can somewhat be gleaned from the very title of the canon: those that neglect church and monastic law that stipulated donations and acquitting oneself of financial obligations to local churches, opting instead to seek out foreign churches – that is to say, to travel to distant regions on pilgrimage.11 Before we look into the Patriarch’s 15th canon or answer to the queries posed by Jacob of Dirin, which tackles the issue of Syriac pilgrimage abroad (most likely to the Holy Land) head on, we must first offer a brief presentation of the elements shared by this response with the canons enshrined during the clerical synod of AD 585, since a number of topics (such as pilgrimages) also appear as secondary concerns for the synodic canons – unsurprising, perhaps, given their historical concurrence. For example, Canon 7 of Īšōʿyahb’s synod, from the year 585, is formulated as an attempt to counter a trend that the young generation was following. The church responds harshly by threatening to excommunicate those children who forgot the memory of their dead parents12 and did not put into practice the wills of the parents who left donations by will after their death to monasteries or churches. These children forgot the memory and will of their parents and proceed like Ananias and Sapphira who sold a piece of the property and kept the money for themselves (Acts 5), so that these young people cancelled any testament made by their parents in favour of the local ecclesiastical institutions and any donation they made to churches, monasteries or philanthropical establishments.13 On the same line, Canon 10 makes recourse to the memory of the forefathers and to their involvement in the welfare of local churches, argued as

10 Guillaumont, “Le dépaysement,” 46. 11 See Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 93. 12 Against the tendency of abandoning one’s responsibilities for the deceased, especially in terms of “commemorative offerings” acts Jacob of Serugh in his homily ‘On the Loaf for the Departed’, considering as Caner resumes, that “the worst offenders in his view were a dead person’s heirs. Jacob depicts this group as being entirely indifferent to these basic rites of Christian commemoration.” Caner, The Rich and the Pure, 208. Canon 7 of Īšōʿyahb’s synod (from 585, i.e half a century later than Jacob) acts probably against a habit whose roots were much older. 13 Chabot, Synodicon, ­143–144 ​­ (syr.), ­ ­405–406 ​­ (fr.); ­ Caner, The Rich and the Pure, 220. For xenodocheia and philanthropical foundations in Edessa and Syriac regions of Late Antiquity, see also Richard Finn OP, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire. Christian Promo­­ ​­450) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 85– 86. tion and Practice (313–

Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem  67 a positive counterpoint to contemporary practice. The churches and monasteries built through the sacrifice of those that came before are now left in ruin due to the uncaring attitude of contemporary Christians towards local tradition and to their pilgrimages to faraway places. For this reason, the Church saw not the building of new churches, but the preservation of existing ones, as the solution.14 From this link to the memory of the forebears, through a brief presentation of the stringent situation signalled by local churches, the Patriarch moved to strengthen local authority by claiming – in Canon 11 – that the local bishop is the one to make the ultimate decision as to whether any Christian is permitted to erect a new church, while any Christian that wishes to involve himself in such an endeavour and lay the foundations of a new edifice must first take into consideration the entirety of existing church infrastructure; in other words, donors were expected to both finance the proper management of the monastery and the lodging and accommodation afforded pilgrims – which likely shows an attempt by the local church not to forbid pilgrimages altogether, but redirect them towards their local environs.15 Canon 12 explicitly mentions the majority practice of travelling abroad, thereby neglecting donations to the churches and monasteries that were already part of the local community; and from the Patriarch’s missive we are led to understand that Jacob of Dirin was not the only one to highlight this problem, but that a series of similar complaints were presented before the church synod. It is thus likely that a number of bishops, from various regions within the space of Syriac Christianity, were unhappy with the existing status quo – which, in turn, shows that the trend towards faraway pilgrimages to the Holy Land, in spite of neglecting local traditions, was indeed widespread and commonplace. The idea of rejecting pilgrimage is underpinned through reference to the meeting between Christ and the Samaritan woman, the text of John 4:24 stating that “ God is spirit, and His worshippers must worship in the Spirit and in Truth.”16 This passage, combined with the argument that God does not only answer prayers following pilgrimage, appears both in the Synodic Canon 12 and in the Patriarch’s letter to Jacob of Dirin, evidently speaking about the same phenomenon occurring throughout several Syriac eparchies at the time. Of course, pilgrimage to Palestine also involved certain necessary expenses, as we will later see described in the canons of Barhebraeus. Ovidiu Ioan opines that the clear accent placed on the financial aspects of pilgrimage would suggest that wealthier Christians were greater supporters of the practice.17 The majority of laypersons going on pilgrimage originated from wealthy families, which was why the local church of Mesopotamia took issue 14 15 16 17

Chabot, Synodicon, 147 (syr.), 408 (fr.); Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 93–94. Chabot, Synodicon, 147 (syr.), 408 (fr.); Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 94. Chabot, Synodicon, 148 (syr.), 409 (fr.); Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 94. Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 94.

68  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land with this development in the first place: through tolerating this trend, it was either losing its donors altogether, or otherwise having them exhaust their resources – an important component of the welfare and continued existence of Syriac churches. It is also highly likely that the practice of almsgiving and donations was greatly encouraged by the Church, making it so that the acts of donation to other churches during pilgrimage quickly became a factor for concern within the respective hierarchies of the Syriac Churches. We see this reflected in the ending to Canon 12, where the synod of Īšōʿyahb argues that while the Church hierarchy does not expressly forbid outward pilgrimages, these should nevertheless follow from having first donated or given alms to local churches or shrines, thus safeguarding the local Church tradition of the hamlets, villages or cities that the prospective pilgrims inhabited; and only afterward should pilgrims attempt to travel afar. In other words, the Church does not forbid external pilgrimages provided they follow the two conditions of first donating to local churches and secondly only embarking on pilgrimages afar if their intention is pure and true.18 In this, it becomes apparent that pilgrimage as a phenomenon already had an established tradition that was recognised by the Church – and in all likelihood, despite all its attempts, the Church probably knew it could not outright quell the practice, which is likely why it chose to stress the importance of obligation  – including financial remuneration  – to the local Church tradition first, after which those who wished could go on to fulfil their wish of visiting the holy sites found elsewhere. In the Synodicon Orientale, we also find attached to the canons of Īšōʿyahb’s synod the Patriarch’s letter to Jacob of Dirin. This contains 20 canons which show a thematic similarity with the canons formulated by the synod, and are drafted as answers to the questions of Jacob which are lost to us. In his canon or answer 15, Īšōʿyahb begins a sharp criticism of the external pilgrimages of East Syriac monks, as these were increasingly replacing their social activities, including the caring for the poor and the widowed, the policy of erecting and maintaining monasteries and the giving of alms to local churches and monasteries. In this context, it is understandable why the authorities of the Syriac church positioned themselves in opposition to the pilgrimages of both believers and monks to Palestine, not so much from a theological but rather a purely economic perspective. From the outset, the Patriarch’s rhetoric is based on the idea that Syriac pilgrims to Palestine left their own churches and monasteries behind, which caused tangible social and economic issues for the ecclesiastical authorities. First of all, then, believers are obliged to visit with appropriate diligence the holy stations, churches, and monasteries of villages in the land of their habitation, and there fulfil their vows and offerings and offer their

18 Chabot, Synodicon, 148 (syr.), 409 (fr.).

Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem  69 gifts for the effacing of their sins, so that (it might) not (happen) that, while the custom continues of moving round from place to place, many stations become desolate, sin is served, insiders are scandalized, outsiders mock and scoff at us, and the instruction of many is hindered.19 Here, the Patriarch makes mention of the ultimate aim of all pilgrimages, namely the forgiveness of sins on the basis of almsgiving and oathkeeping. Naturally, these intended outcomes are shared not only across Syriac Christianity but by all Christians irrespective of their area of origin or their particular religious tradition. These were truly universal goals, both across space and time  – for they are shared as far afield and as late as in the case of the pilgrimage of the two monks, Rabban Sauma and Marqos, from China to Jerusalem, who also undertook their pilgrimage for the absolution of their sins. Returning however to the argument presented by the quote above, we find that, basing his argument on theological and biblical underpinnings, the Patriarch encouraged the believers not to leave their homeland – which, in actuality, again reveals (as did his Synodic Canons) a real tension between the religious act of pilgrimage to Jerusalem and the economic needs of the local communities.20 The imperative that pilgrims and the local faithful assist in the safekeeping of their local churches and monasteries which the Patriarch invokes constitutes a theological motif discussed at length by Mary Farag on the basis of practices familiar to the ecclesiastic environment of late Antiquity, which can only coincide with Īšōʿyahb I’s attitude and time period. Mary Farag speaks of the participants to the consecration of a church as forming a “circle of sanctity,” comprised of Christ (the heavenly patron in whose name the church would be consecrated, invoking their protection: an angel, saint or martyr), but also the church’s earthly patrons, who contributed the material means for its erection. Farag shows that donations and gift exchanges either support or outright generate this circle of sanctity, seen as an essential instrument of the relationship between Christ, the heavenly patron and the church’s founders21  – a reality confirmed by Īšōʿyahb’s argument that Syriac Christians must engage in the life and infrastructure of their local churches. At this point, we should also introduce a homilial example also invoked by Farag, which shows the true importance of the

19 Chabot, Synodicon, 182 (syr.), 441 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 259. 20 This position is not alien in Byzantine literature either, perpetuating for example in the theological letters of Gregory of Nisa: although he himself made the experience as pilgrim to the Holy City, Gregory occasionally argued for local cult sites in Cappadocia. See Falcasantos, “Wandering Wombs, Inspired Intellects,” 94; Bitton-Ashkelony, Encountering, ­49–50. ​­ 21 Mary K. Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred? Legal and Ritual Perspectives from Late Antiquity (Transformation of the classical heritage, 63; Oakland: University of California Press, 2021), 139.

70  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land faithful’s involvement and participation in the construction or consolidation of churches, since often times the ecclesiastical hierarchy or theological position transferred the believer’s personality and effort into the visible and tangible reality of the church’s edifice. A Syriac hymn composed a century earlier succinctly expresses the relationship between the gift and the giver. Balai composed a madrasha to be sung at the consecration of a newly built church in Qenneshrin. Balai was a chorepiscopos in early 5th- c entury Syria and served in the jurisdiction of the bishop of Beroea. Several strophes of the madrasha describe the relationship between the founder of the church and the church itself (the house). For example, one strophe reads: This visible house makes an announcement about the mind of its builder: Since splendid and comely is the heart within, its love has been given distinction by this visible [house].22 This example proves the importance of the participation of the sponsors in the building process of the church infrastructure, so that the ecclesiastical authorities accentuated that the church was dependent on his involvement of laity in his restauration. For making clear their formulated principle that the physical church is the mirror of the spiritual expression and generosity of the sponsor and founder, as Mary Farag also notes: “for Balai, the beauty of a church building depends on the beauty of the founder’s heart. The invisible adornment of the founder’s heart contributes to the visible glory of the building.”23 Transferring this interesting image from Balai to Īšōʿyahb, we can argue that the deplorable state of local churches is also hinted at by the exodus, or increased dynamism, of outward travel and pilgrimage by Syriac Christians, while what the Patriarch is proposing is the Syriac faithful’s direct participation and engagement with their local heritage through the financial support that prospective pilgrims must first offer their local churches. Of course, this “circle of sanctity” posited by Farag was itself proposed by the Patriarch, albeit in a slightly different form: while ordinary Christians and pilgrims wanted it to be a circle of sanctity extending as far as Jerusalem, thereby giving the access to the universal and supreme sanctuary of the holy places of Christianity, the Patriarch proposed that they remain within the narrowed circle of sanctity of their local reality; or, if they would not be limited to this circle of local holiness, that they should at least honour their debt to it first, and only then embark on pilgrimage – as we have seen posited by Synodic Canon 12. Indeed, the overarching argument of both 22 Translation from Kathleen E. McVey, “The Sogitha on the Church of Edessa in the Context of Other Early Greek and Syriac Hymns for the Consecration of Church Buildings,” ARAM 5 (1993), 329–370, esp. 362: 26; Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred?, 139. Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred?, 139. 23

Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem  71 the synod and the Patriarch was a call for solidarity and engagement with local tradition in order to safeguard the proper continued functioning of the entire Church, both with regard to its observable elements (through the continued maintenance of existing churches through the care of the local faithful) and to the relationship between the clergy and practitioners: “The flock of Christ should not be like sheep without a shepherd, wandering without a leader upon mountains deprived of pastures and food and full of ravenous beasts.”24 According to the Patriarch’s words, if believers and monks left the holy places of their own homeland to pray at holy sites situated elsewhere, thinking that God would thus better hear them, accept their offerings and heed their requests, then their belief was entirely misplaced: Now why or for what advantage do the faithful go about in places which are not their own? If, on the one hand, (it is) for pleasure, this is the occupation of children, and the satisfaction of the belly, and not for the profit of the soul. But if they abandon the holy temples of their own land for the advantage of the soul, and go to pray in holy stations outside their own land because they think that God might hear them better there and would be more responsive to them, and fulfil their request and accept their offerings, then their hope is deceived in them.25 Naturally, the Patriarch rejects this practice and deconstructs the argument by which some of the faithful people thought that their prayers would be more easily answered within sight of the holy places, in regions external to the natural homeland of Syriac Christians. If the journey is undertaken for pleasure, or as a hobby, then it only serves the body and has no associated spiritual gain; and if it is undertaken for strictly spiritual purposes, then those wishing to go should first know that God does not listen harder to their prayers there than He would have done in their local church.26 The author formulates classical arguments that draw on famous passages from the New Testament,27 such as the Samaritan woman’s conversation with Jesus (John 4:12),28 and reiterates what he also prompted in the canons of his

24 Chabot, Synodicon, 182 (syr.), 442 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 259–260. ­ ​­ 25 Chabot, Synodicon, 183 (syr.), 442 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 260. 26 See also Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 96. 27 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ “From ­ Sacred Travel,” 369. 28 “‘The hour is coming, even now, when not on this Mount Gerizim,’ as you Samaritans have mistaken, ‘nor in Jerusalem,’ as the Jews childishly hold, for they think that it is there alone that God works, and leads, and answers, and responds – from now on, not only in these places will those worship God who become my disciples, for I am teaching them the developed doctrine, for ‘God is spirit, and those who worship Him ought to worship in spirit and in truth.’ For the Father also desires worshippers such as these, who in all offer Him mature worship according to the completeness and infinitude of His nature, that which now obtains also among true, upright, and steadfast Christians.” Chabot, Synodicon, 183 (syr.), 442 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 260.

72  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land synod. Īšōʿyahb calls into memory the image of Jews, that before the coming of the Lord, they worshipped idols in certain places because they believed them to be the place of God’s action. But Christians should not now behave like the Jews who were widely dispersed.29 He appeals to the image of the Jews, a motif well known to Christians inhabiting the region of the Persian Gulf,30 that is, the province of Jacob of Dirin, the addressee of Īšōʿyahb’s letter. It is only natural that this image of Jewish society would hail from the Patriarch’s own proximity, since during this period the Jewish community around the Persian Gulf was enjoying a period of relative prosperity; we shall, for example, see it mentioned a century later during the synod organised on the island of Dirin by Patriarch Gīwargīs I, who mentions the taverns where Jews sold wine and Christians interacted with them, with the Church then forbidding Christians from imbibing wine in such Jewish establishments after the Holy Eucharist. Despite the polemical aspects of the above argument, which is not bereft of anti-Jewish rhetoric, Patriarch Īšōʿyahb’s discourse once again addresses the main problems of his time: when these pilgrims, as people who have lost their God, wandered from one place to another and did not know who it is that they were listening to, then they were mistaken and distanced themselves from true Christian doctrine: If there are faithful who, after they visit the churches and monasteries in their own land, also desire to visit stations outside their own lands, not as though they may better find God there, but as those who desire to give a small portion of their resources to the owner of the station and the owner of the property, these we do not forbid, for they are not blameworthy. But if they go and move around and flutter about according to another intention than that put down by us above, like those for whom their God is lost and do not know where to find Him or where He answers them, these delude themselves and depart from the perfect teaching of the truth.31 This rhetoric seems to attest to the Catholicos’ concern that continuing such a practice threatens to weaken the relationship of monks and believers 29 “Christians should not be like the ungrateful and quarrelsome Jews, who set themselves against the divine teaching which was spoken through godly prophets and just priests until they were uprooted and cast out of Palestine, scattered to all lands, deprived of their benefit, and alienated from the singular care which had led and visited them for long years, and had borne them for the many reasons which are not hidden from the wise in the holy readings, but especially because of the incomparable benefit which was hidden in the descent of the house of Abraham.” Chabot, Synodicon, 184 (syr.), 443 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 262. 30 Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 96: “Es spricht also manches dafür, dass das übliche Ziel der Pilgerfahrten, die von den Christen in Bēth Qatrāyē unternommen wurden, das Heilige Land allgemein und Jerusalem im speziellen war.” ­ ­443–444 ​­ ­ 31 Chabot, Synodicon, 184 (syr.), (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 262.

Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem  73 with their local churches. Thus, Īšōʿyahb does not criticise the pilgrimages themselves as theological actions, but rather the popular exodus to the Holy Land as well as the depletion of their resources to the detriment of the Syriac community at large.32 Here, Īšōʿyahb employs the same argument that appears in the Canons of the Synod, namely that should Christians be generous to local churches and honour their financial obligations and patronage to the continued well-being of the Church, they shall not be forbidden from also embarking on external pilgrimages – yet not without a purpose, merely in order to roam the land. The canons of Īšōʿyahb I drew a clear distinction and warned that monks should first work on their internal spiritual development, focusing on their cells thereby being circumscribed to the aksenaye category; while those who wandered in search of a higher form of living out their monastic vocation ­ (the meshanneyane) were often approached with charges of vagrancy.33 The perspective seen in the West Syriac bishop and author Philoxenos (d. 523), and then in the East Syriac Patriarch Īšōʿyahb I (d. 595), must also be understood through the lens of this broader context in which the church was concerned that the monks not only avoid sliding towards spiritual disarray or adopt practices that drive them further from their spiritual goal, but also avoid entering into disagreement with the provisions of the church’s hierarchy34 for whom they were an important element in the operating mechanism of a local Church with a vibrant tradition and identity. To this end, the church hierarchy often had a more favourable outlook on forms of ‘peregrinatio ­ in stabilitate’35 in which the local character became the definitive factor in the monastic attainment of aksenoyutho (aksenayutha ­ in East Syriac). A final monastic example we will offer in this chapter also reflects a tension between leaving for Jerusalem and remaining in the heartland of Syriac ecclesiastical communities, namely the case of the East Syriac monk Rabban Hōrmīzd, an important figure of Syriac monasticism who founded the Rabban Hōrmīzd Monastery in Alqosh in 640.36 This monastery was permanently in competition with the Syriac Orthodox counterpart, the monastery of Mar Mattai, to the benefit of the social support of the Muslim rulers from Mosul.37 The monk Hōrmīzd wished to travel to Jerusalem and the 32 ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ “From ­ Sacred Travel,” 369. 33 See Guillaumont, “Le dépaysement,” 46, 48. For xeniteia as the renunciation of family and social life in the adoption of Christ’s following, see M. Kmosko (ed.), Liber Graduum (Patrologia Syriaca I, 3, Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1926), 820– 821, Mēmrā XXIX: 3; XX: 10. See translation in: The Book of Steps. The Syriac Liber Graduum, tr. by Robert A. Kitchen and Martien F.G Parmentier (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2004). 34 See also Florence Jullien, Le monachisme en Perse. La reforme d’Abraham le Grand, pere des moines de l’Orient (CSCO 622, Subsidia 121; Louvain: Peeters, 2008), 170. 35 See Guillaumont, “Le dépaysement,” 55; Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 91. 36 E.A. Wallis Budge (ed.), The Histories of Rabban Hormizd the Persian and Rabban bar­’Idta, 2 vols. (London: Luzac, 1902). 37 See Caner, The Rich and the Pure, 233.

74  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land holy places,38 as many others searching for the path of holiness probably did: “Hōrmīzd ­ wished to follow the example of many great ascetics who began their careers by making pilgrimages to Jerusalem, the Jordan, Sinai, Mount Horeb, and the Scetis Desert.”39 After receiving a dream in which he saw Christ and an angel placing a crown of gold on his head, the monk was enflamed with a love of Christ.40 This constitutes the moment for Hōrmīzd’s departure for Jerusalem: Then the young man determined to go to Jerusalem and to pray in the holy places wherein Christ had wrought His mighty works, and wherein He had gone about in the disputation of His adorable Manhood; and from there he wished to depart into the Scetis Desert and to sojourn with the holy fathers who served God therein. And one day he lifted up his feet from the house of his parents to depart unto the places which I have mentioned above, and having travelled on his journey for seven and thirty days he arrived at Māwsel, and came into the city thereof which is in the country of Nineveh.41 Originally from Shiraz, Hōrmīzd left for the Holy City passing through Mosul. According to Budge, the distance between Shiraz and Mosul is of approximately 900 miles, and the pilgrim could walk daily about 25 miles, arriving in Mosul after 37 days.42 On his trip, when approaching the church of the monastery of Beth Hale, he met three monks from the monastery ­ of Bar ʿIdta (Abbā Jacob from Kafr Zamre, Yoḥannān Shamrahaya and ʿEnānīšōʿ Hadhayabhaya),43 who suggested that he should abandon his initial plan of travelling to Jerusalem and join their monastery: ‘My son, thou art about to become a chosen vessel unto Christ, and many shall become members of the household of our Lord thorough thee […]. But our love [for thee] doth counsel thee to relinquish the journey upon which thou now art. Rise up, now, that we may depart to our monastery, because our Lord hath revealed unto us the whole matter of thy election by Him, and that thou art meet for the honour of the membership of the household of His Lordship, […]. And the spiritual children which shall be begotten by thee shall enjoy happiness through thy gracious and pleasant gifts in a spiritual manner, for thy spiritual ­ ​­ ­ ​­ house [l-baytakh ruhanaya] is about to become in the earth [d-nehwa

38 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, 11 (syr.), 17 (engl.); see also BittonAshkelony, “From Sacred Travel,” 361. 39 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, vol. II, 17, n. 2. 40 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, 10 (syr.), ­ 15–16 ­ ​­ (engl.). ­ 41 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, 11 (syr.), 17 (engl.). 42 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, vol. II, 17, n. 4. 43 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, 12 (syr.), 18 (engl.).

Against the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem  75 b­ -ar’a] ​­ the likeness of the celestial Jerusalem [dumya ­d-ureshlem ​­ ʿelayta] 44 which is the mother of the saints [hay d-etheh ­ ​­ ama d-qadishe].’ ­ ​­ The monk’s stay in his area of his church and community and the abandonment of his sojourn to Jerusalem were trends that the authorities often emphasised, and which monastic literature also sometimes adopted. Such a change of destination in favour of local sanctuaries was also often present in the Byzantine world in addition to the Syriac space; for example, in the well-known perseverance of the author of The Life of Daniel the Stylite ( penned around AD 500) who claims that the saint urged the substitution of spiritual journeys to Jerusalem with travel to the Byzantine capital, a trend which suggests to the reader the framework of a second, hagiographic, Jerusalem – or even a monastic Jerusalem, if we are to correlate this brief history with the case of Rabban Hōrmīzd in Syriac literature described above.45 We will see how Barhebraeus would, much later on, speak of two monastic groups, one which was in favour of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and another (to which Yoḥannān of Dailam probably belonged), that was in favour of remaining in the monk’s own cell, and focusing on the heavenly Jerusalem. ­Bitton-Askhelony ​­ considers that the author deliberately chose to recount the renunciation of the travel to Jerusalem and Egypt because, in his cultural world, travel to the holy places and Egyptian monasticism had come to be seen as almost a vital component in the formation of a hero’s identity and as an act of ascetic renunciation in itself.46

44 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, ­12–13 ​­ (syr.), ­ ­18–19 ​­ (engl.). ­ 45 Daniel the Stylite was a ascete in the 5th century, and disciple of Symeon the Stylite. This type of argument of replacing the original Jerusalem with a second that embodied the mirrored local Christian culture of author’s confession constitutes a transfer of holiness, or otherwise put an assumption of religious authority concerning sacred sites in favour of local churches and to the detriment of Jerusalem. See Sible de Blaauw, “Translations of the Sacred City between Jerusalem and Rome,” in Jeroen Goudeau, Mariette Verhoeven, and Wouter Weijers (eds.), The Imagined and Real Jerusalem in Art and Architecture ( Radboud Studies in Humanities, 2; Leiden, Boston, MA: Brill, 2014), ­136–166, ​­ esp.  ­ 145; B. ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ Encountering, 202. Byzantine literature takes over and implements this model of replacing Jerusalem with Constantinople, presenting it “as no less pleasing to God than the Jerusalem of old”, and “which would later be called New Jerusalem and even compared after its fall in 1453 by Manual Doukas to the paradisal Eden, God’s very own imago et axis mundi manifesting the sacred.” Baghos, From the Ancient Near East to Christian Byzantium, 201. See also R.G. Ousterhout, “The Sanctity of Place and the Sanctity of Buildings: Jerusalem versus Constantinople,” in ed. R.G. Ousterhout and D.B. Wescoat, Architecture of the Sacred: Space, Ritual, and Experience from Classical Greece to Byzantium ( New York: Cambridge University Press, ­ ​­ 2012), 281–306. ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ ­ ­ ​­ 46 “From Sacred Travel,” 361–362.

76  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land In any case, the fact that Rabban Hōrmīzd abandoned his plan and went to the monastery of Bar ʿIdta47 with the three monks does not in any way detract from his importance as a monk; on the contrary, Syriac literature presents him as a great initiator of monasticism. In conclusion, it is certain that there were also a number of Syriac voices against pilgrimage to Jerusalem, even though, at present, we have no other evidence available of this than that already discussed above. It is all the more important to affirm that, even in such periods in which authoritative and influential voices took a stand against Syriac pilgrimages to the holy sites of Jerusalem and Egypt, propagating their position throughout the ecclesiastic literature of their time, such attempts ultimately failed to have any lasting effects.48 This is made apparent by the continuity and perseverance of the phenomenon through the available sources – even if it was, at times, disparate; and although the existence of a Syriac literary genre of pilgrimage is difficult to prove conclusively, it could be that these very stands taken at various times by the leadership of the Syriac Churches against pilgrimage were the root cause for such a genre failing to coalesce and establish itself within ecclesiastic literature; a hypothesis worth pursuing through dedicated future research focusing on this perspective.

47 Budge (ed.), ­ The Histories of Rabban Hormizd, 13 (syr.), 20 (engl.). 48 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 171: “Even during periods in which the practice of pilgrimage was criticized, it seems there was a steady stream of Syriac Christins visiting the Holy Land from outside Palestine.”

6 The Motif of Travelling to Jerusalem in the Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra

Of importance for our analysis is the particular form the motif of the monks’ presence in Jerusalem takes throughout these short texts of 9th century, and how often it may be encountered in the biographies of the monastic personalities. Also of interest are the particular details the authors offer concerning the importance of the journey to the holy places for the future career of the monk in the wider Church. Yet before tackling the brief information on the above queries contained in the two works on notable Syriac pilgrims, we must first attempt to find several reasons why a Syriac literary genre of pilgrimage, that is to say, travel reports from the holy places, appears, at first glance, to be entirely absent from Syriac literature. Scott Johnson believes that while answers to the question above may be found, they would ultimately avoid the thrust of the inquiry and prove somewhat unsatisfactory. Several such answers might posit that Syriac Christians did not approach the topic of pilgrimage at all; that their works have been lost to us; or that they only briefly tackled the topic as part of other written documents such as hagiographic or historiographic works. Moreover, Johnson argues that while a literary genre on pilgrimage “­was vibrant in late Antiquity in neighbouring languages and cultures,”1 it nevertheless appears to not have been a­ dopted – at ​­ least at first ­sight – ​­in the Syriac space as prominently as in its environs. One interesting observation Johnson brings is that the corpus of Syriac literature even fails to produce translations of pilgrimage accounts from Latin or Greek. However, the absence of this literary genre in the Syriac heritage cannot begin to justify the argument that Syriac Christians were neither preoccupied with nor interested in pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There are certain texts, such as the two monastic sources we will present in what follows, that mention such interactions of Syriac pilgrims with the Holy Land, albeit briefly and “­even though these ­real-​­world pilgrimages seem not to have been

1 Scott Johnson, “­W here Is Syriac Pilgrimage Literature in Late Antiquity? Exploring the Absence of a Genre,” in Peter Van Nuffelen (­e d.), Historiography and Space in Late Antiquity (­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 164.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-8

78  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land connected to a ritualized way of writing about such journeys.” In the short descriptions we will review below, the Syriac texts do not share the typical relationship to pilgrims that can be expected from medieval Western writing on the subject, a “relationship between modes of writing and the movement of pilgrims on the ground,”2 as Johnson aptly notes. The brief narratives contained in the texts of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāh ̣ of Baṣra have both Jerusalem and Egypt (through Mount Sinai) as their destination; on the one hand, therefore, the sacred sites of the Holy City, and on the other the allure of the Egyptian desert, as important to monks as Jerusalem itself. We will begin with Thomas of Marga’s Historia monastica, where the first pilgrim mentioned is the notable ʿEnānīšōʿ, the collector and translator of the Paradisum Patrum.3 The monk Abbā ʿEnānīšōʿ travelled to the Holy City after “living the life of an ascetic with all excellence, and having his mind constantly fixed upon the works of the ascetic fathers.”4 In his monastic career he practiced a proper spiritual life within the monastery in the time of Isaac the Syrian – whose fame travelled as far as the monasteries of Palestine. The author does not offer any details on ʿEnānīšōʿ’s itinerary or journey, not of his presence in Jerusalem, contenting himself with noting the pilgrim’s change of destination from Jerusalem to the desert of Scetis. Certainly, Egypt itself was yet another important topos for Syriac monks. Looking back to the context of ʿEnānīšōʿ’s life, we know that the Catholicos Patriarch Gīwargīs I commissioned the East Syriac monk to collect the writings of Apophtegmata Patrum from Egypt and to bring this monastic literature to the East Syriac Church.5 ʿEnānīšōʿ likely travelled to Egypt for this purpose, but, as a Syriac monk, he was most probably interested in making devotion in Jerusalem as well. Even though Florence Jullien states that “Jerusalem emerges gradually as a secondary destination,” so that the monk is “just passing through” the Holy City on his way to Egypt,6 it is 2 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 165. 3 For the Paradisum Patrum, see A. Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, mit Aus​­ schluss der ­christlich-palästinensischen Texte (Bonn: A. Marcus und E. Weber, 1922), 202, §31a; Florence Jullien, Le monachisme en Perse: la réforme d’Abraham le Grand, père des moines de l’Orient (CSCO, 622, Subs. 121, Leuven: Peeters 2008), 174. 4 E. A. Wallis Budge (ed.), The Book of Governors: The Historia Monastica of Thomas, Bishop of Margā A.D. 840, from Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum and Other Libraries, 2 vols. (London: K. Paul Trench Trubner & Co., 1893), 78 (syr.), 174–175 (engl.). 5 Budge, Book of Governors, ­86–87 ​­ (syr.), ­ 189 (engl.); ­ and 80 (syr.), ­ 178–179 ­ ​­ (engl.); ­ Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, 202, §31a; Braun, Synhados, 333; Rubens Duval, La littérature syriaque. Des origines jusqu’à la fin de cette littérature après la conquête par les arabes au XIII siècle (Paris: Librairie Victor Lecoffre, 1907/Amsterdam: Philo Press, 1970), 143; ­Jean-Baptiste ​­ Chabot, Littérature syriaque (Paris: Bloud & Gay, 1934), 100–101. 6 F. Jullien, “Types et topiques de l’Égypte: sur quelques moines syro- orientaux des VIe-VIIe siècles,” in F. Jullien, M.-J. Pierre (eds.), Les Monachismes d’Orient. ­Images – ­​­­Échanges –​ ­Influences (Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études. Sciences religieuses 148; Turnhout: ­ ​­ ­ Brepols, 2011), 151–163, esp. 152.

Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra   79 difficult to believe that his presence in Jerusalem merely served a secondary purpose. Hard as it may be to draft a hierarchy of his destinations and claim that one was definitively his primary objective to the detriment of any other, the profile of the monk in question suggests that he likely combined his desire to pray at the holy places of Jerusalem with the utility of reaching Egypt and accomplishing the task set before him by Gīwargīs I while at the same time following in the footsteps of the desert fathers, visiting “the places in which they lived.”7 On his return journey, as was the pilgrims’ custom, the monk sought to grow from any spiritual fathers famous for their ascetic life encountered throughout his itinerary. He was blessed by a famous spiritual father and bishop Mār Yoḥannān, and entered into spiritual conversation with him.8 The impression that both Egypt and Palestine were viewed with the same attraction and spiritual interest by the Syriac pilgrim stemming from the account of ʿEnānīšōʿ’s pilgrimage is a trend that would persist into later periods.9 A second pilgrim to the holy places described in Thomas of Marga’s Historia Monastica is Cyprian of Bēth Magūshā.10 Thomas’ report on Cyprian is altogether more detailed than that of ʿEnānīšōʿ. The pilgrim’s desire to see the holy site of Christ the Lord in Jerusalem could have been the fruit of a lengthy ecclesiastic experience, but, from Thomas’ account, it instead emerged spontaneously. Since the author describes Cyprian’s desire through the visual imagery of sight (not merely reaching Jerusalem or touching the holy sites therein, but seeing them), the metaphor is later continued in the image of a state of mind hotter than flame11 that inflamed his heart and mind, whereupon he prepares for the journey “with hot and zealous steps.”12 On the preparation for the journey, Thomas argues that the character separated himself from worldly love, from his parents and relatives

7 Budge, Book of Governors, 78 (syr.), ­ ­174–175 ​­ (engl.). ­ 8 Budge, Book of Governors, 79 (syr.), 175 (engl.). 9 For example, one proof that Syrians permeated the Egyptian space and were relatively consistent in their travels there comes from Meinardus, who claims that as late as the 20th ­ ​­ century the Coptic monks of Wādī al-Rayān preserved the theological and ascetic memory of Isaac of Niniveh (seen by them as their spiritual forefather) alive. His work, and his fame, were most probably brought to this space by Syriac pilgrims themselves throughout their travels to the land: When I visited the Coptic anchorites in the Inner Desert of the Wādī al-Rayān ­ ​­ […], I was told by Abūnā Mattā ­al-Maskīn, ​­ the hegoumenos of this laura, which he and his followers had established there, that their principal authority for the spiritual life was neither St. Antony nor St. Macarius nor any other well-k nown Coptic Desert Father, but Isaac of Niniveh, the Nestorian bishop and ascete of the 7th century. Otto Meinardus, “The Nestorians in Egypt,” Oriens Christianus 51 (1967), ­ 112–129, ­ ​­ esp. 112. See also O. Meinardus, “The Hermits of the Wâdî al-Rayân,” Studia Orientalia Christiana: Collectanea 11 (1966), 295–317, esp. 304, n. 2. 10 Budge, Book of Governors, 332 (syr.), ­ ­581–582 ​­ (engl.). ­ 11 Budge, Book of Governors, 333 (syr.), 582 (engl.). 12 Budge, Book of Governors, 333 (syr.), 582 (engl.).

80  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land and left for Jerusalem having only taken with him the book of the Gospels; and “thus, like an athlete, he began to depart.” The report, comprising many hagiographic tropes, is focused on Cyprian’s personality and spiritual qualities and never deviates from this paradigm; consequently, it does not offer any information about the route taken by the pilgrim, but only that he hurried to Jerusalem avoiding rest stations “like a man who hurries home to his father’s house and to his family whom he had not seen for a long time.”13 The pilgrim’s satisfaction grew with his arrival in the Holy City, where he worshipped “in all the holy places, the place where Christ was baptized in the River Jordan, and the Temple, and Golgotha, and the Sepulchre, and the Upper Chamber, and the Mount of Olives.”14 The road did take its toll on the pilgrim; exhausted, he needed to rest on his arrival in Jerusalem. Moreover, in the eyes of the author and the reader alike Cyprian’s exhaustion on the road likens him to an athlete in competition. In continuing his travel, Cyprian proceeded as many other Syriac pilgrims did, as those who came to Jerusalem also travelled to Mount Sinai and to the Egyptian monastic area – a consideration which makes plausible Florence Jullien’s idea of a monastic pilgrim route in three stages: to Jerusalem, to the Sinai, and at last to the desert of Scetis.15 The same route was followed by Cyprian, who continues his journey from the Holy City to Mount Sinai and from there into the Egyptian desert. Thomas integrated his pilgrim figure into a common itinerary we have also seen in the brief description of ʿEnānīšōʿ’s travels, in which, after the devotion in Jerusalem he explores the Sinai and the Egyptian desert, both the sites of the prophets of the Old Testament places associated with Moses and Elijah, to whom the Syriac hagiographic literature devotes special attention,16 and also the famous topoi of Egyptian monastic spirituality; by making devotion in those places, Cyprian is claimed to have achieved great spiritual benefit.17 His final destinations were Alexandria and the Egyptian desert, “where he stayed for some time going about among the monasteries of the holy men 13 Budge, Book of Governors, 333 (syr.), ­ 582–583 ­ ​­ (engl.). ­ 14 Budge, Book of Governors, 333 (syr.), 583–585 (engl.). Johnson, Literary Territories, 117: ­ ­ ​­ ­ “This is a rather standard list, without any detail about his route or experiences.” 15 Jullien, “Types et topiques de l’Égypte,” 152. 16 Budge, Book of Governors, 334 (syr.), 585 (engl.). For further representations of Moses, see also B. Bitton-Ashkelony, “I mitatio Mosis and Pilgrimage in the Life of Peter the Iberian,” in Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, and Aryeh Kofsky (eds.), Christian Gaza in Late Antiquity (Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture, 3, Leiden / Boston, MA: Brill, 2004), 107–129. For representations of Elijah in Syriac literature, see E. Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Sermones, II (CSCO, 311–312, Syr. 134–135; Louvain: Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1970), 54 (syr.), 70–71 (ger.); Sebastian P. Brock, “A Syriac Verse Homily on Elijah and the Widow of Sarepta,” Le Muséon, 102.1–2 ­ ​­ (1989), ­ ­93–113; ​­ Sebastian P. Brock, “Syriac Poetry on Biblical Themes. I. The Prophet Elijah and the Widow of Sarepta,” The Harp 3.1–2 (1990), 75– 86; M. Hayek, “Élie dans la tradition syriaque,” in Élie le prophète (Les Études Carmélitaines; Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1956), 159–178. 17 Budge, Book of Governors, 334 (syr.), 585 (engl.).

Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra   81 who lived in the desert.” No different from the travels of ʿEnānīšōʿ, Cyprian sought to advance his spiritual progress on the basis of the opportunities the journey offered him, such as meeting people who lived a holy life, a common literary motif which is expressed in the activity of most pilgrims.18 Even though the text claims that Cyprian did not deviate from the path until Jerusalem, but rather that by maintaining a brisk pace he sought to reach the Holy City as soon as possible. Once he arrived at the region of Egyptian monasticism he became very interested in any potential contact with famous monastic figures: he visited the graves of the “holy Antonius, and Pachomius, and Evagrius, and Arsenius, and Macarius, and Serapion.” His spiritual progress also grew through his interaction with the monks of the region and by admiring their deeds: “And from the sight of the holy men who were there and from their labours he gained a good type and example for himself.”19 The travel itineraries contained in the Historia monastica certify the existence of certain stages to any pilgrimage, which F. Jullien has already pointed out and which we can interpret as being the journeys’ ‘principal destinations’: Jerusalem, the Sinai, and the desert of Scetis. These destinations imply a further discussion on the classification of pilgrimages, which David Haberman has thankfully already attempted and which he employs for pilgrimages undertaken in a Hindu context. However, his categories can also be applied to Christian pilgrimage, as Georgia Frank has argued. The distinction here is between “linear” pilgrimages, or journeys with a singular destination, and “circular” or “goalless” pilgrimages, which do not have an ultimate fixed

18 Looking at other pilgrimages in Western and Byzantine literature, the pilgrims indeed appear to follow an extended itinerary that did not make great distinctions between holy places and holy people, with both being intrinsic aims of the pilgrims’ journey. For example, Frank, The Memory, 6 shows that “some pilgrims began their tours of the holy places with visits to monastics, as Melania the Younger did in 417 when she toured cells around Alexandria on her way to Jerusalem […].” Frank argues that the phenomenon of combining the two alternatives, “holy places and holy people” during pilgrimage, “remained common well into the 7th century.” In his view, “ the connection between holy places and holy people seemed natural to these Christians.” This line of reasoning can itself be expanded upon to cover the few profiles of pilgrims in Syriac literature, such that we can attest to the almost imperceptible demarcation between visiting holy sites and holy persons, a connection between two nuclei of holiness that rendered these locations all the more attractive to Christians everywhere. Indeed, Georgia Frank concludes: “That so many pilgrims to the holy places also made visits to holy people suggests that journeying to holy destinations, whether people or places, reflects a coextensive piety.” Frank, The Memory, 7. For the sake of completeness we note here a further distinction regarding the pilgrimage to holy. In a rhetorical question Falkasanton proposes a distinction between “ travel for instruction from these individuals” and “ that for the sake of the miracles and blessings” Falcasantos, “Wandering Wombs, Inspired Intellects,” 94. 19 Budge, Book of Governors, 334 (syr.), ­ ­585–586 ​­ (engl.). ­

82  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land objective.20 From this definition, Georgia Frank views pilgrimages to the holy sites in late Antiquity as conforming to the linear model, while those to holy people fall more closely into the circular pilgrimage category.21 While the above assertion appears accurate, the delineation between categories in a Christian context remains, from our perspective, unclear – for example, while those Christians that aim to travel to the sacred sites of Jerusalem may well be strictly interested in the spirituality of the Holy City, that is not to say that other secondary destinations or considerations could not then appear; therefore, it is almost impossible that the pilgrim’s sojourn will not feature other curiosities or secondary spiritual objectives, and this is no different for Syriac pilgrims. Their itinerary to holy sites located elsewhere than Jerusalem often deviates – and not to sites associated with the prophets Moses and Elijah, important places for Egyptian monasticism from the environs of the Holy Land, but also to notable individuals such as the ‘living saints’ of the time. This fact renders the distinction between linear and circular pilgrimages oftentimes imperceivable.22 From a hagiographic perspective, it would be more attractive if the hero followed a complex circular itinerary that itself offers him a much more complex perspectival narrative, one much more agreeable to the reader. To return to Egypt which is seen as a waystation for Syriac monks in their search for holy places, we must first remember that the ascetic tradition itself appears to have transformed Egypt into a space of great spiritual authority.23 Syriac Christians were aware of the connection between Syriac and Egyptian monasticism during the early period of the Church. As such, other brief histories will show that a dynamic movement of Syriac pilgrims to Egypt and the Holy Land did, in fact exist, and cannot be denied by the changing temporal contexts or internal deliberations of the Church itself. And while the pilgrims that reached Egypt return having achieved individual spiritual progress, they would also leave the mark of their tradition there. This is how Isaac the Syrian’s works reached both Palestine and the Egyptian monastic establishments during the 8th century.24 Moreover, the

20 See David L. Haberman, Journeying through the Twelve Forests: An Encounter with Krishna ( New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 71–74. 21 Frank, The Memory, ­8–9. ​­ 22 Frank also highlights that: “both types of journeys also share important affinities.” Frank, The Memory, 9. For more on anthropological theories in interpreting journeys to the holy places and holy persons, see Mircea Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return (New ­ York: Bollingen, 1954); Victor Turner, “The Center Out There: Pilgrim’s Goal,” History of Religions 12 (1973), ­ ­191–230. ​­ 23 Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 91: “Der Prozess der Domestizierung und Verkirchlichung des syrischen Mönchtums im 6. und 7. Jh. nach dem Vorbild des ägyptischen Mönchtums führte dazu, dass Ägypten als monastischer Pilgerort par excellence in den Quellen zu finden ist.” 24 See Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 201–208; Catalin-Stefan Popa, “Die Begegnung der Ostsyrer mit dem Mar Sabas Kloster beziehungsweise mit der chalzedonischen

Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra   83 effect of this dynamics between Mesopotamia and Egypt can be seen in the establishment of at least one monastic community, namely the Monastery of Dayr ­al-Suryān ​­ located in the desert between Alexandria and Cairo, which has survived to this day. Founded by an Orthodox Syriac merchant from Tagrit who had business in Fustat (modern Cairo) in the early 9th century – or 6th century, according to other sources  – the monastery would see its first major restoration works around AD 850.25 It would be transformed into a centre housing an important Syriac literary heritage in the collections of manuscripts that would come to be preserved through the efforts of Abbot Mushe (Moses) of Nisibis,26 “a man without whom our k nowledge – and enjoyment – of early Syriac literature would have been very much the poorer, and whom a contemporary scribe had already aptly described as ‘our pride and the adornment of the entire holy Church.’”27 That Mushe gathered collections of manuscripts certifies the desire to develop a Syriac identity in the region of origin for Christian monasticism as a whole, and concurrently proves that Syriac Christians, beyond their history of interaction with this spiritual space, also had a perspective for its future continuation and development, with the monastic centre also serving as a site of respite for any Syriac pilgrims that might arrive. Mushe’s success encouraged the journeys of Syriac Christians to the region of Egypt, not only to follow in the footsteps of the Egyptian Desert Fathers but also to contribute to the formation of the distinct identity forged by Syrians themselves by way of their monastic establishment, with its frescoes and inscriptions in Syriac that have survived to this day, the resting place of the oldest (5th, 6th, and 7th centuries) dated Syriac manuscripts known to modern research.28

25 26

27 28

Orthodoxie Palästinas zu spätsassanidischer und frühislamischer Zeit,” in Shabo Talay (ed.), ­ Überleben im Schatten: Geschichte und Kultur des syrischen Christentums: Beiträge des 10. Deutschen Syrologentages an der FU Berlin 2018 (Göttinger Orientforschungen. 1. Reihe, Syriaca, vol. 58, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2020), 203–212. Brashear, “Syriaca,” ­ 107. For the history of the monastery, see, above all, J.-M. Fiey, “Coptes et syriaques: contacts et échanges,” Studia Orientalia Christiana. Collectanea 15 (1972–1973), 297–365; L. Van Rompay and A.B. Schmidt, “Takritans in the Egyptian Desert: The Monastery of the ­ Syrians in the Ninth Century,” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 1 (2001), 41– 60; K. Innemée and L. Van Rompay, “La présence des Syriens dans le Wadi al-Natrun ­ (Egypte),” Parole de l’Orient 23 (1998), 167–202; J. Leroy, “Moise de Nisibe,” in Symposium Syriacum 1972 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 197, Rome, 1974), 457– 470; Sebastian P. Brock, “Without Mushe of Nisibis, Where Would We Be? Some Reflections on the Transmission of Syriac Literature,” Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 56 (2004), ­ 15–24. ­ ​­ Brock, “Without Mushe of Nisibis,” 24. The description comes from a note in the manuscript British Library Add. 14.525. Brashear, “Syriaca,” 107, n. 78: “The earliest manuscripts are: Add 12.150 from 411; Add 14.425 from 464; a Syriac Bible MS: late 4th- early 5th c.; Add 17.182, written in Damascus in 474.” The abbots of the monastery tried to secure any attempt to steal manuscripts from the monastery. Thus, an example appears in the British Library Add MS 17.124 (from the year 1234) in whis is mentioned the practice of giving anathema against those who remove a manuscript “without the permission of the Abbot and the whole brotherhood.” Most

84  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land One notable opinion on the relationship between West Syrians, Jerusalem, and the Egyptian desert is that of Anton Baumstark, who opines that these relationships were, in fact, even stronger than those enjoyed by the Armenian Church. Baumstark argues – on the basis of the liturgical influence of the Jerusalemite and Palestinian tradition on the Syriac tradition, which, as the author correctly points out, was also supported, if indirectly, by the influence of the Holy Virgin Monastery situated in the desert of Scetis, “forming an initial natural branch of Jacobite Palestinians,” that “a visit to the monasteries of Scetis constituted a popular extension of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem even for Western Christian pilgrims arriving in the first millennium.”29 In this way, the Syriac monastery in Egypt had the role of extending the sacred picture of Jerusalem, serving as a middle-way station for Syriac Christians with regard to both pilgrimages to and from the Holy City and the cultural and liturgical transfer occurring both ways between Mesopotamia and Palestine. In what follows, we will see how, in the second monastic source discussed – ­ the journey to the Holy City appears as Īšōʿdenāh’ṣ of Baṣra Liber Chastitatis – a leitmotif, even though most of its mentions are very brief and the author does not provide details on how these pilgrimages actually took place. In the Book of Chastity are mentioned ten pilgrimages in total out of 140 short biographies.30 The journeys to the Holy City portrayed in the monastic biographies comprising this work can be included in a category defined by a dynamic trajectory between two delineated geographical points, or moving between two areas, conceptually illustrated as a “there and back again” motif.31 A first example of pilgrimage to Jerusalem and to the desert of Scetis is Mār Yōnān.32 It would appear that the biographies in the Liber Chastitatis are constructed from the outset in such a way as to highlight both the origin of the characters and their connection with a spiritual master of the local Syriac tradition. In addition, Jerusalem looms as a necessary stage in life of any Christian monk. Mār Yōnān was a disciple of Mār Awgen, the figure considered by the Syriac tradition as the promotor of monastic life in the area of Syriac Christianity. It might be that the author chooses to promote

29 30 31 32

probably, this practice may be related to certain precedents such as for example that mentioned in Deir al-Surian MS Syr. 30, in which appears that Michael Rabo “ignoring the anathema treatened by Abbot Mushe – borrowed a large quantity of manuscripts in order to have them copied at his own monastery of Barsauma, near Melitene, but failed to return them all,” Sebastian P. Brock, “Fashions in Early Syriac Colophons,” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 18.1 (2015), 361–377, esp. 370; S. P. Brock, and L. van Rompay, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts and Fragments in the Library of Deir al- Surian, Wadi al-Natrun (Egypt) ­ (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 227; Leuven: Peeters, 2014), xv–xvi, 228. Baumstark, Festbreviar, 96. See also Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 169. Johnson, Literary Territories, 122. ​­ Chabot (ed.), ­ J.-B. Īšōʿdenah évêque de Baçrah, Le Livre de la Chasteté, in Mélanges ­ ​­ (1896), ­ 1–80 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 225–291 ­ ​­ (fr.), ­ esp. § 4, p. 5. d’archéologie et d’histoire 16: 3–4

Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra   85 the literary indication that Mār Yōnān is a disciple of Mār Awgen likely in order to demonstrate that his pupils follow in their forebears’ tradition of interacting with the holiness and especially with the holy places. This could act as an unwritten custom that appears to be passed down from generation to generation, sometimes by no more than the author’s intent to authorise the disciples of a master, or to simply create connections between spiritual mentors and pupils, which are difficult to prove from a historical perspective, having to rely on the analysis of patronymic similarities, looking for a connection and linearity based on names among generations of disciples, as F. Jullien has attempted.33 At the time of his journey to the Holy City, Mār Yōnān had already been anointed a monk; he undertook the pilgrimage as a matter of inspiration and spiritual growth, but most probably also as part of the established monastic custom. In the Book of Chastity, we read also about Mār Yoḥannān, the founder of Qanqal Monastery34 who was also a pilgrim. He learned the ascetic life under the guidance of Mār Babai the Great. At a certain point in his monastic life, he travelled to Jerusalem and the desert of Scetis. Yoḥannān’s journey is similar to that of other Syriac pilgrims, as we have seen detailed in the case of Benjamin of Nehardea. A linear pilgrimage that transformed into a circular one, if we apply Haberman’s classification, we see a deviation from the pilgrim’s initial goal by way of an outside attraction exerted by the holy places found in the Syriac landscape.35 One such attraction could be found in the city of Emesa: the grave of John the Baptist.36 According to Īšō’denāh,̣ upon returning from the holy places of Jerusalem Yoḥannān became the curator of the relic of the head of John the Baptist. After the death of the local bishop, the Christians in the city elected him to the bishopric, but he declined the position by leaving the city and travelling to the region of Qanqa.37 Unsurprisingly, the author dwells on the scene, highlighting the spiritual profile of this figure, and superimposing the local Syriac tradition of Emesa with

33 F. Jullien, “Aux sources du monachisme oriental. Abraham de Kashkar et le développement de la légende de Mar Awgin,” Revue de l’Histoire des Religions 225.1 (2008), ­ ­37–52, ​­ esp. 47. ­ 34 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 23, p. 13. 35 See also Sebastian P. Brock, “Syriac Hagiography,” in S. Efthymiadis (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, I, Periods and Places (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 259–283, esp. 265: “Inventiveness could be spurred on by a desire to promote a local cult or church dedication.” 36 For the story about the discovery of John the Baptist’s head and the establishment of his relic in Emesa see the chapter on Benjamin of Nehardea. 37 Johnson, Literary Territories, 123, opines that Yoḥannān’s ordination to the priesthood was probably done under a Chalcedonian bishop; and, likewise, his expulsion from Emesa was most likely due to conflicts with the Chalcedonian successor. (Or, one might posit that he left Emesa after its fall to the Arabs in 637, though that seems less likely).

86  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land the important heritage of the tomb of John the Baptist: in Qanqa, Yoḥannān received a vision in which John the Baptist came to him in a dream and told him to return to his reliquary in the city of Emesa, to take a lock of the prophet’s hair and to return and build a monastery in that place. In doing so, Yoḥannān founded a famous monastery and interred the lock of John the Baptist’s hair into the Eastern wall of the church’s altar.38 This interesting story is aimed towards convincing the reader that the Syriac monk’s presence at the holy places engaged him in a formative act, as S. Johnson opines: There is a reinforcement of the sense of ‘foundation’ in this work - the physical construction that takes place in the narrative is always supported by the spiritual interment of the saint, the very builder, in the fabric of the church.39 Another brief profile of monk that travels to the holy places can be found in Īšōʿdenāḥ’s history, namely the East Syriac monastic reformer Abrāhām of Kashkar (d. 588). This famous monk inoculated the monastic vocation unto the hearts of many of his disciples who, in likely imitation of their master, also sought to travel to the holy places. This hypothesis is reinforced by looking at a series of named apprentices that appear to have adopted this practice from their master and founder of monasticism on the mountain of Izla. Īšōʿdenāḥ tells how Abrāhām arrived in the desert of Scetis where he began his monastic life.40 Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāh ̣ make no reference to Abrāhām’s visit to Jerusalem, while his Syriac Vita notes that Abrāhām travelled from Scetis41 to Jerusalem “praying in all the holy places where our Lord Jesus Christ passed,”42 finally reaching Mount Sinai at the end of his journey. Abrāhām’s travel or pilgrimage to the holy sites – Egypt, Jerusalem,

38 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 23, p. 13; Johnson, Literary Territories, 123. 39 Johnson, Literary Territories, 123. 40 François Nau, “Histoires d’Abraham de Kaskar et de Babaï de Nisibe,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 3.1 [21] (1918–1919), ­­ ​­ 161–172, ­ ​­ esp. 163 ­ (syr.), ­ 169 (fr.); ­ Martin Tamcke, “Abraham ­ of Kashkar’s Pilgrimage,” ARAM 18–19 (2006–2007), 480. Despite its brief mention, the stage of the pilgrimage as a phase of spiritual relevance to Abraham’s biography is also highlighted by Johnson: “Although it is mentioned very briefly, Abraham’s pilgrimage is a fundamental part of his biography in the n inth- century Liber Castitatis of Ishoʿdenah.” Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 168. 41 Budge, Book of Governors, 23 (syr.), 39– 40 (engl.): According to Thomas these writers […] say that he went to the desert of Eskītē (Scete), where he received and took upon himself the order of the ascetic life. Afterwards, by the Divine command, he came and dwelt in a secret cave in Mount Īzlā, in the neighbourhood of the city of Nēsībhīn (Nisibis). ­ On the other hand, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 14, p. 7 (syr.), 8 (fr.) writes: “He went to Egypt, to Scetis, and to Mount Sinai, and returned to the schools of Nisibis,” see also Tamcke, “Abraham of Kashkar’s Pilgrimage,” 481. 42 Nau, “Histoires d’Abraham de Kaskar,” 163 (syr.), 169 (fr.).

Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra   87 or both – has drawn the attention of modern researchers. Starting with Theodor Hermann, Abrāhām’s journey (to Egypt) was viewed as strictly pertained to his future monastic mission on the mountain of Īzlā,43 Tamcke argues against the opinion that this interaction with the monastic world of Egypt had served Abrāhām as a form of Western confirmation  – coming from the consecrated Fathers of monasticism – of the need to modify the guiding rules or canons of the Īzlā monastery. Tamcke is correct in claiming that the tradition of East Syriac monasticism was vigorous enough and has its self-awareness to not require confirmation or legitimisation from the West.44 However, we must also keep in mind that different models were continuously borrowed across the monastic world and especially in Egypt – for example, as we have seen in the case of ʿEnānīšōʿ, who was commissioned by the East Syriac Patriarch Gīwargīs I to gather monastic literature from Egypt for the use of his Church. We are not insisting now on aspects concerning the importance of the Egyptian spiritual tradition and its attraction to Syriac Christians. In this, we consider opportune the position that, beyond the self- contained rationale of this journey, Abrāhām’s pilgrimage is a model for later disciples.45 Reshaping this statement, we also must add that this model could be transformed into a custom, and adopted as an unwritten norm and then practiced by subsequent generations of monks and founders of Syriac monasteries who internalised this form of seeking the sacred as a framework to guide their later actions in the practice of their monastic vocation. Or, in Johnson’s words, this seems to be the prevailing vision of the time of Īšōʿdenāḥ’s writings on Syriac monks undergoing pilgrimage: “their formulaic nature suggests that the pilgrimage was a constituent part, at least in Isho‘dnah’s conception, of a monastic founder’s spiritual formation.”46 The model, or custom, of travelling to sacred spaces – whether they be monastic sites or the holy sites of Jerusalem, most often both – we later see passed down, through disciples, across the generations. At least that is what Īšōʿdenāḥ is suggesting through these biographies, and the generational bequeathing of monastic principles among which the seeking of sacred spaces is evident in the Syriac monastic culture; as Jullien suggested, “the disciple must reflect the image of his master: he is called to a likeness passing through the formative path of the master.”47 Therefore, Īšōʿdenāh presents just such a likeness in the biography of Abrāhām, noting that at Abrāhām’s recommendation, one of his disciples, Mār Joseph of Merv, founded the convent of Samarouna on the mountain 43 T. Hermann, “Bemerkungen zu den Regeln des Mar Abraham und Mar Dadischo vom Berge Isla,” Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 22 (1923), ­ ­286–299. ​­ 44 Tamcke, “Abraham of Kashkar’s Pilgrimage,” 481. 45 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 168. 46 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 169. ­ ​­ 47 Jullien, Le monachisme, 72–73.

88  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land of Ephraim, in Palestine.48 Even if the establishment of such a monastery appears to be merely a simple literary motif, the intention of the author to highlight a certain continuity in the pilgrimages to Jerusalem based on the power dynamics at play between master and disciple remains suggestive here.49 As Mār Abrāhām of Mount Īzlā was famous at that time, Joseph entered his monastery and later travelled to Jerusalem to pray at the holy places. The impulse to go to Jerusalem, born from the disciple’s desire to imitate his spiritual master, could also be intuited in the story of Mār Gani, ̣ a disciple of Mār Abrāhām who after the death of his master performed a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Scetis, and Mount Sinai (once again, the three natural destinations for Syriac pilgrims). Upon his return to Kashkar, Mār Gani ̣ erected a monastery.50 This is an example of the spiritual formation of many disciples who entered the Monastery of Mār Abrāhām and lived a monastic life under his guidance. At a certain point some of them seem to follow in his footsteps, making pilgrimages to the holy places, most likely according to an unwritten rule Abrāhām taught his disciples about the importance of holiness, its stages, and materialisation at the significant biblical places for Christianity. Īšōʿdenāḥ makes notes also about Mār Jacob, the later founder of the monastery of Bēth ʿAbhē, who after a pilgrimage to Jerusalem returned to the monastery of Mār Abrāhām and became a monk. Due to a certain conflict, he left the convent of Mār Abrāhām alongside nine brothers who had joined him and founded the Monastery of Bēth ʿAbhē.51 Yet another imitation of the life path of a spiritual master can be found in the story of Narsai, the head of Abrāhām’s monastery, who also adhered to the practice of traveling to Jerusalem for devotion at the holy places.52 Īšōʿdenāh ̣ introduces the journey in a hagiographic picture: Narsai travelled to Jerusalem during the holy night of Easter. This was not an ordinary journey, as we read further that he received divine grace and returned by dawn. Such a journey could only be a figment of fiction or imagination, since a normal journey 48 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 37, p. 24 (syr.), 21–22 (fr.); Tamcke, “Abraham of Kashkar’s Pilgrimage,” 481. 49 However, we cannot exclude the possibility that Syriac Christians established their own hermitages or small convents in Palestine having travelled to the Holy Land for spiritual reasons. For a further review of this issue, see part II of this book; see also Robert Schick, The Christian Communities of Palestine from Byzantine to Islamic Rule: A Historical and Archaeological Study (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 2; Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 1995), 179; D.C. Baramki, St. N. Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage between Jericho and Jordan,” QDAP 4 (1935), 81– 86, esp. 84; Meinardus, “The Nestorians in Egypt,” 124; Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 203; J.-M. Fiey, “Rabban Buya de Shaqlawa et de Jericho,” ­Proche-Orient ​­ Chrétien 33 (1983), 34–38; V. Fritz, A. Kempinski, Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen auf der Hirbet el-Mšaš (Tel Masos), vol. 1 ( Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1983), ­138–185. ​­ 50 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 28, p. 17–18 ­ ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 16 (fr.). ­ 51 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 34, p. 22 (syr.), 20 (fr.). 52 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 72, p. 42 (syr.), 36 (fr.).

Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra   89 would have taken a few days at minimum, as we will see in the second and third parts of this book. Moreover, it could be that this position alludes to a similar phenomenon to that later shared by one of the groups presented in Barhebraeus’ work, namely the outcry against pilgrimages and the encouragement of Syriac monks to remain in their cells and focus on the fruits of the mind in order to celebrate the heavenly Jerusalem in their own hearts. It is worth noticing that in this story, Īšōʿdenāh makes reference to the period of Easter as a prerequisite for the miraculous travel, which would become a recurring motif of later literature, in which Easter would come to constitute the perfect time of being in the Holy City. A similar story in the same vein of meditation tales of monks and of the transposition of the mind is that about the miraculous journey of Yoḥannān of Kashkar, a monk at the monastery of Mār Gani ̣ (a disciple of Mār Abrāhām the Great),53 who, during his liturgical service in the church on the Sunday of the Resurrection, was carried off to the desert of Scetis (Wadi El Natrun) together with another ascetic, where they received the blessing of the anchorites of Bēth Onesimos. In the same day, he was miraculously returned to his monastery.54 This way of imaginative travelling or exaltation is probably a hagiographic tool to again paint as agreeable the view of those who considered that monks could also travel with the mind, while remaining in their cells in their Syriac monastic community.55 Moreover, as a disciple belonging to the second generation of the followers of Mār Abrāhām the Great, the monk also imitates his predecessors, to offering devotion at the holy places and achieving spiritual enlightenment. After a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Mār George Marwazaya entered the monastery at Īzlā and became a disciple of Mār Abrāhām.56 It is noteworthy, in the case of Mār George and that of other pilgrims, that most of those who travelled to the Holy City were descended from wealthy parents, and had a good social status, which renders the journeys realistic when taking into consideration the financial prerequisites that pilgrims had to provide, and which we will discuss when tackling the canons of Gregory Barhebraeus. This issue of visiting Jerusalem as intrinsic to the formation of the monk could be directly transmitted within the Syriac ascetic tradition from master to disciple, and this is illustrated also in the case of Mār Abrāhām of Nethpār and his disciples. After a three-year period of asceticism practiced in a cave near Bēth Nethpār, Mār Abrāhām made a pilgrimage to Egypt in

53 See also Jullien, “Types et topiques de l’Égypte,” 151. 54 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 10, p. 5 (syr.), 7 (fr.). See also Johnson, Literary Territories, 124–125. ­ ​­ 55 We do not know whether it was a fictional journey or not. For discussions on such a possibility, see Georgia Frank’s attempt to analyse the “traveller’s perspective” with regard to monks and holy persons, that makes a distinction between “real” and “imagined” or “allegorical” journeys. Frank, The Memory, 33. 56 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 36, p. 23 (syr.), 21 (fr.).

90  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land the footsteps of Pachomius.57 Mār Job, one of his direct disciples, tutored another monk, Bār-Qūšre, ​­ for the spiritual life; the latter travelled to Jerusalem 15 years later, like many of his predecessors, took refuge in a cave near Nineveh on his return.58 Mār Gabriel of Kashkar, after building a monastery made a pilgrimage to the holy places accompanied by some brothers; on his return to Kashkar, he founded two further monasteries.59 Īšōʿdenāh’s list of pilgrims is completed by Mār Īšōʿšabrān, a traveling companion of Mār Yoḥannān of Dailam60 and his master, Abrāhām Sanouta, all three travelling to the desert of Bēth Gaza for solitude.61 The three monks travelled according to the established practices of their time, in small or large groups. Of great importance in this story is the fact that, according to Īšōʿdenāh, Yoḥannān of Dailam appears as a pilgrim although he was also later mentioned in Barhebraeus’ arguments about a group of monks who were vocal against pilgrimages to Jerusalem. We must conclude this chapter by considering plausible that these brief mentions of pilgrimage contained in the works of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāh of Baṣra can be viewed as part of the continuity of a primarily monastic phenomenon of interacting with the resonance of the holy places in Jerusalem and the desert of Scetis. The monks’ itinerary is most often bereft of detail, with their point of departure, their monastery or city of origin, and point of arrival (the Holy City, the Egyptian desert, or associated destinations) being mentioned. Even though there is yet no synchronic picture of a consensus on the issue of the continuity of Syriac pilgrimage to the holy sites of Christianity, these instances nevertheless can be corroborated to sustain this process. They can validate a monastic practice of following, one generation after the next, in the footsteps of one’s mentors and forebears (as was, for example, Abrāhām of Kashkar who himself went on pilgrimage to the holy places in search of spiritual progress). Baby Varghese noted that although the West Syriac tradition contains collections of monastic canons regarding proper practice both without and within the monastery, these are nevertheless missing any references or

Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 43, ­p. 26–27 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 24 (fr.). ­ Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 50, p. 32 (syr.), 28 (fr.). Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 121 ­p. 61–62 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 52 (fr.). ­ Yoḥannān of Dailam’s journey to the Holy Land is contained also in his Vita. See S.P. Brock, “A Syriac Life of John of Dailam,” Parole de l’Orient 10 (1981/1982), ­ ­ ­123–189, ​­ esp. 139:26 (syr.), 148 (engl.): “He rose up as instructed by God and went up to pray in Jerusalem, receiving a blessing from the holy places where our Lord had walked.” See BittonAshkelony, “From Sacred Travel,” 367. See also J.-M. Fiey, “Jean de Daylam et l’imbroglio de ses fondations,” Proche-Orient ­ ​­ Chrétien 10 (1960), ­ ­195–211. ​­ 61 Chabot, Le Livre de la Chasteté, § 104, p. 55 (syr.), 46 (fr.). See J.-B. Chabot, “Histoire de ­Jésus-Sabran, ​­ écrite par Jésus-Yab ­ ​­ d’Adiabène,” Nouvelles archives des missions scientifiques et littéraires 7 (1897), 495–584, esp. 490. This information is vague in the Life of Mār Īšōʿšabrān written by Īšōʿyahb III, which speaks about Īšōʿšabrān’s journey in the desert without specifying the name of the desert and the company of Mār Yoḥannān of Dailam.

57 58 59 60

Monastic Histories of Thomas of Marga and Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra   91 allusions to pilgrimages undertaken to Jerusalem. Varghese also claims that several pilgrim ascetics are mentioned among the East Syriac Christians.62 This allows us to better develop our own argument, being able to argue that it was precisely because such canons are either missing altogether or ignoring a topic of faith that did, in fact, warrant a few clarifications – with a few minimal recommendations indeed put forth by the synod held by ­Īšōʿyahb – it was this very reality that drove Syriac monks to incorporate an unwritten custom passed down from their own spiritual masters, a custom they followed and, in turn, passed down to their own, and later, disciples. Perhaps the reason why no ecclesiastical canons were decreed regulating pilgrimage was precisely because they went hand in hand with the fundamental vocation of the monk, a part of his assumed livelihood and their internal spiritual canon. Another aspect worth discussing at this point follows from Scott Johnson’s astute observation that the East Syrians were more prolific than the West Syrians in mentioning pilgrims altogether. Johnson raises an interesting question: “Does proximity relative to Holy Land have something to do with this?”63 One potential answer was proposed by Teule, who mentions a series of restrictions on pilgrimage in the monastic regulations governing West Syriac monks – even though, as we have shown, Varghese highlighted the lack of any canonical legislation on pilgrimage. Most likely, the answer must be sought elsewhere: Syriac Orthodox Christians shared closer cultural ties with Jerusalem, as well as benefitting from a greater geographical proximity; as we shall see, they established communities in the Holy Land from very early on; their contact, as a consequence, was probably well known to the populace, thus not requiring specific adoption within their ecclesiastic literature. In an attempt to justify why the topic of pilgrimage was limited in the Syriac literary tradition, Johnson draws another parallel with Western Christian pilgrimages, whose accounts were for the most part written by lay travellers; in comparison, in the Syriac tradition those writing about pilgrimage were predominantly either monks or clerics. It is certain that, in the West, this led to the genre of pilgrimage literature being primarily narrated by intellectuals – and here Johnson posits the example of Egeria, who owned a library – while, in contrast to this Western reality, in Syriac

62 Baby Varghese, “Pilgrimage in the Syriac Tradition,” in Adrian Florentin Crăciun, André Lossky, and Thomas Pott (eds.), Liturgies de Pèleringes. 66e Semaine d’études liturgiques Paris, Institut ­Saint-Serge, ​­ 1– ­ 4​­ juillet 2019 (Studia Oecumenica Friburgensia, 104; Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2021), 97–110, esp. 102. For the tradition of canons see Vööbus, Syriac and Arabic Documents; A. Vööbus, The Synodicon in the West Syrian Tradition, I, II (CSCO 375–376, Syr. 163–164; Louvain: Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1976); A. Vööbus, The Canons ascribed to Maruta of Maipherqat (CSCO ­ 439–440, ­ ​­ Syr. 191–192; ­ ​­ Louvain: Peeters, 1982). 63 Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,” 175.

92  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Christianity the limitation to clerics or monks naturally led to a dearth of writings on the topic: “One reason, we might not find pilgrimage literature in Syriac is because it was not a common monastic form of writing.”64 And, to conclude this chapter with a precautionary recommendation for those intending to claim that the “genre” of pilgrimage literature does not exist in Syriac, Johnson offers an example, in fact the only one of its kind, preserved in Greek: Another way of asking the question is, if Epiphanius Hagiopolites were in Syriac, would it significantly alter our perception of Syriac interest in the genre? I think it would, and the survival of at least one example of a formal pilgrimage genre in Greek (with many examples from later centuries) is suggestive of a broader familiarity with pilgrimage literature in Greek than what we see in Syriac. Above all, this one extant text in Greek should recommend caution about presuming the genre of pilgrimage never existed in Syriac.65



7

A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology and its Genealogical Interrelation with Jerusalem

The image of Jerusalem and its spiritual memory were also present in Syriac churches and literature through various elements other than a pilgrimage. If we consider the liturgical perspective, we see that the analogy of the Holy Sepulchre and also other elements of liturgical connotation are incorporated into the local Syriac worship,1 although some remained part of an inherited tension maintained between that which is local, Syriac, and that which is universal and modelled on the typos of Jerusalem. As Baby Varghese suggested in several private discussions we had, the spiritual ties with Jerusalem and Zion are important elements adopted by Christianity from Judaism, while “the New Jerusalem” (Gal. 4:26; Rev. 21: 2) and “the New Israel,” respectively, are part of the oldest descriptions of the Church. Syriac theology is no stranger to these theological motives found primarily in the liturgical tradition of the early Church. In Syriac, they recreate a connection with the space and memory of the Holy City and the Holy Land over the centuries. One element that broadly defines Syrians’ liturgical connection with the tradition of Jerusalem is the Anaphora of St. James, brother of our Lord, first bishop of Jerusalem,2 an Oriental anaphora that has been studied in great detail in recent decades. This anaphora was in use in the eucharistic liturgy in Jerusalem.3 In addition to the apostolic argument contained in the very name of its author (the first bishop of the Holy City), this text (whose current structure is dated, in the opinion of liturgical scholars, to the 4th or 5th

1 For more on the Syriac liturgical tradition and its manifestation see Robert Taft, The Liturgy of the Hours in East and West: The Origins of the Divine Office and Its Meaning for Today (St. John’s Abbey, Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 1985), esp.  225–246; W.F. Macomber, “A Theory on the Origins of the Syrian, Maronite and Chaldean Rites,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 39 (1973), ­ ­235–242. ​­ 2 B. Varghese has often argued that later manuscripts included the title’s addition “learned from the mouth of our Lord.” West Syrians use several anaphors in their worship, dedicated to saints and personalities in their own tradition. 3 See Anton Baumstark, On the Historical Development of the Liturgy, Introduction, Translation, and Annotation by Fritz West (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2011), 105.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-9

94  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land centuries4) comprises several short passages that can be correlated to this image of liturgical interconnection between Syriac theological culture and the Palestinian tradition.5 For example, the prayer of Sanctus describes a cosmic frame of “the heavenly Jerusalem, the church of the first born inscribed in heaven,”6 in which a choir of the heavenly hierarchy, in splendid voices, praise the hymn and theologise God. Moreover, the analogy “Zion, the mother of all churches” is not missing from the anaphora, being mentioned in the prayer that begins the intercessions (dyptychs).7 Not only does the anaphora of James provide clues to a connection between Syriac liturgical theology and Jerusalem, if we are to look to the preEaster and Easter liturgical celebrations, we see that from the Saturday of Lazarus (the Eve of Palm Sunday) to Pentecost, as expected, the memory of Jerusalem as a collective memory of universal Christianity is present and assumed in the liturgical practice of Syriac Christians as well. If we consider the style of liturgical poetry based on biblical songs mentioned in the diary of the pilgrim Egeria (who made a pilgrimage at the end of the 5th century), we may find the style of liturgical singing often evaluated

4 See G. Khouri-Sarkis, “L’anaphore syriaque de Saint Jacques,” L’Orient Syrien 4 (1959), ­ 385– 4 48; Baby Varghese, “The Anaphora of Saint James and Jacob of Edessa,” in Bas ter Haar Romeny (ed.), Jacob of Edessa and the Syriac culture of His Day (Monographs ­ of the Peshitta Institute, Leiden. Studies in the Syriac versions of the Bible and their Cultural Contexts, 18; Leiden, Boston, MA: Brill, 2008), 239–264; Baby Varghese, West Syrian Liturgical Theology (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 1. 5 See also the general and paramount topic of St James Liturgy, in the study of Daniel Galadza, Liturgy and Byzantinization in Jerusalem (Oxford Early Christian Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 189, where the author discusses the influence and function of Trisagion in Jerusalem and its relation with Armenian and East Syrian traditions. For the context in which the Trisagion permeated the East Syriac liturgy see Mar Awa III, “The Memra of Patriarch Mar ʿĪšōʿyahb I of Arzōn (581–595): The Cause of the ‘Holy ­ God,’” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 25.1 (2022), 85–136, esp.  114. Mar Awa Royel considered that the possible authors of the insertion of Trisagion into the eucharistic liturgy are Sabrīšōʿ I, the successor of ʿĪšōʿyahb I on the patriarchal throne, or Mar Bābai the Great. 6 “Whom the heavens of heaven glorify and all the hosts of them, the sun and the moon, and all the choir of the stars, the earth, and the sea and all that is in them, the heavenly Jerusalem, the church of the first-born who are inscribed in heaven, angels, archangels, lordships, authorities, thrones, dominions, the powers which are above the world, the heavenly armies, the cherubim with many eyes, and the seraphim with six wings, who with two wings cover their faces, with two (their) feet, and with two do fly one to another, with mouths unceasing and with unsilenced divine words a hymn of victory of great beauty, with glorious voice, hymning and shouting and crying and saying: (People) ­ Holy, Holy, Holy […].” O. Heiming (ed.), Anaphora syriaca sancti Jacobi fratris Domini (Anaphorae ­ Syriacae, II.2; Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 1953), 142. Baby Varghese, The Syriac Version of the Liturgy of St James. A Brief History for Students (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2009), 24–25; Baby Varghese (tr.), West Syrian Anaphoras. Awsar Slawoto 4 (Kottayam: SEERI, 2017), 11. ​­ 7 For intercessions see Baby Varghese, The Syriac Version, ­38–39.

A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology  95 by Anton Baumstark8 as being quite early, which may constitute an element that distinguishes the Syriac tradition from the Greek. We can understand that he was one of the puzzle pieces in the liturgical connection, most likely an instrument that has often linked Syriac liturgical ideals to more or less formed Palestinian liturgical tradition. Of course, the theological interference of Syriac Christians with the Palestinian region is also reflected in the liturgical tradition of Antioch, influenced in one way or another by Patriarch Severus of Antioch, adopted by West Syrians, who in his last years as Patriarch in the early 6th century created an Octoechos (the Octoechos of Antioch), a tropologion, a hymnbook which contains eight Sunday offices.9 Severus Octoechos’ is considered “the oldest known official book of church hymns with non-biblical content in the entire history of the Breviary.”10 This book has been passed down to this day in a Syriac translation completed between 619 and 629 by a monk named Paul,11 who probably hailed from the monastery of Thomas of Qenneshrin on the Euphrates (mentioned in manuscript as Paul of Edessa, likely after its origin) and who was also involved not only in the translation of this project into Syriac, but also completed a two-volume translation of Gregory of Nazianzus’ works on the island of Cyprus in 624.12 This translation of the Syriac Octoechos (the Syriac Tropologion)13 was later revised by Jacob of Edessa in 674/675, and is preserved today in the original manuscript which appears to have survived: British Library Add. 17.134.14 On this basis laid 8 Baumstark, Festbreviar, 44. 9 The hymnbook experienced some further additions most probably during the period in which the translation was accomplished in the Thomas Monastery of Qenneshrin, so that 70 hymn were added to the 295 of Severus. See Baumstark, On the Historical Development, 156. 10 Baumstark, Festbreviar, 45. 11 According to Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, 190, Paul’s name given by “jakobitischen Heiligenkalender unter dem ehrenden Beinamen eines ‘Übersetzers der Bücher’” represents an argument that he is the author of the translation. 12 Baumstark, Festbreviar, 45; William Wright, Catalogue of Syriac manuscripts in the British Museum (London: Longmans & Co., 1870), 336. 13 See Svetlana Kujumdžieva, The Hymnographic Book of Tropologion: Sources, Liturgy and Chant Repertory (London, New York: Routledge, 2018), 20. 14 See Baumstark, Festbreviar, 45, 46, n. 2. See also, Svetlana Kujumdžieva, “The Тropologion: Sources and Identifications of a Hymnographic Book,” Българско музикознание 3– 4 (2012), 9 –22. An edition of the Hymns of Severus Antiochenus translated by Paul of Edessa and revised by Jacob of Edessa was published by E. W. Brooks (ed.), Jacob of Edessa. The Hymns of Severus of Antioch and Others (Patrologia Orientalis 6.1, 7.5; Turnhout: Brepols, 1910–1911). For more, see Andreas Juckel, “Septuaginta and Peshitta Jacob of Edessa Quoting the Old Testament in Ms BL Add 17134,” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 8 (2005) ­ [2009], 151–177, ­ ​­ esp. 151–152: ­ ­ ​­ Based on the two extant manuscripts of Jacob’s revision (Ms BL Add. 17134 and Add. 18816), Brooks’ edition is a typographical master-piece by the meticulous presentation of Ms BL Add. 17134 and of its revisional features. This manuscript substantially gives the text of Paul’s translation and carefully denotes the revisional alterations Jacob introduced to it inter line as or by red ink. In a note on fol. 75rv Jacob explains the reason

96  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land by Severus of Antioch through his Octoechos – which could not have been created except in the context of the assimilation of the Jerusalemite or Palestinian liturgical culture transmitted to Antioch – the other achievements in the liturgical field follow, so that through translations and other additions to the liturgical heritage of the Officium of the West Syriac Church ( psalms, etc.) but also other texts by Greek authors, the Syriac liturgical canon was gradually expanded. We can assert that Jerusalem was a theological and liturgical environment that generated notable influences, including Greek ones, in the formation of the Syriac liturgical feasts. Baumstark opines that “the most significant for the Greek infiltration of their breviary festival was undoubtedly Jerusalem, which essentially gave the Jacobites their Eucharistic liturgical service.”15 He gives an example from the Eastern Church family about the influence of Jerusalem on the Armenians, highlighting that the old Armenian lectionary was borrowed directly from Jerusalem. From this example, Baumstark argues, that the liturgical influence of Jerusalem on West Syrians was not insignificant either: “One may also recall the example of the Armenian Church in order to understand how overwhelming the liturgical influence of Jerusalem in the Jacobite Church must have been.”16 Moreover, the issues of the feasts of Nativity or Epiphany prove that “despite fluctuations,” Baumstark points out, “[Armenians] adhere to the practice of the Hierosolymite Church of the late fourth and early fifth centuries.”17 Extending the relationship to the Syriac perspective, a plausible thesis can be expressed: “Relations between the Syriac Jacobites and Jerusalem were even closer than those of the Armenians.”18 In a way, this relationship makes the liturgical influence that came from Palestine and infiltrated in the Syriac tradition more comprehensible, also clarifying several elements of Greek origin that arrived via this route. In another study, Baumstark accentuates “the liturgical blending” of West Syriac church, a church which he characterises as one that “functioned as an immense transit zone, with cultures streaming across it.” The development

and the method of his revision for which he used Greek manuscripts, and gives the date A. Gr. 986 (A. D. 674/75) for his work.

15 16 17 18

For the Syriac translation of Octoechos by the monk Paul and the revision done by Jacob of Edessa see, A. Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, 253; Duval, La littérature syriaque, ­317–318; ​­ William Wright, A Short History of Syriac Literature (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1894 / reprinted Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2001), 135, 149; Chabot, Littérature syriaque, 86; I. Ortiz de Urbina, Patrologia syriaca (Rome: Pont. Institutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1965), 173, 180; F. Nau, “L’Araméen chrétien (Syriaque). Les traductions faites du grec en syriaque au VIIe siècle,” Revue de l’histoire des religions 99 (1929), ­ ­263–265. ​­ Baumstark, Festbreviar, 95. Baumstark, Festbreviar, 95. Baumstark, Festbreviar, 96. “Die Beziehungen der syrischen Jakobiten zu Jerusalem waren aber noch engere als diejenigen der Armenier.” Baumstark, Festbreviar, 96.

A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology  97 of this church tradition is also in correlation with its liturgical function, linked to Jerusalem rituals. The formation of this West Syriac ecclesiastical tradition developed a silhouette that was configurated in relation with its “birthplace of culture.” To its culture belong also the liturgy that cultivates a “peculiar character,” in an intersectional religious area of Easter communities that perpetuated multiple liturgical influences among which Jerusalem liturgy had a major role. We can speak of a channel of communication in liturgical developments between Antioch, Jerusalem, and Edessa, which “have contributed, in about equal measure, the elements that comprise its liturgy. That this rite is anchored in these three liturgical centers reflects the historical circumstances from which the Jacobite Church emerged.”19 Additionally, it might also be that this liturgical cultural trajectory in which the Syriac Christian communities adopted some liturgical elements of Palestinian influence and, through them, their adherence to certain festive practices, is defined and maintained by their interaction with their space and liturgical praxis.20 However, going deeper into the genealogy of “this liturgical blending” “between the legacies of the holy city,” “the metropolis of Hellenized northwest Syria” (Antiochia), “and the capital of the Mesopotamian province of Osrhoene”21 (Edessa), one can demonstrate this association by the major feasts that open the period of Easter by celebrating events associated with Jerusalem. There are features of the memory of the Holy City in Syriac theology, with those places where the history of Christian salvation began – a relationship that also exists to a certain extent in other Christian churches. As Baby Varghese affirms, Jerusalem appears quite intensely in the services and pericopes from Palm Sunday22 to Pentecost. For example, in the case of the East Syrians we find that, about a century later, under the Catholicos Babai (497–502/503), the “Palm feast” became part of the liturgical practice of local church centres in Nisibis, Seleucia-Ctesiphon, and across the entire Sassanid Empire.23 Almost seven 19 Baumstark, On the Historical Development, 117. 20 This is also valid not only for Syrians but for other Christian denominations that through pilgrims were in permanent interaction with the Holy City. And Baumstark believes that the pilgrims also had a more or less character of assimilation of liturgical elements. Often stirred to the point of tears and loud sobs, pilgrims participated in these services from every part of the world that had been evangelized, every region that Christian missionaries had visited to that point. These pilgrims took back to their homelands the profound impressions Jerusalem made upon them. Without intending to promote the use of these services in their home settings, they did so inadvertently by the animated way they recounted what they had seen and heard. Baumstark, On the Historical Development, 105. 21 Baumstark, On the Historical Development, 118. 22 Baumstark, Festbreviar, 113, n. 1. 23 Baumstark, Festbreviar, 230. See also Henricus Gismondi (ed.), Maris Amri et Slibae, De Patriarchis Nestorianorum Commentaria ex Codicibus Vaticanis (Pars prior, Rome: C. de Luigi, 1899), 46 (ar.), 41 (lat). For the Syriac theology of Palm Sunday, see Jacob’s Mēmrā,

98  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land centuries later, we are informed by the West Syriac Patriarch Michael Rabo that this practice was well naturalised in the tradition of the Church, to the extent that it became a community holiday, “one of the main feasts of the entire church year.” He attests to such a practice in November of 83424 according to a document of Patriarch Dionysius concerning the practice in the churches of Mosul and Tagrit when the whole city gathered for the blessing of the olive leaves and the Myron.25 We also note that Lazarus’ Saturday has a special spiritual expressivity, appearing, as Baumstark states, as “a kind of completion of the Quadragesima, a kind of connection between it and the Holy Week.”26 The solemnity of this feast dedicated to Lazarus’ resurrection before Palm Sunday is also described in the pilgrimage of Egeria in 395,27 when she describes the Song of the Night Vigils in the Basilica of Zion and the Eucharist early in the morning, followed by the two-station procession from Bethany: one where Mary greeted Christ and another at the tomb of Lazarus. As Baumstark confirms, the old Armenian lectionary also adopted the feast, and the Canon of the Resurrection of Lazarus was incorporated by the Armenian Church and placed at the end of the hymns for Lent. Of course, the solemnity of the ritual is not lacking from the Syriac tradition, and represents an important aspect of this liturgical genealogical relationship between the two cultural milieus. Moreover, the reception of the feasts’ impressive nature certainly extends to the entire Christian East – yet without surpassing the beauty of Syriac ritual.28 The Feast of Lazarus’ Saturday is part of this relationship of liturgical influence that Jerusalem had

24

25 26

27 28

“On Palm Sunday,” in P. Bedjan (ed.), ­ Homiliae selectae ­Mar-Jacobi ​­ Sarugensis, vol. 5 (Paris / Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1910), 613– 631; J. Frishman, “Narsai’s Homily for the Palm Festival – Against the Jews: For the Palm Festival or against the Jews?,” in H.J.W. Drijvers, R. Lavenant, C. Molenberg, and G.J. Reinink. (eds.), IV Symposium Syriacum 1984: Literary Genres in Syriac Literature (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229; Rome: Pontificium Institutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1987), 217–229, esp. 221. See also Aaron Michael Butts, “Narsai’s Life and Work,” in Aaron M. Butts, Kristian S. Heal, Robert A. Kitchen (eds.), ­ Narsai: Rethinking His Work and His World (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity 121; Tübingen: Mohr ­ ​­ esp. 6–7, ­ ­ ​­ n. 24. Siebeck, 2020), 1–8, ​­ Chabot (tr.), ­ J.-B. Chronique de Michel le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166– ­1199), Vol. III (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1910), 87, depicts this feast as part of the community: “[…] le jour des Rameaux, quand toute la ville est assemblée, pour la bénédiction des oliviers, dans l’église des Tagritains, et à la consécration du Chrême.” See Baumstark, Festbreviar, 231. Baumstark, Festbreviar, 208. See also A. Baumstark, “Quadragesima und Karwoche Jerusalems im 7. Jahrhundert (in collab. with Th. Kluge),” Oriens Christianus, n.s., 5 (1915), ­201–233, ​­ ­359–363; ​­ 6 (1916), ­ ­223–239. ​­ Paul Geyer, Kritische bemerkungen zu S. Silviae Aquitanae peregrinatio ad loca sancta (Augsburg: Ph. J. Pfeiffer, 1890), 81– 82. Baumstark remarks a valid point, namely the instructive nature of Jerusalem’s liturgical tradition for the entire Orient, a valid point: “Die führende Bedeutung, welche der Lokalkult Jerusalems bis zu einem gewissen Grade für alle Liturgie des Morgenlandes

A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology  99 over the Syriac liturgical development29: several manuscripts confirm the existence of this celebration of Lazarus in the Syriac churches at the end of Late Antiquity: “Given this situation, it goes without saying that the Jacobite liturgy, which is especially dependent on Jerusalem, has its Saturday of Lazarus and holds it in high esteem.”30 Certainly, the week of the Passion is also part of the same collective memory of Jerusalem with many influences in the Syriac liturgy, such as the veneration of the cross in solemn procession.31 The Ochtoechos of Severus contains hymns for this practice, while its rituals are still attested in Michael Rabo’s time as well.32 Another aspect that warrants discussion is the tradition they adopted regarding the consecration of the church, and the symbolism that it contains within the liturgical spirituality of the image of Golgotha that makes a church a holy place. As Baby Varghese has argued, the early Syriac lectionary system was a remodelling of the Jerusalemite tradition. The West Syriac tradition also emphasises the connection with Jerusalem in other sacramental aspects, such as the origins of the high priesthood and the consecration of Myron in Jerusalem. There is also an interrelation as well as in other liturgical celebrations such as the Feast of the Dedication of the Church. As Mary Farag points out, in ancient times the festival of consecration was a major occasion for celebration. The festivals for the inauguration of a newly built or newly renovated church were events that brought together the most varied members of society. There is evidence of the anniversary celebrations of the consecration festivals, especially of the anniversary of the consecration of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, which is first mentioned by Egeria.33 Since the 4th and 5th centuries, the ritual of church consecration has been an integral part of church practices, while festivities for this act of sanctification of a church have routinely involved processions in which, in addition to donations to church, there is of course the celebration of the Eucharist. Farag argues, early sources attest for example the practice of anointing the altar with oil dating back as early as the second half of the 4th century. Among these sources are also Ephrem the Syrian and John II of Jerusalem. The context of the celebration in honour of the consecration of a new church

29

30 31 32 33

gewonnen hat, tritt da zunächst wieder einmal in sehr instruktive Weise in die Erscheinung.” Baumstark, Festbreviar, 208. Baumstark points out that Matutin also shows similarities between West Syrians and the Jerusalem tradition “especially in the connection between biblical texts and liturgical poetry” Baumstark, Festbreviar, 136. Baumstark, Festbreviar, 209–210. ­ ​­ Baumstark, On the Historical Development, 106. Baumstark, Festbreviar, 240. Encaenia means the date of the consecration of the church of Holy Sepulchre and this is a festive celebration and seems to corresponds with the date of the discovery of the Cross. See also Wilkinson, Egeria’s travels, 48.1, 146.

100  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land also involves ceremonies surrounding relics.34 Moreover, Farag speaks of a circle of holiness in ancient churches in the context of their consecration, as we briefly discussed in the section on pilgrimage during Īšōʿyahb I’s time. This circle of holiness was formed in the image of Christ, the heavenly patron to whom the church was dedicated; and the founders of the church.35 Farag posits an essential question in order to understand the phenomenon involved in the consecration of a church: “What made a church sacred in late Antiquity?” She goes on to answer this question very clearly: “In both legal and ritual prescriptive contexts, the answer was ostensibly the same: the rite of consecration produced res sacrae.”36 We will not dwell on the boundaries that Farag continues to draw in discussing “the status of res sacrae,” which she defines as ensuring “perpetuity, stability, and wealth of divine institutions.” We will, however, pose another question that may be more closely applied to our analysis: what determined that Syriac churches were to be based or consecrated on the sacred model of Jerusalem? An origin of the feast commemorating the Dedication of the Great Church is visible in Severus’s Homily 112 (dated 517) devoted to the Great Church in Antioch: And indeed, somewhere, we also heard the holy Gospels saying: And there was the dedication in Jerusalem (John 10:22). This is why we, too, are now celebrating this aforementioned feast of this Great Church [d­ ​ ʿidto hode rabto]: and when we also honour this divine temple [l-hayklo ­ ​­ hono alohoyo], where each day the mystery of piety is celebrated and the whole order of worship is fulfilled.37 We observe here how Jerusalem, portrayed as an archetype of the consecration of any church, was assimilated into the Antiochian Syriac tradition. The same argument seen in Severus, concerning the understanding of the Feast of Dedication in connection with the text of John 10:22 which mentions Christ being present at the Temple of Jerusalem during the Feast of Dedication, would be taken up three centuries later by Moses Bar Kepha, who asserted that the reason for the sanctification of the Church is (according to the Evangelist) the celebration of renewal in Jerusalem; and the Syriac

34 Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred?, ­129–130. ​­ 35 These participants in the circle of holiness built a mechanism of close relationships predicated upon their involvement in the realisation of the edifice: through their efforts, the founders were in close relationship with God and the spiritual patron, the saint, and other external elements. See Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred?, 138. 36 Farag, What Makes a Church Sacred?, 179. 37 M. Brière (ed.), Les Homiliae Cathedrales de Sévère d’Antioche. Homélies XCI à XCVIII (Patrologia Orientalis 25, Fasc. 1, Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1942), 626 [119] – 803 [297], esp. 795 [289]. See also Baby Varghese, “Liturgical Year of the Syrian Orthodox Church: A Historical Introduction,” The Harp. A Review of Syriac, Oriental and Ecumenical Studies XXXVI ­ ­187–240, ​­ ­ (2020), esp. 227.

A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology  101 author highlights that the fact that it was celebrated in winter exemplified the Jews’ lack of faith.38 The continuity of this tradition of church sanctification also constitutes a link to the tradition of Jerusalem. It can also be seen in the medieval period, when we find the feast of the Sanctification of the Church (kudosh ­ ʿedtho) mentioned in the canons of Mar Hananya (ʿDeir Zaʿfaran), as part of the liturgical year,39 alongside the feast of the Renewal of the Church (hudoth ­ ʿedtho).40 Baby Varghese stresses the local character of these two holidays dedicated to the church, and distinguishes between them, arguing that the first was dedicated to the church in Antioch (therefore, of Antiochian origin) while the second was of Jerusalemite origin, after the feast of the Dedication of all Altars in Jerusalem (occurring in the middle of December; this was probably adapted from the Jewish feast of Hannuka).41 An anonymous source, a Syriac sogitha composed less than three decades after Severus’ writings, is dedicated to the sanctification of the church in Edessa. This sogitha, composed around AD 543–554, is further proof of this tradition of the celebration of the worship of a church building and its importance for the Syriac Church tradition and community. Of greatest interest to us in this text are the allegories that make the church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem into the archetype for any church altar in the Syriac space, denoting an early liturgical and symbolic interrelationship between the Christian spirituality of the Holy City and the Syriac church architecture: The bema42 is placed in the middle of [the church] 38 See Moses bar Kepha, Commentary on the Liturgy, London, BL Add. 21210 (of AD 1242), fols.132–134; R.H. Connolly, H.W. Codrington, Two Commentaries on the Jacobite Liturgy (London: Text and Translation Society by Williams and Norgate, 1913). 39 See canon 4 of the episcopate of John of Mardin (1124–1165) in Vööbus, The Synodicon in the West Syrian Tradition, II, 232; Varghese, “Liturgical Year,” 238. 40 See Vööbus, The Synodicon in the West Syrian Tradition, II, 269; Varghese, “Liturgical Year,” 239. 41 See Varghese, “Liturgical Year,” 239–240; B. Botte, “Les Dimanches de la dédicace dans les églises syriennes,” L’Orient syrien 2 (1957), 65–70; G. Khouri-Sarkis, “La fête de l’Eglise ­ ­ ​­ dans l’année liturgiques syrienne,” Irénikon 28 (1955), 186–193. 42 See Murray, Symbols of Church, 18: Both the typical Mesopotamian church and an important group of west Syrian churches have, in the centre of the nave, a raised and enclosed area called by the Greek name bema, from where the clergy conducted the liturgy of the Word; this feature seems to have been retained from the Synagogue. For more on the bema, see also R. Taft, “Some Notes on the Bema in the East and West Syrian Traditions,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 34 (1968), 326–359; on the relation to the Jewish synagogue and bema see D. Hickley, “The Ambo in Early Liturgical Planning,” Heythrop Journal 7 (1966), 407– 422. Another connection with the Jewish tradition in terms of bema can be found in Seppälä, “Liturgical Representations,” 154, n. 36: The surviving documentation for the ‘Jerusalemite’ symbolical understanding of bemah does not antedate Theodore of Mopsuestia and the East Syrian commentaries, but

102  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land On the model of the Upper Room at Zion; Under it are eleven columns, Like the eleven apostles who were hidden. The column behind the bema Portrays Golgotha in its form; Fastened above it is the cross of light, Like Our Lord [Christ] between the thieves.43 A similar perspective in which the symbolism of the altars is represented by the tomb of Christ in Jerusalem appears in other texts, such as in a brief anonymous Syriac commentary on the baptismal and Eucharistic liturgies from the early 5th century, which circulated in many later expanded commentaries from the Syriac Orthodox (one of them attributed to George of the Arabs) as well as from the East Syriac tradition (Narsai and Gabriel Qatraya), which was translated by Sebastian Brock. Here, we see the same symbolic images of the church, which are repeated twice: The altar is the place of Christ’s sepulchre. The bread and wine on it are a symbol of the body of Jesus Christ, (the body) in which blood was also present. The Veil above the cup and the paten (is) a sign of the stone Which was placed above the sepulchre of our Saviour. The curtains or covering are a likeness of this firmament between us and that heavenly region.44 Again, the altar is the place of the sepulchre of our Lord; and the bread and wine that are upon it (are) a symbol of the body and holy blood of Jesus, (the body) in which blood was also present. The veil above the cup and the paten (is) a sign of the stone which was placed above the sepulchre of our Saviour.45

the sources seem to agree that Bemah is the earthly Jerusalem and the altar Heavenly Jerusalem. The earliest Christian roots of the idea are undocumented, but with all probability, they are archaic, due to the Jewish character of the idea. See also Emma Loosley, The Architecture and Liturgy of the Bema in Fourth- to SixthCentury Syrian Churches (Patrimoine Syriaque 2, Kaslik: Parole de l’Orient, 2003), ­114–116. ​­ 43 Kathleen E. McVey, “The Sogitha on the Church of Edessa in the Context of Other Early Greek and Syriac Hymns for the Consecration of Church Buildings,” ARAM 5 (1993) 358: 15–16. See André Grabar, “Le témoignage d’une hymne syriaque sur l’architecture de la cathédrale d’Édesse au VIe siècle et sur la symbolique de l’édifice chrétien,” Cahiers archéologiques. Fin de l’antiquité et Moyen Âge, 2 (1947), ­ 41–67, ­ ​­ esp. 55. ­ 44 Sebastian P. Brock, “An Early Syriac Commentary on the Liturgy,” The Journal of Theological Studies  – Ser. NS 37 (1986), 387– 403, esp.  391; Eduard Sachau, Verzeichniss der syrischen Handschriften, Aby. 1–2 (Die Handschriften Verzeichnisse der Königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, 23, Berlin: A. Asher, 1899), 218, fol. 178r; Varghese, The Syriac Version, 18. 45 Brock, “An Early Syriac Commentary on the Liturgy,” 393.

A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology  103 The same images in which the sanctity of the church and the altar stems from the archetype of the Holy Sepulchre appear in Narsai’s liturgical homilies, which confirms the hypothesis that the Syriac Christians formed a picture of the church-building and its sacred perspective in direct relationship to the spiritual heritage of Golgotha, the tomb of the Lord. In Homily XVII (An Exposition of the Mysteries), attributed to Narsai but which is not genuinely by him, but a century later or even more – we see that, through the “identity of the symbolism and the general similarity of thought and language” as R.H. Connolly notes,46 the author he says not a novelty but wants to validate a simple but clear image for all Christians, the connection of the visible church and the center of the sacred liturgy, the Eucharist, with the theology of the Holy Sepulchre: All the priests who are in the sanctuary bear the image of those apostles who met together at the sepulchre. The altar is a symbol of our Lord’s tomb, without doubt; and the bread and wine are the body of our Lord which was embalmed and buried. Also, the veil which is over them presents a type of the stone sealed with the ring of the priests and the executioners (questionarii). ­ And the deacons standing on this side and on that and brandishing (fans) are a symbol of the angels at the head and at the feet thereof (sc. ­ of the tomb). And all the deacons who stand ministering before the altar depict a likeness of the angels that surrounded the tomb of our Lord. The sanctuary also forms a symbol of the Garden of Joseph, whence flowed life for men and angels.47 A liturgical metaphor in the same vein is evident in Gīwargīs of Arbela’s liturgical commentary discussing the symbolism of the Church space, in which: the nave is the whole earth. The bemah, which is the midst of the nave, is the locality of Jerusalem, which is in the middle of the world. But the altar which is in the midst of the bemah takes the place of Golgotha.48 As God manifests its presence in the whole universe and the Church contains also “condensation of the Divine presence” it is coherent as Syriac

46 R.H. Connolly (tr.), ­ The Liturgical Homilies of Narsai (Texts and Studies: Contributions to Biblical and Patristic Literature 8.1; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1909), xxiv. 47 Connolly (tr.), ­ The Liturgical Homilies of Narsai, 4 (engl.), 273 (syr.). See also a recent contribution to Narsai’s work in the collected volume: Aaron Michael Butts, Narsai: Rethinking His Work and His World. 48 R.H. Connolly (ed.), Gīwargīs (Metropolitan of Arbela and Mosul), Anonymi auctoris Expositio officiorum ecclesiae I (Corpus scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, vol. 64, Scriptores Syri, ser. tertia, t. XCI, Parisiis: E typographeo reipublicae, 1911–1913 [Louvain, 1961]), 114.

104  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land author to understand the bemah, a small place or platform in the middle of Syriac churches49 as a symbol for “the nave of the earth, Jerusalem.”50 This transfer of symbolism from Golgotha to the architecture of Syriac churches shows a vivid memory of the sacrifice on Golgotha, which places Jerusalem at the centre of the liturgical universe.51 In the vision of Gīwargīs of Arbela, the church corridor leading to the altar can be understood as a ‘holy road’, the route from earth to heaven which leads through the Holy City, a requirement on the path to heaven.52 This intermediate station of Jerusalem to Paradise proves greatly interesting, a relationship at times strained in a Syriac theology that above all lays a direct claim to Paradise, which is seen as superior to any Jerusalem (even the heavenly). Yet that shall be the topic of another section. At this point, it is also noteworthy a text of Īšōʿyahb I (East Syriac Catholicos between 581–595), in which he also remembers and recapitulates the liturgical features of the Holy City as signs of the apostolic church. In this memrā of Īšōʿyahb with the title ʿelthā of the Trisagion, or The Cause of the ‘Holy ­ God’, the author interprets for his community (“The flock of our Saviour”) the history of the Trisagion chanted in the daily prayers (“the history of the canon the ‘Holy God’, which the Church of God recites at vespers and at matins in every region under the heavens”).53 Īšōʿyahb shows that when the Byzantine emperor Anastasius I (491–518) introduced the hymn in the Byzantine cult with the addition “who was crucified for us” (a formula attributed to Peter the Fuller), riots were caused, so that this act of the emperor faced opposition at the time, manifested also in Jerusalem. In narrating that event, Īšōʿyahb makes use of an imaginary discourse that portrays the inhabitants of the Holy City grouped across a compact and indivisible Jerusalem tradition in defending the truth of the early church in which the citizens spoke against the emperor Anastasius saying:



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A Survey into Syriac Liturgical Theology  105 ‘We are the city of God and here (it was) that the dispensation of Old Covenant was completed, and also that of the New Covenant was perfected here. With us and among us is the cave of the holy tomb of our Lord, the Golgotha of the crucifixion, the dominical Wood of our salvation, the place of His ascension to heaven, the wonderful Upper Room in which took place the handing-over of the life-g iving Mysteries (and) the descent of the Spirit upon the holy and blessed apostles. We do not fear tyrannical threats, and we are not enticed by vain promises, for we shall accept every torment of yours, but we shall not assent (to change) anything to the heavenly tradition which we received by succession from our forefathers, for we know that its truth is obvious and trustworthy.’54 A detail should be noted here. If in the discussion about the pilgrimage, Īšōʿyahb I, as we have demonstrated, positioned himself strongly for the prosperity of his local church so that his East Syriac Christians should not exhaust themselves financially and physically in looking for foreign places with spiritual resonance like Jerusalem and Palestine, now when it comes to liturgical tradition the East Syriac Patriarch no longer sets borders vis-à-vis that area, but on the contrary, he identifies himself and his confession as one of the inhabitants of Jerusalem speaking for the apology of the orthodox tradition. With this, we conclude the liturgical intersection between Syriac Christianity and Jerusalem by speculating that this special form of Eastern Christianity, defined by a rich metaphorical and symbolic culture, nurtured its mystique from the influence that the liturgical heritage of Jerusalem had on the crystallisation of its liturgical forms in particular, but also on the broader liturgical services offered by the Church, in general, especially for the West Syriac branch. Thus, this genealogical relation in the liturgical framework continued to be present and reflected further in the Syriac churches, closely correlated with a concentrated culture and a persuasive local identity.

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8

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem in the Consciousness of Syriac Christians

The memory of Jerusalem was also present in Syriac churches and literature through a further liturgical element, that of the Holy Wood of the Saviour’s Cross which became a topic of notable interest to Syriac Christians. As we know, through the policy of Constantine and the subsequent ones, “Jerusalem and the surrounding region was progressively monumentalized.”1 This means that an admirable Christian infrastructure and social presence was concentrated around Jerusalem. Our interest is not how this entire phenomenon of building Christian religious power and memory in Jerusalem was assimilated in Syriac culture as a whole, but how one of the most important liturgical elements of this process namely the Holy Wood from Jerusalem was received in Syriac ecclesiastical tradition. Additionally, we try to find out how quickly and in which way was this theological motif adopted by early Syriac literature. According to legend, through the discovery in Jerusalem by the Empress Helena, mother of the Roman Emperor Constantine the Great, the Holy City became more prominent in the consciousness of the universal Christianity, and also grew in significance in the Syriac tradition. Indeed, the legend of the Holy Cross’ discovery was very much alive even in Late Antiquity, almost two centuries after the East Syriac Church had been founded as an independent church on Persian soil. Although the Byzantine church claimed sole ownership of the established tradition of the Cross’ discovery by Helena and the restoration of Jerusalem by Emperor Constantine, the topic nevertheless also remained of prominence within the Syriac Church tradition.2 In addition, a 1 Rebecca Stephens Falcasantos, “Wandering Wombs, Inspired Intellects: Christian Religious Travel in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 25.1 (Spring 2017), 113. 2 Jan Willem Drijvers, “Helena Augusta, the Cross and the Myth: Some New Reflections”, Millennium- Jahrbuch zu Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr./Yearbook on the Culture and History of the First Millennium C.E. 8 (2011), 151, wherein the author summarises the three extant versions of the legend, namely: (a) The earliest version, which Drijvers ascribes the abbreviation “H”, appears in the works of early historians such as Gelasius of Caesarea, Rufinus, Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret, etc.; (b) The Protonike legend (“P”), first documented in the Doctrina Addai, was transmitted in Syriac and Armenian. It replaces the figure of Helena with that of Protonike, the wife of Emperor Claudius, as the discoverer of the Cross; (c) The Judas Kyriakos legend (“K”), which was

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-10

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  107 direct link was created in the Syriac Synodicon (collected in the 8th century by Patriarch Timotheus, in whose time the East Syriac bishopric of Jerusalem and Palestine also appears to have been founded) between the Syriac Christians, the tradition of the Cross’ discovery, and the person of Helena in particular. Thus, the Synodicon Orientale contains an early missive between Papa Bar Aggai (d. 327), bishop of Seleucia-Ctesiphon and Helena,3 which would appear to be a fabrication designed to increase the importance of Syrians in relation to universal events within broader Christianity such as the discovery of the Cross in Jerusalem. In Wood, we see a similar point of view: Though invented letters had been ascribed to Papas in the 5th and 6th centuries, these other letters seem to be inventions of Timothy’s reign, a time when there was a deliberate effort to collect different sources about the past to buttress the claims of the present.4 Indeed, the symbol of the Cross of Jerusalem has proven to be a popular subject for Syriac writers.5 The earliest Syriac author to convey great importance to the symbolism of the Cross and its close connection with Jerusalem was Rabbula of Edessa who is supposedly the one to first introduce “the commemoration of the luminous Cross’ appearance in the skies above Jerusalem into the Syriac lectionary.”6

3

4

5 6

the most common version. Differently from the other two, here the protagonist of the Cross’ retrieval is, interestingly, a Jew, who later on would not only become a Christian but also the Bishop of the Holy City itself. He excavated three crosses and, through a miracle of healing, was able to distinguish the True Cross for Helena. According to Drijvers, although the original text was most probably written in Greek, the oldest preserved version is in Syriac: MS Syr. Petersburg / Leningrad N.S. 4. For more information, see Drijvers, “Helena Augusta, the Cross and the Myth,” 151–152, 160; H.J.W. Drijvers, and J.W. Drijvers, The Finding of the True Cross. The Judas Kyriakos Legend in Syriac. Introduction, Text and Translation (CSCO vol. 565, Subs. 93, Louvain: Peeters, 1997). See also Jan Willem Drijvers, “The Protonike Legend, the Doctrina Addai and Bishop Rabbula of Edessa," Vigiliae Christianae 51.3 (1997), 298–315; Carla Heussler, De Cruce Christi. Kreuzauffindung und Kreuzerhöhung. Funktionswandel und Historisierung in nachtridentinischer Zeit (= Ikon Bild + Theologie; Paderborn: Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh, 2006). ​­ Chabot, Synodicon orientale ou recueil de synodes nestoriens (Paris: Imprimerie See J.-B. Nationale, 1902), 7; O. Braun, “Der Briefwechsel des Katholikos Papa von Seleucia. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der ostsyrischen Kirche im vierten Jahrhundert,” Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie 18 (1894), ­ 163–182, ­ ​­ 546–565. ­ ​­ Philip Wood, The Chronicle of Seert. Christian Historical Imagination in Late Antique Iraq (Oxford Early Christian Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 235, n. 64; Gustav Westphal, Untersuchungen über die Quellen und die Glaubwürdigkeit der Patriarchenchroniken des Mārī ibn Sulaimān, ʿAmr ibn Matai und Salība ibn Joḥannān (Straßburg: ­ Kirchhain N.-L., Druck von M. Schmersow vorm. Zahn & Baendel, 1901), 55. See Mor Cyril Aphrem Karim, Symbols of the Cross in the Writings of the Early Syriac Fathers (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2004). Drijvers, “The Protonike Legend,” 308; see also F.C. Burkitt, “The Early Syriac Lectionary System,” in Proceedings of the British Academy 1921–1923 (London: Published for the British Academy by H. Milford, Oxford University Press, 1923), 301–338, esp. 323–324.

108  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Moreover, the continued importance of the Holy Cross in Syriac literature is made apparent by the fact that the topic of its discovery constitutes one of the central themes of Syriac exegesis from the time Jacob of Serugh (5th century) to that of Īšōʿyahb III. Drijvers epitomises a brief overview of Syriac authors that have composed homilies on the discovery of the Cross. Jacob of Serugh, who based his homily on the legend of Judas Kyriakos,7 is merely one of a majority of Syriac authors to have adopted this variant of the original legend. Nor was this a factional article of faith of only one denomination, but both the West and East Syriac Churches included the motif of the Holy Cross in their literary creations.8 Among the authors whose homilies on the topic have been lost to time are such notable exegetes of the East Syriac tradition as Henana of Adiabene (7th century) and Babai the Great (7th century).9 Naturally, the Holy Cross’ adoption by the Syriac churches was not only exegetic but also liturgical in scope, given that Īšōʿyahb III included a series of poems on the event in the Hudra, the East Syriac liturgical text for Sundays and annual festivals10; and given that the

7 Drijvers, “Helena Augusta, the Cross and the Myth,” 159; A. Vööbus, Handschriftliche Überlieferung der Memre-Dichtung des Jaqob von Serug, II (CSCO 345, Subs. 40; Louvain: Peeters, 1973), 218. Jacob’s homily is preserved in MS Vatican, Borgia Syr. 128, f. 188v-193v. Other homilies of Jacob of Serugh place more emphasis on the spiritual nature of the cross of Christ through recourse to typologies, such as, for example, the Bronze Serpent. For more on Jacob’s memra on the Bronze Serpent, see P. Bedjan, Homiliae selectae Mar Jacobi Sarugensis, vol. I ( Paris / Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1905), 49– 67; see also A. Baumstark, Festbreviar und Kirhenjahr der syrischen Jakobiten ( Paderborn: F. Schöningh, 1910), 214; J.A. Konat, “Christological Insights in Jacob of Serugh’s Typology as Reflected in His Memre,” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 77.1 (2001), 46– ­72, esp. 53. ­ 8 Kelli Bryant Gibson opines about an early Syriac inclusion of the feast day of the cross connected with an early reception of the legend. Kelli Bryant Gibson, “An Early Syriac Apologia Crucis: Memra 54 ‘On the Finding of the Holy Cross,” in Aaron M. Butts, Kristian S. Heal, Robert A. Kitchen (eds.), Narsai: Rethinking His Work and His World, ed. by (Tubigen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 117–132, esp. 119: “If the Helena legend was indeed a catalyst for the popularization of the Feast of the Cross, Syriac-speaking churches likely began to celebrate the feast day relatively soon after their reception of the legend. It is thus not chronologically improbable that Jacob or Narsai wrote their homilies for this feast day. Furthermore, if both communities were celebrating the feast by this time, it is reasonable to suppose that Syriac-speaking Christians began to celebrate the feast sometime during the first third of the fifth century and prior to the Council of Ephesus in 431.” 9 A.H. Becker, Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom. The School of Nisibis and the Development of Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 102–103; G.J. Reinink, “The Cause of the Commemoration of Mary: Author, Date, and Christology,” in G.A. Kiraz (ed.), Malphono w -R abo d -Malphone. Studies in Honor of Sebastian P. Brock (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2008), 518, n. 3. 10 See S.P. Brock, “Two Syriac Poems on the Invention of the Cross,” in N. el-Khoury, H. Crouzel and R. Reinhardt (eds.), Lebendige Überlieferung: Prozesse der Annäherung und ­ ­Friedrich-­​ Auslegung; Festschrift für Hermann- Josef Vogt zum 60. Geburtstag (Beirut: ­­Rückert-Verlag; ​­ ​­ ​­ Ostfildern: ­Schwaben-Verlag, 1992), ­55–82, repr. in S.P. Brock, From

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  109 Hudra was penned towards the middle of the 7th century,11 an argument can be made that the Holy Cross of Jerusalem had remained very important for Syriac Christians of Late Antiquity and beyond. On the topic of the Syriac liturgical context, it also bears mentioning that the motif of the Holy Cross also appears in the service of the Church during Lent (the time of the year most important in terms of penitence and spiritual growth), more specifically during the Sunday marking the middle of the fast. Anton Baumstark’s assessment of the phenomenon points towards a potential adoption of this feast by West Syrians via Byzantine descent (on the basis of the Byzantine memory of the recovery of the Cross) which could have seen further influences from East Syriac Christianity, and even from Jerusalem, after its initial adoption.12 In any case, the dedication of the Holy Cross (celebrated on September 14th) is evoked much earlier, we see this, for example, in Severus of Antioch’s XXXIst Homily, titled “On the Dedication of the Holy Cross and the Anniversary of the Earthquake which Occurred,” given on September 14th, 513.13

Ephrem to Romanos. Interactions between Syriac and Greek in Late Antiquity (Aldershot: ­ Variorum, 1999), chapter XI; Drijvers, “Helena Augusta, the Cross and the Myth,” 160. 11 In the middle of seventh century, Catholicos Īšōʿyahb III implemented through the festal breviary named Hudra, which “literally meaning ‘circle’”, “an organizing principle for the liturgical year” containging chants and prayers for all the offices and masses of each day of the year. A. Baumstark, On the Historical Development of the Liturgy, Introduction, Translation, and Annotation by Fritz West (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2011), 157. Worthy of notice is also Richard Payne’s opinion about the standardisation of East Syriac liturgy through the initiative of Īšōʿyahb III: For the first time in its history, a substantial portion of the Christians of Mesopotamia and Persia were now following the same liturgical order. Not only did Īšōʿyahb advance the modified creed as a new standard of orthodoxy, but he also rendered this orthodoxy tangible to the senses through the medium of a newly regularized liturgy. Richard Payne, “Persecuting Heresy in Early Islamic Iraq: The Catholicos Ishoyahb III and the Elites of Nisibis,” in Andrew Cain, and Noel Lenski (eds.), The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity: Selected Papers from the Seventh Biennial Shifting Frontiers in Late ­ ­ ​­ ­ Antiquity Conference (Farnham: Ashgate 2009), 397–409, esp. 407. 12 See Baumstark, Festbreviar, 215: Nur das muß vorläufig fraglich gelassen werden, ob er die byzantinische Feier selbst etwa um die Jahrtausendwende übernommen und auf den alt-mesopotamischen Mittfastentag verlegt hat, oder ob hier, wie so oft Byzantinisches und Jakobitisches gleichmäßig auf den Kultus Jerusalems zurückgehen und sich schon in diesem während des 5. oder zu Anfang des 6. Jhs. als Vorbild der späteren konstantinopolitanischen eine nach Maßgabe der (Silvia-) Etheria am Ende des 4. ihm noch fremd gewesene feierliche Exposition und Verehrung des Kreuzesholzes zu Mittfasten ausgebildet hatte. 13 See M. Brière, F. Graffin (ed. and tr.), Les Homiliae cathedrals de Sévère d’Antioche. Homélies 26 à 31 (Patrologia Orientalis 36, Turnhout: Brepols, 1974), 536 [2]– 665 [131], esp.  640– 665 [106–131]; see also Baby Varghese, “Liturgical Year of the Syrian Orthodox Church: A Historical Introduction”, The Harp. A Review of Syriac, Oriental and Ecumenical Studies XXXVI (2020), 226.

110  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land

East Syriac Patriarch Sabrīšōʿ and the Holy Cross In addition to the above literary testimonies, we must also discuss the example of a Syriac patriarch who repeatedly expressed his admiration of and interest in having a piece of the Holy Cross, a fact which highlights that the culture of the holy places, as manifested through the spiritual liturgical aspect embodied by the Cross of our Lord taken as a tangible element of the realisation of Christ’s sacrifice and of the possibility of human salvation, provided a permanent attraction for Syriac church personalities. During Sabrīš ō’s time as Patriarch, we can note a number of attempts at dialogue between the Byzantine and Persian Empires, including some at the ecclesiastical level. Among these elements of dialogue, the Holy Wood of Jerusalem was essential, as it directly led to the revival of Jerusalem’s spirituality in the memory of Syrians. Later, we shall also see that the Life of Sabrīšōʿ as preserved in the Chronicle of Seert itself makes reference to several aspects related to rememorising Jerusalem through the veneration of the Cross. Even before his election as Patriarch, Sabrīšōʿ was characterised in the Chronicle of Seert as Sabrīšōʿ, “who loves the cross.”14 In the period between 576 and 585,15 Metropolitan Boktīšōʿ convinced Sabrīšōʿ to become the Bishop of Lashom. Sabrīšōʿ was famous for his monastic asceticism, and it is likely that his attachment to the tradition and spirituality of the Cross in Jerusalem was also fomented by his tenure as bishop of Lashom, fostered by his interaction with the Syriac Christian pilgrims who travelled to the Holy City – especially likely given that “Lashom was a rest stop for pilgrims to Jerusalem,”16; being part of the pilgrims’ map to Jerusalem, the location of Lashom probably made communication on theological and liturgical topics (especially themes from the pilgrim’s agenda) and other interference between the pilgrims and the local church possible, which did not go unnoticed to the bishop Sabrīšōʿ. All these could have maintained an influence and curiosity on this East Syriac bishop regarding the spiritual significance of Jerusalem as pilgrim’s purpose. According to Īšōʿyahb III letters (letter M-21) Sabrīšōʿ was ordained metropolitan of Beth Garmai by Mar Emmeh, “in the very sanctuary of the Cross of the Lord in Karka Seleucia.”17 Later on, Sabrīšōʿ succeeded Īšōʿyahb I on the patriarchal throne18; and with the support of the wife of Chosrau 14 Addai Scher (ed. and tr.), Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), seconde partie (II) (Patrologia Orientalis 7.2 [32]; Turnhout: Brepols, 1911), 486 [166]. 15 Chabot, Synodicon, 110 (syr.), 369 (fr.); 165 (syr.), 424 (fr.). 16 Marijke Metselaar, Defining Christ: The Church of the East and Nascent Islam (Late ­ Antique History and Religion, 19, Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 105. 17 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 260; Rubens Duval (ed. and tr.), Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III Liber epistularum (CSCO, ­ S. Syr. 11–12, ­ ​­ Louvain, 1904-195, ­ ​­ [repr. 1955]), 170–171 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 126 (lat.). ­ 18 See also Th. Nöldeke (tr.), Die von Guidi herausgegebene syrische Chronik: übersetzt und kommentiert (Sitzungsberichte der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien,

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  111 II, Šīrīn (a Christian herself)19 – Mar ​­ Sabrīšōʿ, the Bishop of Lashom, was elected as the new East Seleucia-Ctesiphon.20 This happened under the favourable circumstance of the imperial court in Seleucia-Ctesiphon with regard to Christianity in Persia, to which also had a role.21 After his election as head of the Church of the East, his fame quickly spread to the Byzantine Empire. According to the Chronicle of Seert, letters from Chosrau II were sent to Maurice in Byzantium, in which the Persian king told him about the Patriarch’s great virtues, “so that he made him have a great desire to see him.” Consequently, Maurice began to exchange letters with the new Catholicos Sabrīšōʿ, letters which, unfortunately, are now lost to us. Only one extant letter from Sabrīšōʿ, dated 596, remains, in which he granted special rights to a group of monasteries in Barquita.22 We do know, however, that Maurice requested an image of Sabrīšōʿ, as well as his cap: “He sent the master of his painters to Sabrīšōʿ, “the Patriarch of the Persian Lands”, “to paint his picture faithfully.”23 This gesture of painting the face of Sabrīšōʿ would appear to resonate with the Doctrine of Addai, wherein we know a reference is made to the gesture of Abgar who sent his painter out to immortalise an icon of Christ. Once again, this gesture seems to highlight the importance of Syriac church personalities to the broader Christian milieu, and underlines the impact their spiritual virtues had well beyond the borders of Persia. As expected, the Chronicle further presents the Patriarch’s humble reaction when the painter came to him and explains the Emperor’s intention to have an ­

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112  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land image made of him: at this, Sabrīšōʿ considered himself unworthy of the honour, but, through the mediation of the great King Chosrau II – who personally asked him to allow the painter to do this “for reasons of friendship between him and Maurice” – ultimately relented (though against his will). At last, an icon bearing the image of Sabrīšōʿ was painted for the Byzantine Emperor, which the painter returned to Constantinople where Maurice verified the accuracy of the portrait by cross-referencing people who had already seen the Patriarch first-hand.24According to the Chronicle of Seert, Maurice continued to write to Sabrīšōʿ and requested that the latter pray for him. He also asked Sabrīšōʿ to send him his patriarchal cap, that he may thus receive his blessing. The patriarchal cap was clearly very important to the emperor Maurice, who very likely viewed it as a sign of deep spirituality. Sabrīšōʿ handed his cap to the imperial messenger, who returned to Constantinople where the Byzantine Emperor, together with the leading figures of Byzantium, kissed the cap; he then “placed it in his reliquary with the bones of the saints.”25 Of great interest to us, however, is the fact that Sabrīšōʿ also asked for something from the Byzantine Emperor in return, a request that shows that the spiritual tradition of Jerusalem was ever-present in the minds of Syriac authorities. In return, Sabrīšōʿ requested a fragment of the True Cross (“a small piece of the Cross of Our Lord”), alongside the liberation of Christian captives seized by the Romans in Northern Iraq (at Arzoun, Bēth Zabdai, Bēth ʿArbāyē and Šigar). The Byzantine Emperor immediately responded to the Patriarch’s request, whereby he “fashioned a gold cross; encrusted it with precious stones; and there placed a piece of the cross of our Lord Christ […] and sent the cross and one of his clothes to Mar Sabrīšōʿ the Catholicos.”26 Sabrīšōʿ subsequently passed the cross on to Šīrīn and the Great King. Chosrau II took this fragment of the Cross, “because of his love for Šīrīn”, and “laid it with great respect on a piece of silk that he put on his lap.”27 However, in another letter Sabrīšōʿ asked Emperor Maurice whether he could send him a second piece of the True Cross particle for himself. Later, Sabrīšōʿ received Maurice’ ambassador, Marutha, who was amazed and embarrassed at the impressive ascetic life of Sabrīšōʿ.28 The latter offered the Byzantine envoy perfumes and gifts from India and China, honours meant to show how broad and far-reaching the East Syriac Church was, and how involved it was in its missionary work in the East.29

24 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 491–493 ­ ​­ [171–173], ­ ​­ 497 [177]; M. Tamcke, Der Katholikos­ ​ ­Patriarch Sabrīšōʿ (596– ­­ 604) ​­ und das Mönchtum (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang Verlag, 1988), 30. 25 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, ­492–493 ​­ [173]. 26 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, ­492–493 ​­ [173]. 27 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, ­492–493 ​­ [173]. Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, ­494–497 ​­ ­ ​­ ­ ​­ 28 [174–177]; Wood, The Chronicle of Seert, 191–192. ​­ 29 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 497 [177]; Tamcke, Der ­Katholikos-Patriarch Sabrīšōʿ, 31.

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  113 As a response to the delegation sent by Maurice to the Persian Empire in the person of Bishop Marutha, Chosrau II delegated Miles, the Bishop of Senna, as Ambassador to Emperor Maurice, entrusting him his letters to the Byzantine Emperor. The Catholicos also handed him letters destined for the Patriarch of Constantinople, this being both an attempt and an opportunity of establishing a deeper connection between the two opposing churches.30 The Chronicle of Seert notes that the delegates were received with honour, and upon their departure Maurice handed them another piece of “Our Lord’s Cross,” meant for the Patriarch Catholicos Sabrīšōʿ.31 As Wood observes, “Sabrīšōʿ ­ is also made a vehicle for a much closer diplomatic correspondence between Shah and Emperor.” This might express, an attempt of the Church of the East to accentuate and expand the “public affirmation of its orthodoxy in the eyes of the Romans.”32 This episode, which features Sabrīšōʿ, an East Syriac Patriarch from the end of 6th and beginning of 7th century, looks beyond the political context and demonstrates that the Cross of Christ in Jerusalem brought together Christians across different spaces and, in a way, erased the political limitations and demarcations that had arisen between the Syrians and the Byzantines. Even though the stories focus on hagiographic elements in order to highlight the virtues of the East Syriac Patriarch, the Holy Cross of Jerusalem remains a theme closely linked to the memory of Jerusalem in Syriac church traditions – as we will notice below when discussing the Persian Conquest of the Holy City and the subsequent period.

Syriac Literature on the Persian Conquest of Jerusalem and the Transfer of the True Cross to Persia and Its Restoration to the Holy City This chapter continues the discussion of the Holy Cross, its fall into the hands of the Persians at the time of the Persian Conquest of Jerusalem, and its transfer into the space of the Syriac Church. In this section we will analyse what the Syriac sources say about the Persian conquest of Jerusalem and their interception of the cross; we will then attempt to investigate the positions of some Persian aristocrats regarding this process of transfer, and try to reconstitute the Syriac Christian reactions aimed at maintaining the fragile equilibrium between non-Christian state politics and the liturgical convictions surrounding the veneration of the Cross between 614 and 630, a period in which, according to tradition, the Cross of Jerusalem was kept in Seleucia-Ctesiphon. In conclusion, we will provide a summary of the research opinions concerning the return of the Cross from the Syriac ecclesiastical space to Jerusalem. 30 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 497 [177]; H. Gismondi, (ed.), Maris Amri et Slibae, De Patriarchis Nestorianorum Commentaria ex Codicibus Vaticanis (Rome: C. de Luigi, 1897), 53. 31 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 497 [177]. 32 Wood, The Chronicle of Seert, 196.

114  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land According to tradition, Jerusalem was seized in 614 by the Persian general, Šāhrbarāz,33 and the True Cross was subsequently transferred to Ctesiphon. Because a number of similarities appear between the narratives, we will begin with the description found in Aṭ-Tabarī’s ​­ ̣ History of the Persians and Arabs at the Time of the Sasanids, which depicts the conquest of Jerusalem as a direct consequence of the murder of the Byzantine Emperor Maurice, an event that had significant consequences for the fate of the Holy City,34 a position which we also identify in the anonymous Syriac Chronicle of Khuzistan. This reaction of the author of Khuzistan chronicle is explained in the research as “probably prompted by his theological predilections, for Maurice was known to be more sympathetic towards East Syriacs than towards Syriac Orthodox.”35 About the capture of the cross during the Persian assault on the Holy City, ­Aṭ-Tabarī ​­ ̣ writes: Then he sent with him three of his commanders with large armies. The first was called Romiuzān; he was sent to Syria; he violently subjugated the land, reached Palestine, and came to Jerusalem. There, he made a compulsory procedure against the bishop, the priests and the rest of the Christians because of the Cross of Christ, which had been placed in a golden box and hidden in a garden by sowing vegetable herbs over it. But he tortured them so that they ultimately showed him the spot wherefrom he then dug it out with his own hands. Then he sent it to Chosrau in the 24th year of his reign.36 The 7th- century anonymous Syriac Chronicle of Khuzistan (also named Guidi’s Anonymous Chronicle, after the name of its discoverer and publisher), presents the event in a similar tone: 33 This was most probably the commander’s title and not his name. See al-Kaʿbi, A Short Chronicle, 50, n. 135. His name was probably ‘Farrukhan.’ See P. Wood, The Chronicle of Seert. Christian Historical Imagination in Late Antique Iraq (Oxford Early Christian Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 179, n. 10. Babai the Great records the appelation ‘Farrukhan’ as the representative of Chosrau II standing for the side of Gabriel of Shingar in the controversy of 612. Metselaar, Defining Christ, 211. For more see G.J. Reinink, “Babai the Great’s Life of George and the Propagation of Doctrine in the Late Sasanian Empire,” in Jan Willem Drijvers and John W. Watt (eds.), Portraits of Spiritual Authority: Religious Power in Early Christianity, Byzantium, and the Christian Orient (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World, vol. 137, Leiden: Brill, 1999), 171–194, esp. 179. 34 Theodor Nöldeke (tr.), ­ Geschichte der Perser und Araber zur Zeit der Sasaniden, aus der Arabischen Chronik des Tabari übers. und mit ausführlichen Erläuterungen und Ergänzungen (Leiden: Brill, 1879), 290. 35 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, xliv. 36 Nöldeke (tr.), ­ Geschichte der Perser, 291. According to Chronicon Paschale (ed. by L. Dindorf, Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae 15; Bonn: Weber, 1832), the capture of Jerusalem seems to have occurred in June 614, the end of the 24th year of Chosrau’s reign. The Pseudo-A rmenian history of Sebēos gives the date as the 25th year of Chosrau’s reign.

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  115 The Byzantines were destroyed before the Persians by divine power for they shed the innocent blood [dma zakhya] of Maurice the emperor [d­ ​ ­malka Muriqa] and his sons, and God left no hidden place that he did not indicate this to them. They showed them the wood of the Cross [qaysa ­d-zqifa], ​­ placed, hidden, in a vegetable garden. They [=the Persians] prepared many boxes and sent the wood of the Cross, along with many valuable vessels, to Chosrau.37 We may be right to assume that the Persians forced Patriarch Zacharias of Jerusalem to show them where the Cross was hidden. It is around this point that the figure of a certain Persian Christian named Yāzdīn, who likely belonged to the East Syriac Church, appears to have been very familiar with the tradition of the Holy Cross, now appears among the Persian influencers in Jerusalem. From his profile, we can form an impression of Syriac devotion and interest for the True Cross of Jerusalem in this period. ­ ​­ Yāzdīn of Karka d-Bēth Garmai (his origin) held an administrative office (tax- collector) during the reign of Chosrau II, and very likely orchestrated the event of the conquest. He and his family seem to have created “a very intimate relationship with King Chosrau II,”38 even if this ends tragically for his descendants. Most probably his competence in financial services of the kingdom pushed Yāzdīn into this position.39 However, if we look into Christian sources we find the name of Yāzdīn mentioned in monastic hagiographies as a founder of churches, with his ancestry going back to the ​­ ​­ 5th-century martyrs of Karka ­d-Bēth Slouq40 (modern Kirkuk, Iraq), when he rose to a powerful position as tax collector and governor of Adiabene and Bēth Garmai, both situated in Northern Iraq.41 It is claimed that one of his

37 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 52 (engl.), 53 (syr.); I. Guidi, Chronica minora, I (CSCO ­ ­1–2, ​­ t. 1–2, Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1955), 25 (syr.), 22 (lat.); Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, ­24–25. ​­ In the same tone, Pseudo-Sebeos’ account shows how, during the Persian conquest, the bishop and city officials hid the True Cross in a garden, claiming that the Persians tortured and made them reveal the hiding place. 38 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, xxxiv. 39 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, xxxv. 40 According to Īšōʿyahb III’s Letter XXI, Yāzdīn built a martyrion in Karka: see Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III Liber epistularum, ­170–171 ​­ (syr.), ­ 125–126 ­ ​­ (lat.). ­ 41 The Chronicle of Seert mentions Yāzdīn among the Christians in service to Chosrau II, granting him a special place as holding the second highest office after Mār Abā: “Chosrau ­ lui conféra une grande autorité et lui confia l’administration de toutes les provinces depuis Beith Garmaï jusqu’aux pays des Grecs.” Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 525 [207]. See also the correct finding of Al-Kaʿbi, A Short Chronicle, xxxvi: “Some Syriac sources do mention Yazdin, praising his position continuously, so it is possible that the detailed information used by the chronicler came from independent East Syriac sources.” See also J.-M. Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne, Contribution à l’étude de l’histoire et de la géographie ecclésiastiques et monastiques du nord de I’Iraq, vol. 3 (Recherches publiées sous la direction de l’lnstitut de lettres orientales de Beyrouth, 42, Beyrouth: Imprimerie catholique, 1968), 23–27.

116  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land ancestors was the martyr Petiōn himself. Allegedly, the synod of Barsauma in 484/485 was held in his house in Karka.42 This Yāzdīn, who appears to have been heavily involved in bringing the Holy Cross into Persia and preserving it in this space of Syriac Christianity, seems to have placed special significance on the worship of the Cross, as sources allege was true even before this event. In 604, in the context of Patriarch Sabrīšōʿ’s death, he attempted to take possession of the deceased prelate’s golden cross, which contained the piece of the True Cross that Sabrīšōʿ had received some years prior from the Byzantine Emperor Maurice as a gift. However, Yāzdīn could not obtain it: the Patriarch’s disciples jealously guarded that, according to his wishes, the cross should be placed in the monastery where the Patriarch was buried.43 Moreover, following his visit to Mār Bāwai of Izla at the monastery of Mār Abraham, Yāzdīn sent the monk a golden cross set with many precious stones containing a fragment of the True Cross, among other items, that he might adorn his convent.44 This again shows that, Yāzdīn, part of the Persian administration, venerated the Holy Cross of Jerusalem. More so than any other source, the Syriac Khuzistan Chronicle confirms Yāzdīn’s importance in the transfer of the Holy Cross to Persia. Likely due to Yāzdīn’s involvement in removing the cross to the Syriac space, the chronicle focuses on Syriac spirituality, and compares him with the great figures in the history of Christianity: He was for the church a defender [l-ʿidta ­ ​­ snaghra], like Constantine and Theodosius, and he built churches and monasteries in the whole world [w-bna ­ ​­ ʿidatha w-dayratha ­ ​­ b-ʿolma ­ ​­ kulah] - the type of heavenly Jerusalem [tufsa ­d-ureshlem ​­ d-ba-shmaya]. ­ ­​­­ ​­ Also, like Joseph in the eyes of Pharaoh, so was he loved by Chosrau  — even more! For this reason, he was famous in both empires of the Persians and of the Byzantines.45 Similarly, in the monastic chronicle of Thomas of Marga he is named with the epithet “the blessed Mār Yāzdīn” and is characterised as head or leading patron of Christians (“prince of believers”)46 which demonstrates that, in

42 J. B. Abbeloos, and T. J. Lamy (ed.), Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum, II (Paris / Louvain: Maisonneuve / Peeters, 1874), col. 71; see also J.S. Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis ­Clementino-Vaticana, ​­ III.I (Romae: Typis Sacrae Congregationis de Propaganda Fide, 1725), 392–393. ­ ​­ 43 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 504 [184]. 44 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 46 (engl.), 47 (syr.); Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 24 (syr.) 21 (lat.); ­ Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 23; see also J. Labourt, Le christianisme dans l’empire perse sous la dynastie sassanide (224– ­­ ​­623) (Paris: V. Lecoffre, 1904), 233. According to Chronicle of Seert, Yāzdīn donated three hundred dinars for the construction of a monastery. Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 473 [153]; Al-Kaʿbi, A Short Chronicle, 42, n. 120. 45 Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 23 (syr.) 21 (lat); Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 22. 46 E. A. Wallis Budge (ed.), The Book of Governors: The Historia Monastica of Thomas, Bishop of Margā A.D. 840, from Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum and Other Libraries,

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  117 making the Syriac area the resting place of the Cross of Jesus, Yāzdīn was also featured particularly prominently in the hagiographies and monastic literature of the time. His influence on the Persian king, combined with his reputation among Christians, allowed Yāzdīn to support his East Syriac brothers in this process of safeguarding the True Cross in a residence far removed from any intention of de-sacralisation. Yāzdīn was the one who received the True Cross and hastened to deliver the precious Christian relic to Chosrau II in a great ceremony, which shows that the Syrians were deeply attached to the cross and to the spiritual heritage of Jerusalem: “When they arrived to Yāzdīn, he made a great feast, and with the permission of the king, he took a piece of [the cross] and sent [the rest] to the king.”47 The festive reception of the holy wood can lead to an answer to the questions of what does the cross mean for the Persians and for Chosrau’s authority and power agenda. Payne talks about Chusrau’s effort “to mobilize Christian powers both heavenly and earthly” and “to incorporate previously Roman Christian institutions into Iran.”48 Of course, both the cross from Jerusalem as an element with high spiritual value and liturgical authority and the presence of the patriarch from the Holy City are two forces now under the authority of the Persian king. Probably the broad context of Yāzdīn’s promotion to an important administrative position and his delegation to administer this process of bringing the relic of the cross to Persia, an emblem of power, and “the sign of divine favor”49 is also part of Chosrau’s political agenda to be a master over all incorporated Christian culture best resumed and represented by the territory of Jerusalem. As stated in the research, receiving the cross by the Persian king not as a “conventional plunder” but rather as an act of honour towards a symbol of divine power and universal holiness, implies, as the Chronicle of Khuzistan proposes, an “legitimate transfer of the symbol of Christian political power to Chosrau.”50 Moreover, the transfer of the cross to the territory of the Persian king makes it enter the court ideology and provide an increased authority of worldly but also divine power, as Payne argues: “Once transferred

2 vols. (London: K. Paul Trench Trubner & Co., 1893), 47 (syr.), 81, 82 (engl.). In the same way is Yāzdīn mentioned in the Life of Ishoʿsabran as “Prince des fidèles” [head of the believers]. J.-B. Chabot, “Histoire de Jésus-Sabran, Écrite par Jésus-Yab d’Adiabène, publiée d’après le ms. syr. CLXI de la Bibliothèque Vaticane,” Nouvelles archives des missions scientifiques et littéraires 7 (1897), 485–584, esp. 490 (ch. 2); Metselaar, Defining Christ, 334; Payne, A State of Mixture, 184. 47 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 52 (engl.), 53 (syr.); Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 25 (syr.) 25 (lat); ­ Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 25. Peter Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom (Oxford: ­ Blackwell Publishing, 2003), 283; Labourt, Le christianisme, 232; J.-M. Fiey, “Les laics dans l’histoire de l’Église syrienne orientale,” ­Proche-Orient ​­ chrétien 14 (1964), ­ ­169–183, ​­ esp. 181. ­ 48 Payne, A State of Mixture, 179. 49 Payne, A State of Mixture, 179. 50 Payne, A State of Mixture, 180.

118  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land to Seleucia- Ctesiphon, the True Cross became an indispensable part of the court’s ideological tool kit, an incontrovertible sign that the Christian God and his saints were advocates of Ērānšahr.”51 In this framework, Yāzdīn appears as a protector of the holy places of Jerusalem, also in the context of a dearth in clerical authority within the Church of the East during the vacancy of the Patriarchal chair in Seleucia-Ctesiphon between 609 and 628.52 If we take a closer look at the Chronicle of Khuzistan, we see how it attempts to shed light on the deeds of people of Syriac confession in the context of safeguarding the Christian heritage of Jerusalem during the Persian conquest. In addition, we observe some clear anti-Jewish tendencies (most notably in naming the Jews “the sons of crucifiers”), tendencies visible also in the account of the Palestinian Monk Strategius, who as an eyewitness of the Persian conquest, narrated it in more details.53 According to the Chronicle of Khuzistan, when the Jews sought to destroy Constantine’s Church of the Resurrection by fire, Yāzdīn reported this development to Chosrau II who ordered the confiscation of Jewish property. What the chronicle tries to capture here is a transfer of the imperial authority that protected the holy places in Jerusalem from Byzantium (as it was concentrated in the person of Constantine who revitalised the Christian memory in the Holy City) to Persia through the Christian vocation of Yazdīn but also through Yazdīn’s position as the supreme authority over these conquered territories. From this “package of measures” as Payne calls them, we also see portrayed the attempt “to subordinate the Jews.”54 Moreover, it seems that the chronicle seems to leave the impression that is more than a subordination of Jews, even an expulsion of them from the city. Payne argues that the general picture outlined by the chronicle is that Chosrau

51 Payne, A State of Mixture, 180. The persian term “Ērānšahr” ­ stands for empire, and was attested in the titles of Ardashir, the founder of Sasanian empire. See R.N. Frye, “The Political History of Iran under the Sasanians,” in Ehsan Yarshater (ed.), Cambridge History of Iran, III/1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 116–180. 52 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 525 [207]: “Yazdin, le généreux et le verteux, dont la renommée s’étendait partout, en même temps que les largesses; il bâtit des églises et des couvents en Orient.” See also Payne, A State of Mixture, 186. 53 See ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, xliii: Similar in both tales is the negative portrayal of the Jews who collaborated with the Sasanian army, leading them to die Cross. Both tales claim that the Jews were the ones who destroyed the churches in the city and persecuted its Christian population. It may be that both the Chronicle and Antiochos share common sources of information […]. Comparing Antiochos Strategos and the Chronicle of Khuzistan, one can see that the report of the Palestinian monk is more complex in terms of an overall picture of the Persian conquest of the Holy City. However, the names of the protagonists of the conquest seem to be more accurate in the ancient Syriac Chronicle and the reason for that is the author’s access to documents from the archive of the Sasanian rulers. See A l-Kaʿbi, A Short Chronicle, xliv. Payne, A State of Mixture, 188. 54

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  119 potentiates and intensifies his actions in support of Christianity in the Holy City even more than the Byzantine emperors Constantine or Hadrian. Thus, we see here the reconfiguration of Christian ecclesial architecture in the Holy City against the Jews, this time not with Byzantine but with Persian support (with Chosrau patronising the Holy City as the Byzantine emperors did before) as the chronicle indicates. At the same time, the Persian King is portrayed to have offered the model of inspiration for Heraclius in 680 in expelling the Jews from Jerusalem.55 Here, the report is quite interesting as the chronicle also mentions a theme of Syriac identity: the discovery of the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea  – a tomb which was later taken on by Syriac Orthodox Christians and placed in the so- called “Syrian Chapel” at the Holy Sepulchre, sometimes called the Tomb of Joseph of Arimathea: In that fire, the sanctuary of the church of the Resurrection [haykla ­d-​ ­beth qyamta], which was built by Constantine and Helena and decorated with unparalleled marble and mosaics, was destroyed. Also, the sons of the crucifiers came to the Persian commander and said to him: ‘Behold! All the treasures of gold and silver ofJemsalem are underneath the tomb of Jesus.’ They schemed so as destroy the site of the tomb. He gave them permission and they dug three cubits around it, and found a coffin on which it was inscribed ‘This is the coffin [d-hana ­ ​­ gurna ithaw] of Joseph the senator [d-yawsep ­ buluta] who gave his tomb for the body of Jesus [hu ­d-yhab ​­ qabra l-faghreh ­ ​­ d-yeshuʿ].’ When the commander heard of the scheme of the Jews, he brutally expelled them.56 The chronicle further emphasises noble Yāzdīn’s dedication to the restoration of Christian infrastructure in Jerusalem; with the permission of the Persian king, he bequeathed a large sum of money to rebuild churches in the Holy City.57 An important feature in the general historiography of the Persian conquest of Jerusalem is the Byzantine Patriarch of Jerusalem, Zacharias, who seems also to have been taken to Persia in captivity,58 a detail omitted by the 55 See Payne, A State of Mixture, 184. See also Payne, A State of Mixture, 185: “Like Constantine and Justinian, Chosrau II aimed to leave his mark on the city, whose imperial symbolism he had harnessed to Ērānšahr.” 56 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 56 (engl.), 57 (syr.); Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 26 (syr.), 23 (lat.); ­ Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 26. In the next lines, the Chronicle even states that: “As for the body of Joseph, before his death he had ordered that his body be buried beside the tomb of our Lord.” Al-Kaʿbi, A Short Chronicle, 56 (engl.), 57 (syr.); Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 27 (syr.), 23 (lat.); Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 26–27. ­ ​­ 57 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 56 (engl.), 57 (syr.); I. Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 27 (syr.), 23 (lat.); ­ Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 27; I. Guidi, Un nuovo testo Siriaco, sulla storia degli Ultimi Sassanidi (Leiden: Brill, 1891), 17, 22. 58 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 50, n. 139; Payne, A State of Mixture, 179.

120  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land Syriac reports but covered by the Greek and Armenian sources. According to the Palestinian Monk Strategius, Patriarch Zacharias left the city of Jerusalem bearing a similar regret to Adam having left Paradise. While Christ came to Golgotha, Zacharias in turn departed from Golgotha.59 ­Pseudo-​ Sebeos’ Armenian Chronicle points out that the leader of the Church in Jerusalem, Zacharias, was treated with respect during his exile, and was even invited to a local synod: a document contained in Pseudo-Sebeos, the letter of Nerses (the Catholicos Patriarch of Armenia) and the bishops gathered at Dvin, addressed to Emperor Constans II in 648, makes reference to a council that Chosrau II is claimed to have held at the Persian royal court: Furthermore, Chosrau, after the capture of Jerusalem, commanded all the bishops of the regions of the East and of Asorestan to gather at the royal court, and said: ‘I hear that there are two sides to the Christians, and that one excommunicates the other because they do no reckon him righteous. So, let them gather in unison at the royal court, in order that they may confirm what is orthodox and reject what is erroneous.’60 […] In captivity, there was also Zacharias, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, and many other philosophers whom had been taken captive from the city of Alexandria. These king Chosrau commanded to elucidate [the matter] justly, and to inform the king of the truth.61 The Chronicle’s record further states: “Then, he ordered Zacharias, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, and the philosophers from the city of Alexandria, to be questioned, so that they might declare the truth with an oath.” One could argue that the author here refers to the assembly of bishops at Chosrau’s court in 612, summoned for a debate between East and West Syrians; however this event is too early to corroborate, given that the conquest of Jerusalem took place in 614 and the transfer of the True Cross and of the captive Patriarch to Persia succeeded this period.62 Moreover, Strategius states that Zacharias was active during his captivity in Persia, mentioning that he successfully cured the queen’s infertility.63 This perspective is absent

59 F. Conybeare (tr.), “Antiochus Strategos’ account of the sack of Jerusalem (614),” English Historical Review 25 (1910), 506–517, esp. 509. See also B. Flusin, Saint Anastase le Perse et L’Historire de la Palestine au début du VIIe siècle, II: Commentaire, Les Moines de Jérusalem et l’invasion perse (Paris: Éd. du CNRS, 1992), 164–165. 60 For the topic of the debates see A. Cameron, “Disputations, Polemical Literature and the Formation of Opinion in the early Byzantine period,” in A. Cameron (ed.), Changing Cultures in Early Byzantium (Aldershot: Variorum Reprints, 1996), 91–108. 61 R.W. Thomson (tr.), The Armenian History Attributed to Sebeos, I (Translated Texts for Historians, 31; Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1999), 115. The entire chapter on the synod at the court of Chosrau II can be found among pages 115–119. 62 For the synod, see Chabot, Synodicon, ­562–580 ​­ (syr.), ­ ­580–598 ​­ (fr.); ­ Braun, Synhados, ­307–331. ​­ 63 Conybeare, “Antiochus ­ Strategos’ account,” 512–514. ­ ​­

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  121 from Syriac sources, which is understandable since their focus was to cast Syriac Christianity, and not the Byzantine Church, in as positive a light as possible. This entry into the scene of Zacharias seen in Strategius or Sebeos can be understood as Payne proposes both as a translation of the of power’s symbolic and the translation of religious spiritual concentration embodied in the holiness of the cross, and the holy men in the type of Zacharias.64 Similarities are evident in the chronicles regarding the place where the True Cross was stored. Chronicle of Khuzistan states: “The king placed it, as sign of respect, with the vessels of the sanctuary in the new treasury which he built in Ctesiphon.”65 As mentioned above, Chosrau’s measures through his delegate Yāzdīn, aiming to have effect in creating more compatibility between his power and Christianity by the transfer of the relic and the implemented measures for churches in Jerusalem, should be probably understood in the perspective that the chronicle wants to propagate the image of the storage of the cross in the royal treasury as a sign of Chusrau’s respect for the Christian liturgical patrimony of Jerusalem. This perspective of the source can be summarised as “an exercise of the function of a Christian emperor”66 to legitimise his rulership over the local and universal Christians. Flusin asserts that the Holy Cross was preserved not in Chosrau’s treasury in Ctesiphon, but in the palace of a royal spouse.67 This information also comes from the Greek and Arabic sources. Strategios mentions that a “Nestorian” woman took Patriarch Zacharias to his palace together with other captives, and provided them everything they needed; she also deposited the True Cross there.68 The Annals of Eutychius of Alexandria assumes that this woman was not Šīrīn, but rather Maryam, the daughter of Maurice. A short narrative of these two wives of Chosrau appear also in Chronicle of Khuzistan in a later part which speculates that is a later addition.69 Two wives of Chosrau were also mentioned in the Chronicle of Seert, but without any reference to the fact that one of them might have stored the Holy Cross of Jerusalem in her palace. Šīrīn,70 Chosrau’s wife, was a devout 64 Payne, A State of Mixture, 178: There is a hint here of what Roman authors generally either ignored or suppressed: the translation to Iran not only of the symbols of Christian Roman power but also of the supernatural support of the Christian God and his saints, which relics, holy men, and holy places now in Iranian hands were believed to mediate. Strategius had to demonstrate that the power of the cross resided with the holy man Zachariah, not with the ‘evil king.’ 65 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 52 (engl.), 53 (syr.); Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 25 (syr.), 22 (lat.); ­ Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 25. 66 Payne, A State of Mixture, 188. 67 See Flusin, Saint Anastase le Perse, II, 170. 68 Conybeare, “Antiochus Strategos’ account,” 513. 69 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, xli. 70 See ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 52, n. 143. On Šīrīn, see Thomson, The Armenian History Attributed to Sebeos, II, 174; Labourt, Le christianisme, ­214–216. ​­ Payne, A State of Mixture, 178, considers Šīrīn as that to whom the cross was conferred and who stored it in a royal palace.

122  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land adherent of the West Syriac Church, and a practician of making devotions to the Holy Wood. Within the Chronicle of Seert, both Šīrīn and Maryam71 (Maurice’ daughter) are mentioned in the context of the life of the East Syriac Patriarch Sabrīš ōʿ as confidantes to the head of the East Syriac Church in Seleucia- Ctesiphon. Similar to the Chronicle of Seert, the Syriac Chronicle of Khuzistan pinpoints their origin by saying that Sabrīšōʿ was highly honoured by both Christian women of the king [tarten nashaw khristyane]: Šīrīn the Aramaean (the Syrian) [Shirin aramayta] and Maryam the Byzantine [w-men ­ ​­ Maryam rumayta].72 We have already introduced the issue of the partnership between Maurice and Chosrau in the chapter on Patriarch Sabrīšōʿ. The research discusses the hypothesis of an “adoptio per arma,”which allegedly led to the Christian conversion and baptism of Chosrau. For Byzantium, it was its stated imperial policy to convert Persia to Chalcedonian Christianity. Chosrau required outside support in order to gain power in Persia, and later on this “adoption” would also allow him to claim that he was heir to the Byzantine throne, having to defend it against usurpers or other rivals.73 There are also other opinions in the research related to the potential link between Byzantium and Persia at that time, that “the tale of this diplomatic marriage” should be understood as “part of Sasanian propaganda to hide the humiliating concessions giving up vast lands to Byzantium – lands considered vital for the Sasanian Empire.”74 The Christian tradition of the Holy Cross and the perception among Syrians of this relic of Christianity can be discussed on what we know about Šīrīn from Christian chronicles. She manifested devotion for the Holy Cross, as we have seen in the context of Sabrīšōʿ’s life when a piece of the True Cross gifted to the East Syriac Patriarch by Emperor Maurice finally made its way into Sabrīšōʿ’s hands, given that Chosrau was aware about Šīrīn’s reverence for the Holy Wood.75 However, considering the context in which Byzantine and Arab sources speak of “a woman” as the one who deposited the cross, it is equally plausible that Chosrau’s wife of Byzantine origin, Maryam, herself worshiped the Holy Cross. Irrespective of whether either Šīrīn or Maryam was the keeper of the Cross, it was no less evident that the Syrians themselves were attached to the holy relic, which reminded them of Jerusalem’s paramount importance for Christianity and which now

71 On Maryam, see Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser, 274–275; Alexander Markus Schilling, Die Anbetung der Magier und die Taufe der Sāsāniden. Zur Geistesgeschichte des iranischen Christentums in der Spätantike (CSCO 621, subs. 120; Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 243–244. 72 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 16 (engl.), 17 (syr.); Guidi, Chronica minora, I, 17 (syr.), 16 (lat.); ­ Nöldeke, Die von Guidi, 10. 73 See Schilling, Die Anbetung der Magier, ­302–304. ​­ 74 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, xl. 75 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 493 [173], 497 [177].

The Symbol of the Holy Wood of Jerusalem  123 made them into the keepers of Christian truth by virtue of safeguarding the holiest relic of Christianity in their space. A final topic focuses on the available documentary evidence surrounding the return of the True Cross from Persia to Jerusalem.76 Several Greek sources mention a Syriac bishop named Elijah as the messenger who brought the Cross back into the Byzantine space. These sources claim that in 628, Īšōʿyahb II sent the bishop Elijah to Jerusalem as a Persian envoy, who brought an “entirely orthodox”77 letter to the emperor and to the Chalcedonian Patriarch of Jerusalem, Modestus. Although this bishop is not mentioned in the majority of Syriac sources, there is however one instance linked to this claim, mentioned in a certain Syriac chronicle which claims that shortly before 630 there was a meeting between Īšōʿyahb II of Gdala (628– 645) and the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius. Leading up to this episode, the Chronicle of Seert attempts to familiarise the reader with the fact that such interactions  – where the East Syriac Patriarchs or bishops were sent to the Byzantines as envoys of the Persian Emperor – were not new, as the chronicle underpins this theory on no less than three occasions: Yahballāhā was sent by Yazdgerd to the embassy of Theodosius the Young; Aqāq was sent by Miles to Emperor Zenon; and Paul, the Metropolitan of Nisibis, was commissioned by Chosrau himself to meet Justinian.78 This particular embassy of East Syriac bishops, led by Īšōʿyahb II, travelled to Heraclius as messengers of the Persian king, “bearing,” as Thomas of Marga writes, “his letters and greetings,” and forgetting “all discord and enmity.”79 The Byzantines in turn received them, “as if they had been the angels of God.”80 Both Thomas of Marga’s narrative and the Chronicle of Seert’s account of this event are interwoven with some elements whose historicity is more or less contested81; be that as it may, we cannot rule out the possibility that either this embassy or otherwise Elijah’s delegation ultimately led to the return of the Holy Cross to Jerusalem in 630.82 However, other sources support the hypothesis that it was the Persian general Šāhrbarāz himself who returned the Wood to the Holy City, so that the restoration is more likely attributed to the ruling time of Šāhrbarāz of his regency.83 This position is largely adopted also by the Khuzistan chronicle: 76 On the return of the True Cross see also Y. Stoyanov, Defenders and Enemies of the True Cross: The Sasanian Conquest of Jerusalem in 614 and Byzantine Ideology of Anti-Persian Warfare (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Sitzungsberichte 819, Vienna, 2011), 67– 69. 77 B. Flusin, Saint Anastase le Perse et l’histoire de la Palestine au debut du VIIe siècle, I: Les Textes (Paris: Éd. du CNRS, 1992), 100 (fr.), 101 (gr.). 78 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 557 [237]. 79 Budge, Book of Governors, ­69–70 ​­ (syr.), ­ 125 (engl.). ­ 80 Budge, Book of Governors, 70 (syr.), 127 (engl.). 81 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 559–560 ­ ​­ [239–240]. ­ ​­ ­ ​­ 82 Flusin, Saint Anastase le Perse, II, 322–323. 83 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ ­ ​­ A Short Chronicle, 72 (engl.), n. 187. Metselaar, Defining Christ, 211–212.

124  The Beginnings of Syriac Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land He freed the Byzantines who came with him and they went to Heraclius while he sent with them for Heraclius the wood of the dominical Cross that was brought ficom Jerusalem and that was placed in the Persian treasury, with many gifts that cannot be numbered.84 The Chronicle of ʿAmr opines that Šāhrbarāz promised to return the True Cross during his meeting with the Byzantine Emperor in July 629,85 given that the Elevation of the Cross took place in Jerusalem on September 14th, 629. In the same perspective, it is worth noting Assemani’s statement, that at that very time a “Nestorian” (East Syrian) wrote a mēmrā about the feast of the elevation of the True Cross.86 As we have shown in the previous section, the Elevation of the Cross was already an intrinsic part of Church theology even before this event – and to this end we turn to a piece of evidence coming from the sister, West Syriac tradition, namely the XXXIst Homily of Severus of Antioch. What Assemani is more likely attempting to highlight in this instance is the fact that the Cross’ sojourn into the East Syriac Christian space also quickened the incorporation of this motif of the Cross into Syriac literature and, consequently, its much faster accession to the liturgical canon. We can thus reasonably conclude that there were notable interferences between Syriac Christians and Jerusalem during the period when the cross was brought to Ctesiphon following the Persian conquest of the Holy City. Christian nobles active in the imperial administration personally facilitated the safeguarding of relic and other sacred items brought from the Holy City. They were also probably highly influential in supporting the Christian tradition in Jerusalem through the rebuilding of local churches. At the very least, this is the impression that the Syriac sources wish to convey to the reader. However, even if the actual facts on the ground would have painted a somehow divergent picture, this broad intention of Syriac sources denotes a reflection and a less fractured connection of the Syriac literary heritage to the memory and tradition of the sanctity of Jerusalem as a patrimony of Christianity as a whole. The coming of the True Cross to their homeland would have probably influenced the Syriac devotion to the Cross and its liturgical reception, and bolstered at least one of the marks of this cultural dialogue between Jerusalem and the Syriac Christians, namely the continuity of Syriac pilgrimage to the Holy City as an ongoing phenomenon.

84 ­Al-Kaʿbi, ​­ A Short Chronicle, 72 (engl.), 73 (syr.). 85 Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser, 387. Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis, III.I, 96. 86

Part II

Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine following the Islamic Conquest of Jerusalem (638–639)

1

Syriac Sources and the Muslim Conquest of Jerusalem Myths and Compilations in Syriac Sources

In our endeavour to reconstruct a picture of Jerusalem in Syriac Christianity, we should pay attention to what the chronicle said about events that shaped in one or another way the holy city. The Syriac chronicles are concise in describing the Muslim conquest of the Holy City (637– 638). Despite reasonable expectations, the Syriac authors fail to provide details about the changes occurring in the Holy City, or about the communities participating in this event that deeply shaped the future of Jerusalem. In the same vein, they are also very brief in discussing the Jews who dominated the culture of the Holy City, as Judaism was considered peripheral to their hagiographic descriptions. Another issue worth pursuing is the position or side that the Jews took in the encounters between Christians and Muslims; but, as we will see, the Syriac Christian authors remain reticent in recording these changes occurring in Jerusalem, and even tighter-lipped about the Jewish community of the Holy City. As Amikam Elad rightly opines: “The picture that can be pieced together of the Arab conquest of Jerusalem remains vague; a comprehensive research on the conquest of the city, based on both Arabic and Christian sources, is still called for.”1 We should notice from the very beginning, that a stark difference between the First and the Second Muslim conquest of the Holy City is apparent and this lies in the predominantly peaceful manner in which the first occurred, in comparison with the second. It would appear that the Syriac chronicles are only interested in remembering some dates of Islamic building policy in Jerusalem, along with some other minor details. In his 11th century chronicle, the East Syriac author Elias of Nisibis noted that in 638 corresponding to the 17th year of Hiğra, ʿŪmār came to Jerusalem, where he was enthroned as king [w-ʿal ­ ​­ l-hu ­ ​­ amlekh boh]. The Caliph built a mosque [w-bna ­ ​­ masghda] in the Holy City at the site of King Solomon’s Temple [b-dukath ­ ​­ haykla d-shlaymun ­ ​­

1 Amikam Elad, Medieval Jerusalem and Islamic Workship: Holy Places, Ceremonies, Pilgrimages (Leiden, Boston, MA, Köln: Brill, 1999), 34.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-12

128  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine malka]. He stayed in Jerusalem for ten days, and established Muʿāwiya as governor of the city [bar Abusifyan shalita].2 In this statement, we can see the typical manner of Syriac authors in understanding the rulership change in Jerusalem: they recognise the Muslims as the new overlords. This makes clear why Elias opted to include an issue expressing a form of power, namely the ‘royal’ authority held by ʿŪmār. In an environment dominated by Muslim society, Elias consciously erases the boundary between political power and the Muslim religion from his perception, both of which are embodied in the character of ʿŪmār. A similar picture of establishing Muslim authority in Jerusalem is reflected in the case of Muʿāwiya’s portrayal in an early Christian source, the Maronite Anonymous Syriac Chronicle from the 7th century. While its author was not very familiar with Islam (living in the very early period of Islam), he nevertheless underlines that Muʿāwiya was invested as a “king” in Jerusalem, where many Muslims gathered [ethkhnashu tayyaye sagaye] and made him King ­ ​­ [w-ʿabduhi malka].3 Interestingly, both sources speak of forms of political power (ʿŪmār’s and Muʿāwiya’s royalty, which was invested not in a traditional Muslim setting such as Mecca, but rather in Jerusalem). On this issue, neither of the chronicles speaks of any new Caliphates, but rather both make mention of Kings of Islam proclaimed in the Holy City of Jerusalem. Whether Jerusalem was central at the time of the Islamic conquest or not, it is nevertheless clear that Syriac chroniclers perceived it as such. In addition, upon closer inspection the Maronite Chronicle goes even further, adding that after his anointment as Caliph (which also occurred in Jerusalem), Muʿāwiya “went to the holy places in Jerusalem where he prostrated on Golgotha, in Gethsemane and ­ ​­ then at the tomb of the blessed Mary [qabroh d-tubanitha maryam] where he again prayed.”4 It is likely that the author wishes to highlight the broad influence of the Christian practice of pilgrimage, together with the liturgical rituals of the Holy City, both of which are seen to have influenced the Muslim understanding of holiness.

2 E.W. Brooks (ed.), Eliae Metropolitae Nisibeni, Opus Chronologicum, I (CSCO, ­ Vol. ­62–63, ​­ Scriptores Syri 21–23, Louvain: Imprimerie Orientaliste L. Durbecq, 1954), 132–133 (syr.), 64 (lat.); ­ L.-J. ​­ Delaporte (ed.), ­ La chronographie d’Élie bar-Šinaya, métropolitain de Nisibe (Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études 181, Paris: Librairie Honoré Champion, 1910), 83 (fr.). ­ 3 Theodor Nöldeke (ed.), “Zur Geschichte der Araber im 1. Jahrh. d. H. aus syrischen Quellen,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 29 (1875), ­ 76–98, ­ ​­ esp.  ­ 90 (syr.), ­ 95 (germ.). ­ 4 Nöldeke, “Zur Geschichte der Araber,” 90 (syr.), 95 (germ.). See also W. Hage, Die syrisch­ ​ jakobitische Kirche in frühislamischer Zeit ( Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966), 70, n. 96. Hage, p. 70 also notes: “Die großen Kultstätten der Christen verehrten auch die Muslime, die sich außerdem gerne ihrer Klöster als Rastorte und Hospitäler bedienten.”

Myths and Compilations in Syriac Sources  129 When looking at later chronicles, for example at the Universal Syriac Chronicle penned by the West Syriac Patriarch of Antioch, Michael the Great (1166–1199), a work that covers events from Creation until AD 1195, we can regard some mentions of the protection agreement entered into by Caliph ʿŪmār and Sophronius not only on the behalf of people of Jerusalem, but “of the whole land.” This extension of authority shows that, to a certain extent, Michael the Syrian recognised the authority of the Byzantine Patriarch in the Holy Land. Michael himself was a Patriarch who tried to engage in dialogue with the Byzantines, and had interacted with the Latins from Jerusalem as well, but this will be discussed in later sections. This description of the dialogue between ʿŪmār and Sophronius proves that the author also includes in his report elements that allude to imperial power. We mentioned above that the Maronite Anonymous Syriac Chronicle indicates the coronation of Muʿāwiya as King in the Holy City, and that Elias of Nisibis spoke of the fact that ʿŪmār was enthroned as the king in Jerusalem. Conversely, in Michael’s chronicle – and also the Anonymous Chronicle of 1234 – we inspect another motif of political authority shown in the gesture of a ‘practical’ diplomacy symbolised in the new dress or garment which Sophronius offers to ʿŪmār when the latter enters Jerusalem; ʿŪmār explained that he accepted Sophronius’ garment only because the Caliph desired to honour the Christian leader of the Holy City.5 The robe could be interpreted as an emblem or symbol of power, and the Syriac authors appear to have been partial to such clichés that drew their readers’ attention to the reality that Muslims were indeed the new rulers of Jerusalem. It would thus appear that the Syriac chronicles do not address the question of what was happening in Jerusalem, but rather focus on the question of who the new masters of the Holy City actually were. In order to paint a more comprehensive picture of the Muslim conquest of the Holy Land, we can additionally compare the report with that from a certain Arabic chronicle and attempt to demonstrate that its account replaces the character of Patriarch Sophronius with that of a Jew. In a different vein to the Syriac authors, the Muslim historian Al-Tabarī ̣ (9th century), does not avoid from also including Jewish characters in the context of the Muslims’ arrival in the Holy City. On the contrary, his narrative highlights the character of a Jew who, as A l-Tabarī ̣ notes, prophesied ʿŪmār’s success

5 J.-B. ​­ Chabot (ed.), ­ Chronique de Michel le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166– 1199), ­ Vol. II (Paris: Ernest Leroux Éditeur, 1901), 425– 426; Robert H. Hoyland (ed.), Theophilus of Edessa’s Chronicle and the Circulation of Historical Knowledge in Late Antiquity and Early Islam (translated Texts for Historians Series 57, Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2011), 116–117. ­ ​­ J.-B. ​­ Chabot (ed.), ­ Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon ad Annum Christi 1234 pertinens, I: Chronicon Anonymum AD A.D. 819 pertinens (CSCO, Scriptores Syri, Tomus XIV, Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1937), 254–255 (syr.); 199 (lat.).

130  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine in conquering Jerusalem.6 ­Al-Tabarī ​­ ̣ reports that ʿŪmār made peace with the inhabitants of the Holy City, but he avoids mentioning the Byzantine Patriarch as having been the representative of the Christian community of Jerusalem. Instead, ­Al-Tabarī ​­ ̣ presents a Jew by the name of Kaʿb7 as the one who witnessed the peace treaty ratified by the Caliph and the residents of the Holy City.8 This Jew would later make a second appearance in scene of ʿŪmār’s presence in Jerusalem. A l-Tabarī ̣ places great emphasis on ʿŪmār’s liturgical outreach in Jerusalem, recounting that the caliph spent the night in prayer at David’s miḥrāb, and in the early morning he also led the prayer, and thereafter he ordered that [Kaʿb] be brought to him.9 The Caliph engages in a lengthy dialogue with Kaʿb the Jew, a discussion replete with other fictional embellishments of the beginnings of sacred Islamic in­ frastructure in Jerusalem, with the accent on with the issue of qibla (the direction of prayer). At ʿŪmār’s question of what the direction of prayer 6 Yohanan Friedmann (tr.), The History of Al-Ṭabari (Ta’rīkh ­ ­al-rusul ​­ wa’ ­l-mulūk), ​­ vol. XII, The Battle of al-Qādisiyyah ­ ​­ and the Conquest of Syria and Palestine (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), 189 [2403]. 7 According to tradition, Kaʿb al-Ahbār ­ ​­ ̣ was a Jew who converted to Islam, most likely during Abu Bakr’s Caliphate. From the 9th century Muslim historian ­al-Balādhurī’s ​­ Ansāb ­al-Ashrāf ​­ (Genealogy of the Nobles) and his Kitāb Futūh ­al-buldān ​­ (The Origins of the Islamic State), we know that the Jewish presence in the Arabian Gulf was fairly sizeable and quite influential during Abu Bakr’s time. See P.K. Hitti (tr.), Al-Imâm abu-l ʿAbbâs Ahmad ­ibn-Jâbir ​­ ­Al-Balādurī, ​­ Kitâb Futûh ̣ ­Al-Buldân, ​­ The Origins of the Islamic State, vol. I ( New York: Ams Press, 1916), 102, 106, 114–115, 121–122. Kaʿb the Jew seems to have accompanied ʿŪmār to Syria and Palestine during the latter’s military campaigns, after which he retired to Emesa (Hims) where he died before the great fitna (civil war) that followed the assassination of Caliph Uthman ibn Affan in 656. See John C. Reeves, “Jewish Apocalyptic Lore in Early Islam,” in John Ashton (ed.), Revealed Wisdom: Studies in Apocalyptic in Honour of Christopher Rowland (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 88, Leiden: Brill, 2014), 200–217, esp. 203. Different stories have circulated about Kaʿb’s conversion and his recognition of Muhammad as prophet. Moshe Perlmann, “A Legendary Story of Kaʿb Al-Ahbar’s Conversion to Islam,” in The Joshua Starr Memorial Volume: Studies in History and Philology ( New York: Conference on Jewish Relations, 1953), ­85–99; ​­ Moshe Perlmann, “Another ­ Kaʿb ­al-Aḥbār ​­ Story,” The Jewish Quarterly Review ­ ­48–58. ​­ 45.1 (1954), 8 Friedmann, The History of Al-Ṭabari, 190 [2403]. Although the Jew bears witness to the peace agreement, the text itself makes only one reference to the Jewish community who, according to Al-Tabarī, ­ ​­ ̣ were not allowed to live inside the Holy City, probably a consequence and at the same time a continuation of Byzantine Emperor Heraclius’ policy enshrined after the Byzantines regained possession of the Holy City upon the end of Persian rule. The Jews were driven out of the city by the Byzantine Emperor, as confirmed by Theophanes, Chronographia, A.M. 6020, ed. C. de Boor (Leipzig, 1883, reprint, Stuttgart, 1972), 328; see also Alois Grillmeier, Theresia Hainthaler, Christ in Christian Tradition, vol. 2.3 (The Church of Jerusalem and Antioch from 451 to 600) with contribution by Tanios Bou Mansour, Luise Abramowski (translated by Marianne Ehrhardt, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013); German text: Jesus der Christus im Glauben der Kirche, Vol. 2.3: Die Kirchen von Jerusalem und Antiochien nach 451 bis 600 (Freiburg im Breisgau / Basel / Vienna: Herder, 2002), 5. ­ ​­ 9 Friedmann, The History of Al-Ṭabari, 194 [2405–2406].

Myths and Compilations in Syriac Sources  131 should be for the mosque the Caliph intended to erect in the Holy City, the Jew suggests that this should be towards the Rock.10 It would appear that the author consciously inserted the character of the Jew instead of that of the Christian Patriarch into this framework with the intention of presenting a historical account more favourable to Islam, and probably to present the Jewish people as superior to Christians (the competitors to Muslims in AlTabarī’s ­ ̣ general worldview). However, the Syriac sources make no mention of the presence of a Jewish adviser among ʿŪmār’s suite in Jerusalem. Although the Syriac authors shared the same space with Muslim intellectuals and chroniclers, and thus their historical knowledge would often have overlapped and intersected, the Syriac chronicles remain faithful to simpler Christian texts documenting the conquest of Islam, such as those penned by Arab Christians or by Byzantines. A comparative example comes from the Annals of Eutychius of ­ ̣ Alexandria (Saʿid ibn Batrīq in Arabic), a contemporary of Al-Tabarī. In his report, Eutychius’ portrays a Christian Patriarch, Sophronius of Jerusalem, ̣ as ʿŪmār’s dialogue partner, instead of a Jew as was the case in Al-Tabarī’s history. ʿŪmār offered Sophronius a treaty of protection,11 and asked him to give the Caliph a place to build a masğed (mosque), whereupon Sophronius offered him the Rock.12 A similar perspective to Eutychius’ can be traced to another Christian Arabic source, the history of Agapius of Mabug from the same period. Although Agapius’s account is very brief, of interest is the fact that the author brings into discussion the banishment of Jews from the Holy City following its Muslim capture.13 Agapius mentions ʿŪmār’s order to have a mosque built for Muslim prayer at the site of the Temple of Solomon.14 He notes that ʿŪmār entered the great temple which Solomon, son of David, had built, and ordered the establishment of a mosque for Muslims to pray 10 Friedmann, The History of Al-Ṭabari, 194–195 [2408]. For the the dialogue between ʿŪmār and Kaʿb the Jew on the topic of the position of the mihrab, see Heribert Busse, “Tempel, Grabeskirche ­ und Haram aš-šarīf, ­ ​­ drei Heiligtümer und ihre gegenseitigen Beziehungen in Legende und Wirklichkeit,” in Heribert Busse, Georg Kretschmar (eds.), Jerusalemer Heiligtumstraditionen in altkirchlicher und frühislamischer Zeit (Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästinavereins, Deutscher Verein zur Erforschung Palästinas 8; Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz Verlag, 1987), 1–27, esp. 6. ʿŪmār and the Islamic tradition (Qurʿan, Surah 2, 142–145) espoused the belief that the mihrab needed to be set up on the south side of the Haram, so that the worshippers had the rock behind them. However, Kaʿb is said to have suggested that the mosque (seen from Mecca) should be placed behind the holy rock. 11 M. Breydy (ed. and tr.), Das Annalenwerk des Eutychios von Alexandrien; ausgewählte Geschichten und Legenden kompiliert von Said ibn Batriq um 935 AD (CSCO ­ vol. ­471–472, ​­ Louvain: Peeters, 1985), 139 (ar.), 119 (germ.). 12 Breydy, Das Annalenwerk des Eutychios, ­139–140 ​­ (ar.), ­ 119 (germ.). ­ 13 See M.J. de Goeje, Mémoire sur la conquéte de la Syrie, 2nd edition (Leiden: Brill, 1900), ­152–154. ​­ 14 See A. Vasiliev (ed.), Agapius (Mahboub), Histoire Universelle, (Kitab Al-ʿUnvan), II (Patrologia Orientalis, Tome 8, Fasc. 1–5, No. 36– 40, Turnhout: Brepols, 1982), 475 [215].

132  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine in.15 Eutychius also attributes the construction of a mosque to ʿŪmār, but his account is replete obviously with legendary details.16 The Chronicle of Seert, from the 11th century, makes the same statement, that ʿŪmār had ordered the establishment of a mosque at the site of the tomb of Solomon.17 Syriac sources took on this information, with Michael the Syrian stating that a mosque was built in the 15th year of the Hiğra on the place of the temple of Solomon.18 Similarly, Bar Hebraeus’ Chronography (13th century) mentions the construction of a masğid (mosque) by ʿŪmār in Jerusalem.19 Such concise snippets of information seem to lend credence to the idea of extensive borrowing of dates and events from one source to the next  – a common practice for later authors to take inspiration from their earlier counterparts and include all important historiographical events despite not having any new information to add to the existing accounts and, consequently, only mentioning the events in passing. This tendency is persisting in the accounts surrounding the Muslim arrival in Jerusalem, with the end result that the Syriac authors refrain from voicing their impressions of the actions of particular groups within the Holy City (Muslims and Jews), contenting themselves to evoke certain acts or actions agreed upon by a majority of preceding chronicles. In this vein, one aspect common to both the Chronicle of Seert and the Anonymous Syriac Chronicle of 1234 also appears in the Chronicle of Michael20: specifically, itemised information about the Jewish input in advising Muslims how to proceed in order to make ʿŪmār’s construction stable, even though no Jewish individual appears in the records (they suggest that the Muslims take down the cross placed on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple in order for their construction to stand firm. The chronicle tells that the Arabs took the advice and consequently the edifice was built.21 These accounts, accompanied by legendary details and popular myths, are

15 Vasiliev, Agapius (Mahboub), Histoire, 475 [215]; Hoyland, Theophilus of Edessa’s Chronicle, 115. ­ ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ­ 16 Breydy, Das Annalenwerk des Eutychios, 140–141 (ar.), 119–120 (germ.). 17 A. Scher (ed. and tr.), Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), seconde partie (II), ­ Orientalis, XIII, Turhout: Brepols, 1983), 624 [304]. See also Hoyland, Theophi(Patrologia lus of Edessa’s Chronicle, 126–127. ­ ​­ 18 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, II, 425–426. ­ ​­ 19 P. Bedjan (ed.), Gregorii Barhebraei, Chronicon Syriacum ( Paris: Maisonneuve, 1890), 103; E.A. Wallis Budge (ed.), The Chronography of Gregory Abū’ ­l-Faraj, ​­ ­1225–1286, ​­ The Son of Aaron, The Hebrew Physician Commonly Known as Bar Hebraeus, Being the First Part of His Political History of the World, translated from the Syriac with a historical introduction, appendixes, and an index accompanied by reproductions of the Syriac texts in the Bodleian Manuscripts 52, vol. I (Amsterdam: Apa-Philos Press, 1976), 96 (eng.), 103 (syr.). ­ 20 Scher, Chronique de Séert, II, 623–624 ­ ​­ [302–304]; ­ ​­ Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, I, ­254–55 ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ­ ​­ (syr.), 199–200 (lat.); Hoyland, Theophilus of Edessa’s Chronicle, ­126–127. 21 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, II, 431.

Myths and Compilations in Syriac Sources  133 in alignment with Greek historiography,22 which should not surprise us since it is well known that Christians of all denominations shared a common negative perspective on Jews in the context of the Muslim conquest of Jerusalem and, therefore, such depictions in which Jews act as the instigators of Muslim aggression against Christians and as secretly conniving dire machinations are common tropes to be found across accounts hailing from both Byzantine and Oriental Christian cultures. These minimal depictions of Jews mentioned in the Syriac sources can, however, also lead to the hypothesis that Syriac Christians already perceived the portrait of Jerusalem as replete of a strictly Christian heritage, despite the fact that at this time Islam would also claim a mixture in the reverential landscape of the Holy City. Despite this, Jews were ignored altogether from this heritage, and barely mentioned in contemporary descriptions. Moreover, even though such minimal appearances by Jewish characters serve to stress that they no longer dominated the culture of Jerusalem, passing that mantle on to Christians, Syriac scholars nevertheless maintained their criticism of Jews even in the new context of a multireligious Orient, continuing to view them as a community who had continuously pitted Muslims against Christians. As for the obscure question of why the Syriac authors are so laconic in their depiction of the advent of Muslim rule over the Holy City, we can speculate the likely scenario that the chroniclers did not have much to say about the Islamic conquest of Jerusalem because the event occurred in a time when they themselves were facing the beginning of Islamic domination. A new system of leadership had come upon them: the new administrative structures were entirely different, and the Syrians were barely aware of the new challenges they had to face. As Mesopotamians, they could not look that far afield towards other spaces such as Palestine and Jerusalem, since any perspective for the future was tentative at best, in light of the new changes. The peripheral mention of Jews in Syriac and Arabic Christian sources on the Holy City is congruent with the broader manner of describing events and of depicting the history of Jerusalem by Oriental Christian authors in general and by Syriac Christian chroniclers in particular, who, as we shall see in the section dedicated to patristics, considered their closer links with the Edessan tradition as much more central to their spiritual culture than those with a Jerusalem once linked to the Jewish tradition. Moreover, the Jews were no longer the principal religious group with whom the Syriac Christians had to contend, being replaced with the Muslims, the new wielders of lay power and, now, the main rivals of Christianity in the East. Once Islam gradually began to establish a new religious primacy in their heartlands, the Christian chronicles shift from depicting the Jews as adversaries to focusing

22 Theophanes, Chronographia, A.M. 6020, 339. See also J. Starr, The Jews in the Byzantine Empire ­641–1204 ​­ ( New York: B. Franklin, 1970).

134  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine on the Muslim threat. Both non- Christian groups were not only negatively perceived, but even negatively associated with one another, with the Syriac chronicles describing Muslims, in no uncertain terms, as “the new Jews.”23 While Jerusalem was no longer associated with Jews in the minds of Christian authors, but was rather part of a shared Christian identity and would, in time, begin to also integrate the Muslim factor as an intrinsic part of its perceived reality – and as painfully aware of this fact as the Christian authors were – nevertheless Syriac Christian polemic literature continued to include Jews as adversaries in its medieval texts and one example is treatise against the Jews composed by Dionysius Bar Ṣalībī against the Jews in 116924 with the Jews religion being one of the various topics of interfaith critique tackled by the prolific Syriac author.

23 See Sidney H. Griffith, “Jews, and Muslims in Christian Syriac and Arabic Texts of the Ninth Century,” Jewish History 3.1 (1988), 65–94, esp.  84– 88. This tendency is obvious in many authors, such as Timotheus I or Nonnus of Nisibis. See M. Heimgartner (ed.), ­ Die Briefe 40 und 41 des ostsyrischen Patriarchen Timotheos I. (CSCO ­ vol. 673–674, ­ ​­ Tomus 261–262, Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 4 (syr.), 3 (germ.). See also Griffith, “Jews and Muslims,” 65, 83. 24 For the Syriac text of Bar Ṣalībī’s treatise against the Jews, see J. De Zwaan, The treatise of Dionysius Bar Ṣalibhi Against the Jews, Part I, The Syriac Text Edited from A Mesopotamian MS. (Cod. Syr. Harris. 83) (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1906; facs. edn, Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2010). The text was translated into English by R.H. Petersen, but never published: The Treatise of Dionysius Bar Ṣalibhi “Against the Jews,” A Translation and Commentary by Richard Hubbard Peterson (PhD dissertation, Durham: Duke University, 1964). A new edition and translation were recently published by Rifaat Y. Ebied, Malatius M. Malki, and Lionel R. Wickham (eds.), Dionysius Bar Ṣalībī’s Treatise Against the Jews (Texts and Studies in Eastern Christianity 15, Leiden / Boston, MA: Brill, 2020).

2

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City

Syrians’ connection with Jerusalem in the first few years after the rise of Islam1 in the East also transpires from the profile of Īšōʿyahb III, the first East Syriac Catholicos Patriarch (649– 659) to operate under Muslim rule. Īšōʿyahb was a prolific writer, mostly in his correspondence as a bishop, metropolitan and catholicos. To him are attributed many letters that cover a period of 30 years, of which 106 are preserved.2 One particular letter from Catholicos Īšōʿyahb, in which he addresses a message to Christians in Jerusalem, is of particular interest in this regard.3 The letter (C-13) ­ ​­ 4 was probably written around the year 650, the year when he became Patriarch 5 (sometime ­ around ­649–650). ​­ In it, and throughout his tenure, that Īšōʿyahb III communicates and most probably maintains a friendly relationship with some Christian living in Jerusalem whose unclear affiliation we will discuss later. As we will see from the contents of the letter, Christians in Jerusalem sought financial aid from the East Syriac Patriarch for renovating the ruins 6 of the Holy City, a process aided by an unnamed bishop (hasya). ­ Other instances of interaction between Īšōʿyahb (then in the function of metropolitan; letter M-32) and Christians in Jerusalem are documented in another

1 Geoffrey Greatrex, “Khusro II and the Christians of his Empire,” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 3 (2003), 78– 88, esp. 83 also invokes the Syriac presence in Jerusalem during the time of Īšōʿyahb III’predecessor, Īšōʿyahb II of Gadala: “Isho‛yahb’s letters clearly show the presence of Nestorians in Edessa (w ith a bishop) and at Jerusalem.” ​­ See also W. Hage, Die ­syrisch-jakobitische Kirche in frühislamischer Zeit ( Wiesbaden: Har­ ​­ rassowitz, 1966), 81–92. ­ 2 Marijke Metselaar, Defining Christ: The Church of the East and Nascent Islam (Late Antique History and Religion 19. Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 210. 3 Īšōʿyahb III, Catholicos of the Church of the East from 649 to 659, composed 106 letters covering the time prior to 628 and until the end of his life. 4 Rubens Duval (ed.), Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III Liber epistularum (CSCO Scriptores Syri Syr. ­11–12, ​­ Louvain: L. ­ Durbecq, 1904–1905), ​­ 245–247 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 177–78 ­ ​­ (lat.). ­ 5 Sebastian P. Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba: The Translation of St. Isaac the Syrian,” in J. Patrich (ed.), The Sabaite Heritage of the Orthodox Church (OLA 98; Louvain: Peeters, 2001), 202. 6 Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 202, n. 9.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-13

136  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine letter concerning the Holy City, dated a few years prior, which was addressed to Bishop Isaac of Nisibis.7 In it, the author writes that during his tenure as Metropolitan of Adiabene, a number of Christians came to Īšōʿyahb III from the very same community of the Holy City, therefore having embarked on a longer journey, to seek financial help. In this document, which seems to either be one of his last letters as Metropolitan or one of his first as Patriarch, Īšōʿyahb III wrote, among other topics, about the pestilence that affected the city of Nisibis. The East Syriac Patriarch composed several letters to the people of Nisibis, which illuminate the complicated context of that time and indicate that many were hostile to him and only a few were counted among his allies.8 At the time, Nisibis was a city wherein constant tensions arose between the two rival churches of Syriac tradition, a fact partly exacerbated by the city being home to a school of East Syrians (the School of Persians), which maintained a long tradition over the centuries. Alongside other claims, Bishop Cyriacus was accused of Chalcedonian sympathies. He died prior to be condemned by his church in 645.9 An explanation for Cyriacus’ sympathy for the Chalcedonian faith may be found in the political context of the city: Nisibis was a city situated in a region that had previously been dominated by Byzantine influences, and which now found itself under Muslim rule. It might be that Cyriacus expected Byzantine support and had consequently made a pact with them. Or, perhaps Cyriacus had become embroiled in Byzantine politics, given that after his death the local Muslim authority acted in favour of Cyriacus’ adversaries and against his followers.10 After Cyriacus’ death, Īšōʿyahb III consecrated Barsauma as bishop; yet this decree was rejected in

7 Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, ­215–217 ​­ (syr.), ­ 157–158 ­ ​­ (lat.). ­ 8 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 245. 9 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 246. Cyriacus was not an unimportant person in East Syriac Church hierarchy, given that he was a member of the delegation led by Īšōʿyahb II of Gdala (628– 645) on the orders of the Persian King Sheroe (the son of Chosrau II), to the Emperor Heraclius and Patriarch Sergius of Constantinople in 630. Alongside Īšōʿyahb II, the delegation was comprised of Cyriacus Metropolitan of Nisibis; Paul, Metropolitan of Adiabene; Gabriel of Karka de Beth Slouq, “and certain other Bishops, who were wise, learned and understanding men, and with them were also ur holy Īšōʿyahb of Ninive, and Sahdona.” E.A. Wallis Budge (ed.), Book of Governors: The Historia Monastica of Thomas, Bishop of Margā A.D. 840, from Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum and Other Libraries, 2 vols. (London: K. Paul Trench Trubner & Co., 1893) 70 (syr.), 126–127 (engl.). 10 The Chronicle of Khuzistan considers that the action of the emir against the adherents of Cyriacus was generated by the denunciation made by the people of Nisibis for their antipathy towards their bishop. A l-Kaʿbi, A Short Chronicle, 82 (engl.), 83 (syr.); I. Guidi (ed.), ­ Chronica minora, I (CSCO ­ ­1–2, ​­ t. ­1–2, ​­ Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1955), 31–33 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 26– ­ ​ 28 (lat.). For more discussions see, Metselaar, Defining Christ, 247; Richard E. Payne, “Persecuting Heresy in Early Islamic Iraq: The Catholicos Ishoyahb III and the Elites of Nisibis,” in Andrew Cain, & Noel Lenski (eds.), The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity: Selected Papers from the Seventh Biennial Shifting Frontiers in Late Antiquity Conference (Farnham: Ashgate 2009), 407.

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City  137 Nisibis such that Isaac, the bishop of Arzun, would later have to be nominated to the role, which calmed spirits within the city. It would also appear that Īšōʿyahb III’s last letter as metropolitan (letter M-32) was addressed to this new bishop, Isaac – the successor of Cyriacus – in which he told him, among other matters, that he himself had been visited by people from Jerusalem. In this letter to the new bishop named Isaac, Īšōʿyahb III also took time to consider the underlying causes of the famine,11 and advised the community to beseech God for mercy.12 This highlights that the communication between the Patriarch and the city of Nisibis only now returned to the proper channels, as Metselaar points out: “the letter shows that it must have been easier now to travel and send letters than before.”13 Īšōʿyahb III gives details about his attempt to communicate with the city: his earlier two letters [tarten kthibon] had not been answered due to the adversities of the time, mentioning which he perhaps means that the difficulties with Cyriacus and the state of poverty has probably slowed down the dynamics of travel. Now, he wrote, he could use posted messengers, which were more numerous and more easily found. It would appear that the Patriarch sent the letter to Nisibis by way of the same travellers to Jerusalem mentioned above. It is very probable that the number of travels would have been reduced during the famine, but the letters show that now people looking for financial help came all the way from Jerusalem, reaching the Patriarchy in Seleucia- Ctesiphon. It is, therefore, also obvious that Jerusalem itself had also been affected by this rampaging pestilence. The travellers departing from Jerusalem arrived in the Persian Gulf and visited the Patriarch in Seleucia, Mār Emmeh. Bearing a letter from the Catholicos Patriarch, they travelled onwards to Arbela and Metropolitan Īšōʿyahb, who unfortunately was not able to offer them anything other than the letter to be delivered to Isaac. Then, following the road to Jerusalem, the travellers reached Nisibis where they likely handed bishop Isaac his letter and continued on their way 11 The broader context of the period, for Nisibis at least, seems to have been dominated by famine and poverty. A priest named Moshe and also Cyriacus asked many times the Metropolitan Īšōʿyahb III that he might aid the people of the city, but Īšōʿyahb admonished them that the people of the city had always been rich. Metselaar, Defining Christ, ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ ­ ​­ (lat.). ­ 247; Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 52–53 42–43 But later on, he sent a limited amount of supplies to the city. It is likely that this difficult social situation was also exacerbated by the newly imposed Muslim taxes which amplified the city’s poverty even further. As we have seen above, Īšōʿyahb III explained that his city of Nineveh was in the same situation, so much so that it could no longer even afford to pay the plethora of taxes. Additionally, he also faced the problem of many refugees flocking to his walls. Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 70 (syr.), ­ 55–56 ­ ​­ (lat.). ­ 12 Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, ­214–215 ​­ (syr.), ­ 155–156 ­ ​­ (lat.). ­ Īšōʿyahb III sent a second letter to Isaac (his first letter as Catholicos, C-1), in which it addresses other themes, especially of a confessional nature, such as the danger of increasing the influence of Miaphysitism in the area. See Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistu­ ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ­ ​­ larum, 219–220 (syr.), 159–160 (lat.); Metselaar, Defining Christ, ­250–252. 13 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 250.

138  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine back to the Holy City.14 It is interesting to note how these travellers received letters and passed them on in their travels; and Īšōʿyahb III definitely sent his letter to Isaac through these messengers, whom he called ‘passing carriers’ [myablane], on their way to Jerusalem. In describing Palestine, the place the messengers are associated with, Īšōʿyahb talks, as expected, profound theologically: “they come out to us out of the Holy Land, and from the city of the great King [mdintheh d­ ​ ­malka raba], and of the places of the saints and of servants [w-mshamshane ­ ​­ ­d-dukyathe ​­ qadishathe].” This is the place to which the Savior came in the world and where salvation began manifested by the “blood in the land of the holy,” and “the holy body that put death to death.”15 Īšōʿyahb tells Isaac that he wrote to him on the occasion of their journey to Jerusalem passing through Nisibis, and also about the reason for which they were drawn to ­ ­​­­ ​­ came in interaction with “our politeia” [d-l-pulutiya dilan].16 Of note, this group of people coming from Jerusalem to Mesopotamia for help were also messengers. Travellers to Jerusalem also functioned as couriers during their journey, transmitting news and letters from one city to another. According to Īšōʿyahb III, these messengers even came from Jerusalem to Mesopotamia after they had gone up to the southern part of the Church of the East to “Hirta (Hira) of the Tayyaye.”17 They likely ended up their journey towards south, in this region what was once the border area between the Sassanids and the Byzantines, since we know that the region of the Gulf was quite rich at the time: from the letter of Īšōʿyahb I to Jacob of Dirin (composed more than 50 years before the Catholicosate of Īšōʿyahb III),18 we learn that pearls were routinely fished up, and regional trade was prolific as far afield as India; therefore, it is plausible that they went there in hopes of raising money and aid from the southern regions. It thus becomes







​­

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City  139 plausible why travellers from Jerusalem would have arrived here.19 Starting from Hira on their way back to Jerusalem, they have visited the Catholicos in Seleucia-Ctesiphon with the expectation to be obtain some financial support20; however, the Catholicos, Mār Emmeh, merely gave them a letter ( probably destined for their leaders in Jerusalem) which can make us hypothesize they could also be mendicants. The next stop was at the bishopric of Īšōʿyahb III, Metropolitan of Adiabene at that time, who deeply regretted that he could not overly help them. When they also came to him, he offered them a letter and sent them on their way back through Nisibis.21 In the same letter, Īšōʿyahb III also suggests that the crises ameliorates and travels from Jerusalem to Mesopotamia are again doable. He mentions here Hira, Adiabene, and Nisibis as goals of these travellers in the hope of finding support.22 This was but one of the routes to Jerusalem in the days of Īšōʿyahb. There was a route on dry land through Nisibis, Edessa, Aleppo, Emesa, and Damascus to Jerusalem; while the second route went by land through Nisibis, Edessa, Aleppo and Antioch, from there by sea, to Caesarea or Jaffa, and then onwards, again on dry land, to Jerusalem. It is highly likely that during the Islamic conquest of the region such journeys had been more difficult to undertake, but the phenomenon of pilgrimage and travel was not abandoned altogether. In discussing the purpose of such a journey,

19 On trade in the Persian Gulf see G. Gropp, “Christian Maritime Trade of the Sasanian Age in the Persian Gulf,” in K. Schippmann, A. Herling & J.F. Salles (eds.), ­Golf-Archäologie: ​­ Mesopotamien, Iran, Kuweit, Bahrain, Vereinigte Arabische Emirate und Oman (Buch am Erlbach: Marie L. Leidorf, 1991), 83– 88; Curtis E. Larsen, Life and Land Use on the Bahrain Islands: The Geoarchaeology of an Ancient Society (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1983); A. Silverstein, “From Markets to Marvels: Jews on the Maritime Route to China ca. 850– c a. 950 CE,” Journal of Jewish Studies 58 (2007), 91–104; M.J. Steve, L’île de Kharg: Une page de l’histoire du golfe Persique et du monachisme oriental (Neuchâtel: ­ Civilisations du Proche- Orient, 2003); C. Villagomez, The Fields, Flocks, and Finances of Monks: Economic Life at Nestorian Monasteries, 500– 850 (Unpublished PhD thesis. Los Angeles, CA: University of Los Angeles, 1998); Martin Tamcke, “Der Patriarch und seine arabische Christen: Die nestorianischen Katholikoi-Patriarchen in ihren Anweisungen für Kirchenglieder auf der Arabischen Halbinsel in frühomajadischer Zeit,” in D. ­ ​­ Kreikenbohm, F.C. Muth, & J. Thielmann, (eds.), Arabische Christen—Christen in Arabien (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2007), 105–120. 20 It might be that a practice was in use that the local Syriac bishops sent annual almsgiving to communities in Jerusalem, if we follow the argument of Richard Finn: “[…] Rabbula changed the customary time of his annual almsgiving from December to June when he felt himself to be near death. He sent gifts to ascetic communities in and around Edessa as well as to Jerusalem.” Richard OP. Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire : Christian Promotion and Practice (313– ­­ 450) ​­ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 107; R. Delmaire, Largesses sacrées et res privata: L’Aerarium impérial et son administration du IVe au VIe siècle (Rome: École française de Rome, 1989), 612. 21 Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 216 (syr.), 157 (lat.); Metselaar, Defining Christ, 250. 22 Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 216 (syr.), 157f. (lat.); Metselaar, Defining Christ, 285.

140  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine we must also add that, beyond the overarching need for Christian solidarity (with those in financial need travelling to faraway regions in pursuit of aid), this Christian delegation from Jerusalem to Mesopotamia also reflects the dynamic intersection and communication between the Christian communities or small groups from different regions of the East. Ovidiu Ioan speaks of an inverse trajectory of pilgrimage following the Muslim conquest, namely how when believers from the East were probably no longer able to make pilgrimages to Jerusalem, the Christians there were forced to become pilgrims themselves and travel to the areas of their previous guests in order to get the usual support.23 Most likely, in the case of Jerusalemite Christians reaching Palestine, it is not a question of a true pilgrimage, but rather of a dynamic yearning to reconnect with the Mesopotamian region and an attempt at Christian solidarity in order to achieve their objective and contribute to the reconstruction of the religious edifices of the Holy City in need of restoration. It is unlikely that pilgrims from Mesopotamia would have ceased travelling to Jerusalem owing to the new Muslim context, as Ioan suggests, since as we have seen ʿEnānīšōʿ and other Syriac pilgrims continued to travel westward, to Egypt or Palestine, in search of the spiritual gain that animated them, of monastic enlightenment, and also because such a journey had most likely become a part of unwritten monastic canon and a common practice in monastic life passed down from generation to generation. Of course, the financial situation of Christians in Jerusalem was deeply unfavourable; yet pilgrimages continued apace even after the advent of Islam and the ensuing political upheavals. It was in such an uncertain and confusing environment for Eastern Christianity that the East Syriac Patriarch, Īšōʿyahb III, would later write a letter addressed to the community of Jerusalem. To return to this letter addressed to the Christians in the Holy City, Ovidiu Ioan contextualises it by claiming that this letter of reply to the people of Jerusalem was composed by Īšō‛yahb during his exile in Nisibis and later Edessa, having been forced to leave the capital of Seleucia- Ctesiphon following a conflict with the local Muslim authorities. It was during this sojourn that he would most likely have written this letter,24 which fulfils the role of an answer to representa23 Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 84: Nach der islamischen Eroberung, als die Glaubensbrüder aus dem Osten wahrscheinlich nicht mehr nach Jerusalem pilgern konnten, waren die dortigen Christen genötigt, selbst zu Pilgern zu werden und die Gebiete ihrer vorherigen Gäste zu bereisen, um die gewöhnliche Unterstützung zu bekommen. Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, ­245–247 ​­ ­ ­ 24 (syr.), 177f. (lat.); Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 84.

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City  141 tives of the Christian community in Jerusalem after they had journeyed to Mesopotamia in search of financial aid. From it, we come to understand that Īšōʿyahb III already had a deep and stable connection with these Jerusalemite Christians: in response to the visitors from Jerusalem, he sent a small donation to the Holy City, the “city of the greatest king.” This letter of Īšōʿyahb III, in fact, constitutes an answer that leads us to believe that the visitors from Jerusalem also handed the Patriarch a letter from their community. In this matter, Fiey is of the opinion that these visitors did not know Syriac, as the Patriarch addressed his letter to two oriental monks whom he greeted in his answer, Melchizedek and Qayyouma (of note, he also sent his greetings to a certain nun by the name of Pelagia).25 We do not entirely share Fiey’s hypothesis; the letter was more likely addressed to certain individuals as representatives of the community, who could also very well have been of the East Syriac faith. These representatives had probably been informed of the discussions the visitors had had with Patriarch Īšōʿyahb III, but were presumably expecting an official response from the latter. Writing to a group of Christians who previously sent him a delegation in Mesopotamia, it is straightforward that in his response the Patriarch primarily speaks to the leadership of this group of Christians in Jerusalem. Moreover, it would appear that the Patriarch knew them personally, as he extended them greetings and mentioned them by name and function. Moreover, he communicated not with an insignificant group, but rather with a community inhabiting the most important place of Christianity, Jerusalem itself – the “most glorious sanctuary among all the sanctuaries.” It is also plausible to interpret this official answer of the East Syriac Patriarch as an invitation to Christian solidarity, in the context of the recent emergence of Islam, a time when Christian churches and communities were affected by many heretofore unseen challenges, and when people of the same faith have to support one another. ­­ ​­ ­ ​­ From the letter (C-13) titled To (the people of) Jerusalem [d-lwath urishlamaye], which was composed by Īšōʿyahb when he already owned the function of Chatolicos, it is evident that the author’s addressees are familiar people from the Holy City: Īšōʿyahb, Catholicos of the East, addresses his letter to his “beloved brethren, the priest syncellos Elias, and the archdeacon Paulus and the deacon Mar Theodore, and to the whole clergy of the city of Jerusalem.”26 The above formula of address shows that these persons were individually known to the Patriarch, a fact which does not exclude that they were adherents to the East Syriac confession. We can also remark that the Patriarch is consistent in using his list of epithets featuring Jerusalem, in his letter to Isaac, the bishop of Nisibis, as well as in this one addressed to the 25 J.-M. Fiey, “Le pèlerinage des Nestoriens et Jacobites à Jerusalem,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale (Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de Civilisation Médiévale, Université de Poitiers. Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique) 12 (1969), 121–122. 26 Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 245 (syr.), 177 (lat).

142  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine community of the holy city, Jerusalem being called: “the city of the greatest king [mdentheh ­d-malka ​­ raba], in our Lord Jesus Christ.”27 Īšōʿyahb further confirms that two messengers from Jerusalem came to him in Seleucia, and recounts their names: Procopius involved in charity, and alongside him Cosma, deacon at the Holy Place, bringing with them a letter of charity for the community in Jerusalem.28 This chance to be in touch with the Christians in Jerusalem gave the Patriarch the opportunity to commemorate the mystery of Golgotha, expressed as “a viewing of the faith [hezwa ­d-haymanutha], ​­ in the place of the holiness of the sepulchre of our Lord.” The Patriarch transposes himself in a non-physical pilgrimage to Jerusalem; he is like a pilgrim with the mind, accentuating that he is traveling “to the Holy places in intellect and faith,” where the addressees of his letter enjoy every day “the glory of service” at the Lord’s sepulchre. In this intellectual journey he keeps in respect and remembrance the figure of the “pious and holy man” through whom God repaired the ruins of the Holy City,29 which is the bishop involved in repairing the ruins of the Holy City. Moreover, he creates a theological image of Jerusalem, imagining the history starting with David who spoke of the temple in Jerusalem on High, and then then turning to the moment in which Life had arisen out of Jerusalem in light of the good news, to the glory of nations, for the salvation of humankind. But now, the Patriarch highlights the falling shadows as signs of the world’s end.30 His view on this is symptomatic of the Christian world, and is routinely perceived as living at the end of times. In this light, the solidarity which the people of the Holy City sought with the Church of the East is interpreted by Īšōʿyahb III by a comparison of the present situation with the past, when “glorious nations had turned to the life that shone from Jerusalem as the light from the Gospel.”31 The transition from the period of past times full of hope to what the communities live in the author’s time is described by the sadness caused by the general state of suffering and poverty that did not bypass the Holy City, and which is characterised as “a severe illness, from which that very same glorious sanctuary also suffers.”32 In this sombre spirit of grief for the changes occurring in Jerusalem and for the trouble the Christian residents of the Holy City were facing, the East

27 28 29 30

Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 245 (syr.), 177 (lat). Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 245 (syr.), 177 (lat). Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, ­245–246 ​­ (syr.), ­ 177–178 ­ ​­ (lat). ­ Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, ­245–246 ​­ (syr.), ­ 177–178 ­ ​­ (lat). ­ See Metselaar, Defining Christ, 364; Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 85. 31 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 364; Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 245– ­ ​ 246 ­ (syr.), ­ ­177–178 ​­ (lat). ­ ­ ​ 32 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 364; Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 245– ­ (syr.), ­ 178 (lat). ­ 246

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City  143 Syriac Catholicos Patriarch regretted the fact that his church itself was very poor, and unable to aid the Christians of the Holy City any further than with small symbolic amounts, and through prayer.33 Naturally, the fraught description and exegesis manifested in his letter serve to highlight the Patriarch’s solidarity with the Christians of Jerusalem despite not being able to offer more than symbolic financial assistance. Yet, this symbolic solidarity in the Word also strengthens his position as Patriarch, while the modest aid sent justifies the unfortunate situation that also plagued the Christians in Mesopotamia, depicting them in turn as in no way superior materially and socially to those in the Holy City.34 In addition, the opportunity to help Jerusalem is also understood by Īšōʿyahb III as a subtle possibility of promoting his own church as “standing in equal holiness”35 with that of Jerusalem. A topic that permeates the entirety of Īšōʿyahb III’s letter to the people of Jerusalem is “the idea of living at the end of times” and shows how affected the Patriarch appeared to be by the deterioration of the Holy City.36 That issue of the deterioration of Jerusalem invoked by Īšōʿyahb calls into question the specific period in which the letter was composed; however, it must not solely be viewed from a material perspective, with the Patriarch also concerned for the theological and spiritual well-being of the Holy City. This is all the more important when considering that Īšōʿyahb III was a great thinker, theologian and apologist of his Church who could be very harsh on those that did not share his theological perspective. He described the ongoing situation in apocalyptic imagery that can well serve as analogies for the Christological tensions caused by Monothelitism in the period, which were quite widespread in both Byzantium and the West. Jerusalem itself was also part of this theological and doctrinary confrontation, in no small part because of the Patriarch Sophronius of Jerusalem. We cannot rule out the possibility that Īšōʿyahb III was apprised of this fact – either by way of visitors, through official letters received from the West, or by other means.37 At the time, Jerusalem was firmly within the Byzantine church’s sphere of influence, and hence all Christological influences quickly transmitted and infused the city’s elites. Therefore, we cannot exclude that when Īšōʿyahb spoke of the Apocalypse, he perceived this landscape on the basis of the Christological tensions festering from Byzantium to the Holy Land

33 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 364; Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 245– ­ ​ 246 ­ (syr.), ­ 178 (lat.). ­ 34 Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 85: “Theologisch bleibt das Bild Jerusalems den aktuellen Interessen des Patriarchen verhaftet und die Autorität und Ansehen des Leidensortes Christi wird stets für die Stärkung seiner eigenen Position benutzt.” 35 Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 85. 36 Metselaar, Defining Christ, 364; Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 247– ­ ​ ­ ­ ­178–179 ​­ ­ 248 (syr.), (lat). ​­ 37 See Metselaar, Defining Christ, ­298–299.

144  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine and beyond, and which he, as an East Syrian, saw as false doctrines. In this broader Christological context, other letters of Īšōʿyahb III mention, in turn, Cyril of Alexandria and Severus of Antioch (both enemies of the East Syrians in terms of Christological doctrine), while others mention Jerusalem as being situated among the greatest centres for teaching the two physis (kyane) ­ and two qnome, together with their properties of Christ. Here, the Partiarch mentions an extended geography comprised of a multitude of cities, among Jerusalem itself.38 The idea of Jerusalem, together with the other Patriarchal centres, as the keeper of unaltered faith would also be expressed by Īšōʿyahb III’s successor, Gīwargīs I who, in his letter addressed to Chorbishop Mīnā , summarised the orthodox faith as encompassing Rome and the whole of Italy, Constantinople, Jerusalem, and the other cities and churches of the Romans which confessed the two natures with their respective properties and energies, in the one Christ.39 To return to Īšōʿyahb III’s letter to Jerusalem, we have seen that after the return of the delegation which unsuccessfully sought help from the Church of the East, the Patriarch answered them, again expressing his regret that his Church was so poor and could only offer a small symbolic sum of money along with many prayers. However, the Patriarch’s words of encouragement suffuse the letter, so that he urges them to practice the biblical example of the widow and to make more of the shortage, “of our gift according to the commandment of our Lord.”40 Representative of a large and important church, symbolised here by the expression “our large province,” Īšōʿyahb III sends only a small present which represents minor help for those in Jerusalem, but according to the lessons taught by the wonder of the prophet Elijah, the Patriarch argues that little bit has the power to become a major support in times when Christians need solidarity. Īšōʿyahb also urges those ­ ​­ ­ ​­ in Jerusalem “to pray for the peace of the world [w-salu ʿal shayneh d-ʿalma]. ­ ​­ But pray at the same time, for the weakness of my sight [w-salu den yatiraith of ʿal mhiluthi].”41 From this passage comes out that the Patriarch understands personal suffering and universal suffering in the same affective tone, and the holy city is a place of praying for miracles that can generate the settlement of the world in a state of well-being, the recalibration of nations to peace and harmony, but also healing of personal sufferings. Moreover, it is evident, not only from this familiar message by which the Patriarch confesses his own physical suffering to these Christians but also from the greetings he particularly extends to Melchizedek, and lastly to a woman ­ ​­ named Pelagia, and “to all our friends who are with you [l-kulhun habibawhi 38 See Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 212–213 (syr.), 154 (lat.); see also Metselaar, Defining Christ, ­296–297. ​­ 39 Chabot, Synodicon, 244 (syr.), 514 (fr.); Braun, Synhados, 370. See more discussion on this in Chapter 5 of Metselaar, Defining Christ, 365f. Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 246 (syr.), 178 (lat). 40 41 Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 246 (syr.), 178 (lat.).

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City  145 ­d -maran ​­ ­d-lwothkhun],” ​­ that the Patriarch was very close to this Christian group of the Holy City, with which he likely had frequent interactions.42 We should now pay attention to the question of the particular confession which the Jerusalemite Christians who came to Mesopotamia seeking financial aid, and to whom the Patriarch answered, followed. Given that we know that the Patriarch also sent a letter he wrote for Isaac to Nisibis via this group of Christians, it is plausible to view them as some of Īšōʿyahb’s trusted persons, considering that we well know that the Patriarch was engaged in several conflicts with the hierarchy of Nisibis during the time of Cyriacus and, consequently, that the leader of the East Syriac Church could only send letters through his most trusted allies. With regard to the particular identity and denomination of those Christians, we can only put forward two hypotheses already highlighted by current research. Otto Meinardus and Robert Schick are of the opinion that these Christians from Jerusalem were East Syrians (“Nestorians”).43 The same opinion emerges also from Hage’s statement in which he views East Syriac communities in Edessa, Haran, Damascus, and Jerusalem. As he suggests, to this community of the Holy City belonged probably also these Christians from Īšōʿyahb’s correspondence, which do not have a bishop at that time.44 Conversely, Sebastian Brock inspected the possibility, that they belonged to the Chalcedonian group, a hypothesis which, if true, would reveal a possible ecumenical interserction of these opponent East Christian communities.45 In Amnon Linder we find the same perspective as mentioned by Hage, that “a Nestorian community apparently existed in Jerusalem as early as the mid-7th century.”46 If these Christians are of East Syriac faith and they are looking to be in solidarity with the large community of the Holy City in looking for 42 Duval, Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum, 246–247 (syr.), 178 (lat.); see also Fiey, “Le pèlerinage,” 122; R. Schick, The Christian Communities of Palestine from Byzantine to Islamic Rule: A Historical and Archaeological Study (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 2, Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 1995), 179. 43 Schick, The Christian Communities of Palestine, 179; Otto A. Meinardus, “The Nestorians ­ ­ ​­ in Egypt,” Oriens Christianus 51 (1967), 123–124. 44 Hage, Die ­syrisch-jakobitische ​­ Kirche, 81: Jakobiten und Nestorianer waren in ihren ursprünglichen Verbreitungsgebieten durch die alte persisch-byzantinische Grenze voneinander getrennt, griffen aber seit dem 7. Jahrhundert immer stärker über diese Grenze hinüber. So gehören zur nestorianischen Kirch bad Gemeinden in Edessa, Haran, Damaskus und Jerusalem, und ihre Mönche zogen bis nach Palästina und Ägypten. See also Hage, p. 81, n. 236. 45 Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 202. Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität,” 85, adopts the same hypothesis: “Die Namender Adressaten verraten, dass diese keine ostsyrischen Christen waren, sondern höchstwahrscheinlich zur g riechisch-sprachigen chalkedonischen Gemeinde Jerusalems gehörten.” 46 Amnon Linder, “Christian Communities in Jerusalem,” in Joshua Prawer & Haggai Ben­Shammai (eds.), ­ The History of Jerusalem. The Early Muslim Period 638– 1099 ( New York: New York University Press, 1996), 121–163, esp. 153.

146  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine help outside the Holy Land then this underpins the hypothesis that they were already established as an stable and independent Christian community in the Holy City: a community of lay people, clergymen, and monks who likely owned their own monastic or ecclesiastical buildings in Jerusalem. Archaeological research has raised the possibility that a community of East Syriac monks lived in Gibeon in the 5th and 6th centuries47; another conjecture is that an East Syriac monastery having existed on the Mount of Olives until 739.48 Based on other indications in some sources one can speculate that before the 7th century the East Syrians owned a monastery near Jerusalem. This hypothesis relates to Īšōʿdnāh ̣ of Basra’s monastic chronicle, which speaks about a certain Mār Joseph of Merv, who founded a monastery on Mount Ephraim in Palestine in the late 6th century.49 Sebastian Brock also discusses the literary and archaeological evidence about the existence of an East Syriac monastic hermitage in Palestine in the 7th century “in the days of Daniel Bar Huzaye, Iohannan Bar Parsaye, Īšōʿdad Bar Qatraye and Buʿya Bar Shahrzuraye.”50 Brock notes that Daniel Bar Huzaye hailed from Beth Huzaye, where Isaac the Syrian settled as a hermit. A detail should be added here that some of Isaac’s works were translated from Syriac into Greek a few years later not far from Jericho, in Mar Saba’s monastery, settled as a hermit.51 47 B. Bagatti, “L’Edificio ecclesiastico di El-Gib (Gibeon),” Liber Annuus 25 (1975), ­ 54–72; ­ ​­ Linder, “Christian Communities,” 153. Moreover, in Chapter 38 of the Vita Mar Sabas, Cyril writes of two “Nestorian” monks and their encounter with the Mar Sabas monastery in 509. Cyril states that before Sabas erected the Scholarius’ Coenobium, two “Nestorian” monks lived near the tower built by Eudocia. According to Cyril, the monk Sabas polemised against these hermits and, through sermons and warnings, he was able to convince them to give up the “Nestorian” heresy and join the “Catholic” Church, entrusting their theological reeducation to Theodosius. Eduard Schwartz (ed.), Kyrillos von Skythopolis (TU 49/2, Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs Verlag, 1939), 127–128, § 38; A.-J. Festugière (ed.), Les moines d’Orient, III/2: Les Moines de Palestine, Cyrille de Scythopolis, Vie de Saint Sabas (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1962), 53; see also Joseph Patrich, Sabas, Leader of Palestinian Monasticism: A Comparative Study in Eastern Monasticism, Fourth to Seventh Centuries (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1995), 154, 302. Of course, this clue is relative and does not certify the existence of East Syriac monks in Palestine at this time. In this period of confessional polarisation, any monk who did not belong to the Chalcedonian group could have easily been characterised as a “Nestorian,” even though they might not have had an East Syriac identity. In this sense, we cannot exclude the interlude from being one of Cyril’s literary clichés. 48 D.C. Baramki, and St. N. Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage between Jericho and Jordan,” QDAP 4 (1935), 81– 86; Meinardus, “The Nestorians in Egypt,” 124; Linder, “Christian Communities,” 153. 49 J.-B. Chabot (ed. and tr.), Īšōʿdenah évêque de Baçrah, Le Livre de la Chasteté, in Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire 16: 3–4 ­ ​­ (1896), ­ 1–80 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 225–291 ­ ​­ (fr.). ­ 50 Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 203; Jean-Maurice Fiey, “Rabban Buya de Shaqlawa et de Jericho,” Proche Orient Chrétien 33 (1983), 34–38; Baramki, and Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage,” 84. 51 Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 203. See also Catalin-Stefan Popa, “Die Begegnung der Ostsyrer mit dem Mar Sabas Kloster beziehungsweise mit der chalzedonischen Orthodoxie Palästinas zu spätsassanidischer und frühislamischer Zeit,” in Shabo Talay ­ (ed.), Überleben im Schatten: Geschichte und Kultur des syrischen Christentums: Beiträge

Īšōʿyahb III and the Syriac Christians of the Holy City  147 The other figure, Īšōʿdad of Qatraye is unknown, but his area of origin allows us to speculate about the date at which the monastery was built, as well as about Īšōʿdad’s possible connection with Isaac the Syrian, who himself came from Bēth Qatraye. The region of Bēth Qatraye included the Eastern side of the Arabian Peninsula and stand under the metropolitanate of Rev-Ardashir. The latest references to Christians in Bēth Qatraye date from the 8th century; there is no direct evidence that a Christian presence in the Eastern part of Arabia extended very far into the 9th century. Īšōʿdad of Qatraye’s mention in the inscription thereby indicates that the hermitage at Jericho was built in the 8th century at the latest, and quite possibly earlier. Otto Meinardus opined that the “Nestorian” hermitage in the Jordan Valley was inhabited by “Nestorian” monks around the 9th century, although recent research inclines to an even earlier date.52 Moreover, one might corelate all these dates with the possibility of East Syriac interaction with the Chalcedonian monastery of Mar Saba where, as Sebastian Brock demonstrated, the writings of Isaac the Syrian were brought. The Mar Saba Monastery situated in the Kidron Valley, in the Judean Desert, south- east of Jerusalem, was clearly a multilingual monastic community in early Islamic times, with a flourishing tradition in Arabic, Georgian, and Greek. Nor was Syriac missing from the practibility of the monastery, as Galadza opined based on his analysis of St Sabas’ typikon’s tradition (that regulated the monastic life), pointing out that between the 4th and 12th century “Syriac had a prominent place in the daily life of Jerusalem.”53 There is some evidence for Syriac texts too, in the form of a manuscript titled “The Book of the holy Mar Isaac, monk and bishop of Nineveh, written in the holy monastery of Beth Mar Saba of Jerusalem; belonging to the priest

des 10. Deutschen Syrologentages an der FU Berlin 2018 (Göttinger Orientforschungen. 1. Reihe, Syriaca, vol. 58; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2020), 209. 52 Meinardus, “The Nestorians in Egypt,” 124; Baramki, and Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage,” 83. 53 Daniel Galadza, Liturgy and Byzantinization in Jerusalem (Oxford Early Christian Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 98. However, despite the continuity of the Syriac language in the context of the Saba monastery and Palestine, Galadza, p. 98 points out that: “Syrians never held liturgical primacy in the multilingual monastic communities of Palestine or in the Jerusalem cathedral.” See also Daniel Galadza, “Greek Liturgy in Crusader Jerusalem: Witnesses of Liturgical Life at the Holy Sepulchre and St Sabas Lavra,” Journal of Medieval History, 43:4 (2017), 421– 437, esp. 433; see also A. Baumstark, On the Historical Development of the Liturgy, Introduction, Translation, and Annotation by Fritz West (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2011), 191: Early in the Christian era, monks of different nationalities residing in the Great Lavra of Mar Saba in the Kidron Valley were separated into smaller oratories where they celebrated not only the Liturgy of the Hours but also the Liturgy of the Word as a prelude to the eucharistic celebration. They also came together in the main church of the monastery, but only for the eucharistic service itself, when instead they used Greek for their common liturgical language.

148  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine Theophilus.”54 Nau dates the manuscript on the late 8th century, a time when the Greek translation of Isaac’s homilies was carried out by Abba Patrikios and Abba Abramios in Mar Sabas.55 At the time, presence of Syriac monks and ordinary pilgrims should be a plausible fact. In this context, it seems credible that these writings of Isaac could have been brought to Palestine and in particular to the convent at Mar Saba by monastic pilgrims who intersected with the famous monastery, and who also have their connection with the monks in the hermitage near Jericho or have been part of that community. Another convent associated with East Syrians, allegedly dating from the 7th or at the latest from the 8th century, was located in Tel Mšaš, about 15 km east of Beersheba.56 Several fragmentary Syriac inscriptions were discovered here, among them a fragment containing the letters yšwʿ in Estrangelo script. Sebastian Brock takes the view that this fragment represents the final part of a compound proper name, such as Dadišōʿ, which was common in the Church of the East. Another inscription contains the name: “māran ishōʿmšīhā” [our Lord Jesus Christ].57 From a practical or canonical perspective, the construction of an East Syriac monastery in Byzantine Palestine would appear difficult to imagine, to the extent that any local Chalcedonian bishop would naturally obstruct the establishment of a monastery belonging to an ecclesiastical tradition fiercely criticised by the Byzantines. After the Muslim conquest, the situation likely changed to the extent that an East Syriac presence in the region became much more plausible. In any event, it is certain that the numerous East Syriac pilgrims, who were attracted to the Egyptian Desert, following the footsteps of the Egyptian monks to Scetis, passed through Jerusalem en route, for spiritual devotion.58 Returning home from Jerusalem, the Syriac pilgrims remained probably connected to the Holy Land, with their Syriac communities or monasteries gathered around Jerusalem, for which they often copied manuscripts or helped them in various ways, that makes a channel of cultural communication possible along the centuries and mutual liturgical influences.59

54 Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 204. 55 See also Maria Mavroudi, “Greek Language and Education under Early Islam,” in Behnam Sadeghi, Asad Q. Ahmed, Adam Silverstein  & Robert Hoyland (eds.), Islamic Cultures, Islamic Contexts. Essays in Honor of Professor Patricia Crone (Leiden / Boston, MA: Brill, 2015), 295–342, n. 22. 56 V. Fritz, and A. Kempinski, Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen auf der Hirbet ­el-Mšaš ​­ (Tel ­ Masos), vol. 1 ( Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1983), 38– 85. 57 Brock, “Syriac into Greek at Mar Saba,” 203; Popa, “Die Begegnung der Ostsyrer,” ­210–211. ​­ 58 Meinardus, “The Nestorians in Egypt,” 124: “Nestorian monks who came to Palestine from abroad built a monastery in the Jordan Valley near Jericho in the ninth century.” See also Linder, “Christian Communities,” 153. 59 See Y. Blomme, “La liturgie de Jérusalem et Son Influence Sur Les églises nestorienne et syrienne,” Liber Annuus 29 (1979), 221–237; Linder, “Christian Communities,” 153.

3

Timotheus I and the East Syriac Bishopric of the Holy Land

The discussion surrounding the connection between the East Syriac Church and Palestine now leads us to the time of Timotheus I (780– 823). He was an East Syriac Catholicos Patriarch who, sometime before the 9th century, appears to have established an East Syriac bishopric in Palestine which, at the time was under the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan of Damascus. Timotheus I was the East Syriac Patriarch who most expanded the mission of the East Syriac Church in Asia, by way of many consecrations of metropolitan sees in various places.1 This bishopric in Palestine may have been founded following a particular important event in the region, and this can be correlated with an example that shows a clear intersection of East Syrian ecclesiastical administration to the region of Palestine and Jerusalem. The letter no. 47 of Patriarch Timotheus addressed to Sergius the Metropolitan of Elam speaks about the discovery of certain biblical manuscripts written in Hebrew in the region of Jericho, an event that can “recall the finding of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1946/47.”2 It is noteworthy to see how Timotheus himself perceived this discovery that he had heard occurred in Palestine. 1 See Oskar Braun, “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I über biblische Studien des 9 Jahrhunderts,” Oriens Christianus 1 (1901), 299–313; O. Braun, Timothei patriarchae epistulae I (Letters 1–39) (CSCO 74–75, Script. Syr. 30–31, Louvain: Secrétariat du Cor­ ​­ pusSCO, 1914–1915); H. Putman, L’Église et l’islam sous Timothée I (780– 823): étude sur l’église nestorienne au temps des premiers ʿAbbasides avec nouvelle édition et traduction du ­ ​­ dialogue entre Timothée et al-Mahdi (Beirut: Dar al-Machreq, 1977); V. Berti, Vita e studi di Timoteo I patriarca cristiano di Baghdad (Studia Iranica. Cahier 41; Paris: Association pur l’Avancement des Études Iraniennes, 2009); David Richard Thomas, and Barbara Hjördis Roggema, Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1 (600‒900) (History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11; Leiden / Boston, MA: Brill, 2009), 517; Sebastian P. Brock, A Brief Outline of Syriac Literature (Mōrān ­ ’Eth’ō 9, Kottayam: St. Ephrem Ecumenical Research Institute, 1997), 245–247; Jack Tannous, “Greek kanons and Syrian Orthodox liturgy,” in Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, Derek Krueger (eds.), Prayer and Worship in Eastern Christianities, 5th to 11th Centuries (London / New York: Routledge, 2017), 151–181; R.B. ter Haar Romeny, “Biblical studies in the Church of the East: the case of Catholicos Timothy I,” Studia Patristica 34 (2001), ­ 503–510. ­ ​­ 2 Hannah Cotton and Erik Larson, “4Q460/4Q350 and Tempering with Qumran Texts in Antiquity,” in Shalom Paul et  al. (eds.), Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-14

150  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine Letter no. 47 is a reply to a letter from Sergios, in which the latter inquired about a Hexapla manuscript that Timotheus had promised to the Metropolitan of Elam in his letter one year earlier. Timotheus describes what he had heard from a Jewish convert to Christianity, that a Bedouin shepherd discovered in a cave an important collection of manuscripts3: We have learned from certain Jews who are worthy of credence [yuhudaye shwah ­l-methaymanu] ​­ who have recently been converted to Christianity [ettalmadu ­l-khristyonutha], ​­ that ten years ago some books were discovered in the vicinity of Jericho, in a cave dwelling in the mountain. They say that the dog of an Arab who was hunting game went into a cleft after an animal and did not come out.4 Attempting to find the dog, the Bedouin found scrolls written in the Hebrew script containing biblical and non-biblical literature, including more than 200 Psalms of David5: His owner then went in after him and found a chamber inside the moun­ ​­ tain containing many books [w-kthabe sagiyaye beh]. The huntsman went to Jerusalem and reported this to some Jews [l-yuhudaye]. ­ ​­ A lot of people set off and arrived there; they found books of the Old Testament, and, apart from that, other books in Hebrew script. Because of the large amounts of texts found, Timotheus presumed that this was a more authentic biblical text: Because the person who told me this knows the script and is skilled in reading it, I asked him about certain verses adduced in our New and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov ( VTSup 94; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 113–126, esp. 113. See also Floyd V. Filson, “Some Recent Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” The Biblical Archaeologist, 13.4 (1950), 96–99. On the same line, Aaron Michael Butts and Simcha ­ ­ Gross (eds.), Jews and Syriac Christians. Intersections across the First Millennium (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism, 180, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), Introduction, 19, point out that: “This fascinating story, which anticipates the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls by more than a millennium, takes on even greater import given the existence of the ­so-called ​­ ­Syriac-Apocryphal ​­ Psalms.” 3 Martin Heimgartner (ed.), Die Briefe 42– 58 des Ostsyrischen Patriarchen Timotheos I. (CSCO 644– 645, Syr. 248–249, Louvain: Peeters, 2012), 67 (germ.), n. 324 assumes the importance of this report, which has been discussed by many researchers: “Der nun folgende Bericht des Timotheos fand nach den Schriftfunden von Qumran im Jahr 1947 bei mehreren Gelehrten Beachtung.” 4 Heimgartner, Die Briefe 42–58, ­ ​­ 67; Braun, “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I,” 304 (syr.), 305 (germ.); Brock, A Brief Outline, 247; Michael Philip Penn, Fitzgerald Johnson Scott, Christine Shepardson, Charles M. Stang (eds.), Invitation to Syriac Christianity: An Anthology (Oakland: University of California Press, 2022), 284. 5 See also Cotton and Larson, “4Q460/4Q350 and Tempering,” 113–114.

Timotheus I and the East Syriac Bishopric of the Holy Land  151 Testament as being from the Old Testament, but of which there is no mention at all in the Old Testament, neither among us Christians, nor among the Jews. He told me that they were to be found in these books that had been discovered there!6 Timotheus then commissioned this individual who had converted to Christianity, together with Gabriel and the Metropolitan Šubhalmāran of Damascus, to carry out further research concerning this matter, but yet he did not receive any answer. Timotheus suspected that the biblical manuscripts discovered had been hidden there by Jeremiah, Baruch, or by other prophets from the Babylonian exile: When I heard this from that catechumen, I asked other people as well, besides him, and I discovered the same story without any difference. I wrote about the matter to the resplendent Gabriel, and also to Šubhalmāran, metropolitan of Damascus7, in order that they might make investigations into these books […]. I further asked him, if they found these phrases in those books, by all means to translate them […]. Now that Hebrew man told me: ‘We found a David [i.e. a Psalter] among those books, containing more than two hundred psalms’ [yatir men maten mazmurin]. I wrote concerning all this to them. I suppose that these books may have been deposited either by Jeremiah the prophet, or by [Jeremiah’s scribe] Baruch, or by someone else from those who heard the word and trembled at it.8 It might be that these Psalms discovered among other books are the Hebrew Vorlagen of Syriac Apocryphal Psalms, such as 144–145, which according to recent estimations “must have entered into the Syriac tradition sometime after the sixth century but before the twelfth century.”9 As part of the conjecture and scenario should be added the statement and question of current research on this issue: In addition, the Syriac psalms seem to have been translated directly from Hebrew. Could Psalms 154 and 155 perhaps have been found in the very manuscript of the Hebrew Psalter that Timothy mentions and then

6 Heimgartner, Die Briefe 42–58, ­ ​­ 67; Braun, “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I,” 306 (syr.), 307 (germ.); Brock, A Brief Outline, 247–248; Penn, Johnson, Shepardson, Stang, Invitation to Syriac Christianity, 284. 7 Heimgartner, Die Briefe 42–58, ­ ​­ 68, n. 328 notes that in letter 50.23 the author mentions another name for the metropolitan of Damascus (Šalīta of Damascus). 8 Heimgartner, Die Briefe ­42–58, ​­ 68– 69; Braun, “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I,” 306 (syr.), 307 (germ.); Brock, A Brief Outline, 248; Penn, Johnson, Shepardson, Stang, ­ ​­ Invitation to Syriac Christianity, 284–285. 9 Butts and Gross, Jews and Syriac Christians, Introduction, 20.

152  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine have been translated into Syriac? […] If his proves to be the case, then the existence of Psalms 154 and 155 in Syriac would irrefutably corroborate Timothy’s interaction with ‘real’ Jews.10 And we can add that this also can be a further argument for an interaction of Syriac church administration with Jerusalem and Palestine and implicitly with the Jewish elites and the large cultural context that could manage this discovery of manuscripts from Jericho. Timotheus was also aware about various textual deviations of the Hexapla in the different versions of the Old Testament, and consequently became extremely interested in the proposition of an older and much more accurate biblical version that might exist: Although I wrote, I have received no answer from them on this matter. I have not got anyone sufficiently capable with me whom I can send. The matter has been like a burning fire in my heart and it has set my bones alight.11 Another interesting piece of information contained in the same letter, towards its end, is that Timotheus penned the missive immediately after the election or ordination of the Metropolitan of Turkestan. Thus, the Patriarch informs Sergius: “The Holy Spirit recently anointed [mshah ruha ­b-yawmatha ​­ halen] a metropolitan for Turkestan.”12 However, the Catalog of ʿAbdishoʿ clearly states that at the time of the Metropolitan of Turkestan’s election there was already a Metropolitan of Damascus and Jerusalem in place, which by logical deduction shows that now, when he spoke of the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Patriarch already had a representative in Palestine, a bishop who likely belonged to the East Syriac ecclesiastic administration of Damascus. According to ʿAbdishoʿ’s Order of Ecclesiastical Judgements (composed in 1315/1316),13 the Metropolitan of Damascus, Jerusalem and the Sea- Coast already appears second on the list [trayana dramsuq ­w-d-ureshlem ­​­­ ​­ ­w-sapray ​­ yame] of “Metropolitans of ​­ the Exterior” [metropulite ­d-lbar] at the time of the Metropolitan of Turk10 Butts and Gross, Jews and Syriac Christians, Introduction, 20. See also Aaron M. Butts, “Psalms 151–155: Syriac,” in F. Feder, M. Henze et al. (eds.), Textual History of the Bible, vol. 2c (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 296–301. 11 M. Heimgartner (ed.), Die Briefe 42–58, ­ ​­ 70–71; Braun, “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I,” 308 (syr.), 309 (germ.); Brock, A Brief Outline, 249. 12 M. Heimgartner (ed.), Die Briefe 42–58, ­ ​­ 71; O. Braun, “Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I über biblische Studien des 9 Jahrhunderts,” 308 (syr.), 309 (germ.); Brock, A Brief Outline, 249. 13 ­Jacques-Marie ​­ Vosté (ed.), ­ Ordo Iudiciorum Ecclesiasticorum, collectus, dispositus, ordinatus et compositus a Mar ‘Abdišo‘ Metropolita Nisibis et Armeniae (Codificazione Canonica Orientale, Fonti, Serie II, Fascicolo XV. Caldei  – Diritto Antico II; Città del Vaticano: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis, 1940), 13.

Timotheus I and the East Syriac Bishopric of the Holy Land  153 istan’s election.14 This is also likely the reason why Timotheus mentions the Metropolitan of Damascus, whom he first asked to investigate this event in Palestine in detail; he was, after all, the metropolitan responsible for the spiritual work and the jurisdiction of East Syrians in the Holy Land. We can speculate a second possibility: if at that time there was no East Syriac bishop with jurisdiction over Palestine, it is plausible to think that, from then on, Timotheus had an additional reason to appoint an East Syriac bishop to the Holy Land and to intensify cultural communication between this area and the Patriarchate of Baghdad. It would thus appear that the Metropolitan of Damascus represented the East Syriac Patriarch’s liaison with Jerusalem and Palestine, the letter of Timotheus I testify. Ignatius Guidi opined that there was a presence of Christians “of the Nestorian confession” in Palestine at that time, and they were subject to the Metropolitan of Damascus. He claimed that during the early Arabisation of Palestine and Syria, the canons of Syriac synods were translated into Arabic for the use of these Christians.15 Conversely, Fiey believes that no titular “Nestorian” bishop could be found in Jerusalem before 893.16 On the contrary, it is quite plausible to date the appearance of an East Syriac bishopric in Palestine perhaps even before the beginning of the 9th century, if we were to follow ʿAbdishoʿ’s Order of Ecclesiastical Judgements. The most valid clue for this bishopric should remain this letter of Timotheus to Sergius of Elam. As to the year of composition of this letter, it would appear that it was penned in the same year of the election of the East Syriac Metropolitan of Turkestan. This would suggest that the establishment of an East Syriac bishopric of Jerusalem predated this event. According to Heimgartner, Letter 47 as well as Letters 53–57 were “fairly precisely” composed in the later years of Sergius’ activity as Metropolitan of Elam.17 The letters are moreover closely related through several common themes.18 Martin Dickens dates the letter around 795–798.19 If this Letter 47 coincides with the period in which the Metropolitan of Turkestan was ordained.

14 On the first place was the metropolitan of Persia and the maritime islands: Vosté, Ordo Iudiciorum Ecclesiasticorum, ­56–57; ​­ J.-B. ​­ Chabot, Synodicon orientale ou recueil de synodes nestoriens (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale 1902), 619– 620; Fiey, “Le pèlerinage des Nestoriens et Jacobites à Jerusalem,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale (Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de Civilisation Médiévale, Université de Poitiers. Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique) 12 (1969), 122; Mark Dickens, “Patriarch Timothy I and the Metropolitan of the Turks,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 20.2 (2010), ­ 117–139, ­ ​­ esp. 132. ­ 15 I. Guidi, “Ostsyrische Bischöfe und Bischöfssitze im V., VI. und VII. Jahrhundert,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 43 (1889), ­ ­388–414, ​­ esp. 389. ­ 16 Fiey, “Le pèlerinage,” 122. See also Michel le Quien, Oriens Christianus, vol. II (Parisiis: Ex Typographia regia, 1740), col. 1299–1300. 17 On Sergius as metropolitan of Elam, see J.-M. Fiey, “L’Elam: la première des métropoles syriennes orientales, I,” Melto 5 (1969), ­ 257–260. ­ ​­ ­ ​­ 18 Heimgartner, Die Briefe 42–58, LXVI. 19 Dickens, “Patriarch Timothy I,” 117.

154  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine Moreover, the Metropolitan of Damascus and Jerusalem also voted in the election of the Syriac Metropolitan of Turkestan, which entails that the East Syriac Church had already established a bishop as their representative in the Holy City before 795. We can reasonably speculate a gradual process for this establishment of a bishop in Jerusalem, if we consider that in 650, during the time of Īšōʿyahb III, probably a small East Syriac community, with deacons and priests, was formed in Jerusalem, so that a century later a bishopric had logically been created. This correspondence of Īšōʿyahb III with Christians living in the holy city is also invoked by Hage suggesting that although the East Syrians existed as a community of believers in the holy city in the middle of the 7th century, they still did not have a bishop.20 The later period of the East Syriac jurisdiction over Palestine is mostly well documented, but we lack certain pieces of information on whether the consecration of the bishopric is indeed to be attributed to Timotheus I, although this proposition is very probable. Meinardus attributes it directly to Timotheus, and bases his affirmation on a reference which, unfortunately, appears to be false according to the investigations we ourselves have carried out: “In the beginning of the 9th century, the Catholicos Timotheus I (778–819 A.D.) established a Nestorian Episcopal See in Jerusalem, which was within the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Metropolitan of Damascus.”21 D.C. Baramki and H. Stephan argue that this consecration can indeed be accredited to Timotheus, and that it was part of the movement to reform and extend the Church’s jurisdiction: “The Jerusalem Episcopal See of the once widespread Nestorian Church was established under the Catholicos Timotheus I. This See was within the hyparchy of the Metropolitan See of Damascus.”22 Amnon Linder considers that while the existing “Nestorian” community of the Holy City “did have its own Bishop,” this was “only from the beginning of the 9th century,” “when the Catholicos Timotheus I (778– 819) decided that Jerusalem would have a bishop who would be subordinate to the Metropolitan of Damascus.” Linder claims that Elias al-Jawhari was Nestorian Bishop of Jerusalem after 878/879 ( prior to his consecration as Metropolitan of “Damascus Jerusalem and coastline” on July 15th 893),23

20 W. Hage, Die ­syrisch-jakobitische ​­ Kirche in frühislamischer Zeit ( Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966), 81, n. 236. 21 On this point, Meinardus, “The Nestorians in Egypt,” 124, makes the following reference: J.-B. ​­ Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166– 1199), vol. II (Paris: Ernst Leroux Éditeur, 1905), 552. 22 D.C. Baramki, and St.N. Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage between Jericho and Jordan,” QDAP 4 (1935), 83. 23 Amnon Linder, “Christian Communities in Jerusalem,” in Joshua Prawer, Haggai BenShammai ­ (eds.), ­ The History of Jerusalem. The Early Muslim Period 638– 1099 ( New York: New York University Press, 1996), 153. “Elias Hierosolymæ & Damasci Nestorianorum Metropolita” is mentioned also by J.S. Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino­ Vaticana, III.I (Romae: Typis Sacrae Congregationis de Propaganda Fide, 1725), 513–516, where he introduces excerpts from his “Book of the Concordance of Faith.” Georg Graf,

Timotheus I and the East Syriac Bishopric of the Holy Land  155 named also Elias ibn ʿUbayd.24 The name and cathedra of Elias is mentioned also in the introduction of his “Book of the Concordance of Faith”: In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate, from Whom we seek help. We transcribing the book which was copied by the learned, respectable holy father, pure, worthy, spiritual Mār Elias of the Lord, al-Ǧawharī, ­ ​­ the metropolitan of the noble Jerusalem (al- Quds), the earthly throne of God, pastor of pastors of Christians and leader of those washed clean with the water of baptism, may his prayer embrace us and all the faithful. Amen.25 Amnon Linder’ assessment that “although we have no information on other bishops, that does not mean that there were no other Nestorian bishops in Jerusalem”26 is reasonable. Much later, during the time of Patriarch Sabrīšōʿ III Zānbūr in the mid-11th century (1061/1064–1072), the East Syriac bishopric of Jerusalem was elevated to the rank of Metropolitan27 and consequently was likely no longer dependent on Damascus. In 1065, Catholicos Sabrīšōʿ III Zānbūr consecrated ʿEnānīšōʿ as Metropolitan of Jerusalem,28 while in 1283, we see that the East Syriac representative for this area held the title of Metropolitan of Tripoli and Jerusalem, which seems to indicate a change in the prelate’s primary residence.29 The nexus of influence for the East Syriac region most likely gradually moved from Damascus towards the Mediterranean coast, which was dotted with Palestinian cities. The promotion of the East Syriac Bishop in the clerical hierarchy, together with the migration from one place (Damascus) to another (the coast) can be viewed as proof of the expansion and dynamism of the East Syriac community in the Holy Land and the Holy City. “In any case,” as Linder highlights, “it clearly indicates the growing importance of Jerusalem within the Nestorian church.”30 Fiey brings into discussion also an inaccurate source that “delirious” mentions the East Syriac development in Jerusalem, the Statistique inédite

24

25

26 27 28 29 30

Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur, vol. II (Studi e Testi, 133; Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1947), 132–133. J.M. Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus. Répertoire des dioceses Syriaques Orientaux et Occidentaux (Beiruter Texte und Studien 49, Beirut, Stuttgart: Franz-Steiner Verlag, 1993), 87. A translation of the introductory part, based on Vat. ar. 657, could be found in Nikolai N. Seleznyov, “‘Elias Geveri of Damascus’ in Russian Studies of Church History: A Witness to the Two-Finger Sign of the Cross in a Medieval Treatise on Denominations of Syrian Christianity,” Scrinium: Journal of Patrology and Critical Hagiography, 9 (2013), ­ 366–381, ­ ​­ esp. 377f. ­ Linder, “Christian ­ Communities,” ­153–154. ​­ Fiey, “Le pèlerinage,” 122; Le Quien, Oriens Christianus, II, col. 1299; Baramki, and Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage,” 83; Linder, “Christian Communities,” 154. Linder, “Christian Communities,” 154. Fiey, “Le pèlerinage,” 122. Linder, “Christian Communities,” 154.

156  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine de l’ancienne Église Chaldéo-Nestorienne, ­ ​­ that is an unreliable document. Fiey criticises “ses divagations mégalomanes” according to which there was an East Syriac Metropolitan together with four suffragan bishops, 70 priests, 200 clerics, and four churches (of St. James, Apostle and Martyr; of St. John the Baptist; of the Transfiguration of Christ on Tabor; and of the Assumption of the Holy Virgin) in Jerusalem in the year 1280. The exaggerations continue, with a given number of 8.200 Nestorian families (or 41.000 souls) living in and around Jerusalem. The Statistique also attributes three convents of St. Anthony, of the 12 Apostles, and of Pentecost to the East Syriac community of Jerusalem.31 Clearly, from a historical point of view, the Statistique deserves no credit.32 From the 12th century onwards, the East Syrians are mentioned as an established community in Jerusalem by a significant number of Western pilgrims, from among whom Jacques de Vitry, Burchardus of Mount Sion, Bernhards von Breidenbach, Leonhard Rauwolf, Melchior von Seydlitz, and Niccolo da Poggibonsi may be quoted.33 However, one cannot speculate if the East Syriac bishop became at a certain time a Metropolitan chair with the cathedra of Jerusalem. Fiey opines that it is hard to believe this possibility, because of the silence of Eastern canonical sources on this subject. An argument in this sense is the enthronement of the Patriarch Yahballāhā III in 1281, to which is mentioned a certain Abraham, who bears the title “Metropolitan of Tripoli and Jerusalem”34 and not just “Metropolitan of Jerusalem.”35 Be that as it may, the East Syrians also administered an altar in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There appear to be various testimonies of the presence of the East Syriac community among Christian groups at the holy places of Christianity: it is claimed that theirs was one of three altars in the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem in 1335.36

31 Pierre Aziz, Statistique inédite de l’ancienne église Chaldéo- nestorienne (Paris: ­ Imprimerie catholique, 1909), 11–12. The author of this document is unknown; it was acquired by P. Aziz from a Jacobite, who discovered it in a Maronite church in Damascus and copied it. Meinardus, “The Nestorians in Egypt,” 125, n. 20. 32 Fiey, “Le pèlerinage,” 122. 33 A. Rücker, “Über einige nestorianische Liederhandschriften, vornehmlich der griech. Patriarchatsbibliothek in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 9 (1920), 107–123; Baramki, and Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage,” 84. 34 P. Borbone (ed. and tr.), History of Mar Yahballah and Rabban Sauma (Hamburg: Verlag Tredition, 2020), 88 (syr.), 89 (engl.); P. Bedjan (ed.), Histoire de Mar- Jabalaha de trois autres Patriarches, d’un Prêtre et de deux Laïques Nestoriens (Paris/Leipzig: ­ ­ O. Harrasowitz, 1895), 37 (syr.); E.A.W. Budge, The Monks of Kublai Khan, Emperor of China, or the History of the Life and Travels of Rabban Sawma, Envoy and Plenipotentiary of the Mongol Khans to three Kings of Europe, and Markos who as Mar Yahballaha III became Patriarch of the Nestorian Church in Asia (London: Religous Tract Society, 1928), 156 (engl.) 35 Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus, 98. 36 See also Yacob Koriah Karkenny, The Syrian Orthodox Church in the Holy Land (Jerusalem, 1976), 38; Baramki, and Stephan, “A Nestorian Hermitage,” 85.

4

West Syriac Bishops of Jerusalem

The ecclesiastic rivals of the Church of the East, the West Syrians, were themselves also deeply involved in the liturgical and spiritual work of Christianity in the Holy City at that time.1 Their presence in the Holy City with a bishop can also be argued on the basis of the list of Syriac bishops in Jerusalem from the Appendix IV of the Chronicle of Michael the Syrian that gives names of hierarchs until his time.2 Otto Meinardus elaborates the list of Michael and illustrates a total of 118 names of bishops from 575 to 1962.3 Fiey observes in this enumeration of 118 names Meinardus “passes abruptly from 57 to 85” arriving on the date 1511 what in fact should be 1200. Amending the list Fiey opines that the inserted names (no. 86–118) were borrowed from the notes of the Syriac Orthodox Patriarch Barsaum.4 Apart from Jean-Maurice ­ ​­ Fieyand, ­ Hubert Kaufhold also analysed the longue durée of Syriac bishops in the Holy City.5 It is noteworthy that a bishop named Severos went unmentioned in the list of Bishops of Jerusalem contained in the appendix to Michael Rabo’s chronicle, but he appears with the name in the short paragraph about Patriarch Athanasios Gamolo where Severos is mentioned as the hierarch who ordained the Patriarch Athanasios Gamolo in 594/595.6 ­ ​­



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DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-15

158  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine The Syriac Orthodox were active in Jerusalem at the time of the Persian conquest. Under the new Muslim administration, they formed a separate community under the guidance of a bishop, and in the time the Crusader conquest of the holy city. Michael the Syrian notes that after the expulsion of Chalcedonian Patriarch Elias (AD 496–516) “the Orthodox [the Chalcedonians] on this city no longer had a bishop until the time of the Arab rule.”7 Michael Rabo wants to suggest that this was a prosperous time for ecclesiastical administration of Syriac Orthodox in Jerusalem, that implying the existence of a bishop. Kaufhold inspects that in the period of about 300 years, from the time of Elias’s deposition and until the time of Timotheus of Jerusalem installed after 793, five West Syriac bishops are mentioned in the appendix of Michael Rabo’s chronicle: Cyrillus, Jeremias, Thomas, Johannes, and Philoxenos.8 In the chronicle itself, however, Michael also lists four other names and employs a different enumeration.9 It might that, in the absence of reliable documentation for the period ranging from 638 to the end of the 8th century, Michael relied on two separate sources that varied. For the period beginning with Timotheus, Michael based his chronicle on a reliable source: the Pontifical of the Patriarchal Court of Antioch, a liturgical manual containing prayers and rituals to be used by bishops. This work included a chronological list of the bishops ordained by the Patriarchs of Antioch, mentioning their names and number in chronological order, their place of origin, and frequently noting the city where their ordination took place, with Michael at times providing additional details from his own personal knowledge, such as the circumstances of their death, or their bynames.10 For the 9th century, Kaufhold includes the note from Ms. Brit. Libr. 14.649, in which a certain John of Jerusalem, Bishop, appears as visitor in the Syriac monastery in Egypt at a time when 70 Syriac monks lived there. This bishop cannot be identified.11 The Jacobite bishops of Jerusalem were Metropolitans, and probably never had suffragans. This does not imply that there was no possibility that further Jacobite bishops were active in remote areas of the Holy Land other than in the Holy City. There was also a West Syriac bishop of Tiberias, at least between the

7 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 493 (fr.). 8 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 493 (fr.), After Elias (no 56), the list continues with: Cyrillos (no 57); Jeremias (no 58); Thomas (no 59); John (no 60); Philoxenos (no 61). See also Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 140; Amnon Linder, “Christian Communities in Jerusalem,” in Joshua Prawer & Haggai Ben-Shammai (eds.), The History of Jerusalem. The Early Muslim Period 638– 1099 ( New York: New York University Press, 1996), 153. 9 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 451 (fr.), no 55: Elias; no. 56: John; no 57: Petros; no 58: Macarios; no 59: Eustatios. 10 According to Linder, “Christian Communities,” 154–155: “this list demonstrates the extent to which the Jacobite Patriarchs of Antioch preserved the succession of the Metropolitans of Jerusalem, at least from the end of the 8th century.” 11 Ms. Brit. Libr. 14.649, foll. 1–179; see also Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 148.

West Syriac Bishops of Jerusalem  159 9th and 11th centuries,12 and his jurisdiction must have extended to Galilee. The diocese of Jerusalem likely encompassed all of Palestine, as far afield as West Syrians lived and often beyond.13 West Syriac Metropolitans of Jerusalem appear sporadically in the colophons, in the pilgrims’ notes or in information about donations their monastery in the Holy City, or regarding the process of copying manuscripts with their authorisation or at their request in the holy city or outside of it. Kaufhold observers that from the middle of the 15th century to the 16th century they bear the name Dioscoros as hierarch name or cathedra.14 One might speculate that by the perpetuation of the episcopal or metropolitan function in the Holy City, the continuity of the Syrians in Jerusalem as a community can be invoked, as we will see later and from their organisation around the Mary Magdalene monastery and the possessions they had and which also denotes a management that had to be supervised by a bishop. Most probably the Jacobite Metropolitans of the Holy City were, as expected, not local people from Jerusalem, but rather monks instructed in the genuine Syriac Orthodox monasteries from Syria and Mesopotamia and later dispatched to the Holy City. Many of them likely came on pilgrimage, and remained here to continue their monastic life, and later on, they were elected as bishops by the administration of the Syriac Orthodox Church. Those who remained in the Syriac monastery in Jerusalem for a time likely had a good chance of being elected bishops anywhere. Michael Rabo’s list testifies that some Jacobite monks from the Syriac Orthodox monastery in Jerusalem were ordained as bishops in different places at the beginning of the 12th century: Ignatius bishop of Kephar Tab who came from “our monastery in Jerusalem”15 and Basilius metropolitan of Amid, who also came “from the monastery in Jerusalem.”16 Linder’s argues that “the fact that all the Metropolitans in Jerusalem were foreigners attests to the decided weakness of the local Jacobite community, and indicates the absence of any large Jacobite lay populace in Jerusalem.”17 On the contrary, the existence of a bishopric can only sustain the presence of a coagulated and flourishing West Syriac community in the Holy Land. Moreover, to keep the community under the authority of the central instance of the church which was the Syriac Orthodox patriarch in Antioch, and to maintain control of this, it was an imperative to install a bishop dispatched by the Patriarch himself. 12 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 503; Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 149. Yacob Koriah` Karkenny, The Syrian Orthodox Church in the Holy Land (Jerusalem, ­ 1976), 60 speaks of a Syriac “Diocese in Tiberias which lasted from 814 to 1060 and from 1139 to 1350.” 13 Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 149. 14 Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 149. 15 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 477 (App. 3, XLI, no. 30). 16 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 478 (App. 3, XLII, no. 9). For Kephar Tab see Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus, 223. 17 Linder, “Christian Communities,” 155.

160  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine To have chosen someone from the local community of Jerusalem (which happened several times in the medieval period) could well have limited the Patriarch’s authority and even hindered communication between the local Syriac Orthodox community in Jerusalem and the Patriarchal centre (as was the case of Theodore bar Wahbun: a conflicted character who fostered tensions against his Patriarch, Michael Rabo, to whom we will return in a later section). One example of the strong ties between the Syriac Orthodox Metropolitans of Jerusalem and the Syriac Orthodox Patriarchate of Antioch was the participation of Mar Thomas in a Syriac Orthodox delegation to Constantinople. This Mar Thomas is noted in the appendix of the Michael’s chronicle with no. 59.18 In presenting the story about the delegation Michael attributes to Mar Thomas the title Metropolitan of Jerusalem that attest clearly now the existence of a Syriac Orthodox Metropolitan in the Holy City. In the Jacobite delegation led by Patriarch Johannes VII and joined by Mar Constantinus of Marʿaš, Mar Sergius of Apamea, and Mar Jacob of Symnada, a delegation which travelled to Constantinople in 969 to embark on discussions on the topic of Orthodox belief and unification.19 This case is in no way particular, as it is well known that the Metropolitans of the Holy City were highly influential in every Christian church, above all for the distinctive ecumenical environment they inhabited and the rich encounters they witnessed during their activity in Jerusalem, which could always prove useful to the central authority of their Church.20 These Syriac Metropolitans of Jerusalem were the high representatives of the community, and took an active role in managing the spiritual and secular affairs of their local interests, as we will see in the latter section of this book when the focus will shift to Syriac possessions in Jerusalem. In conclusion, this credible evidence about Syriac Christian presence and installation around Jerusalem after the 7th century, and the formation of monastic establishments and episcopal seats in the Holy Land might argue in favour of a continued intersection of Syriac Christians with the Palestine after the Islamic conquest of the Holy City. All these will lead to a more fluid interaction of individuals and communities of Syriac Christian tradition with Jerusalem and to a more stable formation of their installment in the Holy Land of medieval period.

18 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 493 (fr.). 19 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 131. 20 The confessional climate seems to be agreeable for the Jacobites in Jerusalem, and no conflicts appeared mentioned between Jacobites and Greek Orthodox Christians prior to the Crusader conquest. Graf notes that Theodoros Abū- Qurra have maintained friendly relations with a Jacobite in Jerusalem, whom he at the very least converted to “Orthodoxy.” See Georg Graf, Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur, vol. II (Studi e testi 133, Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 1947), 13; Linder, “Christian Communities,” 156.

5

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective Jerusalem as Viewed through Political and Interreligious Identitary Clichés

Jacob of Serugh and the Early Syriac Exegetical Tradition depicting Edessa as Superior to Jerusalem The Syrians have not written much about Jerusalem as a theological concept. Indeed, patristic authors were scarcely concerned with this topic. This is probably due to the fact that, for long periods, Jerusalem was identified with either Byzantine politics or with other administrations foreign to the ideals of Syriac Christian. We will, nevertheless, attempt to bring interpretations of Jerusalem in the Syriac literature into discussion, contrasting two authors from different times: Jacob of Serugh and Elias of Nisibis. Liked to these texts, we will elaborate the discussion looking at similar arguments from the Syriac exegetical tradition.1 Consequently, we will illustrate a Syriac poem that portrays the Holy City in antithesis to Edessa, followed by a later example from the Syriac Renaissance that although uses other arguments nevertheless follows the established pattern of attempting to accentuate local Syriac tradition to the detriment of other, ‘foreign’ spiritual centres. Jacob of Serugh lived in a Jewish-influenced environment; he strictly associated Jerusalem with Judaism. The other author, Elijah of Nisibis, lived in the 11th century when the Syriac centre of gravity will have shifted, and Jerusalem is no longer associated with Byzantine rule, but more recently, with Muslim domination. This will, in turn, demonstrate that the theological perceptions of Syrian Christian authors regarding Jerusalem were not isolated by the social and political context of the times in which they lived, and one can opine that they unfailingly saw the earthly Jerusalem also through the lens of their society and that of their religious neighbours.

1 The chosen title of Naomi Koltun-Fromm’s recent article “Syriac Fathers on Jerusalem,” in Aaron Michael Butts and Simcha Gross (eds.), Jews and Syriac Christians: Intersections across the First Millenium (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism 180; Mohr Siebeck: Tübingen, 2020), 171–186, announces from the outset a substantial patristic analysis; unfortunately, the paper is almost limited to considerations from Ephrem the Syrian, without important details on the relation of the topic with other patristic interpretations.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-16

162  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine A brief introduction to this form of literary writing in the Syriac tradition can help the reader at this point. Syriac poetry is part of a broader literary genre that popularised Christian Syriac literature to the universal public. The characteristics of the genre particularise the cultural heritage of Syriac Christianity and render it distinct from other Oriental Christian confessions. Syrians penned their theological treatises both in prose and in verse.2 Beginning with Ephrem the Syrian and including Jacob of Serugh, Narsai, and others, literary works such as madrashe, mēmrē, and other forms of poetic expression all shaped an impressive theological genre.3 Whether concerning liturgical celebrations, topics of polemic theology, or even moral or pastoral themes (with reference to Ephrem, the ­ Syriac liturgical poet par excellence), “the madrashe captivate the reader by their astonishing poetic quality, their acute theological insight, and their vivid and often surprising imagery,”4 as Possekel astutely remarks. And, where the madrashe predominantly have a liturgical character and are often times sung,5 the mēmrē, while carrying less liturgical significance (only capable of being recited), nevertheless develop a more profound theological narrative, and fits at the same time with Syriac Christian polemical intention. Moreover, they are further distinguished by their particular syllable count.6

2 The Syriac Orthodox Patriarch Ephrem Barsoum has attempted a classification of Syriac poets, whom he divided into four distinct categories. Naturally, in his endeavour he only made reference to West Syriac authors, failing to include any East Syrians in his l ist  – thereby omitting a series of important figures such as Narsai, ʿAbdishoʿ, and Gīwargīs Wardā. Ephrem Barsoum’s first category includes a series of notable personalities that we would tentatively call the founding fathers of this literary genre (such as Ephrem in the 4th century), or otherwise notable furtherers or promoters of early Syriac poetry, among them authors from the 5th (Isaac of Edessa, Simeon the Potter) and 6th centuries (Jacob of Serugh), from the early Islamic period (Jacob of Edessa in the late 7th century, George of the Arabs in the 8th) and many others from the later period ending with Barhebraeus in the 13th century. The Patriarch’s second category includes many other authors from the later Syriac tradition that bridge the divide between the 11th and 18th century, while his third and fourth mention a total number of 28 authors writing in a similarly extensive time frame, between the 13th and 20th century. Ignatius Aphram I Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls. A History of Syriac Literature and Sciences (trans. and edited by Matti Moosa, with a foreword by Cyril Aphrem Karim, second revised edition; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2003), 36–37; see also Sebastian P. Brock, “Later Syriac Poetry,” in Daniel Kind (ed.), ­ The Syriac World (London: ­ Routledge, 2019), 327–338, ­ ​­ esp. 327. ­ 3 On the nature and character of both Syriac poetic genres, see A. Baumstark, Festbreviar und Kirhenjahr der syrischen Jakobiten (Paderborn: F. Schöningh, 1910), 49–52; François ­Cassingena-Trévedy, ​­ “L’Hymnographie ­ syriaque,” in François ­Cassingena-Trévedy ​­ and Izabela Jurasz (eds.), Les liturgies syriaques (Études Syriaques 3; Paris: Geuthner, 2006), ­183–219. ​­ 4 Ute Possekel, “The emergence of Syriac literature to AD 400,” in Daniel Kind (ed.), The Syriac World (London: ­ Routledge, 2019), 309–326, ­ ​­ esp. 319. ­ 5 See Possekel, “The Emergence of Syriac Literature,” 320. 6 See Brock, “Later Syriac Poetry,” 327.

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  163 To return to Jerusalem in Syriac poetry, we must point out that the author of the text is one of the most important Syriac poets and theologians. In making a comparison between the West Syriac Jacob of Serugh and the East Syriac Narsai, Sebastian Brock shows that both were alumni of the School of Edessa and connected with the school’s heritage: “Narsai as a teacher, and Jacob as a student.” Both were didactic personalities and exceptional writers, who deeply influenced Oriental Christian literature and whose works crossed their own confessional boundaries. However, in the case of Narsai Brock also stresses more on his didactic proficiency and in the case of Jacob on his pastoral capability.7 Jacob of Serugh (451–521) was a West Syriac bishop and author, widely considered one of the most important writers and theologians from late 9 Antiquity.8 He composed various poems and homilies (mēmrē), ­ with one of them composed in the pre-Pascal period (probably in the Passion Week) and devoted to Jerusalem and Edessa,10and which will be the subject of our discussion, based on some selected passages that portray the antithesis Jerusalem-Edessa. In this text, Jacob denounces the Jews, whom he identifies with Jerusalem. Jacob’s text revolves around two central ideas: on the one hand, it represents a critique against the Jews; and on the other, it praises the Syriac tradition. The author uses the metaphor of two cities to define the two polemical and opposite notions which he wanted to highlight: Jerusalem coincides with the Jewish community, and Edessa with Syriac Christianity. Edessa is portrayed as strictly superior to Jerusalem, or put otherwise, as the author shows, Christianity goes beyond the Jewish tradition. This image and identity of a robust Christian tradition embodied by the author is not an exception, and would go on to dominate Syriac Christian exegesis for centuries. One testimony to this fact – from outside the exegetic genre – can be found

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164  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine in the History of Michael Rabo, who employs a similar comparison between Edessa and Jerusalem that seems to follow the same pattern of placing the local Syriac tradition above that associated with Jerusalem. This appears in the author’s attempt to describe the Crusaders’ words about the conquest of Edessa (1098) before that of Jerusalem (1099) on the grounds that she (the city) believed in Christ before the Holy City did it.11 It would appear that Jacob of Serugh’s writings were in accordance with the culture of his time. The message of the homily is very substantial and centered on the local identity of Syriac Christianity and most probably the mēmrā was recited or chanted in the liturgical service. Jonathan Loopstra demonstrates that this mēmrā was associated with the Holy Week and used in the liturgical service of that period: a 13th century manuscript recommends reading of the mēmrā on “the night of the fifth day of Hosanna Week,”12 while the other places it “after Jacob’s memro ‘On the Church and the Synagogue,’ but before the readings for the Feast of Hosannas.”13 It seems plausible to consider the mēmrā as a Christian echo for the Feast of Palm Sunday and their answer addressed to the Jews for their rejection of Jesus.14 Moreover, this was not his only written homily against the Jews, with a further seven mēmrē dedicated to the topic.15 The author’s imagination is unbound when he speaks of his own tradition. He divides the mēmrā into two major ideas that are reflected in the text by way of numerous metaphors: the attitude of denial of the Hebrew’s daughter towards Christ, and the receptivity of the Aramean’s daughter towards the Son of God. The story that Jacob presents in verse shows that the coming of Christ could have saved the Jews and Jerusalem through their acceptance of the Christian message: The father sent Him [Christ] to betroth, to take as a wife the Daughter of Abraham [bart abrohom]; He stood at the gate, but she refused to open the gate that He should enter.16

11 J.-B. ​­ Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166–1199), ­­ ​­ Vol. III (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1910), 185: “De même qu’Édesse a cru dans le Christ avant Jérusalem, ainsi elle nous a été donnée par le Christ Notre-Seigneur avant Jérusalem.” This late comparison shows that, although separated by over 6th centuries, Syrians successfully preserved their image of themselves as the true safekeepers of a Christian tradition that coalesced in Edessa – a c ity which, given their perspective, supersedes Jerusalem in its importance to the faith. 12 St. Thomas Church MS 6, f. 150r b 12; Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 3. 13 Diyarbakir Meryem Ana Kilisesi MS 3, f. 713–719; Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 3. 14 See Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 3; F.C. Burkitt, “The Early Syriac Lectionary System,” in Proceedings of the British Academy 1921–1923 (London: Published for the British Academy by H. Milford, Oxford University Press, 1923), 301–338. 15 See Micheline Albert (ed.), Jacques de Saroug, Homélies contre les Juifs ( Patrologia Orientalis 174 [38.1], Turnhout: Brepols, 1976). 16 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 44 (engl.), 45 (syr.); Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, 731.

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  165 According to the poet, Jerusalem, which represents the Jewish community, did not react to Christ’s message, and did not accept what He brought them. The Syriac verb indicates here “betroth”, an interesting analogy that can be seen as marriage vows. He opened His treasury17 and filled the streets with the good things He brought; She consumed His dowry, and, as for Him, she cast Him outside of her gate. He changed water to good wine [mayo l-hamro ­ ​­ tobo] at the banqueting hall; She drank and became drunk, and she – the wicked of heart – despised Him. He multiplied the loaves [of bread] [lahmo], and all the hungry ate and were satisfied; Yet she denies His name and refuses to affirm her betrothal with Him 18 [leh ­d-mkhireh]. ​­ For Jacob, Jerusalem had long been the locus of the Jewish community, but had also become the place of Christ’s activity later. The Holy City is also presented as the daughter of the Hebrews, which confers its negative connotations since the daughter of the Hebrews was insensitive and thankless of the work Christ had done for her. On the contrary, she received the merits of Christ, yet showed aversion to him and to his work: He healed her sick, bandaged her wounds, and gave life to her dead; Yet she hated, envied, despised, and persecuted Him, even as she was recovering health. All help, all healings, all good things He granted her, yet she attacks Him with abuse. […] She greatly despised the Son of God who came to her; Because of Him, she hated the healings that He had granted her.19 A roughly similar perspective, depicting the refusal of the Jews to welcome Christ, can be found in the work of bishop and poet Balai (d. 436), who 17 An allusion to this motif can be found in another Homily against the Jews of Isaac of Antioch, which refers to the Jews as the safekeepers of the wealth of nations: O nation, you were the guardians Of the riches that were preserved for the nations. See Stanley Kazan, “Isaac of Antioch’s Homily against the Jews,” Part I, Oriens Christianus 45 (1961), 30–53, esp.  46; Stanley Kazan, “Isaac of Antioch’s Homily against the Jews,” Part III, Oriens Christianus 47 (1963), ­ 89–97, ­ ​­ esp. 94. ­ 18 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 44–46 ­ ​­ (engl.), ­ 45–47 ­ ​­ (syr.); ­ Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, 732. 19 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 46 (engl.), 47 (syr.); Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, 732.

166  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine preceded Jacob of Serugh. In his Madrasha on the Dedication of the Newly Built Church in the City of Qenneshrin, he employs a similar metaphor: Babylon, represented by the Magi, which here take a female personification in an analogy of the Gentile Church. She loves the Messiah, and as His adoptive mother takes the place of His birth mother (Zion), who hated Him: The cave was still, but the manger was full. Zion slept, but Babylon was awake. She who hated Him was darkened by His light, The Church loved Him; by His birth she was enlightened. […] He hated his mother because she hated Him. Although she gave birth to Him, she did not love Him. He loved the Church who, when she received Him, Carried him in her bosom and loved Him.20 We therefore see that Jacob himself continued the ongoing comparison between the regions of Palestine and Syriac Orthodox worldview, with the superiority of Syriac Christianity taking primacy in the author’s argument. Regarding the refusal of the Jews, we can state that Jacob’s mēmrā, as well as his seven Homilies against the Jews discussed towards the beginning of this chapter, are facets of the same overarching critique of the Jewish rejection of the Saviour in Christ. Kazan correctly describes the attitude of Jacob of Serugh in his seven Homilies, a description applicable also to the mēmrā on Edessa and Jerusalem: “He appears to be a thoroughly convinced Christian who cannot understand why the Jews refuse to accept the divinity of Jesus.” And, as Kazan notes, while in his other homilies Jacob “argues with the Jews attempting to convince them that they misinterpret and misunderstand Scripture, the phenomena of nature, and the facts of history which all clearly point to the conclusion, that Jesus, the Messiah, is the son of God;”21 however in the homily on Edessa and Jerusalem the Syriac poet is neither preoccupied with arguing against the Jews, nor convincing them of the Christian truth. Neither does Jacob invent imaginary dialogues with Jews on topics of faith; but rather, and unlike in the seven other homilies mentioned, he is content to highlight the richness of the local Christian tradition he represents, the beginnings of Syriac Christian history and the special relationship between the daughter of Aramaeans in Edessa – meaning, Syriac Christians – and Christ the heavenly bridegroom, with Syrians later appearing to take the place of Jerusalem itself, as the text goes on to show. 20 “The Madrasha of the Mar Balai Chorespiscopos on the Dedication of the Newly Built Church in the City of Qenneshrin,” Appendix to Kathleen E. McVey, “The Sogitha on the Church of Edessa in the Context of Other Early Greek and Syriac Hymns for the Consecration of Church Buildings,” ARAM 5 (1993), ­ ­359–370, ​­ esp. 365. ­ 21 Stanley Kazan, “Isaac of Antioch’s Homily against the Jews,” Part IV, Oriens Christianus 47 (1965), ­ 57–78, ­ ​­ esp. 64. ­

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  167 Moreover, in contrast to the egotistic attitude of the daughter of the Hebrews (“the unfaithful fiancée”),22 the daughter of the Arameans (who symbolises Edessan Christianity) accepted Christ – this antithesis continues throughout the mēmrā, and serves to ultimately eclipse Jerusalem to the advantage of Edessa, an argumentation that seems “to define and reinforce his own community’s identity as the faithful lover.”23 First of all, the poet nuances the fact that the daughter of the Arameans: “heard the news and wondered what the Hebrew’s daughter [bart ʿebroye] did.” Edessa, here the Arameans’ daughter, was very curious upon hearing about the bridegroom and asked more about him, inviting him to come to her and preparing herself intensely: ­ ​­ ​­ The news of the Bridegroom [d-hathno] reached ­good-natured Edessa ­ ​­ ta’monitho]; [l-urhoy She longed for His beauty and she earnestly wanted to see Him. And on account of Him, she clothed herself with zeal against His community, She urged Him to change places and come to her.24 Jacob adopts traditional arguments employed by Syriac authors in order to place Syriac Christianity as among the earliest denominations in the East, and thereby to confer historical validity unto it. One such literary motif is represented by King Abgar, mentioned here in a well-known fable about the invitation he addressed to Christ to come to his kingdom.25 J. Loopstra

22 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 4. 23 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 4. Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 48 (engl.), 49 (syr.); Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, 24 ­732–733. ​­ 25 In the third part of this book, we will see that even later pilgrims remembered the theological motif of Abgar, going so far as to also seek to identify the place in Jerusalem where Christ had been when He read Abgar’s letter. The most important Syriac text introducing the legend of Abgar is the Doctrina Addai, from the 5th century. Martin Illert ­ (ed.), Doctrina Addai de imagine Edessena. Die Abgarlegende. Das Christusbild von Edessa ­ ­ ​­ (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 134–135, § 4–5; Peter Bruns, “Die Geschichte von König Abgar und das Christusbild in der syrischen Überlieferung,” in Karlheinz Dietz, Christian Hannick, Carolina Lutzka and Elisabeth Maier (eds.), Das Christusbild: Zu Herkunft und Entwicklung in Ost und West. Akten der Kongresse in Würzburg, 16– 18. Oktober 2014 und Wien, 17.– 18. März 2015 (Das östliche Christentum NF 62; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 2016), 105–120; Alain Desreumaux, “La figure du roi Abgar d’ Édesse,” in Lutz Greisiger, Claudia Rammelt and Jürgen Tubach (eds.), Edessa in hellenistisch-römischer ­ ​­ Zeit: Religion, Kultur und Politik zwischen Ost und West. Beiträge des internationalen E dessaSymposiums in Halle an der Saale, 14.– 17. Juli 2005 (Beiruter Texte und Studien 116; Beirut: Orient-Institut/ Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2009), 31– 45. For more on the figure of Abgar, see Sergey Minov, Memory and Identity in the Syriac Cave of Treasures. Rewriting the Bible in Sasanian Iran (Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture 26; Leiden / Boston, MA: Brill, 2021), 290–294. For the celebration in Edessa of the feast of Abgar of Edessa, the first Christian king of the Osrhoene, see Baumstark, Festbreviar, 246.

168  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine considers the figure of Abgar and the legendary correspondence between Jesus and Edessan King as the “principal subject” of the memra, and one of the reasons for which Edessa was defined with the epithet “the blessed City” it must be looked for in this relationship behind which stands allegedly this exchange of letters.26 In the present text, King Abgar appears as the “father of the bride” [abuh d-kaltho] ­ ​­ and invites Christ, “the bridegroom” [hathno] to enter his kingdom: And through her king, just and full of faith [malkeh keno d-mle ­ ​­ haymonutho], Edessa sent word that the Son of God should come to her. King Abgar, who was also called Ūkkomo (‘the Black’) –The father of the bride–he urged the Bridegroom to come to her 27 ­ (Edessa). The antithesis that Jacob further emphasises is relevant to defining the two historical centres as Jacob saw them in his time as contrasting places. Jerusalem, represented by the daughter of the Hebrews, was set against the bridegroom; conversely, Edessa, or the daughter of the Arameans, received Him and loved Him. In building this new “covenanted relationship”28 a role is attributed also to King Abgar whose faithfulness convince the bridegroom to come to Edessa and make the city to transit from “blackness” of paganism and idolatry to Christian inheritance. Most probably the audience of Jacob’s homily was familiar with the figure of Abgar and his participation in the Christian heritage of Edessa,29 so by using the profile and the legacy of the king, the author more easily achieves his goal of emphasising and legitimising a strong local Christian identity in Edessa that demarcates itself from any Jewish claim or feature around the city. This audience (“you who dwell in the fortified city of the king”) is encouraged in the end part of the homily to assume and cultivate Abgar’s fidelity for Christ: “you have inherited his city; inherit his faith along with it!”30 As the poet points out this relationship of “Daughter of the Arameans” with Christ “the Bridegroom,” would change the geographical map and historical architecture of the religious world, as the blessed Edessa became superior to the Holy City due to the fact that she remained vigilant to the 26 See Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 2. 27 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 48 (engl.), 49 (syr.); Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, ­732–733. ​­ 28 The poet shows that a new covenant was created now through the acceptance of the Gospel of Christ (the Bridgroom) in Edessa, which end “his covenanted relationship with Jewish Jerusalem.” Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 15. 29 See Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 6–7; Sidney Griffith, “The Doctrina Addai as a Paradigm of Christian Thought in Edessa in the Fifth Century,” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac ­ ­269–292. ​­ Studies 6.2 (2003), Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 80 (engl.), 81 (syr.). 30

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  169 changes of the times and to divine pedagogy, thus receiving the message of Christ.31 Through an interesting imaginary discourse, Jacob expresses the consciousness of Edessa towards Christ, and the invitation to Christ to come to her and to imprint His sign over her past full of idols: She loved [rhemteh] the Bridegroom, while the Hebrews persecuted Him, And she lovingly invited Him to enter her bedchamber. ‘Come to me, Son of God [bar aloho], who came to the earth, And illuminate my streets, and make my vain images pass away! That Hebrew woman, she seeks to harm You, Beautiful One; She despises your Father and does not receive You in love. Behold, my high gates are open to You; they await You! Come, enter, Oh Bridegroom! I will welcome You, for I love You! Come, dethrone and throw away my idols [ ftokhray] so they fall from their high places, And set on me your signs [nishokh] for I will be Your from now on!32 Jacob reinforces this superior perspective of Edessa over Jerusalem in that, while Jerusalem identifies with the complex history of the prophets and messengers that Christ sent to the Jewish community, Edessa did not need to benefit from prophetic missions in preparing for the coming of the bridegroom, and this opens the horizon of peoples (ʿamme [nations])33 to the



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170  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine inheritance of the salvation brought by Christ to the detriment of the chosen Jewish people (ʿammo): But it was not to teachers [wlo l-malfono], ­ ​­ or apostles [wlo l-shlihe], ­ ​­ or preachers [wlo l-koruze], ­ ​­ That Edessa looked to tell her that the Bridegroom had come. Although the Son was not yet glorified, she gave Him the honor; Even in the days of His flesh, she longed to be His own.34 Yet Edessa had no need for Paul to uproot her images Or for Peter to speak the Gospel in her. From the land of Edessa, her faith sprouted forth In the heart of the king, from the gift of the Son of God.35 Even though Christ’s activity mostly took place in Jerusalem, the daughter of the Hebrews did not take upon herself the signs of Christ that she saw with her own eyes; while Edessa, which had not seen them, willingly received them by hearsay. The metropola of Syriac Christianity did not need mediators or testimonies to become an heir to the Gospel. The difference that the poet emphasises at this point is that the Syriac community personified here identifies with strong faith, which penetrates her reason, while the Jewish Jerusalem, the holder of the old covenant, dominated by unbelief, was unconvinced even in the light of wondrous things. The faith of Edessa triumphed over the incredulity of the Jewish Holy City36: To Edessa (came) the news and the report, though far off, But, to Jerusalem (came) the wonders and the miracles [tefro] close at hand, The Daughter of the Hebrews [bart ʿebroye] eats His bread [okhlo lahmeh], 34 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 58 (engl.), 59 (syr.); Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, 736. 35 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 60 (engl.), 61 (syr.); Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, 736. 36 The topic of healing miracles accomplished by Christ we first identify in this passage would only grow in the Syriac consciousness, especially with the advent of Islam, eventually becoming an important part of Syriac Christology, which they had to defend against their Muslim critics. Of course, Christians had previously had to defend the miracles against the Jews, especially when discussing Christological matters – a fact also apparent in Ephrem’s theology, as well as that of other early Syriac writers. See also Susan Ashbrook Harvey, “Healing the Christian Body: An Ancient Syriac Theme,” in Anthony Scott (ed.), ­ Good and Faithful Servant: Stewardship in the Orthodox Church (Crestwood, ­ NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003), 57–70; Philippe Gignoux, “Une typologie des miracles des saints et martyrs perses dans l’Iran sassanide,” in Denise Aigle (ed.), Miracle et Karama. Hagiographies médiévales comparées (Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes. Section des Sciences Religieuses 109; Brepols: Turnhout, 2000), 499–524; Catalin-Stefan Popa. “An Old Theme in a New Frame: The Genealogy of Miracles in the Syriac Literature Encountering Early Islam,” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies, 20.1 ­ ­58–70. ​­ (2020),

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  171 and drinks His wine [w-shotyo ­ ​­ hamreh], Yet she despises Him and does not want Him to be with her.37 This allusion to the theme of food and drink is likely a Christian dogmatic device that had been employed ever since the time of Ephrem, whereby Syriac Christians were discouraged from sharing food and drink with Jews of any persuasion  – a form of restriction based on spiritual reasoning. For instance, Ephrem also discusses “he who eats with the Jews,” viewing this as Christians causing “offence” on the basis of “malpractice.”38 Following Isaac of Antioch, Kazan asserts that “apparently, ‘to eat with the Jew’ meant to participate in some Jewish religious observance, just as to eat ‘the sacrifice of a pagan’ seems to imply a participation in a pagan cult.”39 Of course, in a broader context, it is possible that this expression was not merely limited to the particular gesture of sharing a meal with Jews, participating in Jewish festivals and holidays or observing the Jewish ecclesiastic year, as discussed by Burkitt.40 Indeed, a passage from the sermons attributed to either Ephrem or Isaac of Antioch, we find the first instance of what would later become a cultural trend: He that eateth with the magicians shall not eat the body of our Lord, and he that drinketh with the enchanters shall not drink the blood of the Messiah, and he that eateth with the Jews shall not inherit life eternal.41 This theme, which had taken on a local character not only in Jacob’s time or that of his predecessors, but even several centuries after his death, we find reiterated by authors writing in the early Islamic period, for example in the canons of the local synod held in Dirin, in the Persian Gulf, by the East

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Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 72 (engl.), 73 (syr.); Bedjan Homiliae selectae, 740–741. ­ ​­ Kazan, “Isaac of Antioch’s Homily against the Jews,” III, 95. Kazan, “Isaac of Antioch’s Homily against the Jews,” III, 95. Francis Crawford Burkitt, S. Ephraim’s Quotations from the Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1901), 81, shows that the topic was indeed transferred to a more general framework of interacting with Jewish life and religious practice: “the sin of frequenting Jewish synagogues and of keeping fast and festival with the Jews,” as, for example, we find in John Chrysostom’s eight discourses Adversus Judaeos from Antioch (386). 41 T.J. Lamy (ed.), S. Ephraem Syri Hymni et Sermones, vol. II (Mechliniae: H. Dessain, 1890), 399. The opinions of the scholars are divided, some suggesting that they belong to Isaac of Antioch. See E. Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Sermones III [Textus], vol. 1 and 2 (CSCO 320–321, Scriptores Syri T. 138–139, Louvain: Secretariat du Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 1972). See also the passage in Beck’s translation, ­p. 15 (syr.), ­ 22 (germ.): ­ Wer mit Zauberern [hoshar] ißt, esse nicht [lo nekhul] vom Leib unseres Herrn [ faghreh ­d-moran]! ​­ Und wer mit Beschwörern [lohusho] trinkt, trinke nicht [lo neshte] das Blut ​­ Christi [dmeh ­d-mshiho]! Und wer mit Juden [yohudoye] ißt, sei ausgeschlossen vom Erbe des ewigen Lebens!

172  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine Syriac Patriarch Gīwargīs I in 676: Canon 17 mentions the prohibition for Christians to attend Jewish taverns or pubs and drink wine there after the celebration and reception of Eucharist.42 Although Loopstra considers that in the homily of Jacob on Edessa and Jerusalem the Jews “often appear more as a literary construction than flesh­­and-blood ​­ antagonists”43 it should be clear enough that the Jewish presence in the vicinity of Jacob’s community could not go unnoticed; rather this even inspired the Syriac author in the literary compositions he produced, so that the criticism of the Jews remained constant among the Christian communities, even if sometimes it was limited to the classic theological motifs and remained in the inner Christian circle, circulating less outside it. Loopstra also considers another hypothesis plausible, namely that the text would reflect an alleged anti-Jewish polemic, but it could be intended against other Christian groups in the Christological competitions. Loopstra bases his argument on the generic concept “new Jews” that was used in the apologetics of Christians against other groups (mainly Muslims): social and religious categories that had nothing to do with Jews.44 Of course, the argument is interesting, but in our view, Jacob seems to remain clearly anchored on the classic rejection of Jews because he leaves no room for distinction between Syriac groups, when talking about Syriac Christianity; rather, the profile of Christianity that the author represents appears as a compact society. Serug continues saying in the mēmrā: The Daughter of the Arameans [bart oromoye], though far off, heard the news of Him, Sick in love with Him, she urged Him to come to her. In her wisdom [b-hakimutheh] ­ ​­ she recognized who He was, and what is His place, And while (he was yet) on the earth, she recorded that He was heavenly in her petition.45 These selected verses are sufficient to grasp the arguments of Jacob in situating Edessa above the Jewish Jerusalem. The poet’s message is simple, his imagery and style erudite: although it has its roots in historical Jerusalem, 42 J.-B. ​­ Chabot, Synodicon orientale ou recueil de synodes nestoriens ( Paris: Imprimerie Nationale 1902), 225 (syr.), 489 (fr.); O. Braun, Das Buch der Synhados oder Synodicon Orientale: Die Sammlung der Nestorianischen Konzilien, zusammengestellt im neunten Jahrhundert nach der syrischen Handschrift, Museo Borgiano 82, der Vatikanischen Bibliothe (Stuttgart / Wien: Rothsche Verlagshandlung, 1900; repr. Amsterdam: Philo Press, 1975), 346; see also Popa, Gīwargīs I. (660– ­­ ​­680), 52. 43 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 4. 44 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 5. See also Butts and Gross, Jews and Syriac Christians, ­1–26. ​­ 45 Loopstra, Jacob of Sarug’s Homily, 72 (engl.), 73 (syr.); Bedjan, Homiliae selectae, 5, ­ ​­ 740–741.

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  173 Judaism in his day, through its rejection and non-acceptance of Christ, was markedly inferior to Edessa and to Syriac Christianity which, even if hailing from an area dominated by pagan elements and demons prior to the spread of the Christian message, upended the urban hierarchy of the world and surpassed Jerusalem in having accepted the Gospel, and cultivating it with a vibrant faith. Beyond the lyrical instrumentation that adorns the Christian message in fabulous images of poetry, it is apparent that Jacob of Serugh himself experienced the historical tensions by which the establishment of Christian centres in late Antiquity was carried out under the commercial domination of Judaism, which still abused the argument of primacy and the centrality of Jerusalem in its interaction with the peripheral Christians of the East.

Early and Late Exegesis: Elias of Nisibis and the Rhetoric about the Lost Byzantine Jerusalem and the Syriac Paradise A comparative patristic example we discuss here is that of Elias of Nisibis. Born in 975 in Shenna in Northern Mesopotamia, he was educated in St. Michael’s monastery near Mosul. He was elected in 1008 Metropolitan of Nisibis.46 Elias composed his works in both Syriac and Arabic. In his treatise written in Arabic, “Demonstration of the Correctness of the Faith” (in Arabic: Kitāb al-burhān ­ ​­ ʿalā ṣaḥīḥ ­al-īmān) ​­ Elias portrays his confession as “orthodox,” and distances himself from Christian doctrines widely viewed as heretical. The bishop of Nisibis thus legitimises his tradition as one that preserves the unchangeable truth of the Early Church. Elias addressed his writing to one or two unnamed Melkites,47 most likely to Ibn Batrīq 49 (Eutichius of Alexandria)48 and Ibn ­al-Muqaffaʿ ​­ whose polemical viewpoints Elias counters over the course of several paragraphs of this text.50 46 E.W. Brooks (ed.), ­ Eliae Metropolitae Nisibeni, Opus Chronologicum, I (CSCO, Vol. 62– 63, Scriptores Syri 21–23, Louvain: Imprimerie Orientaliste L. Durbecq, 1954), 225 (syr.), 210 (lat.); 229 (syr.), 112 (lat.). Henricus Gismondi, Maris, Amri et Slibae, De patriarchis Nestorianorum Commentaria ex Codicibus Vaticanis (Rome: C. de Luigi, 1896, 1897, 1899), 99 (ar.), 57 (lat.). 47 See MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 144b; 168b; L. Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias von Nisibis Buch vom Beweis der Wahrheit des Glaubens (Colmar: Eugen Barth, 1886), 22, 56. 48 Eutychius (Saʿid ­ ibn Batriq in Arabic) born 876 C.E. in Cairo, was ordained in 932 as Melkite Patriarch of Alexandria and died in 940. His Annals are available in: M. Breydy (ed. and tr.), Das Annalenwerk des Eutychios von Alexandrien; ausgewählte Geschichten und Legenden kompiliert von Said ibn Batriq um 935 AD (CSCO ­ 471–472, ­ ​­ Leuven: Peeters, 1985). 49 Severus Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ ­ ​­ appears to have been born sometime between 910 and 915. Elected as bishop of al-Ashmunayn in Egypt, he was a polemicist. Notable among his works are a refutation of his Melkite adversary, P. Chebli (ed.), Saʿid ibn Batriq, Refutation d’Eutychius par Severe, (le lime des candles) (Patrologia Orientalis 3, Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1905), 125– 242 [1–122]); a commentary on the Creed, and a summary of Coptic theology. 50 See MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 144b-145a; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, 23; see also Bishara ­ Ebeid, “Saʿīd ibn Batrīq, the theologian: New Considerations on his Historical Work, ‘The ­ ­ ​­ ­ Annals,’” Parole de l’ Orient 42 (2016), 165–190, esp. 173.

174  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine Although he writes in Arabic, Elias represents and defends the Syriac culture, his own confessional identity: in one passage, he refers to the Syriac language in an examination of the word “kījān”, which has its origin in Syriac (kyānā ­ which means essence) and which was later adopted into Arabic.51 To have knowledge of Arabic was most probably an imperative for East Syrian writers of that time, this enabled them to communicate with the secular authorities, and to participate in the cultural life of the society dominated by Muslims. Conversely, it was also a Christian’s duty to preserve the Syriac language fresh in their minds, and to pass the Syriac theological legacy down to their descendants. In his treatise, Elias criticises all Christian groups that are opposed to his church. One particular passage deserves our attention, which focuses on arguments against the Melkites on the topic of Jerusalem. This passage will show that the perspectives of authors of polemical writings had not changed much from the time of Jacob of Serugh. The Syriac authors also use the same lens to peer further afield to their broader cultural area. Jerusalem was not in their political or cultural possession; and this fact would have naturally had to be reflected in their continuous recourse to their own tradition. In a chapter named: “A critique of Roman Boasting, because of the Holy Fathers and the Holy Places” the author shows that Oriental Christians actually took precedence in faith and in holiness. It was for their great faith that God had blessed them by situating Paradise in the East, in their heartland. Therefore, from the outset of the discussion, the author introduces a concept of Paradise that confers superiority to Syriac Christians over any other Christian group and any other holy places: If you claim that the Holy Fathers were Romans, that the Holy Places belong to the Romans, and much else, that reinforces your constellations, you – God bless you – turn off the right path of truth. Yet you should know that, with regard to the advantages of fathers, places, apostles, famous heads, the Orientals regularly go ahead and take precedence. And because God knew in advance – to Him praise – that true faith would only be established with the Orientals, He was pleased with them, and He distinguished them with the Paradise that He created with them in the Orient, with the fathers, the Prophets, the apostles and heads, with Christ, to whom the Orientals brought gifts and presents in a way that none other was allowed to do.52 As the author argues, East Syrians, referred here as “Orientals,” should rightly award themselves primacy in matters of faith and holiness, since they 51 MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 132b-133a; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, 4. 52 MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 209b–210a; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, ­112–113; ​­ also, ­Catalin-Stefan ​­ Popa, “‘They are Called Enemies of the Truth for the Magnitude of their Lie.’ Literary ​­ Strategies for Re-framing the Confessional Borders in Elijah of Nisibis’ Kitāb ­al-burhān ​­ ­ ​­ (2021), ­ ­ ​­ ­ ʿalā ṣaḥīḥ ­al-īmān,” Journal of Eastern Christian Studies, 73.3–4 159–190, esp. 185.

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  175 were the possessors of Paradise that had been laid down in their lands. This concept of Paradise having been seeded in the East is also taken on by the West Syriac faithful as well, to an expected smaller degree than their Eastern counterparts. One example in this regard is the much earlier Severus of Antioch who, in his 15th Homily, speaks of “the Paradise planted in the Orient.”53 Elias goes from identifying his tradition as representative of the quintessential spiritual landscape, Paradise and its assumption, to identifying with important figures in Biblical history. Beginning with Adam, Noah, Abraham, and continuing with other Prophets, Elias claims they all either possessed Babylonian roots or had otherwise been led by Divine providence to the Orient, the place that the author identifies with: As for the holy fathers, the first of them was our father Adam, whom God created in the Orient and made dwell there; the second, Noah, who remained in the Orient during the Great Flood and whose rule God fortified in the Qardu Mountains, from where he then came to Babylon; the third, the father of peoples and religions, Abraham, was also from the Orient, the land of Babel, the place called Kutha. God drew the chosen prophets exclusively from the lineage of Abraham, the Oriental, not from the people of the West.54 It is interesting to note that, in deepening the discussion on Paradise and even Babylon, Elias is preparing his argument to counteract the Melkites’ own claimed appurtenance to Jerusalem, thereby rejecting de facto the theological jurisdiction they claimed over the religious sites of the Holy City. Elias focuses on the idea that the Melkites allegedly enjoyed primacy within Christianity merely because they were, or would have been, in possession of the holy places of Jerusalem; the author does not contradict the idea that the holy places had been associated with the Byzantines, contenting himself

53 Les Homiliae Cathedrales de Sévère d’Antioche, traduction syriaque de Jacques d’ Édesse, Homélies LXXXIV a XC, éditées et traduites en français par Maurice Brière, in R. Graffin, F. Nau, Patrologia Orientalis, Tomus Vicesimus Tertius (Paris: ­ Firmin-Didot, ­ ​­ 1932), 7 [275]–165 ​­ [433], esp. 159 ­ [427]–160 ​­ [428]: Hâtez-vous vers le premier lieu, je veux dire vers le Paradis planté à l’orient; car c’est ce que montre l’aspect extérieur de la position que nous vous avons fait prendre à présent, comme en est la loi. Ensuite vous irez aussi à la source du Jourdain pleine du Saint-Esprit, de la purification et du feu divin, dans laquelle vous serez ensevelis avec le Christ en ensevelissant le vieil homme dans les eaux. The idea was common among the later Syriac writers too. This appears also in Bar Salibi. See J. Sedláek, J.-B. Chabot (ed. and tr.), Dionysius Bar Salibi, Commentarii in evangelia (Corpus ­ Scriptorum Cristianorum Orientalium 15–16, ­ ​­ 98–99, ­ ​­ Paris: Harrassowitz, ­ ­94–95 ​­ (syr.). ­ 1906), 71 (lat.), ​­ 54 MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 209b-210a; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, ­112–113.

176  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine with highlighting the reasons for which the Byzantines had ultimately lost possession of said holy sites. He is of the belief that this was entirely due to the loss of their purity of faith: When they boast that Jerusalem is in their hands, they are guilty of an untruth. Because it is in the hands and under the rule of the Arabs. By my life, in their hands was the Holy City when their faith was pure and their cause was a right one. But when they fell away from the right faith and absorbed the inventions and errors of the heretic Cyril, […] they were banished, fleeing from their enemies without pause, from the holy places they owned, driven out, and the kingdom was lost to them. This is what happened to the Israelites when they left Egypt […].55 Here, Elias delves into the frequent controversies around the epithet of ‘Mother of God’ (theotokos), ­ that lead to discord among the Eastern communities, and which they flatly refused. Elias minimises the religious history of the Melkites and opines that before the they came to Christianity, they had been pagans. Upon assuming the Christian faith, they conquered large territories; but upon falling from the faith, they lost Jerusalem: Before they were idolaters, and more powerful and numerous than now. After they had become Christians, their rule was established, all countries obeyed them, power and number belonged to them, until they mistakenly opposed the glorious Lord Nestorius, and his curse came upon them. Then they lost dominion in Jerusalem and in the other places of which they boasted. Because they had opposed the right faith after receiving it, and had directed it to the bottom, like people who come to confess the truth, then deny it.56 The loss of Jerusalem was a direct effect of the condemnation of Nestorius. This purely subjective conclusion is interesting and gives expression to the Syriac identity, in remembering the Christological controversies. According to Elias, even if the Byzantines were called, like other Christian groups, they were not elected (“For many are called, but few are chosen,” Matthew 20:16). Elias, however, contradicts this argument, again evoking Paradise – already invoked in the text prior – as part of the region where Syriac communities are located: “If they boast that Jerusalem is in Occident, then we have in the Orient Paradise, with which Jerusalem cannot be compared, where Christ sent the thief’s soul which He did not leave in Jerusalem.”57 Christ did not leave the soul of the robber in Jerusalem, but rather sent him to Paradise. From this, the logic follows that Paradise, rather than Jerusalem, represents 55 MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 211a-212b; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, 115–116. ­ ​­ 56 MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 213a-213b; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, 117. 57 MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 213b; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, 117.

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  177 the ultimate goal of any Christian. Even though Jerusalem was spiritually important to Man, Paradise signified closure, the place where the soul goes to rest. This point allows us to extend the discussion of this contrast between Jerusalem and Paradise, and to inspect some other brief examples from the early Syriac patristic literature. Elijah apparently considers Paradise to be superior to Jerusalem from, while Paradise had allegedly been nearer the Syriac Christians, given their claim to its earthly counterpart. The accent on Paradise and the illustration of this topos as genuine to the identity and spiritual legacy of Syriac Christians appears in various Syriac authors as for example Solomon (Shlemon) of Baṣra (13th century).58 Yet not all Syriac sources subscribe to the model proposed by Elias of Nisibis. Indeed, there exist a few variations on the rapport between Jerusalem and Paradise, even, at times, closer correlation. One interesting perspective is that in which the concept of Paradise, which Elias of Nisibis categorically situates as above that of the earthly Jerusalem, is identified in some early Syriac sources with the heavenly Jerusalem itself. ­ ­ ​­ For example, in the Book of Steps (kthobo d-masqotho, in Latin the Liber Graduum), we see an equivalence between Paradise and Heavenly Jerusalem. This “paradisal cosmicisation” of a superior Holy city, a spiritual space without equal, an “edenic Jerusalem,”59 in which the saints live with Christ was largely adopted in Christian communities based on the biblical perspective of Revelation 21 and remains a consistent part of this tension between the physical and imagined, or earthly and heavenly Jerusalem. The Book of Steps highlights the fact that the creation and the existence of Adam transpired “in a spiritual condition, in the spiritual Eden, which is the Jerusalem 60 of the Spirit [ureshlem d-bruh], ­ ​­ the city of God [mdinath ­d-aloho].” ​­ Moreover, Adam is not the only one associated with this state of superior existence in the Heavenly Jerusalem, with anyone that practices righteousness in imitation of Christ potentially capable of inhabiting this spiritual landscape. The just and perfect people, i.e., practicing Christians, “will be with our Lord in Eden [b-ʿden] ­ ​­ and the Jerusalem above [w-b-ureshlem ­ ­​­­ ​­ ʿeloyto], because they have imitated Him.”61 58 See E.A.W. Budge (ed.), Solomon of Bastra: The Book of the Bee (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1886.), esp. ch. 51, 131; Geoffrey Herman, “Exilarch and Catholicos. A Paradigm for the Commonalities of the Jewish and Christian Experience under the Sasanians,” in Aaron Michael Butts and Simcha Gross (eds.), Jews and Syriac Christians, ­145–153, ​­ esp. 149. ­ For more on Solomon see: J.A. Loopstra, “Shlemon of Baṣra,” in Sebastian P. Brock et  al. (eds.), ­ The Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2011), 378; Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, 309; Brock, A Brief Outline, 63. 59 Mario Baghos, From the Ancient Near East to Christian Byzantium: Kings, Symbols, and Cities ( Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2021), 164. 60 Kmosko, Liber Graduum, XXI, 608:13–15; ­ ​­ Murray, Symbols of Church, 262. ­ ​­ 61 Kmosko, Liber Graduum, XIV, 328:17–20; Murray, Symbols of Church, 263.

178  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine As such, in contrast to Elias of Nisibis’ polemic argument against the Byzantines, which strictly touched upon the issue of the earthly Jerusalem, the Liber Graduum proposes an alternate and purely spiritual approach that renders a closer correlation between Paradise and the Heavenly Jerusalem – terms that can, in this light, not be seen as anything other than generic and synonymous designations of the perfection of the Christian spirit and its continued eternal existence in the Kingdom of Heaven.62 Ephrem the Syrian imagined the Paradise or Eden in a more theological and universal approach. In his Hymns on Paradise, he proposes a purely spiritual concept of paradise, a state of perfection. The only geographical or topographic landmark Ephrem notes, is that this is located on a mountain, which in our understanding should coincide with a state of perfection or elevation in terms of holy life of those who enter to paradise. Ephrem does not put the emblem of his church on paradise; he does not assign it to the proximity of his community of Syriac Christians but imagined “wreath of Paradise” as “encircling the whole creation,”63 which probably means that



This perspective is relatively widespread beyond the limits of the Syriac tradition, appearing, for example, in the homilies of Pseudo-Macarius: “Strive to be enrolled in the Church in heaven with the firstborn, […] to enter into the holy city, the Jerusalem that is at peace, that is above all, where also is paradise.” H. Dorries et al. (eds.), Pseudo-Macarius, Die 50 geistlichen Homilien des Makarios (Patr. Texte u. Studien 4; Berlin: De  Gruyter, 1964), 203; A.J. Mason (tr.), Fifty Spiritual Homilies of St. Macarius the Egyptian (London: ­ Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge; New York: Macmillan, 1921), 182; Murray, Symbols of Church, 271. 63 Sebastian Brock (tr.), St Ephrem the Syrian. Hymns on Paradise (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1990), 81; Baghos, From the Ancient Near East to Christian Byzantium, 162. For Paradise see also Edmund Beck, Ephraems Hymnen über das Paradies: Übersetzung und Kommentar (Studia Anselmiana 26. Roma: Pontificio Ateneo S. Anselmo, 1951); Sergey Minov, “Gazing at the Holy Mountain: Images of Paradise in Syriac Christian Tradition,” in A. Scafi (ed.), The Cosmography of Paradise: The Other World from Ancient Mesopotamia to Medieval Europe ( Warburg Institute Colloquia 27, London: The Warburg Institute, 2016), 137–162; Martin Lang, “Utopie und mythische Geographie – Mesopotamisches Erbe in der syrisch-patristischen Tradition am Beispiel des Paradiesesberges und des Landungsplatzes der Arche,” in Rainer M. Voigt (ed.), Akten des 5. Symposiums zur Sprache, Geschichte, Theologie und Gegenwartslage der syrischen Kirchen (V. Deutsche Syrologentagung), Berlin 14.– 15. Juli 2006 (Semitica et Semitohamitica Berolinensia 9, Aachen: Shaker Verlag, 2010), 137–153; Mércz András, “Les traductions du Commentaire sur le Paradis de Moïse bar Kepha à la lumière du Mouvement Uniate,” Parole de l’Orient 42 (2016): 343–361; Markus Bockmuehl, and Guy G. Stroumsa ­ (eds.), Paradise in Antiquity: Jewish and Christian Views (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).

A Brief Attempt at a Patristic Perspective  179 it coincides with the promise of the Christian message that paradise is intended for everyone proving a proper Christian life. ­Koltun-Fromm ​­ speculates that Ephrem, in an effort to separate edenic Jerusalem from Judean Jerusalem, he uses key temple terms to describe his Eden in the east: It is now (or: always was) a sanctuary and the holy of holies, because it is in Eden that God truly resides.64 I believe this approach is only half correct, because from an interreligious perspective Ephrem makes a clear boundary between heavenly Jerusalem and Jewish Jerusalem, but when speaking of Paradise he does locate Eden in the East as other Syriac authors did. Sebastian Brock is clear in this concern that Ephrem purposely illustrates Paradise “outside time and space” and his attitude aimed probably to balance the theological exegesis against more “literalist views of Paradise that were current in the early Christian period.”65 Ephrem and Gregory of Nyssa share a similar position about a Paradise that “primordial paradise” as well “eschatological cannot be integrated in time and space and the initial one serves to the final.66 A slightly different perspective to that of Elias is also that proposed by the Syriac Othodox Metropolitan John of Dara (9th century), where, in alignment with the position of the author of Cave of Treasures that highlighted the roots of Judaic tradition, Jerusalem takes on a central liturgical capacity as the centre of the universe and space wherein the act of Creation may occur. According to this model, the Church itself becomes a spiritual i mage – we might argue, an ethereal multiplication  – of Jerusalem, which is itself consequently linked to the sacred character of the Church. John of Dara’s emphasis falls on the concept of a sacred and cosmic centre, with the four corners of the earth converging on the centre of the world, in relation to the connection between the altar and the symbol of Jerusalem. On the model of Adam having been placed at the centre of the world, so too is the surface of the holy altar situated in its centre in turn.67 In this, John of Dara associates the original act of Creation with the liturgical acts within 64 Koltun-Fromm, “Syriac Fathers on Jerusalem,” 183. Koltun-Fromm points also out that in Ephrem’s understanding Paradise exceeds even the spiritual Jerusalem in theological importance: “Ephrem establishes his own Jerusalem elsewhere ( Nisibis), but he also imagines Eden, his salvific eschatological sacred center, as the ultimate cosmic mountain at the far edge of his eastern territory.” Naomi Koltun-Fromm, “Syriac Fathers on Jerusalem,” 183 65 Brock, St Ephrem the Syrian. Hymns on Paradise, 54. 66 Brock, St Ephrem the Syrian. Hymns on Paradise, 55. 67 Jean Sader (ed.), Le De Oblatione de John of Dara Metropolitan of Dara (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, v. 308–309, Scriptores Syri t. 132–133; Louvain: Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1970), 2:8; Serafim Seppälä, “Liturgical Representations of Jerusalem in Eastern Christian Traditions,” in Antti Laato (ed.), Understanding the Spiritual Meaning

180  Syriac Christians and the Tradition of the Holy Places of Palestine the church, with both undertaken in a tentative association with the central nature of either the earthly or heavenly Jerusalem. In attempting to shape a brief conclusion based on the brief patristic analysis above, we can argue that for Elias of Nisibis the Syrians’ own ecclesiastical tradition entirely eclipses the glory of Jerusalem which was confessionally different to his tradition and which cannot be as comparable with Paradise, associated with Syriac spiritual and geographical legacy. In the same vein, for the much earlier poet Jacob of Serugh, the local Syriac tradition of Edessa overshadowed Jerusalem because Christian Edessa responded promptly to the Gospel and demonstrated its superiority against the Jewish Jerusalem. In the same line of theological competition, in Elias’ interpretation we see that the Eden or earthly Paradise associated with geographical area of Syriac communities was far more important than Jerusalem, a city with a genuine past of Imperial Byzantines but no longer at the time of the author, when his history was shaped as having fallen under the crescent of Islam. His argument is that, should one argue that the Melkites possess the bones of the apostles, they can counteract this claim with the graves of prophets and apostles, and even with the paradise located in the East.68 If Jacob of Serugh makes obvious an antithesis between Jerusalem as a foreign Jewish topos, and Edessa as a theme representative of the author’s own Syriac cultural milieu, in the work of Elias of Nisibis we find a complementary antithetical perspective. Elias polarises the discussion through an antithesis about Jerusalem as an area represented by Byzantines, contrasted with Paradise as part of the geography and theological culture of Syriac communities. Indeed, not all Syriac authors are as adamant as the two when it comes to theologising one’s own tradition in counterpoint to the tradition of earthly Jerusalem. As we have seen, there are authors who view Paradise as the Heavenly Jerusalem, or who even adopt the metaphor of Jerusalem in their liturgical tradition, with the celestial Holy City becoming a microJerusalem (a Jerusalem in miniature) contained in the altar of any church, build on the foundation of it head, Christ.

of Jerusalem in Three Abrahamic Religions (Series: Studies on the Children of Abraham, 6; Leiden: Brill, 2018), 144: As is often the case in the Syriac tradition, this openly eches Jewish traditions of Jerusalem as the centre of the universe, and place of creation from which all things came into existence. In this way, a church becomes a Jerusalem in its own right: what is spiritually essential in the concrete Jerusalem is not absent from the Church, which in turn opens a connection between the Holy City and Christian sanctuaries. 68 MS Vat. Ar. 180, f. 214a; Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias, 118.

Part III

The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems on the Second Islamic Conquest and Subsequent Period, and the Presence of Syriac Pilgrims in Palestine in the Late Medieval Period

1

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s ­ ​­ Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature

Historical chronicles are one type of primary source that help to reconstruct the Syriac theological landscape about Jerusalem and shape a perspective on the second Islamic conquest of the holy city. We attempt to illustrate how the authors of the age had come to perceive the Holy City and the changes that would follow the momentous event of its conquest, not only as chroniclers but also as Christians living in a Syriac-speaking community in the holy city or outside of it in their homeland in Mesopotamia. The overarching question that we will attempt to address is whether Syriac Christians were profoundly linked, from a theological and spiritual standpoint, to Jerusalem (or how attached they were to the holy city), and whether their chronicles provide any details of such a potential type of synchronic or diachronicl connection or interrelation; or, conversely, whether the authors were merely carrying out their duty as historians and chroniclers, objectively narrating ongoing events from a strict historical perspective bereft of sentiment or bias towards an event that did not, ultimately, occur in their immediate proximity. The anonymous Syriac Chronicle of 1234, most likely written in 1204, is one of the sources to offer insight into Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s conquest of the Holy City. Its author appears to have been a younger contemporary of the West Syriac Patriarch, Michael Rabo (1166–1199). He experienced the conquest of 1187 as an eyewitness, and gave vivid testimony about Athanasius, the brother of Michael, who at the time was the West Syriac bishop of Jerusalem. The anonymous author shares various descriptions of Michael, but in several places, he is also original in recounting the events unfolding in the Holy City.1 1 The Syriac Anonymous Chronicle of 1234 is a universal chronicle divided into a secular and an ecclesiastical history, first composed in 1204. It also contains additional secular historic entries up to 1234, and up to 1207 on ecclesiastical history respectively. It is difficult to elucidate whether these additions are to be attributed to the original author or to a later scribe. The author, a younger contemporary of Michael Rabo, personally experienced Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s conquest of Jerusalem during the Third Crusade in 1187. See Andy Hilkens, The Anonymous Syriac Chronicle of 1234 and Its Sources (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta: Bibliotheque De Byzantion, 18; Leuven: Peeters, 2018).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-18

184  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems

The Battle of Tiberias The first glimpse will be on the scene of the onset of Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din’s ​­ conquest of Palestine, focusing on the battle of Tiberias. The chronicle notes that in 1184, Ṣalāḥ ad-Din “gathered many soldiers from all the East, West and Egypt” [d-kuleh ­ ​­ madenho w-maʿrbo ­ ​­ ­w-mesren] ​­ and encamped on the plain of Ḥaurān at Lake Tiberias, ready to attack the Franks [ frangoye]. The two armies clashed on the plain “and victory was given to the Muslims” [l-tayyaye]. The chronicle ascribes the Franks’ defeat to “their poor tactics.” Consequently, “an innumerable crowd was passed over the sword” [d-sayfo], ­ ​­ and “countless captives were taken to the point where they were tied like dogs with ropes and dragged in lines, more than twenty thousand in number. Those who perished by the sword were more than thirty thousand.”2 It is worth comparing this description to that found in other sources. A similar perspective can be found in a text that falls well beyond the chronicle genre, a Syriac poem attributed to Gīwargīs Wardā, lamenting the conquest of Palestine and Jerusalem by Ṣalāḥ ad-Din. The poem, titled On the laying waste of Jerusalem, is part of an East-Syriac collection of hymns by the name of Kthaba d-warda (The Book of the Rose). According to the current scholarly consensus, Gīwargīs Wardā is the author of the book, which contains several hymns dedicated to the different feasts of the liturgical year. Before discussing a series of images contained in these poems and comparing them to the contents of contemporary historical chronicles, we must first briefly introduce the poem’s author. Gīwargīs Wardā was an East Syriac poet whose biography is unknown save for the fact that he lived sometime in the mid-13th century. Geographically, he is associated with the region of Arbela,3 something that is more likely to distinguish him from other notable characters of the same name (Gīwargīs being a common name in Syriac literature). The West Syriac Patriarch Ephrem Barsaum does not include him in his classification of Syriac poets4 for the evident reason of Gīwargīs Wardā’s appurtenance to the East Syriac Church, his presence among the most notable Syriac poets and hymnographers is unanimously accepted.5 2 I.-B. ​­ Chabot (ed.), ­ Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon Ad Annum Christi 1234 Pertinens, II (CSCO, Scriptores Syri, Series Tertia, Tomus XV, Parisiis: E. Typographeo Reipublicae, 1916), 198 (syr.); Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon Ad A. C. 1234 Pertinens, II (traduit par Albert Bounda, introduction, notes et index de J.-M. Fiey, CSCO, Vol. 354, Scriptores Syri, Tomus 154, Louvain: Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1974), 148 (fr.). 3 See A. Pritula, “An autobiographic hymn by Givargis Warda,” in Martin Tamcke (ed.) Syriaca II: Beiträge zum 3. Deutschen Syrologen- Symposium in Vierzehnheiligen 2002 (Studien zur Orientalischen Kirchengeschichte 33, Münster: LIT Verlag, 2004), 229–241. 4 Ignatius Aphram I Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls. A History of Syriac Literature and Sciences (trans. and edited by Matti Moosa, with a foreword by Cyril Aphrem Karim, second revised edition; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2003), 36 –37; see also Sebastian P. Brock, “Later Syriac Poetry,” in Daniel Kind (ed.), The Syriac World (London: Routledge, 2019), 327. 5 See Brock, “Later Syriac Poetry,” 327.

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  185 The majority of Gīwargīs Wardā’s hymns fall into the genre of ʿOnithā (roughly translated to “response”); they seem to have served a liturgical function and were probably recited in the church.6 Given that his hymns allude to various events throughout history, some contemporary to the author and others not, we can imagine, as Sebastian Brock argues, that “Gīwargīs evidently had access to many different sources, of which he makes considerable use at times.”7 This astute opinion constituted an additional argument for our consideration of the true hypothesis that, in composing the two hymns we will discuss below, Gīwargīs took inspiration from the available Syriac chronicles of his time, a position ascertainable on the basis of a number of similarities in motifs employed that will be tackled in what follows. The poem that deals with the conquest of Jerusalem is included – alongside a second ­poem – ​­in Ms. Orient. fol. 619 (Ms. Berlin 65), and both were edited by Theodor Nöldeke in 1873.8 The first poem was later re- edited and translated into English by Alessandro Mengozzi.9 Our decision to compare these poetic texts to available historical chronicles aims to demonstrate that, in narrating these events occurring in Palestine, Syriac poetic texts validate just how concerned the Syriac Christians were about the fate of the Holy City and Holy Land, aspects that are seldom conveyed in the various historical sources. In terms of the timeline of events during the Muslim conquest of Palestine, Wardā’s first poem on the laying waste of Jerusalem follows the perspectives of the chronicles more or less closely: The sons of Arabia [bany arabaye] rushed out, the kings of Damascus and Syria, chosen men, warriors, two hundred thousand in all. 6 Brock, “Later ­ Syriac Poetry,” 327–328: ­ ​­ At about the same time or somewhat later, a new genre came into widespread use in the East Syriac tradition, namely the ʿonitha (literally ‘response’); this was a long stanzaic poem with a simple regular metre, apart from a short introduction and conclusion, employing a different and sometimes more complex metre. Finally, it is important to note that in the manuscripts, poetry is written out as continuous text (and not line by line, as in modern editions); the metric structure being indicated solely by the punctuation and (if a stanzaic poem) the indication of a qala. An impressive Onithā of Gīwargīs Wardā is that on Sin; see Michael Philip Penn, Scott Fitzgerald Johnson. Christine Shepardson, Charles M. Stang (eds.), Invitation to Syriac Christianity: An Anthology (Oakland: University of California Press, 2022), 81– 84. 7 Brock, “Later ­ Syriac Poetry,” 331–332. ­ ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ­ ­ ​­

186  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems Rank upon rank they were flowing, camped by the river Jordan, they besieged Tiberias, and shouted: “Raze it, raze it (to the ground)!”10 Both religious and ethnic aspects are apparent in the description of the conquest. The poet names the conquerors “the sons of Arabia” [bany arabaye], a term commonly used to denote Muslims. As an author well acquainted with the tradition and the vocabulary used by his ancestors for their Muslim neighbours, in the later verses of the poem Gīwargīs Wardā characterises the warriors of Ṣalāḥ ad-Din as both “Ishmaelites” [esh11 ­ maʿlaye], and “ṭayyaye.” Concerning some historical details which relate to the battle of Tiberias, we noticed that the Syriac Anonymous Chronicle of 1234 above all emphasised the large number of Franks taken hostage or killed in the battle; however, Gīwargīs Wardā’s poem stresses a different aspect: the enormous number of Muslim soldiers which fought in the army of Ṣalāḥ ad-Din, which would suggest that while the chronicler was more concerned with highlighting the Frankish catastrophe occurring despite the sheer number of soldiers at their disposal, the poet Wardā contrasts this aspect, placing his emphasis on the manifold number of Muslims and their extended domination with which he was familiar and which, at first glance, serves as an initial premise for justifying the Frankish defeat. The poet describes with great sadness the events that transpired at Lake Tiberias. This perspective is understandable, since poetry represents a means of accurately expressing the author’s feelings, while chronicling history serves a different function, that of accurately portraying the facts on the ground: Poor Tiberias [duyana Tiberyus] when she saw that they crowded upon her she lifted her finger towards God and cried in tears: “Have mercy, my Lord, have mercy!” […]12 The enemies took ladders and went with them

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Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  187 to the top of the battlements. They struck their cymbals and sounded their horns, entered the city and bore off prisoners. […]13 The king of the town was robed in lamentation, pain and distress. […]14 They crossed the Ziqlon just When they took the good king [l-malka ­ ​­ ʿahna] prisoner and instead of fine linen and purple they clothed him with a tunic of fur.15 The episode of King Guy’s capture is also mentioned in the Anonymous Syriac Chronicle of 1234 which recounts that the King of Jerusalem was taken as a prisoner alive, together with other regional lords (namely the governors [ahida] of Sidon, Gabala, and Sabark).16 The chronicle shares other obvious similarities with the poem: the large number of hostages taken at Tiberias (more than 150), among them the Brothers of the Knights Templar [ahe d-frer] ­ ​­ and the Hospitallers [w-d-sapitar], ­ ­​­­ ​­ who were imprisoned in Damascus. Moreover, according to the Anonymous Chronicle, the Prince of Antioch, Reynald of Châtillon, was beheaded in the presence of Ṣalāḥ 17 ­ad-Din. ​­

The Making of a Count as a Heretic in Syriac Sources: Reymond of Tripoli Another issue that can be examined in further depth is that of the position of the Count of Tripoli in the context of the battles between Franks and Arabs over Palestine. Syriac literature blames Reymond of Tripoli (Raymond III, count of Tripoli) for the betrayal that caused the fall of the Holy City. If we compare the available sources we see, for example, that in the Anonymous Syriac Chronicle the betrayal of the Count of Tripoli [qumis den ­d-tripulyus] ​­ is presented very concisely, the chronicler merely noting that the count fled, and arrived in his home country, where he “died of despair a few days later.”



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188  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems The chronicle further recounts the general opinion about the count’s attitude at the time: It is said that he was the one who betrayed the Franks and it was because of him that this defeat happened.18 Of greater interest is the count’s portrayal in the poem of Gīwargīs Wardā, where he is compared with Valentinus19 and with Judas Iscariot. Describing the count as a heretic, the poem demonstrates that the Syriac author was an educated writer and theologian, a harsh critic of Christian betrayals in favour of alliances that benefit the Muslims: The deceitful Valentinus [walantinus zefana] ​­ the count, a second Judas [qumes yuhda ­d-trayana], a perfidious and insidious wolf, deceitfully fled from the battle.20 The way to criticise and defame by using the epithet of Judas was time and again adopted mostly in the Christological controversies, where many parties have made use of it and we know how, for example, during the Council of Ephesus (431) Nestorius was labelled by his opponents as the “new Judas,”21 the epithet being a generic negative stamp especially in the Christological disputes. Moreover, another case can be brought here as parallel: letter 39 of the 7th century East Syriac hierarch Īšōʿyahb III, at that time bishop of Niniveh, narrates a situation during the difficult time of his church in the face of the growth of Miaphysite influence in the city, when a noble and influential local leader and administrator, probably Yazdanan, betrayed his church to which he was affiliated, resembling Judas. Īšōʿyahb describes the situation based on the analogy from the first day of Passover of the Lord: (Satan) prepared a Passover for us in which we must do what resembles the Passover of our Lord in everything: on the same day, moment, in like manner and in the complete procedure of the acts. Instead of Herodes and Pilatus: heads and governors of our land; instead of the high priest of the Jews and the elders of their people: heretics and princes of our

18 Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 199 (syr.), 149 (fr.). 19 See Alessandro Mengozzi, “Suraye wa-Phrangaye: Late East-Syriac Poetry on Historical Events in Classical Syriac and Sureth,” Journal of Assyrian Academic Studies 22.1 (2008), 3–14, ­ ​­ esp. 4. ­ 20 Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 67r, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 496 (syr.), 500–501 (germ.); Mengozzi, “A Syriac Hymn on the Crusades,” 196. 21 See George A. Bevan, The New Judas: The Case of Nestorius in Ecclesiastical Politics, 428– ­451 CE (Late antique history and religion, 13, Leuven / Paris / Bristol, CT: Peeters, 2016), vii.

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  189 people; […] instead of swords and clubs (cf. Matt. 26:47): those swords and clubs; […] instead of Judas the betrayer: a famous and honoured head who is in our gatherings. While he still had the oblation between his lips, he showed greater zeal than Judas. For he neither waited for us, as even Judas waited, so that we could not sing praise and go out to the Mount of Olives (Matt. 26:30, Mark 14:26), nor did he come to us with a kiss as he (i.e. Judas) had done, but with spear and shield (cf. 1 Sam. 17:45).22 In the case of Wardā’s poem, the epithet is probably borrowed and transferred from this theological vocabulary with which the author was familiar. By making Reymond a heretic, the author of the poem shows, on the one hand, how affected are the Syrians by Palestine’s fall. The Muslim conquest was a consequence of multiple betrayals by local authorities whose workings were dominated by Christian rulers such as Reymond. The comparison with Valentinus is not accidental. Just as Valentinus was one of the first heretics, so too was Reymond, who took the first steps towards Jerusalem’s fall from the Franks’ possession. The image the poet presents is adamant and powerful, as the traitorous count is even likened to Judas the betrayer. This idea returns two paragraphs later, which shows that Syriac authors, who lived in a contentious environment full of betrayals and constant political changes, were guided by a clear principle: he who betrays the Christians for the victory of the Muslims is both a heretic and a traitor whose shame will never be forgotten, as was the case of Judas Iscariot. According to the author, Reymond’s attitude was false and irresponsible. Such a negative description of the Count of Tripoli makes sense in a milieu where conversions

22 Marijke Metselaar, Defining Christ : The Church of the East and Nascent Islam (Late ­ Antique History and Religion 19. Leuven: Peeters, 2019), 236; Rubens Duval (ed.), Išōʿyahb Patriarchae III, Liber epistularum (CSCO ­ Scriptores Syri Syr. 11–12, ­ ​­ Louvain: 1904–1905 ­ ​­ [repr. 1955]), 65– 66 (syr.), 52 (lat.). Metselaar, Defining Christ, 240, synthesises, based on the information from the letter 44, the short profile of this local head that betrayed Išōʿyahb’s church: Starting with his “heretical Christianity” ( probably Miaphysitism) of his mother, he moved to the “orthodox” faith of his father and continued with paganism, “the companion of heretics.” After he had returned for a while to the Church of the East, “out of conscience and fear of death due to the suspicion of the governors,” he finally joined the Miaphysites again and appeared to have supported them morally and materially. See also Ovidiu Ioan, Muslime und Araber bei Īšō‘ jahb ­ III. (649– ­­ ​­659) (Göttinger ­ Orientforschungen, I. Reihe: Syriaca 37, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag 2009), 29, n. 75: Išōʿyahb liefert eine kurze Biographie des Fürsten: er sei von einem orthodoxen Vater, also Anhänger der Kirche des Ostens, und einer häretischen Mutter geboren. Sechs Mal hatte er zwischen diesen beiden Kirchen und den entsprechenden Lehren hin und her geschwankt. Den Namen Jazdannan nennend.

190  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems had represented a routine phenomenon, and posed the greatest challenge for those who remained Christian: An ambush made the cursed count [lita qumes], Judas Iscariot. Then fled away and left the valiant king of Jerusalem [l-mlita ­ ​­ malka d-uershlem] ­ ​­ in fear.23 The poet contrasts the count’s character (cursed [lita]), with that of the ­ ​­ King of Jerusalem (valiant [l-mlita]). Raymond of Tripoli’s extremely consequential decision for the Holy Land and Holy City is also clearly expressed in the first few verses of the second Syriac poem: O, my brethren, hear and wonder, hear the things that have been told, the horrible things the count did to our people, as he allied with the ṭayyaye.24 Naturally, we should also note the reality that, in the context of theological poetry such as that penned by Gīwargīs Wardā, the author is always much more derisive towards anything originating outside his own tradition, and much warier of potential slights to the fundamental pillars of said tradition – one such pillar being the Holy City of Jerusalem. Consequently, what Gīwargīs Wardā writes about count Reymond in his poem is assuredly done in a spirit of solidarity with universal Christianity, with the author deploring the count’s lack of solidarity with the Christian world and the consequences of his traitorous actions seen from the perspective of a proper Christian deeply concerned for the universal tradition of Jerusalem. Of course, the author’s reaction also appears similar to his position in the poem about the deacon Abraham’s conversion to Islam, in which he laments the latter’s attitude in an outpouring of lyrical grief.25 Moreover, characterising 23 Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 67r, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 496 (syr.), 501 (germ.); Mengozzi, “A Syriac Hymn on the Crusades,” 197. 24 Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69v, col. 1–2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder” 505 (syr.), 507 (germ.). Maroš Nicák, „Konversion“ im Buch Wardā. Zur Bewältigung der Konversionsfrage in der 25 Kirche des Ostens (Göttingener Orientforschungen I. Reihe: Syriaca, Band 51; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2016), esp. 67–127. In Gīwargīs Wardā’s Onithā on Sin we read: I have sinned and instigated to sin and I am sinning again. I am sinning and instigating to sin. I teach but do not know. And I do not know yet I teach. I convert yet I do not convert myself. And I do not convert myself yet convert. I enlighten yet do not give light. I adorn yet I am not fair. Refren: I sinned unto you only. Johnson, Shepardson, Stang, Invitation to Syriac Christianity, 81.

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  191 count Reymond as a heretic also hints at the underlying theme of religious conversion, of the betrayal of Christianity, and of newfound adherence to Islam, which Gīwargīs Wardā and his community likely confronted on a daily basis. In the author’s perception, the count’s attitude does indeed not appear to fall too far from such a betrayal of his religious creed, while his gesture in favour of the Muslims in turn will be understood as an act of betrayal of Christianity and adoption of Islam. A further perspective we ought to include in this parallel comes from Barhebraeus’ Chronicle on the events of 1187, a work from another genre altogether, a historical material which is much clearer and more detailed. Interestingly, the Chronicle of Barherbaeus, which summarises the work of Michael the Syrian and to a certain extent furnishes information that Michael the Syrian’s Chronicle omitted,26 introduces more details of the story of the count of Tripoli. Barhebraeus adopted his predecessors’ outlook of accusing the count for his shameful deed, only with a much broader and more detailed emphasis. Barhebraeus’ perspective often overlaps with that of Gīwargīs Wardā’s poem, which renders the hypothesis that the authors consulted similar sources more plausible. A second verisimilar hypothesis is that Gīwargīs Wardā had access to Barhebraus’s Chronicle itself, a work which was quite famous in the period and for which an Arabic translation was even requested by the new Muslim rulership. As a historian with a thorough knowledge of the broader temporal context, Barhebraeus also offers a motive for Reymond of Tripoli’s defection to Ṣalāḥ ad-Din. The reason given was Sinbylla of Jerusalem, who was the wife of Guy (Kai) of Lusignan “who had not sprung from a race of kings, and she became his wife, and she made him to put on her crown.” Consequently, Barhebraeus views Reymond’s defection as follows: The lord of Tripoli was offended, and he went and became an adherent of Ṣalāḥ ad-Din, and he began to dig pits for the queen (of Tiberias) [l-malkto ­ ​­ ­d-tibariya] ​­ and the other sons of his faith [w-l-sharko ­ ­​­­ ​­ d-bnay ­ ​­ tawditheh].27 The core of Barhebraeus’ description of Reymond of Tripoli is largely compelling. We must admit that this scene, which is also framed in terms 26 See S.P. Brock, “Syriac Historical Writing: A Survey of the Main Sources,” Journal of the Iraq Academy, Syriac Corporation 5 (1979), ­ 1–30, ­ ​­ esp. 19–20. ­ ­ ​­ 27 P. Bedjan (ed.), Gregorii Barhebræi Chronicon Syriacum e codd. mss. emendatum ac punctis vocalibus adnotationibusque locupletatum (Paris: Maisonneuve, 1890), 371 (syr.); E.A. Wallis Budge (ed.), The Chronography of Gregory Abū’ ­l-Faraj, ​­ ­1225–1286, ​­ The Son of Aaron, The Hebrew Physician commonly Known as Bar Hebraeus, Being the First Part of His Political History of the World, translated from the Syriac with an historical introduction, appendixes, and an index accompanied by reproductions of the syriac texts in the Bodleian Manuscripts 52, vol. I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1932; repr. Amsterdam ­ ​­ ­ Apa-Philos Press, 1976), 322 (engl.).

192  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems of an imaginary dialogue, is most interesting among Syriac interpretations of the issue of the Count of Tripoli’s defection. According to Barhebraeus, the Frankish leaders gathered together and discussed how to confront the Arabs in battle. Barherbraeus here constructs an imaginary exhortation of the Count of Tripoli, who attempts to convince the Franks not to fight against “Ṣalāḥ ­ ad-Din, the master of all Egypt and Palestine as far as the East [al kuloh mesren w-flistini ­ ​­ ʿdamo ­l-madenho ​­ eshtalat].” In his allocution, the Count hyperbolises Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s power and proposes “to make peace [shayno] with him, and that each of us should rest in his own place.” Ignoring the Count’s opinion, however, Guy28 “the new king”, and husband to 29 the Queen of Tiberias, nevertheless decided to fight against Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din. ​­ The battle of Lake Tiberias begins with the Muslim assault and arson of the fortress, where the queen was entrenched. Upon hearing the news, King Guy encouraged his forces to react. In turn, Ṣalāḥ ad-Din ­ ​­ expresses words of encouragement for his Arab warriors, resulting in a stylised confrontation between one warrior from each army: one of Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din’s ​­ slaves, an athletic young man named Manguras on one side, and a Frankish rival on the other. In the struggle, the Frankish warrior beheads his adversary.30 In his concern with violent imagery and intricacies of combat, Barhebraeus then focuses on the Count of Tripoli who now appears fearful that his initial stance, where he claimed to wish to avoid the fight against Ṣalāḥ ad­ ​ Din since the Franks would lose the ensuing battle, would not come to pass and would bring shame unto him. According to Barhebraeus, Reymond’s “heart was full of treachery” [d-lebeh ­ ​­ nekhlo mle],31 a characterisation that rings close to the analogy to Judas Iscariot found in the poem of Gīwargīs Wardā. Barhebraeus notes that the betrayer Count, having come to an agreement with the Arabs, abandoned the Frankish army: “there was a word (understanding) between them, and they knew that his heart was not right (i.e., in agreement) with the sons of his Faith (i.e., co-religionists).” The Muslim lines created a corridor for him, and Reymond of Tripoli passed through their ranks and left the battlefield. According to Barhebraus, Reymond of Tripoli’s “departure was the chief cause of the defeat of the Franks ­ ​­ ­ ​­ [l-tohubutho d-frangoye], for no man trusted his neighbour again.”32 Here we can see how, in Barhebraeus’ perception, the mistrust created in the ranks of the Frankish warriors following Reymond’s gesture only accentuated the catastrophe, ultimately leading to defeat. In comparison with Gīwargīs Wardā, it seems Barhebraeus is slightly less caustic in his portrayal of the

28 Born to the House of Lusignan, he became King of Jerusalem from 1186 to 1192 by right of marriage to Queen Sibylla of Jerusalem. Later, he would also become King of Cyprus from 1192 to 1194. 29 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 371 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 322. 30 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, ­372–373 ​­ (syr.); ­ Budge, The Chronography, 323. 31 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 373 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 323. 32 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 373 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 324.

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  193 Count of Tripoli, who nevertheless remains the primary culprit for the defeat; yet not the only, as it is, ultimately, owed several lines down to a collective attitude of mistrust, hesitation, suspicion, and lack of solidarity in combat on the part of the soldiery. Among the consequences of Reymond’s betrayal, Barhebraeus lists the fall of Tiberias, the imprisonment of King Guy together with a large number of Frankish knights (Brothers of the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller  – an account also included in the report of the previously mentioned Syriac Anonymous Chronicle).33 It is useful to now return to Gīwargīs Wardā, in order to highlight yet another similarity between his and Barhebraeus’ illustration of this event. This, on the topic of Queen Sinbylla who fled the city during the conquest of Tiberias: ‘Alas, alas!’ The queen cried out [qnoth malktho] When the voice of weeping struck her ears. She took with her the girls and fled in a boat over the lake. In comparison, Barhebraeus appears to be more tolerant in introducing this episode, arguing that the queen’s flight was due to the fact that Ṣalāḥ ­ad-​ Din had convinced her “with oaths and made her to come down, and he sent her to Tripoli together with all her train and all her possessions, and he also gave her gifts.”34 The depiction of the assault continues in Gīwargīs Wardā’s poem with lamentations in Jericho, Bethlehem, Acre, and other towns and villages: Crying in Jericho, groans in the land of Shiloh, laments in the middle of Acre, bitter weeping in Maʿlia. Little villages and all the towns were crying: “Our Lord, our Lord! Why do you keep away from us in this time of our need? […]”35 “Come back from your grave, oh son of Jesse! Compose hymns and songs and console your town Bethlehem with your psalms and songs of praise!36 33 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 373 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 324. 34 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 374 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 324. 35 Ms. Orient. Fol. 619, f. 68r, col. 1; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 496– 497 (syr.), 502 (germ.); Mengozzi, “A Syriac Hymn on the Crusades,” 197. 36 Ms. Orient. Fol. 619, f. 68v, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 498 (syr.), 504–505 (germ.); Mengozzi, “A Syriac Hymn on the Crusades,” 200. Of note is that Syriac authors,

194  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems The same images of terror and lamentation that dominate the respective situations of Christians in Tiberias, Acre, and Nazareth are also featured in the Anonymous Chronicle of 1234, which mentions that the inhabitants were looted by the Arabs, “and the men were killed by the sword” [d-sayfo], ­ ​­ and “children [l-tloye] ­ ​­ and women [w-neshe] ­ ​­ were taken as slaves and servants” [nsabu ʿabde ­w-emhothe]. ​­ Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s conquest of Palestine quickly engulfed all seaward citadels within the country. According to the Chronicle, these regions were devastated by plundering and rampant destruction, where the soldiers took “countless goods, slaves and servants”37 as loot. This report correlates with the conclusions drawn by Barhebraeus’ Chronicle, hinting at a possible common source that both authors drew upon. Enumerating the coastal cities seized by the Muslim invaders (ʿAkko, Nablas, Shamrin, Tabnin, Saidan, Caesarea, Joppa, Bairut, and Nasrath), the West Syriac bishop and author stresses that: “it is impossible for words to describe the extent of the scoffing and mockery and insult which the Christians who ­ ​­ ­ lived in the dominion of the Arabs [b-uhdono d-tayyaye] bore at that time.”38 The affectionate description of the Christians living in the Holy Land stems from a similar literary perspective which, once again, suggests the possible consultation of the same sources by both authors.

The Conquest of Jerusalem Following these portrayals of actions occurring peripherally to the main prize of Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s conquest, that is, Jerusalem, we must inquire as to how the Syriac authors perceived what transpired in Jerusalem during the conquest itself. Given that Jerusalem would naturally have drawn more of the authors’ interest than would the region of Palestine as a whole, we can expect the chroniclers’ impressions and descriptions to be more nuanced here. The question of how the opening stages of the assault on the Holy City unfolded can begin to be answered starting with Michael the Syrian and Barhebraeus’ respective Chronicles. Michael the Syrian appears familiar with the conquest of the Holy City, first of all mentioning the direction from which the assault came: “After attacking it for a few days, [the Muslims]

despite being centuries apart, shared the same feelings of sadness towards the sufferings visited upon cities during foreign sieges. Most likely, literary artifice was often used to borrow descriptions and literary motifs from earlier works. For example, a picture of Bethlehem not too much different to that found in Wardā’s poem appears in Ephrem the Syrian, in the context of another catastrophe: “Bethlehem and Bethany both pledge to you two / That instead of that People that was uprooted / from all peoples they should come with Hallelujahs / to see in your wombs the grave of Golgotha” Ephrem, Hymns against Julian, 4.25, trans. Kathleen E. McVey, Ephrem the Syrians: Hymns ( New York: Paulist Press, 1989), 257. 37 Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 199 (syr.), 149 (fr.). 38 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 374 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 325.

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  195 demolished part of its wall, on the northeast side.”39 Barhebraeus, conversely, appears much more concerned with the fighting taking place at the entrance to the Holy City. Concerning the choice of Jerusalem’s northwestern wall as a starting point for the assault on the city’s entrance, he argues that Ṣalāḥ ad-Din discovered “that quarter of it was spacious and suitable for the operations of the fighting men” [the wall’s northern side]. Fierce struggles subsequently broke out over three consecutive days where 60,000 Frankish horsemen and foot soldiers had to counteract the assault from inside the walls. Afterwards, a group of warriors from Aleppo made the wall burst into flames by employing a sophisticated technique. This caused panic among the Franks, who began to look for an agreement with Ṣalāḥ 40 ­ad-Din. ​­ Here, Barhebraeus makes use of an imaginary dialogue, a technique he also employs in various other passages. The Franks address Ṣalāḥ ad-Din, highlighting that if the Muslims did not reach a peaceful agreement for the serenity of the city and the Franks’ own safe passage, then they were going to act against the Muslims. Barhebraeus mentions the following as threats the Franks expressed to Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din: ​­ And first of all, we shall kill the Arab prisoners whom we have, and then we shall burn their Great Mosque [l-masghdo ­ ​­ rabo], and then the churches [l-ʿidotho] ­ ​­ and the other buildings, and then goods and possessions. And then we shall slay our wives, and sons, and daughters, with our own hands, and shall not allow you to satisfy your lust with them.41 Swayed by these forceful arguments, Ṣalāḥ ad-Din accepted the Frankish petition after holding counsel with his nobles, on the condition that they pay him a tithe: “every man should give ten dinars, and every woman five, and every son or daughter two dinars, and they should go out with everything which they were able to carry.” The Franks agreed to these terms, and a collective sum of 30,000 dinars was weighed out on behalf of the poor who were unable to pay. Additionally, Barhebraeus specifies that among those thousand souls released without paying were Syrians and Armenians, as he claims: “These are Edessenes [urhoye], children of my region” [bnay marʿithi],42 a passage in which the author undoubtedly expresses the identity of his community. Further similarities but also of differences between Barhebraeus and other sources, can be gleaned from analysing parallel descriptions of the battle. The Anonymous Chronicle also recounts the ethnicities of the Christians within the Holy City at the time of its conquest: Armenians, Byzantines, 39 J.-B. ​­ Chabot (ed.), ­ Chronique de Michel le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166– ­1199), Vol. III (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1910) 404. 40 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 375 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 325. 41 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 376 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 326. 42 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 376 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 326.

196  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems and Syrians [armonoye, ­w-rumoye, ​­ ­w-suryoye]. ​­ Interestingly, and contrary to Barhebraeus’ account which included Syrians and Armenians in the group of those who did not have to pay the Muslims, the Anonymous Chronicle writes that both Syrians and Armenians43 were asked to pay Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din’s ​­ tithe that they might leave the Holy City. The chronicle claims that they were required to pay: men, ten dinars [kul gabro ʿasro] and women, five dinars [w-kul ­ ​­ anththo hamsho]. Paying the tax allowed them to “leave and go where they want.” The chronicle’s account ends upon a sad image: “These poor people deserve tears and laments. They sold their goods at low prices and there was no one to buy.”44 In essence, Michael Rabo’s account is not much different. After documenting the ten dinars tax the Christians were required to pay, the author paints a similar picture of great sadness and sorrow which characterised the Holy City that day: Thus, all those who could find something to give left the city, by the thousands and by myriads, in tears and lamentations that split the stones; those who could not give (ten dinars) were enslaved, to the number of twenty thousand men and women.45 Michael Rabo, who was also intimately familiar with the Holy City, puts forward many specific numbers, suggesting that he had access to more reliable information to this end, most likely from his brother, Athanasius. Michael highlights that, Ṣalāḥ ad-Din freed 4,000 old men and women from among the people unable to pay; another 6,000 souls were given as slaves to the Muslim troops; another 5,000 were sent to Egypt to work in

43 At least in the case of the Armenians, it is possible that their exact situation differed from that recounted in the Syriac sources. If we consider current research perspectives, it would appear that a majority of scholars tend to agree that the Armenians now benefitted from an improved station, most likely being treated with greater benevolence by Ṣalāḥ ad-Din – and, like them, many other communities as well. See, for example, Jacob G. Ghazarian, “Armenians in Islamic Jerusalem,” Journal of Islamic Jerusalem Studies 9 (Summer, 2008), 59– 80, esp. 67 speaks of the alleged document, the firman claimed to have been bequeathed by Ṣalāḥ ad-Din conferring them certain rights and absolving them of the taxes owed on account of being Christians. See also Hugh Goddard, A History of ­Christian–Muslim ​­ Relations (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2000). Ghazarian, “Armenians in Islamic Jerusalem,” 67– 68 gives the reason why Armenians “were neither expelled nor taken into slavery” as follows: It has been suggested that Salah al Din's benevolence towards the Armenians might have stemmed from his dislike of the Latins and mistrust of the Greeks and thus he may have found it politically advantageous to favour the Armenians as his potential allies. See also Jacob G. Ghazarian, The Armenian Kingdom in Cilicia during the Crusades. The integration of Cilician Armenians with the Latins 1080– 1393 (London: Curzon Press, 2000). Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 200 (syr.), 150 (fr.). 44 45 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 404.

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  197 brickmaking; and a further 5,000 were left in Jerusalem to support the reconstruction of the city’s perimeter wall.46 It is highly likely that Syrians, especially ones from Edessa, as accounted for in Barhebraeus’ description, were among those released. It would appear that Athanasius, the brother of Michael the Syrian, left the Holy City at this time. The author of the Syriac Anonymous Chronicle witnessed the conquest of Jerusalem, and validated this hypothesis47: There was in Jerusalem at that time a Bishop Athanasius, brother of Patriarch Michael [aho ­d-fatriyarkho ​­ Mikhoyel], and monks including Sōhdō the Edessenian, who became bishop at the death of Athansius and was named Ignatius. Together with the bishop there was also Theodore bar Wahbun who, after causing much harm [husrone sagiye] to the convent, caused trouble to the bishop and the convent […].48 The claims of the Anonymous Chronicle are certified by the chronicle of Michael Rabo. Firstly, Michael attests that the West Syrians had a representative in the Holy City at the time of the conquest. The Syriac Orthodox Patriarch reports that after the fall of Jerusalem Athanasius, his “physical brother,” left the Holy City and came to meet him at the Convent of Mar Barsauma. The West Syriac Patriarch sent him as Vicar to the diocese of Antioch, where he was welcomed “as an angel, and he was honored by them, and not only by the rest of our people, but even by the Franks and Armenians.” In this paragraph, Michael also announces the death of his brother which was caused by an illness he contracted in Antioch, two years after his departure from Jerusalem (he fell ill and died on Thursday, 21st of October 1192).49 An additional piece of information which coincides with the Anonymous Chronicle is that after the death of Athanasius, “Ignatius, who is Sōhdō, the archimandrite of the convent, was ordained Bishop for Jerusalem,”50 most probably in 1193. The Syriac tradition’s institutional connection with Jerusalem at the moment of the Muslim conquest is clarified in the person of Athanasius, the brother of Michael. Since the broader context has already been elucidated to a certain extent, we might ask further: how did Muslims treat the Holy City in terms of its sacred places? The framework of 46 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 404. 47 The author notes that he was a witness of the conquest in Jerusalem: “At that time, we the poor man who writes this, were also present in Jerusalem [bhono zabno of hnan mhile d­­l-holen ​­ makthbinan boh b-ureshlem]” ­ ​­ Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 200 (syr.), 150 (fr.). 48 Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 200 (syr.), 150 (fr.). 49 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 411–412. ­ ​­ 50 Chabot Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 411– 412. On the abbot Sōhdō of Edessa who is mentioned in 1149 as having authored an Evangelion in the Mor Simeon the Pharisee and Saint Mary Magdalene Monastery, see Hubert Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte des 12. Jahrhunderts: Neue Quellen über Theodoros bar Wahbun,” Oriens Chris­ ­115–151, ​­ tianus 74 (1990), esp 129.

198  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems Muslim spiritual infrastructure in the Holy City can be found in the Chronicle of Michael Rabo, who writes about the purification Muslims undertook “according to their law [in] the Temple of Solomon, which they call sakra, meaning ‘rock’, which had been rebuilt for the second time by the Arabs themselves; and they decreed that no Christian could enter into it.”51 As expected, the focus of a Christian author is not on Muslim religiosity towards their Islamic holy places in Jerusalem, but on the Muslim’s behaviour towards Christian holy places during the conquest. In this sense, Michael subsequently affirms that “the Muslim troops closed the Church of the Resurrection and other [churches], and the Christians, slaves or others, who had remained in the city, came together constantly to pray, crying before the doors.”52 A further comparison between the chronicles reveals one major difference: while Michael Rabo states that the entry of Christians into the Church of the Resurrection was prohibited, the Syriac Anonymous Chronicle of 1234 posits another perspective, namely that Christians were allowed to worship at the Holy Sepulchre in exchange for payment: The churches were stripped of iron, wood, doors and even the marble that covered the walls and the floor, they took it down and took it to other countries, with the exception of the great church of the Resurrection [ʿidto rabto d-qyomto] ­ ​­ in which one put guards, because of the gain which one could withdraw from it, because any Christian who enters [d­ ​ kul ­ khristyono d-ʿoyel] ­ ​­ to venerate the Holy Sepulcher [d-nesghud ­ ​­ l-qabro ­ ​­ qadisho], one takes from him 10 dinars.53 Barhebraeus provides a further different report, stating that Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din ​­ allowed four Frankish monks to minister at the Holy Sepulchre and that he made the Patriarch of the Greeks the Church’s administrator shortly thereafter.54 Although Barhebraeus often remains faithful to the Chronicle of Michael Rabo, here the two chronicles diverge. From a historical perspec51 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 405. F.E. Peters, Jerusalem and Mecca. The Typology of the Holy City in the Near East (New York / London: New York University Press, 1986), 103–104 highlights the same perspective: The Dome of the Rock was likewise purged. The Christian reliefs and décor were removed. The marble slabs the Crusaders had extended over the rock were also stripped away, and it became immediately apparent that the priests there had been chipping away parts of the stone and presumably selling the pieces as relics to Christian pilgrims. 52 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 405. 53 Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 201 (syr.), 150 (fr.). 54 Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 377 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 327 (engl.). The diversity of opinions in this sense is also highlighted by Peters, Jerusalem and Mecca, 104: Finally, there was a debate as to what should be done to the Christians’ primary holy place at the Anastasis. Some contended that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre should be destroyed, but the majority, who perhaps better understood the nature of holy places, argued that it would do no good; the Christians would still visit the site. In the

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  199 tive, Barhebraeus is deeply concerned with not omitting royal elements or any other form of power of his time. He mentions two further categories of people that were affected by the situation in the Holy City: among them are the Greek or Frankish queens living in asceticism in Jerusalem. A nun who lived in a nunnery with Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s permission travelled out of the city with her servants. This account also mentions other queens ‘incidentally’ being in Jerusalem at the time.55 A further category of power is represented by the Greek Patriarch, who is probably not omitted from Barhebraeus description for the reason that the West Syriac historian, as an ecumenist, does not shy away from making mention of rival denominational parties. According to Barhebraeus, the Patriarch “took with him all the furniture of the Church of the Resurrection and of the other churches, and lamps of gold and silver.” A final picture he offers in his description of the Muslim conquest is his express disappointment at the Christians’ loss of their dominion over the Holy City: And from this time, the Christians were never again masters of Jerusalem [lo tub eshtalatu khristyone ʿal ureshlem].56 To return to the profound image of Christians lamenting the situation of their churches in Palestine, we must admit that this portrayal is more nuanced in Gīwargīs Wardā’s poem. The Christians’ bitterness at the changes in the Holy City is also tangible in Wardā’s poetical literature. His second Syriac poem on Jerusalem’s fall appears to have likely been composed in Palestine, certainly very shortly after the fall of Jerusalem to Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din’s ​­ rule. It offers an intense description of the events, which is nevertheless overshadowed by the author’s own insurmountable grief at the primacy of Muslims in the Holy City57: The monasteries and convents are also in dire straits, and the people are in need. […] The believers are plundered everywhere, the inhabitants of Jerusalem ­ ​ are killed [bnay ureshlem qtilin] by the rebellious children of Hagar [l58 ­bnay hagar d-morudin]. ­ ​­ We sing songs of mourning, with weeping and lament and pitiful tears about the captivity of the virgins who are scattered in every region.59

55 56 57 58 59

end Ṣalāḥ ad-Din agreed to let it stand, just as the apocryphal ‘Umar was reported to have done when the Muslims had first taken the city. Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, ­376–377(syr.); ​­ ­ Budge, The Chronography, ­326–327 ​­ (engl.). ­ Bedjan, Chronicon Syriacum, 377 (syr.); Budge, The Chronography, 327 (engl.). Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 493. Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69r, col. 1; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 505 (syr.), 507 (germ.). Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69r, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 505 (syr.), 507 (germ.).

200  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems The poem further narrates the deplorable state of the Christian tradition in Jerusalem and Palestine occasioned by the Muslim conquest: Loud weeping and lamentation were heard in towns and villages, since the mother was sold for money as well as her children.60 The narrative articulates further on that the Muslims had seized all existing assets, even including churches: “In the monasteries and the churches there are shelters [for the Muslims], while others have remained as devastated, without prayers and worship.”61 Although these images are penned by the flair of a poet, we can nevertheless uncover similar reports in historical sources. This paragraph corresponds to a passage from the Anonymous Syriac chronicle of 1234: The language is incapable of describing the crimes that our eyes saw committed in the city, such that no book could contain them, how the sacred vases [monay qudsho] were sold on the city’s markets [b-shuqe ­ ​­ d­ ​ ­mdintho] into the hands of people of different races, how the churches and the altars [w-madebhe] ­ ​­ became stables for horses and animals and places of debauchery, drink and song.62 The Chronicle argues that de-sacralisation had permeated every social category: “monks, noble women, pure nuns who were delivered to impurity with various peoples; boys and girls who became slaves and servants of the Turks and were scattered around the world.”63 In comparison with the Anonymous Chronicle, Gīwargīs Wardā’s poem is suffused by an even more passionate lament, arguing that everywhere was in a state of mourning and sadness since the service and the rituals of the Church, such as weddings and other moments of joy, could no longer be fulfilled: “The church songs and all the canonical rituals are no longer seen; instead of the haleluya hymns and of the sacraments, a dance of dissolute people can be seen and heard.”64 To the question who was responsible for the desolate atmosphere and for the suffering caused the Christian community, the poet clearly admits, that it was the Muslims themselves that were the perpetrators of this de-sacralisation: “People who are completely without mercy [ʿamo sokh dlayt beh rahmo] have scattered all holy things.”65 In this gruesome reality, the symbol of the cross itself is trampled underfoot:

60 61 62 63 64 65

Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69r, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 505 (syr.), 507–508 (germ.). Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69r, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 505–506 (syr.), 508 (germ.). Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 200–201 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 150 (fr.). ­ Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 201 (syr.), 150 (fr.). Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69r, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 506 (syr.), 508 (germ.). Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69r, col. 2 - 69v, col. 1; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 506 (syr.), ­ 508 (germ.).

Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s Conquest of Jerusalem in Syriac Literature  201 The cross [slibo], from which so much help flows, and which gives those glories, who take refuge in it, is trampled on today, and mocked by the 66 wicked, insolent people [ʿamo d-bishu ­ ​­ w-mmih]. ­ ​­ This is likely an allusion to the fact that Ṣalāḥ ad-Din had removed the Cross that the Crusaders had placed over the Dome of the Rock.67 The author attempts to insert himself into the role of an eyewitness, heightening the reader’s emotions: he becomes the witness-narrator, taking part in the conquest as a secondary actor, or better said as an observer instead of an active participant; consequently, his presence in the Holy City is made less probable: Loud whining is in the chambers, death laments in the rooms, the mothers moaning like doves that the enemies robbed their children. […] The Lord has punished us, (yet only) in his mercy, and has not punished us for our sins.68 We can see this idea of punishment in the first poem as well, where the fall of the Holy City is presented as a punishment that God brought upon the sinful, akin to the flood in Noah’s time: Alas, this chastisement with which He punished desolate Sion, when anger and rage suddenly descended as on the ark of Noah’s family!69 Jerusalem, the holy city [ureshlem mdinath qudsho], ­ ​­ dwelling-place of the Holy One [w-beth mashriyeh ­d-qadisho]. ​­ Evil Satan was envious of her, he bore her away to have her trodden down.70 66 Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69v, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 506–507 (syr.), 509 (germ.). 67 See Peters, Jerusalem and Mecca, 103: When the city fell some of the Muslim troops spontaneously scrambled to the top of the Dome and removed the golden cross that crowned the Crusaders’ Templum Domini. Then on the sultan’s own orders the Aqsa and the Dome were stripped clean of their Christian trappings. The wall that the Templars had constructed across the mihrab in the Aqsa was removed, and the prayer niche was expensively relined with marble. Lecterns with precious Qur’ans were set out in the mosque, and new carpets were laid down. Though the city had fallen on a Friday, the first official congregational prayer was postponed for a week, and in the interval a fierce competition developed as to who would be honoured by preaching the first Friday sermon in the restored al-Aqsa; the sultan himself chose a Damascus divine to deliver the discourse. Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 69v, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 507 (syr.), 509 (germ.). 68 69 Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 67r, col. 2; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 495 (syr.), 499 (germ.); A. Mengozzi, “A Syriac Hymn on the Crusades,” 195. 70 Ms. Orient. fol. 619, f. 67v, col. 1; Nöldeke, “Zwei syrische Lieder,” 495 (syr.), 499 (germ.); Mengozzi, “A Syriac Hymn on the Crusades,” 195.

202  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems The final part of the first poem invokes Jeremiah, alluding to his complaints yet not without confessing his belief that God would in the end save the community: Spring Jeremiah out of the earth and compose songs of mourning! Sing for desolate Jerusalem [l-ureshlem ­ ​­ harobto] and mourn with her in the nights! Let the Siren weep among the nations for the murder of oppressed orphans, while the peacock cries in the reeds over the corpses of the young!71 We shall conclude this narrative by highlighting that while the extant chronicles appear to have drawn on common sources, their perspectives differ from author to author and from one literary genre to another. The interest shown by Syriac pilgrims and Christians in travelling to Palestine is also expressed, albeit indirectly, by chroniclers who also narrate the events unfolding in the Holy City, if only out of a desire to correlate veiled local tensions with universal, momentous events such as the fall of Jerusalem as often happened. The descriptive tension, particularly apparent in poetic writings, unites the past with the present and leaves open the unknown fate of medieval Syriac and Oriental Christians living the unpredictability of their future.



2

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City of the Middle Ages

This chapter focuses on how the Syriac Christians coagulated their communities in Palestine and especially in the Holy City shortly before and after Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s conquest. We will inspect sources about the Syriac-speaking communities, with their churches, possessions, and institutional power around Jerusalem in the medieval period and Syriac Christian individuals closely tied to Saint Mary Magdalene Syriac Orthodox monastery and the religious landscape in the Holy Land. A special case will be the figure of Theodore bar Wahbun in which we will illustrate a cycle of oscillation between his Syriac Orthodox origin and the Holy Land due to a conflict with the ecclesiastical authority of his church embodied by the West Syriac Patriarch Michael Rabo. Besides these individual cases which resort to themes and images of secular and religious power, conflict, and sacred landscape, we will refer to the general relations of Syriac Orthodox leader and Latin religious power in the Holy City with an attempt to demonstrate if this can be framed in a standard pattern of good functionality or how artificial and conjunctural this functionality was. From the strictly ecclesiastical level, the question will be transferred to the Syriac Orthodox relations with the Frankish authorities and the power structure in the Holy Land where will be inspected the manner in which the Syriac church representatives intersected with these authorities and how they managed to preserve their foundations, history, and community in the holy city.

Syriac Inhabitants in the Holy City All the historical chronicles that cover the fall of Jerusalem to the invading Muslims state that Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s army entered Jerusalem by breaking through the north-western wall. The north-western sector of the city was the core of Syriac Christians, especially Syriac Orthodox communities in Jerusalem, as well as the location of Saint Mary Magdalene’s church. Sources indicate that the presence of the Syriac-speaking communities in the Holy City was animated through pilgrimage, so that this group of Christians even had its own churches: Saint Mary Magdalene, Saint Elias, Saint Bartholomew, and possibly even Saint Abraham.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-19

204  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems It might be that a large number of Syrians settled in the Holy City in 1115, when King Baldwin I of Jerusalem (1100–1118) allowed them to come from Kerak of Trans-Jourdain and Edessa to inhabit the Eastern sector of the Holy City, which in time became known as “the Syrian Quarter.”1 The area from the North-Eastern corner of the city comprises the space extending northwards from the Temple Mount to the city’s northern wall, and extending east to Saint Stephen’s Gate. According to tradition, this district was previously populated by Jews, hence its older moniker of the “Jewish Quarter.” These Jews moved inside Jerusalem’s walls when Mount Sion was excluded from the city in the mid-11th century. There are different interpretations of the Syrian settlement in Jerusalem: one2 opines that the city’s Jewish inhabitants were severely depopulated in the Crusader3 massacre of 1099 and that Syrians, uprooted by the Franks from the territories around Golgotha, fled to this area and took the empty buildings which had previously belonged to the Jews into their possession.4 Although this hypothesis remains disputed, it is nevertheless certain that Syriac-speaking Christians represented without a doubt a large faction of the Holy City’s population during the time of the Crusades.5 Moreover, they possessed an important church and monastic centre dedicated to Saint Mary Magdalene, which dates back to the 9th century. According to Michael the Syrian, during the rule of Caliph Hārūn ­al-Rashīd, ​­ in 806/807 the Jacobite church of Saint Mary Magdalene was demolished alongside many other “old churches from villages and from the district of Antioch and Jerusalem,” with the justification that they had been built after the death of Muhammad and were consequently subject to the Muslim law which prohibits the construction of churches after this

1 Abbe Verier, Journal d’un pèlerin de Terre- Sainte, complété par des études subséquentes sur les lieux parcourus notamment sur Jérusalem (Paris: Bayeux, H. Grobon et O. Payan, 1861), 120; Yacob Koriah Karkenny, The Syrian Orthodox Church in the Holy Land (Jerusalem, 1976), 10. 2 See J. Prawer, Crusader Institutions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), 93. 3 An appealing idea about the Crusaders’ motivation can be found in the Syriac colophon: When they (the armies of the West) heard that the population of Edessa had been taken captive by the Muslims and that they had gain possession of the city, they put on divine zeal and prepared an expedition in the name of Christ and for the sake of the Christian nation, both in order to avenge Edessa and the rest of the Christians who had perished, and in order to keep these countries in Christian hands; above all, however, for the sake of that Holy Sepulcher of Christ and the rest of the holy places in Jerusalem. Colophon in Damascus, Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate, MS 12/4, olim Jerusalem, St Mark’s, MS 27; see also A. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem, Part 2: Queen Melisende and the Jacobite Estates,” Oriens Christianus 76 (1992), II, 86. 4 See Kenneth M. Setton, A History of the Crusades: The Impact of the Crusades on the Near East (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), 78; Andrew Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 75 (1991), I, 29, n. 49. 5 Adrian J. Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades: Society, Landscape and Art in the Holy City under Frankish Rule (London: Routledge, 2001), 88.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  205 date. In this regard, Michael Rabo clearly notes that “he demolished ancient churches, and our church in Jerusalem.”6 The physical presence of West Syriac Christians in Jerusalem was complemented by the form of power manifested by their ecclesiastic institution. As discussed in a previous chapter, there is a surviving list of Syriac Orthodox Bishops of Jerusalem which from 793 until the period of Michael himself (1106–1199), was preserved in the Jacobite Register of Episcopal Ordinations.7 Michael Rabo notes that the first Syriac bishop who had received his spiritual formation at the Monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene (which the author calls “our monastery in Jerusalem”) came before the consecration of Ignatius Hesnun.8 This Ignatius Hesnun (d. 1124–1125)9 rebuilt the church and Monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene on the site of the previous church which had been founded by an Egyptian named Macarius Nabruwah and destroyed in the early 9th century, in 806/807.10 The church and monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene, situated on their previous site in the ­north-western ​­ quarter11 would later also be consecrated to “Simon the Pharisee” as well, nevertheless continuing to pay homage to its first patron, Mary Magdalene. Further, numerous local traditions linked these three elements (Syriac-speaking Christians, the figure of Mary Magdalene, and the Holy City of Jerusalem) together: for example, one such tradition claims that, in that time, the Syriac monks claimed to have in their possession a hair of Mary Magdalene, which had been discovered on the very spot where she had washed the feet of Jesus.12

6 J.-B. ​­ Chabot (tr.), ­ Chronique de Michel Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166– 1199), Vol. III (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1910), 21. See also A. Vööbus, Syrische Kanonessamlungen. Ein Beitrag zur Quellenkunde, I: Westsyrische Originalurkunden, vol. 1 (CSCO 307, Tomus 35, Louvain: Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1970), 29, n. 41. 7 J.-B. ​­ Chabot (ed.), ­ Chronique de Michel le Syrien Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166– 1199), ­ vol. IV (Paris: 1910), Appendix III; see also Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 27. 8 Chabot, Chronique de Michel, III, 477, IV, Register, XLI, 30, 32; Jean Martin, “Les premiers princes croisés et les syriens jacobites de Jérusalem,” Journal Asiatique 8. Ser. 12, = 133 (1888), 471– 490; 8. Ser. 13 = 134 (1889), 33–79, esp 52 (syr.), 73 (fr.). 9 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 37 gives as potential dates of his cathedra: “post 1090 ante 1130.” 10 See Setton, A History of the Crusades, 76. 11 See Henri Michelant and Gaston Raynaud (eds.), Itinéraires à Jérusalem et descriptions de la Terre Sainte rédigés en français aux XIe, XIIe et XIIIe siècles (Publications de la Société de l’Orient latin, Série géographique, 3; Geneva: Imprimerie Jules- Guillaume Fick, 1882), 27, ­160–161. ​­ Setton, A History of the Crusades, 78, n. 59: “Between the street of Josaphat and the city walls, up to the gate of Josaphat (today the Gate of the Lions).” 12 T. Tobler (ed.), Descriptiones Terrae Sanctae ex saeculo VIII, IX, XII et XV (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs; reprint Hildesheim / New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 1974), 132–1333; Otto A. Meinardus, The Copts in Jerusalem (Cairo: Costa Tsoumas & Co., 1960), 15. According to tradition, some of Saint Mary Magdalene’s hair was also preserved at the Monastery of the Syrians in Wadi al-Natrun, Egypt. See Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy

206  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems In the 12th century, the Syriac Orthodox Monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene was expanded. Ignatius of Gadina,13 the successor to Ignatius Hesnun, established a hostel opposite its entrance sometime after 1125.14 Without a doubt, the Monastery was at the centre of the West Syriac (Syriac Orthodox) community in the Holy Land; yet the coastal villages also boasted small communities of Syrians. The Metropolitan of Jerusalem held the title “of Jerusalem and of the Sea-Coast” or otherwise “of Jerusalem and all of the Sea- Coast,” which would consequently suggest that the West Syrians operated a number of churches in the harbour-towns of Palestine, meant to serve Syriac pilgrims travelling from their heartlands either by land or by sea.15 Moreover, Baumstark also notes the presence of Syriac Orthodox Christians in Palestine, in rural and provincial areas as well, and extends the presence of Jacobite communities as far as Constantinople, until the reign of Alexios Komnenos (1081–1118). Like Aleppo and Damascus, Baumstark views Jerusalem as a region harbouring a significant number of Jacobites during the Middle Ages. He speculates that the formation of a solid centre of Syriac Orthodox Christians can be corroborated with the temporary title of Patriarch held by Syriac Orthodox Metropolitan bishops of Jerusalem, that appears in some manuscripts.16

13

14

15

16

City,” Orientalia Suecana 12 (1963), 64; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 30, n. 51. Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus, 219, identifies his period as bishop of Jerusalem between 1091–1129. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 37 suspects a little variation: “post 1123 ante 1140.” Martin, “Les premiers princes croisés,” (1889), 54, 75, 76. Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus, 219, suspects Ignatius Hesnun’s cathedra between 1091–1129, almost similar to the conjecture of “post 1090 ante 1139” made by Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 37. These titles appear in Ms. Paris Syr. 64 [from AD 1135], Ms. British Library MS 14,695 [from 1196], and Ms. Dam. 12/4 [olim Jerusalem 27, from 1149]): see, Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 35. It is interesting that, as Kaufhold points out in his analysis, the particular title of the episcopal saw changes in time: “Metropolitan of Jerusalem, the Holy City” (Ms. Brit. Libr. Rich. 7171 [from 1173], Ms. Paris 103 [from 1462], and Ms. Jerusalem St. Mark’s church 16. Later, the titles differ even more: “Metropolitan of the area of Syria” (Ms. Jerusalem 218) [from 1477]; “Metropolitan of Jerusalem and Syria” [Hs. Leipzig Syr. 1]; “Metropolitan of Jerusalem and Damascus” [Ms Paris, 103] (from 1520); “Metropolitan of the Holy City of Jerusalem and its Surroundings, Damascus, Homs and Tripoli” [Ms Mardin 658] (from 1520). See also, Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 149–150; J. Forshall and F.A. Rosen, Catalogus codicum manuscriptorum orientalium qui in Museo Britannico asservantur, Pars prima: codices syriacos et carshunicos amplectens (London: British Museum, 1838), 44f.; F. Nau, “Corrections et additions au catalogue des manuscrits syriaques de Paris,” Journal Asiatique, Series 11, vol. 5 (1915), 521, 524–525; Mar Filoksinos Yohanna Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in St. Mark’s Monastery (Dairo d-Mor Marqos: Damascus, 1994), 124, 136, 357, 419. A. Baumstark, Festbreviar und Kirhenjahr der syrischen Jakobiten (Paderborn: F. Schöningh, 1910), 12. On p. 12, n. 5 he notes on the Syriac presence in Jerusalem based also on the manuscripts Paris 213 and 245. For this see also Hermann Zotenberg, Catalogues

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  207 The presence of Syriac Christians in the cities of Acre, Tyre, and Tripoli, along the Syriac pilgrimage routes, would suggest that some pilgrims also traded at times within the prosperous regions, thus creating and reinforcing a network in Palestine and beyond. It was likely such precedents that Barhebraeus had tried to pre- empt when he strictly prohibited the plying of Syriac pilgrims’ trade on their way to Jerusalem in the canons contained in mēmrā I of his Ethicon. Palmer inspects that “the coastal cities (of Palestine) must have contained a Jacobite mercantile community, which explains the establishment and growth of the churches there.”17 He does not exclude that pilgrimage was combined with trade, even though the official stance of the church was opposed to this practice.18 We see this hypothesis as a plausible basis of Barhebraeus’ canons attempting to regulate this phenomenon, which we will discuss in more detail in a later section devoted to pilgrimage in that period. Among other stipulations, Barhebraeus states that “the person who sets out to worship in the Holy City of Jerusalem, should observe nine canons.”19 We just introduced some related to this discussion. The first is focused on a consciousness self- examination on the part of the pilgrim before his journey even begins.20 The second canon emphasises how the financial backing of the pilgrimage must come from honest work, as a prerequisite for fulfilling the spiritual purpose of the journey.21 The third canon excludes any form or intention of trade on the part of the pilgrim on his road to Jerusalem.22 It is likely that a substantial part of pilgrims departed for Jerusalem never to return. For this reason, another of Barhebraeus’ canons states that pilgrims had to be in Jerusalem for Easter, and that they had to return after the Pascal feast. The Syriac Orthodox Patriarch Michael the Great is documented to have been in Jerusalem in 1168 for Easter, when he celebrated the Feast of the Resurrection at the Monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene. If we look at what notes Michael Rabo in his chronicle about his journey to Jerusalem, we observe that this is preceded by a series of accounts of important events concerning the debut of Rabo’s installment as head of

17 18 19 20 21 22

des manuscrits syriaques et sabéens (mandaïtes) de la Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris: ­ Imprimerie nationale, 1874), 165, 201. Baumstark also mentions that Michael Rabo regularly recorded the ordination of new metropolitans for the Holy City. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 89, n. 58. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 93, n. 70. Gregory Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I (ed. Herman G.B. Teule, CSCO: Scriptores Syri 534–535, Vol. 218–219, Louvanii: E. Peeters, 1993), 125 (syr), 106 (engl). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr), 107 (engl). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr), 107 (engl). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr), 107 (engl): He must not take with him some wordly wares for buying and selling, for otherwise he refrains from eternal commerce. For many people of those who set out on a journey on account of bodily profit lose the spiritual profit and fall into spiritual deprivation.

208  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems the West Syriac Church: his election as Patriarch,23 and the laudatio addressed by Dionysius bar Salibi for him, at that time still archimandrite Mar Michael of the Monastery of Barsauma, who would later be confirmed as Patriarch, followed by the anointment of Mar Dionysius bar Salibi as the Metropolitan of Amid (Bar Salibi was Michael Rabo’s fervent supporter during the Patriarchal election).24 The Patriarch toured Edessa and its surrounding monasteries, likely coinciding with a journey to inspect the Syriac Orthodox communities and parishional seats,25 as was the probable custom following the installation of a new Patriarch. While he failed to continue his journey, we learn that in the following year he would reach Jerusalem (most probably in 1168; Kaufhold suspects 1167 as the year of his visit to the Holy City instead26). This can be a testimony in support of the thesis that Jerusalem was already home to numerous Syriac Orthodox communities, mostly formed of monks, with an already- established tradition in the Holy City, as we shall see. McEvitt believes otherwise and attempts to tie the Patriarch’s journey to a particular objective on the part of the prelate, namely that through “this ‘Grand Tour’ of Syria and Palestine” he might attempt to find support in his ecumenical relationships with the Latin Christians.27 Both purposes could in any case be corroborated in this journey. According to his chronicle, the Patriarch travelled to Cilicia, and from there on to Antioch. The account stresses his impatience and rush to reach the Holy City, as the Pascal celebrations were drawing near. Michael Rabo passed through Laodicea and Tyre, arriving in Jerusalem on the Holy Thursday of the week of Easter.28 Here, he did what any Syriac pilgrim to the holy sites would have done: “he prayed at Golgotha and the Holy Sepulchre, celebrating Easter and the absolution of all Christians in Our Church of Mary Magdalene.” This expression exposes a Syriac identity that had already coalesced within the Holy City, centred around the Church of Mary Magdalene. Moreover, the fact

23 Michael’s chronicle also states that even the West Syriac Metropolitan of Jerusalem, Ignatios Romanos, informed the future Patriarch in a letter that he could not attend the synod to elect a new Patriarch, but that he would nevertheless agree to the ordination of Michael, or the archdeacon Denhō from Edessa, but not to that of any other. See Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 330; Hubert Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte des 12. Jahrhunderts: Neue Quellen über Theodoros bar Wahbun,” Oriens Christianus 74 (1990), 130. 24 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 330–331. ­ ​­ 25 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 331; Christopher MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 168. 26 Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 137, n. 91: “Michael hatte sich bereits 1167 in Jerusalem aufgehalten.” 27 See MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, 169. 28 He mentions as time “le jeudi de la semaine des ḥosanna” Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 331; Chabot, n. 3, gives as dates: March 31, 1168.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  209 that Michael celebrated Easter and the sanctification of the Chrism29 in the convent of Saint Mary Magdalene constitutes a detail that seems to prove that the Syriac Orthodox (named also as West Syrians and sometimes in the sources also with the pejorative term ‘Jacobites’) had not enjoyed such a privilege, to have a chapel at the Holy Sepulchre, prior to Easter of the year 1168.30 Returning to the latter part of the report we note that, on the occasion, he also met with “the Patriarch of the Franks” who received him with honours; this was Amaury (Amalric) of Nestle, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem.31 It might be that this meeting with the Latin Patriarch, Amaury, led to the concession of the Chapel of St James in the Holy Sepulchre, which the Jacobites appear to have been granted sometime between 1165 and 1173,32 most probably in 1168. This meeting with the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, was followed by his meeting with the Latin Patriarch of Antioch, Aimery of Limoges, upon Rabo’s return where the Patriarch confirms the positive reception of their Syriac counterpart. We can regard the sympathy of these intersections with both Latin hierarchs with a modicum of reservation, reading in the account a further reason for the Syriac Patriarch’s warm reception by the Latin Patriarch of Antioch. Angered by the Greek Patriarch in Antioch, Amaury’s display of pomp and honours towards Michael Rabo is captured by the chronicle as follows: “he had our Patriarch introduced with great pomp, as if

29 For the Syriac tradition, the consecration of Chrism (Myron) in Jerusalem is one element that shows a direct and continuous liturgical connection with the Holy City, especially in the case of the West Syriac tradition. 30 Abbeloos, and Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum, II, cols. 545–546; ­ ​­ see also Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,” 65. It is likely that Michael Rabo’s open attitude and willingness to engage in dialogue with the Latin Christians played an important part in this negotiation – proving that, beyond its qualities, ensuring a good relationship with the Latin world represented an important element for the dominant imposition of his figure within the internal circles of the Syriac Church. See also C. MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, 169: “While his reputation doubtless was based on his character and role as a theologian and administrator, his closeness to the Latin hierarchy apparently only added luster to his reputation.” 31 Abbeloos, and Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum, II, col. 546; Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 332; MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, 168. The death of Amalric of Nestle happened on October 6th, 1180. See Bernard Hamilton, The Leper King and His Heirs: Baldwin IV and the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem (Cambridge: Cambridge Univesity Press, 2000), 162. 32 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 91–92. It would appear that the Jacobites were indeed slightly closer to Rome during that period. This can also be seen in some of the stances taken by Barhebraeus: for example, in recounting how the Latin Patriarch was present at the funeral of Barhebraeus’ teacher in Tripoli, see H. Teule, “The Crusaders in Barhebraeus’ Syriac and Arabic Chronicles,” in Krijnie Ciggaar, Adelbert Davids, and Herman Teule (eds.), ­ East and West in the Crusader States: Context, Contacts, Confrontations: Acta of the Congress held at Hernen Castle in May 1993 (Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 39– 49; Matti Moosa, “The Crusades: An Eastern Perspective, with Emphasis on Syriac Sources,” Muslim World 93 (2003), 249–289. A similar tendency is visible in Barhebraeus’s positive perception of the Frankish service at the Church of Resurrection.

210  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems to humiliate the Greeks.”33 This is representative of the characteristic variability of interconfessional relationships during the Crusaders’ period. At first glance, there appears to have existed a series of joint ecclesiastic collaborations between the two sides. For example, there are cases where one is mentioned as having attended the consecration of a bishop from the other’s confession, as was the case of the Jacobite Patriarch John XII in Edessa in 1130: an event that took part in a Latin church, and in the presence of the local Frankish authority,34 with that same Latin church in Edessa being the designated site for the baptisms of the children of the Jacobite faithful, carried out by the resident Latin priest.35 As Baumstark also notes, the apparent relations of interconfessional collaboration did not exclude nor replace criticism or literary debates waged by West Syriac Christians over to the doctrine and liturgical practices of the Chalcedonian Latins.36 Even though, as Weltecke argues, “scholars more or less agree that relations between Latins and the Syriac Orthodox in Outremer [i.e. Crusader States] were generally good,”37 since most sources, including Michael Rabo, seem to portray functional relations at the official Church level between West Syriac and Latin Christians, such depictions must be viewed with some caution when discussing the effects of a series of political measures taken by the Crusaders in the Holy City affecting the Syriac population. In a later section, we shall see that the West Syrians were deprived of some possessions and properties that were abusively seized by the Crusaders, with only some of them returned following perseverant efforts and negotiations with the local authorities. If we look further back to the time of the First Crusade, a letter addressed to Pope Urban II dated September 11th 1098 and authored by several Crusader leaders in Antioch38 contains not only a re-

33 “[I]l fit introduire notre patriarche en grande pompe, comme pour humilier les Grecs […]” Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrie, III, 332. 34 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrie, III, 231. 35 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrie, III, 212–213. ­ ​­ 36 Baumstark, Festbreviar, ­21–22. ​­ 37 Dorothea Weltecke, “The Syriac Orthodox in the Principality of Antioch during the Crusader Period,” in Krijna Nelly Ciggaar (ed.) The Syriac Orthodox in the Principality of Antioch during the Crusader period (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 147, Leuven: Peeters, 2006), ­95–124, ​­ esp. 97. ­ 38 The specific formula of address containing mention of the signatories is: To the venerable Pope Urban, Bohemond and Raymond, Count of St Gilles, Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine, Robert, Duke of Normandy, Robert, Count of Flanders, Eustace, Count of Boulogne, send greetings and loyal service, and like sons to their spiritual father true subjection in Christ. Malcolm Barber and Keith Bate (tr.), Letters from the East Crusaders, Pilgrims and Settlers in the ­12th–13th ​­ Centuries (London / New York: Routledge, 2016), 33. Reymond III († 1187), whom we presented in the Syriac sources as being blamed for Ṣalāḥ ad-Din’s conquest of Jerusalem owing to his actions, was the great-grandson of this earlier Raymond (Count Raymond IV of Toulouse 1041–1105), a co-signatory of this letter.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  211 port on their progress but also an invitation to come and take up the seat of the Apostle Peter in Antioch, and clear the land of heresy. The letter shows the Crusaders’ negative perception of the native Christian confessions  – Greeks, Syrians, Armenians – characterising them all as heretics: Although we have triumphed over the Turks and the pagans, we cannot do the same with the Greek, Armenian, Syrian and Jacobite heretics. We ask you again and again, our dearest father, as father and leader, to come to the place of your fatherhood; and, as vicar of St Peter, to sit on his throne and have us, as your obedient sons, in all legitimate actions, eradicating and destroying all types of heresy with your authority and our valour.39 This perception denotes a harsh approach on the part of the Latins to those of different confessions than theirs. With reference to Bar Salibi and Patriarch Michael the Great, Teule, identifying certain theological West Syriac perceptions, opines that […] Bar Salibi and Patriarch Michael, are well disposed towards the Franks and prefer to ignore their heterodoxy. Here, it seems that the good day-to- day contacts on a practical level and the expressions of consideration shown by the Frankish authorities towards Jacobite Church leaders prevail over strict theological principles.40 It is clear that there indeed were cases that fall within this operational pattern between the two confessions, at times predicated on the interaction between church hierarchies (which appears to have functioned better) or between the Frankish authorities holding secular power and the leadership of the West Syriac Church. However, there likely were numerous general cases where each confessional side would have found it difficult to renounce their doctrinal differences in the pursuit of a functional dialogue or interaction. Therefore, instead of portraying a general sense of harmony between the two Frankish and Syriac groups, we consider as much more plausible the position of Matti Moosa, who moderates the chroniclers’ enthusiasm in considering the Franks as benevolent towards the Syrians by stating that Michael Rabo’s magnanimous attitude towards the Franks was predicated on their early actions; after their founding of princely states in Antioch, Tripoli, and Edessa alongside the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the priorities of some local authorities, represented by the Christian princes, shifted to furthering their own political concerns to the detriment of the needs of their 39 Letters from the East Crusaders, Pilgrims and Settlers in the 12th– 13th centuries, 33–34. ­ ​­ 40 H.G.B. Teule, “It is not right to call ourselves orthodox and the other heretics. Ecumenical Attitudes in the Jacobite Church in the Time of the Crusaders,” in H. Teule and K. Cig­ ­​­­ ​­ gaar (eds.), East and West in the Crusaders States. ­Contexts-Contacts-Confrontations, II (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, vol. XCII, Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 13–27, esp. 22.

212  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems coreligionist confessions situated in their proximity – namely the Armenians and Syrians, who sometimes even suffered abuse. According to Moosa, the Franks’ religious agenda sought, above all else, the establishment and propagation of their own religious hierarchies in their newly conquered territories.41 Consequently, even though the later chronicles document the visit of Patriarch Ignatius II to Jerusalem as having been received by Latin, “Frankish ­ monks”42 (or Dominicans, as Hamilton asserts43), we find that Barhebraeus describes Ignatius’ opinion of said monks as overwhelmingly negative, calling them “tyrants.”44 The context, however, remains unclear; as Teule confirms in his research, the Latin sources even seem to document two professions of faith Ignatius submitted to the church leader in Rome through these intermediaries in Jerusalem, one of them during the Palm Sunday of 1236 and the other in 1246; to this end, we have evidence of a Papal addressed to the West Syriac Patriarch on this topic.45 In conclusion, what we can understand from this broad context is that the rapport between the Crusaders and their church administration in the Holy Land and the Syriac-speaking Christians, especially Syriac Orthodox about which we have some data (while about the East Syriac church administration there has been minimal information on this issue) was at times functional, yet often unstable or even surprising, as the confessional milieu was in general. Most often, though it was unfavourable to Syriac Christians; or, put differently, the expectations of Syriac Christians from their Latin counterparts were sometimes greater than the treatment they received in reality, with Teule showing that the latter part of the letter to Pope Innocent IV documenting Ignatius’ second profession of faith,46 mentioning the “four conditions to the ‘unitas et concordi,’”47 stresses the need for the two churches of the land to aid each other in times of need. Here, Teule summarises that “Ignatius reminds the Pope how the Jacobites had helped the Latins in different ways, e.g. by redeeming captives and slaves, and expects comparable acts of charity on the Latin side,”48 a position we could argue well reflects

41 See Moosa, “The Crusades: An Eastern Perspective,” 258. 42 Joannes Baptista Abbeloos (ed.), Gregorii Barhebræi, Chonicon Ecclesiasticum, I (Paris / Louvain: Maisonneuve / Peeters, 1872), col. 659. 43 See Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States: The Secular Church (London: Variorum Publications, 1980), 347–355; Teule, “It Is Not Right to Call Ourselves Orthodox,” 23. 44 Abbeloos, Gregorii Barhebræi, Chonicon Ecclesiasticum, I, col. 663; Teule, “It is not right to call ourselves orthodox,” 24, n. 51. 45 See the analysis of Teule, “It is not right to call ourselves orthodox,” 24–25. 46 See Pontificia Commissio ad redigendum codicem iuris canonici orientalis, Series 3, vol. IV, Acta Innocentii PP IV (Rome: Typis Pontificiae Universitatis Gregorianae, 1962), 99–102. 47 See more discussion in Teule, “It Is Not Right to Call Ourselves Orthodox,” 26. 48 Teule, “It Is Not Right to Call Ourselves Orthodox,” 26, n. 59.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  213 the above-mentioned expectation that Syriac Christians be treated better by the Latins in the Holy Land.

The Turbulent Bar Wahbun and His Migration or Oscillation between the Barsaumo Convent and the Holy City Coming back to the sources describing the presence of Syriac Christians in the Holy City during the period, we can include a further proof of the presence of the Jacobite community in Jerusalem during that time, gleaned from the profile of Theodore bar Wahbun whom Kaufhold characterizes as the most colorful, but also the most ambiguous figure in the West Syriac Church at the end of the 12th century. His life story in turbulent times, in the field of tension between several Oriental churches, the Latin Christians of the Crusader states and Muslims, under different ecclesiastical and secular authorities, would provide plenty of material for a historical novel.49 In his essential study for coming to know the sources documenting the tense rapport between Theodore bar Wahbun and the West Syriac Patriarch Michael Rabo, Kaufhold has edited, translated, and contextualized three of the controversial figure’s letters.50 Theodore bar Wahbun was a scholar in Syriac, Greek, Armenian, and Arabic51 who had been deeply engaged in the discussions between West Syrians and the local Byzantine factions, but had rebelled against his own West Syriac Patriarch (the same Michael Rabo) creating a loyal minority in Jerusalem and fomenting a dispute against him.52 This fact is attested to by Theodoros bar Wahbun war sicherlich eine der farbigsten, aber auch zwiespältigsten Gestalten in der westsyrischen Kirche des ausgehenden 12. Jhdts. Seine Lebensgeschichte in bewegter Zeit, im Spannungsfeld zwischen mehreren orientalischen Kirchen, lateinischen Christen der Kreuzfahrerstaaten und Muslimen, unter verschiedenen kirchlichen und weltlichen Obrigkeiten, böte reichlich Stoff für einen historischen Roman. 50 Another two of Wahbun’s letters were documented by Johannes Gerber, Zwei Briefe Barwahbuns, Nebst einer Beilage: Das Schisma des Paulus von Beth-U kkame (Halle: Diss. phil. ­Halle-Wittenberg, ​­ 1911). 51 In one of the letters, we read about the Theodore bar Wahbun’s impressive competencies: “[…] einen universellen, in seiner Zeit einzigartigen und beredten Gelehrten und Philosophen [mlilo w-filusufo ­ ​­ ­d-idiʿ], ​­ der griechisch [yawnoʿith], syrisch [w-suryoʿith], ­ ​­ armenisch [w-armnoyoʿith] ­ ​­ und arabisch [w-arboʿith] ­ ​­ konnte,” Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 148 (syr.), 149 (germ.); Abbeloos, and Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum, II, col. 577/582; Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 335. 52 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 394; Abbeloos, and Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum, II, col. 595f. See Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” ­ ​­ 115–151.

214  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems both the Chronicle of Michael Rabo and by the Anonymous Syriac Chronicle, who tells that among the West Syriac representatives in the Holy City numbered the Bishop Athanasius, the brother of Michael Rabo, and Theodore bar Wahbun who, “after causing much harm to the convent, caused trouble to the bishop […].”53 All this transpired on the eve of Ṣalāḥ ­ad-Din’ ​­ conquest of Jerusalem. With regard to the tensions caused by Bar Wahbun in his controversial relationship with Patriarch Michael Rabo, we must stress that both Barhebraeus and the Anonymous Syriac Chronicle seem to take Michael’s side in the dispute, not altogether unexpected, as he was the de jure leader of the Syriac Orthdox Church, even though Wahbun contested his legitimacy. It can be argued that, in analysing the differences between these sources and Wahbun’s letters,54 the primary difference is the position taken for or against Michael Rabo.55 However, the concern of the sources in legitimising or however incriminating Michael for the context of Wahbun migration can be used in our analysis of the Syriac orthodox foundations in Jerusalem. Even if this is our focus, we cannot ignore where the blame falls in such internal tensions between church factions within West Syriac Christianity.56 While Wahbun’s interaction with the Holy City does appear in his letters, it is not the author’s primary concern. The central element of the missives is unerringly the situation of Wahbun himself, described as a fugitive that ultimately found refuge in Jerusalem, following a series of injustices claimed to have been done him by the West Syriac Church authorities in general and Patriarch Michael Rabo in particular. After his flight from the Barsaumo Monastery (the author equates the fire57 afflicting the monastery in 1183 to undue punishment for the injustices caused Bar Wahbun), the hero takes the road to Damascus, ultimately reaching Jerusalem. Here, it would appear he sought

53 54 55 56

Anonymi Auctoris Chronicon, II, 200 (syr.), 150 (fr.). Ms Ming. Syr. 4, Ms Ming. Syr. 37, Ms Mardin 324, Ms Syr. 596. See Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 116. Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 134, offers a good summary of these tensions in the Syriac circles:

Die Ereignisse um Theodoros bar Wahbun sind ein bedauerliches, aber nicht ungewöhnliches Kapitel in der an Rivalitäten und Uneinigkeit so reichen Geschichte der westsyrischen Kirche. Derartige Streitigkeiten (die wir natürlich auch anderswo antreffen) ziehen sich geradezu wie ein roter Faden durch die Geschichtswerke und haben zweifellos mit zum Niedergang der Kirche geführt. Etwa ein Jahrhundert nach dem Tod Michaels des Syrers wurden die Gegensätze so stark, daß sich die westsyrische Kirche in zwei unabhängige Patriarchate aufspaltete, nämlich das von Kilikien für den westlichen Teil einschließlich Syriens und Jerusalems und das von Mardin für das übrige Gebiet. Als Vorspiel dazu könnte man das Gegenpatriarchat Theodors in Kilikien bezeichnen, auch wenn es nur von kurzer Dauer war. 1364 kam sogar als drittes noch das Patriarchat für den Tūr ʿAbdin hinzu. Die beiden ersteren konnten erst Mitte des 15. Jhds. wiedervereinigt werden. ­ ​­ 57 See also Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 390–392.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  215 audience with the Muslim authorities, and Ṣalāḥ ad-Din in particular, asking them to promote him to an important position and recognise him as Patriarch, which did not come to pass.58 Wahbun’s itinerary leads us to the backdrop of his letters’ composition, which appear to have been written in Jerusalem.59 Elucidating the context of Theodore Bar Wahbun’s arrival in the Holy City is indeed complicated; it likely occurred shortly prior to that of Ṣalāḥ ad-Din. Naturally, against the backdrop of the friendly and unfriendly relationship between the West Syrians and the Latin Christians, Theodore also attempted to gather support from the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem,60 a detail preserved by the letters. This is perhaps unsurprising, since his status as a fugitive very likely made him open to pursuing any avenues of securing concrete assistance for his ecclesiastic ascent. Beyond the complicated political milieu of the Holy City, Wahbun also had to contend with other issues stemming from the fact that Michael Rabo enjoyed an erstwhile supporter in Jerusalem in the person of his brother, Athanasius, Bishop of Jerusalem,61 who had probably already been anointed to the position by the time Bar Wahbun arrived in the city,62 which likely occurred around 1184. What is certain is that Wahbun was in Jerusalem during the city’s conquest by Ṣalāḥ ad-Din, while at the time Athanasius had held the position (which he would shortly vacate) for several years. Kaufhold posits two possible hypotheses in answer to the question of who was the bishop of Jerusalem at the time of Wahbun’s arrival: the first is that it was Ignatius Romanos, the long-lived West Syriac bishop who served his community for more than 40 years63; while the second is that of Athanasius Slibo64, brother to Patriarch Michael, who was already present in Jerusalem at the time although we do not know whether he was already a bishop or whether he was anointed later. Regardless, and irrespective of who held the episcopal see, it is clear that whoever it was would have shown their support for Michael Rabo: we have seen that Ignatius had sent a letter professing his support for the election 58 See Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 386; Abbeloos, and Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei, Chronicon Ecclesiasticum, II, cols. 581–584. ­ ​­ 59 Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 129. 60 Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 129. 61 Another important character for the Syriac community in Jerusalem, alongside Athanasius, was Deacon Sohdo of Edessa, who would later become the West Syriac bishop of the Holy City. See Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 412, 482; Abbeloos, and Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei, Chronicon Ecclesiasticum, II, col. 598; Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” ­129–130. ​­ 62 Michael Rabo recounts that in 1184 “mon frère Athanasius fut envoyé comme métropolitain à Jérusalem.” Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 394. 63 Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus, 219, gives as dates of Ignatius Romanos’ cathedra 1139–1183 which differs from the period “post 1138 ante 1167,” proposed by Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 37. 64 According to Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus, 219, Athanasius was bishop of Jerusalm between 1185–1193. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 37, diverges from Fiey and he proposes: “post 1167 ante 1200.”

216  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems of either Michael Rabo or the deacon of Edessa to the Patriarchate, while Athanasius’ blood relation to the Patriarch at the very least did not create a favourable context for Wahbun among the Syriac community of the Holy City. However, as the sources themselves indicate and as Kaufhold highlights, there were indeed tensions between the two (Michael and Theodore), which were dissipated in no small part due to the kindness of bishop Athanasius.65 Theodore Bar Wahbun’s first letter to the Metropolitan of Tarsus recounts the events of his conflict with Michael, his criticisms regarding the flaws in ecclesiastic procedure by which Michael was elected and anointed Patriarch and Wahbun’s own abusive removal from the priesthood and disbarment from church practice. The author then mentions arriving in Jerusalem, where he was initially offered shelter by the Armenians (“in the monastery of the ­ ​­ ­d-armonoye]) ​­ Armenians” [w-bdayro only to be later cast out by the Catholicos in a string of humiliating experiences.66 The letter states that Wahbun’s second attempt to rally support was from the Latin Patriarch of the City ­ ​­ (“the Catholicos of the Romans” [qathuliqo d-rumoye]), however claiming that bishop Athanasius (likely Michael’s brother) “blinded his eyes” such that Wahbun’s arguments were unsuccessful. In closing, Wahbun deplores his unfortunate situation, as a stranger sheltered by Armenians, contrasting it with the Patriarch who is enjoying all the privilege of his station.67 There are several notable differences between the account of the above letter and that contained in the chronicle of Michael Rabo concerning the presentation of Wahbun’s character. As can be expected, the Patriarch’s account comes from a different perspective, and throws virulent criticism at Wahbun, from the time he had been punished and sentenced to penitence and canon at the monastery of Barsaumo, while the Patriarch had already forgiven according to the teachings of the Gospel and had promised to absolve him during the next synodic reunion of the Church. Michael Rabo describes Wahbun’s itinerary to Damascus following his midnight escape from the monastery, as well as his attempt to plot against him with Ṣalāḥ ad­ ­​ Din – to whom he had promised riches were he to accept him as Patriarch of the region. Michael adds that although Wahbun had spoken untruths to the Sultan, the latter did not heed his poisoned words, and banished him. Michael Rabo goes on to recount Wahbun’s sojourn through the Holy Land, claiming that he caused upset among the West Syriac community of Jerusalem according to the account of his brother Athanasius, which might constitute an argument that Athanasius had already been anointed bishop 65 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 386, 394; Abbeloos, and Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum, II, cols. 583–584; Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 132. 66 Theodoros bar Wahbun letter in Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte," 138 (syr.), ­ 139 (germ.). 67 Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 135.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  217 upon Wahbun’s arrival in the Holy City. With regard to his attempt to gather support from the Latin Patriarch, another difference between the accounts emerges. Differently from Wahbun, Michael claims that he made promises to the Latin Patriarch that he would offer an important sum of money (1,000 denars),68 if he were to receive in exchange the Jacobite Monastery of St Mary Magdalene, the monastery around which the Syriac Orthodox tradition was materialised and preserved in the Holy City until the Middle Ages, and that which was under their direct control. Then, the Patriarch offers an important detail: that the tensions fomented by Wahbun in the Syriac community would continue up to the eve of the Muslim conquest of the Holy City (1187), whereupon the chronicle claims that Wahbun left Jerusalem for Mosul and Mardin in another attempt to receive political support for his claim to become Patriarch. Michael Rabo mentions another plot attempt against him by Wahbun, this time aimed at the Armenian Catholicos Patriarch to whom Wahbun promised he would place himself under his jurisdiction were the Patriarch to support him in his attempt to overthrow Michael – something which, in Michael’s own words, “God did not allow.”69 As was to be expected, Michael’s perspective in recounting the circumstances of his rapport with Wahbun is contrary to the latter’s own. Yet what we are interested in from this exchange are the details we might find on the continued presence of West Syriac Christians in Jerusalem during this period. Wahbun addressed his second letter (which, according to Kaufhold, was written at a later date but again in Jerusalem), to Patriarch Michael Rabo himself. One particular curiosity is that Wahbun’s attitude towards the Patriarch is here one of submission, entirely different from the tone of the first. As to the context of the letter, it would appear that there had been a correspondence between the two; more specifically, it is claimed that the Patriarch sent Wahbun two letters. Kaufhold argues that, even though he reproached Whabun for having left the monastery, the Patriarch likely offered him the freedom to live in the place of his choosing, namely the Holy City, under the spiritual tutelage of Rabban Slibo, who seems to have been the abbot of the monastery there.70 Theodore does not miss the opportunity to describe his presence in Jerusalem, and to recount the obstacles he had had to face. Following his refuge with the Armenians, Wahbun tells of his attempt to reach the Latin Patriarch – who, owing to Michael Rabo’s influence as well as the letter the Patriarch sent his Latin counterpart, as well as in no small part to the mediation of bishop Athanasius of Jerusalem, distanced himself from Wahbun. The letter also tells that the Latin Christians had forbidden Michael from being commemorated during the Syriac

68 See also Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 135, n. 86. ­ ​­ 69 See Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 386–387. 70 Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 136.

218  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems liturgical sermon in the Holy City, on the pretext that this would constitute a transgression by the Syriac Patriarch who, de jure, should have no authority over the Patriarchate of Jerusalem. Wahbun goes on to claim that the underlying reason for this was ultimately monetary in nature, and that the local bishop of Jerusalem successfully interceded on Michael’s part such that in exchange for 300 denars the name of the Patriarch could be heard throughout the 40 days of Lent.71 Without doubting the historicity of Wahbun’s account, it is interesting in that it introduces us to the reality of the complicated confessional context of Jerusalem where, beyond any pretence at ecumenical relations and collaboration between Latins and West Syrians, the respective interests of each confession appear to always have had primacy. It is also interesting that Wahbun invited the Patriarch to Jerusalem, and viewed a potential visit by the prelate to the Holy City as a requirement for resolving the issues of the local Syriac community. As Kaufhold argues, it is not clear what sort of issue Wahbun was referring to, since the generic term 72 “troubles” ­ is altogether insufficient in elucidating the matter. Of further note, Wahbun’s rapport with the Patriarch appears entirely different, with him promising obeyance to Patriarch Michael Rabo and to other Church authorities, such as the Latin Patriarch, more broadly, even offering to initiate and prepare Michael’s arrival to the Holy City with the local Church authorities, especially the Latin Patriarch, such that Michael can enjoy the great honour of a worthy welcome.73 And, were the Patriarch unable to travel to Jerusalem, Wahbun offers an alternative that he might instead delegate three or four other bishops to resolve the issues of the monastery in Jerusalem. It is likely that the Syriac community, and especially the Syriac monastery, faced litigation with the Frankish authorities, as we shall see below, or otherwise were subjected to inordinate taxation or other burdens that weighed heavily on them. Moreover, there could also have been discontent regarding the election of the abbot of the Syriac monastery, likely Sohdo of Edessa whom Wahbun blames for the monastery’s taxation.74 The Syriac community in Jerusalem was not without its problems and tensions, perhaps in no small part due to the presence of Wahbun’s rebel character in its midst, a character that, in his third letter, seems remarkablly balanced in his attitude towards his Patriarch, and well-integrated in the life of the Syriac community in Jerusalem. However, this community also had to contend

71 Theodoros bar Wahbun letter in Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 140 (syr.), 141 (germ.). ­ 72 Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 137, n. 92; Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 386, 394. 73 Theodoros bar Wahbun letter in Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 140 (syr.), 141 (germ.). ­ 74 Theodoros bar Wahbun letter in Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 142 (syr.), ­ 143 (germ.).

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  219 with other extraneous circumstances, such as the meddling of Crusaders and Latinate clergy in its internal affairs, but also its difficult context and its altogether uncertain future. If we were to draw a conclusion of Wahbun’s own perspective on the Holy City, we try as we might we cannot evaluate the degree to which spirituality played any part, if at all, in his decision to move to Jerusalem. From the available sources at our disposal, it would appear that in the given context Jerusalem mattered to him more as a refuge and opportunity to gather support for his cause from the leading political and religious authorities in the region. With the conquest of Jerusalem, which also affected the West Syriac community, Bishop Athanasius, Michael’s brother, was obliged to abandon his ordained position in the Holy City. As we have already seen in the chroniclers’ accounts of the various Christian inhabitants of the city, the Muslim conquest destabilized and dislocated them as community. West Syriac monks were forced to leave, carrying with them manuscripts from the monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene; some of them probably fled to Cyprus, the island being an important residence for West Syrians, and for communities of Miaphysite refugees of the 7th century as Baumstark claims.75 This was the fate of one manuscript (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS syr. 64), a Syriac philological treatise that made note of a visit of Patriarch Michael Rabo to the Holy City. The manuscript, which was most probably removed from the Holy City and saved after the Muslim conquest, contains an interesting note written by Patriarch Michael at the Jacobite monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene, dated 1179. As Palmer has argued, from Cyprus the manuscript reached the library of Jean Baptiste Colbert in France. The date coincides with what Michael wrote in his own chronicle, that in the year 1179 he travelled to Jerusalem (this being his second visit, following the one mentioned above for Easter of 1168).76 The interesting note, composed in the heart of the West Syriac community of the Holy City, is found on the final folio (number 224):

75 See the complete statement of Baumstark, Festbreviar, 14: Endlich ist Cypern bis in das Zeitalter der Unionsbemühungen Papst Eugens IV. (1431– 1447) hinein und noch über dasselbe hinaus eine wichtige Wohnstätte von Jakobiten geblieben, deren Gemeinden hier an den Aufenthalt monophysitischer Refugiés des 7. Jhs. auf der Insel erinnern. Moreover, for ‘indirect’ Syriac attestations on Cyprus already in 4th century see Brashear, “Syriaca,” ­ 115. 76 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 379: In the first day of month Tešrīn of the year 1490, we left Antioch, and met at Akko the young king Baldouin; when he saw his father’s diploma, which we had with us, he rejoiced, honoured us and also gave us a diploma and promises. We then arrived in Jerusalem. There we received messengers from Egypt who had been sent by the Patriarch of Alexandria, Mar Marcus. He made known to us the schism which had taken place at that time among our brothers in Egypt.

220  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems Michael, Patriarch by the infinite mercy of grace which extends to everything that touches Almighty God, we prescribe by the decision of the living Word of Apostolic power that nobody take this book [d-lo ­ ​­ onosh neshgne ­l-kthobo ​­ hono] from the interior jurisdiction of our Jerusalem monastery [d-dayro ­ ​­ ­d-ureshlem] ​­ which bears the name of Saint Mary Magdalene. May peace [shayno] always reign through its prayers over the Orthodox inhabitants. We wrote with our own hands [kothbinan bhen ­b-idayo] ​­ in the year 1490 (of the Greeks, or 1179).77 The broader manuscript is a Syriac massora, containing pronunciation of foreign and rare words from Syriac translations of the Bible and of the Greek Fathers, with several treatises on spelling and vowels, a kind of supplement to dictionaries and grammar readers. Allegedly, upon realizing the importance of such a didactic manuscript, Patriarch Michael Rabo penned the closing note in the library of the Jacobite convent in Jerusalem.78 According to Zotenberg, this note shows that in 1179 the manuscript belonged to the convent of Saint Mary Magdalene in Jerusalem. A further note from the manuscript communicates about its restoration in the convent of Mar Simon in 1135, on the order of the Archimandrite of the Convent, Mar Ignatius, at that time the appointed Metropolitan of Jerusalem.79 The most important aspect in dealing with this manuscript is the autograph of the West Syriac Patriarch in the Monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene, which certifies that the convent represented the heart of the Syriac community in Jerusalem. Kaufhold estimates, on the basis of what the sources said, that at the time of Michael the Great’s visit probably 90 monks lived in the monastery.80 Following the Muslim conquest of 1187, the monastic centre was allegedly transformed into a Muslim school (the Maymuniyya). Michael himself, referring to the convent sometime between 1193 and 1196, speaks of “the monastery of Mary Magdalene which we used to possess.”81 However, the

77 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS syr. 64, fol. 224 v. See also François Nau, “Sur quelques autographes de Michel le Syrien,” Revue de l’Orient Chrétien 19 (1914), ­ 378–397, ­ ​­ esp. 379; ­ Zotenberg, Catalogues des manuscrits, 31. 78 See Nau, “Sur quelques autographes de Michel le Syrien,” 379. 79 Zotenberg, Catalogues des manuscrits, 31. To the Metropolitan Ignatius see Le Quien, Oriens Christianus, vol. II, 1443. 80 Kaufhold, “Zur syrischen Kirchengeschichte,” 129: “dort soll eine große Zahl von Mönchen gelebt haben. 1168 beim Besuch des Patriarchen Michael waren es angeblich neunzig.” 81 Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, III, 386, again brings into discussion the case of Theodore bar Wahbun, a vital challenge for the inner life and administration of the West Syriac Church: Alors, il s’en alla de là jusqu’à Jérusalem, et excita du trouble dans tout l’empire des Francs contre le reste de nos frères qui s’y trouvaient, et surtout contre Mar Athanasius, métropolitain de Jérusalem. It dit au patriarche des Francs de cet endroit qu’il lui donnerait mille dinars, s’il lui concédait le couvent de Marie-Magdeleine que nous

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  221 Syriac community tried to further expand the Syriac tradition in Jerusalem, such that, according to the Syriac Chronicle of Barhebraeus, by 1236, at the time of the patriarchal visit of Ignatius II, 70 West Syriac monks lived in the Monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene.82 It would appear that this number was somehow stable, only a little decreased, when compared to the time of Michael Rabo’s pilgrimage, when 90 monks are claimed to have dwelt therein. Moreover, at the time, the Jacobite community was rife with tensions stemming from the decision of Cyril II, Patriarch of Alexandria (1235– 1243), to anoint a Coptic archbishop for Jerusalem who was affiliated with the Coptic community, therefore, the Jacobites were divided between two authorities: the new Coptic bishop belonging to the See of Alexandria and their own Jacobite bishop linked to the See of Antioch.83

Syriac Possessions in the Holy City To briefly return to the period prior to the Muslim conquest, it is worth highlighting that the Syriac-speaking community, especially the Syriac Orthodox, possessed a resilient infrastructure consisting of churches and properties, which were administered by the bishopric. At times, these Syriac inhabitants of the Holy City conducted intense negotiations to restore those properties that had been confiscated by the Crusaders. Two such instances appear in manuscripts. These cases show that the Syriac Orthodox Christians invested significant financial, persuasive and lobbying efforts with the local administration in order to regain properties that their monastic community had inherited over the years, and which had been abusively seized during the Crusaders’ dominion. The first such source is a colophon of a Syriac manuscript: Lyon, Bibliothèque Municipale, MS Syr. 1, fol. 318b–320a. This consists of a breviary listing a number of the offices the Syriac Orthodox Church possessed. In addition, the manuscript also includes numerous fragments of poems possédions à Jérusalem. Il en résulta des labeurs et des vexations pour nous et pour toute l’Eglise, par le fait des messagers que nous devions envoyer là de notre part. Ce trouble se prolongea dans cette Eglise [jusqu’à] la prise de Jérusalem par les Arabes. 82 Abbeloos, Gregorii Barhebræi, Chonicon Ecclesiasticum, I, col. 659. See also J.-M. Voste, “Les Peres Précheurs de  Jérusalem  dans la  Chronique  de Barhebraeus (Pâques 1237),” Revue biblique 38 (1929), 81– 84, esp.  83; Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,” 66. Vööbus also mentions Ignatius’ visit to the Holy City, and affirms that Jōhannān bar Maʿdanī (Maphrian) was the Patriarch’s companion on his way to Jerusalem (most probably between 1232–1253). There, together with the Patriarch, he handed over to the Dominicans a declaration of faith and a letter of homage for the Pope. See Vööbus, Syrische Kanonessamlungen, I, 122–123. See also Berthold Altaner, Die Dominikanermissionen des 13. Jahrhunderts: Forschungen zur Geschichte der kirchlichen Unionen und der Mohammedaner- und Heidenmission des Mittelalters (Habelschwerdt: Franke, 1924), 45f. See also Graf, Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur, II, 267; Teule, “It is not right to call ourselves orthodox,” 24–25, n. 54. 83 See Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,” 66.

222  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems attributed to Ephrem, Isaac the Syrian, Jacob of Serugh, Balai, and to other Syriac hymnographers.84 While such breviaries are not rare, this one is particularly interesting as it also includes a report, written on Thursday February 10th, 1138, on the status of a property which the West Syriac community of Jerusalem recovered from a Frankish crusader. Written by a monk named Michael, the report was composed ten days after the case was closed,85 and tells that Geoffrey Plantagenet, likely the former Count of Anjou, took the villages of Bayt Arif and Adasiyya86 that had belonged to the monastery of the Syriac Orthodox community in Jerusalem, which the scribe qualifies as “our monastery, that is the holy church of the orthodox Jacobites.” This seizure occurred after “their metropolitan [Cyril] had fled to Egypt out of fear.” After Geoffrey was ousted from power by Muslims and made a captive in Egypt, the West Syriac Patriarch Athanasius VII (1090–1129), together with the Metropolitan Cyril (who in the interim had returned from Egypt) presented themselves before King Baldwin I of Jerusalem, arguing the case that the aforementioned places had previously belonged to the church of the Jacobites and that Geoffrey had seized them illegitimately. The colophon also informs us that the property documentation presented by the clerical representatives of the West Syrians was accompanied by eyewitness testimonies from elderly locals, both Christians and Muslims, who certified that the Jacobites had been deprived of their rightful property. The king returned them the estates after they paid out a great quantity of gold.87 Sometime later, further complications arose; with Geoffrey’s liberation from prison 30 years later due to Armenian diplomacy, in the time of Cyril’s successor when Ignatius was the West Syriac Metropolitan of Jerusalem, Geoffrey petitioned the king that the Jacobites had to pay him a high sum of money for the profits lost during the years in which he had been imprisoned. The dispute reached the king’s court; and thanks to Queen Melisende, the West Syrians came out victorious in the end. The king persuaded Geoffrey to give up his claims, and the West Syriac Patriarch promised to award him 200 dinars. As Palmer opines, this incident epitomises a typical case for Jerusalem, where various Christian communities often competed with each other for political gains.88 According to the scribe, the Jacobites’ fortune was that the queen, whose mother had been the daughter of the governor of Melitene, which lies in Syriac space, was amenable to supporting the West Syriac inhabitants of the Holy City. Moreover, many

84 Martin, “Les ­ premiers princes croisés,” (1888), ­ 471–472. ­ ​­ 85 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 77. 86 The estates of Bayt Arif and Adasiyya were probably located on the Nablus-road to the north of Jerusalem, Prawer, Crusader Institutions, 132. A West Syriac community was presumably in Nablus in 11th–12th century. 87 Martin, “Les premiers croisés,” (1889), 43; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” ­ ​­ II, 78; MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, 122–123. 88 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 80– 81.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  223 other Syriac Christians involved in the Holy Land took advantage of this principle: Metropolit Ignatius himself also relied on similar connections with the local powerholders in exchange for favours.89 The second colophon in question appears in Paris, Bibliophèque Nationale MS Syr. 51, fol. 117b–118b, a manuscript that contains a copy of Jacob of Edessa’s Hexaemeron.90 In it, we find a second report on the case narrated in the Lyon manuscript above, written by another monk by the name of Romanus who also attended the disputed case, and who composed his communique more than six months after its resolution, on August 25th, 1138, including it, similar to Michael, in the colophon of a theological manuscript.91 Romanus’ account offers more details, and describes the building infrastructure of his community in the Holy City.92 He also highlights the history of the villages Bayt Arif and Adasiyya: “which were from old the inheritance of the monastery, having been bought for a great sum by God’s elect, My Lord Thomas (III) ­ [r. 1041/2–1057/8], ­­ ​­ ­ 93 the Metropolitan of Jeru94 salem.” The author describes the same dispute with the Frankish crusader Geoffrey, yet highlights an additional aspect95: when the Jacobites recovered the estates, both were found to have been ruined. The monk clearly attempts to justify his community’s rights over the property. Indeed, the author’s attachment to the Syriac community is obvious from the nuances and qualifications of the activity of the Jacobite bishop in support of his community and of strengthening the broader West Syriac tradition in Jerusalem. Ignatius Hesnun rebuilt the monastery in the city, and “issued a canonical decree that there should be no (Jacobite) monk in Jerusalem outside (this) community, since he was a watchful and an energetic shepherd.” He constructed great cisterns and a famous monastery, and built a large church in the ­south-eastern ​­ corner.96 After some time, Geoffrey was freed through

89 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 81; Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 154. 90 Martin, “Les premiers princes croisés,” (1888), 471. The font is Estrangelo, and gives “the false air of the Melkite character, which became very usual in the 13th century.” See Martin, “Les premiers princes croisés,” (1888), 472. 91 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 77. 92 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 81. 93 Fiey, Pour un Oriens Christianus novus, 219; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 36. 94 Apparently the 74th bishop of Jerusalem in Michael the Syrian’s list, ordained sometime between 965 (the year of the ordination of the patriarch of Antioch who ordained him, Johannes VII) and 969 (the year in which he took part in the discussions on unification in Constantinople). He is mentioned in manuscripts from 1006, 1007 (BL Ms. Add. 12.148; 12.149, see Wright, Catalogue of Syriac manuscripts, I, 265). Amnon Linder, “Christian Communities in Jerusalem,” in Joshua Prawer and Haggai Ben-Shammai (eds.), The History of Jerusalem. The Early Muslim Period 638– 1099 ( New York: New York University Press, 1996), 154. 95 See also Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 154. 96 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” Part 2, 83.

224  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems the intervention of an Armenian bishop, and claimed that the West Syrians were to leave the properties and the monastery to him. The issue, however, was resolved in the end through the judgement of the King and Queen Melisende of Jerusalem. As also shown in the first colophon, the scribe lauded the person of the queen, and highlighted her origins in Melitene: “the queen (Melisende) – long may she live and enjoy favor deservedly – who [had learned] the fear of God from her mother the queen and who [was full] of mercy for our Church.”97 In the latter part of his report, Romanus recounts further narratives, ending with an account of Bishop Ignatius’ death in Acre on the Thursday before Pentecost, 1138. The author underlines the intrinsic link between the Syriac bishop and his community in the Holy City, such that he even reports that “his embalmed body” was transported to Jerusalem on the day after Pentecost. Moreover, the colophon’s author highlights the bishop’s efforts to provide the churches in Jerusalem with “all that was necessary,” such as liturgical books copied inside the very same monastery in which the later Patriarch Michael Rabo drafted his notice during his visit to the Holy City. Moreover, Romanus was himself involved in copying a Gospel lectionary on the Tower for the monastery, a process undertaken under the supervision of bishop Ignatius.98 A final colophon we will include comes from Damascus, Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate, MS 12/4, olim Jerusalem, St Mark’s MS 27. The colophon of St Mark’s MS 27 is also described in the library catalogue of the Monastery of St Mark. This manuscript is a Gospel lectionary for Sunday services throughout the year, written in a fine and clear hand on excellent parchment.99 The colophon describes, on the one hand, the situation in Edessa after the city’s capture by Zengi in 1144; and on the other, the properties of the Convent of Saint Simon the Pharisee and Saint Mary Magdalene in Jerusalem under Ignatius III, Jacobite Metropolitan of Jerusalem and Palestine. It also contains information about the Jacobite negotiations with King Baldwin and Queen Melisende, and how they were persuaded to return, a certain village, Dayr Dakarrya, that belonged to them and was confiscated by Frankish conquerors to the church of Mary Magdalene. According to the colophon, a certain Mar Simon produced the work in Jerusalem, completing it “in the year 1460 of the Greeks” (1148–1149) in the Convent of Saint Simon the Pharisee and Saint Mary Magdalene, when Ignatius was head of the monastery and the West Syriac Metropolitan of

97 Martin, “Les premiers croisés,” (1889), 46; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 79; MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, 123. 98 See Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 84. 99 The manuscript contains 130 leaves, and the script is arranged into two columns of 19 lines per page. See W.R. Taylor, “A New Syriac Fragment Dealing with Incidents in the Second ­ ­120–131, ​­ ­ Crusade,” Annual of the American School of Oriental Research 11 (1929), esp. 120.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  225 Jerusalem and Palestine.100 This colophon recounts another dispute involving the Syriac community of Jerusalem101: in 1148 Jerusalem was crowded with beggars and there was a shortage of bread. The starving masses beseeched support at the monastery gates. The scribe refers to the monastery by consistently using the plural form: “These divinely fortified monasteries of ours, however, did not have estates or villages to provide bread over and above their own needs for subsistence.” Among the population in need, the author mentions “especially those Edessene people who had been the victims of plundering and whose relatives were in captivity.” This detail probably alludes to the fall of the capital of the crusader County of Edessa, which brought about a mass exodus so that some people arrived in Palestine in search of solace. The Syriac Metropolitan of the Holy City, “our holy father” as the scribe names him (Ignatius III Gadina), “fulfilled all their needs with joy, yet he was deeply distressed on account of the Frankish beggars as well.” While searching for a way to satisfy the needs of the downtrodden masses, God made him recall a certain village, Dayr Dakarrya, which had belonged to the monastery before the advent of the Frankish conquerors. Consequently, Ignatius obtained an audience with King Baldwin and Queen Melisende, and they persuaded the owner of the village to return it to the church of Mary Magdalene for the sum of 1,000 red dinars. After this success, the bishop began the construction of a tower in this village, replete with a church and houses.102 Be that as it may, we cannot exclude the possibility that this village could have had another name, or indeed that it had no name at all; the author names it by the appellative Dayr Dakarrya, which can be translated as “restored to its original owners,”103 in order to emphasise the triumph of the West Syrians. These cases demonstrate that Syriac Christians in the Holy City invested significant financial, persuasive, and lobbying efforts with the local authority in order to regain properties that their monastic community had inherited over the years and which had been abusively confiscated during the dominion of the Crusaders. As for the information contained within these colophons on the local relations and the importance of the Syriac community in Jerusalem, we may argue that they show how Syriac Orthodox Christians attempted to resolve their litigations by recourse to the royal authority; or, as MacEvitt argues, “the colophons that detailed these property disputes

100 See also Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 155. 101 The redaction of this lectionary took place during the events of the Second Crusade. Mar Simon extends the length of the colophon in order to refer to incidents in Jerusalem occurring during the year AD 1148–1149, and after the fall of Edessa to Muslims in 1144. See Taylor, “A New Syriac Fragment,” 120. 102 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 87. 103 See Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” II, 89.

226  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems reveal a close connection between royal authority and local Christian clerics and monks over three generations.”104 The Syriac-speaking community of Jerusalem, through the voice of their local bishops, undertook significant efforts to consolidate their tradition and their heritage and patrimony within the Holy City. MacEvitt adds that “the colophons also reveal a fundamental enthusiasm on the part of the Jacobites for the royal family and the political authority they represented.”105 This is not surprising, as this artifice shows that Syriac Christians were aware that it was only through nurturing a close relationship with the royal authority that they could preserve their properties and continue to function as a self-sustaining community, in relative safety from the continuous political and religious changes and turbulence plaguing the Holy City. The reverse was certainly also true: the royal authority also had its own interests in turn when adjudicating cases in favour of the Syriac Orthodox Christians, or when it supported them in various endeavours, even though often those disadvantaged were people within the royal court, or crusaders themselves. They were likely also aware that a good relationship with local communities is a necessary condition for continuing to exert royal authority over the Holy City and for avoiding any potential circumstances that might endanger the monarchs’ power over Jerusalem.106 A century later, the West Syrians moved their centre from Saint Mary Magdalene to establish a temporary archbishop’s residence in the Monastery of Saint Thomas on Mount Sion, not far from Saint Mark’s Monastery. In the 15th century the Patriarch of Antioch, Basilius III resided in the convent of Saint Thomas where he died and was buried in 1444. In 1452, the convent was handed over to the Muslims; and during the time of West Syriac Archbishop Ignatius III of Jerusalem (1471–1495), the Syriac community established their centre at the Monastery of Saint Mark,107 which we will discuss in the last section of this chapter. In conclusion, the Syriac speaking Christians of the holy city and especially the Syriac Orthodox with their stable community centred around the tradition of St Mary Magdalene, and their ecclesiastical administration held by a Metropolitan, with foundation and possessions often debated in

104 MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, 123. 105 MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, ­123–124. ​­ See Martin, “Les ­ premiers croisés,” (1889), 41. 106 See also MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East, 124: Local monasteries were clearly a valuable source of support for the monarchy, and equally important, not a liability in the eyes of the Frankish aristocracy, on whom the royal family also relied. Royal cultivation of local monastic support shows that politically, spiritually, or both, the monasteries wielded considerable influence within the Frankish kingdom. […] But Palestine was not a tabula rasa for the Franks, nor did they imagine that their conquest overrode the integrity of local traditions and laws. 107 See Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,” 67.

Syriac Communities in the Holy Land and the Holy City  227 conflict with the local authorities in the Holy Land, illustrate in the Middle Ages, in comparison with late antique period, a more fluid practical and syncronic relationship of Syriac tradition with Jerusalem. The standardized pilgrimage remains a priority of believers as well as of church authorities who rooted liturgical customs such as sanctification of the Chrism in the holy city and many time also celebrating also Easter, as mentioned in the case Michael Rabo who had the responsibility of keeping the consolidated Syriac Orthodox community of Jerusalem under control and to create a protective umbrella for this through dialogue with religious factors such as the Latins of Jerusalem. In addition, Jerusalem also appears as a place of refuge. Wahbun’s flight can also be understood as a Christian refuge in the holy city. We can allegorically imagine how any Christian pressed by unsolved dilemmas and complications and mostly caught in the chains of church factional conflicts, as we know from antiquity, can retreat where there is the best possibility of finding a physical or spiritual remedy: in Jerusalem. It is the refuge of the soul in the proximity of the holy, where competition no longer matters. Contrary to him, in Wahbun’s case the competition remains even if this was mitigated.

3

Syriac Pilgrimages to the Holy City after the Second Muslim Conquest

When we, in our previous discussion, briefly retrospected the presence of Syriac Christians among the coastal cities of Palestine, where trade preoccupations were possible, we briefly referred to Barhebraeus’ Ethicon, arguing that this text certifies the continuity of a standardised phenomenon of pilgrimage to Palestine beyond any temporal social and political changes in the medieval Middle Eastern area. In this chapter, we will extend our analysis of two historical texts closely that interferes with the theme of travelling to the Holy City: on one hand, we will discuss the first mēmrā of Barhebraeus’ Ethicon (where the author describes the pilgrimage to Jerusalem in Chapter 9); and on the other, we will evaluate a case of a pilgrimage with a much larger geographical trajectory: from China towards Jerusalem. This brings to the scene two East Syriac monks, Sauma and Marqos (the later Patriarch Yahballāhā III), originally from China, who had the initiative of a pilgrimage from Beijing to Jerusalem and embark on this project but never achieved the ultimate goal. The chapter will end with references to the monastic emblem of the Syriac Orthodox in the Holy City in late Middle Ages, St Mark Monastery, which exists until today. Illustrating the tradition of this monastery we will also inspect the standardised Syriac pilgrimage to the Holy City until the Ottoman period with a synthesis of some colophons, notes, and inscriptions testifying this ongoing phenomenon above this limited period.

Between the Earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem in Barhebraeus’ Ethicon 1 Barhebraeus’s Book of Ethics [kthobo d-ethiqun] ­ ​­ named also Ethicon was composed in 1279 in the city of Maraga, in a period of developed Islamic

1 The text of the Ethicon is preserved in 42 Syriac and 17 Arabic manuscripts. There are two outstanding editions: Paul Bedjan (ed.), Ethicon, seu Moralia Gregorii Barhebraei (Paris-Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1898); Julious Yeshu ‘Çiçek (ed.), Ktābā ­d-ītīqōn ​­ d-‘al ­ ​­ ­ ​­ ​­ myattrūt dubbārēmen syāmē ­d-mār Grīgōriyōs Yōḥannān Bar ‘Ebrāyāmapryānā ­d-madnḥā (Monastery of St. Ephrem the Syrian Publications 8. Glane / Losser: Monastery of St.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-20

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  229 culture and leadership. Chapter 9 of the Ethicon’s first mēmrā is dedicated to the pilgrimage to Jerusalem.2 The opinions of modern research diverge whether Christian pilgrimage was potentially influenced or not by the parallel phenomenon of pilgrimage to Mecca, a practice known to Muslims as the Hağğ.3 Inspecting this text we can further elucidate the conditions and climate of the continual phenomenon of Christian Pilgrimage of Syriacspeaking Christians to the holy city in the 13th century, the period in which the author lived.4 The mēmrā under consideration, contains nine chapters with focus on ascetic issues such as how to pray, how to read spiritual books, the ways and the reasons for reciting psalms, the ritual of fasting, the practice of hermit life and lastly, the phenomenon of pilgrimage. From the very outset, we can observe a specific tension in Barhebreus’ text between travelling to Jerusalem and resisting the temptation to do so. At first glance, however, we also notice that the pilgrimage to Jerusalem is treated as a final theme in this mēmrā, coming after all other considerations, which leads us to understand that, in the author’s view, pilgrimage to Jerusalem was embarked upon only when the pious Christian sought spiritual progress unavailable to him by other means. Consequently, before travelling to Jerusalem the monks in particular or the Christians in general that wished to undertake Ephrem, 1985). A new edition of Çiçek was published by Gorgias Press, in the Bar Ebroyo Series  – Kloster Publications 38 Piscataway, NJ 2015. Wensinck published an English translation of two chapters as an appendix to his translation of the Book of the Dove: A.J. Wensinck, Bar Hebraeus’s Book of the Dove together with Some Chapters from His Ethicon (Leiden: Brill, 1919). 2 The mēmrā was edited and translated into English by Herman Teule: Gregory Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I (CSCO, Scriptores Syri 534–535, Vol. 218–219, ed. Herman G.B. Teule, Louvanii: E. Peeters, 1993). 3 H. Teule, “The Perception of the Jerusalem Pilgrimage in Syriac Ascetical Circles,” in René Lavenant (ed.), VI Symposium Syriacum, 1992: University of Cambridge, Faculty of Divinity, 30 August – 2 September 1992 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 247, Roma: Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 1994), 311. 4 Born in 1226, allegedly to a Jewish family of Melitene which had converted to Christianity, Gregory received a good private education and followed a monastic life in the area of Antioch, 20 years later being ordained as bishop of Gubbās and Lāqabbīn. In 1253 he became bishop of Aleppo, and was later ordained Maphrian of the Syriac Orthodox Church. He died in Maragah in 1286 and was buried in the Mar Mattai Monastery in Mosul. See Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, mit Ausschluss der christlich- palästinensischen Texte (Bonn: A. Marcus und E. Weber, 1922), 312–313, § 51a. Barhebraeus was one of the most important figures of the Syriac Renaissance. He embodied an encyclopedic spirit, and his literary work was influential for both Christian and Muslim scholars. The Muslims even asked him to translate his famous Chronograph into Arabic. J.-B. Abbeloos and T.J. Lamy (eds.), ­ Gregorii Barhebræi, Chronicon Eccelsiasticum, III (Paris / Louvain: Maisonneuve / Peeters, 1877), 467– 469, 475; Georg Graf, Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur, vol. II (Studi e testi 133, Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 1947), 274. Herman Teule, “La renaissance syriaque (1026–1318),” Irénikon 75 (2002), ­ 174–194; ­ ​­ Lawrence I. Conrad, “On the Arabic Chronicle of Barhebraeus: His Aims and Audience,” ­ ­ ​­ Parole de l’Orient 19 (1994), 319–378.

230  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems this effort would have likely had to be intimately familiar with the other means of Christian spiritual practice and ascetic progress. The chapter on the pilgrimage is divided by the author in five sections. The first section focuses on different opinions about the act of worshipping in Jerusalem. Barhebraeus puts forward two contrasting views “about worshiping in the holy city of Jerusalem” [ʿal seghidto d-b-mdinath ­ ­​­­ ​­ qudshe ureshlem]: on one hand, a category of educated people, who are solitary and for whom the supreme goal is not the earthly but the Heavenly Jerusalem; and on the other hand, the “common people” who absolutely hold the aspiration to see the Holy City for themselves.5 The former group of educated people ­ ­​­­ ​­ ­ ­​ longs to reach Heavenly Jerusalem (Jerusalem on High) [d-b-ureshlem d­­ ​­ l-ʿel] at the expense of its earthly counterpart. Among these persons are ­ ​­ “perfect solitaries [ihidoye ghmire] and chosen doctors” [w-malfone bhire], an attempt by Barhebraeus to induce the reader the concept that, as the monk evolves further along the path of asceticism, he is more permeated by the inner desire to attain to the Heavenly Jerusalem6 than to see the earthly walls of Jerusalem. Their conviction is predicated upon the biblical word of John 4:24 (“God is the Spirit and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth”). Fulfilling the Word of Scripture, according to which an hour will come when the place of worship will be “neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem” any longer, this group of Church fathers appear set against pilgrimage, such that they “reject going to this earthly Jerusalem” 7 [d-l-ureshlem ­ ­​­­ ​­ hode d-l-taht]. ­ ­​­­ ​­ This argument is not discussed here by accident. It is instead a reformulation of a centuries-old argument which Syriac church authorities had routinely called upon when attempting to justify, when they considered it necessary, their opposition to the growing trend among monks and Christians to travel to Jerusalem on pilgrimage and spend money there, instead of remaining in their Syriac communities and helping the Syriac Church and their local communities. We have already seen the elaboration of such an argument,

5 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 121 (syr.), 104 (engl.). See also Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, Encountering the Sacred: The Debate on Christian Pilgrimage in Late Antiquity (The ­ Transformation of the Classical 38; Berkeley-Los Angeles-London: University of California Press, 2005), 1. 6 The perspective that the heavenly Jerusalem is the ultimate goal of the Christian believer is valid for the whole Eastern and Orthodox church traditions as Bagos summarises: Moreover, the Orthodox Church’s insistence on the heavenly Jerusalem, or God’s kingdom, as the ultimate destination for the inhabitants of worldly cities, countered the ancient world’s idealisation of their terrestrial abodes while at the same time employing symbolism that demonstrated that the Church […] is where the sacred could be immediately participated in. Mario Baghos, From the Ancient Near East to Christian Byzantium: Kings, Symbols, and Cities ( Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2021), i x–x. 7 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 121 (syr.), 104 (engl.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  231 based on the Scripture, in the first part of this investigation, in the letter of East Syriac Patriarch Īšōʿyahb I addressed to Bishop Jacob of Dirin towards the end of the 6th century. We find that, although almost 6th centuries have passed between sources, Syriac ecclesiastical authorities, are again similarly positioning themselves against the growing trends of pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and rationalising their opposition based on the same traditional arguments. These are probably some visible effects of a standardised pilgrimage that was functional and perpetuated from Antiquity to the Middle Ages. As H. Teule observes, this outcome of preferring imagining Jerusalem and meditating at the Heavenly Holy City “is undoubtedly the one Barhebraeus himself preferred.”8 The author probably as any other previous church representatives of Syriac communities adopts the same pattern as the predecessors have done, to prefer to have their parishioners and monks actively engage in the work of their own churches and monasteries instead of exhausting both their zeal and resources in Palestine. He reflects on the position of those for whom the Heavenly Jerusalem is preferred instead of the earthly one, and brings an anonymous source into the discussion, which appears to either be John of Dalyatha, an important East Syriac monk of the 7th century, or one of his apprentices.9 As Barhebraeus notes, the monastic father replied to one of his companions, who had written to him explaining his desire to travel to Jerusalem, by arguing that he would be wrong to hurry to go to the earthly Jerusalem “for everybody hurries to go to Jerusalem on High [l-ureshlem ­ ​­ d-ʿel]. ­ ​­ How could you hurry to leave for that on Earth [l-hode ­ ​­ ­d-l-taht]? ­​­­ ​­ Such a matter is not the desire of a watchful mind [d-reʿyono ­ ​­ ʿiro].”10 The advice that the master offers his disciple is to not leave his cell and abide in his inner self,11 a practice that

8 Teule, “The Perception of the Jerusalem Pilgrimage,” 312. 9 Teule, “The Perception of the Jerusalem Pilgrimage,” 312. See Matthias Binder (tr.), Johannes von Dalyatha, Briefe (Paradies der Väter  – Schriften syrischer Mystik; Beuron: Beuroner Kunstverlag, 2019); Ovidiu Ioan, “Umbruch und Kontinuität Ostsyrisches Pilgerverständnis in frühislamischer Zeit,” in Martin Tamcke and Egbert Schlarb (eds.), Überleben, Pilgern, Begegnen im Orientalischen Christentum. Festschrift für Wolfgang Hage zum 85. Geburtstag (col. Göttinger Orientforschungen, I. Reihe: Syriaca, vol. 60), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2020), 92. 10 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 122 (syr.), 104 (engl.). 11 Here we may draw a parallel with the idea proposed by Georgia Frank and present in certain monastic text according to which the pilgrimage of Christians to the monastic Fathers was sometimes replaced with the sending of letters. To this end, discussing an exchange of letters between a woman named Valeria and the Egyptian Father Paphnutius, Frank shows how “the words simulate a journey: her letter becomes the vehicle by which she ‘approaches’ the holy man. And with that imagined approach comes a visual perception of Paphnutius.” Georgia Frank, The Memory of the Eyes. Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berkeley / Los Angeles / London: University of California Press, 2000), 14. A similar trend – here employing the term “surrogate pilgrim” used by Georgia Frank herself – can be seen in this group of anonymous Fathers advocating for this variant of spiritual pilgrimage instead of physical travel – a kind of simulation of the pilgrimage

232  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems will strengthen him in his virtues and make him more resistant against his enemies: For you yourself are Jerusalem [ant hu ger ureshlem], and if you believe me and listen to me and if you remain in your inner self, you will see in yourself Christ celebrating continuously.12 The concept promoted ascribed her to John of Dalyatha and recounted by Barhebraeus in describing this group of spiritual forefathers is similar to Guillaumont’s earlier identification: the ‘watchful mind’ falls within the same framework of spiritual experience designated by inner xeniteia.13 Taking refuge not only in the monk’s cell but also inside the self of the mind was perceived by the Syriac monastic fathers whose arguments Barhebraeus takes forward as a refuge in Christ14 and in His activity on Earth. In this light, the celebration of Passover represents the culmination of this act of solitude and asceticism, in which the thoughts of the soul take the same attitude as the children during the feast of the Lord’s entry into Jerusalem: From now on, give heed to the thoughts of your soul [b-hushbay ­ ​­ nafsho], which, as the children, the sons of Jerusalem [bnay ureshlem] likewise carry olive branches before our Saviour, and cry ‘Hosanna’ in your inner self.15 This emulated traditionalist monastic group argues that the Heavenly Jerusalem begins within the monk himself. The tranquillity of mind and the focus on spiritual practice, both of which begin from within the monk, form the framework of a spiritual Jerusalem wherein one can experience a continuous liturgical celebration simply by living in his ascetic cell. It is important to stress that here Barhebraeus is not intending to influence the phenomenon of pilgrimage or reduce it through this perspective focused on the static character of the monk and his remaining in his cell to the detriment of a sojourn to Jerusalem. Instead, Barhebraeus merely presents

12 13 14

15

to the Heavenly Jerusalem through the power of imagination and meditation within the monk’s cell. Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 122 (syr.), ­ ­104–105 ​­ (engl.). ­ A. Guillaumont, “Le dépaysement comme forme d’ascèse dans le monachisme ancien,” Annuaires de l’École pratique des hautes études 76 (1967), 55. We should also remember the spatial argument put forward by Gregory of Nyssa and eloquently discussed by Georgia Frank, where instead of the monk embarking on pilgrimage God himself travels to the monk instead, filling the small space surrounding him with His divine presence. See Gregory of Nyssa, Ep. 2.16 ­ [Grégoire de Nysse, Lettres, ed. by Pierre Maraval, SC 363, Paris: Cerf, 1990), 120]. Frank, The Memory, 89 is evidently convinced that “Gregory’s aim is to substitute a spatial movement toward God with a nonspatial movement of God toward the soul.” Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 122 (syr.), 105 (engl.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  233 the two alternatives. Highlighting the citation from the anonymous author (likely John of Dalyatha) calling for the pilgrimage of the mind alone does not necessarily imply that pilgrimage should have been understood differently, but rather that the goals of the monk were quietude, prayer, salvation, meditation, focusing the mind on the liturgical image of Christ which not only supplement the image of earthly Jerusalem but is, in itself, sufficient to transpose the monk into the same spiritual state experienced during religious celebrations in Jerusalem. Another interesting aspect to note is that the anonymous citation gives the example of the Feast of Palm Sunday, which was likely the time that Syriac monks would depart for the Holy City in order to reach Jerusalem during the week of the Passions. It is likely that those without enough resources, or those needing to achieve a different spiritual canon within the monastery or cell they inhabited would, in this way, have the opportunity to join those travelling to the Holy City for the pascal celebrations in spirit through prayer and meditation. Moreover, they also had the possibility of transcending the stage of having to seek holiness in earthly Jerusalem, thereby being able, through prayer, to aspire to a higher goal: Heavenly Jerusalem, to which others did not have access to through their mere presence in the Holy City. This alternation between undertaking a physical pilgrimage to earthly Jerusalem and meditating on the Heavenly Jerusalem form one’s own cell would sporadically make an appearance throughout the centuries in the opinions both for and against pilgrimage voiced by the various Syriac Christian authorities. This recurring argument on the apart of Syriac authors and clerics was always predicated on the parallelism between the earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem, which we have also come across in other patristic or liturgical texts. A similar perspective to that in the anonymous argumentation invoked by Barhebraeus – one primarily limited to monastic literature – can be found in the Paradisum Patrum, a collection of patristic literature gathered by ʿEnānīšōʿ during his pilgrimage to Egypt and the Holy Land. To the brethren’s question of why certain Fathers were called meshanneyane (monastic pilgrims) despite the fact that they were in continuous isolation and never left their monastic cells, their master’s answer stresses the importance of contemplation, of a watchful mind and of prayer as instrumental means by which such static monks could become pilgrims of the mind to the Heavenly Kingdom of Christ.16

16 “The brethren said, ‘Why is it that certain of the Fathers were called Meshannayane (i.e. ­ men who transferred themselves from one place to another), since they were recluses, and never departed from their cells?’ The old man said, ‘Because after much silent contemplation, and unceasing prayer, and watching of the mind, they were worthy to depart from the earth in their minds, and to ascend unto heaven to Christ the King. And they did not do this on the occasions only, but continually, for whensoever they wished, or whensoever they sang the Psalms, or prayed, or meditated upon God, straightway their mind was exalted to heaven, and stood before our Lord.” Wallis E.A. Budge, The Book of Paradise

234  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems Returning to Barhebraeus’ intention to compile the arguments espousing the parallelism between earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem in his work, we can opine that, in addition, this exhortation to preserve the monastic order can be also read in another key: such approaches were often seen by Church authorities, Patriarchs, maphrians, bishops, etc., as vital in keeping the monks faithful to their tradition and vocation, and to not create problems for the Church in general and for the local bishops in particular by way of unnecessary pilgrimages. In this regard, we can expand upon this concept still present in the mind of any given generation of monks regarding the transfer of Jerusalem into the monks’ proximity, of spiritual meditation that brings Jerusalem to wherever the monk is cloistered in his own space. This idea also appears in an example put forward by Otto Meinardus in an article on the monks of Syriac Christianity to the Egyptian desert. At Meinardus’ ​­ question to Abūnā Mattā ­al-Maskīn as to the monks’ perception of the holy places of Jerusalem and their spiritual fruits for the monastic community, ­al-Maskīn ​­ answers with a similar argument also included in the description Barhebraeus gave of the group of monks that preferred to concentrate on meditation to the detriment of physical travel. He highlighted the transfer of the holiness of Jerusalem to his monastic cell, the place of his meeting with Christ; while near the monk’s cell, the desert itself foreshadows all the holy places of Jerusalem, with their spiritual richness: Jerusalem the Holy is right here, in and around these caves, for what else is my cave, but the place where my Saviour Christ was born; what else is my cave, but the place where my Saviour Christ was taken to rest; what else is my cave, but the place from where He most gloriously rose again from the dead? Jerusalem is here, right here, and all the spiritual riches of the Holy City are found in this wādī. There is the Holy Sepulchre, and over there is the Mount of Olives, and there, at the well, is the water of the River Jordan.17 Looking at the directions that appear in the patristic arguments invoked by Barhebraeus, we might argue – borrowing Georgia Frank’s phrasing – we are speaking of “a struggle between stability and movement” and between being the Histories and Sayings of the Monks and Ascetics of the Egyptian Desert, II (Lady Meux Manuscript, no. 6; London: Drugulin, 1904), 1012; P. Bedjan (ed.), Acta martyrum et sanctorum, VII (Paris / Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1897), 907. This capacity of being able to travel in the mind, one which we might also call dynamic meditation or contemplation that moves the self unto spiritual pilgrimage is supported by the kind of spiritual xeniteia discussed by Guillaumont, which is capable of recreating any given space or environment in the pilgrim’s mind. See Guillaumont, “Le dépaysement,” 55–56: “Sans cette xénitéia intérieure, l’extérieure ne servirait à rien, car le moine peut, dans le pays ou s’est exilé, se refaire une patrie et une familie, s’il n’entretient pas en lui d’état d’esprit d’un étranger.” 17 O. Meinardus, “The Hermits of the Wâdî al-Rayân,” Studia Orientalia Christiana: Collectanea 11 (1966), 308.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  235 “physical travel” and “sedentary life”18 which does not appear for the first time, but rather has always characterised the various monastic directions such as ihidaya in comparison with organised monks, those tied to their monasteries, on the one hand, and the eternally errant, or vagrant, on the other. Following his anonymous interlude, in the latter part of the section Barhebraeus introduces a second opinion which was defended by “many Members of the Covenant [sagiye bnay qyomo] and secular believers [w-mhaymne ­ ​­ bnay ʿulmo].” This extensive and heterogenous group is a mixture of numerous monks and lay Christians, who attach great importance to the pilgrimage to the Holy City of Jerusalem in Palestine. Barhebraeus depicts the universal dimension of pilgrimage through the eyes of this group which sees great spiritual benefit in the journey to the Holy City. He shows how familiar the Syrians were with the phenomenon of pilgrimage to Jerusalem, as they came from all corners “in order to receive a blessing from the Lord’s Sep­ ­​­­ ​­ ulcher [d-l-metbarkhu men qabro moronoyo].” As Barhebraeus notes, they saw the pilgrimage to the Holy City as important for spiritual progress, to be blessed at the place where Christ death and resurrection took place and where the mission of the Savior and the Apostles was fulfilled: “whose souls thirst after seeing the holy places where the Lord and his disciples walked about.”19 Barhebraeus evaluates the first group as superior to the second, although he later admits that both are acceptable from a Christian perspective20 since the spiritual progress gained through the search for Heavenly Jerusalem is not within everyone’s grasp. Conversely, the earthly Jerusalem is easier to reach; and here the author discloses that the phenomenon was likely very significant in his time, since he characterises this practice as “easily trodden by many people.”21 The subsequent section of the text is dedicated to the issue of lodging within the Holy City, a tendency that very likely continuously challenged the Syriac ecclesiastical communities through the ages. Barhebraeus divides here the groups again in how they believe about this issue: some consider it useful and honorable to settle down in the Holy City, while the opposing second view considers life in Jerusalem as “harmful and without splendor.” To illustrate the category of those who approve of residing in the Holy City, and following the principle that the inhabitants of a remarkable place also become illustrious due to the influence of the place itself on those who inhabit it, Barhebraeus relies on biblical examples he draws from the Psalms22 18 19 20 21 22

Frank, The Memory, 65. Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 122 (syr.), 105 (engl.). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 122 (syr.), 105 (engl.). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 122 (syr.), 105 (engl.). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 123 (syr.), ­ ­105–106 ​­ (engl.). ­ Ps 46: 5 – 6: “Holy is the dwelling of the most High: God, God is in its midst [aloho aloho bgawoh]. It shall not be disturbed; God will help it at the time of the morning.”

236  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems (Ps 46: 5– 6; Ps 48: 2– 4; Ps 65: 5– 6). On the other hand, those who do not find it suitable to permanently reside in Jerusalem reiterate their opinion by way of two further arguments: firstly, a permanent stay in Jerusalem can weaken the will and reduce the intensity of the desire to see the holy places; indeed, according to the teachings of the Sages: “satiety is the father of repugnance.” “Therefore, the more remote a man is from what he desires, the more he will crave it, kindle it with love and this for long after having seen it.”23 A further argument brought against a lengthy stay in Jerusalem is that every sin committed in the Holy City weighs twice as heavily; and here, Barhebraeus refers to a passage from Psalms 15: 2–3: “Everyone who sojourns in the tent of the Lord, who dwells on his holy mountain” should, more than those living in other places, “walk blamelessly and do justice, speak the truth in his heart, not slander with his tongue nor harm his fellowman.”24 Barhebraeus claims that life in the Holy City is exposed to the dangers inherent in a double punishment for every sin committed. Naturally, by way of such proselytism the Church authorities attempted to convince Syriac pilgrims to return home, and not overly linger in the Holy City. In the following two sections, Barhebraeus introduces two sets of canons that Syriac pilgrims were meant to observe on their way to Jerusalem, and which, according to Teule, “indicate the best conditions for the journey.”25 These canons allow us to suspect that Syriac Christianity faced a standardised pilgrimage with a continuous flux of believers searching to touch the holy places as a stage of their practiced Christian life. Being an author and bishop of great spirituality and literary authority, Barhebraeus likely came to the aid of those who travelled to Jerusalem without having clear practices and ideals of how to behave during the journey in mind. His canons aim to make the pilgrimage into a means of spiritual gain for the pilgrim, and not a peril for their very life. The first section is comprised of nine canons,26 and one notable curiosity is that the author does not put forward any specific details as to who the addressees of these canons might have been. We hold as plausible to regard the addressee as having been a large auditorium filled by ascetics, monks as well as simple Christians. Due to the mixed background of this group of

23 24 25 26

Ps 48: 2– 4: “Great is our Lord wholly to be praised in the City of our God and on His holy and praiseworthy mountain, the joy of all the earth; Mount Zion, that, in the recesses of the North, is the city of the great King. God shows His strength in its strongholds.” Ps 65: 5 – 6: “Blessed the man You choose and bring to dwell in Your courts; may he be satiated with the good things of Your house, the holiness of Your temple and Your ­awe-inspiring ​­ justice.” Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 123 (syr.), ­ ­105–106 ​­ (engl.). ­ Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 124 (syr.), 106 (engl.). Herman G.B. Teule, “Syriac Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 2 (2005), 122. Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr.), 106 (engl.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  237 pilgrims, the canons of the West Syriac author are to be thought of as providing support for many categories of people who choose to travel to Jerusalem for spiritual reasons. The first canon [qonuno qadmoyo] deals with the fundamental Christian values of conscience and forgiveness, arguing that the pilgrims should first examine their own consciousness before embarking on pilgrimage and repent for their sins. Were the pilgrim to have caused damage to another, they should have amended the said damage beforehand. Upon being released from guilt, they can then focus on their pilgrimage: “he should free himself from debts, if he has any. Then, he may take care of the necessities of his journey.”27 The second canon [qonuno trayono] notes that the pilgrim must consider deals with securing their financial position. Barhebraeus has also knowledge about sensitive themes of the physical pilgrimage and warn and advise the pilgrims that they should secure the financial requirements of the journey. Moreover, this money should come from honest work, a prerequisite for fulfilling the journey’s spiritual purpose. The believes that two sources of revenue are appropriate and from which travel expenses should be drawn: ­ ​­ “from honest manual labor [ fulhono keno d-eidawhi] or from a lawful inheritance, which has come to him from his parents or from his brothers and relatives and not from theft, deceit or plunder.” In the author’s view, earnings drawn from either immoral acts or crime are entirely inappropriate sources by which to finance a pilgrimage to the Holy City.28 The third canon [qonuno ­d-tlotho] ​­ disallows the pilgrim any form or intention of trade on their way to Jerusalem. The pilgrim should depart without any concerns for other secular activities during their journey, such as the selling or buying of goods. The pilgrim’s goal is “the eternal trade” and not the “worldly trade,” because with every worldly profit made one loses spiritual gain.29 In the fourth canon [qonuno ­d-arbʿo], ​­ Barhebraeus advises wealthy pilgrims to show mercy and goodwill to others who are in need during their journey, these are also representing conditions for spiritual gain. In addition to encouraging the wealthy to offer help along the way and share their supplies with their fellow travellers of limited resources, the canon further recommends that pilgrims feed the hungry and underprivileged found along the way. Barhebraeus also proposes several patterns of honourable behaviour and aims to foster a certain decency among pilgrims, for example not to bother anyone by begging.30

27 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr.), 107 (engl.). 28 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr.), 107 (engl.). See Herman G.B. Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 2 (2005), 122. 29 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr.), 107 (engl.). See Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” 122. 30 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125–126 ­ ​­ ­ ­ (syr.), 107 (engl.).

238  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems Since an important question in organising a pilgrimage is not only the manner of its preparation but also its timeframe of opportunity, the author dedicates his fifth canon [qonuno ­d-hamsho] ​­ to the issue of appropriate times for traveling to Jerusalem. Barhebraeus specifies that the pilgrim should already have arrived in Jerusalem by the Great Week of the Passion [d-b-shabtho ­ ­​­­ ​­ rabto d-hasho] ­ ​­ in order to be able to celebrate the Feast of the 31 Resurrection there [d-ʿido ­ ​­ rabto d-qyomto]. ­ ​­ This detail validates Easter as the most important and the most highly advisable time for Syriac pilgrims to travel to the Holy City, and also substantiates what we suspected in other cases of pilgrims that they travelled in the Pascal period. In a previous section of this book, we have seen that Syriac literature is replete with mentions of pilgrimages to Jerusalem during the Easter period. One such notable case was the journey of the West Syriac Patriarch Michael the Great to the Holy Land for the Easter celebration in 1168. During his stay in the Holy City, the Patriarch visited the Monastery of Saint Simon and Mary Magdalene, the residence of the West Syriac Archbishop of Jerusalem, as well as many other places, and held meetings with Western ecclesiastical personalities.32 Barhebraeus further states that, after the Easter celebration, the pilgrims had to leave the Holy City and return to their homes. This imperative again highlights the tension felt between leaving the Holy City and remaining in one’s cell or parish in Mesopotamia, a dichotomy that had been deeply ingeminated into the outlook of the Syriac Churches for as long as a Syriac community had been established in the Holy City. Indeed, the gradual consolidation of a Syriac Orthodox community outside of their mother Church probably challenged to sometimes diminish the Church’s monastical and social power while the flux of pilgrims increased and a number of them, as we suspect, tended to remain in the holy land, if we consider the note that in the time of Ignatius II’s patriarchal visit, 70 West Syriac monks lived in the Holy City.33 Barhebraeus’ sixth canon [qonuno ­d-shto] ​­ focuses on the inner spiritual disposition of the pilgrim, of them realising that they were, in fact, travelling to the House of the Lord. In the author’s view, both the mind and the heart must be awakened from the moment they leave home until they arrive in the Holy City. When they start to run or to ride a horse, they must likewise recite Psalm 12234: And when he begins to walk or to ride, he must recite the following psalm: I rejoice because they said to me: ‘We will go to the house of the Lord’, entirely, if he can, and otherwise, some verses from it. And in his 31 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 126 (syr.), 107 (engl.). 32 Otto A. Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,” Orientalia Suecana 12 (1963), 65. 33 Meinardus, “The Syrian Jacobites in the Holy City,” 66. 34 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 126 (syr.), 107 (engl.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  239 heart, he should think about where he is going and to whom and for what reason.35 The Psalmist’s verses, which Barhebraeus recommends in this canon, appear to have been well-known and dutifully recited by Syriac pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem. Looking at Sargī (Sergius) of Ḥāḥ’s report on his pilgrimage to Jerusalem made in 1489/1490, and which will be presented in the last section of this chapter on medieval pilgrims, we find a similar idea of his gladdened conscience when the pilgrim arrived at the House of the Lord in Jerusalem. By witnessing Sion, Sargī asks: “Who will bring me up to the holy mountain of the Lord?” and states that “I was glad that I could get to the house of the Lord and my feet were at your gates, Jerusalem.”36 The seventh canon [qonuno ­d-shabʿo] ​­ of Barhebraeus stresses the necessary moral and spiritual attitude the pilgrim must uphold during his trip. According to the canon, pilgrims should beware of sins committed on the way such as casting insults, curses or mockery. The pilgrim’s friendly attitude and humility must define them during the journey: “His speech should be delicate and his spirit humble to everyone.”37 The eighth canon [qonuno ­d-tmonyo] ​­ recommends that pilgrims should prefer to travel on foot, since riding an animal is “not the custom of diligent 38 people,” but rather a symbol of “wealth and luxury [d-bfunqe ­ ​­ ­w-furfoʿe].” ​­ Although the sixth canon already showed there were two ways to travel to Jerusalem, on foot or on ride, according to Barhebraeus the journey on foot better agrees with the humble and spiritual purpose of the pilgrimage. As for the different means of travel, we can assume that Syriac Christians would have had to choose between traveling on foot or riding a draught animal depending on their financial status. This, in turn, opens a discussion on the specific travel routes from Mesopotamia to Palestine. The early literature distinguishes between two major travel routes from Seleucia to Jerusalem, which Andrew Palmer brilliantly describes. The first route is by land through Nisibis, Edessa, Aleppo, Emesa, Damascus, Jerusalem; while the second itinerary is by land through Nisibis, Edessa, Aleppo until Antioch, from where there was the option to travel by sea down the Eastern Mediterranean coastline to Caesarea or Jaffa, and from those coastal towns’ onwards by land to Jerusalem.39 In terms 35 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 126 (syr.), 107 (engl.). 36 Hubert Kaufhold, “Der Bericht des Sargīs von Ḥāḥ über seine Pilgerreise nach Jerusalem,” in Sidney H. Griffith and Sven Grebenstein (eds.), Christsein in der islamischen Welt. Festschrift für Martin Tamcke zum 60. Geburtstag ( Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2015), 371–387, ­ ​­ esp. 383. ­ 37 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 126 (syr.), 108 (engl.). 38 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 126 (syr.), 108 (engl.). See also Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” 123. 39 For an inverse trajectory, i.e., the travel routes of Western pilgrims to the holy places, see Linda Ellis and Franck L. Kidner (eds.), Travel, Communication and Geography in Late Antiquity (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004); Dietrich Claude, “Spätantike und

240  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems of distance, as Egeria notes, it may reasonably be assumed that the travel from Jerusalem to the Syriac heartlands such as Edessa totalled roughly “twentyfive mansions, meaning that one spent twenty-five nights in different places along the way.”40 Although the documentary evidence is limited, one solid argument for this hypothesis relates to the 5th-century Syriac version of the tale of King Abgar V Ūkkomo of Edessa. According to legend, King Abgar sent the archivist Hannan as a messenger to Jesus in Jerusalem; Hannan began his journey from Edessa on the 14th of March, arriving in the Holy City on Wednesday, the 12th of April, after 30 days’ travel.41 Commenting upon this testimony, Palmer is correct in considering that thirty days represented “a fast riding speed overland”; and hence 25 days would have been the duration of an average journey for those who travelled “by boat with a favourable wind” and chose to continue overland “by donkey or on foot.” 42 The travel situation did not significantly change over the centuries, as Palmer argues, pointing out an example from the late medieval period: “As we shall see, some 15th-century pilgrims managed to reach Ṭūr ʿAbdīn from Jerusalem in under a month – and this was impressive.”43 The ninth canon [d-teshʿo] ­ ​­ of Barhebraeus regulates the clothing of the pilgrims, recommending to wear simple and sober clothing, doing without ornate items which are clear signs of pride and arrogance.44 The reason for this exhortation was also so that Syriac pilgrims did not distinguish themselves from the other pilgrims travelling to Palestine,45 and probably to easily join groups or caravans of travellers on the path. For other reasons, this means to coincide with the concept of remaining within the borders of  Christian humility (the reason of the pilgrimage), but the author also

40 41

42 43 44 45

frühmittelalterliche Orientfahrten: Routen und Reisende,” in Alain Dierkens and Jean­Marie Sansterre (eds.), ­ Voyages et voyageurs à Byzance et en Occident du VIe au XIe siècle (Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège, t. 278; Genève: Diffusion, 2000), 235–253; ­ ​­ Pierre-André ­ ​­ Sigal, Les Marcheurs de Dieu. Pèlerinages et pèlerins au Moyen Âge (Coll. U Prisme, 39; Paris: A. Colin, 1974); Françoise Micheau, “Les itinéraires maritimes et continentaux des pèlerinages vers Jérusalem,” in Pierre Riché (ed.), Occident et Orient au Xe siècle. Actes du IXe Congrès de la Société des historiens médiévistes de l’enseignement supérieur public, Dijon, 1978 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, Publications de l’Université de Dijon 57, 1979), 79–104. A. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 75 (1991), I, 20. See Martin Illert (ed.), Doctrina Addai. De imagine Edessena  – Die Abgarlegende. Das Christusbild von Edessa (Fontes Christiani 45; Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), § 3, 134; Histoire du roi Abgar et de Jésus ( présentation et traduction du texte syriaque intégral de La Doctrine d’Addaï par Alain Desreumaux, et en appendice: traduction d’une version grecque par Andrew Palmer, et traduction d’une version éthiopienne par Robert Beylot, Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 56; Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 21. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 21. Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 21. Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 126 (syr.), 108 (engl.). See Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” 123.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  241 imagines that whoever dressed in sumptuous clothes could also experience problems on the road, such as robbery at the hands of thieves. In addition to the above canons, which epitomise the conditions of the ‘proper’ way of making the Syriac pilgrimage to Jerusalem, there will be taken in consideration in this discussion also six canons from the same text that regulate the performance of prayer and spiritual devotion in the Holy City. These liturgical principles contain several quotations from the biblical Psalms. The author likely intended to offer the pilgrim a modicum of liturgical support in the Holy City. Barhebraeus recommends that pilgrims read parts of Psalm 48,46 when they stand in front of the Holy City, or from Psalm 122 when they enter Jerusalem (“My feet have stood within your gates, O Jerusalem. Jerusalem, built as a city, surrounded by a wall […]”).47 The third canon focuses on entering the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where the pilgrim is supposed to read a prayer from the priestly texts of liturgical preparation: “Into Your House, O God, have I entered and before Your altar have I worshipped, O heavenly King [malko shmayono]. Forgive me all in which I have sinned against You.”48 The fourth canon returns to the issue of the proper attire of pilgrims in Jerusalem. While we have seen how pilgrims should dress while on their journey, we now learn what clothing was appropriate for the Easter celebrations in the Holy City, namely, white linen or cotton clothing for secular people and pure wool garb for monks. White is the colour of joy, emblematic of the Resurrection; Barhebraeus supports this view with biblical arguments: that the angels announced the Resurrection of our Lord clad in white robes; that upon Christ’s appearance on Tabor, He was also adorned in white clothes. Moreover, in the Old Testament, Solomon recommends “Let your garments be white” (Eccl. 9:8).49

46 47 48 49

Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 127 (syr.), 108 (engl.). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 127 (syr.), 108 (engl.). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 127 (syr.), 108 (engl.). See Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 127 (syr.), 109 (engl.). Teule considers that this rule was not often enforced over the course of the pilgrimage: Bar ‘Ebroyo is innovative and formulates some really new canons. The most obvious example is the injunction that the Jerusalem pilgrims, including the monks, should wear white clothes. Despite some biblical quotations, Bar ‘Ebroyo introduces an unambiguously Muslim practice, namely the adoption of the state of ihram (consecration) ­ during the Mecca pilgrimage. Traditionally, the colour of the garment of the West Syrian monks, sometimes called abile, mourners, was black. I do not know whether in later times this prescription was ever put into practice. Perhaps only in the Church of the Resurrection, but this is not confirmed by literary sources. Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” 124. This canon that imposes the wearing of white clothes is almost certainly of Semitic origin, and denotes that the pilgrim found himself in a space where ritual purification was vital. Certainly, the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca had served to increase this trend of greater attention being paid to the ritual of clothing, which has parallels in the Muslim ihram as well. See F.E.

242  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems The fifth canon stipulates that the pilgrim should pay homage at every place of renown across the Holy City; highly recommended come the biblical places where Christ entered Jerusalem alongside his apostles and prophets. The closing remarks of this canon are also very important, where Barhebraeus again explicitly specifies that, upon the conclusion of the tour of the holy places, the pilgrim should do well to “return home.”50 The last canon encourages pilgrims to treasure the spiritual gain of pilgrimage and to hold no regrets about their sojourn. Upon his return, the pilgrim should not be saddened by what he has spent on the way, but rather should rejoice that he was worthy “of seeing the house of his God of gods and Lord of lords, and that he has stayed ‘on the mountain which God has chosen to dwell in’” (Ps 68: 17).51 A final issue of the Mēmrā is discussed in a closing section concerning the intellectual meditation that pilgrims should undertake when in the holy places, which the author summarily introduces. Barhebraeus recommends that pilgrims focus on spiritual meditation instead of on critical appraisal while visiting the holy sites. The pilgrim, therefore, should not be an external observer, but meditate with his mind as “servants of the Word itself [w­ ​ ­mshamshone diloh d-meltho], ­ ​­ namely of the Gospel.”52 Barhebraus lists sacred sites and asks that pilgrims, when they find themselves in these places, to consider themselves as taking part in the biblical stories53: when they are at the cave, to imagine themselves as offering gifts together with the Magi54; then announce Christ’s birth together with the shepherds; then in the temple with Simeon; attending His baptism in the companion of the Baptist; in Canaan at the wedding; then with the Samaritan woman at the well; in the desert; in the boat; with the woman who washes His feet with her tears (Mary Magdalene); in the scene of washing

Peters, Jerusalem and Mecca. The Typology of the Holy City in the Near East ( New York / London: New York University Press, 1986), 68:

50 51 52 53

54

[T]here was in Mecca a larger zone, again marked with visible boundaries, where the pilgrim was obliged to maintain himself in a higher degree of purity – to put it somewhat differently, where and when the sanctity of the principal shrine spread out and over the very act of pilgrimage and effectively rendered the hajji himself a taboo object. Once with that zone, which began at the outskirts of Mecca, the pilgrim donned a special garment that signaled his ihram state and had thenceforward to guard himself from ritual defilement until the formal completion of the hajj. Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 128 (syr.), 109 (engl.). Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 128 (syr.), 109 (engl.). ​­ ­ ­ Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, ­128–129 (syr.), 109 (engl.). The tradition of associating the Bible with the holy spaces of Jerusalem was present in the schedule of any pilgrim, from as early as Egeria and continuing on through other pilgrims’ travel reports from the Holy Land. In this sense, in analysing pilgrimage to both holy places and holy people, Frank, The Memory, 10 considers that “the desire to experience the Bible more vividely lay behind both types of travel.” For the Magi in Syriac literature, see Witold Witakowski, “The Magi in Syriac tradition,” in George A. Kiraz (ed.), Malphono w-Rabo d-Malphone: Studies in Honor of Sebastian P. Brock (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2008), 809– 843.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  243 His disciples’ feet; crying out with the children “Hosanna in highest”; alongside Him in His suffering and resurrection; with His soul at His tomb, like Mary, the Mother of God; at the entrance through the locked doors with Him; at the sea, where He asks Simon about his catch; at His ascension; and in the upper room, with the gift of the Holy Spirit.55 This impressive sketch of biblical places demonstrates the spiritual importance of the pilgrimage and, in turn, its deep association and relationship with the Bible. In the case of the Latin pilgrim Melania, Georgia Frank rightly argues that “the Bible was the touchstone against which the holiness of people or places was measured,”56 and we might argue that it also keeps alive the spiritual presence of the places known before or imagined by the pilgrim through the basis of the written word of the Bible, but which he now seeks to view with his own eyes. Such realities serve to connect and unify the past and the present, to actualise spiritual time in the now by one’s mere presence in the sacred spaces replete with the requisite meditation and completion of a ritual prayer canon. This direct participation of the pilgrim in Biblical space and time restored was extremely important for the vast majority of sojourners, as we can see in the account of the famous Latin pilgrim and Father Jerome who, speaking of Paula the pilgrim, invoked just such a mode of perception defined by the “eye of faith,” oculis fidei, before the holy places.57 The program of meditation Barhebraeus proposes to the pilgrims, namely that they should take their opportunity to be there not just as a simple presence in a new territory, but to make use of their biblical knowledge and an active consciousness that would transpose the pilgrim into the biblical framework – is not particular but is similar to description from a letter attributed to Jerome or Paula and Eustochium in which a similar illustration of the way how to participate as pilgrim in the holy places: When shall the day come when we shall be permitted to enter the Savior’s cave? To weep in the Lord’s tomb with his sister, with his mother? And then to touch our lips to the wood [of the cross] and light upon the Mount of Olives in prayer and spirit with the ascending Lord? To see Lazarus come forth wrapped in his bindings, and the flowing Jordan? […] [When shall we] pray at the mausoleum of David? […] [When shall we] travel to Samaria and venerate together the ashes of John the Baptist, of Elisha, and of Obadiah? And enter the caves where the companies of prophets were fed during persecution and famine? We shall go to Nazareth and see, according to its name, the flower of Galilee […].58 55 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 129–130 ­ ​­ (syr), ­ ­109–110 ​­ (engl). ­ 56 Frank, The Memory, 10. 57 See Jerome, ep. 108.10 ­ ( NPNF. 2.6), 348 [199]. See also Frank, The Memory, 12: “When Jerome spoke of entering biblical time, he signaled those transcendent moments to his readers by invoking a mode of perception he called the ‘eye of faith.’” 58 Jerome, ep. 46.13 ­ = I. Hilberg (ed.), S. Eusebii Hieronymi Epistulae, CSEL 54 (Pars 1. Epistulae 1–70) ( Vienna: F. Tempsky / Leipzig: G. Freytag), 1910), 343–344; Rebecca Stephens

244  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems Barhebraeus’ text offers a similar perspective, in which the purpose of the pilgrimage is consequently fulfilled by engaging the pilgrim in deep meditation on the story of the Bible when coming across the holy places where mankind’s redemption began. For pilgrims, this meditation and participation in the spiritual past of the holy places may represent, in the words of Georgia Frank, “their sensory engagement with the holy sites.”59 To gaze upon these sites is to know their tradition and at the same time to transpose oneself into this Biblical history and absorb it through one’s participation and presence therein. Moving on from the theological approach to the broader context of the pilgrimage, we must trace whether Barhebraeus’ canons ultimately prove to be normative for pilgrims following in the Syriac tradition. To this end, we must ask whether there were any societal or interreligious factors at play that could have influenced their composition. In this regard, Herman Teule views the hypothesis that “Barhebraeus developed a highly original spirituality of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem based on Ghazali’s description of the Ḥajj” as eminently plausible. Teule goes on to argue that Barhebraeus made “an attempt to give the pilgrimage to Jerusalem a religious status comparable to the Muslim Ḥajj, the scenario of which is the basis of his description of the pilgrim’s visit to Jerusalem.” He adds other elements which Barhebraeus appears to have assimilated from the Muslim culture of his time, such as the form ­ ​­ of prayer known as ʿuhdōnō d-Alōhō which accentuated the remembrance of God and which, according to Teule, is comparable with the Greek traditional Jesus-prayer with which the monastic Syriac culture was unfamiliar in Barhebraeus’ period. Consequently, Teule’s conclusion is that Barhebraeus “was undoubtedly inspired by the Islamic conceptions as well as the practice of ­ dhikr”60 (dhikr is a form of meditative prayer in remembrance of Allah). In another study, Teule also opines that the growing trend of the Muslim Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, within Islam may have influenced the devotional practices of Syriac Christians and their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Two points are raised by Teule that would suspect Barhebraeus’ inspiration from Islamic practice in composing the canons for Syriac pilgrims: firstly, the pilgrim’s proper inner disposition, or their intention to perform the religious Falcasantos, “Wandering Wombs, Inspired Intellects: Christian Religious Travel in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 25.1 (Spring 2017), 180. 59 Frank, The Memory, 32, systematises this charactcteristic alongside two others, when discussing concepts and trends present in pilgrims’ attitutes to holy sites and holy people: “exoticism,” “sensory engagement,” and “biblical realism.” We could argue that the former characteristic is not overly present in Syriac pilgrimages, while the other two are indeed incorporated directly into Barhebraeus’ canons for pilgrims. 60 Herman Teule, “Gregory Barhebraeus and his Time: The Syrian Renaissance,” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 3 (2003), 21– 43, esp.  30; H. Teule, “The Perception of the Jerusalem Pilgrimage in Syriac Ascetical Circles,” 311–321; Herman G.B. Teule, “Al-Ghazali ­­ ​­ et BarEbrōyō. Spiritualités comparées,” in Patrimoine Syriaque. Actes du colloque VII. Le visage de Dieu dans le patrimoine oriental (Antelias: Éditions du CERO, Université Antonine, 2001).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  245 act of pilgrimage; and secondly, the inward meditation pilgrims should perform at the Holy Places as witnesses of the Biblical stories. Teule notes that these points “may be compared to the attitude of the pilgrim to Mecca when visiting the tomb of Muhammad in Medina: ‘meet him being dead as if you meet him alive.’” Teule bases this conjecture on the notable similarities between the work of Barhebraeus and that of Muslim author A l-Ghazali.61 The cultural communication between Muslims and Christians is observed also in Kaufhold’s statement that “Barhebraeus then gives directions for the pilgrimage and the sojourn in Jerusalem, which are modeled on the regulations for the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca.”62 It is highly likely that parallels between text and practices were part of the social coexistence and both communities exchanged many literary themes and customs, attested during this period; however, a tangible Muslim influence on Syriac pilgrimage or otherwise on the formulation of canons that regulate the Christian pilgrimage more broadly is difficult to prove. It remains certainly that the pilgrimage was a common practice also in Islam of that time and the Christians and Muslims met on the pilgrim routes. But if we think at the ancient practices of Christian pilgrimages or the internal transmission of the pilgrim’s vocation, especially in the inner circle of monks, and the theological and spiritual value of a travel to Jerusalem, all these are old practice among Syriac Christians, how could they rediscover now the pilgrimage through their neighbours, the Muslims? However, instead of stressing that the practice of Syriac Christian pilgrimage in this period was either influenced or accelerated to any great degree by external phenomena such as the pilgrimage of Muslims to Mecca,63 we would rather simply view the Syriac pilgrimages of this period as a logical development of a consistent and historically continuous and standard61 Teule, “Syrian Orthodox Attitudes to the Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” 124. See A l- Ghazali, The Iḥyā’ ‘ulūm ­ ­al-dīn ​­ (Cairo, A.H. 1337), vol. I, 244. 62 Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems für die syrisch- orthodoxe Kirche,” in Walter Brandmüller (ed.), ­ L’idea di Gerusalemme nella spiritualità cristiana del Medioevo. Atti del convegno internazionale in collaborazione con l’Istituto della Görres- G esellschaft di Gerusalemme (Gerusalemme, Notre Dame of Jerusalem Center, 31 agosto - 6 settembre 1999, Città del Vaticano, 2003), 163: “Barhebraeus gibt dann Anweisungen für die Pilgerfahrt nach Jerusalem und den Aufenthalt dort, die sich an den Vorschriften für die Wallfahrt der Muslime nach Mekka orientieren.” 63 The Muslim religious canon implies that every believer should perfom in his life five “pilars” or religious conditions: Ramadan (fasting period) shahada (faith profession), almsgiving, five prayers on day, and the Hajj which is pilgrimage at Mecca. Andrew Petersen, “The Archaeology of the Syrian and Iraqi Hajj Routes,” World Archaeology, Archaeology of Pilgrimage 26.1, (1994), 47– 48 describes the three main routes the pilgrim used for Hajj: the Egyptian route, especially for pilgrims from “Egypt, North Africa and sub-Saharan West Africa”; the Syrian route, followed by those from Syria and Anatolia; Iraqi route, mostly for people coming from “Iraq, Iran and further east.” Beyond these main roads other “subsidiary routes” were added as for example “Damascus-Aqaba road and the BasraMecca route.” See also A.J. Wensinck, “The pre-Islamic Hadjdj,” in B. Lewis et al. (eds.), Encyclopaedia of Islam. New Edition, III (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971), 31–33.

246  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems ised phenomenon, who needed canons composition a real necessity owing to the absence of any kind of texts or written norms in Syriac literature to help pilgrims with interest in such spiritual journeys. The fact that Syriac pilgrims had been willing and desirous of reaching Jerusalem since early times denotes a constant practice of pilgrimage which, irrespective of the influences or trends of the time, had its own fluid rhythm. Moreover, a further text about Yahballāhā, an East Syriac pilgrim that travelled towards Jerusalem from as far as Beijing, preserves the same tome illustrating the traveling to the holy, even a challenging endeavour, however part of the advanced Christian life.64 From Barhebraeus’ Ethicon, one can learn that the pilgrimage of Syriac Christians to the Holy Land in the Middle Ages was a constant and widespread practice. If we look at the canons contained in this work, as elaborate they are, and if we corroborate them with accounts shared by Rabban Sauma and Marqos, travels to which we will turn our attention in the next section, we might well agree with Scott Johnson who, in terms of the progress of the Syriac narrative on pilgrimages, distinguished the high medieval period from that of late Antiquity, with a marked development apparent in the later periods.65 The canons penned by the Barhebraus prove that the desire to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem was manifested not as unusual among Syriac monks and lay Christians alike of his time. These prescriptions served to legitimise and make more standard this travel to the holy places, but also greatly helped clarify the proper conditions for pilgrims wishing to intersect with the physical Jerusalem for prayer. Barhebraeus, like many other church authorities from the history of Syriac Christianity, was interested not only in organising an optimal and canonical journey of pilgrims towards Jerusalem, but also in proving them a guide for rituals of prayer at the holy places. This package of rules concerns also how to have a behaviour that guarantees spiritual gain and illuminate their presence at the sacred sites in Jerusalem. He proposes that the pilgrim’s liturgical agenda should the process of meditation highly recommended as a great benefit to every Syriac pilgrim, predicated on the support offered by the Scripture itself.

Pilgrims from the Far East on Pilgrimage to the West: Rabban Sauma and Marqos and Their Travel towards Jerusalem In the line with Barhebraus’s discussion about pilgrimage, we should afford attention to a case that illustrates a lengthy spatial continuity to the ritual of travelling to the holy places. This report is situated in the Mongol period 64 See A. Ankawi, “The Pilgrimage to Mecca in Mamluk Times,” in R. Serjeant and R.L. Bidwell (eds.), ­ Arabian Studies, I (London: Hurst & Co., 1974), 146–70. 65 See Scott Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage Literature in Late Antiquity? Exploring the Absence of a Genre,” in Peter Van Nuffelen (ed.), Historiography and Space in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 171.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  247 and deals with the story about the journey of two monks, Rabban Sauma and Marqos (the latter being anointed Patriarch and receiving the name Yahballāhā III in the year 1281) from Beijing to Jerusalem. This journey began in 1278,66 but never achieved fruition.67 Thinking about the entire illustration of the life, the journey appears as important in the monk’s spiritual advancement, so that this is “couched as a pilgrimage to Jerusalem from the beginning.”68 Marqos set out from central China in the latter quarter of the 13th century alongside his mentor, seeking penance for their sins. Neither ever returned from their journey. Their travels took several years, and came to an end when Yahballāhā III was anointed the head of the East Syriac Church, while Rabban Sauma travelled to Europe as part of the Mongol Khan’s diplomatic corps. The Story of Yahballāhā and Rabban Sauma was composed by an anonymous East Syriac writer from the Ilkhanate around the year 1318.69 After presenting Rabban Sauma, a virtuous young man from Beijing who becomes a monk with a high spiritual life, the author turns to the genealogy of Marqos. It begins by describing the idealised account of the people God chooses to express His grace, as was the case of Moses for Pharaoh, or of the prophet Jeremiah who was consecrated as a prophet prior to even his formation in the womb (Jeremiah 1:5). Elaborating on this idea, the anonymous 66 See Jacques Marie Vosté, “Memra en l’honneur de Iahballaha III,” Le Muséon 42 (1929), ­168–176, ​­ esp. 169. ­ 67 W.M. Brashear, “Syriaca,” with pl. XIII, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 44 (1998), 122. While Europe was the westernmost outpost of this specifically Eastern branch of the new faith in Antiquity, the Syrian brand of Christianity was not limited to Europe, Eurasia, the Levant or the Near East but already early on became an ‘international’ religious movement, from the shores of the Atlantic in the West to those of the Pacific in the East. One of the more intriguing curiosities of ancient religious history (on a par with the Chinese Jews of Kaifeng) is the presence of Syrian Christians in India from the 6th century down to the present and in 7th- to 14th- century Central Asia and the Far East, including even Java, Tibet, Korea, Japan and China. See also J.M. Fiey, Chretiens syriaques sous les mongols (CSCO 362, Subsidia 44, Louvain: Secretariat du CorpusSCO, 1975); A.C. Moule, Christians in China before the Year 1550 ( New York / Toronto: MacMillan, 1930); Brashear, “Syriaca,” 123: These latter- day Nestorian Christians, in the twilight years of their communities’ existence, were able to win over to their religion no lesser personages than some of the members of the ruling house, descendants of Gengis Khan himself. Syriac was still a viable cult language in southern China in the late 13th century and even as late as 1933 there were reports of Chinese ‘Chaldeans’ who still retained a vague notion of their faith. See also Peter Kawerau, Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance (Berliner Byzantinische Arbeiten 3; Berlin: A kademie-Verlag, 1970), 100. 68 See Johnson, “Where Is Syriac Pilgrimage,”171. 69 Pier Giorgio Borbone, “Some Aspects of Turco-Mongol Christianity in the Light of Literary and Epigraphic Syriac Sources,” Journal of Assyrian Academic Studies, 19.2 (2005), ­ ​­ ­ 5–20, esp. 11.

248  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems author of the chronicle of Yahballāhā’s life also paints his hero as a chosen person, “marks of election appear on the chosen one” and radiating light declaring him “worthy of divine grace.”70 He was born in the city of Koshang71 in the East [d-athro ­ ​­ ­d-madenho], ​­ being the one of the sons of an Archdeacon. Marqos was well instructed in ecclesiastical Scripture, surpassing all his brothers.72 Marqos would appear to have been born in the year 1245, such that he would have been 36 years old when he became Patriarch in 1281. Due to some gaps in the manuscript, the first ten years of Marqos’ childhood are unknown.73 Yet what interests us is that the young man had a high vocation for a monastic condition; and his decision to join Rabban Sauma is seen as an expression of this vocation. Rabban Sauma, Marqos’ later companion in pilgrimage, was a Christian nobleman, well- educated, and received his tonsure at the hands of Metropolitan Mar Gīwargīs.74 The author does not say which monastery Rabban Sauma entered, a cliché recurrent in many hagiographic accounts. He remained in a cell for seven years, after which he wished to further his asceticism and settled in a cave as his hermitage. As he began to enjoy monastic fame in the region, Marqos sought out Rabban Sauma in order to practice monastic life under his guidance. The author builds an interesting dialogue between the two characters upon Marqos’ arrival at the place where Rabban Sauma lived in solitude.

70 Pier Giorgio Borbone (ed. and tr.), History of Mar Yahballah and Rabban Sauma (Hamburg: ­ Verlag Tredition, 2020), 64 (syr.), 65 (engl.). P. Bedjan (ed.), Histoire de Mar-Jabalaha ­ ​­ de trois autres Patriarches, d’un Prêtre et de deux Laïques Nestoriens (Paris / Leipzig: O. Harrasowitz, 1895), 9 (syr.); E.A.W. Budge, The Monks of Kublai Khan, Emperor of China, or the History of the Life and Travels of Rabban Sawma, Envoy and Plenipotentiary of the Mongol Khans to Three Kings of Europe, and Markos who as Mar Yahballaha III became Patriarch of the Nestorian Church in Asia (London: Religous Tract Society, 1928), 130 (engl.). Among other translations, of note are J.A. Montgomery, The History of Yaballaha III, Nestorian Patriarch, and of His Vicar Bar Sauma, Mongol Ambassador to the Frankish Court at the End of the Thirteenth Century ( New York: Columbia University Press, 1927 [repr. New York, 1966; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2006]; J.-B. Chabot, “Histoire du patriarche Mar Jabalaha III et du moine Rabban Çauma,” Revue de l’Orient Latin 1 (1893), ­ 567–610; ­ ​­ ­ ­ ​­ ­ ​­ ​­ Chabot, Histoire de Mar Jabalaha III et du moine 2 (1894), 73–143; 235–305 [French]; J.-B. Rabban Çauma, avec deux appendices et une carte (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1895) [French]; A. Toepel (ed.), Die Mönche des Kubilai Khan. Die Reise der Pilger Mar Yahballaha und Rabban Sauma nach Europa (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2008). 71 See Tjalling H.F. Halbertsma, Early Christian Remains of Inner Mongolia: Discovery, Reconstruction and Appropriation (Leiden: ­ Brill, 2008), 150–157. ­ ​­ 72 Borbone, History, 64 (syr.), 65 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 10 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 130 (engl.). ­ 73 For the context of Yahballaha’s live see also Mark Dickens, Echoes of a Forgotten Presence: Reconstructing the History of the Church of the East in Central Asia (orientalia  ­­ –­​ patristica – oecumenica, vol. 15, Münster: LIT Verlag, 2019), 282f. 74 Borbone, History, 62 (syr.), 63 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 7 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 127 (engl.). ­ Gīwargīs was Metropolitan of Khanbali and North China; see J.S. Assemani, Bib​­ liotheca Orientalis ­Clementino-Vaticana, II (Romae: Typis Sacrae Congregationis de Propaganda Fide, 1721), 458.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  249 Marqos claimed that he came to follow the monastic life in Rabban Sauma’s footsteps. Rabban Sauma tried to convince him that asceticism would be very difficult for an adolescent. He attempted to persuade him to return to his parents, but Marqos was stalwart in his decision to not only become a monk, but to also become Rabban Sauma’s apprentice. The author states that, three years later, Marqos received the tonsure at the hands of a Metropolitan named Mar Nestorius.75 Immediately after the presentation of the beginning of Yahballāhā’s monastic journey, the author introduces the two monks’ decision to go to Jerusalem. From the outset, this denotes that devotion to the holy places was very likely part of the monk’s canon. In a textual analysis of this fragment, we see that the monastic figures’ discourse is dominated by the topic of the journey towards the West [maʿrbo] from the very outset. It is therefore thought-provoking that the monks do not give Jerusalem as the end point of their journey, but are rather highlighting the West itself as the end point of their itinerary. Although it is clear that they are leaving Beijing with the intention of reaching Jerusalem, it seems no less obvious that, for these East Syriac monks traveling from China, Jerusalem and the Holy Land were intrinsically regarded as part of the culture and geography of the West. However, the purpose of their sojourn to the West was well defined by the monks once they had meditated: ­ ​­ If we left this land for the West [w-lmaʿerbo], we would have a lot to gain in receiving the blessings of the shrines of the holy martyrs [shkhinotho ­d-sohde ​­ qadishe] and the fathers of the Church, then if Christ, the omnipotent Lord, prolonged our lives and sustained us with His grace, we might reach Jerusalem [l-ureshlem] ­ ​­ and attain complete atonement for 76 our faults and the remittal of our sins [w-shroyo ­ ​­ ­l-sakhlwothan]. ​­ Their pilgrimage is encouraged by a desire to seek holiness and to receive the blessing of the holy places for the forgiveness of their sins. This, in the end, was the goal of all Syriac monks, animated onto the path to holiness that was concentrated in the area of the holy places in Jerusalem and which had to be sought out at a certain point in the life of each and every monk. The author further highlights that the young monk Marqos was warned by his master monk of the difficulty of such a trip to Jerusalem would entail. According to the author, Rabban Sauma even tried to convince him to renounce the idea. The manuscript offers some of the reasons he invokes to this end, on which we can focus further: the fatigue of the journey, the difficulty of the route, the danger of the roads, the fulfilment of a pilgrim’s needs, and their status as foreigners. Although each of these arguments show

75 Borbone, History, 66 (syr.), 67 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, ­10–12 ​­ (syr.); ­ Budge, The Monks, ­131–132 ​­ ­ (engl.). ­ 76 Borbone, History, 68 (syr.), 69 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 12 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 133 (engl.).

250  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems why it was not easy for a Syriac monk to reach Jerusalem, Rabban Marqos “burned with a desire to leave.”77 The author further reveals other aspects relevant to the monks’ decision to travel to Jerusalem. Marqos’ great desire made him to feel that he would find his place there, and here we again see the “West” as the destination of their journey: [He felt in his heart that some treasure was in store for him in the West. Therefore, he continued to urge Rabban Sauma with his words, inciting him to leave.78 In the end, Rabban Sauma relents; the author expresses a condition of their travel on which the two agree, and which opens a broader discussion on the framework of Syriac pilgrimages to Jerusalem: both monks decided never to abandon each other, even if they would encounter problems and dangers along the way. Ready to start their journey, they gave their belongings and everyday objects out to the poor and entered the city of Beijing to look for traveling companions and to acquire food and provisions for the journey.79 This portrays necessary steps for the preparation of travel which we have previously seen recommended by Barhebraeus in his canons addressed to pilgrims as well. The two monks decided not to separate from each other, and consequently likely neither from those with whom they travelled, which hints at the idea of traveling in a caravan as having been quite commonplace in the period. We further suspect in their preparations the standard steps enumerated also in Barhebraeus’ canons, as for example the fact that they distributed the various small objects and items they had used in daily life to the poor. And they sought out fellow travellers, as a sign that travels were organised as part of larger groups in order to more easily face the dangers that could arise at any step. However, the text does not specify whether such companions were meant to share the same ideals; that is, if they all needed to be monks, or if they could also be simple travellers or merchants who travelled this route to the West.80 Of significance is also that the pilgrims also looked for supplies, which again falls in line with the teachings that the pilgrims themselves must also provide some supplies for the journey (canon 4), especially for traversing deserts and other inhospitable areas where they would have needed to secure their provisions 77 78 79 80

Borbone, History, 68 (syr.), 69 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 13 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 133 (engl.). ­ Borbone, History, 68 (syr.), 69 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 13 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 133 (engl.). Borbone, History, 68 (syr.), 69 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 13 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 133 (engl.). In his tenth spiritual canon addressed to travellers by foot, Barhebraeus writes on this topic that On his journey he shall occupy himself with the remembrance of God. If he knows Psalms, he shall recite them. When leaving the cell, he shall be careful about frankness, social contact and familiarity with other people on the road. Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 119 (syr.), 102 (engl.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  251 for the journey (a further link to what we saw in Barhebraues’ canon 11 of travellers, regulating the actions of pilgrims during their travel). The author of the Rabban Sauma and Marqos’ life notes in this perspective: “But if it goes through a barren desert, where all hope of meeting a human being is cut off, and when he is incapable of fasting for ten days or of feeding himself with grass, he is obliged to take provisions.”81 The rhetoric of the text is very interesting, when comes to perpetuate the idea, that they had every reason to secure and even double their supplies given that they needed to pass through difficult regions. When the Christians of the city heard about the two monks’ plan of travelling to Jerusalem, they surrounded them and tried to dissuade them from leaving. The arguments they brought the monks in their attempt to convince them to renounce their journey are similar to those presented in Barhebreus’ first mēmrā of the Ethicon concerning the position of those groups who opposed the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, preferring to live in monastic peace and seek holiness within. The first argument the author puts forward as having come from the incredulous Christian community, is the great distance to the Holy Land, even though Palestine and Jerusalem are never mentioned by name but instead only by a vague expression: “Don’t you even realize how distant that region is? Don’t you know how insidious and difficult the routes are, more than you think, so much in fact that you will never get there?”82 Their advice, like that category of people invoked by Barhebraeus who called against pilgrimages, is to remain in place and work as ascetic for the calling that they have received, as written in the Gospel: “T he kingdom of God is within you” (Luke ­ 17:21).83 This argument that anchors the monk to a physical territory where to constantly practice asceticism instead of wasting his vocation on the road, echoes what the Ethicon of Barhebraeus argued as well, which renders plausible what we suspect that the anonymous author of the Lives of Rabban Sauma and Yahballāhā was familiar with the conditions and the status of the Syriac pilgrimage not different as this was illustrated in Barhebraeus’ mēmrā. Looking at dates, Barhebraeus composed his Ethicon in 1279, while Rabban Sauma and Yahballāhā allegedly started out on their journey in 1278; at first glance, therefore, the two Chinese pilgrims would have necessarily been unaware of Barhebraeus’ Canons. However, considering that the Vitae of the two pilgrims was most likely composed in 1318, the hypothesis that the author of their account 81 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 119 (syr.), 102 (engl.). 82 Borbone, History, 68 (syr.), 69 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 13 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 134 (engl.). ­ 83 Borbone, History, 68 (syr.), 69 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 13 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 134 ­ (engl.).

252  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems would have had access to Barhebraeus’ canons when immortalising the travels of Rabban Sauma and Yahballāhā remains plausible. Or more plausible ca be the conjecture that he had access to oral sources or experiences of pilgrims that Barhebraeus probably consulted as well in formulating his prescriptions for pilgrims. Back to the Vitae, we find that the counter-reaction of Rabban Sauma and Yahballāhā to the people who were trying to persuade them to renounce the idea of travel is purely monastic in nature. They justify their intention arguing that, for them as ascetics, the physical world no longer mattered, only spiritual gain. They further suggest that it has been some time since they first embraced monasticism, which can be interpreted in the light of monastic custom, that the monk was at some point expected to undertake a pilgrimage to Jerusalem: ­ ​­ ­l-bshan], ​­ We have already donned the monastic habit [l-kuteno and we ­ ​­ kafran]: therefore, are dead to the world, having renounced it [w-bʿolmo the world has no labour in store that might frighten us, or fear that might trouble us.84 Based on their sound argument, Rabban Sauma and Marqos asked the Christian inhabitants to pray for them and departed from one another in peace, exchanging lamentations and kisses. The author presents with hagiographic features his actors as highly sought-after individuals wherever they arrive during their journey: for example, in Koshang, where Rabban Sauma’s parents lived, the author tells how the monks were warmly greeted, with the locals’ expectation that the two would live with Rabban Sauma’s parents. He deems it necessary to remind the reader that the monks would, in fact, continue onward to Jerusalem. This marks the first time in the text where Jerusalem is specifically mentioned as the final destination of the monks’ journey, instead of it merely being ‘the West’: But when they explained that they had resolved to travel to Jerusalem, on the way to the West, and that they were just passing by, they were disappointed and greatly saddened.85 It is noteworthy that the appearance of Jerusalem as the reason and destination of the monks’ pilgrimage will henceforth be frequently mentioned both by the author and by his two characters themselves, emerging whenever they need to justify themselves before the local Christian communities they meet along the way, who ask them to remain in their region. And, 84 Borbone, History, 68 (syr.), 69 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, ­13–14 ​­ (syr.); ­ Budge, The Monks, 134 (engl.). ­ 85 Borbone, History, 70 (syr.), 71 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 15 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 135 ­ (engl.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  253 since the hagiographic world is traditionally always presented as both small and deeply interconnected between centre and periphery, the news about the two pilgrims quickly spread to local governors and kings, who received them kindly ( particularly Konboga and Aiboga). The author emphasises everyone’s regret upon hearing that the monks are indeed carrying on to the West, which includes him in the group of those who would have rather kept the Syrians avoiding pilgrimages to Jerusalem. Upon hearing that the two monks were traveling to the Holy City, local rulers routinely asked why the travellers were abandoning “our land” for the West. The majoritarian argument attempts to persuade the pilgrims to give up their plan, revealing an apparent rivalry between local and Western (Levantine) tradition. Political leaders emphasise that the centre of spirituality lies in this area and not in the West: Why to you leave our land to head West? We strive to summon monks and fathers [l-ihidoye ­ ​­ ­w-l-abohotho] ­​­­ ​­ from the West [men maʿrbo]; how can we afford to let you leave?86 The author’s intention is clear: why should monks go to Jerusalem, the Holy Land and the West when it is the Western clergy who should come and seek holiness in the East instead? This perspective of local sanctuaries of the East as superior to those in the West is comparable with an argument found in Byzantine literature in the Life of Daniel the Stylite,87 as well as with other Syriac sources previously mentioned which wished to change the trajectory of religious pilgrimage from Jerusalem to any one of a number of local destinations. However, the two monks’ answer always remains steadfast and the same: they are guided by their monastic vocation, and by the practice of asceticism. They abandoned everything in the world and took this path of Christ following the principle of the Gospel and refrain from the profit of the world: “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his one soul” (according to Matthew 16:26). They do not exclude the dangers and terrors of the road, but they counterpoint their pilgrimage as their greatest desire: “We yearn to leave, but wherever we are and insofar as our weakness allows, day and night we will remember your kingdom in our prayers.’”88 We suspect in this passage another similarity to what we illustrated in Barhebraeus, where in his second canon, he mentioned that pilgrims’ expenses must be drawn money gained only from honest work and heritage are acceptable and not through theft, fraud, or looting. The third canon forbids engaging in any form of trading by the pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem. 86 Borbone, History, 70 (syr.), 71 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 15 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 136 (engl.). ­ 87 See ­Bitton-Ashkelony, ​­ Encountering, 202. 88 Borbone, History, 70 (syr.), 71 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 16 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 137 (engl.). ­

254  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems He also suggests pilgrims observe honorable behaviour and a certain decency along the way, such that the pilgrim should not bother anyone with begging.89 In the comparative perspective, we read in the Vita, that upon seeing that they could not persuade the two monks to abandon their intention of visiting Jerusalem, the local rulers offered them the opportunity to ride on their way, but the monks remained steadfast in their conviction to walk, a detail which certifies that Rabban Sauma and Marqos, in accordance with Barhebraeus’ eighth canon, were travelling to Jerusalem on foot.90 Among the other gifts extended to them were gold, money, and clothing (the ninth canon expressly forbade elegant clothes, recommending instead austere garb; however white clothing was also necessary in Jerusalem, in line with Barhebraeus’ sixth canon). The monks were, however, aware of the pilgrim’s vocation to Jerusalem, and it would appear that, following in the tradition described in Barhebraeus’ canons, they refused the presents by stating: “We need nothing. What use would it be to have so many things with us? How could we carry such a burden?” The authorities’ reaction was nothing if not rational: in order to travel to Jerusalem, the pilgrims would have needed some financial backing, which we see extolled in the first of Barhebraeus’ canons. The local kings also attempt to make the two monks aware of this fact in their address: Clearly you have no idea of the length of your journey  – replied the two kings  – and of the expenses it entails. But we are aware, and we advise you not to leave empty-handed: otherwise, without money, you will never reach your destination. Therefore, accept these gifts from us as a loan; if you are forced by necessity, spend them; and if you arrive in good health, distribute them among the monasteries, the convents of that land and the fathers, so that we enjoy communion with our fathers in the West.91 By accepting these donations, however, the pilgrims preserved the spirit of the Syriac customs of standardised pilgrimage, as seen in the fourth canon, that if they exceeded their provisions pilgrims had to be generous with those who did not have sufficient resources for the road. This suggest that pilgrimage eliminate the borders of fragmented Christianity and creates 89 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 125 (syr.), 107 (engl.). 90 To the pilgrims not travelling on foot, in his seventh canon Barhebraeus recommends they alternate riding with travelling à pied: If he is travelling, when mounted, he must have compassion for the animal under him. He must not slap its face and not sleep on it. From time to time, he should give it some rest by dismounting and going on foot, especially in the morning or in the evening. Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, 117 (syr.), 100 (engl.). 91 Borbone, History, ­70–72 ​­ (syr.), ­ 71–73 ­ ​­ (engl.); ­ Bedjan, Histoire, 17 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 137 (engl.). ­

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  255 communion between regions. This is accentuated in the very words of these local kings who, in its defense, bring forth arguments from II Corinthians 8:14. The monks accepted the sincere gifts and, continuing on their journey, arrived in the city of Tangut, where as usual from the previous scene, the inhabitants spread the word about the arrival of Rabban Sauma and Rabban Marqos on their way to Jerusalem and received them with enthusiasm.92 The monks next arrived in the region of Khotan, traversing a quite arduous area of the desert. Concurrently with their arrival, a conflict broke out between Emperor Kublai Khan and a local King Oqu; massacres were commonplace, and “the roads and tracks were interrupted, and the wheat supplies had run out.”93 We might read in laborious details a metaphor of describing and accentuating the difficulty of travel for those who thought of leaving Far Easter regions for Jerusalem. Six months later, the pilgrims reached Kashghar, at the border of China and Turkestan, and along the way, they were miraculously not affected by the plentiful bands of robbers befalling the region and plundering the city, so that the monks’ intention to seek out holiness in Jerusalem was supplemented by God’s help. The monks did not miss any opportunity to visit the courts of local kings, arriving at the court of Qaidu in Talas who offered them protection in his territory. The author never misses an opportunity to mention either the difficulty of the trip or the fearfulness of the pilgrims on the road.94 They reached Khorasan in North-East Persia with their resources nearly depleted. Here, the author gives credence to the warning the two monks had received at the beginning of their journey that supplies would be sorely needed, and that without them they would not be able to reach Jerusalem. Already present in the spiritual area of Syriac Christianity, the narrative begins to dwell more on what wonders the pilgrims could see in their path. Indeed, they do not miss any such spiritual landmark, such as the holy convent of Saint Sehyon, in the vicinity of the town of Ṭus where they received permanent blessings from the local bishops and ascetics [w-etbarakhu ­ ​­ men efisqufo ­d-boh ​­ ­w-ihidoye], ​­ a development which the author claims as a great spiritual achievement: “and it was like being born again to 95 the world [d-hadthoʿith ­ ​­ ethiledu ­l-ʿulmo].” ​­ Pilgrims proceeded to seek spiritual landmarks as soon as they arrived in a region. We can correlate this with what Barhebraeus notes in his second canon: In every town and place visited, [the pilgrim] should, first, present himself at the church, carefully inquire about the principal priest and the 92 Borbone, History, 72 (syr.), 73 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, ­17–18 ​­ (syr.); ­ Budge, The Monks, 138 (engl.). ­ 93 Borbone, History, 72 (syr.), 73 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 19 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 139 (engl.). ­ ­ 94 Borbone, History, 74 (syr.), 75 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 20 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 139 (engl.). ­ 95 Borbone, History, 74 (syr.), 75 (engl; Bedjan, Histoire, 20 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 140 (engl.).

256  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems just and excellent people there, pay a visit to them, taking care to hear at least one useful word from each of them. Then, he may put himself into contact with the others.96 A similar exhortation is present in the account of Sergius’ pilgrimage who, upon arriving in a city (for example in Nicosia, in Cyprus) “went to the bishop of the Church of Our Lady of Syrians” and “prayed with him on the 5th Sunday of the renewal of the church,” “and on Monday” “was blessed by him.”97 However, from this point of the narrative, the hyperboles we now begin to find in the report on Rabban Sauma and Marqos’ experiences of spiritual places in Syriac Christianity begin to overshadow the Holy City of Jerusalem that the pilgrims originally intended to see. The account is permeated by the author’s voice that the pilgrims thanked God “in whom they had trusted: in His they had hoped, and He had delivered them from danger.”98 Rabban Sauma and Marqos then came to Azerbaijan, and then meeting the Catholicos Mar Denḥa in Maragha. The account of their interaction with Mar Denḥa evidences the author’s support and fidelity for the East Syriac tradition. He induces that both pilgrims’ minds were changed following their interaction with Mar Denḥa. The meeting’s description is replete with profuse gestures: the monks prostrated themselves in tears, “as it was as if they had seen Our Lord Jesus Christ [w-hwaw ­ ​­ akh hu d-l-moran ­ ­​­­ ​­ yeshuʿmshiho] in the person of Mar Denḥa the catholicos [b-qnumeh ­ ​­ ­d-mori ​­ denha qathuliqo].”99 A dialogue between the Catholicos and pilgrims follows, inquiring about their origin and the purpose of their journey. Naturally, the answers of the two monks do little to hide their admiration for the local Syriac Christian tradition. They answer that they travelled here to be blessed by the 96 Barhebraeus, Ethicon. Mēmrā I, ­117–118 ​­ (syr.), ­ 101 (engl.). ­ 97 Kaufhold, “Der Bericht des Sargīs von Ḥāḥ,” 377 (syr.), ­ 380–381 ­ ​­ (germ.). ­ 98 Borbone, History, 74 (syr.), 75 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 20 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 140 ­ (engl.). 99 Borbone, History, 74 (syr.), 75 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, ­20–21 ​­ (syr.); ­ Budge, The Monks, 140 (engl.). It is interesting to also observe the profile of Mar Denḥa as depicted by an author of a rival confession: the West Syriac personality Barhebraeus, who mentions him in his criticism of the East Syriac Christological doctrine; see Pierre Klein, La pérégrination vers l’Occident: de Pékin à Paris, le voyage de deux moines nestoriens au temps de Marco Polo (Genève: Olizane, 2020), 152. However, Barhebraeus portrays the East Syriac Patriarch in quite heroic terms, comparing him with Old Testament figures (and characterising him as a “Solomon of the new times,” “imitator of the Catholicos Tomothee and Iso Bar Nun,” “image of Adam,” “imitator of Seth in his humility, of Enoch in his holiness;” comparable to Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, David etc). Even in the introduction of his letter, Barhebraeus names Mar Denḥa as “Catholics of the East in whom wisdom shines, who is an ocean of wisdom and a treasure of knowledge.” See Jean-Baptiste Chabot, “Une lettre de Bar Hébréus au catholicos Denhạ Ier, publiée et traduite,” Journal Asiatique IX 11 (1898), ­75–128, ​­ ­ ­ ​­ esp. 102–104.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  257 Catholicos, by the monks and the local saints and that, should the roads be open and God show mercy towards them, they would go to Jerusalem.100 The fact that the monks’ foremost argument is that of seeking out the sanctity of local Syriac Christianity and only then of reaching Jerusalem, beautifully expresses the tension that the author maintains throughout his account, that between the local Syriac tradition and the universal tradition of Jerusalem. The author fashions the two pilgrims a word of encouragement from the Catholicos. Mar Denḥa encourages them and prays for their protection, emphasising again the dangers of the journey to Jerusalem, a trek he calls a “difficult journey [urho ʿasqto].” The Catholicos’ argument is that through suffering and pain they, as monks, would indeed attain their goal, and would receive a double reward: both goods and light in the next world.101 The particular spirituality of Syriac tradition is illustrating again by the pilgrims’ intention to obtain the blessing of the Catholicos called “Mar, our father [d-mori ­ ​­ abun],” to go to Baghdad, in order to receive the blessing in the church of Saint Mari “the apostle [shliho], master of the East, and at the shrines of the fathers that are found in that city.”102 This paragraph compares the initial goal of the pilgrims, to search for the holiness and make devotion in Jerusalem, and the opportunity of coming in touch with the Syriac Christianity that brings a great spiritual gain: the monks wished to visit Beth Garmai and Nisibis, to be blessed and to ask for grace. Catholicos wrote letters of recommendation for them to show the monasteries that they would be honourably received everywhere. This image appears to overshadow the two monks’ original purpose, that of visiting the Holy City. The rich monastic spirituality the two pilgrims discover in Mesopotamia, eloquently described, seems to overlap with the very thing they sought out while leaving Beijing. The spiritual wealth of the Syrians is summarised in portraying their ecclesiastical destinations: from Baghdad, the pilgrims reached the “great church of Koke [l-ʿidto rabtho d-kuka]” and ­ ​­ ­ ​­ the Monastery of Saint Mari the Apostle where the pilgrims look to receive the blessings of the region’s holy shrines and relics. From there they travelled to Beth Garmai, where they touched103 the local shrine of the prophet 104 Ezekiel, “full of remedies and medicines” [ʿudrono ­w-aswotho]. ​­ 100 Borbone, History, 74 (syr.), 75 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 21 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 141 (engl.). 101 Borbone, History, 74–76 ­ ​­ (syr.), ­ 75–77 ­ ​­ (engl.); ­ Bedjan, Histoire, 22 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 141 (engl.). 102 Borbone, History, 76 (syr.), 77 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 22 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 142 (engl.). ­ 103 For the culture of seeing and touching the relics and holy places, see Frank, The Memory, 118f. She summarises several tactile practices of venerating the Cross and other holy objects and places by pilgrims, arguing that “a new piety offered the devotee genuine and immediate access to these concrete manifestations of sanctity.” 104 Borbone, History, 76 (syr.), 77 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 23 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 143 ­ (engl.).

258  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems This practice of touching relics and holy items had been an intrinsic part of pilgrims’ devotional practices since Antiquity. Considering that Christians of the Syriac tradition placed great emphasis on imagery, in their culture their senses and sensory activity were very important in order to spiritually intersect and communicate with those around them, as well as to participate in the sanctity of their environs, meeting the saint through the sight and touch of their relics in an attempt to secure their blessing.105 The next locations the pilgrims visited were Arbil, Mosul, Shingar, Nisibis, and Mardin, the monks receiving blessings at the relics of Mar Awgen “the second Christ [mshiho trayono],” the alleged initiator of Syriac monasticism who out of the Egyptian region. The literary motifs of seeking spiritual blessing from place to place and of holiness being concentrated in places with historical tradition appear repeated in the report. The pilgrims later arrived in Gazarta in the region of Beth Zabdai, where they did the same at the local shrines and monasteries, and more closely interacted with local monks and ascetics. It might be that Rabban Sauma and Marqos travelled with advice or unwritten rules similar to Barhebraeus’ canons in mind, their observance of one (canon 4) is apparent in their distribution of alms wherever they went.106 Their journey often took them to monasteries, briefly dwelling among the monks (in the convent of Saint Michael of Tarel). Now the author reveals that whatever the two monks sought out when they left Beijing was nearly within their reach.107 This statement appears to prepare the reader for the account’s final outcome that the two would not, in fact, reach Jerusalem, but that their journey still bore enough spiritual fruit. After their sojourn through the spiritual region of Syriac Christianity, the author claims that Mar Denḥa the Catholicos invited the two pilgrims to remain among Syriac Christians and work for the local church and imperial administration. Rabban Sauma and Rabban Marqos were also taken “before the king who asked questions about their itinerary and their native land. Whilst replying, they made their intensions manifest.”108 The king graciously provided them with an escort to Jerusalem, showing the importance of the two pilgrims. With the blessing of the Catholicos, they travelled

105 In his work Lieux saints et pèlerinages d’Orient. Histoire et géographie des origines à la conquête arabe (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1985), P. Maraval also speaks of the physical contact that accompanies sight in the act of veneration, with the former ultimately becoming more important than the latter. To Maraval’s argument we might add that it is likely that touch accentuates or supports the gaze held firmly on the object of veneration, thereby maintaining the spiritual communion, accentuating the visual experience and mediating the blessing received. 106 Borbone, History, 76 (syr.), 77 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 24 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 143 (engl.). ­ 107 Borbone, History, 76 (syr.), 77 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 24 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 143 (engl.). ­ 108 Borbone, History, 78 (syr.), 79 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 25 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 144 ­ (engl.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  259 onward to the Holy City and arrived in Ani, in Armenia. Their journey came to a further halt in Georgia where, only having prepared to follow an easy route, they heard about conflict and robberies in the area, finally putting an end to their journey.109 It is then that the two pilgrim monks abandoned their intention to travel to Jerusalem; they would follow other paths, in the service of the Catholicos Patriarch of Baghdad and the Mongol king. Both monks were forced to go back, and the Catholicos rejoiced upon seeing them. The Catholicos’ discourse is as expected in tone and message with the leadership of the Syriac churches, since time immemorial, cautioned against the excess of migrating through pilgrimage to Jerusalem to the detriment of putting all their enthusiasm and effort for their local tradition: ­ ​­ ​­ ­l-ureshlem], ​­ This is no time to travel to Jerusalem [d-law zabno hu ­d-mezalto because the roads are troubled, and routes interrupted. But you have received blessings from all the houses of God [men kulhun bote ­d-aloho], ​­ and the shrines within them [w-shkhinotho ­ ​­ ­d-bhen], ​­ and in my opinion if one visits them with a pure heart [b-lebo ­ ​­ shafyo], the benefits will not be infe110 rior to those from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem [men munoʿo ­d-l-ureshlem]. ­​­­ ​­ The Catholicos’ argument is similar to that of the West Syriac bishop Philoxenos of Mabug, coming 8th centuries earlier, which we presented in the first part of this book. The account makes the following proposal: Syriac Christianity can offer the pilgrims enough grace and blessings by merely visiting their local prestigious and sacred places; and that these visits, if performed with a pure intention in heart and in mind, cannot have an effect dissimilar to that of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Relying upon this argument, and taking into account the difficult circumstances for the two pilgrims, they decided to remain in the entourage of the Syriac patriarchal administration, where Rabban Marqos would receive the name of Yahballāhā and be made Metropolitan, later becoming Patriarch after the death of Mar Denḥa. Both actors travelled to the Mongol king Aqaba to confirm Yahballāhā’s election as the leader of the East Syriac Church. In this narrative framework in which the emphasis is on local tradition, the author, when he reaches the goal of a fascinating illustration of Syriac spiritual legacy not to neglect the importance of Jerusalem in the large and balance of power in the world, points out the significance of Jerusalem for Christian theology and for the Mongolian power. This is apparent in the letter of the East Syriac bishops addressed to the Khan, in which they present the successor of Mar Denḥa,

109 Borbone, History, 78 (syr.), 79 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, ­25–26 ​­ (syr.); ­ E.A.W. Budge, The Monks of Kublai Khan, 145 (engl.). 110 Borbone, History, 78 (syr.), 79 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, ­26–27 ​­ (syr.); ­ Budge, The Monks, 146 (engl.); ­ munoʿo means literally “arrival.” See Michael Sokoloff, A Syriac Lexicon: A Translation from the Latin, Correction, Expansion, and Update of C. Brockelmann’s Lexicon Syriacum (Winona Lake, IN / Piscataway, NJ: Eisenbrauns & Gorgias Press, 2009), 726, 784.

260  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems with the pilgrim’s labelling, as Yahballāhā, “who came from the lands of the East to travel to Jerusalem.”111 The Khan approved his election as Patriarch, replying: “This man and his companion came from the East to go to Jerusalem. What happened to them was by divine will and the wishes of the Christians.”112 In the election of Yahballāhā as Catholicos we note the mention of an East Syriac Metropolitan of Tripoli and Jerusalem,113 a fact which demonstrates that not only West Syrians but also East Syrians themselves owned a diocese in the Holy City, probably from the time of Timotheus I as we have shown in a previous chapter. Interesting for Marqos’ (Yahballāhā’s) profile is that although he was fervent and devoted to Syriac Christian culture, he did not speak Syriac, so he did not know the language,114 but shared the faith, culture, and even the identity of the Church of the East, which was as important as the mission of this church in the Central Asia, obviously a missionary global church since the time of Timotheus I. To the question of how the lives of the two Chinese pilgrims continued to unfold here fades, since Jerusalem is no longer the destination of the two monks who had left Beijing to reach the Holy City, we should only note that for Rabban Sauma, he was made Visiting General and was commissioned to spread the message of the Catholicos and the Mongol king to the West.115 In conclusion, this text by Rabban Sauma and Marqos and their travel from China to the holy places, is similar in tone with other Syriac Christian portrayals of pilgrimage. His narrative about travel to the holy place should be read as a picture of a continuous and fluid dynamic of Syriac individuals animated by the idea of praying in the Holy City. This ritualisation of the pilgrim of these monks coming from China proves to be a feature

111 Borbone, History, 86 (syr.), 87 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 35 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 154 (engl.). ­ 112 Borbone, History, 86 (syr.), 87 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 36 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 154 (engl.). ­ 113 Borbone, History, 88 (syr.), 89 (engl.); Bedjan, Histoire, 37 (syr.); Budge, The Monks, 156 (engl.) ­ 114 The election of Rabban Marqos as Catholicos (by the name Yahballāhā) was probably a political choice of the East Syriac Church as we see expressed by the anonymous author who asserts that, since the kings in the area were Mongols, the Church needed someone who was well informed about their customs and their tongue, so that it could better represent its interests before the Mongol king. Interestingly, the Catholicos Yahballāhā is the first in the history of the East Syriac Church who was not able to master the Syriac language, admitting this fact. For more on the administration of the East Syriac Church during the Mongol period, see Heleen Murre-Van Den Berg, “The Church of the East in Mesopotamia in the Mongol Period,” in Roman Malek and Peter Hofrichter (eds.), Jingjiao: The Church of the East in China and Central Asia (Sankt Augustin: Institut Monumenta Serica, 2006), 377–394. ­ ​­ 115 Jerusalem itself was not insignificant to the Mongol royal administration, as we see that Rabban Sauma travelled to the West in 1287 as Visiting General, carrying the Mongols’ message to the Pope and the Western Kings and invoking Western aid for a potential conquest of Jerusalem and Palestine by the Mongols and the liberation of this area from under Arab and Islamic rule.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  261 common to some of the ideas that stand behind the canons elaborated by Barhebraeus, both text interfering in portraying the pilgrim’s code from the preparation of travel and their attitudes on the road and in interaction with spiritual people and places. The text fits well into the standard reactions of precedented church instances, arguing against this fluid and standardised process of pilgrimage to Jerusalem. In the construction of the itinerary, even though multiple local destinations from the region of Syriac Christianity overshadow the pilgrims’ ultimate goal, and offer him almost as good a remedy as Jerusalem, attempting even to change the trajectory of the pilgrim and to dislodge them from his intention by creating him opportunity to engage in the service of the local church, the career of the pilgrims is clearly influenced by the challenging endeavour of pilgrimage. This argues for the fact that pilgrimage remains a means of seeking holiness, and irrespective of the influences or trends of the time, this had its own fluid rhythm in Syriac Christianity too.

The Syriac Orthodox Convent of St Mark and Syriac Continuity in Medieval Jerusalem As we have argued in the section about the Syriac possessions in Jerusalem, at the beginning of the 13th century, the Jacobites were left without a central church and monastery in the Holy City, and acquired the monastery of Mary, Mother of God, which had originally been in the possession of the Copts from whom it was purchased by Patriarch Halaf in the 1470s and subsequently expanded. The first Syriac bishop to reside in this monastery was Ignatius III in 1471.116 Although this monastery was destroyed time and again, each time it was rebuilt and restored. This is the Monastery of St Mark, dedicated to the Mother of God, which was endowed with a hostel by George of Beth Sbirino, bishop of Qartamin Abbey, in 1489/1490.117 Next to the monastery, in the vicinity of the hostel, was the house of Mary, mother of John Mark, which had been recently acquired by the Syrians at the time of the priest Addai’s visit in 1491/1492.118 The Syriac pilgrims came to Jerusalem at a constant rate in the medieval period as well. These pilgrims bear in the medieval time the name maqdšāyā,

116 Yacob Koriah Karkenny, The Syrian Orthodox Church in the Holy Land (Jerusalem, ­ 1976), 45. 117 According to Ignatius Aphram I Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls. A History of Syriac Literature and Sciences (trans. and edited by Matti Moosa, with a foreword by Cyril Aphrem Karim, second revised edition; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2003), 503, George of Beth Sbirino performed the pilgrimage twice and “bought a house for two hundred golden dinars and made it an endowment for our St. Mark’s Monastery in Jerusalem.” 118 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 31. Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls, 506 opines that Addai’s pilgrimage happened in 1490.

262  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems which is found in different colophons.119 The term was borrowed from the name Bait ­al-maqdis ​­ which means city of the sanctuary or of the temple and which corresponds to the Syriac Bēth maqdšā. These maqdšāyē were most likely Christians travelling to the Holy City first and foremost to witness the wonder of the Holy Light and to make devotion to the Lord’s Tomb and to the holy places.120 A pilgrim from this period is the priest Sargīs (Sergios) from Ḥāḥ in Ṭūr ʿAḇdīn (nowadays, Southeastern Turkey). He accomplished the pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1490. As a monk in the Monastery of the Cross (Dair El) in Ṭūr ʿAḇdīn as a monk, in 1505, after his pilgrimages, he became the bishop of Ḥāḥ and died in 1508. He was an active pilgrim, making probably two pilgrimages to Jerusalem, one in 1489/1490 and the other in 1502/1503.121 To him are attributed a lost poem composed during his first pilgrimage to Jerusalem.122 His report, edited and translated by Kaufhold, is brief and undated, most likely describing his first trip which took place in 1489/1490, ten years after Barhebraeus wrote the canons in his Ethicon. It would appear that his voyage was made in a group, with secular people from the local administration, as stated in the beginning of his report: “On Sunday January 24th we set off from Tripoli to go to Jerusalem, with officials of their (the city’s) ruler levying taxes on the Sultan of Egypt.”123 Sargī’s report focuses primarily on recounting visual elements. He describes what he saw, where he stopped, without offering any spiritual perceptions that might lead us to an understanding of the spiritual progress of the Syriac pilgrim on the road to the Holy City. It is interesting that the author tips the balance of his arguments in favour of the Syriac tradition which permeates the text in multiple places. For example, here the well-known tradition of the painting of Jesus sent to Abgar and the letter exchange between

119 See Hubert Kaufhold, “Der Ehrentitel Der Ehrentitel Jerusalempilger (syrisch maqdšāyā, arabisch maqdisī, armenisch mahtesi),” Oriens Christianus 75 (1991), ­ 44–61, ­ ​­ esp. 46–47; ­ ­ ​­ Sebastian P. Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem in the early Ottoman period,” ARAM 18/19 (2006/7), 189–201, esp. 194; Sebastian P. Brock, Haim Goldfus, Aryeh Kof­ ​ sky, “The Syriac Inscriptions at the Entrance to Holy Sepuchre, Jerusalem,” ARAM 18– ­ (2006–2007), ­­ ​­ ­ ​­ ­ 19 415–438, esp. 417. 120 See J.-M. Fiey, “Le pèlerinage des Nestoriens et Jacobites à Jerusalem,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale (Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de Civilisation Médiévale, Université de Poitiers. Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique) 12 (1969), 120. 121 The dates are mentioned in MS olim Jerusalem 25 (Damascus, Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate, MS 12/9); H. Kaufhold, “Der Bericht des Sargīs von Ḥāḥ,” 372, esp. n. 6; Mar Filoksinos Yohanna Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in St. Mark’s Monastery (Dairo d-Mor Marqos: Damascus, 1994), 131; Brock, Goldfus, Kofsky, “The Syriac inscriptions,” 417–418. ­ ​­ However, Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls, 508 gives as dates of Sargīs’ pilgrimages 1489 and 1495. 122 Behnam Sony, Le Catalogue des Manuscrits du Patriarcat au Couvent de Charfet-Liban (Beirut: The Convent, 1973, Nr. 771), 276. 123 Kaufhold, “Der Bericht des Sargīs von Ḥāḥ,” 377 (syr.), 381 (germ.).

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  263 the two is narrated discreetly when referring to the place where Christ was sitting when he read the message sent to him by the King of Edessa: To the West of Gethsemane and from Gethsemane towards the East lies the slope of the Mount of Olives, the place where our Lord sat and read Abgar’s letter [duktho d-itheb ­ ​­ moran ­w-qro ​­ egartheh d-abgar] ­ ​­ and imprinted his face onto a cloth [w-rsham ­ ​­ leh surteh b-shushefo], ­ ​­ and the place where he taught the Apostles the Lord’s Prayer.124 By remembering the legend of Abgar’s correspondence with Jesus, the Syrians demonstrate how important the argument of tradition was for them. Being physically in the holy city, they did not hesitate to connect the history of their church with the biblical framework of the holy places: and even if they are in Jerusalem, they do not cease to be, from the perspective considering to whom they traditionally belong, in Edessa as well. As to Sargīs we see that his name appears in an inscription (written in Syriac script on the column 3 of the façade, where we can read many other pilgrims’ names. His name, profession, and origin are written here: “Sargīs, the monk, from Ḥāḥ.” And as usual in many other pilgrims from this period, he made a note in a Gospel manuscript from there (Damascus, Syr. Orthodox Patriarchate 12/19, olim St Mark’s Monastery MS 25): “Have mercy, O Lord, on the soul of your servant Sargīs the monk, from Ḥāḥ, the easterner who visited your holy tomb in 1801 [1490] of the Greeks, and a second time in 1813 [1502] of the Greeks.”125 The author also mentions the motif of the Holy Light, which demonstrates that Syriac pilgrimages to Jerusalem culminated around the period of Easter, a fact that remained valid for the whole of Christendom. The holy light seems to have been one of the defining aspects of the pilgrim’s journey to the Holy City in this medieval period: You enter the dome of the grave, turn your face to the north and see the grave, the source of life from which the scent of life comes. Above it ­ ​­ are 18 candlesticks, which do not shine from earthly fire [nuro d-arʿo lo nohron], but from the Light [elo men nuhro], year after year to the completion (of the world) from the grave.126

124 Kaufhold, “Der Bericht des Sargīs von Ḥāḥ,” 379 (syr.), ­ 384–385 ­ ​­ (germ.): ­ Westlich von Gethsemani und von Gethsemani nach Osten ist der Abhang des Ölbergs, der Ort, wo unser Herr saß und den Brief Abgars las und ihm sein Bild in ein Tuch eindrückte, und der Ort, wo er die Apostel das Vaterunser lehrte. 125 Brock, Goldfus, Kofsky, “The Syriac inscriptions,” 417– 418; Kaufhold, “Der Bericht des Sargīs von Ḥāḥ,” 376. 126 H. Kaufhold, “Der Bericht des Sargīs von Ḥāḥ über seine Pilgerreise nach Jerusalem,” ­ ​­ 386–387:

264  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems Another Syriac pilgrim in the Holy City relatively in the same period with Sargīs is Addai of Beth Sbirino, from the same region of Tur ʿAbdīn. He came in Jerusalem in 1491/1492 accompanied by some priests, monks and lay people, travelling with a long caravan and under the protection of the emir of Mardin and that of Jerusalem. One of the spiritual objectives of Addai, viewed also in Sargīs report, was to “receive de Holy Light and to get a blessing from the Holy Sepulchre and from the Holy Places […].”127 The names of Addai and one of his companions Qawme, his son, are also identified on an inscription at the entrance of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (“The priest Addai and Qawme his son, from Sbirin”).128 As was the case of Sargīs and Addai and of many the medieval pilgrims, they left their names inscribed on the pillars at the entrance to the holy Sepulchre, on the one hand as an act of participation in the common goal and collective memory of the pilgrims, that is to stay in permanent spiritual binding with the origin of holiness, even after the pilgrimage is over. And on the other hand, by inscribing their names, they intended to preserve and perpetuate their confessional identity in a place where the source of holiness flows and is manifested for the whole Christianity, at the tomb of Christ, and to keep and validate the pilgrim’s testimony for his church in the focal point of this universal Christian holiness.

Du betrittst den Kuppel(bau) des Grabes, wendest dein Gesicht nach Norden und siehst das Grab, die Quelle des Lebens, aus der der Duft des Lebens hervorkommt. Über ihm sind 18 Leuchter, die nicht von irdischem Feuer leuchten, sondern von dem Licht, das Jahr für Jahr bis zur Vollendung (der Welt) aus dem Grab. On the Syriac presence at the ceremony of the Holy Fire in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, see Karkenny, The Syrian Orthodox Church in the Holy Land, ­26–28, ​­ 32–33. ­ ​­ The holy light attracted pilgrims to the Holy City. Syriac pilgrims (maqdšāyē) ­ travelled to the Holy City for spiritual reasons and for witnessing also the wonder of the Holy Light. A Syriac Orthodox author named Abu Zayd Yahya b. ‘Adi (d. 974) of Takrit is worth nothing here: he composed a work, now lost, in which he argues that the Holy Light coming from the Holy Sepulchre is not a natural phenomenon (this work of Abu Zayd Yahya b. ‘Adi is mentioned by ‘Ali b. Zayd al-Baihaqi [d. 1174] in Ms. Or. 9033 of Brit. Museum, fol. 110v); see also Fiey, “Le pèlerinage,” 120. There are several examples of Syriac pilgrims returning from Jerusalem only after having received the Holy Fire there at Easter. See E.A. Wallis Budge (ed.), The Chronography of Gregory Abū’ l- Faraj, 1225– 1286, The Son of Aaron, The Hebrew Physician Commonly Known as Bar Hebraeus, being the First Part of His Political History of the World, translated from the Syriac with a historical introduction, appendixes, and an index accompanied by reproductions of the Syriac texts in the Bodleian Manuscripts 52, vol. I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1932; repr. Amsterdam Apa-Philos Press, 1976), 113. A. Baumstark, “Die literarische Hss. des jakobitischen Markusklosters in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 10 (1912), 133, refers also to the colophon of Ms. Jerusalem 12* (from 1515) in which is written: “when we […] came to Jerusalem and completed the [Holy Fire] and the Holy Pilgrimages […].” 127 Palmer, “The History of the Syrian Orthodox,” I, 22. 128 Brock, Goldfus, Kofsky, “The Syriac inscriptions,” 418.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  265 Turning back to St Mark Church, according to Syriac Orthodox tradition, the church lies on the site of that house, a belief supported by, allegedly, a 6th-century ­ ​­ inscription129 discovered there in 1940 and which can still be seen today in the monastery courtyard: ­ ​­ This is the house of Mary [hono bayto d-maryam], mother of John, called Mark. Proclaimed a church by the holy Apostles [shlihe qadishe] ­ ​­ under the name of Virgin Mary, mother of God [d-yoldath aloho], after the ascension [suloqeh] of our Lord Jesus Christ into Heaven. Restored after the destruction of Jerusalem [bothar ­d-herbath ​­ ureshlem] by Titus in the year 73 A.D.130 With reference to the Monastery of St Mark, we must add that while its beginnings are rather obscure, its continuity throughout the medieval period and its importance for the preservation of Syriac heritage in the Holy City are well- established and thoroughly proven. The manuscripts housed within the monastery include a plethora of colophons certifying to the great flow of pilgrims reaching the Holy City who added their impressions and marked their presence in the places where these manuscripts were kept. If not the historical, then at least the spiritual successor to a much older monastery of Syriac communities in Jerusalem, the convent of Saint Mary Magdalene, the Monastery of Saint Mark is a treasure for Syriac scholars primarily because of its library that houses over 450 manuscripts written in Syriac and Garshuni. Most probably around this monastery the Syriac identity in the Holy City was formed and transmitted later among the medieval pilgrims who came to Jerusalem and were drawn to this nucleus where they manifested their connection with the Holy City and often made donations and testimonies in the colophons of the Syriac manuscripts kept here. Many pilgrims from medieval period attested in the manuscripts of Syriac Orthodox Monastery of St Mark in Jerusalem were considered by Sebastian Brock in his research. The valuable manuscripts preserved in the library of the monastery are not much known to international research. Many of them contain colophons written mainly by pilgrims arriving in the Holy City from the Late Middle Ages to the Ottoman period. These documents share an impressive and varied knowledge about the Syriac presence in Jerusalem in Late Middle Ages and Ottoman period, and the various gifts the pilgrims donated to the monastery. Although most inclusions go well beyond the period that this book deals with, we will content ourselves with mentioning only the overarching 129 There are also scholars who suspect that this is much later. A. Palmer and J. van Gelder, “Syriac and Arabic inscriptions and the Monastery of St Mark’s in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus 78 (1994), 33– 63, esp. 33–36 consider that this goes back to 15th century. 130 See Kaufhold, “Zur Bedeutung Jerusalems,” 160; Palmer, Van Gelder, “Syriac and Arabic inscriptions,” 36.

266  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems phenomenon of colophon-writing by pilgrims during their interaction with the holy places of Jerusalem and with the monastery itself. Without analysing the theological aspects shared by most, such as the pilgrims’ perception, we can nevertheless describe the details they give and ask whether they appear to belong to the established pilgrim’s canon.131 There are various colophons written by pilgrims from the Tur ʿAbdīn region, Syria, or Mesopotamia, visiting Jerusalem. A selection from the Ottoman period contains: a colophon belonging to a Harkleian gospel lectionary which mentions a pilgrim (with the generic Syriac title maqdšāyā, Arabic maqdisī, Armenian mahtesi) who in 1567 came from Sadad (Syria) to Jerusalem and bought two silver crosses from Muslims that had previously belonged to the Syriac monastery. The trope of recovering liturgical instruments of the Christian community from Muslims is an aspect that appears in several colophons and may suggest that it belonged to the pilgrim’s canon of making financial efforts for his ecclesiastical tradition that it may continue to be a living part of the Holy City. Also, a colophon dated 1549 appears in a manuscript containing the Homilies of Saint Isaac of Nineveh, recounting that a priest from Tur ʿAbdīn named Quriakos came to Jerusalem on pilgrimage and interacted with the monastery. He also bought a cross from the Muslims and donated it to the monastery. It would appear that making donations to the monastery following the established procedure of buying the crosses that once belonged to it, thus contributing to the preservation of the community’s liturgical identity in the Holy City, was a spiritual cycle of donations that followed a specific procedure, namely, purchasing from Muslims. Such colophons are fairly common, and also show the return of some pilgrims for a second pilgrimage to Jerusalem. For example, a monk named ʿAbdishoʿ came to Jerusalem on pilgrimage in 1631, and later returned for a second time in 1640, and probably for a third time.132 This pilgrim is probably ʿAbdishoʿ bishop of Atel identified by Brock in a later note added to a book of discourses of Isaac of Niniveh (dated 1560/1561: ‘The holy book of Mar Isaac on beneficial discourse’).133 The note reads: “‘Pray for ʿAbdishoʿ of Atel, bearer of oppression, who came to Jerusalem in 1955 of the Greeks [ = AD 1643/4] and again 131 In a comparative approach of the colophon genre, it should be noted there are many aspects that can be analysed at first sight: on the one hand literary aspects such as dates mentioned by pilgrims, names, places of origin, political administration, local bishops, abbots, donations; and on the other certain theological aspects such as prayers, theological formulas, or confessional or interreligious perceptions. See, for instance, Sebastian P. Brock, “Fashions in Early Syriac Colophons,” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 18.1 (2015), 361–377. See also A. Rücker, “Ein alter Handschriftenkatalog des ehemaligen nestorianischen Klosters in Jerusalem,” Oriens Christianus III.6 (1931), ­ 90–96. ­ ​­ 132 Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 195 133 The book is classified with No. 181 by Dolabany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in St. ­ ​­ Mark’s Monastery, 380–381.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  267 in 1962 [= AD 1650/1].”134 The presence of ʿAbdishoʿ in Jerusalem appears also in other manuscripts (Jerusalem, St. Mark’s, no. 200, Selections from Palladius, copied in Jerusalem), in a colophon of 1644 or 1651 in which the scribe notes: in the year that I wrote out this book there were two bishops in the monastery of us Nestorians, one being Mar ʿAbdishoʿ from the town of Atel, the other Mar Athanasius from the region of Urmi, from the village of Gogtapa.135 As to the liturgical items, it can be reasonably said that the majority of the crosses that pilgrims bought from Muslims were expensive, with the colophons mentioning them as being made of silver. Another interesting case is that of a pilgrim who, once in Jerusalem, ordered the fabrication of a large cross that cost 450 dirhami, which he donated to the church.136 The impression that these colophons found in manuscripts preserved in the Monastery of St Mark137 are an important element in attempting to prove that the Syrians did not only come to Jerusalem sporadically, but rather as practitioners of a canon and a custom that pilgrims undertook (either once or several times in their life) in order to attain spiritual progress. These are generations of clerics and laymen who all confirm the existence of their confessional tradition in Jerusalem and their participation in the City’s multifarious religious landscape, aspects that can become more closely known by studying these colophons that mostly date to the Ottoman period, which are highly promising for further research. Not only colofons testify the continuity of Syriac pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the medieval period but also the inscriptions at the entrance of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre documented by Brock as well. Recently, other nine inscriptions left unstudied have been discussed by C. Locatell, and they attest Syriac visitors to the Holy Sepulchre mostly dated for the Ottoman period, while some remained undated.138 As can be seen from different reports and inscriptions, among the pilgrims attested in the Holy City there were both Syriac Orthodox as well as East Syrians, suggesting that 134 Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 191. 135 Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 195. 136 Short references of medieval Syriac pilgims to Jerusalem appear also in Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls, p. 425 (Timothy, metropolitan of Karkar [d. 1143], performed a pilgrimage most probably in the first decade of the 12th century); p.  495 (the Priest Isaiah of Basibrina [d. 1425], undertook the pilgrimage in 1417); p. 513 (Patriarch Ignatius Niʿmat Aloho [d. 1587] was a pilgrim to Jerusalem in 1562); p. 514 ( Yuḥanon of Wank, metropolitan of Cappadocia and Edessa [d. 1624] went twice on pilgrimage to the Holy City). 137 For references to Syriac Pilgrims in these colophons see Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 194–195. ­ ​­ 138 See Christian Locatell, “More Syriac graffiti at the Southern Entrance to the Church of ­ ­44–71. ​­ the Holy Sepulchre,” Aramaic Studies 20 (2022),

268  The Portrayal of Jerusalem in Syriac Chronicles and Poems apart from the Monastery of St Mark in Jerusalem there was probably also a church or monastery belonging to the Church of the East (much later, 16–17th century), dedicated to Saint Mary, whose existence ends between the middle of 18th or 19th century and their manuscripts collections entered into the patrimony of Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem.139 A rather paradigmatic example of a pilgrim who came to this monastery of their East Syrian community and who stayed in the Holy City for four years (between 1717/1718–1721/1722), which is more than the usual short time, and has collected and inventoried several manuscripts (44 in number), is Kanun. His note portrays what a pilgrim with a long liturgical purpose was doing in Jerusalem: I resided four years in Jerusalem and I served at the tomb of our Lord and at the holy shrine of Mart Mariam, which is the church of us Nestorians. I made qurbane in it every day, and I took care of the prayers and hussaye for the dead, and I looked after its books: I collected these together and put them in our church, and these are their names […].140 Even if this example goes beyond our centered period, it appears to be of interest for readers because it shows that either typical or atypical pilgrims, who became residents for longer periods in Jerusalem, combined the liturgical worship at the Holy Sepulcher with the devotional activity in the monastery of their own Syriac community as was the case of Kanun, a priest and visitor in the East Syriac monastery of Saint Mary. No matter if they remained for shorter or longer time in Palestine, one aspect seems obvious: their participation in preserving their identity and ecclesiastical tradition in the Holy City was always adamant. In taking part in the liturgical service, the pilgrims also aspired to pray also for those dead of their confession, so that the presence at the Sepulchre of the Lord made them remember both

139 Sebastian P. Brock, “The Hidden Pearl: The Syrian Orthodox Church and Its Antient ­ ​­ (Rome, ­ Aramaic Heritage, I-III 2001),” Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 5.1 (2002), 63– 112, esp.  90: “After the East Syriac presence in Jerusalem came to an end, in the 18th century, most of the manuscripts ended up in the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate.” An important and most recent catalogue is provided by D.A. Johnson, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the Library of the Greek Patriarchate of Jerusalem (Cascade ­ Christian College, 1987), available online since 2007. For other catalogues see, K.W. Clark, Checklist of Manuscripts in the Libraries of the Greek and Armenian Patriarchates in Jerusalem microfilmed for the Library of Congress, 1949– 5 0 ( Washington, DC: Photoduplication Service, Library of Congress, 1953), viii; Sebastian Brock, “East Syriac Pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 189. A first evaluation of Syriac manuscripts in Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem has been made by J.-B. Chabot, “Notice sur les manuscrits syriaques conservés dans la Bibliothèque du Patriarcat grec orthodoxe de Jérusalem,” Journal asiatique IX.3 (1894), 92–134. Other source of information is: Rücker, “Ein alter Handschriftenkata​­ log,” ­90–96. 140 Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 190.

Syriac Pilgrimages After the Second Muslim Conquest  269 the death of the Lord and their own death or that of their relatives.141 In the same tone the pilgrims made notes and hoped that later visitors of the Holy City will remember their names in prayer as we read in a colophon of 1573, in which the scribe encourages to pray for him and his companions: “Everyone who comes here to Jerusalem should remember the people mentioned above in front of the tomb of our Lord – along with the above-mentioned feeble ʿAtaya, the scribe of this note.”142 This example reveals that pilgrims’ generations were spiritually linked in prayer through this matter of testifying their presence in the Holy City through notes. As to activities in the Syriac church or monastery in Jerusalem we found described in Kanun, it also should be said, that indubitably, the activities for the common good of the monastery became equally important for these pilgrims, and Sebastian Brock argues that these Christians coming in touch with the Holy City were involved also in the copying of manuscripts or rebinding of old ones. It might suffice at this point about these notes of later pilgrims, as well as testimonies about the church of Saint Mary of the East Syrians, which in fact lie beyond the scope of this book, covering mostly the period before the Ottoman time. For the sake of completeness, I only point out transiently, that the name of these Syriac pilgrims, identified in manuscripts by Brock,143 and which were connected with Saint Mary’s church of the East Syrians as well as with the Syriac Orthodox monastery of Mark, can in fact document and advocate the conjecture of a transversal and continued process of Syriac pilgrimages to Jerusalem, a phenomenon which drew its sap from the period of Late antiquity and its subsequent medieval roots, and extended its breath and cultivated its vigour until later Ottoman epoch.

141 As Caner, The Rich and the Pure, 203, observes, Christian prayers for deads are from well attested from antiquity, so that “commemorative liturgies for the dead had, by the fifth century, become routine.” 142 Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 194; Sam Fogg, Manuscripts of the Christian East. Slavonic, Byzantine and Greek, Armenian, Georgian, Ancient China, Syriac, Coptic, Arabic, and Ethiopic, Vol. 36 (London, 1996), 57. 143 Brock, “East Syriac pilgrims to Jerusalem,” 189–201.

Conclusion

Syriac Christianity is without doubt historically one of the most important Middle Eastern Church traditions, and its literature and manuscript productions are even so impressive as their legacy of liturgical rituals, symbolical exegesis, as well as monastic ascesis. To illustrate Syriac Christianity in the intersection with the Holy City and the Holy Land was not an easy task. The difficulty of the topic is represented by the fact that the points of intersection of this Oriental form of Christianity with the physical and metaphysical image of Jerusalem stand on moving ground. The outline points of this image are often diachronic. However, the fluidity of this trajectory becomes more accentuated in the Middle Ages when it seems that though a more standardised pilgrimage, Syriac-speaking communities encountering the Holy City and the theological traces which result from this process seem to be more stable and perpetual. Should the reader ask himself why the representations of the Holy City in Syriac literature make the impression of a fragmented dimension in terms of the relationship of Syriac Christians with Jerusalem, then we should remember that in fluctuating times, the significance of the Holy City is blurred in the inner ecclesiastical circle by the accent the Syriac Christianity developed and propagated with its urban, cultural, and sacred topography gravitated around Edessa with the legitime Abgar’s legend. This fragmented physical and imagined intersection of Syriac communities with the Holy city is expressed through the recurrent argument of church leaders (sporadically from the 6th to the 13th century: Philoxenos of Mabug, Īšōʿyahb I, the author of the Life of Rabban Hormizd, Barhebraeus, the author of the life of Rabban Sauma and Marqos, etc) attempting through a rhetoric of artificial boundaries, to vigilantly slow the trend and change the trajectory, that of Syriac quest for holiness from the sacred spaces of Palestine to the jurisdiction of their local Churches. Sometimes the ecclesiastical administration of Syriac communities resorted to this argument to ameliorate the habit, naturalised among believers, that Jerusalem is a matrix for encountering holiness; this demonstrates that the image of the Holy City acted liturgically and metaphorically as such.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003384571-21

Conclusion  271 The search for Jerusalem was an ordinary custom for an advanced Christian life and for monastic canon. The pilgrimage to the Holy City played a special role in the formation of the Syriac monk. This is sufficient to be acknowledged from hagiographic writings, and other sources even though there are no genuine reports about pilgrims, as was that ‘genre’ established especially in the West and in some Byzantine literature as well. The path to the Holy Land, in Palestine, profoundly resonated with the spiritual aims of the monks, the path leading to holiness and perfection. Neither under Persian nor Muslim domination did Syriac-speaking Christians remain segregated from the intersection with the holy places that continues to appear as prioritisation in a practiced Christian life of lay people and monks. At the time of changes and transformation in the Holy City, beginning in the early Islamic period and until the time of the Crusades and beyond that, the Syriac-speaking communities in Palestine flourished, and they concentrated nexuses of ecclesiastic power through both supporting and establishing monastic centres and anointing bishoprics, the Church of the East in the time of Timotheus I, and its sister church, the Syriac Orthodox, probably much earlier. In medieval times, Syriac institutional foundations in the Holy City are much visible, looking at St Mary Magdalene’s monastic tradition, and its ecclesiastical management held by a Metropolitan. The litigations the Syriac-speaking community had with the local authorities in the Holy Land epitomise the fluid intersection with the space in the Middle Ages, a period in which the Syriac pilgrimage became more mature and standardised, and the church authorities revitalised liturgical bridges with Jerusalem. The consecration of the Holy Myron in the Holy City and celebrations of Easter there are such liturgical practices attested in Michael Rabo’s time as Syriac Orthodox Patriarch. He visited this community and guided its fate sometimes through dialogical intentions with Latin, as religious influential factors in Jerusalem. He managed to include after the year 1169 the Syriac Orthodox heritage in the Holy City, a chapel at the Holy Sepulchre. Most probably, this effort of institutionalising the Syriac communities in Jerusalem was assisted by a sustained rhythm of pilgrimage. Notes and colophons from manuscripts, from Syriac monasteries in Jerusalem, and inscriptions at the church of the Holy Sepulchre attest this continuity of journeys at the holy places for devotion, accompanied by visits to the local community of Syriac-speaking Christians. The Syriac generic title ­ maqdšāyā (Arabic maqdisī, Armenian mahtesi) attributed to pilgrims, found in many colophons from the Ottoman period, argues for a standardised and even institutionalised phenomenon in this period. Now Syriac pilgrims also mention the holy light as a collateral goal of the pilgrim to come to Jerusalem. Even though theological authors from the Syriac Renaissance monopolised the topic of Paradise for echoing a sacred geography of their church, a little later, looking through the lenses of the pilgrimage, we might suspect that the relationship with Jerusalem was more animated and much more

272 Conclusion mature than in Late Antiquity, and the resonance of local Syriac culture has been mitigated, in its attempt to counterbalance the spiritual and liturgical authority of Jerusalem, at least at the level of Christian life applied through pilgrimage. That Jerusalem was a recurrent destination for Christians coincides also with the logic of Barhebraeus canons. These norms stem not only from his wish to theologise the practice of pilgrimage, but reflect also the social context in which journeys to Palestine represented an ordinary custom, and a theme of contradictory discourse on the contrast between Early and Heavenly Jerusalem or physical travel and imagining the eternal city within one’s monastic cell, in pursuit of spiritual perfection. The distinctiveness which sometimes the theological discourse attempted to articulate between the Earthly Jerusalem and the Heavenly one or the Paradise itself, makes clear that these Christians with a genuine theological vocation, who translated the Bible, spread Christian message as far as China, mediated transmission of Greek science and philosophy in Syriac and then into Arabic, met Islam, and promptly defended their own tradition against every other challenging religious category, longed not only for a ‘blessed city’ that they have already inherited in Edessa’s picture, but also for an imagined and paradigmatic eternal city that can coincide with their paradise lost, where they should return, or even this should return to them. The Holy City and Golgotha, where the sacrifice of Christ happened, is far from being a unidimensional subject in the Syriac Christian tradition with its rich theological heritage. Although sometimes wrapped up in paradoxical imagery, consisting fluid, non-uniform, diachronic, heterogenous, or fragmented perspectives, Jerusalemite holiness is inherited in Syriac Christian culture mostly through the experience of habitual pilgrims and their participation to its sacred dimension, and in their imagination in articulating: “For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come” (Hebrews 13:14). All these makes the fluid representations of the Holy City in Syriac Jerusalem, and maintained the tension between the local and the universal, a tension that emerges only in the vicinity of holiness, and proposes the concept of Syriac Jerusalem as requisite part and parcel of that Holy City shared by all Christians, where their Salvation began and the focal point from which the Sacred flows.

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Literature  281 Baghos, Mario, From the Ancient Near East to Christian Byzantium: Kings, Symbols, and Cities (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2021). Baramki D.C., Stephan St. N., “A Nestorian Hermitage between Jericho and Jordan,” QDAP 4 (1935), ­ ­81–86. ​­ Barsoum, A., Maktbonuto d ʿal atro ­d-ṭur ​­ ʿabdin (Beirut, 1964). Barsoum, Ignatius Aphram I, The Scattered Pearls. A History of Syriac Literature and Sciences (trans. and edited by Matti Moosa, with a foreword by Cyril Aphrem Karim, second revised edition; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2003). Baum, Wilhelm, Schirin: Christin-Königin-Liebesmythos. ­ ­​­­ ​­ Eine spätantike Frauengestalt: historische Realität und literarische Wirkung (Klagenfurt  & Wien: Kitab Verlag, 2003). Baumstark, A., On the Historical Development of the Liturgy, Introduction, Translation, and Annotation by Fritz West (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2011). Baumstark, A., Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, mit Ausschluss der christlichpalästinensischen Texte (Bonn: A. Marcus und E. Weber, 1922). Baumstark, A., “Quadragesima und Karwoche Jerusalems im 7. Jahrhundert (in collab. with Th. Kluge),” Oriens Christianus, n.s., 5 (1915), ­ ­201–233, ​­ 359–363; ­ ​­ 6 (1916), ­ 223–239. ­ ​­ Baumstark, A., “Die literarische Hss. des jakobitischen Markusklosters in Jerusa103–115. lem,” Oriens Christianus 10 (1912), ­ ­ ​­ Baumstark, A., Festbreviar und Kirhenjahr der syrischen Jakobiten (Paderborn: F. Schöningh, 1910). Becker, A.H., Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom. The School of Nisibis and ­ the Development of Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006). Berti, V., Vita e studi di Timoteo I patriarca cristiano di Baghdad (Studia Iranica 3. Cahier 41; Paris: Association pur l’Avancement des Études Iraniennes, 2009). Bevan, George A., The New Judas: The Case of Nestorius in Ecclesiastical Politics, CE (Late antique history and religion, 13, Leuven/ Paris / Bristol, CT: ­428–451 ​­ Peeters, 2016). Bitton-Ashkelony, Brouria, “From Sacred Travel to Monastic Career: The Evidence of Late Antique Syriac Hagiography,” Adamantius 16 (2010), ­ 353–370. ­ ​­ Bitton-Askhelony, ­ ​­ Brouria, Encountering the Sacred: The Debate on Christian Pilgrimage in Late Antiquity (The Transformation of the Classical 38; Berkeley / Los Angeles / London: University of California Press, 2005). Bitton-Ashkelony, Brouria, “Imitatio Mosis and Pilgrimage in the Life of Peter the Iberian,” in Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony, and Aryeh Kofsky (eds.), Christian Gaza in Late Antiquity (Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture 3. Leiden / Boston, MA: Brill, 2004), 107–129. ­ ​­ Blomme, Y., “La liturgie de Jérusalem et son influence sur les églises nestorienne et syrienne,” Liber Annuus 29 (1979), ­ ­221–237. ​­ Boas, Adrian J., Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades: Society, Landscape and Art in the Holy City under Frankish Rule (London: Routledge, 2001). Bockmuehl, Markus, and Stroumsa, Guy G. (eds.), Paradise in Antiquity: Jewish and Christian Views (Canbridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). Borbone, Pier Giorgio, “Some Aspects of Turco-Mongol Christianity in the Light of Literary and Epigraphic Syriac Sources,” Journal of Assyrian Academic Studies 19.2 (2005), ­ ­5–20. ​­

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300 Literature Weltecke, Dorothea, “The Syriac Orthodox in the Principality of Antioch during the Crusader Period,” in Krijna Nelly Ciggaar (ed.) The Syriac Orthodox in the Principality of Antioch During the Crusader Period (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 147; Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 95–124. Wensinck, A.J., “The Pre-Islamic Hadjdj,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam. New Edition, III (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971), 31–33. Westphal, Gustav, Untersuchungen über die Quellen und die Glaubwürdigkeit der Patriarchenchroniken des Mārī ibn Sulaimān, ‘Amr ibn Matai und Salība ibn Joḥannān (Straßburg; Kirchhain (N.-L.): Druck von M. Schmersow vorm. Zahn & Baendel, 1901). Wilkinson, John, Jerusalem Pilgrims before the Crusaders ( Warminster: Aris  & Phillips, 2002). Wilkinson, John (tr.), Egeria’s Travels to the Holy Land: Newly Translated (from the Latin) with Supporting Documents and Notes (Revised edition) (Jerusalem: Ariel Publishing House, 1981). Wilkinson, John, “Christian Pilgrims in Jerusalem during the Byzantine Period,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 108 (1976), ­ ­75–101. ​­ Witakowski, Witold, “The Magi in Syriac tradition,” in George A. Kiraz ­ Malphono w-Rabo d-Malphone: Studies in Honor of Sebastian P. Brock (ed.), (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2008), 809– 843. Wood, Philip, The Chronicle of Seert. Christian Historical Imagination in Late Antique Iraq (Oxford Early Christian Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). Wright, William, A Short History of Syriac Literature (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1894 / Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2001). Wright, William, Catalogue of Syriac manuscripts in the British Museum (London: ­ Longmans & Co., 1870–1872). ­ ​­ Zotenberg, Hermann, Catalogues des manuscrits syriaques et sabéens (mandaïtes) de la Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1874).

Index

Note: Page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. Abba Abramios (monk in Mar Sabas monastery) 148 Abbā Jacob (from Kafr Zamre) 74 Abba Patrikios (monk in in Mar Sabas monastery) 148 Abbot 64, 83, 197n50, 217–218 ʿAbdishoʿ bishop of Atel 266 ʿAbdishoʿ’s Order of Ecclesiastical Judgements 152–153 Abgar’s legend 3, 270 abile (mourners) 241n49 Abraham (prophet) 175; Daughter of 164 Abraham of Harran 15n11 Abraham of Kashkar 32, 50n38, 86, 89, 90, 116 Abraham Sanouta 90 Abu Bakr 130n7 Abu Zayd Yahya b. ‘Adi 264n126 Abūnā Mattā al-Maskīn 79n9, 234 Acacius of Aleppo 42 Adam 120, 175, 177, 179, “image of ” 256n99 Adasiyya 222–223 Addai (apostle) 2, 43; Doctrine of 111 Addai of Beth Sbirino 261, 264 Adiabene 16; governor of 115; Metropolitan of 136, 139 Aelia 16n12 ‘Aelia Eudocia’ 52n2 Agapius of Mabug 131 Aiboga (local Mongol king) 253 Aila (Elat) 31 Aimery of Limoges (Latin Patriarch of Antioch) 209 Akakios of Berea 15 ʿAkko 194 aksenoyo 53

aksenoyutho 52–57, 64–65, 73 al-Aqsa 201n67 al-Ashmunayn 173n49 Aleppo 195, 206, 229n4, 239 Alexandria 80, 81n18, 83, 120; patriarch of 173n48, 219n76, 221 Alexios Komnenos 206 alms 258; almsgiving 68–69, 139n20, 245n63 al-Quds 155 altar 20, 101, 102n42, 103–104, 156, 179–180, 200, 241; anointing 99; of the Holy 28; of sacrifices 28; symbolism of 102 Amaury, Amalric of Nestle (Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem) 209 Ambassador 112–113 Amid (Diarbekir) 53, 59; bishop of 49; metropolitan of 159, 208 Ananias and Sapphira 66 anaphora 93, 94 Anaphora of St. James 93, 94 Anastasis 198n54 Anastasius I (Byzantine emperor) 104 anathema 83n28 Anatolia 245n63 anchorite 13; anchorites 89; Coptic 79n9; existence 31; hermitage 46 Annals of Eutychius of Alexandria 121, 131 annual almsgiving 139n20 annual pilgrimage 59n27, 60 ‘anointed’ 25n61 anonymous 10n3, 18, 183, 231, 231n11, 233, 235, 251, 260n114 anonymous Syriac Chronicle of 1234 114, 129, 132, 183, 186–187, 193–198, 200, 214; anonymous author 233,

302 Index 247–248; anonymous Breviary 10n3; anonymous Fathers 231n11; anonymous route 18; anonymous source 101, 231; anonymous Syriac commentary 102 Ansāb al-Ashrāf (Genealogy of the Nobles) 130n7 Antioch 101, 208; district of 204; patriarch of 49, 159n10, 160, 223n94; port of 40 Antonius 81 Apocalypse 143 apostles Addai and Mari 2 apostolic church 104; identity 3; power 220 Aqāq 123 Arab world 3 Arabia 36n17; sons of 185–186 Arabian Gulf 130n17; Peninsula 147 Arabic 34, 121, 127, 129, 131, 133, 147, 153, 173, 174, 191, 266, 271, 271 Arbela 137, 184 archetype 100, 101, 103 archimandrite 197, 208, 220 Armenia 38n29; Armenians 96, 195–196, 211, 216–217 Armenian bishop 224; Catholicos Patriarch 217; Church 84, 96, 98 Arsenius (monk) 81 Arzoun 112 Ascalon 61 ascension, place of 44; to heaven 105; of our Lord 265; of spiritual progress 60 ascesis 3; models of 20; monastic 270 asceticism 10, 19, 24, 38, 53, 58–60, 89, 110, 199, 230, 232, 248–249, 251, 253 Asia 33n1, 149 Asorestan 120 Astorkios 63 Athanasios Gamolo 157 Athanasius VII (Syriac Orthodox Patriarch) 222 Athanasius Slibo (brother of Michael the Syrian) 115 axis mundi 75n45, 104n51 Aziz, P. 156n31 Babylon 151, 166, 175 Baghdad 257; patriarch of 153, 259 Bairut 194 Bait al-maqdis 262 al-Balādhurī 130n7 Balai 70, 165, 222

Bar Hebraeus’ Chronography 132 Barhebraeus, Gregory 7, 34, 43, 57, 67, 75, 162n2, 192–193, 196–199, 209, 212, 221, 228, 232–252 Barquita 111 Bār-Qūšre 90 Barsauma (East Syriac bishop) 136; synod of 116 Barsauma (monk) 33–41, 47 Baruch (Jeremiah’s scribe) 151 Basilica of Zion 98 Basilius III 226 Basilius metropolitan of Amid 159 “Basra-Mecca route” 245n63 Bayt Arif 222–223 Bedouin shepherd 150 Beersheba 148 Beijing 7, 228, 247, 249, 250, 258, 260 believers 1, 43, 48, 68, 69, 71, 72, 116, 117, 140, 154, 199, 227, 235, 236, 270 bema 101, 102, 104n49; bemah 102n42, 103 Benjamin of Nehardea 45 Bernhards von Breidenbach 156 Beroea 70 Beth Begash 61 Beth Garmai 110, 257 Bēth Onesimos 89 Bēth Qatraye 146–147 Beth Zabdai 258 Bethany 194n36 Bethlehem 23, 156, 193, 194n36 betrayer 192 “biblical realism” 244n59 blessed 3, 22, 38, 42, 43, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 53, 59, 60, 63, 79, 116, 128, 168, 174, 235, 236, 256, 257, 272; “Blessed City” 3, 168 blessing 37, 39, 89, 90, 98, 169, 235, 249, 257, 258, 264 blood 28, 44, 102, 115, 138, 171, 172, 216 Bohemond 210n38 Boktīšōʿ (metropolitan) 110 bones 22, 112, 152, 180 Book of Ethics, kthobo d-ethiqun 228 Book of Governors, Historia Monastica 79, 81 Book of Steps, kthobo d-masqotho, Liber Graduum 177, 178 “Book of the Concordance of Faith” 155 bread 19, 102, 103, 170, 225 breviary 10n3, 96, 109n11 Brothers of the Knights Templar 193

Index  303 Burchardus of Mount Sion 156 Buʿya Bar Shahrzuraye 146 Byzantine Empire 2, 110, 111; Byzantium 122, 143; church 106, 121; cult 104; emperor 104, 112–114, 116, 124; heritage 7; literature 4, 59, 69n20, 81n18, 92n64, 271; Orthodoxy 63n1; Patriarch 129, 130; world 75 Caesarea 194, 239 Cairo, Fustat (modern Cairo) 83, 173n48 Caliph 127, 128, 130, 131; Hārūn al-Rashīd 204; ʿŪmār 129; Uthman ibn Affan n. 10n7 Caliphate 128 canons 7, 11, 43, 57, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 73, 87, 89, 90, 91, 101, 153, 171, 207, 236, 237, 241, 244, 245, 246, 250, 251, 252, 254, 258, 261, 262, 272 captivity 120, 199 caravan 61, 250, 264 Carrhae (Harran) 38 cartography 29 Catalog of ʿAbdishoʿ 152 Catholicos 57, 72, 97, 112, 109, 111, 113, 135, 137, 139, 141, 143, 149, 154–155, 216, 256–260 “the Catholicos of the Romans” 216 The Cause of the ‘Holy God’ 104 cave 26, 28, 44, 50, 55, 86, 89, 90, 105, 150, 166, 234, 242–243, 248 celestial Jerusalem 75 cell 16, 46, 64, 231–233, 238, 248 ceremony 117; of the Holy Fire 264n126 Chalcedonian Patriarch Elias 158 ‘Chaldeans’ 245n67 chapel at the Holy Sepulchre 7, 209, 271; building a chapel 20; “Syrian Chapel” at the Holy Sepulchre 119 children of Hagar 199 China 2, 69, 228, 247, 255, 260 Chinese Jews of Kaifeng 247n67 Chorbishop Mīnā 144 Chosrau II 111–114, 117–120 Christendom 1, 263 Christology 2, 44, 170 Chronicle of Edessa 13; of Khuzistan 114, 116–118, 122, 136; of Seert 110–113, 115n41, 122–123, 132 church dedication 85n35; feast of 99, 100 Church of Mary Magdalene 208, 224–225

Church of Our Lady of Syrians (in Nicosia, Cyprus) 256 Church of St. James, Apostle and Martyr 156 Church of St. John the Baptist 156 Church of the Assumption of the Holy Virgin 156 Church of the East 2, 113, 118, 138, 142, 268, 271 church of the First-Born 27, 94n6 Church of the Holy Sepulchre 44n9, 99, 101, 198n54, 264, 271, 267; Church of the Resurrection 118–119, 198–199, 241 Church of the Nativity 156 the church of the Samaritan woman 67, 71, 41n52 Church of the Transfiguration of Christ on Tabor 156 Cilicia 208 circle of sanctity 70 circulation of Greek philosophy 3 “the circumcised” 25, 26 ‘city of our Lord’ 178n62 clerics 1, 92, 226, 233, 267 coenobium 46, 146 colophons 159, 225, 226, 228, 262, 265–267, 271 confessional identity 2, 174, 264 confessions 1, 2, 4, 7, 162, 211–212 consecration of the Holy Chrism 7; of metropolitan sees 149; of Myron 99 Constans II (Romans Emperor) 120 Constantin (Roman emperor) 17, 106, 116, 118–119 Constantinople 2, 112, 136, 160 contemplation 233, 234n16 convent 46, 48, 87–88, 148, 197, 209, 213, 226, 255, 258 convent of Saint Michael of Tarel 258 Convent of Saint Simon the Pharisee and Saint Mary Magdalene 224 the convent of Samarouna 87 convent of St. Anthony 156 convent of the 12 Apostles 156 Copts 261 copying of manuscripts 224, 269 correspondence 2, 65, 113, 135, 154, 168, 217, 263 Cosma (deacon) 142 Council of Chalcedon 34 covenant 26, 105, 170, 235 “crucifiers” 25, 27

304 Index crucifixion 105 crusade 37, 183, 196; Crusaders 158, 160, 164, 198, 201, 204, 210–213, 221–223, 225–226 Cyprian of Bēth Magūshā 79 Cyprus 95, 192, 219 Cyra 15n12, 19n29 Cyriacus (Metropolitan of Nisibis) 136–137, 145 Cyril of Alexandria 44, 144 Cyrillus 158 Dadišōʿ 148 daily prayers 104 Damascus 145, 155, 156n31, 187, 214, 216, 239; kings of 185; metropolitan of 149, 151–154 “Damascus-Aqaba road” 245 Daniel (prophet) 15, 16n12 Daniel Bar Huzaye 146 Daniel the Stylite 75n45 daughter of the Arameans 167–168, 172 daughter of the Hebrews 165, 167–168, 170 David’s miḥrāb 130 Dayr Dakarrya 224–225 deacons 103, 154 Dead Sea Scrolls 149, 152 Dedication of the Great Church 100; of the Holy Cross 109 “Demonstration of the Correctness of the Faith” 173 desert 18, 20, 24–25, 30, 36, 54, 90, 242, 250–251, 255; Bēth Gaza 90; of Egypt 61; Egyptian 78, 84, 148, 234; Judean 147; of Osrhoene 13; Palestinian 19; of Scetis 49, 74, 80–81, 85–86, 89; of Sinai 17; of Sodom 31 destination 9, 16, 17, 18, 36, 75, 78, 79, 80–82, 88, 90, 230n6, 250, 252–254, 257, 260–262, 272 devotion 11, 20, 31, 41, 49, 50, 78, 80, 88, 89, 115, 122, 124, 148, 241, 249, 257–258, 268, 271 dhikr (meditative prayer in remembrance of Allah) dialogue 7, 110, 124, 129, 130–131, 149, 209, 211, 227, 248, 256 dinars 116, 195–196, 198, 220, 222, 225, 261n117 Dionysius Bar Salibi 208 Diplomacy 129, 222 disciples 21n37, 32, 35–37, 40, 45, 85–86, 88, 116, 235

discovery of the Cross 44, 107 Doctrine of Addai 111 Dome of the Rock 198n51, 201 donations 66–69, 99, 141, 159, 254, 265–266 donors 67–68 Dvin 120 Earthly and Heavenly Jerusalem 2, 7, 177, 288, 233–234 Earthquake 109 East Syriac canons 65; liturgy 94n5, 109n11; Patriarchs 123 Easter 88, 89, 94 Eastern Mediterranean coastline 239 ecstasy 55–56 Edessa 2, 3, 13, 14, 21–22, 24, 42, 44–45, 66n13, 96n14, 95, 97, 101, 107, 133, 139, 140, 145, 161, 162n2, 163, 164, 166–170, 173, 180, 197, 204, 208, 211, 215n61, 216, 218, 223–225, 239–240, 263, 267, 270, 272 Egeria 10n3, 20, 26, 43n9, 94, 98, 239, 242 Egypt 17n17, 23, 48n29, 49, 75, 78–79, 82–84, 89, 140, 158, 176, 192, 196, 219, 222, 233 Egyptian monks 49, 54, 148 the Egyptian route 245n63 election 74, 110–111, 152–154, 208, 215, 218, 248, 259, 260 Elevation of the Cross 124 Elias (Chalcedonian Patriarch) 158 Elias (Syriac Orthodox bishop of Jerusalem) Elias al-Jawhari (East Syriac Bishop of Jerusalem) 155 Elias ibn ʿUbayd 154–155 Elias of Nisibis 127–129, 161, 173–175, 177–180 Elijah (East Syriac Bishop) 123 Elijah (prophet) 14, 16, 31, 80, 82, 123 Elisha 243 embassy 123 Emesa 46, 47, 85, 130n7; Homs 46, 206n15 Emperor Julian 18 Emperor Kublai Khan 255 Empress Eudocia 39–40 Empress Helena 47n26, 106–107, 119 ʿEnānīšōʿ (the collector of Paradisum Patrum) 78–81, 87, 140, 233 ʿEnānīšōʿ (Metropolitan of Jerusalem) 155

Index  305 ʿEnānīšōʿ Hadhayabhaya 74 Encaenia 99n33 end of times 142–143 energies 144 Ephrem the Syrian 2, 26, 99, 161n1, 162, 178, 194n36 epiphany 39, 96 Ērānšahr 118 Estrangelo 223n90 “the eternal trade” 237 Ethicon 207, 228–229, 251, 262 Eucharist 27 Euphemia 60 Euphrates 95 Eusebius of Edessa 42 Eustace, Count of Boulogne 210n38 Eustatios (Syriac Orthodox bishop of Jerusalem) 158n9 Eustochium 3, 243 Euthymius (monk and pilgrim) 35n12 Eutropia 52n2 Evagrius 81 Eve of Palm Sunday 94 exile 53, 57n21, 120, 140; self-exile 55; voluntary exile 54 “exoticism” 244n59 An Exposition of the Mysteries 103 “eye of faith,” oculis fidei 243 Fabiola 52n2 faith 39, 41, 44, 64, 91, 144, 166, 170, 173, 212; orthodox 144, 188n22 famine 137, 242 Farrukhan 114n33 fast 15n12, 171n40; fasting 53, 229, 245, 251; fasting practices 19, 31 “father of the bride” 168 feast of Abgar of Edessa 167n25 Feast of the Dedication of the Church 99 Feast of the Resurrection 207, 238 feasts 22, 96–98, 284 firmament 102 firman 196 fitna (civil war) 130n7 five prayers on day 245n63 Flavia 52n2 food 16n12, 19, 31–32, 34, 39, 71, 171, 250; heavenly food 31 forefathers 105, 232 forgiveness of sins 20, 69 forty days 16 four corners of the earth 179 “Frankish monks” (Dominicans) 212

Franks 184, 188, 186–187, 189, 192, 195, 197, 204, 211–212, 226 frescoes 83 Gabala 187 Gabriel 151 Gabriel of Karka de Beth Slouq 136n9 Gabriel of Qartramin 64 Gabriel of Shingar 114n33 Gabriel Qatraya 102 Galilee 159, 243 garden 103, 114–115 garment 44, 129, 241–242 Garshuni 265 gate of Josaphat (Gate of the Lions) 205n11 Gazarta 258 Gengis Khan 247n67 Gentile Church 166 Geoffrey Plantagenet 222 geography 15, 63, 144, 180, 249, 271 George of Beth Sbirino (bishop of Qartamin Abbey) 261n117 George of the Arabs 162n2 gestures 38n31, 58 Gethsemane 128, 263 Al-Ghazali 244–245 Gibeon 146 Gīwargīs I 78–79, 87, 144, 172 Gīwargīs of Arbela 103–104 Gīwargīs Warda 7–8, 162n2, 184–186, 188–193, 199–200 global church 2, 260 Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine 210n38 Gogtapa (village) 267 Good Friday 43n9 Gospel lectionary 224 Gospels 1, 100 governor 115, 128, 188–189, 222, 253 grace 88, 220, 259 grave 21, 194n36; of John the Baptist 85 “great church of Koke” 257 Great Mosque 195 Great Week of the Passion 238 Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem 268 Greek philosophy 3 Gregory of Nazianzus 95 Gregory of Nyssa 179, 232n14 Gubbās 229n4 Guryā 22 Habīb 22 Hadrian (Roman emperor) 119

306 Index hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca) 242n49, 244, 245n63; Hajj route 36n18 haleluya 200 Hannan (archivist) 240 Haram aš-šarīf 131n10 Harkleian gospel lectionary 266 Ḥaurān 184 head of John the Baptist 46, 85; of the believers 117n46; of the prophets 50 heart 27, 37, 45, 62n38, 70, 79, 86, 152, 165, 170, 192, 238, 250, 259 heaven 30, 104, 178n62, 233n16, 94n6 Hebrew 149–151, 169 Henana of Adiabene 108 Heraclius 119, 123–124, 130n8, 136n9 heretics 33, 188 hermit 10n3, 21n39, 53; hermitage 46, 88n49, 146–148 Herodes 188 hesychia 17 Hexapla 150 Hieronymus 3; Jerome 243 Hierosolymite Church 96 Hiğra 127, 132 Hira 138–139 History of the abbots of Bēth ʿAbhē 61 History of the Persians and Arabs at the Time of the Sasanids 114 holiness 1, 7, 11, 14, 18–19, 38, 56–57, 74, 81n18, 85, 100, 121, 142, 233–234, 236, 243, 249, 251, 253, 255, 257–258, 264, 270–272 Holy Cross 108–109, 119, 116, 121–123 holy fathers 74, 174, 175 Holy Light 262–264, 271; Holy Fire 264n26 the holy Marcian the Recluse 42 ‘holy road’ 104 Holy Sepulcher 6, 198, 204, 268 holy sites 11, 24, 46, 50, 57, 60, 68, 71, 76, 79, 81, 82, 86, 87, 90, 208, 244n59 Holy Virgin Monastery 84 Holy Week 7, 164 Holy Wood 6, 11, 110, 117 Homilies against the Jews 166 house of Mary (mother of John Mark) 265 Hudra 109 hussaye 268 hymnbook 95 Hymns of Severus Antiochenus 95n14 Ibn al-Muqaffa 173 idols 72, 169

Ignatius 197 Ignatius bishop of Kephar Tab 159 Ignatius Hesnun 159 Ignatius II 212 Ignatius III Gadina 225 Ignatius Niʿmat Aloho 267n136 ihram (consecration) 241n49 imperial decree 40 India 2, 112, 138, 247n67 inscriptions 8, 83, 147–148, 228, 263–265, 267, 271 intercessions (dyptychs) intercessions94 inventio crucis 43n9 Iohannan Bar Parsaye 146 Iran 117, 121n64 Iraqi route 245n63 Isaac (bishop of Arzun) 137 Isaac of Antioch 26 Isaac of Edessa 162n2 Isaac of Niniveh 79n9, 266 Isaac the Syrian 2, 78, 82, 146–147, 222 Isaiah of Basibrina (priest) 267n136 Islam 2, 140–141, 170n36, 180, 190–191, 245, 272 Islamic Conquest 6, 128, 133, 139, 169, 183 Īšōʿdad Bar Qatraye 146 Īšōʿdenāḥ of Basra 20 Īšōʿšabrān 90 Īšōʿyahb I 10, 30, 43, 63, 65, 69, 73, 94n5, 100, 104–105, 138, 231, 270 Īšōʿyahb II 123 Īšōʿyahb III 6, 90, 108–110, 136–137, 139–145, 147, 154, 188 Jacob (patriarch and prophet) 22–23 Jacob of Dirin 65, 67, 138, 231 Jacob of Edessa 95, 96n14, 162n2 Jacob of Serugh 7, 14n5, 25n61, 26, 66n12, 108, 161–164, 166, 173–174, 180, 222 Jacques de Vitry 156 Java 247n67 Jeremiah (prophet) 151, 202, 247 Jeremias (bishop) 158 Jericho 146–150, 152, 193 Jesse 193 Jewish convert 150 Jewish feast of Hannuka 101 “Jewish Quarter” 204 Jewish Temple 54 Jews 25, 26n65, 27, 40, 71n28, 72, 118–119, 127, 130n8, 131, 133, 134, 150, 165–166, 171–172, 188, 204, 247

Index  307 Jōhannān bar Maʿdanī (Maphrian) 221n82 John of Dalyatha 231–233; Yoḥannān of Dailam 47, 75, 90 John of Dara 179 John of Ephesus 35, 52–53, 55, 59–61 John II of Jerusalem 99 John of Jerusalem 158 John of Mardin 101n39 Joppa 194 Jordan Valley 31, 147, 148n58 Joseph (a priest at the church in Emesa) 47 Joseph of Arimathea 119 Joseph, son of Jacob 116 Judah (son of Jacob) 23 Judas Iscariot 188–190, 192 Judas Kyriakos 106n3, 108 Julian Saba 10, 13, 15n11, 16, 18, 21, 27–29, 32n90, 35, 55 Justinian 119n55, 123 Kaʿb al-Ahḅār (a Jew) 130 Kadesh-Barnea 36 Kanun (priest) 268–269 Karka d-Bēth Garmai 115 Karka d-Beth Slouq 115 Kerak of Trans-Jourdain 204 Khorasan 255 Khotan 255 Kidron Valley 147 King Baldwin I of Jerusalem 204, 222, 224, 225 King Guy 187, 192–193 King Oqu 255 Konboga (local Mongol king) 253 Koshang 252 Kutha 175 Laodicea 39, 208 Lāqabbīn 229n4 Lashom 110, 111n20 Latin pilgrim 243 Latins 196n43, 210–213, 218, 227 Lent 98, 109; 40 days of Lent 218 Leonhard Rauwolf 156 Letter 108 (To Eustochium) 3 Letter no. 47 149–150 letter to Astorkios 63 Levi (son of Jacob) 23 Liber Chastitatis 11, 47, 84; Book of Chastity 20, 84, 85 Life of Alexander Akoimetos 45 Life of Antony 24

Life of Daniel the Stylite 75 Life of Symeon Palaios 15 liturgy 93, 109; Liturgy of the Hours 147n53; Liturgy of the Word 147n53 Lord’s Prayer 263 Macarios (Syriac Orthodox bishop of Jerusalem) 158n9 Macarius 79n9, 81 Macarius Nabruwah 205 Madrasha on the Dedication of the Newly Built Church in the City of Qenneshrin 166 Maʿlia 193 Manichees 21 Maphrian 221, 229, 234 Mar Abrāhām of Nethpār 89 Mar Athanasius (pilgrim from Urmi) 267 Mar Awgen 45–46, 258 Mar Babai the Great 108, 114n33 Mar Bāwai of Izla 116 Mar Constantinus of Marʿaš 160 Mar Emmeh 110 Mar Gabriel of Kashkar 90 Mar Gạni 90 Mar George Marwazaya 89 Mar Hananya (ʿDeir Zaʿfaran) 101 Mar Īšōʿšabrān 90 Mar Jacob of Symnada 160 Mar Jacob, founder of the monastery of Bēth ʿAbhē 88 Mar Job 90 Mar Joseph of Merv 87, 146 Mar Mattai Monastery 73, 229n4 Mar Nestorius (East Syriac Metropolitan) 249 Mar Sergius of Apamea 160 Mar Simon 220, 224, 225n101 Mar Yoḥannān (the founder of Qanqal Monastery) 47, 85 Mar Yōnān (disciple of Mār Awgen) 84–85 Maragha 256 Marana 15n12, 19n29 Mardin 217, 258; emir of 264 Maronite Anonymous Syriac Chronicle 129 Maronite church in Damascus 156n31 Marqos (monk) 7, 69, 228, 246–252, 254–256, 258–260, 270, 285 Marthana 52n2 martyrion 115n40 martyrs 22, 35, 115, 249 Marutha 112–113

308 Index Mary 5n4, 57n20, 108n9, 198n50 Mary of Egypt 53n2 Mary Magdalene monastery 159, 203–205, 207–209, 217, 219–221, 225–226, 238, 265, 271 Maryam, the daughter of Maurice 121–122 master 19, 31, 34–35, 84–88, 90–91, 111, 117, 129, 192, 199, 231, 233, 249, 257 matins 104 Matutin 99n29 Maurice 111–116, 122, 157 mausoleum of David 243 the Maymuniyya 220 Mecca 128, 131n10, 229, 241n49, 244–245; pilgrimage 229, 244–245 medieval period 7, 101, 160, 169n31, 203, 240, 246, 261, 263, 265, 267 meditation 1, 3, 20, 31, 57, 65, 89, 232n11, 233–234, 242–245, 246 Mediterranean coast 239 Melania 39, 58n24, 243 Melania the Younger 52n2, 81n18 Melchior von Seydlitz 156, Melchizedek 141, 144 Melkite 173–176, 180, 223n90 merchants 21, 250 Mesopotamia 2–3, 8, 11, 13n3, 21–24, 28, 46, 53, 65, 67, 83–84, 97, 101n42, 108n9, 109n11, 133, 138–141, 143, 145, 159, 173, 178n63, 183, 238–239, 257, 260n114, 266 Messalians 65–66 Messengers 123, 137–138, 142, 169, 218n76 Messiah 166, 171 metropolitan 64, 110, 123, 135–137, 147, 149, 151, 153, 155–156, 158–160, 173, 207n16, 206, 208, 216, 220, 222–226, 259, 271 Metropolitan of Adiabene 136, 136n9, 139 Metropolitan of Damascus 149, 151, 151n7, 153–154 Metropolitan of Damascus, Jerusalem and the Sea-Coast 154 Metropolitan of Tripoli and Jerusalem 156, 260 Metropolitan of Turkestan 152–154 Metropolitan Šubhalmāran of Damascus 151 “Metropolitans of the Exterior” 152 Miaphysite 56, 188, 189n22, 219 Miaphysitism 2, 137n11, 189n22

Michael Rabo 7, 84n28, 98–99, 157–160, 164, 183, 196–198, 203, 205–211, 213–221, 224, 227, 271 micro-Jerusalem 180 Middle Ages i, 3, 54n9, 206, 217, 227–228, 231, 246, 265, 270–271 Middle East 24, 228, 270; communities 2 Mikha of Nuhadra 45n18 miles 74, 61 Miles (Bishop of Senna) 113, 123 Mīnā (Chorbishop) 144 mind 22, 25, 27–28, 37, 38n47, 58, 64, 70, 78–79, 87, 89, 112, 134, 142, 169n31, 174, 231–234, 236, 238, 242, 256, 258–259 miracles 18, 47, 38, 81n18, 170, 170n36, 31, 41, 48–49, 144 miraculous travel 8, 49n36, 89 mission 2, 24, 36, 87, 149, 169, 235, 260 missionary work 112 Modestus (Chalcedonian Patriarch of Jerusalem) 123 monasteries 2, 7, 32n90, 50, 53, 61, 65–66, 68–69, 72, 78, 80, 84, 87, 90, 111, 116, 148, 159, 199–200, 208, 225, 226n106, 231, 235, 254, 257–258, 271 the monastery of Bar ʿIdta 74; Beth Hale 74; Photinus 41; Qartamin (Mor Gabriel, in Tur ʿAbdin) 63; Qenneshrin 48n30; Severus in Qenneshrin 47n29; Ephraim 88 Monastery of Dayr al-Suryān 83 monastery of Mary, Mother of God 261 Monastery of Saint Mari the Apostle, church of Saint Mari 257 Monastery of Saint Mark 226, 265, 268–269 Monastery of Saint Mary Magdalene 159, 197n50, 203–209, 217, 219–221, 224–226, 238, 265, 271 Monastery of Saint Thomas 226 Monastery of the Cross (Dair El, Ṭūr ʿAḇdīn) 116, 262 monastery of Thomas of Qenneshrin 95 monastic customs 8; groups 7; habit 252; Jerusalem 75; legacy 30; pilgrimages 4; region 15 monastic settlements 24, 21n39 monasticism 13n3, 14–15, 22–23, 46, 47n29, 64–65, 76, 86–87, 252; Egyptian monasticism 75, 81–82; Syriac monasticism 25, 29, 45, 63n1, 73 Mongolian power 259

Index  309 monk Alexander 45 monks 1, 3, 7, 11, 13–15, 17–21, 24, 30–31, 34–35, 30–42, 45, 47, 49–50, 52–54, 62, 64–65, 66, 68–69, 71, 73–74, 76–79, 81–82, 84, 87, 89–92, 146–148, 158–159, 197–198, 208, 212, 219–221, 226, 228–231, 233–236, 238, 241, 245–247, 249–260, 264, 271 Monothelitism 143 Mor Gabriel (bishop of Dara) 63–64 Moses Bar Kepha 100, 101n38 Moses, prophet 14, 15n12, 16, 20, 24–27, 28–31, 45, 49, 50n39, 80n16, 82, 100, 256n99 Moshe (priest in Nisibis) 83, 137n11 Mosque 127, 131, 132, 195, 201n67; masğed 131; masğid 132 Mosul 73–74, 98, 103n48, 173, 217, 229n4, 258 mother of all Churches 27, 94 ‘Mother of God’ (theotokos) 176, 243 mother of the saints 75 Mount Gerizim 71n28 Mount Horeb 74 Mount of Olives 80, 132, 146, 189, 234, 243, 263 Mount Zion 27, 41, 94; Mount Sinai 9n1, 13, 18, 20, 24–26, 27–29, 30–31, 36, 49, 50n39, 59, 74, 78, 80, 86, 88 the mountain of Izla, the Īzlā monastery 86, 87 Mountain of Moses–Gebel Musa 20 Muʿāwiya 128–19 Mushe (Moses) of Nisibis 83–84 Muslim 7, 73, 127–129, 131–136, 140, 148, 158, 161, 172, 174, 184–186, 188–189, 191–192, 194–197, 198–200, 203–204, 213, 215, 219–222, 226, 229, 244–245, 266–267, 271, 287 Muslim world 3 mysteries 26, 44, 103, 105 mystics 2 myths 132 Nablas 194 Nablus-road 222n86 Narsai 2, 88, 102–103, 162–163 Narsai (abbot of Abrāhām’s monastery) Nasrath 194 nations 142, 144, 165n17, 169, 202 Nativity, feast 96, 156 nave 103–104, 101n42 Nazareth 194, 243

Nerses (Catholicos Patriarch of Armenia) 120 Nestorius 44, 176, 188 “New Israel” 93 “the new Jews” 172, 134 “new Judas” 188 New Testaments 17 Niccolo da Poggibonsi 156 Nineveh 74, 90, 137n11, 147, 266 Nisibis 3, 46, 83, 85, 97, 123, 136–137, 138–141, 145, 179n64, 239, 257 Noah (prophet) 175, 201 Nonnus of Nisibis 134n23 normative 3, 244 North Africa 245n63 nourishment 16n12 nuns 52, 61–62, 200 Obadiah 243 Occident 176 Octoechos (the Octoechos of Antioch) 95–96 Officium 96 old Armenian lectionary 96, 98 old Israel 25 Old Testament 14, 17, 22–23, 26, 31, 80, 150–152, 241 oratories 147n53 Orient, Orientals, Orientale 49, 65–68, 93, 133, 162–163, 174–176, 202, 213, 270 Osrhoene 13–14, 16, 24, 32n90, 167n25 Ottoman period 4, 262n119, 265–268; time 269; epoch 269 Outremer (Crusader States) 210 Pachomius 81, 90 Pagan 36–37, 171, 173, 176, 211; pagan temples, paganism 42, 168, 189n22 Palm Sunday 94, 97, 98n23, 164, 212, 233 Paphnutius (Egyptian Father) 231n11 Paradise 3, 18, 104, 120, 177–180, 233, 271–272 Paradisum Patrum 78, 233 Parthia 16 Passover 188, 232 Patriarch Halaf 261 Patriarch Johannes VII 160, 223 Patriarch John XII 210 Patriarch of Antioch 49, 158–159, 209, 226; Patriarchate of Antioch 160 Patriarch of Constantinople 113, 136n9 patristic approaches 133, 161–180, 233, 234

310 Index patron 64, 69, 73, 116, 205; earthly 69; heavenly 69 Paul (apostle) 95, 170 Paul (Metropolitan of Adiabene) 136–139 Paul (Metropolitan of Nisibis) 123 Paul of Edessa (a monk of monastery of Thomas of Qenneshrin) 95 Paula 58, 243 peace 37, 41, 130, 144, 178n62, 192, 220, 251–252; peaceful 31–39, 127, 195 pedagogy 169 Pelagia 144 Pentecost 94, 156, 224 people of Israel 27 peregrinatio 54n9, 73 perfection 46, 178, 271–272 persecution 243 Persia 11, 16, 111, 116–117, 119–120, 122–123, 256; conquest 6, 11, 27, 111, 113, 118, 124, 158; Empire 110, 113, 123; general 114, 123; Gulf 72, 137, 171; king 111, 117, 123; Martyr Acts 26n65; Persian 72, 113–114, 115–119, 124, 136, 271 Peter (apostle) 170, 211, Peter of Galatia 15n12 Peter the Fuller 104 Peter the Iberian 50n38 Petiōn 116 Petra (Nabataean Petra) 36 Petros (Syriac Orthodox bishop of Jerusalem) 158n9 Pharaoh 116, 247 phenomenon of pilgrimage 4, 5, 9n1, 54, 63, 139, 228–229, 232, 235 philanthropical establishments 66 Philo of Alexandria 54 philosophers 120 Philoxenos of Mabug 10, 21n37, 43, 63–65, 73, 158, 259, 270 Phoenicia 36n17 physical i, 1, 2, 5, 24, 31, 58n22, 70, 86, 144, 142, 177, 197, 205, 227, 231n11, 233–235, 237, 251–252, 270, 272; physically 105, 263 piety 37, 60, 81n18, 100, 257n103 Pilatus 188 pilgrimage i, 2–10, 11, 13, 15, 18–20, 21–23, 26, 28–31, 33–35, 37–43, 44–47, 49–55, 56–57, 59–61, 63, 64, 66–68, 70–77, 79, 81, 82, 84–85, 88–90, 90–94, 96, 98, 100, 102, 104, 105, 108, 110,

112, 114, 116, 118, 120, 122, 128, 139, 140, 142, 159, 203, 207, 221, 228–231, 233–235, 237–239, 241–269, 270–272, 280, 281, 285, 290, 293 “pilgrimage literature” 10 pilgrimages, linear and circular 81–82 pilgrims 1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10, 13–18, 19–21, 25, 27, 29–31, 36–39, 42, 43, 47, 49, 52, 56, 58, 61, 67–70, 72, 77–79, 81–85, 88–91, 97n20, 110, 140, 148, 156, 159, 169n31, 198n51, 202, 206–207, 210–211, 233, 236–239, 241–246, 250–254, 256–261, 263, 264–269, 271–272 plunder 47, 117, 237 Poemonia 52n2 poets 2, 162n2, 163, 184 politeia 138 Pontifical of the Patriarchal Court of Antioch 158 Pope Urban II 210 power 2, 8, 7, 21n37, 39, 41, 88, 94n6, 106, 115, 117, 121–122, 128–129, 133, 144, 176, 192, 199, 203, 205, 211, 220, 222, 226, 232n11, 238, 259, 271 prayer 3, 18, 20, 21n37, 22, 28, 31, 39, 43–44, 47, 53, 56–57, 58n22, 59, 60, 65, 67, 71, 104, 109n11, 130–131, 143–144, 155, 158, 200, 201n67, 220, 233, 241, 243–244, 246, 253, 263, 266n131, 268–269 prayer of Sanctus 94 priest 23, 44, 47, 72n29, 103, 114, 137n11, 141, 147, 154, 156, 188, 198n51, 210, 255, 261, 264, 266, 267n136, 262, 268 priest syncellos Elias 141 primacy 8, 63, 133, 218, 147, 166, 173–175, 199 Prince of Antioch 187 Procession 98–99 Procopius 142 Promised Land 64 properties 144, 210, 221, 222–226 prophets 16, 17, 19, 20, 31, 50n39, 72n29, 80, 151, 169, 174–175, 180, 242–243 psalms 18, 46, 60, 96, 150–152, 193, 229, 233n16, 235–236, 241, 250n80 Pseudo-Armenian history of Sebēos 114n36 pure heart 259 purification 175n53, 198, 241n49 purity 28, 176, 242n49

Index  311 Qaidu (in Talas) 255 Qanqa 86 Qanqal Monastery 47, 85 Qardu Mountains 175 Qawme (pilgrim) 264 Qayyouma 141 Qenneshrin 43, 47n29, 48n30, 70, 95n9, 166n20 qibla (the direction of prayer) 130 Quadragesima 98 Queen Melisende 222, 224–225 quietude 53, 233 qurbane 268 Quriakos (pilgrim from Tur ʿAbdīn) 266 Rabban Hormizd 73, 75–76, 270 the Rabban Hōrmīzd Monastery in Alqosh 73 Rabban Sauma 7, 69, 246–252, 252, 254, 256, 258, 260, 270 Rabbat Moab (Arepolis) 36 Rabbula of Edessa 42–45, 107 Rachel 22 Ramadan (fasting period) 245n63 Raymond IV of Toulouse 210n38 Raymond, Count of St Gilles 210n38 ‘real’ Jews 152 Rebekah 22 Recluses 233n16 relic 11, 22n43, 43n9, 46n26, 57, 85n36, 100, 117, 121–124, 198n51, 257–258 religion 1, 2, 128, 134, 175 religious area 97; affirmation 10; authority 75n45; category 272; culture 2; power 7, 39, 106; status 244 reliquary 86, 112 remedy 10, 15, 44, 47, 227, 261 Renewal of the Church 101, 256 replacement 1 Reqem d-Geyʿa 36 rest 17, 22, 25, 80, 110, 114, 177, 192, 197, 234, 254n90, restoration 83, 106, 123, 140, 220 Rev-Ardashir 147 Reymond III 187, 189 Reymond of Tripoli 187, 189–193 Reynald of Châtillon 187 ride a horse 238 ritual 18, 19, 34, 39, 44, 97–99, 100, 128, 158, 200, 229, 243, 246, 270 Ritualisation 260 River Jordan 42, 44, 80, 186, 234 roads 18, 245n63, 249, 257, 259

Robert, Count of Flanders 210n38 Robert, Duke of Normandy 210 rock 20, 131, 201 ‘rock’, sakra 198 Roman 2, 106, 112–113, 117, 121n64, 144, 174, 216 Roman empire 16; emperor 1, 39 Romanus (monk, scribe) 223–224 Rome 212, 144, 209n32 Romiuzān 114 route 18, 36, 55, 80, 96, 104, 139, 207, 239, 245, 249–251, 259; en route 148 Sabark 187 Sabas 35n12, 146n47, 147–148 Sabbath 29, 36n17 Sabrīšōʿ 110–113, 116, 122, 155 Sabrīšōʿ III Zānbūr (East Syriac bishopric of Jerusalem) 155 sacraments 200 sacred centrality i sacred geography 15, 271; heritage i, 1; memory 5; space 56; topography 16, 270 sacrifice 28, 67, 104, 110, 272 sacristan 47 Sadad (Syria) 266 Sahdona 136n9 Šāhrbarāz 114, 123–124 Saidan 194 Saʿid ibn Batrīq 131, 173n48, 173n49, 173n50 Saint Abraham church 203 Saint Bartholomew church 203 Saint Elias church 203 Saint Sehyon 255 Saint Stephen’s Gate 204 saints 8, 9n1, 24, 35, 42n1, 49, 75, 82, 93n2, 112, 118, 121n64, 138, 177, 257 Ṣalāḥ ad-Din 7, 183, 184, 186–187, 191–196, 198–199, 201, 203, 210n38, 214–216 Samaria 39, 243 Samaritans 33, 71n28; region 35 Samuel (abbot of the monastery of Qartamin) 64 Samuel (disciple of Barsauma) 34 sanctity 3, 41, 69, 70, 75n45, 103, 124, 242n49, 257–258 sanctuary 70, 103, 110, 119, 121, 141–142, 179, 262 Sarah 22 Sargī (Sergius) of Ḥāḥ 239, 256

312 Index Sassanid 2, 97, 138 Saturday of Lazarus 94, 98–99 Savior 48, 138, 235 Scholarius’ Coenobium 146n47 school 3, 20, 46, 50, 136, 163, 220; Nisibis 2, 86n41; Persians 136 scribe 83, 151, 222, 224, 262, 267, 269 Scriptures 46, 60 Sebēos 114n36 “the second Christ” 258 Segal, J.B. 3 Seleucia Ctesiphon 3, 97, 107, 111, 113, 118, 122, 137, 139, 140 Senna 113 sensory dimensions 24 “sensory engagement” 244 Serapion 81 Sergius (Patriarch of Constantinople) 136n9 Sergius the Metropolitan of Elam 149, 153 serpent of Moses 29 Severus of Antioch 95–96, 100–101, 109, 124, 144, 175 Shah 113 shahada (faith profession) 245n63 Shamrin 194 Shenna 173 Sheroe (son of Chosrau II) 136n9 Shiloh 193 Shiraz 74 shrine, of Ezekiel 257 shrines of martyrs 54n11, 249 Sidon 187 Šigar 112 Silvania 52n2 Simeon the Pharisee 197 Simeon the Potter 162 Sinai 14–17, 18, 20–31, 36, 46, 50n39, 74, 81; Mount Sinai 13, 18, 22–25, 27, 30, 31, 36, 49, 59, 78, 80, 86n41, 88 Sinbylla of Jerusalem 191 Šīrīn 111–112, 121–122 sleep 25, 56, 254n90 Šmōnā 22 sogitha 70n22, 101, 102n43, 166n20 Sōhdō the Edessenian 197 solitary 230 Solomon (Shlemon) of Baṣra 177 “Solomon of the new times” 256n99 Solomon’s temple 127, 131, 198 Song of the Night Vigils 98 sons of Arabia 185–186

Sophronius (Patriarch of Jerusalem) 129, 131, 143 Southeastern Turkey 262 spiritual meditation 1, 234, 242, spiritual progres 70 sponge 19 sponsors 70 stages viii, 16n12, 42, 80–81, 88, 194 standardised pilgrimage 2, 7, 228, 231, 254, 261, 270–271 Statistique inédite de l’ancienne Église Chaldéo-Nestorienne 156 St. James, brother of our Lord, first bishop of Jerusalem 93 St. Michael’s monastery 173 Stone 27, 28, 37, 102–103, 112, 116, 196, 198n51 Story of Yahballāhā and Rabban Sauma 247 Strategius (Palestinian monk) 118, 120 “subsidiary routes” 245n63 Sunday offices 95 Susan from Arzun 60 symbol 25, 27, 35, 38, 101–105, 107, 117, 144, 121, 129, 143, 179, 200, 239 symbolism of the altars 102 Symeon Palaios, vita of 15, 29 Symeon the Elder 10, 29, 35 Symeon the Stylite 37–38, 75 synagogue 29, 33, 37, 101n42 synod 65–68, 71–73, 91, 111n20, 116, 120, 153, 171, Syriac Apocryphal Psalms 151 Syriac communities 3–6, 73, 97, 127, 145, 148, 159, 160, 180, 203, 208, 219, 221, 222, 225–227, 230, 231, 235, 265, 270, 271 Syriac cults 6 Syriac literature viii, 2–6, 9, 13, 21, 23, 45, 47, 60, 75–77, 80, 83, 87, 93, 106, 124, 134, 161, 162, 177, 184, 187, 238, 246, 270 Syriac Orthodox community the privilege 7 Syriac Orthodox convent of St Mark 8 Syriac Orthodox Patriarch Barsaum 157 Syriac Renaissance 7, 161, 229n4, 271 “the Syrian Quarter” 204 the Syrian route 245n63 Al-Tạbarī 130–131 tabernacle, ephemeral tabernacle 26, 28, 40 Tabnin 194

Index  313 Tabor 10n3, 156, 241 Tagrit 83, 98 Takrit 264n126 Tangut 255 Tarsus 49, 216 tax-collector 115 tears 43, 59, 97, 186, 196, 199, 242, 256 Tel Mšaš 148 Temple 33, 36n17, 37, 40, 54, 56, 71, 80, 100, 131–132, 142, 179, 242, 262 Temple Mount 40, 204 Temple of Solomon 127, 131, 198 Theodore bar Wahbun 160, 203, 213, 215–216, 220n81 Theodoret of Cyrrhus 13n2, 14, 15, 22, 29 Theodoros Abū-Qurra 146n47, 160n20 Theodosius (Roman emperor) 10n3, 116, 123, 146n47 Theodosius II (Roman emperor) 39 Theodosius the Young 123 Theodota (Theodotos) of Amid 47, 48n29, 49 Theophilus (priest) 148 Thomas 79, 158, Thomas (apostle) 22n43 Thomas (III) 160, 223, Thomas of Marga 11, 52, 61, 78, 80, 90, 116, 123 Tiberias 158, 184, 186–187, 191–194 Tibet 247n67 Timotheus I 107, 149, 150, 152, 153, 154, 271, 260 Timotheus of Jerusalem 158 Timothy (metropolitan of Karkar) 107, 151, 152, 267n136 the tomb of John the Baptist 86 tomb of Lazarus 98 the tomb of Our Lord 46 tongue 22, 236, 260n114 topos of Edessa 3 touching holiness 57; touching of holy relics 258 town of Ṭus 255 towns 18, 193, 200, 206, 239 trade 18, 138, 139n19, 207, 228, 237 tranquillity of soul 19; of the senses 20 travelogues 24 treachery 192 Treaty 130–131 Tripoli 156, 187, 189–193, 206n15, 207, 209n32, 211, 260, 262 Trisagion 94n5, 104

Tropologion 95 Tur ʿAbdin 48n29, 63–64, 214n56, 264, 266 Turkestan 152–154, 255 Turks 169n31, 200, 211 type 35, 116, 121 Tyre 207 Upper Chamber 80; Room 102, 105, 243 vacancy 111n18, 118 Valentinus 188–189 Valeria 231n11 vast tradition 3 veil 39, 102–103 veneration of the Cross 99, 110, 113; of the holy place 20 vespers 104 vessel 19, 74, 115, 121 Via Nova Trajana 36 vicar of St Peter 211 villages 18, 68, 193, 200, 204, 206, 222–223, 225 violence 37, 39, 40–41 virgins 199 Visiting General 260 Vita Barsaumae 34, 38n47 wādī 79n9, 234 Wādī al-Rayān 79n9 Wādī ʿAraba 31 Wadi El Natrun 89, 205n12 walking 18, 48n32 wandering 30, 50n36, 54n11, 55n11, 71 wandering monks 53, 65 watchful mind 231–233 week of the Passions 233 white linen 241 wilderness 19, 25–29, 36 wine 72, 102–103, 165, 171–172 wisdom 172, 256n99 witness 2, 201 the “worldly trade” 237 worship 16n12, 20, 59, 71n28, 93, 100–101, 116, 200, 230, 268 xeniteia 54, 55n11, 58n22, 64, 73n33, 232, 234n16 Yahballāhā 123, 156, 228, 246–249, 251–252, 259–260 Yazdanan 188 Yazdgerd 123

314 Index Yāzdīn 115–119 Yoḥannān of Dailam (John of Daylatha) 75, 90 Yoḥannān of Kaškar 86, 90 Yoḥannān Shamrahaya 74 Yuḥanon of Wank (metropolitan of Cappadocia and Edessa) 267n136

Zacharias of Jerusalem 115, 119–121 Zengi 224 Zenon 123 Zion 27, 93, 98, 102, 166 “Zion, the mother of all churches” 94 Ziqlon 187 Zuqnin monastery 47n29